A Dirty Look (M/M) NEW!

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

A Dirty Look by Rod Cayenne

Bright sunshine was streaming through the window as 19-year-old Jon settled down, penis in hand.  As wanks go, this turned into a particularly satisfying one.  Rhythmically, his hand slid up and down the girthy shaft of his stiff member, keeping him just on the edge of orgasm.  But it was not to be.  There was a frantic rapping on the glass of the window, as to Jon’s dismay he could see his grandfather peering in.  There was no mistaking the old man’s anger and astonishment.  Somehow the net curtain had not been fully closed, leaving Jon’s obscene display open for the whole world to see.  As the tiny terraced house was located on the busy Junction Road, anyone could have looked in.  Unfortunately for Jon, the Peeping Tom on this occasion was George, his paternal grandad.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, young Jonathan?” shouted grandfather, as Jon let him in the door which opened straight into the living room.  The old man’s face was red with rage.  “I’m going to have to report this to your father!  Even though that will embarrass me further.”

“I’m sorry, Grandad.  Really sorry.  Don’t tell Dad, please!  He wouldn’t understand, for one thing.  And he’s got a lot on his plate, at the moment.”

“I can assure you that he would understand.  You know, I caught him playing with himself a few times.”

“Really?  Really?  Haha.  Well, that’s alright then.  Runs in the family.  Must be in my genes!”

“It’s not alright!  Let me tell you something.”

“Yes?”

“I bought a cane and beat him black and blue.  It was the only way to get him to curb his disgusting habit.  Broke my heart, but I had to do it.  Mind you, he wasn’t nineteen like you, he was courting your mother by your age.”

“So, exactly how old was he then?” Jon asked peevishly.

“I don’t like your tone, young man.  But I think he was just eighteen.” Grandad lit up a cigarette, which seemed to calm him a little.

“Anyway, I think you’d better come with me!”

“Why?  I mean, what for?”

“Well, I still have that cane, and right now I can think of a very good use for it.”

“But Grandad!”

“Don’t start!  Come along now, Jon.”

There was absolutely no point in arguing, as Jon certainly didn’t want his father finding out about his indiscretion.  They set off down Junction Road, then into Church Street and were soon at Grandad’s shabby bungalow.  The place was untidy and had a musty cigarette smell and yellowed net curtains.  Well, yellowed almost everything, really.  And, at the risk of sounding sexist, a woman’s touch was evidently missing in action.

“Sit down, while you still can,” Grandad barked at Jon.  The lad pushed some military magazines aside and sat on the sofa.  “I’ll just go and find my cane.  I think I know where it is, but of course it hasn’t been used for many a year.”

Jon hoped his Grandad wouldn’t be able to find it.  His hopes rose steadily as the minutes ticked by and he could hear cursing as the search failed to bear fruit.  Eventually Grandad appeared empty-handed.  “I’m sorry, Jon, my boy.  I can’t find the damned cane at the moment.  It might be in the loft, I suppose.  You’ll have to come back tomorrow.”

“Oh.  Perhaps we’d better forget the whole thing, Grandad.”

“Ha!  Nice try, Jon, but I really don’t think so.  It worked for your father and I know it will work with you.  In fact, perhaps I’ll discuss it with your father as there is time to do that now.”

“No, No!  Please don’t do that.  I’d rather he didn’t know.  OK, I’ll come back tomorrow for a caning.”

Grandad’s ruse had worked, and he’d got the lad just where he wanted him – squirming and obedient.  “Very good, we’ll say 2.30 tomorrow and don’t be late!”

“OK then Grandad, I’d better dash now.  Bye!”

Jon hurried back to his digs.  He slammed the door and there in the front room, adjusted the net curtain so that prying eyes could not see inside.  Not that he was planning to wank just then, but it was a precaution for the future.  In fact, his mind was in turmoil about his caning to come, and masturbating was the very last thing on his mind.

As the day wore on though, Jon thought more and more about his promised caning.  He decided to do some research, logging on and searching for information.  He was trying to find out how bad a caning could be, and what he was likely to be in for.  He soon found plenty of ‘hits’!  Much of the information was clearly pornographic, with both males and females being caned, sometimes severely.  Bare bottom canings seemed prevalent, which was something he had not really considered, perhaps naively.  But surely his grandfather wouldn’t cane bare?  The more he thought about it, his no-nonsense grandad probably would have caned that way.  He became a little disturbed at the thought.  Further contemplation gave Jon a more sexual perspective on his forthcoming beating – perhaps it would be a turn-on despite the pain?  Yes, it could be exciting, he decided.

That night, he couldn’t sleep.  Despite an extended wank session, his mind was full of the cane.  He was hot and he was bothered.  The thought of a bare arse caning kept looming up in his thoughts.  By the morning, he felt rough as he really hadn’t had enough sleep.  He brought himself off quickly before he went downstairs to fix breakfast.

Looking out of the window, he saw torrents of rain washing down the road.  What a drag!  He’d never known the weather be so changeable.  It rained all day and he arrived at his grandfather’s completely soaked through.

“You’re late, Jon!” Grandad barked at him, “and soaked through.”

“Yes, sorry, I was hoping the rain would ease off, but it didn’t and it slowed me down.”

“Well, think yourself lucky I haven’t added extra strokes for tardiness.”

Jon blushed, taking off his anorak which was dripping wet.

“You might as well take all your clothes off.  I’ll put them in the tumble drier for you.”

“Thank you.  But I’ll be naked!”

“Well, I will be caning your bare backside, my lad.  And I’ve already seen your manhood, haven’t I?”

“Gosh, a bare backside caning?”

“Yes, that’s what I said and, of course, it’s the only way.  Now, get those clothes off.”

Silently, Jon stripped off every last stitch of clothing, placing it all in a laundry basket that the old man had just brought in.  Jon tried to cover himself with his hands, trying to hide his embarrassment and his less than flaccid penis.  The excitement and shame were getting to him.  How he wished this wasn’t happening.

“You found the cane then, Grandad?”

“Yes, it was up in the loft.  Here it is, look.”

Jon didn’t really want to look, but he did anyway.  The cane looked old, with a crook handle and a golden brown colour.  It looked fairly harmless, but just then his grandfather sliced it through the air with a scary slashing noise.  Jon gulped.  This was going to be no picnic.

“The cane was a bit dried out so I soaked it in the bath.  It’s nice and springy and whippy now, I’m pleased to say.  Now, let’s have you over here.  Bend over the back of this chair.  Stick your bottom out.  That’s it.  A bit more.  Good!”

“How many strokes, Grandad?”

“Well, six is traditional.  I think you can cope with that.  Make sure you stay down, though.”

He slashed the first stroke down.  Jon jerked slightly as first the impact and then the pain hit home.  He gasped with despair.  This was going to be hard to take, he felt sure.  He was right, for the second stroke was if anything harder.  He shot up, clutching his arse cheeks.

“What are you doing, Jon?  I told you to stay down.  Now then, that stroke doesn’t count.  Let’s do it again!”

“Oh no!”

“Well, I did warn you.  Obedience is a very good idea when you are at the mercy of a man with a cane in his hand, you know.”

Talk about stating the obvious!  Jon just kept his head down as his grandfather whipped down the replacement second stroke and a third quickly after.  Suddely the sun came out and bright sunshine flooded the room.  It lit up Jon’s naked arse, highlighting the target.  Grandfather paused to admire his handiwork.  Four bright red tramlines decorated the teenage arse before him.  They looked good and sore, the old man told himself.  He quickly slashed down the remaining three strokes, causing Jon to squeal and squirm under their lash.  It was over, but Jon was gasping for air.  He shot up, rubbing his punished rump and fighting back tears.  He had never felt so humiliated.

“Good.  Now, I’m not a cruel man but there will have to be a reminder session with this cane in exactly a week.  To remind you to behave yourself.  Unless you want the extra strokes now?”

“No, no, please Grandad!  A week is OK.  That’s fine.  Just don’t tell Dad.  Please.”  Jon soon wondered just why he had agreed to a second caning.  At the time, it had just seemed the right thing to do, to assuage his own guilt and to keep the old man placated.  Yes, it had seemed right, but now he was having doubts.

Grandfather told him to sit down on the sofa.  Doing so hurt Jon’s bottom significantly.  He looked quite a sight, sat their in the nude.  His hands flew to his lap to cover a burgeoning erection.

“Now then.  Your clothes will take a few more minutes to dry.  Let’s have a fine single malt, shall we?”  It was a strange offer, but one Jon was grateful to accept.  Anything to take his mind off the throbbing, stinging pain in his rear.  Grandpa appeared with two tumblers of fine Scottish island whisky.  Jon held out his hand to take the glass, revealing the erection he’d been hiding.  “I shouldn’t worry about that.  Sometimes happened to your father.  You can sort yourself out when you get home.”

“Thanks, Grandad.”  Jon was embarrassed again as he sipped at the scotch, which was indeed as fine a one as he’d been promised.  It was damned strong though.  Jon coughed.  It was much stronger than anything he was used to.  It burned his throat a little, just as the cane had burned his arse.  It was a day of extreme experiences!

Jon also wondered why his grandfather was so forgiving of the erection stimulated or caused by the cane, but not the one when he had been caught masturbating.  It was a puzzle, alright.  “I’ll just use the loo, if that’s alright, Grandad?”

Grandad nodded and placed his tumbler down on the coffee table as he watched his grandson waddle off.  Seven bright red lines decorated the lad’s pert bottom as he disappeared off to the toilet. The teenager covered his front with his hands to hide his excitement.

Jon sat down on the black plastic loo seat.  It hurt his cheeks to do so.  He was concious of his rampant erection which had returned again.  It only took a few pulls for spunk to burst out onto the pink toilet tissue he’d grabbed hurriedly.  Flushing it away, he thought to himself that at least this time Grandpa hadn’t caught him on the edge of ejaculation!  It was a secret sin, but he couldn’t understand why he’d got the erection in the first place.  Surely he wasn’t a masochist?

Back in the living room, Grandpa had returned with Jon’s clothes which were nicely warmed after their spin in the tumble drier.  Jon duly dressed in front of the lustful gaze of his grandfather.  The warm briefs were some comfort to his punished bottom.  Only the anorak was still a little damp.

“Same time next week, then.”

“Another caning and another Scotch, Grandad?”

“Don’t push your luck, you cheeky lad!”  Grandfather landed a quick smack on the lad’s arse as he left.

Walking home, the whisky had certainly lightened Jon’s mood, although there was still an awful throbbing from the weals left by the cane.  What a day it had been!  A day to remember, for sure.  Back at his digs, he laid down on his single bed  and wriggled his arse to stimulate a bit more pain from the cane stripes.  An overwhelming desire to masturbate soon followed.

One week later, Jon appeared at his grandfather’s right on time.

“Glad to see that you can be punctual, Jonathon.  You can keep your clothes on this time, although I shall require your bottom to be bare for the cane.”

Jon nodded and dropped his jeans and briefs down to his ankles and bent over the chair as expected.  The wicked cane was soon set to work, slashing and burning the teenager’s rump as before.

“That’s your lot.  Six of the very best.  You took that really well.  Much better than last week.  I’m proud of you.  Now, do you need the toilet again, my boy?”

“Err no, no thanks.”  Jon had decided that he would wank himself off at home this time.  Although he did wonder whether Grandad had perhaps rumbled him last week, after all.

“I’ll just get the whisky.  How about we’re really naughty and have a cigar too?” Grandad said.

Despite the rampant pain in his arse, Jon was beginning to feel really grown up as he shared a drink and a smoke with his grandfather.  He wasn’t sure his father would approve, but Jon and his grandfather were obviously on the same wavelength.

“Now, this might sound like a funny offer, but if you ever need a good thrashing in the future, for any reason at all, you know where to come.  You just need to ask and I’ll be happy to give you what you need.”

“Err, seems unlikely but yes, thank you Grandad.”

Six weeks later, Jon turned up unannounced at the bungalow.  “Hi Grandad.  I hope this isn’t an awkward time.  I feel awful.  I’m sorry to have to tell you that I can’t stop playing with myself.  It’s getting to be a real problem.”

It wasn’t a problem for Grandad.  It would be a pleasure.

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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 © MMXXIII by Rod Cayenne

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