♥ Site recommended story ♥
A very happy All Hallows’ Eve to all readers! 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!
Morning Glory by Joelstrap
I am rising slowly from a school-desk, my eyes fixed on the master at the front of the room. As I walk towards him he gently arches the slim cane he is holding. The seven other boys in the room are sitting like statues and an air of expectant silence hangs heavily over us. I realise that I am pressing my hands to my bottom, although I can’t recall deciding to do so. I am eighteen years old and am about to be caned. There is something almost surreal about the whole scenario; and yet I know that when that lithe rod and my young buttocks come into violent contact with each other, the pain will be very real indeed. My penis is fully erect. I swallow nervously. I am told to bend over a desk. I obey.
“You’re going to Austria whether you want to or not,” said dad angrily. “This school has an excellent reputation for bringing recalcitrant young men firmly back into line before they go off to the freedoms of college.”
“I’m not a recalcitrant young man!” I howled furiously. “I messed up, okay? I know I did. I’ve said I’m sorry. I don’t make a habit of doing things like that. You know I don’t. You can’t do this to me, dad. Please!”
“I can and I will. You’ll do as you’re told, Lee; and maybe you might consider showing a bit of gratitude as well. It’s thanks to me that you weren’t up before a court,” dad reminded me coldly.
“I know. I am grateful. Honest! And I took my punishment, didn’t I? I accepted that I had to give up my driving-lessons and got grounded for a month. I didn’t complain, did I? I knew I deserved it. I’m not a bloody hooligan. I made a fucking mistake, for God’s sake!” I shouted, feeling my face turn red. “When are you going to stop punishing me?”
“For a start, you’ll watch your language when you’re speaking to me, boy! Understand?”
I gave him a sulky look.
“I asked if you understood, Lee?”
“Yes, okay, I get it. No swearing. Right?”
“Lee, I’m this close to grounding you for another fortnight.”
He held his thumb and index-finger a few centimetres apart.
“I’m sorry. I’ll mind my tongue,” I said quietly.
“Good. As to punishing you, this isn’t punishment. It’s a serious attempt to get you sorted out before you go off to college where you’ll face all sorts of temptations and won’t have me to keep you right. I can’t stop you seeing it as a punishment if that’s what you’re determined to do; but that’s not how I see it,” said dad.
I was not to be mollified.
“Well it’s not how I see it,” I burst out angrily. “This was to be my last term at school here. I’ll be away from my mates. I’ll miss all the last-term things, the parties, the sports, the final-year dance. I won’t know anyone in Austria. It’s cruel to take me away from all my pals now. Dad, please; you just can’t be serious.”
“Oh, I’m serious; and there’s to be no more argument about it, Lee. The decision’s made and you’ve got a place in the school for the summer term. So take that mutinous expression off your face and just get used to the idea; because you’re going, boy. End of story.”
I glared at him in helpless fury and then turned and stormed up to my room, slamming the door so hard that the window rattled dangerously. A few seconds later dad came striding in.
“What?” I asked insolently.
“You know perfectly well what.”
“All right. You can stay in here for the rest of the day; and don’t think about eating because there’ll be no food. I’ll come in after breakfast to see if you’ve learnt any manners overnight.”
He turned to go out.
“What if I need to pee?”
“Use the bloody wash-basin,” he snapped and closed the door. I heard the key turn in the lock.
“And one other thing you might want to know,” he said through the door. “In this school in Austria they use the cane to maintain discipline.”
I stared at the closed door in astonishment. I’d never heard dad swear before; ever. Boy, he must be hellish mad at me! I threw myself down on my bed and rehearsed all the arguments against going to this school in Austria; and I thought of a new one. If I had to go off to Europe, why couldn’t it be somewhere hot and sunny like Italy, rather than somewhere in the mountains where it probably rained most of the time? Why did it have to be the boring, disciplined Austrians and not the relaxed, free-and-easy Italians? It wasn’t until I had been feeling hard done by for several minutes that his last remark through the closed door really sank into my fevered brain.
Cane? They use a cane? They can’t. No way! I’m eighteen. Nobody can cane an eighteen-year-old. It’s a punishment for boys; and anyway, it’s been abolished for years. Nobody gets caned these days. Just another example of dad’s warped sense of humour. Sadistic bastard!
I spent a miserable evening, tormented by hunger-pangs, lonely, frustrated and deeply angry. I went over in my mind what had led to all this.
My mate, Ben, and I had been out on the town and had been mixing our drinks a bit. We didn’t know any better and anyway, we felt fine; too fine. We felt brilliant, popped, invincible; and so when we saw Ben’s uncle’s sports-car parked outside his house, and discovered on investigation that he’d left the keys in the ignition, it seemed perfectly reasonable to borrow it. We knew he’d never know. Just a quick spin round the estate and back. I’d had two lessons and so I knew I could drive and Ben assured me he had complete confidence in me.
Quite why the lamp-post shifted into my path, I couldn’t be sure, but I had to take swift evasive action and unfortunately that meant hitting a garden fence. We may have been going a tad faster than I’d realised and I’ll admit that I was getting a bit confused about which pedal was which, what with things happening so fast; and somehow we ended up demolishing the fence and coming to rest at the very brink of a garden-pond, a couple of fishing-gnomes annihilated by one of the front wheels.
There was a lot of shouting and lights and then we were hauled from the car and into a house. Ben’s father appeared and later so did mine. We were given loads of black coffee and then dad took me home and put me to bed. When I woke next morning, I had a couple of men with pneumatic-drills boring away steadily inside my skull while another bastard insisted on shining a brutally-bright light straight into my eyes. I lay moaning on my pillows for some time.
Dad came in, forced me to take more coffee and a little food and then told me to sleep. I did. In late morning I came round feeling slightly better. I stumbled to the loo and the noise of my movement must have alerted dad for he was waiting in my room when I returned from the bathroom.
The conversation which followed was painful; but I did get the message that the fence we’d demolished belonged to a neighbour of Ben’s family, and dad and Ben’s dad between them had managed to pacify the householder, promise to pay for everything to be put right, and gain an assurance that he’d not report the matter to the police. Punishment would be severe and our two fathers would see to it.
Punishment was indeed severe. The driving-lessons were terminated. I was forbidden to leave the house after six in the evening for thirty days. I had to give a substantial proportion of my savings to help pay for the damage. I had to make embarrassing and humiliating apologies to Ben’s father, uncle and the neighbour whose fence had been flattened. And I’d done it all and hadn’t complained because I was basically a good, well-brought-up lad. I’d fucked up badly and I knew it. I was prepared to take my medicine and had done so dutifully, as had Ben.
The matter was now over a month behind us and I’d begun to look forward once more. To be hit with the news that I wasn’t going back to school here at home with Ben and my other mates for our very last term together, was a vicious bolt from the paternal blue which had thrown me completely and led to my fury at dad; and to me being here in my room, locked in and starving and convinced that nowhere in all this wide world was there a boy as cruelly and heartlessly treated as was I. Eventually I went to bed, cursing the hardness of the world and the malign fate that had given me a sadist for a father.
I awoke with a massive erection, as I almost invariably did these days. I lifted the duvet and looked at my morning glory, large, thick, throbbing, demanding. I smiled to myself and got to work, giving it what it wanted.
Dad came and unlocked the door shortly after I’d cleaned myself at the basin and had sent a copious stream of piss down the plug-hole.
I knew there was nothing to be gained from persisting in my bad temper. If I was going to talk him out of this Austrian nonsense, I had to get last night’s behaviour out of the way.
“I’m sorry I was rude,” I said, trying to look suitably contrite.
“All right. We’ll leave it at that. Now, come down and have your breakfast.”
I did so gratefully. I was hungry.
I left any further argument about Austria until the next day, sure I could talk dad round; but he proved unaccountably stubborn. Several difficult days ensued during which we had some horrendous rows; but when my plane-ticket arrived, I realised that this was one fight I was destined to lose and I might as well give in as gracefully as I could.
I’d never flown before and so that was a thrill. After landing at Salzburg airport, I was met by a master from the school who herded me and three other lads of my own age into a bus and we glided smoothly along the motorway to Innsbruck. I chatted a bit with the other lads. Two had been at the school for two terms already but the third was new like myself. Since the other pair already knew each other, Michael and I were left together.
We got on well and I found myself checking him out enthusiastically, for he had a good, athletic body, a thick crop of brown hair, eyes of dark toffee, and a sheen of sensuality, an almost animal sleekness, which sat upon him like a cloak. I’d accepted a year or two ago that I was gay and this boy pushed all my buttons. I had to take care to ensure that stirrings down below did not betray my feelings because I wasn’t yet sure about Michael’s attitude to me. I did, however, catch him glancing appreciatively at my bottom and groin more than once and so I entertained strong hopes.
When the conversation inevitably turned to girls we moved cautiously round each other for a while until I felt confident enough to admit that I was gay; and was delighted when Michael confirmed my suspicions that he was too. After that we became much more relaxed with each other and I began to think that maybe this one term in Austria might not be so bad after all.
At Innsbruck we disembarked and a car met us and took us out of the town and up a winding road into the mountains which enclosed the narrow Inn valley. The school turned out to be a huge old house with a superb view of the river far below.
I was pleasantly surprised to be given a room of my own, having anticipated that I’d be sharing a dormitory. The accommodation was large, fairly comfortable and well-furnished. There was even a tray with coffee-making equipment. It was remarkably civilised. We were led to a dining-room and introduced to some of the other boys. The school took pupils for a maximum of only one year, right at the end of their schooling. Most of the guys had been there since September and only five of us out of forty were here for just this one term. The headmaster addressed us all and hoped we’d enjoy our time at the school.
It was in the third week of term that Michael, Nick, Greg and I, after a long conversation during which we compared notes on stories we’d read about boys’ boarding-schools, decided that we should have a midnight feast. About half a mile up the mountain behind the school, there was a small chalet, built as a quiet retreat in the days when the school had been a private house. It had a little balcony at the side which overlooked the Inn valley and we decided that this would be the ideal spot for our escapade. We purloined food from the kitchens carefully over the next few days and stored it at the chalet; and then on a Friday, chosen so we’d have a weekend to recover from a sleepless night, we left our beds at half-past twelve, once the school was silent, and sneaked out and up the steep path to the chalet.
The night was still and bright with moonlight while under the incredible stars the Inn glimmered, a pale ribbon in the warm darkness far below. The food was good, the company enjoyable, the conversation and horse-play great fun; and the whole event was a massive success. It was just about four in the morning when we heard an eerie wailing-sound coming up from the lower slopes of the mountain.
“What the hell’s that” asked Greg, looking uneasy.
“Dunno. Sounds like some kind of siren. Maybe it’s a fire-alarm,” I suggested.
Nick, who alone among the four of us had already spent two terms at the school, sat up abruptly from his position lying on his back gazing at the star-spangled heavens.
“What?” asked the other three of us together.
“It’s the bloody school fire-alarm,” he said. “I heard it last term when they had a fire-drill.”
“Bet they all get a rude-awakening,” said Michael grinning.
“But don’t you see, you ass?” said Nick. “They’ll all be gathering outside for a roll-call; and we won’t be there!”
“Oh, fuck!” I swore furiously. “Come on. Let’s run.”
We took the steep mountain path at breakneck speed, daring the perils of the narrow, stony descent in desperate urgency; but we knew there was no hope. It would be impossible to get there before it was discovered that we were missing.
The incident turned out to be nothing worse than a ring on the stove which had been left on under some cabbage and it had burned and set off the smoke-alarm which in turn had disturbed the night-watchman who’d set off the fire-siren. No harm done; except that when we arrived, panting and red-faced, the whole story of our escapade had to be told and our guilt was laid open to the breaking dawn. We were told by the headmaster to go to bed and to report to his office at ten in the morning.
We gathered somewhat sleepily at the office-door at the appointed time and discussed what might happen. There was gloomy talk of being sent home, of being gated for the rest of the term; but only Nick, with his longer experience of this school, expressed himself confident about what would happen.
“We’ll get the fucking cane,” he assured us.
“What? How could we get the cane? Boys don’t get the cane these days. You’ve been remembering too many old school-stories,” said Michael.
Nick shook his head, his straight, black hair flopping violently across his brow.
“They use the cane here,” he said earnestly. “A guy got it last November for spitting at a teacher. He showed me the marks on his bum; four red lines, all angry and raised on his skin. He said he’d never felt anything so sore in his life.”
For some reason, my penis liked this image and did a swift leap so that I was in considerable discomfort as I tried to conceal it. I recalled dad’s comment about the use of the cane here. It seemed the old guy wasn’t joking after all.
“He can’t fucking cane us,” protested Michael in tones of outrage. “It’s bloody barbaric! It’s against the Geneva Convention. It can’t be legal.”
“How much do you think it’ll hurt?” asked Greg softly. “I’m not too good with pain. I hope I don’t wet myself or anything.”
“Wet yourself?” repeated Nick. “It would have to be hell of a savage to make you do that, wouldn’t it?”
“Surely it can’t be that bad. I mean, kids at primary-school used to get it in the old days; and we’re eighteen!”
“Sure! We’re virtually men,” said Greg, sounding as if he hadn’t quite convinced himself.
“We are men,” insisted Michael, “and so we can take a thrashing; and we will.”
Nick turned to me.
“You’re saying nothing, Lee,” he observed. “Scared?”
The reason I was keeping quiet was because my own reaction to the imminent likelihood of getting thrashed with a cane had taken me by surprise. I wanted to say that I found the idea of being caned sort of exciting. My cock was definitely interested and the prospect of having my bottom beaten, far from scaring me, rather appealed to me.
“Just wondering,” I replied, vaguely; and that seemed to satisfy him.
Michael, however, gave me a penetrating look before turning to say something to Greg.
Footsteps were audible from around the corner of the passage and we all stiffened and fell silent. The Head appeared, strode past us without a word, went into his room and closed the door. We glanced uneasily at each other and I was about to say something when the door re-opened and the Head addressed us curtly:
“In here,” he said.
We entered and stood in an embarrassed line, looking at our feet. First came the lecture, to which we listened in sullen silence. I couldn’t really argue with what was said; not that I intended to anyway. We’d broken school rules and caused unnecessary concern for our safety when we didn’t turn up for the roll-call. We were guilty and none of us was denying it. Now came the punishment.
The Head opened a drawer in his desk and extracted a slender cane which he suddenly slashed down hard so that the air whined. We all flinched.
“This is the discipline we use here,” he said matter-of-factly. “Any boy who refuses is on the next plane home.”
He paused and looked us in the eyes. No-one spoke.
“I’ll take that to mean you are all willing to accept punishment with the cane,” he said.
“Yes, sir,” we mumbled.
“All right. Michael, drop your jeans and pants and bend over the edge of the desk.”
There was a communal gasp. I don’t think any of us expected the caning to be done on the bare. Michael was staring at the Head with a look of disbelief on his face.
“Hurry up, boy!”
As if in a dream, Michael undid his belt, slipped down his jeans and then his pants, revealing a superb pair of taut, muscular young buttocks. My penis soared. I watched, mesmerised, as the boy bent over the desk, his forearms resting on its surface. His hands were tightly closed. Long, hairy legs were braced, ready for the impact of the rod on his behind. The Head stepped to one side, touched the cane lightly on Michael’s bottom, just on the sit-spot, and then swung it back over his shoulder and brought it whistling down with a vicious snap across the bare flesh of his rump.
Michael winced and drew in breath sharply. As I watched, a slim, raised red line appeared on the boy’s skin. In the little room there was absolute silence. My cock was rampant and I longed to rub it but didn’t dare move lest I came. Thrice more the slender cane lashed Michael’s buttocks, the last one forcing a barely-stifled yelp from him; and then he was told to go and stand, hands on his head, facing the wall. Greg was summoned next and as he lowered his jeans and pants, I gazed at the four neat, parallel lines on Michael’s gorgeous backside and my balls ached with urgent desire.
Four swift cracks echoed round the room and then Greg, a few tears trickling down his face, made his way stiffly to the wall. I was ordered forward for my caning and duly presented my bare buttocks to the rod. The sting of the first stroke was ferocious, intense, burning deeply and insistently and I had to work hard to process it. With each subsequent stroke the pain-level rose steadily; yet there was an excitement in the challenge. I didn’t make any sound; and my penis stayed rock solid through the first three, sagging only a little at the fourth. By the time I’d joined Greg and Michael at the wall, it was like a flag-pole once more.
I only heard Nick take his, but he made no sound, bar a sharp intake of breath at the last. I sneaked a quick look at his bum as he took his place beside me and saw the four fiery welts throbbing across his behind too. For several minutes we were left standing in silence, hands on our heads, bottoms pulsing with a gradually-easing burn. At last we were ordered to pull up our clothing and turn round.
We were shown the cane and assured that we’d feel it again if there were any repetition of our unacceptable behaviour. The only difference next time would be that the strokes would be harder; and there’d be six of them. When asked if we understood, we all agreed that we did.
As soon as I could get away, I went to my room and relieved pent-up feelings while my caning ran like a film on an endless loop in my mind. In the next few days I couldn’t get the cane out of my head. We four lads discussed it of course and the other three were unanimous in their agreement about how much it hurt and how terrible it had been. I said little because I didn’t know how they’d react if I were to tell them the embarrassing truth. It had hurt. I was with them on that; but, and I had difficulty believing this myself, I wanted more.
A few days later, wakening to my accustomed morning glory, I resolved to get myself another caning; and to make sure that I really tried hard to earn one, I denied my balls the release they craved and told myself sternly that there’d be no more wanking until I’d been caned again. I failed to think of any way of getting what I wanted that day and fell into an uneasy and unsatisfied sleep that night, waking with a penis so demanding that it took all my will-power to deny it.
It was the final lesson of the day and desperation drove me to extreme measures. I slid a small pile of books off my desk, making it look as if they’d fallen by accident, and swore luridly and very loudly in simulated anger. There was a horrified gasp from the other boys and then a heavy silence as the master walked up to me.
“Stand up, boy!”
Looking as sullen as I could I got slowly to my feet.
“You will never use language like that in this school, ever again,” said the master with quiet but unmistakeable authority.“
“Whatever,” I said insolently.
There was a dead silence. Every eye was on me.
“It seems you need to be taught how to behave, boy,” said the master, returning to his desk at the front of the room.
He opened a drawer and extracted a lithe cane which he swished menacingly a few times while I watched, my gaze held like a rabbit facing a snake.
“Come out here!”
I walked slowly to the front, to annoy him more, lest he think better of thrashing me. My cock was erect, ready, wanting, needing.
“Bend over the desk, boy!”
I complied, my bottom exposed to the view of the watching boys. He wasted no time. The limber rod slashed brutally hard across my rump and even through my clothing I felt the line of fire being etched on my behind. He meant me to feel this! I heard his grunt as he put full power behind the second one and I gasped aloud. God, could he hit hard! The two which followed were equally explosive and succeeded in destroying my erection completely; but not for long. As I eased my thrashed bum on to the hard wooden chair at my desk, it rose again in response to the pain of sitting and remained obstinately upright until the end of the lesson.
I had to endure a lot of questioning about how it felt and comments about the movements I’d made and the sounds I’d uttered, before I could get away from the other guys to retire to my room and deal with the insistent demands of my deprived body. I’d scarcely finished when there was a knock at my door.
“In you come.”
He entered and looked straight at me.
“You asked for that,” he said accusingly.
“You know bloody well what. That caning. You engineered that.”
“Why the hell would I do that?” I asked, intrigued at his perspicacity.
“Because,” opined Michael with a hint of a grin, “I think you like it.”
“What’s to like about getting your bum caned?” I asked.
“Dunno. You tell me,” he responded.
“You’re out of your tree,” I muttered as I went to make some coffee.
“No, I’m not. What you hiding? Why deny it? Have you been jerking-off?”
Michael was holding up a soiled tissue which I’d let fall on the floor. He sniffed it.
“Spunk,” he announced triumphantly.
I gave in.
“Okay. I wanked. Satisfied?”
“Yeh; but you wanked after you got caned, didn’t you; ’cos you liked it. It got you going. You went out to get yourself a thrashing just so you could come here afterwards and screw yourself.”
“I suppose you think I’m mental?” I said.
“No. Whatever gets you going. If getting your tail tanned does it for you, then why not? I get pretty excited by the cane myself.”
My heart leapt.
“You do? You didn’t sound very keen on it after The Head caned us. You really want it too?” I asked eagerly.
“Hell, no! But I’d love to dish it out; now that’s what would really get me going,” he said, eyes shining.
He stood up, picked up a ruler from my desk and said in a severe tone:
“Bend over, boy!”
He then smashed the ruler down six times on the seat of the chair, counting each aloud.
“Ace! I’d make any boy who I caned really feel it,” he assured me.
“Wow!” I said, taken a back by this revelation.
“So, you gonna let me see the marks?”
I dropped my clothes and bent over and Michael gave a low whistle.
“Cor! He’s put some great tram-lines on you, even through your trousers,” he said admiringly. “How do they feel?”
“Hot,” I said. “I like the sensation. It’s tough actually getting it, but it’s fantastic afterwards.”
“Can I touch?”
“Help yourself,” I replied accommodatingly.
The idea of Michael touching my bare bottom brought my penis swiftly upright. He traced each welt slowly with a gentle finger and then caressed the whole surface of my bottom with the palms and fingers of both hands, making occasional passes deep into my cleft with the side of his hand, so that it brushed across my hole and sent sensations of novel delight surging through me.
“Mmmmmm!” said Michael appreciatively.
He stopped and I straightened up and turned to face him. He was only centimetres from me and the air was heavy with testosterone. The kiss was instinctive on the part of both of us, as if invisible threads drew our mouths together. As the electric-shock of the first lip-contact pulsated through me, I looked deep into Michael’s eyes and then touched his lower lip with the tip of my tongue. A few seconds later we were locked in a strong embrace, mouths moving feverishly on each other as we sought more and more intimacy. Trapped between me and Michael’s stomach, my cock protested relentlessly at being ignored; and I was powerfully aware of Michael’s own throbbing organ, concealed in his trousers, pressed against me.
“So,” enquired Michael during a pause in the kisses, “do you want me to cane you?”
“You? Cane me?”
“That’s right. I’d do it hard, I promise. You’d feel it!”
“I’m sure I would.”
My brain whirled and I found myself in an agony of indecision. I knew I wanted more of the cane’s burning kisses; but I wasn’t at all sure that Michael was the person to mete it out. I couldn’t help feeling that he was too young, a boy like myself, only eighteen, lacking the authority; and also, I feared, perhaps lacking the maturity to deal with me responsibly. I visualised him getting carried away in the excitement of dishing out a real caning to a real pair of buttocks, and going too far.
“I’ll need to get my head round that,” I said, stalling for time.
I saw the look of disappointment flash across his features before he concealed it with a short laugh.
“Okay,” he agreed lightly, “I’ll wait.”
Stewart was stunning. A sunburst of golden curls exploded all over his head, clustered appealingly about his ears and lay in a thick fringe along his brow. Soft blue eyes looked out frankly from a broad, open face. He stood an inch over six feet, broad in the shoulder, narrow in the waist, muscular in flank and upper arm, flat of stomach and fully-rounded of buttock. I’d spotted him the day I arrived but had concluded he was well out of my league and was probably straight anyway. He, however, had other ideas.
I was walking along in a half-dream, pondering the possibility of being caned by Michael, when he came alongside me.
“Hi! It’s Lee, isn’t it? I’m Stewart.”
“Hi! I’ve seen you about. You been here all year?”
“Yeh. Came last September and I go off to Uni. in the autumn. So, what do you think of it?”
“I wasn’t keen to come at first, but I’m starting to enjoy it. I’ve met one or two great guys,” I told him.
“Like a coffee?”
He took me up to his room where, like all of us, he had a tray with coffee-making paraphernalia. Over a large mug with picture of a naked youth who sported an outsized cock, he gazed at me.
This guy’s checking me out!
We talked about the school, about sports, about our future plans; and all the time I was convinced that his eyes were roving over my body and I had the uncomfortable feeling that he was looking right through my clothes to see my skin beneath. He indicated the nude figure on his mug.
“What do you think of him?” he asked.
“Great body; and that’s some penis. A guy could be proud of a stiffie like that,” I admitted.
“Like to see mine?” he asked startlingly, looking me straight in the eyes.
“Er, okay,” I answered and felt my own organ begin to perk up significantly.
Stewart rose to his feet and dropped his denims and briefs to reveal that he was extremely well-endowed. Large, heavy balls hung below a rising cock which he stimulated with a few strokes of his hand so that it swiftly reached its full, impressive extent.
“Fuck!” I ejaculated. “You’re pretty well hung yourself. You planning to rape me or something?”
“Would you like me to?”
“Maybe,” I said hesitantly, although my penis was screaming a much more decisive answer.
He pulled up his things and sat down.
“I liked the look of you as soon as I saw you a few weeks ago,” he confessed.
“You did? What does a god like you see in me?” I asked unwisely.
“Never you mind. You’ve just got something that appeals to me. I’d like to get friendly with you; very friendly,” he added with a grin.
Over the following days I spent quite a lot of time with Stewart and we didn’t waste too long in getting friendly enough to kiss and caress. He had a superb body and I enjoyed exploring it; almost as much as I enjoyed his careful exploration of mine.
I was also getting very intimate with Michael to the extent of lying naked in the depths of the woods on the mountain-side and bringing each other to exhilarating orgasms with our hands. I took care to ensure that each knew I was friendly with the other so that there’d be no question of me being accused of betrayal; and both assured me that was fine by them.
I had a feeling that it wouldn’t last however, and I was soon proved right. After the first month of term, we were allowed to go down into Innsbruck on a Saturday between ten in the morning and four in the afternoon and Stewart asked me to go with him to the shops as he’d been sent some money by an uncle. Within an hour of my agreeing to accompany him, Michael came to me in great excitement.
“We’re going into Innsbruck together on Saturday,” he announced happily. “I’ve been reading a bit about the place and there’s a fantastic museum of Tyrolean life and some brilliant paintings in the Tiroler Landesmuseum. One of them’s a 16th century work by a chap called Andreas Haller called Flagellants’ Altar; apparently it’s got all the whips and chains too!”
His eyes gleamed and my balls squirmed. I desperately wanted to go with Michael; but I’d already told Stewart I’d go with him.
“I’m sorry, mate; but Stewart just asked me to go with him to spend some money he’s been sent.”
“So? Watching another guy spend money’s just plain boring. You’d much rather come and see what I’ve got to show you.”
“But that’s not the point,” I insisted. “You know that, Michael. Stewart asked me first. We could go together next Saturday though.”
“I guess,” said Michael gloomily and he walked away.
Stewart was great company and we had a brilliant time in Innsbruck together, admiring the fast-flowing green waters of the Inn as it surged through the town, gazing in awe at the stunning “golden roof”, built on to what had at one time been the Innsbruck residence of the Emperor Maximilian I; and of course perusing the wares on display in the many shops which lined Maria-Theresien-Strasse. I returned to the school tired and contented.
Michael asked me politely if I’d had a good time and I told him what we’d done and seen, determined that he’d have to deal with it. To his credit, and my relief, he did.
“Great! And you’ll come with me next week?”
“Try and stop me,” I said; and we retired to a secluded part of the grounds for some very pleasant intimacies before it was time to eat.
The following Saturday was equally enjoyable and the picture of the Flagellants’ Altar as stimulating as either of us could wish.
“Would you like to be whipped?” asked Michael as we gazed at the painting.
“Shit! I’m just getting used to the cane,” I said. “The lash is another thing entirely. I don’t think I could stand that.”
“Maybe you could,” said Michael eying me speculatively. “Thought any more about letting me cane your arse for you?”
“You want me to?”
“I meant that, yes, I’ve thought about it,” I elucidated.
“I haven’t decided.”
Michael snorted, but I ignored him.
We bought food and lay in the sun by a weeping-willow in the Hofgarten and watched the pigeons. It was an idyllic day.
Next week things came to a head when both guys asked me to go with them to town on the coming Saturday. Again Stewart asked first but I put him off by saying that I wasn’t sure what I’d be doing. When Michael also approached me, I told him of Stewart’s invitation.
“So who do you choose?” he enquired.
“Maybe all three of us could go together?”
“Fuck that for an idea!” said Michael. “What do you see in the big, blond bastard anyway? All that’s gold isn’t great, you know.”
“I haven’t heard that proverb before,” I said sarcastically. “Anyway, he’s fun; and he’s nice to me. He’s not threatening to cane my bare bottom,” I ended vindictively.
“More fool him,” muttered Michael angrily. “Why are you wasting your time with a guy who doesn’t know what you need?”
“Oh, and you do, I suppose?”
“Yes. I do as a matter of fact. You don’t need a big lovey-dovey lump like Stewart, who’ll tell you how wonderful you are all the time.”
“What’s wrong with that? You never tell me I’m wonderful.”
“You’re not. You’re just a great, sexy guy; and you need your arse thrashed. And don’t kid yourself Stewart will do it for you, because he won’t. But I bloody well will; and you’ll feel it.”
“Not exactly brilliant at the soft, loving approach are you?” I said, both annoyed at him but also turned on by his masterful behaviour.
“And you’re not exactly brilliant at being honest with yourself,” he accused.
“Oh, so I’m a liar now, am I?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“It’s what you meant,” I retorted, feeling myself go red in the face as my anger mounted.
“I’ve had enough of this. Are you coming to Innsbruck with me or not, Lee?”
“Ask me nicely.”
He gave me a vicious two-finger gesture and stalked off without another word. I was furious with him and sought out Stewart and told him I’d accompany him into Innsbruck that weekend. Later in the day, I informed Michael coldly of my decision. He just gave me a scornful look and walked off again. He seemed to be doing a lot of that lately.
I was asleep and yet something appeared to be shaking me. Groggily, I tried to drag myself to the surface and, in the pale light of the moon, I saw Michael bending over my bed.
“Come on; up you get,” he hissed.
“What? Why? It’s the middle of the bloody night,” I protested.
He ignored me and stripped the duvet off my naked body.
“Up!” he ordered succinctly.
“Michael, what’s going on?”
“You’re coming with me,” he said. “Now!”
“But where? Why?”
“Stop asking questions. Just get yourself dressed.”
“One more word; one single bloody word out of you and I’ll take my belt to your arse,” Michael threatened fiercely; and he actually began to unbuckle the broad leather belt around his waist.
Impressed at his authoritative attitude, in spite of my misgivings, I obediently and in silence rose, and dressed myself.
He went out and I followed submissively as he led me down the shadowy stairs and through a side door into the garden.
“Michael, where are we going?”
I sighed and followed. There was something strangely exciting about this; about being out at night with Michael and about being obedient, going into the unknown simply because a masterful boy told me to. My cock was in adventure-mode and I felt that whatever was going on, I intended to enjoy it. We left the grounds of the school through a small gate and headed on to a path which I knew led up to the mountain-tops.
“Please, Michael,” I pleaded. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“We’re going up to the top,” he said.
“But that’ll take us almost two hours,” I objected.
“So? It’s only half-past two.”
“What if there’s another fire-alarm?” I asked anxiously.
“It’s hardly likely to happen twice, is it? You worry too much. Anyway, if there is and we get caught being out at night, it’ll just be another caning. You like getting caned and I can stand it if I have to; so what’s the problem?”
Put like that, it all seemed perfectly reasonable.
“No, you don’t. Shut up and save your breath for the climb.”
The darkness was warm and scented with pine, the path soft under my feet and Michael was at my side. I relaxed and enjoyed the climb. At last we emerged above the tree-line and then continued the ascent until we were up on the tops of the mountains. There was a ski-lift from Igls, which walkers used in the summer; and using it, I’d been up here once before with some other lads. A network of paths led across the high summits among the heather, trodden by goats and visitors alike.
For a time we stood and just breathed. Overhead the heavens were bright with stars; but the night was fading and dawn was only an hour or so away. Michael led me on. Walking was easy now on the comparatively level highlands and we made swift progress until he stopped and pointed. Far below in the light of the moon, the motorway climbed to the head of the Brenner Pass and the Italian border. I could see the Europabrucke with a few vehicles making their way like toy-cars across it.
I turned to Michael.
He lay down and patted the ground beside him and I lay obediently, on my side facing him. He talked idly of our daily doings, of school and of the things we’d done and seen in our short time here; and then he paused.
“Turn round,” he ordered. “On your other side.”
I duly complied and he came and lay behind me and I could feel the warmth of his body pressed against my shoulders and bottom. His arms were round me, one hand resting on my chest, the other on my genitals, which squirmed in response.
As I watched, the eastern sky began to turn translucent, before pale fingers of rosy light sprang upwards. The rim of the sun’s orb eased over the mountain tops and on a sudden all the glory of the dawn burst upon the landscape. The shadows of night were banished and, in the shimmering hush of a new morning, something of the stunning beauty of creation smote my heart. Up here no sound penetrated from the valley far, far below. Apart from the occasional tinkle of a goat-bell, there was a great silence as if the world was new-made just for us and all nature held its breath in awe.
Michael undid my belt and slid a hand into my pants, his strong fingers clasping my balls confidently, a thumb stroking my already-rigid shaft.
“I see you’ve got a morning glory to rival the dawn,” he remarked. “You know why I’ve brought you up here, don’t you?”
“To see the sun-rise?” I hazarded.
“To wank off together out here on the mountains?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’m going to cane you.”
“Here? Now? You haven’t got a cane.”
“Oh, yes, I have!”
I felt him move and, turning to look, I saw him pull something from inside the waist-band of his jeans. To my astonishment he extracted a slender, whippy cane, so pliant that he’d been able to bend it into a smooth part-circle and wrap it round his middle.
“Where the hell did you get that thing?” I gasped as my cock strained for the sky.
“Pinched it from old Collison’s desk yesterday evening,” he said. “It’s ideal for carrying round my waist ’cos it’s so lithe; and I should think it’ll mould itself to the contours of your bare buttocks beautifully so you really feel the sting.”
I stared at him.
“You’re going to thrash me on the bare with that thing? You’re a bloody sadist,” I protested.
“Okay,” he said, suddenly business-like. “Get your kit off, Lee boy!”
I found myself obeying him, my eyes drawn back again and again to the slim, menacing cane which he held now in both hands, bent into a smooth arc. When I was naked, he told me to get down on all fours. He stood and pranced around, whipping the cane in the still air so that I heard the zing as it lashed downward and was compelled to wonder how it would feel on my behind.
“Look, just take it easy,” I pleaded. “I’m new to this.”
“Okay, okay! Now shut up and keep still.”
I braced myself and closed my eyes. I heard the cane whine as it descended and felt the fire as it snapped across my bare bottom. It hurt, but not too much. My cock registered its approval by stretching for my navel. He gave me several more strokes in similar vein, hard enough to ensure I knew I’d been hit, but not so hard that I lost my erection. I began to enjoy myself. It seemed Michael did indeed know what he was doing.
He stopped and I knelt, feeling the early sun growing warm on my skin, aware of the silence which surrounded us. The cane was stroked gently across my buttocks.
“A bit harder for the next lot, okay?”
“Okay,” I agreed.
I tensed myself and the cane lashed across my rump. I bucked and let out my breath in an audible gasp.
“Felt that one, didn’t you?” said Michael.
“Bastard!” I retorted.
He hit me again. Once more I jerked and gasped. This was definitely more challenging; but I was up for the challenge. As the strokes continued to fall, I worked my way into the caning, helped by the surge of endorphins. I got myself into a routine, taking the sting, processing the searing fire, almost consciously diverting some of the savage stimulation of my buttocks to my balls, thrusting forward, cock rampant, as if I was fucking someone; and then easing back for the next stroke and the next thrust.
Once more Michael stopped and this time caressed my red-hot bottom with both hands, passing a finger into my cleft and then into my secret hole so that I squirmed with intimate sensations of delight as I quivered on the cliff-edge of orgasm; but he denied me.
“Six of the best to finish with,” announced Michael.
He rapped the cane across my sit-spot and then, with barely a pause, swept it back and down at high speed, whipping it at the moment of impact across my globes so that the hard, stinging tip caught me viciously on the thigh as the limber rod curved itself round my rump in a torrid embrace.
I yelped and scrabbled desperately in the heather to keep my hands away from my flaming behind. I groaned and felt scalding tears spurt from my screwed-shut eyes and trickle down my face. Panting, I clenched my assaulted buttocks and then, determined to show him I could take it, I pushed them up in a blatant invitation to him to let me have it. He accepted and, holding nothing back, lashed my bottom again; and again; and again.
I was shuddering with pain; and I didn’t want it to stop. The fifth stroke whipped across my crease and elicited a panicked squeal as I writhed from the hips. The final stroke cut crossed my behind on a long diagonal and I cried out in pain and in triumph. I’d done it! In celebration, my penis, in retreat for the last little while, came surging forward eagerly. Michael knelt behind me, lay along my back and, reaching round under me with both hands, worked expertly at my balls and cock to bring me to the most earth-shattering orgasm I’d ever had. The mountains convulsed; the heavens turned head-over-heels; the valleys spun like a whirlpool; and for a few seconds I lost consciousness before I came spinning back, to land contented and fulfilled on the grass on the mountain-top once more.
“Felt that too, didn’t you, Lee?” said Michael with a grin as he nibbled sexily at my ear.
“Yes,” I sighed. “And I’ve never felt anything like it.”
After a minute or two, I relieved Michael and then we lay quiet, silenced by the glory of a mountain-dawn and by the immensity of what we’d experienced together.
“Time to get back,” said Michael. “You don’t want to get caught and have to take another caning, do you?”
“Hell, no! How would I ever explain this?” I asked, appalled at the thought.
We got to our feet and attired ourselves properly. Before we set off down to the school, Michael turned me to look down on the pass and the Italian border.
“It’s make-your-mind-up-time, Lee,” he said soberly. “Kind of like the scene down there. You either go over the border into the sunny south for a free and easy, comfortable life with Stewart; or you stay on the strictly-disciplined Austrian side with me and get your bare arse caned regularly.”
“That’s the choice? A sybaritic life in the sun or a life of tough discipline? You don’t make it easy for a guy, do you?”
“Seems easy enough to me,” he said. “How do you want your morning glory dealt with? Gentle foreplay with lips and tongue and hands? Or a bloody good beating of your bare buttocks so you’re wound up like a coiled spring and when you get release your whole being explodes in a cascade of new-born sunbeams?”
For a moment I stared at him, taken aback by his poetic words. I then gazed at the stunning glory of the mountains and valleys under the morning and I knew they had an extra dimension of vivid, sharply-alive loveliness because of the powerful stimulus I’d received from Michael’s searing cane. He was right. The choice wasn’t hard at all. For me, the cane brought my world into being and to go for Stewart and all the pleasures of sex without pain just wasn’t an option. I knew that it wouldn’t be the choice of most guys; but for me it felt right. Michael had taken me to the mountain-peak and nothing less would ever satisfy me in future.
I smiled at him.
“I guess it’s time to be honest with myself,” I confessed. “I go with you.”
He stroked my lips with the cane and then kissed me with a new and vibrant passion. It was enough. Turning our backs on the sunny slopes of Italy and the enervating south, we set off hand-in-hand down the steep path back to the school. Occasionally as we walked, Michael flicked the lithe cane across the seat of my denims and set my bottom burning so that, long before we arrived, my morning glory was making itself felt once more, confirming me in my choice.
Story ©MMXII 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.
Trick or treat? Definitely a treat from the pen of Joelstrap!
Thank you for an amazingly hot and delicious story Joelstrap. Thank you for sharing your talent with us.
Great moral here: who would settle for nice bland sex when they were able to spice it up with abundant canings? This is an inspiring story, reminding me it’s high time my buttocks had their next fix.