Evidently, Fran thought I wasn’t pulling my weight, that I should have done more to help, or something. Why she thought that (if she really did), I’ve no idea. She’s always telling me to get out of the kitchen. In any case, she had my punishment all set up for me that night.
“Ever hear of figging, my dear?” she said, after she had me spread and tied to our bed, ass up.
I turned my head to look at her. She was carving something with a knife. It looked like wet wood and she seemed to be whittling it into a stake. “No, does it have something to do with vampires?” She smacked my ass.
“No. It has to do with naughty little English schoolgirls in the eighteen-hundreds.”
That’s one of the things I like so much about Fran. She’s really smart and gets caught up in research to find new and unusual forms of punishment for me. She’s totally into collecting all the required paraphernalia and experimenting on me to find out what works best. So, yay for me!
“Figging,” she said “involves fresh ginger root and spanking.”
“Mmm, I like spanking,” I said, wiggling my ass from side to side. She smacked it again and then I felt her opening up the crack of my ass and sliding something wet and cool up and down. She slowly forced it into my asshole, twisting and gently pushing. “Hey, where’s the lube?” I asked.
“No lube. There’s no lube with figging. Don’t be a baby; it’s really very small,” she said as she continued to push the cold, wet root into my anus. “There would be no point to this if you used lube. There, it’s in. See, that wasn’t so bad.”
“Yeah, I can hardly feel it. What was the point again?”
“Just wait.”
And just about then is when the burning began. It was exquisitely sharp and stung the way your skin can sting when it’s really, really cold and you run hot water over it. She could see me clenching and unclenching my ass so she knew it had started to work.
“In the boarding schools, the headmasters would do this to the really bad girls and then cane them. I thought I’d just spank you tonight. It’s more intimate that way.”
She spanked me a few times, transferring the pain from my asshole to my cheeks, which sort of defeated the whole purpose of the ginger, I thought. And I told her so when she asked me how it felt.
“Oh, well I can fix that,” she said, gently stroking my labia with the fingers of the hand that she’d used to peel the ginger, fingers coated with ginger-root juice. She rimmed my cunt before sinking a finger inside me and using another finger to rim my clit. Once the little whimpering noises began, she started spanking me again.
Now, besides my ass clenching around the ginger, my cunt was clenching around her finger. I tried rubbing my mound against the bed, but her fingers never strayed. It wasn’t until I began gasping that she placed her index finger directly on my clit, and I popped like a shaken bottle of champagne. She removed the tapered root from my ass, and then her fingers from my cunt, and almost immediately the burning began to subside.
“Wow, that stuff is unbelievable,” I said. And that incident is why we decided to develop a ginger cupcake. The honey was added later—to the cupcake, not me. The flavors complement each other well. It’s a spicy-sweet treat.
We started commemorating other memorable scenes, like the time she stuffed a giant Atomic Fireball in my mouth and then used duct tape to keep it in. That particular cupcake is a cinnamon-flavored yellow cake with the most amazing frosting. The frosting doesn’t have anything to do with sex, other than it’s an orgasm in your mouth. I never even thought of combining chocolate and cinnamon until I tasted a piece of cinnamon chocolate in a high-end box of candy.
I just have to say, though, in case you feel like trying it; it’s almost impossible to stay gagged with a Fireball for long. Another fun thing to do is Red Hots. Have you ever had Red Hots up the twat? They don’t really do much. But, if your girlfriend chews them up, then paints your clit with the juices, it isn’t bad.
We have a cinnamon cupcake that has a French vanilla frosting decorated with mini-heart-shaped Red Hots.
Cinnamon isn’t bad, but it isn’t as good as peppermint oil when Fran really wants to get my attention. Last Valentine’s Day, I came home from work to find rose petals scattered on the floor, leading down the hall to the bathroom. I opened the door and she was waiting for me, a bath drawn, with more rose petals floating in the water and candles burning around the edges. It had to be the most romantic thing I’d ever seen and she’d done it for me.
She started a mix of jazz on the iPod and helped me off with my clothes and into the bath. Soon she’d stripped down and joined me. She had me lie back against her, her legs wrapped around mine, feet on the inside, trapping my legs open. She said she wanted to bathe me and pamper me before dinner.
She soaped up her hands and ran them over my neck, kneading the sore muscles. It was absolute heaven. Her soapy hands met at my neck and slid their way down my chest, separating to smooth and squeeze my breasts, pinching and kneading my nipples, making my skin come alive. She slid her hands to the sides and soaped my underarms before letting her fingers caress and knead the muscles in my arms, all the way down to my fingers. I was so relaxed, I could have fallen asleep against her, in the bath.
But she had other ideas. “Stand up for me,” she said.
“What? Why?”
“Because I can’t adequately get to the bottom half of you while you’re sitting on your ass. All right, don’t stand up, just kneel up, that’ll probably work.”
I did as she asked and she replenished the soap in her hands and caressed and kneaded the cheeks of my ass, running her fingers around the tops of my thighs and into the crease between my sex and my legs. It was all so languorously sweet. I had my hands against the front of the tub, bracing myself, wishing she’d delve in for the kill and I began to whimper.
“What’s the matter, baby? Do you want something?” she teased.
“Yes, please,” I moaned. “Put your fingers in me. You’re driving me crazy.”
“All you had to do was ask, lover.”
She reached for the soap to slick her hands and smoothed them through the hair above my opening, sliding them down farther, squeezing and rubbing my labia, running her hands up and down, caressing the silky tissues, before sliding two fingers inside me and using her thumb and forefinger to squeeze my clit, hard. Just as I started to convulse in the most delicious orgasm, the burn set in. But it was too late to worry about; I was coming and my brain lost all cohesive thought. I could feel her fingers stroking away inside me as I continued to vibrate with an orgasm that just wouldn’t stop.
When the aftershocks began to subside, she withdrew her hands and scraped her nails over my vulva. “That was lovely, sweetie. How do you feel?”
I sat back down and started to curl up against her when I noticed the insistent burn deep inside, and the slightly less insistent burning of my clit. Quickly, I grabbed my clit, under the water, and started massaging it. “What—?”
“Just a little peppermint oil shower gel,” she said, turning my face to her and kissing me.
My clit stopped burning almost immediately, once the soap had been rinsed off, but the walls of my vagina continued to burn throughout dinner. The food was marvelous but I couldn’t stop rocking and grinding my cunt against the chair.
“Don’t worry, baby, I’ll make it all better after dinner, or at least I’ll scratch your itch.”
So yes, we do have a peppermint cupcake. It was a big seller at Christmas. It has white chocolate frosting with crumbles of red and white peppermint candies on top. The cake is marbled yellow and chocolate, with peppermint oil in the chocolate.