Page 86 of Taken As Collateral

“At least double, I should think,” he replies for me, then smacks me hard with the crop. “That’s two down. Fifty-eight to go.”

I close my eyes. The next hour or so might be the longest of my life. Half-naked, drooling because I have a silicone ball stretching my mouth open, bound in a rather undignified position with my private parts exposed and wet with cum, I don’t know what I can do except submit.

He lands the crop on my butt several times. I grunt each time. He caresses the burn.

“You really thought you could deceive me with a counterfeit?” he asks before spanking me extra hard with the crop.

I curse. I imagine crawling away from the edge of the table and falling onto the floor. He’d just pick me up and punish me for trying to get away.

He whips the crop against me three times in succession. I think we’re up to twelve now.

“I know my art, Priscilla. Better than you, even.”

He whacks the other butt cheek. I deserve this. For being stupid. For lying and thinking I could get away with it.

“Alessandro, on the other hand,” he continues, “knows shit about art. But what he does know better than you is my reputation. I’d look like a fool trying to pass off a fake Morelli to the FBI. My reputation would take a hit. That’s not a nice thing to do to me.”

The crop lands on the bottom of my foot. Even though he didn’t strike as hard, I scream. I had no idea the soles of my feet were so sensitive! Maybe the nipple clamps weren’t so bad. He strikes my feet again. This time I try to move away.

“You’re better off staying still,” he says. “You don’t want me hitting the wrong part of your foot.”

There’s a wrong part? He grabs my left foot by the ankle and smacks the heel. I flinch. The crop lands on the ball of my foot next. I grunt and wince. He strikes the arch of my foot. I scream and try to yank my foot from his grasp.

“You don’t want to move,” he reminds me. “I might accidentally hit your toes, where there are a lot of small, delicate bones, or near your ankles, which has precious tendons.”

I moan.

Holding my foot down, he administers over a dozen smacks to the arch of my foot. Though he’s only using a fraction of his strength, I feel my foot swelling with pain. I emit a long, strained cry.

Pausing, he reaches below me to caress my clit. I quiver. As the smarting in my foot recedes, I accept the pleasure of his fondling. He teases me with quick strokes along the engorged bud, then slow circles over the surface. His fingers pass frequently over my urethral opening, which also has a lot of sensitive nerves, before curling into my pussy.

Oh, wow. How is it possible that his fingers feel even more amazing than before?

But I already came twice without his permission. I probably don’t want to make it three strikes. It’s so unfair, though. He’s set me up to fail. At least I got two incredible orgasms out of it, so it might be worth the punishment. So far, as bad as the foot torture is, the orgasms come out ahead.

However, I reconsider when he goes over to my other foot.

No, please no.

“Was the fake Morelli premeditated on your part? Something you and Alessandro planned together?” he wonders.

I shake my head and try to look him in the eyes so he can see my sincerity.

“Should I believe you after what you tried to pull?” he asks.

Lowering my gaze, I press my forehead to the table.

“It doesn’t matter,” he says. “When presented with the chance to deceive me, you took it.”

“I’m sorry,” I mumble.

“I thought you smarter than that, Priscilla.”

He starts smacking the crop to my other foot. It’s hard not to jerk away from the pain. Luckily his grip is tight. Just when I think I can’t take any more, he stops and spanks my ass instead. I couldn’t be more relieved.

“Did you keep count?” he asks.

“No,” I groan.

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