Anonymous - Birch in the boudoir

I was not much disturbed that night by agreeable images of the plump, pearly little moons of Linda's bottom under the bamboo. It is no worse than discipline in many an English home. Thus I take my adoring leave of you, dearest Charlie. Your next news is eagerly awaited by

Your ever-loving Lizzie

My own dearest Lizzie,

My heart leapt for joy when an envelope came bearing upon it your own unmistakable hand. I read your bold account of the good Sultan Ibrahim and his novel method of carriage propulsion! It is true, my sweet, there are young termagants like Elaine who, by every moral right, should be put to discipline of this kind. Almost all the educators and justices of England would agree with me in that.

By the same token, one respects a wife who is loyal to her husband and duties. Once she transgresses, however, is there any reason for trying to shield her from the ravishing of the world?

In my own small way, I too have had a victory over a recalcitrant girl. I speak of our young trollop Noreen. But what insolence still dwells in those hard, pale features and brown eyes.

The other night, Miss Martinet, aided by her staff, was awarding discipline to certain strapping young wenches like Noreen. The procedure for this is, indeed, singular. There is a long bench over which the girls kneel, presenting a row of tightly clad backsides. Their wrists are strapped to a rail on the far side, so that they kneel over the bench on all fours. Lastly, a long screen is lowered from a rail to the backs of their waists, so that they cannot see who stands behind them.

That night it was Miss Martinet who walked down the row. She indicated the fate of each delinquent, for the benefit of the grooms, by chalking on the tightly clad seat-cheeks. Thus a number chalked on the left cheek indicated strokes to be given by the person responsible. A number on the other half showed the preliminary to be given by a groom with a gym-shoe heel.

I vowed to curb Noreen's ill-mannered conduct. So, as Miss M. walked down the line, I watched closely. She strolled up and down the row several times. Pausing she applied the chalk to the robust young cheeks of Maggie's seat and inscribed the numbers "20" and "12." A moment more and she drew "30" and "12" where a pan- of tight, grey pants was strained over the full, young cheeks of Susan Underwood's bottom. Sue, with her soft, blond beauty, was a girl whom it would be a pleasure to get into trouble. So it went on until the tour of duty was complete. To my dismay, however, Noreen was un-chalked!

The remedy for that was simple. The curtain had been arranged so that the culprits could not see who was chalking them. It was also intended to prevent a groom with a grudge from adding to the punishment of a girl with whom he had a quarrel. In this case, however, Noreen was easily identifiable. The collar length of her dark hair was concealed as she lay over the bench. Yet, in kneeling over it, she offered an unmistakable alternative profile. The pale jeans seat was taut across her firm, statuesque buttocks, the central seam drawn taut and deep into her arse-crack. The lower softness of her bum-cheeks almost closing over the seam could belong to only one of the miscreants.

I stood there, as if I might Miss M., or whoever had been deputed to this task. Then I ran a hand over the thin, taut denim, which sheathed Noreen's backside. As I did so, she caught her breath, knowing that she was about to be marked with the chalk which lay conveniently to hand. Under my stroking hand I could feel the tensing of her buttocks and her taut, young thighs.

Perhaps it was because she had believed herself safe, having escaped the weekly reckoning, that she now reacted with such consternation. I ran a hand between the rear opening of her thighs and gave her cunt-pouch a good feel through the tight cloth. I continued so long that I began to feel Noreen moistening herself in the clinging pants despite her predicament.

I drew my hand away and left her in suspended animation, so near and yet so far from her fulfilment. My hands were now busy again with the firm, sturdy cheeks of Noreen's arse, stroking, parting, and thumbing. She pushed back impatiently with her hips but, much as she urged it, she could not quite bring herself to beg for the masturbation to continue.

Then I took the chalk, and she was tense and still so that she would be able to feel the shape of the numbers written. On one cheek, I wrote "12" for the groom with the hard-heeled rubber gym-slipper. Noreen cried out, "No!" in a protest at this preliminary discipline. Then, on the other cheek, I chalked a "36." She cried out in alarm, for she had good reason to know what that would mean.

Greatly looking forward to the night ahead, I now tiptoed away to my room and awaited events. I sat in the easy chair, reading the fancies of the Sporting Times and smoking a thoughtful pipe, as if I had been there all the evening.

Presently I was aware of a disturbance in the next room, to which the grooms had taken my culprit. Noreen still displayed her firm-faced indifference, no more than a flick of her dark fringe or a stare from her impudent brown eyes. They had, I think, held her over a tall stool with her pants undone and pulled down to her ankles.

From the gasping and protests I concluded that one of them was fiddling with her as she was secured. They could not, of course, unbutton themselves and do what they wanted in this situation. Yet it was impossible to believe that they would not play "dirty girl" between her legs with their fingers and between the cheeks of her backside.

The laughter and smiling stopped. One groom spat lightly on the rubber gym-shoe heel. There was a whack! and a smack! To judge from the sharp intake of breath, it had stung her hard, for her pale bottom- cheeks were jumping and quivering like spanked jelly under the impacts.

One could tell that Noreen was biting her lip not to cry out, as if seeking to deny the groom his triumph over her. He, on the other hand, was grinning back at her, sensing his victory in her tensing seat-cheeks and loud, uneven breath. She held out as the gym-slipper tanned her twice more, and then let out a long gasp.

"Now the first cheek all over again, Noreen," smiled the groom. "No, don't squirm your seat like that, you young trollop! We'll see to it that Mr. Charles's cane has something to work on!"

I gathered that even when the discipline was finished there was further hostility. A sound of struggling was caused by one groom working the singlet up in order to play with Noreen's tits. The other positively could not draw his fingers away from between her legs and bum-cheeks.

At last they brought her in, wearing only the white singlet, which ended at her waist. In the customary manner, she was made to stand in the corner with her back to the room like a spanked schoolgirl in disgrace. She was not permitted to speak until spoken to, nor to move until ordered to do so. I was to keep her there in that posture until it was convenient for me to complete the discipline. Her wrists were strapped together in front of her, but she was not otherwise restrained.

So I sat there and read the racing column over and over while I smoked a pipe and drank another glass of hock and seltzer. Or so it appeared. In truth, for the next half hour or more, my eyes peeped over the edge of the Sporting Times. I simply could not draw my gaze from the deliciously provoking view which a young slut like Noreen offers in this situation. To keep her waiting was also a means of heightening the drama-comedy or tragedy, according to one's view. They had left the stout, leather belt of her riding jeans strapped tightly 'round her waist, narrowing her there and emphasising the proud swell of her hips and seat.