“You shouldn’t have birched Susan,” she said. “That quarrel was entirely my fault – I provoked it because I wanted to see you birch her bare bottom – and it was very wrong of me and I feel terribly guilty about it. I know you can’t take her birching back but you could birch me.” The year was 1941 and calling your mother a stupid cow had one certain outcome – knickers would be coming down.
Discover how the first spanking began in Part 1: Embarkation Leave
There were still a few days before the rest of the regiment would return so in a rather idle kind of way I went into the surrounding woods with a pair of secateurs to look for a birch tree; I soon found one and snipped off half a dozen or so whippy shoots complete with their early spring buds and bound them up with some twine into what looked like a very serviceable birch rod. I showed it to Bernie who looked at it somewhat ruefully and gave her opinion that it was very like the one her parents had used on her some 17 or so years before, and that it would certainly make a firm impression on Susan if she stepped over the traces again. Our departure was very close and I didn’t expect I would have me another opportunity to punish Susan so I filled a large vase with water and put the birch in to keep it supple in case there should be some future occasion for its use, encouraging Bernie to wield it herself if she felt there was a call at any time.
And there I thought the matter would rest but the very last night before our departure I came back to the middle of a real shouting match with accusations flying on both sides, though an uneasy peace swiftly descended as soon as they heard me come in; they both looked somewhat shamefaced for some reason but I rather naturally assumed that Susan was at fault, so opening the cupboard to retrieve the birch I told Susan that I would whip her in front of her mother to underline the gravity of the offence, though to be fair I couldn’t really have said at that point what it was.
“You don’t seem to have taken much notice of the clothesbrush spanking I gave you,” I told her, “so this time I shall use a rather older and perhaps more traditional instrument, and see if you take more notice. Now get your skirt right off, we don’t want that getting in the way, and take your knickers down and kneel over the arm of that chair, holding on to the legs, and don’t move till I tell you to.” She took her school skirt off and put it neatly on one side but then complained, “Not on the bare bottom, not in front of mummy – please let me keep my knickers on, they’re very thin and won’t be much protection in any case. And anyhow it wasn’t my fault.” I wasn’t going to take any notice but I looked at Bernie who nodded encouragement, so I went on, ”Get those knickers down or I shall double the amount you’re going to get,” so grumbling, “it isn’t fair” she pulled her knickers down and knelt over the arm of the chair as I had told her to. I should add that it was a very solid padded armchair so she had plenty of support and the chair was not going to fall over.
Once again I was presented with the unforgettable sight of her lovely teen aged bottom framed in navy blue, and was it my imagination or was there the faintest pink flush left over from the first spanking? Probably just imagination but it was in any case a lovely sight and I almost hesitated to raise a new flush on those lovely cheeks, but hardening my heart I brought the birch down with a swish which evoked a squeal in response and a delightful pink flush spread over her whole bottom.
A few more swishes and she started to put her hands over her bottom, but a swish or two quickly made her withdraw them as the flush spread to a deeper pink and little red spots appeared where the bud at the ends of the twigs had cut into the soft flesh of their target. I must have given her more than two dozen strokes and she was weeping copiously and begging me to stop which I eventually did and told her to get up and pull her knickers up.
Her lively kicking had in fact worked these down to her ankles and she took them off and ran up to her room so our last view was her pink bottom with lots of little birch wheals ending in a reddish spot; which, I thought, closes this particular chapter. Quite shortly however I was proved wrong for Bernie came to my room looking so embarrassed that I felt impelled to ask her what was the matter. “You shouldn’t have birched Susan” she said, “That quarrel was entirely my fault – I provoked it because – because” she hesitated and it came out with a rush “because I wanted to see you birch her bare bottom – and it was very wrong of me and I feel terribly guilty about it.”
“Well” I said “I can’t see what I can do – I can’t un-birch her, but I can apologise, and you should do so too – as soon as possible.”
“That won’t help me get over it,” she said, “I’ll still feel very guilty. I know you can’t take her birching back but you could birch me.”
I was flabbergasted and said at once, “But you’re a grownup – you must have left school ages ago. Once a boy or girl leaves school they don’t get beaten any more.”
“Yes I know that’s traditional,” she replied “but if someone does something very wrong they certainly deserve to be punished, even if they aren’t always , and I very much deserve it, and that’s why I’m asking you to do it to me.”
Put like that I could hardly fail to agree and in any case the idea was beginning to sound rather appealing, so I said “In that case you know what you have to do now – the arm of that chair is as good as anywhere You’d better put yourself across that.” She took off her dressing gown and stood revealed in a short nightdress that barely covered her bottom – and what a bottom! Full and voluptuous it presented a splendid target for the birch which I proceeded to use to good effect – swish, swish, swish – each stroke raising a mass of little wheals – her bottom rapidly turning from white to pink to scarlet.
Unlike her daughter she didn’t scream or beg me to stop but started a kind of moaning, “Don’t stop” she said, when I slackened after about six strokes, and seemed to hump her bottom up to meet each stroke of the birch and altogether gave me the impression that she was enjoying it, which of course she was in a way though I was too naive to realise what a sexual turn-on it was. After something like thirty strokes I did stop and “Take me now”, she said, and when I hesitated she said It’s all right. Fuck me please, please so I did entering her a tergo as the Latinists would say, and very readily and easily I slipped John Thomas in.
We had a wonderful coupling ending rather noisily with Bernie shouting “God, I’m coming, I’m coming” whereupon we climaxed together, and afterwards repeated the experience twice – what it was to be young! – in somewhat more usual positions but I never forgot that first time and it has remained a favourite position for me though I have found that on the whole partners are not too keen on it.
Discover how the first spanking began in Part 1: Embarkation Leave
