From the Top Shelf - The Butler's Birch

Here's another offering from my very talented friend for your enjoyment.

The Butler’s Birch
by Anon, 21st century

See pert Amelia, bound across a bench,
Prepared for Judd the butler to chastise:
Her naked buttocks tremble and they clench,
Who daren’t glance back to catch his hard blue eyes.
She knows full well she’s been a wicked wench
And soon the hall will echo to her cries.

Now all the staff are gathered in a ring
And Bolt the footman feasts his hungry gaze
On sweet pink hams – a dish fit for a king –
While pretty Poll the skivvy feels her stays
Are laced too tight, which makes her cringe and cling
At Cook’s stout side, and blush there as she sways.

“I’d die of shame if that was done to me,
My poor plump bottom pushed up in the air!
And stern old Judd, he seems so full of glee,
So keen to lay the birches on her fair,
Fine skin. It’s bad enough across his knee
For spankings on my drawers – but never bare!”

Bold Josephine, just seventeen years old,
Is peeping through the keyhole, saucy miss!
She saw the maid’s misdeed and quickly told
In hopes the consequence would be like this.
A lovely brat her parents scarcely scold,
Her noble rump deserves that rod’s hot kiss.

Now, Mr Judd, the rule must be applied.
Her flagellation’s been enough delayed.
The birch describes an arc both swift and wide
And splays across the haunches of the maid.
She’d thought to grit her teeth and keep her pride:
Instead her sudden shriek makes girls afraid.

The butler does his job with skill and force.
His lashes lay a mesh of vivid red
Across her milky globes without remorse.
As many yowls are yelled and tears are shed,
A frantic arse gyrates across the horse,
Till every vestige of her pride has fled.

How temptingly those tender hills keep calling
The whistling twigs to make their sharp descent;
How lustily her rosebud lips are squalling,
How helplessly she wriggles, tied and bent!
In every luscious inch the sting’s appalling:
How heartily Amelia must repent!

Her flaming cheeks a mass of snaky weals,
She’s helped down sobbing, clutching at their fire,
While pretty Poll (like peeking Josie) feels
A terror at that heat, yet strange desire.
A tingling itch through two young bottoms steals
To meet Judd’s swingeing birch, however dire.

          *   *   *

And so they did – each bottom had its day.
First, Polly with a china tea-set stumbled –
A stripe for every smashed thing on the tray.
Then, shockingly, for bottle-theft he’d rumbled,
The butler to a barn took Lady J.
’Twas there her haughty rump at last was humbled,
Her blue-blood rear stretched on a bale of hay,
Until she stood and – hands to blazing bum – bawled!