Page 58 of Her Celtic Captor

“Will this do?”

“Yes, that will do very well indeed. Now you may kneel here, at my feet, and wait in silence while I prepare for your punishment.” He took the ginger from her and placed it on the table, then he retrieved his woollen trousers from the floor where he had discarded them when he first came in.

“Should I get dressed too?”

“What part of kneel in silence was not quite clear to you, Brynhild?”

He was gratified when she lowered her gaze and laid her hands on the tops of her bare thighs. So far, she seemed ready to comply though that might well change when she came to fully comprehend the humiliation he intended to visit on her. It was fitting though, since Brynhild had made it her business to humble and humiliate Fiona and the penalty to be exacted should reflect that. If his proud Viking truly did wish to make amends she would accept the justice he offered.

Taranc extracted the small dagger he always kept tucked in is belt and seated himself at the table. He did not speak to Brynhild as he sliced the thickest of the fingers from the rest and started to peel the ginger. Once he had completed that task he set to carving a deep groove all the way around it, about an inch from the end. He worked with care, taking his time as Brynhild knelt beside him. He did not glance at her, though he knew full well her eyes rarely shifted from the spicy root in his hands. The pungent aroma teased his nostrils and he knew she must smell it too.

Little did she know…

“There, I believe that will do.” Taranc set the root aside and laid down his dagger. “Now, if you would be so good as to lay across my lap, I shall place the ginger where it needs to go.”

“Where… where does it need to go?” Her voice shook. Perhaps she was beginning to suspect.

Taranc’s tone was deliberately casual as he replied. “It is to go inside your pretty arse, my sweet Viking. So if you will just position yourself as I asked, I can get on with putting it there.”

“My…? No, that is… it is….” Her eyes widened, her shock and dismay apparent. She shuffled back as though she might even now elude his punishment.

It was already much too late for that.

“Brynhild, do not provoke me further by making this difficult. I have told you what is to happen and your only task here is to submit and to obey. This is your punishment, this and the spanking you will shortly endure. The ginger will make the sensation all the more… intense, but this is what you want, is it not? This is the price of the forgiveness you seek.”

“I do not understand. How…?”

“Brynhild, you will place yourself over my lap at once, and cease asking questions. All will be clear soon enough.” Taranc deliberately sharpened his tone. Obedience was required, not conversation. He expected her to do as she was told, and to do it now.

Slowly, hesitantly, Brynhild got to her feet. She approached him, placed her hand on his wool-clad knee, then with a soft whimper she laid down across his lap.

Taranc took a moment to admire her slender back and rounded buttocks as they were displayed before him. Her skin was pale in comparison to his own sun-kissed torso, testimony to her Nordic heritage and to a life spent in a cool climate. He trailed the backs of his fingers down her spine, noting the way she trembled under his touch but did not squirm or wriggle. She was scared, apprehensive, but she was ready to surrender to his demands.

“This is good. Now you will reach back with both your hands and hold your buttocks apart for me.”

Brynhild gasped. “I cannot. You cannot ask me to do that.”

“I have not asked you, I have told you. Now you will obey.”

And she did. After just a moment or two of hesitation, Brynhild stretched her arms behind her and dug her fingers into the fleshy curves of her bottom. She pulled the soft globes apart, exposing the tight ring of muscle which guarded her secret entrance, soon to be breached.

“I cannot see properly. Lift your bottom up a little more. Show me your arse, Brynhild, then ask me to place the ginger inside your hole.”

Taranc’s cock leapt to granite hardness as she adjusted her position to afford him a better view. She planted her feet firmly on the rough earth floor in order to lift her buttocks higher and tip a little further forward on his lap.

“Spread your legs, too. I want to see your pretty cunny, and watch your arousal grow as I spank you.”

At another time she might have disputed the prospect of arousal, but she merely widened her stance to expose her plump lower lips to his view. Despite her nervousness, and the humiliation he was heaping upon her with the promise of worse to come, her clitty was already swollen and peeking out from under the hood which sheathed it. Taranc saw no reason not to enjoy himself by toying with her for a while.

He laid the tip of his finger on her clit and circled the sensitive nub, slow at first, his touch the barest whisper. He increased the speed and pressure as she swelled and writhed, only stopping when he sensed she was close to her climax. He traced the outer edges of her entrance, his touch idle now as he collected her moisture on his fingers.

“I shall use your own juices to ease the way for the ginger because I am not a heartless man, but be under no illusion that this will be easy. The natural oils from the root will provide some help, I daresay, but they will feel as though they are burning your tender skin. This is a most sensitive place, my proud Viking, as you are soon to discover.”

As he spoke he laid the tip of his middle finger against the tight pucker and started to press. Brynhild resisted, squeezing against him as though to deny him entrance. Taranc lifted his hand and dropped a sharp slap onto her upturned buttock.

“Stop that. You will allow me entry.” Again, his tone was sharp, stern.

“I… I apologise. I did not intend…”!

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