Page 85 of Taken As Collateral

“Ow, ow!” I yelp into the gag as more of my spit dribbles down to my chest.

He stops twisting only when I stop moving. I press the back of my head against the pole and start to pant. I’m so screwed.

Battling my arousal, I try to keep my climax at bay. I try to think thoughts that will dampen my ardor, but my mind won’t cooperate. I can’t hold back the tsunami. It crashes into me, making me seize violently against the pole. My orgasm balloons fast and furious, and my body is too small to contain it. It’s like somebody put rocket fuel into my climax.

Despite my bucking and shaking, Rafe continues to hold the vibrator to me. Grabbing my hip with his free hand, he pins me against the pole with his body and clicks the vibrator even higher.

No, no, no! I shake my head vigorously. My body is already overwhelmed. It can’t take more. It wants to escape, but after only a minute or so, I feel myself pushed to another level.

I burst.

My screams turn silent as my second orgasm threatens to pull me apart.

Rafe lowers the vibrator, eventually turning it off. My pussy pulses like crazy. My eyes are wet with tears. When Rafe loosens the collar strapping me to the pole, I crumple toward the floor. He catches me and carries me to a table, depositing me onto it. After yanking my sweats and underwear off my ankles, he flips me onto my stomach. He pushes my knees to my sides then goes to the armoire, bringing back cords of rope.

Still recovering, I make no move or sound as he binds my legs into their bent position, like those of a frog.

Standing behind me, he caresses my rump. “Coming twice without permission. That’s very bad.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Rafe holds a crop.With it, he gently taps my buttock. I’m still in a daze from my orgasm, but I know I’m in for something big and bad.

Without warning, he whacks the crop to my bottom. I cry out, but I prefer a spanking to the nipple torture. With his hand, he caresses my backside, smoothing over where the crop struck.

“How many do you think you can take, Priscilla?” he asks.

I have no idea. I guess, “Thirteen?”

“Thirty?”

I do my best to talk around the gag. “Thirteen.”

“Thirty’s not bad. But how many do you think you deserve for trying to pass off a fake Morelli to me?”

I silently groan.

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