♥ Site recommended story ♥
Erotic fiction by Rod Cayenne. Originally published in two parts; now combined into one hot story.
Part 1:
“There wasn’t much caning when I was at school,” I said to Mr Pearce, my old housemaster. We had bumped into each other in town and had started talking about old times, like you do. He invited me to drop in later that day, which I duly did. We spoke about school, former pupils and staff, of rugby and cricket. He sat up as I mentioned caning.
“Ah, the cane. It’s surprising how many old boys want to talk about that.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Almost every visitor I have wants to talk about it and wants to know whether I still have a cane. Getting back to your original comment, no, there probably wasn’t much caning when you were at school. There was a little more just after you left, just prior to abolition. We had to keep trouble at bay, and be sure anarchy didn’t break out as soon as we lost the cane. Plus Mr Watts was a bit of a sadist, if you ask me.”
“I’d heard that. I was lucky I guess that Mr Spring was still head when I was at school.”
“Yes, you were lucky, or rather your bottom was,” he laughed out loudly. “So you never got the cane, Tom?”
“No, I was a good boy. Only ever got the slipper in P.E.”
“Aha, Mr Wilfred. A bit of a perv.” I was shocked when Mr Pearce referred to my old P.E. teacher that way. “He was very fond of boys’ bottoms.”
“Gosh yes, Sir,” I said shaking my head at the memories. “I had the slipper many times. Never the cane, though. I often wondered what it was like.”
“I didn’t use the cane much, as you probably noticed. I always had a couple hanging on hooks in my study though. Just as a tease, really. They were seldom used.”
“Yes, I remember,” I said. “I used to dread visiting your room because they were there!”
“I see. I’ll tell you what, I’ll go and fetch them. I still have them upstairs,” he revealed. Suddenly I felt my interest in the topic of the cane evaporate. Fear replaced it – did I really want to see those canes again?
“Here they are!” he said returning with the two crook-handled canes. He swished one of them around and then bent it into a semi-circle. “What do you think?” he asked.
“Well, they look a bit old and thin. A bit like you, Sir!”
“Cheeky!” he replied. Suddenly his expression grew fierce. “That’s the sort of cheek that would have got you a caning in the good old days. I’m a bit hurt.”
“Sorry, Sir,” I replied with a smirk. “Perhaps you should cane me?” I said flippantly. However, he took my words literally!
“Bend over this chair then, Tom!” he ordered. Somehow I couldn’t refuse.
CRACK!
The cane lashed down on my arse. I managed to keep quiet but it hurt like mad!
CRAACK!
A harder stroke made me gasp and panic.
CRAACK!
Another hard stroke and I was writhing. I wondered how many strokes I’d be getting and whether I should just get up and leave. Just then a strange thought entered my head – it hurt like hell but it sure was fun. Of a strange kind…
CRACK!
“OWWWW!” I cried out.
CRACK!
CRACK!
He told me to get up. I rubbed my bottom furiously.
“Well?” he asked me.
“Er, ooh, gosh that hurt, Sir!”
“Good lad, but was it satisfying?”
“Er well, yes, it certainly satisfied my curiosity, Sir. What a strange feeling…”
“You enjoyed it then. A lot of grown men do. How about another six on the bare?”
Before I could answer, I felt his cold hands unbuckling my belt, and soon my cords and briefs were around my ankles. He picked up the other cane and whipped it down on my naked arse again and again.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
The six strokes were over but he carried on with further hard strokes, clearly relishing the caning as much as me.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
“AAARGH!” I cried out.
“You are a tough boy!” he said to me as I pulled my trousers back up. We smiled at each other. We should have done this years ago. We arranged to meet again in a month.
Part 2:
“Hello Mr. Pearce.”
“Hello lad! Welcome back.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
“Come in to the front room. I’ll get you a towel so you can dry off. Filthy weather isn’t it?”
“Yes, I’ll say, Sir. Still, we mustn’t let it spoil things, must we?”
“No indeed lad. I expect you experienced worse on cross-country runs.”
“Oh yes, Sir! It always seemed to be raining and muddy. Mr. Wilfred’s slipper used to really sting through a pair of wet white shorts.”
“Of course. Those shorts didn’t leave much to the imagination when they were wet lad. They used to become almost transparent!”
“I know Sir, I know. The slipperings were bad enough but as Mr. Wilfred had a no underwear rule, he must have had a good look at our assets when we were bent over.”
“Yes, I remember him telling me as much. He and I became good friends, you know. He was a perv, but let’s be honest, so am I. You too, I believe.”
“Yes, maybe Sir. I think I could develop a taste for the cane.”
“That’s certainly possible lad. It’s a danger in a way. The cane can be addictive. Like a drug. It’s the pain-killing endorphins that cause the problem. Anyway, here’s a towel. You might as well strip off and put your clothes on the radiator. I take it you do want another caning?”
“Er, yes please, Sir. Only if it’s no trouble.”
“It’s no trouble my boy. It’ll be a pleasure. You know, your arse is quite, quite special. A beauty.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. I get to see a few arses you know. Fat ones. Lardy ones. Lumpy ones. Dirty, unwashed ones. Eeeewww! Tattooed ones. Smelly ones. But every now and then, I get a real beauty like yours to play with. It makes it all worthwhile.”
“Thank you Sir. Would you like a feel of it now?”
“Yes, bend over and touch your toes for me lad.”
His hands were cold, just like before. They wandered all over my bottom. I was feeling a little dizzy in my bent over position. He shoved an unlubricated finger up my arsehole. It hurt a bit but it was also pleasurable as he gradually started to wiggle it about in my hot hole.
“Get up lad! It’s a nice arse alright, but you shouldn’t have let my finger in. You will be punished for that.”
“Yes, of course Sir. Sorry, Sir.”
“Plenty of time for that later. I think we’ll have a cuddle for a minute lad, come and sit here with me on the sofa.”
He put his arm around my naked shoulders. It felt nice. Like a dad. My dad never did that for me. He never took the trouble to chastise me either. My cock was rock hard by now.
“That’s a very nice penis you have there.”
He grabbed it and started to wank it roughly. His grip tightened and he increased the speed. Faster and faster he pumped. I tried to hold back my excitement but I couldn’t. I was stiff, stiffer than ever before. I was turned on, more than ever before. Suddenly my cock exploded with copious amounts of cum. It shot all over the place, over him and over his wanking hand.
“Dirty boy! That will be more punishment for you.”
He wiped the cum from his hand onto my hairy chest.
“A very dirty boy. With a very nice penis. And a bottom to match.”
He disappeared. I assumed he had gone to fetch the canes, but instead he returned holding a carpet beater.
“This hurts!” he said to me nonchalantly. “What does it do lad?”
“It hurts, Sir!”
“Get upstairs! I’ll deal with you there.”
He sat down on the bed, patting the carpet beater on his palm. I stood before him, naked but at least I no longer had an erection.
“Bend over lad. I’m going to beat you now for allowing a finger to probe you!”
“Yes Sir. Sorry Sir, it won’t happen again.”
“I only wish I could believe that.”
I was bent over waiting for the first stroke when instead I felt his finger push into my arsehole again!
“See what I mean! Absolutely incorrigble!” He laughed and withdrew his finger. The carpet beater lashed down. Ouch! It hurt. Not as badly as the burn of the cane, but still a painful reckoning. Again and again painful blows lit up my bare cheeks.
“How was that then boy?”
“Painful Sir!”
“Good! Now then, I was telling you about Mr. Wilfred. We became good friends and used to spank, slipper and cane each other.”
“No! Get away, I don’t believe you!”
“I wouldn’t advise calling me a liar boy!”
“No Sir, Sorry Sir! I was just a little surprised.”
“Anyways, that’s how I know about the wet shorts and how much a slippering hurt through them.” He opened a drawer and pulled out a pair of white P.E. shorts. He held them up and twanged the elastic. “For you, boy!”
“Thank you, Sir.” I went to put them on.
“No, no, no!” he said impatiently. “Take them to the bathroom and make them wet!”
At first, I was horrified as I thought he meant me to piss on them, but then I realised that he wanted me to run them under the tap. I did so, cheating a little by using warm water. He would never know, after all. I wrung the shorts out a little and and then slipped them on over my naked, beaten cheeks. I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror. I looked my 25 years but I also looked like a naughty pupil. By the time I returned to the bedroom he had changed into shorts too. His were dry, of course. On a leather lanyard around his neck hung a shiny chrome whistle. This was going to be fun! He picked up a white and green gym shoe and waved it under my nose.
“You are a sinful little boy and I am going to beat that sin right out of you!”
He indicated that I should bend over on all fours on the bed. He waved the plimsoll at me again.
WHACK!
“Yeowwwww!” Shit, that hurt!
WHACK!WHACK!
WHACK!
He gave a toot on his whistle. My cock stood to attention.
WHACK!
WHACK!
WHACK!
The intensity of the slippering on my wet shorts was breathtaking. It was almost worse than the cane! Almost…
WHACK!
“AARGGH!”
He stopped and threw it down.
“Stay here for a minute boy. Don’t get up.”
A couple of minutes later he returned. He had changed into a headmaster’s outfit! Suit, shirt and tie, mortar board and gown! He looked terrific. He headed over to the wardrobe and opened the doors. I could see his two canes hanging from the rail. He seemed to be deciding which one to use. He sighed a little, and rolled up his sleeves. He took out both canes and turned around giving me a wicked grin.
“Twelve with the senior cane, on your wet shorts.”
“Yes Sir!”
“For spunking all over the place.”
Yes, I thought to myself, that had been fun and rather wicked. I had loved the masterful way he had wiped cum on my chest.
SWISH-CRACK!
“AAARGH!” It hurt like the blazes!
SWISH-CRACK!
The wet shorts offered no protection from the bite of the senior cane.
SWISH-CRACK!
“AAAAAAARGH!”
The wet shorts were making the pain worse.
SWISH-CRACK!
Mr. Pearce could see redness behind the wet shorts.
SWISH-CRACK!SWISH-CRACK!SWISH-CRACK!
SWISH-CRACK!SWISH-CRACK!SWISH-CRACK!
“AARGH!”
SWISH-CRACK!
“Owww!”
It was all over, to my immense relief. What a wicked teacher Mr. Pearce had turned out to be.
“Drop the shorts boy!” he instructed. I duly let them fall off.
His ice cold hands were once again on my bottom. He took some lube from a drawer in the bedside cabinet. Soon he had another finger up me. We both got a lot of pleasure from this.
“Your shorts have made the bedding wet!”
“Oh gosh, I’m sorry.” I knew straight away that this would mean more of the cane. I thrust my naked arse submissively towards him.
“You’d better beat me again, Sir!”
“Not so fast!” he replied. “Put the shorts back on.”
I began to suspect that the wet shorts were a bit of a fetish of his. I tried to imagine how he and Mr Wilfred had played their games. Did they end up in bed together? My thoughts were soon disturbed by the SWISH-CRACK! of the crook-handled junior cane landing on my damp buttocks. I was in for eighteen strokes as punishment for making the bedding wet.
____________)
Story © 2012 by Rod Cayenne
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