From Privilege Plus 15, the start of a series featuring the delicious Christina Winchester, a.k.a. Rosaleen Young.
Were you to spend time with me, even a few minutes, you would be overwhelmed by an alarming and insatiable urge. As you saw me, heard me speak, got an inkling of my disposition, an ache would develop in your palms and the craving would build and build till it consumed you. And this overpowering desire? To chastise the most superb and spankable bottom in all the world, mine.
My mirror constantly shows me that I am beautiful. My long, chestnut mane of hair forms a perfect frame around the elfin features that make up my exquisite face. My wide, emerald eyes give the illusion of childlike innocence but, if you gaze a little closer, you will see that they reflect the rare but brilliant fire that constitutes my personality. The fairy-like petiteness of my nose and mouth is echoed in the rest of my body. My breasts, firm with youth, are tiny, proud and pert. My waist and limbs are toned and slim and my back defiantly arched.
My crowning glory, however, is without doubt my impeccably flawless and delicious derrière. My buttocks bloom in plump, girlish roundness, gently kissing each other in worship. The skin itself is like fine velvet and extraordinarily firm and supple. In all the bottoms that I have glanced upon, both masculine and feminine, I have never seen its equal. My rear view retains an air of enticing majesty, demanding the eye to devour with a ravenous appetite. And it never looks prettier than when it is bent into a suitable position to await a sound spanking.
I have heard them talk about me. My name is generally accompanied with words like conceited, spoiled, haughty, disobedient, and impudent. I cannot deny that I am worthy of all of these descriptions. I do get my own way more often than not. I speak with an aristocratic snobbishness that so infuriates the listener, they must use every ounce of their self-control not to throw me across their knee then and there. I deliberately rebel against any rules set before me, and my cheekiness has got me into countless sticky situations, but I am determined that I will never change.
I am well aware of what an unbelievably naughty little girl I really am — but, to be completely honest, I don’t care. And the reason? I am both prepared and willing to pay the consequences.
My respect for discipline was established at a very early age. I will always remember my father making me turn around to face the opposite direction, the humiliation of having to take my own knickers down and his rock-solid hands dealing me ‘six of the best’ on my quivering, bare bottom. It was, of course, nothing sexual back then, just a warm feeling that someone cared about my behaviour and loved me enough to correct it.
Hence, I grew up with the knowledge that my actions had repercussions and that, eventually, I would have to pay for my disorderly and wayward conduct.
As I developed, I passed much of my time in front of my mirror, admiring my deli-cate and delectable curves and imagining the effect that they had on the opposite sex. I would spend hours trying on the generous selection of clothes from my wardrobe. Bending over in my taut panties, skimpy shorts, buttock-hugging trousers, and skirts which would not pass as belts for a larger girl, I perfected the art of teasing men with my favourite feature.
Oh, how I love to flirt and tease! I am constantly engaged in this pursuit, and the fantastic way I wiggle my bottom as I walk or bend to tie a shoelace at an appropriately selected time when an audience of ogling lads is nearby, is a testament to my expertise. They can gape and stare till their tongues scrape the ground. They can even whistle or make their Neanderthalesque comments on what they see and I will simply let rip with a girlish giggle. But the factor that makes me the wickedest of all females is that, after leading them on mercilessly, I never allow them to have even so much as a crafty pinch!
With the aid of the three carefully arranged mirrors in my bedroom I have made detailed studies of myself in every angle and position. I stand erect and trace the mysterious valley between and beneath the ravishing twin-globes of my rump with my nimble finger-tips. I bend over further to watch the lower creases disappear and my whole posterior tilt upwards invitingly. Arching my limber spine, I stick out the object of my praise as I stand on tiptoe and double over to touch the floor. As my silken cheeks pucker against the stern, icy slate of the mirror, I feel the coldness biting into the naked flesh as if it were punishing me for my vanity.
The sensation awakens me. Peeking beneath the glorious hemispheres, I can see the moisture glistening on my femininity. The very sight of my own voluptuous arse sends my flowering clitoris into spasmodic erection. My skilfully practised fingers dive between my legs and stroke amorously at my impatient rosebud.
Falling on my bed, my mind still alive with fresh images of my sensuous naked bottom, I work greedily, tickling and tantalising myself, making the feeling escalate. My fingers saturate themselves in my slippery dew as I whimper under my own sexual prowess. My succulent fruit ripens, craving for my caresses to envelop it.
It is about this time that it starts to happen. Images begin to flash across my mental picture theatre. The scenes differ from one to the next, but the theme is always the same. I see myself receiving the punishment I so richly require. Memories of every hand that has ever been raised in correction against my trembling, bare bottom melt in and out of focus. I hear myself whinny with erotic excitement as I imagine the almighty smacks descending upon my inviting target. I roll on to my stomach and thrust my arse provocatively into the air, welcoming the thought of such devoted attention.
I can recall the feeling of all of the implements that I have been punished with — the sizzling bite of the cane or riding crop, the femininity of the birch, the adamant smack of the paddle, wooden spoon or hairbrush, the agile whippiness of the tawse and, my eternal favourite, the intimacy of a simple spanking with the naked palm. I can remember with distinct clarity the smarting scorch that radiates from my defenceless buttocks as they are soundly chastened. I envisage the punishers’ rapture as my irresistible bottom turns from pink to scarlet before their eyes, like a ripening peach. My clitoris burns as I delight in my own naughtiness. While I may kick and scream in protest or even cry scalding tears of shame, I know that I am getting no more or less than I deserve!
And so I have decided to share the secrets of my diary exclusively with the readers of Privilege Plus. The men will achieve an erotic sense of satisfaction to discover that my ever-so-naughty bottom does indeed get its come-uppance from time to time. For the females, my tales will act as a warning. Heed them well, Ladies, for if you ever dare to be as badly behaved as I am, you just may suffer a similar fate.
Some of my stories will be my genuine experiences, detailed accounts of the occasions when justice has caught up with me and my poor bottom has been held responsible for my mistakes. Others will contain my fantasies, laid in exposure before you, from the depths of my imagination.
It will be left to you, dear reader, to decipher the real from the invention. I shan’t tell you which is which. It is too much fun to tease you in this way! I am certain, however, that you will thoroughly enjoy your perusal and making your educated guesses.