Anonymous - Birch in the boudoir

What was rather appealing was the way in which she stood with head bowed, the dark hair just lifted clear of her collar at the back. I was able to admire her strong and straight young back, the firm robust young thighs, the cheeks of her well-made bottom, still blushing deeply from her tanning and marked in several places by the muddy print of the gym-shoe heel.

I noticed that, as a half-hour ended, Noreen grew increasingly restive. How shall I describe it? Her thighs seemed to shift and tense together a little. The cheeks of her bottom pressed together spasmodically, reducing her arse-cleft to a thin, tight line.

I stood up and walked across to reprimand such wilful disobedience. "You were ordered to stand still, Noreen! Since you seem to find such difficulty in obeying a simple command, we must enforce that instruction with the cane! Perhaps that will cure you of fidgeting. Bend over! Right over! Do you hesitate, you young slut? Obey the command! At once!"

Rather awkwardly, as it seemed to me, and breathing audibly, Noreen bent to touch her toes. I went down on one knee behind her and my hands made a brief but intimate examination of her strapping young backside. Then I turned away to take the cane from its cupboard.

As I did so, I heard from behind me the sound of a loud and vulgar raspberry. I swung 'round. I must admit that Noreen, her mouth open in alarm, did not look like a girl who had just pressed her tongue between her lips and blown off that street-urchin rudeness. Yet I can hardly believe that my ears deceived me at such close range! Moreover, the young strumpet certainly showed open defiance. Though her pale, firm-featured face was suffused with consternation, she had straightened up and was standing with one hand pressed to her behind. I had certainly given no permission for such a change in posture.

"Very well, Noreen," I said quietly, "if you will have it so, you will. I should very much like to give your backside a long session with the pony-lash tonight. Unfortunately, such extreme discipline must be approved by Miss Martinet. Be assured I shall apply to her in the morning. Tonight you shall have the cane."

In order that I might enjoy the retribution fully, I thought it prudent to require her to pull her pants up and to have her escorted to the stable-block, well out of earshot. Would I not be approved of by those passing admirers who had seen the strapping young wench standing slack-hipped as a whore? When the grooms had secured her on all fours over the padded birching stool, would not those admirers have stood agog at the same sight? The pale-blue jeans seat was splitting tight over the strong, well-made cheeks of Noreen's backside. A flick of her dark hair and she was staring back with the same firm-faced impudence which had greeted their admiration of her in this pose.

I undid her at the waist and pushed the pants to her knees, adding one more strap to pinion her sturdy legs together just at the base of her thighs. My finger teased the rear pout of her vaginal lips. My hands fondled the pale, sturdy swell of her bottom-cheeks. My fingers fiddled remorselessly between those cheeks for several minutes, despite the tensing and shifting of her seat.

"Thirty-six strokes of the bamboo across your behind, Noreen. That is your allotted penalty for a week's misconduct. After that, we must add something for your disgraceful conduct in the other room."

Now, under the level fringe of dark hair, her eyes filled with dismay. Yet I had endured enough of her impudence and was resolved.

"You fear you will not be able to bear it, Noreen? Fortunately, the choice is not yours. You will be made to bear it all the same."

She could not take her eyes off the long, rippling bamboo. I was determined to subdue her quickly. She gave a gasp of fright as I measured the first stroke very low, across the light creases which divided Noreen's statuesque buttocks and thighs, a supremely sensitive area.

"Six strokes in succession across there, Noreen, to teach you manners!"

The first lash of the bamboo across that path made her fingers clench and thighs press hard together. A flat smack! of the cane across the same track brought a half-suppressed cry. With wicked but righteous accuracy, I landed two more on top of those. Noreen screamed as the last two whipped the swelling bamboo print of the others.

"And two more across there, Noreen. Just where the edge of the chair comes. Remember this when next you are tempted to be insolent."

Twice more I caught her there. Noreen's bottom-cheeks were writhing, as if she were seated bare on a red-hot saddle. What a tale of woe might be read in that hard young face now; Noreen's tears were brimming and coursing down. I touched the cane across the crowns of her buttocks, where she was so broad. "Eight strokes here, Noreen. Right where you sit." Wide-eyed and wild-mouthed, she made the rafters ring. I allowed her a pause after the second batch. Then I put my lips to her ear. "And now, Noreen, your thirty-six." At nineteen, Noreen is so strongly built I quite thought she would break the straps in her frenzy at learning this. But they held her. I continued to murmur to her-for my bark was to prove worse then my bite-explaining the leniency of such discipline. There were countries in the world, I told her, where such insolence by a slave girl to her master would be rewarded by one last night. There, too, she would be

on all fours, though strapped down astride the traditional bench, her thighs conveniently parted and rump-cheeks spread. The grave-faced vizier would watch the two burly, lion-clothed minions during the long night. The whips and the implements of the brazier would be eagerly employed upon Noreen's bottom there, no less than between her thighs. Monstrous devices would impale her both ways. Without remorse, dawn would bring the belly skewer to nineteen-year-old Noreen and the leather collar would be tightened inexorably. The final scene would reveal Noreen tumbled arse-upwards in a dark pit, the food for predators.

Such words do more good than all the canes in the world. With the thrashing at last finished, I undid the straps which held her ankles and legs.

If you imagine her lashing back at me with her feet kicking wildly, you are quite wrong. Noreen set her knees wide apart with frantic haste, thrust her hips back, and begged for love in the humblest and most pleading terms. She sobbed for it, if only as a temporary respite from correction. What could I do? Laying down the cane I knelt behind her and unbuttoned myself. Then my stiffness parted the way through her love-pouch from behind and into her warm, receptive depths. Gently at first, then harder, we rode together until the bomb of passion burst and I flooded her most copiously.

How she feared now that the caning might resume! Lowering her shoulders and straight dark hair, she raised her seat and begged for love another way. When I said that she deserved to be caned for suggesting such a thing, she pleaded all the harder, most vulgarly offering me her "arse" and promising "a good time" with it.

My finger soaped her tight portal of Sodom. "Too late to recant now, Noreen!" I said, smiling at her. "Will you still think it worth the excitement when I cane you for this afterwards? Now lie more tightly over the scroll."

I did not, of course, punish her as I threatened. Taking her breasts in my hands as the guide, I rode Noreen's arse in the grand manner, spending copiously inside it. When it was over, she knew that the caning might follow. I could scarcely believe her next request. I undid her and staggered to the chair, from which I have not had the strength to rise since being squeezed from Noreen's rear. Yet I gave my consent to her suggestion. As I pen these last lines, she kneels before me and takes in her mouth my stiffening… My darling Lizzie, I can write no further… Ah, Noreen, you delicious young whore! Your tongue-use it again like that! Ah!…