Photo-story from Privilege Club 9
Extract from the Editor’s Letter:
On hearing about the upgrading of the little mag, the lovely Christina Winchester wanted us to know at once that she absolutely MUST be a part of it. Indeed, this beautiful young submissive with the glowing features, succulent figure and transcendental bottom has such talent that not only does she look mouth-watering on camera, but can pen a story as well as any veteran wordsmith with a penchant for CP.
Christina lives for CP, and wants us all to know of its delights from her viewpoint. Her wonderfully refreshing, hedonistic self-absorption is absolutely genuine — every word of the main photospread Aunt’s History Lesson was written by Ms Winchester herself as the first anecdote in the Diary of her Misadventures. As you will see, she writes with loving relish as to her own beauty, the pert curves of her exquisite bottom and, teasingly, how such heavenly assets must appear to the lustful gaze of men. To females too, oh yes, for many a lady would like nothing better than to take this delightfully naughty girl across their lap and spank her bare bottom until she squeals. As, indeed, does Aunt Bess in Christina’s own story.
And don’t think she doesn’t just adore having every silky, springy inch of that transcendental rear fondled, spanked and birched. All of this happened, for real, while her story was being re-enacted, and her buttocks were extremely sore at the end of it. ‘Delightfully sore,’ was the way Christina put it as she rubbed each thrashed, throbbing globe with a drowsy smile and a glow in her eyes.
With her regular Diary page each edition, Christina will be very much involved in the new-look Privilege Club magazine, revealing all manner of delicious secrets, sexy thoughts and private preferences as she takes us into her mind as well as over every luscious inch of her adorably petite, shapely body. She will also answer any letters you care to write to her via this magazine.
This is the magazine where it happens.
Aunt’s History Lesson
I had always been more than a little nervous of Aunt Bess. Maybe it was her abrupt, no-nonsense manner. Maybe it was her countenance, which always seemed to be smiling at everyone else and frowning at me. I knew that she thought me spoilt and conceited but, as far as I was concerned, it was none of her business! I loathed the way she always made her enthusiastic support of corporal punishment abundantly clear to my parents, as well as her opinion that they were far too lenient with me.
When Mother and Father told me they were actually going on holiday without me, I couldn’t believe it! I found that no amount of kicking, Screaming or stamping my foot could change their minds. They had booked their tickets for India and were due to leave a day after term ended. That, however, was only the half of it! I had just turned eighteen years old and felt quite capable of looking after myself. But no! They had organised for me to stay with a guardian during their absence and, to make matters worse, had entrusted me to Aunt Bess.
Elizabeth Geraldine Berkley was not my real aunt. She had been a close friend of Father’s for a great many years and I had always referred to her in this familiar way. She was a tall woman with a trim but curvaceous figure, whose dress and manner were always pristinely respectable. Her fair hair seemed to be forever entwined in a tight bun. Her high cheekbones and narrow ice-blue eyes gave her an almost fox-like appearance. Though she had been witness to almost forty winters she still retained the attractiveness which must have rendered her stunning in her youth. An adamant spinster, she lived alone but for a couple of servants. Her home, the sizeable Berkington Manor, was tucked away in the middle of the Cotswolds and had belonged to her family for centuries.
As the black cab pulled into the long driveway, nerves began to creep in. I had never visited Aunt Bess alone before. The house somehow seemed to have an ominous aura hanging over it. I shuddered involuntarily.
The driver pulled up before the steps at the entrance and grabbed my leather suitcase from the car boot.
‘Hey!’ I shouted. ‘Be very careful with those. They’re probably worth more than you earn in a year.’
‘Terribly sorry, Miss.’ I detected the note of sarcasm in the horrid little man’s voice. ‘That’ll be forty-two pounds, please.’
‘Extortion!’ I replied, but gave him fifty just to show my lack of concern.
As I ascended the steps I could feel his lecherous eyes burning into the back of my saucily tight baby-blue shorts. I teased him a little, wriggling the material up so that the lower creases of my delectable buttocks were just visible.
‘Very pretty,’ I heard him mutter as the cab pulled away.
Aunt Bess greeted me at the door with a formal nod. She grabbed the heaviest of my suitcases with a strength and agility that would have made any man proud and led me up the long staircase to the quarters prepared for me.
The room was generously sized with white lace strung from the walls and a luxurious satin-quilted bed. I was delighted, but equally careful not to show it.
‘It will have to do, I suppose,’ I said with a haughty sniff. I spied a large mirror atop the dressing table and immediately put it to use.
‘Quite the conceited little Miss, aren’t we?’ Aunt Bess’s cutting words interrupted.
‘Not at all,’ I replied, blushing slightly. ‘I was just admiring the frame of the mirror.’
‘I’m certain that you and I are going to have a very interesting time together,’ she stated with what could only be a twinkle in her sapphire eyes. Something about the way she said it gave me an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach.
‘Now for the rules,’ she went on. ‘You are free to treat this house as your own. You may wander in the grounds and explore the interior to your heart’s content. You may not, however, under any circumstances, enter the room at the top of the stairs. It is full of valuable antiques and I do not want it disturbed. Do I make myself clear?’
‘I guess so,’ I replied with a toss of my chestnut hair, indignant at being ordered about.
A strange half-smile formed, momentarily, on the stern lips. I couldn’t help but notice that she was still a fine-looking woman. She carried herself with such dignity that it was impossible not to show her some respect. As much as I strove not to be intimidated by her, I found myself sighing with relief as she left the room.
I spent the next few days surveying every inch of the house and its gardens. Every inch, that is, except for those in the forbidden room. I made tireless use of the two maids, getting them to give me manicures and foot massages or to bring me delicious snacks from the aggravated cook. It was rather fun to have new servants to order about.
Then, as the days passed, I became increasingly weary. There was nothing to do at this awful place. As my boredom grew, so did my curiosity. Why couldn’t I enter that room? What was so special about a bunch of silly antiques?
The following morning I was already awake as the first rays of sunlight squinted through the pane of my window. That delicious excitement of being wilfully naughty was growing with each passing minute. I knew I was wicked to disobey Aunt Bess, but I didn’t care. Who was she to boss me about, anyway?
All through breakfast my anticipation escalated and, with it, a degree of nervousness. I reprimanded myself for such foolishness. She would be away on her morning ride for at least an hour and this would give me plenty of time to look around and leave the room exactly as I found it. Even so I didn’t feel completely safe until I had watched her dappled-grey mare disappear over the next hill. I tiptoed up the stairway lest one of the servants should discover what I was doing and report the incident. As I came to the door at the top, I could hardly believe my luck when the knob twisted and it opened almost too easily.
Once inside, a whinny of delight was emitted from my lips. There were ornaments of all shapes and sizes, but it was not on these that my focus was directed. Over an elegant bed was draped a lavish selection of authentic old-fashioned garments. On closer inspection, I discovered that they were of the Victorian period. In fact, the whole room took on a similar theme. What was so special about this era that Aunt Bess had gone to such trouble to replicate it? The whole place gave the illusion of time stood still.
I felt like Alice, penetrating the looking-glass to find herself in Wonderland. I picked up a pair of frilly bloomers and was immediately tempted to put them on. I was used to seeing my lovely bottom shown off in taut, skimpy modern attire, and longed to see what it looked like in these bizarre items of clothing.
It wasn’t long before I had squeezed into them and was proudly bending over in front of the mirror at the head of the bed. How delectably pretty my derrière looked, peeping saucily out of the split drawers and kissed on all sides by the alabaster material! My heart raced with enchantment and I simply had to get the full effect.
I picked up a camisole and a gorgeous, intricately-patterned corset. I fastened the clasps over my small, rounded breasts and belly and, after some difficulty, tightened the laces behind me. I felt it push my buttocks out to their full peach-like plumpness. I found a lacy petticoat small enough for my tiny frame, and stepped into it. An azure summer dress completed the picture perfectly.
You can imagine my joy as I stood before the glass, transformed into a Victorian beauty. The garments seemed to do justice to my charmingly petite features and accentuate my figure admirably. If only I had stopped there. If only I hadn’t decided to give the heavy skirts a twirl around the room. For, as the thick material rippled outwards, the hem caught the edge of a small china statue and it fell to the floor with a loud crash.
I stared in horror at the broken pieces strewn across the room, then bent down to pick up the fragments.
‘So you chose to disobey me,’ a voice behind me pierced the silence. ‘I knew you couldn’t be trusted! You were warned against entering this room!’
Trembling, I turned around to see the stern figure of Aunt Bess framed in the doorway. Her countenance resembled an approaching storm and her fiery eyes shot darts of fury into the depths of my soul.
‘Aunt B-Bess,’ I stammered. ‘You’re back early.’
‘And just as well, too. Who knows what else you would have broken, you incorrigible girl?’
My terror increased as she turned to lock the door behind her. She advanced with deliberate steps and seized me by the wrist.
‘Young lady,’ she exclaimed with a voice of stone. ‘What I am about to do is long overdue. You have grown into a spoilt, vain and selfish brat as well as an obstinate little madam. For once you are going to get what you deserve instead of what you want.’
She seated herself on the side of the bed. I blinked in disbelief as she pulled me firmly across her broad, shapely thighs. With one arm held securely behind my back in her vice-like grip, I found myself in a position from which no amount of kicking or struggling could free me. I knew my rear end was rendered completely accessible, poking invitingly in the air. I was being treated like an unruly child and tears of embarrassment burned my cheeks.
‘Your parents have neglected their duty towards you far too often,’ she said harshly. ‘Now I am going to show you what happens to naughty, disobedient girls under my roof. I am going to punish you in the time-honoured way. I have found this method of discipline to be extremely effective in getting results. I must admit I have never yet encountered a young lady in more dire need of an extremely… sound… spanking!’
The enthusiastic way she said the word ‘spanking’ sent a chill right through my body. She spat out the consonants, making it sound both terrifyingly harsh and exhilarating at the same time. I felt my skirt-layers carefully raised, one by one, and arranged above my waist till my only protection was the thin, gauzy material of the drawers.
Glancing up, I saw Aunt Bess’s ruby lips tighten as she raised her hand to shoulder height.
‘Face forward,’ she barked.
There was a pause which seemed to last forever as my poor little bottom trembled with anticipation and then SMACK! The first expertly-aimed spank landed on my ill-defended left buttock. There was a split second when all went numb and then the searing sing speared into my brain. I let out a shocked whimper at the sensation and then bit hard on my lower lip, ashamed of my own babyish response. Before I had time to collect myself, a second burning kiss was planted on the other cheek evening the effect.
‘Oooh!’ I screamed. ‘How dare you treat me like this? I shall tell Father!’
‘Be my guest,’ the woman chortled. ‘You will promptly learn that I am doing this with his full approval. Remember that this discipline is for your benefit alone. For me, it is merely a sorry duty.’
More well-targeted slaps landed with full force on my poor bottom. I felt my pubic region press against the woman’s sturdy legs. Her suspender-straps were causing uncomfortable friction against my sensitive genitalia. Reluctantly, I felt the humidity increase between my thighs and I knew my facial cheeks were growing as red as those of my outraged posterior. At the moment, my shame was safely hidden by the material of the drawers but I suspected that it would only be a matter of time before they were parted to reveal my quivering bare bottom and the cave of sticky moisture beneath it. Sure enough, Aunt Bess’s next command confirmed my suspicions.
‘Right! I think that these lovely drawers are providing too much protection. We shall have them pulled open. I want to be certain you receive a decent dose of discipline on your bare bottom.’
To my horror, I felt her split the drawers in the centre and the coldness of the air caress my naked, exposed buttocks.
‘Just as I thought!’ she exclaimed. ‘Your naughty bottom’s hardly even pink. I shall have a splendid time remedying this fact.’
Another rain of scalding smacks expressed their short, sharp message to my bottom. Oh, how much more the woman’s wide palm stung when applied directly on the bare. Skin greeted skin with a resounding SMACK! A series of high-pitched squeals fought their way out of my mouth.
‘Well, my proud Miss,’ she gasped. ‘How does it feel to be put over Auntie’s knee for a jolly good, old-fashioned spanking?’
I raised my head to catch a glimpse of Aunt Bess’s face. To my surprise, I found that she was beaming from ear to ear and her eyes positively sparkled. She looked radiantly beautiful like this as she established such undeniable authority over me. She paused momentarily to admire her handiwork and massage my taut, velvety flesh with her smooth palm. Her nimble fingers even probed once or twice between my cheeks, brushing lightly over my secret place. I was buried in mortification as I knew she must have felt the wetness!
‘There now,’ she smiled, her voice taking on a gentler tone. ‘Your beautiful bottom is turning from pink to scarlet. I must say it looks extremely fetching in this colour. I think you’re beginning to learn your lesson.’
‘I want to go to… er… I mean… p-please may I go to my room?’ I stammered. Of course, I was desperate to soothe my outraged bottom but I also had a rising desire to relieve my eager clitoris.
But Aunt Bess seemed to not only understand but revel in my discomfort.
‘Oh, but I haven’t finished yet,’ she grinned. ‘Not by a long shot. I have chastened you for the disobedience in entering this room but I have not yet punished you for the damage you’ve caused. That ornament, which you so carelessly broke with your misbehaviour, was priceless. My great grandfather picked it up on a trip to the Far East and took great pains to have it sent back to England. Now, since you are so interested in antiques, I have a special little piece of Victoriana that I have been dying to try out for ages.’
She marched over to a cupboard and returned with what looked like a bundle of twigs. She swiped it a few times, allowing it to whistle through the air for effect.
‘This, young lady, is a birch. It is made from the whippy twigs of the birch tree and is reputed to be a proficient and feminine means of corporal punishment. In Victorian times it was used in households and schools on the bottoms of naughty young ladies. Today it shall be used for the same purpose.’
My throat tightened as I examined the threatening-looking implement in Aunt Bess’s firm grip. I had never seen anything like it and did not much fancy the prospect of those fine, coarse twigs thrashing against my tender, unclad buttocks.
‘If you will please assume an appropriate position at the end of the bed.’
I wanted desperately to protest, but something about the woman’s tone assured me that this would not be wise. My legs felt like jelly and it was a struggle just to stand up. I tottered round and stood facing the bed.
‘That’s right,’ chirped Aunt Bess. ‘We’ll have to take those drawers off, I think. They will only get in the way. You may leave the corset on as it makes your bottom a much more full and plump target. I must say you chose these garments exceptionally well.’
Hesitantly, I wriggled enough to let the bloomers slip down to my ankles.
‘Now bend over. Arch your back. Excellent! Stick your lovely bottom out. Assuredly the prettiest bottom I’ve ever encountered and the most deserving! That’s it! Make it invite my birch’s attention. What a marvellously penitent picture you present!’
Satisfied that I was in the correct position to be chastised, Aunt Bess strode over to unlock the door and secured it wide open. For a moment I was confused. Then her intention dawned on me. She was allowing all others in the house the gratification of hearing my punishment. To my horror, I realised that the servants would all be able to overhear the birch connecting soundly with my haughty, pert buttocks, as well as my cries of distress. How could I face them again knowing that they had witnessed me being put in my place? I just knew that if I tried to condescend to them or give them orders, they would simply giggle knowingly behind my back.
Aunt Bess saw the agitation in my face and gave a grin worthy of any Cheshire cat. She knew exactly what she was doing and cleverly intended this to be part of the punishment.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Perhaps, in future, you will think twice about being so rude and demanding to the servants. I’m sure they will enjoy hearing you get your just desserts. Now we’re going to find out how potent the birch can be. It will be a learning experience for both of us. You will remain perfectly still and on your toes or I will be forced to strike harder.’
I shut my eyes tightly and my buttocks twinged expectantly. Aunt Bess waited to allow my tension to build.
The birch exploded across both my bouncing cheeks. The blazing impact took me by surprise, causing me to over-balance and I danced from one foot to the other.
‘Stand still, I say!’
My clumsiness was rewarded by another fierce stroke.
‘Oooow!’ I screamed as my efforts to take the punishment in silence failed dismally. I didn’t care any more. I yelped like a slippered puppy as each precise blow ravished my vulnerable derrière. Aunt Bess’s arm descended in a steady rhythm, only pausing now and then to rub and knead my bottom, distributing the glow all over.
‘Ah yes!’ she smiled. ‘The Victorians knew how to treat naughty (smack!) spoilt (smack!) little (spank!) madams (thwack!). It was the golden age of discipline.’
So that was why Aunt Bess was so fascinated with the Victorian era. The birch bit my rump again and again, proving its efficiency with every strike. My proud, little breasts heaved against the sturdy corset. My bottom jerked and bobbed, desperately trying to escape the painful onslaught. But Aunt Bess was merciless in her resolve.
‘Pleeeease, Aunt Bess,’ I sobbed. ‘I can’t take any more. Ow! I’m truly sorry I disobeyed you. Aah! I will try to be a better girl in future. Ooooh! I promise.’
She got in a couple more excruciating wallops and then laid the birch on the bed. I could see where bits of twig had been torn off in the attack. My bottom stung as it had never stung before.
‘Right,’ she cooed. ‘I think that should be sufficient. You may inspect your bottom in the looking-glass.’
My reflection showed that my swollen hemispheres were decorated with tiny crimson flecks where the scalding ends of the birch had whipped them. My previously flawless bottom had paid the price for my misdemeanours. There it was — a giant over-ripe peach. Already the sting was transforming into a smarting glow.
Aunt Bess studied me for a while and then took a small pink jar from a nearby drawer. Placing two pillows at the side of the bed, she motioned for me to lie across them. Dipping her long fingers into the cold cream, she massaged the soothing mixture into my throbbing buttocks.
‘Definitely a job well done,’ she stated as her palms glided and slithered over my burning flesh. ‘You’ll have to sleep on your stomach tonight, and you’ll have trouble sitting comfortably for the next day or so. The marks will disappear, but I hope the memory of this punishment will remain for a very long time…’
As I scampered back down the hall to my room, I knew I would be opening the window and allowing the cold breeze to trickle over my sorely unfortunate bottom. I knew I would be smoothing some of that cold cream into my more intimate places. I knew that I would be playing back the vision of the punishment in my mind as I furiously masturbated.
And I knew that sometime, in the not-too-distant future, I would find myself over Aunt Bess’s knee again.