♥ Site recommended story ♥
An exciting new caning story by very special guest author JOELSTRAP. This story is currently exclusive to The Canery! All the characters are 18 or older. WARNING: ADULTS ONLY!
Introduction to The Cane by Joelstrap
“But I was going to meet Paul and go into town,” I protested.
“And now you’re going to go and help Mr Bonthrone with his clearing-out,” said dad firmly. “You’ve got plenty of time to go and meet Paul later, or tomorrow. Now, somebody needs your help, and so you’re going to help.”
“Why me?” I objected huffily. “You could go and help him.”
“I beg your pardon, Colin!”
“Well you could! Why do you have to volunteer me?”
“Because you need something useful to do, Colin.”
“I’ve got something to do! I’m going to meet Paul!”
“I said something useful,” reiterated dad.
“Oh! So now my pal’s useless, huh? Thanks a million!”
“One more insolent word out of you, my boy, and you’ll be spending the next week in your room.”
“Dad! I’m eighteen! You can’t treat me like a bloody kid!”
“Behave like a kid, get treated like a kid,” said dad grimly. “Now get yourself over to Mr Bonthrone’s; and hurry up.”
Muttering obscenely under my breath, but reluctant to risk a week’s grounding, I trailed sulkily across to old Bonthrone’s house. He was approaching seventy and had retired a few years before from teaching maths at the local secondary school. He’d still been there in my early years at the school, but had never actually taught me. He had sold his house and was going to move away in a few weeks’ time to stay nearer his daughter in Northumberland; hence the clearing out of the house.
He welcomed me enthusiastically when I presented myself at his door, making an effort to look as if I had actually volunteered to do this.
“Colin! Your father said you’d be willing to come and give me a hand; and I’m really very grateful. I’ve been in this house for over thirty years and I’m afraid that I’ve accumulated rather a lot of stuff. Just come through here.”
He conducted me into a small study with shelves of books. Against one wall was a large pile of volumes which he said were to go to a local charity-shop. The rest, still on the shelves, were to be packed into cardboard boxes ready for the move. I was soon busy clearing the shelves and filling the boxes. When I’d done, I found him emptying drawers in the kitchen and he gave me a cold lager from the fridge and joined me at the table. We chatted amicably enough before he sent me back to the study to empty the contents of a cupboard. There were more books, piles of old reports, folders of notes on lessons; and, lying in thin layer of dust behind some rolled-up charts, a cane.
I picked it up and ran the pad of my index-finger along its lithe length. Corporal punishment had been abolished a few years before I’d started school and so for me the cane was something older boys had talked about and my dad’s generation reminisced about. I’d never actually seen one. I tried to imagine what it would feel like lashing hard across my bottom; and to my surprise my penis leapt eagerly in response to my imagination. I gave it a practice-swing and was surprised at the way it whistled through the air. This would really hurt, I thought to myself.
I laid the cane down and, just as I had completed emptying the cupboard, old Bonthrone came into the room.
“Good lad,” he said, “you’ve done well. Most of these things can be thrown away, but I’ll have to just check through it all first.”
“I see you kept your old cane,” I said, nodding to where I’d laid it on the table.
He picked it up and looked at it almost fondly.
“Ah, yes. You know, Colin, I rather missed it when it was abolished. It must be almost twenty years ago now; but it was a very effective way of keeping boys under control and ensuring they worked hard. I’ve laid a good few strokes across a lot of young bottoms with this in the first couple of decades or so of my teaching career.”
He swung it high and lashed it down on a leather chair-seat. I jumped at the sound; and so did my cock.
“Wow! I bet they felt it,” I said.
“Oh they felt it,” he assured me. “I made sure of that. Hit them hard and they’re more likely to get the message and less likely to want to come back for more.”
I turned to shift some empty boxes with my foot lest he see the throbbing tumescence in the front of my shorts.
“I’m telling you,” I said to Paul that evening, “it was a real cane; and I got a hell of a stiffie just touching it. When he slammed it into the chair, I damn near came!”
“Yeh,” agreed Paul, squirming in his seat, “it kinda gets me in the balls too. Do you think I could come along to help and maybe get to see it?”
“There seems to be a lot to do and I promised to go back tomorrow morning. I’ll pop over when I get home and ask if he’d like an extra pair of hands; and I’ll phone and let you know.”
Mr Bonthrone was only too willing to have more help and so Paul turned up at my house at ten the next morning and we crossed to old Bonthrone’s bungalow together. We started off working in the garage and having Paul there made it a lot more fun. Later in the morning the old guy went out to the local shop and we took the chance to go into the study and I showed Paul the cane. He handled it as carefully as if it were a poisonous snake.
“Cor! This looks vicious! Imagine the sting it would give on your arse!”
“Would you….er….like to let me feel it?” I asked tentatively. “Not too hard,” I added quickly.
“Sure. Bend over, boy!” he ordered harshly and I sprang to obey.
The stroke wasn’t particularly hard and I felt a mild and enjoyable sting in my rear.
“Go on; a bit harder,” I urged.
He delivered another which definitely made me wince and caused my cock to try to burst out of my shorts. I stayed down and he gave me one more, a good bit harder. I gasped as a fierce streak of fire lashed across my bottom, and instinctively I found myself scrubbing with both hands at my rear.
“Looks like you felt that one,” observed Paul with a grin, “and that wasn’t anywhere near as hard as I could hit you; and you’ve got your shorts on.”
“I know! I can’t even start to imagine what six of the best, really hard, on the bare bum, would feel like. You wanna taste it?”
Paul handed me the cane and bent over. I rapped his neat bottom, the curves showing beautifully through the tightly-stretched material of his shorts, and then gave him a light stroke, followed by a harder one, which made him flinch. I waited.
“Go on then,” he said. “Finish off with a harder one; like I did.”
I obliged, and got a powerful reaction in my penis as I watched Paul buck and straighten up, rubbing at his behind.
“Boy, you’re right,” he opined. “That really does sting like hell. I wonder what it feels like bare?”
I was about to offer to try when we heard the sound of old Bonthrone’s car returning. I quickly replaced the cane and we dived out through the kitchen and into the garage again. The old chap asked if we’d be willing to go on clearing the garage in the afternoon if he gave us some lunch; and we eagerly agreed, as we were actually enjoying it. It was late in the afternoon when Paul made a suggestion.
“Do you think we could snaffle that cane for the night? My olds are out this evening, so our house will be empty. We could do a bit of playing around with it. I’d really like to feel it on my bare arse.”
“Yeh. I don’t suppose he’d miss it for one night. You go and keep him busy in the sitting-room. He’s sorting out books there. I’ll nip into the study and get the cane and dash across to my house and hide it in my room; and then this evening I’ll bring it round to your place.”
That simple plan went without a hitch and about half past seven I arrived, with the cane down the leg of my jeans, at Paul’s home. It had proved harder than I’d expected to walk in those circumstances, but I’d got there without mishap. We had great fun with the cane and both experienced it used with moderate force on our bare behinds. The resultant erections were spectacular and the necessary releasing of each other’s tensions which followed was thrilling and deeply satisfying.
We were sitting outside in the front garden in a sultry heat under a coppery sky when Paul’s parents arrived back; and even as they emerged from their car, a few drops of rain began to fall. The sky blackened swiftly and thunder rumbled not too far away. Paul’s dad glanced upward and then turned to me.
“Jump in and I’ll run you home before I put the car away,” he said. “It looks like there’s a storm just about to break and you’ll probably get soaked if you walk.”
I tried to protest but he was adamant and with a helpless glance at Paul, I got into the car and was delivered safely home as the rain began to come down in torrents and flashes of brilliant lightning seared the heavens. The problem was that I’d had to leave the cane at Paul’s house. I gave him a ring and he said he’d bring it next day when we returned to old Bonthrone’s place to continue helping him with his house-clearing.
“No problem,” he assured me. “I’ll be there at ten and we’ll go across together. I’ll slip the cane back into the study if you keep the old chap talking for a couple of minutes.”
I was mildly uneasy, but there was no alternative and it seemed as if all would be well. Not all is as it seems, however. Next morning I got a call from Paul to say that he’d developed severe toothache in the night and, in spite of his protests, his dad had insisted on getting him an emergency appointment with the dentist at 9.30 a.m.
“I’ll be as quick as I can,” he assured me, “but I don’t think I’m gonna make it to Bonthrone’s by ten o’clock. It’ll be okay though. I’ll bring the cane when I come and you can distract him when I arrive and I’ll put it back. No sweat.”
I was sweating a little though. One thing after another was going wrong with what had seemed like a straightforward plan; and I was uneasy that something else might go awry. It did!
I’d arrived at Bonthrone’s house at ten and was busy emptying a large cupboard in the hall when the old chap came up to me.
“You remember you found my old cane in the study-cupboard the other day?” he began. “And you left it on the table in there, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” I affirmed as my heart gave a jolt.
“Well, it’s not there now,” said Bonthrone.
I looked at him, trying to convince myself that the expression on my face didn’t appear as guilty as it felt. Bonthrone had been a teacher for forty years, however, and he could read a boy like an open book.
“Is there something you’d like to tell me, Colin?”
I decided that lying would probably only make matters worse, and so I told him what we’d done. Just as I finished, Paul arrived, wearing his jeans and walking slowly. Bonthrone eyed him and then looked at me.
“Game’s up,” I said to Paul. “He found it was missing and realised what had probably happened to it; so I confessed.”
Paul gave a rueful grin and pulled the cane from his jeans before handing it to Bonthrone.
“I suppose you think we both deserve a proper dose of the cane now,” he said, as I stared at him with raised eyebrows.
“Taking something which belongs to someone else with out permission, is a serious matter,” observed the old guy slowly. “It seems that you both wanted to find out what a cane felt like and you probably did last night; but all the same, I suspect that you weren’t hitting each other particularly hard?”
We nodded agreement.
“Which means that you still don’t really know what a cane feels like, doesn’t it?”
Again we indicated our agreement.
“Do you think you should?”
There was a silence and then Paul spoke.
“Yes, sir,” he said softly. “We’ve behaved badly and I think we do need to find out what a punishment-caning feels like.”
In spite of a strong sense of nervousness, I expressed my concurrence.
“All right, boys. Into the study.”
It was like being back at school again. We walked obediently into the study and Bonthrone followed with the cane. This wasn’t like being back at school; at least, not for Paul and me. The old guy placed a chair in the middle of the room and told me to bend over it, gripping the sides with both hands. I felt strangely vulnerable, and also curiously boy-like again. I felt the cane tapping my shorts-clad behind and was wishing I had worn a baggier pair. These ones fitted very snugly and, stretched almost to bursting-point when I bent over, didn’t allow for any trapped air to help cushion the blows. The cane collided with my rump with a crack which echoed through the room; and I drew in breath sharply. That really hurt! I made an effort and kept my body still, resisting the temptation to rub. The cane was doing another series of exploratory raps on my seat and I was just getting ready to take the next stroke when it came hard and fast and took me by surprise. I barely managed to stifle a yelp of pain as a line of fire ripped through my behind.
“Stand up, Colin.”
Relieved, I stood up straight, glad it was over.
“Drop your shorts!”
“What? No! Please!”
“I’m waiting, Colin.”
I looked helplessly at him for several seconds but saw no sign of him giving way. Reluctantly I pushed my shorts down to my ankles and bent over again, protected only by my thin briefs. As he tapped my rump with the rod, I was more aware now of its lithe pliancy and more afraid of its potential for inflicting severe pain on me. He hit hard, about half way between the centre of my bottom and my crease. I grunted aloud as a whip of flame snapped across my buttocks and forced me to clench them desperately as I fought the burn. Scarcely had I got myself calmed down when the cane lashed me again, lower still. I squirmed and gripped the edges of the seat very hard, a gasp of pain driven from me.
I obeyed and waited nervously, because I thought that I had worked out the pattern; and I didn’t like what I feared was coming next.
“Briefs down and bend back over!”
I knew there was no point in seeking mercy because I wasn’t going to get any. I’d earned this and would have to see it through. I pushed down my briefs and once again assumed the position. The touch of the cane on my bare skin was scary. Now there was nothing between that infernal rod and my unprotected flesh. My penis, so eager and perky when Paul and I had been playing with the cane, had gone into craven retreat now that things had got serious. I tensed my body and waited as the cane played on my behind; and then was driven in hard, forcing a squeal of pain from me as it lacerated my buttocks with a blaze of fiery heat. My right hand flew back and scrubbed desperately at the pulsating flesh.
“Get your hand away, boy!”
Reluctantly I complied and steadied myself. He hit me just where my bottom merged into the top of my legs and it felt as if the cane had gouged a searing furrow of incandescent fire in my hindquarters. I squealed again, bucked violently, and rubbed furiously and hopelessly at the tormented skin.
Breathing hard, and feeling more like an eight-year-old than an eighteen-year-old, I stood with my hands pressed to my blazing bottom, and blinked away incipient tears.
“Well taken,” observed Bonthrone. “Go and stand over there. You, Paul, come here and bend over.”
Paul and I exchanged looks as we passed each other and I noticed the expression of shock on his features. In a way, I thought to myself, he’s getting the tougher end of it, because he’s had to watch me being beaten, knowing all the time that his turn is to come. I couldn’t help admiring Paul’s behind, even although his jeans weren’t as tight as his shorts would have been. He flinched at the first two strokes but made no sound, and then dropped his denims and re-positioned himself wordlessly when told. The pair on his briefs got through to him a lot more and I could hear him gasping and see his buttocks quivering as he clenched them. He’d just dropped his briefs and bent over, bare buttocks on display, for the final two, when the phone rang.
“Don’t move,” instructed Bonthrone as he laid down the cane and went out into the hall to answer it.
I shuffled over to Paul and asked him if he was okay.
“Sure! Never felt better,” he replied sarcastically.
I ignored him, knelt down behind him and ran the tip of my tongue along the marks on his rump. His whole body tensed and shuddered and little panting sounds escaped him. When I reached through between his legs from behind, I could feel his penis long and hard.
“Steady, tiger,” I whispered softly in his ear. “You can take this.”
“I know,” he replied. “That…what you just did with your tongue…that was awesome. I……”
He broke off and I quickly rose to my feet and got back to my place as we heard Bonthrone replace the phone in the hall. He came back into the room, picked up the cane and in one smooth movement raised it and drove it in hard to Paul’s bare bottom, eliciting a powerful squirm and a decidedly audible yelp. His last one was also delivered just at the top of his crease and made him buck and utter a squeak of pain. His right hand darted towards the tortured flesh and then he regained control and forced it back on to the edge of the chair.
“Well done,” said Bonthrone. “Go and stand with Colin.”
The pair of us stood side by side, bottoms throbbing, cocks sagging, heads down, our clothing pooled round our ankles; two beaten lads, submissive and sorry.
“No more taking things without permission, boys?” asked Bonthrone.
“No, sir,” I replied.
“Never again, sir,” added Paul softly.
“Good. Get yourselves dressed and come into the kitchen. I’ve got some chocolate biscuits.”
He went out, leaving the cane on the table. I eyed it balefully.
“Well,” I said, “now we know.”
My penis was rising fast and I rubbed at the welts on my bottom with a growing sense of pride; and even of enjoyment.
“That was bloody awful,” said Paul, also scrubbing at his well-beaten rump.
“Yeh. Hurts like hell.”
“I kinda liked it.”
“Me too; kinda.”
We eyed each other doubtfully and then exchanged rueful grins.
“It was exciting,” I added. “I think I might want that again; but not too soon.”
“Definitely. We need at least a couple of days to recover.”
“I was thinking a couple of weeks,” I said.
“Balls! We’re gonna need it again long before that.”
“Okay,” I said dubiously. “So, who’s gonna ask him if he’ll do it?”
“Me,” said Paul.
In the kitchen we sat carefully and ate chocolate biscuits and drank coffee.
“So what did you think of a real caning?” enquired Bonthrone with a smile.
“Hurt a heck of a lot more than I expected,” I admitted.
“Me too…but…it was sort of exciting too,” added Paul. “Did you like using the cane again, sir?”
“Yes, I did,” Bonthrone confessed. “I always did like caning a pair of well-formed buttocks; and you two have bottoms to be proud of; bottoms which almost appear to have been made for the cane.”
I felt myself flush at this curious compliment.
“So,” continued Bonthrone, “are you hinting that you might have other misdemeanours and ongoing failures to behave properly, which you’d like me to deal with over the coming days? It’s still almost a month before I’m due to leave.”
Paul and I glanced at each other.
“Yes, please,” we said in unison.
“We need to be caned,” said Paul.
“And I’ll be delighted to cane you hard,” Bonthrone assured us solemnly.
And he did too!
Joel has surpassed himself with this wonderful tale, which I have enjoyed several times now! Bonthrone’s cane is going to be busy for a short while! Thanks for sharing it, Joel!
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A well written and entertaining story – sadly banning CP in schools has resulted in the current demise of respect for the law and one’s elders and betters. I would hate to be a school teacher now. I was fortunate enough to attend an all boys Grammar School in Essex when being caned was an every day risk for boys taking chances – which I did all too often! So during my school career I had numerous periods of painful pleasure – bending over for at least “six of the best”!
It certainly isn’t only Colin and Paul that react to this tale of introduction. So many aspects stimulate even though we know at the moment of the cane striking that bravado evaporates and pain is felt yet memories like this excite a lot longer. Thanks for another dose of realism at your usual mastery.
Thanks for the great comments, guys. It’s always good to hear that you enjoyed the story.
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We all love your stuff, Joel.