Santa Doesn’t Make Mistakes (M/M) NEW!

♥ Site recommended story ♥

A festive new caning story by very special guest author JOELSTRAP.  This story is exclusive to The Canery!  All the characters are 18 or older. WARNING: ADULTS ONLY!

Santa Doesn’t Make Mistakes by Joelstrap

“Come with me,” said the blond hunk softly.

“But where are we……..?”

“Just come,” he reiterated; and he took my hand firmly and led me forward.

The passage was almost dark, and so narrow that I had to walk behind him. The only illumination was from small lights set into the wall near the floor and at waist height. The blond guy, who appeared to be wearing only skin-tight shorts, was mostly in shadow, but I could appreciate his stature, a little under six feet, as well as the long, slim legs, narrow waist, broad shoulders and fully-rounded buttocks. We turned a corner into a blaze of light.

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

I came home from University with my boyfriend Jordan about the tenth of December and we met up with some former school-chums, who were studying in other places, and had also come home for the Christmas-holiday. It had been a riotous evening as we visited several pubs before buying take-away curries which we had planned to eat on a bench by the river. Heavy rain, however, put paid to this plan and instead we made our way to Kev’s house, because he had a couple of rooms over the large garage which his well-off parents had made into a bedroom and sitting-room for his own use. A small toilet on the landing and a tiny kitchen in a corner meant that Kev could be independent when he chose; and have friends in without disturbing his parents or younger brothers in the main house. Six of us duly gathered there, shaking rain from our hair and casting coats in a pile in a corner. Kev did some re-heating of curries in a microwave and we sprawled contentedly on chairs or cushions on the floor, talking and arguing happily.

At one point, quite late in the evening, when we had all drunk quite a bit, Phil came over and sat on the floor between my feet. He was slim and lithe with jet-black, shortish hair and large eyes which seemed to pierce me to the soul. He tilted his head back so that it was resting on my genitals; which reacted instantaneously and powerfully.

“Wow! I didn’t know you liked me so much,” said Phil softly.

“I don’t! I mean, of course I like you, but not like that.”

“So why you sporting a boner to tie up a cruise-liner to?”

“I dunno! You putting your head in my crotch. Things just happen,” I retorted.

“I like you a lot,” said Phil, rubbing the back of his head against my throbbing organ and making me gasp as spasms of intense delight surged through me.

“Well, I’m with Jordan,” I insisted, “so stop doing that, Phil.”

“Don’t you like it, Simon?”

“Of course I like it! But you shouldn’t be doing it. Jordan will pulverise you.”

“Jordan’s too busy arguing with Kev about footie.”

I glanced across the room to see that Phil was right.

“All the same, whether he notices or not, it’s wrong. Now go away.”

“Don’t want to,” declared Phil petulantly; and he rubbed his head hard against my balls and inner thighs.

Terrified that I was going to cum in my pants, I pushed him away. He slid forward on his bottom, turned round and sat looking up into my face.

“I’d love to kiss you, Simon,” he declared, suddenly thrusting his tongue out from between parted lips and then withdrawing it.

My cock strained for more length and I had to shove a hand into my jeans to ease the pressure.

“And you want me to kiss you, don’t you? Will you kiss me back? Tongues entwining like mating snakes?”

“Shut the fuck up, Phil!” I snapped.

I got up, gasping as my erection tried to burst free of my jeans, and crossed to the other side of the room to join Jordan and Kev. About half an hour later, Jordan told me he’d have to go as he needed to be up early next morning to go to work. The local authority had set up a spectacular Christmas-exhibition in part of the museum, to mark three hundred years since the establishment of the town, and Jordan had got a temporary job there, thanks to his dad knowing the young engineer who maintained the “Christmas Ride”. This was a part of the exhibition where you sat in a chair and it moved forward slowly through a twisting route, while scenes and holograms brought the history of the winter-solstice, Yule and Christmas celebrations to vivid life. I said I’d come with him, but he insisted I stay until the others went home, as I had no need to be up early next day. We kissed goodnight at the door and I returned to join a political argument with Ron and Jack.

As we were leaving Kev’s place to head home, Phil joined me. His house wasn’t far from mine, so it was natural that we should walk home together. Once we were out of sight of the others, he took my hand. I tried to pull it away, but he held on tightly.

“Come on, Simon; I’m white hot for you,” he pleaded. “I’m not asking to get into your pants – although I’d love to – just a few kisses. Yeh?”

“But I’m with Jordan and I can’t……..”

Phil stopped and stood right in front of me, his dark eyes looking straight into mine, his lips parted, the tip of his tongue just visible between his even teeth. He moved a step forward so that our bodies touched and I could feel his massive arousal pressed against mine. I tried to pull away, but something seemed to hold me back. I was aware of his mouth moving steadily towards mine and, in spite of my decision not to do so, I found myself moving my head forward to meet him. The touching of lips was like an electric-shock which felt as though it streaked through me to the soles of my feet. When his mouth moved on mine, I made a half-hearted effort to resist; and then gave in. The kiss lasted a long time and when eventually we drew reluctantly apart, I gazed at him, speechless.

“Oh, fuck! I shouldn’t have…….”

“Didn’t you like it, Simon?”

“Of course I fucking liked it!” I panted. “But you mustn’t do…….”

His mouth closed again on mine; and once more my resistance crumbled.

We eventually parted at my gate as he continued along the road to his own house; but by then we’d shared several more passionate kisses and his last words to me were, “I’d love to kiss that cute arse of yours, Simon; bare of course.”

Before I could respond to this, he’d dropped my hand and sped off along the road.

I retired to my room, stripped naked and wanked myself off energetically, reliving Phil’s kisses. Next morning I awoke to a hangover, vivid memories and a guilty conscience. I was furious with myself over what I’d allowed Phil to do; and I resolved to keep well clear of him and to be especially attentive to Jordan.

I tried to adhere to my resolve, but with Jordan working all day, six days a week, I found that spending time with Phil was pleasant. I didn’t seek him out, but he knew the kind of places I went during the day and often turned up. We had a few intense snogging sessions, but I resisted any attempts by him to get into my pants; and I used this to calm my conscience over the kissing.

As Christmas drew nearer, Kev came up to me one morning in the cafe and told me he had a present for me.

“But we don’t usually give each other presents,” I objected. “Presents cost money; and students don’t have a lot of it.”

“Yeh, well, this isn’t actually costing me anything,” Kev admitted, looking slightly embarrassed. “I’ve got a mate who’s involved with the Council’s Christmas displays and exhibition, and he’s given me a couple of tickets to get in to see it all immediately after it closes for the evening tonight.”

“Wow! I hear it’s really good; and that ride-thing, where you’re taken through the history of Yule from ancient times to the present, is supposed to be spectacular. But why are you wanting to take me?”

“I was given two tickets. I want to go myself and so I needed one other guy. I know Jordan knows the exhibition and the ride inside out, because he’s working there; so it wouldn’t be much of a treat for him to go. I….er….I asked him earlier if it’d be okay to take you, and he was fine with it,” said Kev.

“Great! You’re on!”

I spoke briefly to Jordan as he emerged from the building at the end of the day and he confirmed he was okay with me going to see it all with Kev.

“It’s ace,” he affirmed. “You’ll love it! But no snogging Kev in the dark, when you’re going through the Yule-Christmas ride!”

“As if I would!” I replied, ignoring the small stab of conscience over my kissing sessions with Phil.

“Don’t worry,” Kev reassured him. “I won’t be trying to kiss him; not that I wouldn’t like to,” he added thoughtfully. “He’s one spunky boy, Jordan.”

“I know. Meet you at the BoyBunsBar after you’ve been through the exhibition, Simon? Maybe about seven-thirty?” said Jordan.

“Great! I was gonna say that I’ll tell you all about it; but I guess I won’t need to, since you know already,” I said.

“There’s always the possibility of a surprise,” observed Kev; and he took my arm and piloted me to the entrance, handing over his two tickets and leading me inside.

The place was almost deserted and I remarked to Kev that I’d assumed other people would also have been given special tickets to get in this evening. He shrugged.

“Probably coming along later,” he said. “Come on, let’s go and explore.”

The exhibition was well-done, Kev was entertaining company, and we had an enjoyable forty minutes or so before we came to the climax of the experience: the ride on the chairs through the darkness from earliest celebrations of Yule and the winter-solstice up to present-day Christmas. I recognised Mike, the young engineer whose friendship with Jordan’s dad had landed Jordan the Christmas job here.

He was dressed in dark overalls and grinned at us as we approached the gateway to the ride. I liked the look of him. His hair was cropped short and a dark stubble showed round his chin. Chocolate-brown eyes danced in a sun-browned face.

He lifted the bar on the chair by the entrance and told us that the ride lasted just over ten minutes and he’d see us shortly. We sat in the two-seat chair, the bar was lowered across our laps, and the chair began to move slowly forward into the darkness.

We turned a corner and were in a pastoral setting from long ago, while a young male hologram described early practices in connection with the winter-solstice. The chair twisted and turned as it slid slowly forward in time and we passed through scene after scene until we came to the Victorian Christmas. Trees and cards and Santa Clauses appeared and perfect families clustered round roaring log-fires, opening gaily-coloured presents. The chair eased forward round another turn – and all the lights went out.

“Shit! I think the thing’s broken down,” muttered Kev; but even as he spoke a faint light began to grow, and out of the darkness ahead there emerged a stunning blond guy, clad in nothing but skin-tight shorts. He stepped forward, raised the bar and summoned us out of the chair.

“Follow me,” he said and he took my hand while Kev trotted along behind.

We turned a sharp corner and on a sudden found ourselves in a space flooded with light. I blinked as my eyes adjusted after the darkness of the last minute or so; and then I stopped and gasped aloud. There was a bench on the floor near the centre of the room, and standing beside it was Mike, the engineer, clad now in leather jeans and black boots with a studded belt about his waist. His muscular torso was bare, brown skin gleaming in the light; and in his hands he was arching a lithe cane.

I glanced round towards Kev, but he had mysteriously vanished; and the blond hunk was drawing me inexorably forward.

“What the………” I began.

“This is one of the old traditions of Christmas,” interrupted Mike. “When boys behave badly, instead of presents, they get a beating. They say that Santa’s got a Naughty List and, if he has, you, young Simon, are very definitely on it. I’ve altered the ride this evening to bring you here, so that you can get what you richly deserve for cheating on Jordan.”

I gasped aloud. How did he know?

“I don’t….I mean, what are you….? You’re gonna cane me?” I ended disbelievingly.

“Do you deny that you’ve been cheating on your boyfriend, Simon?”

“It wasn’t really……..I mean, Phil kind of………I never let him into my pants; honest. It was just a bit of snogging. It never meant anything. It didn’t!” I insisted desperately.

“So your conscience is clear?” asked Mike.

I hesitated.

“I thought so,” observed Mike.

“What?” I demanded irately.

“Guilty,” declared Mike. “Sentence: twelve strokes of the cane across your bare bottom; hard.”

“Twelve? Bare? Fuck you!” I snarled.

Next moment Blond Hunk and Kev, who had suddenly reappeared, hauled me forward to the bench and began to undo my jeans.

“Get off, you buggers!” I snapped, trying to stop them; but I was no match for them both and despite my vigorous resistance they soon had me bare from the waist down.

“Boy! You do know a lot of bad words,” observed Mike as I let Blond Hunk and Kev know exactly what I thought of them. “This caning is very definitely deserved; and I might add a couple of strokes for the bad language.”

“You’re not giving me any strokes with that fucking cane!” I yelled as I struggled in vain to get away.

“Hold him in position, guys,” instructed Mike; and Blond Hunk and Kev took an arm each, yanked it back hard so that I yelped, and forced me to stand astride the bench and then pushed my head down, hands held forward and above my head. Any movement delivered a sharp pain between my shoulders.

“Nice target, guys,” observed Mike as he came to one side of me and ran a hand over my raised, vulnerable buttocks. “Okay. Hold him tightly. He’s gonna feel this.”

I heard the cane being slashed viciously through the air just behind me and I winced instinctively. A few seconds later I felt the lithe rod being rapped repeatedly on my behind before it was lifted away.

“You fucking dare!” I panted.

The cane lashed hard across the centre of my globes and a searing pain ripped through my bottom forcing a yelp from me. I made a determined effort to break free from Kev and Blond Hunk, but they just forced my arms still further forward behind my head, driving it down until it almost touched the bench, and sending a ferocious blast of pain into my arm-sockets. Scarcely had I managed to process this than the cane whipped across my bottom once more and the fiery streak of agony it imparted made me squeal and squirm. I began again to protest, but my words were cut off by a third cane-stroke on the underside of my buttocks, which elicited a violent writhe and a half-stifled yell.

“You’re getting through to him,” remarked Blond Hunk.

I was too busy trying to cope with the blazing fires in my rear to make any comment; and a second or two later, Mike wielded the slim cane yet again, this time right on my crease. I shrieked as an explosion of incandescent flame seemed to rip my bottom apart. I tried to get my right leg over the bench to the side where my left was so that I could clench my glutes harder, but Blond Hunk hooked it back with his powerful leg and I just had to stand there helpless, shuddering with pain, and endure.

So it continued, stroke after powerfully-delivered stroke, each one lacerating my flesh with excoriating fires. Some landed right on top of earlier ones and raised the pain-level dramatically, while others cross-cut the welts raised by one or two previous cuts, and also pushed the agony to new heights. By the time Mike announced that I’d had twelve, I was lathered in sweat, quivering uncontrollably and panting as if I’d just run a marathon.

“And two more for the bad language,” said Mike.

“Please! No!” I yelped.

He hit me hard across the tops of my legs and as fresh pain blossomed, I howled and kicked. A final stroke landed on an oblique diagonal across the welts on my crease and I twisted and writhed as the torment achieved new levels of intensity.

I gradually panted and shuddered myself to near silence and stillness. In my behind, searing fires yet blazed, but I was mastering them.

“Yeh. I think he got the message,” said Kev.

“Stand him up,” ordered Mike, and Blond Hunk and Kev pulled me upright, but kept hold of my wrists, so that I couldn’t caress my throbbing bottom.

“You won’t be cheating on Jordan again,” said Mike grimly, flexing his cane before my eyes. “Understand?”

I nodded dumbly.

“I didn’t hear you, Simon.”

“No,” I said in an unsteady voice, “I won’t. I promise.”

“Let him go,” said Mike to the two guys, who at once released my wrists.

I rubbed tears from my face and then felt my way slowly and wonderingly over the welts and ridges on my burning bottom. To my surprise, my penis hardened a little. Once I’d got myself under control, I turned to Mike.

“Thanks,” I said quietly. “That was sheer hell, but I know I needed it. You won’t have to do it again. Does….does Jordan know?” I asked nervously.

“No,” replied Kev; “and none of us is gonna be telling him.”

“Thanks. It’s probably best he hears it from me,” I said.

“But you’re surely not gonna…….” began Kev before Mike interrupted.

“Very wise, Simon,” he said quietly.

For another minute or two I rubbed at my behind and then Mike told me to get my pants and jeans up again. I flinched as the fabric touched my beaten skin.

“Right. You and Kev need to get back in the chair and finish the ride,” advised Mike; and Blond Hunk led us out into the dark passage.

I winced and gasped aloud as I sat carefully on the hard metal seat beside Kev. The bar was lowered across our laps, the chair began to move and we slid smoothly into an Edwardian Christmas. A minute or two later we emerged into the entrance of the ride and got out. I followed Kev into an area with seats and tables; but I opted to stand.

“How did you find out?” I asked.

“I actually saw you on a couple of occasions with Phil,” Kev admitted. “I know Phil. He’s a flirt and he goes for what he wants; but I know you and Jordan have got a strong red-hot relationship, and I thought you just got kind of carried away by Phil’s charm; and his persistence. Besides, he’s a fucking sexy kisser.”

“He’s kissed you?”

“Oh yeh. I had a fling with him for a few weeks, but I soon realised he was getting bored and was taking an interest in other guys. That kind of boy isn’t for me; nor for you,” declared Kev. “So I told Mike, because he knows Jordan and doesn’t want him hurt; and he decided that you needed to be taught a lesson. For your own good,” he added.

I rubbed slowly at my still-burning rear. Kev stood right in front of me and put his hands behind his back.

“Okay. If you want to hit me, now’s your chance,” he said. “I won’t try to stop you, and I won’t retaliate.”

I raised my hands and I saw him wince, and a tension streaked through his body. I put a hand on each of his shoulders and kissed him firmly on the mouth.

“Thanks, Kev,” I said. “You’re the kind of friend every boy needs; and if you ever see me cheating on Jordan again, you’ve got my full permission to haul me off to Mike and get him to beat the living fuck out of me.”

Kev grinned and, taking my arm, led me to the exit. He walked with me to the BoyBunsBar and told me to join Jordan where he was sitting at a table alone.

“Hi, sexy arse,” Jordan greeted me. “How was it then?”

“Incredible,” I told him. “It was completely out of this world. I’ve never experienced anything like it in my life. It’s really marked me and I’ll never forget it.”

“Yeh? I didn’t think it was that good. I mean, I know it’s spectacular, but I wouldn’t have said it was out-of-this-world good.”

“I…..eh, well…..I experienced a part of the ride that you’ve never seen,” I said.

At that moment Kev came across and put a pint in front of each of us.

“Cheers, guys. Have a good night,” he said; and before either of us could protest, he was gone.

Jordan looked at me for several seconds and then said, “Okay; what’s going on?”

“Let’s drink our pints,” I said “and then go back to your place and I’ll reveal all.”

In his room an hour or so later, I dropped my jeans and pants and turned my back to Jordan. He let out an audible gasp.

“What the fucking hell happened to you?”

“Have you got any cold-cream?”

Jordan nodded and took some from a drawer. I lay face-down on his bed and invited him to anoint my cane-welts. While he did so, tenderly and thoroughly, I told him everything, beginning from Phil’s initial approach in Kev’s house, right through to my appearance on Santa’s Naughty List and the subsequent caning.

“I had to tell you,” I ended, “otherwise I don’t think my conscience would have been completely clear; even after that brutal caning. So, it’s not quite over yet, Jordan, is it?”

For several seconds he continued to caress my behind and then he lay on my shoulders and licked my ear.

“Yes, it is over,” he said softly. “I forgive you. That Phil’s a bit of a menace. He could do with a good hard dose of Mike’s cane as well.”

“But he wasn’t really doing anything wrong,” I said. “He made a play for me and I was too weak to resist completely and tell him where to get off. I won’t be making that mistake again. I was the one who did the wrong thing and I was the one who got beaten. Santa doesn’t make mistakes.”

“I guess you’re right.”

Jordan got up and pulled open a drawer in a chest. He took out a wooden-headed bath-brush.

“My dad used to spank me with this when I was younger,” he said. “Five minutes with it on my bare arse and he had me bawling my eyes out and promising him eternal obedience,” he said reminiscently. “It won’t sting as fiercely as a cane; but I reckon I could get through to you with it, Simon.”

“You’re gonna spank me?”

“Only if I don’t think you’re paying me enough attention; and maybe a couple of minutes every Sunday evening to remind you to be a good boy all week.”

“Shit!”

“They say a puppy isn’t just for Christmas; and I think Santa’s discipline isn’t just for Christmas either. You’re one red-hot boy, Simon, and you’re mine; and I’m gonna make darned sure you stay that way.”

I raised myself up on to my knees and kissed him passionately; and we were soon entwined naked in an energetic session of love-making, which was so intensely thrilling that we did it all again; and then a third time. Jordan lay with his head resting on my chest.

“Wow!” he murmured. “That caning didn’t half improve your performance, Simon. It was pretty awesome before, but now it’s stellar.”

“See? I told you my experience tonight was out of this world,” I said happily.

Jordan picked up his bath-brush.

“And I’ve a feeling we might be using this quite a lot,” he said, “just to make sure you stay faithful and our sex always gets us into orbit.”

“I’m sure I can get you into orbit without needing to be spanked first,” I objected. “And I swear I’m not gonna be cheating on you again.”

“Mmm. But Santa, in the form of that fantastic guy, Mike, has demonstrated what a difference getting your arse beaten makes,” declared Jordan. “And so……..”

“Mike’s a vicious brute,” I interpolated feelingly, rubbing at my bottom.

“……..I’ve learned a lesson too: that you need to be tanned regularly. Santa’s set me a great example and I’ll be following it. Like you said yourself, Santa doesn’t make mistakes.”

______________

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.

 

Other hot Christmas stories by Joelstrap here at The Canery are:

The Cane In The Chimney

Leon’s Christmas Present

 

Further great stories by Joelstrap may be found at this external link

D Is For Declined (M/M) NEW!

♥ Site recommended story ♥

A spanking hot new sequel by very special guest author JOELSTRAP.  This story is exclusive to The Canery!  All the characters are 18 or over. WARNING: ADULTS ONLY!

D Is For Declined by Joelstrap

(This story is a sequel, as requested, to ‘C Is For Cane’. It’s not essential to have read that first, but it probably helps.)

“Well, guys,” said Ben expectantly. “Am I going to get the pleasure of using my cane on the bottom of either or both of you this time?”

Gregor and I glanced at each other and then pulled out our latest essays and showed them to Ben, so that he could see the ‘B+’ in the corner of each. Ben’s face fell and he looked so mournful that I almost felt sorry for him.

“Shit!” he exclaimed. “I’m too good at using the cane; that’s the trouble. I’ve got you pair so scared of its sting that you’re really buckling down and producing the work. A fortnight since I got to cane Joshua’s beautifully-rounded bottom after he got an ‘A’, a ‘B+’ and a ‘B’ in his end-of-term exam; just a little short of the minimum of three ‘B-pluses’ which I’d demanded. And I didn’t get to cane you at all, worse luck,” he said to Gregor.

“Yeh, well, I don’t want to be caned again, thank you,” retorted Greg, “so you best get used to being disappointed, Ben.”

“Ah, careful now,” cautioned Ben. “The term is young and there are four more essays to be written, plus the end-of-term exam. Are you sure you’ve got the self-discipline to maintain that standard of work for another eight weeks, Greg?”

“When the alternative’s eight sizzlers with that fucking cane of yours,” replied Greg firmly, “my self-discipline’s rock-hard.”

“Mine too,” I agreed. “It’s only a couple of weeks since you gave me six on the bare for that ‘B’ in the exam., and I can still remember vividly how much they stung. You’re not gonna do that to my arse again if I can help it.”

“You two are just a pair of bloody spoilsports,” grumbled Ben good-naturedly. “Come on! I’ll treat you to a pint down the pub.”

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

In the second essay of the term, I managed an ‘A’ while Greg again got the necessary ‘B+’. We felt so sorry for Ben that on that occasion we each stood him a pint.

“Maybe we should deliberately do a poor essay next time, so he gets a chance to cane us,” I suggested playfully to Greg.

“Yeh?” said Ben, looking hopeful.

“No!” said Greg, looking determined.

There was a fourth resident in our flat, a second-year student called Callum whom we got on with okay, but didn’t see a lot of because he was doing different subjects. It was a day or two after the second essay that he announced that he was moving out.

“I’ve got this girl,” he confided to us one evening when we were all at home, “and we’ve managed to get a couple of rooms in a big house. The owner needs a bit of income and so we get a bedroom and living-room and use of the kitchen and bathroom. With what we get from our weekend jobs, it’s affordable: just. I’ll be moving out of here on Saturday morning. I’ve told the Accommodation Office and they’ve got a guy lined up to take my room here. Seems he’s in digs where the food’s like pig-swill and he’s gotta go and ask for the bath-plug once a week so that he can have a bath. Any more often and he has to pay.”

“Cor! This is gonna seem like heaven to the poor guy after that,” exclaimed Greg.

“He’s first year, like you pair,” said Callum, “but he’s studying geology, so you probably won’t have come across him. He’s called Terry; and……er……I think you might like him, because he’s gay.”

“How do you know that?” I asked.

“He told me. I tracked him down so that I could tell him about things here and I thought I should warn him to keep his back to the wall, what with you pair of randy bucks around, and that’s when he said he was gay and…………….”

“You told him WHAT?” demanded Greg, standing up angrily.

“We don’t go around pouncing on straight guys,” I objected. “No way!”

“They don’t,” put in Ben. “I’m straight; spend every weekend with my girlfriend fucking her inside out; but they’ve never shown any interest in me.”

“You’re pretty spunky for an old guy though,” I said, eyeing him appreciatively.

“Old guy? I’m twenty-three,” protested Ben.

“I hope you didn’t tell him he’d need to lock his bedroom door every night,” said Greg, still on his feet and looking down menacingly at Callum.

“Oh well, I can tell him that was just a joke,” replied Callum quickly. “Anyway, I’m off. Got a lot to do before the weekend.”

He jumped to his feet and bounded swiftly from the room, giving Greg a nervous glance as he did so.

“Maybe you could give that cheeky bastard a good hard dose of your cane, Ben,” muttered Greg wrathfully. “He’s got no business besmirching our characters like that.”

“Yeh; I agree,” said Ben, “but I can only cane guys who consent to being beaten; and I somehow don’t think Callum would want a caning.”

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

Terry was stunning in a kind of cute way. He was slender as a birch-tree; his hair was sunburst-blond and hung in a boyish fringe across his forehead, almost in his eyes; and those eyes were blue as the deep ocean. He got on well with all of us, including Ben, on the day he moved in; and we chatted easily over pizzas which Ben had ordered in to celebrate Terry’s arrival.

“I could fall for you myself,” admitted Ben, “if I wasn’t straight.”

“And I could definitely fall for you,” Terry told him, gazing admiringly at Ben’s powerful body. “But if you don’t wanna do anything with boys, then I’ll just have to forget it.”

“There is one thing Ben likes to do with boys,” said Greg.

We’d already agreed that we’d tell Terry about the arrangement Greg and I had with Ben about our work and the possibility of us being caned; because it would mean that we didn’t have to take care to make sure he was out if a caning was due. Greg duly explained to a wide-eyed Terry.

“So, young Terry, if you think your work isn’t up to standard and feel that you need a bit of incentive to work hard and get your study/social-life balance right, just let me know,” said Ben. “I like to cane a pair of attractive boy-buttocks; and yours definitely fit the bill.”

“Cane me? No way!” declared Terry emphatically.

“Okay. We just thought you should know what goes on so you don’t get any nasty surprises; but we’ll try to make sure neither of us gets caned when you’re around anyway,” I assured him.

“And we try bloody hard not to get caned at all,” added Greg, “because the cane stings like a thousand bees in a rage, and neither of us wants to feel it again.”

“They spoil all my fun,” declared Ben sadly.

“Boo-hoo!” retorted Greg callously; and Ben grinned broadly.

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

Greg and I were very much an item and usually spent the nights in each other’s room. We were deeply into each other and it was our inability to control ourselves and find a sensible balance between our sex-lives and our studies that had led to a sharp drop in the standard of our English-essays in the middle of our first term; and to Ben’s novel but highly effective solution, organised in collusion with my tutor.

It was about ten days after Terry had moved in that I came home and was surprised to find Greg absent. On asking Ben if he knew where he was, I was told that he and Terry had gone out together. I expected Greg back by seven o’clock, because we worked dutifully at our studies from then until ten; but he didn’t appear. I was just putting away my books for the evening when the pair came bounding in, eyes shining.

“Terry took me to this disco,” said Greg. “It was brilliant. Great music and quite a lot of sexy talent on show too.”

“Yeh? But what about your studying?” I asked, slightly miffed.

“It’s okay. I’ll catch up tomorrow,” said Greg airily.

“You sure, Greg?” put in Ben.

“Of course. No sweat.”

We all had some tea and biscuits and then Greg and I retired to his room. The sex was good; and yet I couldn’t help feeling a little uneasy. Was Terry making a move on Greg? And was Greg succumbing to his attractions? I told myself not to be silly; it was one evening. But it wasn’t. The next two nights, Greg was working with me as usual and my fears were allayed, only to be reignited the evening after when again he and Terry went off together and didn’t return until after eleven. I couldn’t help being a little cold towards Greg; and was relieved when he said he was tired and would sleep alone that night. At the weekend, Greg and I enjoyed ourselves together as we’d always done; but the following week he and Terry were out again on a couple of evenings. Another essay was due and I spoke anxiously to Ben.

“He’s not doing his studying, Ben,” I said. “He keeps saying he’ll catch up, but he doesn’t; and he can’t. I know he’s not done all the reading he should have done for the next essay.”

“I’ve noticed,” said Ben. “Maybe I’m going to get my wish to cane that gorgeous bum of his again soon.”

“Yeh, probably,” I said vaguely.

“Josh?” said Ben softly.

“Ben; do you think I’m losing Greg? Is he falling for Terry? Things just don’t feel quite….well, not just quite the same. I don’t know how to say it, but we’re not….we’re not as close as we were,” I confided uneasily.

Ben nodded gently and admitted that he’d noticed.

“I think, though,” he said to me with a smile, “that young Greg has just been led astray by Terry’s undoubted charms. I think he’ll take a tumble to himself before too long and realise that what you and he have got is a lot more valuable. If you want my advice,” continued Ben, “don’t make a scene, because if you do you’ll probably just push him further away. Be patient, Josh.”

“Easier said than done,” I muttered.

“Make the effort,” advised Ben.

I respected Ben and decided to accept his advice.

A few days later I got my latest essay back from my tutor and was relieved to see a ‘B+’ in the corner. I’d been concerned that my worries about Greg might have interfered with my work, but it seemed that my fears were groundless. I met Greg for lunch and asked how he’d done in his essay. He looked decidedly downcast as he pulled the script from his bag and plonked it down in front of me. I looked at the ‘C’ in the corner and then looked at Greg’s face.

“Go on then! Say it!” he snapped irately.

“I don’t need to say it. You know yourself what that means,” I said.

“You know he’s gonna give me eight?” asked Greg.

“Yeh. That’s the deal,” I agreed.

“And you’re pleased that I’m gonna get my hide tanned, aren’t you, Josh?”

“No. I wish you weren’t,” I assured him.

Greg rolled his eyes.

“What’s that for?” I asked, annoyed.

“You think I’ve been spending too much time having fun with Terry,” he accused.

“Well, haven’t you?” I enquired, nodding at his mark.

“Oh yeh. It’s all Terry’s fault because he’s a sexy guy,” he snapped at me.

“I never said that.”

“You think I need a fucking good beating, don’t you?”

“Okay; yes, I do,” I retorted angrily. “It might make you a bit nicer to me. You’d think I was the one who’d done something wrong the way you go on.”

“You think I’ve done something wrong?” demanded Greg.

“Well, haven’t you? You’ve neglected your work; and you did that, not me,” I told him, nettled at his attitude.

“I can make up on the work for the next essay,” said Greg.

“I guess eight with Ben’s cane across your bare arse will help persuade you,” I couldn’t help saying.

“Yeh? Well, I don’t have to let that sadistic brute cane me; and I’m not going to,” declared Greg.

I was about to reply when I heard Ben’s voice in my head advising me not to make a scene. I swallowed hard and said carefully, “Come on. Let’s go back to the flat after the afternoon lectures, and have sex.”

Greg looked slightly embarrassed.

“Er, I’ve actually arranged to go ice-skating with Terry,” he said, not meeting my eyes.

“Okay,” I said with an effort. “See you this evening then.”

I got up and walked away.

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

Ben was delighted with my essay-result, but when I told him about Greg he looked sombre.

“Hmm. I’ll have to think about this,” he said.

“And I’ll have to think about getting a new boyfriend,” I said sadly.

“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” retorted Ben, rising to his feet.

“But if Greg’s with Terry,” I began, “then I need to………”

“Greg with Terry? Balderdash!”

“But, Ben, he’s…….”

“No, he’s not. Now, just toughen up a bit, Josh, and stand firm. In fact, just wait there a moment.”

Ben vanished into his room and returned with the cane.

“You maybe don’t need it for your essay,” he said, “but I think maybe you need it to stiffen up your resolve. Jeans and pants down and bend over, Josh.”

“But I….”

“No, you don’t.”

“This isn’t necessary………”

“Yes, it is.”

“I’m not bending……..”

“Yes, you are.”

I did. He delivered four sizzling strokes to my bare bottom and made me gasp as the fierce sting lashed my buttocks. I stood up, rubbing at flaming buns, and eyed him warily.

“Now I don’t want to hear any more talk of giving up on Greg and finding a new boyfriend,” said Ben quietly. “Because if I do hear any more about it, I’ll take this cane to you again, even harder. Understand, Josh?”

I nodded, still scrubbing at the burning welts on my behind. Ben retreated to his room and I just stood there, pants and jeans around my ankles, rump blazing like a furnace, wondering. After a few minutes, I pulled up my clothes and asked Ben if he’d like to come down to the pub for half an hour.

“You’re still speaking to me?”

“Of course I am! You’d probably cane me again if I didn’t,” I added mischievously. “I’m not neglecting my work, by the way; well not much anyway. I need a break after the day I’ve had. Come on, Ben, I’ll stand you a pint.”

Half an hour later, I returned to the flat alone, because Ben had met a friend and wanted to stay longer. As I entered the narrow hallway and closed the outside door, I was aware of raised voices in the living-room. I paused and listened, recognising Greg and Terry.

“Stop getting on at me!” Terry was shouting angrily.

“I’m not getting on at you! I want to know why you stormed off the skating-rink like that and left me.”

“I told you! I couldn’t fucking do it! I kept falling on my arse!”

“So? You said you’d never been skating before; what did you expect? That you’d have one practice-run round the rink and then skate like an Olympic-gold-medallist?” Greg snapped.

“You were laughing at me!”

“I was not!” declared Greg. “I was doing all I could to help you. I knew you’d need time to learn; but you didn’t even give it a proper try. Went off in a huff like a spoiled brat.”

“Who the hell do you think you’re calling a spoiled brat?” demanded an outraged-sounding Terry.

“Look, let’s go back down to the rink and try again,” said Greg in what appeared to be a carefully-controlled, calm voice.

“No way! I’m not gonna make a fool of myself just to entertain you, mate,” snarled Terry.

I heard Greg sigh before he said quietly, “Please, Terry?”

“I’m not going back,” declared Terry vehemently. “Fucking stupid thing skating. Who wants to go whizzing around on a plate of ice, getting his balls frozen off anyway!”

“It’s fun,” replied Greg. “Me and Josh used to have……..”

“Oh, yeh! Bring him up!”

“I’m just saying that if you’d stick with it for a little while, then you might get to enjoy it.”

“And I’m just saying it’s a stupid thing, for brainless dumbos!” yelled Terry, apparently losing it.

“If you can’t stick with skating for a bit when it’s tough, how are you gonna stick with a relationship when things get tough?” Greg said loudly.

“What relationship?”

“Us,” said Greg.

“I’m just having fun,” declared Terry. “There’s no fucking relationship.”

There was a silence. I slipped softly out of the front-door and ran down the stairs. I waited a couple of minutes and then went back up, entered the flat’s hallway and slammed the outside-door loudly behind me. There were still raised voices in the living-room, but they stopped abruptly when I banged the door. I marched into the living-room.

“Oh, sorry,” I said. “Am I interrupting? I’ll go to my room and….”

“It’s okay,” said Greg. “We decided not to go skating after all.”

Terry gave him a venomous look and then turned on his heel and stormed out of the flat.

“Greg?” I said carefully.

“Shut up, Josh!”

I fell silent and sat down at the table. Greg suddenly dashed into his room. Mindful of Ben’s advice about patience, I just waited. A few minutes later, Greg re-emerged and came and sat down opposite me. His eyes were red and he looked thoroughly despondent.

I laid my hand cautiously on his and asked, “You wanna tell me what happened to you, Greg?”

He raised his eyes and looked at me and then gulped and remained silent; but he didn’t withdraw his hand.

“Okay, I’ll start,” I said, “by telling you what happened to me.”

I stood up, dropped my jeans and pants and turned my back to him.

“What the….?”

“I got caned,” I said superfluously as I pulled up my clothing again and sat down.

“I can see that.”

“It wasn’t for my essay.”

“I know that. You got a B+.”

“It was for you.”

“Ben caned you for MY essay-mark?” asked Greg.

“No, you chump. It was nothing to do with………”

“Ah, Greg,” said Ben, coming into the room, “how did your last essay go?”

“Okay,” said Greg non-committally.

Ben raised his eyebrows at him.

“You’re not caning me,” said Greg, avoiding Ben’s gaze.

“Should I have been caning you, Greg?”

“Ben!” I interrupted, “I think I need to talk to Greg for a few minutes. Would that be okay?”

Ben gave me a flash of a smile and without another word returned to his room.

“Okay, sunshine, spill!” I said. “You look like a wet Sunday in Shetland. You told me you were going skating with Terry, but you’re back here far sooner than you should have been. You’re gonna explain.”

“I’m sorry, Josh,” he said softly.

“That Ben caned me?”

“No, you ass! Well, I mean, yeh, I’m sorry you got a caning; but I’m sorry for how I’ve been treating you. Look, Josh, I’ve been a fool. Don’t say anything,” he went on swiftly as I opened my mouth. “Just listen. Terry kind of fascinated me. He’s fucking gorgeous; well, you know that. I got kind of carried away with all his attention to me; and it was great fun. You know I like skating; we’ve been on the rink quite a lot together. I was looking forward to going with Terry tonight; and then he told me he’d never tried skating before. Well, that was okay. I said I’d help him; and I did. But, Josh, he just lost his rag when he kept falling over. I told him that was normal for a beginner and just to keep going; and……and he had a big fall and cracked his elbow and suddenly told me I was as useless as a paper umbrella in a downpour; and he stormed off in a huff and just left me. I followed him back here and we….we had a huge row.”

I gave him a hug.

“I said to him that if he gives in that easily when it comes to skating, what’s he gonna be like if a relationship gets tough? And the bugger said he wasn’t having a relationship; he was just having fun. And I thought about you, still here for me even though I’ve treated you like shit; and so…..I’m sorry, Josh. More sorry than I can say.”

I hugged him again.

“I got the cane,” I said.

“Yeh; you told me. Why?”

“Because I told Ben I’d need to try to find a new boyfriend.”

Greg stared.

“Ben….Ben thought that was a bad idea?” asked Greg tentatively.

I scrubbed at my bottom.

“Yeh,” I concurred, “he did; and he made sure I got the message.”

“I’m glad,” said Greg.

“That I got the cane?”

“That you got the message not to look for a new boyfriend.”.

“So, you saying that you’re dropping Terry and coming back to me?” I asked.

“If you’ll have me,” he whispered and his eyes were swimming with tears.

I kissed him hard for a long time. When we came up for air, he said, “I’ll take that as a yes.”

I nodded and kissed him again. It took a long time. We were interrupted by Ben who had come in again, unnoticed by either of us until he grabbed a handful of our hair and pulled us apart.

“Okay, guys, you’ve had your time to talk. Now it’s time to tell me what’s going on.”

Between us we explained.

“So it’s all sorted out? Great!” declared Ben.

“I know I’ve been an idiot,” admitted Greg.

“And I was almost an idiot too – until you persuaded me not to rush at finding a new boyfriend,” I confessed.

“So, it will be back to the normal work/social-life balance again then, Greg?”

“Yeh. I know I’ve got a bit to catch up; but I’ll do it.”

“Fine; so, just as a matter of interest, what mark did you get for your essay, Greg?”

Greg went scarlet to the roots of his hair.

“That bad?” asked Ben. “Oh well, you said you weren’t gonna let me cane you, so I guess it doesn’t matter anyway.”

He stood up and retired to his room.

“Yeh, well, right,” said Greg uncertainly.

“Let’s go into my room and just relax together,” I said.

“We should be studying,” muttered Greg.

“Just this once, we’ll have an evening off. Come on.”

We stripped and lay entwined on my bed and kissed and caressed and chatted softly.

“Josh?”

“Huh?”

“I should go and get caned by Ben.”

“Wouldn’t you rather get fucked by me?”

“Yeh; but after.”

“You sure, Greg?”

“It’s like Ben said; we’re back to normal. I fucked up with my essay, so I should take the cane.”

“He’s not gonna insist on it, Greg.”

“I know. But I won’t feel right if I don’t take it.”

“You’ll feel hell of a sore if you do take it.”

Greg gave me a hurt look and I apologised for being frivolous.

“I think I’ll go and ask him if he’ll do it now,” said Greg. “Will you come and stay with me?”

“You want me to watch you getting the cane?”

Greg nodded.

“And then bring me back here and…..er…comfort me, Josh?”

“Of course. I’ll be here for you.”

We dressed and went through into the living-room. Ben was sitting reading. Greg went over and stood in front of him, hands behind his back like he was a naughty schoolboy.

“I want to say sorry,” he began, “for being rude to you. I shouldn’t have told you that I wouldn’t take the cane for my essay-mark. I only got a ‘C’ and so I deserve eight strokes; and I want…….I want you to give them to me, please.”

“You sure, Greg?”

“Absolutely certain.”

“Okay. You know what to do. I’ll get my cane.”

Ben went to his room and Greg swiftly bared his bottom and bent over the chair. I admired the delectable curves of his behind and my penis rose sharply. Ben returned, arching the lithe cane.

“You want Josh to stay?” enquired Ben.

“Yes, please.”

Ben touched the cane to Greg’s bottom and slid it across the taut flesh a few times before raising it and bringing it down hard and accurately across the centre of his buttocks. Greg drew in breath sharply and I saw a quiver in his lower body, while from his smooth skin there rose a red welt. I slid a hand into my pants and eased my straining penis into the upright position. The cane cracked across Greg’s behind again, raising a welt parallel to and slightly below the first. A half-stifled yelp escaped Greg and I watched as he clenched his buttocks hard while he rode the sting. The third and fourth strokes each landed a little lower still and elicited a muffled squeal and a desperate shuddering of Greg’s nether regions. My penis throbbed with urgent need and I forced myself to keep my hand still, lest I came.

Ben’s cane was approaching the more sensitive areas of Greg’s bottom now and I could see by the tension in his body that Greg knew the pain-level was about to rise steeply. Just where his lower buttock merged into his upper leg, Greg took the fifth lash of the cane. The agonised yelp driven from him, along with the violent bucking of his body, told eloquently that the stroke had got through to him. I felt pre-cum on the end of my cock and pressed urgently on my perineum to impede any orgasm. Greg was quivering, his hands grasping the edge of the chair so tightly that the knuckles showed white. Five pain-loaded welts pulsed on his rump; and Ben’s rod was exploring the still more sensitive flesh a little further down. He did a sudden practice-stroke and made Greg wince; and then barely a second later drove the cane in hard on the boy’s crease. Greg uttered a howl of pain and his right hand flew round to scrub desperately at his fire-blasted skin.

“Hand on the chair,” said Ben softly; and reluctantly Greg complied.

“What does that mean, Greg?”

There was a pause and then I heard Greg swallow before replying carefully, his voice unsteady, “I get that stroke again.”

“Ben,” I said urgently. “Surely he doesn’t……..”

Ben turned to look at me and said firmly, “He knows what he deserves. Just keep quiet, Josh.”

Barely had I swallowed my resentment when Ben whipped his cane across Greg’s crease a second time, forcing out a cry of pain and making him writhe from the waist as he fought the vicious sting. Greg was breathing loudly, his whole body shuddering until he made an effort and steadied himself, ready for the final two. Ben hit him at a slight angle, so that the cane-stroke crossed the three highest welts and drove the pain-level to a new high. Again Greg squealed and his body twisted in a paroxysm of heightened agony. Ben let him calm down for almost a minute and I stood, hand on rock-hard cock, watching as Greg’s body settled. I could see a look of resolve on his profile. Ben plied the cane for the eighth and final stroke, yet again on that sensitive band of flesh where bottom merges into upper legs. Greg bucked violently with a desperate yelp and for a moment his right hand left the chair and made for his tortured rear; and then he regained control and forced it back to position. Slowly the tension ebbed from his body and he stood, head down, panting, quivering gently as he absorbed his pain.

“Well-taken,” said Ben softly as he ruffled Greg’s hair and drew him firmly into a standing-position.

I saw tears trickling down Greg’s face as he reached back and pressed hands with splayed fingers to his blazing rump. Ben watched him for a little while and then said to him quietly, “Come here, Greg.”

Greg went forward and was enveloped in a huge hug, which he reciprocated eagerly. When they drew apart, Greg looked Ben in the eyes and said, “I’m afraid I’ve got to tell you something you’re not gonna like.”

Ben raised his eyebrows questioningly.

With a ghost of a smile on his pain-contorted features, Greg said solemnly, “I’m never, ever gonna produce work that means you’ve got to do that to me again.”

Ben laughed and replied, “Good on you! I’ll agree that in a way I don’t like that; but I’m an honourable guy. If you get the marks on your essays and exam, my cane won’t put any marks on your bottom.”

“Come on, Greg,” I interrupted. “I need to rub some cold-cream on your arse. And once we’re done,” I added to Ben, “I’ll order in pizza for all of us.”

In Greg’s room, I caressed his welted bottom and soothed its burning skin with cooling cream before we got ourselves entangled naked together. Any sense of uneasiness or restraint between us had melted away like morning mist in the sun, and we were relaxed and content together. I didn’t ask Greg’s permission to fuck him. I just did it; and he showed no sign of resistance, nor did he complain about any pain he felt on his injured behind. After a lengthy session of kissing and caressing, Greg said softly in my ear, “I love you,”; and I knew that all was well.

We returned to the communal room where Ben was sitting reading, and I called out for a pizza which duly arrived a few minutes later. I resisted Ben’s efforts to pay for it.

“So, why am I getting treated to pizza, Josh?” asked Ben as he slid large slices on to three plates.

“Just to say thank you,” I replied.

“For caning your boyfriend bloody hard?”

“Yeh; for that of course. He’s very grateful.”

“I am?” asked Greg.

“Yeh, you are,” I told him firmly. “You’re back on track with your study/social-life balance and that’s thanks to Ben.”

“Thanks, Ben,” said Greg with a rueful grin, “and I do mean that sincerely. I hated every second of that caning, but I know I needed it.”

“But also to say thank you for caning me,” I continued, looking at Ben. “Those four sizzlers you gave me to warn me not to abandon Greg were a total surprise, but I know now that I needed them; and you stopped me making a big mistake.”

“Hmm,” said Ben meditatively. “Maybe you pair need the threat of the cane for a lot more things. How about four on the bare ever time you put an empty milk-carton back in the fridge; leave unwashed dishes in the sink for hours on end; use my shower-gel; take the……….”

“Hey! Come on, we’re not bloody angels, Ben. You can’t expect us to be perfect,” Greg protested.

“Yeh; that idea gets a ‘D’,” I asserted firmly.

“A ‘D’?” enquired Ben.

“Yeh. ‘D’ for Declined!” I declared.

“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again,” observed Ben. “You two are just a pair of spoilsports. There is one thing that gives me a bit of hope of getting my cane around your delectable bottoms again though. You just admitted that you’re not perfect; and so there’s still a chance that one or both of you will slip up on the essay-marks before the term’s out.”

“Poor guy,” I remarked confidentially to Greg, “he’s getting delusional. Must be old age. Wonder what it feels like to be twenty-three? I could take your cane down to the wheelie-bin if you like,” I added to Ben. “Since you won’t be needing it again.”

Ben picked up his cane and smiled.

“Ah, the confidence of youth,” he said. “But one of the advantages of being an older guy is that you grow more realistic about life; and so I’ll be hanging on to my cane.”

Greg and I exchanged uneasy glances. Ben looked smug.

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

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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 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

C Is For Cane (M/M) NEW!

♥ Site recommended story ♥

A brand spanking new caning story by very special guest author JOELSTRAP.  This story is exclusive to The Canery!  All the characters are 18 or over. WARNING: ADULTS ONLY!

“C” Is For Cane by Joelstrap

My tutor wasn’t pleased with me.

“This is the second ‘C’ in a row, Joshua. It’s not good enough.”

“It’s a pass,” I protested.

“Yes, but you’re capable of much better than this. Your exam-results from school suggest you should be heading for an honours degree; and your first two essays seemed to confirm that. But the last two have seen your performance plummet. Why?” demanded Dr. Graham.

“I dunno,” I said uneasily, churning my hand in my hair. “Maybe the subjects of the last essays didn’t appeal to me.”

“You really believe that, Joshua?”

I shrugged non-committally.

My tutor looked steadily at me and I found that I couldn’t quite meet his gaze. He nodded with a knowing expression on his face.

“What?” I asked, irritably.

“What’s her name?” he enquired with a smile.

“Eh? I don’t know what……….”

“Don’t you, Joshua?”

I felt the colour rising in my cheeks and shuffled my feet nervously. He was spot-on, of course; which is what had disconcerted me. I’d been spending so much time having sex that my essays had been scrawled at the last minute with little preparatory reading or thinking. I decided that there was no point in denying it since he clearly knew only too well. No doubt it was something he’d come across often enough before. I decided to confess.

“Okay; you got me; but you’re not completely right,” I said.

He raised his eyebrows in an unspoken question.

“It’s his name,” I said. “It’s Gregor.”

“But it makes no difference whether the name of the person who is taking up time you should be spending on your studies is Mary or Marcus,” said Dr. Graham. “Does it, Joshua?”

“No,” I admitted a little sulkily.

“Now, I recognise that you need time for personal relationships; of course you do; that’s natural and normal. However, you must ensure that you give enough time to your studies as well. It’s a matter of balance, Joshua, and you need to make a lot more effort to get the balance right. As I said, you’ve got the ability to do an honours degree, but with the effort you’re putting in at the moment, it’s just not going to happen. Unless you start producing the kind of work you were giving me in the first part of the term, there’s no way you’ll be admitted to the honours course in eighteen months’ time.”

“Maybe an ordinary degree would suit me fine,” I replied sullenly.

He didn’t even reply to that. He just looked me in the eyes again until I looked away and muttered, “Sorry. I didn’t mean that. I’ll try harder.”

“Right. I want at least a B+ next time. It’ll be the second last essay before the end-of-term exams and the Christmas vacation, so I want to see that you really are working.”

“I will. I promise.”

——————————

“You’re a bad influence,” I informed Gregor as we relaxed in the cafe after a training-session at the gym.

“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.

______________

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

Where’s Reece? (M/M) NEW!

♥ Site recommended story ♥

It’s high time for another brand spanking new story by very special guest author JOELSTRAP.  This story is exclusive to The Canery!  All the characters are 18 or over. WARNING: ADULTS ONLY!

Where’s Reece? by Joelstrap

Jordan and I were sitting in deckchairs in his front-garden, chatting in a desultory manner while lapping up the sun. A perspiring Reece came running towards us along the road, clad in a thin vest and close-fitting shorts.

“Fuck! He’s hot!” I remarked to Jordan. “And I don’t mean his temperature.”

Jordan grinned. “And you’ve got the hots for him huh, Bran?”

“Well, yeh; but I don’t know if he’s interested in me. Shit, but those running-shorts are hot too!”

“And your breath’s coming in hot pants, eh Bran?”

“Shut up!”

“Hey! Reece! Come here a minute,” shouted Jordan. “Bran’s getting all hot and bothered at the sight of you.”

“You bastard!” I snarled furiously at Jordan. “Why the hell did you say that?”

“Because it’s true,” retorted Jordan, smiling unrepentantly. “He’s coming over.”

Reece slowed to a trot, pushed open the gate and came into the garden. He stood, hands on hips, partly bent over, breathing hard. In the centre of his vest was a dark patch of sweat and rivulets of perspiration trickled down his face and neck.

“Boy, it’s hot for running,” he admitted. “You couldn’t find me a cold lager, could you, Jordan?”

“No trouble,” replied Jordan, getting up and heading for the house.

Reece plonked himself down on the grass at my feet and looked up into my face.

“Was that right, what Jordan said; about you being all hot and bothered at the sight of me?” he enquired shyly.

“Jordan should keep his bloody trap shut,” I said.

“So it wasn’t true?”

“I didn’t say that,” I replied.

“Well, was it or wasn’t it?” demanded Reece with a touch of asperity.

I felt myself going red in the face and Reece grinned.

“You definitely look hot,” he opined.

“Okay, okay, I said to Jordan that you were red-hot in these tight shorts; but he’d no business shouting to you; and why would you be interested in me anyway? It was just a throw-away comment. Just forget it.”

“Like hell I will! You meant it, didn’t you, Bran? You think I’m hot?”

“Yes; but you don’t have to……..”

“I think you’re pretty hot too, Bran,” interrupted Reece.

“You do?”

“Mmmm! So we agree that we’re both hot stuff. That’s a good start. How about you meet me down the pub tonight and we have a couple of beers and get to know each other a bit better?”

“Brilliant!”

Jordan returned carrying three cans of chilled lager and handed them out before sitting down and demanding, “So, fixed up a date yet, guys?”

“Yes,” I said smugly.

Jordan stared at me.

“When?” he asked.

“Tonight, in the pub.”

Reece nodded confirmation and Jordan shook his head as if he couldn’t quite believe it.

“One minute you’re furious with me for telling Reece you think he’s sizzling-hot; and the next you’ve made a date to get into his pants!”

“You’ve got bloody pants on the brain,” I objected. “Who said anything about pants? We’re meeting for a drink and a chance to talk.”

“And if Bran tries to get into my pants in the pub, I’ll punch him in the goolies,” warned Reece.

“No way was I ever even thinking about getting into your pants in public,” I protested.

“Maybe after a couple of beers, behind the bushes in the park?” suggested Jordan mischievously.

Reece and I glanced at each other and then simultaneously each grabbed a leg of Jordan’s deckchair and tipped him on to the grass.

“Sodding bastards!” yelled Jordan. “Half my lager’s away, you rotters!”

“I don’t think he’s pleased,” observed Reece.

“No, he’s not,” I agreed. “A bit hot under the collar I’d say.”

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

Reece and I got on very well and began seeing each other regularly. He was studying chemistry and loved running. Monday and Wednesday evenings he trained with a running-club; and most Saturdays he went off on a competitive run somewhere. I was studying history and got my exercise at the gym and playing football for the college team. We met several evenings a week and at the weekends fulfilled Jordan’s prediction of getting into each other’s pants to our mutual delight and pleasure.

The weeks turned into months and we moved out of halls and into a small flat together and were deeply happy.

Over a year had passed and on an autumn Monday evening, I happened to be near the sports-centre as the first of the runners were returning from their ten-mile run. I decided to wait for Reece, but the tail-enders came in and there was no sign of him. I went into the building.

“Where’s Reece?” I asked; but no-one knew.

When I got back to the flat, Reece was already there and I asked where he’d been.

“Oh, I didn’t feel right; maybe something I ate,” he said, “so I gave the run a miss.”

It was three weeks later on an October evening that I was sitting in the local pub with Jordan who remained a good friend. Jordan was straight as they come and played the field tirelessly among the girls at college; but we respected each other’s sexuality. I always felt that I owed Jordan something for getting me and Reece together, even if I’d resented the way he did it the previous year.

My mobile rang and I was listening to Nigel. “Where’s Reece?” he enquired “Is he with you?”

“Nah. It’s Monday. He’ll be at the running-club,” I told him.

“Oh! That’s probably why he’s not answering his phone. Look, Reece was at my room in hall earlier to get some lecture-notes he wanted and when we came out my phone rang and so Reece locked the door; and he must have pocketed the key without thinking, because I haven’t got it and I need to get into my room.”

“Right! Me and Jordan are at the pub, but we’ll pop up to the sports-centre now and see if Reece has got the key in his jeans. He’ll be out on a run, but the guys there know me, so they’ll let me look in his things. If it’s there, we’ll get it to you as soon as we can.”

“Thanks, mate. You’re a pal.”

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

At the running-club’s changing-rooms, Gordie looked blankly at me.

“But Reece isn’t here,” he said. “He still comes on Wednesdays and does the competitions on Saturdays; but I’ve not seen him on a Monday for weeks.”

“Oh! I guess I got mixed up,” I said. “Thanks anyway.”

We walked in silence down the road back towards the pub. I was aware that Jordan was giving me frequent sideways glances; and eventually he asked tentatively, “So what do you make of that, Bran?”

“I dunno. Maybe he wasn’t feeling well and didn’t go tonight.”

“What about the other nights?”

“How should I know?” I replied irritably.

“Did he not tell you he wasn’t running on a Monday evening any more?”

“No,” I said.

We entered the bar, Jordan ordered pints, and we sat down.

“Bran?”

“What?”

Jordan raised his eyebrows.

“Okay, okay! I don’t know what to think. He goes out as usual every Monday evening with his sports-kit; and I don’t know where the hell he goes. Satisfied?”

“No, I’m not satisfied; and neither are you. So where’s Reece on a Monday evening? What do you think’s going on, Bran?”

“Look, it’s none of your fucking business,” I riposted angrily.

“You’re my friend,” said Jordan.

I took a long swallow from my glass.

“Yeh. Sorry. It’s not your fault. Do you….do you think he’s maybe seeing somebody else, Jordan?” I asked, voicing my fears uneasily.

“Any reason to think he is? Are you still getting on well?”

“We’re fine, honest. Blissfully happy. Really, Jordan, there’s no reason he’d go off with another guy. Anyway, even if he did fall out of love with me, I honestly think he’d just tell me and be open about it. It’s how Reece is.”

Jordan nodded. “Yeh. I agree. So there must be another explanation. You’ll just have to ask him.”

“Yeh,” I replied, not meeting Jordan’s eyes. “I guess I should.”

“And what about Nigel’s key?” asked Jordan.

“Oh, shit! I forgot that. I’ll try Reece’s mobile. Maybe he’ll have it switched on by now. He should be on his way home from…….wherever he is……shortly.”

Reece answered and I told him about the key; and after a moment when he was obviously rummaging in his pockets, he confirmed that he did indeed have it and would ring Nigel to say he was on his way with it at once.

“That’s that sorted anyway,” said Jordan.

“Yeh. I think I’ll get off home now,” I said, draining my glass. “See you.”

I argued with myself all the way home and by the time I reached the flat, I’d decided that I didn’t want to let Reece know what I’d accidentally discovered. Instead, I made up my mind to follow him the next Monday and see where he went.

It felt like a long week, but at last Monday came round again and Reece picked up his kit-bag and set off. I followed like a shadow, helped by the fact that it was dark and I could dodge from street-light to street-light and doorway to doorway and so avoid being seen should he look back. Not that he did. Nor did he make for the sports-centre, but headed to a rather posh part of town and then into a narrow mews which formed a cul-de-sac running behind a row of large, detached houses. Here the former stables-buildings for the mansions had been converted into small cottages and as I watched from behind a convenient tree, Reece rang the bell of one of these and was admitted. Unfortunately I couldn’t see who answered the door and as nothing was said, I couldn’t even tell the sex of the person who let him in. I made my way along the mews and gazed at a couple of dark windows at the front of the house. Going on a little, I found a narrow alley leading down the far side of the cottage, presumably giving access to the courtyard at the back. It was almost pitch dark as no light from the street-lamps penetrated down here. I made my way cautiously forward and came to a high wooden gate barring the way. Turning the handle carefully, I found that it was locked.

I hesitated and then decided that since I’d come this far, I had to see if I could find out more. I jumped up, grabbed the top of the gate and then hauled myself up with a considerable effort until I was perched on top. The courtyard into which I was looking was in near darkness, but there was a little light which I assumed came from a rear window. They had to be in there! I half slid and half jumped down and suddenly there was an offended screech and a cat shot out from under my feet. I had a feeling that I might have landed on its tail. Next moment all hell broke loose when a huge dog set up an almighty barking as it came pelting round the corner and danced excitedly around my feet.

I tried to kick it away, but it tripped me and I landed heavily. For a moment I saw in the gloom a large mouth and lots of teeth; and then it was licking my face enthusiastically. Even as I struggled to push it away and get up, a light came on and a young guy appeared and looked down at me.

“Who the hell are you?” he demanded irately. “And for that matter what are you doing here? This is private property.”

“I….er…..oh, shit!…..I can’t explain…….” I stammered before grinding to a halt.

The young man strode forward, yanked me up by the collar and hauled me towards an open French Window beyond which was a brightly-lit room. He shoved me through the doors and as I regained my balance, I gave a gasp of astonishment. In front of me, stark-naked and bent over a chair, was Reece. He turned his head to see what was happening and I heard him take in breath sharply as a tide of red swept from his neck up over his face.

“Oh, fuck!” he swore viciously.

I was still stunned because I had also noticed that not only was a nude Reece standing bent over a chair; but on his bottom were four neat, parallel cane-welts.

“What the……?” I began; and then the young guy shoved me into an armchair and demanded that I explain my presence.

“Why is my boyfriend here?” I asked quietly.

That shook him. He glanced at Reece and then back at me. “Your boyfriend?” he repeated. “Reece? Stand up and come here, hands on your head.”

I stared in disbelief as Reece obeyed and stood before the young man. I noticed that he was semi-erect.

“Is this your boyfriend, Reece?” he enquired, nodding at me; and Reece said, “Yes, sir,” very softly.

“I see. I also see that I may be able to work out why you’re here,” he said to me, “but I’d rather you told me yourself.”

I told him my name and explained exactly what had happened; how I’d found that Reece was no longer where he should have been on Monday evenings; and how I’d trailed him tonight and then caused something of a commotion in the courtyard.

“You thought I was cheating on you?” asked Reece, looking outraged.

“You went off as if you were going running, but you weren’t; and you didn’t tell me what was going on,” I accused. “What was I supposed to think?”

“Right,” said the young man. “I’m Barry, but Reece calls me ‘sir’, and you can do the same, Bran. Understand?”

There was a natural authority about him and I instinctively responded, “Yes, sir.”

“Now listen, Bran. Reece is not cheating on you. I dish out spankings, including use of the cane, strap, paddle, belt and a few other things, to young guys who feel they need some discipline or who just find it exciting. Reece has been coming to me for the past five Monday evenings for spanking. As no doubt you observed, I’m in the middle of caning him, so before we go any further I’m going to finish that. Get back in position, Reece.”

“But, sir,” pleaded Reece urgently, “you can’t in front of Bran. Please!”

“Are you permitted to argue with me, Reece?” asked Barry quietly; and Reece looked at his feet and muttered “no, sir.”

“That will be two extra strokes for disobedience,” said Barry. “Position, Reece!”

For a moment I saw a hunted look flash across Reece’s face and I wondered if he was going to make a run for it; but then he turned and bent over the chair once more. Barry picked up a nasty-looking cane from the sofa, gave a practice-swing, which made an intimidating whine and caused Reece to flinch; and then hit my boy hard twice at a slight angle across the four welts already showing on his skin. Reece gasped audibly and clenched him bottom fiercely as he fought the sting. My penis, swollen and throbbing desperately, tried to force its way out of my denims.

“Two more for disobedience,” said Barry and I saw Reece tense himself in readiness. The cane lashed hard across his lower bottom and the sting forced a yelp from him as he twisted from the hips. Barely had he steadied himself than Barry wielded the cane again, now full on Reece’s crease, making him writhe and scrub at his skin with his right hand while a squeal was driven from him.

“You never argue with me, boy. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir,” responded Reece submissively.

“Stand up, hands behind you, and hold your tongue.”

Reece obeyed, and then Barry addressed me.

“Bend over, Bran,” he commanded, arching his lithe cane menacingly.

“Me? You think you’re gonna cane me?”

“There’s no ‘think’ about it. I am going to cane you. You’ve climbed over a locked gate into my courtyard in the dark, presumably to break into my house and…….”

“Break into your…………no fucking way! I told you why I’m here. I’m not a flaming burglar and you know it!”

“Do you think the police will see it that way when I call them?”

“P…..police?”

“Behaviour like yours needs to be punished, Bran. I’m sure you can work out the choice you have. So, what’s it to be? Police or cane?”

I eyed the limber cane anxiously, remembering what it had done to Reece. I considered how my activities might well appear to an officer of the law, were Barry to summon one. Curiously, I also considered the question of why Reece was volunteering for the cane; and a small part of me wondered if there was something here that I needed to experience for myself. All the same, I really didn’t want my behind to get the sort of treatment Reece’s had received.

“Neither,” I declared with more conviction in my voice than in my head. “I’m leaving now and you can call the police if you want to; but no way are you going to use that vicious cane on my arse.”

I made for the French-window, turned the handle and then jumped as there was a resounding crash and the dog outside set up a horrendous barking. Barry strode across, flung open the door and switched on the outside-lights; to reveal Jordan simultaneously trying to fight off the over-affectionate mutt while struggling to pick himself up from a mass of broken flowerpots.

“Jordan!” I gasped.

“You know this young hooligan?” enquired Barry with a slight smile on his face.

“Hooligan? Don’t you call me a hooligan,” protested Jordan, succeeding in getting to his feet.

“He’s a friend of mine,” I told Barry.

“Where’s Reece?” asked Jordan.

“Is he a friend of yours too, Reece?” enquired Barry, stepping to one side so that Jordan could see Reece standing there.

“Yes,” admitted Reece softly.

“You seem to have some very badly-behaved friends,” observed Barry. “Two potential burglars in one evening and you know them both. I think that your bottom and my cane are going to need to become a lot more familiar before you go home tonight, my lad.”

“What? No!” I objected angrily. “You can’t beat him again! He didn’t know I’d be here; and I didn’t know Jordan would be here. Why are you here anyway?” I asked Jordan.

“I know you. I could tell you weren’t going to do the sensible thing and just ask Reece what he was up to on a Monday evening. I guessed you’d try to follow him and find out where he was going; and so I followed you. I saw you come round the back here, heard the dog and realised you’d been caught. But then nothing seemed to happen and I got worried, so I came over the gate to see what was going on.”

“There’s a very simple and ubiquitous invention,” remarked Barry conversationally, “called a doorbell.”

Jordan and I rolled our eyes.

“Reece comes here to get spanked and caned because it excites him and he likes it,” continued Barry. “Bran has arrived in highly-suspicious circumstances which I think the local constabulary might view as trespass with a view to breaking-and-entering. I’ve offered him the choice of being reported or of a caning but he seemed to want neither and was about to leave when you arrived so dramatically. Another event which might be viewed by agents of the law as very suspicious; and which has included vandalism, witness my broken flowerpots.”

“Witness your bro…….for fuck’s sake! That was an accident; and I’ll pay for new ones,” said Jordan.

“So I now have two young guys whose behaviour merits a good dose of my cane across their bare bottoms.”

“Bare bottoms?” I queried. “Bare bottoms? You really think we’re gonna let you beat our bare arses with that bloody cane?”

“The arrival of Jordan on the scene and Reece’s admission that he knows both of you, has however led me to think that maybe he is the real culprit here and has told his nefarious mates (that’s you pair of trespassers) that this might be a good house to burgle, being in a quiet mews. It was just unfortunate from your point of view that he happened to be here on the evening you chose to break in.”

“Reece never told us any such thing, you bastard,” shouted Jordan angrily, losing it completely.

“It’s just chance you tried to break into a house he knows about?”

“We didn’t try to break in,” yelled Jordan. “Aren’t you listening? I think you’re assaulting Reece and keeping him here against his will; and I’m gonna be reporting you, mate!”

“Am I assaulting you and doing anything to you or with you against your will, Reece?” asked Barry.

“No,” replied Reece softly.

“Oh,” said Jordan.

“So if you two would now like to leave, preferably via the front-door, I can get on with giving Reece here a good, hard caning to punish him for encouraging his criminally-inclined mates to break into houses; and to persuade him to find some more respectable friends,” said Barry.

“I already told you,” I intervened, “that Reece knew nothing about us coming here. It’s not his fault. You’re not touching him with that cane again. Come on, Reece, we’re going home.”

“No,” said Reece quietly. “If Barry says I’ve to be beaten again, then I’ll stay and take it.”

“But you didn’t tell us to come and break in here!” I shouted in exasperation. “He’s making it all up! No way do you deserve another thrashing!”

Reece said nothing. I turned to Barry.

“Please,” I said, “don’t cane him any more.”

“I’ll let him off any more of the cane if he’s really innocent,” said Barry thoughtfully, “but that must mean that you and Jordan did indeed come here off your own bat, allegedly unaware even of what the other was doing…..”

“Allegedly my arsehole!” shouted Jordan. “We didn’t bloody well know!”

“….illicitly entering a private courtyard with the probable intent of house-breaking. If each of you is prepared to bare his bottom and take a hard dose of the cane, then there will be no need to punish Reece. There is of course still the option of summoning an officer of the law, to ask him to consider trespass, suspicious behaviour and vandalism,” continued Barry calmly.

Jordan and I glanced at each other and moved away into a corner of the room together where we had a hasty, whispered conversation.

“That sadistic bugger is gonna lash Reece with his cane again; and Reece isn’t gonna resist. I don’t understand what he’s up to, but I don’t want him beaten again tonight.”

“I don’t think he’s gonna get the police,” said Jordan, “and anyway we can just walk out and there’s no evidence we were ever here. That hairy mutt out there could have knocked over the flowerpots. But if we do that Reece is gonna get it.”

“So we gotta take it instead?” I asked.

“Looks like it. You up for it, Bran?”

“Yeh. It’s funny, but there’s a little bit of me’s kinda curious about how it feels to be caned.”

“Me too. After all, Reece is a level-headed kind of guy. He must be getting something out of it.”

“You seen the stripes on his arse?” I asked.

“Yeh, I know; but there must be something else.”

“Okay, we’re agreed. We’ll take it.”

We returned and faced Barry.

“We don’t want Reece to be caned for something he didn’t do,” I said, “so we’ll take the cane instead.”

Barry inclined his head in acceptance of our decision and placed another chair beside the one over which Reece had been bent.

“Okay, boys, bend over,” he ordered.

He said nothing about dropping jeans or pants and I decided to keep quiet and just do as he said. I felt nervously vulnerable, but my penis was registering some unexpected excitement; and I observed that Jordan seemed to have some swelling in the front of his denims; while the naked Reece was almost fully-erect. The first stroke stung but was rather exciting; and the next few raised the intensity of the sting without spoiling my arousal. After six, Barry turned to give Jordan the same treatment, while I wondered at the way my body was reacting. Caning, it appeared, wasn’t as horrendous as I’d expected.

Barry came back to me and told me to drop my jeans and pants, which I did quite willingly. He stroked my behind with the cane – and then hit me hard. Pain seared like a lash across my globes and I uttered a squeal and clenched my buttocks desperately. My brain, lulled into a foolish confidence by the first six strokes on my jeans, was urgently racing to catch up with reality; while my body fought to keep still and show that I wasn’t a kid. The cane bit deep again and I writhed from the hips, grasping the edges of the chair with white-knuckled ferocity as I rode the vicious burn. Two more followed in swift succession, low on my bottom, etching blazing streaks of fire on my skin and forcing half-stifled yelps and gasps from me. A fifth stroke along the tender flesh where my behind merged into my upper legs detonated a savage blast of agony which had me rising and scrubbing urgently at my skin with both hands. I could feel hot tears trickling down my face; and my cock had gone into complete retreat.

“Get back in position, Bran!” ordered Barry; and I took a deep breath before slowly obeying.

The sixth stroke came immediately and forced yet another yelp from me as I twisted my lower body and scrunched my glutes. A few seconds later I heard Barry ordering Jordan to bare his behind and turned my head a little to watch. Barry hit hard and accurately, vivid crimson welts rising on Jordan’s beaten flesh; but he remained in position and silent throughout. What astounded me most of all was that after he’d had all six, he was fully aroused.

We were told to pull up our clothes again and then we stood, freshly beaten, and waiting in front of Barry.

“What did you learn from that, Bran?” he asked.

“That you’re a brute with that cane,” I retorted.

“And?”

“And not to go trespassing on other people’s property,” I admitted a little sulkily.

“You learnt that too, Jordan?”

“Yes, sir,” replied Jordan. “Next time, I’ll ring the front door-bell.”

“Next time?” I burst out, startled.

“Well, yeh. I think I sort of get why Reece is here; and I think…..I’m not absolutely sure yet……..but I think I might come back. If you’ll let me?” he asked, looking at Barry.

“When a boy asks me as politely as that to beat him, I can hardly refuse,” replied Barry with a grin. “But you don’t want any more to do with the cane, eh Bran?”

But I did. I really and truly did. It was embarrassing, but I forced myself to say it.

“I want to learn how to use it,” I said quickly. “I never knew that Reece was into getting his arse tanned; and he never said, or asked me to thrash him. But now I know he wants it, I think I could really enjoy giving it to him.”

There were several long seconds of silence into which I muttered, my face burning, “I guess you all think I’m a sadistic pervert.”

“Not at all,” said Barry. “I love to dish it out. Why shouldn’t you?”

“It’s just that I was thinking; since it looks like Reece is into getting his arse tanned, maybe you could show me how to do it? I’ve a feeling things are gonna be a little bit different in our relationship from now on.”

“Sure. It’d be a pleasure to help you thrash him so he really feels it. Come on! Let me see what you can do with a cane. Bend over again, Reece.”

Reece obeyed in silence.

“Hold it like this; stand a bit forward of his arse; aim for the near buttock, because the cane will naturally go further across when you use it; keep your eye on the target until you’ve actually hit him. Like this.”

Barry took up position, touched the cane to Reece’s bottom, and then delivered a firm stroke which made the boy wince silently.

“You hit me a lot harder than that,” I remarked.

“Yeh; but you were being punished. Now we’re just letting you get a feel for the cane as a giver. Here; take it and remember what I said.”

“You okay for some more, Reece?” I asked.

“Hey! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” demanded Barry.

“I just thought he might think he’s had enough,” I said.

“Who’s caring? It doesn’t matter what he thinks. If you say he’s getting more, he gets more. End of story. You’re in charge, Bran. Always.”

“Okay. Sorry.”

I took up my position, tapped the rod on Reece’s behind a few times to get the range right; and then delivered a fairly hard stroke on the lower half of his bottom. He flinched and I heard him draw in breath sharply. My penis surged.

“Oh, yeh! You’re a natural,” enthused Barry. “Nicely given and beautifully aimed. Now, let me see if you can give him another a little lower. Don’t try to hit too hard. Just concentrate on aiming accurately.”

I focussed determinedly on the area of skin about a centimetre below my first stroke and then brought the cane down firmly, giving my wrist a little flick to see if I could add a bit of zing to the sting. Reece gasped aloud and clenched his buttocks and I watched in fascination as a neat red line emerged from his skin a short distance below my first one. Beneath him, I observed that his resilient penis was rising steadily.

“Oh, boy! Brilliant, Bran! He felt that. And that little flick at the end just gave the stroke an extra bite. You’ll need to get yourself a cane. Here! I’ll show you where to order one,” he said, picking up his laptop.

After that, Reece was allowed to get up and dress and we all sat down to coffee and cake with Barry.

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

The three of us walked back together until we reached our flat, and then Jordan went on alone to his own place. In our living-room, Reece placed a hand on my chest and looked into my eyes.

“Are you angry with me, Bran? The only reason I didn’t tell you what I was up to was because I thought you’d think I was weird. I wasn’t cheating on you. I’d never do that.”

“Yeh, I know; and I probably would have thought you were weird; but you had me worried.”

“I’m sorry, Bran.”

“It’s maybe worked out for the best,” I told him, “because I found out that dishing out a thrashing is very exciting; and since you like to get your arse tanned, we’ve got another thing to enjoy together.”

“You’re gonna spank me, Bran?”

“Yeh; I am.”

“You’re not really gonna get a cane though?”

“I am so. It sounds like Jordan will be going back to Barry to get himself beaten; but you won’t need to go back; because you’ll get all you want from me. And that means the cane as well as a hand-spanking or a dose of my belt.”

I saw a spasm of pain flit across Reece’s face and glancing down I observed that his cock had risen swiftly and was causing him considerable discomfort as it tried to force its way out of his pants.

“Like that idea, don’t you, Reece?”

“You’re fucking hot when you talk all dominant like that,” Reece admitted.

“Yeh? Well get yourself stripped!”

“Why?”

“Because I’m gonna take you to bed, spank you hard and then fuck you through the mattress.”

Reece gasped as his cock protested again; and headed for the bedroom, pulling off clothes as he went. My mobile rang.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Bran. It’s Nick. I need some help with a chemistry assignment. Where’s Reece?”

“Reece,” I informed him, “is in our bedroom, naked as the day he was born, waiting for me to come and spank him.”

There was total silence on the phone for several seconds and then, as Nick began to speak, I ended the call. I went through and put Reece across my knee and spanked his bare bottom long and hard, making all his cane-welts glow and blaze with fresh heat, until suddenly I was aware that he was thrusting harder and faster against my thigh until he exploded in a fountain of cum.

“Hmm,” I said as I eyed the globules of his boy-cream spattered far across the duvet, “not bad. But you’ll fire your load even further than that when I cane you.”

A few days later, once my new cane had arrived, he did!

______________

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 fine 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

The Cane Beneath The Bear (M/M) NEW!

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Hot off the press is this 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!

 

The Cane Beneath The Bear by Joelstrap

It was thanks to the cane beneath the bear that we had a spare-room. For a start though, I have to admit that I’d never been caned. My bottom was quite well-formed in my own opinion, filling my jeans nicely behind, the gluteal muscles firm and taut as a result of regular running; and the few boyfriends I’d had in the past couple of years had been enthusiastic about my posterior assets. Corporal punishment had been abolished in schools years before I was born, and so at eighteen I’d never felt what it was like to have a cane used on me. Any boy worth his salt though has a good dollop of curiosity as well as a desire to explore new experiences; which is probably why, as I handled the cane carefully, I couldn’t help speculating on how it must feel to have one used across my bottom.

I’m jumping the gun a bit though, and I need to take you back a few weeks before that little incident occurred. I’d been a student for almost a term and was fed up living in a hall of residence a long way from the centre of the city. My home was a large town about ten miles away and I’d looked forward to getting to enjoy life in the metropolis. I decided to seek a room-mate and get a shared flat nearer to the heart of things. None of my friends was keen though and so I advertised on the college-noticeboard and Zak replied. Lean and firm of body, with eyes which danced beneath an unruly mop of black curls, I liked the look of him straight away. We chatted and chatted more; and then met up on two other days that week before concluding that we had enough in common, and got on well enough together, to be able to share a flat amicably.

Zak lived at home but was desperate to get away and gain some independence. We set about finding a flat and were fortunate to get a reasonably-priced one without too much difficulty. Once exams were over in the final week of term, he invited me to come to his house so that we could arrange to move in during the first week of January, when I returned to the city after the holidays. Zak’s dad knew a guy with a van who did small moving-jobs and often shifted boxes and other things for students flitting in and around the city. He was willing to come out to the town where I lived and collect my things and then collect Zak’s things and take them to the new flat early in January. I’d have liked it to be a bit cheaper, but the van-guy said he’d almost certainly get one or two other people wanting to have stuff moved and that would bring the shared cost down.

That is how it transpired and with two other small moves in the same load, the cost fell considerably. Being outside the city, my boxes were collected first and then, while I got a train into town to head for the new flat, the van went on to collect things from Zak and the other two clients. Zak and I had been at the flat for almost an hour when the van arrived and we went out to carry our boxes upstairs. The other two lots of stuff had already been delivered and, with the van-driver’s help we made short work of clearing the vehicle and getting all the boxes dumped in our living-room.

We had a can of lager to celebrate our arrival and then we each began carting the boxes into his own room. I came back to the living-room to find Zak staring down at a box which he’d placed on the table.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“You said you’d got all your boxes; and this one isn’t mine.”

“Oh! I guess it must belong to one of the other guys he was delivering stuff to today. It’s not sealed or taped up. Maybe we should take a look and see if there’s any identification inside,” I suggested.

Zak looked doubtful and so I pulled open the lid to reveal a few books, a pile of folders and, peeping up from where it was squashed between the side of the box and a large volume on freshwater fish, a dark-brown teddy-bear with a well-worn muzzle.

“Aw,” said Zak. “He’s cute. I like a bear.”

“A bare what?” I asked mischievously.

“A red-hot sexy boy with a bare bottom,” he replied astoundingly, making me flush.

To cover my embarrassment, I pulled the bear out and examined it. Zak was right; it was rather cute and had clearly been well-loved. It was as I made to return it to its place that something down near the base of the box caught my eye; something which I’d never have seen had I not taken the bear out. I plunged in a hand and slowly pulled out from beneath the pile of folders which concealed most of it, a slender cane. I gasped in surprise. This is where we came in; as I, an un-caned eighteen-year-old, gazed in fascination at a genuine cane. I ran a careful forefinger along its length and then bent it gently into a smooth arc.

A sudden flash made me look up to see my new flatmate with his mobile-phone.

“Did you take a picture of me?” I asked.

“Yeh. You looked bloody good standing there examining that cane as if you were expecting to be beaten with it and were wondering how much it would hurt,” replied Zak with a grin. “Look!”

He handed me his phone and I gazed at myself arching the slender rod gently in both hands. My head was down as I stared at the cane, my long, thick hair flopping over my forehead and obscuring most of my face from the camera. I eyed my tight t-shirt, the muscles of my bare arms, the bulge in the front of my shorts, and my legs, still lightly-brown from the previous summer.

“You’re one spunky guy,” observed Zak.

“Er….thanks. You’re not bad yourself,” I added.

“So, do you want me to give you a beating with that thing?” he enquired unexpectedly.

“No! I mean, why would I want you to beat me?”

“It might give you an erection,” he replied disconcertingly.

“You what?” I stammered; and then paused as my penis swelled alarmingly fast and tried to force its way out of my shorts, making me gasp aloud and do some hasty readjustment.

“Fuck! You’re keen,” Zak said. “Just the mention of a caning gets you as hard as a rock.”

“I don’t think it was…..I mean I wasn’t expecting…..oh, shit!” I ended, flustered and aware that my face was going bright red, as my determined cock forced me to plunge an urgent hand into my pants and rearrange things again.

“Maybe if I caned you on the bare you’d cum,” remarked Zak. “What do you think, Chris?”

“How the hell should I know!?” I demanded angrily.

“I bet you could make your boy-cream spurt half way across the room,” continued Zak. “You look like you got big balls.”

“Big b……Look, shut up about beating me! For fuck’s sake, I only met you a few weeks ago. Why would I let you thrash me?”

“It would help us get to know each other better.”

“Yeh; well I’d rather get to know you better over a pint at the pub,” I replied.

“Great. I’m fine with that. Maybe I could cane you at the weekend,” Zak said.

I stared at him in stunned disbelief.

“I never said anything about you caning me any time,” I protested. “Come on! Let’s get our stuff unpacked and then we could go out for a pint.”

We both spent half an hour or so emptying boxes in our own room and when I returned to the living-room of the flat, Zak was standing looking down at the sole remaining box.

“So, what do we do with this?” he asked.

I shrugged. “Since there’s no clue inside about whose it is, I’ll get in touch with the guy with the van. He’ll know who else he was delivering stuff to.”

“I wonder who he canes?” mused Zak as we set off to the pub.

“Maybe he’s the one who gets the cane,” I suggested. “Must be a bit kinky.”

We left it at that and spent a couple of hours over our drinks indulging in guy-chat.

“So, where is it?” asked Zak when we returned to the flat.

“Where’s what?”

“The cane, Chris! It’s not in the box.”

“Oh, er no. It’s in my room actually.”

“Why?”

“I was holding it when I went through to unpack my boxes and I laid it down there,” I replied quickly. “I’ll put it back in the box after I find out who it belongs to.”

“Right,” said Zak.

I contacted the van-driver the next morning, which was Saturday, and he told me that, as well as collecting my stuff and that of Zak, he’d also picked up some small pieces of furniture for a girl across the city and some boxes for guy called Liam Bale. He’d delivered the furniture first and then Liam’s things because they were loaded after Zak’s and mine and were easiest to get at. It seemed one of Liam’s boxes had been left on the van by mistake and been delivered to our flat along with our own stuff. Both Zak and I had carried the contents of the van up to our flat, with the driver’s help, and since we weren’t necessarily carrying our own boxes, we hadn’t realised that the box in question belonged to neither of us. The van-driver gave me a mobile-number for Liam and I called him.

“Oh, that’s great,” he said. “I’m afraid I’ve not got round to emptying my boxes yet and I didn’t realise one was missing. I’ll come round and get it.”

“I’m actually going out just now,” I said, “so if you’re not too far away, I could bring it to you.”

He told me his address and I realised that he was just a few minutes walk from where I now lived.

“I just got to get ready; and I’ll probably be with you in about half an hour,” I told him.

Zak looked at me as I ended the call.

“You weren’t planning to go out,” he accused. “What are you up to?”

“Nothing. I’m just gonna return the guy’s things.”

“Don’t forget the cane,” said Zak with a mischievous grin.

“Why would I forget it?” I demanded, slightly ruffled.

Zak shrugged and I strode into my room, picked up the cane, and returned to the living-room where I put it carefully back in the box.

“You sure that’s exactly where it was?” he enquired.

“Yeh. It was at the bottom, bent into a bit of an arc, with the folders on top covering most of it and the bear stuck in at the side hiding the handle. What’s it matter?”

“He might wonder why you found it.”

“He’s not gonna know that I found it!”

“You’re not gonna tell him?”

I gave him an exasperated glare, picked up the box and made for the door.

“Maybe he’ll cane you,” suggested Zak as I left the room.

I stopped and turned round.

“Yeh, right,” I answered uncertainly and headed for the stair.

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

The box seemed to get heavier and heavier as I walked along towards where Liam lived. I asked myself repeatedly why I was doing this. After all, Liam had offered to come and collect the box and I had no need to lug it round to his flat. Maybe it was that I wanted to see the guy who had a cane; but I’d have met him had he come round to our place anyway. Zak would have been there too though. Why didn’t I want Zak to be there? A thought insinuated its way into my brain and clung on there in spite of my half-hearted efforts to dislodge it. Did it all come back to the cane; and was I secretly hoping in some deep part of my psyche that Liam might cane me and it was more likely to happen if Zak wasn’t there? I’d resisted Zak’s offers, which hadn’t really sounded too serious anyway, to use the rod on my rump; but although I’d not admitted it to him, there was a part of me which felt that it might be an exciting experience.

Liam lived in a top flat up two flights of stairs and my arms were aching by the time I laid the box outside his door and paused to catch my breath and rest for a few seconds before I rang the bell. When Liam answered, I was instantly sure that all the effort had been worthwhile; because he was stunning. Maybe an inch below six feet, slim and athletic in build, his head a mass of thick brown curls which clustered about his ears and tumbled across his forehead, my first sight of him brought a spasm between my legs. I took in the plain black t-shirt which fitted his torso sufficiently closely to reveal his nipples and to cling tightly round his biceps; and, topped by a studded leather belt, the skinny black jeans which bulged enticingly at the front and were stretched taut across a delectable pair of buttocks.

“Hi! You’ll be Chris? I’m Liam,” he said in a deep voice as he took the box from me. “Come in and have a coffee.”

I couldn’t have refused if I’d wanted to. I followed him into a cosy living-room where he deposited the box on a low table and nodded me into an armchair, taking a seat himself opposite me.

“It was good of you to bring the box round. I moved in last autumn and this is the last of the stuff from home. I’m in my final year studying marine-biology, by the way and I’m going to be staying on to do a Ph.D. I had all my boxes clearly marked because unfortunately I couldn’t be in when he delivered my stuff. I had to ask the guy across the landing to bring the boxes up; and I told him that they all had L.B. on them in black felt-pen; but he must have missed this one.”

“Sorry we didn’t notice when we were unloading,” I explained, “but we were carrying up some of each other’s things and so neither of us realised one of the boxes didn’t belong to either of us until we started to sort them out; and by then the van was long gone.”

“How did you find me?” asked Liam. “I don’t think there was anything in the box to identify me.”

“No, there wasn’t; so I contacted the van-driver and he gave me your mobile-number.”

I noticed Liam’s eyebrows rise briefly.

“Yeh?” he said. “So you did have a look in the box? Did you find Snuggles?”

“Snuggles?”

“My bear.”

I resisted with difficulty an urge to say Your bare what?

“Oh, yeh. Kinda cute.”

“Ah! You took him out, huh?”

“Er, well, yeh. Just ‘cos he looked so cute, like I said. I wanted to hold him. He looked like he’d been well-loved,” I added, aware that my face was feeling hot.

I hesitated. I suspected he must have guessed that I’d probably seen the cane; but I waited to see if he’d say any more. Liam, however, remained silent. Something drove me on.

“I….eh…..look, I noticed something else in the box when I lifted Snuggles out, which was…….well, a bit unexpected. I know it’s none of my business, but I’m curious. Why have you got a cane?”

“Same reason any guy has a cane,” replied Liam.

I stared at him; and he said no more, forcing me to go on.

“You mean…….so that you can cane someone?”

“Naturally.”

“Who?” I asked.

“Any guy who needs it.”

“Oh.”

“You, for example.”

“Me!?”

“Don’t you think you need it?”

“Why would……?”

“You opened my box; the cane was right down at the bottom, mostly under some folders, the handle hidden under my bear. You really didn’t have to rummage through everything, because it must have been clear almost at once that there was no identification there. You took out Snuggles, although you’ve no business touching another guy’s bear.”

“What? I just wanted to look at him. I didn’t rip off his ears or tear out his stuffing!”

“A guy’s bear is a very personal thing,” declared Liam solemnly. “Okay?”

“Okay,” I agreed reluctantly.

“And then, when you saw what was under the bear, you took the cane out, ran a finger along it, arched it and had a really good look at it, didn’t you? A guy doesn’t like having his cane handled by anyone else.”

“He doesn’t?”

“No, Chris, he doesn’t.”

“Okay,” I assented doubtfully. “I’m sorry.”

“And then you hauled this heavy box all the way round here. Why, Chris?”

“I…eh….well, I……”

“Will I tell you why, Chris?”

I nodded dumbly.

“Because the cane didn’t just interest you; it excited you. You wanted to find out how it felt; and you’re here now because you want me to use my cane on you. That’s one reason why you need it. The other reason is to punish you for messing around with another guy’s private possessions. You’d no business handling my bear or my cane. Understand, Chris?”

“Well, yeh, I guess I was a bit curious. It’s sort of embarrassing; and I’m sorry for interfering with your things. I suppose I’d better go,” I ended, rising to my feet.

“Aren’t you forgetting something, Chris?”

“Oh, yeh. You offered me coffee.”

“Besides that, Chris.”

I hesitated again and then said nervously, “You’re serious, aren’t you? You want to cane me.”

“And you need to be caned, don’t you, Chris?”

“Yes,” I admitted and felt a sense of relief that it was out.

“Okay, alphabetically, cane comes before coffee, so we’ll do that first,” he said as he went to the box, lifted out Snuggles and withdrew the cane from the bottom of the pile of stuff.

I watched fascinated and anxious as he arched the slim rod into a perfect arc; and then told me to bend over with my hands on the cushion of the armchair in which I’d been sitting. There was an air of unreality about the whole situation as I obeyed and then felt the cane exploring my behind, stroking, rapping, moving from crown to base and side to side.

“Count them aloud, Chris; and keep still.”

I tensed myself in readiness and a few seconds later the cane lashed hard across the centre of my sit-spots delivering a line of fierce sting which made me wince and draw in breath sharply.

“One,” I said.

My penis loved it, straining painfully to escape the restrictions of my pants and jeans. Liam wielded the cane again, hitting slightly lower and inflicting a second line of fire across my rump. I flinched and counted, flinched and counted until the fifth stroke landed just where my bottom merged into the top of my legs and the sting blossomed with considerably greater intensity. I gripped the cushion desperately hard, clenched my gluteal-muscles, uttered a little yelp of pain and, “Five,” I panted.

The sixth was lower still and extracted another yelp and a powerful bucking of my lower body as the fires got through to me. I gasped out ‘six’ and then breathed hard as I processed the pain, forcing myself to still the tremor in my legs. Slowly but determinedly my penis, which had gone into partial retreat at the last two strokes, came surging back.

“Okay, Chris. That was to let you know what a cane feels like on your bottom. Now I’m going to punish you for messing with my things. Stand up; jeans and pants down, and bend back over.”

I looked round at him as I straightened up.

“Bare?”

“Of course. It’s punishment. An 18-year-old gets punishment on the bare. Hurry up.”

I swallowed and complied and was soon feeling the lithe rod sliding across my skin while it probed my behind as if trying to decide where to hit me. Although my brain was warning me to beware of pain, my cock was rock-hard and eager for it.

“Go on counting from seven; and stay in position.”

I felt vulnerable and exposed. I knew this was going to hurt a lot more, not just because I no longer had the protection of my denims, but because this was punishment. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him raise the cane and then heard the air flinch as it was driven down and into my behind. A lash of flame seared a fiery furrow across my bottom and I gasped as I bucked violently and clenched my glutes hard. The pain peaked and began to ease back. “Seven,” I said unsteadily.

The next felt as if it was right on top of the welt left by previous one and I squealed and writhed at the vicious intensity of the sting. It took an effort not to rub my behind. I did the count and tried to ready myself for number nine, which came much lower and forced another squeal from me as I squirmed in pain. Ten and eleven were slightly higher, scoring blazing paths of liquid fire across my flesh. My penis had long given up its enthusiasm for being caned as I fought to calm the tremor in my beaten body in preparation for the twelfth stroke. He drove it in at an angle, cross-cutting several earlier weals and sending the pain-level soaring, making me writhe wildly, my right hand flying round to scrub at the tortured skin.

“T..twelve,” I panted as I returned my hand to the chair-cushion.

The pulse of pain throbbed on in my buttocks, slowly ebbing; and, to my astonishment, as it did so my cock came swiftly up once more. When I stood up with my hands on my head on Liam’s command and turned to face him, he was confronted with a guy in full arousal. He watched me for several seconds and then rapped my towering erection with the tip of his cane, making me wince.

“Liked that, didn’t you, Chris?”

“It was horrendous.”

“So why have you got a stiffie I could anchor a battleship to?”

“I don’t know.”

“Think you’ll get a boner when I cane you next Saturday, Chris?”

“Next Saturday?”

“Sure. You want more, don’t you?”

“I….I don’t know. It hurt so much on the bare.”

“That was punishment; it had to be hard, just so you understood. I know how to cane you on the bare so that you stay rock-hard most of the time.”

“Okay; but I still don’t….”

“You’re needing your balls emptied, aren’t you, Chris?”

“Yeh, sure, but….”

“Fuck! Will you stop making objections. Bend over the back of the chair!”

“No way! I’ve had enough for today!”

“Just do it, Chris,” he instructed as he took my arm and piloted me behind the armchair and pushed me down across the back, my throbbing organ trapped between it and my stomach.

He began to hit me lightly with the cane, over and over and, as the sting built, I thrust forward, driven by a thrilling burn which increased as he hit faster. I could feel my body powering towards climax as I matched my thrusts to his delivery; and then suddenly I was over the edge and my balls were pumping out spunk at high velocity, delivering sensations of pleasure so intense that for a few seconds my world spun.

The orgasm ebbed away and I came back to earth, panting, exhausted and deeply content.

“Next week, Chris?”

“Yes,” I replied simply.

I got myself cleaned up and we had coffee and chatted eagerly for some time before I set off for my own flat. As I walked, something which had been nagging at my brain came suddenly into focus. Liam had been remarkably sure that I’d taken out the cane and examined it. He hadn’t said that he supposed that I’d taken it out; he’d simply stated that I had done so, as if he knew it for a fact. Now, it was probably a reasonable assumption that I might have done so, maybe even that I’d arch it; but run a finger along it? Sure, I’d done that, but how did he know? There was something going on here. Under that stunning, sexy exterior, I had a feeling that Liam was playing a deeper game.

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

On my return to the flat, I told Zak what had happened.

“He caned you? You bent over and let him fucking cane you?”

“Yeh. Stop sounding so disbelieving. Anyway, that’s not why I’ve told you about getting caned. Why did he sound as if he knew exactly what I’d done when I took out the cane?”

Zak shrugged and then said, “Dunno.”

“No? There’s only two people who know what I did with that ruddy cane: me – and you.”

“So?” said Zak, but his eyes didn’t quite meet mine.

“I didn’t tell him exactly what I did; so it can only have been you, Zak.”

There was a silence before Zak threw up his hands and said, “Okay. You got me. Liam’s my cousin and that day you came to my house in December, to make our plans for moving in here, he was there, visiting my olds. He told me he saw you leaving and – I’m quoting here, Chris – he said: That young stallion’s got an arse on him that’s just crying out to be caned. I knew Liam was into caning young guys with attractive bottoms; and so when he came to me with this plan to see if you might be interested in the cane, I agreed to make sure it was you who opened the box he deliberately left in the van; and that you saw the cane. Not that I had to do much. The cane grabbed your attention right away and you were obviously fascinated by it. I didn’t even have to manoeuvre you into being the one to return the box to Liam, because you were determined to do it anyway.”

“You two set me up for a caning?”

“Yup; and it worked perfectly. I sent him the photo I took of you. You got the cane; and you’re going back next Saturday for more,” said Zak.

“How do you know that?”

Zak raised his eyebrows.

“Liam phoned you while I was walking back here, huh?”

He nodded and then added, “You are going back next Saturday, aren’t you?”

“I said I would.”

“Great! We’ll have a ball!” enthused Zak.

“We?”

“Ah, yes. You don’t know everything. Liam canes me too; so I’ll be coming with you.”

“Mmmm. I think I might enjoy that a lot,” I said, eyeing Zak’s firm, full buttocks.

“Come here, you,” instructed Zak; and I went and stood before him.

We started with hands on each other’s bottom and then somehow got very entangled and began kissing. We were both a bit hot and bothered when we surfaced.

“I’ll give Liam a ring,” panted Zak. “No way are we waiting until next Saturday. We’re going tomorrow.”

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

A grinning Liam welcomed us the next morning and after a warm-up of six each across our jeans, he got us to strip each other and then told Zak to lie on his back on the sofa and me to kneel astride him, my hands at his shoulders. On Liam’s orders, Zak held my balls in one hand and closed my throbbing penis in the other. I was told to thrust against Zak’s hand with each stroke of the cane. So thrilling and arousing was the experience that I exploded in an earth-shattering orgasm after the ninth stroke. We changed places and Zak held off for thirteen strokes. We had another go each and I lasted to twenty-two and Zak to nineteen the second time. The sting of Liam’s cane was incredible as he drove us on to the climax, hard enough to build the excitement, yet not so hard that he damaged our erections.

Cleaned up and drinking coffee a short time later, Zak suggested that Liam could come and stay with us sometimes. “You could have the spare-room,” he informed Liam.

“But we haven’t got a spare-room,” I objected.

Zak’s eyebrows almost hit his hairline and, as understanding dawned, I felt a wave of heat surge up my face.

“He’s embarrassed,” remarked Zak superfluously. “But he knows what he’ll be doing.”

“If you do have any trouble with him, just give me a call and I’ll come round with my cane. A good, hard caning can be very persuasive,” opined Liam. “Eh, Chris?”

I gave my still-burning bottom a thoughtful rub, glanced at the lithe, sexy Zak, and replied: “I don’t think you’ll need your cane to persuade me. It’s pretty hot stuff; but Zak’s even hotter. We’ll have a spare-room for when you want to come and stay over.”

That is how the cane beneath the bear provided us with a spare-room in our flat.

Zak also insists that I point out the moral of this tale: which, according to him, is that you shouldn’t interfere with another guy’s bear, or you might get your bare bottom caned.

______________

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.

Please leave a comment on this fine 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

Satan’s Cane (M/M) NEW!

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Celebrate Halloween with this brand spanking new caning story by very special guest author JOELSTRAP.  This story is as hot as Hell and is exclusive to The Canery!  All the characters are 18 or older. WARNING: ADULTS ONLY!

SATAN’S CANE by Joelstrap

It had been a great Hallowe’en party and Jed and I were driving back to town in the early hours of the morning. Jed was dressed as a skeleton, in a close-fitting, body-hugging black costume which revealed all his very attractive planes and curves; and with the bones in gleaming white against the black. I watched him out of the corner of my eye as he drove, admiring the handsome profile and the thick fall of chestnut hair around his right ear. My own costume was similar in that it too clung closely to my body and was black; but while Jed’s had white bones on it, mine was simply plain black, because I was a little devil. He may have been attired as a skeleton, but my thoughts as I eyed Jed were of a decidedly fleshly nature. We’d been out on a couple of dates, and going together to the Hallowe’en party had been a great success; which is why I felt sure that we were on the brink of becoming a lot more intimate. I was just starting to ask if Jed wanted to stay over at my place, since it was already about half-past one in the morning, when a deer leapt from the woods into the circle of the car’s headlights, making us both gasp in fright. Jed slammed on the brakes and, as the car went into a skid, fought determinedly to keep control while we headed first for one side of the road and then the other. I thought we’d made it, but then we hit a stone on the verge and the vehicle did a half-turn before ploughing into a tree with a sickening crunch. An air-bag exploded in my face.

“You okay?” asked Jed.

“Yeh,” I replied breathlessly, “just got a hell of a fright. I guess the air-bag’s a good thing, but it didn’t half scare the shit out of me when it inflated so suddenly.”

We struggled out and confirmed that neither of us had suffered any injury; but the car wasn’t going anywhere any time soon. We both tried our mobile-phones, but deep in the woods on the floor of the valley, there was no signal.

“Now what?” I asked. “I guess we could sit and wait for a car to come by, but at this time of the night and on this road, that could be ages.”

“Do you remember seeing any houses on this stretch when we came out?” asked Jed; and I shook my head.

“We must’ve come about five miles from the village where the party was,” I said, “and I’m pretty sure we’ve passed nothing.”

“And it’s gonna be at least another couple of miles before we get clear of the woods and then up over the hills to the main road,” added Jed. “But maybe we should start walking that way. There might be a house; and even if not, we should be able to flag someone down on the main road; or even get a mobile-signal once we get higher up and out of the woods.”

I agreed and we set off. There was a moon, but the night was overcast and a strong breeze kept obscuring it with dark clouds, so that we were frequently left feeling our way in almost complete darkness. We tried to use some light from our phones but we both realised to our horror that our batteries were very low and we wanted to conserve power so that we could make a call once we got a signal.

On either side the aisles of the forest stretched away into impenetrable darkness while the wind in the tree-tops sighed and soughed in a kind of ghostly threnody. Just as the moon began to emerge again, an owl flew by within a few metres of our faces, uttering a hoot of surprise as it saw us. We both jumped, clinging to each other in fright.

“Shit! I don’t like this,” I muttered. “It’s spooky.”

“Funny how it’s a lot easier to believe in ghosts and devils when you’re out in the dark in the middle of nowhere, than when you’re at a party surrounded by lots of people,” admitted Jed.

“Hey! Look! There, among the trees!”

Jed followed my pointing finger and also saw the faint light glimmering through the darkness.

“There must be a track or at least a path to it,” I said.

Sure enough, a few hundred metres further on, we came upon a rough track leading into the trees on our left. The light had vanished, but it hadn’t seemed too far away and so we turned on to the track. It was rough and uneven and we stumbled repeatedly in the inky darkness; but just as we were despairing of reaching a house, the light appeared once more and shortly we came into a broad clearing with a stone cottage on one side. The moon showed her face again briefly and we discerned a wooden fence surrounding the cottage. It had a door and two windows on the front, but no light shone.

“Maybe the light was round the back,” suggested Jed and so we pushed open the gate and walked round the house; but the windows at the back were equally dark.

“I think it’s unoccupied,” I said, eyeing the overgrown garden and the silent house.

“Well maybe we can get in and wait here until morning; and then we can at least see where we’re going,” said Jed; and he strode over to a small porch which presumably protected the back-door.

He pushed at the porch-door and it opened creakily. Just as we were going in, a bat flew past our faces and made us both yelp in fright.

“Bloody hell, Stan,” muttered Jed. “They say a fright now and again is good for your heart; but any more of this and my heart’s gonna protest. Feel it!” he urged, grabbing my hand and pressing it to his chest.

Beneath my palm I felt it thudding hard and fast.

“Feels pretty strong to me,” I assured him. “Just give it time to calm down. Mine’s racing too.”

We stood in the little porch, breathing deeply and then I tried the back-door, but it was locked. I trotted round to the front and checked the windows and door there, but they too were secured. When I returned, Jed was at one of the rear windows.

“See? The sill’s a bit rotten. I reckon I could force this open so we can get inside. I wonder if there’s anything we can use to force it with?”

I was the one who came across the rusty old frying-pan lying in the fading grass by the fence.

“How about the handle of this?”

“Ace!” said Jed, taking the pan and pushing the end of the handle under the lower edge of the window.

It screeched a bit in protest, but it rose slowly, the catch on the inside tearing away from the rotting wood and allowing it to be pushed right up. Jed scrambled in and said he’d let me in the back-door. I waited, but he didn’t return. I called through the window but there was no answer. I waited a bit longer, increasingly uneasy, and then clambered over the sill and into the room.

The darkness was absolute. I knew there must be a door into the passage somewhere on the right and I inched forwards along the wall to the corner and then turned left, feeling my way until I came to the door. Emerging into the passage, I could see a faint light coming from under the back-door and felt my way towards it; but there was no key in the lock. That, I decided, explained why Jed hadn’t opened that door to let me in; but it didn’t explain where he was. Presumably he’d gone into another room. Opposite the door from which I’d emerged, was another door and I opened it cautiously and peered in. This room was furnished and Jed was sitting on a sofa against the wall. The clouds had cleared briefly and a little moonlight showed me his still form. I dashed forward and spoke to him, but he appeared to be asleep.

I laid my hand on his chest, as I’d done when the bat scared us, and felt his heart thudding strongly and steadily; but he wouldn’t waken up. Alarmed, I returned to the passage and saw the front-door ahead, a thin sliver of light coming from beneath it. I could see dimly a door on the right; and also one on the left. I stood still. From beneath that door there was definitely a clear light shining. I took a deep breath and opened the door wide; and then paused on the threshold to stare.

The room was furnished as a study with bookshelves from floor to ceiling along two walls. In the grate, a log fire was blazing up the chimney. Oil-lamps gave additional light to the room, banishing shadows to the corners. In the window was a large desk and chair; and sitting in the chair with his face hidden from me, was a large figure of a man. He turned and stood up, showing himself to be over six feet tall. He was dressed in black and looked as if he’d stepped out of a Dickens novel.

“And what do you think you are doing in my house, young man?” he demanded angrily.

“We had an accident with the car and saw the light and thought we could shelter here for the night. The house looked unoccupied so we forced open a window. We didn’t mean any harm; and we’ll pay for the repair,” I blurted out at high speed.

“And why aren’t you out causing mayhem?” he asked. “It’s Hallowe’en, boy!”

“What? I don’t understand what you……..”

He looked me up and down and then said, “You’re one of my devils. Don’t deny it, boy! This is a prime night for mischief-making and yet you’re skulking here after breaking into my house. Name, boy?”

“Er, Stan,” I replied.

A slow smile spread across the man’s face.

“Ah, yes. Like me.”

“Your name’s Stan too?” I asked.

“Almost. It’s Satan; but you can call me sir.”

“S…Satan? B….but you can’t be……”

“I said you call me sir” he bellowed suddenly. “Do you hear, you little devil?”

“Yes, sir,” I gasped.

“Little devils who neglect their Hallowe’en duties and compound the sin by breaking into houses, need to be punished,” he proclaimed.

“P…punished?” I enquired nervously.

He opened a cupboard and took out a slender cane which he whipped viciously through the air, making me wince and take a step backwards.

“I’m going to show you what happens to little devils who don’t behave the way devils should. They get beaten, boy; beaten very hard. That gets through to them; as you are going to find out.”

He lashed out brutally hard at the seat of an armchair by the fire and a cloud of dust rose into the air.

“What have you done to my friend?” I demanded, summoning up some courage.

“Friend? The skeleton? I can’t punish a skeleton. No flesh to feel the bite of my cane; so I’ll have to make up for it by punishing you twice as severely.”

“You’re not beating me with that thing,” I asserted with more confidence than I felt. “And you still haven’t told me what you’ve done with my friend.”

“Sleeping, boy! Just sleeping. He’ll waken up in the morning. But stop procrastinating. Get that skin off your body and let me see your bare flesh. I’ve always enjoyed thrashing a good pair of devil-buttocks; and you look like you’ve got a behind just made for my cane.”

“Right! I’ve had enough of this nonsense,” I shouted. “I’m going!”

I turned to the door, only to find that somehow he was there before me.

“Let me out,” I ordered angrily.

“Once I’ve beaten you,” he informed me quietly. “Until you’ve been punished, you’re going nowhere.”

I tried repeatedly to duck past him, but he prevented me at every turn. It began to dawn on me that maybe I would have to accept a caning from him if I wanted to get out. I decided to get things clear.

“If I submit to a caning, you’ll let me and Jed go?”

“I will. Get your skin off, boy!”

For several more seconds, I hesitated, and then I made up my mind. I undid the zips and press-studs and sloughed the black devil-costume, leaving myself as naked as the day I was born, the flickering light of the flames in the hearth making my skin glow red.

“Bend over the desk, legs wide apart, you little devil!” he ordered harshly; and I obeyed, wondering at myself as I did so.

For some curious reason my penis had risen to almost horizontal and I could feel it rising still further as I waited, bent over in the position he required. He rapped my behind with the rod and then after an expectant pause, he lashed it ferociously hard into the flesh of my bottom. A searing furrow of pain blazed across my rear and I yelped and reached back to scrub desperately at the tortured skin. He was not impressed and roared at me to get my hand back on the desk. I obeyed reluctantly and he hit me again, just as hard. I gritted my teeth and gripped the far edge of the desk grimly, clenching my gluteal-muscles as I fought the pain. He hit me again and again; each time making me buck violently as savage pain ripped through my rump. I forced myself to remain in position and keep my hands on the desk’s edge.

“This is what’s called a devil of a beating,” he announced with a nasty chuckle before driving the cane into my crease with full intent.

I yelled and leapt upright, both hands pressed desperately to my pain-blasted flesh.

“Get down!” he ordered grimly. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

I could feel scalding tears trickling down my face and I was determined that he shouldn’t see them; and so I slowly resumed position. Barely had I grasped the far edge of the desk again when he delivered another agonising stroke to my crease, forcing a strangled cry from me as I writhed and kicked in a vain attempt to alleviate my pain.

I knew nothing of being caned because corporal punishment had been abolished years before I was born; but I had heard that six seemed to be the accepted limit to the number of cane-strokes given. I waited, hoping that this was correct. It seemed that it was not. He crossed to the fire and pushed the tip of his cane into the flames, holding it there for several seconds, before withdrawing it. Along its limber length it seemed that tiny tongues of fire flickered angrily.

This is impossible, I told myself as he approached me with the fame-sheathed rod.

He whipped the cane twice in swift succession on a diagonal across my lower buttocks and crease, making the pulsating welts feel as if they’d just been branded with a white-hot iron. Whether or not there was real fire on the cane, I don’t know, but I yowled and squirmed on the desk-top, both feet briefly off the floor, before I settled again. His cane was driven powerfully into the flesh of my lower bottom and as the excruciating burn reached its apogee, he delivered a tenth brutal stroke to my crease. Once again I was on my feet, tears streaming down my face, pressing my hands urgently to my fire-blasted skin.

“Felt that, didn’t you, you lazy, disobedient little devil?”

“Yes, sir,” I panted, fighting to regain some self-control once more.

He laid the cane down on the desk, the flames still licking round its length.

“Get your skin back on!”

I winced and flinched as I pulled the tight black costume over my beaten behind. When I was done, he propelled me to the room where Jed still sat sleeping peacefully, and told me to sit beside him and go to sleep too. I sat down very carefully; and the next thing I knew was that I was wakening up to a dim light filtering in through net-curtains on the window.

I glanced at Jed and then shook him and he started and woke up.

“Hello,” he said. “Where….what…..Stan?”

I took his arm and led him into the passage and along to the back door, which was standing half-open. We emerged into a grey dawn but with a pale sunlight visible above the tree-tops.

“Let’s go,” I said and we set off hand-in-hand down the track, talking as we walked.

“I don’t remember,” said Jed, rubbing his eyes. “I felt my way across the room and out into the passage and the door opposite was open, so I went in and there was a sofa and I felt tired, so I sat down; and then you were there, wakening me up a few minutes ago.”

I told him in full detail of my own weird and terrifying experience and of being brought to the sofa beside him; and then the next thing I knew was wakening up a few minutes earlier.

“It must have been a dream,” said Jed. “It must. Do you think some bastard spiked our drinks at the party?”

“I guess it’s possible; but I’ve never had a dream as vivid as that, Jed. I could really feel that fucking cane lashing into me like a whip of fire. It was horrendous.”

We reached the road, turned left and headed on out of the woods and uphill. My phone pinged.

“A signal!”

I called a mate, Robin, who said he should be with us within half an hour. We continued walking and then as we approached the main road, we saw his car turning in towards us. He took us back to Jed’s car briefly so that we could pick up our proper clothes before heading to town. He stopped at a garage so that Jed could arrange for his car to be towed in; and then insisted that we come back with him to his parents’ house where he could give us breakfast and get us cleaned up. On the way, we told him what had happened.

“But you don’t think it was for real, do you?” Robin asked. “I mean, Satan giving you a beating with a fiery cane? Come on, Stan! No way!”

Jed told him of our theory that maybe someone had spiked our drinks and we’d suffered from hallucinations; and he agreed that that sounded a plausible explanation. Robin’s parents were away for the weekend and so he was able to settle us in his kitchen and serve up a massive breakfast of eggs, bacon, sausage and fried-bread; and lots of coffee.

Afterwards he sent us together up to the big bathroom where we stripped off our costumes.

“You go in the shower first, Stan,” said Jed. “I gotta have a dump.”

He duly plonked himself on the pan and I turned on the shower, waited a few seconds until the water was running hot, and stepped in.

I was just finishing washing my feet when Jed banged on the shower-door.

“What?” I demanded. “I’m almost done. Just be patient.”

“No, you chump. Get out here now!”

Baffled, I emerged dripping wet and reached for a towel but Jed propelled me over to a huge mirror, turned my back to it, and told me to look over my shoulder. I duly did so and then gasped aloud. Fiery red across my bottom and crease were ten angry-looking welts. I looked at Jed. I looked back at my welted behind.

“But what does it mean, Jed?” I asked uneasily.

“It seems it wasn’t a dream or a drug-induced hallucination after all,” said Jed slowly. “That’s the kind of evidence you can’t argue with. You got yourself one hell of a caning last night, Stan.”

In silence we donned our normal clothes and then we returned to the kitchen where Robin was waiting, and told him what we’d seen. I dropped my jeans to let him see the proof and he gave a low whistle. He then made us more coffee and said he was going to see what he could find out about who lived in the house in the wood. He was away almost half an hour and returned to say that he’d called a pal in the village where the party had been and had been put in touch with someone who had lived in the area all his life and knew everybody. He paused and looked embarrassed.

“What?” I demanded.

“Well, you’re not gonna like it,” he began, “but there was a big, old guy who used to live there, but he died about twenty years ago and the house hasn’t been lived in since.”

I was about to say something when Robin raised a hand to stop me; and then he continued, “It seems that there was a fire at the cottage and the old guy died in the flames. The cause of the fire seemed to be a little odd because the desk had gone on fire and it appeared that the old chap had laid the hot poker on it for some reason. Anyway, the cottage has been a ruin for the best part of two decades. Four walls but no roof.”

Jed and I stared wide-eyed at him.

“I know; I know,” said Robin. “I said you wouldn’t like it; but we can go back in my car and have a look if you want to see for yourselves.”

We talked for some time and then eventually agreed that we had to see. Robin drove us back and up the bumpy track, bringing us to the little clearing bathed now in autumn sunshine. Surrounded by a rickety wooden fence the roofless walls of the cottage, smoke-blackened round the windows and up on the stonework upon which the roof had once rested, smiled almost serenely at us.

I looked at Jed, who spread his hands in bafflement.

“Looks like you got caned by a ghost, Stan,” said Robin.

“I thought ghosts were supposed to be transparent and insubstantial,” I objected.

“Maybe he was,” said Jed.

“Yeh, okay,” I agreed, “but there was nothing insubstantial about his fucking cane. It was as real and as solid as they come. And I’ll tell you something else.”

“It hurt like hell?” suggested Robin.

“How did you know I was gonna say that?” I enquired.

“Stands to reason,” replied Robin. “If you get caned by Satan it’s bound to hurt like hell!”

______________

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 ©MMXXI by Joelstrap, used here by very kind permission.

Please leave a comment on this fine 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

Sore In Shorts (M/M) NEW!

♥ Site recommended story ♥

A hot new caning story by very special guest author JOELSTRAP.  This story is currently exclusive to The Canery!  All the characters are 18 or older. WARNING: ADULTS ONLY!!

SORE IN SHORTS by Joelstrap

Don’t get me wrong. I recognise a t-shirt when I see one and I often wear one; but I don’t expect one to come floating down from on high and land on my head when I’m walking along the street. I’ll admit that my mind was elsewhere, wrestling with the problem of paying off the loan on my new lap-top and still having enough money to buy food. For a few seconds everything went dark, until I reached up and yanked the t-shirt off me and then gazed at it in bafflement. I realised that while unable to see for a few seconds, I’d moved near the edge of the pavement. Suddenly furious at the possibility that I might have stumbled out into the traffic, I scrunched the t-shirt into a ball and tossed it in a puddle near the wall of the building.

Voices caught my attention. I glanced up at the tenement which rose three storeys above me. No-one was visible, but in the still air I could make out what was being said.

“You stupid bastard,” hissed one male voice. “What did you want to do that for?”

“I didn’t realise that the window was open,” retorted another male voice peevishly. “I didn’t do it on purpose.”

There was a pause and then the second voice asked, “Can you see them?”

“No! So you better get down there and find them or I’ll take the skin off your arse.”

“Okay! Keep your hair on! Wait until I get some clothes on.”

“I should make you go down in your birthday-suit,” said the original voice.

There was the sound of a sharp slap and a protesting yelp; and then silence.

I debated briefly on whether I wanted to meet the guy who had presumably thrown his mate’s t-shirt out of the window, but decided he might not appreciate the fact I’d chucked the t-shirt in a puddle. That was, I admitted to myself, a mite nasty of me; but if the silly bugger who threw the thing so that it landed on my head got into trouble, it served him right. I might have been flattened by a bus. I strode away very fast and swiftly turned the corner out of sight of anyone emerging from the tenement.

Back home, I kicked off my trainers, tossed my anorak over a chair in the hall and headed towards the living-room door. I paused. There was something not quite right. I looked back to see what had caught my attention, and saw, protruding from the hood of my anorak, a dark-blue garment. I pulled out a pair of shorts; and when I call them shorts, I mean shorts. I’d never seen such short shorts. As far as I could judge they’d just about cover a guy’s bottom; and they were cut away at the thigh on each side so that as much leg as possible would surely be visible. They were uniform blue except for a small motif in white at one side in front. It showed what looked like a test-tube pointing up towards the waist-band. It wasn’t a brand I’d ever seen, but it definitely had an erotic appeal. That shape surely couldn’t be accidental.

It seemed reasonable to assume that the shorts had come down from the tenement window along with the t-shirt; and then something which had struck me as vaguely odd at the time, came back to me. The two guys talking had referred to them; which made a lot more sense now that I knew that there were two garments. I went into the living-room and sat down with the shorts, and soon realised that I really wanted to see the guy who wore these. I resolved to trot along the next morning, which was Saturday, with the perfect excuse of returning the shorts. As to the t-shirt in the puddle, they’d presumably just assume it had landed there.

Things are never as simple as one hopes. The street was quite a long one, with a row of tenement-flats on each side. I knew roughly where the incident with the t-shirt and shorts had occurred, but couldn’t pinpoint the exact stairway and the puddle appeared to have dried up, so I could get no clue there. I sighed and decided to go to the pool and have a swim. I called in at home to collect my bathing stuff; and left the shorts sitting on my bed.

I spent an enjoyable hour in the pool and then retired to the cafe where I managed to get a table facing the huge plate-glass windows which looked straight into the pool-area. For a while I watched a group of boys and girls diving from the high-board, and then my attention was caught by a very attractive-looking young guy approaching the edge of the pool. He flexed his shoulders and then dived smoothly into the water before moving steadily up the pool at a crawl. It was as I turned my head to follow his progress that something else caught my eye. Sitting at a table not far from me was a young lad wearing a pair of blue shorts with the white motif, seemingly identical to the pair which had landed in my hood.

I got up and went over to him and explained what had happened yesterday and why I just wondered if he might be the guy I was looking for. As I was telling him all this, I was checking him out, and he was a spunky lad. He’d be about two inches short of six feet, broad of shoulder, slim of waist, with the slender yet muscular build of an athlete. Beneath a tumble of tawny hair which covered his brow, a pair of bright blue eyes danced as he listened to me.

“I’m Kyle,” he informed me.

“Glen,” I said.

“So that’s what happened to the shorts,” he said with a grin. “I couldn’t understand how they’d just vanished.”

“They’re very unusual,” I remarked, “and hell of a sexy,” I added daringly.

He smiled engagingly.

“You like them, huh? I’ve got a mate who’s at art-college and he’s into design; and him and some of his pals make a few pairs every month. The ones you’ve got belong to my boy-friend; the ones I tossed out the window. These,” he went on, glancing down at his waist, “are my pair. I think there’s only maybe another couple of dozen pairs out there so far.”

“I overheard a bit of your conversation,” I admitted, “and your boyfriend sounded kinda annoyed with you. I hope you didn’t fall out?”

“Yeh! Me and Dave were having a bit of a play-fight and I tossed his shorts and shirt away, forgetting that the window was wide open. He was fizzing; but he was blazing mad when all I managed to bring back was the shirt, and that had landed in a puddle. And I had to tell him that the shorts had disappeared. He really let me have it!”

“Aw, hell.”

“Every cloud has a silver lining, they say,” observed he with a shrug. “So, how about you coming up to our flat tonight and bringing the shorts? It’s number 76, flat 5. Come about seven and you can have some of my famous pork vindaloo.”

“Yeh? I’d like that. I bet your vindaloo’s hot stuff.”

“Nobody’s refused seconds yet,” he asserted with a grin. “Anyway, I’d best be off. Things to do.”

He jumped to his feet, shook my hand vigorously and headed for the door. I was watching his retreating back when suddenly I did a double-take. Peeping coyly from just below the hem of his incredibly tight and short shorts was a pale red mark. My eyebrows rose abruptly as I registered its significance. Kyle had been caned.

I returned to my seat as my brain worked furiously. When Kyle had said that Dave, his boyfriend, had let him have it, I’d assumed that he’d torn him off a strip; but now it seemed possible that what he’d let him have was a beating. For some reason my penis found this extremely interesting and I wriggled in my chair as I re-positioned things more comfortably. Why would any boy allow himself to be caned, I wondered. Another thing came back to me. After Kyle had said Dave had let him have it, he’d remarked that every cloud had a silver lining. Surely he’d got mixed up and meant that every silver lining had a cloud! Unless…….did he mean that although losing Dave’s shorts was a dark cloud, the resultant caning was the silver lining? This was intriguing and I began to look forward eagerly to going to their flat this evening.

I rang the bell and Kyle spoke through the intercom: “I’ll come down,” he said. “The remote-opening isn’t working.”

A few seconds later he opened the door to admit me and, to my delight, he was wearing the obscenely-short blue shorts, along with a tight-fitting t-shirt. As I climbed the stairs behind him, I got a good, long, close-up look at that mark peeping out from below the shorts’ hem. There was no doubt about it; the mark was the mark of a cane. There was still more, because as he moved his legs to mount the stairs, the shorts were briefly drawn deeper into his cleft and I glimpsed the ends of at least two other cane-welts.

Dave greeted me warmly and I took in the lean figure, the straight, thick, black hair, the well-developed muscles, and the day’s growth of hair around his chin and across his upper lip. His white shirt was open at the neck sufficiently far to reveal a patch of dark hair between his pectorals. A broad, black leather belt circled a slim waist, while a pair of very pale-blue denims fitted so tightly that I wondered how he got into them. His rounded buttocks filled them fully behind, while in front the fabric positively bulged with a generous endowment. Like Kyle, I guessed he’d be maybe nineteen or twenty.

“Yours, I believe,” I said, handing over the shorts with a grin.

“Thanks, mate. I thought I wasn’t going to see them ever again, thanks to this idiot.”

He nodded towards Kyle, who smiled cheekily.

“Yeh. I heard you telling him off through the open window,” I admitted.

“Oh, I did more than tell him off when he got back up here and said he’d got my t-shirt but the shorts had vanished,” stated Dave. “Didn’t I, Kyle?”

“Fucking right you did,” agreed Kyle cheerfully. “Sadistic brute caned me,” added Kyle to me with a grin.

“He canes you?”

“Only when I need it,” supplied Kyle.

“And you definitely needed it yesterday,” said Dave, “didn’t you?”

“I guess,” Kyle replied.

I shifted uncomfortably as my penis swelled alarmingly.

“And you…er…..don’t object to Dave caning you?” I asked.

“Course not! He loves me!”

“Huh?”

“Look,” continued Kyle, speaking slowly, as if to an idiot, “he loves me; so he cares about me and wants me to be the best boy I can be. If I fuck up, he tans my hide hard and I learn not to fuck up like that again; so I become a better boy. See?”

“Well, yeh, when you put it like that…….but couldn’t he just tear you off a strip?”

“Yeh, he could; but what’s sexy about that?” asked Kyle, spreading his hands in appeal.

“What’s sexy about getting your arse caned?” I asked.

“Maybe you should ask your cock,” interposed Dave with a smile. “It seems to think that getting a caning is very sexy indeed.”

I flushed to the roots of my hair, feeling the heat rising swiftly across my face as I reddened.

“So, Glen, are you a perfect boy?” enquired Dave.

“Eh? No, course not! No boy’s perfect. But I’m not a bad guy,” I added. “I mean, I don’t mug old ladies, or take drugs, or shoplift, or vandalise things, or……..”

“……toss another guy’s t-shirt in a puddle?” said Dave.

“What!?” I ejaculated, trying to look scandalised at the suggestion I could have done such a thing. “Yeh, a t-shirt did come down and landed on my head; but I just yanked it off and dropped it.”

“Spread deliberately flat right across a puddle,” added Dave.

“No! It was in a ball when……..Oh, shit!”

“Oooh, you are a bad boy,” said Kyle. “Lying, swearing, bad temper. If I behaved like that, I’d have an arse you could cook your dinner on.”

“Okay! I’m sorry about that; but it landed across my face and I might have stumbled into the road and been flattened,” I excused myself.

“And did you?”

“Well, no, obviously; ‘cos I’m here.”

“So why deliberately ball my shirt and chuck it in a bloody puddle, Glen?”

“I guess it was a just a fit of bad temper, like Kyle said. I’m sorry.”

“Suppose I was to cane you,” said Dave. “Do you think that would help you remember not to lose your rag next time something annoys you?”

“What? I guess it might; but you’re not caning me.”

Kyle suddenly leaned across and placed his hand on the straining bulge in the front of my jeans; and “Oh, no?” he said softly.

“No!”

Kyle’s hand moved across my junk in a smooth, thrilling caress, his thumb sliding down below to stroke the underside of my balls; and then two fingers passed back along my perineum and made me gasp and squirm.

“I think,” said Kyle quietly, “that you know you need to be caned.”

“I….I…….”

He knelt down and began to untie my trainers. I watched as he slid them off my feet.

“Stand up, Glen,” he said gently; and I found myself obeying.

His hands went to the buckle of my belt and after a swift glance at my face, he undid it, pulled down my zip, and pushed my jeans down to my ankles.

“Step out, Glen.”

As if in a dream, I did. He came and stood behind me, his body pressed against mine, and put his hands on the waistband of my briefs.

“Ready, Glen?” he whispered in my ear, his warm breath a caress on my cheek.

“Uh-huh,” I gasped; and he pushed my briefs swiftly to the floor and swivelled round to stand sideways on to me. His left hand slid through between my legs from behind while his right cupped my balls and the thumb stroked my straining erection.

“Very impressive, Glen,” he said. “You’re a big boy; and that’s some boner you got there. Now, I’m gonna pass you over to Dave and he’s gonna give you the cane. It’s gonna be fucking sexy, Glen, and it’s gonna make you into a much better boy, okay?”

“Yeh,” I panted. “Stop doing that, Kyle! I’m gonna cum!”

“No, you’re not!” interjected Dave harshly, stepping forward as Kyle moved away.

I refocussed my attention on Dave and saw that he was holding a slender cane in both hands, bending it slowly into a smooth arc.

“This is what I’m going to give you, Glen. Understand?”

I nodded dumbly.

“Bend over that chair.”

He placed a hand on my neck and turned me slowly but firmly to face a small wooden chair. I leaned forward and grasped the edges of the seat. Dave’s hand slid across my bottom, making the bare skin tingle.

“Wicked arse, Glen,” he said. “What am I going to do to it, Glen?”

“Cane it,” I replied to my own surprise.

“Why?”

“To punish me for chucking your t-shirt in a puddle in a fit of temper; and for lying and swearing.”

“And?”

“To make me into a better boy?”

“Exactly. Don’t move while I’m beating you.”

I could feel the blood rushing in my ears and the thud of my heart in my chest. My whole body was a-quiver with anticipation and anxiety. My penis, rampant and straining, wrestled with my brain which was calling me back; but my penis had the mastery. I stayed in position and waited to be caned.

The fierce sting of the first stroke was more intense than I expected, but there was a strongly sensual element to it too. I flinched and clenched my glutes; and waited for him to hit me again. He obliged steadily and relentlessly, eliciting gasps and squeals and yelps and an occasional ‘fuck’ from me. Stroke after fiery stroke set my buttocks ablaze and I squirmed and twisted, wriggled and writhed, as the burning sting enveloped my bottom. Twelve times he hit me and I absorbed each one and waited, tense but determined, for the next.

When he’d finished, he ruffled my hair and told me to stand up, but not to touch my bottom. I complied and stood mute, my penis like a flag-pole, my behind pulsating with raging fires. I’d never felt pain like it in my life. I was desperately relieved when he stopped wielding his cane across me; and I didn’t want him to stop either.

“What have you learned, Glen?” asked Dave, standing before me, arching his lithe cane.

“Not to lose my temper, or tell lies, or swear” I responded dutifully.

“Think you’ll remember?”

“I’ll never forget,” I assured him earnestly.

Kyle came and stood in front of me and slid a hand round to caress my flaming buns. I gasped in exquisite delight; and then when he took my throbbing erection in his other hand and stroked it firmly and expertly, I raced to the brink. He paused operations and I hovered, poised, waiting, pleading with him with my eyes. He grinned and with a couple of swift movements he pushed me over the edge and my balls exploded, pumping out long streams of my boy-cream with such power that some of my ejaculate went right over my shoulder.

“Attaboy!” exclaimed Kyle. “Wow! You sure got plenty of spunk in your balls! So, is being caned sexy or what, Glen?”

“Oh, fuck, yeh,” I panted. “It’s sexy as hell!”

“And you feel good?”

“Brilliant!”

“Think you’re on the way to being a better boy?”

“I feel a much better boy already.”

“Great,” said Kyle. “Now, get your kit back on. Vindaloo coming up!”

The curry was as good as promised and as we chatted together, I found that I got on well with Dave and Kyle. The talk turned to the blue shorts and I told Kyle how almost unbearably sexy he looked in them, especially with the evidence of his recent caning showing below the hem. I even admitted that I was disappointed that he was so obviously Dave’s boyfriend.

“He seemed pretty good at the time,” said Kyle, looking very serious as he glanced at Dave, “and how was I to know that you would come along a few months later?”

“You,” said Dave with a broad grin, “are positively asking to be caned fucking hard.”

“Sorry, your mighty sir-ness,” said Kyle in pretend mockery.

“Okay!” said Dave, getting to his feet and picking up the cane, “that’s it! Strip and bend over, Kyle!”

To my eternal delight, Kyle swiftly stripped naked and bent over the chair; and Dave meted out six real stingers which raised a series of parallel welts on Kyle’s exquisite bottom, and made him squirm and yelp as he processed the pain. He stood up, penis fully erect, rubbing at his bottom.

“Sadistic bastard!” he muttered. “That hurt!”

Dave grinned at me and told Kyle to get his shorts back on. I whistled softly in appreciation as I gazed at him, freshly caned, encased in the oh-so-short and tight shorts; and with a few more welts showing clearly below the hem. Dave looked at me and then suddenly gave a whoop.

“That’s it!” he cried, and we both turned to stare at him. “Our mates who make the shorts have been selling a few, like we told you. They’ve a web-site they sell from; but I just realised that they need a niche-market, because they can only ever make a small number of them.”

“So?” asked Kyle.

“Gay male spankos like us!” declared Dave triumphantly. “Get yourself stripped, Glen!”

“What!”

“Come on! You’re gonna be brilliant!”

“But I don’t…….”

Dave jumped to his feet, picked up the cane and showed it to me.

“I said strip!”

For some reason I obeyed and by the time I was naked, penis bouncing enthusiastically, Dave had produced another pair of shorts. He handed them to me, telling me to put them on. They felt fantastic, clinging closely to the contours of my bottom and thighs, just about holding my junk but with my erection protruding well above the waist-band.

“Oh, shit!” gasped Kyle. “You should see your arse in these! And with a couple of cane-welts showing below the hem, you are one red-hot boy!”

Dave got me to stand in several different positions and took photographs of me with his ‘phone before he sat in the middle of the sofa flanked by Kyle and me, and showed us the results. I had to admit to myself that I thought I looked brilliant in the shorts, but I modestly kept quiet. No such feeling inhibited Dave and Kyle.

“Boy, I could fuck you right here and now, you sexy bugger,” declared Dave.

“And I’ll do whatever you want,” offered Kyle. “You name it, I’ll do it for you. If our mates advertise on gay-male spanking sites using those pics, they’ll be able to quadruple the price of the shorts, because so many guys will want them.”

“But why not use pics of you?” I asked Kyle. “You look great in them after a caning too.”

“Not as good as you,” replied Kyle. “You really have got an arse to die for.”

“And you fill the shorts even better than Kyle does,” added Dave. “And that’s saying something.”

Before I left that evening, Dave had mailed the pictures to his mates and received an enthusiastic response. A pic had already been chosen and would go on the advertising-site the next day. A question was asked. Would I provide a fresh photo each week, so that potential buyers would be returning frequently to the site and recommending it to their mates? Flattered, I agreed.

Kyle came down to the door with me when it was time to leave.

“You’ll be back next week,” he said.

“For a new photo? Sure!”

“And for a fresh caning,” said Kyle.

“Eh? Who said anything about a caning?”

“The shorts are being marketed to gay male spankos, so the model has to show clear signs that he’s been spanked of course,” said Kyle.

“Oh!”

“Come on, Glen. You loved being caned. You want it again.”

“Well, yeh, sort of; but it fucking hurt!”

Kyle suddenly grasped my balls in one hand and slid the other into my hair, pulling my head back. I gasped aloud as his thumb caressed my testicles and then was silenced as he kissed me with a passion which left me breathless.

“Next week for a caning,” said Kyle, still holding my balls firmly; and I nodded dumbly.

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

It was with a mixture of excitement and apprehension that I returned to the flat the following weekend; and was enthusiastically received. Dave showed me the part of the shorts website which only those with a special password could see. I saw a sales-graph which rose dramatically over the past six days. I saw the price for which the shorts were selling; and at the bottom of a page I saw the astounding profits being made. More amazingly than anything else, I saw my name along with the guys who designed and made the shorts; and beside it, my share of the income.

“I’m going to get all that?” I asked, incredulous.

Dave picked up an envelope from the coffee-table and handed it to me and I found myself gazing at a substantial cheque. It seemed that paying off my new lap-top wasn’t going to come at the cost of eating only every second day after all!

He then showed me the sales-part of the site and there I was in the shorts with the cane-marks peeping from beneath. Below my picture were the words:

Use the cane on your boy, make his bottom sore.

Then make him wear these shorts, and your cock will soar!

“And there’s something else,” declared Kyle as he reached under the table and produced a pair of the special shorts. “These are for you to keep.”

“Oh, wow! This is fantastic!”

“Right, Glen! We need a new picture of you for this week,” said Dave, going to a cupboard and returning with his cane. “Bottom bare, boy! You’re getting a thrashing!”

I did. Dave drove the cane in hard in six stinging strokes on the lower half of my bottom, making me writhe and squeal as the fierce sting lacerated my flesh.

“Bloody hell!” I panted as I stood up, scrubbing at my behind, “did you have to hit that hard?”

“You seemed to like it,” observed Dave, nodding at my swiftly-rising penis. “And, yes, I did have to hit that hard because this week’s picture is going to be entitled:

When he’s wearing these shorts, everyone will know that your boy’s been freshly caned!

Now get the shorts on and let me take some pics while the welts are still nice and angry.”

He took his pictures and then the three of us stood and looked at the results on his ‘phone-screen. We were all wearing the blue shorts and above the waist-band of each, a substantial length of erection was visible.

“Yup! The shorts sure get the cocks rising,” observed Dave.

“And the sales,” added Kyle.

“It’s strange,” I said.

“What is?” asked Kyle.

“The first time I met the shorts they were coming down to land in my hood; but everything has risen since then.”

I accompanied this with a downward sweep of my arm as I spoke of the descent of the shorts and then with an upward sweep as I talked of everything rising. Unfortunately, on the up-swing I caught the shade of a small lamp on a side-table and sent it flying.

“Fuck!” I ejaculated.

“And they’ll be coming down again now,” said Dave

“Huh?”

“So that I can cane you for carelessness and for swearing. Get them down, Glen!”

“But I’ve just been……..”

Dave looked straight at me, his eyebrows raised, the lithe cane arched into a smooth curve in both his hands. I swallowed and pushed the shorts to my ankles and, at a nod from Dave, bent over the chair.

“Now I’m going to bring my cane down hard,” said Dave, “and then my cock will rise.”

He did; and it did; and so did mine!

______________

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 ©MMXXI by Joelstrap, used here by very kind permission.  Please leave a comment here or by using the link at the top of the story.

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

The Old-Style Teacher’s Desk (M/M) NEW!

♥ Site recommended story ♥

A hot new caning story by very special guest author JOELSTRAP.  This story is currently exclusive to The Canery!  All the characters are 18 or older. WARNING: ADULTS ONLY!!

The Old-Style Teacher’s Desk by Joelstrap

“But I don’t want to go into town,” I protested. “I was going round to hang out with Torquil.”

“You don’t need to see him,” said dad. “Far better you come with me.”

“Why? What’s wrong with Torquil?” I demanded irritably.

“What kind of a name is Torquil for a boy?” asked dad.

“It’s his name! What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Something odd about a boy with a name like that,” said dad darkly.

“Odd? There’s nothing odd about him. Do you think he’s got three tits? Or square balls?” I snapped angrily.

“One more comment like that, my lad, and you’ll spend the next three weekends in the house, Julian,” dad warned grimly.

Furious, I subsided, satisfying myself with glaring rebelliously at dad’s back as he unlocked the car.

“Get in!” he ordered abruptly.

I dropped into the passenger-seat and slammed the car-door.

“Maybe you’d prefer four weekends in the house?” enquired dad sweetly. “Would you?”

“No,” I replied shortly.

“Then remove that mutinous expression from your face and stop behaving like a spoiled child. You’re eighteen, for goodness sake.”

I rolled my eyes and then tried to look co-operative. Dad sighed and started the engine. Fifteen minutes later we drew up at the second-hand furniture store.

“This shouldn’t take long,” said dad. “Come on.”

I followed him into the building and waited while he hunted down the owner. Dad was in charge of props and furnishings for the local amateur drama group and an old-fashioned school-desk was required for the next production. Apparently dad had phoned up and ascertained that the store may have had the kind of thing which might be suitable. Dad returned with a small, bustling guy, bald as a coot except for a ring of light-brown hair, which made him look like a tonsured monk. I trailed along gloomily in their wake through a maze of ancient furniture until we reached a section with a number of old school desks. I looked idly at large, hefty desks of wood and iron, joined together in pairs with seats which could be raised. I lifted lids and peered into graffiti-scored interiors. Initials were the most common feature; but more interesting comments such as Latin killed the Romans, and now it’s killing me were also to be found. I liked If violence is bad, why did I get caned?

“Julian. Where are you?”

I started at dad’s voice and hurried to catch him up. It appeared that he wasn’t after the kind of desk I’d been looking at, but wanted an old-style teacher’s desk. He and the baldie-guy were standing by a tall, narrow desk with a high stool behind it. The surface of the desk-top was sloping I guessed that it opened like a pupil’s desk. Dad seemed delighted and I listened, impressed in spite of myself, as he skilfully negotiated a good deal and left the poor salesman looking decidedly dejected. I was left to guard the desk while dad and the sales-chap went off to see to the payment; not that there was anyone to guard against. I tried to lift the lid of the desk, but it was locked and there was no key. I gave it a shake but there was no sound and so I concluded that there was no exciting secret inside. When dad returned I pointed out the lack of a key, but he didn’t seem bothered. There was, he told me, no need to open it anyway, as it just needed to stand there for a teacher to sit behind during a part of the play. Dad picked up the stool and left me to carry the desk. It was quite heavy and an awkward shape and I struggled as I tried to manoeuvre it through the narrow passage between the furniture and out to the door.

“What kept you?” demanded dad as I eventually emerged, slightly dishevelled and decidedly sweaty.

I rolled my eyes at him and made no attempt to help while he put down the back-seats of the car, lifted the hatch-back, and then graciously decided to help me to load the desk by lifting one end while I slid the monstrosity into the car. I got into the passenger-seat and then fumed to myself while he fussed around for ages, tying the hatch-back as far shut as it would go and affixing a yellow hanky to the protruding foot of the desk. At last, he got in and drove us home where we deposited the desk in a corner of the garage.

“So, can I go and meet Torquil now?” I asked sulkily.

“If you must.”

Aware that my weekends were at risk, I bit back a cheeky retort and stalked off down the road. I might be newly eighteen, but as long as I lived at home, I knew I had to abide by dad’s rules and accept his discipline.

My summer-job at the museum, where I welcomed visitors and issued tickets, started at 2p.m. and lasted until eight, with a brief break in the middle. It was mind-numbingly boring most of the time, and I was usually relieved when I could lock up for the night. Trying to get the final stragglers out of the building for eight o’clock was a challenge sometimes, but I could normally be home not long after eight-thirty.

My mornings were free and I tended to lie long, have a late breakfast and generally potter about until it was time for lunch. Torquil’s job at the swimming-pool, where he acted as a life-guard, was from eight in the morning until late afternoon, so we usually met only at weekends or occasionally for a drink in the late evening.

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

A few days after we’d brought the old desk back to the garage, I was mooching around the house about half an hour before lunch, both my parents being out at work, and feeling bored. Outside, the rain was streaming down and my hopes of going for a run were dashed. I enjoyed running, but not in torrential rain. I wandered into the garage through a door from the utility-room and eyed the old desk. I tried again to get it to open, but it was definitely locked. I couldn’t say why I was so keen to open it, but something just pushed at me to do so. I tried to slide a knife-blade under the lid to prise open the lock, but that didn’t work. I tried a few old keys which were lying in a drawer in the garage; but none fitted. Frustrated, I gave the desk a violent shake; and something rattled inside. I shook it again and once more there was a rattling-sound. It seemed that I’d dislodged something.

Now I was all the more eager to get the thing open. A screw-driver didn’t work, and so I got a hammer and chisel and worked carefully at the lock. A wasp buzzed past close to my face and gave me a fright and I put a lot more pressure on the chisel than I’d intended. There was a cracking, splintering sound and the lock burst free of the wooden desk-top. The desk was open, but the damage was impossible to conceal. I laid down the hammer and chisel and lifted the lid. Inside, partly curved so that it fitted the space, was a cane.

I lifted it out gingerly, as if afraid that it would bite. It was slender and lithe and bent easily into a smooth arc when I held each end in my hands. I did an experimental stroke and the air whistled.

“Shit,” I muttered to myself, as I plunged a hand into my jeans to rearrange my swiftly-hardening penis.

The cane fascinated me. I began to fantasise about using it on a boy’s bottom in class; and then to imagine Torquil using it on my bottom. My erection was solid and throbbing urgently. I tried it out on my own buttocks, but couldn’t get any force behind the strokes and gave it up. I ambled back into the kitchen and sat at the table with a bowl of soup and wondered about what it felt like to be caned. Lunch over, it wasn’t long before I was lying on the sofa in the sitting-room, the cane beside me, bringing myself to a stunning climax as I fantasised about a naked Torquil thrashing me hard with the cane. The room spun for a few seconds as my boy-cream spurted strongly over my shoulder, and I experienced an almost unbearable explosion of pleasure. Deeply content, I drifted off to sleep to be awakened abruptly by the telephone. I leapt to my feet and plunged into the hall to answer breathlessly. It was the warden of the museum, saying it was ten past two and where the hell was I?

Horrified, I paused only to put on my trainers and dashed out of the house. I arrived, breathless and profusely apologetic more than twenty minutes late. It wasn’t until I’d been politely welcoming visitors for over an hour that there was a pause and I could think again about the cane. It was then that the appalling truth hit me like a sledge-hammer. I’d left the cane lying on the sofa in the sitting-room; and both mum and dad would be home from their work long before I was.

I approached the house warily, unsure of what kind of reception I was going to get. It wasn’t so much the cane itself which bothered me, as the fact that I’d damaged the desk in order to force it open. I took a deep breath and went into the sitting-room. My parents looked up questioningly. On the coffee-table, the cane still reposed where I’d left it.

“So,” began dad, “would you like to explain?”

I realised that I didn’t yet know if he’d discovered the damaged desk; or indeed if he’d made a connection between the cane and the desk. I didn’t want to talk myself into unnecessary trouble, not least because I thought that there might still be a chance that I could patch up the damage to the desk.

“Explain what?” I enquired innocently.

“A ruddy cane lying on the table in the lounge,” replied dad. “A little surprising to come home to, don’t you think, Julian?”

“Oh, that! I found it in that old desk. Sorry, I’ll take it away and………”

“Leave it alone and sit down!”

Reluctantly, I sat.

“How did you get it out of the desk?” asked dad.

My heart sank. I was sure now that he knew about the damage.

“Well, I tried a few keys and, when they didn’t fit, I tried a chisel; and it sort of slipped and burst the whole thing open; and this was inside. It’s a real school cane,” I went on, hoping to distract him from the desk with detail about the cane. “Look at how slim and pliant it is. I bet it hurt!”

“You don’t know, Julian?”

“How would I know? I’ve never been caned.”

“Maybe I should remedy that?”

“What! Dad, no! You can’t cane me! It’s abolished! It’s illegal!”

“You’re eighteen, Julian. If you agree to it, you can be caned this very evening.”

“Of course I don’t agree to being caned,” I protested.

“Maybe I should have explained that the alternative is the next six weeks staying indoors all weekend, every weekend,” said dad.

I gasped aloud in horror and, “You wouldn’t!” I panted.

“I would.”

“But I didn’t mean to damage the desk. It was an accident. Honest. I’m sure I can patch it up; and from a distance, when it’s on stage, nobody will notice anyway.”

“I don’t think it’s going to be as easily mended as you seem to think. And the fact that the damage may not be visible when it’s on stage is missing the point. You did the damage because you were doing something you had no business doing. Isn’t that right, Julian?”

“Yes, okay. I was wrong,” I admitted sullenly.

“Right. Take the cane, go up to your room, and have a good think about whether you want six weeks’ grounding or six of the best with the rod. I’ll be up in twenty minutes and you can tell me your decision.”

I picked up the cane and looked at dad.

“You’re actually gonna beat me with this?” I asked, still struggling to believe it.

“If that’s what you choose. Off you go.”

I went.

Up in my room, I bent the cane into a smooth arc and then did a full-power practice-stroke on my pillow. I tried to imagine how much it would hurt to have my bottom hit that hard, six times. I winced at the thought. I realised that I had no idea how much it would hurt. I was fairly sure though that it would be a lot. I squirmed inwardly as I tried to decide, but eventually concluded that opting for the cane was too much of a leap into the unknown. Reluctantly, I told dad I’d accept six weekends of being grounded.

Torquil, when I told him, was furious with me.

“What the hell did you think you were doing?” he demanded. “We don’t get much time together during the week because of the way our jobs are; and then you go and get yourself gated for six bloody weekends!”

“I’m sorry. I just…..”

“And to make it worse, you didn’t even have to! You got an alternative; a beating that’s over in a few minutes and then you’re free. What’ve you got between your ears, Julian? Semolina?”

“But that cane looked vicious. I tried it carefully on my arse, and it still stung. Imagine it used with full force; and six times over!”

“Yeh, well. It’s just a bit of pain. You could take that. You’re not exactly a scrawny little runt, are you? You got a fantastic arse on you and you could surely have taken a few hard licks on it.”

I sighed and urged him to come down to the park for a kickabout before it got dark, but he was still miffed with me and said he was going home.

Over the following days things settled down, and we met in the late evenings after I’d finished work at the museum. Occasionally things were a bit strained as we approached a weekend, but we had a strong enough relationship to get us through.

It was on the Saturday of the fourth weekend of my grounding that events conspired to cause a major upset. The production in which the desk was to be used was due to begin a week later and it needed to be delivered to the hall where the play would be put on, so that the final week of rehearsals could take place on the stage with all furnishings in place. Mum had been called away to care for her mother who had had a fall and needed someone to look after her for a week or two; and dad intended to put the desk in his car on Saturday afternoon and take it to the hall. I’d done a bit of repair-work on it and, although it was obvious close-up that the lock had been broken and the surrounding wood damaged, nothing would be visible from the audience.

I was mooching about sulkily just after lunch when the phone rang, and dad returned from answering it to tell me that there was a crisis at work and he’d have to go into the office.

“You’ll have to get the desk to the hall,” he said to me. “They need it for late afternoon and I’ve got to go now and it sounds like I won’t be back for several hours.”

“But I can’t carry that great big thing all the way to the hall,” I protested. “And besides, I’m not allowed out, remember?”

“In the circumstances you are allowed out for the sole purpose of getting the desk to the hall. Put it on the garden wheelbarrow and you’ll get it down there easily enough; and then come straight home.”

Dad dashed off and I went out sullenly to the shed to fetch the wheelbarrow. I managed to load the tall desk on to it, but it was pretty unstable and unwieldy. I pondered for a minute or two and then called Torquil, who arrived eagerly shortly after.

“Licence to go out,” he said with a grin.

“Yeh; but not to see you at the weekend. I just need some help to keep this thing steady while I wheel it down the road.”

“And you never thought about a quick snog or even a foray into my pants afterwards?”

“Well…..”

“Randy bugger!” declared Torquil happily. “Is that cane back in there?”

“No. It’s still in my room.”

“A warning to a bad boy that he’d better behave himself, huh, Julian?”

“Come on; let’s get this done.”

We set off and found that even with two of us it was difficult.

“Hey! If we go down Merryhell Lane, we’d cut off almost half the distance,” suggested Torquil.

“But there’s a flight of steps at the far end of the lane,” I objected.

“So? I’ll go backwards in front, holding the desk steady and you bump the barrow down the steps carefully. It’ll be a piece of cake,” he averred confidently.

I had some doubts, but the prospect of reducing the distance by a huge chunk won me over. We eventually reached the top of the steps and Torquil held the desk with both hands and felt his way backwards down the steps while I guided the barrow slowly over the edge of each step and down with a bump to the next one. We were almost half way down when a cat raced out of a gateway and almost tripped Torquil. The desk wobbled and the barrow threatened to tip over. With an effort, we steadied things; and then a dog pelted out in pursuit of the cat and Torquil, jumping to one side to avoid being hit by the animal, lost his footing and tumbled to the ground. The barrow swayed and I made a grab for the desk as it slid off the front edge; but that just made me lose complete control of the barrow and as I watched helplessly the desk crashed to the ground and then slid with increasing speed down the flight of steps. Torquil made a vain attempt to stop it as he staggered to his feet again, but it was too late. The desk, bumped and slid its way to the bottom and landed with a crash which made the lid jump open and then come away completely.

Horrified, I dashed down to find that the front of the desk was badly damaged too by a long split in the wood. Torquil came up beside me and began to dab at a grazed knee with his hanky as we surveyed the mess. There was nothing else to do but to go on and deliver the desk to the hall, where I explained what had happened and said that my father would be in touch when he got home. Torquil and I returned to my house.

“You may as well be here when dad gets back,” I said, “because you were seen with me at the hall and so he’ll know you were there too. Anyway, I think I might need some moral support when the storm breaks.”

“Sure. I’ll help to explain that it was an accident; and that you needed help to get the thing to the hall. The only thing that might be a bit tricky is explaining why we went by the steps. You reckon your dad might think that was a bit irresponsible?”

“Yes,” I retorted sourly. “I do.”

“Never mind,” said Torquil. “It might not be as bad as you think.”

“Or it might be even worse.”

Torquil kissed me and after a while I relaxed and just enjoyed being intimate with him again. We went up to my room and had some fun and then he noticed the cane and picked it up. He ran a finger along it and slashed it through the air.

“Wow! You’re right. It is a vicious thing. Just think of boys a few years younger than us getting this across their arse. Must’ve been tough little bastards,” he said.

At that moment I heard the sound of a car-door slamming shut, and realised that dad was home. We went downstairs to face the music. When he saw Torquil, dad’s immediate reaction was to order him out of the house.

“No, dad; please. I’ve got something to tell you first. Just listen to me, please.”

He glared at Torquil but sat down and looked interrogatively at me. I told the whole sorry story and then sat and waited. As I’d feared, dad homed in on the one aspect of the incident which was definitely blameworthy.

“Did it not occur to you that to take a large, hefty piece of furniture on a wheelbarrow down a flight of steps was just asking for trouble?”

“Yes,” I replied miserably. “I thought we’d manage it; but I was wrong.”

“And what’s he doing here?” demanded dad, nodding towards Torquil.

“I asked him to come and help me because it was difficult to manoeuvre the barrow and desk myself. It might have fallen off and got damaged.”

Dad raised his eyebrows.

“Yeh, yeh, I know; that’s what happened anyway, but it wasn’t meant to. And his name’s Torquil,” I added.

“Very well, Torquil,” said dad, saying the name as if it was an unfamiliar word which he was struggling to pronounce, “you can go now. I need to deal with Julian’s bad behaviour.”

“It was my bad behaviour too, sir,” said Torquil with careful politeness. “In fact the idea to go down the steps was mine.”

“Yes; well, I can’t ground you for the next six weekends,” retorted dad, “so please go.”

“You could beat me,” said Torquil quietly, “if I consent; and I do.”

“Torquil!” I gasped.

“Beat you?” dad asked.

“Julian told me about the cane he found in the old desk; and that you gave him the choice of a beating or grounding when he smashed the lock. I know he chose to be grounded, but I’d go for the cane any day,” asserted Torquil firmly.

“You?” asked dad with a strong note of incredulity in his voice.

“Me,” replied Torquil softly but clearly.

“At eighteen I guess you’re old enough to make your own decision and I don’t need your parents’ permission, but you’re not my responsibility. Julian is and he’s the one I’m going to ground for another six weeks.”

“He’d rather be caned,” said Torquil.

“Torquil!” I hissed angrily.

“So, since we both deserve to be punished, and we do; and since we both agree to take a beating, and we do, all you need to do now is to cane us both,” continued Torquil.

Dad stared in amazement at him and then turned to me and asked, “Would you rather be caned this time, Julian?”

In spite of the feeling that Torquil had bounced me into it, I felt that I did prefer to go for the cane this time. I’d almost completed one six-weekend grounding and didn’t want to embark on another.

“Yes,” I replied quickly, before I could change my mind.

“Right. Go up to your room and wait there, both of you. I’ll be up shortly,” said dad tersely.

In my room, I turned to Torquil.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” I said. “He’s not gonna go easy on us. Oh, bloody hell!”

“What?”

“Do you think he’ll make us take it bare?”

“Well, we’re eighteen, so I should think he probably will,” opined Torquil. “What’s his problem with me, Julian?”

“I dunno. I know it sounds silly, but I don’t think he can quite believe that anybody called Torquil is a real boy.”

“He’ll soon see that I’m a real boy if he canes me bare,” observed Torquil. “And if he thinks that I’m going to bawl the place down when I’m being beaten, he’ll need to think again.”

“I wish I was so sure I wasn’t gonna yell blue murder when he’s caning me,” I confided.

“Just think of all the weekends you’d have lost if you hadn’t taken the cane,” Torquil advised. “It’ll soon be over.”

“I wish he’d just come and get on with it. I hate this waiting.”

As if in response to my wish, we heard dad’s footsteps on the stairs. I glanced uneasily at the cane and then turned to the door. Dad came in and picked up the cane, arching it menacingly as we watched.

“Changed you mind, Julian?” he asked; but I shook my head.

“And are you still up for it, Torquil?” he enquired, again putting a curious stress on the name as if he didn’t take it seriously.

To my dismay, Torquil reacted angrily: “Look, what’s your problem with me?” he demanded. “I didn’t choose my name; but it’s nothing to do with who I am. I’m gay, like Julian, but I guess you know that; and I’m not a namby-pamby kid who can’t take his punishment when he’s messed up. I’ve said that I’ll take a beating and I will.”

Dad arched the cane some more and we both watched him uneasily; and then he said, “Fair enough. Maybe I’m doing you an injustice. Anyway, we’ll soon see how tough you really are. Now hold your tongue or I might see fit to give you some extra strokes.”

I breathed a sigh of relief when Torquil remained silent. I’d been scared that dad might send him away and leave me to take the cane alone.

“Right, Julian; let’s get this done. Jeans and pants off and then bend over with your hands on that chair.”

Reluctantly, I bared myself as ordered and was surprised to find my penis almost horizontal. I quickly made sure I had my back to dad and bent over the chair. He told me to get my feet further apart and then rapped the cane several times on my behind. It felt cool on my rather nervous, hot skin and I started to think it might not be too bad. I tensed as I felt the rod being raised and then heard a sharp snap followed almost at once by a fierce sting along the centre of my buttocks, as if someone had laid a red-hot poker on my flesh. I clenched my glutes and gritted my teeth. Dad tapped my rump with the cane over and over and over again, making me wait, before he inflicted the next stroke. Slightly lower, it incised another blazing welt on my bottom. I swallowed and steadied myself, but the third cut, coming almost immediately and with no warning-rap, forced a barely-stifled yelp from me as searing fire lashed my rear.

There was a pause. I wondered if he was finished and even felt my cock starting to rise again. Part of me hoped it was over but, curiously, a small part of me wanted him to go on. Six was the traditional number of strokes in a caning, so I’d read, and somehow I thought that I needed to experience six. The cane was exploring my rump once again and I tensed; because whether I wanted it or not, it seemed that there was more to come. The next stroke felt as if it landed, by accident or design, right on top of the weal left by the previous one and I gasped aloud and gave my behind a swift rub. I was told tersely to get my hand away.

The rod probed my bottom, sliding repeatedly over the skin where buttocks merge into upper legs and I knew that was where the next stroke would probably be intended to land. It did, whipping viciously hard into sensitive flesh and making me kick violently as a squeal escaped me and I writhed from the hips, my gluteal-muscles screamingly tight as I fought the pain. The final stroke was even lower, branding the top of my legs with a gut-wrenching blast of fire which forced me to buck and twist and sink my teeth into the wooden edge of the chair.

“Up you get, hands on your head, and go and stand facing the wall, Julian,” instructed dad. “Torquil; buttocks bare and bend over the chair.”

I straightened up slowly and, placing my hands obediently on my head, moved over to the wall as Torquil removed his clothing. He flashed me a swift grin of sympathy as I passed him; and I noticed that he was more than half-way erect. I had a swift glance back as I took up my stance at the wall, and saw him bend over and grip the chair-edges tightly.

I didn’t risk turning after that as I feared that if dad saw me, I might get more. My full focus was on listening and I heard dad take up position; and then a lengthy pause ensued before I heard the whistle of the fast-descending cane and the clean snap as it made violent contact with Torquil’s waiting bottom. There was no other sound. A few seconds later the cane was wielded again, but the sharp crack on impact with the boy’s skin elicited no answering sound from him. After the third stroke I heard a slight gasp, and following the fourth I surmised that Torquil had bucked quite determinedly, because I heard the sound of the chair moving a little.

There was a pause and I held my breath, knowing that the final two were almost certainly going to be aimed low, like mine, and would be the most painful. The low snarl and the sound of the chair again moving a little, were enough to tell me that number five had really got through to Torquil. I could hear him breathing hard in the silence as dad lined up the final stroke. A sound like a rifle-shot followed cane and bare boy-flesh being brought into brutally-hard contact and, like an echo came a brief yelp. After that the only sound was Torquil breathing hard again.

“Get up; hands on head; face the wall beside Julian.”

I heard Torquil rise and a few seconds later he was by my side, facing the wall. We glanced anxiously at each other and exchanged watery smiles. As we stood there, our penises rose steadily until they were both pointing resolutely towards the ceiling. Dad left us standing there was several minutes before telling us to get our pants and jeans back on. Both carefully keeping our backs to him as much as possible, we complied and then stood in front of him.

“Lesson learned, boys?”

“Yes, sir,” we responded quietly in unison.

“You both took it well,” observed dad and I felt a ridiculous sense of achievement. “And you, Torquil,” he continued, saying my pal’s name in a perfectly normal way, “are certainly no softie. I’ve possibly misjudged you.”

“Thank you, sir,” replied Torquil. “That was hell.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” said dad wryly.

“It was,” said Torquil, rubbing his bottom.

“And you, Julian?”

“I think that you should keep the cane,” I said carefully. “It got through to me better than a few weekends of grounding would have done and I don’t want it again soon. Like Torquil said, it was hell; but I’ll take it again if I deserve it,” I added, slightly to my own surprise.

A few minutes later, Torquil and I were lying naked, face down on my bed, comparing notes on our first experience of being caned. After that was done, we caressed and licked each other’s cane-welts; and then we fucked like sex-starved rabbits.

“So you’re gonna go for the cane when you mess up in future, huh, Julian?”

“Yeh! I know it was pretty horrendous, but it was so quick compared with grounding; and…..and…..”

I hesitated. Torquil grinned at me.

“And you kinda liked it, didn’t you?” he asked.

“No! I didn’t like it; but it did get me hard. I don’t understand why; and that fucking-session we just had was the best ever. Looks like a pair of soundly-caned arses make for white-hot sex.”

“Yeh; that was really champion,” agreed Torquil. “Maybe,” he suggested daringly, “we could cane each other?”

“Or even misbehave so that dad canes us?” I added even more daringly.

Torquil got up, fetched the cane, and we sat leaning against the head of my bed, side-by-side, with it lying across our bare thighs.

“Mmm,” said Torquil thoughtfully, “that sounds good too. Know something, Julian?”

“What?”

“I reckon you unlocked more than just the cane when you burst into that old desk. I think you unlocked a whole new world for us.”

I gazed at our penises, each straining resolutely for the ceiling.

“Yeh,” I concurred, “and it looks as if our bodies agree.”

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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 ©MMXXI by Joelstrap, used here by very kind permission.  Please leave a comment by using the link at the top of the story.  Comments can be viewed here.

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

The Trouble With Short Shorts (M/M) NEW!

♥ Site recommended story ♥

A hot new caning story by very special guest author JOELSTRAP.  This story is currently exclusive to The Canery!  All the characters are 18 or older. WARNING: ADULTS ONLY!!

The Trouble With Short Shorts by Joelstrap

It was the nose which caught his attention. Seen in profile, as Greg was seeing it, the boy’s nose formed a straight line which, unexpectedly and exquisitely, turned up at the tip. Enchanted, Greg stopped, his trolley forgotten, and gazed in admiration. The boy was in the passenger-seat of the car, his bare arm resting on the ledge of the open window while he scrolled through something on his smart-phone. As Greg stared, a woman approached, pushing her laden trolley and shouted to the boy.

“Lee! Get off your lazy behind and help me put this stuff in the boot!”

The boy looked up, rolled his eyes, opened the car door and slid out in a swift, lithe movement. Greg drew in breath sharply. He forgot about the delightful, tip-tilted nose and focussed all his attention on the boy’s shorts. Never, in Greg’s opinion, had shorts been more deserving of their name. Not only were they so incredibly short that they revealed a substantial portion of the lad’s lower buttocks, but they fitted him so closely that they showed off every contour of his stunning bottom and revealed rather than concealed a generous endowment at the front. Greg gazed, spell-bound as the boy began to unload the shopping into the car-boot, showing off his perfectly-formed posterior from every angle as he turned, bent and straightened up.

There came a screech of brakes and an angry male voice shouting at Greg, “Get yer fuckin’ trolley off the road!”

Greg jumped in alarm and swiftly hauled his trolley back into the parking-space.

“Bloody young gomeril!” muttered the irate man as he drove on, giving Greg a vicious two-fingered sign as he passed.

The boy paused in his task of loading the shopping and looked up. He grinned at Greg and then, nodding at the departing motorist, made a ‘he’s mad’ sign with a finger pointing to his head. Greg grinned back. The boy returned to his task. For several seconds Greg gazed again at those amazing shorts and then gave himself a shake. He wasn’t one to let an opportunity slip by through shyness. The boy had emptied the trolley and the woman took it and set off to deposit it in a shelter a few metres away. Greg strode swiftly across.

“That your mum?” he asked and when the boy nodded, he continued. “Gotta be quick then. I like boys and you are absolutely stunning. Interested?”

The boy’s eyes swept appraisingly over Greg’s lean, hard body and then, “I like boys too,” he admitted. “Phones?”

The boy moved swiftly round to the side of the car, reached in the open window, and brought out his cell-phone and the pair exchanged numbers even as the lad’s mother opened the driver’s door to get in. With a sinuous leap, the lad was in his seat and a few seconds later the car drove off, leaving Greg staring after it, his mouth slightly open in delighted astonishment.

That evening he called the number and introduced himself. “And I’m Lee,” the boy replied. “I’m…eh…kinda amazed you seem to like me so much. You’re pretty hot yourself, by the way,” he added.

“Wearing shorts like that, what red-blooded gay-boy could help liking you,” Greg informed him. “That’s one hell of a cute arse you got on you, Lee; and you weren’t leaving much to the imagination.”

“Er, yeh, thanks.”

“So, how’d you like to come out for dinner with me tomorrow night?” asked Greg. “Then I can find out if you’re as good as you look.”

“How do you mean?” enquired Lee.

“I mean that a boy can look as sexy as warren of rabbits, but be as boring as a wet Wednesday in January,” replied Greg. “I wanna get to know you.”

“Right. I’d like to get to know you too. I mean, you’re right. I love your short hair and the shadow round your jaw and the bulge in the front of your jeans; but I need to talk to you as well.”

“You noticed quite a lot, considering how short a time we were together,” observed Greg.

“If a guy’s worth looking at,” retorted Lee, “I’ll look and I’ll take in what matters.”

Greg laughed. “Okay,” he said, “we’re agreed that we’re both as hot as hell. Now, do you know The Diner’s Delight in Round Square?”

“Yeh, sure.”

“Meet me outside there at eight tomorrow evening, huh? I’ll treat you.”

“Oh, but I can pay for mys……..”

“My treat!” reiterated Greg firmly. “Don’t argue. But you can do something for me. Wear those shorts.”

“But would that be okay in there?”

“Of course. There’s nothing stuffy about the Delight. They just like to see bums on seats and satisfied diners.”

“Okay. See you tomorrow.”

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

Greg leaned forward across the table and looked into Lee’s eyes. Lee gazed back admiringly, appreciating the shining black of his dining-companion’s own eyes, the thick arches of his brows, the tanned skin, and the frame of short, dark hair which lay straight along his brow. Greg placed his right hand on Lee’s wrist and moved his thumb seductively over the boy’s skin.

“I like you,” said Greg quietly.

“I like you too,” Lee replied, feeling the heat rising in his face.

Greg shifted slightly in his seat as his rampant penis tried to force its way out of his tight leather jeans. Lee grinned at him and observed coyly, “Seems like your body likes me too.”

Lee suddenly felt one of Greg’s feet rising swiftly between his legs and landing firmly on the throbbing bulge in the front of his denims. He gasped and an expression of delighted discomfort spread rapidly across his face.

“And your body likes mine,” said Greg.

“Yeh,” panted Lee.

“Nice t-shirt too,” continued Greg, his eyes sliding over Lee’s torso, enjoying the sight of the boy’s nipples erect as little soldiers beneath the tightly-fitting cotton, and the narrowing of the boy’s body from the chest to the slim waist. “Why didn’t you wear your shorts?”

“I, er, well I thought that in a restaurant they might not be…..you know…..they’re quite snug,” he ended, flushing.

“You certainly fill them,” agreed Greg, “and they don’t leave much to the imagination. I like you in them. They show off your arse brilliantly; and you look like you’re pretty well-hung too. When you got assets like that, you need to wear clothes that don’t hide them. I really wanted to see you in those shorts again.”

“I’m sorry, Greg; but there’s another thing. They are kind of provocative; and maybe some other guy might get ideas.”

“I’d soon change his ideas for him,” said Greg seriously. “Any guy tries to mess with you and he’ll have me to deal with.”

Lee winced as this display of dominance made his penis strain painfully against the fabric of his jeans.

“You aren’t half sexy when you’re masterful like that,” he admitted. “And you look hell of a desirable in black leather.”

“You like a bit of masterful behaviour, Lee?”

“Yeh; it’s kind of exciting. I dunno why; it just is.”

“Right; well listen carefully. Next time we go out, you’ll wear your shorts if I tell you to wear them; or I’ll spank you hard.”

Lee’s eyebrows shot up almost to his hairline and, as his penis tried to force its way out of his pants, he gasped aloud and plunged a desperate hand into his jeans to rearrange things.

“You’ll spank me?” he panted wide-eyed.

“Hard,” said Greg.

“Right. I’ll remember.”

Lee let his eyes roam over Greg’s soft leather shirt, open at the neck to reveal a generous patch of hair between his pectorals. The young man wore a twisted leather thong round his neck from which hung a small, plain silver disc.

A waiter approached with plates of starters and Greg sat back, smiling warmly at Lee who gazed at him in open admiration.

“So, tell me a bit more about yourself,” invited Greg. “What do you like doing, Lee?”

“Dining out with a red-hot hunk,” replied Lee.

“Naturally,” agreed Greg, “but what do you do? What kind of interests have you got?”

“I’m a student at agricultural college. I’m eighteen; and I like hill-walking; and astronomy; and alpacas.”

Greg’s eyes opened very wide. “Alpacas?” he enquired.

“Yeh. You know what they are?” he asked and then, when Greg nodded, he went on, “I think they’re just fantastic. My uncle’s got some on his farm and what I really want to do one day is get a place of my own and have a few alpacas. I go out there most weekends to help out, and earn a bit of cash as well.”

“So what do you like about them, Lee?”

“They’re just so cute to look at, and sort of cuddly; and the way they look at you, sort of curious, as if they’re asking themselves, now what’s this odd-looking creature?; it’s all fascinating.”

Lee continued to chatter about alpacas and his uncle’s farm and Greg listened intently, until Lee suddenly fell silent and said, “Shit! Stop me. I must be boring the pants off you.”

“I could listen to you for hours,” said Greg.

Lee eyed him solemnly for a few seconds and then said quietly, “But it wouldn’t make any difference if I was talking about alpacas or giant sloths?”

Greg grinned broadly.

“You’re no fool,” he conceded, “but although I love just being with you and hearing you talk, I was listening to what you were saying too. I wouldn’t mind going out to your uncle’s farm and meeting these furry beauties for myself.”

“Great! Maybe in two or three weeks’ time? I’ve kind of committed myself to a lot of work on the farm for the next couple of weekends, and I don’t like to go back on what I said I’d do. Uncle Gordon relies on me. But after that I won’t be so busy and I’d have time to show you round.”

“You’re on! And in the meantime, maybe you’d show me round you?”

Lee flushed scarlet.

“Er, yeh,” he muttered.

“So when we go to Hot Haunches on Friday night, you’ll be wearing those shorts, so that I can get a really good look round your arse.”

“We can get into Hot Haunches?”

“Sure. I’m a member and I can take a guest. I’m twenty, by the way, and doing estate-management at college. I’m old enough to look after you and make sure you don’t get led astray by all the hot boys in the club.”

“They’re gonna want to see me?”

“Lee, boy; they’re gonna want to do a lot more than see you!”

Once again, Lee’s face turned bright red up to the roots of his hair.

“Fuck, but you’re cute when you’re embarrassed,” grinned Greg. “And don’t worry. Like I said earlier, nobody’s gonna get his hands on you as long as I’m around.”

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

Greg approached the residence where Lee had a room and saw the lad watching for him from the window. He waved and Lee disappeared and emerged a minute or so later from the door. Greg looked at him.

“No!” he said firmly. “I said shorts, Lee.”

“Yeh, but when you said all that stuff about hot boys wanting to get their hands on me at the club, I thought that maybe jeans would be…….”

“You know what thought did, Lee?”

“Huh?”

“It thought wrong. Shorts, Lee. Now!”

For a moment Lee looked as if he might argue, but then he suddenly turned and ran back into the building, emerging a few minutes later wearing the required shorts.

“Oh, boy! Even better than I remember,” gasped Greg. “How the hell do you get into them?”

“Nothing underneath,” Lee admitted, “and then a good bit of wriggling. Best not to ask me to do any climbing over fences or up trees either,” he warned, “or they might split.”

“How about when you get hard?”

“Yeh, well, that gets a bit uncomfortable,” Lee admitted, “and it does sometimes feel like they might burst. Shit! Think how embarrassing that’d be!”

Greg took his hand and they walked off towards Hot Haunches.

Inside the club, it was clear that Greg was well-known, as he was greeted warmly by a large number of acquaintances; and Lee had to get used to being looked at with great admiration and even greater lust by a string of randy young guys. He kept close to Greg.

“I’m sure most of these guys are mentally stripping off my shorts,” whispered Lee in Greg’s ear.

“Too right they are,” replied Greg. “Come on. Let’s see you dance. That should drive them crazy!”

Greg led him by the hand to an area under swirling, coloured lights, washed by loud music with an insistent beat, and Lee, who loved to dance, let himself go. He shut out all the staring eyes and danced only for Greg, who proved himself to be equally adept on his feet, and the pair began to move instinctively more provocatively, their movements becoming increasingly intimate stages in a courtship, until Lee suddenly stopped and placed a hand on Greg’s chest. Sweat glistened on his face, his eyes were dark, his lips were parted; and he waited. Greg knew an invitation when he saw one, drew Lee close and kissed him with a passion which left Lee panting when at last Greg withdrew his lips.

Lee made a sound like a hive of angry bees and gazed adoringly into Greg’s eyes. Greg led him to a table and sat him down.

“I’ll get a couple of pints,” he said. “Won’t be long.”

As soon as Greg turned towards the bar, several young guys approached with admiring comments about Lee’s performance and about his shorts. They asked about his relationship with Greg and several assured him that if he and Greg broke up, they’d be ready and waiting. Lee smiled, embarrassed, and wished Greg would hurry back. A blond youth on whom sexuality seemed to sit like a cloak, leaned close to Lee so that the boy could smell his animal attraction, and remarked softly, “You let me into those shorts, kid, and I guarantee I’ll send you into orbit.”

“And you say anything like that to him again, Jonas, and I’ll send you into orbit, with my fist to see you on your way,” said Greg loudly behind him.

Jonas straightened up and gave Greg a sulky stare before muttering, “Okay. Keep your hair on,” and sauntering off with an air of pretended nonchalance.

Greg plumped a full glass in front of Lee and sat down with his own beer. He raised the glass and winked at Lee. “To the hottest arse in the place!” he said.

“Looks like it’s one naughty arse though,” observed a cheerful-looking boy with a broad grin and dark-brown eyes.

“Hi, Ronan!” said Greg. “What do you mean?”

Ronan nodded at Lee’s bottom. “Oh don’t think I didn’t notice. You’ve been tanning his hide for him, eh, Greg?” he said as he passed on towards the bar.

Greg’s eyebrows rose and he looked at Lee who turned bright red and muttered something inaudible into his beer.

“Lee?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Ronan obviously noticed something, so it can’t be nothing. Stand up, Lee, and turn round.”

Reluctantly Lee complied and Greg observed, extending a short distance beyond the lower edge of the boy’s shorts, a pair of pale red marks, clear evidence of a cane having been used on his bottom.

“Well now, whatever Ronan may have assumed, you and I both know that I haven’t been caning you; but you’ve clearly been caned. So the question is, Lee, who caned you and why?”

“I told you; it doesn’t matter,” said Lee.

“Is that why you didn’t wear your shorts to dinner the other day? And why you tried to get out of wearing them tonight? Because you knew they were too short to hide the marks?”

Lee was silent for a time and then looked into Greg’s face.

“Okay. My uncle takes a cane to me sometimes if I fuck up when I’m working at the farm. It’s no big deal. I don’t mind. Probably does me good. I wouldn’t take it if I didn’t think I deserved it.”

“That’s okay. Not many guys get their hides tanned these days, but as long as you’re agreeing to it, that’s fine.”

“You’re not angry with me?” asked Lee anxiously.

“No way. Like I said to you the other day, I’d spank you if you didn’t wear your shorts when I told you to. Some guys respond well to a good spanking.”

“Would you really have spanked me if I hadn’t gone and changed before we came out tonight?”

“I certainly would; and you’d have felt it.”

“Shit!” murmured Lee, and looked with open admiration into Greg’s eyes.

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

Over the subsequent three weeks, Greg and Lee became increasingly close and Greg was thrilled to discover when he got into Lee’s pants, that the boy was as exciting as he looked; while Lee revelled happily in Greg’s masterful yet considerate love-making. The pair had bonded not only physically but in other shared interests in the countryside; and had even talked vaguely about what they might do together when both had finished studying. Greg had noticed evidence of the cane on Lee’s behind on one or two other occasions and had asked why Lee had been beaten; but the youth just shrugged and said that it didn’t matter.
The day came for Greg’s visit to the farm. Lee had gone down to work on the Saturday and met Greg off the bus at lunchtime on Sunday. Lee’s uncle and Greg got on well together at once, and all three spent an enjoyable couple of hours seeing over the farm, introducing Greg to the alpacas, and chatting about the agricultural prospects; which were no worse than usual.

“Wow! Cuddling one of them is almost as good as cuddling you,” Greg informed Lee in a whisper after their visit to the alpacas.

“You better not think about doing what you do to me to one of them,” warned Lee with a grin. “I don’t think they’d like it.”

“Naw! Now that I’ve got into your shorts, I’ve got all I want,” replied Greg. “I notice you’re not wearing them.”

“I can’t wear them when I’m working,” protested Lee. “They’re far too tight. I’d split them. Anyway, Uncle Gordon would probably think they were obscene.”

“They are obscene,” asserted Greg. “That’s what makes them so attractive. But I guess your uncle might cane you if you turned up wearing them.”

Lee shrugged non-committally. They returned to the farmhouse for tea. The phone rang and Lee’s uncle answered before turning to Lee. “That’s old Mrs. Curtis up at the cottage. She says there’s three sheep out on the road just beyond her house. She wonders if you would go up and get them in? Seems she’s got some baking for you.”

“Oh, yeh! She makes brilliant treacle-scones and said she’d make me a batch. I’ll take Bess and get them back easy enough. It’s a dead-end beyond her cottage. Be back in about half an hour, I hope.”

Lee gulped down the last of his tea, whistled to Bess, and shot off.

“He’s a good worker?” asked Greg.

“He is that. Loves coming down here at the weekends and he’s daft about these alpacas. But he does a lot of other work for me too. He’s a good lad and he’s not afraid to sweat a bit. I pay him what I can, and I suppose it helps a bit with his expenses when he’s at college; but I can’t give him as much as he should get for the hours he puts in. Not that he’s complaining mind. He loves it.”

“So how do you keep him at it?” enquired Greg, probing gently.

“Keep him at it? More like how do I keep him away from working!”

“Ah! You don’t have to take him out to the stables and give him a good thrashing with a riding-crop to make sure he works hard then?”

The farmer laughed. “That’d be the day! My old dad used to tan my hide sometimes in the old days, but kids today get it easy. I bet Lee’s never had a hand laid on him in his life. Or you either, Greg?”

“No; never. I suppose maybe a few guys do get beaten these days, but not many.”

He took a deep swallow at his tea, accepted another slice of date-cake, and asked about alpacas. Lee’s uncle was as enthusiastic about them as was Lee, and was soon holding forth at length. When Lee returned, Greg was sitting, slightly glassy-eyed, as Uncle Gordon elaborated on methods of insemination.

“All safe and sound,” announced Lee. “Bess got them back in the field in a trice and I think I found where they got out. There’s a bit of wall tumbled slightly and I suspect they were able to leap over there. I built it back up as best I could, but it’ll need you to do it properly. Uncle Gordon’s skilled at dry-stone walling,” he added to Greg.

“I’ll get on to it tomorrow first thing. Now, you have yourself some more tea and date-cake and then it’ll be time for you to go for your bus.”

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

Lying in his bed that night, Greg did some thinking. It seemed clear that Lee’s uncle never so much as slapped his hand, far less took a cane to his bottom. So, who did? And why did Lee lie about it? The lying disturbed Greg. As a boyfriend, Lee seemed to be all he could have wanted. Apart from his physical and sexual attractions, which were outstanding in Greg’s eyes, he and Lee just got on easily and naturally together. In the few weeks of their relationship, he’d already begun to feel that this was special. However, a boy who lied about something that was clearly going on in his life, might prove to be an unreliable boy in other matters, and Greg felt that he needed to find out. He was prepared to suspend judgement until he knew more; but he had to uncover the mystery of the cane-welts on Lee’s bottom.

As far as possible, he kept an eye on Lee and tried to see where he went when he wasn’t at classes or with Greg himself. He had a stroke of luck a few days later when he arrived at the gym to meet Lee and found the boy on his mobile, standing talking with his back to him.

“Okay. 7 tomorrow night. I’ll be there. Bye.”

It was all that Greg overheard, but it seemed suggestive. As Lee put his phone in his pocket, Greg dodged behind a tree and then approached as if freshly arrived, a few seconds later. After their workout, when they were in the cafe enjoying cold drinks, Greg asked if Lee’d like to go to Hot Haunches the next evening.

“Aw, shit! Yeh; I’d love to, but I’ve got something else on,” said Lee, looking disappointed.

“A date with a red-hot boy?” asked Greg.

“Of course not, you chump! Besides, you’re the hottest boy in town, and I’m staying with you. Hey! Would you look at that pair?”

Greg turned to look through the wall of glass that separated the cafe from the pool and saw two guys swimming back-stroke across the pool from opposite sides and clearly unaware that they were on a collision course. There was nothing Lee or Greg could do to stop it and a few seconds later the crash occurred, both swimmers splashing wildly as they rubbed sore heads and got themselves on top of the water again. Lee at once embarked on a tale of how he’d once seen a guy jump into the pool only to land right on top of another just as he surfaced from swimming under-water. Greg had the distinct impression that he’d been neatly diverted.

The next evening, Greg was on the lookout, and when Lee emerged from his hall of residence and set off walking swiftly along the road, he was on his trail. He watched as Lee entered the driveway of a trim bungalow, set back from the road behind a neat lawn, and rang the door-bell. He couldn’t see who answered the door, but Lee was swiftly ushered inside. Greg made his way round the perimeter of the garden to the side of the house where there was only an opaque bathroom-window, and then dashed across to the building. Screened from the road by a high hedge, he was able to work his way along the front of the bungalow and to rise up and peep carefully in each window. Finding no-one in either of the rooms to the front, he made his way round towards the back and came to a high fence with a gate in it, closing off the rear-garden. The gate appeared to be locked. Greg, however, was determined. He took a leap, grasped the top of the fence and scrambled athletically up before dropping to the ground on the other side. A short way in front of him was a patio with table and chairs and tubs of flowering-plants; and behind it an open French-window gave access to a room in the house.

Greg crept along and peered carefully in, his eyes widening at what they saw. Lee was standing in only his very short and tight shorts and an extremely close-fitting t-shirt, while facing him stood a guy of perhaps thirty or so, flexing a slim cane in both hands.

“Get in position, boy!” ordered the young man.

“But, sir, I……” began Lee; but he got no further because the guy with the cane suddenly grabbed him by the hair, twisted hard and pushed him down into a bent-over stance, his hands on a low stool.

Greg was outraged. Caution and secrecy vanished in a flash. He leapt upright and surged through the open French-window like an avenging Fury to grab Lee and push him roughly behind him while he faced the young man with the cane.

“Good evening,” said the guy with the cane. “I don’t think we’ve met?”

“What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?!” demanded Greg furiously.

“Greg!” pleaded Lee, trying to push forward, “it’s okay. I’m…..”

“Shut up, Lee!”

Lee raised his eyebrows but fell obediently silent.

“Perhaps,” said the guy with the cane, “you’d like to explain who you are?”

“I’m Greg; Lee’s boyfriend; and I don’t know what your game is, mate, but…….”

“Ah; that explains it. Could it be that Lee didn’t tell you about me?”

“No, he fucking didn’t,” snapped Greg.

“In that case,” said the young man laying down his cane, “I think you and I need to have a little talk in private. Corner, Lee!”

Lee looked as if he was about to protest, but then seemed to think the better of it and simply turned, walked to the corner of the room and stood, hands clasped behind his back, facing the wall.

“What the……?” began Greg.

“Cold beer?” the young man asked him.

“What? Er….well, yeh, but….”

“Great. Come through to the kitchen. I’m Martin.”

He led the way out and Greg found himself following. He was ushered into a seat and a can from the fridge was opened, poured into a glass, and placed before him. The young man took a drink of his own beer and then explained that he advertised his services on the internet to young males who felt they needed or wanted to be spanked, paddled, caned, leathered, even whipped. Lee had apparently contacted him a couple of months back and had been visiting once a week or so ever since, progressing from over-the-knee spankings to being caned.

“I understand what it may have looked like,” he said to Greg, “but it’s what he wants.”

“But he doesn’t! When you told him to get in position, he started to protest and you forced him down!” objected Greg.

“Yes; it’s part of the game. Lee likes a bit of rough-handling. He likes to know who’s boss. That’s why he tries to object; because he knows what will happen. Have you noticed anything like that in your time as his boyfriend?”

“Well, yeh, now you mention it, he seems to like it when I’m kind of dominant. It gets him hard.”

“So you don’t need to worry. He’s not being mistreated or assaulted or anything like that. But if Lee hasn’t told you about his visits to me, how did you find out?” asked Martin.

“I saw cane marks on his arse a few days after we first met, and when I asked him about them he reluctantly said that he got them from the uncle at whose farm he works at weekends; but he took me down to visit the farm recently, and I had a chat with his uncle, and no way has he ever touched the kid with a cane, or anything else. I’d got very close to Lee and trusted him; and to be honest this worried me. Something was going on that he’d lied about to me and I wasn’t happy. I needed to know. I kept my ears and eyes open, overheard him arranging this meeting tonight, and followed him here. Look, I’m sorry I over-reacted, but I honestly thought that……”

“It’s fine, Greg. I understand and there’s no harm done. But this business of your boyfriend lying to you; now that’s a bit more of a problem. So, what do you want to do about it?”

Greg sat silent for some time.

“I think he needs to be punished,” said Greg at length, “to teach him to be truthful. You were going to cane him, obviously; but would you make it a punishment-caning. I presume that would be a bit more severe than what you normally do?”

“A good bit more severe; but I agree that he deserves it. I think that I should give him his first six as usual across his shorts; and then you should give him the next six on the bare as his punishment.”

“Me? But I’ve never caned anyone in my life!”

“So? Just keep your eye firmly on the target until you’ve actually hit him, and you’ll be fine. You look like you work out, and you’ve got a great set of biceps there, so I think you should be able to get through to him easily enough.”

“Okay; I’ll give it a go. You know, I might kind of enjoy it.”

“It’s a brilliant feeling, controlling a boy, making him submit to you, watching and hearing him react to the cane, seeing the marks you’re raising on his arse.”

Martin wriggled in his seat and Greg plunged his hand into his jeans. The two grinned at each other.

“Yeh,” observed Martin, “you’ll enjoy caning him. Now come through to the lounge and I’ll let you have a little practice on a cushion.”

“Okay; but what about Lee?”

“What about him?”

“He might wonder where we’ve gone.”

“So?”

“Oh, I see,” said Greg.

“Waiting is a very important part of the whole experience for a boy,” vouchsafed Martin. “Don’t worry. He won’t be going anywhere. He knows better than that. He won’t like waiting; but that’s his problem. Come through here.”

Martin showed Greg into the lounge and took a cane from a cupboard and then showed him the position in which to stand, instructed him in how to aim and in the vital importance of keeping his eye firmly on the target-area until the cane had made contact with boy-flesh. He did a few demonstration strokes on a cushion and then handed the cane to Greg who hit lightly at first as he got his range and got his eye in; and then hit hard.

“Great,” said Martin approvingly. “Good, hard strokes and every one dead on target. You’ve actually got all of them in a surprisingly narrow band, which suggests you’ve got an excellent eye. Of course the advantage of getting them in a narrow band is that the boy feels it more,” said Martin with a grin.

Greg plunged a hand into the front of his jeans.

“Okay, let’s go and deal with that young liar. Leave that cane here. The one in the other room is actually an even better one; and for Lee I think that only the best will do.”

“Like six of the best?” suggested Greg.

“From each of us,” agreed Martin.

“Shit! Are you sure he could take that?”

“He’ll take what he’s given,” said Martin.

Lee was still standing facing the wall when they returned. Martin ordered him to come and stand in front of them and then gave him a lecture on openness with his boyfriend and on the unacceptability of telling lies. Lee listened in slightly sulky silence.

“Now,” Martin went on, “Greg here needs an explanation of why you lied to him.”

“I….see, I thought you might be angry with me if I told you,” began Lee, looking appealingly at Greg. “It was…..it was another guy, and….there’s no sex,” he burst out vehemently. “Tell him, please sir, it’s just the caning!”

“There’s no sex,” Martin affirmed. “My girlfriend wouldn’t approve anyway.”

“So why didn’t you tell me the truth, Lee, instead of saying it was your uncle? I had a talk with him when you were out getting these strayed sheep back and it was clear as day he never laid a hand on you. No, don’t worry,” he continued when he saw a look of horror on Lee’s face, “I didn’t mention caning to him; just used a bit of light-hearted conversation about you to find out what I wanted to know.”

“Like I said,” responded Lee unhappily, “I guess I felt kind of guilty. I….I didn’t want to lose you,” he ended.

“And you’re not going to; but you’re not going to lie to me in future either. You got that, Lee?”

“Oh, yes. I promise. I know I’ve been stupid, but it’s over and I won’t lie again.”

“That’s good; but it’s not quite over yet. Martin?”

Martin picked up the cane and addressed Lee.

“I’m going to give you six across your shorts to punish you for not telling Greg what was going on; and then Greg is going to give you six on the bare to punish you for lying to him.”

“What? No!” Lee burst out. “I don’t want Greg to beat me!”

“What you want is irrelevant, young man,” said Martin grimly, “and if there’s so much as one more syllable of objection out of you, there’ll be an extra six from Greg to teach you submission. Do you understand me?”

Lee swallowed hard and murmured a soft, “Yes, sir.” He looked decidedly uneasy.

“Get in position, boy!”

Lee turned and bent over, his hands clasping the sides of the low stool, in the same place as he’d been when Greg had burst into the room earlier. The shorts were pulled even more tightly across the youth’s bottom and accentuated the stunning curves of his rump. Greg plunged his hand once again into his jeans. Martin took his stance to Lee’s left and did a few practice-strokes with the cane. Greg noticed that Lee flinched each time. The cane was then laid across Lee’s behind and rapped several times before being raised and brought down sharply with a snap which echoed across the room. Lee winced and clenched his buttocks. Martin took his time, sliding the cane across the boy’s globes and then holding it there for several seconds before administering a swift stroke. Again Lee winced and clenched. Two more strokes elicited a similar reaction and then the fifth landed low on the boy’s crease, the end of the cane catching bare skin. Lee yelped and bucked, his hands tightening their grip on the edges of the stool. Martin let him wait before sliding the rod across his bottom again and then holding it for a while before lashing it hard at an angle across Lee’s rear. Again the youth yelped as the pain got to him, his taut young body squirming as he fought his pain. Martin stroked the front of his jeans and watched with undisguised enjoyment as Lee processed the sting and settled down. Greg pressed a finger on his perineum to stop himself from cumming.

“You’re one lucky guy,” Martin informed Greg. “He’s got one hell of an arse on him. You….eh..you fucked him yet?”

“Oh, yeh! And he’s good. I mean really white-hot, send you into orbit, good,” said Greg.

“And he’s great when it comes to being caned as well. You’ve hit the jackpot, mate.”

“Thanks.”

“So now you gotta hit the boy! Stand up, Lee!”

Lee straightened up, rubbing his comely buttocks.

“Shorts off!”

The youngster obeyed in silence, baring his sexy globes and revealing six clear red marks on the skin.

“Wow! You marked him even through his shorts,” breathed Greg.

“Back in position!”

Lee gave Greg a look of mute appeal and then bent over the stool once more, his body tense, ready. Martin handed the cane to Greg.

“Take your time,” he said very softly. “Concentrate on getting your aim right. And, Greg, if he moves out of position or tries to rub his bottom, tell him off right away. Do it harshly. You have to show him you’re in charge and you won’t let him off with anything.”

Greg nodded and positioned himself carefully before lining up the cane on Lee’s taut globes. He slid the rod across the flesh several times and then had to pause to adjust his own arousal before rapping the waiting boy with the cane. He focussed determinedly on the area he intended to hit and, keeping his eye firmly on the target, raised the cane and swept it down hard and accurately on Lee’s behind. The reaction was immediate. Lee let out a squeal and bucked violently, clenching his glutes desperately hard. From the lithe buttocks with their pale red marks from Martin’s caning there rose a darker, angrier mark which stood proud of the skin. Martin’s eyebrows rose and as Greg glanced towards him, he gave a nod of approval.

Greg had to attend once more to his own arousal before doing a few practice-strokes behind Lee, eliciting an instinctive flinch from the boy each time. He lined up the cane, waited several seconds and then hit again slightly lower down. Knowing now the level of pain to expect, Lee was ready and managed to keep the sound to a half-stifled yelp and his physical response to a fierce tightening of his buttock-muscles. Greg watched as he calmed himself and relaxed a little; and then he brought the cane into play again, etching a third fiery welt on Lee’s rump. He aimed number four just at the top of Lee’s crease and hit the target full-on. Vicious pain ripped through Lee’s body and his right hand flew round to scrub desperately at the tortured flesh.

“Get your hand away, boy!” snapped Greg, giving the boy a sharp rap on the wrist with the cane.

Lee gasped and returned his hand to the chair, giving Greg a resentful glance along his side as he did so. Martin gave Greg a thumbs-up sign and Greg slid the cane even lower along Lee’s crease. The boy knew what he was going to get and his hands grasped the stool with greater determination, the high tension in his body revealed by a slight tremor as he held himself in readiness to take the fifth stroke. Greg landed it exactly where Lee feared it was headed and in spite of his best efforts, he couldn’t hold in a snarling squeal of pain as he gave a violent kick and then clenched ferociously hard. For the final stroke, Greg aimed to cross-cut three of the central welts and as the cane landed accurately and hard, Lee writhed powerfully before steadying himself. Greg could hear him panting.

Martin came forward and took the cane from him.

“Superb, Greg. Now, you’ve punished him, but it’s important that he knows that you still love him. Show him.”

“Come here, Lee,” ordered Greg, struggling to keep a tremor out of his voice.

Lee stood up slowly and approached Greg, rubbing cautiously at his welted bottom. His face was tear-stained and beads of sweat stood on his forehead. He looked to Greg utterly delectable. Greg didn’t say a word; simply opened his arms, and Lee accepted the invitation without a moment’s hesitation. He clung tightly to Greg who could feel the boy’s hot tears on his neck. Greg let him have a minute or two to himself within the circle of his arms and blinked back a few tears of his own. He then slid a hand into Lee’s hair and pulled his head firmly up so that he could look into Lee’s eyes. Then he kissed him; and Lee responded. When eventually they drew apart, Lee whispered, “I’m sorry. I’ll never lie to you again.”

“Good. Now we’re going back to my room in the residences and you know what I’m gonna do to you there, don’t you?”

Lee smiled shyly: “Yes, please, Greg,” he said.

After thanking Martin, Greg and Lee made for the front-door where Greg paused and said to Martin, “I’m sorry that Lee won’t be coming back to you, but I promise that he won’t miss out on his discipline.”

“What?” demanded Lee, turning round abruptly. “You’re gonna cane me?”

“I certainly am. Now I know what you want and that I rather like dishing it out, I’ll have to buy myself a cane to use on you.”

“But I don’t want another thrashing like you just gave me,” protested Lee. “That was brutal!”

“You’d better behave yourself then,” Greg informed him, “and then I’ll only need to give you milder, maintenance canings, like Martin gave you. And, for your information, what I gave you wasn’t brutal. It was hard, just as you deserved; but if you really fuck up, I’ll show you what brutal feels like.”

“You could cane me even harder than that?” gasped Lee.

“Sure I could; so just watch your step, eh Lee?”

“Yes,” replied Lee softly, gazing into Greg’s face, his eyes wide with admiration.

Martin gave Greg a huge wink as the pair set off to walk back to the residences.

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

Two or three days later Greg and Lee were eating at The Diner’s Delight once again.

“I’m glad you’re wearing your shorts,” observed Greg.

“You told me to!”

“I see you’ve still got some faint marks showing on your bum.”

“Yeh. That waiter over there noticed them when he pulled out my chair for me to sit down. He’s been ogling me ever since. I think he’s wishing I was on the takeaway menu.”

“Well you’re not. Your fantastic arse is all mine. The cane I ordered online came this morning, so I’ll be trying it out on you tomorrow; on the bare.”

“But I thought you liked me in my shorts!”

“I do; but sometimes I like you even better out of them.”

Lee flushed and looked down at his food.

“Brute,” he murmured happily under his breath.

 

 

Story ©MMXXI by Joelstrap, used here by very kind permission.  Please leave a comment by using the link at the top of the story.

 

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