The Stamp Of Discipline (M/M) NEW!

♥ Site recommended story ♥

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

We still felt like freshmen at the time.  We were both almost 19.  I supped at the pint and gazed over at Charles.  The beer was good and hearty.  The college bar was packed with sweaty bodies and the air was thick with dense clouds of tobacco smoke.  He was miles away, in thought.

“Well, he we are then.  Well into Trinity Term already.  Doesn’t time fly?”

“It certainly does.  It certainly does.”

It was then that I noticed something strange about my pal.  He wasn’t smoking his pipe anymore.  I tackled him about it.

“Oh that.  Bit of a sore point, that.  Well, a very sore point.  My father took great exception to the pipe.  Said it was pretentious and that I must have money to burn – his money that he topped my grant up with.  So he snatched the pipe off me and crushed it underfoot.  Stamped on the bloody thing with his Army boots.  Needless to say, it’s history now.  Of course, he was right.  It was pretentious of me; an affectation.  Smoking is such a waste of money, too.  Yes sadly, the pipe was totally destroyed and I certainly won’t be buying a replacement.”

“Oh my.”

“And that’s not all, he made his displeasure obvious in no uncertain terms,”  Charles said, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “as he gave me a bloody hard thrashing too.”

“Wait!  He did what?”

“He thrashed me.  He made sure I got the message not to take up the pipe ever again.  My smoking days came to a very violent end.  Look, I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t have mentioned it, but you’ve heard it now.  Family matters.”

“It’s OK,” I said, “I understand.  But you got a beating?  Sheeeesh.”

“Well, I know, I know.  Kind of old-fashioned for 1968, isn’t it?”

“I’ll say!”

“You’re shocked?”

“Rather!”

“Well, Dad’s a military man through and through.  I think they use the cane on the bad apples among the new recruits.  On the rookies; on the squaddies.  In the glasshouse, maybe.  All very unofficially, of course.  And not something the upper echelons know too much about.  Military families are much the same, I’ve found.  The cane is very much alive and well.”

“Gee.  A cane, eh?  Those fuckin’ hurt, I know from bitter experience at school.  When you said about a thrashing, I’d imagined a strap.”

“Ah.  Indeed.  He’s got one of those, too.  But I seem to have outgrown that, somehow.  It’s always the cane now.  You know, I think he likes doing it.  It’s a power thing for him.  The truth is, he’s a bit of a sadist.”

“Shit, Charles.  I’m so sorry.  I didn’t mean to probe.”  I decided to probe further.  “It must be embarrassing.  Do you get it often?”

He avoided my last question completely, “It’s OK. I’m over it and I think the marks have just about gone.  Want another beer?”

“Yes, please.  Same again would be good.  The ale is slipping down well tonight.”

While he was gone getting the refills, I pondered on what he’d said.  It was strange, I’d always found corporal punishment fascinating.  So did my penis, which was now rock hard in my briefs.  Yes, there was something exciting and wicked and taboo about the subject.  I had to find out more, as I found it rather reassuring that at least one fellow student was still spanked at home.  At the same time, my memory of corporal punishment at school was still fresh.  In those far-off days it was hardly an exceptional experience.

The following morning I was a bit hungover but we’d got the cricket nets booked for some overdue practice.  We were changing into our flannels when suddenly Charles flashed his bare arse at me, saying, “I think the cane marks have just about gone, haven’t they?”

“I don’t know.  I can’t see from here.  I’d need to have a closer look, and I’m sure that you wouldn’t want me to do that,” I replied, although actually I was desperate to leer at his bare bottom.  Strangely, he agreed to my inspection and thrust his naked arse my way.  “There are still faint marks,” I revealed, gently but boldly tracing the outline of one with my index finger, “That must have been a hard thrashing for the marks to still be showing.”

“Yes it was.  Hardest ever.  Ten strokes.  On the bare.”

I whistled with admiration, all the time willing a burgeoning erection to disappear.  “Wow!  Bare, eh?  And ten strokes!  That sounds over the top, frankly.  Your Dad doesn’t do things by halves then?”

“No, he doesn’t.  He’s a mean bastard.  I’d have happily settled for half the number of strokes.”

“I’m sure you don’t mean happily,” I laughed.

“Well the first couple of strokes are bearable.  Stimulating almost.  It’s the last few which pile on the pain.  The effect is cumulative.  It’s fucking agony by the end.”

“I bet.  The most I ever got was six.  Six of the best.  At school.  I can tell you all about it later, if you want?”

He was clearly non-commital.  Despite this, I sensed that to some degree perhaps he shared my interest in corporal punishment and maybe his father’s belief in firm discipline.  The moment had gone, however, although I was determined to find out more as soon as I could.  Opportunity soon presented itself in another trip to the college bar.

I came out with it as soon as we sat down, “How’s your arse, then?” I chuckled, although I was being a complete bastard.

“Oh please Garry, not that again!  I’ve paid the price and I don’t need to be reminded.”

“Sorry,” I lied, “I just wondered whether your father was a smoker?”

“Oh yes.  He smokes alright.  Ciggies, cigars, sometimes even a pipe.  So the double standards were shocking.  What’s worse is that he lit up before he thrashed me.”

“What?”

“Yes, I know.  He’s got these annoying little rituals too.  He took out an expensive-looking paisley handkerchief and wiped the cane down before starting.  Quite unneccessary, and all for show.  Then he lit up a cigar.  The hypocrisy was breathtaking.  Just another of his many power games, I suppose.  That cigar really stank, too.”

Down in my pants, my own cigar was stirring.  The thought of my friend being on the receiving end of the cane was fascinating, no titillating, no alright, a huge turn-on!

Eventually, I found Charles more forthcoming about that beating and previous ones.  We shared our interest, and became frank with each other about it.  Eventually, and quite illegally at the time, we became lovers.  The sex was phenomenal and we spanked each other as part of our passion.

We were often discreet in our activities, but perhaps not nearly consistently enough.  For that summer, I accepted an invitation to spend the week at Charles’s place.  Charles had a twin-bed room which was ideal, and his widower father didn’t seem to mind.  I took quite a shine to the handsome military man and enjoyed the very masculine atmosphere of the house.

I’d arrived on the Saturday and immediately fell in love with the coastal town.  However, by the Tuesday, it had all gone horribly wrong.

Charles and I had decided to go cottaging, that is seeking  casual sex with men in the seafront toilets.  It was the height of folly.  We were caught in a police “sting” operation and hauled off to the station.  After gruelling and embarrassing interviews, we were locked in the cells.  Rescue came in the form of Charles’s father who came to bail us out, although I gathered that no money changed hands.  He turned up in his sparkling British Racing Green Land Rover to pick us up.  He seemed particularly annoyed with me, barking “Hands out of your pockets and get in the car.  Sharpish!”

Back at the house, the atmosphere was icy.  We were told to freshen up and then to report to Mr Jackson’s study.  Charles told me that could only mean one thing.  The cane and bloody hard!

The lecture soon started.  “IMPORTUNING!  GROSS INDECENCY!  Flashing your bottoms and cocks at all and sundry.  You disgust me.  Plus, it would be all over the local paper.  You’re lucky that the desk sergeant is a very close friend of mine.  I was able to convince him to let you both off.  In exchange for young Charles here receiving the soundest of thrashing of his life from me.”

“If Charles is getting a beating, then I should too,” I announced, surprising myself somewhat.  In truth I fancied that man something rotten.  His ample, beefy frame, his moustache, the camo trousers and the olive green jumper with the cloth shoulders.  He was a real hunk, and he was was bringing out the latent submissive in me.  He seemed surprised at my willingness.

“Yes, you should, but I could only do that with your father’s permission.  I could telephone him, I suppose,” he headed for the old-fashioned bakelite phone on his desk, “What’s his number?”

“No, no, please Mr Jackson, don’t involve him!  Just thrash me please.  I’m old enough to make that sort of decision myself.”

“Hmmm.  Well, I’m not sure about that, Garry.  You’re only 19, I believe.  Seems a bit irregular.  What do you think, Charles?”

“Me?  Does my opinion matter?”

“No, perhaps not.  Very well, I will thrash you too, Garry.  You had better watch Charles, so that you know the procedure.  Charles, get ready.”

I was excited.  I was going to see my boyfriend caned hard on his bare bottom. Although I was embarrassed, I could sense my penis getting more and more excited by the second.  I couldn’t wait.

But when the beating came, it was truly terrifying.  Mr Jackson had Charles bend over a sort of carving chair.  He had to grip the handles and thrust his naked arse up for punishment.  Jackson opened a long thin drawer and extracted the crook-handled cane.  It looked exactly the same as the school models I had experienced in painful visits to my housemaster’s study.

Then the silken handkerchief was produced, just as Charles had mentioned.  Mr Jackson slowly wiped the shaft of the cane with it, in a repeated motion that seemed almost as if he was masturbating the cane.  How strange.   Suddenly, the first stroke cracked down with a wicked retort.  Charles grunted but barely moved.  He didn’t dare.  The second stroke seemed harder but Charles took it in stoic silence.  A third followed rapidly, and again my lover was quiet.  My friend was a tough man, of that I could now have no doubt.  My admiration for him was growing, as was my cock.  Stroke four landed and Charles gasped.  Now he was really feeling it.  His father upped the pace slashing strokes five, six and seven with real venom.  The eighth followed and Charles was now gasping and groaning.

“I think a couple more to drive the message home, Charles.  Prepare yourself!”

“Yes, father.  Aaargh!”

Yes indeed, the ninth stroke was landed diagonally, relighting earlier strokes and spreading pain all over the naked flesh.  Almost inevitably, the final stroke was a matching diagonal on the other flank.  It must have been agony!

“You can get up now, son.”

Slowly, Charles rose up.  He drew his briefs and trousers up, wincing as the garments made contact with his battered behind.  He shook his father’s hand and simply said, “Thank you father.”

“Think nothing of it,” Mr Jackson replied before he directed his gaze at me.  “Now then, Garry.  What are we to do with you?  You’ve had the cane before, I take it?”

“Yes, Sir I have.  A few times.”

“Good, good.  Every lad should experience its discipline.  But I’m not sure I can give you as hard a beating as Charles has just had.  And certainly not bare arse.”

I was shocked by his colourful language, and by the viciousness of the beating I’d just witnessed.  But I had something to prove to Mr Jackson, and to my lover.  “I should have exactly the same, and on the bare too.”

“I think not.  We can bare you, of course but I think a warm-up of four with the strap and then six of the very best with the cane.  That will suffice.”  I was in no position to argue or negotiate.  “Trousers down!” he barked.

I stood there in my crisp white briefs, with a huge erection.  I made to pull them down but Jackson intercepted and pulled them down roughly for me, momentarily snagging them on my rampant manhood.  I was so embarrassed as I made to bend over the carving chair.

“I don’t think so, Garry!  Over my lap!”

Oh God, I had to bend over his lap, my stiff teenage erection pressing hard against his leg.  I thought I was going to die of embarrassment, as he couldn’t have failed to notice my predicament.  I couldn’t catch Charles’s eye, but he must have seen my cock too.

“Just four then to warm this flesh for the cane,” he spoke softly before lashing the leather hide down on my cheeks.  The stinging burn of that first stroke was instantaneous and I felt sure I heard the bastard laugh quietly.  Shit, it hurt.  A second, third and fourth followed in a steady but punishing rhythm.  I cried out as each stroke hit home.  As beatings go, it was ample.  I certainly didn’t need the cane on top.  And yet still, my erection was holding firm.  Mr Jackson tossed the strap down on his dark wooden desk.  He picked up the cane, only to start wiping it down rhythmically, as before. He pointed to the carver chair and I took the same position as Charles had.

“Stick your arse out more,” he commanded, and my shame was total.  What a bastard he was, I thought to myself.  Finally, my cock was losing its excited state, which was something of a relief.

With an almighty crack the first cane stroke landed, dead centre of my arse.  Jackson caned me five more times.  He was taking it much more slowly than he had with Charles.  It was almost as if he was testing me, enjoying my suffering and this unique opportunity to deal with me.  I made it through the beating, though by the time I rose, I was wiping bitter salty tears from my eyes.  It had been a hard old thrashing, that was for sure.  I pulled up my trousers and pants, and we shook hands, following the established protocol.

“Right now.  We’re done here,” his tone suddenly switched from authoritarian to something a lot friendlier, “The slate’s wiped clean, but for heaven’s sake you two, do be more careful in future.  Now, I shouldn’t really do this, but as a favour, here’s some ointment you might wish to apply at some stage.  And here’s a spare tin of Vaseline, but keep the noise down.”  He winked at us as our jaws dropped.

The End

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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 © MMXXII by Rod Cayenne.  All rights reserved.

Comments welcome.  Comments are here.

The Unseen Witnesses (M/M with F audience) NEW!

♥ Site recommended story ♥

New to The Canery is this exciting caning story by very special guest author Baddlad17.   All the characters are 18 or older. WARNING: ADULTS ONLY!

The Unseen Witnesses by Baddlad17

So it is true then, the Head does cane them trousers down.

Annabelle Scott could barely believe what she had just witnessed.

Yes. The boys were telling the truth.

Annabelle had smiled as she watched the teenage boy drop his trousers and bend across the arm of the chair, his bare bottom fully displayed, giving her a bird’s eye view. She had watched mesmerised as the Head laid stripe after scorching stripe across the poor boys bottom.

When told, the boy stood, rubbed his sore backside vigorously, in doing so displaying his manhood shamelessly before the Head. Lord knows what he would have done had he known female eyes had been eagerly watching. The tears rolled down his face as the Headmaster admonished him. Finally he had bent down to retrieve his fallen pants and trousers, covering his red welted buttocks.

Uplands Private Independent Day School had, up until this year, been a boys’ only establishment. However, times were changing, the school had been put under some pressure to modernise, part of which had been a pledge to admit female students. The governors, after much debate, voted in favour of this change, so for the first time in its one hundred and sixty year history, girls were allowed as members of the student body. For a trial period they were only accepted in the sixth form. If successful, they would introduce younger students from next year. Of course the school was run and operated entirely by male staff; none of them had any experience of dealing with the fairer sex, something which was of some concern to the Head and his staff.

The Headmaster, Mr Barrowclough, had argued this point with the Governors; but he had been overruled. The Head was a tall imposing man in his mid-fifties; the boys found him quite frightening, with good reason. It was certainly not wise to cross him!

Used to dealing with boys and young men, ruthlessly, he was rather intimidated as to how he would handle these’females.’ The question of discipline had been uppermost in his mind. When the boys misbehaved they could be certain of a cane connecting with their bared posteriors. He had though made it crystal clear to the Governors that he would never bring himself to cane any young lady regardless of what they had done. So for the first time in his career he would have to consider implementing some form of non– physical punishment should any of the girls need to be punished.

The senior boys, in contrast to the staff, had been very welcoming of girls attending the school. In this first intake there was only twenty. Most of the boys, from the third year up, were totally enamoured of them. Within days a number of suitors were making advances, making their choices and as males throughout the animal kingdom will, tried to win a mate. It was becoming a bit of a problem in the sixth form classes, and lessons had started to be disrupted as the boys were more interested in attracting the young ladies, than concentrating on their studies. They were warned to buckle down or face punishment. Some masters even threatened to get the slipper out to warm the backsides of these big lads, a punishment that was usually reserved for the younger boys.

In desperation, the masters complained bitterly during a staff meeting about the disruption the girls were having on classes, so that the Head had to issue a warning to the seniors that discipline would be rigidly enforced if behaviour did not improve. He made an announcement during morning assembly.

It has been brought to my notice that a number of sixth form boys are not concentrating on their studies this term. This seems to be as a direct result of having young ladies present. I will issue this warning just once to all of you. I am going to be keeping a close eye on end of term exam results and if I find any boy has dropped below the benchmark he is expected to achieve, he will be invited into my study. I do not need to spell you what that portends, do I gentlemen?

A low murmur went round the hall as the boys knew only too well the Heads meaning. Invariably when invited into the study, a lad left clutching a very sore bottom. Mr Barrowclough knew how to use a cane and he applied it with relish to the upturned bottom of any boy unlucky enough to have received an invite. A number of the sixth gave each other knowing looks with some gently pressing their buttocks as they recalled a previous painful visit to the Heads study.

The innocence of the girls soon became apparent as they questioned the boys as to what happened in the Heads study.

James Anderson and Matt Handley grinned widely when their new girlfriends Annabelle Scott and Lindsay Owen wanted to know what the Head had meant.

Well if you are invited into the Heads study, you receive a long lecture about your behaviour and then you are asked to lower your trousers and bend over the easy armchair. The Head then canes you, four, six or even eight strokes. On a bare arse it is excruciatingly painful.

James Anderson’s eyes glazed over as he recalled a visit to the study the previous year. On that occasion he had received four strokes but he had been in tears and could barely sit down in class for the rest of the afternoon.

Stop telling lies Jamie! The Head doesn’t make you take your trousers down!

The girls giggled while Matt and James looked at them incredulously.

I am telling the truth girls, ask Matt.

Matt nodded before confirming his friend’s version of events.

Oh boy yes he does. I once got six and could not sit down afterwards. My backside bore the stripes for over a week. When Barrowclough canes, you know about it!

The girls laughed, neither of them fully believing their boyfriends. However, a plot was forming in their minds. One way or another they would get the proof, and find out the truth.

Because the decision had been taken to permit girls into the sixth form at short notice, Mr Barrowclough had decided that it would not be wise to allow girls to share the same common room with the boys so a new area had to found. Directly opposite the Heads office in an old building, there were a couple of rooms which would be ideal. Situated on the first floor the rooms had at one time been used as classrooms, but had been used for nothing more than storage for over ten years. A lick of paint, fresh curtains and some comfortable chairs and sofas, had made the rooms suitable for the purpose. However no one had realized that from one of the windows you could get a full view straight into the Heads study. Lindsay had been the first to realise this as she stood looking out of the window one day. As she looked down she could see a boy standing before the Headmaster. From the way he hung his Head she sensed he might be in trouble. This was confirmed a minute or so later when the Head came round the desk and brought out a cane.

Lindsay had been fascinated as she looked on. Then she was amazed as the boy turned round and swiftly dropped his trousers and underpants before bending over the back of an armchair. The Head flicked back his shirt leaving his bottom bare. She watched in total shock as four very hard strokes were delivered to the naked bottom. When he stood up she could see he was distressed and his eyes were wet. He could not let go of his bottom at first. She sensed the Head must have said something as he quickly reached down and replaced his fallen clothes. The whole scene had lasted less than three minutes but it confirmed the boys had been telling the truth. They were caned on the bare backside.

She could hardly contain what she had seen, but decided it might be prudent to keep this to herself, as should others find out, the news might leak out and measures put in place to prevent the girls from seeing the going’s on in the Heads study. At first Annabelle did not believe her friend but after what she had just witnessed she knew better. Better still, tomorrow the end of term exam results would be issued, so the girls had a feeling some sixth form boys would be baring all in the study after the end of school and they had every intention of watching the proceedings.

Anderson, Andrews, Cole, Handley, Stephens and Webb; despite the warning I issued a couple of weeks back, you have all achieved results more than five per cent below expectations. Therefore I will follow through on my promise and invite you all to visit my study at four pm this afternoon.

Barrowclough cast a cold glare at the six blushing lads who knew without a doubt what awaited them, as did the rest of the school. Matt Handley gulped, while James Anderson shook his head in disbelief. Across the hall the lads’ girlfriends cast a knowing look at one another. Not only would they get to see six senior boys getting the cane. They would also be getting a bird’s eye view of their boyfriends’ sufferings. Lindsey licked her lips in anticipation of the afternoon’s events.

Throughout the day the condemned lads struggled to concentrate on their studies, this was compounded by the ribbing they were receiving from their classmates. Some of the girls found it quite amusing as a description of what was to happen, was described to them. Lindsay and Annabelle though, played it cool. They would be having ringside seats and did not want to jeopardise that for anything.

All too soon four pm arrived and the six seniors made the trip down the dark corridor to stand outside the Headmaster’s study. Each of them was lost in their own thoughts of their impending doom. They had all been in front of the Head before, so they were more than aware of their fate and how painful it was going to be. Meanwhile Annabelle and Lindsey made a quick dash from their last lesson up to their common room, which was as expected at this time of day, empty.

The girls were very excited at the prospect of what they were about to see. From their viewpoint they could make out the Head turning the easy armchair around so the back faced the window. This meant they would see the naked buttocks clearly being caned.

Outside the study the six boys stood, hands clammy, stomachs churning, as they waited. The door opened and Barrowclough looked down the line.

Alphabetical order gentlemen. Mr Anderson, step inside please.

James Anderson gave a weak smile to the rest of the condemned before stepping inside and closing the door behind him.

Anderson, there is no point in mulling over why you are here. Since the arrival of the girls at the start of term, classes have been disrupted as you boys seem to prefer to spend time chatting them up rather than studying. I might have expected this from the fourth or even the fifth form, but sixth formers should be more mature. Despite my promise you have seen fit to carry on. Well now I will keep my promise. If I can’t get it into your head, then maybe your bottom will be a better recipient. Come round by the chair and present your bare backside over the back.

In spite of expecting this James gulped and blushed before carrying out the instructions. As he came into view Lindsay nearly wet herself. She was about to witness her boyfriend getting his bottom tanned and she was relishing the prospect. Both girls watched as James dropped his trousers and then his underpants before bending over the back of the easy chair. His smooth muscular buttocks were in direct line of their vision. The girls looked on entranced as the Head came and stood beside him, a long slender cane in his hands. Suddenly he reared back and the first stroke sliced into the naked buttocks. As the Head removed the cane a red line was visible across the dead centre of the quivering buttocks. They watched him line up again and lash a second stroke. This time the bottom swayed a little as James struggled to absorb the fire burning across his behind. A second line was visible. They now watched entranced as the Head delivered a further four strokes, lower and lower down the boy’s bottom. By the time the last stroke had landed James was in tears and his backside was blazing.

Lindsay was licking her lips. She had actually enjoyed that, though she did not know why. In addition she was feeling moist inside her panties. She was looking forward to seeing her boyfriend later when she could rub some cream in and feel those raised welts. She was also hoping that he might finally take her tonight. So far they had enjoyed oral sex and some heavy petting but she wanted more, she was desperate to feel his hot rod probing deep inside her.

Before they realized it, James had his trousers back up and was wiping his eyes with a tissue as he walked his other hand massaging the inflamed cheeks. The two looked at one another and briefly smiled. A minute or so later they recognised the hunky figure of Gavin Andrews, captain of the rugby first XV. He was over six feet tall, a well– built athletic lad. His short black hair, piercing blue eyes and dimpled cheeks had made him a favourite amongst the girls. He was seeing Collette Adams but she was unaware of the window. Lindsay and Annabelle smiled cheekily as they watched him undress and present his backside over the armchair. His broad muscular backside was pale and white in contrast to his suntanned back, His legs were covered in tight short dark hair. He presented a fine figure across the chair.

Mr Barrowclough lined up the cane and lashed it across the rugby captain’s bottom. Like James before him he tried his best to remain stoical but as the strokes landed lower and lower down his backside, stinging and striping the naked cheeks, tears welled in his eyes. As the sixth sliced into him the room rent with a howl before he collapsed into the chair, tears now falling down his face. The Head watched the last stroke swell before giving Andrews permission to stand up.

The girls’ eyes nearly popped out of their Heads as the lad stood gripping his buttocks, his more than ample cock semi erect swinging freely while the Head gave him the final admonishment. Very soon Andrews was limping from the office to face his mates still waiting for their entry into the legal torture chamber.

Jonathon Cole was next followed by Annabelle’s boyfriend Matt. Each boy had swallowed their pride and bared their arses before going over the chair. If they had been aware of the audience looking on, they might have thought differently. The girls got more and more excited as the final two lads entered, stripped and bent over for their six strokes. By the time Oliver Webb had pulled up his trousers, the girls were damp and moist between their legs. They were very turned on and could barely wait to see their boyfriends later.

While the girls had enjoyed the last few minutes, the same could not be said for the six senior lads. Each one of them had emerged from the Heads study in excruciating pain, their backsides burning, throbbing and stinging like hell. As the pain reached a peak they had stopped dead in their tracks and stood just holding onto their buttocks as if their lives depended on it. Despite their seniority they could not stop tears from trickling down their cheeks as the pain engulfed them. After a few moments they had, one by one, hobbled off to the toilets, their hands unable to let go of their bottoms, their faces etched in pain resembling someone who has severe toothache.

On arriving at the toilet block they slowly eased down their trousers and pants to turn round and to try to see the damage that had been done to their arses. Tears continued to fall as they tried in vain to cool down the fires by applying cold water to the throbbing ridges. One by one they arrived in the block and commiserated with one another over the injustice of what had happened.

It was some three hours later that Jamie and Matt met up with their girlfriends. They arrived in loose fitting trousers and seemed to be walking with a gait. The girls could not help but laugh as the lads arrived.

What is so funny Jamie asked

You two are! We saw you getting your botty’s smacked earlier.

What! How! How could you see that?

Both boys blushed deeply, very embarrassed that their girlfriends seemed to be fully aware of how they had been punished.

Still giggling the girls explained the view from the window and how they had stood and watched each one of them drop their trousers and present their bottoms for the Heads cane. The boys shook their heads in disbelief.

You girls should get a taste of the cane; you would not find it so funny then!

They laughed again before asking the boys if they wanted their bottoms rubbed better. A few minutes later the boys had their bums exposed again, lying face down on Lindsay’s bed while the girls applied cold cream to the hard swollen welts. The girls seemed fascinated at the stripes while the boys began to get erect. In no time at all the lads were on their backs while their girlfriends brought them off side by side.

Later that evening, with Lindsay’s parents out of the way, the two couples made love, the girls losing their virginities. The lads ended up in ecstasy as they reached their climaxes, all thoughts of the afternoon’s beatings gone from their minds. If anything, the thrashing’s had made the boys more virulent. In spite of the rawness of their arses.

Many more boys would visit the Heads study over the coming months and bend over the back of the armchair, totally unaware they had an audience watching their beatings. If only Barrowclough had known. But ignorance is bliss and the window which overlooked his study remained a secret, shared only by the four sixth form students.

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Story ©MMXIV by Baddlad17, 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, institutions and businesses appearing in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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Authors love your feedback!  Please leave a comment. You can find the comments here, or by using the link at the top of the story.

Baddlad17’s excellent earlier stories for The Canery are available here.  Further great stories by Baddlad17 may be found at this external link.