From the Top Shelf - Serving Time, Part VII

When we left Fern last time, the illicit caning she had been administering was interrupted by the returning guard.

Since then, Fern was found in her hiding place. She denied having been the giver of Sylvie's extra stripes but was found out after Dr Marshall gave her a chance to add to Sylvie's punishment, and noticed her beginner's technique.

"That's why I had you brandish the rod," Dr Marshall explained. He took her hand and pulled her closer to Sylvie's nervously twitching bum. "See those marks?" He used his index finger to trace the red horizontal blotches.


Fern squinted at them. "Yes. So?"


"These are caused by the tip of the cane. In other words, the end of it has been the main part making contact with Sylvie's backside." He pursed his lips together as he studied the different shades of pink and scarlet. "That's because you're not used to laying on the rod and have caused it to fall in a diagonal line."


The doctor turned his attention to one of the unmarked bums further down the stocks. "Watch closely, Fern, and see how a caning should be applied," he said. He lined up the reformatory rod and applied it smartly so that it landed parallel across the creamy expanse. The girl grunted low. A uniform line appeared all the way across her wicked bottom. "See?" the man continued. "A good mark, a sore stripe and no bruising - the ideal chastisement for a lazy gardener." He smiled mirthlessly at Fern. "Don't worry, my dear, I won't bruise you either though I'll give you the hottest bum."


"No - don't!" Fern took three steps back and bumped into Ms Lenn.


"Take your punishment, my dear," the older woman said. "You know you deserve it."


Fern swallowed convulsively. "But I..."


"Sneaked out the wrong door. Neglected your gardening duties," the doctor cut in.


"And thrashed poor Sylvie's backside," the guard said, looking covetously at the various canes...


Dr Marshall turned to the guard. "Can you let the others go? I'll need all my concentration to teach Fern's fibbing arse some truthfulness."


The guard nodded then walked to the wooden restrainer and freed the naked girls...


"Fern - take off your shorts," the psychiatrist said.


"Can't I just...?"


"Procrastination will earn you further punishment and that arse is already due a severe thrashing," the man continued.


Trying not to think of the sore bum that awaited her, Fern unbuttoned and pulled down her summer shorts. She kicked them off.


"And your sandals," the man instructed.


She obeyed him and stood on the warm dust in her newly bared feet.


"Now, Fern, you can't expect to get to keep your panties on," the doctor said.


"I... No, sir." Deciding that to mimic obedience might lessen her correction, Fern pulled down her white panties with pink rosebuds.


When she was naked below the waist, the man pointed to the recently de-peopled stocks. "Get in the middle one, my dear. That'll give me ample room to swing the birch from any angle."


The birch! Fern quivered and felt hugely aware of her bare little bum. Hadn't the birch latterly been used on only the most intractable British criminals? Hadn't it eventually been banned?


...Fern walked towards the wooden stocks. She put her fingers to the upper section and pushed, surprised at how well oiled it was. She stretched her neck and arms into the required grooves.


Seconds after she got into position the hinged wood slid down, holding her in situ. How ingenious, Fern thought, moving her fingers and toes. She felt fully restrained, yet almost comfortable within the stocks' confines. Not that her bare bottom was going to be comfortable for long - not with Dr Marshall about to birch it soundly. It was about to become hot and red and sore. She winced as he walked before her and went up to the table and selected the twig-stiffened punisher. One lash would bring heat to almost half of her captive posterior, the birch was so wide. And she had no idea how many lashes she was about to get on her exposed cool orbs.


Fern tightened her lower cheeks so that she scrunched up her bum and made it as small and tight a target as possible. She held and held and held it like that until at last her strength gave out and she let her buttocks relax. Then she flinched and squealed as a smarting pain covered the top half of her arse. Damn him, he'd been patiently waiting his moment!


"Count each stroke for me, Fern, then thank me for it and ask me for the next one," the psychiatrist said.


"And if I don't?" Fern muttered.


"If you don't, I'll add a birching to the backs of your thighs to match each one planned for your recalcitrant little bottom. Your hips will be begging for mercy by the time I'm through."


She felt his smooth fingertips trace the crease at the bottom of her nether cheeks, and shivered with mixed shame and excitement.


"Thank you for using the birch on my bad bottom, sir. Please give me another taste," she whispered with obvious reluctance.


"Your wish is my command. Just think about why you're getting this," the doctor said. He used the birch a second time. Each individual twig left its hot trail, a trail which seemed to fuse with the others till her entire backside felt fiery and tight.


"Thank you for..." Again Fern acknowledged the horrid stroke, though she couldn't quite bring herself to ask for its successor. Her bottom already felt like an oven-baked apple. Would the thorough and all-knowing doctor turn it into a roasted chestnut before he was through?


...As if in answer, Dr Marshall ran the birch twigs over her bum, a caress with potential cruelty. "That's nice, isn't it, Fern? Quite stimulating?"


She shivered as the blood rushed to her pubis. She might as well be truthful, given that he seemed to read her mind with unerring precision. "I...guess so. Yes."


...Fern moaned quietly as he continued to stroke her twice-birched bum with the multi-fingered implement. Amazing that the sticks which had brought such pain could now give such pleasure to her exposed silky flesh! She could feel the gelatinous liquid starting to leave her aching centre...


She was nearing climax now, each caress with the birch sending more wanton weight to her mound of Venus. Desperate to reach orgasm, she pushed her hips back against the traitorous touch...[Dr Marshall] ran his thumb over her clitoris and kept repeating the light sure pressure.


"Ah ... aaaaah ... aaaaaaaaah!" Fern's body went into rapturous spasm after spasm as her pussy pleasured into release.


Climax here at Compulsion was unlike any climax ever known before. It intensified when the guards and the psychiatrist talked and touched her. Increased when they lewdly tormented and teased each genital itch... Fern kept her eyes and mouth tight closed, still slave to the incredible pulsing thrill between her legs and above them. Dr Marshall was exquisitely skilled in the art of making a woman orgasm. Dr Marshall was...about to birch her again.

He doesn't. Circumstances intervene once more. Isn't that always the way? But it all ends happily. Fern serves her sentence, then is offered the position of athletics director, and stays on at Compulsion, although no longer on the receiving end.

From Serving Time by Sarah Veitch.