A Janus Spanking Story
Helen Daniels had not even bothered to wait for Lady Marsha Tewkesbury to formally dismiss her. …
A caning story from Janus.
The box arrived at the Old Hall that afternoon. It had been shipped by RoboBabeTM Industries of California and took two men to unload and unpack it. Unable to resist the improbable sales blurb, Royston Arnold had ordered a prototype model of the thing it contained while on his travels to the USA. …
Wanton Spirits – The Cane for Ameila Green
Sir Elias awaits. Sir Elias expects. In his own controlled, contained way, Sir Elias lusts. And soon, satisfaction will be knocking on his door.
Quite literally. …
‘Is that all they wear?’ Michela held up the thin, open backed surgical gown. ‘Hardly decent. Won’t even cover their bottoms.’
‘They show much more than that.’ The Chief Warden’s smile grew sweetly sadistic. A prim, fitted uniform and robust figure gave authoritative presence to a woman who clearly stood no nonsense. ‘A criminal’s naked backside must be visible for punishment to be given, and seen to be given. Besides, humiliation through exposure during chastisement is equally important as the chastisement itself. It’s a great deterrent.’
‘I agree, though I wouldn’t like to wear it myself.’ Michela dropped the garment back over the punishment stool and examined the row of flex canes lining the wall. She was a tall, vivacious girl with slender figure and high rounded bust, the sort that made women envious and men lustful. Superior in manner and presence, she carried herself with an air of certainty which came from belief in belonging to an upper class. Born in the two hundredth and fifty-first century where the populace comprised seventy-five percent women, she confidently believed only the beautiful and domineering could succeed. ‘Where’s the girl? You may bring her now. I wish to start the interview immediately,’ she said and selected a cane, swishing it in test, ready for the unfortunate girl’s arrival. When the Warden shrugged in puzzlement Michela tapped the cane impatiently against her booted calf, light glistening over the moon spun silk of her long matching skirt and tunic, the cloth clinging to every curvaceous mound and crescent of her lovely body.
* * *
She had chosen the outfit not for this occasion, but the interview she attended earlier that afternoon with Miss Juliet Hawthorn, owner and editor of Venus News, the leading all female newspaper in Euro Zone One. As a rising journalist, Michela was eager to be on Miss Juliet’s staff, prepared to go any distance in achieving success.
She had hoped the interview would be conducted in private, but was disappointed to find an assistant present, a girl barely from her teens, short, petite, with full breasts visible beneath a translucent blouse, her hips surrounded in a cling wrap micro skirt.
Miss Juliet and the girl sat side by side behind a crystal table. A single, high backed chair stood in front. Beyond the glass walls, hover pods scurried along the airways carrying their passengers between the ten colossal pyramids which formed the mid millennium city of London.
‘Please sit,’ Miss Juliet indicated the chair. ‘This is Tara, my assistant for the day. She has arranged all the details for your test assignment.’
‘Yes Miss Hawthorn,’ Michela answered in a measured and respectful voice. She found Tara’s look and smile more of cynical examination than welcome. She took an immediate dislike to her.
‘You come highly recommended,’ Miss Juliet said, ‘but in applying for a position on my staff you must, like all applicants to Venus News, undergo a test assignment. I wish to know your tenacity in finding the truth and facts of any given news item.’
‘I go all the way, Miss Juliet. No hold barred.’ Michela breathed deeply so her breasts rose beneath the silk sheen of her jacket.
‘You are aware,’ she continued, ‘the Government has re-introduced corporal punishment for the caning of petty criminals, both men and women alike. How do you stand on this matter?’
‘I’m all for it,’ Michela said, praying this was the woman’s approved view.
‘And women. What do you think of them caning women? Sometimes in public. Does it not degrade?’
Michela chose her words with political care. ‘I believe it wrong to cane women of respectability, but for the habitual criminals who disgrace our community, I feel it’s a pity they did not get thrashed when young.’
‘You wouldn’t like it?’ asked Tara.
‘Nobody would like it,’ Michela said in dismissal. ‘That’s the whole point. The cane may sting but the humiliation involved during its administration is the real punishment.’
‘Tara would love it,’ Miss Juliet stroked the girl’s cheek making her blush at the suggestion. ‘She loves to be spanked. A good caning would send her into ecstasy. Have you ever been spanked?’ she asked Michela.
It was Michela’s turn to blush. ‘I was slippered once by the head girl at school. I was sixteen, she was eighteen.’
‘And did she take your knickers down?’ Tara mocked.
‘Certainly not. I was chastened as befitting a young lady.’
‘I bet she put her finger inside you. I bet she had you off.’
‘She did not!’ Michela said indignantly, burning with the memory of the prefect’s touch, of her fingers working slowly amidst the oils of her young vagina, her body held helpless over the senior’s knee until drawn to unforgettable climax.
‘What a boring life you’ve had,’ Tara quipped tartly.
‘That’s enough,’ Miss Juliet said. ‘You will be punished for your rudeness and Michela shall watch.’
‘But Miss Juliet,’ the girl protested.
‘Miss Juliet nothing. You’re in for a good spanking my girl.’
She rose from the desk and crossed to sit in regal splendour on a rolled back couch, her split skirt parting to reveal firm thighs and lace top stockings.
‘Come here Tara,’ Miss Juliet ordered. Reluctantly the girl crossed to her boss’s side and stood with head bowed.
Michela turned her chair for a better view. A tingle of excitement flicker within the moist confines of her vagina.
‘Remove your knickers and bend over my knee,’ Miss Juliet ordered. Tara glanced in wilful hostility towards Michela but did as requested.
Michela sensed a bubble of excitement tingle at the back of her spine while she watched the girl comply in submissive obedience. She lay with her stomach flat across the other woman’s lap, her head almost to the floor, her legs straight and angled behind, her bobbed hair falling slightly forward and her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
Miss Juliet stroked the cherub roundness of Tara’s rear with open pleasure, fondling the naked buttocks offered upwards in such vulnerable exposure. It became blatantly clear to Michela she had spanked Tara, and possibly other girls, many times before and she realised that in accepting a post she would almost certainly be spanked herself.
Miss Juliet confirmed her fears. This is how I keep order over the staff of Venus News. Any
misdemeanour, infringement of policy or laziness on the job is punishable by a good spanking. Are you willing to accept this rule?’
‘Yes Miss Juliet,’ Michela said, her sex felt on fire.
‘Corporal punishment comes in many forms but for a young girl it is usually the cane, the strap and most enjoyable, the open palm of the hand. The physical contact between administrator and receiver could not be more intimate. Their vulvas pressed one above the other. So close yet distanced by domination and control. Take this as your first lesson. If you’re a boss, you’ll need to spank your juniors.’
‘Please don’t,’ Tara pleaded with a touch of the theatrical. ‘Not in front of her.’
‘Stay quiet girl or I’ll have Michela spank you also.’
‘I would enjoy that,’ Michela said, eager to participate.
Miss Juliet raised her hand and brought it down with a resounding slap. Tara squealed. ‘Any noise and you will get double,’ Miss Juliet told her. Six more times she repeated the hard and measured chastisement then waited and watched the red blush of pain start to colour Tara’s taut little buttocks. Michela unconsciously pushed one hand down between her legs, conscious of a growing wetness that bubbled with excitement.
‘You will observe the first flush of pinkness across the girl’s skin and notice I have spanked each cheek over the full roundness of her buttocks. I find this part the firmest and most sensuous area of contact, a delight beneath the hand and where I shall concentrate my efforts. The more the same place is spanked, the greater her backside will sting, and the more it stings, the more she will have excuse to wriggle against me.’ Again she raised her hand, bringing the palm down with full force. Forbidden to cry out, Tara, as predicted, began to wriggle. Miss Juliet continued her chastisement. By the end of the twelfth slap the girl’s skin had turned from pink to red and her hips were squirming over Miss Juliet’s lap in apparent effort to ease the pain. But it soon became apparent her movements were not involuntary.
‘Do you realise what she’s doing?’ Michela pointed.
‘Of course, she’s masturbating herself against my leg, trying to climax before I cease her punishment. I shall find it most pleasant to disappoint her. At this moment she would not change places with anyone but my enjoyment comes from forbidding her gratification. To delve into the exquisite power of blending pain and sensuality. It is an achievement few ever realise. Enough,’ she ordered and pushed Tara away. Both watched the girl pull on her knickers, wincing as the white lace stretched over her skin.
‘You may go now Tara,’ Miss Juliet dismissed. ‘Check all the arrangements are in place for Michela’s assignment and let us know immediately the prisoner is available for interview.’
When Tara had left, Miss Juliet crossed to a drinks cabinet where she poured smooth, amber liquid into two cut glasses. She passed one to Michela. ‘Here’s to control,’ she toasted.
Michela sipped. She found the drink sweet but with a pleasant after taste that for reasons she did not understand heightened her smouldering libido. ‘My,’ she pressed herself. ‘This does strange things.’
‘A little aphrodisiac developed in space. One of those exquisite discoveries only available to the seriously wealthy. It causes acute sensitivity of the skin and erogenous zones. Even the breath of one’s lover can recreate a climax. I take a glass each day. One of life’s little pleasures for a rich and lonely woman.’
‘There is no need for loneliness,’ Michela gently moved her pelvis forward allowing her Venus mound to press against the other woman’s upper thigh.
Miss Juliet’s hand slid behind and fondled the taut firmness of Michela’s buttocks. ‘So beautiful,’ she murmured. ‘How I look forward to having you in my stable.’
‘Sorry to interrupt,’ Tara called from the doorway in a bitchy voice. ‘The woman is to be caned in less than thirty minutes. We must go immediately.’
Miss Juliet drew back. ‘I want your article on my desk by nine this evening, bring it personally.’
‘I shall not fail you Miss Juliet, I promise.’
‘Good,’ Miss Juliet dismissed. ‘I think you’re going to be a star, don’t you Tara?’
‘She certainly is,’ Tara said with an evil smile.
Michela followed her from the room almost in a dream, her sexual drive at full burn, her mind wild with ambition. Every wish had come true, one simple article and she would have both career and Miss Juliet’s bed.
Tara stayed silent as they travelled in a private lift from the three hundred and twentieth floor of the city pyramid to where the Law Courts were situated on the two hundred and fifth. Michela felt a sense of satisfaction that Tara did not sit.
Once beyond the lift gates they walked towards the Law Courts on the opposite side of the public square. Near the glass walls a raised platform held cross bars and whipping posts, their shadows cast in long lines by the setting sun that orbed in the sky beyond. Surrounding the stage, giant television screens hung from wires so allowing a circular view for every spectator.
In the Court House Tara spoke briefly to a receptionist who summoned the Chief Warden. The woman beckoned Michela to follow down a long soulless corridor. Tara remained in Reception, both hands holding the glow beneath her skirt.
Michela’s keen senses became invaded by the building’s institutional smell and authoritarian atmosphere. She did not care for the place. Its effect was sobering but not enough to stop the bubbling sensuality which flowed within her body.
‘This way,’ the Warden ushered her into a room. A dozen chairs stood in semi-circle around a high, padded bench. ‘The caning stool,’ she indicated and picked up a short open backed surgical gown lying across the leather. ‘We often get reporters in here but few who would break the law for a story. But remember, we are now committed, there is no turning back.’
‘The truth must be evaluated. It is a journalistic duty,’ Michela said pedantically and held up the gown. ‘Is that all they wear, it’s hardly decent, won’t even cover their bottoms.’
‘They show more than that. Humiliation by exposure is as much a part of the criminal’s punishment as caning.’
‘I agree. Though I wouldn’t like to wear it myself. Where’s the girl?’
‘We let her go. Too dangerous for her to stay. A lot of people have taken a big chance for your boss, even my own. But then power and money speak.’
‘But how am I to interview her?’
‘Interview?’ The Warden shook her head. ‘That girl Tara did not arrange for an interview. She arranged for you to take the offender’s place.’
Michela stood in silent shock, her mouth open, unable to believe the Warden’s words. ‘But,’ she stuttered. ‘I cannot. I will not.’
‘You volunteered. You put yourself on the line as a reporter to learn the effects on a woman chastised. People have risked their jobs to set this up. Mine included. I’m afraid you’re in for a well caned backside, young lady. Now take off your clothes, including your knickers and put the punishment gown on.’
Michela stayed still, dazed and uncertain. ‘But,’ she repeated.
‘But nothing. Now hurry They’ll by here soon.’ She checked her watch.
‘This is impossible, a mistake. It’s that little bitch Tara, she’s turned everything around. You can’t cane me. I’m from society.’ Michela began to tremble.
‘You’ve no choice. If you back out now you’ll be charged with perverting the course of justice and considering the nature of what you are doing, you’ll almost certainly be sentenced to a caning. Either way, this is going to happen, so go willingly or do it the hard way.’
Michela felt the dread of realisation, of being trapped without choice. ‘How many are coming?’ she asked, trying to reconcile herself with the inescapable outcome of her situation.
‘Two assistant Wardens and a lady doctor.’
‘Only three,’ she said as if to convince herself over the inevitability of her predicament. She clutched the neck of her blouse in modesty and thought of the promised career on offer from Miss Juliet along with the sweet revenge to be inflicted on Tara when the time came. ‘Okay,’ she accepted. ‘If there really is no choice, then I must. It can’t be that bad. So long as nobody finds out, or realises my true identity.’ She began to undress, turning her back on the Chief Warden while she slipped on the hospital gown, tugging at the indelicacy of its length and the open back. Such exposure brought an overwhelming body blush and to her shame, a heightening of sexual excitement.
The Warden knelt to clip metal rings around each ankle and a further set to her wrists. ‘Electronic magnets,’ she informed. ‘They won’t bind you, but will hold you firmly in position. It is better you do not move. The Punishment Administrator needs careful aim.’
While she spoke, two Wardens entered pulling a four wheeled trolley which held a stout metal pole rising vertically from the platform. They were followed by the female doctor who shone a vision scan into Michela’s eyes then parted the rear of her gown, testing the taut, muscular buttocks beneath. ‘Fine healthy specimen,’ she declared. ‘No problems.’
‘I am a lady and don’t you forget it!’ Michela stated loudly, trying to retain some dignity. ‘Now, what am I to do, bend over the bench?’
‘No you stand up here.’ The Warden led her to the trolley, stepping her up and raising her arms so wrists and ankles became attached to the pole by powerful magnetic force.
‘Come on then,’ Michela said, bracing her posterior. ‘Get it over with.’
‘Not here. This sentence is for multi, repetitive crime. You’re going out onto the main square. You’re going to be caned in public. You’ll be on television, a star in every home.’
‘No!’ Michela squealed in panic, her last vestige of bravado crumbling. ‘You can’t,’ she struggled, desperate to escape while the trolley was turned and wheeled out into the corridor. The amber liquid so pleasantly taken in Miss Juliet’s room increased her sense of vulnerability as she remained helplessly fastened. She was aware of every touch and movement, her whole body vibrant with sensitivity. ‘I can’t go like this,’ she protested. ‘I’m not dressed. People can see me. Please, they’ll laugh.’
‘Don’t fight it young lady’ the Warden advised. ‘Simply do as instructed and it will be over before you realise.’
Michela wriggled and squirmed in horror as the trolley was wheeled into the Reception. She could feel the air on her back and humiliation on her face. ‘How dare you expose me. I’m from society, people know me. You can’t take me into public, please.’ She twisted on the pole, eyes pleading to their indifference. A moment later the little group emerged onto the marble square and entered into the glare of TV cameras.
People milled in their hundreds. They sauntered from dinner to clubs, from theatres to parties, wandered in groups or couples, interrupting their early evening entertainment to see the spectacle of corporal punishment.
Michela looked towards the sloping glass wall of the pyramid where the platform she had passed with Tara stood in sinister silhouette against the blaze of lights. Before and behind, giant monitor screens gave opposing views for the benefit of spectators. She moaned her despair on realising the spectacle they intended to make of her, but gave no resistance when the Wardens unlocked her from the trolley and led her up onto the platform.
Above the level of the crowd she felt the horror of her isolation, realising she had became one entity and the spectators another. For the first time she heard her name called. She wanted to dissolve into air and squirmed with embarrassment as they removed the hospital gown. She was given no time to protest. Her wrists were immediately lifted and attached to the bar by magnetic force. At the same time they parted her legs and secured her ankles. Spread-eagled and naked she was held on display for all to see. She cringed at her enforced exposure and was devoured by shame on seeing her image mirrored four times life size on every screen, her stretched figure viewed from every angle. She saw her naked back and the taut front of her body, the dark heart of curls which crowned her pubic mound, hair so carefully shaved and plucked in the privacy of her bathroom was now revealed for public amusement. People who had dithered in half interest pressed closer, drawn by a collective voyeurism that overcame any moral reluctance to witness the degrading of some unfortunate. Men smirked with the unexpected pleasure of being allowed open examination of a naked female, while women gave no sympathy. To them, Michela was a betrayer of feminine modesty and they indulged their secret fantasies in self-righteousness. Tara pushed to the front, arms folded, a sadistic smile curved on her pretty face.
Michela began to shake, unable to contain her sense of utter degradation. On screen she watched a prim young woman in a dark business suit mount the platform behind. She carried a document in one hand and a thin pliable cane in the other. Without waiting for attention she began to read from the charge sheet.
‘Prisoner six three one, has been charged and found guilty of the following crimes. Prostitution, common assault, theft and forgery and will receive four strokes for each offence. Any objections may be sent in writing to the Criminal Justice Network. This law enforcement is sponsored by Soft Hands Domestic Soaps and carried out by the Civil and Social Control Department. Live coverage is provided by in-house TV. Sentence will now commence.’
Michela looked to the screen and saw the young woman fold and place the paper in her pocket before conferring with a man in headphones. She moved to stand a pace behind, tapping the cane on her leg, waiting the Studio Director’s instruction.
‘So, you’d like to give me a spanking would you?’ Tara called out. ‘Well, see how you enjoy a real whipping, because I’m going to enjoy watching you get it.’
Michela closed her eyes as she felt the cane rest on the prominent curve of her rear. The sound of the crowd gradually hushed. Michela waited. She had no idea what to expect. The vulnerability of her position left her without any degree of physical or mental protection, coupled with the aphrodisiac she had drunk, such public exposure caused her to feel an acute sensitivity which she found impossible to suppress. She was aware of the young woman’s perfume, the quiver of her own breath. She felt the air touch her skin, was conscious of every root of hair, of the soles of her feet, of her toenails, of the stretch of muscle pulling the arch of her back taut and narrow.
The swing of the cane sounded with a whispering hiss before laying its burning sting over the fullness of her backside. Michela gasped more in surprise than pain. On the screen she watched with the crowd as a single red welt rose across the round swell of her white buttocks. She saw the intensity of the faces around her, saw Tara hug herself with pleasure. The second stroke landed almost on the first bringing an involuntary squeal of protest and Michela lost the last element of pride. Again the cane laid its smarting strip over the fullness of her rear. She began to wriggle, hoping the movement might lessen the slow measured strokes that repeatedly flamed across her. The gyrations gave no relief but coupled with her ultra sensitivity the movements started an inner and unbridled arousal. In mind and body masochistic passion began to possess every fibre of her being. This was the moment she had inwardly feared and dreaded, the awakening of uncontrollable urges that transformed her humiliation into her own sexual exploitation. She was behaving as Tara. Girl lovers had indulged her in private, but now was the realisation of secret fantasies in inescapable reality. Losing any will or desire to control herself she surrendered to her own gratification. She began offering herself to each stroke. Thrusting backwards and accepting the cane’s impetus to drive her forwards, metaphorically accepting the penetration of all present. She wallowed in her defencelessness, in her total humiliation and the secretion of juices which rose in her body and wet the lips of her shaven vulva. The scathing flame that flushed across the round of her buttocks now mingled its fire with the pulsing muscles of her pelvis, clutched and released in wanton stimulation. She demeaned her own body, debasing herself before all who watched, knowing she made them as helpless to her own gratification as she was to theirs. Convulsing the inner core of her pelvis she spiralled to the release of climatic ecstasy. She abandoned herself to lust and self degradation, feeling the fire of her libido born with an intensity far greater than the cane inflicted on her skin. The repeated sting of pain coupled with the flush of her scarlet buttocks shown in close-up on the screen, drove her to new, unparalleled heights. She shivered and squirmed, clutching and releasing the muscles of her sex. She saw the young woman standing behind fixed with concentrated effort, executing each stroke with precision, unwittingly participating in her victim’s self indulgence. The sadism of those who watched triggered the start of a new and drawn orgasm and Michela shuddered in open climax, relishing the disgust of those who witnessed while mentally straddling their outrage like an offered phallus.
The final stroke left her buttocks scorched with molten fire. Sixteen blistering welts joined in a flame of smarting skin which gave an inner fulfilment never before realised.
‘You wanton whore!’ Tara shouted in anger and stamped her foot. ‘You’re not meant to enjoy it!’
Michela simmered and licked her tongue over moist lips. When they took her down and stood her on the trolley she relinquished all modesty and control. Rubbing herself against the pole, wetting its surface with the moisture of lust, staring into the cameras, pouting for all who had taken her.
‘Don’t keep her too long,’ Miss Juliet told the warden. ‘She has an article to complete.’
‘DO YOU THINK, IF WE ASK NICELY, HE’LL BIRCH US?
Jilly laughed; but Jane left.
Peggy sighed: ‘Jane’s feminism in not worn lightly – even in Vienna!’
‘Let’s go and apologise….’
Dull, conciliatory, Jilly. Peggy had often wondered how she had got on the same course. Then one day she saw her in suspenders…
Jane, on her bed, was grunting agreement with ‘The Guardian’,
‘I’m sorry, Jane. When I saw that dish birching his Lipizzaner stallion, I thought we could hire him for the night…’
Jane turned to the Women’s Page. Peggy snatched it from her hand: ‘God knows, something’s got to happen.’
Jane covered her face. She confessed: ‘I was thinking the same. A regular whipping across the bare, is the only way I shall pass these exams…’
The two other women stared. Was this right-on Jane?
‘I’ll run back to the Spanish Riding School….’
‘No, Peggy. No fascist in a silly hat takes my knickers down! Let’s ask Tim!’
Peggy and Jilly fell about.
Tim, the Course Organiser. Tim with his open sandals and herb teas! New Age, wimpish, bearded Tim. Jane could not be serious.
‘I’ve been looking at his C.V. in the Prospectus. He has taught in a few controversial establishments over the last five years. He must know one end of a cane from another….’
Peggy looked doubtful.
‘It’s out of the question.’
Tim nearly dropped his bowl of muesli.
Jane continued: ‘We’ve been paid to study computer technology. We are about to fail our exams. We blame you!’
‘Blame yourselves! Blame Vienna! The cafes, the Opera, the Balls….But don’t blame me!’
‘Discipline here is non-existant. We will inform our companies. Unless you cane us. Once a week. Every week.
‘I disapprove of corporal punishment.’
‘But you know how to cane?’
‘Then cane! We need inspiration!’
‘Where can I find a cane in Austria…’
‘Anywhere. Any stick will do.’
Tim exploded: ‘You know nothing! A cane must be made of a flexible substance-like rattan. Otherwise it will bruise the buttocks and the weals will be short. The art of canng is to produce a stinging, painful, lengthy weal that runs right round the hip without breaking the skin a weal like two thin tram0tracks that will last for a minimum of three weeks….’
Tim was off….
‘A weal that cannot be sat on for at least five days….’
Tim saw the girls were staring at him. He turned red.
Peggy was the first to speak: ‘Then get a cane from England. We’ll give you the air-fare.’
Jane was next: ‘How were your other miscreants dressed when you beat them…?’
‘In pyjamas and dressing gown. They would take off their dressing gowns and bend over…’
‘Then we’ll do the same,’ said Peggy.
‘I have been manipulated.’
Tim looked up from his journal as the plane came in to land.
He added: ‘For the whipping to work, their wills must bend to mine.’
The shop in New Oxford Street, where he had bought his first punishment cane, no longer stocked them.
‘The bottom seems to have dropped out of the market, sir. Try a sex shop…’
That summed it up. Tim had stopped caning because he enjoyed it. He had fled from himself. he had become a New Man.
He flexed a slender cane in a Soho shop. He felt its power, And with it the return of his mastery. He became , once more, the brilliant graduate, ready to conquer the world. And he would start, as many before him, in Vienna.
At ten o’clock, that evening he entered the common room. The women were in pyjamas and dressing gowns.
Tim swished the cane: ‘Dressing gowns off and hold your ankles!’
The girls shook. The girls obeyed. They lined up and bent over.
Tim yanked their pyjama bottoms downto their ankles, then pushed their jackets to the nape of their necks.
He studied the naked girls and then he decided.
‘I refuse to cane you dressed like this! It is totally inappropriate for young women in Vienna. I will whip you tomorrow evening at the Prater,Vienna Style! ‘You will dress in your best suspenders, pants and gowns. You will ride with me on the Ferris Wheel. Here are you tickets and times…. He laid one ticket in each girl’s bottom crack: then he was gone.
The girls were in and out of each others rooms, parading suspenders, swapping pants.
Each took a long, scented bath: and each fingered her buttocks….
The girls took a taxi to the Fairground. The famous Ferris Wheel, suspended by wires, floated in the sky.
One of the carriages had curtains and a table. it came to rest on the ground. Tim, glass in hand, stepped out.
His beard was gone. he was in evening dress. He looked handsome and dark. Like the devil….
‘Jilly, take champagne with me!’
How Jane would hate that ‘sir’!
Her long, gartered legs began to tremble as she entered the carriage, Tim closed the door. The carriage swept into the air…
Jane and Peggy watched the Ferris Wheel from the adjacent cafe. They watched each carriage fill with people. Then, halfway up, they saw the curtains in Tim’s carriage close…
They sipped coffee.They sipped brandy. Then half-way down the curtains opened again. The girls left their drinks to greet Jilly.
Her step was uncertain, but her eyes sparkled.
‘Peggy , you’re next.’
She entered the carriage, baffled.
Jane took Jilly to the cafe.
‘I’d prefer to stand at the bar…’
Jane touched her hand and ordered a brandy.
‘So what happened?;
Jilly looked round at an Austrian girl in the corner.
‘She’s a country girl. She won’t speak English.’
‘I don’t want to steal your experience…’
This was not Jilly. Something had happened.
The two women watched the Ferris Wheel in silence. #Tim;s carriage was halfway up: the curtains closed.
Jilly sipped her brandy.
‘What happened? Tell me! Please!’
Jane was desperate. Jilly relented.
‘When I entered the carriage, Tim poured me a glass of champagne…
‘He invited me rto sit, to look over the lights of the fairground. Then as the carriage rose higher, the lights of Vienna….
‘Sounds soon out-ravished the sights. Strauss waltzes, Lehar waltzes, from cafes and ballrooms, from bandstands in parks, mingled in the night air to one great dance….
‘Tim told me too close the curtains and strip. I felt stupendous! Yet so attractive. And, in your tiny pants, so right…’
‘In one movement he undid my bra, slipped off your pants and laid me over his lap. I knew then, for certain, I pleased him…
‘I shall spank till the carriage reaches it’s apex,’ he said.’And then, Jilly, I shall cane.’
She gave a cry. The curtained carriage had reached it’s highest point.
She closed her eyes. For the first time her hands moved to her buttocks. Tears welled and fell.
Was she crying for Peggy – or crying for herself?
Pershaps wshe was crying for all three…
‘What’s happening to her?’
‘Her legs are wide apart. Red-arsed and raw from her spankiong, she is gripping the far end of the table. She is counting the strokes for Tim. And thanking him for them…’
‘What is she feeling?’
‘Liberation. Her cries are mingling with the cries from the Fairground. The crack of the cane is taking its rhythm from the Waltz…’
‘Is it agony?’
‘The first stroke is intolerable. ‘I screamed, stood and clutched my buttocks.
‘But Tim was kind. He eased me over the table again.The whipping proceeded: pain ceased.
‘It changed to something else, something I cannot name.
I was still sobbing. My backside was cut.
‘But I was a sacrifice to my own divinity.
‘My head exploded in stars…’
‘Did you stay in place after the first cut?’
‘My bottom did. But my spirits rode in air…’
The Wheel moved again. The curtained carriage started its descent.
‘Now Tim is rubbing cream into Jane’s buttocks. He is wiping her eyes. He is helping her into her bra and pants…’
The two girls left the cafe to greet Peggy.
The girl in the dirndl hovered by the door…
Peggy, dazzled, wept. Jilly led her to the cafe. Jane took her place.
The two girls, hand in hand, watched the wheel’s progress; past and present danced.
The curtained carriage reached its zenith.
The girls unlocked their hands.
They sought each others stripes…
The whirl was over. Jane strode out of the carriage, thrashed, but in command.
‘Come on, girls. We’ll take Tim out to dinner. Vienna Style.’
The three turned. it wa the girl in the dirndl. She spoke perfect English.
‘I will take a ride with you, Tim. In true Vienna Style!’
The girls stared. Tim laughed. The carriage was off.
The three went back to the bar and ordered brandies. They looked at the carriage. Its curtains closed. it began to sway.
Jane, laughing in spite of her weals, posed the question: ‘What Vienna Style did she mean….?