7. Chapter 7
C lara
My pussy is on fire, my clit an inferno of heat’s ecstasy and shame so devastating, I melt in the final thrum of my orgasm. I cry at the awful ginger plug scalding my asshole and the soothing caress of his comforting hand stroking my hair and back.
My wrists hurt, and my legs ache from the constant strain of being splayed so wide apart.
Although he’s made his point, and I can’t imagine the humiliation getting any worse, he doesn’t untie me.
He waits with me, silent, his hand never far from my skin, constantly rubbing gentle comfort until my well of useless tears finally ran dry.
Returning to the bar, he leaves me to contemplate how wrong I was.
Of course, this could get worse. The paddle is inches from my nose, long and thick, and just looking at it makes the flesh on my back crawl.
I hate having it so close, but looking away from it means turning away from Viktor, and this isn’t over yet.
If it was, he’d have untied me instead of retiring to his unfinished drink.
For the longest time, the only sound, apart from my sniffles and gasps, is the rattle of ice and alcohol in his shaker.
He pours, then leans against the bar to watch me as he sips his drink.
I don’t know what he’s waiting for, but I’m grateful for every minute.
Slowly but surely, the fire in the ginger root is dying, only the faintest heat remains in my clit, and the burning in my ass has become almost manageable.
He finishes his drink before returning to the nightstand. Picking up my partially empty glass of water, he comes back to me.
“Marry me, Princess,” he said as he helps me drink.
“No,” I gasp between swallows of the room temperature water. I hadn’t known how dry I’d become until I get that first sip.
“Are you sure?” He let me drink my fill.
I glare at him. The last thing I want is to be so cliché as to declare ‘never,’ but…
“Never!”
He chuckles. His smile is nothing like Miguel’s. Not only was his amusement handsome, but the warmth of it made his blue eyes sparkle. Tussling my hair, he takes the now empty glass back to the bar and fills it again, adding a few ice cubes before returning it to the nightstand.
Taking off his white shirt as he comes back to me, his gaze burning me hotter than the ginger root.
I flinch when his fingers brush the curve of my hip as he steps behind me.
The fire barely flares when he takes hold of the ginger plug and pulls.
I stiffen, dreading a renewed surge of discomfort, fully expecting him to fuck me with it again.
The burning had been so awful the first time, but it forces me to be honest—it was only half as awful as the unexpected pleasure.
The friction stung, the stinging hurt, and the hurt…
felt good. Every stroke he gave me stoked the fire into an agony, I’d have done almost anything to escape, but did I give in and sign his stupid contract?
No. Not only would doing so bind me to a monster, it also might have put a premature end to the exquisite pumping of that root, every in and out jolt drilling straight through my sobbing nerves to my sex.
Viktor—Daddy—had driven me to the brink of orgasm long before his expert fingers swept through my pussy folds, taking possession of my clit.
I’ve never come so hard, it made me cry, and although I tried so hard to convince myself, it was because this was all so awful—my kidnapping, my torment—it really wasn’t.
I can’t bear to face that. Turning my face from Viktor and his paddle, I try to ignore the pressure tugging at the root, but it’s impossible.
My toes curls again, but he isn’t fucking me anymore.
He plucks the ginger from me, briefly fanning a residual dying fire before I can breathe a sigh of relief.
My back passage is so tender, a sensation he lets me feel in full detail as he massages my bottom hole.
His touch feels more like a warning than a soothing caress.
“You need to think about this,” he says as he walks back to the bar. “Don’t you want to know how it feels never to have to be afraid?”
I barely open my eyes when I hear the solid thunk as he throws the root away, followed by the softer bump of the mini-fridge door opening and closing, then plastic rustles. I know that sound.
Lifting my head, I crane my neck to see what he’s doing, and he doesn’t try to hide it. He’s cutting another finger of ginger off the root hand, which looks so much bigger than the last one.
“No,” I moan.
He smiles as he picks up the paring knife to peel away the rough outer skin.
“With me, you’ll never have to worry that someone will hurt you. I won’t let it happen. Not your father. Not the Moraleses, not anyone.”
“Except you,” I point out, never mind he might consider it goading. He pauses, but the look he sends me only makes my pussy quiver. The mix of dread and excitement shivers me. “Daddy,” I whisper.
“It’ll be the paddle if you forget again,” he warns.
“You’re right. That rule applies to everyone but me.
Still, my spankings, while uncomfortable, will never be the end of the world.
Other punishments”—he held up the half-peeled ginger root—”might sting, but I promise I’ll never so much as give you a single scar.
Never fear what will happen when I’m angry.
You have far, far more to worry about when I’m amused. ”
Finished preparing the root, he brings the second ginger plug to me, my stomach sinking with every step. Picking up the lube, he looks at me.
“Make me the happiest man in existence, Princess,” he warns.
Or get another finger of ginger shoved up your ass .
Go to hell, ‘Daddy.’
“No.” I aim my mutinous frown at the bedding and only realize my mistake when he drops the lube and the ginger on the blanket beside me. “Daddy!” I hastily add, but he picks up the paddle, anyway. “I said, Daddy!”
Without a word, he walks behind me. Resting the cool hard surface of the wood dead center across my cringing backside, he ignores my squeal as he takes aim. His arm sweeps back.
C-R-A-C-K!
The pain is everything his hand spanking wasn’t, and like nothing I’ve ever experienced, including the time my father broke two of my ribs.
Maybe it’s because my bottom is already so tender or my splayed position. My ass is taut, and I can’t wriggle or cringe away. I can’t do anything except take it.
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…