♥ Site recommended story ♥
Kick off the New Year in style with this hot, brand new fiction by very special guest author JOELSTRAP. This story debuted as an exclusive to The Canery. All the characters are 18 or older. WARNING: ADULTS ONLY!
An Unexpected Cane by Joelstrap
The sky was heavy with rain-clouds, pressing down upon the rooftops, looming menacingly above the streets, ready to release their burden of water. I glanced upward uneasily.
“We’re gonna get wet,” I remarked superfluously to Mike.
He nodded; and, even as he did so, it was as if some mischievous weather-god had pulled a switch, and the heavens opened. We were dressed only in jeans and light shirts, which were soon soaking wet. Mike grabbed my arm and propelled me into a shop-doorway. I shook myself like a dog emerging from the sea and a spray of raindrops spattered the door. I peered through the glass.
“Looks like some kind of antique-shop. Wanna go in and have a look? Maybe the rain will go off soon.”
Mike assented and we pushed open the door, setting an old-fashioned bell jangling inside. An elderly man emerged from a room at the back and smiled at us.
“Want to get out of the rain, boys?”
“Er, yeh. Do you mind?” I asked politely.
“Not at all. Have a look round. I’ve got a very interesting elephant’s-foot umbrella-stand here,” he replied, indicating the said object with a wave of his hand.
“But we don’t have an umbrella,” Mike pointed out, “and if we did, we wouldn’t be in here in the first place.”
“A most trenchant observation,” said the old man. “You’re clearly a young chap of some intellect. A student, perhaps?”
“Yeh. We’re both students in our first year at uni here,” Mike told him.
“Ah, yes. First time away from home and enjoying the freedoms concomitant thereupon?”
I reached into my brain to remember what concomitant meant and then nodded.
“Yeh. It’s good to be away from parents telling us when to be home and what to do; but we try to be sensible as well,” I said.
“But we don’t always succeed,” added Mike honestly. “When you’re eighteen and free at last, I guess it’s natural to go a bit wild occasionally.”
“All the same, a bit of discipline doesn’t go amiss,” remarked the old guy. “Since you’re not interested in the umbrella-stand, perhaps I can interest you in this instead?”
He walked to a far corner of the shop and we followed. He reached into a tall cupboard and pulled out a traditional school-cane, which he bent into a smooth arc.
“Shit! It’s a cane!” hissed Mike.
“Definitely an intellectual,” I said sarcastically and the old guy grinned.
“Have you ever seen one before?” he asked.
“Nuh. My dad talks about getting it sometimes when he was at school; but I’ve only ever seen pictures of it,” I admitted.
The old chap handed the cane to me and I ran a finger along its slender length and then whipped it sharply. The air winced. Mike raised his eyebrows.
“That looks like it could hurt like hell,” he observed.
“Oh yes. This could really introduce some discipline into your lives,” the elderly shopkeeper assured us, taking the cane back.
He suddenly raised it and brought it down sharply on the surface of a leather chair-seat. A vicious crack echoed through the shop and we both jumped.
“The umbrella-stand wasn’t any use to you because you didn’t have an umbrella; but the cane could be of use, as you both have bottoms,” remarked the old chap solemnly.
We stared at him, taken aback by this statement which was as true as it was unexpected.
“Anyway,” he continued, “have a look at it; and anything else you want to. Just take care not to break anything. It’s a bit cluttered in here.”
He handed the cane to Mike and walked off to the counter at the rear of the shop.
“Wonder what it was like to get something like that across your arse,” I mused; and was surprised to find that I was getting hard even as I thought about it.
“Bloody sore,” said Mike. “Must try a swing like the old guy did.”
He threw the cane back over his shoulder and twisted round as it descended, aiming for the leather seat, but unfortunately his aim was slightly awry and the swiftly-falling rod caught the rim of a nearby table. There was a crash of wood on wood; and an ornate china teapot, which had been standing on the table, bounced and then slid over the edge to smash spectacularly at our feet.
The vivid expletive summed up Mike’s annoyance and apprehension.
“That looks expensive,” I muttered anxiously, wondering about the few pounds I had to my name.
The old chap bumbled over and shook his head. He bent and picked up the handle of the teapot, from which dangled a price-tag. I looked nervously. It said “£75”.
“I’m sorry,” I said helplessly, “but we just don’t have that kind of money.”
“No, I don’t suppose you do,” replied the old chap, “but there is another way of paying for your carelessness.”
Mike looked at him hopefully.
“You’re holding it,” said the elderly shopkeeper.
We both stared wordlessly at the lissom cane which Mike still held. After several seconds, during which the message sank in, Mike said, “You mean I could get caned instead of paying money?”
“As I said before,” observed the old guy, “we’ve got a cane and you’ve got a bottom.”
“And so have I,” I interjected quickly. “I know Mike actually did it, but we’re in it together and if he’s getting the cane, then I’m getting the cane.”
“Think about it,” said the old guy, “while I go and get a dustpan to clear up the mess.”
He pottered off and I looked at Mike.
“Well, we haven’t got the money; and he looks about eighty and he’s not exactly built like a wrestler, so how much could it hurt?” he asked. “But I’m the one getting it, not you,” he added.
“We’re both getting it,” I told him firmly. “Besides, I still want to know what a cane feels like; and here’s my chance.”
“Okay,” replied Mike. “On your head be it.”
“Or arse,” I amended.
“Okay,” Mike told the old guy when he returned with the dustpan, “we’ve decided we’ll take the cane.”
I took the dustpan and swept up the broken china, while Mike and the shopkeeper watched in silence. I stood up.
“Right,” I announced with a vain attempt at humour, “one broken teapot, two broken bums.”
The old man smiled and, taking the cane from Mike, he led us behind the counter and into a room behind the shop. As we entered, a young man rose from a table where he’d been polishing a silver snuff-box, and looked at us with obvious interest. He’d be about twenty-four, six feet tall with black, short hair and a dark shadow round his jaw. Broad shoulders led down to a lean waist and long, denim-clad legs. He wore an open-necked shirt and a generous amount of his chest-hair was clearly visible. My eyes widened and my penis throbbed.
“This is my assistant, Jed,” said the old man. “He’s agreed to cane you, because I doubt if I could do it hard enough to make an impression on a couple of strong young bucks like you two.”
Mike and I exchanged horrified glances. Part of our reason for agreeing to be caned was that we thought the old chap would be doing it and it wouldn’t hurt too much. Jed was a different matter entirely. I had no doubt whatsoever that he could make it hurt beyond anything I could imagine.
The old guy handed the cane to Jed and said, “I’ll leave you to it then,” before going out and closing the door behind him.
Jed arched the cane and then sent it zipping through the air with a terrifying whine. We both winced instinctively.
“I guess neither of you has ever been caned before?”
We nodded agreement.
“In that case, I’ll give you six on your jeans to get you warmed up and used to the feel of a cane; and then I’ll give you six on the bare. Hard,” said Jed.
“Bare?” I queried.
“Bare,” repeated Jed firmly. “Any objections?”
I could think of plenty to which to object, but held my tongue. Unaccountably, my penis was straining at the front of my jeans.
“Who actually broke the teapot?” asked Jed; and Mike owned up.
“Right, you first then. Bend over, hands on the seat of that chair, and don’t move.”
Mike obeyed and I watched with a curious sense of excitement. His jeans were close-fitting and when he bent over they were stretched taut across his behind, revealing the full curves of his rump. Jed took up position to Mike’s left and touched the rod a few times on the denim-clad bottom which was his target. There was an expectant pause, and then he raised the cane and whipped it across Mike’s seat in one swift, fluid movement. Mike winced and I saw his glutes tighten for a few seconds. The cane whipped across him again and again. Each stroke elicited a flinch from Mike, but he stayed silent. The fourth one landed low and I heard him gasp as the pain got to him. Jed gave him no time to recover before sending the fifth lower still. Mike clenched his buttocks, his body quivering; and then he bucked as the sixth cut sliced on a diagonal, firing the lines of the earlier strokes. A half-stifled yelp escaped him.
“Right; over by the wall. You, bend over!”
As Mike vacated the chair, I stepped forward and bent over, presenting my bottom for the cane. My penis was so hard that it was pushing painfully against the fabric of my clothing, desperate for release. I was aware of Jed standing to one side of me and then of the cane rapping the centre of my behind. I held my breath as I felt it being lifted away; and then exhaled sharply as a fierce sting ripped across my rump. That hurt more than I’d expected. My penis loved it. I waited and the cane came again and again, each stroke etching a new line of fire slightly lower down my bottom. For some reason the burning pain seemed to pass right through me from arse to balls and made my arousal all the harder. By the time the sixth stroke had cross-cut the first ones and I had absorbed the sting, I knew that I wanted more.
Jed sent me to stand at the wall and summoned Mike back. I saw him dropping his jeans and pants in response to Jed’s command, before bending over the chair once more. I saw his bare buttocks with six clear red marks on the skin. Blood throbbed in my straining cock. I stared in horrified fascination as Jed lashed the cane hard across Mike’s behind and forced a violent jump and a squeal of pain from him. Mike steadied himself and Jed hit him again, getting a similar reaction. I pressed my finger hard on my perineum to prevent myself from coming. The third stroke got Mike’s hand scrubbing desperately at his bottom for a few seconds; and the fourth did the same. The penultimate one was low on Mike’s crease and very hard. He yelped and leapt upright, both hands rubbing at his outraged rump.
“Get back in position,” ordered Jed harshly, “or you’ll get extra.”
Mike hastily bent over once again. Jed made him wait before lashing the cane ferociously hard across his bottom for the sixth time on the bare. I could see Mike’s fingers gripping the edges of the chair with a fierce determination; and in spite of a gasp of pain which he couldn’t quite suppress, he remained in position, his body taut and shuddering as he processed the pain.
“Okay,” said Jed, “back to the wall. You, jeans and pants down and bend over.”
I complied and felt the cool wood of the cane on my hot, slightly sweaty skin. The coolness seemed like a mockery in view of the searing fires to come. The first stroke felt like a serrated knife ripping through my flesh and I gasped aloud. The next had me clenching my gluteal-muscles like there was no tomorrow. The third scored a slim pathway of pain across my lower buttocks and forced a squeal of pain from me. My proud cock, which had emerged bouncing and fully-erect from the constriction of my clothing when I bared my behind, had gone into partial retreat. I steadied myself and waited. The cane, whipping ferociously across my rump, sent my pain-level soaring and I writhed from the hips, panting with the effort to remain in position. I would never have believed it could hurt this much. The fifth lash of Jed’s cane was driven hard into the tender flesh where my bottom merged into the tops of my legs.
It was forced out of me without conscious decision as I half rose and rubbed at my tortured flesh.
“Two extra strokes,” said Jed grimly. “You don’t swear when you’re being beaten.”
“Bastard!” I thought furiously as I steadied myself for the sixth cut. It came with merciless force and again I found my hands trying in vain to rub out some of the blazing fire in my bottom. I regained control of myself and got back into position. Jed made me wait. As I did, every nerve a-quiver, my body tense, I felt my penis slowly begin to rise in anticipation of the two punishment-strokes to come. I heard a whistling sound and flinched automatically; but Jed was just doing a practice-stroke. The cane touched my bottom lightly, low down, where it curved slightly inward. I closed my eyes and gripped the sides of the chair as hard as I could. He wasn’t holding back. The lithe cane blasted a blazing furrow of fire across my flesh and my whole body thrust violently forward. I was aware of a deep groan escaping me and then I was consciously pushing my bottom backward and upward to receive the final stroke.
Unbelievably, my penis was now rock-hard once more and pre-cum was trickling from the exposed glans. I was breathing fast and a sheen of sweat shone on my chest. Jed’s cane delivered the eighth lash, full across my crease; and I exploded. My whole body leapt forward as my head jerked up and searing pain tore a path like a lightning-stroke across my behind; and my balls tightened and the exquisite sensations between my legs told me what was going to happen. Spurt after spurt of my pent-up boy-cream was soaring across the seat of the chair and splattering the floor on the far side as my balls emptied. The orgasm faded away and I steadied my breathing. A powerful sense of euphoria enveloped me. I’d not only taken the cane, but my body had liked it; and had responded in such a way as to leave no doubt as to its enjoyment.
I slowly rose to stand upright and pressed my hands to my throbbing buttocks.
“What do you think you’re doing?” demanded Jed.
“Get back in position! You’re getting two more for that obscene display!”
“Aw, come on, no!” I pleaded. “I’ve taken eight scorchers on the bare already.”
“And you’ll take two more when I tell you to,” said Jed remorselessly. “Bend over; and hurry up or I’ll make it three more!”
I reluctantly resumed my position over the chair. Balls emptied and penis showing only slight signs of renewed interest, I feared that this was going to be all pain and no pleasure at all. I was right. Jed’s cane screamed across my behind and I felt as if a white-hot sword had slashed my rump, delivering savagely-intense heat to the deeper levels of my flesh. I squealed and kicked hard with my right foot before settling again. One to go. I tensed and waited. This one crossed most of the previous cane-welts and the pain-level soared. I bucked so hard that the chair tottered before settling on its four legs again. I let out an agonised yell and then clamped my teeth desperately on to the chair’s edge as my body writhed and twisted.
I calmed down as the brutal pain eased and stood, still bent over, panting, sweat trickling down my face and body; and my penis rose gamely to half-mast.
“Get up; and keep your hands off your arse!”
I obeyed. Hot tears were trickling down my cheeks but I ignored them. Jed flexed the cane before my eyes. I watched it and him, fascinated and submissive.
“Get dressed,” he said softly. “You too,” he added to Mike.
When we both stood fully-clothed before him, he led us out into the shop and then told Mike to go and wait outside in the street. Mike began to object, but I told him to go and that I wouldn’t be long.
“Now,” said Jed, “the cane costs three pounds. Do you want to buy it?”
“Yes,” I said simply and, fishing three pound-coins from the pocket of my jeans, I handed them over.
Jed bent the cane into an arc in a large, black-plastic-bag and handed it to me. I looked questioningly at him.
“In the bag,” he said, and returned to the back room.
“An excellent purchase, if I may say so,” remarked the old shopkeeper as he escorted me courteously to the door.
Outside the rain had stopped. Mike eyed me suspiciously.
“What the hell was all that about?” he demanded.
“I bought the cane.”
“You what? Why the fuck did you do that?”
“I wanted it.”
“To remind you of that vicious beating you got? He didn’t half let you have it. And how in the name of all that’s kinky did you come while the sadistic bastard was thrashing you?”
“I guess I liked it.”
“How could you like it? You were yowling and squirming like a tortured snake! Don’t try to tell me it didn’t hurt.”
“I’m not. It hurt like hell and then some; but I still liked it somehow.”
“You’re weird! So you bought the cane because you want it again?”
Mike stared disbelievingly at me.
“So who do you think’s gonna cane you? Please, Professor Cormack, I only got a B+ in my essay so I think you should cane my bare arse for me,” he said in mock-pleading tones.
“No, you ass! I’m not sure, but I think……..”
I plunged my hand into the black bag and felt down to the bottom, below the arched cane; and came up with a small slip of paper. We both looked closely at it. In neat writing it said simply: 7p.m. Friday. 43 Burnbutt Road.
“What’s that?” asked Mike.
“I think it’s my next appointment with Jed to get my arse caned,” I said.
“What? You cannot be serious! You actually want to let that vicious young brute cane your bare arse again?”
I plunged a hand into my jeans to rearrange my growing erection and Mike stared in astonishment.
“Fuck! You really do!”
I gave him a smile.
“See, it makes sense. I’ve bought the cane because I’ve got a bottom for it to be used on; and it would be a waste of three pounds if it wasn’t used, wouldn’t it?”
“That Jed’s gonna beat the living shit outta you; you know that?”
“I hope so,” I said quietly; and on that Friday evening and many Fridays afterwards, my hopes were fulfilled.