A Day In The Woods – revisited (M/M)

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Author’s note: this was my first attempt at writing a spanking story. It was first published via a Yahoo! Group way back in 2006, in happier times. I have tidied it a little. I’d like to think there is still some pleasure to be gained from reading it.

A Day In The Woods by Rod Cayenne

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s appalling! the bearded man replied.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yes, Sir! Johnny said quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, there was a bus shelter, Sir.

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

Yes Sir, sorry Sir Johnny cried.

You will be lad, you will be!

CRACK, CRACK, CRACK !

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

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

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

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

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

One of my favourite canes, this one, he sighed, I particularly like the crook handle on it. The shape is close to perfection and the sting has some real bite. He was certainly right about the latter! He took the cane back to the cupboard. The love for that cane and for all his canes was a joy to behold.

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

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

 

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D I S C L A I M E R

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

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Story © MMVI by Rod Cayenne

All rights reserved

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Comments welcome