The House Sitter Is Reluctant To Sit Down (M/M) NEW!

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Red hot new spanking fiction by very special guest author Sukemnsee.  This story is currently exclusive to The Canery!  All the characters are 18 or older. WARNING: ADULTS ONLY!

 

The House Sitter Is Reluctant To Sit Down by sukemnsee.

Like most people, I do not realise when I am onto a good thing until I am brought to earth with a jolt!  I secured a useful arrangement some years back where I would house sit for a friend who spends most of the year abroad in sunnier climes. This considerably reduces my living costs and I have a pleasant bedroom of my own as part of the arrangement.

The trouble is I am innately untidy whereas my friend is obsessively spartan and abhors clutter. He knows of some of my proclivities, but not all. Often he acts as my conscience. He also very possessive of his own space when we are both in residence. The one thing I do get away with generally is keeping the kitchen well-stocked as he is less inclined to cook for himself and I increasingly rely on tasty home-cooked food which I readily share.

I should not have been lax about the return date. I knew it was early in the month but did not endorse the calendar. I expected a reminder a few days before and then I would see if it was to my convenience to meet him and assist after long flight or just to have a comforting meal awaiting on return. I had no prior warning.

I got home late evening and was struggling to feel the door unlock until I realised it was not locked. How foolish could I have been to not have locked it securely? I shut it firmly behind me. Then I saw the suitcase in the hall and on looking into his room saw he was fast asleep. Oh no! I had not been ready. I went to bed quietly.

The next evening when I got home I could hardly see my double bed as there was so much stuff piled on; from the recent washing left on the airer to my many plants, seedlings, kitchen ingredients and multiple gadgets and appliances that had been steadily encroaching on all kitchen worktop space, books, magazines, shoes, bags, in short a veritable mountain of my stuff that I had conveniently spread out in his absence. I dreaded the forthcoming encounter as I knew he would be irate.

The kitchen looked bare and I saw he was finishing a ready meal from the local convenience store. This was not good at all!  Why was he was reluctant to eat my food? I wasn’t late home, but I prepared my own meal and the following day lunch, in silence. Ominous silence. Waiting for the storm to break. I made tea, received with a grunt. Oh well, I thought, better get started in my room trying to get some of the detritus in rightful places. I was halted as I made for my room.

The lecture was long and repetitive and not unexpected. I had, among other things, abused his hospitality. He said that I was fortunate to be in the situation I was in (despite the fact I recognised with advancing years I would end up with more care responsibilities). He suggested that I should be thrown out, given hours to quit and arrange a new place or storage for items. I did try to listen and give appropriate responses at key moments. In reality I did feel bad for my errors, particularly for not arranging some sort of escort from airport. Then we entered reality with a jolt. I had been summoned to bend over the arm of the sofa for the first of many punishments. I was taken aback as this was unexpected, even if he was obviously riled. I was told I was as irresponsible as a teenager and should be treated as such.  Meanwhile he had extracted his old large worn leather belt from his jeans. The belting I was to receive would remind me to behave better for all time. There would be no alternative, my way or highway etc. I had also better hope that none of his friends would have a cane available to borrow, or a later day in the week might be incredibly painful indeed.

This was a dilemma as I had never thought he would adopt this approach. Surely he did not know that being punished was a favourite role play I indulged in? Indeed, it was one of my special interests, and often connected to sexual arousal. Did I want him to know that? I suddenly found this hard to process. This would not be the same as things I indulged in, though.  I knew this person in a different way and he obviously did not know me as well as he had thought.   Could I react in the right way, being abject and apologetic without betraying any excitement?

I considered all of this over the course of a few seconds as I obeyed and bent over the arm of the sofa. He laid it on. The first couple of swipes of the belt were a little clumsy but he adapted very quickly. I felt the next few in ways I had never done before when at play, even when I was angling for severe treatment. Each one of these hurt my bottom and my pride. I think he stopped after twelve. He was tired and I was in real pain and shame. I got up when allowed and fled to my room with the words echoing that there would be more the next day and everyday until he thought I had learned a suitable lesson!  I cried myself out in my room. I did not get any satisfaction from feeling my naked bottom once undressed. I was remorseful.

The next day when I returned home I was told as soon as I had made a cup of tea for both of us that it was time for the second day’s punishment. I dreaded this. I did as I was told though, and this time undid my trousers so I was bending over in my white underpants. It was another twelve.  I felt these incredibly painfully as there was still tenderness from the day before and without the layer of trousers each blow was far more fierce than the day before. I was crying out towards the end but felt unable to walk away from what I was due. He seemed satisfied though and I sensed that the overall atmosphere was improved. I went off to skulk in my room, face down and naked, knowing I had a reprieve the next day but that I should “look forward” to a final lesson the day after.

And that day came all too quickly. As I half expected, I was bent over the arm with a bare bottom. I so hated this. For sure there had been odd moments of nudity in the house over the years, but for him to be staring at me like this was weird. Why was it I could adopt this position for a relative stranger or regular playmate at certain play venues but I could not stomach this from my friend? Also, I just hated the idea that he might at this time discover I could be sexually charged up by punishment.  Suddenly, he produced a cane, which he had borrowed from a friend.  He informed me that he had been practising on a large cushion for hours. I would only get six, but he told me that I would remember these anytime I was tempted to misbehave, like I had before his return.

I gritted my teeth as I heard the familiar sound of a cane through air.  Then I felt the first impact. He must have practiced long and hard as this was a well-laid stroke that produced an instant line of fire.  I gasped. The second and third were not long coming, and were just as firmly applied. I wanted to scream to relieve that surge of pain, and the next two strokes almost had me snivelling.  Each one was well-applied.  The cane moved fast.  I heard it, I felt its contact and then I could feel the pain. I may even have drummed my feet a little. My reactions were as if I had taken a much longer caning, one that I might have enjoyed in other circumstances.  At least there was nothing sexual for him to notice. Well, perhaps if he had really focused he may have noticed that my small testicles got tighter. I waited hoping desperately that the next stroke would be the last one.  He was old enough to think in terms of the traditional six of the best, I hoped.  It was indeed the last stroke, but what a stroke it was! It seemed to be lifting me and it did catch my lower bottom just at that painful part I would feel when standing. It was agonisingly sore and when he said for me to get up, I blurted that I was sorry and ran to my room.

I laid on my bed for an hour, feeling the pain, tracing the ridges of the red lines I could see in the mirror. There was no afterglow sensation of enjoyment or endorphins racing, no erection to deal with. Just a sense of shame and feeling chastised. Miserable!

Over the next weeks until his departure the atmosphere improved and I did not get into further trouble.  I took far more notice of the date of his next expected return. I did wonder whether to warn my overseas housemate of what had happened to me.  It crossed my mind that there was always the possibility of a repeat discipline session, and my housemate was not habitually tidy either. I did not mention it in the end, as it would reveal things I did not want him to know about.  I did consider pumping him for information at a future time, in case something similar had happened before.

I also went for my usual indulgences once the coast was clear and I could once again endure a decent session with plenty of gratification. I just knew that I had to behave in future or face a miserable reluctance to sit down again.

_________

D I S C L A I M E R

All characters appearing in this story are over 18 and are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

____________

Story © MMXXI by Sukemnsee and used here by very kind permission of the author.  All rights reserved.

Comments welcome.  Comments are here, or use the link at top of the story.

Taking A Leap (M/M) NEW!

♥ 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!

Taking A Leap by Joelstrap

Puddles! There were puddles everywhere; large puddles and small puddles, deep puddles and shallow puddles. The incessant rain had stopped, but the skies were still overcast, as Struan and I walked hand-in-hand along the road just beyond the edge of town. Behind us North Berwick lay quiet under the gloom of a February afternoon, and beyond it the Firth of Forth was a sullen slate-grey. Ahead was the path which climbed North Berwick Law, a solid volcanic-plug with the Whalebone Arch crowning its summit. We reached the car-park at the start of the ascent. A couple of cars sat there and a number of people were making their way up the hill in front of us.

“Lot of oldies,” observed Struan as we began to climb, catching up an elderly couple with a dog and overtaking them.

“Wonder what it feels like to be old,” I mused.

“Who’s caring?” replied Struan. “We’re young and we can get to the top while this lot are still getting their breath back from the effort of putting on their boots.”

I laughed and squeezed his hand, snatching a quick kiss as I did so.

“Bet that makes the old fogeys behind us furious,” said Struan.

“Because they wouldn’t approve of two boys kissing?”

“Naw!” retorted Struan. “Because they’d be jealous that neither of them was getting kissed by a spunky boy like you.”

I stumbled as my penis leapt swiftly upward, and Struan steadied me.

“Horny bugger, aren’t you?” he said.

“You should know!”

We grinned at each other and continued the ascent.

As we walked, I recalled our session of lovemaking in Struan’s bedroom earlier that morning; and also the conversation which had followed as we lay entwined naked in each other’s arms in post-orgasmic content.

“Oh, boy! That was brilliant,” I breathed as I caressed Struan’s bottom with one hand and stroked his cheek with the other.

“Yeh! So, what we gonna do with the rest of the day, Greg? It’s 29th February after all, so we should do something special.”

“We just did.”

“I mean something we don’t normally do, something new, different; because today’s kind of like an extra. It’s Leap Year’s Day so we need to take a leap and push the boat out.”

“I think we’d just get hell of a wet if we did that,” I said tartly.

Struan’s hand slapped my behind sharply.

I squirmed happily against him and asked what he thought we should do. He considered for a minute or two.

“You ever walked up North Berwick Law?” he asked.

I shook my head.

“I’ve lived here for four years and you’ve been here almost as long, and we’ve never done it. Why not?”

I shrugged. “I guess because it’s just there and we could do it any day.”

“But we haven’t. What about you? Anything you really want to do that we should do because it’s a bonus day?”

I thought for a few minutes while I ran my hand through Struan’s thick hair.

“Remember the film of Oliver Twist that were watching last night? And young Oliver kept getting caned?”

“Yeh; so?”

“You ever wondered what it feels like to be caned?”

“Mmm. I did think last night, when I saw the way Oliver squirmed, that a cane must hurt a bit; and I was kinda glad they don’t use it in school any more.”

“He was acting as a kid though, so I guess it would hurt a boy his age more than a teenager.”

“Probably. So, are you suggesting you want to be caned, Greg, just to find out how it feels?”

“It’d definitely be something different, something special to do on our extra day,” I said.

“Agreed; but it’s not gonna happen, is it? I haven’t got a cane, or I’d do it for you,” Struan offered.

“Gee, thanks!”

“And we don’t know anybody with a cane who could do it. Let’s go and climb The Law and you can think about something a bit more practical that we could do as your Leap Year thing.”

I agreed and we fell to kissing softly and intimately.


There were some boggy bits and the path got steeper as it curved round the hillside and then made for the top. We had overtaken several walkers, and on the last stretch strode past a couple of guys with walking sticks, one who looked about eighty and the other about a hundred.

“Hope there’s a cemetery on the summit,” Struan remarked, “’cos that old buffer looks as if his legs will never make it back down.”

“But there’s nothing wrong with my hearing,” said a voice behind us, making us jump.

“Shit!” muttered Struan. “The bugger must’ve heard me.”

He speeded up and perforce I did too, so that we arrived panting a little on the hill-top. Below us East Lothian lay like a patchwork-quilt of fertile fields. To the west, Edinburgh spread from the Forth to the Pentlands, while southward the ground rose slowly to the distant Lammermuirs. Below us North Berwick sat comfortably by the firth while a mile or so offshore, the huge bulk of the Bass Rock squatted solidly in the grey waters, surrounded by swooping gannets.

“Volcano,” said Struan.

“What?” I asked, glancing down to look between his legs.

“No, you idiot! This! It’s a volcanic-plug; like the Bass Rock out there.”

“Oh yeh. I thought you meant…”

“You’ve got a one-track mind,” he said severely, “and it’s a dirt-track,” he added.

I rolled my eyes at him and towed him over to the whalebone arch. The original had been put here in 1707 and had been replaced several times until a fibreglass one was erected in 2005. We walked hand-in-hand under it. The uniform grey of the skies began to break and a few patches of blue appeared, allowing blinks of sunshine to bring some colour to the monochrome landscape. The waters of the Forth began to sparkle and some of the fields of East Lothian shone green with the prospect of spring. For several minutes we stood and drank in the view and then Struan hissed in my ear, “Hey! Here’s the old codger with the sharp hearing, and his pal, coming up. Let’s go down the far side a bit. I don’t really want to meet him. I don’t think he’s gonna like me.”

“Can you blame him?” I asked fairly.

Struan snorted and we made our way across the rough summit and down the far side for some way. We wandered happily, engaged in desultory conversation, for some time, before making our way round the hilltop and back to the path which would take us down to the car-park and the route into town.

“That’s okay,” said Struan, pointing to the path far below us. “That pair of geriatric mountaineers is well ahead.”

“Looks like they might not need an undertaker on the top after all,” I remarked. “That’s you – wrong again.”

“Any more comments like that,” said Struan fiercely, “and you’ll be the one needing an undertaker!”

Bickering amiably, we plunged downward and were soon approaching the car-park. We were dodging small puddles, and then we came across a very large one near where the path ended. It was the puddles, you see, that were the cause of it all.

“Come on,” I said, “it’s Leap Year’s Day! Let’s leap it.”

It was probably because we were still holding hands that we failed to jump as far as we should have done; and ended up landing with a tremendous splash about two thirds of the way across the puddle. It was deeper than I’d expected and a veritable deluge of muddy brown water flew in wide arcs in all directions. There was an almighty bellow of rage and we turned and saw, to our horror, that the two old guys about whom Struan had been so rude, were standing, dripping with dirty water.

“Oh, fuck!” gasped Struan in my ear as we waded out of the puddle and approached the pair.

They didn’t look pleased and I could hardly blame them.

“I’m really sorry,” I began. “We didn’t do it on purpose, honest. We couldn’t jump as far as we thought we could.”

“Maybe we could help dry you off a bit,” offered Struan, pulling a grubby-looking hanky from his pocket.

“No thank you,” said the older of the two, glancing disapprovingly at the hanky as if he feared it might be infected with Bubonic Plague. “If I’d behaved like that when I was your age, I’d have had the skin taken off my behind with my dad’s cane. I’ve still got it, and it’s exactly what young hooligans like you need. Do you good.”

“Er, yes,” said Struan. “Anyway, we’re really sorry.”

As this brought forth nothing but angry glares from both men, we turned and squelched our way towards the road back to town. A thought struck me and I grabbed Struan’s arm tightly.

“Struan! Do you think this could be it? The chance for me to do the unusual thing I want, to mark Leap Year Day?”

“What? Go and ask that old dinosaur to cane us you mean?”

“Why not? He just might. He obviously wants to; and he’s hardly gonna be able to hit that hard at his age, is he?”

“Suppose not. Okay, let’s give it a go; but he’ll probably just tell us to go to hell.”

“So what? At least we’ll have tried.”

We turned and re-entered the car-park where the elderly pair were trying to dry themselves off with hankies which were decidedly cleaner-looking than Struan’s was. The younger of the two was leaning on a fence-post a few metres away as he squeezed water from his trouser-bottoms. The one who looked about a hundred was patting his hair with the hanky and scowled unpleasantly at us as we approached. This was the thing I wanted to do on the extra day, so I felt it was up to me to ask the question.

“Look, we both feel really bad about what we did, and although it wasn’t intentional, we realise it was thoughtless and stupid. You said that you thought we needed a good thrashing and so…well, if that’s what you think we deserve, we’re ready to take it.”

The old boy stared at me for several seconds.

“Are you trying to make fun of me, boy?” he roared suddenly, making us flinch.

“No, sir. Honestly, I’m not,” I pleaded. “I know this is going to sound a bit weird, but I’ll tell you exactly why I’m asking.”

I explained about the Leap Year’s Day idea of doing something unusual, something each of us wanted to do, but never had. I explained about Oliver Twist too, and how the idea had come to me.

“So in a way,” I ended, “it’s not just that we know we probably should be punished for our behaviour, but also that you’d be helping us do the second of our Leap Year Day special things.”

He stood in silence, contemplating us both for some time. I resisted the temptation to say any more. I’d made my case and the verdict was up to him.

“I said you deserved it and I stand by that,” he said at length. “I’m not sure that I could use my cane effectively on tough youngsters like you pair though. Still, maybe Andy could make more impression on your behinds. All right; six of the best for each of you in the traditional way with my senior cane. It will hurt. Go and have quick think about it and tell me if that’s really what you want.”

We walked across to the edge of the car-park.

“You up for it, Struan?”

“Yeh. You’ve done my special thing, coming up here, so I’ll go along with yours. I never thought it’d happen though. A caning! Who’d have believed it?”

“His mate; Andy I think he called him; he doesn’t look too much of a threat either. A bit younger but I should think we can take anything he dishes out.”

We both looked across at the younger of the two old chaps, who was now polishing his mud-bespattered glasses.

“Yup. Right, let’s do it.”

As we walked back across to the old guys, a small car slid into the car-park and came to a halt nearby.

“We’ve agreed that we’ll take the cane,” I said.

“Good. Here’s Andy now,” the ancient man added as the car-door opened and a guy in perhaps his early twenties jumped out.

He was about six feet tall with a lean figure and an open face crowned with a mass of dark curly hair. Leather boots, close-fitting jeans, a plain denim shirt, open at the neck, all helped to reveal rather than conceal his dominant physical presence.

“Hi, granddad,” he said cheerfully. “Hi, Rob,” he added to the other elderly man. “Hope I’m not late to pick you up?”

“Perfect timing,” the old guy assured him.

“Did you fall in a bog?” Andy enquired, taking in the muddy appearance of his granddad and his friend.

“No, we didn’t. This young pair of scallywags will explain.”

Andy turned a questioning face towards us and I glanced uneasily at Struan. He took a deep breath and made a full confession, though saying nothing about the punishment. The old guy, however, insisted that Struan spell it all out himself. I watched as my gorgeous boy flushed with embarrassment as he explained about the caning and why we were up for it.

“Wow!” observed Andy, a broad grin splitting his sexy features. “You two have got guts. That cane’s ferocious. I asked granddad to give me a couple of strokes when I was sixteen, just to feel what it was like. I guess it’s one of these things that guys like to know about,” he said, “so you’re probably not so unusual. But it hurt, I’m telling you. I mean really hurt!”

“I guess it’s meant to,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant while my stomach churned.

“You’ve probably made the old boy’s day,” he said. “He was a teacher, you know, and I think he enjoyed using the cane.”

“I did not,” retorted his granddad. “I used it when necessary to impose firm discipline and it worked. My classes were well-behaved and worked hard.”

“I bet they did,” Struan muttered in my ear.

“Anyway,” the old chap continued, “at eighty-six I doubt if I could get through to young lads like these, so I suggested you might like to do it and they agreed.”

There was a very definite twinkle in his eye as he added, “I’m afraid that I may have given them the impression that my eighty-year old companion here was Andy.”

Andy threw back his head and roared with laughter.

“Shit!” he gasped. “I bet you two got a shock when I appeared and you realised that I was Andy. Granddad’s as sharp as a tack. Nobody gets the better of him.”

“So I see,” I acknowledged ruefully. “Being caned by you is gonna be a hell of a lot tougher than getting it from your granddad or his pal.”

“Thinking of backing out, are you, boys?” enquired the old man.

It had crossed my mind, but I knew it would make us look like abject cowards.

“No,” we both said together; and I was pleased that we had agreed independently.

“Shall we say eight o’clock this evening? I’m assuming that you both live in North Berwick?”

We nodded our assent and he gave us a small neat card with his address printed upon it.

“Don’t be late,” he instructed.

“Will we get extra if we’re late?” asked Struan in an attempt at levity.

“Yes,” said the old man.

Neither of us smiled as we headed for the road.

We trotted towards the town in silence for a time, each holding hard to the other’s hand.

“That sexy young bugger is really gonna beat the shit out of us,” I said eventually.

“Do you think it maybe hurts less when the guy caning you is as hot as hell?” asked Struan.

I was doubtful. “I think when he’s making our arses as hot as hell, we won’t be thinking about how sexy he is. Are you angry with me for getting you into this, Struan?”

“No way! We’re in it together and we’re not cowards. For shit’s sake, we’re eighteen! We’re not snotty kids like Oliver Twist. We can take it; and then you’ll have got your special thing and I’ve had mine.”

A thought struck me.

“We went under the arch of the whalebone on the hilltop; and tonight we’re going under the arch of the cane,” I said.

“Hmm,” replied Struan, “but the whalebone didn’t come crashing down on our backsides. I bet that brute Andy arches the cane to let us see it before he beats us; but then that arch is gonna play merry hell with our bums!”

*****************************

On Struan’s advice, we wore loose-fitting jeans rather than the tight ones we normally favoured, as he thought the cane would hurt less that way. Just on eight o’clock we rang the bell at a neat bungalow and the old guy admitted us and took us into a small study where Andy was already sitting.

“Congratulations,” he said to Andy, and he handed over a ten-pound note. “I foolishly bet young Andy here ten pounds that you wouldn’t turn up,” said the old guy, “but he was confident that you would; and it seems that he was right.”

“But you might wish you hadn’t turned up,” said Andy, “by the time I’ve done with you.”

We flashed each other a strained smile.

“Over to you, Andy,” said the old guy as he took a seat by the wall and Andy stood up.

Tonight he wore black jeans which fitted closely enough to reveal a stunning pair of fully-rounded buns and a massive bulge between his legs. A studded black leather belt girt his waist and over his torso he wore only a tight blue T-shirt which showed off his impressive pectorals and biceps. I felt my penis harden as I looked at him. He opened a cupboard and took out a lithe cane. I’d never seen one before except in films, and it didn’t look too bad. It was quite slender and by holding it in both hands, he was able to bend it easily into a smooth arch. He suddenly released one end and slashed it swiftly through the air with a vicious whine which made us both wince instinctively.

“Think you’ll feel it, boys?” he enquired.

“Yes, sir,” we replied in unison.

We hadn’t decided in advance to address him as sir, but it clearly came naturally to us both in the circumstances.

“Right,” he announced, pointing to me with the tip of the cane. “Name?”

“Greg,” I replied.

“Jeans and pants off, Greg!”

“What? But you can’t give it to me bare!”

“I won’t be bare.”

“I meant that I’d be bare,” I stammered.

“Yes, you will be,” said Andy. “Hurry up!”

“But I…”

“No you don’t. You get your jeans and pants off NOW!”

I threw a hopeless glance at Struan and then obeyed. In spite of my nervousness, my penis bounced free from my pants at almost full erection. I put my clothing on a chair and waited, deliberately keeping my hands at my sides. After all, I was a young guy; I had nothing to be ashamed of; and in a curious kind of way it pleased me that Andy should see that I was a big boy.

“Yes, very impressive,” remarked Andy with a grin, “but I’ll soon get rid of it for you.”

This remark had the perverse effect of making my cock strain for another few millimetres of length.

“Bend over the desk, grasp the far side with your hands and put your feet wide apart.”

I complied with this order and he checked that I was positioned as he wanted me. I waited, feeling my heart pounding against the solid wooden desk, staring straight ahead at a row of books on a shelf. With a start, I realised that one of them was Oliver Twist! My pondering on the likelihood of this happening was interrupted by the tapping of the cane on my rump. It felt light and teasing, as if he was exploring and trying to decide exactly where to hit me. When the stroke came, it took me completely by surprise, lashing powerfully across the centre of my bare bottom and delivering a searing blast of pain which made me gasp aloud and clench my buttocks desperately.

I swiftly adjusted my brain to the new situation. This was no game and it certainly wasn’t easy. The pain-level was far beyond what I’d expected and the writhing of young Oliver in the film the previous evening suddenly appeared to have been under-acting rather than over-acting. I realised that I was holding my breath and, even as I released it, Andy plied the cane a second time, lacerating my flesh with another streak of fiery torment. I tightened my grip on the edge of the desk, rode out the burn, and tried to ready myself for more. I failed miserably. The next stroke whipped viciously into my lower bottom and forced a yelp of agony from me as I felt my body twist in a spasm of savage pain. Furious with myself for losing control and letting him know that he was getting through to me, I gritted my teeth and settled my feet firmly in position. There came the whistle of the punitive rod, the snap as cane and flesh were brought into violent contact, the slash of blazing fire across my behind, and then the half-stifled squeal as the pain-level soared.

I breathed hard, fighting to keep my body in check. I was aware that Andy had managed to get rid of my erection, as he’d promised; but he wasn’t going to break my spirit. I dug deep into reserves of strength and steadied my quivering buttocks. Andy hit them brutally hard. I writhed and I was aware of scalding tears on my face, but there was only one to go and I was going to take it. As the tsunami of pain subsided a little, I gathered my battered resources and prepared for number six, forcing myself to breathe deeply, consciously stilling the quiver in my buttocks. The cane bit deep into the sensitive flesh where bottom merges into upper legs and I felt my body buck violently as a white-hot blade of fiery heat seemed to scythe its way to the very heart of my being. My head came up and I yelled my pain to the unresponsive wall.

When he told me to stand up, I did so with a sense of weariness, as if I’d run a marathon. There was a sense of achievement too that I’d got through it. I felt behind me and explored carefully the raised welts on my bottom, so sensitive that even the light touch of my finger-pads made me wince.

“Over there,” ordered Andy coldly and I took up my place by the wall as he summoned Struan to bare his behind and bend over the desk.

I knew Struan’s bottom intimately and the sight of it bared and vulnerable to that brutal cane gave my penis an unexpected boost. Now I could see and admire Andy’s prowess with the cane. He made full use of his muscle-power and also twisted his lithe body round so as to get maximum force behind each stroke. He looked superb as he wielded the cane and I found myself watching him more than I was watching Struan; until the rod hit home and I saw the line of white across my boy’s buttocks, which quickly became a raised welt and turned an angry red. Struan was silent but I could see the high tension in his body as he waited.

The cane lashed him again and although he bucked, he remained silent. Andy flexed the cane a few times and then took aim and delivered a stroke which broke Struan’s silence, forcing a strangled squeak from him. My penis was rock-hard, reaching for the ceiling as Andy lined up the fourth stroke. Whether by accident or design, it landed almost exactly on top of the previous one and extracted a yelp of outraged agony from Struan as he writhed on the desk-top. Andy waited until he had stilled himself and then gave him the penultimate cut. Struan bucked and his gluteal-muscles clenched and unclenched as he fought the burn, but no sound escaped him. I held my breath as Andy prepared to mete out the last stroke. I knew where it was going and Struan, having seen what I’d been given, must have known too. His whole body was rigid with tension, but his bottom had been pushed firmly up. Andy drove his cane ferociously hard into Struan’s crease and a roar like that of an angry lion came from his throat as his body squirmed. Pre-cum was oozing from my straining penis as I watched Struan calm himself and regain control of his body. He stood upright slowly on Andy’s command and moved his splayed hands carefully over his beaten rump.

“That,” he said to Andy, “was hell-of-a sore!”

Andy smiled at him.

“Got through to you, did I? That’s what I was aiming for.”

“You got a bullseye,” said Struan ruefully.

“Me too,” I concurred. “I never expected it to hurt as much as that.”

“But you seemed to enjoy watching your mate get it,” remarked Andy, nodding at my rampant organ.

“Sorry, Struan,” I said. “It just happened.”

“You don’t need to apologise to him,” interrupted Andy. “You should have seen his boner while I was caning you!”

“Er, yeh, I’m afraid so,” Struan admitted shamefacedly. “I couldn’t help it.”

“More importantly,” said the old guy, rising from his seat and coming forward, “what have you learned from being caned?”

“Not to behave thoughtlessly and inconsiderately,” I replied at once.

“And to be respectful of older guys, sir,” added Struan very politely.

“Job done, I’d say,” observed the old guy. “But you also wanted to find out what a caning felt like as your Leap Year Day new experience; so what did you think?”

“Like I said, it hurt a lot more than I expected,” I replied, “but the challenge was kind of exciting too in a way. I almost felt as if I was fighting you,” I said to Andy, “determined not to let you break me; and that you were fighting back, trying as hard as you could to force as much reaction as possible out of me; and you succeeded with that last stroke. It was a screamer!”

“It was tough taking it after I’d watched what the cane did to Greg,” admitted Struan, “but I was determined not to make any sound if I could help it. I know I wasn’t very successful because I only managed the first two in silence before you broke me. I kept the sound in for the fifth one, but it definitely all came out at the sixth.”

“Are you glad that the cane wasn’t in use when you were at school?” the old guy asked. “I should say that it wasn’t normally used on a boy’s bare bottom and not usually as hard as Andy used it; but he was caning young men of eighteen, not schoolkids.”

“I think,” I said slowly, “that I’d rather have had the cane than detentions or lines; and I think it would have had a stronger effect in keeping me working hard and behaving myself,” I admitted.

“Same here,” added Struan. “I’d have been making serious efforts to avoid it, so I guess I’d have been better behaved.”

“Okay, lads, get your clothes back on and then you’re free to go. It’s been a pleasure to see my old cane back in action and to see a couple of well-chastised boys who have learnt their lesson.”

Andy saw us to the door and asked a bit more about our Leap Year doings. I explained about climbing North Berwick Law and going under the whalebone arch.

“I never thought I’d get my special thing and go under the cane’s arch though,” I said. “But then it happened out of the blue with that bloody puddle! It’s Leap Year, so we decided to leap it; and failed. Then when your granddad talked about caning us, it seemed like it was meant to be. We decided to leap at the chance, you might say. Your granddad’s a cunning old devil though. We thought that Andy was his old pal and we looked at him and decided that he wouldn’t be able to hit us that hard. We did remember to look before you leap; but the clever old bugger misdirected our looking; and by the time we looked the right way and saw you, we’d already jumped!”

“Will you be going back up The Law?” asked Andy.

“Yeh,” replied Struan. “Definitely. It’s a great little climb and brilliant views. I’d like to go up on a summer day and watch the sunrise from the top.”

“If,” said Andy, “you ever feel that you’d like another session under the cane too, here’s my mobile-number. Just give me a buzz. I’d be delighted to oblige.”

He shook hands with us both and we made off out on to the street.

“How’s your arse?” asked Struan.

“Hurts like the devil. It’s fantastic.”

“Me too. I’m horny as hell and I can’t wait to get into your pants.”

“So why are we walking? Let’s run!”

We ran, and arrived panting at Struan’s home, where we lost no time in indulging in a long session of uninhibited and gloriously thrilling sex.

“Wow!” I gasped. “Just wowsity, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow!”

“You still got Andy’s mobile-number?”

I nodded.

“That’s good. I think we’re gonna need it!”

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Story ©MMXX 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 here, or 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

Mr Jones (M/M) NEW!

 

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Hot corporal punishment and more in this brand new story by very special guest author David Stewart.  This story is currently exclusive to The Canery.  All the characters are 18 or over.  Strictly adults only!

Mr Jones by David Stewart

David was 42 years of age and out of work due to redundancy. He was single and had some savings but was desperate to get any sort of work.  He had signed on, and on the way home he treated himself to a coffee in his favourite cafe and was on his tablet when Mr Jones arrived.

“Hello David, long time no see!  May I join you?”

David was glad of the company of this older family friend.  He had always looked upon him as an uncle, even though they were not related.

“Yes, must be three months or more since we last met…think it was in Waitrose, was it not?”

David answered with a smile and said, “Oh and yes, I never called you did I?”

They both smiled and chat centred on the present and the unemployment issue.

“Yes I was fortunate, but being a teacher I suppose one expects to always be needed, but the young people of today have it hard. Have you had any luck searching?”

David explained how many applications and how few responses he’d had.  There had been no interviews.  He added how he would even take a cleaning job if offered one.  That was where he was at.

“Tell you what I can do, assuming you are happy to do so, I need someone a few hours a week, a general handyman as I have an old house and big garden. I could give you £9 an hour and say 10 hrs work a week…what do you think?”

“Look, that’s very kind but you don’t need to do that.”

“Nonsense!  I have just placed an advert in my local shop so I am seriously looking.  And it’s cash in hand.”

They agreed to it and Mr Jones added, “However David, I expect the same approach as if we did not know each other, and you will be on time and work hard.”

David assured him there would be no issues and agreed to start the following day at 9am.

David turned up just before 9 and Mr Jones let him in and directed him to the first work in hand, which was grass cutting and weeding.  David worked hard.  The satisfactory arrangement carried on for some months, then came the winter.  David started doing interior work, painting and general cleaning.

Over coffee he asked one day, “Mr Jones, the room right at the back, which is locked, may I ask what is inside?”

Mr Jones smiled and said, “Ah that is my, how shall we describe it, reminiscence of a past age and collection of memorabilia.“

“Of when you were a school teacher?”

After being assured it was, David asked, “May I see inside please?”

Mr Jones thought and said, “You can, but I keep my memorabilia private as some might think me odd for keeping a room like that.”

David was intrigued and after coffee followed Mr Jones up the stairs.  The door was opened and inside was a schoolroom with 4 desks and chairs, two by two and a larger raised desk and chair with a blackboard over almost half the wall.

“Wow, how realistic,” whistled David, much to Mr Jones’s appreciation.

“Thank you, feel free to look around.”

David walked round, opened the desks and looked inside at the jotters, books, pencils, erasers and pencil sharpeners.  He then headed to the teacher’s desk, upon which was the “Punishment Book.”  He opened it and started to read through the punishments within.  All had a date and the pupil’s name along with a reason and then what the punishment was, which varied between 2 and 6 of the cane. The canes were either junior or senior in description.

Moving through the book, he came to a date on the last page which said 23rd October 1983 – Charles Baxter – Lateness of lines and illegibility when delivered – 12 senior cane and 12 tawse.  David was taken aback as this was only four days ago!  He acted as if he had not noticed, but Mr Jones knew he had.

It was then David moved over to the cupboard.  Within it were some jotters and pencils, and also on the right hand side there were several canes and several tawses, all hanging from hooks.

David blushed not only at what was there but also the fact his cock was pressing hard against his zip.

Mr Jones said “Feel free David, to take out anything you fancy.”

David felt the urge to take one of the canes out and swish it through the air a few times and then took a tawse out and examined the three thick heavy tails.

His mouth was dry and he returned these and closed the cupboard. “Impressive collection and some school room, Mr Jones.”

“Thank you and have you anything you want to ask me about what you have seen?”

“Well…You appear to have made an entry a few days ago in the punishment book . Is that correct?”

“Let’s just say that I have friends who like to revert to their schooldays and in general if you come in to this room you leave with a sore bum and hands.“

“Hands, Mr Jones?”

“Oh the tawse was used in Scotland and it was usually given on the hands, one palm on top of the other, like this.  That way you could be sure they really felt the pain.”

“My, Mr Jones…I suppose I am the lucky one, having got to see the room and then leave in one piece?”

“If you choose to, yes.”

They locked up and had another coffee and David steered the conversation back to the school room and the recent punishment book entry.

“So can I ask please, I am not making judgements, but are you saying you cane and tawse other men upstairs and they willingly come here for that?”

Mr Jones went to a drawer and pulled out a magazine.  He flicked to the back of the may and pointed out an advert –  “Experienced Sir will cane and tawse and tutor errant boys and girls in his country school room.”

David smiled, “And do you get many responses?”

“It would surprise you, yes, and they pay for it.  I earn a fair bit of extra income at £30 a visit.”

There was a pause and Mr Jones asked David if he had ever been caned at school.

David replied that he had, several times but he added he had never been tawsed.

“Would you like to be…today?”

David was flustered.  Mr Jones said with confidence, “I saw the reaction down below so know it excited you and if I give you a taste then our secret is safe, as is my one.”

David knew he was blushing and almost capitulated by asking, “So what would you give me?”

Mr Jones smiled knowing he had won and said, “I would give your arse a good six of the best but before that I’d tawse your hands…six of the best…look David, we both know you want this…don’t we?…and it’s nothing to be ashamed of and if you want to forget about the entire room and conversation, I know I can trust you not to tell anyone.”

Fighting back his excitement David said, “I think it best, for us both, if we go back to your room Sir, and that way neither of us can say anything to anyone.”

“Good, so you are saying you want me to cane and tawse you?”

Looking and feeling awkward David replied, “Yes please, Sir.”

“OK, give me a few minutes then come up, knock on the door and wait to be invited in.“

David gave him 10 minutes then walked to the top far end of the house and as he knocked the door, feeling so nervous, he noticed it now said “Head Teacher” on the door.

“Enter!”

Upon entering he saw in front of him not Mr Jones but “Sir” dressed in his school gown and looking every part an authoritative teacher from David’s schooldays.

“So boy, you are here for a tawsing and caning!  When I get the tawse, you will raise both hands, put one on top of the other and take the stroke. Without being told you will then change hands and raise again. You will not pull away and you will not take long between strokes.  Now, hands up!”

David raised his hands and watched as Sir drew a long dark brown tawse from within his gown. It had three tails and it looked fierce.

Sir judged the distance and height of the hands, and drew back the tawse over his right shoulder and brought it down with a resounding WHAP as it landed on David’s outstretched palm, causing an intake of breath and the reaction of most to the tawse as he rubbed his hand furiously between his legs.  He waited, then raised and changed hands and took the second agonising stroke which was just as sore.  Sir looked impassively at him, and resumed play with another resounding WHAP as the leather did its work.  David had never endured such pain to his hands, but still raised for the fourth, after which the remaining strokes felt less painful as his hands had numbed somewhat.

Sir smiled and said, “Taken well, boy. Now let us see how the cane feels.”

He went to the cupboard and drew a slender crook handled cane out.  He whipped it about, which only made David more nervous, and his erection had long gone.

“Right, you will now undo your trousers and pull them down and then bend over that desk.  You will hold tight and if you jump up, reach behind or otherwise fail to impress, you will get that stroke again and another stroke will be added. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir.”

At least David had some idea what was to follow as he had been caned at school, but he was still dreading it. He undid his trousers, lowered them and bent over the desk.  He seemed shocked when Sir hooked his thumbs into David’s boxers, whipped them down so that a bared bottom was on display.  Sir stood back admiring the bared buttocks awaiting chastisement and then raised the cane high and whipped it down across the centre of his victim’s cheeks.  A pleasing scream followed.  The second stroke was below the first, and then the third landed above.  David was desperately holding the end of the desk and when the fourth made impact he gasped and only just managed to stay bent over.  The remaining two strokes were no less painful, but at least it was over.  Mr Jones then told him to stand and embarrassed him by forbidding him to pull up his trousers and pants.

Sir quizzed, “Was the tawse painful?” He asked about the caning too, but this line of questioning caused David to show his appreciation, excitement and embarrassment as his cock sprung to attention. 

Sir smiled, “A natural reaction for many who enjoy the school discipline scenario, which you obviously must have done.  Well, did you?”

David feeling nervous and embarrassed could not deny it and said, “I think it was good, thank you Sir.  , I have read about such things but never experienced a caning since school, I’d never had the tawse.”

“But when reading, I bet you wank off thinking of the teacher caning you?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And what about the teacher that has just caned you?  Do you ever fantasise about what he would do to you or make you do for him?”

“Sir…Sir this is so embarrassing for me to tell you…but…but…well in some of the stories I read the teacher will make the you suck him or he will wank you or…or well sometimes the teacher wants to bend you over and sort of, well, satisfy himself that way.”

Sir smiled and his own cock was straining with excitement.

“So, David are you saying you want to suck my penis, and then have me stick it inside that newly warmed arse of yours?”

David agreed, as did his cock.  He nodded.

“Strip for me David.” David swiftly took all his clothes off. “On your knees and suck me!”

David knelt and then undid Sir’s zipper and sucked on the penis that almost slapped his face as it sprung out.  Ten minutes later David was bent back over the same desk he had been chastised over and felt Sir press his penis against his lubricated entrance and slowly enter him.  David’s fantasy was complete.

The alarm woke David.  His hand was soon wanking his cock furiously as he recalled the dream about the family friend, the ex-teacher who for years had dominated his wanking sessions.  Three hours later he had signed on.  He headed for the cafe and just after he had sat down he heard a voice say, “Hello David, long time no see!  May I join you?”

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 Story © MMXXI by David Stewart

Story 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 appearing in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to real businesses or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.  All the characters are age of 18 or older.

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Further great stories by this author may be found here.

Comments on this story are here.  Please add a comment of your own. 

 

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May is International Masturbation Month!

Just a quickie reminder again that the merry month of May is National Masturbation Month!  Make sure you do your bit to celebrate this month.  I found out about it via a comment on the excellent Hermione’s Heart blog.  The comment was from Ronnie, and she also runs a great spanking blog, called Heart And Soul.

National Masturbation Month started in the US, but it seems to be taking hold everywhere. It is now sometimes referred to as International Masturbation Month or Masturbate-a-thon.

It was founded in 1995 by Good Vibrations, a sex toy retailer.  This was done as a protest about the firing of America’s first African-American Surgeon General, Joycelyn Elders.  She was sacked for  advocating the teaching of masturbation in sex education classes.  She was a victim of bigots.  You can read more at the wiki.

Almost everyone enjoys a little masturbation now and then, so grab yourself a piece of the action. It’s an ideal thing to do in a lockdown.  If you’re stuck indoors with a prudish partner, just enjoy a quickie in the toilet with the door firmly bolted.  Just don’t get caught, or you may get spanked!

Why not celebrate the month now as you read the kinky stories here at The Canery?

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Comments welcome – please use link at the top of this piece.

What Happens On Tour Stays On Tour (M/M) NEW!

♥ Site recommended story ♥

New to The Canery is this exciting caning story by very special guest author Baddlad17.   All the characters are 18 or older. WARNING: ADULTS ONLY!

What Happens On Tour Stays On Tour by Baddlad17

The lads climbed back onto the coach for what was going to prove a long hard journey for at least five members of the squad. Team captain Rob Phillips, John Davies, Ryan Taylor, Chris Stevens and Gary Baxter eased themselves gently into their seats with backsides still very sore from the caning the coach had applied less than an hour before.

Why had a Rugby Coach caned five members of his team? Why, come to that, had the lads dropped their pants, to meekly offer bare arses for this treatment? Well, it was better than a possible criminal record! Or being thrown off the team! Sometimes Rugger players have to take one for the team so to speak. This was one of those times.

It all began at the end of the game, which the team won 81-9. In high spirits they returned to the hotel, singing and chanting, and generally having a good time. The hotel laid on a lavish evening meal for the lads which was devoured with gusto by the young squad. After the meal Coach said that as they had won so convincingly, they could have a couple of drinks to celebrate. He warned the captain Rob Phillips to keep an eye on them and make sure they only had a couple of pints.

Rob, twenty-two years old was quite young to be in the position he was. It was his enthusiasm and commitment that had encouraged the coach to offer him the job. He had been captain for a little over six months after the enforced retirement of his predecessor due to serious injury. However, in this short time he had persuaded the Coach, Martin Fisher, that he could lead the team and keep them under control.

On the fateful night, all went horribly wrong. Coach Fisher had departed shortly after the meal, heading to bed for an early night. Most of the older members of the squad did as they had been told and after a couple, three at most, pints, they sloped off to bed. By ten o’clock only the captain and four of the more junior members remained in the bar.

John Davies and Ryan Taylor were nineteen. Both were a little on the wild side, but they were superb Rugby players. In spite of their youth they could handle the rough and tumble of the game. Gary Baxter and Chris Stephens were the youngest members of the squad, at eighteen, yet they usually displayed a maturity far beyond their years. On this night the beer flowed rather too much. Not wanting to be the boring one, the Captain forgot his responsibilities and had more to drink than he had promised.

After consuming around eight pints each the lads had become boisterous. Other hotel guests looked on increasingly horrified, as the lads sang lewd songs, swore relentlessly and caused great embarrassment to the ladies present. The Barman, fearing he was losing control, called for the Manager.

The Manager summing up the situation, politely asked the lads to be quiet and to be aware there were other guests in the hotel. However, by this stage the drink had got to the players and what followed turned into a rampage with the boys insulting the manager, before finally leaving the bar, only to run around setting off fire extinguishers as the high jinks continued. By this stage the Manager had had enough. He called the coach to come to his assistance.

On receiving the call from reception at almost midnight, about the behaviour of a number of his players, Martin Fisher rose sleepily from his bed and quickly threw his tracksuit on before going downstairs as quickly as he could. The five drunk players had realised by this stage that their high jinks had gone too far.

They were trying to apologise to the Manager when the Coach arrived on the scene. Summing up the state of his Players and with a look of total disgust on his face he gave a withering glance at them, particularly the Captain, as he approached the desk.

The Manager was on the verge of ringing the police. The last thing he needed was the Hotel getting a bad name due to a bunch of rowdy drunken rugby players. Coach Fisher asked the Manager if he could have a private word with him before he took any further action. Reluctantly he agreed, leading the Coach into his office.

“You lot stay where you are. I will deal with you shortly.” He said as he disappeared.

George Cornwell, the Manager, told him what had transpired. They had been asked to quieten down a few times but their language and behaviour had become increasingly outrageous. Eventually he had gone into the bar and asked them to quieten down and go to their rooms. While on their way, the lads had let off several fire extinguishers causing damage and waking other guests. As far as George was concerned they had gone too far. Was there any good reasons he should not call the police?

Listening to the Manager, Martin’s anger with the boys increased. He had made it clear to the entire team that two pints was the maximum. It was clear they had consumed many more and caused a lot of trouble.

The Manager, looked at Martin and said, “If any of my young waiters had behaved in that fashion they would be going home with very sore backsides! The same goes for the Commis chefs. We keep our youngsters in line with this!”

As he was speaking he opened a cupboard and extracted a long punishment cane which he laid on the desk.

“If you don’t want me to call the police, you will deal with your lads in the same manner. You will bring them down here tomorrow morning after breakfast, and you will cane them here in my presence. I want to see each one of them sporting six horizontal stripes across their bare backsides. It’s that or I will let the law deal with them”.

Martin looked incredulously at the Hotel Manager. Was this guy for real? Cane his players? He could just imagine the response from the lads when he told them that one! Try as he might though the Manager would not be moved. The lads must accept a caning or the police would be called. They would be arrested for criminal damage, being drunk and disorderly, and any other offences the police felt appropriate.

Martin called Rob Phillips into the office and explained the deal. At first Rob thought it was some sort of sick joke. They were not little schoolboys! They were grown men.

He looked at the cane lying on the desk and knew that given the circumstances they were in a mess! If they were arrested the police would press charges and the publicity could cause a lot of trouble for the club. It might even affect the employment of those in work. Each could end up with a criminal record. The coach left him to consider that it was the sensible option. He was told to ensure the players got to their rooms and not to mention anything to them until the morning. Then they could discuss it and choose.

“It has to be a group decision,” he added. “All of you will have to accept corporal punishment, or the police will be called,” were Martin’s parting words.

The players, in spite of being the worse for wear, listened to their coaches lecture on how they had let the team down, after which they made their way to their rooms.

Rob, who alone knew of the decision before the offending team members, and in spite of having had a few pints, spent a sleepless night mulling over the situation. Martin had said six strokes of the cane, bare backside; or arrest and formal criminal charges.

Rob thought about the cane. He had attended a boarding school, though the cane had been banned by then. He had been slippered a couple of times. It had stung quite a bit but had not been too bad. His Housemaster had once told him they were lucky the cane was no longer in use, as it would have been much worse. Well, he thought, tomorrow it was possible he would be feeling one at last.

Breakfast the following morning was taken quietly by the four younger players. They all regretted their actions of the previous night and wondered what the consequences were going to be. Rob Phillips, knowing the choice they would have to make, picked at his food.

The coach approached the players and informed them they had a meeting in the hotel Managers office straight after breakfast. The lads anxiety increased as they made their way to the appointment, wondering what would befall them. In view of the previous night’s activities it was not going to be an easy ride.

Thirty minutes later the four young players listened in horror to the choices before them. Team Captain Rob Phillips recommended that they take the caning, urging the others to do the same. The four, like their captain the previous night, struggled to believe the offer being put to them. John Davies and Ryan Taylor stared at one another and both of them began to laugh.

“You are joking, right?” they asked in unison, as they looked from the coach to the captain and then to the Hotel Manager. At this point the Manager opened the cupboard, extracted the whippy rod and placed it on the desk for all to gaze upon.

Each boy faced the stark choice; to take a dose of the whippy cane; or be dealt with by the police, with all the uncertainty that might mean.

Martin looked at the five before saying, “Lads, I really don’t want to cane you but I urge you all to accept it for the good of the club. If you guys get arrested and this goes to court it will be bad publicity for us, and in view of the fact the chairman is trying to negotiate a new sponsor for next season this could be bad news all round. At least this way it will remain here on tour, the only people who will know will be the seven of us in this room. Now so what is it to be?”

The lads looked at each other, no one wanting to be the first to step forward. The grim reality of what awaited them began to sink in. Rob Phillips was the first one to make a stand.

“I am willing to take the caning for the team. Spare the other lads. As Captain, I should have stopped this last night and not joined in. I am the one who really deserves to take this.”

Immediately, eighteen year old Gary Baxter stepped forward and looking directly at Rob said, “We are all adults and are equally to blame. I will take this to protect the team.”

Slowly the remaining players took the decision, agreeing to take this punishment.

Martin looked at his players, tears welling in his eyes.

“Lads, I am very proud of you all today. What is going to happen will be very painful and humiliating for you guys. You have made a mistake but you are willing to pay the price and move on for the good of the team. I only hope you can all learn something from this.”

Turning to the hotel Manager, he asked what should happen now.

There was a little room just off from the office where the waiters and commis chefs took their whippings. Martin and the Manager went in. It contained an old wooden school desk with the seat attached, a couple of chairs in corners, and a wicker basket in another corner, containing half a dozen canes. Martin looked at them and then at the Manager.

The Manager told Martin it was time to do his duty. Martin selected a cane from the basket and gave it a swish through the air. It sounded terribly whippy, yet it was very light. He had been on the receiving end of one these during his schooldays but he had never used one on anybody. He decided to start with the Captain, so called in Rob Phillips.

Stepping through the door Rob looked round, taking in the desk and his coach holding the cane. Pointing with the cane Martin told Rob to go and stand in front of the desk, drop his tracksuit bottoms and underpants and to stretch right over and grip the seat of the desk.

Rob, a big sturdily built player, did as he was instructed. After slipping his trousers off, he slipped his hands into the waist band of his underpants and peeled them over muscular buttocks and thick cock, letting them drop to join his tracks round his ankles. His well-muscled bum cheeks and thighs were now exposed. His firm thighs and legs were thick with hair yet this grown man meekly bent over and raised his naked bottom for a dose of the cane.

Standing behind him Martin lined the instrument of correction with the centre of the bum cheeks. After measuring the distance he raised it high before whipping it hard across the waiting buttocks. Rob gasped as the first stroke swished into his arse. Martin stepped back and watched the white stripe quickly turn red before he lined up with a point lower down and thrashed a second stroke. Once again Rob gasped, but otherwise kept himself in check. A third stroke whipped across the naked buttocks. Martin stepped back and observed the three red lines which adorned the bare bottom before him.

Raising the cane again, he struck a fourth landing it lower still. This time Rob let out a lusty yell. Martin was encouraged by this and applied the last two strokes quickly, but if anything, with more power, in the same area which caused the team captain to roar! His backside involuntary squirmed as he absorbed the stripes.

The coach watched as the six red stripes darkened and swelled into thick welts. On being giving permission, Rob stood, his hands going back to rub the damage. Surprisingly the lad was semi erect. Seeing this Martins own cock began to twitch. He had found it quite a horny experience.

Rob pulled his underpants and tracks back up and began to rub his bottom furiously as he tried desperately to ease the sting. Martin told him to wait outside and to send in Gary Baxter. Soon Gary was over the desk, his bare arse ready for the sting of the cane.

Meanwhile in the outer office, Rob bared his bum again to show the damage to the others. His backside hurt like hell and he continued to rub the welts while they all listened to the swish and the crack as the cane visited Gary’s backside.

One by one the others went in and took their richly deserved canings. By the time Martin had lashed the last stroke across the last arse, his cock was rampant. The highly charged atmosphere had got him excited, as to a lesser extent it had done to five athletic male rugger players!

After all the punishments had been administered, the Manager and Coach returned to the office to find the five players furiously rubbing their backsides.

Martin’s mind was racing. He had thoroughly enjoyed caning these boys. He wondered if he should purchase one to keep at the club should any of the lads need a dose in the future! Perhaps it would work better than a fine or suspension for disciplinary infractions.

What happens on tour, stays on tour!

At last the lads were free to go. The Hotel Manager had enjoyed watching the cane lashing those boys. He was in desperate need of a visit to the toilet where he could sort out a little problem that had arisen. Shaking hands with the Coach he offered him the cane as a present. He had a feeling Martin might want to use it again sometime. Martin accepted the offer and thanked the Manager.

And so as the coach drove away from the weekend tour that morning five players shuffled miserably in their seats feeling every bump in the road, while at the front of the coach Martin opened his kit bag and examined his new toy.

A new era at the club was just beginning. He wondered how soon he might be able to put the new regime into practice.

He hoped, and felt, it might be soon!

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Story ©MMXII by Baddlad17, 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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Baddlad17’s excellent earlier stories for The Canery are available here.  Further great stories by Baddlad17 may be found at this external link.