Martin And The Cane (M/M) NEW!

♥ Site recommended story ♥

By popular request, a follow-on story to “Key To A Caning”, by very special guest author JOELSTRAP.  This story is exclusive to The Canery!  All the characters are 18 or over. WARNING: ADULTS ONLY!

Martin And The Cane by Joelstrap

Martin gave me permission to tell the story of how his great-uncle came to dish out a severe caning to Phil and Simon. Some readers have, perhaps understandably, asked the question about whether or not Martin himself had ever been on the receiving-end of his great-uncle’s cane. The fact that he knew about it and knew that his great-uncle liked to use it, certainly gave rise to natural speculation as to how Martin knew what he knew.
I decided to ask Martin; and although he was reluctant, and indeed evasive initially, he did eventually tell me the story. I’ve written it down as if he himself were telling it, with a short section from great-uncle Clive’s perspective, and have tried to convey something of the drama of the situation as they described it. Martin hasn’t actually given me permission to pass it on to you, but I’m hoping that he won’t mind.
Joel

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

Great-uncle Clive was one of my favourite relations. He was gran’s brother and I used to see him two or three times a year when our family went to see gran. He’d turn up one day for lunch while we were there and was great fun as well as being extremely generous, usually slipping me a tenner as he left. He retired when I was eighteen and, his wife having died the previous year, chose to come and live nearer to his daughter and her family, who were only a few miles away from us.

I saw a lot more of him after that as his bungalow, almost opposite Simon’s house, was only a couple of minutes’ walk from my own home. In spite of the age-difference, or possibly because of it, we got on very well together and he was a frequent visitor to our house; and we began to watch football or go fishing together. If you’re wondering why I didn’t tell the other guys, like Simon and Phil, it was because I was a bit embarrassed. I mean, I could just imagine what they’d say if I said I enjoyed going to see a match with a guy in his late sixties! I’d never hear the end of it!
It was a few weeks after he’d moved in and after he’d got rid of the decorators who were sprucing up his new home, that he asked me for tea one Saturday. The summer holidays were coming up and I was due to leave school before starting a college course in the autumn. He asked me if I’d like to put his car in the garage. I stared at him, wondering what the hell he was on about.

“I’ve only got a provisional-licence,” I said, “but I’m getting lessons. But why can’t you just do it yourself.”

“It’s tricky,” he replied, “and I need some assistance. Promise me that you’ll help, Martin?”

“Sure,” I agreed. “I promise. Just don’t blame me if you lose a wing-mirror!”

After tea, we went outside and I pulled open the large front-door of the garage – to be confronted with a wall of boxes to almost chest-height and stretching back into the darkness.

“Ah,” I said. “Now I see why you said it would be tricky.”

“But you promised to put the car into the garage.”

“You crafty old sod! I’ve been done!” I protested.

“That’s no way to speak to your revered great-uncle,” he said.

“That’s no way to treat your kind and respectful great-nephew,” I retorted.

“All the same, you’d better keep your word or I’ll take my cane to you.”

“You’ll what?”

“Cane you. Like I used to do to the boys in my early teaching days, before corporal punishment was abolished.”

“Cane me? You can’t cane me!” I protested.

“You’re eighteen; old enough to decide for yourself.”

“Yeh; well I’ve decided there’s no way you’re gonna be taking a cane to my bottom.”

“So, you’ll be keeping your word and helping me get the boxes into the house and emptied, and all the stuff put away in cupboards or in the attic?”

“Yeh, sure. I’ll do it; but not because I think you’d cane me if I didn’t. I’ll do it because I keep my word; and I like you, even though you’re a manipulative old codger,” I informed him with a grin.

I spent a good chunk of the next day carrying boxes into the bungalow, a few at a time, and then emptying them while he put the contents away where he wanted them. A number of them had to go into the attic because he said they contained books and papers and things he wouldn’t be needing access to very often. Since the only way into the loft was via an extending-ladder, I lay face-down on the attic-floor and he carried the boxes half way up the ladder and passed them up to me. Hefting them into the loft was hard work and by the time all was done, I was hot and sweaty. A couple of cold-lagers helped revive me and I promised him I’d be back the next Saturday to continue the task of getting the garage cleared.

Thus it was that I found myself the following Saturday kneeling on the floor and emptying a box of photographs in frames. I admired pictures of him in graduation-gown many decades earlier; pictures of his wedding and of various events in his family. There were also some pictures of the private-school where he’d spent most of his teaching-career; and of classes of well-behaved-looking boys. I took out the last of these and then stopped and stared. Right at the bottom of the box, lay a school-cane.

I lifted it out and eyed it warily.

“Ever seen one of these before, Martin?”

“Not for real. I’ve seen pictures. Wow! It’s surprisingly lithe and springy.”

I stood up and did a practice-swing and the air winced.

“Shit!” I muttered.

“Pardon?”

“I mean, yeh, this would sting. Not half. No wonder the boys in the photos are so well-behaved,” I said.

“Oh, yes, it was very effective. I never had any discipline-problems.”

“I bet you didn’t,” I agreed, laying the cane on a table and kneeling down beside the next box.

For some reason that cane fascinated me. While he was making us some lunch, I went back and picked it up and examined it again. I ran my finger along it and bent it into an arch. I tried to imagine how it would feel on my arse, but didn’t really have much idea. I even tried using it on myself but that wasn’t very successful.

Shortly before I went home, I couldn’t resist returning to handle the cane once more and was aware of a powerful reaction in the front of my jeans. I was standing holding it in both hands, bent into a smooth arc, when great-uncle Clive came in suddenly.

“Yes,” he said softly, as if answering my unasked question. “It hurts like hell.”

“Er, yeh. Well, I best be going. I’ll be back tomorrow to finish off. See you about ten o’clock.”

“At ten; not about ten. If you’re late, you won’t be holding the cane in your hands. You’ll be feeling it across your bottom.”

“That’ll be right,” I riposted with a grin as I laid the cane down and then made my way home.

That cane intruded into my thoughts for the rest of the day. I was out with some of the guys that evening, having fun, enjoying the banter; but my mind kept returning to the slender rod and its potential for pain. Later, lying in my bed, I wondered. Was great-uncle Clive offering me a chance to feel the cane? Was he actually serious in saying that if I was late he’d cane me? It put the choice very firmly in my hands, because if I wanted to find out how the cane felt, all I needed to do was turn up a good bit after ten tomorrow morning. Assuming he was serious of course. I might turn up at ten thirty and he’d not say a word. That would be a relief; or would it? Would it really be a disappointment? Twisting and turning my thoughts, I drifted into sleep.

I awoke next morning remarkably sure. It was as if sleep had sorted out all my uncertainties. I was going to turn up at great-uncle Clive’s house at ten twenty; and see what happened. It would then be up to him; but I knew now that if he said he was going to cane me, I’d take it.

He didn’t! When I arrived he just sent me out to bring more boxes in from the garage and we set about emptying them. As I knelt there, handing out ornaments which I’d unwrapped from newspaper, I decided that I was relieved. Who wants a cane to be wielded viciously across his behind after all? There was, however, an insistent little voice which told me that I was disappointed. The cane still fascinated me and I felt a need to know more about it.

After some lunch, I brought in the final three boxes and we soon had them emptied and the contents put away as my great-uncle wished. I took the opportunity while he was away briefly when the ‘phone rang, to examine the limber cane yet again; and once more I experienced a powerful reaction in the front of my jeans.

“So,” said my great-uncle, “have you kept your promise and done as you agreed, Martin?”

“Yup. No boxes left; all done,” I replied.

“You remember what I said I’d do to you if you didn’t keep your agreement, don’t you?”

“Er, yeh. You said you’d cane me.”

“You’d better go and bring me the cane then,” he said.

“What? But I’ve………”

“Look out of the window, Martin. What do you see there?”

I looked.

“It’s your car,” I said, giving him a baffled glance.

“So?”

“I don’t….oh!”

“Yes, Martin?”

“I promised to put the car in the garage,” I replied, “and I haven’t.”

“Which means?”

“I get the cane?”

“You get the cane. Hard.”

I swallowed, a mixture of excitement and anxiety surging through me. He nodded towards the room where the cane still lay. I went through, picked it up, and took it to him. He slashed it through the air with a whistling sound and I flinched.

“Bend over, Martin, hands at your ankles.”

I complied and waited, tense and nervous while he rapped my behind several times with the cane before he hit me firmly across the centre of my bottom. I felt a sharp sting; and a jolt of pleasure in my balls. He meted out a second stroke with similar results.

“Stand up,” he ordered. “Good; now you know what it feels like, you’re ready to be punished. Jeans and pants down.”

“What? But I thought that was it!”

“Don’t be silly, Martin. You hardly felt that.”

“I did! It stung,” I protested.

“It’s going to do a lot more than sting on your bare buttocks, my lad. Now, do as you’re told and then bend over with your hands on that chair.”

Reluctantly I obeyed and stood feeling scarily vulnerable as I waited to be beaten. Now he hit hard. It wasn’t just that I had no clothing between my skin and the cane; he was also using the rod with considerably more power. I flinched and tightened my grip on the chair. Two more strokes followed, each a little lower than the previous one and each delivering a searing streak of fire to my rump. The fourth landed just where my bottom merged into the top of my legs and I yelped as pain blazed across my flesh. I was still trying to steady my quivering rear when the cane landed again, lower still, and once more forced a squeal from me as I clenched my glutes desperately, fighting the pain. I was breathing hard as I awaited number six; and he made me wait. He even did a couple of practice-cuts, making me wince as I heard the cane whine. The stroke crossed the first three welts at an angle and inflicted the most intense burn yet as I writhed and squirmed.

“Well taken,” observed great-uncle Clive; and that gave me a sudden buzz of pleasure.

I stood up and explored my thrashed bottom with both hands. I could feel raised welts and a noticeable heat in my skin. My cock seemed to like it and was rising swiftly.

“What did you think?” asked my great-uncle with a smile.

“It bloody well hurts,” I told him, “but……..I know it maybe sounds daft…….but I liked it.”

“So did I.”

I stared at him.

“You enjoyed beating me?”

“Definitely. I hope you’ll want me to do it again, now that you know how it feels.”

“Not for at least a week,” I said, scrubbing ruefully at my still-burning behind.

“Next weekend then,” he said, “and don’t be late or you will be caned for it!”

“But you’re going to cane me anyway!”

“If you’re late, I’ll give you extra. Understand, Martin?”

“Yeh. I understand. I’ll be on time.”

Most weekends after that I went to him for six of the best on the bare, until I went off to college; but as soon as I returned for the holidays, I was back. The revelation in the Easter holiday that Simon and Phil had got themselves spanked and were keen to experience a real caning, was a surprise. I always like to help my mates though, so I hatched a swift plot and went to see great-uncle Clive.

“Leave a key under the third planter; and then drive off for a few hours and come back later in the evening and you should catch them. I can’t guarantee they’ll take a caning, but I’m pretty sure they will, because they really seem to want to feel one. I’ll pretend I once saw you getting a key from under the planter when I was walking past; and that I checked and it’s still there. What do you think?” I asked him.

“It’s worth a try. You know how I like to use my cane.”

“Tell me about it!”

“Right. Now there’s just one thing. You are in serious trouble, young man.”

“Me? How? I’m trying to do you all a good turn.”

“And I’m furious at your bare-faced insolence in daring to suggest that a sensible guy like me would ever do anything so foolish as to leave a key permanently hidden under a planter by my front-door,” he declared.

“But it’s just a story to give a way to get them into your house, you idiot! I know you wouldn’t do that.”

“Idiot?”

“Oh, er, sorry; that was a bit rude. But come on, I can’t be in trouble for………..”

“Go and get the cane, Martin.”

I gave him an exasperated look and turned to go to the other room to fetch the cane, gasping as my swiftly-hardening penis caught on my briefs. He gave me a knowing wink.

Here’s my great-uncle Clive’s account of what happened:

“Whoof!” panted Martin as he straightened up and pressed his hands to his blazing bottom.

I flexed my cane slowly and admired my handiwork. Across Martin’s taut young buttocks nine fiery horizontal welts stood out from the skin in a band from the centre of his behind down to his crease; while three equally vivid welts cross-hatched them at an oblique angle. I nodded gently in approval and continued to watch the freshly-beaten lad as he stood with his naked body arched in a long bow, feet and head back, stomach and chest forward. His eyes were closed and on his face was an expression of pain and ecstasy. His splayed fingers moved carefully over his caned rump and then he opened his eyes and glanced at me.

“Thanks,” he said. “That was sheer hell.”

“Yes, I thought I was getting through to you,” I said complacently. “You certainly looked like you were feeling it.”

“I dunno how you can hit so hard,” replied Martin, shaking his head.

“I trust you’re not complaining,” I said.

“No way! I know better than to complain,” he responded with a rueful grin. “You’d just beat me again, even harder.”

“You’re learning,” I told him. “And by the way, if Simon and Phil don’t go for a caning, I’ll be giving you a double-caning instead. I won’t let you away with building up my hopes and then having them dashed.”

“Why, you sadistic ba…brute!” he retorted.

At least that was one caning I didn’t get, because Simon and Phil chose the cane anyway and my great-uncle was cock-a-hoop. He even managed to give them a second caning before they returned to college; and they appreciated my part in arranging things for them.

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

So now you know how Martin came to be aware of his great-uncle’s interest and how he himself experienced the cane. Only one thing bothers me. Martin doesn’t seem to think that I should have told you all this, because he hadn’t given me his permission. I got a text from him saying that he had borrowed his great-uncle Clive’s cane. I don’t know if Martin has ever dished out a caning before, or if he’s any good at it; but I’ve a nasty feeling that I may very shortly find out.
Joel

______________

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 ©MMXXIII 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

Key To A Caning (M/M) NEW!

♥ Site recommended story ♥

A 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!

Key To A Caning by Joelstrap

“Simon and Phil got themselves spanked!” said Jordan.

We all had stories to tell of our experiences and occasional escapades during our first couple of terms away from home, and the alcohol we’d consumed, plus some cans which Kev managed to produce, ensured that we were talking animatedly and freely. There were eight of us lads, meeting up back in Kev’s house while were home for the Easter holidays from the various places where we were at College. It was in a brief lull in the conversation that Jordan made his announcement.

His statement was greeted with a stunned silence before Martin asked carefully, “You mean they got cheated? Some bastard scammed them?”

“No, no!” insisted Jordan. “They got spanked; as in over the knee, arse in the air and spanked.”

Every eye seemed to slide to my face and I felt myself flushing scarlet; and I observed that Phil too was looking decidedly uncomfortable.

“Were you a naughty boy?” enquired Liam of me with a mischievous grin.

“No; of course not,” I replied, giving Jordan a furious glare.

“So, you gonna tell us?” asked Martin.

“It was just…..look, it was nothing,” Phil said. “Just forget it.”

“You mean Jordan’s telling porkies?” enquired Joey. “Maybe I should spank him for that.”

Joey’s hands went to the broad leather belt he wore round the waist of his jeans.

“I’m not lying,” insisted Jordan, eyeing Joey’s belt anxiously. “Simon and Phil got a real spanking; and they said it hurt.”

“Will you shut up!” I hissed angrily at him.

“But it’s true,” persisted Jordan.

Phil, who was sitting on the floor between my legs, leaned his head back so that it was resting on my tackle. My penis leapt and as I looked down at his close-fitting jeans, I could see from the straining fabric that he was massively aroused.

“Looks like you pair have been getting pretty close while you’ve been away,” remarked Joey. “You gonna tell us about this spanking?”

“Okay,” I sighed. “Jordan and Phil and me were in this gay bar just having a quiet drink and eyeing up the talent, when I noticed a real spunky boy come in. Whip-thin, black haired, neat, tight arse that really filled his black jeans. I was watching him because I really liked the look of him and wondered if I should go and try to get to know him. He went to the bar but didn’t buy a drink. He just said something to the barman and then headed off to a door in the far corner and went through. I nudged Phil and he looked just in time to see the guy disappear. Oh, yeh, Phil said. He’s fucking hot!

“So, where’s he gone? I asked. That’s not the bogs. Phil just shrugged; but I wanted to know. Over the next twenty minutes, I watched closely and saw four other young guys come in and then vanish through the door. Phil was taking an interest by now too, and when I suggested going to the barman to ask, he came with me.
Yeh, well, you’d best talk to Jamie if you’re interested, the barman said to us and nodded to a good-looking guy, perhaps in his early thirties, who was sitting with a companion at a table nearby. For a moment we hesitated and then decided that outright honesty was probably the best policy; so we went up to the guy called Jamie, told him our names, said what we’d noticed, admitted the appeal of the first guy we’d seen going through the door, and said we knew it was a bit of a cheek, but we wanted to know what was going on.

“In response, Jamie invited us to sit down. Then he told us. Every Tuesday evening a small spanking-club met in an upstairs room. Phil and I exchanged startled looks and I think we couldn’t quite take it in at first; but he made it clear that some lads met who liked to spank or be spanked. My cock was getting so hard that I squirmed in my seat and Phil was the same. Jamie noticed and grinned. Think you might be interested in being spanked, guys? I felt hellish embarrassed, but there was a bit of me that seemed to find the idea sort of exciting. I asked Phil what he thought and he nodded and then said to Jamie, I’ve never been spanked. It might hurt. Well, that was a daft thing to say. Jamie gave him a kind of pitying look and said that it was meant to hurt. He asked again if we’d like to try a spanking; and he assured us that it would hurt.

“I told myself that agreeing to be spanked would presumably get me through that door and into the place where the sexy guy had gone; but my body was kind of yelling at me that maybe I needed to get spanked anyway. There was just something that was almost calling me, even though I knew it’d hurt.”

“Hey! Back up,” interrupted Joey. “If you and Phil were together, why were you chasing after another sexy guy?”

“We weren’t more than friends at that point,” explained Phil. “Anyway, me and Simon had a confab and we agreed we liked the idea of a spanking, so we told Jamie we’d like to try it and then we went over to tell Jordan where we were going.”
“So they come over to me,” Jordan interrupted, “and tell me that they’re gonna get a spanking. I told them they were outta their tree, but the silly buggers were determined, so I said I’d wait for them. And off they went, back to the Jamie guy who took them off through that door.”

“And you got spanked?” asked Martin.

“Yeh.”

“What do you mean, yeh?” he demanded. “Who spanked you? Were you over his knee? Did he take your jeans down? Did he use his hand? Did he use a hairbrush? Did you cry? What was it like?”

“It stung,” I said.

“A lot,” added Phil.

Martin got up and looked down at us.

“Did you like it?” he asked.

“Look,” I said, “I got introduced to a few sexy guys and then one of them, red-hot boy with a muscles tee-shirt, asked me if I want to go over his knee for a spanking. So I did. He spanked me on my jeans and I was hard as a rock; and then he told me to take off my jeans and he spanked me on my briefs. That stung a lot more. He had a hell of a hard hand. Then he had me take off my briefs and he spanked me bare. I felt that, but it was still kinda exciting. Okay?”

“So, you liked it?” Martin persisted.

“Yeh!” I snapped irately. “I fucking liked it!”

“And you, Phil?” he enquired.

“Oh, yeh. I liked it,” admitted Phil. “I was hard as a rock the whole time.”

“Did you get the cane?” asked Martin, eyes shining.

Phil and I glanced at each other.

“Well, yeh, we did,” Phil answered, “but we didn’t like it much.”

“Too bloody sore, huh?” grinned Martin.

“Not sore enough,” I replied. “It stung a bit, but I’m sure it felt nothing like a real caning would’ve felt like back in the day when boys got the cane at school.”
“You’re telling us that you pair actually want to get a real punishment-style caning?” enquired Martin, wide-eyed. “That’s weird.”

“Like I told them,” interjected Jordan. “They’re outta their tree. They go out for a quiet pint and end up with a pair of roasted arses.”

“That’s not all we ended up with though,” said Phil, flushing slightly. “Me and Simon went back to his flat afterwards and talked about how exciting the spanking had been; and then we decided to examine each other’s behind; and then………”

“…….and then we put our hands on each other’s bum and somehow we ended up with our hands on each other’s cock,” I continued.

“And you’ve been fucking like rabbits ever since!” ended Jordan triumphantly.

“We’ve been enjoying an intimate and mutually fulfilling relationship,” said Phil firmly.

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

Later, Phil, Martin and I walked towards our respective homes.

“Shit! I really need to get my balls emptied,” I said. “But we can’t go to my place. My parents would hear us. I don’t think they’re ready for knowing I’m gay, never mind that I like to get my rocks off with you. And my kid brother’s always sticking his nose in where he’s not wanted. I can’t wait to get back to College.”

“Same at my place,” admitted Philip.

“Er, I’m here too,” said Martin.

I turned to him.

“Sorry, Martin. I guess we just got carried away. It’s frustrating having to sneak around and do it in odd minutes when there’s nobody at home; or behind the rhododendrons in the park.”

“I don’t suppose your house is empty?” suggested Phil; but Martin shook his head.

“Sorry guys,” he told us, “I’d like to help you, but my parents are at home. I’ll think about it. Meet you at the cafe tomorrow morning?”

“Okay,” we agreed and parted towards our respective homes.

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

“Your problems are solved, guys,” declared Martin as he bounced into the cafe to join us at our table next day. “Old Chalmers’ house.”

“What? The old chap diagonally across from us?” I queried. “You think I’m gonna go and ring his bell and ask if we can fuck on his lounge carpet?”

“No, you chump! But he goes away to his daughter most weekends. I know, because he knows my parents. So his house is often empty,” said Martin.

“Fine; I know that,” I admitted. “If his car’s not in the drive on Friday night, then he’s away. But how are we supposed to get into his house? Slide under the back-door? Jump down the chimney?”

“I said I’d solved it and I’ve solved it,” said Martin, looking hurt. “He keeps a key under the third planter to the left of his front-door.”

“How the hell do you know that?” asked Phil.

“I saw him once, when I was walking past. He was pawing around in his pockets and obviously couldn’t find his key; and then he went to this big planter, lifted the edge of it, and pulled out a key from there and let himself in. I guess it’s a spare for when he loses or forgets his normal key. I snuck along early this morning, when his curtains were still shut and had a look. The key’s still there, guys. And today’s Friday. You just need to see if his car’s away by early evening and it’s all yours.”

Phil and I glanced at each other.

“We wouldn’t do any harm,” he said. “He’d never know we’d been there; and it’d be fantastic to get a few hours just to ourselves.”

“Right! Thanks, Martin. Now we just need to see if he goes away this weekend.”

“I can’t arrange everything for you,” said Martin. “Keep your fingers crossed.”

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

It seemed that the gods were favouring us. When I came home, bringing Phil for his meal at my house about six o’clock, there was no car in Chalmers’ driveway.
By half past seven, we were comfortably ensconced in the front-room of his bungalow and there on a thick rug we slowly stripped each other, revelling in the renewed thrill of nakedness before exploring each other’s body thoroughly as if we’d never done so before. When we could hold ourselves in no longer, we sat with our backs against the sofa, bodies touching, my right leg over Philip’s left one, and began work on each other’s penis. Orgasm came disappointingly quickly, but the intensity of it made me gasp and I heard Philip give a low moan of pleasure. We spent some time kissing and then resumed operations on our genitals, taking it more slowly now. I came with a bass cry of ecstasy and Philip echoed it with a sibilant “yes-s-s-s-s-”, followed by a much louder, “Fucking YES!”

We got ourselves entwined and were deep in a passionate kiss when the sound of the door opening penetrated my consciousness and even as we began to move apart the room was flooded with electric-light.

“What is the meaning of THIS?” demanded an irate male voice.

Instinctively, we both tried to reach for our briefs, but were halted in our tracks by a bellow from the irate male who commanded us to keep still. We did.

“So,” said the man as he approached us. “It’s young Simon, isn’t it? And who are you?” he demanded.

“Phil,” he replied submissively.

“And how did you get in here?”

There seemed nothing for it but the truth, although to keep Martin out of it I said that I was the one who’d once spotted him taking the hidden key from beneath the planter.

“We’ve not done any harm,” interjected Phil. “Me and Simon wanted a quiet place to…….well you can see what we wanted to do…. and because we realised we could get in and the house was empty…….”

“….you decided just to make yourselves at home,” ended Chalmers. “I had to come back because I’d forgotten my thyroid-tablets.”

“I’m terribly sorry,” Phil said. “I know that doesn’t make up for it, because we should never have been here; but if it helps, my dad’s gonna ground me for months when he hears about this.”

“And you?” enquired Chalmers.

“Yeh. He’d take the skin off my arse if this was twenty years ago. He’s always telling me how he got his hide tanned when he was a boy. I’ll get grounded too; and probably no mobile or internet either.”

Phil nodded gloomily.

“You, eh, wouldn’t maybe let us work for you for the next couple of weeks?” I asked tentatively, desperate to try to avoid a lengthy period when I’d probably not be able to meet Phil. “Free,” I added. “As a punishment.”

Chalmers looked at us steadily for several seconds and then told us to get ourselves dressed; which we did gratefully. He took us into the kitchen, sat us at the table and poured mugs of coffee while we eyed him warily, glancing at each other from time to time as we tried to assess whether or not he might be taking my suggestion seriously.
He put down his mug, leaned forward and said softly, “I realise that you both expect to be punished, because you can’t get away with behaviour of this kind.”

“But we should have known better than to come in,” I jumped in swiftly. “We knew it wasn’t right, but……well……I’m afraid we let our feelings silence our sense of what’s right and wrong.”

For several long seconds he looked into my eyes so that I cast my gaze down to the table-top; and then he rose and left the room. I glanced at Phil.

“Do you think he’s gone to ring your dad?” Phil asked.

“Oh, hell! I hope not.”

We fell silent as the sound of Chalmers returning reached our ears. He entered the kitchen; and in his right hand he held a slender cane which he placed on the table in front of us before he sat down. I eyed it warily, only having seen such a thing on TV.

“I get the impression,” he began, “that you two might not be very keen on having your fathers, or even the police, informed of this escapade; and so perhaps you might like to consider an alternative. It’s a way which has gone out of use, of course, since the cane was abolished in schools; but which I have to admit that in my younger teaching days, I found highly effective when it came to taming young lads and keeping them in line. Sitting on a throbbing, burning bottom concentrated a boy’s mind on his work to a remarkable degree.”

I shifted uneasily on my chair as my penis swelled rapidly; and I observed Phil too looking decidedly uncomfortable.

“You’re offering to cane us instead of telling our dads?” asked Phil, trying to get things absolutely clear.

“You’re what? Nineteen?” asked Chalmers.

We nodded.

“So, you can make your own choices. To be honest, I’d struggle to find enough work to keep the pair of you occupied for a fortnight, although I appreciate the offer of that as a way of punishing you. It seems, though, that you’d prefer an alternative to your fathers being informed and to perhaps being unable to meet each other for a while, eh, boys?”

We both went red and inclined our heads.

“Six of the best is the traditional severe punishment; and as neither of you is a schoolboy, it will be given on the bare bottom. You’ll need time to talk about it and decide, so I’ll say nothing to your parents tonight. Come back here at ten tomorrow morning and tell me if you want me to inform them; or if you’d rather be caned. Understand?”

“Yes, sir,” we said in unison.

We hurried back to my house, let my parents know we were in, and dashed up to my room where we lay on the bed and had a discussion.

“So, what do you think?” I asked.

“Gut reaction’s that a caning is gonna hurt like hell; but getting grounded for weeks will hurt even more; just in a different way,” he said.

“Yeh. I don’t want to be stopped from seeing you for weeks on end. That’s gonna really, really hurt; and a caning? Shit! Schoolboys got caned and survived; surely we can. Okay, I know it’s going to be pretty horrendous, especially on the bare, but we’re nineteen; we can take it.”

“And we did want to find out what a real punishment-caning felt like,” Phil reminded me. “None of those poofy little strokes we got at the spanking-meeting.”

“Yeh! Funny how I don’t feel quite so curious about how it feels when I realise it could actually be happening for real. But, like you said, we can take it; and we might even like it,” I said.

“Right; is that it then? We’ll take the cane?”

I nodded and confirmed, “We’ll take the cane.”

We celebrated our decision with high-fives.

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

Somewhat nervous, but resolute, we went across to Chalmers the following morning at the appointed time. He admitted us and took us into the kitchen where we were told to sit at the table. He took the cane from a cupboard and laid it in front of us and we eyed it uneasily. Suddenly, a decision taken in the security of my room last night felt very different when faced with a nasty-looking cane in the cold light of morning. We glanced at each other and then at Chalmers.

“Well, boys? There’s the cane. Do you refuse it? Or do I use it?”

I swallowed and said as steadily as I could, “You can use it, sir.”

“Right,” he replied briskly, picking up the rod, “follow me.”

He took us into a small room, furnished as a study and told Phil to drop his jeans and pants. I watched as Phil’s fully-rounded bottom was revealed and admired it as he bent over the desk in response to Chalmers’ command. The cane was rapped several times across Phil’s buttocks, as if Chalmers was trying to decide where to hit him first. I was staring longingly at Phil’s cleft when suddenly the cane was raised high and brought down with a sharp crack across my mate’s behind. I heard him gasp and saw after a few seconds a red streak emerge on his skin. Chalmers eyed it for a little time and then hit again, hard and true, landing the cane just a short distance below the first mark. Once more I heard Phil gasp and saw his buttocks quiver as he held them taut and then slowly relaxed.

Chalmers lined up the next stroke just below the first two; and managed to hit his target accurately. From Phil a hiss of pain and a shudder of his lower body; from Chalmers a silent nod of his head as he approved his own skill. He landed the fourth a bit lower than I suspect that he intended, leaving a quite a gap between it and the previous one; but if he was disappointed in his aim, he had ample recompense in the half-stifled yelp which he forced from the beaten boy as he clenched his glutes fiercely. I watched closely, horrified and yet fascinated, as he touched his cane to that narrow band of flesh between welts three and four, paused and then hit hard. This time his aim was true and he etched a neat red mark in the gap, eliciting a squeal and a squirm from Phil as he fought his pain.

I expected the sixth stroke to cross-hatch at least some of the earlier ones, but instead Chalmers drove his cane in viciously hard to the tender flesh where Phil’s bottom merged into his upper legs. A snarling squeal was driven from him and he writhed from the waist, his knuckles white as he gripped the far edge of the desk.

“Yes,” remarked Chalmers with a self-satisfied nod, “you felt that, didn’t you, Philip?”

“Yes, sir,” Phil replied in a strangled whisper.

“Right. Go and stand at the wall, hands on your head. You, Simon, jeans and pants down and over the desk.”

I complied, telling myself to keep calm and to try to relax, because it might hurt a little less that way. As I lay in position awaiting the commencement of my punishment, I felt a mixture of apprehension and excitement. The cane felt cool on my skin as he rapped my behind a few times, and then I held my breath as he lifted it away. There was a moment of expectancy before the lithe rod lashed across the centre of my globes and a vicious tongue of fiery pain forced me to take in breath sharply and to clench my buttocks hard for a several seconds until the burn eased down. As with Phil, he worked his way down, laying parallel welts on my skin and forcing little gasps and yelps from me. He appeared to have managed to keep the space between the strokes neat and even and had no need to return to fill in any gap; and I was aware that he was inexorably moving towards the sensitive flesh of my crease. The fifth was very low on my bottom and drove me to squirm violently as I panted with pain. Aware that there was just one to go, I desperately struggled to get myself under control, calm, steady, ready; but he maintained the pressure mercilessly by driving in the final cut before I was prepared. As the searing blast of torrid fire scored a blazing furrow across the most tender part of my behind, I couldn’t stop my right hand leaping back and scrubbing desperately at the tortured skin. Furious with myself for letting him see that he’d got through to me, I forced my hand back to the desk’s edge and stood breathing hard as I tried to steady my quivering body.

“Over to the wall, hands on your head,” ordered Chalmers.

I obeyed, half blinded by scalding tears, and stood beside Phil.

Chalmers showed us his cane.

“Next time, I’ll make it a dozen each,” he informed us grimly. “Understand, boys?”

“Yes, sir,” we murmured together; and I for one was silently resolving that there would never be a next time.

Dismissed, we returned to my house and to our delight found that both my parents were out. We lay, bare from the waist, face-down on my bed, allowing the fierce heat to gradually ebb away from our well-thrashed bottoms. At first we compared notes about the intensity of the sting, the reactions it had forced from us, and the way we’d come through the ordeal. Once things had cooled a little we fell to licking each other’s cane-welts tenderly and repeatedly until we drove ourselves into a frenzy of need and brought each other to cataclysmic release.

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

It was about three weeks later and the little group of us had gathered again at Kev’s house before we returned to our various places of further education for the summer term. Cans were necked and chat was ebbing and flowing across the room when Jordan glanced at Phil and me, a mischievous grin on his face. Phil was on a chair and I was sitting on the floor between his feet.

“So,” enquired Jordan. “You pair get yourselves another spanking?”

“Ha, ha!” retorted Phil sarcastically.

“You sure?” persisted Jordan.

“Of course we’re bloody sure,” I riposted. “We wouldn’t forget a spanking.”

“It’s okay,” interjected Martin. “They’re telling the truth. They didn’t get spanked. They got caned.”

A stunned silence greeted this comment.

“How the……..” I began; and then stopped abruptly.

“Yes?” said Kev. “You weren’t going to deny it, Simon, were you? You were going to ask how he knew?”

“Look, it’s none of your bloody business,” replied Phil angrily.

“So you did get the cane?” insisted Kev.

“Yeh, okay, we got the cane, right? Satisfied? Not that it’s any of your business,” I snapped.

“Sure. Keep your hair on,” replied Kev. “But you can’t blame us for being interested. Did you like it?”

“It hurt like hell,” said Phil.

“And then some,” I added.

“That’s not what I asked you,” said Kev.

Phil and I glanced at each other and then he spoke.

“At the time it was horrendous; but the sex afterwards was outta this world; and we’ve been talking about it ever since and in a way we did like it.”

“It was exciting and challenging and fucking agony,” I added, “but all the same…….there was just something…..I dunno exactly what….but…….”

“You’ll be going to try to get another caning once you’re back at college, huh?” asked Martin. “A proper one I mean.”

“Probably,” agreed Phil as I nodded.

“Who caned you?” asked Joey.

“That’s not important,” I said, hoping to shut down the conversation.

“It was a retired teacher who’s still got his cane and likes to use it across the bare backsides of young guys who misbehave,” said Martin.

“How the hell do you……..?” I began furiously, glaring at Martin; but I was interrupted by Joey enquiring eagerly, “Bare? You got it bare-arse? Shit! I bet that stung.”

“Stung?” interjected Phil. “It didn’t bloody sting! It blazed across our behinds like forked-lightnings; vicious, searing fires!”

“Never mind that,” I said, coming back to my original point and looking squarely at Martin. “How do you know?”

Martin spread his hands. “Okay,” he said, “I set it up for you. I told Chalmers that you pair wanted to feel the cane used properly and that if his car was away on Friday evening, you’d be using his hidden key to get in. So he went out for a few hours and then came back and caught you red-handed, wanking on his rug; and then he offered you a choice of parental involvement, or a dose of his cane. He was thrilled you chose to take the cane. Said you both had fantastic arses and he really enjoyed caning them hard.”

“You deliberately arranged for us to get caught?” I gasped. “But why?”

“You said you wanted to feel what a real caning was like.”

“Well, yeh, but we weren’t really thinking about a brutal, bare-arse punishment caning like that,” I protested.

“And how come you know so much about Chalmers and can get him to do things for you?” demanded Phil.

“Ah,” replied Martin. “Didn’t I say? He’s my great-uncle.”

“I think,” said Phil, glancing at me, “that we should scrag the manipulative bastard.”

“If you hold him down,” I said, “I could leather him with my belt. I think I could get through to him.”

“Hey, hey, steady on, guys,” objected Martin. “I was trying to help you; and you did admit you kinda liked it and you’re gonna be looking for more real caning back at college; so what are you complaining about?”

“I guess,” said Phil, looking somewhat mollified.

The conversation revolved around caning for a little longer and then slid on to other things. Eventually Martin stood up and said he had to go.

“See you all in June,” he said cheerfully. “Oh, by the way, I’ve got a little treat for you and Simon, Phil. My great-uncle’s agreed to give the pair of you another caning before you go back to college. Six of his best each, bare of course.”

“What! You’ve no business……..” I began furiously.

“Ten tomorrow morning at his house,” said Martin. “He asked me to tell you that if you’re late he’ll give you eight each.”

Phil and I leapt to our feet.

“You……!”

“No need to thank me, guys,” said Martin as he slid out and closed the door. “Have fun,” he called as he went down the stairs.

“He can’t do this!” exploded Phil.

“We don’t need to go,” I pointed out.

There was a pause while we both stood silent, pondering, and the other guys just sat and watched us.

“Of course we’re well-brought-up boys,” I said, “and it’d be rude not to turn up when the old guy’s expecting us.”

“Yeh,” concurred Phil, “and if he’d give us eight just for being late, how many would he give us for not turning up at all?”

“But he couldn’t give you any if you didn’t turn up,” objected Joey logically.

“Shut up, Joey,” I said.

“So we’re going to get another hard caning?” asked Phil; and I nodded.

“Looks like it. That sadistic brute Martin’s really landed us in it,” I said.

“Yeh,” agreed Phil slowly. “What we gonna do about him?”

“I’ll send him an Amazon gift-token,” I said.

 

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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 ©MMXXIII 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

Not Suitable For Work (M/M) NEW!

♥ Site recommended story ♥

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

 

Not Suitable For Work by Rod Cayenne

Outside, autumn sunshine coloured the streets.  I gazed absent-mindedly out of the window, only to have my attention brought back to earth by my boss raising his voice, “Pay attention, will you?  Well, I must say, that’s hardly appropriate wear for this establishment, young Larry!  I expect a good proportion of your wages to go on office clothing.  Is that clear?  That is to say, smart and clean clothes.  Don’t waste your hard-earned wages on teenage distractions, cigarettes, alcohol, loose women, lads’ mags and dare I say it?  DRUGS!!”

“I don’t do drugs!” I exclaimed while thinking to myself that I must pick up some tasteless porn on the way home, “Anyway, has anyone actually complained about what I’m wearing?  I’m willing to bet that they haven’t.”

“Well, that’s just where you are wrong.  Very wrong.  Our esteemed founder, Mr Mirabor, called me this very morning.  He went on about it at length.  Said I should give you a good sound thrashing!”

“Never!”

“He did, they go in for that a lot in his homeland, you know.  Yes, really.  What’s more, he’s damned right.”

“But, but…I read about him in the induction pack and I thought he’d retired?”

“Wait!  You read the induction pack?  I’m impressed!  Not many do.  As for retirement, he has in theory, but he keeps a watching brief, if you like.  So what’s it to be then?  A thrashing or the sack, Larry?”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously!”

“That’s not much of a choice!”

“Maybe not, but I do need a decision.  And I need that decision right now!  What’s it to be?”

“I don’t want or deserve the sack.”

“A thrashing it is, then.  A very wise decision.”

“I don’t deserve that either, do I?  This is a set-up of some kind isn’t it?”

“Not at all, Larry my lad.  It’s entirely your choice and it just sounds to me like you’ve chosen a thrashing.”

“Well, as I said.  But OK, OK.  A thrashing.  I can take it.  It’s gonna hurt I guess but it’s the lesser of two evils.”

“Good, we have some progress.  Now there is a choice.”

My boss pulled a grubby white gym shoe out from a desk drawer.  “The choice is a session with this fine old plimsoll of mine here in the office, or…”

“Not the office, please boss!  I’ll never live it down!  Someone’s bound to hear.”

“A good point.  The other choice is a caning at my home.”

“What?  No way!  That sounds way too harsh!”

“Not at all, my boy.  Just a school-type caning.  Of the type endured by young lads for decades.  You’ll survive it, of course.”

“I should hope so too, boss!  Sheesh.  So why can’t I have a whacking with a plimsoll at your place?”

“That’s not the deal, I’m afraid.  I’m the boss and I’m not going to bargain and argue with you.  I’ve only got one plimsoll and it’s staying here in this office.  If only for emergencies.  At home, it just so happens that I have a cane.”

“I’m sure that all of this is highly illegal, you know.”

“I wouldn’t know, young Larry.  But I do know that this is the only choice for you.  We must follow Mr Mirabor’s guidance.”

“Alright.  Alright.  I’ll go along with it, I suppose.  Thank you for offering me the chance to keep the job.  You know, I do like it here.”

“Good!  And let me reassure you that you do a good job here.  You’re probably the best office junior we’ve had in a long while.  I must say that I had my doubts about recruiting an 18-year-old for the role rather than someone younger, but I’m happy with how it’s working out now.  Apart from the inappropriate clothing issue, that is.”

“Yes, Sir.  I’ll get some new clothes.”

“Mmmm, Sir eh?  I like it!  Now, no more jeans and faded t-shirts.  Just one more thing, Larry.”

“Yes?”

“I think a witness for your thrashing will be needed to make sure there’s nothing untoward happening.”

“A witness?  Oh my god, no, is that really necessary?”

“Not to worry.  Mr Mirabor has already kindly offered to be that witness.  It’s very generous of him.  You will report to my house tomorrow at 8pm sharp.  Here are the address details.  Make sure you wear some clean, smart or smart casual clothes.  Mr Mirabor will expect nothing less.”

So it was that the following day after work, I smartened myself up and took the bus to my boss’s house on the far side of town.  I was worried that I’d be late as the old bus rattled its way slowly down the empty streets.  In fact, it worked out well and I arrived bang on time at the surprisingly large house.

My boss greeted me with a firm handshake and took me into a large reception room, where I met Mr Mirabor for the first time.  He was a strange figure, wearing a buff raincoat which seemed odd, given that the weather was fair and mild.  His balding head was accentuated by a bushy moustache and thick glasses with expensive designer frames.  My boss reappeared with a whippy-looking cane in his hand.  I could tell that it meant business.  It looked quite vicious.  He handed it to Mirabor who examined it in detail, and slashed it purposefully through the air.  If his aim was to intimidate me, it worked!  That cane sure looked a fearsome implement.  “It’s a good cane, that’s for sure,” Mirabor said, “Twelve should be ample for him to learn his lesson.  Please proceed.”

So, twelve strokes had been announced as my punishment.  But, I had been expecting only six!  Twelve seemed like an awful lot to me.  But then came another bombshell, as Mirabor casually added, “Teenagers got it bare in my old country.  I suggest we proceed on that basis.”

My boss stared at me with a cold gaze, “Well, what are you waiting for?  You heard what Mr Mirabor said.  Trousers and pants down, this instant!  Hurry up lad.”

Things were going from bad to worse to even worse.  I felt sure that these two old men were out to humiliate me in every way possible, and to get their jollies at my expense.  I undid my belt and slowly unzipped my trousers.  They fell down to my feet.  It was now time to pull my pants down.  I’d chosen a sensible white pair.  They would look clean, smart and understated, I’d felt.  They were kind of old-fashioned looking, though.  I was nervous.  I didn’t want to do it – pull them down, that was.  I was kind of hoping that my boss would step in and do it for me, but I could hardly ask him to do that for me.  That would have seemed silly and childish.  So I gradually eased them down myself.  All the time, I felt as if two pairs of eyes were ogling my pert teenage arse as more and more of it was revealed.  In the end, momentum took over and my pants slid right down.

“Right then, I guess we’re ready!” said my boss.  He turned to Mirabor, “Are you ready, Mr Mirabor, Sir?”

“Yes, I am.  It looks like Larry is ready too.  Give it to him hard!”

I heard the clatter of the cane as my boss picked it up from the table.  He ordered me to bend over the table edge and gently pushed me into position.  He encouraged me to push my arse out ready to meet the cane.  When that stick landed, it was far from gentle.  The first stroke laid out a pattern of pain that the subsequent strokes just built on.  Two, three, four, five, six.  I was struggling to keep quiet and still.  Wave after wave of burning pain followed with each impact of the whippy rattan.  After seven or eight, I really felt that I couldn’t take any more.  I pleaded for a break.  To my surprise, they agreed.  But it really didn’t help.  I was told to remain in position, and just felt their eyes feasting on my battered arse cheeks.  Eventually, my boss picked up the cane again.  “Right, that’s enough.  Let’s get this unpleasant business finished.  We are busy men, you know!”

The final strokes lashed down.  I gasped and squealed and choked.  It was so embarrassing.  I heard Mirabor chuckle.  What a sick, sick man, I thought to myself.  And then it was all over.  I was allowed up, and rubbed my arse frantically, in a vain attempt to ease the pain.  Embarrassingly, my cock was thickening.  It was inexplicable.  I really didn’t want an erection.  How could that be happening?  I quickly pulled by briefs and trousers up to hide my stiffening cock.  But both men had seen it, I felt sure.  Both were staring at my crotch.  The perverts!

Then something funny happened.  I should have headed off straight away, but my boss offered coffee, and I found myself accepting.  I was soon sat uncomfortably on a plush sofa with Mirabor by my side and my boss opposite.  We made small talk, which in hindsight was just bizarre in the light of what had occurred.  The coffee was strong and tasty.  It kind of helped me recover from my ordeal.

Mirabor then offered me a lift home.  I wasn’t sure that I trusted him, but reluctantly, I accepted.  His expensive German saloon had really soft, comfortable seats, for which I was grateful.  It certainly was better than catching the service bus.  He chatted away as we headed to my place.  He told me that he was caned a lot as a teenager.  Staring at his balding head, I found it hard to believe that he had ever been anywhere near as young as me.  I tried to change the subject.  He patted my knee a couple of times during the journey, which didn’t seem creepy at the time, but in hindsight definitely was.  It was just his way, I’d told myself.  As we drew up to my door, he wished me well, saying, “I hope I get to see you again, sometime.  I pop into the offices now and then and we may need to review your progress at some stage.”  I gulped and got out hurriedly.  He drove off, giving me a friendly wave.

It was good to be home.  I looked at the ugly, sore cane weals in the large mirror in the bathroom.  I ran a bath, but not too hot, as I didn’t want to aggravate the soreness.  I looked at the marks again as I climbed into the bath.  My boss sure knew how to use a cane!  I idly wondered where he’d got that experience from.  Was it maybe Mirabor?  I slumped down in the bubbles.  What a strange evening it had been.  As the water  cooled, I couldn’t stop a rampant erection forming.  The caning had been painful but now, in the aftermath and being naked, I was feeling strangely excited and sexy and turned on.  I pulled at my cock and soon enough thick ropes of cum spurted into the bathwater.  In truth, I didn’t get a lot of sleep that night as I kept replaying the beating in my mind.  It was stimulating, and my cock acted accordingly.  Mirabor’s threat of a review in the future held a strange allure.

Back at work the following day, paranoia set in.  I suspected that each and every colleague of mine knew what had happened.  But none of them ever said anything to me.  Not directly, anyway.  I felt sure that the boss’s secretary, Rina, knew.  That foxy smirk she gave me seemed to confirm it.  How I’d like to have zipped off that tight pencil skirt of hers, to see how she’d like a dose of the cane.  And the junior underwriters?  I felt sure that they knew too.  There seemed to be a lot of whispering going on when I appeared in their section of the office.  Bastards!

(__________

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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 © MMXXIII by Rod Cayenne

____________

Authors appreciate feedback, so please comment on this story. 

Comments are here.

Mutton Dressed As Leopard (F/M)

♥ Site recommended story ♥

A newly revised version of this hot femdom story by Rod Cayenne.  All the characters are 18 or over.  This story is suitable for adult entertainment only.

 

It was 1975.  The two nineteen-year-olds were sat on the bed listening to records.  They were chatting noisily as the diamond stylus hit the run-out groove.

“I reckon your Aunt Belle is really hot, Tim,” volunteered Simon.

“Yeah, she is, if you like mutton dressed as leopard!” his friend replied.  The pair of them burst out laughing.  “How about some Dylan next?”

Unfortunately, at that moment, Belle had been passing the open bedroom door and had heard the insult.  She was mortified, especially as she had her favourite leopard print top on.  She headed off to the kitchen, by which time the cruel words had really hit home.  Tears formed in her eyes, and she sat and slumped at the table, head in hands.

An hour or so later, Tim let his friend out of the front door and they wished each other goodbye.  Tim went to look for his aunt, and found her still at the table, looking worse for wear, and tearful.

“Hello Auntie, what’s the matter?”

“What’s the matter?  What’s the matter?  I heard what you called me!  Mutton dressed as leopard, indeed!  You certainly know how to hurt someone.”

“Oh, sorry, Auntie.  It was just a joke!”

“A hurtful joke at my expense!  Really, you can be a real beast at times, Timothy.”

If there’s one thing in the world Tim hated, then it was being called Timothy.  Of course, his aunt knew that and this was just the first assault of what was to be a prolonged verbal attack.

“You are rude and disrespectful.  I really regret letting you stay here while your parents are in Australia.  I’d throw you out if you had somewhere to go.  Bettina said I was mad having you here, and she was right!  Disrespectful and thoroughly disobedient.  If you were one of my pupils, I’d have sent you to the headmaster for the cane!”

“Oh auntie!  I’m sorry.  Really I am.  What can I do to make things right?”

Unfortunately for Tim, the tears started flowing again.  He felt terrible.  He fetched a box of tissues from the sideboard.

“I’ll tell you what.  You can cane me if you like!  Anything to wipe the slate clean!  Please?”

“Pah!  If only!  If only!  Anyway, I don’t have a cane here.”

“I suppose you could get one from the school though, couldn’t you?”

“Don’t be silly.  Have you ever had the cane, Timothy?”

“No, no.  I was always too good.”

“Now that I find hard to believe!”

“No, honestly.  I was so scared of the cane that I always behaved myself at school.”

“I see.  It seems to me, Timothy, that if you had been caned then perhaps your general attitude and behaviour would be more adult and respectful.”

“Maybe you’re right, Auntie.  I feel so awful.  Really.  It sounds crazy, but maybe I’m overdue for a caning.”

“You certainly are.  But I couldn’t possibly cane you.  Or maybe I could!  Are you really willing to take a caning, if I can get my hands on a cane?”

“Yes, I suppose so, I just want to make things right.”

She got up and walked to the phone in the hall.

“It’ll hurt, you know!  I’m going to ring the caretaker, to see if he has a key to the head’s study.”

But she drew a blank.  Mr Martin was not answering.  Maybe he had the TV on too loud, for he was as deaf as a post.  She decided to cut out the middleman and ring the head.

“Ah, Mr Rodbourne!  Sorry to disturb you on a Saturday evening.  I’m ringing to ask a favour.   I’m having trouble with my nephew.  Yes, yes.  Exactly!  You’re right.  Bettina did warn me he’d be trouble.  Yes, I’d like to borrow a cane from the school if possible, please.  You have a couple at home?  Ideal!  No, no.  I want to cane him myself, but thank you for offering.   I know!  He’ll be sorry, alright!  Can we come over now?  Mrs Rodbourne won’t mind?  We’ll set off soon.  Thank you so much.”

Less than half an hour later Belle and Tim pulled up at the head’s house.  They got out of the Rover.

“Tim, you go ahead and ring the bell, and ask Mr Rodbourne for the cane.”

The ambiguous nature of her request was not lost on Tim.  She was tidying the boot of the old car, when Tim returned.

“He wouldn’t give me it.  He wants us both to come in for a cup of tea,” said a rather red-faced Tim.

“Oh right, that’s very nice of him.  He’s quite a sweet man.”

That’s not what Tim had heard.  Mr Rodbourne’s reputation as a strict disciplinarian had spread way beyond the grammar school.  Soon Belle and Tim were sat in the spacious lounge listening to Mr Rodbourne pontificating about rudeness and the virtues of the school cane.  Tim was really embarrassed; even more so when Mrs Rodbourne joined them.  What was worse was that she was wearing a leopard print scarf!  Tim could only hope that Belle didn’t tell all.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to cane him now?  You and Doris could watch.  It would be better entertainment than The Generation Game!” he laughed.

“No, really.  That’s very thoughtful of you to offer, but it’s a matter between him and me,” Aunt Belle sighed.

“Righty-oh then!  I’ll go and get the sticks now.”

Soon Mr Rodbourne returned with two crook-handled canes.

“Take them both.  One is thinner and will sting more, the other will bruise more.  I would use both, if I were you.  Use them on the bottom, not the hands.  Bare bottom, if you can stand the sight.  No hurry to return them.  We won’t be needing them this weekend will we, Doris?  And I have a new delivery due from the school suppliers.  In fact, why not keep them?  You might need to use them more than once,” he smiled.

“Why, thank you!  You’re so kind.  They’re just what’s needed, aren’t they Timothy?”

Tim blushed.  Soon he was in the Rover again, heading back with Aunt Belle.  He was shifting uncomfortably on the seat, dreading what was in store.

Back at Belle’s she made him go up to her bedroom.  She stayed in the living room, swishing the canes, whacking cushions and testing her technique.  She had used the cane before, but that was a long time ago.  Ten minutes or so later, she climbed the stairs quietly.  Tim was sat on the bed, looking worried.

“Well, I wasn’t expecting to be doing this tonight, I must say,” she laughed at him.  “Mr Rodbourne recommended a bare bottom, didn’t he?”

Tim’s face reddened yet again.  “Yes he did, Auntie.  But that’s up to you.  I’ll do whatever you decide.”

“Trousers and pants down then, Timothy.”  His luck had run out.  His boyish bottom and mannish penis were soon displayed to her.

“How many, Auntie?”

“A lot, I think!  The traditional six won’t be enough.  That’s for kids.  You’re a man.  You can take a lot more.”

Tim wasn’t so sure.  He was alarmed by his aunt’s enthusiasm for dishing out a generous beating.  He couldn’t understand how she, and earlier Mr Rodbourne, treated the matter so light-heartedly.

“Bend over!”

With a vicious swish and crack the whippy cane made first contact with the nineteen year-old’s bottom.  It stung but it wasn’t too bad.

Tim was soon gasping and squirming as Aunt Belle laid into him some more.  The cane hurt alright and gradually he began to yelp and cry as she beat him.  He was feeling sorry for himself as the wicked cane whipped down again and again.

“That will do for now.  I’ll give you some more in the morning, I think.  With the thicker cane!”

“Yes, Auntie.  Thank you.  I’m sorry.  I deserved that.”

“Good.  Glad to hear it.  Now off to bed with you!”

“But Auntie, it’s only half-past eight!”

“Just do as you’re told, unless you want some more caning now?”

Tim apologised and went off to his room.  Belle put the cane down.  She had enjoyed beating him.  She felt a little guilty about that.  But only a little.  She was deciding what to wear tomorrow.  Perhaps that newish leopard print trouser suit?  Yes!  that would be wonderfully appropriate.  She would give him the thrashing of his life while wearing it!  She felt moist and strangely turned on.  She would have to masturbate.

In his room, Tim felt his very sore bottom.  The individual cane strokes had not been too bad, but the cumulative effect had been close to overwhelming.  He was pleased that he hadn’t broken down.  He had taken his punishment like a man.  He felt strangely turned on though, and of course he had to masturbate.

Simon Freshbrook knocked at the door.  Tim’s Aunt Belle answered, dressed only in a slinky black satin bathrobe.

“Oh hello Belle, I didn’t think you would be here.  I was looking for Tim!”

“Yes, of course.  But Timothy isn’t here.  He’s gone to London for the day.  It was my idea.  I couldn’t stand having him around!  He’s not in my good books.”

“Yes, I heard!” said Simon knowingly.

“Oh you heard did you, Simon?  I wonder just how much you’ve heard?  What a pity Timothy can’t be a good boy like you.  Why don’t you come in for a minute?”

He wasn’t sure he should.   After all, this was the fearsome leopard woman who had caned his friend!  However, curiosity and that shiny robe got the better of him, so he followed her inside.  They sat down in the living room.  Belle had some coffee percolating, so she offered him a mug.  Despite the coffee, the room smelt of incense and patchouli.

Soon the conversation worked around to the mutton comment.

“I thought you’d be mad at me for laughing at his joke.”

“Well, I was for a few minutes.  But then I remembered you had described me as hot.  So I was quite flattered,  really.  Especially when I thought about it in bed.”

He blushed with embarrassment, “Oh yes, I did say that, didn’t I?”

“There’s no need to blush, Simon.  You really are a sweet, sweet man.”

Simon was still rather embarrassed, especially as Belle patted his knee affectionately.  He decided to change the subject, but there was only one on his mind.  The cane!

“Err, I heard about the canings…”

“Yes, I thought Timothy might tell you about them.  What did he say exactly?”

“Well, he said you borrowed a couple of canes from old Mr Rodbourne.  He said that the evening caning wasn’t too bad.  In fact, he said it turned him on a bit.  But the morning one with the thicker cane was absolute hell.”

“I see!  Turned on?  Well, we can’t have that, can we?  Anyway, I did get rather carried away the second time.  I beat him like crazy.”

“Yes, but you were probably right to.  Tim’s awfully immature.  I sometimes wonder why I hang around with him.  He is just like a naughty schoolboy, so a caning is just what he needed.”

“What a sensible man you are, Simon!”  She stroked his knee this time. 

It wasn’t long before Belle and Simon were kissing passionately.  She led him upstairs to her bedroom.  The very bedroom where his friend had received two canings, only a matter of hours apart.  They spent the whole morning together.  The sex was fantastic.

“I really should be moving on, Belle,” Simon said as he glanced at the bedside clock, “if only because Tim might come back early.”

“Screw him!” laughed Belle, as she lit a Gitanes cigarette.  She didn’t believe her nephew would dare come back so soon.

“No, stick to screwing me!” laughed Simon.  They cuddled.

“Belle, I wonder if I may see the canes, please?  You do still have them, don’t you?”

“Yes, Mr Rodbourne said that I could keep them.  He’s so kind and thoughtful.  As is his wife.  The canes are hanging on the rail in that wardrobe over there.  You can have a look if you really want to, but I can’t see the fascination.”

Belle was one of those people who didn’t understand how the British male’s psyche is forever scarred by the shadow of the cane.

Simon made his way over to the wardrobe.  He was still naked, and Belle couldn’t help thinking about how it would be fun to cane him, too.  He returned to the bed, holding the two canes.

“Gosh!  I’ve never had the cane.  I bet it hurts!  Shouldn’t I receive some punishment for laughing at Tim’s joke?”

“Yes, indeed you should Simon!  Six hard strokes on your naked bottom with the thinner cane, for starters, I should think!”

“Yes please, Belle.  Shall I touch my toes?”

“No, I don’t hold with that nonsense.  Get on all fours on the bed, and I’ll thrash you like that.”

And she did!

The first stroke landed hard, to be accompanied by a token “Owwww!”  A harder second stroke was met by a more sincere “Arrgh!”  And so it went on with each swish and crack of the whippy cane until six painful strokes had been delivered.  Simon had taken the strokes comparatively well, and he had now become aroused again.  Inevitably, he entered her again, and she clasped on to his ridged arse, as it bobbed up and down as he thrust into her.  It felt great.

“We should make this a regular thing once Tim has gone back to his parents.  Don’t you agree?” she asked him.

“Of course!  Thank you, Belle.  I’ll need the cane as well though, please.”

“Really?”

“Yes really, Belle.  I’m a very naughty boy!”

“You certainly are, you certainly are.”

Tim’s Aunt Belle was sorting out his washing. She was still very annoyed with him for his hurtful remarks. She had caned him twice for his sins. Even a wild morning of sex and caning with Tim’s friend Simon had only lifted her mood for a short time, although there was the promise of repeat performances. She became exasperated as she sorted Tim’s underwear. It all had tell-tale cum leakage in. And then she saw them. A pair of leopard print briefs! Was he having another joke at her expense? She examined them closely. Slightly cum stained, of course. Yes, they appeared to be new. So he was poking fun at her again, was he? She became agitated, and a little tearful again.

Gradually, she calmed down. A plan was forming in her mind. She went into her bedroom, and headed for the wardrobe. There, hanging on the rail were the two canes Mr Rodbourne had given her. Yes, it was high time they saw some more action! She removed them both and cradled them. Then she swished them around. How she loved the sound they made. Even better, was the sound they made when they made contact with bare male flesh!  Today, they would be doing just that once again!

Tim returned to his Aunt’s at about 6.15. His bus had been delayed. He headed to his bedroom. On the unmade bed, his Aunt’s two canes were laid neatly. Right next to them were his new leopard print underpants. He gulped. He’d been looking forward to a quick wank before eating, but it looked like events would be taking a rather different direction. Indeed, he was sure of it as he felt the frosty presence of Aunt Belle immediately behind him.

“Well, I’m waiting for an explanation, Timothy!” she exclaimed.

Rather foolishly, Tim decided to play it cocky.

“An explanation of what Auntie?”

“Those leopard print briefs, of course. Are you poking fun at me and my taste in clothes again?”

“Oh no, Auntie.  I meant them as a tribute to you. I happened to see them, and I thought of you.”

“Really?”

“Yes really, Auntie. You won’t be needing those canes today, really.”

“Just one problem, Timothy.”

“And what’s that Auntie?”

“I don’t believe a single word you’re saying. I’m going to cane you again. I was going to refuse to do your washing for you instead, but I’m not sure I can trust you not to break my washing machine.”

“Oh Auntie!  No, please.  My bottom’s only just recovered from the two canings. Please!”

“I don’t care.  Now, get your jeans and pants off. Come on.  Hurry!”

Once again his teenage bottom was presented to her for chastisement. Was it fair? Was it righteous? Was it deserved? Was it hell!

She lined the thicker cane up against his bottom and tapped it gently. She was anticipating his discomfort and her pleasure. Suddenly, a vision of Mr Rodbourne, the headmaster, popped into her head. He seemed to be egging her on. She sliced the cane down on Tim’s backside. He wailed!

Again she raised the cane and slashed it down again. Ah yes! It was making that sound she loved. The sound of rattan on bare male flesh! Tim too was making a sound she’d come to love as well. The sound of agony! How gratifying it all was. At the same time, it struck Belle how immature Tim was. His looks, his deportment, his attitude. In identifying this to Belle, his friend Simon Freshbrook had been completely correct. She slashed the cane down again.

“I think we’ll stop there, Timothy.”

Tim breathed a sigh of relief.

“Yes, we’ll stop there just for a minute while you put your leopard print underpants on for me. Then you can bend over for six strokes on them.”

Tim was furious that his aunt was playing games with him. He couldn’t help but feel that he did deserve this treatment, however. Despite what he’d said to her, he had bought that underwear to tease and goad her. Stupidly, he’d forgotten about the rattan consequences that could easily follow such an upset. Meanwhile, his aunt was lining the cane up again.  Six more times the wicked cane slashed and burned his teenage rump.

“Let me pull them down for you Timothy. Another six, I think!”

“Oh no, Auntie, please, please!”

She pulled the leopard briefs down and then took them off him completely. She examined inside the briefs. A little damp patch of pre-cum was visible.

“I do hope you’re not finding this caning arousing, Timothy. That would never do. It would make me very angry indeed. You wouldn’t want to make me angry again, would you?”

“No definitely not, Auntie. Anything to keep you happy.”

“Well six hard strokes on your bare bottom will make me happy.”

“Yes, Auntie.”

“But just to drive home the lesson, I want you to put those lovely leopard underpants on your head while I thrash you!”

“Oh Auntie, that’s a bit kinky!”

“Shut up Timothy. I don’t do kinky. I do do a mean caning though.  Put those pants on your thick head, and bend over again!”

So it was that Tim put the pants on his head, and bent over the bed, once again offering his backside submissively as the cane sliced into his already sore buttocks.  How stupid and submissive Tim looked with the pants on his head and his arse reddening rapidly.

Two more strokes cracked down. Belle laughed. What fun this was.  She too had a damp patch forming.

An extra hard stroke whipped down.  Tim gasped. This was no fun at all.  A final beastly stoke followed and then it was over. Belle pulled the underpants off her nephew’s head.

“Very good Timothy. Your caning is over.”

Tim was happy to hear this news. “Thank you,” he replied.

“Yes, your caning is over. Now fetch me that hairbrush from my dressing table!”

She was going to spank his bare bottom with the brush. If he made too much noise, she’d use the leopard print pants as a gag!

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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 © 2012 by Rod Cayenne

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Afterburner (M/M)

 

♥ Site recommended story ♥

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

“Hello Tim, how much studying have you done tonight?”

“Not so much, Dad.  Hardly any.  Well, next to none.”

“You mean precisely none?”

“Yes, none, sorry Dad.”

“And just remind me how much studying you did over the weekend, please.”

“Err, sorry Dad, that was none too.”

“And just remind me how long it is until your A Level exams.”

“A term, or so, Dad.  I’m sorry, it’s not my fault.  It’s this new video game.  It’s so absorbing.  You play as this really cool character…”

“I don’t want to hear about it!  Of course it’s your fault that you’ve done no studying!  It’s not my fault is it?  It’s not that new game’s fault either.  It’s time you faced up to your own failings and lack of self-discipline.  Now, I told you there would be serious consequences if you didn’t buck your ideas up, didn’t I?”

“Yes, Dad.  But please.  One more chance please.  Please don’t take my console away!”

“That’s not what I had in mind, son.”

“Oh thanks, Dad.  Now can I get on please?”

“No, and don’t be so cocky!  Turn it off.  Right now!  I want your undivided attention for a minute.  I’ve got an appointment with your headmaster, Mr Crudge, first thing in the morning.  I’m not happy about having to discuss your laziness with him.  Not one bit.  I’m a busy man and I will be late in for work.  Fortunately my boss was very understanding when I told him what I was going to do.  In fact a lot of it was his idea.”

Tim wasn’t scared of ‘Thrasher’ Crudge.  The old man had lost his edge ever since corporal punishment had been banned, or maybe even a bit before.  He could give a mean tongue-lashing, but now there was no bite to back it up.

The following day, Tim’s father was ushered in to see Mr. Crudge.  The old headmaster sat listening intently as the boy’s failings were recounted.  It wasn’t an entirely new story.  There seemed to be a malaise of laziness spreading throughout the nation’s youth, and by now it had even infected the offspring of the burghers and citizens of the small market town.  The older man spoke, “I hope you don’t mind, but I feel compelled to speak frankly.  I’m inclined to think a lot of this is your own fault, as the boy’s father.  Did you or did you not buy him this video game console thing?”

“Well yes, I did headmaster, he was most insistent.”

“Hmm, I bet he was.”

“It’s not that simple though.  The kids of today, a lot of them have much more money than you and I did as lads.  He is 18 and he’d have bought himself one if I hadn’t.”

“Yes, I suppose that’s true.  But you must have agreed to him having a television set in his bedroom in the first place.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Most unwise, if I may say so, most unwise.  Now, how can I help?  Have you decided to take away the TV and games console?”

“No, I can’t bring myself to do that.  That would be cruel.  What I was wondering was.  I was thinking, perhaps…”

“Come on man, spit it out!”

“Well I was talking to my boss down the factory.  In the office.”

“Indeed?”

“Well, he was saying that it’s not that long since corporal punishment was abolished.  He’d heard that some headmasters did home visits to get around the new rules.”

“What?  What?  Am I understanding you correctly?  Home visits to carry out punishments that a father could and should do himself?  The very idea!”

“Oh, I see.  You’re not one of those select few then?”

“A self-selecting few I should imagine!  No, no, no!”

“I just thought a short, sharp shock, like I used to get in this very office, would be much kinder in the long run than taking Tim’s stuff away.”

“Wait!  You were thrashed here?  By my predecessor I take it, Mr. Bloom?”

“Yes, Basher Bloom we used to call him.”

“Yes, I’d heard.  Most disrespectful, if I may say so.  Anyway, we’re drifting.  You could give your lad a slippering, you know.  A good hot dozen or so.  Or 18 to match his age.  Yes, that’s what I’d recommend, off the record, of course.”

“Of course.  I could, headmaster, that’s very true.  But you and I both know that the cane is in another league, don’t we?  I think I’ve left it a bit late for a tap or two with the slipper.  I was thinking of an old-fashioned six of the best with the cane.  Like I used to get from old Mr Bloom.  Yes, six of the very best from an experienced disciplinarian.  Something that will make a real impression. So, I’m afraid that I hardly qualify.”

“Well, yes, you’re right. The cane is not that easy to master. There is a certain technique to it.  You’d find it difficult to start with, it’s true.  It’s a dying skill, of course.  Sadly.  I’m not convinced that abolition represents progress.  Anyway, it just so happens that I do still have some canes here.  I couldn’t bring myself to throw them away.  Would you like to see them?”

“Err, yes please.  I’ve never seen one close up.  Though I certainly remember the sting!”

“Yes, I’m sure.  Not easily forgotten, eh?  Now, take a look at these fine specimens,” said the headmaster as he produced four dusty canes from out of nowhere.

Tim’s father surveyed the canes before him, “Actually, they look a bit old to me. And lifeless.  Are you sure they’d still be up any good? Are they up to the job?”

“Most definitely I’m sure! Is that a challenge? All right, you’re on! Your lad’s going to confirm that they’re up to it!”

The conspiracy was on!  A date was fixed. A time was fixed. Teenager Tim was transfixed.  He uttered that most stupid of questions, “Is that a cane?”

Crudge smiled at him, “Yes it’s a cane, my lad.  I like to think of it as my very own Afterburner.  Or a kind of Beat ‘Em Up!”

Tim groaned inwardly at the headmaster’s puns, but couldn’t take his eyes off the rattan cane.  He’d never, ever seen one before.  It looked old and wicked, just like the headmaster.  He gazed at the crook-handled cane in the old mans hand.  His eyes misted over.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you!” said Crudge as he flexed the cane menacingly, “Too much playing and not enough working.  Disgraceful! Now, the Boss will take you to the next level.  Bend over this chair for me.”

So it was that Tim obeyed ‘Thrasher’ Crudge.  The atmosphere was electric as the lad bent over the dining chair.  The old man wasted no time, whipping down a first stroke that caught the teen by surprise.  A second stroke followed, causing Tim to yelp with pain and alarm.  A third stroke landed with a resounding thwack.  By now a wildfire seemed to be burning beneath Tim’s trousers and underpants.  “No more, please! Dad! Help!” the teenager cried out, losing all dignity, and started to rise from the chair.

“Get back down! Right now! Don’t you dare move again,” chided the headmaster.

“Sorry son, this is long overdue. Now, do as Mr Crudge says and take your medicine like a man!” Father chipped in.

Crudge resolved to get the thrashing over quickly to avoid further outbursts.  He hadn’t told the lad that it would be six strokes, but he lashed the final three down rapidly.  Tim could bear it no more, standing up and shouting, “Bloody Hell!”

The headmaster frowned, and used his cane to point at the teenager, saying,  “Well, that’s a surprise!  I do believe you’ve earned a bonus round.  I told you to stay down, and you disobeyed me, didn’t you?  And swearing as well.  Tut, tut.  Two strokes extra!”

By now Tim’s father was wondering if he’d made a mistake in inviting the headmaster over.  Eight strokes was a bit excessive, he began to think. As his son bent over, father could only imagine the pain he must be in.   His mind flashed back to canings he’d received all those years ago. The pain, the weals, the ridges, the bruising, the teasing of his classmates and the shame.  And yes, the tears.

Father was brought back to the present with a loud awakening.  It was the crack of the seventh stroke of the cane, which caused his son to yell out furiously.  Savouring the moment, Crudge lined the whippy old cane up for a final excruciating stroke. It had been a long time, he thought.  Too long.  Landing the stroke right on target, it cracked loudly against the lad’s fleshy arse. Tim gasped and sobbed but at last it was over.  He was instructed to rise, and then to his surprise and that of his father, he shook Mr Crudge’s hand firmly, as if he was sincerely grateful for the lesson imparted.

It was to be the first, but not last time that Mr Crudge was invited over to discipline Tim.  And in the end, the old headmaster got a taste for making such home visits.  Tim’s father was given a substantial pay rise by his boss. And Tim?  Well, he got in to a very good University, quite easily.

 

 

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D I S C L A I M E R

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

__________________

Story © MMXVII by Rod Cayenne

____________

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Comments from the original 2017 posting are here.

A Dirty Look (M/M) NEW!

♥ Site recommended story ♥

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

A Dirty Look by Rod Cayenne

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes?”

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

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

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

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

“Why?  I mean, what for?”

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

“But Grandad!”

“Don’t start!  Come along now, Jon.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you.  But I’ll be naked!”

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

“Gosh, a bare backside caning?”

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

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

“You found the cane then, Grandad?”

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

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

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

“How many strokes, Grandad?”

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

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

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

“Oh no!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Same time next week, then.”

“Another caning and another Scotch, Grandad?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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D I S C L A I M E R

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

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Story © MMXXIII by Rod Cayenne

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Authors appreciate feedback, so please comment on this story.  Comments are here.

 

My Aunt Canes Really Hard (F/M) NEW!

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Brand spanking new fiction in a rare excursion into femdom by your host, Rod Cayenne. This story is currently exclusive to The Canery.  All the characters are aged 18 or over. Strictly adults only!

My Aunt Canes Really Hard by Rod Cayenne

At eighteen, I was quite used to being bundled off to relatives by my parents when they went for their long and indulgent skiing holidays.  It wasn’t my scene at all, but they didn’t trust me not to wreck the house while they were away.  I could hardly blame them, after all a teenage rampage was not unheard of in the metropolis.

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I sighed heavily as I pulled off my shiny black wellies.  I’d had the foresight to bring them with me for my winter stay with Aunty in wet and windswept Yorkshire.  I stood them next to the umbrella stand there in the vestibule.  It was then that I noticed a crook-handled school cane in among the brollies and walking sticks.  It’s strange that I hadn’t noticed it before.  Yes, really strange indeed.  Unless it was a new addition?  Anyway, I drew it out from the shiny and dimpled brass container.  I sliced it through the air.  Boy, was it ever whippy!

“I see you’ve found my cane, Julian,” my aunt said.  “Be careful now, I’m not afraid to use it.  Maybe even bare bottom!” she cackled.  I didn’t know where to look, laughed nervously and blushed redder than I’d ever done before.  There was no denying her attractiveness.  She was in her late 30s, but incredibly sexy.

Eventually, I found my voice, “Oh Aunty, you wouldn’t!  I’m eighteen now!”

“Really now, eighteen?  Just the right age to benefit from some discipline then.”  She cackled some more and winked at me.  “Be a dear and put it back where you found it, unless you want me to demonstrate.”

I was somewhat unnerved, replaced the cane and replied sheepishly, “I’ll be good.”

“Mmm, yes, I’m sure you will.  The cane does seem to encourage that sort of response.  Now, how about showing me just how good you can be by doing some drying up for me?”

I was so grateful that she had changed the subject and saved me from any further embarrassment.  All the same, that cane and that threat were all I could think about as I dried the floral crockery with the off-white tea towel.  I was still strangely excited by my discovery and by my aunt’s reaction.  I felt a tingle down below and blushed some more.  In a funny way, I really wanted to feel that cane used in anger.  I wondered what it would be like.  But why?  It was all too much for me.  I gazed at my aunt and said, “If we’re finished here, I’ll go up to my room.”

She nodded sagely.  It was funny how she could sometimes read me like a book, but  I told myself that teachers seemed to have a knack for being able to do that sort of thing.  Maybe part-time teachers like Aunty even more so.

Just a day later, on the Tuesday, I returned and found a cane hanging on a hook on the back of my bedroom door.  I was alarmed and yet excited.  Maybe even a bit amused.  It was only later as I laid on the bed and stared at it that I realised it wasn’t the same cane I’d seen downstairs.  It was similar, but the natural patina was slightly different.  So, she must have a veritable arsenal of them, I told myself.  An arsenal for arses!  I decided to play it cool and ignore what I saw as a deliberate provocation.  Nevertheless, when I turned in at bedtime I got to think some more about the possibility of Aunty caning me.  I found the idea strangely appealing and wanked off a couple of times before finally falling asleep.  In the morning, I had to do the same.  I knew Aunty and I knew her game.  I was going to get caned by her, of that I was sure.  The sudden appearance of that second cane was just confirmation.

I didn’t have to wait long, as it happened.  That evening she was admonishing me as I’d left my boots on and trampled copious quantities of finest Yorkshire Dales mud into her hall carpet.  “I’m going to have to shampoo that carpet, Julian!” she informed me, “I’m really annoyed with you.”

“Sorry Aunty, I wasn’t thinking,” I said with genuine regret.

“Hmm.  Well, I’ve been thinking that your thoughtlessness deserves a caning!”

“Oh Aunty, no.  Please no. Not that!”

“I bet you’ve never had a caning have you?”

“Err, no.  No.”

“High time you did then.  Fetch me a cane, Julian.  There’s one in the hall, as you know.  And one hanging on the back of your bedroom door.  Either will do.  They’re much the same as each other.  And hurry up, I don’t have all day.”

I was lost for words, so I sloped off to my guest bedroom to retrieve the cane that I’d been admiring up there.  I picked it up and came slowly down the stairs with it.

“Very well,” she said.  “I think six of the best as you’ve caused me all this extra work.  You can keep your underpants on this time, but if we have to do this again be assured you will have to take them down.”

“Six!” I exclaimed and shook my head.  That seemed a lot for a first offence.  I considered plea bargaining, but I was so embarrassed.  I knew I was blushing as I handed her the stick.  That strange excitement had returned and I felt my cock thickening in anticipation.

“Yes Julian, six should be enough!  Now, drop your trousers and bend over the back of this sofa.  Hurry up!”

I quickly did as I was told, hurriedly bending over as instructed while trying to hide the erection in my briefs.

“I must warn you that this is going to hurt you, Julian.  I’m well known as a hard caner and I expect you to take it like a man.  No fussing, no rubbing or standing up, or putting your hands in the way.  I should tell you that you will get extra penalty strokes if you do anything of the sort.”

Shit, she was really dominant and bossy and any thoughts of pleasure disappeared as she sliced the first stroke down on my underpants.  Thank God I’d put a clean pair on that morning, I told myself.  But the burn from that first stroke was now taking over all my thoughts.  God, it hurt.  And then the second stroke followed.  It landed lower than the first, but if anything was even harder.   I gasped for air.  God, this was awful.  It might have been a nice fleeting fantasy to have, but the reality was excruciating.  Her teaching experience was really evident!

Just then she was distracted by the sound of letters coming through the door.  She told me to stay as I was while she went to get the post.  I was grateful for the break.  The red hot pain was remorseless, however, so the respite was minimal.

She returned and placed the letters on the table, and picked up her cane again.  She scythed it through the air a couple of times, teasing me.

“Now, where were we?” she asked.

“I’ve had two strokes Aunty,” I replied.

“Are you sure?” she asked, adding, “We could always start again.”

“Err, no thank you Aunty, please just carry on from where we were.”

Her sadism was evident.  She was playing games with me.  I just wanted it over as my arse was throbbing so painfully.

“Three!” she cried as she whipped the cane down once again.  The bitch could really hurt, I thought to myself as new waves of pain swept over me.

“Four!” accompanied the next stroke which had to be the hardest yet.  I groaned and gasped and ached.

“Oh Aunty!” I cried out.

“Don’t you Oh Aunty me!” she said as she whipped the fifth stroke down, this time neglecting her counting.

“Arrrgh!”

“Very well, Julian.  Last stroke coming now.  Let’s make this one really count!”

And it did.  Shit, shit, shit, it was unbearable.  But then I realised it was over, at last.

“I hope you’ve learnt to treat my property with respect, Julian.  Going forward, I shall expect the highest standards from you.  You know now what will happen if you don’t.  If there’s a next time, it will be bare bottom, my boy.  Don’t forget now.”

As if I could!  A bare arse caning was something I was really dreading.  Male intuition  told me it was something I would definitely experience before I headed back to London, though.  It seemed to be my destiny.  It was what Aunty was planning for me.  I’d have been stupid and naive to think otherwise.  I was trapped and miles from home.

“Pull up your trousers, Julian!”  I did so gingerly as my arse was throbbing, aching and scorching hot.  I rubbed it gently.  I made my apologies and left.  Upstairs in the large mirror in my room, I studied the bright red lines and wheals that decorated my arse.  Soon I found something else that needed rubbing!  Doing that seemed to ease the pain in my bum cheeks.  I was on the verge of orgasm when Aunty called me down for supper.  It was too late to stop it, and I spunked into some tissue I’d liberated from the bathroom.  Hurriedly, I cleaned myself up and flushed the evidence away.  Nonetheless, as I entered the kitchen Aunty gave me a funny look as if she knew or could guess what I’d been doing.

“I hope you’re going to behave now, Julian.  Your bottom must be quite sore?”

I wished she’d give it a rest.  I considered snapping back at her, but my feelings were mixed.  I just said, “Yes, pretty sore.  You’ll have no more problems with me, I promise.”

She raised an eyebrow, as if in some disbelief.  We sat at the table and she dished up some hearty food.

“I’ll shampoo the carpet, if you like,” I offered.

“Thank you Julian.  Actually, the damage is not as bad as I first thought.  I think most of it will brush or hoover up once it’s dried.  Eat up now.”  I did see a bit red at that point.  So, I had been caned for next to nothing!  I wasn’t best pleased but kept my thoughts to myself.  After the meal she told me to take the cane back upstairs.  I took it, amazed again at how light it was and yet what heavy pain it had caused.

That night I masturbated furiously, my thoughts centred only on my aunt and her canes.  I was becoming fixated.  I also decided that I had to see her naked.  Just two days later, I was hanging around on the landing, pretending to be looking at the epic Yorkshire Dales landscape through the large panorama window.  I hit the jackpot as she suddenly appeared from the bathroom wearing  some very sexy black underwear.  Once again, she was perceptive, “Are you spying on me, Julian?”

“I, I errr, no, no, of course not.”

“I rather think you were, you dirty boy.  Time for that bare bottom caning, I’d say.  Let’s go into your room.”  She wasted no time, pushing me towards the bed, and taking the cane off the door hook.  “Right, let’s have you on all fours.  Take your trousers down.”  Once I’d complied, she then startled me by whipping down my underpants in double quick time.  She studied my bottom, observing, “The marks from your first caning have almost gone.  Either you have a tough bottom, or I didn’t cane you hard enough.  Or maybe, just maybe, both.”

There I was, bare bottom sticking out, waiting to be thrashed.  And thrashed I was.  Fast and hard.  The cumulative pain was overwhelming and after it was over, I slumped on the bed whimpering.  My cock was on manouevres again and the rest of me soon perked up too.  My aunt was hanging the cane back on the hook.  I had to tell her, “Ooh Aunty!  That was terrific.  The sting is really intense without pants on.”

She looked at my erect cock and said, “You’re not meant to enjoy it, you know!”

“Oh Aunty, I didn’t. I really didn’t!  But that sting is really invigorating.”

“Mmmm.  I understand, I think.  Now, make yourself decent.  Although I must say you have a most attractive bottom, just made for caning.”  She cackled again.

She was right though.  I had enjoyed it in a masochistic way.  I wanted the cane again.  As soon as possible.  I needed its vicious enlivening bitter caress.  I resolved to be be much naughtier going forward.

Some three days later, after our evening meal, I surprised her by turning up in the lounge holding the cane.

“I see,” she said, “Have you something to confess, Julian?”

“Yes, I do and I deserve the cane for it, Aunty.”

We never did establish what it was though!  She ordered me upstairs, saying, “Let’s do it in my bedroom, there’s more room to swing a cat.”

Once again, I found myself on all fours with my arse bared for her ministrations.

“Ten, I think this time, Julian.”

She went absolutely crazy with that cane. She slashed it with wild abandon, slicing both cheeks with punishing stripes.  As she finished I gasped with relief, only to have it dashed as she announced, “Another two, I think, to make the round dozen.”

After that, she really had finished.  She gazed at my erection which had returned with a vengeance.  “Get the rest of your clothes off and get in my bed Julian.  It’s alright, my boy.  We both have needs, I think.”

I fucked her half the night, losing my virginity in style.  She had brought me extreme pain and extreme pleasure.  All too soon, the holiday came to an end.

“Well, I guess my caning days are over, Aunty.”

“Yes, what a pity.  Unless your parents decide to follow my lead, of course.”

“Mother wouldn’t cane me, Aunty.”

“You’re probably right there, Julian.  I know my sister only too well.  She’s much too squeamish.  But your father might.  Especially if I provide him with a suitable cane.  And tell him to use it on your bared bottom.  It’s really a father’s job to discipline his son, after all.  I’m sure I can spare him one of my canes.  I’ll give him it when he comes to pick you up.”

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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 © MMXXIII by Rod Cayenne

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Authors appreciate feedback, so your comments are most welcome.

Comments are here.

All Day Breakfast (M/M)

♥ Site recommended story ♥

 

A repeat of this short story of corporal punishment fun by your host, Rod Cayenne.  This story is currently exclusive to The Canery.  All the characters are aged 18 or over. Strictly adults only!

 

All Day Breakfast by Rod Cayenne

The Coronet Café and Milk Bar was opposite the faded Grand Theatre where Derek often performed, sometimes as a lead and at other times as an understudy.  It was also directly below the tiny flat he rented from the cafe’s proprietor, one June Prior.  A scratchy and warped Merseybeat 45 played on the jukebox.

“You boys! I can guess just what you’ve been up to. Why Derek, your guest can hardly sit still.” June wagged her finger at the young lovers, only semi-seriously. Fag ash from her roll-up narrowly avoided landing in the sink where she was scrubbing away the last remnants of a recalcitrant omelette. “Did you not get enough of the cane at school? Tut, tut what would your old headmasters say, if they only knew? You know, there should be a law against it. Yes, indeed my naughty boys! Anyways, there is a law against the other stuff I’m sure you get up to! Dirty, dirty boys!” Another clump of ash fell from the ciggy.  “How did youse two meet anyway?” 

“Actually we first met each other in the theatre toilets,” Russell sniggered, “It’s where all the big boys hang out.”

“Ach!  How I wish I hadn’t asked,” said June as she turned her attention to a prime cabbage she was preparing for the Sunday roasts, “The age of romance is certainly dead.” 

Russell burped loudly and Derek laughed.  

“See!  Dead!  Disgusting!  I ought to throw you both out, but you know you are my only two customers at the moment!”

“Two All-Day Breakfasts, please June,” said Derek as he looked up from his stone cold sugary cappuccino.

Suddenly, June’s mood improved.  After all, cash was king at the Coronet!  “With bread and butter?” she pushed her luck.  The two lovers nodded eagerly, “Soft eggs?”

“Aha,” said Rusell.

“Softie for me too please, love,” said Derek in his campest tone as he drummed his fingers on the red and white chequers of the Formica table top.

June stared at the ceiling.  “OK, just let me finish this,” she said as she started daydreaming while slicing the cabbage.  She was enjoying a flashback to that fateful day, only a few months back when she had stumbled across Derek and a different male lover in the flat.  It was rent collection day, so she’d let herself in, only to find herself confronted by a most unusual spectacle in the dingy living room.  Two naked youths, both sporting huge erections, one about to bend over the settee, and the other with a whippy crook-handled cane in his right hand.  Yes, it had been quite a shock.  She had mentioned it and the tin of Vaseline she’d seen to the vicar, but he’d reasssured that sort of thing was quite normal and could soon be legal.  “After all, we are in the Swinging Sixties!” he had laughed.  Those erections haunted her nights and her daydreams, for she was still a virgin most pure.  Her tireless pursuit of money had left her life quite barren.

“I could spare some of this cabbage if you want some with your breakfasts,” June offered.

“Err, no thanks, that is something I really did have enough of at school, thanks June,” Derek replied.

“Me too, me too,” added Russell.

Later that afternoon Derek and Russ were lying naked in each others arms.  The old bed creaked as they kissed passionately.

“That June’s quite a character, isn’t she?  Although that breakfast was pretty awful.  It keeps repeating on me.  It keeps repeating on me,” said Russell.

“Oh do shut up!  I get the joke.  Think yourself lucky that you escaped the cabbage.  But I am quite fond of June.  She’s such a sweetie.  I ought to fuck her sometime,” Derek mused.

“Nah, fuck me instead,” Russ suggested.

“Nah indeed, I don’t think so!  You’re due a caning, my boy.”

“I am?”

“Yes, you are.  After all, we’ve got to live up to the reputation June’s given us.”

“That bloody woman!  What an old slapper!”

“The only slapping that will be going on is my hand on your arse.  Then maybe a dozen strokes with my finest rattan for you.  For being rude about June.  She’s actually quite chaste.”

“Shit!”

“And that’s a word I don’t like hearing in my home.  Some extras for that I think.  Fetch the cane, my boy.” 

Russell dived under the bed.  For it was there that Derek kept two swishy canes.  A junior one which stung like the devil, and a senior one which raised wheals like nobody’s business. 

It was clear from Derek’s instruction that he meant to use the senior one, “Now bring the stool in from the parlour.”

Russell groaned.  A caning over the old wooden chemistry lab stool was something that would really hurt.  Clearly Derek meant business today.  Russell, completely naked, draped himself over the stool.

“Bottom right up, that’s it,” Derek instructed before landing a meaty slap on the right buttock.  He followed through, alternating firm smacks between the two pert and inviting cheeks.  So many generous and livid red handprints soon decorated Russell’s rear.  Derek wasn’t in the mood for wasting time though, and promptly landed the first cane stroke right across the middle of Russell’s arse. 

The second stroke was the killer though.  Derek had lashed it down right on exactly the same spot as the first one.  “Aargh!” cried Russell. 

Derek laughed and remonstrated with him that it was a bit early in the thrashing to be crying out, “But then, you are a real Softie, aren’t you?  Mister Softee!”  His cruel words added to Russell’s humiliation.  Then the cane thrashed down again, and again.  The beating was harsh, remorseless and hardly playful.  After twelve strokes, Russell was close to tears.  Close, but not quite there. 

“Stay where you are!” commanded Derek, “You’re due extras for swearing.  Two for ‘bloody’ and two more for that ‘S Word’ that I cannot abide!  Let me swap canes.  I think the bite of the junior is just what you need now.”

Derek scrambled under the bed, to retrieve the second, thinner cane.  If only Russell could have seen, for Derek was now presenting a most undignified spectacle.  His own naked bottom, arsehole and rampant cock were on display as he groped around under the bed to find the second cane.  He should have got Russell to do this, he thought to himself.  “Got you!” he cried eventually, crawling back up with the lithe cane firmly in his grip. 

Crack!  The junior cane lashed into Russell’s rump, relighting the pain from the previous dozen strokes.  The lad whimpered gently as a second stinging stroke followed.  At times like this, Derek could be a real bastard.

“There, that’s for the first swear word.  These next two will be harder; you know how I feel about that second word!” said Derek.  Little did Russell know where this prudishness had come from, after all Derek had just used the F Word.  In truth, that prude streak was from Derek’s own painful upbringing as the son of a beastly clergyman. 

So it was that the final two strokes were hard, stinging and masterful.  Derek threw the cane down and jumped on the bed.  Soon, Russell joined him.  Derek flipped him over to inspect the damage.  Indeed, the sixteen strokes had made quite a mess of Russ’s rear.  It was criss-crossed with angry red lines, and as Derek massaged gently, Russell could not help but wince as the pain was revived to some extent.  Derek’s cock was erect and primed.

“Make love to me,” pleaded Russell.

“No, not now.  Later perhaps,” said Derek enigmatically.  To be honest, Russell’s caned arse was such a sight, that his lover was a bit turned off momentarily.  Derek pulled on his blue jeans and a paisley shirt.  “I’m just popping down to see June.  Catch you later, naughty boy.”  He slapped Russell’s arse as he departed.

Russell rolled on to his side to gently soothe the damage Derek had wrought.  After a few minutes, the pain gradually subsided, to be replaced by a warm and calming glow of contentment.  Soon, his penis had sprung to life.  It was rock hard, and throbbing with life, like an independent spirit.  Of course, Russell had to attend to it.  Frantically, he pumped and pumped until he achieved a gratifying release.

Downstairs in the café, Derek was whispering in June’s ear.  “Sixteen hard strokes I gave him.  Made quite a mess of his arse, I can tell you.  That’ll teach him to swear in my fuckin’ flat!”

“My flat,” June corrected him, wagging her finger.  Little did Derek know that June had recently taken a trip uptown, like you do, and bought her own whippy cane.  She had definite plans to use it on her tenant.  After all, she shouldn’t have to put up with swearing from him, now should she?

 

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D I S C L A I M E R

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

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Story © MMXX by Rod Cayenne

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Authors appreciate feedback, so your comments are most welcome.  Comments are here.

 

Comments from the original 2020 posting are here.

 

Heating Engineered (M/M)

♥ Site recommended story ♥

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

It had been a long and tiresome day for heating and ventilation engineer Dave.  Call after call, and hassle from the office.  Now, as he drew up the works van on his gritty gravel drive, he knew he had to complete the paperwork for all the site visits, before he forgot all the details.  How he hated filling in the multi-part carbon forms, ticking the boxes and recording comments.  A decent firm would have issued him with a laptop, or a tablet computer, but, oh no, he had to scratch away at the forms on a vinyl clipboard using a company-branded ballpoint pen.  All in that dreadful corporate green colour.  And the mobile phone he had been issued was real turn-of-century stuff, well not quite, but definitely dumb rather than smart.  Still, it was good to be home after a tiring day.

Up in his bedroom, Dave stared lovingly at the whipping cane stored in the wardrobe.  Its lithe and slender form seemed to beckon him.  The thin coating of varnish glistened in the remnants of the early April sunshine.  Despite his love for the very latest technology, this relic from a bygone age was perhaps his favourite possession.  He unhooked it carefully from the wardrobe’s brass hanging rail.  He flexed the whippy cane and scythed it through the air, landing it in a vicious blow on his bed.  Dustclouds rose and fell in the shafts of spring sunshine.  He’d done this many times before.  It was frustrating, for what he really wanted to do was to use that cane in anger.  Oh how he would love to beat Marcus, his drunken handful of a son, with it!  But it was not to be, for quite simply, he couldn’t face doing it.

Fortunately, he had a new neighbour.  A mixed-race gay policeman named Vince.  He was quite a picture and on this occasion had his full uniform on.  He was happy to tell Dave, “Yes, I’ll do that for you.  I’d enjoy doing it.  It would be a pleasure.”

“Oh!”

“Shocked?  Well, you shouldn’t be.  So many of us police are into crime and punishment.  We have a sadistic side which rarely gets exercised in a controlled manner.  We get to be thuggish, but not disciplinarians.  A beating for your boy Marcus sounds ideal.  And even if it turns me on a little, I promise not to take advantage.  He will be thrashed, but that’s all.  Promise.  He’s 18 isn’t he?”

Dave nodded and Vince laughed, adding, “High time he had a good whipping then.  Now, show me the cane!”

Dave climbed the stairs to his bedroom.  With mixed emotions, he collected the cane.  Back in the spacious lounge-diner, he handed his treasured posession to Vince, saying only, “Here it is.”

“Oh yes!  I say!  It’s a beauty, isn’t it?”

“Yes, I’ve always thought so.”

“The handle has a beautiful curve.  Just perfect.  Lovely.  Obviously made by a true artisan.  And it’s never been used?”

“Never!”

“Well, that’s a crying shame.  Let’s rectify that right now.  Drop your trousers and pants for me!”

“What?”

“Well, you can hardly expect me to use an untested cane on your boy, can you?  That wouldn’t be fair at all, now would it?  No, we’ll have to try it out on you first.  Just to make sure everything’s alright.”

“Well, I don’t know.  I wasn’t expecting this.  And my pants, too?”

“Yes, pants too.  Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you.”

“Really?  Promise?  Well, if you’re sure it’s really necessary?”

“Never been surer.  Now, get that bottom bare.  It’s the only way.”

“I suppose.”

Feeling somewhat stupid but also rather excited, Dave bent over the back of a dining chair, as instructed by Vince.  It didn’t cross Dave’s mind until much later that he had been tricked into taking a beating.

Vince raised the cane and slashed it down.  It caught Dave right across the middle of the arse, causing a gasp and some involuntary fidgeting.  A second stroke followed through, this time bringing a yelp and causing Dave to jump up, rubbing frantically at his scorched cheeks.

“Very poor, Dave.  I’m sure even young Marcus wouldn’t do that!  Get back down and take your beating like a man.  Right down and bottom up!”

“Sorry Vince.”

“Don’t call me Vince!  Call me Sir!  The man with the cane in his hand is always Sir, is that clear?”

“Yes Sir, sorry Sir!”

“Make sure you don’t forget or it will be all the worse for you.”

The authoritarian talk was beginning to turn Dave on.  Something of a masochistic urge hidden inside had been awoken.  The pain of the cane strokes was now turning into a pleasant, warm glow.  He thrust his bottom out ready for the next stroke.

“We’ll restart.  From the beginning.  Six hard strokes for you, my boy.”

History repeated itself for the first two strokes, only this time Dave didn’t dare stand up! Vince seemed to land those strokes right on top of the earlier ones.  Somehow though, it was an exquisite agony that Dave felt.  He felt he was in his natural place, subservient to a cruel master.  Still, the third stroke was hard to take, hard to bear, hard not to cry out loudly about. And then a brace of cutting strokes caused Dave to squeal out with shock.

The final stroke crashed down, causing Dave to gasp at its intensity.  But it wasn’t over!  Oh no, Vince had other plans!

“And one extra for luck, I should think,” Vince announced before laying the hardest stroke yet into Dave’s soft, fleshy bottom.

“Shit!” Dave cried out.

“No shit!” exclaimed Vince before chuckling loudly and throwing the cane down on the deep pile carpet.  “Now stay where you are.  Sir is going to inspect his handiwork.”

Vince’s hands explored every bit of Dave’s arse.  Not just the nasty weals the cane had left, but also the milky white surrounds which had escaped the rattan’s stinging caress.  The hands gently stimulated the anus, before moving on to play with Dave’s thickening cock and meaty balls.

Suddenly Dave felt the wet slobbering of Vince’s tongue in his left ear.  It was disgusting, but it was a turn-on all the same.  Soon they were kissing passionately and heading for Dave’s bedroom.  The wardrobe door was still open; the cane not returned.  Dave rummaged in his bedside drawer for a condom and some lubricant.  He was about to be taken by the copper, not to the station, but to the stars.  It was a wild and prolonged fuck with the dark-skinned cop riding his white neighbour masterfully.  Dave eventually fell asleep in his new lover’s arms. After an hour or so Vince extracted himself from Dave’s dozy embrace and slipped out of the house.  Dave didn’t wake, as he was exhausted from his caning and the lovemaking. He was truly beaten.

Young Marcus almost tripped over the school cane when he returned home.

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Story © MMXVII by Rod Cayenne

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D I S C L A I M E R

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

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Comments welcome.  Comments are here.

Comments from the 2017 post are here.

Delayed Retribution (F/M) NEW!

♥ Site recommended story ♥

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

DELAYED RETRIBUTION by Barry Spockings

Some 5 years after leaving Grammar school I was surprised to receive a letter from my old Headmistress, Miss Gray, inviting me to a school reunion. It surprised me as I had had nothing to do with the Grammar school since leaving it and also that she knew of my new address. However my main concern was that I had left the school under a bit of a cloud and was worried that she might remember it. It was the last week of term and exams were over and as we were all looking forward to the summer holidays and perhaps thereafter studying at University, our spirits were high and as we were not being supervised some of the sixth formers’ behavior was a bit over the top. Roy Suckling, whose foolhardiness had frequently got him into trouble resulting in his reputation of being the most caned boy by the Headmistress in the school, was unfortunately seated in the next row to me and as I was about to sit down he pulled my chair away causing me to fall to the floor, painfully banging my head and making the whole class laugh. Naturally I tried to pull my chair away from him but in so doing he also fell to the floor resulting in breaking both his chair and mine!

This was a serious situation and would be interpreted as vandalism carrying serious painful consequences for the perpetrators. Suckling and I quickly exchanged our chairs for two spare ones at the back of the classroom hoping no one would notice the damage. However our hopes were dashed at the end of the final assembly on Friday when Headmistress Gray announced that the previous day there had been a serious case of vandalism in the sixth form room discovered that evening by the caretaker. ‘’The person or persons responsible are expected to report to my study immediately after this assembly and can expect some painful consequences for their reprehensible behaviour!’’

I immediately said to Suckling that we should own up as everyone in our class knew that we were both responsible. He disagreed as he said it had been his fault and that I should not be involved. ‘’I have been caned by the Headmistress many times before so it will be no big deal.’’ I was so relieved to hear this as I had never been caned before and was terrified at the prospect. So we left it at that and he left me feeling more than a little pusillanimous and, strangely, perhaps because I had never been caned before I had a paradoxical attitude towards being caned – it would be painful but there was a strangely appealing aspect about being punished by a woman. I did not see Suckling again after he visited her study but learnt later from one of his friends that he had been sent home after receiving twelve strokes of the cane on his bare bottom! I felt awful as I considered myself as much to blame as he was and should have shared his punishment. But Friday was my last day at school and I left it unpunished.

Now five years later, after university and starting a career as a science teacher, I was returning to the Grammar school for a reunion. I parked my car near the entrance and entered the school through the main entrance to find it strangely deserted. Perhaps I had got the wrong date for the reunion – then I heard footsteps behind me and turned round to find Headmistress Gray approaching me.

“Ah, Barry Spockings! I am so pleased you could make it. Please follow me to my study. “

Meekly I followed her, a still very attractive woman now in her late forties. I noticed she had maintained her slim, trim figure and was dressed in a daringly short tight skirt with black stockings and black high heels. I found it strange that she had not married, as I always considered her to be very attractive. She entered her study and I followed in as she sat behind her desk. Addressing me she began by saying that she had to apologise for misleading me.

“I am sorry but I have brought you here under false pretenses – there is no school reunion today. I am afraid instead I have brought you here for some unfinished business or as I call it delayed retribution!”

My heart skipped a beat – and I suddenly suspected that I possibly faced the prospect of a beating!

“You may recollect that on your last day at this school I had to give Roy Suckling a severe caning for an act of vandalism. Do you remember?”

“Yes Miss Gray.”

“Well at the time I suspected that he was not the sole perpetrator despite his denials. However a few weeks ago by chance I met Janet Priday, a classmate of yours and Roy Sucklings, at a local coffee bar and we reminisced about her time at the school. By chance I asked her what she remembered about her last day at school and, not surprisingly, she remembered that Roy Suckling was caned for vandalism which she had witnessed in class. Naturally I asked if he was the only one responsible and she said no another boy was involved and on asking his name can you guess what she said?”

I knew this was coming and realized that I could not deny that it was me so I said “Barry Spockings?”

Headmistress Gray smiled at me saying “Absolutely correct! And she told me where you now lived and that you too had become a schoolteacher. So how do you propose I should deal with this matter?”

I was gobsmacked! I had dated Janet for a while whilst at university but we broke it off unceremoniously so I was surprised that she had kept tabs on me but not so surprised that she had revealed my participation in the vandalism. I did not know what to say to Headmistress Gray and said so.

“Well I consider that there is unfinished business that needs completing. Also I consider that there is interest to pay – your failure to own up was both cowardly and unfair to Roy Suckling, allowing him to take all the blame! In effect you took a loan on his willingness to shoulder all the blame. Well today is payback day and when you take a loan over time there is interest to pay – if you had owned up you would have received the same punishment as Roy Suckling – twelve of the best on your bare bottom! But that was five years ago and twelve strokes at ten percent compound interest over five years earns an extra ten strokes. So I propose to give you a total of twenty two strokes with the senior boys cane on your bare bottom! What do you think?”

I was shocked! But the paradoxical attitude I had towards being caned resurfaced – yes it would be painful but there was the strangely appealing aspect about being punished by a woman, especially a woman as attractive as Miss Gray!

She added “I have checked the school punishment book for the time you attended this school and discovered that you were never caned during your time here. A rare occurrence indeed! But today I intend to rectify this omission despite your age and no longer being a pupil here. What do you have to say for yourself?”

I was at a loss for words – here was I, an adult male facing the prospect of a bare bottom caning from my very attractive ex-Headmistress. Reluctantly I decided to say yes and so I stuttered out the words – “Well if you really think I deserve it and you really want to do it how can I refuse?”

“Good boy! But I warn you it will be really painful as I intend to give you the very hard thrashing I think you deserve. Are you certain that you are willing and also believe that you can take it?”

“Yes Miss Gray.”

“So be it then – but you must do exactly what I say. I have caned many naughty boys’ bare bottoms but up till today they have all been juniors or sixth formers – you will be the first adult male to receive a bare bottom beating from me and I think I am going to enjoy giving your bare bottom the hiding it deserves. I have always found that caning the older boys bare bottoms an exhilarating experience!”

At this she rose from her chair and walked to a slim wall cupboard from which she withdrew a long crook handled school cane, which I presume she applied to senior boys’ naughty bare bottoms.

“The procedure is as follows – I am going to remove your trousers and underpants, you will then bend over my desk and hold on to the far side. You will open your legs and stick your bottom well out and when I am satisfied with your position I will commence caning you. You will stay in position until after the twenty second stroke and I tell you to stand up. If you try to get up or try to resist or attempt to protect your bottom with your hands I will start your punishment over again. You can, of course, cry out as that is to be expected. Is that all understood?”

“Yes Miss.” What more could I say as I had agreed to the caning. However I had developed another problem. The thought of being undressed by this very attractive Headmistress I found arousing and I was embarrassed to feel my penis stiffening. It continued to grow and felt fully erect as she approached me, took my jacket and undid my belt before pulling my zip down and then my trousers which she took off over my shoes. I was wearing only skimpy briefs and my fully erect penis was prominently “tenting” them to the obvious amusement of the Headmistress.

“I see that part of you at least is looking forward to your punishment – but I very much doubt whether your nether regions will enjoy it! Now let’s get these off so I can get down to business!”

She then gently pulled my briefs down, carefully easing them over my erect and now weeping penis.

“My goodness you are a big boy!” She exclaimed “Perhaps later I will see if we can avoid that going to waste.” At which point she gently gripped my penis and led me to her desk before pushing me and it against the woodwork before bending me over it. I did as she said and clutched the far side, opened my legs and stuck my bottom out, releasing my erection which continued to dribble.

“Well done Barry, you are in the perfect position to take a good caning!”

Tantalisingly I heard her swish the cane several times in the air before resting it across the centre of my buttocks. I felt her tap it six times before I heard the swish and on impact it initially felt harmless but microseconds later it became an incredibly painful collision with both buttocks as she thrashed the cane down on my unprotected bottom. I could not help but cry out in pain. Somehow I managed to remain in place but wondered how on earth I could take another twenty one such strokes. About ten seconds later I heard that terrible swish and felt the dreadful agonizing impact of the second stroke. Again I cried out. The next eight cuts were equally unbearable, with me yelling out in distress after each stroke. Amazingly despite the throbbing in my buttocks my penis was still erect and also throbbing!

Unexpectedly she interrupted my punishment saying “I think we both deserve a break and as this activity is tiring I need a glass of water. So just stay in position while I get one.”

I heard her leave the study and lock the door. Despite being told to stay in position I could not resist standing up both to feel my bottom and attend to my penis. Even just touching my bottom was agonizing and I could feel the weals she had embedded into my buttocks. Strangely, despite the pain, my penis remained rigid, leaving me to wonder what she had meant when she said “Perhaps later I will see if we can avoid that going to waste.” Such thoughts, however, came to an abrupt halt as I heard her key in the door and I hastily resumed my prone position over her desk.

“Good boy – you have not moved! I feel refreshed and so we can resume where we left off! But first I want to check that part of you that seemed to be looking forward to your punishment….” I felt her cool hand move between my legs and towards my groin, brushing against my testicles before grasping my penis! “My goodness it is both erect and very hard so, despite crying out in torment on receiving each stroke, the caning has aroused you as much as it has aroused me! Let us hope it maintains this condition right until the end or your punishment! So stick your bottom out I am about to continue!”

As before I felt the cane rest across my buttocks and felt it tap six times before I heard the inevitable swish and resounding crack as it whipped into my poor bare beaten bottom! Naturally I yelled out and continued to do so after each of the next nine strokes. “Now that’s twenty strokes completed and, even if I say so myself, that is a jolly good job well done – your bottom has twenty parallel lines stretching from the base of your spine to the top of your legs! Two to come and they will each be a diagonal in opposite directions – very painful but it will be a work of art to admire when I have done! So brace yourself as these two will really hurt!”

And my god did they! Each stroke cut across twenty earlier ones causing the most appalling agony and I screamed out loud after each of the two strokes.

“Now Barry stay in position while I inspect the damage.”

Gently she felt each of my buttocks, trailing her fingers along each cane track, her cool hands gradually easing the pain as she softly massaged my bottom. I was in heaven and my arousal was now crying out for some attention! She seemed to sense this and once again pushed her hand between my legs before gently squeezing my scrotum and clutching my pulsating penis.

“Well although your caning was undoubtedly painful you obviously found it pleasurable as indicated by the state of arousal of this big boy! You probably have guessed that caning older boys bare bottoms I also find incredibly arousing so shall we indulge each other a little?”

My goodness this was totally unexpected but how could I say no given the state of my throbbing penis and her undoubted sexual appeal? So I readily agreed and she made me stand up and fully kissed me on the lips.

“Well my very naughty boy I like being taken by well-endowed men like you from behind in doggy style. Do you think you could oblige if I undress and bend over the desk?”

Could I? This was the subject of so many of my unfulfilled dreams! So I readily agreed and watched her slowly disrobe. She slipped her black figure hugging skirt to the ground revealing black stockings, matching suspender belt and red silk panties. On slipping off her white silk blouse I saw she was wearing a red bra matching her panties. All in all a very sexy outfit and not one I would be expecting a mature Headmistress to wear! But more was to come as she removed her bra revealing two well formed and ample breasts and then seductively slipped out of her panties.

“Now are you ready? “She said bending over her desk with legs wide open and her already wet pussy just waiting to be plundered!

I was more than ready and positioned myself behind her with my erect and dripping penis ready to pound her pussy and provide the sexual relief we both needed. And so I slowly entered her and she pushed backwards inviting more vigorous penetration. I obliged and she screamed out in ecstasy as I pounded in and out until we both climaxed simultaneously.

“Barry that was amazing! Can you remember any other naughty exploits you got up to at school and got away with?”

“Why?” I asked.

“I thought you might like a repeat performance!”

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D I S C L A I M E R

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

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Story and photographs ©MMXXII by Barry Spockings, used here by very kind permission.

Authors and the site management appreciate your feedback. Please leave a comment on this excellent story.  Comments on this story are here.

Barry Spockings’ excellent earlier stories for The Canery are available here.  Further stories by Barry Spockings are at this external link.

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.

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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.

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

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