Using our easy-fasten restraint straps, he wrapped my wrists to the arms of the throne. Loops around my shoulder and armpit pinned me against the back... More straps tied my feet—still in high heels—and knees—spread wide—to the legs of the chair.Busy watching my husband bind me and mock-struggling against the process, I had not considered that the virtue of the throne was now a danger. The opening below the seat left my intimate area vulnerable.“The drug that I slipped into your wine is working. Pity you will probably have to sell one when we get to Harv'el. Be tough to decide, that's for sure. Both are lookers, but you'll probably get more for the younger." Why would I sell either one of them?" Dent asked, his stomach knotting up into painful stitches at the words."Well the port tax on a slave is one gold," Vel said. "A bit steep, but the Putram's been losing plenty to Malshall and smugglers. Just bring them in elsewhere with forged tattoos and he don't get his head tax. But the. More

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