Saturday, 3 May 2014

Saturday, May 03, 2014 -

Women at the Edge

by Tara Black
Published: Apr 04, 2014
Words: 28,874
Category: lesbian, fantasy
Orientation: F/F, M/F
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Chapter 1 - New Start

The hissing swish of the birch through the air seemed to fill the space between the whitewashed stone walls. It was a room devoid of furniture save for the large wooden block over which was bent the figure of a woman. Her knees were secured by a broad leather belt to a ledge while her arms were pulled forward, thrusting the bared buttocks into prominence. The rod in use was no untidy collection of twigs that might do duty as a broom, but a choice selection of slender switches reinforced with thin hazel wands and bound tight into a handle.

While the body jerked in response to each cut, there had been no sound beyond the sharp intake of breath when the lithe tips worried at spots of especially tenderised flesh. Before long, however, the instrument was used up in a mess of ragged ends with broken fragments scattered around the site of the action. Thus the chastiser put it to one side and reached for a replacement that had been pickling in a tub of brine and vinegar. When those substances found their way into raw abraded flash it would be with notably sharp effects. The birching was about to be taken to a new level.

What was happening on that July afternoon could not in any strict sense be described as punishment. That is what takes place when an offence is committed, the guilt of an individual is established and sentence is carried out. But this event was no sentence. Wrong doing was involved, certainly, in past thoughts and actions that had been admitted. The point of the exercise, though, was not in delivering retribution but to purge and absolve and move on. All through the cleansing power of ritual pain.

As an agent of such, there seemed to the community that had adopted it something peculiarly appropriate about the birch. Without the bruising power of cane or whip, its action felt to the recipient like a no less fearsome kind of flaying. As if the skin was being stripped away - agonisingly - to take with it the sins of a former life.

But the woman on the block was in no state to appreciate the finer points of her treatment. As stroke after stroke of the limber stems lashed their stinging wetness into raw flesh, stoicism was abandoned. Cynthia moaned, whimpered and shrieked by turns as the young Andrea strained to keep her grip fast on the victim's wrists.

At last it was over and the second tattered bundle cast aside. Andrea helped the birched woman to her feet where she faced her tormentor. The official of the remote community, duty done, touched her shoulder and Cynthia managed to bow her head in submission to it.

"Thank you, councillor."

"You did well. And welcome to your place with us, sensei. You will go forth and teach what you know." She bowed her head too then took her leave. "You are in the good hands of our member."