To mark my 1,000th post on this blog (don’t worry, there’s plenty more where those came from) I thought I would re-run a previous post from February 2017 featuring my favourite spanking model ever — the luminous Wendy East.
Despite only appearing in Janus twice (this story from Janus 39 and Wendy’s Training from Janus 45) she was voted the readers’ favourite model with many column inches of letters devoted to her charms. Not a bad story either — it was a sequel to Burning Injustice where we first met the sadistic Mr Jardine dealing with poor Pippa Marshall.
This time I have included all the pictures I have from this set rather than just a sample. Enjoy!
Two girls stand, obviously unhappy, in a corridor. Two pretty teenage girls — they are both in fact 18 — in neat uniforms of white blouse and tie and sleeveless lilac sweaters, plus dark-grey pleated skirts and knee-socks. They stand straight with hands clasped in postures of obedience and submission, their expressions showing alertness, resignation, the expectation of an unpleasant fate. They could almost be two young servant girls waiting to be called for some very unwelcome duty — were it not for their uniforms.
The uniform is that of a certain corrective institution for teenage girls. The taller of the two squirms. Under her grey skirt the cheeks of a full round bottom clench — in unhappy anticipation that shortly something decidedly unpleasant will be happening to it. For after all is that not what one would expect to be the fate of a teenage bottom in a corrective institute?
‘Sarah Denton!’ The sudden voice from the other side of the door is precise, sharp, masculine. Authoritarian.
The taller girl gives her companion a quick desperate look and steps forward. Reluctantly she pushes open the door and enters, her eyes big with fear.
The door closes leaving the second girl to wait outside — to wait in fear and trembling for her summons. She tiptoes forward to put her ear to the door. This girl is called Wendy East. Lighter in build than Sarah, her slim svelte waist and hips are poised tautly as she strains to hear. A man’s voice. A precise schoolmasterly voice.
It is in fact none other than the voice of Mr Arthur Jardine who in Janus 23 (Burning Injustice) we saw getting to work with relish on the bottom of Sixth Former Pippa Marshall. For yes, Mr Jardine has moved on to, as far as he is concerned, bigger and better things. Because Mr Jardine is now Head of this corrective institute for teenage girls. Clearly for a man who loves girls’ bottoms there could be no better or more rewarding job. For as we have indicated, at a corrective institute the inmates’ bottoms do need a lot of attention.
18 to 19 is the age range of girls sent here — for between one and six months. Their offences include petty theft, defacing public property, persistent truancy from school, and fiddling the social security, a common enough crime these days. No matter what she did, the time she spends with Mr Jardine and his assistants will knock the edge off that rebellious spirit.
Our two charmers this afternoon are, as it happens, both experiencing their first full day under the roof of the corrective institute. Which probably accounts for those very apprehensive looks. They have already heard what can happen in Mr Jardine’s room but neither girl has yet experienced it. Neither one has had Mr Jardine’s hard hand smacking crisply down across tightened knickers. Or indeed across bare bottom.
Sarah Denton has gone to stand, still and straight and shaking a little, in front of Mr Jardine’s desk. His unblinking stare runs over her, noting the firm, quite full form, the soft breasts mounding out the front of the sweater. Noting also the footwear. Plimsolls.
Plimsolls are definitely not the approved wear for visiting Mr Jardine. They are completely unacceptable to him. He transfers his gaze to Sarah’s dossier. There have not been any adverse reports from the staff thus far today, Sarah has carried out her various duties in a reasonable and proper manner. Nonetheless it is Mr Jardine’s policy always to see a new girl at this time on her first day. It is tea-time in fact so she is missing her tea. But that won’t do her any harm.
‘Now what’s this about shirking your Community Service duties? Scrubbing the City Hall Conference Room is supposed to be part of your re-education. Tut, tut. A trifle lax, I think, Sarah.’ He taps the dossier. ‘And we don’t like a girl to be lax on her very first day, do we?’
‘N… no…’ The hands behind her twist nervously.
Arthur Jardine leaps to his feet, eyes blazing. ‘No what, Miss?’
‘N-No sir. Mr Jardine.’ Sarah leans back in alarm.
Mr Jardine’s sharp eyes take in the soft bulges in her sweater which have been thrown into prominence by her position. He steps to the wall, stabbing his finger at the timetable.
‘And those plimsolls, Miss. Do you think my office is part of the cross-country course?’
Sarah shakes her head. ‘No sir.’
Mr Jardine can’t bear to delay matters any longer. He sits down again and beckons the girl to him.
‘Here Miss. Come here. I think what we need is a smacked bottom, don’t you agree?’
The big eyes widen in alarm. She and Wendy were warned of this but that doesn’t make it any easier. Sarah has never had her bottom smacked. Somehow she makes herself go round the desk to his side.
‘Lift your skirt,’ he tells her. ‘Hold it tight up round your waist.’
What choice have you got? Except to do as he says. The pleated skirt comes up. Sarah’s bottom is quite large, in brief tight white knickers. Mr Jardine takes hold of her upper arm, a firm no-nonsense grip, and bends her over. Sarah’s head is down, close to the wall, her body arching above his lap.
The crisp voice. ‘Get down. Bend your knees.’
As she does so Sarah comes in contact with Mr Jardine’s lap. His left arm grips firmly round her waist while the other hand makes sure the knickers are nice and tight — an excuse also for a fondle. And then: SPLATT!
Sarah gasps as the hand lands sharply on her knickered bottom. It hurts, a hard tingly sting, but more than that is the sense of shock that something as awful as having a man smacking your bottom could actually be happening.
But it is happening. The hand splats down again and again on the tightly-knickered cheeks, on the soft and vulnerable bare upper thighs. Mr Jardine is in his element for this is surely what every 18-year-old girl should get. This is how they are turned into proper, law-abiding, socially-aware citizens.
Yes indeed. The hard palm of his hand continues to rhythmically splat into the resilient flesh, the tight-stretched nylon. Mr Jardine is doing a very thorough job, though what is happening is only the first stage. The spanking at last stops.
Gasping and with the room going round and round Sarah hears: ‘And now we’ll have the knickers down, Miss.’
It takes a moment for the horrendous meaning to sink in. Gasping ‘No!’ Sarah squirms up, one arm on the side table and the other trying to protect her knickers. What she has just received was quite diabolical but at least she had thought it was over. But for it now to continue, with her knickers down…
But it is Mr Jardine who makes the decisions here. ‘I said knickers down, Miss!’ His strong fingers grip the knickers’ waistband. ‘And when I say knickers down I take them down!’
As the words grate out he does just that — two hands abruptly yanking Sarah’s knickers down to her knees. She splutters with the shock of having her bottom bare — while Mr Jardine briskly positions her to his satisfaction, this time making Sarah lean her arms on the side table.
The ripe rump is displayed in all its soft but taut glory. It is the way an 18-year-old girl’s bottom should be displayed at frequent and regular intervals, as far as Arthur Jardine is concerned; spread out and waiting for the impact of a hard male hand that is! The hand duly arrives.
The sound of flesh on flesh is echoed by a gasping yelp from Sarah. Momentarily the rounded right cheek has been flattened to faithfully follow the shape of Mr Jardine’s hand. As the hand comes away the firm flesh springs back into shape, but there remains a bright red hand-print. Without pausing Mr Jardine’s hand reaches the upper end of its arc and then comes smoothly down again. It is the technique of a master.
SPLATT! The second one stings into the left, near-side buttock to leave a second palm-print. Sarah hangs on, scarcely knowing where she is. This is twice as bad as the first bit. Distinctly more painful and as for the rest of it — well, who would believe it was possible for an 18-year-old nowadays to have to submit to this? She finds it so shameful.
Sarah has no idea how long it continues. It seems to just go on and on. In fact it goes on for as long as Mr Jardine feels like doing it — which happens to be quite a long time. Because there is always something special about spanking a new girl. For one thing it is highly desirable that she is given a really sound going-over for her first dose. And in addition to that it is of course extra special for Arthur Jardine. Purely in the line of duty naturally.
When he finally lets her get up the pretty face is awash with tears and she is crying noisily. That is good. Highly stimulating and also a sign that he has done a good job. Sarah is directed over to the side. Her knickers have slipped down to her ankles. She is told to stand with her skirt round her waist whilst she counts to one hundred, then she can pull her knickers up. Meanwhile it is time for that other one.
‘Wendy East! Come!’
She shuffles in, wide-eyed with apprehension. Wendy has had her ear to the door while Sarah has been dealt with and is therefore not in much doubt as to what has been happening. Having to wait and be second makes it twice as bad, almost as if you are getting a double dose. Listening to Sarah get hers has done terrible things to her nerves.
Mr Jardine eyes her thoughtfully, his pencil tapping against his teeth. Wendy is a choice specimen, extremely choice. Sarah was very nice but this Wendy East is better in Arthur Jardine’s view. He especially likes the slim girlish ones, while at the same time spanking Sarah has got him properly in the mood. This does not bode well for Wendy because Mr Jardine is feeling a strong urge to use his cane. Not that Wendy has done anything at all to merit the cane but that is not likely to stop Mr Jardine. Girls can always do with a caning, can’t they?
He flashes sheets of paper at her, at the same time producing an expression of shock and outrage. ‘What is this, Miss East? What is this my staff have written? Do you imagine this to be a holiday camp?’
Wendy does not know what to answer. The poor girl is not aware of any particular thing she has done wrong. She stutters something.
‘A whole day of general non-cooperation and slacking,’ pronounces Mr Jardine, unable to think of anything specific. His eyes are shining with simulated anger. Wendy shakes her pretty head in bewilderment. The brow is furrowed, the long-lashed eyes downcast. She doesn’t know what she has done but senses that arguing will only make matters worse.
Suddenly Mr Jardine has a cane in his hand. Sarah Denton, standing now with her knickers pulled up at the side, eyes it with an expression of alarm. She had to endure Mr Jardine’s hand on her bare bottom but at least she didn’t get the cane.
Mr Jardine, still wearing his angry look, leans out to tap his flexible wand on a high stool.
‘Over there, Miss. Get over there. We’ll see how you like the stick on your bottom. My word I’m going to teach you what is required at this establishment!’
Feeling shocked and petrified, almost numb with disbelief, Wendy gets over the high stool and reaches down to grip the lower rung as instructed. All that simulated anger suddenly disappears from Mr Jardine’s face. He now looks calm, objective, as he raises Wendy’s skirt up over her back. He is not feeling calm, though, he is feeling distinctly affected. The girl’s slender thighs, her slim buttocks, are quite quite delectable.
‘I shall give you two strokes of the cane in this position, Miss. Two strokes with your knickers on.’
Before Wendy has had any chance to consider the implications of his last words the cane has slashed down. She lets out a half-stifled yell and there is a simultaneous gasp from Sarah. It might as well have been with knickers down for Mr Jardine has slashed the cane across the lower slopes of Wendy’s buttocks which are not covered by the brief white knickers. A bright red weal stands sharply out against the pale flesh.
‘Keep still, girl!’
It is perhaps not surprising that Wendy is squirming. She has never been caned before and the stinging pain is a horrifying shock to her system. Mr Jardine’s hand is placed firmly, precisely, on the small of her back.
‘Nice and still,’ he breathes.
The sound of cane on flesh again, and again the gasping yelp. The pain is simply diabolical. Wendy is shaking, shivering. Mr Jardine tells her to get up but remain over the stool, hands on the top. He suddenly seems to notice the continued presence of Sarah, who has been watching the caning of Wendy with a mesmerized fascination.
‘You may go now,’ he tells her. ‘You’ve missed tea of course so go off to your next session. But first of all put on some regulation footwear.’
As Sarah reaches the door Mr Jardine has an afterthought. ‘In fact you can come and show me what you’re wearing tonight, at supper time.’
Does that mean Sarah is going to miss her supper as well? More than that Sarah is wondering what is going to happen to Wendy now when there’s just the two of them behind that closed door. Wendy, still bending over the stool is wondering this too. Is there something to come that Mr Jardine does not want Sarah, or anyone else, to see?
As Sarah exits Mr Jardine takes Wendy to his desk. With her skirt still raised she is made to lie forward over the top. Her arms are spread wide and Mr Jardine then carefully places her feet wide apart as well.
‘Up on your tiptoes,’ Wendy is told. As she complies, the cane without warning slashes down across her thrust-out bottom. Wendy gives a grunting gasp as the cane bites agonisingly in across her tightened knickers.
‘And again, Miss!’
Wendy forces herself to get on tiptoe again and once more the cane immediately slashes down. This is repeated twice more, and Wendy emits yelping squeals. Then Mr Jardine drops the cane. Coming close his hands go in the top of her knickers.
‘And now, Miss, we take the knickers down.’
Is it perhaps a bare-bottomed caning that Mr Jardine did not want Sarah to see? Because he is not supposed to cane on the bare? Be that as it may, the knickers come down. The weals from what Wendy has already had are standing out starkly. Kneeling behind the unhappy girl he slips the knickers off over her feet, then pushes them in his pocket.
Mr Jardine helps himself to a little groping — under the guise of checking that no serious harm has been done to the pretty bottom. Wendy looks back. A look of distress? Or is it possible she is finding some pleasure from the male hands exploring her stinging bare backside? She seems to be that kind of a girl.
Whatever the situation Mr Jardine shortly desists. Wendy is told to stand still, hands resting on the desk top and legs together. Her skirt is tucked well up under her arms. THWACK!
The cane thrashes briskly in, now across the nude buttocks. A sharp stinging cut bringing a stifled moan from the girl. Wendy bites her lip and grips the edge of the desk very tightly.
The cane rises and slices sharply again. Another ‘Oooff…’ It must hurt, there is no doubt about that. But… her expression. Could it be that standing here having her bare bottom caned like this is something of a turn-on? Painful yet arousing at the same time?
Mr Jardine gives her several more. They are all sharp cuts, very painful but perhaps not utterly devastating.
Wendy is told to stand up, keeping her skirt raised. Now Mr Jardine slowly rubs the cane across the wealed bottom, his face intent. Wendy looks back. There is pain on her face, but is it mixed with something else?
Mr Jardine finally goes to sit at his desk. Wendy is told to stand to the side. Her skirt is now allowed to fall back into place. She seems properly attired again — except of course that her knickers are still in Mr Jardine’s pocket.
His hand beating the desk for emphasis, he proceeds to give her a further tongue-lashing. Again it is nothing specific because there is nothing specific. Wendy stands submissive, contrite. She assumes perhaps that her ordeal is now over.
It is not. Brusquely Mr Jardine tells her to undress. A look of shock on the pretty face. He grabs a cane and pokes it out, lifting her sweater.
‘Undress, Miss! Take all your clothes off. Except perhaps the shoes and socks.’
Why has she been told to undress? Wendy stands, hesitant, as various thoughts race through her mind. Then she starts. The lilac sweater; the grey, white-and-maroon tie. A quick look at Mr Jardine and the white blouse is unbuttoned and slipped off. Underneath is an expensive-looking lacy bra.
Another glance at Mr Jardine and Wendy unclasps and removes the bra. The bared breasts are firm, high, round apples on her slim form. Mr Jardine’s eyes are rapt intent. Finally the skirt.
Nude now apart from shoes and socks. Wendy’s hands come automatically across to cover her loins, her breasts.
‘Stand up straight, Miss. Hands at your sides.’
Face flushed, Wendy drops her hands.
She can feel the cane welts sending out waves of throbbing pain. There is a neat dark bush at the top of her slender thighs. The pink nipples are perhaps semi-erect. Mr Jardine gazes dispassionately — but what is going on behind those shining eyes?
He gets up, and tells the girl to turn. Bending, he runs his hands over her bottom and thighs, carefully examining his work. Wendy can feel herself trembling.
Mr Jardine goes back to his desk. He makes a show of looking through his papers. Wendy stands, straight and immobile and still nude. The time is 6.45. What now? Is it over? Is Mr Jardine about to tell Wendy to get dressed again? Or what? We do not know, and Wendy does not know either.
A number of possibilities are undoubtedly trailing through her mind. Possibilities that are frightening; but also perhaps a little exciting? Is there to be more caning? Or anything else?
There is also Sarah Denton to be considered. Sarah who has been told to report back at nine this evening. What is Sarah to get when she too is closeted alone with Mr Jardine? A bare bottom caning? An instruction to strip, like Wendy? Or something else? Again we do not know — and nor of course does Sarah. No doubt all sorts of unpleasant possibilities are running through Sarah’s head at this very moment.Whatever is still to happen to both girls we may be sure that they are going to have plenty to think about when they get to bed tonight. And plenty to look forward to in the days ahead.