Not A Bad Old Stick (M/M) r e p e a t

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Hot caning fiction by your host Rod Cayenne, repeated by popular request. Strictly over 18s only! 

 

That fateful morning, I scowled across the table, picking at my breakfast. “He’s not a bad old stick, after all,” my father said. I wasn’t so sure. OK, the guy was a family friend and had been for years, but I remembered him as a total tyrant in the classroom. In truth, he was always fairly kind to me as I was a teacher’s pet really, but several of my contemporaries had incurred the wrath of his plimsolls and canes. In consequence, I remained wary of him. “Anyway,” father continued, “He has invited you to stay for a fortnight at his new place in the National Park. It was such a generous offer that I accepted immediately, on your behalf.”

“Oh, thanks a bunch, Dad!”

“Well, I’m sorry Adam. I wasn’t aware of your reservations. He is a friend of the family, after all. I think he’s feeling a bit overwhelmed and lonely.”

“Well, that’s not my problem! Of course he’s feeling lonely, that’s because he’s not very likeable!”

“Adam, you’re going! I’m not having you wasting the whole summer here before you start at college. I told you, you should have got a summer job. Besides, your mother and I need some time together.”

“Oh so, that’s it! I’m being packed off so you can shag yourselves silly!”

“ADAM! HOW DARE YOU?” Dad banged his fist down on the table, and I stormed out.

So it was that a week or so later, I found myself being dropped off at Jim Masterson’s new abode, a charming chocolate box cottage down a leafy cul-de-sac right on the edge of the forest. He had done well for himself, I thought as I eyed the wisteria-draped walls.

He greeted me with a hearty handshake and a big grin. I felt reassured and almost instantly at home. The cottage was tiny inside, with the thick walls reducing the floor space significantly. He took me upstairs to the small bedroom that was to be mine for two weeks. It was in need of a lick of paint, and maybe some fresh curtains, but the bed was generous for a single, and seemed warm, dry and welcoming as I sat down on it to unpack my belongings.

However, my happy mood disappeared as soon as I started to hang my clothes in the oak wardrobe. For there, hanging on the dull metal hanging rail, was a school cane. I almost shat myself with fear! What was it doing there? It held out a bitter promise, and there I was stranded with it, a tyrannical teacher downstairs, and miles from civilisation!

That afternoon we went for a walk and ended up at a picnic place in a clearing within the National Park. We sat down and enjoyed a warm cuppa from a flask and a few biscuits.

“Adam, you seem tense. Is there a problem?” Jim asked, and placed his hand on my knee, fleetingly.

“Err, no. I don’t think so. No, I don’t think so.”

“Are you quite sure?”

“Quite! Except…”

“Yes?”

“There’s a cane in my wardrobe! What’s it doing there? It’s not very welcoming is it?”

“Oh that! Yes. It is one of my old school canes.”

“Well, yes, obviously. Still, as I said, a strange welcome.”

“Well. Well, Adam. I was talking to your father and he said you’d been a bit surly and lippy lately. I can see what he was driving at, in a way. Anyway, it was his idea to put it there. Just to wind you up, really. I’m sorry.”

“To wind me up? Well, that’s certainly worked!”

“Hmm. You do seem a bit overwrought, my lad.”

“Well! I got through school without ever being caned by behaving myself.”

“Wait a minute! That’s quite an achievement, Adam. Really it is. Eighteen and never been thrashed, eh? That’s quite unusual even in these modern times. No wonder you’re upset at the prospect.”

“What prospect?” I asked with alarm.

“Well, not really a prospect. Your father thought you should offer to take a caning. He told me what you’d said, you know.”

“Oh!”

“Yes, frankly, I’m appalled. I expect better of my pupils. Really, I do.”

“I’m not one of your pupils any more.”

“Technically not. But I am dismayed. And your smartarse remarks aren’t helping any.”

“Perhaps I’d better go home?”

“I’m afraid that’s not an option. Your parents have plans.”

“Well then, what are my options, Sir?” I decided to call him Sir as it seemed appropriate at that moment.

“Well, as I see it there are two. You can stay with me and there will be a bit of an atmosphere. Or you can stay with me, take a caning, and the air will be cleared.”

“That’s not much of a choice, is it?” I said.

“Well, that’s the way I see it, Adam my lad. Do you have a different perspective?”

“No. Alright, you win. How many will I get?”

“Well six is traditional. It might be enough to do the trick, especially as this will be your first taste of the cane.”

“First and last!” I exclaimed, hardly able to believe what I was agreeing to. I was well and truly trapped, and by my own stupidity, really.

“Yes. Alright then, first and last. Unless you feel afterwards that the air still hasn’t been fully cleared!”

“Oh don’t worry about that, Sir. I’m really sorry for my behaviour already.”

“Well, I’m not going to let you off just because you’re feeling sorry for yourself. Believe me, you’ll be truly sorry after a caning.”

“I suppose I will,” I said, “Will it hurt terribly?”

“Yes, I’ll make sure it does. But don’t worry it won’t kill you and the residual soreness and marking will clear up after a few days.”

“A few days?”

“Yes. That’s just a guess, of course. I am guessing that your hide is soft, a few canings toughen a lad’s flesh, but that’s one advantage you don’t have.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, this is all sounding a bit morbid, but as I say it won’t kill you. It will toughen you up, which is just what you need.”

I wasn’t convinced, and I dragged my feet rather petulantly as we headed back to the cottage. I became more agitated as the place came back into view.

“We’ll do it now. Get it out of the way. It wouldn’t be fair to make you wait until bedtime, would it, my lad?”

I didn’t much care for the term bedtime, or being called a lad. I did feel like a kid. A scared and frightened little kid, just at that time. He marched me in through the back door.

“Alright, trousers and pants down!”

“What?”

“Yes! Sixth formers get it that way.”

“But I’m not a sixth former!”

“No, you’re not! But there it is. Just get them down while I go and fetch the cane.”

He soon reappeared, slicing the stick through the air.

“Good lad. Now bend over, hands on your knees. That’s it. Stick your bottom out for me.”

It was so degrading. Stick my bottom out indeed! Still, I couldn’t argue. I’d agreed to it, and how bad could it really be?

CRACK! The first stroke caught me unawares. The pain soon followed, it was excruciating! My flesh immediately felt as if it had been blowtorched! Shit, that was hot!

The second stroke followed rapidly and hurt my delicate teenage flesh badly. The pain mingled with that from the first stroke. I was struggling to retain my composure and my submissive position. My head was spinning, feeling dizzy. He stopped and sliced the cane through the air a few times before speaking.

“Not very nice, eh?”

“No, Sir!” I replied.

“Just what the doctor ordered! Long overdue! I should have taken you down a peg or two when you were my pupil. You wouldn’t have dared speak to your father like that!”

“No, Sir!” I replied again, thoroughly humiliated.

“And you wouldn’t have dared use obscene language,” he said, simultaneously slicing the cane down for a wicked third stroke. Boy, did that one hurt! It seared and throbbed and burnt.

“Can I get up for a minute, Sir? I feel a bit light-headed.”

Suddenly he was alarmed. He placed his hand on my forehead, checking my temperature. He sighed, and then spoke, “I hope you’re not playing for time, my lad. I’m not going to let you off, you know. Perhaps you’d better bend over one of these dining chairs?”

It was a good idea. I placed my hands flat on the seat of the wooden chair, and stuck my aching bottom out submissively.

“Just the job. Good stuff. Good lad. You’re taking this well.”

If that was a compliment, I was a bit surprised. I pushed my bottom out further awaiting a further stinging rattan caress. It came with a loud whipping sound and a wave of intense pain. I gasped and screwed up my face. This was hard to take. How ever did schoolboys manage to take it, I wondered?

A fifth stroke lashed down. I squealed and leapt up, rubbing my sore arse with my hands.

Mr Masterson tutted, “That’s not allowed you know! I suggest you get back into position straight away. Unless you want me to make it a round dozen?”

I’d never moved so fast in my life! I bent over, thrusting my naked cheeks provocatively at my tormentor. I wanted it over. I wanted it over and to be just the original six strokes.

“That’s better! Last one, then. Coming now!”

And it did come! And then some. Later on as I examined the damage, it was apparent that this last stroke had been aimed diagonally. It fucking hurt, that was for sure.

I stood up and hoisted my Y-fronts and trousers back into place. The material rubbed against my injured flesh. All the same, it was a not unpleasant sensation. I felt cleansed. I smiled at Mr Masterson and sighed, “Thank you, Sir. I needed that, didn’t I?”

“You certainly did lad, you certainly did. Has it done the trick?”

“Oh, I think so, thank you, Sir. I do feel I’ve paid my dues.”

“Good. Well, let me know if it hasn’t cleared the air and I’ll do it again for you.”

I thanked him sincerely, much to my amazement. Why would I ever ask for more? Even if I were to feel some residual guilt?

“Right then! You’d better return the cane to its home. We’ll know where to find it if it’s needed again then, won’t we?”

I took the cane from him. It felt light and innocuous. I walked up the narrow stairs acutely aware of the sore throbbing in the rear of my underpants. I hung the cane back on the rail in the wardrobe and stared at its lithe form. Unconsciously, I was rubbing my scorched bottom cheeks. That thing certainly packed a punch!

By the time I went downstairs, Mr Masterson was on the phone, evidently talking to my father.

“He took it like a man. Yes, that was good as I didn’t go easy on him. Just six. That’s usually enough, I find. Anyway, I’m going to do you another favour. No, no, I insist. At the end of the holiday, I’m going to send the lad home with a cane for you to use. Use it good and often! No, there’s nothing to it. You’ll soon get the hang of it. The cane does all the hard work. No, really, I know what I’m talking about. Regular reminders do a college lad no harm at all.”

The colour drained from my face. Shit, he was giving dad a cane to use on me! But I was 18 and bound for college! Shit! Much too old for the cane, surely? Then I reflected on my own stupidity, for how could I claim to be too old after what I’d just submitted to?

I got on really well with Jim, Mr Masterson, for the rest of the holiday. We didn’t talk about the cane much until the last evening I was there.

“Well young Adam, a memorable break for you, then?”

“Yes, thanks! It’s been a real tonic here in the forest. Thank you for having me. Although my bum’s not so sure!”

“Ah yes, your bum, as you like to call it. In the staff room we call that part of the anatomy your seat of learning! Have you learnt your lesson, Adam, or do you need a reminder before you go home?”

I really don’t know why, but I agreed to another caning! It just felt so right. I was making up for lost time in so many ways. It was another six of the best and that caning was just as hard as the first. I found it just as cleansing, and almost an enjoyable challenge. That night, I masturbated furiously as I wriggled my sore bottom against the bed sheets, imagining first Mr Masterson and then Dad caning me. Well, that was a sweet fantasy and the reality is a story for another day, don’t you think? As I fell asleep I was minded to think of the cane as an old friend of the family, and not a bad old stick after all.

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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 and selfie picture © MMXV by Rod Cayenne

All rights reserved

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