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The Billionaire’s Wayward Virgin by Emily Tilton

Though she is a nineteen-year-old virgin, Leah Rundin knows how to game the system and lead on wealthy men. But when billionaire Christian Guzman takes an interest in her and she tries to make a fool of him like the rest, she instead finds herself over his knee for a very real spanking.

Soon Leah is naked, wet, and blushing, and it isn’t just her bare bottom that is left sore and stinging by the hard hand of the man who has finally taught her what happens to naughty girls.

But Christian is far from done with her. He’s going to claim her in every way she’s always needed to be claimed, but first he’s going to make her beg for every shameful minute of it.



Publisher’s Note: The Billionaire’s Wayward Virgin is a stand-alone book which is the fourth 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: 75,700 words


“No… please,” I wailed, but he kept punishing me, and talking to me.


The left thigh, now, where it felt like the seat of the romper had ridden up so far that Christian’s hand caught only my bare flesh. I gave one more attempt at a struggle, and when it failed miserably I understood that my bottom, upended over his knee, lay completely at his mercy. He had fixed it in place there for his old-fashioned, firm-handed correction. He would spank it until I learned my lesson.

“Have… the… right… and… the… duty… to… punish… you.”

Christian quickened his rhythm as he delivered this sentence, his strong hand following what had to represent a practiced pattern—the best way, I imagined, to discipline a naughty young woman like me. The feeling of detachment, of being an observer of my own first spanking, had seemed to come and go as I alternately tried to resist and tried to endure. With these latest words, it took firm hold—as if the idea of his right and duty to enforce his idea of how a prospective fuck toy should behave had sent me finally and forcefully into that strange, floaty headspace.

I realized I had gone limp. With each of the spanks I had let out a cry, but I hadn’t accompanied those noises with any kind of struggle. I had closed my eyes at some point. When I opened them, I saw the window again.

“Please…” I said without thinking about it. I meant to ask him to close the blackout curtain so no one could see in, when I… when I took off the romper. Because I knew—despite myself—that I would take it off. I didn’t have a choice, did I? Security clearly wasn’t coming: Christian clearly had a thorough understanding of how Selecta worked.

But if I meant to get rid of him at the earliest opportunity—the way I had to do, of course—shouldn’t I make sure I did everything to show myself and the rest of LA that there was nothing consensual about this spanking? Above all about the part where I took off my clothes so that the dominant billionaire could deliver my ‘real’ lesson?

The dilemma turned my thoughts, in the confusion that accompanied my detached, observing state of mind, in another direction. I needed a way out.

“Please…” I repeated. “I only… I just didn’t want to tell you… I mean, in the bar. It’s so… embarrassing. It’s not fair to punish me for that!”

“You’re right,” Christian murmured, to my astonishment. “It’s not fair.”

I felt him loosen his grip a little, and shift his right leg so that I had some wiggle room. For a moment I thought the crazy scene had come to an end. The shadow of a bizarre disappointment once again seemed to raise its head, with the imagined words, Is that all you’ve got?

Then the loosening stopped, and I felt something else: Christian’s hand, not coming down hard, but frankly and almost casually working its way up the loose left leg of my romper, to take my whole bottom into his hand—my whole bare bottom, the cheeks left uncovered by the lacy thong.

Something between a whimper and a sob burst from my throat. My whole body shuddered, but my hips moved, not to try to get away but to try to push my punished cheeks up into his caressing hand. The wave of shame and need that traveled through what felt like every artery and every nerve ending in my body sent me spinning off into some detached psychic space a million lightyears from LA—but somehow, even there on the other side of the galaxy, I could feel Christian’s knowing fingers.

He fondled my hot bottom cheeks as if he wanted to make sure his spanks had done their work properly. He soothed so that I moaned, and then he squeezed so that I keened, softly, like a puppy punished for peeing in the house. He began to explore me further, two fingers between my thighs, just where they joined the tight, round apples of my backside.

With a sob, I parted my knees, helpless to stop myself. The fingers sought out the thong he had paid for, the shamefully narrow strip of lace that covered the pussy bared for him. From what seemed miles above me, as well as a universe away, I heard Christian make a sound deep in his chest, a sort of satisfied grunt that set my face newly ablaze.