“I doubt I’ll be able to control anything while you’re strapping me.” Her voice rose in a plea. “Oh, must you…?”
But he was already parting her bottom cheeks and depositing the root into that sensitive place. The ginger’s natural slickness made it slide in without too much discomfort, but once in place, she realized there was no way to escape it. A tentative squeeze revealed it could not be dislodged, and that yes, it made one’s bottom burn most expeditiously.
“Oh. Ouch, Marlow, it stings. Please… When will you take it out?”
“After you’ve been strapped.”
It was all she could do not to release the smooth handles she’d been instructed to grip, in order to reach behind her to yank the vicious irritant out. “I don’t know if I can be still through all this,” she told him.
“I can bind your wrists and ankles, if that is easier.”
“Oww, perhaps you’d better.” She preferred being bound tight, though it was a little scary to feel him work the buckles against her skin. She was powerless to control her squirming. She slid against the bench’s smooth surface, wondering how she’d managed to earn such treatment by being good.
“There now, eighteen smart strokes and we’ll be finished, provided you behave. There’ll be twenty-five strokes if you don’t.”
She wondered to what degree a stroke counted as “smart,” and what he meant by “behaving.” Before she could ask for specifics, she cried out as the strap landed across her arse. So “smart” meant “very hard.” She clenched by reflex alone, trying to process the strap’s stinging imprint, only to be assailed by the ginger’s bite in response.
She cried out “owww” on the second stroke, and “please stop” on the third, but after that, she could only shriek as each blow fell. This was not as easy to appreciate as being spanked over his lap. A lap spanking had some tenderness in it, some warmth and contact. This was pure punishment and it hurt relentlessly. Halfway through, she started to cry from the frustration of the ginger piled on top of the stinging strap. “Owww,” she wailed, but she couldn’t kick her legs because of the bonds, or wipe her tears away.
“There are five more to go,” he told her, at which point she began to sob harder, for she’d lost count and had just decided she couldn’t tolerate a single one more.
“You mustn’t,” she cried. “Please. You must stop now, really, or at least remove the ginger.”
“If you complain, I’ll add to the tally.”
She couldn’t bear that. He’d said twenty-five for bad behavior. She would perish if it came to that.
“Take deep breaths, Rosalind. You can do this. Remember the ball tomorrow. Remember how the ache must linger so you can think about me the whole time…”
She liked that game. She enjoyed the thought of feeling this punishment later when the whole ton surrounded them, and they shared this secret between them. She wanted that, but…oh, right now she was in a lot of pain.
“Do you wish to be able to sit down tomorrow?” he asked her, stroking her bottom. “Like all the other ladies, with their unspanked bottoms?”
“No,” she said through tears. “No, sir.”
“Then we’ll continue,” he said in a gentle tone. “I’ll know when to stop. I know just how much you need. Do you trust me, darling?”
“Yes.” She turned her face into his palm as he wiped her tears. “Yes, sir. I trust you. I want to take the last five. For the ball tomorrow.”
Who wanted to sit at a ball anyway? Or tonight, or tomorrow? Who wanted to sit ever again? Still, she cried out as the next stroke fell, and the next, and the last three as the ginger burned in her secret, naughty hole. She hurt. Her entire hindquarters felt swollen and burning and nearly on fire, but at the same time, she felt mad with some deeper feeling tied up in submission and discipline, in loving and dreading her husband, loving and dreading the wild way she felt.
“There now,” he said, calming her when the last blow was over, and the strap stowed away. “You did so well, didn’t you, darling? How well-spanked you will be at the ball tomorrow. You’ll like that feeling, won’t you?”
“Yes, sir,” she answered, not needing to think about it. Yes, she wanted that.
“I’m not going to release you yet,” he said. “And I’m not going to take out the ginger either, so you can suffer a little longer. I want to show you something.” He caressed the buckled cuffs at her wrists, then checked the tightness of the ankle cuffs. “You know that we join our bodies every night and make love together in my bed or yours. We can do that here too, with you like this.”
He began to undress, taking off his dinner coat and waistcoat, his trousers, still open at the front, and then his cravat and shirt. His broad chest and muscled torso never failed to arouse her. She thought he looked even finer than the statues of Greek gods. He undressed until he was as naked as she was, only he was free to walk about while she was bound over the bench, bound to his will. He walked behind her and ran his hand up her spine.
“Are you going to make love in my bottom?” she asked.
“No. The ginger is going to stay in your bottom while I make love to you the conventional way. You will like it more than you think.”
“Truly?” she asked, her voice wavering. She was not sure the irritation of the ginger would be conducive to lovemaking, but then he started to push inside her and she drew in a shocked breath. She was wet and ready for him, more than she’d imagined she could be after enduring such a strapping, and the deeper he pressed, the fuller and wilder she felt.
“Oh, I don’t—I can’t—That feels so intense!” She reached her climax nearly at once, so quickly that she felt embarrassed.
He stroked her hair, then tugged upon it, wrapping it in his fist as he drove into her from behind. “Don’t pull at the cuffs,” he said. She hadn’t even realized she was doing it, she was so far gone in the sensations of the moment. “I’m here with you, darling. Come for me again.”