A Strict Disciplinarian Is Born (M/M) NEW!

♥ Site recommended story ♥

New to The Canery is this exciting caning story by very special guest author Baddlad17.   All the characters are 18 or older. WARNING: ADULTS ONLY!

A Strict Disciplinarian Is Born by Baddlad17

I limped out of the office, my hands hovering over my burning arse, which had just been decorated with twelve savage cane strokes. Tears of woe were falling from my eyes as I struggled to come to terms with the reality of what had just happened, after all, it wasn’t as if I was a naughty schoolboy who had been sent to see the headmaster for punishment. I was a teacher, albeit a junior one and still on probation, but still, I was a twenty-two-year-old man, and I had been forced to drop my shorts and bend over for a severe thrashing that had left my backside blazing like a volcanic eruption.

The year was 1976, and I was in my first term as a junior sports teacher at Deanfields Grammar school. The headmaster Mr Taylor was a strict disciplinarian, with a firm belief in the efficacy of corporal punishment, and as such he used his canes with liberal abandon on the boys under his tutelage. Deanfields was a large school, split into two separate buildings, a prep school that catered for boys from the age of four to eleven, and the main school which housed those aged eleven to eighteen. I had been a student here myself up until my departure for university four years before, and I had been on the receiving end of a caning off Taylor before, as well as several other masters, but I was under the illusion those days were long behind me, how wrong I was.

As part of my duties, I had supervised the Rugby first XV’s away matches the previous weekend, when they had taken part in a national school’s competition. I had persuaded Mr Bell, the senior sports master into letting me take the boys on my own and given the fact he had no real wish to forfeit his weekend looking after a group of hairy rugby lads when he could spend it with his beautiful young wife, he readily agreed, but only after I promised there would be no trouble. And so, in the end I found myself taking the team up to Yorkshire alone. The headmaster had organised for us to be lodged in a youth hostel, close to where the matches would be held. Despite my enthusiasm, Bell worried I might find it a challenge, given my junior status, but I persuaded him I could handle the lads, and there would be no trouble, even if I was a young, inexperienced teacher. He was a little concerned that taking a group of senior boys who were only four or five years younger than me, on a weekend away from the restrictions of their home-lives and the constraints of an all-male school could result in some issues, and he suggested I took a cane with me, in case the lads became too boisterous.

I should have taken his advice, but I was confident it would not be necessary, and besides, I was a young idealistic teacher, who found hitting kids unnecessary, preferring to debate with them. So far I had managed to avoid administering corporal punishment, which was in direct contrast to Mr Bell who caned and slippered boys both in and out of the gym, for even the slightest misdemeanour. It was well-known that he never let a boy off a whacking once he had decided to award one, and he doled them out with undisguised pleasure.

But I was different, and the boys were starting to learn that. The senior team were aware of this too and once they learned I alone would be supervising them, they decided to take advantage. Inevitably a couple of the lads sneaked some alcohol into their cases, and on the second night, they had several illicit drinks in the dormitory. If that had been the end of it no one, including me would have known anything about it, but the alcohol in their systems gave them the courage to go further and a number of them decided to shin down the drainpipe and head off into the nearby town to try their luck with the local girls. Needless to say, the local lads didn’t like them muscling in on their honeys and there had been an ensuing fight in the pub, involving two of the players and a couple of the local boys. The police had been called, the boys were arrested and the first I was aware of any of this was when I was woken at three am by the superintendent of the hostel, who informed me police officers waiting to see me.

I was livid as I drove to the station, and upon seeing Andrew Wiltshire and Wayne Handley I could barely hold my temper. The journey back to the hostel was conducted in stony silence, and as soon as we returned I sent the boys to bed, requesting to see them the following morning after breakfast when they could explain themselves. By the following day I had calmed down and I spoke with the entire squad, making them aware of my displeasure with their behaviour. I then saw the two ringleaders and asked them to explain. They ended up apologising and after a brief ticking off I dismissed them, with a warning that any further trouble would see me reporting it to Mr Bell.

I thought that was the end of it, but alas the superintendent from the hostel was furious that the police had been called, worrying it would look bad on the establishment and could discourage other schools from using him in the future. He decided to telephone the headmaster and made his displeasure known, even threatening to no longer accept any bookings from Deanfields. So, by the time Monday came around the head was fully aware of the incident and summoned me to his study to explain. He questioned me closely and when I admitted I had simply ticked the boys off I thought he was about to have an apoplectic fit. His face went puce, and his eyes bulged as he raged at me.

YOU JUST TOLD THEM OFF AND THAT WAS IT!! Are you a bloody man or a mouse? Those boys need a damn good thrashing, if you can’t or won’t do it, then maybe you need to find a new post. I will not have any of those soft-touch policies that are infecting schools around the country infiltrating Deanfields Grammar, do you hear me, Mr Simmonds? Step outside and tell Miss Robinson to send a note to Wiltshire and Handley to attend my study immediately. I will show you what needs to be done.

I felt my heart skipping a beat as I timidly informed the secretary that Mr Taylor wished to see the boys and ten minutes later the two seniors were standing beside me in the headmaster’s study, receiving a thorough dressing down for their behaviour.

I won’t tolerate this. I have thought long and hard this morning about whether to suspend you, pending expulsion from this august establishment, however, given your seniority in the school and the fact it would impact greatly upon your future careers I have reluctantly decided to let you off with a caning. That said gentlemen, it will be a thrashing you won’t forget. Six each, bare breech.

The sharp intake of breath from the lads suggested it would be their first bare canings. Taylor did thrash on the bare, but it was not something he did too frequently, reserving such testing treatment for recidivists or serious transgressors. He obviously felt their behaviour fell into the latter category and they merited this treatment.

Mr Simmonds will remain to witness how I deal with delinquents who bring the good name of the school into disrepute, and perhaps in the future he will see fit to perform this duty himself should it happen when he is the master in charge.

I felt the colour flood to my cheeks as I stood alongside the two lads. I could not help but feel as though I was due a swishing too. Mr Taylor opened a drawer in his desk and extracted a leather-bound punishment book which I recalled from my visits when I had been a student. He flicked through the pages until he reached the last one, picked up a pen from his desk and began to write their details into it. I sensed the fear and anxiety building up as the lads prepared to face their torment. Having completed the entries, he stood up and walked across towards a bookcase in the far corner of the room. Opening a drawer, he reached inside, and we heard the distinctive rattle of rattan canes as he rifled through to find a suitable weapon. Three times he extracted rods and swished them menacingly through the air until he found one he felt was fit for purpose.

He pointed the cane in our direction before giving his final instructions. Wiltshire, turn around and face the wall, Handley stand in front of the desk, remove your blazer, take down your trousers and underpants, then bend right over the top. Mr Simmonds, step back and observe how I deal with hooligans.

I felt a great deal of sympathy as Handley began to carry out the head’s instructions. The lad was eighteen years, tall, dark, and handsome, sporting a five-o-clock shadow around his face that denoted he was no longer a boy, yet he stood in front of the desk, and meekly lowered his dark grey trousers, and then after a slight hesitation, his underpants followed the same downward path, exposing a pair of hairy legs, muscular thighs, and meaty buttocks. From my viewpoint I could clearly see his large cock, swinging like a pendulum in front of the desk, and once he bent over I was given an unobstructed view of his hairy arsecrack as his cheeks parted. The bulbous mounds were fully bared and awaiting the retribution of the headmaster’s stick.

Taylor lined the cane up and held it across the quivering mounds in quiet contemplation for a moment, then without warning the stick was lifted high and returned to smack across the target, burrowing deep into the manly mounds. The sharp intake of breath from Handley assured me the stroke had hurt, and when lifted away a white line faintly appeared across the surface of his buttocks, before turning red as the blood rushed to the bruise. The second stroke hit the spot, just barely below the first, almost overlapping, and the third confirmed to me the head was incising the cuts into a tight band of flesh that the boy would feel for days to come.

The second set of six targeted a fresh band of flesh, lower down near the crease, with each one forcing a squeal of agony from the victim, and by the time the final stroke had left its burning message Handley was slumped over the desk, his naked buttocks quivering as he struggled to hold it together.

Get up, and cover yourself, Mr Wiltshire if you please. The headmaster flexed his cane, and cruelly swiped it through the air while the boys’ changed places. Handley’s eyes were blazing, and his cheeks were wet where tears had seeped from his eyes, while his backside looked incredibly sore and glowed fiercely.

With one pair of smarting buttocks covered, I watched as Wiltshire dropped his trousers and bared his arse for the fires of hell. Also, aged eighteen, Andrew Wiltshire was not a bad lad, he was cheeky and always involved in some sort of mischief, but he did not deserve the terrible fate coming his way. Bent across the desk, his beefy buttocks jutted out at the perfect angle for the head’s ministrations. While Taylor held the cane across his cheeks I closed my eyes, wishing to shut out the image of the cane slicing across his good-looking arse, but the first cut forced my eyes open in time to see the band of pain as it abraised the naked flesh.

Wiltshire wasn’t as brave as Handley, and after the third stroke, he roared in pain. The fourth, fifth and sixth strokes burned into the lower portion of his buttocks had him howling like a wolf, baying to the moon, and by the time he was permitted to stand, his eyes were red, with tears falling freely down his face. I felt for the lad with the dimpled cheeks, his normally cheeky smirk was nowhere to be seen as he struggled to cope with the pain raging across his arse.

Get your trousers up and stand in front of my desk, Handley come here and stand beside your friend, and no rubbing better just yet.

Standing side by side the sobbing lads, waited in misery to be dismissed. Let this be a warning to you, and the rest of the Rugby squad. If anything like this happens again, the perpetrators will be expelled, is that clear? Return to your classes and hopefully, the stripes and the fires burning across your bottoms will focus your minds to behave when representing the school in future, you may go.

As the boys turned to go I thanked the headmaster and turned to follow them. Just a moment Mr Simmonds, I would like a word before you depart.

His icy tone assured me this would be no friendly chat, and so it proved. With the boys out of the way, Taylor laid into me.

Mr Simmonds, today you have some choices to make, and let’s hope for your sake that they are the right ones. I hold you personally responsible for what has just transpired, indeed had you followed Mr Bell’s lead I doubt those boys would have dared to leave the hostel, let alone indulge in a fight in a public bar. The guilty have been punished as you have just witnessed, but I feel a debt still has to be paid by yourself as well. Now, you are not one of the schoolboys, or, perhaps a stiff caning would be acceptable, but as you are a member of my staff I feel I have no option but to set in place a disciplinary procedure, which may ultimately lead to your dismissal. Have you anything to say?

What do you want me to say, sir. Sorry, I never meant for this to happen.

Take responsibility man, by rights you should resign and save yourself the stigma of being dismissed, that won’t look good on your CV when you apply for a new position, and of course, a reference will be out of the question. However, we could save all of this unpleasantness if you wish to accept an alternative solution.

The head was throwing me a lifeline. We could sort this out off the record, after all, you are a young teacher, only a few years older than those boys I have just swished. What I could offer might seem unconventional, but it could be worth considering. If I were to retain your services, you must first agree to start using corporal punishment on the boys to keep them in line. Discipline is an essential tool in our school’s armoury and here at Deanfields, we pride ourselves on the zero-tolerance approach. From now on you will employ traditional methods to control your classes, and secondly, you will submit to a memorable caning delivered by myself this afternoon. Before you agree it will be very severe, I hold you more culpable than the boys I have just beat, and as such your punishment will be double, a full dozen strokes, on the bare of course. The choice is yours.

My legs turned to jelly and my stomach twisted in knots as I agonised over the road to take. Twelve strokes of the cane, bare arse was going to hurt, but what about the other options. If I resigned any new employer would question why I had chosen to leave Deanfields after such a short period, and as the head had already pointed out if I was dismissed my career was effectively over. Taylor was tapping his fingers on his desk, demanding I make the decision. I loved my job, and I had spent many happy years as a pupil, now all I wanted was to offer my services as a teacher. There was only one option, and it was going to be a painful one, but, I argued I had been thrashed before and I would survive.

I will take the offer of the cane please sir.

Taylor smirked sardonically as he glared at me. Wise choice Mr Simmonds, return here at four-thirty, Miss Robinson will have departed for the day, the school will be almost empty, and we will not be disturbed. It will remain strictly confidential, and no one will ever know, now if you would like to return to your department, I shall see you this afternoon.

I struggled to concentrate for the remainder of the day, and yet for the first time, I decided to follow the head’s instructions and brought out the large plimsoll to slipper two first-year boys for fooling around. They were shocked when I called their names to come to the front of the gym and proceeded to give them a tongue lashing. The rest of the class were stunned into silence, never having seen me bollock anyone so fiercely before. And they were even more shocked when I retrieved the punishment plimsoll from the gym store and ordered the miscreants to touch their toes. I gave them two solid strokes each and when they stood their hands gravitated towards their smarting backsides. The class remained subdued for the rest of the lesson, but while they were changing back into their uniforms I wandered into the changing room and spotted two red bottoms emerging from the shower. The sight reminded me of my upcoming appointment later in the day, though I was sure my arse would be in a considerably worse condition than either of them.

By the time I arrived at the headmaster’s study I was a nervous wreck. All afternoon the anxious knot in my stomach had tightened as I contemplated the ordeal ahead. The school was quiet, with just a few members of staff around as I made the long and lonely walk to the head’s inner sanctum, feeling like a man on his way to the execution chamber. I recalled the times I had done the journey as a boy, knowing the fate that awaited me once I arrived and was summoned inside.

Upon knocking Mr Taylor called me in immediately, once inside he was brisk and professional. Sign this document Mr Simmonds, it is just an insurance policy to protect me should you decide to renege on this agreement.

He pushed the document towards me, then strode across the room, turning the key in the door. After closing the curtains, he retrieved a long, slender cane from the mantle shelf over the fireplace and tapped it across his palm while glaring at me. I stood before the desk, fearfully awaiting the next instructions. Right, let’s get this over and done with. Lower your shorts and any underpants, then go over the desk, backside up high.

What could I do? I hooked my fingers into the waistband of my sports shorts and lowered them and my pants down to my knees, then stretched over the desktop and waited for the head to do his worst. I heard him swishing the cane through the air several times, then he was tapping it across my naked flesh, the touch heightening the nerve endings as I waited with bated breath for the onslaught.

Stay down Simmonds, there will be twelve strokes as agreed. The moment he finished speaking the cane was lifted away, I heard a thin swish, then my arse was on fire. The cane fell steadily time and again, with each stroke lancing in close to the previous one in descending parallels down my exposed flesh. The band of pain was unbelievable, and the agony increased with each succeeding cut. If I thought the first six were bad enough, the second set was undisguised agony. I could no longer keep quiet and yelled lustily as the rod branded my arse. The final two cuts were diagonals, and I reached the end of my endurance. I was a grown man, but the pain was so intense I ended up crying like a little boy.

Get up and cover yourself, Mr Simmonds. The head moved around the desk and sat himself down as I struggled to stand up. My arse was blazing like hell, and I know I winced as I adjusted my pants and shorts over my scorched flesh.

The incident is now at an end, and nothing will be recorded. You may leave when ready, and we can forget about this, but I do hope that you will learn from it, and from now on I expect, no demand that you similarly deal with the boys, in the same manner, you have just been dealt with, do you understand?

With bitter tears dripping down my face I mumbled my understanding before turning and hobbling from the study. Once outside I gripped firmly onto my bum and hissed as a wave of pain overcame me. Once I was a little more composed I hobbled off towards the school exit, desperate to escape, and get home where I could soothe and comfort my wounds.

That day I reached the decision to toughen up with the boys, and in the following days and weeks the change in my attitude took each class by surprise, and they discovered that I could be pretty handy with both the slipper and the cane. My reputation as a strict disciplinarian was soon common knowledge and the earlier weakness I had portrayed was confined to history. Within weeks I received a summons back to the heads study, but this time to be congratulated on my improved performance. My position at Deanfields Grammar was confirmed, and my job was secure for years to come.

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Story ©MMXXII by Baddlad17, and used here by very kind permission of the author.

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D I S C L A I M E R

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

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Authors love your feedback!  Please leave a comment. You can find the comments here, or by using the link at the top of the story.

Baddlad17’s excellent earlier stories for The Canery are available here.  Further great stories by Baddlad17 may be found at this external link.

Afterburner (M/M)

 

♥ Site recommended story ♥

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

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

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

“You mean precisely none?”

“Yes, none, sorry Dad.”

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

“Err, sorry Dad, that was none too.”

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

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

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

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

“That’s not what I had in mind, son.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Hmm, I bet he was.”

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

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

“Yes, I did.”

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

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

“Come on man, spit it out!”

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

“Indeed?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

 

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D I S C L A I M E R

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

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Story © MMXVII by Rod Cayenne

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

Comments from the original 2017 posting are here.

Déjà Vu (M/M)

♥ Site recommended story ♥

A repeat from 2012 of this hot caning tale by your host, Rod Cayenne. All the characters are aged 18 or over. Strictly adults only!

 

Déjà Vu by Rod Cayenne

“Do you ever get that feeling of déjà vu? I said, do you ever get that feeling of déjà vu?”

My old headmaster was laughing, playing games with me. Not rugby, not cricket, but caning. Yes, caning. For there we were in his room as he took a whippy cane from his cane cupboard. Only now it was his living room, not the school study. He had retired and on a visit to him we’d had an affable conversation about corporal punishment.

“I got a taste for it…” we had both said at the same time. We both had a jolly hearty laugh about it. We had resolved to re-enact my teenage canings. He whipped the cane through the air.

“Ready then?”

“Yes Sir. I’m getting those old feelings. Excitement, fear, an erection.”

“Then you really are a naughty boy!”

“Yes Sir, sorry.”

“Well the erection could be a problem, as I’d already decided to cane you bare bottom.”

“Oh Sir, you never made me bare my bottom at school.”

“Well, things have moved on and you must trust your headmaster to know what’s best for you.”

“Yes Sir, if you’re sure.”

“Never been more sure of anything in my life, lad. Let me help by taking your trousers and briefs down.”

“Oh Sir!”

Well, he did take them down for me, although I did not find it particularly helpful. He certainly helped himself to a good viewing of my rampant erection.

“Tut tut. That really is a most obscene display!” he said as he flexed the cane gently in his big hands. “I think this revolting sight will require extra punishment.” He feigned distaste at my engorged penis. However, this was all a game as we both knew he was enjoying all that he saw before him.

“Now then lad. How many strokes is it to be?”

“That’s up to you Sir.”

“Quite right, lad. I shall decide. What’s the most I gave you at school?”

“The full six, Sir.”

“I see. Well, there’s nothing full about six lad. You’re not a teenager any more. Your bottom is nicely filled out. I rather think it could take a lot of thrashing. A severe beating, perhaps sixty strokes?”

I gasped at his sadism and I felt my erection dwindling fast.

“Only joking, lad. That would be rather a lot for your first adult caning. Although you could take it. If I’m not mistaken, that’s a very, very thrashable bottom. Here, let me have a feel.”

He felt it at some length, massaging and gently pinching at my flesh.

“Yes, clearly I am right. This bottom could take a lot of caning. Thirty, forty, perhaps…”

“Sir!”

He laughed again. This talk was all part of his technique. Of humiliation and mastery. Of my shame and misery.

“Right, let’s get down to it then. You will notice I have the official school caning stool. I stole the cane cupboard and stool when I left!” he chuckled. “Please be so kind as to bend over the stool now. I’m sure you remember the form.”

Indeed I did. The stool was like an old friend to me. I’d been over it many times for correction by the cane. For cheating, for smoking, for lying, for not trying, for masturbating. The padded leather top was just as comfortable and welcoming as in times past. I was under no illusions though. Comfortable though it may have been, I remembered exactly how much the cane hurt. Or I thought I did. For at this exact moment there was a loud THWACK as the cane lashed down on my naked bottom for the first time in years. He was laughing. The bastard! I gripped the rung on the stool as a second THWACK hit me. Oh boy, was it agony? Yes, it certainly was as the fire spread around my submissive cheeks.

THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK!

That made six. Now I was going to get more than I’d ever had before.

THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK!

Now it was twelve and I was gasping and writhing in response to each cruel stroke. He was laughing again. The bastard!

THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! THWACK!

By now my buttocks were on fire and he was merrily humming to himself as he went back to the cane cupboard. I craned my neck to see what he was up to.

“Get back down lad! We haven’t finished. I’m getting a whippier cane for you. The sting should be worse, so I am hoping for some prime entertainment from you.”

“Yes Sir. It hurts awfully.”

“That’s of no interest to me lad. That’s your problem. You’ve had eighteen strokes so far. You will now get the same again for your disgusting erection.”

“Yes Sir.”

“I don’t ever want to see it again. Is that clear?”

Well, he’d made his wishes clear but no-one had told my penis. As ever, it had a mind of its own and was thickening and erecting with pleasure from the joyful waves of pain the cane had donated. I tried to move discreetly on the stool to accommodate my growing penis. However, he was on to me in a flash!

“STAND UP! TURN AROUND!”

I stood before him. He swished the cane through the air. My hands tried to cover my embarrassment.

“HANDS BY YOUR SIDES! Aha! I thought so!”

He had seen it. I blushed. He laughed. The bastard!

“I think we’ll make it twenty four strokes. For your continued impertinence.”

“Yes Sir.”

However, instead of getting on with my punishment he hooked the crook handle of the cane over my erection.

“I have to use the toilet a minute, lad. One of the perils of old age. You stay just where you are. But when I return, I want to see that your erection has subsided and that the cane has fallen onto the floor.”

He laughed. The bastard. I tried hard to think of turn-offs and eventually settled on a shrivelled old MP. Thankfully, it worked and the cane clattered onto the floor. The toilet was next door. I could hear everything as he’d left all the doors open. Again, he was humming merrily. The bastard.

On his return, he didn’t comment on the status of my penis. Instead he picked the cane up and pointed to the stool with it. I duly bent over it. Eventually he spoke.

“Twenty five strokes with the whippiest cane. Try to take them with some decorum, lad.”

He had added an extra stroke. I felt sure it was one of his games, rather than forgetfulness. He laughed. The bastard.

I duly took twenty five exciting strokes from my old headmaster with as much decorum as I could muster.

“Now you’ve had your whacking, do you want some whacky baccy?”

“Whaaat?” I asked in disbelief.

“Oh you know, a reefer, I think it’s called. I confiscated so much of the stuff when I was head, that I couldn’t resist trying it. I got a taste for it.”

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Story © 2012 by Rod Cayenne

* IMPORTANT – DISCLAIMERS *

This is a work of fiction.  The author does not participate in substance abuse or condone it. 

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

All the characters are aged 18 or over.

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Please take the oppoertunity to comment on this fun story.  Comments are here.  Comments from the original 2012 post are here.

 

The Unseen Witnesses (M/M with F audience) NEW!

♥ Site recommended story ♥

New to The Canery is this exciting caning story by very special guest author Baddlad17.   All the characters are 18 or older. WARNING: ADULTS ONLY!

The Unseen Witnesses by Baddlad17

So it is true then, the Head does cane them trousers down.

Annabelle Scott could barely believe what she had just witnessed.

Yes. The boys were telling the truth.

Annabelle had smiled as she watched the teenage boy drop his trousers and bend across the arm of the chair, his bare bottom fully displayed, giving her a bird’s eye view. She had watched mesmerised as the Head laid stripe after scorching stripe across the poor boys bottom.

When told, the boy stood, rubbed his sore backside vigorously, in doing so displaying his manhood shamelessly before the Head. Lord knows what he would have done had he known female eyes had been eagerly watching. The tears rolled down his face as the Headmaster admonished him. Finally he had bent down to retrieve his fallen pants and trousers, covering his red welted buttocks.

Uplands Private Independent Day School had, up until this year, been a boys’ only establishment. However, times were changing, the school had been put under some pressure to modernise, part of which had been a pledge to admit female students. The governors, after much debate, voted in favour of this change, so for the first time in its one hundred and sixty year history, girls were allowed as members of the student body. For a trial period they were only accepted in the sixth form. If successful, they would introduce younger students from next year. Of course the school was run and operated entirely by male staff; none of them had any experience of dealing with the fairer sex, something which was of some concern to the Head and his staff.

The Headmaster, Mr Barrowclough, had argued this point with the Governors; but he had been overruled. The Head was a tall imposing man in his mid-fifties; the boys found him quite frightening, with good reason. It was certainly not wise to cross him!

Used to dealing with boys and young men, ruthlessly, he was rather intimidated as to how he would handle these’females.’ The question of discipline had been uppermost in his mind. When the boys misbehaved they could be certain of a cane connecting with their bared posteriors. He had though made it crystal clear to the Governors that he would never bring himself to cane any young lady regardless of what they had done. So for the first time in his career he would have to consider implementing some form of non– physical punishment should any of the girls need to be punished.

The senior boys, in contrast to the staff, had been very welcoming of girls attending the school. In this first intake there was only twenty. Most of the boys, from the third year up, were totally enamoured of them. Within days a number of suitors were making advances, making their choices and as males throughout the animal kingdom will, tried to win a mate. It was becoming a bit of a problem in the sixth form classes, and lessons had started to be disrupted as the boys were more interested in attracting the young ladies, than concentrating on their studies. They were warned to buckle down or face punishment. Some masters even threatened to get the slipper out to warm the backsides of these big lads, a punishment that was usually reserved for the younger boys.

In desperation, the masters complained bitterly during a staff meeting about the disruption the girls were having on classes, so that the Head had to issue a warning to the seniors that discipline would be rigidly enforced if behaviour did not improve. He made an announcement during morning assembly.

It has been brought to my notice that a number of sixth form boys are not concentrating on their studies this term. This seems to be as a direct result of having young ladies present. I will issue this warning just once to all of you. I am going to be keeping a close eye on end of term exam results and if I find any boy has dropped below the benchmark he is expected to achieve, he will be invited into my study. I do not need to spell you what that portends, do I gentlemen?

A low murmur went round the hall as the boys knew only too well the Heads meaning. Invariably when invited into the study, a lad left clutching a very sore bottom. Mr Barrowclough knew how to use a cane and he applied it with relish to the upturned bottom of any boy unlucky enough to have received an invite. A number of the sixth gave each other knowing looks with some gently pressing their buttocks as they recalled a previous painful visit to the Heads study.

The innocence of the girls soon became apparent as they questioned the boys as to what happened in the Heads study.

James Anderson and Matt Handley grinned widely when their new girlfriends Annabelle Scott and Lindsay Owen wanted to know what the Head had meant.

Well if you are invited into the Heads study, you receive a long lecture about your behaviour and then you are asked to lower your trousers and bend over the easy armchair. The Head then canes you, four, six or even eight strokes. On a bare arse it is excruciatingly painful.

James Anderson’s eyes glazed over as he recalled a visit to the study the previous year. On that occasion he had received four strokes but he had been in tears and could barely sit down in class for the rest of the afternoon.

Stop telling lies Jamie! The Head doesn’t make you take your trousers down!

The girls giggled while Matt and James looked at them incredulously.

I am telling the truth girls, ask Matt.

Matt nodded before confirming his friend’s version of events.

Oh boy yes he does. I once got six and could not sit down afterwards. My backside bore the stripes for over a week. When Barrowclough canes, you know about it!

The girls laughed, neither of them fully believing their boyfriends. However, a plot was forming in their minds. One way or another they would get the proof, and find out the truth.

Because the decision had been taken to permit girls into the sixth form at short notice, Mr Barrowclough had decided that it would not be wise to allow girls to share the same common room with the boys so a new area had to found. Directly opposite the Heads office in an old building, there were a couple of rooms which would be ideal. Situated on the first floor the rooms had at one time been used as classrooms, but had been used for nothing more than storage for over ten years. A lick of paint, fresh curtains and some comfortable chairs and sofas, had made the rooms suitable for the purpose. However no one had realized that from one of the windows you could get a full view straight into the Heads study. Lindsay had been the first to realise this as she stood looking out of the window one day. As she looked down she could see a boy standing before the Headmaster. From the way he hung his Head she sensed he might be in trouble. This was confirmed a minute or so later when the Head came round the desk and brought out a cane.

Lindsay had been fascinated as she looked on. Then she was amazed as the boy turned round and swiftly dropped his trousers and underpants before bending over the back of an armchair. The Head flicked back his shirt leaving his bottom bare. She watched in total shock as four very hard strokes were delivered to the naked bottom. When he stood up she could see he was distressed and his eyes were wet. He could not let go of his bottom at first. She sensed the Head must have said something as he quickly reached down and replaced his fallen clothes. The whole scene had lasted less than three minutes but it confirmed the boys had been telling the truth. They were caned on the bare backside.

She could hardly contain what she had seen, but decided it might be prudent to keep this to herself, as should others find out, the news might leak out and measures put in place to prevent the girls from seeing the going’s on in the Heads study. At first Annabelle did not believe her friend but after what she had just witnessed she knew better. Better still, tomorrow the end of term exam results would be issued, so the girls had a feeling some sixth form boys would be baring all in the study after the end of school and they had every intention of watching the proceedings.

Anderson, Andrews, Cole, Handley, Stephens and Webb; despite the warning I issued a couple of weeks back, you have all achieved results more than five per cent below expectations. Therefore I will follow through on my promise and invite you all to visit my study at four pm this afternoon.

Barrowclough cast a cold glare at the six blushing lads who knew without a doubt what awaited them, as did the rest of the school. Matt Handley gulped, while James Anderson shook his head in disbelief. Across the hall the lads’ girlfriends cast a knowing look at one another. Not only would they get to see six senior boys getting the cane. They would also be getting a bird’s eye view of their boyfriends’ sufferings. Lindsey licked her lips in anticipation of the afternoon’s events.

Throughout the day the condemned lads struggled to concentrate on their studies, this was compounded by the ribbing they were receiving from their classmates. Some of the girls found it quite amusing as a description of what was to happen, was described to them. Lindsay and Annabelle though, played it cool. They would be having ringside seats and did not want to jeopardise that for anything.

All too soon four pm arrived and the six seniors made the trip down the dark corridor to stand outside the Headmaster’s study. Each of them was lost in their own thoughts of their impending doom. They had all been in front of the Head before, so they were more than aware of their fate and how painful it was going to be. Meanwhile Annabelle and Lindsey made a quick dash from their last lesson up to their common room, which was as expected at this time of day, empty.

The girls were very excited at the prospect of what they were about to see. From their viewpoint they could make out the Head turning the easy armchair around so the back faced the window. This meant they would see the naked buttocks clearly being caned.

Outside the study the six boys stood, hands clammy, stomachs churning, as they waited. The door opened and Barrowclough looked down the line.

Alphabetical order gentlemen. Mr Anderson, step inside please.

James Anderson gave a weak smile to the rest of the condemned before stepping inside and closing the door behind him.

Anderson, there is no point in mulling over why you are here. Since the arrival of the girls at the start of term, classes have been disrupted as you boys seem to prefer to spend time chatting them up rather than studying. I might have expected this from the fourth or even the fifth form, but sixth formers should be more mature. Despite my promise you have seen fit to carry on. Well now I will keep my promise. If I can’t get it into your head, then maybe your bottom will be a better recipient. Come round by the chair and present your bare backside over the back.

In spite of expecting this James gulped and blushed before carrying out the instructions. As he came into view Lindsay nearly wet herself. She was about to witness her boyfriend getting his bottom tanned and she was relishing the prospect. Both girls watched as James dropped his trousers and then his underpants before bending over the back of the easy chair. His smooth muscular buttocks were in direct line of their vision. The girls looked on entranced as the Head came and stood beside him, a long slender cane in his hands. Suddenly he reared back and the first stroke sliced into the naked buttocks. As the Head removed the cane a red line was visible across the dead centre of the quivering buttocks. They watched him line up again and lash a second stroke. This time the bottom swayed a little as James struggled to absorb the fire burning across his behind. A second line was visible. They now watched entranced as the Head delivered a further four strokes, lower and lower down the boy’s bottom. By the time the last stroke had landed James was in tears and his backside was blazing.

Lindsay was licking her lips. She had actually enjoyed that, though she did not know why. In addition she was feeling moist inside her panties. She was looking forward to seeing her boyfriend later when she could rub some cream in and feel those raised welts. She was also hoping that he might finally take her tonight. So far they had enjoyed oral sex and some heavy petting but she wanted more, she was desperate to feel his hot rod probing deep inside her.

Before they realized it, James had his trousers back up and was wiping his eyes with a tissue as he walked his other hand massaging the inflamed cheeks. The two looked at one another and briefly smiled. A minute or so later they recognised the hunky figure of Gavin Andrews, captain of the rugby first XV. He was over six feet tall, a well– built athletic lad. His short black hair, piercing blue eyes and dimpled cheeks had made him a favourite amongst the girls. He was seeing Collette Adams but she was unaware of the window. Lindsay and Annabelle smiled cheekily as they watched him undress and present his backside over the armchair. His broad muscular backside was pale and white in contrast to his suntanned back, His legs were covered in tight short dark hair. He presented a fine figure across the chair.

Mr Barrowclough lined up the cane and lashed it across the rugby captain’s bottom. Like James before him he tried his best to remain stoical but as the strokes landed lower and lower down his backside, stinging and striping the naked cheeks, tears welled in his eyes. As the sixth sliced into him the room rent with a howl before he collapsed into the chair, tears now falling down his face. The Head watched the last stroke swell before giving Andrews permission to stand up.

The girls’ eyes nearly popped out of their Heads as the lad stood gripping his buttocks, his more than ample cock semi erect swinging freely while the Head gave him the final admonishment. Very soon Andrews was limping from the office to face his mates still waiting for their entry into the legal torture chamber.

Jonathon Cole was next followed by Annabelle’s boyfriend Matt. Each boy had swallowed their pride and bared their arses before going over the chair. If they had been aware of the audience looking on, they might have thought differently. The girls got more and more excited as the final two lads entered, stripped and bent over for their six strokes. By the time Oliver Webb had pulled up his trousers, the girls were damp and moist between their legs. They were very turned on and could barely wait to see their boyfriends later.

While the girls had enjoyed the last few minutes, the same could not be said for the six senior lads. Each one of them had emerged from the Heads study in excruciating pain, their backsides burning, throbbing and stinging like hell. As the pain reached a peak they had stopped dead in their tracks and stood just holding onto their buttocks as if their lives depended on it. Despite their seniority they could not stop tears from trickling down their cheeks as the pain engulfed them. After a few moments they had, one by one, hobbled off to the toilets, their hands unable to let go of their bottoms, their faces etched in pain resembling someone who has severe toothache.

On arriving at the toilet block they slowly eased down their trousers and pants to turn round and to try to see the damage that had been done to their arses. Tears continued to fall as they tried in vain to cool down the fires by applying cold water to the throbbing ridges. One by one they arrived in the block and commiserated with one another over the injustice of what had happened.

It was some three hours later that Jamie and Matt met up with their girlfriends. They arrived in loose fitting trousers and seemed to be walking with a gait. The girls could not help but laugh as the lads arrived.

What is so funny Jamie asked

You two are! We saw you getting your botty’s smacked earlier.

What! How! How could you see that?

Both boys blushed deeply, very embarrassed that their girlfriends seemed to be fully aware of how they had been punished.

Still giggling the girls explained the view from the window and how they had stood and watched each one of them drop their trousers and present their bottoms for the Heads cane. The boys shook their heads in disbelief.

You girls should get a taste of the cane; you would not find it so funny then!

They laughed again before asking the boys if they wanted their bottoms rubbed better. A few minutes later the boys had their bums exposed again, lying face down on Lindsay’s bed while the girls applied cold cream to the hard swollen welts. The girls seemed fascinated at the stripes while the boys began to get erect. In no time at all the lads were on their backs while their girlfriends brought them off side by side.

Later that evening, with Lindsay’s parents out of the way, the two couples made love, the girls losing their virginities. The lads ended up in ecstasy as they reached their climaxes, all thoughts of the afternoon’s beatings gone from their minds. If anything, the thrashing’s had made the boys more virulent. In spite of the rawness of their arses.

Many more boys would visit the Heads study over the coming months and bend over the back of the armchair, totally unaware they had an audience watching their beatings. If only Barrowclough had known. But ignorance is bliss and the window which overlooked his study remained a secret, shared only by the four sixth form students.

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Story ©MMXIV by Baddlad17, and used here by very kind permission of the author.

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D I S C L A I M E R

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

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Authors love your feedback!  Please leave a comment. You can find the comments here, or by using the link at the top of the story.

Baddlad17’s excellent earlier stories for The Canery are available here.  Further great stories by Baddlad17 may be found at this external link.

The Young Salesman (M/M) NEW!

♥ Site recommended story ♥

New to The Canery is this fine old story by much-missed friend Skinpang, R.I.P. All the characters are 18 or older. WARNING: ADULTS ONLY!

The Young Salesman by Skinpang

Mr Derek Stone was a retired headmaster in his mid-sixties. He was a widower, financially comfortable thanks to a legacy from his late uncle, and lived in an idyllic detached cottage in a quiet village. He had long toyed with the idea of having a conservatory built onto the rear of his home so that he could enjoy sunny days under glass and admire his lawn and garden.

One day the doorbell rang and when he opened the front door he saw a young man who looked as if he was aged about sixteen or seventeen standing on the doorstep with a folder full of leaflets in his hand. The caller certainly looked impressive in an immaculate navy-blue suit with razor sharp creases in his trousers, his well-fitting jacket buttoned up with one button as it should be, a white collar and green tie. His well tailored appearance was enhanced by his handsome smiling face, blue eyes and a delightful fringe of red wavy hair jutting out over his forehead. Derek first thought was that such smart teenagers were very rare creatures indeed these days! He would normally send doorstep salesman packing straight away but before he could speak his young visitor pulled a leaflet from his folder.

“Good morning sir! I represent Grandeur Constructions. Conservatories, Gazebos and greenhouses are our speciality. Could I interest you in any of our products?”

Derek knew of Grandeur Constructions. It was a firm in the nearby town and had a good reputation.

“You might young man, you might! Come along inside and let’s see what you have to offer.”

“Thank you sir. My name’s Gordon Grey.”

“I’m Derek Stone. Come along to the kitchen table. I’m a bit surprised that that a firm like Grandeur Constructions should have a boy to represent them – no offence intended!”

“And none taken sir!” the young man assured him, “But you are mistaken! I am not a boy! I’m eighteen! I’m an adult!”

“Oh! My apologies Mr Grey!”

“Lots of people make that mistake. I’m told that I look younger than my age! And by the way, please call me Gordon! Anyway enough about me!” said Gordon as they reached the kitchen.

“Right. let us stick to first names shall we? Call me Derek! Sit down and let’s see what you’ve got there!”

Gordon sat down and sorted out several leaflets. There were some very attractive designs and the prices seemed competitive. Derek was getting interested.

“May I see the layout outside?” asked Gordon.

“Certainly! Come along.”

Derek led his visitor through the kitchen back door into the garden.

“Oh yes!” said Gordon, surveying the back of the cottage, “Our Octagon model would be ideal here, don’t you think?”

“Yes indeed, but that one is a bit pricey!”

“I could perhaps shave a little off. Say ten per cent?”

“You give me the impression that you are very anxious to do a deal!” said Derek.

“Well to tell you the truth, I’m sort of on probation you might say! You see, Grandeur Constructions is owned by my father! I’ve just finished in the sixth form at school. He says before I can become a partner in the firm and join him in the office I have to know all aspects of the business. I’ll be honest with you, I’m desperate to get a good order!”

Derek had taken a liking to the fresh-faced boy – for ’boy’ he still was to Derek – and was inclined to try and help him by doing business with him. They returned to the kitchen table.

“I might be interested Gordon! But let’s get down to the nitty-gritty and find out what’s in the small print.”

Gordon went through the details one by one. Derek was satisfied with what he had heard.He had even agreed to the price.

“I wouldn’t want a couple of men to come and dig a big hole in my garden and then disappear for a month before I see them again! There’s all too many firms about who carry on like that!” said Derek.

“Our firm is not like that! I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll include a penalty clause in the agreement.” replied Gordon, anxious to complete the deal, “The work completed by the last day of next month or we will repay you twenty pounds for every day that we are late with the completion. How does that strike you?”

Derek put on a grin.

“I’m a retired headmaster! In my teaching days the penalty for being late was six of the best!” he quipped.

“That was before my time!” laughed Gordon, “there was none of that sort of thing at my schools!”

“Anyway, back to the conservatory! I’ll accept your offer!” said Derek.

“I’m so pleased! I am sure you are going to like it. I’ll get the office to put it in black and white then I’ll bring it back and sign it in front of you!”

Gordon was so keen to get the deal signed and sealed that he was back within two hours. They both signed the documents which they needed to, shook hands and parted. Derek was to see quite a lot of the young salesman over the next few weeks. Concerned that the work should be perfect Gordon would frequently visit the site to keep an eye on progress. However progress was not always as swift as he would have liked. Some snags would arise necessitating that some tasks had to be done again. Several outbreaks of heavy rain also slowed down the outside work. At the end of the month there was still a fair amount of work to be done. When the project was at last completed it had overrun by six days!

“Well you’re six days late, Gordon. That’s a hundred and twenty pounds off according to my reckoning!” said Derek.

“That’s what I wanted to see you about, Derek!” replied Gordon, “Are you really going to hold me to that?”

Gordon was sounding almost as if he was pleading. Derek could not understand why he was trying to wriggle out of the penalty clause. After all, business is business.

“You see it’s like this. I was so pleased when I got this order. I thought I had done something that would impress my father, but what with the ten per cent discount I gave you and now the penalty money all the profit has been swallowed up! My old man’s not going to be very pleased with me I’m afraid!”

“It just shows that you’ve got a lot to learn my lad.” said Derek.

“I suppose so.  I should never have asked you to give up the penalty money. I apologise!”

Derek was thinking, so for a moment there was silence in the room. Gordon was such a nice young lad and Derek was feeling rather sorry for him. He was just about to say that he would waive his right to demand the penalty money when Gordon spoke up with a sign of desperation in his voice.

“You remember what you said to me on the first day I was here? The penalty for being late was six of the best?”

“Yes! So what?”

“Will you give me six of the best like you used to in school instead of taking the money?”

Gordon was banking on the theory that Derek perhaps used to enjoy caning boys’ bottoms and would be tempted to accept his offer. He was not far wrong! Derek’s first reaction was one of disbelief! Then suddenly he felt twenty years younger. Suddenly here was a boy standing before him just as many had stood before him before. In those days the boy would have apprehension written all over his face in fearing he was going to be awarded the cane! Gordon too had apprehension written all over his face but in his case it was lest he was not going to get the cane! The money was more important to him!

Derek was almost in a daze as he stared at the boy’s small but perfectly proportioned figure. He could just imagine him bending taut over a chair, that ginger fringe flopping into his eyes and his bottom protruding skyward! Derek found all the exciting feelings he used to get as he ordered a boy to bend over were coming back to him, and all of his body parts seemed to be in good working order! Gordon took the silence to mean that Derek was going to refuse.

“I shouldn’t have mentioned it!” said Gordon, “I’m sorry. Ha! – I don’t suppose you’ve got a cane anyway!”

“Not at all, Gordon! I am still considering it. And I have got a cane!” – Derek had kept his cane for sentimental reasons! – “I haven’t used it for about thirty years! Are you really serious about this?”

“Yes! In any case I’d like to know what it’s like! I’ve seen it on the television and read about it in books and I’ve often wondered it felt like to get it!”

In Derek’s teaching days boys were not anxious to find out what it felt like! He wondered if Gordon realised what he was letting himself in for!

“Okay! If you’re sure you know what you’re doing, you’re on! Six of the cane and I’ll waive the penalty money! I’ll fetch the cane! Oh yes, just while we’re doing this I would like to make it seem authentic, so I will address you by your surname and you will call me sir! Right?”

“Right!”

Derek left the room and returned with the cane. Gordon was feeling a prickling sensation in his bottom as if it was anticipating what was coming to it! Suddenly an innocent piece of wood was looking frightening and menacing!

“All right Grey! Bend over the arm of that chair!”

“Yes sir!”

It was just like the old days! To all intents and purposes Derek was back in the headmaster’s study! Gordon looked exactly as Derek had imagined he would. The hair flopping forward and his bottom, with the trousers stretched to bursting point, facing heaven. Derek flexed the cane, then he swished it through the air and then he gently tapped it on Gordon’s bottom! Every movement he made he was telling himself that it was the first time he had done this for thirty years! He was wondering whether a modern youth could take a beating as the boys of yesteryear used to! They had been brought up with spanking at home from an early age and progressed to school slippering and caning gradually. Feeling a little nervous about striking a boy’s bottom after all those years he raised the cane and brought it down hard!

Derek need not have worried! Gordon reacted just as most senior boys used to in those far off days. He went stiff and taut all over and his fist folded tightly but he made no noise. The second stroke landed and Gordon’s bottom was squirming in the most delightful fashion! Derek knew from years of caning experience exactly how the boy would be feeling. He would be in intense agony and would love to scream out but his ego would not permit him to do so! No boy, however, could avoid the telltale squirming and Gordon was no exception. There came a third swish and a crack and a forth and a fifth. The writhing had developed into a full scale bottom waggle from side to side! Derek raised the cane for the last time and as it fell he said:

“You may get up now!”

Gordon needed no such invitation. He sprang up, grabbed hold of his buttocks, arced his back and flung his head back with his face a picture of agony! That too was the normal post-caning reaction which Derek expected.

“You took that well, Gordon!” said Derek, returning to the use of the first name, “You can be proud of yourself!”

Gordon was in no condition to answer! His face was twisted and his mouth tightly shut while he held his breath until another peak of the ebbing and flowing pain was reached, then he breathed out with a sigh of relief and just had time to gasp out “Thanks!” before repeating the whole process.

“Well you’ve kept your side of the bargain, Gordon!” said Derek, “Now I’ll keep mine! While you’re getting over it I’ll be writing your cheque out!”

Perhaps Derek too needed time to get over it! He found his hands shaking as he opened his cheque book. He stretched out his arm and open and closed his fists a time or two, it helped to steady his hand. He wrote out the cheque and then looked up at Gordon. The boy was still convulsed in the throes of pain!

“I’m afraid there’s going to be a far amount of stinging for maybe an hour or two, Gordon!”

Gordon managed to let go of his backside and go over to Derek.

“I’ll be all right soon!” Gordon replied, “My word, that was quite an experience!”

“One that most boys were familiar with once! But you took it as well as any of them did! Here’s your cheque by the way!”

Gordon glanced at the document and a look of surprise came over him.

“What’s this….?”

“I’ve put the ten per cent discount back on as well!” explained Derek, “You deserve it Gordon, and I can see how much it means to you to show your father that you’ve done a good deal!”

“Well err gosh! I don’t know what to say! That’s very nice of you Derek!”

“I wish you the best of luck in your career!”

“Thanks! I shall see you again though! After a while I’ll come back to see that all is well with the conservatory. Probably in about a week’s time!”

They shook hands and Gordon left the cottage happy but dreadfully sore! He planned to potter about in the garden that evening doing something which did not involve sitting down! Gordon was as good as his word. He came back a week later. He was, in truth, keen to talk to Derek again. He had become fascinated by all aspects of school corporal punishment! He would not want to go through another hard caning again. That had hurt and was sore for days, but he would love to know what a slippering and a spanking felt like. He wondered whether he would pluck up the courage to broach the subject or whether he would be too bashful.

“I’ve just come along to see how you are getting along with the conservatory Derek.” said Gordon, “Any problems?”

“None whatsoever!” exclaimed Derek, “Even during that storm the other night not a drop of water came in!”

“Oh good! I pleased to hear it!”

“Have you got over the caning yet?” asked Derek with a twinkle in his eye.

Gordon was pleased that Derek had brought the subject up so soon.

“Ha! Sure! I have now. God, didn’t that hurt that night though!”

“I expect that just like a schoolboy the first thing you did when you got home was to go straight to a mirror!”

“Err, yes I did!” admitted Gordon as he coloured up slightly, “But I’m glad you’ve brought the subject up. There’s something I want to ask you!”

“Fire away! I’m all ears!”

“I’ve become interested in these old school punishments. Did you use any other corporal punishment other than the cane!”

“Oh yes! It depended on the severity of the offence. I used a slipper sometimes and occasionally spanked with my hand!”

“The slipper didn’t hurt anything like the cane I suppose?” asked Gordon hopefully.

“Not quite, but it did nonetheless carry a good sting. The main difference is that while the effects of the cane lasts for days the worst of the effects of the slipper can wear off after several minutes. I’m talking about a normal four to six strokes. If a slipper is applied relentlessly it can cause bruising just as the cane does!”

“I wouldn’t want to try your cane again but I’d love to find out what the slipper was like! Would you give me the slipper?”

Now Derek really was surprised. The boy had suggested and endured the caning for a good reason but now he was asking for another stinging bottom presumably for the fun of it!

“Are you serious?” asked Derek in amazement.

“Yes I am! I have got an urge to know just what boys had to put up with in those days!”

“My word! You weren’t put off by that caning then?”

“Not now that I’ve got over it!” said Gordon, “It was hell at the time but for the next two or three days when it was just sore and there was no stinging it was rather a nice feeling. I sort of felt proud to have gone through with it!”

Derek had long thought that the many boys he had caned might have left his study in agony but had come to regard their stripes as badges of honour! He would be only too pleased to oblige if Gordon was keen for more. he would love to see that youthful bottom bent across the seat of a chair once more!

“I haven’t got a real gym-shoe here,” said Derek, “but I’ve got a pair of those blue canvas ones with rubber soles. They are much the same thing! I’ll fetch one!”

Derek went out of the room and returned with a size eleven canvas top shoe.

“Are you sure you want to go through with this?”

“Absolutely!”

“Very well! Bend over the arm of that chair Grey!”

“Yes sir!” responded Gordon as he got across the arm.

The mere sight of that anatomically perfect rear end thrusting upwards and just crying out for attention was enough to arouse Derek’s physical as well as emotional feelings! How he would have loved to see that bottom bare, but perhaps that would be expecting too much! Trembling with excitement he raised the shoe and slammed it down upon the waiting buttocks.

Gordon was surprised as how mild the blow felt! What he did not know was that unlike the cane which produced an almost unbearable sting with the very first swipe, the pain from the slipper was to become more intense with each new wallop! The second whack produced a very noticeable sting! The third was beginning to convince him that the slipper was no toy! The sting was quite uncomfortable by this time. He wanted to shift the position of his bottom but managed to refrain from doing so in order not to reveal to Derek that it was hurting after only three! On the fourth stroke however he could not prevent himself giving a little waggle!

Derek smiled to himself, it was following a familiar pattern. Most boys would take the six and get up apparently unaffected, while in reality they were hoping to be released from the room immediately so that they could rub the affected area in private outside! Derek would deliberately keep talking to them until, in the case of nine out of ten of them, they could wait no longer to put a hand behind them! Gordon seemed to be behaving in the customary fashion!

Derek delivered the fifth stroke and the movement of the bottom became more pronounced! Then the final one crashed down.

“That’s it! That wasn’t too bad was it?” said Derek as his visitor rose rapidly to his feet.

“No, not really!” lied Gordon, trying to pretend that it did not hurt!

His right hand kept straying halfway round to his bottom before he realised what he was doing and he would withdrew it. Derek knew that it was now only a matter of thirty seconds or so before Gordon would be unable to resist giving a rub. He was right! With a sigh of relief his hand began to buff his stinging buttocks as if he was trying to polish them!

“That hurt more than you care to admit! didn’t it?” grinned Derek.

Gordon put on an expression which was half a smile and half a look of pain!

“Well yes! I didn’t think a slipper would sting that much!”

“At least you won’t have hours of pain and days of soreness!” Derek assured him, “It’ll probably sting like blazes for five minutes or so, but then, so some of my ex-pupils have told me, it developes into a nice warm glow like standing with your back to a roaring fire!”

“It’s beginning to feel like that already!” said Gordon with a note of enthusiasm in his voice, “It’s a great feeling!”

“It’s supposed to be a punishment!” laughed Derek, “You’re making it sound like a pleasure!”

“It is now!” replied Gordon, “It wasn’t while I was actually getting it though!”

Derek refrained from telling him that it had been a great pleasure giving it to him!

“May I come and see you again, Derek? I would love to complete the trio and sample a spanking some time!”

Derek’s heart was racing. He would certainly love to spank this boy and he was wondering if he dare mention giving it to him on his bare bottom! The truth was that at his school he never spanked boys over twelve. Once they had reached their teens it was always either the cane or the slipper! Up to age twelve he would put boys across his knee and spank them but he had never made a boy remove his trousers for punishment! But fortunately for him Gordon did not know that!

“Yes of course you may if you really want to try it. I must say you’re a glutton for punishment my boy! Actually when I spanked boys I used to make them remove their trousers and pants and then put them across my knee, but you would not want to do that of course!” said Derek hoping that in fact Gordon would want to do just that!

Gordon seemed somewhat astounded at first. He hesitated while he let the pronouncement sink in.

“I want to find out what it was like for real! If that’s the way you did it then that’s the way I want to try it!” said Gordon while wondering if he would regret committing himself to such undignified treatment!

Derek felt like rubbing his hands with glee, but did not do so of course! He feared that he might wake up in a minute or two to find that it was all a dream.

“If you’re sure then I shall be happy to accommodate you!” said Derek – in fact he would be over the moon! – “When are you thinking of coming again?”

“Hopefully early next week, but it’ll have to be in the evening, not during the working day. I can’t keep coming round to see how you are getting on with the conservatory!”

“No, I suppose not. How about Monday?”

“Suits me fine! About seven?”

“That’s fine with me!”

Gordon said his goodbyes and left. Derek wondered whether he could bear to wait for four days! He was actually going to put that handsome boy across his knee and smack his bare bottom! The mere thought would keep him supplied with erections until Monday he thought, as he headed for the bathroom to deal with one there and then!

On Monday Gordon arrived exactly on time. His visit was no longer during working hours so he had swapped his suit and shirt with tie for a pair of tight-fitting blue jeans and a T-shirt. Derek took him into he living room.

“Would you like a drink before we start?” asked Derek.

“That would be nice. It’ll steady my nerves!” replied Gordon.

“You’re nervous then?”

“A little!” grinned Gordon.

“Gin or whisky?”

“Oh! Whisky please with a little water.”

As he poured out the drink Derek looked towards Gordon who was standing sideways-on to him. What a fine figure he cut. The front of his body was dead straight from his shoulders to his feet and his back was equally straight except for that lovely curvy bulge half way down, enhanced by his tight jeans! Derek handed his guest the glass.

“Cheers!” said Derek, stopping himself just in time from saying “Bottoms up!”

The pair of them finished their drinks.

“I’m ready! I’m all yours!” said Gordon.

“Right! Get those jeans down Grey!” said Derek adopting his headmaster voice.

Gordon slowly dropped his jeans to his ankles. He was not wearing anything underneath them and his T-shirt only came down as far as the top of the crack of his bottom. It was all on display and it did not disappoint Derek. Two absolutely perfectly shaped buttocks greeted him!

“Come here, across my knee!”

Derek got hold of the boy and aided him over his lap. Did Gordon feel embarrassed and humiliated? Yes he did! Very much so! And he was enjoying it! He liked being embarrassed and humiliated! He even pushed his bottom up as high and taut as he could to make it even more attractive to Derek! Derek could hardly believe the sight before him! Never before had he had a boy across his lap with a bare bottom only inches below his eyes, and he could sense that Gordon was deliberately poking his bottom up. Derek too had something poking up but it was not his bottom! Now for the first time he was going to experience the feel of flesh slapping flesh!

SMACK-SMACK-SMACK!

Gordon’s bottom turned pink as it wobbled uneasily. Derek’s hand seemed to sting as much as the slipper did.

SMACK-SMACK-SMACK!

Derek was going to stop at six. He could see that the red squirming buttocks must be getting painful. Despite the intense sting Gordon was enjoying it! He wanted more!

“Don’t stop!” he called out, “Keep going!”

Derek was not unfamiliar with boys crying out in vain for him to stop but this was the first one had ask him to continue! It was a request he was not going to refuse! He landed another six hard spanks!

“Had enough?”

“Yes I think so!” responded Gordon.

The boy stood up and this time unashamedly rubbed his stinging cheeks!

“My goodness you can hit hard!” he said with a wry smile.

“It’s like riding a bike!” grinned Derek, “Once you can do it you never forget the technique!”

Gordon pulled up his jeans then continued the rubbing for a few moments.

“Sit down!” invited Derek, “I’m sure you could use another drink now!”

Selecting a soft comfortable armchair Gordon sat down. He was still feeling somewhat embarrassed after the undignified way he had presented his bare bottom to Derek.

“Thanks I’d love another drink.” said Gordon.

They chatted away as they sipped their drinks, talking almost exclusively about corporal punishment. Derek got the impression that Gordon was longing to either say something or ask something. After a while he came out with it.

“I want to ask you something Derek! May I keep coming to see you?”

That question was the icing on the cake for Derek! It was better than winning the lottery!

“Sure you may, Gordon! You want more?”

“More spanking like this evening! Once is enough for the cane and slipper. But I would love to come and see you regularly for a spanking over your knee with my trousers down! It hurts but it’s great fun! And afterwards,” – here Gordon glanced down at his crotch – “it err, sort of turns me on! I don’t suppose it affects you like that! It’s routine stuff for you isn’t it?”

Derek was thinking just how naive this lad must be if he thought that stinging his bottom was having no physical effect on his spanker! He smiled.

“I have noticed the bulge between your legs my boy! You obviously haven’t noticed that I am in a similar condition! You don’t think I would go to the trouble of giving you all these whackings if I wasn’t getting something out of it myself, do you?”

“Oh yes, of course!” replied Gordon turning a little red in the face.

“Now I’ll tell you something. You are a born bottom, meaning you enjoy getting it! I am a born top, I enjoy giving it! We’re like a nut and bolt! We fit each other! Let’s drink to that! Empty your glass Gordon and I’ll refill it. And let us seal our new partnership with a toast!”

Derek had by this time convinced himself that this was no dream. It was really happening! And he had also got the conservatory he had always wanted!

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Story ©MMIX by Skinpang.

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D I S C L A I M E R

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

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Please leave a comment.  Comments are here.

 Skinpang’s earlier story on The Canery can be found here. Further great stories by Skinpang may be found at this external link.

Top Shelf Showdown (M/M)

♥ Site recommended story ♥

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

My local newsagent, Mr Kumar, was such a sweet old thing.  His greying hair and gold-rimmed spectacles betrayed his age, which was probably mid-60s.  He carefully slotted my copy of “Mayfair” inside the “Telegraph.”  He winked at me as he did so, and I handed a crisp new note over to him.  He understood that us men sometimes needed this one-handed reading matter to relieve our domestic tensions.  Indeed, in my case it was being decidedly unattached which made my urges at times overwhelming.

Just as I was about to leave, Kumar pulled me to one side.  “Mr Kemp,” he said, “It’s not my place to judge, but I wanted a word about your son, Robert.”

“Really?  I do hope he hasn’t been stealing stuff,” I laughed, knowing full well that my son wouldn’t do such a thing.

“No, no, bless me, it’s nothing like that.  I just wanted to check his age with you.”

“He’s eighteen.  Cigarettes?”

“No, not that either.  Eighteen is good and legal.  You see, he buys adult magazines too.  Rather specialist ones, you might say.  Mainly these spanking ones.”  With that, Kumar pointed a spindly finger at some top shelf titles like Janus, Blushes and Swish!  “An unusual taste in one so young, if I may say so,” he chuckled.

Ignoring his gaze, I picked up one of the titles, actually some sort of readers’ letters edition.  I flicked through and looked at the photos and illustrations of attractive maidens having their bare young bottoms spanked, slippered, hairbrushed and caned.  I swallowed hard.  I really couldn’t see the appeal of it all.

I sighed and placed the magazine back on the top shelf, noticing the exceptionally high price tag on the fluorescent orange sticker as I did so.  “Disgusting!” I exclaimed, probably more from embarrassment than true revulsion.

“I don’t like stocking those magazines, but the wholesaler always sends them, and doesn’t like too many returns.  I’m probably cutting off my nose to spite my face here,” said Mr Kumar, “Because young Robert is one of my best customers.”

“Well thank you for letting me know,” I said laughing, “Perhaps I’ll get my slipper or hairbrush on the case!”

“Oh no! Oh no, no, no!  I didn’t mean to cause trouble!” he said, but you know, I rather think he did.

I went back to my old Cortina, wondering what to do.  Was it any of my business?  Was it any of Kumar’s business?  No and no, the answers came to me.  Perhaps I should have let Robert have my back issues, although to be honest I rather prized my collection of Men Only and Mayfair magazines.  I decided to do nothing.  I got home and read the paper, and then proceeded to enjoy my adult reading.  As I spunked over my belly and chest, I started to feel a little bit guilty.  Guilty about knowing my son’s secret, and guilty about my double standards.  Still, there it was.

Unfortunately, things came to a head only a week or so later.  I came home early, only to find Robert masturbating in the living room.  He was looking at one of the spanking magazines.

“Robert!  What the hell are you doing?  In the lounge, of all places!  Give me that magazine!”

Once again, I found myself flicking through what is commonly known as a “spanker,” although this time my interest was more piqued.  Page after page of naughty females being spanked, their arses up in the air, with pretty much everything clearly on view.  Oh yes, this time I could kind of see the appeal.  But that didn’t stop me being a complete hypocrite!  I shouted at my son some more, “This is utter filth!  Girlie mags are one thing, but this sort of depraved thing’s only suitable for the dirty mac brigade!  I was brought up that it was wrong to hit women, so this really sickens me!”

“Sorry, Dad,” was all that my embarrassed teenager could say.

“Have you any idea how much this would hurt?” I asked him, pointing to a graphic picture of a young minx being thrashed on the bare with a hairbrush.

“Dunno.”

“Well!  Let’s find out shall we?  Go and fetch the hairbrush off the dressing table in my room!”

“Dad!”

“Fetch it!  NOW!”

A minute or so later, he appeared red-faced with the brush in his hand.  I snatched it from him, still fuming at his totally inappropriate use of the front room.

“Jeans down!  Over my lap!”

Suddenly I was confronted with the reality of the situation I’d created.  My son was draped over my knees, his off-white Y-fronts on display, and fully expecting to be battered hard with the oaken brush.  I began to have doubts.  But it was too late to stop!  I cracked the brush down hard, again and again, and my son cried out as the blows hit home.  I wasn’t going easy on him, I was so annoyed and so determined.  I cracked the brush down again, and then tore his pants down, revealing a severely reddened hide.  This seemed to encourage me to hit him even harder, and soon the brush was making frantic contact with his bare teenage flesh.  After perhaps twenty more blows I stopped, much to his relief.  I was rather embarrassed about it all.  His hands flew to his bum as he stood up.

“Let that be a lesson to you!  If I find this sort of thing again, I will be getting a cane.  Then we can see how you like that!”  I was shocked by my idle threat, and by the way my latent sadism had surfaced.  “We’ll say no more about it!” I declared, wanting instant closure.

Robert beat a hasty retreat to his bedroom.  I picked up the magazine.  It was called Swish!  I skimmed through the pages.  The content turned me on and I soon found myself wanking in the very same room my son had been jerking in!  I kept the magazine and it made some very interesting bedtime reading.  Needless to say, Robert didn’t ask for it back.

It was a few days later that I bumped into my old headmaster, Dr Dillon.  We exchanged some idle chatter in the street and then adjourned to the Crown Inn for a couple of beers.  The alcohol soon loosened my tongue, and he found out about how I had disciplined my son.

“Good for you!  You did the right thing.”  He gently squeezed my hand, saying reassuringly, “Eighteen can be such a difficult age.”

“I don’t know about that.  I was so annoyed!  I even threatened to buy a cane and use it on him.”

“A cane, eh?  Not a bad idea.  Could help cure him of his strange interest, I suppose.  By the way, call me Dave.”

“Well, Dave, that’s what I threatened him with!  He went as white as a sheet.”

“I bet he did.  The cane has that effect!”

“I know, I didn’t much care for it back in the day.”

“No, indeed.  I remember.  Anyway, I can help.”

“How so?”

“I’ve got some canes back at my place.  Souvenirs from abolition.  You can have one, if you like.”

“Oh no.  I couldn’t possibly.”

“Go on.  I insist.  A good, hard caning is just what your boy needs.  I’ve got a few canes, and I can spare you one.  After all, they don’t get a lot of use nowadays.”

So it was that we ended up at his house.  It was a real tip, which was a surprise, given how he used to lecture us on tidiness and presentation!  We made our way into his dining room, where he offered me a chair.  He disappeared for a few minutes, then came in with a good half-dozen canes.  All of them had that strange curved handle, so familiar to generations of British men.

We talked canes for  a short time.  He told me all about rattan and how it was so suitable for punishment canes, unlike bamboo which could split and break if used in anger.  He swished a few of the canes and so did I.  Then there was an awkward silence.  “Choose one,” he said, “Any one.  They are all much the same.”

I picked the one I’d just been swishing around.  He nodded approvingly, “Yes, a fine specimen that one.  Of course it can hurt like the blazes.  Want a stroke to remind you?”

“Perhaps, I’d better,” I agreed reluctantly and bent over the dining room table.  He let rip with the cane which sliced into my trousers.  “Shit! Shit! Shit!” I cried.

“Hurt a bit did it?” my headmaster asked while laughing sadistically.  “Just one more I think, for swearing.  Get back down!”

Foolishly I bent over obediently.  He let fly again with another scorcher.  This time I held my tongue, but as I rose I felt I had to hold my bottom too!  God, how it stung and ached, and all after only two strokes!

“Well, what did you think of that little beauty?” he smiled.

“Yes, that would certainly teach him a lesson!  I’d forgotten how much a cane can sting,” I admitted, adding “But I’m worried about doing it.  I mean, do I just whack him?”

“No there’s a definite technique to it.  Watch me!”  With that he whacked some cushions and then let me try to do the same.  I soon got a feel for the power of the rattan stick and how to handle it.  Encouraging me, he said, “You have to aim for the middle of the buttock cheek furthest away from you.  Of course what you really need is a real person to practice on.”

“Yes, well that’s not going to happen, now is it?  Come on!” I said

“Don’t be so cocky, Kemp!  Or I’ll give you some more.”

“Sorry, Sir,” I said, feeling a bit worse for wear after our drinking session, and with those two cane weals throbbing under my trousers.

“You may be surprised to hear this, but I’m not averse to taking a few strokes myself.  You can practice on me!”

I was astonished.  He couldn’t be serious, could he?  But he was, and then to cap it all, he promptly dropped his trousers and underpants and took my place bending over the dining table.  I shuddered and hesitated as I gazed at the bare male flesh before me.

“Well, get on with it lad!  I don’t have all day!” he ordered.

I lashed a first strike down.  It landed spectacularly, right on the manly, naked target and with a most satisfying crack.  He grunted, and then said, “Good!  You’re a natural!  Carry on.”  The second stroke was less successful, too tentative evidently, as he admonished, “Harder!”  With determination, I then landed four crisp, harder strokes as instructed.  My God, what fun it was!  Moreover, I was strangely turned on, my rigid cock straining within my Falmers slacks.

I was so grateful for that cane he gave me.  I was even more grateful for our friendship.  We met up regularly for caning sessions.  One thing led to another and we ended up bedding each other.  Yes, we became the most unlikely of lovers.

So did I cane my son?  You bet!  Only a few times, sadly, as he became a pretty well-behaved senior teen, on the whole.

I eventually confided in Mr Kumar that I’d caned young Robert.  He just smiled, and then said, “Unfortunately, I don’t think it has cured him, Mr Kemp.  He’s been buying even more of the spanking magazines.  And some of these homosexual ones too!”  He pointed out titles such as Zipper, Him and Vulcan.  I was shocked speechless and then he added, “Forgive me, I didn’t want to cause more trouble.”  But you know, I rather think he did.

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Story © MMXVI by Rod Cayenne

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D I S C L A I M E R

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

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Comments welcome.  Comments are here.

The Moped Gang (M/M)

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Another chance to read this hot spanking and caning fiction by the two authors Charles Hamilton the Second  and Rod Cayenne.  All the characters are aged 18 or over.  This story is suitable for Adults Only!!!

The Moped Gang by Charles Hamilton the Second and Rod Cayenne

The headmaster leaned forward in his chair, rested his arms on his desk, clasped his hands together and stared intently at the five sixth-formers standing before him. His unkempt moustache bristled as he sneered, Well, well, well, Gentlemen, welcome! I seem to have convened an impromptu meeting of the Moped Gang!

All five eighteen-year-olds stared blankly, trying with varying degrees of success to look unconcerned. It would be a lecture, of course. Mr Lynch would lambast them about their behaviour and send them on their way. Maybe with an essay to write, Why I should be a credit to the school, something like that.

The headmaster shook his head wearily. The five lads from my school who have been terrorising the neighbourhood. Juvenile delinquents, he told himself. They were mighty fortunate not to be up before the Magistrates’ Court. Out loud he said, You have been inflicting your loutish behaviour all over the neighbourhood.

He paused, waiting for a reaction. When none came, he carried on. You have been riding those infernal mopeds disturbing all and sundry. He suppressed a smile. Mopeds; bicycles with hairdryers for engines. Hardly the Hells Angels. Nonetheless the good name of the school was at stake. You have been smoking and drinking and, the headmaster shuddered at the thought, urinating in most inappropriate places. The churchyard and the gardens of the Masonic Hall, I hear. And often you are foolish enough to do this in school uniform! You are a disgrace!

Mr Lynch hauled himself to his feet. He was a stout man, some would say he was running to fat. At six feet, he was taller than any of the boys standing in his study. Five pairs of eyes watched him intently as he shuffled across the room towards a bookcase. It ran most of the length of one wall and had glass doors. The shelves were stacked with history text books. Mr Lynch liked to keep his hand in in the classroom. A tall thin cupboard divided the bookcase. He fumbled in his pocket for barely a moment before bringing out a key. His hand trembled as he inserted it in a lock and opened the cupboard. His body obscured the boys’ view but an unmistakable rattling sound revealed its contents.

Mr Lynch turned to face the delinquents. It’s a shame that you are all eighteen and so too old for this cane of mine. Isn’t that so, Smith? The headmaster held the rod between his hands and flexed it.

Err, yes, Sir, Smith blustered.

The headmaster swiped the cane through thin air. Too old for this cane, Passey?

Yes, Sir. Passey stared intently at the cane. It was a little over three feet long with a curved handle.

Swish! The cane flew again. Too old, Wilkinson?

Yes indeed, Sir, the lad coughed nervously, sensing some kind of trap.

Mr Lynch took a step forward, leaning into a thin, lanky boy. And how about you, Jenkin, just turned eighteen, I believe, so too old for this cane of mine?

Yes, Sir, Mr. Lynch, Sir. Jenkin returned the headmaster’s gaze. He wished he would just get on with it. An essay. A detention even. He wanted to get away, the Moped Gang had a meet that evening.

Mr Lynch swivelled on his left heel. And finally, we get to you, Davies.

Yes Sir? a short, stocky boy narrowed his eyes. He didn’t understand the tone in the headmaster’s voice.

You’re a little bit different from the others here, aren’t you?

I am, Sir? He felt his cheeks flush, what was the Old Man talking about?

Oh yes! You may be eighteen like the others here, but I understand that your father beats you regularly. With a cane just like this! He swiped it twice through the air for emphasis. He told me all about it when we were at the Model Railway Club. We are both members, you see. He’s the life and soul of the club, old Deltic Davies, you know. He often tells us he’s had to get his cane out.

Jenkin suppressed a snort. The cane, from his dad, he thought. Wait until he told the other sixth-formers. Davies’ face reddened with embarrassment and shame. He felt no shame being up before the headmaster, but for the Old Man to know he was caned at home; that was unbearable. And now, the shame that his friends had just found out about it too.

But there was more. The shame that his father played trains! Diesel trains too. And Dad was friends with headmaster. That had to be the worst! No, wait! Did the headmaster know that Davies had his trousers at his ankles and his underpants at his knees as he bent across the dining room table for lashes from Dad’s cane across his bared bottom?

What if all of that became public? It would be the end for Davies. How could he remain leader of the Moped gang? Davies stared at his scuffed shoes. He couldn’t look the headmaster in the eye. Neither could he look at his mates. He knew inwardly they were smirking. He wouldn’t hear the end of it once the headmaster released them from his study.

Mr Lynch flexed his cane some more, he tapped it gently against his right leg, then he swished it through the air again. He knew he was an old ham. This was supposed to intimidate a boy. Usually it worked. But maybe not this time, he thought. Davies’ face was scarlet, but the other four seemed unconcerned.

So we’re all agreed that you are all too old for this cane of mine? Mr Lynch’s moustache quivered as he bared his yellow teeth in a smile. There was a murmur of agreement from the boys. Davies sighed a little too loudly and the headmaster shot him a withering look.

I have decided, the headmaster continued, that you are right. At eighteen, you are all much too old for this cane. For this junior cane. He swiped it through the air again. It made a terrific Whoosh! as it travelled. No, what you lads need is the senior cane. Just right for your sturdy rumps! Jenkin! Go and ask Miss Glossop for the senior cane. Here, you can take this junior one back with you.

Wilkinson had been right, the headmaster had been playing them for fools, and they were trapped in his game. Jenkin took hold of the cane. It was surprisingly light. He had never seen a cane up close before. Brocklehurst Grammar was a traditional school – traditional curriculum, uniform, sports, religion and above all traditional discipline. And, that meant the whippy, crook-handled rattan cane. Could there be any boy in the sixth-form who had not offered his stretched backside to a master for a stinging six-of-the-best at some time during his school career? Jenkin was an exception; he had only joined the school the previous year after his father moved to the town with his job. This would be Jenkin’s first caning; an experience he did not relish.

Miss Glossop, the headmaster’s secretary, sat in an anteroom perched over her typewriter. Her long, thin nose and shiny black hair made her look like a crow. Jenkin shuddered as he handed the cane over. He didn’t use it then? I’m surprised! she barked disdainfully. If she had her way all five boys would be in front of a school assembly bent across a long table while the headmaster flogged their naked buttocks. And, she, Miss Glossop, would be seated in the front row.

He was very annoyed. Is he going to expel you? she asked.

No, no, nothing like that. At least I hope not. He told me to ask you for the senior cane.

Ah, of course! Absent-mindedly, she ran the tip of her tongue across her bottom lip, leaving behind a trail of spittle. That makes sense. He really is annoyed with you then. The senior one is reserved for the wickedest of the wicked. You bad lads!

She rose from her swivel chair and sashayed to a tall metal locker at the far end of the room. Jenkin watched mesmerised as her bottom wiggled suggestively. She unlocked the locker and withdrew the cane. Just as the headmaster had done, she flexed the rod between her hands. Blood rushed to Jenkin’s cock. A sudden vision of himself bent across Miss Glossop’s desk, trousers and pants at the floor, made the cock stiffen. Hurriedly he clasped his hands together and held them in front of his balls.

Here it is then. The senior model. Extra painful. Miss Glossop narrowed her eyes and handed the stick over. Be sure to tell the headmaster that there are a couple more in stock in case this one breaks.

Err, will do Miss Glossop, he blustered. He took the cane, unsure how to handle it. It was a little longer and thicker than the junior cane. At first he took it be the curved handle and let it fall by his side. It was long enough to touch the ground and reminded him of a walking stick. That didn’t seem right, so then he gripped it half way down. It was a sturdy rod with notches every four inches or so along its length. It was awesome; it would pack one heck of a punch. For one absurd moment he thought of Charlie Chaplin and how the clown would twirl his cane in the silent movies.

You’d better be getting back, Miss Glossop said grumpily. Jenkin jerked back into life, tucked the cane under his arm rather like a sergeant-major did and returned to the headmaster’s study.

…

You four, the headmaster waved his arm, stand and face the bookcase. He watched as the teenagers shuffled into place, no longer unconcerned. Jenkin, he pointed with the cane to a worn armchair. Bend over. Manufacturers called these chairs comfy or comfortable chairs but Mr Lynch was determined that Jenkin’s visit would be anything but comfortable. The chair was old and worn. The material on the apex of the back was shiny with age. How many boys had contributed to that, Jenkin wondered.

Bend over, lad, the headmaster had had his little joke with the boys, now he was anxious to get on with it; the sixth-formers less so. Jenkin stood a foot or so away from the back of the chair. How exactly was this done? He took a deep breath rubbed the palms of his hands together and reluctantly fell forward, rather like a diver going into an icy pond. Jenkin was so small and the chair so tall, that his stomach rested easily on the top of the chair’s back. He felt his pale-grey trousers ride up his buttocks. He couldn’t see himself, but he was sure the material had separated his cheeks.

Legs further apart. Up higher. It was a calm command and Jenkin obeyed without question and struggled to get into the requested position. Head nice and low, please. Now, his bottom was resting at a perfect angle to receive a thrashing from the headmaster. Jenkin gripped the seat cushion and closed his eyes. He had never been caned before and nor ever spoken to a boy who had been. His previous school had been quite liberal and corporal punishment was unheard of. His buttock cheeks clenched. He had not meant to do this, it was as if his body was trying to find a natural way to protect him from the pain ahead.

Relax lad. Relax. The headmaster sawed his cane across the underside of Jenkin’s now upturned bottom. He was finding his spot, taking his aim. Jenkin’s firm bottom stretched his now very tight grey trousers, a point the headmaster was careful to observe as he positioned himself behind him.

Stick your bottom out more, lad, hollow your back. Mr Lynch knew this was Jenkin’s first caning and he intended it to be memorable. Jenkin when I cane I make sure it hurts. There is no point in giving a boy a beating if it doesn’t. I won’t lie to you, your backside will be on fire and you will be sore for a few days. The marks will last about two weeks but you will live.

It had the desired effect and tears started to dampen Jenkin’s eyes before the first stroke had cracked against his tight backside. He gripped the chair cushion so tightly his knuckles ached.

The headmaster grasped the cane and took two steps away. To calm down he took a few air shots before finally returning to stand to Jenkin’s left. Then, with his arm outstretched he lay the cane tip half way across the cheek of the teenager’s further buttock. Jenkin flinched slightly as the rattan touched the middle of his bum. The headmaster raised it slowly then brought it whistling down. It landed with a satisfying thwack right across the cheeks.

Oww! Gosh, oww! Jenkin yelped, trying to keep his scorching bottom still after his first ever stroke of the cane.

The study was again filled with the sound of the cane swishing through the air, followed by that awful crack that signalled another searing bout of pain across his already sore bottom. The headmaster drew the cane back for another stroke. Jenkin arched his back and screwed his face up as he experienced the smarting of yet another assault to his now red-raw bottom.

Despite the shocking pain, Jenkin resolved to take the caning bravely and silently; he didn’t want to show himself up in front of his mates. But when slash number three connected with the seat of his trousers he lost all control, his feet beat a frenzied tattoo, as his hips twisted and squirmed. He desperately wanted to jump up and run from the study clutching his buttocks in both hands, but some schoolboy instinct kept him down. He was grateful that he had the chair cushion to grip, even though his hands were now grasping it so tightly his fingernails dug deeply.

The next swipe was greeted with a howl and Jenkin was now audibly muttering: No! and Please! But there was to be no mercy in the study that afternoon. Mr Lynch stood back, took aim again and the cane flashed through the air with a whoosh and the resulting blow snapped into Jenkin’s waiting backside with venom.

A river of tears cascaded down Jenkin’s face as he waited, heart thumping madly, for the final crack which the headmaster put right across the middle of his buttocks, angled, so that it crossed about three of the other cuts.

It took some time after the last stroke for Jenkin to realise the ordeal was over. Yes, the headmaster sighed. That concludes your punishment, Jenkin. I hope you have learned your lesson.

Like so many thrashed schoolboys before him, Jenkin remained slumped across the back of the chair, just trying to absorb the line of fire across his bum. Nothing had prepared him for the pain or for the feeling that his bottom had being cut into slices and then set on fire.

Up lad! the headmaster commanded, We haven’t got all day. With great difficulty, Jenkin’s hands scrabbled for the arm of the chair and he pushed himself upright, panting and sobbing. He danced on the spot, clutching the seat of his trousers. Even through the material he could feel the six vivid and very painful stripes decorating his hindquarters.

Stand and face the bookcase, the headmaster intoned. Wilkinson, take his place.

….

Thirty minutes later Owen Davies steered his moped through the gate of a large detached house. Home. The intense pain from his caning had dissolved into a dull ache, but the hard seat of his Honda had set the welts on his bum throbbing. He kicked the stand on his bike and left it standing by the door of the house. The Moped Gang were meeting later.

He opened the front door to find his brother Dai standing, waiting for him in the hallway. A supercilious grin slit the twenty-year-old’s face. Who’s been a naughty little boy then? he chirped in the sing-song voice of a child as he swished an imaginary cane through the air. Owen grimaced. This was the last thing he needed.

I got a phone call from your headmaster, Dai’s grin broadened. He wanted to speak to Dad, but I told him he was at that toy train convention until Saturday.

Owen moved towards the stairs, intent on ignoring his annoying brother. He wanted to get to his bedroom for a close look at his bum.

So, Dai blocked his brother’s way, he told me all about you and your Moped Gang. Six-of-the-best, eh? He swiped the imaginary cane again. You naughty, naughty little boy.

Piss off, Owen sneered. He hated his brother. Always had done. Owen was the bright boy in the family. Dai wasn’t clever enough to go to grammar school. He left Gumshoe Lane Secondary Modern aged sixteen. How Owen despised him. Thick as two short planks. A waste of space.

Of course, Dai jeered, When Dad finds out you’ll get another caning. His arm flew through the air again. And, Dai was enjoying himself and he wanted his little brother to know it. What was it Dad said last time? He poked the underside of his chin with an index finger, pretending that he was thinking. Oh yes, I remember. Owen clenched his fists, for two pins he’d sock his brother on the jaw. He knew what Dad had said.

He said if you got into any more trouble on that phut-phut he’d confiscate it and sell it. Then where would you be little brother? Dai reached out and ruffled Owen’s hair. You’ll be on the bus like the rest of the kids.

Owen stood devastated. Dai was right. That was what Dad had said. He would do it too. A bare-arsed caning and no moped. That bike was his life. He was the leader of a gang. It made him feel really important. The other guys actually looked up to him. Now what would happen? He knew only too well; no bike, no gang, no life.

Of course, Dai spread his arms wide like a market trader offering a bargain to passers-by, Dad need never know. He grinned and stared intently at his little brother. Dai had a plan. One that he would really enjoy putting into action. What d’ya say little brother?

Owen sucked in air. What the hell was Dai talking about? Why did he have to behave like an idiot all the time?

What the fuck are you talking about? he spat. He hated his brother. Owen couldn’t wait until the autumn when he could leave the house and go away to university. His imbecile brother would probably have to live at home the rest of his life.

Dai shrugged his shoulders and showed Owen the palms of his hands. A little plan, dear brother, he said in a mocking accent that made his brother’s skin crawl.

Owen hated himself for doing it, but he asked none-the-less, What plan?

Ha, Dai spoke in that mocking voice again. Now, he wants to know. Now, he asks me: What is the plan?

Oh, for fuck’s sake, I want to go out, Owen pushed past his brother and started toward the stairs. Fearful, he might have missed his chance Dai said in a rush, I won’t tell Dad your headmaster called. I’ll cane you instead. Owen stopped in his tracks and turned. The surprised expression on his face asked What?

Dai took a deep breath, You’ll get to keep your moped.

The room span. Owen gripped the banister rail for support. His mouth opened, but before he could tell his brother once more to fuck off he shut it tight. He should not be too hasty. That bike was his life. There was only one way for him to keep it. His head spun. This could not be happening. If he let his brother cane him he got to keep the bike.

Thinking about it later, Owen could hardly believe he spoke the next words, You promise you won’t tell Dad? Dai’s cold blue eyes blazed, Scout’s honour, he said and waved two fingers in the air. All right, Owen whispered.

Good-oh! Dai smiled broadly. We must do it now, my shift at the Wimpy starts at five-thirty. Gingerly Owen rubbed his fingertips across the seat of his trousers. His bum still ached from the headmaster’s caning. Now, he had to let his obnoxious brother beat him on the bare bottom. He would rip it to shreds. He grimaced. You couldn’t make it up, he thought.

Owen watched Dai rush up the stairs and fling open the door to Dad’s bedroom and enter. Moments later he came out crestfallen. The wardrobe’s locked. He let the importance of his message hang in the air. Owen needed no explanation. Dad kept his canes in that wardrobe, if they couldn’t get it open there was nothing to beat him with. He would lose his moped after all.

Owen sighed, Can we get a cane someplace else?

Dai snapped his fingers to indicate a thought had come to him. Of course, let’s go round the neighbours and ask if anyone can lend us a cane, he said sarcastically.

Owen sneered. All right, but there must be a way round this.

Dai did the snapping of the fingers thing again. This time he was serious, It doesn’t have to be a cane. I can spank you. When Owen looked doubtful, he added, You know, over the knee, like a little boy.

Owen blanched. It would have been mortifying enough to go over the dining room table for a caning, but over-the-knee to have his bare bottom spanked; that was too much. Dai read his brother’s mind. He wasn’t about to let this chance to thoroughly humiliate his brother pass. You’ll get to keep the moped, he reminded him.

That was enough. It was the only way. With his heart pounding and temples throbbing, Owen nodded his assent.

Good-oh, Dai brightened up. Go wait in the sitting room. I’ll fetch something. Sorrowfully, Owen trudged across the hallway. Seconds later Dai bounded down the stairs brandishing a heavy wooden clothes brush. He bounced into the sitting room, noting with delight the gloomy expression on his kid brother’s face. He picked up a large armless chair that lay against a wall and plonked it down in the centre of the room. He sat down, spread his legs wide and, waving the brush wildly, called across to Owen. Come here you naughty little boy.

Owen grimaced. How he would like to smash his fist into Dai’s smug face. He stood and glared. Dai’s smirk was undisguised. Come on, let’s get on with this. He snapped his fingers and pointed to a spot on the carpet close to his right knee. Stand there. Owen refused to look at his brother as he shuffled the three paces it needed to take up the position.

Dai sucked in a lungful of air. His eyes sparkled. Trousers down, little man. Trousers down. Owen avoided his brother’s gaze and instead concentrated his attention on the far wall. He had never really noticed the painting that hung there before. Some modern art thing. All oranges and reds. It looked like the artist was having a fit when he painted it. Owen stared hard at the picture as he reached for his belt buckle. He was surprised how little his fingers fumbled as they loosened the belt, popped the button at the waistband and pulled the zipper. His pale-grey trousers slid down his thighs unaided and snagged at his knees.

Ha! Dai smirked, White Y-fronts, I forgot your snob school made you wear those. Do they do a pants inspection every morning? He laughed aloud. Owen sucked on his cheek, determined not to raise to his brother’s bait. Pants down. All the way, Dai pointed at Owen’s feet. The eighteen-year-old closed his eyes tight. Think about the moped, he said to himself. If you let him do this you keep the bike. He tucked his thumbs under the elasticated waistband of his pants and guided them south.

Dai tapped the brush against the palm of his left hand. Bend over my knee, you naughty boy. I’ll get you for this one day you bastard, Owen told himself as he guided himself across his brother’s lap. Owen was short and squat while Dai was tall and lanky and the boy fitted perfectly. He spread his arms wide and placed his palms flat into the deep-pile carpet. Behind him his toes merely brushed the ground. His bottom was raised against Dai’s right thigh, at a perfect angle for the brush. A cool breeze from the open window behind him caressed his naked legs.

Owen felt his brother pull the tail of his shirt up the small of his back until it bunched at his shoulders. Woweee! Dai exploded with glee. Implanted across his brother’s bared buttocks were six distinct welts. Your headmaster has given you a good set of marks. He put the index finger of his right hand into his mouth and soaked it in saliva. Then, carefully he traced along each cut with the fingertip. Owen shuddered as the pain in each welt reignited. Dai cupped his hand and roughly rubbed it first across the left buttock and then the right. It feels like corrugated cardboard back here. He didn’t try to hide the fun he was having.

Owen shut his eyes. He couldn’t see, but he guessed his brother had a perfect view of his crack and could even see up his hole. He could die from embarrassment. This will soon be over, he reassured himself. Then I can go out on my moped and lead a gang who respect me.

Dai tested the brush in his hand for weight. It was about a foot long with an oval-shaped head three inches wide. It’s primary purpose was to keep clothes clean but it also made a splendid spanking implement. Dai tapped the brush against the centre of Owen’s left buttock so that it fell across three of the cane marks. This should set them on fire again, he grinned as he smacked the wood down hard. There was a dull thud as the brush connected with Owen’s firm flesh, followed by an elongated hiss of air escaping through pursed lips; it sounded like a steam train settling down. Owen’s body shook; he raised himself an inch off his brother’s lap and his legs flailed. No you don’t buster, Dai gripped Owen around the waist. You’re not going anywhere. Satisfied his younger brother was firmly secured he hammered the brush across Owen’s bum. It was like machine gun fire. Rat-a-tat-tat; rat-a-tat-tat. Within seconds every square inch of Owen’s bottom was on fire, from the top of the curves, across the mounds themselves and into the ultra-sensitive underside, the part of the bum that connected with the chair when you sat down.

Even without the cane wounds this would have been a severe spanking. The relatively small area of shiny polished wood attacked his tender buttocks. Owen wriggled and writhed; he waved his arms around; he kicked his legs; his head flailed to left and right and then up and down (just like a horse does when he neighs) as his brother pounded away. The agony in his backside was intense. He gave up and gave in completely, hanging and dangling over his brother’s knees, his squalling taking over, as he gasped, choked, sobbed, and shook. He felt the fiery blistering on his bottom driving him to still deeper wailing and weeping.

This encouraged Dai to renewed vigour. Owen’s legs thrashed about so much he kicked his trousers across the room and the struggle continued so greatly that long before his brother had finished the bare-bottomed spanking the white briefs dangled from his left ankle.

Owen wrestled to escape the relentless torrent of increasing pain that had set his buttocks ablaze. He fought to escape from the very firm grip of his brother’s left arm around his waist. He pleaded, begged, promised and threatened endlessly between his gulps and his gasping for breath. But to no avail.

Dai hadn’t known he possessed such strength: not only was he able to pin his rowdy eighteen-year-old brother in place across his knees, face down, bared bottom high, he continued to batter his buttocks with the brush. He pounded away at the boy for almost another five minutes, Owen struggled and pleaded but his brother continued; he was having too much fun to stop just yet.

He was so engrossed in his task and Owen so overcome with pain and indignity that neither heard the gentle burr outside in the drive. Four moped riders stared in astonishment through the open window. They saw that their gang leader had just had his second humiliating beating of the day.

__________

D I S C L A I M E R

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

____________

More stories from Charles Hamilton the Second are at Male on Male Spanking Stories:

http://charleshamiltonthesecond.wordpress.com/

Story © MMXVIII by Charles Hamilton the Second and Rod Cayenne, used here by very kind permission of the authors.

Comments welcome.

Comments are here.

Comments from the original 2018 posting are here.

The Chairman’s Prerogative (M/F) NEW!

 

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Hot spanking and caning fiction by very special guest author Barry Spockings.  All the characters are aged 18 or over. This story is strictly for adults only!

My interview was going very well. I was greeted by the Chairman of the Board of Governors, in the Headmaster’s study. Dr Richards was an attractive and charming, slim, grey haired man in his sixties who carried an air of authority and dominance about him. To expedite matters he had been delegated (or had taken?) the full authority to appoint the new school Head. The previous Headmaster had died of a sudden heart attack and the board was anxious to appoint his successor as soon as possible. As a woman in her early thirties I was surprised to make the short list and then even more so to be invited to a personal interview with the Chairman but my Double First from Cambridge and a meteoric career at an old fashioned girls only grammar school had, no doubt, influenced the Board. I was also informed at my first interview that there were no suitable candidates amongst the current staff. So I said to myself things are looking good!

However I was not to know that Dr Richards had planned an unusual test for me! One I certainly had not expected and one that I was uncertain initially how I should respond.

“Miss Pringle I must say that I am very much impressed with your academic and teaching achievements, your personality, your confidence and, if you do not mind me saying, your feminine charm. However the latter attribute could be a disadvantage. Currently you are a Head of Department at an all-girls school but as Montrose Academy is co-educational with boys of eighteen plus in the Upper Sixth Form, an attractive, single young woman like you might be too distracting for hormone rich adolescent young men, especially if you dress as you are today. Even I, as a happily married man, must admit your outfit is very provocative. A smart business suit with tight slim skirt, black stockings and high heels and an open necked white silk blouse, revealing enough cleavage to leave little to the imagination!”

“Thank you and I do understand about young men Dr Richards, but I am confident that I am more than capable of controlling amorous young men.”   

“Well I hope so but controlling implies a need for discipline which is a subject we need to discuss.”

I had done my homework and knew from the school’s prospectus and other sources that Montrose Academy was a traditional school in many ways including the use of corporal punishment to maintain discipline and academic standards.

“Now Miss Pringle, coming from a girls only school I wonder how you maintained discipline there.”

“The school used lines, detentions, sometimes suspensions for serious offences and rarely expulsion for unacceptable behavior.”

“Well that might work in a girls’ school but we also have mischievous boys who need more painful punishment than you have described to maintain order. Staff can spank or slipper deserving pupils, both boys and girls, whilst the Headmaster or in your case, the Headmistress, has the option of spanking, slippering or caning pupils sent for more serious offences.  In addition the school head has been sanctioned by the Board and myself to administer corporal punishment on the bare buttocks, with a maximum of twelve strokes.  So what is your attitude towards corporal punishment and would you be prepared to administer it?”

I knew this was coming and so was well prepared.

“Well sir, there were certainly times when I would have loved to spank or cane certain girls in my classes, so I agree that this is a necessary deterrent in a mixed sex school.  I also respect the biblical phrase – to spare the rod is to spoil the child.  So I certainly approve of the school’s policy.  To answer your second question I have never administered corporal punishment but I am not afraid of doing so and even suspect that I would be good at giving it. From what you say it is clearly all part of my new responsibilities if I am appointed.”

Then came the totally unexpected impediment to me being appointed.

“That is good news; however there is one serious obstacle to your appointment which first must be overcome.  Have you ever been spanked or caned?”

“Only as a young child, spanked over my mother’s lap.”

“I thought as much. Unfortunately the Board and I have a rule that all staff required to discipline pupils must have previously experienced receiving such disciplinary measures themselves.  Otherwise they will have no concept of what is involved, the degree of severity required according to the seriousness of the offence or the actual pain experienced.  As you have not been down this path, unless we can find an acceptable solution, I am afraid I will not be able to offer you the position.”

I was in a quandary as I desperately wanted this appointment.  What did he mean by an acceptable solution?  I was about to find out! 

“Well I have thought very carefully about this matter and think I have found a solution which I hope will be acceptable to you and it will be entre nous – just between us. I call it the Chairman’s prerogative. In order to be appointed as Headmistress somehow you will need to receive a prior spanking, slippering and caning.  Do you agree?”

How, under the circumstances could I not agree?

“Yes I suppose so – if this guarantees my appointment.”

“Yes it will.  So this is what I propose and to make it more realistic and memorable it will involve some role play between the two of us.  Just for this once off scenario I will be your Headmaster and you will be a sixth form girl sent to me to be punished for three offences  – rude to your chemistry master, failure to submit your English homework three times in a row and caught smoking in the girls changing rooms.  Would this be acceptable?”

The penny dropped!  He had planned this all along and I had cleverly been trapped into a situation I could not back out of. If I wanted the post I could only say “Yes”.

“Good girl! My only requirement is that you follow my instructions without demurring, remembering I will be treating you just as you will be treating pupils in the future. For your information I used to be a Headmaster before an inheritance enabled me to retire.  So I am well experienced in dealing with young ladies like you and boys too of course.  This is going to be a formal session so I would like you to wait outside this study and after five minutes knock on the door and enter on my command, lock the door and then do exactly as you are told. Is that understood?”

I decided to accept my fate and enter into the spirit of roleplay.

“Yes Headmaster, I will do exactly as you say.”

I left the study, shut the door and waited five minutes as requested and knocked on the door.

“Enter!”

I did so and locked the door and discovered that he had donned an academic gown and placed a large gym slipper and crook handled cane on the desk.

“So Pringle do you know why I have sent for you?”

“No Headmaster.”

“Well sadly I have received three serious complaints about your behaviour that require me to punish you severely.  You were extremely rude to your chemistry master Mr Coulson, failed to do your English homework three times in a row and yesterday the gym mistress caught you smoking in the girls changing rooms. Is this correct?”

“I am sorry to say so Headmaster – I am very sorry and I apologise.”

“Well you will be very sorry by the time I have finished with you! You deserve to be punished for each of these offences and I have decided on the following.  For your rudeness I am going to give you a good old fashioned serious bare bottom OTK spanking.  For failing to do your English homework you will touch your toes and receive a twelve stroke slippering on your bare bottom. Worst of all to be caught smoking in the girls’ changing room is a very serious offence and smokers are always caned on their bare bottoms and sixth formers are awarded twelve of the best bent over my desk!”

Oh dear this sounds as though this is going to be far worse than I expected and all three punishments on my bare bottom!

“Pringle I must warn you that this will be a very painful and embarrassing experience.  Are you sure that you want to accept this punishment?”

I was determined to go through with it and so there was no going back!

“Yes Headmaster – give me what I deserve and do not hold back!”

“Good – let us proceed! Place that upright chair in the middle of the room.  Yes that is perfect.”

He sat on the chair and motioned me to stand on his right hand side.

“Now unzip your skirt and throw it on the desk.  That’s right and I must say you are wearing very attractive underwear – black suspenders, matching panties and black stockings! Now bend over my lap and prepare to have your bottom soundly spanked!”

I did as I was asked and bent right over his lap until my hands touched the carpet and my bottom was vulnerably high in the air. I then felt his fingers slip into my panties and pull them down to my feet. I was so embarrassed as I had never before been naked down below like this with a man I hardly knew, who now had full access to my bottom and private parts. He then placed his right hand on my bottom and began to knead and massage it. I must admit it was a very pleasant, slightly arousing sensation.

“Pringle, this manipulation of your buttocks is to encourage the blood to flow before I start spanking your bottom.’

He continued this for a couple of minutes and I was definitely getting aroused, particularly when his hand occasionally ventured between my legs.

“I think that will do, so brace yourself for a bracing spanking –gentle to start with but with increasing severity!”

And so my punishment started! And gentle it was with his hand almost tenderly smacking each buttock in turn and rubbing in between, so turning me on even more!  Then the pace and intensity increased and the playful spanking became increasingly more serious until I was definitely taking a severe spanking. However although painful it was bearable and did not detract from the arousal I was feeling.  Perhaps being subordinate to a powerful dominant male in a sexually open position had something to do with my hormone release.  Then I realized that I was not the only one getting aroused. His trousers had developed a lump that was poking into my stomach! No wonder he wanted to spank me. Spanking was a real turn on for him! He continued to spank me for a few more minutes, before with a final intimate massage of my bottom and between my legs, which must have left his hand wet, he said I could get up but leave my panties off as my next two sessions were also bare bottom. As I arose from his lap his erection was clearly visible and his penis was clearly of some size!

“Now Pringle I hope that has taught you a lesson but be aware a slippering and a caning are both in different leagues as far as pain goes, as you are about to find out.  Now fetch me the slipper from the desk and then bend over and touch your toes with your legs slightly apart. Stay in that position until I have completed all twelve strokes – if you do not you will receive extra.”

 I gave him the slipper, a rubber soled gym shoe, and bent over and touched my toes.  Again bare bottomed with my legs apart I felt very open and vulnerable. He ran his hand all over my buttocks again and in between before resting the slipper on them.

“A twelve stroke slippering is far more painful than a hand spanking, which really serves only as a warm up, so prepare yourself for a dozen serious swats!”

And he was serious.  The slipper struck with considerable force into my bottom and the pain was excruciating! Again and again he whacked the slipper down making my bottom increasingly painful and for me it certainly was no longer arousing.  My whole bottom was beaten by the slipper. Somehow I managed to keep in position but by the twelfth stroke I was almost in tears.

“You took that very well Pringle, so much so that I think you beautiful sore bottom needs another soothing massage over my knee.” 

He resumed his position on the chair and patted his legs indicating I should bend over his lap again. This time his erection was even more noticeable and I wondered what it would look like if freed. I bent over his lap no longer concerned about my vulnerability and nakedness.  

“Goodness Pringle your bottom is very red!  I hope I have not overdone it. “

This time he was again gentle, tenderly massaging each buttock increasing blood flow and rapidly easing the pain.  I began to feel the aftermath of a good slippering – a wonderful warm afterglow and which again made my juices run. Undoubtedly he was well aware of this as his soothing tactile attention inevitably included rubbing between my legs. After a few minutes of this I did not want him to stop but I knew I still faced a twelve stroke caning bent bare bottomed over his desk.

“Now for your final punishment and the most painful one – a twelve stroke bare bottom caning stretched over my desk.  To make the message sink in it will be twelve of my very best and I expect you to cry. So kindly bend over the desk and hold on to the far side until I tell you otherwise.”

I obeyed him without demure with feelings of fear of the pain to come alongside now rampant sexual needs – needs that I would not mind him satisfying if he wanted.

”Bottom up Pringle and legs apart. This going to be a serious caning and again you must stay in position.”

I heard the cane being swished several times in the air before I felt it tap, tap, tapping across both cheeks.

“Get ready Pringle this will really hurt!”

In the window behind his desk I could see his reflection as he raised the cane high and whistled it down with great force into my buttocks.  Initially I felt nothing and then the pain flooded my bottom, causing me to scream out in agony.  I could so easily have stood up and run away but I remained stoical and decided to take the next eleven strokes as best as I could.  Each stroke was torture and the pain worsened as he continued to thrash my bottom and I screamed out as each one bit home.  By the twelfth, as he expected, I was sobbing.

“That is your punishment completed Pringle. Stay in position while I inspect the damage. “

By inspection he meant gently running his fingers along the ridges left by the cane and then softly massaging each buttock, slowly easing the pain away to again produce that wonderful afterglow.  Painful pleasure indeed!  Sensing my approbation and the beginning of sexual awakening, his tactile exploration became more personal again arousing my need for sexual satisfaction.

“Like many boys and girls, this massaging after being spanked, slippered and caned has aroused you immensely and shown you Janus  – the two faces of corporal punishment – pain and pleasure.  Would you like me to complete the pleasurable side of being punished?”

I was so aroused and desperate to be penetrated how could I say no? I knew he was aroused just as much as I was.

“Yes please Headmaster”

Having a dominant, masterful male in sexual control threw all my inhibitions away.  He had spanked and thrashed me and now he could have me!

“Stay in that position then and I will complete our session together.”

I was now longing to have him inside me and was excited to hear him unzip his trousers and drop them to the floor, followed by his briefs.  Surreptitiously I looked back to see he was extremely well hung with a fully erect penis at least eight inches long. I sighed in anticipation. I had had several lovers but never a man this big before!

I then felt his two hands on my hips, guiding his throbbing stiff penis – his Excalibur – deeply into my moist and ready scabbard! I had never experienced anything like it.  With his left hand on my back he pushed me down on the desk to keep me in position whilst his right hand caressed my clitoris – I was in heaven! As he thrust back and forth I cried out in ecstasy and quickly orgasmed, again and again and again, until I felt a massive throb of his giant penis and he ejaculated deep into my vagina.

When I agreed to come for interview I would never have dreamt that something like this would happen but I do not regret it. Even more so when after we had both dressed, the Chairman shook my hand and said:

“Congratulations new Headmistress! – That was an interesting experience for both of us and one I would love to repeat if you think you ever need to be spanked by your Chairman again!”

Well actually I did – in fact in my study after every Board meeting which I attended as the new Headmistress. And, yes, as Headmistress the senior boys and girls soon learned that to be sent to me always resulted in a bare bottom spanking, slippering or caning. However I did not indulge in the Chairman’s prerogative…

D I S C L A I M E R

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

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Story © MMXXI by Barry Spockings, used here by very kind permission of the author.  All rights reserved.

Comments welcome.

Comments are here.

I Drink The Blood Of Sixteen Virgins (M/M)

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Classic caning fiction by special guest author 11plus. Repeated from 2016 by popular demand. All of the characters are aged 18 or over!  Suitable for adults only.

“This is really rather good.  You should try to get it published.  I could type it up for you, if you like,” said Julie Smith, as I gazed into her blue eyes.  Of course, it was her knickers I really wanted to gaze into.

“Have you got a typewriter at home then?” I asked, “After all, I’m not sure you should type it up here at school.”

“Mum’s got a fancy new electric typewriter.  She doesn’t mind me using it.”

“Well, that’s a very kind offer,Julie.  Thank you.  I’d like that very much.  And do let me know if there’s anything I can do for you, won’t you?”  So it was that I left the smudgy manuscript of ‘I Drink The Blood Of Sixteen Virgins’ with her.

The following day, I found myself waiting in the gloomy corridor outside the headmaster’s polished oak door.  I was nervous and scared.  I wasn’t sure what the problem was, but he seemed terribly angry with me.  He’d told me to report to his study ‘within the hour’.  But he wasn’t there.  What did he want to see me about?  Eventually, he came ambling along, smoking, with a chipped mug of tea in his hand.  He ushered me into the room, followed me in and then asked me to close the door. He dripped tea over the floor.  The stink of stale and fresh cigarette smoke was overwhelming.

It was then that I saw two things that horrified me.  On his desk was the manuscript I’d given to Julie.  And then right next to it was a crook-handled school cane!  It wasn’t hard to put two and two together, and end up with six of the best!  Even a poor Maths scholar like me could see the inevitable conclusion.

The headmaster picked up my work, saying, “Not very bright of you to autograph this, Hughes!  How dare you write this filth, and then bring it into school!  And to leave it lying around in the sixth form girls’ study.  Surely you know that’s out of bounds, even to senior boys?”

“I’m sorry Sir.  I lost track of it.  I’ll take it home.  It was meant as a fun piece.  Not so much a novella, more of a bodice ripper, Sir!”

“A bodice ripper, eh?  What a quaint term.  However, this is clearly a satanic effort, Hughes.  And this is a Christian school, I hardly need to remind you.  Clearly, I need to beat the devil out of you.  With my bottom ripper!”

“But Sir…”

“Listen lad!  I know what you’re going to say.  Let me guess now.  You’re too old for the cane.  You’re 18, an adult.  However, I’m a firm believer that no-one, let alone an upper sixth former, is too old for the cane!  Now then.  I’ve had a look at your record.  Never been beaten before, I see.  That’s commendable in some ways.  But how long has this filthy story been festering away in your mind?  Eh?”

“Errr.”

“Lost for words?”

“Yes, Sir.  Sorry Sir.”

“Hmmm.  Well, really I’d like to give you sixteen strokes of the cane, one for each virgin defiled in your filthy story.  But I’m not allowed to impose that many.  So, perhaps half, that is to say eight would be appropriate.”

“Oh Sir!”

“However, if you agree to me destroying this filth, I will reduce the sentence to six of the best.  Six of the very, very best.  I’m being lenient.  Well, what do you say?  Well?  Hurry up!”

“Thank you Sir.  Please destroy it.”

“Good!”  With that he tore the A4 pages in half, top to bottom.  He then proceeded to rip the paper into smaller pieces.  Once he had finished, he chuckled and piled the scraps into his large glass ashtray.  Then to my astonishment, he lit up another cigarette and then used the match to burn the paper scraps.  I was worried that the maniac would set the study on fire, but he monitored the smouldering scraps carefully, stubbing out the fires with the tip of his cigarette.  He soon lost interest, and left the charred scraps alone.  “I feel better already,” he said, leering menacingly at me, “I could let you off I suppose.  Yes, I could.  I could, but I won’t.  You need to be taught a lesson!”

With that, he picked up the cane and started swishing it through the air.  I didn’t like the sound of that at all.  “Right lad.  Take your jacket off, hang it over there.  That’s it.  Then over the chair!”  He pointed to the grey leather chair.  “Lean over the back.  That’s it.  Right over.  Up on your toes.  Stick your bottom out more.  Hold still!  Here it comes now!”

With an almighty crack the cane landed on my thin grey trousers at lightning speed and with an unbelievably venomous sting.  The chair moved with the force of the blow.  That sting!  Oh, so this was what a caning was like.  It was hell!  Strangely, I felt my bottom willing me on, so I thrust my arse out, goading the sick old man to do his very worst.  Which he did, landing a crisp and cutting second stroke in almost the same place as the first one.  The pain multiplied, as I gasped with disbelief at the havoc the old man was wreaking, and yet my bottom soon raised up for the next stroke.  Thankfully this one landed a little lower, although still blazing away like a wildfire.

Suddenly, he stopped.  We were half way through.  Waves and waves of pain lapped all over my arse.  I was in agony.  I was regretting ever having taken pen to paper and vowed to never write anything in the horror genre again.

“Wait there.  I want another cigarette,” he informed me.  I was about to protest but soon realised that might not be the smartest of ideas.  I heard him light up.  I just wanted him to get on with my thrashing, but I could hear him puffing away contentedly.  I stuck my arse out ready for the next stroke, but the bastard was making me wait and wait.  I wiggled my arse, trying to ameliorate the pain as I did so, but he just told me to keep still.  Eventually I heard him stub out the ciggie, probably on the remnants of my manuscript.

“Ah, now that was a fine, fine cigarette,” he said, “Nothing more satisfying than the combination of a manly smoke and a good, hard caning!”

He laid into my arse again.  The stroke was the lowest yet, cutting into the tender flesh just where arse met thighs.  I squealed with shock and pain, utterly humiliated by my bastard headmaster.  I wanted it over, but he had stopped again.  Surely, he wasn’t going to light up again?  I thrust my bottom out provocatively, positively begging for the final two strokes and to bring on the conclusion.  It must have worked as I heard the swish and crack of the cane again, releasing new agony and another helpless yelp from yours truly.

I waited and waited for that final stroke.  Eventually it came, cracking my grey flannels and causing me to gasp loudly.  I shed a few tears too, most embarrassingly.

“Right, you can get up now.  I shall be keeping a close eye on you in future, Hughes, my boy.  You can expect a fresh, hard caning if you cross my path again!  What can you expect boy?”

I couldn’t believe it!  As well as humiliating me by caning me black and blue, he now wanted to shame me into repeating his threat!  I gave in though, saying, “A fresh, hard caning Sir!”

“Quite so, quite so!  Now watch out or it will be with your trousers down next time.  Dismissed!”

“Thank you, Sir,” I said submissively, grabbing my blazer from the hook.  As I left, I saw that he was filling in the punishment book.  I shuddered and was sure that I didn’t want a second entry in there.

I made my way to the toilets and locked myself in a cubicle.  I found a biro in my blazer, and was soon adding to the graffiti on the walls.  B-A-S-T-A-R-D I wrote, feeling all rebellious.  I then dropped my trousers and pants and felt the ridges the cane had left on my arse.  An overwhelming urge to masturbate came over me and my rock-hard cock was soon spunking into some toilet paper.  The cum was creamy and hot, but not as hot as my arse.  Immediately feeling a bit better, I flushed the evidence away and then wrote the words C-A-N-E-D H-A-R-D T-O-D-A-Y on the painted wooden door.  My experience duly recorded for posterity, it was time to move on!

The lessons that afternoon were hard to concentrate on.  My arse throbbed and ached.  The hard extruded plastic chairs in the classrooms were harshly unforgiving.  There was no comfort to be had, at least not until I got home, I thought.  I fancied a cool bath and then maybe another wank or two.

Julie caught up with me as I walked home.  She had heard about my caning.  You could count on bad news and schadenfreude spreading quickly around the school.  She grabbed my arm and asked how I’d got on.  “It did hurt, Julie.  I can’t deny it.  I’d never been caned before and wouldn’t want it again.  My bum is so, so sore.  The bastard tore up my story too.  I’m not sure how he got his hands on it in the first place.”

“Oh, that’s my fault.  I must have left it in girls’ study.  I’m such a scatterbrain.  I’m so sorry.  And I’m sorry you got the cane.”

“It’s alright.  I’m lucky not to have been caned before, I reckon.  Some of the things I’ve got away with!” I was talking my bad boy image up, hoping to impress the sexy minx with my bravado.  “I should have had more sense than to bring the story into school in the first place, I suppose.  Still, I’ve got the last laugh as I made a carbon copy as I wrote the bloody thing.  If you’re still offering, I’d be grateful if you could type it up for me.  And as I said, if you do, just let me know if there’s anything I can do in return.”

“Of course I can type it up for you.  It’s the least I can do, and actually, there is something you can do for me.”

“Sure.  Anything.”

“You can show me the cane stripes on your bottom.”

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Story © MMXVI by 11plus

Photograph of and © Jonathan, R.I.P.

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D I S C L A I M E R

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

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Other stories by 11plus are here and here

Comments welcome

Morning Glory (M/M) NEW!

♥ Site recommended story ♥

A very happy All Hallows’ Eve to all readers!  New to The Canery is this exciting caning story by very special guest author JOELSTRAP.   All the characters are 18 or older. WARNING: ADULTS ONLY!

Morning Glory by Joelstrap

I am rising slowly from a school-desk, my eyes fixed on the master at the front of the room. As I walk towards him he gently arches the slim cane he is holding. The seven other boys in the room are sitting like statues and an air of expectant silence hangs heavily over us. I realise that I am pressing my hands to my bottom, although I can’t recall deciding to do so. I am eighteen years old and am about to be caned. There is something almost surreal about the whole scenario; and yet I know that when that lithe rod and my young buttocks come into violent contact with each other, the pain will be very real indeed. My penis is fully erect. I swallow nervously. I am told to bend over a desk. I obey.


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“You’re going to Austria whether you want to or not,” said dad angrily. “This school has an excellent reputation for bringing recalcitrant young men firmly back into line before they go off to the freedoms of college.”

“I’m not a recalcitrant young man!” I howled furiously. “I messed up, okay? I know I did. I’ve said I’m sorry. I don’t make a habit of doing things like that. You know I don’t. You can’t do this to me, dad. Please!”

“I can and I will. You’ll do as you’re told, Lee; and maybe you might consider showing a bit of gratitude as well. It’s thanks to me that you weren’t up before a court,” dad reminded me coldly.

“I know. I am grateful. Honest! And I took my punishment, didn’t I? I accepted that I had to give up my driving-lessons and got grounded for a month. I didn’t complain, did I? I knew I deserved it. I’m not a bloody hooligan. I made a fucking mistake, for God’s sake!” I shouted, feeling my face turn red. “When are you going to stop punishing me?”

“For a start, you’ll watch your language when you’re speaking to me, boy! Understand?”

I gave him a sulky look.

“I asked if you understood, Lee?”

“Yes, okay, I get it. No swearing. Right?”

“Lee, I’m this close to grounding you for another fortnight.”

He held his thumb and index-finger a few centimetres apart.

“I’m sorry. I’ll mind my tongue,” I said quietly.

“Good. As to punishing you, this isn’t punishment. It’s a serious attempt to get you sorted out before you go off to college where you’ll face all sorts of temptations and won’t have me to keep you right. I can’t stop you seeing it as a punishment if that’s what you’re determined to do; but that’s not how I see it,” said dad.

I was not to be mollified.

“Well it’s not how I see it,” I burst out angrily. “This was to be my last term at school here. I’ll be away from my mates. I’ll miss all the last-term things, the parties, the sports, the final-year dance. I won’t know anyone in Austria. It’s cruel to take me away from all my pals now. Dad, please; you just can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I’m serious; and there’s to be no more argument about it, Lee. The decision’s made and you’ve got a place in the school for the summer term. So take that mutinous expression off your face and just get used to the idea; because you’re going, boy. End of story.”

I glared at him in helpless fury and then turned and stormed up to my room, slamming the door so hard that the window rattled dangerously. A few seconds later dad came striding in.

“What?” I asked insolently.

“You know perfectly well what.”

I shrugged.

“Whatever.”

“All right. You can stay in here for the rest of the day; and don’t think about eating because there’ll be no food. I’ll come in after breakfast to see if you’ve learnt any manners overnight.”

He turned to go out.

“What if I need to pee?”

“Use the bloody wash-basin,” he snapped and closed the door. I heard the key turn in the lock.

“And one other thing you might want to know,” he said through the door. “In this school in Austria they use the cane to maintain discipline.”

I stared at the closed door in astonishment. I’d never heard dad swear before; ever. Boy, he must be hellish mad at me! I threw myself down on my bed and rehearsed all the arguments against going to this school in Austria; and I thought of a new one. If I had to go off to Europe, why couldn’t it be somewhere hot and sunny like Italy, rather than somewhere in the mountains where it probably rained most of the time? Why did it have to be the boring, disciplined Austrians and not the relaxed, free-and-easy Italians? It wasn’t until I had been feeling hard done by for several minutes that his last remark through the closed door really sank into my fevered brain.

Cane? They use a cane? They can’t. No way! I’m eighteen. Nobody can cane an eighteen-year-old. It’s a punishment for boys; and anyway, it’s been abolished for years. Nobody gets caned these days. Just another example of dad’s warped sense of humour. Sadistic bastard!

I spent a miserable evening, tormented by hunger-pangs, lonely, frustrated and deeply angry. I went over in my mind what had led to all this.

My mate, Ben, and I had been out on the town and had been mixing our drinks a bit. We didn’t know any better and anyway, we felt fine; too fine. We felt brilliant, popped, invincible; and so when we saw Ben’s uncle’s sports-car parked outside his house, and discovered on investigation that he’d left the keys in the ignition, it seemed perfectly reasonable to borrow it. We knew he’d never know. Just a quick spin round the estate and back. I’d had two lessons and so I knew I could drive and Ben assured me he had complete confidence in me.

Quite why the lamp-post shifted into my path, I couldn’t be sure, but I had to take swift evasive action and unfortunately that meant hitting a garden fence. We may have been going a tad faster than I’d realised and I’ll admit that I was getting a bit confused about which pedal was which, what with things happening so fast; and somehow we ended up demolishing the fence and coming to rest at the very brink of a garden-pond, a couple of fishing-gnomes annihilated by one of the front wheels.

There was a lot of shouting and lights and then we were hauled from the car and into a house. Ben’s father appeared and later so did mine. We were given loads of black coffee and then dad took me home and put me to bed. When I woke next morning, I had a couple of men with pneumatic-drills boring away steadily inside my skull while another bastard insisted on shining a brutally-bright light straight into my eyes. I lay moaning on my pillows for some time.

Dad came in, forced me to take more coffee and a little food and then told me to sleep. I did. In late morning I came round feeling slightly better. I stumbled to the loo and the noise of my movement must have alerted dad for he was waiting in my room when I returned from the bathroom.

The conversation which followed was painful; but I did get the message that the fence we’d demolished belonged to a neighbour of Ben’s family, and dad and Ben’s dad between them had managed to pacify the householder, promise to pay for everything to be put right, and gain an assurance that he’d not report the matter to the police. Punishment would be severe and our two fathers would see to it.

Punishment was indeed severe. The driving-lessons were terminated. I was forbidden to leave the house after six in the evening for thirty days. I had to give a substantial proportion of my savings to help pay for the damage. I had to make embarrassing and humiliating apologies to Ben’s father, uncle and the neighbour whose fence had been flattened. And I’d done it all and hadn’t complained because I was basically a good, well-brought-up lad. I’d fucked up badly and I knew it. I was prepared to take my medicine and had done so dutifully, as had Ben.

The matter was now over a month behind us and I’d begun to look forward once more. To be hit with the news that I wasn’t going back to school here at home with Ben and my other mates for our very last term together, was a vicious bolt from the paternal blue which had thrown me completely and led to my fury at dad; and to me being here in my room, locked in and starving and convinced that nowhere in all this wide world was there a boy as cruelly and heartlessly treated as was I. Eventually I went to bed, cursing the hardness of the world and the malign fate that had given me a sadist for a father.

I awoke with a massive erection, as I almost invariably did these days. I lifted the duvet and looked at my morning glory, large, thick, throbbing, demanding. I smiled to myself and got to work, giving it what it wanted.
Dad came and unlocked the door shortly after I’d cleaned myself at the basin and had sent a copious stream of piss down the plug-hole.

“Well, Lee?”

I knew there was nothing to be gained from persisting in my bad temper. If I was going to talk him out of this Austrian nonsense, I had to get last night’s behaviour out of the way.

“I’m sorry I was rude,” I said, trying to look suitably contrite.

“All right. We’ll leave it at that. Now, come down and have your breakfast.”

I did so gratefully. I was hungry.

I left any further argument about Austria until the next day, sure I could talk dad round; but he proved unaccountably stubborn. Several difficult days ensued during which we had some horrendous rows; but when my plane-ticket arrived, I realised that this was one fight I was destined to lose and I might as well give in as gracefully as I could.



I’d never flown before and so that was a thrill. After landing at Salzburg airport, I was met by a master from the school who herded me and three other lads of my own age into a bus and we glided smoothly along the motorway to Innsbruck. I chatted a bit with the other lads. Two had been at the school for two terms already but the third was new like myself. Since the other pair already knew each other, Michael and I were left together.

We got on well and I found myself checking him out enthusiastically, for he had a good, athletic body, a thick crop of brown hair, eyes of dark toffee, and a sheen of sensuality, an almost animal sleekness, which sat upon him like a cloak. I’d accepted a year or two ago that I was gay and this boy pushed all my buttons. I had to take care to ensure that stirrings down below did not betray my feelings because I wasn’t yet sure about Michael’s attitude to me. I did, however, catch him glancing appreciatively at my bottom and groin more than once and so I entertained strong hopes.

When the conversation inevitably turned to girls we moved cautiously round each other for a while until I felt confident enough to admit that I was gay; and was delighted when Michael confirmed my suspicions that he was too. After that we became much more relaxed with each other and I began to think that maybe this one term in Austria might not be so bad after all.

At Innsbruck we disembarked and a car met us and took us out of the town and up a winding road into the mountains which enclosed the narrow Inn valley. The school turned out to be a huge old house with a superb view of the river far below.

I was pleasantly surprised to be given a room of my own, having anticipated that I’d be sharing a dormitory. The accommodation was large, fairly comfortable and well-furnished. There was even a tray with coffee-making equipment. It was remarkably civilised. We were led to a dining-room and introduced to some of the other boys. The school took pupils for a maximum of only one year, right at the end of their schooling. Most of the guys had been there since September and only five of us out of forty were here for just this one term. The headmaster addressed us all and hoped we’d enjoy our time at the school.

It was in the third week of term that Michael, Nick, Greg and I, after a long conversation during which we compared notes on stories we’d read about boys’ boarding-schools, decided that we should have a midnight feast. About half a mile up the mountain behind the school, there was a small chalet, built as a quiet retreat in the days when the school had been a private house. It had a little balcony at the side which overlooked the Inn valley and we decided that this would be the ideal spot for our escapade. We purloined food from the kitchens carefully over the next few days and stored it at the chalet; and then on a Friday, chosen so we’d have a weekend to recover from a sleepless night, we left our beds at half-past twelve, once the school was silent, and sneaked out and up the steep path to the chalet.

The night was still and bright with moonlight while under the incredible stars the Inn glimmered, a pale ribbon in the warm darkness far below. The food was good, the company enjoyable, the conversation and horse-play great fun; and the whole event was a massive success. It was just about four in the morning when we heard an eerie wailing-sound coming up from the lower slopes of the mountain.

“What the hell’s that” asked Greg, looking uneasy.

“Dunno. Sounds like some kind of siren. Maybe it’s a fire-alarm,” I suggested.

Nick, who alone among the four of us had already spent two terms at the school, sat up abruptly from his position lying on his back gazing at the star-spangled heavens.

“Oh, shit!”

“What?” asked the other three of us together.

“It’s the bloody school fire-alarm,” he said. “I heard it last term when they had a fire-drill.”

“Bet they all get a rude-awakening,” said Michael grinning.

“But don’t you see, you ass?” said Nick. “They’ll all be gathering outside for a roll-call; and we won’t be there!”

“Oh, fuck!” I swore furiously. “Come on. Let’s run.”

We took the steep mountain path at breakneck speed, daring the perils of the narrow, stony descent in desperate urgency; but we knew there was no hope. It would be impossible to get there before it was discovered that we were missing.

The incident turned out to be nothing worse than a ring on the stove which had been left on under some cabbage and it had burned and set off the smoke-alarm which in turn had disturbed the night-watchman who’d set off the fire-siren. No harm done; except that when we arrived, panting and red-faced, the whole story of our escapade had to be told and our guilt was laid open to the breaking dawn. We were told by the headmaster to go to bed and to report to his office at ten in the morning.

We gathered somewhat sleepily at the office-door at the appointed time and discussed what might happen. There was gloomy talk of being sent home, of being gated for the rest of the term; but only Nick, with his longer experience of this school, expressed himself confident about what would happen.

“We’ll get the fucking cane,” he assured us.

“What? How could we get the cane? Boys don’t get the cane these days. You’ve been remembering too many old school-stories,” said Michael.

Nick shook his head, his straight, black hair flopping violently across his brow.

“They use the cane here,” he said earnestly. “A guy got it last November for spitting at a teacher. He showed me the marks on his bum; four red lines, all angry and raised on his skin. He said he’d never felt anything so sore in his life.”

For some reason, my penis liked this image and did a swift leap so that I was in considerable discomfort as I tried to conceal it. I recalled dad’s comment about the use of the cane here. It seemed the old guy wasn’t joking after all.

“He can’t fucking cane us,” protested Michael in tones of outrage. “It’s bloody barbaric! It’s against the Geneva Convention. It can’t be legal.”

“How much do you think it’ll hurt?” asked Greg softly. “I’m not too good with pain. I hope I don’t wet myself or anything.”

“Wet yourself?” repeated Nick. “It would have to be hell of a savage to make you do that, wouldn’t it?”

“Surely it can’t be that bad. I mean, kids at primary-school used to get it in the old days; and we’re eighteen!”

“Sure! We’re virtually men,” said Greg, sounding as if he hadn’t quite convinced himself.

“We are men,” insisted Michael, “and so we can take a thrashing; and we will.”

Nick turned to me.

“You’re saying nothing, Lee,” he observed. “Scared?”

The reason I was keeping quiet was because my own reaction to the imminent likelihood of getting thrashed with a cane had taken me by surprise. I wanted to say that I found the idea of being caned sort of exciting. My cock was definitely interested and the prospect of having my bottom beaten, far from scaring me, rather appealed to me.

“Just wondering,” I replied, vaguely; and that seemed to satisfy him.

Michael, however, gave me a penetrating look before turning to say something to Greg.

Footsteps were audible from around the corner of the passage and we all stiffened and fell silent. The Head appeared, strode past us without a word, went into his room and closed the door. We glanced uneasily at each other and I was about to say something when the door re-opened and the Head addressed us curtly:

“In here,” he said.

We entered and stood in an embarrassed line, looking at our feet. First came the lecture, to which we listened in sullen silence. I couldn’t really argue with what was said; not that I intended to anyway. We’d broken school rules and caused unnecessary concern for our safety when we didn’t turn up for the roll-call. We were guilty and none of us was denying it. Now came the punishment.

The Head opened a drawer in his desk and extracted a slender cane which he suddenly slashed down hard so that the air whined. We all flinched.

“This is the discipline we use here,” he said matter-of-factly. “Any boy who refuses is on the next plane home.”

He paused and looked us in the eyes. No-one spoke.

“I’ll take that to mean you are all willing to accept punishment with the cane,” he said.

“Yes, sir,” we mumbled.

“All right. Michael, drop your jeans and pants and bend over the edge of the desk.”

There was a communal gasp. I don’t think any of us expected the caning to be done on the bare. Michael was staring at the Head with a look of disbelief on his face.

“Hurry up, boy!”

As if in a dream, Michael undid his belt, slipped down his jeans and then his pants, revealing a superb pair of taut, muscular young buttocks. My penis soared. I watched, mesmerised, as the boy bent over the desk, his forearms resting on its surface. His hands were tightly closed. Long, hairy legs were braced, ready for the impact of the rod on his behind. The Head stepped to one side, touched the cane lightly on Michael’s bottom, just on the sit-spot, and then swung it back over his shoulder and brought it whistling down with a vicious snap across the bare flesh of his rump.

Michael winced and drew in breath sharply. As I watched, a slim, raised red line appeared on the boy’s skin. In the little room there was absolute silence. My cock was rampant and I longed to rub it but didn’t dare move lest I came. Thrice more the slender cane lashed Michael’s buttocks, the last one forcing a barely-stifled yelp from him; and then he was told to go and stand, hands on his head, facing the wall. Greg was summoned next and as he lowered his jeans and pants, I gazed at the four neat, parallel lines on Michael’s gorgeous backside and my balls ached with urgent desire.

Four swift cracks echoed round the room and then Greg, a few tears trickling down his face, made his way stiffly to the wall. I was ordered forward for my caning and duly presented my bare buttocks to the rod. The sting of the first stroke was ferocious, intense, burning deeply and insistently and I had to work hard to process it. With each subsequent stroke the pain-level rose steadily; yet there was an excitement in the challenge. I didn’t make any sound; and my penis stayed rock solid through the first three, sagging only a little at the fourth. By the time I’d joined Greg and Michael at the wall, it was like a flag-pole once more.

I only heard Nick take his, but he made no sound, bar a sharp intake of breath at the last. I sneaked a quick look at his bum as he took his place beside me and saw the four fiery welts throbbing across his behind too. For several minutes we were left standing in silence, hands on our heads, bottoms pulsing with a gradually-easing burn. At last we were ordered to pull up our clothing and turn round.

We were shown the cane and assured that we’d feel it again if there were any repetition of our unacceptable behaviour. The only difference next time would be that the strokes would be harder; and there’d be six of them. When asked if we understood, we all agreed that we did.

As soon as I could get away, I went to my room and relieved pent-up feelings while my caning ran like a film on an endless loop in my mind. In the next few days I couldn’t get the cane out of my head. We four lads discussed it of course and the other three were unanimous in their agreement about how much it hurt and how terrible it had been. I said little because I didn’t know how they’d react if I were to tell them the embarrassing truth. It had hurt. I was with them on that; but, and I had difficulty believing this myself, I wanted more.

A few days later, wakening to my accustomed morning glory, I resolved to get myself another caning; and to make sure that I really tried hard to earn one, I denied my balls the release they craved and told myself sternly that there’d be no more wanking until I’d been caned again. I failed to think of any way of getting what I wanted that day and fell into an uneasy and unsatisfied sleep that night, waking with a penis so demanding that it took all my will-power to deny it.

It was the final lesson of the day and desperation drove me to extreme measures. I slid a small pile of books off my desk, making it look as if they’d fallen by accident, and swore luridly and very loudly in simulated anger. There was a horrified gasp from the other boys and then a heavy silence as the master walked up to me.

“Stand up, boy!”

Looking as sullen as I could I got slowly to my feet.

“You will never use language like that in this school, ever again,” said the master with quiet but unmistakeable authority.“

I shrugged.

“Whatever,” I said insolently.

There was a dead silence. Every eye was on me.

“It seems you need to be taught how to behave, boy,” said the master, returning to his desk at the front of the room.

He opened a drawer and extracted a lithe cane which he swished menacingly a few times while I watched, my gaze held like a rabbit facing a snake.

“Come out here!”

I walked slowly to the front, to annoy him more, lest he think better of thrashing me. My cock was erect, ready, wanting, needing.

“Bend over the desk, boy!”

I complied, my bottom exposed to the view of the watching boys. He wasted no time. The limber rod slashed brutally hard across my rump and even through my clothing I felt the line of fire being etched on my behind. He meant me to feel this! I heard his grunt as he put full power behind the second one and I gasped aloud. God, could he hit hard! The two which followed were equally explosive and succeeded in destroying my erection completely; but not for long. As I eased my thrashed bum on to the hard wooden chair at my desk, it rose again in response to the pain of sitting and remained obstinately upright until the end of the lesson.

I had to endure a lot of questioning about how it felt and comments about the movements I’d made and the sounds I’d uttered, before I could get away from the other guys to retire to my room and deal with the insistent demands of my deprived body. I’d scarcely finished when there was a knock at my door.

“Hello?”

“It’s Michael.”

“In you come.”

He entered and looked straight at me.

“You asked for that,” he said accusingly.

“For what?”

“You know bloody well what. That caning. You engineered that.”

“Why the hell would I do that?” I asked, intrigued at his perspicacity.

“Because,” opined Michael with a hint of a grin, “I think you like it.”

“What’s to like about getting your bum caned?” I asked.

“Dunno. You tell me,” he responded.

“You’re out of your tree,” I muttered as I went to make some coffee.

“No, I’m not. What you hiding? Why deny it? Have you been jerking-off?”

I started.

“Jerking……….”

Michael was holding up a soiled tissue which I’d let fall on the floor. He sniffed it.

“Spunk,” he announced triumphantly.

I gave in.

“Okay. I wanked. Satisfied?”

“Yeh; but you wanked after you got caned, didn’t you; ’cos you liked it. It got you going. You went out to get yourself a thrashing just so you could come here afterwards and screw yourself.”

“I suppose you think I’m mental?” I said.

“No. Whatever gets you going. If getting your tail tanned does it for you, then why not? I get pretty excited by the cane myself.”

My heart leapt.

“You do? You didn’t sound very keen on it after The Head caned us. You really want it too?” I asked eagerly.

“Hell, no! But I’d love to dish it out; now that’s what would really get me going,” he said, eyes shining.

He stood up, picked up a ruler from my desk and said in a severe tone:

“Bend over, boy!”

He then smashed the ruler down six times on the seat of the chair, counting each aloud.

“Ace! I’d make any boy who I caned really feel it,” he assured me.

“Wow!” I said, taken a back by this revelation.

“So, you gonna let me see the marks?”

“Er, okay.”

I dropped my clothes and bent over and Michael gave a low whistle.

“Cor! He’s put some great tram-lines on you, even through your trousers,” he said admiringly. “How do they feel?”

“Hot,” I said. “I like the sensation. It’s tough actually getting it, but it’s fantastic afterwards.”

“Can I touch?”

“Help yourself,” I replied accommodatingly.

The idea of Michael touching my bare bottom brought my penis swiftly upright. He traced each welt slowly with a gentle finger and then caressed the whole surface of my bottom with the palms and fingers of both hands, making occasional passes deep into my cleft with the side of his hand, so that it brushed across my hole and sent sensations of novel delight surging through me.

“Mmmmmm!” said Michael appreciatively.

He stopped and I straightened up and turned to face him. He was only centimetres from me and the air was heavy with testosterone. The kiss was instinctive on the part of both of us, as if invisible threads drew our mouths together. As the electric-shock of the first lip-contact pulsated through me, I looked deep into Michael’s eyes and then touched his lower lip with the tip of my tongue. A few seconds later we were locked in a strong embrace, mouths moving feverishly on each other as we sought more and more intimacy. Trapped between me and Michael’s stomach, my cock protested relentlessly at being ignored; and I was powerfully aware of Michael’s own throbbing organ, concealed in his trousers, pressed against me.

“So,” enquired Michael during a pause in the kisses, “do you want me to cane you?”

“You? Cane me?”

“That’s right. I’d do it hard, I promise. You’d feel it!”

“I’m sure I would.”

My brain whirled and I found myself in an agony of indecision. I knew I wanted more of the cane’s burning kisses; but I wasn’t at all sure that Michael was the person to mete it out. I couldn’t help feeling that he was too young, a boy like myself, only eighteen, lacking the authority; and also, I feared, perhaps lacking the maturity to deal with me responsibly. I visualised him getting carried away in the excitement of dishing out a real caning to a real pair of buttocks, and going too far.

“I’ll need to get my head round that,” I said, stalling for time.

I saw the look of disappointment flash across his features before he concealed it with a short laugh.

“Okay,” he agreed lightly, “I’ll wait.”

Stewart was stunning. A sunburst of golden curls exploded all over his head, clustered appealingly about his ears and lay in a thick fringe along his brow. Soft blue eyes looked out frankly from a broad, open face. He stood an inch over six feet, broad in the shoulder, narrow in the waist, muscular in flank and upper arm, flat of stomach and fully-rounded of buttock. I’d spotted him the day I arrived but had concluded he was well out of my league and was probably straight anyway. He, however, had other ideas.

I was walking along in a half-dream, pondering the possibility of being caned by Michael, when he came alongside me.

“Hi! It’s Lee, isn’t it? I’m Stewart.”

“Hi! I’ve seen you about. You been here all year?”

“Yeh. Came last September and I go off to Uni. in the autumn. So, what do you think of it?”

“I wasn’t keen to come at first, but I’m starting to enjoy it. I’ve met one or two great guys,” I told him.

“Like a coffee?”

“Sure.”

He took me up to his room where, like all of us, he had a tray with coffee-making paraphernalia. Over a large mug with picture of a naked youth who sported an outsized cock, he gazed at me.

This guy’s checking me out!

We talked about the school, about sports, about our future plans; and all the time I was convinced that his eyes were roving over my body and I had the uncomfortable feeling that he was looking right through my clothes to see my skin beneath. He indicated the nude figure on his mug.

“What do you think of him?” he asked.

“Great body; and that’s some penis. A guy could be proud of a stiffie like that,” I admitted.

“Like to see mine?” he asked startlingly, looking me straight in the eyes.

“Er, okay,” I answered and felt my own organ begin to perk up significantly.

Stewart rose to his feet and dropped his denims and briefs to reveal that he was extremely well-endowed. Large, heavy balls hung below a rising cock which he stimulated with a few strokes of his hand so that it swiftly reached its full, impressive extent.

“Fuck!” I ejaculated. “You’re pretty well hung yourself. You planning to rape me or something?”

“Would you like me to?”

“Maybe,” I said hesitantly, although my penis was screaming a much more decisive answer.

He pulled up his things and sat down.

“I liked the look of you as soon as I saw you a few weeks ago,” he confessed.

“You did? What does a god like you see in me?” I asked unwisely.

“Never you mind. You’ve just got something that appeals to me. I’d like to get friendly with you; very friendly,” he added with a grin.

Over the following days I spent quite a lot of time with Stewart and we didn’t waste too long in getting friendly enough to kiss and caress. He had a superb body and I enjoyed exploring it; almost as much as I enjoyed his careful exploration of mine.

I was also getting very intimate with Michael to the extent of lying naked in the depths of the woods on the mountain-side and bringing each other to exhilarating orgasms with our hands. I took care to ensure that each knew I was friendly with the other so that there’d be no question of me being accused of betrayal; and both assured me that was fine by them.

I had a feeling that it wouldn’t last however, and I was soon proved right. After the first month of term, we were allowed to go down into Innsbruck on a Saturday between ten in the morning and four in the afternoon and Stewart asked me to go with him to the shops as he’d been sent some money by an uncle. Within an hour of my agreeing to accompany him, Michael came to me in great excitement.

“We’re going into Innsbruck together on Saturday,” he announced happily. “I’ve been reading a bit about the place and there’s a fantastic museum of Tyrolean life and some brilliant paintings in the Tiroler Landesmuseum. One of them’s a 16th century work by a chap called Andreas Haller called Flagellants’ Altar; apparently it’s got all the whips and chains too!”

His eyes gleamed and my balls squirmed. I desperately wanted to go with Michael; but I’d already told Stewart I’d go with him.

“I’m sorry, mate; but Stewart just asked me to go with him to spend some money he’s been sent.”

“So? Watching another guy spend money’s just plain boring. You’d much rather come and see what I’ve got to show you.”

“But that’s not the point,” I insisted. “You know that, Michael. Stewart asked me first. We could go together next Saturday though.”

“I guess,” said Michael gloomily and he walked away.

Stewart was great company and we had a brilliant time in Innsbruck together, admiring the fast-flowing green waters of the Inn as it surged through the town, gazing in awe at the stunning “golden roof”, built on to what had at one time been the Innsbruck residence of the Emperor Maximilian I; and of course perusing the wares on display in the many shops which lined Maria-Theresien-Strasse. I returned to the school tired and contented.

Michael asked me politely if I’d had a good time and I told him what we’d done and seen, determined that he’d have to deal with it. To his credit, and my relief, he did.

“Great! And you’ll come with me next week?”

“Try and stop me,” I said; and we retired to a secluded part of the grounds for some very pleasant intimacies before it was time to eat.

The following Saturday was equally enjoyable and the picture of the Flagellants’ Altar as stimulating as either of us could wish.

“Would you like to be whipped?” asked Michael as we gazed at the painting.

“Shit! I’m just getting used to the cane,” I said. “The lash is another thing entirely. I don’t think I could stand that.”

“Maybe you could,” said Michael eying me speculatively. “Thought any more about letting me cane your arse for you?”

“Yes.”

“You want me to?”

“I meant that, yes, I’ve thought about it,” I elucidated.

“And?”

“I haven’t decided.”

Michael snorted, but I ignored him.
We bought food and lay in the sun by a weeping-willow in the Hofgarten and watched the pigeons. It was an idyllic day.

Next week things came to a head when both guys asked me to go with them to town on the coming Saturday. Again Stewart asked first but I put him off by saying that I wasn’t sure what I’d be doing. When Michael also approached me, I told him of Stewart’s invitation.

“So who do you choose?” he enquired.

“Maybe all three of us could go together?”

“Fuck that for an idea!” said Michael. “What do you see in the big, blond bastard anyway? All that’s gold isn’t great, you know.”

“I haven’t heard that proverb before,” I said sarcastically. “Anyway, he’s fun; and he’s nice to me. He’s not threatening to cane my bare bottom,” I ended vindictively.

“More fool him,” muttered Michael angrily. “Why are you wasting your time with a guy who doesn’t know what you need?”

“Oh, and you do, I suppose?”

“Yes. I do as a matter of fact. You don’t need a big lovey-dovey lump like Stewart, who’ll tell you how wonderful you are all the time.”

“What’s wrong with that? You never tell me I’m wonderful.”

“You’re not. You’re just a great, sexy guy; and you need your arse thrashed. And don’t kid yourself Stewart will do it for you, because he won’t. But I bloody well will; and you’ll feel it.”

“Not exactly brilliant at the soft, loving approach are you?” I said, both annoyed at him but also turned on by his masterful behaviour.

“And you’re not exactly brilliant at being honest with yourself,” he accused.

“Oh, so I’m a liar now, am I?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“It’s what you meant,” I retorted, feeling myself go red in the face as my anger mounted.

“I’ve had enough of this. Are you coming to Innsbruck with me or not, Lee?”

“Ask me nicely.”

He gave me a vicious two-finger gesture and stalked off without another word. I was furious with him and sought out Stewart and told him I’d accompany him into Innsbruck that weekend. Later in the day, I informed Michael coldly of my decision. He just gave me a scornful look and walked off again. He seemed to be doing a lot of that lately.

I was asleep and yet something appeared to be shaking me. Groggily, I tried to drag myself to the surface and, in the pale light of the moon, I saw Michael bending over my bed.

“Come on; up you get,” he hissed.

“What? Why? It’s the middle of the bloody night,” I protested.

He ignored me and stripped the duvet off my naked body.

“Up!” he ordered succinctly.

“Michael, what’s going on?”

“You’re coming with me,” he said. “Now!”

“But where? Why?”

“Stop asking questions. Just get yourself dressed.”

“But…”

“One more word; one single bloody word out of you and I’ll take my belt to your arse,” Michael threatened fiercely; and he actually began to unbuckle the broad leather belt around his waist.

Impressed at his authoritative attitude, in spite of my misgivings, I obediently and in silence rose, and dressed myself.

“Come!”

He went out and I followed submissively as he led me down the shadowy stairs and through a side door into the garden.

“Michael, where are we going?”

“Shut it!”

I sighed and followed. There was something strangely exciting about this; about being out at night with Michael and about being obedient, going into the unknown simply because a masterful boy told me to. My cock was in adventure-mode and I felt that whatever was going on, I intended to enjoy it. We left the grounds of the school through a small gate and headed on to a path which I knew led up to the mountain-tops.

“Please, Michael,” I pleaded. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“We’re going up to the top,” he said.

“But that’ll take us almost two hours,” I objected.

“So? It’s only half-past two.”

“What if there’s another fire-alarm?” I asked anxiously.

“It’s hardly likely to happen twice, is it? You worry too much. Anyway, if there is and we get caught being out at night, it’ll just be another caning. You like getting caned and I can stand it if I have to; so what’s the problem?”

Put like that, it all seemed perfectly reasonable.

“But I…….”

“No, you don’t. Shut up and save your breath for the climb.”

The darkness was warm and scented with pine, the path soft under my feet and Michael was at my side. I relaxed and enjoyed the climb. At last we emerged above the tree-line and then continued the ascent until we were up on the tops of the mountains. There was a ski-lift from Igls, which walkers used in the summer; and using it, I’d been up here once before with some other lads. A network of paths led across the high summits among the heather, trodden by goats and visitors alike.

For a time we stood and just breathed. Overhead the heavens were bright with stars; but the night was fading and dawn was only an hour or so away. Michael led me on. Walking was easy now on the comparatively level highlands and we made swift progress until he stopped and pointed. Far below in the light of the moon, the motorway climbed to the head of the Brenner Pass and the Italian border. I could see the Europabrucke with a few vehicles making their way like toy-cars across it.

I turned to Michael.

“Now what?”

He lay down and patted the ground beside him and I lay obediently, on my side facing him. He talked idly of our daily doings, of school and of the things we’d done and seen in our short time here; and then he paused.

“Turn round,” he ordered. “On your other side.”

I duly complied and he came and lay behind me and I could feel the warmth of his body pressed against my shoulders and bottom. His arms were round me, one hand resting on my chest, the other on my genitals, which squirmed in response.

“Look!”

As I watched, the eastern sky began to turn translucent, before pale fingers of rosy light sprang upwards. The rim of the sun’s orb eased over the mountain tops and on a sudden all the glory of the dawn burst upon the landscape. The shadows of night were banished and, in the shimmering hush of a new morning, something of the stunning beauty of creation smote my heart. Up here no sound penetrated from the valley far, far below. Apart from the occasional tinkle of a goat-bell, there was a great silence as if the world was new-made just for us and all nature held its breath in awe.

Michael undid my belt and slid a hand into my pants, his strong fingers clasping my balls confidently, a thumb stroking my already-rigid shaft.

“I see you’ve got a morning glory to rival the dawn,” he remarked. “You know why I’ve brought you up here, don’t you?”

“To see the sun-rise?” I hazarded.

“And?”

“To wank off together out here on the mountains?”

“And?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’m going to cane you.”

“Cane me?”

“That’s right.”

“Here? Now? You haven’t got a cane.”

“Oh, yes, I have!”

I felt him move and, turning to look, I saw him pull something from inside the waist-band of his jeans. To my astonishment he extracted a slender, whippy cane, so pliant that he’d been able to bend it into a smooth part-circle and wrap it round his middle.

“Where the hell did you get that thing?” I gasped as my cock strained for the sky.

“Pinched it from old Collison’s desk yesterday evening,” he said. “It’s ideal for carrying round my waist ’cos it’s so lithe; and I should think it’ll mould itself to the contours of your bare buttocks beautifully so you really feel the sting.”

I stared at him.

“You’re going to thrash me on the bare with that thing? You’re a bloody sadist,” I protested.

Michael shrugged.

“Okay,” he said, suddenly business-like. “Get your kit off, Lee boy!”

I found myself obeying him, my eyes drawn back again and again to the slim, menacing cane which he held now in both hands, bent into a smooth arc. When I was naked, he told me to get down on all fours. He stood and pranced around, whipping the cane in the still air so that I heard the zing as it lashed downward and was compelled to wonder how it would feel on my behind.

“Ready, Lee?”

“Look, just take it easy,” I pleaded. “I’m new to this.”

“Okay, okay! Now shut up and keep still.”

I braced myself and closed my eyes. I heard the cane whine as it descended and felt the fire as it snapped across my bare bottom. It hurt, but not too much. My cock registered its approval by stretching for my navel. He gave me several more strokes in similar vein, hard enough to ensure I knew I’d been hit, but not so hard that I lost my erection. I began to enjoy myself. It seemed Michael did indeed know what he was doing.

He stopped and I knelt, feeling the early sun growing warm on my skin, aware of the silence which surrounded us. The cane was stroked gently across my buttocks.

“A bit harder for the next lot, okay?”

“Okay,” I agreed.

I tensed myself and the cane lashed across my rump. I bucked and let out my breath in an audible gasp.

“Felt that one, didn’t you?” said Michael.

“Bastard!” I retorted.

He hit me again. Once more I jerked and gasped. This was definitely more challenging; but I was up for the challenge. As the strokes continued to fall, I worked my way into the caning, helped by the surge of endorphins. I got myself into a routine, taking the sting, processing the searing fire, almost consciously diverting some of the savage stimulation of my buttocks to my balls, thrusting forward, cock rampant, as if I was fucking someone; and then easing back for the next stroke and the next thrust.

Once more Michael stopped and this time caressed my red-hot bottom with both hands, passing a finger into my cleft and then into my secret hole so that I squirmed with intimate sensations of delight as I quivered on the cliff-edge of orgasm; but he denied me.

“Six of the best to finish with,” announced Michael.

He rapped the cane across my sit-spot and then, with barely a pause, swept it back and down at high speed, whipping it at the moment of impact across my globes so that the hard, stinging tip caught me viciously on the thigh as the limber rod curved itself round my rump in a torrid embrace.

I yelped and scrabbled desperately in the heather to keep my hands away from my flaming behind. I groaned and felt scalding tears spurt from my screwed-shut eyes and trickle down my face. Panting, I clenched my assaulted buttocks and then, determined to show him I could take it, I pushed them up in a blatant invitation to him to let me have it. He accepted and, holding nothing back, lashed my bottom again; and again; and again.

I was shuddering with pain; and I didn’t want it to stop. The fifth stroke whipped across my crease and elicited a panicked squeal as I writhed from the hips. The final stroke cut crossed my behind on a long diagonal and I cried out in pain and in triumph. I’d done it! In celebration, my penis, in retreat for the last little while, came surging forward eagerly. Michael knelt behind me, lay along my back and, reaching round under me with both hands, worked expertly at my balls and cock to bring me to the most earth-shattering orgasm I’d ever had. The mountains convulsed; the heavens turned head-over-heels; the valleys spun like a whirlpool; and for a few seconds I lost consciousness before I came spinning back, to land contented and fulfilled on the grass on the mountain-top once more.

“Felt that too, didn’t you, Lee?” said Michael with a grin as he nibbled sexily at my ear.

“Yes,” I sighed. “And I’ve never felt anything like it.”

After a minute or two, I relieved Michael and then we lay quiet, silenced by the glory of a mountain-dawn and by the immensity of what we’d experienced together.

“Time to get back,” said Michael. “You don’t want to get caught and have to take another caning, do you?”

“Hell, no! How would I ever explain this?” I asked, appalled at the thought.

We got to our feet and attired ourselves properly. Before we set off down to the school, Michael turned me to look down on the pass and the Italian border.

“It’s make-your-mind-up-time, Lee,” he said soberly. “Kind of like the scene down there. You either go over the border into the sunny south for a free and easy, comfortable life with Stewart; or you stay on the strictly-disciplined Austrian side with me and get your bare arse caned regularly.”

“That’s the choice? A sybaritic life in the sun or a life of tough discipline? You don’t make it easy for a guy, do you?”

He snorted.

“Seems easy enough to me,” he said. “How do you want your morning glory dealt with? Gentle foreplay with lips and tongue and hands? Or a bloody good beating of your bare buttocks so you’re wound up like a coiled spring and when you get release your whole being explodes in a cascade of new-born sunbeams?”

For a moment I stared at him, taken aback by his poetic words. I then gazed at the stunning glory of the mountains and valleys under the morning and I knew they had an extra dimension of vivid, sharply-alive loveliness because of the powerful stimulus I’d received from Michael’s searing cane. He was right. The choice wasn’t hard at all. For me, the cane brought my world into being and to go for Stewart and all the pleasures of sex without pain just wasn’t an option. I knew that it wouldn’t be the choice of most guys; but for me it felt right. Michael had taken me to the mountain-peak and nothing less would ever satisfy me in future.

I smiled at him.

“I guess it’s time to be honest with myself,” I confessed. “I go with you.”

He stroked my lips with the cane and then kissed me with a new and vibrant passion. It was enough. Turning our backs on the sunny slopes of Italy and the enervating south, we set off hand-in-hand down the steep path back to the school. Occasionally as we walked, Michael flicked the lithe cane across the seat of my denims and set my bottom burning so that, long before we arrived, my morning glory was making itself felt once more, confirming me in my choice.

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Story ©MMXII by Joelstrap, and used here by very kind permission of the author.

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D I S C L A I M E R

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

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Please leave a comment by using the link at the top of the story.

 

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

How I Got Into Corporal Punishment Games (M/M)

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Hot and explicit true story by David Stewart, repeated from 2012.  All the characters are 18 or over.

I’ve always felt that I wanted to be spanked, and I’m not sure why.

It was always ladies I fantasised about until I was about 22, when I made a friend who would introduce me to the world of adult discipline.

To set the scene here, I was a young police officer.  I met John, who was 59 and a retired teacher (or so he told me).  I had been schooled in Scotland and he had taught on both sides of the border.  I met him as a result of a call to assist with some children that were causing a nuisance.  We had a chat over coffee about ‘the kids of today’ and so on.  Over  a few visits the story was always the same, about people lacking discipline nowadays and eventually I guess we both learnt that each other was more than interested in the topic.  He did ask me if I was disciplined at home and in school, and did I think I was better for it.  In hindsight, nowadays he would be called a pervert, but there you are and remember this was the late ’70s.

He made an unusual comment one visit, asking, “Do you ever miss the way a spanked bottom or tawsed hands dealt with an issue and then it was over?”  I answered, “I suppose so, in a strange way.”

As I left that night John made his move and said, “You know David, if you ever felt the need to revisit those days of a spanked bottom, then you only need ask me to do it for you.”

Well I left, and I gave my cock a thorough workout later that day.  The following day I called him and spoke nervously about the comment.  Not wanting to make a complete fool of myself if I got it wrong, I asked,  “What did you mean last night when I left, about if I ever felt the need or something?”

“David, I know some adults still miss that old fashioned spanking thing and as a friend if you felt you needed it, then I would do it for you.”  It was a s simple as that, but it had taken about six visits before he asked.  I said that I thought I did and he said, “Well if you do David, bring your PE kit to change into and we will see to it!”

Two days later I turned up in uniform along with a bag with shorts and vest in it, and we had a coffee. “Did you bring anything with you today, David?”, he asked.  Nervously I showed him the plastic bag and then its contents.  John then went on to try to relax me, which was impossible.  He told me he had friends who he spanked, and not to think I was unusual in any way.

Eventually he said something about “So should we go and deal with you then?”  We stood and went to what was a small study.  It had a desk with leather chair, a hard-backed chair in the corner, and a small cupboard on one wall.

“So how should I deal with you, David?” 

I said, “Just like my father would, Sir.”  There had been no request to call him Sir, it just felt right.

“I will leave you to change then into your shorts and vest.” 

When he returned some five minutes later I was stood there with an erection in my PE shorts.  He smiled and pulled the hard-backed chair out, told me to go over his lap and then he spanked me over my shorts for a while.  I left that night disappointed, to be honest.

 

The next time I visited, we chatted about it.  I had brought my kit again.  He asked me how it had been.  I suddenly blurted out that “It was not quite as I expected.”  Asked why, I said, “Well I was always spanked on the bare bum and it always really stung.  I always felt as if I had been punished then.”

John looked at me, smiled, and said “Ah David, so you want a proper spanking do you, pants down, over my knee and one that teaches you a lesson?”

“Well yes, Sir,” I stuttered. “It’s just that I always thought spankings should be like that.”

As a result, a few minutes later I was at John’s side and having my shorts and pants pulled down.  This caused my erection to stick out (and be ignored by John).  I was then pulled over and I got the hardest spanking I could remember.  I recall yelling out “Oh Sir, I am so sorry!” 

After the spanking, I was made to stand in the corner, bottom bare and hands on head.  That was the way it went for a few months until one day I turned up without my kit.  Over coffee we were chatting about spanking and I said, “It makes me regret forgetting my kit today.”  John smiled and said, “Well David, I think, if you don’t mind, and as I have seen most of you anyway, we can do without the PE kit from now on, if you want.”

We went up to the study and John for the first time stood watching me and said “Right David I want all your clothes off today.”  I was soon stood naked and erect as he gazed at me.  “Does it excite you that I am going to spank you David?”

“Yes Sir!”

“Do you usually have a wank afterwards, thinking of me spanking you?”

“Yes, usually Sir!”

He moved closer to me. “Do you ever think of me touching your cock David, or does that thought never enter your head?”

“I do Sir, sometimes.”

His hand started to move towards my cock.  He touched it and it stood even more erect.  He pulled back and then had me over his knee, spanking that erection out of me.  It was a harder than usual spanking and I nearly cried.  Afterwards he put his hand between my cheeks and made me erect again.  So it was that I was wanked for the first time by another guy.  That became the norm and I would visit for a spanking at least twice a week and I started to visit him on my days off.  It was only a short while before I started to wank him off as well.

picture by Jonathan

After about six months he re-introduced me to the tawse.   In doing so, he revealed his love of tawsing.  The norm then became for me to have to take six of the tawse along with any spanking.  Normally, this was after the spanking, as he liked my hands to be warm when I touched him.  After a tawsing, they were really hot! 

 

It was a year before I got caned and I was warned how sore that experience would be. We had discussed it before, but I was still rather unaware of the pain a cane could cause.  I recall being told that the cane would be applied next time I came and to make an appointment on a day off.  He promised me a real ‘six of the best’ and I got that, for sure.

It was six days later.  I visited him nervously.  This time, John was very different. “Come in boy!” was his command and I was taken directly to his study.  A a cane lay on the desk.  He lectured me and told me I was to be caned, six strokes and if I stood up  or touched my bottom that stroke would not count and he would add another.

Naked, I stood waiting and Sir said to me in a softer tone, “Now remember David, you asked for this and I need to give you it as I would if it were a real punishment.  It is going to hurt like nothing you have experienced before, but I have explained all that already, haven’t I?”

“Yes Sir”, I said.

“And you still want to find out what a real caning is like?”

“Yes Sir, please Sir.”

His attitude changed suddenly, “Right boy!  Over the desk, and grip the far side.”

The cane was tapped a few times before it thrashed down.  The sound felt delayed, as if it came after the hit .  There was a distinct moment when I felt nothing, but then a fearsome pain cut through me!  I stood up and grabbed my bum, only to hear a very unsympathetic, “Get down boy!  I expected better!”

The next stroke elicited a real yell from me followed by a third then a fourth which both did the same.  It was true agony and I had to wait for the fifth stroke.  The sixth cut deep into my cheeks and then Sir spoke, “Now you have to be given the first stroke again and then one extra.  Are you ready boy?”

“Sir, please no more!  I’m so sore!”, I whined.

“You wanted a real caning, now take the last two like a man, David!”

“Yes Sir!”

Almost immediately the cane delivered the penultimate stroke, followed shortly by the eighth, final stroke.  In tears, I stood up and Sir cuddled me, and then made me stand in the corner.  After a while the flames of pain diminished.  He led me to the bedroom where he undressed and we got into bed.   In the end, I stayed the whole night after being taken out for a curry.

 

Our relationship lasted for over six years and during that time my bottom was constantly spanked and caned.  My hands were tawsed so often that I lost count!  It was the only time I have had a long relationship with another guy.  Believe it or not, the reason we stopped was because by then I’d met my wife.  The marks were too conspicuous to have.  She became my chastiser.  I have however, always retained a desire to be spanked by another older guy and especially to be hand tawsed by one.  I have met a few guys who can tawse school-style and are happy to spank a naughty lad like me.

So that’s the true account of how I came to be into spanking.

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 Story text © 2012 by David Stewart

Tawse photo and multiple implement photo © Jonathan, R.I.P.

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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.

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I hope you’re going to comment on this one – please use link at top of story

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Comments from the original 2012 post are here

The Perils Of Piracy Parts 1 and 2 (F/M and M/M)

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Hot caning fiction by Rod Cayenne. All the characters are aged 18 or over.  This erotica is for ADULTS only!

Part One:

“Well lads, this is very serious.  Radio piracy is an offence under the Marine Broadcasting Offences Act, 1967.  You could all be going down for this!”

The three 21-year-olds surveyed their surroundings.  Their poky little studio with the twin turntables, and a pile of 45s.  The pegboard on the walls, with egg boxes to provide some acoustic insulation.  A valve amplifier and a rudimentary transmitter.

Sergeant Westlea and his two constables examined the pirate treasure with some disdain.  The Sergeant picked up a Deep Purple single and snapped it in half.

“Oops!  Well, that’s forever hushed!” laughed the Sergeant.  “Fortunately for you three, I am under strict instructions not to arrest you straight away.  If you know what’s good for you, you will accompany us to the police station where the Chief Superintendent wishes to interview you.   Why he is so interested in small fry like you, I have no idea.  The van’s outside, I suggest you all get in it before I change my mind and cuff the lot of you.”

Soon Bill, James and Hugh found themselves in the plush surroundings of the office of Chief Superintendent Walker.  All three were sat in front of his large oak desk.  He was reading the case file silently.  Now and then, he would look over his half-moon spectacles, gazing at the three miscreants.  He puffed on a large Churchillian cigar.

“Well, gentlemen.  It’s taken us three years to track you down.  You have led us a merry dance.  A dance to the music of time, you might say!  During this time, I have listened to your station a lot on my trusty Roberts.  I must say I have enjoyed a lot of your output.  Particularly that Cream bootleg you keep playing.”

To the three friends, this was the first sign of any relief from their predicament.

“I have studied the case file, and I must warn you that a judge might impose custodial sentences.  This is really a most, most grave offence in terms of the law.  However, here at the station, we tend to view this as a less serious offence.  I see from our research that you are all ex-pupils of St. Stephens…”

“Yes Sir!” said James, who was evidently the leader of the pirate gang.

“So am I,” laughed the Chief Superintendent.  “Not strangers to the cane then, lads?”

All three shook their heads.

“Mmmm.  Just as I suspected.  Now, listen to me!  As a prefect I used to cane naughty lads such as yourselves, back then.  It seems to me that an unofficial caning could be just what you lads need, instead of a spell in prison.  Something to wake your ideas up!  Well, lads?”

James spoke up, “If you’re suggesting we take a caning, I’m sure all three of us would be happy to accept that, Sir!”  The other two nodded enthusiastically.

James was thinking how much he hated the cane.  In the past, Bill hadn’t found the cane too bad if he felt he’d deserved it.  Hugh however, had a masochistic streak and loved being caned.  The Chief Superintendent was also very fond of the cane…

“Good.  Some common sense from you three at last.  I was thinking of six of the best.  Six strokes for each one of the years you evaded us.”

The lads gasped.  Eighteen strokes each!

“Don’t worry lads.  I was thinking of three sessions of six strokes each, say a week apart.  Just to drive the lesson home.  On the bare, of course.”

James spoke up again, “Of course.  Yes Sir, that seems very reasonable in the circumstances.”

“Now there is one problem.  My right arm is recovering from an injury sustained just recently.  I can’t cane you myself, although I feel I must witness your punishments.  Which leaves me with a couple of alternatives.  I could ask Sergeant Westlea…”

“We don’t like him, Sir.  He deliberately snapped one of our records!”

“Not the Cream bootleg, I hope!” exclaimed the Chief Superintendent.

“No, no it was a 45 of ‘Hush’ by Deep Purple,” said Bill.

“One of my favourites!” said the Chief, shaking his head.  “Well, I can’t trust the brute not to snap my cane then, can I?  It’s my last one.  Which brings me to the other alternative.  Mrs Walker!”

“Your wife, Sir?”

“Yes, my wife.  She’s an experienced caner.  Do you have a problem with that?”

“No, Sir.  Not really, but bare bottom Sir?” asked James.

“Good point, boy.  I’ll have to ask her how she feels about that.  She might want you to keep your underwear on.  In which case, perhaps more strokes might be appropriate.”

“Oh, Sir!” said James, the one who feared the cane the most.

“Well, Gents.  Maybe we’ll leave it at six each session.  I’m a reasonable man and Mrs Walker will see reason too.  It will hurt you, but it won’t kill you.  Have we got a deal?  Smith?”

James nodded, “Yes Sir, thank you.”

“Williams?”

“Yes, Sir!”

“Prentice?”

“Yes, yes thank you.”

“Very good.  I want you all to call around to my house on Friday evening.  Well after ‘The Archers’.  Say eight o’clock.  Here’s the address.”

The three lads trooped out of the station with mixed feelings.  They passed Sergeant Westlea, who looked astonished to see them walking free without so much as a caution.

Back in the office, the Chief Superintendent leant back in his leather chair.  Yes, this would be a most gratifying spectacle.  Three naked, prime rumps being caned by his disciplinarian wife.  Something for the weekend!  In bed that night he shared his wicked plan with his wife.  She mounted him eagerly and came heavily as he described his plans in detail.

“Well Charles, you have really excelled yourself this time.  I’m almost tempted to cane you now as a reward!”

“Thank you darling, but don’t you think you’d be better off resting and waiting for the weekend?”

“Well no, my arm’s not the one that’s weak at the moment is it?  Be a dear and fetch the cane…”

Despite the hot lovemaking he had just enjoyed, Charles Walker was regretting mentioning his plan.  His wife switched on the bedside lamp and took the cane from him.

“Eighteen strokes, I think!  Seems appropriate.  Unless you’d prefer twenty-one?”

“Oh, Lynn, surely that’s too many?”

“Well, let me have a look at your bottom.  Hmmmm.  No signs of recent caning or trauma.  Arse is looking meatier than ever.  Too many trips to the canteen at work, I’d say.  Eighteen!”

Charles placed a couple of pillows in the middle of the bed, and bent submissively over them.  His wife could hardly contain her delight.  How she loved caning this all-powerful copper!

CRACK! The first hard stroke from the whippy cane lashed down on the chunky, hairy cheeks.

CRACK! The second stroke was just as hard.

CRACK!  She wasn’t playing as a third fiery stroke hit him just above the crease.

CRACK!  Indeed, this was no love caning.  This was punishment!

CRACK!  The whippy, crook-handled cane bit into his bottom again.

CRAAACK!  A harder stroke caused him to gasp.

CRACK!  A satisfying sharp stroke.

CRACK!

“AAARGH!”  Charles could no longer contain his pain.

CRAACK!  His sadistic wife chuckled as the cane lashed down again.

CRACK! CRACK!  She was truly in her stride now.

“OWWWWW!”

He felt his cock springing to life again.  What magic the cane worked!

CRAAAACK!  The cane broke clean in half!

“SHIT!” they both cried.

“What are we going to do now?  We’ve got your boys coming on Friday and nothing to cane them with,” Lynn sighed.

“I know, I know.  It’s so hard to find a decent cane these days.  Those canes from school were top quality.  I’ll have to get the lads at work to find me a supplier.”

“Well, you don’t have long, Charles.  Don’t fail me or it will be very bad news for you!  How about Soho?  Or a whorehouse?”

“No, I don’t think so, love,” he got up from his submissive position, semi-erect, “the school might be a better bet.  They still use the cane at St Stephens…”

Part two:

“Where the hell have you been?” asked Chief Superintendent Walker.

Sergeant Westlea threw two whippy, crook-handled canes down onto the Chief’s oak desk.

“I’ve been at your old school.  I had a devil of a job persuading the headmaster to part with these canes, although he had at least two dozen in stock.”

“Why was he so reluctant to give you them?  I’d have expected him to have responded favourably to our unofficial law and order campaign.”

“Well, it was my fault in a way.  I let slip that there was no caning at my secondary school. So then he said he was only happy to hand over the canes to someone who knew what the cane was like…”

“Carry on, Sergeant.”

“Well, it was difficult Sir.  I didn’t want to disappoint you by returning empty-handed.  So I suggested he gave me a few strokes there and then.”

“You did what?”

“I took six of the best, Sir.  So that you wouldn’t be disappointed.”

“I don’t believe it!”

“I do Sir!  My arse is throbbing like mad.”

“He caned a uniformed officer?”

“Not exactly uniformed, Sir!  I had it bare bottom!”

“Well, it’s the only way…”

“Yes, that’s what he said too, Sir.  Must be a Saint Stephens thing.”

“Quite so, quite so.”

“I’m really sore!”

“Of course you are!  Still, it’s no more than you deserve.  I’ve been disappointed in your behaviour lately, Westlea.  Snapping that record at the pirate station was the last straw!”

“But Sir, those hippy lads have broken the law.  They ought to be banged up and have all their equipment and records confiscated.”

“No, no.  You’re wrong on two counts there, Westlea.  I am the law around here, and I have decided that the offence was not too serious.  The lads will be caned instead, but not here.  You will replace the record you destroyed, is that clear?”

“But Sir, it’s not fair!”

“The law never is fair, Westlea.  You have a lot to learn.  I’ll be taking you under my wing, so that I can keep an eye on you.  Now about these canes…”

“Yes, Sir?”

“One will remain here at the station.  For unofficial punishments and to keep delinquent constables and sergeants in line.  The other will go to my house, as that’s where those boys will be thrashed.   Now, we seem to have a junior and a senior cane here.  Which was used on you?”

“I’m not sure, Sir.”

“Only one way to find out then.  Show me the marks!”

“Sir?”

“Bare your bottom for me, Westlea.  Hurry up, unless you want another dose?”

The Sergeant undid his thick black leather belt, and let his trousers fall to the ground.  His white Jockeys followed.

“Wow!  Those look bad, Westlea!”

“They certainly hurt badly, Sir!”

“I’m not sure that they were done with either of these canes.”

“Well, I couldn’t really see, Sir.  I was bent over his caning stool, at the time.  Do you think I should have him for assault or GBH?”

“No, that wouldn’t be advisable.  Just think what the press could make of it.”

“Yes, you’re right of course, Sir.”

“Yes I am.  Now keep still a moment.  I need to check those ridges.”

And so it was that Sergeant Westlea had his naked bottom felt all over by Charles the Chief Superintendent.

“Oh, Sir!”

“Shut up, Westlea.  You’ll live.  Now, pull your trousers up.  Tomorrow you will go to the record shop and order a replacement copy of that record.  Here are the details.  No messing about now.  You will give the record to me.  Don’t let me down or it’ll be the cane for you!”

“Yes, Sir!”

Their relationship had changed forever.

________________)

(________________

“Where the hell have you been?” Lynn demanded as Charles came through the front door, cane in hand.

“Getting this cane, of course!”

“Those boys will be here in less than an hour.  I’ve hardly got time to fit your caning in first!”

“Eh?”

“We are going to redo your eighteen strokes before the boys get here.  After all, I need some practice with this new cane.  Into the front room, now!”

Charles was glad he’d chosen the junior cane to bring home.  It would sting like the blazes, but neither he nor the radio pirates would be badly bruised.  However, the police staff back at the station might benefit from the biting caress of the senior cane!

In the front room, Lynn had arranged the room around a chair for her victims to bend over.  She pointed at the chair with her cane and Charles meekly climbed onto it, lowering his uniform trousers and pants ready for a serious thrashing.  Once again, his meaty, hairy cheeks were offered submissively to his wife.

SWISH-CRACK!  It hurt, it really hurt!

SWISH-CRACK!  It was a damn fine cane.

SWISH-CRACK!  She smiled.

SWISH-CRACK!  He grimaced.

SWISH-CRACK!  It stung like only a cane could.

SWISH-CRACK!  She was loving every minute.

“Let’s stop for a minute, Charles.  Tell me a little bit more about these boys.”

“Well, they’re all 21-year-olds.  One of them’s a bit tubby, but should be a nice target for your cane.  I want to watch, of course.”

“Do I know any of them, or their parents?”

“No, I don’t think so.  They all arrived as the town and school expanded.  All from down the road in London, I think.  All ex-GLC pupils.  All no strangers to the cane, at least when they were at St. Stephens.”

“This is only a junior cane, though Charles.  I was hoping for something a bit firmer.”

“Yes, sorry, Westlea let me down a bit.  I’ll have to visit the school again myself.  And not just for old times sake.”

“Bend it a bit more Charles.  These will be extra hard ones.”

SWISH-CRACK!  She wasn’t joking!

SWISH-CRACK!  That cane could pack quite a punch, even for a junior.

SWISH-CRACK!  “Aaargh!”  Suddenly Charles had found his voice.

SWISH-CRACK!  “Owww!”

SWISH-CRACK!  “Shut up, Charles.  Unless you want extras?”

SWISH-CRACK!  He was silent, but his bottom was stinging terribly.

She left for the kitchen.  She poured herself a glass of milk.  This was thirsty work!  Charles remained bent over submissively, allowing his hands to comfort his bottom briefly while Lynn was out of the room.

“Get those hands off there!” she ordered as she arrived back in the room.  She placed the tumbler of milk on the sideboard.

“Six left!”

SWISH-CRACK!

SWISH-CRACK!

SWISH-CRACK!

SWISH-CRACK!

SWISH-CRACK!  “AAAARGH!”

SWISH-CRACK!  “OWWW!”

“That was fun!” she announced.  “I wish those lads would hurry up.  You’d better get up and pull your trousers back on.  You are keeping your uniform on for the main event, aren’t you?”

“Oh yes, darling.  I am the semi-official witness.”

“And a very naughty boy, too!” she added, pointing the stick at him.  “You might be getting some more later.  I’m really in the mood this evening!”

Charles rubbed his bottom nervously.  His wife was so sexy when she was like this.  His first erection of the evening was straining in his trousers.

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Story © MMXII by Rod Cayenne

All rights reserved

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.

(___________

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Comments welcome, please use the link at the top of the first part of the story…