My Sassy Settler (Willamette Wives Book 2) (6 page)

"Does your stomach hurt?"

"No, I feel fine, but thanks for asking."

Fighting the urge to roll her eyes, she shook her head. "Well if you don't want tea, why did you have to wrap it in the cloth? Now the butter is going to taste strange." She shook her head as she shook out the cloth before draping it over a third bowl.

"Let me put Johnny down and I'll explain," Richard said. She nodded absently as she carefully began to pour the milk over the cloth. Any remaining cream would be captured and added to the churn. By the time she was done, Richard had returned. As she added the cream to the churn, he poured the milk back into a pail. "I'll put this in the cellar."

"Why don't you put that root back as well? I'm not going to need it to cook supper."

"That stays exactly where it is," Richard said, giving her bottom a swat as he passed by on his way out the door.

"Men," she said, shaking her head as she spooned the last of the cream into the churn. She had just finished washing the bowl and paddle when he came back.

"Go bend over the table," he told her.

"What?"

"I'm getting a little tired of that word, Annabelle. I said to go bend over the table."

"Richard, I just put the cream in. I need to churn it before… Ow!"

"Stop arguing and stop rubbing your backside. Obey me."

Anna hadn't been married but a little over a year, but it had been long enough for her to know when to stop talking. She gave him a wide berth, ignoring his chuckle, as she went to the table. Her face heated as she began to bend over one end.

"Not there. Bend over the side so that you can hold onto the other edge."

Her bottom clenched at his direction. The only time he required her to take that position was when he was going to give her far more than a mere spanking over his knees. She wanted to ask what he planned but knew that he expected her to simply obey. Moving around the table, she bent over the side. It was the perfect height to support her torso and leave her feet flat on the floor. Despite her growing trepidation, her curiosity had her turning her head to see what exactly he was doing. Her brow furrowed as she watched him using his knife to peel the skin from the root he'd brought up. More questions begged to be asked but she dutifully remained quiet. He'd explain—well, he would if he thought it necessary to do so.

It didn't take long before she saw him step to the basin and use the pitcher to pour some water over the root. She grew more puzzled when it seemed as if he was cutting lines along the flesh, causing a pungent scent to fill the room. After another minute, he washed his knife, slipped it back into its sheath and, walked towards her.

"Lift up your skirts."

She obeyed, tugging her skirt and petticoats up to her waist.

"Let your bloomers fall."

Despite having heard this same order more times than she could remember, her face heated, as it always did when she was made to bare herself. There were only a few additional orders that caused her more embarrassment. Perhaps he could read her mind because the moment her drawers fell to her ankles, he spoke of one.

"Reach back and spread your cheeks wide."

"Please…"

"Anna, you really don't want to question me right now."

With trembling hands, she reached behind her and pulled the globes of her bottom apart.

"Wider. I want your little rose fully exposed."

She whimpered but forced herself to expose herself fully to her husband.

"Open your eyes and look at me." She did so and saw the root in his hand. "Do you know what this is?"

"Yes, it's ginger."

"Do you know what it's used for?"

She bit back the urge to point out that he certainly knew the answer. Having to respond while holding her bottom cheeks open made it a bit easier to answer politely. "You can use it to make tea to help with nausea, or you can add it to certain food to add flavor."

"That's correct, but it also serves another purpose. Have you ever heard of figging?"

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 hold 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.