From the Top Shelf - Heatherton Hall, chapter 3b

We have come to the final segment of  "The Ladies of Heatherton Hall". You may recall that last week, Gwyneth got into some hot water while protesting the building of beach houses on the island. She was sentenced to a birching, which Josh promised to deliver in private. She was sent out of the room to prepare herself, and now she is ready.

She arrived in the company of her maid, minutes later, wearing a short silk dressing gown. Josh whistled to himself as she disrobed. Underneath she wore only a brief camisole and tap pants which put her lean legs and curvy figure on full display.

There was a knock and Josh opened the door for Mrs. Finch. She held a birch, but it was different. It was short, maybe eighteen inches long.

“That is not a regulation birch rod,” announced the deputy, frowning. “She won’t even feel two dozen with that.”

“We do not have a frame here,” said Josh. He looked Gwyneth in the eye. “So she is going across my knee. The tradition requires appropriate punishment. She has behaved like a child, and so it is appropriate that she be punished like one. This, as I understand it, is called a nursery birch. It will do, after I give her a sound spanking with the flat of my hand.”

At that, the deputy’s face broke out in a broad smile. The humiliation of seeing Lady Gwyneth treated like a ten-year-old by a man her own age was too delicious.

“Please proceed, sir,” she said with a smug grin.

Meanwhile, Gwyneth was aghast. A spanking? She had been prepared to take a dozen with the rod, but to be spanked like a child? Just like her cousins? And by this man? She went hot and cold at the same time. Her stomach did flips and her limbs were shaking. She watched as the new master of Heatherton Hall slid an armless chair out from the wall. He took Gwyneth by the hand and led her to the chair. Seating himself, he drew her face down across his knee, arranging her so that her bottom was arched up prominently.

The feel of her body was electrifying, and the sight of her—the lean legs, the tiny waist, the shapely bottom straining against silky tap pants pulled tight. He was getting an uncomfortably stiff erection. Her groin pressed against his. She could probably feel it. But the piece de resistance came into view when he inserted his fingers and peeled down the tap pants. Her bottom was breathtaking—two rounded globes, set off from the tops of her thighs, with a tight crease between and not an ounce of excess fat.

“Are you ready, Gwyneth?” asked Josh calmly, as if this were an ordinary occurrence.

“Y-yes.” What else could she say? Her body was quivering with twin emotions: embarrassment and something else... excitement? Josh patted the twin orbs, testing their resilience. The flesh was wonderfully soft, yet springy. Then, without further ado, he raised his hand and brought it down with a loud smack, right on the center of her bottom. She gasped and flinched. He smacked her left cheek, then her right. She drew a sharp breath through her teeth and arched her back. Then he launched into a methodical spanking of her bottom in which he scattered the spanks around, covering all of that gorgeous, quivering behind, from the top to the deep overhang of her cheeks, up one side and down the other. Ohhhh, this stings, she thought, and she squirmed involuntarily, fluttering her legs.

Smack! Smack! Smack! Josh’s palm splatted noisily against her fleshy cheeks hard, making each spank count.

Her toes drummed on the floor. The heat in her bottom increased dramatically as the brisk spanks fell in relentless rhythm. I’m across his knee, being spanked, with my bare bottom on display. He can see everything! She could not shake the thought that, although what he was doing to her was mortifying and shameful, her body had betrayed her. It was wickedly sensual. Josh observed her bottom as he spanked. It wobbled deliciously, a pink flush appearing that quickly changed to a deeper shade as he briskly smacked the quivering orbs.

Deputy Beacham smiled. This was good. Look at that. The haughty Lady Heatherton, squirming and flopping over the man’s knee—spanked like a naughty schoolgirl suitably punished. She smiled with satisfaction as she observed Gwyneth’s naked bottom absorbing smack after smack. And from the sound of it, they were good ones, too, solid cracks that made her cheeks flatten, then spring back. Yes, this was a good, sound spanking.

After a few minutes Josh stopped. Gwyneth was breathing heavily. She couldn’t stop squirming. Her rear was throbbing hot. Josh picked up the birch. Gwyneth looked over her shoulder, alarmed.

“I believe it was two dozen, correct?”

Deputy Beacham nodded.

Josh flicked the rod down, swick! Gwyneth flinched and gasped. It was a hot intense sting, different from the spanking.

Again, swick! Again, swick!

Yow, that stung! thought Gwyneth, adjusting to a new sensation. It was a burn like nothing she’d ever felt. Her behind blazed hotter with each sharp stroke, little lines of fire licking her flesh. But as she endured the painful swishing of the short rod, something else was happening. She squeezed her thighs together and wriggled on Josh’s knee. Swick! Swick! Oh! It’s searing. So sharp! she thought. But she also felt a growing wetness between her legs.

After twenty-four carefully measured strokes, it was done. For a moment Gwyneth closed her eyes and slowly writhed across Josh’s lap as he tossed the rod away and sat back. Then he helped her to her feet. Her eyes were wet with tears, her face flushed, and her lip was quivering, but Josh knew she wasn’t really hurt. He had held back. He had put on a show for the deputy and it had worked. As he guessed, she had been more interested in the humiliation that Gwyneth would suffer by being spanked like a child—and that had satisfied her.

The deputy took her leave. Gwyneth was allowed to go upstairs and compose herself.

“Wait,” said Josh to the deputy who had started to take her leave. “I need to go into the village. Tonight is the Island Council meeting. I’ll ride with Deputy Beacham.”

To Lydia Heatherton he said, “I hope to have good news when I return. Tell Gwyneth I’m sorry, but to trust me—it will all work out.”

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He returned late. The house was silent. He let himself in and ascended the stairs. As he did, he reflected on how it had gone. Based upon his soil reports and the photographs, the council had enough evidence and declined to issue building permits. The developers were stopped dead in their tracks. At least for now. It would be a long, uphill fight, but he had made up his mind. He’d stay and battle or wage war. For the dowager Countess Heatherton, for Griggs and the servants, for the farmers and shepherds, and for a traditional way of life that was worth holding on to. And for Gwyneth. Especially for Gwyneth. Now, if he could just get the cooperation of a certain Lady Heatherton. She’s probably madder than a wet hen. It was dark in his room, save for moonlight streaming through the window. The faint glow allowed him to see a figure, shrouded in shadow, standing in a dark corner.

“What are you doing here?” he said.

Gwyneth stepped forward, allowing the moonlight to illuminate her luscious form. It was draped in a long, lacy peignoir. Underneath, she was naked.

“I tried to tell you,” she said. “I get terribly randy after a flogging. Even at school, a dose of the slipper would have me all squishylater.” She approached and embraced him, pulling his lips to hers.

The kiss blew the one in the alley away in its intensity. She ground her supple body against his. “Let’s get you out of these clothes.”

Josh was nonplussed. “I stopped the developers,” was all he could think of to say.

She put her finger to his lips. “Shssh. I know. We do have telephones. You can tell me the whole tale later. Right now, I want you. What you don’t understand is that when you heat up a certain part of a girl’s anatomy, other parts heat up, too. Now take me tobed, Joshua Fairchild.”

Josh needed no second invitation. He slipped the peignoir from her shoulders and let it fall. The moonlight bathed her supple form, her hair splayed across her shoulders, shimmering. Her nipples were hard and her belly was flat. A patch of fuzz occupied the sweet triangle at the juncture of her legs. Josh was speechless. All he could do was drink it all in.

Her hands got busy. Buttons flew. His shirt came off and she ran her hands across his shoulders before moving to his belt. He stepped out of his pants and embraced her, lifting her in his arms so he could carry her to the big four poster bed. She moaned as his lips explored her from her knees to her neck. She reciprocated by taking his erect member into her mouth, swirling her tongue around it.

The new master of Heatherton Hall put Lady Gwyneth on her back and moved between her legs. Her hand found his penis and guided it in. She had been ready. So ready. He slipped in effortlessly and she moaned in pleasure. Propping himself up on his hands he began to move, a slow reciprocating motion, sliding in and out. She closed her eyes and let the waves of ecstatic pleasure wash over her as she moved beneath him, matching his thrusts with her own counterthrusts. The motion built from a slow, sensual grinding to a full-on thrashing of bodies, seemingly out of control. They were blinded by sensations that erupted in a shattering climax and left
them both limp and dazed.

But only for a few moments. When he began again, it was slower, less frantic, but no less intense. She straddled him and rode him, up and down. When she tired of that, she got on her hands and knees so he could enter her from behind, his belly lightly slapping the luscious bottom he had spanked so soundly earlier in the evening. She didn’t care. It was glorious.

********************

The sun streamed through the window. Josh awoke to find the gorgeous Lady Gwyneth Heatherton still in his bed, asleep. He put his feet on the floor, pushed up, and strode to the window. He looked out. The sun was shining, the air was pure, the hills were green. A breeze off the ocean blew some wispy remaining fog across treetops in the distance. From far away he could hear the faint sounds of sheep bleating as they were led out to pasture. So. The Earl of Carlisle. It had a nice ring to it. I think I’ll stay a while, he thought.

I wish we could stay longer too, but alas, this is the end of the tale.