An Essay, With Ginger

I’ve found what has to be the mildest reaction to a good ginger figging I’ve yet seen. Annie earned herself a punishment paddling and then it went like this:

He fetched the awaiting ginger root from the glass of ice water sitting behind his desk. I felt his cool hand opening my throbbing bottom cheeks knowing what was to come. The icy wet root soon invaded my bumhole. Once deeply implanted to Robert’s satisfaction, he pulled up my shorts and ordered me to sit at his computer and write an essay for him to demonstrate I fully understood what I’d done, the effect it was having and suggestions on how to fix it. I had one hour, no more, no less. At the end of the hour I was to present myself and the essay to him upstairs.

It was a loooong hour. Trying to concentrate with that damned root blazing in my ass is not an easy thing. Then there was the assignment itself. The first two parts were easy….

And that’s the last we hear of the ginger (except when it comes out.) Damn girl! Talk about cool as a cucumber.

Of course in the context of the situation, the ginger was the least of Annie’s worries. But still.

Update: In the comments, Annie has confirmed that the ginger was the least of her worries, but has generously added the missing lurid details. Worth promoting to the main post:

A ginger root plug up one’s backside is distracting in itself, kinda like having a lit sparkler up one’s ass is distracting. Being required to SIT adds a whole ‘nother level of interest. With my cheeks pressed around the root, its fire was extended well beyond its already unholy realm. I squirmed this way, then that way trying to relieve at least one point of contact at any given time, all the while trying to write a coherent essay. Even more difficult, trying to be contrite while doing so. A sizzling ginger root plug has a way of making me just a bit testy… OK, a lot testy, making me less motivated to say “I’m sorry, dear” than express my more sincere sentiment of the moment: “you evil fucknuts, I wanna pull your eyeballs outa your asshole!” Or something like that. A true test of submission.

Then having to walk, then climb stairs, my bottom cheeks not only rubbing against the extended root but moving it around inside, further activating its wicked oozing fire making me clench my teeth to keep from screaming, each step pure torture…

  1. Annie commented on July 13th, 2005:

    LOL! As you said, the ginger was the least of my worries. But OK, point taken. Looking for details? Here goes…

    A ginger root plug up one’s backside is distracting in itself, kinda like having a lit sparkler up one’s ass is distracting. Being required to SIT adds a whole ‘nother level of interest. With my cheeks pressed around the root, its fire was extended well beyond its already unholy realm. I squirmed this way, then that way trying to relieve at least one point of contact at any given time, all the while trying to write a coherent essay. Even more difficult, trying to be contrite while doing so. A sizzling ginger root plug has a way of making me just a bit testy… OK, a lot testy, making me less motivated to say “I’m sorry, dear” than express my more sincere sentiment of the moment: “you evil fucknuts, I wanna pull your eyeballs outa your asshole!” Or something like that. A true test of submission.

    Then having to walk, then climb stairs, my bottom cheeks not only rubbing against the extended root but moving it around inside, further activating its wicked oozing fire making me clench my teeth to keep from screaming, each step pure torture…

    Always happy to fill in the blanks, Spankboss. ;)

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