All Day Breakfast (M/M) NEW!

♥ Site recommended story ♥

 

A brand new short story of corporal punishment fun from the pen of your host, Rod Cayenne.  This story is currently exclusive to The Canery.  All the characters are aged 18 or over. Strictly adults only!

 

All Day Breakfast by Rod Cayenne

The Coronet Café and Milk Bar was opposite the faded Grand Theatre where Derek often performed, sometimes as a lead and at other times as an understudy.  It was also directly below the tiny flat he rented from the cafe’s proprietor, one June Prior.  A scratchy and warped Merseybeat 45 played on the jukebox.

“You boys! I can guess just what you’ve been up to. Why Derek, your guest can hardly sit still,” June wagged her finger at the young lovers, only semi-seriously. Fag ash from her roll-up narrowly avoided landing in the sink where she was scrubbing away the last remnants of a recalcitrant omelette. “Did you not get enough of the cane at school? Tut, tut what would your old headmasters say, if they only knew? You know, there should be a law against it. Yes, indeed my naughty boys! Anyways, there is a law against the other stuff I’m sure you get up to! Dirty, dirty boys!” Another clump of ash fell from the ciggy.  “How did youse two meet anyway?” 

“Actually we first met each other in the theatre toilets,” Russell sniggered, “It’s where all the big boys hang out.”

“Ach!  How I wish I hadn’t asked,” said June as she turned her attention to a prime cabbage she was preparing for the Sunday roasts, “The age of romance is certainly dead.” 

Russell burped loudly and Derek laughed.  

“See!  Dead!  Disgusting!  I ought to throw you both out, but you know you are my only two customers at the moment!”

“Two All-Day Breakfasts, please June,” said Derek as he looked up from his stone cold sugary cappuccino.

Suddenly, June’s mood improved.  After all, cash was king at the Coronet!  “With bread and butter?” she pushed her luck.  The two lovers nodded eagerly, “Soft eggs?”

“Aha,” said Rusell.

“Softie for me too please, love,” said Derek in his campest tone as he drummed his fingers on the red and white chequers of the Formica table top.

June stared at the ceiling.  “OK, just let me finish this,” she said as she started daydreaming while slicing the cabbage.  She was enjoying a flashback to that fateful day, only a few months back when she had stumbled across Derek and a different male lover in the flat.  It was rent collection day, so she’d let herself in, only to find herself confronted by a most unusual spectacle in the dingy living room.  Two naked youths, both sporting huge erections, one about to bend over the settee, and the other with a whippy crook-handled cane in his right hand.  Yes, it had been quite a shock.  She had mentioned it and the tin of Vaseline she’d seen to the vicar, but he’d reasssured that sort of thing was quite normal and could soon be legal.  “After all, we are in the Swinging Sixties!” he had laughed.  Those erections haunted her nights and her daydreams, for she was still a virgin most pure.  Her tireless pursuit of money had left her life quite barren.

“I could spare some of this cabbage if you want some with your breakfasts,” June offered.

“Err, no thanks, that is something I really did have enough of at school, thanks June,” Derek replied.

“Me too, me too,” added Russell.

Later that afternoon Derek and Russ were lying naked in each others arms.  The old bed creaked as they kissed passionately.

“That June’s quite a character, isn’t she?  Although that breakfast was pretty awful.  It keeps repeating on me.  It keeps repeating on me,” said Russell.

“Oh do shut up!  I get the joke.  Think yourself lucky that you escaped the cabbage.  But I am quite fond of June.  She’s such a sweetie.  I ought to fuck her sometime,” Derek mused.

“Nah, fuck me instead,” Russ suggested.

“Nah indeed, I don’t think so!  You’re due a caning, my boy.”

“I am?”

“Yes, you are.  After all, we’ve got to live up to the reputation June’s given us.”

“That bloody woman!  What an old slapper!”

“The only slapping that will be going on is my hand on your arse.  Then maybe a dozen strokes with my finest rattan for you.  For being rude about June.  She’s actually quite chaste.”

“Shit!”

“And that’s a word I don’t like hearing in my home.  Some extras for that I think.  Fetch the cane, my boy.” 

Russell dived under the bed.  For it was there that Derek kept two swishy canes.  A junior one which stung like the devil, and a senior one which raised wheals like nobody’s business. 

It was clear from Derek’s instruction that he meant to use the senior one, “Now bring the stool in from the parlour.”

Russell groaned.  A caning over the old wooden chemistry lab stool was something that would really hurt.  Clearly Derek meant business today.  Russell, completely naked, draped himself over the stool.

“Bottom right up, that’s it,” Derek instructed before landing a meaty slap on the right buttock.  He followed through, alternating firm smacks between the two pert and inviting cheeks.  So many generous and livid red handprints soon decorated Russell’s rear.  Derek wasn’t in the mood for wasting time though, and promptly landed the first cane stroke right across the middle of Russell’s arse. 

The second stroke was the killer though.  Derek had lashed it down right on exactly the same spot as the first one.  “Aargh!” cried Russell. 

Derek laughed and remonstrated with him that it was a bit early in the thrashing to be crying out, “But then, you are a real Softie, aren’t you?  Mister Softee!”  His cruel words added to Russell’s humiliation.  Then the cane thrashed down again, and again.  The beating was harsh, remorseless and hardly playful.  After twelve strokes, Russell was close to tears.  Close, but not quite there. 

“Stay where you are!” commanded Derek, “You’re due extras for swearing.  Two for ‘bloody’ and two more for that ‘S Word’ that I cannot abide!  Let me swap canes.  I think the bite of the junior is just what you need now.”

Derek scrambled under the bed, to retrieve the second, thinner cane.  If only Russell could have seen, for Derek was now presenting a most undignified spectacle.  His own naked bottom, arsehole and rampant cock were on display as he groped around under the bed to find the second cane.  He should have got Russell to do this, he thought to himself.  “Got you!” he cried eventually, crawling back up with the lithe cane firmly in his grip. 

Crack!  The junior cane lashed into Russell’s rump, relighting the pain from the previous dozen strokes.  The lad whimpered gently as a second stinging stroke followed.  At times like this, Derek could be a real bastard.

“There, that’s for the first swear word.  These next two will be harder; you know how I feel about that second word!” said Derek.  Little did Russell know where this prudishness had come from, after all Derek had just used the F Word.  In truth, that prude streak was from Derek’s own painful upbringing as the son of a beastly clergyman. 

So it was that the final two strokes were hard, stinging and masterful.  Derek threw the cane down and jumped on the bed.  Soon, Russell joined him.  Derek flipped him over to inspect the damage.  Indeed, the sixteen strokes had made quite a mess of Russ’s rear.  It was criss-crossed with angry red lines, and as Derek massaged gently, Russell could not help but wince as the pain was revived to some extent.  Derek’s cock was erect and primed.

“Make love to me,” pleaded Russell.

“No, not now.  Later perhaps,” said Derek enigmatically.  To be honest, Russell’s caned arse was such a sight, that his lover was a bit turned off momentarily.  Derek pulled on his blue jeans and a paisley shirt.  “I’m just popping down to see June.  Catch you later, naughty boy.”  He slapped Russell’s arse as he departed.

Russell rolled on to his side to gently soothe the damage Derek had wrought.  After a few minutes, the pain gradually subsided, to be replaced by a warm and calming glow of contentment.  Soon, his penis had sprung to life.  It was rock hard, and throbbing with life, like an independent spirit.  Of course, Russell had to attend to it.  Frantically, he pumped and pumped until he achieved a gratifying release.

Downstairs in the café, Derek was whispering in June’s ear.  “Sixteen hard strokes I gave him.  Made quite a mess of his arse, I can tell you.  That’ll teach him to swear in my fuckin’ flat!”

“My flat,” June corrected him, wagging her finger.  Little did Derek know that June had recently taken a trip uptown, like you do, and bought her own whippy cane.  She had definite plans to use it on her tenant.  After all, she shouldn’t have to put up with swearing from him, now should she?

 

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D I S C L A I M E R

All characters and businesses appearing in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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Story © MMXX by Rod Cayenne

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