Christmas Shopping 2016

Firstly, a happy Saint Andrew’s Day to all of the Scottish readers here at The Canery.  More importantly perhaps, Now is the time!  Christmas is fast approaching.  What better way to show your adult partner your hitherto secret desires than by giving them a rattan cane or good Scottish leather tawse as a gift?   At this time of year, you can always treat it as a jokey present!  Or blame a friend for suggesting it as a gift.  It’s probably the only time of year you can get away with such a light-hearted approach.  Do it now!  If you get a negative reaction, you can always dismiss it as a joke…it didn’t cost much, it wasn’t serious, Santa must have left it, I’ll throw it away, etc.  I don’t recommend the latter, of course.  Just save it for a rainy day…

Please don’t blame me if you end up with a sore bottom as one of your gifts!  If you get a favourable reaction, it may be sub or it may be dom!  Or it may be somewhere between the two!  Your mileage may vary, as they say.

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Posted by Rod Cayenne

This is a revised version of a post from Christmas 2011

Comments welcome!

The Giant (M/F) repeated

Erotic fiction by your host, Rod Cayenne, repeated from 2012.  Suitable for over-18s only!

“Pass me the mustard please, darling.”

“Oh my gosh, look at this! It’s an ancient hill figure of a giant male with a large phallus.”

He was explaining the chalk carving to his newly wed.

“Do you mean a big cock?” she laughed.

“Shhh…the other guests will hear you!  Anyway yes, that’s exactly what I mean and you are being very rude!” he admonished her.

“Let me have a look please,” she said grabbing the tourist guide from her husband.

“My, that really is a big cock!” she whispered “Even bigger than yours.  It says childless couples used to sleep on the cock, er phallus I mean, in the hope that it would bring fertility to their barren lives.  And what’s that in his right hand?”

“It’s a club or stick apparently…” he laughed.  “Maybe for beating his wife with.”

“Sounds like fun!”

“You’re joking!”

“Only a little.  Let’s go and see it then.”

And so it was that the two young lovers left their hotel and made their way to see the Cerne Abbas giant in darkest Dorset.  What an impressive sight it was.  Carved in the chalk hill, with its enormous phallus plain for all to see.  As the weather was dry, they were able to make their way across the fields from the village towards the giant.  Soon they were there admiring the ancient man, his cock and club.  They enjoyed a picnic from a small wicker hamper that they had bought in Dorchester.  After eating, they rolled around in the grass and as darkness fell, engaged in some passionate lovemaking, all under the influence of the giant.  After a brief nap, the lovers awoke and headed back to the village where their old Wolseley saloon was parked.

Back at their hotel in Dorchester, the couple were still frisky.  She admired the way his cock was again stood to attention, just like the giant’s one.

“Oh my darling, if only you had a stick or club to beat me with, then you would be the perfect giant.”

“Don’t worry dearest.  We are going shopping in the morning.  We’ll go to the ironmongers where we bought the hamper.  They had some punishment canes for sale there.  You’ll be getting your beating!”

Over breakfast the lovers giggled and tittered like naughty children.  The giant had given them much to reflect on.

“Are you sure you want me to buy a cane?  For your bottom?”

“Yes darling.  Quite sure.  Except I want you to buy two.  You never know when one might break.  That happened to me at school, you know.”

“Ouch!” he said.  “So you’ve had the cane before?  I had it at school too and let me tell you I have no desire to repeat the experience.  All I remember is the pain and my rage at the injustice of it all.  Never again.”

“Injustice?  Pah, that I find hard to believe.  I expect you deserved it…” she said matter-of-factly.  She wiped her lips voluptuously on the napkin.  “Well now’s your chance to dish it out, if you’re man enough?”

“You don’t need to worry on that score honeybunch.  The giant has inspired me.”

“Yes, I do believe he has.  Finish your toast, let’s go to the ironmongers.”

Hand in hand they wandered the back streets of the town.  Eventually they found the shop.  They were surprised to see that the store was named “Dorset Giant General Supply Co.”

“I didn’t notice that last time.  It’s a sign.”

“Yes, I do believe it is.  In more ways than one.”

As they entered the shop, the bell signaled their arrival.  Behind the counter, was a large affable gentleman.  He was a giant himself.

“Morning!  Good to see you back, Sir.  I trust the hamper was satisfactory.”

“Yes it was.  Quite satisfactory, thank you.”

“We had a nice picnic at Cerne Abbas, by the giant,” she chimed in.

“Ah yes, the jolly green giant.  Such an underrated treasure here.  Very popular with young couples.”

“Yes indeed.  I’m afraid my young wife here was quite taken with his features.”

“Oh ho, she’s a naughty girl then?” the fat man laughed.

“Exactly.  Now what I need is a school cane or two.  I thought I saw some here the other day.”

His wife was blushing red with embarrassment.  She wandered off to a corner of the shop where she began admiring souvenir tea towels.

“I understand perfectly, Sir.  Yes you did see some.  They’re over here.  Still a surprisingly popular item Sir, despite the modern times and trends.  They still fly out of the shop, especially in winter.  I call them the winter warmers.”

“Er, quite so, my man.”

“Here we are Sir.  Allow me to show you them.  These are standard school rattans.  They are different thicknesses.  Junior, medium, senior.  With or without these beautifully crafted crook handles.  Handles are tuppence extra.”

“Worth every penny, I’d say,” said the husband picking up one and slicing it through the air.  “What an exciting sound!”

“Yes Sir.  Satisfaction guaranteed.  For a young lady wife I recommend the junior or medium size.  And if by chance Sir required correction himself, then a senior would be more appropriate.”

“Oh no, that won’t be necessary.”  The husband reflected a little and said, “Well, I don’t think so, but don’t ask the Mrs!”

“And just over here Sir, we have some local Dorset specials.  These ones are crafted from local willow and give quite a different sensation.  Of course, they do command a premium for the artisan work involved.”

The husband duly selected four canes.  Three crook-handled rattans, one in each thickness and one straight willow.  As one was a senior, he would have some explaining to do to his young wife at some stage…

“Excellent choices, Sir.  I’ll just wrap them for you.  I can only offer a one year guarantee on these items.  They can break if they get too dry and at the same time are used too vigorously.  Probably more of a danger with the senior model, I should suppose.”  He gave the young husband a knowing wink.

The couple made their way back to the hotel. He ordered his wife to go up to their room and ‘prepare herself’.  He meanwhile made his way to their car and opened the boot.  Surreptitiously he undid the brown paper parcel and removed the senior cane.  He hid it under their picnic blanket.  After all, he was sure it wouldn’t be required just yet; certainly not during the remainder of this short holiday anyway.  He carefully resealed the remaining canes in the brown paper and sheepishly made his way past the grim spinster receptionist and on to their room.

He opened the door just as his wife was pulling her silky white knickers down.  Her pale buttocks looked so inviting that he walked over and ran his hands over the cheeks.  He couldn’t resist a quick SLAP!  She yelped with surprise.

“May I see the canes, dearest?”

“Mmm.  I bought three.  A junior and a medium, and this ‘special’.

“What’s so special about it then?”

“Well darling, that’s for you to find out!  No, this one is made of local willow, that’s why it’s a bit darker than these school-type rattans.”

“Quite the expert aren’t you?”

“Hey, don’t be so cheeky!  I’m only telling you what the giant chap in the shop told me.”

“Mmmm I see.  So are you going to do your giant impersonation for me?”

“I’ll say!  Bend over darling!”

He took all his clothes off so he could resemble the chalk giant better.  With his excitement growing and a junior cane in his hand, he was all that she desired.

“I’m ready!” she nagged.

“Six with this junior cane – punishment for your cheekiness, darling!”

“Wait!”

“What’s the matter?”

“We might make a bit of noise.  Better turn the transistor radio on.”

And so it was that some jolly music from a pirate station permeated the room.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!  Three stinging strokes rained down on her pretty bottom.  She was used to the cane at school so managed to stay fairly quiet.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! Another three but these were harder, causing her to gasp.  He threw the cane down on the bed, and selected the medium cane next.

“Six more darling?”

“Yes please.”

“Right these might hurt a bit more.  Think of these as punishment for your liberal use of the word cock in the hotel dining room yesterday!”

CRACK!  The crook-handled cane slashed down causing renewed gasping from the wife.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! Three fast strokes caused a squeal, then two more and then the first sign of tears.

CRACK! “YEEEOWWW!”

CRACK! “AARRRGH!”

“Yes, very satisfactory” he said as he whipped the medium cane through the air.

“Oooh that hurt.”

“Yes it was meant to.  Next a few with the willow special I think.  I suppose I have to give you a reason.  Let’s say it’s for your lewd display in the countryside!”

CRACK! “OWW!”  It was certainly a different sensation to the rattan for her.

CRACK! “ARRGH!”

CRACK! “Owww – that willow’s a killer!”

CRACK! “OWWWW!”

“OK darling, I’ll take your word for it.  That’s enough I think, don’t you? You’ve got some nasty marks there.”

Gratefully she collapsed flat on the bed, crying gently.  How she admired her husband.  Truly he was a giant among men.  They made love again, this time to the sounds of the offshore radio station.

At the end of their holiday, the lovers took a longer route home, just so that they could pass the giant on their way.  As they drove past, she could have sworn that the giant winked at her.  Nine months later, a little bundle of joy arrived in their lives.

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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 © MMXII by Rod Cayenne, used here by very kind permission

All rights reserved

___________)

Comments welcome

See comments link at top of post

Love Our Lurkers Day 2016

Oh ho, it’s that time of year again!  Yes, Friday 18th November is annual Love Our Lurkers Day!  Well over 100 spanking blogs are expected to participate in this fun event  The idea is for readers who have never posted a comment to take the plunge.  Just say hi or leave some feedback about the blog, spanking in general,  or whatever.  Cum on you virgins! 😉  Thanks to Bonnie and Hermione for organising this special day.  

 Comments are here!

Chess Club Was Never Like This (M/M) repeated

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Hot all-male erotica by Rod Cayenne, repeated from 2013 by popular request.

I was eighteen at the time.  I’d dropped out of school and straight into some warehouse work, which I really enjoyed.  I was still living with my parents, as I was saving up with a view to renting a place with a friend.  They were away on holiday, so I had promised to look after the place and keep the garden tidy.  In fact, I was in the conservatory looking at the long grass as I played idly with my stiff penis that morning.  I pulled my foreskin back and teased the glans with my fingertips.

I hadn’t expected to be scared shitless by a family friend, but that’s exactly what happened.   My parents had asked Mr Atkinson to keep an eye on me while they were away.  He had been a teacher at my school, but I was never in his class.  My main contact with him had been at the after school Chess Club that he ran.  I was a fair to middling player, but with his avuncular encouragement, I’d improved my game considerably.  He had a bit of a reputation for strictness, but for being firm but fair.  A few of my contemporaries had been slippered by him.  Apparently, an appointment with his punishment plimsoll was not easily forgotten.

Anyway, that day he must have slipped into the garden, and catching me at it, he had banged on the glass of the conservatory.  I nearly leapt out of my skin!  I hurriedly shoved my stiff member back into my pants and went to let him in.

“Just what do you think you are doing, Justin?” he asked.  Well, it was obvious what I’d been doing.  I’d been masturbating.  I thought in those days, the ’80s, that everyone accepted that it was a normal and healthy thing to be doing.  Not Mr Atkinson, though!  He was really pissed off with me.  I’d never heard him shout so much, and he was shaking with rage.

“You dirty, dirty boy.  If I’d caught you doing that at school, you’d have tasted my slipper or the head’s cane!  Shouldn’t  you be mowing the grass anyway?”

I nodded with embarrassment.  How I wished my parents hadn’t encouraged him to pop around to make sure all was well.  My parents!  Suddenly, it dawned on me that he might tell them.  I had to beg him not to.

“Yes, Rob and Dawn wouldn’t be best pleased would they?  Such depravity!  If you really can’t control your urges Justin, you should do it in private behind a locked door.  Surely your father must have warned you about this sort of thing?”

“Actually, no.  He was too embarrassed to ever talk to me about it.”

“That no excuse but it explains a lot.  And I suppose he never smacked you?”

“No, not really.  Neither did you, Sir.”  It seemed like a good moment to use his old title.

“No indeed, but I rather wish I had done now.  Would have sorted you out.  Just what you needed.”

Rather foolishly, I nodded, adding, “It’s not too late.”

He looked at me strangely.  For I had spoken an unspoken truth.  At eighteen, I was very much still the schoolboy to his teacher figure.  He shook his head.  Then after a short silence, he shook it again.  “Come with me!” he demanded.

I locked up, placing the keys in a pocket of my Wranglers and I followed him up the footpath, rather like an obedient dog.  He lived up the far end of our road.  On his own.

“In!” he ordered as we reached the threshold.  His place was vaguely familiar, for it had a similar floor plan and feel to our family home.

“Sit down a minute,” he said, as he disappeared upstairs.  I sat down on the grubby orange dralon sofa.  I was sweating profusely, worried sick.  He soon came downstairs, carrying a dirty white plimsoll and a crook-handled cane.

“Oh, not a smacking then?” I asked naively.

“I hardly think so, Justin.  Your have earned something a little harsher, I feel.  Don’t you?”

“Well, couldn’t you just smack me on the bare?  There’s no need for those barbaric things.”

“Don’t worry, Justin.  Your punishment will be on your bare bottom.  But I think a hard thrashing with this cane is what is warranted.  The slipper’s not going to teach you to keep your penis in your jeans, is it?” he said, throwing the plimsoll down on the deep pile carpet.

“Oh, Mr Atkinson!”

“Jeans and underwear down please.  Bend over this pouffe.”

Submissively I did as I was told.  My arse seemed like it was on offer, raised provocatively on the brown leatherette.  I felt quite exposed and almost giddy with fear, or was it excitement?  At that particular moment I felt as if I was fulfilling some destiny.  It was as if my arse had  always been meant to be chastised by him.

With an almighty crack the first stroke landed.  I’d never felt pain like it, and immediately cried out.  He laughed at me, which made me feel about one foot tall.

“Just what you need, Justin.  We’ll have to make it twelve if you don’t want me to tell your parents what you were up to.”

I groaned.  A dozen seemed an awful lot.  I wasn’t sure I could stand the pain.  In fact, I was sure I couldn’t.  Just then the second stroke cracked down.  It was even worse than the first one.  I could feel tears forming in my eyes.  I didn’t want to cry, but this was going to be a difficult situation from which to emerge with any dignity intact.

The third swished down, and then another.  And another.  And another.  Halfway!  Halfway to hell, it seemed.

He stopped.  I could hear him swishing the cane through the air.  He was enjoying this, I felt sure.  What a bastard…

 

“You know, Justin, you have a very caneable backside!  What a shame your father never took a stick to it.  I could lend him one, I suppose.”

I choked with shock.  Surely he was joking?  My thoughts were interrupted by the seventh stroke, which demanded my full attention.  Shit, it did.  My poor fucking arse!

“Yes, Justin.  He can borrow this very cane!”

“I thought you weren’t going to tell him?” I asked, in a panic.

 

“Shut up boy and take your medicine like a man,” he admonished.  All the medicine in the world wouldn’t have convinced me that I wasn’t a very sick patient by that stage!  My arse felt like it was being ripped apart as the eighth and ninth strokes landed painfully.

The tenth stroke wasn’t so bad, but I think he was playing games with me as the last two were incredibly intense, red-hot and sheer agony.

I started to recover my composure a little, though I remained bent over submissively.  His hands were feeling my buttocks, and then he probed around my crack.  It was a nice sensation.  Chess Club was never like this.

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Story © MMXIII by Rod Cayenne

Photo of Jonathan is © Jonathan

All rights reserved.

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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 persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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Comments welcome

The Perils Of Piracy Parts 1 and 2 (F/M, M/M)

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Hot caning fiction by Rod Cayenne, originally in two parts but published as a complete story for the first time.  Erotica for over 18s only!

Part One:

“Well lads, this is very serious.  Radio piracy is an offence under the Marine Broadcasting Offences Act, 1967.  You could all be going down for this!”

The three 21-year-olds surveyed their surroundings.  Their poky little studio with the twin turntables, and a pile of 45s.  The pegboard on the walls, with egg boxes to provide some acoustic insulation.  A valve amplifier and a rudimentary transmitter.

Sergeant Westlea and his two constables examined the pirate treasure with some disdain.  The Sergeant picked up a Deep Purple single and snapped it in half.

“Oops!  Well, that’s forever hushed!” laughed the Sergeant.  “Fortunately for you three, I am under strict instructions not to arrest you straight away.  If you know what’s good for you, you will accompany us to the police station where the Chief Superintendent wishes to interview you.   Why he is so interested in small fry like you, I have no idea.  The van’s outside, I suggest you all get in it before I change my mind and cuff the lot of you.”

Soon Bill, James and Hugh found themselves in the plush surroundings of the office of Chief Superintendent Walker.  All three were sat in front of his large oak desk.  He was reading the case file silently.  Now and then, he would look over his half-moon spectacles, gazing at the three miscreants.  He puffed on a large Churchillian cigar.

“Well, gentlemen.  It’s taken us three years to track you down.  You have led us a merry dance.  A dance to the music of time, you might say!  During this time, I have listened to your station a lot on my trusty Roberts.  I must say I have enjoyed a lot of your output.  Particularly that Cream bootleg you keep playing.”

To the three friends, this was the first sign of any relief from their predicament.

“I have studied the case file, and I must warn you that a judge might impose custodial sentences.  This is really a most, most grave offence in terms of the law.  However, here at the station, we tend to view this as a less serious offence.  I see from our research that you are all ex-pupils of St. Stephens…”

“Yes Sir!” said James, who was evidently the leader of the pirate gang.

“So am I,” laughed the Chief Superintendent.  “Not strangers to the cane then, lads?”

All three shook their heads.

“Mmmm.  Just as I suspected.  Now, listen to me!  As a prefect I used to cane naughty lads such as yourselves, back then.  It seems to me that an unofficial caning could be just what you lads need, instead of a spell in prison.  Something to wake your ideas up!  Well, lads?”

James spoke up, “If you’re suggesting we take a caning, I’m sure all three of us would be happy to accept that, Sir!”  The other two nodded enthusiastically.

James was thinking how much he hated the cane.  In the past, Bill hadn’t found the cane too bad if he felt he’d deserved it.  Hugh however, had a masochistic streak and loved being caned.  The Chief Superintendent was also very fond of the cane…

“Good.  Some common sense from you three at last.  I was thinking of six of the best.  Six strokes for each one of the years you evaded us.”

The lads gasped.  Eighteen strokes each!

“Don’t worry lads.  I was thinking of three sessions of six strokes each, say a week apart.  Just to drive the lesson home.  On the bare, of course.”

James spoke up again, “Of course.  Yes Sir, that seems very reasonable in the circumstances.”

“Now there is one problem.  My right arm is recovering from an injury sustained just recently.  I can’t cane you myself, although I feel I must witness your punishments.  Which leaves me with a couple of alternatives.  I could ask Sergeant Westlea…”

“We don’t like him, Sir.  He deliberately snapped one of our records!”

“Not the Cream bootleg, I hope!” exclaimed the Chief Superintendent.

“No, no it was a 45 of ‘Hush’ by Deep Purple,” said Bill.

“One of my favourites!” said the Chief, shaking his head.  “Well, I can’t trust the brute not to snap my cane then, can I?  It’s my last one.  Which brings me to the other alternative.  Mrs Walker!”

“Your wife, Sir?”

“Yes, my wife.  She’s an experienced caner.  Do you have a problem with that?”

“No, Sir.  Not really, but bare bottom Sir?” asked James.

“Good point, boy.  I’ll have to ask her how she feels about that.  She might want you to keep your underwear on.  In which case, perhaps more strokes might be appropriate.”

“Oh, Sir!” said James, the one who feared the cane the most.

“Well, Gents.  Maybe we’ll leave it at six each session.  I’m a reasonable man and Mrs Walker will see reason too.  It will hurt you, but it won’t kill you.  Have we got a deal?  Smith?”

James nodded, “Yes Sir, thank you.”

“Williams?”

“Yes, Sir!”

“Prentice?”

“Yes, yes thank you.”

“Very good.  I want you all to call around to my house on Friday evening.  Well after ‘The Archers’.  Say eight o’clock.  Here’s the address.”

The three lads trooped out of the station with mixed feelings.  They passed Sergeant Westlea, who looked astonished to see them walking free without so much as a caution.

Back in the office, the Chief Superintendent leant back in his leather chair.  Yes, this would be a most gratifying spectacle.  Three naked, prime rumps being caned by his disciplinarian wife.  Something for the weekend!  In bed that night he shared his wicked plan with his wife.  She mounted him eagerly and came heavily as he described his plans in detail.

“Well Charles, you have really excelled yourself this time.  I’m almost tempted to cane you now as a reward!”

“Thank you darling, but don’t you think you’d be better off resting and waiting for the weekend?”

“Well no, my arm’s not the one that’s weak at the moment is it?  Be a dear and fetch the cane…”

Despite the hot lovemaking he had just enjoyed, Charles Walker was regretting mentioning his plan.  His wife switched on the bedside lamp and took the cane from him.

“Eighteen strokes, I think!  Seems appropriate.  Unless you’d prefer twenty-one?”

“Oh, Lynn, surely that’s too many?”

“Well, let me have a look at your bottom.  Hmmmm.  No signs of recent caning or trauma.  Arse is looking meatier than ever.  Too many trips to the canteen at work, I’d say.  Eighteen!”

Charles placed a couple of pillows in the middle of the bed, and bent submissively over them.  His wife could hardly contain her delight.  How she loved caning this all-powerful copper!

CRACK! The first hard stroke from the whippy cane lashed down on the chunky, hairy cheeks.

CRACK! The second stroke was just as hard.

CRACK!  She wasn’t playing as a third fiery stroke hit him just above the crease.

CRACK!  Indeed, this was no love caning.  This was punishment!

CRACK!  The whippy, crook-handled cane bit into his bottom again.

CRAAACK!  A harder stroke caused him to gasp.

CRACK!  A satisfying sharp stroke.

CRACK!

“AAARGH!”  Charles could no longer contain his pain.

CRAACK!  His sadistic wife chuckled as the cane lashed down again.

CRACK! CRACK!  She was truly in her stride now.

“OWWWWW!”

He felt his cock springing to life again.  What magic the cane worked!

CRAAAACK!  The cane broke clean in half!

“SHIT!” they both cried.

“What are we going to do now?  We’ve got your boys coming on Friday and nothing to cane them with,” Lynn sighed.

“I know, I know.  It’s so hard to find a decent cane these days.  Those canes from school were top quality.  I’ll have to get the lads at work to find me a supplier.”

“Well, you don’t have long, Charles.  Don’t fail me or it will be very bad news for you!  How about Soho?  Or a whorehouse?”

“No, I don’t think so, love,” he got up from his submissive position, semi-erect, “the school might be a better bet.  They still use the cane at St Stephens…”

Part two:

“Where the hell have you been?” asked Chief Superintendent Walker.

Sergeant Westlea threw two whippy, crook-handled canes down onto the Chief’s oak desk.

“I’ve been at your old school.  I had a devil of a job persuading the headmaster to part with these canes, although he had at least two dozen in stock.”

“Why was he so reluctant to give you them?  I’d have expected him to have responded favourably to our unofficial law and order campaign.”

“Well, it was my fault in a way.  I let slip that there was no caning at my secondary school. So then he said he was only happy to hand over the canes to someone who knew what the cane was like…”

“Carry on, Sergeant.”

“Well, it was difficult Sir.  I didn’t want to disappoint you by returning empty-handed.  So I suggested he gave me a few strokes there and then.”

“You did what?”

“I took six of the best, Sir.  So that you wouldn’t be disappointed.”

“I don’t believe it!”

“I do Sir!  My arse is throbbing like mad.”

“He caned a uniformed officer?”

“Not exactly uniformed, Sir!  I had it bare bottom!”

“Well, it’s the only way…”

“Yes, that’s what he said too, Sir.  Must be a Saint Stephens thing.”

“Quite so, quite so.”

“I’m really sore!”

“Of course you are!  Still, it’s no more than you deserve.  I’ve been disappointed in your behaviour lately, Westlea.  Snapping that record at the pirate station was the last straw!”

“But Sir, those hippy lads have broken the law.  They ought to be banged up and have all their equipment and records confiscated.”

“No, no.  You’re wrong on two counts there, Westlea.  I am the law around here, and I have decided that the offence was not too serious.  The lads will be caned instead, but not here.  You will replace the record you destroyed, is that clear?”

“But Sir, it’s not fair!”

“The law never is fair, Westlea.  You have a lot to learn.  I’ll be taking you under my wing, so that I can keep an eye on you.  Now about these canes…”

“Yes, Sir?”

“One will remain here at the station.  For unofficial punishments and to keep delinquent constables and sergeants in line.  The other will go to my house, as that’s where those boys will be thrashed.   Now, we seem to have a junior and a senior cane here.  Which was used on you?”

“I’m not sure, Sir.”

“Only one way to find out then.  Show me the marks!”

“Sir?”

“Bare your bottom for me, Westlea.  Hurry up, unless you want another dose?”

The Sergeant undid his thick black leather belt, and let his trousers fall to the ground.  His white Jockeys followed.

“Wow!  Those look bad, Westlea!”

“They certainly hurt badly, Sir!”

“I’m not sure that they were done with either of these canes.”

“Well, I couldn’t really see, Sir.  I was bent over his caning stool, at the time.  Do you think I should have him for assault or GBH?”

“No, that wouldn’t be advisable.  Just think what the press could make of it.”

“Yes, you’re right of course, Sir.”

“Yes I am.  Now keep still a moment.  I need to check those ridges.”

And so it was that Sergeant Westlea had his naked bottom felt all over by Charles the Chief Superintendent.

“Oh, Sir!”

“Shut up, Westlea.  You’ll live.  Now, pull your trousers up.  Tomorrow you will go to the record shop and order a replacement copy of that record.  Here are the details.  No messing about now.  You will give the record to me.  Don’t let me down or it’ll be the cane for you!”

“Yes, Sir!”

Their relationship had changed forever.

________________)

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“Where the hell have you been?” Lynn demanded as Charles came through the front door, cane in hand.

“Getting this cane, of course!”

“Those boys will be here in less than an hour.  I’ve hardly got time to fit your caning in first!”

“Eh?”

“We are going to redo your eighteen strokes before the boys get here.  After all, I need some practice with this new cane.  Into the front room, now!”

Charles was glad he’d chosen the junior cane to bring home.  It would sting like the blazes, but neither he nor the radio pirates would be badly bruised.  However, the police staff back at the station might benefit from the biting caress of the senior cane!

In the front room, Lynn had arranged the room around a chair for her victims to bend over.  She pointed at the chair with her cane and Charles meekly climbed onto it, lowering his uniform trousers and pants ready for a serious thrashing.  Once again, his meaty, hairy cheeks were offered submissively to his wife.

SWISH-CRACK!  It hurt, it really hurt!

SWISH-CRACK!  It was a damn fine cane.

SWISH-CRACK!  She smiled.

SWISH-CRACK!  He grimaced.

SWISH-CRACK!  It stung like only a cane could.

SWISH-CRACK!  She was loving every minute.

“Let’s stop for a minute, Charles.  Tell me a little bit more about these boys.”

“Well, they’re all 21-year-olds.  One of them’s a bit tubby, but should be a nice target for your cane.  I want to watch, of course.”

“Do I know any of them, or their parents?”

“No, I don’t think so.  They all arrived as the town and school expanded.  All from down the road in London, I think.  All ex-GLC pupils.  All no strangers to the cane, at least when they were at St. Stephens.”

“This is only a junior cane, though Charles.  I was hoping for something a bit firmer.”

“Yes, sorry, Westlea let me down a bit.  I’ll have to visit the school again myself.  And not just for old times sake.”

“Bend it a bit more Charles.  These will be extra hard ones.”

SWISH-CRACK!  She wasn’t joking!

SWISH-CRACK!  That cane could pack quite a punch, even for a junior.

SWISH-CRACK!  “Aaargh!”  Suddenly Charles had found his voice.

SWISH-CRACK!  “Owww!”

SWISH-CRACK!  “Shut up, Charles.  Unless you want extras?”

SWISH-CRACK!  He was silent, but his bottom was stinging terribly.

She left for the kitchen.  She poured herself a glass of milk.  This was thirsty work!  Charles remained bent over submissively, allowing his hands to comfort his bottom briefly while Lynn was out of the room.

“Get those hands off there!” she ordered as she arrived back in the room.  She placed the tumbler of milk on the sideboard.

“Six left!”

SWISH-CRACK!

SWISH-CRACK!

SWISH-CRACK!

SWISH-CRACK!

SWISH-CRACK!  “AAAARGH!”

SWISH-CRACK!  “OWWW!”

“That was fun!” she announced.  “I wish those lads would hurry up.  You’d better get up and pull your trousers back on.  You are keeping your uniform on for the main event, aren’t you?”

“Oh yes, darling.  I am the semi-official witness.”

“And a very naughty boy, too!” she added, pointing the stick at him.  “You might be getting some more later.  I’m really in the mood this evening!”

Charles rubbed his bottom nervously.  His wife was so sexy when she was like this.  His first erection of the evening was straining in his trousers.

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Story © MMXII by Rod Cayenne

All rights reserved

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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