Rump Kilt Skin (F/M)

Erotic fiction by your host, Rod Cayenne

Although the smoke of the steam engines engulfed the platform, the two figures recognised each other instantly.

“Hello Aunt Penelope!”

“Hello Gregory!”

They exchanged a kiss and smiled at each other.

“It’s very kind of you to let me stay this week!  I really want to explore the city’s architecture.  It will help with my finals.”

“There’s no finer city in Scotland, Gregory.  I’ll show you around.  Just be a good lad for me.”

“Oh I will Aunty!  I’ll be on my best behaviour.  You won’t be needing your old cane this time.”

“Well, that’s good.  I don’t think I’ve got it any more.  I think your uncle threw it out just before he died.  He said it wouldn’t be needed any more.”

“Oh,” said Gregory trying to hide his disappointment.  He had been thinking about his Aunt’s canings a lot lately.  They had been terrible at the time but now that he was in his early twenties and sexually mature, he had rather fancied a reminder of the cane’s bitter sweet caress.  “You must really miss Uncle Robert.”

“Yes, I do miss him.  Most of all I miss having a man around the house.  I feel like I’m rattling around in that big empty house.  So it will be a comfort having you to stay for the week.  Come on, let’s head home and I’ll fix you some food.”

Over broth and oatcakes the two stared at each other lovingly.  There was real electricity between them.

Aunt Penelope nipped out to the outhouse.  She hadn’t been there much since the death of her husband.  She rummaged around and eventually found what she was looking for – the old leather tawse.  She picked it up and stroked it with affection.  The brown leather twin-tailed strap was capable of severe punishment.  The happily-married couple had used both it and the cane regularly to spice up their sex life.  Then, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the cane.  He hadn’t thrown it out after all!  He had always been a bit of a tease!  She decided to take both items in to show Gregory.

She placed both items on the kitchen table.  Gregory was sat there still, daydreaming, but the arrival of the cane and tawse brought him back down to earth.

“Oh Aunty, you won’t be needing those, will you?”

“I rather think I might be, young Gregory!”

“I thought you said Uncle Robert had thrown the cane away.”

“Well, I honestly thought he had.  But now I’ve found it, I rather think I might put it to use.”

“Oh Aunty!  And that beastly tawse?”

“Yes, that too!  I think you deserve a good thrashing for all of those times you took advantage of me.”

“But Aunty, you led me on!”

“Yes, I may have done.  But you should have declined.  I had a devil of a job keeping it secret from Robbie.”

“You didn’t tell him?”

“No, I didn’t.  I felt so guilty though.  Maybe he guessed and that’s what finished him off.  Poor Robbie.  Anyway, you can take advantage again this week, but only if you accept your punishment first!”

“Oh Aunty, must I?”

“Yes, you must.  It’ll help us both assuage the guilt, I think.”

“Yes, Aunty.  I suppose you’re right.”

“I hope you’ve brought your kilt.”

He nodded.

“Go and change into it then.  Remember, no underwear”

“Yes, Aunty.”

“And I’ll slip into something more comfortable.  Something you’ll really like.  Meet me in the bedroom.  I want the full outfit too, please.  Sporran, garters, shirt…”

So it came to be that the two of them met up in the master bedroom.  Gregory looked smart in his traditional Scottish wear, and Aunt Penelope looked severe in a black girdle.   She flexed the cane menacingly.

“Right Gregory, bend over the side of the bed and lift your kilt up for me.  I will be alternating strokes between the cane and the tawse.  That’s it, stick your rump out for me.”

She approached him, and tucked the cane under her arm.  She had a good feel of his generous, meaty rump.  Its skin was still soft and boyish, not nearly as hairy as her husband’s had been.  The smooth surface was about to become marked by the lash of the cane.

SWISH-CRACK!

“ACH – YEOWCH!” Gregory cried as the stroke was much harder than he’d been expecting.   He heard the clatter of the cane being put down on the side table.

WHACK!  Now the tawse lashed down.  A different kind of pain followed.  A bruising, hurtful pain.

SWISH-CRACK!  It was the cane again and a sharp line of fire assaulted his arse.

WHACK!  The tawse crashed down on Gregory’s cheeks.

SWISH-CRACK!  The whippy cane struck down.

WHAACK!  The tawse crashed down even harder than before!

“AARGH!”

WHACK!  The tawse struck again, unexpectedly, as the cane had been due.

“OWWW!”

“That’s enough of the tawse, I think.  Six of the best with the cane!”

SWISH-CRACK!

SWISH-CRACK!

SWISH-CRACK!

SWISH-CRACK!

SWISH-CRACK!

SWISH-CRACK!

Both were really getting into their stride.  Aunt Penelope stopped to feel his manly cheeks.  They were hot and inviting.  She made a mental note to find something suitable to push up his arsehole.  A quick feel of his semi-erect penis followed.  Yes, it would serve her well once again.

“Six more, I’m afraid Gregory.  Your penis is betraying your true feelings.  You’re enjoying this!  Six more, then you can mount me.”

SWISH-CRACK!

SWISH-CRACK!

SWISH-CRACK!

SWISH-CRACK!

SWISH-CRACK!

SWISH-CRACK!

She tucked the cane under her arm again and groped his arse and cock once more.  

“Still enjoying it I see!  Do you think you can take six more with the tawse?”

“I’d rather have the cane, Aunty.”

“Are you really sure?”

“Yes, but make it a dozen!  In for a penny, in for a pound!” he laughed.

______________)

Story © 2012 by Rod Cayenne

______________

D I S C L A I M E R

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

__________________

Comments welcome, please use the link at the top of the story.

Comments from the original 2012 post are here

 

Fire Breaks Out On Arthur’s Seat (M/M) (Reposted again and again)

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Erotic fiction by Roderick Cayenne

Reposted to celebrate Bonfire Night (November 5th in the UK)

Etching of Edinburgh by John Slezer – Arthur’s Seat is in the background, to the left.

THE FACT (INSPIRATION FROM 2011):

Fire crews were called to tackle a large fire on Arthur’s Seat in Edinburgh on Bonfire Night.  Lothian and Borders Fire Service said the gorse was alight.   Arthur’s Seat is an extinct volcano and a popular spot for watching firework displays on Bonfire Night (November 5th in the UK).

I love Scotland

THE FICTION:

Arthur Smith was enjoying his holiday in Scotland.  He’d visited a lot of the popular tourist destinations and now found himself in Edinburgh for three days.

One highlight of his visit was to be a session with local disciplinarian Hamish McDonaldson.  They had corresponded via an internet spanking contacts site, and now on this cold, rainy evening they were to meet.

“Come in laddie!” Hamish greeted Arthur.  “Wipe your shoes and follow me.  You can hang your coat there.”

Hamish was pleased to see that Arthur had bought himself a kilt.

“So you want a taste of discipline the Scottish way, do you laddie?”

“Yes, please Sir.”

“I hope you know what you’re letting yourself in for!  And is this discipline to be on your hands or on your seat?”

“I’d prefer it on my arse, Sir!”

“DON’T YOU EVER USE THAT DISGUSTING WORD IN MY PRESENCE, LAD!”

“Sorry, Sir.”

“YOU WILL BE, LADDIE!”

“Yes, Sir, Sorry Sir.”

“Your punishment has been doubled, whether you like it or not.”

He went to a cupboard and drew out a couple of canes, and three tawses.

“Oh yes, you’re going to be one sorry lad!”

He pointed to a leather-covered stool in the corner of the room.

“Bring the spanking stool to the middle of the room.  Then bend over it.”

As Arthur bent over, Hamish flicked the kilt up with a cane.

“Ah good lad, no underwear!”

He put the cane down and caressed the cheeks before him.  A little hairier than he liked.  Perhaps a little more ample than he liked.  But the flesh was tender and begging for discipline.

“Twelve with this light tawse.  It was going to be six originally.”

“Yes, Sir.”

The strokes were hard and stinging.  The twin tails of the evil tawse wrapped themselves around the generous contours of the bottom.  Arthur gasped, and cursed silently.  Hamish enjoyed a certain sadistic pleasure as blow after blow reigned down on Arthur’s cheeks.

“How was that laddie?”

“Agony, Sir!”

“Well, we’ve only just begun.  Twelve with this senior belt!”  Hamish picked up the dark-coloured Glasgow Corporation tawse from the chair next to the spanking stool.

He surveyed the bottom looking for places to aim.  This was difficult as the whole bottom was already covered in marks.

WHACK!  A first blow landed and Arthur let out something close to a scream.

“Aha!  Getting to you now are we, laddie?”

“Yes, Sir.”

WHACK!

“AAAARGGH!”

“I’ll teach you to use disgusting language in my home!”

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

The evil tawse did its master’s bidding.  Arthur squirmed on the spanking stool.  Oh how that beastly leather hurt!

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

“Please Sir, I can’t stand any more!”

“REALLY?  I think you can, you cowardly wee sassenach!  Final two with this belt, laddie.  See if you can enjoy them.”

WHACK!

“AAAAAAAARRGH!”

WHACK!

The triple tails wrapped around the bare bottom offered so submissively to Hamish.

“AAARGH!” A final cry from Arthur, as Hamish laughed heartily.

“Did you enjoy those last ones, laddie?”

“No Sir.  Not really.”

“How strange!  I enjoyed them immensely!”

“Yes Sir, thank you Sir.”

“Right laddie!  Next up I was going to give you a couple with this XH belt.  It’s severe.  Of course, the couple has been doubled to four.  Very appropriate for the four letter word you said.”

“I only said arse, Sir.”

“Are you trying to provoke me, lad?  I wouldn’t recommend it!”

“Sorry.”

“Aye, you will be.  You will be.  Now shall we play a little game?”

“A game, Sir?”

“Hold your tongue, lad!”.

WHACK! The tawse lashed down.  “A!” said Hamish.

WHACK! A harder blow, causing Arthur to buck and squirm.  “R!” said Hamish.

WHAAACK! Instant agony spread across the submissive cheeks. “S!” said Hamish, laughing with delight.

WHACK! A fourth blow fell. “E!” said Hamish.

Arthur then felt the hands of his tormentor exploring his naked, disciplined cheeks.

“Laddie, that sure is one fine bottom.  It’ll be caned in a minute.”

“Yes Sir, thank you Sir.”

But the wandering hands were not finished yet.  They caressed the cheeks.  The fingers  strayed towards the arsehole where they began to probe gently.  Arthur moaned submissively, pushing his bottom towards his master.  Suddenly six hard smacks reigned down.  Hamish then applied a little lubricant and thrust his middle finger up Arthur’s seat.  The finger moved in and out and around and around, causing delighted, approving noises from Arthur.

“Time for the cane, laddie.”

Hamish picked up the junior cane.  He flexed it and swished it around.

“It was going to be a dozen, but I think you can cope with 24!”

Arthur wasn’t so sure as the first stroke fell.  Successive strokes of the beastly cane confirmed his doubts.  He had miscalculated when he chose Hamish for his first foray into Scottish discipline.  He had met his match and grew ever sorrier as the cane lashed down mercilessly.

At last it was over.

“Well done laddie.  Bedtime now.  Take this senior cane with you.”

Arthur’s seat was already on fire but would become further inflamed upstairs…

_________________)

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.

_______________

Story by Rod Cayenne, © 2011

Republished again by popular demand, possibly!

Comments welcome

Rump Kilt Skin (F/M) repeated

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Femdom fiction by Rod Cayenne, repeated from 2012. Strictly 18+, adults only!

Although the smoke of the steam engines engulfed the platform, the two figures recognised each other instantly.

“Hello Aunt Penelope!”

“Hello Gregory!”

They exchanged a kiss and smiled at each other.

“It’s very kind of you to let me stay this week!  I really want to explore the city’s architecture.  It will help with my finals.”

“There’s no finer city in Scotland, Gregory.  I’ll show you around.  Just be a good lad for me.”

“Oh I will Aunty!  I’ll be on my best behaviour.  You won’t be needing your old cane this time.”

“Well, that’s good.  I don’t think I’ve got it any more.  I think your uncle threw it out just before he died.  He said it wouldn’t be needed any more.”

“Oh,” said Gregory trying to hide his disappointment.  He had been thinking about his Aunt’s canings a lot lately.  They had been terrible at the time but now that he was in his early twenties and sexually mature, he had rather fancied a reminder of the cane’s bitter sweet caress.  “You must really miss Uncle Robert.”

“Yes, I do miss him.  Most of all I miss having a man around the house.  I feel like I’m rattling around in that big empty house.  So it will be a comfort having you to stay for the week.  Come on, let’s head home and I’ll fix you some food.”

Over broth and oatcakes the two stared at each other lovingly.  There was real electricity between them.

Aunt Penelope nipped out to the outhouse.  She hadn’t been there much since the death of her husband.  She rummaged around and eventually found what she was looking for – the old leather tawse.  She picked it up and stroked it with affection.  The brown leather twin-tailed strap was capable of severe punishment.  The happily-married couple had used both it and the cane regularly to spice up their sex life.  Then, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the cane.  He hadn’t thrown it out after all!  He had always been a bit of a tease!  She decided to take both items in to show Gregory.

She placed both items on the kitchen table.  Gregory was sat there still, daydreaming, but the arrival of the cane and tawse brought him back down to earth.

“Oh Aunty, you won’t be needing those, will you?”

“I rather think I might be, young Gregory!”

“I thought you said Uncle Robert had thrown the cane away.”

“Well, I honestly thought he had.  But now I’ve found it, I rather think I might put it to use.”

“Oh Aunty!  And that beastly tawse?”

“Yes, that too!  I think you deserve a good thrashing for all those times you took advantage of me.”

“But Aunty, you led me on!”

“Yes, I may have done.  But you should have declined.  I had a devil of a job keeping it secret from Robbie.”

“You didn’t tell him?”

“No, I didn’t.  I felt so guilty though.  Maybe he guessed and that’s what finished him off.  Poor Robbie.  Anyway, you can take advantage again this week, but only if you accept your punishment first!”

“Oh Aunty, must I?”

“Yes, you must.  It’ll help us both assuage the guilt, I think.”

“Yes, Aunty.  I suppose you’re right.”

“I hope you’ve brought your kilt.”

He nodded.

“Go and change into it then.  Remember, no underwear”

“Yes, Aunty.”

“And I’ll slip into something more comfortable.  Something you’ll really like.  Meet me in the bedroom.  I want the full outfit too, please.  Sporran, garters, shirt…”

So it came to be that the two of them met up in the master bedroom.  Gregory looked smart in his traditional Scottish wear, and Aunt Penelope looked severe in a black girdle.   She flexed the cane menacingly.

“Right Gregory, bend over the side of the bed and lift your kilt up for me.  I will be alternating strokes between the cane and the tawse.  That’s it, stick your rump out for me.”

She approached him, and tucked the cane under her arm.  She had a good feel of his generous, meaty rump.  Its skin was still soft and boyish, not nearly as hairy as her husband’s had been.  The smooth surface was about to become marked by the lash of the cane.

SWISH-CRACK!

“ACH – YEOWCH!” Gregory cried as the stroke was much harder than he’d been expecting.   He heard the clatter of the cane being put down on the side table.

WHACK!  Now the tawse lashed down.  A different kind of pain followed.  A bruising, hurtful pain.

SWISH-CRACK!  It was the cane again and a sharp line of fire assaulted his arse.

WHACK!  The tawse crashed down on Gregory’s cheeks.

SWISH-CRACK!  The whippy cane struck down.

WHAACK!  The tawse crashed down even harder than before!

“AARGH!”

WHACK!  The tawse struck again, unexpectedly, as the cane had been due.

“OWWW!”

“That’s enough of the tawse, I think.  Six of the best with the cane!”

SWISH-CRACK!

SWISH-CRACK!

SWISH-CRACK!

SWISH-CRACK!

SWISH-CRACK!

SWISH-CRACK!

Both were really getting into their stride.  Aunt Penelope stopped to feel his manly cheeks.  They were hot and inviting.  She made a mental note to find something suitable to push up his arsehole.  A quick feel of his semi-erect penis followed.  Yes, it would serve her well once again.

“Six more, I’m afraid Gregory.  Your penis is betraying your true feelings.  You’re enjoying this!  Six more, then you can mount me.”

SWISH-CRACK!

SWISH-CRACK!

SWISH-CRACK!

SWISH-CRACK!

SWISH-CRACK!

SWISH-CRACK!

She tucked the cane under her arm again and groped his arse and cock once more.  

“Still enjoying it I see!  Do you think you can take six more with the tawse?”

“I’d rather have the cane, Aunty.”

“Are you really sure?”

“Yes, but make it a dozen!  In for a penny, in for a pound!” he laughed.

______________)

______________

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.

_______________

Story ©  MMXII by Rod Cayenne

Photo © by Jonathan, R.I.P.

Comments welcome

Comments from the original 2012 post are here

Fire Breaks Out On Arthur’s Seat (M/M) (Reposted yet again)

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Erotic fiction by Roderick Cayenne

Reposted to celebrate Bonfire Night (November 5th in the UK)

Etching of Edinburgh by John Slezer – Arthur’s Seat is in the background, to the left.

THE FACT (INSPIRATION FROM 2011):

Fire crews were called to tackle a large fire on Arthur’s Seat in Edinburgh on Bonfire Night.  Lothian and Borders Fire Service said the gorse was alight.   Arthur’s Seat is an extinct volcano and a popular spot for watching firework displays on Bonfire Night (November 5th in the UK).

I love Scotland

THE FICTION:

Arthur Smith was enjoying his holiday in Scotland.  He’d visited a lot of the popular tourist destinations and now found himself in Edinburgh for three days.

One highlight of his visit was to be a session with local disciplinarian Hamish McDonaldson.  They had corresponded via an internet spanking contacts site, and now on this cold, rainy evening they were to meet.

“Come in laddie!” Hamish greeted Arthur.  “Wipe your shoes and follow me.  You can hang your coat there.”

Hamish was pleased to see that Arthur had bought himself a kilt.

“So you want a taste of discipline the Scottish way, do you laddie?”

“Yes, please Sir.”

“I hope you know what you’re letting yourself in for!  And is this discipline to be on your hands or on your seat?”

“I’d prefer it on my arse, Sir!”

“DON’T YOU EVER USE THAT DISGUSTING WORD IN MY PRESENCE, LAD!”

“Sorry, Sir.”

“YOU WILL BE, LADDIE!”

“Yes, Sir, Sorry Sir.”

“Your punishment has been doubled, whether you like it or not.”

He went to a cupboard and drew out a couple of canes, and three tawses.

“Oh yes, you’re going to be one sorry lad!”

He pointed to a leather-covered stool in the corner of the room.

“Bring the spanking stool to the middle of the room.  Then bend over it.”

As Arthur bent over, Hamish flicked the kilt up with a cane.

“Ah good lad, no underwear!”

He put the cane down and caressed the cheeks before him.  A little hairier than he liked.  Perhaps a little more ample than he liked.  But the flesh was tender and begging for discipline.

“Twelve with this light tawse.  It was going to be six originally.”

“Yes, Sir.”

The strokes were hard and stinging.  The twin tails of the evil tawse wrapped themselves around the generous contours of the bottom.  Arthur gasped, and cursed silently.  Hamish enjoyed a certain sadistic pleasure as blow after blow reigned down on Arthur’s cheeks.

“How was that laddie?”

“Agony, Sir!”

“Well, we’ve only just begun.  Twelve with this senior belt!”  Hamish picked up the dark-coloured Glasgow Corporation tawse from the chair next to the spanking stool.

He surveyed the bottom looking for places to aim.  This was difficult as the whole bottom was already covered in marks.

WHACK!  A first blow landed and Arthur let out something close to a scream.

“Aha!  Getting to you now are we, laddie?”

“Yes, Sir.”

WHACK!

“AAAARGGH!”

“I’ll teach you to use disgusting language in my home!”

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

The evil tawse did its master’s bidding.  Arthur squirmed on the spanking stool.  Oh how that beastly leather hurt!

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

“Please Sir, I can’t stand any more!”

“REALLY?  I think you can, you cowardly wee sassenach!  Final two with this belt, laddie.  See if you can enjoy them.”

WHACK!

“AAAAAAAARRGH!”

WHACK!

The triple tails wrapped around the bare bottom offered so submissively to Hamish.

“AAARGH!” A final cry from Arthur, as Hamish laughed heartily.

“Did you enjoy those last ones, laddie?”

“No Sir.  Not really.”

“How strange!  I enjoyed them immensely!”

“Yes Sir, thank you Sir.”

“Right laddie!  Next up I was going to give you a couple with this XH belt.  It’s severe.  Of course, the couple has been doubled to four.  Very appropriate for the four letter word you said.”

“I only said arse, Sir.”

“Are you trying to provoke me, lad?  I wouldn’t recommend it!”

“Sorry.”

“Aye, you will be.  You will be.  Now shall we play a little game?”

“A game, Sir?”

“Hold your tongue, lad!”.

WHACK! The tawse lashed down.  “A!” said Hamish.

WHACK! A harder blow, causing Arthur to buck and squirm.  “R!” said Hamish.

WHAAACK! Instant agony spread across the submissive cheeks. “S!” said Hamish, laughing with delight.

WHACK! A fourth blow fell. “E!” said Hamish.

Arthur then felt the hands of his tormentor exploring his naked, disciplined cheeks.

“Laddie, that sure is one fine bottom.  It’ll be caned in a minute.”

“Yes Sir, thank you Sir.”

But the wandering hands were not finished yet.  They caressed the cheeks.  The fingers  strayed towards the arsehole where they began to probe gently.  Arthur moaned submissively, pushing his bottom towards his master.  Suddenly six hard smacks reigned down.  Hamish then applied a little lubricant and thrust his middle finger up Arthur’s seat.  The finger moved in and out and around and around, causing delighted, approving noises from Arthur.

“Time for the cane, laddie.”

Hamish picked up the junior cane.  He flexed it and swished it around.

“It was going to be a dozen, but I think you can cope with 24!”

Arthur wasn’t so sure as the first stroke fell.  Successive strokes of the beastly cane confirmed his doubts.  He had miscalculated when he chose Hamish for his first foray into Scottish discipline.  He had met his match and grew ever sorrier as the cane lashed down mercilessly.

At last it was over.

“Well done laddie.  Bedtime now.  Take this senior cane with you.”

Arthur’s seat was already on fire but would become further inflamed upstairs…

_________________)

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.

_______________

Story by Rod Cayenne, © 2011

Republished again by popular demand

Comments welcome

Rump Kilt Skin (F/M)

Erotic fiction by your host, Rod Cayenne

Although the smoke of the steam engines engulfed the platform, the two figures recognised each other instantly.

“Hello Aunt Penelope!”

“Hello Gregory!”

They exchanged a kiss and smiled at each other.

“It’s very kind of you to let me stay this week!  I really want to explore the city’s architecture.  It will help with my finals.”

“There’s no finer city in Scotland, Gregory.  I’ll show you around.  Just be a good lad for me.”

“Oh I will Aunty!  I’ll be on my best behaviour.  You won’t be needing your old cane this time.”

“Well, that’s good.  I don’t think I’ve got it any more.  I think your uncle threw it out just before he died.  He said it wouldn’t be needed any more.”

“Oh,” said Gregory trying to hide his disappointment.  He had been thinking about his Aunt’s canings a lot lately.  They had been terrible at the time but now that he was in his early twenties and sexually mature, he had rather fancied a reminder of the cane’s bitter sweet caress.  “You must really miss Uncle Robert.”

“Yes, I do miss him.  Most of all I miss having a man around the house.  I feel like I’m rattling around in that big empty house.  So it will be a comfort having you to stay for the week.  Come on, let’s head home and I’ll fix you some food.”

Over broth and oatcakes the two stared at each other lovingly.  There was real electricity between them.

Aunt Penelope nipped out to the outhouse.  She hadn’t been there much since the death of her husband.  She rummaged around and eventually found what she was looking for – the old leather tawse.  She picked it up and stroked it with affection.  The brown leather twin-tailed strap was capable of severe punishment.  The happily-married couple had used both it and the cane regularly to spice up their sex life.  Then, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the cane.  He hadn’t thrown it out after all!  He had always been a bit of a tease!  She decided to take both items in to show Gregory.

She placed both items on the kitchen table.  Gregory was sat there still, daydreaming, but the arrival of the cane and tawse brought him back down to earth.

“Oh Aunty, you won’t be needing those, will you?”

“I rather think I might be, young Gregory!”

“I thought you said Uncle Robert had thrown the cane away.”

“Well, I honestly thought he had.  But now I’ve found it, I rather think I might put it to use.”

“Oh Aunty!  And that beastly tawse?”

“Yes, that too!  I think you deserve a good thrashing for those times you took advantage of me.”

“But Aunty, you led me on!”

“Yes, I may have done.  But you should have declined.  I had a devil of a job keeping it secret from Robbie.”

“You didn’t tell him?”

“No, I didn’t.  I felt so guilty though.  Maybe he guessed and that’s what finished him off.  Poor Robbie.  Anyway, you can take advantage again this week, but only if you accept your punishment first!”

“Oh Aunty, must I?”

“Yes, you must.  It’ll help us both assuage the guilt, I think.”

“Yes, Aunty.  I suppose you’re right.”

“I hope you’ve brought your kilt.”

He nodded.

“Go and change into it then.  Remember, no underwear”

“Yes, Aunty.”

“And I’ll slip into something more comfortable.  Something you’ll really like.  Meet me in the bedroom.  I want the full outfit too, please.  Sporran, garters, shirt…”

So it came to be that the two of them met up in the master bedroom.  Gregory looked smart in his traditional Scottish wear, and Aunt Penelope looked severe in a black girdle.   She flexed the cane menacingly.

“Right Gregory, bend over the side of the bed and lift your kilt up for me.  I will be alternating strokes between the cane and the tawse.  That’s it, stick your rump out for me.”

She approached him, and tucked the cane under her arm.  She had a good feel of his generous, meaty rump.  Its skin was still soft and boyish, not nearly as hairy as her husband’s had been.  The smooth surface was about to become marked by the lash of the cane.

SWISH-CRACK!

“ACH – YEOWCH!” Gregory cried as the stroke was much harder than he’d been expecting.   He heard the clatter of the cane being put down on the side table.

WHACK!  Now the tawse lashed down.  A different kind of pain followed.  A bruising, hurtful pain.

SWISH-CRACK!  It was the cane again and a sharp line of fire assaulted his arse.

WHACK!  The tawse crashed down on Gregory’s cheeks.

SWISH-CRACK!  The whippy cane struck down.

WHAACK!  The tawse crashed down even harder than before!

“AARGH!”

WHACK!  The tawse struck again, unexpectedly, as the cane had been due.

“OWWW!”

“That’s enough of the tawse, I think.  Six of the best with the cane!”

SWISH-CRACK!

SWISH-CRACK!

SWISH-CRACK!

SWISH-CRACK!

SWISH-CRACK!

SWISH-CRACK!

Both were really getting into their stride.  Aunt Penelope stopped to feel his manly cheeks.  They were hot and inviting.  She made a mental note to find something suitable to push up his arsehole.  A quick feel of his semi-erect penis followed.  Yes, it would serve her well once again.

“Six more, I’m afraid Gregory.  Your penis is betraying your true feelings.  You’re enjoying this!  Six more, then you can mount me.”

SWISH-CRACK!

SWISH-CRACK!

SWISH-CRACK!

SWISH-CRACK!

SWISH-CRACK!

SWISH-CRACK!

She tucked the cane under her arm again and groped his arse and cock once more.  

“Still enjoying it I see!  Do you think you can take six more with the tawse?”

“I’d rather have the cane, Aunty.”

“Are you really sure?”

“Yes, but make it a dozen!  In for a penny, in for a pound!” he laughed.

______________)

Story © 2012 by Rod Cayenne