This is real punishment, and it only takes one stroke for me to realize it—in every nuance of my being, in every shrieking, burning nerve he just set on stinging fire. I barely hear my own howl of pain as I’m knocked what precious inches of movement his bonds had left to me that much farther over the footrail.
Agony blazes across the whole of my ass, throbbing and stinging beyond bearing.
“Are we finished being disrespectful?” he asks, almost kindly.
“Yes, Daddy!” Tears rush my eyes. Not because of what I’m forced to say, but because the smarting pain was steadily intensifying. With every passing second, it grew worse, refusing to diminish. The spanking was over, and it’s supposed to get better. Why isn’t it getting better?
“Are we going to forget again?”
“No, Daddy!” My bonds rattle against the footrail as I writhe, the stinging melting into throbbing, but I can’t hold still.
“Will you marry me?”
That froze me. Was he going to swat me again if I said no?
“Shh, shh.” He pats my hip before laying the paddle down on the bed once more. “There’s no risk of punishment for that question.”
“Unless I say yes.” I sniffle, my mouth engaging before my brain can stop it. Oh, shit. “Daddy,” I rush to add.
“Are you suggesting marriage to me is its own punishment?” he asked, amusement at war with surprise in his voice.
He’s going to hit me again. I just know it. I lock my lips, fighting to keep from saying anything that might get me deeper into trouble.
He laughs. Not a chuckle meant to mock me, but an actual laugh.
“All right, that’s funny. I can’t even get upset.” Patting my hip, he reclaims the lube and discarded finger of freshly peeled ginger.
“Nooo!” Burying my face in the mattress doesn’t stop it from happening. Not seeing it doesn’t make the ginger go away. The cold dab of gel briefly soothes what little burn remains from the last punishment. “Please don’t… Daddy, please! Please?”
He doesn’t open me with his thumb this time. The carved tip of the ginger sweeps up and down between my buttocks, teasing me with every pass. Already the juices of the irritant are sinking into my flesh, making me tingle cold but all too quickly bursting into fire as the root plug settles into position. He isn’t slow like before, pushing it all in with one hard and deep thrust. I yelp, every muscle jumping and straining to escape the thrust of the larger plug, but even as I shout, I’m surprised it doesn’t hurt more.
The brief duration between ginger root plugs hadn’t been long enough for my sphincter to tighten. My bottom hole is tender and raw, and it will only get worse as the juices ignite a whole new bonfire. Back to hell I tumbled, with Viktor’s low chuckle accompanying each plunge as he fucks me with the plug.
“You like this too much to want to stop it.”
Like this? I bite the bedding to keep from whimpering or worse, begging him to stop. He already has me at the point where I can’t hold still. The burning, stinging is impossible to bear. I want it out. I want it over with immediate access to a refrigerator and all the ice cubes I can sit on. Still, when he cups my pussy in his other hand, my flowing arousal bathes his teasing fingers.
“God,” I pant. I could have come from that alone. I almost did, but the fire… the fire…
It’s consuming me, hurting me, elevating every twist and thrust of the root as he pumps it… amplifying every sensation—his fingers on my clit, his thumb pushing into my pussy. I’m writhing, not just to ginger’s fire, but to the pressure of being filled and stroked in two places at once.
“That’s why you don’t want to sign, isn’t it?” He strokes his thumb and the ginger in and out in gentle tandem. “You’re afraid I’ll stop this beautiful torment. You think you’ll never feel it again. I promise, Princess, this is just a taste of what we’ll explore togeth—”
My gasp stops him when his thumb sinks too deep, bumping up against a barrier, sending a shot of real discomfort through me.
“You’re kidding,” he says, but his tone so void of expression that suddenly all eroticism vanishes, leaving me bathing in fire and the merciless uncertainty that I’ve just done something incredibly wrong.
I don’t have a clue what, but that doesn’t matter. My father has honed the warning bells with a heavy-handed precision, I can’t help reacting to. It’s knee-jerk. The moment his voice changed, I wrench sideways as far as my bonds would allow just so I could see how much danger I’m in.
He seems more surprised than angry, which startles me.
“There’s no way you’re a virgin. What are you, nineteen? Twenty?”
“I’m twenty-two,” I protest, unsure how or why that should make a difference.
“Of course, you are,” he says to himself. “When would he have let you out of his sight, much less his control long enough to get into that kind of mischief?”
He removes his thumb but not the plug, which continues to flame away as he comes to sit on the bed beside me. He looks at me, calculation glistening deep in his devil-blue eyes.
