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.
“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.”
“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.
“ONE!” he boomed.
“THREE!” he chuckled.
“FOUR – I HOPE YOU’RE LEARNING YOUR LESSON!”
“Ooh yes, Gerry” I sighed.
“FIVE! STICK THAT BOTTOM UP!”
“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
Erotic fiction by your host Rod Cayenne
“Ah Jane, how was work?”
“Not bad Auntie.”
“Kitty’s new cane has arrived I hear.”
“Really? She didn’t mention it to me. I was expecting her to want to use it straight away.”
“Well she does. She’s coming here later to christen it. I will be watching, of course.”
“Oh no, what have I done to deserve this?”
“Nothing really, that’s half the fun.”
“It’s so unfair, Auntie. Anyway, what’s the other half of the fun?”
“Ha, there isn’t any really! I had thought about inviting Frank over too. You’ll be pleased to hear that I decided against that though. His feelings towards caning and your discipline in particular are less than clear to me.”
“Have you tried asking him?”
“Well, it’s been discussed in passing.”
“I just wondered, you see…”
“You wondered what exactly, Jane?”
“I wondered whether perhaps he had a taste for being on the receiving end too?”
“Jane! Why, the very suggestion! He’s all man, I can tell you!”
“It’s not really a question of manliness. It’s just a feeling I’ve got. Female intuition, perhaps. What has he said to you about the cane, then?”
“Well, not a lot. As I said his feelings aren’t clear to me. I know he likes to watch your canings. They are quite sexy affairs after all. But he feels guilty afterwards. I also know he used to get the cane a lot at school.”
“Really, at grammar school?”
“No, I think it was just an ordinary school. The headmaster was quite strict, I believe and Frank was always getting in trouble. So much so that his mother acquired a cane too.”
“Aha! So, he’s no stranger to female discipline, then?”
“And what about Kitty. She has obviously got good technique. Where did that come from?”
“She was a prefect at an all-girl boarding school. Quite a posh one, I think. She was a bit of an underachiever after leaving. Running a restaurant when her friends went into banking, finance and universities.”
“What about her husband, what happened to him?”
“He ran off! Although I believe she used to discipline him. Just something she let slip the other day. Don’t tell! Anyway, he ran off with another man…”
“No! Gosh, poor Kitty. It’s no wonder she comes across as so frustrated. I won’t tell, anyway.”
“No, you’d better not! Are you sure you’re not the cause of the frustration? Oh, that sounds like her car on the drive now. Let her in while I put the kettle on.”
Indeed, it was Kitty. She was dressed formally in a business suit and carrying her cane. In broad daylight!
“Ah, Jane. Thanks for letting me in. I suppose Judy has told you why I’m here.”
“Well, even if she hadn’t, that cane is a bit of a giveaway.”
“Don’t be cheeky, my girl! If you know what’s good for you, you’ll show some respect.” She waved the cane menacingly. “I’m just dying to give this new cane a thorough workout.”
“But I’ve had a good week at work! This just isn’t fair!”
“Yes it is fair, Jane. You are to be punished for the bad weeks in the past. To remind you not to let them happen again. My standards are high, and you need to be reminded of that!”
“Twenty strokes should do!” said Aunt Judy, encouraging her friend’s sadism. “Get undressed!”
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!CRACK! CRACK!
Six strokes lashed down on Jane’s bare bottom. Jane had grown used to the pain and pleasure of the cane over the weeks since she moved in with her Aunt Judy. Jane was thus able to take the hard strokes with something approaching complete silence. This however, was annoying both Kitty and Judy.
“She’s not feeling it, Kitty. You know what to do.”
Indeed, Kitty did know what to do. The next strokes would have to be harder and merciless.
A couple of hard strokes, accompanied by a grunt from Kitty, and the first sounds of discomfort from Jane.
CRACK! CRACK!CRACK! CRACK!CRACK! CRACK!
The cane lashed down with fervour and enthusiasm. Jane was sobbing gently by now, with pleasure as well as with pain.
CRACK! CRACK!CRACK! CRACK!CRACK! CRACK!
It was over. It had been harsh but a real pleasure. Jane was crying gentle tears.
“Good girl,” Kitty spoke. “How about six with the leather paddle to finish off?”
Meanwhile back in his lonely bachelor pad, Frank was thinking fondly about Judy. It was love again, really. Yet how could she possibly be so beastly towards her niece? All the same, those canings were strangely erotic. He enjoyed watching Jane’s bottom turn from pale to red in the space of a few harsh strokes. He usually felt guilty about watching, but his rock hard erections betrayed other feelings, too. Judy was a natural disciplinarian. It was a side to her that he hadn’t seen during their earlier relationship. He was minded to ask Judy to give him a jolly good thrashing. He wanted her badly, but he wanted a caning even more.
Story © 2012 by Rod Cayenne