Yawn. Oh, I am so tired. I just got off the plane from England and I'm so jet lagged that I'm almost incapable of writing coherently. This is an account of my recent Wimbledon experience. Off to bed now!
Ordinarily I would have been delighted to be in Wimbledon in late June when the All England Tennis Championship was well under way. There’s sun, pretty dresses, strawberries and cream (yum!) champers (yum again!) and I’d just scored the mobile number of some hot guy who claimed to be 64th in line for the throne. However this day found me a little glum.
When I cheekily suggested to Aunty Andrea that I could get her a good exclusive if I was allowed to travel somewhere like say Wimbledon I did not actually expect her to pay my airfare and accommodation, plus use a connection (one of the players visited the shop once. See The Spank Shop – Marta for details) to get me decent tickets for the entire two weeks of the competition. If I couldn’t get a decent story then I would be paying for this junket in a very painful way. My tender behind tingled just thinking of it. Worst of it was there was not even a hint of scandal this year, the tennis was good, but the off court stuff was dreadfully dull.
I sat there at centre court racking my brain, and waiting for Andy Murray and Richard Gasquet to take to the court, when there was a kerfuffle all around me. I asked the tall gentleman to next to me, who was using his height to see over the crowd around us, what was going on. “The Duke and Duchess are here.” he told me.
“Of Kent?” I asked, knowing that Prince Michael and his wife were regular attendees.
“No, Wills and Kate.”
“The Prince and Princess!” I squealed, standing on the tips of my toes to see if I could get a good look.
That was about when an idea took hold in my head.
They say diamonds are a girl’s best friend. They’re wrong. The sparkly rocks are a close second. Any girl’s best friend is her mother, especially when that mother is friends with Carole Middleton, mother of HRH The Duchess of Cambridge, more familiarly known as Princess Kate wife of Prince William. Both my mother and Princess Kate’s mother worked as flight attendants together and remained in touch. I immediately hit the Mum button on my phone, fortunately it wasn’t that late in Australia, otherwise I may have been having a conversation with Mum’s hairbrush when I returned home. She promised to call Carole for me, and after a very nervous 30 minutes, a member of the royal couple’s security approached me and gave me a piece of paper. I unfolded and read: Meet me at the royal marquee at the conclusion of the Murray V Gasquet match. Kate.
Rising style icon: Princess Kate hits the town for a night out.
My new 'bestie' Kate at Wimbledon.
The home town hero; Andy Murray, won the match, but I couldn’t have told you anything about it. My head was whirling with the meeting that I had scheduled after the game. The players were barely off the court, before I was running for the exit, trying to find the royal marquee. I was obviously early, and looked a little lost. An elegantly dressed lady approached me, and asked politely “Debbie?”
“Yes!” I squeaked, startled.
“I’m Her Royal Highnesses secretary. Come with me please.”
I followed the lady inside, and was ushered into the Princesses presence.
I met Princess Mary of Denmark once, but wasn’t sure if the same protocols applied with the Windsors. I curtseyed, blushed and stammered “I…uhhh…I’m nnot sure what to call you.”
The Duchess laughed musically, and said “Call me Kate, that’s my name.”
Thank God she was so casual about it.
I was furnished with a cup of tea, and Kate asked me “You’re a reporter?”
“Yes.” I could hear the suspicion in her voice, and hoped I could somehow put her at ease.
“What magazine do you work for?”
What was it Aunty wanted to call the reports? “Uhhh…the Glowing Globes Gazette.” I managed to reply, after racking my brains.
“Never heard of it.” the Duchess said dismissively.
“It used to be Bared Affair.” I murmured.
All of a sudden everything changed.
“Oh you’re that Debbie!” Kate exclaimed. “Pip (Kate’s younger sister; Pippa) and I loved Bared Affair! I always enjoyed your pieces.”
I’m constantly amazed by BA’s readership.
“Thanks,” I replied with a blush, “how did you get William here? I didn’t think he liked tennis.”
The Prince was across the other side of the marquee, talking to friends.
“He doesn’t much. It stems from an incident in his childhood.”
“He and Harry had a tennis lesson with Steffi Graf.”
For some reason my spankdar went off.
“They were quite mischievous as boys and Steffi wound up smacking their bottoms. It rather turned William off the game.”
I was unable to respond.
“To me there’s something about spanking and tennis that just seem to go together.” Kate continued. “In fact I’ve got something planned for later that you may enjoy, Debbie.”
I couldn’t think what. A ball girl came nervously up to the Princess. Kate smiled at the child and knelt down to take the girl’s message. The girl whispered something in her ear, Kate smiled, stood up, sent the girl on her way with a playful swat to her rear and said to me “Lovely.”
“Lovely?” I echoed.
Kate explained “One of the former players commented to me at Queens the other week about the appalling behaviour of the girls on and off tour these days. She suggested that a good spanking might sort a few of them out.”
Thinking back on some of the things I had seen happen in games recently I nodded my agreement.
“It’s rather hard to refuse a royal command,” Kate mused, “but I can’t very well spank every girl in the main draw. I can however spank one.”
“Who and how?”
“I decided to make a game of it. Most of the girls in the main draw agreed to take a ticket. One of those tickets gets a spanking from Princess Kate. The ball girl just told me that Caroline Wozniacki ‘won’ the lottery.”
Caroline Wozniacki, the Danish world no 1, despite never having actually won a major title.
“I was rather hoping it would be Maria Sharapova,” Kate went on, ignoring my wide-open mouth, “those dreadful noises she makes during games. I’m sure I could give her something to shriek about over my knee.”
The 'winner' of the Royal Lottery, women's world tennis no 1 Caroline Wozniacki on court.
“We’ve got it scheduled to happen quite soon if you’d like to accompany me, Debbie.” Kate said calmly, finishing her tea and depositing the empty cup on the tray of a passing maid.
“That would be delightful, Your Grace.” I managed to reply.
“It’s Kate, you naughty girl!” my new friend laughed, giving me a smack on the behind, which made me squeak and very nearly drop my tea cup. I heard the Duchesses secretary mutter about uneducated antipodeans using the wrong form of address.
“I was going to take Pip,” Kate informed me as we made our way to the room off the players dressing rooms that had been set up for the Princesses new initiative, “but she’s busy canoodling with Alex (Miss Middleton has been romantically linked with former English cricketer Alex Loudon), so you can take her place and be our press representative.”
I did not know if Kate had been born to command, but she certainly seemed to know how to take control.
The room was decorated spartanly with folding chairs for the observers, most of whom were already in attendance. Kate told me who some of them were. I recognized former champion Billie Jean King, two older women were pointed out as being an umpire’s representative and an observer from the All England Club. The younger girls were Kate’s friends and I was seated with them. Kate herself took a seat on a long, low backed ottoman which had been placed in the middle of the room and afforded everyone a good view.
Miss Wozniacki was ushered in and looked extremely nervous. The reigning World number 1 was still in her white tennis dress. Caroline Wozniacki at 5’9” is a tall girl and she’s been blessed with a fair complexion and shining blonde locks, she glowed with health, and I knew that she would soon be glowing with something else.
She tottered to where Kate sat, looking up at her imperiously, and curtseyed nervously “Your Highness.” she whispered.
“Miss Wozniacki.” Kate replied sternly and asked “Do you know why you’re here young lady?”
“Yes Your Highness.” Caroline sighed.
“I think we can dispense with the official titles, my girl. Ma’am will be sufficient.”
“Yes ma’am.” the tennis player gulped.
“Now Caroline,” Kate said gently, as she took hold of the girl’s wrist and guided her over the lap, “you need to understand that I am not just spanking you, young lady. You’re taking a spanking for all the other girls on the tour.”
Caroline let out a whimper as her pleated white tennis skirt was lifted over her shapely bottom, and pinned in place.
“For Venus and Serena, Maria, Vera and Victoria.” Kate continued, hooking her fingers into the waistband of Caroline Wozniacki’s white satin panties, and sliding them down to the girl’s ankles.
“I am however hoping,” Kate kept on scolding mildly, “that what I do here today will drive you on to greater endeavours in the future, so that you can win a major title and thus be genuinely deserving of the number 1 title you have been accorded.”
I’ve been privileged to see some world class bottoms over my career and I have to confess that Caroline Wozniacki’s derriere was up there with the very best. It was firm, round and pristine white. I was sure that Her Royal Higness could do it justice.
A loud smack echoed around the room, one of Kate’s friends jumped and Caroline squealed as a handprint bloomed pink on one of those magnificent cheeks, it was soon joined by a twin on the other side. I don’t know where Princess Kate learned to spank, but she certainly knew what she was doing. She sprinkled hard stinging slaps all over the surface of the twenty year-old’s bucking behind. Caroline was yelling fit to rival Maria Sharapova and Billie Jean King even made a remark that she was louder than the Russian champion. The Dane’s long, slender legs waved and kicked furiously as Kate expertly lit fires in her rear end and even gave the upper thighs a blistering volley. Caroline’s bottom was redder than the clay at Roland Garros and as hot as the plexiglass surface at Melbourne Park after a day in the baking sun of an Australian summer. Kate delivered two ringing smacks, one to each glowing globe as she brought her chastisement to a climax.
Caroline was allowed off Kate’s lap and immediately went into a war dance. Jumping up and down, clutching her burning buttocks with both hands, desperately trying to rub some of the sting away, tears streamed down her face, which was screwed up in pain. Kate allowed her to perform for a moment or two, then rose and took the girl in her arms. She spoke soothingly in her ear, stroked her hair and then led her to the corner to stand there on display while she took tea and entertained her guests.
Miss Wozniacki after her journey over the Duchess of Cambridge's lap.
I was allowed to spend the rest of the day in the company of the royal couple, watching the tennis and I even left the venue with them to go to a reception. I wonder if that hot guy would be there?