Frequent Flogger (M/M) NEW!

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Time for another brand spanking new story by Rod Cayenne.  This story is currently exclusive to The Canery.  All the characters are aged 18 or over. Strictly adults only!

Frequent Flogger by Rod Cayenne

It was the late 1990s.  Less liberated times…

“Hi Terrence.  Come on in.”

“What’s up mate?  You look like you’re in pain.”

“That’s because I am.  You’ve heard of “Frequent Flyer” schemes?  Well, my old man, the old sod, wouldn’t qualify, but he would get a Frequent Caner or Frequent Flogger award.  If such a thing existed, of course.”

“Frequent Flogger, eh?  You mean he’s been accumulating Cane Miles?” laughed Terrence.

“Aye, that’s right; something like that.  Or rather, my arse has been accumulating them, often.”

“Arse Miles, then.”

“Yeah right, it’s alright for you.  You can laugh at my expense.  Right now my arse is criss-crossed with welts, I think that’s the correct technical term for them.  They’re rather prominent ones, too.  Talk about Air Miles, my marks are just like those mile-long vapour trails you see in the sky.”

“Don’t exaggerate, Willy!”

“I’m not!  Here, take a look yourself!”  With that he pulled down not only his jeans, but his baggy briefs too.  And there indeed were the marks left by a heavy thrashing.

“Oh My God!”  Terrence exclaimed, “That’s awful.  They really are like those vapour trail things, but red like at sunset.  Kind of abusive.”

“No, not really.  I’m used to it.  He’s old and he’s old-fashioned.  It keeps me on my toes.  Minds my manners.”

“Shit, you’re very forgiving.  You ought to tell the cops.  Talking of which, can I cop a feel of the marks?”

“What!  Don’t be a pervert!”

“Well, you’re the one who’s flashing his arse to his mate.”

“Oh, alright then.  Just a quick feel, mind.  Be gentle though, as I’m still pretty sore.”

“Yes, you must be,” gingerly Terrence traced each of the cane welts with his fingers.  He was tempted to pinch them or smack his mate’s arse, just for a laugh, but thought better of it.  In a funny way, he was jealous of his friend.  Jealous that he’d had such uncommon experiences and jealous that he had a caring but strict father who took an interest.  Terrence sighed loudly and said, “I wish I could experience a caning like that.  Just once.”

“Don’t be a fool!  You’ve no idea how badly it hurts.  I’m used to it.  But you’d be a cane virgin.”

“Yes of course.  You’re right.  It’s just a daft fantasy.  One of many, I should add.”

“Hey!  Careful, mate!” cried Willy as his friends manual exploration set off a particularly painful reminder of his thrashing.

“Sorry, sorry!  Hey, I don’t suppose?”

“Suppose what?”

“I don’t suppose I could see the cane?  I’d like to see it now that I’ve seen the damage it causes.”

“Eh?  Well, he’s got three canes.  Ordinarily, I’d say no.  But as he’s away for the weekend, I could show you them.”

“Yes please.  I’d like to see them.  Do you think he’d cane me if I asked?”

“Certainly not!  Well, I’d hope not.  No, I’m sure he wouldn’t.  Why would you want to be caned?  It’s no fun, believe me.  Are you some kind of masochist?  No, don’t ask my Dad, please.  Apart from anything else, I could get into some serious trouble for telling you about all of this.  Anyway, he probably wouldn’t do it for you, anyways.  But, thinking about it, I could.  I could cane you.  If you really want to know what it’s like?”

“Oh, right.  Well, I guess it would be an experience and it could be fun.  Though I doubt you could be as strict as your dad.”

“Maybe not.  But I do know how it’s done.  I’ve been on the receiving end plenty enough, that’s for sure.  Anyway, I’ll just go and get the canes.  Wait here.”

Willy was gone for a while.  Meanwhile, his friend Terrence was getting increasingly excited at the prospect of seeing the canes.  He’d always been interested in corporal punishment as a subject and he was fighting off an erection as he thought more and more about his friend being caned by his dad.

“Actually, I can only find two of the canes.  There’s a third which is a straight one without the handle these two have got.  It’s the harshest of the three.  I wonder where it’s gone?”

“Maybe he’s taken it with him for his weekend away?”

“I doubt it, mate.  It’s a business weekend.”

“Maybe it’s a funny business weekend?” Terrence laughed.

“Leave it out!  I don’t think my dad’s kinky, if that’s what you’re trying to imply!”

“Forget it mate, it was just a thought.  Now, let me have a look at those two canes.  They look serious.”

“Wow!  They look like the real deal.  Fuckin’ Hell!”

“Swearing like that would get you a sixer off my dad!  Six of the best!”

“OK, well, as I said, I’m up for it.”

“You’re a nutter, mate.”

“I know, I know.  But let’s do it anyway.”

“Alright, you’re on!  I always get it bare arse, so if you want the full experience, you’d better drop everything.”

“Hmmm.  I’m not so sure about that.”

“Well, look at it this way.  You’ve seen my arse.  It’s only fair that I should see yours.”

“I guess!” said Terrence suddenly needing no further persuasion, unzipping his Wranglers and pulling them and his skimpy briefs right down.

“Good.  That’s more like it.  Now let’s have you bending over here.  And stick your arse out.  My dad always demands a good target.”

Willy couldn’t help but admire his friend’s pert and willing bottom.  It was almost as if it was made for the cane; for the harshest of thrashings.  Terrence turned his head around to see what his friend was doing and then told him, “Well, get on with it then!”

“Less of your cheek, Terrence.  Unless you want more than six?”

Terrence shook his head and then looked away.  Willy raised the cane and slashed it down right across the middle of the naked arse.  A pink line appeared rapidly and Terrence gasped as the pain sunk in.

The second stroke followed a few seconds later, ripping the tender flesh lower down.  This time, Terrence shot up, clutching his arse with both hands, swearing, “Fuckin’ hell, how can that thin stick hurt so much?”

“You may well ask, mate.  You swore again, too.  Now get back in position unless you want me to add a penalty stroke, like my Dad often does.”

“Sorry, sorry, I don’t want any extra.  Not today, anyway.”

The third stroke was, if anything, even worse, stinging and burning and producing a wail from the teenage victim.

“Alright, alright.  Try and take it like a man.  I have to when I’m on the receiving end.  Now, I’m gonna swap canes and see what you make of this thicker one.  Alright?”

Terrence just grunted his agreement and was soon in the firing line for the more severe cane.  It sliced a fourth stroke and then a harsher fifth.  “Oh my God,” said Terrence as the pain flooded his senses.

“Just one more to come then, mate.  Let’s make it memorable now, shall we?”  Willy asked, but there was no need for an answer.  The cane did the talking instead.  That final stroke was a real killer.  Terrence could hardly speak, but his eyes were moist, almost tearful.  Willy chimed in, “That’s your lot!  Now, how was it?”

“That really hurt.  Like mad.  But I really enjoyed it.  The anticipation, the scorching pain, the helplessness.  Wow!  It turned me on a bit, too.  I want to do it again.  Are you up for it?”

“What now?”

“No, in a week or two.  When my arse has recovered.  Yes?”

“Yes, sure.  It felt good to be on the other end of the stick for a change.  You’re right, it was a turn-on for me too!”

“I know, I’m randy as hell.  How about after everytime you get a thrashing off your old man, you give me one round at my place?  I’ll get a cane of my own.  We won’t be disturbed as my old landlord’s as deaf as a post.  Really.”

“That could work.  Let’s go with it.  You get that cane.  Make sure it’s a rattan one, as they are proper punishment canes.  Bamboo’s no good.  It splits and isn’t flexible enough.  You can find good rattans on the internet, I believe.”

“Right, consider it done!”

And so it was that once a mail order cane arrived, the two friends established their sadomasochistic relationship.  It was always at Terrence’s place, so that their secret was safe.   Gradually, the two had begun to enjoy some mutual sexual relief afterwards, and then more advanced activities which eventually blossomed into a full carnal love affair.  The course of true love didn’t always run smoothly, however, as one time the boys happened to be at Willy’s house and got carried away.  They were  enjoying a naked cuddle and a beer on the sofa in the living room.  As luck would have it, it was a rare occasion when Willy’s dad returned early from one of his business weekends.

“What the hell?  You dirty buggers!” he exclaimed, his face going bright red with rage.  He’d caught them kissing and playing with each other, totally starkers, and he was distinctly unimpressed.  “Terrence, get out of here!  Go home!  William, you can expect a very sore discussion with the stick!”

Terrence tried to reason with Willy’s angry father while dressing, “Sorry Mr. Ferguson.  It won’t happen again, we were just playing.”

“I can see that!  You must think I was born yesterday.  You should both have girlfriends, that would sort you out.  As would my cane.”

“Err, yes.  I suppose so, Mr. Ferguson.  If you’re going to cane William, perhaps you should do the same with me?”

“What?  You’re not my responsibility, you stupid lad.  Besides, who started all this?”

“It was me, sorry,” said Terrence.  Willy stared on in disbelief.  But then the penny dropped.  His friend was trying to get the caning he’d long desired from the older man!

“Very well!  If that’s the truth then I’m happy to correct you as well as William.  I hope you will both learn from this.  Unnatural acts, I will not tolerate!  Ten strokes each!  I’ll go and fetch a cane.”

Terrence seemed pleased and winked at his friend.  Willy scowled back, as he was less than happy with Terrence’s deviousness.  “You fuckin’ idiot!  Ten fuckin’ strokes.  I’ll get you for this,” Willy whispered.  Terrence’s cockiness soon disappeared when he saw Mr. Ferguson returning with the straight cane.  Willy had warned him that it was a real bastard of a cane, that his dad only used when he was in a particularly bad mood.  And today, it seemed to both lads that today was a day when Mr. Ferguson was in such a mood.  He cut a very mean-looking figure in a pinstripe 3-piece suit and starched white shirt.  The pale, straight cane just topped off his fearsome appearance.

“Bend over the back of the sofa, boys.  Trousers and underpants down, I’ve already seen what you’ve got, so no need to be shy.”

The two lovers glanced at each other before doing the old man’s bidding.  Terrence thought it felt sexy to be bending over in parallel with his lover.  However, he changed his mind once Willy’s father got down to business, beating down hard strokes of the cane, alternating strokes between the two lads.  The whoosh and the crack of the implement was impressive, the pain unbelievable.  Mr. Ferguson was punishing them hard, maybe harder than he’d ever punished Willy before.  Again and again the wicked cane lashed the two lads.  As they got near to the end, both boys were voicing their distress.

“William, go up to your room.  I will have a quick talk to Terrence here, and then send him home.”

Willy didn’t need telling twice!  He hot-footed his way up to his bedroom, where he intended to apply some cooling cream to his damaged flesh.

“Stay as you are, Terrence,” said Mr. Ferguson, “Now, I thought I detected some faint cane marks on your backside before I started.  How is that possible?”

“I don’t know.  I really can’t say.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“My lips are sealed, Mr. Ferguson.”

“Very well, then.  Obstinate, aren’t you?  Two extra penalty strokes for you.  Maybe that will loosen your tongue?”

“No, no, you can’t!”

“I can and I shall.  Stay in position.  Lift that bottom up.  I want it offered up properly.”

The cane lashed down on Terrence’s bare rump once again. “Eleven,” the teenager said quietly.

A final stroke followed.  It was extra hard, Terrence cried out in shock and anguish and then added, “Twelve.”

“I wasn’t expecting you to count out those two strokes, Terrence.  You really have done this before, haven’t you?  Now please kindly explain those earlier cane marks to me.”

“I can’t really, I can’t!”  Terrence said, blushing and standing up.  He pulled up his pants and trousers and walked over to Ferguson.  Boldly, he stroked the old man’s beard, and whispered in his ear, “How about I take another six and you drop the subject?”

This time it was Mr. Ferguson’s turn to blush.  He nodded his agreement to the startling proposition and duly delivered another six hard strokes to the willing and naked arse.  It seemed to please both men, who had reached an unspoken understanding.  With the deed done, Ferguson quietly said to Terrence, “If you ever want some more, you can always come and see me when William’s at his tennis club, you know.  Or just call me.”  He then produced his wallet, but it wasn’t money that emerged.  It was a handwritten note of an AOL email address, which he passed to Terrence, saying only, “Or contact me the modern way.”

Meanwhile, Willy was laid on his bed, playfully rubbing his sore bottom and stiff penis, wondering what on earth his boyfriend had done to incur the eight extra strokes that had been clearly audible upstairs.

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: D I S C L A I M E R :

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

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Story © MMXXIV by Rod Cayenne

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There’s more annoyed father fun in the story “Delta Blow”

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