A Janus Spanking Story
Helen Daniels had not even bothered to wait for Lady Marsha Tewkesbury to formally dismiss her. After her previous major foul-ups, feeding chocolate to a champion jumper, which later turned up as an illegal substance in a dope test, then over-galloping a show jumper and crocking its ankle just before a major competition, she had suffered serious consequences. The crop had been applied to her bottom by Lady Tewkesbury herself, then her Ladyship’s lecherous accountant Rupert Purbright had caned her, both after a bare-bottom spanking (Janus 152 and 154).
But this latest mistake was too serious, and one she knew was unlikely to be dealt with by a painful and humiliating session of nude corporal punishment. After exercising Lochgelly Legend, a top steeplechaser, she had brought him back to the yard with every intention of walking him round to cool off. Distracted by a call on her mobile, she had left him standing. He had drunk from a carelessly-placed water bucket and caught a chill, which was only prevented from turning into colic by prompt but expensive action by the local vet.
Helen had moved out of her accommodation over the stables the same night without waiting to be told. Moving to a new town, she realised the horse world was probably not for her, much as she loved the beasts, and decided to concentrate on her second love. She would try to make it as a dancer.
And so here she was, back in the dance studio, staying behind after the rest of the class had gone. She had her first major audition coming up so needed the extra practice. She decided to start with some ballet exercises, so had dressed in layers to keep herself warm. She sat on the bench, carefully lacing her ballet shoes, and was so engrossed in getting the tapes done correctly that she never heard the door.
“Miss Daniels?” She looked up to see a middle-aged man had entered the room. His grey tweed jacket, blue chinos and bow tie made him appear completely out of place in a dance studio, but he had an air of self-confidence which Helen found slightly unsettling. “My name is Don Lambert” he said, without waiting for the obvious question. “We have a mutual friend”.
“We do?” Helen was confused, and not a little afraid.
“Lady Marsha Tewkesbury”. Helen blanched at the mention of her former, and very powerful, employer. “We share some of the same… interests”.
“You’re a horse trainer too?” “Goodness no!” Don chuckled at the very idea of himself on a horse. “No my dear, Lady Tewkesbury and I became acquainted through our mutual belief in the value of corporal punishment for recalcitrant girls”.
“Oh indeed Miss Daniels! And Lady Tewkesbury told me all about your dreadful record. Including your final and most serious mistake, which I’m told could easily have cost the life of a horse worth hundreds of thousands of pounds! And even worse, she was appalled at the way you just ran away from your responsibility, so she asked me to find you. Guessing that you’d be retraining for a new career, and my background being in education, all it took was a couple of phone calls”.
Helen stood to confront this menacing stranger, but found herself strangely cowed by his presence and natural authority. “In my pocket I have the vet’s bill for treating Lochgelly Legend. It comes to quite a pretty penny, I can tell you. Lady Tewkesbury asked me to give it to you, and says she expects settlement at the earliest opportunity”.
Helen was flabbergasted. “But I…I could never afford that!”
“Her Ladyship suspected as much” Don replied, “and also told me to offer you an alternative”.
“Alternative” Don repeated. “And I think you know what it is”. He advanced towards the girl, taking her arm, but she tried to pull away. This only seemed to make him more determined. “Now Miss Daniels! You know there’s no point resisting. Naughty girls must be punished!”
Helen was cowed into submission. It seemed wherever she went Lady Tewkesbury, or one of her agents, would find her. Better to just take whatever this awful man intended to give her, and then try to forget she had ever met any of this awful crowd.
“So you’re a ballerina now, are you? Let’s see if you’re any better at that than you were as a stable girl. How flexible are you?” She stared at him, nonplussed. “Get down and lift your legs!” Don barked at her.
Helen quickly complied, and found the man pulling her feet back, crudely exposing her bottom cheeks through her tight leotard.
The first spanks began to land. Helen had expected them, but still they hurt. She grimaced as Don Lambert’s hand smacked again and again against her vulnerable flesh, the pain intensified by her position, her buttock muscles fully flexed.
Then the sensation became more intense. Craning her neck, Helen saw he had produced a brown strap, its tail cut into two strips, which he was now using enthusiastically on her haunches. She groaned and writhed, but he held her legs fast, and there was no escape. Warming to his task, Don took off his own jacket.
For the next half-hour she was put through her paces more rigorously than any dance teacher she had ever had. He made her stretch, bend and hold in all manner of positions.
Finally he let her up, but if she thought this meant an end to her latest ordeal, she was mistaken. “You’re getting hot” he told her. “I think you need to remove some of those layers”. At first she refused, but quickly found her T-shirt being dragged up and over her head and arms, and then taken from her completely. Gradually she was stripped naked, her leotard eventually dragged down her body, despite her protests, revealing her small but pert breasts.
He made her go up on point, facing one of the studio’s doors, and used the strap on her again and again. He ran his hand over her compact little bottom, as if assessing the heat he had already generated and its ability to take further punishment.
Just when she thought he had finished, Don played his final card. Fetching the cane he had left just outside the door, he brandished it in front of the terrified Helen. She remembered the excruciating agony of the strokes she had received from Rupert Purbright, and the prospect of receiving another dose filled her with horror.
“Down on the bench!” she was curtly ordered, “face down, bottom up!” Tearfully Helen stretched into position, her trained limbs pulling her in directions ordinary mortals could only dream of. Standing behind her, Don aimed the cane at his tempting target. Raising it high, he brought it down with a “swish!” and a “crack!”
Helen gasped, and then her squeal of pain filled the dance studio. Don was unmoved. He simply raised the cane again and delivered another full-blooded swipe. Again and again he caned the naked girl, her cries and pleas for mercy merely music to his ears. ???Cruel to be kind’ was his motto, and he knew this lesson was nothing compared to what would have been in store for Helen, had Lady Marsha got her hands on the recalcitrant little miss.
After delivering eighteen harsh strokes, Don picked up his jacket and collected the tools of his most unusual trade. “I think we can call it quits on the vet’s bill” he told the sobbing girl. “Good luck with your dancing” he added, a barely-disguised note of sarcasm in his voice. “I’ve had a chat with your teacher, who
I actually know quite well. You never know, if you don’t reach expectations, we may be meeting again very soon”.
And with that, Don Lambert was gone.