Here’s a spanking snipped from “Ellen’s Story”, a Blue Moon book excerpted over at A Taste Of The Birch. Seems our heroines tried a bit of tree sitting to save some elm trees from the axe:
All the men’s attention was directed at Rachel who, to her utter distress, found herself slung unceremoniously over Clem’s broad lap, he having seated himself on a fallen bough. She shrieked and kicked her legs in terror and indignation as he hoisted up her skirts and petticoats, disclosing a beautifully plump round bottom decorously clad in white cotton knickers- but not for long! Rachel squealed in horror as, tugging impatiently at the waistband, Clem dragged her knickers down to her knees.
I felt consumed with pity for the poor mortified 18 year old girl as the bare white cheeks of her bottom were closely inspected and admiringly praised by the three men. From where I was perched I had a birds-eye view of Rachel’s private parts and it was apparent from his expression that Clem was feasting his eyes greedily on the same area. I grew sick at the thought of a similar fate befalling me, yet at the same time that peculiar prickly excitement which I had experienced on similar occasions began to irresistibly invade my loins.
‘Ooooh ow! Oh please stop!’ Rachel howled in shame and misery as Clem’s great slab-like palm descended speedily again and again in a blur of motion upon her quivering, blushing buttocks. The other two watched in gloating delight, clearly wallowing in vicarious pleasure, and I saw the lad rubbing the front of his trousers in vulgar abandonment- his eyes glued to Rachel’s frantically weaving, ever more rosy red bottom cheeks.
For what seemed like ten minutes, Clem delivered the soundest spanking that the luckless Rachel had ever, I am certain, suffered in her life. Later she told me, when we were up in her bedroom licking our wounds, that it had been far worse than any of her dad’s beltings. Indeed an old fashioned hand spanking can, if applied for long enough, hurt one’s bottom, as well as one’s pride, dreadfully!
To make matters worse for Rachel, towards the end of the painful and lengthy chastisement, Clem ceased to belabour her scarlet bottom and turned his attentions to the soft delicate area of her naked thighs above the tops of her stockings. ‘Oh no! Please, I beg you, not there! It hurts!’ she yelled at the top of her voice, kicking and scissoring her dainty legs indecorously – her black stockings alternately stretching and slackening in time to the frenzied jerking of her limbs.
I even had to stick my fingers in my ears to blot out the awful rhythmic slapping and the shrill cries of the weeping Rachel echoing among the tall swaying elms. The boy looked up at me with a malevolent grin on his face and shouted ‘Your turn next, my girl!’. I blushed brightly and hid my face in the rustling leaves.
When at last Clem decreed that Rachel had had enough, he allowed her to struggle up from his lap, weeping profusely. Shamefacedly replacing her undergarments she tottered off home amid hoots of derision from the men, and with never a backward glance in my direction.