Bent over and ready for the birch rod

Vintage Birched Bottom

Now, here’s a (lovely vintage) example of something I really want to try. (Although I might be regretting that desire about two strokes into the birching, but you never know ’till you try!) But I can’t get my hands on a pre-made birch rod. The one person I’ve found who makes them won’t sell them as a stand-alone order — you have to buy something else from her, and as she sells canes, and my Master currently has all the canes a devotee of discipline could need (and no, I’m not saying this to try and limit his cane collection — as it is MY ass on the line — but because he has so many canes that in over three years together I don’t think we’ve actually used all of them!)

I’d be delighted to make my own, but all the directions I’ve found online assume that you have a basic idea of what you’re doing, and I really need the “Birches for Dummies” manual.

But the delights of the birch call to me. It features in pretty much every piece of Victorian erotica. For example:

Thinking it was all over, I entreated them to let me go, but to my sorrow soon found out my mistake.
“Not yet, not yet, you bad girl, you’re not half punished for all your biting, scratching and imprudence,” exclaimed Sir Eyre.
Again the hateful birch hissed through the air, and cut into my bruised flesh, both buttocks and thighs, suffering and smarting in agony, but he seemed careful at first not to draw the blood; however, as I was not to escape, it was only his deliberate plan of attack, so as not to exhaust the poor victim too soon.
“Next time you’ll know what to expect. You deserve no mercy, the idleness was bad enough, but such murderous conduct is awful — bite, will you?” Thus lectured the old man, getting warmer and warmer in the attack, till the blood fairly trickled down my poor thighs.
I was in dreadful agony at every cut, and must have fainted, but his lecturing me seemed to sustain me like a cordial; besides, with the pain I experienced a most pleasurable warmth and excitability impossible to be described.

From p.12 of The Pearl (Erotica from the Underground Magazine of Victorian England).

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