Page 52 of Wicked Games

“Yes, Richard,” she answered obediently as her wide emerald eyes stared at each movement of the knife in my hand.

“This particular punishment was used on female slaves in ancient Greece when they were also foolish enough to defy their masters.”

Flick. Flick. Flick.

Slowly the small hard nubs and rough outer skin were shaved away to show the stiff, yellow fibrous ginger.

“It is designed to inflict maximum pain and discomfort without marring their… property.”

To her credit, she remained silent, save for the rapid rise and fall of her chest with her anxious breathing. She looked like a rabbit caught in an open field by an angry beast, desperately hoping if they stayed still for long enough, the beast would lose interest and move on. It rarely worked out that way for the little rabbit.

“It is called figging. It’s also called gingering the tail and is used to make horses carry their tail high and to encourage movement.”

Flick. Flick. Flick.

The piece of ginger was now twice the thickness of my thumb and about three inches long. An intense size for her first figging but then again, I had promised myself to no longer be lenient. It was for her own good.

“Are you sensing a theme, my dear? Punishment. Obedience. Responsiveness. Movement.”

Elizabeth wet her lips. “Please, Richard. I don’t need to be punished. I promise I’ll be good from now on.”

I placed the wet tip of the gingerroot against her lower lip and rubbed it around her mouth. “You’re wrong. You do need this punishment.”

The tip of her small pink tongue traced the path of the gingerroot. I watched as a spark of fear shone in her eyes from the slight sting its juices left on her tongue. I stepped away to replace the knife on the tray. I wanted to give her imagination a moment to think of where I would probably be placing the ginger. In any punishment, the imagination was as important a tool as a leather strap or restraints. In fact, I would argue even more important. In many cases, I could never inflict the type of pain she was currently spinning over in her little head, as bad as the pain I was about to inflict would be.

Returning to the chair, I stepped between her open thighs. The chair’s upper tier placed her body perfectly at my waist. She whimpered and tried in vain to close her knees but the stirrups kept her legs spread too far open.

Taking the tip of the gingerroot, I pushed it between the folds of her cunt. Taking a moment, I circled her clit a few times before applying just the slightest pressure against her entrance. Her body tensed as she held her breath. Again, I paused for her imagination to play. I then continued to her puckered back entrance. Using my one hand, I pushed her cheeks open a little wider to expose the dark pink hole with its tiny valley of ridges and peaks.

Adjusting my grip on the root, I pressed the tip against her hole and pushed.

Elizabeth tried to shimmy her hips back and away from my touch but the restraints prevented her.

I pushed harder, watching the yellow, fibrous cylinder slide into her resisting hole.

I could hear her gasp then still, holding her breath. Bracing for the pain. After a moment, she began to relax. I smiled. My poor pet didn’t realize it would take a moment for the ginger’s full effect to hit.

With anticipation, I stood between her open thighs and watched… and waited. I wanted to observe the very moment her body began to react.

I didn’t have to wait long.

Her fingers clenched into fists as her feet began to shift and pull in the stirrups with the movement of her hips.

“Oh, God. It’s starting to burn!” she exclaimed.

I had cut a deep ridge at the base of the root to form a plug, so she would be unable to push the gingerroot out. Now I watched her anus tremble and twitch as she tried to do just that. The pink skin began to glisten as some of the ginger juice was pushed out.

As the burn intensified, her cheeks and chest began to flush as her eyes glazed over.

“Please! Make it stop!”

Moving over to the table, I picked up a well-oiled leather strap. It was actually an authentic Victorian era Army Hospital Corp leather belt. Authenticity was so important with such things. The heavy brown leather had carefully been maintained over the years with oil and use, so it remained as supple and flexible as it was back in 1884. I particularly liked the circular interlocking buckle with the Queen’s crown on it.

Stretching the belt between my two fists, I once more approached Elizabeth. By now her cheeks were flushed an angry red as her body writhed on the chair.

“Ow! It’s burning! It’s burning!”

The harsh ginger juice within the delicate, unprotected skin of her anus would feel like acid on a wound. And it was only about to get worse.

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