From Privilege Club 15
Little Girl Lost
I like to wander alone through the woods during the long, lazy afternoons of the school holidays. I have always loved the woods. The leaves crunch and crackle beneath my bare feet. Trees rustle and whisper their secrets to me and I share mine with them. The woods are a dark place, a place of intimacy, my place. Thick with a private magic. Here, time has frozen. I can abandon myself to the erotic conjurings of my imagination.
Maybe these are the forests of Sherwood and I have come, with gallant whims, to join Robin Hood in his quest. His Merry Men laugh at such a feisty but foolish child. Their mirth is even greater when Robin himself takes a rod to my bottom before sending me home, in tears of shame, to my Mother. Or maybe I am a Victorian serving girl, shirking her duties to meander idly through her Master’s gaming land. Perhaps he will catch me and drag me over a tree-stump, parting my drawers to reveal the creamy prize beneath, which will soon turn crimson under his powerful hand.
Swept away with such ponderings, I venture deep into the wood’s heart. It is a heart that beats. My lithe legs are warm and weary from the walk. I collapse on my back in a small clearing. Through my gauzy skirt the rough, fallen foliage makes tiny indentations on the delicate skin of my rounded buttocks, marring their perfection. Or perhaps enhancing it. My nubile body squirms as I feel the harsh bite of the bark and dried leaves beneath me. They show me my vulnerability. A moist film of sweat begins to form, making my skin shine. A slipperiness between my thighs stirred by my imaginings.
Through my half-closed eyes I realise that I lie beneath a birch tree, richly laden with solemn reminders of my punishment under Aunt Bess. How expertly she turned a simple bunch of twigs into a stinging lesson in obedience. My pulse quickens at the memory. In one, nimble movement I am on my feet prising off the ancient tree’s sturdy twigs. I stand motionless for a short time, gazing at these symbols of discipline in my small hand.
I have never before felt lonely in the woods, but now I crave for someone to join me. A reproachful hand to wield these rods, flash them with lustful fury against my eager buttocks. The sense of longing overwhelms me.
Here I stand, filled with a young girl’s passions, desires. Is no one out there willing to help me realise these fantasies? Where is the stern Master or Mistress who will truly take me under their wing and over their knee? I have so much to learn. Will no one be my teacher? Like a peach ripens in the orchard, my bottom is now ripe for the punishing, but with no one here to witness it but the trees.
I am poised, my hand against one of the trunks for support. I lift the flowing folds of my long skirt, tucking it into itself at the waist. Beneath it, I am naked. My finely-cleft buttocks, as flawless as if moulded in porcelain, now expose their glorious beauty to the world. As if observing some ancient ritual, I bring the rods down upon my beckoning flesh. The sharp sting runs through me, arousing my body.
I close my eyes and concentrate on the sensation. Drink it in. My full lips part slightly as a moan escapes them. My cries are absorbed by the surrounding wood.
I feel alive under this forbidden pleasure. My bottom, the loveliest since the beginning of time, throbs and glows. The rest of my body dissolves and all I feel is the smarting across my buttocks. The rods shoot down like a rain of scorpions, stabbing their stings on to firm teenage flesh. I want it to last forever, yet I can stand no more. I hurl the birch rods upon the ground and nearly swoon at the lingering fire they have left.
Slowly, I lift myself from the fallen tree and let my skirts hide my beauteous charms once more. I press the silky material against the silky skin, trapping the delicious heat beneath it. It is late, almost twilight. I must return home or Mother will worry. A young girl cannot remain forever in the world of fantasy. Reality claims her once again, but I still have hope that one day someone will allow the two worlds to meet.
Extract from the Editor’s Letter in Privilege Club 16:
The irresistibly naughty Christina Winchester, possessor of the most exquisitely spankable bottom in the world, did well in her ‘A’ Levels and has moved on to University, which is currently taking up so much of her time that, for the moment at least, she is unable to share any more of her intimate Diary with us. I feel sure you will join me in wishing Christina well in her studies, which will be sharpened, I’m sure, by summary spankings of the kind we would all like to give her!
And that was it for Christina Winchester, however her alter ego Rosaleen Young did subsequently appear in Janus 153…