The kitchen

The kitchen was large, with big windows and a farm-style table in the middle. He'd lit a fire in the fireplace and the two of them sat by it, he in the couch and she at his feet, until she'd recovered from the beating. He made them both strong, sweet ginger tea and they toasted the room and each other. When they'd finished he stood up, pulling her to her feet.

"You sit now. I'll be right back." She sat in the chair, staring at the fire, thinking of nothing, until he returned. He had the remains of the ginger root and some clothespins from the laundry closet. Incongruously, he also had a large hair clip, probably the one she used to coil her hair back when she worked out. She looked at him, languorously enjoying his nearness, while he arranged her in the chair, leaning back, legs spread open over the chair arms. He sucked her nipples erect, licked her clit until it throbbed, then left her there, open, while he whittled the ginger into a small oval. She was unsurprised when he fitted this over her clit, gently holding the lips closed with the hair clip. Its teeth bit into her not unpleasantly. She enjoyed their soft bite, the spreading warmth of the ginger. She know that it would be a fiery torture before long.

He was biting her nipples, pulling them erect, spreading an unguent on them. "What is it?" "A cocktail of my own. Powdered ginger, cayenne, and a little mint oil." He placed the clothespins at the nipples' base and picked up his stopwatch. "Sixteen minutes. You're lucky I'm not rolling the die."

She shuddered. She was lucky, at that.