The Bright Red Briefs (M/M)

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Hot and explicit caning fiction by very special guest author Joelstrap, repeated from 2017.  All the characters are aged 18 or older.  Adults Only!

The Bright Red Briefs

Jordan looked down at the bright red briefs and at once asked himself why they were there. The walk along the cliff-tops had brought him to several rocky bays, some of which he’d gazed into from above before moving on; and some had been sufficiently interesting-looking to entice him down steep paths on to the shore. He’d made the perilous descent to this one because it was almost one o’clock and he’d spied a good place to sit and eat his picnic-lunch. Approaching the rock which was just at the correct height to allow him to sit comfortably with his feet on the ground, he’d looked round at the bay. Behind him the cliffs rose steeply while in front, beyond a jumble of rocks, the sea heaved gently under an azure summer sky. To his right and left more rocks were scattered haphazardly around, as if dropped there by some giant who’d become fed up carrying them.

It was while engaged in this survey of the bay that he spotted the incongruous splash of brilliant red among the greys and blacks and browns of the rocky landscape. Unable to enjoy his meal until he’d found out what it was, he got to his feet and walked over to where the jarring, out-of-place colour, blazed at the foot of a tall, steep rock. There was a small patch of grass at the base of the rock and against that background the red appeared more violent than ever. Jordan bent down to look closely although he didn’t touch. There was no doubt about it, however. What lay there was a pair of bright red briefs. Probably belonging to a young man or late-teenage boy, he thought. They looked decidedly brief too and Jordan suspected that they would barely contain the tackle of even a moderately well-endowed youth.

His first thought was that perhaps the owner of the briefs was in the immediate vicinity, but there was nobody in sight. This was a remote bay and it had taken Jordan over an hour’s walk to reach it. Had the briefs been washed there by the sea? But there was no sign that the tide came up anywhere near the base of the rock; certainly not in summer. It may of course be that they’d blown there in the wind, although the calm weather of the past week or so seemed to make this unlikely; and they looked clean and fresh as if they’d not lain there for long.

A pang of fear struck him as he considered the possibility that some young guy had removed them to bathe naked in the sea and had come to grief. In such serene summer seas it seemed improbable, but it had to be considered possible. Jordan returned to his rock, sat down and proceeded to consume his picnic. Once he had finished, he leaned back against the rock and closed his eyes. The sun was warm on his face and he felt comfortable and relaxed. The only sounds were the soft lapping of the wavelets against the rocks at the sea’s edge and the intermittent cries of the sea-birds as they soared and swooped among the cliffs.

“Not while that bastard’s there!”

Jordan blinked. He realised that he’d been dozing and his first thought was that he was hearing the gulls calling to each other; and then fuller wakefulness reminded him that gulls don’t speak. He shook his head and looked cautiously around him. In spite of the little bay being apparently bereft of any human life but his own, Jordan realised that there had to be at least two other people about. He listened carefully but heard no more words. He stood up and walked over a stretch of sand and then climbed up on to a rocky slab, a folded table of rock formed in long-lost oceans and exposed here after millions of years of erosion. Even from this vantage-point, he could see no-one.

He walked across the rock-surface towards its edge and it was when he looked down from here that he saw, sitting with their backs to the rock on which he stood, a pair of young lads of maybe eighteen summers. One wore dark blue briefs. The other was naked. Their two heads were very close together, thick hair mingling, as they talked softly, making it impossible to hear what they were saying. The comment which he’d heard must have been spoken loudly in urgency, perhaps as one dissuaded the other from going to retrieve the briefs.

Jordan was feeling mischievous. A respectable businessman in his early forties he may have been, but he retained still a boyish enthusiasm for pranks. He slipped quietly back to where his rucksack lay by the rock where he’d lunched, took out a cup, filled it with cold water from his bottle, and padded over to the top of the rock where he could look down on the two boys. They were still sitting, deeply engrossed in conversation; and Jordan also noticed that they were holding hands.

Aha! So that’s the way the wind blows, he thought to himself with a smile.

He watched them silently for a few moments and then gently tipped the cold water down on the bare shoulders beneath him. There were a couple of offended bellows of shock and Jordan stepped swiftly back from the edge so that the boys saw nothing of him as they turned outraged faces upwards. In seconds he was back sitting demurely on his rock; waiting. There was absolute silence. Out of both his sight and his hearing, the boys were conversing in urgent whispers.

“Of course it wasn’t a bloody cloudburst. There isn’t a cloud in the sky!” protested Matt. “Somebody tipped water on us; and it’s gotta be that bugger who we saw sitting on the rock near your briefs.”

“But why’d he tip water on us?” demanded Phil. “What’ve we done to him?”

“I’d like to tip him in the bloody sea,” muttered Matt vengefully.

Phil laid a restraining hand on his arm.

“Okay, okay. I’m not going to,” Matt said.

For a couple of minutes they waited; and nothing happened.

“Do you think he’s gone?” asked Phil hopefully. “Maybe I could go and get my briefs back.”

“How should I know?” replied Matt unhelpfully.

Phil sighed.

“I’m gonna have a peek,” he announced and he stood slowly up and pushed his head carefully over the edge of the rock.

Matt joined him. Jordan watched as two pairs of eyes surveyed him as he sat calmly on his rock. He decided to leave the next move to them, so he simply looked back steadily at them. That seemed to unnerve them, as they glanced uncertainly at each other before one of them spoke.

“Was that you?” asked Matt.

“Was what me?” replied Jordan.

“Somebody threw water over us.”

“Somebody called me a bastard,” said Jordan.

Looks of consternation crossed both the faces opposite him.

“Er, sorry. You weren’t supposed to hear that,” said Matt.

“We don’t really think you’re a bastard,” added Phil. “We just didn’t expect anyone else to be here and I got a shock when I saw you there when I was going to come and get my briefs.”

“I see,” said Jordan. “But if it’s not too personal a question, why are you over there and your briefs over here?”

“That was him,” said Phil, glaring at his mate.

Jordan looked interrogatively at Matt, but that boy returned his look with an enigmatic smile.

“So you’ve been fucking each other inside out behind the rocks, eh?” asked Jordan brutally.

There was a shocked silence while the boys looked at each other and then back at Jordan.

“No!” they said in unison.

“You were having a deep, philosophical discussion about the meaning of existence?”

Matt snorted.

“No,” he said with a grin. “Oh, all right. I’ll tell you. We were spanking each other.”

Jordan was taken aback.

“Spanking?”

“Yeh; you know. I put Phil here over my knee and smacked his bottom hard. He liked it,” added Matt.

“And I spanked him,” supplied Phil. “He liked it too.”

“Got you hard, did it?”

“Oh, yeh! We were both solid as these rocks here. Then Matt said he wanted to spank me on my bare arse.”

“And he pretended to be all shy,” said Matt.

“I wasn’t pretending!”

“So I just ripped the briefs off him,” continued Matt.

“And when I tried to snatch them back, the bugger tossed them away over there,” explained Phil. “Then he spanked me bare. I liked that too,” he added thoughtfully.

“I see,” said Jordan, nodding in comprehension. “I like to have things explained; and I’ll admit that the briefs lying there by the rock were a bit of a mystery.”

“So……um……could I have them back, please?” asked Phil tentatively.

“Come and get them.”

Phil went as red as his missing briefs.

“But I’m…you know….bare,” he objected.

“So? I’m a guy. You’re a couple of guys. I’m sure you’ve got nothing I’ve not seen before, have you?”

“No, no, of course not,” replied Phil, still blushing.

“You should see the size of his balls,” interposed Matt unexpectedly. “Kinda balls a bullock would be proud of.”

Phil went crimson.

“Matt!”

“Well, you have,” Matt insisted. “You got nothing to be embarrassed about. So get up there and get your bloody briefs back or I’ll spank you again.”

Phil stared helplessly. Jordan laughed.

“I think,” he suggested, “that threatening to spank him again is going to make him less likely to come and retrieve his briefs. He looks to me like a boy who can’t wait to be spanked again.”

Matt surveyed his friend for a few seconds.

“Just go and get them, Phil,” he said.

For a moment Phil stood in an agony of indecision; and then he made up his mind. In one fluid motion he vaulted on to the top of the rock and strode purposefully across to where his red briefs lay. Jordan watched delightedly. The boy was beautifully proportioned, lithe and muscular, becoming a man but still with the slenderness of youth. He was sporting a massive boner above a pair of large balls, nestling in a thick fuzz of dark hair. He picked up his briefs and pulled them on swiftly. They just about held him, although much of his towering erection protruded well above the waistband of the close-fitting garment. Matt emerged from behind the rock to join him and the two youngsters stood side by side and looked uncertainly at Jordan.

He fished some biscuits out of his rucksack and offered them to the boys who accepted eagerly.

“Sit down and tell me about this spanking business,” he said firmly; and the boys obeyed, seating themselves cross-legged on the patch of sand at his feet.

“It was just an idea we had,” said Matt through a mouthful of biscuit. “We thought it might be exciting to spank each other. And it was,” he confessed.

“And we were gonna fuck each other after,” admitted Phil. “But I thought I’d best get my briefs back first and then I saw you and….well, you know the rest.”

“We like fucking,” supplied Matt, “and we thought spanking would make it even better. I think it would have too….if you hadn’t appeared,” he added resentfully.

“I’m sorry,” said Jordan. “I’ll go away and let you get on with it.”

“Hey, no!” protested Matt. “I didn’t mean that. It’s okay. We can fuck any time we want. I wasn’t meaning to be rude.”

“Okay, no offence taken,” replied Jordan with a grin. “But calling me a bastard; that’s a more serious offence.”

The boys glanced at each other.

“It was nothing personal,” urged Phil. “Honest; and you’re definitely not a bastard. I mean, you’re talking to us like we’re normal even though we spank each other.”

“Nothing odd about wanting to be spanked,” said Jordan. “I think you both need to be soundly spanked for calling me a bastard.”

This statement produced sudden consternation on the part of the boys and two pairs of eyes flashed a series of messages at each other. Eventually Matt spoke.

“You wanna spank us?” he enquired carefully.

“I think a sound spanking is called for, don’t you?”

Again the silent communion of eyes before Matt turned to Jordan again.

“Yes, sir,” he said softly. “We behaved badly and we should be spanked.”

“But,” began Phil.

“Yes?”

“Can we fuck after you’ve spanked us, please?”

“Of course.”

“You can watch if you like,” offered Matt generously. “We wouldn’t mind.”

“I might take you up on that,” said Jordan. “However, to more serious matters. When I said that you both deserved a spanking, I was using the word in its widest sense.”

Phil, who had been sitting with his eyes on his feet, suddenly looked up; and as he did so, the slightly-sagging erection in his briefs bounced up to full length again.

“You mean you wanna take your belt to us?” he asked.

“Well, you get the idea,” agreed Jordan. “I wasn’t just speaking about a hand-spanking. I meant something that would make more impression on a pair of big, healthy young bucks like you two. How old are you anyway?”

“Eighteen,” supplied Matt. “So………um……..if it’s not your belt….what were you thinking of tanning our hides with? Your trainer?”

Jordan shook his head.

“No. I’m going to cane you.”

Two surprised faces gazed silently at him for several seconds before Matt spoke.

“C…..cane us? With a cane?”

“That’s the idea.”

“But you haven’t got a cane!”

“What makes you think that?”

“But….but……you can’t have! Nobody goes wandering around the countryside with a bloody cane in his rucksack!” protested Matt.

“I do.”

Matt was about to speak again when Phil laid a hand on his knee and he remained silent.

“I’ve never even seen a school-cane,” said Phil. “Corporal punishment was abolished yonks ago. My dad says he got caned when he was at school though,” he added. “But he’s ancient; well over forty.”

“Thank you,” said Jordan sardonically.

“Eh? Oh, no! I didn’t mean…..you’re not over forty, are you?” gasped an embarrassed-looking Phil.

“Forty-three,” said Jordan.

“I didn’t really mean ancient,” Phil burst in again. “I mean it’s just another word for old, and I……”

As Jordan raised his eyebrows, Matt turned to his friend.

“Phil, shut up,” he ordered. “When you’re in a hole, at least stop digging.”

“Sorry,” muttered Phil.

“Why have you got a cane with you?” asked Matt.

“I like dishing out canings to guys. When I’m on holiday, like I am just now, I can go on to a contacts website and if there’s someone locally who wants his bottom dealt with, I can volunteer my services. It’s surprising how often I get to cane a guy; and so I always have my cane with me, just in case.”

“Can I see it?” asked Matt eagerly.

Jordan registered the boy’s shining eyes and straining erection; and then he reached for his rucksack, unzipped a compartment and slowly withdrew a limber cane with a crook-handle.

“Wow!” breathed two fascinated boys in unison.

Jordan handed the implement to Matt who accepted it as gingerly as if he’d been given an adder to hold. He arched it experimentally, savouring its pliancy. He ran the pad of a finger along the length of it and then looked up at Jordan.

“This isn’t a toy,” he said. “This is gonna hurt, right?”

Jordan nodded.

“Oh, yes. It will hurt; a lot. It’s meant to. No point in punishing you for calling me a bastard if you don’t feel it, is there?”

“I guess not,” Matt agreed, still bending the cane carefully as he tried to assess its potential for causing him pain.

“And you’ll cane us properly?” enquired Phil, suddenly rejoining the conversation. “Six of the best, like in the old school-stories?”

“Is that what you want?”

“I dunno,” admitted Phil honestly, “but I implied you were ancient as well, so I reckon I deserve to be properly punished. I’ll take what you think I need,” he added.

“Same here,” concurred Matt. “We’re both up for a caning. I’ve always kinda wondered what it felt like to get the cane; and sometimes when I was writing lines, I wished I could just have bent over and got a few strokes; and it’d all be over and done in a few seconds. Painful seconds,” he added as an afterthought.

Phil took the slender cane from his mate and examined it critically.

“It’s quite thick and heavy,” he observed.

“It’s called a senior-cane,” said Jordan. “Suitable for older boys.”

“That’s us,” Phil said. “So, you gonna cane us now?”

“Right now, if you’re ready,” agreed Jordan and he got to his feet and took back the cane.

He whipped it hard through the air with a vicious whine and both boys drew in breath sharply. Two pairs of eyes were fixed on the punitive rod; and two penises were reaching for the sun-filled sky.

“I think this should do,” said Jordan, indicating a large rock at almost waist-height. “You first, Phil. Briefs off and bend over the rock.”

There was a stunned silence before Phil eventually muttered, “Br…..briefs off?”

“Boys of eighteen get caned on the bare,” said Jordan. “Get them off!”

Phil obeyed, laying his briefs on the edge of the rock, and then bending over it with his hands supporting his upper body.

“Legs further apart.”

Phil complied; and Jordan admired the taut, firm, muscular buttocks, neat and fully-rounded. He rapped the cane on the smooth skin which showed only a slight trace of redness from the spanking Matt had given him recently. The boy flinched involuntarily at the touch and then settled his feet firmly in the grass at the base of the rock.

“Uh!”

Phil’s breath came out in a gasp as Jordan brought the cane down hard along the centre of his buttocks. Matt’s eyes widened as he saw the red welt rise slowly from the creamy skin, showing exactly where the cane had struck. Jordan took careful aim and delivered a second stroke just a short way below the first, etching another neat red mark on the youngster’s bottom. His buttocks clenched hard and quivered for a few seconds as he processed the fierce sting. The cane lashed across his seat for a third time and elicited a grunt from Phil as a line of fire scored a further throbbing welt across the lad’s behind. The fourth stroke caught the boy full on his crease and he uttered a half-stifled yelp as his right leg kicked violently before a sturdy foot was returned determinedly to its place in the grass. Aiming at the narrow gap between the third and fourth weals on the youngster’s skin, Jordan hit his target accurately, creating one broad, pulsating welt. Phil’s head came up abruptly and a groan escaped him before his head went down again and his shuddering buttocks eased slowly into stillness. He forced himself to relax a little as he waited for the final stroke. Jordan brought the cane down hard on a diagonal which cross-cut four of the previous marks on Phil’s flesh. He let out a strangulated squeal and writhed from the hips, his body dipping towards the surface of the rock as he absorbed and assimilated the ferocious pain.

“Well-taken, Phil. Get up.”

Phil rose slowly to his feet and felt his way wonderingly with both hands over his throbbing globes. Ridged flesh was under his finger-pads; hot skin was beneath his palms. Jordan watched him closely and, even as he rubbed at his caned bottom, his resilient young penis was rising again eagerly. The boy glanced down at it and gave an embarrassed laugh.

“I guess I kinda liked that,” he admitted, “but it stung like hell!”

“Good,” said Jordan, grinning at him. “It was meant to.”

Matt was standing to one side, a hand inside his briefs, cupping his balls while his thumb stroked his rampant cock.

“Ready, Matt?” enquired Jordan.

“Okay,” replied Matt with only the barest hint of a tremor in his voice.

He arguably had the tougher place in that he’d seen his mate get the cane and knew what to expect. He swallowed, pulled off his briefs and cast them aside, and took up his position over the rock. Jordan eyed the delectable target with pleasure, aware of the pulsing organ in the front of his own jeans. Matt was slightly broader than Phil and a faint covering of light-coloured hair showed on the surface of his globes as the sun caught them. The boy’s behind seemed to Jordan to be inviting the cane and, as he ran the rod along the skin to get his range, he saw the buttocks being pushed up eagerly as though he couldn’t wait to feel the punitive sting of the rod. Jordan let him have what he was asking for and Matt winced silently as he experienced the cane’s sting for the first time in his life.

He absorbed the second and third strokes with barely-audible gasps, and a powerful clenching of his gluteal muscles. Jordan felt that he had to try to force a little more reaction from the stoical lad and so he delivered the fourth stroke much harder, the tip of the cane, flying at high speed, biting viciously into the boy’s sensitive flesh just on the top edge of his crease.

“Oh, ya bastard!”

Matt reached round with his right hand and scrubbed desperately at the tortured skin.

“What did you say?” enquired Jordan softly.

“Sorry. That one just took me by surprise,” replied Matt, his voice unsteady.

“What did you say?” repeated Jordan.

Matt stopped rubbing his bottom and turned his head to look at Jordan.

“I said ya bastard,” he confessed. “I’m sorry. It just came out. I couldn’t help it.”

“You’ll have to learn to help it,” replied Jordan. “You’re getting that stroke again.”

“Aw, please!”

“Are you arguing with me, boy?”

Matt swallowed and took a deep breath.

“No, sir,” he replied submissively.

“Number four coming again. Keep still.”

To his credit, and Jordan’s admiration, Matt absorbed the searing burn of the repeat stroke, which was delivered very hard to a line immediately above the previous stroke’s mark, in almost total silence; and with only the desperate tightening of his quivering glutes betraying the agony with which he was coping.

“That’s better. You’re learning,” observed Jordan. “Two to go,” he added remorselessly. “You’re not going to give me any trouble, are you?”

“No, sir.”

The boy tensed his body as the cane explored his bottom before being raised and brought down hard and fast on his crease. A half-snarling squeal was forced from him as he squirmed and a deep-red welt was raised on tender flesh. Jordan didn’t allow him long to recover before he drove in the final cut and made the youngster buck violently. When he was told to stand up, Jordan noticed that there was evidence of a few tears on his handsome face. Matt rubbed carefully at his buttocks.

“Oh, boy! That was horrendous; but it was brilliant too. Does that make sense?” he asked.

“Sure,” replied Jordan. “You wanted it; and your cock seems to like it too.”

Matt grinned sheepishly.

“Yeh. I don’t half want Phil to bring me off now,” he confided. “Would that be okay?” he enquired respectfully, sensing that it was right to seek Jordan’s permission before proceeding.

“Go ahead,” said Jordan with a grin. “And you’d better both put on a good performance or I’ll give your young arses another dose of my cane!”

The boys required no second bidding and were soon writhing together like a couple of mating snakes, Jordan forgotten, enclosed in their own thrilling, lust-fuelled activity. Driven to new heights of ecstasy by their burning bottoms, they kissed and stroked, clasped and squeezed, thrust and pumped until boy-cream spurted and athletically-active young bodies slowly relaxed into contented stillness.

Phil tore his attention away from his mate’s kisses for a moment to turn an enquiring look on Jordan.

“Was that satisfactory, sir?” he asked, his eyes dark with sated desire.

“One of the best performances I’ve ever seen,” said Jordan, and was rewarded with a sudden rush of blood to the faces of both boys as they went bright red to the roots of their hair.

For a little longer the pair continued to lie entwined; and then they slid reluctantly apart and rather self-consciously retrieved and put on their discarded briefs.

“Thanks,” said Matt. “That cane is fucking awesome. And you sure know how to make a boy feel it,” he added with a grimace.

“No resentment about the stroke I made you take again?”

Matt shook his head.

“I deserved it. I shouldn’t have sworn like that; and I didn’t do it again, so I guess it worked,” he ended ruefully.

“Yeh, thanks a million,” said Phil. “I’ll be wanting more of that soon; we both will,” he said turning his head towards Matt.

Nothing was said, but once again Jordan caught that swift communion of eyes as the boys confirmed to each other that they were both up for further meetings with the cane.

“Are you two on holiday here as well?” asked Jordan and the boys nodded.

“We’re from Edinburgh but we’re walking through this area for a few weeks and just going where we feel like.”

“Edinburgh, eh? I think I can probably help you there. I know a guy who I think would be only too pleased to put a neat pattern of cane welts on your bottoms for you on a regular basis,” vouchsafed Jordan.

“You do? Ace!”

“I’ll check with him first and then, if he’s agreeable, I’ll give you his email address and you can contact him when you get home.”

“Thanks a million,” said Phil, “and all because Matt threw my red briefs against a rock.”

“You never know what’s going to happen in life,” observed Jordan sententiously. “Now come and tell me all about how you felt when I caned you. I love to hear a guy describing his thoughts and feelings when he was getting it. In fact,” said Jordan with a smile, “you could call it a kind of de-briefing!”

The two boys rolled their eyes and, silently agreeing that they wouldn’t sit down, lay side by side on their fronts at Jordan’s feet and, with shining, happy faces, told him exactly about their first ever experience of having their bare bottoms soundly caned.

___________)

 

Story and briefs photograph © 2017 by Joelstrap, used here by very kind permission.  Please leave a comment here or 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

Never Skip Pre-season Training (M/M) NEW!

♥ Site recommended story ♥

New to The Canery is this exciting spanking and caning story by very special guest author Baddlad17.   All the characters are 18 or older. WARNING: ADULTS ONLY!

Never Skip Pre-season Training by Baddlad17

It was a hot and sticky night; the recent weather had been very warm, sunny and oppressive.

Regardless it was Thursday night and with only a few weeks to go before the start of the new season, I had ordered the lads to report for the first pre–season training session.

I am the new coach of a semi–professional footy team. I used to be a player myself, but as I am now over the hill so to speak, I no longer play. I was still physically fit though. Standing six foot three I had been a goalkeeper, a position which had allowed me to play until I reached forty. Suddenly the strain on my body started to become noticeable. It could take me days to recover from a match, so after some soul searching, I decided it was time to hang up my boots and gloves and become a coach.

That had been two years ago, my passion for the game has not diminished, I left my club unsure what to do, then after a few months I made the decision to do my coaching badges. Once I had completed my training I returned to my old club as an assistant, now I had attained a new position as coach/ manager of Brent United, a small, semi-professional club in the heart of the country.

There were some good players on the books and lots of ability. The previous coach had allowed the team to slip a little, results towards the end of last season had not been good. The chairman and the board heartily sick of the slide dismissed the previous guy. I had been brought in to Smarten the team up and get them back on track. The chairman made it clear he expected results and it did not matter how I got them as long as I did. His words Any means necessary rang in my ears.

Despite being weeks yet till the start of the new season, I wanted the lads to be as physically fit as possible and to be prepared for the onslaught once we got underway. I had rung every player personally earlier in the week, introduced myself and requested their presence at the training ground at six-thirty where I would present myself to every member of the squad and get to know them. I also made it clear I intended to put them through an intense session so I could assess their ability.

I ticked off the names of the lads as they entered the changing room and was a little concerned to note two missing. Ryan Connor was the team’s centre forward and an excellent finisher. He had scored twenty eight goals last season and was a pivotal member of the squad. Also absent was Tony Wilkinson, a central defender who had played for the club for three years. I asked the others if they had any idea where either player was, but no one seemed to know, or if they did they were not saying.

Regardless, I went through my introduction, spelling out to the team what was expected and what I would demand from them. Commitment, dedication, a willingness to work, reliability and to work as part of a team. I wanted no prima donnas in this squad. I sent them out on the field and we started the session, pushing the missing lads to the back of my mind, for now.

After training the lads arrived back in the changing room, hot and sweaty from their exertions, they stripped off and hit the showers. I was soon amongst them soaping up and rinsing off. This surprised them as it was not something the previous coach had done. But as I pointed out to them, we were all blokes together and I had nothing to hide from them. I also made it clear I expected honesty and openness from them.

As we dried off Steve Anders the team captain came up to me, Gaffer, I have just received a text from one of my mates. He is in The Bell tonight. I told him earlier that the team were training, so I would not be in the pub till much later. He said he was surprised to see Connor and Wilkinson having a beer in the garden. I am a bit pissed off with them, boss, and feel they have let the side down. Do you want to come with me and confront them?

Two of my best players had chosen to go to the pub rather than attend the first session of the season! I was more than pissed off with them, I was very angry. How dare they, I thought! I immediately thanked Steve for his offer and said I thought that would be a good idea, as I needed to speak to them as soon as possible.

I also pointed out to him that it was my intention to discipline them for missing training. Steve looked at me questioningly before informing me that punishing players for missing practice was something the previous coach had not bothered to do. Instead he had delegated it to the captain leaving him to give the lads concerned a bollocking. I could see that’s what had been going wrong and change was needed.

This was the reason I had been brought in, and before long the squad would learn a new era had begun. From now on things were going to be done my way or else! Wilkinson and Connor would be the first to discover the fate awaiting any player who screwed up on my watch. It would not be very pleasant but maybe it would get the message across that things were going to change, and quickly.

We drove the short distance to The Bell public house; on arriving Steve led me through to the back to confront the lads still sat in the beer garden, with two empty glasses in front of them and a third half full. Ryan and Tony stood up sheepishly as we approached, both a little apprehensive as they took in the angry expression on Steve’s face.

Don’t bother with any excuses. This is the new gaffer and he will be dealing with this. Over to you boss.

I looked from one to the other as I took a seat on the bench opposite them. Tony Wilkinson was almost twenty-four years old. He stood six foot two with a crop of dark hair. His strong manly face sported two day stubble. I could tell he was trim and well-toned. Beside him sat twenty-year-old Ryan, He stood around five feet eleven with very dark hair and eyes, his long lashes enhanced them, making him appear very attractive. He looked a cheeky chappie who could get into mischief easily. I sensed this was Wilkinson’s idea, but both lads were adults and Connor would have to take the consequences.

Right you two, I will make this clear, here and now. I don’t give a shit if you are the best centre forward and central defender in the league. When I call a training session I demand you turn up, on time and be ready changed, into your strips to start. That is non-negotiable; I will only accept excuses if you are ill and I expect a phone call at least an hour beforehand. It is certainly not acceptable to miss training and come to the pub, that is for sure. So I am giving you both an option. I cleared my throat and prepared to inform them of their options, You will both present yourselves at the club tomorrow evening for a special training session. In attendance will be just the four of us that is providing Steve can attend?

The team captain nodded his assent.

Right then, six pm sharp and don’t be late. If either of you fail to turn up or refuse to do exactly as you are told then I will be more than happy to terminate your contracts. After the session is over you will both receive a penalty award for missing tonight’s training. What that penalty is and how bad it becomes will depend on your attitude tomorrow, and how much effort I think you have put into it. The choice is yours. So can I expect you tomorrow night or not?

What do you mean by a penalty? said Ryan who suddenly seemed to be concerned as to what was going to happen. I smiled at the lads before informing them that they would soon find out. They both reluctantly nodded their agreement at which point we left, informing them they had five minutes to drink up and get out of the bar or else.

As we left they began to swig down their ale, a little afraid of what might be in store for them. I had a feeling even the captain would be shocked at what I had in mind, but I had the backing of the club. The chairman had been clear: any means necessary.

My old gaffer at my first club had known how to keep order and how to discipline his players. I would be paying him a visit before going to the club tomorrow night. I had decided to take him up on his offer to let me have the tools of the trade. I reached round and gently rubbed my own arse as I thought back to those far-off days and those painful times in his little office. He had known how to deal with smart-arsed players. He had offered to show me how to use them and it was my intention to do so. These lads would smarten up sharp, or there would a lot of sore arses wandering around the changing room.

I left Bill Turner’s house with the tools just before five forty. He smiled and wished me luck as I packed them into my kit bag and headed off to the car. I could see him waving me off, a satisfied grin on his face. I entered the changing room just before six to find all three players waiting. I noted Connor and Wilkinson had changed ready to start, Steve had also put on his kit and was sat with the lads when I arrived.

I won’t keep you long lads. Steve take them out to the pitch and get them doing some warm up exercises. I want a strenuous session for these two, they need to burn off the calories from last night’s beer. I watched them head off before I went into the office and extracted two long slender canes. I ran my hand along the length of one feeling surprised how light it fell. My knob began to swell as I recalled the times this very rod had slashed across my own arse as a young player. Bill Turner was a hard taskmaster and he knew how to make a player perform. Placing the canes on the table I extracted the large rubber soled pump. How many times had that thing burned my backside in training? The smooth sole was very flexible, White fire the lads had called it. It certainly set your arse on fire, but it was no longer white, a kind of off grey colour and very old. How many arses had it burned over the years I did wonder?

It was over an hour later when we finally returned to the cool sanctuary of the changing room. Connor and Wilkinson were hot and sticky having sweated profusely doing punishment runs around the track, not to mention all the other exercises I had put them through. Steve Anders had joined them in some of the exercises, showing his commitment to me as captain.

Right lads that is the end of the session. You have now made up for missing last night’s training. However that is not the end of the matter. Years back when I was a player at my first club, the coach had a good way of dealing with any player who broke club rules, slacked or failed to attend training. He knew the best way to deal with athletic young men. Tell me lads, did either of your dads ever deal with you the ’old fashioned way‘?

I watched a look of bewilderment cross their faces for a moment before Tony Wilkinson suddenly realised what I meant.

By old fashioned, do you mean did he leather me when I was growing up?

Yes, that is what I mean. Did either of you ever get a taste of the slipper, belt or even the cane?

Ryan looked bemused while Tony’s face displayed the expression of someone who was remembering a painful memory. Ryan’s response as I expected was a resounding no, but Tony proceeded to tell me he had been walloped with a belt till he was sixteen. Steve also seemed a little bemused, unsure where the conversation was going. I decided at this point to go for jugular.

Well lads, the penalty award I said you would receive is along the lines that your dads would have given you. And if you had gone to school at the same time as I did, your PE teacher and possibly headmaster would have given you if you had played truant from your lessons. What you did last night is the same as playing truant. So what I propose is to deal with you in the same way as my old coach and yes my PE Master dealt with me when I failed to turn up for training.

What the fuck? You are not serious man, no way, no way, Said Ryan,

You have a clear choice lads. Either you take what you deserve or you can leave now, never to return. And Steve, as of now corporal punishment will become part of the disciplinary procedures at this club. It is my intention to give every player the choice of taking cp or leaving the club. I am sure most of the squad would rather have a short sharp shock than face the sack, but it will be their own decision.

I will give you lads five minutes to decide. At the end of those five minutes if you choose to take what is due I expect you to be standing outside my office. If you are not there I will assume you have chosen to leave and will proceed to deal with your dismissals for gross misconduct. Steve can you come along to the office as well? I want you to witness the punishments if they choose this route.

As I walked off, I overheard Ryan and Tony arguing. I could tell that Wilkinson was prepared to go through with it, Connor was less so.

Five minutes later I opened the office door and was surprised to find all three of them standing outside. I looked on and smiled as I took in the sight of three young men still dressed in their kits from the training field, two of them would very shortly be bending over and I was going to savour it. I asked Steve to come in and I sensed his shock as he noticed the canes and the old plimsoll on my desk. I picked up the slipper and tapped it in my hand.

From the next training session Steve I will be using this on any player who fails to pull his weight in training or during a match. For more serious infractions I shall use one of these.

I picked up a cane and slashed it through the air. Steve jumped in shock. I could tell though that the guy was a little excited at what was about to happen. Something that was obvious by the bulge at the front of his shorts.

I shouted for the lads to come in and smiled as they appeared hands behind their backs, heads down in a typical naughty schoolboy fashion. I put down the cane and picked up the large slipper once more.

Right then, as this is the first time I will go a little easier on you. I am awarding you six with the slipper, be aware that the slipper will normally be used for more minor offences and not pulling your weight. For missing training I would normally dish out twelve strokes of the cane. So think yourselves lucky. After you have had the slipper I will give you four each with the cane, just so you know what to expect. Is that clear?

They both nodded at me, I noted they both looked afraid. Looking across to the captain I could see an obvious bulge in his footy shorts as he savoured what was about to happen.

Right then, as you have been physically punished before I shall start with you Wilkinson. Stand in front of the desk and bend over, reach across, try to grip the far side.

I watched as Tony stretched his six foot two frame across the desk, his muscular buttocks tightly encased in his footy shorts for my ministrations. I had one final shock for them though. I walked behind him and gripped onto the hem of his shorts and yanked them down clear of his buttocks exposing his naked arse cheeks, tightly framed by his jockstrap. I heard Ryan gasp and utter a swear word as I tapped the target before me with the large rubber soled pump.

Stepping back I raised my arm high before swinging the weapon down ensuring I flicked my wrist and followed through. As the first splatt of the plimsoll landed dead centre onto his left cheek, I heard the guy gasp and his head shot back as the pain exploded across his arse. I quickly landed the second onto the same spot and then a third at which point I heard Wilkinson groan. Stepping back I looked at the red inflamed left cheek. It looked sore. Taking aim I targeted the as yet untouched right buttock and proceeded to give him another three very hard swats. With each swat I got a grunt and could tell that after the last one had landed, he had felt it.

Up and stand to the side. Connor your turn.

Wilkinson stood up, giving his red arse cheeks a good rub as he did. I watched as Ryan reluctantly lowered himself across the desk. Once again I gripped the hem of the shorts and peeled them clear. Unlike Wilkinson’s hairy bum cheeks, Ryan’s backside was white and smooth. His cheeks presented a tempting target as I tapped the slipper on his left buttock. I glanced at Steve who looked to be in a high state of arousal. My own knob was swelling in the highly charged atmosphere pervading the room.

Connor struggled to take his punishment. He squealed after the first swat and stood up as the second one burned across his backside. I ordered him back down, threatening him with extras. Once back in position I cracked a third one which emitted a blood-curdling scream from his throat. The three strokes to his right buttock produced a similar response but somehow he managed to stay down. I doubted he would do so for his caning so I had a plan in my mind. I watched as he stood there in tears rubbing his burning arse. Placing the slipper on the table I picked up the cane and swished it.

Wilkinson, I said tapping the cane in my hand. He resignedly bent back over the desk offering his already sore arse up for further treatment. I stepped back, took aim and cracked the cane hard across the middle of his backside. The response was immediate. A loud howl rang out and he shook violently across the desk. The following three strokes emitted further cries and yells as the cane cut into the already sore, inflamed flesh. After the last stroke which I had landed right on the crease, I allowed him to stand up and watched as the guy stood rubbing his very sore bottom. Despite his age he was clearly in tears and just could not let go of his bottom.

Connor. I watched as the lad almost on the verge of crying bent over the desk. Anders and Wilkinson, I want you to grip onto Connor’s hands and hold him in place, I doubt he will stay down for this.

Ryan began to plead as the lads gripped his arms, holding him across the desk. I tapped the cane on his red swollen cheeks before raising it high and cracking it dead centre. As predicted Ryan howled like a banshee. He struggled to free himself, but the lads kept a tight grip on him. I delivered the remaining strokes quickly. After each one he howled loudly. After the last stroke was delivered to the crease of his arse cheeks he screamed. It was obvious he had never been disciplined before. I nodded for the lads to let go and he was up immediately, dancing around the office gripping his buttocks tightly. After a couple of minutes he calmed down at which point I summoned both of them to stand in front of the desk.

Pull your shorts back up Connor. Now I hope you have both learned your lesson. Be warned if you wish to remain on the team this is what to expect if you fuck up. I bent the rod before them as a warning. Now then, hit the showers, you are dismissed. Remember next week’s training starts at six-thirty on Thursday and I expect you ready to start then or else you know what will happen.

I dismissed the lads and watched them go, rubbing their fiery arses. My knob was swollen solid and would require attention soon. I gave my cock a little rub and prepared to deal with it when I became aware that Steve was still stood there.

Need a hand there, gaffer?

The tent in his shorts made his intention clear. At a nod from me he was on his knees slipping down my shorts. He eagerly took my swollen manhood between his lips and began to blow me. As he did he pulled himself off, within a minute I had exploded into his mouth and he had spilled his seed onto the floor. I felt a wave of release as he swallowed my sperm down his throat, I jerked as the spasms of ecstasy surged through my body.

Once we had calmed down he stood up and wiped his cock clean with a piece of tissue.

I wanna feel that slipper on my arse, gaffer, and then that cane.

His meaning was clear. An hour later, once we made sure the block was completely empty, I gave Steve what he wanted, six hard slipper swats and six hard cane strokes. I lashed them hard across his naked arse cheeks. He took it well and gratefully thanked me. Once he had recovered we had a mutual masturbation session.

I had a feeling that this new job was going to turn out ok and I was looking forward tanning many other players’ arses in the near future. As for Steve, well we had both discovered something we enjoyed and many nights, long after the rest of the squad had left, I would deal with him and then we would have some fun. The future looked good and I had no doubt that before long the club would be back at the top.

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Story ©MMXIV by Baddlad17, 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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Authors love your feedback!  Please leave a comment. You can find the comments here, or by using the link at the top of the story.

 

Baddlad17’s excellent earlier stories for The Canery are available here.  Further great stories by Baddlad17 may be found at this external link.

A Day In The Woods (M/M)

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Author’s note: this was my first attempt at writing a spanking story. It was first published via a Yahoo! Group way back in 2006, in happier times. It was also one of the very first stories posted here in June 2011.  I have tidied it a little. I’d like to think there is still some pleasure to be gained from reading it. I’m posting it here as the final part of the celebrations of 10 years of The Canery.

A Day In The Woods by Rod Cayenne

The summer sunshine was warm and cheering. Johnny Jenkins, 45, was taking the family dog for a walk in the local woods on a Saturday afternoon.

The woods were beautiful. They were privately owned but open to the public. Johnny and the dog loved the place. There had been a noticeable rise in vandalism lately, and youths had been digging up the paths to make bumps, ramps and jumps for their mountain bikes.

Just then another dog came rushing towards Johnny, and then the two dogs ran off for a romp. They ran around and around and then Johnny was almost knocked over by the other dog! Catching his breath, he noticed the dog’s owner approaching.

I’m sorry! said the dog’s owner, a tall distinguished chap in his fifties. Johnny couldn’t help admiring the man. He had a grey leather jacket on and a rather attractive silver beard. Johnny was attracted to men with beards and he always had been.

It’s OK, said Johnny, That is a gorgeous dog you have.

Johnny was regaining his composure. He leant against the side of the wooden bridge which crossed the brook in the woods. The other side of the bridge had been broken, and tossed into the brook. Johnny shook his head, saying, Just look what those kids have done to this bridge!

It’s appalling! the bearded man replied.

Those kids could use a good caning, Johnny blurted out, Just like I got when I was at school.

Yes, indeed, said the bearded guy, I was a teacher myself. I wouldn’t have hesitated to give those vandals a sound thrashing with my canes. Although I probably shouldn’t say that these days! he laughed and, if Johnny was not mistaken, winked.

Sensing things taking an interesting turn, Johnny said, Mind you, I was a bit of a vandal in my late teens, and was never caught. I’ve felt guilty ever since. I don’t suppose you still have a cane?

As a matter of fact, I do, the retired teacher said. If you want to feel it again, we can go back to my house now. The dogs can play in the garden. My wife will be at home but she is used to me dealing with naughty boys. She won’t mind at all.

The house was actually a detached bungalow, with twin bay windows. Dingy-looking net curtains hung at the windows and the whole of the front looked a bit run down. Inside was brighter, but still there was something a little dated about the place.

The teacher shouted to his wife, I’m home darling! I’ve found another naughty boy to deal with. Please leave us in peace. It sounded as if this was a regular occurrence! Johnny wondered how the teacher found all these naughty boys. It must be his authoritarian air, Johnny rationalised.

I don’t have a study here, the teacher said, The bedroom will have to do. This is my cane cupboard! he announced with pride, and flung the door open.

Johnny stared into the cupboard. Yes, there was no mistaking the fact that it was a cane cupboard alright! There must have been at least twenty canes hanging there. There were various colours, pale bamboo colours to rich, deep browns. Some with a traditional crook handle and some straight ones hanging from thin leather loops. There were at least two riding crops and also what appeared to be a red, synthetic cane. Clearly, this was a teacher who meant business!

Johnny had masturbated to caning fantasies for many years, but now here he was about to experience something he hadn’t felt for, say, 25 years…

May I keep my pants on, Sir? Johnny requested. This was a clever trick he’d picked up from spanking stories on the net. The question led the teacher on, and assured Johnny that he would at least have his trousers down for the thrashing to come.

Yes, you may for the first six strokes, boy, the teacher said, But the second six will have to be bare, I’m afraid. Vandalism is something I cannot tolerate and deserves severe punishment.

So it was to be twelve strokes, Johnny thought to himself. Rather a lot, and twice as many as he’d ever had at school.

The teacher rummaged in his cane cupboard. He took a while and was clearly enjoying his task. He chose a pale and thin looking cane with a crook handle. He swished it through the air. The sound was terrifying. Johnny felt an erection coming on.

Over the chair, boy! the teacher instructed, Don’t touch your trousers, boy. I will take those down!

And he did! He unbuckled the belt and the trousers fell to the floor. The teacher casually felt the buttocks and then the erection in Johnny’s underpants. The old perv! Johnny thought to himself, but didn’t dare share his thoughts with the teacher.

Let’s get this over with, boy! the teacher said with an air of distaste. Johnny suspected the man was secretly relishing the moment despite this.

Yes, Sir! Johnny said quietly.

CRACK! Ow! The first cane stroke reminded Johnny what he’d been missing all these years. The pain wasn’t too bad, but then the second stroke came rapidly. It hurt a lot more and Johnny’s eyes grew moist.

CRACK! CRACK! More strokes landed and Johnny was regretting revealing his teenage vandalism. Soon the six strokes on the pants were over.

Right boy, I am going to pull your pants down now and I don’t want to see an erection! Is that clear?

Yes, Sir! Johnny cried. The erection was long gone. The teacher pulled the pants down roughly. Six beautiful cane marks decorated Johnny’s boyish bottom.

The seventh stroke landed and it was agony! Please Sir, I’ve had enough! Johnny cried.

Don’t complain! the teacher ordered, This is long overdue, you vandal! Tell me what you vandalised boy!

Well, there was a bus shelter, Sir.

A bus shelter! The teacher was suddenly incandescent with rage. A bus shelter used by less fortunate members of society? Pensioners, disabled, young mothers? the teacher asked.

Yes Sir, sorry Sir, Johnny cried.

You will be lad, you will be!

CRACK, CRACK, CRACK !

Soon the twelve strokes were completed. Those last strokes from that whippy cane really stung like mad.

I am so annoyed with you boy, the teacher added, Stay down for another six strokes. Bus shelter indeed! This time you will count the strokes and thank me for each one!  Clear?

CRACK! Ouch! One, Sir! Thank you Sir!

Soon, a total of eighteen stinging cane strokes had been delivered. Johnny was distraught. He hadn’t expected so many strokes, so much pain and so much cruelty. But somehow it felt so right.

The teacher was looking happier. He was the one with an erection now.

One of my favourite canes, this one, he sighed, I particularly like the crook handle on it. The shape is close to perfection and the sting has some real bite.

He was certainly right about the latter! He took the cane back to the cupboard. The love for that cane and for all his canes was a joy to behold.

Meet me in the woods tomorrow at one o’clock, he snapped.

Yes, Sir. Thank you Sir! a very humbled Johnny replied.

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D I S C L A I M E R

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

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Story © MMVI by Rod Cayenne

All rights reserved

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Comments welcome.  Comments are here, or use link at the top of the story.  Thanks!

Ten Years Of Caning

 

Your host, Rod Cayenne, remembers…

On June 11th 2011, I launched The Canery as somewhere to post my caning stories.  That’s ten years of very hot and sore bottoms!  The first story posted was Again And Again, a Male/Female and Female/Male story.  It was very short in length and a bit so-so, but I was soon posting follow-ups, including the first ever caning fiction story I wrote, A Day In The Woods, a decidedly Male/Male tale, which had originally appeared on a Yahoo Group.   In those days, I was guided, encouraged and cajoled by my very close friend Jonathan. 

Sadly, he passed away a few years ago, but I will never forget him.   He was my mentor, muse and mate.  He had a heart of gold, RIP.

I promised Jonathan that I’d keep The Canery bisexual.  I’m not sure why he insisted on that, as he was very much a gay man.  I’ve retained the policy out of respect for him, although in truth most of the stories I post nowadays are Male/Male.  Gradually, I’ve received a lot of guest authors’ stories.  They are a true highlight of The Canery.  At the risk of messing up the site search functionality, I’m going to list the recent guest authors: Joelstrap, Baddlad17, sukemnsee, Clifton Castigo, Charles Hamilton II and David Stewart.  Thank you all.  But I’m truly grateful for all sorts of contributions I’ve received – stories, comments, pictures, emails and messages of support.  Thank you everyone.  Without your input there would be no site.

I need to thank WordPress too, for hosting my site and providing the software, and all free of charge.  Recently, they have imposed new editor software on users, and I cannot pretend that the changeover has been easy.  Hence, the over-reliance on repeated stories while I got to grips with the new software.  I think I’ve got there now, and normal service has resumed.

Lockdown and the pandemic have presented new challenges.  In March and April 2020, the site “hit” statistics peaked.  The following month, they fell off a cliff!  I guess everyone had other things on their minds.  Now, one year on, the statistics are climbing again, and I think we can all look forward to better times.  Keep safe and well everyone, and get those jabs!

Rod xxxxxx

 

Comments welcome – comments are here.

A Celebratory Caning (M/M) NEW!

♥ Site recommended story ♥

A hot new spanking and 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!!

A Celebratory Caning by Joelstrap

“Oh, ya beauty! That’s perfect!” yelped Ed enthusiastically.

“Yow! You stupid bugger!” I yelped angrily as I jumped in fright at his sudden exclamation, and hot coffee slopped on to my bare leg.

“What’s up with you?” demanded Ed.

“Flaming hot coffee!” I retorted, scrubbing at my leg. “Can’t you keep calm?”

“Sorry, Luke, but I’ve just seen the perfect guy to have at your eighteenth birthday bash.”

“Where?” I asked, looking round as if he might materialise from thin air in Ed’s bedroom.

“Not here, you ass! In this magazine. It’s an advert.”

“Let me see then.”

I reached for the magazine, but Ed yanked it back out of my reach, shaking his head and telling me, “Uh-uh! Keep your paws off. It’s to be a surprise.”

“Is it a male stripper?” I enquired eagerly.

“Never you mind.”

I leapt on Ed and struggled to get a hold of the magazine, and soon we were rolling around on the carpet in an exciting fight, first one of us, then the other achieving dominance. Eventually Ed got me pinned on my front while he sat astride my waist and held one arm twisted hard, up between my shoulders.

“Give in?”

“Fuck off!”

I felt him moving and then half turning, his left hand keeping a firm hold of my wrist. Next moment he slammed one of his trainers hard into my right buttock and as I let out a squeal of pain, he delivered a similar stroke to the other side.

“You hit me with that again and I’ll………”

The trainer fell hard and fast, alternating buttocks, and I broke off, gasping and yelping in pain.

“You bastard! That’s bloody sore! Ed! Stop it! Please!”

He delivered another dozen, aiming mercilessly at my lower rump so that part of the sole of his shoe got the bare skin below the hem of my shorts and made me yowl even more furiously.

“Give in now?”

I could see that he had his trainer raised high. I capitulated.

He stood up and I rolled over and also stood, rubbing at my outraged bottom.

“That was fucking sore!” I objected resentfully.

“But you liked it,” observed Ed trenchantly, nodding at the considerable bulge in the front of my shorts.

“That’s from having a sexy bugger like you sitting on me,” I replied.

“Balls!” returned Ed. “You got spanked and you loved it.”

I was about to argue, but part of me rather suspected that he was right. Painful though it had been, being spanked hard with Ed’s trainer had been surprisingly arousing.

I pulled down my shorts and briefs and looked at my behind in the wardrobe-mirror; and gave a low whistle when I saw that it was dark-red. I turned towards Ed and flicked my towering erection with my thumb.

“Okay,” I said, “whether it was your sexy body or your brutal spanking, this is your doing – so you see to it, Ed!”

Ed came and stood right in front of me and slid a hand into my hair while moving the other round my waist. Pulling me hard against him, so that I could feel his own erection, he kissed me as only Ed could; with a passion and intensity which burst asunder the gates of pleasure and sent me soaring into realms of ineffable delight. Still kissing me, his eager tongue swooping and probing restlessly, he slid his hand from my waist, grasped my penis firmly and began to work it skilfully until I exploded in a powerful series of high-flying spurts.

“That do you?” enquired Ed, withdrawing his mouth from mine and giving my balls a squeeze.

“Oh, yeh!” I panted.

“Good. Now you’re gonna be a good boy and let me organise your surprise without interfering. Okay, Luke?”

He still had his hand on my balls and I was aware of a slight pressure as he looked straight into my eyes.

“Okay,” I agreed.

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My eighteenth birthday had actually been a couple of days earlier, but Ed had decided that the party would be after the exams were over and then I and everyone else could enjoy it without any pressure. It meant that I still had almost a fortnight to wait, but I approved the idea of getting the exams behind us once and for all; and school behind us as well, for that matter. A long summer beckoned before we went up to college in the autumn. In any case, my parents had already allowed me to have a big party on the weekend after my birthday, where family, relations, friends and acquaintances had all been present. The party organised by Ed was to be just for our gay male friends and would be a much smaller affair; but for all that I looked forward to it enthusiastically.

Ed was the fourth boyfriend I’d had since I was fifteen, but the first three had really just been adolescent exploring and hadn’t lasted long. My relationship with Ed was different. It was powerfully physical, naturally, but we also connected on other levels, and could be perfectly content just to be together. One of our favourite ways of studying was for Ed to sit at one end of the sofa with me lying face-down across his lap, my genitals comfortably settled between his legs, my book propped against a cushion. Ed’s book would rest on my bottom and his hand on my waist.

I’d liked Ed from the moment I saw him at the gym. He stood about five foot ten, slim and athletic with a beautifully-proportioned body. Dark eyes gazed confidently from an open face; but his crowning-glory was the mass of tightly-frizzed hair which formed a huge ball around his head. It made him stand out in any crowd; and made me secretly thrilled that this stunning specimen of young manhood was mine.

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

In spite of all my efforts, Ed refused to tell me what the surprise was and he even threatened on a couple of occasions to take his trainer to my behind again if I didn’t stop probing. Curiously, I felt rather disappointed that he didn’t carry out this threat. I did some pondering on the matter but as the exam-pressure increased, I put it to the back of my mind; and once that pressure was over, excitement about the party itself was my dominant feeling.

On the evening of the party, I showered and put on a pair of pale-blue jeans which I had to wriggle into; but they showed off my bottom superbly. I wore a short-sleeved, close-fitting shirt, open at the neck; and of course my trainers. Glancing in the mirror, I decided that I looked pretty sexy and desirable and Ed wouldn’t be disappointed in me. He came past to collect me and we went together to the big basement beneath the detached house of one of our friends, who was lucky enough to have wealthy parents. By the time we arrived, the large room was already well-filled with young guys drinking and chatting and socialising happily with each other. I was swiftly absorbed into the group.

We ate, we drank, we danced, we sang, we flirted; and then Ed called everyone together and proposed a toast to me. He then motioned us all to sit down and I waited expectantly to see what the surprise was to be. He went to the door and exited the room, returning a minute or so later with a young man who was wearing a long, black coat and carrying a large bag. The young man stood a couple of inches under six feet, with a well-proportioned body, and had very short, black hair and an equally-short growth of hair along his upper-lip and round his chin. His skin was dark and his eyes a deep blue. There was a slight air of brutality about him as well as an almost visible sheen of animal sexuality. I was pretty sure that he was going to do a strip-act and gradually reveal a very attractive body for our entertainment.

I was wrong.

Ed turned the music down very low and then the young man slowly unbuttoned his coat and suddenly threw it off with a flourish to reveal that underneath he was attired in a neat suit, over which was a black academic-gown. He sat on a chair which Ed produced and then looked at me.

Come here, boy!” he commanded.

Only too willingly, I got to my feet and went and stood in front of him. He was gorgeous and the trousers of his suit were close-fitting enough to show that he was well-endowed and appeared to be somewhat aroused. Being so close to him, I certainly was, and felt myself going slightly red as I realised that my tight denims made any concealment of my condition impossible. His eyes swept over me appraisingly and he nodded to himself. I was sure that he was stripping me naked in his head.

“Hands behind you!”

His authority was easy and natural and I obeyed without hesitation.

“Your friends felt that the more traditional ways of marking a boy’s eighteenth birthday, such as giving him ‘bumps’, or throwing him in a bath of cold water, were a bit too commonplace; and they thought that someone as unusual and special as you deserved something a little different. That’s why I’m here.”

He paused and reached into his bag again and pulled out a cane. I stared, as from behind me I heard several sharp intakes of breath. He bent the limber rod into a long, smooth arc and then suddenly slashed it down hard so that the air winced. Fuck! muttered a voice from among the watching guys.

“You’re gonna cane me, instead of giving me bumps?” I asked uneasily.

“Eighteen strokes of the cane,” said the young man, flexing the rod menacingly, “but you can save your arse.”

“Oh yeh? How?”

“I’m going to ask you eighteen questions and if you can get at least ten of them right, I won’t cane you.”

“So, if I get ten right, I get nothing?”

“Yes; and if you get fewer than ten right, you get eighteen!”

“And this is supposed to be fun?”

“Course it is,” interjected Ed with a grin. “We’re all having a great time!”

“Right,” said the young man, taking a pad from his bag, “first question: if you get up on to a horse from the left-hand side, where do you get down from?”

“Huh? I dunno. I mean, from the right?” I hazarded.

“Wrong,” said the young man. “The correct answer is ‘a duck’.”

“Eh?”

“You get down from a duck, dumbo,” called a voice from behind me; and I groaned as understanding dawned.

“If you’re heading towards the pub and you meet seven guys with their girlfriends and four guys with their boyfriends and two guys with dogs, how many are heading for the pub?”

“Er….twenty-six,” I answered.

The young guy shook his head.

“Just one,” he said.

“But you said……..”

I stopped as I realised how I’d fallen into the trap.

“Shit!”

The questions continued and, now that I realised what kind of questions they were, I began to do better; but I still had only nine right as he approached the final question.

“Come on, sir; make it a stinker,” called Billy from the back of the room. “I want to see him getting the cane.”

There was a sudden outburst of comments, which appeared to agree with Billy.

“Huh! With mates like you lot, who needs enemies?” I muttered.

“This is the one that decides,” said the young man, showing me his lithe cane. “Get this one right and your bum’s safe; get it wrong and you’ll be bending over for this.”

“Just get on with it!”

“What goes up a chimney down but doesn’t go down a chimney up?”

My brain raced but produced no results. I glanced around at the listening guys, but all the faces seemed to be blank. I tried again, but the question didn’t even appear to make sense. I was aware of a rising tide of comments from the watching boys.

“He doesn’t know!”

“He’s gonna get caned!”

“Eighteen zingers!”

“His arse is mince!”

“Well?” demanded the young man.

I shook my head despairingly: “I don’t know.”

“An umbrella,” he said.

“Aw, fuck!”

The young man stood up and whipped his cane warningly.

“Eighteen strokes, boy,” he announced. “Bend over with your hands on the chair.”

Cheers and jeers from the watching boys greeted the sight of my bottom, snugly encased in my very tight jeans, bent over and presented for the cane. He did one or two practice-strokes behind me, making me flinch as I heard the cane whine; and then I felt the rod tapping my behind as if selecting just where to hit me. A few seconds later the cane cracked across my seat with a sharp sting. I liked it.

“One,” chorused the watching boys eagerly; and I gave my bottom a wiggle to entertain them.

He gave me six like that and the most pain I was experiencing was in my desperately-straining penis as it fought in vain to burst free from my denims. The seventh was noticeably harder and I gasped aloud and clenched my glutes.

“That’s better,” called out Ed. “He felt that one.”

The young man continued to wield the cane until he’d delivered twelve strokes. That second six was harder to take, but I was still fully aroused and was relishing the challenge of the sting.

“Go on; hit him harder,” shouted Liam.

The young man rapped my waiting buttocks a few times and then whipped the lithe cane hard across the lower half, delivering a fierce sting which made me yelp as I squirmed.

“Oh, yeh! That’s got him dancing. Again!”

The young man obliged. He employed similar force with the subsequent few strokes and the boys continued the count to seventeen, while I did a bit of writhing as I processed the burn.

“Last one,” observed the young man.

“Go for it, sir!” yelled a voice enthusiastically. “Hard!”

Several other voices took up the chant and I felt the cane probing my behind once more as the repeated “hard; hard; hard” filled the air. I tensed myself and took a firm grip of the chair. I was still semi-aroused and to my surprise as I readied myself for what I was sure would be a real scorcher, I could feel my resilient cock rising further.

It was a hard one; not only harder than any of the preceding strokes, but delivered on that sensitive area where my lower bottom merged into the top of my legs. I squealed as a vicious blast of fire incised my behind, and clenched my buttocks desperately until the ferocious burn eased.

“Eighteen!” yelled the watching boys.

Ed came forward and pulled me upright and round to face the guys. When he called out, “Hip…hip…” the resultant “hooray” threatened to bring down the ceiling. I bowed theatrically and the cheers increased in volume.

Ed kissed me passionately, which brought still more cheers; and then he stopped and led the assembled party in a rousing and deafening rendition of ‘Happy Birthday to you’ before turning to the young man.

“Thanks mate,” he said. “That was brilliant; better than I ever hoped for. The guys loved it! I think you’ll be back at a few more eighteenths among this lot in the next few months.”

“What about me?” I demanded. “It’s my birthday but I got caned fucking hard.”

“Balls! The only really hard one was the last one; and you took it brilliantly,” the young man informed me.

“It bloody well hurt!”

“He loved it,” asserted Ed confidently. “Look at him! The randy bugger’s nearly splitting his jeans open at the front!”

I felt my face burning as a red tide rose swiftly from my neck to the roots of my hair. Ed grinned.

“Now apologise to Sir for being an obscene young brute; and say thank you politely to him for taking the trouble to cane you so effectively, Luke,” he commanded.

“I’m sorry for my obscene display, sir,” I said dutifully, “and I’m truly grateful that you caned me and gave me a birthday that I’ll never forget.”

I extended my hand and he shook it warmly before turning to pick up his things and put on his coat once again. Ed persuaded him to stay for a drink and some food and he mingled with the other party-goers, doubtless getting himself a few more offers of work at forthcoming birthdays. Later, he approached me and piloted me into a quiet corner.

“Enjoying your birthday?” he asked.

“You bet! It’s been great; and you were the icing on the cake. It’s the last thing I expected and it was just so different.”

“Arse still sore?” he asked, reaching round and giving my buttocks a slow rub, which made violent things happen in the front of my jeans.

“Fuck, yeh; but I’m not complaining,” I panted.

He looked steadily into my eyes for several seconds and then, “no, I didn’t think you were,” he replied.

I spent that night at Ed’s house, and it didn’t matter that he only had a single bed in his room, because you couldn’t have got a sheet of tracing-paper between us until morning.

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

After a shower, I was soon dressed and sat on the window-ledge to wait for Ed to return from his turn in the bathroom. I relived in my head the party of the night before and as I remembered each detail of the caning, my penis swelled swiftly. I gave my buttocks a caress and then paused. It felt as if there was something in the back-pocket of my jeans. I reached in and pulled out a small card, which turned out to be a business-card from the young guy who had played the part of the master the previous evening. What made me stop and then plunge a hand into the front of my denims to rearrange things was what he had scrawled on it: Punishment still due for your obscene display yesterday. Call me to arrange to come to my house for a hard caning. James.

Ed entered the bedroom.

“What are you doing with your hand in your pants, you randy bastard?” he demanded. “I thought I’d milked you dry earlier.”

Wordlessly, I handed him the card and as he read it his eyebrows rose.

“What do you think?” I asked.

“I think it’s gonna take a lot more than one hard caning to cure you of being an obscenely randy bugger,” he opined.

“Bastard! I meant, do you think I should go?”

“Of course you have to go. He’s not asking you; he’s bloody well telling you! Go on; give him a call.”

“Now?”

“Yes, now!”

I pulled out my mobile and called the number.

“Er….hi! It’s Luke; the birthday-boy.”

“Luke! Great to hear from you, boy! Saturday morning at ten o’clock for your caning?”

“Er, well, I…….”

“Great. 23, Bigcox Rise. See you then. Bye!”

“But I….The bastard’s rung off!”

“What did he say?” asked Ed; and I told him.

“Great. Best write the address down in case you forget. He’d probably give you an extra six if you needed to call him to say you were lost.”

“But I don’t know if I want to be caned!”

“Who the fuck cares? You’re a randy bugger and you need a good beating to teach you not to be obscene in public. It doesn’t matter if you want it or not. You’re getting it!”

“It’s all very well for you! Your arse isn’t in the firing-line,” I objected.

“It’s okay. I’ll come with you.”

“How’s that gonna help?”

“I’ll make sure you don’t chicken out.”

“Gee, thanks for nothing!”

“And if he turns out to be an axe-murderer, I’ll be there to call the police.”

“That’s a big comfort,” I retorted sarcastically.

“Anyway, I don’t think he is. There were some guys to email for references when I contacted him, and they told me he was very reliable and good value. And he was. Worth every penny.”

“Oh good! I’m so glad that seeing me getting my bum caned was worth paying for.”

“It was! You got an arse to die for; and you looked absolutely unbelievable when you were getting thrashed. All the guys envied me like crazy, because you were mine,” said Ed complacently.

“Heartless brute!”

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

Ed and I stood on the doorstep of James’ house at ten o’clock on Saturday morning and he opened the door to us himself.

“Just came along to make sure Luke was here on time,” said Ed with a broad smile. “The sexy bugger can’t wait to get his bare arse caned.”

“I never said that!” I objected fiercely.

“Don’t listen to him,” advised Ed. “I know what he wants and I think that you do too. He’s a bit mixed up himself, but just be firm with him, beat him good and hard, and he’ll love it.”

“Would you stop interf………”

“Thanks, Ed,” said James. “Could you come back for him in an hour? In you come, Luke.”

Ed nodded and walked off down the path and James closed the door behind me.

“No way did I ever say that I’d love to be caned,” I began.

James laid a hand across my mouth and, “Sssh! I’m in charge here. You just hold your tongue and do as you’re told.”

This display of mastery brought my cock up to full length and James noticed.

“You really do want it, don’t you?” he said. “Well, don’t worry; you’re gonna get it.”

I followed him into a small room with a desk and a couple of chairs and little else. He opened a wall-cupboard, took out a cane, and arched it before my eyes.

“Know what I’m going to do with this, Luke?”

“Beat me?”

“Spot on! Strip!”

“What?”

“Everything off, Luke.”

“But you can’t……..”

“Longer I have to wait, the harder I beat you, Luke.”

I stared at him, but he just continued to arch the lithe cane menacingly and to look straight into my face. I submitted to his authority and stripped naked, making no attempt to conceal my throbbing erection. If he wanted to see me in all my aroused young manhood, then see me he would. He gave an appreciative whistle.

“Very impressive, Luke. You’ve certainly shown that you can get it up; now let’s see if I can get it to go down. Bend over that chair, hands on the sides, head touching the seat, knees locked, feet wide apart.”

I complied and he complimented me on my obedience.

“Stay in position until I tell you that you can move,” he instructed.

“I’m not promising I can do that,” I said.

“Luke, listen to me, boy! I’m not asking you to do anything. I’m telling you. And I’m not wanting a promise that you’ll do as I tell you; I’m simply expecting you to obey.”

“But……”

“And if you don’t obey me, Luke, I’ll have to punish you; and you won’t like that. Do you understand me, boy?”

His dominance made my pulsating organ strain for a few extra millimetres of length and I gasped, yes, sir. The cane rapped my behind and I tensed in readiness. A few seconds later he hit me hard. The limber rod lashed across the centre of my globes, incising a blazing line of fiery heat which made me buck and utter a barely-stifled yelp.

“Your head came up and your knees didn’t stay locked,” observed James. “You’re getting that one again.”

“How the hell can I………oooow!”

The cane whipped me viciously hard low on my buttocks and I writhed with the searing pain.

“No,” said James. “Head, knees and this time your right foot moved as well. First stroke coming again.”

I swore furiously at him under my breath and got a grip on my body only just in time before his cane lacerated my rump with a third merciless stroke. With grim determination, I kept my head down, both feet steady and my knees locked.

“Good; you’re learning to be obedient. Second stroke coming up.”

My penis, which had gone into temporary retreat, roared back into life and I stiffened my will in response. Yes, this was going to hurt like hell, but I was going to take it; and if he wanted my hands still, my feet still, my head down and my knees locked, then that’s what he’d bloody well get!

For the next three strokes, I duly delivered. James ran his hand over my throbbing rear and then slid it through between my legs from behind and grasped my fully-hard penis. He moved his hand up my shaft and I thought that I was going to cum. For a moment he stopped and then passed his palm across my glans. I felt that I was on the brink. He withdrew his hand and held it before my face.

“Lick,” he instructed and I obediently licked his palm.

“What did you taste?”

“My pre-cum.”

“Did I say that you could cum?”

“I didn’t cum!”

“Answer the question, boy!”

“No, sir.”

“Right; and if you do, I’ll go right back to the beginning. Do you hear me, boy?”

“Yes, sir.”

The cane slid over my buttocks repeatedly and I readied myself; and then he held it, just touching my skin for several interminable seconds before hitting me very hard. I yelped but I held position, grimly fighting the urge to move while the searing burn rose to its apogee and then gradually eased.

“Last one; unless you break position, or cum. Are you going to break position, boy?”

“No, sir.”

“Are you going to cum, boy?”

“No, sir.”

He held the cane against my behind again for what felt like an eternity and then suddenly drove it hard and accurately into the tender flesh at the very base of my globes. Pain like a serrated knife being ripped through my flesh exploded ferociously and I felt scalding tears sliding down my face as I fought desperately to stay in position. There was no danger of cumming, as my cock had retreated to half-length; and I succeeded in complying with the order to remain still. I was panting, a sheen of sweat on my body, a tremor in my behind and legs; but I’d taken it.

“Get up!”

I obeyed slowly, flinching as even the action of straightening my body caused spasms of fresh pain in my buttocks. I closed my eyes and pressed my hands very carefully to my bottom, feeling the raised welts on the flesh, wondering at the heat from the thrashed skin; and slowly but steadily, I felt my penis rise. Within a short time I was at full arousal. I opened my eyes and looked at James. He smiled at me.

“Happy?” he enquired.

I hesitated and then admitted shyly, “That was the most hellishly painful thing I’ve ever felt in my life, and although it maybe sounds crazy, it was also the most exciting thing I’ve ever experienced. Yes, I am happy. In fact I feel fantastic. I honestly do!”

“You’ll be back for more?”

“I can’t believe I’m gonna say this, but yeh, I’ll be back for more. I don’t know why; but I just feel that I need it.”

James sat down and I stood in front of him as he quizzed me about my life and my plans and about Ed. He didn’t ask me to sit down, possibly because he knew that I’d decline the invitation! When the bell rang indicating Ed’s return, I was still hard as a rock and savouring the pulsing glow in my behind. Ed whistled when he saw my beaten rump and then, without being invited, sat on a chair and told me to bend over his lap. I obeyed at once and he stroked, caressed and tenderly smoothed my cane-weals with his finger-pads and his palms before reaching beneath me with one hand and working confidently at my still-straining cock. I gasped as I felt myself swiftly approaching orgasm and a few seconds later my balls pumped out a powerful series of spurts of my boy-cream while I moaned my delight at the long-delayed release.

“You think he’ll be wanting more in future?” asked Ed.

“He’s already told me he does,” replied James.

“That’s good. I’ll make sure he comes when he needs to. How often do you think?”

“To start with once a fortnight, but maybe increasing to once a week, depending how he’s doing. I’ll let you know.”

“Hey! Don’t I get a say in……..” I began.

“No!” said James and Ed simultaneously.

I fell silent and found that I felt no resentment. My arse was already Ed’s, so maybe it was right that it should also, with Ed’s agreement, be James’ too from time to time.

“I think he’s enjoyed his birthday,” remarked Ed, “and the great thing about having you at his party is that he got a present that just keeps on giving. He’s very grateful.”

I said nothing, since I had no argument with what Ed had just asserted. I relaxed, face-down across his knees, savouring the gentle caress of his right hand on my beaten rump; and the light but infinitely erotic pressure of his other hand where it rested at my waist.

Yes, I told myself happily, it’s the best birthday I could ever have wished for.

______________

D I S C L A I M E R

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

__________________

Story ©MMXXI by Joelstrap, used here by very kind permission.  Please leave a comment here or 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

The House Sitter Is Reluctant To Sit Down (M/M) NEW!

♥ Site recommended story ♥

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

 

The House Sitter Is Reluctant To Sit Down by sukemnsee.

Like most people, I do not realise when I am onto a good thing until I am brought to earth with a jolt!  I secured a useful arrangement some years back where I would house sit for a friend who spends most of the year abroad in sunnier climes. This considerably reduces my living costs and I have a pleasant bedroom of my own as part of the arrangement.

The trouble is I am innately untidy whereas my friend is obsessively spartan and abhors clutter. He knows of some of my proclivities, but not all. Often he acts as my conscience. He also very possessive of his own space when we are both in residence. The one thing I do get away with generally is keeping the kitchen well-stocked as he is less inclined to cook for himself and I increasingly rely on tasty home-cooked food which I readily share.

I should not have been lax about the return date. I knew it was early in the month but did not endorse the calendar. I expected a reminder a few days before and then I would see if it was to my convenience to meet him and assist after long flight or just to have a comforting meal awaiting on return. I had no prior warning.

I got home late evening and was struggling to feel the door unlock until I realised it was not locked. How foolish could I have been to not have locked it securely? I shut it firmly behind me. Then I saw the suitcase in the hall and on looking into his room saw he was fast asleep. Oh no! I had not been ready. I went to bed quietly.

The next evening when I got home I could hardly see my double bed as there was so much stuff piled on; from the recent washing left on the airer to my many plants, seedlings, kitchen ingredients and multiple gadgets and appliances that had been steadily encroaching on all kitchen worktop space, books, magazines, shoes, bags, in short a veritable mountain of my stuff that I had conveniently spread out in his absence. I dreaded the forthcoming encounter as I knew he would be irate.

The kitchen looked bare and I saw he was finishing a ready meal from the local convenience store. This was not good at all!  Why was he was reluctant to eat my food? I wasn’t late home, but I prepared my own meal and the following day lunch, in silence. Ominous silence. Waiting for the storm to break. I made tea, received with a grunt. Oh well, I thought, better get started in my room trying to get some of the detritus in rightful places. I was halted as I made for my room.

The lecture was long and repetitive and not unexpected. I had, among other things, abused his hospitality. He said that I was fortunate to be in the situation I was in (despite the fact I recognised with advancing years I would end up with more care responsibilities). He suggested that I should be thrown out, given hours to quit and arrange a new place or storage for items. I did try to listen and give appropriate responses at key moments. In reality I did feel bad for my errors, particularly for not arranging some sort of escort from airport. Then we entered reality with a jolt. I had been summoned to bend over the arm of the sofa for the first of many punishments. I was taken aback as this was unexpected, even if he was obviously riled. I was told I was as irresponsible as a teenager and should be treated as such.  Meanwhile he had extracted his old large worn leather belt from his jeans. The belting I was to receive would remind me to behave better for all time. There would be no alternative, my way or highway etc. I had also better hope that none of his friends would have a cane available to borrow, or a later day in the week might be incredibly painful indeed.

This was a dilemma as I had never thought he would adopt this approach. Surely he did not know that being punished was a favourite role play I indulged in? Indeed, it was one of my special interests, and often connected to sexual arousal. Did I want him to know that? I suddenly found this hard to process. This would not be the same as things I indulged in, though.  I knew this person in a different way and he obviously did not know me as well as he had thought.   Could I react in the right way, being abject and apologetic without betraying any excitement?

I considered all of this over the course of a few seconds as I obeyed and bent over the arm of the sofa. He laid it on. The first couple of swipes of the belt were a little clumsy but he adapted very quickly. I felt the next few in ways I had never done before when at play, even when I was angling for severe treatment. Each one of these hurt my bottom and my pride. I think he stopped after twelve. He was tired and I was in real pain and shame. I got up when allowed and fled to my room with the words echoing that there would be more the next day and everyday until he thought I had learned a suitable lesson!  I cried myself out in my room. I did not get any satisfaction from feeling my naked bottom once undressed. I was remorseful.

The next day when I returned home I was told as soon as I had made a cup of tea for both of us that it was time for the second day’s punishment. I dreaded this. I did as I was told though, and this time undid my trousers so I was bending over in my white underpants. It was another twelve.  I felt these incredibly painfully as there was still tenderness from the day before and without the layer of trousers each blow was far more fierce than the day before. I was crying out towards the end but felt unable to walk away from what I was due. He seemed satisfied though and I sensed that the overall atmosphere was improved. I went off to skulk in my room, face down and naked, knowing I had a reprieve the next day but that I should “look forward” to a final lesson the day after.

And that day came all too quickly. As I half expected, I was bent over the arm with a bare bottom. I so hated this. For sure there had been odd moments of nudity in the house over the years, but for him to be staring at me like this was weird. Why was it I could adopt this position for a relative stranger or regular playmate at certain play venues but I could not stomach this from my friend? Also, I just hated the idea that he might at this time discover I could be sexually charged up by punishment.  Suddenly, he produced a cane, which he had borrowed from a friend.  He informed me that he had been practising on a large cushion for hours. I would only get six, but he told me that I would remember these anytime I was tempted to misbehave, like I had before his return.

I gritted my teeth as I heard the familiar sound of a cane through air.  Then I felt the first impact. He must have practiced long and hard as this was a well-laid stroke that produced an instant line of fire.  I gasped. The second and third were not long coming, and were just as firmly applied. I wanted to scream to relieve that surge of pain, and the next two strokes almost had me snivelling.  Each one was well-applied.  The cane moved fast.  I heard it, I felt its contact and then I could feel the pain. I may even have drummed my feet a little. My reactions were as if I had taken a much longer caning, one that I might have enjoyed in other circumstances.  At least there was nothing sexual for him to notice. Well, perhaps if he had really focused he may have noticed that my small testicles got tighter. I waited hoping desperately that the next stroke would be the last one.  He was old enough to think in terms of the traditional six of the best, I hoped.  It was indeed the last stroke, but what a stroke it was! It seemed to be lifting me and it did catch my lower bottom just at that painful part I would feel when standing. It was agonisingly sore and when he said for me to get up, I blurted that I was sorry and ran to my room.

I laid on my bed for an hour, feeling the pain, tracing the ridges of the red lines I could see in the mirror. There was no afterglow sensation of enjoyment or endorphins racing, no erection to deal with. Just a sense of shame and feeling chastised. Miserable!

Over the next weeks until his departure the atmosphere improved and I did not get into further trouble.  I took far more notice of the date of his next expected return. I did wonder whether to warn my overseas housemate of what had happened to me.  It crossed my mind that there was always the possibility of a repeat discipline session, and my housemate was not habitually tidy either. I did not mention it in the end, as it would reveal things I did not want him to know about.  I did consider pumping him for information at a future time, in case something similar had happened before.

I also went for my usual indulgences once the coast was clear and I could once again endure a decent session with plenty of gratification. I just knew that I had to behave in future or face a miserable reluctance to sit down again.

_________

D I S C L A I M E R

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

____________

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

Comments welcome.  Comments are here, or use the link at top of the story.

Taking A Leap (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!

Taking A Leap by Joelstrap

Puddles! There were puddles everywhere; large puddles and small puddles, deep puddles and shallow puddles. The incessant rain had stopped, but the skies were still overcast, as Struan and I walked hand-in-hand along the road just beyond the edge of town. Behind us North Berwick lay quiet under the gloom of a February afternoon, and beyond it the Firth of Forth was a sullen slate-grey. Ahead was the path which climbed North Berwick Law, a solid volcanic-plug with the Whalebone Arch crowning its summit. We reached the car-park at the start of the ascent. A couple of cars sat there and a number of people were making their way up the hill in front of us.

“Lot of oldies,” observed Struan as we began to climb, catching up an elderly couple with a dog and overtaking them.

“Wonder what it feels like to be old,” I mused.

“Who’s caring?” replied Struan. “We’re young and we can get to the top while this lot are still getting their breath back from the effort of putting on their boots.”

I laughed and squeezed his hand, snatching a quick kiss as I did so.

“Bet that makes the old fogeys behind us furious,” said Struan.

“Because they wouldn’t approve of two boys kissing?”

“Naw!” retorted Struan. “Because they’d be jealous that neither of them was getting kissed by a spunky boy like you.”

I stumbled as my penis leapt swiftly upward, and Struan steadied me.

“Horny bugger, aren’t you?” he said.

“You should know!”

We grinned at each other and continued the ascent.

As we walked, I recalled our session of lovemaking in Struan’s bedroom earlier that morning; and also the conversation which had followed as we lay entwined naked in each other’s arms in post-orgasmic content.

“Oh, boy! That was brilliant,” I breathed as I caressed Struan’s bottom with one hand and stroked his cheek with the other.

“Yeh! So, what we gonna do with the rest of the day, Greg? It’s 29th February after all, so we should do something special.”

“We just did.”

“I mean something we don’t normally do, something new, different; because today’s kind of like an extra. It’s Leap Year’s Day so we need to take a leap and push the boat out.”

“I think we’d just get hell of a wet if we did that,” I said tartly.

Struan’s hand slapped my behind sharply.

I squirmed happily against him and asked what he thought we should do. He considered for a minute or two.

“You ever walked up North Berwick Law?” he asked.

I shook my head.

“I’ve lived here for four years and you’ve been here almost as long, and we’ve never done it. Why not?”

I shrugged. “I guess because it’s just there and we could do it any day.”

“But we haven’t. What about you? Anything you really want to do that we should do because it’s a bonus day?”

I thought for a few minutes while I ran my hand through Struan’s thick hair.

“Remember the film of Oliver Twist that were watching last night? And young Oliver kept getting caned?”

“Yeh; so?”

“You ever wondered what it feels like to be caned?”

“Mmm. I did think last night, when I saw the way Oliver squirmed, that a cane must hurt a bit; and I was kinda glad they don’t use it in school any more.”

“He was acting as a kid though, so I guess it would hurt a boy his age more than a teenager.”

“Probably. So, are you suggesting you want to be caned, Greg, just to find out how it feels?”

“It’d definitely be something different, something special to do on our extra day,” I said.

“Agreed; but it’s not gonna happen, is it? I haven’t got a cane, or I’d do it for you,” Struan offered.

“Gee, thanks!”

“And we don’t know anybody with a cane who could do it. Let’s go and climb The Law and you can think about something a bit more practical that we could do as your Leap Year thing.”

I agreed and we fell to kissing softly and intimately.


There were some boggy bits and the path got steeper as it curved round the hillside and then made for the top. We had overtaken several walkers, and on the last stretch strode past a couple of guys with walking sticks, one who looked about eighty and the other about a hundred.

“Hope there’s a cemetery on the summit,” Struan remarked, “’cos that old buffer looks as if his legs will never make it back down.”

“But there’s nothing wrong with my hearing,” said a voice behind us, making us jump.

“Shit!” muttered Struan. “The bugger must’ve heard me.”

He speeded up and perforce I did too, so that we arrived panting a little on the hill-top. Below us East Lothian lay like a patchwork-quilt of fertile fields. To the west, Edinburgh spread from the Forth to the Pentlands, while southward the ground rose slowly to the distant Lammermuirs. Below us North Berwick sat comfortably by the firth while a mile or so offshore, the huge bulk of the Bass Rock squatted solidly in the grey waters, surrounded by swooping gannets.

“Volcano,” said Struan.

“What?” I asked, glancing down to look between his legs.

“No, you idiot! This! It’s a volcanic-plug; like the Bass Rock out there.”

“Oh yeh. I thought you meant…”

“You’ve got a one-track mind,” he said severely, “and it’s a dirt-track,” he added.

I rolled my eyes at him and towed him over to the whalebone arch. The original had been put here in 1707 and had been replaced several times until a fibreglass one was erected in 2005. We walked hand-in-hand under it. The uniform grey of the skies began to break and a few patches of blue appeared, allowing blinks of sunshine to bring some colour to the monochrome landscape. The waters of the Forth began to sparkle and some of the fields of East Lothian shone green with the prospect of spring. For several minutes we stood and drank in the view and then Struan hissed in my ear, “Hey! Here’s the old codger with the sharp hearing, and his pal, coming up. Let’s go down the far side a bit. I don’t really want to meet him. I don’t think he’s gonna like me.”

“Can you blame him?” I asked fairly.

Struan snorted and we made our way across the rough summit and down the far side for some way. We wandered happily, engaged in desultory conversation, for some time, before making our way round the hilltop and back to the path which would take us down to the car-park and the route into town.

“That’s okay,” said Struan, pointing to the path far below us. “That pair of geriatric mountaineers is well ahead.”

“Looks like they might not need an undertaker on the top after all,” I remarked. “That’s you – wrong again.”

“Any more comments like that,” said Struan fiercely, “and you’ll be the one needing an undertaker!”

Bickering amiably, we plunged downward and were soon approaching the car-park. We were dodging small puddles, and then we came across a very large one near where the path ended. It was the puddles, you see, that were the cause of it all.

“Come on,” I said, “it’s Leap Year’s Day! Let’s leap it.”

It was probably because we were still holding hands that we failed to jump as far as we should have done; and ended up landing with a tremendous splash about two thirds of the way across the puddle. It was deeper than I’d expected and a veritable deluge of muddy brown water flew in wide arcs in all directions. There was an almighty bellow of rage and we turned and saw, to our horror, that the two old guys about whom Struan had been so rude, were standing, dripping with dirty water.

“Oh, fuck!” gasped Struan in my ear as we waded out of the puddle and approached the pair.

They didn’t look pleased and I could hardly blame them.

“I’m really sorry,” I began. “We didn’t do it on purpose, honest. We couldn’t jump as far as we thought we could.”

“Maybe we could help dry you off a bit,” offered Struan, pulling a grubby-looking hanky from his pocket.

“No thank you,” said the older of the two, glancing disapprovingly at the hanky as if he feared it might be infected with Bubonic Plague. “If I’d behaved like that when I was your age, I’d have had the skin taken off my behind with my dad’s cane. I’ve still got it, and it’s exactly what young hooligans like you need. Do you good.”

“Er, yes,” said Struan. “Anyway, we’re really sorry.”

As this brought forth nothing but angry glares from both men, we turned and squelched our way towards the road back to town. A thought struck me and I grabbed Struan’s arm tightly.

“Struan! Do you think this could be it? The chance for me to do the unusual thing I want, to mark Leap Year Day?”

“What? Go and ask that old dinosaur to cane us you mean?”

“Why not? He just might. He obviously wants to; and he’s hardly gonna be able to hit that hard at his age, is he?”

“Suppose not. Okay, let’s give it a go; but he’ll probably just tell us to go to hell.”

“So what? At least we’ll have tried.”

We turned and re-entered the car-park where the elderly pair were trying to dry themselves off with hankies which were decidedly cleaner-looking than Struan’s was. The younger of the two was leaning on a fence-post a few metres away as he squeezed water from his trouser-bottoms. The one who looked about a hundred was patting his hair with the hanky and scowled unpleasantly at us as we approached. This was the thing I wanted to do on the extra day, so I felt it was up to me to ask the question.

“Look, we both feel really bad about what we did, and although it wasn’t intentional, we realise it was thoughtless and stupid. You said that you thought we needed a good thrashing and so…well, if that’s what you think we deserve, we’re ready to take it.”

The old boy stared at me for several seconds.

“Are you trying to make fun of me, boy?” he roared suddenly, making us flinch.

“No, sir. Honestly, I’m not,” I pleaded. “I know this is going to sound a bit weird, but I’ll tell you exactly why I’m asking.”

I explained about the Leap Year’s Day idea of doing something unusual, something each of us wanted to do, but never had. I explained about Oliver Twist too, and how the idea had come to me.

“So in a way,” I ended, “it’s not just that we know we probably should be punished for our behaviour, but also that you’d be helping us do the second of our Leap Year Day special things.”

He stood in silence, contemplating us both for some time. I resisted the temptation to say any more. I’d made my case and the verdict was up to him.

“I said you deserved it and I stand by that,” he said at length. “I’m not sure that I could use my cane effectively on tough youngsters like you pair though. Still, maybe Andy could make more impression on your behinds. All right; six of the best for each of you in the traditional way with my senior cane. It will hurt. Go and have quick think about it and tell me if that’s really what you want.”

We walked across to the edge of the car-park.

“You up for it, Struan?”

“Yeh. You’ve done my special thing, coming up here, so I’ll go along with yours. I never thought it’d happen though. A caning! Who’d have believed it?”

“His mate; Andy I think he called him; he doesn’t look too much of a threat either. A bit younger but I should think we can take anything he dishes out.”

We both looked across at the younger of the two old chaps, who was now polishing his mud-bespattered glasses.

“Yup. Right, let’s do it.”

As we walked back across to the old guys, a small car slid into the car-park and came to a halt nearby.

“We’ve agreed that we’ll take the cane,” I said.

“Good. Here’s Andy now,” the ancient man added as the car-door opened and a guy in perhaps his early twenties jumped out.

He was about six feet tall with a lean figure and an open face crowned with a mass of dark curly hair. Leather boots, close-fitting jeans, a plain denim shirt, open at the neck, all helped to reveal rather than conceal his dominant physical presence.

“Hi, granddad,” he said cheerfully. “Hi, Rob,” he added to the other elderly man. “Hope I’m not late to pick you up?”

“Perfect timing,” the old guy assured him.

“Did you fall in a bog?” Andy enquired, taking in the muddy appearance of his granddad and his friend.

“No, we didn’t. This young pair of scallywags will explain.”

Andy turned a questioning face towards us and I glanced uneasily at Struan. He took a deep breath and made a full confession, though saying nothing about the punishment. The old guy, however, insisted that Struan spell it all out himself. I watched as my gorgeous boy flushed with embarrassment as he explained about the caning and why we were up for it.

“Wow!” observed Andy, a broad grin splitting his sexy features. “You two have got guts. That cane’s ferocious. I asked granddad to give me a couple of strokes when I was sixteen, just to feel what it was like. I guess it’s one of these things that guys like to know about,” he said, “so you’re probably not so unusual. But it hurt, I’m telling you. I mean really hurt!”

“I guess it’s meant to,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant while my stomach churned.

“You’ve probably made the old boy’s day,” he said. “He was a teacher, you know, and I think he enjoyed using the cane.”

“I did not,” retorted his granddad. “I used it when necessary to impose firm discipline and it worked. My classes were well-behaved and worked hard.”

“I bet they did,” Struan muttered in my ear.

“Anyway,” the old chap continued, “at eighty-six I doubt if I could get through to young lads like these, so I suggested you might like to do it and they agreed.”

There was a very definite twinkle in his eye as he added, “I’m afraid that I may have given them the impression that my eighty-year old companion here was Andy.”

Andy threw back his head and roared with laughter.

“Shit!” he gasped. “I bet you two got a shock when I appeared and you realised that I was Andy. Granddad’s as sharp as a tack. Nobody gets the better of him.”

“So I see,” I acknowledged ruefully. “Being caned by you is gonna be a hell of a lot tougher than getting it from your granddad or his pal.”

“Thinking of backing out, are you, boys?” enquired the old man.

It had crossed my mind, but I knew it would make us look like abject cowards.

“No,” we both said together; and I was pleased that we had agreed independently.

“Shall we say eight o’clock this evening? I’m assuming that you both live in North Berwick?”

We nodded our assent and he gave us a small neat card with his address printed upon it.

“Don’t be late,” he instructed.

“Will we get extra if we’re late?” asked Struan in an attempt at levity.

“Yes,” said the old man.

Neither of us smiled as we headed for the road.

We trotted towards the town in silence for a time, each holding hard to the other’s hand.

“That sexy young bugger is really gonna beat the shit out of us,” I said eventually.

“Do you think it maybe hurts less when the guy caning you is as hot as hell?” asked Struan.

I was doubtful. “I think when he’s making our arses as hot as hell, we won’t be thinking about how sexy he is. Are you angry with me for getting you into this, Struan?”

“No way! We’re in it together and we’re not cowards. For shit’s sake, we’re eighteen! We’re not snotty kids like Oliver Twist. We can take it; and then you’ll have got your special thing and I’ve had mine.”

A thought struck me.

“We went under the arch of the whalebone on the hilltop; and tonight we’re going under the arch of the cane,” I said.

“Hmm,” replied Struan, “but the whalebone didn’t come crashing down on our backsides. I bet that brute Andy arches the cane to let us see it before he beats us; but then that arch is gonna play merry hell with our bums!”

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

On Struan’s advice, we wore loose-fitting jeans rather than the tight ones we normally favoured, as he thought the cane would hurt less that way. Just on eight o’clock we rang the bell at a neat bungalow and the old guy admitted us and took us into a small study where Andy was already sitting.

“Congratulations,” he said to Andy, and he handed over a ten-pound note. “I foolishly bet young Andy here ten pounds that you wouldn’t turn up,” said the old guy, “but he was confident that you would; and it seems that he was right.”

“But you might wish you hadn’t turned up,” said Andy, “by the time I’ve done with you.”

We flashed each other a strained smile.

“Over to you, Andy,” said the old guy as he took a seat by the wall and Andy stood up.

Tonight he wore black jeans which fitted closely enough to reveal a stunning pair of fully-rounded buns and a massive bulge between his legs. A studded black leather belt girt his waist and over his torso he wore only a tight blue T-shirt which showed off his impressive pectorals and biceps. I felt my penis harden as I looked at him. He opened a cupboard and took out a lithe cane. I’d never seen one before except in films, and it didn’t look too bad. It was quite slender and by holding it in both hands, he was able to bend it easily into a smooth arch. He suddenly released one end and slashed it swiftly through the air with a vicious whine which made us both wince instinctively.

“Think you’ll feel it, boys?” he enquired.

“Yes, sir,” we replied in unison.

We hadn’t decided in advance to address him as sir, but it clearly came naturally to us both in the circumstances.

“Right,” he announced, pointing to me with the tip of the cane. “Name?”

“Greg,” I replied.

“Jeans and pants off, Greg!”

“What? But you can’t give it to me bare!”

“I won’t be bare.”

“I meant that I’d be bare,” I stammered.

“Yes, you will be,” said Andy. “Hurry up!”

“But I…”

“No you don’t. You get your jeans and pants off NOW!”

I threw a hopeless glance at Struan and then obeyed. In spite of my nervousness, my penis bounced free from my pants at almost full erection. I put my clothing on a chair and waited, deliberately keeping my hands at my sides. After all, I was a young guy; I had nothing to be ashamed of; and in a curious kind of way it pleased me that Andy should see that I was a big boy.

“Yes, very impressive,” remarked Andy with a grin, “but I’ll soon get rid of it for you.”

This remark had the perverse effect of making my cock strain for another few millimetres of length.

“Bend over the desk, grasp the far side with your hands and put your feet wide apart.”

I complied with this order and he checked that I was positioned as he wanted me. I waited, feeling my heart pounding against the solid wooden desk, staring straight ahead at a row of books on a shelf. With a start, I realised that one of them was Oliver Twist! My pondering on the likelihood of this happening was interrupted by the tapping of the cane on my rump. It felt light and teasing, as if he was exploring and trying to decide exactly where to hit me. When the stroke came, it took me completely by surprise, lashing powerfully across the centre of my bare bottom and delivering a searing blast of pain which made me gasp aloud and clench my buttocks desperately.

I swiftly adjusted my brain to the new situation. This was no game and it certainly wasn’t easy. The pain-level was far beyond what I’d expected and the writhing of young Oliver in the film the previous evening suddenly appeared to have been under-acting rather than over-acting. I realised that I was holding my breath and, even as I released it, Andy plied the cane a second time, lacerating my flesh with another streak of fiery torment. I tightened my grip on the edge of the desk, rode out the burn, and tried to ready myself for more. I failed miserably. The next stroke whipped viciously into my lower bottom and forced a yelp of agony from me as I felt my body twist in a spasm of savage pain. Furious with myself for losing control and letting him know that he was getting through to me, I gritted my teeth and settled my feet firmly in position. There came the whistle of the punitive rod, the snap as cane and flesh were brought into violent contact, the slash of blazing fire across my behind, and then the half-stifled squeal as the pain-level soared.

I breathed hard, fighting to keep my body in check. I was aware that Andy had managed to get rid of my erection, as he’d promised; but he wasn’t going to break my spirit. I dug deep into reserves of strength and steadied my quivering buttocks. Andy hit them brutally hard. I writhed and I was aware of scalding tears on my face, but there was only one to go and I was going to take it. As the tsunami of pain subsided a little, I gathered my battered resources and prepared for number six, forcing myself to breathe deeply, consciously stilling the quiver in my buttocks. The cane bit deep into the sensitive flesh where bottom merges into upper legs and I felt my body buck violently as a white-hot blade of fiery heat seemed to scythe its way to the very heart of my being. My head came up and I yelled my pain to the unresponsive wall.

When he told me to stand up, I did so with a sense of weariness, as if I’d run a marathon. There was a sense of achievement too that I’d got through it. I felt behind me and explored carefully the raised welts on my bottom, so sensitive that even the light touch of my finger-pads made me wince.

“Over there,” ordered Andy coldly and I took up my place by the wall as he summoned Struan to bare his behind and bend over the desk.

I knew Struan’s bottom intimately and the sight of it bared and vulnerable to that brutal cane gave my penis an unexpected boost. Now I could see and admire Andy’s prowess with the cane. He made full use of his muscle-power and also twisted his lithe body round so as to get maximum force behind each stroke. He looked superb as he wielded the cane and I found myself watching him more than I was watching Struan; until the rod hit home and I saw the line of white across my boy’s buttocks, which quickly became a raised welt and turned an angry red. Struan was silent but I could see the high tension in his body as he waited.

The cane lashed him again and although he bucked, he remained silent. Andy flexed the cane a few times and then took aim and delivered a stroke which broke Struan’s silence, forcing a strangled squeak from him. My penis was rock-hard, reaching for the ceiling as Andy lined up the fourth stroke. Whether by accident or design, it landed almost exactly on top of the previous one and extracted a yelp of outraged agony from Struan as he writhed on the desk-top. Andy waited until he had stilled himself and then gave him the penultimate cut. Struan bucked and his gluteal-muscles clenched and unclenched as he fought the burn, but no sound escaped him. I held my breath as Andy prepared to mete out the last stroke. I knew where it was going and Struan, having seen what I’d been given, must have known too. His whole body was rigid with tension, but his bottom had been pushed firmly up. Andy drove his cane ferociously hard into Struan’s crease and a roar like that of an angry lion came from his throat as his body squirmed. Pre-cum was oozing from my straining penis as I watched Struan calm himself and regain control of his body. He stood upright slowly on Andy’s command and moved his splayed hands carefully over his beaten rump.

“That,” he said to Andy, “was hell-of-a sore!”

Andy smiled at him.

“Got through to you, did I? That’s what I was aiming for.”

“You got a bullseye,” said Struan ruefully.

“Me too,” I concurred. “I never expected it to hurt as much as that.”

“But you seemed to enjoy watching your mate get it,” remarked Andy, nodding at my rampant organ.

“Sorry, Struan,” I said. “It just happened.”

“You don’t need to apologise to him,” interrupted Andy. “You should have seen his boner while I was caning you!”

“Er, yeh, I’m afraid so,” Struan admitted shamefacedly. “I couldn’t help it.”

“More importantly,” said the old guy, rising from his seat and coming forward, “what have you learned from being caned?”

“Not to behave thoughtlessly and inconsiderately,” I replied at once.

“And to be respectful of older guys, sir,” added Struan very politely.

“Job done, I’d say,” observed the old guy. “But you also wanted to find out what a caning felt like as your Leap Year Day new experience; so what did you think?”

“Like I said, it hurt a lot more than I expected,” I replied, “but the challenge was kind of exciting too in a way. I almost felt as if I was fighting you,” I said to Andy, “determined not to let you break me; and that you were fighting back, trying as hard as you could to force as much reaction as possible out of me; and you succeeded with that last stroke. It was a screamer!”

“It was tough taking it after I’d watched what the cane did to Greg,” admitted Struan, “but I was determined not to make any sound if I could help it. I know I wasn’t very successful because I only managed the first two in silence before you broke me. I kept the sound in for the fifth one, but it definitely all came out at the sixth.”

“Are you glad that the cane wasn’t in use when you were at school?” the old guy asked. “I should say that it wasn’t normally used on a boy’s bare bottom and not usually as hard as Andy used it; but he was caning young men of eighteen, not schoolkids.”

“I think,” I said slowly, “that I’d rather have had the cane than detentions or lines; and I think it would have had a stronger effect in keeping me working hard and behaving myself,” I admitted.

“Same here,” added Struan. “I’d have been making serious efforts to avoid it, so I guess I’d have been better behaved.”

“Okay, lads, get your clothes back on and then you’re free to go. It’s been a pleasure to see my old cane back in action and to see a couple of well-chastised boys who have learnt their lesson.”

Andy saw us to the door and asked a bit more about our Leap Year doings. I explained about climbing North Berwick Law and going under the whalebone arch.

“I never thought I’d get my special thing and go under the cane’s arch though,” I said. “But then it happened out of the blue with that bloody puddle! It’s Leap Year, so we decided to leap it; and failed. Then when your granddad talked about caning us, it seemed like it was meant to be. We decided to leap at the chance, you might say. Your granddad’s a cunning old devil though. We thought that Andy was his old pal and we looked at him and decided that he wouldn’t be able to hit us that hard. We did remember to look before you leap; but the clever old bugger misdirected our looking; and by the time we looked the right way and saw you, we’d already jumped!”

“Will you be going back up The Law?” asked Andy.

“Yeh,” replied Struan. “Definitely. It’s a great little climb and brilliant views. I’d like to go up on a summer day and watch the sunrise from the top.”

“If,” said Andy, “you ever feel that you’d like another session under the cane too, here’s my mobile-number. Just give me a buzz. I’d be delighted to oblige.”

He shook hands with us both and we made off out on to the street.

“How’s your arse?” asked Struan.

“Hurts like the devil. It’s fantastic.”

“Me too. I’m horny as hell and I can’t wait to get into your pants.”

“So why are we walking? Let’s run!”

We ran, and arrived panting at Struan’s home, where we lost no time in indulging in a long session of uninhibited and gloriously thrilling sex.

“Wow!” I gasped. “Just wowsity, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow!”

“You still got Andy’s mobile-number?”

I nodded.

“That’s good. I think we’re gonna need it!”

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Story ©MMXX 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 here, or 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

Mr Jones (M/M) NEW!

 

♥ Site recommended story ♥

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

Mr Jones by David Stewart

David was 42 years of age and out of work due to redundancy. He was single and had some savings but was desperate to get any sort of work.  He had signed on, and on the way home he treated himself to a coffee in his favourite cafe and was on his tablet when Mr Jones arrived.

“Hello David, long time no see!  May I join you?”

David was glad of the company of this older family friend.  He had always looked upon him as an uncle, even though they were not related.

“Yes, must be three months or more since we last met…think it was in Waitrose, was it not?”

David answered with a smile and said, “Oh and yes, I never called you did I?”

They both smiled and chat centred on the present and the unemployment issue.

“Yes I was fortunate, but being a teacher I suppose one expects to always be needed, but the young people of today have it hard. Have you had any luck searching?”

David explained how many applications and how few responses he’d had.  There had been no interviews.  He added how he would even take a cleaning job if offered one.  That was where he was at.

“Tell you what I can do, assuming you are happy to do so, I need someone a few hours a week, a general handyman as I have an old house and big garden. I could give you £9 an hour and say 10 hrs work a week…what do you think?”

“Look, that’s very kind but you don’t need to do that.”

“Nonsense!  I have just placed an advert in my local shop so I am seriously looking.  And it’s cash in hand.”

They agreed to it and Mr Jones added, “However David, I expect the same approach as if we did not know each other, and you will be on time and work hard.”

David assured him there would be no issues and agreed to start the following day at 9am.

David turned up just before 9 and Mr Jones let him in and directed him to the first work in hand, which was grass cutting and weeding.  David worked hard.  The satisfactory arrangement carried on for some months, then came the winter.  David started doing interior work, painting and general cleaning.

Over coffee he asked one day, “Mr Jones, the room right at the back, which is locked, may I ask what is inside?”

Mr Jones smiled and said, “Ah that is my, how shall we describe it, reminiscence of a past age and collection of memorabilia.“

“Of when you were a school teacher?”

After being assured it was, David asked, “May I see inside please?”

Mr Jones thought and said, “You can, but I keep my memorabilia private as some might think me odd for keeping a room like that.”

David was intrigued and after coffee followed Mr Jones up the stairs.  The door was opened and inside was a schoolroom with 4 desks and chairs, two by two and a larger raised desk and chair with a blackboard over almost half the wall.

“Wow, how realistic,” whistled David, much to Mr Jones’s appreciation.

“Thank you, feel free to look around.”

David walked round, opened the desks and looked inside at the jotters, books, pencils, erasers and pencil sharpeners.  He then headed to the teacher’s desk, upon which was the “Punishment Book.”  He opened it and started to read through the punishments within.  All had a date and the pupil’s name along with a reason and then what the punishment was, which varied between 2 and 6 of the cane. The canes were either junior or senior in description.

Moving through the book, he came to a date on the last page which said 23rd October 1983 – Charles Baxter – Lateness of lines and illegibility when delivered – 12 senior cane and 12 tawse.  David was taken aback as this was only four days ago!  He acted as if he had not noticed, but Mr Jones knew he had.

It was then David moved over to the cupboard.  Within it were some jotters and pencils, and also on the right hand side there were several canes and several tawses, all hanging from hooks.

David blushed not only at what was there but also the fact his cock was pressing hard against his zip.

Mr Jones said “Feel free David, to take out anything you fancy.”

David felt the urge to take one of the canes out and swish it through the air a few times and then took a tawse out and examined the three thick heavy tails.

His mouth was dry and he returned these and closed the cupboard. “Impressive collection and some school room, Mr Jones.”

“Thank you and have you anything you want to ask me about what you have seen?”

“Well…You appear to have made an entry a few days ago in the punishment book . Is that correct?”

“Let’s just say that I have friends who like to revert to their schooldays and in general if you come in to this room you leave with a sore bum and hands.“

“Hands, Mr Jones?”

“Oh the tawse was used in Scotland and it was usually given on the hands, one palm on top of the other, like this.  That way you could be sure they really felt the pain.”

“My, Mr Jones…I suppose I am the lucky one, having got to see the room and then leave in one piece?”

“If you choose to, yes.”

They locked up and had another coffee and David steered the conversation back to the school room and the recent punishment book entry.

“So can I ask please, I am not making judgements, but are you saying you cane and tawse other men upstairs and they willingly come here for that?”

Mr Jones went to a drawer and pulled out a magazine.  He flicked to the back of the may and pointed out an advert –  “Experienced Sir will cane and tawse and tutor errant boys and girls in his country school room.”

David smiled, “And do you get many responses?”

“It would surprise you, yes, and they pay for it.  I earn a fair bit of extra income at £30 a visit.”

There was a pause and Mr Jones asked David if he had ever been caned at school.

David replied that he had, several times but he added he had never been tawsed.

“Would you like to be…today?”

David was flustered.  Mr Jones said with confidence, “I saw the reaction down below so know it excited you and if I give you a taste then our secret is safe, as is my one.”

David knew he was blushing and almost capitulated by asking, “So what would you give me?”

Mr Jones smiled knowing he had won and said, “I would give your arse a good six of the best but before that I’d tawse your hands…six of the best…look David, we both know you want this…don’t we?…and it’s nothing to be ashamed of and if you want to forget about the entire room and conversation, I know I can trust you not to tell anyone.”

Fighting back his excitement David said, “I think it best, for us both, if we go back to your room Sir, and that way neither of us can say anything to anyone.”

“Good, so you are saying you want me to cane and tawse you?”

Looking and feeling awkward David replied, “Yes please, Sir.”

“OK, give me a few minutes then come up, knock on the door and wait to be invited in.“

David gave him 10 minutes then walked to the top far end of the house and as he knocked the door, feeling so nervous, he noticed it now said “Head Teacher” on the door.

“Enter!”

Upon entering he saw in front of him not Mr Jones but “Sir” dressed in his school gown and looking every part an authoritative teacher from David’s schooldays.

“So boy, you are here for a tawsing and caning!  When I get the tawse, you will raise both hands, put one on top of the other and take the stroke. Without being told you will then change hands and raise again. You will not pull away and you will not take long between strokes.  Now, hands up!”

David raised his hands and watched as Sir drew a long dark brown tawse from within his gown. It had three tails and it looked fierce.

Sir judged the distance and height of the hands, and drew back the tawse over his right shoulder and brought it down with a resounding WHAP as it landed on David’s outstretched palm, causing an intake of breath and the reaction of most to the tawse as he rubbed his hand furiously between his legs.  He waited, then raised and changed hands and took the second agonising stroke which was just as sore.  Sir looked impassively at him, and resumed play with another resounding WHAP as the leather did its work.  David had never endured such pain to his hands, but still raised for the fourth, after which the remaining strokes felt less painful as his hands had numbed somewhat.

Sir smiled and said, “Taken well, boy. Now let us see how the cane feels.”

He went to the cupboard and drew a slender crook handled cane out.  He whipped it about, which only made David more nervous, and his erection had long gone.

“Right, you will now undo your trousers and pull them down and then bend over that desk.  You will hold tight and if you jump up, reach behind or otherwise fail to impress, you will get that stroke again and another stroke will be added. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir.”

At least David had some idea what was to follow as he had been caned at school, but he was still dreading it. He undid his trousers, lowered them and bent over the desk.  He seemed shocked when Sir hooked his thumbs into David’s boxers, whipped them down so that a bared bottom was on display.  Sir stood back admiring the bared buttocks awaiting chastisement and then raised the cane high and whipped it down across the centre of his victim’s cheeks.  A pleasing scream followed.  The second stroke was below the first, and then the third landed above.  David was desperately holding the end of the desk and when the fourth made impact he gasped and only just managed to stay bent over.  The remaining two strokes were no less painful, but at least it was over.  Mr Jones then told him to stand and embarrassed him by forbidding him to pull up his trousers and pants.

Sir quizzed, “Was the tawse painful?” He asked about the caning too, but this line of questioning caused David to show his appreciation, excitement and embarrassment as his cock sprung to attention. 

Sir smiled, “A natural reaction for many who enjoy the school discipline scenario, which you obviously must have done.  Well, did you?”

David feeling nervous and embarrassed could not deny it and said, “I think it was good, thank you Sir.  , I have read about such things but never experienced a caning since school, I’d never had the tawse.”

“But when reading, I bet you wank off thinking of the teacher caning you?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And what about the teacher that has just caned you?  Do you ever fantasise about what he would do to you or make you do for him?”

“Sir…Sir this is so embarrassing for me to tell you…but…but…well in some of the stories I read the teacher will make the you suck him or he will wank you or…or well sometimes the teacher wants to bend you over and sort of, well, satisfy himself that way.”

Sir smiled and his own cock was straining with excitement.

“So, David are you saying you want to suck my penis, and then have me stick it inside that newly warmed arse of yours?”

David agreed, as did his cock.  He nodded.

“Strip for me David.” David swiftly took all his clothes off. “On your knees and suck me!”

David knelt and then undid Sir’s zipper and sucked on the penis that almost slapped his face as it sprung out.  Ten minutes later David was bent back over the same desk he had been chastised over and felt Sir press his penis against his lubricated entrance and slowly enter him.  David’s fantasy was complete.

The alarm woke David.  His hand was soon wanking his cock furiously as he recalled the dream about the family friend, the ex-teacher who for years had dominated his wanking sessions.  Three hours later he had signed on.  He headed for the cafe and just after he had sat down he heard a voice say, “Hello David, long time no see!  May I join you?”

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 Story © 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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Further great stories by this author may be found here.

Comments on this story are here.  Please add a comment of your own. 

 

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May is International Masturbation Month!

Just a quickie reminder again that the merry month of May is National Masturbation Month!  Make sure you do your bit to celebrate this month.  I found out about it via a comment on the excellent Hermione’s Heart blog.  The comment was from Ronnie, and she also runs a great spanking blog, called Heart And Soul.

National Masturbation Month started in the US, but it seems to be taking hold everywhere. It is now sometimes referred to as International Masturbation Month or Masturbate-a-thon.

It was founded in 1995 by Good Vibrations, a sex toy retailer.  This was done as a protest about the firing of America’s first African-American Surgeon General, Joycelyn Elders.  She was sacked for  advocating the teaching of masturbation in sex education classes.  She was a victim of bigots.  You can read more at the wiki.

Almost everyone enjoys a little masturbation now and then, so grab yourself a piece of the action. It’s an ideal thing to do in a lockdown.  If you’re stuck indoors with a prudish partner, just enjoy a quickie in the toilet with the door firmly bolted.  Just don’t get caught, or you may get spanked!

Why not celebrate the month now as you read the kinky stories here at The Canery?

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Comments welcome – please use link at the top of this piece.

What Happens On Tour Stays On Tour (M/M) NEW!

♥ Site recommended story ♥

New to The Canery is this exciting caning story by very special guest author Baddlad17.   All the characters are 18 or older. WARNING: ADULTS ONLY!

What Happens On Tour Stays On Tour by Baddlad17

The lads climbed back onto the coach for what was going to prove a long hard journey for at least five members of the squad. Team captain Rob Phillips, John Davies, Ryan Taylor, Chris Stevens and Gary Baxter eased themselves gently into their seats with backsides still very sore from the caning the coach had applied less than an hour before.

Why had a Rugby Coach caned five members of his team? Why, come to that, had the lads dropped their pants, to meekly offer bare arses for this treatment? Well, it was better than a possible criminal record! Or being thrown off the team! Sometimes Rugger players have to take one for the team so to speak. This was one of those times.

It all began at the end of the game, which the team won 81-9. In high spirits they returned to the hotel, singing and chanting, and generally having a good time. The hotel laid on a lavish evening meal for the lads which was devoured with gusto by the young squad. After the meal Coach said that as they had won so convincingly, they could have a couple of drinks to celebrate. He warned the captain Rob Phillips to keep an eye on them and make sure they only had a couple of pints.

Rob, twenty-two years old was quite young to be in the position he was. It was his enthusiasm and commitment that had encouraged the coach to offer him the job. He had been captain for a little over six months after the enforced retirement of his predecessor due to serious injury. However, in this short time he had persuaded the Coach, Martin Fisher, that he could lead the team and keep them under control.

On the fateful night, all went horribly wrong. Coach Fisher had departed shortly after the meal, heading to bed for an early night. Most of the older members of the squad did as they had been told and after a couple, three at most, pints, they sloped off to bed. By ten o’clock only the captain and four of the more junior members remained in the bar.

John Davies and Ryan Taylor were nineteen. Both were a little on the wild side, but they were superb Rugby players. In spite of their youth they could handle the rough and tumble of the game. Gary Baxter and Chris Stephens were the youngest members of the squad, at eighteen, yet they usually displayed a maturity far beyond their years. On this night the beer flowed rather too much. Not wanting to be the boring one, the Captain forgot his responsibilities and had more to drink than he had promised.

After consuming around eight pints each the lads had become boisterous. Other hotel guests looked on increasingly horrified, as the lads sang lewd songs, swore relentlessly and caused great embarrassment to the ladies present. The Barman, fearing he was losing control, called for the Manager.

The Manager summing up the situation, politely asked the lads to be quiet and to be aware there were other guests in the hotel. However, by this stage the drink had got to the players and what followed turned into a rampage with the boys insulting the manager, before finally leaving the bar, only to run around setting off fire extinguishers as the high jinks continued. By this stage the Manager had had enough. He called the coach to come to his assistance.

On receiving the call from reception at almost midnight, about the behaviour of a number of his players, Martin Fisher rose sleepily from his bed and quickly threw his tracksuit on before going downstairs as quickly as he could. The five drunk players had realised by this stage that their high jinks had gone too far.

They were trying to apologise to the Manager when the Coach arrived on the scene. Summing up the state of his Players and with a look of total disgust on his face he gave a withering glance at them, particularly the Captain, as he approached the desk.

The Manager was on the verge of ringing the police. The last thing he needed was the Hotel getting a bad name due to a bunch of rowdy drunken rugby players. Coach Fisher asked the Manager if he could have a private word with him before he took any further action. Reluctantly he agreed, leading the Coach into his office.

“You lot stay where you are. I will deal with you shortly.” He said as he disappeared.

George Cornwell, the Manager, told him what had transpired. They had been asked to quieten down a few times but their language and behaviour had become increasingly outrageous. Eventually he had gone into the bar and asked them to quieten down and go to their rooms. While on their way, the lads had let off several fire extinguishers causing damage and waking other guests. As far as George was concerned they had gone too far. Was there any good reasons he should not call the police?

Listening to the Manager, Martin’s anger with the boys increased. He had made it clear to the entire team that two pints was the maximum. It was clear they had consumed many more and caused a lot of trouble.

The Manager, looked at Martin and said, “If any of my young waiters had behaved in that fashion they would be going home with very sore backsides! The same goes for the Commis chefs. We keep our youngsters in line with this!”

As he was speaking he opened a cupboard and extracted a long punishment cane which he laid on the desk.

“If you don’t want me to call the police, you will deal with your lads in the same manner. You will bring them down here tomorrow morning after breakfast, and you will cane them here in my presence. I want to see each one of them sporting six horizontal stripes across their bare backsides. It’s that or I will let the law deal with them”.

Martin looked incredulously at the Hotel Manager. Was this guy for real? Cane his players? He could just imagine the response from the lads when he told them that one! Try as he might though the Manager would not be moved. The lads must accept a caning or the police would be called. They would be arrested for criminal damage, being drunk and disorderly, and any other offences the police felt appropriate.

Martin called Rob Phillips into the office and explained the deal. At first Rob thought it was some sort of sick joke. They were not little schoolboys! They were grown men.

He looked at the cane lying on the desk and knew that given the circumstances they were in a mess! If they were arrested the police would press charges and the publicity could cause a lot of trouble for the club. It might even affect the employment of those in work. Each could end up with a criminal record. The coach left him to consider that it was the sensible option. He was told to ensure the players got to their rooms and not to mention anything to them until the morning. Then they could discuss it and choose.

“It has to be a group decision,” he added. “All of you will have to accept corporal punishment, or the police will be called,” were Martin’s parting words.

The players, in spite of being the worse for wear, listened to their coaches lecture on how they had let the team down, after which they made their way to their rooms.

Rob, who alone knew of the decision before the offending team members, and in spite of having had a few pints, spent a sleepless night mulling over the situation. Martin had said six strokes of the cane, bare backside; or arrest and formal criminal charges.

Rob thought about the cane. He had attended a boarding school, though the cane had been banned by then. He had been slippered a couple of times. It had stung quite a bit but had not been too bad. His Housemaster had once told him they were lucky the cane was no longer in use, as it would have been much worse. Well, he thought, tomorrow it was possible he would be feeling one at last.

Breakfast the following morning was taken quietly by the four younger players. They all regretted their actions of the previous night and wondered what the consequences were going to be. Rob Phillips, knowing the choice they would have to make, picked at his food.

The coach approached the players and informed them they had a meeting in the hotel Managers office straight after breakfast. The lads anxiety increased as they made their way to the appointment, wondering what would befall them. In view of the previous night’s activities it was not going to be an easy ride.

Thirty minutes later the four young players listened in horror to the choices before them. Team Captain Rob Phillips recommended that they take the caning, urging the others to do the same. The four, like their captain the previous night, struggled to believe the offer being put to them. John Davies and Ryan Taylor stared at one another and both of them began to laugh.

“You are joking, right?” they asked in unison, as they looked from the coach to the captain and then to the Hotel Manager. At this point the Manager opened the cupboard, extracted the whippy rod and placed it on the desk for all to gaze upon.

Each boy faced the stark choice; to take a dose of the whippy cane; or be dealt with by the police, with all the uncertainty that might mean.

Martin looked at the five before saying, “Lads, I really don’t want to cane you but I urge you all to accept it for the good of the club. If you guys get arrested and this goes to court it will be bad publicity for us, and in view of the fact the chairman is trying to negotiate a new sponsor for next season this could be bad news all round. At least this way it will remain here on tour, the only people who will know will be the seven of us in this room. Now so what is it to be?”

The lads looked at each other, no one wanting to be the first to step forward. The grim reality of what awaited them began to sink in. Rob Phillips was the first one to make a stand.

“I am willing to take the caning for the team. Spare the other lads. As Captain, I should have stopped this last night and not joined in. I am the one who really deserves to take this.”

Immediately, eighteen year old Gary Baxter stepped forward and looking directly at Rob said, “We are all adults and are equally to blame. I will take this to protect the team.”

Slowly the remaining players took the decision, agreeing to take this punishment.

Martin looked at his players, tears welling in his eyes.

“Lads, I am very proud of you all today. What is going to happen will be very painful and humiliating for you guys. You have made a mistake but you are willing to pay the price and move on for the good of the team. I only hope you can all learn something from this.”

Turning to the hotel Manager, he asked what should happen now.

There was a little room just off from the office where the waiters and commis chefs took their whippings. Martin and the Manager went in. It contained an old wooden school desk with the seat attached, a couple of chairs in corners, and a wicker basket in another corner, containing half a dozen canes. Martin looked at them and then at the Manager.

The Manager told Martin it was time to do his duty. Martin selected a cane from the basket and gave it a swish through the air. It sounded terribly whippy, yet it was very light. He had been on the receiving end of one these during his schooldays but he had never used one on anybody. He decided to start with the Captain, so called in Rob Phillips.

Stepping through the door Rob looked round, taking in the desk and his coach holding the cane. Pointing with the cane Martin told Rob to go and stand in front of the desk, drop his tracksuit bottoms and underpants and to stretch right over and grip the seat of the desk.

Rob, a big sturdily built player, did as he was instructed. After slipping his trousers off, he slipped his hands into the waist band of his underpants and peeled them over muscular buttocks and thick cock, letting them drop to join his tracks round his ankles. His well-muscled bum cheeks and thighs were now exposed. His firm thighs and legs were thick with hair yet this grown man meekly bent over and raised his naked bottom for a dose of the cane.

Standing behind him Martin lined the instrument of correction with the centre of the bum cheeks. After measuring the distance he raised it high before whipping it hard across the waiting buttocks. Rob gasped as the first stroke swished into his arse. Martin stepped back and watched the white stripe quickly turn red before he lined up with a point lower down and thrashed a second stroke. Once again Rob gasped, but otherwise kept himself in check. A third stroke whipped across the naked buttocks. Martin stepped back and observed the three red lines which adorned the bare bottom before him.

Raising the cane again, he struck a fourth landing it lower still. This time Rob let out a lusty yell. Martin was encouraged by this and applied the last two strokes quickly, but if anything, with more power, in the same area which caused the team captain to roar! His backside involuntary squirmed as he absorbed the stripes.

The coach watched as the six red stripes darkened and swelled into thick welts. On being giving permission, Rob stood, his hands going back to rub the damage. Surprisingly the lad was semi erect. Seeing this Martins own cock began to twitch. He had found it quite a horny experience.

Rob pulled his underpants and tracks back up and began to rub his bottom furiously as he tried desperately to ease the sting. Martin told him to wait outside and to send in Gary Baxter. Soon Gary was over the desk, his bare arse ready for the sting of the cane.

Meanwhile in the outer office, Rob bared his bum again to show the damage to the others. His backside hurt like hell and he continued to rub the welts while they all listened to the swish and the crack as the cane visited Gary’s backside.

One by one the others went in and took their richly deserved canings. By the time Martin had lashed the last stroke across the last arse, his cock was rampant. The highly charged atmosphere had got him excited, as to a lesser extent it had done to five athletic male rugger players!

After all the punishments had been administered, the Manager and Coach returned to the office to find the five players furiously rubbing their backsides.

Martin’s mind was racing. He had thoroughly enjoyed caning these boys. He wondered if he should purchase one to keep at the club should any of the lads need a dose in the future! Perhaps it would work better than a fine or suspension for disciplinary infractions.

What happens on tour, stays on tour!

At last the lads were free to go. The Hotel Manager had enjoyed watching the cane lashing those boys. He was in desperate need of a visit to the toilet where he could sort out a little problem that had arisen. Shaking hands with the Coach he offered him the cane as a present. He had a feeling Martin might want to use it again sometime. Martin accepted the offer and thanked the Manager.

And so as the coach drove away from the weekend tour that morning five players shuffled miserably in their seats feeling every bump in the road, while at the front of the coach Martin opened his kit bag and examined his new toy.

A new era at the club was just beginning. He wondered how soon he might be able to put the new regime into practice.

He hoped, and felt, it might be soon!

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Story ©MMXII by Baddlad17, 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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Authors love your feedback!  Please leave a comment. You can find the comments here, or by using the link at the top of the story.

 

Baddlad17’s excellent earlier stories for The Canery are available here.  Further great stories by Baddlad17 may be found at this external link.

The Old-Style Teacher’s Desk (M/M) NEW!

♥ Site recommended story ♥

A hot 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 Old-Style Teacher’s Desk by Joelstrap

“But I don’t want to go into town,” I protested. “I was going round to hang out with Torquil.”

“You don’t need to see him,” said dad. “Far better you come with me.”

“Why? What’s wrong with Torquil?” I demanded irritably.

“What kind of a name is Torquil for a boy?” asked dad.

“It’s his name! What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Something odd about a boy with a name like that,” said dad darkly.

“Odd? There’s nothing odd about him. Do you think he’s got three tits? Or square balls?” I snapped angrily.

“One more comment like that, my lad, and you’ll spend the next three weekends in the house, Julian,” dad warned grimly.

Furious, I subsided, satisfying myself with glaring rebelliously at dad’s back as he unlocked the car.

“Get in!” he ordered abruptly.

I dropped into the passenger-seat and slammed the car-door.

“Maybe you’d prefer four weekends in the house?” enquired dad sweetly. “Would you?”

“No,” I replied shortly.

“Then remove that mutinous expression from your face and stop behaving like a spoiled child. You’re eighteen, for goodness sake.”

I rolled my eyes and then tried to look co-operative. Dad sighed and started the engine. Fifteen minutes later we drew up at the second-hand furniture store.

“This shouldn’t take long,” said dad. “Come on.”

I followed him into the building and waited while he hunted down the owner. Dad was in charge of props and furnishings for the local amateur drama group and an old-fashioned school-desk was required for the next production. Apparently dad had phoned up and ascertained that the store may have had the kind of thing which might be suitable. Dad returned with a small, bustling guy, bald as a coot except for a ring of light-brown hair, which made him look like a tonsured monk. I trailed along gloomily in their wake through a maze of ancient furniture until we reached a section with a number of old school desks. I looked idly at large, hefty desks of wood and iron, joined together in pairs with seats which could be raised. I lifted lids and peered into graffiti-scored interiors. Initials were the most common feature; but more interesting comments such as Latin killed the Romans, and now it’s killing me were also to be found. I liked If violence is bad, why did I get caned?

“Julian. Where are you?”

I started at dad’s voice and hurried to catch him up. It appeared that he wasn’t after the kind of desk I’d been looking at, but wanted an old-style teacher’s desk. He and the baldie-guy were standing by a tall, narrow desk with a high stool behind it. The surface of the desk-top was sloping I guessed that it opened like a pupil’s desk. Dad seemed delighted and I listened, impressed in spite of myself, as he skilfully negotiated a good deal and left the poor salesman looking decidedly dejected. I was left to guard the desk while dad and the sales-chap went off to see to the payment; not that there was anyone to guard against. I tried to lift the lid of the desk, but it was locked and there was no key. I gave it a shake but there was no sound and so I concluded that there was no exciting secret inside. When dad returned I pointed out the lack of a key, but he didn’t seem bothered. There was, he told me, no need to open it anyway, as it just needed to stand there for a teacher to sit behind during a part of the play. Dad picked up the stool and left me to carry the desk. It was quite heavy and an awkward shape and I struggled as I tried to manoeuvre it through the narrow passage between the furniture and out to the door.

“What kept you?” demanded dad as I eventually emerged, slightly dishevelled and decidedly sweaty.

I rolled my eyes at him and made no attempt to help while he put down the back-seats of the car, lifted the hatch-back, and then graciously decided to help me to load the desk by lifting one end while I slid the monstrosity into the car. I got into the passenger-seat and then fumed to myself while he fussed around for ages, tying the hatch-back as far shut as it would go and affixing a yellow hanky to the protruding foot of the desk. At last, he got in and drove us home where we deposited the desk in a corner of the garage.

“So, can I go and meet Torquil now?” I asked sulkily.

“If you must.”

Aware that my weekends were at risk, I bit back a cheeky retort and stalked off down the road. I might be newly eighteen, but as long as I lived at home, I knew I had to abide by dad’s rules and accept his discipline.

My summer-job at the museum, where I welcomed visitors and issued tickets, started at 2p.m. and lasted until eight, with a brief break in the middle. It was mind-numbingly boring most of the time, and I was usually relieved when I could lock up for the night. Trying to get the final stragglers out of the building for eight o’clock was a challenge sometimes, but I could normally be home not long after eight-thirty.

My mornings were free and I tended to lie long, have a late breakfast and generally potter about until it was time for lunch. Torquil’s job at the swimming-pool, where he acted as a life-guard, was from eight in the morning until late afternoon, so we usually met only at weekends or occasionally for a drink in the late evening.

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A few days after we’d brought the old desk back to the garage, I was mooching around the house about half an hour before lunch, both my parents being out at work, and feeling bored. Outside, the rain was streaming down and my hopes of going for a run were dashed. I enjoyed running, but not in torrential rain. I wandered into the garage through a door from the utility-room and eyed the old desk. I tried again to get it to open, but it was definitely locked. I couldn’t say why I was so keen to open it, but something just pushed at me to do so. I tried to slide a knife-blade under the lid to prise open the lock, but that didn’t work. I tried a few old keys which were lying in a drawer in the garage; but none fitted. Frustrated, I gave the desk a violent shake; and something rattled inside. I shook it again and once more there was a rattling-sound. It seemed that I’d dislodged something.

Now I was all the more eager to get the thing open. A screw-driver didn’t work, and so I got a hammer and chisel and worked carefully at the lock. A wasp buzzed past close to my face and gave me a fright and I put a lot more pressure on the chisel than I’d intended. There was a cracking, splintering sound and the lock burst free of the wooden desk-top. The desk was open, but the damage was impossible to conceal. I laid down the hammer and chisel and lifted the lid. Inside, partly curved so that it fitted the space, was a cane.

I lifted it out gingerly, as if afraid that it would bite. It was slender and lithe and bent easily into a smooth arc when I held each end in my hands. I did an experimental stroke and the air whistled.

“Shit,” I muttered to myself, as I plunged a hand into my jeans to rearrange my swiftly-hardening penis.

The cane fascinated me. I began to fantasise about using it on a boy’s bottom in class; and then to imagine Torquil using it on my bottom. My erection was solid and throbbing urgently. I tried it out on my own buttocks, but couldn’t get any force behind the strokes and gave it up. I ambled back into the kitchen and sat at the table with a bowl of soup and wondered about what it felt like to be caned. Lunch over, it wasn’t long before I was lying on the sofa in the sitting-room, the cane beside me, bringing myself to a stunning climax as I fantasised about a naked Torquil thrashing me hard with the cane. The room spun for a few seconds as my boy-cream spurted strongly over my shoulder, and I experienced an almost unbearable explosion of pleasure. Deeply content, I drifted off to sleep to be awakened abruptly by the telephone. I leapt to my feet and plunged into the hall to answer breathlessly. It was the warden of the museum, saying it was ten past two and where the hell was I?

Horrified, I paused only to put on my trainers and dashed out of the house. I arrived, breathless and profusely apologetic more than twenty minutes late. It wasn’t until I’d been politely welcoming visitors for over an hour that there was a pause and I could think again about the cane. It was then that the appalling truth hit me like a sledge-hammer. I’d left the cane lying on the sofa in the sitting-room; and both mum and dad would be home from their work long before I was.

I approached the house warily, unsure of what kind of reception I was going to get. It wasn’t so much the cane itself which bothered me, as the fact that I’d damaged the desk in order to force it open. I took a deep breath and went into the sitting-room. My parents looked up questioningly. On the coffee-table, the cane still reposed where I’d left it.

“So,” began dad, “would you like to explain?”

I realised that I didn’t yet know if he’d discovered the damaged desk; or indeed if he’d made a connection between the cane and the desk. I didn’t want to talk myself into unnecessary trouble, not least because I thought that there might still be a chance that I could patch up the damage to the desk.

“Explain what?” I enquired innocently.

“A ruddy cane lying on the table in the lounge,” replied dad. “A little surprising to come home to, don’t you think, Julian?”

“Oh, that! I found it in that old desk. Sorry, I’ll take it away and………”

“Leave it alone and sit down!”

Reluctantly, I sat.

“How did you get it out of the desk?” asked dad.

My heart sank. I was sure now that he knew about the damage.

“Well, I tried a few keys and, when they didn’t fit, I tried a chisel; and it sort of slipped and burst the whole thing open; and this was inside. It’s a real school cane,” I went on, hoping to distract him from the desk with detail about the cane. “Look at how slim and pliant it is. I bet it hurt!”

“You don’t know, Julian?”

“How would I know? I’ve never been caned.”

“Maybe I should remedy that?”

“What! Dad, no! You can’t cane me! It’s abolished! It’s illegal!”

“You’re eighteen, Julian. If you agree to it, you can be caned this very evening.”

“Of course I don’t agree to being caned,” I protested.

“Maybe I should have explained that the alternative is the next six weeks staying indoors all weekend, every weekend,” said dad.

I gasped aloud in horror and, “You wouldn’t!” I panted.

“I would.”

“But I didn’t mean to damage the desk. It was an accident. Honest. I’m sure I can patch it up; and from a distance, when it’s on stage, nobody will notice anyway.”

“I don’t think it’s going to be as easily mended as you seem to think. And the fact that the damage may not be visible when it’s on stage is missing the point. You did the damage because you were doing something you had no business doing. Isn’t that right, Julian?”

“Yes, okay. I was wrong,” I admitted sullenly.

“Right. Take the cane, go up to your room, and have a good think about whether you want six weeks’ grounding or six of the best with the rod. I’ll be up in twenty minutes and you can tell me your decision.”

I picked up the cane and looked at dad.

“You’re actually gonna beat me with this?” I asked, still struggling to believe it.

“If that’s what you choose. Off you go.”

I went.

Up in my room, I bent the cane into a smooth arc and then did a full-power practice-stroke on my pillow. I tried to imagine how much it would hurt to have my bottom hit that hard, six times. I winced at the thought. I realised that I had no idea how much it would hurt. I was fairly sure though that it would be a lot. I squirmed inwardly as I tried to decide, but eventually concluded that opting for the cane was too much of a leap into the unknown. Reluctantly, I told dad I’d accept six weekends of being grounded.

Torquil, when I told him, was furious with me.

“What the hell did you think you were doing?” he demanded. “We don’t get much time together during the week because of the way our jobs are; and then you go and get yourself gated for six bloody weekends!”

“I’m sorry. I just…..”

“And to make it worse, you didn’t even have to! You got an alternative; a beating that’s over in a few minutes and then you’re free. What’ve you got between your ears, Julian? Semolina?”

“But that cane looked vicious. I tried it carefully on my arse, and it still stung. Imagine it used with full force; and six times over!”

“Yeh, well. It’s just a bit of pain. You could take that. You’re not exactly a scrawny little runt, are you? You got a fantastic arse on you and you could surely have taken a few hard licks on it.”

I sighed and urged him to come down to the park for a kickabout before it got dark, but he was still miffed with me and said he was going home.

Over the following days things settled down, and we met in the late evenings after I’d finished work at the museum. Occasionally things were a bit strained as we approached a weekend, but we had a strong enough relationship to get us through.

It was on the Saturday of the fourth weekend of my grounding that events conspired to cause a major upset. The production in which the desk was to be used was due to begin a week later and it needed to be delivered to the hall where the play would be put on, so that the final week of rehearsals could take place on the stage with all furnishings in place. Mum had been called away to care for her mother who had had a fall and needed someone to look after her for a week or two; and dad intended to put the desk in his car on Saturday afternoon and take it to the hall. I’d done a bit of repair-work on it and, although it was obvious close-up that the lock had been broken and the surrounding wood damaged, nothing would be visible from the audience.

I was mooching about sulkily just after lunch when the phone rang, and dad returned from answering it to tell me that there was a crisis at work and he’d have to go into the office.

“You’ll have to get the desk to the hall,” he said to me. “They need it for late afternoon and I’ve got to go now and it sounds like I won’t be back for several hours.”

“But I can’t carry that great big thing all the way to the hall,” I protested. “And besides, I’m not allowed out, remember?”

“In the circumstances you are allowed out for the sole purpose of getting the desk to the hall. Put it on the garden wheelbarrow and you’ll get it down there easily enough; and then come straight home.”

Dad dashed off and I went out sullenly to the shed to fetch the wheelbarrow. I managed to load the tall desk on to it, but it was pretty unstable and unwieldy. I pondered for a minute or two and then called Torquil, who arrived eagerly shortly after.

“Licence to go out,” he said with a grin.

“Yeh; but not to see you at the weekend. I just need some help to keep this thing steady while I wheel it down the road.”

“And you never thought about a quick snog or even a foray into my pants afterwards?”

“Well…..”

“Randy bugger!” declared Torquil happily. “Is that cane back in there?”

“No. It’s still in my room.”

“A warning to a bad boy that he’d better behave himself, huh, Julian?”

“Come on; let’s get this done.”

We set off and found that even with two of us it was difficult.

“Hey! If we go down Merryhell Lane, we’d cut off almost half the distance,” suggested Torquil.

“But there’s a flight of steps at the far end of the lane,” I objected.

“So? I’ll go backwards in front, holding the desk steady and you bump the barrow down the steps carefully. It’ll be a piece of cake,” he averred confidently.

I had some doubts, but the prospect of reducing the distance by a huge chunk won me over. We eventually reached the top of the steps and Torquil held the desk with both hands and felt his way backwards down the steps while I guided the barrow slowly over the edge of each step and down with a bump to the next one. We were almost half way down when a cat raced out of a gateway and almost tripped Torquil. The desk wobbled and the barrow threatened to tip over. With an effort, we steadied things; and then a dog pelted out in pursuit of the cat and Torquil, jumping to one side to avoid being hit by the animal, lost his footing and tumbled to the ground. The barrow swayed and I made a grab for the desk as it slid off the front edge; but that just made me lose complete control of the barrow and as I watched helplessly the desk crashed to the ground and then slid with increasing speed down the flight of steps. Torquil made a vain attempt to stop it as he staggered to his feet again, but it was too late. The desk, bumped and slid its way to the bottom and landed with a crash which made the lid jump open and then come away completely.

Horrified, I dashed down to find that the front of the desk was badly damaged too by a long split in the wood. Torquil came up beside me and began to dab at a grazed knee with his hanky as we surveyed the mess. There was nothing else to do but to go on and deliver the desk to the hall, where I explained what had happened and said that my father would be in touch when he got home. Torquil and I returned to my house.

“You may as well be here when dad gets back,” I said, “because you were seen with me at the hall and so he’ll know you were there too. Anyway, I think I might need some moral support when the storm breaks.”

“Sure. I’ll help to explain that it was an accident; and that you needed help to get the thing to the hall. The only thing that might be a bit tricky is explaining why we went by the steps. You reckon your dad might think that was a bit irresponsible?”

“Yes,” I retorted sourly. “I do.”

“Never mind,” said Torquil. “It might not be as bad as you think.”

“Or it might be even worse.”

Torquil kissed me and after a while I relaxed and just enjoyed being intimate with him again. We went up to my room and had some fun and then he noticed the cane and picked it up. He ran a finger along it and slashed it through the air.

“Wow! You’re right. It is a vicious thing. Just think of boys a few years younger than us getting this across their arse. Must’ve been tough little bastards,” he said.

At that moment I heard the sound of a car-door slamming shut, and realised that dad was home. We went downstairs to face the music. When he saw Torquil, dad’s immediate reaction was to order him out of the house.

“No, dad; please. I’ve got something to tell you first. Just listen to me, please.”

He glared at Torquil but sat down and looked interrogatively at me. I told the whole sorry story and then sat and waited. As I’d feared, dad homed in on the one aspect of the incident which was definitely blameworthy.

“Did it not occur to you that to take a large, hefty piece of furniture on a wheelbarrow down a flight of steps was just asking for trouble?”

“Yes,” I replied miserably. “I thought we’d manage it; but I was wrong.”

“And what’s he doing here?” demanded dad, nodding towards Torquil.

“I asked him to come and help me because it was difficult to manoeuvre the barrow and desk myself. It might have fallen off and got damaged.”

Dad raised his eyebrows.

“Yeh, yeh, I know; that’s what happened anyway, but it wasn’t meant to. And his name’s Torquil,” I added.

“Very well, Torquil,” said dad, saying the name as if it was an unfamiliar word which he was struggling to pronounce, “you can go now. I need to deal with Julian’s bad behaviour.”

“It was my bad behaviour too, sir,” said Torquil with careful politeness. “In fact the idea to go down the steps was mine.”

“Yes; well, I can’t ground you for the next six weekends,” retorted dad, “so please go.”

“You could beat me,” said Torquil quietly, “if I consent; and I do.”

“Torquil!” I gasped.

“Beat you?” dad asked.

“Julian told me about the cane he found in the old desk; and that you gave him the choice of a beating or grounding when he smashed the lock. I know he chose to be grounded, but I’d go for the cane any day,” asserted Torquil firmly.

“You?” asked dad with a strong note of incredulity in his voice.

“Me,” replied Torquil softly but clearly.

“At eighteen I guess you’re old enough to make your own decision and I don’t need your parents’ permission, but you’re not my responsibility. Julian is and he’s the one I’m going to ground for another six weeks.”

“He’d rather be caned,” said Torquil.

“Torquil!” I hissed angrily.

“So, since we both deserve to be punished, and we do; and since we both agree to take a beating, and we do, all you need to do now is to cane us both,” continued Torquil.

Dad stared in amazement at him and then turned to me and asked, “Would you rather be caned this time, Julian?”

In spite of the feeling that Torquil had bounced me into it, I felt that I did prefer to go for the cane this time. I’d almost completed one six-weekend grounding and didn’t want to embark on another.

“Yes,” I replied quickly, before I could change my mind.

“Right. Go up to your room and wait there, both of you. I’ll be up shortly,” said dad tersely.

In my room, I turned to Torquil.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” I said. “He’s not gonna go easy on us. Oh, bloody hell!”

“What?”

“Do you think he’ll make us take it bare?”

“Well, we’re eighteen, so I should think he probably will,” opined Torquil. “What’s his problem with me, Julian?”

“I dunno. I know it sounds silly, but I don’t think he can quite believe that anybody called Torquil is a real boy.”

“He’ll soon see that I’m a real boy if he canes me bare,” observed Torquil. “And if he thinks that I’m going to bawl the place down when I’m being beaten, he’ll need to think again.”

“I wish I was so sure I wasn’t gonna yell blue murder when he’s caning me,” I confided.

“Just think of all the weekends you’d have lost if you hadn’t taken the cane,” Torquil advised. “It’ll soon be over.”

“I wish he’d just come and get on with it. I hate this waiting.”

As if in response to my wish, we heard dad’s footsteps on the stairs. I glanced uneasily at the cane and then turned to the door. Dad came in and picked up the cane, arching it menacingly as we watched.

“Changed you mind, Julian?” he asked; but I shook my head.

“And are you still up for it, Torquil?” he enquired, again putting a curious stress on the name as if he didn’t take it seriously.

To my dismay, Torquil reacted angrily: “Look, what’s your problem with me?” he demanded. “I didn’t choose my name; but it’s nothing to do with who I am. I’m gay, like Julian, but I guess you know that; and I’m not a namby-pamby kid who can’t take his punishment when he’s messed up. I’ve said that I’ll take a beating and I will.”

Dad arched the cane some more and we both watched him uneasily; and then he said, “Fair enough. Maybe I’m doing you an injustice. Anyway, we’ll soon see how tough you really are. Now hold your tongue or I might see fit to give you some extra strokes.”

I breathed a sigh of relief when Torquil remained silent. I’d been scared that dad might send him away and leave me to take the cane alone.

“Right, Julian; let’s get this done. Jeans and pants off and then bend over with your hands on that chair.”

Reluctantly, I bared myself as ordered and was surprised to find my penis almost horizontal. I quickly made sure I had my back to dad and bent over the chair. He told me to get my feet further apart and then rapped the cane several times on my behind. It felt cool on my rather nervous, hot skin and I started to think it might not be too bad. I tensed as I felt the rod being raised and then heard a sharp snap followed almost at once by a fierce sting along the centre of my buttocks, as if someone had laid a red-hot poker on my flesh. I clenched my glutes and gritted my teeth. Dad tapped my rump with the cane over and over and over again, making me wait, before he inflicted the next stroke. Slightly lower, it incised another blazing welt on my bottom. I swallowed and steadied myself, but the third cut, coming almost immediately and with no warning-rap, forced a barely-stifled yelp from me as searing fire lashed my rear.

There was a pause. I wondered if he was finished and even felt my cock starting to rise again. Part of me hoped it was over but, curiously, a small part of me wanted him to go on. Six was the traditional number of strokes in a caning, so I’d read, and somehow I thought that I needed to experience six. The cane was exploring my rump once again and I tensed; because whether I wanted it or not, it seemed that there was more to come. The next stroke felt as if it landed, by accident or design, right on top of the weal left by the previous one and I gasped aloud and gave my behind a swift rub. I was told tersely to get my hand away.

The rod probed my bottom, sliding repeatedly over the skin where buttocks merge into upper legs and I knew that was where the next stroke would probably be intended to land. It did, whipping viciously hard into sensitive flesh and making me kick violently as a squeal escaped me and I writhed from the hips, my gluteal-muscles screamingly tight as I fought the pain. The final stroke was even lower, branding the top of my legs with a gut-wrenching blast of fire which forced me to buck and twist and sink my teeth into the wooden edge of the chair.

“Up you get, hands on your head, and go and stand facing the wall, Julian,” instructed dad. “Torquil; buttocks bare and bend over the chair.”

I straightened up slowly and, placing my hands obediently on my head, moved over to the wall as Torquil removed his clothing. He flashed me a swift grin of sympathy as I passed him; and I noticed that he was more than half-way erect. I had a swift glance back as I took up my stance at the wall, and saw him bend over and grip the chair-edges tightly.

I didn’t risk turning after that as I feared that if dad saw me, I might get more. My full focus was on listening and I heard dad take up position; and then a lengthy pause ensued before I heard the whistle of the fast-descending cane and the clean snap as it made violent contact with Torquil’s waiting bottom. There was no other sound. A few seconds later the cane was wielded again, but the sharp crack on impact with the boy’s skin elicited no answering sound from him. After the third stroke I heard a slight gasp, and following the fourth I surmised that Torquil had bucked quite determinedly, because I heard the sound of the chair moving a little.

There was a pause and I held my breath, knowing that the final two were almost certainly going to be aimed low, like mine, and would be the most painful. The low snarl and the sound of the chair again moving a little, were enough to tell me that number five had really got through to Torquil. I could hear him breathing hard in the silence as dad lined up the final stroke. A sound like a rifle-shot followed cane and bare boy-flesh being brought into brutally-hard contact and, like an echo came a brief yelp. After that the only sound was Torquil breathing hard again.

“Get up; hands on head; face the wall beside Julian.”

I heard Torquil rise and a few seconds later he was by my side, facing the wall. We glanced anxiously at each other and exchanged watery smiles. As we stood there, our penises rose steadily until they were both pointing resolutely towards the ceiling. Dad left us standing there was several minutes before telling us to get our pants and jeans back on. Both carefully keeping our backs to him as much as possible, we complied and then stood in front of him.

“Lesson learned, boys?”

“Yes, sir,” we responded quietly in unison.

“You both took it well,” observed dad and I felt a ridiculous sense of achievement. “And you, Torquil,” he continued, saying my pal’s name in a perfectly normal way, “are certainly no softie. I’ve possibly misjudged you.”

“Thank you, sir,” replied Torquil. “That was hell.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” said dad wryly.

“It was,” said Torquil, rubbing his bottom.

“And you, Julian?”

“I think that you should keep the cane,” I said carefully. “It got through to me better than a few weekends of grounding would have done and I don’t want it again soon. Like Torquil said, it was hell; but I’ll take it again if I deserve it,” I added, slightly to my own surprise.

A few minutes later, Torquil and I were lying naked, face down on my bed, comparing notes on our first experience of being caned. After that was done, we caressed and licked each other’s cane-welts; and then we fucked like sex-starved rabbits.

“So you’re gonna go for the cane when you mess up in future, huh, Julian?”

“Yeh! I know it was pretty horrendous, but it was so quick compared with grounding; and…..and…..”

I hesitated. Torquil grinned at me.

“And you kinda liked it, didn’t you?” he asked.

“No! I didn’t like it; but it did get me hard. I don’t understand why; and that fucking-session we just had was the best ever. Looks like a pair of soundly-caned arses make for white-hot sex.”

“Yeh; that was really champion,” agreed Torquil. “Maybe,” he suggested daringly, “we could cane each other?”

“Or even misbehave so that dad canes us?” I added even more daringly.

Torquil got up, fetched the cane, and we sat leaning against the head of my bed, side-by-side, with it lying across our bare thighs.

“Mmm,” said Torquil thoughtfully, “that sounds good too. Know something, Julian?”

“What?”

“I reckon you unlocked more than just the cane when you burst into that old desk. I think you unlocked a whole new world for us.”

I gazed at our penises, each straining resolutely for the ceiling.

“Yeh,” I concurred, “and it looks as if our bodies agree.”

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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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Story ©MMXXI by Joelstrap, used here by very kind permission.  Please leave a comment by using the link at the top of the story.  Comments can be viewed here.

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

Mr Black (M/M) NEW!

♥ Site recommended story ♥

New to The Canery is this exciting spanking story by very special guest author Baddlad17.   All the characters are 18 or older. WARNING: ADULTS ONLY!

Mr Black by Baddlad17

Roger Black loved his job. The longest serving member of staff at Farmley FC, he was in charge of the club’s laundry. It was his job to ensure all kits were washed, dried and pressed for the next training session or match for the first, second and youth teams, a job he did extremely well. Despite these tiresome and repetitive duties he took pride in his work, ensuring the lads were turned out well. As a lifelong fan of the club he loved every minute of it.

In addition to this, he also took in two or three of the younger trainees as lodgers, earning extra money from the club for looking after them. The young lads under his care soon discovered that the laundry man was a very different character at home than the jovial, lovable character well–known at the club.

The comedian was a real tartar with the lads under his roof.  Eighteen-year-old Jack Wilkinson rode his bike the last few yards down the street on the pavement as he made his way home to his digs after a long day at the club. He had spent the afternoon in the boot room, cleaning and polishing the first teams’ boots in readiness for tomorrow’s match. He was in the company of housemate and fellow trainee Colin Jenks who also boarded with Roger. Colin had been busy sweeping up, and taking care of other menial tasks that are necessary requirements of all club trainees.

Today was Friday and both lads knew that meant discipline night, the night their arses paid for any misdemeanours they had committed or deemed to have. As Jack dismounted his stomach began to do somersaults as he knew he was up for a whacking this week for sure. Roger had caught him smoking at the bottom of the garden on Wednesday. Club rules strictly forbade any player to smoke. Roger had given him the option and knowing that the likely outcome of the manager finding out would result in him being let go from the team, he had meekly agreed for his landlord to deal with it at the end of the week. In addition he had also overslept earlier in the week. He knew he would get little sleep tonight, face down on his stomach with blazing stripes burning across his pert, muscular mounds.

Colin was also up for a sore arse, leaving his dirty clothes on the bathroom floor, general slovenliness around the house and failing to get home before curfew which was ten-thirty on weekdays. Roger was a stickler for the rules, and both lads knew they would be getting a whacking.

Jack closed his bedroom door and began to strip down. He stood as always admiring himself in the mirror. He was a good looking lad, short dark hair, hazel eyes and a cheeky smile which could win anyone’s heart, except Roger Black’s. His broad muscular chest had a slight fuzz of hair, leading down to his washboard stomach and then a treasure trail of hair from his belly button down to his pubic bush. His ample cock sat astride his tight firm balls. His arse was smooth, muscular and firm to touch. Thighs thick and firm were covered in fine downy hair all the way to his ankles. Girls loved his looks and athletic physique. His first passion though was his football, his dream being to gain a permanent place at Farmley and play for the first team. He often dreamed he was leading the club out in a cup final at Wembley to thousands of cheering fans.

Colin was very similar. He was a very good-looking lad who would make it as a model if his football career did not materialise. Blonde and blue eyes with a smile to melt a thousand hearts he was already over six feet tall. He was, if anything more determined than Jack to make it. His grandad had been an icon for the club and when he had shown promise of following in his footsteps, he had been given an apprenticeship more because he was Arthur Jenks’ grandson than on merit. This made him focus on proving the other lads wrong, hence his determination to make it.

When the clock struck six o’ clock, two eighteen-year-old lads stood facing the wall, hands on head waiting for the summons into the dreaded study. Roger walked along from the lounge and admired the lads dressed in full kit, awaiting his pleasure. His eyes paid particular attention to their backsides, currently encased inside the club’s soccer shorts, and the firm thighs already bare. Roger’s cock began to swell as he looked lustfully at them. Yes, Roger was secretly gay and would want nothing more than to bend them over and take them from behind. Denied that pleasure, he contented himself with using the excuse of discipline in order to get his hands on the lads in his care. Later on he would enjoy his evening wank as he remembered the sight of their red, striped bottoms.

No one at the club was aware of this, or that he often brought home some of the soiled shorts and socks of his favourite players in order to sniff and masturbate over them. Being the laundry man no one ever knew any uniforms were missing.

He went into the little office and left the door ajar while he made the preparations for this Friday night ritual. He took out his little notebook and examined the reasons why he was about to thrash his charges tonight. It was a futile exercise, he had already read the notepad several times, sentence already decreed, the lads would be going to bed with very sore backsides. The cane was sat as always in a wicker basket behind his desk, and an old gymshoe lay in the desk drawer.

Jack was called in; he stood with his arms at his sides in front of the desk. Roger looked lustfully at the hunk in front of him. He would sorely love to slip his shorts down and take his cock between his lips and suck him till the creamy fluid erupted, but unable to perform that task and give the lad immeasurable pleasure, he would have to content himself with applying a very painful punishment, leaving his backside red and sore.

Where do we start this week Jack? You overslept on Wednesday, and why did you oversleep?

I was tired, Roger.

Come on now Jack, up half the night playing on your X-Box is the reason, don’t deny it, I heard the thing when I popped to the toilet. I have told you before about this, you can have no complaint as to the punishment. Six whacks of the gymshoe should serve as a reminder to get you out of bed on time in future. We now turn to the smoking incident, far more serious. You are well aware that Mr Coleman would dismiss you from the club if he discovered you had been partaking in such a filthy habit. If we keep this between ourselves I will award you eight strokes of the cane. Any repeat and I will have no option than to report this to club management.

Roger had no intention of reporting the incident to the club. He enjoyed tanning Jack’s arse immensely. He would never do or say anything to jeopardise that pleasure.

You know what to do, get them down and get over.

Jack stood in front of the desk, inserted his hands into the waistband of his soccer shorts, and then peeled them down, ensuring his briefs were lowered with them. Roger sat at his desk for a moment, salivating at the juicy cock now just inches from his face. He opened the desk drawer and extracted the large grubby old plimsoll. It had slapped many backsides over the years, once it had belonged to a goalkeeper who had size fourteen feet. When the old pumps were of no further use Roger retrieved them from the bin and brought them home in order to make use of them for a different purpose. They had seen far more use in this secondary role than their original. He stood up and walked behind Jack who had now positioned himself over the desk. Once again Roger looked lustfully at the two bulbous mounds presented for his pleasure. He could just see the tuft of hair poking out from between the twin globes. He tapped the slipper gently across the bared backside before taking his arm back to shoulder height. He held it for a second or two, then let it let fall rapidly onto the exposed surface. Jack hissed and twisted as the first bite stung his bottom.

The slipper cracked down a second time, rapidly inflaming the skin. A clear oval patch could be made out on each cheek. Roger’s knob was already starting to thicken and swell as he observed the results of his ministrations. Four more large loud cracks of the plimsoll rang round the room in the little office. Jack could not hold back and began to grunt and yelp as the fiery torment reached its conclusion.

Roger stepped back and took in the sight now presented, two quivering mounds of reddened bum cheeks awaiting the next part of their torturous punishment. He placed the slipper on the desk, sole side up, in front of the tearful lad who could gaze on the instrument that had inflicted white hot pain across his buttocks. Picking up the cane from its resting place he swished it through the air a few times before coming behind the waiting youth and gently resting it low down, close to where buttock meets thigh. He eyed the reddened target then raised the cane before bringing it cracking down. Jack yelled lustfully as the first bite of the rod sliced through the already tenderised cheeks, causing searing pain on the line it had struck. Tears rolled down the youth’s face as the pain reached his brain. Stroke after searing stroke of the rod sliced across his bottom causing untold agony to the young player. He vowed never to touch another cigarette.

The eighth and final stroke of the cane slashed across his buttocks leaving the lad sobbing gently.

Stand up Jack, and go across to the wall, leave your shorts dropped and your hands on your head.

The lad slowly rose and reached down to take hold of his shorts and pants. Roger looked on lustfully as he waddled to the wall, and then let his shorts drop again before placing his hands on his head. The old man gently stroked his cock as he looked at the red striped cheeks. How he would love to kneel down and let his tongue slip beneath those burning mounds. If only these lads would appreciate a bit of cock, it would save them a lot of arse pain.

Colin, let’s have you in lad.

The second good-looking youth stumbled into the little office, as always he was greeted with the sight of his housemate facing the wall, his red striped arse on full display. Colin hated this and often wished that Roger would deal with him first, but for some reason Jack was always called in before him. He stood before the desk, his eyes glued to the outsized gymshoe that lay sole side up. He winced remembering the many times it had slapped his arse cheeks. Roger was sat behind the desk looking lustfully at his second lodger. He loved Colin’s boyish good looks. If anything he found him more attractive than Jack.

Colin, you are a lazy little sod. How many times have I told you about clearing up after yourself? In addition you seem to think that you can ignore curfew and come in when you want. You need to understand that if you are to do well in training and earn that longed-for position as a centre half at the club, you need to be committed and sacrifice some of the things other teenage lads get up to.

He picked up the slipper and looked at the smooth surface, then opened the drawer and put it away, its work done for today.

Last time I gave you a walloping with the slipper, it did not seem to have the desired effect. Perhaps a taste of the rod might be more memorable? Shorts down and assume the position.

Colin knew it would be the cane this time; he had been warned last time that any further lateness would result in a caning. He slipped down his shorts and pants then went over the desk, gripping onto the far side. Roger stood up and picked up the cane once again. Once more he stood ogling a pair of fine muscular mounds, totally at his mercy. His cock was already stiff and he could feel pre-cum already dripping from the tip.

The bare arse cheeks quivered as he laid the rod in the crease ready to strike the first of six strokes. The cane lashed across Colin’s buttocks right on the crease, just as Roger had planned. Immediately the lad’s head shot up, his face contorted in agony. He shut his eyes tight and gripped firmly onto the desk. The next stroke doubled the agony and once again he bit down, desperate not to yell out. The third loosened the tear ducts, bringing water to the corner of his eyes and the fourth saw them drip down his face. The final two strokes had the lad grunting as the caning reached its ending.

Up, and go and join Jack by the wall.

Roger quickly turned his back on Colin for a moment in order to hide his raging erection. He watched as he hobbled across to the wall before dropping his shorts and placing his hands on his head.

Roger sat at his desk and looked at the two red, striped arses on display. Shorts and pants at their ankles, their socks pulled up to just below the knee. Footy kit always turned on the laundry man and the sight of the trainees with their shorts around their ankles, red arses on show was more than he could take. He slipped out a tissue from his desk drawer and whipped out his cock.

While the lads faced the wall, their own knobs now at ninety degrees, their landlord took just a couple of pulls before he exploded into the tissue. He somehow managed to control himself from grunting out. Clearing up the mess he looked on for a few moments longer at the sight before him. He knew he would be having another wank before bedtime as he recalled the events of the last few minutes.

Pull them up and off you go. I hope I don’t have to repeat this next Friday.

Of course that was a lie; he would make sure he found some reason to give them sore arses next week.

They pulled their underpants over their erect cocks before getting their shorts back in place. The lads left the office rubbing furiously at their stinging cheeks, then made their way upstairs and into Colin’s room where they could examine the damage, commiserate with each other, and then enjoy their own little wank sesh as they both tossed off to see who could cum first. If only Roger Black knew what was going on one floor above. But alas he would never know. He would have to content himself with a solo performance. He would have to wait another week before he got the chance to thrash the boys again. But one thing was for sure he would find a reason and next Friday the lads would be before him once again.

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Story ©MMXV by Baddlad17, 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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Baddlad17’s excellent earlier stories for The Canery are available here.  Further great stories by Baddlad17 may be found at this external link.