♥ Site recommended story ♥
Hot and brand spanking new fiction by very special guest author sukemnsee. This story is currently exclusive to The Canery! All the characters are aged 18 or over.
It was a Friday morning and having woken up in good time, I decided to have a swim at the gym complex before I started work. It was a day in which I had few fixed appointments.
I completed my target distance in 40 minutes and headed for a shower and to get changed. Being a typical modern gym, the locker room is quite big and airy with lots of lockers around the walls. The lockers were grouped into sections. As a creature of habit, I headed for my usual place, one section before the end. The showers there are individual but the cubicles are mostly open. They were quite busy but the locker room is so large it feels much emptier.
I had my shower and headed back to get dried and changed, with my towel casually flung over my shoulder. As so often happens, the gym can be quite empty but you find your locker is in close proximity to someone elses, while loads of others are unused. No matter, I quite like being close to fit bodies and this young man was well built! I started towelling myself dry and suddenly the young man said, “Strewth! What have you been up to?”
I realised it was directed at me and then I suddenly remembered I would have very visible marks on my bottom! If I’d thought earlier, I would have miss out the swim or showered more discreetly.
“Oh, yes, I got a good caning last night,” I thought that being totally frank was probably the best way to defuse any embarrassment.
“And how! There is a pattern there. Can I touch?”
The thought of his touch was lovely but I quickly looked around to make sure we had an element of privacy before proceeding with a nod. His fingers were quite gentle as he traced the lines.
“That must have hurt, how did that happen?”
“It was a good night at the spank club, I kind of got carried away, though it is not often I receive.”
At that moment someone else was heading to our section of the room. Our conversation became whispered.
“Club? I want to ask you some more. I live very close, could you come by now for a drink, coffee whatever?”
I looked at my watch, I could spare some time and so I agreed and we both dressed quickly. It was quite a thrill being invited this way.
His place was only a few streets away and it was quite a pleasant first floor flat. It had simple furnishings, but everything felt fresh and clean. Rodney quickly made a jug of filter coffee and put out some plain biscuits.
He asked me to get naked as he wanted to look some more at my marks. I must admit that I was quite flattered at all this attention from a younger man. I knelt on the floor by the coffee table and enjoyed the attention of his fingers. He told me had counted eight marks, in the fashion of a double barred gate. I told him it was indeed eight marks this time, though I did not realise it was so neatly patterned. I usually took more than six strokes, mainly because it was popular to believe that caning was always six of the best. The gate pattern was completed by the last two strokes being placed diagonally across the other marks. This had reignited the pain of the earlier strokes.
I got up and sat to drink my coffee, hardly caring that I was naked. His brief attention had excited me, though I was not fully erect. I didn’t feel too self-conscious.
He now probed about just how I had come to be caned. He had no concept of spanking or fetish clubs. He was amazed that such clubs could be held weekly and still be well attended. He seemed to have a healthy interest in knowing all about it, unless he was just trying to cover the fact that on impulse he had invited an older man into his home! I found it hard to get any personal information from him.
After about half an hour and a fresh jug of coffee, he’d been assured that generally I preferred to be the spanker. The men I got to spank were usually quite nervous. Often I would be observed spanking one and then later others would come and offer themselves to me. Sometimes the spanking was a top up to follow on from an earlier session. Many, once warmed up, would go on to guys who used straps, belts and canes. This was despite the fact that they would never have started off with the more severe implements.
Quite a few guys liked role play and I became a strict teacher. A few found it very sexual, others although naked, did not want any of that. It was all about reading signs and often pushing limits.
He listened to all of this quite wide-eyed. Now and then he would adjust his clothing around his crotch. He still wanted to know more. If I was generally a spanker, how had I received the cane?
I explained that years before I had always received even though my tolerance was low. Age propelled me to a more masterful role. Sometimes, not too often, I still wanted to be spanked or paddled or caned.
There were a few regular guys who I knew I would submit to, and whose presence ignited my spark. One had been a regular draw and maybe about every six weeks I would be over his lap, squirming, wriggling and jerking as his big hand set me on fire. He knew I responded best to repeated short doses, but he would often insist on finishing with a harsh strapping, or more recently a caning. There were others who were caned most nights but I must have been the noisiest, almost a cry baby sometimes. More than once he threatened to have me secured to a frame to get the sort of caning I really deserved.
My host’s name was Rodney. By now he had taken his shirt off and a fine sweat was forming upon him. He was relishing all this information. He still wanted to hear more. I had to describe the caning for him. I told him that this was a lot of information. He could have a price to pay, but he was insistent that I continued to recount all about the previous night.
I agreed but first there was another jug of coffee to make and to his credit this time he served it with a delicious sandwich. I also noticed that while busy in the kitchen, he had managed to change from his heavy dark jeans into a light pair of sweat pants. I noticed that the latter were easy for him to fumble with.
I recounted the caning. I admitted that no matter what earlier preparation, the first crack of the cane always seemed very loud to me and the impact was always a sharp pain and felt like a line of fire. The second would usually land while I was recovering from the impact of the first, but was just as painful. Third strokes always hurt. I would probably gasp on impact. My bottom would feel totally on fire by now and I would be breathing quite heavily by this stage. By the fourth and fifth strokes my gasps became more audible is more voiced as an aargh. The sixth stroke usually means I am moving my feet, as if that would make difference! I would love it to end here but it usually carried on. One night I reckon it went to 14 strokes and I was a snivelling wreck. For stroke number seven I cried out, as it was more painful than any before. This I now knew was the first cross on the gate but I could not see that bent over a cross bar of an A frame. The eighth was definitely met with a yelp. I could not help that. I would love to be strong and silent knowing I was being watched but I could not manage it.
A long pause. A lot of me wanted it to stop, a little wanted to press on. My caner was a good judge, he would know when he could take me further, tonight was not the night and he told me to get up.
The standing upright is sometimes a bit shaky. The movement sends fresh new fire as your muscles move. I get a big hug and told well done together with a sharp hand slap on my buttocks. I walk off into the side area to recover and watch others, before I put my pants and trousers back in place and head home, feeling the heat as I sit down, and secretly proud that I took it well.
Usually at home it is a long shower and then a study of the marks in the mirror. Last night I was so tired it was a case of teeth, wash and bed lying face down. I slept so well that I forgot to consider I would have marks visible at the gym.
Without further words, Rodney came and stood by my side. I told him to bend over my lap and I waited while he tried to get comfortable. This was definitely new for him. I had a novice in front of me who only understood he now had to be spanked by me.
The first few slaps were noisy but very much full bottom slaps as if to mark territory. Well paced, enough to make him wriggle but not try to get up. I carried on, varying place and pace, sometimes several slaps in exactly the same place. He moved about a lot but was silent.
I had him stand up and easily lowered his sweat pants down, and then I got him to step out of them. Pulling the waistband down had a brief obstruction, a visual distraction. As I watched it bounce back up, he reddened as if ashamed. I got him over my legs again, spreading them a bit more now, and pulling his tackle back between his legs so it did not stick into my thigh.
I slapped the newly bared pink arse again, and I was looking at a creamy target area between tan lines. He felt the difference very quickly between clothed and bare. I slapped quite a lot more and he wriggled a lot. His erection subsided though. I spanked him till some places were quite red. By now he was muttering to himself, not far from tears and also much more flaccid. He did well really. His bottom was hot to touch and quite pink.
I had him stand up, and I told him to stand over in the corner facing the wall with his hands on his head. He was very compliant.
I called him back after 10 minutes which he probably thought was a lot longer. I told him to get back over my lap although in reality it was much more over my right knee.
I spanked him again for the next twenty minutes. He wriggled and jerked and sometimes tried to put his hand in the way. He moaned a lot and probably wanted to cry except that was too hard a thing for him to do.
Sometimes I spanked one area a lot more than others and saw his reaction building. Another thing he was less keen was when I tapped one place repeatedly and gradually increased the force. It was a very spankable bottom and quite red all over when I stopped but I had been careful not to overdo it. I didn’t want him to become bruised.
After he had stood and fetched me some moisturising cream, I had him kneel down by the coffee table and rubbed in the emollient with care. When I allowed him to stand again, he was mightily erect. I was tempted to receive him but did not know how he would be, so I simply gave him permission to masturbate and enjoyed the show.
I have visited him twice since then. Each time I vary things a little but he ends up with a red and sore bottom. Next week I have promised to take him to the spank club and will let him see me be caned. What he does not know is that I will be obtaining a cane which he will feel in a follow up session. I am looking forward to that already.
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.
Story © MMXVI by Sukemnsee, used here by very kind permission
All rights reserved
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