Photo-story from Janus 129 featuring Lucy Bailey as Juliet Tessler.
Juliet Tessler had once been a top secretary with a high opinion of her own skills. But during one extraordinary job interview she had been introduced to stern physical discipline and found her unclothed bottom on the receiving end of a cane (Janus 95). It had hurt, but the experience had made her realise how much she craved order and discipline in her young life.
Since then, tired of the difficulties of finding a job that gave full satisfaction in civilian life, Juliet had joined the Women’s Royal Army Corps. She had been a soldier for less than seven months now, but was already in trouble. Heavens, it was like being at school and getting caught sneaking out of the dorm at night! The sergeant-major had refused her a pass and she’d been determined to go to the dance with that particular young man. To then go back to his flat and fall asleep in his arms after a bout of passion had been complete folly. Juliet had no doubt she deserved everything that was coming to her: it was not knowing quite what that ‘everything’ might be that was making her quake.
With trepidation, then, she approached the gateway of the house she’d been instructed to report to: an old house in a remote part of the town where her regiment was stationed. A house where punishments of an unofficial kind were carried out and where she was to be the recipient of whatever corrective sanction it was found necessary to inflict on her. Juliet’s heart beat faster as she reached out and pressed the old-fashioned bell-push.
Regular readers of Janus will be aware of the disciplinary exploits of Mrs Hilary Hanbury-Boyce, widow of the late Brigadier who in his day was also wont to wield the rod rather than mince words when a balance needed redressing or a solecism settled. But few know that the good Brigadier had sired a son some thirty summers since with his first wife, Jane. The boy’s name was Roger. Like his father before him, he had opted for a career in the Army. Having imbibed the values of discipline from an early age, it was perhaps no surprise when Roger joined the Military Police.
Now he was a corporal, and today he had a solemn duty to perform. For Corporal Hanbury-Boyce, R. was the applier of ‘unofficial’ punishments.
Grimly he re-read the charge sheet for the latest miscreant to be sent to him. After he had read it, he took out his red pen and wrote something at the bottom. A young WRAC private had been charged by her platoon officer for breaking out of camp without a pass, and failing to return in time for morning parade. As she was fairly new to the service, the offender had been offered the option of going on Commanding Officer’s Orders and possibly being discharged with ignominy, or of being dealt with ‘unofficially’. This girl soldier had opted for the latter course, and Roger had no intention of making it easy for her. She had by her irresponsible actions merited the soundest punishment, and he intended to carry it out to the best of his abilities.
The front door bell jangled and he glanced at his watch. Well, at least she was on time. Moments later she stood before him. Corporal Hanbury-Boyce tried not to notice how pretty the girl was, how long and blonde her silky hair, how trim her figure. It didn’t do to show favour on account of good looks, but to mete out punishment impartially.
‘Well, Private Tessler,’ he began in a deep grating voice his father and stepmother would have been proud of. ‘We have been naughty, haven’t we?’
‘Yes, sir.’ Juliet bit her lip. The man looked and sounded terrifying.
‘I am not commissioned,’ Roger barked, so loudly that it made her flinch. ‘I am a non-commissioned officer — a corporal! You will therefore address me as “Corporal”. Is that clear?’
‘I have read the charge sheet. Your behaviour was utterly disgraceful. If it was up to me, you’d be out on your ear. As it is, I have the duty of meting out a punishment sufficiently stringent to make you see the error of your ways and to learn never to transgress again in such a manner so long as you remain a member of Her Majesty’s Forces.’
Juliet shuffled uncomfortably.
‘Stand up straight!’ continued the roaring voice. ‘Eyes front, arms to your sides!’
Juliet did so, straining every sinew to ramrod her spine, stiffen her legs and tuck in her seat. She quailed as the military policeman then proceeded to carry out an embarrassingly thorough inspection of her person, checking that her uniform was correct in every detail. He even checked her fingernails and looked into her ears. By the time he had finished, Private Juliet Tessler felt utterly degraded and insignificant. ‘Stand up straight — straighter,’ he bellowed, standing so close behind her she could smell his polish and aftershave. ‘Head up, shoulders back! You’re a WRAC, not some slovenly drop-out!’
The corporal then crouched behind her and hoisted her skirt up over her hips. Juliet’s normally efficient mind was in turmoil. Should she object to this unorthodox action, or grit her teeth and suffer it?
‘Are these army issue drawers?’ he enquired in deceptively mild tones.
‘Not exactly, sir, Corporal,’ she found herself saying meekly.
‘Not exactly? Not at ALL!’ he roared. ‘Keep that skirt up round your hips. I want to see the target area.’
‘Your backside, young lady. You’re here for summary punishment. Some people call it “corporal” punishment. As I happen to be a corporal, that makes it entirely apt, don’t you think?’
‘But let me assure you, Private Tessler, it’s more than two stripes you’ll be getting across that pretty arse of yours this afternoon. Bend over, hands flat on the table!’
There was a cane in his hand. Juliet hadn’t seen him pick it up, but it was a fearsome-looking object, very long and whippy with a crook handle. The power of his voice and personality had her responding to his every command. Every inflection carried authority. When she felt him hoisting the skirt even higher up her back to fully expose her bottom in its skimpy panties she gave a groan.
‘Silence.’ Roger looked at the lushly curved behind it was his solemn duty to attend to, noting how the skin-tight knickers sank into the buttock-cleft and clung to the rumpy globes. He strove manfully to remain dispassionate and objective, but it was one of the most beautiful arses he had ever seen.
For Roger, when a behind like that belonged to a transgressing female it became even more appealing as a target for chastisement. It was with a sense of righteous well-being, then, that Corporal Hanbury-Boyce drew back a well-muscled arm and brought the cane whooshing sternly down.
Juliet felt the first stroke of the cane across the softness of her bottom as a streak of intense heat that made her gasp: painful but not unbearable.
Another followed almost at once, the cane singing through the air to bite smartly across her bottom again, harder, jerking her forward with the pain of it and eliciting a squeal.
Four more strokes followed, each a little stronger than the last. Firm, crisp, impacts that jolted precise lines of fire across each bottom-cheek until she began to gasp. Juliet’s eyes were moist — with humiliation and shame rather than the pain per se — for to find herself bent over like this being caned on her intimate parts by a man who only a few minutes ago was a stranger brought back lurid memories of a businessman called Nicholas Dixon who had done the same to her, and she had always felt guilty that she had masturbated over the memory of it many times since.
Whack. Whack. Thwack.
Once she realised what her fate was to be, Juliet had somehow thought it might end with a swift six, a ticking off, then dismissal. How wrong she was. The gusset of her panties was moist, and the realisation embarrassed her. Perhaps it was perspiration, she told herself as the jolting smarts startled little shrieks from her throat like larks from the corn at the crack of a gun. Well it was rather warm in the room.
Another three hard hits of that flashing shaft struck flames into her rumps so that Private Tessler felt she had just sat on a griddle. She shook her hips as though shaking off sparks. The pain was becoming considerable, coalescing in each bottom-cheek like vortices of sizzling hurt.
‘Stand up!’ Roger stepped back, tucking the cane beneath his arm like a drill instructor’s baton. ‘You may have broken your father’s heart,’ he went on harshly, ‘but I can assure you won’t break mine! You’re a scurrilous, unprincipled little madam who deserves the thrashing of her life — and is going to get it! Do I make myself clear?’
‘Yes, sir, Corporal,’ said Juliet with a whimper, her scorched rear prickling and glowing.
‘Call yourself a soldier? I can’t even stand to see you wearing the uniform of Her Majesty’s service! Take off your tunic!’
Juliet fumbled with buttons and dragged her tunic off.
‘And the skirt. Off! Look lively, girl!’
Juliet unzipped, pushed down the skirt and stepped out of it, almost falling over in the process.
‘Now the knickers.’ He pointed at them with the cane. ‘Off.’
Juliet felt a flush travelling from her throat to the roots of her hair as she peeled off her panties and stood, humiliatingly bare-bottomed, before this terrifying man.
His voice was coming at her again, but quieter and deeper. ‘You will place a hand on each arm of that chair and bend right forward, presenting your naked buttocks for the thrashing they have earned by your irresponsible and unsoldierly behaviour.’
‘Yes, Corporal,’ Juliet whispered. She began to feel a rightness about what was taking place as, once more, her sense of discipline rose to the fore.
Indeed, a part of her seemed to stand back and watch with approval while she did as instructed. As she bent over and felt her bare bottom rise to prominence, Juliet felt that what was happening was correct. Horrible while it was happening, yes — but she needed this as much as a train needed a track to run along.
‘Head right down,’ continued the unrelenting voice. ‘Arch your back.’
‘Push that arse out!’
Juliet shrieked when the cane struck full across her naked flesh. The flash of fiery pain was repeated. With the regularity of a metronome the whippy shaft rose and fell, rose and fell, biting and burning, the cracks of impact echoing about the walls in time to her grunts and whimpers as she strained to push her bottom backwards and her head ever closer to the chair-seat over which she was leaning.
So immersed was she in the constant jolts of pain, it was almost a surprise to find that the blows to her bottom had stopped. Corporal Hanbury-Boyce was a strong, fit young man, but even he was panting from his exertions as he stood back for a moment.
‘I think that’s warmed your bottom up a little,’ he observed. Roger was sweating slightly — it was warm in there. ‘Now let’s have the rest of your clothes off. I don’t want you wearing any service issue till your punishment is completed!’
Trembling, buttocks blazing, Juliet fumbled to unfasten her tie, then stripped off her service blouse.
‘What’s that you’re wearing underneath?’ enquired Corporal Hanbury-Boyce as the lethal cane quivered in his hand.
‘My underwear, sergeant,’ she whispered.
‘Well it certainly isn’t army underwear,’ he growled. ‘Off! All of it except the stockings and shoes!’
Moments later Juliet was naked. Roger was getting even warmer. She was an extremely attractive girl, and he had the same appetites as most men.
But self-control was an important part of the disciplinary code. He saw the girl blink as he took off his own tunic. To hell with total discipline!
Frankly, Roger wanted a closer contact with that warm female body with its hot, cane-streaked arse.
He picked up the leather paddle he used for close-quarter work, lifted his leg and placed a highly-polished boot on the chair seat.
Juliet gave a moan of protest as he pulled her down across his muscular thigh. It wasn’t much of a moan, and could easily have been mistaken for a sigh. Roger felt her warm, naked body trembling against him as he held her firmly in place with his left hand and brought the paddle smartly down against the twin moons of her bare buttocks, crimson from their punishment so far.
Whap. Whap. Whap. Whap.
As the leather surface struck home, the sensation for Juliet was different than from the cane. It was fuller and richer and deeper somehow, stinging and burny, appallingly painful, like puffs of flame jetting against her bottom. The girl’s wriggles, hisses and groans as her buttocks were profoundly slapped and pummelled aroused a most unprofessional tumescence inside Corporal Hanbury-Boyce’s trousers.
He continued to paddle the girl’s luscious rear till her buttocks were a seething mass of fire and ice that prickled, throbbed and flared as if hot coals were simmering just beneath her silky, scarlet skin.
‘Stand up, Private Tessler!’
It was over. As Roger put his tunic back on and fastened the glittering buttons, he allowed her to rub her extremely painful bottom.
‘As far as I’m concerned, you’re a fully-fledged soldier again, and no further action will be taken against you,’ the military policeman told her, handing her the charge sheet on which her offences had been typed, with a space left for comment by the punisher.
As Juliet squeezed and rubbed at her burning bottom, she stared at the text. At the foot of the page were the handwritten words in red ink: ‘Punishment completed. Private Tessler, J. to return to normal duties.’
Juliet frowned in puzzlement, feeling her bottom begin. to smoulder in that delicious post-punishment way. Those words must have written by him before she arrived today.
‘Corporal Hanbury-Boyce,’ she began, turning to him. ‘I don’t understand…’‘Not a word more, Private Tessler,’ barked Roger. ‘Not a word more.’