All the while Josephine stared at the cane. He was certain it looked terrifying in her eyes, and yes, it would cause her some discomfort.
Speaking of discomfort… He left his breeches on, lest he traumatize her further by his flagrant state of arousal. Josephine was squirming already, making uncomfortable noises as the ginger took effect. What a delightful target, that squirming bottom. How he’d love to release himself and plunge inside—
Punishment first, he chided himself. You lustful beast.
He took up the cane and stood beside her, placing a hand upon her lower back. “You’re to be still,” he said in his strict voice. “Palms flat on the bed.”
“Yes, my lord.” Her shaky words emerged, muffled, from within the sheets.
“We’ll have eight good strokes, and then we’ll see where you’re at.”
She bore the first stroke rather well, he thought. A sharp yelp and a little jerk. A line of pink bloomed across her buttocks as she processed the fiery sensation. “Count for me,” he reminded her, tapping upon one tensing cheek.
“Oh,” she gasped. “One.”
He made her wait a bit for the second. She clenched upon the ginger in her bottom, making hot little panting noises as she wiggled and squirmed. He laid the second stroke above the first, and the third just below. She counted with obedient determination, her whole body tense as a rail.
“Four,” she cried out at the next stroke. He’d laid it directly atop the first one and she arched up, sobbing, “Oh, please, I’m quite sure I can’t bear any more.”
“Bend over. Palms on the bed,” he reminded her. “I’ll add strokes if you don’t take your punishment the way you’ve been taught.”
“But Warren! It hurts so badly.”
“I don’t doubt it. Now, we’re halfway there. Will you bend over and take the remainder of the strokes, or shall I tie you down and add a few more?”
“May I only rub my bottom for a moment?” she begged. “And remove the ginger, just for this one spanking? Oh, my lord, please?”
“It’s to be ten strokes then,” he said. “Two extra strokes for whining and dithering.”
Josephine made a meek sound of protest but she bent over the bed and even offered out her smarting bottom.
“That’s better,” he said approvingly.
“Five,” she wailed as the caning recommenced. “Six! Oh, it hurts. It hurts! Perhaps you had better tie me down after all.”
“There are only four strokes remaining. You may have a short break to gather yourself if you really need it. To let some of the pain disperse.”
“Oh, yes, please. I would like that.”
He lifted her from the bed and put her on her knees. “You can pass the time by showing me just how sorry you are for your naughtiness.” He undid the straining front of his breeches, releasing his rigid shaft. She stared up at him, blushing, rather tearful, her bottom still tensing from the pain of the last two strokes. She accepted him in her mouth so eagerly he almost went off right then. “Stop,” he groaned. “Go slowly. Tease at all the places I’ve taught you. And don’t think to distract me from finishing the rest of your punishment, because you won’t manage it. This is only a rest.”
Oh, how easily he could have been distracted. He could have let her pleasure him for days and not grown tired of her earnest efforts, accompanied by the occasional whimper of discomfort from the ginger in her arse. She was so beautiful like this, surrendered and submissive. “Yes,” he said, stroking her hair. “A little break, then four more strokes.”
She whimpered again. Such a lovely sound, especially when she was on her knees. When his control was near to bursting, he told her to stop and bend back over the bed. She obeyed, her hands tensed into fists. The ginger’s flange nestled between her cheeks, that extra, secret punishment for very naughty penitents.
“You remember which number we’re on?” he asked.
“Seven. Ow! That was seven, my lord.” She buried her face in the sheets again. On eight, she danced on her tiptoes and made a sound that was very unladylike indeed.
“There now,” he said, staring down at his aching cock, still thrusting obscenely from the front of his pants. “We might have been finished with the punishment, mightn’t we? If you had better self-control.”
“I have terrible self-control,” she said. “I know it.”
“Then you must endure the last two.”
He made both strokes as hard as the others. No going soft, not him. She would know, and it would somehow discredit the whole punishment, to not dole out what she’d earned. She squealed and cried, and counted, and squeezed on the ginger so she bawled even harder and begged him to take it out.
“Not yet,” he said, putting down the cane. Eight distinct lines crossed her backside, since he’d laid two of the strokes atop another. He traced each one to be sure there was no broken skin. She winced every time he touched her, and shimmied her bottom so he almost lost his mind.
“I think it’s time you had a firm rogering,” he said, barely holding his voice steady. “To further fix you in your place.”
He didn’t wait for any comments of disagreement, or consent, only took her hips and plunged inside her, burying himself so deep his pelvis contacted her sensitive, caned cheeks. Her body held him tight, a perfect, fitted vessel for his aching manhood as he pounded into her. He enjoyed taking her like this, when she was sore and conflicted, for if she clenched around his cock the way she liked to, she clenched around the ginger too, constantly crossing the line between pleasure and pain.
“Are you going to be a good girl now?” he asked. “Have you learned your lesson?”
“Oh, yes, I have. I’m going to be so, so good,” she said in a tumbling whisper.
She probably hadn’t the least idea what she was saying, which was both charming and erotic. She was close to falling apart, he could feel it. By this point, he could tell just by the way she breathed. He didn’t want this to be over quickly, this surrender, this reconnection to each other, but then, they were going to be together forever. They could do this every day. Twice a day if they liked, and twice nightly.
Forever.
“Oh, Warren,” she cried, pulling at the sheets. “The way you make me feel…”
“Does it feel good? Move with me, love.” He thrust so deep and hard inside her slick warmth that they both collapsed forward onto the mattress. He leaned on one elbow so he wouldn’t crush her, and wrapped the other arm around her, holding her close and working inside her with all the passionate lust he felt. Her legs slid against his as she neared her climax. “Yes, that’s right,” he urged her. “Yes, feel me inside you. My good girl. My strong girl.”
He licked her nape and then bit it, not hard, but enough to send her over that edge into shaking, shuddering ecstasy. She cried out with an elated sound that sent a shot of pleasure to his balls and thighs. He stiffened over her, pumping all his life and love into her as she bucked beneath him. Exquisite sensation wracked him, leaving him exhausted and bathed in a feeling of bliss.
“Josephine…” He lowered himself atop her, covering her from the curve of her nape to her toes hanging off the edge of the bed. He couldn’t get close enough to her. She’d survived so many perils to reach his side, to become his wife and his lover. He wanted to shelter and protect her from any more harm, even if it meant changing his own goals and dreams. He’d uncover her goals and her dreams and they’d go forward together, always as close and connected as they were now. From now on he would be the husband she deserved, accepting her as she was. He’d give her no more reasons to run away and hide.
He made all these vows silently, in his head, but to her he only said, “I love you, I love you,” over and over, kissing her shoulders and jawline and the delicate curve of her neck. She laced her fingers through his and whispered that she loved him too.
Her love, which he’d never sought, had come to mean so much to him, had indeed changed him from the inside out, into a completely different sort o
f man. She’d changed him into a person he was proud to be. In the warm intimacy of their embrace, they soon succumbed to exhaustion. They roused themselves at some point to liberate Josephine of her ginger, and to wash, and then both of them crawled back into his bed. She lay drowsy and limp beside him as he pulled up the covers.
“Warren,” she murmured as he hugged her close. “Do you know what?”
“What, love?”
“On the way here, there was a tiger in the carriage with me.”
“A tiger? My goodness. I hope he behaved.”
Her lashes flickered, half closed. “It was only a dream.”
He kissed her lightly, once, twice, unable to resist. “You mustn’t be afraid of tigers anymore,” he said as he drew away. “Not even in your dreams.”
“I wasn’t afraid.” She drew her fingers down one of his bristly cheeks. “Because the tiger turned into you.”
“Did it now?”