♥ Site recommended story ♥
A brand new homoerotic story by your host, Rod Cayenne. All the characters are age 18 or older. This story is currently exclusive to The Canery and is only suitable for adults!
Boxers by Rod Cayenne
I was waiting in the chilly annexe that formed the office of my local garage. I always got great service there, and they never ripped me off, unlike some places in the trade. The annexe was built of concrete blocks with a corrugated roof and had harsh neon striplights inside. The air felt damp and the chairs in the waiting area were grubby and not particularly comfortable.
Rog was the boss, a big burly fellow, and an ex-boxer. The whole of the office was covered in memorabilia from his lengthy and successful boxing career. There were glossy photos, some signed, rosettes and tarnished silver cups and certificates. I couldn’t make my mind up about the displays. They gave the place a real macho feel, but must have deterred some customers, I would have thought.
Rog appeared from the workshop. His stubble gave him an almost swarthy appearance. He was stocky and muscular. His hair was salt’n’pepper, cropped short. Very masculine. The man was sex on legs, but I felt also a danger for a homosexual guy like me. His fists could beat me to a pulp, of that I was sure.
He announced to the otherwise empty waiting room that my car was ready, and I settled the bill. As he handed me the car key, he caught me looking at a photo of two bare-chested boxers slogging it out.
“That must hurt a lot,” I remarked, blushing a deep red.
“It’s a good kind of pain,” he assured me.
“Really? A good kind of pain? What’s that, then? Not something like a caning, then?”
“Not quite, but that’s an interesting comparison. It’s a sport. A battle between two men. Only one can prevail. A lot like a caning in some ways. You got the cane on your mind then, Will?”
“Errrr, no. Just something I heard on the radio had put it in my head.”
“Nonsense! I can read you like a book. In boxing, we can tell a masochist a mile off. You are one, aren’t you Will, my submissive friend?”
“Well, errr, maybe, I dunno,” I blushed.
He took a business card from a grubby perspex container and scribbled a phone number on the back. He handed it to me, with a wink and with an instruction, “I’d like to talk, Will. Call me tonight, soon after six.”
“Me and my big mouth!” I muttered to myself as I left. As I buckled up in my car, I felt quite agitated. I felt kind of violated, and then punch drunk. My head soon cleared, fortunately, as I drove away.
It took an enormous amount of courage to ring Rog that evening. I didn’t put it off though; I rang as instructed. I didn’t want to torture myself by drawing things out. As it happens, he did most of the talking. He put me at ease straight away, saying, “Hi Will. I’m gay too. Come on over and let’s have some fun. If you want to, that is.”
Lust for the sexy beast meant I couldn’t resist. I was on a high, “I’ll be right over. If my car’s up to it,” I added cheekily.
His house was an impressive one on The Avenue. He was waiting for me on the drive, and pulled me inside. Slamming the door, he kissed me straight away. Our lips and then our tongues had a feast.
“I’ve fancied you for years, Will. But I only recently found out you were gay.”
“Wow!” was all I could reply.
In his kitchen, he insisted on making coffee. Of course, it was expensive and wonderful. So was the coffee! The aroma filled the living room as we indulged in more kissing and petting. I was turned on beyond belief. I wanted him; it was time for sex.
“Time for your caning, Will.”
“What? Where did that come from?”
“Oh come, come, Will. You knew that was part of the deal, surely?”
“There’s no maybe about it. I have several whippy canes here, and I give extra strokes for stupidity and evasiveness, you know.”
I muttered, “Yes, Sir,” submissively. It seemed kind of appropriate. Rog made his way over to a sideboard and pulled a rattan cane out from one of the drawers. He manhandled me over the back of the sofa.
“Stay in position, Will. These will hurt. But you can take it, and you do deserve it, don’t you?”
“Yes, I do,” I confessed.
“Good! Now, arse right up. Ready for the cane.”
I wasn’t ready, but I did stick out my arse a bit for him. The stick cracked down, slicing right into my black trousers. It didn’t feel bad to start with but then a sickening burning pain overwhelmed me. I was beginning to choke when he sliced a second vehement stroke. This time the pain seemed more immediate. I was crushed by waves of shock and biting pain. The beefy brute knew what he was doing alright, and quickly followed through with a third and then a fourth. My arse was ablaze! Why had I agreed to this? All I’d wanted was a casual fuck! I could feel myself slipping into the sofa.
“Arse up!” he commanded, “Don’t let me catch you slumping again. Just two more to come,” he added gently, slapping my arse with his meaty hand. He followed through with a fifth stroke. It was fucking hard. The noise the cane made as it landed was awesome; the pain even more so. He chuckled like a true sadist. “One more,” he told me, somewhat unnecessarily. I don’t think I’ll ever forget that final stroke, which was the hardest of all.
I spung to my feet, rubbing my arse in a desperate but fruitless attempt to releave the firey pain. I wanted to call him a bastard, but thought better of it, especially as my cock was beginning to wake up from a pain-induced slumber.
“Good, good. Most satisfactory,” Rog added. “I like a man who can take his punishment.”
“Thank you,” I said, although in truth, I was somewhat bewildered.
“The next six will be on your underwear,” he announced.
“What? I thought we were done?”
“I’m never done. As you will learn, Will. Now, drop those trousers!”
I undid my belt and unzipped. My keks fell down to my ankles. He ordered me to take them off completely. My grey briefs were revealed to his steely gaze. I just wanted him to fuck me, and my penis was betraying my thoughts, as it was stiffening rapidly and I was soon fully erect. He noticed, of course. He rubbed my cock through the grey fabric, saying only, “Nice!”
He picked up the cane again, and flexed it right in front of me, saying, “So, we’re agreed then? Six on these pants, and then six more with them down.”
I groaned. Of course, I’d worked out that was going to happen. I bent back over the sofa, and he was soon working over my arse with that fucking cane. Again and again it sliced into my arse, without a trace of leniency. Soon, he was pulling my briefs down. His hairy hands were all over my scarred cheeks, as he was feeling the puffy ridges the rattan had raised. A persistent finger teased my crack and toyed with my hole. I sighed at the brief moments of pleasure, but it didn’t last and soon the cane was slicing into my naked flesh. By the fifth stroke I was fighting back tears, and the bastard cracked the final stroke down diagonally, relighting the fires of the previous strokes. It was fucking agony. Through bleary eyes, I watched as he replaced the cane in its hiding place. He turned to face me, a stonking great erection straining at the front of his tracksuit. He grabbed me and kissed and hugged me. I felt great. Here I was with a real man, at last!
We kissed more and more and my naked cock rubbed against the one inside his tracksuit. I wanted to see it. I was not to be disappointed, as Rog dragged me upstairs and into his bedroom. All was revealed, and then I sucked on his huge girthy penis. I was soon gagging as he thrust his cock at the back of my throat . I wasn’t sure that it was a good experience, although the humiliation was turning me on.
He flipped me over, and I felt cold lube being applied roughly around my hole. The tell-tale tearing of a condom wrapper was followed by a forced entry. I wanted to cry out but I soon got used to the sheer size of him. This was going to be an experience! His animal thrusts grew faster and faster and relentlessly he pounded my arse, thrilling my prostate and bringing me to the very verge of orgasm. But it was too late! With a series of masculine grunts, he came inside me. Wow, what a wild ride that had been! After the caning and that fuck I was truly knackered. Casting the well-filled and well-stretched condom aside, Rog said to me, “That was fantastic. We were made for each other, Will. Now, I’d like to fuck you in the toilets at work sometime soon.”
“Yes, it’s kind of a right of passage. Or back passage! All my mechanics have done it for me.”
“No, not gross. Just my kink, Now say you will, and give me a kiss,” Rog instructed. We made love several more times that night. I was totally exhausted by my insatiable lover.
Reluctantly, I’d agreed to the work shagging, and one Saturday afternoon, after the business had closed for the weekend, we did it. He took me roughly, and the seedy environment turned me on, much to my surprise. We did it there a few times when love was new.
I’d met the man for me. I moved in, and we got married. All of his mechanics were at the wedding.
D I S C L A I M E R
All characters appearing in this story are over the age of 18 and are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons or businesses, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Story © MMXXI by Rod Cayenne. All rights reserved.
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