A spanking story from Janus
Royston Arnold could hardly believe his luck. Within days of resorting to a truly amazing mail order package to help satisfy his increasing need to follow his once- beloved Hilary Hanbury-Boyce in chastising the bottoms of errant village maidens, here was one out of the blue. Not even from the village, either. Could he, Royston wondered, be on the way to becoming an international dispenser of summary justice by way of a burning backside? Clearly, his fame was spreading.
His caller was a Mrs Ling of the Chinese Trade Delegation. “I have heard of your ways,” the lady confided inscrutably, “from a friend whose mother knows of a girl who lives local to you, to whom you attended in your special manner.”
If her English was slightly off, her meaning was not.
“How can I help you, Mrs Ling?”
“We bring girls over here from Hong Kong,” she said, “to help promote Chinese goods and services in our trade exhibitions in Britain.”
“Right…” Royston couldn’t quite imagine where this was leading.
“As she will be representing the great country of China, we specify that all girls who apply should be unsullied and blemish free.”
“Absolutely,” Royston agreed. “And so they should be, Mrs Ling.” “Naturally there is a certain trust
involved. In the past it has been enough that we take the girl’s word that she is unmarked by the decadent practice of tattoo and body-piercing. This will no longer be so.”
“In a routine inspection one of the girls was found to offend in this important matter. I have therefore given her a choice. To be punished in the way we here are no longer permitted to do – that is to say, to receive a thundering good-hiding for her dishonesty and decadence. Or to return in shame to Hong Kong. The girl has chosen the first option.” “Has she indeed?” Royston was
having difficulty drawing breath. “I wish to ask, Mr Arnold, if you
will be prepared to attend to this errant but contrite girl. It will have to be unofficial, no record will be made that she has received this punishment. I will of course understand if you would rather not.”
“Send the girl here, Mrs Ling,” said Royston in noble tones, “and I promise to do my duty on your behalf and that of the great country of China.”
So it was that the following day a frightened-looking Oriental maiden stood before Royston in the lounge at the Old Hall, her pretty head hung in deep submissiveness. He greeted her carrying a ping-pong paddle, which the girl blinked at in some bemusement. She was wearing sports clothes, including pleasingly tight shorts which showed off a pertly curvaceous rear, and gave her name as Ho Jani – at least that’s what it sounded like. Certainly Royston found himself incapable of pronouncing it properly, and caught the twitch of a smile when he tried to do so. Well, the girl would not be smiling for long. On her singlet were the words Wanna Play? – disconcertingly frivolous given the solemnity of the occasion, and exactly what Royston did want to do. But it wouldn’t be at table-tennis – the paddle in his hand
was intended for another purpose altogether.
“I will call you Miss Ho, it’s easier.” The girl inclined her head. But moments later it was as if a storm roared in. She flinched as Royston let rip at her with a catalogue of her reported misdemeanours. “You are here to be punished for these offences,” he finished, “and it is my solemn duty to enact the punishment.” He knew it sounded pompous, but it was essential that this wilting girl saw him as an impassive punisher carrying out a painful duty, rather than a hedonist about to enjoy another exhilarating encounter with the naked bottom of an extremely pretty girl.
“Show me the offending tattoo.” “Please no, sir. I shy.” “You’ll do as I say, girl – at once!”
he thundered. Ho Jani looked embarrassed as
she slowly turned and pushed down her shorts to reveal a small dragon tattooed into the skin above a pale, silky-skinned buttock. To prevent himself from swooning at the sight of the two deliciously rounded bottom- cheeks on full display, Royston made a show at being shocked.
“I see now what Mrs Ling was talking about,” he raged. “It’s an absolute disgrace, girl! This is decadence run riot, and will need to be most seriously dealt with. Now, what about this body-piercing your employer referred to?”
The girl’s large brown eyes implored him as she pulled up her shorts and turned back to face him. “Is very private place,” she said in a husky whisper. “Show me!” he insisted. “This is no time for shyness. You should have thought of that before you mutilated your body in this shameful way!” The girl resisted him as he made to pull down her shorts – but at last a small gold ring through a vaginal lip was disclosed. Resisting a desire to get down on his knees and inspect it more closely, Royston put on an expression of stark horror.
“Through there,” he shrieked. “Defacing a girl’s most chaste treasure? I can hardly believe the evidence of my own eyes. This is absolutely outrageous! What other sordid abuses to your body have you perpetrated?” He indicated the singlet. “Pull it up, I want to see!”
Ho Jani modestly lowered her eyes and did as bidden, exposing pert breasts on which Royston feasted lascivious eyes. He was almost disappointed to see no further piercings or tattoos on her upper torso, but couldn’t resist the opportunity to tease one of her nipples, feeling it harden involuntarily against his finger. The sensation was as good as a champagne afterglow.
As his charge stood there with pierced genitalia and naked breasts alluringly on display, Royston stepped back and eyed her coolly. “Well, girl,” he rumbled, “and what are we to do with you, eh?”
“Don’t know, sir,” she muttered wretchedly. He liked the ???sir’, spoken in that sweet Chinese voice.
“Well, I know exactly what. I’m going to spank sparks out of that wickedly naughty bottom of yours.”
For a moment it seemed she didn’t comprehend. “My bot-tom?” she queried.
He pointed behind her. “That.”
“No, sir, please, you not do this,” she protested.
“Oh yes,” he responded, “I do do this. That saucy tail of yours is going to get hot. So hot you’ll think that dragon you’ve had tattooed above it is breathing fire all over it.” He brandished the ping-pong paddle. “Take down your shorts!”
In a flurry, the girl began to do so, revealing pink briefs beneath.
“Keep the knickers on,” Royston instructed, “and pull them up nice and tight around that sexy little rear.”
He sat on the settee, and showed her the paddle again. “Get over my knee.” When she didn’t move he tugged her forward so she fell with an apprehensive gasp across his lap.
Royston paused several moments to admire the skimpily clad buttocks thus presented. Her body felt warm and supple as he held her across his knees. She gasped again when he squeezed each plumply upthrust cheek in experimental delight, and whimpered uncomfortably as his fingers ran along the crease, feeling the indentation of her anus inside the skin-tight fabric.
This was a bottom he definitely desired to spank with his hand to start with, and he savoured the moment. Putting down the paddle, Royston began pleasurably to smack the knickered buttocks. He did not spare her. Firm, echoing spanks, hard and hefty, fell across her wriggling bottom, his hand favouring one wobbling cheek, then the other,
then both together, working up a robust rhythm that had the girl jerking and squealing until he grew embarrassingly erect and sweat broke out on his brow.
The more civilised part of Royston hoped the girl couldn’t feel his tumescence as her hip jerked against it with each succeeding slap to her plush young arse, but the rake in him rather wished that she would.
As the spanking continued, shorts around her ankles, the girl began to squirm harder across his lap and kick her legs as the scalding smacks intensified. Her hand reached urgently behind her in an effort
to protect her smarting rear, but he wrenched the hand away and continued to rain smacks on her delicious derrière.
With her bottom nicely ablaze, Royston paused. His own hand was stinging fiercely, so he had a fair idea of how her tender buttocks must be feeling. They had reached, he decided, the more intense phase of her punishment.
“Stop struggling!” he roared in her ear. “Be aware of why you’re being so soundly punished! And stop blubbing.“ For her body quivered across his thighs as sobs burst from her. “What you’ve experienced so far is nothing compared to what’s to come!”
Royston seized the ping-pong paddle. “You’re about her learn, young lady,” he bit out, “what a dragon’s breath feels like when played across your wicked little arse!”
Ho Jani squealed in dismay as he made to tug down her knickers. For several seconds they were locked in struggle, but the weeping girl couldn’t hope to win. With a final wrench from Royston her buttocks were fully bared, magnificently vulnerable.
There then followed, for the punished girl, the most painful minutes of her life. The paddle collided against her already smarting bottom-flesh with a series of echoing whacks, then more and more till her voice was hoarse with shrieking, raw with pleas. Each searing stroke echoed around the lounge of the
Old Hall, whose venerable walls had resounded to similar sounds of other female bottoms being vigorously dealt with over the years.
Splat! Splat! Splat! Splat! Splat! Each resonant impact was met by a tormented cry which blended one with the other into what became an agonised wailing that rang to the rafters, pierced doors and ran up stairways. But where once the servants would furtively gather to excitedly listen, and fine ladies fondled their own bustled behinds in dread tinged with fascination while awaiting their turn, now there were only the paintings and pictures of bygone occupants of the Old Hall to watch and listen.
Splat! Splat! Splat! Splat! Splat! For Ho Jani, it felt as if her previously pampered buttocks were truly on fire, as if the dragon etched into her rearward skin had indeed taken life and was belching jets of flame against her nether cheeks. At the moment when the girl felt she couldn’t possibly take another stroke, her punisher delivered a walloping smack of such force that she screamed, felt her bottom blaze up and grow numb; and Royston gave an amazed cry as the paddle broke, leaving only the shaft in his fist.
For several seconds both remained in the same position, panting – he to catch his breath, she to experience the fire in her behind diminish to a prickling smoulder. He could feel the damp from her tears on his trouser leg. “Young lady,” he said at last, “I may have broken the paddle on your wicked young bottom, but I’ve by no means finished with you yet.”
Dropping the broken pieces, he set to with his hand once more with even greater gusto, till the ringing smacks and her yells and pleas melded into a sound like a symphony to Royston’s dazed senses. Again and again his palm landed loud and hard, flattening the satiny bottom-flesh then springing back to full curvature ready for the next blistering smack. And the next, and the next, till Royston’s hand was smarting again and his spirits were soaring with a joy so intense that he felt he was in heaven.
At last, panting, he stopped. “Stand up!” he commanded.
The girl did so. Tentatively. Painfully. Her hands squeezed frenziedly at her burning nates as she stood shuddering before him, her face wet with tears of contrition and hurt. Her legs shook so much she could hardly stand. And just when she thought her ordeal must surely be over, Royston had another surprise.
Directing Ho Jani to stand with feet apart, he drew attention once again to the ring which pierced her vaginal labia. “You have felt the dragon’s breath,” he intoned. “Now you will feel the ruler’s bite on another part of your anatomy which has caused great offence to your employer.” He drew from his inside pocket one of his favourite implements, a school-type ruler with the motif teach me a lesson.
“I want you to stand very still. This will sting considerably, but I know you understand how gravely you have offended those who trusted you.”
Ho Jani gave a tiny nod. Royston measured the distance, braced himself and swung the ruler, which sped to the girl’s genital zone. She yelped at the hard slap across her pussy where the skin is most tender. Six times, with swift and accurate smacks, the ruler sped to its mark.
Slap! “Aaagh!” Slap! “Ohhh!” Slap!
“No, sir, please, I beg.” Smack! “Oww!” Her tears flowed afresh
at the stinging smart. Slap!
“I sorry. So sorry! Bad girl, me!” SLAP! A screech and the girl convulsed,
tears coursing. Her genitals flamed, she rubbed at them as if in the throes of masturbation, her pretty face contorted as in orgasm. When at last her gasps died down, the Chinese girl stared in new dread, for Royston had produced a broad leather belt and was flexing it in front of her with every evidence of anticipatory delight.
“No, sir…” she squealed. “No more can take!” “My dear,” Royston said in almost paternal tones, “there’s absolutely no point in protesting. I have something here that will sweeten up the dragon’s breath on that extremely scorched backside of yours.”
“Not hurt Ho Jani more,” she pleaded.
“Turn round and bend over.”
When the trembling girl didn’t move, Royston spun her to face the settee and doubled her steeply over so the chubby moons of her belaboured bottom seemed to be begging for yet more punishment. He swung back the leather and brought it hissing in to strike with a loud crack. She screeched, trampled feet; another walloping thwack had her sobbing anew, sucking in breath with a soprano wail.
Thwackk! The hurtling belt thrashed again across its target, igniting fresh furrows of burning in the soft cheeks. Several more times Royston brought it whistling in to slap loudly across the girl’s buttocks. Her legs trembled, but she managed to stay staunchly in place as yet more strokes blazed across her rear till she was bawling as never in her life before.
At last, satisfied, Royston stepped back. “Stand up,” he instructed. “You may rub.”
As indeed Ho Jani did, hands squeezing frenziedly at her belaboured backside.
“Pick up the broken paddle,” he ordered. “I want you to keep the pieces as a memento of what has happened to you here today, and why you were sent to me for punishment.” Still sniffling, the girl obeyed. “Now pull up your shorts and get out! I never want to see you here again. Do you understand?”
“Yes sir,” she managed. “Thank you, sir.”
As Ho Jani hobbled out, staring with a troubled frown at the broken
paddle in her hands, Royston watched the girl go. It felt good to have discharged one’s duties so satisfactorily. Why, he thought, a man could get used to this sort of thing.
“Here’s to you, Hilary,” he murmured with a smile, “wherever you are. You’d have been proud of me today.”
His words echoed to silence in the stillness of the Old Hall, but somewhere he seemed to hear a laugh.