by Maggie Ryan
Though she couldn't comprehend why they were having a discussion about food at this particular moment, she gave her answer. "Yes, it's a fruit…"
"No, Anna, not figs, figging."
"Oh, um, I guess not."
"That's fine, this isn't a test, it was just a question."
If he thought that offered her any comfort, he was wrong. Lying on the table and holding herself open to expose her most intimate parts countered any solace he could offer unless he told her she could get up from the embarrassing position. When he didn't continue, she couldn't help but ask, "So, what is figging?"
"I'm glad you asked," he said, rotating the peeled root. "You'll notice that I peeled only part of the ginger. You will also notice that I've shaped it."
Focusing on the root, she could see that he had. It was tapered to almost a point on one end with a large bulge in the middle before narrowing again. The peeled flesh ended and the root bulged out again, still covered in its greyish green skin. She could also see where he'd scored the length of the peeled flesh, but the area where the skin remained had not been cut, leaving the bumpy knobs intact. After another moment, he continued.
"Figging is an age-old way to help naughty young ladies understand that any lie, even those by omission, causes discomfort. Would you like to know how?"
Suddenly, she had absolutely no desire whatsoever to learn how a root she'd never given much thought to could be used to convey such a lesson. Obviously, her husband didn't feel the same reluctance.
"To fig someone is to insert a peeled ginger plug well up the backside of the naughty wife."
"Wha…" she barely caught herself before finishing the word he'd just stated he was tired of hearing.
"Good girl." He patted her bare buttock. "The plug is scored to assure that its juices are coaxed to the surface."
"May I ask why?"
"Yes, you may. I believe you'll understand in just a moment."
She instantly wished she'd be allowed to ask any question she could think of. Anything to keep him from what he was doing, which was stepping away from the table to move behind her.
She couldn't help but jerk when he touched her bottom-hole. "Relax, I'm going to put my finger inside to loosen you."
Embarrassment flooded through her and she moaned when he began to press a finger into her bottom. It was an act that she had mixed feelings about. It never failed to embarrass her when he pumped his finger in and out of her while lecturing her on her behavior. Whenever he would give her a look and ask if she needed a 'reminder', she knew she'd better straighten up or she'd be told to lower her drawers and bend over. She'd then find a finger up her bum. However, when they were making love and he pressed a finger or more into her backside, she felt pleasure—mixed with a bit of shame at feeling that pleasure. By the time she'd contemplated this, he was withdrawing his finger.
"Good girl. Now let's get you plugged, shall we?"
She whimpered when the cold tip of the vegetable touched her pucker.
"Relax, Anna."
"It's cold!"
"Not for long," he said cryptically. "It should slide in pretty easily now that I've loosened you up a bit."
God, did he have to be so blatant about what he'd done? She squealed when he began to seat the plug, the cold, slick root moving into a dark, warm place; a place she was positive it had no right to be. She squealed again when the larger bulge met the resistance of her muscles.
"It's too big!"
"Annabelle, we both know that you've had far bigger things up your backside."
Let her die now. Poor Johnny would be motherless but he'd only have his Pa to blame. She could see her tombstone already: 'Here Lies Annabelle Rose—Beloved Mother and Naughty Wife.' Would they at least remove the horrid root from her arse before laying her in her coffin?
"Another good property of ginger is that it makes clenching very uncomfortable. Now, push back and let me finish plugging you, or I'm going to give you a long, hard paddling." Again he seemed to read her mind as she opened her mouth. "And no, Anna, I'm not offering a paddling instead of the plug. I'm promising that you'll receive both."
She finally surrendered to the inevitable and pushed against the plug. Another few pushes, and she gave a sharper squeal as it popped through her inner ring of muscles and slid all the way inside.
"You can release your cheeks and stand."
Anna slowly moved her hands away, bracing herself for some instant pain. Realizing that all she felt was a bit of discomfort, she pushed herself up from the table.
"Step out of your bloomers."
After obeying, she waited for further instructions.
"You may do your churning."
"Oh, um, okay." She didn't know whether to mention that his figging, while highly embarrassing, wasn't that uncomfortable. In fact, if not for the knobbly part forcing her cheeks to remain slightly apart, she wouldn't have known she was being punished. Deciding that he'd wouldn't appreciate learning that his plan hadn't worked, she decided he'd rather think she was giving quiet contemplation to her punishment. Walking to the churn, she lifted the paddle and began to move it up and down.
Richard washed his hands, poured a cup of coffee, and took a seat at the table.
"Um, aren't you going to do chores?" she asked him.
"Matthew and Roger can start without me. Right now, I have a little wife to tend to."
Not knowing what to say, and sure she didn't particularly want to know what his last statement alluded to, she simply nodded and continued to move the dash. It usually took about thirty minutes before she felt the beginning of resistance that signaled the cream was solidifying into butter. She could remain quiet and obediently work for that long.
* * * * *
Richard knew the moment the root began to work. He was well attuned to his wife's responses and knew she was wondering what he'd been thinking after placing the root inside her. He'd watched as Anna began to move the dash up and down. She'd sent him a few quick glances and he'd had to bite back his smile. No doubt existed that she was questioning his sanity. Well, she'd learn that there were far more creative ways to discipline a wife than spanking.
He watched as she stiffened and the churning came to a complete stop.
"Oh!"
"Something wrong?" he asked.
"Um, no." She began to churn again, though much more slowly. He gave her a few more minutes and then stood and walked to the kitchen to refill his cup. From his position, he could see a fine bead of sweat on her forehead, and that her lips were set in a thin line.
"Is there resistance?"
Her head whipped towards him. "Resistance?"
"In the cream. I thought it took longer than this to feel resistance. You seem to be having trouble with moving the dash."
She shook her head and began lifting the dash higher and practically slamming it down. He wondered if she were imagining it was his body she was pounding. That thought had him thinking about other things, but those would have to wait until this little lesson was completed.
"Careful, honey, you don't want to go past butter into buttermilk." The dash slowed just a bit but he saw that her feet were shuffling on the floor. He put the pot back onto the stove and took a sip of his coffee. When she moaned, he walked to stand before her.
"Would you rather sit and churn?" he asked.
"No!"
"No reason to snap at me, Annabelle. I was simply suggesting that perhaps a different position might help."
"Help? The only thing that will help, Richard Andrews, is if this horrid root falls out of my bottom!"
He chuckled and reached around to press against her backside. She groaned as he unerringly found the plug and gave it a little push. "I suggest you keep your plug well seated, young lady. After all, you are being punished."
"Can't you just spank me? Please?"
He patted her bottom. "Nope."
"But, Richard, it burns."
"Then it is doing a proper job."
"How long do I have to-to h
old it?"
"Until I'm quite certain you've learned the lesson needed."
She moaned and shuffled her feet apart a bit further. "But…"
"Finish churning, Anna. It stays until you are done. Perhaps by the time you're finished, you'll be able to tell me what lesson you've learned." He bent to kiss her cheek and then went to check on Johnny.
When he returned, she was practically dancing, her bottom wagging up and down and back and forth while the dash moved up and down. When she saw him, she came to a complete stop, but it was only a minute or two before the dance began again.
Returning to his seat, he sipped his coffee and watched the show. You had to love it when you had a very experienced, well-educated medical team nearby. Not only was Harriet Williams a wonderful midwife, but her husband was a doctor, and had proven to be an invaluable source of information. Robert had shared several obscure tidbits about effective ways to creatively take a woman in hand. The use of a ginger plug had been but one.
Richard had remembered the tip when he'd gone into the root cellar. He'd known that his pretty little wife expected him to tip her over his knees and spank her. While that was an option, the moment he'd seen the basket of ginger, he'd known exactly what to do. Watching her now, the lower half of her body continuing to sway, he had no doubt that the root was definitely working to irritate her insides, but he also had no doubt that it would be a lesson not soon forgotten.
"Would you get the molds down for me?" Anna asked quietly.
"Is the butter done?"
"Almost. I just thought that, um…"
He watched her seem to struggle with her words, and was proud when she sighed and continued.
"I just thought that it might save a few minutes."
"I'd be glad to." He stood and walked to the kitchen. Picking up the molds, he gave them a quick wipe with a damp cloth. As he did so, he smiled. Seeing the roses he'd carved into the bottom of the molds gave him another idea. He placed them on the table and returned to their bedroom. When he came back, he saw that Anna was removing the lid to the churn.
"Is it ready?"
"Yes. I just need to scrape it out and put it in the molds."
"Before you do, come here.
"Oh, thank you," she almost shouted and ran to the table, throwing herself over the side and almost knocking the butter molds to the floor.
"Don't thank me yet," he said as he lifted her clothing. When her hands reached back, he grinned but patted them. "Hold onto the edge of the table. We're not done."
She moaned but obeyed, reaching to grip the opposite edge.
He could see that the juices from the root had slid down her thighs. He could also see that her cream had added to the moisture. Anna was one of those rare women whose body reacted with pleasure even when she was being punished. It didn't negate the fact that she truly felt the discipline; it simply meant that he was a very lucky man.
Picking up the paddle he'd brought from the bedroom, he stepped to the side. Placing one hand on her lower back, he heard her gasp. "Stay in position and it will only be two."
"Yes, sir."
He landed the first stroke on the lower half of her right buttock. She yelped and her foot lifted, but she didn't release the table. Stepping to the other side, he placed the second stroke on her left cheek. This stroke was followed by her moan and another foot lift.
"Good girl. You can rise."
"But I thought you were going to take it out!"
"You thought wrong." He helped her to stand and then tucked the back of her skirts up into her waistband. "I believe I told you that you'd hold your plug until you finished your chore and could tell me the lesson you've learned."
Her mouth opened and then closed as she accepted the fact that she was not the one in charge. He dropped a kiss on the top of her head and then pointed to the molds. "The only thing that's better than seeing fresh butter is seeing that same design on the arse of the woman who worked so hard to make it."
Her green eyes widened and two hands reached back to cup freshly paddled cheeks. "You didn't!"
He chuckled and pulled her hands off her backside. "I did. I loved the butter dance you did, and decided it would be even more entertaining to watch you finish with a pair of beautiful roses decorating your bum."
"Richard!" She blushed hotly and then shook her head. "And you call me incorrigible!"
He swatted her lightly. "I'll scrape out the churn if you'll grab the paddles."
Anna brought him the two wooden paddles and held the bowl as he scooped out the freshly churned butter. She carried the bowl and he moved a chair from the table and took a seat.
"Though I love your beautiful face, that's not the body part I'm interested in at the moment. Turn around and show me your arse." He loved the blush that suffused her cheeks almost as much as he loved the two rose imprints the paddle had imprinted on her nether cheeks. But, what he most especially loved was the fact that he could see her sweet cream gathered in the lips of her pussy. His cock lengthened and for the first time, he was the one who wished the weekly churning was completed. When she looked over her shoulder and smiled, wiggling her butt from side to side, he shook his head.
"Like I said, absolutely incorrigible."
Chapter Five
Agatha put her hands on her husband's shoulders as he placed his at her waist to lift her from the wagon. She laughed when he swung her in a circle, remembering how her Pa used to twirl her around until she was quite dizzy before releasing her to collapse onto the ground. Sounds of her own laughter brought back memories of hearing her Ma scold her husband, but the three had known it was all in fun. She was snapped back to the present when instead of simply letting her slip to the ground, she was slowly slid down, her breasts pressing against the rock hard chest of the man who held her.
Once her feet were planted firmly back on the ground, her husband still didn't release her. His head bent and his mouth descended onto hers. She felt his tongue slide across her lips and goosebumps rise on her skin. She almost smiled when she realized that her toes were actually attempting to curl inside her shoes, as if she were the damsel in distress being claimed by her hero in any of the romance stories she loved to read. When Wyatt's tongue pushed through her lips to delve into her mouth and his hands moved from her waist to cup her bottom, she stiffened, suddenly recalling an angry face and a thundering voice spewing out words that had torn at her soul.
"Don't."
"I'm sor—"
"No, don't apologize." Wyatt bent down to press her forehead to hers. "Let him go, Agatha."
"I-I'm not sure I can."
He pulled her closer and they stood, her head tucked beneath his chin. She wrapped her arms around his waist when he held her just a bit tighter. "I can't do it alone. I don't know how."
"I'm here," he said softly. "I'll always be here. I love you, Aggy. I will help and together we'll banish the bastard forever."
"Promise?"
"Yes, I promise." He set her away just enough so that he could bend and kiss her again, this time gently. His lips moved from hers but only a short distance as he kissed the tip of her nose and then her forehead. By the time he straightened, she'd relaxed a bit and was able to give him a smile.
"Why don't you start breakfast while I unhitch the team?" he said.
"Oh, I thought…"
Her face heated as his lips slowly turned up into a smile that had his dimples deepening and a fire beginning in the pit of her belly.
"You have the proper thought, just not the correct timing. I am going to spank you but we both need to eat. In fact, add some fried potatoes to whatever Anna put in the basket. We'll both need our strength."
Agatha nodded, a bit worried that if he had any more strength, he'd be able to snap her in two. He was a large man, and not an ounce of that size was fat. The heat inside her grew as a picture of his bare chest flashed across her mind.
"Aggy?"
"Um, oh, what?"
"Where did you go? You looked
a mile away."
Hoping that the sun made it impossible for him to detect how red her face must be, she shook her head. It was certainly improper for her to be picturing him unclothed out in the middle of the yard in broad daylight. "I was just thinking."
His hands ran down her sides slowly, not resting until he once again had his palms cupped around her nether cheeks. "Don't worry, Agatha. I promise I'm not going to hurt you."
"I never thought you would," she said, honestly.
After patting her backside, he reached into the wagon to pick up the basket. Holding it out towards her, he lifted his eyebrow. "Can you handle this?"
Her eyes were immediately drawn to the basket, then lifted to his. "It doesn't look that heavy." She reached for it, only to have him lift it above her head.
"I don't know," he drawled, allowing the basket to sway from side to side. "I suppose the question should be whether I can trust you with the contents."
"The contents?"
His lips twitched and he gave a shrug. "Well, darlin', there are eggs…"
Her eyes instantly dropped to his shirt where she could see the dried remains of that morning's attack. About to apologize again, she heard him chuckling. Stepping forward, she ran a hand down the left side of his shirt and the fire inside her flamed a little hotter when she heard him draw in a deep breath as her fingertips circled a spot over his heart. Lifting her right hand, she placed it against his chest as well. From the corner of her eye she could see that he'd lowered his arm.
Shaking her head, she looked up to find him staring down at her. "To be honest, I'm not sure," she said.
"Sure?"
God, she loved the hitch in his breath as she continued to run her fingertips in circles. She lost her train of thought as she once again imagined him shirtless. What would his reaction be if her fingers were running across his bare skin? What would he do if she just happened to touch his nipple? The few times his hands had brushed across her breasts or when his fingertips had grazed the tips, they'd tightened and ached. What would it feel like if he…
"Aggy?" His voice startled her and she gasped when he pulled her closer.
"Wha-what?"
