Edward Cartwright - The Family Man

There could be no mistake about the sound that came through the library door to catch the attention of the two men who sat sipping sherry.

First there was the angry swish of the birch, then following closely, the sound of it curling around a bare posterior. The loud girlish cry of pained protest which followed closely. After a brief pause, the sounds were repeated in the same order.

“I say, Harry,” the guest looked confused and his words confirmed it, “it sounds for all the world like… well…”

“Like my fifteen year old daughter Faith having her bare bottom birched? That's precisely what it is. I feel that stern discipline is the only answer in times such as these. Without it, children would be completely spoiled.”

Instantly aroused by the sounds of a well developed girl of fifteen being birched on her naked posterior, the guest wanted very much to stay. Yet, the manner of his host gave a strong indication that he should leave.

It was just the impression Harry Brougham wanted to give his guest. Just through the door, Elizabeth, the children's tutor, would look breathtaking in her role of avenging angel.

Her strong body would be poised, firm breasts, buttocks and thighs straining the plain white frock as she bent over the wailing culprit and brought the birch down again and again on the flawless satin half moons of Faith's writhing, twitching buttocks.

Already, the lush white mounds would be red streaked against the alabaster background. A few more strokes, and the hillocks would be more red than white.

Elizabeth, he recalled, liked to apply the birch with a slow rhythm, a maddeningly slow one to the victim who counted those received and dreaded those yet to come at the pleasure of the woman who knew so well how to ignite fires under sensitive skin. He had to get rid of the man at once.

“I'm sure you'll understand, Charles,” Harry rose as he spoke. “It seems that a family emergency has arisen and I must attend to it.”

“Of course, Harry. It's a pleasure to see a parent with such a sense of devotion to the upbringing of his children.”

Just when Harry had reached the stage where if the bumbling idiot said another word he would scream in rage and throw him out, his guest reached the door at last.

Ensuring that the parting was brief, Harry quickly closed the door behind him and hurried back toward the door through which he heard the sounds of discipline.

Just before opening it, he remembered to stop long enough to adjust the front of his trousers so that the throbbing lump which his penis had become would not be too clearly visible.

He drew the door open quietly and was able to see the expression on Elizabeth's face as she raised the birch for the next stroke. There was more than just the look of a stern disciplinarian there, he read passion too. The same burning passion he felt each time he watched her beat one of the children.

Aware that she still hadn't noticed his entrance into the room, he held his breath. Her muscles tensed, her full breasts heaved and he heard a gasp that was more a sigh of passion as the many fingers of the birch curled around the buttocks which seemed to heave upward to meet the stinging kisses of the birch.

Elizabeth saw him then and flashed him a look of acknowledgement as her arm drew back to reveal the sight of plump white buttocks excitingly marked with a network of red streaks where the birch had already kissed.

Harry was delighted to see that she had not made the girl kneel in a chair this time or adopt the pose he liked even less of bending all the way over with her hands behind her knees. In that position, the buttocks were drawn too tightly and made to point so that they lost their soft, round lines.

This time, his daughter, stripped naked, was bending just enough so that her hands gripped the arms of the big chair. Her bottom was fully curved and able to dance freely under the sting. As it did, the rest of her danced too so that her nicely budding breasts swayed under her with an exciting fullness.

Harry switched his gaze to the tutor then as her arm drew back fully, her breasts, especially the right one, filled the front of her dress so that he was sure he could see the imprint. He waited for the smooth globe to burst through the confining material and fall into view. It didn't and the birch wrapped around the lovely, writhing bum again.

The cries of his daughter filled the room with a sound that was like music to Harry Brougham. Harry's breath was tearing through his chest as he watched while five more strokes were delivered. It had been a good birching, a truly magnificent one.

Walking with regal grace, Elizabeth placed the birch carefully on the table in the manner of a musician putting a priceless instrument down after a virtuoso performance. Indeed, Harry thought, it had been all of that.

“Would you care to administer the coup de grace?” she asked him in her carefully modulated voice.

For just a moment, he flustered. Normally, when he knew he would participate in a punishment of his daughter, Harry took the precaution of wrapping a cloth around his middle to keep his penis under control. There had been no time for that today and he feared exposure of his excitement.

“Thank you, no, Elizabeth. I'd prefer that you do it this time.”

With a bow, Elizabeth walked over to the bending, still twitching form of the girl. Standing beside her, she bent and wrapped her left arm around the naked waist to hold her in a firm grip.

Her right hand drew back, the palm fully open. It held there for just a moment before coming ahead to land with a sharp, exploding sound as it seemed to caress one hot cheek for a moment.

The coup de grace after a birching or a session with a whippy cane, consisted of a brisk hand spanking so that the surfaces of both cheeks were painted a uniform red. Elizabeth spanked more quickly than she had birched. The agonized girl danced and howled, but made no attempt to move out of range of the spanking hand as it moved from plump cheek to plump cheek delivering its sharp, stinging spanks.

The hand spanking was something Harry enjoyed watching even more than the dance of the birch or cane. It provided such a thrilling sound as the palm, properly formed and aimed clapped against the swelling cheek of behind.

As a signal that the spanking was almost concluded, Elizabeth moved her hand lower and aimed the spanks upward so that they stung the soft, sensitive flesh at the bottom of each globe just where thigh meets buttock.

Faith's cries reached a higher pitch in recognition of the efficiency of the final few spanks.

And then it was over. Elizabeth bowed to the man and he assured her that as usual, she had handled her task well and that he was completely satisfied.

Harry left the room quickly and hurried to his private chamber. He had not quite told the truth when he said he was satisfied. That was about to happen though.

Almost tearing his pants open, he withdrew the stiff penis and felt it throb in anxiety. Even with his eyes wide open he could still see clearly the sight of his nude daughter writhing and dancing while the tutor birched and spanked her. Even the sounds came back to him clearly as his right hand wrapped tightly around the aroused shaft and began jerking it back and forth.

A minute later, he was still hearing the sounds and seeing the sights of the spanking as his penis gave on major throb then, drawing his hand away, he watched in rapt fascination as his sperm spurted out and away.

After the final spurt, it fell limp and exhausted so that it matched the man. Now, he was truly satisfied. It was the logical and normal ending to a session of corporal punishment for his daughter or son and, as always, Harry Brougham felt good. He felt very, very good.