Birched

Author: Millard

It was the summer of 1963.  I was twelve years old, and was allowed to visit my grandmother in Wales.  I was allowed to fly alone across the ocean to see her.  It was a real thrill for me.  Grandmother lived on a large estate, and had a cook and butler/chauffeur names Giles.
Giles came to the airport to pick me up and take me to the estate.  He was an older man, but I quickly grew to like him.  After a few days of renewing my friendship with grandmother, I was allowed to roam the estate.  It was very large, and I could spend hours in the woods.
My only instructions were to never, never go into the river.  I was told it was very swift, and my uncle George had almost drowned there. Giles told me that if I ever went in that water, it would probably kill grandmother.
Two weeks later, to the day, I came to a clearing in the woods, and found the river.  It really didn't look
very swift, and I could see the rocks in the shallows of the bank.  So, being 12, I figured I would just go wade a bit in the water.  Nothing too deep, mind you, just enough to wet my feet.  I took off my shoes and socks, and rolled up my pantlegs.  I walked all over the bank of the river, looking for tadpoles, or whatever strange fish would live in Wales.  I was walking with my head down, when bam! I walked into a low hanging branch, lost my balance, and fell into the water, which was COLD!  It also smelled of some sort of chemical, or rotting fish, I don't know.  I scrambled up onto the bank, and took off my clothes.  I rung them out, and put them on the very branch that had knocked me over.  I then laid down on some moss, in the sun, and fell asleep.
  "Well, I never!" said a loud voice, which quickly made me sit up.  It was Giles.  He told me that he had been looking all over for me, as he had to go into town, and wondered If I would like to ride along.  I told him yes, and started to reach for my clothes.  His hand grabbed my still wet shirt, and he quickly put two and two together. He told me how ashamed he was of me, and how this would just kill grandmother if he told her.
I pleaded with him to not tell her, and he said that he had no thoughts about telling her.  He said that was for her sake, not mine.  He then said that there was an old Welsh saying which transulated to "A deed done is a deed paid for".  I didn't understand what he was getting at until he told me that he was going to punish me right then and there for going into that river.  I pleaded with him to just keep it amongst ourselves, and he said that he certainly intended to do just that.
  Taking a knife out of his pocket, he opened it, and pointed to the tree my clothes hung from.  He said that he wanted me to cut 8 branches some 2 ft long, and bring them to him. I asked why, and he said I would soon enough find out.  He said that it was a good choice on my part to put my clothes on a birch tree, as it has other uses. 
   I realized how totally naked I was, and tried to reach for my jockey shorts to put back on, but he said to leave them alone.  I tried to keep my back to him, and to cover myself when I had to face him, but it just didn't work.  I caught him staring at my privates.  I was so embarassed!  The more I thought about it, the more I realized that I was getting stiff!  Soon, it was sticking out straight in front of me.  I was totally hairless, and my balls had shrunk up in fear, so here 
I was, cutting branches in front of a strange man, with a hard on!
  I cut the branches and brought them to Giles.  He made me cut 2 more, and threw out one that he said was too short.  Then, he made me prune off the branches that stuck out to the sides.  When I was finished, he
took off his necktie and tied the whole thing at the base.  He then turned to me, and said that I had earned a birching, and he was going to give it to me. He asked if I had any questions.  I tried to ask for forgiveness, but he said that it was too late.  He placed his jacket over a fallen tree, and told me to lay over it.  It did so. He then had me move further forward on the trunk, until my bottom was close to the top.  Then, he pulled my legs apart, and told me to keep them apart, or he would give me more strokes. 
He said that I would get 12 strokes, but would get 6 more if I moved, or got up, or didn't accept my punishment like a gentleman!
   Giles then took the birch switch to the river, pulled as many leaves off as he could, and rinsed it in the water.  He then returned to my side, reminded me to stay still, with my legs apart, and proceeded to wack my butt with the birch. The first stroke hit near the top of my butt, and hurt, but not as much as dad's paddle does.  The second stroke was a bit lower, and a bit harder. I yelled "ouch, that hurts", but Giles didn't respond, except to place #3 lower yet, and harder yet.  He proceeded down my butt with the next 5 strokes.  By now, my butt felt like it was on fire. It was a cumulative thing, just getting hotter and more and more sore with every stroke.  I was having a hard time keeping still, and he warned me twice.  Then, he
got me with #9!  It was low, and inside, as they say in baseball.  It actually stung my butthole, and my bag.
I screamed, and yelled something unkind, and stood up straght, grabbing my butt with my right hand, and my bag with my left.
Giles just stood and smiled, and said, after I had calmed down a bit, that I really needed to get back down, and contain myself for the last two strokes, so that I could be ready for the 6 extras!  I pleaded and pleaded, but he would hear nothing of it.  Slowly, I approached the tree trunk, and slowly bent over it. He moved my legs apart again, and wacked me twice in the same spot as before!  I screamed, and screamed.  He then moved to the opposite side, standying by my head.
He reared up the birch, and let fly right down my crack!  I have never ever felt anything like that stroke.  It hurt so much I didn't have a voice left to cry. He then did it again, and again, and again, and again.  I could feel sweat, or blood, running down my
butt crack, and I sobbingly told him so. He laughed, and said it was only the water from the branches.  He asked if I was ready for the last one, and I could only say yes.  I looked up at him, and he held the birch rod over his head with both hands, and then just smashed it down my crack again. I screamed.
Giles gave me a minute to contain myself, went to the water, and soaked his handkerchief in the river.  He brought it to me, and rubbed it gently down my left butt cheek, and then down my right cheek.  Then he said that although this might hurt now, it would feel better soon.  He gently rubbed it down my buttcrack, over my hole. He walked behind me, gently lifted my bag, and
ran the handkerchief over it also.  He then rubbed up both cheeks, and up the crack of my butt, ending at my  hole, which he gently separated, and wiped with the handkerchief.  It felt terrible, and wonderful at the same time.  I was allowed to stand up and was again embarassed at the state of my penis.  He told me not to be ashamed, a good bottom warming does that to boys.
He allowed me to dress, walked me home, allowed me to change, bought me an ice cream cone, and never said another word about our experience.
In another week, all traces of my birching were gone, and I was able to sit through the long flight home.
Thinking back, I guess I got what I deserved.  I never told anyone, because I knew I would get in more trouble.