From the Top Shelf - Ellen's Turn

Last week we saw Ellen's friend Rachel being spanked for climbing into an elm tree to prevent the woodcutters from chopping it down. Ellen is still in the tree, and now it's her turn to be punished.

"Oh you're not going to birch me, are you? You can't! You mustn't! It's wrong and shameful to birch a young girl!" I wailed piteously, all my angry resistance suddenly collapsing...

Clem's coarse features wrinkled into a sadistic smile as he swished the freshly prepared birch to and fro in the air. "That there little friend o' yourn was just plain naughty," he smirked. "But as for you, young Miss, why you're a different kettle o' fish altogether now ain't you! A real tidy little Madam who needs a bit more than a hand across 'er bare bum!"

"Oh no! Please not that! Please spare me!" I blubbered, the tears already running down my cheeks, but my pleas for clemency went unheeded.

'''Old 'er tight now!" Clem told the lad and, reaching forward, he yanked my knickers down to well below my stocking tops. I let out a shriek of horror and wriggled like an eel, but Simon lifted me up into the air and, as he did so, Clem pulled my pants the rest of the way down my legs and removed them completely.

"There now, it wouldn't do for you to start kickin' and a-rippin' these pretty drawers o' yourn like you did with yer skirts, now would it!" Clem drawled with mock solicitude, lifting up and rudely scrutinising my white cotton underpants much to my excruciating embarrassment.

Then he took off his big leather jerkin and draped it across the broadest part of the fallen bough. Comprehending his meaning, the other two men carried me kicking and screaming to the spot and pushed me face downwards over the bough so that my bare bottom was well elevated for the birching it was to receive.

I looked up and whimpered like a puppy to see Clem, shirtsleeves rolled up, brandishing the supple birch aloft and eyeing my naked bottom with a look that betrayed absolute relish. Manifestly the whipping of girls' bottoms was a pursuit dear to his heart, and Rachel and I doubtless were not the first, or the last, to be subjected to such indignities at his hands. You may ask why he had not fallen foul of the law, but these were times when people felt able to take the law into their own hands, especially where women were concerned. Wives, daughters, nieces, scullery maids alike, all were accustomed to receiving good hidings from the men they were beholden to and rarely sought redress through the courts.

"Now then, are ye goin' to take yer birchin' like a good 'un - or do Sim n' Jacob 'ave ter 'old ye down?" Clem demanded fiercely.

I elected to undergo my ordeal without physical restraint. I desperately wished to be allowed some dignity in the proceedings, although heaven knows I had precious little left, being naked from the waist down! Keeping my legs tightly closed, and tensing my buttocks against the impending assault, I shut my eyes and gritted my teeth, vowing to myself that I would endure my punishment as stoically as I could.

I felt the prickly tips of the pliant, swishy birch twigs being rubbed across my quivering buttocks in a rough caress. Clem was taunting me, teasing my flesh, testing me out. He inserted the spiky twigs in between the cheeks of my bottom and slowly brushed them downwards to where the cleft widened out into the sensitive spot at the junction of my legs.

"Oh, please don't do that! Just birch me and get it over with!" I panted, uncomfortably aware that the sensations I was experiencing were causing my bottom to thrust and sway in a most obscene manner, as though it had a life of its own. My greatest dread was no longer the pain but that the birching would carry me against my will into such disgracefully perverse transports of delight that Clem would discover, no doubt to his profound satisfaction, what a wicked, wicked girl I really was!

He started by birching me quite lightly, all over my well rounded buttocks,and even down the tops of my thighs above my stockings. The sensation, I must admit, was not at first unpleasant. My bottom was gradually becoming warmer and warmer, and in addition it began to tingle and prickle delightfully.

Then, slowly but relentlessly, the prickly feeling grew and grew in intensity until it resembled what it must feel like to sit naked in a bed of stinging nettles.

"Oooooohhh Ahhhh Noooooo!" I began to gasp, weaving my bottom from side to side to try and escape the birch's stinging kiss.

"Lord, ain't 'er got a pretty plump little bum!" exclaimed Jacob, who was standing directly behind me and evidently enjoying a grandstand view of my nether personal charms. I cursed silently and bit my lip in mortification... I blushed shamefully at the thought of what the men must all be gawping at, for what had now become a never ending sequence of sharp shooting pains throughout my buttocks was compelling me to endlessly to wriggle and rotate my hindquarters in abandon, to splay my legs open wide and generally perform as if I was doing the breast stroke!.

Now Clem was applying the birch much harder and he landed a hissing sibilant stroke full across the crown of my right buttock. I jerked upwards, shocked by the stinging smart, and gave a howl of distress. While I was yet struggling to regain my self control, the callous ruffian planted a second stroke on that self same spot- then a third, and a fourth and with so much pain imparted that I cried out "Oh please no more! I beg you, no more!" Goaded beyond all measure by the inexorable tattoo beating down upon my drum tight bottom flesh, I writhed and contorted my burning, roseate backside in what must have been to onlookers a series of vulgarly suggestive, yet involuntary, muscular spasms.

"Keep that damn bum o' yourn still, young Missy!" warned my tormentor in a voice hoarse with excitement, "or else I shall be obliged to birch ye on yer legs!"

"Oh you cruel brute!" I wailed, choking on my tears, "How can you do this to a young girl?"

His only answer was to apply two tremendous strokes to the soft underswell of my bottom. I felt as if I had been scalded and wriggled wildly in an attempt to cool it off.

I would prefer to claim that I loathed and hated that awful birching yet I was raised to believe that the written word demands scrupulous honesty. So I am forced to admit that the birching, fierce and painful though it was, nevertheless did engender curiously paradoxical sensations within me.

On a purely superficial level I did hate it, but on a much deeper level I know that I experienced an uncontrollable series of sexual spasms that shook my body from head to toe, though thankfully the three men involved in my birching seemed to attribute my frantic jerkings solely to the cumulative effects of my punishment...

Needless to say, I was by now howling lustily and my cheeks were soaked in tears but eventually Clem, judging that I had at long last had a long and painful lesson, threw down the birch and told me I was free to go. I clambered, trembling, to my feet, retrieved my knickers and hastily put them back on, still weeping and bitterly ashamed. Ashamed that I had revealed my intimate nudity to three strangers and even more humiliated by the perverse gyrations I had performed during my birching.

"Oh my skirt! My underclothes!" I whimpered, pointing to the top of the elm tree where my torn garments hung waving in the breeze.

"I'll fetch them for you, Miss!" said Simon in an unexpected act of kindness prompted either by pity or guilt, I know not which, and he leapt into the branches, returning seconds later with what remained of my clothes.

I think Ellen has learned her lesson. This excerpt was taken from Ellen's Story, and anonymously written novel published by Blue Moon books. Read all the excerpts here:

Ellen's Story
Ellen's Story - The Die is Cast
Ellen's Startling Discovery
Ellen's Civil Disobedience