From Privilege Club 14
Extract from the Editor’s Letter:
It’s good, too, to see our naughty nymphet Christina Winchester attracting her own share of attention. Christina is a dear girl, and is genuinely moved and delighted to hear from well-wishers. One gentleman from beyond these shores sent her a gift of two beautifully crafted paddles, which caught her vivid imagination and inspired her latest Diary entry which appears in this issue. As well as being a passionate spankophile, Christina is also an excellent actress and dancer. She has a singing voice too, and there must be many a reader who would love to hear that sweet soprano hitting top C in the course of dealing with her for provocative behaviour!
Christina Winchester wishes to thank the kind reader who sent her the beautiful hand-made paddles, and to assure him that they will indeed be put to use for the purpose that they were intended, whether she likes it or no!
My Ballet School holds a concert every December. The teacher selects a ballet and we get to perform in a top London theatre for the entire week. I was looking forward to this year more than ever because I had finally come of age and had been selected to play the principal role of the Princess Aurora in The Sleeping Beauty.
During the opening night performance, I surveyed the audience and my eyes were drawn to a strange figure sitting in the box on the right-hand side of the stage. He was attired in a black cloak with a hood and, at first glance, I was horrified by the paleness of his face. As I peered harder through the glare of the footlights, I realised that it was not his face at all but an alabaster mask with two recesses for the eyes that gave the impression of callousness. Despite the concealment of the mask, I could feel his gaze watching me intently as I pirouetted and arabesqued across the stage. His whole presence unnerved me and I felt quite relieved when the curtain fell at the end of the night.
To my dismay, my cloaked friend was back again the next night. I found it hard to focus on the routines and, at one point, almost stumbled. Every night he returned to the same seat in the right-hand box to watch me perform, and each night I grew more confident. His stare was steadfast. It felt as if it were his will alone that lifted me high above the stage and not the muscular arms of the male dancers. It was as though I was dancing just for him. My body swept through the movements gracefully and with passion. My bewitching bottom writhed beneath my tutu’s lace veil, peeking out with charming insolence as I twirled. I danced better than I ever thought I could. I wanted his approval. I needed it.
On the final night he was more engrossed by my every twist than ever before. As I took my curtsey, I dared not look in his direction. I left the stage and ran through the bowels of the ancient theatre towards the sanctuary of my dressing room.
Suddenly the cloaked stranger appeared before me, blocking my path. I gasped and my heart jolted with fright. I could see the glow of his eyes from beneath the hollow gaps of the mask. He towered over me, still and silent, seeming to drink in my fear. Then slowly he reached into his cloak and, from within its secret depths, produced a package tied with a blood-red ribbon.
‘A gift,’ he said, his voice like a distant roll of thunder.
I glanced down and accepted his offering, and when I again raised my eyes he had vanished. A weakness flooded over me and I hurried to my dressing room. I collapsed on the floor, my head whirling. Eventually I grew calmer and my curiosity flared. I untied the ribbon and unwrapped the chiffon beneath. Laid amongst the gauzy silk were two superbly crafted paddles. Never before had an inanimate object held such majesty. My fingers caressed the smoothness of the varnished wood. I noticed a slip of paper amongst the chiffon. It read:
She frolics upon the altar of the stage
Tempting me with fruit forbidden,
Fertile in the blossoming of youth,
Nubile limbs set inner thoughts afire;
And when she turns
O the delight the eye devours!
Gorging on the unequalled orbs,
All the beauty of Venus therein
Draw the pretty morsel nigh.
Again the exquisite faery’s face
Does flash its innocent wickedness;
My golden child must pay the price,
I grant to her sensations sweet,
None more deserving of my gift.
No rose could radiate more beauty
Than she, within its power.
The confusing words swirled inside my mind. I raised the smaller of the two paddles above my taut panties. It landed against my pert and perfect curves with a sting such as I had never felt before. A bolt of lightning struck mercilessly against my captivating but thinly-shielded buttocks and I dropped the implement with the shock.
Cautiously, I picked up the other paddle. The minute my fingers grasped it, it flew around behind me like a missile to its target. It spanked me with fastidious intensity and I let out such a cry of pleasure/pain that I was afraid the whole theatre would come running. I wanted to stop, but could not. The paddle seemed to be enchanted, as though the hard wood had a will of its own. There was no doubt that it had been created for the sole purpose of punishing my supreme peach. And that it would not relent until its job was done. The world’s most beautiful bottom had met its nemesis.
Finally, I managed to pry the offending paddle from my fingers. I flung it upon the floor, fighting back the sobs. In such a short time my poor bottom was more crimson than any rose, but also made even lovelier being hued in this vibrant colour.
My gaze fell again to the chiffon that had wrapped my gift so tenderly. In the midst of it was a silver mask that I had not noticed before. Slowly I raised it to my face. It slipped into place perfectly and I felt its smooth texture wash over my velvet skin like cool water. As it enclosed me I seemed to hear a voice — a deep, whispered voice: ‘My dear child. You have been chosen for your youth and beauty. You now belong to me and shall fulfil my every wish. Your will is strong for one so young. I shall enjoy breaking it. For the present you may do as you desire. At a time of my choosing you shall be called and you will come.’
I ripped the mask from my face and the voice disappeared. I felt trapped in a dream, like Alice desperate to get back from beyond the looking-glass. That night, as I lay in my bed, my thoughts were consumed with the evening’s events and my buttocks with the blush of the paddles’ kisses.
I dared not mention the stranger to mummy and daddy, but he would not leave my mind. He had filled me with terror, but there was a bitter-sweet thrill mixed up with the fear. I wondered if I should ever see him again. My heart knew that I would.