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

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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

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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

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Authors appreciate feedback, so please comment on this story. 

Comments are here.

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.

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Story © MMXVII by Rod Cayenne

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Please join in the fun by adding a comment.  Comments are here.

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.

__________________

Story © MMXXIII by Rod Cayenne

____________

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.

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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.

__________________

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

______________

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.

_______________

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!”

______________

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 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.

D Is For Declined (M/M) NEW!

♥ Site recommended story ♥

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

D Is For Declined by Joelstrap

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeh?” said Ben, looking hopeful.

“No!” said Greg, looking determined.

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

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

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

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

“How do you know that?” I asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You sure, Greg?” put in Ben.

“Of course. No sweat.”

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

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

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

“Yeh, probably,” I said vaguely.

“Josh?” said Ben softly.

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

Ben nodded gently and admitted that he’d noticed.

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

“Easier said than done,” I muttered.

“Make the effort,” advised Ben.

I respected Ben and decided to accept his advice.

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

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

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

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

“Yeh. That’s the deal,” I agreed.

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

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

Greg rolled his eyes.

“What’s that for?” I asked, annoyed.

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

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

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

“I never said that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Greg looked slightly embarrassed.

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

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

I got up and walked away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Greg with Terry? Balderdash!”

“But, Ben, he’s…….”

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

Ben vanished into his room and returned with the cane.

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

“But I….”

“No, you don’t.”

“This isn’t necessary………”

“Yes, it is.”

“I’m not bending……..”

“Yes, you are.”

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

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

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

“You’re still speaking to me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You were laughing at me!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, yeh! Bring him up!”

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

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

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

“What relationship?”

“Us,” said Greg.

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

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

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

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

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

“Greg?” I said carefully.

“Shut up, Josh!”

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

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

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

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

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

“What the….?”

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

“I can see that.”

“It wasn’t for my essay.”

“I know that. You got a B+.”

“It was for you.”

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

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

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

“Okay,” said Greg non-committally.

Ben raised his eyebrows at him.

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

“Should I have been caning you, Greg?”

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

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

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

“I’m sorry, Josh,” he said softly.

“That Ben caned me?”

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

I gave him a hug.

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

I hugged him again.

“I got the cane,” I said.

“Yeh; you told me. Why?”

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

Greg stared.

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

I scrubbed at my bottom.

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

“I’m glad,” said Greg.

“That I got the cane?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Between us we explained.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Greg went scarlet to the roots of his hair.

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

He stood up and retired to his room.

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

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

“We should be studying,” muttered Greg.

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

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

“Josh?”

“Huh?”

“I should go and get caned by Ben.”

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

“Yeh; but after.”

“You sure, Greg?”

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

“He’s not gonna insist on it, Greg.”

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

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

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

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

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

Greg nodded.

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

“Of course. I’ll be here for you.”

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

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

“You sure, Greg?”

“Absolutely certain.”

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

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

“You want Josh to stay?” enquired Ben.

“Yes, please.”

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

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

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

“What does that mean, Greg?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ben raised his eyebrows questioningly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just to say thank you,” I replied.

“For caning your boyfriend bloody hard?”

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

“I am?” asked Greg.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A ‘D’?” enquired Ben.

“Yeh. ‘D’ for Declined!” I declared.

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

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

Ben picked up his cane and smiled.

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

Greg and I exchanged uneasy glances. Ben looked smug.

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

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D I S C L A I M E R

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

__________________

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

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

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

C Is For Cane (M/M) NEW!

♥ Site recommended story ♥

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

“C” Is For Cane by Joelstrap

My tutor wasn’t pleased with me.

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

“It’s a pass,” I protested.

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

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

“You really believe that, Joshua?”

I shrugged non-committally.

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

“What?” I asked, irritably.

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

“Eh? I don’t know what……….”

“Don’t you, Joshua?”

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

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

He raised his eyebrows in an unspoken question.

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

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

“No,” I admitted a little sulkily.

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

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

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

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

“I will. I promise.”

——————————

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

“Huh?”

I told him about the interview with Dr. Graham, my tutor.

“And you think it’s all my fault?”

“No, not really. I just can’t get enough of you. I don’t understand how any boy can be so sexy; but when you’re around I can’t think of anything else but writhing naked with you until our balls are empty.”

Gregor sighed. “Me too,” he said. “One look at you and my cock’s pointing to the ceiling and I can’t concentrate on anything else but fucking you inside out.”

“Okay; so we need to ration ourselves a bit here; decide on days and times we’re not gonna do any bonking,” I suggested.

“Yeh,” replied Gregor with a nod, “but I got something to tell you too. I’ve been getting a rocket from my tutor as well. My work’s sliding badly, he says; and if I don’t pull my socks up, I’m gonna be like you.”

“What? No chance of the honours course?”

Gregor nodded.

“Shit! We really do need to get ourselves sorted out. Did, er, your tutor suspect the reason why you weren’t performing well?” I asked.

“There’s nothing wrong with my performance, you cheeky sod!” protested Gregor. “The way you were moaning and panting yesterday when we were together, I had to be doing a hell of a lot exactly right!”

“Not your sexual performance, you blithering ass! I mean your essays.”

“Oh, that. Well, yeh, he did ask if I was spending too much time on my social life and too little on my work.”

“They might be ancient,” I said, referring to our respective tutors, “but they’re not stupid, are they? I mean, they know what young guys are like.”

“True,” agreed Gregor. “But, look, I gotta go. I’ve got a tutorial in twenty minutes. We’ll sit down tonight and see if we can plan how to split up our work time and our sex time.”

—————————————–

We were in a flat shared with two other guys. We each had our own room and the kitchen and living-room were communal. Callum was in his second year and we didn’t have a lot to do with him, although we got on fine and occasionally went out for a pint together. The fourth was a Ph.D. student, writing a thesis on some aspects of symbolism in the works of T.S. Eliot. He was called Ben and was a classically-handsome young guy in his early twenties. He had a girlfriend who was a teacher in a town about fifty miles away and he spent most weekends with her; and his weekdays working hard at his studies.

I was sitting at a table in the communal living-room with a mug of coffee, looking gloomily at my latest essay and trying to decipher the many comments which my tutor had scribbled in the margins, when Ben came in. He threw down his briefcase on a chair and began to spoon coffee into a mug before switching on the kettle. While waiting for it to boil, he came over to me and asked, “How’s it going, Josh?”

“Not too good,” I admitted.

He glanced at the large “C” in the corner of my essay and said, “Ah!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I demanded irascibly.

“First time you’ve got a “C”, is it, Josh?”

“Er, well, no. That’s the problem. It’s the second time in a row.”

“And I seem to remember you were getting “B+” and “A” at the beginning.”

“Yeh.”

“And it’s Gregor’s fault?”

“You sound just like my tutor.”

“That’s what he said?” asked Ben.

“Well, no, not in so many words; but he asked the name of my girlfriend; and I told him it was actually a boyfriend; and he said it made no difference if I was spending too much time with him. So I guess he meant it was Gregor’s fault.”

“Balls!”

I stared at Ben.

“You don’t think it’s Gregor’s fault?” I queried doubtfully.

“Of course it’s not,” replied Ben. “It’s your fault.”

“Me?”

“Who isn’t doing his work? You! Who’s spending too much time snogging his boyfriend? You! Who’s in danger of messing up his chances of getting a good degree? You! Who should have the willpower to get his studying done properly before he gets into his boyfriend’s pants? You! Who needs his bottom spanked? You!” declared Ben.

“Bottom spanked?” I repeated. “What the hell are you on about?”

“You’re the one who’s at fault,” said Ben. “You can’t blame Gregor or anyone else. It’s your problem and you have to sort it out.”

“Okay, okay, I get it; and of course you’re right. But….bottom spanked? What the fuck is that about?”

“It’s about discipline,” said Ben. “Either you’re mature enough to impose a strict self-discipline and set limits to your time with Gregor; and stick to them. Or you need somebody to do it for you, like when you were a kid and got spanked.”

“Right. I get it. But my tutor’s hardly gonna turn me over his knee and tan my hide, is he?”

“No. You need to impose your own discipline on your life. So, what are you pair planning to do about it?”

“We’re going to work on a plan later this evening, once I’ve finished going through this essay. Gregor’s kind of in the same position as me. His work’s not been too good recently either.”

“Okay. Plan sensibly; and stick to your plan,” advised Ben.

————————————–

Gregor and I planned our week carefully, allowing ourselves the weekends for as much amorous activity as we wanted; plus the hours between ten and midnight on week-nights. Up until 10 p.m. we’d be studying; and after midnight we’d be in our own rooms, getting our sleep. It worked fine at first; but then we started to go out to the pub before we began studying in the evenings; and the time just slid past and little studying was done. We’d decide that we’d do more the next night to compensate; but it rarely happened. Even when we came back reasonably early and tried to work, we’d be distracted by each other and end up writhing naked on the bed in one of our rooms.

I submitted my next essay with a leaden heart, because I knew I hadn’t done the necessary reading; nor even allowed myself time to produce a reasonable attempt at the subject. I saw the now-familiar “C” in the top-corner of my script when Dr. Graham handed it to me.

“I know,” I said before he could start. “I said I’d pull my socks up and I haven’t; and yes, it’s my boyfriend, just like it was before. I know!”

“But knowing isn’t enough, is it, Joshua? Did you try to do anything about it?”

I told him what we’d done; all about our sensible plans; and confessed that the siren-call of the pub and of our bodies had eroded every good intention. My tutor listened.

“Well,” he said eventually, “it’s up to you. I’ve told you the situation. You’re wasting your abilities because your will-power is lacking. Think about it. You’ve got one more essay to go this term and then the end-of-term exam. See if maybe you can find a bit more self-discipline.”

I winced. There were those words again; the words that Ben had used. I needed self-discipline. At school, teachers and my parents kept a fairly close eye on me and made sure the work was done; but now, away from home, I’d found that I couldn’t impose on myself the discipline they’d imposed for me.

Gregor and I had a very long talk that evening, for he too was under-performing and his tutor wasn’t pleased with him. We went round and round in circles, struggling to think of how we could resist each other. We were sitting at the table in the communal-room in the flat since no-one else was in and we had the place to ourselves.

“It all comes down to self-discipline,” I said, helping myself to a fifth biscuit.

“I guess,” sighed Gregor; and his mobile rang.

He listened to whoever was on the other end for a bit and muttered various terms of agreement from ‘yeh’ to ‘okay’.

“That was Trevor,” he said. “He’s in the same boat as us; but he’s got a solution. Seems there’s a Ph.D. English student who does tutoring-sessions for guys who’re struggling. You have to pay him a bit though, so less money for beer; and he does three two-hour sessions each week with maybe half a dozen students at a time; and he gets the results apparently. What do you think?”

“Well, we gotta do something,” I replied. “Think we should give it a go?”

“We’ll have to give up going to the pub or the pictures, to save a bit of cash to pay the guy,” said Gregor gloomily as he told me what the tuition would cost us. “But needs must.”

There was the sound of a banging door and then Ben burst into the room. He stopped short when he saw us.

“Hello, guys. Why so glum?”

For answer I pushed my latest essay across to him. He glanced at the mark and sat down at the table.

“I take it you tried?” he enquired; and we explained what we’d decided and how it had all broken down as our self-discipline failed us.

“All is not lost,” declared Ben. “You just need a bit of backbone in your self-discipline; something behind it to stiffen your resolve when you’re tempted to give in to your carnal urges.”

“Yeh? You got a bottle of pills that does that?” I asked sarcastically. “Anyway, I think we’ve got the answer.”

Gregor proceeded to tell him about the tutoring sessions.

Ben snorted derisively.

“Balls!” he said explosively.

We both stared at him, eyebrows raised.

“You don’t need to go to all that time and trouble; or expense,” he insisted.

“So what do we do then?” I demanded irritably.

Ben pointed at my essay.

“What does “C” mean, Josh?”

“It means a pass, but only just; not as good as I should be getting.”

“Yes, okay; but “C” also stands for cane.”

“What?!”

“You….you think we need to be caned?” gasped Gregor.

“Of course you do. A good hard dose of the cane would do you both the world of good; and every time you thought about neglecting your studies to get down and dirty together, you’d remember the caning and get on with your work, to avoid getting caned again. A bit of backing, as it were, for your self-discipline, to make sure it stands up to temptation.”

Gregor and I stared at each other, neither of us sure just what to say next. Eventually Gregor ventured a tentative, “Are you serious?”

For answer, Ben went to his room and returned with a slender cane which he whipped viciously fast through the air, making a whining-sound. We both instinctively flinched.

“Where the fuck did you get that?” I asked nervously.

“Oh, it’s a useful thing to have around,” replied Ben vaguely. “Okay, boys. Jeans and pants off. Hurry up!”

Gregor and I glanced at each other. Ben lashed his cane down on the surface of a chair and we both jumped.

“Now, boys!” he shouted.

I found myself unbuckling my belt and saw that Gregor was doing the same. Once I’d kicked off my trainers and removed my jeans, I put my hands to the waist of my briefs and hesitated.

“Lose them, Joshua,” said Ben softly.

I looked at Gregor, who shrugged. We both slid off our briefs.

Gregor was told to go and stand facing the wall, his hands on his head; and I was told to bend over with my hands on the side of a chair-seat. In a kind of semi-trance, I complied. This felt unreal, almost dream-like. Next moment Ben sent his cane slashing across the centre of my bare bottom with a ferocious snap, and a streak of blazing fire was etched on my behind. I gasped and winced violently. There was nothing unreal or dream-like about this. It was raw, brutal and very definitely for real.

The limber rod struck again, a little lower and a second lightning-stroke of searing pain excoriated my quivering flesh. I couldn’t believe quite how much this hurt. Clenching my glutes, I processed the sting; and then the cane sliced into my crease. I yelped and scrubbed desperately at the burning flesh. Ben was not impressed.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Josh?” he demanded angrily. “Too much of a baby to take a bit of pain?”

That barb hurt as much as the cane-stroke, although in a different way.

“I’m not a baby,” I hissed furiously.

“No? Well I’m going to give you that stroke again; so let me see you take it like an eighteen-year-old and not an eight-year-old.”

I tensed my body in readiness, seething inwardly at his insulting comments and resolving that I’d show him I was no boy. I did too. The cane whipped savagely across my crease again and an explosion of searing pain ripped across my behind; but I gripped the sides of the chair with all my strength and forced myself to ride the wave of agony until it began to recede.

“Much better,” observed Ben. “Keep still.”

I tried to breathe steadily as I awaited the next stroke. It was slightly higher and the sting was marginally less intense, but it still took a big effort to absorb it. I could feel his cane sliding across my rump as he decided where to hit me next; and then, sooner than I expected, he let me have it hard on top of the second welt. I squealed and writhed, fighting the urge to rub my tormented rear. It was several seconds before I had settled, panting slightly. I waited, afraid of the agony to come, forcing myself to remember that I was a young man. He hit me full across the crease, detonating a blast of searing fires which felt as though they were gouging a deep, blazing furrow across my bottom. Again he forced a squeal from me; but I managed to keep my hands on the chair.

“Right. Go and face the wall, hands on your head,” commanded Ben. “Gregor; over here.”

I stumbled across to the wall, aware of a definite wetness around my eyes, but resolutely refusing to let my hands anywhere near my face. Behind me, I heard Gregor being told to bend over and then, as I listened there came a crack like a rifle-shot, followed by a sharp intake of breath. Ben managed to extract more gasps as well as a couple of desperate squeals from Gregor as the beating proceeded; but he had clearly learnt from my experience not to scrub at his bottom and only got six strokes.

“Here, both of you,” ordered Ben; and Gregor and I stood, freshly-caned and subdued before him. “Both of you will get at least a ‘B’ for your next essay,” Ben informed us quietly, “or I’ll cane you again. Eight strokes. Understand me?”

“Yes,” we muttered, embarrassed but submissive.

“Right; jeans and pants back on and sit down at the table and get on with some work. There won’t be a sound out of either of you for the next ninety minutes. I’ll be over on the sofa reading,” Ben told us.

Silently we fetched our books and sat down carefully. I was acutely aware of the burning in my bottom for some time and a dull ache persisted throughout the next hour and a half. I got through a lot of work. Neither of us uttered a word.

Ben came across after the time had elapsed; and he grinned at us.

“Okay, boys. Now, I’m not going to be supervising you every day. You’ll need to use your self-discipline to sit down and do the work. I’m warning you though,” he added flexing his lithe cane menacingly. “I’ll beat the living fuck out of your bare arses if you don’t produce at least a ‘B’ for your next essays.”

He went off to his room.

For several seconds, Gregor and I sat in stunned silence.

“Yes, well,” I muttered, “I guess he’s serious.”

“That fucking cane’s serious,” agreed Gregor, standing and rubbing his bottom. “I can still feel it.”

“Yeh. I’m tender,” I concurred. “So what do you reckon? Are we gonna study hard?”

“I’d rather study hard than be beaten hard with that bloody cane,” Gregor admitted. “Let’s just agree that we do seven to ten every evening during the week; and then we can have some fun together. And this time we’ve got a fucking strong incentive to stick to it.”

I nodded.

We found it surprisingly easy to keep to the timetable we’d decided on; and we both approached the next essay with much increased confidence. Our mates moaned about the cost of their tuition and the boring sessions with the Ph.D. student; but we found we were contented, our work and play neatly balanced; and our cash-flow adequate to cover some visits to the pub at the weekends.

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

“Ben!” I yelled as Gregor and I burst into the flat.

Ben, who was sitting reading by the fire, looked up and we thrust our latest essays at him. He looked at the ‘B+’ in the corner of each and grinned.

“Well done, guys,” he said. “C is for cane; but no C means no cane. But B means beer; so, come on, I’ll stand you a round.”

As we reached the end of our pints, Ben suddenly looked serious.

“End-of-term exams in a couple of weeks, boys. I’ll expect at least a B+ from each of you for all three of the exam-essays; and if I don’t get it, you’ll be getting eight strokes of my cane and will be starting the new term in January with very, very sore bottoms.”

“B+?” gasped Gregor.

“For each of the three essays in the exam?” I asked, incredulous.

“Eight strokes of the bloody cane if we don’t do it?” queried Gregor as if he hadn’t heard correctly.

“That’s what I said. You’ve both proved you can get B-pluses, so that’s the standard you’ll maintain.”

“But we can’t,” protested Gregor.

“You’ll cane me if even one of my essays isn’t a B+? Even if I get two As and a B?” I queried.

“Exactly.”

“But that’s fucking hard!”

“So is my cane. You choose,” said Ben; and he drained his glass, rose and left the pub.

Gregor and I looked at each other.

“The bugger means it,” he said.

“My dad wouldn’t half be impressed if I got three B-pluses,” I said thoughtfully.

“My dad would be gobsmacked,” said Gregor. “But he might give me some driving-lessons,” he added meditatively.

“Of course, we don’t have to submit to that hellish cane,” I said.

“But we will,” replied Gregor. “Ben might be a vicious bastard with that cane of his, but you gotta admit, he spent ten minutes with us and our work improved dramatically; and it didn’t cost us a penny.”

“And it would be kind of letting him down if we didn’t get the marks he wants and then wouldn’t take the cane,” I said thoughtfully. “Okay, we don’t let up. It’s just two weeks and then we can have a Christmas holiday absolutely full of Bs and Cs.”

“Huh?”

“B is for balls; and C is for cocks,” I said

Gregor grinned and we kissed swiftly before finishing our drinks and heading back to the flat.

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

We worked, and the end-of-term exams came and went, each of us content that we should have done well. There would be no results until we had a brief meeting with our respective tutors on the first day back after the new year, and I went somewhat nervously to Dr. Graham’s study shortly before lunch that Monday morning in early January. He was smiling, which I took to be a good sign; and when he handed me my exam-scripts I was thrilled to see a B+, an A, and a B. So near and yet so far, I thought to myself. My tutor, however, congratulated me on the dramatic improvement and expressed a hope that I’d maintain the standard in the coming term. I assured him earnestly that I would.

“I’m delighted to hear it, Joshua,” he said. “I know the B may hurt a bit, but it’s still a good mark, and you’ve done very well in the other two, especially managing an A in one of them.”

“Yeh; I didn’t really leave enough time for the third essay, so maybe that’s why it wasn’t as good as the other two,” I admitted.

I met Gregor for lunch and told him my news. He grimaced as I mentioned the B.

“But you got an A too,” he said. “Surely that makes up for the essay that only got a B?”

“I hadn’t thought of that. Yeh; I’ll try that one on Ben. I’m so close after all; so surely he wouldn’t cane me for that one near miss?”

“Wish I knew my results,” moaned Gregor glancing at his watch. “Still over an hour until my appointment with my tutor.”

In due course Gregor went off for his meeting and I awaited him in a local cafe. He came in grinning broadly.

“Three B-pluses!” he exclaimed. “Definitely no cane for me!”

“Fucking awesome, mate,” I told him, giving him a swift kiss.

“And if you do get the cane,” Gregor assured me, “I’ll lick your welts better and then fuck you inside out.”

“Shit! It’ll be worth a caning for all that,” I retorted with a smile. “But you’ll still fuck me inside out even if I don’t get the cane?”

“What do you think?” replied Gregor.

We entered the flat; and the first thing I noticed was Ben’s cane lying on the coffee-table. I stopped so suddenly that Gregor bumped into me.

“What?” he demanded; and then, when I pointed, “Oh! I see.”

Ben came in from his room and asked how we’d done in our exams. Gregor revealed his three B-pluses and was duly congratulated.

“So, how did you fare, Josh?”

“Er, I got an A for one of them; and a B+; and a B.”

“An A? That’s impressive,” said Ben. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks. Look, I know the agreement was at least three B-pluses, but the A kind of cancels out the slight deficit of the B; doesn’t it, Ben?” I asked pleadingly. “I was very close.”

“But the agreement was at least three B-pluses and it’s important that when you fail to perform as required the penalty is paid. That way the pressure stays on and there’s less chance you’ll slip in this term’s performance because you think I’ll let you off ‘almost’ getting the required marks.”

Ben picked up the cane and arched it.

“Aw, c’mon, Ben! Please! I don’t need to be caned!”

“Oh yes you do, Josh; and you will be. However, since I’m not a brute and you did come very close, I’ll let you off with six rather than the promised eight.”

“Gee, thanks,” I muttered.

“Of course if your attitude needs improving as well, I could still reinstate the eight,” remarked Ben mildly.

“No, no. It’s okay. I’ll take six. Er…thanks,” I replied hastily.

“Good. Let’s just do it then. Jeans and pants off and bend over the chair, Josh.”

I complied and stood waiting as Ben rapped my bare bottom with the slim rod before bringing it down hard across the centre of my globes. I gasped aloud as a fierce sting ripped across my behind. I’d forgotten just how much this hurt. I steadied myself and the second stroke landed just below the first making me flinch violently and utter another gasp of pain. Scarcely had I got myself in hand again when he inflicted the third stroke, marginally lower down. A searing burn scored my flesh and I only just managed to stifle a yelp. The next landed very hard just at the top of my crease and I bucked, a squeal of agony forced from me. Breathing hard, I steadied my quivering body and waited for number five. I knew it was going to be full on that sensitive band of flesh where a boy’s bottom merges into the top of his legs; and it was. A pain like the lash of a barbed-wire whip tore through my bottom, and as I writhed and yelped, I fought desperately to keep my hands on the chair. Ben had taught me the last time not to rub my bottom, and I’d remembered the lesson.

I was panting, aware of sweat trickling down my back, as I prepared for the final stroke. I expected a diagonal cut, slicing across several of the earlier welts, but he took me by surprise, lashing his cane down on my crease again, the vicious rod landing on the same skin which had been welted by the fifth stroke. I yowled and squirmed and as my right hand instinctively flew round to rub my tortured flesh, I made a supreme effort of will and forced it back to the chair.

“Well taken,” said Ben; and I was grateful for that.

I straightened up slowly and felt my way with both hands across the ridges on my bottom, aware of the heat in the beaten flesh and still processing the fiery sting in the cane-welts.

“At least a B+ in each of your essays this term, Josh, and you’ll get eight with my cane for each essay that fails to achieve that mark,” Ben promised grimly. “Understand?”

“Got it,” I assured him with all the fervency of the freshly beaten.

“And that goes for you too, Gregor.”

“I know,” Gregor assured him.

Ben went off to his room with the cane and Gregor and I retired to my room where we both stripped and while I lay flat on my face, Gregor slowly and tenderly licked the length of each cane-mark, over and over again. He lay on my back and kissed my ears and I was aware of his long, hard penis between the walls of my cleft. Underneath me, my own organ was hard as a gatepost.

“You gonna use that rod of yours on me, Greg?”

“You think you can take me after that caning?”

“Fucking right I can! I want you; hard as you can!”

Gregor obliged and when he’d powered his way to a climax, he suddenly rolled on to his back, taking me with him so that I was now lying on my back on his chest. One of his hands worked expertly at my nipples while the other grasped my shaft and worked it faster and faster until with a bass moan of ecstasy my semen burst free and spattered the bed-head behind us.

“Wow! That was some orgasm!” gasped Gregor. “There’s a hell of a lot of power in these balls of yours!”

For some time we both lay silent, revelling in the post-orgasmic glow. Gregor slid a hand into my hair while the other fondled my testicles, effortlessly bringing my penis back up to full erection.

“Boy, you are one red-hot guy,” he said, “and randy as a raft of raccoons.”

“As if I can’t feel you getting hard as a flagpole inside me,” I retorted. “If you were any hotter, you’d catch fire.”

“How are the cane-welts?”

“What cane-welts?”

Gregor laughed.

“Glad I managed to make you forget about them.”

“Yeh. That cane is one vicious brute and it didn’t half get through to me; but there’s nothing like a good fuck to make me feel a hell of a lot better,” I admitted.

“Josh?”

“Huh?”

“That cane. Remember it was on the coffee-table when we came in? It was like Ben knew he was going to use it; but he didn’t know our marks until we told him.”

I considered this for a few moments and then something came back to me.

“Hey! My tutor said something a bit odd when he was talking about my marks. He said the B might hurt a bit, but I’d done well on the other two essays. It was a kind of strange way of putting it. I mean, it might have been more natural to say that the B disappointed me. You know, it’s almost as if he knew that B would quite literally hurt me,” I mused.

“Hmm. You think your tutor and Ben have been colluding in the background?”

“Surely not; and yet……it does seem to fit. But having the cane out ready; and the comment about the B hurting me; that does seem to have given them away,” I replied.

“Careless of them, huh?” said Gregor. “Or not?”

“You mean, they deliberately left some clues so we’d guess what was going on?”

“Looks like it. They’re hardly dumbos after all. Why would they make stupid mistakes like that……except on purpose?”

“I think we need to speak to Ben,” I said.

Ben was sitting at the table taking notes on a tome he was reading.

“Ben! Why did you have the cane out ready when we got back with our results?”

“So that I could cane you,” replied Ben with a grin.

“But neither of us had told you his marks until after we got here,” I objected.

“True,” said Ben complacently.

“So you must have known already that you were gonna cane me,” I persisted.

“I guess I must,” agreed Ben.

“Dr. Graham said that the B would hurt me, but the other marks were very good. Why did he say that, Ben?”

“Must have known you were going to get the cane for that B, Josh.”

“Look, stop messing me about! Who’s supervising your PH.D. work, Ben?”

“Ah, you’re there, are you?” said Ben with a smile. “It’s Dr. Graham.”

“My tutor!” I exclaimed. “He told you my results!”

Ben held up his hands.

“But that means Dr. Graham knows I get the fucking cane!” I howled. “I’m gonna feel hell of an embarrassed every time I see him now.”

“Did you feel embarrassed in the second part of last term; or today?” asked Ben.

“Well, no, but………why last term? You don’t mean…….Ben?”

Gregor jumped in.

“Are you trying to tell us that you and Dr. Graham cooked up this cane-business together deliberately, to get Josh and me to up our work?” he demanded.

“Spot on!” said Ben.

“So he knew I was caned for my poor essay last term?” I asked, trying to get things clear.

“Sure. It’s his cane,” replied Ben astoundingly.

“He gave you a cane so you could tan my hide?” I asked, a sense of outrage bubbling to the surface.

“Well, it wouldn’t really do for him to cane you himself,” explained Ben, “him being your tutor. But he knew I was into using a cane and knew how to do it effectively…”

“Fucking right you do,” I muttered.

“……so he asked me to see if you’d be up for an experiment with the cane, to see if it could get an improvement in your results. And, oh boy, it worked,” declared Ben.

“Well, yeh, but……..”

“So, are you complaining, Josh? Want to end the threat of the cane as a stimulus to a high standard of work?”

“Er, no, I guess not. It does work; and I want to keep on doing myself justice. But what’s Dr. Graham doing with a cane?”

“He’s a member of an S&M Society, as am I,” said Ben. “We meet once a week or so and cane bad boys who come along to be punished.”

“They want to be caned?” I asked.

“Absolutely,” replied Ben.

“Shit!” I said.

“What about me?” asked Gregor.

“Well, you were what might be called collateral damage,” grinned Ben. “You were here; you admitted you weren’t doing well at your work either and it was the time you were spending on each other that was the problem; and so I just decided to include you too. You were as willing as Josh to do it; and with you it’s been even more effective. And no, before you ask, your tutor doesn’t know anything about it.”

“Right,” said Gregor.

“….and,” continued Ben, “you’ve got a hell of a cute arse and I couldn’t resist the chance to cane it.”

Gregor stared, his mouth half open, speechless.

“Are you saying you were disappointed that I was the only one who failed to get at least three B-pluses?” I demanded.

“Well, I admit I’d have loved an excuse to cane Greg again too,” Ben confessed. “But the term is young. Five essays and then another three in the end-of-term exams. There’s still a chance he’ll need to be caned again; as will you.”

“Not if I can help it,” I said firmly.

“Nor me,” agreed Gregor. “This is war! You wanna beat our arses and we’re determined to stop you; and we will.”

“Spoken like a true student,” said Ben. “But if a single defence comes down; a single mark below B+, I’ll be in there with the cane and setting your young bottoms ablaze.”

“Did you both leave clues for us intentionally?” I asked.

“Yes. We felt you deserved to know the truth; and we hoped you were convinced enough of the efficacy of the caning-system to want to stick with it anyway. It might not work for everybody, but for you pair it seems to do the trick.”

Greg and I glanced at each other.

“Yeh, it does work for us and we’re sticking with it,” I said. “We know C is for cane, and we don’t want it.”

“And B is for beating as well, and we don’t want that either,” added Gregor.

“So it’s gonna be at least B-pluses all the way,” I said.

“You’re determined to spoil my term,” grumbled Ben with a hangdog expression on his face. “Two fantastic bottoms which I see every day; and both of you out to make sure I don’t get a chance to beat them. Shit! Sometimes life’s a dung-heap!”

“Come on,” said Gregor, “we’ll stand you a pint down at the pub.”

A few minutes later we were sitting in front of full glasses.

“A toast?” said Gregor.

“C is for cane?” suggested Ben.

I shook my head.

“B is for bottoms up,” I said. “And we’re gonna work fucking hard to make sure that the only bottoms you get to see up are the bottoms of beer-glasses, mate!”

We all laughed, clinked our glasses, and drank.

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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.

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

Packing Heat (M/M)

 

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Hot caning fiction by your host, Rod Cayenne, originally from 2019. All the characters are aged 18 or over. Strictly adults only!

Packing Heat by Rod Cayenne

It was Autumn, 1967.  Hippies with flowers in their hair were everywhere, except in the once-noble village of Nether Bumming.  Down at the half-timbered Fox And Hounds, Jim Rodgers played with his fresh pint.  He tried to blow the froth off the top off the bitter ale.  It wasn’t shifting, so he sliced it off with a sticky, dog-eared and discoloured cardboard beer mat.  That was not something he’d have done had he not been well on the way to inibreation.  Anyway, clearly he was distracted; miles away.

“Just what’s up, Jim?” asked his young friend PC Steve Churlington.

“Nothing’s up.  Really, nothing.  Nothing at all.”

“Don’t give me that!  You’re brooding about something or other.  It’s that lad of yours I’ll warrant, what’s his name again?”

“Oh, you mean Peter?”

“Yes, Peter.  Tell me now, what’s he been up to?  I thought you and I had no secrets.”  The cop winked at his close friend.

Jim gazed at his pint, tracing a pattern in the condensation on the outside of the glass with his grubby finger.  He sighed and smiled and looked his friend straight in the eye, before revealing, “Well, you’re right.  Of course.  He’s been a real handful since his mother ran off with that low-life estate agent.  I may have mentioned it before.  He and I seem to be jostling to be head of the household all the time.  Which is ridiculous, as it’s my place, after all.  Now the little sod’s bought an air rifle, a gun.  Can you believe it?”

“Oh I see.  What’s the problem, then?  He’s old enough to own one, he’s seventeen isn’t he?”

“Eighteen and a half, actually.  It’s just, it’s just…”

“What exactly, Jim?”

“Well, it’s just that I asked him not to buy one.  I begged him not to buy one.  I told him not to buy one.  I forbade him from buying one.”

“You didn’t want him to buy one then?” laughed his friend the cop, supping ale with a twinkle in his eye.  The froth from the beer decorated the cop’s moustache briefly before his beefy hand wiped it away.

“Shit, Steve.  No, I didn’t want one in the house but the little sod is earning now and has got a mind of his own.”

“I suppose that’s the danger at his age.  But he’s not 21, so you are still in charge.  He’s testing you, as you hinted.”

“Oh maybe, maybe not.  Yes, definitely maybe.”

“A very tricky situation then.  And let me guess, his father’s reluctant to leather him?”

“Yes, rather.  Although, I suppose it’s just what he needs and deserves.”

“Hmmm.  I agree.  Totally.  You know, I see this all the time.  The young generation disrespecting their parents, their teachers even.  Thank God the schools have the cane.  It would be chaos without, especially with all this hippy, Summer Of Love nonsense at the moment.”

“Shove the Summer Of Love!” said Jim, and then “Cheers!” as the two men crashed their glasses together, laughing and supping their ales.  Jim belched loudly and “A Whiter Shade Of Pale” played on the distant jukebox.

Later, as the evening wore on, PC Steve leant over towards Jim, and put his hand on his friend’s knee, saying conspiratorially, “You know I could deal with Peter.  As an officer of the law, I’m sure I could find a way of giving the boy a really sore arse.”

“Oh, would you?” implored Jim, “Could you?”

“Leave it to me!” said PC Steve conspiratorially.  “But I do need some background.  He’s had the cane before? And a good slippering?”

“Yes, quite a lot, when he was younger.  It was noted on his reports.  By the Headmaster.  He was a bad lad then, alright.”

“You didn’t follow it up ever, then?”

“Oh no, no.  Isobel wouldn’t wear it.”

“Hmmm, seems to me that she wore the trousers in that relationship!”

“Mmmm.  That’s tired old territory though, Steve.  And I was happy to leave it to the Head, who could be an unforgiving bastard at times, to be perfectly frank.”

“Well, Peter’s obviously a lad who needs a firm masculine hand.  The smack of discipline!  The bite of the cane!  Don’t you think?”

“You won’t be too hard on him, will you?”

“I said to leave it to me, but I certainly won’t go off half-cock!  Let’s just say I have some experience with this sort of thing.  He’s in safe hands. Or safe-ish hands!”

And so it was that PC Churlington put his plan into action.  With inside information from the concerned father, he’d staked out the likely venue for young Peter to be practicing mayhem with his air rifle.  He soon spied the lad and his mate, Rowan Knight, shooting at cans and the bark of trees on the edge of the medieval forest.  There was just the one gun, which Peter was allowing his friend to use now and then.  After a short but purposeful toot on his whistle, PC Steve bellowed, “Oi!  You two!  What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Crikey!  It’s the cops!” cried Rowan with amazing powers of perception, before he scarpered away, his fat teenage thighs working harder than they ever had before.  Peter was left holding the baby, or rather the gun.  Suddenly the rifle seemed very heavy in his sweaty grip as he stared into the penetrating blue eyes of the constable.

“It’s all legal, Officer!” exclaimed Peter.

The policeman grabbed the lad firmly by his ear, “Oh no it’s not!  Not in a public place like this, and this PC says a licence is needed under new legislation.  Have you got a licence?  My diligent research suggests that you have not.”

“What?”

“The new 1967 legislation requires a licence!  Use of firearms especially in forested areas is strictly controlled, you know.”

“What new legislation?  They didn’t mention that at the shop when I bought the gun.  With respect, I reckon you’re pulling my leg, Officer!”

“Oh no I’m not, sonny!  And that’s enough of your lip!  Now, we can deal with this down at the station, with all the paperwork and publicity in the local papers.  The Echo loves to print this sort of stuff.  Right next to all the reports about the dirty importuners.  Would you like all of that?”

“Errr, no.  No.  I wouldn’t.”

“No, I bet you wouldn’t!  Neither would your parents, I’d imagine.  Well in that case, I could deal with this at my place.  Off the record.  Unofficially.”

“Eh?  What do you mean, deal with it?”

“I mean some corporal punishment for you my lad.  A sore arse.  A good hiding.  I’m sure you’ve had one before?”

“Yeah, but those days are gone.  Gone when I left that bloody tyrannical school.  Long gone.  Thank God!”

“Well it’s up to you.  If that’s your decision, I’ll just get the handcuffs from the patrol car.  I should warn you that you’ll be sharing a cell.  We’ve just arrested a particularly nasty bunch of Rockers and some Mods.”

“Oh.  No, wait. Wait, please Officer!  Surely there’s another way?”

“I’ve already told you.  It’s back to mine, or take your chances down the station.”

“But that’s no choice at all!”

“Of course it’s a choice!  Now which is it to be?  Hurry up, I don’t have all day.”

“OK, your place then.”

“You mean, thank you, Officer, I’ll come with you.”

“Thank you Officer, I’ll come with you.”  Adopting a submissive tone seemed somehow appropriate.

“That’s better,” said the constable as he pointed to the car.  He opened the boot, and Peter stashed the air rifle carefully away, as instructed.  The car soon left the forest way behind, with Peter sat in the back.  The constable eyed his uneasy companion in the rear-view mirror and chuckled quietly.  His devious plan was working and his naive prey had been well and truly captured.

The car skidded to a halt outside the ramshackle building that the policeman shared with his bachelor landlord.  The two men stepped out, with Peter retrieving his air rifle.  “Upstairs!” ordered the cop.

In his bedroom, as Peter watched, PC Steve laid out two crook-handled rattan canes, a favourite leather strap, some soothing cream balm, and he prised the lid off a small tin of Vaseline, just so he’d be ready instantly for any golden opportunity that presented itself.  Peter blushed at the disturbing array as it was gradually unveiled before his disbelieving eyes.

“Just how old are you?”

“Errr, I was eighteen in March.”

“In that case, we’ll start with eighteen strokes of the strap!  One for each year of your age.  Seems more than fair to me.  So there will be six on your slacks, six on your underpants, and six on the bare.  Now, bend over the end of the divan for me.”  The burnt umber leather strap soon started to crack down purposefully, and punishingly.  Whack after whack inflamed,  irritated and distressed the cheeks of the cheeky teenager.  The pain intesified of course as the layers of clothing were shed.  After the beating, Peter was grateful when he was allowed to stand and rub his sore buttocks, but it was only a temporary respite.

Next it was time to reinforce the lesson with the bite of the rattan.  The cop flexed the cane menacingly only a few inches from the teenager’s nose.  He scythed it through the air a few times.  The sound took Peter back to the helplessness he’d felt during his school punishments.  “Lie down flat on the bed.  I think at least eighteen strokes with my beautiful canes.  You’re lucky to receive this care and attention.  Make sure you count out loud after each stroke.”

“Yes Officer, thank you Officer.”

Peter braced himself for the onslaught.  Nothing could have prepared him for the pain of the first stroke which was delivered with considerable heft by the fit young policeman.  It was worse, far worse, than any caning at school.  After the leathering, this was real agony.  The second stroke followed after a lengthy pause.  It was a gentler stroke, but still with a bite.  PC Steve alternated heavy and milder strokes, but he suddenly stopped after the eighth.  “You forgot to count.  We’ll have to start back at one, I’m afraid.  Now, pay attention and do as you’re told.”

Peter groaned at his own stupidity in forgetting to count.  How foolish he had been!  Indeed, he’d had a most stupid day all round.  He felt the tell-tale tap of the cane, before it was raised high in the air for the first of the repeat strokes.  As it crashed down, Peter was properly prepared this time, “One!” he cried.

“No, no, no!” said the cop, “That won’t do at all.  I expect respect from you and ‘One, Sir’ or ‘One Officer’ or ‘One, Constable’.  Is that clear?”

“Yes, Sir!  Sorry, Sir!”

So the caning and the counting resumed.  This time the only pause was when the cop decide to swap from his “Bruiser” cane to “The Stinger” in the hope of getting more vocal reactions from his victim.  With each solid whack the lad’s arse bobbed up and down just like a fairground horse ride.  Yes, he was bobbing and lifting to meet the cane just in time for each painful disciplinary stroke.  Maybe it was involuntary, or just some kind of a natural submissive reaction to the rhythm of the punishment.

He gasped and groaned, and writhed and turned.  The switch to “The Stinger” had worked!  Peter became more frenzied and then suddenly at around twenty strokes the gasps became pleas for more!  That cruel cane had rekindled something within him.  Clearly the lad was experienced, and was well on his way to developing a taste for the discipline.  PC Steve had found himself a masochist!  The two were well-matched.

“Hmm.  Looks like you enjoyed that.  Just look at the state of your penis!”  A silvery string of pre-cum was dripping from the rock-hard teenage erection.  “Make sure you sell the gun, now.”

“Oh I will, I will.  Whatever you ask, Officer.”

“You can call me Steve.”

Suddenly they kissed passionately.  Peter had never kissed a man before, moustached or not!  He loved it, and what followed.  He became a frequent visitor to PC Steve’s lonely garret.  The lad received the cane regularly and they indulged in many other activities which may or may not have been legal at the time, and about which even the editor of the Echo would have been too embarrassed to publish.

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D I S C L A I M E R

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

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Story © MMXIX by Rod Cayenne.  All rights reserved.

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Comments welcome.  Comments are here.  Comments from the original 2019 post are here.

Barry’s Beating (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!

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.”

“About?”

“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, uncle.”

“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!”

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D I S C L A I M E R

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

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Story © MMXXII by Rod Cayenne.  All rights reserved.

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