OBB — Letter from Privilege 7

O.B.B.

According to my calculations, up to the 100th issue of Janus there was a tie for most thrashable female between Chris Evert and Agnetha of Abba. Now, I’ve already made my feelings known about Chrissie, but Agnetha’s posterior certainly makes a case for itself. The self-satisfied little popsie even goes so far as to claim it as the most beautiful bottom in the world, in a film promoting the group’s assumed qualities.

Agnetha Faltskog

I’ve seen her on television a couple of times recently, and she is a very badly behaved girl, pointing her extremely broad and fleshy rump at the camera at every available opportunity. Furthermore, she puts so much sincerity into her singing that she often seems to be on the brink of tears. I’d be quite happy to push her over that particular brink.

As Sweden have recently banned all forms of corporal punishment, it occurs to me that Agnetha would make an excellent scapegoat for us to make our feelings known about that decision. Can you imagine this tasty piece of Scandinavian crumpet stripped naked and tied at full stretch across a wooden table? Can you imagine her solid but quivering buttocks cocked up in wide-split immodest provocation by the edge of the table? Can you imagine Agnetha howling through clenched teeth as a thick leather belt crashes against throbbing, glowing expanses of furnace-hot bum-cheek? Yes, I’m sure you can.

I think my vote would still go in favour of Mrs Evert-Lloyd. In case you are using my table as a starting point for the top thirty calculations, may I point out that Diana Rigg was denied the rightful third place she occupied at that time; the error may well have been mine in re-drafting the letter.

Since my last letters a new and extremely deserving candidate has come to prominence. I am referring, of course, to sixteen-year-old Linsey Macdonald, the sprinting star. As she is Scottish, the instrument of correction chooses itself. For a teenage schoolgirl, the two-tailed tawse. My choice of executioner is easy as well: the strongest man in Britain, Geoffrey Capes.

Linsey Macdonald

When I analysed the appeal of the OBB a year ago, I suggested some of the reasons why certain girls seem particularly deserving cases. Miss Macdonald falls into an important category, the women we are told we love. Time and time again we were told by commentators that little Linsey had won all our hearts, that the sweet young lady with the laughing smile had just secured good ‘O’ level passes, and didn’t we all feel glad for her. I’m sure she’s a lovely lassie, but I would like to make up my own mind about it. Although none of the commentators mentioned it, I’m sure that many viewers were joining me in rapt and stiff-cocked contemplation of Linsey’s pubescent backside and pert breasts. Among those who were, perhaps Club members would like to join me in a little fantasy.

On the first day of a new training season, Linsey Macdonald reports in good time, bright as a button. She is anxious to do well, and to please the newly appointed chief of training, Mr Capes. ‘We’ll start with a two-hundred metres sprint,’ says the big shot-putter, ‘and I expect a personal best from you, Linsey.’

The little Scots lassie smiles. ‘I’ll do my best,’ she says.

Off go the runners, and Linsey easily beats the opposition to come through first. As she arrives panting in front of Geoff, she learns that she was almost a second outside her best time. ‘Hold out your hands, girl.’ Surprised and mystified, she does so. ‘No, palms upwards, please.’

To Linsey’s astonishment, Capes pulls a tawse from behind his back and brings it sweeping down across her proffered right palm. The tingling hand is pulled back with a squeal and squeezed in a sympathetic armpit. Training has never been like this before.

When Miss Macdonald takes her starting blocks again, she is still recovering from the shock of three spirited stingers on each hand. No wonder she seems to be putting in more effort this time; who knows what Mr Capes has in mind next?

She soon finds out. Two tenths of a second too slow, and the pretty schoolgirl is requested to kneel on the turf with hands pressed between her knees and thighs. At least she can try to ease some of the throbbing while trying to concentrate on the lecture she is being given. The lecture isn’t all she gets. That wickedly effective tawse flashes down across her bare thighs leaving scorching stripes that have Linsey whimpering even before the eighth blow cracks against her tender legs.

I think you had better take a break now.’ Linsey is only too happy — well, relieved — to accept. She spends an hour in the bath, which is a little soothing but not much.

Then it’s back to training. Oh dear, the bath has relaxed her muscles too much and it’s her slowest time of the morning. Mr Capes is not pleased. ‘Take down your shorts and pants.’ Woefully, still dazed by the dramatic change in her training methods, shy young Linsey swishes the double sheath of stretchy running shorts and brief cotton knickers over her bulging behind and down to form a bunch of material around her calf. Her bottom, free to breathe in all its palpitating, goosepimpled pinkness, huddles vulnerably in the cold air. ‘Touch your toes.’

Now that spiteful tawse is going to land exactly where we’ve all been longing for it to land; hard across the drum-taut clefted bum of Linsey Macdonald. The supple leather thwacks against her and the pistol loud impact almost drowns her squawking. Geoff Capes is not only the strongest man in the country, he is also very angry. Soon the entire surface of the little minx’s tucked-in rump is scarlet and welted. The twin tails really wrap round every curve, biting hard in the central valley and the soft sensitive lower curves. Twenty furious clouts leave the youngster’s pretty chubbiness thoroughly punished.

She is pleased to hear through her own sobbing that she won’t be required to run any more today. ‘Can I go home, then?’ she asks.

‘No,’ says her trainer, ‘I’ve promised that you will give an immediate in-depth interview to TV. And you can’t pull your knickers up till the interview is over.’

What a treat for TV viewers as the skelped teenager is asked to weepingly talk about the new training methods while the radio cameraman moves from a detailed study of her tearful face to the still more satisfying sight of welted buttocks and long thighs with rainbow hued bruises already beginning to show through the fading pink.

And so many readers were kind enough to thank me for my efforts on behalf of OBBism, may I take the opportunity to say how much I enjoyed the letter in a previous Privilege, proposing that Hannah Gordon be sent back to school for a day. Lots of detail is more entertaining than an exhaustive list of candidates. By giving us his vision of a whole day’s discipline for the richly deserving Hannah, this writer has set, for me at any rate, a new standard of stimulating reading. So please write again, Sir, and other readers, let’s have your fantasies of a ‘day of anguish’ for a favourite personality.

One nomination I would like to second is that of Kate Bush, the squeaky singer with the over-developed breasts. All pose and no talent, she needs a thorough caning. Lots of shame and humiliation for this one, too, please.

Kate Bush

How about putting her to work as a nurse for a day? Kate in uniform, but not quite the same as her workmates. No underwear for Miss Bush, just a pinny designed for a ten-year-old child. The striped yoke is strained over her voluptuous body, leaving plenty of bulging tit showing over the top. When she bends over to make the beds all the patients can see what an apt surname she has.

Trouble is soon in coming. Sister notices that Kate is careless with the flaps of pillowcases. Into the office and over a chair for a ten minute slapping with a slipper. When she gets back to her duty, the patients are enraptured by the rosy glow of her big bum.

Task number two is to sweep the women’s wards. Biting her lip with shame and soreness, Miss Bush works away under the amused eyes of the women. As we might expect they are eager to get the girl into more trouble; after all, she has been pouting sexily at their boyfriends and husbands for long enough. ‘Please sister, Nurse Bush has swept the dust right up into my face!’ The complaining patient is rewarded by seeing the over zealous nurse yelling at the top of her high-pitched voice as a wooden paddle raises the temperature of Kate’s already painful glutinous bulges.

If the women seem vindictive, it’s nothing to the smug assurance with which the men insist on the paddle coming out. Scrubbing the bed-pans, taking temperatures, Nurse Bush can’t seem to perform any task to everybody’s satisfaction. Her bottom already looks like a spectacular sunset by the time it comes to her final task; blanket baths for the men’s ward.

The diminutive but bulging girl is a little shocked by the excited state the personal parts of these patients seem to be in. They all make her job as difficult as possible, and eventually the seams of her ridiculous uniform split asunder and Kate is all blushes and wobbling mammary and luxuriant black body hair and blazing buttocks.

The cheers of the patients summon sister, who has had enough by now. This time it’s the three-foot rattan cane. Enthusiastic nurses hold naked Kate across a trolley while Sister belabours the swollen balloons of her fat arse. Legs kick in distress and weeping cries for mercy are ignored as Kate Bush learns the rump-blistering agony of eighteen cuts of the cane.

All my best wishes for Privilege. It really looks as if CP is on the move, and while I look forward to OBB developments most of all, I can’t wait to see your treatment of schoolgirl punishment and all the other promising features. Power to Privilege!

The Disciplinarian, Tonbridge

And that is all I have in the way of official OBB letters, although there were plenty of other celebrity spankings suggested in letters in Blushes and the like.