A Small Town Girl
22 minutes ago
A properly made birch rod is an instrument of surpassing beauty - and tragedy, since if correctly manufactured, with due regard for the age, sex and physique of the recipient and the gravity of the offence, it will last, if administered with finesse, precisely as long as the apportioned chastisement...and not one stroke longer.
Construction of the rod therefore must be undertaken with all those variable factors very much in mind, though a birch which outlasts the punishment for which it has been specifically created is less grievous a sin against aesthetics than one which flies apart at an earlier stage.
Begin by cutting and selecting the required number of suitable twigs. Choose green (young) twigs if you wish to show mercy, otherwise select switches from the older trees. In all cases trim off all greenery and the lower side shoots from each switch, preserving the general club like profile.
Place the prepared switches on a table and take some moments to study them. Note the spread and direction of even the smallest side twig, and remember that the greater number of these finer twigs that remain within the 'envelope' of the finished rod, the more slowly will the birch move through the air and the lighter and more diffused will be the resulting stroke. This prime characteristic can, to some extent, be cancelled out by the length of the finished rod and the power behind the stroke.
Having grouped the trimmed switches into the perfect punitive profile, secure loosely with string while you prepare the handle. All birch rods should be properly dressed with ribbon- preferably silk- before presentation and eventual use. With the ribbon, begin winding from the base upwards, relaxing the tension as you ascend. This preserves the conical shape. Bisect the free end of the ribbon and knot, then fashion into as elegant a bow as you can contrive.
When I was sixteen we moved to a flat in a large Victorian terraced house. The flat was partly in the basement, and the rooms at the front of the house were reached by descending a stone staircase to the front door at the base of the steps. The rear rooms were on the same level as the garden. It was very spacious, there were more rooms than we needed and I was given one of the rooms at the front as my very own den.
The room was tucked away at the end of a passage and was quite small and windowless. Nevertheless it was an ideal place for me and, since nobody else needed it or, for that matter, ever came near it, I was able to fit it up for my hobbies and spend a good deal of my free time there without being disturbed.
I soon found out that the room above was the bathroom of the upstairs flat which interested me not at all, until one evening while sitting in my den reading, I heard voices from above. A male voice was raised in anger, while the other, a female voice, seemed to be pleading.
Quite clearly I heard the angry voice say:
"It's no use pleading, Vera. I've told you time and time again and now you must take your punishment!"
I stood up, my ears pricked, as the female voice said in a despairing wail:
"Oh Jack, no please!"
I waited with bated breath for the next move. There was the sound of something being moved and then a short cry of "No Jack!" then the sound of a hand striking soft bare flesh.
I could hear every sound, just as if I had been in the room with them. Every single smack, each gasp and cry, all the pleading and entreaties from Vera, and finally the tearful sobs as she cried out "Oh stop, Jack, please I'll be good!"
Obviously Jack was not to be swayed by by his wife's pleas for he continued to administer the chastisement.
"Oh oh no Jack it hurts!"
"Oooohhhh, ah, please stop, it hurts!"
At last the sound of punishment ceased, and I heard Vera's husband say:
"If that hasn't taught you to behave, Vera, I will spank you again and again until you learn!"
Then there was the sound of the door opening and closing, and footsteps retreating along the passage. Vera was still sobbing bitterly, but I noticed that as soon as her husband was out of earshot, the sobbing ceased. The sound of running water now came from the bathroom intermingled with several pained cries from Vera, and my fevered imagination pictured the scene. Vera was standing by the wash basin with her skirt pulled right up and her knickers pulled down to her ankles, and applying a soaked towel to her heated nether regions. After about five minutes, Vera too left the bathroom and I was able to relax.
As you can imagine, I was by now very excited and it was some time before I was able to think clearly.
The first thing I did then was to examine the ceiling very carefully. Since it was quite low, this proved easy, and I soon discovered that the actual ceiling was only cardboard nailed up to the floor joists. In one corner it was very loose and I had no difficulty in pulling it away. To my delight I was rewarded with a ray of light from above. By standing on a chair I was able to get my eye close to the hole, and was overjoyed to discover that I could see into the bathroom quite clearly from what appeared to be a gap in the skirting boards at the corner of the room.
I could see the bath and the wash basin quite well, also part of a chair, and, if I could enlarge the hole a little I would have an even better view. Thinking that there was no time like the present, I set to work. First, I pulled away more of the ceiling and carefully brushed away all the dust and cobwebs. Then, with a long screwdriver, I was able to ease the skirting boards apart, so I had a perfect view of most of the room.
Satisfied with my work, I cleaned all traces of dust and dirt from my clothes and the floor, then went out and scrounged a couple of wooden boxes. These I placed in position, so they made an excellent grandstand on which I could sit comfortably as I watched. Finally, I fixed the sheet of cardboard so that I could move it when necessary but, if anyone came into the den, they wouldn't notice it. I also placed my camera near the boxes so it would be close at hand.
You can bet I kept my ears open for any sounds from the bathroom during the short evening period I was allowed to spend in my den but nothing happened for several days. Then, one evening at about 8 pm, I heard the sound of footsteps above my head and, like a flash, I was at my vantage point, my eye glued to the hole. I was just in time to see Vera enter the bathroom, dressed in a school uniform. She was followed closely by Jack, who wore a black academic gown of the sort schoolmasters wore.
Vera backed up against the wash basin and turned to face her husband.
"Please, Jack," she began in a wheedling voice but that's as far as she got, for her husband's stern tones cut her short.
"I'm having no more excuses, Vera," she said sharply. "You should have done as you were told then you wouldn't have to think up silly stories to get out of being punished! Now, young lady, just you turn around and bend over the bath!"
"Yes, Jack," said Vera in a doleful voice, and with obvious reluctance, turned and leaned forward over the porcelain bath.
My view was temporarily obscured as Vera's husband moved towards his erring wife. All I could see was the husband's form as he stood directly behind Vera, but I did see the thin cane tucked under one arm. He fumbled with Vera's clothing for a few seconds and then stepped to one side.
My heart pounded in my chest for, facing me, was the glorious vision of Vera's plump white bottom, completely bare and ready for her caning.
Her husband had tucked up her gym slip and pulled the blue school knickers halfway down Vera's thighs.
My eyes were transfixed by the wonderful supple curves and the round plumpness of the twin cheeks. I was still feasting my eyes when there was a movement, a faint swish and the cane was planted right across the centre of those wonderful cheeks.
There was a startled squeal from Vera, and she jerked half upright and drew her bottom in, causing the cheeks to cling together so that the deep shadowed cleft between them became a dark line and the soft skin of her bottom puckered as she sought to harden her flesh against the pain.
Her husband waited patiently for a few moments while Vera wriggled her bottom about, then she raised the cane again and said, "That's enough, Vera, bend down again!"
I thought at first the woman would refuse, but she gave a soft moan and slowly bent over again. I could see quite clearly where the cane had landed, for there was a thick bright red line across Vera's bottom and I knew from personal experience it must be stinging like mad.
I watched the cane poised high in the air, ready for another stroke, and followed it as it sped towards its lovely defenceless target.
Vera shrieked in pain, and there was no doubt that this stroke hurt even more then the first one, for I watched it strike home about an inch below the red weal and curl around the edge of Vera's well out-thrust bottom, clinging for a split second before it sprang back again.
Immediately Vera shot upright and grabbed her burning cheeks, rubbing them frantically.
"Oh Jack, no more. Please Jack, it hurts dreadfully! Aaaah my bottom is on fire!" she wailed. She cast an imploring look at her husband, but it was obvious that the good man was used to his wife's tricks and would not relent, so with a despairing sob, Vera resumed her position. Her skirt had half fallen, so that it partly covered the target area so, before the next installment, it was again lifted and pinned out of the way.
As the cane was raised for the third time, I could see that the skin around the weals was beginning to suffuse into a deep pink colour and that both cheeks were quivering with pain.
Vera seemed to be trying to hold her bottom taut, but her position made such efforts impossible, so that her lovely bottom was alternately contracting and relaxing. It was a beautiful study in fluid motion as the firm supple flesh quivered and rolled as she tried to control her buttock muscles. Quickly I moved my camera over the spy hole and pressed the button just as a howl of pain followed another stroke of the cane.
When I put my eye to the spy hole again I saw Vera standing up facing me. Her pretty face was screwed up with pain and she was clutching her sore bottom.
"Oh Jack," she wailed "I can't stand any more, please stop!"
Her appeal was so heart rending that I was sure her husband would take pity on her but oh, no, with a firm decisive gesture, he took hold of Vera and, pulling her close, forced her to bend over.
Once more he lifted the naughty girl's skirt, baring once more the chubby bottom, to my great delight, then raised the cane to continue the punishment.
Vera's knickers had fallen right down to her ankles, her legs were splayed wide and her knees bent, presenting me with a view so incredible that my already feverish pulse surged and throbbed through my temples. I licked my dry lips and forced myself onto tip toes.
Vera's husband raised the cane again, a slight smile etched on his face, and with no sign of remorse brought the thin cane whistling down once more on those beautiful rounded globes.
Vera gave an anguished wail and again her hands rushed to her welted bottom. She straightened and I thought her skirt would drop and cover this delectable sight, but no! Her arms, pressed tightly against her hips, held the skirt up and I trembled with delight as I watched the jutting cheeks wobble and dance in the paroxysms of pain.
"Oh Jack, Jack," Vera squealed in terror, "please no more, I beg you. I can't take any more!"
Her husband gave her a withering glance and his eyes fastened on the angry red weals of his wife's once white bottom, but he pushed Vera down once more, raising the cane high and without replying to the entreaties, brought it down hard on the unprotected bottom.
I hurriedly shoved my camera close to the spy hole and triggered it, then not wishing to miss the final acts, I replaced my eye to the aperture and saw my lovely Vera standing, tears running down her face, hands rubbing the stinging reddened buttocks and sobbing in desperation for her husband to finish the punishment.
Looking at his wife for a few moments, the husband sighed and dropped the cane, saying:
"Vera, on this occasion I will let you off lightly. In future, if you disobey me you can expect a lot worse than this!"
Vera, her bottom now bright red and criss-crossed with several sore weals, cried "Oh Jack, I promise...no more, I promise to behave."
Then I watched them leave the bathroom, Jack leading his wife by the arm, and Vera carrying her knickers and rubbing her bottom tenderly.