Search This Blog

Friday, 31 January 2020

Letters from Janus 58 — Properly Teased, Delightful Stripes, Punitive Preferences & Punishment Clothing for Belinda

From Janus 58
Properly Teased
Bravo, bravo!
After reading Janus for some years, and being the sort of person for whom something earth-moving must happen before being motivated to put pen to paper, I now find myself compelled to write to you for the first time because such an occurrence has happened not once but twice. Of course I refer to CP Tease (Janus 53, 54).
I think that Sophie has one of the best all-over figures ever featured and certainly has the cutest and cheekiest face I have ever seen in your magazine. I’m sure with the range of punishments and dress shown in these two layouts, there must have been something to satisfy all of your readership, although for me everything was ideal. CP Tease would have made a tremendous video!
May I put forward two of my own personal preferences? Firstly, could we have more features with clothing (especially knickers) being ripped off, as in CP Tease II? Secondly, I would like to see more pictures with the models’ legs apart when being punished.
I particularly like the readers’ wives pictures and the letters that go with them. My thanks to P.J. for the prints of his wife, and I hope that others will follow his example. I would like to say how much I enjoyed your Poor Julie strip.
M.S.,
London SE12

Delightful Stripes
As a regular reader of Janus I write to you once again. This time I wish to compliment you on issue 54 which is much the best for some time. The model who plays the role of Sophie Fennington is absolutely delicious and the photo story beautifully told.
Many readers have enthused, quite rightly, about Wendy in Janus 45. There are several similarities between the story of Wendy’s training and that of Sophie. For example, the almost total nakedness of both girls is excellent and this is the way I like to see CP administered. The collars worn by both, and the cuffs by Wendy and the belt by Sophie, merely emphasise their nudity. The most important similarity between the stories is the wish of each young woman to receive CP and the love of his victim by the man handing out the punishment.
The main difference which makes Janus 54 the better is the selection of photos. Whilst sadly, as you explained in reply to my previous letter, you cannot print colour photos showing punishment marks, in any case the black and white photos of Sophie’s striped bottom are really excellent. This may be due in part to the choice of instrument of correction. The riding crop is second only to the cane itself in my list of favourites. Both leave nice clear evidence of each stroke and decorate the female bum most beautifully.
Apart from the thrashing of Sophie, Janus 54 contained other delights. The Perfectionists was a good fantasy and also highlighted the need to administer corporal punishment with love. Even the sci-fi story Living in the Past hinted at an empathy between caner and caned. Of course the object is for the girl to feel pain, but perhaps to enjoy the pain rather than suffer it. I am only sorry that Andrea does not enjoy her punishment, even though she accepts it — she should think positively as did Antonia du Bois.
Keep up the high standard. I suggest it is time that Wendy returned for further training. We already know she has the most delightful backside. This time I hope Mr Stanton will cane it. Wendy should be dressed as before, i.e. totally nude apart from collar and cuffs. It would be a nice change if the caning were delivered with Wendy in the upright posture, used so you say for whipping slave girls. Then let us see some really good photos of that lovely bottom with its decoration by cane or whip-cord. Both can produce beautiful stripe marks.
N.S.,
London SW6

Punitive Preferences
I must congratulate you on the excellence of recent issues, especially over the last 18 months or so. The models have been absolutely superb and the settings attractive and imaginative. The stories too have continued at their high level and Janus remains the best CP magazine in spite of problems encountered from those who know best what is or is not good for us.
I am not sure which has been my favourite photo-set. I do like very much those with a punitive aspect. Liz and Lucie were great in issue 44, it was a joy to see the punishment of Belinda in issue 56, but if pressed I think I would have to say that the caning of Sharon in issue 47 was probably the best recent feature. I thought the whole episode had a very good atmosphere to it and Sharon’s body is absolutely fantastic. Janus’ best of all time, in my view, was the splendid lashing of the elfin Paula in issue 38. That was a classic.
I was one of those who responded to the Wendymania of a year or so ago and you were kind enough to print my appeal for foot discipline to be included as a topic in Janus. I do appreciate the problems but I am still hopeful and waiting. I am a little surprised that none of your correspondents has responded with a few pictures — if printed I am sure they would guarantee a form of celebrity for the first girl to submit in this way. Perhaps the delightful Lies…
I have been very pleased to see the occasional return of a former model for a second public chastisement. Might it not be an idea for readers to nominate their favourites of, say, 1986, or issues 30-40, 40-50 or whatever, so that an overall choice could be included for another session, with the understanding that they might not be willing (is that possible?) or perhaps no longer reachable. In the same way, please let’s have a swift reappearance of the instruments used to beat Lali in issue 50 and Mary in 51 — thongs have a symbolism and psychological force that canes do not. May I therefore get my vote in early and request the use of one of these fine, similar instruments to provide a brisk whipping for Sharon (of issue 47) and Jackie (issue 50) — perhaps they might use it on each other?
I have seen your advert asking for models and it has often intrigued me. It would be very interesting to know roughly what proportion of your girls are ‘one-offs’ compared to those who are ‘professional’, i.e. on an agency’s books. There is no ulterior motive in this, it is just a matter of personal curiosity. If the ‘one-off’ figure is high, as I suspect, it might encourage others who would like to pose for Janus but who have lacked the confidence to apply. I would also like to add my sincere thanks to all those game girls who have been chastised in Janus over the years and who have provided us with such fine entertainment.
N.H.,
London SW11
Approximately 80% of our models are ‘first-timers’. Yes, would readers please nominate their favourites from issue 20 onwards, and we’ll see who’s contactable. — Photo Ed.

Punishment Clothing for Belinda
Issues 53 and 55 of your magazine take up again the fascinating and exciting topic of girls being punished through tight denim jeans. Letters in both correspondence sections, each with a rear view of a well-filled pair of girlish jeans close by, plus the stunning photos of Belinda in Janus 53 and the flashback to sexy Jilly Waistrose in 55, make both issues a must for all those interested in the caning of clothed female bottoms. I say caning because only a cane (or riding crop or similar) can really bite through the denim to deliver a properly severe thrashing. It is a pity that Jilly only got the tawse across her burstingly-tight be-jeaned bum, for a caning would have been better and I would love to see her agonised expression during her bare bottom whipping being caused by a punishment in jeans.
When a girl is to be caned in tight-fitting jeans the strokes should be directed low down to the full meat of her bottom, avoiding the pockets of her jeans and striking through just one layer of denim on the part of her bottom where it hurts most. An additional reason for punishing low when caning through jeans is that a girl’s knickers (if she is wearing any) will ride up when she bends over, thus leaving only the denim of her jeans to be cut through by the cane. The girl should be ordered to bend right over and jut out her bottom to the fullest extent, and this can be achieved by making her bend her legs as if she were about to sit down. The caning can then be delivered with a slight upward motion from horizontally behind. Please, please feature Belinda in jeans again and give her the cane across her gorgeous bum.
Not only jeans present a girl’s bottom in an attractive way for punishment. Jodhpurs are also very enticing — as amply demonstrated by Mrs S.R. on page 49 of Janus 55. Only the riding crop is really suitable across a full-to-bursting pair of girlish jodhpurs, and I hope this is what the lady received. A must for the future ordeals of Belinda is just such a thrashing in a riding school setting.
It was nice to see Belinda keeping her panties on for her spanking in issue 55. Of course with them tightly folded into the crack of her bottom and then pulled up even further, as shown on pages 10 & 11. The good thing about this is that the girl can really move her legs and bottom around in response to the pain of her punishment, without showing more of the secrets of her rear end than you would be allowed to print!
As a final suggestion for punishment clothing for Belinda, what about a very clingy skirt without knickers, like that worn by Sophie Fennington in issue 53? The photo on page 7 is very stimulating.
H.F.,
Hamburg, Germany

Thursday, 30 January 2020

La Tempête

By Anthony Vallance from Februs 9
He liked the look of her as soon as she came in, wide eyed and hesitant. She looked young, if she were over eighteen it had to be by a matter of months and not years. Smartly dressed in fashionably long black boots, short skirt and white blouse, she saw Nick sitting at the corner table and flashed him a shy smile.
‘Mr Moore?’ she asked hopefully, her dark eyes meeting his only for an instant before turning away.
‘And you must be Carole,’ he guessed, rising from his seat to offer her a place at the table.
‘I know I’m early’ she apologised, ‘but the bus came early and the traffic wasn’t as bad as…’
‘Don’t apologise,’ Nick laughed, ‘arriving early for a job interview never did anyone any harm.’
She allowed herself a smile, her lips parting to reveal straight white teeth. Her round face was perfect, when she smiled it seemed to light up her eyes, making her seem even more pretty. When she sat down, opposite Nick, she smoothed down her skirt in a gesture of modesty that was entirely natural to her.
‘Is the job still open then?’ she asked, a sigh of relief clear in her voice.
‘Yes, but only just,’ he admitted. Word of the excellent salary had gone round quickly and Nick had been inundated with calls, and there had been many potential applicants who had sounded perfect. Of the ten vacancies only one now remained unfilled, though he knew that Carole looked perfect for the part.
‘Thank God for that,’ she sighed, ‘I was sure you’d get someone else.’
‘No, I don’t work like that. If I’ve promised you an interview I’m not going to give the job to someone else while you’re still waiting.’
‘I really appreciate that, Mr Moore,’ she beamed.
The conversation was interrupted by a harsh metallic screech that filled the entire room. Nick waited for it to die down, glad to see that the builders had resumed work after yet another coffee break. ‘As you can hear,’ he explained to Carole, ‘there’s still a lot to finish before we open.’
She nodded. The dining area was almost totally finished, the tables and chairs set in secluded alcoves, the walls decorated with fin de siècle scenes of Paris. There was still an atmosphere of spit and sawdust, the inevitable result of all the redecorating, but already the underlying ambience was beginning to appear. ‘I think it looks really good,’ she said approvingly.
‘There’s still a lot to do, but I agree with you, it’s beginning to look the part. Which brings me neatly back to you.’
‘I’m very keen Mr Moore, you must realise that,’ she assured him earnestly. The top few buttons of her blouse were undone, giving a glimpse of smooth white skin without a hint of cleavage. One more button undone and it would have been coquettish, but there was something instinctively modest about her and he was certain that it wasn’t put on for his benefit. Some of the girls he’d interviewed had been practically naked, flaunting themselves shamelessly in the hope that he’d take an interest, to no avail. The restaurant he had in mind was sophisticated and classy, the last thing he wanted was a staff young and loud.
‘Tell me Carole, how many times have you been to Paris?’ he asked, formally marking the start of the interview.
‘Four times, two weekends and two longer holidays,’ she said.
‘And your French?’
‘I couldn’t be an interpreter but I do speak the language. I have my certificates at home if you want me to bring them in…’
He smiled and slid a leather bound menu across the table to her. ‘Read me the menu,’ he said, leaning back in his seat.
She opened it carefully and scanned through it. It was all in French of course, with no English translation; there was a separate menu for that. He listened closely as she began to read, fluently and with a pronunciation that was perfect. There was no doubt that she knew what she was reading as well, she was practically licking her lips as she went through the main courses.
‘Very good,’ he said, interrupting her in mid-sentence. ‘I am impressed. You sound like you enjoy your food as well.’
She smiled shyly. ‘Thank you, Mr Moore. I’ve got my figure to think about,’ she added, ‘but I do like my food.’
‘Good, I like that, there’s nothing worse than being served by someone who has no understanding of food.’
‘I only wish I could afford to eat at places like this,’ she sighed, handing back the menu.
He nodded. The prices in the menu were not cheap, there was no denying that, but then again La Tempête was not going to be just another French restaurant. ‘Tell me what you know about the job,’ he suggested.
She took a deep breath before beginning. ‘This is going to be a very special French restaurant, very different to all the others. You’ve got an excellent chef, even I’ve heard of him,’ she paused momentarily but there was no reassuring smile from Nick. ‘It won’t be the sort of place you come to on a whim. Every place has to be booked in advance, they’ll even be someone at the door to stop undesirables from barging in from the pub and that sort of thing.’
‘It’s not so much people from the pub that I’m worried about,’ he said, clarifying the point for her. ‘It’s just that I don’t won’t crowds of drunken hoorays turning up and spoiling the atmosphere. Do you know the kind of atmosphere I’m after?’
‘I think so,’ she said uncertainly. ‘Parisian sophistication, I think. You know, very elegant, smart. Am I right?’
‘Partly. The missing word in your description is decadent. Visiting La Tempête will be an experience in more than the culinary sense. Was that not explained to you?’
‘Yes, Mr Moore,’ she said quickly, her eyes widening with the fear that she had just messed up her chances of working there.
‘Part of that decadent ambience will be created by the girls who’ll work here. La serveuse will be a central character, she will embody the elegant and the decadent, both in the way she looks and in the way she acts. You do understand that, don’t you?’
For a moment he was certain that she was going to shake her head or burst into tears. ‘I think so, Mr Moore,’ she agreed softly, her voice barely a whisper of indecision.
‘As you know the salary I am offering is far higher than the norm, but that salary has to be earned. Of course you’ll have the added perk of enjoying some of the finest cuisine this side of the channel.’
‘Yes, I hadn’t thought of that,’ she agreed, her smile returning slowly. Her eyes were still full of uncertainty, as though she were struggling with herself and could not make a decision.
‘I like you Carole,’ he told her, smiling properly for the first time. You have excellent French and, even better, an appreciation of the finer things in life. If it were up to me then the job would be yours. However, there are the final formalities before I can make that offer.’
She looked at him eagerly, the chance of a job clearing the indecision. ‘What do I have to do?’
‘There’s the uniform to try on,’ he explained.
‘The uniform?’
He laughed. ‘I thought you knew. There is indeed a special uniform for the waitresses, very French and very naughty. That’s what I meant about helping to create that special ambience.’
‘I hadn’t realised,’ she said, sounding crestfallen.
‘It’s a French maid’s outfit,’ he told her, deciding to be blunt rather than trying to break it gently. ‘Very enticing and sexy in a light-hearted way. If the uniform looks good on you then the job is practically yours. So far the other girls have loved it.’
She looked at him dubiously, the suspicion clouding her dark eyes. ‘I wasn’t really expecting this…’ she started to mumble. The screech of the electric drill drowned out the rest of her words but the look on her face told its own story.
‘May I suggest that you try it on and if you feel uncomfortable about it then we can talk about finding you some other job?’
She hesitated for a moment, weighing up the possibilities and then nodded reluctantly. ‘Okay, I’ll try it on but I have to say that I wasn’t really expecting anything like this.’
‘The staff changing room is currently the scene of all that banging and screeching I’m afraid. It’s the last part of the building to be finished unfortunately. However if you don’t mind changing in the kitchen today…?
She looked shocked. ‘The kitchen? But… Isn’t there some…’
Nick glared at her. ‘Are you always so difficult?’ he demanded, suddenly angered by her obvious distrust. None of the other girls had been so suspicious, even though the uniform was a surprise for most of them too.
‘I’m sorry,’ she mumbled, her pretty face flushing pink with embarrassment. ‘If it’s private I’ll change in the kitchen,’ she agreed.
Nick sighed. ‘If it wasn’t private I wouldn’t have asked you to change in there. Now, please be a good girl and go and try your uniform out. It’s there waiting for you, hanging behind the door. There’s no mirror I’m afraid but if you give me a shout when you’re ready I’ll tell you how you look.’
It was obvious that she was unhappy about the whole idea but she did as she was told. He watched her cross the length of the restaurant and enter the kitchen, noting the way her long black boots accentuated the shape of her legs, and the way the tight skirt clung to her well-shaped behind. She was tall and slim but with curves in all the right places, which was just what he was looking for.
----//----
Finding the right sort of girl had proved to be a far bigger problem than he had anticipated. There were lots of pretty girls of the right age around, but few of them had the intelligence, the elegance or the personality to carry off the roles he had assigned them. Luckily, once he had recruited the first four they had helped him find the others. Carole had been recommended by one of the other girls, and so far he was impressed by her looks and by her knowledge of French, however he was not so enamoured of her personality. If she were only a little more trusting, or perhaps a little more relaxed then he’d be certain.
His ruminations were interrupted by one of the builders, a burly monster of a man, striding purposely towards the kitchen. ‘Where do you think you’re off too?’ Nick demanded, rising quickly from his seat.
‘There’s something needs seeing to in there,’ the builder announced, his broad grin splitting his face in two.
‘Very funny,’ Nick sighed. ‘Now isn’t there some real work for you to be getting on with?’
The builder looked offended, the grin replaced by a sullen frown. ‘I was only having a laugh,’ he complained. ‘A feller’s got to have a laugh sometimes. Pretty bit of skirt like that appreciates a joke, I can tell.’
‘She might appreciate the joke, I certainly don’t. Now, if you don’t mind…’
The builder glared at Nick for a moment then turned on his heel and marched back the way he had come, muttering a litany of complaints as a salve to his injured pride. It was no surprise, the lure of pretty young women was certainly going to be one of the main attractions of the restaurant but it was also going to be one of the problems. A strict door policy sounded like financial suicide for a new restaurant, but it was the only way Nick could think of having some control over the clientele. It was a gamble and the thought always caused a shudder of fear to pass through him. His house, savings and a substantial loan from the bank were all riding on the success of La Tempête, which promised to be as stormy as its name.
‘I’m ready’ she cried from the kitchen, her voice lacking in any form of enthusiasm.
She looked gorgeous. The black satin and white frills complementing her dark good looks and soft white skin. It was a perfect fit, from the towering black high heels to the seamed stockings to the low cut of the uniform to the lace cap which banded her dark hair. When she moved the skirt swished slightly and he was treated to an enticing glimpse of flesh above the thick black stocking tops. The deep cleavage of her breasts was emphasised by the constricting tightness, and the apron tied at her waist served to draw attention to the roundness of her backside.
The effect was spoilt by the pensive expression on her face, her eyes flitting from side to side nervously, her lips pursed as though stifling her anger. She was standing straight, hands together in front of her, balanced finely on the high heels.
‘What is it, girl?’ he demanded, annoyed by her obvious discomfort. If it wasn’t enough worrying about the opening of the restaurant he had to contend with the antics of silly teenage girls.
‘I’m sorry, Mr Moore,’ she whispered, her face flaring red once again, ‘but I don’t think I can handle this.’
He exhaled heavily. ‘Handle what exactly?’ he asked, not bothering to hide his exasperation.
‘All of this,’ she explained, rubbing a hand down the smooth satin uniform. ‘I mean it’ll hurt, won’t it?’
He looked at her quizzically. ‘The shoes?’ he asked.
‘No, not that, I can handle the stilettos all right. No, I mean, you know… The punishment when I’m naughty.’
By now her face was bright red and her eyes were fixed at a point six inches in front of her toes. Her voice had become a strained whisper. ‘I don’t understand,’ Nick admitted, hardly daring to let his imagination get ahead of him.
‘The decadence thing… You said you wanted us to be all decadent and naughty…’ she tried to explain, but seemed to have trouble finding the right words. ‘With the high heels and everything I suppose we’ll always be spilling things and so on… It’ll hurt, won’t it, afterwards.’
‘You mean when you make mistakes, when you’re naughty as you put it,’ he looked to her for the nod of confirmation, ‘you expect to be punished. Physically.’
‘Like in those magazines,’ she added, helpfully.
He nodded sagely. Those magazines. She looked so young and naive, but obviously her education extended down to those magazines. He could follow her train of thought — maid’s uniform, decadence, naughtiness, correction. ‘Yes, I suppose it will hurt. But unless you try it how will you know?’
‘I know the other girls have accepted… Did they try it first?’
He suppressed the smile. ‘Yes. They were all punished by me, but only after they’d put the uniform on first. In your case I’m inclined to be extra strict, you’re being very difficult about this. You either want this job or you don’t.’
‘But I do,’ she insisted forcefully.
‘In that case I think you should be a good girl and bend over the counter there,’ he pointed to one of the worktops, smooth steel polished like a mirror.
She hesitated, he could see the arguments raging inside her. There was doubt there, and denial, but there was also excitement and a curiosity that could not be suppressed. Hesitantly she turned round, took the two steps to the appointed place and stopped. For a moment she stared at her reflection in the cold steel, allowing him the chance to appreciate how she looked from behind. Long straight legs, beautifully shaped by the shiny black heels, slim waist but a well-proportioned rear, long black hair held in place by the frilly lace cap.
When she bent over at the waist the skirt was raised high at the back, lifting clear of the stocking tops and displaying the black suspenders which pressed firmly into the flesh of her thighs. She pressed her face and chest against the worktop, wriggling slightly in an effort to get comfortable.
‘Lift your skirt completely,’ he ordered, enjoying the view. When the skirt was raised completely he saw the tiny black briefs were pulled up between the round globes of her bottom, the thin wisp of lace delineating the rear cleavage to her advantage. She looked good, there was no denying the enticing image her primly offered backside made.
‘How many?’ she asked, almost breathless with fear and anticipation.
‘Six, with my hand.’
She made no reply, instead she arched her back slightly, offering a rounder target. He stepped forward, hardly daring to believe what was happening. He touched her softly, running his fingertips over her backside, from one side to the next. She hardly dared to breathe, her eyes were half-closed and hands were clenched tightly.
The first smack was hard, landing flat on her left buttock, making a resounding slapping sound that seemed to fill the kitchen completely. She uttered a strangled gasp but did not cry or make any movement. His fingers were clearly imprinted on her white flesh, a red badge of pain that he swore was warm to the touch. He lifted his arm and brought it down again, on the same bottom-cheek and with the same force. She inched forward, her knuckles white as she gripped the edge of the worktop. Her skin marked easily, white flesh running to pink and then red at the site of impact. He touched her again, able to feel the distinct mark as well as see it.
The third stroke, and then the fourth. She cried out, but, biting her lips and gripping hard, she did not move out of position. There was determination in her eyes, but with it the misting over of pain and pleasure. Her left bottom-cheek was red, patterned from the top of the thigh and above. A fifth stroke, as hard and as painful as the first four. She seemed to draw her stomach down and raise her bottom higher, offering him her derriere for punishment as though it were his to do with as he wished. The wisp of lace between her thighs was drawn tightly into her flesh, a black band against white skin turning pink.
The last stroke was the hardest of all, the sound of it matched by a squeal of pain that she uttered despite her best efforts. His own hand Was buzzing, throbbing with pain and yet he knew it was only a pale echo of the sensations she was experiencing. When he touched, stroking her punished left buttock, he let his fingers slip lower, brushing against the sticky warmth of her sex.
‘Have we finished?’ she asked, hardly able to speak clearly. The contrast between the two sides of her rear end was plain to see, on the left a pattern of red finger marks and the shadow of his hand on her flesh, on the right the pure unblemished softness of her skin.
‘Not yet,’ he told her firmly. ‘There’s the other side to do as well.’
She sighed, her breath misting on the cold steel on which her face rested. He looked around quickly, searching for the right implement in a kitchen full of them. There were a dozen different wooden spoons, a number of small pans which looked ideal for tanning the hide of a silly girl. The spatula looked perfect, however, long, slightly curved, very strong and easy to handle.
‘Six strokes,’ he informed her.
‘With that?’ she cried, clearly alarmed by the wooden implement he had to hand.
‘Seven strokes for that,’ he decided. She fell silent, resigned to the fact of her punishment.
He was careful with the first stroke, bringing it down flat against the unmarked skin of her right buttock. The sound was impressive and the solid red mark it created looked good. Her eyes were wide, and he could tell that the spatula was indeed a more effective instrument of correction than his bare hand. The next few strokes fell in quick succession, each delivered firmly and with a resounding crack of sound. She was panting, breathing heavily, making little sobbing sounds as he administered her chastisement.
He stopped at number four and examined her closely, comparing each bottom-cheek, touching her intimately without a murmur of dissent from her lovely lips. She was undoubtedly aroused, when he touched a finger to her sex she seemed to melt, a sigh issuing from her lips as she closed her eyes to the pleasure. He resumed the punishment, smacking hard the final strokes, the last delivered squarely between her bottom-cheeks.
The punishment over, he stepped back for a moment. She seemed dazed, hardly able to move, as though she too were welded to the cold steel worktop. It gave him a chance to savour the image of her, bent beautifully over, her uniform up around her waist, long legs stretched tautly, bottom perfectly displayed in all its pink, punished glory.
‘You can stand up now,’ he told her, finally.
She seemed to wake suddenly. She pushed herself up and modestly brushed down her uniform, hiding from view the evidence of her punishment. Her chest was flushed pink, her white skin mottled by the evidence of her pleasure just as her bottom had been mottled by her chastisement.
‘Do you still want the job?’ he asked, his manner cool and professional, despite the raging desire that he felt.
‘Will it get any worse than that?’ she asked, swallowing hard.
‘Only if you’re really bad,’ he told her. ‘Don’t worry though, most nights of the week you’ll just be on display, looking pretty to keep our clients happy until the food arrives. However the uniform and the punishment is reserved for special nights, when only the most select of our clients are invited.’
‘You mean this,’ she clutched her uniform, ‘is for the special clients only? Other nights we wear something else?’
He smiled. ‘That’s right. Other nights you’ll wear a more respectable uniform, still pretty and sexy but not like this. On our special nights however you’ll have to be extra careful not to make a mistake and earn a spanking from our customers,’ he paused. The entire business plan had just been re-written, but he knew it made more sense. Act as a normal French restaurant for most nights but offer the privilege of punishing the girls on certain special occasions — and charge prices accordingly. ‘So,’ he finished, ‘what do you say?’
She reached down and rubbed her bottom surreptitiously, as though the stinging were too powerful to ignore. ‘What about if I make mistakes on the other nights?’ she asked.
‘I reserve the right to punish you when required, my girl,’ he told her.
She nodded at once. ‘Yes, Mr Moore. When do I start?’
He smiled. ‘You’ve already started,’ he laughed. ‘If I were you I’d change and get home for a good night of rest, you’ve got a long day ahead of you tomorrow.’
‘But the restaurant doesn’t open for…’
‘It’s all right,’ he said, stopping her mid-sentence. ‘It’s just that I have nine other girls that I need to re-interview,’ he announced, smiling.

Wednesday, 29 January 2020

Finishing School Discipline 4

The final film in the series, featuring Becky Jordan.
Two pupils at an exclusive finishing school seem determined to cause disruption among their fellow pupils and have been reported to the Chairman of the Board of Governors. One girl assaulted the beautiful French Tutor, Miss Du Pont. It is decided that the best way to deal with these girls is to return to old-fashioned methods. Miss Du Pont is greatly looking forward to exacting her revenge on the bare bottom of Cindy Turner, and the Chairman dusts off his favoured equipment. Howls of anguish reverberate around the ancient walls of the school as the slipper, strap and cane go about their work with typical British gusto.
MF/2f; time: 49 minutes
We loved Finishing School 1-3, circa 1998, simple formulaic schoolgirl spankings, great exploitation of innocent students — pyjamas, after-hours, total nudity, embarrassment, etc. with no nastiness or cruelty, and of course smarmy humorous disciplinarians, nudging the girls right to the edge of impropriety. This FSD #4 carries the same Paradox production logo, but is more recent.
The scene is a finishing school in a tony London neighbourhood. A grey-haired ageplay gentleman, familiar to us from Moonglow  and CalStar appearances (and we later know to be Jack Uppitt, with a tendency to negotiate sex with his spankees), is a member of the school’s board of governors and pays a call at the school on some disciplinary matters.
The sets, costumes, and production standards are excellent. The spanking scene is a well-appointed sitting room — no sense of a motel room or an office with the furniture pushed aside, as we often see. We get it all here — pristine sets, pretty girls, good dialogue, and crisp discipline. There is the fireplace mantel. Will anyone have to lean on it?
The first matter is student Turner, who has hassled and assaulted French teacher Miss Du Pont. The governor and Miss Du Pont discuss what should be done with Turner. ‘Punish her severely, we might get through to her…’ Miss DuPont takes unusual care to describe her own youthful spankings, in colourful detail, ‘always on the bare bottom.’ Governor: ‘You believe in the bare bottom?’ ‘Yes.’ The governor must be getting a rise out of this. ‘So you’re going to give her naked bottom a good beating?’ ‘Yes.’
The governor decides to let Miss Du Pont deal with Turner. When she is alone, to herself: ‘I think I am going to enjoy this.’ Du Pont is a young sophisticate, a thin blonde dressed in white slacks and a spiffy jacket. We hope the board of governors finds some dissatisfaction with something she has done at a future date.
Turner, a blond, uniformed, credible schoolgirl, is called in, given the lecture, and is dragged OTK. Skirt up, blue pants, she struggles realistically, especially as Miss Du Pont works her knickers down, which she was eager to do, in a sexy little tussle we wish was done more often. The OTK handspanking is mostly struggling, but we only just began.
Du Pont has Turner stand and lean on the spanking bench for a slippering. Charming, perfect spankable bottom, taking on some pink, perfectly lit and positioned. Du Pont is smiling and enthusiastic; Turner whines just a bit too much.
Du Pont: ‘Let’s have a look at you.’ She removes Turner’s necktie and unbuttons her blouse — no bra. Turner drops her own skirt after a moment of dispute and stands naked. ‘Hands at your sides!’ Du Pont is thrilled, the camera pans and zones in on one of those perfect mohawks and holds as she stands naked. Intense stuff.
Hands-on-bench again. ‘Open your legs.’ More hard slippering, full-screen bottom closeups. Turner is sent off naked. Is she finished?
In another scene in this sitting room, the governor is going to deal with tall, thin, blond Johnson, identified as actress Rebekah Jordan in some places. She is accustomed to this guy. ‘You know the position’ — OTK. Skirt up, lovely little white panties, just barely covering a small, tight, athletic bottom. This actress keeps her legs locked straight, thrusting her bottom dramatically high on the governor’s lap.
She too wrestles with him; he has to pin her free arm as he spanks. This gentle resistance we find very stimulating. She stands, skirt off, pants at ankles, hands-on-head makes her blouse rise and her bottom peek out as she moves. Ritual postures another praiseworthy notation for the British at Paradox. To the bench for a mean-looking thick embossed leather strap. Only moderate swings, but to good effect, and fast sets cause Johnson to squirm. Lovely choking tears and wet face in closeups. The governor may be having his fun but he is not finished.
‘Get in position. You’re going to get caned.’ Johnson puts hands on the bench, legs straight. Her bottom is thin, perfectly moulded, and hard. With less flesh, these strokes must hurt more. 20 strokes are shown, mild to moderate. She cries and twists seductively. Long shots of her, naked from the waist down, in the staid setting of the Victorian furnishings, are appealing.
After 12 strokes, she shifts to hands-on-knees posture, legs about 18” apart, which tightens her bottom even more. A few bright weals show on her thighs. To conclude, she bundles her clothes and hustles off half-naked. The governor is seen leaving for the day, hopefully energized for whatever he does next.
Turner Part 1:
Turner Part 2:
Johnson Part 1:
Johnson Part 2:

Tuesday, 28 January 2020

Wayward Path

From New Blushes Uniform Girls 2.06
Her friends had warned her. Don’t spoil the holiday by wandering too near the state border of the country that bounded their holiday resort. Apparently the state did not take kindly to being trespassed upon by unthinking and wandering ramblers.
‘Surely, the path is well marked,’ she had argued.
‘It is on the main road, but nature walks hardly warrant state notices,’ her best friend had warned her.
Kelly, the usually bright young blonde of the party was a nature lover and she loved rambling. Quite happy to pass the time of day just walking and exploring the countryside, she was very much alone in her love of ‘all this fresh air’ business. Her friends preferred the night life and gadding about with the local youths. Kelly had studied the map of the local terrain and she was certain that she would be able to stay well clear of the other country’s borders. The forest itself was too attractive to her conservationist mind to let pass. They would be here for some time and she wanted to explore the deep green and thickly studded woods.
‘Oh. Don’t forget Kelly. So far there are no diplomatic relations with them,’ she stubbed her thumb to the other side of the forest area. ‘You get caught on the wrong side of the fence and there is no hope in hell of diplomatic aid at all.’
‘Lordie, anybody would think I was going into no-man’s land. Stop behaving so dramatically,’ she had responded angrily.
‘Bloody crazy that bird is,’ Alicia sighed when the shapely Kelly had strolled steadfastly towards the forest.
Two lovely legs with strong sneakers and yellow ankle socks, and then nothing until the hem of the matching yellow loose-legged shorts but, because the weather looked promising, she was wearing just a light, tight-fitting sweater. Her breasts jiggled perfectly as she walked down the earth-trodden path and into the shaded greenery of the woods.
Kelly was determined to stick to the path simply because there was too much growth off to each side of her. With legs like hers a girl did not go out of the way to get them scratched by green thick undergrowth.
She came to the cross path and smiled when she thought of Alicia’s warning. Unhesitatingly she stepped out along the path to the right, came to the five-bar gate and showed a slight annoyance that it was locked. No real problem, she simply climbed up and was soon over it. The gyrations and different movements that this gave to her curvy young torso was something that any red-blooded male would have given his right arm to have seen. The right leg of her shorts had pulled high enough to reveal more than half of her right buttock and gave the impression that she was not wearing panties! She was, of course, but they were of the very briefest type.
Although she was not aware of it, there were eyes studying her progress! Powerful binoculars were firmly fixed to the young woman as she realised that she had left the forest and was skirting the side of it. Damn! She searched hard for another path that would take her back into the greenery itself. The foliage was much too thick for her to go into the tree area itself and anyway, that would take her from the path. She had to admit that she did not recall the map showing the path going round the outside of the forest.
Kelly increased her pace hoping soon to take up the path at another point. She saw the structure that seemed to be camouflaged by nature itself. When she drew level with the concrete, she was amazed at the numerous flowers, flowers that would have won first place at a Kew Exhibition. The brilliant colours were breathtaking as far as Kelly was concerned. Her camera was soon click-clicking away and she was more than delighted at the shots she was taking. This would really throw her friends at the conservationist club!
‘Fraulein?’
She jumped almost out of her skin.
‘Hey! Don’t creep up on a girl like that,’ she snapped.
‘Anglais? English?’
‘Yes!’
She found herself confronted by two men in uniform. They both looked very severe and they both had rifles and what is more they were with a bloody great Alsatian dog. The canine representative matched them for a look of unfriendliness.
‘What are you doing, Miss,’ the soldier with stripes on his arm wanted to know.
‘Taking pictures of these flowers,’ she said.
‘Flowers?’ he obviously did not believe her.
‘Yes. Just look they are beautiful.’
The two men looked at each other in stern-faced disbelief. It had been a long time since they had intercepted an intruder and the last time it had been some old woman in whom they had no interest whatsoever! This was different. One of the men had seen quite an expanse of Kelly’s bottom and the interest was very much in his mind.
‘You will please accompany us,’ the senior soldier did not so much suggest but positively directed.
‘I don’t think that will be necessary,’ she retorted icily.
The dog then joined in by snarling very menacingly and Kelly’s eyes widened with very real fear. This bloody canine four-legged enforcer was something else again. The soldiers spoke reasonably good English and it seemed that the dog was able to interpret her anti mood.
‘It was the gate, you see,’ she tried to explain once she was at the log building outpost. ‘I did not think that it was a border post.’
The men studied her closely. A shiver went through Kelly’s body and she felt very big but decidedly very small. They had confiscated her camera because the attractive flowers were growing on one of their forward defence pill-boxes.
It took only ten minutes for them to explain what they intended to do and after that ten minutes, Kelly was staring at them showing complete disbelief at what she had heard! They had not only suggested but insisted on what she considered a most barbaric solution. They wanted to actually PUNISH her physically. On her bottom!! On her uncovered bottom… and her system could not align to such impossible and unbelievable demonic behaviour.
‘I… I certainly will NOT agree to such… such rubbish. It’s immoral. No. I’m sorry. No way,’ her mind raced for words to express her absolute horror and disbelief that they could even think of such a thing.
‘Pity. The whole business of your spying could have been settled here and now and you could have been escorted back to the gate. As it is we have no choice but to make an official report and send you back to our headquarters, the senior soldier seemed genuinely sad that she was not prepared to be reasonable. Which he was, of course.
‘You must be… well, crazy. I have done nothing wrong,’ she tried to defend herself but saw that she was on a sticky wicket and was playing a losing battle with these two. All the time she had to move her body because one or the other was squeezing the cheeks of her bottom!
‘And please stop doing that,’ she snapped. If only she felt as sure of herself as she sounded. As she spun from one soldier so she inadvertently placed herself in a position to be mauled on her attractive nates by the other. It was getting frustrating and more than a little annoying.
‘At least you will be given a choice of sentence. Probably fifteen years or you may prefer execution,’ the senior soldier said as he held the right nate, but now his hand was beneath her shorts and he could feel the smooth skin of her backside in his palm.
Her eyes widened then. He was not being serious and he smiled to reassure her… ‘No. Don’t worry. They do not execute.’ Then his face was serious again. Kelly had forgotten to remove her bottom!! ‘But fifteen years is certainly possible. And in our women’s prisons… I dread to think what they would do to a lovely girl like you,’ his tone was full of suggestions and it impressed Kelly.
Tears fell in a steady flow down her attractive face as she stood limp letting them pull her shorts off and then the brief panties and they even removed the sweater. They insisted that she stand in the centre of the room, on a table so that they were able to look up at her posed torso. Kelly was a picture that neither of them had seen before in all their lives. Then they had her standing to one side of the table and she bent over, still protesting, but unable to prevent the immediate spanking that they insisted on giving her rounded, naked buttocks. She was beyond herself in a state of mortified reaction to what was happening to her body. And this business of wanting to punish her by spanking her attractive bum… she was still under the impression that it would not happen when the first spank landed. And it hurt! She felt as though a sheet of flame had been placed fully on her right buttock and as soon as she yelled, so her left nate also felt that same flash heat when a hand landed fully onto the roundly thrusting cheek.
She was stretched fully across the table and the junior soldier held her in place as the senior brought his hand down time and time again. He was able to see how the blonde beauty was able to wriggle her bum from side to side and her lovely legs kicked in furious tempo as she tried to avoid the smacking palm. She screamed her protest as her backside took much more than she ever thought it could or should.
‘Now you,’ the senior man said.
A different pair of hands gripped her wrists and she was twisted over. At first she was petrified that they were going to do something entirely different and she was shocked with the thought that having turned her on her back they were going to take the grossest liberty of all. She was still confused when she was laid backwards on the table and her knees were held to her chest by strong hands.
‘Oohhh… nooo…. aggher… ow…. ow…  owwaaaahhhh…’ her voice let them know that they were having the desired effect.
The junior soldier preferred the leather-bound cane and this whipped down onto her bending, bare and very reddened buttocks.
Kelly never joins in the song ‘I love to go awandering’ now… or ever.