Page 59 of Her Celtic Captor
“Just relax if you can, Brynhild, but if you cannot manage that then you will submit to this anyway. Do not resist.”
“No, Sir. I understand. I… oh!”
She let out a sharp squeal as he twisted his finger and it entered her up to the first knuckle. Taranc paused, allowed her a few moments to adjust, then he pushed the rest of his finger into her tight rear hole.
“Good. Thank you.” He rotated his finger inside her as Brynhild panted, her breath warm against his bare ankle. “Am I hurting you?”
“N-no, Sir. It just feels very odd.”
He supposed it would but saw no merit in commenting further. Instead he reached for the peeled ginger root.
“I could slacken your hole by driving my finger in and out, like this…” he demonstrated with a couple of quick, deep strokes which left Brynhild groaning on his lap, “maybe add another finger, perhaps two. On another occasion, probably, I will. But for today, I want you to remain tight, and grip the root hard to gain maximum benefit from the lesson I intend to teach you this night. It will be more painful, and more memorable for you. A true penance. Are you not delighted that I have considered so thoroughly your need for atonement, my Viking?”
Brynhild was silent, for once. That would not do.
“Have you forgotten that you are to ask me to insert the ginger?”
“I… I have not forgotten.”
Taranc waited, the pungent root poised between his fingers.
“Please, Sir, would you place the ginger inside me?” Her voice was small, barely audible.
“Inside you? Where inside you, exactly?”
“In… in my arse, Sir.”
“It will be my pleasure, though probably not yours.” Slowly, deliberately, he withdrew the finger which had penetrated her arsehole. The pink pucker remained slightly open, quivering as she waited. Taranc placed the end without the groove against the tight entrance, and he pushed.
“Oh. Oh!” Brynhild let out a moan as the root slid into her.
Taranc paused when the first inch disappeared and turned the ginger slowly in her tight rear channel. Her entire body trembled but she managed to maintain the firm grip she had established on her buttocks as she held them open for him, and she remained still. Taranc pressed again and the rest of the root slipped past the coil of muscle which closed snugly around the groove he had carved, holding the intruder in place.
“You may let go now, and relax. It is in.”
“Is… is that it?” She sounded quite hopeful.
“Not quite. There remains the matter of your spanking.”
“Of course. How many spanks will you?—?”
“Until I decide you are truly sorry. And Brynhild, be assured, you will be very, very sorry by the time I am finished.”
“Perhaps you should get on with it, then.”
Ah, belligerent as ever.“I believe I shall wait a moment or two. Until I am quite sure I have your attention.”
“What do you mean? I… oh, oh that stings. It is burning me…”
“Ah, the ginger is starting to take effect. In a minute or so it will reach the point where you are unable to remain still or gain any relief. When you reach that point you will tell me, and I shall commence your spanking.”
Brynhild whimpered and wriggled on his lap. She reached back again, as though she might grasp the root herself and pull it out. Taranc captured her flailing hands and folded them in the small of her back.
“Tell me when you are ready to start, my Viking.” It would not be long now.
“I think… I think…. Oh! Oooh!”
Right, then.Taranc started to drop slaps onto her upturned buttocks, slow at first, setting up a steady rhythm. Each spank caused her firm flesh to indent, then spring back, reshaping into its former curve, the mark of his hand a pink smudge on her pale skin. The sight was glorious, made even more so by the inch of pale golden ginger protruding from her delectable arse.
