From the Top Shelf - Society IV

Today we conclude the tale of Annie, the lady and Bertha, her maid. Here's where we ended yesterday.

"That will do, Bertha. Now it is time for the rod. Stand up."

She clambered to her feet, her skirts fell back down and she stood before me, with her hands still busy rubbing away at her seat... Her bosom heaved with both her sighings and the vigorous actions of her arms.

"How does your bottom feel now, Bertha?" The frantic rubbing had been replaced with a more contemplative soothing, her blushes had faded and her tears no longer flowed.

"Better, Ma'am."

"Right, Bertha. It is time. Move that armchair into the center of the room."

The armchair was soon in place and the implement was in my hand. I swished it experimentally, enjoying both the ominous flexibility and the alarmed look on her face.

"Pardon me, Ma'am, but does it have to be on my bare bottom?"

"Do not annoy me, Bertha. I told you that the birch has to be administered to the naked flesh, and that I have no intention ever of wasting my energies beating dust from your clothing."

"Sorry, Ma'am. Will it mark me?"

"Of course not. Well, not permanently. There will be little weals but it will soon heal completely. Now lean over the back."

She did so, resting her hands on the arms of the chair and straightening her back so that her bottom thrust against the seat of her skirts.

"Excellent."

I carefully placed the birch on the seat of the chair so that it was right before her eyes, then moved behind to lay her bottom bare again, slowly rolling the skirts all the way up to her waist and folding them neatly on her back. I retrieved my weapon, moved to her side and tapped her glowing cheeks with it to ensure that I would strike the full center, and that the tips of the twigs would bite into her buttocks rather than her flank.

With my eyes fixed on the nervously quivering orbs, I raised it with tantalizing slowness (fully aware that her moist eyes were glued to it) and swept it smoothly down. The faint hiss as the bundle of supple twigs raced down through the warm summer air; the thwack of their landing; the ripple in her flesh as they bit into the softness; the jerk of her body; her gasping inhalation; all these thrilled me. I could see the swathe of red left by the stroke, narrow on the nearer cheek, broadening as it crossed her bottom, where the twigs had spread.

I heard her mewing softly and delivered the second with another smooth, wristy sweep of my arm. She squealed at that one and, out of the corner of my eye, I saw her face screwed up with the pain. She jerked her hips...she tried to shake the smart out of her hips and her fat cheeks wobbled gloriously. Then, with a little sob escaping from her compressed lips, she stuck her bottom out again, then lowered her arms to project it even more. I hit it again. She wailed, wobbled it about again, proffered it again, and I smacked it for the fourth time, inched my feet backwards to alter the landing position of the tips, aimed at the upper parts of her bottom, just below the commencement of her cleft and whisked again, tempering the power to allow for the relative sparsity of the flesh there.

She almost stood upright and I feared for a moment that her skirts would fall but she caught herself in time, slumped forward and stuck her rump out again, with her knees sagging inwards, presenting a sharply rounded and well-divided target. In a flash, I whipped the rod in an upward sweep and landed exactly where I had intended - on the lower, sitting portions of her bottom.

Her resistance broke and she burst into tears, stood up with her hands nursing her blazing hindquarters and dancing from foot to foot. I dropped the birch and pulled her to me, so that she could sob on my shoulder.

"It is over now, Bertha. I hope that I whipped you to your satisfaction?"

I had expected confusion, so her remarks came as something of a surprise.

"Oh, Ma'am, I really needed that. I was feeling all lazy and dozy. I'm all lively now. Thank you."

I smiled at her choice of words, which described the benefits of a loving chastisement so well. "And how about the birch? Was I not right in telling you that it would not be too punishing?"

"Yes, Ma'am. You were. It stung just right."

"Good. And I hope that you now agree that a spanking is much better delivered to a girl's bare bottom."

She blushed modestly and her agreement was a whispered "Yes".

I hope you enjoyed the birching of Bertha as much as she and Annie did!