Erotic fiction by your host, Rod Cayenne, repeated from 2012…
1. WELL BEFORE THE HAPPY DAY
“Gerald, may I have a quiet word?”
“Yes, of course, wedding nerves?”
“No, it’s not that. I’m quite relaxed about that, as is Judith. I’ll try to be a good husband and make you a proud father-in-law. It’s about that early wedding present. The cane you’ve given her. What’s that all about?”
“Oh that! Well, it’s just in case, really. I don’t approve of hitting women, but I am a great believer in males needing a touch of discipline.”
“But I’m twenty-nine!”
“Yes, and Judith is a good deal older and more responsible than you are, son. I just thought it might help. Just in case there are problems.”
“Help? Problems? It sounds pretty barbaric to me!”
“Oh I don’t think so Jason, my boy. You see, I have experience of these matters. Two successful marriages, and a successful teaching career. I hope Judith will never need to use that cane.”
“Well I’m not happy about it.”
“Take my tip, Jason, just be loyal, hard-working and honest. Judith won’t need to use the cane then.”
2. A LITTLE NEARER THE HAPPY DAY
“Hello Gerald, I hope you don’t mind me dropping in unexpectedly.”
“Not at all, Jason. The door’s always open, you are family now, or will be soon. What brings you here? Missing Judith while she’s on her course?”
“Oh, it’s nothing really.”
“You’ve come here about nothing?”
“No, no. It’s that cane thing again. I’m worried.”
“Nothing to worry about, Jason. Just be sure to behave yourself. Come and sit down. Let’s talk.”
“What’s worrying me is, it’s going to hurt.”
“Well, I don’t want to embarrass myself in front of Judith if she does decide to use it. I need to know how bad it is. I wondered if you could demonstrate?”
“Eh? Let me see if I’ve got this right? You want to sample the cane? And you want me to give it to you?”
“Er, no. I don’t really want it. But, maybe you should. I want this marriage to work, even in the bad times.”
“Well, I don’t know. This is a most unusual request.”
“Well, you caused it Gerald, by giving Judith that damned cane!”
“Hmmm. We do seem to have an attitude problem, Jason. Perhaps a taste of the cane would be appropriate.”
“Not so keen now, then?”
“I’m not keen at all, it just seems like a good idea. Oh, and I don’t want Judith to know, please.”
“Tut, tut! Secrets, too! Alright, alright. I can see your point of view is reasonable enough. Let’s do it, and keep it our little in-laws secret!”
“Thanks, Dad, er Gerald I mean.”
“You probably won’t feel like thanking me afterwards!”
“No, maybe not, how’s this going to work then?”
“Well, let’s see then. I think six of the best to get rid of any residual attitude problem.”
“Yes, a good round number. You can keep your trousers on. Not that Judith may be that kind if it comes to it.”
“We’ll do it in my study room. You can bend over the desk. Upstairs now, please.” The two men climbed the stairs. Jason went first, which gave Gerald a good chance to survey the bottom he was about to cane. It was a peach!
“Yes, that’s it. Over the desk!” Gerald instructed as he wandered over to the brass umbrella stand in the corner and selected a crook-handled cane. He sliced it through the air a few times. Jason flinched each time the cane swished. Gerald was minded to offer his future son-in-law the opportunity to back out, but then he decided not to. After all, in some ways he was looking forward to demonstrating just who was the boss. He looked at the rump offered submissively before him. It was a very tempting target. Best get stuck in!
Jason leapt up clutching at his sore arse. This was murder!
“JASON, JUST YOU GET BACK DOWN THIS INSTANT!” boomed Gerald. He was minded to award a penalty stroke but decided to see how the next stroke was received.
SWISH-CRACK! “Yeeeowwww!” At least he stayed down this time.
SWISH-CRACK! “Arrrghhh!” What a noisy boy he was! Hardly like a twenty-nine-year-old…
The prescribed six strokes had been delivered. Gerald returned the cane to the umbrella stand, giving a hearty laugh as he did so. “So how was the picnic?” he asked Jason who was still bent over the desk. “You can get up now.”
“Thanks, and yes, that was no picnic!”
“Now, let me see the marks.
You didn’t take it very well, Jason, I’m afraid. In fact, it was a pretty poor performance. Leaping up and all that noise!”
“Sorry Gerald. I was surprised how bad it was.”
“Good, that’s the way it’s supposed to be. Now you know what to expect from Judith if you mess her about. And it goes to show I was right about your immaturity. Any trouble, and you’ll have me and my cane to reckon with as well. Is that clear?”
“Er yes, of course!” What an alarming development for Jason…
“Now if my calculations are right, there’s six weeks until the wedding. I suggest I give you another caning one month from today, so that’s the 12th of September. That will give your bottom time to be cleared up in time for the honeymoon. It’ll do you good and you need the experience.”
“Gosh no, are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. Believe me, I know what some men need and you are definitely in that category.” Already, Gerald was thinking in terms of twelve strokes for the next session. He was proud of Jason in a way. The lad’s peachy arse was just made for the whippiest of canes. He mused to himself that some more, perhaps monthly thrashings might be required, even after the wedding. Maybe not?
3. AFTER THE HONEYMOON
Judith stared at the mess in the kitchen. The living room was no better. Her new husband was turning into a bit of a slob, if she wasn’t much mistaken. He was sat on the sofa eating crisps and watching rugby on the TV. It was now or never!
“Jason, come here. What’s the meaning of this mess? Get me the cane, it’s under our bed!”
“Oh Judith, I’m sorry, let me tidy up.”
She scowled at him and ordered, “The cane! Now!”
Sheepishly, he went upstairs and retrieved the cane from its hiding place. He gulped as he realised the moment he had been dreading had arrived. At least Gerald’s canings had prepared him. He knew what to expect. Or did he?
“Right! Give me that cane now! I’m going to give you a bloody good whipping. I’m not putting up with this any longer. Have you had the cane before?” She whipped the cane through the air.
“Er yes, a while back. Twice. On my trousers.”
“Well those jeans are coming off, I can tell you. And your boxers! You can keep your rugby shirt and socks on. I rather like them!”
He was relieved that she liked those, perhaps this was just going to be a sexy sort of game? She made him bend over a little coffee table in front of the TV. He was on all fours with his arse sticking out nicely.
“How many?” He couldn’t help but ask.
“Bah! How many will it take to make me happy? Maybe ten or twenty!”
“Twenty? That’s a hell of a lot.”
“No, it’s not. Yes, we’ll make it twenty. Prepare yourself!”
Soon the air was full of the sound of the cane swishing down on the peachy buttocks. It landed with a resounding and satisfying thwack each time. Judith was enjoying it enormously, and chuckling out loud! Jason wasn’t enjoying it one bit, but at least the strokes were not quite as beastly as those given by Gerald.
“My naughty, naughty husband! Don’t mess with me! Stick your bottom out for the second ten!”
Just then her mobile rang. Should she answer it? Yes, she should. It was her dad on the line. He must have a psychic link!
“I’m just using the cane for the first time. It’s the best wedding present we could have had. Yes, bare bottom! The place was a real pig sty.”
Jason blushed. Oh, the embarrassment!
“Twenty I think. You think it should be twenty-four? Yes, more traditional, I suppose. But no, I’m going to stick at twenty. No, he won’t be doing it again in a hurry. I’m halfway through. Yes, lovely red lines. He’s making a lot of fuss. How’s mum? Yes, we’ll come over for tea later. Bye. Love you!”
SWISH-CRACK! The eleventh stroke hit with a vengeance. Jason cried out. Judith flexed the cane.
SWISH-CRACK! The twelfth was even harder. Was it her dad’s influence?
SWISH-CRACK! He gasped.
SWISH-CRACK! He said he was sorry.
SWISH-CRACK! She laughed.
SWISH-CRACK! He said he was sorry again. He certainly was!
SWISH-CRACK! She was thinking about her dad.
SWISH-CRACK! The wedding present was terrific.
SWISH-CRACK! He was close to sobbing now.
SWISH-CRACK! His cock was stiffening.
“All done. Go and get into bed, I’ll be up in a minute!”
Story © 2012 by Rod Cayenne
Comments from the original 2012 post are here
♥ Site recommended story ♥
Brand spanking new fiction by author 11plus. All the characters are aged 18 or over!
“This is really rather good. You should try to get it published. I could type it up for you, if you like,” said Julie Smith, as I gazed into her blue eyes. Of course, it was her knickers I really wanted to gaze into.
“Have you got a typewriter at home then?” I asked, “After all, I’m not sure you should type it up here at school.”
“Mum’s got a fancy new electric typewriter. She doesn’t mind me using it.”
“Well, that’s a very kind offer,Julie. Thank you. I’d like that very much. And do let me know if there’s anything I can do for you, won’t you?” So it was that I left the smudgy manuscript of ‘I Drink The Blood Of Sixteen Virgins’ with her.
The following day, I found myself waiting in the gloomy corridor outside the headmaster’s polished oak door. I was nervous and scared. I wasn’t sure what the problem was, but he seemed terribly angry with me. He’d told me to report to his study ‘within the hour’. But he wasn’t there. What did he want to see me about? Eventually, he came ambling along, smoking, with a chipped mug of tea in his hand. He ushered me into the room, followed me in and then asked me to close the door. He dripped tea over the floor. The stink of stale and fresh cigarette smoke was overwhelming.
It was then that I saw two things that horrified me. On his desk was the manuscript I’d given to Julie. And then right next to it was a crook-handled school cane! It wasn’t hard to put two and two together, and end up with six of the best! Even a poor Maths scholar like me could see the inevitable conclusion.
The headmaster picked up my work, saying, “Not very bright of you to autograph this, Hughes! How dare you write this filth, and then bring it into school! And to leave it lying around in the sixth form girls’ study. Surely you know that’s out of bounds, even to senior boys?”
“I’m sorry Sir. I lost track of it. I’ll take it home. It was meant as a fun piece. Not so much a novella, more of a bodice ripper, Sir!”
“A bodice ripper, eh? What a quaint term. However, this is clearly a satanic effort, Hughes. And this is a Christian school, I hardly need to remind you. Clearly, I need to beat the devil out of you. With my bottom ripper!”
“Listen lad! I know what you’re going to say. Let me guess now. You’re too old for the cane. You’re 18, an adult. However, I’m a firm believer that no-one, let alone an upper sixth former, is too old for the cane! Now then. I’ve had a look at your record. Never been beaten before, I see. That’s commendable in some ways. But how long has this filthy story been festering away in your mind? Eh?”
“Lost for words?”
“Yes, Sir. Sorry Sir.”
“Hmmm. Well, really I’d like to give you sixteen strokes of the cane, one for each virgin defiled in your filthy story. But I’m not allowed to impose that many. So, perhaps half, that is to say eight would be appropriate.”
“However, if you agree to me destroying this filth, I will reduce the sentence to six of the best. Six of the very, very best. I’m being lenient. Well, what do you say? Well? Hurry up!”
“Thank you Sir. Please destroy it.”
“Good!” With that he tore the A4 pages in half, top to bottom. He then proceeded to rip the paper into smaller pieces. Once he had finished, he chuckled and piled the scraps into his large glass ashtray. Then to my astonishment, he lit up another cigarette and then used the match to burn the paper scraps. I was worried that the maniac would set the study on fire, but he monitored the smouldering scraps carefully, stubbing out the fires with the tip of his cigarette. He soon lost interest, and left the charred scraps alone. “I feel better already,” he said, leering menacingly at me, “I could let you off I suppose. Yes, I could. I could, but I won’t. You need to be taught a lesson!”
With that, he picked up the cane and started swishing it through the air. I didn’t like the sound of that at all. “Right lad. Take your jacket off, hang it over there. That’s it. Then over the chair!” He pointed to the grey leather chair. “Lean over the back. That’s it. Right over. Up on your toes. Stick your bottom out more. Hold still! Here it comes now!”
With an almighty crack the cane landed on my thin grey trousers at lightning speed and with an unbelievably venomous sting. The chair moved with the force of the blow. That sting! Oh, so this was what a caning was like. It was hell! Strangely, I felt my bottom willing me on, so I thrust my arse out, goading the sick old man to do his very worst. Which he did, landing a crisp and cutting second stroke in almost the same place as the first one. The pain multiplied, as I gasped with disbelief at the havoc the old man was wreaking, and yet my bottom soon raised up for the next stroke. Thankfully this one landed a little lower, although still blazing away like a wildfire.
Suddenly, he stopped. We were half way through. Waves and waves of pain lapped all over my arse. I was in agony. I was regretting ever having taken pen to paper and vowed to never write anything in the horror genre again.
“Wait there. I want another cigarette,” he informed me. I was about to protest but soon realised that might not be the smartest of ideas. I heard him light up. I just wanted him to get on with my thrashing, but I could hear him puffing away contentedly. I stuck my arse out ready for the next stroke, but the bastard was making me wait and wait. I wiggled my arse, trying to ameliorate the pain as I did so, but he just told me to keep still. Eventually I heard him stub out the ciggie, probably on the remnants of my manuscript.
“Ah, now that was a fine, fine cigarette,” he said, “Nothing more satisfying than the combination of a manly smoke and a good, hard caning!”
He laid into my arse again. The stroke was the lowest yet, cutting into the tender flesh just where arse met thighs. I squealed with shock and pain, utterly humiliated by my bastard headmaster. I wanted it over, but he had stopped again. Surely, he wasn’t going to light up again? I thrust my bottom out provocatively, positively begging for the final two strokes and to bring on the conclusion. It must have worked as I heard the swish and crack of the cane again, releasing new agony and another helpless yelp from yours truly.
I waited and waited for that final stroke. Eventually it came, cracking my grey flannels and causing me to gasp loudly. I shed a few tears too, most embarrassingly.
“Right, you can get up now. I shall be keeping a close eye on you in future, Hughes, my boy. You can expect a fresh, hard caning if you cross my path again! What can you expect boy?”
I couldn’t believe it! As well as humiliating me by caning me black and blue, he now wanted to shame me into repeating his threat! I gave in though, saying, “A fresh, hard caning Sir!”
“Quite so, quite so! Now watch out or it will be with your trousers down next time. Dismissed!”
“Thank you, Sir,” I said submissively, grabbing my blazer from the hook. As I left, I saw that he was filling in the punishment book. I shuddered and was sure that I didn’t want a second entry in there.
I made my way to the toilets and locked myself in a cubicle. I found a biro in my blazer, and was soon adding to the graffiti on the walls. B-A-S-T-A-R-D I wrote, feeling all rebellious. I then dropped my trousers and pants and felt the ridges the cane had left on my arse. An overwhelming urge to masturbate came over me and my rock-hard cock was soon spunking into some toilet paper. The cum was creamy and hot, but not as hot as my arse. Immediately feeling a bit better, I flushed the evidence away and then wrote the words C-A-N-E-D H-A-R-D T-O-D-A-Y on the painted wooden door. My experience duly recorded for posterity, it was time to move on!
The lessons that afternoon were hard to concentrate on. My arse throbbed and ached. The hard extruded plastic chairs in the classrooms were harshly unforgiving. There was no comfort to be had, at least not until I got home, I thought. I fancied a cool bath and then maybe another wank or two.
Julie caught up with me as I walked home. She had heard about my caning. You could count on bad news and schadenfreude spreading quickly around the school. She grabbed my arm and asked how I’d got on. “It did hurt, Julie. I can’t deny it. I’d never been caned before and wouldn’t want it again. My bum is so, so sore. The bastard tore up my story too. I’m not sure how he got his hands on it in the first place.”
“Oh, that’s my fault. I must have left it in girls’ study. I’m such a scatterbrain. I’m so sorry. And I’m sorry you got the cane.”
“It’s alright. I’m lucky not to have been caned before, I reckon. Some of the things I’ve got away with!” I was talking my bad boy image up, hoping to impress the sexy minx with my bravado. “I should have had more sense than to bring the story into school in the first place, I suppose. Still, I’ve got the last laugh as I made a carbon copy as I wrote the bloody thing. If you’re still offering, I’d be grateful if you could type it up for me. And as I said, if you do, just let me know if there’s anything I can do in return.”
“Of course I can type it up for you. It’s the least I can do, and actually, there is something you can do for me.”
“You can show me the cane stripes on your bottom.”
Story © MMXVI by 11plus
Photograph of and © Jonathan, R.I.P.
D I S C L A I M E R
All characters appearing in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Other stories by 11plus are here and here
Ah, the good old USA! Yes, the Americans got their independence from dear old Blighty, but then they got the paddle instead of the cane! Very few of them will know the stinging pain and the sexual thrill that only the cane can give. If only they knew what they were missing…
Bottoms up! Let’s see some stars and stripes!
Posted by Rod Cayenne around about the 4th July. This is a revised version of an earlier post.
Underpants by Primark, canes from under the bed