♥ Site recommended story ♥
Hot fiction by Rod Cayenne, repeated from 2016, and with special thanks to Jim for inspiration.
It wasn’t easy being the rookie cop in the big concrete police station. Jim kind of dreaded the others, and the rough horseplay he saw there in the locker room. He buffed up the shine on his black police boots with the brown wooden brush, and sighed heavily.
“Here, let me have look, lad,” said Tom, one of the older bobbies, the duty Sergeant. Jim passed him a boot to inspect. “Hmm. When all’s said and done, this is not very good. Give it some elbow grease, lad. This needs a lot more shine, a proper mirror-finish. You can barely see the reflection of my beard in this one.”
His beard! Oh yes, his beard. His masculine, greying, sexy beard. Jim had lusted after it and the man behind it ever since he first clapped his eyes on Tom. The beard, the white starched shirt, the blue eyes, his thick leather belt and his bushy eyebrows. The man was a total dream!
Tom pulled the rookie to one side and whispered in his ear, “You’re going to have to do a lot better than this. Watch out for Charlie Alpha!”
Charlie Alfa? Charlie Alfa? He’d heard the name a few times. Who was this bloke the others spoke about in hushed terms? Before he had a chance to mull over it more, Tom the Sergeant was outlining the day’s schedule.
“We’re pulling a gang of teens in this afternoon. They’ve been a right fucking nuisance to some good people so we’re going to put the frighteners on them. Clap them in the cells for a few hours. Probably not a job for you to get too involved in. Then tonight we’re staking out a cottage. The loos in the Jubilee Gardens. I don’t really approve of such harassment any more. I’m not, err you know, but the fact is that there are quite a few of us coppers who sometimes like a bit of variety, if you know what I mean. In fact, I think you maybe one of us, am I right lad? But the Chief Super is a bit old-fashioned in many ways and wants us to crack down, arrest and ruin some married men. But I don’t think so somehow! So we’ll go and watch the action and then conveniently forget to book anyone.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Jim laughed, his tenseness relieved by the frank and friendly banter of the duty Sergeant.
As it happened, it did all go to plan, Jim, Tom and a colleague had a wonderful, voyeuristic time, no animals were hurt, and no arrests were made. However, the Chief Superintendent was not amused. He’d wanted a scalp or two, but nothing had been delivered.
Jim was to discover all about the Chief’s displeasure at his first quarterly performance review. It started well, with gushing praise for much of his conduct. There were problems though, outlined as the Chief to paced up and down his spacious office, “Persistent lateness and cocky attitude. I was also disappointed with the stake-out at Jubilee Gardens. I do hope Tom hasn’t corrupted you with his strange beliefs?”
“Err, no Sir. We were just unlucky. We had fella lined up for cuffing, and then he just disappeared into the night.”
“Is that so, is that so? I am detecting a pattern here. A good policeman let down by negligence, tardiness, complacency and too cock-sure for his own good. What you need, my lad, is a good taste of my Charlie Alpha November Echo!” the older man smirked.
“Eh?” Jim asked stupidly.
“That’s ‘Eh Sir?’ or ‘Eh, Chief Superintendent?’ to you lad! Where are your manners? Do I have to spell it out to you? Charlie Alpha November Echo! C…A…N…E. The cane! Six of the best, should do it.”
“But Sir! You can’t do that!”
“Dereliction of duty, lateness, cocky attitude. I can do it, lad, and I will do it. I think we’ll make it eight strokes, in fact! You’ve had the cane before?”
“Yes Sir. My father…”
“Very good. Perhaps I’ll call him later.” With that, the Chief Superintendent sat down and reached under his desk. He produced a cane which he laid on the desk top, right in front of Jim who proceeded to go pale.
“Aha! Do I detect some familiarity with this?”
“Well, it’s very similar to my father’s.”
“Is that so? I doubt he got his from the same place as mine!”
“How so, Sir?”
“I picked this beauty up in a raid of a brothel in the City. You could say she’s a metropolitan model, but I’ve named her Charlie Alpha.”
In fact, it was a pretty standard school cane. A pretty cane! A punishment cane, with a perfectly-curved crook handle. Just like the one Jim’s father had used to use.
“Alright then lad! Stand up! Over the back of the chair please. No, no, you can keep your trousers on. Unlike some round here, I am not a lover of naked male flesh.”
The Chief Superintendent was not a lover of male flesh indeed, but he was a sadist. A semi-secret sadist. How he enjoyed whipping his juniors with a rattan rod! A rod he affectionately named Charlie Alpha!
Jim’s police trousers were stretched tightly as he bent over the back of the chair. So tightly that the outline of his Y-fronts could be seen, offering a gratifying target for the Chief, as he flexed the cane purposefully.
The Chief didn’t hang about as he landed not one, not two but three fast strokes. Jim hadn’t expected that, being used to his father’s more leisurely ways of punishment. The heat and pain was immediate and intense. Jim gasped, overwhelmed by his superior’s sadism.
The Chief paused, “I hope you can see that I mean business, young James!”
“Yes, Sir!” Jim replied dutifully. He pushed his bottom out, ready for the next stroke. It came with a loud crack, Jim feeling as if his trousers, underpants and the flesh beneath were being ripped to shreds. A fifth stroke followed rapidly, causing a squeal from Jim.
“Quiet Constable! Take your medicine like a man!”
The sixth and seventh strokes followed rapidly again, and despite the Chief’s direct command, Jim could not help yelping as each one landed on target. The young constable was embarrassed at his weakness, yet consumed by overwhelming pain at the same time. The last stroke landed accompanied by a loud “AAARGH!”
At least it was over, Jim consoled himself. It had been quite a beating, so rapid and so painful. He’d try to avoid the Chief and Charlie Alpha in future!
“You can get up now,” the Chief smirked. “I hope you won’t need a reminder in the near future. I expect only the very best from my PCs. Otherwise they get the best of this!” he said throwing the whippy cane down on the desk. “Off you go!”
Jim left silently, closing the door gently. Outside the office, his hands flew to his meaty backside. He clawed and kneaded at the flesh, desperately trying to ameliorate the intense, throbbing pain. He loosened his belt by a couple of notches, but it didn’t seem to help any. As he walked down the winding staircase, he caught Tom’s eye, for the sergeant was manning the reception desk.
“Ah. A painful gait, I see. I’d guess that your review ended with an introduction to Charlie Alpha. Am I right?”
“Shit, yes, Tom! Eight fuckin’ introductions!”
“Eight, ho ho, he must have been annoyed! Most new recruits get four to six at most to start with. Sounds like you hit the jackpot!”
“Jackpot! I should be so lucky! I guess that Sergeants are immune?”
“From Charlie Alpha?”
“Of course lad, we’ve paid our dues. Charlie’s reserved for kids like you.”
“Cheers, Tom. I mean Sarge! I’m off home now, think I’ll have a bath, see if that helps.”
Jim made his way home on the service bus. His bottom ached and throbbed as it bounced around on the poorly-padded bus seat. He felt every austerity pothole as the bus rattled and clattered down the neglected A-road. Alighting at the stop, he nipped into the shelter to compose himself before he faced his parents. He didn’t want to give the game away, so smartened himself up, tightening both his belt and tie to look his best.
As it happens his father was waiting to greet him at the door, “Hello son! How was work today?”
“Oh hi, Dad. Work? Oh, you know, same old, same old!”
“That’s not what I heard! The Chief Superintendent rang me. He told me about your caning. I didn’t know the Police went in for that sort of thing at all!”
“No, neither did I Dad!” said Jim rubbing his backside ruefully.
“Well now. I approve. Wholeheartedly. He told me what a cocky fool you’ve been. I’m not surprised. We’ve noticed it at home too. Far too frequently. I’ve sent your mother out.”
That could mean only one thing to Jim. ‘Sending his mother out’ was his father’s code for “I’m going to cane you!”
“Dad, you can’t mean…”
“I do indeed! I bet you thought I’d got rid of the good old cane, didn’t you?”
“Well, yes, I’d rather hoped, as I’m 21 now…”
“Never too old for a caning while you’re under our roof! You’ve brought shame on us, James! I made the Chief Superintendent a solemn promise. That I’d take care of your discipline between his quarterly reviews.”
“Dad, you can’t! Besides, it’s quarterly review day today, hardly between reviews!”
“Don’t get clever with me! I can see what your boss meant about your cockiness. As long as you live under this roof, you are a boy as far as I’m concerned. So before, I deal with you, you can have a shower and shave off that ridiculous, cocky moustache too. You’re too young for it! When it’s gone you can report to my study in your pyjamas!”
Jim was dismayed. No moustache! No dignity! And a very, very sore arse. And those pyjamas! His mother insisted on them while he lived at home, although Jim would far rather sleep in the nude. He’d have to ask for a room at the Section House, this was all much too much!
Father meanwhile was happy. He’d take the lad down a peg or two, for sure. He’d felt the urge to discipline his cocky young adult son for some time. Rather stupidly, the lad had furnished him with just the right excuse!
Upstairs in his en-suite, Jim hacked away at his moustache with some disdain. He’d grown to like it, feeling that it gave him the authoritarian air so appropriate for a police officer. But now that contrived gravitas was gone. He gazed at the fresh-faced 21-year-old in the mirror. Why hadn’t he argued it out with his father? It was a question that buzzed around his head time and time again as he massaged his sore arse cheeks under the warm water of the walk-in shower.
“I’m waiting!” Jim’s father barked. Jim duly dropped his pyjama trousers. The old man lifted the tail of the pyjama top to inspect his son’s beaten bottom. The Chief had done an excellent job, with eight crisp but haphazardly-placed weals clearly on display.
“Another eight then, I think. Just to reinforce the displeasure of your mother and of me! Don’t let us down again, son.”
With that father landed the first purposeful stroke. Jim had to gasp, for it cut across much of the Chief’s earlier handiwork. And so it continued. A second, harder stroke. A yelp from the young man. A third, leisurely delivered but excruciatingly painful. A squeal from Jim. A whippy fourth, a violent fifth. A teasing sixth, a scorching seventh. Cries and grunts. A valedictory eighth.
Jim got up slowly, pulling up his pyjama bottoms ruefully. He was holding back the tears, but had to speak, “Thank you father.”
“You’re welcome! Anytime!” He meant it too. At last, with great pleasure, he had tamed his cocky son!
Come the next shift, Jim made his way into the police station cautiously, trying to walk as normally as his well-beaten bottom would allow. It was just his luck to find his new friend Sergeant Tom on the reception desk.
“Hey, Jim lad! Where’s your moustache gone? My, you look so much younger without it. Just like the naughty boy you are. Now, tell me, how’s your naughty bottom?”
“Don’t bloody ask! My Dad gave me a thrashing too! The Chief had rung him, so Dad decided to give me the same with his cane.”
“Wait! Your Dad has a cane too? Blimey, you’ve been unlucky! How many did he give you?”
Tom whistled with disbelief, “Anyway, how about after the shift you come back to my place? I’ll make you feel better.”
Tom did eventually comfort Jim, but only after giving him another caning too!
Story © MMXVI by Rod Cayenne
Photo © by Rod Cayenne
Handcuffs image: Creative Commons
D I S C L A I M E R
All characters appearing in this story are over 18 and are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.