My Janus Weekend – Part Two

Fiona Lewison shares more about her weekend of continuing therapy in an old house in the country with creaking stairs, draughty corridors and a menacing figure of authority watching her every move…

my janus weekend spanking


6.30am I slept really well and I’m in a more positive mood. My breakfast will be brought to my room at 7.30pm, by which time I have to be showered and in my housecoat and knickers, so I’ve got a bit of time to reflect on last night. I think the initial feelings of unhappiness and isolation were quite understandable, but they seem to have lifted with the new day and I feel much better. I had a look at my bottom in the mirror as soon as I got up, and it’s fine. There are no marks, not that I was really expecting any after a spanking. No doubt tomorrow morning will be a different matter.

I opened the curtains and there’s an extensive garden at the back which I would love to explore. Perhaps it’ll be a reward if I behave myself and do well in the tasks, whatever they may be. I realise now that I want to do well, not because I’ll be punished if I don’t, but because I want to impress Maurice. I want to be a good girl. It sounds silly, but it means a lot to me right now.

I also realise this morning that I got a lot of satisfaction from obeying Maurice’s instructions last night. I did everything exactly right, and I think I’m justified in feeling proud. Like I’ve accomplished something. I’m one of those women who enjoys the company of a sensitively dominant male, and I suppose this is just an extension of that feeling. OK, it’s a little extreme like this, and the circumstances are not what you’d call ‘normal’, but it’s nevertheless the same thing. I’m taking it to a much higher level, and it excites me. It fills me with dread too, but I guess that’s the point.

I must get ready now.

7.35am Susan has just brought my breakfast (a boiled egg, some toast and a pot of tea), and informed me that Maurice will see me in the study at 8.15am. She was briskly efficient, but kind and friendly, and asked whether I had everything I needed. I still feel embarrassed in her presence, but it was nice to have some contact with another woman, however brief. Of course, I can’t help wondering what she thinks of me. Mildly ‘kinky’? An outright pervert? Or perhaps a lucky girl? I have simply no idea. More intriguingly, is she into this too? Is she punished by Maurice when she slips up? Goodness me, what a thought.

8.40am I’m back in my room with a list of today’s instructions and tasks. I have to report for treatments 2, 3 and 4 at 9.30am, 2.30pm and 6pm respectively. I’m not afraid. I’m going to do well. I have two tasks. Maurice has a collection of around 300 rare books, and I will have to sort them into categories and arrange them alphabetically on the shelves in the study. I like books, so this is not too onerous. And this evening, I have to serve dinner as it’s Susan’s night off. Again, I can do that as long as it’s not too complicated. It’s my chance to shine. If I’m careful and methodical, I can score 10 out of 10 in both tasks.

I’ve just had another mad session on the bidet, and I’m ready to go downstairs. I have no idea what’s going to happen, but I feel OK. I suppose it’s going to be more serious than a spanking, so I know it’s going to hurt, but I’m absolutely determined to bear it with as much dignity as possible. It will be a challenge, I have no doubt about that, but I am ready for it. In fact, I want it.

10.20am I’m back from treatment 2, another spanking on the bare bottom and 10 strokes with a rubber-soled plimsoll. I’ve only got 10 minutes before I have to start the first task, so I’ll have to be quick. If I had any lingering doubts about Susan’s complicity, I have none now. A tube of Boots’ Arnica Bruise Cream has appeared on my table. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

11.35am I’ve done the first task, and I got full marks! I’m so pleased with myself! My reward is 30 minutes of free time from 12.30pm to 1.00pm, when my lunch will be brought to my room. As I’d hoped, I can go into the garden if I want. I’m allowed to wear a coat and put something on my feet. I feel like a good girl, and I’m really happy about it.

Treatment 2 wasn’t too bad at all, and I remembered all the instructions from last night. I showed Maurice my knickers and a bare shoulder, then fetched a chair and stood obediently with my hands on my head. The spanking was very painful again, but I suppose in some ways I’m getting used to it. In any case, I kept still and took it well. I now know that every treatment will begin with a spanking, and after what I’ve been shown this morning it seems a blessing that my bottom will be warmed up first. I had to open a drawer in the desk, take out a key and unlock a wall-mounted cupboard. Inside were “the implements”: a man’s gym-slipper; a thick leather strap about two feet long and an inch and a half wide; and a crook-handled cane straight from the pages of Janus.

After taking out the plimsoll, I had to lock the cupboard and put the key back in the drawer, then hand the plimsoll to Maurice. The position I had to adopt involved bending over the back of the chair with my forearms flat against the seat. I’m not particularly tall, and it’s quite a high-backed chair, so it meant going on tip-toes. And this, of course, made my bottom stick up in the air very prominently. I had a picture of two gigantic red balloons, and it made me very self-conscious. But I suppose that was the general idea. It’s a very submissive position, like you’re bottom’s not yours anymore and you’ve given it to someone else. I felt in some strange way detached from it, and I think that may have helped.

I had to bare my own bottom for this punishment, and it’s the first time I’ve ever done such a thing. I’ve always had my knickers yanked down for me, so it naturally felt very different to follow a command and do it myself. It is, if I think about it, the most submissive thing I’ve ever done. And part of me liked it. Part of me hated it too, but that mixture of emotions goes for pretty much the entire weekend so far.

So, I put my forearms back on the seat of the chair and waited. I could sense that my legs were trembling, but there wasn’t much I could do about it. It couldn’t possibly count as disobedience. Then something very unexpected happened. The slipper landed on my right cheek with a noise so loud I could hardly believe it. It was an almighty ‘thwack’, like Maurice had put every ounce of his strength into it. But it didn’t really hurt. I mean it stung, but it was surprisingly bearable. I was overjoyed! I could take this easily. I could keep perfectly still, I could behave myself in every respect, safe in the knowledge that the noise and the force of the impact would convince Maurice that it was a dreadfully painful punishment. It would convince anyone. OK, it stung rather more towards the end, but I took all 10 strokes almost as if Maurice was striking a lifeless pillow rather than a woman’s bare bottom, and I felt inordinately pleased with myself.

And now, I confess, I did a little acting. When I was told to get up, I turned to Maurice and thanked him, then asked if I could rub my bottom. When he said yes, I clutched both cheeks and did a little hopping, just-been-whacked-on-the-bum dance in front of him to ‘prove’ how much it had hurt. It was very wicked of me, but I couldn’t resist. I had my free time to look forward to, and I was feeling happy. And ever so slightly mischievous.

Eventually, Maurice handed me the slipper, and I had to put it back in the cupboard, lock the door and put the key back in the desk. Then I was sent to my room.

1.00pm I’ve had a lovely half-hour in the garden, just sitting by myself and reflecting on things. There are apple trees bursting with fruit, and I thought for a moment that I might pick one. But I decided it could well be a test, so I didn’t. A glance up at the house showed no-one overtly watching me, but it was as well to be safe than sorry. Heaven knows what might happen if I stole an apple. It is the forbidden fruit, after all. (Were any Janus readers punished at school for scrumping, I wonder?)

Susan has just brought my lunch. A chicken sandwich, with a small bowl of salad and a glass of water. Joy. With my new-found confidence, I took the opportunity to thank her for the Arnica cream. I thought it might be a good starting point for a conversation. Her response nearly made me fall over: “That’s alright, dear. Can you manage to put it on yourself?” I replied hastily that I’d manage fine, thank you very much, and she left the room. Was she really offering to do it for me? Like I couldn’t reach, or something? She must have been a matron at a boarding school in a former life.

My next treatment is at 2.30pm, so I have an hour or so to relax and think about what I’ve learned so far. I feel quite confident that Maurice is enjoying himself, and that’s more important to me than I’d anticipated. He seems satisfied, even pleased, with my behaviour, and perhaps more crucially with my understanding of our roles and my co-operation with everything that’s happening. What I’ve noticed particularly is the extent to which I’m called upon to help in the preparation, execution and clearing away of every treatment. I have to fetch a chair when I’m spanked, I have to stay in the optimum position to receive any given punishment, and I have to replace the chair, or the implement, in its proper place. I don’t live my own life with that attention to order, so it doesn’t really come naturally, but I am certainly enjoying it here. It seems perfectly to tie in with the whole experience, and I’m going to have a think about how I could go beyond the commands and the obvious requirements. I don’t want to pre-empt Maurice in any way, but I could perhaps be even more helpful if I put my mind to it.

I’ve also noticed that I am not required to expose any more of myself than is necessary. When Maurice took my knickers down last night and this morning, it was to just below my bottom. I now realise that when I had to do it myself for the slipper I took them down much further. I’m not squeamish about what Maurice sees, and I certainly didn’t do it to entice or distract him, but I am pleasantly aware of the discretion being shown towards me, and of Maurice’s manners and motivations. I can remember photos in spanking magazines, not so much Janus, Blushes or Roué, where the girls were made to stand or lie with their legs wide apart. I know it’s attractive to some readers, and I’m not criticising it in any way, but I didn’t like those images. Or at least I liked them less. A glimpse of hidden treasures is lovely, of course, and inevitable, but anything too overt spoils the mood, in my view.

3.20pm I’m back from my third treatment, and bitterly disappointed with myself. I didn’t take it at all well. I was given the usual spanking, which was OK, then told to fetch the strap. I was to get 10 strokes, but I stupidly put my hands back to cover my bottom after the sixth stroke. And I wasn’t quiet either. In fact, I think I probably made a lot of noise. That meant starting again from the beginning, so I ended up getting 16 strokes. My bottom is covered in angry red marks, and I’m really upset. I just panicked because it hurt so much, and now I feel I’ve spoiled everything. I paid dearly for my mistake, but I know inside that I’ve let myself down. I’ll just have to try to make up for it somehow.

My main fear now is that I’m going to get the cane at some point, either this evening or tomorrow morning, and I don’t know how I’m going to bear it. If I make the same mistake, I could face a truly terrifying punishment. I suppose the spankings and the slipper have lulled me into thinking I can take whatever comes. I was wrong. I’ve got to get my head round this somehow. I need to be better prepared emotionally.

Susan has left a note in my room explaining what I have to do about dinner. She’s made a chicken casserole, so all I have to do is warm it up and cook some potatoes and peas. I’ve got to open and pour Maurice’s wine, and serve the dinner in the dining room. I can manage all this if I’m not too upset. I’ve absolutely got to behave myself during the 6pm treatment, otherwise I’ll make a mess of things. Susan has also written that Maurice likes a whisky before dinner. It’s in brackets at the bottom, so maybe she’s giving me a little tip. It’s kind of her.

4pm I’ve had another bath and feel a bit better. I used some of the Arnica cream, but I don’t know if it’s done any good. The room is tidy, and I don’t have anything to do for two hours except sit here and try to get my head round the next punishment. If it’s the strap again, I feel fairly confident. It will hurt just as much, but I’ll know what to expect and that will surely make it easier to bear. It’s the unknown that scares me, and if it’s the cane I honestly don’t know what will happen. I’ll try my hardest, of course, but perhaps I’m just not built to undergo such a punishment. What then? Will I have to stand up and declare the weekend a failure? I’d be distraught. It would have been a complete waste of time for both of us. The point is that I take what I’m given, and come out the other side with a more positive attitude. I’m now very aware that Maurice is capable of hurting me, but I also know that he is not capable of wounding me. So whatever happens I’ll be OK. I’ll have a sore bottom for a while, and some horrible bruises, but I’ll survive.

Is that my motivation? Just to survive? No, it isn’t. I want something out of this. If I got a sexual kick from being dealt with like this, and I know many women do, it would be an entirely different matter. But I don’t. Not really. Obviously there’s something sexual about presenting my bottom to a man in such a way, but it’s not essentially why I’m here. I’m fully aware that Maurice’s motivation is very likely to be in that direction, but I’ve seen no indication of it yet. Or perhaps ‘felt’ is a better word. I’ve been over his lap three times now, and nothing has been apparent. Do I want to provoke such a reaction? I think I do. I think it would give me a sense of pride, and it would be proof that Maurice is getting something out of this too. Obviously, the rules and the tasks and the general servitude are stimulating for him or he wouldn’t have insisted on them. He could be doing it entirely for my benefit, but that seems unlikely. He’s a bloke. And an old-fashioned one at that. In occasional private moments, he would probably like all women to be this subservient, at his beck and call and liable to a good ‘treatment’ every now and then. It’s a fantasy, of course, but I can see how it would appeal to a man of his age and generation. And why not? It’s a perfectly harmless dream.

So that’s what I’m going to do this evening: fulfil his idea of the perfect female. I will do my utmost to take my next punishment obediently, and I will be the best servant he’s ever had. I intend to outdo Susan by attempting to pre-empt Maurice’s every desire. I’m going to be cheerful and helpful, and I’m going to get everything right. I can do it. I will do it.

6.45 I’m back from my fourth treatment. A spanking and 20 with the strap. I was perfectly obedient and quiet, and I’m so happy with myself. I knew I could do it! It hurt like hell, but I was in a much better frame of mind. It’s astonishing what a difference that can make. I just gritted my teeth and took it. Like a pro. I feel fantastic! And Maurice praised me, which has made me feel childishly proud. Like a little girl being patted on the head by a kind uncle. “Very good, Fiona,” he said. I’m going to say that again in case you missed it. “Very good, Fiona.”

Dinner has to be served at 8pm, so I’ve got to get going in a minute. Maurice said he would be in the lounge, so I’ll get everything prepared in the kitchen then embark on my duties. I have a few tricks up my sleeve which I won’t tell you about just yet.

9pm Success! Well, I made one tiny mistake but it seems to have been overlooked. At least I think it has. I’ve been sent upstairs and told to get into my pyjamas straight away, so perhaps I can expect a room inspection. It’s immaculately tidy, so there’s nothing to worry about on that score.

I had everything ready in the kitchen by about 7.20pm. I tasted the casserole and decided it needed a little more seasoning, then popped it in the oven. There was a bottle of Chambertin next to the cooker with a note from Susan saying ‘This one Fiona’, so I opened it very carefully because I know it’s expensive. Then I went into the lounge and made the first move in Operation Outdo Susan. I hadn’t been into this room before, so I said “Good evening, Sir,” and quickly tried to find where the whisky might be. It was on a sideboard on a tray with two glasses. A 10 year-old Laphroaig. Serious stuff. It was my uncle’s favourite tipple, not that he could afford it all that often, and he always added a drop of water. I used to do it for him, so I had a good idea of how much to put in. I couldn’t believe my luck.

Maurice was reading one of his books, so I poured a generous measure of the precious fluid then went back to the kitchen to look for a small jug. It was a frantic search, but I eventually found one in the dishwasher. I went back to the lounge, handed the whisky to Maurice and stood by his chair with the jug poised. I was right. He did take it with water. I poured a small amount into the glass and stepped back. Maurice took a sip, and was obviously satisfied. My opening gambit had worked. I could have screamed out loud with happiness. I was confident, pleased with myself and enjoying my role enormously. I did things like this for my husband occasionally, but this was different. Very different. I felt liberated and enchained at the same time, and it was an extraordinary and unknown emotion. And I put it all down to taking my punishment well. It simply made me feel better, and more capable of doing what is right.

Everything went smoothly in the kitchen, and I served dinner in the dining room at exactly 8pm. Maurice looked surprised to see the casserole on the table with the vegetables in little bowls, but he didn’t say anything. I wanted to serve him at the table, so I draped a napkin over his lap and spooned portions of food onto his plate as carefully as I could. Then I poured the wine, and stepped back to wait for any further instructions. Maurice seemed pleased, but I was on a much higher plane. I couldn’t believe the pleasure this was giving me. I felt in some ways like a slave, but there was also a sensation of being a young girl in a sweet shop with an endless supply of pocket money. And, like a child, I gorged on the experience. It was a mad, ecstatic dream, and I don’t think I’ve ever been more absorbed in a fantasy.

Maurice’s glass was nearly empty, so I picked up the bottle and poured some more. In my delirious state, the bottle clinked heavily against the glass and I spilled a tiny amount on the table. I apologised and wiped it up immediately. It was a negligible amount, and I really didn’t think it was a disaster. I still felt happy.

Maurice went back to the lounge when he’d finished, and I cleared the table and put everything in the dishwasher. I thought he might like another whisky, so I went in and asked. That was when he sent me to my room. So I’m waiting for something to happen. It’ll be an inspection. I’m sure of it. In the meantime I’m going to get into bed and read my book.

10.10 Maurice has just left. It wasn’t an inspection. My slip with the wine was “intolerable”, apparently, and I’ve been spanked. It wasn’t particularly hard, and didn’t last all that long, but I’m upset and a bit shocked, because I don’t think I deserved it. He just wanted to sit on my bed, pull my pyjama bottoms down and smack me. That’s the only reason he did it. A gratuitous ‘bedtime spanking’.

11.05 I’ve had a long soak in the bath and calmed down. I’m a bit surprised at Maurice’s behaviour, but I’m not upset anymore. He was wearing a thin cotton dressing gown, and for the first time I was aware that he was aroused. I can hardly blame him, given what he’s seen of me this weekend and the fact that I’ve been sticking my bottom out at him so brazenly. I’d shown him mine, and now he’d shown me his. (Well, I didn’t see it, but you know what I mean.) It’s obviously why I was told to get changed. He wanted to spank me in my pyjamas, and found any excuse no matter how flimsy. For 15 minutes his libido took over. Like all men. Maddeningly simple and single-minded. My husband was the same. A lovely and very beautiful man, but a sight of me naked turned a switch in his brain and he became a worthy candidate for the village idiot competition all the way up to the championships. Men, even really good men, are extraordinary in that way. Mindless grunting idiots for a while, then they just disappear or fall asleep. I’m not complaining, but thank God for chocolate ice cream.

How do I feel about Maurice being turned on? I think it was risky to ‘punish’ me purely for his own erotic benefit, because it could well have detracted from his authority, but it was natural enough in the circumstances, and actually I’m pleased for him. And a little flattered too. Maurice is not a young man.

I’ve read my book for a while, but I can’t concentrate. My mind keep wandering into a reverie. I have to consider the fact that I’m going to be caned tomorrow. He (I can’t help seeing such an implement as male) is in the study waiting for me, and I’ve developed a kind of relationship with him. We have looked at each other warily every time I’ve unlocked the cupboard, and we don’t like each other. In fact, we hate each other. He wants to hurt me, and I want to show him I can take whatever he can give. My confidence is not well-grounded, but I can’t let him see that. He will pounce on any sign of weakness. He has an ally in Maurice, and that makes it two against one. Two men against a defenceless woman. But I have a mind, which I can use to my advantage. I have a bottom, with a layer of fat and tissue and some strong muscles underneath. It is also my last chance this weekend. If I screw this up, there is no way of making amends. That has to be my first line of attack. I have to go into the study knowing I’m going to win. It’s a simple matter of psychology. I can defeat this demon, and walk away a proud woman.

The final part of Fiona’s account will be published here next week.


Comments are closed.