Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
With her thus secured, her husband began preparing the ginger, using his carving skills to craft the largest, thickest fig he’d yet subjected her to. She watched as he added small gouges to its flesh for maximum stinging potential. Infernal royal ginger. It was indeed heartier than any the Augustine kitchen produced.
“It’s this and a sound strapping for you,” he said, bringing the ginger to hold before her eyes. “Perhaps a few strokes of the cane.”
“Have I been so spirited,” she pleaded, “to deserve this?”
“You have hemmed and hawed to extremity, my spirited filly.”
She swallowed a wild laugh. It turned to a moan as he pressed the fresh, slippery ginger at the entrance to her clenching bottom.
“Let it in,” he said. “It’s going in one way or another.”
“It burns!”
“As it’s meant to.”
She tried to relax enough to let it slide in and was rewarded with immediate discomfort and an uncomfortably full feeling in her bottom. Of course, the ginger’s burn would only grow worse if she clenched upon it. For now, she tried to remain still. She tested the chains, but they were stronger than anything. She was helpless, powerless, in her husband’s hands.
“You’re to manage your behavior as you’re punished,” he said, going for the strap. “No flailing around.”
“That’s easier said than done, my lord.”
“Even so. Stick out your backside for me.”
She complied, regretfully.
“There, just right.” He tapped her lightly with the long, thick strap, pressing the edge of the protruding ginger fig. She could picture his fingers curved about the stout handle. “Hold that position until I inform you that we’re through.”
The first blow came, loud and fiery upon her skin. It hurt but was bearable. At least the servants would not hear, not all the way down here. The second blow was harder. He was warming her up, preparing her for greater torture. Yes, torture. Oww.
The third stroke had her on her toes, squeezing the ginger in her backside. It smarted terribly and made her groan. The fourth was the hardest yet.
“Keep the position,” he ordered.
She tried, oh, she tried, but by the fifth swinging stroke, her bottom felt aflame. The inside burned relentlessly from the ginger, while her cheeks felt raw from the wide strap’s impact. He gave her ten altogether, each one a bit harder, and made her stick her bottom out to receive each indignity, to be totally sure she felt every bit of hurt.
After that, he let her rest a moment. “The king would have spanked you harder, you know.”
“I doubt that.” Her voice trembled as she shifted on her feet. If only she could massage some of the pain from her molten buttocks. “Well, perhaps.”
“But a few strokes of the cane will finish you off nicely. Teach you the dangers of irritating your monarch.”
“Please, not too hard,” she begged as he took up the severe implement. “You shall make me cry.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time.” He paused a moment, placing a breathy kiss at her nape. “Nor the last, unfortunately for you.”
He stood back and she braced for the first cane stroke. It came whistling, landing like a line of horror. She let out a wail.
“Position, darling.”
How could she be expected to offer up her backside for such agony? It was all she could do to keep her feet, so she wasn’t hanging limply from the stone ceiling.
“How many?” she asked. “How many exactly?”
“As many as I like.”
Another stroke, painful and fiery. Another. She jumped and squirmed and begged. “I cannot, I cannot! Please!”
He stopped, tapping the cane upon the stone floor. “You may submit to your caning, darling, or you can submit to a buggering. I’ll allow you to choose.”
“A…a what?”
“My cock in your naughty little arsehole.”
She swallowed hard. She knew they’d been building up to that. It had begun with the occasional insertion of one or two fingers, then graduated to wooden shafts carved expressly to stretch her bottom hole open.
But none of those came close to his actual size.
“You… You might hurt me,” she said in a trembling voice. “You’ll never fit.”
“You said that about your pussy, remember? Now you ride my cock at any opportunity. I concede this might be slightly less comfortable, but you are being punished.” He turned the cane over in his hands, then tapped it against his palm. “Will it be more of the cane, or will you take your chances with a buggering?”
What a choice. The cane was terrible, but his cock in her little, tight bum hole…? It would be humiliating, and he might injure her.
“I don’t think…” She opened and closed her hands, trapped by the tight cuffs. “I’m afraid to be buggered.”
“All right, then.”
The next cane stroke caught her right under her arse cheeks, such searing pain that her breath left in a gasp.
“No, no! All right. I’ve changed my mind. I will take…the other.”