♥ Site recommended story ♥
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!
“C” Is For Cane by Joelstrap
My tutor wasn’t pleased with me.
“This is the second ‘C’ in a row, Joshua. It’s not good enough.”
“It’s a pass,” I protested.
“Yes, but you’re capable of much better than this. Your exam-results from school suggest you should be heading for an honours degree; and your first two essays seemed to confirm that. But the last two have seen your performance plummet. Why?” demanded Dr. Graham.
“I dunno,” I said uneasily, churning my hand in my hair. “Maybe the subjects of the last essays didn’t appeal to me.”
“You really believe that, Joshua?”
I shrugged non-committally.
My tutor looked steadily at me and I found that I couldn’t quite meet his gaze. He nodded with a knowing expression on his face.
“What?” I asked, irritably.
“What’s her name?” he enquired with a smile.
“Eh? I don’t know what……….”
“Don’t you, Joshua?”
I felt the colour rising in my cheeks and shuffled my feet nervously. He was spot-on, of course; which is what had disconcerted me. I’d been spending so much time having sex that my essays had been scrawled at the last minute with little preparatory reading or thinking. I decided that there was no point in denying it since he clearly knew only too well. No doubt it was something he’d come across often enough before. I decided to confess.
“Okay; you got me; but you’re not completely right,” I said.
He raised his eyebrows in an unspoken question.
“It’s his name,” I said. “It’s Gregor.”
“But it makes no difference whether the name of the person who is taking up time you should be spending on your studies is Mary or Marcus,” said Dr. Graham. “Does it, Joshua?”
“No,” I admitted a little sulkily.
“Now, I recognise that you need time for personal relationships; of course you do; that’s natural and normal. However, you must ensure that you give enough time to your studies as well. It’s a matter of balance, Joshua, and you need to make a lot more effort to get the balance right. As I said, you’ve got the ability to do an honours degree, but with the effort you’re putting in at the moment, it’s just not going to happen. Unless you start producing the kind of work you were giving me in the first part of the term, there’s no way you’ll be admitted to the honours course in eighteen months’ time.”
“Maybe an ordinary degree would suit me fine,” I replied sullenly.
He didn’t even reply to that. He just looked me in the eyes again until I looked away and muttered, “Sorry. I didn’t mean that. I’ll try harder.”
“Right. I want at least a B+ next time. It’ll be the second last essay before the end-of-term exams and the Christmas vacation, so I want to see that you really are working.”
“I will. I promise.”
“You’re a bad influence,” I informed Gregor as we relaxed in the cafe after a training-session at the gym.
I told him about the interview with Dr. Graham, my tutor.
“And you think it’s all my fault?”
“No, not really. I just can’t get enough of you. I don’t understand how any boy can be so sexy; but when you’re around I can’t think of anything else but writhing naked with you until our balls are empty.”
Gregor sighed. “Me too,” he said. “One look at you and my cock’s pointing to the ceiling and I can’t concentrate on anything else but fucking you inside out.”
“Okay; so we need to ration ourselves a bit here; decide on days and times we’re not gonna do any bonking,” I suggested.
“Yeh,” replied Gregor with a nod, “but I got something to tell you too. I’ve been getting a rocket from my tutor as well. My work’s sliding badly, he says; and if I don’t pull my socks up, I’m gonna be like you.”
“What? No chance of the honours course?”
“Shit! We really do need to get ourselves sorted out. Did, er, your tutor suspect the reason why you weren’t performing well?” I asked.
“There’s nothing wrong with my performance, you cheeky sod!” protested Gregor. “The way you were moaning and panting yesterday when we were together, I had to be doing a hell of a lot exactly right!”
“Not your sexual performance, you blithering ass! I mean your essays.”
“Oh, that. Well, yeh, he did ask if I was spending too much time on my social life and too little on my work.”
“They might be ancient,” I said, referring to our respective tutors, “but they’re not stupid, are they? I mean, they know what young guys are like.”
“True,” agreed Gregor. “But, look, I gotta go. I’ve got a tutorial in twenty minutes. We’ll sit down tonight and see if we can plan how to split up our work time and our sex time.”
We were in a flat shared with two other guys. We each had our own room and the kitchen and living-room were communal. Callum was in his second year and we didn’t have a lot to do with him, although we got on fine and occasionally went out for a pint together. The fourth was a Ph.D. student, writing a thesis on some aspects of symbolism in the works of T.S. Eliot. He was called Ben and was a classically-handsome young guy in his early twenties. He had a girlfriend who was a teacher in a town about fifty miles away and he spent most weekends with her; and his weekdays working hard at his studies.
I was sitting at a table in the communal living-room with a mug of coffee, looking gloomily at my latest essay and trying to decipher the many comments which my tutor had scribbled in the margins, when Ben came in. He threw down his briefcase on a chair and began to spoon coffee into a mug before switching on the kettle. While waiting for it to boil, he came over to me and asked, “How’s it going, Josh?”
“Not too good,” I admitted.
He glanced at the large “C” in the corner of my essay and said, “Ah!”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I demanded irascibly.
“First time you’ve got a “C”, is it, Josh?”
“Er, well, no. That’s the problem. It’s the second time in a row.”
“And I seem to remember you were getting “B+” and “A” at the beginning.”
“And it’s Gregor’s fault?”
“You sound just like my tutor.”
“That’s what he said?” asked Ben.
“Well, no, not in so many words; but he asked the name of my girlfriend; and I told him it was actually a boyfriend; and he said it made no difference if I was spending too much time with him. So I guess he meant it was Gregor’s fault.”
I stared at Ben.
“You don’t think it’s Gregor’s fault?” I queried doubtfully.
“Of course it’s not,” replied Ben. “It’s your fault.”
“Who isn’t doing his work? You! Who’s spending too much time snogging his boyfriend? You! Who’s in danger of messing up his chances of getting a good degree? You! Who should have the willpower to get his studying done properly before he gets into his boyfriend’s pants? You! Who needs his bottom spanked? You!” declared Ben.
“Bottom spanked?” I repeated. “What the hell are you on about?”
“You’re the one who’s at fault,” said Ben. “You can’t blame Gregor or anyone else. It’s your problem and you have to sort it out.”
“Okay, okay, I get it; and of course you’re right. But….bottom spanked? What the fuck is that about?”
“It’s about discipline,” said Ben. “Either you’re mature enough to impose a strict self-discipline and set limits to your time with Gregor; and stick to them. Or you need somebody to do it for you, like when you were a kid and got spanked.”
“Right. I get it. But my tutor’s hardly gonna turn me over his knee and tan my hide, is he?”
“No. You need to impose your own discipline on your life. So, what are you pair planning to do about it?”
“We’re going to work on a plan later this evening, once I’ve finished going through this essay. Gregor’s kind of in the same position as me. His work’s not been too good recently either.”
“Okay. Plan sensibly; and stick to your plan,” advised Ben.
Gregor and I planned our week carefully, allowing ourselves the weekends for as much amorous activity as we wanted; plus the hours between ten and midnight on week-nights. Up until 10 p.m. we’d be studying; and after midnight we’d be in our own rooms, getting our sleep. It worked fine at first; but then we started to go out to the pub before we began studying in the evenings; and the time just slid past and little studying was done. We’d decide that we’d do more the next night to compensate; but it rarely happened. Even when we came back reasonably early and tried to work, we’d be distracted by each other and end up writhing naked on the bed in one of our rooms.
I submitted my next essay with a leaden heart, because I knew I hadn’t done the necessary reading; nor even allowed myself time to produce a reasonable attempt at the subject. I saw the now-familiar “C” in the top-corner of my script when Dr. Graham handed it to me.
“I know,” I said before he could start. “I said I’d pull my socks up and I haven’t; and yes, it’s my boyfriend, just like it was before. I know!”
“But knowing isn’t enough, is it, Joshua? Did you try to do anything about it?”
I told him what we’d done; all about our sensible plans; and confessed that the siren-call of the pub and of our bodies had eroded every good intention. My tutor listened.
“Well,” he said eventually, “it’s up to you. I’ve told you the situation. You’re wasting your abilities because your will-power is lacking. Think about it. You’ve got one more essay to go this term and then the end-of-term exam. See if maybe you can find a bit more self-discipline.”
I winced. There were those words again; the words that Ben had used. I needed self-discipline. At school, teachers and my parents kept a fairly close eye on me and made sure the work was done; but now, away from home, I’d found that I couldn’t impose on myself the discipline they’d imposed for me.
Gregor and I had a very long talk that evening, for he too was under-performing and his tutor wasn’t pleased with him. We went round and round in circles, struggling to think of how we could resist each other. We were sitting at the table in the communal-room in the flat since no-one else was in and we had the place to ourselves.
“It all comes down to self-discipline,” I said, helping myself to a fifth biscuit.
“I guess,” sighed Gregor; and his mobile rang.
He listened to whoever was on the other end for a bit and muttered various terms of agreement from ‘yeh’ to ‘okay’.
“That was Trevor,” he said. “He’s in the same boat as us; but he’s got a solution. Seems there’s a Ph.D. English student who does tutoring-sessions for guys who’re struggling. You have to pay him a bit though, so less money for beer; and he does three two-hour sessions each week with maybe half a dozen students at a time; and he gets the results apparently. What do you think?”
“Well, we gotta do something,” I replied. “Think we should give it a go?”
“We’ll have to give up going to the pub or the pictures, to save a bit of cash to pay the guy,” said Gregor gloomily as he told me what the tuition would cost us. “But needs must.”
There was the sound of a banging door and then Ben burst into the room. He stopped short when he saw us.
“Hello, guys. Why so glum?”
For answer I pushed my latest essay across to him. He glanced at the mark and sat down at the table.
“I take it you tried?” he enquired; and we explained what we’d decided and how it had all broken down as our self-discipline failed us.
“All is not lost,” declared Ben. “You just need a bit of backbone in your self-discipline; something behind it to stiffen your resolve when you’re tempted to give in to your carnal urges.”
“Yeh? You got a bottle of pills that does that?” I asked sarcastically. “Anyway, I think we’ve got the answer.”
Gregor proceeded to tell him about the tutoring sessions.
Ben snorted derisively.
“Balls!” he said explosively.
We both stared at him, eyebrows raised.
“You don’t need to go to all that time and trouble; or expense,” he insisted.
“So what do we do then?” I demanded irritably.
Ben pointed at my essay.
“What does “C” mean, Josh?”
“It means a pass, but only just; not as good as I should be getting.”
“Yes, okay; but “C” also stands for cane.”
“You….you think we need to be caned?” gasped Gregor.
“Of course you do. A good hard dose of the cane would do you both the world of good; and every time you thought about neglecting your studies to get down and dirty together, you’d remember the caning and get on with your work, to avoid getting caned again. A bit of backing, as it were, for your self-discipline, to make sure it stands up to temptation.”
Gregor and I stared at each other, neither of us sure just what to say next. Eventually Gregor ventured a tentative, “Are you serious?”
For answer, Ben went to his room and returned with a slender cane which he whipped viciously fast through the air, making a whining-sound. We both instinctively flinched.
“Where the fuck did you get that?” I asked nervously.
“Oh, it’s a useful thing to have around,” replied Ben vaguely. “Okay, boys. Jeans and pants off. Hurry up!”
Gregor and I glanced at each other. Ben lashed his cane down on the surface of a chair and we both jumped.
“Now, boys!” he shouted.
I found myself unbuckling my belt and saw that Gregor was doing the same. Once I’d kicked off my trainers and removed my jeans, I put my hands to the waist of my briefs and hesitated.
“Lose them, Joshua,” said Ben softly.
I looked at Gregor, who shrugged. We both slid off our briefs.
Gregor was told to go and stand facing the wall, his hands on his head; and I was told to bend over with my hands on the side of a chair-seat. In a kind of semi-trance, I complied. This felt unreal, almost dream-like. Next moment Ben sent his cane slashing across the centre of my bare bottom with a ferocious snap, and a streak of blazing fire was etched on my behind. I gasped and winced violently. There was nothing unreal or dream-like about this. It was raw, brutal and very definitely for real.
The limber rod struck again, a little lower and a second lightning-stroke of searing pain excoriated my quivering flesh. I couldn’t believe quite how much this hurt. Clenching my glutes, I processed the sting; and then the cane sliced into my crease. I yelped and scrubbed desperately at the burning flesh. Ben was not impressed.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Josh?” he demanded angrily. “Too much of a baby to take a bit of pain?”
That barb hurt as much as the cane-stroke, although in a different way.
“I’m not a baby,” I hissed furiously.
“No? Well I’m going to give you that stroke again; so let me see you take it like an eighteen-year-old and not an eight-year-old.”
I tensed my body in readiness, seething inwardly at his insulting comments and resolving that I’d show him I was no boy. I did too. The cane whipped savagely across my crease again and an explosion of searing pain ripped across my behind; but I gripped the sides of the chair with all my strength and forced myself to ride the wave of agony until it began to recede.
“Much better,” observed Ben. “Keep still.”
I tried to breathe steadily as I awaited the next stroke. It was slightly higher and the sting was marginally less intense, but it still took a big effort to absorb it. I could feel his cane sliding across my rump as he decided where to hit me next; and then, sooner than I expected, he let me have it hard on top of the second welt. I squealed and writhed, fighting the urge to rub my tormented rear. It was several seconds before I had settled, panting slightly. I waited, afraid of the agony to come, forcing myself to remember that I was a young man. He hit me full across the crease, detonating a blast of searing fires which felt as though they were gouging a deep, blazing furrow across my bottom. Again he forced a squeal from me; but I managed to keep my hands on the chair.
“Right. Go and face the wall, hands on your head,” commanded Ben. “Gregor; over here.”
I stumbled across to the wall, aware of a definite wetness around my eyes, but resolutely refusing to let my hands anywhere near my face. Behind me, I heard Gregor being told to bend over and then, as I listened there came a crack like a rifle-shot, followed by a sharp intake of breath. Ben managed to extract more gasps as well as a couple of desperate squeals from Gregor as the beating proceeded; but he had clearly learnt from my experience not to scrub at his bottom and only got six strokes.
“Here, both of you,” ordered Ben; and Gregor and I stood, freshly-caned and subdued before him. “Both of you will get at least a ‘B’ for your next essay,” Ben informed us quietly, “or I’ll cane you again. Eight strokes. Understand me?”
“Yes,” we muttered, embarrassed but submissive.
“Right; jeans and pants back on and sit down at the table and get on with some work. There won’t be a sound out of either of you for the next ninety minutes. I’ll be over on the sofa reading,” Ben told us.
Silently we fetched our books and sat down carefully. I was acutely aware of the burning in my bottom for some time and a dull ache persisted throughout the next hour and a half. I got through a lot of work. Neither of us uttered a word.
Ben came across after the time had elapsed; and he grinned at us.
“Okay, boys. Now, I’m not going to be supervising you every day. You’ll need to use your self-discipline to sit down and do the work. I’m warning you though,” he added flexing his lithe cane menacingly. “I’ll beat the living fuck out of your bare arses if you don’t produce at least a ‘B’ for your next essays.”
He went off to his room.
For several seconds, Gregor and I sat in stunned silence.
“Yes, well,” I muttered, “I guess he’s serious.”
“That fucking cane’s serious,” agreed Gregor, standing and rubbing his bottom. “I can still feel it.”
“Yeh. I’m tender,” I concurred. “So what do you reckon? Are we gonna study hard?”
“I’d rather study hard than be beaten hard with that bloody cane,” Gregor admitted. “Let’s just agree that we do seven to ten every evening during the week; and then we can have some fun together. And this time we’ve got a fucking strong incentive to stick to it.”
We found it surprisingly easy to keep to the timetable we’d decided on; and we both approached the next essay with much increased confidence. Our mates moaned about the cost of their tuition and the boring sessions with the Ph.D. student; but we found we were contented, our work and play neatly balanced; and our cash-flow adequate to cover some visits to the pub at the weekends.
“Ben!” I yelled as Gregor and I burst into the flat.
Ben, who was sitting reading by the fire, looked up and we thrust our latest essays at him. He looked at the ‘B+’ in the corner of each and grinned.
“Well done, guys,” he said. “C is for cane; but no C means no cane. But B means beer; so, come on, I’ll stand you a round.”
As we reached the end of our pints, Ben suddenly looked serious.
“End-of-term exams in a couple of weeks, boys. I’ll expect at least a B+ from each of you for all three of the exam-essays; and if I don’t get it, you’ll be getting eight strokes of my cane and will be starting the new term in January with very, very sore bottoms.”
“B+?” gasped Gregor.
“For each of the three essays in the exam?” I asked, incredulous.
“Eight strokes of the bloody cane if we don’t do it?” queried Gregor as if he hadn’t heard correctly.
“That’s what I said. You’ve both proved you can get B-pluses, so that’s the standard you’ll maintain.”
“But we can’t,” protested Gregor.
“You’ll cane me if even one of my essays isn’t a B+? Even if I get two As and a B?” I queried.
“But that’s fucking hard!”
“So is my cane. You choose,” said Ben; and he drained his glass, rose and left the pub.
Gregor and I looked at each other.
“The bugger means it,” he said.
“My dad wouldn’t half be impressed if I got three B-pluses,” I said thoughtfully.
“My dad would be gobsmacked,” said Gregor. “But he might give me some driving-lessons,” he added meditatively.
“Of course, we don’t have to submit to that hellish cane,” I said.
“But we will,” replied Gregor. “Ben might be a vicious bastard with that cane of his, but you gotta admit, he spent ten minutes with us and our work improved dramatically; and it didn’t cost us a penny.”
“And it would be kind of letting him down if we didn’t get the marks he wants and then wouldn’t take the cane,” I said thoughtfully. “Okay, we don’t let up. It’s just two weeks and then we can have a Christmas holiday absolutely full of Bs and Cs.”
“B is for balls; and C is for cocks,” I said
Gregor grinned and we kissed swiftly before finishing our drinks and heading back to the flat.
We worked, and the end-of-term exams came and went, each of us content that we should have done well. There would be no results until we had a brief meeting with our respective tutors on the first day back after the new year, and I went somewhat nervously to Dr. Graham’s study shortly before lunch that Monday morning in early January. He was smiling, which I took to be a good sign; and when he handed me my exam-scripts I was thrilled to see a B+, an A, and a B. So near and yet so far, I thought to myself. My tutor, however, congratulated me on the dramatic improvement and expressed a hope that I’d maintain the standard in the coming term. I assured him earnestly that I would.
“I’m delighted to hear it, Joshua,” he said. “I know the B may hurt a bit, but it’s still a good mark, and you’ve done very well in the other two, especially managing an A in one of them.”
“Yeh; I didn’t really leave enough time for the third essay, so maybe that’s why it wasn’t as good as the other two,” I admitted.
I met Gregor for lunch and told him my news. He grimaced as I mentioned the B.
“But you got an A too,” he said. “Surely that makes up for the essay that only got a B?”
“I hadn’t thought of that. Yeh; I’ll try that one on Ben. I’m so close after all; so surely he wouldn’t cane me for that one near miss?”
“Wish I knew my results,” moaned Gregor glancing at his watch. “Still over an hour until my appointment with my tutor.”
In due course Gregor went off for his meeting and I awaited him in a local cafe. He came in grinning broadly.
“Three B-pluses!” he exclaimed. “Definitely no cane for me!”
“Fucking awesome, mate,” I told him, giving him a swift kiss.
“And if you do get the cane,” Gregor assured me, “I’ll lick your welts better and then fuck you inside out.”
“Shit! It’ll be worth a caning for all that,” I retorted with a smile. “But you’ll still fuck me inside out even if I don’t get the cane?”
“What do you think?” replied Gregor.
We entered the flat; and the first thing I noticed was Ben’s cane lying on the coffee-table. I stopped so suddenly that Gregor bumped into me.
“What?” he demanded; and then, when I pointed, “Oh! I see.”
Ben came in from his room and asked how we’d done in our exams. Gregor revealed his three B-pluses and was duly congratulated.
“So, how did you fare, Josh?”
“Er, I got an A for one of them; and a B+; and a B.”
“An A? That’s impressive,” said Ben. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks. Look, I know the agreement was at least three B-pluses, but the A kind of cancels out the slight deficit of the B; doesn’t it, Ben?” I asked pleadingly. “I was very close.”
“But the agreement was at least three B-pluses and it’s important that when you fail to perform as required the penalty is paid. That way the pressure stays on and there’s less chance you’ll slip in this term’s performance because you think I’ll let you off ‘almost’ getting the required marks.”
Ben picked up the cane and arched it.
“Aw, c’mon, Ben! Please! I don’t need to be caned!”
“Oh yes you do, Josh; and you will be. However, since I’m not a brute and you did come very close, I’ll let you off with six rather than the promised eight.”
“Gee, thanks,” I muttered.
“Of course if your attitude needs improving as well, I could still reinstate the eight,” remarked Ben mildly.
“No, no. It’s okay. I’ll take six. Er…thanks,” I replied hastily.
“Good. Let’s just do it then. Jeans and pants off and bend over the chair, Josh.”
I complied and stood waiting as Ben rapped my bare bottom with the slim rod before bringing it down hard across the centre of my globes. I gasped aloud as a fierce sting ripped across my behind. I’d forgotten just how much this hurt. I steadied myself and the second stroke landed just below the first making me flinch violently and utter another gasp of pain. Scarcely had I got myself in hand again when he inflicted the third stroke, marginally lower down. A searing burn scored my flesh and I only just managed to stifle a yelp. The next landed very hard just at the top of my crease and I bucked, a squeal of agony forced from me. Breathing hard, I steadied my quivering body and waited for number five. I knew it was going to be full on that sensitive band of flesh where a boy’s bottom merges into the top of his legs; and it was. A pain like the lash of a barbed-wire whip tore through my bottom, and as I writhed and yelped, I fought desperately to keep my hands on the chair. Ben had taught me the last time not to rub my bottom, and I’d remembered the lesson.
I was panting, aware of sweat trickling down my back, as I prepared for the final stroke. I expected a diagonal cut, slicing across several of the earlier welts, but he took me by surprise, lashing his cane down on my crease again, the vicious rod landing on the same skin which had been welted by the fifth stroke. I yowled and squirmed and as my right hand instinctively flew round to rub my tortured flesh, I made a supreme effort of will and forced it back to the chair.
“Well taken,” said Ben; and I was grateful for that.
I straightened up slowly and felt my way with both hands across the ridges on my bottom, aware of the heat in the beaten flesh and still processing the fiery sting in the cane-welts.
“At least a B+ in each of your essays this term, Josh, and you’ll get eight with my cane for each essay that fails to achieve that mark,” Ben promised grimly. “Understand?”
“Got it,” I assured him with all the fervency of the freshly beaten.
“And that goes for you too, Gregor.”
“I know,” Gregor assured him.
Ben went off to his room with the cane and Gregor and I retired to my room where we both stripped and while I lay flat on my face, Gregor slowly and tenderly licked the length of each cane-mark, over and over again. He lay on my back and kissed my ears and I was aware of his long, hard penis between the walls of my cleft. Underneath me, my own organ was hard as a gatepost.
“You gonna use that rod of yours on me, Greg?”
“You think you can take me after that caning?”
“Fucking right I can! I want you; hard as you can!”
Gregor obliged and when he’d powered his way to a climax, he suddenly rolled on to his back, taking me with him so that I was now lying on my back on his chest. One of his hands worked expertly at my nipples while the other grasped my shaft and worked it faster and faster until with a bass moan of ecstasy my semen burst free and spattered the bed-head behind us.
“Wow! That was some orgasm!” gasped Gregor. “There’s a hell of a lot of power in these balls of yours!”
For some time we both lay silent, revelling in the post-orgasmic glow. Gregor slid a hand into my hair while the other fondled my testicles, effortlessly bringing my penis back up to full erection.
“Boy, you are one red-hot guy,” he said, “and randy as a raft of raccoons.”
“As if I can’t feel you getting hard as a flagpole inside me,” I retorted. “If you were any hotter, you’d catch fire.”
“How are the cane-welts?”
“Glad I managed to make you forget about them.”
“Yeh. That cane is one vicious brute and it didn’t half get through to me; but there’s nothing like a good fuck to make me feel a hell of a lot better,” I admitted.
“That cane. Remember it was on the coffee-table when we came in? It was like Ben knew he was going to use it; but he didn’t know our marks until we told him.”
I considered this for a few moments and then something came back to me.
“Hey! My tutor said something a bit odd when he was talking about my marks. He said the B might hurt a bit, but I’d done well on the other two essays. It was a kind of strange way of putting it. I mean, it might have been more natural to say that the B disappointed me. You know, it’s almost as if he knew that B would quite literally hurt me,” I mused.
“Hmm. You think your tutor and Ben have been colluding in the background?”
“Surely not; and yet……it does seem to fit. But having the cane out ready; and the comment about the B hurting me; that does seem to have given them away,” I replied.
“Careless of them, huh?” said Gregor. “Or not?”
“You mean, they deliberately left some clues so we’d guess what was going on?”
“Looks like it. They’re hardly dumbos after all. Why would they make stupid mistakes like that……except on purpose?”
“I think we need to speak to Ben,” I said.
Ben was sitting at the table taking notes on a tome he was reading.
“Ben! Why did you have the cane out ready when we got back with our results?”
“So that I could cane you,” replied Ben with a grin.
“But neither of us had told you his marks until after we got here,” I objected.
“True,” said Ben complacently.
“So you must have known already that you were gonna cane me,” I persisted.
“I guess I must,” agreed Ben.
“Dr. Graham said that the B would hurt me, but the other marks were very good. Why did he say that, Ben?”
“Must have known you were going to get the cane for that B, Josh.”
“Look, stop messing me about! Who’s supervising your PH.D. work, Ben?”
“Ah, you’re there, are you?” said Ben with a smile. “It’s Dr. Graham.”
“My tutor!” I exclaimed. “He told you my results!”
Ben held up his hands.
“But that means Dr. Graham knows I get the fucking cane!” I howled. “I’m gonna feel hell of an embarrassed every time I see him now.”
“Did you feel embarrassed in the second part of last term; or today?” asked Ben.
“Well, no, but………why last term? You don’t mean…….Ben?”
Gregor jumped in.
“Are you trying to tell us that you and Dr. Graham cooked up this cane-business together deliberately, to get Josh and me to up our work?” he demanded.
“Spot on!” said Ben.
“So he knew I was caned for my poor essay last term?” I asked, trying to get things clear.
“Sure. It’s his cane,” replied Ben astoundingly.
“He gave you a cane so you could tan my hide?” I asked, a sense of outrage bubbling to the surface.
“Well, it wouldn’t really do for him to cane you himself,” explained Ben, “him being your tutor. But he knew I was into using a cane and knew how to do it effectively…”
“Fucking right you do,” I muttered.
“……so he asked me to see if you’d be up for an experiment with the cane, to see if it could get an improvement in your results. And, oh boy, it worked,” declared Ben.
“Well, yeh, but……..”
“So, are you complaining, Josh? Want to end the threat of the cane as a stimulus to a high standard of work?”
“Er, no, I guess not. It does work; and I want to keep on doing myself justice. But what’s Dr. Graham doing with a cane?”
“He’s a member of an S&M Society, as am I,” said Ben. “We meet once a week or so and cane bad boys who come along to be punished.”
“They want to be caned?” I asked.
“Absolutely,” replied Ben.
“Shit!” I said.
“What about me?” asked Gregor.
“Well, you were what might be called collateral damage,” grinned Ben. “You were here; you admitted you weren’t doing well at your work either and it was the time you were spending on each other that was the problem; and so I just decided to include you too. You were as willing as Josh to do it; and with you it’s been even more effective. And no, before you ask, your tutor doesn’t know anything about it.”
“Right,” said Gregor.
“….and,” continued Ben, “you’ve got a hell of a cute arse and I couldn’t resist the chance to cane it.”
Gregor stared, his mouth half open, speechless.
“Are you saying you were disappointed that I was the only one who failed to get at least three B-pluses?” I demanded.
“Well, I admit I’d have loved an excuse to cane Greg again too,” Ben confessed. “But the term is young. Five essays and then another three in the end-of-term exams. There’s still a chance he’ll need to be caned again; as will you.”
“Not if I can help it,” I said firmly.
“Nor me,” agreed Gregor. “This is war! You wanna beat our arses and we’re determined to stop you; and we will.”
“Spoken like a true student,” said Ben. “But if a single defence comes down; a single mark below B+, I’ll be in there with the cane and setting your young bottoms ablaze.”
“Did you both leave clues for us intentionally?” I asked.
“Yes. We felt you deserved to know the truth; and we hoped you were convinced enough of the efficacy of the caning-system to want to stick with it anyway. It might not work for everybody, but for you pair it seems to do the trick.”
Greg and I glanced at each other.
“Yeh, it does work for us and we’re sticking with it,” I said. “We know C is for cane, and we don’t want it.”
“And B is for beating as well, and we don’t want that either,” added Gregor.
“So it’s gonna be at least B-pluses all the way,” I said.
“You’re determined to spoil my term,” grumbled Ben with a hangdog expression on his face. “Two fantastic bottoms which I see every day; and both of you out to make sure I don’t get a chance to beat them. Shit! Sometimes life’s a dung-heap!”
“Come on,” said Gregor, “we’ll stand you a pint down at the pub.”
A few minutes later we were sitting in front of full glasses.
“A toast?” said Gregor.
“C is for cane?” suggested Ben.
I shook my head.
“B is for bottoms up,” I said. “And we’re gonna work fucking hard to make sure that the only bottoms you get to see up are the bottoms of beer-glasses, mate!”
We all laughed, clinked our glasses, and drank.
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.