Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 75898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
But Grace's new guardian is tasked with more than just reforming his ward. Over the coming days, her virgin body will be intimately examined in preparation for a suitor's courtship, and then her future husband will bring her home to claim her in the most shameful ways imaginable.
Publisher's Shameful Reformation is a stand-alone book in the Shamefully Courted series. It includes spankings and sexual scenes. If such material offends you, please don't buy this book.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
CHAPTER 1
Grace
What I did just wasn’t that bad. I absolutely knew I shouldn’t steal, sure. And I knew that shoplifting earrings wouldn’t get the same kind of sympathy that, say, stealing a loaf of bread to feed my family might have. But when the judge delivered my sentence I thought I hadn’t heard him correctly.
“Defendant remanded to Selecta Non-Violent Offender Correction Services,” he said, and then he actually knocked his hammer thing on the little wooden block on top of his desk, or his bench, or whatever.
Correction. Like, prison? Standing there in the courtroom, next to the lady who had called herself my court-appointed advocate (or something) I turned around wildly. Somehow I knew what I would see: two officers of some kind, big men in white shirts with badges, coming toward me.
I turned to the lady—the advocate—with wild eyes. “What? What does it…?”
She had a smile on her face. I couldn’t believe it.
“I told you, Grace,” she said, her voice telling me that her patience with me had started to wear thin. “This is the best you can hope for, and you’re lucky to get it.”
I shook my head. She had told me a shitload of things. How was I supposed to remember all of them? I couldn’t even remember her name.
Ms.… Rogers?
Ms. Rogers, if I had actually recalled the name correctly, sighed. I could see in her face that she actually did want to help me, which of course made me feel worse, which of course made me mad, because I was the one who had just been remanded, or whatever.
“They’ll explain it to you when you get to the New Modesty bureau,” she said.
“The what?” She absolutely hadn’t said anything about the New Modesty. I would have remembered that, because everyone at school had heard of Selecta’s fascist little New Modesty towns, where men were men and women were women and everything happened in a traditional, old-fashioned way.
Ms. Rogers nodded, her eyes showing her obvious effort to remain patient and helpful.
“Yes, Grace. That’s the deal I got you, because your profile matches with their correctional program. The alternative was prison.”
I felt my forehead crease hard, and my heart rate sped up like a hundred beats. I had told Ms. Rogers that I would do anything that kept me out of prison. I did remember that. Her face turned sympathetic, obviously in response to the fear in my eyes.
“I do wish you all the best, Grace,” she said, reaching out to touch my shoulder gently. “From what I’ve read, this program should help you figure some things out about what you want in life.”
I felt my face go scarlet. No, the woman hadn’t said that I had no idea what the hell I was doing, as a nineteen-year-old living in one of Selecta’s basic-income dorms without a plan to find a job or even a hobby. She might as well have said that flat out, though; why would I have any need to figure some things out about anything, let alone what I want in life, if I did have the slightest clue about the world—or even about myself.
“Grace Franklin?” one of the white-shirted officers said.
I turned to him. My lips parted, but I couldn’t seem to get a word out of my mouth.
“This is Grace,” said Ms. Rogers, and then she turned back to me. “Don’t make things any more difficult than they have to be, okay?” she said, in a tone that struck me as almost pleading. “The program is probably going to be difficult for you at first, and it will seem strange, but they know what they’re doing.”
The officers had a lot less patience than my advocate.
“Let’s go, Grace,” said the one who had spoken before. “You’ve got a pretty long ride ahead of you.”
The long ride happened in a white minibus with SELECTA in red letters on the side. A bored-looking guard sat up front with the driver, barely paying the passengers—me and four other girls of about my age—any attention, except when we tried to talk to each other. Whenever he noticed that, he got up and yelled the same thing, every time: “What the fuck did I say, girls? No fucking talking. I can beat your butts black and blue if I want, so don’t tempt me.”