Feeling The Heat (M/M) NEW!

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♥ Site recommended story ♥

New to The Canery is this exciting spanking story by very special guest author JOELSTRAP.   All the characters are 18 or older. WARNING: ADULTS ONLY!

Feeling The Heat by Joelstrap

The traffic moved increasingly slowly until at last it came to a standstill. The snow had been falling heavily for some time and outside the car windows the countryside was shrouded in a blanket of white while the road beneath me was thick with compacted snow on which more layers were relentlessly building up.

Time eased passed and we were going nowhere. The road was high and exposed. I got out of the car and looked around. In both directions vehicles were at a standstill and the swirling snow was unremitting in its intensity, loading the branches of the bare trees, lining the tops of the walls with a deep layer of white, filling in the ditches and levelling the hollows of the landscape.

I approached the next car. The guy said he’d spoken to the police on his mobile. Jack-knifed lorries were blocking the way in both directions; snowploughs couldn’t get through. We were in for a long wait. I tried the big white van behind. A young lad of about my own age, maybe twenty, was sitting staring moodily through his windscreen. I told him what I’d learnt.

“If you get cold,” he informed me, “come along here.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I’ve not got much fuel left and I daren’t run the engine to get any heat.”

I returned to my own vehicle and snuggled into my coat to wait. The hours crawled past and the darkness fell; and still it snowed until I had to get out and sweep it from the windows so that I could see outside. It was bitterly cold. I stamped my feet and swung my arms and climbed back into my car; but I couldn’t settle. The cold was beginning to numb me. I decided to go along to the white van and see if maybe he had some blankets. He had said to come along if I was cold.

The lad jumped out when he saw me approach and led me round to the side of his van where he unlocked and pulled open a sliding-door and climbed in. I followed. A dim light shone in the capacious interior where a several large boxes and some crates sat in two neat rows.

“I’m supposed to be delivering this lot for an exhibition,” he said, “but they won’t be getting them today.”

I clambered in. I’d expected heat, but there was none.

!Er, I thought when you asked me to come round if I was cold that you’d have some heating on.“

“Nah, heating only works in the cab,” he informed me.

“So what we doing here?” I asked, teeth beginning to chatter.

“There’s another way of getting warm that I found in one of these crates,” he said. “But I don’t suppose it’s everyone’s cup of tea.”

I was curious.

“So what is it?”

He opened one of the large boxes, reached in and pulled out a thick leather strap, slit into two thongs down almost half its length.

“What the fuck’s that?”

“Don’t you know?”

“Never seen a baby like that,” I admitted. “What’s it for?”

“Look. Hold your hand out like this.” He extended a hand, palm upward.

I copied him and, with a move so swift it took me totally off-guard, he swung the leather thong and smashed it down on to my extended palm. Pain ripped through my hand and I withdrew it with a yelp of pain and turned a furious face towards him.

“What the hell do you think you’re playing at?” I demanded angrily. “That was fucking sore!”

“It was meant to be. That’s what it’s for. It’s called a tawse. It was used to punish school-kids in the old days.”

Vague memories of stories my gandad had told me about getting belted in school came back to my mind.

I surveyed my flame-red palm, still pulsing with pain.

“Must’ve been tough buggers in those days,” I muttered. “That stings like hell.”

“But I bet your hand isn’t feeling cold now, is it?”

I rubbed my hand against my stomach. No, it certainly wasn’t feeling cold now; it was feeling bloody hot!

“So, want the other warmed up too?” he enquired, flexing the tawse.

Part of me didn’t want a repeat, but part of me still couldn’t quite believe how deeply it had stung and wanted to find out if it felt that bad when I was expecting it.

“Okay,” I said and held out my left hand. I felt a pang of apprehension as he raised the belt, swung it back over his shoulder and then I saw it descend with explosive intent towards my palm. It took a bit of will-power just to keep my hand out when I saw what was coming. The ferocious lash of pain convinced me that it hurt just as much when I knew what to expect! I nursed my flaming palm under my arm.

“Wow,” I told him. “That is one hell of a sting!”

I looked at my palms, red, a slight indication of bruising at the base of the thumbs, and wondered.

“So just what kind of an exhibition is this?” I asked.

“It’s called Education through The Ages,” he replied.

He undid a little bolt on one of the crates and the front fell forward to reveal an old-fashioned school-desk, such as I’d seen in pictures. He pulled it out and we admired it; solid iron frame, hard wood seat, various names and words carved into it with a penknife.

I shivered a little with the cold.

“So, how about you bend over that and I’ll warm you up a lot more with this across your arse,” he suggested, flexing the tawse again menacingly. “You look pretty cold.”

I was cold, but I wasn’t at all sure that I wanted that vicious bit of leather used on my behind. My cock, however, seemed to have other ideas and I had to do a hasty readjustment. This did not escape his attention.

“I’ll take that as a ’yes’,” he said with a grim smile. “Bend over.”

Why the hell not? I thought. My jeans will give me some protection.

I leaned over the back of the seat and placed my hands on the edges of the desk-lid and waited. He swung the tawse and brought it down with moderate force on my denim-clad rump. I felt it, but only enough to make my cock soar. He hit me several more times and I became increasingly aroused by the sting.

“Okay,” he said. “If it’s really going to warm you up, you’ll have to get it on the bare. Drop your jeans and pants.”

“No way, mate!”

I stayed down because I wanted him to continue; but he didn’t. He could read me like a book.

“You want more,” he said; not a question; a statement. I didn’t argue.

“But you’ll only get it if your bum’s bare. So, drop them. Now!”

My penis repeated the order vehemently. I stood up, unbuckled my belt, undid my jeans and pushed them down to my ankles. I hesitated. He just nodded at my pants and I slowly pushed them down too. My cock, released from any strictures, bounced joyfully. Embarrassed, I swiftly bent over again.

He began to wield the tawse across the bare skin of my buns, just hard enough to sting. I loved it. A warm glow spread across my buttocks and seemed to permeate my whole being. Steadily he covered the whole surface of my buns from my waist to the tops of my legs, across from thigh to thigh with a blanket of pulsating heat. I was a-quiver, not only with thrilling pain, but also with sexual excitement. I felt my balls were going to burst.

He stopped the leathering and a pang of disappointment shot through me. A strong, young hand explored the planes and curves of my bottom and a long, confident finger slid deep into my cleft and stroked my hole so that a powerful shudder of delight shook my whole body.

“You want it harder?”

“Yes, please!”

This time I really felt it; but the endorphins were flowing through me and I had been well warmed up. I could take it. He hit more slowly now, giving me time between each stroke to savour the pain and then wait with a pang of apprehension for the next one. Every time the leather smacked into my buns, I thrust forward hard, like having sex, and I felt my body was ready for release; but I didn’t want this to end and held myself desperately in check.

He must have sensed that I was close to losing control and the belting ceased again. I stood, flame-hot, pain throbbing insistently and thrillingly through my behind, cock rigid as an oak tree, foreskin drawn well-back, pre-cum shimmering on my prepuce. I didn’t dare move. It was up to him. He drew the leather strap across my skin and I felt its rough texture. He slid it up to my waist and then let it come slowly down so that one of the slim thongs dropped into my crack and pulled gently at the tender skin near my arsehole and then on to tickle the edge of my perineum before falling away. I held my breath. I closed my eyes. The world waited.

Behind me he must have been swinging the tawse back and then bringing it forward and down, the full power of his muscular young arm behind it. A crack like a gunshot echoed round the van and a yelp was forced from me as a tidal-wave of raw pain flooded my bottom, intense where the hard tips of the thongs curled deep into my thigh. I quivered, poised on the very brink of orgasm, panting for it, every nerve stretched to breaking-point. Time stopped.

There was nothing left in my world now; only the tawse and the pain and the certainty of release imminent. Again the heavy tawse descended and this time the ends of the thongs were driven into my cleft, lashing the sensitive flesh between my buttocks. With a cry of pain, my body bucking violently, I teetered momentarily on the brink, and then was lost.

I was dimly aware of my balls pumping out spunk, of the crimson tide of pain receding to leave a steady pulse, still severe between my buns. All else was joy, deep and potent; pleasure which went deeper than anything I’d ever experienced before; and a long, slow surge of fulfilment.

I stood up slowly, dribbling semen. I placed my hands tentatively on my leathered buttocks and worked my way wonderingly over the raised prints of the belt on my skin, savouring the heat.

I looked at him. He was still standing there, slowly stroking the tawse across his hand. On the front of his jeans there was a patch of dampness. I took a deep breath.

“That,” I said, “was fucking awesome!”

“Warm now?” he enquired.

I grinned, still scrubbing ruefully at my rump.

“Definitely!”

I cleaned myself on my handky, pulled up my pants and denims and, with his help, shoved the desk into its crate. He put the tawse back in its box and pulled out something else; a slim, wicked-looking cane.

“No!” I said, backing hastily away. “I’m grand and warm now, thank you!”

He shrugged, laid the cane down and I slid open the door and jumped down into the snow. Back at my car, I sat carefully on the seat and then just closed my eyes and remembered. I must have dozed, for when I awoke, I was very cold. I stretched, got out of the vehicle and looked up. The snow had stopped and overhead the sky was spangled with stars. The fallen snow shimmered with a layer of frost. It was bitterly cold.

I rubbed my bottom, feeling still a tingling warmth there. I glanced towards the white van. I could see him sitting in the heated cab, apparently reading a newspaper. I rubbed my buns again and shivered. The frost was hard and the air bitingly icy. I walked back to the white van and pulled open the driver’s door.

“I don’t like to bother you again,” I said, “but I’m bloody freezing.”

He reached across to the seat beside him and picked up the cane. I drew in my breath sharply.

“Cold enough for this?”

I swallowed and took the plunge.

“Yes,” I said firmly. “C-c-cold enough for that.”

He smiled. I rubbed my bottom.

 

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Story ©MMX by Joelstrap, and used here by very kind permission of the author.

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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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Please leave a comment by using the link at the top of the story.

 

Joelstrap’s excellent earlier stories for The Canery are available here.  Further great stories by Joelstrap may be found at this external link