Explicit fiction entertainment by Rod Cayenne
I knew I was in big trouble as soon as Dad called me into his little office. He stood there with one of his many canes in his hands. I gulped with fear, for I had never been able to take his canings stoically. No, there were always tears, cries and desperate pleading and wriggling under the lash of the cane. I had hoped now that I’d turned eighteen, that the canes might be retired. It seemed not.
“Peter, you were sick in bed this morning. You hadn’t been drinking again, I hope?”
“No Dad. Sorry. It was nothing like that.”
“Good! Otherwise this beauty would be teaching you a lesson.”
I didn’t share his view of what constituted beauty. In fact, I would have classified that whippy cane as a beast! As one of those rare strict Methodists, I knew he didn’t like me touching alcohol.
“So, what did make you sick then, lad?”
I didn’t feel like lying. It wasn’t really in my nature. I thought it best to confess, so I pulled the blister pack of blue pills out of my leather jacket. I handed them to my father. I could tell that he thought they were drugs.
“It was these that made me sick Dad, they taste awful!”
He read the lettering out loud, “Vigorlon Penis Enlargement Pills! I don’t believe it! These things are just a con! I can’t believe that a son of mine was so stupid as to fall for one of these scams!”
I stood there embarrassed, and red-faced.
“I’m sorry Dad. It was just a whim when I bought them.”
“Over the internet, I suppose?”
“With your card?”
“You stupid boy! So this is what you waste your allowance on! You’ll probably have to cancel your debit card too. I wonder what else you’ve been looking at on the internet, you haven’t been looking at pornography?”
I couldn’t lie. My Methodist upbringing had taught me that lying was a most serious sin. Of course I’d been looking at porn.
Again, I nodded at Dad.
“Well, that’s good,” he laughed. “Most men do.”
I was amazed when he said that, so I just nodded again, this time with a little smile. I was even more amazed when he put the cane down on the desk and offered me a chair. He poured me a glass of water from his cut-glass decanter.
“Well, well, well,” he said eventually, “I really don’t know what to make of you, young Peter. You’re at a difficult age, aren’t you? Part man, part boy, I’d say. Maybe more boy.”
Once again, I found myself nodding in agreement. Experience had taught me never to argue with Dad once we were in his small home office. I drank the water nervously. It was refreshing, as I was still dehydrated after being sick. Things were looking good. He picked up the cane and placed it back in the brass umbrella stand, where it was kept along with several other rattans and a rather faded gents umbrella. I breathed a sigh of relief. It was too good to last, however.
“NOW LISTEN TO ME!” Suddenly, his tone became fierce. “I am quite insulted that you feel that the penis your mother and I gave you at birth isn’t big enough! The Lord moves in mysterious ways, you know.”
Here we go, I thought to myself. My bottom started to tingle.
“And! Let there be no doubt in your mind that I am very, very unhappy that you have spent money, the hard-earned allowance money I’ve given you, on this rubbish!”
He waved the strip of pills at me. Slowly, he popped each of the remaining blue tablets out of the blister pack. He counted the pills out loud. There were fifteen. I just knew where this was leading.
“Fifteen pills, fifteen strokes!” he announced. He reached behind him and selected a more severe rattan with a crook handle.
“But Dad, I’m eighteen now!”
“Good point, Peter. We’ll make it eighteen, then. Over the desk, trousers down!”
I wasn’t going to argue. I bent over submissively and the first cane stroke hit home. Oh, it was a hard one, for a first stroke. He was really angry, I could tell. He’d been hiding it well, but now the cane was letting him vent his full fury. That was reinforced by the second and third strokes which were straight out of the fires of Hell.
“Underpants down! Fifteen strokes on the bare for the fifteen pills.”
I wasn’t going to argue, as I lowered my pale blue Jockeys. I certainly wasn’t going to tell him that it was a hundred pills I’d ordered!
Stroke four sliced into my naked flesh. I was gasping, close to hyperventilating. I cried out loudly. I knew that would amuse him. For a religious man, he had a streak of sadism. Yes, there was a lot of cruelty within him.
I took the fifth quietly, and then the sixth much the same. He moved things up a gear as the seventh was by far the hardest yet. By now I was squirming under the cane’s vicious caress. My bottom was writhing, first in one direction, then the other in a vain attempt to avoid the blows of the cane. Eight! Nine! Ten! I was counting them quietly under my breath, while silent salty tears streamed down my face. This was a hellish beating!
He stopped and grunted. Suddenly, his hands were feeling the cane ridges on my bottom. He’d never done that before, and it was so humiliating, especially as he barked at me to keep still. He changed canes.
“Number Two cane to finish off, Peter.”
In all my years, and through numerous beatings, I could never fathom out the significance of the numbering system of his canes. Perhaps there wasn’t one, and this was all part of a sadistic game? All I knew was that Number Two cane was named appropriately, as it hurt like shit.
“AARRGH!” I cried as the eleventh stroke slashed down, quickly followed by a twelfth, landing just below.
Dad laid thirteen and fourteen diagonally, which was agony. The final four strokes were aimed at the tops of my thighs, his speciality, and they stung like mad. Strangely, all I could think about was that I wouldn’t be wearing my Speedos down on the beach for a while!
I wasn’t crying heavily, but my face was covered in snot. Dad offered me a tissue. I’d been trying not to say thank you, as an act of defiance, but it just sort of slipped out. He grinned when I said it. At times like that I really hated him. My only consolation was that my mother and sister were out shopping, so my beating had been a private, man thing.
That evening, I was over at my friend Andrew’s house. Somehow the story of the day’s events came out. I’d been trying to hide it, as I knew my friend had an unhealthy interest in my beatings. He managed to worm every little detail out of me this time. Nonetheless, he asked if he could see the marks, almost as if he didn’t believe me.
“Pervert!” I accused.
“No, really, I just want to understand. Although I could put some cold cream on them, I’m sure my mum’s got some in the bathroom.”
Reluctantly, I agreed. Andrew traced each and every mark with his forefinger. I’d found the day pretty confusing all round. My head was far from clear. Maybe it was another side-effect of those blue pills?
Andrew came back from the bathroom with a jar of cream. Gently, he massaged it into my bottom. My cock suddenly burst into life! It was rock hard. We gazed into each others eyes and knew we were going to have to take things further. No erection pills would be required! This time he put his forefinger into the jar of cream and then shoved the finger up my arsehole. His lips caressed my cock. He worked that cock for all it was worth. I came heavily in his mouth.
We lay exhausted on his bed for a few tender minutes. I offered to reciprocate. He just laughed.
“Not likely, mate. I’m not sticking my todger in there. Those pills have dyed your tongue blue. They could be poisonous, you know. Chinese, were they? I don’t want a blue cock, you know!”
I was really turned on by then. I offered him anal instead. I wanted it myself, but was a little reluctant only because my arse was still sore after the caning (and despite the cold cream massage). Andrew couldn’t believe his luck. Fortunately, he had a condom, and with the help of the cold cream we were soon at it. He thrust and thrust into my willing, striped arse. The knobbing felt even better than his forefinger had. It wasn’t long before he shot his load. It had been a short fuck alright, but we were both satisfied.
We lay in each others arms again, gently petting. He whispered in my ear, “Could you sneak out one of your dad’s canes? I want to try it.”
It seemed a strange request at first. But as I laid there in the afterglow, it seemed to make sense eventually. After all, it was a caning that had brought us together and I knew just which cane to smuggle out. It would have to be Number Two.
Story © 2013 by Rod Cayenne
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Erotica by Rod Cayenne
Maybe I shouldn’t have provoked him? It had been a good three years since he’d last caned me. Let’s see. Yes, I was just nineteen at the time. I’d been slacking at University and it had come to my father’s attention. Despite getting a full grant, I relied on my parents to help out financially as living in the city was really expensive.
It had been one of my ‘mates’ who’d told him. I never did find out which one shopped me, though there were a couple of prime suspects. I’d let slip to the gang that my father was a schoolteacher and a firm believer in the cane. They had obviously thought it was a laugh to grass me up. Still, it did buck up my ideas and I went on to achieve a respectable 2.1, better than some of the other gang members.
Well, here we were three years later. A dozen red raw cane stripes were decorating my bottom. They hurt me badly as I sat down on the toilet seat. I could have hovered, I suppose, but that would have been just too demeaning. The hot stripes throbbed on the cold, cold toilet seat.
I’d imagined fondly that my father would have thrown that beastly cane away, at least by the time I’d graduated. I was wrong! It had been hibernating in the extra-wide desk drawer it had always been kept in. He told me that he oiled it regularly with finest linseed oil. I thought that was a rather strange revelation, as I bent over the desk, lowering jeans and pants submissively. It was almost as if he’d been planning to use it in anger again. The beating when it came was hard, relentless and shaming.
So what had brought this on? Well, drink was to blame, no doubt about that. That and my own stupidity. I’d got up to use the bathroom at about 5 in the morning, and had left a Kleenex full of spunk on the side of the bath accidentally, instead of flushing it away. Fortunately, mother was on an overnight shift at the hospital, so the next person to use the bathroom was my father. Of course, he discovered my carelessness.
That fateful day he was ‘working from home’ in his study. He summoned me in and produced the offending item, which had pretty much dried out by then. He held it in a pair of tweezers as if it was infected, or some piece of forensic evidence. He made me feel so ashamed.
“What on earth would have happened if your mother had found this?” he asked. “She might have thought I’d been jacking off in the bathroom when all along it was yours!”
It was a good point. I hadn’t left it on purpose, of course. In fact, I’d been so drunk while I was masturbating that I was surprised I’d been able to cum at all. Anyway, his face was red with anger, and mine was red with embarrassment.
“It’s time you got yourself a nice girlfriend and settled down, instead of playing with yourself like some teenager. Now then Vincent, what are you going to do to make it up to me?” Dad had asked. He wasn’t angling, I think. It was a kind of rhetorical question. I could tell that he was annoyed with me, as that was the only time he ever used my unabbreviated name.
Somewhat foolishly, and still hungover, I’d said to him, “It’s a shame you don’t have a cane any more. That would have cleared the air.” It must have been the association of his study with past canings that had made me blurt this out.
It was just at that time that he produced the old cane from its hiding place. My jaw dropped as he said, “What a good idea!”
My fate was sealed. It had been a long time. He swished the cane menacingly but with a big grin on his face. Right then, I’d like to have slapped it, but I was the one in for a stinging caress. It was almost as if he was going to enjoy it! When I was a lad, he’d always carried out my beatings with the most grim of expressions. Now, there was a sickening grin, which was even more humiliating, strangely enough. It was as if he’d trapped me, but in truth my downfall was all my own fault.
The dozen strokes he dished out hurt like hell. It was the most savage beating I’d ever had from him. Maybe he’d decided to make it harder to cut through my hangover and make a real impression? Believe me, twelve vicious strokes was ample! However, as I sat on the white plastic toilet seat a little later, a not unpleasant glow spread around my buttocks. Perhaps it hadn’t been so bad after all? In fact, perhaps it had been a little bit pleasurable? My cock stirred and forced itself into my waiting hand. Yes, I told myself, it hadn’t been too bad, and it was a bit of a turn-on! As I wanked away, I promised myself I’d get another caning off him. If all else failed, I could always leave another Kleenex in the bathroom to secure some more discipline! My mind was racing, and I resolved to talk to him. I left it until the following day, just to be sure my feelings hadn’t been clouded by the hangover.
He was in his study, packing his briefcase. Obviously, that day he was going to be heading to his city office at some stage.
“Dad, we need to talk. Thank you for caning me yesterday. It was embarrassing and it really hurt me, but I deserved it for being so stupid and so, so thoughtless. I don’t want you to feel guilty or to worry that I’m too old for discipline. My friend Joe still gets it from his father and he’s twenty-five!” Of course, what my father didn’t know was that my friend was a figment of my imagination.
Dad didn’t seem to mind my suggestion at all, as that grin of his reappeared.
“I understand, son. At least, I think I do. So that gives me three years or so to knock you into shape, then?” he laughed.
I nodded. He leant back in his chair, opened a drawer and pulled something out. He placed it on the tooled leather top of the desk. It wasn’t the cane though. It was a can of linseed oil.
Story © 2013 by Rod Cayenne
Hot and explicit fiction by Rod Cayenne – adults only
“This is DCI Child and I am Inspector Eagle. We will be recording this interview on this equipment. Now, are you comfortable?”
“I am now I’ve got those bloody handcuffs off! My solicitor may have something to say about that. It was well over the top, and all just for complaining about my neighbour.”
“You didn’t just complain about him, did you Mr Smith? He alleges that you threatened to kill him.”
“Well, if I did, it was just a figure of speech. You don’t realise how difficult it is having a pervert for a neighbour.”
“Ah yes. The allegation of him being a nuisance. What exactly is that based on?”
“He has these men round. For sex. And then he hosts these spanking parties. I hear the noises through the shared walls.”
“And exactly how many people attend these spanking parties, Mr Smith?”
“One or two, usually.”
“Hardly a party then, Mr Smith!”
“Well, you know what I mean.”
“I’m not sure that either of us do, Mr Smith. It all sounds perfectly normal and legal to me, what do you think Charles?”
“Yes, perfectly normal. Perfectly legal, indeed.”
“I can’t believe what I’m hearing from you two. You’re supposed to protect us law-abiding citizens.”
“Threatening to strangle your neighbour is hardly law-abiding, now is it? Now tell me about these parties. When do they usually take place?”
“Mainly afternoons. Sometimes mornings.”
“Not in the evenings or late at night then?”
“Hardly a public nuisance I’d say. Is there loud music at these parties?”
“No, otherwise I wouldn’t hear those spanking noises, whipping noises, cries and beatings.”
“Indeed. Couldn’t you just turn up the TV or radio?”
“Let me put it to you that you a bit of a crank, Mr Smith. You threaten to strangle your neighbour because he has a friend or two around for healthy sex and spanking fun.”
“I can see I’m getting nowhere with you two. The guy’s gay for goodness sake!”
“So are we.”
“Oh. Oh. I see. Well, sorry I didn’t mean any harm by it.”
“Well, I think you’re looking at a long stretch inside, Smith. Threatening with intent plus hate crime. Two years, at least, wouldn’t you think, Wayne?”
“Yes, Charles. Two or three years, depending on the judge, and a lot of the old lags don’t like gaybashers, you know.”
“Of course, there may be a way to settle all this amicably, Mr Smith.”
“There might? Oh, thank goodness!”
“Well, you might not like it Smith. Listen carefully. We have spoken to Mr DaSilva, your neighbour.”
“Yes, a nice chap we thought, Smith.”
“Entirely undeserving of your malicious and hateful behaviour.”
“So we came up with a plan between the three of us. If you want us to drop the charges we have in mind, then you will have to accept a thrashing from your neighbour, Mr DaSilva. With the cane. On your bare bottom. It’s the nearest we can get to a good old-fashioned birching, which is what you really deserve.”
“Yes indeed. And to make sure that things don’t go horribly wrong, there ought to be witnesses. Fortunately the Inspector and I are available for this most unpleasant of duties.”
“Don’t you mean thank you, Smith?”
Smith nodded, shrugged and said, “Let me get this right, then. To get off the charges, I have to take a bare arse caning from my gay neighbour while two gay coppers watch?”
The two coppers nodded, smiling.
“Alright. Doesn’t sound too bad, actually. I got used to the cane at school. Although it used to sting like the devil. Thank you both.”
“Well, I’m sure it’ll be worse than a school caning. No time like the present then, Smith. Get your sorry arse upstairs, we’ll drive over to Mr DaSilva’s now. Give him a bell please Wayne, so that he’s ready for us.”
And so it was that the small terraced house was hosting another spanking party. This time it was a capacity crowd of four: Smith, DaSilva, Eagle and Child. In the musty lounge, a spanking stool with a brown leather top had been placed strategically. Da Silva was dressed in black sports kit, flexing a traditional crook-handled cane.
“You know Smith, if you’d wanted a caning, you could have just asked,” said DaSilva grinning. “There was no need to get these officers involved at all.”
“Can we just get on with it?” said an impatient Smith.
“Oi! No need for that!” warned Inspector Eagle.
“Twelve on the bare then. You might as well strip off completely.” Amazingly, Smith complied with his neighbour’s cheeky suggestion.
“Over the stool,” ordered DCI Child, stroking his moustache lovingly. Meanwhile, Inspector Eagle had a problem. Through the fabric of his trousers, he stroked his developing erection lovingly.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! The cane lashed down on the foolish man, fast and furiously. Smith felt the fire, so familiar from his school days.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! A second fast batch cut into the naked cheeks.
“STOP!” cried Eagle, his cock stiffer than ever. “As an Inspector, I think it only appropriate that I inspect the damage at this half-way stage.” And he did. His roving hands examined in great detail the ridges and redness displayed to the witnesses. He also allowed himself to gently poke the victim’s arsehole, as a further humiliation. Smith’s sweat could also be detected, which was a further delight for the pervy Inspector.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! DaSilva’s whippy cane whipped the neighbour’s arse for all it was worth. Smith was writhing uncomfortably, riding the waves of pain and regret.
“Very good. Make them as hard as you can please!” DCI Child requested.
CRACK! CRAAACK! Two hard as nails strokes nailed our victim to the leather-topped stool.
CRACK! The vicious final stroke was diagonal and determined.
“AAARGH!” Smith cried out loud to the delight of the others.
“How about another six for wasting Police time?” It wasn’t really a question. It was an order from a sadistic policeman.
Smith became turned on by his beating, and wanted to express his regret and submission fully. So it wasn’t just the cane that visited his arse that afternoon. Three sheathed penises also called in.
Story © 2013 by Rod Cayenne
Adult entertainment by your host, Rod Cayenne
The story so far: 22-year-old Johnny has been caned every Sunday lately. He has grown to like this, and to value the motivation the beatings give him. Mum has joined Dad in administering the thrashings.
Part 1 is here
Part 2 is here
Part 3 is here
Part 4 is here
Part 5 is here
Now read on for Part 6:
It was Saturday night. Johnny was enjoying a meal with his parents at the local Indian. It was a convivial atmosphere. Johnny dunked his naan bread in the curry.
“Johnny, I still have a few months on the lease on the flat I was staying in while your father and I were apart.”
“Well, we were wondering whether you’d like to stay there until the lease is up. It would give you a taste of independence. You can have it rent-free as I paid it all in advance.”
“Well, that’s very kind of you. Are you sure I’m ready?”
“Yes, why not? You’re 22! Maturing fast into a fine young man.”
“You’ll love it. A place of your own. Oh, you’re not worried about missing out on your canings are you?”
“I was a bit. They do hurt and humiliate but they’re just what I need to maintain a focus on things.”
“OK, we’ll keep them up. You can come to us on a Sunday or we can offer a mobile caning service!”
Even dad Phil had to laugh at that! He’d been quiet for the last few minutes ever since he had burnt his tongue.
“So who’s on duty tomorrow?” Johnny asked nonchalantly.
“Your father, I think. He’s got a few scores to settle with you this week. Not least for laughing at him for burning his tongue, isn’t that right, Phil?”
“Mmm,” he grunted. Suddenly finding his voice, he added, “Yes, I’ll be burning Johnny’s arse good and long tomorrow.”
“There. That’s nice. It’s all settled then. We could go and look at the flat afterwards. Now, who wants dessert?” Mum asked.
“I’d better have the ice cream,” Dad chipped in.
Later that night, Mum and Dad had turned in. Johnny went into the kitchen to make a milky drink before going to bed. He was surprised to find the cane already laid out ready on the kitchen table. He picked it up. It was fast becoming an old friend. He swished it around lovingly, and tested it on his palm. Yes, that cane had brought a lot of pain but a lot of happiness too. In some way, he was hoping its presence was helping reunite his parents. They both seemed to enjoy their new hobby of thrashing Johnny! He decided to take the cane up to bed. After all, chances were that he would be first up in the morning.
Meanwhile, up in the master bedroom, Dad Phil and Mum Gloria were naked in each others arms. They were chatting conspiratorially.
“You know, I really think that the cane is the best thing that ever happened to this family,” Gloria said.
“Yes, you could be right. Once we’ve got Johnny into the flat and out of the way, you’ll be able to cane me a lot more.”
“Oh don’t worry about that Phil. You are going to be one sorry, sorry boy!”
“I thought we’d have him completely naked tomorrow. Do you like the sound of that?”
“Oh yes! Yes I do! He’s a really handsome fellow. I hope he’ll get an erection.”
“Well, I can’t promise you that, of course. Perhaps you should undress him?”
“No, no. How about we both do?”
“OK. How many strokes? I’m giving him six to start off with for laughing at me for burning my tongue. What else can we punish him for?”
“I’ll give some thought. Now how about giving me a lick-out with that sore tongue of yours?”
Phil was only too happy to oblige. Licking Gloria seemed to help soothe his tongue. He started on her clit, then worked down into her moist cunt. Finally, he couldn’t resist licking all around her peachy bottom. She squealed with excitement as he hit the spot!
“I think you should give him twelve strokes for masturbating.”
“Whaat? We don’t know he has been, Gloria.”
“Of course he has. He’s 22! There are used tissues all over his bedroom. Anyway, all men of his age do it!”
And in later years too, thought Phil with some guilt.
“If he denies it,” she continued, “Give him some more for lying!”
“Gosh, you really are a hard bitch tonight, Gloria!”
“Watch your mouth Phil! You need another lesson, I do believe. I’ll make your bum as sore as your tongue! Is the cane under your pillow?”
“No, I took it downstairs.”
“Go and fetch it then!”
“But Gloria, Johnny will hear us!”
“I doubt that, he usually falls asleep with his headphones on.”
Phil slipped his dressing gown on and made his way downstairs. But the cane was nowhere to be found. He was disappointed. He really couldn’t get enough of that sting and bite that only the cane can give. He reported back to Gloria.
“Well, I wonder what Johnny’s doing with it. He should show a bit more respect for it. It’s not a toy or plaything.”
“You can say that again!” Phil affirmed.
“Well, it looks like your thrashing has been postponed, Phil. Anyway, I’ve decided that tomorrow we’ll both beat Johnny.”
“Yes, good idea. I’m game!”
“I thought you might be. Now make me happy…”
He did make her happy, and he had a good time himself, even if just then he’d rather have had a caning. There would be plenty of time for that once Johnny moved out. And move out he would!
At about 9.30 the following morning, Phil made his way downstairs. He was bleary-eyed, and to tell the truth, a bit shagged. Johnny was up, sat at the kitchen table finishing a bowl of Corn Flakes and a strong tea. He was staring at the cane on the table in front of him.
“Morning! Aha, the cane is back, I see Johnny. I believe it went for a midnight ramble last night?”
“Ha, how did you know, Dad?”
“Dads are experts on the cane, you know Johnny.”
“Well, you’re certainly an expert with this one, Dad. Anyway, I did take the cane up to my room as I had a sudden urge to look at it under my microscope! Fascinating stuff, rattan. Do you think this one is from Malaysia?”
“No, I don’t Johnny. This one is from London, from a fake Ming vase in my housemaster’s study!”
“Very funny, Dad! I bet it is finest Malay rattan. It certainly packs a punch!”
“Good. that’s just what you need. Your mother and I will be sharing your caning today. And just to make sure you’re not enjoying it too much, it’ll be a naked caning. Is that clear?”
“No erection today either, understand? Stick me some toast on please.”
Meanwhile Dad went over to the kitchen window and struggled with the venetian blind.
“Bloody thing!” he cursed, but eventually got it to fall. He then closed the slats. “I think we’ll have some privacy today. We don’t want any nosy neighbours staring in like your mother did.”
That event had really rejuvenated the marriage, however. Dad reflected on how wonderful that cane was. He thought about all the wasted years when the cane had been idle and neglected up in the loft. He spread some marmalade on his toast and sighed.
“Dad, do we have to do it in the kitchen? It would be so much more natural in my bedroom.”
“Nonsense, Johnny! We now have a tradition of caning you in the kitchen. Your bottom is usually clean, so there are no hygiene worries.”
Dad picked up the cane and waved it at Johnny.
“The word ‘extras’ keeps springing to mind, Johnny. Do you know why that might be?”
“Yes! You will be. Besides, your bedroom is a terrible mess. There’s no room to swing a cat, or a cane! It’s getting smelly in there too. You’ll have to keep the flat cleaner than that you know! Anyway, look smart, I think I can hear your mother coming.”
She marched in, looking very pleased with herself. “Get his top off, Phil!”
Johnny stood up, and Dad pulled the sweatshirt and tee-shirt off him. Johnny immediately felt a blast of icy Sunday morning air and huddled himself. Mum just laughed.
“Now the bit I’ve been waiting for!” she announced as she strolled over and unbuckled the canvas belt holding his chinos up. They slid down gracefully revealing red boxers beneath. Quickly, she yanked them down too. An erection was apparent to all.
“Disgusting!” Mum said. “How dare you? Get your socks off! Six for the erection, Phil! Over the table, Johnny!”
Johnny bent over as instructed. His masculine bottom was on view to both parents, while hidden from view, his erection throbbed against the wood of the kitchen table. Johnny wasn’t sure that he was enjoying all this extra humiliation, but his penis was definitely cocksure of the excitement!
Dad slashed the cane down brutally. It cracked across Johnny’s naked cheeks, leaving a bright red line. Dad stopped, as he had prearranged with Mum Gloria. She walked over and felt Johnny’s bottom, tracing the cane line with her forefinger. She then slapped Johnny’s arse hard and decisively. Johhny groaned. Mum backed off and Dad slashed the whippy cane down again harshly. A third stroke followed straight away, and then Mum resumed her inspection, again gently tracing the marks. She gave him another purposeful slap.
“Very good, Phil!” she announced. “But you can make them harder. You need to beat him really hard for that disgusting erection.”
“Yes Gloria! Three extra hard ones!”
And they were! Possibly the hardest Phil had ever managed. He smiled with satisfaction as he surveyed his son’s beaten buttocks.
“Six for laughing at my burnt tongue!” Dad Phil announced. Johnny groaned, remembering the days when his dad could take a joke without inflicting retribution!
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
Dad’s tongue was better now, but his mood was not.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
“An extra three, I think. For general attitude. Then your mother can take over.”
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
These had been milder strokes, but Johnny would soon feel the full wrath of his mother. Dad handed the cane over, almost as if he was in a relay race. Mum received the baton with grace, ready for a record-breaking lap.
Unannounced she slashed the cane down rapidly, CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
“These ones are for masturbating, Johnny!” she suddenly announced.
“But Mum!” her son started.
“Don’t start!” she replied. “I found lots of spunky tissues in your room. You should be disposing them down the toilet. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes Mum, sorry Mum.”
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! She was really in her stride now. But she stopped, aware that she had given him the full dozen stroke tariff agreed with Phil.
“Very good. Now you can go to your room and gather up those tissues, and flush them away. Then I want you back here for a final reminder.”
Both parents laughed as the very naked and very striped 22-year-old left the kitchen. Mum and Dad hugged and started to kiss and pet each other. They were both turned on.
Johnny was up in his room, totally naked, on all fours and picking up tissues from the floor of his bedroom. He stopped for a moment to soothe his sore bottom. This had been quite a beating, and it wasn’t finished yet.
Johnny hadn’t realised just how many tissues there were until now. Better make it two trips to the loo. He didn’t want to be in trouble for causing it to be blocked! He made his way to the bathroom, and dropped the first collection of tissues into the waiting water. As he flushed the toilet, he caught a glimpse of his striped bottom in the mirror. It was quite a mess, with angry red lines where the cane had been.
Back in his room, he gathered the final tissues up from the floor and the bedside cabinet. He’d fill another tissue or two later, he promised himself. Yes, it would have to be later when the fires raging on his backside had calmed down. He felt the stirrings of another erection, just from thinking about today’s events. He made his second trip to the bathroom, flushing the last pieces of evidence away. He’d have to be a lot more careful in future, he told himself. Both parents were on his tail, as it were. From downstairs he could hear his mother calling. Time to face the music. The music of the cane whipping his backside once again!
Story © 2012 by Rod Cayenne
Photography © 2012 by Jonathan, used by very kind permission
Commenting is welcome – read the comments here
Erotic amusement by Rod Cayenne
Sometimes I almost feel like I want to kill my mother-in-law. Why? Well, let me take you back…
I’d been married to Janine for about a year. Circumstances dictated that I had to spend a week at her mother’s cottage in leafy Worcestershire. The area was beautiful but at the same time rather boring for a youngish fellow like me. Naturally, over the week I had the urge to masturbate, and quite a lot at that. Much to my shame, Janine’s mum caught me at it one day! She was furious, accusing me of being unfaithful to her daughter, and generally made me feel pretty rotten. It’s not easy for a mature woman to understand just what it’s like being a man. Being a man means possessing an uncontrollable, rampant cock and two balls full of sperm between your legs. It’s torture sometimes.
Anyway, as I was saying, she caught me at it. I was going hell for leather at the time, hoping for a quick orgasm. I think if I’d been doing it more sedately, it might not have been so embarrassing. She squealed and then the shouting started! She could shout for England! I covered up quickly, but her face went bright red with anger, or something. I wanted to die, or make amends somehow or other.
As she berated me, she revealed that she had once caught Janine’s half-brother Gilbert doing the same thing when he was nineteen. She had ‘smacked him black and blue with her hairbrush’ apparently. Unfortunately, I chose that moment to crack up with laughter. I couldn’t help it. It was just the vision of stuffy old Gilbert over her lap that did it.
Her fury was awoken again, and in the end to placate her, I foolishly suggested that she gave me the “Gilbert treatment.” I couldn’t believe how quickly she jumped at the opportunity. She trotted off to her bedroom to retrieve her hairbrush. Even to my less than expert eye, I could see that it was a vicious-looking item. I later found out that it was a genuine ebony one.
She ordered me to lower my keks but allowed me to keep my underpants on. An arrangement that suited my newly-found modesty. However, those underpants were unfashionably skimpy, so offered little real protection as the hard, merciless brush blows hit home.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
The brush continued its punishing reckoning. Only just then, as I wriggled on mum’s lap did it dawn on me just how sexy she was. It was her black nylons that started it. Then her perfume, which like her presence, was almost overwhelming. Then there was her sexy voice as she belittled me with her pithy and barbed comments,
“I’ll teach you to masturbate in front of me. You’re going to regret this! You disgusting little worm! You’re not worthy of my Janine’s affections.”
On and on she went. All the time the ebony brush beat the hell out of my bottom. And then suddenly and inexplicably I felt the first stirrings of another erection. Damn! She could feel it too, as she suddenly stopped the spanking.
“I think we’d better have these down, so that I can keep an eye on you!” she laughed.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
The brush struck again and then again and again. The pain as it assaulted my naked backside was phenomenal. And then, suddenly it was all over.
After she’d gone, I finished off. I came heavily as I thought about her. I managed to keep quiet as I came, as I didn’t want to alert her to my actions. I massaged my burning cheeks, which gave some momentary relief from the burning pain.
The atmosphere was electric for the rest of the week. There was a real sexual frisson between us.
On the last day of my stay, I was packing my Adidas bag when she came into my room, the guest bedroom. She had the hairbrush in her hand, but it wasn’t being used for grooming her hair. Oh no! She waved it at me, saying, “I think, my boy, a reminder would be in order before you go back to my Janine!”
I couldn’t argue with her as I still felt incredibly embarrassed. I bent over her lap again, this time keks and briefs were around my ankles from the word go as she punished me with the brush.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
Sitting down was painful as I took my reserved seat on the train. She was waving to me from the platform, and then, Oh God, she waved the hairbrush in the air as the train accelerated away! It was at this point that I began to hate her a little. That little public gesture with the hairbrush made me think that my spankings would not be kept secret. And indeed, by the time I got back to our London home, Janine had received a blow by blow account of my humiliations.
Mum’s evil influence spread, with Janine acquiring a special wooden hairbrush from an upmarket arcade somewhere in Chelsea. I was treated to weekly spankings, and quite quickly these became even more frequent, and came to dominate our sex life.
Things got even worse however, when mother-in-law came to stay. I ended up being spanked by the pair of them as they watched TV in the living room. Strictly! And then there was that infamous shopping trip. I was enjoying the peace and quiet when they burst in the front door, obviously after a few drinks. I was informed that they’d bought me a present. I was told to close my eyes. I was handed the present, and, even before I opened my eyes I had a good idea what it was.
It was a cane. A school cane. About three feet long with one of those crook handle things. It looked lethal, and in their willing hands it was. I was made to drop my keks and underpants, bend over and then place my hands on the coffee table. Very soon, the assault on my arse began. SWISH-CRACK! SWISH-CRACK! SWISH-CRACK! SWISH-CRACK! SWISH-CRACK! SWISH-CRACK! I had to beg for a halt around the sixth stroke, but was immediately told that the 12 strokes due had been increased to 14 because of this! It was good to rest for a few seconds as the pain sunk in before the caning resumed. They were taking it in turns now, and I was becoming a very sorry husband. And a very sore husband. They laughed and laughed and I was awarded further sets of six strokes. Eventually, I think I took 32 strokes before they took pity on me. The damage was incredible.
I was sore for days! But even worse was the knowledge that my sweet Janine now had a doomsday weapon to control her husband – a whippy, rattan school cane. And all thanks to my kind, caring mother-in-law.
Story © 2012 by Rod Cayenne
Photography © 2012 by Bamboo Swinger, used by kind permission
Erotic equestrian fiction by Rod Cayenne
My riding instructor cut a handsome figure in his tweed jacket, jods and shiny black Aigle boots.
“You seem to be a little too fond of the whip, my friend!” he admonished. “Please cut down its use on the horses. If you have a sadistic streak, you should take it out on the stable lads or lassies. They are used to the riding crop and dressage whip on their haunches.”
“Really?” I laughed as I dismounted and tied the horse. “Don’t tempt me.”
“Aha, another enthusiast, if I’m not mistaken. I’m not shocked. Your interest is quite common. Are you really keen? If so, I may be able to help.”
“Really?” I asked again. I stared into his blue eyes.
“Yes, really. There is a flogging group hereabouts. Interested?”
“Yes, rather! Tell me more please,” I added, more than intrigued.
“It’s called The Crop Circle. Get it?”
“Oh, how very droll. Sounds right up my street.”
“Well, don’t get too worked up about it just yet. Let me tell you a bit more about it.”
“Thank you,” I added, trying to seem humble and at the same time trying to will away an erection from forming in my jodhpurs as I thought about beating stable lads and lasses.
“Alright then. I’ll be honest with you. It started off as a spin-off from an occult group.”
“Oh, wicked!” I said, somewhat childishly.
“Quite. But then quite a few of us realised we were more interested in the floggings than the witchcraft.”
“I see. I understand.”
“Of course, some of the traditions have followed on. There is an initiation. Which will be painful for you…”
“Oh, don’t worry about that. I can handle that.”
“Don’t be so sure about that. Most likely it’ll be be a birching. With rods you’ve collected yourself from the sacred forest.”
I gulped a little. It’s true I was less keen suddenly, although I was aware that I had a masochistic side too. We went into the stables where he showed me the fine collection of crops and whips, which were prominently on display. I picked a crop and admired its beautiful craftsmanship and leatherwork. I placed it back with a shudder.
“I’ll get the Circle Master to contact you. Of course, I cannot guarantee anything. He is choosy. There is the initiation and you have to prove yourself worthy. There are dominant and submissive members of the group. And of course, some who like a little of both sides of the coin. Tell me frankly, where would you see yourself fitting in?”
“Well, to be honest, I do like a bit of variety in all things.”
“I see. At least, I think I do. You want some give and some take?”
“Yes. Yes, to be honest, that’s what I really want.”
“Good! In that case I think a preliminary thrashing right now would be appropriate.”
“Yes, just think of it as a pre-initiation. After all, I could forget to mention your interest to the Circle Master.”
I don’t think I’d ever felt so trapped in my life before!
“Can I keep my jods on please?”
“No, no, no! That won’t do at all! It wouldn’t be a proper initiation if it wasn’t on the bare, would it?”
“But this is just the pre-initiation,” I tried to plead.
“Don’t split hairs and don’t try to be funny with me. The stable hands get it bare, and they are a lot younger and less tough than you are. Get your bottom bare now and get over the bale. I’m going to beat you for excessive use of the whip. Isn’t that fair?”
“Yes, I suppose so. Although I didn’t mean any harm by my use of the whip.”
“Tell that to your mount! But don’t worry, because I won’t mean any harm by my use of the whip on you. To make it fair, I’ll use your own whip on you. Give it to me please.”
I handed the crop over. It was a cheap item, not as impressive as those in the display, and I was seriously doubting that it was that severe. However, my opinion soon altered as it thrashed down on my naked haunches!
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
I gasped as lines of fire lit up my backside.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
It was humiliating.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
It was even worse that I was being beaten with my own crop.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
I resolved to go easy on the horses in future.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
The flames began to subside just a little as the crop was thrown down beside me.
“I think we’ll complete your schooling with a final half-dozen with the dressage whip!”
I wanted to say no, more than anything in the world. But I was under the instructor’s spell, and the word just wouldn’t come out. He pushed me further into the bale with his shiny boot.
That dressage whip was even worse! It cut and flailed and reduced me to tears. It was agony. Agony and ecstasy. I loved it!
There were to be several more sessions over bales, fine leather saddles and in a bedroom back in the farmhouse once the weather got really cold. But I didn’t hear from the Circle Master in all that time. Had I been tricked, or was I just not worthy? I didn’t want to press it with the instructor as our sessions were so intense and enjoyable. No, I didn’t want to jeopardise the good thing we were sharing.
Story © 2012 by Rod Cayenne
Photography © 2011 by Jonathan, and used by very kind permission
Adult entertainment by Rod Cayenne
The story so far: 22-year-old Johnny has just had a severe caning from his father. The cane has been in use regularly ever since Johnny complained about how boring Sundays were.
Part 1 is here
Part 2 is here
Part 3 is here
Now read on for Part 4:
“Quick, Johnny, pull your trousers up, your mother’s here!” said Dad hanging the whippy cane back on the brass hook.
“Shit!” said Johnny, but whether it was the surprise of his mum’s arrival or the pain he felt as he pulled his jeans up over his sore arse wasn’t clear.
Dad opened the kitchen door as Mum strolled in through the rear entrance. She gave them both a peck on the cheek, then addressed Johnny sternly, “You’re obviously in disgrace! Go to your room, shut the door, and stay there until one of us tells you to come out again.”
With that, 22-year-old Johnny and his sorry arse disappeared upstairs. Fortunately, his bedroom door had a lock. For he knew he would soon be masturbating happily to the recollection of his Sunday caning. Still, he couldn’t help wondering what his mother was doing there. The timing of her arrival had been unfortunate, to say the least. It was a coincidence, surely?
Meanwhile Mum and Dad were having a cuddle in the kitchen. It had been a while, but a reconciliation was underway.
“So tell me about this caning business, honey,” she purred.
“Well, there’s not a lot to tell, really. It started happening a few weeks ago. Johnny was in one of his surly moods. It was a Sunday, and he was bored. I told him that I’d got into trouble at boarding school for saying how boring Sundays were. I’d had a bare bottom caning for my troubles. I can still remember it as if it were yesterday. Anyway, I had a cane in the loft. I’d nicked it from school.”
“Yes, I remember seeing it a long time ago. I’d have hoped you’d thrown it away by now.”
“Oh you know me. I never throw anything away. Yes, well anyway, I was saying. Johnny wanted to see my cane. And then he wanted a sample stroke just to see what it was like. And then he started provoking me, so I gave him six of the best. Since then, I’ve caned him every Sunday. I’ve spanked him, too. Bare bum of course.”
“Hmmm, sounds a bit kinky to me darling. Are you sure, this isn’t some gay thing?”
“Oh come on! You know me better than that, surely?” he lied, for the homoerotic nature of the canings was a great source of pleasure to him. Since that first caning, he had masturbated most days thinking about bare bottoms and whippy canes. He had even knocked one off right there in the kitchen.
“Well, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. If I move back in though, I want Johnny’s canings to continue. He’s a bad lad a lot of the time. Maybe we could take it in turns? One of us canes him while the other one watches.”
“Now, who’s the kinky one?” he enquired.
“That’s enough of your cheek. Now let me see that cane!”
He leapt up as commanded and removed the cane from the hook.
“Here it is, darling. I stole it from my housemaster’s study. Looks like a vicious one, don’t you think?”
“It does indeed, Phil. It does indeed. And it did make a real mess of Johnny’s backside today didn’t it?” She flexed the cane playfully. “So is this one you had used on you at school?”
“Well, I don’t know darling. My housemaster was quite the disciplinarian. He had quite a collection of canes. They were all stood in a giant vase thing in his study. He always said it was a Ming vase, but I’m sure it wasn’t.”
“So you can’t be sure that you’ve been caned with this one. Or be sure just how vicious it is?”
“Well, there’s only one way to find out then, Phil. Drop your trousers and pants for me!”
“WHAAAAAT? You’re joking?”
“Hurry up! Unless you want double?”
“But darling! If we must do it, we can’t do it here! What about Johnny?”
“Johnny’s in his room in disgrace, if you remember? Now, hurry up! Keep quiet too. I’m sure a big boy like you can take his medicine bravely and quietly, without disturbing Johnny!”
“Oh, OK then. Not too hard though. Remember I haven’t had it in decades…”
“You are long overdue then. Now get those things down now! Hurry up boy!”
A new side to his wife was emerging. He wasn’t sure what to make of it. Carefully, he unbuckled his trouser belt. He slid his trousers and underpants down. It felt sexy.
“Bend over!” she demanded. As he did, she admired his pert backside. It had always been delectable she thought. Now it was presented to her for a good whipping. She couldn’t resist feeling the cheeks. They were quite beautiful and youthful. She pinched the flesh gently, thinking it was a bottom that could take a generous amount of punishment. She had been thinking of six of the best, but was realising that wouldn’t be enough to satisfy her whiplust. She pinched his cheeks a bit more.
“Steady on!” he said.
“Bah! Now Phil, tell me just how many cane strokes did you inflict on poor Johnny?”
“He’s not poor. He’s a bad lad, as you said yourself. Anyway, it was a dozen.”
“I see, but he’s new to the cane isn’t he? You’re more experienced, aren’t you?”
“Oh Gloria! Not lately!”
“Don’t you Oh Gloria me! You will be caned. You will be caned hard. You will be caned hard sixteen times.”
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
The beating was underway. Up in his room, Johnny was enjoying the warm afterglow of his own caning. He gripped his stiffening penis, pulled back the foreskin and wanked away, enjoying the soreness of his arse and feeling very turned on as he thought about his father and the cane. Furiously he wanked and wanked and fantasised about a harder caning next time. He felt sure his father would oblige. Then he thought about his mother. She had seen at least some of his caning. This turned him on even more and more. He thought about how dominant and masterful his father looked, especially with a cane in his hands. Johnny couldn’t hold back any longer. He spunked heavily, groaning and grunting and yet sure he could hear a cane in use downstairs. He rationalised this as just his vivid and perverted imagination. It wasn’t though! For downstairs, his mother was thrashing the cane down as though her life depended on it!
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
Dad Phil squirmed as the cane lashed down. He hadn’t had this treatment for years. It bloody well hurt. However, it was turning him on, just like it always used to.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
“Want some more?” his wife asked menacingly.
“Oh no! No more! Please!” His arse throbbed painfully from the red cane marks. However, his cock was stiff and engorged, even stiffer than it had been of late. He would be able to satisfy her today, he thought to himself. She wouldn’t need to wander for a good cocking anymore.
She was thinking along similar lines. Her pussy was wet and willing.
“Let’s go upstairs,” she said. “Oh and I want that horrible hook thing removed,” she said, pointing at it with the cane. “The cane will be kept under your pillow from now on. Is that perfectly clear? Now, take the cane upstairs with you.”
Content © 2012 by Rod Cayenne
Real life story by new guest author Strapmenow
Webmaster Rod’s note: This was originally published as a comment on my recent story “Full Bottom Of Steam”, but I thought it good enough to use as a short piece in its own right. Fortunately the comment author was happy with this, so in slightly tidied form, here it is:
…Reminds me of receiving from my wife the ½” thick cane, 3½” double leather spanker, and 1¾” thick double leather tawse (split vertically for the last 6½“) last Tuesday. Boy how I hate the tawse! Actually in that session I hated all those implements. They all really hurt.
I was very pleased with the after effects. The tramlines were still very visible 24 hours later. I just had to smile to myself whenever I sat on a hard seat, like the toilet seat or whenever I went driving. Car seats are great reminders if one has just received a jolly good thrashing. When you first sit in the driver’s seat you are reminded of why your bottom is so sore and everytime you shift position to operate the foot pedals one receives further reminders. I can’t help smiling to myself at each of these reminders, knowing how I came to have them and also knowing from whom I received them! I suppose if it were not for those very painful strokes received, one would not have such delicious reminders afterwards.
Whenever my wife feels like giving me a thrashing that is exactly what I receive. The waiting up in our room is really the worst time. There I am, naked and draped over a couple of pillows on the centre of our bed with the instruments of correction either lying on top of me or right beside me. I know (or at least think I know) what I am in for. My ears are very attuned to every sound I hear from the kitchen. My wife is heard rattling around, doing a whole lot of things, I presume, wholly unrelated to my impending spanking. I think to myself during this interminable waiting time, “I wish she would hurry up and get this thing over with.” My tension level keeps on ramping up to a higher and higher level. Yes, I am fearful of what is about to happen and yet at the very same time I really do want it to happen! Eventually I hear her footsteps coming down the hallway and know that it will all soon be underway.
When I introduced my wife to BDSM spanking (by hitting myself with an implement – can’t remember which one at this point of time, which I had purchased from an Adult Shop – it may have been a crop) I gave myself some 500 strokes on my bare bum, which of course considerably reddened it! Ha ha! I told her, “See it has not done me any harm and you can see how much it has excited me.” This was evidenced by my rampant erection. I said,”Next time I would like you to apply the implement.” She did!
I had always heard that the person giving the thrashings got turned on too, as well as the person receiving, but I did not really believe it. I had thought that they were doing it solely for the pleasure of the one receiving. But Pam was wet. I discovered that when she invited me to touch her. Yes, I discovered that she was very wet indeed.
After ten years of marriage I still love vanilla sex. Each time I come inside Pam is just as much a thrill as the first time. “Yes!” I say to myself, “I can still do this,” and it gives me as much of a charge as the very first time. Yet Pam spanking me adds a very thrilling dimension to our sex life. I don’t fully understand why this is so but just know that it is. It most likely is because in consensual BDSM Spanking the one receiving knows that the giver will not permanently injure you, it is not abuse, which I am very much opposed to. The surrender of control says in a very powerful way, “I trust you and know that you will not in any way harm me. Yes, what you are about to do will hurt me, but I know that you will not take me beyond my ability to bare. Yes, at times you will extend my limits and I’ll discover that my ability to bear the pain is much greater than I would have thought.”
Sometimes, indeed most times, I enjoy the spankings. I love the feel of leather being applied to my bare bottom, or hands. Sometimes I think that it is harder than I can bear. The mind most certainly plays tricks with you. I had really thought that when Pam was caning me that she was using full force. In actual fact she was horrified that I thought she was doing that! She was only using her forearm. Of course, what is actually happening is that your brain releases those wonderful chemicals, endorphins, in response to the pain. The recipient drifts off into that dreamlike state, that state of euphoria called sub-space.
Well Rod, I started off supposedly commenting on a story here and ended up giving a rant on the whole spanking scene! I think that I need a jolly good thrashing! Perhaps you may consider writing a story where you do just that. Ha ha!
I will close now after reading what I have just written to my wife, prior to posting. Keep writing those great stories! I, along with your other select group of readers I have no doubt, enjoy what you write here…
Content © 2012 by Strapmenow