Erotic fiction by Rod Cayenne
With his bushy beard, red uniform and soft leather boots, the town crier cut a distinctive figure. Over the last few months, I’d got to know him well. It started with me asking if I could take his picture. He posed enthusiastically for me, waving his bell, and booming away. He was definitely a larger than life figure. His name was Gerald, Gerry to his friends.
We became drinking friends. His thirst accounted for his ample build. We were both unattached and it soon became evident there was some sexual attraction between us. I longed to cuddle his manly gut and have him master me.
I remember my first visit to his spacious detached property. “Noise is no problem here, so I can practice my town crier routine in peace.”
The house was full of knick-knacks and bric-a-brac. Items from olden times, curios and antiques were everywhere. He had a collection of town crier competition memorabilia, and a row of brass handbells neatly lined up along a dresser in the lounge. He polished these every week, he informed me. “This one’s my favourite,” he said picking up an undistinguished looking one. He rang it a couple of times. It was loud and clear.
“Why that one?” I asked.
“It’s from my old school! I’m very lucky to have it. The old headmaster sold me it. He was a bit of a rascal, if you ask me. Sold me a couple of canes, too. They were school property really, not his to sell! Still, I’m very happy to have them.”
“May I see the canes?” I asked innocently.
“Well, I’m not sure…” he laughed.
“Why not?”
“Well, at our school there was a rule. If the cane was seen, it had to be used.”
“Oh ho! Well, I suppose I could take a stroke or two,” I offered, probably because I’d been drinking.
“There was another rule too. If the cane was to be used, it was always six of the best.”
“I see,” I said, slowly becoming aware that I was becoming trapped by my affable friend!
“And the final rule was that all canings were bare bottom!” he boomed. “Still want to see the canes?”
“Yes, OK Gerry,” I said, blushing and rubbing my bottom nervously.
“Jolly good. Have you had the cane before?”
“No, it was often threatened but I managed to escape it.”
“Well, your luck has run out at last. As it’s your first time, I won’t do it too hard. It certainly won’t kill you. I used to have a striped arse all the time.”
I felt turned on by his colourful language. He went upstairs but soon returned with two thin crook-handled canes. They looked faintly ridiculous, tiny indeed, as he held them in front of his large belly.
“Bare bottom, over the ottoman please.”
I felt stupid and exposed. I was on all fours, offering my bottom up like some animal. The first stroke whistled down. At first it didn’t feel too bad, but then the agonising pain kicked in. I felt foolish. A second stroke lashed down, it was awful. He wasn’t playing and his promise not to do it too hard had been broken, I felt. The third stroke was bad, but somehow I began to enjoy the bite and sting, especially when the next stroke landed. A fifth made me gasp, more with excitement than pain. Stroke six landed heavily and made me cry out. At least it was over, I consoled myself. Gingerly, I started to get up from the ottoman.
“STAY DOWN!” he commanded. “I told you it was six of the best each time the cane appeared.”
“Yes?”
“Well there are two canes here, so you’re getting a second six!”
I groaned to myself and bent over again, offering my bare cheeks up for further chastisement.
“I’ll count the strokes for you. You can concentrate on the pain,” he laughed loudly. I wasn’t sure what the significance of the counting was, but I was too turned on to care, to be honest.
Crack!
“ONE!” he boomed.
Crack!
“TWO!”
Crack!
“THREE!” he chuckled.
Crack!
“FOUR – I HOPE YOU’RE LEARNING YOUR LESSON!”
“Ooh yes, Gerry” I sighed.
Crack!
“FIVE! STICK THAT BOTTOM UP!”
Crack!
“SIX! Good. That was fun. I think you enjoyed it too! Do you want some more?”
“Oyez, oyez!” I cried.
_______________)
Ye Olde Storie © 2012 A.D. by Roderick Cayenne
Comments always welcome
