C Is For Cane (M/M) NEW!

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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.

“Huh?”

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?”

Gregor nodded.

“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.”

“Yeh.”

“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.”

“Balls!”

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.”

“Me?”

“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.”

“What?!”

“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.”

I nodded.

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.

“Exactly.”

“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.”

“Huh?”

“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?”

“What cane-welts?”

Gregor laughed.

“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.

“Josh?”

“Huh?”

“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.

__________________

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

Authors appreciate feedback. Please leave a comment on this excellent story.  Comments are here.

Joelstrap’s excellent earlier stories for The Canery are available here.  Further great stories by Joelstrap may be found at this external link

Caning Practice (M/M) NEW!

♥ Site recommended story ♥

A hot and 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!

Caning Practice by Joelstrap

The doorbell rang while we were at breakfast. Dad looked up at me and I rose to go and answer it. Muttering irritably to myself about people who called before nine in the morning, I opened the door and scowled.

“Hi, mate! Parcel for you,” declared the postman as he handed me a long, narrow tube, wrapped in brown paper.

I glanced at the address-label and saw that it was for Dean, my elder brother.

“Okay, thanks,” I said and the postman strode off down the path, whistling tunelessly.

I returned to the kitchen and handed the parcel to Dean. He looked at it for a moment and then began to rip off the paper to reveal a cardboard cylinder, closed with a plastic cap at each end. He prised open one cap and pulled out a lithe, slender school cane.

“It’s a beauty,” he breathed, standing up and lashing it hard in a downward motion so that it made a whining-sound. “Think they’ll feel that, Garry?” he asked me.

“Oh, yeh, they’ll feel it,” I assured him. “You gonna hit them as hard as that?”

“Depends how old they are and how bad they’ve been,” replied Dean with a grin.

He arched the cane into a smooth arc and I eyed it warily. I’d turned eighteen a couple of months past, and had left school just six weeks ago to work on a local farm until my college-course began in September. All the same, it was over a year since I’d had a cane used on me; but I hadn’t forgotten how much it could sting. I watched as Dean experimented with the slender rod, bending it, swinging it, flicking it. Dean was four years my senior and had just completed his degree and teacher-training and was at home for the summer before he started his first teaching-job in September. That’s why he was ready to use that cane.

“Why did you buy it so soon?” I asked. “It’s gonna be a couple of months before you can use it.”

“I need to get the hang of how to cane properly,” he informed me. “There’s an art in it, Garry. Remember how that French teacher, Bong, used to do a huge swing; and it hardly hurt a bit?”

“Yeh; but old Fractions just seemed to give a little swing and a flick of his wrist and it stung like an angry hornet,” I agreed.

“So, I need to practise,” Dean told me. “I don’t want the boys laughing behind my back because I can’t cane them properly and really make them feel it.”

“I guess. I’m glad you’re never gonna be my teacher, because I think you’ll be able to make that vicious rod feel like a thousand bee-stings at once.”

Dean grinned and slashed the cane down on to the plastic surface of a kitchen-chair. Dad jumped and looked up from his newspaper.

“For goodness sake, Dean, watch what you’re doing! If you want to practise with that thing, go up to your room,” he said.

“You could use your pillow,” I suggested.

“You could not,” said mother, coming into the kitchen with a pile of dirty-washing. “I’m not having my good pillows split open by you messing around with a cane.”

“Yes, mum. It’s okay. I wasn’t planning to use it on my pillow. I was hoping that Garry would volunteer to let me practise on him,” said my big brother.

“You what?” I gasped.

“I wondered if you’d let me practise caning you,” said Dean.

“Why the hell would I do that?” I demanded angrily.

“Because you’re a good brother and you want to help me,” replied Dean with an encouraging smile.

“That’s one way I don’t want to help you,” I retorted firmly.

“Aw, go on, Garry! It’s not as if you haven’t been caned often enough at school. You know what to expect.”

“Yeh, I do. I expect a hell of a sting in my arse, and I ……..”

“Right, that’s enough, Garry,” interrupted dad. “You don’t use language like that here. Any more of it and I might borrow Dean’s cane and see how I get on using it on you.”

“Sorry, dad,” I said hastily.

“I could give him a few strokes of my cane to punish him for his bad language right now,” offered Dean eagerly. “It’d be great practice for me and do Garry a lot of good too.”

“I told you,” I snapped irritably, “you’re not using that bl…..blasted cane on me!”

“Tell him he needs to help me practise, please dad,” urged Dean.

“Don’t be silly, Dean. Garry’s eighteen. He can make up his own mind; and if he doesn’t want you to practise caning him, then that’s an end of it. I’ve got to go,” he said, standing up.

Dad went out and mum began to clear away the breakfast-things. I went up to my room to get ready for going out to the farm and was just about to head off down the stairs when Dean came in, still holding his cane.

“Look, I know the cane stings,” he said. “I got it too at school. It’s meant to hurt after all; but could you not help me, please? I know you’re not a wimp and you can take a bit of pain without making a silly fuss. Maybe just six across your jeans or shorts?”

“I said no!” I retorted.

“It’d only be once a day,” Dean said.

“Once a day? You think I’m gonna bend over and let you give me six of the cane once every day all fucking summer? Not bloody likely, chum!”

“You could take it, Garry. You’re a tough young bugger,” said Dean.

“That’s not the point,” I insisted. “You’re not caning me and that’s all there is to it. Now get out of the way and let me get to the farm or I’ll be late.”

Dean sighed and stood aside to let me pass.

“At least think about it,” he called after me as I went out the front-door.

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

On Saturday morning, I went out for a run after breakfast. I needed to be by myself for a bit because my boyfriend and I had just split up, by mutual agreement. We’d both accepted that it wasn’t working; but the separation still hurt and I had to work through it in my head. I’d got myself to the point where I’d decided that I’d go to the gay-disco that evening, not necessarily looking for a new boyfriend, but just to be with other guys and have some fun.

I was on a narrow, quiet road high on the side of a valley, enjoying the steady trot along a fairly level stretch after a long and challenging climb, when a cyclist passed me, heading in the opposite direction. We exchanged a brief greeting and I continued to run until I felt a sharp pain in my left shoe and stopped to remove it and extract the small stone which had somehow worked its way in. As I did so, I noticed that the cyclist had turned and was coming along behind me; but had stopped at the verge and appeared to be admiring the view across the valley. I wondered vaguely why he’d turned at that point as it wasn’t a road-junction or even a farm at which he might have decided to turn back. I ran on and then, surprised he hadn’t passed me, glanced back to see him still not far behind and moving very slowly. I continued running a bit longer and on looking behind once more, I saw he was still there, cycling at a glacial pace. I stopped and waited so that he was forced to catch me up. As he approached I admired his lean figure and the profusion of brown curls which tumbled over his forehead. He’d be in his very early twenties, I reckoned, and he wasn’t half sexy.

He came to a stop, one foot on the ground, the other on a pedal, and smiled at me.

“I guess you wonder what I’m up to?” he asked.

“Yeh. You turned round and came back, but you never passed me,” I replied, leaving it to him to explain his behaviour.

“You see, I just wanted to look at you,” he said, showing slightly red in the face.

“Oh. Right. You…uh…you like me, huh?”

“Oh, boy, yeh, I do! I liked the look of you when I was cycling towards you and then after I passed you, I looked round and nearly fell off my bike.”

“Best to look the way you’re going, eh?” I suggested.

“No, no. It wasn’t because I was heading for the hedge. It was your arse.”

“My arse? What’s wrong with my arse?”

“There’s nothing bloody wrong with it,” he shouted suddenly, throwing his hands in the air. “It’s a fantastic arse! It’s the best arse I’ve ever seen, ever! I turned round and started to come back behind you, just so I could keep on looking at that incredible bottom. In those short, tight running-shorts of yours, it was like a magnet. It drew me and I had to follow. That’s why I stayed behind; so I could just enjoy your bum while you ran.”

I eyed him warily. “You like my bum?”

“I worship your bum.”

I flushed and looked at my feet.

“You’re cute when you’re embarrassed,” he remarked.

“Er, thanks,” I replied.

“Look, I know this is a bit forward of me, but I’d really like to get to know you a bit better,” he said. “I’m Tim, by the way.”

“Garry,” I said, extending my hand. “Um; do you know the Guylife disco? I’m going there tonight.”

“That’s a gay disco,” he said.

“Yeh, I know. That’s why I’m going; but I thought that….well, since you like my arse, I thought maybe you were…….”

I dried up. He grinned broadly at me.

“Bent as a boomerang,” he announced. “I’ve been to Guylife a few times and I’m definitely going tonight. See you there, Garry.”

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

I stood naked in my room, looking at my bottom in the mirror. It seemed to have featured strongly in my life recently. My bastard of a brother wanted to cane it. Tim had said he worshipped it. It just looked like the same bottom I’d always had and known. Sure, it was rather neat and the glutes were taut with the running; but why was everyone apparently so obsessed with it?

I showered and dressed in very brief, tight shorts and a close-fitting t-shirt. I decided to go commando because that way my posterior assets really stood out. I was having a final look in the mirror when there was a knock on my door and Dean came in, holding his cane.

“Wow!” he ejaculated. “If you were any sexier even I might fall for you.”

“Ha, bloody ha! What do you want?”

“I’m still needing someone to practise on with my cane,” he said. “I thought maybe a nice stinging arse, after six with my cane, might drive your sex-appeal up a notch or two?”

“There’s nothing wrong with my sex-appeal, you cheeky bastard,” I retorted, rolling my eyes and giving him a crude gesture.

“You should be caned bloody hard for that,” he observed.

“Yeh? Well, you can stick your bloody cane where the sun don’t shine,” I told him brutally. “Fuck off!”

“Don’t blame me if another guy goes off with a boy you like the look of,” he said. “Just a tiny bit of a cane-welt showing at the edge of those obscenely-tight shorts should get you a bit of extra attention.”

For a moment, I almost found myself agreeing with him and then I said, “As it happens, I’ll be meeting a guy who was so taken with my arse when he saw me out running this morning, that he actually turned round and followed me so he could perv on my bum. If I can do that to a guy without cane-marks, I don’t think I need them at a hot, sweaty, testosterone-rich disco.”

“Okay. Suit yourself; but, Garry, remember that you’re just out of a relationship. Don’t go letting the first guy who comes along get into your pants, just because you’re feeling a bit down or lonely. Be sensible, huh?”

“I am sensible,” I protested. “You don’t need to talk to me like I’m a kid!”

“Fine! Keep your hair on. I care about you,” said Dean.

I felt a pang of guilt and smiled at him.

“I know; and I appreciate it. I’ll be sensible, I promise.”

“But not even a couple of strokes with my new cane, just to……….?”

“Out!” I shouted; and Dean retired, grinning broadly.

I took one final look in the mirror and then headed off to the disco.

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

There was no sign of Tim, but I danced with one or two very attractive guys and enjoyed myself as I flirted and explored. After a particularly energetic dance, I retired panting to a table and poured myself a huge glass of water. One of the guys I’d been dancing with earlier came up and sat beside me, his eyes wide, his lips parted, the front of his shorts positively straining. Between my legs, my body reacted strongly and I smiled encouragingly at him.

“Hi, hot-arse!”

We both turned and there was Tim, stunningly clad in a leather t-shirt and leather shorts, and wearing large, heavy black boots. I stood up, gasping as my roaring erection caught on the waist of my shorts.

“Er, sorry,” I said to the lad with whom I’d been dancing earlier, “but I said I’d meet this guy here.”

The boy got up with an expression of disappointment on his face, and slid silently away.

“Was he trying to get into your pants?” enquired Tim.

“What? No! We’d been dancing together and I kinda liked him.”

“I didn’t mean to break you up.”

“It’s okay. I can find him later if I need to.”

“Great. Beer?”

“Yes, please.”

“I won’t be long,” he said as he stood to go across to the bar. “No chatting up sexy boys while I’m away or I’ll beat that exquisite arse of yours until you can’t sit down.”

I half bent over in pain as my penis responded to this display of dominance; and sat down suddenly so that I could rearrange things under cover of the table-top. I gazed admiringly at his leather-clad shoulders as he moved to the bar and waited to be served before returning with our drinks and sitting down beside me.

“Cheers!” he said. “To the best bum I’ve ever seen.”

“Cheers! You look hell of a sexy in leather. I mean, I thought you looked hot in your cycling-gear this morning, but now you’re just……oh, fuck!”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said with a grin, winking at me over the rim of his glass.

We chatted comfortably and I learned that he’d completed his second year at Uni and was planning to train as a teacher in due course.

“Shit! I’ve got a big brother who’s doing the same,” I admitted. “He’s not here though. He’s straight as they come. So you must be about two years older than me?”

“Yeh. That bother you, Garry?”

“Nuh. I kind of like a guy who’s a bit older than me. Sometimes I think I need a guy just to keep control of me. That was kind of exciting when you said you’d beat the hell out of me if you found me flirting with another boy. I know you didn’t mean it literally, but I………”

“Why do you think I didn’t mean it?”

I stared at him and asked carefully, “Are you saying you did mean it? You really would have tanned my hide if there’d been another boy at the table here when you came back from the bar?”

“You bet your sweet life I would! I could really make that fantastic bottom of yours glow like a brace of suns,” he declared astoundingly.

“Fuck! My brute of a big brother wants to cane me as practice for when he starts his first teaching job in the autumn. He actually had the nerve to say he wants to give me six every day for the rest of the summer. Like I’m gonna agree to that!”

“Well if your brother’s first in the queue to beat that perfect bottom of yours, I’ll be right behind him,” declared Tim.

“You really want to beat me?” I asked doubtfully.

“Hell, yes! I get why your brother wants to practise on you with his cane. I’d love to take my cane to those perfect globes of yours too.”

“You’ve got a cane?”

“Sure. I inherited it from my granddad. He used it before he retired from teaching. So, you said you didn’t want your big brother to cane you; but what about me? Would you like me to cane you, Garry?”

“No way! I don’t want to be caned! I got the cane plenty at school and it fucking hurt. I don’t want any more,” I protested.

“Okay, fair enough. So how about showing me what you can do on the dance-floor?”

I got to my feet and he followed me out. We had a great time. He was good and by the time we collapsed, panting and sweating on a bench, we were both desperately hot for each other. All the same, I could hear in my head the words of Dean earlier, warning me against just having sex as a reaction to my split with my ex-boyfriend. He might have been a sadistic brute as far as practising with his cane was concerned, but I did listen to him, because I knew he cared about me; even if he did want to cane me every day for weeks on end!

Tim and I engaged in some intimate kissing and exploring of each other’s body and then I told him I really liked him and would like to meet him again. I expected him to try to persuade me at this point to go home with him; but he was perfectly well-behaved, took me by the hand and said he’d walk me home. He did too; and kissed me passionately under cover of a large bush at our gate before asking if I’d like to run with him the next morning. I agreed with alacrity.

I made my way in and upstairs quietly, because it was almost 1 a.m. and everyone was in bed. I was slipping along from the bathroom to my own room when Dean’s door opened and he beckoned me into his room.

“What? I’m ready to crash,” I informed him.

“I just wanted to know if you met anyone,” he said mildly.

“Yeh, I met up with the guy I saw while I was out running this morning. I told you about him.”

“You didn’t….?”

“No, I didn’t! Believe it or not, I do listen to you; and I knew you were right about not just letting a guy into my pants too soon, on the rebound like. But Tim was okay; and he didn’t pressure me. We’re going running tomorrow morning.”

“I’m glad you’re being sensible. Now, before you go off to bed, how about letting me have a little go at your arse with my cane? A stinging bum should make you sleep like a baby; and you’ll need a good sleep if you’re gonna run with a hot guy in the morning.”

“You never give up, do you?” I complained in exasperation. “Believe it or not, Tim’s in the same boat as you, but a couple of years behind, just done his second year at Uni and aiming to be a teacher; and he’s got a cane.”

“How do you know that?”

“He told me.”

“You telling me he wants to practise caning you as well?”

“No! But he did say that I had such an amazing arse that he wanted to beat it; but when I said no, he said that was fair enough and changed the subject. Some people know how to take no for an answer,” I added meaningly.

“So you’re not gonna let me cane you tonight?”

I rolled my eyes at him and then kissed him on the cheek.

“So, where are you running tomorrow?” he enquired.

“Eh? Hadn’t thought about it.”

“Try down the river through the estate. Some good thick clumps of rhodies there for you to hide behind if you can’t keep your hands off each other,” he suggested.

“Yeh; that sounds good actually. I’ll see what Tim thinks.”

“Good night, Garry.”

“Thanks for the good advice,” I said and headed along to my own room.

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

Tim liked the idea of the run my big brother had suggested and we set off side-by-side, running steadily along a track until we reached the river-bank; and then on a path which ran under trees, among bushes, beside open fields. When we paused for a brief break, Tim slid his hand over my buttocks and my penis leapt.

“The next section of path’s kind of narrow, so I’m gonna run behind you,” he said.

“You just want to perv on my arse,” I accused.

“Why not? It’s a fantastic arse,” asserted Tim; and he took me by the shoulders, turned me to face him fully, and kissed me.

“What was that for?” I asked.

“For having a brilliant bottom,” he replied.

I felt myself going slightly red.

“I’ve still got the same bottom,” I remarked; and he took the hint and kissed me again.

“Wow!” I panted.

“Come on; let’s run,” urged Tim.

Eventually we came to the edge of a village where private gardens ran down to the river.

“I guess it’s time to turn back,” said Tim. “That’s the only snag with this run. We can’t make a circle.”

“Yeh we can,” I said. “We just need to go back about half a mile and there’s a viaduct, so we could cross the river and go back the other side.”

“But that’s the railway-bridge. We can’t cross that. We’d get into trouble if we were seen,” objected Tim.

“I’ve crossed it lots of times,” I assured him. “As long as you look and listen carefully to make sure there’s no trains coming, you can race across on the service-path beside the track in well under a minute.”

“Okay; lead the way,” said Tim.

The bridge was well out in the deep countryside and there was no-one to see. We made sure no train was coming and then tore swiftly across and paused, panting to catch our breath on the other side. We took the chance to try out some more kissing before beginning the run home.

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

On Sunday evening, mum and dad had gone out to play Bridge with friends and I was watching TV when Dean came in. He was holding his cane.

“You’re not practising caning on my bum,” I told him, “so you can just put that thing away.”

“I’ve got something to show you,” said Dean, and he handed me a photograph.

It was slightly out of focus, but there was no doubt that the picture was of me, with Tim just behind me; and we were running full pelt over the railway-bridge. I stared and then looked up at Dean.

“Where did you get this?” I demanded.

“Took it myself,” replied my big brother smugly. “I thought there was a good chance you’d use the bridge so you could make a circle. That’s why I suggested that route, and I watched to see if that’s where you were going and then came along the other side to get a snap of you coming across. Pretty good, eh?”

My mind was whirring like a machine in over-drive; and I was starting to see where this was leading. I leapt to my feet and glared furiously at Dean.

“You’re gonna show this to dad if I don’t let you practise caning on my arse, aren’t you?” I accused.

“Boy! You’re quick,” he admitted with a broad grin. “Or even the police; or the station-master. Plenty options really. Whichever way, you’re in very hot water, little brother. Dad will probably ground you for the rest of the summer and your driving-lessons will vanish faster than a ferret up a drainpipe; and he’ll probably take his belt to your arse as well.”

“You vicious, sadistic bastard!” I raged at him.

“Now, now, Garry. Crossing the railway-bridge is illegal and you have to be punished to teach you not to do it again. Like I said, dad would probably put you under house-arrest; and the police might really arrest you. On the other hand, you could just bend over and take a good caning from me, and that would be the end of it.”

“It’s not like you’ve not run across the railway-bridge often enough,” I said bitterly.

“Have I? I don’t remember. Where’s the evidence? You on the other hand have certainly done so at least once; and you’re holding the proof.”

I glanced automatically towards the fire, but Dean just smiled and said quietly, “I’ve still got the negative.”

“Fuck!” I swore violently.

“So, ready to let me do a bit of practice on your behind with my new cane, Garry?”

“I haven’t got much choice, have I, you stinking brute? You’ve got me over a barrel.”

“Okay, that’s a good tight pair of shorts you’re wearing. Just bend over with your hands on the edge of the chair. I’m just wanting to practise my aim, so you shouldn’t find this any trouble.”

I rolled my eyes at him, but positioned myself as instructed. To my surprise, the strokes gave a sharp sting, but I’d had much harder canings over the years. After about twenty strokes, I could feel that he was getting his aim right and every one was landing in a band between the crown of my bottom and its lower edge. It actually felt quite exciting and stimulating and my penis was decidedly perky; so much so that I had to reach inside my shorts and rearrange things. Dean noticed.

“So; you like it, huh? Getting your arse beaten turns you on, eh Garry? That looks like some boner you’ve got there,” observed Dean, grinning broadly.

I stood up and plunged my hand into my shorts again, to deal with even more rampant movements, while Dean watched, a huge smile on his face.

“Okay; nice little strokes like that, enough to sting but not too hard, yeh, I liked that, okay? Stop making a bloody meal of it. Go away and leave me alone,” I snapped.

“Go away? But I haven’t finished.”

“You haven’t?”

“That was just me practising, getting the range, sizing up the target……”

“My arse isn’t a fucking target!” I snarled.

“……….making sure I wasn’t hitting too high or too low,” continued Dean. “Now I’ve got the hang of it, I can move on to caning you hard as punishment for crossing the railway-bridge.”

“Caning me hard? No way, mate!”

Dean picked up the photograph; and I got the message.

“I never realised before what a sadistic bastard you are,” I told him angrily.

“But you realise now, huh?”

“Yeh. I do!”

“Well, just to make sure that you really and truly understand, I’m going to give you six of the best. Maybe that will teach you not to trespass on the railway. Get your shorts and pants down, Garry!”

I stared at him, speechless for several seconds.

“You trying to tell me you’re gonna cane me on the bare?”

“You got it in one,” agreed Dean.

“We never got the cane on the bare at school,” I protested, “and you won’t be using your cane on the bare either once you qualify; so you don’t need to practise that.”

“But this isn’t school. It’s serious corporal punishment for a tough young eighteen-year-old who needs to be taught a lesson; so you get it bare. Get them down, Garry. Now; or I’ll make it eight.”

He took a half-step towards me, arching the limber cane menacingly, and I felt the full power of his natural authority. For several seconds I hesitated and then I gave in, shoving shorts and pants to my ankles in one furious movement and immediately bending over again.

“Go on then,” I challenged, “let me see if you can use the cane like a real teacher!”

As soon as the words were out, I regretted them and cursed my stupidity in letting my anger get the better of me. Dean slid his cane across my rump and I felt the cool, smooth wood of the rod on my unprotected skin. There was a brief pause and I held my breath; and then he hit me. The slim cane lashed hard across my buttocks just below the crown and a fierce sting blazed in a fiery streak in my flesh. I gasped audibly and fought an urge to rub my bottom. My brain struggled desperately to come to terms with this new situation. No master’s punitive cane over the past few years had ever delivered such an intense burn to my behind. Dean had met my challenge head on. As quickly as I could, I steadied myself in readiness for the next stroke. It landed hard and fast just below the first one and another searing blast of pain ripped through my rear. I kept quiet this time and clenched my glutes as tightly as I could while I absorbed the pain.

Dean did a practice-stroke just behind me, making the cane whine as it descended, and I flinched instinctively.

“Bastard!” I muttered under my breath.

“Say something, Garry?”

“No,” I replied shortly.

“I can still make it eight if you want,” said Dean softly.

“No, thank you,” I replied firmly.

The rod rapped repeatedly at my skin and then was swiftly raised and driven in again, delivering a vicious arrow of pain which felt as though it was lacerating my flesh.

“Uh!”

I squirmed as I wrestled with the pain.

“Feel that, did you?” Dean enquired.

“You know I bloody felt it,” I snarled.

“Language,” said Dean. “You do want eight, don’t you?”

“No, I’m sorry. Yes, I felt it.”

“That’s better.”

I was revolving in my head all the worst epithets I knew to describe my brute of a big brother, but I held my tongue. I still had three to take and no way did I want it to be five. He hit me again and I failed to stifle a little yelp as the cane burned a blazing pathway along the skin of my lower buttocks. Once more I writhed as I struggled to process the pain. As I awaited the fifth one, I was aware that there was a sheen of sweat on my skin and my whole body was trembling slightly. Furious for letting him see how much he was hurting me, I made an effort to steady myself.

He hit lower still and I bucked and then clenched hard; but I managed to keep silent. I expected him to cross-hatch some of the previous strokes with the final one, but he caught me by surprise and hit me full on my crease. A vicious lash of agonising pain gouged a furrow of shining hell deep in my sensitive flesh and I writhed and kicked as a squeal was forced from me.

I stood, still grasping the edge of the chair with white-knuckled intensity, my body a-quiver with pain, my buttocks throbbing as if an explosion of fiery heat had been detonated there.

“Stand up, Garry.”

I obeyed slowly and placed both hands on my tormented bottom, fingers splayed, as I felt my way over the pulsating welts he’d raised on my skin.

“So,” demanded Dean, “was that like a real teacher?”

“No,” I replied.

“What was wrong with it?” he asked, sounding slightly aggrieved.

“I didn’t say there was anything wrong with it.”

“So why wasn’t it like being caned by a real teacher, then?”

“Because of all the teachers who’ve caned me, none of them ever beat me as hard and hurt me as much as you did.”

There was a silence while I continued to caress my thrashed bottom, occasionally glancing at Dean from beneath my eyebrows.

“So, I really am a sadistic bastard?” he asked eventually.

“No,” I admitted with reluctant admiration, “you’re just the best fucking caner I’ve ever been beaten by; and I’m glad I’ll never be in any of your classes!”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It was,” I assured him.

“Have you learned not to cross by the railway-bridge?” asked Dean with a smile.

“I’ve learned to make damned sure you’re not around with a camera any time I do,” I replied with a watery grin.

Dean laughed and ruffled my hair.

“You didn’t half take it well,” he informed me.

“Yeh?” I queried, a glow of pride flooding through me.

“Yeh. Impressive. Now, wait here a moment.”

He dashed out of the room and returned a minute or two later with a negative which he handed to me, along with the photograph. I eyed them and then glanced into his face; and he nodded at the fire. I threw them into the flames and watched as they curled up and disintegrated into ashes.

“Right, that’s that,” said Dean. “Help me turn the sofa round.”

“What? Why?”

“The footie’s coming on telly and we’re gonna watch it.”

“I know; but why turn the sofa round?”

“So you can kneel on it and rest your arms on the back, you chump; and I’ll kneel beside you for company,” said Dean.

“Thanks,” I said. “I never thought of that.”

“And thanks for letting me practise with my cane on your arse.”

“I didn’t let you,” I objected. “You forced me.”

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

“Fucking hell!” gasped Tim as I showed him my cane-welts the next evening. “I never knew a cane could do that to a boy. Now, tell me all about it.”

We were in my room, where Tim had come at my invitation to spend a few hours. We lay back, side-by-side on my bed and I told him what had happened the previous evening.

“And you think Dean was really impressed with how you took the cane?”

“Yeh, I think he really was.”

“And you were impressed with how well he could dish it out?”

I snorted.

“I don’t think impressed is the word. Shocked, maybe,” I suggested.

“I think I’d like to meet this big brother of yours,” said Tim.

“Why? You’re not plotting to get me another caning, are you?”

Tim shook his head. I got up and went through to Dean’s room and asked him if he’d like to come and meet Tim. He followed me back to my own room and the pair of them immediately started to discuss the caning Dean had given me the previous night.

“You got one or two squeals out of him?” asked Tim. “Brilliant.”

“Hey! This is my bum you’re talking about,” I protested.

“And what a bum!” breathed Tim reverently.

I flushed, while Dean eyed my behind critically before saying, “Hmm. I see what you mean. It is a bloody good arse: nice tight globes, great cleft; and he fills those shorts superbly.”

“It’s what attracted me to him the first time I saw him. That bottom just grabbed me by the balls and wouldn’t let go! You’re hell of a lucky getting to give him a caning, Dean. I told him I’d love to beat that perfect arse of his, but he was having none of it,” Tim ended in a disconsolate tone.

“Well, you might not get to give him a real punishment-caning,” agreed Dean, “but I did about twenty moderately hard on his shorts, just to get my eye in; and he fucking loved it. Cock so hard you could tie up a battleship to it. You got a cane yet, Tim?”

“Yeh. Got one from my granddad after he retired. It’s got a real sting to it, so he said; and it’s been well-used. I’ve done a bit of practising on a striped cushion. I reckon my aim’s pretty good now. But I don’t suppose it’s the same as watching the reactions when you’re caning a real live guy,” said Tim.

“Soon as you get a chance, get him to bend over for you in his tight shorts and just cane him hard enough that he feels the sting. If he’s getting a boner, you know you’re doing it right. And then I guess you can do what I couldn’t really do; you know, deal with his boner for him.”

“Dean!” I yelped, horrified.

“He thinks just because I’m straight, that I don’t know what gay-boys like,” observed Dean.

“I think I can handle him,” said Tim confidently.

“But you respect him, mind,” warned Dean, looking suddenly serious. “Treat him right. He might be eighteen, but he’s still my kid-brother, and I look out for him.”

“Yeh, I get it,” Tim assured him solemnly. “I wish I had a big brother to keep an eye on me,” he said, turning to me.

“It’s not all it’s cracked up to be,” I muttered.

“Like to see my cane, Tim?” asked Dean.

“Yes, please.”

“I’ll just go and get it. I think Garry needs to see it as well; just to remind him to watch his tongue,” said Dean as he went out.

“The cheeky bugger!” I gasped to Tim. “Did you hear that?”

“Yeh. Better watch your step, Garry,” replied Tim.

Dean returned and showed Tim his cane. The pair of them examined it closely and fell to discussing technique and power and numbers of strokes. They both did some practice-slashes in the air and on my pillow. Dean showed me the cane and raised his eyebrows interrogatively.

“No way!” I yelled at him; and my big brother, with a huge wink at Tim, returned to his own room.

“Brute,” I muttered.

Tim placed a hand on the throbbing bulge in the front of my shorts and said softly, “But he’s right about you needing moderate caning, isn’t he? And about me being able to deal with this for you?”

“Well, yeh, maybe; but he shouldn’t go saying it like that. I don’t tell him how to fuck his girlfriend.”

“Probably best not to,” agreed Tim. “He might cane you for being insolent.”

“That’ll be right.”

“So, you wanna come round to my place on Friday evening when my parents are out and I can introduce you to my cane?”

“I’d rather be introduced to your cock.”

“You will be, I promise; but cane first.”

“Not too hard? Just on my shorts?”

“Sounds good to me. Then, when my cane’s got you wound up tight as a watch-spring and your balls are bursting and your cock’s like a tree-trunk, I’ll think about doing what Dean suggested.”

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

It was all I had hoped and more. We’d kissed and explored each other intimately and then I’d bent over eagerly and Tim had given me several dozen strokes with his cane. It didn’t take him long to get his eye in and then he varied the speed of delivery and also the force, throwing in a harder one amid runs of moderate ones which screwed my sexual excitement up to screaming-point.

“Please!” I begged.

“Okay, Garry. I think we need to take this on to the bare. Strip.”

“What?”

“Everything, Garry. Hurry up!”

In a frenzy of excitement I tore off my clothes, releasing a desperately bounding erection from which pre-cum oozed.

“Bend over.”

“You’re not gonna……..”

“Just hold your tongue and do as you’re told.”

I bent over and he resumed using his cane firmly, delivering a strong sting which was definitely more intense than it had been through my shorts; but still my cock loved it. He stopped and I glanced along my side to see him stripping fast before he began to drive confidently and determinedly inside me. As he did so, he spanked me hard with his hand and then reached round and took my balls in one hand and my penis in the other, pulling me back hard against his body as he thrust deeper and deeper. Shuddering on the brink of orgasm with the powerful stimulation of the cane on my bare skin and then the stinging slaps from his hand, it didn’t take long before his expert work on my tackle made me explode in an eruption so powerful and intense, that for a few seconds the whole room seemed to spin as constellations burst in my head. Even as I came, I was aware of Tim reaching his climax and sounding the bass-strings of delight.

We collapsed in a tangle of limbs on his bed and lay panting contentedly for a while before indulging in a long session of kissing and caressing of each other’s body.

“Got some good ideas, your big brother, hasn’t he?” said Tim.

“Yeh. Caning me and then fucking me was definitely the best.”

“That’s great, because I need to practise my caning and now I’ve got you to practise on. Okay, Garry?”

“Whenever you want, any way you want, any place you want, I’m up for it. Caning like that I really like,” I enthused.

As I was leaving later in the evening to walk home, Tim said, “Don’t forget to thank Dean for me; for getting you introduced to the cane so that we could have such fun. I really wish I had a big brother like Dean. You’re hell of a lucky, Garry. He’s a good guy; and he watches out for you too.”

“Yeh, he warned you to treat me right, didn’t he?” I said with a smile.

“And I listened,” Tim assured me, “didn’t I?”

“You treated me exactly the way I wanted,” I agreed. “I’m sure Dean wouldn’t find fault.”

“Anyway, just tell him.”

I promised to do so and kissed him goodnight.

Dean was away that weekend but on Monday evening I went to his room and conveyed Tim’s gratitude.

“Two different kinds of hot rod, eh Garry?”

I flushed.

“Yeh, yeh, he caned me and fucked me; not that it’s any of your business.”

“I’m pleased it worked out for you,” said Dean.

“Look, I know I wasn’t keen on bending over so you could practise using your cane, and I know that punishment-caning was pure hell; but it was thanks to you I found that caning could be fun when it’s not too hard; and I did appreciate it when you told me I took the punishment-caning well. I felt really good about myself after that. I know you look after me,” I continued, “and give me good advice; and Tim says I’m hell of a lucky to have a big brother who looks out for me; so………”

Dean had raised his eyebrows and was looking curiously at me.

“………I’d be willing to take six with my shorts on once a week from you until term starts, just to let you practise real canings; and as a kind of ‘thank you’ for being a supportive big brother. A bastard of a big brother sometimes, but you’ve always been there for me,” I ended.

“You really are quite something,” said Dean.

“Well, I need to make sure you’re fully proficient before term starts, because like you said, I’d hate to hear stories about boys laughing at you behind your back because you couldn’t cane them properly.”

“I definitely can’t have that,” agreed Dean, picking up his cane from his desk. “Right. Let’s get started. Bend over, Garry.”

“What! Now? But I thought maybe later in the week……”

“Bend over, Garry.”

I sighed and obeyed. I heard the cane whistle as it descended and then a vicious sting whipped in a fiery line across my buttocks, my tight shorts apparently giving me little protection.

“Uh!” I panted as I clenched hard.

It occurred to me too late that Dean didn’t really need to practise. When it came to wielding a cane, my big brother was a natural.

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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.

__________________

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

Authors appreciate feedback. Please leave a comment on this excellent story.  Comments on this story are here.

Joelstrap’s excellent earlier stories for The Canery are available here.  Further great stories by Joelstrap may be found at this external link

Behind The Beaded Curtain Of A Sleazy ’70s Sex Shop (M/M)

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Hot all-male erotica by Rod Cayenne, repeated from 2013 by popular request. All the characters are aged 18 or over.  Strictly Adults Only!

 

The air was heavy with cigarette smoke.  The two men were chatting behind the counter, waiting for the flood of punters who would arrive as soon as the city offices closed.  It was unmistakably a sex shop.  The windows were blacked out, there were tacky neon signs and entry to the shop was via a beaded curtain.  There were rows and rows of magazines, ranging from the tame to the explicit, though the latter were censored due to the Obscene Publications Act.  It hadn’t been that long since the last police raid on the premises…

Proprietor Rick, 35, lanky, greasy and bearded, puffed on his long cigarette.  Boyish runaway Peter, just 21, gazed naively at the contents of the shop.  He’d only just got the job, which was proving to be quite an education for him.

“Is there a lot of demand for this homo stuff?” Peter asked Rick.

“Yes, it sells pretty well.  Mainly to married men.  City gents.  Public school types.”

“I don’t really understand any of this stuff, it does nothing for me.”

“Don’t worry my boy.  Later tonight, I’ll show you some proper uncensored stuff.  Some of the gay stuff is pretty hot.”

“Well, if you must.  I just don’t get it at all.”

“It’s taking off, Pete, my mate.  Zig has been the spur, all that bisexuality stuff.  It’s the future, I’m sure of it.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes, trust me, mate.”

“Yes, I do, Rick.  And what about this stuff, the spankers as you call them?”

“Ah yes, the spanking mags.  Our best sellers, they are.  The English are just mad about the stuff, especially the caning mags.  It’s lost on most of the tourists, of course.”

“I had the cane at school.  I can’t see the attraction.  It bloody hurt, and wasn’t sexy at all.”

“Ah.  Pleasure from pain.  Yes, that’s a bit harder to explain.  Very popular, all the same.  There’s a good margin on spanking stuff and the cops don’t always seize it.  Of course, a lot of them are into it.  In a big way.  Caning especially!” he laughed.  Rick went on to explain the fine details of the bondage, S&M and fetish magazines and accessories stocked in the shop.

“So, going back to the police.  Got any tips for me when we do get raided?”

“It doesn’t happen very often, Pete.  Hopefully I’ll be here.  But if not, just don’t let them near the ‘under the counter’ stuff.  And be polite, for Christ’s sake. “Yes, Officer, No Officer, Three Bags Full, Sir”.  I think they cream off some of the stuff for themselves, the wank mags, the spankers.  Just make sure you do as they say.  Otherwise I’ll be taking a cane to your sorry arse!”

“You wouldn’t dare!  Anyway, I bet you haven’t got a cane.”

“You’re right.  I haven’t got a cane.  I’ve got several!  We used to sell them, but the cops kept nicking them.  Arseholes!”

“Shit, I’d better behave myself.”

“Yes, lad.  You better had.  You’re never too old for the cane, I always say.”

Peter gulped and decided to change the subject a little, “These blow-up dolls are a bit crap, aren’t they?”

“Ah yes, the Roxys, as I like to call them.  A bit sad, but they’re good sellers.  They’re crap, as you say.  I certainly wouldn’t fuck one of them!”

“No, me neither, I’d rather wait for the real thing,” said Peter eyeing the masturbation aids.

Suddenly, the influx of customers arrived.  There were older men in raincoats, and a few younger guys, all  looking for wank fodder.  Of course, some had guilty expressions, red faces and others had indulged in some Dutch courage.  Peter enjoyed flirting with the older punters, as he slipped their purchases into discreet brown paper bags.  Trade was brisk that evening.

“I think you’re good for sales, young Peter.  Maybe I won’t cane your arse just yet,” Rick laughed.

That night young Peter was shown a lot of uncensored material, and ended up sleeping with Rick upstairs in the damp flat above  the shop.  It was a night that Peter would never regret.  The two men became regular sexual partners.  The arrangement suited young Peter as he could never pull the girls.  For Rick, it was just lust for the 21-year-old’s youthful arse and tight hole. Both were curiously dispassionate about their affair and it never really developed into love.

A few months later, there was a police raid on the premises.  Rick was absent, so young Peter had to handle things alone.  A substantial amount of magazines was seized.  Rick was furious but at least none of the more, ahem, specialised material was found by the coppers.  Peter couldn’t help but feel guilty for the upheaval, though in truth he was blameless.  The following few days at work he was completely downcast.

“Don’t worry, Peter.  It’s not your fault we were raided.  I’ve been in touch with the law, and they have said they might return some of the stuff as it has been cleared.  I’m pretty matey with some of the lads down the station these days.  Our paths cross a lot, as it were.  I sometimes slip them a few spankers to keep them sweet.  They’re only doing their job, after all.”

“You bribe them with spanking magazines?”

“That’s a very strong word, Peter.  I just like to oil the cogs of the machines of justice, as it were.”

“Well it hasn’t worked, has it?  They’ve not returned the stuff have they?”

“Not yet, but they will, my boy, they will.”

“You think!”

“No, I know.  Now bite your lip, unless you want a good hard caning from your boss?”

“No thanks, Rick,” said Peter, although he did wonder if such a thrashing might purge his overwhelming feelings of guilt.  His mind was in turmoil following the raid, and about his relationship with Rick.  He was even beginning to feel guilty about working in the shop and how it would impact on his life and career.

A few days later, two policemen turned up at the shop at closing time.  They had brought many of the seized magazines back with them, so Peter was tasked with unloading them from the Austin panda car.  Soon the car was emptied, and the police sergeant sent the driver on his way.

“Drink, Mark?” Rick asked the sergeant.

“Well, I shouldn’t really, I’m still on duty.  But if you insist.”

“I do, I do.  Come upstairs for a beer, you too Peter.”

Peter was reluctant to join the two men.  The presence of Sergeant Mark was making him nervous.  After all, he was the cop who had fronted the raid on the premises.  However, soon all three men were enjoying cans of frothy Watney Truman bitter while a Roberts transistor radio piped an offshore pirate station around the flat.

“Sorry about the raid, Rick.  It was orders, of course.”

“It’s OK Mark, I understand.”

“The Super’s been ordering a crackdown.  We’ll try and leave you out of the next round.”

“Cheers, Mark.  I think the raid terrified young Peter here.”

Peter nodded and blushed.

“Well, he certainly could have been more helpful.”

“Really?  PETER, IS THIS TRUE?” barked Rick.

Peter wasn’t sure how to react, so he just shrugged his shoulders.

“Yes, he wasn’t very cooperative,” said the sergeant, frowning.

“Well, I’m sorry Mark.  I had no idea.  Perhaps the lad should have a taste of my cane?  He must learn to help the rule of law!”

“Yes, Rick, a good caning would teach the lad some respect!”

“In fact, Mark, maybe you could do the honours?”

Peter’s jaw dropped as events started to move rapidly.  Soon Rick returned from the bedroom with a swishy rattan school cane in his hands.  He gave it to the sergeant.

“A fine specimen!” the policeman exclaimed, “Just like the ones at my old school.  Err, Peter, it has to be bare, I’m afraid.”

Rick pulled a wooden chair into the middle of the room, commanding Peter, “Over!”

Peter complied reluctantly.  He was scared.  Scared of the sergeant, and scared of Rick.  More than anything, he was scared of that cane.   He’d always assumed Rick was joking about having some canes.  Evidently not!  He hadn’t had the cane for several years, and now he was going to get it from the big, burly policeman!  He decided to comply to the letter, in the hope of some clemency or maybe a reduction in the number of strokes.  Sighing, he let his jeans fall, and then his less than clean string pants followed.

The sergeant was enjoying the view, as was Rick.  Their plan was working perfectly.  Peter had been set up!  The sergeant flexed the cane enthusiastically.  He was going to enjoy this!

SWISH-CRACK!  The policeman sliced the whippy rattan down hard on Peter’s unblemished buttocks.  A deep red line appeared.  It was a good cane.  It was a very good cane!  Rick already knew it was a very good cane, as he sourced all his canes direct from the importer.  The importer was only to happy to supply the sex shops with the finest of punishment implements. After all, they gave a higher profit than the school trade.

SWISH-CRACK!  Sergeant Mark whipped a second stroke down on Peter’s arse.  The cheeks gave way as the cane sliced like a hot knife through butter.

SWISH-CRACK!  Peter gasped and wriggled as the assault continued.  He was told to keep still by the sergeant, “unless he wanted extra!”  He didn’t!  Of that, Peter was sure!

SWISH-CRACK!  “YEEEOW!” Peter cried, just like a schoolboy. How gratifying that sound was.

SWISH-CRACK!  A fifth stroke slashed down.  What an expert tormentor the sergeant was proving to be!

SWISH-CRACK!   A sixth stroke and Peter felt sure that would be the final one.  But he was wrong!  Very, very wrong!

SWISH-CRACK!   The seventh was a real corker, cracking and burning into Peter’s soft posterior.

SWISH-CRACK!   The eighth was the worst so far, searing and unforgiving. Peter bucked and writhed but by now Mark was almost in a trance, slashing the cane down without thought as he rejoiced in his own sadism.

SWISH-CRACK!  SWISH-CRACK!  SWISH-CRACK!  The beating carried on relentlessly. From a distance, Rick admired the red stripes adorning his lover’s youthful buttocks.

SWISH-CRACK!  The twelfth surely was the last?  Yes, it was!  It hurt like the blazes, but Peter was pleased to hear the cane clatter on the floor as the sergeant threw it down with a grunt.

Peter’s ordeal wasn’t over yet, however.  The sergeant dragged him off to the bedroom saying, “We won’t be long!” to Rick.

“There’s some lube in the top drawer!” Rick shouted, just as the bedroom door slammed shut.  Soon the sounds of the two males at it could be heard by Rick, after he’d switched Radio Veronica off!  It all reminded him of when he was younger, when Mark had given him much the same treatment.  Yes, Mark liked some “chocolate on his biscuit” as he had so charmingly referred to it.  But Mark only liked them young.  He had lost interest in sex with Rick once Rick had reached the ripe old age of twenty-five.

The frantic mating noises didn’t last long, just as the copper had predicted.  Evidently, Mark had delivered his payload and soon emerged from the bedroom zipping up his police trousers.

“Take some pictures of Peter for me, will you Rick?” Mark asked with a grin on his face.  Rick nodded and later that night duly snapped Peter with his Praktica.  The lad’s shagged and caned arse featured heavily in the resulting portfolio.  Rick knew exactly what Mark wanted in the photos, and had them processed by a trusted photolab just around the corner from the sex shop.

Over the next few days and weeks, Peter couldn’t decide if he’d enjoyed the sex and caning he’d endured courtesy of hunky cop Mark.  Sometimes, he felt as if it had been terrific.  Other times, he felt used and dirty.  Eventually, his mind settled on the positive and he confided in Rick that he’d like to see Mark again.  It happened!  And it so happened that there were also threesomes where Peter’s bottom entertained both Rick and Sergeant Mark. There were no more raids on the shop for another four years or so.

____________)

Story © 2013 by Rod Cayenne

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D I S C L A I M E R

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

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Due to circumstances beyond the control of Team Canery, comments are disabled for this story.  Comments from the original post are here

Sideboard Of Memories (M/M)

♥ Site recommended story ♥

A repeat from 2018 of this hot caning tale by your host, Rod Cayenne. All the characters are aged 18 or over. Strictly adults only!

Sideboard Of Memories by Rod Cayenne

Sometimes I couldn’t work the old sod out. Dad said he was downsizing, for no particular reason.  Consequently he offered me some surplus furniture. Four oak dining chairs. A drop-leaf table which didn’t quite match them but was too good to refuse. A serviceable coffee table. The sideboard where he used to keep his cane along with all sorts of bric-a-brac. Being fairly broke at the time, I took the lot.

Of course, I could only fit the chairs and coffee table in my Mini. Even then I had to make two trips. For the big table and sideboard I had to call a local man with a van. His name was Sean and I’d used him before. He often brought a hired hand with him to move particularly bulky items, like the second-hand leather sofas he delivered for me a while back. He offered a discount if the customer was able to help move the items himself. So that was the option I went for this time.

Sean was hunky. A big muscled young man, always in fashionable long board shorts, today with just the merest hint of a Hawaiian pattern on them. His face always beamed a friendliness, though I did wonder about a scar on his forehead. I’d always got on well with him, and always gave him a big tip despite my precarious financial situation. I think he could sense my lustful feelings. He invariably crushed my hand when he shook it. That was actually quite often as we both frequented the local German discounter. He was always there with his leggy wife, but he always had time to stop for a chat, and to slap me on the back while crushing my hand!

Dad was out when Sean arrived in his grubby white unmarked van.

I helped Sean load the table and sideboard. It wasn’t particularly easy task, as once again Sean had crushed my hand. I resolved to mention it when we set off, and indeed I did.

“Ha! Don’t be such a wimp, Jonathan!” he laughed at me. “You managed to move the stuff just fine, didn’t you? And those were bloody heavy items.”

“Yes, but my hand’s still throbbing!” I stated in my defence, “You know it’s a wonder your customers can assist with the removals after you’ve crushed their hands.”

“Nonsense, they all love it! They all love me.”

I sighed and reflected to myself that I was one of his customers who really did love him, for all his faults.  Yes, I loved him and I loved his sexy Irish accent. Anyway, he was off talking at a tangent, about music, James Brown and the power of the riff. He soon lost my attention as I dreamt about his muscles.

A near miss on the road woke me from my daydreaming, “You fuckin’ English git!” screamed Sean at the hapless female driver ahead of him. He was so annoyed that he tossed his mobile phone aside and actually started driving with both hands on the wheel. He soon calmed down, and was talking to me again. “So Jonathan! I can tell a lot about my customers from their handshakes,” he said cheerfully, “Characters and secrets are revealed. You I think are a little submissive, am I wrong?”

He was right, though I wasn’t going to admit it to him. I blushed and resolved to slash the value of the tip I was going to give him. Yes, I had to change the topic of conversation urgently. Fortunately another incident of road rage spared my modesty, and then we were at our destination, my grassy drive.

“Shit, this is muddy!” he complained as he backed the van up. “All this mud and shit is going to spoil my pristine paintwork. Needs a bit of TLC, your drive, I’d say.” With that he handed me the business card of a friend of his who specialised in tarmac work. He grabbed the handbrake roughly and the van skidded to a stop.

“Do you mind if I have a quick vape?” he asked, “The Mrs won’t let me smoke in the van and I’m gagging for one.”

Maybe she was the one who wore the trousers after all, I chuckled to myself while he puffed away. I looked at him as nebulous clouds of white aromatic smoke washed around his beefy physique.

Soon we were unloading the table. By this time, my hand was beginning to recover from the handshake from hell. The table was a big and bulky item but we managed to steer it into the front parlour. I opened the drop leaves out and placed my chairs around it. It looked good. I felt sure that Dad would be pleased with the set-up when he called round.

“Stop fannying around and give me a hand!” Sean shouted from the rear of the van. I ran out to help him, almost slipping on the mud as I did so. Maybe he did have a point about my drive! Gradually we eased the sideboard out of the van and then into the same room as the table. We pushed the sideboard up close to the rear wall.

“You know, there’s something rattling around in here,” said Sean, “I do hope I haven’t broken anything.”

“Yes I heard it too,” I said, “Maybe it is broken, because I’m pretty sure Dad and I emptied all the junk out of it.”

Sean opened the doors of the sideboard and then the drawers. In the big bottom drawer he found something, “Oh, it’s a cane!  Wow!  How long has it been since I’ve seen one of those?  Looks like a good one too.  Wow!  Just wow!”

“Oh gosh! That was my father’s. He used to use it too. Right up to my twenties,” I said as I rubbed my bottom to emphasise my point.

“I see. Well it looks like he decided you should have it again, you naughty boy! Fancy six of the best then?”

“No! Definitely not. Especially not from a brute like you!” I laughed.

“Mmmm. Maybe from a boyfriend then?” he teased.

“Leave it out!” I replied playfully.

“How about six of the best from me instead of me charging you for cleaning all the mud off me van?” Sean teased as he flexed the cane purposefully.

“No!” I asserted, but then I thought, it had been a long time, and a caning from Sean, well it might be madness, but it could be kind of exciting. I heard myself saying, “Well, OK, OK.  Just six and no charge for the mud now, promise?”

“Scout’s honour!” he laughed, which was a strange reply, but one I took to be a yes. “Looks like I was right about you.  Can we do it upstairs? This room’s a bit exposed.”

“Oh, I suppose, yes.” He was calling the shots and I was a bit confused. Perhaps my lust for him was clouding my judgement.

We made our way up the steep bare stairs and I led him to my bedroom. “My God! What an unholy shit tip!” he exclaimed. Well, my room was a bit untidy but I was unused to having guests up there.  “I haven’t finished yet. I think that the state of this room deserves some extra punishment, don’t you? Now, tell me, did Daddy bare your arse for you?”

“Yes, he insisted on it. Even in my twenties.”

“Hmmm.  I bet he did!  Now then, let’s have your arse in the air.  Jeans and pants down!”

“Bare?” I queried.

“Yes, of course.  It’s your family tradition, isn’t it?”

I wasn’t going to argue with Sean, at least not while he had the cane handy.  I dropped my jeans reluctantly, and tugged my briefs down, placing myself over a pillow on the bed to raise my bottom for the attention of the cane.

The first stroke wasn’t too bad.  Sean evidently hadn’t quite got to grips with the rod.  But he soon got the hang of it as he lashed strokes two and three down quite forcefully.  My poor bottom was on fire!  “Arrgh!” I cried as stroke number four cut across the earlier ones.  A fifth cracked down noisily, causing me untold agony.  He tapped the cane on my sore rump a few times, before raising the stick high and slashing it down in the sadistic climax of the sixth stroke.

“Owww!  No!” I cried.

He just laughed and swished the cane some more.

“Now there’s just the matter of this messy room.  I’ve seen tidier teenage dens!”

“Oh do leave it out, Sean!” I said, feeling angry, bruised and humiliated.

“That’s enough!” Sean reprimanded me.  “Six more for your cheek and slovenliness!”

I’d reckoned on just a couple more strokes, but it wasn’t to be.  His muscled arm whipped the cane down rapid-fire style, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve!  Waves of agony consumed me, I was so sore and defeated.  I fought back tears, only just successfully but I couldn’t help grunting and gasping as the fiery pain monopolised my attention.

Sean moved nearer, saying, “Right.  All done.  Let me have a look, now.  Phewee!  Needs a bit of TLC, your arse, I’d say.”

I was half-expecting him to hand me a business card of a friend who specialised in sore arses, but he didn’t. “Yes, you’re right there, it is a bit raw.  A bit sore.” I confessed.

“Of course, but never mind, I’ve got some hand cream in the van.  It should be good enough for your arse as well!  You stay there while I go and get it.”

He was soon back and massaging the white cream into the sore weals and ridges the harsh caning had left me with.  It was heaven and hell at the same time, soothing yet also stimulating fresh jabs of pain.  He was controlling me, alternating pleasure and pain as his beefy hands massaged the cream softly and then harshly.  Suddenly I felt the cream being worked into my crack and then into my arsehole.  That was an alltogether nicer feeling but I was surprised at the attention he was giving that area, as it had avoided the cane and so wasn’t sore at all.  But I was being young, foolish and naive.  Of course my hole wasn’t sore, it was being prepared for his thick meaty cock to enter me!  And he did.  He mounted me forcefully, pushing my legs high in the air like for the missionary position, and he was soon thrusting in and out rapidly.  This was going to be a quickie, of that I was sure, but I hadn’t reckoned on him forcing his tongue into my mouth as he began kissing me frantically.

“Play with me nipples, play with me nipples!” he urged.  I tweaked and teased them, then pinched them not too gently.  Evidently it did the trick as he gasped and came heavily.  He was laid on top of me, puffing for breath, sort of vaped-out I guess you could say.

“Shit that was good!  Wow!  Nice,”  Sean said.  I had to agree, silently.  A quiet minute later he whispered, “Anyway, I can see you again a fortnight Friday, say 8 in the evening.”

“But I don’t have any more items to move,” I protested.

“No, no, not for removals, silly!  It’s so I can cane and shag you again, Jonathan!”

“Oh, I see.”

“Yes, as well you might, my submissive friend,” he said as he picked up and flexed the wicked cane again.  He was still naked, and a final bead of cum dropped from his wilting penis.  “Now be a good lad and take care of this cane until next time.” He tossed the rattan rod down on the bed.

That old cane. That bloody old cane. That glorious old cane. Dad had obviously wanted me to have it. But why? And had he arranged my thrashing with Sean?  Maybe he had, just maybe.  Of one thing I was certain.  Sometimes I couldn’t work the old sod out.

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D I S C L A I M E R

All characters appearing in this story are over 18 and are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons or businesses, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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Story © MMXVIII by Rod Cayenne.  All rights reserved.

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Comments welcome!  Comments are here.

Boxers! (M/M) NEW!

♥ Site recommended story ♥

A brand new homoerotic 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!

Boxers by Rod Cayenne

I was waiting in the chilly annexe that formed the office of my local garage. I always got great service there, and they never ripped me off, unlike some places in the trade. The annexe was built of concrete blocks with a corrugated roof and had harsh neon striplights inside. The air felt damp and the chairs in the waiting area were grubby and not particularly comfortable.

Rog was the boss, a big burly fellow, and an ex-boxer. The whole of the office was covered in memorabilia from his lengthy and successful boxing career. There were glossy photos, some signed, rosettes and tarnished silver cups and certificates. I couldn’t make my mind up about the displays. They gave the place a real macho feel, but must have deterred some customers, I would have thought.

Rog appeared from the workshop. His stubble gave him an almost swarthy appearance. He was stocky and muscular. His hair was salt’n’pepper, cropped short. Very masculine. The man was sex on legs, but I felt also a danger for a homosexual guy like me. His fists could beat me to a pulp, of that I was sure.

He announced to the otherwise empty waiting room that my car was ready, and I settled the bill. As he handed me the car key, he caught me looking at a photo of two bare-chested boxers slogging it out.

“That must hurt a lot,” I remarked, blushing a deep red.

“It’s a good kind of pain,” he assured me.

“Really? A good kind of pain? What’s that, then? Not something like a caning, then?”

“Not quite, but that’s an interesting comparison. It’s a sport. A battle between two men. Only one can prevail. A lot like a caning in some ways. You got the cane on your mind then, Will?”

“Errrr, no. Just something I heard on the radio had put it in my head.”

“Nonsense! I can read you like a book. In boxing, we can tell a masochist a mile off. You are one, aren’t you Will, my submissive friend?”

“Well, errr, maybe, I dunno,” I blushed.

He took a business card from a grubby perspex container and scribbled a phone number on the back. He handed it to me, with a wink and with an instruction, “I’d like to talk, Will. Call me tonight, soon after six.”

“Me and my big mouth!” I muttered to myself as I left. As I buckled up in my car, I felt quite agitated. I felt kind of violated, and then punch drunk. My head soon cleared, fortunately, as I drove away.

It took an enormous amount of courage to ring Rog that evening. I didn’t put it off though; I rang as instructed. I didn’t want to torture myself by drawing things out. As it happens, he did most of the talking. He put me at ease straight away, saying, “Hi Will. I’m gay too. Come on over and let’s have some fun. If you want to, that is.”

Lust for the sexy beast meant I couldn’t resist. I was on a high, “I’ll be right over. If my car’s up to it,” I added cheekily.

His house was an impressive one on The Avenue. He was waiting for me on the drive, and pulled me inside. Slamming the door, he kissed me straight away. Our lips and then our tongues had a feast.

“I’ve fancied you for years, Will. But I only recently found out you were gay.”

“Wow!” was all I could reply.

In his kitchen, he insisted on making coffee. Of course, it was expensive and wonderful. So was the coffee! The aroma filled the living room as we indulged in more kissing and petting. I was turned on beyond belief. I wanted him; it was time for sex.

“Time for your caning, Will.”

“What? Where did that come from?”

“Oh come, come, Will. You knew that was part of the deal, surely?”

“Err, maybe.”

“There’s no maybe about it. I have several whippy canes here, and I give extra strokes for stupidity and evasiveness, you know.”

I muttered, “Yes, Sir,” submissively. It seemed kind of appropriate. Rog made his way over to a sideboard and pulled a rattan cane out from one of the drawers. He manhandled me over the back of the sofa.

“Stay in position, Will. These will hurt. But you can take it, and you do deserve it, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do,” I confessed.

“Good! Now, arse right up. Ready for the cane.”

I wasn’t ready, but I did stick out my arse a bit for him. The stick cracked down, slicing right into my black trousers. It didn’t feel bad to start with but then a sickening burning pain overwhelmed me. I was beginning to choke when he sliced a second vehement stroke. This time the pain seemed more immediate. I was crushed by waves of shock and biting pain. The beefy brute knew what he was doing alright, and quickly followed through with a third and then a fourth. My arse was ablaze! Why had I agreed to this? All I’d wanted was a casual fuck! I could feel myself slipping into the sofa.

“Arse up!” he commanded, “Don’t let me catch you slumping again. Just two more to come,” he added gently, slapping my arse with his meaty hand. He followed through with a fifth stroke. It was fucking hard. The noise the cane made as it landed was awesome; the pain even more so. He chuckled like a true sadist. “One more,” he told me, somewhat unnecessarily. I don’t think I’ll ever forget that final stroke, which was the hardest of all.

I spung to my feet, rubbing my arse in a desperate but fruitless attempt to releave the firey pain. I wanted to call him a bastard, but thought better of it, especially as my cock was beginning to wake up from a pain-induced slumber.

“Good, good. Most satisfactory,” Rog added. “I like a man who can take his punishment.”

“Thank you,” I said, although in truth, I was somewhat bewildered.

“The next six will be on your underwear,” he announced.

“What? I thought we were done?”

“I’m never done. As you will learn, Will. Now, drop those trousers!”

I undid my belt and unzipped. My keks fell down to my ankles. He ordered me to take them off completely. My grey briefs were revealed to his steely gaze. I just wanted him to fuck me, and my penis was betraying my thoughts, as it was stiffening rapidly and I was soon fully erect. He noticed, of course. He rubbed my cock through the grey fabric, saying only, “Nice!”

He picked up the cane again, and flexed it right in front of me, saying, “So, we’re agreed then? Six on these pants, and then six more with them down.”

I groaned. Of course, I’d worked out that was going to happen. I bent back over the sofa, and he was soon working over my arse with that fucking cane. Again and again it sliced into my arse, without a trace of leniency. Soon, he was pulling my briefs down. His hairy hands were all over my scarred cheeks, as he was feeling the puffy ridges the rattan had raised. A persistent finger teased my crack and toyed with my hole. I sighed at the brief moments of pleasure, but it didn’t last and soon the cane was slicing into my naked flesh. By the fifth stroke I was fighting back tears, and the bastard cracked the final stroke down diagonally, relighting the fires of the previous strokes. It was fucking agony. Through bleary eyes, I watched as he replaced the cane in its hiding place. He turned to face me, a stonking great erection straining at the front of his tracksuit. He grabbed me and kissed and hugged me. I felt great. Here I was with a real man, at last!

We kissed more and more and my naked cock rubbed against the one inside his tracksuit. I wanted to see it. I was not to be disappointed, as Rog dragged me upstairs and into his bedroom. All was revealed, and then I sucked on his huge girthy penis. I was soon gagging as he thrust his cock at the back of my throat . I wasn’t sure that it was a good experience, although the humiliation was turning me on.

He flipped me over, and I felt cold lube being applied roughly around my hole. The tell-tale tearing of a condom wrapper was followed by a forced entry. I wanted to cry out but I soon got used to the sheer size of him. This was going to be an experience! His animal thrusts grew faster and faster and relentlessly he pounded my arse, thrilling my prostate and bringing me to the very verge of orgasm. But it was too late! With a series of masculine grunts, he came inside me. Wow, what a wild ride that had been! After the caning and that fuck I was truly knackered. Casting the well-filled and well-stretched condom aside, Rog said to me, “That was fantastic. We were made for each other, Will. Now, I’d like to fuck you in the toilets at work sometime soon.”

“What?”

“Yes, it’s kind of a right of passage. Or back passage! All my mechanics have done it for me.”

“Gross!”

“No, not gross. Just my kink, Now say you will, and give me a kiss,” Rog instructed. We made love several more times that night. I was totally exhausted by my insatiable lover.

Reluctantly, I’d agreed to the work shagging, and one Saturday afternoon, after the business had closed for the weekend, we did it. He took me roughly, and the seedy environment turned me on, much to my surprise. We did it there a few times when love was new.

I’d met the man for me. I moved in, and we got married. All of his mechanics were at the wedding.

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D I S C L A I M E R

All characters appearing in this story are over the age of 18 and are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons or businesses, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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Story © MMXXI by Rod Cayenne.  All rights reserved.

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Comments welcome.  Comments are here.

 

Mr Jones (M/M) NEW!

 

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Hot corporal punishment and more in this brand new story by very special guest author David Stewart.  This story is currently exclusive to The Canery.  All the characters are 18 or over.  Strictly adults only!

Mr Jones by David Stewart

David was 42 years of age and out of work due to redundancy. He was single and had some savings but was desperate to get any sort of work.  He had signed on, and on the way home he treated himself to a coffee in his favourite cafe and was on his tablet when Mr Jones arrived.

“Hello David, long time no see!  May I join you?”

David was glad of the company of this older family friend.  He had always looked upon him as an uncle, even though they were not related.

“Yes, must be three months or more since we last met…think it was in Waitrose, was it not?”

David answered with a smile and said, “Oh and yes, I never called you did I?”

They both smiled and chat centred on the present and the unemployment issue.

“Yes I was fortunate, but being a teacher I suppose one expects to always be needed, but the young people of today have it hard. Have you had any luck searching?”

David explained how many applications and how few responses he’d had.  There had been no interviews.  He added how he would even take a cleaning job if offered one.  That was where he was at.

“Tell you what I can do, assuming you are happy to do so, I need someone a few hours a week, a general handyman as I have an old house and big garden. I could give you £9 an hour and say 10 hrs work a week…what do you think?”

“Look, that’s very kind but you don’t need to do that.”

“Nonsense!  I have just placed an advert in my local shop so I am seriously looking.  And it’s cash in hand.”

They agreed to it and Mr Jones added, “However David, I expect the same approach as if we did not know each other, and you will be on time and work hard.”

David assured him there would be no issues and agreed to start the following day at 9am.

David turned up just before 9 and Mr Jones let him in and directed him to the first work in hand, which was grass cutting and weeding.  David worked hard.  The satisfactory arrangement carried on for some months, then came the winter.  David started doing interior work, painting and general cleaning.

Over coffee he asked one day, “Mr Jones, the room right at the back, which is locked, may I ask what is inside?”

Mr Jones smiled and said, “Ah that is my, how shall we describe it, reminiscence of a past age and collection of memorabilia.“

“Of when you were a school teacher?”

After being assured it was, David asked, “May I see inside please?”

Mr Jones thought and said, “You can, but I keep my memorabilia private as some might think me odd for keeping a room like that.”

David was intrigued and after coffee followed Mr Jones up the stairs.  The door was opened and inside was a schoolroom with 4 desks and chairs, two by two and a larger raised desk and chair with a blackboard over almost half the wall.

“Wow, how realistic,” whistled David, much to Mr Jones’s appreciation.

“Thank you, feel free to look around.”

David walked round, opened the desks and looked inside at the jotters, books, pencils, erasers and pencil sharpeners.  He then headed to the teacher’s desk, upon which was the “Punishment Book.”  He opened it and started to read through the punishments within.  All had a date and the pupil’s name along with a reason and then what the punishment was, which varied between 2 and 6 of the cane. The canes were either junior or senior in description.

Moving through the book, he came to a date on the last page which said 23rd October 1983 – Charles Baxter – Lateness of lines and illegibility when delivered – 12 senior cane and 12 tawse.  David was taken aback as this was only four days ago!  He acted as if he had not noticed, but Mr Jones knew he had.

It was then David moved over to the cupboard.  Within it were some jotters and pencils, and also on the right hand side there were several canes and several tawses, all hanging from hooks.

David blushed not only at what was there but also the fact his cock was pressing hard against his zip.

Mr Jones said “Feel free David, to take out anything you fancy.”

David felt the urge to take one of the canes out and swish it through the air a few times and then took a tawse out and examined the three thick heavy tails.

His mouth was dry and he returned these and closed the cupboard. “Impressive collection and some school room, Mr Jones.”

“Thank you and have you anything you want to ask me about what you have seen?”

“Well…You appear to have made an entry a few days ago in the punishment book . Is that correct?”

“Let’s just say that I have friends who like to revert to their schooldays and in general if you come in to this room you leave with a sore bum and hands.“

“Hands, Mr Jones?”

“Oh the tawse was used in Scotland and it was usually given on the hands, one palm on top of the other, like this.  That way you could be sure they really felt the pain.”

“My, Mr Jones…I suppose I am the lucky one, having got to see the room and then leave in one piece?”

“If you choose to, yes.”

They locked up and had another coffee and David steered the conversation back to the school room and the recent punishment book entry.

“So can I ask please, I am not making judgements, but are you saying you cane and tawse other men upstairs and they willingly come here for that?”

Mr Jones went to a drawer and pulled out a magazine.  He flicked to the back of the may and pointed out an advert –  “Experienced Sir will cane and tawse and tutor errant boys and girls in his country school room.”

David smiled, “And do you get many responses?”

“It would surprise you, yes, and they pay for it.  I earn a fair bit of extra income at £30 a visit.”

There was a pause and Mr Jones asked David if he had ever been caned at school.

David replied that he had, several times but he added he had never been tawsed.

“Would you like to be…today?”

David was flustered.  Mr Jones said with confidence, “I saw the reaction down below so know it excited you and if I give you a taste then our secret is safe, as is my one.”

David knew he was blushing and almost capitulated by asking, “So what would you give me?”

Mr Jones smiled knowing he had won and said, “I would give your arse a good six of the best but before that I’d tawse your hands…six of the best…look David, we both know you want this…don’t we?…and it’s nothing to be ashamed of and if you want to forget about the entire room and conversation, I know I can trust you not to tell anyone.”

Fighting back his excitement David said, “I think it best, for us both, if we go back to your room Sir, and that way neither of us can say anything to anyone.”

“Good, so you are saying you want me to cane and tawse you?”

Looking and feeling awkward David replied, “Yes please, Sir.”

“OK, give me a few minutes then come up, knock on the door and wait to be invited in.“

David gave him 10 minutes then walked to the top far end of the house and as he knocked the door, feeling so nervous, he noticed it now said “Head Teacher” on the door.

“Enter!”

Upon entering he saw in front of him not Mr Jones but “Sir” dressed in his school gown and looking every part an authoritative teacher from David’s schooldays.

“So boy, you are here for a tawsing and caning!  When I get the tawse, you will raise both hands, put one on top of the other and take the stroke. Without being told you will then change hands and raise again. You will not pull away and you will not take long between strokes.  Now, hands up!”

David raised his hands and watched as Sir drew a long dark brown tawse from within his gown. It had three tails and it looked fierce.

Sir judged the distance and height of the hands, and drew back the tawse over his right shoulder and brought it down with a resounding WHAP as it landed on David’s outstretched palm, causing an intake of breath and the reaction of most to the tawse as he rubbed his hand furiously between his legs.  He waited, then raised and changed hands and took the second agonising stroke which was just as sore.  Sir looked impassively at him, and resumed play with another resounding WHAP as the leather did its work.  David had never endured such pain to his hands, but still raised for the fourth, after which the remaining strokes felt less painful as his hands had numbed somewhat.

Sir smiled and said, “Taken well, boy. Now let us see how the cane feels.”

He went to the cupboard and drew a slender crook handled cane out.  He whipped it about, which only made David more nervous, and his erection had long gone.

“Right, you will now undo your trousers and pull them down and then bend over that desk.  You will hold tight and if you jump up, reach behind or otherwise fail to impress, you will get that stroke again and another stroke will be added. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir.”

At least David had some idea what was to follow as he had been caned at school, but he was still dreading it. He undid his trousers, lowered them and bent over the desk.  He seemed shocked when Sir hooked his thumbs into David’s boxers, whipped them down so that a bared bottom was on display.  Sir stood back admiring the bared buttocks awaiting chastisement and then raised the cane high and whipped it down across the centre of his victim’s cheeks.  A pleasing scream followed.  The second stroke was below the first, and then the third landed above.  David was desperately holding the end of the desk and when the fourth made impact he gasped and only just managed to stay bent over.  The remaining two strokes were no less painful, but at least it was over.  Mr Jones then told him to stand and embarrassed him by forbidding him to pull up his trousers and pants.

Sir quizzed, “Was the tawse painful?” He asked about the caning too, but this line of questioning caused David to show his appreciation, excitement and embarrassment as his cock sprung to attention. 

Sir smiled, “A natural reaction for many who enjoy the school discipline scenario, which you obviously must have done.  Well, did you?”

David feeling nervous and embarrassed could not deny it and said, “I think it was good, thank you Sir.  , I have read about such things but never experienced a caning since school, I’d never had the tawse.”

“But when reading, I bet you wank off thinking of the teacher caning you?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And what about the teacher that has just caned you?  Do you ever fantasise about what he would do to you or make you do for him?”

“Sir…Sir this is so embarrassing for me to tell you…but…but…well in some of the stories I read the teacher will make the you suck him or he will wank you or…or well sometimes the teacher wants to bend you over and sort of, well, satisfy himself that way.”

Sir smiled and his own cock was straining with excitement.

“So, David are you saying you want to suck my penis, and then have me stick it inside that newly warmed arse of yours?”

David agreed, as did his cock.  He nodded.

“Strip for me David.” David swiftly took all his clothes off. “On your knees and suck me!”

David knelt and then undid Sir’s zipper and sucked on the penis that almost slapped his face as it sprung out.  Ten minutes later David was bent back over the same desk he had been chastised over and felt Sir press his penis against his lubricated entrance and slowly enter him.  David’s fantasy was complete.

The alarm woke David.  His hand was soon wanking his cock furiously as he recalled the dream about the family friend, the ex-teacher who for years had dominated his wanking sessions.  Three hours later he had signed on.  He headed for the cafe and just after he had sat down he heard a voice say, “Hello David, long time no see!  May I join you?”

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 Story © MMXXI by David Stewart

Story used here by very kind permission of the author

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D I S C L A I M E R

All characters appearing in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to real businesses or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.  All the characters are age of 18 or older.

_______________

Further great stories by this author may be found here.

Comments on this story are here.  Please add a comment of your own. 

 

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The Quest For A Bigger Penis (M/M)

Another chance to read this explicit caning  entertainment by Rod Cayenne. All the characters are 18 or older.  Adults only!

I knew I was in big trouble as soon as Dad called me into his little office. He stood there with one of his many canes in his hands. I gulped with fear, for I had never been able to take his canings stoically. No, there were always tears, cries and desperate pleading and wriggling under the lash of the cane. I had hoped now that I’d turned eighteen, that the canes might be retired. It seemed not.

“Peter, you were sick in bed this morning. You hadn’t been drinking again, I hope?”

“No Dad. Sorry. It was nothing like that.”

“Good! Otherwise this beauty would be teaching you a lesson.”

I didn’t share his view of what constituted beauty. In fact, I would have classified that whippy cane as a beast! As one of those rare strict Methodists, I knew he didn’t like me touching alcohol.

“So, what did make you sick then, lad?”

I didn’t feel like lying. It wasn’t really in my nature. I thought it best to confess, so I pulled the blister pack of blue pills out of my leather jacket. I handed them to my father. I could tell that he thought they were drugs.

“It was these that made me sick Dad, they taste awful!”

He read the lettering out loud, “Vigorlon Penis Enlargement Pills! I don’t believe it! These things are just a con! I can’t believe that a son of mine was so stupid as to fall for one of these scams!”

I stood there embarrassed, and red-faced.

“I’m sorry Dad. It was just a whim when I bought them.”

“Over the internet, I suppose?”

I nodded.

“With your card?”

I nodded.

“You stupid boy! So this is what you waste your allowance on! You’ll probably have to cancel your debit card too. I wonder what else you’ve been looking at on the internet, you haven’t been looking at pornography?”

I couldn’t lie. My Methodist upbringing had taught me that lying was a most serious sin. Of course I’d been looking at porn.

Again, I nodded at Dad.

“Well, that’s good,” he laughed. “Most men do.”

I was amazed when he said that, so I just nodded again, this time with a little smile. I was even more amazed when he put the cane down on the desk and offered me a chair. He poured me a glass of water from his cut-glass decanter.

“Well, well, well,” he said eventually, “I really don’t know what to make of you, young Peter. You’re at a difficult age, aren’t you? Part man, part boy, I’d say. Maybe more boy.”

Once again, I found myself nodding in agreement. Experience had taught me never to argue with Dad once we were in his small home office. I drank the water nervously. It was refreshing, as I was still dehydrated after being sick. Things were looking good. He picked up the cane and placed it back in the brass umbrella stand, where it was kept along with several other rattans and a rather faded gents umbrella. I breathed a sigh of relief. It was too good to last, however.

“NOW LISTEN TO ME!” Suddenly, his tone became fierce. “I am quite insulted that you feel that the penis your mother and I gave you at birth isn’t big enough! The Lord moves in mysterious ways, you know.”

Here we go, I thought to myself. My bottom started to tingle.

“And! Let there be no doubt in your mind that I am very, very unhappy that you have spent money, the hard-earned allowance money I’ve given you, on this rubbish!”

He waved the strip of pills at me. Slowly, he popped each of the remaining blue tablets out of the blister pack. He counted the pills out loud. There were fifteen. I just knew where this was leading.

“Fifteen pills, fifteen strokes!” he announced. He reached behind him and selected a more severe rattan with a crook handle.

“But Dad, I’m eighteen now!”

“Good point, Peter. We’ll make it eighteen, then. Over the desk, trousers down!”

I wasn’t going to argue. I bent over submissively and the first cane stroke hit home. Oh, it was a hard one, for a first stroke. He was really angry, I could tell. He’d been hiding it well, but now the cane was letting him vent his full fury. That was reinforced by the second and third strokes which were straight out of the fires of Hell.

“Underpants down! Fifteen strokes on the bare for the fifteen pills.”

I wasn’t going to argue, as I lowered my pale blue Jockeys. I certainly wasn’t going to tell him that it was a hundred pills I’d ordered!

Stroke four sliced into my naked flesh. I was gasping, close to hyperventilating. I cried out loudly. I knew that would amuse him. For a religious man, he had a streak of sadism. Yes, there was a lot of cruelty within him.

I took the fifth quietly, and then the sixth much the same. He moved things up a gear as the seventh was by far the hardest yet. By now I was squirming under the cane’s vicious caress. My bottom was writhing, first in one direction, then the other in a vain attempt to avoid the blows of the cane. Eight! Nine! Ten! I was counting them quietly under my breath, while silent salty tears streamed down my face. This was a hellish beating!

He stopped and grunted. Suddenly, his hands were feeling the cane ridges on my bottom. He’d never done that before, and it was so humiliating, especially as he barked at me to keep still. He changed canes.

“Number Two cane to finish off, Peter.”

In all my years, and through numerous beatings, I could never fathom out the significance of the numbering system of his canes. Perhaps there wasn’t one, and this was all part of a sadistic game? All I knew was that Number Two cane was named appropriately, as it hurt like shit.

“AARRGH!” I cried as the eleventh stroke slashed down, quickly followed by a twelfth, landing just below.

Dad laid thirteen and fourteen diagonally, which was agony. The final four strokes were aimed at the tops of my thighs, his speciality, and they stung like mad. Strangely, all I could think about was that I wouldn’t be wearing my Speedos down on the beach for a while!

I wasn’t crying heavily, but my face was covered in snot. Dad offered me a tissue. I’d been trying not to say thank you, as an act of defiance, but it just sort of slipped out. He grinned when I said it. At times like that I really hated him. My only consolation was that my mother and sister were out shopping, so my beating had been a private, man thing.

That evening, I was over at my friend Andrew’s house. Somehow the story of the day’s events came out. I’d been trying to hide it, as I knew my friend had an unhealthy interest in my beatings. He managed to worm every little detail out of me this time. Nonetheless, he asked if he could see the marks, almost as if he didn’t believe me.

“Pervert!” I accused.

“No, really, I just want to understand. Although I could put some cold cream on them, I’m sure my mum’s got some in the bathroom.”

Reluctantly, I agreed. Andrew traced each and every mark with his forefinger. I’d found the day pretty confusing all round. My head was far from clear. Maybe it was another side-effect of those blue pills?

Andrew came back from the bathroom with a jar of cream. Gently, he massaged it into my bottom. My cock suddenly burst into life! It was rock hard. We gazed into each others eyes and knew we were going to have to take things further. No erection pills would be required! This time he put his forefinger into the jar of cream and then shoved the finger up my arsehole. His lips caressed my cock. He worked that cock for all it was worth. I came heavily in his mouth.

We lay exhausted on his bed for a few tender minutes. I offered to reciprocate. He just laughed.

“Not likely, mate. I’m not sticking my todger in there. Those pills have dyed your tongue blue. They could be poisonous, you know. Chinese, were they? I don’t want a blue cock, you know!”

I was really turned on by then. I offered him anal instead. I wanted it myself, but was a little reluctant only because my arse was still sore after the caning (and despite the cold cream massage). Andrew couldn’t believe his luck. Fortunately, he had a condom, and with the help of the cold cream we were soon at it. He thrust and thrust into my willing, striped arse. The knobbing felt even better than his forefinger had. It wasn’t long before he shot his load. It had been a short fuck alright, but we were both satisfied.

We lay in each others arms again, gently petting. He whispered in my ear, “Could you sneak out one of your dad’s canes? I want to try it.”

It seemed a strange request at first. But as I laid there in the afterglow, it seemed to make sense eventually. After all, it was a caning that had brought us together and I knew just which cane to smuggle out. It would have to be Number Two.

______________)

______________

* IMPORTANT – DISCLAIMER *

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

FURTHER DISCLAIMER: All characters and products 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.

__________________

Story © 2013 by Rod Cayenne

Comments always welcome – please use link at top of story

Instant Message (M/M)

♥ Site recommended story ♥

A repeat of this hot male caning story by an anonymous author.  All the characters are aged 18 or over.  This story is strictly Adults Only!

hotstudlondon101: good to see you on here again matey

berniep2013: yeah, you too. I’m OK i guess but i got whacked again…

hotstudlondon101: what, your dad again?

berniep2013: shit, yes bastard caned me

hotstudlondon101: wouldn’t be allowed here

berniep2013: I know mate, but it’s all the rage here in fuckin asia

hotstudlondon101: haven’t you told him you’re too old at 18?

berniep2013: i really daren’t. it’s normal here mate. until you leave home

hotstudlondon101: i suppose it makes sense in a way. arse marked then is it?

berniep2013: is it ever!  yeah, fucking black and blue, red, bruised, sore as hell

hotstudlondon101: what did you do to cop it?

berniep2013: i swore at mum

hotstudlondon101: LOL. you deserved it then.

berniep2013: no i didn’t! cheers mate, bloody hell, mate, let met tell you, you’ve no idea how much that fuckin cane hurts 😦

hotstudlondon101: no, really you deserved it. I’d never swear at my mam, never ever.

berniep2013: well she unplugged my playstation so i lost the bloody game.

hotstudlondon101: if i was your dad i’d have trashed your PS for swearin at my wife!

berniep2013: well the bastard trashed my arse insteadd. really wanna leave here badd

hotstudlondon101: how many did you get?

berniep2013: about 20, lost count mate, no, might have been nearer 15 or 16, but more than i’ve ever had before, shit

hotstudlondon101: tell me about the cane, what’s it like?

berniep2013: you wouldn’t wanna know mate. it’s awful – it stings like buggery. like a swarm of bees has bitten your arse. or sat on hot coals or somethin. bad, real, bad.

hotstudlondon101: no, i meant what does it look like?

berniep2013: oh right. about three foot long, golden yellow brown sort of colour, with a curved sort of handle. it’s well whippy. a typical school cane, reckon.

hotstudlondon101: sounds a cool item, did you cry?

berniep2013: its not cool and don’t ask mate, really.

hotstudlondon101: did you cry?

berniep2013: I SAID DON@T ASK!

hotstudlondon101: you did then!

berniep2013: maybe a bit, I certainly cried out! god that thing’s awful, an invention of the devil, they sell them all over here, shops, markets, everywhere

hotstudlondon101: you only see them in sex shops here

berniep2013: really?

hotstudlondon101: yeah, for couples to spice up their sex lives, that sort of thing

berniep2013: can’t see the appeal.  the cane fuckin hurts.

hotstudlondon101: I’d like to try it.  I fancy a sore arse. 😉

berniep2013: you’re mad mate, totally mad!

hotstudlondon101: yeah, maybe a little.  MAYBE

berniep2013: you wouldn’t be so keen if you could see the state of my arse!!!!!

hotstudlondon101: LOL.  Good idea mate. turn your webcam on so i can see it

berniep2013: PERVERT!

hotstudlondon101: no, go on, be a mate, i wanna see it

berniep2013: alright hang on

hotstudlondon101: lookin good, wow!  shit mate your arse is a real mess!

bernie2013: i know, here, I’ll bend over a bit more, have another look

hotstudlondon101: God, he really worked your arse over

bernie2013: it’s so sore even now.

hotstudlondon101: his aim’s not so good.  he’s hit the tops of your legs too

berniep2013: i think that was deliberate.  his aim’s good, believe me…he knows what he’s doin.  Those marks will show if i wear my shorts.

hotstudlondon101: i bet you won’t be swearing at your mam again in a hurry

bernie2013: dead right, i won’t!  mum’s the word

hotstudlondon101: the cane worked then, didn’t it?

berniep2013: suppose

hotstudlondon101: of course, there is a danger

berniep2013: of what?

hotstudlondon101: that your dad will realise the cane has worked.  he might use it more often!

berniep2013: shit, no! NO! NO WAY!  MY POOR FUCKIN ARSE!!!!!!

hotstudlondon101: LOL

berniep2013: BASTARD!

hotstudlondon101: Language!  No swearing now, or I’ll tell your dad!

berniep2013: very funny NOT!!

hotstudlondon101: OK sorry, although i do have his email address, family friends, right?

berniep2013: OK, I’ve told you my news, what have you been up to?

hotstudlondon101: Had sex with a guy for the first time

berniep2013: What? I thought you were str8?

hotstudlondon101: nobody’s straight these days!

berniep2013: probably not in London anyway. did you like it?

hotstudlondon101: fuckin’ loved it.  especially with his cock up my arse 😉

berniep2013: that must have hurt!

hotstudlondon101: only a bit – not like a caning!

berniep2013: no, nothing hurts like a caning

hotstudlondon2013: mate?

berniep2013: what?

hotstudlondon101: while your webcam’s on, how about spreading your butt cheeks so I can see your hole?

berniep2013: alright, alright.  seeing as it’s you.  but you do realise it’s gonna hurt me to touch my arse cheeks, right?

hotstudlondon101: I do hope so, i do hope so, LOL! 😉

___________)

D I S C L A I M E R

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

(___________

Story © MMXV by anonymous, used here by very kind permission

All rights reserved

___________)

Comments welcome, please use link at the top of the story

Comments from the original posting are here

The Chair Of Truth (M/M) NEW!

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Hot new caning fiction by very special guest author Clifton Castigo. This story is currently exclusive to The Canery! All the characters are aged 18 or over.  Strictly ADULTS ONLY!

The Chair Of Truth by Clifton Castigo

It was the last night of their “Lads” holiday on the Costa Dorada when Mark learned the truth about his best friend Simon.

The two of them had come to Spain to enjoy wild nights out partying and lazy days on the beach or by the pool.

They had decided to visit a local cabaret bar that had been recommended by their holiday rep. That night there was an “Adult” hypnosis show. Simon bravely volunteered to be hypnotised. The Mesmerizer hosting the show had the volunteers perform all manner of sexually suggestive stunts but the key part of the evening came when he introduced the “Chair of truth”.

The Mesmerizer told the volunteers that they would have to tell the truth when they sat on the chair. He then proceeded to ask each of them to sit on the chair and interrogated them with a series of lewd questions that culminated in asking about their deepest darkest sexual fantasy.

In the case of Simon he said “To be caned and then taken up the arse by my best friend.” The audience laughed, but Simon’s input was quickly forgotten when the next volunteer said his fantasy was “to fuck his girlfriend’s mother”. His girlfriend who was with him on holiday was not impressed. At the end of the show the Mesmerizer instructed that the volunteers should forget all they had done during the show. As most of them had been videoed by friends and family, most of them, though, would not be able to forget.

Mark decided not to broach the subject on holiday with Simon. He quickly moved him on to another bar to spare him the embarrassment of conversations with other punters.

A couple of weeks later Mark had had time to think about what to do about Simon’s confession under hypnosis. Simon knew Mark was bisexual but until Simon’s confession in the bar Mark had always thought his friend was straight. He guessed that Simon was bi-curious but was too shy to take a dip in the pool. Mark decided he would make Simon’s fantasy reality and see where that led them. They were both in their 20s and Simon was pretty hot with a gym-toned body and an ample, pert arse, Mark couldn’t say that he hadn’t thought about it before.

Mark did a bit of research on caning and learned about where to buy canes (from a website) and the ritual of the punishment as well as the element of fetish.

A few weeks later Mark decided to show Simon a video of the hypnosis show he had made on his phone. He hadn’t told Simon that he had made a video up to that moment and had only provided sketchy details about what Simon had done under hypnosis.

Simon watched enraptured with his face turning progressively redder.

After the “Chair of truth”, Mark switched off the video and produced a cardboard tube from which he withdrew 3 yellow/brown crook handled punishment canes of different thicknesses. He swished one of them and said:

“I have decided to punish you for keeping this secret for so many years, but not today! I want you to reflect on keeping secrets from your best friend and next weekend you can take your medicine. We won’t talk about this more today, but you are a naughty boy and you’re going to have to atone.”

When Mark researched caning online he learned that anticipation was an important part of the ritual. He wanted to make Simon’s experience memorable so came up with the week’s delay to really get Simon horny and ready to take his punishment and what would follow.

To add to this he sent Simon a series of text messages during the week:

Monday: You won’t be able to sit comfortably for a week!

Tuesday: Your arse is going to turn purple!

Wednesday: I am going to make you cry!

Thursday: I’m practicing with the canes to make sure your punishment is extra painful.

Friday: You’re really going to feel it!

For Simon’s part he had a hard-on for practically the whole week.

On Saturday Mark sent Simon a message telling him to report for punishment that afternoon.

From the moment that Simon entered the house, Mark took charge. He ordered Simon to strip and then to bend over the back of a chair he had moved into the centre of the living room.

A chair of truth had started him on this road and here he was bent over another chair of truth with his arse fully exposed to see if the reality would match his fantasy.

Mark flexed the first of his canes in sight of Simon and swished it through the air menacingly.

“You’re not a schoolboy so no “six of the best” for you!  I bought 3 different types of cane and I am going to give you six with each. I don’t want your hands to leave that chair or you’ll get extra.”

Mark lined himself up beside Simon and tapped the first of the canes, a stingy junior cane, on Simon’s buttocks before drawing it back into the air and bringing it back down with a loud SWISH and a resounding CRACK. A thin line of white appeared before quickly forming into a pink welt.

He remembered the instructions he had read online and timed the next stroke for about 15 seconds later. For Simon this meant that it landed just as the white hot searing pain from the first stroke reached it’s maximum intensity.

He gasped and let out an “arrgh” but held on to the chair for dear life. As the strokes continued the pain grew exponentially worse.

Soon it was time for the second set of six with a longer senior cane. This produced a longer lasting sensation for Simon. The extra length really gave Mark the chance to build up speed and he noticed with satisfaction the livid welts being produced on his friend’s arse.

Finally the last set of six with a reformatory cane left an excruciating deep pain which would fulfil Mark’s promise that Simon wouldn’t sit comfortably for a week.

By the time Mark had finished, Simon’s arse was purple overall formed by the mix of coloured stripes top to bottom imbued with pinks, reds and specks of blue.

Mark stepped back and admired his work before removing his jeans and boxers and slipping on a condom on to his raging hard-on.  He then proceeded to fuck Simon until they were both thoroughly spent.

Simon’s fantasy was everything he hoped for and more, and Mark enjoyed it too. Although Simon did not appreciate it being forced out of him, he reflected that if our fantasies always remain secret, they can never come true.

_____________

D I S C L A I M E R

All characters appearing in this story are over 18 and are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons or businesses, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

(_____________

Story © MMXXI by Clifton Castigo, used here by very kind permission of the author.  All rights reserved.

__

Comments welcome, please use the link at the top of the story.

More hot stories by Clifton Castigo are available here.

A Taste Of Sweden (M/M) NEW!

♥ Site recommended story ♥

A brand new short story by your host, Rod Cayenne.  This story is currently exclusive to The Canery and is only suitable for adults!

By the time I was nineteen, I trekked around airfields and air shows around the country on my trusty old Triumph motorbike.  The shows were spectacular, with an unmistakable and enticing sexual undercurrent.  I used to love chatting to the other male planespotters.  The fat ones, the thin ones, the married ones, the ones that still lived with their folks and the lonely old perverts.  But in another league were the hunky aircrew at the shows.  I’d hang around the metal barriers like a groupie hoping to catch the attention of a sexy pilot or navigator.  I had a particular liking for the angular beauty of the Swedish planes and their dishy, dreamy Nordic pilots.  They always gave a good display, in more ways than one!

Show day was inevitably a sweltering hot day.  I could feel my skin burning under the punishing rays of the sun.  Sweat poured off my brow and my armpits were on overdrive.  I leant over the barrier and caught the lanky blonde pilot checking me out.  I think.  Well, I was certainly checking him out.  It felt like mutual attraction.  He took his Aviator shades off, walked over and stared at me with his piercing electric blue eyes.  He had a gorgeous tan, and chiseled Viking looks.  I couldn’t begin to guess his age, he had a few lines and the first signs of gentle crow’s feet around the corners of his eyes.    “I’ve seen you before, haven’t I, boy?” he asked me.

“Yes, you may have done.  I love the Swedish planes.”

“And their pilots, too, unless I’m mistaken?  Well, well.  You are gay, I suppose?”

“A little, Sir.”

“A little?  No-one is a little gay!  And I bet you don’t have a little penis, eh, my boy?”

I blushed and stammered, “Oh, you know…”

“I know I like English cock,” he whispered, “Welsh cock, Scottish cock, Irish cock.  Hot, throbbing United Kingdom cock.  Come and see me in my hotel room tonight.  Here are the details, go on, take it.  You do have a car?  The damned hotel’s in the middle of nowhere.”

“I’ve got a bike.”

“Aha, hence the leather trousers?”

“Err, yes.”

“Well, that’s very good.  I like a bit of leather.  Or a lot of leather,” he laughed.  “Now, piss off!  I’ll see you later.”

What an extraordinary guy with a strange bedside manner, I thought to myself as I walked away studying the hotel card he’d given me.  He’d scribbled his name on it, Curt, Room 8.  He was certainly curt with his words.  So he liked a bit of English cock?  I told myself I was going to get to fuck him, for sure.  What a treat that would be!

I stayed on until the end of the show.  It was good to see the Arrows again.  Then back on my bike, I was able to overtake the stationary queues of sad family cars as I headed out to the country hotel. 

I had to negotiate past a grim dragon of a receptionist.  She stared at me scornfully through her horn-rimmed specs as I said, “I’m here to see Curt from the Flygvapnet.”  She stared at the ceiling, and then at me.  It was like I was asking for someone from an alien planet. 

At last I was on the threshold.  I rapped on the door.  He opened it sharply.  He was wearing only a hotel robe and his hair was still damp.  He burped.  He pulled me in and slammed the door shut.  Here was a man who knew what he wanted, I told myself.  His robe fell open, and I could see that he was blonde down there, too.  “Suck it!” he ordered.  I sank to my knees and soon had him hard as my tongue teased and tossed his uncircumcised cock.  I wiggled my tongue in between his foreskin and his helmet.  He groaned with pleasure and then pushed me down on the over-sized bed and rammed his stiff member down my throat.  It hurt and I had to summon all my willpower not to gag several times.  He was rough and dominant.  I was surprised, and unsurprisingly, I was turned on by this beastly Viking of a man.  He tasted great as he fucked my mouth urgently.  Suddenly he told me to stop.  “I don’t want to cum just yet,” he said.  I was relieved as my throat was kind of sore.

“Now time for some leather fun, my boy,” he announced.  I had visions of him in skintight gear, but it wasn’t to be.  “Open that drawer,” he ordered.  I walked over to the bedside table and opened the drawer.  There, on top of the King James bible, laid a leather spanking strap.  I’d seen something similar in a sleazy shop in Soho, London, but I was stunned.  I knew it wasn’t my scene at all.

“You are a very naughty boy!  One hundred lashes, for you, I think.”

He pulled my leather keks and sweaty pants down, baring my arse.  I attempted to struggle.  The leather strap cracked down like a thunderbolt on my soft teenage flesh.  Ten, twenty, thirty, that fuckin’ thing ripped and tore my skin.  In the event, it was nothing like a hundred, but I was lying face down on the bed, ashamed and fighting back salty tears.

“That was fun!  Now, I think you English boys like the cane?  It happens that I have a nice stick here.”  It wasn’t a nice stick at all.  It was a nasty stick.  I suspect that it was a birch rod rather than a cane.  It was short but demonic.  He lashed my cheeks with it.  I writhed and cried out at that first stroke.  I bucked and gasped at the second.  By the third I felt tears could not be far off.  And then after eighteen manly strokes he dropped the cane.  At last there was some relief as his tongue licked my weals and wounds gently.  That was nice.  I could feel his stiff rod pressing against me as he soothed the damage he had so lustily inflicted on me.  God, that had hurt but my my own cock was now perky and rearing up for action.  How I wanted to fuck him.  And then I felt the unmistakable coldness of lubricant on my manhole as he got ready to board me and pilot me into the wild blue yonder.  And he did.  Sheesh, that man could fuck for Sweden.

We lay together on the bed afterwards.  He offered me a malt, saying, “Mmm, this is the finest Scottish whisky, so hard to find and so very expensive in Sweden.  Yet here they have it in all the shops and supermarkets.  Strange.  Only a small one though, I’m flying again in 18 hours.”

I’m ashamed to say I choked on the scotch, just like I had on his cock.  It was strong stuff, just like the relentless beating he had given me.

“You will stay the night.” 

“Well, I don’t know…”

“That was an order, not a request!” he laughed and slapped my thigh extra hard.  A scorching red imprint of his palm and fingers was clearly visible.  “Now be a good boy, and ride my cock good and hard, otherwise I’ll get my wicked friend Håkan to come over and thrash you as well!”

Much as I’d have liked a threesome, I really couldn’t face any more punishment, assuming Curt wasn’t playing a game with his threat.  And I never did get to fuck him.  But he did fuck me, fuck yes, he fucked me a lot and almost all night long.  What with one thing and another my arse was really fucking sore on the bike saddle as I headed back to my digs, sober and randy in the early morning sunshine.  I resolved to be a bit more careful in future.  After all, I’d expected to be on top, but I ended up a very sore bottom.  Still and all, back in my lonely room it was high time for some hand relief.

_____________

D I S C L A I M E R

All characters appearing in this story are over 18 and are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons or businesses, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

(_____________

Story © MMXXI by Rod Cayenne.  All rights reserved.

__

Comments welcome, please use the link at the top of the story.

 

 

Uncle Knows Best (M/M) NEW!

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Hot spanking and sex in this brand new story by special guest author David Stewart.  This story is currently exclusive to The Canery.  All the characters are 18 or over.  Strictly adults only!

Uncle Knows Best by David Stewart

I had a great childhood and was brought up in a strict but loving way.  I often stayed with an aunt and uncle (they were not blood relatives, but we always called them Uncle and Auntie) and would go there on a Friday evening and be returned to my loving parents at church on the Sunday morning.  A better Aunt and Uncle you could not wish for.

On a few occasions my Uncle would discipline me over his knee.  My Aunt would always go to the shops on a Saturday afternoon around three and it was then, if it was to happen, she would tell me, “Your Uncle needs to have words while I am out.”  That always meant a trip to the bedroom, where he sat on the edge of the bed and had me bare bottom over his knees to get a sound hand spanking.

I continued to stay with them regularly, right up until I was about 20.  It was at that time, post-school, that things changed for me.  I mean nothing bad against Uncle, but I got what I deserved (and actually wanted).

I was 18 and had stayed and had gone out on the Friday and came home a bit worse for wear and neither were impressed.  On the Saturday morning it was Uncle who had a pop at me when we were out in the garden. He was a wise owl and was disappointed in me, rightly, and told me how my Aunt had been upset at how I had been.
I apologised to him, of course, and he commented, “If this had been a year or so back you would have been apologising over my knees when your Aunt went out.”

I made some glib comment about “Well, just as well I am older then” and shrugged my shoulders with a smirk. That seemed to piss him off and he said, “I said a year or so ago you would have been over my knees.  I did not say you would not get a good leathering.”

We looked at each other and I remember a movement in my groin and bravely responding, “You’re joking, right? I mean you’re not going to wait till Auntie is out, are you?”

“Oh, you want me to do it now, with Auntie in the house?”

“No, no that was not what I mean…I well, I just meant…well you said it would not stop me getting a leathering…what were you meaning?”

“I was meaning that when your Aunt went out you would be upstairs getting a leather belt on your bum.”

I was experiencing the excitement of an adolescent lad who had been wanking over spanking for a couple of years, but even my response surprised me, “I suppose it is better with Auntie out, but would you tell her?  It would be so embarrassing for me at my age.”

He looked at me and said, “No, we can keep this to ourselves but as soon as Auntie leaves I want you up in your bedroom waiting for me.”

After lunch Auntie said, “Right boys, I am off down to the shops.  See you shortly and I will get something nice for afternoon tea.”

Uncle looked at me and with his eyes indicated upstairs.  I went to my bedroom and soon heard Uncle climb the stairs and in he came. He lectured me and then said, “So, now you are an adult you will get an adult’s punishment, which is a good leathering.  Now, get your jeans off!”

He watched as I removed my shoes and then jeans and stood with my t-shirt unable to hide the bulge in my baggie pants.  It was obvious Uncle saw this but he did not falter and simply said, “Now pants down and lay on the bed.”

I did this quickly, to hide my erection.  I then heard the unmistakable sound of leather belt coming through trouser loops and turned to see my Uncle folding his belt.  That belt must have been two inches wide.

“This will teach you a very sound lesson and you deserve this, so let’s get it over with.”

I turned my head just as the first flash of that leather belt landed and took my breath away. What followed was a slow but continuous leathering of my bared buttocks and a very adult boy crying towards the end.  He gave me a cuddle when I got up and said he hoped it had done me some good, but if he ever had to do this again it would be much worse.  At that point he left me and when Auntie arrived home we had tea and scones, with nothing said.

About two months later I was there just for the Saturday afternoon and in the workshop with my Uncle when a conversation relative to my leathering was started by him, firstly asking how long it took to stop burning.  He asked me about my arousal at the start and why that had happened, and I blushed and just shrugged it off.
“So, do you think it did you good, getting my belt?” he asked, and I answered that, “Yes it did, thank you,” which upon reflection must have sounded a bit sad.

“Thank you is it?  So you are glad I gave it to you are you?”

There was a bit of a pause and I said “Well not exactly, but I suppose thank you for not letting me get away with things,  To that extent it probably does me good now and again to be reminded that I am not that old yet.”

He eyed me, and with a smile asked, “So are you saying you are grateful to me for leathering your arse last time, and you think it does you good?”

“Well in a strange way it does.  I remember when I was younger and I acted up, and went over your knee.  Yes it stung but it made me better and I did not need it so often.  Nowadays I suppose I just tend to be a bit of a pratt at times and not exactly miss it, but well you know…miss it….a bit like knowing your limits.”

My cock was as hard as a rock during this conversation.  It was not going to soften.  Uncle asked, “So would another leathering do you good later when Auntie goes out?”

I know I blushed and stuttered as I said that I always felt going over his knee was very helpful.  It put me in my place, but yes the belt was certainly a more adult way to deal with someone like me.

He looked at me then said, “ Well.  I’ll tell you what, when your Aunt goes out today, if you think it will do you good, then come and ask me if you can go and wait for me in the bedroom.”

I smiled and said that was OK and he added, “But just so I am not encouraging anything here, your bottom will be black and blue by the time I am done and I doubt you will come back for more.”

So it was that I had to try and hide my erection for the rest of the day until Auntie did go out, a little later than usual.  I then confidently but nervously asked my uncle, “May I go and wait in the bedroom for you please, Uncle?”

He nodded and off I went.  Only a few minutes later Uncle came up too.  As he entered the room he announced, “ Right, lad.  Today is going to be a real lesson for you, so get your trousers off!”

He sat on the edge of the bed and once my trousers were off he called me to his side and hooked my underpants down and made me step out of them too.  He commented on my erection “I see.  An adult spanking for an adult reaction, then.  Get over!”  What followed was an extremely painful hand spanking which lasted perhaps ten minutes, by which time I was in tears.  I was grateful for the temporary rest.  Uncle looked at my groin and commented, “Not so much of an adult now, are you?  He stood and undid his belt and drew it through the belt loops.  That action excited me then, and to this day still does.  He folded the thick leather in half and cracked it down on the bed with an almighty blow.

My cock grew again at this.  Uncle noticed this reaction straight away, and said, “Right!  Time for some honesty.  honesty.  Does what is about to happen excite you and is this what you wank over at night in bed?  The thought of someone leathering and spanking you?”  My blushing said it all, and he added, “More to the point, and this will go nowhere other than this room, are you secretly wanting me to leather your arse harder than last time?  Because if you do, now is the time to be telling me.”

I was in a state and blustered away, something like, “Uncle, I am sorry…but…but well I don’t know why I do, but I do want that.  Please!”

He came over to me and put an arm round me and said, “Well then.  This is going to hurt like mad but I understand what you want and need, so I am going to give you the hardest leathering of your life.  Now lie down on the bed.”

I laid on the bed and he was true to his word.  Stroke after stroke of that doubled-up thick leather belt landed on my bared cheeks.  Tears flowed and flowed and it seemed to go on forever, so much so that I feared my Aunt would be home before he was done.  When it stopped, I was truly pleased.  Through my tears I saw his benign smile as he threaded his belt back through the loops.  I was rubbing my assaulted buttocks and he told me to, “ Dress and go wash your face, so Auntie does not know.”

That night Uncle walked me to the train and as we waited said to me, “So, did that leathering live up to expectations?”

I said, ”Far more than that Uncle, thank you.  I needed that.”  He then said, as the train arrived, “So long as between you and I, any time you feel you need a repeat then come and ask me.  It is no problem and if it helps then so much the better.”

It was another six months before I asked, having had a few visits in between.  It was mid-morning and in my perverted way I wanted to enjoy the nervous expectation of an impending beating.  So I asked him almost as soon as I arrived, “Does Auntie still go out to the shops in the afternoon?”

“Oh, always,” he said with a smile.

I must have waited all of five seconds before trying to ask, nonchalantly, “Eh then Uncle, when she does go, may I go and wait in the bedroom please?”

“I have been disappointed that you have not asked before now, so the answer is yes, of course.”

I loved the nervous expectation and as soon as Auntie left it was, “Uncle, may I go and wait in the bedroom for you please?”

“Yes, and hurry up and get yourself ready so that we have more time.”

That got me harder and when he came up I was in my underpants, t-shirt and socks and well erect.  In he came and in his hand was a wooden hairbrush.  He announced, “This will stop my hand being so sore.”  He sat down and my pants were pulled down and off.  He smiled at my youthful erection, saying, “Get over!”  A hand spanking followed for about five minutes before that wooden hairbrush started to slap at my buttocks.  I couldn’t help but yelp.  “Teaching you a lesson this, boy?” And he continued on and on.

When I got up, I was jumping about, rubbing my smarting arse cheeks.  But there were no tears.  As he repeated the process of drawing the belt through the trouser loops, my cock came back to life and and stuck up proudly for Uncle.  He smiled as always and said, “Well you obviously did not find that too off-putting so I assume you are wanting me to put this belt to good use, are you?”

In my youthful way, cock erect and not much else to say I simply whispered, “Yes please, Uncle.”

He asked me candidly, “So, when you are having a wank do I feature in those wanks?”

I smiled and said, “Yes, you do Uncle.  Yes, you do.  Every time.”

“And in these wanks, do I do anything we have not done here…and don’t be shy, as I will take it as a compliment.”

“Alright.  You leather me to tears, then sometimes you help me.”

“You mean I wank that big lad’s cock for you?”

“And do you do anything for me?”

“I have never done anything or had anything done to me Uncle, but yes I fantasise that sometimes I suck your cock or I wank you, or well, or you bend me over.”

“So, you have never been touched by another guy?”

“No.  Never ever.”

He stepped forward and his hand took hold of my cock and he started to wank me. “Is this nice?” he almost rhetorically asked followed by, “And nice as this is, I am about to leather you bared arse till you are crying like a baby. That is what you want, isn’t it?

Between sighs I said, “Yes please, I want you to teach me a lesson.”

He let go of my cock and said, “Right!  Get on the bed, I will need a rest after this one.”

That leathering was extreme and not only my bottom but also upper back of legs got it.  I was in tears well before he stopped.  I tried to count but lost it at 30 something.  When it was over Uncle was not hiding his own erection and we smiled at each other knowingly.  Soon I was on the bed. on my back.  The hand that had spanked me was now wanking me off!

“Can I touch you?” I asked, and he undid his trousers and allowed me to feel it.  Without being told or asking, I then tasted cock for the first time, and he appreciated it.

He pulled back and left the room to return a few minutes later with a condom, “You want this?”

I nodded and said, as I knelt on the bed, “Please be gentle.”

He was gentle and nudged slowly into me and I was in ecstasy as he moved in and out.   His hand came round to my groin and he wanked my stiffening cock.  In truth we both came almost together, with me spunking all over the sheets.  It was pretty funny and we tidied up hurriedly.  We had just returned downstairs when Auntie came back and said, “So have you boys been having fun?”

That was to become a semi-regular event over the next five years or so until he had a stroke and eventually passed away at a relatively young age.  However, it all helped discipline this boy who is now an adult to be proud of.  Unfortunately, not to be continued.

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 Story text © MMXXI by David Stewart

Story used here by very kind permission of the author

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D I S C L A I M E R

All characters appearing in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to real businesses or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.  All the characters are age of 18 or older.

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To comment on this one please use link at top of story

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Three Players (F/M, M/F and M/M) NEW!

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Hot bisexual spanking and sex in this brand new story by special guest author David Stewart.  This story is exclusive to The Canery.  All the characters are 18 or over.  Strictly adults only!

Three Players by David Stewart

David was 43 and had been an avid receiver and giver of the cane.  He had played this way with other guys and some females since he was about 22.  His activities had dried up somewhat over the last year or so with no spanking partners.  But tonight he was visiting a hot couple.  Their personal advert had said “Couple, he 57 and she 49, looking for switch playmate to spank and cane wife and then submit to spanking and caning from both.”  They had exchanged mails then spoke on the phone and eventually had met for a drink one night.

She was a good looking lady, medium build but a great bum and nice boobs.  She looked younger than her age with flowing blonde hair. He looked his age, however.  He was well over six foot and strong-looking, but both were friendly and they all earned each other’s trust very quickly.

So much so, that tonight was to be the real thing.  David had to travel about an hour, but he assured himself that it would be worth it.  They were to play to an agreed script and of course, it started as soon as the door was answered.

“Ah, come in David. Good journey?”

“Yes Sir!” He had been told to call the man Sir for the duration of their time together.  The conversation continued in the lounge where Amanda sat looking very attractive.  They had a glass of wine and all the time it was “Yes Sir” to all of the questions.

“Right then David we are all adults and have discussed this.  First Amanda is getting spanked and caned by you and then we will be dealing with you.  Then, we’ll see where it goes.  No sympathy and proper chastisement for all.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Right!  You two, follow me.”

They were led to the bedroom where there was a cane laid out on the dresser.  David was not sure what to do, but Sir was, “Right Amanda!  Get that dress off and let David see what you have.”  Amanda undid her dress and dropped it to the floor revealing a curvy figure, black hold-up stockings and a red matching bra and panties set.

“David!  Amanda needs her arse turned red by your hand before you cane her.  Do it!”

“Eh, yes Sir.  Amanda, over you come!”  He sat on the end of the bed and pulled Amanda over his knees and looked at Sir who nodded.  David started to spank Amanda over her panties. The strength of his smacks gradually increased  and they were producing a good response fromhis victim. He paused to pull her panties right down and the resumed the spanking.  All the time he saw Sir nodding his approval at him. Sir then indicated that it was time to stop, and Amanda scurried off David’s knees, immediately rubbing her bottom before pulling her panties up from her ankles.

Sir spoke, “Do you want to have Amanda thank you, David?”

“Well, that would be nice, Sir.”

It was not the thank you he expected as Amanda knelt on the floor and undid his trousers and started to suck on his very erect cock.  “Now, imagine how she will thank you if you cane her hard!”

“Now Amanda, that’s enough.   Go and stand in the corner.

In a change to the prearranged plan, Sir interjected, saying, “And now, while Amanda contemplates her caning, I want you to strip naked please David. Let me show you how I spank.”

David eagerly took all his clothes off and was soon over Sir’s knees being spanked very hard and long.  He glanced at Amanda in the corner.  She had turned round a bit, and was watching and smiling.

“Now get off and thank me, David.”  David then found himself eagerly sucking on Sir’s enlarged cock in the same way as Amanda had done his.

“Right then, Amanda.  David is going to cane your arse for you.”

David needed no further telling and picked the cane up.  He indicated to Amanda that she should bend over the side of the bed.  He swished the cane then grabbed at her panties and pulled them down.  He took aim and swished the first stroke down hard on her already red arse. She yelled and Sir smiled.

David carried on caning this delightful bottom and delivered a full 12 strokes before looking for approval from Sir.  “Same again, please.”

David gladly continued the caning and brought more yells from his willing victim with each stroke.  Then it was over.  Tears streamed down from Amanda’s eyes but somehow she looked totally wanton.  David had not noticed when, but Sir hd made himself naked as well, and was erect for all to see.

Amanda took the lead and said, “Now David, get your arse in the air for me and let me get my revenge.  This will hurt!”

David did as instructed and felt a light tap followed by an agonising swish as the first stroke landed. In all she gave him 12 strokes and each caused him to jump and bite his lip.  After Amanda’s dozen, Sir took over and landed another mighty 12 strokes, taking David’s breath away.  It was then back to Amanda who teased him by touching David’s flaccid cock, bringing it back to life.  However, his semi soon vanished as she started to give him a second 12 strokes.  Every one burned deep into his already battered rump.  He was told to stand and Amanda took his place.

David then watched as Sir landed 12 more painful strokes on Amanda’s rear.  The atmosphere was electric and after the dozen strokes Sir said, “Now Amanda, thank David properly!”

She almost seemed to slide over and took David onto the bed where she sat astride him. He slipped into her over-moist pussy, with Sir watching avidly.  David found it all amazing.  He had difficulty holding back, but did so as he thought he knew what was to come as a finale.

Amanda jumped off David and Sir bent her over and pounded away at her cheeks, screwing her to delirium.  Then David was ordered back over the edge of the bed and Amanda gave him a further dozen of the cane before they heard the familiar sound of a condom wrapper being torn open.  A squelch of lube followed and Amanda stood watching and smiling.  David felt Sir push rather gently at his bum hole.  Slowly but surely Sir eased his manly cock inside David.  Amanda laughed and said, “Screw him darling, screw him hard!”

Of course Sir didn’t need telling, as he always screwed hard.  Just as he was coming Amanda gave David a hand, jacking him off explosively.

Afterwards the three of them showered together and had some more wine before promisingthemselves that they would schedule a repeat session.  It never happened in fact, but perhaps a one-off was best for all concerned?

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 Story text © MMXX by David Stewart

Story used here by very kind permission of the author

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D I S C L A I M E R

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

_______________

I hope you’re going to comment on this one – please use link at top of story

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