This is a small excerpt from the tale of Penny Spender’s judicial birching, as recounted in the story In The Approved Manner by Lupercal:
After a fourth stroke had been given without eliciting the desired level of remorse, he turned and looked impatiently at the sergeant, folding his arms over his chest, and saying, “She resists correction, Sir.”
Sergeant Thorne nodded sagaciously. “Give her two at the top of the thighs,” he said. “That should make her see sense.” Clark wheeled about and strode across to continue the punishment on the relatively unscathed surface of her opposite flank, laying the birch squarely across that part which the sergeant had indicated. The effect of the man’s impressive demonstration of strength and accuracy was immediate and spectacular.
Penny let out a tremendous yelp of pain and her hips jerked forward violently. Then, as the terrible sting continued to rage and swell the woman screamed incoherently and her trembling, whip-marked bottom rose sharply in the air, bucking and writhing uncontrollably.
Clark stood by impassively while his howling victim performed her mad tarantella of pain and penitence, then, without warning, swung again with all his might, coming on at that same sensitive place where the birch had previously struck. Penelope shrieked and commenced another astonishing volley of jerks and gyrations. Her hips arched up lewdly and, seizing the moment, Clark brought the birch down for a seventh time across the taut, apple-hard globes of Penelope’s writhing, upthrust derriere, and once more her frightful ululations rent the still morning calm of the near-empty gaolhouse. Her lithe body twisted painfully as she strained to break free of her restraints, and, begging for mercy, she flung her hips from side to side in a vain, frantic effort to avoid, or perhaps simply delay, the next agonising stroke. “One to come!” the sergeant shouted over the raucous din.
Penny tossed her head back, sobbing hoarsely. Her eyes were wild and her face contorted with pain. “NO!!” she shrieked. “No! No! Nooo…!!!”
Clark waited till the convulsion had subsided then slowly raised the birch. The jiggling buttocks tensed. The tender globes appeared raw and ruddy under the harsh electric light of the drill hall. Indeed, the whole of her shapely posterior was ridged and scored with long, ragged weals where the slim, whippy birch had coiled itself about her bottom and upper thighs.
With a dramatic, ostentatious show of ceremony, the senior constable then swung the birch around in a wide arc and brought it slicing down. There followed another great howl of pain as the final stroke lashed across the burning, plum-red tapestry already emblazoned on Penelope’s churning rear. A great spasm of pain coursed through her body and her desperate struggles commenced anew.