by Liza Gaines
All that pent up sound finally breaks free in a throaty moan when he uses one hand to spread my cheeks and presses the ginger against my anus with the other. Even though I’m wearing a blindfold, I close my eyes tightly and hum against the bedspread. It’s exquisite torture, feeling the slight pressure of the ginger, and I want him to both stop and keep going. From prior experience, I know you don’t need lube with ginger because the root is quite moist and because lube will dull the sensations of the ginger oil on the sensitive tissue. But in the moment before he pushes it inside of me I’m still wishing he would use it.
“Relax.”
I do and with just a little push from Todd the ginger slides easily into place. I gasp because even though nothing is happening yet the ginger is cold. It takes a while for the effects to set in and that’s part of the torment of figging. You know it’s coming but you don’t know exactly when and there’s nothing to do but wait. Fortunately, this time, it doesn’t take long.
The ginger starts to burn a little and I want to squirm to try and get away from it but that won’t do any good. I’m stuck with it until Todd decides I’ve had enough. I take a deep, steadying breath and remind myself that ginger loses its effectiveness after a half an hour or so. That’s not so bad. Thirty minutes. I can do that. But even as I silently repeat that in my head, like a mantra, the sting is intensifying and my eyes start to water.
“How’s that feel?”
I shudder and I could swear I feel a tight little spasm in my pussy. I’m so keyed up, so desperate for his touch, that the sound of his voice is almost just as good. Almost. But it’s not quite what I need.
“It burns, Master.” I try to sound calm, collected but I fail miserably, my voice wobbling.
“I’m going to cane you now.”
I draw in a sharp breath, more of a hiss really. On its own, the ginger hurts but this is the really awful thing about figging—if you’re flogged or caned or spanked, your body’s natural reaction is to tense against the impact. But clenching down on a piece of ginger root transforms what was previously a mid-level burning sensation into an off the charts feeling of being scalded from the inside out. The best thing to do is remain perfectly relaxed during the caning. That’s a hell of a lot easier said than done.
The first strike of the cane lands squarely in the center of my bottom and, despite willing myself to remain still, my muscles spasm and clench in response. I howl with shocked disappointment. I’d known what to expect and still I did exactly the wrong thing. I take several deep breaths, forcing myself to relax and I sigh with relief when the searing pain subsides into an almost pleasant discomfort.
After that, I manage to avoid gripping the ginger with the subsequent lashes of the cane. My skin is tight and sore, my blood thick and sluggish. I’m lightheaded and I’ve found that place where the pain feels good. Not just tolerable, but really good. I want it, I want as much as he will give me. I cry out incoherently, begging for more and soaring when I get it.
It’s almost a compulsion to rock my hips against the mattress but I resist the urge to do so. Instead, I try not to think about the way my pussy is throbbing with need, the way my thighs are slick with my own arousal. It doesn’t work though. When I’m this lit up on endorphins—like the National Christmas tree on steroids—it’s impossible to think of anything else no matter how hard I try. All sense of time and place is gone. All sense of me is gone. The only thing my body knows is that it wants release. It wants everything and nothing and it will do anything to get what it wants. Nothing else matters but satisfying the need that can’t ever be fully sated.
“That’s my girl.” Todd must have set the cane aside because, as I listen to his crooning endearment, he’s tracing one fingertip over my bottom, following the welts the cane has left, and admiring his handiwork. Judging by the path he takes, he’s left a neat row of raised red stripes on my ass. His feather light caress reaches the lowest welt, just under the curve of my ass, and I shiver because that one is more sensitive than the others. But his cool, dry touch is soothing and I lift up, reaching for more. My punishment for that infraction is the loss of him altogether because he takes his hand away quickly with a sound of displeasure.
Seconds later—because it only takes seconds for me to plummet into insecurity and despair, thinking I’ve ruined everything and he’s never going to touch me again—he gives my ass a firm, open-handed smack. It’s not that hard, really more of a pat than a smack, but it reignites the lines of fire the cane cut into my skin. I twitch in response. It’s a totally uncoordinated spasm and I’d feel foolish about it if I were more aware of myself. He laughs, a deep rolling rumble. It’s like thunder, beautiful and terrifying all at once, and it sets every hair on my body on end.
He pulls me off the bed and I’m boneless, completely unable to support myself, so I just sort of crumple at his feet. The ginger is starting to lose its effectiveness, either that or I’m just getting used to it. Either way, the slowly ebbing sensation has me wanting more. Always more.
Todd fists his hand in my hair and roughly pulls me up on my knees. He’s still wearing the towel around his waist and, because I’m eager to express my desire to please him, I rub my face against the damp terry cloth. With his free hand he tugs the towel, loosening it and then tossing it aside to be replaced against my cheek by the taut skin of his abdomen. I open my mouth instinctively. Still bound and blindfolded, I am at his mercy. But I know what I want.
He caresses my cheek, an affectionate touch that has me turning my face into his palm with a contented sigh. It sounds strange, right? That in the middle of all of this I could be content. But I am, wholly so. His hand skims to my jaw, gripping my chin with his fingers and angling my head into just the right position. All but bursting with anticipation, I need to move. It’s like a bad case of caffeine high, my nervous system firing in overdrive, every synapse in my body, it seems, thrumming with barely contained excitement. Keeping still is a matter of mind over body, and so far my mind is winning. Barely, but it is winning.
“Deep breath, Jen.” As he speaks, he pushes into my mouth and then stops with the swollen tip of his erection lying on my tongue. My breath catches, rattling in my chest, and just as I exhale he drives forward, forcing himself into my throat. I gag because no matter how many times he’s done this before, I’m not ever prepared for that first invasion. Ignoring my distress, because he knows as well as I do it will be short-lived, he draws back and plunges in again. This time I’m ready and though some small part of my brain panics at the restriction to my breathing, there is no more gagging or choking.
He sets a frenetic pace, fucking my mouth with both hands gripped in my hair to hold me steady. He’s grunting with each thrust, his breath coming in rapid gasps. I moan around his cock because I love being used like this. The tiny muscles in my center are spasming with need, my cunt throbbing. If my arms weren’t cuffed behind my back I would surely have one hand between my legs, stroking my engorged clit. Even thinking about doing that makes me shiver and cry out, a messy muffled gurgling sound because I’m drooling badly.
I think he’s about to come and I brace myself for it, preparing to greedily swallow it all. So I’m surprised when instead he pulls out of my mouth and lets go of my hair. I’m so startled by this unexpected turn that I collapse on the floor again, a heap of miserable longing. I’m so empty I feel hollow and now he’s denying me his orgasm, too. It’s so cruelly unfair and so perfectly right.
I’m busy feeling sorry for myself so he’s already removed the cuffs and is helping me onto my hands and knees before I even realize what’s happening.
“Arms good?”
I roll my shoulders and shake my arms a little before nodding. He seems satisfied with that response and moves behind me, spreading me wide again with one hand. Two thick fingers slide along the seam of my ass until he reaches the ginger and deftly removes it, tossing it in a nearby trashcan. I’d sort of forgotten it was there—as unbelievable as that seems—but now, wit
h it gone, the emptiness I already felt is even more intense.
The tear of a wrapper is so loud to my hypersensitive ears it’s almost deafening. A new flood of moisture soaks my inner thighs because I know now, finally, he’s going to fuck me. Leaning forward on my elbows, ass in the air, I press my face to the carpet and sob. I need this so very much, it’s overwhelming, almost more than I can bear.
Todd leans over my back, his erection rubbing over my heated bottom, and grabs my hair again, pulling me back up on my hands. The minute he releases me, though, I begin to sink down on my forearms again and he growls his displeasure, hauling me up and smacking me hard on the bottom. The impact is strong enough I’m sure he’s left a handprint and the bruised welts from the cane respond with a pleasant throb. I imagine what it must look like and wish I could see it. Maybe it will still be there later and I can take a peek in the bathroom mirror. I want to remember the way my ass looks with the shape of his hand overlaying the stinging red lines he’d left earlier with the cane.
Determined to keep me in this position, he doesn’t let go of my hair this time. With one fluid movement, he shifts behind me and buries his cock in my pussy. The sense of fullness and satisfaction is so complete I scream with relief. He resumes his earlier driving pace, slamming into me over and over. My muscles flutter and contract, embracing his erection each time it slides over my g-spot. He tugs on my hair hard, using it for leverage, and my neck arches sharply so I’m staring at the ceiling. Or, would be, if I weren’t still wearing the blindfold.
One of Todd’s rules for his submissive partners, and one of the most difficult for me, is that they are not allowed to climax until after he does. Every cell in my body is begging for release—has been since I peeled the ginger—and it’s difficult for me to hold that back now. Especially because he likes to draw things out in a dance of deprivation. It’s beautiful, horrible torture. I try to focus on my breathing, the bite of the carpet on my already rug burned knees, anything to distract myself from the swelling tide of pleasure that is sure to sweep me under if I let down my resistance for even a fraction of a second.
“Fuck. So good.” Todd paws at the strings holding the blindfold in place and when it finally comes free, I whimper and squint, my already watering eyes oversensitive to the light. He leans over my back then, one hand encircling my throat and turning my face awkwardly to the side. With the other hand, he reaches under me, slapping my clit with two fingers. Groaning miserably, I squeeze my eyes closed, wishing I still had the blindfold. If I came now, without his permission, it wouldn’t be the first time. But today, I’d rather die than orgasm first because I don’t want our last encounter to be disappointing for either of us. And he’s so close, I can feel his cock throb inside of me. I just need to hold on a little bit longer.
“Gonna come.”
I jerk my head, intending to nod but not really able to do so properly.
“Come with me.”
He spanks my clit again, sending a bolt of intense pleasure throbbing through my veins to settle in my pussy with a bloom of scalding heat. I’m so lost in that feeling it takes me a second to realize what he’s said. He wants me to come with him? His declaration is so confusing, so out of character, I might break the no-speaking-unless-spoken-to rule and ask what he meant. But I don’t have a chance because after one more sharp slap to my clit, he starts to stroke it, firmly and with perfect rhythm to chase all thought away. All that’s left of me is that pulsing cluster of nerve endings. So when he says it again, this time with the tone of command, I’m helpless to do anything but obey.
My climax is so powerful I almost pass out. The only thing keeping me lucid is Todd’s own shout of release. I’ve had some pretty intense orgasms in my life—plenty of them with Todd—but this one, it’s different in a way I can’t define. I gasp for breath, hyper-aware of Todd’s hands on my body, his hips grinding against me, his cock pulsing inside of me.
Utterly exhausted and completely spent, we collapse together into a sweaty heap on the floor. Todd rolls away from me, disposing of the condom, and when he returns, he gathers me against his chest, idly caressing my back, petting and soothing me. The last of my orgasm is drifting away and with it the freedom I always feel during a scene. I sniffle against his chest, hating myself even as I do it, but reality is crashing in on me. I hate that I have to leave, I hate that things can’t be different, I hate that Todd is a damn good man and yet, he isn’t the man for me.
Neither of us says anything for a long time and when he finally does, I’ve managed to get some control over my raw emotions.
“God, I wish we weren’t so fucked up, Jen.”
That was the wrong thing to say and I’m immediately defensive, angry. We—Todd and Jen, as a unit—are not fucked up. We might have a non-traditional relationship, and certainly there’s no love of the romantic variety involved, but we are steady, reliable. I always know what to expect from Todd and I depended on the structure and stability he provided. Most people wouldn’t understand it, but it had worked well for us for almost four years. It would still be working well for us if I hadn’t made a fool of myself over his best friend. How dare he say we were fucked up?
Ready to argue and tell him how cruel it is to say such a thing, I tip my head to look at him but the expression on his face brings me up short. I stare, sputtering, and try to hide that the vulnerability in his eyes is breaking my heart. He didn’t mean that we, together, were fucked up. He meant that we, individually, were fucked up and I couldn’t very well argue with that because he was absolutely right.
“Yeah, me, too.” I’m still a little breathless and I hope he can hear my sincerity.
“You don’t have to go, you know. We could work around—”
“Yes, I do. Maybe it’s better this way anyway.” I lay my head back on his chest because it’s just too hard to look at him while we talk about this.
“How do you figure?”
“Well, I think maybe we’re codependent. Or something like that. We make each other feel better but that’s not necessarily making us better.”
Todd’s quiet for a moment, thoughtful. I can almost hear the wheels turning in his head as he considers what I’ve said. Finally, he simply shrugs and says, “Yeah, maybe. I don’t know.”
“Where are Kim and Suzie?” I’d been so upset when he first came home, and so distracted since then, it hadn’t occurred to me to wonder until now where they were. But they live here with him, just like I do —did. So their absence was definitely planned.
“The mall. Suzie snatched my credit card and said something about massages and pedicures and who knows what the fuck else.” Todd snorts before adding, “They’ll be home in a while.”
I pull away from him and get up, retrieving the clothes I’d left on the dresser when I packed earlier. I start to dress and ask, “Will you tell them I said goodbye?”
“You don’t have to go right this second, Jen. Why don’t you wait and say goodbye yourself?” Todd gets up and sits on the edge of the bed, watching me with apprehension.
“No. I can’t…I don’t want…No. I’m sorry. Will you just tell them?” My voice is cracking like a teenage boy and it hurts to swallow around the lump in my throat. It’s hard enough to leave. The prospect of seeing Suzie and Kim, of having to say goodbye to them, it’s just too much.
“Okay, sure.”
Avoiding Todd’s gaze, I finish dressing in silence. When I’m done, Todd wraps the towel around his hips again and walks with me to the front door. I pick up my two bags, still unable to look at him, and mumble, “There’s a couple of boxes in my bedroom still. When I figure out where I’m going to end up I’ll let you know, if you could ship them to me or something.”
“Hey, I’ll hand deliver them if you stay in the area.” His voice is warm, affectionate, and it makes it all the harder to say what I need to say.
“I think it’s best if you don’t, Todd. I think…” I trail off lamely, uncertain how to tell him that I’ll always car
e about him but that I don’t think we should see one another again. Probably, ever.
“I get it.” He nods briskly and sounds a little hurt but I think he really does get it. If nothing else, Todd is always pretty good at understanding me. Takes a broken person to know one, I guess.
“Goodbye, Todd.”
“Goodbye, Jen.” Todd leans forward and brushes a soft kiss across my temple. It makes me want to linger just a little longer. But I can’t.
It’s time to start over.
About the Author
Liza Gaines grew up in Michigan before moving to Northern Virginia in 2007. She misses her family and the Great Lakes but has otherwise fallen in love with her adopted home state.
The magic of getting lost in a book is one of her favorite things and is what led her to begin writing. She also loves cook, baking, and visiting the many historical sites in the Mid-Atlantic with her history buff husband and their two dogs.
Email: [email protected]
Website: http://www.lizagaines.com
Also by Liza Gaines
The Tangled Series:
Little Bird