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Saturday, 1 August 2020

3 for the High Jump

Photo-story from Janus 142
Actually none of the three girls specialised in High Jump, but all were members of the college athletics team. The circumstances were extraordinary, and the Principal, Mrs Elaine Jenson; B.A. (Oxon.) had felt compelled to call a special meeting of senior staff to discuss the best means of dealing with the matter.
Briefly, the month before had seen the opening of the All-College Athletics Championships, to which this seat of advanced academic endeavour had sent a team of ten of its sportiest girls to compete. Not all had done well, in fact only three got through the heats of their particular events, and two of those came first and the other got a first and a second in the Finals. A remarkable achievement for all of them, and one which rightly won a glowing testimony from the Principal and was reported at some length in the local newspaper under the headline: College Girls Grab Glory.
The reason for such publicity was no doubt partly because the triumphant trio were all wonderful specimens of young womanhood, being lovely and graceful as well as highly personable and a joy to interview. Their faces, figures and smiles were everywhere, and made one of the national dailies and several interviews on local radio and TV stations.
They were Teresa Lambert, who won the Javelin with a huge throw and was also, as it happens, an excellent gymnast; Pippa Sloane, who got Gold in the Long Jump and Silver in the 100 meters sprint; and Raelene Anthony, an Australian by birth, who won the 800 metres in terrific style and came a very close second in the 1500 metres in what was less than a second off a Championship record. Wonderful performances all round.
So what went wrong? How could it be that these three dazzling beauties found themselves lined up in the austere surrounding of their College gymnasium apprehensively awaiting punishment of the most severe kind, even as the hubbub of their winning endeavours still throbbed beyond the walls?
Well, the hotel suite they’d shared near the location of the Games had not been quite the same when they left it. In fact, to put no finer point on it, it had been largely trashed by exuberant high spirits as the winning three celebrated with a wild party that went on into the night. Alcohol was consumed, spliffs were smoked, and several other guests complained about the shrieks and loud music.
The hotel sent a hefty bill for damages to their college Principal, with a note to say that it would have no alternative but to release the details of the victorious trio’s ‘loud debaucheries’ to the press, with photographs of the ruined room, if reparations were not met in full.
The Principal, Mrs Jenson, was not a lady to be pushed around by two-bit hotel managers, but she was aware that something far worse than involuntary vandalism had been perpetrated by our heroines. The good name of the College had been impugned! On the one hand these three girls had waved its banner proudly; and then undermined their good work by rank irresponsibility and appalling behaviour. Under any other circumstances Teresa Lambert, Pippa Sloane and Raelene Anthony would have been rusticated and their academic, as well as their athletic, futures put into jeopardy or terminal decline.
The girls were given a choice — to he sent from the College in disgrace, or undergo a punishment that would ‘wipe the slate clean’, so to speak. The girls chose to be punished, though what form this would take they were not at first informed. Loss of privileges was expected, with perhaps a letter to the parents giving a full account of their daughters’ misdeeds and requesting reimbursement for damages incurred, accompanied by a stern lecture and copious extra work.
What the three were called on to face, however, was a shock indeed. All were over eighteen, young adults. That they would have to submit to a beating was simply beyond belief. Indeed, who could be called on to administer such a chastisement, given that these were three vigorous, positive young women of strength and spirit? Certainly not the Principal herself, nor any of her immediate staff were up to the job, a physically daunting task if ever there was one.
After much deliberation, Mrs Jenson put in a call to a tutor of her acquaintance who was a lecturer in Science at the nearby boys’ college. He was also a rugby coach, ex-heavyweight boxer, and known to be an enthusiastic disciplinarian. Alan ‘Badger’ Bartholomew was delighted to get the call, and felt honoured indeed to be offered the opportunity to settle matters with these delectable young ladies.
So it was that when he presented himself at the girls’ college gymnasium at the time appointed, his three charges were already there, lined up fetchingly against the wall in trim PE strip and looking frankly apprehensive. They also, to Badger’s appreciative male eye, looked deliciously naughty, eminently spankable and clearly in need of his most urgent attentions to curb their wilful ways.
He began with a lecture to each, delivered in no-nonsense tones so that they would have no doubt whatever of the gravity of their offences. Then he ordered them to turn and face the wall.
‘Before your punishment commences,’ he began, ‘you will first remove your skirts. All of you. Now.’
His voice invited no opposition. Heads hanging, each girl took off her skirt. Now, in just knickers and sports top, they felt more vulnerable — especially in the area of their bottoms. Oh, they knew the power of their bottoms all right, to wiggle and sway in tight shorts to attract young men’s gazes and inspire lewd fantasies; but they’d never seen them before as cushions for receiving the stinging swipes of punishment. This man was imposing, his presence so forceful that each girl quailed — and at least one of them, Raelene Anthony, felt a flutter of excitement she could not account for.
Having taken his time in inspecting each tightly-packaged set of knickers, which swelled impudently with the heavenly twin spheres within, Badger Bartholomew fixed his draconian eye sternly on the first girl in line, Teresa Lambert, the javelin thrower and gymnast, who sported the figure 78 on her vest. The girl had hoped to make a joke that it was the metric equivalent of her bust size, but she didn’t feel that this man would appreciate jokes, and anyway her mouth was dry and her heart was racing even faster than before the run-up with the spear.
‘Fetch a chair and set it down here.’ Curt and to the point. Teresa did so. The next thing she knew, he had sat on it and hauled her face-down across his knees. The humiliation she felt was indescribable. This was not something to be made light of, to laugh about when it was over. She knew her two friends were watching, though what they must be thinking she couldn’t imagine. Then all such considerations were blasted away as a succession of hefty wallops of his huge hard hand landed full and firm across the meat of Teresa’s knickered buttocks.
The girl began to jerk and kick over the unyielding lap as an appalling heat built up in her bottom; then Teresa shrieked when she felt her knickers wrenched down, baring it. After that, the slaps were louder and more resonant, and stung so horribly it was as if he were applying a sheet of flame to her tender flesh at each energetic stroke of his palm. At last, shuddering and dazed, her bottom burning unbearably, she was instructed to get to her feet and stand with her face to the wall.
‘And keep those knickers down,’ came the injunction. ‘I want to see that wicked bottom on display, red and smarting. And don’t dare rub it or it’ll get another dose.’
Now Badger turned to glare at the next girl in line, Pippa Sloane. She flinched as he crooked his finger to beckon her to him, and in that brief moment Pippa had some inkling of how Lady Jane Grey must have felt on being led to the scaffold. It didn’t escape her punisher’s attention, though he seemed as resolute as flint and impervious to finer feelings, that this next one was as blonde, slender and meltingly pretty as the previous one had been dark of hair and sturdily supple. This, he knew, was the fleet-footed sprinter who could hurl her nubile form five or six yards down the long jump pit. Well now he was to have full control of that soaring body for several minutes, and make it smart and bounce.
As Pippa nervously sank forward across the man’s sturdy thighs she could feel the heat left by Teresa against her tummy. It was almost sexy, but such thoughts were dashed away when, after another summary tongue-lashing, he brought his palm down with an echoing smack, and proceeded to heat up her bottom to such a degree that she felt it was cooking. The pounding concussions slammed down, driving shocks of pain deep into her; and when he paused to tug down her knickers, as he had done with Teresa, Pippa felt shame flame through her.
Now the smacks rang around the walls, hard flesh meeting soft, again and again, till her buttocks were red and stinging, and tears ran down her face and dripped to the floor. Just when Pippa felt she couldn’t survive a single spank more, he stopped and curtly ordered her to stand.
‘Go and face the wall next to your equally disgraceful friend,’ Badger snapped. ‘Keep those knickers down and your bottom bare and on show, and contemplate the reasons for your punishment here today.’
Then he turned and glared at Raelene Anthony, who appeared to be lounging almost casually against the wall from where she’d been watching the proceedings. Seeing her two friends thrown across a strong man’s lap and having their hare rumps roasted while they squirmed and squealed, pleaded and sobbed, had been strangely exciting to her. So when he now indicated it was her turn over his knee, Raelene sauntered almost casually to the chair, weird little thrills darting through her.
The man saw at once that this one’s attitude was subtly different to the others, that although she was uneasy at what was about to happen, her eyes shone with a sort of challenge. This was the middle distance runner, light on her feet, slight of build yet paradoxically strong. As she settled snugly over his lap Badger felt her shiver — not with fright, but with a frisson he recognised as something else.
To test his instincts he began to spank her lightly at first, peppering her pertly upthrust buttocks with rapid little swipes that grew subtly harder, covering every inch of the alluring target, and was rewarded by the sensation of her flat tummy writhing on his lap, the pelvis jerking and beginning thrusting movements against his leg. In a moment he had wrenched Raelene’s knickers down, and the moment the cool air fanned her spank-hot rumps she gave a groan that was unmistakably sensuous.
Here was a dilemma. Badger knew that to continue the spanking might well make her orgasmic, and that was not the intention of this punishment. Instead, he brought his hand down very hard indeed, several times, at full force, the blows incandescing Raelene’s insolently jerking arse with a pain so excruciating that sexual thoughts were driven out in shockwaves of blistering heat, while she shrieked instead, her bottom bouncing and jerking in a vain effort to wrench clear.
Moments later he ordered the fierily-smarting Raelene to her feet to join the others against the wall, knickers down, for a few minutes more to contemplate their misdeeds while he decided what to do with them next. Badger knew that a mere spanking, however hard, was insufficient chastisement for these three, so if they thought it was over, they were mistaken.
‘Right,’ he now said. ‘You will remove your tops completely.’ A little more humiliation wouldn’t come amiss here, he thought. Soon all three were brazenly bare-breasted, and he felt it was time he had a little sport. And what better sport than to use a ping-pong bat to practise those whippy fore- and backhand strokes on the pneumatic, springy surfaces of a deliciously bare female bottom? Three bare female bottoms! This Badger now proceeded to do, calling the girls forward in turn, dominating them entirely with his voice and towering presence.
‘Lean against the wall, push out your wicked backside,’ he sang out, first to the sturdy Teresa, then to the quailing Pippa, and finally the simmering Raelene — who probably deserved a thunderous spanking even more than her friends. Badger was beginning to realise that Raelene was almost certainly the initiator of their pranks and wayward behaviour, was pathologically mischievous, and — unlike the other two — would benefit from a sound spanking every day, or night, of her naughty young life.
Although this exercise with the table-tennis bat was, to a certain extent, light relief for Badger — a change of perspective with more freedom to swing at the three gloriously tempting targets, one after the other till each was roasting red again, the recipients found it far from enjoyable after their vehement hand-spanking: that paddle hurt, and made their bums fire up even more till those six gorgeous hummocks of flesh felt as hot as burning coals.
There now followed what might be termed a rest period, in which Badger ordered each girl to stand once more to face the wall and submit their beaten bottom for inspection. An inspection which Badger carried out with commendable zeal, groping and squeezing each rosy, scalding rump thoroughly and sensuously. At one point while he was doing this, Raelene gave a gasp and began to squirm her arse against his searching palm, obliging him to give her wayward rear a thunderous slap that made her howl.
Then he took off his jacket and rolled up the sleeve of his right arm with an air of deadly purpose. ‘All you girls have had so far is hardly more than a warm-up,’ Badger declared. ‘Now comes the punishment proper.’
The girls stared in dismay as he produced a cane, long and quivery. It looked lethally painful.
‘Step forward, Lambert, and bend over,’ he said in a deep, stern voice. Teresa did so while her two friends looked on in renewed apprehension.
What followed were the worst few minutes in the champion javelin thrower’s life. With hard, sure strokes, beginning with a tap from the shaft that wobbled her cheeks, the cane flew through the air twelve times with a vicious swish-thwack to slam repeatedly across Teresa’s peachy moons with the speed of a lightning-bolt and the venom of a striking snake. Again and again, with the regularity of a slow metronome. Each stroke was accurately placed, scoring livid parallel tracks across the blazing orbs. Teresa stamped and screeched and inhaled fiercely as she strove to absorb the shocking lashes of hurt, and in every way did battle with herself not to break down, but to take her punishment like a champion should.
Then it was Pippa Sloane’s turn to be called forward. She stood before the man and tried to outstare him, but her gaze fell away before his unflinching glare.
‘Bend down.’
It was said quietly, and she turned and stooped at the waist, terribly aware of the bareness of her bottom once more. Compared to what she then received, her spanking and the subsequent barrage of blows from the paddle was relatively mild — though, heaven knows, it had been searingly painful at the time. But now he tapped her waiting bottom, drew back his arm and brought the whippy wood whistling in to print a line of shrieking pain across the crown of her bottom.
Pippa shook where she stood, and gave a desperate moan, clenching her teeth. The second stroke took her by surprise, because he had quickened the speed of his delivery, and caught her before she was fully braced for it. A streak of fire just below where the first had struck made her yelp, and jump, and she half straightened. His quiet voice informed her that if she didn’t stay still next time, she would get a double stroke.
How Pippa got through the next ten full-blooded swipes of that fearsome implement, staying down to receive more flashes of excruciating hurt, she could only imagine was due to the strict self-discipline she’d had to impose on herself in her training as an athlete: the early-morning runs in all weathers and seasons, the driving herself onward when her body wanted to lie down and die. Now her tender buttocks absorbed the full caning, flinching and jerking throughout; and with a groan of unutterable relief she staggered to the wall when the full measure had been delivered, her bottom throbbingly aflame.
As for Raelene Anthony, next to bend tremulously over to expose her naked rear to the wickedly swishing, bitingly thwacking shaft of hurtling wood, the experience was a revelation. Yes, it hurt. Yes, she wanted nothing more than that the caning should stop so that she could lower her scorching backside into a tub of freezing water; but after the first six, with her tender parts prickling and smarting, she began to welcome the next stroke. When the seventh fell with unabated vigour, she gave a sigh and sank lower, pushing her bottom invitingly backwards to meet the flashing rod on its next descent.
Badger Bartholomew knew what was happening, but decided he would finish the job. Calling for the girl to stay in place, he increased the force of the last five strokes, hearing her whimper and shudder as each succeeding one drove narrow furrows in her soft flesh then leaped away, hovered, and drove in again with deadly accuracy to incandesce her bottom with a series of horribly hurtful sensations which she welcomed even as she hated them.
When the last stroke had lashed down, and the man told her she could join the others, Raelene felt awash with bewildering new feelings that tingled into her soul as well as her private parts. These feelings would need to be addressed, for they were demandingly urgent, and she sensed they would be fundamental to her psychological health as the years progressed. Quite simply, and without being fully aware of it yet, Raelene would crave to be caned again and again. For her, this was only the beginning.
But for now Badger Bartholomew’s task was completed. He had fulfilled his obligations to the Principal, and chastised these three alluring miscreants as soundly as he knew how. But he still had one more surprise.
‘Take off your knickers completely,’ he commanded. Each girl, by now conditioned to obey without question, did so with alacrity, wincing. Badger stooped and picked the discarded garments up. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘You all took your punishment most commendably. I’ll make sure your Principal knows it.’
With that he left the gymnasium, and three extremely well-punished girls clasped arms around each other in a huddle of mutual comfortings.
It wasn’t till later that they became aware that he had gone off with their knickers. As a trophy? They couldn’t guess, though Raelene reckoned she knew something the others didn’t.


  1. Any chance girl number 64 could be
    sent round to mine ?!
    Pretty please ?!!!
    Ha ha!
    Great photos!

    1. Sadly not - she'll be at mine!

    2. Let me know when you're done with her. I'll be waiting with a strap.

    3. She'll be a while - and a little...tired and emotional! But no doubt a second session will be good for her.

  2. Yes I like flat titted 25 too

  3. These girls are a bit chunky and the man doing the spanking is a) too young for my liking and b) looks a bit of a thug. But it's great to see this photoset online, coming as it does from a late renaissance period in Janus's history.

  4. Bob here.
    They are three lovely is just that hint of wilful defiance in the eyes of number 64 that really gets
    my motor running , so to put it.

    1. With you there Bob - that look always gets them singled to be thoroughly dealt with

    2. yes something about a girl with a sulky look that would make any reform school master deal with the matter with a severe thrashing.Having said that the innocent "good" girls can also been candidates for a good lesson!.

  5. Defiant and naughty or good as gold!
    Either way they are going to get the cane , so they might as well get used to the idea.End of!

    1. Absolutely. The goody two shoes ones who think they’re going to get away with it, can make me very cross - the way they act all shocked & violated when you get the bra & knickers off & get at them