Frisbee To Cane (M/M) NEW!

♥ Site recommended story ♥

It’s time for a brand spanking new caning story by very special guest author JOELSTRAP.  This story is exclusive to The Canery!  All the characters are 18 or over. WARNING: ADULTS ONLY!

Frisbee To Cane by Joelstrap

Yes, I know it’s a completely different shape and it was made for a totally different purpose, but the fact remains that the frisbee led to the cane; and back again. Now, I know what you’re probably thinking: guy tosses frisbee wildly and it hits something or someone, and as a result guy gets his arse caned. That’s as the crow flies though; but in actuality, the route from frisbee to cane and to frisbee again was much more circuitous. Had Clive not been caught in flagrante delicto, screwing a mate’s girl, and fallen down the stairs while desperately trying to make his escape from the scene of the crime, and to avoid being biffed on the head with a baseball-bat wielded by the said girl’s furious boyfriend, things would obviously not have turned out the way they did. Clive, however, was caught, tumbled down the stair, and broke his arm. That of course, as no doubt you realise, meant that the frisbee suddenly took on a new relevance. What? You’re confused? You think I need a damned good hiding to force me to focus and explain what the hell happened? No need to get your goolies in a guddle. I’ll make it all clear. Let’s start with the frisbee. Now what? Oh, well, just in case anyone doesn’t know, a frisbee is a light plastic, concave disc which can be skimmed through the air as a game. A cane? If you don’t know what a cane is, keep reading!

Blair and I were drama-students in our first term at college. We met in the first week and became close friends, spending a lot of time in each other’s company. One warm and sunny Saturday afternoon in October, we went down to the river-bank behind the college-buildings to play with my frisbee. There was a broad strip of grass along the bank, shaded in some areas with old oaks and chestnuts, and behind that, an even larger expanse of grass. In the summer-months it was a popular place for families to come at weekends, for couples to walk, and for the energetic to run or play kickabout with a football. It was good place too for throwing a frisbee because there was plenty of space. On this particular afternoon there were few people around: a guy walking a dog, a couple of kids on scooters, a highly-athletic teenager on a skateboard, and an elderly couple sitting on a bench overlooking the water.

I nudged Blair and nodded towards a figure seated beneath an aged oak-tree, smoking a pipe and reading a book.

“That’s Dale Pringle,” I said. “He’s in his final year and he’s supposed to be brilliant; at least according to Nicky, who met him at a party a couple of weeks ago.”

“Yeh? I don’t suppose he’d be interested in the common-herd like us then,” said Blair. “Come on! Let’s play.”

I tossed the frisbee high and Blair ran eagerly after it as it soared through the air and glided to the grass a few metres ahead of him.

“Hopeless!” I called.

Blair gave me a rude sign and sent the frisbee arcing back towards me. I caught it and returned it; and we continued for some time, moving this way and that across the expanse of greensward as we threw and caught in turn; until one of my throws went a little off-line and, by a stroke of misfortune, was then caught by a gust of wind. We both watched as the frisbee whizzed along swiftly towards where the oblivious Dale was sitting; and we held our breath, fearing that it would catch him on the side of the head. Instead, it struck the jutting bowl of his pipe and knocked it clean from his mouth. He leapt to his feet with an offended bellow which would have done credit to a bull with the toothache, and roared at us to come to him. We glanced at each other and approached warily.

“I’m sorry,” I began, “I’m afraid a gust of wind took …………”

“Bloody young hooligans!” shouted Dale. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“It was just an accident,” said Blair.

“You’ve no business throwing a lethal thing like that around wildly in a public place,” he raged, his face red with fury.

“Lethal? It’s a fucking frisbee,” I protested. “It’s hardly a scud-missile!”

“Don’t you swear at me, you undisciplined young thug,” snarled Dale. “You might have decapitated me!”

“Aw, come on,” gasped Blair. “That’s just plain silly.”

“Oh, I’m silly am I?”

“I didn’t say that you…….”

“That’s the trouble with you young tearaways. No manners, no consideration,” snapped Dale.

I lost it.

“Listen! It was an accident. We didn’t mean to hit you. And what’s with all the ‘young’ business? We can’t be more than three years younger than you.”

“And ten years less mature,” retorted Dale.

I looked at Blair and he spread his hands in a baffled movement. Dale bent down and picked up his pipe and examined it closely.

“The bowl’s scratched,” he announced, staring accusingly at us.

“Balls! It can’t be,” I snapped. “The frisbee’s light and there’s no sharp edges on it.”

“Are you arguing with me, boy?”

“Boy? Who the hell are you calling ‘boy’?”

“You, you insolent, antisocial brat!” he shouted and, to my horror, he stooped and picked up my frisbee and threw it into the river.

“Hoi!” I yelled as I raced for the bank; but it was too late.

The frisbee was floating steadily downstream, bobbing gently on the current, out of reach unless I was prepared to get very wet.

“What did you want to go and do that for, you bastard?” I shouted at him.

“Oh, ‘bastard’ is it now? Doesn’t take a lot for the veneer of civilisation to peel away from young hellions like you pair, does it? Scare the life out of me with a dangerous missile, tear the very pipe from my lips, damage it beyond repair, and then……”

“I don’t believe it’s damaged at all,” I interjected, “but maybe you should throw it in the river too. After all, it’s bad for your health,” I added with a sweet smile.

Dale snatched up a large chunk of broken branch and came at us, brandishing it with maniacal fury and yelling, “I’ll show you what’s bad for your health! You won’t feel very healthy after I’ve smashed your balls with this a few times!”

We turned tail and fled.

Later we took a long walk down the river-bank to see if maybe my frisbee had become lodged somewhere, but there was no sign of it.

“Sadistic brute!” I muttered angrily. “What the hell’s his problem? You’d think we did it on purpose the fuss he made.”

“Yeh. Talk about going over the top. I think he really would have bashed us in the balls with that stick if he’d caught us,” agreed Blair.

“And there was no need to toss my frisbee in the river,” I said resentfully. “That was just plain nasty.”

We headed back towards the town up a narrow lane between high walls which led to the High Street; and, to our dismay, just as we were approaching the High Street end, none other than Dale came into the lane towards us. He stopped and so did we.

“Well, well. Been out assaulting some more innocents?” he enquired.

“No,” I retorted coldly. “We went to look for my frisbee. You know; the one you threw in the water because you’re such a bad-tempered bugger.”

Dale smiled unpleasantly at us.

“Oh, you won’t find that,” he said, “because I already found it, stuck against a stone by the bank, shortly you after you ran away.”

“Er…so, can I have it back, please?” I asked, forcing myself to be polite.

“I don’t carry frisbees around with me,” he replied; “but I’ll leave it at your Hall. Which one is it?”

I told him my name was Neil Downs and the Hall we were in and then he pushed past us and strode on.

“Looks like he’s calmed down a bit,” observed Blair.

“He needed to,” I said. “You’d think we’d thrown a hand-grenade at him the fuss he made.”

**********************

The next morning, as we were heading out, the warden told me there was a parcel for me and handed me a large padded envelope.

“Hey! Looks like the bad-tempered sod’s returned my frisbee after all,” I said, tearing open the envelope as we walked out of the building.

I plunged my hand in and withdrew a piece of plastic. Glancing briefly at Blair, I tipped the envelope upside down and my frisbee lay at our feet – in nine pieces.

“Of all the petty-minded, vicious little bastards! What am I supposed to do with this?”

“I’ll tell you what I’d like to do with it,” said Blair grimly.

“I’ll help you,” I said.

Nicky came past and I explained why we had a frisbee in pieces lying at our feet.

“Shit! You pair better watch yourselves. They say that Dale’s brilliant, but he’s got a hell of a temper and….”

“We know!”

“Yeh; but they say he doesn’t forget. He’s a vengeful brute. He’ll try to get back at you.”

I kicked the fragments of my frisbee angrily.

“He just has,” I said.

“Yeh, but he doesn’t let things go. Just watch out, because he’ll probably try to get at you again.”

Nicky walked off and Blair and I looked at each other.

“Well, I don’t see what we can do,” said Blair, “and what can he do to us? I mean, he can hardly come at us on a dark night with a baseball-bat and turn our balls into jelly, can he? He’d never get away with it.”

“I guess not; but I bet he’d like to,” I replied; and then I took Blair’s arm and we made for the town-centre.

Sitting over mugs of coffee, we discussed our financial position. We just about had enough to live on, pay our accommodation and buy our books; but there wasn’t anything left over for having fun. Even this coffee was a bit of an indulgence, but we were feeling stressed.

“Can’t even afford to buy another frisbee,” I moaned, exaggerating the situation somewhat.

“We need one of these things old Carruthers was talking about in his lecture the other day,” said Blair. “A deus ex machina who’d swoop in and solve our financial problems just like that.”

“Oh yeh. Now that would be just……….”

“Hey, guys!”

We turned to see Mike Roper who was in charge of our course this year.

“Just the boys I want to see,” he said, sitting himself down at our table. “How would you like to earn some money, eh?”

Blair and I glanced, wide-eyed, at each other.

“You bet!” we replied eagerly.

Roper explained that the local museum was doing an exhibition of Victorian life over the weeks up to mid-December and to make it as alive and interesting as possible for children especially, there would be settings like a Victorian street, and a Victorian doctor’s surgery and a Victorian school-classroom. Actors would play out little scenes in these settings at weekends; and three lads were needed for the Victorian classroom. One would be the master and the other two would be boys in the class. Roper had already recruited Clive, who was in our year, for the part of the teacher, as he had a bit of height and looked the part of a stern master. He wondered if we’d like to be the boys. We didn’t need to think about it. When a deus ex machina swoops in out of the blue like this, you accept with open arms and due gratitude.

The next evening, we met with Bryan Jenkins, the guy organising the scene and were given a script. Basically, it was a playlet lasting about fifteen minutes, in which Victorian methods of teaching were shown; including a part where Victorian discipline was illustrated by one of us getting six of the cane across the seat of his shorts. We’d perform it four times in the morning and again in the afternoon, on both Saturdays and Sundays for eight weeks. The pay seemed remarkably good and we were keen to participate. Later, Clive arrived and we read through our parts. I was the boy who was to be caned.

“I hope you’re not supplying him with a real cane,” I said to Bryan.

“Oh, yes, it is a real cane,” he replied, “but he’ll just hit you very lightly. A nice big, dramatic swing, but pulling back at the last moment so the rod just touches your behind. I’ll want you to do some dramatic yowling too, of course. The kids watching will love to hear you squeal as if it’s really getting to you. Okay, Neil?”

“Sure. I can manage some good howls of agony,” I confirmed.

“Great. Now we’re planning to start this in a fortnight’s time, so I need you to learn your words fast and then we should be able to get it polished up in a few rehearsals.”

***************************

The three of us had great fun with the little play and enjoyed acting it out several times a day for appreciative audiences, largely made up of family-groups. We grew confident enough with each other to improvise a bit occasionally, knowing that we could all cope. It was with just over two weeks to go that Clive broke his arm on a Thursday night. Bryan Jenkins told us what had happened and said he’d try to get someone to play the part of the master at very short notice; and if necessary would do it himself. Arriving on the Saturday morning, Bryan greeted us with a reassuring smile and informed us that he’d manage to secure the services of a senior student who had mugged up his lines the previous day and was confident that, with a swift run-through before the museum opened, all would be well.

The door opened and in walked Dale Pringle.

“Oh, fucking hell!” I muttered to Blair. “When he sees it’s us pair, he’s gonna storm straight out.”

Dale, however, was polite if a little distant and had clearly made an effort. He was word-perfect and soon picked up all he needed to know about the action. The rehearsal went well and Bryan expressed relief that all should be fine. Dale ignored us as we all drank coffee before the first visitors arrived, but at least he wasn’t being obnoxious and Blair and I agreed that we could cope with the last fortnight, even if it wasn’t going to be the fun we’d had with Clive.

“Looks like Nicky was wrong about Dale being vengeful,” I said. “He obviously doesn’t like us; looks down his nose as if we’re a nasty pong on his upper lip; but that’s it.”

“Yeh. I don’t think we’re gonna be on his Christmas-list; but who’s caring? It’s his loss, missing out on getting to know such an exciting pair as us.”

We grinned at each other and went to perform the first scene of the day. It went without a hitch; as did the other three that morning. At lunch, we tried to talk to Dale, but he just said loftily, “I prefer to eat in silence, unassailed by inane chatter.”

“That’s us put in our place,” I murmured to Blair; and he smiled at me.

We were almost through the final performance of the afternoon and Dale, tall and menacing in his academic-robe, summoned me to bend over for the cane. He took the exaggerated swing and brought it scything down; and didn’t pull back at the last. The slender rod lashed into my shorts-clad behind with a fierce snap and a streak of fire ripped across my bottom, forcing a yelp of pain from me. There was a small cheer from a couple of the watching children in the audience; and it dawned on me that for their sake, I had to stay in position. I dared not risk upsetting them by letting them see that this was no longer acting but real brutality. I saw from the corner of my eye Dale raising the cane once more. There was a hint of a smile on his lips, which didn’t reach his eyes. Dale was getting his revenge after all.

The second stroke was a little lower and felt as if it had sliced deeply into my flesh, even with the protection of my shorts. At least I knew what was coming this time, so managed to limit my sound to an audible gasp as I clenched my glutes hard. I waited, tense and nervous while he did a practice-stroke and then delivered his third to my behind. A fiery pain tore across my rump and I uttered another yelp as the vicious sting got through to me. The fourth followed at once, leaving me no chance to prepare myself and as a result I writhed and squealed as a couple of earlier weals were re-invigorated with a fresh blaze. I was breathing hard and trying to steady myself when he hit for the fifth time, full across my crease, eliciting a violent buck accompanied by a shrill yelp as the rod bit hard and deep. I was aware that I was panting as I awaited the sixth; and was not surprised that he delivered it at an angle, slicing across the line of several earlier strokes. Yet again I squirmed and squealed; and then slowly tried to relax as I registered the fact that it was over.

I winced as I sat on my hard wooden desk-seat for the final couple of minutes of the playlet; and tried desperately hard to get my facial expression under control so that when the scene ended I could smile at the little audience. The three of us duly lined up and bowed to enthusiastic applause, me grinning widely, in the hope that this would dispel any doubts the watchers might have had about whether or not what they’d seen was acting. As they went out of the room, I overheard one kid say to his mum, “That boy’s a great actor. He even had real tears on his face.”

Little did he know!

Dale closed the door behind them and then I turned furiously on him, Blair equally incensed at my side, and told him exactly what I thought of him. He listened to my tirade, frequently amplified by Blair, with a supercilious smile on his lips; and then remarked dismissively, “You deserved it after your appalling hooliganism with that frisbee-thing. Maybe you’ll behave better in future.”

For a moment I was speechless, and then I tore into him again with a verbal onslaught which should have swept him off his feet; but he simply took out his pipe, calmly filled it and was about to light it when something in me snapped in the face of his studied nonchalance. I dashed the pipe from his hand in a furious gesture and demanded: “Are you listening to me, you sadistic bastard?”

His response left me speechless once again. He glanced at the pipe, broken in its fall to the wooden floor, and said, “I thought a young thug like you would lose control eventually; and I was right. Maybe another session with the cane will start to tame you.”

“Another…….cane……TAME me!?” I yelled into his face. “I’m not a fucking animal.”

“Admittedly I’ve known better-behaved dogs,” he observed.

Blair intervened before I could say anything, addressing Dale with admirable calm.

“You realise we’re going to report you for assault?” he enquired quietly.

Dale smiled and shook his head.

“Oh, no, I don’t think so,” he replied. “After all, your feral friend here has just assaulted me and broken my pipe into the bargain. If he tries to complain, I’ll have a complaint of my own to make; and I think that my word is much more likely to be accepted than that of a couple of first-year hoodlums.”

“Feral?” I yelped. “The only feral person around here is you, beating the shit out of me just for your own sadistic pleasure; and I’m gonna report you anyway and just see who is believed.”

Dale nodded up towards the far corner of the high-ceilinged room and I noticed, for the first time, a small security-camera situated there.

“Your assault on me just now will be recorded on that camera,” said Dale.

“And so will you beating hell outta my arse,” I pointed out.

“The camera is pointed at the door, where we’re now standing, because its aim is to catch any intruder entering the room. If it captured any of your caning, and it probably hasn’t, it will just show you acting enthusiastically as you pretend to suffer six of the best; and no doubt the little audience who have just left will pay testimony to your acting-skill,” observed Dale. “Indeed, I think I overheard a child doing so.”

The sheer effrontery of the guy took all speech from me.

“I take it you won’t be taking part in the play any more after this,” asked Blair.

“Why not? You two can leave if you want to. I’m staying.”

Blair pulled me across to the other side of the room and we had a hasty consultation during which we agreed that we didn’t want to walk out of the job because, with Christmas only a few weeks away, we needed the money. We returned to Dale.

“Okay,” I said reluctantly, “we’ll stay; but no more fucking around with the cane. It’s acting, just acting.”

“Ah, now, there’s a problem there,” replied Dale. “The six I gave you just now were punishment for your disgraceful behaviour by the river; but now you also need to be punished for assaulting me. The river-incident just might have been seen as an accident; but what happened here was deliberate assault of me by you. So that requires much more severe punishment. There are two more weekends to go, four days; and so on each of these four days, one of your eight canings will be for real, just as it was today. I won’t tell you which one. It should be more fun to keep you guessing…..and worrying.”

“You….you…….” I spluttered, unable to find any words bad enough to describe him.

“We’ll give up the job,” said Blair to me. “No way is he doing that to you.”

“I’ll give you an alternative,” said Dale. “You take one set of six from me with the cane on the bare, and I’ll consider you fully punished and the matter closed.”

“B..bare? You want to thrash my bare arse? We’d all be arrested for public indecency!”

“Not here in front of an audience, you idiot,” exclaimed Dale. “At my flat with just you, me and the cane.”

“No,” said Blair.

“Hang on,” I replied; and I drew him aside again. “Look, he’s kind of got me over a barrel. That bloody camera’s got me hitting him and knocking his pipe to the floor; and he’s probably right that it won’t have caught much, if any, of me being caned; and even then it’ll just look like I’m acting as usual. I don’t want another four sessions like what he gave me today, especially when I never know when he’s going to give me the real one. I don’t suppose getting it bare can be too much worse than on the shorts, and at least I get it over with. Okay?”

Blair tried to argue but I was adamant and he gave way reluctantly.

“Excellent,” said Dale with what I felt was unjustified glee when I told him what I’d decided. “Seven o’clock on Friday evening. Here’s my address. Don’t be late.”

He scribbled briefly on a slip of paper, handed it to me, and without another word, walked out.

“I’ll come……..” began Blair; but I stopped him.

“No. I’ll do it myself; but I’d love if you’d wait outside and come back to my room with me afterwards,” I added, feeling myself going slightly red as I said it.

“Okay,” Blair agreed; and I noticed that he too had coloured a little.

*************************************

I duly presented myself as instructed and was admitted by Dale, who took me into a large living-room. He wasted no time, ordering me to remove my jeans and pants and then to bend forward with my hands on the seat of a straight-backed chair which he placed before me. He fussed a little over the position of my feet and then showed me a slender cane. I eyed it balefully and tensed my body in readiness. He did a couple of practice-swings, which made the air whine and made me wince, and then I felt the cane tapping my bare behind as if exploring the best place to hit me.

The sting of that first stroke was intense, a searing blast of fire burning its way deep into my flesh and driving the breath from my lungs in an audible gasp as I bucked and then steadied myself. He was in no hurry, and stroked my bottom with the cane for what seemed like an eternity before lashing his slim rod viciously hard almost on my crease. I squealed and writhed and rubbed desperately at the tortured skin for a few seconds before returning my hand to the chair. I looked along my side at him and caught him rubbing his groin.

“Perverted bugger,” I thought to myself. “He’s getting turned on by beating me.”

I saw him raise the cane again and I focussed on the chair-seat. The stroke landed between the first pair a little above the sensitive flesh of the previous one, but still delivering its own load of blazing lightnings to my rear. Glutes clenched hard, I rode the torment and then slowly relaxed a little. He waited a while before inflicting number four, partly cross-hatching the welt left by the third stroke, and making me yelp loudly and kick out with my right foot. The penultimate one seemed to land on a diagonal across three of the earlier welts and the most intense pain yet made me writhe violently and scrub earnestly at my bottom in a vain attempt to alleviate the infernal blaze he’d set roaring across my rear. Barely had I got my breath steadied and my mind focussed on the last one when he drove the cane in with full intent along the tender flesh where my buttocks merged into the top of my legs. I yelled; and pain, like a white-hot strand of barbed-wire being ripped violently through my flesh, drove me upright, both hands pressed to the savaged skin, eyes closed, head back, as I fought the agonising burn.

“Good,” observed Dale complacently. “I think you felt that. Maybe it will teach you a bit of self-control; and not to go about assaulting people in future.”

He gave me a minute or two to get myself together and then ordered me to dress. I did so slowly, pulling clothing over throbbing skin. Three minutes later I was outside and Blair was approaching.

“Bad?” he asked sympathetically.

“Horrendous.”

“You’re coming to my room,” he said as he piloted me back towards our Hall. “I’ve got some cold cream.”

He told me to strip and I did so without hesitation; and wasn’t surprised to find myself almost fully erect. Blair smiled, turned bright red, and shyly cupped my balls.

“I like you too,” he vouchsafed with a bashful grin, nodding down at the massive swelling in the front of his jeans.

“Yeh? I’ve been wanting to say it for weeks, but I was scared you might take fright and not speak to me again,” I confessed.

“And I was kind of shy of saying anything for the same reason. Right pair of dimwits, aren’t we?”

“Maybe you’d best get out of your denims,” I suggested daringly. “It must be uncomfortable having all that trapped by your clothes.”

He guided me to lie face-down on his bed, my bottom raised on a pillow; and then as I glanced sideways to watch, he removed his jeans and pants and released a bounding erection. I whistled in appreciation.

“Fan-fucking-tastic, Blair!” I exclaimed enthusiastically as he perched himself beside me and, his bare leg touching mine, began slowly and tenderly to massage the cream into my welted bottom.

I moaned in delight as previously-unknown sensations surged through me. I raised myself for a moment to allow my protesting penis to rise and “Randy bugger,” observed Blair. I looked along my side and took in his massive arousal.

“Listen to who’s talking,” I said. “I could tie up a battleship to that!”

As his hands moved down to my crease and the sensitive skin there, I winced. He slapped my bottom hard and I yelped in surprise.

“Keep still,” he ordered; and to my astonishment, I found that I didn’t want to protest about his apparent callousness, but actually liked the display of dominance. I made an effort to stop wincing.

We talked a little about Dale and why he was so furious with me, and concluded he was just a sadistic, manipulative bastard who had taken his chance to indulge his cruelty when it offered. When Blair had finished creaming my buns, he lay down on his front beside me, our bodies touching at shoulder, hip and thigh; and then he told me that I had a stunning arse and that, for some reason, seeing and caressing it when it was freshly caned, made it all the more stunning. He was nuzzling my neck and ear and as I turned my head it seemed completely natural that our mouths should slide closer together; and the decision to kiss was made instinctively, as if we had always intended it. We turned our bodies fully now, and legs and arms caressed each other as we gave ourselves to the ecstatic pleasure of the kiss. Not long after we were lying on our backs, eager hands working at each other’s cock until the spunk was spurting high and we were panting with deeply-felt delight.

******************************

 

A couple of weeks later, a day or two before we were due to do our last weekend’s performances, I was summoned to the Professor’s study.

“Oooh!” gasped Blair. “What’ve you done? Do you think he’ll cane you?”

“Very funny! I’ve no idea what it’s about; but only one way to find out. I’ll meet you here after and tell you what happened.”

“I’ll bring a cushion just in case,” said Blair with a grin; and I rewarded him with an obscene gesture.

The Professor was smiling as he urged me into a chair and I concluded cautiously that I wasn’t in trouble. He explained that there was bursary available for the student who showed most promise after one term.

“Your tutors came up with several suggestions as to who might receive it; and your name was one of those put forward. We quite quickly narrowed the choice down to you and one other student; and the thing which definitely clinched it was a letter about your performances at the museum the past few weeks. It seems the writer was deeply impressed with your acting skills, even under the pressure of unexpected events, and felt that you deserved the bursary. It was actually from our best senior student. You probably haven’t come across him, but his name’s Dale Pringle. I suppose he was at one of the performances you gave in the Victorian classroom and liked what he saw. He’s a superb actor himself and so we value his judgement.”

For several seconds I was speechless and then, mindful of my manners, I hastily expressed profuse gratitude; and explained that Dale had actually taken over a major part in the classroom scenes for the last three weeks due to Clive’s accident.

“If he’s been acting with you and was impressed enough to take the time to push the case for you as the recipient of the bursary, I think you owe him a debt of gratitude,” said the Professor with a smile. “Take any chance you get to watch him act before he leaves in the summer,” he added, “because you can learn a lot from him.”

I found my hands going instinctively to my bottom as I thought of the lesson in self-control which he’d taught me so recently. I thanked the Professor again and went to find Blair.

“I just don’t believe it,” I said for the umpteenth time. “The bastard hates my guts. He lashed the living shit outta me with that vicious cane of his and enjoyed every brutal stroke. Why would he recommend me for a bursary?”

“Maybe he’s just expert at spotting acting-talent; and when he saw a lot of potential in you, he put personal feelings aside and recommended you.”

“Maybe you’re right,” I said, somewhat mollified.

********************************************

On leaving after the last Sunday performance of the final weekend a few days later, I thanked Dale for his part in getting me the bursary.

“No problem,” he assured me. “You behaved badly and needed a caning; and you got one. You’ve proved you’re an excellent actor, not just by the way you handled the real caning in front of the audience, but also by all I’ve seen of you these past few weeks; and so you deserved the bursary and you’ve got it.”

I shook his hand and he strode off.

“I guess he’s maybe not such a bad guy after all,” I said to Blair. “A manipulative bugger, but I suppose I can forgive him. Hey! I wouldn’t mind having a copy of that security-camera film of me clocking Dale one. Let’s see if I can get one.”

We headed for the caretaker’s desk and I asked if it might be possible to see the security tape from a couple of Sundays ago, making the excuse that we’d done some impromptu changes that day and wondered how they’d looked to the audience. The caretaker looked blank.

“What security-tape?” he enquired.

“The one taken by the camera in the Victorian classroom,” I said.

“But we don’t have any security-cameras,” he replied.

“There’s definitely one in the classroom,” interposed Blair. “Come and look.”

Shaking his head, the caretaker accompanied us to the room and when I looked up to the far corner opposite the door – there was nothing there.

“See? No cameras,” said the caretaker.

“But….but there was….a fortnight ago……we saw it,” I gabbled.

“Trick of the light,” suggested the caretaker. “Maybe a blink of sunshine catching a spider’s web on the beam?”

“Well, yeh, I guess it could……….but……it doesn’t make sense.”

The caretaker was heading for the door and shepherding us out, saying that he needed to lock up. Reluctantly, we went. Outside we stopped and stared at each other.

“The unutterable bastard!” I gasped. “Dale must have put a dummy camera up there and then removed it later. He had it all planned, sure he could provoke me into an angry response and then blackmailing me with the threat of filmed evidence which didn’t exist. The shit-faced turd! I didn’t need to take that savage bare-arsed caning at all! The scabby son-of-a-bitch used me to satisfy his perverted urge to cane the hell out of me!”

Blair laid a calming hand on my arm and looked into my eyes.

“So you’re not forgiving him after all then?”

“No fucking way!”

“I’m forgiving him….,” began Blair.

“He didn’t beat you!” I interrupted.

“….because if you think about it, it was thanks to him giving you a brutal caning that we at last got together; properly together,” he added, going slightly red, “and I’m not sorry about that.”

“Nor me,” I assured him earnestly. “The sex is white-hot, and I can’t get enough of you. I suppose the cane was the catalyst that made it all happen so suddenly.”

“So, you’ll forgive him?”

“I’ll think about it.”

When we arrived back at our Hall, there was a large padded-envelope awaiting me.

“Now what?” I wondered aloud as I ripped into it and pulled out…….a brand-new frisbee.

Blair looked at me, eyebrows raised interrogatively.

“Okay, okay,” I admitted. “I forgive him.”

Blair grinned and hugged me.

“Come on,” he urged. “Let’s go down to the river and try this thing out.”

“Suppose Dale’s there?” I asked uneasily.

“What if he is?”

“I think he’s taught me not to lose my temper; but if he started on at me over something, I’m worried I might lose it with him again,” I admitted.

“That cane really got through to you, didn’t it?” observed Blair.

I nodded.

“Okay; let’s go to the meadow on the edge of town and play with your new frisbee there instead. And, come to think of it, there’s some great patches of bushes on the edge of the woods, so maybe we could go in there and play at something different too,” he suggested with a seductive glance.

“You’re on!” I assured him enthusiastically.

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So there you have it: frisbee to cane; and then back to frisbee again. See, I told you I could focus and explain it. And, no, the frisbee didn’t lead to more of the cane. Curiously though, Blair did start to spank me quite a lot as part of our sex-play, but that was much more like the frisbee than the cane; because that was a game too and it was fun, and……well, that’s another story.

 

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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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Story ©MMXXII by Joelstrap, used here by very kind permission.

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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