Anonymous - Birch in the boudoir

"Do it, Mag!" gasped the lad again, "do it all the same!"

His long sigh of contentment suggested that the coltish young blonde, with her curtains of light golden hair, had obeyed him in this matter.

"I must kiss you between the thighs, Maggie!" he murmured, "while my fingers stiffen those strawberry nipples on your white breasts. Was that nice when I kissed you there, Mag? Ah, how that makes you shudder-the tip of my tongue running in the love-slit between your thighs. Lie still, Maggie, and let me do it again. What a soft little cry! Anyone would think I had put you to the torture!"

I listened in stupefaction, my dearest Lizzie. Was this the way in which our English reformatories were run, I asked myself? Small wonder that such young whores as Maggie took their sentence with equanimity.

"Now your backside, Maggie!" sighed her adorer. "Did you see how the men admired you through the window each time they had a view from the rear as you bent over in your tight riding jeans? What would they like to do to you, Mag, if they had you as a slave girl? Suck softly, Maggie! Run your tongue about the cherry top! Now let me press your pale seat-cheeks apart and admire what lies between. Ah, yes, Maggie! If you were my slave girl, I should be pitiless in threading my shaft into that tight, dark hole as well. That frightens you a little? The thought of it makes you stiffen? To tell you the truth, Mag, the thought of it makes me stiffen too!"

So the lover's aria continued behind the stable screen. As I listened, I looked out across the green, ' sloping lawn towards the hedge which marked the steep fall of the cliff to the waves. It was the only side on which Greystones might seem unprotected. Yet no young damsel had ever been hardy enough to attempt a descent by that route. Nor, of course, had any randy swain ever managed to climb up by that way to woo his beloved in her reformatory bed! As I looked across the lawns and saw the pier and bandstand of Pinebourne glittering in the sun beyond, I could not help wondering what the respectable burghers of the town would feel if they knew the truth of the reformatory regime of which their lawmakers were so proud.

Just then the grooms returned. Maggie, who had not nearly completed her chores, was sentenced to be chastised for her dilatoriness. When the first groom came to tell me that Maggie was made ready to be caned for idleness, I could hardly find an answer! Imagine how eagerly the men who had watched at the window while she worked at the harness display would have taken this opportunity! I could scarcely believe that it was my own voice saying, "Ah… yes… indeed. To be sure. Perhaps, though, on this first occasion, you would be good enough to deal with her for me."

A broad smile crossed the groom's face. All the passion which he had pumped into Maggie's mouth, the love with which he had spangled her thighs and backside, did not restrain his zeal for chastising her. We went into the main part of the tiled stable, where a padded leather bench stood at the centre of the floor. Maggie was stripped to her singlet, made to kneel at one end of the bench and lie forward along it. Her discarded pants and knickers (a pair of stretched cotton briefs) lay discarded on the table. They had tied her blond hair in a short pony-tail, and I was pleased at that. It enabled me to watch more clearly her blue eyes and fair-skinned features. I nodded to the groom, who made the preparations required by the Greystones regulations. Maggie's wrists were strapped to the far end of the bench, her waist buckled down, and her legs belted tightly together just above the knees.

All this will sound so severe, Lizzie, that you will scarcely credit how much pleasure there was for Maggie in her punishment. Yet such was the truth, as I discovered when I made my inspection of her before she was bamboo'd.

I squatted down behind her and studied the area which offered itself as a target to the groom. Maggie's buttocks, firmly and fully presented by her posture, were stretched hard apart. Both the rear pout of her vaginal purse and her anal cleft were in full view. I teased our blond shop girl gently. "You've been making love, haven't you, Maggie?" I stroked her down the length of her cleavage, between the fair-skinned sturdiness of her buttocks, tickling the rear of her vaginal pouch and finding it moist. She was far away by now, her mouth open a little, and her blue-green eyes blank, as if she could not hear.

Can you guess the truth, Lizzie? Any of the other shop girls punished in this manner-Pat or Jennifer or the rest-would have trembled at the ordeal. Maggie, however, was a lover of that delight known to us as "Birch in the Boudoir." Even a prison caning was the occasion for her pleasure. It is true, is it not, that certain girls, like the slave, Janina or the Grecian nymph, Sarita, have found pleasure under the rod of their Turkish masters? Maggie was a worthy novice!

Already I could see that her pale, firm thighs, in all their stocky power, were squeezing rhythmically together. It was impossible to prevent, except by ordering her legs to be strapped apart. To tell you the truth, my curiosity was so great that I could not bear to do that.

"No wonder the men watched you as you set out the harness display, Maggie," said the first groom, "if you were misbehaving like that!"

But the young shop girl had no shame, Lizzie! I vow she continued with the thigh-squeezing and the buttock-clenching as if she could not have stopped it for dear life.

The groom cut the air with a trial swish of his bamboo. Our young blonde masturbatrix stopped, frozen in a moment of apprehension, and then resumed her labours of self-love.

"Thirty strokes across your bare bottom, Maggie," I said softly, and I nodded to the groom to begin the punishment with the long supple bamboo.

How the first stroke of the cane rang out across the firm, pale cheeks of Maggie's bottom! She gasped, cried out, but never ceased to squeeze her love-lips hard between her thighs. Again the cane lashed across her seat, and again. She gave a soft cry but it was hard to say whether pain or pleasure drew it from her. The groom was quite pitiless with her. Believe me, any true disciplinarian who had watched Maggie displaying herself at the window would have approved that. Six times the cane raised a weal across the cheeks of Maggie's bottom-and twice across the backs of her thighs. She cried out with the hurt and with the pleasure of her own thigh-squeezing at the same time. In truth the vicious prison bamboo was a smarting agony across the bare cheeks of her backside. Only the swelling balloon of pleasure in her own lions enabled her to endure it with such insouciance.

After the first fifteen strokes, the groom handed the cane to his colleague for the rest.

"Almost at the summit of your climb, Maggie?" asked the second man. "I shall let you get there before I cane. Then fifteen wicked strokes across your backside, with no distractions!"

Mag cried out again, begging him to bamboo her in her present state. But he waited until her thighs seemed to beat quickly in their squeezing, like soft white wings. He stood, undid her legs, and strapped them again with knees wide apart. Then he caned the impudent blonde shop girl without compunction.

I was conscious that the lads she had romped with earlier had their eyes pressed to every chink and keyhole in the place. Under the second groom's attentions, Maggie screamed and her green eyes brimmed over. Unlike his predecessor, he was a moralist and no libertine. His righteous anger brought thin ruby trickles from the new weals across her bottom-cheeks.

At last Maggie lay limp and gasping, her behind blushing and marked by swollen stripes. I stroked her blond hair, calming her. "Come to my room tomorrow morning, Maggie," I said gently. "You'll be tanned now until the grooms are satisfied with you. Tomorrow, I'll treat you to some softer discipline of my own."