♥ Site recommended story ♥
A repeat of this popular spanking fiction by Rod Cayenne.
All the characters are 18 or over.
Strictly over 18s only!
Poor Kevin Brown couldn’t understand why his mother was being so very frosty. As arranged, she had collected him and friends Peter Watson and Tony Taylor from the airport. An old Boeing 727 had returned them from their Club 18-30 Balearic holiday. The lads all boasted suntans, hangovers and stupid grins.
The grey Ford Escort headed back home along the motorway. Kevin was sat in the front with his mother, while his two chums were in the back. Even through his hangover he could sense that there was a problem. He had to find out exactly what it was.
“Mum, you seem a bit annoyed. It’s very kind of you to pick us up like this. Really, we’re very grateful, Mum. Is there a problem?”
“Apart from missing my WI meeting? Yes, there certainly is. I heard about what you youngsters got up to on the island!”
“Yes, my friend Gladys Griffith was at the same hotel in the same resort, with her teenage daughters. You probably didn’t realise who those girls were when you were hitting on them, pestering them, drunk and boorishly. Fiona and Millie. Remember them?”
“Oh, Mum! I’m sorry. We’re sorry, aren’t we guys?” The other passengers nodded on cue.
“Fortunately the girls had the sense to move on. But Gladys heard you swearing your heads off at the pool and beach as well. I suppose that was alcohol-fuelled as well? You do know her husband works with your father? It’s all very embarrassing.”
“Oh, you’ll be sorry alright. You have an appointment with your father and his cane.”
That news caused Tony and Peter in the back of the car to laugh and guffaw at their friend’s shame and apparent comeuppance.
“But Mum! I’m 22! Much too old for the cane!”
“Not while you live under my roof, you’re not. Anyway, this was my idea. I asked your father if he still had that old cane of his. He couldn’t find it, but he managed to buy a brand new one. It wasn’t cheap, but is extra pliant and extra painful, I believe. I heard him trying it out on some old cushions as I left the house. It sounded like it was worth every penny.”
Tony and Peter laughed again at their pal’s misfortune. What friends they were turning out to be!
“Shut up you two!” cried Kevin in his distress and embarrassment. “Bastards!”
“That’s enough of that bad language, Kevin,” his mother admonished. “That’s the sort of behaviour that’s got you into this trouble. Now, Peter and Tony. You are not blameless in this whole business, of course. But that’s not my concern. However I would like you both to witness Kevin’s punishment, if you’d be so kind. It might make you two think twice in future, as well. Now, can you both spare a few minutes? It won’t take long for the cane to remind Kevin how to behave. Peter, can you make it?”
“Well, yes. As long as I’m not copping a few strokes,” said Bastard No.1.
“No, no. Your bad behaviour isn’t my business. Kevin’s is, of course. Tony, how about you?”
“I’m cool with it. We’re sorry about everything, Mrs Brown, and thanks again for the lift, but the truth is Kevin was kind of the ringleader, anyway,” said Bastard No.2.
A shame-faced Kevin blushed and looked straight ahead at the motorway traffic, fighting back angry tears. He couldn’t bear to look at his two so-called friends in the rear-view mirror. What bastards! His mother shook her head in dismay. Was her son really the ringleader in this sorry business? She was becoming quite distracted. Fortunately, Junction 15 loomed on the horizon, and she remembered to exit just in time.
Now home, Kevin’s father was shouting at the trio, “Never in all my years have I been so ashamed! Guy Griffith said I should beat the living daylights out of you, Kevin! I’m not a cruel man, but he does have a point. You need a good, hard reminder to behave yourself! You have gone too far this time! I’m not sure I can show my face at the Bowls Club ever again!”
Kevin’s father was indeed an older man; just the right age for the Bowls Club, and a product of the public school system. As such, he remembered only too well how much a caning could hurt. He remembered that every time, the shock of a caning was something you couldn’t prepare yourself for. His old prefect’s cane had seen a little use over the years, until it went missing. Finding a replacement cane had been an uphill task. Fortunately, one of the club members informed him about a local ironmonger who still had stocks of the increasingly unfashionable punishment implement. He also remembered the glee on the shopkeeper’s face as the sale was made. “You’re doing the right thing. This trendy ‘spare the rod’ business will be British society’s undoing,” he had said. What Mr Brown didn’t know was that Kevin had hidden the old cane, fearful of its sting and retribution.
Father flexed the new cane. It was a vicious beauty, and perhaps his most satisfying purchase in many a year. Yes, it was money well spent.
“Right, Kevin. Let’s have you over this chair. Trousers and pants down. I expect you’ve been skinny dipping, so your friends will have seen it all before.”
Indeed, the three lads had indulged in the pleasures of the nudist beach, but only a couple of times. So when Kevin dropped his pants, the bottom revealed was still fairly pale when compared to his suntanned back and legs. Peter and Tony looked on, somewhat embarrassed, while sandwiched in between them, Kevin’s mother showed only grim determination. She did not really want to see her baby hurt, but he did deserve the punishment. She crossed her legs and fidgeted nervously.
The cane lashed down on Kevin’s flesh. Immediately, a prominent line appeared and Kevin leapt to his feet, swearing and cursing! Father pointed the cane at son, gesturing that his submissive posture should be resumed.
“Well, that was a very immature reaction, Kevin! And the sort of foul language Mrs Griffith tipped us off about. Dear, dear! I think we’d better start again. First stroke coming now!”
Kevin’s friends grinned at the display before them. His mother uncrossed her legs, and then crossed them again hastily. She too was transfixed by the naked exhibit before her. She sighed with contentment as she looked at the red weal on her son’s bottom.
CRACK! CRACK! Two hard strokes landed on the youthful flesh, causing Kevin to gasp and writhe. A most indecent display, his mother reflected. His friends were quiet, but Kev was seriously embarrassed when he thought about the eyeful they would be getting.
“Keep still, Kevin! More to come!” Mr Brown stated in a very matter-of-fact way.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! He wasn’t pacing himself, and these rapid strokes would teach his son the hard lesson both parents had deemed necessary. Again and again the cane lashed down, until a full baker’s dozen red stripes decorated Kevin’s pert posterior. Waves of agony shot through his body. He was allowed to rise, which he did slowly. He pulled up his underwear and trousers, and turned to face his friends and mother. All three were recovering from the shock of what they had just witnessed. Mr Brown had exited the room, to pour himself a refreshing glass of water. He guzzled it greedily, almost as if he’d been in the desert for weeks.
Kevin’s companions were now on their feet, commiserating with their friend, only slightly insincerely. Mrs Brown was reaching for her car keys, ready to offer lifts, when the phone rang. She picked it up. It was evidently the father of Tony Taylor, Kevin’s friend and a witness to the beating, of course. Mrs Brown handed the phone over to her husband.
“Yes, yes. Most regrettable. I expect the whole town knows now,” Mr Brown said in a peevish tone, “Well all three lads are here. I decided to cane Kevin, and the other two witnessed it as a warning. Yes. a traditional school cane. Yes, with a shepherd’s crook-type handle. Definitely rather whippy and painful. No, it’s new! My old one went AWOL. No, I didn’t know you could still buy them either. Got it from Murgatroyd’s. You should get one yourself! OK, we’ll talk it over down at the Queen’s Head. What? You want me to cane Tony for you? Well, I don’t know. What? Yes. Yes. Perhaps. I gave Kevin twelve. Yes, it was rather a lot, I suppose. Oh, and an extra one for some childish behaviour. Alright, I’ll do it. But you’d better have quick word with Tony yourself, so that he knows it’s your idea.”
Although Tony had only heard half the conversation, he knew exactly what his father was going to tell him. Anxiously, he twisted at the coiled lead of the trimphone as his father shouted down the line. The whole room could hear as Mr Taylor tore a strip off his son. The words ‘bare arse’ seemed to echo around the room! Tony handed the phone back to Mr Brown. The two fathers had a quick farewell chat after agreeing a tariff of ten strokes.
“Just ten for you then, Tony. I don’t like to ask, but your father was most insistent on a bare bottom for you.”
“It’s OK, Mr Brown, sir. I suppose I deserve it.”
Kevin was rubbing his bottom as discreetly as he could. But all the rubbing in the world wasn’t reducing the sting very much at all. Still, it seemed like the right thing to do. Certainly, his body was telling him to do it. He gazed over at Tony who was slipping his board shorts down to the ground, revealing a boyishly smooth bottom. Meanwhile, Peter Watson bit at his nails nervously. He was only too aware that natural justice and fair play demanded that he too should be caned. He’d have to persuade his parents otherwise. Hang on though! At 23, it was no business of theirs! Hell, at 23 he was too old to be caned, full stop! However did he get himself into this mess?
CRACK! Mr Brown’s cane was now getting a fresh workout, this time on Tony Taylor’s naked haunches. Mr Brown was a natural caner. He knew it, and the boys knew it. Tony knew it even better than the others, as he was the one feeling the wrath of the angry adult right at that moment.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! Yes, Mr Brown was having a cracking time alright! So was his wife, who was only too happy to watch the handsome lad being reduced to a wreck before her eyes. The smooth babyish buttocks were marking up a treat!
CRACK! Tony was losing count. He wasn’t trying to count as such, although it was a natural thing to do. But he lost it. Lost count, that is. And then he lost his dignity as well as the cane did indeed reduce him to a sniveling wreck. Kev had found his beating hard to bear, but Tony was totally unaccustomed to this kind of harsh punishment and it showed. Oh yes, it showed. Mrs Brown wriggled restlessly on the sofa as the final stroke cracked down.
An eerie silence fell on the room. Tony pulled his shorts back up , gave himself a quick botty rub, and went and sat down in a vacant armchair. Mr Brown slashed the cane through the air. It made a shocking swishing noise as it sliced through the silence. He stared towards the only unbeaten lad, Peter Watson. He beckoned him with his forefinger. He made Peter stand a couple of feet in front of him, then purposefully bent the cane into an arc right in front of the lad’s gaze.
“No, no, you can’t Mr Brown! Please!”
“I can and I rather think I should. The other two have taken their punishment, so why shouldn’t you do likewise?”
“But my parents! They haven’t agreed to this! Besides I’m almost 24! The cane is for teenagers!”
Mr Brown bent the cane right in front of Peter’s face once again, saying, “This is all very tiresome. The very fact that the others have taken a caning means you’re not too old. And do you really want me to ring your parents?”
“Take your punishment like a man, Peter!” interrupted Kevin, at last extracting some kind of revenge at the expense of his sometime friend.
“Be quiet, Kevin!” snapped Mr Brown. “You are still in disgrace. Any more from you, and I’ll have you over the chair for another twelve strokes!”
Kevin blushed a deep, deep red. Once more the room fell quiet. Then the silence was broken by Peter unzipping his Wranglers. It seemed that his time had come!
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 © MMXIV by Rod Cayenne
Photograph © MMXI by Jonathan, R.I.P.
All rights reserved.