♥ Site recommended story ♥
Hot spanking fiction by special guest author Steveman – strictly over 18s only!
I wasn’t really interested in the poster advertising a charity county fair at a country house nearby until I saw, in smaller print nearer the bottom, tours of the house and stables. I had more than a passing interest in stables, such masculine places and all that leather. I found the mixed aroma of horse and leather a real turn on.
Two weeks later I made my way to the fair and booked myself in the for the stables tour which wasn’t until later in the day. I tried to amuse myself looking around the various stalls, but my mind was on the stables tour. Eventually the time arrived and I assembled with others at a gateway leading to the stable block.
We were greeted by someone who introduced himself at Matt, the head groom and stables manager. He really looked the part, tall, well built, longish fair hair. He was wearing shiny black leather riding boots, but in place of the riding jodhpurs I was expecting, he wore jeans tucked firmly into his boots topped off with a wide black leather belt.
We started by visiting the horses in their stalls, some were racing horses others, Matt told us, used for their riding school. It was interesting how the horses recognised Matt and how they reacted to his commands. Each of the horses had their name on a sign over their stall. Every horse looked in tip top condition.
It was time to move onto the tack room, now things were getting really interesting. The smell of leather hit you as you entered. I could feel myself becoming aroused. It didn’t help when Matt picked up a riding crop which he used to point out various parts of the saddles and other equipment. I was hoping my arousal wasn’t showing too much when someone in the party asked a question and whilst answering, Matt started slapping the crop against his leg of his boot. The excitement was now too much for me to conceal and I moved away from the other visitors noticing dampness in the front of my jeans.
The tour was over and people were thanking Matt and leaving, but I wanted to stay longer. I frantically searched for something to ask him to delay my leaving. I finally thought of something.
So you have a riding school here. I’ve always wanted to ride. How much does it cost? I asked.
We only do complete courses, not individual lessons, so it runs into hundreds of pounds, Matt replied.
This was not what I wanted to hear. I had only recently started my first job and couldn’t afford that sort of money, but I still needed to engage Matt in conversation. He was now sliding his crop down into his boot, a sign he may be about to leave.
How about working here? I asked in desperation.
What a full time job? I’m not sure that we need anyone at the moment, Matt replied.
No, weekends, I’ll do anything. I’d love to work with horses, I told him.
Matt looked thoughtful for a moment and then seemed to come to a decision.
We may be able to work something out, he announced.
We always need extra help at the weekends and, if you worked enough hours, we may be able to arrange some lessons in lieu of payment. How does that sound?
Yes, that would be wonderful, thanks, I enthused.
Come to the office and let’s see what we can work out.
We left the tack room and Matt led me to a separate building beyond the stables which housed his office. The walls were covered in photographs of horses accompanied by brightly covered rosettes won at various shows and horse trials. Before he sat at his desk, Matt removed the crop from his boot and threw it down on the desk.
Let’s get a few details, he said pulling a notepad in front of him.
Matt noted my name and address, where I worked, what school I attended, along with my qualifications.
I need to OK this with the owner. I’ll try and locate him now, but with all the visitors it may be difficult. Sit down here and wait and I’ll be back as soon as I can, Matt said as he left the office.
I sat down in his chair. The riding crop was still on the desk, it looked an awesome piece of equipment and I couldn’t resist picking it up. It was heavier than I expected, made of platted leather with a thicker handle and a flat plain leather tab on the other end. Nervously I raised it up to my face; the scent of the leather was wonderful. Holding the handle I slashed it though the air enjoying the swishing noise it made. I quickly placed it back on the desk as I heard a voice in the distance which was possibly Matt returning. I hoped I had placed the crop exactly as he had left it. I got up from his chair and he sat down.
Right, that’s all arranged then, Matt announced.
You can start next Saturday, eight o’clock sharp, same conditions as the full time stable lads. Don’t expect the work to be exciting, it will be mucking out, feeding and watering, but later, if you come up to scratch, we may show you how to look after the saddles and other equipment.
That sounded perfect.
Thanks, I’ll not let you down, I assured him.
Better not, Matt replied.
One other thing, we run a disciplined business here built on respect. All the lads call me sir and that will apply to you as well, understand?
Yes, no problem, I replied.
Let’s try that again, Matt snapped.
Or you will have a problem.
Sorry. Yes sir! I corrected myself.
That’s better, Matt said getting up from his seat.
See you on Saturday.
I thanked Matt again and made my way home in a daze, not believing what had happened.
The following Saturday I got up early determined not to be late for my first day. The only way I could get to the stables for eight o’clock was to cycle there. It took about thirty minutes and I arrived well before eight o’clock.
I was met by one of the full-time stable lads who introduced himself as Keith. He was slightly younger than me and explained that usually one, sometimes two of the regular stable lads had to work at the weekend and have time off during the week, so they were pleased that I had started to work there at the weekend. Matt was elsewhere and had told Keith to get me started.
I asked Keith what it was like to work there and what Matt was like to work for.
OK, he replied.
But he’s pretty strict so don’t get on the wrong side of him or you’ll come off worse.
Keith took me to what he called the boot room which was just behind the tack room. A row of wellington boots stood on a low shelf, overalls hung on pegs and tools such as brushes, shovels and pitchforks were hanging on a rack.
Find some wellies and a pair of overalls that fit and if you take your own clothes off first, you won’t go home stinking of horse shit, Keith suggested.
Keith showed me what tools were needed to start mucking out and we took them to the first stable where he showed me how to slip a halter onto the horse and lead it to a spare stall while we mucked out.
Keith stayed with me until we heard a vehicle outside in the yard. I looked out and saw a large van towing a trailer containing a portable forge.
That will be Andy, the Farrier, Keith said.
He’s here today to do a couple of urgent jobs; his apprentice doesn’t work on Saturdays so I have to help him.
I couldn’t help but be aroused when I saw the farrier. He was younger than I expected, his hard work had obviously developed his muscular body which looked good in a sleeveless t-shirt. Over his jeans he wore a pair of leather chaps finished off with a pair of heavy boots. Keith and Andy walked off together to the next stable block. I couldn’t help being a bit envious.
I carried on working on my own, doing exactly as Keith had shown me. The next time I looked out Andy and Keith were working at the portable forge, Andy holding a horse’s leg with upturned foot against his legs while he attended to its hoof.
Matt eventually arrived and I heard him talking to the farrier, then he came to the stable where I was working.
Hope you’re doing a thorough job there, he shouted across to me.
Yes sir. Keith’s showed me what to do, I replied.
Matt walked into the stalls that I’d already completed, moved the new hay around with this boot and seemed satisfied.
Just the next block to do, then barrow the muck round the back, he instructed.
By the time I moved to the next stable block the farrier had finished working on the two horses and he stood by his van talking to Matt. The next time I went out into the yard, his van was still there but no one was around. I carried on with my work until I needed to empty the barrow. As I passed the other stable block I heard voices inside, it sounded like Keith and the farrier. Curiosity got the better of me and as quietly as I could, I went into the stable block. Sounds were coming from a stall at the other end. I crept into a nearby stall and positioned myself so I could see what they were doing.
Andy, the farrier, was leaning on the back wall. Keith was kneeling in front of him servicing his cock through the leather chaps and jeans. Andy’s head was thrown back and his hands were on Keith’s head urging him on. So this was what he meant by helping the farrier. The sight was quite a turn on and I felt my cock hardening until I couldn’t resist unfastening the front of my overalls and pleasuring myself.
Suddenly Andy and Keith broke apart and I needed to get out of there. As I darted from the stall my foot caught a metal water bucket which tipped and clattered across the brick floor. Andy and Keith both turned and saw me as I frantically tried to fasten the front of my overalls.
What are you doing in here? demanded Andy.
I… I… I was just….. Andy didn’t allow me to finish
You were spying on us instead of getting on with your work and, by the look of your overalls, that wasn’t the only thing. Matt’s going to love this.
You’re not telling him are you? I pleaded. Surely he didn’t want Matt to know what had been going on in that stable.
Why shouldn’t I? After all it’s Matt that provides me with a lad, Andy replied.
That was it then, probably my first and last working day at the stables. I looked at Keith who just shrugged and walked off followed by Andy. I completed my work hoping that perhaps the matter would be forgotten.
I had just taken the final load to the dump when Matt appeared looking angry.
You, tack room, now boy, he shouted to me across the yard.
I crossed then yard to the tack room; both Matt and Andy were inside.
Matt glared at me before he spoke
So instead of working, you go spying on other people.
No sir, it wasn’t like that, honestly, I stammered.
What was it like then? Seems pretty clear to me, Matt continued.
I couldn’t think of anything to excuse myself, I just waited for the inevitable.
Matt turned to Andy.
How do you deal with your apprentice when he steps out of line? he asked.
He feels my strap, good and hard, Andy replied.
Good idea. Get those overalls off, he instructed me.
Was I really hearing this?
No sir, please… I didn’t…
Your choice boy, Matt told me.
Do it or you’re out.
So this was to be my only way of staying. I made my decision, kicked off my wellington boots and removed the overalls which left me standing in just my underpants and feeling very vulnerable.
Last week when I left you in my office, you seemed very interested in my riding crop, or so it seemed when I saw you through the window, so perhaps…..
Matt picked up the crop from a nearby rack and smacked it loudly against the side of his boot causing me to flinch.
But as it’s your first time……
Matt put down the crop, unbuckled his belt, pulled it through the loops and folded it double.
Get those pants off. Matt ordered looking threatening.
No sir, not bare, please sir, I pleaded.
I’m waiting, do it now! Matt shouted.
I slid my underpants down and stepped out of them leaving me standing completely naked waiting for the inevitable.
Matt nodded at Andy who stepped forward, grabbed a handful of my hair, bent me over and clamped my head between his legs in a vice like grip just like he did the horse’s leg. The scent from his chaps which were now pressing hard against my face was overpowering, a mixture of leather and horse. I was so overcome I hardly noticed that he had grabbed my wrists and was holding them tight against his hips. I jumped as I felt a hand stroking my cheeks, then a finger running down my crack.
I then heard Matt’s voice.
Nice meaty bum, just right for the belt.
There followed a load crack and a band of red hot fire spread across my buttocks. I struggled but Andy was holding me in his firm grip and my yell was muffled by my head being encased in his legs. More followed, again I tried to yell out. Matt certainly knew how to use a belt. Then I noticed, I was getting hard and, as the belting continued, I got harder despite the pain which somehow was getting more bearable.
Eventually the belting stopped and Andy released his grip on my hands and head. I stood up, my hands going straight to my red hot cheeks in an attempt to rub away the stinging. I had forgotten about my hard cock.
Looks like he enjoyed that, joked Andy staring down at my erection.
Make sure he enjoys the next lot then, answered Matt.
That was for being in the stable spying when you should have been working, Matt continued.
Now Andy’s going to punish you for spying on him.
Andy went over to his old wooden toolbox which on the floor just inside the door, opened the lid and took out an old heavy wide leather strap, longer and wider than a waist belt and placed it on a saddle stand. He then stripped off his sleeveless top revealing even more of this strong muscular body. If this was intended to intimidate me it was certainly working. A belting from this man would be no soft option. He picked up the belt, folded it double, its extra length allowing him to wind some of the buckle end around his fist.
Andy pointed to the saddle stand.
Get across there, he ordered.
I hesitated only to feel Matt’s hand grab the back of my neck and force me over the stand. He then went round to the front and held me down by pressing on my shoulders.
Andy put his boot between my ankles and forced my legs further apart then moved to my left side. With his belt being so long he stood well back and I could see him lining up his first stroke. I clenched my buttocks tight and the belt landed with a load crack and re-ignited the heat and stinging as he sought new spots to land his belt. He went lower finding the tender area. Matt was good but Andy was an expert. This time my yells as each stroke landed were not muffled, but it didn’t seem to matter how much noise I made.
Andy finally stopped and Matt released my shoulders allowing me once again to rub my red hot and stinging bum.
Get dressed and get on your way, ordered Matt,
And remember, that’s how we deal with lads who step out of line here. Next time it could be my crop.
Andy and Matt left the tack room and I quickly put the overalls and wellingtons back on and went to the boot room to change for home. It was then I remembered I had a thirty minute ride home on my bike, it was going to be uncomfortable, but I could always stand up on the pedals if it got too much.
I was half way down the drive from the house when Andy’s van and trailer overtook me. Further down the drive he stopped and signalled me to pull up.
It must be really painful sitting on that saddle, Andy observed.
How far do you have to go?
I told him and he replied that it wasn’t too far out of his way so I could put my bike in the van and he would drop me off. I did as he suggested and was thankful that I didn’t have to ride that bike any further. I climbed into the front of the van beside Andy, he laughed as I carefully lowered myself onto the seat.
Was that your first belting? Andy asked as he drove off.
Yes, I confirmed.
You took it well. Which one hurt the most? Andy asked.
Yours of course, I replied.
That’s quite some belt.
Yes, and I get plenty of practice. My apprentice often needs to go over the bench for a good leathering. Look, we’re near my place now so I’ll drop the trailer off and then take you home.
We pulled up in front of his forge. The sign above the door was similar to the one on the sides of his van. Andy unhitched the trailer, then shouted,
Come and have a look round if you like.
I left the van and followed him into the forge. He was carrying his toolbox which he placed on the bench.
I wanted to show you this, he said opening the box and taking out the belt he had used on me earlier. He unrolled the belt and placed it flat on the bench, the rough back uppermost.
See those marks? he asked.
There’s a mark for every time the belt’s been used. The first, nearest the buckle, are when it was used on me when I was an apprentice. It was then passed to me when I took over the business and the later marks are when I used it.
The rows of marks were small but I could make out a date, a number and some had another mark.
Let’s add you, Andy suggested.
He took a marker from his tool box and added the date followed by an 8, the number of strokes, and then made the other mark which, he explained, was for others, not an apprentice. Looking at the belt there had been numerous others. I wondered who they were.
Were you envious when you saw Keith and me in the stable? Andy asked changing the subject.
Err… yes, I eventually admitted.
Let’s try you out then, Andy suggested.
I went down on my knees and Andy opened the front of his chaps and unzipped his jeans. As he pulled my head towards him I again caught the smell of his chaps, but this time in place of pain…pleasure.
D I S C L A I M E R
All characters appearing in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to real businesses or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Story © MMXIII by Steveman
All rights reserved
Used here by very kind permission of the author
Photographs © by Rod Cayenne, except riding boots © by Jonathan, used by very kind permission
Comments are here
Erotic entertainment by Rod Cayenne
“Well Mum, you said it was almost impossible to get you anything. What do you get the woman who’s got everything?”
“Yes, I did say something like that didn’t I?”
“Yes, you did. And then I remembered you saying something a while back along the lines of you’d like to hold a cane again, just once to remind yourself how powerful it made you feel.”
“Well, yes I may have done. It certainly takes me back. I feel just like Head Girl again,” Mum said grinning and swishing the beautiful crook-handled cane through the air.
“You like it then?”
“Oh yes, Carol darling! It certainly takes me back, it certainly does.”
“Did you use the cane much, Mum?”
“Oh yes! It was expected, encouraged. I was a bit of a beast, really. I feel a little guilty about it now. It wouldn’t be allowed now, would it?”
“No, certainly not. Anyway, is it a good one?”
“Yes, I’d say so. Let’s try it on this cushion, shall we?”
Swish-CRACK! Swish-CRACK! Swish-CRACK! Swish-CRACK! Swish-CRACK! Swish-CRACK!
“There we are! Six of the best. Very impressive. Thank you darling.”
Mother and daughter kissed.
“You’re welcome Mum. I had to buy it from an online sex shop.”
“Really, do people find it sexy?”
“Well someone must, otherwise they wouldn’t sell any, would they?”
“I remember being on the receiving end too. Phew, it burns like fire.”
“Really? It seems so thin and inoffensive.”
“Yes, but it’s whippy as you’ve seen and bites like a snake. Not that I’ve been bitten by a snake, of course. Not at all sexy, anyway.”
“So Mum, one thing has always puzzled me. You used the cane at school, but you didn’t believe in it at home?”
“No. Your father and I argued about it, but I was adamant. No cane in our house. Although I regretted that a bit when Penny went off her head.”
“Yes, that was difficult. To this day, I don’t know where she got them from.”
“I do Mum. It was me. I’ve always felt very, very guilty about it.”
“YOU? Oh no, no, no!”
“Yes, sorry Mum. Still Penny’s turned out fine hasn’t she? All those dressage awards!”
“No thanks to you!”
“Well, frankly I’m very disappointed with you. Very. If I’d found that out at the time, I probably would have got a cane!”
“Really? I had a lucky escape there then!”
“You’re not happy with me now are you, Mum?”
“No I’m not! I think you’d better leave, before I say something I might regret later.”
“What, like ‘Bend over’?”
“No, that’s not what I was thinking of at all, but it’s not a bad idea.”
“Really, Mum? If it would help, I’d do it.”
“No. Don’t tempt me. Wait! Yes, let’s do it!”
Carol was a bit shocked that her mother had suddenly expressed a wish to cane her. This hadn’t been in her plans when she bought that jokey present. She was a bit old for the cane, too.
“Seriously, Mum? Don’t you think I’m a bit old for it? I’m twenty-nine, remember.”
By this time, Carol’s mother had pulled a dining chair into the middle of the room. She obviously wasn’t joking.
“Shut up Carol! Of course you’re not too old. Now bend yourself over this chair. We’ll start with a traditional six of the best. Like that cushion just had!”
“Oh, Mum!” exclaimed Carol, remembering what a sound thrashing the cushion had taken. Indeed, dust from the cushion was still in the air, and visible in the streams of sunshine coming through the window.
“You can keep your skirt and knickers on if you behave yourself, although the skirt will be raised out of the way.”
“Six of the best, then.”
Swish-Crack! Mum wasted no time slashing the first stroke down on her daughter’s pert knickered bottom.
“AARGH!” Carol cried, leaping up and clutching her bottom. She massaged her cheeks frantically.
“Just what do you think you’re doing, Carol? You’re meant to stay in position. Really, the girls at school were so much better behaved.”
“Well they were probably used to it!” Carol exclaimed, still rubbing her bottom frantically.
“Carol, I suggest you bend over again, right now, unless you want me to repeat the stroke!”
Filled with horror at the suggestion of an extra penalty stroke, Carol bent over submissively for her mother, somewhat embarrassed by events. Mum flexed the cane, eyeing the temptation before her. Carol’s bottom was more womanly than pert, offering an ample and very punishable target. Mum prepared herself for the next stroke, telling herself that there was no point in holding back! After all, this was likely to be the one and only time the cane would be employed for its designated use.
Swish-Crack! The second stroke landed on Carol’s white lacy knickers. The daughter gasped, and her face flushed. This was quite an experience, one she thought she would never have.
Swish-Crack! The cane landed again, causing Carol to squeal, much to her mother’s satisfaction.
CRACK! A heavy, brutal stroke crashed onto Carol’s bottom. She leapt up again! Her mother frowned as she watched Carol rubbing her bottom.
“That’s cheating, my girl! No-one dared to rub their bottom in my study at school. Get your knickers down, hurry up! Bend over again! And an extra stroke for getting up!”
Swish-Crack! Swish-Crack! Mum was getting into her stride. Her daughters naked, striped bottom was a delightful sight. It seemed to encourage and beckon the whippy stick.
Indeed, the cane lashed down again, causing a very vocal shriek.
“I’m not sure I’ve forgiven you properly yet! Stay down for two more!”
CRACK!CRACK! On and on it went, two more each time. Mum’s taste for caning had been rekindled. Carol just felt sore and stupid, wriggling as the cane lashed her bum.
A few days later, Mum was over at her other daughter’s home. Mother and daughter were sat on the rattan sofa in the conservatory, enjoying a Pimms in the spring sunshine.
“Mum, I heard about Carol’s caning.”
“Oh, you did, did you? Well, let me tell you Penny, she deserved every one of those strokes.”
“But Mum, there were over twenty, I’m told. That was a bit harsh. Especially as it was me who was caught with the drugs.”
“Being caught was your own stupid fault. You took your punishment.”
“Yes, Mum. But Community Service hardly compares with what you gave Carol the other day.”
“Maybe not, but I don’t believe in punishing twice for the same thing. You don’t want the cane do you?”
“Yes, I do actually. Have you got it with you?”
“No, of course not. I’m not going to keep it in the car, now am I? Now who’s being stupid? It’s hidden in the bedroom where your father and I can keep an eye on it. We don’t want Carol breaking it.”
“OK Mum. I do deserve a good whipping, though. I thought you might not have the cane with you, so I thought we could use one of my riding crops instead. Let’s go into the living room, I’ve left my favourite crop in there.”
Story © 2013 by Rod Cayenne
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Erotic equestrian fiction by Rod Cayenne
My riding instructor cut a handsome figure in his tweed jacket, jods and shiny black Aigle boots.
“You seem to be a little too fond of the whip, my friend!” he admonished. “Please cut down its use on the horses. If you have a sadistic streak, you should take it out on the stable lads or lassies. They are used to the riding crop and dressage whip on their haunches.”
“Really?” I laughed as I dismounted and tied the horse. “Don’t tempt me.”
“Aha, another enthusiast, if I’m not mistaken. I’m not shocked. Your interest is quite common. Are you really keen? If so, I may be able to help.”
“Really?” I asked again. I stared into his blue eyes.
“Yes, really. There is a flogging group hereabouts. Interested?”
“Yes, rather! Tell me more please,” I added, more than intrigued.
“It’s called The Crop Circle. Get it?”
“Oh, how very droll. Sounds right up my street.”
“Well, don’t get too worked up about it just yet. Let me tell you a bit more about it.”
“Thank you,” I added, trying to seem humble and at the same time trying to will away an erection from forming in my jodhpurs as I thought about beating stable lads and lasses.
“Alright then. I’ll be honest with you. It started off as a spin-off from an occult group.”
“Oh, wicked!” I said, somewhat childishly.
“Quite. But then quite a few of us realised we were more interested in the floggings than the witchcraft.”
“I see. I understand.”
“Of course, some of the traditions have followed on. There is an initiation. Which will be painful for you…”
“Oh, don’t worry about that. I can handle that.”
“Don’t be so sure about that. Most likely it’ll be be a birching. With rods you’ve collected yourself from the sacred forest.”
I gulped a little. It’s true I was less keen suddenly, although I was aware that I had a masochistic side too. We went into the stables where he showed me the fine collection of crops and whips, which were prominently on display. I picked a crop and admired its beautiful craftsmanship and leatherwork. I placed it back with a shudder.
“I’ll get the Circle Master to contact you. Of course, I cannot guarantee anything. He is choosy. There is the initiation and you have to prove yourself worthy. There are dominant and submissive members of the group. And of course, some who like a little of both sides of the coin. Tell me frankly, where would you see yourself fitting in?”
“Well, to be honest, I do like a bit of variety in all things.”
“I see. At least, I think I do. You want some give and some take?”
“Yes. Yes, to be honest, that’s what I really want.”
“Good! In that case I think a preliminary thrashing right now would be appropriate.”
“Yes, just think of it as a pre-initiation. After all, I could forget to mention your interest to the Circle Master.”
I don’t think I’d ever felt so trapped in my life before!
“Can I keep my jods on please?”
“No, no, no! That won’t do at all! It wouldn’t be a proper initiation if it wasn’t on the bare, would it?”
“But this is just the pre-initiation,” I tried to plead.
“Don’t split hairs and don’t try to be funny with me. The stable hands get it bare, and they are a lot younger and less tough than you are. Get your bottom bare now and get over the bale. I’m going to beat you for excessive use of the whip. Isn’t that fair?”
“Yes, I suppose so. Although I didn’t mean any harm by my use of the whip.”
“Tell that to your mount! But don’t worry, because I won’t mean any harm by my use of the whip on you. To make it fair, I’ll use your own whip on you. Give it to me please.”
I handed the crop over. It was a cheap item, not as impressive as those in the display, and I was seriously doubting that it was that severe. However, my opinion soon altered as it thrashed down on my naked haunches!
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
I gasped as lines of fire lit up my backside.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
It was humiliating.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
It was even worse that I was being beaten with my own crop.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
I resolved to go easy on the horses in future.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
The flames began to subside just a little as the crop was thrown down beside me.
“I think we’ll complete your schooling with a final half-dozen with the dressage whip!”
I wanted to say no, more than anything in the world. But I was under the instructor’s spell, and the word just wouldn’t come out. He pushed me further into the bale with his shiny boot.
That dressage whip was even worse! It cut and flailed and reduced me to tears. It was agony. Agony and ecstasy. I loved it!
There were to be several more sessions over bales, fine leather saddles and in a bedroom back in the farmhouse once the weather got really cold. But I didn’t hear from the Circle Master in all that time. Had I been tricked, or was I just not worthy? I didn’t want to press it with the instructor as our sessions were so intense and enjoyable. No, I didn’t want to jeopardise the good thing we were sharing.
Story © 2012 by Rod Cayenne
Photography © 2011 by Jonathan, and used by very kind permission
erotic fiction by your host, Rod Cayenne
THE STORY SO FAR: At the ripe old age of 75, Dad has taken to thrashing his 52-year-old son, Peter. Both men find gratification from this.
Part 1 is here
Now read on for Part 2:
Dad’s trusty old cane thrashed down on the naked buttocks of prodigal son Peter.
“Owww!” Peter cried. He could usually take his strokes stoically, but this seventeenth stroke hurt beyond belief!
The eighteenth bitter-sweet stroke lashed down.
Outside the study door, the sound of leather crop and rattan cane on bare flesh had sent Duke the Cairn Terrier into a barking frenzy. It was ever thus.
The thrashings took place every Friday evening. To start with they had been after the gents had enjoyed their fish and chip suppers. Latterly, however, Dad had taken to sending Peter out to buy the food after his thrashing. Peter would therefore stand in Pam’s Fish Bar with a red hot bottom, almost hotter than the food on offer! On returning home, Peter would sit awkwardly at the dining table facing his father.
This evening was no different. Peter’s pert bottom throbbed and burnt from the eighteen strokes. His face was flushed with embarrassment, or was it sexual excitement? This particular evening, Dad also looked rather red-faced. He leant over and touched his son’s hand.
“I hope that thrashing has taught you a lesson, my naughty boy. Now, listen. I want you to share my bed tonight, son.”
“Yes, why not? And we’ll both be naked, won’t we? I want to have a good talk about your spanking and caning interests, Peter. Pass the ketchup, please.”
“Dad, this is kinky, kinkier than we should allow ourselves to be.”
“Nonsense, son! We’ve a shared interest. Now, I want to share it more intimately.”
“Dad, you really are incorrigible!”
“Maybe son, maybe. Are you up for it, then?”
“Well, yes, as long as you don’t tell anyone. Especially Sandy, if you ever bump into her.”
“Mum’s the word!”
“How about an early night then, Dad? These fish and chips always send me into a bit of a drowsy kind of slump.”
“I’ll decide when son. Is that clear?”
As if on cue, Peter felt a shooting pain, just where the crop and cane had done their very dirty work.
“Yes Dad. Perfectly clear.”
“Good boy. I could always give you a reminder of who makes the decisions around here.”
“No Dad, no reminders necessary. You’ve made a firm impression already.”
Was that innuendo, or cheek? It didn’t matter.
“You will have a bath at nine o’clock and then come and join me in bed, naked. In the meantime, you can wash up when we’ve finished eating.”
“Son! It’s nine o’clock! Toilet and bath now. Don’t forget your teeth. Oh, and take the cane and crop from my study and put them on my bed, will you?”
“Errr, yes Dad. Of course.”
Peter wasn’t too sure he liked the sound of all this. He was being treated like a kid. Told when to use the toilet indeed! Nevertheless, he was excited and felt his cock stiffen as he called into the study to pick up the cane and crop. Already they had wreaked havoc that day. Now it seemed that an encore was in prospect. It was only a few hours later, but Peter was craving more punishment, especially as it seemed to fit in with his father’s plans.
Peter entered his father’s bedroom. It stank of cigar smoke, and there sat on the bedcovers was Duke. More worryingly, Peter could see his handcuffs, confiscated by his father, lying on the bedside table. Next to them, was a well-used tube of lube. Peter gulped with dread, placing the cane and crop down carefully on the bed. Duke barked at him.
Peter made his way to the bathroom. Soon the taps were running, and Peter sat on the toilet, which reminded him how sore his bottom was.
Dad popped his head round the door.
“Good lad! I’ll be in later to soap you down.”
Peter rolled his eyes. He couldn’t even have a shit in peace, it seemed.
A few minutes later, Peter was enjoying his hot bath when the door swung open. Peter was astonished to see Pam the proprietor of the chip shop stood holding the cane, and Dad just behind her.
“Your father has invited me round to join in the fun! Lucy is minding the shop. I’ll be caning you both tonight! Hurry up and get dry! This cane needs some use!”
She swished the cane down and chuckled. “Two strokes for each minute it takes you! You’d better hurry up!”
Peter pulled the plug out and smiled to himself. By the time he got to the bedroom, his father was stood naked and handcuffed.
“Five minutes! Ten strokes! Your father will be getting the same. Peter you can go second.”
It was the first time Peter had seen his father naked. For a 75-year old, his body was in surprisingly good shape. His bottom was most attractive, pert and hairy. Peter was also naked, after his bath. Unlike his father, Peter had a stonkingly stiff erection. Pam gazed at it lovingly as she flexed the cane. She was particularly fond of uncircumcised penises. She flexed the swishy rattan cane again. Oh yes, it was going to be a night of revelations!
© Rod Cayenne, 2012
erotic fiction by your host, Rod Cayenne
Peter was moving in with his father. The old man, now 75, needed a little looking after, and as Peter was penniless after a messy divorce, it made sense for the two men to pool their resources.
Dad shook his son’s hand firmly to welcome him back to the old family home. It was a generous four-bedroom property with ample room for just the two of them. However, as Peter had become a bit of a hoarder over the years, the place was soon cluttered by a large number of cardboard boxes full of his belongings, ephemera and junk. The clutter became a source of friction between the two men, as Dad had always liked things “just so.”
As it happened, one day Dad tripped over a pile of the boxes. Luckily he was unhurt, but the contents of one of the boxes spilt out everywhere. Riding crops and school canes fell onto the floor. The two men looked at each other. 52-year-old Peter blushed just like a teenager. Dad’s Cairn Terrier, Duke, barked furiously at the upset. Who would blink first? In the end, it was Dad, “Well, son. What a revelation! A bit kinky, are we? No wonder Sandy left you! You’d better put them away. We’ll talk about it later.”
Peter scrambled on the floor, picking up the various implements of correction. He blushed furiously as he placed his “toys” back in the box. Duke barked again, and Dad couldn’t resist a chuckle.
The two men spoke little over the fish and chip supper. Peter felt awful, and he could sense some amusement from his father. How Peter wished he had hidden that particular box in the bedroom he’d been allocated.
“Alright Peter. That was a nice meal, thank you. Now, we have something to discuss, haven’t we? Bring the box, we’re going to my study.”
The study was one of the nicest rooms in the old house. It was light and airy, with the sunshine streaming through the window that autumn evening. Peter put the box down on the desk and his father sat down, facing his son.
“Well now. I think you have some explaining to do, Peter. Take the lid off the box and talk me through the contents, please.”
Peter picked up a traditional school cane. It was golden brown, three feet long and had a curved handle. “Well, you should recognise this one Dad! It’s your old cane!”
“Whaaat? Give it to me this instant!” Dad was handed the cane, and he flexed and swished it, just like old times. He pointed it at Peter and said, “It is my old cane! Lovely, but I thought I told you to throw it away? That was a long time ago now. And you’ve kept it all these years?”
“Well yes. I was going to throw it away but then I didn’t, Dad.”
“Evidently not! Has it seen a lot of use since then?”
“Oh yes, I’ll say!”
“And have you been on the receiving end or the giving end?”
“I’d rather not say, Dad!”
CRACK! Dad slashed the cane down on the desk, right in front of Peter.
“I didn’t ask whether you wanted to reply, I asked which end of the cane you were on!”
“Err, right Dad. A bit of both, actually.”
“I see. So you really are kinky then? I’m confiscating this cane, or rather taking it back as it was mine all along. I’ve thought of a use for it.”
Peter gulped. He wasn’t keen on his Dad having a cane again. Dad and cane was a near-lethal combination that brought back painful memories.
“OK Dad, of course, it’s yours to keep.”
“What else have you got in there?”
Peter extracted another cane. He swished it around.
“I got this one at a country fair. It’s a bit thinner and has an awful sting. It’s not quite as nicely finished as yours, and the crook handle isn’t as beautifully curved.”
“Mmmm. I see. Well, you can keep that one. Next!”
“A nice brown leather riding crop bought at the same country fair. It was new, unlike the cane.”
“Let me have a look please. Yes, very nice. Can you spare it?”
“Yes, Dad. You can have it, if you really want it. I’ve got another one here much the same, but in black leather.”
“Oh yes, very nice. Thanks, I will keep the brown one. You’d better hang on to the other one, Peter.”
Dad sniffed the plaited brown leather crop as Peter rummaged further in the box.
“And then I’ve got this one, which is a fluorescent pink. Quite a fun item. Popular with the ladies.”
“A bit effeminate that one. Are you sure you’re not gay?”
“Dad! Sandy chose that one. We got it mail-order from some sex supplies company.”
“Tut, tut. How seedy! What else have you got?”
“Silver handcuffs from the same supplier.”
“I’ll take those, please,” Dad said.
“A straight cane with a rubber handle. Same place again.”
“How does that compare with the others, Peter?”
“It’s a bit of a bruiser. No fun at all. And lastly, there’s this malacca cane. From the old antiques shop in Victoria Avenue. Knobbly and very punishing.”
“Mmmm, yes, it does look like something from an S&M film,” said Dad, much to Peter’s surprise. “So that leaves me with my original cane, and this rather nice brown crop you have given me. Excellent! Oh, and these handcuff thingies. Now go and put that box away in your room. We won’t be needing it again, and I don’t want it tipping out in front of any visitors. See to it, Peter. And then come back for another chat, please.”
Peter took the box up to his room. That chat had been embarrassing. He was a little worried about his Dad.
Back in the study, Dad was flexing his cane. Peter came back in and was blushing again.
“Well, Peter. This has been a day of revelations! It seems my son is what is commonly known as a spanko! With a secret supply of implements of chastisement. Dad thinks this is a bit shocking, you know.”
“Err yes, Dad.”
“Don’t worry, Peter, my boy. I shall keep your secret safe. No-one will find out from me.”
“However, it would be a shame if this crop and cane slipped into retirement. I propose a thrashing for you for all the clutter and the fact that I could have been injured. How does that sound?”
“Dad, come on, you’re joking, surely?”
“No, actually, I’m not. I’m a bit of a spanko, too. Let’s get down to it, shall we?”
“No, Dad. This is all wrong.”
“Right or wrong? Who bloody cares at my age?”
“Well, that’s how I feel. Make the old man happy, please.”
“Well, if you’re sure? And it will be a secret?”
“Of course! Now how about six with the crop for the clutter? And another six, on the bare, for the box business. With the cane, of course.”
“On the bare?”
“Yes, it always was, wasn’t it?”
“Err, of course. But things are different now. I’m 52! Can’t I be allowed a bit of modesty?”
“No! Not appropriate, I feel. You may be 52, but you’re still a naughty boy in my eyes. Now over the desk for six with this beautiful crop.”
Peter bent over the oak desk, just like in times past. It had been over thirty years since he had last bent over it. A rush of excitement consumed him. He grinned and then grimaced as his Dad swished the brown crop through the air. Dad paced up and down the room, swishing the crop some more and smacking it gently on his leg.
“You know, I think this is really going to hurt, Peter,” Dad said. “It could be worse than the cane. Perhaps we’d better have you bare for these as well, so that I can see the marks. I don’t want to get carried away.”
“I’m more worried about you having a heart attack, Dad.”
“Shut up boy! Trousers and underpants down for your father!”
So it was that Peter’s Farah slacks slid down, followed by his cream Marks and Spencer briefs. An unmistakable erection was growing between his legs and pressing against the desk. Dad had no matching stiffness! He hadn’t been troubled by an erection for a long time.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! Dad lashed the crop down enthusiastically on his son’s bottom. Oh boy, was this good!
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! Peter needn’t have doubted his father’s ability to deliver a sound beating. Dad’s handshake and grip were still firm and fatherly, despite the ravages of time.
“Very good, Peter!” Dad admired his handiwork on the naked cheeks. Red marks from the shaft of the crop decorated the arse. Yes, vivid red marks which betrayed the throbbing, burning pain Peter was feeling.
“Gosh, Dad. You haven’t lost your touch at all. My arse is killing me!”
“Language, Peter! Don’t make things worse for yourself. Now for the cane. I’m grateful you didn’t throw it away. But I need to find out if the old beauty still performs.”
The performance didn’t disappoint at all. That cane always was a special one. Its loving, bitter caress was undimmed. Peter gasped and groaned as the cane slashed down, skilfully aimed by his disciplinarian father. Dad criss-crossed the strokes, making a really sore impression. Peter wasn’t broken, but he sure was chastened. He would be a lot tidier in future!
“Fish, chips and chastisement every Friday!” Dad announced to Peter.
“You’re paying, by the way. Think of it as your rent.”
Story © 2012 by Rod Cayenne
Comments and masturbation welcome
Part 2 is available now – click here
Erotic fiction by Rod Cayenne
It was a boiling hot day at the Horse & Country Pursuits Show. The local silver band’s dismal rendition of the Titanic theme drifted over the Tannoys.
“Really Grandma, this place is straight outta Dullsville!”
Grandma was pretty hacked off with grandson Phillip’s attitude and went to slap his face. Fortunately for him, he ducked just in time to avoid such an embarrassing occurrence.
“You spoilt brat! I shan’t have you to stay again. All week we’ve been doing things you wanted to do, then as soon as I want something, all you do is moan. You’re more like a kid than a 23-year old! Anyway, I only want another hour or so here. Why don’t you go off to the beer tent? I’ll see you back at the car at 3-45.”
“And I’ll expect a full apology for your rudeness later, do I make myself clear?”
He shrugged annoyingly and said “3-45″ and then added “ish.” He disappeared off towards the beer tent muttering “Silly old bat!” to himself.
Grandma was not pleased, as she toured the produce stalls. She bought some local honey but that didn’t sweeten her mood. The next stalls were selling saddlery and tack, in which she had little interest. She did stop at one and soon noticed the display of riding crops. Instantly, a very wicked thought sprang into her mind. Perhaps her grandson would benefit from a good whipping? With a riding crop or perhaps a dressage whip! She soon engaged the proprietor in some conversation.
“I’m looking for a severe crop. One that will really hurt and sting.”
“Oh madam! These are really more for show than inflicting pain nowadays. We can’t have cruelty to horses. No, no, no.”
“It’s for a disobedient 23-year old lad actually!”
“Oh I see, madam.” He coughed and cleared his throat and began to speak in hushed tones: “That’s alright then. Ahem. Well, yes there is quite a thriving market for that sort of use. The bedroom and aftercare market, I always call it. Though I suspect your use would be entirely disciplinary, rather than toy boy, I suppose.”
“Quite so, quite so.”
“I see perfectly madam. I have a nice selection of crops and dressage whips here. I recommend investing in a quality item that will give years of use, pleasure and displeasure.” He winked.
“Now this crop would be a nice choice. Genuine black and red hide, with a steel core and a noisy slapper. Quite severe from what I remember…” He coughed and blushed a little as he began reminiscing. “Ideal for close-up work. Relentless and punishing, I’d say. A snip at eighteen pounds.”
“Eighteen pounds!” she whistled and shook her head.
“Believe me madam, it’s just what you require and you will never regret your purchase. Such an attractive item with the red and black plaiting, too.” He sensed he was getting nowhere and picked up a whippier item. “A typical dressage whip, this one. Quite a bargain this at nineteen pounds. Ideal for use at a slightly greater distance. Nice and shiny and very severe.”
There was a definite twinkle in her eyes at his last comment. But it was still a lot of money so she sighed and put her purse back into her shoulder bag.
“I could do a discount. Both for thirty pounds.”
Much to his surprise she took the bait. “Done!” she said and shook his hand.
She handed over three crisp tenners. He wrapped the two implements thoroughly in some garish pinky purple paper and handed them to her.
“Let me give you my business card too, madam. It would be nice to get some feedback on the items. Here, I’ll just put my home number on the back, in case you want it.” The sly old fox handed her the card and gave her another discreet wink.
Purposefully, she strode back to her old Saab. She threw the package in the boot, with a chuckle. She noticed that she still had half an hour left, so headed back towards the refreshments tent in search of walnut cake.
Needless to say, grandson Phillip was late back to the car. He arrived a little worse for wear. Too much of the amber nectar, she reasoned. She would have the last laugh, she consoled herself, as she drove back in stony silence while her grandson slept in the seat next to her.
They pulled up at the terraced house where she had been entertaining him for his short holiday. There was always plenty of room to park on the street, as it wasn’t an affluent area. She gave him a dig in the ribs. He awoke with a start.
“Bring my shopping in please!”
Once inside, she took the bag with the honey and cake off him and dropped it off in her pokey kitchen.
“Take the long package up to your bedroom and wait for me.”
By now his curiosity was getting the better of him. He tried to guess what was in the package as he climbed the stairs. Something long and thin. What could it be? A fishing rod? Soon his gran joined him in the small bedroom.
“Hardly room to swing a cat in here!” She laughed loudly. “Open the package, dear!”
He did so eagerly but was surprised as the crop and whip fell out.
“Oh! I didn’t know you were into horse riding, Gran!”
“I’m not. I bought these at great expense. They are for thrashing a thoroughly disobedient, selfish, moany ungrateful brat.”
“Can you guess who that brat might be, Phillip?”
“Er yes, but I’m 23! A grown man! You can’t be serious!”
“I am. I wouldn’t have spent that money if I hadn’t been.”
“I’ll tell you what Gran, I’ll give you the money for them and we’ll forget about the whole thing.”
She picked up the crop and waved it under his nose.
“Nice try, but your luck is out today. Now be a good lad and go and use the toilet. We don’t want any accidents during your punishment, do we?”
He was just about to argue some more when he realised that Gran had a point. He was bursting to use the toilet. Must have been the amber nectar. While he was gone she played with the crop and the dressage whip. This was going to be fun, she told herself. Should she get him to bare his bottom? Of course she should!
“Gran, I’m back and I’m sorry. Can’t we talk?”
“I’m done with talking. Bend over the bed, drop your jeans and underpants.”
“Oh Gran, must I?”
“I’m waiting, you’ll get extra if you don’t hurry up!”
He duly bent over and undid his belt. The blue Wranglers fell to the floor. His briefs were black, shiny and almost a little feminine.
“I’m waiting!” she snapped again. But he couldn’t bring himself to pull them down.
“Gran, it’s so rude! Can’t I keep them on? Please?”
“Well there’s some progress already. That’s the first time I’ve heard the word please today!”
Tired of waiting, she pulled the briefs down. A hairy, masculine arse was revealed to the daylight streaming through the bedroom window. It was revealed to Grandma too, and she revelled in the vision. Lustful, sadistic thoughts rushed through her mind.
WHACK! The crop lashed down in a blur of black and red.
“YEOWW!” howled Phillip. This was crazy. What had he let himself in for?
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! By now he was overcome and starting to cry. Grandma was not impressed by his wimpiness.
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! She was enjoying his suffering. Retribution was hers!
An extra firm stroke caused him to gasp and writhe.
“Are you sorry, Phillip?”
“Oooh yes Gran, please forgive my selfishness.”
“Well, I’ll just give you two with this dressage whip to make sure you’re really sorry.”
CRACK! “YYEEEEOOOWWWWW!” It was absolute agony.
He was crying once again.
“Very good. We’ll talk some more when you are fully sober. And we’ll see if you are fully sorry. I suspect that you are not.”
That could mean only one thing. More of the same.
Text © 2012 by Rod Cayenne