Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 74156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
“It doesn’t hurt. You haven’t felt hurt yet.”
He could see the ginger’s burn take effect in the moments that followed, because her pale, heart-shaped bottom cheeks began to twitch and tense. She reached back, but he caught her hand. “No, my dear. You’re not to interfere when you’re being punished. Keep your hands in front of you, placed right against the floor.”
She obeyed with a moan, but it was, perhaps, a slightly confused sounding moan. As ginger burned and tingled, it also stimulated carnal feelings. He made as if to settle her more firmly in his lap, and brushed his fingers twice across the small, sensitive spot between her pussy lips. To his amusement, she trembled in response, moving her hips. Of course, as she squirmed, her arse squeezed the ginger, intensifying its sting. She let out a chastened gasp.
“Please, my lord, how long will it…will it stay in?”
“Call me Wescott.”
“Please, Wescott, how long must it stay in? It burns so.”
“That depends on your own behavior. Stand up now. Go to the bed and brace your hands upon it.”
She moved where he guided her, with much less resistance than before. It never failed to amaze him, how punishing a woman’s arsehole made her so much more submissive. He’d have to remember that for Ophelia’s more ornery days.
“Don’t shrink away,” he said, as she cowered against the bed. “You must present your bottom for caning, or the strokes won’t count.” He took up the solid rattan implement and gave her a couple soft taps with the tip. “You’ll receive only five strokes since this is your first time. If you don’t stand perfectly still and submit to each stroke, that number will increase to ten, then fifteen, and so on.”
He thought he heard her utter a whispered prayer. How he wanted to fall on his wife as she held the edge of his bed, her bottom tense and trembling, her feet restless upon the floor. He wished to strip off his clothes and thrust inside her pussy while the ginger burned and tormented her arse, and ride her that way until the fierce desire inside him was released. But no, she would be afraid of him in truth then, afraid of how passionate he could be.
Instead, he drew his arm back and delivered a short, crisp stroke of the cane. It was barely a tap, but on a virgin bottom like Ophelia’s, it doubtless felt awful. Her legs buckled and she let out a shocked cry.
“Oh, no. No.” She fell to her knees and turned to him. “Please.”
He’d left a faint stripe across the perfect center of her cheeks. How lovely it looked with the ginger peeking out in the midst of it, but her gaze was awash in pain.
“Stand up,” he said. “You’ve four more to go. Nine more, if you won’t cooperate.”
“I can’t. I couldn’t.” Her voice shook. “Please, my lord. I mean, Wescott.”
When he did not relent, she got to her feet and stood against his bed again, a cowering ball of reluctance. The second stroke connected, leaving another pretty mark across her bottom. Her reaction was the same, a collapse, pleas, and tears shimmering in her eyes.
“You’ve only had two strokes,” he scolded. “Five isn’t so very many to bear.”
“Please, I can’t. The ginger burns so, and my bottom feels as if it’s on fire.”
She covered her striped cheeks, begging him not to continue. He pretended disappointment, tapping the cane against his leg.
“If you will not submit to your punishment, you will have to placate me in some other way.” He placed the cane on the bed in front of her, as a reminder and threat, and sat to her side, sliding his hand down against her mons. She was hot and wet, perhaps from angst, or perhaps from some burgeoning sense of the erotic. When she moved her hips away, he made a sound in his throat.
“No, this is your only other choice besides the cane. Stand still. Let me do as I wish.”
She still held onto the bed’s edge, and looked straight ahead, avoiding his eyes as he slid his hand lower, parting her with his fingers. He found her hidden button and massaged it slowly, drawing moisture from her quim to slicken his touch.
She shifted, trying not to be affected. Her breath quickened, but she said nothing, just held tight to the bed. He rubbed her buttocks with his other hand, tracing over the pink cane welts that must still hurt. She gritted her teeth as he massaged her both places, giving her pain and pleasure in equal measure. His cock strained against his trousers. This was as excruciating for him as for her. It was also wonderful.
“Unbutton my shirt,” he ordered, giving her a quick spank when she hesitated. She set to the buttons, trying to concentrate on the task as he continued to tease and caress her hidden pearl. “Now take it off me,” he said when she finished.