♥ Site recommended story ♥
A hot new caning story by very special guest author JOELSTRAP. This story is currently exclusive to The Canery! All the characters are 18 or older. WARNING: ADULTS ONLY!!
SORE IN SHORTS by Joelstrap
Don’t get me wrong. I recognise a t-shirt when I see one and I often wear one; but I don’t expect one to come floating down from on high and land on my head when I’m walking along the street. I’ll admit that my mind was elsewhere, wrestling with the problem of paying off the loan on my new lap-top and still having enough money to buy food. For a few seconds everything went dark, until I reached up and yanked the t-shirt off me and then gazed at it in bafflement. I realised that while unable to see for a few seconds, I’d moved near the edge of the pavement. Suddenly furious at the possibility that I might have stumbled out into the traffic, I scrunched the t-shirt into a ball and tossed it in a puddle near the wall of the building.
Voices caught my attention. I glanced up at the tenement which rose three storeys above me. No-one was visible, but in the still air I could make out what was being said.
“You stupid bastard,” hissed one male voice. “What did you want to do that for?”
“I didn’t realise that the window was open,” retorted another male voice peevishly. “I didn’t do it on purpose.”
There was a pause and then the second voice asked, “Can you see them?”
“No! So you better get down there and find them or I’ll take the skin off your arse.”
“Okay! Keep your hair on! Wait until I get some clothes on.”
“I should make you go down in your birthday-suit,” said the original voice.
There was the sound of a sharp slap and a protesting yelp; and then silence.
I debated briefly on whether I wanted to meet the guy who had presumably thrown his mate’s t-shirt out of the window, but decided he might not appreciate the fact I’d chucked the t-shirt in a puddle. That was, I admitted to myself, a mite nasty of me; but if the silly bugger who threw the thing so that it landed on my head got into trouble, it served him right. I might have been flattened by a bus. I strode away very fast and swiftly turned the corner out of sight of anyone emerging from the tenement.
Back home, I kicked off my trainers, tossed my anorak over a chair in the hall and headed towards the living-room door. I paused. There was something not quite right. I looked back to see what had caught my attention, and saw, protruding from the hood of my anorak, a dark-blue garment. I pulled out a pair of shorts; and when I call them shorts, I mean shorts. I’d never seen such short shorts. As far as I could judge they’d just about cover a guy’s bottom; and they were cut away at the thigh on each side so that as much leg as possible would surely be visible. They were uniform blue except for a small motif in white at one side in front. It showed what looked like a test-tube pointing up towards the waist-band. It wasn’t a brand I’d ever seen, but it definitely had an erotic appeal. That shape surely couldn’t be accidental.
It seemed reasonable to assume that the shorts had come down from the tenement window along with the t-shirt; and then something which had struck me as vaguely odd at the time, came back to me. The two guys talking had referred to them; which made a lot more sense now that I knew that there were two garments. I went into the living-room and sat down with the shorts, and soon realised that I really wanted to see the guy who wore these. I resolved to trot along the next morning, which was Saturday, with the perfect excuse of returning the shorts. As to the t-shirt in the puddle, they’d presumably just assume it had landed there.
Things are never as simple as one hopes. The street was quite a long one, with a row of tenement-flats on each side. I knew roughly where the incident with the t-shirt and shorts had occurred, but couldn’t pinpoint the exact stairway and the puddle appeared to have dried up, so I could get no clue there. I sighed and decided to go to the pool and have a swim. I called in at home to collect my bathing stuff; and left the shorts sitting on my bed.
I spent an enjoyable hour in the pool and then retired to the cafe where I managed to get a table facing the huge plate-glass windows which looked straight into the pool-area. For a while I watched a group of boys and girls diving from the high-board, and then my attention was caught by a very attractive-looking young guy approaching the edge of the pool. He flexed his shoulders and then dived smoothly into the water before moving steadily up the pool at a crawl. It was as I turned my head to follow his progress that something else caught my eye. Sitting at a table not far from me was a young lad wearing a pair of blue shorts with the white motif, seemingly identical to the pair which had landed in my hood.
I got up and went over to him and explained what had happened yesterday and why I just wondered if he might be the guy I was looking for. As I was telling him all this, I was checking him out, and he was a spunky lad. He’d be about two inches short of six feet, broad of shoulder, slim of waist, with the slender yet muscular build of an athlete. Beneath a tumble of tawny hair which covered his brow, a pair of bright blue eyes danced as he listened to me.
“I’m Kyle,” he informed me.
“Glen,” I said.
“So that’s what happened to the shorts,” he said with a grin. “I couldn’t understand how they’d just vanished.”
“They’re very unusual,” I remarked, “and hell of a sexy,” I added daringly.
He smiled engagingly.
“You like them, huh? I’ve got a mate who’s at art-college and he’s into design; and him and some of his pals make a few pairs every month. The ones you’ve got belong to my boy-friend; the ones I tossed out the window. These,” he went on, glancing down at his waist, “are my pair. I think there’s only maybe another couple of dozen pairs out there so far.”
“I overheard a bit of your conversation,” I admitted, “and your boyfriend sounded kinda annoyed with you. I hope you didn’t fall out?”
“Yeh! Me and Dave were having a bit of a play-fight and I tossed his shorts and shirt away, forgetting that the window was wide open. He was fizzing; but he was blazing mad when all I managed to bring back was the shirt, and that had landed in a puddle. And I had to tell him that the shorts had disappeared. He really let me have it!”
“Every cloud has a silver lining, they say,” observed he with a shrug. “So, how about you coming up to our flat tonight and bringing the shorts? It’s number 76, flat 5. Come about seven and you can have some of my famous pork vindaloo.”
“Yeh? I’d like that. I bet your vindaloo’s hot stuff.”
“Nobody’s refused seconds yet,” he asserted with a grin. “Anyway, I’d best be off. Things to do.”
He jumped to his feet, shook my hand vigorously and headed for the door. I was watching his retreating back when suddenly I did a double-take. Peeping coyly from just below the hem of his incredibly tight and short shorts was a pale red mark. My eyebrows rose abruptly as I registered its significance. Kyle had been caned.
I returned to my seat as my brain worked furiously. When Kyle had said that Dave, his boyfriend, had let him have it, I’d assumed that he’d torn him off a strip; but now it seemed possible that what he’d let him have was a beating. For some reason my penis found this extremely interesting and I wriggled in my chair as I re-positioned things more comfortably. Why would any boy allow himself to be caned, I wondered. Another thing came back to me. After Kyle had said Dave had let him have it, he’d remarked that every cloud had a silver lining. Surely he’d got mixed up and meant that every silver lining had a cloud! Unless…….did he mean that although losing Dave’s shorts was a dark cloud, the resultant caning was the silver lining? This was intriguing and I began to look forward eagerly to going to their flat this evening.
I rang the bell and Kyle spoke through the intercom: “I’ll come down,” he said. “The remote-opening isn’t working.”
A few seconds later he opened the door to admit me and, to my delight, he was wearing the obscenely-short blue shorts, along with a tight-fitting t-shirt. As I climbed the stairs behind him, I got a good, long, close-up look at that mark peeping out from below the shorts’ hem. There was no doubt about it; the mark was the mark of a cane. There was still more, because as he moved his legs to mount the stairs, the shorts were briefly drawn deeper into his cleft and I glimpsed the ends of at least two other cane-welts.
Dave greeted me warmly and I took in the lean figure, the straight, thick, black hair, the well-developed muscles, and the day’s growth of hair around his chin and across his upper lip. His white shirt was open at the neck sufficiently far to reveal a patch of dark hair between his pectorals. A broad, black leather belt circled a slim waist, while a pair of very pale-blue denims fitted so tightly that I wondered how he got into them. His rounded buttocks filled them fully behind, while in front the fabric positively bulged with a generous endowment. Like Kyle, I guessed he’d be maybe nineteen or twenty.
“Yours, I believe,” I said, handing over the shorts with a grin.
“Thanks, mate. I thought I wasn’t going to see them ever again, thanks to this idiot.”
He nodded towards Kyle, who smiled cheekily.
“Yeh. I heard you telling him off through the open window,” I admitted.
“Oh, I did more than tell him off when he got back up here and said he’d got my t-shirt but the shorts had vanished,” stated Dave. “Didn’t I, Kyle?”
“Fucking right you did,” agreed Kyle cheerfully. “Sadistic brute caned me,” added Kyle to me with a grin.
“He canes you?”
“Only when I need it,” supplied Kyle.
“And you definitely needed it yesterday,” said Dave, “didn’t you?”
“I guess,” Kyle replied.
I shifted uncomfortably as my penis swelled alarmingly.
“And you…er…..don’t object to Dave caning you?” I asked.
“Course not! He loves me!”
“Look,” continued Kyle, speaking slowly, as if to an idiot, “he loves me; so he cares about me and wants me to be the best boy I can be. If I fuck up, he tans my hide hard and I learn not to fuck up like that again; so I become a better boy. See?”
“Well, yeh, when you put it like that…….but couldn’t he just tear you off a strip?”
“Yeh, he could; but what’s sexy about that?” asked Kyle, spreading his hands in appeal.
“What’s sexy about getting your arse caned?” I asked.
“Maybe you should ask your cock,” interposed Dave with a smile. “It seems to think that getting a caning is very sexy indeed.”
I flushed to the roots of my hair, feeling the heat rising swiftly across my face as I reddened.
“So, Glen, are you a perfect boy?” enquired Dave.
“Eh? No, course not! No boy’s perfect. But I’m not a bad guy,” I added. “I mean, I don’t mug old ladies, or take drugs, or shoplift, or vandalise things, or……..”
“……toss another guy’s t-shirt in a puddle?” said Dave.
“What!?” I ejaculated, trying to look scandalised at the suggestion I could have done such a thing. “Yeh, a t-shirt did come down and landed on my head; but I just yanked it off and dropped it.”
“Spread deliberately flat right across a puddle,” added Dave.
“No! It was in a ball when……..Oh, shit!”
“Oooh, you are a bad boy,” said Kyle. “Lying, swearing, bad temper. If I behaved like that, I’d have an arse you could cook your dinner on.”
“Okay! I’m sorry about that; but it landed across my face and I might have stumbled into the road and been flattened,” I excused myself.
“And did you?”
“Well, no, obviously; ‘cos I’m here.”
“So why deliberately ball my shirt and chuck it in a bloody puddle, Glen?”
“I guess it was a just a fit of bad temper, like Kyle said. I’m sorry.”
“Suppose I was to cane you,” said Dave. “Do you think that would help you remember not to lose your rag next time something annoys you?”
“What? I guess it might; but you’re not caning me.”
Kyle suddenly leaned across and placed his hand on the straining bulge in the front of my jeans; and “Oh, no?” he said softly.
Kyle’s hand moved across my junk in a smooth, thrilling caress, his thumb sliding down below to stroke the underside of my balls; and then two fingers passed back along my perineum and made me gasp and squirm.
“I think,” said Kyle quietly, “that you know you need to be caned.”
He knelt down and began to untie my trainers. I watched as he slid them off my feet.
“Stand up, Glen,” he said gently; and I found myself obeying.
His hands went to the buckle of my belt and after a swift glance at my face, he undid it, pulled down my zip, and pushed my jeans down to my ankles.
“Step out, Glen.”
As if in a dream, I did. He came and stood behind me, his body pressed against mine, and put his hands on the waistband of my briefs.
“Ready, Glen?” he whispered in my ear, his warm breath a caress on my cheek.
“Uh-huh,” I gasped; and he pushed my briefs swiftly to the floor and swivelled round to stand sideways on to me. His left hand slid through between my legs from behind while his right cupped my balls and the thumb stroked my straining erection.
“Very impressive, Glen,” he said. “You’re a big boy; and that’s some boner you got there. Now, I’m gonna pass you over to Dave and he’s gonna give you the cane. It’s gonna be fucking sexy, Glen, and it’s gonna make you into a much better boy, okay?”
“Yeh,” I panted. “Stop doing that, Kyle! I’m gonna cum!”
“No, you’re not!” interjected Dave harshly, stepping forward as Kyle moved away.
I refocussed my attention on Dave and saw that he was holding a slender cane in both hands, bending it slowly into a smooth arc.
“This is what I’m going to give you, Glen. Understand?”
I nodded dumbly.
“Bend over that chair.”
He placed a hand on my neck and turned me slowly but firmly to face a small wooden chair. I leaned forward and grasped the edges of the seat. Dave’s hand slid across my bottom, making the bare skin tingle.
“Wicked arse, Glen,” he said. “What am I going to do to it, Glen?”
“Cane it,” I replied to my own surprise.
“To punish me for chucking your t-shirt in a puddle in a fit of temper; and for lying and swearing.”
“To make me into a better boy?”
“Exactly. Don’t move while I’m beating you.”
I could feel the blood rushing in my ears and the thud of my heart in my chest. My whole body was a-quiver with anticipation and anxiety. My penis, rampant and straining, wrestled with my brain which was calling me back; but my penis had the mastery. I stayed in position and waited to be caned.
The fierce sting of the first stroke was more intense than I expected, but there was a strongly sensual element to it too. I flinched and clenched my glutes; and waited for him to hit me again. He obliged steadily and relentlessly, eliciting gasps and squeals and yelps and an occasional ‘fuck’ from me. Stroke after fiery stroke set my buttocks ablaze and I squirmed and twisted, wriggled and writhed, as the burning sting enveloped my bottom. Twelve times he hit me and I absorbed each one and waited, tense but determined, for the next.
When he’d finished, he ruffled my hair and told me to stand up, but not to touch my bottom. I complied and stood mute, my penis like a flag-pole, my behind pulsating with raging fires. I’d never felt pain like it in my life. I was desperately relieved when he stopped wielding his cane across me; and I didn’t want him to stop either.
“What have you learned, Glen?” asked Dave, standing before me, arching his lithe cane.
“Not to lose my temper, or tell lies, or swear” I responded dutifully.
“Think you’ll remember?”
“I’ll never forget,” I assured him earnestly.
Kyle came and stood in front of me and slid a hand round to caress my flaming buns. I gasped in exquisite delight; and then when he took my throbbing erection in his other hand and stroked it firmly and expertly, I raced to the brink. He paused operations and I hovered, poised, waiting, pleading with him with my eyes. He grinned and with a couple of swift movements he pushed me over the edge and my balls exploded, pumping out long streams of my boy-cream with such power that some of my ejaculate went right over my shoulder.
“Attaboy!” exclaimed Kyle. “Wow! You sure got plenty of spunk in your balls! So, is being caned sexy or what, Glen?”
“Oh, fuck, yeh,” I panted. “It’s sexy as hell!”
“And you feel good?”
“Think you’re on the way to being a better boy?”
“I feel a much better boy already.”
“Great,” said Kyle. “Now, get your kit back on. Vindaloo coming up!”
The curry was as good as promised and as we chatted together, I found that I got on well with Dave and Kyle. The talk turned to the blue shorts and I told Kyle how almost unbearably sexy he looked in them, especially with the evidence of his recent caning showing below the hem. I even admitted that I was disappointed that he was so obviously Dave’s boyfriend.
“He seemed pretty good at the time,” said Kyle, looking very serious as he glanced at Dave, “and how was I to know that you would come along a few months later?”
“You,” said Dave with a broad grin, “are positively asking to be caned fucking hard.”
“Sorry, your mighty sir-ness,” said Kyle in pretend mockery.
“Okay!” said Dave, getting to his feet and picking up the cane, “that’s it! Strip and bend over, Kyle!”
To my eternal delight, Kyle swiftly stripped naked and bent over the chair; and Dave meted out six real stingers which raised a series of parallel welts on Kyle’s exquisite bottom, and made him squirm and yelp as he processed the pain. He stood up, penis fully erect, rubbing at his bottom.
“Sadistic bastard!” he muttered. “That hurt!”
Dave grinned at me and told Kyle to get his shorts back on. I whistled softly in appreciation as I gazed at him, freshly caned, encased in the oh-so-short and tight shorts; and with a few more welts showing clearly below the hem. Dave looked at me and then suddenly gave a whoop.
“That’s it!” he cried, and we both turned to stare at him. “Our mates who make the shorts have been selling a few, like we told you. They’ve a web-site they sell from; but I just realised that they need a niche-market, because they can only ever make a small number of them.”
“So?” asked Kyle.
“Gay male spankos like us!” declared Dave triumphantly. “Get yourself stripped, Glen!”
“Come on! You’re gonna be brilliant!”
“But I don’t…….”
Dave jumped to his feet, picked up the cane and showed it to me.
“I said strip!”
For some reason I obeyed and by the time I was naked, penis bouncing enthusiastically, Dave had produced another pair of shorts. He handed them to me, telling me to put them on. They felt fantastic, clinging closely to the contours of my bottom and thighs, just about holding my junk but with my erection protruding well above the waist-band.
“Oh, shit!” gasped Kyle. “You should see your arse in these! And with a couple of cane-welts showing below the hem, you are one red-hot boy!”
Dave got me to stand in several different positions and took photographs of me with his ‘phone before he sat in the middle of the sofa flanked by Kyle and me, and showed us the results. I had to admit to myself that I thought I looked brilliant in the shorts, but I modestly kept quiet. No such feeling inhibited Dave and Kyle.
“Boy, I could fuck you right here and now, you sexy bugger,” declared Dave.
“And I’ll do whatever you want,” offered Kyle. “You name it, I’ll do it for you. If our mates advertise on gay-male spanking sites using those pics, they’ll be able to quadruple the price of the shorts, because so many guys will want them.”
“But why not use pics of you?” I asked Kyle. “You look great in them after a caning too.”
“Not as good as you,” replied Kyle. “You really have got an arse to die for.”
“And you fill the shorts even better than Kyle does,” added Dave. “And that’s saying something.”
Before I left that evening, Dave had mailed the pictures to his mates and received an enthusiastic response. A pic had already been chosen and would go on the advertising-site the next day. A question was asked. Would I provide a fresh photo each week, so that potential buyers would be returning frequently to the site and recommending it to their mates? Flattered, I agreed.
Kyle came down to the door with me when it was time to leave.
“You’ll be back next week,” he said.
“For a new photo? Sure!”
“And for a fresh caning,” said Kyle.
“Eh? Who said anything about a caning?”
“The shorts are being marketed to gay male spankos, so the model has to show clear signs that he’s been spanked of course,” said Kyle.
“Come on, Glen. You loved being caned. You want it again.”
“Well, yeh, sort of; but it fucking hurt!”
Kyle suddenly grasped my balls in one hand and slid the other into my hair, pulling my head back. I gasped aloud as his thumb caressed my testicles and then was silenced as he kissed me with a passion which left me breathless.
“Next week for a caning,” said Kyle, still holding my balls firmly; and I nodded dumbly.
It was with a mixture of excitement and apprehension that I returned to the flat the following weekend; and was enthusiastically received. Dave showed me the part of the shorts website which only those with a special password could see. I saw a sales-graph which rose dramatically over the past six days. I saw the price for which the shorts were selling; and at the bottom of a page I saw the astounding profits being made. More amazingly than anything else, I saw my name along with the guys who designed and made the shorts; and beside it, my share of the income.
“I’m going to get all that?” I asked, incredulous.
Dave picked up an envelope from the coffee-table and handed it to me and I found myself gazing at a substantial cheque. It seemed that paying off my new lap-top wasn’t going to come at the cost of eating only every second day after all!
He then showed me the sales-part of the site and there I was in the shorts with the cane-marks peeping from beneath. Below my picture were the words:
Use the cane on your boy, make his bottom sore.
Then make him wear these shorts, and your cock will soar!
“And there’s something else,” declared Kyle as he reached under the table and produced a pair of the special shorts. “These are for you to keep.”
“Oh, wow! This is fantastic!”
“Right, Glen! We need a new picture of you for this week,” said Dave, going to a cupboard and returning with his cane. “Bottom bare, boy! You’re getting a thrashing!”
I did. Dave drove the cane in hard in six stinging strokes on the lower half of my bottom, making me writhe and squeal as the fierce sting lacerated my flesh.
“Bloody hell!” I panted as I stood up, scrubbing at my behind, “did you have to hit that hard?”
“You seemed to like it,” observed Dave, nodding at my swiftly-rising penis. “And, yes, I did have to hit that hard because this week’s picture is going to be entitled:
When he’s wearing these shorts, everyone will know that your boy’s been freshly caned!
Now get the shorts on and let me take some pics while the welts are still nice and angry.”
He took his pictures and then the three of us stood and looked at the results on his ‘phone-screen. We were all wearing the blue shorts and above the waist-band of each, a substantial length of erection was visible.
“Yup! The shorts sure get the cocks rising,” observed Dave.
“And the sales,” added Kyle.
“It’s strange,” I said.
“What is?” asked Kyle.
“The first time I met the shorts they were coming down to land in my hood; but everything has risen since then.”
I accompanied this with a downward sweep of my arm as I spoke of the descent of the shorts and then with an upward sweep as I talked of everything rising. Unfortunately, on the up-swing I caught the shade of a small lamp on a side-table and sent it flying.
“Fuck!” I ejaculated.
“And they’ll be coming down again now,” said Dave
“So that I can cane you for carelessness and for swearing. Get them down, Glen!”
“But I’ve just been……..”
Dave looked straight at me, his eyebrows raised, the lithe cane arched into a smooth curve in both his hands. I swallowed and pushed the shorts to my ankles and, at a nod from Dave, bent over the chair.
“Now I’m going to bring my cane down hard,” said Dave, “and then my cock will rise.”
He did; and it did; and so did mine!
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.