The Old Police House
It was a bit off the beaten track, but my tour of the north of England was going well.
Staying at small guesthouses, I was visiting the more remote parts of the north, those small towns and villages you have never heard of but there they are on the map.
Tonight’s guesthouse was intriguing, to say the least. The address was The Old Police House, Birch Grove. It was easy to find on the Satnav and was a short road, a cul-de-sac, with many trees on either side. I wondered if these were the birch trees but I’m not really a naturalist. The house was detached and double fronted. The stone gate pillars had Police Station etched in the sandstone, and had obviously been a grand building in its day.
Parking on the road I walked up the wide drive to the door suitcase in hand.
I rang the bell, and an attractive woman answered the door. I was ushered in, and went through the formalities of booking in, the usual stuff. Her name was Gloria, Gloria Blackwell.
I couldn’t help noticing old handcuffs hanging on the wall, and even more striking was a three-foot-long birch in a glass case. She showed me to my room and told me to come down for a drink when I was settled in. The room was adequate with an en-suite, tea making equipment, again what you expect these days. However on the walls were a large collection of pictures and artwork. These were definitely not the usual pictures to find on your wall. There were photographs of a policeman and a policewoman holding birch rods. Then drawings of women strapped down being birched. There was a photograph of a wooden frame, and a bench with leather straps, with a birch on top.
My cock hardened. Could this be the start of an interesting evening I wondered?
I went downstairs and we ended up sitting in the lounge.
“I couldn’t help noticing the pictures on my wall. Not the usual décor I see every day!”
“Ah yes, I found all of that in the house when I bought it. It was the old Police Station, and they didn’t clear anything out. They seemed to have left in a hurry.”
“And the handcuffs and birch on the wall?” I asked.
“Yes, those as well. I fell in love with the place as soon as I saw it. It had a sinister feel, the feel of a place where crime and punishment came together. It appeared that most crimes were dealt with by birching the miscreants according to the books I found. And I think that is why there are so many birch trees in the garden.”
“Wow! I guess that those days are long ago now. It certainly is an interesting place though.”
I wasn’t sure what to say, but I needn’t have worried. I was getting the feeling that this was a conversation that was enacted many times in this guesthouse.
“I found that the cellar contained the cell and punishment room. The picture upstairs of the bench and frame, well they are still here in the cellar. Of course, it was full of cobwebs and dead birds when I came here, but I have re-instated the entire cellar back to how it would have been in those days. Would you like to have a look?”
“Yes, why not!” Why not indeed I thought to myself.
Gloria was a very attractive lady, with a curvy figure. Quite tall, and I could easily imagine her as a policewoman. This was exciting but I mustn’t rush into this after all it might be just be a sort of museum tour.
We went through a door, and down some steps and then through a much thicker door. The light went on and there it was! On the wall was a wooden frame with leather straps and hooks. In the centre of the room, was a very sturdy wooden bench with a lower part for kneeling, and then a sloping top part for the torso. It was festooned with leather straps.
On the wall in a rack, hung a large selection of canes. On another wall, a selection of whips, and in a large container were the obvious birches. Their handles bound and sticking upwards. Gloria could see I was in a state of surprise and awe.
“How do you like it? The birches were cut this morning and have been in brine all day just in case I had a naughty boy to deal with.” She laughed.
“The canes are new, as I thought times had moved on from the days of the birch, and the whips? Well they did have some here but they had perished, so again I bought some new ones from the local saddler. The bench is genuine!” She continued.
“Just think how many naughty males and even females have been strapped down on that bench and had their bare bottoms birched! And how many were locked in the cell over there waiting for their fate. It isn’t stated in the records but I believe that the prisoners were stripped naked when they were down here and that the policeman birched the females, and the policewoman birched the men. Obviously, today that would be frowned upon, but here in this remote town anything could and would happen.”
With that, she said we should go back upstairs. I guess I was a little disappointed but there was more to come.
“ Now you have seen my cellar, you must go back to your room. Here is a key for the bottom drawer in which you will find a booklet. Go and have a read then decide what you want to do next.”
I was intrigued and quickly went upstairs and sure enough, there was a booklet where she said. Opening the first page my cock hardened yet again. There was a photo of Gloria, in a policewoman’s uniform holding a long birch. Dressed in a tight skirt, black shiny shoes, and a white blouse. More pictures of her birching someone on the bench, their buttocks white, then showing a few marks, until finally blood. The pictures were numbered one to five, obviously in order of severity.
Then came the words.
‘You will have had the tour of my cellar and you are now given the opportunity to experience a genuine and very real punishment as would have been carried out in the Police Station many years ago.
I will be dressed as the Correction Officer and there will be no mercy once we start. The pictures are the different levels of punishment I will give. Number one is just for the experience of being confined and strapped to the bench. No punishment would be given. All other pictures will incur the use of the birch. Strokes given are six as in picture two, twelve as in picture three, twenty-four and thirty-six in pictures four and five.
If you wish to take up my offer then please write the picture number of your choice and put it on the table in the hall by 8.00 pm.
I will then expect you to be waiting for me at 8.30 pm in the hall completely naked, and locked in the handcuffs you will find in the drawer.’
Oh my goodness, my cock was rock hard and I was having a good wank. I read it over and over again, looking at the pictures, looking at Gloria. I stripped naked and looked at my bottom and imagining how it would be if I decided to take a punishment.
Definitely yes! I must, but which one to choose? I chickened out and opted for picture two, just the six strokes. Heart racing I scribbled the number with ‘Yes please’ next to it and went downstairs and placed it on the table.
It seemed to take ages for the clock to get round to 8.00 and then the realization of what I had done. She would know, she would be getting ready. The next twenty minutes I just lay on the bed naked, playing with my cock, looking at the handcuffs.
At 8.20, I decided to put the handcuffs on and then realized how difficult it was to open the bedroom door! But at 8.30 I was there in the hall, naked and cuffed, waiting.
A few minutes passed then the door opened and in she came
“I am Miss Gloria, the correction officer, and you will address me as Miss, do you understand?”
“Yes, Miss!” I replied quickly.
“Follow me, boy!” I found the tone quite exciting. She knew my name was Pete, but this was quite a dominating form of address. Down into the cellar, we went.
“Get into the cell!” And I was bundled into the prison cell with the barred gate slammed shut. I could see Gloria then getting things ready. She selected a birch and swished it with drops of water splashing across the floor, and then she picked up a gag. She came over to the cell.
“So young man, you are to be birched today, here in the punishment room. Six strokes I see. But I will be the judge of that! I could gag you but this room is soundproof and I want to hear you scream and scream you will.”
After about ten minutes, whilst she checked the birches and the bench, I was brought out of the cell and ordered to stand in front of the bench.
“Mount the bench boy! I want to see that fat arse of yours well presented for my birch.”
Her words were not what I was expecting from such an attractive lady. I was beginning to feel scared but still excited. My wrists were pulled forward and strapped to the wooden frame. My ankles pulled wide apart and strapped in place. Finally, a thick strap went across my waist, which due to the design of the bench seemed to thrust my bottom even higher into the air.
“Wonderful! My, you have a big arse boy! Just ripe for my birch! And let’s hope my birch doesn’t tickle those balls I can see.”
With that, she grasped my balls and cock, and it was obvious that I was completely exposed and defenceless. Gloria went over to the birches and selected one that was made of about eight long thin birch rods. The rods were bound at one end for a handle, and then about halfway, so they didn’t splay wide. It must have been a good metre in length.
“There are a number of ways of making a birch rod. Some people like lots of thin twigs and that is called a spray birch. Then there is the Isle of Man birch, which is about four rods but quite thick. I favour something in between. These thin rods will sear your buttock flesh like red hot wires.”
Gloria then went to my left-hand side and I felt the tip of the birch rods on my left buttock. A few gentle taps, even they stung a little, and then up went her arm and Swish and splat! I instantly screamed. She was so right! It was as though someone had laid red hot wires on my buttock skin. The tips were the worst and they had landed in the middle of my right cheek. I writhed and squirmed, and shouted.
“Please Gloria, it hurts too much, please stop, no more, please.”
“You address me as Miss Gloria boy! We will forget that stroke and start again and this time I want to hear you counting the strokes. Failure to do so will mean an extra stroke. Do you understand?”
“Oh no! Yes I mean, please, not so hard!” I was begging.
The next stroke ‘Swished’ and ‘Splatted’ across my fat bottom, and again I screamed at the red hot pain exploding throughout my bottom and brain.
“I am waiting, boy!”
“One Miss Gloria.” And I continued moaning and gasping for breath.
Swish and Splat! Again I screamed, and writhed and tried to escape from the bench, but there was no escape. My bottom was being properly birched. Thank goodness I only elected for six of these hellish strokes.
“Two Miss Gloria!” I remembered!
Swish and Splat!
“AAAGhhhHH!” I really screamed this time. Stroke three was much lower and the rods struck the top of my thighs and lower buttocks. This is called the buttock crease I believe, and it is the most painful area when being caned or otherwise. The pain took my breath away as the pain just seemed to grow and grow after the stroke. I felt I really couldn’t take any more.
“Please Miss Gloria, I really can’t take any more. Please let me go. Please stop. I have had enough.” I was desperately begging her to stop. But I knew this feeling of panic having experienced it many times before. Such is the life of being a masochist. You know fine well that after the event you have a really good wank remembering your ordeal.
“Do you think back in the old day's prisoners were shown mercy, that the birching would stop because it was too painful? Of course not! Six strokes you requested and six you will get, except that you failed to count that last stroke, and so the next will be stroke three.”
“No Please! Three Miss Gloria, I hadn’t forgotten, please NO!” It was too late.
Swish and Splat! Asking for mercy was a lost cause, and there was no escape.
“Stroke three Miss Gloria.” I managed to get out the words in between my screaming and moaning. Just in time! My breathing was heavy, but I was doing well.
“The last three strokes will be given in quick succession as was the procedure back then. These will cause you great pain and suffering so there is no need to count these strokes as you will be too busy screaming and shouting.”
The last three strokes hit home just like she said Swish, Splat…Swish Splat…Swish spat!
And just like she said I was reduced to a screaming, shouting wreck, whose arse had been given a proper prison birching. No wonder the punishment room was in the cellar and soundproofed. I was demented with pain and panic. But the birching, at last, had stopped. It took a few minutes for the pain to subside and I was actually sobbing.
“There, that wasn’t that bad was it? What a wimp you are!”
Gloria’s hand was rubbing cream into my large bottom, my bottom that felt on fire so it seemed.
“The skin has broken in a few places but you will live! I do like to see the red juice coming through. It shows that my birching has been effective.”
Red juice? Oh no, she meant blood. So those pictures upstairs were real. Birched bloody!
Her hand then reached down and with more cream, she started to play with my cock. My cock was as small as it can get. So much for being a masochist! Pain hurts!
But she started to talk to me and started to wank me properly.
“What a shame it was just six strokes. I had hoped you would have gone for at least twenty-four. I love to birch big bottoms like yours. Just imagine if you had to have another six, and then another six, and then another six!” Her hand was having an effect as were her words. My cock started to grow, and grow quickly.
“Oh Yes, just imagine being birched again and again! Your cock seems to like the idea, and I really want to birch you again, right now.” She was getting to me.
“I noticed you staring at my large breasts upstairs, so I think you might be a breast man. Is that right?”
“Oh Miss Gloria! ” I was starting to get excited. “Yes I love breasts and you do seem to be well endowed in that department.”
“Oh Yes I am, so just imagine me birching you topless! How would you like that? At each stroke, my large breasts on full display, swinging to and fro as I deliver your stroke of the birch.”
“Oooooh! Yes! That would be amazing.” My cock was getting very excited as I imagined Gloria bare-breasted with her birch.
“So how many strokes are you willing to take to see my breasts? To see me topless! Watching me birching you as hard as I can! Six, twelve? What would it be, Pete?”
The excitement was getting too much. And using my name made it so more personal now as though she wanted to make me cum as a reward.
Her hand was speeding up, and the impending climax was nigh.
“Ooohh! Six Miss Gloria, Six!”
“Just six, are you sure, topless! Surely you would like more than six, Pete?” Her hand was constantly pumping away.
“Twelve! Miss Gloria.” I was almost shouting.
“Twenty-four is a much better number, especially if they are really hard strokes! Don’t you think?”
“Oh my goodness! Yes! Yes! Twenty-four!” I was in sexual heaven.
“And really hard strokes, Pete? Say yes!”
“Oh Yes! Really hard! As hard as you can lay them on, right across my fat arse!”
And with those words, my cock spurted sticky warm cum over and over again as she milked me dry.
It’s amazing how your cock gets you into such trouble. She stood back and I could see her removing her blouse, and then her bra. Her large breasts were beautiful and white. Her nipples looked hard. She stood hands on hips.
“Twenty-four strokes of the birch. Four lots of six I believe, and as hard as I can lay them on.”
“Oh NO! I have changed my mind ! Please Miss Gloria !” Once you have cum then all pleasure disappears. All your fantasies become horrible nightmares.
“Naughty boys like you deserve a real punishment! I have kept my side of the bargain as you can see, topless! And you did agree to twenty-four strokes, twenty-four very hard strokes at that!”
I shouted out loud and clear. “NOOOOoooo!”
I was about to be birched till the red juice flowed. And many fantastic wanks I would have, remembering this amazing evening.
The End.
Staying at small guesthouses, I was visiting the more remote parts of the north, those small towns and villages you have never heard of but there they are on the map.
Tonight’s guesthouse was intriguing, to say the least. The address was The Old Police House, Birch Grove. It was easy to find on the Satnav and was a short road, a cul-de-sac, with many trees on either side. I wondered if these were the birch trees but I’m not really a naturalist. The house was detached and double fronted. The stone gate pillars had Police Station etched in the sandstone, and had obviously been a grand building in its day.
Parking on the road I walked up the wide drive to the door suitcase in hand.
I rang the bell, and an attractive woman answered the door. I was ushered in, and went through the formalities of booking in, the usual stuff. Her name was Gloria, Gloria Blackwell.
I couldn’t help noticing old handcuffs hanging on the wall, and even more striking was a three-foot-long birch in a glass case. She showed me to my room and told me to come down for a drink when I was settled in. The room was adequate with an en-suite, tea making equipment, again what you expect these days. However on the walls were a large collection of pictures and artwork. These were definitely not the usual pictures to find on your wall. There were photographs of a policeman and a policewoman holding birch rods. Then drawings of women strapped down being birched. There was a photograph of a wooden frame, and a bench with leather straps, with a birch on top.
My cock hardened. Could this be the start of an interesting evening I wondered?
I went downstairs and we ended up sitting in the lounge.
“I couldn’t help noticing the pictures on my wall. Not the usual décor I see every day!”
“Ah yes, I found all of that in the house when I bought it. It was the old Police Station, and they didn’t clear anything out. They seemed to have left in a hurry.”
“And the handcuffs and birch on the wall?” I asked.
“Yes, those as well. I fell in love with the place as soon as I saw it. It had a sinister feel, the feel of a place where crime and punishment came together. It appeared that most crimes were dealt with by birching the miscreants according to the books I found. And I think that is why there are so many birch trees in the garden.”
“Wow! I guess that those days are long ago now. It certainly is an interesting place though.”
I wasn’t sure what to say, but I needn’t have worried. I was getting the feeling that this was a conversation that was enacted many times in this guesthouse.
“I found that the cellar contained the cell and punishment room. The picture upstairs of the bench and frame, well they are still here in the cellar. Of course, it was full of cobwebs and dead birds when I came here, but I have re-instated the entire cellar back to how it would have been in those days. Would you like to have a look?”
“Yes, why not!” Why not indeed I thought to myself.
Gloria was a very attractive lady, with a curvy figure. Quite tall, and I could easily imagine her as a policewoman. This was exciting but I mustn’t rush into this after all it might be just be a sort of museum tour.
We went through a door, and down some steps and then through a much thicker door. The light went on and there it was! On the wall was a wooden frame with leather straps and hooks. In the centre of the room, was a very sturdy wooden bench with a lower part for kneeling, and then a sloping top part for the torso. It was festooned with leather straps.
On the wall in a rack, hung a large selection of canes. On another wall, a selection of whips, and in a large container were the obvious birches. Their handles bound and sticking upwards. Gloria could see I was in a state of surprise and awe.
“How do you like it? The birches were cut this morning and have been in brine all day just in case I had a naughty boy to deal with.” She laughed.
“The canes are new, as I thought times had moved on from the days of the birch, and the whips? Well they did have some here but they had perished, so again I bought some new ones from the local saddler. The bench is genuine!” She continued.
“Just think how many naughty males and even females have been strapped down on that bench and had their bare bottoms birched! And how many were locked in the cell over there waiting for their fate. It isn’t stated in the records but I believe that the prisoners were stripped naked when they were down here and that the policeman birched the females, and the policewoman birched the men. Obviously, today that would be frowned upon, but here in this remote town anything could and would happen.”
With that, she said we should go back upstairs. I guess I was a little disappointed but there was more to come.
“ Now you have seen my cellar, you must go back to your room. Here is a key for the bottom drawer in which you will find a booklet. Go and have a read then decide what you want to do next.”
I was intrigued and quickly went upstairs and sure enough, there was a booklet where she said. Opening the first page my cock hardened yet again. There was a photo of Gloria, in a policewoman’s uniform holding a long birch. Dressed in a tight skirt, black shiny shoes, and a white blouse. More pictures of her birching someone on the bench, their buttocks white, then showing a few marks, until finally blood. The pictures were numbered one to five, obviously in order of severity.
Then came the words.
‘You will have had the tour of my cellar and you are now given the opportunity to experience a genuine and very real punishment as would have been carried out in the Police Station many years ago.
I will be dressed as the Correction Officer and there will be no mercy once we start. The pictures are the different levels of punishment I will give. Number one is just for the experience of being confined and strapped to the bench. No punishment would be given. All other pictures will incur the use of the birch. Strokes given are six as in picture two, twelve as in picture three, twenty-four and thirty-six in pictures four and five.
If you wish to take up my offer then please write the picture number of your choice and put it on the table in the hall by 8.00 pm.
I will then expect you to be waiting for me at 8.30 pm in the hall completely naked, and locked in the handcuffs you will find in the drawer.’
Oh my goodness, my cock was rock hard and I was having a good wank. I read it over and over again, looking at the pictures, looking at Gloria. I stripped naked and looked at my bottom and imagining how it would be if I decided to take a punishment.
Definitely yes! I must, but which one to choose? I chickened out and opted for picture two, just the six strokes. Heart racing I scribbled the number with ‘Yes please’ next to it and went downstairs and placed it on the table.
It seemed to take ages for the clock to get round to 8.00 and then the realization of what I had done. She would know, she would be getting ready. The next twenty minutes I just lay on the bed naked, playing with my cock, looking at the handcuffs.
At 8.20, I decided to put the handcuffs on and then realized how difficult it was to open the bedroom door! But at 8.30 I was there in the hall, naked and cuffed, waiting.
A few minutes passed then the door opened and in she came
“I am Miss Gloria, the correction officer, and you will address me as Miss, do you understand?”
“Yes, Miss!” I replied quickly.
“Follow me, boy!” I found the tone quite exciting. She knew my name was Pete, but this was quite a dominating form of address. Down into the cellar, we went.
“Get into the cell!” And I was bundled into the prison cell with the barred gate slammed shut. I could see Gloria then getting things ready. She selected a birch and swished it with drops of water splashing across the floor, and then she picked up a gag. She came over to the cell.
“So young man, you are to be birched today, here in the punishment room. Six strokes I see. But I will be the judge of that! I could gag you but this room is soundproof and I want to hear you scream and scream you will.”
After about ten minutes, whilst she checked the birches and the bench, I was brought out of the cell and ordered to stand in front of the bench.
“Mount the bench boy! I want to see that fat arse of yours well presented for my birch.”
Her words were not what I was expecting from such an attractive lady. I was beginning to feel scared but still excited. My wrists were pulled forward and strapped to the wooden frame. My ankles pulled wide apart and strapped in place. Finally, a thick strap went across my waist, which due to the design of the bench seemed to thrust my bottom even higher into the air.
“Wonderful! My, you have a big arse boy! Just ripe for my birch! And let’s hope my birch doesn’t tickle those balls I can see.”
With that, she grasped my balls and cock, and it was obvious that I was completely exposed and defenceless. Gloria went over to the birches and selected one that was made of about eight long thin birch rods. The rods were bound at one end for a handle, and then about halfway, so they didn’t splay wide. It must have been a good metre in length.
“There are a number of ways of making a birch rod. Some people like lots of thin twigs and that is called a spray birch. Then there is the Isle of Man birch, which is about four rods but quite thick. I favour something in between. These thin rods will sear your buttock flesh like red hot wires.”
Gloria then went to my left-hand side and I felt the tip of the birch rods on my left buttock. A few gentle taps, even they stung a little, and then up went her arm and Swish and splat! I instantly screamed. She was so right! It was as though someone had laid red hot wires on my buttock skin. The tips were the worst and they had landed in the middle of my right cheek. I writhed and squirmed, and shouted.
“Please Gloria, it hurts too much, please stop, no more, please.”
“You address me as Miss Gloria boy! We will forget that stroke and start again and this time I want to hear you counting the strokes. Failure to do so will mean an extra stroke. Do you understand?”
“Oh no! Yes I mean, please, not so hard!” I was begging.
The next stroke ‘Swished’ and ‘Splatted’ across my fat bottom, and again I screamed at the red hot pain exploding throughout my bottom and brain.
“I am waiting, boy!”
“One Miss Gloria.” And I continued moaning and gasping for breath.
Swish and Splat! Again I screamed, and writhed and tried to escape from the bench, but there was no escape. My bottom was being properly birched. Thank goodness I only elected for six of these hellish strokes.
“Two Miss Gloria!” I remembered!
Swish and Splat!
“AAAGhhhHH!” I really screamed this time. Stroke three was much lower and the rods struck the top of my thighs and lower buttocks. This is called the buttock crease I believe, and it is the most painful area when being caned or otherwise. The pain took my breath away as the pain just seemed to grow and grow after the stroke. I felt I really couldn’t take any more.
“Please Miss Gloria, I really can’t take any more. Please let me go. Please stop. I have had enough.” I was desperately begging her to stop. But I knew this feeling of panic having experienced it many times before. Such is the life of being a masochist. You know fine well that after the event you have a really good wank remembering your ordeal.
“Do you think back in the old day's prisoners were shown mercy, that the birching would stop because it was too painful? Of course not! Six strokes you requested and six you will get, except that you failed to count that last stroke, and so the next will be stroke three.”
“No Please! Three Miss Gloria, I hadn’t forgotten, please NO!” It was too late.
Swish and Splat! Asking for mercy was a lost cause, and there was no escape.
“Stroke three Miss Gloria.” I managed to get out the words in between my screaming and moaning. Just in time! My breathing was heavy, but I was doing well.
“The last three strokes will be given in quick succession as was the procedure back then. These will cause you great pain and suffering so there is no need to count these strokes as you will be too busy screaming and shouting.”
The last three strokes hit home just like she said Swish, Splat…Swish Splat…Swish spat!
And just like she said I was reduced to a screaming, shouting wreck, whose arse had been given a proper prison birching. No wonder the punishment room was in the cellar and soundproofed. I was demented with pain and panic. But the birching, at last, had stopped. It took a few minutes for the pain to subside and I was actually sobbing.
“There, that wasn’t that bad was it? What a wimp you are!”
Gloria’s hand was rubbing cream into my large bottom, my bottom that felt on fire so it seemed.
“The skin has broken in a few places but you will live! I do like to see the red juice coming through. It shows that my birching has been effective.”
Red juice? Oh no, she meant blood. So those pictures upstairs were real. Birched bloody!
Her hand then reached down and with more cream, she started to play with my cock. My cock was as small as it can get. So much for being a masochist! Pain hurts!
But she started to talk to me and started to wank me properly.
“What a shame it was just six strokes. I had hoped you would have gone for at least twenty-four. I love to birch big bottoms like yours. Just imagine if you had to have another six, and then another six, and then another six!” Her hand was having an effect as were her words. My cock started to grow, and grow quickly.
“Oh Yes, just imagine being birched again and again! Your cock seems to like the idea, and I really want to birch you again, right now.” She was getting to me.
“I noticed you staring at my large breasts upstairs, so I think you might be a breast man. Is that right?”
“Oh Miss Gloria! ” I was starting to get excited. “Yes I love breasts and you do seem to be well endowed in that department.”
“Oh Yes I am, so just imagine me birching you topless! How would you like that? At each stroke, my large breasts on full display, swinging to and fro as I deliver your stroke of the birch.”
“Oooooh! Yes! That would be amazing.” My cock was getting very excited as I imagined Gloria bare-breasted with her birch.
“So how many strokes are you willing to take to see my breasts? To see me topless! Watching me birching you as hard as I can! Six, twelve? What would it be, Pete?”
The excitement was getting too much. And using my name made it so more personal now as though she wanted to make me cum as a reward.
Her hand was speeding up, and the impending climax was nigh.
“Ooohh! Six Miss Gloria, Six!”
“Just six, are you sure, topless! Surely you would like more than six, Pete?” Her hand was constantly pumping away.
“Twelve! Miss Gloria.” I was almost shouting.
“Twenty-four is a much better number, especially if they are really hard strokes! Don’t you think?”
“Oh my goodness! Yes! Yes! Twenty-four!” I was in sexual heaven.
“And really hard strokes, Pete? Say yes!”
“Oh Yes! Really hard! As hard as you can lay them on, right across my fat arse!”
And with those words, my cock spurted sticky warm cum over and over again as she milked me dry.
It’s amazing how your cock gets you into such trouble. She stood back and I could see her removing her blouse, and then her bra. Her large breasts were beautiful and white. Her nipples looked hard. She stood hands on hips.
“Twenty-four strokes of the birch. Four lots of six I believe, and as hard as I can lay them on.”
“Oh NO! I have changed my mind ! Please Miss Gloria !” Once you have cum then all pleasure disappears. All your fantasies become horrible nightmares.
“Naughty boys like you deserve a real punishment! I have kept my side of the bargain as you can see, topless! And you did agree to twenty-four strokes, twenty-four very hard strokes at that!”
I shouted out loud and clear. “NOOOOoooo!”
I was about to be birched till the red juice flowed. And many fantastic wanks I would have, remembering this amazing evening.
The End.
6年前
