♥ Site recommended story ♥
Brand new spanking fiction by guest author Macstrap – strictly over 18s only!
I have always been attracted to men in uniform, police, army, firefighters, but mainly policemen. If I saw one on foot patrol I would follow him, admiring his body and the equipment he carried, handcuffs, baton, noticing the fit of his uniform and his well-polished boots.
I was on the lookout for a new job. The one I had since leaving college was becoming boring and repetitious and seemed to be going nowhere. After scanning the situations vacant columns in local newspapers for several weeks, I was immediately attracted to a vacancy at the town’s main police station. The post was described as an administration officer and the list a responsibilities was nothing I couldn’t tackle with ease. I phoned the number given and requested an application form which I completed and returned along with a copy of my CV.
After an anxious wait of over three weeks I received a letter inviting me for an interview. I spent the time before the interview thinking about what questions they might ask and what my replies should be. The day of the interview arrived; I dressed smartly determined to make a good first impression. There were three people on the interview panel, a senior police officer, the administration manager and a representative from the human resources department.
The interview seemed to be going well. A lot of the questions I had anticipated were asked and I had my answer ready. Then the senior police officer asked why I wanted that particular job. I didn’t think my truthful reply that I wanted to be around hunky police officers would do anything for my chances so, thinking on my feet, I replied that I wanted to support the police in what I imagined was at times a difficult job. This seemed to go down well with the interview panel and I was told that they would be in touch.
I had an agonising wait of 48 hours before I received a phone call offering me the job which, of course, I accepted. There followed another month of form filling, security checks and working out my notice before I actually started the job.
The day finally arrived. I was shown to what was to be my office and introduced to a mature police constable, PC Reg Freer, who was retiring after doing the admin job for the past two years. This coincided with the post being civilianised. My small office was on the ground floor of the police station unlike the main admin offices which were on the first floor. The ground floor was where the operational side of the station was and as my main duties were concerned with operational matters, that’s where I was conveniently located.
As each shift finished the officers brought to my office intelligence reports, completed summonses and warrants, vehicle logs and overtime claim forms. PC Freer explained how to process these and where they all should go. He explained that I may meet a little resistance at first; some officers are against civilianisation, but providing I was pleasant and helpful I should be OK.
I was delighted that to reach the nearest toilet facilities I had to cross the corridor to the locker room which contained the toilets and showers. If I was really lucky I might catch a glimpse of an officer clad only in a towel emerging from the showers. I perhaps visited the locker room more than was necessary. I found its aroma of masculinity a real turn on.
Eventually PC Freer left and I was on my own. I had started to choose my favourites out of the many officers that came to my office. I picked out one in particular, PC Craig Russell, early 30s, well over 6 feet tall and with a muscular build. His uniform fitted perfectly showing an attractive backside and an inviting bulge at the front. I even managed to check his personal record and discovered that he was single which made him even more interesting.
About two months into the job I was giving out wage slips to the officers coming on duty. These included Craig Russell who came in to the office to collect his before he had fully changed for duty. He wore a black leather jacket over his uniform shirt which somehow increased his appeal. A few moments later he was back holding his wage slip which he had removed from its envelope.
He approached my desk. “There’s something wrong here. I’ve not been paid for last month’s overtime.”
One of my responsibilities is to collate all authorised overtime claims and send them off to headquarters. I went to a filing cabinet and took out last month’s return hoping to find the mistake was made at headquarters, but looking down the list there was no entry for PC Craig Russell so it was my mistake. I put the list down on my desk aware that Craig was behind me looking over my shoulder. I was distracted by his intoxicating scent, a manly smell combined with the natural smell of his leather jacket.
“So, where’s my name?” he asked stretching further over my shoulder.
I was unsure of what to say. “I… I’m sorry” I stammered, “It looks like I accidentally missed you off the list”.
PC Russell looked annoyed. “It never happened when Reg was doing the job. Just make sure it’s put right… OK?”
“Yes, sure… Look, I’m really sorry, it won’t happen again” I assured him.
“It better not, or else I’ll make an official complaint” was his parting shot as he left the office.
Fortunately, after a phone call to headquarters, I managed to arrange for an extra payment to me made to PC Russell to cover his overtime. I just hoped this wouldn’t be held against me as was on a six month probationary period.
Later, when the early shift had all gone and the afternoon shift had all left the station, I crossed the corridor to the locker room. As I passed by the lines of lockers, one grabbed my attention. The locker was slightly open and a familiar leather jacket hung over the top corner of the door. Sure enough the name on the locker was PC Russell. Remembering the intoxicating smell from earlier, I put my face into the jacket and inhaled deeply… wonderful! The locker door swung open further, inside I saw a used T-shirt which I grabbed and sniffed, increasing my excitement.
Suddenly there was a shout behind me “WHAT THE…?”
I turned and to my horror saw that whilst I had been enjoying myself, PC Russell had entered the locker room. Grabbing me he slammed me face first into the locker forcing my right arm up my back.
“Looks like I’ve caught you in the act” he hissed in my ear. “What you looking for… my wallet… money? You won’t find any so you’re in the shit for nothing.”
“I wasn’t trying to steal anything, honestly, you’ve got to believe me” I panicked.
“Oh yes, so what were you doing? It better be good or else I’ll take you straight to custody and charge you with attempted theft” he retorted releasing his arm lock and turning me round.
What was I going to say? There seemed to be no other explanation I could give other than the truth.
“I was smelling your leather jacket and then I saw you T-shirt” I confessed in little more than a whisper.
PC Russell grinned. “So, you’re a little faggot. It’s been noticed how much time you spend in here, now we know why. The next thing is how I deal with you.”
“Please don’t report me, I really like this job” I pleaded.
“First you lose my last month’s overtime, now you interfere with my personal property. You can’t expect to get away Scott free, so are you going to accept my punishment?”
“Yes, but please don’t report me” I pleased.
“OK, this is the deal. Meet me when I finish duty at 10 o’clock at the top end of the car park, don’t be late, I won’t hang about waiting for you” he warned.
I returned to the station in plenty of time and stood in the shadow of the building at the top of the car park as instructed. At 10 o’clock I heard the late shift leaving and saw cars being driven out of the car park. A few minutes later I saw PC Russell approaching, he had changed from his uniform top into his leather jacket, but apart from that was still in uniform.
“Glad to see you’re here” he said grabbing me and turning me to face the wall holding my arms behind my back. I heard a click and my wrists were handcuffed into position.
“We’re going for a drive to my place to get you sorted out” he told be leading me none too gently towards his car. I was pushed into the back seat and the seatbelt fastened around me.
We drove to his place, a small, modern house on a development on the outskirts of the town. He parked in the driveway, opened the rear door, released the seatbelt and guided me out and towards his front door. Inside he took me to a sitting room, drew down the blinds and looked me over for a few seconds.
“So, you definitely agree to take my punishment?” he asked.
“Yes” I almost whispered.
He produced his keys and released the handcuffs “Right, strip” he ordered.
“Sorry, what?” I asked, confused.
“You heard … STRIP” he shouted.
I then began to realise what he may have in mind, but it was preferable to the alternative. I took off my top followed by my trainers, socks and jeans leaving just my boxer shorts.
PC Russell took off his jacket and threw it over a chair. I caught a whiff of its manly scent. He then caught me by the arm and roughly yanked down my boxers before sitting down, pulling me over his knee and then completely removing my boxers leaving me naked.
“Firstly I’ll deal with the lost overtime. You need to learn to be less careless and this may help” he told me as he positioned me squarely across his knees.
SMACK! He brought his big, heavy hand down hard across both buttocks. I had always thought that hand spanking was a fairly light punishment for kids, but the way PC Russell was dishing it out was anything but light. As the smacks continued I squirmed about on his lap, my cock rubbing up against the rough serge of his uniform trousers causing my cock to become harder and harder. The punishment was hurting, but at the same time I felt a kind of pleasure at receiving this sort of attention.
Finally the smacks stopped and PC Russell hauled me to my feet. My cock was rock hard. He started at it for a moment whilst I rubbed my red hot arse cheeks furiously.
“Looks like you enjoyed that” he observed. “Let’s see if you feel the same after the next bit. We’ve still got interfering with my property to deal with and in my book that’s a lot more serious.”
The next thing I knew PC Russell was again securing me in his handcuffs, this time at the front and guiding me towards a large leather armchair.
“Bend over the back and stay there until I tell you otherwise” he instructed. I did as he said, leaving my backside high and exposed.
“Legs further apart” he ordered, encouraging my feet to the sides with his boot.
When he was satisfied with my position, PC Russell moved to the side of the chair, I could see him in my peripheral vision stripping off his shirt, unbuckling his uniform belt and pulling it free from the loops. As he removed it I could see it was wide and of thick leather. He folded it double and swiped it across his hand.
“So, you like the smell of leather, see how you like this” he said as he hung the belt near my face so I could smell its scent. “Only this time you’re going to feel some leather, some heavy police leather.”
I grabbed the chair harder waiting for the first stroke. It came with a loud crack high on my arse re-igniting the heat of the previous spanking. Further stokes followed getting lower. I ground my teeth trying not to cry out, but not completely successfully. As when I was being spanked, my cock was getting harder, this time rubbing on the leather of the chair. PC Russell certainly knew how to use a belt leading me to think that this wasn’t his first time.
I had probably received about 10 strokes when my cock was so hard I knew I was going to cum and, at that moment, I understood something I had read about the thin line between pain and pleasure. The belting was painful, but being administered by a man I seriously fancied which seemed to make the difference. Also I was close to cumming and on the next stroke, with a load groan, I ejaculated on the back of the leather chair.
PC Russell seemed to have noticed and grabbing me by the arm, pulled me to my feet. The evidence was on the back of the chair. He forced my head down onto the sticky mess.
“Lick it clean you filthy little faggot” he ordered.
I did as he said desperately wanting to rub my red hot stinging arse cheeks, but the handcuffs prevented me. When the back of the chair was clean he pushed me backover.
“No more, I’m sorry, honestly” I pleased.
PC Russell laughed “Don’t worry; I’ve got something else in mind now.”
I instantly knew what this was when he flung his belt down and I heard a zip being undone followed by his hands on my thighs pulling me onto his hard cock. He was good, very good, occasionally encouraging me with further slaps on my arse.
Eventually he collapsed onto me dripping in sweat. “Well done” he said. “You’ve passed the test.”
“What test” I asked.
PC Russell stood up, helped me to my feet and released the handcuffs. “The first time I saw you I suspected you were a faggot” he explained. “I’m on the lookout for my own faggot so you played into my hands. Come with me.”
I followed him into a spare bedroom containing just a bare bed and a double door cupboard. He opened the doors. On each door was a rail with objects handing. A flogger, leather paddles, belts, and restraints. Hanging inside the cupboard was leather clothing and a full leather harness.
“So, what’s your answer?” PC Russell asked.
What else could I say but ‘yes’? There were going to be some exciting times ahead.
D I S C L A I M E R
All characters appearing in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to real businesses or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Story and photography © MMXIV by Macstrap
All rights reserved
Used here by very kind permission of the author
Comments are here
♥ Site recommended story ♥
Spanking fiction by new guest author Macstrap – strictly over 18s only!
D I S C L A I M E R
All characters appearing in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to real businesses or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
I had seen him at the gym before, mid-twenties, about ten years younger than me. He was often there at the same time as me when I had finished my late shift, late evening, just before it closed. Had he been watching me or was it just my imagination? A couple of times I caught him looking in my direction and once watching me through the mirror that covered one wall.
Having finished my workout and went to the changing room to shower and change. When I was in one of the shower cubicles I heard someone enter the cubicle next to me, it could have been him, there were very few people still in the gym.
I finished my shower, returned to the changing room and started to dress. He suddenly appeared from the shower area with just a towel around his waist. He removed his kit bag from a locker but seemed in no hurry to dress. I had my back to him as I fastened my jeans but I felt he was watching. I turned and he grinned at me.
Nice belt, he said.
Bet it’s seen loads of action.
He was right, but how did he know?
What makes you say that? I asked.
Simple, he replied.
I can see the creases of a fold at the back. That means only one thing, it’s been folded double many times and a belt is only folded double for one reason.
He was right of course; it was one of my favourites, it came with my uniform, wide, thick solid leather, kept supple by regular polishing with leather dressing. A belt that had often been used to deliver what my father used to call a good leathering. But it was not being used as often as I would like despite me being a member of a club for the like-minded.
I focused my attention on the younger man in front of me.
That’s very observant of you and you’re right, so what’s your interest? I asked.
Well, he explained.
It’s one of my main interests, I’ve seen you here before, always wearing a decent belt, and I’ve been looking out for the tell-tale creasing. When I say interest I mean I’m interested in some action and I’m looking someone who knows how to give.
I was a bit surprised that he was so forthcoming, he obviously trusted me, perhaps I should pursue this further.
Had much experience? I enquired.
A bit, but I am finding it difficult to meet anyone I can trust, which is why I decided to try and speak to you today, he confessed.
My interest was being aroused.
OK, so perhaps I should see the target area, I suggested.
He was still dressed in only his towel and we were the only two in the changing room. Without hesitating he stripped off the towel and turned his back to me. I was more than a little impressed by his firm beefy backside, obviously improved by his work at the gym.
Not bad, just step a little closer, I asked.
When he was within my reach I planted a firm smack across both cheeks. He didn’t flinch, just grinned and ran a hand over the now reddening skin and asked,
Can I ask you something now?
Sure, I replied.
Any chance of me seeing your belt close up?
I don’t see why not, I replied and unbuckled the belt, slid it out of the loops and handed it to him.
He examined it closely, brought it up to his face and took a whiff of its aroma, then folded it double and smacked it on his hand before commenting,
That’s a fantastic belt, one of the best I’ve ever seen, would you use it on me?
I was a little surprised at his direct approach, but if that’s what he wanted.
OK, sure, if that’s what you want, but not here, how about my place? I suggested as he handed the belt back
Really, what you mean now?
No time like the present, yes, we could go now if you’re definitely serious, I told him.
Never more serious in my life. Hey, we haven’t introduced ourselves, I’m Carl. He offered me his hand and we shook. He had a firm, manly handshake. I was beginning to like this guy.
I’m Dean, well for the moment anyway, that may change, I warned him.
He looked confused, then the meaning hit him,
Oh, you mean I should call you sir?
Not until we’re in role, Dean will do for now, I told him.
I waited for him to dress and we headed out to the car park.
Follow me, it’s not far, when we get to my place park behind me in the driveway. I watched him in the rear view mirror as he followed me out of the car park.
Carl followed me closely until we arrived at my place, then pulled up behind me on the drive. I unlocked my door and invited him in. He looked a little nervous as I led him into the sitting room so I decided to help him relax a little.
Fancy a beer before we start? I asked, hoping that would help.
I fetched two beers from the kitchen fridge.
So, I guess this is your first time in this situation, I suggested.
Carl thought for a moment,
Well, yes, sort of. I haven’t been spanked since I was a kid.
How do you want to play this then? I enquired.
Will you need any restraint?
Restraint. He repeated.
Some people prefer to be retrained, so it could be rope or handcuffs.
Carl looked a little shocked.
You’ve got handcuffs, How come?
Should I tell him I wondered, yes, why not?
Because I’m a police officer of course.
I watched his reaction, a mixture of disbelief and shock.
Don’t worry I assured him,
You’re not doing anything illegal.
Carl looked a little more relaxed.
If you’re sure. It’s just that I wasn’t expecting that, but thinking about it I quite like the idea. Hey! Have you got your uniform?
Yes, sure, so if that’s what you want we can start any time you like, I replied.
How about now? What do you want me to do? Carl asked.
Go upstairs, spare bedroom at the back, strip to your briefs and wait for me, hands on head, I ordered.
Without a further word Carl did as I ordered and I followed him upstairs and into my own room to change into uniform. I took the belt that Carl had commented on from my jeans; it was my police uniform belt and transferred it to my uniform trousers. When I was in full uniform including my highly polished boots, I approached the rear bedroom and opened the door. Carl was standing exactly as I had ordered stripped to his briefs, his other clothes placed over a chair and with his hands on his head.
I’m pleased to see you can carry out orders, I said, slipping effortlessly into role.
Yes, Carl almost whispered.
Yes WHAT? I shouted into his face.
Yes sir, sorry sir, Carl replied.
That’s better, just remember in the future. I needed Carl to know who was in charge.
Now, take off your briefs.
Without hesitation he took his hands from his head, hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his briefs, pushed then down and stepped out of them returning his hands to his head. Despite his obvious apprehension he was semi-erect.
It was time for some action.
Right, I said.
You know why you’re here, face down on the bed.
Removing his hands from his head Carl crossed to the bed and did as instructed.
Now bring your knees up to the kneeling position keeping your head touching the bed, I ordered.
Carl shuffled his knees into position turning his head slightly to the left where I was standing. I produced my handcuffs and cuffed his left wrist bringing his arm to the rear behind his knees, then taking his right wrist behind his knees and securing it into the handcuffs. His backside was now slightly raised in the perfect position and he was almost immobile.
Slowly I unbuckled by belt and folded it double, aware that Carl was still watching me. I was in no hurry, I ran my hand over his cheeks, admiring his firm, beefy buttocks. I prepared for the first stroke and landed it squarely across the centre of his buttocks giving, what was, to me, the satisfying sound of leather on bare skin. He flinched slightly but made no sound but I noticed slightly heavier breathing. I watched a red stripe form and then landed a second stroke. Again Carl made little or no sound but I noticed him raise his backside slightly as if inviting further punishment.
The first two strokes had been of moderate strength, perhaps something heavier was needed. I delivered four further whacks slightly harder working my way lower down his buttocks. This produced a sharp intake of breath indicating they were having the desired effect.
After six strokes I again ran my hand over his cheeks. They were now glowing red and were warming up nicely.
Lovely, I commented.
Perhaps another six to make the point.
To my surprise Carl answered
I delivered the next strokes much harder trying to provoke a reaction. After two Carl moaned and shouted
Ouch. The final three I delivered full strength on the sit spot, this produced a cry of
Ahhh shit. I think I these had done the trick.
Again I ran my hand over the increasingly glowing red buttocks. Carl would have some pretty impressive bruising for a few days. I unlocked and removed the handcuffs. Carl’s hand immediately went to his backside and rubbed furiously.
Up! I shouted,
Hands on head.
Carl stood and placed his hands on his head although it was obvious he would have liked to continue rubbing. I walked round him, belt still in hand admiring my handiwork. To my surprise he sported a fully erect cock.
I stood in front of him and held the belt which had just furiously leathered his backside up to his face so he could smell its scent.
There’s plenty more where that came from if you don’t change your ways, I reminded him.
Yes sir, thank you sir, Carl replied politely.
I grinned at him to indicate we had done.
See you downstairs, I said as I left the room to change out of my uniform.
Use the shower if you want to, there’s towels in the bathroom cupboard. I was thinking he may want to cool down his burning buttocks. He also may want to take care of that erection!
I had been downstairs for about 20 minutes when Carl reappeared, freshly showered and gently lowered himself into a chair which, fortunately, had a soft seat cushion.
Enjoy that? I asked with a grin.
From the look of your cock you did.
Yes sir… sorry Dean, he corrected, realising we were now out of role.
That was fantastic, just what I wanted. You’re a real expert, he commented.
I’d offer you another beer but I’m not encouraging you to drink any more before you drive, so how about a coffee or a soft drink? I asked.
A soft drink would be fine, thanks, replied Carl,
And then I must go, I’ve got an early start tomorrow.
Carl finished his drink and got up to leave.
Thanks again, you were great, he said as he offered me his hand.
I took his hand and shook, then to my surprise he let go of my hand and embraced me in a man hug.
Hope to see you again sometime soon, he said as he approached the door.
I’ve left my number upstairs, phone any time.
I watched as he reversed out of the drive and wondered if I would see him again. Somehow I think I will.
Story © MMXIII by Macstrap
All rights reserved
Used here by very kind permission of the author
Comments are here
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
erotic fiction by your host, Rod Cayenne
THE STORY SO FAR: At the ripe old age of 75, Dad has taken to thrashing his 52-year-old son, Peter. Both men find gratification from this.
Part 1 is here
Now read on for Part 2:
Dad’s trusty old cane thrashed down on the naked buttocks of prodigal son Peter.
“Owww!” Peter cried. He could usually take his strokes stoically, but this seventeenth stroke hurt beyond belief!
The eighteenth bitter-sweet stroke lashed down.
Outside the study door, the sound of leather crop and rattan cane on bare flesh had sent Duke the Cairn Terrier into a barking frenzy. It was ever thus.
The thrashings took place every Friday evening. To start with they had been after the gents had enjoyed their fish and chip suppers. Latterly, however, Dad had taken to sending Peter out to buy the food after his thrashing. Peter would therefore stand in Pam’s Fish Bar with a red hot bottom, almost hotter than the food on offer! On returning home, Peter would sit awkwardly at the dining table facing his father.
This evening was no different. Peter’s pert bottom throbbed and burnt from the eighteen strokes. His face was flushed with embarrassment, or was it sexual excitement? This particular evening, Dad also looked rather red-faced. He leant over and touched his son’s hand.
“I hope that thrashing has taught you a lesson, my naughty boy. Now, listen. I want you to share my bed tonight, son.”
“Yes, why not? And we’ll both be naked, won’t we? I want to have a good talk about your spanking and caning interests, Peter. Pass the ketchup, please.”
“Dad, this is kinky, kinkier than we should allow ourselves to be.”
“Nonsense, son! We’ve a shared interest. Now, I want to share it more intimately.”
“Dad, you really are incorrigible!”
“Maybe son, maybe. Are you up for it, then?”
“Well, yes, as long as you don’t tell anyone. Especially Sandy, if you ever bump into her.”
“Mum’s the word!”
“How about an early night then, Dad? These fish and chips always send me into a bit of a drowsy kind of slump.”
“I’ll decide when son. Is that clear?”
As if on cue, Peter felt a shooting pain, just where the crop and cane had done their very dirty work.
“Yes Dad. Perfectly clear.”
“Good boy. I could always give you a reminder of who makes the decisions around here.”
“No Dad, no reminders necessary. You’ve made a firm impression already.”
Was that innuendo, or cheek? It didn’t matter.
“You will have a bath at nine o’clock and then come and join me in bed, naked. In the meantime, you can wash up when we’ve finished eating.”
“Son! It’s nine o’clock! Toilet and bath now. Don’t forget your teeth. Oh, and take the cane and crop from my study and put them on my bed, will you?”
“Errr, yes Dad. Of course.”
Peter wasn’t too sure he liked the sound of all this. He was being treated like a kid. Told when to use the toilet indeed! Nevertheless, he was excited and felt his cock stiffen as he called into the study to pick up the cane and crop. Already they had wreaked havoc that day. Now it seemed that an encore was in prospect. It was only a few hours later, but Peter was craving more punishment, especially as it seemed to fit in with his father’s plans.
Peter entered his father’s bedroom. It stank of cigar smoke, and there sat on the bedcovers was Duke. More worryingly, Peter could see his handcuffs, confiscated by his father, lying on the bedside table. Next to them, was a well-used tube of lube. Peter gulped with dread, placing the cane and crop down carefully on the bed. Duke barked at him.
Peter made his way to the bathroom. Soon the taps were running, and Peter sat on the toilet, which reminded him how sore his bottom was.
Dad popped his head round the door.
“Good lad! I’ll be in later to soap you down.”
Peter rolled his eyes. He couldn’t even have a shit in peace, it seemed.
A few minutes later, Peter was enjoying his hot bath when the door swung open. Peter was astonished to see Pam the proprietor of the chip shop stood holding the cane, and Dad just behind her.
“Your father has invited me round to join in the fun! Lucy is minding the shop. I’ll be caning you both tonight! Hurry up and get dry! This cane needs some use!”
She swished the cane down and chuckled. “Two strokes for each minute it takes you! You’d better hurry up!”
Peter pulled the plug out and smiled to himself. By the time he got to the bedroom, his father was stood naked and handcuffed.
“Five minutes! Ten strokes! Your father will be getting the same. Peter you can go second.”
It was the first time Peter had seen his father naked. For a 75-year old, his body was in surprisingly good shape. His bottom was most attractive, pert and hairy. Peter was also naked, after his bath. Unlike his father, Peter had a stonkingly stiff erection. Pam gazed at it lovingly as she flexed the cane. She was particularly fond of uncircumcised penises. She flexed the swishy rattan cane again. Oh yes, it was going to be a night of revelations!
© Rod Cayenne, 2012
erotic fiction by your host, Rod Cayenne
Peter was moving in with his father. The old man, now 75, needed a little looking after, and as Peter was penniless after a messy divorce, it made sense for the two men to pool their resources.
Dad shook his son’s hand firmly to welcome him back to the old family home. It was a generous four-bedroom property with ample room for just the two of them. However, as Peter had become a bit of a hoarder over the years, the place was soon cluttered by a large number of cardboard boxes full of his belongings, ephemera and junk. The clutter became a source of friction between the two men, as Dad had always liked things “just so.”
As it happened, one day Dad tripped over a pile of the boxes. Luckily he was unhurt, but the contents of one of the boxes spilt out everywhere. Riding crops and school canes fell onto the floor. The two men looked at each other. 52-year-old Peter blushed just like a teenager. Dad’s Cairn Terrier, Duke, barked furiously at the upset. Who would blink first? In the end, it was Dad, “Well, son. What a revelation! A bit kinky, are we? No wonder Sandy left you! You’d better put them away. We’ll talk about it later.”
Peter scrambled on the floor, picking up the various implements of correction. He blushed furiously as he placed his “toys” back in the box. Duke barked again, and Dad couldn’t resist a chuckle.
The two men spoke little over the fish and chip supper. Peter felt awful, and he could sense some amusement from his father. How Peter wished he had hidden that particular box in the bedroom he’d been allocated.
“Alright Peter. That was a nice meal, thank you. Now, we have something to discuss, haven’t we? Bring the box, we’re going to my study.”
The study was one of the nicest rooms in the old house. It was light and airy, with the sunshine streaming through the window that autumn evening. Peter put the box down on the desk and his father sat down, facing his son.
“Well now. I think you have some explaining to do, Peter. Take the lid off the box and talk me through the contents, please.”
Peter picked up a traditional school cane. It was golden brown, three feet long and had a curved handle. “Well, you should recognise this one Dad! It’s your old cane!”
“Whaaat? Give it to me this instant!” Dad was handed the cane, and he flexed and swished it, just like old times. He pointed it at Peter and said, “It is my old cane! Lovely, but I thought I told you to throw it away? That was a long time ago now. And you’ve kept it all these years?”
“Well yes. I was going to throw it away but then I didn’t, Dad.”
“Evidently not! Has it seen a lot of use since then?”
“Oh yes, I’ll say!”
“And have you been on the receiving end or the giving end?”
“I’d rather not say, Dad!”
CRACK! Dad slashed the cane down on the desk, right in front of Peter.
“I didn’t ask whether you wanted to reply, I asked which end of the cane you were on!”
“Err, right Dad. A bit of both, actually.”
“I see. So you really are kinky then? I’m confiscating this cane, or rather taking it back as it was mine all along. I’ve thought of a use for it.”
Peter gulped. He wasn’t keen on his Dad having a cane again. Dad and cane was a near-lethal combination that brought back painful memories.
“OK Dad, of course, it’s yours to keep.”
“What else have you got in there?”
Peter extracted another cane. He swished it around.
“I got this one at a country fair. It’s a bit thinner and has an awful sting. It’s not quite as nicely finished as yours, and the crook handle isn’t as beautifully curved.”
“Mmmm. I see. Well, you can keep that one. Next!”
“A nice brown leather riding crop bought at the same country fair. It was new, unlike the cane.”
“Let me have a look please. Yes, very nice. Can you spare it?”
“Yes, Dad. You can have it, if you really want it. I’ve got another one here much the same, but in black leather.”
“Oh yes, very nice. Thanks, I will keep the brown one. You’d better hang on to the other one, Peter.”
Dad sniffed the plaited brown leather crop as Peter rummaged further in the box.
“And then I’ve got this one, which is a fluorescent pink. Quite a fun item. Popular with the ladies.”
“A bit effeminate that one. Are you sure you’re not gay?”
“Dad! Sandy chose that one. We got it mail-order from some sex supplies company.”
“Tut, tut. How seedy! What else have you got?”
“Silver handcuffs from the same supplier.”
“I’ll take those, please,” Dad said.
“A straight cane with a rubber handle. Same place again.”
“How does that compare with the others, Peter?”
“It’s a bit of a bruiser. No fun at all. And lastly, there’s this malacca cane. From the old antiques shop in Victoria Avenue. Knobbly and very punishing.”
“Mmmm, yes, it does look like something from an S&M film,” said Dad, much to Peter’s surprise. “So that leaves me with my original cane, and this rather nice brown crop you have given me. Excellent! Oh, and these handcuff thingies. Now go and put that box away in your room. We won’t be needing it again, and I don’t want it tipping out in front of any visitors. See to it, Peter. And then come back for another chat, please.”
Peter took the box up to his room. That chat had been embarrassing. He was a little worried about his Dad.
Back in the study, Dad was flexing his cane. Peter came back in and was blushing again.
“Well, Peter. This has been a day of revelations! It seems my son is what is commonly known as a spanko! With a secret supply of implements of chastisement. Dad thinks this is a bit shocking, you know.”
“Err yes, Dad.”
“Don’t worry, Peter, my boy. I shall keep your secret safe. No-one will find out from me.”
“However, it would be a shame if this crop and cane slipped into retirement. I propose a thrashing for you for all the clutter and the fact that I could have been injured. How does that sound?”
“Dad, come on, you’re joking, surely?”
“No, actually, I’m not. I’m a bit of a spanko, too. Let’s get down to it, shall we?”
“No, Dad. This is all wrong.”
“Right or wrong? Who bloody cares at my age?”
“Well, that’s how I feel. Make the old man happy, please.”
“Well, if you’re sure? And it will be a secret?”
“Of course! Now how about six with the crop for the clutter? And another six, on the bare, for the box business. With the cane, of course.”
“On the bare?”
“Yes, it always was, wasn’t it?”
“Err, of course. But things are different now. I’m 52! Can’t I be allowed a bit of modesty?”
“No! Not appropriate, I feel. You may be 52, but you’re still a naughty boy in my eyes. Now over the desk for six with this beautiful crop.”
Peter bent over the oak desk, just like in times past. It had been over thirty years since he had last bent over it. A rush of excitement consumed him. He grinned and then grimaced as his Dad swished the brown crop through the air. Dad paced up and down the room, swishing the crop some more and smacking it gently on his leg.
“You know, I think this is really going to hurt, Peter,” Dad said. “It could be worse than the cane. Perhaps we’d better have you bare for these as well, so that I can see the marks. I don’t want to get carried away.”
“I’m more worried about you having a heart attack, Dad.”
“Shut up boy! Trousers and underpants down for your father!”
So it was that Peter’s Farah slacks slid down, followed by his cream Marks and Spencer briefs. An unmistakable erection was growing between his legs and pressing against the desk. Dad had no matching stiffness! He hadn’t been troubled by an erection for a long time.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! Dad lashed the crop down enthusiastically on his son’s bottom. Oh boy, was this good!
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! Peter needn’t have doubted his father’s ability to deliver a sound beating. Dad’s handshake and grip were still firm and fatherly, despite the ravages of time.
“Very good, Peter!” Dad admired his handiwork on the naked cheeks. Red marks from the shaft of the crop decorated the arse. Yes, vivid red marks which betrayed the throbbing, burning pain Peter was feeling.
“Gosh, Dad. You haven’t lost your touch at all. My arse is killing me!”
“Language, Peter! Don’t make things worse for yourself. Now for the cane. I’m grateful you didn’t throw it away. But I need to find out if the old beauty still performs.”
The performance didn’t disappoint at all. That cane always was a special one. Its loving, bitter caress was undimmed. Peter gasped and groaned as the cane slashed down, skilfully aimed by his disciplinarian father. Dad criss-crossed the strokes, making a really sore impression. Peter wasn’t broken, but he sure was chastened. He would be a lot tidier in future!
“Fish, chips and chastisement every Friday!” Dad announced to Peter.
“You’re paying, by the way. Think of it as your rent.”
Story © 2012 by Rod Cayenne
Comments and masturbation welcome
Part 2 is available now – click here
Explicit adult fiction by Rod Cayenne
The story so far: Uncle is a silver-haired policeman facing retirement. His disciplinary cane is back in use. His 19-year-old nephew, Gordon, is staying with him for a fortnight, with the aim of curbing excessive masturbation.
Part 1 is here
Part 2 is here
Part 3 is here
Part 4 is here
Part 5 is here
Part 6 is here
Part 7 is here
And now read on for Part 8!
Uncle and Sarge stood in the front room, looking at Gordon slumped asleep on the sofa. “What a dozy lad!” said Sarge. “He could use a bit of a wake-up call!”
In truth, it was an exceptionally hot Saturday afternoon in what had been a dismal summer. It was no wonder Gordon had nodded off. He was a sound sleeper, but soon he would be facing a sound caning! Both men were in their police uniforms and both held a crook-handled cane.
“How are we going to play this then?” asked Sarge.
“Well, I thought maybe we’d cane him at the same time. One of us on the left of him, and one on the right. We’ll alternate strokes. That way, he should get a uniform thrashing. If you’ll excuse the pun!”
“Very good! Looks like he’s stirring a bit. Or maybe not. He looks a bit older than nineteen. We’re caning him bare bottom?”
“Yes of course, it’s got to be that way. Adds to the humiliation. What about handcuffs? Shall we?”
“Oh yes! That would be fun. We’ll beat him police black and police blue to match, shall we?”
“Mmmm, indeed. Glad to see you’re getting into the spirit of things.”
“And I can stay the night?”
“Yes, of course. Although I’m not sure how to organise the sleeping arrangements. Do you want to sleep with Gordon or me or both of us?”
“I suppose a fuck’s out of the question?”
“Well, it is with me. I doubt Gordon will be up for it either as his bottom’s going to be sore as hell. We could have a jolly good wank together though, if you like. Gordon might be up for it as well. Is that what they call a circle jerk?”
“Well, I think you’d probably need more than just the three of us for one of those. But a trio could be fun. Or just the two of us. How are we going to wake him up then?”
“How about I stand by the sofa and cane the top of it? That’ll wake him up and then he’ll see you in your sexy uniform and with a cane in your hand.”
“I like it. I like it a lot!”
It worked a treat! The cane landed on the sofa with a resounding CRACK! Gordon leapt up, startled. Both policemen laughed like mad. Gordon walked over to Sarge and shook his hand, saying, “I’m Gordon, well-known naughty boy and evil masturbator!”
“Let’s get down to it, Gordon! We are going to cane you now. Six strokes each, simultaneously. I will be on the left hand side, and Sarge will be on the right.”
“Cool, thanks Uncle. I’ve been looking forward to it.”
Was he joking? Had he turned into a secret spanko overnight? The boy was full of surprises today.
“Not as much as I have, boy!” said Sarge, bending him over the coffee table. Sarge then took down the lad’s jeans and underpants. An unmarked bottom was clearly displayed. Sarge gave it a quick SMACK! Suddenly, Uncle grabbed Gordon’s arms and snapped on the handcuffs!
“Shit!” exclaimed Gordon.
“WATCH YOUR MOUTH!” warned Sarge. The two policemen took up position behind Gordon, the double beating was about to commence!
“Aargh!” cried Gordon as the left and right canes thrashed his arse.
“OWWW!” It was a double-whammy alright!
“Oooh!” The canes hit home.
“Ow, ow, OW!” The heat and pain from the double strokes was immense.
“OOOH! No more please, Uncle! Sarge!”
“Right, get up Gordon! That’s all for now,” explained Uncle, “but there will be more later or in the morning. Sarge will be staying overnight as your guest. Is that clear?”
Well, it wasn’t really clear at all, but Gordon had no choice but to play along, “Yes, of course, Uncle.” Sarge unlocked the handcuffs.
“Right, come here!” Sarge instructed Gordon. Sarge slapped Gordon’s face, saying, “That’s for the foul language!”
Uncle started barking orders next, “Gordon, take all your clothes off. Take both canes and go and wait for us in my bed.”
Gordon left the room feeling subdued, with a sore bottom and wounded pride. In fact, everything was just as it should be! He closed the door. Sarge and Uncle spent a few minutes of quality time on the sofa, kissing and cuddling.
“Right, let’s go and see him then,” said Uncle.
story © 2012 by Rod Cayenne
Erotic fiction by Rod Cayenne
The story so far: Uncle is a silver-haired policeman soon to be facing retirement. His disciplinary cane is back in use. His 19-year old nephew, Gordon, is staying with him for a fortnight, with the aim of curbing excessive masturbation.
Part 1 is here
Part 2 is here
Part 3 is here
Part 4 is here
Part 5 is here
Part 6 is here
And now Part 7!
“Aha! What are you doing Gordon?”
Uncle had caught him masturbating in the bathroom.
“Oh I thought you were on the phone, Uncle.”
“Not good enough, my boy. I thought I’d made it clear that there was to be no masturbating in my house! You’ve been caught red-handed. And soon you will be red bottomed!”
“But Uncle you don’t understand. I’m nineteen, I have to do it! Weren’t you ever my age?”
“What a stupid question, Gordon. That will cost you extra strokes. And to think you questioned the appropriateness of my erection the other day!”
“I’m sorry Uncle.”
“Well, I’ll tell you what we’ll do Gordon. You can finish masturbating and then you can report to me in the front room.”
“Thank you, Uncle.”
“You won’t be thanking me soon, Gordon.”
“No, I suppose not.”
Uncle disappeared and Gordon sat down on the edge of the bath. Soon he was pumping his cock for all it was worth. His fingers played with the head and then he tightened his grip on the shaft. He was fantasising but it wasn’t some lithe beauty in his thoughts, it was his handsome uncle, his erection and his cane! The spunk came copiously. For a laugh, Gordon wiped himself clean using his uncle’s bath towel. If he was going to be punished, he might as well do something bad, he thought to himself. He got up but was pretty exhausted. He sat down on the loo seat for a couple of minutes. Uncle was soon calling him…
“Come on Gordon! I haven’t got all day!”
Down in the front room Uncle was waiting flexing the cane.
“How many Gordon?”
“That’s up to you Uncle.”
Gordon stared at the floor.
“Nineteen, I think Gordon, since you had the cheek to ask me if I’d ever been that age!”
“That’s a lot Uncle, but you know best.”
“Yes, I do. Now, I want all your clothes off!”
Slowly Gordon peeled off his clothes. This was getting to be a familiar experience.
“That’s it. I’m glad to see your cock has calmed down.”
“Yes Uncle.” This was all so humiliating for Gordon.
“Now, hold your hands out in front of you.”
“Eh?” said Gordon. Surely uncle wasn’t going to cane his hands instead of his bottom? What a terrifying thought!
“Just do it!” Uncle snapped.
Gordon held his hands out, only to find Uncle snapping a pair of handcuffs on them!
“Oh!” said Gordon, somewhat shocked.
“Yes! It won’t be easy for you to masturbate with those on, will it?”
“But Uncle, you let me finish off.”
“Yes, I did. That was a kindness you didn’t really deserve. I’ll have to make up for it with some unkindness shortly. Now, go and stand over there!” Uncle pointed to a corner of the room with his cane. Gordon made his way over, totally naked and with his hands securely cuffed in front of him.
Uncle put the cane down and picked up his phone.
“Hello Sarge! Yes, things are fine. Yes, I’m just going to cane him again now. If you want to come over Saturday evening, you can give him a good thrashing too. No, no, the marks should have faded by then. You want to listen to his thrashing now? OK, but you might want to put it on the speaker, so you and the other lads can hear it properly. How many, you say? Nineteen! Maybe one extra for luck. Maybe I’ll use the new cane so his bottom’s nice and clear for you on Saturday. No it doesn’t mark quite as much as the old one. I’ll try to make it sting though! OK I’ll put the phone right here by the arm of the sofa so that all of you can hear everything. OK.”
Gordon had gone pale. He’d heard every word of course. He was his uncle’s plaything and now there was to be an audience, at a distance.
“Bend over then Gordon. I’ll just get the other cane.”
Uncle had obviously been practicing with this cane because it stung far more than last time .
Gordon was squirming and sweating. This was bad, bad news. Now that uncle had got the feel for this cane, it seemed like the sting was even worse than the old police-issue one! To make matters worse, the handcuffs were uncomfortable. At least Gordon could be sure he wouldn’t get an erection while he was so humiliated.
“Owwww!” At last Gordon was sharing his pain! Uncle smiled contentedly and, down the phone line Sarge and his colleagues laughed aloud. They were enjoying their camaraderie, almost as if they were at a football match.
“Harder! Beat him to a pulp!” shouted Sarge. The other police laughed and clapped. Fortunately for Gordon, Uncle did not seem to hear the advice coming down the phone line. Gordon felt tears welling in his eyes. It wasn’t the pain. It was the humiliation. Surely his parents wouldn’t approve of all this?
Maybe it was the pain, after all…
story © 2012 by Rod Cayenne
Erotic fiction by Rod Cayenne
What a sexy girl Penny was. Always dressed fashionably in a mini skirt and boots. She reminded me of Bobbie Gentry, but perhaps a little more innocent looking. She was part typist, part stenographer. I’d rescued her from the grim abyss that was the company’s typing pool. I needed a secretary and I felt that I could mould and guide her into that role. Her interview for the job had been a sham as Alan the Personnel Manager and I had already decided the outcome. We’d worked it all out over steaks and beers at the local Berni.
And so it was that I took Penny to her first sales conference. I was scheduled to make one of the last of the key speeches. Imagine my horror when I found that Penny had forgotten to bring my carefully duplicated photostat notes! I gave her a stern telling off! We arranged to meet in my motel room to work on some replacement notes. Although Penny had typed up the original notes, she could remember little of the content. Fortunately I could, as I had been particularly proud of the speech. I dictated the speech again and told Penny that I would need a double-spaced typed copy.
“How am I going to manage that? I don’t have a typewriter! I suppose there might be some typing bureaux in the city?” Tears were welling in her eyes.
“That I doubt. Even the pubs are shut on a Sunday in this place,” I said to her firmly and finally.
“Oh George, what am I to do?”
Fortunately, I had come up with alternative arrangements.
“I’ve spoken to the motel manager. He has agreed that you may use his secretary’s machine. It’s a top of the range IBM electric model, I believe. So it may be a little more sophisticated than the one back at the office. We will be meeting his secretary, Miss Davies at 4.30 so that she can run through how the machine works.”
“Oh George, thank you so much!”
At the appointed time I took Penny down to meet Miss Davies. Penny was a little taken back by the secretary’s stern manner.
“You should give the forgetful minx a good thrashing!” she said.
The ten pound note I had slipped Miss Davies for that one-liner was paying dividends as Penny looked shame-faced and nodded with embarrassment.
An hour and a half later, there was a knock on my motel room door. It was Penny with the double-spaced speech. I gave her a hug. She burst into tears.
“Hey, hey, there’s no need for that my girl!” I said reassuringly.
“Oh George! I felt so guilty. And embarrassed when Miss Davies said that I deserved a good thrashing.”
“Well she was right there, don’t you think?”
“There’s no maybe about it. Of course you do! I expect you used to get thrashed at school? “
“Oh yes. All the time! Strap and cane. Cane and strap!”
“It just so happens that I have a cane in my golf bag.”
“I see, George. Then it’s almost as if you were expecting me to slip up.”
“Yes, maybe I was having a psychic moment!”
“The hell you were George Jackson! You’re a real fraud, but it just so happens that a good caning is just what I need to clear my conscience.”
She strolled over and emptied my golf bag before I could stop her. Golf clubs and balls, tees, a crook handled school cane, a brown riding crop, black handcuffs and a schoolboy cap all fell out. She picked up the handcuffs and cap and waved them at me.
“It seems that I have rather a kinky boss!” She laughed at me.
“Er yes, Penny. I can explain!”
“Don’t bother. You’re not the first kinky man I’ve met. I will however take that caning from you because I have let you down.”
“That’s jolly decent of you Penny! How many strokes did you used to get at school?”
“Six. Always six. Towards the end anyway. But you can give me seven as I’m that little bit older now.”
I was going to get to cane her but she was the one calling the shots! I thought about it a little. I was getting a good deal so I didn’t dare ask her to take more strokes or to drop her knickers. But then, to my astonishment, she bent over the bed and slipped her mini and knicks off for me anyway!
Her bottom was gorgeous. I could see other treasure, too. I picked the cane up from the floor. The cane had been in the family for years. My brother and I had both felt its bitter bite many a time. But now the cane was in for a real treat! The pert buttocks of a pretty young thing, just twenty-one years old, were awaiting its cruel caress.
“AAARGH!” she cried.
I stopped for a minute to examine the marks on her bottom. I felt her bottom. It felt good!
“That wasn’t part of the deal, George!” she snapped at me. Duly admonished, I picked up the cane and resolved to give her three hard, fast strokes to teach her a lesson.
SWISH-CRACK! SWISH-CRACK! SWISH-CRACK!
“AAARGH! You bastard!”
“Shut up, Penny! A caning’s meant to hurt you know.”
“I know, I know. It’s OK. Wow! I’m alright now. I think. Those last three took me by surprise George, that’s all. Anyway, you can cane me any time I do make a genuine slip up. But if you want me to cane you, it’s going to cost. Ten pounds!”
It was turning into an expensive day for me. I shrugged and said “If there’s one thing I’ve realised as I get older, it’s that I don’t miss money, Penny.”
Story © 2012 by Rod Cayenne
Handcuffs from http://www.vectorportal.com/