Déjà Vu (M/M)

♥ Site recommended story ♥

A repeat from 2012 of this hot caning tale by your host, Rod Cayenne. All the characters are aged 18 or over. Strictly adults only!

 

Déjà Vu by Rod Cayenne

“Do you ever get that feeling of déjà vu? I said, do you ever get that feeling of déjà vu?”

My old headmaster was laughing, playing games with me. Not rugby, not cricket, but caning. Yes, caning. For there we were in his room as he took a whippy cane from his cane cupboard. Only now it was his living room, not the school study. He had retired and on a visit to him we’d had an affable conversation about corporal punishment.

“I got a taste for it…” we had both said at the same time. We both had a jolly hearty laugh about it. We had resolved to re-enact my teenage canings. He whipped the cane through the air.

“Ready then?”

“Yes Sir. I’m getting those old feelings. Excitement, fear, an erection.”

“Then you really are a naughty boy!”

“Yes Sir, sorry.”

“Well the erection could be a problem, as I’d already decided to cane you bare bottom.”

“Oh Sir, you never made me bare my bottom at school.”

“Well, things have moved on and you must trust your headmaster to know what’s best for you.”

“Yes Sir, if you’re sure.”

“Never been more sure of anything in my life, lad. Let me help by taking your trousers and briefs down.”

“Oh Sir!”

Well, he did take them down for me, although I did not find it particularly helpful. He certainly helped himself to a good viewing of my rampant erection.

“Tut tut. That really is a most obscene display!” he said as he flexed the cane gently in his big hands. “I think this revolting sight will require extra punishment.” He feigned distaste at my engorged penis. However, this was all a game as we both knew he was enjoying all that he saw before him.

“Now then lad. How many strokes is it to be?”

“That’s up to you Sir.”

“Quite right, lad. I shall decide. What’s the most I gave you at school?”

“The full six, Sir.”

“I see. Well, there’s nothing full about six lad. You’re not a teenager any more. Your bottom is nicely filled out. I rather think it could take a lot of thrashing. A severe beating, perhaps sixty strokes?”

I gasped at his sadism and I felt my erection dwindling fast.

“Only joking, lad. That would be rather a lot for your first adult caning. Although you could take it. If I’m not mistaken, that’s a very, very thrashable bottom. Here, let me have a feel.”

He felt it at some length, massaging and gently pinching at my flesh.

“Yes, clearly I am right. This bottom could take a lot of caning. Thirty, forty, perhaps…”

“Sir!”

He laughed again. This talk was all part of his technique. Of humiliation and mastery. Of my shame and misery.

“Right, let’s get down to it then. You will notice I have the official school caning stool. I stole the cane cupboard and stool when I left!” he chuckled. “Please be so kind as to bend over the stool now. I’m sure you remember the form.”

Indeed I did. The stool was like an old friend to me. I’d been over it many times for correction by the cane. For cheating, for smoking, for lying, for not trying, for masturbating. The padded leather top was just as comfortable and welcoming as in times past. I was under no illusions though. Comfortable though it may have been, I remembered exactly how much the cane hurt. Or I thought I did. For at this exact moment there was a loud THWACK as the cane lashed down on my naked bottom for the first time in years. He was laughing. The bastard! I gripped the rung on the stool as a second THWACK hit me. Oh boy, was it agony? Yes, it certainly was as the fire spread around my submissive cheeks.

THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK!

That made six. Now I was going to get more than I’d ever had before.

THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK!

Now it was twelve and I was gasping and writhing in response to each cruel stroke. He was laughing again. The bastard!

THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK!

By now my buttocks were on fire and he was merrily humming to himself as he went back to the cane cupboard. I craned my neck to see what he was up to.

“Get back down lad! We haven’t finished. I’m getting a whippier cane for you. The sting should be worse, so I am hoping for some prime entertainment from you.”

“Yes Sir. It hurts awfully.”

“That’s of no interest to me lad. That’s your problem. You’ve had eighteen strokes so far. You will now get the same again for your disgusting erection.”

“Yes Sir.”

“I don’t ever want to see it again. Is that clear?”

Well, he’d made his wishes clear but no-one had told my penis. As ever, it had a mind of its own and was thickening and erecting with pleasure from the joyful waves of pain the cane had donated. I tried to move discreetly on the stool to accommodate my growing penis. However, he was on to me in a flash!

“STAND UP! TURN AROUND!”

I stood before him. He swished the cane through the air. My hands tried to cover my embarrassment.

“HANDS BY YOUR SIDES! Aha! I thought so!”

He had seen it. I blushed. He laughed. The bastard!

“I think we’ll make it twenty four strokes. For your continued impertinence.”

“Yes Sir.”

However, instead of getting on with my punishment he hooked the crook handle of the cane over my erection.

“I have to use the toilet a minute, lad. One of the perils of old age. You stay just where you are. But when I return, I want to see that your erection has subsided and that the cane has fallen onto the floor.”

He laughed. The bastard. I tried hard to think of turn-offs and eventually settled on a shrivelled old MP. Thankfully, it worked and the cane clattered onto the floor. The toilet was next door. I could hear everything as he’d left all the doors open. Again, he was humming merrily. The bastard.

On his return, he didn’t comment on the status of my penis. Instead he picked the cane up and pointed to the stool with it. I duly bent over it. Eventually he spoke.

“Twenty five strokes with the whippiest cane. Try to take them with some decorum, lad.”

He had added an extra stroke. I felt sure it was one of his games, rather than forgetfulness. He laughed. The bastard.

I duly took twenty five exciting strokes from my old headmaster with as much decorum as I could muster.

“Now you’ve had your whacking, do you want some whacky baccy?”

“Whaaat?” I asked in disbelief.

“Oh you know, a reefer, I think it’s called. I confiscated so much of the stuff when I was head, that I couldn’t resist trying it. I got a taste for it.”

________________)

Story © 2012 by Rod Cayenne

* IMPORTANT – DISCLAIMERS *

This is a work of fiction.  The author does not participate in substance abuse or condone it. 

All characters and businesses appearing in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All the characters are aged 18 or over.

_______________

Please take the oppoertunity to comment on this fun story.  Comments are here.  Comments from the original 2012 post are here.