It was nice to hear from our old friend Pat Greenham who sent us the attached. Please enjoy!!

Classic Caning – Postscript
The previous account told of my experiences some years ago in my early twenties when I worked as an au pair and received a number of canings for various misdemeanours, and how ultimately I came to enjoy the experience of being caned. In the account I also told of a lunch with my ex-boss fifteen years later in my thirties when he persuaded me to return to his house and be reacquainted with the cane. On that day, I received a ‘house caning’, so called because when he had been at school there were three levels of severity – the middle level being if you were to be punished by the House Master which involved reporting to him after supper fifteen minutes before ‘lights out’, removing your dressing gown, dropping your pyjama trousers for six strokes with the standard cane.
The caning I received that day reawakened my interest, and as I was single again, and without ties there was no reason to feel any guilt. It was inevitable I would find another excuse to see my ex boss.
The next occasion took very much the same format, first an enjoyable lunch, followed by a ‘house caning’ – six strokes of the standard cane bent over his desk with all clothes below the waist removed. I turned down the offer of a so called ‘Classic Caning’ which I had received twice many years ago when I was in his employ, which was reserved
for more serious matters. The difference between a ‘house’ and ‘classic’ caning was that a longer cane was used and you had to adopt the more difficult ‘touching your toes’ position.
Every so often I would have to fuel my need, and my ex boss was always happy to oblige. I enjoy undressing in front of him and his complimentary remarks about my body (I go to the gym at least three times a week). I enjoy bending across his desk knowing he is focussing on my bare bottom. As to the caning itself, I always tell myself to be brave, but in reality it is the after effects that are the most enjoyable.
There have been two occasions worthy of greater explanation. The first was when my ex boss told me about spanking parties that he sometimes attends and asking me if I’d like to join him as his guest. I was astonished that such parties existed and asked him to tell me more. He said that normally there would be six girls and about twenty men and that during the party every girl would be spanked, strapped and caned by each of the men. I quickly worked it out that on the numbers he’d talked about each girl would receive 120 strokes of the cane, something I found hard to believe. Anyway, it sounded fun and I agreed to go.
The venue was a restaurant, which had a separate room upstairs. Right from the start it was clear that this all about ‘fun’ and the organiser
seemed a very jolly chap. On arrival my ex boss brought some drinks including a large V & T for me. The theme had all the girls dressed as secretaries, with short but tight skirts, suspenders and white knickers. The action soon started with each girl being spanked by five of the men in turn before taking a break. These were across the knee sessions that lasted two minutes with skirts raised and knickers down. After all the girls had completed their four sessions – and had been spanked by each of the men, there was a fifteen-minute break for everyone to charge their glasses. It was then time for the strap and two girls at a time would come forward and bend over one of a variety of chairs, stools or an A framed trestle which looked tailor made for the job. Again they would each take the strap from five of the men – with skirts raised and knickers down, each getting the traditional six strokes before taking a break. Many years previously I had witnessed my ex-boss in action when he punished his sons, and it was interesting to watch him in action on someone other than me! Again after each girl had completed their four sessions of five strapping’s it was time for another break, this time of 30 minutes.
I was amazed at how easily these girls took their ‘punishment’ and how after each had received twenty spankings and twenty strappings, most were hardly marked. These girls were taking thirty strokes of the strap each time it was their turn!
Once the 30 minutes had passed it was time for the cane. In preparation each girl was told to remove all clothes below the waist including their stockings. A variety of canes were brought out, some with the traditional crooked handle, others straight and in a number of different lengths. The format was similar to before with two of the girls getting the cane at a time. Each would bend over the chair, stool or trestle and stay in position until they had received six strokes from five of the men – and again I was astonished how they were able to take thirty strokes without any sign of ‘wincing’. Some of these men went quite easily, but most were clearly experienced and were dishing out medium to hard beatings.
I went to the bar to buy my ex-boss a drink, and when I returned he was in conversation with the organiser. Clearly my ex-boss had told the organiser that I was no stranger to the cane and I was asked if I had any interest in putting on a ‘finale’. Earlier I had wondered what it might feel like to be caned in front of so many people, but had not actually considered that it might actually happen. I told them I’d think about it. In conversation with my ex-boss, he said that it might be fun and if I agreed I could clearly dictate what I would receive. I told him there was no way I would be able to take the number of strokes that these girls were taking, and he replied that he thought the organiser was simply talking about ‘six of the best’.
Meanwhile a beer mug being passed round for contributions, and I quickly realised that this was for the finale and that the organiser had now assumed that I would agree.
In truth the idea appealed but I was also very nervous. I assumed that if I agreed it would involve baring my bottom and that it would be the organiser who would actually administer the caning. A few minutes later he came over to ask if I was ‘willing’, and confirmed my suspicion that the beer mug was a collection for me to receive a caning. I felt somewhat as if the decision had been taken away from me, but I didn’t want to appear to be a spoil-sport. I told him I’d do it, provided I only received six strokes of the cane. He asked me if I wanted a strapping first to warm me up, to which I said ‘why not’.
When the last two girls had received their final canings, the organiser told the audience “I have a special ‘finale’ to finish our fun for the day – our guest Sue who I understand is not entirely a stranger to the cane is going to bend over and take a strapping as a warm up, before getting ‘six of the best’ with the cane”.
I was asked to come forward and it was suggested that I remove my trousers – I kicked my shoes off before removing my tight black trousers. I only had a g-string on and was tremendously conscious of everyone watching me. The organiser asked me what I would like to bend over
and I opted for the A framed trestle, which was padded and turned out to surprisingly comfortable. As I stretched down, the organiser asked if I minded having my g-string removed – which he did before I had answered, although I had lifted my hips slightly to make it easy for him to slide them down. I think about this moment a lot – here was I bent over with my bare bottom on display to twenty men including my ex-boss plus several waiters about to receive a strapping followed by a caning. I used to fantasise about being a stripper, and perhaps I was living out something else at this point.
He said that as the ‘warm up’ he would give me six strokes with a leather strap followed by six strokes with a leather paddle. My relationship with my ex-boss had been exclusively with the cane and I was surprised how pleasant a strapping actually is, especially the large oval shaped paddle. After the twelve strokes, which had certainly warmed me up, it was time for the cane. Having never been caned by anyone except my ex-boss, I didn’t know what to expect and I thought again about the audience all focussing on my bare bottom which was offered up for punishment in an incredible revealing position. In truth, the first three strokes were very mild, and I think the organiser was treading very carefully, not wanting to go beyond my limits. He leaned over and asked if the strokes were ok. By this stage I’d build myself up for a decent caning and told him that the strokes were very mild and that he should give me three more strokes in a similar manner before
giving me a proper six-of-the-best as he had promised. I remember him saying to the audience, “we have a game girl here” and told them what I had said.
The next three strokes came quite quickly, before he told the audience that for final six he would use the longer cane. I wondered if my comment had been wise. It is fair to say that when the first stroke of the final six hit the centre of my bottom, he had certainly taken me at my word, Despite my request for a proper caning, I was shocked by this very severe stroke – certainly more severe than the house canings I had become reacquainted with over the last few months. The second and third strokes came over the next thirty seconds or so, and as I remained in position, I remembered the very first ‘classic caning’ that I received many years ago and I thought that this was probably comparable. Having only been reintroduced to the cane within the previous few months, this was beyond my comfort zone, and I was concentrating on staying in position. The rather nice thoughts of all the men focussing on my bottom had gone, and I simply had to survive. The fourth and fifth stokes were equally as hard, and as always seems to be the way, he made me wait for the last stroke which was predictably the hardest of all. I stayed in position for a few moments, grateful that the caning had finished. When I eventually stood up, the whole audience gave me a round of applause and I turned to face them and gave a bow, as well as a full frontal view. My ex-boss came to me and told me that I had
been brilliant, and offered to rub my bottom. My nudity had been long forgotten, and I certainly enjoyed laying across his lap whilst he rubbed a very well caned bottom. After a few minutes I stood, still naked below the waist – as were the six girls and the organiser came back with another V&T. My bottom was on fire and I carefully put my knickers and trousers back on. That evening when I got home, I checked the damage in my bedroom and there were six distinct parallel stripes – which took well over a week to disappear. In fact for the first two days I was sharply reminded every time I sat down!
The second incident took place a little later and I was very interested in Amelia Jane’s article in Janus when she talked how much more powerful a caning is when there is a genuine reason for punishment.
There is a big difference between electing for a caning (as I have this year with my ex-boss caning me for no reason other than for fun) and having to submit to punishment.
I discussed this with my ex-boss over the phone and he asked me if I had done anything lately for which I should be punished.
I told him that there was one incident that I had very much regretted. A couple of months ago I slept with a married man and whilst I absolutely knew it was wrong, at the time I couldn’t resist. The following day I had been racked with guilt, especially as I knew his wife. My ex-
boss leapt on this and said that I had acted terribly and that clearly I should be punished. His tone reminded me of years ago when he expressed dissatisfaction with my actions when I worked for him. He told me that I should expect to be punished and that I should be at his house on Saturday morning at 11.00hrs – adding that I should be under no illusions about the seriousness of my actions and that I should expect to receive a ‘classic caning’.
When I put the phone down, I was quite wet, and he had the effect of making me feel both excited and fearful. I also knew that I could not get out of this, and that I had to go through with it. Logically, I knew that was not the case, and I could easily say that I wasn’t going. But this wasn’t logic, I was excited about being punished and I also knew I deserved a severe caning which I was going to get at 1100hrs on Saturday.
However I had three days to think about it and decided to spice it up. I decided that I would wear a dress and some saucy underwear. I knew he would insist on the dress being removed with my knickers to follow with the result that I would be almost naked in only a bra.
Saturday came too quickly and I made sure that I got to his house in good time. Usually he meets me at the station, but this time there was no such offer. It was almost as if I was to report for punishment and
there were to be no niceties. I thought about how school pupils felt knowing that they had an appointment with the Headmaster at some point in the future knowing they were going to be caned.
As he opened the door, he told me to go straight to his study and wait for him. The canes were already laid out, and I knew that as I had been promised a ‘classic caning’, it was the longer cane that would be put into service. He made me wait for about ten minutes before coming up the stairs and into the study. As he sat down behind his desk he told me to remain standing, and he asked what on earth I had been thinking to sleep with a married man especially as I knew him to be happy and even worse knew his wife. His ‘act’ was terrific and I genuinely felt fear and excitement at the same time. He made me feel like a stupid girl who should have known better and I was very much in his power. He reminded me that I should expect a ‘classic’ caning and that I should remove my dress. As I kicked off my shoes and unzipped my dress he said ‘my word’ as I stepped out of it to reveal my fairly racy set of underwear. I removed my pants and as I stood in front of him in just my bra, he said that I should expect no favours as a result of dreadful actions and I should expect some humiliation and that I should remove my bra. He has seen me naked from the waist down quite a few times, but this was the first time that I had been completely nude. He told me to turn round, go the centre of his study and bend over and touch my toes with my legs straight and six inches apart.
He told me to expect the caning to commence in a minute or so, and as I waited I wondered whether this caning would be as hard as the final six I had taken at the party. I also remembered my first ever ‘classic’ caning fifteen years ago. I heard him get up from his desk and knew I was about to find out. He confirmed that he would be using the 40-inch cane, and he tapped my bottom several times before delivering the first stroke, which was mighty indeed. The shock was terrific and worse than I could have imagined.
As he proceeded to give me a real thrashing, I just concentrated on staying position despite the extreme pain that he was creating in my bottom. After the second and third strokes he gave me a slightly longer break as I tried to come to terms with the pain. A classic caning is so much worse than the house canings I have enjoyed earlier in the year, with the combination of the longer cane, the difficult position and my ex-boss just caning me harder making all the difference.
The fourth and fifth strokes came over the next minute or so and I knew that the last would be the worst, and he did not disappoint. He told me to stay in position for two minutes without touching my bottom. When I was eventually allowed up, he told me to face him and stand to attention for a further two minutes.
This was undoubtedly the best and worst caning I have ever experienced. The worst because it was so painful and certainly beyond my ‘comfort zone’. It was also worse than the final six strokes I took at the party – where I had benefited from a warm-up, had a relatively comfortable trestle to bend over and had the pain slightly dulled by several large V&T’s. Here I had taken a severe caning ‘cold’, without the benefit of alcohol and having to stay in position touching my toes.
However it was also the best ever. I had been seriously punished for appalling behaviour, I had been made to strip naked with all the associated feelings of humiliation, I had been completely dominated and made to feel like a stupid schoolgirl and I had felt as if there was no choice, exactly as if I had been told to report to the headmaster – all of which is my number one fantasy.

Extra, Extra, Read All About It…

I can still remember how my heart leapt to my throat the first time I entered the Janus Shop at 40 Old Compton Street. It was the late winter of 1986. I was 22 years old and visiting London with my parents, who were stationed with the US Diplomatic Corps across the ditch in Belgium.  How I learned of the shop’s existence I can no longer say – very likely from an advert on the back page of a tourist guide. I am even certain that I knew of Janus as a publication then, although my hyper – sensitive ‘spanko’ eye would have scarcely missed it on a newsstand. In any case, I was convinced that I harbored a shameful secret, like Cain cast out to wander Earth alone – and without an internet password! What a revelation that Old Compton Shop was! I felt like a kid in the proverbial candy shop. I rushed back to my parents’ hotel with my magazine purchase in a black plastic bag, locked myself into the  bathroom, read every word from cover to cover, and in the process made very short work of my member – and undoubtedly more than once (what joy and what torment to be so young!). From that moment on the artwork and stories became a fixture of my sexual life. They were still with me when I finally found my first spanking partner, some thirteen years later. Even today specific images come back to me unbidden , from this photo – set or that drawing or from this or the other story detail. How exciting to come across this website now and see that the old world has not been forgotten: I feel like a former East German with ‘Ostalgie,’ or like someone who grew up in the old Soviet Union. It’s delightful to recognize my old favorite images – and discover new ones I missed the first time through. And BTW , Paula Meadows , I love you!

name withheld

We would love to hear your old Janus memories. Tarquin

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