From Privilege Club 12
Extract from the Editor’s Letter:
What other goodies are in store this time? Well, one of the items shows the private thoughts of Christina Winchester concerning her very real experiences on the business end of a punishment. Ms Winchester is proving highly popular with spanking aficionados everywhere because not only is she exquisitely lovely in face and form, with a bottom to die for, but she so obviously relishes reaping the rewards of her mischief. In this edition she discusses her experiences on the receiving end of more of her favourite (?) implements, with photographs from her private stock that she is happy to share with us. There can’t be a hand in the land that doesn’t itch to spank that pert derrière — and doesn’t Christina just know it!
Our resident schoolgirl seductress continues her reminiscences of severe punishments applied to her superb bottom by a parade of effective implements:
TAWSE: A very spiteful piece of work which I was unfortunate enough to encounter when our crotchety, ancient Scottish neighbour caught me stealing a few prize roses from his front garden. He hadn’t had the pleasure of using the tawse since his days as a headmaster and was thrilled to find that he hadn’t lost his touch when it came to chastising the ‘pretty wee ass’ of a ‘wilful young lassie’. I would never have believed that a simple strap of flexible leather could burn so viciously. I pray that that was my last encounter with the tawse. And I haven’t been too keen on roses either since then!
BELT: Daddy’s belt and I go way back and have had a turbulent and bitter relationship. I was last put over his strong knee a year and a half ago (although he still threatens me to this day with a good bottom-warming when I show more than my usual amount of impudence!).
The flexible leather flicks against my skin; hard, cold and shiny greeting soft, warm and glowing. It shoots fire into my begging-for-it behind within a few slaps and has me squealing like a little girl.
HAIRBRUSH: I am put in an awkward dilemma when the hairbrush is concerned. It is a device I associate with both pleasure and pain. I love to sit on my bed each evening as Mother brushes out my long, shiny, dark hair. The feel of it gently pulling and massaging my head is divinity.
It is not so divine when applied to my other end! Sometimes, the brush catches on a tangle and I let out a less-than-ladylike word, forgetting, for a second, to be Mummy’s little angel. My pyjama-bottoms are pulled promptly to my knees. Both the hairbrush and I are flipped over so that the hard, smooth wooden side can chastise my upturned bottom for such rudeness with an onslaught of hearty spanks. The two-faced implement no longer-caresses me comfortingly but, like a Judas, betrays me with a painful kiss. It lands with full throttle on my pink, naked buttocks. It is sort of like being bitten by the hand that feeds you. And then, when the lights go out, I must lie on my tummy, rub the smarting away, and reflect upon my behaviour.
BIRCH: My first and thus far only encounter with this historical legend of an implement (courtesy of Aunt Bess a few months ago) still rings true on my poor, delicate derrière. Aunty had been saving it for ages, hidden away for a bottom worth waiting for — mine of course, the perfect specimen to test its effectiveness on.
I really hadn’t felt anything like it before. It doesn’t just give one bite to its target, as a cane or crop might, but a whole explosion of thwacking, red-hot sparks. It felt like a swarm of angry bees had landed on my unfortunate bum-cheeks in order to launch a full-scale and merciless attack with their stingers.
Traditionally, and for the best effect, the birch should be applied with the recipient completely naked. Oh dear, please don’t ask me to take my clothes off — please?
Thankfully, birches are rarely seen in this day and age. My pert and lovely teenage bottom could certainly do with not seeing it ever again!