The Perils Of Piracy Parts 1 and 2 (F/M and M/M)

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Hot caning fiction by Rod Cayenne. All the characters are aged 18 or over.  This erotica is for ADULTS only!

Part One:

“Well lads, this is very serious.  Radio piracy is an offence under the Marine Broadcasting Offences Act, 1967.  You could all be going down for this!”

The three 21-year-olds surveyed their surroundings.  Their poky little studio with the twin turntables, and a pile of 45s.  The pegboard on the walls, with egg boxes to provide some acoustic insulation.  A valve amplifier and a rudimentary transmitter.

Sergeant Westlea and his two constables examined the pirate treasure with some disdain.  The Sergeant picked up a Deep Purple single and snapped it in half.

“Oops!  Well, that’s forever hushed!” laughed the Sergeant.  “Fortunately for you three, I am under strict instructions not to arrest you straight away.  If you know what’s good for you, you will accompany us to the police station where the Chief Superintendent wishes to interview you.   Why he is so interested in small fry like you, I have no idea.  The van’s outside, I suggest you all get in it before I change my mind and cuff the lot of you.”

Soon Bill, James and Hugh found themselves in the plush surroundings of the office of Chief Superintendent Walker.  All three were sat in front of his large oak desk.  He was reading the case file silently.  Now and then, he would look over his half-moon spectacles, gazing at the three miscreants.  He puffed on a large Churchillian cigar.

“Well, gentlemen.  It’s taken us three years to track you down.  You have led us a merry dance.  A dance to the music of time, you might say!  During this time, I have listened to your station a lot on my trusty Roberts.  I must say I have enjoyed a lot of your output.  Particularly that Cream bootleg you keep playing.”

To the three friends, this was the first sign of any relief from their predicament.

“I have studied the case file, and I must warn you that a judge might impose custodial sentences.  This is really a most, most grave offence in terms of the law.  However, here at the station, we tend to view this as a less serious offence.  I see from our research that you are all ex-pupils of St. Stephens…”

“Yes Sir!” said James, who was evidently the leader of the pirate gang.

“So am I,” laughed the Chief Superintendent.  “Not strangers to the cane then, lads?”

All three shook their heads.

“Mmmm.  Just as I suspected.  Now, listen to me!  As a prefect I used to cane naughty lads such as yourselves, back then.  It seems to me that an unofficial caning could be just what you lads need, instead of a spell in prison.  Something to wake your ideas up!  Well, lads?”

James spoke up, “If you’re suggesting we take a caning, I’m sure all three of us would be happy to accept that, Sir!”  The other two nodded enthusiastically.

James was thinking how much he hated the cane.  In the past, Bill hadn’t found the cane too bad if he felt he’d deserved it.  Hugh however, had a masochistic streak and loved being caned.  The Chief Superintendent was also very fond of the cane…

“Good.  Some common sense from you three at last.  I was thinking of six of the best.  Six strokes for each one of the years you evaded us.”

The lads gasped.  Eighteen strokes each!

“Don’t worry lads.  I was thinking of three sessions of six strokes each, say a week apart.  Just to drive the lesson home.  On the bare, of course.”

James spoke up again, “Of course.  Yes Sir, that seems very reasonable in the circumstances.”

“Now there is one problem.  My right arm is recovering from an injury sustained just recently.  I can’t cane you myself, although I feel I must witness your punishments.  Which leaves me with a couple of alternatives.  I could ask Sergeant Westlea…”

“We don’t like him, Sir.  He deliberately snapped one of our records!”

“Not the Cream bootleg, I hope!” exclaimed the Chief Superintendent.

“No, no it was a 45 of ‘Hush’ by Deep Purple,” said Bill.

“One of my favourites!” said the Chief, shaking his head.  “Well, I can’t trust the brute not to snap my cane then, can I?  It’s my last one.  Which brings me to the other alternative.  Mrs Walker!”

“Your wife, Sir?”

“Yes, my wife.  She’s an experienced caner.  Do you have a problem with that?”

“No, Sir.  Not really, but bare bottom Sir?” asked James.

“Good point, boy.  I’ll have to ask her how she feels about that.  She might want you to keep your underwear on.  In which case, perhaps more strokes might be appropriate.”

“Oh, Sir!” said James, the one who feared the cane the most.

“Well, Gents.  Maybe we’ll leave it at six each session.  I’m a reasonable man and Mrs Walker will see reason too.  It will hurt you, but it won’t kill you.  Have we got a deal?  Smith?”

James nodded, “Yes Sir, thank you.”

“Williams?”

“Yes, Sir!”

“Prentice?”

“Yes, yes thank you.”

“Very good.  I want you all to call around to my house on Friday evening.  Well after ‘The Archers’.  Say eight o’clock.  Here’s the address.”

The three lads trooped out of the station with mixed feelings.  They passed Sergeant Westlea, who looked astonished to see them walking free without so much as a caution.

Back in the office, the Chief Superintendent leant back in his leather chair.  Yes, this would be a most gratifying spectacle.  Three naked, prime rumps being caned by his disciplinarian wife.  Something for the weekend!  In bed that night he shared his wicked plan with his wife.  She mounted him eagerly and came heavily as he described his plans in detail.

“Well Charles, you have really excelled yourself this time.  I’m almost tempted to cane you now as a reward!”

“Thank you darling, but don’t you think you’d be better off resting and waiting for the weekend?”

“Well no, my arm’s not the one that’s weak at the moment is it?  Be a dear and fetch the cane…”

Despite the hot lovemaking he had just enjoyed, Charles Walker was regretting mentioning his plan.  His wife switched on the bedside lamp and took the cane from him.

“Eighteen strokes, I think!  Seems appropriate.  Unless you’d prefer twenty-one?”

“Oh, Lynn, surely that’s too many?”

“Well, let me have a look at your bottom.  Hmmmm.  No signs of recent caning or trauma.  Arse is looking meatier than ever.  Too many trips to the canteen at work, I’d say.  Eighteen!”

Charles placed a couple of pillows in the middle of the bed, and bent submissively over them.  His wife could hardly contain her delight.  How she loved caning this all-powerful copper!

CRACK! The first hard stroke from the whippy cane lashed down on the chunky, hairy cheeks.

CRACK! The second stroke was just as hard.

CRACK!  She wasn’t playing as a third fiery stroke hit him just above the crease.

CRACK!  Indeed, this was no love caning.  This was punishment!

CRACK!  The whippy, crook-handled cane bit into his bottom again.

CRAAACK!  A harder stroke caused him to gasp.

CRACK!  A satisfying sharp stroke.

CRACK!

“AAARGH!”  Charles could no longer contain his pain.

CRAACK!  His sadistic wife chuckled as the cane lashed down again.

CRACK! CRACK!  She was truly in her stride now.

“OWWWWW!”

He felt his cock springing to life again.  What magic the cane worked!

CRAAAACK!  The cane broke clean in half!

“SHIT!” they both cried.

“What are we going to do now?  We’ve got your boys coming on Friday and nothing to cane them with,” Lynn sighed.

“I know, I know.  It’s so hard to find a decent cane these days.  Those canes from school were top quality.  I’ll have to get the lads at work to find me a supplier.”

“Well, you don’t have long, Charles.  Don’t fail me or it will be very bad news for you!  How about Soho?  Or a whorehouse?”

“No, I don’t think so, love,” he got up from his submissive position, semi-erect, “the school might be a better bet.  They still use the cane at St Stephens…”

Part two:

“Where the hell have you been?” asked Chief Superintendent Walker.

Sergeant Westlea threw two whippy, crook-handled canes down onto the Chief’s oak desk.

“I’ve been at your old school.  I had a devil of a job persuading the headmaster to part with these canes, although he had at least two dozen in stock.”

“Why was he so reluctant to give you them?  I’d have expected him to have responded favourably to our unofficial law and order campaign.”

“Well, it was my fault in a way.  I let slip that there was no caning at my secondary school. So then he said he was only happy to hand over the canes to someone who knew what the cane was like…”

“Carry on, Sergeant.”

“Well, it was difficult Sir.  I didn’t want to disappoint you by returning empty-handed.  So I suggested he gave me a few strokes there and then.”

“You did what?”

“I took six of the best, Sir.  So that you wouldn’t be disappointed.”

“I don’t believe it!”

“I do Sir!  My arse is throbbing like mad.”

“He caned a uniformed officer?”

“Not exactly uniformed, Sir!  I had it bare bottom!”

“Well, it’s the only way…”

“Yes, that’s what he said too, Sir.  Must be a Saint Stephens thing.”

“Quite so, quite so.”

“I’m really sore!”

“Of course you are!  Still, it’s no more than you deserve.  I’ve been disappointed in your behaviour lately, Westlea.  Snapping that record at the pirate station was the last straw!”

“But Sir, those hippy lads have broken the law.  They ought to be banged up and have all their equipment and records confiscated.”

“No, no.  You’re wrong on two counts there, Westlea.  I am the law around here, and I have decided that the offence was not too serious.  The lads will be caned instead, but not here.  You will replace the record you destroyed, is that clear?”

“But Sir, it’s not fair!”

“The law never is fair, Westlea.  You have a lot to learn.  I’ll be taking you under my wing, so that I can keep an eye on you.  Now about these canes…”

“Yes, Sir?”

“One will remain here at the station.  For unofficial punishments and to keep delinquent constables and sergeants in line.  The other will go to my house, as that’s where those boys will be thrashed.   Now, we seem to have a junior and a senior cane here.  Which was used on you?”

“I’m not sure, Sir.”

“Only one way to find out then.  Show me the marks!”

“Sir?”

“Bare your bottom for me, Westlea.  Hurry up, unless you want another dose?”

The Sergeant undid his thick black leather belt, and let his trousers fall to the ground.  His white Jockeys followed.

“Wow!  Those look bad, Westlea!”

“They certainly hurt badly, Sir!”

“I’m not sure that they were done with either of these canes.”

“Well, I couldn’t really see, Sir.  I was bent over his caning stool, at the time.  Do you think I should have him for assault or GBH?”

“No, that wouldn’t be advisable.  Just think what the press could make of it.”

“Yes, you’re right of course, Sir.”

“Yes I am.  Now keep still a moment.  I need to check those ridges.”

And so it was that Sergeant Westlea had his naked bottom felt all over by Charles the Chief Superintendent.

“Oh, Sir!”

“Shut up, Westlea.  You’ll live.  Now, pull your trousers up.  Tomorrow you will go to the record shop and order a replacement copy of that record.  Here are the details.  No messing about now.  You will give the record to me.  Don’t let me down or it’ll be the cane for you!”

“Yes, Sir!”

Their relationship had changed forever.

________________)

(________________

“Where the hell have you been?” Lynn demanded as Charles came through the front door, cane in hand.

“Getting this cane, of course!”

“Those boys will be here in less than an hour.  I’ve hardly got time to fit your caning in first!”

“Eh?”

“We are going to redo your eighteen strokes before the boys get here.  After all, I need some practice with this new cane.  Into the front room, now!”

Charles was glad he’d chosen the junior cane to bring home.  It would sting like the blazes, but neither he nor the radio pirates would be badly bruised.  However, the police staff back at the station might benefit from the biting caress of the senior cane!

In the front room, Lynn had arranged the room around a chair for her victims to bend over.  She pointed at the chair with her cane and Charles meekly climbed onto it, lowering his uniform trousers and pants ready for a serious thrashing.  Once again, his meaty, hairy cheeks were offered submissively to his wife.

SWISH-CRACK!  It hurt, it really hurt!

SWISH-CRACK!  It was a damn fine cane.

SWISH-CRACK!  She smiled.

SWISH-CRACK!  He grimaced.

SWISH-CRACK!  It stung like only a cane could.

SWISH-CRACK!  She was loving every minute.

“Let’s stop for a minute, Charles.  Tell me a little bit more about these boys.”

“Well, they’re all 21-year-olds.  One of them’s a bit tubby, but should be a nice target for your cane.  I want to watch, of course.”

“Do I know any of them, or their parents?”

“No, I don’t think so.  They all arrived as the town and school expanded.  All from down the road in London, I think.  All ex-GLC pupils.  All no strangers to the cane, at least when they were at St. Stephens.”

“This is only a junior cane, though Charles.  I was hoping for something a bit firmer.”

“Yes, sorry, Westlea let me down a bit.  I’ll have to visit the school again myself.  And not just for old times sake.”

“Bend it a bit more Charles.  These will be extra hard ones.”

SWISH-CRACK!  She wasn’t joking!

SWISH-CRACK!  That cane could pack quite a punch, even for a junior.

SWISH-CRACK!  “Aaargh!”  Suddenly Charles had found his voice.

SWISH-CRACK!  “Owww!”

SWISH-CRACK!  “Shut up, Charles.  Unless you want extras?”

SWISH-CRACK!  He was silent, but his bottom was stinging terribly.

She left for the kitchen.  She poured herself a glass of milk.  This was thirsty work!  Charles remained bent over submissively, allowing his hands to comfort his bottom briefly while Lynn was out of the room.

“Get those hands off there!” she ordered as she arrived back in the room.  She placed the tumbler of milk on the sideboard.

“Six left!”

SWISH-CRACK!

SWISH-CRACK!

SWISH-CRACK!

SWISH-CRACK!

SWISH-CRACK!  “AAAARGH!”

SWISH-CRACK!  “OWWW!”

“That was fun!” she announced.  “I wish those lads would hurry up.  You’d better get up and pull your trousers back on.  You are keeping your uniform on for the main event, aren’t you?”

“Oh yes, darling.  I am the semi-official witness.”

“And a very naughty boy, too!” she added, pointing the stick at him.  “You might be getting some more later.  I’m really in the mood this evening!”

Charles rubbed his bottom nervously.  His wife was so sexy when she was like this.  His first erection of the evening was straining in his trousers.

_________________)

Story © MMXII by Rod Cayenne

All rights reserved

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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Comments welcome, please use the link at the top of the first part of the story…

Rump Kilt Skin (F/M)

Erotic fiction by your host, Rod Cayenne

Although the smoke of the steam engines engulfed the platform, the two figures recognised each other instantly.

“Hello Aunt Penelope!”

“Hello Gregory!”

They exchanged a kiss and smiled at each other.

“It’s very kind of you to let me stay this week!  I really want to explore the city’s architecture.  It will help with my finals.”

“There’s no finer city in Scotland, Gregory.  I’ll show you around.  Just be a good lad for me.”

“Oh I will Aunty!  I’ll be on my best behaviour.  You won’t be needing your old cane this time.”

“Well, that’s good.  I don’t think I’ve got it any more.  I think your uncle threw it out just before he died.  He said it wouldn’t be needed any more.”

“Oh,” said Gregory trying to hide his disappointment.  He had been thinking about his Aunt’s canings a lot lately.  They had been terrible at the time but now that he was in his early twenties and sexually mature, he had rather fancied a reminder of the cane’s bitter sweet caress.  “You must really miss Uncle Robert.”

“Yes, I do miss him.  Most of all I miss having a man around the house.  I feel like I’m rattling around in that big empty house.  So it will be a comfort having you to stay for the week.  Come on, let’s head home and I’ll fix you some food.”

Over broth and oatcakes the two stared at each other lovingly.  There was real electricity between them.

Aunt Penelope nipped out to the outhouse.  She hadn’t been there much since the death of her husband.  She rummaged around and eventually found what she was looking for – the old leather tawse.  She picked it up and stroked it with affection.  The brown leather twin-tailed strap was capable of severe punishment.  The happily-married couple had used both it and the cane regularly to spice up their sex life.  Then, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the cane.  He hadn’t thrown it out after all!  He had always been a bit of a tease!  She decided to take both items in to show Gregory.

She placed both items on the kitchen table.  Gregory was sat there still, daydreaming, but the arrival of the cane and tawse brought him back down to earth.

“Oh Aunty, you won’t be needing those, will you?”

“I rather think I might be, young Gregory!”

“I thought you said Uncle Robert had thrown the cane away.”

“Well, I honestly thought he had.  But now I’ve found it, I rather think I might put it to use.”

“Oh Aunty!  And that beastly tawse?”

“Yes, that too!  I think you deserve a good thrashing for all of those times you took advantage of me.”

“But Aunty, you led me on!”

“Yes, I may have done.  But you should have declined.  I had a devil of a job keeping it secret from Robbie.”

“You didn’t tell him?”

“No, I didn’t.  I felt so guilty though.  Maybe he guessed and that’s what finished him off.  Poor Robbie.  Anyway, you can take advantage again this week, but only if you accept your punishment first!”

“Oh Aunty, must I?”

“Yes, you must.  It’ll help us both assuage the guilt, I think.”

“Yes, Aunty.  I suppose you’re right.”

“I hope you’ve brought your kilt.”

He nodded.

“Go and change into it then.  Remember, no underwear”

“Yes, Aunty.”

“And I’ll slip into something more comfortable.  Something you’ll really like.  Meet me in the bedroom.  I want the full outfit too, please.  Sporran, garters, shirt…”

So it came to be that the two of them met up in the master bedroom.  Gregory looked smart in his traditional Scottish wear, and Aunt Penelope looked severe in a black girdle.   She flexed the cane menacingly.

“Right Gregory, bend over the side of the bed and lift your kilt up for me.  I will be alternating strokes between the cane and the tawse.  That’s it, stick your rump out for me.”

She approached him, and tucked the cane under her arm.  She had a good feel of his generous, meaty rump.  Its skin was still soft and boyish, not nearly as hairy as her husband’s had been.  The smooth surface was about to become marked by the lash of the cane.

SWISH-CRACK!

“ACH – YEOWCH!” Gregory cried as the stroke was much harder than he’d been expecting.   He heard the clatter of the cane being put down on the side table.

WHACK!  Now the tawse lashed down.  A different kind of pain followed.  A bruising, hurtful pain.

SWISH-CRACK!  It was the cane again and a sharp line of fire assaulted his arse.

WHACK!  The tawse crashed down on Gregory’s cheeks.

SWISH-CRACK!  The whippy cane struck down.

WHAACK!  The tawse crashed down even harder than before!

“AARGH!”

WHACK!  The tawse struck again, unexpectedly, as the cane had been due.

“OWWW!”

“That’s enough of the tawse, I think.  Six of the best with the cane!”

SWISH-CRACK!

SWISH-CRACK!

SWISH-CRACK!

SWISH-CRACK!

SWISH-CRACK!

SWISH-CRACK!

Both were really getting into their stride.  Aunt Penelope stopped to feel his manly cheeks.  They were hot and inviting.  She made a mental note to find something suitable to push up his arsehole.  A quick feel of his semi-erect penis followed.  Yes, it would serve her well once again.

“Six more, I’m afraid Gregory.  Your penis is betraying your true feelings.  You’re enjoying this!  Six more, then you can mount me.”

SWISH-CRACK!

SWISH-CRACK!

SWISH-CRACK!

SWISH-CRACK!

SWISH-CRACK!

SWISH-CRACK!

She tucked the cane under her arm again and groped his arse and cock once more.  

“Still enjoying it I see!  Do you think you can take six more with the tawse?”

“I’d rather have the cane, Aunty.”

“Are you really sure?”

“Yes, but make it a dozen!  In for a penny, in for a pound!” he laughed.

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Story © 2012 by Rod Cayenne

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D I S C L A I M E R

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

__________________

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

Comments from the original 2012 post are here

 

Old School Blazer (F/M)

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Femdom fiction by Rod Cayenne, repeated from October 2013.  Strictly 18+, adults only!

He stroked the felt badge on his old school blazer with affection.  He should have thrown the blazer away years ago, as he never wore it, and it smelt of mothballs.  There it was, hanging on a polished wooden coat hanger, on a brass rail within a rather knackered old wardrobe.  He sighed and remembered his school days.  They were happier days and simpler times.

It was seven whole years since he’d left the sixth form.  He had been an underachiever, or lazy, depending on your point of view.  The odd fierce beating had failed to motivate him.  Neither had the special attention and encouragement of his homosexual English cum RE teacher been of any help.  He left with one solitary ‘A’ Level pass, in History of all subjects.  It was a subject that appealed to him still, for he was of a nostalgic bent.  To a certain extent, you could say he lived in the past.

Carefully he took the blazer down from the hanger and folded it once, neatly, and placed it in one of the large leather trunks in his bedsit.  He carried on placing clothes in the trunk, thinking now and then about his old blazer as he did so.  Eventually, he was packed.  His aunt would be there soon.  He was moving out of paid digs into his aunt’s home in a leafy suburb of the city.  In truth, being a tenant hadn’t worked out for him, and when his favourite aunt offered him a room at a token rent, he really couldn’t resist.

It had been agreed between the lad, his aunt and parents that he would stay there for a year or so.  The idea was that he should sober up and take his fledgling Civil Service career a little more seriously.  He could save up the deposit on a rental property while he lodged with his aunt.

Eventually she arrived in her beat-up Morris 1100 estate.  It was barely big enough to accommodate the two leather trunks, his record player and albums.  She smiled lovingly at her nephew, lit a cigarette and gave the accelerator hell in high heels.  The overladen old car burst into life, the tyres screeching and leaving an acrid smell of burning rubber behind.  He’d forgotten what a truly awful driver she was!  He held on for dear life as she whipped the recalcitrant Morris around corners it was clearly taxed by.

In record time, they were back at her house, a whitewashed semi in a pricey cul-de-sac.  He’d forgotten quite what a lovely place it was, and he remembered glorious summer holidays he’d spent there while his parents had short holidays in a desperate hope of saving their loveless marriage.  Despite the odds, they had succeeded in maintaining their relationship.  He wondered to himself why his aunt hadn’t settled down.

It was a few weeks later that things took an interesting turn.  One Friday evening, young Jonathan was summoned downstairs by his aunt.  As ever, she looked remarkable and regal.  Her purple paisley outfit stank of cigarettes and cheap perfume.  She had her arms crossed and an expression which veered between disdain and amusement.

“Anything the matter Aunty?” he asked.

“Yes, a little something, Jonathan.  It’s not the end of the world, but you have been a little inconsiderate.”

“I have?” asked Jonathan, racking his brains as to what he could have possibly done wrong.

“Yes.  Now, when you moved in, I agreed to clean your room now and then, as you couldn’t really be trusted to.”

“Yes, Aunty.  I’m truly grateful.  Really, I must thank you.”

“Alright, alright!  Don’t overdo it.  Now, I don’t want you thinking I’m a miserable old fossil, Jonathan, but I really didn’t like the state of your room.”

“Sorry, Aunty.”

“It’s OK, Jonathan.  I was just a little dismayed to find dirty handkerchiefs and underpants lying around.  Then, I almost tripped over a pile of girly magazines.”

“Oh, Aunty, I’m sorry, I should have put them away.”

“Yes, you should have.”

“I’m sorry.  In fact, I’ll throw them away, if you like.”

“No, no.  Don’t be silly.  I understand that men like to play with themselves.  Apart from which, I had a quick flick through the magazines.  I hope you don’t mind.”

“Err, no, Aunty.  I’m just a bit shocked.”

“No need to be.  I enjoyed the pictures.  I have always had Sapphic interests, you know.”

Actually, he didn’t know.  He’d seen that word somewhere but couldn’t remember what it meant just then.  He blushed a little, as she continued, “But I was a little surprised to find some spanking magazines in the pile.  An interest of yours?” she asked with a penetrating gaze.

“Err, not really.  I bought them on a whim.”

“Don’t lie to me, Jonathan!  I saw the cover prices of those magazines, you don’t pay that kind of money if you’re not really interested.  You’ve circled some of the personals as well.”

“Oh, Aunty!”

“You’ve been a naughty boy, Jonathan.  Aunty’s not happy.  Can you guess what comes next?” she asked him teasingly.

“No.”

“Naughty boys get their bottoms smacked, Jonathan.  We’re agreed about that, aren’t we?”

He nodded anxiously.

“And if you’re the naughty boy, who’s left to do the smacking?”

He gulped, “Well, you are, I suppose.  But I don’t want to do it Aunty.  It’s only a silly fantasy.  Can’t I just throw the magazines away, and we can forget all about it?”

“No, I told you.  I liked those magazines.  You’ve opened Pandora’s box.  You can share your magazines with me in future, naughty boy.  Especially the spanking ones.”

“Oh, Aunty.  This isn’t right at all!”

“Shut up, Jonathan!  You and I are going to have some fun.  Now, go and put your office clothes on.  Except for a jacket.  Instead, you can wear that cute school blazer for me.”

He hadn’t realised she had even seen the old blazer in the built-in wardrobe unit.  How he wished he’d thrown it away.  And those cp magazines!  Why couldn’t he be normal?  He headed upstairs anxiously.  In his bedroom, he slid the frosted glass doors of the wardrobe back along their runners.  He reached out for a pair of grey slacks, and a white shirt.  It would need ironing!  But, much to his surprise, it was uncreased.  Aunty had ironed all of his shirts, perhaps in expectation of the evening’s events.  He picked a striped tie that would complement the blazer.  Slowly, he got changed.  He wasn’t sure that he really deserved or wanted a spanking.  He couldn’t bring himself to argue with Aunty, however.  She was so nice, after all.

Slowly, he did up the buttons of his shirt and then he peeled down his underpants and gazed at his pert, naked buttocks in the full-length mirror.  He gave them a loving squeeze.  If he was going to be spanked, he decided, then he wanted it to really hurt!  He toyed with the idea of leaving his underpants off altogether, but obviously Aunty wanted him in traditional schoolboy attire, so he pulled them back up.  Then he thought about the spanking some more.  Would it be on his bare bottom?  Bound to be, as he’d been looking at nude magazines!

Jonathan had dithered enough.  It was time to go down the stairs and face the music.  He strolled into the living room, trying to look nonchalant or even a touch defiant.  However, he couldn’t keep the pretence up for long, for he was astonished to see his aunt flexing a rattan school cane, just like the ones in his spanking mags, crook handle and all!

“Aunty, you didn’t say anything about a caning!  Just a smacked bottom!”

“You’re forgetting those circled adverts, my boy.  ‘Dominant aunt canes naughty pupils in luxury home’ and so forth.  I know what you want and what you need.  But don’t worry you’ll be feeling my hand as well as this cane.  My, my, I must say how smart you look in your old school blazer!”

He did look rather handsome and very boyish.  The black blazer with the yellow piping and neat school crest made him look even younger than his twenty-five years.  The tie he had chosen was a pretty good match, too.  He really did look the part.  He was excited and scared at the same time.  There was no sign of life in the front of his grey trousers, however his bottom was tingling in expectation.

She pulled a dining chair into the middle of the room, and sat down.  She smoothed a few creases out of her purple skirt and then demanded, “Over my lap, Jonathan.”

She proceeded to smooth out some creases in his trousers, patting his bottom gently as well.  His cheeks seemed to demand attention.  As advertised, you could say!

“Ready, Jonathan?”

“No,” he said defiantly.

She ignored his disrespect and slammed her hand down on his bottom.  She did it again and again, smacking hard and moving straight into frenzy mode!  He wriggled and writhed in a vain attempt to avoid the chastising hand.

“UP!” she demanded, “Trousers down!”

He obeyed instantly, and took his place over her lap again.  Out of the corner of his eye, he spied the cane on the dining table.  He really didn’t want to experience it.  Not today, anyway.  He wondered whether, if he took his spanking like a man, she might let him off.  Taking his punishment manfully rapidly became impossible however, as aunt spanked and spanked hard and effortlessly.  He began to moan and cry out in pain.  She responded by tugging at his underpants!

“Nice clean pants, I’m pleased to see, Jonathan.  Let’s keep them that way, by moving them out of the danger zone, shall we?”

Before he had a chance to reply, they were history!  His naked arse cheeks were revealed.  His aunt paused the spanking and ran her hands across his bottom.

“Mmmmm, nice and hot, Jonathan!  Get comfortable now and we’ll carry on.”

Of course, there was no possibility of comfort.  He thought of his mother.  She was nothing like this!   He thought about his bottom, so cruelly treated and exposed.  He hoped his aunt couldn’t see his arsehole!  But she could, and indeed was admiring it with a strange fascination as the spanking resumed.  In fact, she couldn’t keep her eyes off it.  It was a most obscene display she thought, as it spurred her on to smack him even harder.  Jonathan’s thoughts moved onto another part of his anatomy.  He was willing away the possibility of an erection.  He didn’t want a spanking or a caning, but most of all he didn’t want an erection!  Not in front of Aunty!

“Stand up!” she ordered.  She admired his red bottom.  Imprints of her hand and fingers decorated his thighs where her hand had strayed a few times.  She really should have taken her rings off to reduce the pain.  However, she reasoned, that they were family heirlooms and she really didn’t want to mislay them.

“Ooh Aunty, that really hurt!”  said Jonathan, rubbing his sore and thoroughly disciplined bottom cheeks.

“Think yourself lucky I didn’t use my hairbrush on you, young man!” she chided sadistically.

They both stared at the cane on the dining table at the same time.  He gulped.  She grinned.

“You’ve had the cane before?” she asked dispassionately.

“Yes, I’m afraid I have.  At school.”

“Well, yes of course.  It would hardly have been at home, would it?  Your parents are too soft by half.”

“They’re not soft!” he scoffed, “They just love me, that’s all.”

“I love you too, Jonathan.  I’m going to demonstrate my love for you in a very special way.  Bend over the table for me.”

She picked up the cane and flexed it.  Then she whipped it through the air several times.  It made a fearsome sound as it sliced through the air.  He was bracing himself for the first stroke.  It had been a long time.  Over seven years.  Seven lonely years of masturbation as he struggled to come to terms with his spanking fetish.  Girls seemed to sense that he was a bit weird.

“How many strokes did you get at school, Jonathan?”

“Oh.  Always six, Aunty.  It was that kind of school.  Only the type of cane and the judgement and mood of the master varied.”

“Well, at least your softy parents had the sense to send you to a traditional school.  Let’s keep within your boundaries, then.  Six of the cane.”

“Thank you Aunty!”

“And one for luck, I think.  That makes seven.  Let’s go for it then!”

But she didn’t.  Instead she plonked herself down on the sofa and lit up a Camel cigarette.  She had a lovely view from there.  The reddened buttocks, the hairy arsehole and the crown jewels beyond were all visible from her vantage point.

“Just having a ciggie,” she said quite unnecessarily.  He screwed up his nose as the smoke drifted his way.  Eventually, he heard her stubbing out the cigarette.  It was time!  Surely?  Except it wasn’t!  He heard her fumbling in her handbag again.  She had decided to have another fag!  After a couple of drags, she got up and approached her nephew.  She pushed the old blazer and the tail of his shirt well out of the target area.  She couldn’t resist running her hands over his buttocks.  He coughed as the cigarette smoke surrounded him.  He was fearful that she might explore around the front, or even worse, between the buttock cheeks.  Thankfully she didn’t.

Eventually, he heard the second cigarette butt being stubbed out.  He heard the clatter as she picked up the cane from the sideboard where she’d left it.  She whipped it through the air just once before slicing it down on Jonathan’s cheeks with an almighty crack!  Oho, she was good!  Or bad, depending on your point of view.  She hit as hard as Mr Truman, he thought to himself, if not as badly as the chaplain!  A second stroke had him re-assessing his aunt’s capabilities as she very nearly sliced him in half, or so it seemed!  Stroke three was less intense, although his aunt chuckled as the cane seemed to bounce off his pert mounds, leaving a fainter mark but still imparting a stinging caress.  Strangely, this was the first stroke to cause Jonathan to squeal.  Then there was an unexpected pause as Jonathan’s aunt paced around the room for a minute or two.

The silence was deafening.  Eventually, Jonathan had to say something, and it was, “Is everything alright?”

“What?  Oh yes, sorry I was miles away, Jonathan.  How far did we get?”

“I’ve had three, so I’ve got four left.  Unless you want to let me off?”

“Let you off!  You’re joking of course?  I was just thinking what fun this was.  Be careful I don’t add extra for your cheek!”

“Sorry, Aunty,” Jonathan said with a touch of truth in his voice, “I deserve the full seven.”  He stuck his bottom out further, as if wiling his aunt to do her worst.

“Yes, you do!” she said, slicing the cane twice in rapid succession and causing him to grunt and gasp.

The sixth stroke slashed down.  He was silent, but somehow sensed the final stroke would be the worst.  He wasn’t wrong.  She crashed it down diagonally, disrupting the neat parallel weals left by the six preceding strokes and adding to Jonathan’s agony.

“AAAARGH!”

“Don’t be such a baby, Jonathan.  Now, take your blazer off and go and stand in the corner, facing the wall.  I think we both need a few moments to reflect on what’s happened here.  You can rub your bottom if you must.”

Stood in the corner rubbing frantically, Jonathan didn’t really know what to make of things.  His aunt sat down on the sofa, kicked off her stilletos and lit another cigarette.  She was a little more certain about things, announcing, “Twelve with the cane next time, Jonathan.  Or maybe more.”

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Story © MMXIII by Rod Cayenne

All rights reserved.

______________

D I S C L A I M E R

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

_______________

Comment please! Use the link at the top of the story.

Comments from the original October 2013 post are here.  

American Independence Day

Ah, the good old USA!  Yes, the Americans got their independence from dear old Blighty, but then they got the paddle instead of the cane!  Very few of them will know the stinging pain and the sexual thrill that only the cane can give.  If only they knew what they were missing…

 

Bottoms up!  Let’s see some stars and stripes!

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Posted by Rod Cayenne around about the 4th July.  This is a revised version of an earlier post.

Underpants by Primark, canes from under the bed.

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

Aunt’s Birthday Present (F/M)

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Hot femdom erotica by Rod Cayenne, repeated from 2013 by popular demand. 

All the characters are 21 or older. WARNING: ADULTS ONLY!

 

Aunt and nephew surveyed the presents on the dining table.

“Well, quite a good haul this year!” said Aunt Suze as she looked into her nephew’s eyes, “Thank you for the chocolates, Tommy.”

“My pleasure Auntie,” he spoke softly, “It’s the least I can do for you for letting me stay for the week.”

“Nonsense, my boy,” she purred, “The pleasure is all mine. You know I hate to be all alone in this big place during my birthday week.”

“Yes, Auntie. It looks like someone else knew I was coming. I’d guess that’s why they’ve bought you this cane.  Don’t you think?”

Well, the rattan cane certainly looked out of place there on the table.  A silken scarf, chocolates, a floral table mirror, a couple of hardback romantic novels and two sets of gift vouchers all looked at home.  But there, incongruously, was a rattan punishment cane with a crook handle right in the middle of the other presents.

“Yes. I wonder who bought it? I’ve never had an anonymous present before. Obviously someone who thinks you’ll need keeping in line. But we both know you won’t, don’t we Tommy?”

“Well, it certainly is a strange present to receive in this day and age. But I suppose if I’m really, really bad, you could use it on me.”

“No, Tommy. Out of the question. It’s quite a sick present in a way. I could never hurt you. You’re my favourite, you know.”

Tommy blushed with embarrassment. As the day wore on, however, Tommy thought more and more about that cane. Secretly, he began to fancy a thrashing. Aunt Suze was an attractive lady with a fine figure and a most beautiful face. It was surprising she was single, he reflected. He wondered whether she was frustrated, and began to fantasise about her and about being punished by her. She wouldn’t rise to the bait, however, when he nagged her about the rattan rod, in a discreet but persistent manner.

In the evening, they sat over warm cocoa in the harbourside cafe. “I’ve had a lovely birthday, thank you, Thomas.”

But all that twenty-something Tommy could think about was that bloody cane. Try as he might over the next few days, he couldn’t goad Aunt Suze into hitting him with it. Even a plea for just one stroke “for fun” fell on deaf ears.  Every night and every morning he would masturbate to the thought of Suze caning him. Hard. Bare bottom. Mercilessly. Enthusiastically. Cruelly. Somedays, he would sneak off to the bathroom during the day, to knock another quick one off.

All too soon, the end of his holiday arrived. One last try for a caning failed miserably. Suze informed him that the cane was most likely destined for a charity bag. Tommy’s face fell with disappointment. It had been a great holiday for both, but he felt it lacked that extra frisson that a good, hard caning might have added. Suze drove him to the station, and waved him off with a tear in her eye. He was a good lad, after all, and she was very, very fond of him.

Over the next few days, Tommy was tortured by thoughts of the cane and his aunt. He wanted to go and visit her again, to get down on his knees and beg for a caning. He began to research his new-found interest on the net. It seemed to be a popular fetish! Tales of cruel aunts and docile nephews weren’t that hard for him to find, and those stories gave him some comfort as he wanked away as he read them. Eventually though, he had to accept that his aunt just didn’t share his fascination with the cane.

A few days later, Tommy was round at his sister’s house. Amy was somewhat older than him, and newly divorced. He wondered how she managed to afford to run a place on her own, but then he remembered she had a second income from a rental property, as well as her office job. Her house was really quite plush. He was really envious, as he was still stuck at home with their parents. His bedroom really was a grim, grey and lonely place, full of fantasies and masturbation, but little else.

“Did you have a good holiday with Auntie Suze, Tommy?”

“Yes, terrific, thanks! I love it there on the coast, and she is so sweet and such good company.”

“Mmmmm yes. I know what you mean. So were you a good boy for her or were you a naughty boy who got his bottom caned?”

Tommy choked on his cola, “You what, sis?”

“I asked whether you got your bottom caned? I bought her that cane, you see. I thought she might need it to keep you in line.”

“You bitch, Amy!”

“Language, Tommy, language!”

“Well, really! The very idea! But sorry to upset your plans. I was good all week and Suze had no use for that wicked-looking cane.”

“Pity, pity. It might have done you some good. You know, you’re the very definition of fecklessness.”

“That’s a bit harsh, Amy. I just need to get my shit together.”

“You certainly do, young man! Loafing around all day. You want to be careful you don’t end up unemployable, and your language is shocking.”

“Amy!”

“Well, it’s true.  A good motivational caning is just what you need.”

Tommy laughed nervously, and then conceded, “Yes, you’re probably right there.”

“Of course I am, silly. Now, it’s just as well I bought a pair of canes, isn’t it?”

“What?” said Tommy as the penny dropped.

“Yes, I’ll just go and get my cane.”

“But Amy…”

“I’ll give you but, Tommy! Butt with two Ts!”

Soon Amy returned with the cane in her hands.  It was identical to the one he’s seen at Aunt Suze’s house. It was now or never, fight or flight. Suddenly, he told himself he might never get an opportunity like this again.

Amy chuckled, “Yes, I think a good caning is just what you need. It might teach you to appreciate Mum and Dad rather more than you do at the moment. They don’t like you hanging around when you could be working. Get yourself down to an agency.”

“It’s not easy, Amy.”

“Neither will this caning be!” she laughed. “Now, I think we’ll start with twelve on your boxers.”

“Twelve? That’s a lot!”

“Oh, I don’t think so. After all, you’re not a schoolboy, so you deserve rather more than six of the best.”

“If you say so, sis.”

“I do say so. Now bend over the table and get those jeans down for me!”

Amy was shocked to find that her brother was wearing rather old-fashoned white briefs. Still, they did look clean. And after all, she didn’t want her brand new cane to get soiled!

She flexed the cane and brought it down with a resounding CRACK! on her brother’s bottom. Poor Tommy had never felt the cane before and was surprised by just how much it hurt! All manner of expletives ran through his mind, though none escaped from his mouth. Shit, it hurt!

CRACK! A second lusty stroke hit his pristine white pants. He gasped as the pain overwhelmed him briefly.

CRACK! What a bitch Tommy’s sister was turning out to be. He regretted going round there.

CRACK! How much more could he take? He couldn’t stand the thought of wimping out in front of his sister.

CRACK! He allowed himself a loud gasp, that wouldn’t be too embarrassing, would it now?

CRACK! There was no faulting Amy’s rhythm as she beat him with relentless fervour.

CRACK! All the same, Tommy couldn’t help but writhe with discomfort as the cane whipped down again and again. Whatever had made him wish Aunt Suze had caned him? This was no fun at all.

CRACK! Tommy’s arse was now aglow and ablaze, but through it all he was beginning to get some satisfaction. Perhaps it was a bit sexy?

CRACK! A vicious stroke made him reconsider, briefly. But no, it was good, cleansing and satisfying. It was almost ecstasy.

CRACK! He couldn’t let his sister know how satisfying it was. But then, maybe she was finding the same thing too? After all, she was the sadistic one who had bought the pair of rattans!

CRACK! He’d lost count but in a way he hoped it would go on forever.

CRACK! That was it! She tossed the cane aside. But a bombshell was to follow!

“Now then Tommy, you took those well, but I think a further six strokes on the bare will improve your attitude immensely.”

Without further ado, she slid his pants down gently, revealing a scarred, hairy but attractive rump. She wasn’t Aunt Suze, but she was close enough…

 

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Story © MMXIII by Rod Cayenne

Comments welcome

Comments from the original 2013 posting are here

Mum’s Birthday Present (F/F)

A favourite spanking story by Rod Cayenne, repeated by popular demand.

All the characters are age 21 or older. WARNING: ADULTS ONLY!

 

“A cane?”

“Well Mum, you said it was almost impossible to get you anything. What do you get the woman who’s got everything?”

“Yes, I did say something like that didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did. And then I remembered you saying something a while back along the lines of you’d like to hold a cane again, just once to remind yourself how powerful it made you feel.”

“Well, yes I may have done. It certainly takes me back. I feel just like Head Girl again,” Mum said grinning and swishing the beautiful crook-handled cane through the air.

“You like it then?”

“Oh yes, Carol darling! It certainly takes me back, it certainly does.”

“Did you use the cane much, Mum?”

“Oh yes! It was expected, encouraged. I was a bit of a beast, really. I feel a little guilty about it now. It wouldn’t be allowed now, would it?”

“No, certainly not. Anyway, is it a good one?”

“Yes, I’d say so. Let’s try it on this cushion, shall we?”

Swish-CRACK! Swish-CRACK! Swish-CRACK! Swish-CRACK! Swish-CRACK! Swish-CRACK!

“There we are! Six of the best. Very impressive. Thank you darling.”

Mother and daughter kissed.

“You’re welcome Mum. I had to buy it from an online sex shop.”

“Really, do people find it sexy?”

“Well someone must, otherwise they wouldn’t sell any, would they?”

“I remember being on the receiving end too. Phew, it burns like fire.”

“Really? It seems so thin and inoffensive.”

“Yes, but it’s whippy as you’ve seen and bites like a snake. Not that I’ve been bitten by a snake, of course. Not at all sexy, anyway.”

“So Mum, one thing has always puzzled me. You used the cane at school, but you didn’t believe in it at home?”

“No. Your father and I argued about it, but I was adamant. No cane in our house. Although I regretted that a bit when Penny went off her head.”

“The drugs?”

“Yes, that was difficult. To this day, I don’t know where she got them from.”

“I do Mum. It was me. I’ve always felt very, very guilty about it.”

“YOU? Oh no, no, no!”

“Yes, sorry Mum. Still Penny’s turned out fine hasn’t she? All those dressage awards!”

“No thanks to you!”

“Mum!”

“Well, frankly I’m very disappointed with you. Very. If I’d found that out at the time, I probably would have got a cane!”

“Really? I had a lucky escape there then!”

“Yes!”

“You’re not happy with me now are you, Mum?”

“No I’m not! I think you’d better leave, before I say something I might regret later.”

“What, like ‘Bend over’?”

“No, that’s not what I was thinking of at all, but it’s not a bad idea.”

“Really, Mum? If it would help, I’d do it.”

“No. Don’t tempt me. Wait! Yes, let’s do it!”

Carol was a bit shocked that her mother had suddenly expressed a wish to cane her. This hadn’t been in her plans when she bought that jokey present. She was a bit old for the cane, too.

“Seriously, Mum? Don’t you think I’m a bit old for it? I’m twenty-nine, remember.”

By this time, Carol’s mother had pulled a dining chair into the middle of the room. She obviously wasn’t joking.

“Shut up Carol! Of course you’re not too old. Now bend yourself over this chair. We’ll start with a traditional six of the best. Like that cushion just had!”

“Oh, Mum!” exclaimed Carol, remembering what a sound thrashing the cushion had taken. Indeed, dust from the cushion was still in the air, and visible in the streams of sunshine coming through the window.

“You can keep your skirt and knickers on if you behave yourself, although the skirt will be raised out of the way.”

“Oh, Mum!”

“Six of the best, then.”

Swish-Crack! Mum wasted no time slashing the first stroke down on her daughter’s pert knickered bottom.

“AARGH!” Carol cried, leaping up and clutching her bottom. She massaged her cheeks frantically.

“Just what do you think you’re doing, Carol? You’re meant to stay in position. Really, the girls at school were so much better behaved.”

“Well they were probably used to it!” Carol exclaimed, still rubbing her bottom frantically.

“Carol, I suggest you bend over again, right now, unless you want me to repeat the stroke!”

Filled with horror at the suggestion of an extra penalty stroke, Carol bent over submissively for her mother, somewhat embarrassed by events. Mum flexed the cane, eyeing the temptation before her. Carol’s bottom was more womanly than pert, offering an ample and very punishable target. Mum prepared herself for the next stroke, telling herself that there was no point in holding back! After all, this was likely to be the one and only time the cane would be employed for its designated use.

Swish-Crack! The second stroke landed on Carol’s white lacy knickers. The daughter gasped, and her face flushed. This was quite an experience, one she thought she would never have.

Swish-Crack! The cane landed again, causing Carol to squeal, much to her mother’s satisfaction.

CRACK! A heavy, brutal stroke crashed onto Carol’s bottom. She leapt up again! Her mother frowned as she watched Carol rubbing her bottom.

“That’s cheating, my girl! No-one dared to rub their bottom in my study at school. Get your knickers down, hurry up! Bend over again! And an extra stroke for getting up!”

Swish-Crack! Swish-Crack! Mum was getting into her stride. Her daughters naked, striped bottom was a delightful sight. It seemed to encourage and beckon the whippy stick.

Indeed, the cane lashed down again, causing a very vocal shriek.

“I’m not sure I’ve forgiven you properly yet! Stay down for two more!”

“Oh, Mum!”

CRACK!CRACK! On and on it went, two more each time. Mum’s taste for caning had been rekindled. Carol just felt sore and stupid, wriggling as the cane lashed her bum.

A few days later, Mum was over at her other daughter’s home. Mother and daughter were sat on the rattan sofa in the conservatory, enjoying a Pimms in the spring sunshine.

“Mum, I heard about Carol’s caning.”

“Oh, you did, did you? Well, let me tell you Penny, she deserved every one of those strokes.”

“But Mum, there were over twenty, I’m told. That was a bit harsh. Especially as it was me who was caught with the drugs.”

“Being caught was your own stupid fault. You took your punishment.”

“Yes, Mum. But Community Service hardly compares with what you gave Carol the other day.”

“Maybe not, but I don’t believe in punishing twice for the same thing. You don’t want the cane do you?”

“Yes, I do actually. Have you got it with you?”

“No, of course not. I’m not going to keep it in the car, now am I? Now who’s being stupid? It’s hidden in the bedroom where your father and I can keep an eye on it. We don’t want Carol breaking it.”

“OK Mum. I do deserve a good whipping, though. I thought you might not have the cane with you, so I thought we could use one of my riding crops instead. Let’s go into the living room, I’ve left my favourite crop in there.”

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Story © 2013 by Rod Cayenne

Comments welcome – please use link at top of story

Old comments are here

Son’s Birthday Present (M/M)

♥ Site recommended story ♥

 

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

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D I S C L A I M E R

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dad. Get real!”

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

“Dad!”

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

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

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

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

“Here it is, Dad.”

“Hmmm. Nasty. Hand it over please.”

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

“What do you think, Dad?”

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

“There is, Dad, there is.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Language, Robert!”

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

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

“Oh fuck off, Dad!”

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

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

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

“Dad, you cannot be serious!”

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

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

“Dad, no please. It’s my birthday!”

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

“Dad, no, this is insane!”

“DO IT!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_____________)

Story © 2013 by Rod Cayenne

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

Comments from the original posting are here

Dad’s Birthday Present (M/M)

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Hot and erotic entertainment by your host, Rod Cayenne.  Repeated as part of the new “Birthday Present Trilogy” season. 

All the characters are 18 or older. WARNING: ADULTS ONLY!

 

“Hello John.”

“Hello Dad!”

“Just ringing to say thank you for my birthday presents. The tie’s lovely, those gold stripes are very eye-catching. The other present was more of a surprise though.”

“Really? It’s to replace your broken one.”

“Yes, so I gather, but really, a school cane? I’m surprised you can still get them. My old one was at least thirty years old.”

“That’s probably why it broke then. It wasn’t hard to track down a new one via the internet.”

“Oh, I always forget about the internet. I hardly ever use it.”

“I know, Dad.”

“Anyway, thanks for the cane. I can’t see it getting any use though. When my old one broke on your brother’s bottom, I thought it was a sign to call a halt to that sort of thing. After all, Lawrence is eighteen now. A bit old for the cane, I suppose.”

“You caned me when I was twenty. Lawrence and I were talking and we reckoned a father should use the cane until his sons get to twenty one, maybe.”

“Really? What an odd notion. Especially in this day and age.”

“Well Lawrence and I are both a bit old-fashioned, perhaps thanks to you. In fact, it was his idea to get you a replacement cane. It was just easier for me to get hold of one.”

“So, let me get this right. He’s expecting me to cane him for another three years or so?”

“Well, you’d have to ask him that, I guess, but he is still living under your roof. Until he moves out. And only if he screws up, I guess.”

“Oh, he’ll do that alright. He’s a lot less responsible than you were at his age.”

“Well, you’re probably right, Dad. Although, as I said, you caned me at twenty for that car business.”

“Oh, yes. I’d forgotten about that. I was really angry with you.”

“Yes, I remember, and so does my bottom.”

“Really, I let you off quite lightly there son.”

“If you say so, Dad.”

“Yes, I do say so. A dreadful business. You deserved all twelve of those strokes!”

“You’d better watch out that Lawrence doesn’t pull a similar stunt.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that John, I know what signs to look for.”

“Yes, Dad. I suppose you do.”

“I’ll have a quick chat with Lawrence anyway. He needs to consent to my use of the cane, now he’s eighteen, I feel.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that, Dad. Anyway, he won’t object. Remember it was his idea to replace the cane.”

“Oh yes. Anyway, how are things with you, John?”

“Well, alright in some ways, not so good in others, to be honest. I think I’m getting a bit too fond of the beer.”

“Yes, well there is a family history of that.”

“I know, Dad. I just need some motivation to say no. A little temperance.”

“Hmm. I see. It’s a bit of a problem then, son?”

“Yes, and I don’t want it interfering with my job.”

“There’s always the cane.”

“Sorry Dad, what do you mean?”

“What I mean John is that regular, hard canings might help wean you off the alcohol.”

“Oh, Dad! I wish I hadn’t mentioned it.”

“Yes, well you have now, haven’t you?”

“Dad, I’m twenty five!”

“And still on the shelf and drinking yourself silly. I’ll come over Friday evening with both my presents, and we can talk it over.”

“Oh, Dad.”

“Make sure you’re in. And tip any alcohol away. You’re sobering up as from today. Is that clear?”

“Yes Dad.”

Friday evening soon came around. Dad looked very smart in his navy blue blazer, cream slacks, white shirt and the birthday tie. He parked his dark green Subaru in the large public car park and made his way over to the block of flats where his son John lived. He puffed away at a big, fat cigar as he strode purposefully. Under his left arm was a long, thin cardboard box, still with some gift wrap on. It was the box the cane had come in, and of course it wasn’t empty!

John answered the door, looking sheepishly at his father. He knew exactly what was in that box, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to see it.

The two men discussed the problem like mature adults. Dad had a leaflet about alcohol units. He read parts of it out loud and then they did an audit of John’s alcohol consumption. It was bad, very bad. Dad took a tour of the flat, looking for bottles. The only ones he found were empties. The fridge, however, revealed a secret stash of cans of extra-strong lager. Dad took enormous pleasure in opening the ring pulls and tipping the fizzy muck down the kitchen sink.

The elephant in the room was the cane, of course. Dad had returned to the lounge and both men stared at the box. Silently, Dad opened the box and extracted the cane from the pink tissue paper it was wrapped in.

“A nice touch, that tissue paper,” Dad observed.

“Yes, aimed at the married couples market, I believe.”

“Really?”

“Yes, that’s what they told me in the shop.”

“I thought you bought it on the internet?”

“No Dad. I found out about the shop on the internet, but went and bought the cane in person. Mainly as time was tight.”

“What sort of shop was it?”

“Oh a sex shop, you know.”

“I’ve never been in one actually, son.”

“Well they told me a lot of couples buy canes to spice things up in the bedroom. Seems a bit strange to me as a cane like that hurts like hell. Maybe they only tap each other with it.”

“Yes, maybe. Takes all sorts, I suppose. Well, this cane will be used for punishment only! You’re getting a dozen. Count yourself lucky that we’re not basing it on your units.”

“Yes, you’re right there, Dad.”

“Of course, just like when you were young, the strokes will have to be on the bare.”

“No, Dad. I don’t think that will be necessary.”

“I’ve decided, John. Now, no arguing with me unless you want me to increase the tariff.”

Reluctantly, John dropped his blue Wranglers. He hesitated as he reached his boxers. He really didn’t want to expose his bare flesh to the cane, and at twenty five, he wasn’t keen on his father seeing his bum crack, arsehole, cock and bollocks. However, he gave way. Perhaps it was the way his father was slashing the cane through the air with malicious intent! The boxers were removed and folded neatly along with the blue jeans.

“Over this chair! Right over! Bend down and stick your bottom out, John.”

WHACK! The cane lashed down. It had been five years, but that first searing stroke reminded John just why the cane was to be feared!

CRACK! A second stroke lashed down without any respite. John was distinctly uncomfortable, his bottom writhing already. He was determined not to cry out, though.

CRACK! The third stroke caused John to grunt as the pain kicked in. He was annoyed with himself, but it was too late, his father had heard and taken some satisfaction at this first audible sign of distress.

CRACK! The fourth stroke whipped down. Dad was enjoying the spectacle, and really appreciating his birthday present. What a thoughtful choice it had been!

CRACK! The fifth caused a heavy sigh from John who was now convincing himself that giving up alcohol would be a great idea.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! Dad was increasing the tempo of the beating, much to John’s distress.

CRACK!CRACK! John was beside himself with pain. He’d forgotten what a great beater his father was and how much a cane used in anger could hurt.

But the cane wasn’t really being used in anger. It was doing a good imitation, but the truth was that his father was enjoying every sadistic stroke, and every wince and groan from his son. At times like this, Dad felt completely detached from family ties, empathy and compassion. He was an old-fashioned, old school sadist, really. An erection was stirring in the old man’s slacks, for the first time in two or three years! He stopped and flexed the cane, and then began tapping it gently on his son’s naked arse. He slashed it down again with an almighty WHACK!

This time John couldn’t keep still and raised his head high, gasping with throbbing pain. He’d been counting silently, so he knew there was just one stroke left of his sentence.

CRACK! The final blow was wicked and merciless. John’s eyes were moist, and his arse was a scarred battlefield.

“Very good,” his father announced. “I think you’re learning a lesson here, John. Two more strokes to drive it home!”

There was no time for argument. John regretted staying bent over as the resounding CRACK of stroke thirteen echoed around the lounge.

“ARGH!” John cried, just like a teenager. His father’s erection was straining to break free, such was the sexual excitement in the air. Once again, the cane was flexed with pleasure and menace in mind.

CRACK! Stroke fourteen slashed down, creating the sorest, reddest line yet. But at least it was over.

“Cover yourself up, John! You look quite ridiculous like that.” Now Dad was adding to the humiliation with cruel words. He put the cane down on the coffee table.

Gingerly, John climbed back into his boxers, and then pulled his Wranglers over them. His arse was aglow, throbbing, hot and uncomfortable. His father’s penis was much the same, stiff and aching.

“The cane and I’ll be doing random spot checks from now on. No alcohol in the flat at all. Is that clear?”

“Yes Dad.”

“I can’t stop any longer. I’ve promised Lawrence a thrashing tonight as well.”

____________

Story © 2013 by Rod Cayenne

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

Comments from the original post are here

Uncle’s Birthday Present (M/M)

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Erotic fiction by your host, Rod Cayenne.  Repeated from 2013 as part of the new “Birthday Present” season. 

All the characters are 18 or older. WARNING: ADULTS ONLY!

 

I’d grown very fond of Uncle Robbie as I left my teens and moved into my early twenties. When I was younger, I’d found him to be rather stuffy and old-fashioned. As I matured though, I began to appreciate his ways. After all, he was a product of his harsh upbringing.

He had often regaled me with tales of his school days. Of his permanently sore bottom, courtesy of strict teachers and sadistic prefects. Then again, he eventually became a caning prefect himself. He was less forthcoming about that! I suspected he was a little ashamed about how he had become a small cog in the machinery of institutionalised brutality.

We used to joke about how I could have benefited from just such a regime. After all, it was no secret that I was a bit lazy and lacking in ambition. Despite this and the depressed local economy, I had managed to secure a part-time position at a local outlet.

Every now and then, it had become customary for me to spend a weekend at Uncle’s place – a timber-clad bungalow in a lovely wood, miles from any neighbour. Those weekends were really special, as we would spend hours exploring the woods, and catching up. There was no TV, but the radio was almost always on, usually blaring  classical pieces and often from a foreign station.

This particular weekend, he picked me up straight from work in his beaten-up old Ford. I’d had a bit of a struggle securing the time off, I told him as we headed back to his place.

I knew it had been his birthday the previous day. I’d bought him a little something, and wrapped it neatly in one of my more productive moments. I handed it to him as soon as we got into his place. He looked surprised, although it wasn’t the first time I’d remembered his birthday.

He took his time unwrapping the present. As the contents were revealed he gasped, then chuckled. It was a school cane with a crook handle. It was rather aged, as I’d bought it from an antiques dealer near where I lived.

He picked it up and swished it around. A broad grin crossed his face. He slammed it down on the arm of the chair next to him. It made a fearful crack, causing us both to laugh heartily.

“Well, thank you for the present,” he said eventually, “And really, you shouldn’t have.”

“It’s OK, Uncle. I thought you might like it. It’s not new you know, it’s from an antiques bric-a-brac place.”

“No, Liam. When I say you shouldn’t have, I mean I might be tempted to use it this weekend!”

I laughed nervously. Stupidly, I hadn’t foreseen that eventuality.

“Yes, a very dangerous present. A cane begs to be used, you know? You’d better watch your step, my lad!”

We both laughed. It wasn’t my step I had to watch, it was my arse! I was glad when the subject was dropped as we decided to eat. Over teacakes and jam, there was no more talk of it.

As it was a lovely fresh autumn evening, we took a stroll out into the woods. We saw a deer in the distance. I was quite captivated by it as it seemed so wild and untamed. Uncle told me all about the mating habits of deer, and about the rutting he’d seen more than once.

Back at the bungalow, we both stared at the cane lying on the coffee table. Its presence was making me nervous and I was regretting buying the thing. We didn’t talk about it during the rest of the evening, as Uncle was keen to hear about my job and the family. Only when it was time to turn in, was the subject of the cane brought up, somewhat awkwardly.

“I must thank you again for the cane, Liam. Most thoughtful. Now, why don’t you hang it on the hook on your bedroom door tonight? It’ll remind you to be good. No wanking tonight, mind!”

I was shocked to hear him use that word. In truth, by this time I was terrified of that cane. I did as was expected, however, and hung the cane on the back of the bedroom door. After washing, I lay silently on the bed. The ghostly light from the corridor shone through the glass panel above the door, and onto the cane. The pale light seemed to emphasise the curve of the handle of the cane.

In some ways, I wished I was back home with Mum rather than spending the weekend with Uncle Robbie. Perhaps because of what he had said, my urge to masturbate was strong. As I played with my stiffening cock, I stared at the cane. I wondered what it would feel like to receive a good thrashing from it. I didn’t want it, I told myself, but it would certainly be an experience to remember. My cock was rock hard and desperate for relief. I fantasised about Uncle Robbie caning me as I rubbed my cock frantically. It was a strong orgasm, with cum spurting everywhere. I used some toilet paper I’d sneaked in from the smallest room to dry up the evidence. I didn’t want Uncle to find it. My arse was on the line!

It was a beautiful morning. Sunlight was streaming into the room through the thin curtains and the glass panel above the bedroom door. Time for an early morning wank, I told myself. But evidently, it was later than I thought as suddenly I could hear Uncle Robbie calling me and telling me I had twenty minutes before breakfast was ready. I rushed to the bathroom and had a quick shit, shower and shave.

I dressed hurriedly. As I pulled on my jeans I saw the cane glistening in the sunshine. I took it down and flexed it. As if in a trance, I brought it with me as I made my way into the kitchen/diner.

I put the cane down on the small table. Uncle Robbie looked surprised to see it. We sat down to eat. I tapped at my boiled egg, and we made small talk about the weather and the morning. After breakfast we enjoyed a second cup of filter coffee.

“So, why is the cane here, Liam?”

“I thought you might want it back,” I sighed.

“Nothing you want to confess to then, Liam?”

“No, Uncle.”

“Quite sure?”

“Quite sure, thank you, Uncle.”

“Really? I thought I heard noises in the night. Wanking noises.”

“Well, maybe just a little, Uncle.”

“Come off it Liam. No-one has a little wank. A quick one, or a slow one maybe. But you had a full one, didn’t you?”

“Yes, alright I did.”

“Aha! So I’m getting the truth now. Tell me more about it! Uncle wants to know!” he said, picking up the cane.

“Uncle!”

“Come on Liam, tell me about it. We’re both grown men. No need to be shy with me.”

“Well it was a very good one, if you must know.”

“Tell me honestly, Liam, was the cane in your thoughts?”

“Errrrr. Yes, a little, Uncle.”

“Pah! There’s that ‘little’ word again. You had a good wank and you found the thought of the cane exciting, didn’t you boy?” Uncle Robbie had adopted a more authoritarian air.

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“Good. In that case a caning does seem to be in order, as you disobeyed me and played with yourself. And you want to find out what the cane’s like don’t you?”

I nodded. I couldn’t speak. I did want to find out what a caning was like. I was ready for it, but not what came next.

“Very good. Now, drop your trousers and pants, and bend over this chair.”

“Bare, Uncle?” I asked, the horror of the thought only just sinking in.

“Of course! I’m not caning you through those bloody thick jeans. You’d hardly feel a thing. The pants won’t make much of a difference but I’ve never caned a bottom that wasn’t bare, and I’m not going to start now. Get them down, lad.”

Slowly, I eased my jeans down, followed by my pants. I felt incredibly foolish with my bottom bared towards him.

“Come on, come on!” he goaded me, “I want to try out my present!”

I bent over submissively, offering my bottom for chastisement. It felt like a very strange thing to have to do. Strangely too, it felt quite thrilling.

Suddenly, the first stroke whipped down. It stung like blazes, I’d never felt anything quite like it! I felt hot all over, but my bottom was definitely hotter still and rapidly overheating. I reflected on how stupid and naive I’d been to furnish Uncle with this instrument of torture.

After a lengthy pause, a second stroke landed a little below where the first had marked me. Again, I was astonished by the severity and intensity. I felt flushed in the face, as I suddenly began to realise that the pain was starting to bring pleasure, too.

As the third stroke fell, I realised I was enjoying the caning. Of course it hurt, but the pain and sting produced waves of erotic pleasure. I wasn’t sure how to react, as I’d never experienced sexual pleasure from a man before.

I let out a most unmanly squeal as the fourth stroke cut into my naked cheeks. I heard Uncle chuckle behind me.

“Feeling it then?” he asked, but it was a question I had no intention of answering.

He slashed another stroke down, saying, “I asked you a question, lad. Are you feeling it?”

Well, as questions go, it was a pretty stupid one. No-one could not feel a caning. Especially one like that. I grunted an affirmative. I’d had five strokes and was hoping that number six would be the final one. I was enjoying the session, and was becoming turned on, but felt that six strokes was all I could take.

After another long pause, stroke six slashed down, slicing into my sore cheeks with real force. My arse throbbed and ached. My cock was stirring. I told myself I’d had my six of the best, so I decided to stand up.

“Not so fast, young man!” Uncle Robbie admonished, “I do believe you can take a little more. Besides which, I’m enjoying using this present of mine too much to stop just now. Bend back over for me please. Bottom out a bit more. That’s it!”

Well, I had to admit I admired his mastery, honesty and even his sadism. As the seventh and eighth strokes hit home, I had to admit to myself that I was enjoying the proceedings too. Nine and ten followed rapidly, which I hadn’t expected. I gasped at the double dose of pain.

Another brace of strokes followed. That was surely it, I told myself. I’d taken a sound caning of a dozen strokes. I started to rise. He pushed me back down again, roughly. I heard the swish and crack of stroke thirteen. Waves of pleasure and pain rushed through me. He whipped a fourteenth stroke down.

That was it! He helped me up, rubbing my bottom gently as he did so.

“Go and sit on the sofa,” he commanded. Soon he joined me. He put his arm around me and said, “Thanks for the cane, Liam.”

“Thanks for the caning, Uncle.”

I seized the initiative and kissed him on the cheek. He followed through immediately, and our lips met passionately. We went to bed. I had lost my caning virginity that day. My anal virginity joined it later that morning too. He was quite the skilled lover. We didn’t see much of the woods the rest of that weekend. I did see rather more of the cane, and my bottom got several more workouts from the rattan and from Uncle’s cock.

As soon as I passed my driving test I moved into the bungalow in the woods. I never regretted buying him that birthday present. It was used constantly, and always with me on the receiving end. He died a few years ago. Now I have a younger lover, and he is the one on the receiving end. I think Uncle Robbie would have approved.

____________)

Story © 2013 by Rod Cayenne

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

Comments from the original post are here

Grandpa’s Birthday Present (M/M)

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Hot caning fiction by Rod Cayenne, repeated from 2013.  All the characters are age 18 or above.  Strictly adults only!

“What a stupid thing to buy me!”

“Dad!”

“Well, I retired from teaching almost twenty years ago, why would I want a cane?  A walking cane perhaps, but not a punishment cane!”

“Dad, you’re so ungrateful!”

“Well, it’s a particularly useless present, son. The cane’s made for a boy’s flesh. No chance of this being used. Unless young Julian’s stepped out of line, of course?”

“Oh no, no, no, no! Leave Julian out of this. He’s a bloody good kid, raised thousands for charity, just you be the loving grandfather figure to him, please Dad.”

“OK son, glad to hear he’s such a paragon of virtue. No faults that need correcting at all?”

“No, none at all. Really! Listen, I only bought that cane as a joke. I thought you might want to mount it on the wall or something. Like a trophy.”

“You really are a stupid boy,” said the old man, flexing the cane in his bony hands. “I ought to beat that stupidity right out of you. Just like old times!”

“Dad, get real please! You can’t do that! For heaven’s sake!”

“How much did this cost you, then, son?”

“Well, you shouldn’t be asking me that, as it was a present.”

“But I want to know!”

“OK. OK, it was a tenner, Dad.”

“A tenner, eh? Well, that’s what we used to call a ten stroke caning, back in the day.”

“Oh, Dad!” said the son, not liking at all where this was leading.

“Come on, boy. I want to play with my birthday present. And you’re the only one here. Get that bottom bare for me!”

It had been a long time since this particular father had caned this particular son. The air was electric. The tension broke as the son agreed quietly.

Both men sighed as the son’s trousers dropped to the floor, and were then stepped out of. Underpants followed. By now, the son was beginning to feel really stupid. His father, however, was just beginning to enjoy his birthday. Again, he flexed the cane and allowed himself a hearty laugh, much to his son’s disdain.

“A tenner then, son.”

“I’d rather have a sixer, Dad.”

“Big boys need rather more than a sixer, lad. Maybe a dozen, or a baker’s dozen?”

“Oh Dad! OK, OK! I’ll settle for a tenner then.”

“Good boy! Bend over the table please. That’s the stuff! Bottom right out, please.”

CRACK! A first stroke landed, taking its victim by surprise, followed by horror as the pain kicked in. This was going to be no picnic! His father had lost none of his touch! For an old man, he packed a mean punch!

SWISH-CRACK! The cane landed wickedly on the mature son’s buttocks, leaving a scorching red line of pain.

CRACK! The old man laughed as he landed a third stroke right on target. He hadn’t lost it!

CRACK! The meaty cheeks were sliced again, causing a loud groan from the victim. Despite this, his obedience and submissiveness made him thrust his bottom up ready for the next assault.

CRACK! The cane lashed down.

CRACK! Again the cheeks were thrust upwards to receive the punishment, which the son found curiously unwelcome and welcome at the same time.

CRACK! The birthday present lashed spitefully, as weal upon weal marked the buttocks.

CRACK! The caning was near ending, but both men were enjoying the unusual turn of events. Father’s sadism had been rekindled, and his son’s submission complemented it perfectly.

CRACK! The penultimate stroke caused an unwilling wail of discomfort.

CRACK! It was over! Dad dropped the cane and flopped down exhausted in the nearest armchair. His birthday treat had made it a memorable day. He chuckled to himself as he noticed his son was still bent over the table, red striped rear clearly displayed.

Eventually, the son raised himself from the table, rubbing his bottom as he did so. A wry smile crossed his face as he caught his father’s gaze.

“Actually, I’ve changed my mind about this cane! It’s a splendid present, thank you son. I think we should use it on birthdays and anniversaries. It’s your birthday soon, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Dad.”

“And maybe we could give it an outing on the first of every month?”

“Yes, alright Dad.”

________________)

Story © MMXIII by Rod Cayenne

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

Comments from the orginal 2013 post are here

The Birthday Present (M/M) NEW!

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Hot new caning fiction by very special guest author Clifton Castigo. All the characters are aged 18 or over.  Strictly ADULTS ONLY!

The Birthday Present by Clifton Castigo

Ross and Adam had been mates ever since Ross could remember. They had grown up living around the corner from each other and their mums were friends. Ross thought that he knew everything that there was to know about Adam, which was why he was surprised when he realized that he didn’t.

After leaving university and getting jobs they had got a flat together in a trendy area of the city. They were in their early 20s and were both very good looking young men, it was the perfect bachelor pad. It was a good size with 2 bedrooms and a small study in which they kept a shared computer. This computer would prove to be the instigator of all that followed when one day Adam forgot to sign out of his computer and Ross discovered his secret.

Ross was not trying to snoop. He was looking on the internet for something and didn’t even realize that Adam was signed in. He went into the history on the browser to find a website he had looked at a few days before. He was shocked to discover visits to a streaming site he was unfamiliar with. He sat opened mouth as he watched a video in which two guys recreated a school scenario. One acted as a prefect and he flexed a long yellow crook handled cane while he gave the other guy an ear bashing before ordering him to bend over and giving him a severe thrashing. Once he had thoroughly thrashed the guy he then got in a little back door action. Ross saw that Adam had viewed this video on various occasions.

So, Adam was a Spanko! That shocked Ross a little, but then when he thought about it, Adam was always a little submissive. In their friendship they always did what Ross wanted to do and he would back down before they ever had a disagreement. It made sense that he might be into submission in the bedroom. Ross was fine with it of course, “Whatever floats your boat” was his motto. He was even pleased at the latter part of the video. For Ross harbored a secret too, he not only liked girls, he liked boys as well. He had always been afraid to tell people, even Adam, for fear of disapproval. He had found himself longingly admiring Adam’s physique on more than one occasion, perhaps now he could have a chance to do more than just admire it.

It was Adam’s birthday in a few weeks. Ross knew exactly what he was going to buy him. He went online and after a few searches found a website where he bought a senior school cane. When it arrived he practiced with it on the back of the sofa while Adam was out until his aim was perfect every time.

Ross told Adam that he would be giving him his present on the weekend following his birthday. On Friday, when he came home from work, Ross did not change out of his shirt and tie but went straight to his room, got out the cane and shouted for Adam to come in. When Adam came in Ross was flexing the cane between his hands. “You dirty little boy! Watching pornography? This calls for an exemplary punishment.” Adam blushed and looked at Ross mouth open. “I sentence you to the cane! As it is for your birthday, I think one stroke for each year would be appropriate.”

Strip,bend over, grab your ankles! He indicated with the cane that Adam should stand beside the wall. Adam started to stutter out an objection but Ross was having none of it. “I said strip”. This time Adam did as he was told, stripped, and bent over beside the wall, but that was not enough for Ross. He wanted him positioned like the guy in the video that Adam seemed to have enjoyed watching so much and he tapped between his legs with the cane. “Legs a little apart. Now Stay Down”. He positioned himself to the side of Adam and tapped the cane across the middle of his friend’s buttocks with the tip extending to the centre of the far cheek. He drew the cane back and brought it down across his arse with a loud CRACK!. Adam gave a grunt. Ross observed a stripe starting to appear across Adam’s pale skin. He decided to aim the next stroke just below the first. CRACK! the cane connected again successfully. Adam couldn’t believe how painful it was, although he had fantasized about being caned for a long time it was far beyond what he could ever have imagined. It felt as though his buttocks were being cut to ribbons. Ross continued to work up and down Adam’s buttocks giving a good pause between each whack to allow the sting to reach its peak. Occasionally he swished the cane through the air to heighten the tension. To Ross’s surprise he was enjoying himself, he enjoyed the sensation of power that he had over Adam, that someone would submit to him so fully. There was also a satisfaction in doing a good job, in aiming carefully and being rewarded with the stripes appearing on the canvas of Adam’s arse.

Once Ross got to twelve strokes, he found that there were no blank spaces to be filled on Adam’s arse, it was striped from top to bottom. The only thing to do was to start again and lay new stripes on top of the old ones. He tapped upon the first stripe that he had inflicted and without taking his eyes off Adam’s bottom he brought the cane into the air before snapping it back in exactly the same place CRACK!. During the first twelve strokes Adam had obediently stayed in position, this time though, the pain was excruciating, and he could not stop himself from jumping up and grabbing his bottom. “Stay down!” barked Adam. “That’s an extra penalty stroke for you”. Adam groaned. The stripe turned from pink to an angry red, with flecks of purple. It took all Adam’s willpower to stay down for each of the strokes that followed. When he got to twenty three he was about to straighten up, but Ross again told him loudly to stay down. “One to grow on” he said as he laid on a final stroke. “Stay where you are” said Ross as he rummaged around in his rucksack. He produced a packet of condoms and a small tube of lubricating jelly and proceeded to reenact Adam’s favoured video in full. By the time Ross was finished, Adam’s arse felt used and sore in every way possible and there was a pool of spunk on the floor in front of him.

Adam’s birthday present got fairly regular use after that, as did the condoms and lubricating Jelly. On occasion the roles were reversed and Ross reluctantly experienced the cane, but that’s another story……

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D I S C L A I M E R

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

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Story © MMXX by Clifton Castigo, used here by very kind permission of the author.  All rights reserved.

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

Other birthday present stories can be found here.

More hot stories by Clifton Castigo are available here.

Toilet Attendant (M/M)

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Hot CP fiction by Rod Cayenne, repeated from 2013.

 

I shook my head in wonder.  I’d always considered myself a connoisseur of Victoriana, but even I was lost for words.  What a magnificent building!

This gents toilet was located on the edge of the park, right by the main road.  I admired the fine wrought ironwork, delicate stained glass in the fanlights, the copper pipework, the marbled white tiles; a truly remarkable building.

“Can I help you sir?” asked the Toilet Attendant.  I suddenly realised that I must have looked rather strange admiring the toilets rather than using them for their designated purpose.

“Oh sorry!  I was just admiring this remarkable building!”

“Ah yes, sir.  I understand.  It’s gorgeous isn’t it?  Most people don’t even notice.  I love it too.  Do you know what’s the best thing about it?”

“No, I’m not sure that I do.  Please tell.”

“I own it!”

“You own this?  How come?”

“Well, I live in the big white house next door.  When I heard that the council were going to board this place up, I made them an offer for the freehold.”

“Gosh!”

“Yes, well, I’m retired, quite well off, and I loved the building.  So I thought, why not?  My original plan was to turn it into a cafe, but I couldn’t bear the thought of destroying any of the original character and fittings.  So at the moment, I’m running it as a pay loo, not that I’m covering my costs and it’s almost a full-time job.”

“Wow!  That’s what I call dedication.”

“Thanks.  Fancy a cuppa in my office? I can tell you all about the place.”  He did, at length.  We sat in the rather seedy office as he gave me a run-down on the intricacies of the Victorian lavatorial engineering.  At times, his monologue got quite boring.  I began to see him as an aged white van man-cum-plumber, but then the conversation took a more interesting turn.

“Vandalism is a problem.  Graffiti mainly – the tiled surfaces deter a lot of it, but obscenities get scratched and scrawled onto the doors, phone numbers, swear words, penis drawings, threats and invitations.  Then you get the guys wanting to use it for sex.  You get a very cynical, jaded view of life in here.  Some of the things guys want to do to each other!  Sheesh!  I’ve ended up unshockable.  I’d like to thrash the lot of them!”

“Yes!  With a Victorian cane, I suppose?” I blurted out without a lot of thought.

“Oh yes, I’ve got one of those.  Want to see it?” He winked at me. I gazed into his blue eyes and admired his distinguished white beard.

“Yes please.”  The tension in the air was becoming electric.

“It’s back at the house.  OK, we’ll head off soon, it’s almost closing time.”  I was hoping I could persuade him to give me a caning.  I’d developed a taste for it at school, and indulged from time to time as an adult.

Closing the place down and locking up took quite a while.  By this time I was gagging for a beating from this sexy, interesting fellow.  His house was next door, as he’d said.  It was imposing and full of character.  We made our way into his study, a room of very Victorian atmosphere. Rows and rows of leather spined books lined the room.  The stench of stale cigar smoke hung in the air.  He sat behind the desk, opened a drawer, and produced a cane.  It looked old, with a gorgeous patina and a traditional shepherd’s crook handle.

“I suppose you want to try it?” he asked.  Yes, he’d read me like a book.  “Bare?” he enquired.

I was a little embarrassed.  All my adult canings had been from women, and I’d usually had to pay for the privilege.  I nodded shyly.

“Over the desk then, my good man!  Trousers and underwear down.”  I didn’t need telling twice.  I slipped everything down and folded my shirt up so that this chap could have an unobstructed target.   “Not bad,” he said.  “Of course, I’ve seen a lot of bare bottoms in my time.  Not just in the toilets, but over this desk too.”   So, he was no amateur!  I braced myself for what was to come.  It was a dozen.  Full on, fast, relentless and merciless.  Oh boy!  I’d really enjoyed it!  My first adult caning by a man.

“Wow!” I said at the end of the thrashing.  I could feel each and every stroke throbbing.  I pulled my pants and trousers back up.  He smiled enigmatically, and opened the desk drawer again.  He slapped a wicked looking leather strap down on the blotter.

“I think a dozen with this strap will do you good.  And maybe another six with the cane.  As you’re dressed, we’ll head back to the park toilets!”

He was an imaginative disciplinarian alright.  Soon we were back in the toilet building, with the entrance doors firmly locked!  He made me strip, go into a cubicle and hold onto the bowl while he leathered my arse with that wicked strap.  It burnt like mad.  I was turned on like never before.  The depravity of the situation wasn’t lost on me.  He then ordered me out onto the main floor near the urinals.  Here, bent over like a naughty schoolboy, I received a crisp half-dozen more strokes of the cane.  By this time, he too was naked.  His circumcised cock stuck out proudly, as I stood up.  Clearly he was enjoying our session as much as I was.

He asked me if I wanted more, but I really had to decline.  “How about a fuck then?” he asked.

“I’ve never done it with a man before, Sir,” I confessed.

He took my hand and smiled, saying, “Don’t worry, a lot of men have lost their virginity in these toilets!”

He nipped into his office and came back with a condom and a tube of lube.  There was a little pain at first as he entered me, but then I began to like it. We fucked on all fours like wild animals on the black and white tiles.  My knees began to hurt.  Still, they were original Victorian tiles, he assured me.

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Story © MMXIII by Rod Cayenne

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Comments from the original 2013 posting are here