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Monday, 4 November 2019

Independent Values

Photo-story from Janus 62
‘Bend down!’ the Headmaster barked. Marjorie Jenkins leaned forward, the dark brown school skirt up over her hips to display matching knickers tight across her bottom. Six ‘lates’, and swearing at the art mistress! It was quite rare to receive an official caning these days; next time she would be more…
‘Aaghh!’ The stick slammed into the girl’s hindquarters. a streak of agony. Marjorie’s face contorted, her fair hair dancing, the rebellious blue eyes almost filled as she fought back the tears. The Head’s cane swished again, struck across her straining knickers with no less vigour. scaldingly accurate, just below where the first stroke had traced its burning path.
‘Pup-please, sir. I —’
‘Silence, girl!’ The hateful rustle of his gown came to Marjorie’s ears as the cane rose high, then the grunt which accompanied the horrifying whop of the Head’s crook-handled symbol of authority as it cracked with appalling force against her left buttock.
‘Oww-ahh-oh!’ Her hand flew defensively back, her feet performed a little dance of anguish. Then she straightened up defiantly, clutching at her tender posterior which had never before been subjected to such attentions. ‘No more, sir,’ she gasped. ‘I-I promise I’ll never, n-not ever again…’
‘Bend over, Jenkins!’ The Headmaster’s gaze was steely, his voice unopposable. Down the girl bent once more, hands on knees, legs straight. bottom out. She wouldn’t cry — wouldn’t. She winced as the cane lightly tapped her rump to gauge its distance, then climbed behind her, paused, accelerated down.
The scorching intensity of that fourth delivery against her yielding buttocks was worse even than the preceding three. Marjorie Jenkins choked back a yowl, but dared not move as the stick travelled ceilingwards again. His gown rustled like doom; she gritted her teeth. This was more awful than anything she could imagine, having her bum splatted by Marshall in this ignominious forward stoop. At least the other girls couldn’t see it happening!
Whack! She squealed as the snappy crack of impact imploded through her knickers and her bottom shook to a fifth shock-blast. She gasped. fighting for breath. One more, only one. Could she possibly bear it without screaming? Marjorie chewed her lips in supreme agitation, waiting. Mustn’t cry — that would mean he’d won…
Edward Marshall withheld the final stroke for a moment, eyeing almost affectionately the slender-cheeked target that trembled beneath him. Jenkins wasn’t all bad, but a caning had been the only option left to him. As Head of an independent school for girls it was a constant battle these days to ensure that discipline did not lapse, that values were maintained. He had, after all, a responsibility to the fee-paying parents who had placed their offspring in his charge, fully aware of his firm but fair methods of administering discipline. It was his privilege still to be able to apply corporal punishment where he felt it to be called for; how grateful he was not to have to work in the state school sector where the cane had been all but abolished and, it seemed to him, chaos, indiscipline and false values of every hue now reigned unchallenged.
This particular lesson was one he did not intend the girl to forget. He intended her to feel every stroke severely. He watched the buttocks clench and twitch as he drew the cane high, then drove it heartily down for a sixth time against the undercurves of that tightly-knickered backside, feeling the solid impact all the way up his arm. The girl tried to choke back a shriek, and failed.
Ahhh! — aghh.’
For several seconds the errant pupil stayed bending, all rebelliousness gone. ‘Very well, Jenkins,’ the Headmaster snapped. ‘I hope never to be required to deal with you in this manner again. But your punishment is not yet complete. Push down your knickers!’
‘M-my knickers, sir? I —’
‘Down, girl!’ he insisted.
Miserably, Marjorie Jenkins peeled down her knickers, and as the twin bare rumps came into view six scarlet streaks were seen to be glowing across the soft white flesh. The marks would take several days to fade, and would serve as a reminder to the girl herself, as well as a warning to those in her dormitory at undressing time and in the showers after games.
After a three-minute lecture which left the girl blushing and limp. Mr Marshall stood his charge in a corner close to his desk, pinning the school skirt up so that her thoroughly caned, glaringly naked buttocks were humiliatingly before his gaze. She would never be late again, would never swear! She would do her prep punctually — and she wouldn’t, wouldn’t cry!
‘You will place your hands on your head and remain in that position until I tell you to go,’ her mentor rapped. ‘And while you are standing there, Jenkins, I hope you will consider very carefully your behaviour in the future.’
And Marjorie Jenkins took up her position, head hanging, while he calmly returned to his desk and resumed his work. Stood until her legs quivered, her arms ached. and her fiercely-smarting bottom seemed to scream with shame as well as pain. It was only then that the tears began, silent tears that would not stop.
The Headmaster knew the ways of girls: where pain did not break them, a little humility usually did the trick. Jenkins’ lesson was well learned.
Meanwhile, approaching across the school quadrangle came a young woman of 22 years of age. Ebony black, she wore an expensive coat of grey fur and a strangely wistful, troubled expression. Penny Williams had been a pupil here not so very long ago. Her sinuous figure swung with a dancer’s grace as she moved towards the main building. A dancer indeed. and a singer too. An international star, indeed! But that face and voice. the luscious limbs concealed by slinky fur, now went by the name of ‘Penny Wise’, and her visit to her old school today was a complete surprise.
The Head’s telephone shrilled. Marjorie Jenkins choked back a sob, shoulders cramped and bottom still aflame. She did not see the change which came over her punisher as he picked up the receiver and listened to his secretary. ‘Penny Williams — yes Williams,’ she was saying. ‘She’d like to see you right away, seems rather urgent about it.’ There was actually a chuckle in his secretary’s voice as she added, ‘It appears that the young lady is rather better known now as Penny Wise…’
Penny Wise!
Edward Marshall was on his feet. Penny Wise! — who’d conquered Las Vegas last year. The toast of Britain and America. Royal Command appearances in London, TV spectaculars, her own series being planned on the independent channel! Heavens, she’d been a handful, that one. Why, only four or five years ago the scrawny young tearaway called Penny Williams had received many a thrashing from him in this very study. He had never quite managed to quell that zesty spirit — yet look at her now. A credit to the school, a triumph! His triumph, perhaps.
‘Get out. Out!’ Marjorie Jenkins pulled up her brown school knickers and ran from the room at his fearsome roar, sobbing and gulping.
Moments later the Williams girl entered.
Penny Wise.
Oh, what a change! Edward Marshall beamed with pride, almost shyly. Fame seemed to radiate from his ex-pupil like a lighting-cameraman’s top blond. Glossy lips of darkest red, pearl headband, grey fur cloaking her to the throat, show-biz personified. ‘Hello Mister Marshall, sir,’ she said in that husky voice which already had filled the London Palladium and Caesar’s Palace.
‘Oh, call me Edward, please,’ her ex-Headmaster urged, smiling extravagantly, suddenly all smarm as he took her hand and ushered her into a chair. ‘I — we are all proud and delighted at your wonderful success since you left here, and…’
‘I’ve come in to see you for a very special reason. Mister Marshall,’ Penny Wise began.
‘Edward, please,’ he insisted again.
The famous dancer-singer shook her head. ‘It wouldn’t be right, sir,’ she almost faltered. ‘Not when you know what I’ve come here for.’
He stared at her, puzzled. ‘But surely, Penny, we can dispense with formalities?’
For answer, Penny Wise stood up and gazed at the man before whom she had quailed as a girl, who had bent her over and driven order into her chaotic life with searing pain-slashes. ‘Frankly,’ she declared, ‘I’ve come here because I’m losing my grip.’
He gaped. ‘I beg your pardon. I’m afraid I don’t quite…’
‘I’m screwing up everything, sir,’ she told him. ‘Fouling up contracts and relationships — oh, I’m a mess, and it’s getting worse. I’m a girl who needs very firm discipline, as you may remember. Here at school with you, I always had it. I miss it, I need it. Please help me.’
‘But what on earth can I do?’
Her great dark eyes were fixed on his as she slowly took off her coat. Edward Marshall stared. He was not often speechless, but for the moment he was.
Beneath the grey fur, Penny Wise was dressed in her old school uniform. The same one she used to report to him in when correction was required. The difference now was the erotic sight of the black silk stockings encasing those slender legs, and the stiletto heels which would never have been permitted.
She came around the desk to him, hitched up the skirt and turned her back; and her ex-Head gazed mesmerised at the most un-school-like white panties which clung tightly against the voluptuous curves of a provocatively out-thrust bottom of supreme roundness and beauty. Enraptured, he continued to stare. Penny Williams had indeed grown up.
‘I want you to spank me, sir,’ Penny Wise said simply. ‘Very hard, please, on my bottom. Like you used to.’ When he still hesitated she added, small-voiced, ‘I’ve been stupid, extravagant, thoughtless, selfish. I need this, sir — and only you can do it.’
Edward Marshall came out of his daze. A moment later he nodded, adjusted his chair and posture, then patted his knees. ‘Very well, Williams,’ he murmured, ‘over you come.’
The lovely young negress stepped forward and, with a long sigh, lay forward across his lap, bracing an elbow on the file-cabinet. He laid a hand on the sinuous back to hold the young woman steady, raptly surveyed the tightly-sheathed bulges, then took a breath and spanked down hard against the pliant undercurves of that ebony behind. Penny Wise shifted at the impact, one might almost say snuggled, but made no sound.
Now he lifted his palm higher and spanked with greater vigour, smack, driving her body forward with the weight of it, catching the tops of her robust thigh-backs as well as the buttocks. She grunted and squirmed.
Warming to his enviable task, Edward Marshall grew bolder, positioning the dancer’s legs more widely apart and causing that gloriously rounded arse to rise to a steeper angle. Gripping her more firmly he smacked lustily again, his hand colliding this time with the upper slopes of her bottom, making a sound like a pistol shot. Then he smote her there again, with a force that would have made most pupils howl for mercy.
But Penny Wise did not, and her ex-Head began to remember just how tough an egg to crack this pupil had been. And as she lay compliant across his thighs, clearly wishing for more, he could not resist a quick squeeze at those splendid buttocks. She stood up then, and repeated his action on her own bottom-cheeks, as if testing their resilience.
‘It’s not enough, Mister Marshall,’ she told him with a rueful smile, rubbing slightly and panting just a little.
‘Not enough?’
‘I need more, sir. I need you to thoroughly thrash me. I can’t tell you how bad I’ve been — I’ve betrayed the values you brought us up to believe in. I feel so guilty, sir, so lost… I’ve used people. I’ve broken my word over and over…’
The Headmaster’s thoughts whirled as the young woman in schoolgirl’s clothes picked up a heavy two-foot plastic ruler from his desk, weighed it in her palm, winced a little, then handed it to him. ‘I-I want you to use this on me, sir,’ she said softly. ‘On my bare bottom, please.’ The famous black lovely moved to the side of his desk and cleared a space with hands that quivered slightly. ‘I’m going to bend across here, like you used to make me do,’ she told him, stooping forward and tugging at her knicker-band. ‘Take them down, sir. All the way. And give it to me hard, on the bare.’
Penny Wise spread her legs a little, then lay forward with another sigh across the side of the desk. Edward Marshall gripped the fabric and peeled the panties down, uncovering fully that luscious behind. He rolled the knickers down to her ankles then stood back and positioned himself, grasping the long ruler purposefully.
‘I propose to punish you very soundly, Williams,’ he grated as of old, and watched a shudder pass through her. ‘Prepare yourself for the first stroke on your naked buttocks.’
She began a strange, soft crooning as he raised the implement high, then brought it rapidly down with a vibrant swoosh to meet the black satiny summits of that bottom with a splat. Penny Wise ceased crooning, and shrieked at the white-hot shock of it! She tried to get up, grimacing, but he shoved her down firmly. She had forgotten. Forgotten how much it hurt. ‘Let me up, sir, please. I-I…’
‘You will take your punishment, Williams!’ he roared, and swept the ruler round again to collide with flesh-flattening force across her tenderised rumps. Penny Wise ground her pelvis against the desk, shaking her prime arse convulsively as the shock was absorbed.
‘Kneel up on the desk now!’ he shouted. ‘I want to get a really good swing!’ And Penny Wise did so, scrambling up and kneeling on the desk top in a most affecting way. The Head tapped each dusky globe, swung back the ruler and drove in again. She bellowed as stinging heat lanced deep into her bottom. And again she shrieked as, with hardly a pause, the ruler swept in again to slam across the summits of that out-thrust dream-target.
Penny heard his gown rustle as his arm drew back. She shut her eyes. Memories flooded; she wanted to laugh, to cry as her buttocks boiled. Swoosh-sma-a-ack! The rigid plastic seared her bottom’s untouched undercheeks. Penny’s hand flew behind her, frantically soothing at the intimate flesh. It was enough. For now, at least. Enough.
‘Pup-please, sir. Please, no more. Ow. Oww-ohhh!’
Edward Marshall laid the ruler down and assisted his gasping, soundly-thrashed ex-pupil from the desk, It was almost a mutual embrace, his striking-hand suddenly gentle on the livid dusk of her buttocks as he set her on her feet.
Penny Wise’s fingers fluttered about her blazing nates. ‘Thank you sir, for thrashing me on my bottom, sir,’ she said in a low, fervent voice.
‘Have you learned your lesson, Williams?’ he grated back.
‘Yes, sir — for the moment…’ Her eyes asked a question, which he answered with a nod.
‘It’s important,’ he said, ‘that you don’t lapse again. Should you find it necessary to apply for further correction at any time…’
The internationally renowned celebrity put on her fur coat again and buttoned it to the throat. Then she picked up her white panties and tucked them in a pocket.
‘I will,’ she whispered. ‘Oh, I will.’ Impulsively she leaned forward and kissed her old Headmaster on the cheek. Then, with that fabulous bottom sizzling deliciously in its concealment, she swayed from the study and closed the door.
Edward Marshall fingered his face where her lips had touched him. He remained that way for quite a while. The bell clanged distantly, ending lessons. The shouts of healthy girls spilling out on to the quad came faintly to his ears. And still he stood there, till someone should come in and break the spell.


  1. good to see some black buttocks punished. the first girl has an excellent expressive face when taking punishment

    1. With you on that davidj - I love to see a girl’s face reduced to an attractive cane grimace. One knows she’s been hit when you see that kind of expression and or tears.

      I like the one where she’s jumping around. It’s why caning the backs of the thighs are always a main target. The first cut to the thighs is usually the cut to bring her to cry-baby tears

  2. This photo-story may well have been responsible for a lengthy and profound attraction to black girls and a deep appreciation of their bottoms. Well this and and girl called Sharon who cried very prettily when her lovely arse was warmed. Ahhhh memories.

  3. Bob here.
    Great post.Some lovely photos.
    All very enjoyable indeed.

  4. Bob here.

    Agree with you and David J about the wonderful grimace on that first young ladie's face.And you are so,SO right about those first swipes of the cane to the back of a girl's thighs.She thinks
    she already knows how shockingly painful a business a caning from the first few strokes across her bottom,only to suddenly realise she has
    no idea until those first strokes land
    across her thighs...then she REALLY starts to fully appreciate how truly agonising a caning can be.Thigh caning
    (and those all important strokes "in the crease",of course) are the ones that linger longest in the memory of any well caned young woman.

    1. Yes Bob when a girl spoils her punishment through offences ranging from moving out of a punishment square she’s told to stand in, to pulling her knickers up before the instruction, I always land the extra cane cuts on the thighs and directly in the crease between bottom & thigh. I am by now able to land it exactly there when required. I like to joke with them and make it even worse for them by doing so - I trace the creases to each thigh with the tip of the cane & say ‘there’s now going to be an increase in strokes’ In goes the cut and down roll the cry-baby tears. ‘What’s the matter’ I say , my face in hers ‘didn’t you like my little joke?’
      Obviously I don’t give her the chance to mumble an answer and get to work on her thighs.

    2. yes it all helps to make the little slut feel her suffering is for our amusement. even better if there are others waiting to whack her arse

  5. Bob here.
    Yes indeed,gentlemen.You can never cane
    such naughty girls enough.Ideally each and every girl should barely know a single minute of a single day where her
    arse,thighs and palms are not hot,sore,
    stinging,welted,burning and throbbing!
    If this was an old CD,we could call it
    I'd buy it!