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His New Plaything by Emily Tilton

If Isabella Stanford had read the fine print before agreeing to participate in this research study the shamefully intimate intake procedure wouldn’t have been a surprise. She probably wouldn’t have earned herself a bare bottom spanking by failing to promptly follow the doctor’s orders either.

The revolutionary technology the Selecta Corporation is testing offers Isabella the body of her dreams, but what she’s given won’t be hers alone. Every luscious curve will belong to the strict, sexy billionaire who paid handsomely for the right to use and enjoy her in any way he pleases.

She will be more than just his property. She will be his plaything.



Publisher’s Note: His New Plaything is a stand-alone book which is the third entry in the series The Institute: Shameful Arrangements. It includes spankings and sexual scenes. If such material offends you, please don’t buy this book.

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Author: Emily Tilton

eBook Price: Kindle Unlimited/$4.95

Length: 55,000 words


As he spoke, he moved his right hand down, put it boldly under the hem of the nightgown, and thrust it between my legs. The wordless command of his strong fingers made me shuffle my feet apart, so that he could touch what he wanted to touch.

I cried out. My hands flew up to hover between us, poised between pushing him away and trying to hug him.

“I want this,” my sponsor… my master… said.

His two middle fingers entered me, so roughly that I lost my balance with the overwhelming sensation, the instant, cataclysmic descent to the brink of orgasm.

Mr. Thring’s left arm wrapped around my back to keep me upright. His long fingers probed inside, curled up to touch a place I knew must be my G spot although I had never until that moment believed in its existence. My whole body seemed to spasm in his grasp, and the climax—the tremendous, irresistible feeling I hadn’t even known until that morning—seemed to reach up for me, but then just as suddenly his right hand pulled out and away.

I sobbed yet again, throwing my head back and trying with all my might to press toward him, against him, into him. My hands had gone up into the air as I felt myself falling, and now I put them on Mr. Thring’s shoulders, a shudder gripping my limbs at the mere touch of the fine wool, the contrast with the thin, lascivious silk in which he had dressed me.

My new sponsor’s right hand hadn’t gone away completely, though: I felt it come around behind me. I felt his fingers, slick with my shameful need, brush against my upper thigh as he brought them up under the lacy hem of the babydoll again. I felt him touch me there.

There. In my fleeting, mortifying fantasies, that part of me played a bigger role even than my breasts. I had focused on my chest, my new boobs, because they rose to my attention—literally—much more prominently than my backside did, but always at the back of my no-longer-trustworthy mind had lain my… my…

My ass. Just as I had never thought I would have boobs, I hadn’t thought I could possess a true ass. Yes, I could use the term for my backside, and I acknowledged that indeed everyone has an ass of one shape or another, but… the heart-shaped, shapely, firm but prominent as a girl walked away kind of ass… the kind men look at…

The kind men like to spank and to…

He held my ass in his right hand, and I knew that until an hour or so ago he would have been able to take hold of the whole thing. Not now. Mr. Thring let out a satisfied little grunt as he took hold of the center of my bottom, where Joe the security guard had spanked me—where he himself, I knew, would enjoy disciplining me if I stepped out of line. Only the center because I had grown there just as I had grown up top.

“And this,” he growled into my shoulder, where my movements had pressed my body against his face.

The rumble of his voice itself sent another thrill of need shooting out from the pussy his hand had left aching. It took me a moment, though, to connect his words with what he had said before. He wanted me… my pussy… my ass… I bit my lip hard.

His middle finger pressed inward between my ass cheeks.

“Oh no,” I sobbed.

He touched me there. The naughtiest place. The smallest place—still the smallest despite the changes in my body.

“And this,” he said softly as the fingertip probed into the tiny flower of my anus.

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