Free Spankings (M/M) NEW!

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Celebrate St Andrew’s Day with this exciting CP story by very special guest author JOELSTRAP.   This story is new to The Canery. All the characters are 18 or older. WARNING: ADULTS ONLY!

Free Spankings by Joelstrap

 

I looked carefully at the feet planted firmly on the floor; at the long, sinewy legs ending in a pair of taut young buttocks; at the slim waist and long back with the spinal cord rippling under the skin; at the broad shoulders and sun-browned neck and the muscular arms; at the shock of unruly fair hair which half covered the ears. I turned and looked at the frontal view; at the flat stomach with the line of dark hair pointing to the fuzziness in the groin, the heavy balls and slim, pendant penis; at the broad, flat pectorals and firm nipples; at the open face, framed by the profusion of hair; at the shining, dark eyes.

Yes, I thought to myself as I gazed in the full-length mirror, you’re not bad-looking at all and if Iain doesn’t want you any more, there’s bound to be somebody else who will appreciate you.

Iain and I had been together for just over five months but it was becoming clear that we had little in common beyond the physical attraction of each other’s body and he had announced the previous evening that he felt we should split up. He did it as kindly as he could but it still hurt, even although I knew it was probably for the best. After a restless night, I’d gone for a long walk this morning and decided that I just had to pick myself up and get on with it.

Although I wanted another boyfriend, I wasn’t in any desperate hurry and felt that I needed some time alone to sort myself out and work through my feelings and emotions. Living near a railway-line in Glasgow, I was familiar with trains and had made a number of journeys in my seventeen years. I decided that perhaps a trip to Mallaig on the West Highland Line would be a good idea. I planned to take the train as far as Rannoch Station and then to walk the nine miles to Corrour Station before picking up the train again after a night in the Youth Hostel there. This would make a pleasant interlude and allow some quality thinking-time.

After placating my mother with repeated assurances that I was well-equipped and would not fall into a bog, I set off on a cloudy morning from Glasgow’s Queen Street Station, and watched as the city faded and the Clyde gave way to the Gare Loch and then Loch Long before we were running along the north-western shores of Loch Lomond. We reached Crianlarich and then headed north into the mountains and on towards the wilds of Rannoch Moor and so to the remote station at Rannoch.

By now the skies had cleared and the sun was out and I felt cheerful as I alighted at the tiny station, the only passenger to do so. It was shortly after eleven o’clock and the little café provided welcome sustenance before I set off eastward along the only road into Rannoch. After following it for a short distance, I turned off to the left up a track which eventually led to a footbridge over the river and to a path under the southern ridge of Carn Dearg.

Far to the south and west the moor stretched away to the mountains of Glencoe. I however was headed north towards the vast bleak, boggy acres of Rannoch Moor as they extended towards Corrour. The path descended to the ruins of the old Corrour Lodge, long replaced by a new building at the north end of Loch Ossian after the West Highland Line was constructed in 1894.

Not far from the tumbled remains, there was a small stone cottage which appeared, from the smoke rising lazily from the chimney into the summer sky, to be inhabited. The path passed within a couple of hundred yards of it and I could see as I approached that there was a small sign propped against a stone where the footpath to the cottage began.
My eyesight was pretty good and I could read it well before I came up to it. I grinned to myself because it appeared to say: Free Spankings.

Obviously, I decided, my vision wasn’t quite as good as I thought; but as I drew nearer, I had to alter my opinion. My vision was 20:20. The sign did indeed read: Free Spankings. I stopped by the sign and re-read it several times; but it made not one whit of difference. It still said undeniably, Free Spankings. I tried to work out if it was a corruption of something but made no headway. I stared at the cottage, in a quandary. Curiosity was fighting a strong battle and eventually I conceded defeat and turned up the narrow, grassy path to the house.

The door stood partly open and so I stuck my head in and shouted “hello”. A large dog padded out and sniffed suspiciously at my crotch and then turned away as if disappointed. I waited and then a man appeared. He was perhaps in his mid-thirties, about my own height of six feet, with black, straight hair receding slightly and well-muscled arms visible in his close-fitting tee-shirt.

“Er, I couldn’t resist coming to ask about your sign,” I began. “Free spankings?”

“Oh, yes. That’s right. Do you want one?”

“What? A spanking?” I asked, incredulous.

“Sure. It’s free,” he added as if that made the prospect more attractive.

“But who the hell wants to be spanked?” I enquired.

“Don’t you?” he asked.

“No,” I answered, shaking my head. “But I couldn’t help wondering about the sign.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you wonder about the sign?”

“Well, it’s a bit odd, isn’t it?”

“Why? I give spankings and some guys like to be spanked. What’s odd about it?”

“Some guys like to be spanked? Where’d you get that idea from?”

“It’s true. They find it exciting. Some of them even come while they’re getting spanked.”

“They…..fuck! I don’t believe it!”

“Want to try?”

“No way!”

“It’s free.”

“Well, nobody’s going to pay for a spanking, are they?” I objected.

“Of course they are. And if you want the cane or the tawse, it’s £1 a stroke; but if you go for five, I’ll give you the sixth one free.”

I stared at him, baffled.

“You can’t be serious! I’d more likely pay not to get caned. And what the hell’s a tawse anyway?”

“You’re a Scot aren’t you? You should know that. It used to be used in schools to discipline youngsters.”

“You mean the belt? I’ve heard of that. Got it across their hands, didn’t they? Bloody sadistic. There was none of that in my schooldays,” I said.

“Anyway, how about this spanking then? Bare bottom, across my knee,” he offered.

“Bare bottom? Across your…….no fucking way, mate. You’re seriously kinky, you are.”

“Sure you don’t want to try it? You’ve got a brilliant pair of buttocks there, just crying out to be spanked.”

I felt myself going red.

“I……….well, thanks…..I think………oh, shit!”

The trouble was that I really liked the look of him. I didn’t want to be spanked; but the idea of lying across his knees had a strong appeal. There were stirrings down below as I imagined it.

“So, how about letting me see the target,” he suggested. “I’d like to know if your bum’s as good in the flesh as it is in your shorts.”

The sheer effrontery of this almost left me speechless.

“You want me to drop my shorts and let you see my bare arse?” I asked, in disbelief.

“That’s right.”

“Not likely.”

“Why? What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing’s wrong with me!”

“Come on then; let me have a look. I promise not to touch.”

I decided that a look would do no harm and dropped my shorts and pants, turning my back, partly to conceal my genitals and partly so he could see my behind. I knew I’d nothing to be ashamed of and felt a tingle of pride as I displayed my assets. To my own astonishment, I found myself hoping he’d approve.

“Awesome! Perfectly formed; taut and muscular. I can’t believe no-one’s ever spanked them,” he said enthusiastically.

It was undoubtedly a compliment but I was unsure how to react; and in my confusion I found myself, to my horror, blurting out:

“Well, maybe just a little spanking; so I can feel what it’s like.”

“You won’t regret it,” he assured me.

“Hmmm!” I said.

He sat on a sofa and patted his knees.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Dave.”

“Hi, Dave. I’m Neil. Right! Over my knee, boy!”

Not quite believing I was still in the real world, I shuffled across the floor and lay down carefully across his lap, feet on the floor, pants round my ankles, head resting on my folded forearms on the sofa arm. He shifted his legs slightly and pushed me a little to get me correctly positioned. I was acutely aware of his erection pressing against my thigh and of my own surprising tumescence trapped between my stomach and his groin.

His hand slid across the bare skin of my bottom and I stiffened; but as it continued to explore, I relaxed a little and enjoyed the sensation. I tensed again as his fingers probed deep into my cleft and a daring forefinger teased the lips of my anus, but thrills of pleasure allayed any serious fears and I made no protest.

The first smack was unexpected and barely registered as more than a light slap. It was followed by several more, methodically covering every inch of my bottom from my waist to my thighs and the tops of my legs. A growing warmth in my skin was exciting and enjoyable and I relaxed into the experience, moving my hips slightly in time to the smacks and giving a little extra stimulus to my now rampant cock.

A much harder smack on the crown of my left buttock made me flinch and, before I’d time to really register it, another followed on the other buttock. A flurry of stinging spanks ensued and the pleasant warmth became a more insistent burning, strong enough to make me squirm and wriggle. Still Neil’s hand fell steadily, never quite where I was expecting it and, as the sting built up, I began to breathe hard with the effort to process the pain. A particularly well-placed spank near my crease had my hand reaching back automatically to scrub the stinging flesh; and my wrist was instantly grabbed and my arm twisted across my waist so that I was effectively prevented from any further pain-alleviation activity.

There was a pause and I lay, panting, cock still rigid beneath me, bum burning like a bonfire.

Wow! Well, if that’s what a spanking feels like, I’m bloody glad I came here. That was fantastic; and I feel fantastic. I’d just love to wank off, but I don’t suppose that’s allowed. I can feel his hand now, caressing the skin now it’s over; cool hand on hot bottom. Pure dead brilliant! as they say in Glasgow.

“Ow!”

Something hard slammed into my left buttock, right on the sit-spot and it stung like hell. I struggled, but was firmly held. It came again and again and I soon became aware that I was yelping and squealing, twisting and writhing as a sting like a nest of scorpions engulfed my behind and penetrated deep into the burning flesh. I looked round and saw that Neil was wielding a wooden hair-brush. Never could I have believed such an innocent-looking implement could deliver such an intense pain. It was searing; it was excoriating; it was ferocious. I could have endured it for eternity.

Each new swat hurt like a blast of flame but I didn’t care. I was into it. I loved it. Tears streamed down my face. I sobbed and cried like a kid who’s skinned his knees and all the questions and doubts I’d had after my break-up with Iain seemed to fade away and I felt clean again.

The spanking stopped and I lay, quivering, as the pain slowly eased to a steady throb of heat. Neil lifted me to my feet and directed me to the bathroom. There I felt gingerly round my bottom, registering the heat emanating from a pair of soundly-spanked buttocks. I looked over my shoulder in the mirror and admired my fiery-red globes. I lay on the floor and scrubbed swiftly at my balls until I achieved a shattering release. I lay still and relived again and again the revelatory wonder of being spanked.

I donned my pants and shorts and returned to the living-room.

“Thanks,” I said, feeling a little foolish. “I don’t know what else to say.”

“No need to say anything,” he replied.

He told me to sit down and I did so carefully, enjoying the discomfort in my behind, the steady reminder of my first spanking. He provided coffee and then we talked. I told him of Iain and my break-up and why I was here. He told me he was a businessman and worked mainly from home, visiting an office in Glasgow every two or three weeks for a day.

“I’m successful enough that I can employ someone to do the day-to-day running of things and I can live here and just go in occasionally.”

I envied him and resolved to get on with making my first million as soon as possible.

“Now,” said Neil, “what about the cane?”

I tensed nervously.

“What about it?”

“Think you’d like it?”

“Definitely not!”

“Like to see it?”

Curiosity won the day and Neil went out of the room and returned with a limber rod which he arched before my eyes. I stared at it, as a rabbit stares at a snake, knowing it is in danger but unable to run. It was longer and thicker than I’d imagined a cane would be. It certainly wasn’t a toy. He handed it to me.

I felt my way along the lissom length of it, felt its springy curvature, imagined it moulding itself to my bare buttocks in a red-hot embrace, and rapped it several times against the palm of my hand as I tried to assess its potential for inflicting pain. I concluded that it would hurt like fuck, and then some.

“Boy! That’s vicious,” I breathed and suddenly had to plunge a hand into my shorts to rearrange things.

“I see that you like it,” observed Neil with a sardonic smile.

“Er, well, it’s sort of exciting to think about,” I admitted, “but there’s no way I’d ever want it for real. You’d have to be a bloody masochist to ask for that.”

“You enjoyed the spanking,” he reminded me.

“That was different. This is much more savage.”

“Think you couldn’t stand that kind of pain?”

“I didn’t say I couldn’t stand it. I just don’t want to have to stand it.”

“It scares you?” he asked.

“I’m not a fucking coward,” I protested. “I’m just being sensible; like not putting my hand on a hot-plate.”

“Fair enough.”

He took the cane from me and laid it on the coffee-table where I found my eyes drawn repeatedly to it. We talked on, but I found the cane distracting and disturbing, not least to my penis, and decided I should resume my journey.

“Maybe,” I suggested tentatively, “I could drop in for another spanking on my way home next week?”

Neil picked up the cane.

“If you set foot in this house again, boy, it will be the cane for you. Understand?”

“Okay,” I said, disappointed. “But I’m sorry. I’m not coming back to be caned. I’d have liked another spanking; I’d even pay for it next time; but not the cane. Probably couldn’t afford it anyway,” I ended in a mild attempt at humour.

“If you come back again,” said Neil with a smile, “I’ll cane you for free.”

“Gee, thanks!” I said sarcastically.

“It’s an offer you can’t refuse,” he said.

“Wanna bet?”

Neil arched the cane and suddenly slammed it down on the top of a leather stool, making a crack which echoed through the little cottage and made me take a pace back in alarm.

“How do you think that would feel, Dave?”

“And you expect me to come back and just bare my bottom, bend over and let you hit me like that with a cane?” I asked, disbelievingly.

“You got it in one,” he said.

I shook my head, hoisted my rucksack on to my shoulders, thanked him for his hospitality and for the spanking, and set off.
I could still feel the sting of the hair-brush as I resumed my interrupted walk to Corrour. A curious sense of well-being coursed through me.
As I walk, I relive over and over again, the spanking of the early afternoon, aided and abetted by the sting in my bum which is stimulated by the act of striding along in shorts which I have to admit are pretty close-fitting. My persistent erection becomes so much of a nuisance that I am forced to retire behind a huge boulder and relieve pent-up feelings. After that I think about the cane as I walk, touching it again in my memory, tracing with a mental finger-pad the long, smooth curve, imagining it cracking hard across my bottom, feeling the blossoming pain. Undaunted, my cock rises to the occasion and I force myself to think about the geography and geology of the area through which I’m walking. Nothing like thinking about hard rocks to get rid of a rock-hard; nor thinking about soggy bog to induce a soft, spongy cock.

To my left the vastness of Rannoch Moor stretches away toward the skyline, a mass of bogs, lochans, small rivers and rocks. During the last Ice Age, about ten thousand years ago, a huge glacier covered the moor and, as the ice slowly radiated outwards, it gouged out the glens of Rannoch and Tummel, Coe and Etive. Where the acres of peat have dried out I can see the roots of age-old pine trees, sorry remnants of the ancient Caledonian Forest which once covered this land.
On my right Carn Dearg rises calmly into the afternoon heavens and I follow the path which skirts its southern ridge. Mindful of the stories that the boggy ground of the moor has been known to swallow men whole, I keep carefully to the track and eventually I see ahead the shining waters of Loch Ossian and the Youth Hostel set on a peninsula protruding into the loch. Corrour Station itself is about a mile to the west but I don’t intend going there until tomorrow morning. There is no road to Corrour. You either come in on foot or on the train.

I found myself to be remarkably popular at the hostel. First a slim, well-developed girl showed a blatant interest in me, plonking herself down beside me as I sat gazing at the loch and engaging me in conversation. She probably sensed that she wasn’t getting very far as she eventually said:

“You look pretty good. Would you like to come into the bushes and let me find out if you’re as good as you look?”

I shook my head and she shrugged.

“Pity,” she said and wandered off.

Later, as I was washing up my plate and mug, a muscular young guy with a centimetre-long fuzz of hair all over his head, patted my behind and asked if he could see it bare? I told him to fuck off. Later still, as I was sitting in the hostel shortly before bed-time, a large, hairy mutt made vigorous attempts to mate with my left foot, much to the amusement of the owners who seemed to find the whole thing hilarious. I scowled at them and stalked off to my bed. Honestly, the whole place was sex-mad!

Next morning I made my way along the Road to the Isles as far as Corrour Station and boarded the train which in due course deposited me in Mallaig on the west coast. Between hostels and bed-and-breakfast accommodation, I made my way around the area and then over to Skye before returning a week or so later to pick up a return train at Mallaig. It would have been possible to just stay on the train all the way to Glasgow, but I felt myself in no hurry to get home and decided to extend the trip by a day and break the journey with an overnight again in the Corrour hostel before walking south to Rannoch and picking up the train there.

Part of me wanted to see if they were still sex-mad at Corrour; and a part of me wanted to walk past the cottage on the way to Rannoch again, although I couldn’t have put into words exactly why. It was a simple little plan and would bring my holiday to a pleasant and unhurried end. As a good Scot, I should of course have been mindful of the words of my national poet, the illustrious Robert Burns, who observed so pertinently that:
“The best-laid schemes o’ mice an’ men gang aft agley.”

I alighted from the train and ambled slowly along the mile towards the hostel and about half way was overtaken by a young guy with a large rucksack whom I’d noticed had also left the train at Corrour and had been sitting on the platform as I’d set off. He was one of those lads who looked about twelve as far as his open, freckled face went, topped by a shock of light-brown, curly hair. Closer inspection, and I’d taken the chance when walking past him on the platform for a closer look, showed that there was a honey-coloured down on his face and he had the well-developed chest and bulging groin of a fully-mature young man, at least as old as I.

“Hi,” he said, cheerfully, giving me a disarming smile. “I’m Guy.”

My knees felt slightly shaky. I had a feeling that if there was going to be any mad-for-it sexiness at the hostel this time, I’d be contributing substantially to it. This guy was gorgeous.

“Hi! I’m Dave. You headed for the hostel?”

“No. I’m walking down towards Rannoch but I’m spending the night with a friend of mine on the way so I won’t pick up the train again until tomorrow morning,” he replied.

I started. The only habitation I’d seen between Rannoch and Corrour, apart from very close to the village was the cottage of my spanking chum. I gave Guy a curious glance and wriggled my hips a bit to accommodate movements down below.

“Oh,” I said with feigned insouciance, “I didn’t realise there were any houses until you got to Rannoch.”

“Not far from the old Corrour Lodge,” he said. “My pal lives in a cottage there.”

So it was the spanker! It had to be!

“Strange place to live,” I said, hopeful that he’d open up and tell me more.

“He’s a strange chap in some ways is Neil. But he and I share a particular interest and I visit him every two or three weeks. I’m a student in Glasgow but my home’s in Fort William, so I break the journey by doing the walk between Rannoch and Corrour and visiting him when I’m travelling between the two places. Sometimes it’s just for an hour; sometimes for a night like this time.”

I was desperate to ask what the shared interest was, but you can hardly ask a guy you’ve only just met if his kink is getting his bare buttocks spanked. We were approaching Loch Ossian and the hostel hove into view. Overhead the sun shone in a sky of unsullied blue and the air was warm, only a slight breeze ruffling the surface of the moor.

“Like to join me for a picnic by the loch before you set off for Rannoch?” I asked, fingers and toes crossed that he’d agree.

“Sure. You got food?”

“I stocked up before I left Mallaig,” I said.

He nodded.

“Come on, I know a good grassy bit to sit and eat.”

I followed him and we unpacked our comestibles, placing what we had between us, apparently managing to reach an unspoken agreement that we’d share what we had. With Guy it was that easy. Conversation was easy too and we soon established that we were both gay and immediately a barely-suppressed frisson of sexuality became overt. We looked appreciatively at each other and had a giggle when we simultaneously had to plunge a hand into our shorts to release a trapped erection.
There was a spark which very quickly ignited a roaring conflagration, boosted by a wind of testosterone. The afternoon grew hot and we removed our shirts.

“How about a swim?” I suggested.

“Yes! Just have to wear my underpants though,” he said, pulling off his shorts. I gazed with undisguised admiration at the massive bulge in the front of his pants.

“Wow!” I said.

He smiled in a rather embarrassed fashion and watched closely as I removed my own shorts and allowed him to see my package.

“And wow! back at you,” he said with a broad grin.

We plunged into the water, gasping as its icy coldness, even on a hot July afternoon, stung our bodies. We horsed around energetically, swimming, diving, splashing each other, chasing and catching each other, revelling in the touch of each other’s naked, wet body; until, exhausted by our efforts, we clambered ashore and lay panting, side by side on the warm grass, letting the sun dry our skin.

I glanced at the remains of our picnic. Only a small amount of juice was left and I picked up the bottle and held it to my mouth.

“Hey! How about sharing?” objected Guy in mock outrage.

I eyed the fluid in the bottle.

“There’s only enough for one of us to get a decent mouthful,” I said; and then added daringly. “Fight you for it?”

“You’re on!”

I laid the bottle aside and at once Guy threw himself on top of me. I hastily responded, struggling to fight him off. We strained and panted, wet skin sliding sensually over wet skin, first one on top and then the other as we fought like young animals, determinedly and in near silence. Once I thought I’d got him and was about to force a submission, when he suddenly wrenched free and rolled me on to my back, pinning me with his weight on my chest. I don’t give in that easily though and after a sustained effort I had him again and this time made no mistake. Some painful pressure and he gasped audibly. I looked a question but he just stared back at me. A little more pressure, a contortion of his features and he panted: Okay. I surrender.

I released the pressure and lay still on his chest, my face inches from his as he lay on his back beneath me. We were laughing breathlessly; and then the laughter died and the silence was absolute and the sun was hot on my shoulders. Between us I was acutely aware of two erections. His eyes were fixed steadily on mine as I slowly lowered my head, tense with the awful possibility that he might turn away, until our lips touched. Like an electric-shock, a jolt zipped through me and, as Guy’s lips responded to mine, a fiery lust gripped us both and we writhed like coiled snakes in a mating-ritual as we kissed hungrily in several minutes of torrid passion.

By mutual although unspoken consent we fell apart and lay on our sides, words unnecessary, gazing into each other’s eyes. At last Guy stirred.

“You’re fantastic,” he said softly, running a finger along my jawbone.

“I know.”

“Cheeky sod!”

I leaned forward and kissed his hand.

“You’re pretty special yourself,” I admitted.

“Why don’t you come down to Neil’s with me this evening, instead of staying in the hostel here? He won’t mind another guest for the night; and then we can go back to Glasgow together tomorrow morning.”

Into my mind there flashed a sharp, clear vision of Neil arching that vicious-looking cane; and in my head I could hear his words:
If you set foot in this house again, boy, it will be the cane for you.

And it would too. I had no doubt about it. My thoughts about the cane, and I’d had them daily in the past week or so, had convinced me that it held a fascination, but I still found the prospect of actually baring my bottom and bending over for its powerful sting something which frankly scared me.

“I couldn’t do that. It would be rude just to turn up and expect to stay. I’ll spend the night here and leave early in the morning and catch you up at Rannoch Station if not before.”

“Come on. I want you to be with me.”

He stopped and I waited as he seemed about to say more. After a few seconds, during which I could see by his face that he was wrestling with something in his mind, he continued.

“Look. Can I tell you something? Something kind of personal and private, I mean?”

“Sure. I won’t spread it,” I assured him.

“This chap Neil that I’m going to see. Well, he’s into spanking; and, well………..well, that’s why I’m going…you see?” he ended lamely.

“You’re going to get spanked?” I asked.

He nodded, watching my face uneasily. I tried to decide what to say next. Guy misinterpreted my hesitation.

“You’re disgusted, right?” he asked, looking a bit miserable.

“No, no. I’m not, honest,” I insisted. “I was just thinking. You see, I’ve got a bit of a confession to make.”

“Yeh?”

“I walked up from Rannoch on my way north and there was a sign outside that cottage which said, I kid you not,”free spankings“; and, well, I was kind of curious and so I went to the door and, well, one thing led to another and………”

“And you got spanked!” ended Guy with a grin which reached from ear to ear.

“Er, yes, I got spanked; fucking hard too. Bastard didn’t just use his hand; he took a fucking hairbrush to my arse as well. Hurt like the fires of hell.”

“Brilliant! Bet you could feel it when you were walking,” he said eagerly.

“Too right! Stung all the way to Corrour.”

“And you liked it?”

“Yes,” I admitted, feeling slightly shame-faced. “It made me feel bloody good after it was over; all sort of calm and content and relaxed; and I liked the sting while I was walking too,” I added honestly.

“He canes me,” Guy vouchsafed, watching me closely.

“C..canes you? With a cane?”

“Usual thing to use for a caning,” he said.

“Yes, I know. I just mean that…..he actually canes you? How does that feel?”

“Sore. But it’s exciting too. I’ve had the cane a few times and I’ll be getting it tonight.”

“You scared?”

“A bit; that’s natural; but I want it too. There’s nothing like the kiss of the cane on your bare bottom.”

“Kiss? That’s hardly the word I’d use about a fucking great rod lashing my bare backside,” I said, but my cock was erect.

“Some kisses can be very intense,” said Guy solemnly.

I sighed and said nothing. We lay in silence for several minutes.

“Why not come, then? You could get another spanking and watch me getting caned,” offered Guy.

My cock soared at the prospect of this double-whammy of delights.

“It’s not a simple as that,” I said. “I’ve not told you everything yet.”

Guy stared at me.

“Well, come on. Out with it. What’s the big secret?” he demanded.

“Neil wanted to cane me but I wouldn’t let him. I just don’t think I could take the cane; and he told me that if I ever set foot in his house again, he’d cane me – for free,” I ended.

“Ah! So, if you come with me tonight, you won’t just get a spanking; you’ll get a caning, is that it?”

I nodded.

“So, aren’t you kind of curious to find out what the cane feels like?” he enquired.

“Not really. I think it’d be fucking awful.”

“Or it might not,” suggested Guy. “Did he let you see the cane?”

“Yep! Held it too.”

“And?”

“Vicious.”

“So, you’ve forgotten all about it?”

“No. I can’t stop thinking about it; but that doesn’t mean I want it,” I added hastily.

“You sure?”

“Definitely.”

“Okay. Listen, I’ve got a tent in my rucksack, so why don’t you come with me this evening and stay in the tent nearby; maybe in the ruins of the old lodge; and then we can go on in the morning. That way you don’t need to enter Neil’s house so you won’t get caned. Mind, you won’t get spanked either,” he said. “Unless Neil comes out and spanks you in the open air.”

For some reason this prospect excited me enormously and Guy noticed.

“That’s settled then,” he said firmly, “and we can stay together for the rest of the day.”

I smiled contentedly; for I wanted to stay with him, very much indeed.

With Guy the hours flew by, more swiftly than the wind-driven clouds scudding across the summer sky. By seven in the evening, we were approaching Neil’s cottage and I was sure that I wasn’t imagining the tingling sensation in my behind. A memory of what had been the last time I was here; or a hope for what I might get if Neil deigned to come out to me?

Guy went to the door while I waited at the end of the path. A minute or two later, he joined me and we made our way to the ruins of the old lodge where he showed me how to erect the little one-man tent where I’d spend the night, in the shadow of the ancient, tumbled walls. He told me he’d asked Neil if he’d like to come out and give me a spanking but the answer had been unequivocal. I had to come into the cottage; in which case I’d be caned. Guy made one last effort to persuade me to come and join him.

“You can see me getting it; and I’ll be there when it’s your turn,” he said.

Almost he persuaded me, as the prospect of seeing Guy’s bare behind getting the cane was hugely thrilling. The prospect of my own bare behind getting the cane was sufficiently less so to sway me. I declined, albeit with some reluctance. We’d stick to the plan. Guy would spend the night in the cottage and get a caning; while I’d spend the night in the tent and go un-caned. What was it Burns had said about the best laid plans?

I wandered rather disconsolately around the old lodge in the evening sun. The wind had dropped to almost nothing and the summer air was still and warm. This was a gorgeous place, I decided, peaceful, beautiful in its own remote, majestic way. Not, certainly, the domestic beauty of the cottage garden or the village by the stream; but the grander beauty of bare moor-land stretching to the horizon, the hint of distant mountains and the nearer bulk of Carn Dearg to the east.

Into every Eden however there comes a serpent and I had feared that the serpent might be Neil’s cane; but the President of the Immortals, who had had such sport with Tess, wanted to play with me a little first. I had failed to take account of that scourge of the West Highlands, that vicious torturer which has had grown men running away in terror, that tiny tormentor which blights the summer days and especially the still evenings; Culicoides Impunctatus, or the Scottish midge.

The females do the biting, requiring a little meal of blood before they can lay their eggs. Almost too small to be seen, they hunt in packs of hundreds, biting mercilessly on every area of exposed human skin they can find and raising painful bumps which itch infuriatingly and persistently until the victim is driven to escape the onslaught by vacating the field in ignominious defeat.

At first the assault was only a minor irritation and had me slapping and rubbing at my neck and face and bare arms and legs; but soon it became more determined. For a moment I had a vision of the tiny world of the midge in which a sign had gone up saying, Free Blood. I tried to escape a cloud of the little monsters by running swiftly around the old lodge’s walls. It was of no help. They followed; reinforcements came. Scratching and swatting desperately, I withdrew to the tent; but they were there before me and drove me daft as I struggled in vain to defeat them by covering my head with my arms.

Yet still they bit and still I slapped and rubbed and scratched until I fled the tent and ran at full pelt along the path in a vain attempt to out-distance them. They were driving me crazy. I’d met midges before and I’d heard of them compelling campers to pack up and flee in the middle of the night; but never had I realised how horrendous and unbearable their assault could be on a still, warm evening with no breath of wind to blow them away.

I had to escape. Anything was preferable now to this torment and I perceived at last how cunningly I’d been played; for the only escape from the pain of the midges was to the cottage; and the pain of the cane. So desperate now was my situation, however, that even the cane seemed a minor irritation compared to the relentless bites of the midge-horde. I fled to the house and banged on the door.

Neil answered and took one look at me; and laughed.

“So,” he said, “it looks like there’s something you fear more than my cane, eh Dave?”

“Just let me in, please,” I begged, still scrubbing furiously at my face and then at my neck and then at my legs.

He stood aside and admitted me and I went into the sitting-room. On a sofa, lying face-down was Guy. I stopped short. Across his taut, muscular bare bottom was etched a series of five parallel cane-lines, all crossed on the diagonal by a sixth. They looked angry and red and painful; but Guy was looking round at me with a broad, cheerful grin on his face. He appeared to be perfectly content.

“So you came for the cane after all,” he said.

“Fucking midges,” I swore savagely, scratching and rubbing still. “I couldn’t take any more; even in the bloody tent.”

Neil approached me. I turned and saw that he was holding the cane. I gulped; but I knew I was for it.

“Oh, God!”

“You planning to argue, Dave?” Neil enquired.

“No,” I said. “It’s what we agreed. I just never thought I’d be in this position.”

“Nor in the position you’re going to be in very soon,” chortled Guy.

“Sadistic bugger!” I muttered.

I continued to scrub at my bites. Neil looked at me with some sympathy.

“The midges are tough,” he said, “but I promise that once you’re bent over, bare-arsed and waiting for the cane, you won’t be thinking about a few midge-bites.”

“A few midge-bites? The whole fucking army of Rannoch midges has been dining out on my body for the past two hours; squadrons of the blasted monsters! What the hell do they do for their blood when I’m not here?” I demanded unreasonably.

“Right! Stop moaning. You’re going to get something to really scrub at shortly,” said Neil, his voice suddenly harsh. “Guy; up against the wall, boy!”

Guy sprang instantly from the sofa and took his stance facing the wall, hands on his buttocks.

“You; strip!” Neil ordered, turning to me.

I found myself obeying at the double, hauling off my boots and socks, yanking down my shorts and pants and finally pulling off my shirt. I stood in all my naked glory. I observed Guy turning his head to look.

“Face the wall, boy!” shouted Neil; and Guy obeyed immediately. “Now I’m going to give you a spanking first to get your endorphins going,” Neil informed me, “and then we’ll move on to the cane. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what, boy?!”

“Yes, sir,” I replied hastily.

“That’s better,” agreed Neil. “Now stand up straight; hands on your bottom; and stop that bloody scratching!”

“But I………”

“Silence!”

I said no more and adopted the position required; but I glared resentfully at him as the bites throbbed and itched and I forced myself not to rub them. Bloody ironic that the only place I was allowed to put my hands, on my bottom, was about the only place I had no bites!

Neil sat on the sofa and summoned me across his lap. My cock rose as I positioned myself and the feel of his denims under my bare, hard penis, sent a thrill of excitement through me. Neil’s hand performed a circular motion on my behind, firmly caressing the full surface of my buttocks, his index finger occasionally sliding easily between my legs and along my perineum and back up through my cleft to pass lightly over the lips of my anus with a touch of fire.

I relaxed and even the midge-bites seemed less intense; and when his hand suddenly came down with a sharp smack on the crown of my bottom, I forgot the bites altogether for a second. Spank after spank followed in a steady stream, covering my behind from waist to crease, raising the temperature to a hot glow. I was wincing and wriggling and gasping a bit by the time he stopped. My bum was aflame and my penis was at full attention.

“On your feet, boy!”

I scrambled up and stood, feeling my way over my backside, revelling in the stinging heat; and the midge-bites were little more than a background irritation. Neil stood and picked up the cane. I tensed. He arched the rod slowly, letting me see what I was going to get. I took in the lithe arc and its potential for pain. I tried to imagine what cane-welts would feel like under my hands. I swallowed and listened to the blood pounding in my ears.

“Over here, boy!”

He led me to a small, plain, wooden table and instructed me to bend over with my lower-arms on the table’s surface, on their sides with palms open and facing each other, as if I were holding an invisible piece of wood between them. He kicked at my feet to make me spread my legs a bit more; and then he tapped my behind with the cane. I flinched, not with pain but simply because it was the cane. He drew the cane back and forward across my bottom several times, letting me feel its hard, unyielding texture, its slim length; letting my buttocks know what was coming.

My penis, erect after the spanking, had gone into retreat.

“Don’t break position,” he ordered.

The cane was drawn back and I tensed my body in readiness. I was aware of the rod descending, of the whistling sound in the still air of the room, of the crack as wood and bare flesh came into violent contact; and then on a sudden I was aware of the sting, a lash of pain across the crown of my bum, penetrating, burning, forcing me to clench my glutes to a quivering intensity as I fought to ride the pain.

I released my breath slowly and relaxed my muscles slightly as the sting subsided. I felt the cane touch my behind again. It was removed; the air sang and I heard the crack and a split second later felt the burn. I reached forward and grasped the edge of the table.

“Get your hands back in position, boy!” roared Neil, so loudly that I moved them instinctively. “Now keep them there!”

Oh, God! He doesn’t believe in making it easy. Isn’t it bad enough having to cope with the pain without having to keep fucking still as well?

I abandon my resentful thoughts as the cane touches my skin once more and is then raised and brought back down, hard. I gasp aloud as the tip of the rod bites savagely at my thigh.

“Quiet!”

For fuck’s sake! I’m in agony here. Can’t I even make a bloody sound? Fucking sadist!

I steady myself and feel the rod now high on my behind, near the top, approaching my waist. There’s a pause and then the routine of withdraw, bring down hard, crack, burn, pulse with growing intensity, fight to keep still and quiet; and easing slightly of pain. Just two to go. I hope. He never actually said six, but that’s what Guy got and he surely couldn’t give me more than that; could he?

The cane is resting on my crease now and I’m scared. I know how sensitive I am there, just where my legs join my buttocks. He knows it too and that’s why the next stroke is going there. He intends to hurt me; and I intend to show him I can take it! The cane lashes down; pain screams along my crease and I thump my feet on the floor as I wrestle for self-control.

“Keep still, boy!”

Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!

I force my feet to be still. Why? Why should I obey him? I don’t know; but I want to. One to go and I am fairly sure now that I can do it.
I wait for the touch of the rod, the preliminary which warns me that a stroke is imminent; but it doesn’t come. Nothing happens. I stand, bent over, bottom throbbing with heat, ready for a final explosion of fire. Still he makes me wait. The silence in the room is absolute and I’m aware that Guy too is waiting. He can’t see what’s happening but he can hear it all and I find myself hoping that he’s proud of me.

Come on, you bastard! Stop torturing me! Cane me, damn you!

I hear the whine of the rod as the air winces and am barely ready when the cane strikes. The diagonal cut reawakens all the previous fires of the earlier strokes and my bum blazes with a searing heat. In spite of myself, I grasp the table’s edge once more and stretch out a leg behind me, holding it taut and a-quiver. A yelp which I can’t quite stifle escapes me. Pain flourishes, triumphant, and then softly dissipates leaving behind a steady, burning sting which stimulates my genitals and my penis rises fast.

“Get up, boy!”

I rise painfully, like an old man rising stiffly after sitting too long. I place my hands tentatively on my thrashed bottom and feel with a degree of awe the welts raised on my skin, radiating heat on to my palms.

“You may come and see him, Guy,” says Neil and Guy is there, a golden grin splitting his face, his eyes dancing. I feel a dark and secret delight in what I’ve experienced and I feel at one with Guy for he too knows exactly how I feel. He takes me into his arms and hugs me tightly and I feel a few tears trickling down my face. Guy notices and licks them off tenderly.

“Okay?”

“Brilliant!”

I feel awesome. A sense of euphoria has flooded my being. My pulsating bottom is a source of powerful sexual stimulation. If I were to be offered three wishes now, I’d wish to go to bed with Guy three times over.

“You were right,” I confessed, turning to Neil who was watching us with a wide smile on his face. “I did want to be caned. I just didn’t realise it.”

“How are the midge-bites?”

“What midge-bites?”

We all laughed.

“Right, you pair, into the spare room and sort yourselves out and then come back here and we’ll eat. Getting caned gives you a good appetite.”

Neither Guy nor I needed any second bidding. Cocks like flag-poles, we retired to the bedroom and shyly began to relieve each other’s tensions. I had one of the best orgasms I’d ever had. Once we’d done, we lay on our fronts for a while, side by side, shoulders and thighs touching, and discussed the intimate experience of being caned.

Neil fed us like fighting cocks and then sent us back to the bedroom for the night.

“I’m afraid it’s only a single bed,” he said. “Will you manage?”

I glanced at Guy and we both sniggered.

“I think so,” I replied. “We won’t need a lot of space.”

Nor did we; and after two more increasingly-confident workings at each other’s balls, first with tongue and then with hands again, we fell asleep, Guy lying behind me, his arms around me, one hand resting on my balls and his organ soft now between my buns.

Neil provided us with breakfast and then we accepted his invitation to spend the day with him, exploring a little of the country round about and enjoying his entertaining company. We had to catch the train at Rannoch station about half past six that evening and wanted to give ourselves a couple of hours to get there. Shortly before we left, Guy and I dropped our shorts to let Neil see the lasting effects of his efforts with the cane the previous night.

“Are you still offering free spankings?” I asked.

“Of course. Want one?”

“I’m still marked from the cane; but maybe a little one?” I suggested.

A couple of minutes later I was over Neil’s knee and the wooden hairbrush was snapping across my buns in a flurry of swift, sharp swats to whichever area of my bare bottom I couldn’t get my hand near to protect. I writhed and yelped and felt the tears come as a roaring inferno engulfed my buttocks. As suddenly as the onslaught began, it ended and I was hoisted to my feet to stand, scrubbing ruefully at my blistered bum while Guy went over Neil’s lap for similar treatment.

“Fucking shit!” I panted, blinking back tears. “How the hell do you manage to make it sting that much so quickly?”

“You’ve got a lot to learn, boy,” he answered as I watched a somewhat nervous-looking Guy lower himself across the waiting knees.

“You think I’m coming back for more?” I enquired, eyeing my rearing erection.

Neil just raised his eyebrows at me and began to beat a swift tattoo of spanks on the crown of Guy’s buns.

“Okay,” I admitted, watching Guy flinch and wince. “I will be back.”

A few minutes later, bottoms tingling pleasantly, we strode off down the path towards Rannoch. The skies were somewhat overcast and a brisk breeze meant that smart walking was in order so that we covered the ground fairly swiftly. On the approach to Rannoch, however, the cloud-roof parted and a pale sun streamed through, transforming the almost monochrome moor-land into a patchwork of heather, peat, rocks and pools which extended to the south and west to where the mountains of Glencoe brooded darkly over their ancient memories of hideous betrayal of hospitality. The early evening sunshine tinged the edges of the clouds with gold and, far to the north-west, Ben Nevis and the mountains of Lochaber stood stark against the horizon.

We gazed in wonder at the remote loveliness of the landscape and then became aware that the wind had dropped and the midges were on the attack. We were both scratching and slapping at our bare skin.

“Midges are hell,” remarked Guy, scrubbing furiously at his neck, “but all this” (and here he swept his arms out in an expansive gesture encompassing the panorama before us) “makes even them worth enduring.”

“I suppose it’s kind of like the cane,” I said meditatively. “When it cracks across your bare bum it hurts like a jellyfish-sting; but that feeling afterwards, the adrenaline-high, the sexual arousal, the sensation that you’re on top of the world and invincible; wow! That makes it all worthwhile.”

“So you’re glad you went to investigate the ’free spankings’, then?”

“Definitely,” I confirmed. “And when there’s a red-hot, sexy boy, randy as a rabbit and panting to share the experience with me,” I added with a grin at him, “then everything is just perfect.”

“We’re a bit early for the train,” observed Guy. “Since you liked the free spanking so much, I’ve got another free offer for you.”

I looked expectantly at him.

“Free wanking,” he said. “In behind those rocks there.”

My penis had already accepted the offer but I had one reason to hesitate.

“The midges are getting bad.”

Guy shrugged.

“We’ll be quick; and I bet you the pleasure’s worth the pain.”

I got bites on my bum and on my cock; but Guy was right. Together we soared above moor-land and midge on the wings of ecstatic release; and then, hand in hand, we walked down to Rannoch and along the road to the station.
I wriggled uncomfortably on the train-seat as midge-bites and the after effects of Neil’s hairbrush made themselves felt. It had been a tough couple of days. Guy watched me and grinned.

“You’ll be coming back with me in two or three weeks’ time?” he asked.

“I hope I can afford it. He said the cane was a pound a stroke,” I said.

Guy smiled broadly and fished out of the back-pocket of his shorts a small pile of cards. He handed me one. It said:

Caning Voucher – value: 6 strokes

I stared at Guy.

“Where the hell did you get this?”

“From Neil. Good customers get free vouchers. I’ve got quite a lot of them. Have another couple.”

He handed me two more. One was the same as the first. The other read:

Tawsing Voucher – value: 12 strokes

“That’s two dozen you’ve got lined up for nothing; and I bet he starts giving you some free vouchers of your own pretty soon. Aren’t you the lucky boy, Dave?”

I gave my bottom a careful rub. Twelve strokes of the cane; and twelve with the leather tawse, which I hadn’t even felt yet; and probably that fucking bastard yelling at me to keep still and keep quiet as well. This could be hell. My cock soared excitedly in anticipation. I decided I’d not be using the vouchers all at once. I remembered vividly the six I’d got the previous evening and scrubbed thoughtfully at my behind again.

There was no doubt about it. I was the lucky boy!

The train thundered south towards Loch Lomond.

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You can still travel by train on the West Highland Line from Glasgow to Fort William and Mallaig and, if you choose, leave the train at Rannoch and walk the nine miles along the path over the moor to Corrour before boarding again.
Neil and his cottage are, I regret to say, entirely imaginary. The midges are definitely for real!

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Story ©MMXI by Joelstrap, and used here by very kind permission of the author.

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