♥ 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!
Barry’s Beating by Rod Cayenne
It was a sad, dismal Thursday afternoon in September. Grey and moody clouds threatened an overdue downpour. Barry had pedalled fast to get to The Vicarage. He was visiting his ageing great uncle, as was his wont at least once a month. In the plush and spacious lounge the two men were enjoying one of their occasional chats. This time the conversation was turning more frank than usual.
“The truth is that I hate pretty much everyone and everything!” Barry declared. He really meant it, too. His uncle had already given the lad a beer to help calm his nerves, but evidently, it had not worked. The lad paused to reflect for a moment on what he’d just said. It had just slipped out, after all. He swigged on the brown bottle. As usual, he had declined a glass.
Uncle scoffed at the irate words. “Tut, tut, still in angry teenager mode, then, Barry?”
“That’s not very diplomatic!”
“I believe in plain speaking. It’s the way of the good Lord. I do hope you don’t hate me, along with everyone else,” he said adjusting his starched white dog collar, “You have a lot of anger issues, don’t you? For a 24-year-old. Why so bitter?”
“Oh, I don’t know. It’s just me. And I really don’t hate you. It’s just me. Just ignore it.”
“I’m not sure that I can. You know what I think might help? Prayer, my boy. The power of prayer. It can be a great healer. Give it some thought.”
“Well, I don’t know. I’m not sure that’s what I really need.”
“So, what do you think you need then?”
“Well, I’m not sure I should mention it. But Dad confided in me.”
“Err, well. It’s difficult. You might not want to discuss it. You see, Dad mentioned your cane.”
“Ah, he did, did he? I’m surprised at that. He really should not have told you. So, what did he say about it?”
“Well he was telling me about how he felt cleansed and uplifted after a good, hard thrashing.”
“Indeed, indeed. And well sore, I should imagine.”
“Well, yes of course. It must have hurt. But, you know, strangely as soon as he told me about it, I felt calmer.”
“I see, I think. And do tell me, where is this all leading?”
“Well, do you still have it?”
“Have what?” uncle said, feigning obtuseness. He was toying with his visitor, of course.
However, Barry was getting uncomfortable, with his anger resurfacing. He shouted, “That cane, that fuckin’ cane!”
Uncle gasped with mock horror, “No.”
Barry gazed into uncle’s brown eyes, saying only, “Oh.” He was disappointed.
“No, that cane broke. They sometimes do when used with vigour. But I do still have a couple of others. Ideal for thrashing moody, foul-mouthed young men!”
“Oh. Errr, right.”
“Let me tell you now, my canes tamed and calmed your father and his brothers. Has he only just mentioned that to you? Hmmm? He took his time, although I’m disappointed as I had instructed him to keep our little secret. Anyway, the fact is that I think it’s just what you need. A good, hard caning. Yes, there are times when a penance has to be paid, as your father may testify. Perhaps now is one of those occasions?”
Suddenly Barry was not so keen. In fact, he felt a little bit stupid, “Well, I don’t know. It all sounds a bit strange. Though, I’ve always wondered what it would be like. Corporal punishment, I mean. It might toughen me up, I suppose.”
“Exactly! You want to try it, I think. It’s strange, but it might help you.”
“Alright, alright. Maybe I do. But don’t tell Dad.”
“I won’t. You can be sure of that. Mum’s the word. Some of us are very good at keeping secrets. I see it as part of my job and my calling. Let me go and fetch a cane and you can take a look, and we’ll take it from there.”
He disappeared for what seemed like an eternity. His impatient visitor could hear various wooden cupboard doors banging and a lot clattering. Eventually the old man reappeared. Barry’s eyes were immediately drawn to the cane his uncle held. It looked scary, about three feet long, with that crook handle you see in old illustrations and plates. Barry gulped and said, “I’m not so sure now, Uncle.”
“Don’t mess me about, Barry! I think we’ve already established that you want and need a caning, haven’t we? You will definitely feel the benefit.”
At that moment, Barry was more worried about feeling pain, rather than any benefit, “Sorry, uncle. I don’t think I can go through with it, after all.”
“No, no. Nonsense! Now, this particular cane has served me well. It’s a senior model left over from my private tutoring days. It has helped eighteen-year-olds struggling with their re-sits. And young men in their twenties, just like you.”
“Just like me?”
“Yes, just like you.”
“OK, OK, let’s do it then. Where do you want me?”
“Very well. Let’s have you bending over my desk. That’s it. That’s good. Now stick your bottom out a bit more. I need a good target for my cane. You wouldn’t want me to miss, now would you?”
“No, indeed. So, stick it out some more. Be a good lad. Up a bit more. That’s it! Good.”
Barry’s pert, trousered rump was now presented ready for the lash of the cane. Despite being fully clothed, the smooth curves of the masculine bottom were tempting in an almost obscene manner, inviting the harshest of sadistic canings from the older man. However, the vicar was wise and canny, knowing full well that it would that he should not be too hard on the lad this first time. A little pain kept in reserve could help to help secure repeat sessions in the future!
The first stroke of the cane generated almost instant heat and pain, just as intended. Barry gasped and cursed as the burn sunk in. He stood up, rubbing his pert backside. Despite this, Barry’s calm and youthful face betrayed no resentment despite his obvious pain.
“What do you think you’re doing, Barry? Get back down immediately! We’ve barely started!”
The vicar pushed the lad down roughly, and drew his arm back and put his whole body weight into delivering a fierce second blow. The sound ricocheted around the room, and Barry grunted plaintively. Once again, he stood up involuntarily, his hands flying to soothe his assaulted bottom.
“Get back down! Really, this is not good enough. It’s supposed to hurt, you know. Such disobedience! I shall not tell you again. If it happens again I’ll add penalty strokes. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sorry uncle. Very clear. It won’t happen again. Sorry, it’s just a bit of a shock.”
The lad bent over again, raising his bottom submissively. The third stroke followed with with the cane making a delightful whoosh and a deeper cracking retort, as it struck Barry’s aching bottom. Rapidly, the vicar slashed the stick down for a fourth stroke. This time the lad cried out loudly. The vicar ignored the obvious distress of his young relative. He’d heard it all before, many a time, after all.
The old man thrashed the penultimate stroke down with a vicious crack! Barry remained in position, determined now to take each and every stroke as stoically as possible. The vicar teased the lad by tapping the cane playfully against the shapely bottom cheeks, and then thrashed down a final stroke. Barry let out a final deep and sexual grunt. His eyes were moist. It had been really painful and, indeed, humiliating.
“There, I think we can call that a firm first caning, if not quite six of the best. Has that done the trick?”
Barry took that as a cue to stand up, and he rubbed his scorched arse frantically. Shit, yes it had done some good despite the pain. He could feel a serene calm taking over. But he knew the answer to his uncle’s question was really a no. So he said it out loud, much to his surprise.
“No, no, not really. It’s helped, but I think I need some more. Please.”
“My, my, you are a glutton for punishment, aren’t you? Really? Well, let’s see if we can wipe that impudent grin off your face. Would it help if your further chastisement was on you bare flesh?”
“Give over, uncle!”
“Less of your cheek, young man! I’ll take that as a yes! Get your trousers down right now!”
Reluctantly, Barry unbuckled his thin black leather belt, and allowed his trousers to fall in an untidy heap around his feet.
“A good start, my boy. Your underpants will have to come down too. Let me pull them down for you. Mmmmm. Nice, crisp white pants, clean on, Barry?”
“Oh, yes. Of course.” Barry had been sure to put some fresh underpants on with this sort of potential outcome in mind. And he did want to please his uncle, very much. In truth, though, he wasn’t always so thoughtful.
“Ah, yes. That’s a very, very nice bottom, Barry. Almost divine. Let’s see if we can turn the pink to red, shall we?”
Six more strokes were donated in quick and painful succession by the whippy old cane. These strokes were evidently a bit harder, as Barry’s delightfully bare bottom squirmed, bucked, rose and fell as if following instructions from the remorseless stick. It had been an entertaining and gratifying show for the old man, who was now doing his damndest to hide a rare and pleasing erection in his Harris Tweed trousers.
Barry was to leave the vicarage on his battered old pushbike. It was going to be a sore ride home, that was for sure. The skies were darkening with imminent rain. He stopped off at the public conveniences in the local park. He chained his bike to a drainpipe and went inside. A couple of old men he thought he knew were standing at the urinal, cocks in hand.
Barry didn’t join them, instead he headed into one of the cubicles, and slammed and bolted the door. He was desperate to have a good feel of his bottom after his first caning. He unbuckled his belt, not for the first time that afternoon. He dropped his trousers and underpants. His hands immediately flew to his scarred cheeks. He could feel distinct, raised weals. They were sore to the touch, but also somehow strangely exciting. He rubbed the scars and then he rubbed his penis. Sure enough he was rewarded with a strong and virile erection. He tried to peer at his bottom, but it was hard to get a proper view of the marks he wanted to see. That would have to wait until he was back home in his bedroom with a choice of mirrors to use.
Barry bent over towards the cistern, so that he could feel the marks better. He had the uneasy feeling that he was being watched. That was a distinct possibility as he noticed that the walls of the cubicle had a few peepholes. His suspicions seemed to be confirmed as was sure he heard a faint whistle of what he assumed was admiration from the cubicle to his left. He ignored it as he inspected his bottom further. A minute or so later, a hastily-scribbled note was passed under the partition. Against his better judgement, Barry picked it up and read it. It said, “Been a naughty boy? Let me in.” Barry was excited, tempted, but also disgusted. He would pass up on that invitation. He screwed the note up and threw it into the pan. He had a quick slash, flushed and left the toilets in a hurry.
Barry’s unwashed hands gripped the handlebar and he pedalled away furiously. What an interesting afternoon it had been. Perhaps the most exciting of the year. Of his entire life maybe? Exciting. Exhilerating. Sexy. Memorable. Enjoyable. Unforgettable. Painful. Distressing. Arousing! His mind was awash with conflicting thoughts and emotions. One word kept recurring. That word was “Repeatable”. He felt sure that the event could be repeated. He could manipulate his uncle into giving him another caning, he was sure. After all, it sounded like his father had had multiple encounters with the stick.
His father! Oh God, what if he found out? He had asked his uncle for discretion. Surely, he wouldn’t tell? Uncle had promised that he wouldn’t but right now Barry wasn’t feeling particularly trusting. And then another horrific though sprang up in his mind. What if his father found out anyway? And then, what if his father were to acquire a cane? He didn’t want that! Or maybe he did? At 24, and living at home, if it were to happen he wouldn’t be the only lad living in the shadow of a parental cane. In some ways, he felt that every father should keep a cane for disciplinary purposes.
Back home at last, Barry made his weary way up the stairs to his bedroom. He turned the key in the lock, and was soon completely naked. At last he could get a proper look at the damage! Yes, the large mirror revealed a pert bottom criss-crossed by angry red cane lines. Those marks would take some time to disappear, he though to himself. He could see why the old perv in the toilets had been impressed. He grabbed a hand mirror to get a closer view. Impressive, he thought! And there we leave Barry inspecting himself and masturbating hard with determination.
Meanwhile, back at the Vicarage, the the old uncle gazed at the cane which was still on his desk. How he loved it! In a rectory full of joyless trinkets and souvenirs, that cane, along with a few others, was what brought him the most pleasure. What an unexpected delight that fun-filled afternoon that had been. He laughed quietly to himself. He expected Barry to be back sometime, as the lad was clearly a masochist in the making.
With the coast clear and his erection long gone, the old man picked up the telephone. He rang Barry’s father, “You have betrayed our old secret and are in obvious need of a reminder.”
“Now come on, one of us brothers was bound to tell young Barry, sooner or later.”
“Maybe it was inevitable, but it’s still not acceptable. Not by any means.”
“Well, I’m sorry, that’s all I can say.”
“Not good enough. Not nearly good enough. No more argument. You are in definite need of that firm reminder. Report to me forthwith!”
D I S C L A I M E R
All characters appearing in this story are over the age of 18 and are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons or businesses, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Story © MMXXII by Rod Cayenne. All rights reserved.
Comments welcome – authors love your feedback, so please leave some. Comments are here.