From the Top Shelf - A Master of Discipline, part 11

Last week, the Reverend Mould gave us a demonstration of the correct birching technique, using Ruth's bottom as the target. Now it is Stephen's turn to have a go.

Stephen's enthusiasm, combined with his inexperience was almost Ruth's salvation. His first attempt at wielding the birch twigs was altogether too vigorous, catching Ruth on her right thigh, three inches below the fold of flesh at the base of her buttock. The pain was far greater than anything the Reverend Mould had inflicted and Ruth's voice reflected the fact, as she hit a note several octaves higher than any previous attempt. Unbeknown to Ruth at the time, the back of her right leg instantly developed a myriad of tiny welts. Appalled by his clumsiness, Stephen stepped back, letting the birch hang limply in his hand.

The Reverend stepped forward and examined Ruth's leg closely. Unaware of the reason for this sudden change in the tempo of her punishment, Ruth was only too conscious of a warm hand touching her hypersensitive flesh, and knew that anyone close to her must be aware of her arousal, betrayed so conspicuously by the moisture seeping from between her legs and the uncontrollable muscular spasms she was developing in that area. If Mould was aware of her sexual condition, he did not betray it.

"It is nothing, I assure you, Mr. Langton, nothing to worry about. Please carry on." he urged, but Stephen had lost heart in the whole affair and, after only four more desultory swipes, delivered with little force, he relinquished the switch to the disgusted cleric.

"Really, Mr. Langton, I am surprised at you," he chided. "After Miss Jamieson was good enough to give you an excellent demonstration of how to apply the cane, I would have thought that the least you could do was return the compliment. I see that it falls to me to finish the job. Now observe, if you will, how the striking position can be varied to ensure that no part of the target area is left untouched."

Ruth felt the lower hem of her T shirt being pulled up, until half her back was left uncovered. She sensed Mould's movement until he now stood alongside her, not behind as he had been. Gently he placed the birch down the crack of her backside, raising it and taking aim, thus making his intention clear to both Ruth and the audience. Ruth flinched at the contact, took a deep breath and gritted her teeth as the switch was raised high. She knew that this was going to hurt!

Her anticipation was fully justified; the entire length of the birch made contact with her flesh, crossing the weals which already traversed her bottom at right angles, the fierce, sharp tips wrapping themselves around the curve of her bottom and biting into the soft crease at the top of her right thigh. She barely had time to yell out in anguish before her left leg received similar treatment.

"I think we can rest assured that no young lady, or gentleman either, punished in this way will sit comfortably for a while, even after an application of Moon Balm."

The gloating in Mould's voice was unmistakable. Four more times the birch rods swished down, each stroke aimed deliberately right down the cleft of Ruth's bottom. She bucked uncontrollably as the hard buds lacerated the tender flesh on the inside of her bottom cheeks, pricking at her anus and labia. The only comfort she could devise was to yell at the top of her voice, using the explosive release of air to distract from the excruciating, ecstatic, lightning bolts flashing through her brain.

At last it was over. Ruth was unaware that her limbs had been freed until she heard the Reverend Mould, as calm and as oily as ever, say, "That ends my lesson for today. Miss Jamieson, you will find that there is a large jar of balm available in your room. All of you, please remember that I require your essays first thing in the morning." Without another word, he turned and left the hall.

Slowly, exploring the sensations emanating from every part of her body, Ruth eased herself up into a kneeling position, then tried to stand. Seeing her three classmates staring at her, she made an abortive attempt to retrieve her shorts and G-string from the floor but almost fell over. Her legs were simply too weak to carry her. Stephen picked up the garments and handed them to her, sheepishly.

"Are you all right?"

"What a bloody stupid question!" Her voice rasped, hoarse from squealing. "Of course I'm not all right!" She could not understand why this angry flash of temper made him smile, but gratefully accepted his steadying hand as she tried to pull on her shorts. The smarting pain as she pulled them up over her thighs brought new tears to her eyes.

"Do you want me to come with you and help you with the balm?" Vicky's voice was eager. Gradually regaining her senses, Ruth guessed that the enquiry was not made entirely out of concern for her well-being.

"No thank you, Vicky, I can manage but nice of you to offer." She smiled weakly, noting the obvious relief on Amanda's face as she caught Vicky's arm and pulled her towards the door.

"May I see you to your room?" Stephen asked, gently touching her arm.

I wonder what your motives are? Ruth kept the thought to herself, grateful for any physical support . "That would be nice. Thank you."

The journey to her room was agonisingly slow. The lower part of her body felt as if it had been flayed of skin and even the slight chafing of her shorts was enough to sensitise her raw nerve endings. There was none of the deep, penetrating, muscular ache she had felt after Tony spanked her. The light weight of the twigs had ensured that the full effect was confined to the surface. Although this allowed Ruth to walk more normally than if her bottom had been deeply bruised, it also made each step an electrifying experience.

Pushing open the door of Ruth's room, Stephen stood to one side to let her enter. Gratefully, she flopped onto the bed, face down. The stinging subsided a little, becoming more a sensation of great heat.

"Can you manage now?" he enquired, obviously embarrassed to see the devastation to which he had contributed, so evident on the backs of her legs and disappearing up under her scanty shorts.

"You sod!" she cried. "You can't just leave me like this!" She half-turned to face him, her eyes moist and blazing.

He looked bewildered. "I don't understand. I mean I know it hurts. I'm sorry, I am really,but it was the same for all of us. I mean, you hurt me too, you know."

Ruth's face crumpled in frustration. For a moment he thought she was going to cry.

"Oh God, but it hurts! Give me that balm will you?"

She gestured at the large jar on the table by her bed. Pushing herself up from the bed, she cast any ideas of modesty aside and quickly pulled off her shorts. Stephen watched, his penis rising, his face crimson with a mixture of embarrassment and lust, as she scooped up a handful of balm and began to massage it into her bottom.

The almost instant relief brought by the cool cream allowed Ruth to assess her situation and all the conflicting feelings coursing through her. She looked at Stephen, standing with his mouth open. He looked just like a little boy caught with stolen cakes in a tuck shop. His desire was obvious; the huge bulge in his shorts made that quite clear. He just lacked the courage to touch the goodies she had quite clearly put on display.

Suddenly she began to laugh, a sort of almost hysterical laugh of frustration.

"Oh you stupid bloody man, " she cried, " You really don't understand , do you! You've seen me naked, you've thrashed my arse red raw and you still don't understand!" She handed him the jar of cream, which he accepted dumbly, still not sure how her mind was working.

"Now take a handful and rub it in, gently!" The last word spoken with considerable emphasis.

She bent forward, taking her weight on her hands, and thrust out her bottom.

"Come on, Stephen, you've helped to skin my bottom raw - the least you can do is make me feel better."

She shivered as he began to massage the oily cream into the backs of her thighs.

"That's wonderful, " she whispered, "but you'll have to rub it in higher and right inside the tops of my legs."

"Are you sure I ought to be doing this?" His voice was quiet and full of doubt. He took his hand away.

"Of course I'm sure. My arse is red hot and if you must know -" She paused, unsure of herself now that the moment of absolute truth had arrived "- oh for God's sake, Stephen, it must be obvious what I want. You're not gay or something are you?"

"No, I'm not, " he said quietly. "I just don't want you to do something you will regret afterwards, that's all. I know I must seem odd but -" he paused, then suddenly, "look - I think I should go."

Before she could say another word, Stephen had turned on his heel and swung the door shut behind him. In an agony of frustration, Ruth collapsed on her bed and began to sob uncontrollably. It was several hours before she was forced to concede that the depth of her frustration was such as to defeat even the soothing effects of Moon Balm, which she had rather rashly applied internally in a vain attempt to achieve some satisfaction without Stephen's assistance. [Internally? Did she eat it?]

Sadly she concluded that perhaps she had overplayed her hand, and there was nothing else to do except settle down and work on her essay. Although the smarting in her rear had almost gone, there was sufficient residual ache as she gingerly sat down at the small desk for her not to want any more sessions under the close tutelage of the Reverend Mould.

Stephen is a bit dense, don't you think? I wonder if he is any better at writing essays.

The story so far:
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5 
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8
Part 9
Part 10
Part 10a
Part 11