♥ Site recommended story ♥
New to The Canery is this exciting caning story by very special guest author JOELSTRAP. All the characters are 18 or older. WARNING: ADULTS ONLY!
Going Up! by Joelstrap
“Going up!” said the electronic voice as I entered the lift.
I stood facing the doors as they closed, but in the mirror to one side I noticed him standing behind me. I could hardly help it, because he was well worth noticing. Student, perhaps, I thought; around six feet, build of an athlete. Indeed he was wearing shorts and open-neck shirt and carrying a wooden bat and a ball.
I eyed him surreptitiously. Soft, brown hair clustered thickly about his head and face and extended to his collar. Eyes of deep brown appeared to be taking an interest in my behind and that realisation caused a slight stirring down below for me.
I took in the well-muscled arms, sun-browned; the broad, flat chest, the nipples just showing proud through the thin fabric of a well-fitting shirt; the slim waist; the fact that his shorts were tight enough to reveal a manly bulge and, yes definitely, a swelling above it, reaching to the waistband. I took in too the long, firm legs and well-used trainers. I liked.
He seemed oblivious to the fact that I was watching him and was certainly focussed more on my bottom than on anything else. As I watched, he moved the bat to his right hand and swung it about, as if he was hitting something; then, before I had time to register what was going on, he swatted me across the buns with it.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I demanded, turning a furious face towards him.
He seemed untroubled.
“Sorry,” he said disarmingly. “I thought you might like it.”
“Well,” I admitted cautiously, “I suppose it was okay. But you…”
At this moment I was interrupted by a violent juddering of the floor and then the lift bumped to a halt, so that we both almost lost our footing.
“Oh, shit!” he said fiercely.
I picked up the emergency ’phone and spoke to the caretaker who assured me he’d see what he could do. In the meantime, we’d just have to wait.
“You were going to say that I shouldn’t be swatting complete strangers on the bum with my bat, weren’t you?” he suggested.
“Exactly. So why did you?” I asked.
“You’ve got such gorgeous buns, I couldn’t resist,” he replied with disconcerting openness. “Are you really annoyed?”
I decided to play along as I definitely wanted to get to know him a bit better.
“Not really,” I told him, sliding down to sit on the floor. “It was quite exciting.”
That got a reaction. His eyes shone.
“Yeh? You really liked it? You want more?”
His erection was straining at his shorts and his eyes were dancing. He raised his bat and cracked it against his palm.
“Have you swatted a guy before?” I asked him.
“No; but I’d like to!” He slammed the bat into his palm again and then adjusted the bulging fabric at the front of his shorts.
“Sit down,” I told him, “and tell me why you want to spank me.”
He dropped to the floor, a slightly disappointed look in his eyes. I didn’t think it would do him any harm to wait. I took the opportunity to deal with my own erection while he was getting himself settled in the corner of the lift.
“Dunno, really. I got dad’s belt across my arse when I was a kid, up to maybe about fourteen; but that’s all. I have these wild fantasies about tanning a guy’s bum though. Never had a chance to do it, worse luck,” he complained.
“But you think you’ve got a chance now?”
“Well, have I?”
“Maybe,” I replied, tantalising him. I loved to watch the expressions chase each other across his face; hope morphing into uncertainty and back to hope again. “Why did you swat me?”
“I told you. I just couldn’t resist your buns!”
I was frankly flattered. I was nearing thirty, but was proud of the fact that regular running and work-outs had kept my body firm and my buns taut. It was good that a kid at least ten years my junior found my buttocks such a turn-on.
“I could get you done for assault,” I said
“I know. You wouldn’t, would you?” he enquired and his eyes looked anxious.
“No,” I reassured him.
He looked decidedly relieved and then the fire rekindled in his eyes and he stroked the surface of his bat. He glanced up at me from under lowered eyelids.
“So, can I paddle you?” he asked eagerly.
I turned and moved on to all fours, presenting my buns to him.
“Oh, all right,” I told him. “Go on. But, careful at first, mind,” I warned, slightly concerned that in his excitement he might get carried away.
He came over, hefted the bat once or twice in his hand and then hit me squarely in the centre of my bottom. Even through my denims, I felt it. It was a good, firm, confident stroke. He repeated it several times, covering the surface of my behind and I flinched at each swat; they were hard enough to get my attention, but not too hard. It seemed he was a natural.
“On the bare?” he asked after a dozen strokes; and I could hear the tension in his voice.
I stood up and slipped down my jeans and underpants and then knelt, offering him my unprotected buns. I felt his swats now all right. He varied the intensity and the pace of delivery so I wasn’t sure what to expect next; nor exactly where. He was good; my cock was straining.
The lift juddered.
“Fuck! It’s starting again,” he said.
I leapt swiftly to my feet, hastily yanking up pants and denims and buckling my belt. I only just made it as the lift came to a halt and the doors opened. The caretaker looked in.
“Fine,” I told him as we both got out. I turned to the boy.
“What’s your name?”
“Derek,” he said. “Me and mum moved in a couple of weeks ago; on the fourth floor. I’ve just started at college. Dad’s left us,” he ended rather disconsolately.
“I’m sorry. I’m Andy and I’m on the fourteenth floor.”
“The penthouse?” he asked, looking impressed.
“One below,” I said with a smile. “I’ve got a cane in my flat if you’d like to see it; maybe we could even have a go with it?”
“Oh, wow! Honest?”
“Come on,” I said. “We’ll take the stairs this time!”
It seemed like a good idea when I suggested it, considering the recent track-record of the lift; but I hadn’t allowed for our erections and progress was slow.
When we reached the fourteenth floor, I opened the door and ushered him in.
“Hey! This is a lot bigger than ours,” he marvelled, laying his bat and ball on a chair. He walked over to the big window and gazed for a moment at the panorama of the city spread beneath us. Then he turned to me.
“So, where is it then? The cane, I mean.”
“You’re impatient,” I told him with a grin. “Hang on.”
I opened a drawer and took out my cane.
He stared, wide-eyed.
“Never seen one before?” I asked.
He shook his head as I moved towards him.
He extended his hand and I raised the cane with lightning speed and cracked it sharply across his outstretched palm. He let out an offended yell and withdrew it smartly, nursing it under his arm. His face showed outrage and hurt.
“What the hell did you do that for?” he demanded angrily, looking disbelievingly at the red mark on his skin.
“Why did you hold out your hand?” I countered.
“To get the cane from you, of course,” he replied.
“Well, you got it, didn’t you?”
“You know bloody well that’s not what I meant!”
“I thought that’s what you came up here for,” I said. “So I could give you the cane.”
“So you could give me the cane?!” He looked scandalised.
“That’s right. That is why you came, isn’t it?”
“No, it fucking well isn’t. I thought I was going to give you the cane.”
“No! Fancy that now! Well, what a mix-up,” I said, trying hard not to smile at his confusion. “So,” I continued. “Am I to take it that you don’t want me to cane you?”
“Too right,” he answered at once.
“Are you sure about that?” I asked, watching him closely.
He was eying the cane, uneasily and yet with curiosity.
“Sit down and have a feel of it,” I said.
He sat on the sofa and I handed him the cane.
“Get your hands on it and learn about it and I’ll make some coffee,” I told him.
When I returned with a couple of mugs, he was still arching the cane, feeling its lithe flexibility, its strong, slim power.
“You like?” I enquired gently.
“It’s cool. Bet it hurts like hell.”
I handed him a mug and he laid the cane on the coffee-table; but his eyes kept straying back to it, absorbing both its threat and its promise. He was still fully aroused; as was I.
“So, have you changed your mind? Would you like to try what it tastes like?” I asked.
He took a mouthful of coffee and then got up and walked over to the window and looked out for several seconds. At last he turned, his face slightly flushed.
“On my shorts?” he enquired shyly.
I had him!!
“At first,” I said.
He turned fully to me, eyes blinking rapidly.
“On the bare?” he asked softly, awe in his tone.
“Of course. How else?”
“Suppose it’s meant to.”
“Definitely. Not much point otherwise. That’s why it’s got to be on the bare,” I informed him.
“Yeh. I see that,” he replied.
“So, you up for it, Derek?”
He turned again to the window and I watched his profile as he fought his inner battle; one part of him wanting it; the other scared of the pain. But I knew which side would win! He looked at me and I could see the resolve on his handsome young features.
“Okay,” he told me, his voice admirably steady. “I’m up for it!”
I picked up the cane.
“Now, you do exactly as you’re told,” I informed him sternly. “Got that?”
He stood very straight as he said it, like a soldier on parade. Boy, he was gorgeous. I took in the slim, athletic body, the tanned legs and arms, the strong neck, the generous mounds of his rump; and the throbbing bulge in his groin, which corresponded beautifully to what was happening between my own legs. He was standing stock-still, eyes to the front, the merest hint of a tremor in his hands betraying his excitement and apprehension. He was ready to obey.
I placed a dining-chair in front of him and told him to bend over the back of it. He complied instantly, presenting me with one of the most beautifully-formed pairs of buns I’d ever seen. They were stunning, fully-rounded, stretching the fabric of his shorts so every curve stood out. If ever a boy’s bottom was begging for the cane, this one was. For several seconds I was spell-bound, just gazing in admiration, seeing in my mind’s eye the neat tram-lines of the cane on the bare flesh; and the dark, thrilling place concealed between the muscular buttocks.
I had to adjust my jeans again as I took up position behind him and to one side. I touched the cane on his rump and saw his tense body quiver.
“Not too hard at first,” I told him. “Try to keep still and to keep quiet. You hear me, Derek?”
I raised the cane and gave him a firm stroke across the centre of his bottom; and was rewarded with a slight wince, but no sound.
I gave him a second one, a little lower, increasing the force slightly. Again a wince and the hint of breath drawn in sharply.
Just below it for number three, stoically taken. For the fourth I moved above the first and added a bit more zing. He flinched and gasped audibly; but he stayed down and there was no protest. I glanced beneath him and was pleased to see that his erection was as strong as ever. So was mine!
Five was given still higher; and then six on a diagonal across the first five. He jumped a bit at that one and a half-stifled yelp came from him. My cock jumped too with the excitement. I waited to see if he was going to get up; but he was good. He’d been told to stay down and down he stayed. I was beginning to feel some respect for this youngster.
“Stand!” I ordered.
He straightened up at once and his hands moved to his behind.
“Hands at your side, head up, eyes front!” I barked at him and he responded immediately. He was still fully aroused and the slight smile on his face suggested he was feeling pleased with himself at how he’d done so far. So far! But we’d see!
“Take off your trainers.”
He did so and resumed his position, standing to attention.
“Take off your shorts!”
Again he obeyed swiftly, baring his buttocks as he had nothing on underneath. He seemed untroubled by the long, thick cock which bounced enthusiastically when it was released from the constrictions of his shorts. Again he stood, erect and motionless, waiting.
I let him wait; and just watched. Slowly the signs of growing tension began to appear; a nervous twitching of his fingers; a delicate sheen of sweat on his face and arms; an increasingly frequent sideways glance to see what I was doing. I admired the faint red lines which my cane had left on those stunning buns and was pleased at their symmetry. I picked up the cane again and observed at once the dramatic increase in the tension of his body. He was holding himself ready now; for he knew that a sterner test faced him and that it was about to begin.
I went round in front of him and showed him the cane. He eyed it balefully, swallowed and then stared resolutely ahead. I really did have a lot of respect for this boy.
He bent dutifully over the chair and there were his buttocks presented and waiting, bare and vulnerable for the cane. I lashed the air and smiled as I saw him wince. I touched his firm behind with the rod and saw the tension rise so it seemed his young body was stretched like a violin-string. I would play the instrument with my cane and see what kind of music was produced.
I reached back and hit him fairly hard. His body jerked and a loud gasp escaped him. His glutes tightened, quivered and then slowly relaxed.
The expressive monosyllable came out like a bullet.
“Felt that, did you?” I enquired.
There was as much enthusiasm as there was resignation in his response.
“You’re remembering your orders to stay in position?”
“Yes, sir. I won’t move,” he answered with surprising confidence. We’d see!
Crack! I etched a second fiery line below the first and just for a moment his right foot lifted from the floor before being replaced. He took the strokes resolutely, uttering gasps, the occasional squeak, his body responding to the pain with flinches and tensed muscles; a bending of the knees and a half turn of his lower body as he processed the pain, but always coming back to position. I watched with delight the contorted features on the open young face as he dealt with his agony; and I observed closely how the proud cock sagged a bit and then at the eighth stroke suddenly began to rise again. By the time I’d completed the dozen he was fully erect. The boy ran true to form; he was as good as he looked.
He obeyed, a little stiffly and stood to attention once more. There was a wetness in his eyes and a series of vivid welts on his bum; but his cock was up, his head was up and his self-confidence was sky-high. He’d done well; and he knew it; and he’d liked it!
I laid aside the cane and went in front of him again. I knelt at his feet and cupped his heavy, full balls in my right hand. He rose slightly on to the balls of his feet.
“Steady!” I told him; and I heard him breathe out and ease back so that his heels were on the floor again.
I touched the base of his penis with my tongue and licked carefully. From deep in his chest came a kind of moan as he sounded the base notes of male ecstasy.
“Going up!” I said as my tongue slid up the long, hard shaft. He was quivering on the brink and when I sent the end of my tongue across the straining, exposed tip of his penis, he came in a great surge of orgasmic power, releasing with his copious young spunk all the tensions and stresses of what he’d just endured. I glanced at the spreading damp patch on the front of my jeans and saw his gaze follow me.
“Looks like you came right to the top too,” he said with a shy smile.
“Maybe you’d like to come back in a day or two?” I suggested.
“Try to stop me!” he said eagerly.
“But don’t use the lift,” I warned him. I picked up my cane and showed it to him. “I’ve got another way of getting you up!”
“All the way to the penthouse?” he enquired with a broad grin.
“Oh, you won’t be stopping at the penthouse,” I told him. “You’ll be going right through the roof.”
And three days later, he did; and so did I!
Story ©MMX by Joelstrap, and used here by very kind permission of the author.
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.