The Very Supportive Care Worker (M/M) NEW!

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Red hot new spanking fiction by very special guest author Sukemnsee – strictly over 18s only!

 

The Very Supportive Care Worker by Sukemnsee

 

I looked across at Nobby and Sach making fools of themselves.   They were trying to flatter a manipulative older woman who in my mind just wanted these young men to buy her a drink.  I realised that I had to do so much more with the decade that would commence in a few hours. There was no quick escape tonight, I would raise a glass like everyone else in The Ruddy Duck public house and toast midnight and Happy New Year.  I hoped that later as we would walk back to our local streets that Nobby would not start puking along every hedgerow, once again unable to hold his drink. He was such a lightweight amongst us 20-year-olds! My current social circle, product of school and college, was so-called apprentice engineers.

It had been a depressing year really, one to escape. Yes I had to change completely and forge my own pathway and Eric had inspired me in this.  The New Year’s Day private party with Eric and his friends was something else!  It was exciting, with new experiences, and more secrets not to tell my crowd about, and a sign that this year was starting differently.

Back to work on 2nd, I went straight to Foreman Len and said I planned to finish at the end of the month. I half-hoped they would throw me out instantly but he was quite polite and appreciated what I had done while working there. He said I was the cream of the intake so he always knew I would move on, but maybe not so fast. 

I enrolled in several courses in following days, taking up most of my evenings, getting minor certifications to get me employed by a Care Agency. Did it so well I left the factory one day and was on a joint assignment the very next day. My colleague was nowhere near as professional as my friend Eric, but then Eric was special in my eyes.  I had seen lots of dross tending to my late father before, but Eric had engaged my father with respect and attentiveness and restored his dignity in trying times. Eric was a role model for me in many respects.

Just two weeks later I was off to one of my first solo engagements. There was some tittering in the office as they gave me the job folder.  They wanted to see how long I would last with the miserable old man I’d been assigned to.  Such negativity, just like many factory days, those past days!  Well I would take this client on, and if I got rebooked repeatedly then that would be to my credit and help my career pathway. 

Thomas was a little curmudgeonly at first, I was yet another different face needing to be told what he needed.  The agency had sent me to him far too early! There was a TV programme he wanted to watch before being packed off to bed. Here was a quick win. I told him that if I was paired with him frequently then I could see what flexibility of time there was to make my visits suit him better and for tomorrow I would have stored his programme on my tablet using catch up and he could watch it then. This caused an utter transformation and immediately I had one happy man as my very elderly client. 

We settled into a routine very quickly. The agency was surprised that there were no complaints as in the past carers had been changed at least weekly. I even had a Supervisor call in mid visit to observe all was in order. I remembered that Eric had forged a bond with my late father by taking an interest in his past, in his case lower league football. Thomas was not much of a football supporter although he had enjoyed going to cricket, occasionally rugby and turned out to have encyclopaedic knowledge of athletics in years gone by. I certainly had to do some quick research to make conversations meaningful. On one occasion there was a rare visit from the successful in business son of his. I sensed this was a duty visit rather than deep bonding but he took me to one side and slipped me a £50 pound note as a bonus assuming I had low wages because he knew his father was much more content of late. I tried to make a polite refusal but was actually really pleased to accept it. 

One day we started talking about his former working life. It transpired he had been a schoolmaster in a notorious grammar school which even had boarders as well as day pupils. He had focused mainly in teaching Geography and History as specialist subjects but over the years had stepped in more than once in staff shortages to teach many a subject. Before he retired he held the position of Deputy Headmaster which suited him as he was still able to teach for the majority of the day whereas if he had taken Headship his teaching hours would have been very limited. He could have retired from full time position as early as 1983 but he pressed on and left in Summer of 1986. He then set up some private tutoring at home for another 10 years when he specialised in getting older boys through retakes of examinations and getting them on the path to University.

This provided lots of conversational material. Although my own schooling was adequate, I had recently had access to my Great Uncle’s project. He had recently retired from working and had decided to write up all his school and youthful memories in detail along with other research with a view to possibly publishing one day. He had shown me a lot of the early manuscripts and I had found them fascinating. His age meant he was being educated while Thomas was active in teaching so the anecdotes I heard had from my client had some relevance. My relative was a bit of a character so the memories I passed on really engaged old Thomas. 

I don’t know why but we had never discussed school punishments but I had recently been asked to proofread a couple of chapters for Uncle and when I mentioned I had this task I was asked to bring them with me and read aloud the jottings. A strange word in my lexicon. Wow! this was dynamite as suddenly it dawned on me after the first session that Thomas had obviously been a strict disciplinarian as his body language told it all. It seemed many teachers had distinctive ways in those days.

That material was a real Pandora’s Box. I had been virtually ignorant of all this history but I started to find it fascinating, especially the way it was accepted practice without complaint. Slowly Thomas started to reveal ways he kept young men in line. I could have great conversations with Uncle about this or write great amounts from the revelations. I started to get curious and on one or two occasions I was concealing a strange sexual excitement. I asked him Thomas why such a successful system died out. In his view this was a major collapse in society standards leading to the current entitled generation. What was lost was a sense of boundaries and acceptance of consequences. It was natural in maturity for young men to push boundaries and what developed them was the way they adapted and stretched ingenuity. 

A few weeks later, I had an unusual and sadly quite hostile argument with my mother. It was months of pent-up frustration I suppose but I should have handled it better. Thomas sensed this as soon as I arrived and once I had done all the necessary tasks he soon had me admitting my shame and repentance. Given my total lack of experience he told me I would receive a spanking just this time! Suffice to say I never realised an old man could use his hand so effectively especially as my bottom was bare before he said I had enough. How I ended up getting spanked by him without dissent was a slight mystery but I just seemed to have complied with instructions and I was warned future misbehaving would be far more painful. 

Six days later I found out. So soon when I had thought the previous week was just a one-off experience that had almost been a reverie. I arrived with a black eye and multiple other signs that I had been involved in a fight. The night before I had agreed to go to the pub to mark Nobby’s birthday but some louts started picking on little Sach and so I waded into defence. They ended up worse than I did though but I must stress this was not my customary behaviour at all. Thomas was immediately displeased. He made a comment that a common thug should not be sent to care for him. He did not seem to want to listen to my version of events so I just got on with the routine tasks. 

Toward the end of my session when I was preparing his luncheon tray for later, I was told to attend him in the front parlour on completion, such different use of language to our usual conversations. When I did attempt to open the door it was shut. I rapped on the door. I heard a response telling me to enter when the green light showed. I had never seen any lights? Then above the door frame was a flashing red light. It went to a steady green and I heard a click at the lock and I was able to push the door open.  What a transformation! Thomas was standing by a desk smartly dressed in a suit with shirt and tie. He also had a black gown over this similar to the way people dress up for University graduation ceremonies. There was even a hat, I now know it to be called a mortar board, on the desk alongside another item of equipment. I was summoned to stand close to the desk. 

I then got a major lecture on failing to reach the standards of a gentleman indicating that I had let myself and my family down by being involved in a common pub brawl. My protestations about saving a friend were unheeded. I felt really cowed in the face of this authority. I suddenly realised what a potent force he must have been in his prime. Then he picked up the brown stick with a curved handle off the desk and asked me what it was. I called it a stick, even a walking stick and was met with derision. I honestly had no idea what an old fashioned school cane looked like despite reading some of my Great Uncle’s writings.  I found it later on the internet. Like all miscreants, he told me, I needed a thrashing to help me make the right choices. I did exactly what he told me as this new incarnation of Thomas was mesmerising.

He had me bend over completely touching my toes then he came to the side of me and I felt the stick, I mean cane, gently tapping on my trousers before suddenly he lashed it in with force and set my whole bottom ablaze. I jumped up and then had to resume my submissive position again. Another two more strikes had me squealing, rather pathetic really. My bottom now felt like it was three times normal size. I had to endure three more strikes of this innocent looking cane before he had me stand up.

Even that hurt as my tenderised muscles moved. I was glad that was over; except it wasn’t. As an older boy, similar to many of his prefects, I was told that I needed an exemplary lesson. There was more to come! I now had to drop my trousers and take one leg out and the I even had to remove my stylish underwear, so that it hung at one ankle. 

I was told I would not be able to stay still touching my toes so instead I had to reach over the desk and lie on my stomach. Then I had to spread my legs wide. This made a perfect target for him to aim at. I never realised at the time until I did more internet research that in that position it was not just my bottom visible but that he would have seen my testicles drooping and maybe more.  What he did see and comment markedly was that my skin coloured easily and he could see the marks from the first six stroke marks. He then promised to fill in the gaps.

As before there was the tapping for positioning then the first swipe of the cane. Ouch was an understatement! The pain was incredible. It was far worse than when I wore trousers and pants.  I squealed unwittingly. By the third I was screaming. At the fourth I jumped up and almost danced around the room trying to alleviate the pain. I was sternly told to get back  in place as any more movement would lead to additional penalty strokes. The fifth stroke landed and I gritted my teeth. I felt that there would either be blood in my gums or all over my bottom at this rate. The sixth stroke was just as evil as all the rest but it turned out to be the last and I stayed silent and indeed very crestfallen. I was allowed to get dressed although I am sure my leg was shaking and my bottom twitching as I did so. 

It was my time to go home. I was told to let myself out as Thomas needed to rest after his exertions. I resisted the opportunity to tell him if had not exerted himself so much on me he would still be fine. I walked home as I did not feel I could sit on a bus without others noticing how uncomfortable I was. As I cut through the woodland I found a hidden sppace and dropped my clothes to get a glimpse of my bottom. It was not a selfie to share online! Instead it was a mass of red lines but they did not seem to be overlapping.  I felt the marks – one or two felt ridged. I feared I was being watched so I dressed and headed home, thankful I had a gap before my next carework appointments. 

Although I still care professionally for Thomas, and to the highest standard, something has changed. I am mindful of keeping my own behaviour to a comparable standard, to avoid facing further punishment.  After just six weeks there have been two more trouser canings. On a “three strikes and you’re out” principle it is likely there would be a terrible three layer caning as the next instalment. I still love the work and indeed another cash envelope came my way recently from the businessman son as Thomas is thriving in every respect. 

After those two recent canings, both evening sessions, I have found myself very charged up if you know what I mean when I retire to bed. I think Thomas has suggested he would cane other suitable youths and I am so close to getting Sach involved, or at least makiing him aware of my corrections.  However, like everything else nowadays I need to think carefully before I act in a foolhardy manner. New Year, New Pathway, New Decade, New Life. Yes, all is great now. 

_________

D I S C L A I M E R

All characters appearing in this story are over 18 and are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

____________

Story © MMXX by Sukemnsee and used here by very kind permission of the author.  All rights reserved.

Comments welcome, please use link at top of the story.

The Gate Of The Year (M/M) NEW!

♥ Site recommended story ♥

A brand new story, set on New Year’s Day, by very special guest author JOELSTRAP.  This story is currently exclusive to The Canery!  All the characters are 18 or older. WARNING: ADULTS ONLY!

 

The Gate Of The Year by Joelstrap

Half-blinded by tears and fury, I kicked the stone hard into the pond and the ducks, which had clustered round expecting bread, scattered in alarm with much flapping and splashing. I took aim at another stone.

“Don’t you kick that stone, boy!”

I whirled round angrily, ready to do battle.

“Listen, mate, I’ll kick all the bloody stones I want to and you can go and……….”

I came to an abrupt halt as I took in the guy who had addressed me so peremptorily. He stood just on six feet and was clad entirely in black leather from his boots to his trousers and jacket. A heavily-studded belt girt his waist and a knotted leather thong hung round his neck. Close-cropped black hair added to the slightly menacing look, as did the dark shadow along his upper lip and chin.

“Yes?” he enquired softly. “I can go and do what?”

“Nothing,” I replied swiftly, accepting that he was an inch taller and a good bit broader and heftier than I was.

“You going to kick any more stones at the ducks?”

“I wasn’t kicking the stone at the flaming ducks! I was just kicking it into the pond!”

“I know a very good optician and I could……”

“What!?” I interrupted rudely.

“If you couldn’t see the ducks right there in front of you,” he continued quietly, “maybe you need glasses.”

“I don’t need fucking glasses!”

“So you did see the ducks?”

“Of course I saw them! I wasn’t aiming at them!”

He raised his black eyebrows. I looked away and then back at his face.

“Okay!” I admitted sulkily, “I was being thoughtless and stupid and selfish. Satisfied?”

“You are a bad-tempered brat, aren’t you?” he observed. “Maybe I should beat the living shit out of you.”

“Like hell you will!”

“You don’t want me to beat you?”

“What kind of a question is that?”

“A perfectly natural one. I think you need a good beating to improve your behaviour. Unfortunately I can’t give you one unless you consent; so I’m asking,” he replied, making it sound as if it was the most reasonable thing in the world.

“You think I need a beating?” I asked.

“Don’t you?”

“Look, chum, I’ve no idea who you are, but there’s no way I need to be beaten and there’s no way you’re going to beat me, okay?”

“So who did you fall out with? Brother, friend, boyfriend?” he enquired.

“Why the hell do you think I fell out with anyone?” I flared, taking a step closer to him and balling my fists, rage making me over-confident.

He wasn’t intimidated, and simply said, “Maybe the young lad who cannoned into me as I came into the park, and didn’t even have the good manners to say sorry?”

“Nicky bumped into you?”

“Ah! Nicky is it? Hmm. Let me guess. Boyfriend; and you had an argument and he stormed off?”

“It wasn’t an argument and we………hey! This is none of your fucking business!”

“Sit down and tell me, then,” he commanded and pointed to a bench at the edge of the duck-pond.

I glared at him briefly, turned on my heel, and began to stride away.

“Come back and sit down,” he said, so softly that I only just heard him.

“You can’t tell me what to do!” I hissed furiously.

“I just did,” said he calmly. “Now, the real question is, are you going to do it?”

“I suppose you’re gonna beat me if I don’t?” I enquired sarcastically.

“Just sit!”

To this day I don’t know why I sat; but I did.

He came and sat beside me and asked my name and age.

“I’m Simon. I’m eighteen,” I replied meekly.

“So, Simon, tell me about Nicky.”

I decided that perhaps to tell a stranger, whom I’d probably never see again, might be quite a good idea.

“He broke up with me,” I said. “Arranged to meet me here because he said he had something to tell me; and then the two-faced little bastard says he’s been seeing another boy for the past three weeks and would rather be with him. Great start to the year, huh? First day of January and the sadistic bugger does this to me! Happy New Year….and I don’t think!”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “So, what are you going to do now? Take it out on a few more innocent ducks?”

I leapt to my feet, ablaze with anger.

“Are you bloody thick or something?” I stormed. “I wasn’t aiming at the bloody ducks! Now fuck off, and leave me alone!”

He continued to sit there, looking up at me, a slight smile on his sexy features. I made a big effort and resisted the urge to punch him on the nose. Instead I took a deep breath, turned and ran away towards the shrubbery. I was aware that there were hot tears trickling down my face, but I didn’t care. All I wanted was to get out of his sight among the bushes. I heard a thumping sound and realised that he was pursuing me; and that he was a faster runner than I was. I was within a few yards of the shrubbery when he rugby-tackled me to the ground and I found myself face-down, with his weight pinning me to the wet grass.

“Get off me!” I snarled furiously.

“Why?”

“Because it’s bloody assault, that’s why!” I yelled, turning my head to try to look into his face.

“It’s a rugby-tackle. That’s legal. It’s not assault.”

“It’s assault if it’s not during a game,” I protested. “In the middle of the bloody park and no rugby-ball in sight, it’s fucking assault!”

“So you’re objecting?”

“Of course I’m objecting!”

“Balls! Now, are you gonna grow up and talk to me sensibly?”

I couldn’t believe him!

“I’m not a little boy!”

“Yeh? Okay. Come back to the bench and sit down again.”

He rose to his feet in one swift bound and I followed more slowly.

“Look at my clothes,” I protested, “all damp and muddy.”

“Boo-hoo!”

“You don’t care, do you?”

“Not a whit.”

“A what?”

“A whit.”

I gave myself a shake, stalked over to the bench and sat down and waited until he came and sat beside me.

“You were going to tell me what you were going to do now,” he prompted.

“I’m going round to that slimy toad’s house to tell him what I think of him.”

“Haven’t you done that already?”

“Well, yeh, but…..”

“So, what good’s telling him again going to do?”

“It’ll make me feel better.”

“You sure?”

“Well, what else can I do? He betrayed me, the lying sneaking bastard!”

“Yeh. You said. I get it. He’s a skunk. Now forget him and tell me what you’re going to do next.”

“I won’t be accepting any apology from him if it all goes pear-shaped with his new boyfriend. He needn’t think he can come crawling back to me like the snake he is.”

“So what you gonna do?”

“Do you know, I gave him a great Christmas-present and all he gave me was a bar of chocolate! Course he was already with the new bugger and probably spent all his money on him. Rat-arsed shit-bag!”

The guy suddenly stood up and planted himself right in front of me, tall, leather-black, menacing. He lifted his right foot and placed the sole of his boot between my legs, pressing firmly on my balls.

“Get the fuck off!” I gasped.

“Are you listening to me?”

His boot pressed much harder and I tensed and held my breath, gazing nervously at him.

“Yes,” I panted.

“Right. I’ve asked you several times about what you’re going to do and all you’ve done is hark back to the past. I’m asking you to look forward. Fuck Nicky. He’s history. He’s last year. What are you gonna do this year?”

The pressure on my balls was a dull ache.

“I…..I think I want to find a new boyfriend.”

“Great!”

He suddenly removed his boot and replaced his foot on the ground. I caressed my testicles carefully.

“That was bloody sore,” I complained sullenly.

He shrugged.

“Who’s caring? Right. You want a new boyfriend; and you’ve got one.”

I looked round, startled, as if a boy would suddenly materialise out of the deserted park.

“Me,” he said.

“You?”

“Don’t think I’m good-looking enough?”

“I didn’t say…..”

“Not sexy enough for you?”

“I never said…….”

“Want me to go away, right now?”

“Yes….no……how the hell do I know?” I burst out angrily. “Who are you anyway?”

He held out his hand to me and “Janus,” he announced formally. “Twenty years old, stunningly attractive and superbly modest. Pleased to meet you, Simon.”

In spite of myself, I cracked a little smile at his words as I extended my hand and shook his.

“Janus is a funny name,” I observed.

“My birthday is today, New Year’s Day,” he replied, as if this was an explanation.

I looked blankly at him. He placed a hand on my thigh, well up towards my crotch and a thrill streaked through me. I gasped aloud and grabbed him by the wrist.

“Stop it!”

“Don’t you like me?”

“Yes, no, look just leave me alone.”

“Take your hand off my wrist.”

Slowly I obeyed.

“Now think carefully. Do you really want me to remove my hand from your thigh?”

I was painfully aware that I had a massive swelling in the front of my denims and he couldn’t possibly have missed it either. I shook my head.

“Good. Now listen. Janus is the name of a Roman god. He had two faces, one looking backwards and the other forwards. He was the god of beginnings and doorways and gateways, and of course of the new year, because he perched between the past and the future, looking both ways. His name, and the name January, are related to a Latin word ianua which means door. This month is the doorway of the new year, with the past year behind it and the new year in front.”

“So that’s why you’re called Janus? Because you’re at the doorway between the old and the new year?”

“Yup. And so are you today. You’ve got to look back or look forward; back to Nicky….”

“….the cheating bastard!”

“…or forward to someone new: me!”

His hand slid further up my thigh and then his thumb moved firmly over the throbbing bulge in my groin. I drew in breath sharply as a stab of delight ripped through me, fierce as a laser, fresh as a blast of icy air.

“But I don’t know you!”

“You will. Are you ready to turn away from the past and look ahead?”

“How did you know I was here?” I countered.

“Know? I didn’t know. I was out for a walk in the park and I saw you kicking a stone at the ducks. I don’t approve of hurting other living creatures, so I realised you needed a bit of discipline; and when I spoke to you I found you were a bit of a brat, which confirmed my opinion.”

“I’m not a brat!”

“You’ve seemed like one for the past few minutes.”

“I’m well-behaved as a rule; but there’s an exception to every rule. I’ve just had a stressful experience. And anyway, why do you want me as your boyfriend, if I’m a brat in need of discipline?” I enquired.

“Because you’re as sexy as a cartload of monkeys; you’ve got an arse to die for, eyes like melting toffee, and look like you’ve got a massive load of junk in the front of your jeans,” he stated astoundingly.

I flushed bright red.

“And besides,” he continued, “brats can be cured of their brattiness by a good, sound beating or three.”

“Why do you keep coming back to beating me? You can’t beat me.”

“Why not?”

“Because I won’t bloody well let you!”

“Scared?”

“I’m not scared!”

“So, you need a beating. I’m willing to give you a beating. You’re not scared of a beating. What’s the problem, Simon?”

“Boys don’t get beaten these days,” I objected. “Nobody ever even spanked me in my life!”

“Never mind. You’ve just been unlucky. But I can spank you too if you want.”

“But I don’t want a spanking!”

“You don’t like the idea of me stripping you very slowly until you’re completely naked and then pulling you across my knee, your stiffie pressed against my thigh; and then my hand caressing your bare bottom before starting to spank you slowly and steadily, gradually building the heat until it becomes a sting and then a burn and then a blaze; and maybe your balls suddenly squirming and pumping out your load?”

As he said this, his hand cupped my junk and squeezed just hard enough to make me gasp with pleasure and feel the pre-cum in my pants.

“Well, if you put it like that…….”

“But first I need to give you a beating to teach you not to kick stones at ducks and not to behave in a brattish way.”

“I told you before! I wasn’t kicking the stone at the ducks!”

“But the ducks were there right in front of you and you kicked a stone. Are you really trying to tell me there wasn’t a serious risk you might have hit one of them?”

“Well, okay,” I said reluctantly. “I guess it was a bit thoughtless.”

“So, you’re going to be caned.”

“Caned? The cane went out with the Ark! I’ve never even seen a cane for real; and I bet you haven’t either.”

“I’ve got one.”

I goggled at him.

“You’ve got a cane? A real live cane?”

“It’s not alive.”

“You know what I meant!”

“Yup. Come back with me now to my place and I’ll beat your arse with it.”

“No way! That’ll hurt.”

“Fucking right it’ll hurt. It’s meant to; and it will punish you for your thoughtless behaviour and go a long way to improving your attitude.”

For some reason my penis loved this talk and strained desperately to escape the constrictions of my clothing. I winced. Janus grinned.

“Yeh, you know you need a good beating; and you can’t wait to feel the sting of my cane. It’s another way of turning your back on the past when nobody bothered to tan your insolent young hide, and looking to the future where you’ll get a strong, sexy boyfriend who’ll give you the discipline you need.”

He stood up and extended a hand.

“Come on.”

I got to my feet and hesitated.

“Well, take my hand, you oaf!”

“But someone might see us!”

“So?”

“It’s just that……”

Janus sighed: “Look! Are you gonna take my hand or not? And before you answer, I might as well warn you that if you don’t, I’ll take it as a personal insult and give you extra with the cane.”

I gazed admiringly at him; and slid my hand into his. We walked swiftly to his flat where he took me into a small but comfortable sitting-room, sat me on a chair and handed me a cane.

“There you are. Have a feel of it; get to know it. I’ll make some coffee.”

As he clattered with crockery in the kitchen, I felt my way along the limber length of the cane with a wondering index-finger. I bent it with both hands into a smooth arc. I whipped it in front of me and heard the air whine. My penis was desperately struggling to break free from my jeans. My head assured me earnestly that being beaten with this cane would hurt. My balls couldn’t have cared less and screamed at me to offer my arse to the rod. Janus came in with two mugs of coffee and a tin of biscuits and laid them on the table. He perched himself on the arm of the chair where I was sitting and firmly took the cane from me.

“Ready to be caned, Simon?”

“I thought I was getting coffee and biscuits.”

“Sure; after you’ve been caned. Are you ready?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never had anything like this before.”

“You agreed earlier that you’d behaved badly in the park and so you deserve to be caned. It will clear up your bad behaviour and help you look to the future.”

“Oh yeh? Quick blast with a ruddy cane and I’ll forget all about Nicky? Like hell I will!”

In one fluid movement, Janus rose to his feet and lashed the cane down with full power on the leather cushion of the sofa. The whistle of the descending rod and the explosive crack as it hit made me jump with a squeak of alarm. He smiled at me.

“Think you’ll be remembering Nicky when my cane’s lashing across your behind, Simon?”

I gazed in horrified fascination at the deep indentation which the cane had made on the cushion, and shook my head wordlessly.

“Right. Jeans and pants off. Quick!”

“I…….”

“Now, boy!”

Such was the dominant power in his voice that I got to my feet and began to unbuckle my belt. I was aware that he was watching me closely. I bent down to untie and remove my trainers and all the time I could sense his eyes on my bottom. I pulled off my denims, put my hands to the top of my briefs; and hesitated. Even although my throbbing penis was protruding well beyond the waistband and fully visible to him, I felt a sudden shyness at revealing everything.

“Hurry up, boy!”

His voice was harsh and threatening. I submitted and removed my underwear, setting my bounding organ free at last. Janus gave a low whistle.

“Wow! Impressive!” he breathed; and I felt myself blushing scarlet to the roots of my hair.

He arched the slim cane slowly and I eyed it warily.

“Turn round; bend over with your hands on the chair, legs apart, bottom up.”

I obeyed and he ran a hand over the curve of my globes.

“Fantastic arse, Simon,” he enthused. “Why are you getting the cane?”

“For acting irresponsibly and thoughtlessly when I kicked the stone into the pond; and for being a bit of a brat.”

“And?”

“I dunno. I thought that was it.”

“To help you turn your back on Nicky and the past and look forward to me and the future.”

“Oh, yeh, that too I guess.”

“Say it, Simon.”

I turned my head to make a cheeky comment, but caught a look in his eyes which made me change my mind.

“To help me turn my back on Nicky and the past and look forward to the future with you,” I repeated dutifully as my rampant cock pulsed excitedly.

The cane made gentle contact with the bare skin of my rump and I flinched at its cool touch. He drew it slowly back and forward across my behind and then rapped it lightly several times. I tensed my body in readiness, penis at full stretch, heart thumping, blood thundering in my ears. I realised that although I was afraid, I was also excited. Simultaneously I wanted, and didn’t want, to be caned. Janus lifted the cane away and I waited for an interminable few seconds before it whipped hard into the centre of my buttocks, delivering a fierce sting which made me wince. My penis seemed to approve and strained for another millimetre of length.

He hit me again, slightly lower down and the second streak of fire felt more intense as it burned its way into my flesh. I drew in breath sharply, clenched my glutes for a few seconds and then slowly relaxed a little. The cane tapped several times at my behind before cracking down lower still. I gasped and squirmed as a vicious pain seemed to tear cruelly hard into my body. For the first time my penis sagged a little.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” I panted.

“It’s going to hurt more.”

“I know.”

“Scared?”

“Yeh.”

“Gonna stay down and take it like a man?”

“Do I look like I’m running away?”

“Mmmm! Seems the spunk in those big balls of yours isn’t the only spunk you’ve got. Okay; show me what you’re made of, Simon.”

He lashed the cane hard into the underside of my globes where the flesh was more tender and forced a squeal of pain from me. Furious with myself, I gripped the edges of the chair-cushion hard, gritted my teeth and stayed in position.

“Felt that, didn’t you?”

“Yeh.”

“Think I can make you squeal again with the next one?”

“No.”

“You sure, Simon?”

“Yeh.”

The cane was driven hard into my crease where the sensitive skin of my bottom merged into the tops of my legs. A lightning-streak of searing fire blasted its way across my behind and I sank my teeth desperately into the cushion, clenching my buttocks so hard that my whole body shuddered with the tension. I was just beginning to loosen my tooth-hold on the cushion when he wielded his cane again, hitting at an oblique angle across the three lowest welts. Pain blazed a fiery furrow deep into my flesh and I felt scalding tears trickling down my face as my teeth sank again hard and deep into the cushion. For several seconds the world shrank to a tight red circle of pain; and then slowly the fires began to ease and I dared to breath again. My behind throbbed with the violence of what the cane had done to it, but my penis, decidedly floppy for the past three strokes, came roaring back, welcoming the steady burn in my bottom.

“What have you learnt, Simon?”

“To behave responsibly, not to be a brat, and to be your boyfriend,” I replied submissively.

“Stand up.”

I rose stiffly and stood feeling with both hands the raised ridges the cane had made on my bottom. My penis was threatening to punch a hole in the ceiling.

“Are you sure you want me to be your boyfriend?” Janus asked.

“Will you cane me like that in future if I misbehave?” I countered.

“Of course.”

“Okay, I’m sure. I want you to be my boyfriend.”

“And you give your consent to me caning you whenever I think you deserve it?”

“Yeh. I’ll take the cane.”

Janus sat down with the cane across his knees and beckoned me to kneel between his legs, facing him. He handed me one of the mugs of coffee and we drank silently for several minutes, just enjoying looking at each other. He took a biscuit from the tin, took a bite and then held it to my mouth; and I took a bite too. For some reason it was incredibly erotic, and our eyes locked and remained entranced, held, until the whole biscuit had been consumed.

I felt that it was time I asserted myself a little.

“Are you going to kiss me?” I asked, placing a hand on each of his inner thighs, my thumbs just brushing the stretched leather which held his junk.

“Do you want me to kiss you?”

“Well, you’ve beaten me and my body seems to think that it’s yours now.”

“What about your mind?”

“It’s getting there. I think if you kissed me it would help.”

He put a hand in my hair and twisted it firmly and then raised my head even as he lowered his face towards mine. I closed my eyes and felt his lips brush mine. A thrill ran through me. He repeated the action several times and then kept his mouth on mine as his lively tongue pushed between my lips and darted round my gums until I responded and we sank into burning ecstasy. When we drew reluctantly apart, he looked me in the eyes.

“So, does your mind accept that you’re mine?” he enquired.

I nodded dumbly, gazing wonderingly at him.

“And Nicky is history?”

“Who’s Nicky?”

The kiss which followed that swept me three times round the galaxy. As I emerged, my head was still spinning and I swayed on my knees in front of Janus. He steadied me.

“You okay, Simon?”

“Yeh; just a bit dizzy. You can’t half kiss a boy. I never felt anything like that before. Made my head spin.”

“But you know which way you’re going?”

“Oh, yeh. I’ve gone through the door and I’m going straight ahead, leaving the past behind. I got one question though. You said that you didn’t approve of hurting other living creatures. Well, I’m a living creature, and you bloody well hurt me with that cane of yours!”

“As a rule that’s true; but as you said yourself, there are exceptions to every rule; and as far as I’m concerned, boys are the exception to that rule. They need to be hurt for their own good.”

“Okay. I know when I’m beaten. Take me back to the park.”

“What?”

“So we can take some bread for the ducks; to kind of say sorry to them. Have you got any bread here?”

“Sure; but you’re getting a bit bossy, aren’t you?”

“It’s how I am,” I replied firmly. “Deal with it.”

“You do realise that dealing with it might involve the cane and your bare bottom, Simon?”

“I was counting on it.”

Janus stood up, grinning broadly, and fetched some bread from the kitchen. Outside, I took his hand and walked clear-eyed and confidently into the new year.

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Story ©MMXX by Joelstrap, used here by very kind permission.  Please leave a comment by using the link at the top of the story.

Joelstrap’s excellent earlier stories for The Canery are available here.  Further great stories by Joelstrap may be found at this external link

Hot Lesbian Action (M/M)

♥ Site recommended story ♥

A repeat of this hot spanking fiction by your host, Rod Cayenne. All the characters are aged 18 or over. Strictly adults only!

 

Jasper tumbled through the front door, tired after another hectic day at the warehouse.  It seemed that every day, the work got busier and busier but his low pay stayed the same.  Anyway, he was dead beat.  Much to his annoyance, he bumped into his sister.  Her movie starlet looks and now a place at college were constant irritations to him, “Lesbian! Lesbian! Lesbian!” he shouted, taking his frustrations out on her.

Jasper’s cruel taunting soon had his younger sibling in tears. Just turned 18, young Hilary had man trouble.  Or more strictly, no man trouble.  For it was true, she had never had a boyfriend.  “Lesbian, Lesbian!” he shouted again. Forced laughter followed from Jasper, but it soon stopped when he felt his father’s firm hand on his shoulder.

“I think you and I have some man to man business to discuss, young Jasper.  Up to my bedroom.  Now!”  A while back, such a discussion would have resulted in a session with the slipper. Jasper was sure such indignities were in the past, at least for him.  For he was almost 20, and proud to be working hard for a living.

In the bedroom, Jasper looked worried as his father removed first one, and then the other of his rubber-soled slippers and placed them on the bedding.  Father spoke quietly to son, “Didn’t I warn you about picking on your sweet sister?  Several times?  And yet you still carry on, don’t you?”

“Sorry Dad.”

“It’s no good being sorry now, young Jasper.  And just because now I’ve got my slipper ready.”

“Oh Dad, come on!  The slipper?  The slipper?  Really?  I’m almost 20!”

“You mean you’re still a teenager, son! A rude, disobedient, heartless one at that!  In short, a bully.  I think you are long overdue for a reminder of how much the slipper can sting.”

“No Dad, really!  I’m almost 20, and Hilary will hear!”

“Yes, I’m sure she will.  And perhaps that will teach you to be a lot kinder to her.  Really, the way you treat her is nothing short of disgraceful.  She’s a delicate girl, and now to top it all you are being a coward.”

“Dad, Dad, come on, be reasonable, I was only teasing her.  She can take it.”

“I don’t know about that!  But I do know that you can take a good slippering.  From me.  Right now.  Bend over the bed, son.  And take your trousers and pants down for me.”  Jasper hesitated and played for time, but his father was having none of it, “Do it!  And do it now, unless you want me to take them down.  Or perhaps I should ask your sister to?”

Father seemed undecided which slipper to use.  Left or right?  Either one would pack a punch, of that there was no doubt.  Outside the bedroom door, Hilary giggled to herself.  Nasty brother Jasper was about to get his comeuppance, and she was about to get to hear all of the action.  The slipper was soon connecting with the tender bare teenage flesh. Jasper groaned and yelped as the pain got through to him. Hilary was listening, enjoying every single whack, but regretting that the panelled door had no keyhole that she could spy through.  She knew there would be no comeback, for she was her father’s pride and joy.  A particularly severe blow caused Jasper to cry out, “Owww!  For fuck’s sake Dad, I’m too old to be slippered!”

“What did you say?  Did you swear?  In my house!  How dare you?”

“Sorry Dad.”

“You will be!  You will be!  So, you say you’re too old for the slipper?  That’s good to hear because it just so happens that I found my mother’s old cane the other day.  The one that kept me and your uncles in line for so many years.  Let’s try it out!  I’m sure it will prove to be a most effective remedy for bullying, cowardice and swearing.”

“No, Dad!  No!  Please!  I’m sorry I swore.  I’m sorry for teasing Hilary.  Really I am.”

Father feigned deafness and moved over to the dressing table, opening the lowest drawer.  He extracted the cane.  It was a traditional schoolmaster’s model, with curved handle and a wicked swoosh as father practised swiping it through the air.  The noise alone was enough to fill Jasper with dread and sincere regret.

“On all fours.  Stick your bottom out more!  I need a good target.” Father had barely-suppressed sadistic laughter in his voice as he instructed his son, “That’s it, higher!”

The cane cracked down for the first time.  Outside Hilary was unsure what was happening.  She heard the difference in the sound.  It sounded something like a whip, crop or cane.  It couldn’t be, could it?  She couldn’t be sure.  How cruel though!  But then she remembered how Jasper had treated her over recent months and giggled softly to herself.  Yes, Jasper deserved it.

The second stroke was much more powerful, catching the lad by surprise.  The almighty crack of the rattan was followed by waves and waves of hot, flaming pain.  Jasper collapsed flat on the bed, his hands clutching at his bottom,

“What the?  Get up, this instant!” Father ordered, “In position.  Now!  Four more strokes to come!”

So it was to be the traditional six of the best, thought Jasper.  Father lashed strokes three, four and five down rapidly.  Jasper felt overwhelmed as the pain went way beyond bad.  Outside, Hilary was so excited, she almost felt as if she might wet herself.  She was certainly feeling light-headed.

“Last stroke son.  Take it properly and we’re done here.”  That was a challenge Jasper would have to rise to.  He wiped a tear from his eye, and stuck his bottom out submissively, willing his father and the cane to do their very worst.  And they did, once again the cane lashed down with a resounding crack which seemed to echo around the sparsely-furnished bedroom.

“OK, son.  Get up!”  Father flexed the cane right in front of his son, saying, “Now, we’ll have no more of this swearing.  Or any lesbian talk, Jasper.  Especially from someone who only seems to have male friends at the moment.”  Father winked at son.  Jasper was worried.  He couldn’t know, could he?

Poor Jasper’s bottom was on fire.  He looked at his sore bottom in the dressing table mirror.  The flesh was flaming red all over, with the added bonus of six ugly cane weals which throbbed and itched and ached and burned.  One thing was certain.  There would be no mooning the other lads in the warehouse toilets for a good long while.

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D I S C L A I M E R

All characters appearing in this story are over 18 and are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

__________________

Story © MMXVIII by Rod Cayenne.  All rights reserved.

Photo model: Rod

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Comments functionality not available for this story again – it must be jinxed!  The author welcomes feedback at rod.cayenne@yahoo.com

Polishing The Fireman’s Boots (M/M)

♥ Site recommended story ♥

A seasonal repeat for this red hot spanking fiction by your host, Rod Cayenne. All the characters are aged 18 or over. Strictly adults only!

Richard was a neighbour, and had been a member of the local fire brigade ever since leaving school.  Our friendship had started during a scout “Bob-A-Job” week, with me polishing his fireman’s boots for him.  It carried on long after that week though.  In subsequent years I found I was still polishing his work boots for him most weeks, in return for some generous pocket money.  I’d thought it quite strange how he’d ask me to come in my scout or school uniform, though.  He assured me that I looked so much smarter like that than in casual wear.  I guess he was right about that and I was happy to play along as long as he paid me.

I came to adore his boots.  It turned into a bit of a fetish for me.  I fantasised about his boots constantly.  I imagined him naked apart from his black leather boots, dominating me.  He was a tall, sexy single guy and one of my first teenage crushes.

I was 18 and horny, and I started to add an extra, secret ingredient to the polish – a little bit of my sperm.  Generally I brought the spunk in from home in a little glass screwtop bottle and added drops of it to the polish as I worked on the shiny boots, if he wasn’t watching me.  Very occasionally he would have to go out while I was there, and on those times, I’d usually manufacture a fresh supply by masturbating straight on to his boots.  The jets of my hot cum would then be worked straight into the boots, with layers and layers of black polish on top.  Then one day, he caught me just after I’d just manufactured a new load of the secret ingredient and was about to massage it into his boots, my school trousers and pants still pulled down!

“I can explain!” I cried, but of course, I couldn’t.  The fresh spunk lying on the boots did all the talking for me.  I rapidly hitched up my black pants and grey school trousers.  Unfortunately, just at that moment, the glass bottle of sperm dropped from my trouser pocket onto the floor.  Damn! He’d seen it!

“Aha,” he said as he held the small bottle up to the light, “A premeditated crime, I see.  And just how long has this been going on?”

At that point I just wanted to die, or have the ground swallow me up.  Shit!  I had been caught.  Caught bang to rights, defiling the shiny black leather of this generous friend of mine.  I didn’t know what to say about it, so I just whispered in shame, “I love your boots.”

“Yes, I can see that, you dirty little boy!  You haven’t answered my question though, have you?  So let me check the facts here.  You’ve been bringing a bottle of your spunk to work into my boots?  And today you’ve not even used its contents, instead you’ve jerked straight onto my boots.”  He’d worked it all out.  Every sordid detail. “And I’ve been paying you for this dubious pleasure!  Well, more fool me.  Now, what will your parents say when I tell them what you’ve been up to?”

This time I had to be more vocal!  I begged and begged him not to tell them.  My face was red with embarrassment.  I felt as if I’d burst into tears at any moment, or piss myself with shame.

“Well, I could punish you myself, I suppose.  But no!  It’s not my place to do that.”

“Anything, Richard, anything, just don’t tell my folks!  They’d throw me out I’m sure!”

“You might be right there.  They are real bible bashers aren’t they?”

“Yes, and they even still pay a tithe to the church.”

“My God, they’re real dinosaurs aren’t they?”

“Yes.”

“But your Dad doesn’t beat you in the biblical manner?  ‘Cause that’s what you really deserve, you know.”

“No of course he doesn’t and yes, I guess I’ve been bad enough to deserve something like that.”

“Well, you’re in luck, in a manner of speaking.  It just so happens that I have a strap and cane here.  I had a rather awkward lodger who would only respond to a sore arse.  I think maybe you’re the same.  In fact, I know you’re the same.  Get up the stairs!”

I soon found myself in the master bedroom of his two bed maisonette.  He piled pillows in the middle of the pine king-size bed and made me mount them, after pulling down my school trousers and pants for me.

One thing was for sure, he knew how to make that leather strap sting like the blazes!  It hurt and it burnt my tender bare teenage flesh.  I was riding on crests of pain, but also mixed in was the first tingling of pleasure from the pain.  I even had time to daydream idly about the possibility of working some of my spunk into the leather strap!  I wondered if he’d let me?  It seemed appropriate somehow, LOL.  A noisy and particularly sharp blow brought me back down to earth however, terminating all pervy thoughts, at least for a while.  I wasn’t counting, but I reckon there were about twenty blows in all.  I was relieved when the beating stopped.  What had started as fairly mild discipline had soon escalated into a festival of sadism.  The last blows had broken me, and rare tears trickled down my face.

“There!  I hope that leathering has taught you to never weaken good leather by spunking on it. I’m disgusted by all of this you know!  Really disgusted.  Even I wasn’t like this at your age. Anyway, now, it’s time for some extra punishment for making me pay you good money for your depravity.”

“What?  No, really Richard, I can’t take anymore!”

“I’m afraid lad that my cane always gets used once I’ve got it out from it secret lair!  Let me assure you, no naughty boy leaves my house uncaned!  I’m going to be lenient, however.  A quick six of the best should cure your emissions forever.”

Six strokes didn’t sound at all lenient to me!  My arse was already pitifully sore.  I heard him swooshing the cane through the air.  He cackled with delight as he crashed the first stroke down onto my naked haunches.  I’d never felt pain like it, of course.  The cane was an order of magnitude worse than the leather strap.  My poor abused arse twisted from left to right and back again as I tried in vain to avoid each burning stroke of the unforgiving rattan.  He was true to his word, in that this extra beating was quick.  But the pain!  Oh God!  I yelped and cried as my flesh was criss-crossed not with six but with eight stinging cuts.  The bastard had given me two extra strokes, on the flimsy pretext that I’d been writhing in attempt to avoid my punishment.  I heard him drop the cane and then, as he moved closer to me, I heard him breathing heavily from the exertion of the beating.

Suddenly I felt the bell-end of his penis pushing against the entrance to my tight puckered anus.  A little bit of cold lube and his sheathed monster was in me, thrusting and twisting.  I loved it!  He was an animal, a beast and a truly fantastic fucker.  Never before had my virgin back passage known such pleasure.  I knew we’d have to be doing this regularly in future.  Yes, I loved it, and I could tell that he did too.  I could even see the continuation of my undeclared income stream…

After coming noisily, he slapped my bare bottom and nibbled lovingly at my ear, whispering gently, “Now, anymore of this perverse nonsense, and I’ll take you down the fire station to show the lads your red arse!  It’s their favourite colour, you know.”

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D I S C L A I M E R

All characters and businesses appearing in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

__________________

Story © MMXVII by Rod Cayenne

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Comments welcome, please use the link at the top of the story.

A Cane To Treasure (M/M) NEW!

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Brand spanking new fiction by very special guest author JOELSTRAP.  This story is currently exclusive to The Canery!  All the characters are 18 or older. WARNING: ADULTS ONLY!

 

A Cane To Treasure by Joelstrap

“Great! A treasure-hunt’s always good fun,” enthused Joe. “We can take my car.”

“Not if we want to complete it before midnight,” objected Dale.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that your old jalopy’s so slow it couldn’t pass a tractor towing a trailer-load of hay uphill,” retorted Dale scornfully.

“And your old banger couldn’t pass water!” snapped Joe angrily.

“Let’s toss for it,” suggested Dale; which they duly did and Joe won.

He stopped himself from making any further derogatory comments about his friend’s car, and the pair went off to get ready.

There were around thirty cars gathered just before two o’clock that Saturday afternoon at the parking-area beside the football-ground. The majority of the competitors were middle-aged or older and only about half a dozen were in their late teens or twenties. At eighteen, Joe and Dale were the youngest there. Dale looked round.

“We’ll lick this lot no bother,” he declared confidently. “Most of them are ancient; at least fifty.”

“They’ve got good cars though,” observed Joe.

“Yeh, but you’ve got to have sharp eyes and be able to move fast when it comes to finding things,” returned Dale. “Come on! Let’s get the information-sheet.”

The two boys duly signed in for the treasure-hunt and got a sheet of paper with the instructions. There was a route to follow and also several items to collect from wherever and whenever they could before they returned to the car-park. Joe was glancing down the list of things to be collected.

“Hmm. A banana; an oak-leaf; a Charles Dickens novel; a school-cane; an antimacassar; a……”

“Did you say a school-cane?” demanded Dale.

“Yeh. that’s what it says.”

“Where the hell are we supposed to get a bloody cane from?”

“A school?”

“Oh yeh! The cane was abolished twelve years ago, you dumbo.”

“You got a better idea?”

“Maybe you could give me a few strokes with a garden-cane and I could show them the marks on my bum.”

“How’s that gonna help? It’s an actual cane we need to get, not your caned arse!”

“All right, guys! Time to start,” called the organiser. “Remember, it’s not a race, so no speeding. You’ll get round the course in about an hour, if you don’t get lost, and will need some time to find your items. You’ve got until 4.30; that’s two and a half hours. Off you go.”

Joe and Dale leapt into Joe’s car and set off in the wake of a large family saloon which accelerated swiftly away from them.

“Ruddy show-offs,” grumbled Joe. “Just because they’ve got twice the horsepower we’ve got.”

“And ten times the money,” added Dale. “But we’ll show them yet.”

The combination of Joe’s driving and Dale’s skilled map-reading, along with his quick eyes when it came to spotting and counting telegraph-poles and Z-bend signs along some stretches of the road, meant that they completed the circle without needing to stop except once to collect an oak-leaf from a tree as they passed by. They overtook several of the cars of the older competitors, their occupants puzzling over maps or arguing about the number of poles by the roadside. Dale gave them all a cheery wave as they sailed by. He had a distinct impression that at least some of the answering hand-signals may have been less than polite.

“Okay,” said Joe, “now if we go to my house we can get some of the other things. What’s an antima-whatsit?”

Dale shook his head. “Dunno,” he admitted. “We’ll look up a dictionary at your place.”

While Joe rushed around gathering up a banana, a Dickens novel and a small flower-pot, Dale discovered what an antimacassar was.

“It’s one of these little cloth things you see on the back of armchairs and sofas. Seems in the old days when guys used to put macassar-oil on their hair, it left a mark on the back of the chairs; so the antimacassar was to protect them.”

“We haven’t got any of them,” said Joe, looking perplexed. “I don’t think dad’s Trugel leaves a mark.”

“It’s okay,” declared Dale. “My gran’s got them. We’ll go round there. I never knew that’s what they were called.”

“You sure she’ll let us borrow one?”

“Oh yeh. I just need to give her a big, sexy grin and she’ll do anything I want.”

Joe rolled his eyes and headed out to his car. Twenty minutes later they had an antimacassar and were sitting pondering the only item left to get: a school-cane.

“I don’t suppose your dad has a cane for beating you at home?” he asked Dale.

“Nuh. He just takes his belt to my arse. Bloody sore it is too. I told him I was too old for getting my tail leathered about a month ago; but he said that as long as I was living under his roof I’d take his discipline; and I wasn’t so perfect that I didn’t need a good tanning now and again. Flaming cheek! I bet some of these old sods with the expensive cars know a teacher who still has a cane, and can get their hands on one that way.”

“Shit! You’re brilliant, mate!” said Joe. “I do know where we could get one.”

Dale stared at him. “Well, come on; tell me!” he demanded.

“Remember old Snuffleneb, the history-master?”

“Yeh. Boys called him that because he was always sniffing like he had a permanent cold. Mr. Grainger; a right bastard! Gave me a hundred and fifty lines once for speaking in class. Talk about over the top. But he retired three years ago.”

“He lives in the next street to us and his house backs on to ours. I’ve climbed the fence between our back-gardens once or twice to get my football back,” said Joe.

“So what? You think we should go and ring his bell and ask if he still has his cane? He’d probably order us in, tell us to bend over and give us six of the best each!”

“No, you idiot! I was thinking maybe we could sneak in and snaffle it for a couple of hours.”

“Oh yeh? Suppose he caught us? He’d probably give us sixty of the cane, not six!”

“Would you quit worrying? I know there’s a key for the back door under that big flower-pot beside the greenhouse, because I’ve seen old Mrs Shilpit next door to him getting it so she can put a parcel in when the postman left it. You stay here. I’ll dash over and get the cane.”

“What if he’s at home? You’ll get the cane alright!”

“His car’s not in the driveway. He’s not at home.”

“Suppose you can’t find it?”

“I know where it is.”

“How do you know that?” enquired Dale curiously.

Joe looked slightly embarrassed.

“A few weeks ago my football went over the fence and actually went through the open window of his kitchen. So I had to knock at the door and he took me in and pulled open the door of the coat-cupboard in his hall; and he had his cane hanging on the rail, hidden by a big overcoat. He told me if my ball came on his property again, he’d cane me. So I know where it’s kept, okay?”

“Okay; but your arse is gonna be toast if…..”

Joe rolled his eyes, vaulted the fence, and ran swiftly to pick up the key before vanishing into the house while Dale watched uneasily. Barely three minutes later Joe re-emerged and was soon back in his own room with Dale, looking at the cane.

“Shit! I never held one of these bastards before,” gasped Dale. “See how pliant and springy it is? No wonder they say it used to hurt like the fires of hell.”

“Yeh; well never mind that now. We need to get back to the finish and see if we’ve won that treasure-hunt. Forty pounds is the first prize. Think what we could do with twenty quid each? Boy! we’d be bloody rich!”

Joe slid the cane down the leg of his jeans and the two boys made their way out to the car and back to the car-park by the football ground. Other cars were arriving and one or two were there already. Joe and Dale went up to the organisers’ table and handed over their answers to the questions and the small collection of items they’d had to gather.

“All correct, lads!” declared the man checking their answers. “Now, have you got all the things? Yup. Even the cane. We thought that would be a tough one.”

“No,” said a voice behind them, “not for this young delinquent, who purloined it from my house half an hour ago!”

Both boys spun round to look into the grim eyes of Snuffleneb.

“Oh,” said Joe.

“Ah,” said Dale.

“I thought you were out,” stammered Joe. “Your car wasn’t there.”

“And that makes it okay to enter my home and steal one of my possessions?”

“I just borrowed it! I was gonna return it.”

“As it happens,” said Snuffleneb, “A friend and I were doing the treasure-hunt and I’d stopped my car in the street and come into the house to fetch my cane, when I saw young Joe here scampering out through the back-door with it. Since I’d noticed him and his pal at the treasure-hunt, I drew the correct conclusion and here I am, without the requisite cane because it’s been stolen.”

Reluctantly Joe handed over the cane, giving Dale a helpless glance as he did so, and as the prospect of the forty pounds vanished like the morning mist. Snuffleneb took it and handed it, along with his other items and his answers, to the organiser. A minute or two later the organiser said, “Well done, sir. All questions correct. All the items are of course here, including the cane; but if anyone else has all the questions correct and all the items, we’ll have to put the names in a hat and draw for the winner of the forty pounds.”

Other contestants began to approach the table, and Snuffleneb and the two boys stepped back to wait. Joe approached the retired master diffidently.

“What…what are you planning to do about me borrowing your cane, sir?” he enquired.

“Theft is a serious matter. I should think the police need to be informed.”

“But, sir! I only borrowed it! You know me. You know I’m not a thief.”

“I’ll admit I always thought you weren’t; but perhaps I was wrong,” said Snuffleneb coldly.

One of the organisers approached them.

“All the results are in,” he said. “It seems that telegraph-pole down off the road caught out everyone except you, Mr Grainger, and our sharp-eyed youngsters here,” he said. “You’re the only ones who got all the questions correct; but of course whoever doesn’t have the cane, doesn’t have all the items and so,” he continued, giving the boys a sympathetic glance, “you are the winner, Mr Grainger.”

Snuffleneb smiled; a slow smile which crept across his face like the sun spreading across the landscape as a cloud disperses. Dale and Joe swallowed, and extended their hands to congratulate him, mustering as much sportsmanship as they could.

“Give us a moment,” Grainger said to the organiser, and took the boys aside.

“You pair want that forty pounds, don’t you?” he asked, and the two nodded.

“Right. You did bring the cane here, and so you had all the questions right and all the items, so I’ll give you back the cane so that you can claim the prize. But,” he continued, “you, Joe, will have to pay the penalty for entering my house illicitly and taking something without asking permission. I’m sure you can think what that penalty will be?”

“You’re going to cane me?”

“Very hard,” said Snuffleneb.

Joe gulped.

“If you don’t agree to accept a caning from me, then I keep the cane and I win the money. It’s your choice.”

“I should get caned too,” whispered Dale, but Joe shook his head energetically.

“No way! I was the one who took the blasted cane. Look! We want that cash and we’re gonna have it. I dunno what a caning feels like, but it can’t be that bad. I’m eighteen after all. If kids of twelve could take it in the old days, surely I can.”

He turned to Snuffleneb who was dabbing at the perpetual drip which hung from the end of his prominent nose.

“Okay, I know I was wrong to take the cane and I’ll take my punishment,” he said firmly.

Snuffleneb smiled and handed him the cane which he in turn handed to the organiser, who then announced Joe and Dale as the winners of the treasure-hunt.

“My house in half an hour, Joe,” said Snuffleneb as he strode towards his car, carrying his cane which he’d retrieved from the organiser.

“Yes, sir,” replied Joe dismally.

The two boys returned to Joe’s house and then Joe left Dale to wait in his bedroom while he went over to Snuffleneb’s home. He was admitted and taken to a small study at the rear of the house. On the desk lay the cane. Snuffleneb picked it up and showed it to Joe who eyed it warily.

“Think it will hurt?” he enquired in a conversational tone.

“I guess so,” Joe replied, “but since I’ve never been caned before, I don’t know.”

“You’ll soon know,” said Snuffleneb with a smile which Joe found alarming. “Jeans and pants down, boy!”

“What!?”

“Your jeans are the blue trouser-like items of clothing you’re wearing on the outside. Your pants are whatever you’re wearing underneath them,” elucidated Snuffleneb.

Joe raised his eyes briefly to the ceiling and, “Yes, sir. I meant that you can’t be going to cane me on my bare bottom.”

“Oh, I can; and I will. Now, get them down. The longer you make me wait, the more you’ll get.”

Joe stared disbelievingly for a moment and then slowly unbuckled his belt before pushing his denims down to his ankles. He put his hands on the waistband of his underpants and then hesitated.

“Down!” commanded Snuffleneb; and Joe complied with obvious reluctance, horrified to find that his penis was rising.

He placed both hands across his genitals and looked helplessly at Snuffleneb, who nodded at a chair.

“Over,” he said tersely. “Hands on the seat and keep them there.”

Joe obeyed, relieved that his erection was no longer visible; not least because it was now at full extent as he waited with an unexpected mixture of anxiety and excitement for the caning to commence. He felt the slim rod being laid across his bare buttocks, the few taps of the cane as Snuffleneb found his range, and then there was a long moment of expectancy as the cane was raised and brought down hard and accurately across the centre of Joe’s behind. A lash of fire seemed to whip fiercely in a slender line along his bottom and he gasped aloud, clenching his buttocks as he processed the sting. Barely had he readied himself when the cane slashed his rump again, slightly lower, delivering another blast of pain which elicited a grunt as his head came up and his lower body shuddered.

Snuffleneb did a practice-stroke and smiled to himself as Joe winced hard at the sound, his body tensing for the sting which didn’t come. A few seconds later it came with a searing burn which felt to Joe as if a red-hot wire was being ripped through his lower bottom. He uttered a squeal and his right hand flew round to scrub desperately at his flaming skin.

“I told you to keep your hands on the chair,” said Snuffleneb softly. “You’re getting that stroke again. You will do as you are told. Do you understand, boy?”

“Yes, sir,” gasped a horrified Joe.

Snuffleneb hit him with the cane again, the stroke cross-hatching two of the earlier ones and detonating a violent explosion of pain which had Joe writhing from the hips as he fought to keep his hands on the chair. Snuffleneb surveyed him, relishing the sight of the boy’s welt-marked buttocks, quivering body, and white-knuckle holding of the seat.

“Yes,” observed Snuffleneb quietly, “I think I’m starting to get through to you. That was the penalty stroke. Next one is number four.”

Even as he spoke, he wielded the cane again and inflicted a fresh stripe low on Joe’s rear. The boy yelped and bucked and twisted his body as he fought the pain. Snuffleneb stroked the throbbing bulge in the front of his trousers and rapped Joe’s bottom several times with his cane, savouring the way the youth flinched nervously each time. He raised the cane and hit him hard. Full on the crease the punitive rod landed, driven viciously deep into the sensitive flesh, and forcing a howl of agony from Joe. The chair rocked dangerously as he forced himself to keep his hands clamped firmly to the seat. Snuffleneb listened to his panting and watched with delight the repeated tensing and relaxing of his gluteal-muscles. He made Joe wait for the last one, observing him closely and enjoying the tension in the youngster’s body as he tried to ready himself for the pain to come. Snuffleneb aimed at a slight angle across two earlier welts and managed to raise Joe’s experience of pain substantially. A violent squirming, accompanied by a desperate squeal which tapered into noisy panting on Joe’s part, was so exciting for Snuffleneb that he had to fight the urge to lay into the boy’s behind again.

“Stand up, hands on your head and don’t touch your bottom,” ordered Snuffleneb, and Joe obeyed slowly, forcing himself to resist the desire to caress his battered rear.

Snuffleneb admired the taut buttocks and the series of fiery welts which he’d laid across them. He had missed using the cane so much in the twelve years since its abolition; but he was delighted to see that he hadn’t lost his skill.

“Turn round.”

Joe turned slowly and Snuffleneb observed that his penis was semi-hard and rising.

“You took that very well,” he said. “It was a tough caning for a boy who’s never been caned before. What did you think?”

“I never thought it would hurt as much as that,” Joe confessed. “The fire just seemed to blaze across my bum with every stroke; and when you hit me low down, oh hell! That was horrendous.”

“And yet you’re partly aroused and growing harder by the moment,” observed Snuffleneb, while Joe flushed bright red to the roots of his hair. “You can put your hands behind you now.”

“I don’t know why that’s happening,” Joe admitted, placing his hands carefully on his flaming rump. “It’s kind of embarrassing.”

“You’re not the only one to get hard,” said Snuffleneb mildly.

Joe stared and then glanced down and then back at the man’s face.

“You liked caning my arse?”

“Definitely. It’s a superb bottom for the cane; and you can take it. Of course I liked it; and I’d like to do it again before too long.”

“You mean if I do something wrong again?”

“No.”

Joe scrubbed at his bottom and looked at his feet for several long seconds as his penis reached maximum length. He glanced at Snuffleneb from beneath his brows.

“You want to beat me just for the hell of it?” he enquired tentatively.

“Only if you want to be beaten.”

Joe continued to explore the marks on his rear for almost a minute before he looked into Snuffleneb’s face.

“I think,” he said quietly, “that I might want that. I know it sounds a bit out there, but it was exciting even though it hurt so much; and I feel really good now, as you can see,” he ended, nodding at his towering erection.

“Right; let’s say ten o’clock on Saturday morning,” said Snuffleneb. “It won’t be a punishment-caning, so there will be a lot more strokes, and most of them won’t be as hard as today’s ones.”

“Most of them?”

“You’ll need a few real stingers,” said Snuffleneb. “I wouldn’t want to make it too easy for you.”

Joe’s penis strained for an extra millimetre of length.

“Is that friend of yours waiting in your house?”

Joe nodded.

“Then I think you might find that he can help you with that,” said Snuffleneb, pointing with his cane towards Joe’s massive boner. “Get your jeans and pants up and off you go.”

Joe complied and then eyed the cane for a few seconds.

“I thought,” he said slowly, “when I went on the treasure-hunt, that the treasure I’d find would be the prize-money. I never imagined it would be a ruddy cane that was going to lash my bare arse!”

“I always treasured my cane,” said Snuffleneb, with a smile. “It gave me so much pleasure; but treasures shared are treasures massively increased, and I think you are going to learn to treasure this cane as much as I do; but for a different reason!”

“I’ll see you on Saturday morning,” said Joe as he made for the door.

“And if you’re late you’ll get four very hard on the bare to start off,” threatened Snuffleneb. “Are you going to be late?”

Joe gave him an impudent grin.

“Yes, sir!” he said.

And he was.

___________)

Story ©MMXIX by Joelstrap, used here by very kind permission.  Please leave a comment by using the link at the top of the story.

Joelstrap’s excellent earlier stories for The Canery are available here.  Further great stories by Joelstrap may be found at this external link

Christmas Shopping 2019

For the season of goodwill to all men… 

Now is the time!  Christmas is fast approaching.  What better way to show your adult partner your hitherto secret desires than by giving them a rattan cane as a gift?   At this time of year, you can always treat it as a jokey present!  Or blame a friend for suggesting it as a gift.  It’s probably the only time of year you can get away with such a light-hearted approach.  Do it now!  Yes, right now!  If you get a negative reaction, you can always dismiss it as a joke…it didn’t cost much, it wasn’t serious, Santa must have left it, I’ll throw it away, etc.  I don’t recommend the latter, of course.  Just save it for a rainy day…or a snowy day…

You can find these implements all over the net.  The two fine canes in the picture came from a firm called Quality Control here in England, but other suppliers are available!  You could try an auction site, for example.

Please don’t blame me if you end up with a sore bottom as one of your gifts!  If you get a favourable reaction, it may be sub or it may be dom!  Or it may be somewhere between the two!  Your mileage may vary, as they say.

___________)

Posted by Rod Cayenne

This is a revised version of a post from years and years ago.  Oh yes…

Comments welcome, please use the link at top of this item!

Junior Masters – Part 2 (M/M)

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Second part of this spanking story by Rod Cayenne.  Strictly Over-18s only!

Dennis Miller, Junior Associate Physics Master, couldn’t help noticing how well colleague Adrian Bruce and the headmaster had been getting on as the week wore on.  Maybe that caning his friend had mentioned discreetly had brought the two men closer?  Dennis was a little envious.  All the same, he was sure that he didn’t want to go through the same thing.  He couldn’t help wondering whether Adrian was the first junior master ever to be caned there at the school.

On the Saturday morning, Dennis reported to the office for his performance assessment.  Headmaster, Mr Victor Timpson, cut an imposing figure in his distinguished tweeds.  Dennis gazed at him with admiration, bordering on affection.  Just then, however, the junior master noticed the whippy  punishment cane lying on the desk.  Surely, there was no prospect?

Timpson noticed his subordinate’s worried expression, and immediately picked up the cane, saying, “I don’t think we’ll be needing this, will we, Mr Miller?”

“No, I trust not, Headmaster!”

“No.  I’ve been very pleased with your performance, lad.”

The 23-year-old blushed with embarrassment at the compliment and at being referred to as if he were indeed still a lad or schoolboy.  He watched carefully as the headmaster placed the cane back in the cast iron umbrella stand behind him.

“Thank you, Sir.  I’ve tried hard and I think I can honestly say that I’ve only stuffed up a couple of lessons.”

“Stuffed up, that’s a funny expression, what do you mean exactly?”

“Oh you know Sir, screwed up.  Big time.”

“Screwed up?  What a coarse expression.  I don’t much care for that.  Tell me about these lessons, please Mr Miller.”

“Well, you know Sir, ever since the moon landings ceased, the boys seem to be less and less interested in science.  I’ve had to use the cane a few times to keep them motivated.  I do appreciate being given corporal punishment rights.”

“Yes.  Not all of my junior masters have those rights, you know.”

“No, I know, Sir.   Thank you again.”

“So these stuffed up lessons, what do you attribute the problems to?”

“Oh my fault entirely, Headmaster.  Lack of preparation, really.”

“I see.  And what punishment do you deem appropriate for a pupil who hasn’t done his prep?”

“A good question, Sir.  A caning is often called for, Sir.  Especially for a repeat offender.”

“You seem very sure about that, Mr Miller.  So let me ask you another question, then.”

“Fire away, Headmaster!”

“Oh don’t worry, Miller.  I shall fire away.  Most certainly.  So, my new question is, what punishment should a junior master who hasn’t done prep for his lessons get?  Especially if he is, how shall I put this?    A repeat offender!”

“Oh Sir!”

“Yes, indeed!  A caning!”

“But Sir!  I’ve never had the cane before!”

“Hold on!  I have given corporal punishment rights to someone who has never experienced a good, hard  caning himself?  How could I have been so stupid?”

“Well Sir.  I may have slightly misled you when we discussed the matter before.”

“You are making things worse for yourself again, Miller. Every little revelation is dimming my view of you.  Now, let’s just examine the official school punishment book.  You are of course recording all beatings in here?”

“Oh yes, Sir.  Your secretary has been most helpful in that regard, even tracking the pupils down to ensure that they countersign their entries.”

“Ah, yes.  Jayne is assiduous in these matters, even despite her obvious distaste for the use of the cane.  Let’s see.  Yes.  An awful lot of entries from you, Mr Miller.  I hadn’t really picked up on that before.  Mainly sixes, too, I see.  Quite the little sadist aren’t you?”

Poor Dennis Miller stared with embarrassment at his scuffed suede shoes.  There was nowhere else to look.  He couldn’t bring himself to reply.  He could not look Mr Timpson in the eye, just at that moment.  There was a heavy sigh from the headmaster, who rocked back in his chair and leant back to grab a cane from the umbrella stand.  He had picked, at random, a senior model.  Its crook-handle and brown patina made it look old and distinguished, though it was actually a fairly new addition to the arsenal, chosen by his secretary, Jayne Wilkins, who was an expert in sourcing punishment rattans.  Indeed, the headmaster’s study was well-stocked with canes.  As well as in the umbrella stand, there were further canes hanging on hooks in the walk-in cupboard.  The headmaster rose and approached the cupboard, opening the door and pulling out the wooden caning stool.

“My, my!  I hadn’t expected to be doing this today, Mr Miller!  It has to be six for you, of course.  Just like the boys have been getting.  You can keep your trousers on, but I shall expect you to take your beating with decorum.  Is that clear?”

“Sir!  There must be another way?”

“Not unless you want your cards, Miller.  And arguing about your punishment is not good form.  Hardly the decorum I just mentioned, is it?  Take your jacket off and bend over the stool.”

Miller removed his brown cord jacket and draped it over the chair he had been sat in.  Slowly, he bent over the official caning stool, his trousers riding up his pert posterior, causing a half-mast effect, displaying his lime green socks prominently.  Timpson noticed the socks, they were ghastly and nothing like the sober grey socks of his usual visitors.  To him, it was just another example of Miller’s poor judgement.  The cane slashed down.

“AARGH!” cried the junior master, leaping up from the stool, and clutching at his backside.

“What did I say about decorum, Miller?  That wasn’t a hard stroke, you know.  Even a first year could have taken that one in his stride.  Get back down, right now!”

Gingerly, the young master resumed his position.  The headmaster surveyed the scene.  Not a particularly shapely bottom, he mused to himself as he lined up his second stroke.

“OWWW!”  Once again, Miller was showing his distress, much to the annoyance of Mr Timpson.  The same thing happened with the third stroke.

The headmaster took a break and started to pace around the room, flexing and swishing the cane as he addressed the junior master, “Really quite a cowardly display!  For someone keen on using the cane to maintain classroom discipline, I would have expected rather more.”

“Sorry, Sir,` croaked the junior master, still obviously in distress.

The next stroke elicited only a loud groan from Dennis Miller, but it was only a temporary display of courage, as the fifth stroke hit him with agonising pain accompanied by a loud squeal!  How his bottom throbbed and ached from the cruel punishment being meted out to him!

“Last one!  See if you can take it quietly, Miller.  I don’t like all this unnecessary fuss.”

With a loud crack, the cane landed right on target for the last time.  Miller leapt to his feet, clutching his backside and cursing indistinctly.

“Well!  Have you learnt how much a caning can hurt, Dennis?” asked the headmaster with a slightly more friendly tone.

“I’ll say so, Sir!  That really hurt.”

“Good!  But I feel I have no choice but to withdraw your corporal punishment rights until such time as you can prove to me that you can take it as well as you give it out.  That was a most cowardly performance.  Let me know when you feel ready to discuss the matter again.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Let’s fill out the punishment book, shall we?  It’s a shame there isn’t a comments column, as I’d record ‘poorly taken’ if there were one.”

The poor junior master felt utterly humiliated.  As he walked home, he reflected that the only way he could get his much-loved corporal punishment rights reinstated was to take a further beating from his employer, and that was out of the question.

A dejected Dennis Miller opened the front door, only to be met by his step-father, Jim.  A recent addition to the household, there was sometimes friction between the two men.  This time, however, Jim gave a friendly smile and a firm handshake.

“You look a bit got at, young Dennis!” the older man laughed.

“Yes, the headmaster wasn’t very happy with me.  Don’t tell Mum, but the bastard whacked me!”

“What?”

“I said the bastard whacked me!  Six of the best with the cane, just like the boys get.   Said I hadn’t been preparing for lessons and was too keen on beating the boys.”

“Aha!  Power corrupts, doesn’t it?  A bit too free with the cane, eh?  I was the same when I was a prefect!”

“What?  Prefects caned at your school?”

“Oh yes!  It was what they call ‘old school’ in many ways…”

“Gosh!  That caning bloody hurt.  And he withdrew my corporal punishment rights!  Bastard!”

“No more jollies for you then, eh lad?”

“I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

“Oh, I’m sure you do!  Anyway, this is a pretty dire situation.  If you don’t want me to tell your mother, you’d better allow me to top up your caning.”

“What?  You’re joking!  That’s blackmail!”

“No, no, Dennis.  Your behaviour towards your mother has been disgraceful lately anyway.  I know that maybe something to do with jealousy caused by my arrival.  You’re obviously in need of some friendly family guidance from your dear old stepfather.  As it happens I’ve got a cane here, a souvenir from my prefect days.  It might take me a minute or two to find as I still haven’t unpacked everything!  Up to your room now, I’ll be there as soon as I can!”

“No Jim!  Really!”

“Shut up, Dennis.  And you can call me Sir!”

For the second time that day, Dennis felt trapped.  Even worse, for the second time that day he was facing a caning.  Until that day, his backside had been virgin territory as far as the cane and its ravages were concerned.  But all that had changed earlier, and was now about to be reinforced.  Desperately unhappy, Dennis made his way upstairs to his untidy bedroom.

Jim burst in with a flourish.  In his right hand he held a cane dating back over two decades to his own school days.  But first, there was another shock for Dennis.

“I want to inspect your bottom, Dennis.  I need to see how badly it is marked to determine how hard I need to be.”

“Oh, Jim!  No!”

“That’s ‘Sir’  and ‘yes’ to you, boy!”

“Sorry, Sir,” said Dennis realising perhaps that he had no choice.  He bent over the bed and slipped his jeans and pants down so that his stepfather could examine his bottom.

“A few nice marks.  Not too deep, just surface scarring.  It’s quite a large bottom, isn’t it?  I reckon I could fit another eight strokes in there.  Any more could be a touch cruel.  We’ll keep the bottom bare though.”

Things were going from bad to worse for Dennis.  Eight strokes instead of a maximum of six that he had anticipated, and now they were to be bare bottom!  He could only hope his stepfather was out of practice!  But it was to prove to be a forlorn hope…

CRACK!  The first stroke landed with presence and determination.  Poor Dennis yelped with pain.  Clearly, his stepfather has lost none of his ability acquired all those years ago.

CRACK!   The second stroke just added to the pain.  Again, Dennis yelped, quite inappropriately for a 23-year-old.

CRACK!  CRACK!  Jim upped the ante by adding two strokes in rapid succession.  His stepson just gasped and groaned.

CRACK!  An epic fifth stroke made Dennis leap up, clutching his fleshy cheeks, gasping and trying to massage the pain away.

“GET DOWN IMMEDIATELY!  I hope you weren’t like this with the Headmaster!  Well?”

“Sorry, Sir.  The Headmaster’s caning was hard to take, but if anything yours  is even worse.”

“That’s the way it should be!  Now back into place.  Three more strokes to come.  Think yourself very lucky I’m not adding extras for disobedience!”

“Sorry, Sir.”  Dennis bent back over the bed, offering his smarting and striped cheeks for further chastisement.

CRACK!  A sixth stroke hit home with an almighty sting.  Dennis cried out again, and Jim just tutted and swished the cane through the air as if practising his swing.

CRACK!  CRACK!  Two final, diagonal strokes soon had Dennis crying and clutching at his bottom once again.

“I can see we’re going to have to toughen you up Dennis,” said Jim flexing the cane with menace.

 

To be continued…

________________

D I S C L A I M E R

All characters appearing in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to real establishments, businesses or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

________________

Story © MMXIV by Rod Cayenne

with special thanks to Jim for his inspired ideas

All rights reserved

_______________

Comments welcome

Junior Masters – Part 1 (M/M)

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Spanking fiction by Rod Cayenne, repeated from 2014.  All the characters are aged 21 or over.  Story strictly for over-18s only!

“Good of you to come along, Mr Bruce. I have taken the unusual step of reviewing your performance on a Saturday, so that I can give you my undivided attention.”

“Yes, Headmaster. Very thoughtful. Thank you.”

“Before I give you my impressions, may I ask how do you think things have gone then?”

“Not too badly, Sir. I really love the school, its history and traditions. The pupils are all eager to learn. I do like working for you.”

“I see. From my point of view, I remember a really good start, indeed the whole of the teaching staff was impressed. Especially those early outings to York that you organised. But let’s not beat about the bush. I’ve been very disappointed with your performance lately. After that encouraging start, things have gone downhill rapidly.”

“Really, Sir?”

“Don’t play innocent with me, Adrian Bruce! I realise that you are a junior master, and not long out of University. However, I feel my expectations are not unrealistic. You have failed to keep order in your classes, which has resulted in a steady stream of lads reporting to me. Even a few of the Lower Sixth! Those lads are not much younger than you. I’ve got better things to do with my time than chastise them. I feel that the cocky attitude you have shown towards Mr Williams as Head of History is partly to blame for this.”

“Sir?”

“Yes! How on earth can the boys respect him when clearly you do not?”

“I wouldn’t go that far, Sir.”

“I’m afraid that I would, Mr Bruce. If you do respect Mr Williams, you’ve got a very funny way of showing it. I have discussed the matter with him and clearly he feels aggrieved. He’s not a particularly sensitive soul, either. It’s not just me reaching damning verdicts on your behaviour. I also hear that you have been insolent to the kitchen staff and to Jayne Wilkins, my dear, dear secretary. Now then, how are we going to clear the air, give you a chance to show that you are sorry and discourage any repetition?”

“I really don’t know, Sir. I accept all your points of course and I’m most sorry to have let you down. What do you suggest?”

“I have an idea. I propose to treat you the same way as I would a disobedient, recalcitrant sixth former. That is to say, with a traditional six of the best with one of my finest punishment canes. On the seat of your trousers. I had considered more strokes, but really, you are just a naughty boy at heart and must be treated accordingly. What do you say?”

“What? You are joking, aren’t you?”

“No my dear Mr Bruce, I’m not joking. I’m not known for my jokes at all. In this matter, I’m deadly serious.”

“Well, Headmaster. Let me think. It’s an unusual proposal, to be frank. I suppose it may help clear the air. If you do it, will you be telling Mr Williams?”

“I’ve already discussed it with him. He’s in favour. It will be a secret between the three of us, unless you choose to publicise the matter. I would caution against the latter course, however. Your authority at the school could be further diminished. I would have to consider dismissal.”

“Oh, Sir!”

“Shall we proceed Mr Bruce?”

“No, Sir. Really there must be a better solution.”

“I’m listening, Mr Bruce, but it seems very quiet to me. In fact, I don’t hear a better suggestion at all, Mr Bruce. I put it to you that you are wasting my time.”

“Sorry Headmaster. OK, let’s get it over with.”

“Excellent! I knew you’d see sense eventually.”

“Right then my lad. Go to the cupboard over there, and bring me the caning stool. That’s it! Put it down here.”

Adrian Bruce surveyed the pale wooden stool with dismay. It had a worn green leather seat. He imagined dozens of lads bending over the stool had scuffed the padded leather over the years. He felt humiliated, even before the caning had started. Was he going to be the first ever junior master to be treated this way?

“And now back to the cupboard, Mr Bruce. You will find a selection of punishment canes hanging on hooks at the back. Select one, any one, and bring it to me.”

This was getting worse for Adrian. Now he had to pick the very cane that he was to be beaten with! He gazed at the selection hanging on the hooks at the back of the walk-in cupboard. They all looked much the same to his untrained eye. He grabbed one at random and gave it to his boss.

“A fine choice, Mr Bruce. It’s what I call a walloper, a senior cane, just right for sixth formers.”

Adrian Bruce wasn’t sure how to feel. Should he be reassured that a cane deemed suitable for 17 and 18-year-olds would be used on him? He himself hadn’t been caned for many years, and, of course, had felt immune from the threat of it. Now he was facing a nightmare. He would have to be stoic, and remain composed and silent during his beating. Gradually, he bent over the caning stool, offering his buttocks to his headmaster for chastisement. This had to be the most humiliating day of his entire life!

“That’s not quite right, Mr Bruce. Let me help you get into position.”

The headmaster manhandled Adrian into the correct position. Now, the junior master’s pert arse was even more vulnerable to the forthcoming onslaught.

CRACK! The first stroke landed right on target. The agonising pain caused the victim to yelp with surprise and discomfort. He gripped onto the rung of the stool and gritted his teeth.

“Quiet, boy! I expect you to take your punishment like a man!” admonished the headmaster. The junior master really resented being referred to in that manner, but even more he resented the throbbing pain in his boyish bottom! Could he stand another five strokes? He would have to, like it or not!

CRACK! The second stroke landed and was again accompanied by a barely-disguised yelp from Adrian Bruce, Junior History Master.

“What did I just tell you, lad? I said to be quiet, did I not?”

“Yes, Sir. Sorry. It really hurts though.”

“Obviously, you’re not listening to me, yet again! I told you to be quiet and yet here you are giving me useless, superfluous information about the fact that a caning hurts. Of course it does. I know that already!”

A shame-faced Adrian shuffled back into position on the stool. Wishing to pacify his headmaster, he stuck his bottom out just that little bit further, ready for a third stroke. When it came, however, it was even harder than its predecessors. A squeal escaped from the junior master, despite his best intentions. This time the head just tutted and sliced another hard stroke down. The walloper cane was living up to its reputation!

The penultimate stroke slashed down with a sickeningly sharp retort. Wave after wave of pain racked through the bottom of the junior master. He gasped and gasped again. This was all too much!

The final stroke was the hardest of all, accompanied by a shrill “AAARGH”, which echoed around the bare walls of the study.

 

The headmaster shook his head in disbelief. “A very poor display, that, Mr Bruce. I’ve had tougher third formers over that stool. Get up! Put the stool away. Not the cane though, we’ll leave that to cool down here,” he said placing the rattan rod down on the top of his desk. That was a strange idea, thought Adrian, although he dared not query his headmaster’s decision.

“Sit down!” the head commanded. “There’s just the small matter of the punishment book to complete. Here, I’d already filled in the details. You just need to sign it.”

The headmaster handed the book over. Through misty eyes, Adrian Bruce studied the entry:

Date: 1st February

Name: Adrian Bruce

Form: n/a

Offence: Insolence

Strokes: 6

Location: Seat

Administrator’s signature: V Timpson, Headmaster

Pupil’s signature:

Adrian scratched his signature in the final box using the Waterman fountain pen he’d been lent by the headmaster. As he wrote, he reflected to himself that it had been quite a morning!

“Right! Let’s sum up before you go. More effort and more respect! Discreet apologies to Williams, the kitchen staff, my secretary. Make a point of praising Mr Williams in all your classes. Now, I suppose you may wish to tell the other junior masters about this. I have no problem there. I will be conducting similar performance reviews with them too.”

After Adrian Bruce had gone, the headmaster rang his secretary at her home. “Hello Jayne. Yes, all to plan. Six hard ones. No, no. He didn’t take it at all well. I had to restrain myself from laughing. Yes, a very nice bottom, as you said, just made for caning. No, I made him keep his trousers and pants on. Didn’t want the blighter enjoying it! I can stop the night as Bill’s away. Yes, of course I’ll bring the cane I used with me. See you soon darling. Bye.”

Adrian laid low for the rest of the weekend. His parents were surprised when he scrapped his plans to go to Scarborough on Sunday. Instead, he spent a great deal of time in his room, reflecting on his humiliation and his rather sore bottom.

On Monday, at school, Adrian shared his shame with his fellow junior masters. His friend, Dennis Miller, was a star performer as Junior Associate Physics Master, but even he was concerned about his forthcoming appraisal. “You’ve got nothing to worry about, Den. I’m sure it was a one-off. I’d just annoyed the old man, that’s all. He seems to be really pleased with you. It may be the comparison with you that highlighted my perceived shortcomings,” said Adrian.

“I hope you’re right. The last thing I need is my arse caning. Never again,” laughed Dennis, as he slapped Adrian playfully on the bottom.

By the evening, Adrian made his way home. At least he’d had some sympathy from Den and the other junior masters. Assembly apart, he’d managed to avoid Vic Timpson, his dreaded headmaster!

Back home, Adrian’s parents were sat enjoying tea on the veranda. “Ah, Adrian. Good day at school? You and I need to have a little chat, I think. In my study, please,” his father said.

Adrian’s face fell as soon as the two men arrived in the poky study. For there on the desk, was not only his father’s punishment strap, but also a school cane!

“I thought you’d got rid of that strap, Dad?”

“No. I didn’t expect to have to use it on you again though. But you have brought shame on the family name. Vic rang me and told me all about your poor performance. I went straight over to see him and to apologise. Then he insisted on giving me this cane. It looks wicked, doesn’t it?”

“Well yes, Dad. But I’m 24! Too old for the strap and cane!”

“I don’t think you believe that do you, Adrian? Vic told me you were only too happy to take your punishment from him. As you are only two days older than when you were punished last, I don’t think it’s worth pursuing that age argument, do you? Bend over!”

Adrian was caught, for sure. His father picked up the nut brown punishment strap and cracked it down on his own palm. He winced a little, having forgotten what a sting it could impart.

“Let’s have your bottom bare, too.”

“What? Even the headmaster didn’t want that, Dad!”

“Just do as you’re told. You’re just making things worse for yourself.”

“Oh Dad!”

“I’m sorry son. Your mother has agreed too. As long as you live with us, your arse is on the line. Is that clear? Now, trousers and underpants down!”

Slowly, the flannel trousers and string briefs fell to the floor. Adrian’s peachy arse was ready. Ready for chastisement and contrition.

The leather strap cracked down again and again. The punishment seemed relentless, as Mr Bruce (Senior!) lashed left and right cheeks alternately. A crisp dozen was delivered. Adrian cried out every time the leather connected with his naughty bottom.

“I seem to remember you taking it better in the past, son. Certainly, a lot quieter. I think you need a few refreshers. Now, how about this cane?”

“Oh Dad! Not the cane too?”

“Well, I did consider saving that for another day. But to be honest, I’ve never used one before, and I’m itching to give it a try. But I am feeling kind. Let’s make it eight strokes instead of the full dozen.”

“Eight? The head only gave me six!”

“Yes, he is a bit of a softy isn’t he? But seeing as you’re in an argumentative mood, let’s go for the full dozen after all.”

The cane lashed down, causing Adrian to cry out.

“One!” his father counted out loud.

A second strike whipped down, wrapping around Adrian’s right haunch.  That really hurt him, and caused a sharp gasp.

“Two!” Dad laughed sadistically.

“Three!  Four! Five!” The older man was really getting into his stride now, whipping the cane with real gusto.

“Six!”

“Owww!  No more, Dad!  Please?”

“You should have thought about the consequences before you caused all this trouble.  Your mother and I are not amused.  We paid for your education and this is how you choose to repay us?”

“Seven!”

“AARRGGH!”

“Eight!  Stick your bottom out more, Adrian!”

“Dad!  Please, no more!”

“Nine! Ten! Eleven!”

“OWWW!  I’m sorry!”

“Yes, I’m sure you are now.  Last one!”

“ARRGH!”

“Twelve.  That’s your lot.  By God, what a cane!  I’m glad that I brought the strap out of retirement, but this cane is even better!  I must thank Vic.”

Adrian’s bottom was red raw that evening. His father caned hard, if not entirely accurately. Suddenly, Adrian was giving serious consideration to a career change. After all, if he got away from the school environment, then the threat of the cane would be gone, wouldn’t it? Then he remembered the relish his father had felt in using the cane there at home.  Perhaps there was no immediate escape?  He wondered whether he should he tell Den and the other junior masters about his evening reckoning?  Perhaps not; he felt sure that they would only laugh at him.

 

To be continued…

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D I S C L A I M E R

All characters appearing in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to real establishments, businesses or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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Story © MMXIV by Rod Cayenne

with special thanks to Jim for his inspired ideas

All rights reserved

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Comments welcome

Comments are here

Son’s Birthday Present (M/M)

♥ Site recommended story ♥

 

Hot caning fiction by Rod Cayenne, repeated from 2013.  All the characters are aged 21 or over.  This story is suitable for adults only.

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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.

Robert James strode into the house, making his way down the hall. He stopped quickly, as there before him stood his father, looking stern, with his arms folded, as if blocking the way.

“Robert, we need to have a chat. A little chat, a man to man chat. Come with me.”

They made their way into the father’s den. It was supposed to be a home office, but it was so untidy, it could have passed for a teenager’s bedroom. A motorbike in some state of dismantlement stood in the corner of the room, where the carpet had been folded back, presumably to avoid dirt and oil stains. The room was really being used as an overflow from the garage. A selection of girlie calendars adorned the walls, while the room stank heavily of cigarette smoke. Robert found it quite creepy in there, and wondered why his mother put up with it all, especially the calendars.

Reluctantly, Robert sat down, facing his father who was sat behind a rather battered wooden desk. A cloud of smoke rose from the roll-up hanging limply from the father’s mouth.

“Son, your mother was tidying your room the other day. She found a school cane under the bed. What was it doing there? You haven’t gone all kinky on us have you?”

“Oh that!” laughed Robert, as if it was nothing. “Well you know I collect antiques and curios and things. Well that cane came as part of a job lot of school memorabilia, which I quite liked in a nostalgic way. I picked the lot up for a song.”

“Oh, that’s good then. We were a bit worried. I took a look at the cane. Quite an evil item, reminded me of my old school days.”

Robert laughed again, saying, “Yes, I bet you were a naughty boy, Dad. Always in trouble, with a sore bottom?”

“Hmmm. Less of your cheek, son. I did have a few run-ins, and let me tell you the cane is no joke. A nasty punishment, indeed. I want you to promise me that you’ll never use that cane. Especially if you have a girlfriend.”

“Dad. Get real!”

“Well, I know what you youngsters can be like. Sadistic!”

“Dad!”

“I mean it, son. Keep it as a curio if you must, but really your mother and I would rather not see it. Is that clear?”

“OK, OK then. I’ll put it on top of the wardrobe, out of harm’s way.”

“Well before you do, bring it down here, I want to have a good look at it.”

Robert duly did as he was told, reaching under his bed to retrieve the cane. He was telling the truth. He had bought the rattan as part of a lot at the auction down the road, and only hid it because he didn’t know what to do with it. He wasn’t in the slightest kinky, being almost straight-laced in some ways.

“Here it is, Dad.”

“Hmmm. Nasty. Hand it over please.”

Dad flexed the cane a little and scythed it through the air. It made a fearsome noise. It reminded him of unhappy times spent in his headmaster’s study years ago.

“What do you think, Dad?”

“To be honest, son, I think we should chuck it on the bonfire. Your mother and I were both caned at school and we really hated seeing this thing after all these years. There should be a law against it.”

“There is, Dad, there is.”

“Yes, of course, stupid of me, just a turn of phrase, son. OK, take it back and put it on top of the wardrobe, like you said. Then I’ll know where to find it.”  A mischievous chuckle from his father made Robert a touch nervous.

Robert took the lithe cane from his father’s hands and made his way upstairs. Standing on tiptoes, he was just about able to push the cane out of view on the top of the wardrobe. In doing so, he disturbed some dust which then filled the air for a few moments.

Robert slumped down on the bed.  The air was still full of dust, but at least the cane was hidden.  He moved his head around but couldn’t spy the rattan from any vantage point. He’d been surprised by his father’s vehemence about the evils of the cane. Of course, Robert had never experienced it, and didn’t have any interest in doing so. He might dispose of it, as it was proving to be a controversial acquisition. He didn’t want to upset his parents.

A few days later, it was Robert’s twenty-first birthday. As it was a Saturday, he spent a lot of the afternoon at the auction rooms but couldn’t find anything worth bidding on. He cycled home disconsolately. It had actually been quite a boring day, and he was regretting not jumping on a train to London, where he could have visited a world-class auction.

“Hello, Robert! Having a good birthday?” his father asked as he opened the door.

“No, not really, it’s been a bit shit, really!”

“Language, Robert!”

“Sorry, Dad. The auction was crap today. Total crap.”

“Language! Anyway, I’m sorry I haven’t got you a present yet. I wasn’t sure what to get you. Unless you’d like a birthday spanking? With that cane of yours?”

“Oh fuck off, Dad!”

Robert ran up the stairs, slamming his bedroom door. He hadn’t appreciated his father’s joke about the cane. It would have to go.

Suddenly, Robert’s father burst in, angrily. “I don’t appreciate being told to ‘F Off’ in my own house, son! Let’s make this a birthday to remember shall we?”

With that his father rolled up his shirtsleeves and reached up on top of the wardrobe, retrieving the cane.

“Dad, you cannot be serious!”

“Oh, but I am! You’re going to regret being rude to me. And you’re going to regret buying this cane!”

Robert’s face flushed a bright beetroot red. He was so embarrassed and felt about one foot tall.

“Dad, no please. It’s my birthday!”

“Shut up whining! Now, I want you on all fours on the bed, now!”

“Dad, no, this is insane!”

“DO IT!”

Father tucked the cane under his left arm and approached his son. Suddenly, the belt holding up Robert’s jeans was being unbuckled by his father! The denims were yanked down unceremoniously, followed shortly after by the boy’s underpants! Tears of shame were forming in the son’s eyes. He didn’t struggle, but buried his face in the pillows on the bed.

CRACK! A first stroke sliced through the air, whacking into the boy’s naked arse cheeks. It left an angry red line, and was accompanied by a loud gasp from Robert.

CRACK! A second stroke was accompanied by writhing from the boy.

“Keep still, unless you want double?” his father commanded. The man’s assertiveness was quite a surprise to his son, although perhaps not to anyone who has had an encounter with an angry man with a cane in his hand!

CRACK! The third stroke sliced into the lad’s tender, downy cheeks. He was marking nicely, for this was indeed a rather wonderful cane.

CRACK! An extra hard stroke struck just on the sit spot, causing an angry wail from the boy. His bottom was now looking like a naughty schoolboy’s, decorated with the consequences of impertinence and rudeness.

Father was enjoying dishing out this beating. He was beginning to understand the virtues of the cane, whereas previously he had only been aware of its vices.

CRACK! The fifth was again an extra hard one, higher up this time, scorching the naked boy flesh with evil intent.

CRAAACK! A sixth stroke lashed down, causing the boy to squeal and writhe.

Father decided that six was sufficient for now. Yes, a traditional schoolboy six of the best had been delivered to his immense satisfaction. Robert’s face was buried in the pillows, although it was clear he was sobbing gently. Father admired his son’s naked, striped bottom. He reflected that his son was now old enough to have his arsehole fucked. That was something he could never do to him, but further canings were definitely assured.

“Happy Birthday!” father cried as he placed the cane back on top of the dusty wardrobe.

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Story © 2013 by Rod Cayenne

Comments welcome – please use the link at the top of the story

Comments from the original posting are here

Music From The Bell Foundry (M/M)

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Hot spanking and caning fiction by Rod Cayenne – repeated from 2013.  Strictly over-18s only!

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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.

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“Welcome to the Old Grange Meadow Bell Foundry.”

“Thanks for inviting me, Uncle.  I’ve wanted a tour for years.  There’s a lot of history here, isn’t there?”

“Yes, young Rick there certainly is.  It’s a very old-fashioned set-up even now.  There’s a lot of tradition.  We have to be a bit circumspect about what we say and about appearances, even in this day and age.  That’s why I’m a little disappointed you’ve come in your goth clothing and piercings.  Really, some of our customers would be outraged.  The churches, I mean.”

“Sorry, Uncle.  No disrespect intended, Uncle.”

“Well, I’ll take your word for it.  All the same, it’s just as well no-one else is here.  Now, where was I?  Oh yes, the history of the place, before I start the tour proper.  I started here as an apprentice way back when.  The place had been running for several centuries by then.  Surprisingly for this type of business, it’s changed hands a lot of times.”

“It’s not a real foundry though, is it Uncle?”

“No it’s not!  Well spotted.  We don’t cast bells here anymore.  Before my time, they did.  Nowadays we use subcontractors for that heavy work.  We are more of a service operation now.  Bell hanging, repairing, maintenance, frames, designing.”

“Is it a viable business, then?”

“Yes, I think so, it’s a niche business but demand is good and profits are healthy, I think, although I don’t do the accounts.  Sis does them.”

“Of course.  So, what was it like being an apprentice?”

“Oh, Rick!  You youngsters don’t know how lucky you are!  It was bloody hard work, with little pay and harsh discipline.”

“Discipline?”

“Yes, discipline.  Not a word you’d understand, judging from your dress today, if I may say so,” he said shaking his head and staring at the skull logo on his goth nephew’s faded black T-shirt.  “The foreman was a beast.  He used to whip the bare behinds of us apprentices with a leather bell strap.  He’d go at it like the clappers.  They were harsh whippings where the sounds echoed around the bells like bitter-sweet music.”

“Gosh, Uncle!  Sounds a bit gothic!”

“Yes, I got thrashed for all sorts.  Not going to church, drinking, blasphemies, swearing, twiddling my thumbs.  There was a cane, too.  If anything, that hurt even more.  I’ve still got his strap and cane, if you’d like to see them?”

“Well, I did ask for the full tour, Uncle.”

“Very well, they’re in my office.  But first, let me show you the main workshop areas.”

As Rick toured the workshops, he was a little distracted.  He kept thinking about the harsh whippings his Uncle Godfrey had mentioned.  They sounded fearful, yet exciting.  Somehow the dusty bells and wooden frames seemed less interesting than the thoughts that were in his head.

Eventually, the two men headed to the office.  It looked quite forbidding, with a shiny black door with a cracked window.  Below the glass was a grubby brass plaque: Godfrey Horne, Foreman.  The office was quite a mess, with large dyeline blueprints, charts, photographs and tracings lying everywhere.  In the corner stood a yellowing cream HP computer, which Rick could tell was far from state of the art.

“Look up there!” said Uncle Godfrey, pointing at a small glass-fronted case mounted on the wall.  It bore a description: IN CASE OF EMERGENCY BREAK GLASS.  Inside the case was a standard school cane and the leather punishment strap!  Carefully, Uncle unhooked the case from the wall.  In fact it wasn’t necessary to break the glass at all.  The rear panel was hinged and Uncle soon liberated the punishment implements.  “Want a feel?” he asked his nephew.

Rick nodded and unbuckled his studded belt, unzipped his jeans and allowed them to fall to the ground.

“Rick, what on earth are you doing?  I was asking whether you wanted to handle these, not be whacked with them!”

“Oh!” said Rick, feeling incredibly stupid, “I thought it was part of my tour!  I was thinking maybe you’d give me one stroke with each?”

“You stupid lad!  I could never hurt you!  Although you do deserve it for your stupidity and  inappropriate dress today.”

“You’re right.  Well then Uncle, let’s go for it!  One stroke with each, like I said.”

“What?  What?  Definitely not.  Hmmmm.  Oh alright!  If you insist!”

Rick did insist.  He’d long had an interest in corporal punishment, torture and all things dark and goth.  This was something he had to try!  However, he was surprised when his uncle grabbed him by the ear and frog-marched him out to the adjacent workshop.  Most realistic!  Soon, Rick was bent submissively over one of the smaller bell frames, his pert bottom displayed in his black briefs.  But not for long!  Uncle Godfrey soon pulled the underpants down, revealing the 18-year-old’s buttocks in all their glory.  In contrast to Rick’s dark gothic image, the cheeks looked remarkably peachy, pale and hairless.  Was Uncle Godfrey going to enjoy this?

Removing his leather apron, Godfrey headed back to the office to collect the strap and cane.  As he handled them, he reflected on the years of misery they had brought him and his fellow apprentices.  The cane had been worse than the strap, although both were hellish.  There was no doubt that the old foreman, George Bassett, had been a sadist.  Beneath his god-fearing veneer, the man was just plain cruel.  Godfrey gazed at the cane and strap.  He felt he really couldn’t inflict such pain on his nephew.  The glass case to contain the implements had been a bit of a laugh shared with the current workforce, but Godfrey felt it was now a sick joke.  Just then, however, he gazed through the office window at his nephew waiting expectantly for a taste of strap and cane.  His bottom was a tempting target, and he did deserve a thrashing for wearing that tasteless T-shirt!

Godfrey approached his nephew, put the cane down and started slapping the strap gaily on his palm.  It tingled, but that was nothing compared to what it would do to Rick’s buttocks!

CRACK! The strap lashed down noisily.  Young Rick leapt to his feet, clutching his bottom, and declaiming, “God, that fucking hurt!”

Godfrey surveyed the scene with disdain.  Then he laughed at his nephew, “You know, when I was an apprentice, I’d have got an extra stroke for leaping up, an extra one for blasphemy and maybe a couple for that disgusting swear word!  I don’t think you could take another four after that cowardly display though, could you?”

“I could and I will!” answered Rick bending over the bell frame, “Do your worst!” he goaded.

Uncle Godfrey was always keen to rise to a challenge, and stepped up before lashing the leather down on Rick’s expectant arse.  A fresh red stripe appeared on the naked flesh, accompanied by a loud gasp from young Rick. A third stroke landed lower, causing a girlie squeal from the lad and unrestrained laughter from his uncle.  That strap had corrupted Godfrey with its contagious sadism.

“Ready?” Uncle Godfrey asked, but there was only a grunt for a reply.  This seemed to annoy him, so he put some extra force behind the next stroke which bit mercilessly into the teenager’s buttocks.  There would be bruising from this beating alright.

Uncle Godfrey sniffed at the leather strap.  It had matured over the years, just like he had.  It had a gorgeous dark tan hue, and now it was time to saturate his nephew with its pain one last time!

“ARRRRRRRGGH!” cried Rick as the stroke hit home.  Tears formed in his teenage eyes.

“You can get up for a minute, Rick.  But don’t forget, you’ve got the cane to come yet!”

“Oh, Uncle!” said Rick as he massaged his bottom, “I don’t think I can take any more.  Especially if the cane is worse.”

“Nonsense!” said Uncle Godfrey, “That’s a tough hide you’ve got there lad.  Remember, it’s only one stroke of the cane, no matter what.”

“Promise, Uncle?”

“Promise, Rick.  Now bend over and stick your bottom out nicely for me.  That’s it.  Now, let me examine your marks.”

Godfrey looked at the five livid red stripes.  They seemed to suit the buttocks, making them  look even more attractive.  Rick thrust his bottom out a little more for his uncle, as if he was teasing him.  Godfrey was tempted to touch the marks, but decided against.  Instead he laid the spiteful strap down on top of the nearest bell and picked up the cane.  In a flashback, he imagined it was thirty-something years ago and that it was his bottom on the receiving end.  He remembered the fire and the humiliation of a particularly severe beating at the hands of Mr. Bassett.  He was in two minds about Rick’s forthcoming stroke.  Should he show the lad how bad the cane could be, or should he show a little mercy?  In the event, it was a medium-strength  stroke.  However, Rick wasn’t to know that his uncle had been holding back a little.  The pain engulfed the teenager, who jumped up and did a merry dance, hopping around and rubbing his bottom.

Uncle Godfrey laughed heartily at the lad’s display of discomfort.  He flexed the cane and swished it through the air.  Rick flinched and stopped his frantic rubbing.

“Don’t worry, Rick.  That’s it.  No more cane.  It’s good that you had a taste of it though.  Now you know what I had to go through.  So, tell me, was the cane worse than the strap?”

“Oh yes, Uncle!  Much worse.  I didn’t like the cane at all!”

Uncle looked at his nephew with puzzlement.  It rather sounded as if he’d enjoyed the strap, but not the cane.  Just then, a thought occurred to the old man.

“You made so much noise and disturbance that we didn’t hear the bells singing and echoing the thrashing sounds.”

“Oh come on, Uncle.  Really!  Surely that must just be your imagination?”

“No, really.  I remember it distinctly.  So let’s try it!”

“No, no, Uncle.  My poor bottom.”

“Poor bottom, my arse!  I’ve hardly touched you.  We’re going to try it.  Keep perfectly quiet after the cane lands.  Listen intently.”

CRACK!  The cane swished down on the teenager once again.  Rick obeyed instructions and remained quiet despite the shocking pain of the cane.  And indeed, there did seem to be some sort of echo or reverberation of the noise of the cane’s strike.

“Did you hear that?” Uncle Godfrey quizzed impatiently.

“Maybe, a little something,” said Rick, “Try it again, please.”

CRACK!  Again the cane landed, but this time with a louder retort which echoed around the bells in the workshop.

“Hey, I really heard that!  Wicked!  Let’s try the strap, Uncle.”

And so it was that the strap landed and gave a perfect echo.  Rick hadn’t reckoned on what followed next though!  Three more rapid strokes of the strap crashed down on his teenage buttocks. The cumulative echo was much more noticeable, the bells almost singing in chorus.

“Well done!  You took those last few really well, Rick.  I think it’s time to call a halt though.  We don’t want to get carried away with our little game, do we?”

Rick smiled enigmatically at his uncle.  Rubbing furiously, a broad smile crossed the teenager’s face.  He had a question too, “Any chance of an apprenticeship, Uncle?”

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Story © MMXIII by Rod Cayenne

All rights reserved.

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Comments welcome, please use link at the top of the story

Comments from the original 2013 post are here

 

Panel Beating (M/M)

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Erotic fiction by Rod Cayenne, repeated from 2013.  All the characters are aged 18 or over. For adult readers and their entertainment only.

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“Kevin! Downstairs immediately!”

Carl Jacobson was a strict father, and he knew his 18-year-old son would jump as soon as he was summoned. The two lived alone, following the untimely divorce caused by the unfaithfulness of both parents. The modern terraced home backed on to a car park, maintained by the local district council. The car park was shielded from the road by brick walling interspersed by sturdy wooden fencing panels.

“In the living room, now! I’ve got a bone to pick with you. Come on. Get your sorry arse in gear!”

Kevin hurried down the stairs, passing his father. Glares were exchanged, and father landed a resounding slap on his son’s bottom as he passed. Kevin reasoned that his dad must have had a bad day at work.

“Kevin, I thought I’d told you not to take a short cut through the car park?”

“Yes, you did, Dad. But it’s hard to resist when the fencing has been vandalised. If I cut through rather than walking round the block, it saves a good couple of minutes. That’s the difference between catching the bus and missing it.”

“Don’t worry about that, son. I’ll be waking you up earlier in future! I told you not to cut through there as it only encourages the vandals who damage the fence every time the council repairs it.”

“Dad, it’s the will of the people. The council should take the fence down and let people cut through.”

“Rubbish! That wall and the fencing give us tenants a bit of privacy and shields us from the noise of the main road. Little kids are prevented from rushing into the busy road.”

“Yes, Dad. Whatever.”

“Don’t adopt that attitude with me, Kevin. I went to see my old teacher, Mr Grimworthy yesterday. You know, the old chap who lives on the other side of the road?”

“Oh him! The shrivelled oldie!”

“Respect, Kevin! Show some respect! Anyway, I was chatting to him the other day. He told me he’d seen you and Wayne vandalising the fencing, pulling down the uprights.”

“Oh!”

“Yes! Oh indeed! I’m not happy, Kevin, I’m not happy at all. What are you going to do to make amends?”

“Shit Dad, I don’t know! I’m sorry!”

“I don’t like that shit word, Kevin! Although you are very much in it! You’re making me very annoyed. Very annoyed indeed! Very, very annoyed. Mr Grimworthy felt sorry for me, which must be a first! He never felt sorry for me when he was leathering and caning my arse at school!”

“No, Dad. This is all very embarrassing.”

“It’s more than embarrassing son. Mr Grimworthy had a suggestion as how to make things better, however.”

“He did?”

“Yes. The nice old chap has lent me one of his school canes. Possibly one that was used on me all those years ago, I suppose.”

Kevin was feeling a bit mellow after a full week at work, so the significance of what his father was saying was lost on him, to start with. However, Jacobson soon outlined his plans.

“I am going to cane you, Kevin. I’m going to cane you hard. On your bare bottom!”

“Dad, you can’t! It’s illegal!”

“Shut up, Kevin. You’re really for it. I’m going to beat you black and blue tonight.”

“No, Dad, you can’t. Please!”

“I can and I will. Now, I’ll do it later this evening, when I’ve had a chance to practice on some cushions. In the meantime, you can arrange a suitable time with Wayne for the pair of you to repair the fencing. At your own expense!”

“You’re not going to cane him then?” asked Kevin, resigned to his fate.

“No, I’m not. He’s not my problem and I don’t particularly like his folks.”

“Dad, it’s not fair!”

“Tough!”

A couple of hours later, Kevin could hear the unmistakable sound of the cane in action. His father was whacking some cushions in the living room. The sound could be heard in Kevin’s bedroom as it was immediately above. His father was admiring the cane. What a wicked weapon it was! Yes, Mr Jacobson’s mind raced back to his school days and his many encounters with the rattan rod. It was even worse than Grimworthy’s old brown leather strap, which stung like mad, but didn’t mark and cut quite like the cane.

“KEVIN!”

It was a sound Kevin had dreaded even more than the sound of the cane in action. It was the sound of his father calling him down, just like a naughty boy. And, just like a naughty schoolboy, he was going to get his bottom caned!

“Dad. I’m sorry for what I did. Can’t we sort this out like adults?”

“No we can’t! You are a petty teenage vandal, and I cannot think of anything more appropriate than a good thrashing. I wanted Mr Grimworthy to watch, but he’s not very mobile at the moment. So I’ve arranged to call him on the cordless phone. He can then listen to your beating on his speakerphone.”

“Oh Dad!”

Dad wasn’t listening. Instead he was dialling his old teacher. The former pupil and teacher had a jovial conversation for a minute or two, while Kevin shifted from foot to foot, biting his lip with barely suppressed aggression. Father laid the phone on the sofa, and fetched the crook-handled cane from its hiding place. Kevin had never seen a cane before. It looked fearsome. His father swished it through the air a few times before slamming it down on the sofa next to the phone. It made a wicked and frightening crack as it made impact. Jacobson picked up the phone to ask his old teacher whether he’d heard it OK. Indeed he had!

“Right then! Jeans and pants down, Kevin, and the bend over the arm of the sofa. Mr Grimworthy will then be able to hear everything!”

It dawned on Kevin that it might be best to suppress any yells or cries. But how easy would that be? He’d barely been spanked before, let alone thrashed! He thought about it some more. His bottom was now naked as instructed and sticking up in a most humiliating and submissive posture. The shame of it! Then suddenly, the cane whipped down, biting the teen flesh with a vengeance and leaving a distinctive red line. Kevin gasped and then groaned as the pain kicked in. A second stroke followed rapidly, then a third, then a fourth. Kevin couldn’t control himself! Each stroke was now accompanied by a loud exclamation of pain. Grimworthy was listening intently on the other end of the line, trousers and briefs lowered, and cock in hand!

“AAAARRRGH!” Kevin cried as a fifth stroke lashed him. Jacobson was now getting the hang of it all, and enjoying himself. In a frenzy, he lashed further strokes down viciously and relentlessly until a baker’s dozen had been delivered. By now, Kevin was sobbing uncontrollably. Father delivered one last stroke right on target, before throwing the cane down on the sofa, next to the phone. Old Mr Grimworthy’s penis was stiff and throbbing as he’d enjoyed listening to the action. Both Jacobson senior and junior were also experiencing erections. It had been a fulfilling evening for all involved!

“How did I do?” asked the father.

“Sounded just right,” said Grimworthy down the line, “You can keep that cane. He might need a reminder.”

“Indeed, he might. Am I still sending him round a week today for him to apologise in person and take a caning from you as well?”

“Yes. I’ve got plenty of canes. Send him round. You can come and watch if you like. I’ve found my faithful old leather strap too.”

“Oh I remember that only too well. Shall we say 7pm, next Friday.”

“Yes! Yes!”

A few days later, the fence had been repaired by Kevin and Wayne. Kevin walked past the fencing, only to find it had been tagged by a graffiti artist. The word ‘CANE’ had been sprayed in bright orange! Was it a threat or a warning? Who had sprayed it? Surely it wasn’t Kevin’s father?

(__________

Story © MMXIII by Rod Cayenne

____________

D I S C L A I M E R

All characters appearing in this story are over 18 and are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

_____________

Comments welcome – please use the link at the top of the story

Comments from the original 2013 post are here

Just Like I Was A Boy (M/M) NEW!

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Here’s some hot, brand new spanking and caning fiction by very special guest author JOELSTRAP.  This story is currently  exclusive to The Canery.  All the characters are 18 or older. WARNING: ADULTS ONLY!

 

Just Like I Was A Boy by Joelstrap

“But he couldn’t!” I gasped.

“He did; and bloody hard too! Just like I was a boy!”

“But he’s not allowed to do that!”

Kian shrugged. “Well, that didn’t stop the bugger.”

“You’re eighteen,” I protested.

“I felt more like eight when I was over his knee.”

“Did it hurt?”

Kian turned an angry face towards me. “Of course it bloody hurt,” he snapped.

“I only asked a question.”

“It was a stupid question.”

“So, why did he spank you?” I persisted.

“I got a C for my essay on King Lear.”

“But it’s none of his business what mark you get for your essays,” I objected. “He’s your flat-mate, not your master.”

“He made it his business,” retorted Kian. “Said nothing less than a B was acceptable.”

“But why did you let him spank you?”

“I didn’t. He just did it.”

“You mean he said get over my knee and you just did?” I asked disbelievingly.

“He grabbed me by the shirt-collar, sat himself on my bed, and yanked me face-down across his knees before I realised what was happening.”

“Your jeans must’ve given you a bit of protection,” I remarked.

“I was in my boxers,” he replied. “I’d had a shower after I came back from a run. Didn’t even have any pants on.”

“Shit!”

“Yeh. I nearly did.”

“Aw, come on; how much can a guy’s hand hurt on an eighteen year old’s arse?”

“That’s what I thought; until he’d been spanking me steadily for a few minutes. Then it really started to get through to me.”

“So what you gonna do, Kian?”

“I don’t know. It’s embarrassing, you know?”

“Yeh, sure, I understand; but you can’t let him get away with it.”

“You don’t understand,” replied Kian, his eyes round with wonder. “I got spanked!”

“Yeh; you said,” I replied. “Like a boy. It’s outrageous.”

Kian took me by the shoulders and looked straight into my eyes. His voice was low, intense, emotional.

“I got spanked,” he repeated. “and I liked it.”

I blinked rapidly and for several seconds was silent before I asked disbelievingly, “You liked it?”

“Yeh. I told you! So what am I gonna do?”

“You’re not supposed to like it,” I suggested vaguely.

He shook me violently, making my hair flop across my forehead.

“I fucking know that!” he snapped angrily.

“So why did you?”

“How the hell should I know? I just did! You know; like when you feel you really wanna get inside a guy’s pants because he’s sexy as a cartload of randy monkeys? You don’t bloody choose to want him. You just do. I didn’t choose to like the spanking. I just did!”

“But you said it hurt,” I objected.

“So?”

“So, how could you have liked it?”

“I don’t fucking know!” he yelled into my face.

I pushed him away and sat down while he stood, quivering like an uneasy volcano.

“There’s no need to take it out on me,” I said resentfully.

“Well you’re not being much help,” he accused. “What should I do?”

“You could try getting a slightly better mark for your next essay, so that he knows the spanking’s having an effect, but try to keep it to no better than B minus,” I proposed, “and then presumably he’d spank you again.”

Kian considered this and then nodded slowly.

“Yeh,” he agreed. “I could try that.”

*********************

A fortnight later, I saw Kian at the local shop and he bounced over to me, grinning broadly.

“Got a C+ for my essay. Garry said it was an improvement but not enough; and he spanked me again. Harder than last time.”

“But you liked it?”

“Oh yeh. The spanking was hard; but so was I!”

“How old is this Garry chap?” I asked.

“Twenty. Couple of years older than me. I saw his ad on the noticeboard, saying he wanted a flatmate, and I gave him a call. He never said anything about spanking me when I agreed to go in with him though. The first few weeks were just normal, and then suddenly he takes it on himself to spank me for not getting a good enough essay-mark. I guess he sees himself as a kind of big brother, keeping me in line.”

“And you don’t mind, huh?”

“I never had a big brother,” replied Kian wistfully. “It’s kinda nice to have a guy looking out for me and keeping me on the straight and narrow. Don’t want to fail my exams and get rusticated.”

“Definitely not,” I agreed. “Sounds painful.”

We decided to go for a run and headed for the gym and then, after a takeaway eaten on a seat in the park in the evening sunshine, Kian stood up.

“Best get back to the flat,” he said.

“Scared Garry spanks you if you miss curfew?”

“Ha, ha!” Kian retorted sarcastically. “No; I got some work to do.”

We ambled back towards the town and he left me to return to his flat while I headed for the students’ residences.

About an hour later there was a perfunctory knock at the door of my room and then Kian burst in and threw himself face-down on my bed.

“Wow!” I said as I eyed his lean, hard, athlete’s body, clad in tight shorts and a snugly-fitting t-shirt. “You want me that urgently that you couldn’t leave me alone for an hour?”

He turned a red, scowling face towards me and, “Go fuck yourself!” he snapped.

“You come storming in here, sexy as hell and randy as a rabbit, throw your hot, sweaty body on my bed, and then have the brass-neck to tell me you don’t want me?”

“Okay. I’m sorry, Lee. Garry’s gone.”

“What? Out?” I replied.

“No gone. Completely!”

“Abducted by aliens?” I hazarded.

“Don’t be a bloody fool.”

“So where’s he gone?”

“Pen-bloody-zance!”

“Where?”

“Way down beyond Bristol; nearly in the Atlantic; end of the world!” he announced melodramatically.

“Why?”

“His dad had a coronary and he’s given up his course to go down and run the family business,” said Kian dismally. “So now I won’t get spanked any more. And I’ve only got another ten days in the flat, unless I can find another flatmate,” he moaned. “I can’t afford to live there myself. Actually Garry paid sixty percent of the rent and all the electricity and gas, cos his olds are loaded and he got a big allowance from them.”

“I’m sorry, Kian. When did this happen?”

“He got a call just after I’d gone out this morning. He just packed up and was away by lunch-time. He tried calling my mobile, but it was off because I was in classes. He left me a text saying he’d call this evening; but I only saw the text when I got back home after we’d had our takeaways in the park.”

“I’d love to share the flat with you,” I said, “but I’m committed here until the Christmas holidays; and I’m not sure I could afford a half share of your pad.”

“I know. Life’s a bugger sometimes. You think everything’s going just great and then it turns round and kicks you in the balls. I dunno what I’m…….”

He broke off as his mobile rang, and he answered it with a bored-sounding yeh. A few seconds later he’d bounced to his feet, saying, “Yes; yes, I’m sorry. I know the right way to answer a phone. Yeh…..yeh….okay….I’ll remember.”

I watched as he listened intently, his face serious, his head nodding gently from time to time. Eventually he turned off the phone and sat down.

“That was Garry,” he vouchsafed.

“He sure knows how to pull you into line,” I said. “That attitude-transformation was impressive.”

“Fuck off!”

“Think he’d tan your hide if I told him about your bad language?”

For a second Kian looked alarmed, and then he said, “Nah. He’s in Penzance, remember?”

“So what did he want; apart from giving you a lesson in how to answer a phone politely?”

“He’s got a me a new flatmate. Guy called Trevor. He’s doing a Ph.D. and the guy he’s sharing with at the moment is a bit of a pain. First year student and out until all hours; and won’t do his share of chores in the flat. Garry’s told him I’ll be a much better flatmate,” ended Kian smugly.

“Do you think he’s told him about spanking you?” I enquired.

“Course not!”

“Did he say he hadn’t?” I persisted.

“Well, no; but why would he? I mean, this new guy’s hardly gonna spank me, is he? Anyway, never mind about that. Trevor’s gonna move in on Saturday and it’s Thursday already. We’re gonna need to get the flat cleaned and tidied.”

“We?”

“I thought you’d help. You’re my mate. That’s what mates do,” he said, eyes wide with an irresistible pleading look.

I was still plotting to get into Kian’s pants and to take our month-old friendship up a level, so I agreed; and that evening I went across to the flat and together we tidied it up. While Kian cleaned the bathroom and kitchen, which I refused to do, I did some vacuuming and dusting, and washed the windows. When we were done we sat on the sofa and drank coffee while Kian checked his email.

“Hey! Here’s one from Garry,” he cried excitedly.

I watched him sideways as he read, admiring the thick, soft hair which hung in a curtain along his brow, the sun-browned arm resting on a denim-clad leg, the full curve of his bottom, and the impressive bulge in his groin.

“Fuck! You were right,” he muttered at one point before continuing to read while I made myself wait until he’d finished.

He looked up at me, eyes dark with excitement.

“Garry did tell him about spanking me; and Trevor will be examining my work regularly and will spank me too if it’s not up to scratch.”

*********************

Between classes and a long cross-country run in the late afternoon, I didn’t see Kian on Friday, but late on Saturday morning my mobile rang and an agitated-sounding Kian demanded that I go across to the flat right away. When I arrived he almost dragged me into the room which was to be Trevor’s and in which sat a couple of open suitcases and several large cardboard boxes full of books.

“Kian! We can’t go into…..”

“He’s not here, you ass! Said he was meeting a pal at the pub for lunch.”

“Yeh, but even so, we can’t just come into the guy’s room without his permis….”

“Will you stop making difficulties and listen?!” demanded Kian.

I sighed and fell silent while Kian continued, “He’s a nice guy and not bad-looking for an old chap.”

“Old?”

“Yeh. Twenty-two at least.”

“Shit! D’you think he’ll last until the end of his Ph.D. course? It’s three years, you know.”

“Just ditch the sarcasm and let me tell you! I popped my head in here after he went out, just to sort of have a quick look, you know?”

“Not being nosey; just taking a friendly interest?” I suggested.

He knew fine that I was being sarcastic, but chose to ignore it, saying, “You know how it’s interesting to see another guy’s clothes; see if he’s git a bit of style, yeh?”

I nodded and waited.

“The cases were open and he’s got some cool shirts and a few pairs of jeans of course. He’d hung a couple of things in the wardrobe; the doors were open, and I could see a leather-jacket and long raincoat. I slid my hand over the jacket, because leather’s nice to feel; and just happened to notice something hanging on the bar of the hanger with the raincoat.”

He crossed to the wardrobe, reached inside the hanging coat and pulled out a cane. I stared.

“Wow!” I said.

“What the hell’s he doing with a thing like this?” he asked me, slashing the cane downwards at high speed so that it whined and I winced instinctively.

“Shit! That’s not a toy,” I gasped, eyeing the lithe rod warily and taking it from him so that I could get a feel for it. “I guess it’s for beating the fuck outta your arse if you don’t pull your weight around the flat; or get less than alpha-plus for your essays.”

“What?” he squeaked, his voice several tones higher than normal. “I like being spanked; not beaten with a ruddy great cane!”

“And what do you think you’re doing?” demanded an irate voice behind us.

We swung round in alarm to see a tall young man clad in black jeans and t-shirt with a heavily-studded leather belt at his waist.

“Oh….er…Trevor. I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Evidently.”

“Would you like some coffee?”

“I’d like an explanation of what you’re doing in my room and going through my things.”

“What? Oh, it’s nothing. Just looked in to make sure everything was okay for you.”

“And that cane which your friend is holding just leapt out of the wardrobe into his hand?”

Kian gave a nervous laugh.

“Well, no. We were just mucking about. Didn’t mean any harm.”

Trevor stretched his hand out towards me and I handed him the cane.

“Garry told me that you needed a bit of discipline,” said Trevor. “I hadn’t realised just how much you needed it. Fortunately I brought my cane along with me, as you’ve discovered, so I can make a start by beating you for your appalling behaviour. Invading another guy’s privacy is a very bad habit, but I’m sure that I can cure you with the help of my friend here.”

He swung the cane high and lashed it down with brute-force on the plastic seat of a small stool. The crack reverberated across the room and we both jumped in fright.

“Do you want your mate to stay?” enquired Trevor.

“You can’t!”

“That’s not an answer to the question I asked you.”

“Garry spanked me with his hand. You can’t beat me with a cane. That would really hurt.”

“I should hope so,” said Trevor, “otherwise there wouldn’t be much point in caning you, would there?”

Kian scowled.

“Who are you?” Trevor asked me.

“I’m Lee.”

“Do you want to stay, since Kian seems to be unwilling to answer the question?”

“Yes, please.”

“NO!” yelled Kian.

“Don’t you shout at me, boy. Any more of that and I’ll give you a couple of extra strokes with the cane.”

Kian’s eyes widened in horror and, “I’m sorry,” he muttered contritely.

“Right. Jeans and pants off and bend over that chair.”

Kian gazed at him in apparent disbelief and made no move to obey.

“Okay,” said Trevor, “it was going to be six, but if you don’t do as you’re told in the next five seconds, I’ll make it eight.”

As if stung by an angry hornet, Kian leapt into action, unbuckling his belt and yanking off jeans and pants in one movement before taking up the required position. I stared in delighted wonder at his fantastic bottom. Two smooth mounds rose in perfect curves from a pair of sturdy thighs. I noticed Trevor doing a swift rub at his groin before he took his stance to one side and rapped the cane across Kian’s rump. He quivered slightly and I saw his muscles tense. I slid a hand into my jeans and held my throbbing organ. Trevor raised his cane and brought it down with a clean snap across the centre of Kian’s behind. He yelped and scrubbed furiously at his bottom with his right hand.

“Hand away, Kian.”

One last rub and Kian returned his hand to the chair.

“You don’t rub your bottom while I’m caning you,” said Trevor.

“I couldn’t help it,” protested Kian. “That fucking hurt!”

“Right. I’m going to begin again to punish you for swearing.”

“No, please, I….”

With a fierce crack the cane lashed across Kian’s rump a second time, etching a red mark on his skin just below the first one. Again he yelped, but his hands both remained gripping the edge of the chair tightly.

“What two things have you just learned, Kian?”

Kian swallowed and then replied submissively, “Not to rub my bottom and not to swear.”

“Think you can remember that?”

“Yes.”

“I can remind you if necessary.”

“You won’t need to remind me.”

“Make sure that I don’t. Five to go.”

Trevor wielded the cane again, a little lower, following the stroke with another, lower still. Each elicited a groan and a squirm from Kian, along with some desperate clenching of his glutes; but his hands remained in position. I could feel the pre-cum oozing from my rampant cock and felt a pang of guilt at the pleasure I was getting from watching Kian being beaten.

“Half way,” said Trevor as he prepared to deliver the next stroke.

Kian bucked as the lithe rod scored his lower buttocks with a line of fire, and for a moment his movement allowed me to glimpse his genitals. To my astonishment, he was semi-erect. Trevor made him wait for several long seconds before sending his cane hard into the tender flesh where Kian’s superb buttocks merged into his legs. He squealed and writhed, making the chair jump, before he settled himself. I could hear him breathing hard and I could see a sheen of sweat on his bottom and thighs. Trevor whipped the cane sharply at an angle across several of the welts his earlier strokes had made on Kian’s skin, and forced another howl of pain from him as he kicked out hard with his right foot before regaining mastery over his body.

“Good,” said Trevor. “You took that well.”

“Thank you,” replied Kian astonishingly.

“So, do you think I’ve cured you of invading my privacy?”

“Yes, sir,” replied Kian. “I’ll never come in here again without your permission.”

“Excellent. Up you get and go off to your own room. Maybe Lee can see to your cane-welts for you,” he added with a wink at me.

I nodded and picked up Kian’s jeans and pants while he rose slowly and ran his hands in some awe over his thrashed rump.

“Come on,” I urged him, and he followed me into his own room where I got him to lie flat on the bed and began to lick his welts one at a time, savouring the slightly salt taste of his sweaty skin, and the raised flesh where the cane had hit him.

He tensed and winced as I worked on him, but allowed me to do what I wanted. At length he spoke.

“That cane is a bastard,” he announced.

“It hasn’t half marked your arse.”

“I’m really gonna have to behave myself. I don’t want to get the cane too often.”

“You….eh…you’ll be taking it from him when he thinks you need it, then?”

Kian shrugged.

“Like Garry said, I need discipline.”

“And did you like it as much as the spanking?”

“Hell, no! It burns like the fires of a volcano! I’m not going to be asking for that; but I’ll take it when I have to. It’s kind of exciting,” he admitted as he suddenly rolled on to his back and revealed that he was fully erect.

I admired him openly and commented favourably on his size. He grinned sheepishly.

“I wasn’t as big as that while he was beating me, but I was at half-mast.”

I saw a chance to perhaps move my friendship with Kian forward.

“I noticed. Would you like me to see to that for you?” I asked daringly, holding my breath.

“Would you? That’d be brilliant!”

I worked on him with hands and tongue until he exploded in a veritable fountain of cum which spurted right up to his face.

“Feeling better?”

“Oh yeh! That was ace!”

“And you’re gonna behave in future?”

“Sure. Like I told you, that cane’s a bastard.”

“I notice that you don’t say that Trevor’s a bastard,” I pointed out.

“He’s not. I like him; or rather I respect him. Yes, I know he’s wielding the cane, but it’s a bloody ferocious cane and it does its job.”

“So, are you recovered enough to come out to the pub with me tonight?”

“Er, no. I’ve got an essay to write for next Friday, and I think I should get started on it.”

“But that’s six days away; and it’s Saturday!”

He rose from the bed and stood rubbing his bottom meditatively.

“I know,” he admitted, “but I really don’t want to risk it being late; and I need time to make sure it’s up to standard too. Garry had promised to spank me for any essay that got less than a B; and I’m pretty sure he’ll have told Trevor that.”

“And you think he’ll give you the cane if you get less than a B? That cane really got through to you, didn’t it?”

“Oh yeh. And you got through to me too, bringing me off. That was amazing! We gotta do more of that. Maybe I could see to your stiffie?”

I released my bounding organ from the constrictions of my jeans and pants and Kian saw to it in a most exciting fashion.

*****************************

Kian remained largely out of sight over the rest of the weekend, although I spotted him once going into the library. On Monday morning he came up to me in the coffee-bar.

“Got the essay almost done,” he said. “Maybe I could come round to your room tonight?”

“You won’t be studying?”

“Yeh, I will. Male anatomy and sexual behaviour.”

“I could give you a hand with that.”

“Maybe even two hands?”

***************************

Kian’s essay was duly submitted a day early and in the middle of the following week he bounded up to me outside the gym at four o’clock when we were due to meet to go for a run.

“Guess what I got for my essay!”

“Judging by your happy face, I suppose it was a B,” I hazarded.

“No! I got a B+!”

“What? Brilliant! Looks like that cane of Trevor’s really does have a positive effect on you. But are you a bit disappointed too?”

“It’s strange. I worked bloody hard at that essay to make sure I didn’t get the cane this time, but there’s a bit of me feels a sense of being let down. I didn’t want the cane; but I did want it too.”

He was grinning so broadly that the smile looked as if it could split his face.

“You seem to have got over any disappointment,” I remarked.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a mobile.

“That’s not yours,” I said.

“Nah. It’s Trevor’s. I picked it up this morning by mistake before I came out.”

“By mistake?”

Kian grinned even more broadly.

“But he’ll be missing it,” I objected, “and he must have realised that you’ve got it. Why didn’t you go back to the flat with it at lunch-time?”

“Couldn’t be bothered.”

“Kian!”

“What?”

“You’ll get the cane!”

“No harm in hoping,” replied Kian. “Maybe you’d like to drop by later in the evening? I might have some welts needing to be licked.”

“I like the sound of that,” I admitted.

When I called at the flat about nine o’clock, I found that Kian’s hopes had been realised. He took me to his room, stripped, and showed me a pattern of six neat red tram-lines on his buttocks.

“Shit! That looks sore.”

“It was. Bugger wasn’t pleased with me.”

“Well, that’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?”

“Yeh. I’m not complaining. I’m just letting you know that I really felt it.”

“Did you keep your hands on the chair; and make sure not to swear?” I asked.

“Of course I did. I’m not daft you know.”

“So this is how it’s gonna be from now on, eh? Caned if you behave badly and caned if you don’t get at least a B in your essays?”

Kian shook his head and said, “Oh no. I have to get at least a B-plus in future or I’ll get the cane.”

I pushed him firmly down on his face and began to lick his cane-welts, making him moan in delight before I turned him over and brought him as slowly as I could to an explosive climax.

“You’re one gorgeous guy,” I told him, “and I like a man who’s got big balls and lots of spunk.”

“You’re pretty impressive yourself. But I’ll tell you something, Lee. I don’t feel like a man when Trevor’s beating me. This evening, he lectured me about my behaviour; told me to get my jeans and pants off and to bend over the back of the armchair; and then he gave me six of the best; just like I was a boy!” he ended with a note of awe in his voice.

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D I S C L A I M E R

All characters appearing in this story are over 18 and are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons or businesses, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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Story © MMXIX by Joelstrap, used here by very kind permission of the author.  All rights reserved.

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Comments welcome.