Jack And The Canes Talk (M/M) NEW!

♥ Site recommended story ♥

A brand new caning story by your host, Rod Cayenne.  With extra special thanks to Jim for the inspiration.  All the characters are age 18 or older.  This story is currently exclusive to The Canery and is only suitable for adults!

 

Jack And The Canes Talk by Rod Cayenne

“Well, mi casa, tu casa, as they say.  Of course you can move back in.  We cannot have you homeless due to some unforeseeable career misfortune, can we Jack?”

“Thanks Dad.  I didn’t like to ask, but that would help enormously.  It should only be for a few months while I get myself back on my feet again.”

“Well, good.  That’s settled then.  Your room’s already made up and I’m looking forward to your return.  Now, I don’t want you to be under any illusions.  I expect you to be a credit to the family, and behave yourself.  The same rules as before shall apply.  You know what I mean, of course?”

“Errrrr,” Jack mumbled.

“Come now, you must know I’m talking about discipline, and the cane in particular?”

“Oh, Dad!”

“Don’t you ‘Oh Dad’ me!  Surely you know what to expect?”

“Yes Dad, but I was kind of hoping that at 22 I’d be past that stage.”

“You mean you’re too old for the cane?”

“Yes, exactly.”

“Well, you can forget about that!  A lad who lives with his Dad is a boy.  And will continue to be treated as a boy accordingly.  You know of course that Robert is still caned when he deserves it?”

“Errr, yes Dad, I had kind of gathered that.”

“And he’s 19.  I cannot treat my two sons differently.  It wouldn’t be right.  Although now that you are no longer 21, I really should buy a sturdier senior cane for you.”

To Jack, that didn’t sound like any kind of concession at all!  Well, it wasn’t of course, “Oh Dad, please,” he pleaded, “I’ll be good.  I’ll be good.”

Both males knew that was unlikely to be the case all of the time.  And it was for just such times of failings that Dad felt compelled to acquire a second cane.  Just a few days later Jack was installed back in the family home, and then on the following Thursday, father took delivery of his new cane.  He showed it to Jack, who was thoroughly dismayed.  “Don’t make me use it,” Dad warned as he slashed it through the air.

Dad duly hung the new cane in the hallway alongside the thinner one he used on younger son Robert.  For many days it was clearly on view, and Jack hated its scary presence there.  Every time he passed it he was reminded that he could still be ordered to bend over if he misbehaved.  Equally of course anyone coming to house and seeing it hanging there might be moved to enquire why it was there and dad would explain what it was used for.

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A few weeks later…

“Come in!  Come in!  Filthy weather, eh?”  said Tony to his old friend Bernard.  “Let’s get that coat off you.  Here, let me make some room on the pegs.”

Jack also appeared and was soon greeting the old family friend who had called in to help with some committee paperwork.  Tony was busy rearranging the coats, anoraks and souwesters in the hallway.  Soon a couple of pegs were empty of clothes, although from one hung the unmistakable shape of a school cane.

“Is that a bloody cane?  I remember the cane from school.  Did that ever hurt!” added Bernard in a peevish tone.

“Oh that.  Yes.  That’s young Robert’s cane.  There’s a sturdier, more robust one for Jack here hanging there as well.  See?  Actually, it got used again yesterday.”

“Gosh.  Although I hated getting the cane, I’m pleased to hear that some good old-fashioned discipline is still around.  Just what young lads need thse days.  I’m a bit surprised, though.  So you have a sore bottom then, Jack?”

“Err, yes,” said Jack blushing the very deepest of deep reds.  He tried to change the subject quickly, asking after Bernard’s son Ralph, an old school friend.

“He’s well, thanks.”

But Dad soon had the conversation back on the subject of the cane, “I bet he’s better behaved than Jack here.”

“Right.  Jack must be 21, like Ralph.”

“Jack’s actually 22, aren’t you, lad?”

The visitor looked pensive and said, “That’s a bit old for the cane, really Tony.  Isn’t it?  Although, maybe not.  Definitely not the normal sort of age for it, but I can see the benefits.  Actually Ralph can be a bit of a handful.  Fags, drunkenness, swearing, porn.  Don’t get me started!  Hmmm.  Perhaps I should get a cane too?”

“By the sound of it, there’s no perhaps about it!  Young Ralph sounds like he needs whipping into shape.  I can give you the ordering details.  I get them from a company near Birmingham.  Some kind of Asian enterprise apparently.  Or I could order myself a spare and get you one at the same time.  Or perhaps you’d like a spare as well?”

“Yes, two does seem like a good idea.  I’ll take a thick one and a thin one.  Like this pair of yours here.  Are they expensive?”

“Not really.  Depends on the model, junior or senior.  Not at all expensive for the calm and good order they bring to a home.  We can settle up when they arrive.  And one more thing.  Don’t hold back.  It’s got to sting and hurt and bruise if it’s going to be effective.  Isn’t that right, Jack?”

Jack gasped.  He couldn’t voice an answer so just nodded.  He wanted to flee the scene, but was tongue-tied and rooted to the spot.  His father cntinued, “Yes, for a 21-year-old like Ralph or a 22-year-old like Jack a token caning won’t do the trick.  Make it harsh, punishing and memorable.  Beat hard, and if necessary, beat often!”

Visitor Bernard could have been appalled by all this, but he wasn’t.  He could see the sense and logic in it.  He was struck by Tony’s resolve and determination to enforce the highest standards of behaviour.  Yes, it was admirable.

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“I thought you were quite rude to Bernard yesterday.  And surly, indeed.”

“Well Dad, you embarrassed me with all that cane talk.  I was quite humiliated and embarrassed.  Really.”

“Oh, so it’s all my fault, is it?  And then you had the nerve to come home late and drunk!  Well, I’m sorry but you’ve effectively asked for another reminder, son.”

“Oh no, Dad!  No!  Not the cane again!  My bum’s still striped from the last time.”

“That’s as maybe.  And please don’t use that vulgar word.  You should have thought things through before being so awkward and selfish.”

“Oh Dad!”

“Listen, I’m not a cruel man.  I’ll not use the senior cane on you, just this once, as you may still be a little sore and bruised.  But I think you would benefit from a stinging reminder.  We’ll do it with Robert’s junior cane rather than your one.  Go and fetch me your brother’s cane!  And hurry up, unless you want more than six!”

Sheepishly Jack dashed off to the hallway and soon returned.  He had his brother’s cane delicately balanced in his hands as he offered it to his father.

“Very good.  Let’s have you bent over the chair then.  I think trousers and pants down as we’re using the lighter cane.”

“Oh, Dad!”

“Not another peep out of you, lad.  Unless you want extras?  You’ve had this coming.”

Dad swished the cane menacingly as Jack undid his belt, unzipped the trousers and let them fall.   Reluctantly, he pushed his underwear down too.

“Right down, Jack.  I don’t want any obstructions.”

Jack had to laugh to himself.  Any obstructions would be scythed out of the way by Dad’s rattan, after all.

The first stroke cracked down on the lad’s naked flesh.  The pain followed, stinging and sizzling in a way Jack had quite forgotten about.  In some ways the junior cane’s sting was more intense and punishing.  His memory was certainly being refreshed.  A second stroke soon hit home.  Jack gasped involuntarily.  Dad was really laying it on, junior cane or not.  The third stroke lashed down.  Jack’s eyes were becoming moist.  He hated this, and yet he knew deep down that what Dad was doing was for the best.

“Half way.” Dad announced, somewhat unnecessarily.

The whoosh of the fourth stroke alerted Jack to a new wave of pain.  It was all too much.  He thought about his brother, mometarily.  How could he stand the evil sting of this whippy cane?  He thought some more, realising that his brother Robert was surely going to find out about this caning.  He wasn’t wrong, as at that very moment the front door banged close.  Robert was home and would hear everything.  Dad duly sliced the fifth stroke down, across the stinging red marks already donated by the cane.

Robert popped his head round the parlour door, “Oh sorry, didn’t realise,” he lied with a cheeky grin just as Dad sliced the final stroke down.

Jack’s humiliation was complete.  Dad didn’t look pleased to be disturbed, saying to Robert, “Well as you’re here, you’d better take this cane of yours back and hang it up where it belongs.  Unless you’ve done something to deserve a few strokes?”

“No, I haven’t, thanks Dad.”  It was true, for Robert’s semi-regular appointments with the disciplinary cane had brought him into line.  Jack hadn’t reached that stage of obedience, however.

Dad slapped Jack’s still bare arse, saying, “You can get up now Jack.  I hope you’ve learnt something today.”

Jack thanked his father for the beating, following tradition, but was otherwise lost for words.  He resolved to himelf to move back out of the family home at the very first opportunity.  He told himself that he needed sanctuary, not sanctimoniousness.

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A few days later, and across town, Ralph’s face dropped with disbelief.  His father was flexing a whippy school cane in his hands.  So, the threat had been turned into reality.  He’d got Jack’s father to order a cane.  But at 21 this was ridiculous!

“Six strokes is traditional.  Three on your pyjamas, and three on the bare, I think.  I know what you lads are like, so don’t even think about getting up, challenging my authority or swearing.  Don’t make me give you extras!”

Silenty, Ralph bent over the table.  He was going to hate this, of this he was sure.  His father seemed eager to proceed;  perhaps too eager.  Ralph was regetting his latest misdemeanour.  He’d left a rather specialist pornographic publication in the downstairs cloakroom.  It was obvious to his Dad what had been going on.  Indeed, his father had hit the roof about it, and now he was going to hit Ralph’s rump in revenge.

“That disgusting magazine!  I’ve never seen anything quite like it!”  That was not strictly true.  For Bernard was ex-Army and had seen and enjoyed many similar publications back in the day.  “What if we’d had a visitor who had found it?  Tony, perhaps.  I’d never have lived it down.  He might have thought it was me who had bought that filth!”

Dad was going on and on.  He was going to burn that magazine in the incinerator, he informed his son.  That wasn’t strictly true as Bernard had every intention of reading and using the magazine for his own gratification that very night.  In fact, a preliminary browse through the mag had made Bernard briefly consider a subscription.  He and his son evidently had similar tastes and peccadillos.

But right now, it was time for the denouement. Dad raised the cane and stared at his son’s ample rear.  He slashed the rattan down.  This was an arse that was made for whipping he told himself.

Ralph really couldn’t believe how intense the sting and burn were proving to be.  It was quite a shock, but strangely he felt up for the unspoken challenge of taking it like a man.  He was soon riding the pain of a second disciplinary stroke and then a third.  Strangely, although pained he was enjoying the challenge in a macho sort of way.

Of course, Ralph had forgotten that his pyjama trousers were about to be dispensed with.  The instruction duly came from his father, in a curt demand.  Reluctantly, Ralph untied the off-white cord that was holding the trousers up.  They slumped to the ground.  His father quickly folded back the tail of the pyjama top so that the cane would be unhindered for the final three strokes.  However, he stopped briefly to inspect and admire the red stripes already decorating the pale flesh before him.   It was quite a sight.

Ralph was shocked as his father slashed two strokes down in rapid succession.  The sting and pain were overwhelming.  And now, it was time.  Time for the coup de grace.  Father raised the cane and cracked it down at a diagonal to the previous five strokes.  This stoked the pain up considerably.  Ralph groaned and gasped.  This was too much.  Much too much.  But he had survived, although his buttocks were truly on fire.  He fidgeted and sighed.

“Get up and get out!” his father ordered.

In bed that night, Ralph slept awkwardly.  His bottom was so sore, and his mind was racing with flashbacks of his beating.  He played idly with his penis in a quest for some comfort.  At a time like this he could have really used the visual stimulation of the expensive and exotic magazine that his father had confiscated.  He thought about the pictures and the stories and eventually he did manage to spunk in his pyjamas.  It was such a relief, and he soon dozed back off to sleep.

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Later in the week the two fathers had arranged to meet up at The Crown for a leisurely drink.  They talked in hushed and secretive voices about the canings they had recently inflicted.  Bernard was minded to tell Tony about the contents of the confiscated magazine, to see what reaction he would get.  Should he or shouldn’t he?

 

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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.

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Story © MMXXI by Rod Cayenne.  All rights reserved.

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