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Another brand new caning 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!
Donor With A Boner by Rod Cayenne
“Good morning,” a distinguished but gruff male voice replied.
“Is that the Trust’s Charity Shop?”
“Yes it is, how can I help?”
“Ah well. I have some donations to bring round. I can borrow my dad’s car.”
“Very good, lad.”
“There are books. Lots of them. Good quality, too. Glassware. Bric-a-brac. Oh, and an easel. Some Air Force memorabilia. Nothing electrical.”
“Yes, that’s all fine. Please do bring it all round to the shop. We accept donations before 12 noon, Monday to Saturday.”
“Great, thank you. There’s something else as well.”
“These things all belonged to my late uncle, a retired headmaster.”
“I see, well that’s no problem. We’d be very happy to accept all of those things you mentioned.”
“No, it’s just that there’s something else. I’m not sure that your shop will want them. You see, there’s a trio of school canes.”
“Ah, I see. Well now, that really is an unusual donation to offer us. Let me think. I suppose there could be some interest in them. Not sure it’s what the shop should be selling. Not very woke, eh lad?”
“No indeed, hey, just forget it, I’ll throw them away.”
“No, no! Don’t do that. That wouldn’t be very green, now would it? We are an environmental charity, after all.”
“Yes, sorry, silly of me.”
“And they could be worth something, to the right buyer. Can you describe them in a little more detail for me?”
“Well as I said, there’s three of them. All about the same length. Just around a metre long, I’d guess. Different thicknesses. All with a curved handle, and a medium sort of patina,”
“Very good description, my boy. I can just see them now. But even so, I’d like to see them in the flesh, as it were, so that I confirm my assessment of the potential sales value of them. We might be able to sell them through our online portal, rather than in the shop, you see. I wonder, is there any chance you could bring them round to my home, it’s a bit late for today, perhaps tomorrow evening? I could assess them then.”
“Well, I do want them to sell for the right price. I could come around. I’ve got the use of my dad’s car for the week, while he’s away.”
“88, The Avenue.”
“Oh yes, I know. I could be there for 7pm.”
“Very good. Don’t be late or I may have to use one of those canes on you, lad!”
“Yes Sir! Don’t worry, I’m never late.”
“Very good. And your name is?”
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Peter. Remember, 7pm sharp, 88 The Avenue,”
Peter ended the call. He felt a little bit flustered. Why had he agreed to go round to this old stranger’s house? He could end up dead! Or thrashed with one of those canes! Or he could just drop the canes off with the rest of the donations. Yes, that might be a more sensible option. Or he could just keep them. He decided to sleep on it.
In the event, sleep didn’t come easily that night. He tossed and turned, remembering the older man’s threat to use the cane on him, if he were to be late. What an awful thought. What an awfully exciting thought though! His penis seemed to have a life of its own as he thought about being on the receiving end of a caning. Perhaps on his bare bottom. Ouch!
The following day he woke early and had to masturbate about the exciting caning he’d been fantasising about. When he had finished, he cleaned up with some handy tissues, but then he had to have a repeat session. Why was he so turned on? He thought about the old man on the phone. He thought he could picture him. He could certainly imagine him wielding a cane.
The day was going to drag, of that he was sure. Indeed, time ran slowly as the lad paced around his home. Even his mother could detect there was something on his mind. He wasn’t about to share his secret with her. He had an appointment that evening. He had instructions not to be late. He had already decided to be late!
The car engine chugged away as the lad sat only a short distance away from The Avenue. He waited until about ten past the hour before turning into the road, taking a leisurely drive up to No.88. He parked up and sprang out of the car, grabbing the canes which he had discreetly wrapped in a black plastic bin bag.
“Ah, there you are my boy! I was beginning to think you weren’t coming. I thought you said you were never late?”
“I did say that, didn’t I? Silly me!” Peter said, carefully not apologising.
“Well, we’ll discuss that in a minute, come on in and show me what you’ve got there. Take your shoes off first please. Right, into the living room.”
Carefully unwrapping the package, Peter said, “Well, here they are, what do you think?”
“My, my!” exclaimed the old man, “They are beauties. Fine specimens indeed. You undersold them! You know, I am a retired schoolmaster myself, so I know a good cane when I see one.”
“Oh yes. I used to be a bit of a devil with the cane. Shocking, really. Tell me Peter, how old are you?”
“Me? I’m eighteen.”
“Ah, sixth form age, then? I’ve beaten a few eighteen-year-olds in my time. They liked to think they were adults but I soon cut them down to size.”
“Really? How interesting. May I ask, how did they take it?”
“Ah, now that would be telling, wouldn’t it? Yes. Well, alright. You obviously want to know, don’t you? Some took it rather well, I must say. Some were pretty hardened to the cane. Others, not so much. Some crying and shouting and so forth.”
“Just a few I’m sure actually liked it.”
“What, like masochists?”
“Maybe. Submissive, certainly.”
“I see. My uncle never discussed corporal punishment with me.”
“Perhaps because he could sense your interest in the subject?”
“Perhaps. But things have moved on now. No-one gets the cane nowadays.”
“Well, I expect some caning does happen. As I said, some lads seemed to like it. And some gentlemen used to like giving it.”
“So, let’s not beat about the bush, how many strokes do you want?”
“I didn’t say that I did.”
“No, you didn’t say it. But you do, don’t you?”
“OK. Yes I do, if I’m honest. If you don’t think that’s too weird.”
“It’s fine, Peter. Doesn’t matter what I think. I understand. Be aware, however, that I’m one of those masters who liked dishing it out. And hard. But.”
“But what, Sir?”
“We cannot do it with you wearing those thick denim jeans. You wouldn’t feel a thing. Well, not enough, anyway.”
“They will have to come down. In fact, take them right off. Yes, I’m afraid that’s non-negotiable. You can keep your pants on though. You do have pants on underneath, don’t you?”
“Yes, I do.”
“And they are nice and clean?”
“Yes, of course! Fresh on.”
“Well, that’s good. Let’s get on with it then, shall we? Now, you never did tell me how many strokes you wanted.”
“Six. Six of the best. That’s traditional. That’s what I want, please.”
“Are you sure? That’s a lot for a first-time offender with a delicate young bottom.”
“Well, I have been spanked before. A few times. Actually.”
“Ah, I see. Not your retired headmaster uncle obviously, but your father?”
“Err, no. He’s not like that at all. It was a friend.”
“Ah. A friend, eh? A good friend or a bad friend, or a boyfriend?”
“Well, a boyfriend, if you like.”
“Yes, I do like. I like very much. You are a naughty boy! Incorrigible. In fact, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you’d got this whole scene planned out in advance. Wicked lad!”
“Well my boyfriend wouldn’t agree to give me a caning. I did ask after I found the canes in among the stuff for the charity shop. I asked him again and again, but he wouldn’t have it. Or let me have it!”
“Hmm. That’s sad, and an opportunity missed. To be frank, if he’s not giving you what you want, perhaps you should dump him?”
Peter laughed, and the last remnants of the ice were broken, “Yes, I could I suppose. I certainly know what I want.”
“Very well,” the old man sighed “Six of the very best!”
“I thought perhaps…”
“Perhaps what, boy?”
“Perhaps two strokes with each of the three canes.”
“A good idea. You are meticulous in your planning, I’ll give you that.”
“My teachers say that I have an eye for detail.”
“Alright, alright, that’s enough! Enough cockiness for one day. Let’s have you bent over this chair here. Bend over. Right over. Now!”
Peter followed the instructions. His clean, crisp white underpants were soon on display, as was a stonking big erection clearly tenting at the front. He tried to hide it, and his blushes, but he knew for sure everything had been seen and noted.
“Face the front! Bend right over. Get you arse well up. No moving or noise unless you want extras!” barked the old man in full schoolmaster mode.
With a whistle and a crack, the first stroke of the cane landed on the pale pants. Peter was quickly taken aback. The pain was rapid, intense and unbelievable. This was nothing like the loving spankings his boyfriend gave! But there was no time for wistful reflection as the second stroke followed through, slicing the round mounds with sheer unadulterated sadism.
“Let’s change canes, then,” said the man picking up a thicker stick. “You might find this uncomfortable.”
Well, that was an understatement! The thicker cane slashed down with venom, its harsh bite lighting new fire in the poor submissive lad’s buttocks. “Arrrgh!” he cried.
“Quiet boy, take your punishment like a man. You wanted this, remember?”
Peter remembered all too well. How he was regretting his teenage folly. He regretted it even more as stroke four slammed into his pants. Below the tight white fabric thick ugly red weals were forming on his flesh. The boy was already conquered. Further defeat was in prospect, however.
“And now the third cane here. Looks a bit severe, this one. Dear, dear. Are you ready? Arse up properly, stick it out for me!”
Peter stuck his bottom out submissively, awaiting the stinging caress of the cane. But he got more than he bargained for, as two strokes lashed down, the second straight after the first. “Fuckin’ hell!” he squealed.
“Oh dear! Now that was uncalled for, Peter. Such foul language would have incurred an extra stroke, back in the day. Plus, we haven’t punished your deliberate lateness yet, have we?”
“It wasn’t deliberate!” cried Peter.
“Lying to me also incurs extra,” the old man added, flexing the cane.
“No more, please!” Peter begged.
“Alright, we’ll postpone for now and review things later. Here, let me take a peek just to make sure I haven’t overdone it.” With that he peeled the white briefs down revealing a bottom decorated with vivid, throbbing red stripes. A tear or two ran down Peter’s face. “Hey, let me rub it better. There, there. Ssshhh.”
The rubbing helped ease the pain and the shock. Peter’s erection soon reappeared. It was young, virile, teenage, stiff and almost painful.
The old man smiled knowingly, “Now, tell me honestly. Does being bedded feature in your detailed plan?”
“Yes, rather! An optional outcome of course Sir, but very much planned for. See?” A packet of three condoms was duly produced from a denim pocket. “Mum’s not expecting me back yet. She thinks I’m courting a girl.”
“I see. Devious, to the last. And you’re definitely eighteen?”
“Yes, Sir. Eighteen and a half, in fact.”
“And not a virgin?”
“It’s just as well I’ve popped one of my magic blue pills then, isn’t it? You are a promiscuous young tart, aren’t you lad?” With that the old man landed a very sharp smack right on the centre of the boy’s caned buttocks.
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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