Poor Stephanie sat huddled in her reserved First Class seat of the Bournemouth Belle as the named Pullman train steamed out of Waterloo Station in London and headed south-west to the New Forest and the coast. Stephanie’s school, in the leafy Thames Valley, had broken up for the summer ‘hols’ and 600 near hysterical girls had boarded the schools special and headed for London where they dispersed, shrieking and giggling, to their homes and loving families up and down the country. Stephanie had found it agony to have to join in the end of term jollities, she was not a happy girl, and now it was something of a relief to be rid of her holiday bound chums. Something of a relief to be able to lapse into her own private misery, yes, but also a torment as she reviewed the train of events which had lead to her present sorry state and which would, she knew, lead to a shaming and painful denouement before the day was out. Yes, painful, of that the unhappy girl was only too certain!

Earlier in the week the Principal had sent for her to discuss the gross breach of discipline which Stephanie had committed. We need not concern ourselves with the details, let’s leave the girl some dignity. Stephanie expected the cane, she thought she deserved the cane though her pretty bottom flinched at the prospect, but it was to be worse than the cane! In the Principal’s study, when she entered, she saw the dread implement on the desk. She could not keep her eyes off its fascinating, whippy form, her hands slipped round to her bottom.

The Principal spoke. Coldly she said “Yes, you might well look at my cane and I can assure you my first intention was to give you six across that bottom before expelling you on the spot and calling your people to come and collect you. But I’m not going to do that …” in a theatrical gesture she picked up the cane and, having swished it before the wretched girl making her wince, opened her cupboard and put it away “ ….. no, nor am I going to expel you, this time! I am going to give you one more chance to show me that you can behave as a girl at this school should behave,” she paused. “I have written to your parents ,,,” Stephanie gasped “Oh no, please! Give me the cane, I deserve the cane, I know that, but please don’t tell them what I’ve done. Please, cane me but don’t tell my parents, they’ll ….” her voice faded into hopeless surrender.

Stephanie knew she would be thrashed when she got home and she had to get through the rest of that week as her friends became more and more giddy at the prospect of the ‘hols’

The usually happy journey south to the New Forest and home was agony for her and when, after passing through Southampton with its ocean liners moored alongside, the Belle slowed to stop at the private ‘halt’ for Pulborough Hall, Stephanie was filled with cold dread. This was it! She was home. Charles, the chauffeur, had the Rolls waiting for her and as he touched his cap and greeted her she thought he concealed a knowing smirk. The drive to the Hall was taken in silence and was over too soon. Stephanie’s buttocks clenched as she entered the front door to see her mother waiting for her.

“Go to your room, Stephanie, and change out of your school uniform. I have laid out a dress and underwear on your bed. When you are changed wait there. Your father and I will see you in the study shortly and I think you know what for!”

Stephanie stumbled off up stairs to await the summons to her beating for she was certain she was to be beaten! It seemed to her that those members of staff she passed watched her with more than detached interest. Her brothers, looking rather embarrassed, avoided her eye but observed her progress with il-concealed prurient attention. They knew, they all knew! She entered her cosy little room, closed the door and began to weep. She had held it in for days but now she broke down and wept. With tears pouring down her cheeks she got changed wondering why mother had selected these clothes. Was it, she shivered, because the fabric was lighter than her school skirt and her bottom would be more vulnerable? Stephanie cupped the cheeks of her trim little teenage bottom in her hands – and wept in anticipation!

With a peremptory knock mother came in. “Your Father is ready to see you in his study. Wipe your eyes and come with me.” Her tone was cold and apparently unfeeling. “Come along.” That walk down the stairs was agony; she felt eyes upon her at every side. They knew! They all knew of her disgrace and of the beating she was about to receive. She hung her head and wished herself any where but here. Mother opened the study door and ushered her in. Stephanie’s knees buckled as she took in the scene before her. Standing in front of his desk was Lord Pulborough, her Father, and lying on the desk in full view was the birch!

The birch! What do you know of this implement? Birches have been used, especially in Europe, for centuries for domestic, scholastic and judicial chastisement and applied to both male and female bottoms! (It has been used to chastise adult males but we need not go into that unsavoury area.) The birch must always be applied to the bare bottom, even the most flimsy of girlish underwear can mitigate its effectiveness. Birching has always been depicted as the most severe form of corporal punishment but I am not sure about that. A heavy school cane, they tell me, can hurt like the very devil! I am happy to say that, having been a relatively well behaved boy, I have tasted neither the birch nor a heavy cane although my bottom has received a light school caning on the tightly stretched seat of my pyjamas on a couple of occasions, and, yes, if you must know it did hurt. It was supposed to!

Lord and Lady Pulborough could have purchased birches, all ready for use, from any scholastic supplies firm by mail order or personal shopping. They preferred, however, to have their flagellants put together from twigs cut from birch trees on the Estate and assembled by that old family retainer, Nannie Grey. Nannie, now in her sixties, had smacked, caned and birched the bottoms of his Lordship’s family for three generations. Both girls and boys, clothed or more usually bare bottomed, standing, bending over, lying on their beds or, her favourite position, the delightful intimacy and total surrender of Over the Knee. OTK, as we know it, provides the most immediate and genuine feedback from the one being punished to she who was doing the spanking. She had ‘dealt with’ young Miss Stephanie on more than one occasion in the past.

His Lordship had sent for Nannie that morning and asked her to put up a couple of fresh birch rods by lunchtime, please.

“Of course, M’Lord. Are they, ah hem, for the boys, M’Lord?”

“No, Nannie, I’m afraid they are for Stephanie”

“I see, M’Lord and do you want me to birch her?”

“No, thank you, Nannie, not this time”

“I see, M’Lord” was that a tone of disappointment in her voice? Nannie withdrew and made her way across the south lawns to the little copse which she had visited so often over the years. She took from her pocket a pair of secateurs and began her search for suitable switches. Two birches for young Stephanie, she reckoned 20 switches each of about 27 inches in length, that should sting her young rump! Nannie had loved all her charges since joining the staff years ago but that love did not interfere with her firm belief in the occasional need for a smacked bottom. She saw no reason to doubt the correctness of the decision her employers had taken about Stephanie – a good birching never did a teenage girl any lasting harm! Nannie sorted her switches into two bundles, trimmed them to length but left the new growth buds in place, they would add spice to her spanking. She tied each bundle with twine at the thicker end pulling them tight together and binding a length of about a foot for a handle. She swished her two birches through the air, yes that felt and sounded right! Finally Nannie tied a bright pink ribbon around the handles – pink for a girl!

Nannie had carried the birches through the house to the study for all to see. She left them with His Lordship.

“Thank you, Nannie. Stephanie may well need a bit of comforting afterwards. Will you be available?”

“Of course, M’Lord, er, when do you plan to punish her?”

“Well, her train is due at 1.30. We’ll see her at, say 3 o’clock.”

“Very well, M’Lord”

After Nannie withdrew Lord Pulborough, let’s call him Father, shall we, swished the two birches and, satisfied, popped one into a desk drawer before placing the other on the desk where his daughter would see it when she was summoned for her interview. All was ready for the solemn duty he had to perform.

Father was not happy at the prospect of beating Stephanie’s tender bottom but he was absolutely certain that no lesser sanction would suffice. He was justified in what he was about to do. He would do his duty and she would, perhaps not now but eventually, come to accept the fairness of his punishment.

All was ready!

“Stephanie” Father addressed the trembling girl “You are here for punishment as you know. I am going to give you twelve strokes of the birch in the confident belief that this strict punishment will make you consider your recent behaviour at school and encourage you to mend your ways. Your birching is going to hurt, make no mistake about that. Before I birch you let us look at the reason for your punishment. As you know …..” and Father launched into a well planned and detailed scolding, a well deserved scolding but one which Stephanie had some difficulty in concentrating on as she could think of nothing more than her bottom and the birch! She was a girl of noble birth raised in the clear understanding that failure to comply would lead to punishment and that punishment usually meant a beating! She had known she would be beaten this time but had not thought of the birch! Now she could think of nothing else as she tried to listen to Father!

Suddenly it was over! Stephanie heard Father say “So now I shall ask your mother to prepare you for your birching”

Stephanie had controlled her emotions up to now but “prepare you for your birching” was too much. She howled with fright as her mother stepped forward and took her by the arm.

“Lower your drawers, Stephanie!”

Father looked away! He was about to beat her on her bare bottom but he felt it to be indelicate to watch her as she reached under her frock to take her knickers down. Strange!

Stephanie did not resist but wept copiously as she was prepared for what was to come. Mother saw her knickers pulled down onto her thighs. She then took the weeping girl to Father’s desk and, placing a cushion over the hard edge, told Stephanie to put herself on the cushion and reach for the far side of the desk. Mother hoisted her dress and petticoat and, at last, Stephanie’s bottom was laid bare! She howled anew! Mother tucked the dress and petticoat under her daughter, looked the poor girl up and down then told Father all was ready. Mother retired to the far side of the desk, seated herself in Father’s chair and grasped Stephanie’s wrists.

Father turned and Stephanie watched him pick up her beribboned birch!

“Twelve stokes!” he intoned!

Stephanie was a picture! Her lithe young body stretched over Father’s desk and firmly held there by mother. Her long, shapely legs reached to the floor from where her knickers were crumpled around her thighs a couple of inches below the neat creases which separated her legs from her bottom. Her lovely, firm and curvaceous bottom divided by that neat black line which plunged down into that secret place between her buttocks. The cheeks of this lovely bottom were creamy white as they trembled awaiting punishment.

Father, without further ado, raised the birch and delivered her first stroke full across those creamy cheeks. Stephanie yelled “Aaah!” and the marks of the birch showed clearly striping those delightful mounds. One!

The second and third strokes were laid on and, while Father’s beating was not over hard Stephanie’s bottom was no longer creamy white! It was flushing red all over with the individual marks of the twigs forming a lattice pattern across both sides.

Four and Stephanie was weeping bitterly, kicking the air with those lissome legs and straining against mother’s firm grasp. Eight more? She couldn’t stand it.

But the wretched girl had to stand it! Five and six were briskly applied. The birch was beginning to break up but Father had a spare! Birches are expendable; remember that before you take his or her pants down! Bottoms wear birches out.

Outside the study door a small group of junior servants had gathered. The little bitch was being taught a lesson! Seven, eight, nine! Stephanie had stopped struggling and now slumped over the desk in hopeless, helpless surrender.

Father cast the birch aside and, as Stephanie briefly thought it was over; he took his spare out of the drawer,

“Three more” he said coldly.

“Oh, no, please” sobbed the girl “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

“I told you twelve and twelve you shall have!”

She wept uncontrollably.

The fresh birch switches bit into her flayed behind, ten, eleven, twelve!

Father turned away. “Cover her up, dear” he asked his wife who tugged her dress free and dropped it back onto that well thrashed bottom on which a few specks of blood could be discerned.

Stephanie sobbed and sobbed.

After a while her mother lifted her skirts again and, as Stephanie wailed “No more, no more!” , she gently eased the fallen knickers back all the way up those long legs and, gently, onto Stephanie’s poor, battered bum! “Come along, dear. All over” and she helped her chastened daughter to stand and, limping, to leave the room and go upstairs to her room. There was no sign of those over curious servants..

His Lordship summoned the butler and asked him to get someone to sweep up the birch twigs and dispose of the implements discreetly.

Father sat at his desk and, picking up his gold Parker pen wrote, on headed notepaper:-

“Dear Principal,

“I thought I should tell you …..”