Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 78100 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78100 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
She barely suppressed another giggle—God help her—and knelt instead upon the bench’s lower platform, trying to look adequately repentant. She felt very naked. Marlow openly enjoyed her nudity, stroking his hands across her curves as she positioned herself at his will.
“Kneel up straight,” he said. “Then bend across the bench properly, so your bottom’s out where it should be.”
Her bottom felt most naked of all. Once she was positioned, with her hands clenching and unclenching the curved handles provided at either side, he excused himself for a moment. She waited, feeling so very exposed, until he returned from his bedroom bearing a tray. Beneath the silver domed lid, he revealed a thick, shaved ginger root carved to a rounded shape at one end. She gazed at it, wondering what on earth it was for.
“Have you ever been figged before, darling?” he asked, noting her wide eyes.
“I—I don’t believe so.”
He chuckled. “You would know if you had. Ginger root is sometimes inserted into a naughty lady’s arsehole before she’s spanked or whipped to provide a little extra, uh, sensation. Burning, if you will.”
Rosalind gasped. “Grooms do that to horses when they’re to be shown,” she said. “Put ginger in their bottoms so they’ll carry their tails high.”
“Oh, you’ll carry your tail high,” he promised, showing her the threatening thing up close. “The cook knows, when I call for ginger, just how to feather the sides and tip of the root for maximum irritation.”
“You’re going to put it in my bottom? Here? Now?”
“Don’t make such a fuss, my dear. You’ve had things in your bottom before, very large things.”
Oh, must he remind her of that now?
“The purpose of the ginger is to make it sting when you clench your arse cheeks during a punishment,” he said. “It’s to make things more uncomfortable, you see. Punishments should be uncomfortable, as much as possible.”
She was already bent over a bench awaiting a strapping on her sore, previously spanked backside. She didn’t know how much more uncomfortable she was meant to be.
“If you can control your impulse to clench and squirm about, I’m told the ginger is less irritating,” he added, as if to be helpful.
“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…”