♥ Site recommended story ♥
Caning fiction by your host Rod Cayenne, repeated from 2014. Strictly over 18s only!
Outside the living room door, Grandpa listened intently to the two men shouting. He turned up his hearing aid, so as not to miss a single word. Clearly, it was the long-expected showdown between his son, Gary, and his grandson, Wayne.
“And so, Wayne, I have decided to bring the cane out of retirement!”
“Get real, Dad! I’m 22 now, you can’t lay a finger on me!”
“Don’t talk to me like that! I’ve decided! I’m sure Grandad would agree with me. He was complaining about your behaviour only the other day. In fact, the caning was his bright idea.”
“What? You should know better than to listen to that silly old git!”
“Respect, Wayne, respect! Don’t talk about my dad that way. He’s been really kind letting us stay here in his house after all the misfortune we’ve suffered.”
“Yes, I suppose. But I could do without his cranky ideas, Dad. Really, no-one gets the cane these days. Especially not adults in their twenties.” Wayne sighed contentedly. He felt he had won the argument, especially when he noticed his father lay the crook-handled cane down on the coffee table.
“That’s all irrelevant. Now listen to me!” his father resumed, “You are not an adult in your twenties. You are a teenager in your twenties!” With that, the cane was picked up again, flexed and swished through the air.
“Shit! Bastard!” Wayne spoke quietly to himself, “I guess I’m really for it!”
“I heard that!” his father snapped.
Unfortunately Grandpa hadn’t heard the whispered cursing, such a vital part of the family conflict unfolding on the other side of the door, so wasn’t sure quite what was happening.
“I don’t see why I should allow you the luxury of trousers, Wayne,” said Gary, swishing the cane once again, “Or underpants, come to that!”
“Come on, come on, I’ve seen it all before!”
Reluctantly, Wayne dropped his trousers and pants.
“Are those Batman underpants, Wayne?”
“Err, yes, they are.”
“Well, that rather proves my point Wayne! I used to watch Batman in my early teens, but would never have worn pants like that in my twenties! Most immature.”
“Dad! It’s fun, fashion! You just wouldn’t understand, would you?”
“Hey, there’s that cheeky attitude again. Don’t make things worse for yourself. Just be quiet now and bend over the table. I’m giving you six strokes, unless you hack me off anymore, that is!”
Wayne bent over dutifully. He definitely didn’t want to make things any worse. They were pretty bad, as it was. To be caned at 22! Oh, the shame and humiliation!
CRACK! The cane sliced down with a wicked retort. Wayne gasped. There had been a gap since he was last chastised this way and he’d quite forgotten how demonic the pain could be. The cane sprang back, leaving a wicked red signature on the lad’s otherwise pale buttocks.
“Very good! I like it,” his father said, “Let’s hope this teaches you to behave yourself in future!”
The springy cane slashed down again. This time it was a lower stroke, but somewhat harder. Wayne was as determined to stay quiet as his father was determined to break him.
Father won! Sooner than expected, too, for the third stroke caused Wayne to yelp just like a teenager.
“Aha!” exclaimed the cane-wielding father, “The message is getting through then?”
It was a question that required no answer, but stupidly Wayne wouldn’t be silent, saying, “Of course it’s getting through, and I’m getting up. I’ve had enough!”
Roughly, father Gary pushed his son back over the table, shouting, “Shut up, boy! I’m the one that’s had enough! Three more strokes to come, and make sure you take you punishment like a man!”
The words cut Wayne like a knife. He was embarrassed and ashamed. He decided to push his bottom out provocatively for the next cane stroke, willing the rattan to do its worst. And it did. A cutting stroke whipped down, adding a fourth red stripe to the young man’s very spankable bottom. Gary had noticed his son had pushed his buttocks towards the chastising cane. He liked that a lot. He wanted that to be repeated.
“Stick your bottom out more, Wayne. I can hardly see it!”
Well, that wasn’t true, of course. Wayne’s arse was a shade on the large side, and just made for chastisement. It was what you might call well-padded. Yes, or generously upholstered.
The cane lashed down for a fifth time. Wayne yelped with pain, and his father sighed with something approaching pleasure, or certainly the knowledge of a job being well done. Outside the room, with his ear pressed right up to the door, Grandpa was also enjoying the audio of the show.
Gary waited for a few moments until his son stuck his bottom out submissively once again, a sign that he was ready for further punishment. The sixth and final stroke sliced down. It was the hardest yet, causing young Wayne to gasp and clutch at his bare buttocks, kneading them in a vain attempt to relieve the pain. Just then, Grandpa strolled into the room.
“DAD! I wish you’d knocked! I was just taking your advice and giving Wayne a well-deserved thrashing. He might have appreciated a bit of privacy, though!”
“Pah! I’ve always said that there are no secrets in my house. At least, I thought there weren’t until I found this in the dishwasher!” Grandpa waved a dark blue buttplug at the two men. Gary went bright red, while Wayne stood up looking alternately puzzled and pained. “Well now, who does this belong to?”
“It’s mine, Father. Sorry, I meant to take it out of the machine before you got home. This is all your fault, Wayne, for distracting me!”
“What exactly is it for, Gary?”
But the old man’s son was too embarrassed to answer. Instead, it fell to the caned grandson to explain, “It’s a buttplug I think, Grandad. It’s a bit gross, but you stick it up your bum for stimulation. Extra stimulation, as it were.”
“I thought so! How disgusting! Well, I never did. I’m going to have to put the dishes on for an extra cycle aren’t I? Gary?”
“Give me the cane, son.” Gary handed the cane to his father. He passed it on cautiously, almost as if the whippy rattan stick was red-hot from caning young Wayne. However, it wasn’t. The cane was, of course, decidedly cool. In more ways than one. “I’m confiscating this cane. From now on, I will be the one doing all the caning in this house. Gary, you are much too immature to supervise Wayne or be in charge of this weapon. Is that clear?”
“Wayne, how many strokes did your father give you?”
“They weren’t strokes Grandad! They bloody hurt! He gave me six hard whacks. Six of the best.”
“Well, I’m going to give you a couple more for swearing like that. And general attitude.”
“That’s not fair!”
“Of course it’s fair. I’m sure your dad would agree, wouldn’t you, Gary? Now, Wayne, bend over for me.”
Wayne bent as instructed. Now he was really pissed off. It was one thing to bend over for parental punishment, but another altogether to offer one’s bare backside to such a seedy old fellow, relative or not.
Grandad turned out to be an effective and enthusiastic caner. Wayne’s buttocks were soon throbbing with the two extra strokes, given rapidly and right on top of the earlier tramlines his father’s caning had left.
“Right, stay where you are Wayne. Don’t pull your pants up. Your father will now join you. I’m going to thrash him hard for leaving this disgusting object in my dishwasher. “
“But Dad, you can’t! Not with Wayne here!”
“I can and I will. I can see parallels with you two. You are both ungrateful for my hospitality here, and both in need of some strict correction. Things are going to change around here. Starting now! Gary, get your bottom bare for me!”
Reluctantly, Gary did as he was told. Fortunately, he had decided not to wear another buttplug from his collection, or any of the silky knickers he had hidden in his bedroom. To all appearances he was just another teenager waiting for the cane, lined up right next to his own son, bent over the living room table. His beige cord jeans were lowered, and his white briefs at half-mast. His perky buttocks were fully displayed for the wrath of his elderly father and the whippy cane. But he was no teenager, he was a man in his late forties. How shameful to be on display like this, bared for his father. He felt utterly humiliated; his status so diminished that it was perhaps even lower than that of his own son.
Grandpa commenced the punishment with an affable chuckle, “Twelve strokes for this naughty boy! If he wants extra stimulation for his bottom, I am happy to give it to him. With this cane.”
The cane cracked down with a carefree first stroke, indenting the flesh and donating a wicked red stripe. A second followed and then a third, all aimed with wild abandon as Grandpa revealed himself to be a cutter and slasher of no mean ability. It had been many years since Gary had been beaten by his father, but it was clear that the old man had lost none of his touch. Strokes four and five crashed down, causing writhing and gasping from the younger man. And then an almighty crack as the sixth landed. Grandson Wayne kept glancing over at his father to see how stoic he could be. The pain was excruciating, and the embarrassment even more overwhelming.
Suddenly, Grandpa announced, “I need a break for a minute. You two stay just where you are!” With the arch disciplinarian gone, Gary looked over at his son and winked at him. A big grin spread over Wayne’s face. This was a painful day for him, but he had to admit to himself that there was an element of fun in the proceedings. It felt deliciously pervy too to be mooning his Grandpa with his father doing exactly the same, right next to him.
Then, just as suddenly as he had left, Grandpa was back. Where had he been? For a wee, perhaps? Surely you know that nature waits for no old man! He wasn’t telling but he did say, “Right, let’s carry on from where we left off. There are going to be a lot of sore bottoms in this house from now on!” Yes, Grandpa laughed heartily at his own observation and flexed the cane with unmistakable joy. He was enjoying retirement more than ever.
D I S C L A I M E R
All characters appearing in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to real businesses or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Story and photographs © MMXIV by Rod Cayenne
All rights reserved.
*Special thanks to Jim for the inspiration*
Comments from the original 2014 post are here