by Renee Rose
“They put a piece of ginger in their arse. It’s called figging. It makes them step lively. I imagine it will make for a memorable experience.”
“Har-ry,” Kitty groaned, burying her face in the quilt and squeezing her cheeks together. He smothered a laugh and gave her bottom a slap, the sound echoing through the room as her body absorbed the impact. He gave her several more slaps with his hand and then switched to the spoon, applying it swiftly, the small surface area making it necessary to repeat the blows in close proximity to cover the lower half of her bottom.
“Ow! Harry!” she protested. After twenty smacks, Kitty reached back with both hands, covering her reddened cheeks, forcing him to stop short to avoid striking her fingers. He lowered his aim and smacked the backs of her thighs instead, earning a howl of protest.
“Kitty, go stand in the corner,” he said.
Kitty scrambled up, looking remorseful. “I’m so sorry,” she pleaded, and rushed to hide her nose where the walls met, her chastised bottom showing the color from his spanking. “I’ll be good, I promise. I won’t cover.”
He smiled and had to steel himself not to go soft on her. After letting her wait for several minutes, he stood behind her. “You silly, silly woman,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around her from behind. It took great restraint not to explore her bare breasts or stroke her silky skin, but her punishment was not finished.
“Go and climb onto your forearms and knees,” he ordered, guiding her back toward the bed, enjoying the blush that spread across her face. She obeyed, lifting her hips in the humbling position, her knees spread to reveal the tender pink heart of her sex. He closed his eyes to marshal his resolve and then began to reapply the spoon to her backside, the backs of her thighs, and even the tender flesh of her inner thighs. She yelped and whimpered, but true to her promise, held still like a good girl.
When the fifty strokes had been duly applied, he left her in position a few extra minutes to suffer in humiliation and anticipation of further punishment. When he touched her back, she jumped. He pulled her to her side and kicked off his shoes to curl his body around hers.
She took his hand and pulled it up to cover her breast, holding it place with her own. “Your naughty wife is very sorry,” she said, her voice thick. He chuckled and pinched her nipple.
“Tell me that you still love me,” she said, rolling to face him.
“Of course I still love you,” he murmured. “I’m sorry that I hurt you with those letters. I just—didn’t understand what they meant to you.”
The tears she had not wept during her spanking now welled in her eyes. That they had come with his apology and not with his punishment made his heart constrict. “Please don’t cry—it pains me to see you cry.”
“I can’t help it,” she sniffed, the tears rolling from her eyes on a diagonal down her face.
“All right, all right, cry, little kitten. Get it all out,” he said, stroking her hair and arms, holding her close until she began to press her hips against him in a way that did not seem to reflect sadness.
He nuzzled her neck and she looked up at him, eyelashes wet, but eyes hungry. He reached around and cupped her bottom, feeling the heat from her spanking. “This is the bottom of a very naughty wife. Do you know what happens to naughty wives with sore bottoms?”
She giggled. “What?”
“This is what happens,” he growled, roughly squeezing her punished cheeks as he rolled on top of her, smothering her mouth with the promise of a heated kiss.
* * *
The delivery of three beautiful ball gowns might normally have been an exciting occurrence, but in this case, Kitty groaned. “Take them upstairs and put them away in my trunk,” she ordered her maid.
“You don’t want to try them on first?” her maid exclaimed in surprise.
She glanced over her shoulder toward the study where her husband was reading, hoping he hadn’t heard, only to find him leaning in the doorway with a satisfied smirk. Her heart did a backflip.
“No, not this time, thank you,” she said quickly.
“Leave them on the bed,” Harry instructed the maid, then gave her a heavy-lidded gaze. “I am looking forward to seeing you try them on for me.”
She squeezed her buttocks together, remembering clearly what he had in mind. “I had hoped you had forgotten about that. Surely you’ve forgiven me by now?”
He walked forward and put his arms around her waist, brushing a kiss against her neck. “Certainly, darling. But that doesn’t mean I won’t follow through on a promised punishment.”
Just the word ‘punishment’ made her heart beat harder against her ribs and she clicked her lips nervously. “When? Today?”
He smiled broadly, enjoying her discomfort. “Right now. As soon as I make a visit to the kitchen.”
She lifted her chin, realizing there was nothing to do but make the best of it. “Fine. I’ll be waiting upstairs for you.”
Perhaps it would not be as horrible as it sounded. But she found herself stomping her feet a bit on the way up the stairs. She couldn’t believe he was actually going to stick ginger up her arse like a horse!
Her maid was waiting for her, the dresses laid out on the bed. One was a navy, another a maroon. The last was a dark green. She had given the dressmaker specific design elements to include, and they had turned out perfectly.
“Shall I help you out of your day dress, my lady?” her maid asked.
She sighed, turning around to offer her back. “Yes, please.” When she was divested of the dress, she told her maid that Harry would help her with the rest. Fortunately, it was not such an odd pronouncement, as it was a quirk of her husband’s that he preferred to be the one to undress and dress her. She smiled thinking of the dark intensity, the almost reverence with which he disrobed her, as if unlacing her corset was a privilege to be savored. Yes, he sometimes punished her, but it was with that same passion and was always followed by the most tender care.
He’d been looking forward to this punishment, which had irritated her on her way to the bedroom, but now made her soften. It couldn’t be so horrible if it caused such a gleam in his eye. She looked at herself in the glass and pulled the pins from her hair, rubbing her lips together to bring out their natural color. She did not remove her corset, since it would be needed for trying on the dresses, but she did remove her drawers, leaving only the stockings and garters on below her waist. Then she curled up on the bed between the dresses to wait.
Harry opened the door and leered appreciatively at the sight of her. His eyes had gone dark and she could see a bulge tenting his trousers. “That’s my kitten,” he murmured.
He walked straight to her, leaning over the bed to press a hard kiss on her mouth as his hand delved inside her corset to seek her breast. Then he pulled abruptly away, shaking himself, as if not wishing to be sidetracked. He tossed one of the dresses on top of another to make room for himself and sat down, patting his lap. She crawled over it obediently.
His hand came down on her bottom with a loud crack and she jumped. He continued to pepper her backside with spanks.
When he struck her thigh, she protested, “Harry! Unfair!”
He gave a low chuckle. “Yes, kitten, but I could not resist. Besides, you might prefer it to what is coming next.”
She squeezed her buttocks together so tightly her legs lifted straight out.
He gave her cheek a pinch and held it. “None of that, or I’ll give you a slippering. Relax this,” he said, shaking the pinched flesh.
She released the muscular contraction slowly.
“That is it,” he encouraged warmly. He kneaded her bottom, causing the tingling warmth he had created on the surface of her backside to spread into her core. She opened her thighs slightly in hopes he might reward her there. Instead, he parted her two cheeks, spreading them wide. She flinched and started to squeeze again, but he slapped her right between the legs, smarting her sex with the reprimand.
“Ooh!”
Before she could reco
ver, her cheeks were parted and a hard, cool object was pressed against her anus. She froze, listening intently.
“Relax and open for it,” Harry commanded.
Instead she started to squeeze again, but he pressed insistently so that she was forced to open to avoid pain. It felt better the moment it entered, with the same satisfying and slightly frightening feeling of having his finger there—a feeling of being too full and too excited all at once. There was a slight burning around the ring of her anus where the ginger touched her flesh, but it was not too uncomfortable. If this was all he had in mind, it was not so bad. Still, she didn’t want him to think it was a failure, so she made a few more ‘oohing’ sounds and rolled around on his lap, enjoying the feel of his hardened cock beneath her.
“It takes a bit for it to start working,” he said, dashing her hopes that it had failed. “So I think I’ll spank a little more while we wait.”
“No!” She kicked her legs. “My lord, I don’t require more spanking!” She changed her tone to a more suggestive timber. “Perhaps you could think of something else?” She spread her legs wider on his lap.
He rewarded her with another slap directly on her sex, which had grown moist with the stimulation of her back hole. “Ah, I think you like that,” he remarked, slapping her there again.
“What makes you say that?” she snapped, but her body had already betrayed her. Not only had she not closed her thighs, but she was arching back at him, as if eager for any kind of touch there, even if it was a spank. He obliged, delivering several more swift slaps, which jostled the ginger, creating more of a burn, as well as more arousal.
“Harry!” she gasped.
* * *
Harry stroked his wife’s beautiful bottom, letting his hand caress the backs of her thighs and travel back up again. “Yes, kitten?”
She didn’t answer, but he could tell she was growing more and more aroused, perhaps as the sensation of the ginger was beginning to increase. He knew from the stable hands that it took a half an hour to take effect for a horse. He had no idea if it was the same for humans, but the idea of keeping her draped over his lap for thirty minutes certainly had its appeal.
He allowed his fingers to dip between her thighs, not surprised to find her folds swollen and slick. She moaned and pushed back eagerly. He chuckled and gave her another light slap there, knowing by the way she’d groaned his name she was already looking for release. But he planned to make her wait. Which didn’t mean he couldn’t tease her a bit. He slid his fingers between her legs again, circling the sensitive bud and spreading her juices around. She writhed against his cock, which strained with excitement. Sliding two fingers deeper within her, he pushed in and out a few times before withdrawing completely, eliciting a grunt of protest. His handprints had already faded from her bottom, so he set to work leaving new ones, at the same time moving the ginger in and out of her back hole with his other hand.
She grew more and more agitated, not even protesting when he slapped the backs of her thighs, which she hated. She clawed at the covers, rubbing her face in it like a cat with catnip. He had to purposely calm his breath, so great was his desire to forget the rest of her punishment and simply skip ahead to his reward. With a great effort, he stopped spanking and thrusting the ginger and ordered her to stand.
It took her a long time to obey, and he guessed her mind had been far away by the way her body trembled. A sheen of sweat had gathered on her low back as the ginger heated her insides.
She tottered to her feet with his assistance, her face flushed, her eyes glassy and wild.
“I am ready for you to show me the dresses now.”
She stared at him as if the words traveled a very long distance to reach her brain, but then curtsied, mumbling “yes, my lord” with slack lips before she began to shift from foot to foot in discomfort. She walked stiffly to pick up one of the gowns, a lovely dark green satin, which she pulled over her head, returning to him for help with the buttons. She fidgeted more and more as he fastened her, her breath coming in hisses and gasps. When the gown was fastened, he gave her bottom a slap, knowing full well it would further embed the ginger. She gave a cry and jumped, just as a spirited horse might. He grinned. “Go on and prance for me, kitten.”
“Prance?” she asked doubtfully, perspiration glistening on her lovely décolletage. He gave another slap and she seemed to know exactly what he meant by prance, stepping quickly away from him, then sashaying about the room as if she were, indeed, a show pony.
“Lovely, lovely, dear. I do like this dress. Show me another?”
She gave a little whimper but obediently stepped to him, turning around so he could unbutton her. He helped her into the second dress and then the third, watching as she took several turns about the room, looking almost drunk with agitation. When she came to him to remove the third dress, she fell forward into his arms. “Oh, Harry,” she moaned, the wanton note in her voice driving him mad with desire. “I need you, Harry,” she begged.
Unfortunately for the new dress, he lost his mind, popping every button as he tore it open in the back. It fell to her feet in a fluffy pool, trampled under both their feet as he spun her around and folded her over the bed.
“Please, Harry,” she pleaded, reaching between her legs and rubbing her fingers frantically over her dripping sex as he pulled his cock free of his trousers. “It’s so warm,” she moaned. “I need you so badly.”
He thrust into her without another second’s hesitation, groaning to finally be inside her hot, swollen sheath.
“Yes, Harry!” Kitty gasped, keeping her fingers between her legs and using them to frantically rub her nub of pleasure, then to scissor around his cock, providing a new tighter sensation as he moved in and out of her.
With her level of excitement, he was not going to last long. He slammed into her, his flesh slapping the exposed end of the ginger, pressing it in her back hole as he pressed in her luscious sex.
“Harry… Harry… Harry… yes!” she crooned, bucking underneath him as her legs gave way and she climaxed. He could not wait any longer, the milking of her muscles sending him over the edge, causing him to spend inside her with his own cry of ecstasy.
When at last their shudders had stopped, he withdrew from Kitty and turned her around. She flopped backward on the bed like a rag doll, her arms splayed out at angles, her thick glossy hair fanning out from her head. Her eyes were half-closed with satisfaction.
He flopped beside her, burying his face in her silky hair. “Sweet little kitten,” he murmured. “You make for a spectacular pony show.”
The End
The Darlington Incident
By
Renee Rose
Acknowledgements
Thank you to Sue Aubrey for her historical beta read, and to Katherine Deane and Celeste Jones for never refusing to give me a read-through.
Chapter One
Stanbrook, England—the Westerfield Country Estate
1836
“Permit me to repeat my understanding,” Lord Westerfield said, leaning his forearms on his huge mahogany desk and fixing Andrew with a dark look. “You believe one of my guests will sell secret government plans to another guest during our Ides of March party.”
“That is correct, my lord.”
“And you want me to add you to my guestlist, introduce you as a friend and a lord, and give you free reign to intercept the transaction?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“No, Mr. Andrews. Absolutely not. I would rather cancel the event.”
“My lord, I understand your concern; however, if you send everyone home, we lose the only lead we have on this exchange. It will take place elsewhere, and our country’s secrets will be in the hands of the enemy. As a member of the peerage, you have an obligation to support me in protecting British citizens from this treason.”
“Do not tell me my obligations,” the broad-shouldered man snapped, glowering. “I have a wife who is increasing and fifty guests whom I am obligated
to keep safe, above all. I will not allow them to be endangered by some spymaster cat and mouse game.”
“They will be safer with me here, my lord.”
“I would be wiser to cancel the festivities.”
He sighed and rubbed his forehead. He wanted to promise the powerful man he could guarantee their safety, but in reality, he knew very little about his quarry, not even the traitor’s gender.
“My lord… I understand your primary concern is for your wife and guests. I cannot argue that cancelling the event would be the best way to prevent danger befalling them. But your event is the only lead I have; without it, I can do nothing to prevent important war plans from falling into the wrong hands.”
Lord Westerfield frowned at him, but he sensed indecision. He held his breath.
“All right,” Westerfield said. “Against my better judgement, I will allow the event to continue and give you free reign to conduct your business. Can you bring any extra men in to help protect my guests?”
He exhaled. “Yes, my lord. Both my carriage driver and the man acting as my butler are trained Billings Street spies.”
Westerfield nodded. “Shall I notify my staff to be on the lookout for anything in particular?”
“Actually, my lord, I would prefer you said nothing. Because we have little information about the seller or the buyer, the fewer people who know my true objective here, the better.”
“I do not wish any innocents to be harmed.”
“Nor do I, my lord. I assure you I will take the utmost caution in all my activities whilst I am here.”
“And I am to introduce you as…?”
“Lord Darlington, the earl of Stenwick.”
Westerfield raised an eyebrow. “Is there such an earl?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Are you he?”
“No, my lord. But he has been out of society for many years now, so no one is acquainted with him.”
