Feeling The Heat (M/M) NEW!

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♥ Site recommended story ♥

New to The Canery is this exciting spanking story by very special guest author JOELSTRAP.   All the characters are 18 or older. WARNING: ADULTS ONLY!

Feeling The Heat by Joelstrap

The traffic moved increasingly slowly until at last it came to a standstill. The snow had been falling heavily for some time and outside the car windows the countryside was shrouded in a blanket of white while the road beneath me was thick with compacted snow on which more layers were relentlessly building up.

Time eased passed and we were going nowhere. The road was high and exposed. I got out of the car and looked around. In both directions vehicles were at a standstill and the swirling snow was unremitting in its intensity, loading the branches of the bare trees, lining the tops of the walls with a deep layer of white, filling in the ditches and levelling the hollows of the landscape.

I approached the next car. The guy said he’d spoken to the police on his mobile. Jack-knifed lorries were blocking the way in both directions; snowploughs couldn’t get through. We were in for a long wait. I tried the big white van behind. A young lad of about my own age, maybe twenty, was sitting staring moodily through his windscreen. I told him what I’d learnt.

“If you get cold,” he informed me, “come along here.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I’ve not got much fuel left and I daren’t run the engine to get any heat.”

I returned to my own vehicle and snuggled into my coat to wait. The hours crawled past and the darkness fell; and still it snowed until I had to get out and sweep it from the windows so that I could see outside. It was bitterly cold. I stamped my feet and swung my arms and climbed back into my car; but I couldn’t settle. The cold was beginning to numb me. I decided to go along to the white van and see if maybe he had some blankets. He had said to come along if I was cold.

The lad jumped out when he saw me approach and led me round to the side of his van where he unlocked and pulled open a sliding-door and climbed in. I followed. A dim light shone in the capacious interior where a several large boxes and some crates sat in two neat rows.

“I’m supposed to be delivering this lot for an exhibition,” he said, “but they won’t be getting them today.”

I clambered in. I’d expected heat, but there was none.

!Er, I thought when you asked me to come round if I was cold that you’d have some heating on.“

“Nah, heating only works in the cab,” he informed me.

“So what we doing here?” I asked, teeth beginning to chatter.

“There’s another way of getting warm that I found in one of these crates,” he said. “But I don’t suppose it’s everyone’s cup of tea.”

I was curious.

“So what is it?”

He opened one of the large boxes, reached in and pulled out a thick leather strap, slit into two thongs down almost half its length.

“What the fuck’s that?”

“Don’t you know?”

“Never seen a baby like that,” I admitted. “What’s it for?”

“Look. Hold your hand out like this.” He extended a hand, palm upward.

I copied him and, with a move so swift it took me totally off-guard, he swung the leather thong and smashed it down on to my extended palm. Pain ripped through my hand and I withdrew it with a yelp of pain and turned a furious face towards him.

“What the hell do you think you’re playing at?” I demanded angrily. “That was fucking sore!”

“It was meant to be. That’s what it’s for. It’s called a tawse. It was used to punish school-kids in the old days.”

Vague memories of stories my gandad had told me about getting belted in school came back to my mind.

I surveyed my flame-red palm, still pulsing with pain.

“Must’ve been tough buggers in those days,” I muttered. “That stings like hell.”

“But I bet your hand isn’t feeling cold now, is it?”

I rubbed my hand against my stomach. No, it certainly wasn’t feeling cold now; it was feeling bloody hot!

“So, want the other warmed up too?” he enquired, flexing the tawse.

Part of me didn’t want a repeat, but part of me still couldn’t quite believe how deeply it had stung and wanted to find out if it felt that bad when I was expecting it.

“Okay,” I said and held out my left hand. I felt a pang of apprehension as he raised the belt, swung it back over his shoulder and then I saw it descend with explosive intent towards my palm. It took a bit of will-power just to keep my hand out when I saw what was coming. The ferocious lash of pain convinced me that it hurt just as much when I knew what to expect! I nursed my flaming palm under my arm.

“Wow,” I told him. “That is one hell of a sting!”

I looked at my palms, red, a slight indication of bruising at the base of the thumbs, and wondered.

“So just what kind of an exhibition is this?” I asked.

“It’s called Education through The Ages,” he replied.

He undid a little bolt on one of the crates and the front fell forward to reveal an old-fashioned school-desk, such as I’d seen in pictures. He pulled it out and we admired it; solid iron frame, hard wood seat, various names and words carved into it with a penknife.

I shivered a little with the cold.

“So, how about you bend over that and I’ll warm you up a lot more with this across your arse,” he suggested, flexing the tawse again menacingly. “You look pretty cold.”

I was cold, but I wasn’t at all sure that I wanted that vicious bit of leather used on my behind. My cock, however, seemed to have other ideas and I had to do a hasty readjustment. This did not escape his attention.

“I’ll take that as a ’yes’,” he said with a grim smile. “Bend over.”

Why the hell not? I thought. My jeans will give me some protection.

I leaned over the back of the seat and placed my hands on the edges of the desk-lid and waited. He swung the tawse and brought it down with moderate force on my denim-clad rump. I felt it, but only enough to make my cock soar. He hit me several more times and I became increasingly aroused by the sting.

“Okay,” he said. “If it’s really going to warm you up, you’ll have to get it on the bare. Drop your jeans and pants.”

“No way, mate!”

I stayed down because I wanted him to continue; but he didn’t. He could read me like a book.

“You want more,” he said; not a question; a statement. I didn’t argue.

“But you’ll only get it if your bum’s bare. So, drop them. Now!”

My penis repeated the order vehemently. I stood up, unbuckled my belt, undid my jeans and pushed them down to my ankles. I hesitated. He just nodded at my pants and I slowly pushed them down too. My cock, released from any strictures, bounced joyfully. Embarrassed, I swiftly bent over again.

He began to wield the tawse across the bare skin of my buns, just hard enough to sting. I loved it. A warm glow spread across my buttocks and seemed to permeate my whole being. Steadily he covered the whole surface of my buns from my waist to the tops of my legs, across from thigh to thigh with a blanket of pulsating heat. I was a-quiver, not only with thrilling pain, but also with sexual excitement. I felt my balls were going to burst.

He stopped the leathering and a pang of disappointment shot through me. A strong, young hand explored the planes and curves of my bottom and a long, confident finger slid deep into my cleft and stroked my hole so that a powerful shudder of delight shook my whole body.

“You want it harder?”

“Yes, please!”

This time I really felt it; but the endorphins were flowing through me and I had been well warmed up. I could take it. He hit more slowly now, giving me time between each stroke to savour the pain and then wait with a pang of apprehension for the next one. Every time the leather smacked into my buns, I thrust forward hard, like having sex, and I felt my body was ready for release; but I didn’t want this to end and held myself desperately in check.

He must have sensed that I was close to losing control and the belting ceased again. I stood, flame-hot, pain throbbing insistently and thrillingly through my behind, cock rigid as an oak tree, foreskin drawn well-back, pre-cum shimmering on my prepuce. I didn’t dare move. It was up to him. He drew the leather strap across my skin and I felt its rough texture. He slid it up to my waist and then let it come slowly down so that one of the slim thongs dropped into my crack and pulled gently at the tender skin near my arsehole and then on to tickle the edge of my perineum before falling away. I held my breath. I closed my eyes. The world waited.

Behind me he must have been swinging the tawse back and then bringing it forward and down, the full power of his muscular young arm behind it. A crack like a gunshot echoed round the van and a yelp was forced from me as a tidal-wave of raw pain flooded my bottom, intense where the hard tips of the thongs curled deep into my thigh. I quivered, poised on the very brink of orgasm, panting for it, every nerve stretched to breaking-point. Time stopped.

There was nothing left in my world now; only the tawse and the pain and the certainty of release imminent. Again the heavy tawse descended and this time the ends of the thongs were driven into my cleft, lashing the sensitive flesh between my buttocks. With a cry of pain, my body bucking violently, I teetered momentarily on the brink, and then was lost.

I was dimly aware of my balls pumping out spunk, of the crimson tide of pain receding to leave a steady pulse, still severe between my buns. All else was joy, deep and potent; pleasure which went deeper than anything I’d ever experienced before; and a long, slow surge of fulfilment.

I stood up slowly, dribbling semen. I placed my hands tentatively on my leathered buttocks and worked my way wonderingly over the raised prints of the belt on my skin, savouring the heat.

I looked at him. He was still standing there, slowly stroking the tawse across his hand. On the front of his jeans there was a patch of dampness. I took a deep breath.

“That,” I said, “was fucking awesome!”

“Warm now?” he enquired.

I grinned, still scrubbing ruefully at my rump.

“Definitely!”

I cleaned myself on my handky, pulled up my pants and denims and, with his help, shoved the desk into its crate. He put the tawse back in its box and pulled out something else; a slim, wicked-looking cane.

“No!” I said, backing hastily away. “I’m grand and warm now, thank you!”

He shrugged, laid the cane down and I slid open the door and jumped down into the snow. Back at my car, I sat carefully on the seat and then just closed my eyes and remembered. I must have dozed, for when I awoke, I was very cold. I stretched, got out of the vehicle and looked up. The snow had stopped and overhead the sky was spangled with stars. The fallen snow shimmered with a layer of frost. It was bitterly cold.

I rubbed my bottom, feeling still a tingling warmth there. I glanced towards the white van. I could see him sitting in the heated cab, apparently reading a newspaper. I rubbed my buns again and shivered. The frost was hard and the air bitingly icy. I walked back to the white van and pulled open the driver’s door.

“I don’t like to bother you again,” I said, “but I’m bloody freezing.”

He reached across to the seat beside him and picked up the cane. I drew in my breath sharply.

“Cold enough for this?”

I swallowed and took the plunge.

“Yes,” I said firmly. “C-c-cold enough for that.”

He smiled. I rubbed my bottom.

 

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Story ©MMX by Joelstrap, and used here by very kind permission of the author.

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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.

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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

 

Uncle Knows Best (M/M) NEW!

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Hot spanking and sex in this brand new story by special guest author David Stewart.  This story is currently exclusive to The Canery.  All the characters are 18 or over.  Strictly adults only!

Uncle Knows Best by David Stewart

I had a great childhood and was brought up in a strict but loving way.  I often stayed with an aunt and uncle (they were not blood relatives, but we always called them Uncle and Auntie) and would go there on a Friday evening and be returned to my loving parents at church on the Sunday morning.  A better Aunt and Uncle you could not wish for.

On a few occasions my Uncle would discipline me over his knee.  My Aunt would always go to the shops on a Saturday afternoon around three and it was then, if it was to happen, she would tell me, “Your Uncle needs to have words while I am out.”  That always meant a trip to the bedroom, where he sat on the edge of the bed and had me bare bottom over his knees to get a sound hand spanking.

I continued to stay with them regularly, right up until I was about 20.  It was at that time, post-school, that things changed for me.  I mean nothing bad against Uncle, but I got what I deserved (and actually wanted).

I was 18 and had stayed and had gone out on the Friday and came home a bit worse for wear and neither were impressed.  On the Saturday morning it was Uncle who had a pop at me when we were out in the garden. He was a wise owl and was disappointed in me, rightly, and told me how my Aunt had been upset at how I had been.
I apologised to him, of course, and he commented, “If this had been a year or so back you would have been apologising over my knees when your Aunt went out.”

I made some glib comment about “Well, just as well I am older then” and shrugged my shoulders with a smirk. That seemed to piss him off and he said, “I said a year or so ago you would have been over my knees.  I did not say you would not get a good leathering.”

We looked at each other and I remember a movement in my groin and bravely responding, “You’re joking, right? I mean you’re not going to wait till Auntie is out, are you?”

“Oh, you want me to do it now, with Auntie in the house?”

“No, no that was not what I mean…I well, I just meant…well you said it would not stop me getting a leathering…what were you meaning?”

“I was meaning that when your Aunt went out you would be upstairs getting a leather belt on your bum.”

I was experiencing the excitement of an adolescent lad who had been wanking over spanking for a couple of years, but even my response surprised me, “I suppose it is better with Auntie out, but would you tell her?  It would be so embarrassing for me at my age.”

He looked at me and said, “No, we can keep this to ourselves but as soon as Auntie leaves I want you up in your bedroom waiting for me.”

After lunch Auntie said, “Right boys, I am off down to the shops.  See you shortly and I will get something nice for afternoon tea.”

Uncle looked at me and with his eyes indicated upstairs.  I went to my bedroom and soon heard Uncle climb the stairs and in he came. He lectured me and then said, “So, now you are an adult you will get an adult’s punishment, which is a good leathering.  Now, get your jeans off!”

He watched as I removed my shoes and then jeans and stood with my t-shirt unable to hide the bulge in my baggie pants.  It was obvious Uncle saw this but he did not falter and simply said, “Now pants down and lay on the bed.”

I did this quickly, to hide my erection.  I then heard the unmistakable sound of leather belt coming through trouser loops and turned to see my Uncle folding his belt.  That belt must have been two inches wide.

“This will teach you a very sound lesson and you deserve this, so let’s get it over with.”

I turned my head just as the first flash of that leather belt landed and took my breath away. What followed was a slow but continuous leathering of my bared buttocks and a very adult boy crying towards the end.  He gave me a cuddle when I got up and said he hoped it had done me some good, but if he ever had to do this again it would be much worse.  At that point he left me and when Auntie arrived home we had tea and scones, with nothing said.

About two months later I was there just for the Saturday afternoon and in the workshop with my Uncle when a conversation relative to my leathering was started by him, firstly asking how long it took to stop burning.  He asked me about my arousal at the start and why that had happened, and I blushed and just shrugged it off.
“So, do you think it did you good, getting my belt?” he asked, and I answered that, “Yes it did, thank you,” which upon reflection must have sounded a bit sad.

“Thank you is it?  So you are glad I gave it to you are you?”

There was a bit of a pause and I said “Well not exactly, but I suppose thank you for not letting me get away with things,  To that extent it probably does me good now and again to be reminded that I am not that old yet.”

He eyed me, and with a smile asked, “So are you saying you are grateful to me for leathering your arse last time, and you think it does you good?”

“Well in a strange way it does.  I remember when I was younger and I acted up, and went over your knee.  Yes it stung but it made me better and I did not need it so often.  Nowadays I suppose I just tend to be a bit of a pratt at times and not exactly miss it, but well you know…miss it….a bit like knowing your limits.”

My cock was as hard as a rock during this conversation.  It was not going to soften.  Uncle asked, “So would another leathering do you good later when Auntie goes out?”

I know I blushed and stuttered as I said that I always felt going over his knee was very helpful.  It put me in my place, but yes the belt was certainly a more adult way to deal with someone like me.

He looked at me then said, “ Well.  I’ll tell you what, when your Aunt goes out today, if you think it will do you good, then come and ask me if you can go and wait for me in the bedroom.”

I smiled and said that was OK and he added, “But just so I am not encouraging anything here, your bottom will be black and blue by the time I am done and I doubt you will come back for more.”

So it was that I had to try and hide my erection for the rest of the day until Auntie did go out, a little later than usual.  I then confidently but nervously asked my uncle, “May I go and wait in the bedroom for you please, Uncle?”

He nodded and off I went.  Only a few minutes later Uncle came up too.  As he entered the room he announced, “ Right, lad.  Today is going to be a real lesson for you, so get your trousers off!”

He sat on the edge of the bed and once my trousers were off he called me to his side and hooked my underpants down and made me step out of them too.  He commented on my erection “I see.  An adult spanking for an adult reaction, then.  Get over!”  What followed was an extremely painful hand spanking which lasted perhaps ten minutes, by which time I was in tears.  I was grateful for the temporary rest.  Uncle looked at my groin and commented, “Not so much of an adult now, are you?  He stood and undid his belt and drew it through the belt loops.  That action excited me then, and to this day still does.  He folded the thick leather in half and cracked it down on the bed with an almighty blow.

My cock grew again at this.  Uncle noticed this reaction straight away, and said, “Right!  Time for some honesty.  honesty.  Does what is about to happen excite you and is this what you wank over at night in bed?  The thought of someone leathering and spanking you?”  My blushing said it all, and he added, “More to the point, and this will go nowhere other than this room, are you secretly wanting me to leather your arse harder than last time?  Because if you do, now is the time to be telling me.”

I was in a state and blustered away, something like, “Uncle, I am sorry…but…but well I don’t know why I do, but I do want that.  Please!”

He came over to me and put an arm round me and said, “Well then.  This is going to hurt like mad but I understand what you want and need, so I am going to give you the hardest leathering of your life.  Now lie down on the bed.”

I laid on the bed and he was true to his word.  Stroke after stroke of that doubled-up thick leather belt landed on my bared cheeks.  Tears flowed and flowed and it seemed to go on forever, so much so that I feared my Aunt would be home before he was done.  When it stopped, I was truly pleased.  Through my tears I saw his benign smile as he threaded his belt back through the loops.  I was rubbing my assaulted buttocks and he told me to, “ Dress and go wash your face, so Auntie does not know.”

That night Uncle walked me to the train and as we waited said to me, “So, did that leathering live up to expectations?”

I said, ”Far more than that Uncle, thank you.  I needed that.”  He then said, as the train arrived, “So long as between you and I, any time you feel you need a repeat then come and ask me.  It is no problem and if it helps then so much the better.”

It was another six months before I asked, having had a few visits in between.  It was mid-morning and in my perverted way I wanted to enjoy the nervous expectation of an impending beating.  So I asked him almost as soon as I arrived, “Does Auntie still go out to the shops in the afternoon?”

“Oh, always,” he said with a smile.

I must have waited all of five seconds before trying to ask, nonchalantly, “Eh then Uncle, when she does go, may I go and wait in the bedroom please?”

“I have been disappointed that you have not asked before now, so the answer is yes, of course.”

I loved the nervous expectation and as soon as Auntie left it was, “Uncle, may I go and wait in the bedroom for you please?”

“Yes, and hurry up and get yourself ready so that we have more time.”

That got me harder and when he came up I was in my underpants, t-shirt and socks and well erect.  In he came and in his hand was a wooden hairbrush.  He announced, “This will stop my hand being so sore.”  He sat down and my pants were pulled down and off.  He smiled at my youthful erection, saying, “Get over!”  A hand spanking followed for about five minutes before that wooden hairbrush started to slap at my buttocks.  I couldn’t help but yelp.  “Teaching you a lesson this, boy?” And he continued on and on.

When I got up, I was jumping about, rubbing my smarting arse cheeks.  But there were no tears.  As he repeated the process of drawing the belt through the trouser loops, my cock came back to life and and stuck up proudly for Uncle.  He smiled as always and said, “Well you obviously did not find that too off-putting so I assume you are wanting me to put this belt to good use, are you?”

In my youthful way, cock erect and not much else to say I simply whispered, “Yes please, Uncle.”

He asked me candidly, “So, when you are having a wank do I feature in those wanks?”

I smiled and said, “Yes, you do Uncle.  Yes, you do.  Every time.”

“And in these wanks, do I do anything we have not done here…and don’t be shy, as I will take it as a compliment.”

“Alright.  You leather me to tears, then sometimes you help me.”

“You mean I wank that big lad’s cock for you?”

“And do you do anything for me?”

“I have never done anything or had anything done to me Uncle, but yes I fantasise that sometimes I suck your cock or I wank you, or well, or you bend me over.”

“So, you have never been touched by another guy?”

“No.  Never ever.”

He stepped forward and his hand took hold of my cock and he started to wank me. “Is this nice?” he almost rhetorically asked followed by, “And nice as this is, I am about to leather you bared arse till you are crying like a baby. That is what you want, isn’t it?

Between sighs I said, “Yes please, I want you to teach me a lesson.”

He let go of my cock and said, “Right!  Get on the bed, I will need a rest after this one.”

That leathering was extreme and not only my bottom but also upper back of legs got it.  I was in tears well before he stopped.  I tried to count but lost it at 30 something.  When it was over Uncle was not hiding his own erection and we smiled at each other knowingly.  Soon I was on the bed. on my back.  The hand that had spanked me was now wanking me off!

“Can I touch you?” I asked, and he undid his trousers and allowed me to feel it.  Without being told or asking, I then tasted cock for the first time, and he appreciated it.

He pulled back and left the room to return a few minutes later with a condom, “You want this?”

I nodded and said, as I knelt on the bed, “Please be gentle.”

He was gentle and nudged slowly into me and I was in ecstasy as he moved in and out.   His hand came round to my groin and he wanked my stiffening cock.  In truth we both came almost together, with me spunking all over the sheets.  It was pretty funny and we tidied up hurriedly.  We had just returned downstairs when Auntie came back and said, “So have you boys been having fun?”

That was to become a semi-regular event over the next five years or so until he had a stroke and eventually passed away at a relatively young age.  However, it all helped discipline this boy who is now an adult to be proud of.  Unfortunately, not to be continued.

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 Story text © MMXXI by David Stewart

Story used here by very kind permission of the author

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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.  All the characters are age of 18 or older.

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To comment on this one please use link at top of story

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2021 – Happy New Year!

A message from your host, Rod Cayenne:

Happy New Year to all readers at The Canery! What a dreadful year 2020 was with health worries, lockdowns and not many spankings for a lot of you. Hits at The Canery have been a bit up and down, with a record-breaking April followed by dismal figures for a while. But things are picking up now, and I hope the same will apply in real life very soon. 

Thank you readers for your loyalty during the year.  Grateful thanks to WordPress for hosting the site.  Special thanks to guest authors Joelstrap, Sukemnsee, Clifton Castigo and David Stewart for contributing so many hot and entertaining stories during 2020.  Thanks also to those of you who have commented on the stories.  A brand new story, “Uncle Knows Best” from David Stewart, will appear here on 3rd January 2021. 

Now let us raise a glass and toast the year ahead…

Bottoms Up!

The Cane In The Chimney (M/M) NEW!

♥ Site recommended story ♥

A hot and festive new caning story 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 Cane In The Chimney by Joelstrap

December, 1919

The lithe boy slid quietly into the big schoolroom and looked round to ensure that he was alone. He crossed to the teacher’s desk and removed a slim cane from its hook at the side, and then approached the fireplace. At one time a fire had burned here in the winter days, but it had been replaced with a stove in the centre of the room some years before and the grate was empty. The boy reached up the chimney with the hand which held the cane and appeared to find a ledge there upon which to balance it, for when he withdrew his hand, it was sooty but empty. He pulled a grubby hanky from his pocket and cleaned off the soot from his fingers, and then slid out of the room as swiftly and silently as he had come, confident that no cane was going to assault his bottom, today at least. He felt justified in his actions, because the master had caned him hard on two occasions already that week and he was fairly sure that his homework, done hurriedly while he ate his breakfast, was not of a sufficient standard to save his behind from the rod today. The cane really hurt and he had had enough of it for one week. A boy had to act to protect his interests.

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December, 2019

Liam poured coffee from his flask into his cup and fished out a chocolate-biscuit from his pocket. It had been a busy morning and he’d been working hard, with the prospect of a few more hours of demanding labour before it was time to go home. He enjoyed the hour of rest provided by the lunch-break and, having wolfed down the sandwiches which his mother had made for him, leaned back against a pile of wood and drank deeply.

Jack watched him surreptitiously, enjoying the sight of the eighteen-year-old’s lean yet muscular young body. Liam was maybe a couple of inches shy of six feet, beautifully-proportioned, preserving still the boyish slenderness of youth while showing signs of filling out further into the fullness of his young manhood. His work-jeans fitted him well, revealing rather than concealing the lines of his thighs, the curves of his buttocks, and the substantial package between his legs. His t-shirt was grubby, and a dark patch caused by sweat on the chest testified to the fact that he’d been working hard. Bright blue eyes shone in an open, cheerful face, framed by a sunburst of golden-brown hair which clustered along his forehead and over his ears.

Twenty years or so separated Liam and Jack, and Jack had no illusions about Liam having any sexual interest in him. He was, however, fairly sure that the boy was gay like himself, and felt a certain paternal desire to see that he was okay. As the youngest of the team, Liam was teased and had his leg pulled regularly by the older workers, but he could cope with that and accepted it all with a good grace.

“So, what’s Santa bringing you, Liam?” asked Grant. “Bigger muscles?”

Liam eyed the massive biceps which Grant was showing off.

“Nah,” he said. “I think I’ll grow these myself. A bigger pay-packet would be good.”

“Some hope of that,” replied Mike. “I was thinking about bigger balls?”

“They look big enough to me,” replied Liam, eyeing Mike’s crotch, “but I suppose it wouldn’t do any harm if you got bigger ones.”

“No, you bastard! I meant you!” roared Mike.

“You did? Oooops! Silly me!” replied Liam as the others howled with laughter and Mike scowled.

“Okay, guys!” called Jimbo. “Time to get back to work. Jack, I want you and Liam to get that fireplace opened up; and the rest of you, outside on demolishing the old shed.”

“Looks like we’re gonna have a ‘grate’ time,” observed Liam with a grin; and Jack groaned theatrically.

“So I guess this’ll be the sitting-room,” said Jack, “and that’s why they want to have the old fire restored. I wonder how long it’s been boarded up?”

“Hey! Maybe there’ll be a dead body behind here,” speculated Liam. “A much-hated master, bumped off by his pupils.”

“More likely to be some dead rats,” muttered Jack as he wielded his large hammer.

Liam was disappointed that there was virtually nothing behind the brick-work after they’d demolished it and revealed the old grate. He knew that the school had been closed about fifteen years previously and had sat empty ever since, until a well-off couple looking for a home to which to retire, had bought it and got an architect to draw up plans to convert it into their dream-house. He leaned into the fireplace and screwed his head round to peer up the chimney.

“Something here,” he said and reached up and pulled, bringing a large bundle of old newspapers down in a flurry of soot.

“Look out, you silly bugger,” shouted Jack. “You’ve got bloody soot everywhere.”

Liam picked up a page of newspaper and looked at it closely.

“July, 1921,” he said. “Shit! This must have been blocked up nearly a century ago.”

“Yeh; well, take all that paper outside; and don’t get soot everywhere!” added Jack.

“Yes, boss,” said Liam with a grin.

“Cheeky bugger!”

He gathered up the large bundle of paper and headed outside. When he returned, Jack was removing the outer edges of the brick-work and starting to uncover the handsome surrounds of the fireplace.

“It’s a big chimney,” observed Liam. “Is it blocked off at the top?”

“I should think so. See if you can see any daylight.”

Liam bent down and peered up into pitch darkness and, “Nuh! Must have been sealed. We’ll need to get it opened up if they’re gonna use the fire.”

“Cor!” gasped Jack sarcastically. “How’d you work that out, Sherlock?”

Liam rolled his eyes at him.

“Maybe you could climb up like the chimney-sweep boys in Victorian times,” suggested Jack, “and push off the seal from the inside.”

Liam made a face at him and peered up the chimney again into the darkness. He was just turning away when something caught his eye. He reached up into the chimney and pulled out……..

“Fucking hell!” said Jack.

“It’s a cane,” said Liam.

“Careful, Liam,” Jack warned. “You’re going to put Sherlock Holmes out of business.”

Liam arched the lissom rod experimentally and then slashed it hard through the air. It created a fierce whine.

“Shit! That’s a serious brute,” remarked Jack. “Wonder how it got there. Maybe some scabby young monkey away back a hundred years ago hid it from his teacher so he wouldn’t get his arse beaten.”

“So it could’ve been there all this time,” mused Liam as he stroked the lithe rod slowly, “just waiting.”

“Well stop wasting time and get on with some work or I’ll take it across your arse,” threatened Jack.

To his astonishment, Liam felt a powerful jolt in his balls and a strong stirring in his cock. He turned hastily away muttering about needing to piss.

“And hurry up!” Jack called after him.

Liam darted outside and hid the cane behind the old bike-shed before returning to work.

During the brief tea-break in mid-afternoon, Jack sat himself beside Liam.

“I noticed that when I mentioned using the cane on you if you didn’t get on with your work, you got quite a reaction down there,” he observed quietly, nodding meaningfully at Liam’s crotch.

Liam reddened slightly and, “Yeh. Dunno why that happened,” he admitted.

“So what did you do with it?” asked Jack.

“What?”

“The cane. When you pretended to go the toilet. I’m not daft you know.”

“Sorry. I know. I hid it behind the bike-shed.”

“Why?”

“I just thought I might……I don’t really know……..there’s just something……..” murmured Liam before stumbling to a halt.

“I’ve always found the idea of using a cane kind of exciting,” mused Jack. “I saw it used once or twice at school and my big brother told me he got it a few times. It was abolished when I was about eight or nine though.”

“So no point becoming a teacher so you could use it,” said Liam.

“Not bright enough to become a teacher anyway,” said Jack.

“Would you really like to use it?” pursued Liam. “Just to find out how it felt to cane a boy?”

“Why? Are you offering your arse, kid?”

“I’ve been wondering for the last couple of hours what a cane would feel like across my bum,” admitted Liam. “I bet it would sting like a hundred bees.”

“You haven’t answered my question,” Jack persisted.

Liam turned and looked him full in the eyes.

“Yeh,” he said, “if you like, you can cane my arse.”

“And what an arse to beat the first time I use a cane!”

“You think I’ve got a nice arse?” demanded Liam, colouring slightly.

“Boy, you’ve got an arse to die for.”

“Right, er….thanks,” said Liam gruffly, looking decidedly flustered.

“And there’s no need to come all over macho with me,” said Jack.

“I dunno what you mean.”

“I was watching you looking through Mike’s newspaper at lunchtime a few days ago,” said Jack leaning close to Liam and speaking softly. “There was a double-page spread with some very attractive young female models, with hardly any clothes on, demonstrating exercises; but you hardly gave them a glance and turned over the page.”

“So?”

“So that’s how I know that you’re gay, Liam.”

“Fine; but I know that you’re gay too.”

“How the hell do you know that?”

“Because you’ve got your hand on my thigh.”

Jack snatched his hand away, swore luridly under his breath, and muttered that he hoped none of the guys had noticed.

“Shouldn’t think so,” said Liam. “They’re too busy with their mobile-phones.”

“So, about this caning,” said Jack, “I’m free this evening; or tomorrow when we’ll have finished work for the holiday because it’ll be Christmas Eve.”

“I live with my mum,” said Liam, “so it’d have to be your place. I kind of like the idea of doing it on Christmas Eve. You know, the cane came down the chimney, like it was a present from Santa; so maybe you can cane me as a sort of Christmas present for both of us.”

“Brilliant! But, you sure you want this, Liam? It’s going to hurt.”

“Yeh, I know. I want it to hurt, like it’s a real caning. You see……”

Liam broke off and looked embarrassed.

“Yes?” prompted Jack.

“My dad walked out when I was very young and I’ve kind of missed having a dad. Mum’s okay, but sometimes when I’ve fucked up it feels like I needed an older guy to sort me out; but there wasn’t one. I know beating a boy isn’t the thing these days; but…you’re gonna think I’m weird…….”

“I don’t think so,” said Jack. “Or at least no weirder than me.”

“Well,” continued Liam taking courage, “I think I needed to have my hide tanned; and I still do. I don’t understand why, but maybe just to show me that a guy cares enough to discipline me hard.”

“Right. My place tomorrow evening at seven o’clock and we’ll give it a go, Liam.”

He told Liam where to come to and they returned to work. At the end of the day, Liam showed him where he’d hidden the cane and suggested Jack take it with him.

“I wouldn’t want mum to find it if I took it home,” he said. “She might think I was kinky.”

“And you’re not?”

“Yeh, okay, maybe a bit,” Liam agreed with a grin.

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

Jack’s home turned out to be a basement flat on the corner of a fairly busy road and a narrow lane. Liam rang the bell nervously, a small part of him half hoping that Jack wouldn’t be there, the whole thing being no more than a fantasy. The door was quickly opened, however, and a smiling Jack ushered him inside.

“It’s actually quite a good place for it,” said Jack, “because there’s a shop above and it’s empty in the evening; and on one side there’s a solid wall to the lane and there’s a room at the back which has the kitchen between it and the next-door flat in the other direction; and the windows of the room just look out on to my private courtyard.”

“So nobody can hear me scream?” said Liam.

“You’re not going to be screaming,” Jack assured him. “Maybe a bit of yelping and the odd squeal,” he added. “That’s all.”

“Oh, that’s okay then,” replied Liam sarcastically. “I wouldn’t like to think you were gonna hurt me or anything.”

“Wouldn’t you?”

“Yeh, fair enough; of course I want you to hurt me. What’s the point of a caning that doesn’t hurt? But not too much, okay?”

“I’ll decide how much, Liam. If you want a father-figure to tan your hide, you take what he thinks you need. Now, about this morning. You definitely looked the worse for wear when you came in to work; five minutes late too, I may add. Out drinking with your mates the night before, eh?”

“Er, yeh, a bit,” Liam confessed. “I had to push myself to get up and going this morning; but five minutes isn’t bad.”

“You think not? I think differently, my lad. You’re paid to be at work on time and you will be. You keep your drinking to evenings when you don’t have work next morning. That’s a lesson that you need to learn, boy; and I’m going to teach it to you. Through here.”

He ushered Liam into a cosy sitting-room at the rear of the flat. The curtains were closed and a log-effect fire glowed in the former fireplace. In the corner a Christmas-tree festooned with coloured lights twinkled cheerfully; and bright Christmas-cards sat on every available surface. Liam looked round approvingly and then his eyes came to rest on the cane, lying demurely on the coffee-table. He stiffened and glanced at Jack.

“It seemed kind of unreal when we made plans yesterday,” he said, “but seeing it there, I think I’m really taking in that I’m gonna get it.”

He rubbed his groin as he felt a strong stirring between his legs.

“And you definitely need it,” said Jack. “And want it,” he added. “There’s hot mince-pies for you later; but a hot arse for you first.”

Liam laughed nervously and again eyed the limber rod on the table. Jack pulled forward a chair.

“Bend over, boy!” he commanded harshly; and Liam obeyed at once.

Jack picked up the cane and slashed it hard a few times, making it whistle through the air. He noticed Liam wincing each time and the sight of the boy’s reaction sent a powerful jolt through his groin. He took up position, reminded himself of what he’d learned in the lengthy practice-session he’d had with the cane and a striped-cushion the previous evening, and rapped Liam’s behind several times. The pale blue denim jeans fitted the boy closely and were stretched tightly across his bottom as he bent over. It made for a delectable target and Jack took careful aim and hit it hard, right across the centre. He saw with pleasure Liam’s flinch as he registered the sting, and he rubbed his throbbing cock. Drawing the cane back he hit again and again, one above and one below the first stroke. Each elicited a flinch from the boy, but he made no sound, and Jack could see that there was a massive bulge in the front of the lad’s tight denims.

He hit lower with the fourth stroke and heard a sharp intake of breath along with a marked clenching of the buttocks for a few seconds. He allowed Liam time to settle and also felt that it was important to the boy’s experience that he be made to wait for what he knew was coming to him. When he was ready, Jack lifted the cane and hit just at the top of Liam’s crease. The youngster bucked slightly and a half-stifled yelp escaped him as he clenched his glutes hard.

“Unclench, boy!” ordered Jack; and he experienced a powerful thrill of excitement when he saw Liam obey at once.

The sixth stroke was delivered slightly higher up Liam’s behind, partly landing on the spot where an earlier stroke had been inflicted. Liam bucked again and gasped audibly before settling. Jack admired the stunningly perfect curve of the lad’s bottom and stroked the front of his own jeans as he savoured the sense of control. Liam was submissive and obedient; and so far a willing recipient of the cane. Jack told him to stand up with his hands at his sides. Liam complied. The expression of concentration on his face betrayed his struggle to process the rod’s sting, but the unmistakeable swelling between his legs betrayed his body’s enjoyment of being beaten.

“Jeans and pants off, Liam!”

Liam found himself obeying the order instinctively and with no thought of failing to do as he was told. He unbuckled his belt, pulled down his zip and then bent to untie and remove his trainers before dropping his jeans and stepping out of them. He didn’t hesitate over removing his briefs, releasing a long, bouncing penis.

“Back over,” said Jack quietly and watched with delight as the boy’s exquisite buttocks were revealed in full punishment-position.

Even through jeans and pants, the cane had left six clear red marks on the boy’s skin.

Jack surveyed the youngster’s rump and decided where to begin the next set of strokes. He rapped the cane on Liam’s behind and saw the tension spring into the boy’s body as he felt the cane on his bare skin for the first time and readied himself for the fierce sting he knew was on its way. Jack hit hard and accurately and was rewarded with a violent buck from Liam, accompanied by a yelp of pain. The lad’s hands grasped the edges of the chair tightly and his buttocks quivered. The subsequent strokes were delivered equally hard, each a little below the previous one until the sixth landed full on Liam’s crease. That sent his right hand flying back to scrub feverishly at his bottom for a few seconds before Jack rapped his wrist with the cane and told him to return it to the chair.

“You don’t put your hands anywhere near your bottom while you’re being beaten, boy,” he informed Liam grimly. “Do you hear me?”

“Yes, sir,” Liam replied submissively.

“I’m going to give you two extra strokes as punishment. Don’t move.”

Liam blinked hard and steadied his body. His penis, which had gone into partial retreat, was just coming back, and the sudden thrill of being told he was getting more gave it a powerful boost to almost full erection. Jack noticed it with appreciation. On Liam’s bottom there now stood out a set of six darker red marks and Jack decided that crossing them at an angle would inflict the most intense sting. The boy had earned them, after all, and had to be taught to keep his hands clear.

Liam squealed and jumped violently as the cane lashed his throbbing rump and searing fire burned deep into his flesh. He clenched his bottom desperately hard as he rode the ferocious sting. Barely had he got himself under control than Jack hit him again and made him writhe and squeal once more. His hands, however, remained firmly in place and he made no attempt to alleviate the pain caused by the lightning-blast unleashed across his buttocks.

“You don’t touch your bottom while you’re being beaten. Understand me, boy?”

“Yes, sir,” Liam assured him softly; and slowly but steadily his resilient young penis began to rise once again.

“Stand up and put your hands on your bottom; but don’t rub,” instructed Jack.

Liam stood carefully and placed a hand on each buttock, fingers splayed, savouring the fiery heat in his caned skin. He took a deep breath and leaned back, eyes closed, his long slim body forming a perfect concave arc from the top of his head down the neck, back, buttocks and legs to his heels. Jack, a hand in his jeans, desperately holding himself back from cumming, gazed in awed appreciation of the boy’s physical beauty. Liam was once more fully aroused and on his face was an expression of complete ecstasy. In the glow of the lamp and the Christmas-lights, his skin shone golden and the cane-welts across his bottom seemed to be a perfect ornamentation.

Jack laid down the cane, walked over to him, and ruffled the tawny hair. Liam’s eyes sprang open and he gave a shy smile.

“What did you think of being caned?”

“Awesome!” declared Liam, eyes dark with knowledge and excitement. “That was just out of this world. It hurt like shining fuck; but it felt amazing. And the way you punished me for touching my arse; oh boy, did that sting! Awesome!” he declared again.

“Great; and I loved every second of it too,” admitted Jack. “Apart from the fact that you’ve got a gorgeous arse to use a cane on, it just felt so good seeing you submit, watching how you reacted, the welts coming up on your skin; and knowing that I had control of you and if I wanted to inflict more pain on you, I could because you’d take it.”

Liam touched his bounding erection and glanced shyly at Jack from beneath his eyebrows before asking tentatively, “Would it be okay if I….you know?”

“Carry on,” invited Jack; and Liam closed his eyes again before starting to work expertly at his throbbing cock, little gasps and moans of pleasure accompanying his efforts, until he exploded in an orgasm which sent spurts of his spunk right over his shoulder.

“Hey! That was fantastic!” exclaimed Liam. “I’ve never done it standing before; and I’ve never fired off that high before either!”

“Looks as if you really did need a good caning,” observed Jack.

“Oh, yeh; I needed it.”

Liam began to rub his bottom and then glanced at Jack.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Jack. I’m being selfish. Can I……..?”

“It’s okay, Liam. I’m old enough to be your dad. When it comes to sex, you want a boy your own age.”

“Well, yeh; but I can still bring you off with my hands. I know what I’m doing.”

“I noticed,” remarked Jack.

“Right; so you did. Just open your jeans and sit down.”

Jack complied and Liam knelt at his feet and used both hands skilfully on him, bringing him to a thunderous climax.

“Not quite as high as me,” said Liam, “but pretty impressive for an old guy.”

“Cheeky young bugger!” retorted Jack and gave him a sharp slap.

“Sorry,” responded Liam, sounding anything but.

“Get your kit back on. Mince-pies and lager coming up,” said Jack and went through to the kitchen.

Liam slowly put on his briefs and jeans and trainers, taking time to enjoy the feel of his ridged skin under his hands and the heat inside his underwear once he was dressed. He was already sporting another full erection. Jack came in with a tray and noticed.

“Randy young bugger, aren’t you? Seems to me you’ll need to come back here for a good, hard dose of the cane.”

Liam’s penis strained for extra length and he winced as it tried to burst free of his denims.

“You want to cane me again?”

“If you’d like it.”

“Yeh, I know it sounds crazy; but I think I would like it.”

“Sit down and have some nosh.”

Liam sat carefully and helped himself to a mince-pie.

“Think you’ve learned not to drink too much the night before you’ve got to work; and to be at work on time?”

“Yes, sir,” Liam replied earnestly. “Jack? Would you be my dad? I mean, I know you’re not really; but when I fuck up, like I did yesterday, will you punish me?”

“It’ll be a pleasure!”

“I guess it’s good one of us enjoys it,” said Liam with a grin.

“As long as I enjoy it,” observed Jack, “it doesn’t matter whether you do or not. You’ll get what you deserve; and if you don’t want to feel the cane more often than your young arse is comfortable with, you’d best behave yourself. I think I’ll give you a maintenance caning every Friday evening, just to remind you to be good.”

“You’re gonna beat me every Friday for nothing?”

“No! To remind you to behave yourself. You got a problem with that, boy?”

“No, dad,” replied Liam quietly.

“That’s better. Now listen, I’m sure you’ve got plenty of pals and maybe even a boyfriend your own age?”

Liam coloured slightly and then admitted coyly that he did.

“That’s okay. I’m not looking to be your boyfriend or anything like that. I think the idea of me being your dad is best. I’ll tan your hide when you need it; and I’ll get my kicks from doing that and from keeping you under control. Okay?”

“Yeh. I’ll like that; but I could, you know, deal with things for you after you’ve beaten me, like I did today; if you want? I know real dads probably don’t do that, but you’re special and you’re gonna do a lot for me; so I want to do something for you.”

“I think I’d like that,” agreed Jack with a smile. “That old cane’s turned out to be a great Christmas present.”

“I got an even better present,” said Liam; and when Jack looked questioningly at him he went on, “A real, live dad who’s not scared to roast my rump when I need it.”

Jack raised his glass.

“To a well-caned bottom!” he said.

“And to a dad who uses the cane,” said Liam.

Liam looked at Jack, his new dad, and at the slim cane lying on the table, took a long drink and gave a contented sigh. He knew he’d done the right thing in entering into a dad/son relationship with Jack, a relationship sealed with the cane. After all, a boy had to act to protect his interests.

___________)

 

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

Three Players (F/M, M/F and M/M) NEW!

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Hot bisexual spanking and sex in this brand new story by special guest author David Stewart.  This story is exclusive to The Canery.  All the characters are 18 or over.  Strictly adults only!

Three Players by David Stewart

David was 43 and had been an avid receiver and giver of the cane.  He had played this way with other guys and some females since he was about 22.  His activities had dried up somewhat over the last year or so with no spanking partners.  But tonight he was visiting a hot couple.  Their personal advert had said “Couple, he 57 and she 49, looking for switch playmate to spank and cane wife and then submit to spanking and caning from both.”  They had exchanged mails then spoke on the phone and eventually had met for a drink one night.

She was a good looking lady, medium build but a great bum and nice boobs.  She looked younger than her age with flowing blonde hair. He looked his age, however.  He was well over six foot and strong-looking, but both were friendly and they all earned each other’s trust very quickly.

So much so, that tonight was to be the real thing.  David had to travel about an hour, but he assured himself that it would be worth it.  They were to play to an agreed script and of course, it started as soon as the door was answered.

“Ah, come in David. Good journey?”

“Yes Sir!” He had been told to call the man Sir for the duration of their time together.  The conversation continued in the lounge where Amanda sat looking very attractive.  They had a glass of wine and all the time it was “Yes Sir” to all of the questions.

“Right then David we are all adults and have discussed this.  First Amanda is getting spanked and caned by you and then we will be dealing with you.  Then, we’ll see where it goes.  No sympathy and proper chastisement for all.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Right!  You two, follow me.”

They were led to the bedroom where there was a cane laid out on the dresser.  David was not sure what to do, but Sir was, “Right Amanda!  Get that dress off and let David see what you have.”  Amanda undid her dress and dropped it to the floor revealing a curvy figure, black hold-up stockings and a red matching bra and panties set.

“David!  Amanda needs her arse turned red by your hand before you cane her.  Do it!”

“Eh, yes Sir.  Amanda, over you come!”  He sat on the end of the bed and pulled Amanda over his knees and looked at Sir who nodded.  David started to spank Amanda over her panties. The strength of his smacks gradually increased  and they were producing a good response fromhis victim. He paused to pull her panties right down and the resumed the spanking.  All the time he saw Sir nodding his approval at him. Sir then indicated that it was time to stop, and Amanda scurried off David’s knees, immediately rubbing her bottom before pulling her panties up from her ankles.

Sir spoke, “Do you want to have Amanda thank you, David?”

“Well, that would be nice, Sir.”

It was not the thank you he expected as Amanda knelt on the floor and undid his trousers and started to suck on his very erect cock.  “Now, imagine how she will thank you if you cane her hard!”

“Now Amanda, that’s enough.   Go and stand in the corner.

In a change to the prearranged plan, Sir interjected, saying, “And now, while Amanda contemplates her caning, I want you to strip naked please David. Let me show you how I spank.”

David eagerly took all his clothes off and was soon over Sir’s knees being spanked very hard and long.  He glanced at Amanda in the corner.  She had turned round a bit, and was watching and smiling.

“Now get off and thank me, David.”  David then found himself eagerly sucking on Sir’s enlarged cock in the same way as Amanda had done his.

“Right then, Amanda.  David is going to cane your arse for you.”

David needed no further telling and picked the cane up.  He indicated to Amanda that she should bend over the side of the bed.  He swished the cane then grabbed at her panties and pulled them down.  He took aim and swished the first stroke down hard on her already red arse. She yelled and Sir smiled.

David carried on caning this delightful bottom and delivered a full 12 strokes before looking for approval from Sir.  “Same again, please.”

David gladly continued the caning and brought more yells from his willing victim with each stroke.  Then it was over.  Tears streamed down from Amanda’s eyes but somehow she looked totally wanton.  David had not noticed when, but Sir hd made himself naked as well, and was erect for all to see.

Amanda took the lead and said, “Now David, get your arse in the air for me and let me get my revenge.  This will hurt!”

David did as instructed and felt a light tap followed by an agonising swish as the first stroke landed. In all she gave him 12 strokes and each caused him to jump and bite his lip.  After Amanda’s dozen, Sir took over and landed another mighty 12 strokes, taking David’s breath away.  It was then back to Amanda who teased him by touching David’s flaccid cock, bringing it back to life.  However, his semi soon vanished as she started to give him a second 12 strokes.  Every one burned deep into his already battered rump.  He was told to stand and Amanda took his place.

David then watched as Sir landed 12 more painful strokes on Amanda’s rear.  The atmosphere was electric and after the dozen strokes Sir said, “Now Amanda, thank David properly!”

She almost seemed to slide over and took David onto the bed where she sat astride him. He slipped into her over-moist pussy, with Sir watching avidly.  David found it all amazing.  He had difficulty holding back, but did so as he thought he knew what was to come as a finale.

Amanda jumped off David and Sir bent her over and pounded away at her cheeks, screwing her to delirium.  Then David was ordered back over the edge of the bed and Amanda gave him a further dozen of the cane before they heard the familiar sound of a condom wrapper being torn open.  A squelch of lube followed and Amanda stood watching and smiling.  David felt Sir push rather gently at his bum hole.  Slowly but surely Sir eased his manly cock inside David.  Amanda laughed and said, “Screw him darling, screw him hard!”

Of course Sir didn’t need telling, as he always screwed hard.  Just as he was coming Amanda gave David a hand, jacking him off explosively.

Afterwards the three of them showered together and had some more wine before promisingthemselves that they would schedule a repeat session.  It never happened in fact, but perhaps a one-off was best for all concerned?

______________)

 Story text © MMXX by David Stewart

Story used here by very kind permission of the author

______________

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.

_______________

I hope you’re going to comment on this one – please use link at top of story

__________________

Christmas Shopping 2020

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…or a lockdown 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.

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

Morning Glory (M/M) NEW!

♥ Site recommended story ♥

A very happy All Hallows’ Eve to all readers!  New to The Canery is this exciting caning story by very special guest author JOELSTRAP.   All the characters are 18 or older. WARNING: ADULTS ONLY!

Morning Glory by Joelstrap

I am rising slowly from a school-desk, my eyes fixed on the master at the front of the room. As I walk towards him he gently arches the slim cane he is holding. The seven other boys in the room are sitting like statues and an air of expectant silence hangs heavily over us. I realise that I am pressing my hands to my bottom, although I can’t recall deciding to do so. I am eighteen years old and am about to be caned. There is something almost surreal about the whole scenario; and yet I know that when that lithe rod and my young buttocks come into violent contact with each other, the pain will be very real indeed. My penis is fully erect. I swallow nervously. I am told to bend over a desk. I obey.


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

“You’re going to Austria whether you want to or not,” said dad angrily. “This school has an excellent reputation for bringing recalcitrant young men firmly back into line before they go off to the freedoms of college.”

“I’m not a recalcitrant young man!” I howled furiously. “I messed up, okay? I know I did. I’ve said I’m sorry. I don’t make a habit of doing things like that. You know I don’t. You can’t do this to me, dad. Please!”

“I can and I will. You’ll do as you’re told, Lee; and maybe you might consider showing a bit of gratitude as well. It’s thanks to me that you weren’t up before a court,” dad reminded me coldly.

“I know. I am grateful. Honest! And I took my punishment, didn’t I? I accepted that I had to give up my driving-lessons and got grounded for a month. I didn’t complain, did I? I knew I deserved it. I’m not a bloody hooligan. I made a fucking mistake, for God’s sake!” I shouted, feeling my face turn red. “When are you going to stop punishing me?”

“For a start, you’ll watch your language when you’re speaking to me, boy! Understand?”

I gave him a sulky look.

“I asked if you understood, Lee?”

“Yes, okay, I get it. No swearing. Right?”

“Lee, I’m this close to grounding you for another fortnight.”

He held his thumb and index-finger a few centimetres apart.

“I’m sorry. I’ll mind my tongue,” I said quietly.

“Good. As to punishing you, this isn’t punishment. It’s a serious attempt to get you sorted out before you go off to college where you’ll face all sorts of temptations and won’t have me to keep you right. I can’t stop you seeing it as a punishment if that’s what you’re determined to do; but that’s not how I see it,” said dad.

I was not to be mollified.

“Well it’s not how I see it,” I burst out angrily. “This was to be my last term at school here. I’ll be away from my mates. I’ll miss all the last-term things, the parties, the sports, the final-year dance. I won’t know anyone in Austria. It’s cruel to take me away from all my pals now. Dad, please; you just can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I’m serious; and there’s to be no more argument about it, Lee. The decision’s made and you’ve got a place in the school for the summer term. So take that mutinous expression off your face and just get used to the idea; because you’re going, boy. End of story.”

I glared at him in helpless fury and then turned and stormed up to my room, slamming the door so hard that the window rattled dangerously. A few seconds later dad came striding in.

“What?” I asked insolently.

“You know perfectly well what.”

I shrugged.

“Whatever.”

“All right. You can stay in here for the rest of the day; and don’t think about eating because there’ll be no food. I’ll come in after breakfast to see if you’ve learnt any manners overnight.”

He turned to go out.

“What if I need to pee?”

“Use the bloody wash-basin,” he snapped and closed the door. I heard the key turn in the lock.

“And one other thing you might want to know,” he said through the door. “In this school in Austria they use the cane to maintain discipline.”

I stared at the closed door in astonishment. I’d never heard dad swear before; ever. Boy, he must be hellish mad at me! I threw myself down on my bed and rehearsed all the arguments against going to this school in Austria; and I thought of a new one. If I had to go off to Europe, why couldn’t it be somewhere hot and sunny like Italy, rather than somewhere in the mountains where it probably rained most of the time? Why did it have to be the boring, disciplined Austrians and not the relaxed, free-and-easy Italians? It wasn’t until I had been feeling hard done by for several minutes that his last remark through the closed door really sank into my fevered brain.

Cane? They use a cane? They can’t. No way! I’m eighteen. Nobody can cane an eighteen-year-old. It’s a punishment for boys; and anyway, it’s been abolished for years. Nobody gets caned these days. Just another example of dad’s warped sense of humour. Sadistic bastard!

I spent a miserable evening, tormented by hunger-pangs, lonely, frustrated and deeply angry. I went over in my mind what had led to all this.

My mate, Ben, and I had been out on the town and had been mixing our drinks a bit. We didn’t know any better and anyway, we felt fine; too fine. We felt brilliant, popped, invincible; and so when we saw Ben’s uncle’s sports-car parked outside his house, and discovered on investigation that he’d left the keys in the ignition, it seemed perfectly reasonable to borrow it. We knew he’d never know. Just a quick spin round the estate and back. I’d had two lessons and so I knew I could drive and Ben assured me he had complete confidence in me.

Quite why the lamp-post shifted into my path, I couldn’t be sure, but I had to take swift evasive action and unfortunately that meant hitting a garden fence. We may have been going a tad faster than I’d realised and I’ll admit that I was getting a bit confused about which pedal was which, what with things happening so fast; and somehow we ended up demolishing the fence and coming to rest at the very brink of a garden-pond, a couple of fishing-gnomes annihilated by one of the front wheels.

There was a lot of shouting and lights and then we were hauled from the car and into a house. Ben’s father appeared and later so did mine. We were given loads of black coffee and then dad took me home and put me to bed. When I woke next morning, I had a couple of men with pneumatic-drills boring away steadily inside my skull while another bastard insisted on shining a brutally-bright light straight into my eyes. I lay moaning on my pillows for some time.

Dad came in, forced me to take more coffee and a little food and then told me to sleep. I did. In late morning I came round feeling slightly better. I stumbled to the loo and the noise of my movement must have alerted dad for he was waiting in my room when I returned from the bathroom.

The conversation which followed was painful; but I did get the message that the fence we’d demolished belonged to a neighbour of Ben’s family, and dad and Ben’s dad between them had managed to pacify the householder, promise to pay for everything to be put right, and gain an assurance that he’d not report the matter to the police. Punishment would be severe and our two fathers would see to it.

Punishment was indeed severe. The driving-lessons were terminated. I was forbidden to leave the house after six in the evening for thirty days. I had to give a substantial proportion of my savings to help pay for the damage. I had to make embarrassing and humiliating apologies to Ben’s father, uncle and the neighbour whose fence had been flattened. And I’d done it all and hadn’t complained because I was basically a good, well-brought-up lad. I’d fucked up badly and I knew it. I was prepared to take my medicine and had done so dutifully, as had Ben.

The matter was now over a month behind us and I’d begun to look forward once more. To be hit with the news that I wasn’t going back to school here at home with Ben and my other mates for our very last term together, was a vicious bolt from the paternal blue which had thrown me completely and led to my fury at dad; and to me being here in my room, locked in and starving and convinced that nowhere in all this wide world was there a boy as cruelly and heartlessly treated as was I. Eventually I went to bed, cursing the hardness of the world and the malign fate that had given me a sadist for a father.

I awoke with a massive erection, as I almost invariably did these days. I lifted the duvet and looked at my morning glory, large, thick, throbbing, demanding. I smiled to myself and got to work, giving it what it wanted.
Dad came and unlocked the door shortly after I’d cleaned myself at the basin and had sent a copious stream of piss down the plug-hole.

“Well, Lee?”

I knew there was nothing to be gained from persisting in my bad temper. If I was going to talk him out of this Austrian nonsense, I had to get last night’s behaviour out of the way.

“I’m sorry I was rude,” I said, trying to look suitably contrite.

“All right. We’ll leave it at that. Now, come down and have your breakfast.”

I did so gratefully. I was hungry.

I left any further argument about Austria until the next day, sure I could talk dad round; but he proved unaccountably stubborn. Several difficult days ensued during which we had some horrendous rows; but when my plane-ticket arrived, I realised that this was one fight I was destined to lose and I might as well give in as gracefully as I could.



I’d never flown before and so that was a thrill. After landing at Salzburg airport, I was met by a master from the school who herded me and three other lads of my own age into a bus and we glided smoothly along the motorway to Innsbruck. I chatted a bit with the other lads. Two had been at the school for two terms already but the third was new like myself. Since the other pair already knew each other, Michael and I were left together.

We got on well and I found myself checking him out enthusiastically, for he had a good, athletic body, a thick crop of brown hair, eyes of dark toffee, and a sheen of sensuality, an almost animal sleekness, which sat upon him like a cloak. I’d accepted a year or two ago that I was gay and this boy pushed all my buttons. I had to take care to ensure that stirrings down below did not betray my feelings because I wasn’t yet sure about Michael’s attitude to me. I did, however, catch him glancing appreciatively at my bottom and groin more than once and so I entertained strong hopes.

When the conversation inevitably turned to girls we moved cautiously round each other for a while until I felt confident enough to admit that I was gay; and was delighted when Michael confirmed my suspicions that he was too. After that we became much more relaxed with each other and I began to think that maybe this one term in Austria might not be so bad after all.

At Innsbruck we disembarked and a car met us and took us out of the town and up a winding road into the mountains which enclosed the narrow Inn valley. The school turned out to be a huge old house with a superb view of the river far below.

I was pleasantly surprised to be given a room of my own, having anticipated that I’d be sharing a dormitory. The accommodation was large, fairly comfortable and well-furnished. There was even a tray with coffee-making equipment. It was remarkably civilised. We were led to a dining-room and introduced to some of the other boys. The school took pupils for a maximum of only one year, right at the end of their schooling. Most of the guys had been there since September and only five of us out of forty were here for just this one term. The headmaster addressed us all and hoped we’d enjoy our time at the school.

It was in the third week of term that Michael, Nick, Greg and I, after a long conversation during which we compared notes on stories we’d read about boys’ boarding-schools, decided that we should have a midnight feast. About half a mile up the mountain behind the school, there was a small chalet, built as a quiet retreat in the days when the school had been a private house. It had a little balcony at the side which overlooked the Inn valley and we decided that this would be the ideal spot for our escapade. We purloined food from the kitchens carefully over the next few days and stored it at the chalet; and then on a Friday, chosen so we’d have a weekend to recover from a sleepless night, we left our beds at half-past twelve, once the school was silent, and sneaked out and up the steep path to the chalet.

The night was still and bright with moonlight while under the incredible stars the Inn glimmered, a pale ribbon in the warm darkness far below. The food was good, the company enjoyable, the conversation and horse-play great fun; and the whole event was a massive success. It was just about four in the morning when we heard an eerie wailing-sound coming up from the lower slopes of the mountain.

“What the hell’s that” asked Greg, looking uneasy.

“Dunno. Sounds like some kind of siren. Maybe it’s a fire-alarm,” I suggested.

Nick, who alone among the four of us had already spent two terms at the school, sat up abruptly from his position lying on his back gazing at the star-spangled heavens.

“Oh, shit!”

“What?” asked the other three of us together.

“It’s the bloody school fire-alarm,” he said. “I heard it last term when they had a fire-drill.”

“Bet they all get a rude-awakening,” said Michael grinning.

“But don’t you see, you ass?” said Nick. “They’ll all be gathering outside for a roll-call; and we won’t be there!”

“Oh, fuck!” I swore furiously. “Come on. Let’s run.”

We took the steep mountain path at breakneck speed, daring the perils of the narrow, stony descent in desperate urgency; but we knew there was no hope. It would be impossible to get there before it was discovered that we were missing.

The incident turned out to be nothing worse than a ring on the stove which had been left on under some cabbage and it had burned and set off the smoke-alarm which in turn had disturbed the night-watchman who’d set off the fire-siren. No harm done; except that when we arrived, panting and red-faced, the whole story of our escapade had to be told and our guilt was laid open to the breaking dawn. We were told by the headmaster to go to bed and to report to his office at ten in the morning.

We gathered somewhat sleepily at the office-door at the appointed time and discussed what might happen. There was gloomy talk of being sent home, of being gated for the rest of the term; but only Nick, with his longer experience of this school, expressed himself confident about what would happen.

“We’ll get the fucking cane,” he assured us.

“What? How could we get the cane? Boys don’t get the cane these days. You’ve been remembering too many old school-stories,” said Michael.

Nick shook his head, his straight, black hair flopping violently across his brow.

“They use the cane here,” he said earnestly. “A guy got it last November for spitting at a teacher. He showed me the marks on his bum; four red lines, all angry and raised on his skin. He said he’d never felt anything so sore in his life.”

For some reason, my penis liked this image and did a swift leap so that I was in considerable discomfort as I tried to conceal it. I recalled dad’s comment about the use of the cane here. It seemed the old guy wasn’t joking after all.

“He can’t fucking cane us,” protested Michael in tones of outrage. “It’s bloody barbaric! It’s against the Geneva Convention. It can’t be legal.”

“How much do you think it’ll hurt?” asked Greg softly. “I’m not too good with pain. I hope I don’t wet myself or anything.”

“Wet yourself?” repeated Nick. “It would have to be hell of a savage to make you do that, wouldn’t it?”

“Surely it can’t be that bad. I mean, kids at primary-school used to get it in the old days; and we’re eighteen!”

“Sure! We’re virtually men,” said Greg, sounding as if he hadn’t quite convinced himself.

“We are men,” insisted Michael, “and so we can take a thrashing; and we will.”

Nick turned to me.

“You’re saying nothing, Lee,” he observed. “Scared?”

The reason I was keeping quiet was because my own reaction to the imminent likelihood of getting thrashed with a cane had taken me by surprise. I wanted to say that I found the idea of being caned sort of exciting. My cock was definitely interested and the prospect of having my bottom beaten, far from scaring me, rather appealed to me.

“Just wondering,” I replied, vaguely; and that seemed to satisfy him.

Michael, however, gave me a penetrating look before turning to say something to Greg.

Footsteps were audible from around the corner of the passage and we all stiffened and fell silent. The Head appeared, strode past us without a word, went into his room and closed the door. We glanced uneasily at each other and I was about to say something when the door re-opened and the Head addressed us curtly:

“In here,” he said.

We entered and stood in an embarrassed line, looking at our feet. First came the lecture, to which we listened in sullen silence. I couldn’t really argue with what was said; not that I intended to anyway. We’d broken school rules and caused unnecessary concern for our safety when we didn’t turn up for the roll-call. We were guilty and none of us was denying it. Now came the punishment.

The Head opened a drawer in his desk and extracted a slender cane which he suddenly slashed down hard so that the air whined. We all flinched.

“This is the discipline we use here,” he said matter-of-factly. “Any boy who refuses is on the next plane home.”

He paused and looked us in the eyes. No-one spoke.

“I’ll take that to mean you are all willing to accept punishment with the cane,” he said.

“Yes, sir,” we mumbled.

“All right. Michael, drop your jeans and pants and bend over the edge of the desk.”

There was a communal gasp. I don’t think any of us expected the caning to be done on the bare. Michael was staring at the Head with a look of disbelief on his face.

“Hurry up, boy!”

As if in a dream, Michael undid his belt, slipped down his jeans and then his pants, revealing a superb pair of taut, muscular young buttocks. My penis soared. I watched, mesmerised, as the boy bent over the desk, his forearms resting on its surface. His hands were tightly closed. Long, hairy legs were braced, ready for the impact of the rod on his behind. The Head stepped to one side, touched the cane lightly on Michael’s bottom, just on the sit-spot, and then swung it back over his shoulder and brought it whistling down with a vicious snap across the bare flesh of his rump.

Michael winced and drew in breath sharply. As I watched, a slim, raised red line appeared on the boy’s skin. In the little room there was absolute silence. My cock was rampant and I longed to rub it but didn’t dare move lest I came. Thrice more the slender cane lashed Michael’s buttocks, the last one forcing a barely-stifled yelp from him; and then he was told to go and stand, hands on his head, facing the wall. Greg was summoned next and as he lowered his jeans and pants, I gazed at the four neat, parallel lines on Michael’s gorgeous backside and my balls ached with urgent desire.

Four swift cracks echoed round the room and then Greg, a few tears trickling down his face, made his way stiffly to the wall. I was ordered forward for my caning and duly presented my bare buttocks to the rod. The sting of the first stroke was ferocious, intense, burning deeply and insistently and I had to work hard to process it. With each subsequent stroke the pain-level rose steadily; yet there was an excitement in the challenge. I didn’t make any sound; and my penis stayed rock solid through the first three, sagging only a little at the fourth. By the time I’d joined Greg and Michael at the wall, it was like a flag-pole once more.

I only heard Nick take his, but he made no sound, bar a sharp intake of breath at the last. I sneaked a quick look at his bum as he took his place beside me and saw the four fiery welts throbbing across his behind too. For several minutes we were left standing in silence, hands on our heads, bottoms pulsing with a gradually-easing burn. At last we were ordered to pull up our clothing and turn round.

We were shown the cane and assured that we’d feel it again if there were any repetition of our unacceptable behaviour. The only difference next time would be that the strokes would be harder; and there’d be six of them. When asked if we understood, we all agreed that we did.

As soon as I could get away, I went to my room and relieved pent-up feelings while my caning ran like a film on an endless loop in my mind. In the next few days I couldn’t get the cane out of my head. We four lads discussed it of course and the other three were unanimous in their agreement about how much it hurt and how terrible it had been. I said little because I didn’t know how they’d react if I were to tell them the embarrassing truth. It had hurt. I was with them on that; but, and I had difficulty believing this myself, I wanted more.

A few days later, wakening to my accustomed morning glory, I resolved to get myself another caning; and to make sure that I really tried hard to earn one, I denied my balls the release they craved and told myself sternly that there’d be no more wanking until I’d been caned again. I failed to think of any way of getting what I wanted that day and fell into an uneasy and unsatisfied sleep that night, waking with a penis so demanding that it took all my will-power to deny it.

It was the final lesson of the day and desperation drove me to extreme measures. I slid a small pile of books off my desk, making it look as if they’d fallen by accident, and swore luridly and very loudly in simulated anger. There was a horrified gasp from the other boys and then a heavy silence as the master walked up to me.

“Stand up, boy!”

Looking as sullen as I could I got slowly to my feet.

“You will never use language like that in this school, ever again,” said the master with quiet but unmistakeable authority.“

I shrugged.

“Whatever,” I said insolently.

There was a dead silence. Every eye was on me.

“It seems you need to be taught how to behave, boy,” said the master, returning to his desk at the front of the room.

He opened a drawer and extracted a lithe cane which he swished menacingly a few times while I watched, my gaze held like a rabbit facing a snake.

“Come out here!”

I walked slowly to the front, to annoy him more, lest he think better of thrashing me. My cock was erect, ready, wanting, needing.

“Bend over the desk, boy!”

I complied, my bottom exposed to the view of the watching boys. He wasted no time. The limber rod slashed brutally hard across my rump and even through my clothing I felt the line of fire being etched on my behind. He meant me to feel this! I heard his grunt as he put full power behind the second one and I gasped aloud. God, could he hit hard! The two which followed were equally explosive and succeeded in destroying my erection completely; but not for long. As I eased my thrashed bum on to the hard wooden chair at my desk, it rose again in response to the pain of sitting and remained obstinately upright until the end of the lesson.

I had to endure a lot of questioning about how it felt and comments about the movements I’d made and the sounds I’d uttered, before I could get away from the other guys to retire to my room and deal with the insistent demands of my deprived body. I’d scarcely finished when there was a knock at my door.

“Hello?”

“It’s Michael.”

“In you come.”

He entered and looked straight at me.

“You asked for that,” he said accusingly.

“For what?”

“You know bloody well what. That caning. You engineered that.”

“Why the hell would I do that?” I asked, intrigued at his perspicacity.

“Because,” opined Michael with a hint of a grin, “I think you like it.”

“What’s to like about getting your bum caned?” I asked.

“Dunno. You tell me,” he responded.

“You’re out of your tree,” I muttered as I went to make some coffee.

“No, I’m not. What you hiding? Why deny it? Have you been jerking-off?”

I started.

“Jerking……….”

Michael was holding up a soiled tissue which I’d let fall on the floor. He sniffed it.

“Spunk,” he announced triumphantly.

I gave in.

“Okay. I wanked. Satisfied?”

“Yeh; but you wanked after you got caned, didn’t you; ’cos you liked it. It got you going. You went out to get yourself a thrashing just so you could come here afterwards and screw yourself.”

“I suppose you think I’m mental?” I said.

“No. Whatever gets you going. If getting your tail tanned does it for you, then why not? I get pretty excited by the cane myself.”

My heart leapt.

“You do? You didn’t sound very keen on it after The Head caned us. You really want it too?” I asked eagerly.

“Hell, no! But I’d love to dish it out; now that’s what would really get me going,” he said, eyes shining.

He stood up, picked up a ruler from my desk and said in a severe tone:

“Bend over, boy!”

He then smashed the ruler down six times on the seat of the chair, counting each aloud.

“Ace! I’d make any boy who I caned really feel it,” he assured me.

“Wow!” I said, taken a back by this revelation.

“So, you gonna let me see the marks?”

“Er, okay.”

I dropped my clothes and bent over and Michael gave a low whistle.

“Cor! He’s put some great tram-lines on you, even through your trousers,” he said admiringly. “How do they feel?”

“Hot,” I said. “I like the sensation. It’s tough actually getting it, but it’s fantastic afterwards.”

“Can I touch?”

“Help yourself,” I replied accommodatingly.

The idea of Michael touching my bare bottom brought my penis swiftly upright. He traced each welt slowly with a gentle finger and then caressed the whole surface of my bottom with the palms and fingers of both hands, making occasional passes deep into my cleft with the side of his hand, so that it brushed across my hole and sent sensations of novel delight surging through me.

“Mmmmmm!” said Michael appreciatively.

He stopped and I straightened up and turned to face him. He was only centimetres from me and the air was heavy with testosterone. The kiss was instinctive on the part of both of us, as if invisible threads drew our mouths together. As the electric-shock of the first lip-contact pulsated through me, I looked deep into Michael’s eyes and then touched his lower lip with the tip of my tongue. A few seconds later we were locked in a strong embrace, mouths moving feverishly on each other as we sought more and more intimacy. Trapped between me and Michael’s stomach, my cock protested relentlessly at being ignored; and I was powerfully aware of Michael’s own throbbing organ, concealed in his trousers, pressed against me.

“So,” enquired Michael during a pause in the kisses, “do you want me to cane you?”

“You? Cane me?”

“That’s right. I’d do it hard, I promise. You’d feel it!”

“I’m sure I would.”

My brain whirled and I found myself in an agony of indecision. I knew I wanted more of the cane’s burning kisses; but I wasn’t at all sure that Michael was the person to mete it out. I couldn’t help feeling that he was too young, a boy like myself, only eighteen, lacking the authority; and also, I feared, perhaps lacking the maturity to deal with me responsibly. I visualised him getting carried away in the excitement of dishing out a real caning to a real pair of buttocks, and going too far.

“I’ll need to get my head round that,” I said, stalling for time.

I saw the look of disappointment flash across his features before he concealed it with a short laugh.

“Okay,” he agreed lightly, “I’ll wait.”

Stewart was stunning. A sunburst of golden curls exploded all over his head, clustered appealingly about his ears and lay in a thick fringe along his brow. Soft blue eyes looked out frankly from a broad, open face. He stood an inch over six feet, broad in the shoulder, narrow in the waist, muscular in flank and upper arm, flat of stomach and fully-rounded of buttock. I’d spotted him the day I arrived but had concluded he was well out of my league and was probably straight anyway. He, however, had other ideas.

I was walking along in a half-dream, pondering the possibility of being caned by Michael, when he came alongside me.

“Hi! It’s Lee, isn’t it? I’m Stewart.”

“Hi! I’ve seen you about. You been here all year?”

“Yeh. Came last September and I go off to Uni. in the autumn. So, what do you think of it?”

“I wasn’t keen to come at first, but I’m starting to enjoy it. I’ve met one or two great guys,” I told him.

“Like a coffee?”

“Sure.”

He took me up to his room where, like all of us, he had a tray with coffee-making paraphernalia. Over a large mug with picture of a naked youth who sported an outsized cock, he gazed at me.

This guy’s checking me out!

We talked about the school, about sports, about our future plans; and all the time I was convinced that his eyes were roving over my body and I had the uncomfortable feeling that he was looking right through my clothes to see my skin beneath. He indicated the nude figure on his mug.

“What do you think of him?” he asked.

“Great body; and that’s some penis. A guy could be proud of a stiffie like that,” I admitted.

“Like to see mine?” he asked startlingly, looking me straight in the eyes.

“Er, okay,” I answered and felt my own organ begin to perk up significantly.

Stewart rose to his feet and dropped his denims and briefs to reveal that he was extremely well-endowed. Large, heavy balls hung below a rising cock which he stimulated with a few strokes of his hand so that it swiftly reached its full, impressive extent.

“Fuck!” I ejaculated. “You’re pretty well hung yourself. You planning to rape me or something?”

“Would you like me to?”

“Maybe,” I said hesitantly, although my penis was screaming a much more decisive answer.

He pulled up his things and sat down.

“I liked the look of you as soon as I saw you a few weeks ago,” he confessed.

“You did? What does a god like you see in me?” I asked unwisely.

“Never you mind. You’ve just got something that appeals to me. I’d like to get friendly with you; very friendly,” he added with a grin.

Over the following days I spent quite a lot of time with Stewart and we didn’t waste too long in getting friendly enough to kiss and caress. He had a superb body and I enjoyed exploring it; almost as much as I enjoyed his careful exploration of mine.

I was also getting very intimate with Michael to the extent of lying naked in the depths of the woods on the mountain-side and bringing each other to exhilarating orgasms with our hands. I took care to ensure that each knew I was friendly with the other so that there’d be no question of me being accused of betrayal; and both assured me that was fine by them.

I had a feeling that it wouldn’t last however, and I was soon proved right. After the first month of term, we were allowed to go down into Innsbruck on a Saturday between ten in the morning and four in the afternoon and Stewart asked me to go with him to the shops as he’d been sent some money by an uncle. Within an hour of my agreeing to accompany him, Michael came to me in great excitement.

“We’re going into Innsbruck together on Saturday,” he announced happily. “I’ve been reading a bit about the place and there’s a fantastic museum of Tyrolean life and some brilliant paintings in the Tiroler Landesmuseum. One of them’s a 16th century work by a chap called Andreas Haller called Flagellants’ Altar; apparently it’s got all the whips and chains too!”

His eyes gleamed and my balls squirmed. I desperately wanted to go with Michael; but I’d already told Stewart I’d go with him.

“I’m sorry, mate; but Stewart just asked me to go with him to spend some money he’s been sent.”

“So? Watching another guy spend money’s just plain boring. You’d much rather come and see what I’ve got to show you.”

“But that’s not the point,” I insisted. “You know that, Michael. Stewart asked me first. We could go together next Saturday though.”

“I guess,” said Michael gloomily and he walked away.

Stewart was great company and we had a brilliant time in Innsbruck together, admiring the fast-flowing green waters of the Inn as it surged through the town, gazing in awe at the stunning “golden roof”, built on to what had at one time been the Innsbruck residence of the Emperor Maximilian I; and of course perusing the wares on display in the many shops which lined Maria-Theresien-Strasse. I returned to the school tired and contented.

Michael asked me politely if I’d had a good time and I told him what we’d done and seen, determined that he’d have to deal with it. To his credit, and my relief, he did.

“Great! And you’ll come with me next week?”

“Try and stop me,” I said; and we retired to a secluded part of the grounds for some very pleasant intimacies before it was time to eat.

The following Saturday was equally enjoyable and the picture of the Flagellants’ Altar as stimulating as either of us could wish.

“Would you like to be whipped?” asked Michael as we gazed at the painting.

“Shit! I’m just getting used to the cane,” I said. “The lash is another thing entirely. I don’t think I could stand that.”

“Maybe you could,” said Michael eying me speculatively. “Thought any more about letting me cane your arse for you?”

“Yes.”

“You want me to?”

“I meant that, yes, I’ve thought about it,” I elucidated.

“And?”

“I haven’t decided.”

Michael snorted, but I ignored him.
We bought food and lay in the sun by a weeping-willow in the Hofgarten and watched the pigeons. It was an idyllic day.

Next week things came to a head when both guys asked me to go with them to town on the coming Saturday. Again Stewart asked first but I put him off by saying that I wasn’t sure what I’d be doing. When Michael also approached me, I told him of Stewart’s invitation.

“So who do you choose?” he enquired.

“Maybe all three of us could go together?”

“Fuck that for an idea!” said Michael. “What do you see in the big, blond bastard anyway? All that’s gold isn’t great, you know.”

“I haven’t heard that proverb before,” I said sarcastically. “Anyway, he’s fun; and he’s nice to me. He’s not threatening to cane my bare bottom,” I ended vindictively.

“More fool him,” muttered Michael angrily. “Why are you wasting your time with a guy who doesn’t know what you need?”

“Oh, and you do, I suppose?”

“Yes. I do as a matter of fact. You don’t need a big lovey-dovey lump like Stewart, who’ll tell you how wonderful you are all the time.”

“What’s wrong with that? You never tell me I’m wonderful.”

“You’re not. You’re just a great, sexy guy; and you need your arse thrashed. And don’t kid yourself Stewart will do it for you, because he won’t. But I bloody well will; and you’ll feel it.”

“Not exactly brilliant at the soft, loving approach are you?” I said, both annoyed at him but also turned on by his masterful behaviour.

“And you’re not exactly brilliant at being honest with yourself,” he accused.

“Oh, so I’m a liar now, am I?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“It’s what you meant,” I retorted, feeling myself go red in the face as my anger mounted.

“I’ve had enough of this. Are you coming to Innsbruck with me or not, Lee?”

“Ask me nicely.”

He gave me a vicious two-finger gesture and stalked off without another word. I was furious with him and sought out Stewart and told him I’d accompany him into Innsbruck that weekend. Later in the day, I informed Michael coldly of my decision. He just gave me a scornful look and walked off again. He seemed to be doing a lot of that lately.

I was asleep and yet something appeared to be shaking me. Groggily, I tried to drag myself to the surface and, in the pale light of the moon, I saw Michael bending over my bed.

“Come on; up you get,” he hissed.

“What? Why? It’s the middle of the bloody night,” I protested.

He ignored me and stripped the duvet off my naked body.

“Up!” he ordered succinctly.

“Michael, what’s going on?”

“You’re coming with me,” he said. “Now!”

“But where? Why?”

“Stop asking questions. Just get yourself dressed.”

“But…”

“One more word; one single bloody word out of you and I’ll take my belt to your arse,” Michael threatened fiercely; and he actually began to unbuckle the broad leather belt around his waist.

Impressed at his authoritative attitude, in spite of my misgivings, I obediently and in silence rose, and dressed myself.

“Come!”

He went out and I followed submissively as he led me down the shadowy stairs and through a side door into the garden.

“Michael, where are we going?”

“Shut it!”

I sighed and followed. There was something strangely exciting about this; about being out at night with Michael and about being obedient, going into the unknown simply because a masterful boy told me to. My cock was in adventure-mode and I felt that whatever was going on, I intended to enjoy it. We left the grounds of the school through a small gate and headed on to a path which I knew led up to the mountain-tops.

“Please, Michael,” I pleaded. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“We’re going up to the top,” he said.

“But that’ll take us almost two hours,” I objected.

“So? It’s only half-past two.”

“What if there’s another fire-alarm?” I asked anxiously.

“It’s hardly likely to happen twice, is it? You worry too much. Anyway, if there is and we get caught being out at night, it’ll just be another caning. You like getting caned and I can stand it if I have to; so what’s the problem?”

Put like that, it all seemed perfectly reasonable.

“But I…….”

“No, you don’t. Shut up and save your breath for the climb.”

The darkness was warm and scented with pine, the path soft under my feet and Michael was at my side. I relaxed and enjoyed the climb. At last we emerged above the tree-line and then continued the ascent until we were up on the tops of the mountains. There was a ski-lift from Igls, which walkers used in the summer; and using it, I’d been up here once before with some other lads. A network of paths led across the high summits among the heather, trodden by goats and visitors alike.

For a time we stood and just breathed. Overhead the heavens were bright with stars; but the night was fading and dawn was only an hour or so away. Michael led me on. Walking was easy now on the comparatively level highlands and we made swift progress until he stopped and pointed. Far below in the light of the moon, the motorway climbed to the head of the Brenner Pass and the Italian border. I could see the Europabrucke with a few vehicles making their way like toy-cars across it.

I turned to Michael.

“Now what?”

He lay down and patted the ground beside him and I lay obediently, on my side facing him. He talked idly of our daily doings, of school and of the things we’d done and seen in our short time here; and then he paused.

“Turn round,” he ordered. “On your other side.”

I duly complied and he came and lay behind me and I could feel the warmth of his body pressed against my shoulders and bottom. His arms were round me, one hand resting on my chest, the other on my genitals, which squirmed in response.

“Look!”

As I watched, the eastern sky began to turn translucent, before pale fingers of rosy light sprang upwards. The rim of the sun’s orb eased over the mountain tops and on a sudden all the glory of the dawn burst upon the landscape. The shadows of night were banished and, in the shimmering hush of a new morning, something of the stunning beauty of creation smote my heart. Up here no sound penetrated from the valley far, far below. Apart from the occasional tinkle of a goat-bell, there was a great silence as if the world was new-made just for us and all nature held its breath in awe.

Michael undid my belt and slid a hand into my pants, his strong fingers clasping my balls confidently, a thumb stroking my already-rigid shaft.

“I see you’ve got a morning glory to rival the dawn,” he remarked. “You know why I’ve brought you up here, don’t you?”

“To see the sun-rise?” I hazarded.

“And?”

“To wank off together out here on the mountains?”

“And?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’m going to cane you.”

“Cane me?”

“That’s right.”

“Here? Now? You haven’t got a cane.”

“Oh, yes, I have!”

I felt him move and, turning to look, I saw him pull something from inside the waist-band of his jeans. To my astonishment he extracted a slender, whippy cane, so pliant that he’d been able to bend it into a smooth part-circle and wrap it round his middle.

“Where the hell did you get that thing?” I gasped as my cock strained for the sky.

“Pinched it from old Collison’s desk yesterday evening,” he said. “It’s ideal for carrying round my waist ’cos it’s so lithe; and I should think it’ll mould itself to the contours of your bare buttocks beautifully so you really feel the sting.”

I stared at him.

“You’re going to thrash me on the bare with that thing? You’re a bloody sadist,” I protested.

Michael shrugged.

“Okay,” he said, suddenly business-like. “Get your kit off, Lee boy!”

I found myself obeying him, my eyes drawn back again and again to the slim, menacing cane which he held now in both hands, bent into a smooth arc. When I was naked, he told me to get down on all fours. He stood and pranced around, whipping the cane in the still air so that I heard the zing as it lashed downward and was compelled to wonder how it would feel on my behind.

“Ready, Lee?”

“Look, just take it easy,” I pleaded. “I’m new to this.”

“Okay, okay! Now shut up and keep still.”

I braced myself and closed my eyes. I heard the cane whine as it descended and felt the fire as it snapped across my bare bottom. It hurt, but not too much. My cock registered its approval by stretching for my navel. He gave me several more strokes in similar vein, hard enough to ensure I knew I’d been hit, but not so hard that I lost my erection. I began to enjoy myself. It seemed Michael did indeed know what he was doing.

He stopped and I knelt, feeling the early sun growing warm on my skin, aware of the silence which surrounded us. The cane was stroked gently across my buttocks.

“A bit harder for the next lot, okay?”

“Okay,” I agreed.

I tensed myself and the cane lashed across my rump. I bucked and let out my breath in an audible gasp.

“Felt that one, didn’t you?” said Michael.

“Bastard!” I retorted.

He hit me again. Once more I jerked and gasped. This was definitely more challenging; but I was up for the challenge. As the strokes continued to fall, I worked my way into the caning, helped by the surge of endorphins. I got myself into a routine, taking the sting, processing the searing fire, almost consciously diverting some of the savage stimulation of my buttocks to my balls, thrusting forward, cock rampant, as if I was fucking someone; and then easing back for the next stroke and the next thrust.

Once more Michael stopped and this time caressed my red-hot bottom with both hands, passing a finger into my cleft and then into my secret hole so that I squirmed with intimate sensations of delight as I quivered on the cliff-edge of orgasm; but he denied me.

“Six of the best to finish with,” announced Michael.

He rapped the cane across my sit-spot and then, with barely a pause, swept it back and down at high speed, whipping it at the moment of impact across my globes so that the hard, stinging tip caught me viciously on the thigh as the limber rod curved itself round my rump in a torrid embrace.

I yelped and scrabbled desperately in the heather to keep my hands away from my flaming behind. I groaned and felt scalding tears spurt from my screwed-shut eyes and trickle down my face. Panting, I clenched my assaulted buttocks and then, determined to show him I could take it, I pushed them up in a blatant invitation to him to let me have it. He accepted and, holding nothing back, lashed my bottom again; and again; and again.

I was shuddering with pain; and I didn’t want it to stop. The fifth stroke whipped across my crease and elicited a panicked squeal as I writhed from the hips. The final stroke cut crossed my behind on a long diagonal and I cried out in pain and in triumph. I’d done it! In celebration, my penis, in retreat for the last little while, came surging forward eagerly. Michael knelt behind me, lay along my back and, reaching round under me with both hands, worked expertly at my balls and cock to bring me to the most earth-shattering orgasm I’d ever had. The mountains convulsed; the heavens turned head-over-heels; the valleys spun like a whirlpool; and for a few seconds I lost consciousness before I came spinning back, to land contented and fulfilled on the grass on the mountain-top once more.

“Felt that too, didn’t you, Lee?” said Michael with a grin as he nibbled sexily at my ear.

“Yes,” I sighed. “And I’ve never felt anything like it.”

After a minute or two, I relieved Michael and then we lay quiet, silenced by the glory of a mountain-dawn and by the immensity of what we’d experienced together.

“Time to get back,” said Michael. “You don’t want to get caught and have to take another caning, do you?”

“Hell, no! How would I ever explain this?” I asked, appalled at the thought.

We got to our feet and attired ourselves properly. Before we set off down to the school, Michael turned me to look down on the pass and the Italian border.

“It’s make-your-mind-up-time, Lee,” he said soberly. “Kind of like the scene down there. You either go over the border into the sunny south for a free and easy, comfortable life with Stewart; or you stay on the strictly-disciplined Austrian side with me and get your bare arse caned regularly.”

“That’s the choice? A sybaritic life in the sun or a life of tough discipline? You don’t make it easy for a guy, do you?”

He snorted.

“Seems easy enough to me,” he said. “How do you want your morning glory dealt with? Gentle foreplay with lips and tongue and hands? Or a bloody good beating of your bare buttocks so you’re wound up like a coiled spring and when you get release your whole being explodes in a cascade of new-born sunbeams?”

For a moment I stared at him, taken aback by his poetic words. I then gazed at the stunning glory of the mountains and valleys under the morning and I knew they had an extra dimension of vivid, sharply-alive loveliness because of the powerful stimulus I’d received from Michael’s searing cane. He was right. The choice wasn’t hard at all. For me, the cane brought my world into being and to go for Stewart and all the pleasures of sex without pain just wasn’t an option. I knew that it wouldn’t be the choice of most guys; but for me it felt right. Michael had taken me to the mountain-peak and nothing less would ever satisfy me in future.

I smiled at him.

“I guess it’s time to be honest with myself,” I confessed. “I go with you.”

He stroked my lips with the cane and then kissed me with a new and vibrant passion. It was enough. Turning our backs on the sunny slopes of Italy and the enervating south, we set off hand-in-hand down the steep path back to the school. Occasionally as we walked, Michael flicked the lithe cane across the seat of my denims and set my bottom burning so that, long before we arrived, my morning glory was making itself felt once more, confirming me in my choice.

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Story ©MMXII by Joelstrap, and used here by very kind permission of the author.

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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.

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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

Not A Bad Old Stick (M/M)

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Hot caning fiction by your host Rod Cayenne, repeated by popular request. All the characters ar aged 18 or over.  Strictly for adult entertainment only! 

That fateful morning, I scowled across the table, picking at my breakfast. “He’s not a bad old stick, after all,” my father said. I wasn’t so sure. OK, the guy was a family friend and had been for years, but I remembered him as a total tyrant in the classroom. In truth, he was always fairly kind to me as I was a teacher’s pet really, but several of my contemporaries had incurred the wrath of his plimsolls and canes. In consequence, I remained wary of him. “Anyway,” father continued, “He has invited you to stay for a fortnight at his new place in the National Park. It was such a generous offer that I accepted immediately, on your behalf.”

“Oh, thanks a bunch, Dad!”

“Well, I’m sorry Adam. I wasn’t aware of your reservations. He is a friend of the family, after all. I think he’s feeling a bit overwhelmed and lonely.”

“Well, that’s not my problem! Of course he’s feeling lonely, that’s because he’s not very likeable!”

“Adam, you’re going! I’m not having you wasting the whole summer here before you start at college. I told you, you should have got a summer job. Besides, your mother and I need some time together.”

“Oh so, that’s it! I’m being packed off so you can shag yourselves silly!”

“ADAM! HOW DARE YOU?” Dad banged his fist down on the table, and I stormed out.

So it was that a week or so later, I found myself being dropped off at Jim Masterson’s new abode, a charming chocolate box cottage down a leafy cul-de-sac right on the edge of the forest. He had done well for himself, I thought as I eyed the wisteria-draped walls.

He greeted me with a hearty handshake and a big grin. I felt reassured and almost instantly at home. The cottage was tiny inside, with the thick walls reducing the floor space significantly. He took me upstairs to the small bedroom that was to be mine for two weeks. It was in need of a lick of paint, and maybe some fresh curtains, but the bed was generous for a single, and seemed warm, dry and welcoming as I sat down on it to unpack my belongings.

However, my happy mood disappeared as soon as I started to hang my clothes in the oak wardrobe. For there, hanging on the dull metal hanging rail, was a school cane. I almost shat myself with fear! What was it doing there? It held out a bitter promise, and there I was stranded with it, a tyrannical teacher downstairs, and miles from civilisation!

That afternoon we went for a walk and ended up at a picnic place in a clearing within the National Park. We sat down and enjoyed a warm cuppa from a flask and a few biscuits.

“Adam, you seem tense. Is there a problem?” Jim asked, and placed his hand on my knee, fleetingly.

“Err, no. I don’t think so. No, I don’t think so.”

“Are you quite sure?”

“Quite! Except…”

“Yes?”

“There’s a cane in my wardrobe! What’s it doing there? It’s not very welcoming is it?”

“Oh that! Yes. It is one of my old school canes.”

“Well, yes, obviously. Still, as I said, a strange welcome.”

“Well. Well, Adam. I was talking to your father and he said you’d been a bit surly and lippy lately. I can see what he was driving at, in a way. Anyway, it was his idea to put it there. Just to wind you up, really. I’m sorry.”

“To wind me up? Well, that’s certainly worked!”

“Hmm. You do seem a bit overwrought, my lad.”

“Well! I got through school without ever being caned by behaving myself.”

“Wait a minute! That’s quite an achievement, Adam. Really it is. Eighteen and never been thrashed, eh? That’s quite unusual even in these modern times. No wonder you’re upset at the prospect.”

“What prospect?” I asked with alarm.

“Well, not really a prospect. Your father thought you should offer to take a caning. He told me what you’d said, you know.”

“Oh!”

“Yes, frankly, I’m appalled. I expect better of my pupils. Really, I do.”

“I’m not one of your pupils any more.”

“Technically not. But I am dismayed. And your smartarse remarks aren’t helping any.”

“Perhaps I’d better go home?”

“I’m afraid that’s not an option. Your parents have plans.”

“Well then, what are my options, Sir?” I decided to call him Sir as it seemed appropriate at that moment.

“Well, as I see it there are two. You can stay with me and there will be a bit of an atmosphere. Or you can stay with me, take a caning, and the air will be cleared.”

“That’s not much of a choice, is it?” I said.

“Well, that’s the way I see it, Adam my lad. Do you have a different perspective?”

“No. Alright, you win. How many will I get?”

“Well six is traditional. It might be enough to do the trick, especially as this will be your first taste of the cane.”

“First and last!” I exclaimed, hardly able to believe what I was agreeing to. I was well and truly trapped, and by my own stupidity, really.

“Yes. Alright then, first and last. Unless you feel afterwards that the air still hasn’t been fully cleared!”

“Oh don’t worry about that, Sir. I’m really sorry for my behaviour already.”

“Well, I’m not going to let you off just because you’re feeling sorry for yourself. Believe me, you’ll be truly sorry after a caning.”

“I suppose I will,” I said, “Will it hurt terribly?”

“Yes, I’ll make sure it does. But don’t worry it won’t kill you and the residual soreness and marking will clear up after a few days.”

“A few days?”

“Yes. That’s just a guess, of course. I am guessing that your hide is soft, a few canings toughen a lad’s flesh, but that’s one advantage you don’t have.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, this is all sounding a bit morbid, but as I say it won’t kill you. It will toughen you up, which is just what you need.”

I wasn’t convinced, and I dragged my feet rather petulantly as we headed back to the cottage. I became more agitated as the place came back into view.

“We’ll do it now. Get it out of the way. It wouldn’t be fair to make you wait until bedtime, would it, my lad?”

I didn’t much care for the term bedtime, or being called a lad. I did feel like a kid. A scared and frightened little kid, just at that time. He marched me in through the back door.

“Alright, trousers and pants down!”

“What?”

“Yes! Sixth formers get it that way.”

“But I’m not a sixth former!”

“No, you’re not! But there it is. Just get them down while I go and fetch the cane.”

He soon reappeared, slicing the stick through the air.

“Good lad. Now bend over, hands on your knees. That’s it. Stick your bottom out for me.”

It was so degrading. Stick my bottom out indeed! Still, I couldn’t argue. I’d agreed to it, and how bad could it really be?

CRACK! The first stroke caught me unawares. The pain soon followed, it was excruciating! My flesh immediately felt as if it had been blowtorched! Shit, that was hot!

The second stroke followed rapidly and hurt my delicate teenage flesh badly. The pain mingled with that from the first stroke. I was struggling to retain my composure and my submissive position. My head was spinning, feeling dizzy. He stopped and sliced the cane through the air a few times before speaking.

“Not very nice, eh?”

“No, Sir!” I replied.

“Just what the doctor ordered! Long overdue! I should have taken you down a peg or two when you were my pupil. You wouldn’t have dared speak to your father like that!”

“No, Sir!” I replied again, thoroughly humiliated.

“And you wouldn’t have dared use obscene language,” he said, simultaneously slicing the cane down for a wicked third stroke. Boy, did that one hurt! It seared and throbbed and burnt.

“Can I get up for a minute, Sir? I feel a bit light-headed.”

Suddenly he was alarmed. He placed his hand on my forehead, checking my temperature. He sighed, and then spoke, “I hope you’re not playing for time, my lad. I’m not going to let you off, you know. Perhaps you’d better bend over one of these dining chairs?”

It was a good idea. I placed my hands flat on the seat of the wooden chair, and stuck my aching bottom out submissively.

“Just the job. Good stuff. Good lad. You’re taking this well.”

If that was a compliment, I was a bit surprised. I pushed my bottom out further awaiting a further stinging rattan caress. It came with a loud whipping sound and a wave of intense pain. I gasped and screwed up my face. This was hard to take. How ever did schoolboys manage to take it, I wondered?

A fifth stroke lashed down. I squealed and leapt up, rubbing my sore arse with my hands.

Mr Masterson tutted, “That’s not allowed you know! I suggest you get back into position straight away. Unless you want me to make it a round dozen?”

I’d never moved so fast in my life! I bent over, thrusting my naked cheeks provocatively at my tormentor. I wanted it over. I wanted it over and to be just the original six strokes.

“That’s better! Last one, then. Coming now!”

And it did come! And then some. Later on as I examined the damage, it was apparent that this last stroke had been aimed diagonally. It fucking hurt, that was for sure.

I stood up and hoisted my Y-fronts and trousers back into place. The material rubbed against my injured flesh. All the same, it was a not unpleasant sensation. I felt cleansed. I smiled at Mr Masterson and sighed, “Thank you, Sir. I needed that, didn’t I?”

“You certainly did lad, you certainly did. Has it done the trick?”

“Oh, I think so, thank you, Sir. I do feel I’ve paid my dues.”

“Good. Well, let me know if it hasn’t cleared the air and I’ll do it again for you.”

I thanked him sincerely, much to my amazement. Why would I ever ask for more? Even if I were to feel some residual guilt?

“Right then! You’d better return the cane to its home. We’ll know where to find it if it’s needed again then, won’t we?”

I took the cane from him. It felt light and innocuous. I walked up the narrow stairs acutely aware of the sore throbbing in the rear of my underpants. I hung the cane back on the rail in the wardrobe and stared at its lithe form. Unconsciously, I was rubbing my scorched bottom cheeks. That thing certainly packed a punch!

By the time I went downstairs, Mr Masterson was on the phone, evidently talking to my father.

“He took it like a man. Yes, that was good as I didn’t go easy on him. Just six. That’s usually enough, I find. Anyway, I’m going to do you another favour. No, no, I insist. At the end of the holiday, I’m going to send the lad home with a cane for you to use. Use it good and often! No, there’s nothing to it. You’ll soon get the hang of it. The cane does all the hard work. No, really, I know what I’m talking about. Regular reminders do a college lad no harm at all.”

The colour drained from my face. Shit, he was giving dad a cane to use on me! But I was 18 and bound for college! Shit! Much too old for the cane, surely? Then I reflected on my own stupidity, for how could I claim to be too old after what I’d just submitted to?

I got on really well with Jim, Mr Masterson, for the rest of the holiday. We didn’t talk about the cane much until the last evening I was there.

“Well young Adam, a memorable break for you, then?”

“Yes, thanks! It’s been a real tonic here in the forest. Thank you for having me. Although my bum’s not so sure!”

“Ah yes, your bum, as you like to call it. In the staff room we call that part of the anatomy your seat of learning! Have you learnt your lesson, Adam, or do you need a reminder before you go home?”

I really don’t know why, but I agreed to another caning! It just felt so right. I was making up for lost time in so many ways. It was another six of the best and that caning was just as hard as the first. I found it just as cleansing, and almost an enjoyable challenge. That night, I masturbated furiously as I wriggled my sore bottom against the bed sheets, imagining first Mr Masterson and then Dad caning me. Well, that was a sweet fantasy and the reality is a story for another day, don’t you think? As I fell asleep I was minded to think of the cane as an old friend of the family, and not a bad old stick after all.

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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.

(___________

Story © MMXV by Rod Cayenne

All rights reserved

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Comments welcome

Spanked Over The Butcher’s Apron (M/M)

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Vintage spanking filth from your host, Rod Cayenne, repeated from 2016.  All the characters are aged 18 or over. Strictly adults only!

Spanked Over The Butcher’s Apron by Rod Cayenne

It was week four of my new job as one of the butcher’s boys.  It was going well.  I liked my uniform of white shirt, grey trousers and the traditional striped blue apron.  At least I didn’t have to wear a straw boater hat like my boss, Mr. Smith, always did.  I suspected he wore it to hide his rather generous bald patch. Anyway, a hat like that would cause havoc with my heavily-gelled spikey hair.  Another thing I liked was that now and then I got to ride the shop bike to deliver fresh cuts to customers all over the town.  What I didn’t like was dealing with difficult members of the public.

“Silly bitch!” I muttered as the troublesome customer left the premises.

“Joel!  Apart from that being not a good time for your runny nose to be dripping into the ground beef, that was the lady of the manor!  She expects to be treated with respect, and to be called Ma’am. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Mr. Smith, err Sir!”

“Sir, eh?  I like that, young Joel.  I like that a lot.  Come and see Sir in his office after work, will you?”

“Err, yes, Mr. Smith.  Sir!  But how come she doesn’t send one of the servants to pick up her supplies?”

“Servants!  Don’t make me laugh!  She does engage domestics but they never last long.  She’s too demanding.  Even for the East Europeans.  Anyways, she’s got a good eye for the best cuts, that one.  Likes to choose everything herself.  Now, on with your work please!  Get mincing!” he laughed heartily and slapped my arse playfully as he went down the back of the shop, and then upstairs to his office.

It was soon five o’clock, closing time, and my fellow assistant, Robbie, wished me luck as he left.  Disturbingly, he winked as he said it.  I watched as he made his way past my rusty Ford Fiesta to the bus stop.  He was quite a hunk, I thought to myself as I duly made my way up the creaking staircase to see the boss.

The less than hunky Mr Smith was sat in his tatty swivel chair facing the window when I entered.  He turned around slowly to look disdainfully at me.  I fidgeted as I gazed at his desk, trying to avoid eye contact in my usual shy way.

“Look at me, Joel!  That’s better.  My, what a handsome lad you are, to be sure.  Now, you’ve been here a month, haven’t you?”

“Yes, Mr. Smith, Sir!”

“Mmmm.  Now, on the whole you’re doing well.  Very well.  But I could do without you being cocky with the customers.  Especially the rich ones!  I can’t afford to lose even one customer.  They deserve your respect.  Times are hard, and there are rumours of a supermarket moving in.  That means every single customer is precious.  Our livelihoods, and your job, depend on treating them well.   Now, look at the window.  What does the gold lettering say?”

“Traditional Family Butchers, Sir.”

“Indeed.  Traditional.  Family.  Two of my favourite words, son.  Tradition.  Family values.  Respect.  Decency.  Tradition.”

“Err, yes.”

“Yes, and now I find your lack of respect for customers in general and for one of the town’s finest families absolutely appalling!  I suggest a traditional remedy!  A good, sound smacking!”

“Whaaat?  You’re joking?”

“Oh, I’m not.  Oh no.  Not the sort of thing I joke about, at all.  Oh no.  And if you don’t want me to show you the door, you’ll get over here over my lap this instant!”

He grabbed my arm and I gave way.  He hauled me over his lap, right over his blood-stained navy blue pinstripe apron.  Urgh!  He spanked me merrily over my thin grey trousers, it hurt like mad and then he made me drop my trousers.  Then he spanked my skimpy pants like his life depended on it, and then OMG!  He ordered me to remove my briefs.  I was going to get some more on the bare!  Slap after slap. He created merry hell.  The fires of merry hell.  At first it wasn’t so bad, but boy, did he have a thorough technique!  His hand felt tough and leathery as it crashed rapidly into my young flesh.  Every inch of my arse was deep burning red by the time he’d finished.  What was worse was that he was obviously enjoying it, chuckling away while admonishing me.  I think he had a boner, too.  Unless there was a penknife or something in his apron pocket.

After a final fast round of slaps, he finished and grunted.  His hands stayed in contact with my bare bottom, however.  He started rubbing it better, which was really nice for a while but then his fingers strayed towards my arsehole.  I flinched.

“Don’t be shy, young Joel.  I know all about you!  One of my friends told me he’d seen you down the gay sauna!”

“What gay sauna?  What is a gay sauna even?”

“Don’t give me that!  You know damn well the one I mean.  Down by the station, down the big town.”

“OK but no, no, he must be mistaken!”

“Don’t lie to me boy!  He told me about this tattoo!” he said as he lifted my shirt up further, revealing my wicked Chinese dragon ink.  He traced the design with his finger.  “Nice!” he said.

“Well, alright it was me.  One of my friends works there, handing out the towels and taking the cash.”

“Really?  A towel-folder, eh?  What’s his name?  Gideon?” he laughed, “I hear you’re a regular there, even wearing flip-flops like the old hands.  Be careful not to be too regular there or you might bump into someone else you know.  Me, for instance!”

“You!  But you’re married!”

“True, true.  But then so are a good half of the guys there!  And they are always on the lookout for young, fresh chicken.  Like you!  Still I’m sure I can rely on you to keep my secret, just as you can rely on me to keep yours.  Now be a good boy, get up and suck my cock for me!”

“What?!”

“Just do it, lad!  You know you want to.”

Well as a young tart, how could I refuse?  I unzipped his trousers, rummaged in his pants and found what I was looking for with no trouble!  I slurped away at his engorged meaty column and he sighed contentedly.  My tongue probed under his foreskin and teased around the piss slit.

“Good, good.  I shall expect you to swallow, my boy.”

“Yes boss, err Sir.  Of course.  It’s the only way!”

“Indeed.  Indeed.”

He grunted, sweated and moaned and then came suddenly, jets of hot spunk splattering inside my mouth.  It tasted great, really great.  No, I mean really, really great.  You’ve no idea.  I began to think I could develop a taste for old men’s sperm.

“Now, that’s better.  I’m pleased to see you can be a good boy.  But I’m warning you, any more nonsense and you’ll be feeling this!”  With that he slapped a brown leather spanking strap down on his desk, right before my eyes.

“Shit!” I exclaimed.

“More like shit hot!  Bespoke, made especially for me by my good saddler friend down the road.  You wouldn’t believe how much it hurts!  He’s bi too, by the way.  And a regular down the sauna.”

I wondered whether his saddler friend was the one who had tipped him off about my frequent trips to the sauna. In truth, I was becoming rather addicted to the anonymous casual sex on offer there.  I then wondered whether my colleague Robbie had felt Mr. Smith’s hand in anger, or even that leather strap?  I rather thought he had, as that would have explained the wink.  But I wondered if he’d ever sucked the boss’s cock?  I hoped not as I felt Mr. Smith had taken rather a shine to me, all of a sudden.  I had one final thought.  Maybe a pay rise could be on the cards?

(____________

Story © MMXVI by Rod Cayenne

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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.

_______________

Comments welcome

Going Up! (M/M) NEW!

 

♥ Site recommended story ♥

New to The Canery is this exciting caning story by very special guest author JOELSTRAP.   All the characters are 18 or older. WARNING: ADULTS ONLY!

 

Going Up! by Joelstrap

 

“Going up!” said the electronic voice as I entered the lift.

I stood facing the doors as they closed, but in the mirror to one side I noticed him standing behind me. I could hardly help it, because he was well worth noticing. Student, perhaps, I thought; around six feet, build of an athlete. Indeed he was wearing shorts and open-neck shirt and carrying a wooden bat and a ball.

I eyed him surreptitiously. Soft, brown hair clustered thickly about his head and face and extended to his collar. Eyes of deep brown appeared to be taking an interest in my behind and that realisation caused a slight stirring down below for me.

I took in the well-muscled arms, sun-browned; the broad, flat chest, the nipples just showing proud through the thin fabric of a well-fitting shirt; the slim waist; the fact that his shorts were tight enough to reveal a manly bulge and, yes definitely, a swelling above it, reaching to the waistband. I took in too the long, firm legs and well-used trainers. I liked.

He seemed oblivious to the fact that I was watching him and was certainly focussed more on my bottom than on anything else. As I watched, he moved the bat to his right hand and swung it about, as if he was hitting something; then, before I had time to register what was going on, he swatted me across the buns with it.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I demanded, turning a furious face towards him.

He seemed untroubled.

“Sorry,” he said disarmingly. “I thought you might like it.”

“Well,” I admitted cautiously, “I suppose it was okay. But you…”

At this moment I was interrupted by a violent juddering of the floor and then the lift bumped to a halt, so that we both almost lost our footing.

“Oh, shit!” he said fiercely.

I picked up the emergency ’phone and spoke to the caretaker who assured me he’d see what he could do. In the meantime, we’d just have to wait.

“You were going to say that I shouldn’t be swatting complete strangers on the bum with my bat, weren’t you?” he suggested.

“Exactly. So why did you?” I asked.

“You’ve got such gorgeous buns, I couldn’t resist,” he replied with disconcerting openness. “Are you really annoyed?”

I decided to play along as I definitely wanted to get to know him a bit better.

“Not really,” I told him, sliding down to sit on the floor. “It was quite exciting.”

That got a reaction. His eyes shone.

“Yeh? You really liked it? You want more?”

His erection was straining at his shorts and his eyes were dancing. He raised his bat and cracked it against his palm.

“Have you swatted a guy before?” I asked him.

“No; but I’d like to!” He slammed the bat into his palm again and then adjusted the bulging fabric at the front of his shorts.

“Sit down,” I told him, “and tell me why you want to spank me.”

He dropped to the floor, a slightly disappointed look in his eyes. I didn’t think it would do him any harm to wait. I took the opportunity to deal with my own erection while he was getting himself settled in the corner of the lift.

“Dunno, really. I got dad’s belt across my arse when I was a kid, up to maybe about fourteen; but that’s all. I have these wild fantasies about tanning a guy’s bum though. Never had a chance to do it, worse luck,” he complained.

“But you think you’ve got a chance now?”

“Well, have I?”

“Maybe,” I replied, tantalising him. I loved to watch the expressions chase each other across his face; hope morphing into uncertainty and back to hope again. “Why did you swat me?”

“I told you. I just couldn’t resist your buns!”

I was frankly flattered. I was nearing thirty, but was proud of the fact that regular running and work-outs had kept my body firm and my buns taut. It was good that a kid at least ten years my junior found my buttocks such a turn-on.

“I could get you done for assault,” I said

“I know. You wouldn’t, would you?” he enquired and his eyes looked anxious.

“No,” I reassured him.

He looked decidedly relieved and then the fire rekindled in his eyes and he stroked the surface of his bat. He glanced up at me from under lowered eyelids.

“So, can I paddle you?” he asked eagerly.

I turned and moved on to all fours, presenting my buns to him.

“Oh, all right,” I told him. “Go on. But, careful at first, mind,” I warned, slightly concerned that in his excitement he might get carried away.

He came over, hefted the bat once or twice in his hand and then hit me squarely in the centre of my bottom. Even through my denims, I felt it. It was a good, firm, confident stroke. He repeated it several times, covering the surface of my behind and I flinched at each swat; they were hard enough to get my attention, but not too hard. It seemed he was a natural.

“On the bare?” he asked after a dozen strokes; and I could hear the tension in his voice.

“Okay.”

I stood up and slipped down my jeans and underpants and then knelt, offering him my unprotected buns. I felt his swats now all right. He varied the intensity and the pace of delivery so I wasn’t sure what to expect next; nor exactly where. He was good; my cock was straining.

The lift juddered.

“Fuck! It’s starting again,” he said.

I leapt swiftly to my feet, hastily yanking up pants and denims and buckling my belt. I only just made it as the lift came to a halt and the doors opened. The caretaker looked in.

“Okay, guys?”

“Fine,” I told him as we both got out. I turned to the boy.

“What’s your name?”

“Derek,” he said. “Me and mum moved in a couple of weeks ago; on the fourth floor. I’ve just started at college. Dad’s left us,” he ended rather disconsolately.

“I’m sorry. I’m Andy and I’m on the fourteenth floor.”

“The penthouse?” he asked, looking impressed.

“One below,” I said with a smile. “I’ve got a cane in my flat if you’d like to see it; maybe we could even have a go with it?”

“Oh, wow! Honest?”

“Come on,” I said. “We’ll take the stairs this time!”

It seemed like a good idea when I suggested it, considering the recent track-record of the lift; but I hadn’t allowed for our erections and progress was slow.
When we reached the fourteenth floor, I opened the door and ushered him in.

“Hey! This is a lot bigger than ours,” he marvelled, laying his bat and ball on a chair. He walked over to the big window and gazed for a moment at the panorama of the city spread beneath us. Then he turned to me.

“So, where is it then? The cane, I mean.”

“You’re impatient,” I told him with a grin. “Hang on.”

I opened a drawer and took out my cane.

He stared, wide-eyed.

“Wicked!”

“Never seen one before?” I asked.

He shook his head as I moved towards him.
He extended his hand and I raised the cane with lightning speed and cracked it sharply across his outstretched palm. He let out an offended yell and withdrew it smartly, nursing it under his arm. His face showed outrage and hurt.

“What the hell did you do that for?” he demanded angrily, looking disbelievingly at the red mark on his skin.

“Why did you hold out your hand?” I countered.

“To get the cane from you, of course,” he replied.

“Well, you got it, didn’t you?”

“You know bloody well that’s not what I meant!”

“I thought that’s what you came up here for,” I said. “So I could give you the cane.”

“So you could give me the cane?!” He looked scandalised.

“That’s right. That is why you came, isn’t it?”

“No, it fucking well isn’t. I thought I was going to give you the cane.”

“No! Fancy that now! Well, what a mix-up,” I said, trying hard not to smile at his confusion. “So,” I continued. “Am I to take it that you don’t want me to cane you?”

“Too right,” he answered at once.

“Are you sure about that?” I asked, watching him closely.

He was eying the cane, uneasily and yet with curiosity.

“Sit down and have a feel of it,” I said.

He sat on the sofa and I handed him the cane.

“Get your hands on it and learn about it and I’ll make some coffee,” I told him.

When I returned with a couple of mugs, he was still arching the cane, feeling its lithe flexibility, its strong, slim power.

“You like?” I enquired gently.

“It’s cool. Bet it hurts like hell.”

I handed him a mug and he laid the cane on the coffee-table; but his eyes kept straying back to it, absorbing both its threat and its promise. He was still fully aroused; as was I.

“So, have you changed your mind? Would you like to try what it tastes like?” I asked.

He took a mouthful of coffee and then got up and walked over to the window and looked out for several seconds. At last he turned, his face slightly flushed.

“On my shorts?” he enquired shyly.

I had him!!

“At first,” I said.

He turned fully to me, eyes blinking rapidly.

“On the bare?” he asked softly, awe in his tone.

“Of course. How else?”

“It’ll hurt.”

“Yes.”

“Suppose it’s meant to.”

“Definitely. Not much point otherwise. That’s why it’s got to be on the bare,” I informed him.

“Yeh. I see that,” he replied.

“So, you up for it, Derek?”

He turned again to the window and I watched his profile as he fought his inner battle; one part of him wanting it; the other scared of the pain. But I knew which side would win! He looked at me and I could see the resolve on his handsome young features.

“Okay,” he told me, his voice admirably steady. “I’m up for it!”

I picked up the cane.

“Now, you do exactly as you’re told,” I informed him sternly. “Got that?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, sir!”

He stood very straight as he said it, like a soldier on parade. Boy, he was gorgeous. I took in the slim, athletic body, the tanned legs and arms, the strong neck, the generous mounds of his rump; and the throbbing bulge in his groin, which corresponded beautifully to what was happening between my own legs. He was standing stock-still, eyes to the front, the merest hint of a tremor in his hands betraying his excitement and apprehension. He was ready to obey.

I placed a dining-chair in front of him and told him to bend over the back of it. He complied instantly, presenting me with one of the most beautifully-formed pairs of buns I’d ever seen. They were stunning, fully-rounded, stretching the fabric of his shorts so every curve stood out. If ever a boy’s bottom was begging for the cane, this one was. For several seconds I was spell-bound, just gazing in admiration, seeing in my mind’s eye the neat tram-lines of the cane on the bare flesh; and the dark, thrilling place concealed between the muscular buttocks.

I had to adjust my jeans again as I took up position behind him and to one side. I touched the cane on his rump and saw his tense body quiver.

“Not too hard at first,” I told him. “Try to keep still and to keep quiet. You hear me, Derek?”

“Yes, sir.”

I raised the cane and gave him a firm stroke across the centre of his bottom; and was rewarded with a slight wince, but no sound.
I gave him a second one, a little lower, increasing the force slightly. Again a wince and the hint of breath drawn in sharply.
Just below it for number three, stoically taken. For the fourth I moved above the first and added a bit more zing. He flinched and gasped audibly; but he stayed down and there was no protest. I glanced beneath him and was pleased to see that his erection was as strong as ever. So was mine!

Five was given still higher; and then six on a diagonal across the first five. He jumped a bit at that one and a half-stifled yelp came from him. My cock jumped too with the excitement. I waited to see if he was going to get up; but he was good. He’d been told to stay down and down he stayed. I was beginning to feel some respect for this youngster.

“Stand!” I ordered.

He straightened up at once and his hands moved to his behind.

“Hands at your side, head up, eyes front!” I barked at him and he responded immediately. He was still fully aroused and the slight smile on his face suggested he was feeling pleased with himself at how he’d done so far. So far! But we’d see!

“Take off your trainers.”

He did so and resumed his position, standing to attention.

“Take off your shorts!”

Again he obeyed swiftly, baring his buttocks as he had nothing on underneath. He seemed untroubled by the long, thick cock which bounced enthusiastically when it was released from the constrictions of his shorts. Again he stood, erect and motionless, waiting.

I let him wait; and just watched. Slowly the signs of growing tension began to appear; a nervous twitching of his fingers; a delicate sheen of sweat on his face and arms; an increasingly frequent sideways glance to see what I was doing. I admired the faint red lines which my cane had left on those stunning buns and was pleased at their symmetry. I picked up the cane again and observed at once the dramatic increase in the tension of his body. He was holding himself ready now; for he knew that a sterner test faced him and that it was about to begin.

I went round in front of him and showed him the cane. He eyed it balefully, swallowed and then stared resolutely ahead. I really did have a lot of respect for this boy.

“Bend over!”

He bent dutifully over the chair and there were his buttocks presented and waiting, bare and vulnerable for the cane. I lashed the air and smiled as I saw him wince. I touched his firm behind with the rod and saw the tension rise so it seemed his young body was stretched like a violin-string. I would play the instrument with my cane and see what kind of music was produced.

I reached back and hit him fairly hard. His body jerked and a loud gasp escaped him. His glutes tightened, quivered and then slowly relaxed.

“Fuck!”

The expressive monosyllable came out like a bullet.

“Felt that, did you?” I enquired.

He sighed.

“Yes, sir!”

There was as much enthusiasm as there was resignation in his response.

“You’re remembering your orders to stay in position?”

“Yes, sir. I won’t move,” he answered with surprising confidence. We’d see!

Crack! I etched a second fiery line below the first and just for a moment his right foot lifted from the floor before being replaced. He took the strokes resolutely, uttering gasps, the occasional squeak, his body responding to the pain with flinches and tensed muscles; a bending of the knees and a half turn of his lower body as he processed the pain, but always coming back to position. I watched with delight the contorted features on the open young face as he dealt with his agony; and I observed closely how the proud cock sagged a bit and then at the eighth stroke suddenly began to rise again. By the time I’d completed the dozen he was fully erect. The boy ran true to form; he was as good as he looked.

“Stand!”

He obeyed, a little stiffly and stood to attention once more. There was a wetness in his eyes and a series of vivid welts on his bum; but his cock was up, his head was up and his self-confidence was sky-high. He’d done well; and he knew it; and he’d liked it!

I laid aside the cane and went in front of him again. I knelt at his feet and cupped his heavy, full balls in my right hand. He rose slightly on to the balls of his feet.

“Steady!” I told him; and I heard him breathe out and ease back so that his heels were on the floor again.

I touched the base of his penis with my tongue and licked carefully. From deep in his chest came a kind of moan as he sounded the base notes of male ecstasy.

“Going up!” I said as my tongue slid up the long, hard shaft. He was quivering on the brink and when I sent the end of my tongue across the straining, exposed tip of his penis, he came in a great surge of orgasmic power, releasing with his copious young spunk all the tensions and stresses of what he’d just endured. I glanced at the spreading damp patch on the front of my jeans and saw his gaze follow me.

“Looks like you came right to the top too,” he said with a shy smile.

“Maybe you’d like to come back in a day or two?” I suggested.

“Try to stop me!” he said eagerly.

“But don’t use the lift,” I warned him. I picked up my cane and showed it to him. “I’ve got another way of getting you up!”

“All the way to the penthouse?” he enquired with a broad grin.

“Oh, you won’t be stopping at the penthouse,” I told him. “You’ll be going right through the roof.”

And three days later, he did; and so did I!

___________)

Story ©MMX by Joelstrap, and used here by very kind permission of the author.

______________

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.

__________________

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

Barber’s Pole (M/M)

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Explicit spanking fiction by Rod Cayenne – strictly over-18s only!

What a stupid question!  No, of course not!  No, I never regretted moving to the coast.  Why would I?  A tidy little inheritance and my early retirement had enabled it.  My house was one of a detached pair in typical 1950s style.  With extensive sea views and long gardens, I counted my good fortune every single day.  The coastal climate was fantastic and I felt ten years younger at least.  In fact, the only annoyance at my new home was the seagulls.  Of course, you get them almost everywhere inland these days, but I did tire of their constant noise and of them shitting all over the place.

My neighbour was Mr Shepard.  He was 70, if he was a day.  He was a retired barber from the West End of London.  He used to regale me with tales of his famous and infamous customers, though rarely of the more humdrum ones.  Evidently, his salon had been a fairly lucrative business.

He was a stocky man, completely bald on top but with a neatly trimmed white moustache.  He always wore dark, neatly pressed trousers and had a taste for striped shirts.  His shoes shone immaculately, whether brown or black, and he always wore a matching thick leather belt.  It soon became clear to me that this handsome old devil was gay, whereas my own sexuality had always been a little, how shall we say, ambiguous?  Despite myself, I fancied him something rotten.

I was amazed to find he’d refitted one of the downstairs rooms of his home as a bijou barber’s salon.  

There was just one leather padded adjustable barber’s chair, but the illusion was completed by all the usual trappings – a huge mirror lit from above, clippers, razors, combs, towels, tubs of dressings, styptic pencils and even a display of what appeared to be fine old Fetherlite and Gossamer condom advertisements.  On hooks to the side of the chair hung a back mirror, a razor strop and somewhat incongruously, a school cane.  I asked him about that cane.

“Oho, that!  Gets a lot of comment, that!  I call it my barber’s pole!  I used to use the strop and cane on uncooperative customers, back in the day.”

I assumed he meant young customers but I couldn’t be sure!  I wanted to talk about it a bit more, but didn’t know how to tune the conversation in on the subject.  In truth, I’d been caned at school rather a lot and began to enjoy the invigorating sting of the rattan.  I was waiting for him to offer me a short back and sides, or a short, sharp shock, but sadly neither was mentioned!

It was a few days later when we were sat in his garden enjoying the summer sunshine and the cool ocean breeze.  I gazed lovingly into his sea-blue eyes.  I sipped at my vodka and Coke and cursed as a seagull crapped on the cast iron table we were sat at.

“Those fuckin’ seagulls!  Always shitting everywhere!”

“Tut, tut, Jason!  What awful language!  I ought to tan your hide with my strop and pole for that.  Wherever did you pick up such foul language?”

My first thought was that I’d picked it up at school, like you do, decades before!  I blushed a little.  It was as if he could read my every thought.

“You’re right of course!  You should tan me,” I laughed nervously as the words tripped out.

“Inside then!” he ordered.  Oh my God!  He wasn’t joking.

I soon found myself bent over the magazine table in his salon room. A pile of football and girlie mags fell to the floor. I felt his hot breath behind me as his hands made for my belt buckle.  He must have done this before as he released the belt like an expert, undid the button and zip and yanked my trousers right down.

“Actually, you’re far too low there.  Let’s have you over the arm of the barber’s chair instead.”

I waddled over with my trousers around my ankles.  But the barber’s chair was too high!  He pumped the chair down a little. I stared into the big mirror to my right.  I was horrified to see him approach and then pull down my boxers.  My naked arse was on display to Mr Shepard and the mirror.  He pushed me down so that I was bent over the arm with my hands resting on the chair seat.

“Now that’s what I call an arse!” he laughed, landing a hearty slap right on my naked bum.  I reflected that he was the one using less than refined language now, but I wasn’t going to argue as I spied him reaching for his leather strop.  I began to fear it.  It looked heavy and purposeful.  Obviously, it was a professional piece of kit from the days when things were made properly here in England before our industrial decline.

Crack!  The heavy leather hit me hard.  My worst fears were confirmed.  This was no toy; this was the real thing!  It burnt and blazed and was rapidly followed by another equally hard stroke.

A third lick of the leather bit into my reddening arse.  “Shit!” I muttered quietly to myself, mindful of how my bad language had landed my in this humiliating position.  I stuck my bottom out ready for the next stroke.  It wasn’t long coming, and was followed by another two in rapid succession.  That made six in total, surely enough to satisfy him and to make amends?  Evidently not!  The sadistic bastard cackled loudly and lashed seven, eight and nine into me.  I’d had enough pain, but some pleasure was kicking in now, too.

“Last three,” he announced.  He left me there waiting for them for what seemed like ages.  Suddenly a hard stroke hit my left cheek, and then an equally stinging one hit the right.  A final stroke landed right in the middle of both cheeks.  It really was a killer blow, forcing me to cry out.  Gently, I rose and started to rub my assaulted arse.  He cackled again.  

“I don’t know where you think you’re going, young man!  That concludes the razor stropping, but there’s still the cane to come!  So you can get down again.  And make it smart, otherwise you’ll get double!”

I did as I was told, bending back over the barber’s chair, slyly catching a quick glimpse of my reddened arse in the mirror.  What a sight!  As I bent over again, I realised I really wanted the caning.  It had been a long time, but I really needed it.  As the first rattan stroke lashed down, my memory of beatings past surfaced.  I remembered distinctly how I’d grown to like the sting, which wasn’t what was meant to happen in a punishment. Yes, I liked the bite and the sting, and maybe the shame too!

A second stroke broke my nostalgic reverie as it hit just below where the first had landed.  Both marks throbbed and ached as my tormentor paced around the room, whipping the cane through the air.  He cackled and admonished me, “I hope I’m getting through to you, young Jason.  I won’t have any foul language in my garden or house.  Is that clear?”

I agreed submissively as he sliced a third cane stroke down on my naked bottom.  I was enjoying the beating but it did hurt like fuck.  I was torn between pain and pleasure.  He stopped to pick up the magazines from the floor.  I watched him in the mirror as best I could.  He tutted as he assembled the reading pile back on the table.  He lined the magazines up neatly, almost obsessively.  I began to suspect he was trying to wind me up by making me wait for further cane strokes.  

At last, he was back and a fourth stroke sliced me, and then a fifth.  He stopped to feel my bare arse.  The old perv!  His hands were cold as they surveyed the damage the strop and cane had inflicted. His fingers lingered over each weal, and then he rubbed my bottom as if to make it feel better, but then he landed a swift slap right over the marks.  He laughed and picked up the cane.”This will be the last one as long as you promise to do as I say.”

I promised, not really knowing what was in store, although I could hazard a guess.  The sixth stroke sliced into me.  It was a hard, unforgiving stroke. I grunted with pain. 

After my beating, I was dragged off to his master bedroom.  It was a masculine room, with no pretence of routine domesticity.  The decor was predominantly black, red and white, just like the salon room below.  The duvet and sheets were shiny, satin black.  So was the condom he slid onto his impressive erection.  That was a barber’s pole of magnificent proportions!  He started off spooning me, which wasn’t uncomfortable, but he soon demanded doggy which was both humiliating and painful.  He pounded my beaten arse like a man possessed.  He grunted and sighed and I squeezed my anal muscles to increase his pleasure.  I knew there and then that this would become a permanent arrangement.  My bottom was his to beat and fuck as he saw fit.  Oh yes!  What a man!

___________)

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 © MMXIV by Rod Cayenne

All rights reserved.

___________)

Comments welcome

Comments from the original 2014 post are here

 

 

Charlie Alpha November Echo (M/M)

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Hot fiction from 2016 by Rod Cayenne.  With special thanks to Jim for inspiration – where are you Jim?

Over-18s only.

It wasn’t easy being the rookie cop in the big concrete police station.  Jim kind of dreaded the others, and the rough horseplay he saw there in the locker room.  He buffed up the shine on his black police boots with the brown wooden brush, and sighed heavily.

“Here, let me have look, lad,” said Tom, one of the older bobbies, the duty Sergeant.  Jim passed him a boot to inspect.  “Hmm.  When all’s said and done, this is not very good.  Give it some elbow grease, lad.  This needs a lot more shine, a proper mirror-finish.  You can barely see the reflection of my beard in this one.”

His beard!  Oh yes, his beard.  His masculine, greying, sexy beard.  Jim had lusted after it and the man behind it ever since he first clapped his eyes on Tom.  The beard, the white starched shirt, the blue eyes, his thick leather belt and his bushy eyebrows.  The man was a total dream!

Tom pulled the rookie to one side and whispered in his ear, “You’re going to have to do a lot better than this.  Watch out for Charlie Alpha!”

Charlie Alfa?  Charlie Alfa?  He’d heard the name a few times.  Who was this bloke the others spoke about in hushed terms?  Before he had a chance to mull over it more, Tom the Sergeant was outlining the day’s schedule.

“We’re pulling a gang of teens in this afternoon.  They’ve been a right fucking nuisance to some good people so we’re going to put the frighteners on them.  Clap them in the cells for a few hours.  Probably not a job for you to get too involved in.  Then tonight we’re staking out a cottage.  The loos in the Jubilee Gardens.  I don’t really approve of such harassment any more.  I’m not, err you know, but the fact is that there are quite a few of us coppers who sometimes like a bit of variety, if you know what I mean.  In fact, I think you maybe one of us, am I right lad?  But the Chief Super is a bit old-fashioned in many ways and wants us to crack down, arrest and ruin some married men.  But I don’t think so somehow!  So we’ll go and watch the action and then conveniently forget to book anyone.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Jim laughed, his tenseness relieved by the frank and friendly banter of the duty Sergeant.

As it happened, it did all go to plan, Jim, Tom and a colleague had a wonderful, voyeuristic time, no animals were hurt, and no arrests were made.  However, the Chief Superintendent was not amused.  He’d wanted a scalp or two, but nothing had been delivered.

Jim was to discover all about the Chief’s displeasure at his first quarterly performance review.  It started well, with gushing praise for much of his conduct.  There were problems though, outlined as the Chief paced up and down his spacious office, “Persistent lateness and cocky attitude.  I was also disappointed with the stake-out at Jubilee Gardens.  I do hope Tom hasn’t corrupted you with his strange beliefs?”

“Err, no Sir.  We were just unlucky.  We had this fella lined up for cuffing, and then he just disappeared into the night.”

“Is that so, is that so?  I am detecting a pattern here.  A good policeman let down by negligence, tardiness, complacency and too cock-sure for his own good.  What you need, my lad, is a good taste of my Charlie Alpha November Echo!” the older man smirked.

“Eh?” Jim asked stupidly.

“That’s ‘Eh Sir?’ or ‘Eh, Chief Superintendent?’ to you lad!  Where are your manners? Do I have to spell it out to you? Charlie Alpha November Echo! C…A…N…E.  The cane!  Six of the best, should do it.”

“But Sir!  You can’t do that!”

“Dereliction of duty, lateness, cocky attitude.  I can do it, lad, and I will do it.  I think we’ll make it eight strokes, in fact!  You’ve had the cane before?”

“Yes Sir.  My father…”

“Your father, eh?  Hmmmm.  Very good.  Perhaps I’ll call him later!”  With that, the Chief Superintendent sat down and reached under his desk.  He produced a cane which he laid on the desk top, right in front of Jim who proceeded to go pale.

“Aha!  Do I detect some familiarity with this?”

“Well, it’s very similar to my father’s.”

“Is that so?  I doubt he got his from the same place as mine!”

“How so, Sir?”

“I picked this beauty up in a raid of a brothel in the City.  You could say she’s a metropolitan model, but I’ve named her Charlie Alpha.”

In fact, it was a pretty standard school cane.  A pretty cane!  A punishment cane, with a perfectly-curved crook handle.  Just like the one Jim’s father had used to use.

“Alright then lad!  Stand up!  Over the back of the chair please.  No, no, you can keep your trousers on.  Unlike some round here, I am not a lover of naked male flesh.”

The Chief Superintendent was not a lover of male flesh indeed, but he was a sadist.  A semi-secret sadist.  How he enjoyed whipping his juniors with a rattan rod!  A rod he affectionately named Charlie Alpha!

Jim’s police trousers were stretched tightly as he bent over the back of the chair.  So tightly that the outline of his Y-fronts could be seen, offering a gratifying target for the Chief, as he flexed the cane purposefully.

The Chief didn’t hang about as he landed not one, not two but three fast strokes.  Jim hadn’t expected that, being used to his father’s more leisurely ways of punishment.   The heat and pain was immediate and intense.  Jim gasped, overwhelmed by his superior’s sadism.

The Chief paused, “I hope you can see that I mean business, young James!”

“Yes, Sir!” Jim replied dutifully.  He pushed his bottom out, ready for the next stroke.  It came with a loud crack, Jim feeling as if his trousers, underpants and the flesh beneath were being ripped to shreds.  A fifth stroke followed rapidly, causing a squeal from Jim.

“Quiet Constable!  Take your medicine like a man!”

The sixth and seventh strokes followed rapidly again, and despite the Chief’s direct command, Jim could not help yelping as each one landed on target.  The young constable was embarrassed at his weakness, yet consumed by overwhelming pain at the same time.  The last stroke landed accompanied by a loud “AAARGH!”

At least it was over, Jim consoled himself.  It had been quite a beating, so rapid and so painful.  He’d try to avoid the Chief and Charlie Alpha in future!

“You can get up now,” the Chief smirked.  “I hope you won’t need a reminder in the near future.  I expect only the very best from my PCs.  Otherwise they get the best of this!” he said throwing the whippy cane down on the desk.  “Off you go!”

Jim left silently, closing the door gently.  Outside the office, his hands flew to his meaty backside.  He clawed and kneaded at the flesh, desperately trying to ameliorate the intense, throbbing pain.  He loosened his belt by a couple of notches, but it didn’t seem to help any.  As he walked down the winding staircase, he caught Tom’s eye, for the sergeant was manning the reception desk.

“Ah.  A painful gait, I see.  I’d guess that your review ended with an introduction to Charlie Alpha.  Am I right?”

“Shit, yes, Tom!  Eight fuckin’ introductions!”

“Eight, ho ho, he must have been annoyed!  Most new recruits get four to six at most to start with.  Sounds like you hit the jackpot!”

“Jackpot!  I should be so lucky!  I guess that Sergeants are immune?”

“From Charlie Alpha?”

“Yes.”

“Of course lad, we’ve paid our dues.  Charlie’s reserved for kids like you.”

“Cheers, Tom.  I mean Sarge!  I’m off home now, think I’ll have a bath, see if that helps.”

Jim made his way home on the service bus.  His bottom ached and throbbed as it bounced around on the poorly-padded bus seat.  He felt every austerity pothole as the bus rattled and clattered down the neglected A-road.  Alighting at the stop, he nipped into the shelter to compose himself before he faced his parents.  He didn’t want to give the game away, so smartened himself up, tightening both his belt and tie to look his best.

As it happens his father was waiting to greet him at the door, “Hello son!  How was work today?”

“Oh hi, Dad.  Work?  Oh, you know, same old, same old!”

“That’s not what I heard!  The Chief Superintendent rang me.  He told me about your caning.  I didn’t know the Police went in for that sort of thing at all!”

“No, neither did I Dad!” said Jim rubbing his backside ruefully.

“Well now.  I approve.  Wholeheartedly.  He told me what a cocky fool you’ve been.  I’m not surprised.  We’ve noticed it at home too.  Far too frequently.  I’ve sent your mother out.”

That could mean only one thing to Jim.  ‘Sending his mother out’ was his father’s code for “I’m going to cane you!”

“Dad, you can’t mean…”

“I do indeed!  I bet you thought I’d got rid of the good old cane, didn’t you?”

“Well, yes, I’d rather hoped, as I’m 21 now…”

“Never too old for a caning while you’re under our roof!  You’ve brought shame on us, James!  I made the Chief Superintendent a solemn promise.  That I’d take care of your discipline between his quarterly reviews.”

“Dad, you can’t!  Besides, it’s quarterly review day today, hardly between reviews!”

“Don’t get clever with me!  I can see what your boss meant about your cockiness.  As long as you live under this roof, you are a boy as far as I’m concerned.  So before I deal with you, you can have a shower and shave off that ridiculous, cocky moustache too.  You’re too young for it!  When it’s gone you can report to my study in your pyjamas!”

Jim was dismayed.  No moustache!  No dignity!  And a very, very sore arse.  And those pyjamas!  His mother insisted on them while he lived at home, although Jim would far rather sleep in the nude.  He’d have to ask for a room at the Section House, this was all much too much!

Father meanwhile was happy.  He’d take the lad down a peg or two, for sure.  He’d felt the urge to discipline his cocky young adult son for some time.  Rather stupidly, the lad had furnished him with just the right excuse!

Upstairs in his en-suite, Jim hacked away at his moustache with some disdain.  He’d grown to like it, feeling that it gave him the authoritarian air so appropriate for a police officer.  But now that contrived gravitas was gone.  He gazed at the fresh-faced 21-year-old in the mirror.  Why hadn’t he argued it out with his father?  It was a question that buzzed around his head time and time again as he massaged his sore arse cheeks under the warm water of the walk-in shower.

“I’m waiting!”  Jim’s father barked.  Jim duly dropped his pyjama trousers.  The old man lifted the tail of the pyjama top to inspect his son’s beaten bottom.  The Chief had done an excellent job, with eight crisp but haphazardly-placed weals clearly on display.

“Another eight then, I think.  Just to reinforce the displeasure of your mother and I!  Don’t let us down again, son.”

With that father landed the first purposeful stroke.  Jim had to gasp, for it cut across much of the Chief’s earlier handiwork.  And so it continued.  A second, harder stroke.  A yelp from the young man.  A third, leisurely delivered but excruciatingly painful.  A squeal from Jim.  A whippy fourth, a violent fifth.  A teasing sixth, a scorching seventh.  Cries and grunts.  A valedictory eighth.

Jim got up slowly, pulling up his pyjama bottoms ruefully.  He was holding back the tears, but had to speak, “Thank you father.”

“You’re welcome!  Anytime!”  He meant it too.  At last, with great pleasure, he had tamed his cocky son!

Come the next shift, Jim made his way into the police station cautiously, trying to walk as normally as his well-beaten bottom would allow.  It was just his luck to find his new friend Sergeant Tom on the reception desk.

“Hey, Jim lad!  Where’s your moustache gone?  My, you look so much younger without it.  Just like the  naughty boy you are.  Now, tell me, how’s your naughty bottom?”

“Don’t bloody ask!  My Dad gave me a thrashing too!  The Chief had rung him, so Dad decided to give me the same with his cane.”

“Wait!  Your Dad has a cane too?  Blimey, you’ve been unlucky!  How many did he give you?”

“Another eight!”

Tom whistled with disbelief, “Anyway, how about after the shift you come back to my place?  I’ll make you feel better.”

Tom did eventually comfort Jim, but only after giving him another caning too!

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Story © MMXVI by Rod Cayenne

Photographs © by Rod Cayenne

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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.

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