The Tale of Prisoner 967

I'm just back from a wonderful weekend with very dear friends HH, Abel and Haron. We had a lovely time of seeing old castles, browsing bookshops and antique places, resting and chatting, cooking, eating and drinking Pimms and wine! As one might expect there were a fair few beatings thrown in for good measure and back home today in Dublin I find myself in a state of wonderful sated bliss.

As I write my bottom throbs ever so slightly and when I shift on the spot my jeans scratch against the more tender areas. I'm so contented right now that I'm finding it hard to write up the scenes themselves. Yet I feel I must; it would be too darn selfish of me not to share! Not to mention that in a few weeks time I'll begin to wonder did it ever happen at all.

It being Easter and finding ourselves in the the full bloom of Spring, it was obviously time to be birched. Now this was only my third time to experience the birch but again I was reassured of several things: One it hurts like hell; Two it does very little damage compared to the actual amount of pain it imparts; Three it's one of my favorite implements.

Added to the fun of being birched, I also had the pleasure (or torment) of being triple topped. Greedy little so and so that I am this was immensely delightful. It was also immensely painful!

So below is the tale of my third birching, or the sorry tale of Prisoner 967. I've edited the story in parts for easier reading but the scene and context was pretty much as is. The only difference is that we actually naturally concluded the scene after about 150 strokes. My bottom was showing signs of superficial damage as is normal in a birching and the Tops felt I'd had enough.

However I was still buzzing and not at all played out. I really wanted more and didn't feel too damaged to continue. So after a quick hug and a sanity check, over the bench I went again for another 50 or 60 strokes. Until I was truly screaming for mercy and ready to finish.

Floating on a high of adrenalin and pain, gooey to my submissive core and stupidly pleased with myself that the three birches (as you can witness for yourself) were even more broken and dishevelled than I was, we finally concluded matters!



Thereupon I was gently taken down and hugged and comforted until I was myself again.

---

I was Rosie O'Grady sentenced to two years in Her Majesty's prison for extortion. Only three months in and the wing warden Officer Temple has already taken a strong dislike to me. And things just got a whole lot worse when I semi-accidentally gave one of her guards a black eye as he man-handled me back into my cell.

Not having a kindly view of me in the first place, Temple immediately dragged me off for a night in solitary. Despite my protests she stripped me completely naked and locked me up alone. Taking my clothes off with her, she bade me enjoy my night in the punishment cell, laughing that I'd get what was coming to me in the morning.

Once she left me, my bravado fell to the wayside. I shivered, naked under the thin blankets and tried not to think of what was going to happen. I'd heard stories from the other girls, witnessed the state of them after an official punishment. My stomach churned nervously.

The room was eerie in the dark with cuffs and chains hanging from the ceiling and the large whipping bench taking up the middle of the room. It was a long time before I drifted off to an uneasy sleep. After a restless night (30 minutes in reality, but enough to make me terrified) I woke up to the clanging of my cell door. Paralysed with fear I stayed under the blanket until I was dragged out of the bed by Officer Temple. Shivering I tried to cover myself but was ordered to stand up straight, hands by my side.

She wasn't alone. Bad enough to have brought Governor Jenkins with her, she was also accompanied by Officer Higgins, known throughout the prison as the Punishment Officer. He towered over me looking both pompous and menacing in his full prison uniform.

Once Temple had laid out the charges against me, of assaulting one of her guards, I tried to defend myself. But my protests that he ran into my elbow were met in vain. The Governor silenced me with a sharp slap across the face and I cringed back suddenly very afraid.

On his orders I was strapped face down over the whipping bench. Still utterly naked I felt exposed and vulnerable as he told me what was to happen.

'First Officer Higgins will birch you first,' he said quietly. 'Then Office Temple will take up a fresh rod with which to also birch you, before I take up a third and apply that. And I'm sure by the end of this you'll be a very sorry girl indeed and you won't be giving any of us any more trouble.'

Even in my heightened state of fear I noted that there was no actual sentence. No fixed number of strokes to try to survive. Higgins took up the birch, giving me a look at it before he moved into position at my side. It was what I'd heard called a spray birch, made of multiple switches and leaves and twigs. It would easily cover my entire bottom in one stroke, scratching my flesh as it went. As he tapped it experimentally against my skin, I braced myself, pushing back against the straps that held me down.

The first stroke landed, but was bearable. So was the next. And the next. Painful but not unduly. I felt some relief; I could survive this. But it soon gave way to fear as the strokes built on each other. After 20 I was in real pain as my whole bottom became red hot.

Each stroke felt harder and harder, and pieces of the birch flew around the room, leaving the remaining ends even sharper. Each time it felt like needles were scratching into my skin. At 60 I couldn't count anymore. Inside my head I prayed for brief respites. Higgins was cold and clinical, pausing every so often to let the strokes sink in, giving me hope of it being done with, but then lashing down 10 or 20 in quick succession.



I'm not sure how many I had before I started sobbing in earnest, twisting against the straps but unable to deflect any of the pain. It was surely over a 100 before Higgins stopped and I lay limp on the bench trying to catch my breath.

Then it was the turn of Temple. She took up the birch and stood in front of me. Lifting my head up roughly by my hair she revelled in my predicament. Waving the birch she laughed as she explained that I had long been a thorn in her side and now she was going to be one in mine.


She was using the second birch, a manx one, made of a series of long thin switches. I felt the difference immediately. Sharp shooting pain landing on one concentrated part of my bottom. They felt like several canes landing at once and the pain didn't abate at all between strokes. I took the first 12 in quiet defiance, needled by her teasing, but hung my head low for the second dozen and prayed my nightmare would soon end. Before she concluded she gave me a quick, but sharp flogging on my back, leaving it stinging in unison with my bottom. I was now beyond pride and just wanted my ordeal to be over.

But there was still the Governor to come. Taking up the third birch he got straight down to business. Another manx birch, each stroke was severe in its own right, but horrific in succession. He wasn't impressed by my display of defiance to Temple and I was soon sobbing as he continued his determined assault.


Until there was too little of the birch left, not fit to make the impression he sought. Taking up the spray birch he continued once more. Whipping me with full force until I screamed for mercy. We had surely passed 200 when he paused. Higgins gave another 6 hard strokes. Then Temple finished matters with a final 6.


Released, I stood shakily on the ground as I was given my final warning. Sobbed my apologies and promised not to give any more trouble. And in a final act of humiliation Temple then paraded me naked and weeping back to my cell where all the other inmates could witness my shame.