♥ Site recommended story ♥
Just in time for Valentine’s Day comes this brand spanking new caning story by very special guest author JOELSTRAP. This story is exclusive to The Canery! WARNING: ADULTS ONLY!
The Chocolate Bottom by Joelstrap
“Justin’s got a Valentine!” squealed Derek. “Look! He’s gone as red as a post-box!”
“Shut up, you little shit!” I hissed furiously at my kid-brother, as mum came back into the room carrying a plate of poached eggs.
She smiled at me as she placed the plate in front of me.
“That’s nice, dear,” she said. “It’s very early. Valentine’s Day is still over a week away. Is it from that very sexy Tony?”
“Mum!” I yelped, outraged.
“What?”
“You can’t say he’s sexy. He’s half your age.”
“What’s that got to do with it? He’s gorgeous,” retorted mum. “If he’s even half as good as he looks in his t-shirt and shorts, he must be red-hot out of them.”
Derek spluttered into his cereal and I gave him an angry glare before turning on mum.
“You’re disgusting,” I said coldly.
“He’s scared you pinch Tony for yourself,” interjected Derek. “He can’t get into Tony’s pants, so he doesn’t want you to get in either.”
“That will do, Derek,” snapped mum irately. “You will not talk like that.”
“But I was only…….”, began Derek before he caught mum’s eye and subsided into silence.
“I’m sorry, Justin. I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” she said, turning to me.
“It’s okay; and you’re not disgusting. Tony is as sexy as a cartload of monkeys; but I don’t think the card’s from him anyway. I guess it could be; but it’s not signed.”
“Ah! Maybe you’ve got a mystery admirer, Justin.”
“Who’s so hot for you that he can’t wait for Valentine’s Day to send his card,” giggled Derek; and he suddenly snatched the card from me.
“Oooh, it says: To The Boy With The Beautiful Bottom,” he yelped excitedly as he dodged past me and made for the door.
“Mum!” I yelled. “Tell him to give it to me!”
“All right, Derek. Hand it over to Justin,” said mum.
“I wonder who likes his arse!”
“Derek!” said mum dangerously quietly.
My younger brother knew that he was in imminent peril of losing his mobile-phone for a week, and so he reluctantly handed me the card and left the room.
“Thanks, mum. I know he’s only fourteen, but he’s a bit of a pain sometimes.”
“While at eighteen, you’re a constant joy to live with,” said mum with a smile.
“Okay, I know I can be a bit awkward at times,” I admitted, “but I’m trying to be grown up.”
“I know, dear. You’re doing fine. I hope you’re not eating too much chocolate from that shop where you’ve been working since new year. You’ll put your beautiful bottom in danger if you do,” said mum. “It’d be a pity to spoil it. I used to think, when I was changing your nappies and putting cream and powder on your behind, how beautifully-formed it was; and when I was bathing you when you were a bit older…….”
I heard no more as I fled the room and thundered up to my bedroom.
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A kindly neighbour who knew Mr. Bean, the owner of the shop in the High Street called Chocs, had put in a word for me; and since, like any 18-year-old I was desperate for money while I was at college, I had been delighted to land the job on Thursday and Friday evenings and all day on Saturdays. Bean turned out to be a rather good-looking guy in his mid-thirties who had started the shop just three years earlier. The fact that some of the chocolate was made by his cousin and was therefore different from the chocolates he bought in to sell, had helped, along with his undoubted business acumen, to make the enterprise a success. The shop was well-stocked in readiness for Valentine’s Day, with heart-shaped tins and boxes of chocolates, chocolate teddy-bears, animals, birds, slabs of chocolate made to look like bunches of flowers; and, hidden under the counter, chunks of chocolate made into exquisite pairs of breasts, buttocks and some very generous cocks-and-balls. A discreet notice informed customers that they could ask to see the adult range.
“They’ve got to be eighteen to see these things though,” I was warned. “If they don’t look old enough, you must ask for ID, Justin, okay?”
In the middle of the shop stood a stunning chocolate-fountain, a cascade of liquid chocolate flowing down in a thin curtain from the top bowl, to fill and then overflow a slightly larger one and then into the largest one at the foot. From there it was pumped round to repeat the process. I’d been allowed to insert the bowl of a long-handled spoon into the curtain of falling chocolate and to withdraw it, full to the brim. The chocolate was delicious.
“We make that ourselves,” he had said. “And some of the other chocolates in the shop too.”
“And the chocolate goolies and things as well?” I’d hazarded.
“Yes. They’re proving rather popular, especially with the younger people.”
“I’m not surprised.”
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The Thursday and Friday evening-opening, which had only begun in January, was aimed at increasing the number of customers in the run-up to Valentine’s Day and then to Easter. It had been a huge success and although in theory I was serving in the shop by myself at those times, Bean himself often had to come through from doing his paperwork in the back-room, to help out.
It was the Friday evening ahead of Valentine’s Day on the Monday when the bell jangled and in walked Neil. He had been at school with me, but while I had embarked on a college course, he had joined his family’s bookselling business. It seemed appropriate because Neil was of slim build and had a slightly bookish air about him. He had fair hair which fell in a boyish fringe across his forehead; and he had a hell of a cute arse on him.
“So, Neil, got your eye on a girl at last?” I asked with a grin. “Needing something to show her how much she means to you and maybe give you the key to her pants?”
“Cheeky bugger! But it’s gonna be tricky and I do need something different to really show how I feel,” admitted Neil good-naturedly as he began to browse among the myriad boxes of chocolates in every form imaginable.
I had to serve another two customers before I could turn my attention back to Neil.
“See anything you’d like?”
“Dunno. There’s so much. What would you get for somebody you really wanted to impress, Justin?”
The shop was almost empty apart from a couple of girls giggling over various chocolate-selections near the window and I beckoned Neil to the counter and showed him the chocolate-buttocks. He gave a low whistle.
“Shit! They’re hell of a sexy!”
“You think they might give you a chance?” I asked.
“Yeh. I think they might be just the thing,” he said thoughtfully.
At that moment the two girls came to the counter and I was about to slide the chocolate-bottom out of sight when Neil stopped me and turned to the girls.
“If a guy gave you that as a Valentine gift, what would you think?” he asked them.
“I’d think he needed to have his face slapped,” replied one.
“And I’d be putting a padlock on my pants,” vouchsafed her pal.
Neil looked pensive while I served the girls and they left the shop.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll take the chocolate arse.”
“You sure?” I enquired. “The girls’ reaction didn’t sound too encouraging.”
“Oh, I don’t know. It got their attention, didn’t it? Anyway, that’s what I want. Can you put it in a bag? I don’t want to walk down the street carrying something like that openly.”
I duly bagged the item, took Neil’s money and watched his stunning behind as he walked towards the door. He’d just put his hand on the handle when the door was pushed violently open from the outside and two guys whom I recognised from school came barging in, knocking Neil aside. I eyed Geordie and Mike uneasily. They were bullies and liked to cause trouble. I was relieved to know that Bean was in the room at the back, within call, but felt that I had to try to deal with the situation myself.
“So, you found a girl daft enough to go out with you?” said Geordie to Neil.
“It’s none of your business,” retorted Neil.
“It’ll take more than chocolate to persuade any decent girl to look twice at a twerp like you,” remarked Mike rudely.
“Leave him alone,” I said. “Do you want to buy anything?”
“Hell, no! Real guys like us don’t need chocolates to get us into a girl’s pants,” asserted Geordie. “We just came in to see what this little squirt was buying.”
He lunged at Neil and tried to grab the bag from him but Neil dodged away and retreated behind the chocolate-fountain. The two bullies pursued him and I strode forward to intervene. Mike made an attempt to snatch Neil’s purchase but his arm caught me a stinging blow on the ear. Angrily, I grabbed his collar and strong-armed him out of the door and locked it behind him. By the time I got back, Geordie had managed to get the package from Neil.
“Give that back to him right now,” I ordered.
“So what did the little poofter buy, eh?” sneered Geordie. “A bunch of chocolate pansies? A soppy teddy-bear? A…….fucking hell!”
He had ripped open the bag and was holding the chocolate-buttocks and staring disbelievingly at them. Neil made a leap to retrieve his purchase, but Geordie held it high, out of his reach and ducked round the fountain.
“Come and get it!” he taunted.
“Give it to him right now, Geordie,” I ordered, “or I’ll call Mr. Bean.”
“What does a shit-faced little runt like him need with something like this?” demanded Geordie. “I bet he’s gonna try fucking it because he can’t get a real girl to shove his cock into.”
Neil, his face red with fury, jumped at Geordie who ran towards the door and I barred his way. For a moment he paused and then he dropped the chocolate-arse on the floor and jumped on it, smashing it to little pieces. I lost it. I grabbed him by the hair and shoved his head hard into the chocolate-fountain. At that moment, Bean, alerted by the loud voices, came through and demanded angrily to know what I was doing. I released Geordie and he emerged, dripping liquid-chocolate from his hair, his chin, his nose, his hands. He tried to clear chocolate from his eyes and blinked at us all.
Bean acted instantly, instructing me to get rid of the broken chocolate on the floor and the splashed chocolate around the fountain, before piloting Geordie away into the back-shop where he cleaned him up and emerged again with him, more or less chocolate-free, a few minutes later. As he ushered him out of the shop, I noticed that Geordie was clutching a £20 note. I approached Bean cautiously and began a profuse apology; and it was only then that I noticed that Neil was still in the shop, standing quietly by the window. Bean summoned him over and asked him to say what had happened. Neil was impressive, telling succinctly and accurately what had occurred; and, pressed by Bean, he confirmed that I had deliberately pushed Geordie into the chocolate-fountain. He insisted though on stressing the extreme provocation.
“I’m indebted to you, sir, for being so helpful,” Bean told him, “and I’ll replace your broken item free of charge. These, er, special items are made by ourselves and I don’t have any more at the moment; but I will make sure there’s one ready for you if you come in late afternoon tomorrow.”
He shook Neil’s hand and escorted him to the door and then returned to me.
“We’d better finish the evening session,” he said. “And then you and I, young man, need to have a serious talk.”
My heart sank. I just knew that I was going to be sacked. In spite of the provocation, I was perfectly well aware that I’d had no right to shove Geordie into the chocolate-fountain; however much I’d enjoyed doing so. We eventually got rid of the last customers about twenty past eight and then we locked up for the night before I was summoned to the office behind the shop.
“Are you going to fire me?” I asked gloomily.
“Yes,” replied Bean. “You can’t go around pushing people into the fountain, however obnoxious or badly-behaved they are, with impunity. You know that, don’t you, Justin?”
“Yes,” I admitted dejectedly.
“It is, however, possible for me to fire you but for you to continue working here,” he said. “You are, after all, a valuable member of the staff and I wouldn’t want to lose you.”
“But……but…I don’t understand.”
“I can fire your bottom,” said Bean with a smile, “but still employ you afterwards.”
It took several seconds for the import of this statement to sink in and then I stared at him in disbelief.
“You want to give me a beating?”
Bean opened a cupboard and abstracted a slender cane which he bent into a smooth arc.
“With….with that?”
“Exactly. This should fire your behind to punish you for your bad behaviour; and then I won’t need to fire you, as it were.”
I continued to stare in fascinated horror at the lithe cane.
“So, you’re saying that if I agree to get my bottom ‘fired’ with the cane, the rest of me doesn’t get fired?”
“Admirably put,” agreed Bean. “It’s up to you.”
“I’ve never even been spanked in my life,” I confessed. “I dunno how I’d cope with that.”
“Only one way to find out.”
I thought hard, my mind racing. The job was great. I loved it and the money was an important consideration. I was eighteen. Surely I could take a caning? I eyed the rod nervously and reminded myself that boys much younger than I got beaten with a thing like that in former days. I swallowed and looked straight at him.
“Okay,” I said. “I know I’ve behaved badly and need to pay the price; but I do like the job and I’d like to go on working here; so……I’ll take the cane.”
“Right. Let’s get on with it. Trousers and pants off, Justin!”
“You mean I’m getting it bare?”
“Completely. Hurry up!”
Uneasily, I complied and then stood with my back to him, shy of showing him my genitals, not least because my cock was surprisingly perky. He put a chair in front of me and told me to bend over, hands grasping the sides. “And don’t move,” he said.
I felt scarily vulnerable and yet there was a thread of curiosity running through my nervousness. I felt a tremor of excitement at the prospect of finding out what the punishment of yesteryear was all about. He didn’t leave me long in suspense. I felt the cane sliding over the taut skin of my rump before it was lifted away and returned at high speed, delivering a searing line of fire across the crown of my buttocks. I drew in breath sharply. That had hurt a lot more than I’d expected. The cane rapped my bottom again and then was driven in hard a little lower down. As the pain burned fiercely, I clenched my glutes and rode the vicious sting.
The third was lower still and the slim rod seemed to lash me like a whip. I gasped aloud and bucked a little as the pain really got through to me. I’d scarcely managed to get my body under control when he hit me again, a streak of blazing flame ripping through my flesh immediately below number three, so that the fires of that earlier stroke seemed to be reignited. I stifled a yelp and writhed. I fought to steady myself and then the fifth came very low, raising the pain-level considerably and forcing another barely-stifled squeal from me. I was aware that my breathing was fast and that a sheen of sweat was glistening on my chest. I tried in vain to still a persistent quiver in my legs as I waited for number six. It came with ferocious power, scoring a white-hot furrow of infernal flame across my crease so that I yelped loudly and scrubbed desperately at my tortured flesh with my right hand.
“Stop that at once!” ordered Bean, “or I’ll repeat the stroke.”
I quickly returned my hand to the edge of the chair. Everybody’s heard of ‘six of the best’ and I assumed that was the beating complete. I was steadying my breathing when I felt the cane probing my behind again; and I realised with a horrified start that he hadn’t done with me. I tensed my body only just in time before a brutal stroke landed at an angle, cross-cutting several earlier welts. I twisted from the waist, uttering an agonised squeal; and then forced myself to settle down. Another stroke landed, also at an angle and the pain soared, driving a howl of agony from me as I bucked and squirmed in a frantic effort to process the torture.
“Good. That looked as if it got through to you,” observed Bean. “I’d say that your bottom had definitely been fired, wouldn’t you, Justin?”
“Yes,” I panted.
“Stand up.”
I rose carefully and felt my way with wondering hands over my ridged and flaming buttocks. My penis, which had gone into craven retreat early on, returned with a burst of enthusiasm.
“There will be no more strong-arm tactics with customers; and definitely no more pushing anyone into the chocolate-fountain. Understood, Justin?”
“Understood,” I assured him. “Never again.”
“Get your pants and trousers up and I’ll see you at 8.30 tomorrow morning,” he said.
I obeyed and left the shop, feeling my cane-welts every step of the walk home. In my own room, I lay on my bed and wanked myself off, eyes closed as I relived the caning, until my balls exploded in one of the most powerful orgasms I’d ever had.
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About half-past four the next afternoon, Neil arrived to collect his newly-made pair of chocolate buttocks, which had been wrapped and left under the counter in readiness. The shop was fairly quiet and Claire, who worked daytimes during the week and on Saturdays, was dealing with a customer, so I had a chance to speak to Neil softly.
“So you didn’t get fired?” he asked.
“Well, yeh, I did, in a way; but I’m still working here.”
He looked blank and I gave him a hasty explanation.
“He caned you?” exclaimed Neil, an astounded look on his face.
“Fired my bottom bloody good and hot,” I confirmed, “but I’ve still got the job.”
“It was my fault,” said Neil, looking upset.
“No it wasn’t. It was that bloody Geordie; and it was me too. I should never have lost it and shoved his stupid face in the fountain.”
“It was fucking funny though,” replied Neil with a grin.
Some more customers entered the shop and I hastily handed over Neil’s parcel.
“Best of luck,” I said to him. “I hope she likes them.”
Neil smiled shyly and turned to walk out. For several seconds I was distracted by watching his perfect globes as he made for the door; and then I turned to serve the next customer.
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Since I’d made no progress in discovering who had sent me the Valentine and since no-one had admitted to doing so, I’d concluded that whoever it was would reveal himself on Valentine’s Day itself. At breakfast that Monday morning, mum wanted to know if I had any plans and I told her that I was hoping some sexy guy would at last unveil the plans he had for me. All that day between college-classes and at lunch-time I’d waited expectantly; but no guy came up to me to say he’d sent the Valentine. At the end of the day I made my way dejectedly homewards.
“Maybe he’ll contact you this evening,” said mum encouragingly.
“You mean come here? With Derek around? Shit! I hope not!”
“Tell you what. I’ll take Derek to the tenpin-bowling tonight; so that if your mystery-boy turns up, you’ll have the house to yourselves.”
“Yeh? Mum, you’re ace!”
She and Derek were getting ready to set off after the evening meal when the door-bell rang. I heard Derek run to answer it and then he called, “Justin! It’s Neil!”
“Aw, hell! What does he want?” I muttered as I got to my feet.
“Be polite, dear,” said mum as I headed for the door.
“Hi, Neil. Everything okay with the Valentine-gift?” I asked.
“Dunno yet. But I’ll find out soon, I hope. Could I…could I talk to you for a minute?”
Derek was standing close by and showed no sign of moving.
“Sure. Come up to my room.”
“It’s okay, dear, Derek and I are ready to go out,” said mum. “You can go into the sitting-room. Come on, Derek.”
“But I want to hear what…….” began Derek.
“It’s none of your business,” mum told him firmly and shoved him unceremoniously out of the front-door.
I gave her a thumbs-up in gratitude and ushered Neil into the sitting-room.
“So, when are you meeting this girl, Neil?”
“Who said it was a girl?”
“Er…well, I just assumed that it was……are you saying it’s a boy?”
Neil nodded.
“Shit! I never realised you were gay. Anyway, he’s a lucky guy. I hope he’s got the sense to say yes.”
“So what plans have you got for tonight, Justin?”
“Nothing. See, I got……….”
I stopped; and then decided that I wanted to tell him.
“I got this unsigned Valentine about ten days ago and I assumed the guy who sent it would tell me who he was today; but it never happened. I’m just hanging around now, hoping he’ll maybe phone or turn up; but it doesn’t look like it’s gonna happen.”
“To The Boy With The Beautiful Bottom,” said Neil.
“Yeh,” I admitted, going red. “Hey! How the hell did you know that?”
“How do you think, Justin?”
I gaped at him and then gasped, “You? You sent that Valentine? But why?”
“Because you’re drop-dead gorgeous; you’ve got an arse to die for; and you’re sexier than a warren-ful of rabbits,” replied Neil.
I sat down suddenly on the sofa and stared at him.
“You want me to go?” he asked quietly.
“What? No. NO! I just….it’s only that I never…….you want ME?”
“I thought that should be obvious by now,” replied Neil. “The question is, do you want me?”
I looked at him; really looked; and my penis reacted so swiftly and violently that I yelped as it tried to force its way painfully out of my pants.
“I guess that answers that then,” observed Neil with a grin. “Here! This is for you,” he went on, presenting me with a parcel.
As if in a dream, I opened the wrapping to reveal the chocolate-bottom; but it wasn’t exactly as I’d expected.
“Fuck!” I breathed as I gazed at the thing I held in my hands. In bright red icing, six slim lines lay parallel across the chocolate buttocks with another two crossing them on the diagonal.
I laid the chocolate bottom aside and stood up and shyly took Neil’s hand. I slid my finger-tips down his face and neck and rested the palm against his heart.
“You are something else,” I whispered softly in his ear, my body quivering as I felt the touch of his hair brushing against my skin.
Ever so slowly, our faces moved closer and closer until our lips touched and we were soon writhing together in a passionate kiss. On coming up for air, I asked breathlessly: “How did you know to put eight red marks on the chocolate-arse? I never told you how many Bean gave me.”
“Ah!” said Neil. “After you told me how you’d got your bum caned, I contacted Bean first thing this morning, to ask how many he’d given you; so that I could put the red stripes on the chocolate. But he said I’d never be able to make a neat job of it and to bring it in right away and he’d get the marks done in red icing, for me to collect later. I think he was quite tickled with the idea of what I was doing, and he wanted to help.”
“Wonder why he’d do that?”
“He said you were a great worker and he didn’t want to lose you; and he also said he really enjoyed caning you. I think he’s maybe hoping to get to do it again.”
“What! He’s expecting me to shove some other hooligan’s head in the chocolate-fountain?”
“No; I don’t think that’s it. I think he’s hoping you might have liked it enough to want more; but not so ferociously of course.”
“It was kind of exciting,” I admitted slowly. “There’s something about that fierce sting.”
“Yeh; really gets to your balls, doesn’t it?” said Neil.
I stared at him.
“How do you know?” I demanded.
“I’ve always liked the idea of being caned and I went on a site a few weeks ago; and found Bean. I’ve had five canings from him since the new year. They all stung like hell. I loved them!”
“You really are incredible,” I gasped.
“So, you gonna let me see the cane-marks on your bum?”
I stripped and Neil looked and then felt his way over the fading welts with gentle finger-pads.
“Three days on and I can still see them and feel a bit of raised skin,” he remarked. “That was one bloody hard caning you got, Justin.”
“Tell me about it!”
“Think you might like to get a sexier caning from Bean along with me sometime?” he asked softly.
“Mmmmm! I think I might.”
We kissed again and then Neil stripped as well and we were swiftly entangled on my bed, exploring, writhing, caressing and licking until he came in a powerful explosion of pent-up boy-cream. I licked Neil’s spunk off his chest and looked into his eyes; and then he got to work on my throbbing penis until powerful spurts of my spunk soared so high they splattered his face.
“Now that’s the kind of fountain you can shove my face into any day,” he told me with a grin. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Justin.”
“And chocolate-buttocks are fine,” I replied caressing his exquisite rear, “but there’s nothing like a pair of real, firm, boy-buns. Happy Valentine’s Day, Neil.”
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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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