‘Oh, yes, don’t stop.’ I came, hard and swiftly, on to his palm, which he kept in position for a while longer, prodding and kneading at my swollen clit and lips in the open air.
‘Well, I don’t know if it’s part of the ritual,’ he murmured, ‘but I think it should be.’ He unzipped, crouched down over my spine and shoved himself inside me to the hilt, with his hard, tight stomach pressing into my hot bottom. ‘What do you think, Faith? An outdoor public whipping should be followed by an outdoor public fucking. Stands to reason.’
He began to pump into me with firm, steady strokes, making me wince every time his abdominal muscles slapped against my soundly-switched rear end.
‘Yeah, yeah,’ I croaked, waggling my hands in their restricted space, letting myself be filled and used and overwhelmed by my big, strapping lover until my legs gave way and my cunt was raw and clogged with his spunk. Maybe we were watched, maybe we were not, but I didn’t care, I just wanted to satisfy my pagan lusts on the end of his pole.
Was this the spirit of Grimgerda? Had he, in fact, whipped it into me?
Who knows? What I do know is that my teashop is raking in big profits, the harvest was one of the most bountiful in the village’s history, and now we are looking forward to a bumper harvest festival.
Evan says there’s a traditional village ritual for that too ...