Satan’s Cane (M/M) NEW!

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Celebrate Halloween with this brand spanking new caning story by very special guest author JOELSTRAP.  This story is as hot as Hell and is exclusive to The Canery!  All the characters are 18 or older. WARNING: ADULTS ONLY!

SATAN’S CANE by Joelstrap

It had been a great Hallowe’en party and Jed and I were driving back to town in the early hours of the morning. Jed was dressed as a skeleton, in a close-fitting, body-hugging black costume which revealed all his very attractive planes and curves; and with the bones in gleaming white against the black. I watched him out of the corner of my eye as he drove, admiring the handsome profile and the thick fall of chestnut hair around his right ear. My own costume was similar in that it too clung closely to my body and was black; but while Jed’s had white bones on it, mine was simply plain black, because I was a little devil. He may have been attired as a skeleton, but my thoughts as I eyed Jed were of a decidedly fleshly nature. We’d been out on a couple of dates, and going together to the Hallowe’en party had been a great success; which is why I felt sure that we were on the brink of becoming a lot more intimate. I was just starting to ask if Jed wanted to stay over at my place, since it was already about half-past one in the morning, when a deer leapt from the woods into the circle of the car’s headlights, making us both gasp in fright. Jed slammed on the brakes and, as the car went into a skid, fought determinedly to keep control while we headed first for one side of the road and then the other. I thought we’d made it, but then we hit a stone on the verge and the vehicle did a half-turn before ploughing into a tree with a sickening crunch. An air-bag exploded in my face.

“You okay?” asked Jed.

“Yeh,” I replied breathlessly, “just got a hell of a fright. I guess the air-bag’s a good thing, but it didn’t half scare the shit out of me when it inflated so suddenly.”

We struggled out and confirmed that neither of us had suffered any injury; but the car wasn’t going anywhere any time soon. We both tried our mobile-phones, but deep in the woods on the floor of the valley, there was no signal.

“Now what?” I asked. “I guess we could sit and wait for a car to come by, but at this time of the night and on this road, that could be ages.”

“Do you remember seeing any houses on this stretch when we came out?” asked Jed; and I shook my head.

“We must’ve come about five miles from the village where the party was,” I said, “and I’m pretty sure we’ve passed nothing.”

“And it’s gonna be at least another couple of miles before we get clear of the woods and then up over the hills to the main road,” added Jed. “But maybe we should start walking that way. There might be a house; and even if not, we should be able to flag someone down on the main road; or even get a mobile-signal once we get higher up and out of the woods.”

I agreed and we set off. There was a moon, but the night was overcast and a strong breeze kept obscuring it with dark clouds, so that we were frequently left feeling our way in almost complete darkness. We tried to use some light from our phones but we both realised to our horror that our batteries were very low and we wanted to conserve power so that we could make a call once we got a signal.

On either side the aisles of the forest stretched away into impenetrable darkness while the wind in the tree-tops sighed and soughed in a kind of ghostly threnody. Just as the moon began to emerge again, an owl flew by within a few metres of our faces, uttering a hoot of surprise as it saw us. We both jumped, clinging to each other in fright.

“Shit! I don’t like this,” I muttered. “It’s spooky.”

“Funny how it’s a lot easier to believe in ghosts and devils when you’re out in the dark in the middle of nowhere, than when you’re at a party surrounded by lots of people,” admitted Jed.

“Hey! Look! There, among the trees!”

Jed followed my pointing finger and also saw the faint light glimmering through the darkness.

“There must be a track or at least a path to it,” I said.

Sure enough, a few hundred metres further on, we came upon a rough track leading into the trees on our left. The light had vanished, but it hadn’t seemed too far away and so we turned on to the track. It was rough and uneven and we stumbled repeatedly in the inky darkness; but just as we were despairing of reaching a house, the light appeared once more and shortly we came into a broad clearing with a stone cottage on one side. The moon showed her face again briefly and we discerned a wooden fence surrounding the cottage. It had a door and two windows on the front, but no light shone.

“Maybe the light was round the back,” suggested Jed and so we pushed open the gate and walked round the house; but the windows at the back were equally dark.

“I think it’s unoccupied,” I said, eyeing the overgrown garden and the silent house.

“Well maybe we can get in and wait here until morning; and then we can at least see where we’re going,” said Jed; and he strode over to a small porch which presumably protected the back-door.

He pushed at the porch-door and it opened creakily. Just as we were going in, a bat flew past our faces and made us both yelp in fright.

“Bloody hell, Stan,” muttered Jed. “They say a fright now and again is good for your heart; but any more of this and my heart’s gonna protest. Feel it!” he urged, grabbing my hand and pressing it to his chest.

Beneath my palm I felt it thudding hard and fast.

“Feels pretty strong to me,” I assured him. “Just give it time to calm down. Mine’s racing too.”

We stood in the little porch, breathing deeply and then I tried the back-door, but it was locked. I trotted round to the front and checked the windows and door there, but they too were secured. When I returned, Jed was at one of the rear windows.

“See? The sill’s a bit rotten. I reckon I could force this open so we can get inside. I wonder if there’s anything we can use to force it with?”

I was the one who came across the rusty old frying-pan lying in the fading grass by the fence.

“How about the handle of this?”

“Ace!” said Jed, taking the pan and pushing the end of the handle under the lower edge of the window.

It screeched a bit in protest, but it rose slowly, the catch on the inside tearing away from the rotting wood and allowing it to be pushed right up. Jed scrambled in and said he’d let me in the back-door. I waited, but he didn’t return. I called through the window but there was no answer. I waited a bit longer, increasingly uneasy, and then clambered over the sill and into the room.

The darkness was absolute. I knew there must be a door into the passage somewhere on the right and I inched forwards along the wall to the corner and then turned left, feeling my way until I came to the door. Emerging into the passage, I could see a faint light coming from under the back-door and felt my way towards it; but there was no key in the lock. That, I decided, explained why Jed hadn’t opened that door to let me in; but it didn’t explain where he was. Presumably he’d gone into another room. Opposite the door from which I’d emerged, was another door and I opened it cautiously and peered in. This room was furnished and Jed was sitting on a sofa against the wall. The clouds had cleared briefly and a little moonlight showed me his still form. I dashed forward and spoke to him, but he appeared to be asleep.

I laid my hand on his chest, as I’d done when the bat scared us, and felt his heart thudding strongly and steadily; but he wouldn’t waken up. Alarmed, I returned to the passage and saw the front-door ahead, a thin sliver of light coming from beneath it. I could see dimly a door on the right; and also one on the left. I stood still. From beneath that door there was definitely a clear light shining. I took a deep breath and opened the door wide; and then paused on the threshold to stare.

The room was furnished as a study with bookshelves from floor to ceiling along two walls. In the grate, a log fire was blazing up the chimney. Oil-lamps gave additional light to the room, banishing shadows to the corners. In the window was a large desk and chair; and sitting in the chair with his face hidden from me, was a large figure of a man. He turned and stood up, showing himself to be over six feet tall. He was dressed in black and looked as if he’d stepped out of a Dickens novel.

“And what do you think you are doing in my house, young man?” he demanded angrily.

“We had an accident with the car and saw the light and thought we could shelter here for the night. The house looked unoccupied so we forced open a window. We didn’t mean any harm; and we’ll pay for the repair,” I blurted out at high speed.

“And why aren’t you out causing mayhem?” he asked. “It’s Hallowe’en, boy!”

“What? I don’t understand what you……..”

He looked me up and down and then said, “You’re one of my devils. Don’t deny it, boy! This is a prime night for mischief-making and yet you’re skulking here after breaking into my house. Name, boy?”

“Er, Stan,” I replied.

A slow smile spread across the man’s face.

“Ah, yes. Like me.”

“Your name’s Stan too?” I asked.

“Almost. It’s Satan; but you can call me sir.”

“S…Satan? B….but you can’t be……”

“I said you call me sir” he bellowed suddenly. “Do you hear, you little devil?”

“Yes, sir,” I gasped.

“Little devils who neglect their Hallowe’en duties and compound the sin by breaking into houses, need to be punished,” he proclaimed.

“P…punished?” I enquired nervously.

He opened a cupboard and took out a slender cane which he whipped viciously through the air, making me wince and take a step backwards.

“I’m going to show you what happens to little devils who don’t behave the way devils should. They get beaten, boy; beaten very hard. That gets through to them; as you are going to find out.”

He lashed out brutally hard at the seat of an armchair by the fire and a cloud of dust rose into the air.

“What have you done to my friend?” I demanded, summoning up some courage.

“Friend? The skeleton? I can’t punish a skeleton. No flesh to feel the bite of my cane; so I’ll have to make up for it by punishing you twice as severely.”

“You’re not beating me with that thing,” I asserted with more confidence than I felt. “And you still haven’t told me what you’ve done with my friend.”

“Sleeping, boy! Just sleeping. He’ll waken up in the morning. But stop procrastinating. Get that skin off your body and let me see your bare flesh. I’ve always enjoyed thrashing a good pair of devil-buttocks; and you look like you’ve got a behind just made for my cane.”

“Right! I’ve had enough of this nonsense,” I shouted. “I’m going!”

I turned to the door, only to find that somehow he was there before me.

“Let me out,” I ordered angrily.

“Once I’ve beaten you,” he informed me quietly. “Until you’ve been punished, you’re going nowhere.”

I tried repeatedly to duck past him, but he prevented me at every turn. It began to dawn on me that maybe I would have to accept a caning from him if I wanted to get out. I decided to get things clear.

“If I submit to a caning, you’ll let me and Jed go?”

“I will. Get your skin off, boy!”

For several more seconds, I hesitated, and then I made up my mind. I undid the zips and press-studs and sloughed the black devil-costume, leaving myself as naked as the day I was born, the flickering light of the flames in the hearth making my skin glow red.

“Bend over the desk, legs wide apart, you little devil!” he ordered harshly; and I obeyed, wondering at myself as I did so.

For some curious reason my penis had risen to almost horizontal and I could feel it rising still further as I waited, bent over in the position he required. He rapped my behind with the rod and then after an expectant pause, he lashed it ferociously hard into the flesh of my bottom. A searing furrow of pain blazed across my rear and I yelped and reached back to scrub desperately at the tortured skin. He was not impressed and roared at me to get my hand back on the desk. I obeyed reluctantly and he hit me again, just as hard. I gritted my teeth and gripped the far edge of the desk grimly, clenching my gluteal-muscles as I fought the pain. He hit me again and again; each time making me buck violently as savage pain ripped through my rump. I forced myself to remain in position and keep my hands on the desk’s edge.

“This is what’s called a devil of a beating,” he announced with a nasty chuckle before driving the cane into my crease with full intent.

I yelled and leapt upright, both hands pressed desperately to my pain-blasted flesh.

“Get down!” he ordered grimly. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

I could feel scalding tears trickling down my face and I was determined that he shouldn’t see them; and so I slowly resumed position. Barely had I grasped the far edge of the desk again when he delivered another agonising stroke to my crease, forcing a strangled cry from me as I writhed and kicked in a vain attempt to alleviate my pain.

I knew nothing of being caned because corporal punishment had been abolished years before I was born; but I had heard that six seemed to be the accepted limit to the number of cane-strokes given. I waited, hoping that this was correct. It seemed that it was not. He crossed to the fire and pushed the tip of his cane into the flames, holding it there for several seconds, before withdrawing it. Along its limber length it seemed that tiny tongues of fire flickered angrily.

This is impossible, I told myself as he approached me with the fame-sheathed rod.

He whipped the cane twice in swift succession on a diagonal across my lower buttocks and crease, making the pulsating welts feel as if they’d just been branded with a white-hot iron. Whether or not there was real fire on the cane, I don’t know, but I yowled and squirmed on the desk-top, both feet briefly off the floor, before I settled again. His cane was driven powerfully into the flesh of my lower bottom and as the excruciating burn reached its apogee, he delivered a tenth brutal stroke to my crease. Once again I was on my feet, tears streaming down my face, pressing my hands urgently to my fire-blasted skin.

“Felt that, didn’t you, you lazy, disobedient little devil?”

“Yes, sir,” I panted, fighting to regain some self-control once more.

He laid the cane down on the desk, the flames still licking round its length.

“Get your skin back on!”

I winced and flinched as I pulled the tight black costume over my beaten behind. When I was done, he propelled me to the room where Jed still sat sleeping peacefully, and told me to sit beside him and go to sleep too. I sat down very carefully; and the next thing I knew was that I was wakening up to a dim light filtering in through net-curtains on the window.

I glanced at Jed and then shook him and he started and woke up.

“Hello,” he said. “Where….what…..Stan?”

I took his arm and led him into the passage and along to the back door, which was standing half-open. We emerged into a grey dawn but with a pale sunlight visible above the tree-tops.

“Let’s go,” I said and we set off hand-in-hand down the track, talking as we walked.

“I don’t remember,” said Jed, rubbing his eyes. “I felt my way across the room and out into the passage and the door opposite was open, so I went in and there was a sofa and I felt tired, so I sat down; and then you were there, wakening me up a few minutes ago.”

I told him in full detail of my own weird and terrifying experience and of being brought to the sofa beside him; and then the next thing I knew was wakening up a few minutes earlier.

“It must have been a dream,” said Jed. “It must. Do you think some bastard spiked our drinks at the party?”

“I guess it’s possible; but I’ve never had a dream as vivid as that, Jed. I could really feel that fucking cane lashing into me like a whip of fire. It was horrendous.”

We reached the road, turned left and headed on out of the woods and uphill. My phone pinged.

“A signal!”

I called a mate, Robin, who said he should be with us within half an hour. We continued walking and then as we approached the main road, we saw his car turning in towards us. He took us back to Jed’s car briefly so that we could pick up our proper clothes before heading to town. He stopped at a garage so that Jed could arrange for his car to be towed in; and then insisted that we come back with him to his parents’ house where he could give us breakfast and get us cleaned up. On the way, we told him what had happened.

“But you don’t think it was for real, do you?” Robin asked. “I mean, Satan giving you a beating with a fiery cane? Come on, Stan! No way!”

Jed told him of our theory that maybe someone had spiked our drinks and we’d suffered from hallucinations; and he agreed that that sounded a plausible explanation. Robin’s parents were away for the weekend and so he was able to settle us in his kitchen and serve up a massive breakfast of eggs, bacon, sausage and fried-bread; and lots of coffee.

Afterwards he sent us together up to the big bathroom where we stripped off our costumes.

“You go in the shower first, Stan,” said Jed. “I gotta have a dump.”

He duly plonked himself on the pan and I turned on the shower, waited a few seconds until the water was running hot, and stepped in.

I was just finishing washing my feet when Jed banged on the shower-door.

“What?” I demanded. “I’m almost done. Just be patient.”

“No, you chump. Get out here now!”

Baffled, I emerged dripping wet and reached for a towel but Jed propelled me over to a huge mirror, turned my back to it, and told me to look over my shoulder. I duly did so and then gasped aloud. Fiery red across my bottom and crease were ten angry-looking welts. I looked at Jed. I looked back at my welted behind.

“But what does it mean, Jed?” I asked uneasily.

“It seems it wasn’t a dream or a drug-induced hallucination after all,” said Jed slowly. “That’s the kind of evidence you can’t argue with. You got yourself one hell of a caning last night, Stan.”

In silence we donned our normal clothes and then we returned to the kitchen where Robin was waiting, and told him what we’d seen. I dropped my jeans to let him see the proof and he gave a low whistle. He then made us more coffee and said he was going to see what he could find out about who lived in the house in the wood. He was away almost half an hour and returned to say that he’d called a pal in the village where the party had been and had been put in touch with someone who had lived in the area all his life and knew everybody. He paused and looked embarrassed.

“What?” I demanded.

“Well, you’re not gonna like it,” he began, “but there was a big, old guy who used to live there, but he died about twenty years ago and the house hasn’t been lived in since.”

I was about to say something when Robin raised a hand to stop me; and then he continued, “It seems that there was a fire at the cottage and the old guy died in the flames. The cause of the fire seemed to be a little odd because the desk had gone on fire and it appeared that the old chap had laid the hot poker on it for some reason. Anyway, the cottage has been a ruin for the best part of two decades. Four walls but no roof.”

Jed and I stared wide-eyed at him.

“I know; I know,” said Robin. “I said you wouldn’t like it; but we can go back in my car and have a look if you want to see for yourselves.”

We talked for some time and then eventually agreed that we had to see. Robin drove us back and up the bumpy track, bringing us to the little clearing bathed now in autumn sunshine. Surrounded by a rickety wooden fence the roofless walls of the cottage, smoke-blackened round the windows and up on the stonework upon which the roof had once rested, smiled almost serenely at us.

I looked at Jed, who spread his hands in bafflement.

“Looks like you got caned by a ghost, Stan,” said Robin.

“I thought ghosts were supposed to be transparent and insubstantial,” I objected.

“Maybe he was,” said Jed.

“Yeh, okay,” I agreed, “but there was nothing insubstantial about his fucking cane. It was as real and as solid as they come. And I’ll tell you something else.”

“It hurt like hell?” suggested Robin.

“How did you know I was gonna say that?” I enquired.

“Stands to reason,” replied Robin. “If you get caned by Satan it’s bound to hurt like hell!”

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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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Story ©MMXXI by Joelstrap, used here by very kind permission.

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