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“The guards—” She cocked her head at one of the young men.
“Will be dismissed. Or would you like them to force you over the bench?”
Freya licked her dry lips. “No. Sir.”
There was no way out. She’d given herself no choice but to comply because to fight off the guards in front of Marco would not only undermine his authority, but reinforce his opinion that she didn’t trust him.
“Very well,” Marco nodded and switched to Vendian. “You two, wait outside,” he commanded. The guards about-faced and marched out of the room.
Walking toward the bench, her legs shook. What awaited her was more than a thorough spanking. Something more fundamental was happening—she was so conscious of the eyes watching her every move. With her wary gaze flitting about the room, unsure of what the others thought of her punishment and whether she deserved it or not, she shuffled forward and bent.
The cool surface met her bosom and she hugged the thin support and clasped her hands together underneath the padded beam. Lalita bound her wrists together, but left her arms free to dangle beneath. However, a link chain tightly cuffed each of her ankles to a leg of the bench. She rattled it against the metal legs of the bench and managed to balance on her tiptoes.
With bottom raised and her sex on display, Freya concentrated on her breathing. Beside her, Lalita read out the list of rules she’d broken. Some she couldn’t deny—trickery, leaving the Volta under false pretenses, coercing her maid into deceiving Puto. Others, she considered excessive—dressing in clothes without permission seemed a trivial matter. What surprised her was there was no mention of her accessing Marco’s console. The reason for adventure was left out and to the observer; it must seem she simply went to find Marco for no particular reason.
Naturally, no questions were raised and the audience listened in silence.
“The punishment is the rod—ten hard strokes on her bottom. This will be done in conjunction with the application of aylerberry juice around her anus and with the insertion of a butt plug, inside her bottom.”
A gasp went up around the room. What the hell was aylerberry juice? A berry bush wouldn’t be native to Tagra, so it must be something in one of those bottles in the punishment room.
“Governor, please proceed as you wish.” Lalita stepped away from the bench.
She heard noises behind her, but couldn’t see what he was doing. Only when something icy cold rested between her bottom cheeks did she understand what was about to happen. Was he really going to insert a plug into her tight hole without preparation?
She whimpered and rattled her ankle bindings.
“Do you wish her gagged?” Lalita asked Marco in hushed tones.
“No,” Marco swiftly replied.
The tip of the plug—she’d no idea of its size—nudged against her puckered bud. He smeared something along the furrow, using the smooth surface of the plug to spread the odorless concoction.
She held her breath, wondering what nasty sensation would torment her. All she felt was the cold metal tracking up and down her cleft. He rested his spare hand on the top of her ass. The warmth of his skin contrasted with the icy plug.
“Freya,” he said softly. “You need to relax or else this is going hurt more than you’d want it to. I’m going to ask you to breathe in deeply, then I’m going to insert the plug. Now. Breathe.”
He pressed the hard bulge of the plug into her bottom hole and she whistled in a lungful through gritted teeth. The burning sensation as he pushed the bulbous plug inside was intense, almost too much. She struggled to relax her sphincter muscles. She cried out and her buttocks instinctively clenched around the plug, resisting its entry.
Marco continued to penetrate her tight hole without pausing and it came as a relief when he announced it was fully inserted. She exhaled and tried not to imagine the scene—bent over with her bottom plugged and on display.
Mortified, unable to do anything, she flopped onto the bench, and in doing so, she realized she’d been too tense. The loosening of taut muscles eased the discomfort and gradually, she accepted the sensation of fullness, of being stretched wide.
A minute or so past and nothing else happened. What was Marco waiting for? Why hadn’t he used the rod on her poor ass?
It began with prickles. Loads of tiny pinpricks danced along the groove between her buttocks and the tingles were especially inten
se on her anus. She flexed around the plug’s neck, which held the object in place. It reminded her of nettle stings and the discomfort, although unpleasant, wasn’t terrible.
He smacked her bottom with his hand. The use of his hand surprised her, as did the imprint of pain it left behind. Rather than bombard her with spanks, he switched between each cheek in a leisurely, almost ponderous fashion; however, the hardness of the slaps was greater than he’d ever used before.
Alongside the prickles came the heat of a spanking. The addition of the ball buried deep inside her created a medley of sensations. She gasped repeatedly with each of his smacks and at the same time tried to assimilate what the aylerberry was doing to her.
Prickles turned to stings, then a subtle burning as if a spice had been placed inside her passage. She tried to rock her hips from side to side, but with her legs splayed wide, there was little room for maneuvering.
“Ow,” she whimpered, unable to contain her protests.
Marco stopped spanking her bottom. “The rod, please.”
