Science fiction by Rod Cayenne
Gradually, successive British governments had encouraged the reintroduction of corporal punishment in the home, but only for domestic adult and marital discipline. For under-18s (minors), it was strictly forbidden and still seen as abuse.
In tune with the perverted political correctness of the time, females were often encouraged to take on the disciplinary role, with males relegated to submissive status. Unlike many government diktats, this one caught the imagination of the public, and the man on the Clapham omnibus in particular. It became a craze, spreading like wildfire. Somehow, the government managed to secure sufficient supplies of finest quality Malay rattan for punishment canes, saddlers were busy turning out straps and tawses and imports of rubber-soled athletic plimsolls from China rocketed. But what the government had not reckoned on was that a lot of this activity became sexual rather than disciplinary, and the birth rate started to rise. Divorce rates plummeted, and couples of all persuasions remained together. The lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender communities took up the practice. Adult children living at home also became accustomed to receiving discipline.
The most serious side-effect of the policy was one that hadn’t anticipated. Males became turned on by the discipline, and masturbated even more frequently than before. This caused a run on supplies of paper tissues. Yes, there was too much a-spunkin’ and a-spermin’ and this had a knock-on effect effect on supplies of toilet rolls. Indeed, one could say that the situation became increasingly uncomfortable for all concerned.
The Cabinet’s emergency committee COBRA was convened. It was a crisis indeed. Several members of the committee scratched at their itchy arseholes during the meeting. Inevitably, things would have to change. The decision was made. Discipline would have to be discouraged. Yes, spanking and caning was too good for the plebs.
Story © 2013 by Rod Cayenne
Hot and explicit fiction by Rod Cayenne – adults only
“This is DCI Child and I am Inspector Eagle. We will be recording this interview on this equipment. Now, are you comfortable?”
“I am now I’ve got those bloody handcuffs off! My solicitor may have something to say about that. It was well over the top, and all just for complaining about my neighbour.”
“You didn’t just complain about him, did you Mr Smith? He alleges that you threatened to kill him.”
“Well, if I did, it was just a figure of speech. You don’t realise how difficult it is having a pervert for a neighbour.”
“Ah yes. The allegation of him being a nuisance. What exactly is that based on?”
“He has these men round. For sex. And then he hosts these spanking parties. I hear the noises through the shared walls.”
“And exactly how many people attend these spanking parties, Mr Smith?”
“One or two, usually.”
“Hardly a party then, Mr Smith!”
“Well, you know what I mean.”
“I’m not sure that either of us do, Mr Smith. It all sounds perfectly normal and legal to me, what do you think Charles?”
“Yes, perfectly normal. Perfectly legal, indeed.”
“I can’t believe what I’m hearing from you two. You’re supposed to protect us law-abiding citizens.”
“Threatening to strangle your neighbour is hardly law-abiding, now is it? Now tell me about these parties. When do they usually take place?”
“Mainly afternoons. Sometimes mornings.”
“Not in the evenings or late at night then?”
“Hardly a public nuisance I’d say. Is there loud music at these parties?”
“No, otherwise I wouldn’t hear those spanking noises, whipping noises, cries and beatings.”
“Indeed. Couldn’t you just turn up the TV or radio?”
“Let me put it to you that you a bit of a crank, Mr Smith. You threaten to strangle your neighbour because he has a friend or two around for healthy sex and spanking fun.”
“I can see I’m getting nowhere with you two. The guy’s gay for goodness sake!”
“So are we.”
“Oh. Oh. I see. Well, sorry I didn’t mean any harm by it.”
“Well, I think you’re looking at a long stretch inside, Smith. Threatening with intent plus hate crime. Two years, at least, wouldn’t you think, Wayne?”
“Yes, Charles. Two or three years, depending on the judge, and a lot of the old lags don’t like gaybashers, you know.”
“Of course, there may be a way to settle all this amicably, Mr Smith.”
“There might? Oh, thank goodness!”
“Well, you might not like it Smith. Listen carefully. We have spoken to Mr DaSilva, your neighbour.”
“Yes, a nice chap we thought, Smith.”
“Entirely undeserving of your malicious and hateful behaviour.”
“So we came up with a plan between the three of us. If you want us to drop the charges we have in mind, then you will have to accept a thrashing from your neighbour, Mr DaSilva. With the cane. On your bare bottom. It’s the nearest we can get to a good old-fashioned birching, which is what you really deserve.”
“Yes indeed. And to make sure that things don’t go horribly wrong, there ought to be witnesses. Fortunately the Inspector and I are available for this most unpleasant of duties.”
“Don’t you mean thank you, Smith?”
Smith nodded, shrugged and said, “Let me get this right, then. To get off the charges, I have to take a bare arse caning from my gay neighbour while two gay coppers watch?”
The two coppers nodded, smiling.
“Alright. Doesn’t sound too bad, actually. I got used to the cane at school. Although it used to sting like the devil. Thank you both.”
“Well, I’m sure it’ll be worse than a school caning. No time like the present then, Smith. Get your sorry arse upstairs, we’ll drive over to Mr DaSilva’s now. Give him a bell please Wayne, so that he’s ready for us.”
And so it was that the small terraced house was hosting another spanking party. This time it was a capacity crowd of four: Smith, DaSilva, Eagle and Child. In the musty lounge, a spanking stool with a brown leather top had been placed strategically. Da Silva was dressed in black sports kit, flexing a traditional crook-handled cane.
“You know Smith, if you’d wanted a caning, you could have just asked,” said DaSilva grinning. “There was no need to get these officers involved at all.”
“Can we just get on with it?” said an impatient Smith.
“Oi! No need for that!” warned Inspector Eagle.
“Twelve on the bare then. You might as well strip off completely.” Amazingly, Smith complied with his neighbour’s cheeky suggestion.
“Over the stool,” ordered DCI Child, stroking his moustache lovingly. Meanwhile, Inspector Eagle had a problem. Through the fabric of his trousers, he stroked his developing erection lovingly.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! The cane lashed down on the foolish man, fast and furiously. Smith felt the fire, so familiar from his school days.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! A second fast batch cut into the naked cheeks.
“STOP!” cried Eagle, his cock stiffer than ever. “As an Inspector, I think it only appropriate that I inspect the damage at this half-way stage.” And he did. His roving hands examined in great detail the ridges and redness displayed to the witnesses. He also allowed himself to gently poke the victim’s arsehole, as a further humiliation. Smith’s sweat could also be detected, which was a further delight for the pervy Inspector.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! DaSilva’s whippy cane whipped the neighbour’s arse for all it was worth. Smith was writhing uncomfortably, riding the waves of pain and regret.
“Very good. Make them as hard as you can please!” DCI Child requested.
CRACK! CRAAACK! Two hard as nails strokes nailed our victim to the leather-topped stool.
CRACK! The vicious final stroke was diagonal and determined.
“AAARGH!” Smith cried out loud to the delight of the others.
“How about another six for wasting Police time?” It wasn’t really a question. It was an order from a sadistic policeman.
Smith became turned on by his beating, and wanted to express his regret and submission fully. So it wasn’t just the cane that visited his arse that afternoon. Three sheathed penises also called in.
Story © 2013 by Rod Cayenne
Erotic fiction by Rod Cayenne
George was the innkeeper of the Lamb And Flag and a big, burly fellow. He rolled the beer barrel like a man possessed. He kicked it casually and gave a loud, hearty belly laugh. There weren’t many customers in the place, and the vicar at the bar cut a lonely figure as he supped at his brown and bitter.
Just then a beautiful young girl in her early twenties swept into the bar. She was like a ray of sunshine in the dreary, beery surroundings.
“Go to your room, Elizabeth. I’ll be up to deal with you after closing time,” the innkeeper said to her. She flounced away, as if without a care in the world.
“She’s due a good whipping!” the innkeeper whispered to the vicar. “She’s had her hands in the till.”
“A whipping?” the vicar asked in disbelief. “Surely you’re not going to whip her, my good man? How very un-Christian!”
“Well, not so much a whipping, vicar. A beating with my cane.”
“Well, that’s not much better. Isn’t that a bit beastly?”
“Oh come now, vicar. It’s not that bad. I’m letting her off quite lightly, really. I should really report her to the police. Surely you had the cane when you were at school?”
“Why yes, of course. I’ll say! It’s not something I can forget easily. It used to really hurt!”
“Well, that’s the point. Young Elizabeth has got to learn. A little bit of pain will help her see the error of her ways.”
“Still seems a little cruel to me, good man. I had the cane a lot at my church school, but it was reserved for boys only.”
“Really? A lot of schools still cane girls, you know.”
“I know, and I really don’t approve.”
“But vicar, doesn’t the bible say something about sparing the rod?”
“Oh that old chestnut. Well yes, of course it does. I’ve always felt rather uncomfortable with that. I can see that a bare bottom caning is appropriate for bad boys, but surely not for girls?”
“I didn’t say anything about baring her bottom, vicar, although I can see some merit in the idea.”
“Oh dear, what have I said? I don’t want to land the poor girl in any more trouble.” The beer was cloudy and clouding the vicar’s usually acute senses. His thoughts were confused, torn between disgust and chivalry. The beer was talking. “How about if I took the beating on her behalf?” he offered, much to his own astonishment.
“What? Like a whipping boy, you mean?”
“Yes, just like a whipping boy.”
“An unusual proposition, vicar. Let me think. Yes, I think we could accommodate that idea. Elizabeth would have to watch for there to be any point to it, of course. For it to be effective and appreciated, wouldn’t she?”
“I suppose so.”
“Alright, vicar, you’ve got a deal. We’ll be closing in a quarter of an hour or so. We’ll do it then.”
And so it was that the two men made their way up the medieval staircase to the staff bedrooms. George the innkeeper knocked gently on Elizabeth’s door before entering. The two men stared at the sight before them. For there was Elizabeth lying on the bed, her bottom bared unexpectedly and supported underneath by two plump pillows. Truly, it was a most magnificent posterior. And there, next to her was a beautiful school cane, crook-handled and corn coloured. The innkeeper picked up the cane, and swished it menacingly through the air. Elizabeth looked behind her, and was surprised to see not one man, but two.
“Get up, Elizabeth, and make yourself decent. The vicar here has kindly offered to take your caning on your behalf!”
“What! Good lord!” Elizabeth exclaimed, as she pulled her skirt and panties back into place.
“Yes, the Lord is good,” said the vicar. “And as a thank you I hope we’ll see you in my church on Sunday.”
“Yes, of course, vicar!” said Elizabeth, unable to believe her luck.
“Now then vicar. If you’d care to take Elizabeth’s place on the pillows,” George indicated with the cane.
Gingerly, the vicar placed himself on the pillows, the tight material of his black slacks accentuating his pert bottom.
“No, no, vicar! That won’t do at all. You must bare your bottom so that Elizabeth can see the retribution for her sins.”
The vicar was rather worse for wear. He was making a vow to himself that he would never drink alcohol again. At the same time, he felt sure that he was doing the Lord’s work by offering himself for chastisement, to purge the sins of Elizabeth. His head was spinning, although he distinctly remembered the excitement of canings he had benefited from in the past.
The first stroke cracked down on his bare cheeks. Ah yes, there was excitement there alright! But there was also the frightful pain that was kicking in. A red line was clearly visible to the audience of George and Elizabeth.
A second searing stroke lashed down. Oh yes, exciting but a real biblical torment.
A third stroke cracked viciously, the vicar was sobering up rapidly and regretting his somewhat stupid chivalry. He should just have pleaded for clemency, and not offered himself as a sacrificial lamb.
As the fourth stroke landed, he wondered what the Bishop would make of all this, if only he knew. The question didn’t stay with him for long, as the hellfire burning his bottom took over his thoughts.
George stopped for a moment, and flexed and swished the rattan cane. “I hope you appreciate the vicar’s sacrifice, my girl!” he said to Elizabeth.
She did appreciate it indeed, and was admiring the four bright red stripes proudly displayed on the vicar’s bottom. In fact, she was feeling a little turned on, flushed with excitement, and moist down below.
A fifth stroke then lashed down on the vicar’s bottom. He was beginning to feel purified, cleansed and elated. Despite the agonies of the cane strokes, he too was feeling a little turned on.
George was not feeling turned on. At least, that’s what he was trying to tell himself. This caning was righteous and deserved. No, he wasn’t turned on, but the sadist in him couldn’t deny that he was enjoying inflicting pain.
Stroke six whipped down, causing the vicar to buck and groan. George threw the cane down. It was over.
“I think that’s sufficient, vicar. I’m not a cruel man. You took that well, there will be drinks on the house the next time you call in.”
“Thank you, George,” said the vicar as he got up and buckled his slacks. He rubbed his bottom, just like a naughty schoolboy. “I hope you will let me know if Elizabeth sins again.”
“Why yes, of course, vicar,” George said, somewhat surprised at developments. Was the vicar asking for another caning, sometime in the future? Surely not?
Elizabeth too was mystified. She planted a gentle kiss on the vicar’s lips, and he left the bedroom with a cheeky smirk on his face. George and Elizabeth smiled at each other.
“I rather think you should give me a caning anyway, George,” said Elizabeth as she mounted the pillows on the bed again. “And then I can cane you too, if you like.”
George grunted his agreement, belched and slashed the cane down on Elizabeth’s naked and youthful cheeks. She gasped and immediately thrust her bottom up, ready for the next stinging stroke. What an afternoon this was shaping up to be!
Story © 2013 by Rod Cayenne