♥ Site recommended story ♥
It’s high time for another brand spanking new story by very special guest author JOELSTRAP. This story is exclusive to The Canery! All the characters are 18 or over. WARNING: ADULTS ONLY!
Where’s Reece? by Joelstrap
Jordan and I were sitting in deckchairs in his front-garden, chatting in a desultory manner while lapping up the sun. A perspiring Reece came running towards us along the road, clad in a thin vest and close-fitting shorts.
“Fuck! He’s hot!” I remarked to Jordan. “And I don’t mean his temperature.”
Jordan grinned. “And you’ve got the hots for him huh, Bran?”
“Well, yeh; but I don’t know if he’s interested in me. Shit, but those running-shorts are hot too!”
“And your breath’s coming in hot pants, eh Bran?”
“Hey! Reece! Come here a minute,” shouted Jordan. “Bran’s getting all hot and bothered at the sight of you.”
“You bastard!” I snarled furiously at Jordan. “Why the hell did you say that?”
“Because it’s true,” retorted Jordan, smiling unrepentantly. “He’s coming over.”
Reece slowed to a trot, pushed open the gate and came into the garden. He stood, hands on hips, partly bent over, breathing hard. In the centre of his vest was a dark patch of sweat and rivulets of perspiration trickled down his face and neck.
“Boy, it’s hot for running,” he admitted. “You couldn’t find me a cold lager, could you, Jordan?”
“No trouble,” replied Jordan, getting up and heading for the house.
Reece plonked himself down on the grass at my feet and looked up into my face.
“Was that right, what Jordan said; about you being all hot and bothered at the sight of me?” he enquired shyly.
“Jordan should keep his bloody trap shut,” I said.
“So it wasn’t true?”
“I didn’t say that,” I replied.
“Well, was it or wasn’t it?” demanded Reece with a touch of asperity.
I felt myself going red in the face and Reece grinned.
“You definitely look hot,” he opined.
“Okay, okay, I said to Jordan that you were red-hot in these tight shorts; but he’d no business shouting to you; and why would you be interested in me anyway? It was just a throw-away comment. Just forget it.”
“Like hell I will! You meant it, didn’t you, Bran? You think I’m hot?”
“Yes; but you don’t have to……..”
“I think you’re pretty hot too, Bran,” interrupted Reece.
“Mmmm! So we agree that we’re both hot stuff. That’s a good start. How about you meet me down the pub tonight and we have a couple of beers and get to know each other a bit better?”
Jordan returned carrying three cans of chilled lager and handed them out before sitting down and demanding, “So, fixed up a date yet, guys?”
“Yes,” I said smugly.
Jordan stared at me.
“When?” he asked.
“Tonight, in the pub.”
Reece nodded confirmation and Jordan shook his head as if he couldn’t quite believe it.
“One minute you’re furious with me for telling Reece you think he’s sizzling-hot; and the next you’ve made a date to get into his pants!”
“You’ve got bloody pants on the brain,” I objected. “Who said anything about pants? We’re meeting for a drink and a chance to talk.”
“And if Bran tries to get into my pants in the pub, I’ll punch him in the goolies,” warned Reece.
“No way was I ever even thinking about getting into your pants in public,” I protested.
“Maybe after a couple of beers, behind the bushes in the park?” suggested Jordan mischievously.
Reece and I glanced at each other and then simultaneously each grabbed a leg of Jordan’s deckchair and tipped him on to the grass.
“Sodding bastards!” yelled Jordan. “Half my lager’s away, you rotters!”
“I don’t think he’s pleased,” observed Reece.
“No, he’s not,” I agreed. “A bit hot under the collar I’d say.”
Reece and I got on very well and began seeing each other regularly. He was studying chemistry and loved running. Monday and Wednesday evenings he trained with a running-club; and most Saturdays he went off on a competitive run somewhere. I was studying history and got my exercise at the gym and playing football for the college team. We met several evenings a week and at the weekends fulfilled Jordan’s prediction of getting into each other’s pants to our mutual delight and pleasure.
The weeks turned into months and we moved out of halls and into a small flat together and were deeply happy.
Over a year had passed and on an autumn Monday evening, I happened to be near the sports-centre as the first of the runners were returning from their ten-mile run. I decided to wait for Reece, but the tail-enders came in and there was no sign of him. I went into the building.
“Where’s Reece?” I asked; but no-one knew.
When I got back to the flat, Reece was already there and I asked where he’d been.
“Oh, I didn’t feel right; maybe something I ate,” he said, “so I gave the run a miss.”
It was three weeks later on an October evening that I was sitting in the local pub with Jordan who remained a good friend. Jordan was straight as they come and played the field tirelessly among the girls at college; but we respected each other’s sexuality. I always felt that I owed Jordan something for getting me and Reece together, even if I’d resented the way he did it the previous year.
My mobile rang and I was listening to Nigel. “Where’s Reece?” he enquired “Is he with you?”
“Nah. It’s Monday. He’ll be at the running-club,” I told him.
“Oh! That’s probably why he’s not answering his phone. Look, Reece was at my room in hall earlier to get some lecture-notes he wanted and when we came out my phone rang and so Reece locked the door; and he must have pocketed the key without thinking, because I haven’t got it and I need to get into my room.”
“Right! Me and Jordan are at the pub, but we’ll pop up to the sports-centre now and see if Reece has got the key in his jeans. He’ll be out on a run, but the guys there know me, so they’ll let me look in his things. If it’s there, we’ll get it to you as soon as we can.”
“Thanks, mate. You’re a pal.”
At the running-club’s changing-rooms, Gordie looked blankly at me.
“But Reece isn’t here,” he said. “He still comes on Wednesdays and does the competitions on Saturdays; but I’ve not seen him on a Monday for weeks.”
“Oh! I guess I got mixed up,” I said. “Thanks anyway.”
We walked in silence down the road back towards the pub. I was aware that Jordan was giving me frequent sideways glances; and eventually he asked tentatively, “So what do you make of that, Bran?”
“I dunno. Maybe he wasn’t feeling well and didn’t go tonight.”
“What about the other nights?”
“How should I know?” I replied irritably.
“Did he not tell you he wasn’t running on a Monday evening any more?”
“No,” I said.
We entered the bar, Jordan ordered pints, and we sat down.
Jordan raised his eyebrows.
“Okay, okay! I don’t know what to think. He goes out as usual every Monday evening with his sports-kit; and I don’t know where the hell he goes. Satisfied?”
“No, I’m not satisfied; and neither are you. So where’s Reece on a Monday evening? What do you think’s going on, Bran?”
“Look, it’s none of your fucking business,” I riposted angrily.
“You’re my friend,” said Jordan.
I took a long swallow from my glass.
“Yeh. Sorry. It’s not your fault. Do you….do you think he’s maybe seeing somebody else, Jordan?” I asked, voicing my fears uneasily.
“Any reason to think he is? Are you still getting on well?”
“We’re fine, honest. Blissfully happy. Really, Jordan, there’s no reason he’d go off with another guy. Anyway, even if he did fall out of love with me, I honestly think he’d just tell me and be open about it. It’s how Reece is.”
Jordan nodded. “Yeh. I agree. So there must be another explanation. You’ll just have to ask him.”
“Yeh,” I replied, not meeting Jordan’s eyes. “I guess I should.”
“And what about Nigel’s key?” asked Jordan.
“Oh, shit! I forgot that. I’ll try Reece’s mobile. Maybe he’ll have it switched on by now. He should be on his way home from…….wherever he is……shortly.”
Reece answered and I told him about the key; and after a moment when he was obviously rummaging in his pockets, he confirmed that he did indeed have it and would ring Nigel to say he was on his way with it at once.
“That’s that sorted anyway,” said Jordan.
“Yeh. I think I’ll get off home now,” I said, draining my glass. “See you.”
I argued with myself all the way home and by the time I reached the flat, I’d decided that I didn’t want to let Reece know what I’d accidentally discovered. Instead, I made up my mind to follow him the next Monday and see where he went.
It felt like a long week, but at last Monday came round again and Reece picked up his kit-bag and set off. I followed like a shadow, helped by the fact that it was dark and I could dodge from street-light to street-light and doorway to doorway and so avoid being seen should he look back. Not that he did. Nor did he make for the sports-centre, but headed to a rather posh part of town and then into a narrow mews which formed a cul-de-sac running behind a row of large, detached houses. Here the former stables-buildings for the mansions had been converted into small cottages and as I watched from behind a convenient tree, Reece rang the bell of one of these and was admitted. Unfortunately I couldn’t see who answered the door and as nothing was said, I couldn’t even tell the sex of the person who let him in. I made my way along the mews and gazed at a couple of dark windows at the front of the house. Going on a little, I found a narrow alley leading down the far side of the cottage, presumably giving access to the courtyard at the back. It was almost pitch dark as no light from the street-lamps penetrated down here. I made my way cautiously forward and came to a high wooden gate barring the way. Turning the handle carefully, I found that it was locked.
I hesitated and then decided that since I’d come this far, I had to see if I could find out more. I jumped up, grabbed the top of the gate and then hauled myself up with a considerable effort until I was perched on top. The courtyard into which I was looking was in near darkness, but there was a little light which I assumed came from a rear window. They had to be in there! I half slid and half jumped down and suddenly there was an offended screech and a cat shot out from under my feet. I had a feeling that I might have landed on its tail. Next moment all hell broke loose when a huge dog set up an almighty barking as it came pelting round the corner and danced excitedly around my feet.
I tried to kick it away, but it tripped me and I landed heavily. For a moment I saw in the gloom a large mouth and lots of teeth; and then it was licking my face enthusiastically. Even as I struggled to push it away and get up, a light came on and a young guy appeared and looked down at me.
“Who the hell are you?” he demanded irately. “And for that matter what are you doing here? This is private property.”
“I….er…..oh, shit!…..I can’t explain…….” I stammered before grinding to a halt.
The young man strode forward, yanked me up by the collar and hauled me towards an open French Window beyond which was a brightly-lit room. He shoved me through the doors and as I regained my balance, I gave a gasp of astonishment. In front of me, stark-naked and bent over a chair, was Reece. He turned his head to see what was happening and I heard him take in breath sharply as a tide of red swept from his neck up over his face.
“Oh, fuck!” he swore viciously.
I was still stunned because I had also noticed that not only was a nude Reece standing bent over a chair; but on his bottom were four neat, parallel cane-welts.
“What the……?” I began; and then the young guy shoved me into an armchair and demanded that I explain my presence.
“Why is my boyfriend here?” I asked quietly.
That shook him. He glanced at Reece and then back at me. “Your boyfriend?” he repeated. “Reece? Stand up and come here, hands on your head.”
I stared in disbelief as Reece obeyed and stood before the young man. I noticed that he was semi-erect.
“Is this your boyfriend, Reece?” he enquired, nodding at me; and Reece said, “Yes, sir,” very softly.
“I see. I also see that I may be able to work out why you’re here,” he said to me, “but I’d rather you told me yourself.”
I told him my name and explained exactly what had happened; how I’d found that Reece was no longer where he should have been on Monday evenings; and how I’d trailed him tonight and then caused something of a commotion in the courtyard.
“You thought I was cheating on you?” asked Reece, looking outraged.
“You went off as if you were going running, but you weren’t; and you didn’t tell me what was going on,” I accused. “What was I supposed to think?”
“Right,” said the young man. “I’m Barry, but Reece calls me ‘sir’, and you can do the same, Bran. Understand?”
There was a natural authority about him and I instinctively responded, “Yes, sir.”
“Now listen, Bran. Reece is not cheating on you. I dish out spankings, including use of the cane, strap, paddle, belt and a few other things, to young guys who feel they need some discipline or who just find it exciting. Reece has been coming to me for the past five Monday evenings for spanking. As no doubt you observed, I’m in the middle of caning him, so before we go any further I’m going to finish that. Get back in position, Reece.”
“But, sir,” pleaded Reece urgently, “you can’t in front of Bran. Please!”
“Are you permitted to argue with me, Reece?” asked Barry quietly; and Reece looked at his feet and muttered “no, sir.”
“That will be two extra strokes for disobedience,” said Barry. “Position, Reece!”
For a moment I saw a hunted look flash across Reece’s face and I wondered if he was going to make a run for it; but then he turned and bent over the chair once more. Barry picked up a nasty-looking cane from the sofa, gave a practice-swing, which made an intimidating whine and caused Reece to flinch; and then hit my boy hard twice at a slight angle across the four welts already showing on his skin. Reece gasped audibly and clenched him bottom fiercely as he fought the sting. My penis, swollen and throbbing desperately, tried to force its way out of my denims.
“Two more for disobedience,” said Barry and I saw Reece tense himself in readiness. The cane lashed hard across his lower bottom and the sting forced a yelp from him as he twisted from the hips. Barely had he steadied himself than Barry wielded the cane again, now full on Reece’s crease, making him writhe and scrub at his skin with his right hand while a squeal was driven from him.
“You never argue with me, boy. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir,” responded Reece submissively.
“Stand up, hands behind you, and hold your tongue.”
Reece obeyed, and then Barry addressed me.
“Bend over, Bran,” he commanded, arching his lithe cane menacingly.
“Me? You think you’re gonna cane me?”
“There’s no ‘think’ about it. I am going to cane you. You’ve climbed over a locked gate into my courtyard in the dark, presumably to break into my house and…….”
“Break into your…………no fucking way! I told you why I’m here. I’m not a flaming burglar and you know it!”
“Do you think the police will see it that way when I call them?”
“Behaviour like yours needs to be punished, Bran. I’m sure you can work out the choice you have. So, what’s it to be? Police or cane?”
I eyed the limber cane anxiously, remembering what it had done to Reece. I considered how my activities might well appear to an officer of the law, were Barry to summon one. Curiously, I also considered the question of why Reece was volunteering for the cane; and a small part of me wondered if there was something here that I needed to experience for myself. All the same, I really didn’t want my behind to get the sort of treatment Reece’s had received.
“Neither,” I declared with more conviction in my voice than in my head. “I’m leaving now and you can call the police if you want to; but no way are you going to use that vicious cane on my arse.”
I made for the French-window, turned the handle and then jumped as there was a resounding crash and the dog outside set up a horrendous barking. Barry strode across, flung open the door and switched on the outside-lights; to reveal Jordan simultaneously trying to fight off the over-affectionate mutt while struggling to pick himself up from a mass of broken flowerpots.
“Jordan!” I gasped.
“You know this young hooligan?” enquired Barry with a slight smile on his face.
“Hooligan? Don’t you call me a hooligan,” protested Jordan, succeeding in getting to his feet.
“He’s a friend of mine,” I told Barry.
“Where’s Reece?” asked Jordan.
“Is he a friend of yours too, Reece?” enquired Barry, stepping to one side so that Jordan could see Reece standing there.
“Yes,” admitted Reece softly.
“You seem to have some very badly-behaved friends,” observed Barry. “Two potential burglars in one evening and you know them both. I think that your bottom and my cane are going to need to become a lot more familiar before you go home tonight, my lad.”
“What? No!” I objected angrily. “You can’t beat him again! He didn’t know I’d be here; and I didn’t know Jordan would be here. Why are you here anyway?” I asked Jordan.
“I know you. I could tell you weren’t going to do the sensible thing and just ask Reece what he was up to on a Monday evening. I guessed you’d try to follow him and find out where he was going; and so I followed you. I saw you come round the back here, heard the dog and realised you’d been caught. But then nothing seemed to happen and I got worried, so I came over the gate to see what was going on.”
“There’s a very simple and ubiquitous invention,” remarked Barry conversationally, “called a doorbell.”
Jordan and I rolled our eyes.
“Reece comes here to get spanked and caned because it excites him and he likes it,” continued Barry. “Bran has arrived in highly-suspicious circumstances which I think the local constabulary might view as trespass with a view to breaking-and-entering. I’ve offered him the choice of being reported or of a caning but he seemed to want neither and was about to leave when you arrived so dramatically. Another event which might be viewed by agents of the law as very suspicious; and which has included vandalism, witness my broken flowerpots.”
“Witness your bro…….for fuck’s sake! That was an accident; and I’ll pay for new ones,” said Jordan.
“So I now have two young guys whose behaviour merits a good dose of my cane across their bare bottoms.”
“Bare bottoms?” I queried. “Bare bottoms? You really think we’re gonna let you beat our bare arses with that bloody cane?”
“The arrival of Jordan on the scene and Reece’s admission that he knows both of you, has however led me to think that maybe he is the real culprit here and has told his nefarious mates (that’s you pair of trespassers) that this might be a good house to burgle, being in a quiet mews. It was just unfortunate from your point of view that he happened to be here on the evening you chose to break in.”
“Reece never told us any such thing, you bastard,” shouted Jordan angrily, losing it completely.
“It’s just chance you tried to break into a house he knows about?”
“We didn’t try to break in,” yelled Jordan. “Aren’t you listening? I think you’re assaulting Reece and keeping him here against his will; and I’m gonna be reporting you, mate!”
“Am I assaulting you and doing anything to you or with you against your will, Reece?” asked Barry.
“No,” replied Reece softly.
“Oh,” said Jordan.
“So if you two would now like to leave, preferably via the front-door, I can get on with giving Reece here a good, hard caning to punish him for encouraging his criminally-inclined mates to break into houses; and to persuade him to find some more respectable friends,” said Barry.
“I already told you,” I intervened, “that Reece knew nothing about us coming here. It’s not his fault. You’re not touching him with that cane again. Come on, Reece, we’re going home.”
“No,” said Reece quietly. “If Barry says I’ve to be beaten again, then I’ll stay and take it.”
“But you didn’t tell us to come and break in here!” I shouted in exasperation. “He’s making it all up! No way do you deserve another thrashing!”
Reece said nothing. I turned to Barry.
“Please,” I said, “don’t cane him any more.”
“I’ll let him off any more of the cane if he’s really innocent,” said Barry thoughtfully, “but that must mean that you and Jordan did indeed come here off your own bat, allegedly unaware even of what the other was doing…..”
“Allegedly my arsehole!” shouted Jordan. “We didn’t bloody well know!”
“….illicitly entering a private courtyard with the probable intent of house-breaking. If each of you is prepared to bare his bottom and take a hard dose of the cane, then there will be no need to punish Reece. There is of course still the option of summoning an officer of the law, to ask him to consider trespass, suspicious behaviour and vandalism,” continued Barry calmly.
Jordan and I glanced at each other and moved away into a corner of the room together where we had a hasty, whispered conversation.
“That sadistic bugger is gonna lash Reece with his cane again; and Reece isn’t gonna resist. I don’t understand what he’s up to, but I don’t want him beaten again tonight.”
“I don’t think he’s gonna get the police,” said Jordan, “and anyway we can just walk out and there’s no evidence we were ever here. That hairy mutt out there could have knocked over the flowerpots. But if we do that Reece is gonna get it.”
“So we gotta take it instead?” I asked.
“Looks like it. You up for it, Bran?”
“Yeh. It’s funny, but there’s a little bit of me’s kinda curious about how it feels to be caned.”
“Me too. After all, Reece is a level-headed kind of guy. He must be getting something out of it.”
“You seen the stripes on his arse?” I asked.
“Yeh, I know; but there must be something else.”
“Okay, we’re agreed. We’ll take it.”
We returned and faced Barry.
“We don’t want Reece to be caned for something he didn’t do,” I said, “so we’ll take the cane instead.”
Barry inclined his head in acceptance of our decision and placed another chair beside the one over which Reece had been bent.
“Okay, boys, bend over,” he ordered.
He said nothing about dropping jeans or pants and I decided to keep quiet and just do as he said. I felt nervously vulnerable, but my penis was registering some unexpected excitement; and I observed that Jordan seemed to have some swelling in the front of his denims; while the naked Reece was almost fully-erect. The first stroke stung but was rather exciting; and the next few raised the intensity of the sting without spoiling my arousal. After six, Barry turned to give Jordan the same treatment, while I wondered at the way my body was reacting. Caning, it appeared, wasn’t as horrendous as I’d expected.
Barry came back to me and told me to drop my jeans and pants, which I did quite willingly. He stroked my behind with the cane – and then hit me hard. Pain seared like a lash across my globes and I uttered a squeal and clenched my buttocks desperately. My brain, lulled into a foolish confidence by the first six strokes on my jeans, was urgently racing to catch up with reality; while my body fought to keep still and show that I wasn’t a kid. The cane bit deep again and I writhed from the hips, grasping the edges of the chair with white-knuckled ferocity as I rode the vicious burn. Two more followed in swift succession, low on my bottom, etching blazing streaks of fire on my skin and forcing half-stifled yelps and gasps from me. A fifth stroke along the tender flesh where my behind merged into my upper legs detonated a savage blast of agony which had me rising and scrubbing urgently at my skin with both hands. I could feel hot tears trickling down my face; and my cock had gone into complete retreat.
“Get back in position, Bran!” ordered Barry; and I took a deep breath before slowly obeying.
The sixth stroke came immediately and forced yet another yelp from me as I twisted my lower body and scrunched my glutes. A few seconds later I heard Barry ordering Jordan to bare his behind and turned my head a little to watch. Barry hit hard and accurately, vivid crimson welts rising on Jordan’s beaten flesh; but he remained in position and silent throughout. What astounded me most of all was that after he’d had all six, he was fully aroused.
We were told to pull up our clothes again and then we stood, freshly beaten, and waiting in front of Barry.
“What did you learn from that, Bran?” he asked.
“That you’re a brute with that cane,” I retorted.
“And not to go trespassing on other people’s property,” I admitted a little sulkily.
“You learnt that too, Jordan?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Jordan. “Next time, I’ll ring the front door-bell.”
“Next time?” I burst out, startled.
“Well, yeh. I think I sort of get why Reece is here; and I think…..I’m not absolutely sure yet……..but I think I might come back. If you’ll let me?” he asked, looking at Barry.
“When a boy asks me as politely as that to beat him, I can hardly refuse,” replied Barry with a grin. “But you don’t want any more to do with the cane, eh Bran?”
But I did. I really and truly did. It was embarrassing, but I forced myself to say it.
“I want to learn how to use it,” I said quickly. “I never knew that Reece was into getting his arse tanned; and he never said, or asked me to thrash him. But now I know he wants it, I think I could really enjoy giving it to him.”
There were several long seconds of silence into which I muttered, my face burning, “I guess you all think I’m a sadistic pervert.”
“Not at all,” said Barry. “I love to dish it out. Why shouldn’t you?”
“It’s just that I was thinking; since it looks like Reece is into getting his arse tanned, maybe you could show me how to do it? I’ve a feeling things are gonna be a little bit different in our relationship from now on.”
“Sure. It’d be a pleasure to help you thrash him so he really feels it. Come on! Let me see what you can do with a cane. Bend over again, Reece.”
Reece obeyed in silence.
“Hold it like this; stand a bit forward of his arse; aim for the near buttock, because the cane will naturally go further across when you use it; keep your eye on the target until you’ve actually hit him. Like this.”
Barry took up position, touched the cane to Reece’s bottom, and then delivered a firm stroke which made the boy wince silently.
“You hit me a lot harder than that,” I remarked.
“Yeh; but you were being punished. Now we’re just letting you get a feel for the cane as a giver. Here; take it and remember what I said.”
“You okay for some more, Reece?” I asked.
“Hey! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” demanded Barry.
“I just thought he might think he’s had enough,” I said.
“Who’s caring? It doesn’t matter what he thinks. If you say he’s getting more, he gets more. End of story. You’re in charge, Bran. Always.”
I took up my position, tapped the rod on Reece’s behind a few times to get the range right; and then delivered a fairly hard stroke on the lower half of his bottom. He flinched and I heard him draw in breath sharply. My penis surged.
“Oh, yeh! You’re a natural,” enthused Barry. “Nicely given and beautifully aimed. Now, let me see if you can give him another a little lower. Don’t try to hit too hard. Just concentrate on aiming accurately.”
I focussed determinedly on the area of skin about a centimetre below my first stroke and then brought the cane down firmly, giving my wrist a little flick to see if I could add a bit of zing to the sting. Reece gasped aloud and clenched his buttocks and I watched in fascination as a neat red line emerged from his skin a short distance below my first one. Beneath him, I observed that his resilient penis was rising steadily.
“Oh, boy! Brilliant, Bran! He felt that. And that little flick at the end just gave the stroke an extra bite. You’ll need to get yourself a cane. Here! I’ll show you where to order one,” he said, picking up his laptop.
After that, Reece was allowed to get up and dress and we all sat down to coffee and cake with Barry.
The three of us walked back together until we reached our flat, and then Jordan went on alone to his own place. In our living-room, Reece placed a hand on my chest and looked into my eyes.
“Are you angry with me, Bran? The only reason I didn’t tell you what I was up to was because I thought you’d think I was weird. I wasn’t cheating on you. I’d never do that.”
“Yeh, I know; and I probably would have thought you were weird; but you had me worried.”
“I’m sorry, Bran.”
“It’s maybe worked out for the best,” I told him, “because I found out that dishing out a thrashing is very exciting; and since you like to get your arse tanned, we’ve got another thing to enjoy together.”
“You’re gonna spank me, Bran?”
“Yeh; I am.”
“You’re not really gonna get a cane though?”
“I am so. It sounds like Jordan will be going back to Barry to get himself beaten; but you won’t need to go back; because you’ll get all you want from me. And that means the cane as well as a hand-spanking or a dose of my belt.”
I saw a spasm of pain flit across Reece’s face and glancing down I observed that his cock had risen swiftly and was causing him considerable discomfort as it tried to force its way out of his pants.
“Like that idea, don’t you, Reece?”
“You’re fucking hot when you talk all dominant like that,” Reece admitted.
“Yeh? Well get yourself stripped!”
“Because I’m gonna take you to bed, spank you hard and then fuck you through the mattress.”
Reece gasped as his cock protested again; and headed for the bedroom, pulling off clothes as he went. My mobile rang.
“Hi, Bran. It’s Nick. I need some help with a chemistry assignment. Where’s Reece?”
“Reece,” I informed him, “is in our bedroom, naked as the day he was born, waiting for me to come and spank him.”
There was total silence on the phone for several seconds and then, as Nick began to speak, I ended the call. I went through and put Reece across my knee and spanked his bare bottom long and hard, making all his cane-welts glow and blaze with fresh heat, until suddenly I was aware that he was thrusting harder and faster against my thigh until he exploded in a fountain of cum.
“Hmm,” I said as I eyed the globules of his boy-cream spattered far across the duvet, “not bad. But you’ll fire your load even further than that when I cane you.”
A few days later, once my new cane had arrived, he did!
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.
Story ©MMXXII by Joelstrap, used here by very kind permission.
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♥ Site recommended story ♥
Hot off the press is this brand spanking new caning story by very special guest author JOELSTRAP. This story is exclusive to The Canery! All the characters are 18 or over. WARNING: ADULTS ONLY!
The Cane Beneath The Bear by Joelstrap
It was thanks to the cane beneath the bear that we had a spare-room. For a start though, I have to admit that I’d never been caned. My bottom was quite well-formed in my own opinion, filling my jeans nicely behind, the gluteal muscles firm and taut as a result of regular running; and the few boyfriends I’d had in the past couple of years had been enthusiastic about my posterior assets. Corporal punishment had been abolished in schools years before I was born, and so at eighteen I’d never felt what it was like to have a cane used on me. Any boy worth his salt though has a good dollop of curiosity as well as a desire to explore new experiences; which is probably why, as I handled the cane carefully, I couldn’t help speculating on how it must feel to have one used across my bottom.
I’m jumping the gun a bit though, and I need to take you back a few weeks before that little incident occurred. I’d been a student for almost a term and was fed up living in a hall of residence a long way from the centre of the city. My home was a large town about ten miles away and I’d looked forward to getting to enjoy life in the metropolis. I decided to seek a room-mate and get a shared flat nearer to the heart of things. None of my friends was keen though and so I advertised on the college-noticeboard and Zak replied. Lean and firm of body, with eyes which danced beneath an unruly mop of black curls, I liked the look of him straight away. We chatted and chatted more; and then met up on two other days that week before concluding that we had enough in common, and got on well enough together, to be able to share a flat amicably.
Zak lived at home but was desperate to get away and gain some independence. We set about finding a flat and were fortunate to get a reasonably-priced one without too much difficulty. Once exams were over in the final week of term, he invited me to come to his house so that we could arrange to move in during the first week of January, when I returned to the city after the holidays. Zak’s dad knew a guy with a van who did small moving-jobs and often shifted boxes and other things for students flitting in and around the city. He was willing to come out to the town where I lived and collect my things and then collect Zak’s things and take them to the new flat early in January. I’d have liked it to be a bit cheaper, but the van-guy said he’d almost certainly get one or two other people wanting to have stuff moved and that would bring the shared cost down.
That is how it transpired and with two other small moves in the same load, the cost fell considerably. Being outside the city, my boxes were collected first and then, while I got a train into town to head for the new flat, the van went on to collect things from Zak and the other two clients. Zak and I had been at the flat for almost an hour when the van arrived and we went out to carry our boxes upstairs. The other two lots of stuff had already been delivered and, with the van-driver’s help we made short work of clearing the vehicle and getting all the boxes dumped in our living-room.
We had a can of lager to celebrate our arrival and then we each began carting the boxes into his own room. I came back to the living-room to find Zak staring down at a box which he’d placed on the table.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“You said you’d got all your boxes; and this one isn’t mine.”
“Oh! I guess it must belong to one of the other guys he was delivering stuff to today. It’s not sealed or taped up. Maybe we should take a look and see if there’s any identification inside,” I suggested.
Zak looked doubtful and so I pulled open the lid to reveal a few books, a pile of folders and, peeping up from where it was squashed between the side of the box and a large volume on freshwater fish, a dark-brown teddy-bear with a well-worn muzzle.
“Aw,” said Zak. “He’s cute. I like a bear.”
“A bare what?” I asked mischievously.
“A red-hot sexy boy with a bare bottom,” he replied astoundingly, making me flush.
To cover my embarrassment, I pulled the bear out and examined it. Zak was right; it was rather cute and had clearly been well-loved. It was as I made to return it to its place that something down near the base of the box caught my eye; something which I’d never have seen had I not taken the bear out. I plunged in a hand and slowly pulled out from beneath the pile of folders which concealed most of it, a slender cane. I gasped in surprise. This is where we came in; as I, an un-caned eighteen-year-old, gazed in fascination at a genuine cane. I ran a careful forefinger along its length and then bent it gently into a smooth arc.
A sudden flash made me look up to see my new flatmate with his mobile-phone.
“Did you take a picture of me?” I asked.
“Yeh. You looked bloody good standing there examining that cane as if you were expecting to be beaten with it and were wondering how much it would hurt,” replied Zak with a grin. “Look!”
He handed me his phone and I gazed at myself arching the slender rod gently in both hands. My head was down as I stared at the cane, my long, thick hair flopping over my forehead and obscuring most of my face from the camera. I eyed my tight t-shirt, the muscles of my bare arms, the bulge in the front of my shorts, and my legs, still lightly-brown from the previous summer.
“You’re one spunky guy,” observed Zak.
“Er….thanks. You’re not bad yourself,” I added.
“So, do you want me to give you a beating with that thing?” he enquired unexpectedly.
“No! I mean, why would I want you to beat me?”
“It might give you an erection,” he replied disconcertingly.
“You what?” I stammered; and then paused as my penis swelled alarmingly fast and tried to force its way out of my shorts, making me gasp aloud and do some hasty readjustment.
“Fuck! You’re keen,” Zak said. “Just the mention of a caning gets you as hard as a rock.”
“I don’t think it was…..I mean I wasn’t expecting…..oh, shit!” I ended, flustered and aware that my face was going bright red, as my determined cock forced me to plunge an urgent hand into my pants and rearrange things again.
“Maybe if I caned you on the bare you’d cum,” remarked Zak. “What do you think, Chris?”
“How the hell should I know!?” I demanded angrily.
“I bet you could make your boy-cream spurt half way across the room,” continued Zak. “You look like you got big balls.”
“Big b……Look, shut up about beating me! For fuck’s sake, I only met you a few weeks ago. Why would I let you thrash me?”
“It would help us get to know each other better.”
“Yeh; well I’d rather get to know you better over a pint at the pub,” I replied.
“Great. I’m fine with that. Maybe I could cane you at the weekend,” Zak said.
I stared at him in stunned disbelief.
“I never said anything about you caning me any time,” I protested. “Come on! Let’s get our stuff unpacked and then we could go out for a pint.”
We both spent half an hour or so emptying boxes in our own room and when I returned to the living-room of the flat, Zak was standing looking down at the sole remaining box.
“So, what do we do with this?” he asked.
I shrugged. “Since there’s no clue inside about whose it is, I’ll get in touch with the guy with the van. He’ll know who else he was delivering stuff to.”
“I wonder who he canes?” mused Zak as we set off to the pub.
“Maybe he’s the one who gets the cane,” I suggested. “Must be a bit kinky.”
We left it at that and spent a couple of hours over our drinks indulging in guy-chat.
“So, where is it?” asked Zak when we returned to the flat.
“The cane, Chris! It’s not in the box.”
“Oh, er no. It’s in my room actually.”
“I was holding it when I went through to unpack my boxes and I laid it down there,” I replied quickly. “I’ll put it back in the box after I find out who it belongs to.”
“Right,” said Zak.
I contacted the van-driver the next morning, which was Saturday, and he told me that, as well as collecting my stuff and that of Zak, he’d also picked up some small pieces of furniture for a girl across the city and some boxes for guy called Liam Bale. He’d delivered the furniture first and then Liam’s things because they were loaded after Zak’s and mine and were easiest to get at. It seemed one of Liam’s boxes had been left on the van by mistake and been delivered to our flat along with our own stuff. Both Zak and I had carried the contents of the van up to our flat, with the driver’s help, and since we weren’t necessarily carrying our own boxes, we hadn’t realised that the box in question belonged to neither of us. The van-driver gave me a mobile-number for Liam and I called him.
“Oh, that’s great,” he said. “I’m afraid I’ve not got round to emptying my boxes yet and I didn’t realise one was missing. I’ll come round and get it.”
“I’m actually going out just now,” I said, “so if you’re not too far away, I could bring it to you.”
He told me his address and I realised that he was just a few minutes walk from where I now lived.
“I just got to get ready; and I’ll probably be with you in about half an hour,” I told him.
Zak looked at me as I ended the call.
“You weren’t planning to go out,” he accused. “What are you up to?”
“Nothing. I’m just gonna return the guy’s things.”
“Don’t forget the cane,” said Zak with a mischievous grin.
“Why would I forget it?” I demanded, slightly ruffled.
Zak shrugged and I strode into my room, picked up the cane, and returned to the living-room where I put it carefully back in the box.
“You sure that’s exactly where it was?” he enquired.
“Yeh. It was at the bottom, bent into a bit of an arc, with the folders on top covering most of it and the bear stuck in at the side hiding the handle. What’s it matter?”
“He might wonder why you found it.”
“He’s not gonna know that I found it!”
“You’re not gonna tell him?”
I gave him an exasperated glare, picked up the box and made for the door.
“Maybe he’ll cane you,” suggested Zak as I left the room.
I stopped and turned round.
“Yeh, right,” I answered uncertainly and headed for the stair.
The box seemed to get heavier and heavier as I walked along towards where Liam lived. I asked myself repeatedly why I was doing this. After all, Liam had offered to come and collect the box and I had no need to lug it round to his flat. Maybe it was that I wanted to see the guy who had a cane; but I’d have met him had he come round to our place anyway. Zak would have been there too though. Why didn’t I want Zak to be there? A thought insinuated its way into my brain and clung on there in spite of my half-hearted efforts to dislodge it. Did it all come back to the cane; and was I secretly hoping in some deep part of my psyche that Liam might cane me and it was more likely to happen if Zak wasn’t there? I’d resisted Zak’s offers, which hadn’t really sounded too serious anyway, to use the rod on my rump; but although I’d not admitted it to him, there was a part of me which felt that it might be an exciting experience.
Liam lived in a top flat up two flights of stairs and my arms were aching by the time I laid the box outside his door and paused to catch my breath and rest for a few seconds before I rang the bell. When Liam answered, I was instantly sure that all the effort had been worthwhile; because he was stunning. Maybe an inch below six feet, slim and athletic in build, his head a mass of thick brown curls which clustered about his ears and tumbled across his forehead, my first sight of him brought a spasm between my legs. I took in the plain black t-shirt which fitted his torso sufficiently closely to reveal his nipples and to cling tightly round his biceps; and, topped by a studded leather belt, the skinny black jeans which bulged enticingly at the front and were stretched taut across a delectable pair of buttocks.
“Hi! You’ll be Chris? I’m Liam,” he said in a deep voice as he took the box from me. “Come in and have a coffee.”
I couldn’t have refused if I’d wanted to. I followed him into a cosy living-room where he deposited the box on a low table and nodded me into an armchair, taking a seat himself opposite me.
“It was good of you to bring the box round. I moved in last autumn and this is the last of the stuff from home. I’m in my final year studying marine-biology, by the way and I’m going to be staying on to do a Ph.D. I had all my boxes clearly marked because unfortunately I couldn’t be in when he delivered my stuff. I had to ask the guy across the landing to bring the boxes up; and I told him that they all had L.B. on them in black felt-pen; but he must have missed this one.”
“Sorry we didn’t notice when we were unloading,” I explained, “but we were carrying up some of each other’s things and so neither of us realised one of the boxes didn’t belong to either of us until we started to sort them out; and by then the van was long gone.”
“How did you find me?” asked Liam. “I don’t think there was anything in the box to identify me.”
“No, there wasn’t; so I contacted the van-driver and he gave me your mobile-number.”
I noticed Liam’s eyebrows rise briefly.
“Yeh?” he said. “So you did have a look in the box? Did you find Snuggles?”
I resisted with difficulty an urge to say Your bare what?
“Oh, yeh. Kinda cute.”
“Ah! You took him out, huh?”
“Er, well, yeh. Just ‘cos he looked so cute, like I said. I wanted to hold him. He looked like he’d been well-loved,” I added, aware that my face was feeling hot.
I hesitated. I suspected he must have guessed that I’d probably seen the cane; but I waited to see if he’d say any more. Liam, however, remained silent. Something drove me on.
“I….eh…..look, I noticed something else in the box when I lifted Snuggles out, which was…….well, a bit unexpected. I know it’s none of my business, but I’m curious. Why have you got a cane?”
“Same reason any guy has a cane,” replied Liam.
I stared at him; and he said no more, forcing me to go on.
“You mean…….so that you can cane someone?”
“Who?” I asked.
“Any guy who needs it.”
“You, for example.”
“Don’t you think you need it?”
“You opened my box; the cane was right down at the bottom, mostly under some folders, the handle hidden under my bear. You really didn’t have to rummage through everything, because it must have been clear almost at once that there was no identification there. You took out Snuggles, although you’ve no business touching another guy’s bear.”
“What? I just wanted to look at him. I didn’t rip off his ears or tear out his stuffing!”
“A guy’s bear is a very personal thing,” declared Liam solemnly. “Okay?”
“Okay,” I agreed reluctantly.
“And then, when you saw what was under the bear, you took the cane out, ran a finger along it, arched it and had a really good look at it, didn’t you? A guy doesn’t like having his cane handled by anyone else.”
“No, Chris, he doesn’t.”
“Okay,” I assented doubtfully. “I’m sorry.”
“And then you hauled this heavy box all the way round here. Why, Chris?”
“Will I tell you why, Chris?”
I nodded dumbly.
“Because the cane didn’t just interest you; it excited you. You wanted to find out how it felt; and you’re here now because you want me to use my cane on you. That’s one reason why you need it. The other reason is to punish you for messing around with another guy’s private possessions. You’d no business handling my bear or my cane. Understand, Chris?”
“Well, yeh, I guess I was a bit curious. It’s sort of embarrassing; and I’m sorry for interfering with your things. I suppose I’d better go,” I ended, rising to my feet.
“Aren’t you forgetting something, Chris?”
“Oh, yeh. You offered me coffee.”
“Besides that, Chris.”
I hesitated again and then said nervously, “You’re serious, aren’t you? You want to cane me.”
“And you need to be caned, don’t you, Chris?”
“Yes,” I admitted and felt a sense of relief that it was out.
“Okay, alphabetically, cane comes before coffee, so we’ll do that first,” he said as he went to the box, lifted out Snuggles and withdrew the cane from the bottom of the pile of stuff.
I watched fascinated and anxious as he arched the slim rod into a perfect arc; and then told me to bend over with my hands on the cushion of the armchair in which I’d been sitting. There was an air of unreality about the whole situation as I obeyed and then felt the cane exploring my behind, stroking, rapping, moving from crown to base and side to side.
“Count them aloud, Chris; and keep still.”
I tensed myself in readiness and a few seconds later the cane lashed hard across the centre of my sit-spots delivering a line of fierce sting which made me wince and draw in breath sharply.
“One,” I said.
My penis loved it, straining painfully to escape the restrictions of my pants and jeans. Liam wielded the cane again, hitting slightly lower and inflicting a second line of fire across my rump. I flinched and counted, flinched and counted until the fifth stroke landed just where my bottom merged into the top of my legs and the sting blossomed with considerably greater intensity. I gripped the cushion desperately hard, clenched my gluteal-muscles, uttered a little yelp of pain and, “Five,” I panted.
The sixth was lower still and extracted another yelp and a powerful bucking of my lower body as the fires got through to me. I gasped out ‘six’ and then breathed hard as I processed the pain, forcing myself to still the tremor in my legs. Slowly but determinedly my penis, which had gone into partial retreat at the last two strokes, came surging back.
“Okay, Chris. That was to let you know what a cane feels like on your bottom. Now I’m going to punish you for messing with my things. Stand up; jeans and pants down, and bend back over.”
I looked round at him as I straightened up.
“Of course. It’s punishment. An 18-year-old gets punishment on the bare. Hurry up.”
I swallowed and complied and was soon feeling the lithe rod sliding across my skin while it probed my behind as if trying to decide where to hit me. Although my brain was warning me to beware of pain, my cock was rock-hard and eager for it.
“Go on counting from seven; and stay in position.”
I felt vulnerable and exposed. I knew this was going to hurt a lot more, not just because I no longer had the protection of my denims, but because this was punishment. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him raise the cane and then heard the air flinch as it was driven down and into my behind. A lash of flame seared a fiery furrow across my bottom and I gasped as I bucked violently and clenched my glutes hard. The pain peaked and began to ease back. “Seven,” I said unsteadily.
The next felt as if it was right on top of the welt left by previous one and I squealed and writhed at the vicious intensity of the sting. It took an effort not to rub my behind. I did the count and tried to ready myself for number nine, which came much lower and forced another squeal from me as I squirmed in pain. Ten and eleven were slightly higher, scoring blazing paths of liquid fire across my flesh. My penis had long given up its enthusiasm for being caned as I fought to calm the tremor in my beaten body in preparation for the twelfth stroke. He drove it in at an angle, cross-cutting several earlier weals and sending the pain-level soaring, making me writhe wildly, my right hand flying round to scrub at the tortured skin.
“T..twelve,” I panted as I returned my hand to the chair-cushion.
The pulse of pain throbbed on in my buttocks, slowly ebbing; and, to my astonishment, as it did so my cock came swiftly up once more. When I stood up with my hands on my head on Liam’s command and turned to face him, he was confronted with a guy in full arousal. He watched me for several seconds and then rapped my towering erection with the tip of his cane, making me wince.
“Liked that, didn’t you, Chris?”
“It was horrendous.”
“So why have you got a stiffie I could anchor a battleship to?”
“I don’t know.”
“Think you’ll get a boner when I cane you next Saturday, Chris?”
“Sure. You want more, don’t you?”
“I….I don’t know. It hurt so much on the bare.”
“That was punishment; it had to be hard, just so you understood. I know how to cane you on the bare so that you stay rock-hard most of the time.”
“Okay; but I still don’t….”
“You’re needing your balls emptied, aren’t you, Chris?”
“Yeh, sure, but….”
“Fuck! Will you stop making objections. Bend over the back of the chair!”
“No way! I’ve had enough for today!”
“Just do it, Chris,” he instructed as he took my arm and piloted me behind the armchair and pushed me down across the back, my throbbing organ trapped between it and my stomach.
He began to hit me lightly with the cane, over and over and, as the sting built, I thrust forward, driven by a thrilling burn which increased as he hit faster. I could feel my body powering towards climax as I matched my thrusts to his delivery; and then suddenly I was over the edge and my balls were pumping out spunk at high velocity, delivering sensations of pleasure so intense that for a few seconds my world spun.
The orgasm ebbed away and I came back to earth, panting, exhausted and deeply content.
“Next week, Chris?”
“Yes,” I replied simply.
I got myself cleaned up and we had coffee and chatted eagerly for some time before I set off for my own flat. As I walked, something which had been nagging at my brain came suddenly into focus. Liam had been remarkably sure that I’d taken out the cane and examined it. He hadn’t said that he supposed that I’d taken it out; he’d simply stated that I had done so, as if he knew it for a fact. Now, it was probably a reasonable assumption that I might have done so, maybe even that I’d arch it; but run a finger along it? Sure, I’d done that, but how did he know? There was something going on here. Under that stunning, sexy exterior, I had a feeling that Liam was playing a deeper game.
On my return to the flat, I told Zak what had happened.
“He caned you? You bent over and let him fucking cane you?”
“Yeh. Stop sounding so disbelieving. Anyway, that’s not why I’ve told you about getting caned. Why did he sound as if he knew exactly what I’d done when I took out the cane?”
Zak shrugged and then said, “Dunno.”
“No? There’s only two people who know what I did with that ruddy cane: me – and you.”
“So?” said Zak, but his eyes didn’t quite meet mine.
“I didn’t tell him exactly what I did; so it can only have been you, Zak.”
There was a silence before Zak threw up his hands and said, “Okay. You got me. Liam’s my cousin and that day you came to my house in December, to make our plans for moving in here, he was there, visiting my olds. He told me he saw you leaving and – I’m quoting here, Chris – he said: That young stallion’s got an arse on him that’s just crying out to be caned. I knew Liam was into caning young guys with attractive bottoms; and so when he came to me with this plan to see if you might be interested in the cane, I agreed to make sure it was you who opened the box he deliberately left in the van; and that you saw the cane. Not that I had to do much. The cane grabbed your attention right away and you were obviously fascinated by it. I didn’t even have to manoeuvre you into being the one to return the box to Liam, because you were determined to do it anyway.”
“You two set me up for a caning?”
“Yup; and it worked perfectly. I sent him the photo I took of you. You got the cane; and you’re going back next Saturday for more,” said Zak.
“How do you know that?”
Zak raised his eyebrows.
“Liam phoned you while I was walking back here, huh?”
He nodded and then added, “You are going back next Saturday, aren’t you?”
“I said I would.”
“Great! We’ll have a ball!” enthused Zak.
“Ah, yes. You don’t know everything. Liam canes me too; so I’ll be coming with you.”
“Mmmm. I think I might enjoy that a lot,” I said, eyeing Zak’s firm, full buttocks.
“Come here, you,” instructed Zak; and I went and stood before him.
We started with hands on each other’s bottom and then somehow got very entangled and began kissing. We were both a bit hot and bothered when we surfaced.
“I’ll give Liam a ring,” panted Zak. “No way are we waiting until next Saturday. We’re going tomorrow.”
A grinning Liam welcomed us the next morning and after a warm-up of six each across our jeans, he got us to strip each other and then told Zak to lie on his back on the sofa and me to kneel astride him, my hands at his shoulders. On Liam’s orders, Zak held my balls in one hand and closed my throbbing penis in the other. I was told to thrust against Zak’s hand with each stroke of the cane. So thrilling and arousing was the experience that I exploded in an earth-shattering orgasm after the ninth stroke. We changed places and Zak held off for thirteen strokes. We had another go each and I lasted to twenty-two and Zak to nineteen the second time. The sting of Liam’s cane was incredible as he drove us on to the climax, hard enough to build the excitement, yet not so hard that he damaged our erections.
Cleaned up and drinking coffee a short time later, Zak suggested that Liam could come and stay with us sometimes. “You could have the spare-room,” he informed Liam.
“But we haven’t got a spare-room,” I objected.
Zak’s eyebrows almost hit his hairline and, as understanding dawned, I felt a wave of heat surge up my face.
“He’s embarrassed,” remarked Zak superfluously. “But he knows what he’ll be doing.”
“If you do have any trouble with him, just give me a call and I’ll come round with my cane. A good, hard caning can be very persuasive,” opined Liam. “Eh, Chris?”
I gave my still-burning bottom a thoughtful rub, glanced at the lithe, sexy Zak, and replied: “I don’t think you’ll need your cane to persuade me. It’s pretty hot stuff; but Zak’s even hotter. We’ll have a spare-room for when you want to come and stay over.”
That is how the cane beneath the bear provided us with a spare-room in our flat.
Zak also insists that I point out the moral of this tale: which, according to him, is that you shouldn’t interfere with another guy’s bear, or you might get your bare bottom caned.
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.
Story ©MMXXII by Joelstrap, used here by very kind permission.
Please leave a comment on this fine story. Comments are here.
Joelstrap’s excellent earlier stories for The Canery are available here. Further great stories by Joelstrap may be found at this external link
♥ Site recommended story ♥
Both parts of this caning story by your host Rod Cayenne presented together for the first time. All the characters are aged 18 or over. This story is for Adults Only!
Revelations by Rod Cayenne
Peter was moving in with his father. The old man, now 75, needed a little looking after, and as Peter was penniless after a messy divorce, it made sense for the two men to pool their resources.
Dad shook his son’s hand firmly to welcome him back to the old family home. It was a generous four-bedroom property with ample room for just the two of them. However, as Peter had become a bit of a hoarder over the years, the place was soon cluttered by a large number of cardboard boxes full of his belongings, ephemera and junk. The clutter became a source of friction between the two men, as Dad had always liked things “just so.”
As it happened, one day Dad tripped over a pile of the boxes. Luckily he was unhurt, but the contents of one of the boxes spilt out everywhere. Riding crops and school canes fell onto the floor. The two men looked at each other. 52-year-old Peter blushed just like a teenager. Dad’s Cairn Terrier, Duke, barked furiously at the upset. Who would blink first? In the end, it was Dad, “Well, son. What a revelation! A bit kinky, are we? No wonder Sandy left you! You’d better put them away. We’ll talk about it later.”
Peter scrambled on the floor, picking up the various implements of correction. He blushed furiously as he placed his “toys” back in the box. Duke barked again, and Dad couldn’t resist a chuckle.
The two men spoke little over the fish and chip supper. Peter felt awful, and he could sense some amusement from his father. How Peter wished he had hidden that particular box in the bedroom he’d been allocated.
“Alright Peter. That was a nice meal, thank you. Now, we have something to discuss, haven’t we? Bring the box, we’re going to my study.”
The study was one of the nicest rooms in the old house. It was light and airy, with the sunshine streaming through the window that autumn evening. Peter put the box down on the desk and his father sat down, facing his son.
“Well now. I think you have some explaining to do, Peter. Take the lid off the box and talk me through the contents, please.”
Peter picked up a traditional school cane. It was golden brown, three feet long and had a curved handle. “Well, you should recognise this one Dad! It’s your old cane!”
“Whaaat? Give it to me this instant!” Dad was handed the cane, and he flexed and swished it, just like old times. He pointed it at Peter and said, “It is my old cane! Lovely, but I thought I told you to throw it away? That was a long time ago now. And you’ve kept it all these years?”
“Well yes. I was going to throw it away but then I didn’t, Dad.”
“Evidently not! Has it seen a lot of use since then?”
“Oh yes, I’ll say!”
“And have you been on the receiving end or the giving end?”
“I’d rather not say, Dad!”
CRACK! Dad slashed the cane down on the desk, right in front of Peter.
“I didn’t ask whether you wanted to reply, I asked which end of the cane you were on!”
“Err, right Dad. A bit of both, actually.”
“I see. So you really are kinky then? I’m confiscating this cane, or rather taking it back as it was mine all along. I’ve thought of a use for it.”
Peter gulped. He wasn’t keen on his Dad having a cane again. Dad and cane was a near-lethal combination that brought back painful memories.
“OK Dad, of course, it’s yours to keep.”
“What else have you got in there?”
Peter extracted another cane. He swished it around.
“I got this one at a country fair. It’s a bit thinner and has an awful sting. It’s not quite as nicely finished as yours, and the crook handle isn’t as beautifully curved.”
“Mmmm. I see. Well, you can keep that one. Next!”
“A nice brown leather riding crop bought at the same country fair. It was new, unlike the cane.”
“Let me have a look please. Yes, very nice. Can you spare it?”
“Yes, Dad. You can have it, if you really want it. I’ve got another one here much the same, but in black leather.”
“Oh yes, very nice. Thanks, I will keep the brown one. You’d better hang on to the other one, Peter.”
Dad sniffed the plaited brown leather crop as Peter rummaged further in the box.
“And then I’ve got this one, which is a fluorescent pink. Quite a fun item. Popular with the ladies.”
“A bit effeminate that one. Are you sure you’re not gay?”
“Dad! Sandy chose that one. We got it mail-order from some sex supplies company.”
“Tut, tut. How seedy! What else have you got?”
“Silver handcuffs from the same supplier.”
“I’ll take those, please,” Dad said.
“A straight cane with a rubber handle. Same place again.”
“How does that compare with the others, Peter?”
“It’s a bit of a bruiser. No fun at all. And lastly, there’s this malacca cane. From the old antiques shop in Victoria Avenue. Knobbly and very punishing.”
“Mmmm, yes, it does look like something from an S&M film,” said Dad, much to Peter’s surprise. “So that leaves me with my original cane, and this rather nice brown crop you have given me. Excellent! Oh, and these handcuff thingies. Now go and put that box away in your room. We won’t be needing it again, and I don’t want it tipping out in front of any visitors. See to it, Peter. And then come back for another chat, please.”
Peter took the box up to his room. That chat had been embarrassing. He was a little worried about his Dad.
Back in the study, Dad was flexing his cane. Peter came back in and was blushing again.
“Well, Peter. This has been a day of revelations! It seems my son is what is commonly known as a spanko! With a secret supply of implements of chastisement. Dad thinks this is a bit shocking, you know.”
“Err yes, Dad.”
“Don’t worry, Peter, my boy. I shall keep your secret safe. No-one will find out from me.”
“However, it would be a shame if this crop and cane slipped into retirement. I propose a thrashing for you for all the clutter and the fact that I could have been injured. How does that sound?”
“Dad, come on, you’re joking, surely?”
“No, actually, I’m not. I’m a bit of a spanko, too. Let’s get down to it, shall we?”
“No, Dad. This is all wrong.”
“Right or wrong? Who bloody cares at my age?”
“Well, that’s how I feel. Make the old man happy, please.”
“Well, if you’re sure? And it will be a secret?”
“Of course! Now how about six with the crop for the clutter? And another six, on the bare, for the box business. With the cane, of course.”
“On the bare?”
“Yes, it always was, wasn’t it?”
“Err, of course. But things are different now. I’m 52! Can’t I be allowed a bit of modesty?”
“No! Not appropriate, I feel. You may be 52, but you’re still a naughty boy in my eyes. Now over the desk for six with this beautiful crop.”
Peter bent over the oak desk, just like in times past. It had been over thirty years since he had last bent over it. A rush of excitement consumed him. He grinned and then grimaced as his Dad swished the brown crop through the air. Dad paced up and down the room, swishing the crop some more and smacking it gently on his leg.
“You know, I think this is really going to hurt, Peter,” Dad said. “It could be worse than the cane. Perhaps we’d better have you bare for these as well, so that I can see the marks. I don’t want to get carried away.”
“I’m more worried about you having a heart attack, Dad.”
“Shut up boy! Trousers and underpants down for your father!”
So it was that Peter’s Farah slacks slid down, followed by his cream Marks and Spencer briefs. An unmistakable erection was growing between his legs and pressing against the desk. Dad had no matching stiffness! He hadn’t been troubled by an erection for a long time.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! Dad lashed the crop down enthusiastically on his son’s bottom. Oh boy, was this good!
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! Peter needn’t have doubted his father’s ability to deliver a sound beating. Dad’s handshake and grip were still firm and fatherly, despite the ravages of time.
“Very good, Peter!” Dad admired his handiwork on the naked cheeks. Red marks from the shaft of the crop decorated the arse. Yes, vivid red marks which betrayed the throbbing, burning pain Peter was feeling.
“Gosh, Dad. You haven’t lost your touch at all. My arse is killing me!”
“Language, Peter! Don’t make things worse for yourself. Now for the cane. I’m grateful you didn’t throw it away. But I need to find out if the old beauty still performs.”
The performance didn’t disappoint at all. That cane always was a special one. Its loving, bitter caress was undimmed. Peter gasped and groaned as the cane slashed down, skilfully aimed by his disciplinarian father. Dad criss-crossed the strokes, making a really sore impression. Peter wasn’t broken, but he sure was chastened. He would be a lot tidier in future!
“Fish, chips and chastisement every Friday!” Dad announced to Peter.
“You’re paying, by the way. Think of it as your rent.”
Revelations by Rod Cayenne
Dad’s trusty old cane thrashed down on the naked buttocks of prodigal son Peter.
“Owww!” Peter cried. He could usually take his strokes stoically, but this seventeenth stroke hurt beyond belief!
The eighteenth bitter-sweet stroke lashed down.
Outside the study door, the sound of leather crop and rattan cane on bare flesh had sent Duke the Cairn Terrier into a barking frenzy. It was ever thus.
The thrashings took place every Friday evening. To start with they had been after the gents had enjoyed their fish and chip suppers. Latterly, however, Dad had taken to sending Peter out to buy the food after his thrashing. Peter would therefore stand in Pam’s Fish Bar with a red hot bottom, almost hotter than the food on offer! On returning home, Peter would sit awkwardly at the dining table facing his father.
This evening was no different. Peter’s pert bottom throbbed and burnt from the eighteen strokes. His face was flushed with embarrassment, or was it sexual excitement? This particular evening, Dad also looked rather red-faced. He leant over and touched his son’s hand.
“I hope that thrashing has taught you a lesson, my naughty boy. Now, listen. I want you to share my bed tonight, son.”
“Yes, why not? And we’ll both be naked, won’t we? I want to have a good talk about your spanking and caning interests, Peter. Pass the ketchup, please.”
“Dad, this is kinky, kinkier than we should allow ourselves to be.”
“Nonsense, son! We’ve a shared interest. Now, I want to share it more intimately.”
“Dad, you really are incorrigible!”
“Maybe son, maybe. Are you up for it, then?”
“Well, yes, as long as you don’t tell anyone. Especially Sandy, if you ever bump into her.”
“Mum’s the word!”
“How about an early night then, Dad? These fish and chips always send me into a bit of a drowsy kind of slump.”
“I’ll decide when son. Is that clear?”
As if on cue, Peter felt a shooting pain, just where the crop and cane had done their very dirty work.
“Yes Dad. Perfectly clear.”
“Good boy. I could always give you a reminder of who makes the decisions around here.”
“No Dad, no reminders necessary. You’ve made a firm impression already.”
Was that innuendo, or cheek? It didn’t matter.
“You will have a bath at nine o’clock and then come and join me in bed, naked. In the meantime, you can wash up when we’ve finished eating.”
“Son! It’s nine o’clock! Toilet and bath now. Don’t forget your teeth. Oh, and take the cane and crop from my study and put them on my bed, will you?”
“Errr, yes Dad. Of course.”
Peter wasn’t too sure he liked the sound of all this. He was being treated like a kid. Told when to use the toilet indeed! Nevertheless, he was excited and felt his cock stiffen as he called into the study to pick up the cane and crop. Already they had wreaked havoc that day. Now it seemed that an encore was in prospect. It was only a few hours later, but Peter was craving more punishment, especially as it seemed to fit in with his father’s plans.
Peter entered his father’s bedroom. It stank of cigar smoke, and there sat on the bedcovers was Duke. More worryingly, Peter could see his handcuffs, confiscated by his father, lying on the bedside table. Next to them, was a well-used tube of lube. Peter gulped with dread, placing the cane and crop down carefully on the bed. Duke barked at him.
Peter made his way to the bathroom. Soon the taps were running, and Peter sat on the toilet, which reminded him how sore his bottom was.
Dad popped his head round the door.
“Good lad! I’ll be in later to soap you down.”
Peter rolled his eyes. He couldn’t even have a shit in peace, it seemed.
A few minutes later, Peter was enjoying his hot bath when the door swung open. Peter was astonished to see Pam the proprietor of the chip shop stood holding the cane, and Dad just behind her.
“Your father has invited me round to join in the fun! Lucy is minding the shop. I’ll be caning you both tonight! Hurry up and get dry! This cane needs some use!”
She swished the cane down and chuckled. “Two strokes for each minute it takes you! You’d better hurry up!”
Peter pulled the plug out and smiled to himself. By the time he got to the bedroom, his father was stood naked and handcuffed.
“Five minutes! Ten strokes! Your father will be getting the same. Peter you can go second.”
It was the first time Peter had seen his father naked. For a 75-year old, his body was in surprisingly good shape. His bottom was most attractive, pert and hairy. Peter was also naked, after his bath. Unlike his father, Peter had a stonkingly stiff erection. Pam gazed at it lovingly as she flexed the cane. She was particularly fond of uncircumcised penises. She flexed the swishy rattan cane again. Oh yes, it was going to be a night of revelations!
Both parts of this 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 over the age of 18 and are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons or businesses, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Comments and masturbation welcome. Comments are here.
♥ Site recommended story ♥
Just in time for Valentine’s Day comes this brand spanking new caning story by very special guest author JOELSTRAP. This story is exclusive to The Canery! WARNING: ADULTS ONLY!
The Chocolate Bottom by Joelstrap
“Justin’s got a Valentine!” squealed Derek. “Look! He’s gone as red as a post-box!”
“Shut up, you little shit!” I hissed furiously at my kid-brother, as mum came back into the room carrying a plate of poached eggs.
She smiled at me as she placed the plate in front of me.
“That’s nice, dear,” she said. “It’s very early. Valentine’s Day is still over a week away. Is it from that very sexy Tony?”
“Mum!” I yelped, outraged.
“You can’t say he’s sexy. He’s half your age.”
“What’s that got to do with it? He’s gorgeous,” retorted mum. “If he’s even half as good as he looks in his t-shirt and shorts, he must be red-hot out of them.”
Derek spluttered into his cereal and I gave him an angry glare before turning on mum.
“You’re disgusting,” I said coldly.
“He’s scared you pinch Tony for yourself,” interjected Derek. “He can’t get into Tony’s pants, so he doesn’t want you to get in either.”
“That will do, Derek,” snapped mum irately. “You will not talk like that.”
“But I was only…….”, began Derek before he caught mum’s eye and subsided into silence.
“I’m sorry, Justin. I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” she said, turning to me.
“It’s okay; and you’re not disgusting. Tony is as sexy as a cartload of monkeys; but I don’t think the card’s from him anyway. I guess it could be; but it’s not signed.”
“Ah! Maybe you’ve got a mystery admirer, Justin.”
“Who’s so hot for you that he can’t wait for Valentine’s Day to send his card,” giggled Derek; and he suddenly snatched the card from me.
“Oooh, it says: To The Boy With The Beautiful Bottom,” he yelped excitedly as he dodged past me and made for the door.
“Mum!” I yelled. “Tell him to give it to me!”
“All right, Derek. Hand it over to Justin,” said mum.
“I wonder who likes his arse!”
“Derek!” said mum dangerously quietly.
My younger brother knew that he was in imminent peril of losing his mobile-phone for a week, and so he reluctantly handed me the card and left the room.
“Thanks, mum. I know he’s only fourteen, but he’s a bit of a pain sometimes.”
“While at eighteen, you’re a constant joy to live with,” said mum with a smile.
“Okay, I know I can be a bit awkward at times,” I admitted, “but I’m trying to be grown up.”
“I know, dear. You’re doing fine. I hope you’re not eating too much chocolate from that shop where you’ve been working since new year. You’ll put your beautiful bottom in danger if you do,” said mum. “It’d be a pity to spoil it. I used to think, when I was changing your nappies and putting cream and powder on your behind, how beautifully-formed it was; and when I was bathing you when you were a bit older…….”
I heard no more as I fled the room and thundered up to my bedroom.
A kindly neighbour who knew Mr. Bean, the owner of the shop in the High Street called Chocs, had put in a word for me; and since, like any 18-year-old I was desperate for money while I was at college, I had been delighted to land the job on Thursday and Friday evenings and all day on Saturdays. Bean turned out to be a rather good-looking guy in his mid-thirties who had started the shop just three years earlier. The fact that some of the chocolate was made by his cousin and was therefore different from the chocolates he bought in to sell, had helped, along with his undoubted business acumen, to make the enterprise a success. The shop was well-stocked in readiness for Valentine’s Day, with heart-shaped tins and boxes of chocolates, chocolate teddy-bears, animals, birds, slabs of chocolate made to look like bunches of flowers; and, hidden under the counter, chunks of chocolate made into exquisite pairs of breasts, buttocks and some very generous cocks-and-balls. A discreet notice informed customers that they could ask to see the adult range.
“They’ve got to be eighteen to see these things though,” I was warned. “If they don’t look old enough, you must ask for ID, Justin, okay?”
In the middle of the shop stood a stunning chocolate-fountain, a cascade of liquid chocolate flowing down in a thin curtain from the top bowl, to fill and then overflow a slightly larger one and then into the largest one at the foot. From there it was pumped round to repeat the process. I’d been allowed to insert the bowl of a long-handled spoon into the curtain of falling chocolate and to withdraw it, full to the brim. The chocolate was delicious.
“We make that ourselves,” he had said. “And some of the other chocolates in the shop too.”
“And the chocolate goolies and things as well?” I’d hazarded.
“Yes. They’re proving rather popular, especially with the younger people.”
“I’m not surprised.”
The Thursday and Friday evening-opening, which had only begun in January, was aimed at increasing the number of customers in the run-up to Valentine’s Day and then to Easter. It had been a huge success and although in theory I was serving in the shop by myself at those times, Bean himself often had to come through from doing his paperwork in the back-room, to help out.
It was the Friday evening ahead of Valentine’s Day on the Monday when the bell jangled and in walked Neil. He had been at school with me, but while I had embarked on a college course, he had joined his family’s bookselling business. It seemed appropriate because Neil was of slim build and had a slightly bookish air about him. He had fair hair which fell in a boyish fringe across his forehead; and he had a hell of a cute arse on him.
“So, Neil, got your eye on a girl at last?” I asked with a grin. “Needing something to show her how much she means to you and maybe give you the key to her pants?”
“Cheeky bugger! But it’s gonna be tricky and I do need something different to really show how I feel,” admitted Neil good-naturedly as he began to browse among the myriad boxes of chocolates in every form imaginable.
I had to serve another two customers before I could turn my attention back to Neil.
“See anything you’d like?”
“Dunno. There’s so much. What would you get for somebody you really wanted to impress, Justin?”
The shop was almost empty apart from a couple of girls giggling over various chocolate-selections near the window and I beckoned Neil to the counter and showed him the chocolate-buttocks. He gave a low whistle.
“Shit! They’re hell of a sexy!”
“You think they might give you a chance?” I asked.
“Yeh. I think they might be just the thing,” he said thoughtfully.
At that moment the two girls came to the counter and I was about to slide the chocolate-bottom out of sight when Neil stopped me and turned to the girls.
“If a guy gave you that as a Valentine gift, what would you think?” he asked them.
“I’d think he needed to have his face slapped,” replied one.
“And I’d be putting a padlock on my pants,” vouchsafed her pal.
Neil looked pensive while I served the girls and they left the shop.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll take the chocolate arse.”
“You sure?” I enquired. “The girls’ reaction didn’t sound too encouraging.”
“Oh, I don’t know. It got their attention, didn’t it? Anyway, that’s what I want. Can you put it in a bag? I don’t want to walk down the street carrying something like that openly.”
I duly bagged the item, took Neil’s money and watched his stunning behind as he walked towards the door. He’d just put his hand on the handle when the door was pushed violently open from the outside and two guys whom I recognised from school came barging in, knocking Neil aside. I eyed Geordie and Mike uneasily. They were bullies and liked to cause trouble. I was relieved to know that Bean was in the room at the back, within call, but felt that I had to try to deal with the situation myself.
“So, you found a girl daft enough to go out with you?” said Geordie to Neil.
“It’s none of your business,” retorted Neil.
“It’ll take more than chocolate to persuade any decent girl to look twice at a twerp like you,” remarked Mike rudely.
“Leave him alone,” I said. “Do you want to buy anything?”
“Hell, no! Real guys like us don’t need chocolates to get us into a girl’s pants,” asserted Geordie. “We just came in to see what this little squirt was buying.”
He lunged at Neil and tried to grab the bag from him but Neil dodged away and retreated behind the chocolate-fountain. The two bullies pursued him and I strode forward to intervene. Mike made an attempt to snatch Neil’s purchase but his arm caught me a stinging blow on the ear. Angrily, I grabbed his collar and strong-armed him out of the door and locked it behind him. By the time I got back, Geordie had managed to get the package from Neil.
“Give that back to him right now,” I ordered.
“So what did the little poofter buy, eh?” sneered Geordie. “A bunch of chocolate pansies? A soppy teddy-bear? A…….fucking hell!”
He had ripped open the bag and was holding the chocolate-buttocks and staring disbelievingly at them. Neil made a leap to retrieve his purchase, but Geordie held it high, out of his reach and ducked round the fountain.
“Come and get it!” he taunted.
“Give it to him right now, Geordie,” I ordered, “or I’ll call Mr. Bean.”
“What does a shit-faced little runt like him need with something like this?” demanded Geordie. “I bet he’s gonna try fucking it because he can’t get a real girl to shove his cock into.”
Neil, his face red with fury, jumped at Geordie who ran towards the door and I barred his way. For a moment he paused and then he dropped the chocolate-arse on the floor and jumped on it, smashing it to little pieces. I lost it. I grabbed him by the hair and shoved his head hard into the chocolate-fountain. At that moment, Bean, alerted by the loud voices, came through and demanded angrily to know what I was doing. I released Geordie and he emerged, dripping liquid-chocolate from his hair, his chin, his nose, his hands. He tried to clear chocolate from his eyes and blinked at us all.
Bean acted instantly, instructing me to get rid of the broken chocolate on the floor and the splashed chocolate around the fountain, before piloting Geordie away into the back-shop where he cleaned him up and emerged again with him, more or less chocolate-free, a few minutes later. As he ushered him out of the shop, I noticed that Geordie was clutching a £20 note. I approached Bean cautiously and began a profuse apology; and it was only then that I noticed that Neil was still in the shop, standing quietly by the window. Bean summoned him over and asked him to say what had happened. Neil was impressive, telling succinctly and accurately what had occurred; and, pressed by Bean, he confirmed that I had deliberately pushed Geordie into the chocolate-fountain. He insisted though on stressing the extreme provocation.
“I’m indebted to you, sir, for being so helpful,” Bean told him, “and I’ll replace your broken item free of charge. These, er, special items are made by ourselves and I don’t have any more at the moment; but I will make sure there’s one ready for you if you come in late afternoon tomorrow.”
He shook Neil’s hand and escorted him to the door and then returned to me.
“We’d better finish the evening session,” he said. “And then you and I, young man, need to have a serious talk.”
My heart sank. I just knew that I was going to be sacked. In spite of the provocation, I was perfectly well aware that I’d had no right to shove Geordie into the chocolate-fountain; however much I’d enjoyed doing so. We eventually got rid of the last customers about twenty past eight and then we locked up for the night before I was summoned to the office behind the shop.
“Are you going to fire me?” I asked gloomily.
“Yes,” replied Bean. “You can’t go around pushing people into the fountain, however obnoxious or badly-behaved they are, with impunity. You know that, don’t you, Justin?”
“Yes,” I admitted dejectedly.
“It is, however, possible for me to fire you but for you to continue working here,” he said. “You are, after all, a valuable member of the staff and I wouldn’t want to lose you.”
“But……but…I don’t understand.”
“I can fire your bottom,” said Bean with a smile, “but still employ you afterwards.”
It took several seconds for the import of this statement to sink in and then I stared at him in disbelief.
“You want to give me a beating?”
Bean opened a cupboard and abstracted a slender cane which he bent into a smooth arc.
“Exactly. This should fire your behind to punish you for your bad behaviour; and then I won’t need to fire you, as it were.”
I continued to stare in fascinated horror at the lithe cane.
“So, you’re saying that if I agree to get my bottom ‘fired’ with the cane, the rest of me doesn’t get fired?”
“Admirably put,” agreed Bean. “It’s up to you.”
“I’ve never even been spanked in my life,” I confessed. “I dunno how I’d cope with that.”
“Only one way to find out.”
I thought hard, my mind racing. The job was great. I loved it and the money was an important consideration. I was eighteen. Surely I could take a caning? I eyed the rod nervously and reminded myself that boys much younger than I got beaten with a thing like that in former days. I swallowed and looked straight at him.
“Okay,” I said. “I know I’ve behaved badly and need to pay the price; but I do like the job and I’d like to go on working here; so……I’ll take the cane.”
“Right. Let’s get on with it. Trousers and pants off, Justin!”
“You mean I’m getting it bare?”
“Completely. Hurry up!”
Uneasily, I complied and then stood with my back to him, shy of showing him my genitals, not least because my cock was surprisingly perky. He put a chair in front of me and told me to bend over, hands grasping the sides. “And don’t move,” he said.
I felt scarily vulnerable and yet there was a thread of curiosity running through my nervousness. I felt a tremor of excitement at the prospect of finding out what the punishment of yesteryear was all about. He didn’t leave me long in suspense. I felt the cane sliding over the taut skin of my rump before it was lifted away and returned at high speed, delivering a searing line of fire across the crown of my buttocks. I drew in breath sharply. That had hurt a lot more than I’d expected. The cane rapped my bottom again and then was driven in hard a little lower down. As the pain burned fiercely, I clenched my glutes and rode the vicious sting.
The third was lower still and the slim rod seemed to lash me like a whip. I gasped aloud and bucked a little as the pain really got through to me. I’d scarcely managed to get my body under control when he hit me again, a streak of blazing flame ripping through my flesh immediately below number three, so that the fires of that earlier stroke seemed to be reignited. I stifled a yelp and writhed. I fought to steady myself and then the fifth came very low, raising the pain-level considerably and forcing another barely-stifled squeal from me. I was aware that my breathing was fast and that a sheen of sweat was glistening on my chest. I tried in vain to still a persistent quiver in my legs as I waited for number six. It came with ferocious power, scoring a white-hot furrow of infernal flame across my crease so that I yelped loudly and scrubbed desperately at my tortured flesh with my right hand.
“Stop that at once!” ordered Bean, “or I’ll repeat the stroke.”
I quickly returned my hand to the edge of the chair. Everybody’s heard of ‘six of the best’ and I assumed that was the beating complete. I was steadying my breathing when I felt the cane probing my behind again; and I realised with a horrified start that he hadn’t done with me. I tensed my body only just in time before a brutal stroke landed at an angle, cross-cutting several earlier welts. I twisted from the waist, uttering an agonised squeal; and then forced myself to settle down. Another stroke landed, also at an angle and the pain soared, driving a howl of agony from me as I bucked and squirmed in a frantic effort to process the torture.
“Good. That looked as if it got through to you,” observed Bean. “I’d say that your bottom had definitely been fired, wouldn’t you, Justin?”
“Yes,” I panted.
I rose carefully and felt my way with wondering hands over my ridged and flaming buttocks. My penis, which had gone into craven retreat early on, returned with a burst of enthusiasm.
“There will be no more strong-arm tactics with customers; and definitely no more pushing anyone into the chocolate-fountain. Understood, Justin?”
“Understood,” I assured him. “Never again.”
“Get your pants and trousers up and I’ll see you at 8.30 tomorrow morning,” he said.
I obeyed and left the shop, feeling my cane-welts every step of the walk home. In my own room, I lay on my bed and wanked myself off, eyes closed as I relived the caning, until my balls exploded in one of the most powerful orgasms I’d ever had.
About half-past four the next afternoon, Neil arrived to collect his newly-made pair of chocolate buttocks, which had been wrapped and left under the counter in readiness. The shop was fairly quiet and Claire, who worked daytimes during the week and on Saturdays, was dealing with a customer, so I had a chance to speak to Neil softly.
“So you didn’t get fired?” he asked.
“Well, yeh, I did, in a way; but I’m still working here.”
He looked blank and I gave him a hasty explanation.
“He caned you?” exclaimed Neil, an astounded look on his face.
“Fired my bottom bloody good and hot,” I confirmed, “but I’ve still got the job.”
“It was my fault,” said Neil, looking upset.
“No it wasn’t. It was that bloody Geordie; and it was me too. I should never have lost it and shoved his stupid face in the fountain.”
“It was fucking funny though,” replied Neil with a grin.
Some more customers entered the shop and I hastily handed over Neil’s parcel.
“Best of luck,” I said to him. “I hope she likes them.”
Neil smiled shyly and turned to walk out. For several seconds I was distracted by watching his perfect globes as he made for the door; and then I turned to serve the next customer.
Since I’d made no progress in discovering who had sent me the Valentine and since no-one had admitted to doing so, I’d concluded that whoever it was would reveal himself on Valentine’s Day itself. At breakfast that Monday morning, mum wanted to know if I had any plans and I told her that I was hoping some sexy guy would at last unveil the plans he had for me. All that day between college-classes and at lunch-time I’d waited expectantly; but no guy came up to me to say he’d sent the Valentine. At the end of the day I made my way dejectedly homewards.
“Maybe he’ll contact you this evening,” said mum encouragingly.
“You mean come here? With Derek around? Shit! I hope not!”
“Tell you what. I’ll take Derek to the tenpin-bowling tonight; so that if your mystery-boy turns up, you’ll have the house to yourselves.”
“Yeh? Mum, you’re ace!”
She and Derek were getting ready to set off after the evening meal when the door-bell rang. I heard Derek run to answer it and then he called, “Justin! It’s Neil!”
“Aw, hell! What does he want?” I muttered as I got to my feet.
“Be polite, dear,” said mum as I headed for the door.
“Hi, Neil. Everything okay with the Valentine-gift?” I asked.
“Dunno yet. But I’ll find out soon, I hope. Could I…could I talk to you for a minute?”
Derek was standing close by and showed no sign of moving.
“Sure. Come up to my room.”
“It’s okay, dear, Derek and I are ready to go out,” said mum. “You can go into the sitting-room. Come on, Derek.”
“But I want to hear what…….” began Derek.
“It’s none of your business,” mum told him firmly and shoved him unceremoniously out of the front-door.
I gave her a thumbs-up in gratitude and ushered Neil into the sitting-room.
“So, when are you meeting this girl, Neil?”
“Who said it was a girl?”
“Er…well, I just assumed that it was……are you saying it’s a boy?”
“Shit! I never realised you were gay. Anyway, he’s a lucky guy. I hope he’s got the sense to say yes.”
“So what plans have you got for tonight, Justin?”
“Nothing. See, I got……….”
I stopped; and then decided that I wanted to tell him.
“I got this unsigned Valentine about ten days ago and I assumed the guy who sent it would tell me who he was today; but it never happened. I’m just hanging around now, hoping he’ll maybe phone or turn up; but it doesn’t look like it’s gonna happen.”
“To The Boy With The Beautiful Bottom,” said Neil.
“Yeh,” I admitted, going red. “Hey! How the hell did you know that?”
“How do you think, Justin?”
I gaped at him and then gasped, “You? You sent that Valentine? But why?”
“Because you’re drop-dead gorgeous; you’ve got an arse to die for; and you’re sexier than a warren-ful of rabbits,” replied Neil.
I sat down suddenly on the sofa and stared at him.
“You want me to go?” he asked quietly.
“What? No. NO! I just….it’s only that I never…….you want ME?”
“I thought that should be obvious by now,” replied Neil. “The question is, do you want me?”
I looked at him; really looked; and my penis reacted so swiftly and violently that I yelped as it tried to force its way painfully out of my pants.
“I guess that answers that then,” observed Neil with a grin. “Here! This is for you,” he went on, presenting me with a parcel.
As if in a dream, I opened the wrapping to reveal the chocolate-bottom; but it wasn’t exactly as I’d expected.
“Fuck!” I breathed as I gazed at the thing I held in my hands. In bright red icing, six slim lines lay parallel across the chocolate buttocks with another two crossing them on the diagonal.
I laid the chocolate bottom aside and stood up and shyly took Neil’s hand. I slid my finger-tips down his face and neck and rested the palm against his heart.
“You are something else,” I whispered softly in his ear, my body quivering as I felt the touch of his hair brushing against my skin.
Ever so slowly, our faces moved closer and closer until our lips touched and we were soon writhing together in a passionate kiss. On coming up for air, I asked breathlessly: “How did you know to put eight red marks on the chocolate-arse? I never told you how many Bean gave me.”
“Ah!” said Neil. “After you told me how you’d got your bum caned, I contacted Bean first thing this morning, to ask how many he’d given you; so that I could put the red stripes on the chocolate. But he said I’d never be able to make a neat job of it and to bring it in right away and he’d get the marks done in red icing, for me to collect later. I think he was quite tickled with the idea of what I was doing, and he wanted to help.”
“Wonder why he’d do that?”
“He said you were a great worker and he didn’t want to lose you; and he also said he really enjoyed caning you. I think he’s maybe hoping to get to do it again.”
“What! He’s expecting me to shove some other hooligan’s head in the chocolate-fountain?”
“No; I don’t think that’s it. I think he’s hoping you might have liked it enough to want more; but not so ferociously of course.”
“It was kind of exciting,” I admitted slowly. “There’s something about that fierce sting.”
“Yeh; really gets to your balls, doesn’t it?” said Neil.
I stared at him.
“How do you know?” I demanded.
“I’ve always liked the idea of being caned and I went on a site a few weeks ago; and found Bean. I’ve had five canings from him since the new year. They all stung like hell. I loved them!”
“You really are incredible,” I gasped.
“So, you gonna let me see the cane-marks on your bum?”
I stripped and Neil looked and then felt his way over the fading welts with gentle finger-pads.
“Three days on and I can still see them and feel a bit of raised skin,” he remarked. “That was one bloody hard caning you got, Justin.”
“Tell me about it!”
“Think you might like to get a sexier caning from Bean along with me sometime?” he asked softly.
“Mmmmm! I think I might.”
We kissed again and then Neil stripped as well and we were swiftly entangled on my bed, exploring, writhing, caressing and licking until he came in a powerful explosion of pent-up boy-cream. I licked Neil’s spunk off his chest and looked into his eyes; and then he got to work on my throbbing penis until powerful spurts of my spunk soared so high they splattered his face.
“Now that’s the kind of fountain you can shove my face into any day,” he told me with a grin. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Justin.”
“And chocolate-buttocks are fine,” I replied caressing his exquisite rear, “but there’s nothing like a pair of real, firm, boy-buns. Happy Valentine’s Day, Neil.”
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.
Story ©MMXXII by Joelstrap, used here by very kind permission.
Please leave a comment on this fine story. Comments are here.
Joelstrap’s excellent earlier stories for The Canery are available here. Further great stories by Joelstrap may be found at this external link
♥ Site recommended story ♥
All three parts of this hot story by very special guest author David Stewart presented together for the first time. This story is currently exclusive to The Canery. All the characters are aged 18 or over. This story is for Adults Only!
The Friendly Landlord by David Stewart – Part One
David’s life was changing for the better. After finding his new “Uncle Harry”, David started to talk more openly with this man. Harry had never married and admitted to David he was bisexual having had several relationships with both men and women.
D I S C L A I M E R
All characters appearing in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to real businesses or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Story © MMXVI by David Stewart
All rights reserved
More great stories by this author can be found here
Comments are here.
♥ 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?”
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!”
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.
“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?”
“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!
Gordon’s bottom turned pink as it wobbled uneasily. Derek’s hand seemed to sting as much as the slipper did.
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!
“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!
Story ©MMIX by Skinpang.
D I S C L A I M E R
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.
♥ Site recommended story ♥
A brand spanking new caning story by very special guest author JOELSTRAP. This story is exclusive to The Canery! All the characters are 18 or older. WARNING: ADULTS ONLY!
Leon’s Christmas Present by Joelstrap
“No way! I am not dressing up as a bloody elf!”
“Aw, come on, Leon, it’s for the kids!”
“The kids get plenty at Christmas already. Far too many presents. Little buggers are spoiled rotten.”
“Not all of them. This is for the ones who won’t get much at Christmas. It’s only a couple of weekends,” pleaded Nick.
“Only? You’re wanting me to dress up like fairy and ponce around in public in a supermarket, packing shopping-bags for bastards who could easily do it themselves, just to try to earn a few pounds to give stupid presents to fat kids? Do I look like an idiot?”
“No; but you sound like one. Stop being so ruddy selfish, Leon.”
At that moment, a lithe young lad in an elf’s costume sprang into the room, grinning broadly.
“Hey! This is brilliant! I bet I’m the best-looking elf in the store. They’ll be queuing up to be at the checkout where I’m working.”
“Big-head,” said Leon caustically.
“Oh yeh? Go and get a costume on yourself, Leon, and then Nick can decide who’s the sexier.”
“I’ve told Nick already, Dane. I’m not doing it.”
“Eh? Course you are! It’s for the kids.”
“Yeh, yeh, I’ve heard that already. Badly-behaved brats, most of them. I think they should get a good, hard spanking. Do them a lot more good than presents.”
“You what?! Come on, students always do this to raise money in the college here. It’ll be fun. Get that elf-outfit on and let’s see how you look,” urged Dane.
“He’s scared that it’ll be obvious that you’re sexier than he is,” observed Nick in an audible aside.
“Like hell he is!” snapped Leon, glaring at Nick. “Okay! I’ll put it on, but just to show how irresistible I am. I’m not doing the bag-filling thing.”
Leon strode out of the room and Dane glanced at Nick.
“It’s well seen you’re a psychology student,” he said with a grin.
A few minutes later, Leon entered, clad in an elf’s costume.
“Oh, wow!” gasped Nick. “I’m sorry, Dane, but when it comes to sexy, I think Leon’s just got something extra.”
“Yeh,” admitted Dane. “Would you look at the way his arse fills those shorts; and that bulge at the front? I think I might go for him myself if I wasn’t straight.”
“Shut up, the pair of you!” retorted Leon. “This thing’s fucking obscene. The shorts are so short you can see the bottom of my bum…….”
“….and it’s a bum to die for,” observed Nick.
“And I don’t want every dirty old guy or randy old woman ogling my package,” went on Leon, ignoring Nick’s interruption.
“Why not? Give them a thrill for Christmas,” said Nick. “And maybe some young stud will notice you and ask if he can get his hands on your celery and giant onions.”
“Ha, bloody, ha! Well, we’ve established that I’m the sexier one, so I’m getting out of this right now.”
As he made for the door, Sean came in and stopped dead in his tracks. He gave a low whistle.
“Shit! That’s some weapon you got there, Leon. I think I’ll have to report you to Elf And safety.”
Leon rolled his eyes, pushed past Sean, and went to remove the costume.
“I don’t think he’s gonna do it,” he said. “Pity. With his looks, he’d be a hit with the shoppers, female and male, and he’d probably get huge donations for the kids.”
“Selfish brute!” muttered Dane.
Sean retained a very clear impression in his memory of the sight of Leon’s generous package threatening to burst out of the tight confines of the elf-shorts. For the first time he began to see Leon in a slightly different light; not just as a friend, but as potentially a much more intimate partner. He spied Leon finishing off his lunch in the refectory the next day and slid on to the bench beside him.
“Hi, sexy-elf,” he said with a grin. “I like your jeans, ‘cos they’re tight and snug, but I liked those elf-shorts even better. I never realised just what a big boy you are.”
Leon flushed and muttered, “Er, yeh; thanks,” before glancing down at Sean’s groin and remarking, “And you look pretty big yourself in the weaponry-department.”
“Oh, yeh! I think we could have a lotta fun firing each other’s cannon,” he suggested.
Leon wriggled as a strong movement strained the fabric of his denims.
“You’re on! How about this evening?”
“’Fraid not,” replied Sean. “I’m part of a little group which is going round to the old-folks’ home to entertain them tonight; but, hey! You could come along too! I’ve heard you sing and you got a great voice. The geriatrics will love to hear you; and I bet the ladies won’t be able to take their eyes off you either!”
“Why the hell would I want to go and sing for a bunch of oldies who should be quietly put to sleep? To hell with that, Sean! Forget the old buggers and come up to my house tonight and we’ll sort each other out.”
“Aw, come on, Leon, you can’t mean that. You still got grandparents?”
“And you think they should be put to sleep?”
“No! But they’re in their own home; they go around; they do things. These folk in the Old People’s Homes, they’re blind and deaf and smelly, and can’t walk, and pee their pants, and tell you they’re Napoleon.”
“You ever been in a home for the elderly, Leon?”
Leon shook his head.
“Yeh; well, maybe you need to come with me tonight; or one of the other nights. We’re doing several Homes over three weeks. You might get a surprise. Sure, some of them have problems, but most of them are great fun. Come on; come with me and help to entertain them for Christmas.”
“And be bored outta my skull all evening? No way. Where’s the fun in that?”
“Well I’m going,” he said firmly, “and I think it’s gonna be more fun than an evening with a selfish pig like you.”
“Suit yourself,” retorted Leon with a shrug as Sean rose and stalked off.
“Got your Christmas-shopping done, Leon?” enquired Dane as the pair walked through the shopping-centre on a Saturday morning a couple of weeks or so before Christmas.
Leon shook his head.
“Nah! I don’t believe in all that stuff. It’s just shops trying to blackmail people into spending a whole lot of money on things nobody needs. If I buy you a present of something you don’t really want and you do the same for me, what’s the point?”
“It’s a way of showing we care about each other as a friend,” said Dane.
“I can ruddy well tell you that I care about you as a friend,” retorted Leon. “I don’t need to buy you a T-shirt with an elephant on the front to prove it!”
“Okay, suit yourself; but I’m getting you something anyway.”
“You dare! That’s how they get you! You buy something for me and then I feel bad and have to rush out and get something for you. It’s emotional blackmail. Can’t you see? We’re all being manipulated!”
“But it’s fun! Feeling your way round a parcel, wondering what it is? Ripping into it and then getting a surprise? Okay, it’s not always a very good surprise, but it’s the thought that counts, Leon. You must be getting stuff for your mum and dad, huh?”
“Oh, yeh. I know they’ll get me presents, so I’ve got to get them things. Like I said, I get forced into the game; but that’s as far as I go. Only family get a present from me,” declared Leon.
“Must be fun in your house on Christmas morning,” observed Dane.
“Where’s the fun in knowing you’ve been taken in by the great commercial rip-off?” demanded Leon.
“Ever heard of Scrooge?” asked Dane.
“Of course. A Christmas Carol. Everybody’s heard of Scrooge. Great chap. Bah! Humbug! and all that. He had the right idea; at least at first, before the bloody ghosts got to him. What about him?”
“Compared with you,” said Dane, “he was a real ray of sunshine.”
“It was when I was talking to him about Christmas presents that I suddenly thought he was even worse than Scrooge,” said Dane to Sean and Nick as they sat in a corner of the bar with pints in their hands.
“Wouldn’t be an elf to help the kids,” agreed Nick.
“Wouldn’t come and help me entertain the old folk,” added Sean.
“And thinks presents are just a commercial rip-off,” said Dane. “But listen! Thinking about Scrooge gave me an idea. I think maybe we need to try to change Leon, just like the ghosts changed Scrooge.”
“You mean we dress as spectres and scare the shit outta him?” asked Nick.
“Well that’s not quite what I was thinking; although you might be on the right lines with the idea of scaring the crap out of him.”
“Okay, then. Tell us, Dane,” urged Sean.
The three leaned forward, heads almost touching, and listened as Dane explained his plan. When he’d finished there was a brief silence.
“You think it’ll work?” enquired Nick.
“Dunno,” said Dane, “but Leon’s actually a great guy and I think we need to give it a go.”
“And he’s got one hell of big cannon in the front of his pants,” added Sean.
“What’s that got to do with it?” asked Dane and Nick together.
“I was just saying,” replied Sean, looking slightly embarrassed.
“You hoping to fire it?” asked Nick with a grin.
“Maybe,” replied Sean.
“Or maybe you’re hoping he might fire yours?”
“Shut up!” snapped Sean. “Can’t you let a guy dream in peace?”
“That’s lucky,” said Nick when Dane explained a few days later that Leon’s parents were in an amateur drama-production and would be out of the house in the evenings for most of the week. “We can catch him there alone.”
“Yeh; and I’m gonna go to the gym with him Monday late afternoon and then we’ll go for a pizza and I’ll go home with him; just to make sure he’s there,” said Dane. “You two need to arrive about seven o’clock, okay; and don’t forget his present.”
“No way!” said Sean. “It’s all wrapped up nicely and ready to go.”
“Okay. I think we’re good. I wonder if it’ll work?”
“Even if it doesn’t, I’m really gonna enjoy it,” said Nick, while the others grinned enthusiastically.
Dane duly went back to Leon’s house with him and was sitting in the lounge chatting when Sean and Nick arrived. Leon’s eyebrows rose in surprise when he saw them, but he ushered them into the lounge where Dane was waiting.
“Why aren’t the lights on your Christmas-tree switched on?” demanded Nick.
“My olds are out; and why would I want the lights on? There’s nothing wrong with the standard-lamp.”
“But it would look Christmassy,” protested Dane.
“Humbug!” said Leon. “What are you lot doing here anyway? What’s going on?”
“We got together and got you a Christmas present,” said Sean, producing an oblong box from behind his back, brightly-wrapped in coloured-paper.
“Aw, shit, guys! You know I don’t do Christmas presents,” Leon protested.
“Yeh; but you said you objected to presents which nobody needed; just bought because it was the thing to do; blackmail by the shops to make you spend money,” explained Nick. “But what we got you is something that you definitely need.”
“Okay,” he said, “let me have it.”
Sean, Nick and Dane exchanged amused glances, but Leon didn’t notice. He took the proffered gift and ripped off the paper to reveal a long, slim cardboard box. He lifted the lid and: “What the fuck?!” he stammered.
In his hand he held a lithe school-cane, such as had been used more than thirty years ago to keep order and discipline among recalcitrant and badly-behaved youth. He arched it and released one end so that it sprung back, quivering, to the horizontal again.
“Boy!” he said. “I bet that would sting like hell. I’ve never seen one for real; but why would you think I need a cane? I’m not gonna cane anybody.”
“No,” agreed Nick, “but we’re gonna cane you.”
“You what?! No way! What for, anyway?” demanded Leon.
“For being a selfish, carmudgeonly bugger who won’t do anything to help anyone else at Christmas and who out-Scrooges Scrooge in being miserable and cynical about Christmas in general,” said Dane.
“Okay, Leon, strip for it!” commanded Nick, leaning forward and taking the cane from him.
“If you think I’m gonna…….”
“As I thought,” said Nick. “We’ll have to do it for him. Come on, guys!”
The three launched themselves at Leon and in spite of furious protests and powerful resistance on his part, they swiftly managed to subdue him and pull off his clothes, leaving him naked, face-down on the floor with Nick and Sean kneeling on his back and legs.
“If you so much as touch me with that cane, I’ll have you all charged with assault,” threatened Leon furiously.
“Yeh, yeh,” said Sean, unbuckling his belt and giving it to Dane, who proceeded to tie Leon’s hands with it.
“Get off me, you bastards!” snarled Leon.
“That’s not very festive language,” said Dane. “Come on, lads, let’s get him over the arm of the sofa.”
Leon proceeded to regale them with a torrent of extremely un-festive language as they hauled him into position. Nick knelt on the sofa and held his ankles tightly, while Sean held his tied hands. Leon was going nowhere.
“We need to stop all those expletives,” remarked Dane; and he picked up Leon’s briefs and then pulled his head back before giving a vicious tug on Leon’s hair.
When he yelled, Dane stuffed the briefs into Leon’s mouth and buckled Leon’s own belt round to hold them in place. Muffled sounds of fury still escaped the outraged Leon.
“That’s better,” said Dane. “Okay, Leon. This is it. You’re a selfish bastard; a real modern-day Scrooge. And now we’re gonna give you what you need for Christmas,” he continued, showing Leon the cane. “Scrooge got visits from three ghosts to sort him out; and your arse is gonna get three visits from this cane, one visit from each of us guys, to sort you out. Scrooge didn’t like it much and I don’t suppose you will either; but we’re all hoping it’ll be worth it.”
Leon’s eyes blazed with frustrated anger. Dane took up his position, rapped the slim rod several times on Leon’s fully-rounded bottom, and then swung the cane, bringing it down hard and accurately across the centre of the youth’s behind. A muffled snarl of pain escaped Leon and as a red welt rose slowly from his skin, his buttocks tensed, quivering, and then relaxed. Dane continued to wield the cane with considerable power and deadly precision, etching six neat, parallel red lines across Leon’s rump. The boy struggled in vain to escape from the hold Nick and Sean had on him and in his eyes shone a fierce rage, rivalling the ferocity of the fires burning in his rear.
“Very nice,” observed Sean approvingly as he admired Dane’s handiwork and took the cane, while Dane took over holding Leon’s hands steady.
Sean delivered his strokes at a slight angle so that every one cross-hatched the six inflicted by Dane. Searing fires blazed deep into Leon’s buttocks and he clenched and writhed desperately as he fought to process the savage pain. Sean took his time, allowing Leon to savour the full sting of each stroke before he inflicted the next one; and he hit ferociously hard. Tears glistened in Leon’s eyes and the fury was replaced by a look of growing apprehension. Sean completed his quota and passed the cane over to Nick, who hit on a downward diagonal, every cut firing the underlying welts to a savagely-powerful intensity. Sean and Dane worked hard to keep the bucking, writhing Leon in position. By the time Nick had administered his six, Leon’s bottom was fiery-red, bordering on crimson, throbbing agonisingly with raised, pulsating, criss-crossing welts.
Nick showed the cane to Leon.
“Now,” he said, “are you gonna come with me, dressed as an elf, and help with the bag-packing at the supermarket, to raise money for the kids who won’t have much at Christmas? Just nod if you agree.”
Leon’s eyes showed bitter rage, and from his throat came a muffled roar of refusal.
“Okay,” said Nick; and he proceeded to deliver a full-power stroke with the cane to that sensitive area of a boy’s behind, where his bottom merges into the top of his legs.
Leon’s shriek of agony was clear even through his mouthful of briefs. Nick waited and then inflicted a second stroke, just below the first, eliciting an even more desperate cry of torment. He glanced at Leon’s face and thought there might be a chance that he had changed his mind about helping; but he decided just to make sure and so lashed a third stroke on a diagonal, cross-cutting the first pair and sending the pain-level felt by Leon into the stratosphere.
Nick showed Leon the cane again.
“I can give you three more if you want,” he said. “All just as hard and all down there where you feel it. Unless you’re ready to come with me to help at the supermarket?”
For several seconds Leon seemed to be fighting a battle with himself; and then he suddenly gave in and nodded his agreement. Sean took the cane and held it before Leon’s eyes.
“You’ll be coming with me to entertain the old folk, won’t you, Leon?” he enquired.
He flexed the cane slowly and Leon got the message clearly. He nodded his consent. Finally Dane showed the cane to Leon.
“We’ll all be getting you other Christmas-presents,” he said, “and you’ll be getting presents for us too, won’t you, Leon? And you’ll be switching on the lights on the Christmas-tree and getting mince-pies from the kitchen for us all, when we let you free, yeh? And there’s not gonna be any Bah! Humbug! nonsense; or any un-festive language,” he warned. “Because if there is, your briefs go straight back in your mouth and you get some more of the cane. Got it?”
Leon nodded dumbly.
“Brilliant,” said Dane; and the three guys proceeded to release Leon and remove the gag.
Leon stood rubbing disbelievingly at the tender welts on his bottom; and then gazed equally disbelievingly at his three mates. With a nonchalance which was decidedly studied, Dane picked up the cane again and arched it carefully. Leon swallowed, looked as if he was about to speak and then seemed to change his mind. Slowly he crossed the room, bent down and switched on the lights on the Christmas-tree. Seconds later he was in the middle of a fierce group-hug which took his breath away.
“Great present, eh, Leon, and exactly what you needed,” said Nick. “See, presents show you care about someone; and we all really, really care about you. That’s why we went to all this trouble to get you what you needed.”
Leon stood very still, gazing at his pals, and all three of them tensed themselves, ready for him to launch an attack; but suddenly he broke into a sunburst of smiles.
“Okay, guys,” he said, “that was one hell of a lesson; but I’ve learnt it. If that’s the way you beat a guy you care about, I’d hate to be a guy you didn’t care about.”
“Oh, but if you were a guy we didn’t care about, we wouldn’t have bothered to beat you so hard,” said Dane. “We so desperately wanted to get you to waken up and to share the happiness of Christmas with us, that we decided we really had to beat the living fuck out of you, to make sure you did.”
“Yeh, okay. You changed me; like the ghosts changed Scrooge,” admitted Leon.
“Nah, we didn’t change you. And I don’t think the ghosts changed Scrooge either,” replied Sean. “See, I think that deep down Scrooge had a good heart and all the ghosts did was to uncover his Christmas spirit. Same with you. We all think you’re really a great guy with a good heart; but you just needed us to reveal it. The ghosts gave Scrooge a hell of a fright and he found his Christmas spirit; and we scared the shit outta you with a cane and found yours. Simple.”
Leon dressed himself in silence and then went out of the room, returning a few minutes later with hot mince-pies and cans of lager.
“Come and sit beside me,” invited Sean. “I loved getting a look at your fantastic tackle and I can’t wait to get my hands on it.”
Leon flushed and, “Thanks,” he muttered bashfully, “but I think I’ll stand for a bit.”
A gale of laughter swept around the room.
Leon was every bit as popular in his tight elf-costume as Nick had predicted, and his sexy looks, combined with his cheerful and joking manner, ensured a steady flow of generous donations for the kids.
He sang with gusto to entertain the old folk and when he walked around the room singing a love-song and planted a swift kiss on the cheek of every lady in the place, he earned himself a swelling chorus of demands for more songs.
On the afternoon of Christmas Day, the four guys met at Nick’s house to exchange gifts; silly, pointless gifts which were just plain fun. The last present given to Leon was from Sean. It was a T-shirt with a picture of Scrooge on the back with a red line through it; and on the front were the words: Spank Me Hard If I’m Not showing The Spirit Of Christmas! Leon tore off his own shirt and hauled the new T-shirt over his head.
Sean came forward and placed his hands on his shoulders and then kissed him softly on the mouth. Leon gasped as things surged in his jeans.
“You and me have got another present for each other,” said Sean, looking straight into Leon’s eyes; “but it can wait until tomorrow.”
“I think I’m really gonna like it,” said Leon.
“You’d better,” retorted Sean, “because I’ve still got that cane; and that message on your chest is serious!”
“Happy Christmas, guys!” said Leon, “and God bless us every one!” he added with a mischievous twinkle.
D I S C L A I M E R
Story ©MMXXI by Joelstrap, used here by very kind permission.
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♥ Site recommended stories♥
New to The Canery are these two short caning stories by very special guest author Baddlad17. All the characters are 18 or older. WARNING: ADULTS ONLY!
A Footballers Caning by Baddlad17
Josh Henderson sat in the changing room at the football club, slowly allowing the red mist to settle. Minutes before he had been sent off the field of play, following a spat with a player from the opposing team. Josh knew he had been the guilty party, and in letting his temper flare he had managed to let the entire team down, as well as himself. Josh had spent the entire match winding up the other player who had done nothing to him really, he had just taken an instant dislike to him, and he had been lucky not to see red before the 81st minute. The guy came out after half-time determined to get his revenge, he had deliberately slid into Josh as he went to get the ball near the halfway line. The ref had waved play on which angered Josh so intently he decided to take the law into his own hands. Still seething with this guy he disliked, he had got up and floored the poor bloke with one punch. Inevitably he had been shown a red card so off he went, much to the annoyance of his team mates, and even more the coach.
As Josh started to calm down he began to think about the likely outcome following this senseless red card. The new Coach Graham Morgan had told the lads, time and time again that he would not tolerate violence on the pitch. A player sent off had two choices under the new gaffer, out the door, or take a bloody hard caning. Josh turned pale as he thought of the canings he had witnessed just a couple of weeks back. Mark Sutton and Steve Vickers had been caned in front of the team for receiving red cards. It had been given in the changing room, with everyone watching before they showered. The lads on the receiving end received ten strokes each, shorts at half mast, and their jocks, given forcefully across their naked arses.
The raw, livid stripes were on full display in the showers for the rest of the team to see and think about their future behaviour, and what might happen if they received a red card. It did not go un-noticed that there were a number of hard cocks, some even dripping pre-cum in the showers following the highly charged events that had taken place. Well it looked as though today he was going to be afternoon’s entertainment, and he had only himself to blame.
He was not to be disappointed, the lads trudged into the changing room just over ten minutes later, hot, sweaty and muddy from their exertions on the pitch. The clatter of studded boots on the hard floor brought Josh out of his slumber, nervously swallowing hard in anticipation of what lay ahead for him. The team captain Neil Venables shook his head at the twenty year old midfielder, before asking him what he thought he was doing. Before he could answer Morgan was in the vicinity, a straight length of whippy cane in his beefy hands. He glares at Henderson for a moment before asking him if he wants out of the team, or is he willing to take it like a man? The good looking lad can already feel his throat swelling, his blue eyes feeling a little watery, but he somehow manages to say he is willing to stand tall, well bend over and take a severe dose of the cane.
Josh knows the score, he saw his teammates thrashed before. He stands and turns his back to his team mates, swallows hard, then inserts his fingers into the elasticated waistband of his muddy football shorts. In one swift movement they are hanging round his knees, exposing his chubby bum cheeks for an ordeal they will remember for a long time. His athletic jock pouch must also come down, humiliation complete before he bends over the low bench, offering his manly arse up for the fires of hell. Coach Morgan is not a man to cross, he is almost forty years old and takes discipline very seriously. At home his own sons often feel the sting of one of his grubby old, hefty gymshoes. Like the lads at the club a Morgan punishment is only given one way, bare bottom. As he prepares to take aim with the first of ten cuts, a few of the lads start to get excited, with a number of shorts soon showing signs of tenting while they await the start of another hot caning.
Morgan brings the cane sweeping down, lashing it hard across the footballers hairy arse, Josh’s eyes open wide as the first line of fire sears a stripe across his bottom. He can feel the intense sting and smart starting to develop, just as he thinks he has managed to cope with the agony another heavy stroke lashes down across his exposed rump. By the fourth cut tears have sprung into his eyes, and by the time the sixth stroke sizzles down he begins to yell. Steve Vickers who had been on the receiving end of a thrashing a couple of weeks before gently patted his own arse in sympathy, remembering how much that fuckin cane stung. The tenth and final stroke is delivered at an angle, crossing and intersecting the other cuts, leaving the young footballer bitterly crying and humilated before his team mates. Quite a number of them are trying to hide their excitement, as for the second time in a few weeks another player has been caned. Most of them are also aware that it is only a matter of time before they will find themselves centre of attention, over the bench, poking their arse up for their teammates inspection while coach whips it raw with that nasty, whippy rod he seems overly fond of.
With punishment complete the lads strip and head into the showers, to soap up, clean down, with some of them unable to wait for some privacy before having a wank. It’s all lads together though, and no one seems to bat an eyelid, after all the rest will be pulling one off the wrist before the afternoon is out. As for our young hero, he is forgiven now. He has paid a high price and his red, striped bottom will be on show for at least a week to remind his mates that if you get a red card, you will get a red bottom to match.
A Caning for the Apprentice by Baddlad17
Tom stood nervously in front of his boss, he was nervous as hell and fairly confident he was going to get sacked, all because he had allowed himself to be stupid like the others. Three of them had been on the building site that morning, Neil and Gary, a couple of likely lads if there ever was any were in their mid-twenties, they were supervising Tom, well they were supposed to have been, but they had illicitly brought in a couple of packs of cider. The weather was hot and sticky, and so after doing a couple of hours work they decided to crack open a couple of cans and have a doss around, after all it was Friday and the weekend loomed. Tom had been doing some wiring when he realised that the banging from the next room had ceased. Out of curiosity he decided to investigate what was going on. He got down and popped his head round, only to see his work mates sat on the floor, knocking back a can of cider each. Neil grinned at the youngster before offering him a can which he readily accepted, and before he knew it he was on the floor with them, having a laugh and enjoying a can of cider, even if it was only eleven o clock in the morning.
None of them counted on Bill coming by to see how things were shaping up. The gaffer walked in to find his three employees sat on their arses, drinking cider. To say he gave them a telling off would be an understatement. He tore a real strip off them, before ordering them to get on with their work, promising that he would see them in his office at the end of the day, by which time he would have decided what he was going to do with them. Neil first, then Gary had been in to see the gaffer, emerging having been sacked, so swallowing hard Tom tapped on the door and entered the office, expecting the same treatment. Bill had thought long and hard during the day what he was going to do about this. Neil and Gary were a pair of idle loafers that he had been trying to get rid of for some time. Today they had presented him with a perfect opportunity, and he had no qualms in dismissing them, but young Tom was coming on well, and showing a lot of promise.
Then he remembered how his boss had dealt with him as an eighteen year old trainee, just like Tom. His arse may have been raw, but he had never let his boss down again. It just so happened that Bill had the same cane that old man Harry had beaten him with all those years ago. He found it at the back of the cupboard in the office and placed it under his desk, close at hand should the young un agree to it. He quickly got rid of the other two, without any compunction they were fired for gross misconduct and then he summoned the lad into his office. Tom listened intently to his boss as he lectured him on his offence, he was just wishing he would give him his cards and send him on his way, when it suddenly dawned on him he was not talking about getting rid of him.
Tom had been spanked as a child by his dad, and his grandad had once used a wooden brush on his backside, but he had never been caned. He swallowed hard upon seeing the instrument of correction. Take the sack or the cane? He loved his job and had no wish to lose it. He knew the cane would hurt, but the worst would soon be over, then he could get on with his life. He was a little apprehensive when told him to take his jeans and pants down, he was so nervous as he uncovered, exposing his firm, manly buttocks, but also his long cock and pubic bush. Bill ordered him the get over the desk and moments later he felt the cane tapping none too gently on his tender cheeks.
Bill did not let him off easily, a lesson had to be learned, and by god this lad was going to learn it. From the first biting stroke he was up on his toes, desparately fighting the fierce sting of the rattan rod. These were no love taps, but solid firm strokes, laid on with a will by a strong armed builder. Eight times he sliced the cane across the lads backside, striping and smarting the previously pale flesh. Tom began to cry out after the third stroke and just hollered until it was over, but he stayed down and took his punishment. Once it was over he limped from the office, his hands glued to his blazing arse cheeks, vowing to never let his boss down again. Did he succeed? Only time will tell.
Both stories ©MMXVII by Baddlad17, and used here by very kind permission of the author.
D I S C L A I M E R
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Baddlad17’s excellent earlier stories for The Canery are available here. Further great stories by Baddlad17 may be found at this external link.
♥ 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!
A Moving Experience by Skinpang
Barry and Robin had been close friends for most of their lives. They had been through junior and secondary school together and now the two eighteen year olds worked together. They were employed by a removal firm; Barry, who had passed his HGV driving test, drove a removal van and Robin acted as his mate. One morning they reported to the boss as usual to find out what jobs they had got for that day.
“What have we got today, Mr Speed? asked Barry.
“Ah! Yes!” replied Mr Speed, “This should keep you busy for a day or two! You have to move the furniture out of the old Drayshaw Secondary School. The desks are to be taken to their new premises in Cromwell Road. I don’t know how many trips it will take; – I understand there are just over a thousand of them! The rest of the furniture, such as cupboards and filing cabinets etcetera, they don’t need. They’ve got all new stuff. You are to take all that down to the auction room to be sold off. I should see to that first if I was you, there’s no hurry for the desks as the school is on holiday anyway. They tell me that anything left in drawers or cupboards is all useless and can be thrown out. Take anything like that down to the tip and dump it.”
“I’m sorry in a way to see the old place close!” said Barry.
“You were there?” asked Mr Speed.
“We both were!” answered Barry, “Robin and I sat side by side throughout our school years.”
“Well, the school’s not closing. Just moving to a modern building. Here’s the key, by the way.”
“Thanks!” said Barry, taking hold of the key, “Come on Robin, let’s get cracking!”
They drove to their old school and entered the building.
“Don’t it seem ghostly!” remarked Robin, “I mean all quiet and empty like this. It used to be so full of life when we were here!”
“Does seem strange, don’t it?” replied Barry, “Let’s go round every room first and see what there is to chuck out.”
They found lots of files and papers dating years back, rulers, chalk and other brick-a-brac. Eventually they came to the headmaster’s office. Again they found bits and pieces to throw out; half used pencils, erasers and more old files. Robin opened a tall cupboard which stood against a wall.
“Well-well-well! Look what I’ve found!” he exclaimed as he pulled an old gymshoe and a cane from the cupboard, “However long have these been here!”
“Good God!” ejaculated Barry, “Since before we were born! They haven’t used canes for about thirty years!”
Robin flipped it through the air and it produced a loud “swish!”
“Cor! I bet that used to hurt! imagine getting that across your arse!” said Robin.
He looked at the shoe. “I always thought they used slippers.” he remarked.
“That’s what they called them, but they were nearly always gymshoes,” explained Barry, “I’ve heard my grandfather talk about it.”
Barry picked up the slipper. “I should think this carried quite a wallop too!” suggested Barry.
He handed the slipper to Robin and bent over the table!
“Come on! Give me a wallop across my arse with it! I want to know what it was like!”
Robin laughed and obliged! He brought the slipper down hard on Barry’s backside with a resounding “CRACK!”
Barry stood up. “It stings a bit!” was his verdict, “But it’s not that bad!”
“That was only one!” said Robin, “Don’t forget they used to get six! Six of the best they called it! And you’re an adult; the little’uns used to get that! Bend over again and try another five!”
“I will if you will too!” challenged Barry.
“Yes! Okay! I want to find out what it was like too!” responded Robin.
Barry bent flat across the table, his trousers stretching tight around his well formed buttocks. Robin got got the feeling that he was going to enjoy doing this!
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!
Barry got up and could not resist giving his bottom a quick rub!
“That hurt!” was his first comment, “But it’s rather a nice feeling! Let’s have the slipper. Now it’s your turn!”
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!
Robin squirmed a little after the forth stroke. It was obviously beginning to bite!
Robin got up smiling and rubbing his stinging buns!
“It hurts, don’t it!” stating the obvious! “I’ll bet that stopped them messing about better than detention did!”
Barry was looking down at Robin’s crutch! “You’ve got one too!” he remarked.
“One what?” asked Robin.
“A hard on!”
“Er! Yes” admitted Robin, “It seems to turn you on, doesn’t it!?”
Now Robin was carefully examining the cane. “I bet you couldn’t keep over the table for six with this!”
“You’re on!” said Barry taking up the challenge, “I bet you a fiver I can!”
“Right!” Robin said, “Let’s see the colour of your money!”
They both put a fiver on the table. Barry again took up the classic position over the table.
“Yeeeeoooowl” yelled out Barry, completely unprepared for such an intense sting!
“Had enough already!” was Robin’s half question half statement.
“No way!” exclaimed Barry, “It just took me by surprise, that’s all! Carry on!”
Swish CRACK! Swish CRACK! Swish CRACK!
Barry did not call out any more, but he was squirming like billy-ho!
Swish CRACK! Swish CRACK!
Barry leapt up, his hands too busy grabbing his rear end to pick up the money!
“Cor! F..king hell!” he gasped out, “That thing’s a killer!”
After a minute or two he released his hands and picked up the cane.
“I’ll give you the chance to get your money back!” he told Robin.
“Okay! If you can take it, so can I!” replied Robin.
Robin bent over the table. He had seen how Barry had been caught out by the first stroke so he braced himself for it!
Robin managed to remain quiet, but he could now see (or rather feel!) what Barry had meant! He could not remember ever before experiencing such searing pain!
Swish CRACK! Swish CRACK! Swish CRACK!
When the fifth stroke came he could not prevent himself from calling out!
Just as Barry had done, he was squirming, his bottom doing a merry dance from side to side!
And just as Barry had he jumped up and grabbed the affected parts! Barry pushed one of the fivers across the table towards Robin and put the other one in his pocket.
“We’ll call that a draw!” said Barry with a grin.
“Hell’s bells!” ejaculated Robin, “And to think they used to do that to lads half our age!”
“Yes! But my grandfather told me that most of them had enough sense not to get in trouble in those days. I can see why now!”
“I don’t feel like loading this stuff up for a while till I get over it a bit!” said Robin, “Let’s have our morning break now, shall we?”
They fetched their vacuum flasks and sandwiches and brought them back into the headmaster’s office. There were chairs in there but they concluded that it would be more comfortable standing up! Robin looked at the cane and slipper on the table.
“It would be a pity to throw them away!” he mused, “I mean, there’s some history there, isn’t there? I wonder how many arses they’ve been across!”
“Several hundreds I bet!” speculated Barry, “I’ll tell you what! I could take them home with me and keep them in my car! My folks go out every Friday night. Perhaps you would fancy coming round to my place some Friday nights and then we could go up to my bedroom and…..You get my meaning?”
Robin grinned! “I’m game!” he replied.
Story ©MMIV by Skinpang.
D I S C L A I M E R
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A repeat from 2018 of this hot caning tale by your host, Rod Cayenne. All the characters are aged 18 or over. Strictly adults only!
Sideboard Of Memories by Rod Cayenne
Sometimes I couldn’t work the old sod out. Dad said he was downsizing, for no particular reason. Consequently he offered me some surplus furniture. Four oak dining chairs. A drop-leaf table which didn’t quite match them but was too good to refuse. A serviceable coffee table. The sideboard where he used to keep his cane along with all sorts of bric-a-brac. Being fairly broke at the time, I took the lot.
Of course, I could only fit the chairs and coffee table in my Mini. Even then I had to make two trips. For the big table and sideboard I had to call a local man with a van. His name was Sean and I’d used him before. He often brought a hired hand with him to move particularly bulky items, like the second-hand leather sofas he delivered for me a while back. He offered a discount if the customer was able to help move the items himself. So that was the option I went for this time.
Sean was hunky. A big muscled young man, always in fashionable long board shorts, today with just the merest hint of a Hawaiian pattern on them. His face always beamed a friendliness, though I did wonder about a scar on his forehead. I’d always got on well with him, and always gave him a big tip despite my precarious financial situation. I think he could sense my lustful feelings. He invariably crushed my hand when he shook it. That was actually quite often as we both frequented the local German discounter. He was always there with his leggy wife, but he always had time to stop for a chat, and to slap me on the back while crushing my hand!
Dad was out when Sean arrived in his grubby white unmarked van.
I helped Sean load the table and sideboard. It wasn’t particularly easy task, as once again Sean had crushed my hand. I resolved to mention it when we set off, and indeed I did.
“Ha! Don’t be such a wimp, Jonathan!” he laughed at me. “You managed to move the stuff just fine, didn’t you? And those were bloody heavy items.”
“Yes, but my hand’s still throbbing!” I stated in my defence, “You know it’s a wonder your customers can assist with the removals after you’ve crushed their hands.”
“Nonsense, they all love it! They all love me.”
I sighed and reflected to myself that I was one of his customers who really did love him, for all his faults. Yes, I loved him and I loved his sexy Irish accent. Anyway, he was off talking at a tangent, about music, James Brown and the power of the riff. He soon lost my attention as I dreamt about his muscles.
A near miss on the road woke me from my daydreaming, “You fuckin’ English git!” screamed Sean at the hapless female driver ahead of him. He was so annoyed that he tossed his mobile phone aside and actually started driving with both hands on the wheel. He soon calmed down, and was talking to me again. “So Jonathan! I can tell a lot about my customers from their handshakes,” he said cheerfully, “Characters and secrets are revealed. You I think are a little submissive, am I wrong?”
He was right, though I wasn’t going to admit it to him. I blushed and resolved to slash the value of the tip I was going to give him. Yes, I had to change the topic of conversation urgently. Fortunately another incident of road rage spared my modesty, and then we were at our destination, my grassy drive.
“Shit, this is muddy!” he complained as he backed the van up. “All this mud and shit is going to spoil my pristine paintwork. Needs a bit of TLC, your drive, I’d say.” With that he handed me the business card of a friend of his who specialised in tarmac work. He grabbed the handbrake roughly and the van skidded to a stop.
“Do you mind if I have a quick vape?” he asked, “The Mrs won’t let me smoke in the van and I’m gagging for one.”
Maybe she was the one who wore the trousers after all, I chuckled to myself while he puffed away. I looked at him as nebulous clouds of white aromatic smoke washed around his beefy physique.
Soon we were unloading the table. By this time, my hand was beginning to recover from the handshake from hell. The table was a big and bulky item but we managed to steer it into the front parlour. I opened the drop leaves out and placed my chairs around it. It looked good. I felt sure that Dad would be pleased with the set-up when he called round.
“Stop fannying around and give me a hand!” Sean shouted from the rear of the van. I ran out to help him, almost slipping on the mud as I did so. Maybe he did have a point about my drive! Gradually we eased the sideboard out of the van and then into the same room as the table. We pushed the sideboard up close to the rear wall.
“You know, there’s something rattling around in here,” said Sean, “I do hope I haven’t broken anything.”
“Yes I heard it too,” I said, “Maybe it is broken, because I’m pretty sure Dad and I emptied all the junk out of it.”
Sean opened the doors of the sideboard and then the drawers. In the big bottom drawer he found something, “Oh, it’s a cane! Wow! How long has it been since I’ve seen one of those? Looks like a good one too. Wow! Just wow!”
“Oh gosh! That was my father’s. He used to use it too. Right up to my twenties,” I said as I rubbed my bottom to emphasise my point.
“I see. Well it looks like he decided you should have it again, you naughty boy! Fancy six of the best then?”
“No! Definitely not. Especially not from a brute like you!” I laughed.
“Mmmm. Maybe from a boyfriend then?” he teased.
“Leave it out!” I replied playfully.
“How about six of the best from me instead of me charging you for cleaning all the mud off me van?” Sean teased as he flexed the cane purposefully.
“No!” I asserted, but then I thought, it had been a long time, and a caning from Sean, well it might be madness, but it could be kind of exciting. I heard myself saying, “Well, OK, OK. Just six and no charge for the mud now, promise?”
“Scout’s honour!” he laughed, which was a strange reply, but one I took to be a yes. “Looks like I was right about you. Can we do it upstairs? This room’s a bit exposed.”
“Oh, I suppose, yes.” He was calling the shots and I was a bit confused. Perhaps my lust for him was clouding my judgement.
We made our way up the steep bare stairs and I led him to my bedroom. “My God! What an unholy shit tip!” he exclaimed. Well, my room was a bit untidy but I was unused to having guests up there. “I haven’t finished yet. I think that the state of this room deserves some extra punishment, don’t you? Now, tell me, did Daddy bare your arse for you?”
“Yes, he insisted on it. Even in my twenties.”
“Hmmm. I bet he did! Now then, let’s have your arse in the air. Jeans and pants down!”
“Bare?” I queried.
“Yes, of course. It’s your family tradition, isn’t it?”
I wasn’t going to argue with Sean, at least not while he had the cane handy. I dropped my jeans reluctantly, and tugged my briefs down, placing myself over a pillow on the bed to raise my bottom for the attention of the cane.
The first stroke wasn’t too bad. Sean evidently hadn’t quite got to grips with the rod. But he soon got the hang of it as he lashed strokes two and three down quite forcefully. My poor bottom was on fire! “Arrgh!” I cried as stroke number four cut across the earlier ones. A fifth cracked down noisily, causing me untold agony. He tapped the cane on my sore rump a few times, before raising the stick high and slashing it down in the sadistic climax of the sixth stroke.
“Owww! No!” I cried.
He just laughed and swished the cane some more.
“Now there’s just the matter of this messy room. I’ve seen tidier teenage dens!”
“Oh do leave it out, Sean!” I said, feeling angry, bruised and humiliated.
“That’s enough!” Sean reprimanded me. “Six more for your cheek and slovenliness!”
I’d reckoned on just a couple more strokes, but it wasn’t to be. His muscled arm whipped the cane down rapid-fire style, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve! Waves of agony consumed me, I was so sore and defeated. I fought back tears, only just successfully but I couldn’t help grunting and gasping as the fiery pain monopolised my attention.
Sean moved nearer, saying, “Right. All done. Let me have a look, now. Phewee! Needs a bit of TLC, your arse, I’d say.”
I was half-expecting him to hand me a business card of a friend who specialised in sore arses, but he didn’t. “Yes, you’re right there, it is a bit raw. A bit sore.” I confessed.
“Of course, but never mind, I’ve got some hand cream in the van. It should be good enough for your arse as well! You stay there while I go and get it.”
He was soon back and massaging the white cream into the sore weals and ridges the harsh caning had left me with. It was heaven and hell at the same time, soothing yet also stimulating fresh jabs of pain. He was controlling me, alternating pleasure and pain as his beefy hands massaged the cream softly and then harshly. Suddenly I felt the cream being worked into my crack and then into my arsehole. That was an alltogether nicer feeling but I was surprised at the attention he was giving that area, as it had avoided the cane and so wasn’t sore at all. But I was being young, foolish and naive. Of course my hole wasn’t sore, it was being prepared for his thick meaty cock to enter me! And he did. He mounted me forcefully, pushing my legs high in the air like for the missionary position, and he was soon thrusting in and out rapidly. This was going to be a quickie, of that I was sure, but I hadn’t reckoned on him forcing his tongue into my mouth as he began kissing me frantically.
“Play with me nipples, play with me nipples!” he urged. I tweaked and teased them, then pinched them not too gently. Evidently it did the trick as he gasped and came heavily. He was laid on top of me, puffing for breath, sort of vaped-out I guess you could say.
“Shit that was good! Wow! Nice,” Sean said. I had to agree, silently. A quiet minute later he whispered, “Anyway, I can see you again a fortnight Friday, say 8 in the evening.”
“But I don’t have any more items to move,” I protested.
“No, no, not for removals, silly! It’s so I can cane and shag you again, Jonathan!”
“Oh, I see.”
“Yes, as well you might, my submissive friend,” he said as he picked up and flexed the wicked cane again. He was still naked, and a final bead of cum dropped from his wilting penis. “Now be a good lad and take care of this cane until next time.” He tossed the rattan rod down on the bed.
That old cane. That bloody old cane. That glorious old cane. Dad had obviously wanted me to have it. But why? And had he arranged my thrashing with Sean? Maybe he had, just maybe. Of one thing I was certain. Sometimes I couldn’t work the old sod out.
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.
Story © MMXVIII by Rod Cayenne. All rights reserved.
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♥ Site recommended story ♥
Celebrate St Andrew’s Day with this exciting CP story by very special guest author JOELSTRAP. This story is new to The Canery. All the characters are 18 or older. WARNING: ADULTS ONLY!
Free Spankings by Joelstrap
I looked carefully at the feet planted firmly on the floor; at the long, sinewy legs ending in a pair of taut young buttocks; at the slim waist and long back with the spinal cord rippling under the skin; at the broad shoulders and sun-browned neck and the muscular arms; at the shock of unruly fair hair which half covered the ears. I turned and looked at the frontal view; at the flat stomach with the line of dark hair pointing to the fuzziness in the groin, the heavy balls and slim, pendant penis; at the broad, flat pectorals and firm nipples; at the open face, framed by the profusion of hair; at the shining, dark eyes.
Yes, I thought to myself as I gazed in the full-length mirror, you’re not bad-looking at all and if Iain doesn’t want you any more, there’s bound to be somebody else who will appreciate you.
Iain and I had been together for just over five months but it was becoming clear that we had little in common beyond the physical attraction of each other’s body and he had announced the previous evening that he felt we should split up. He did it as kindly as he could but it still hurt, even although I knew it was probably for the best. After a restless night, I’d gone for a long walk this morning and decided that I just had to pick myself up and get on with it.
Although I wanted another boyfriend, I wasn’t in any desperate hurry and felt that I needed some time alone to sort myself out and work through my feelings and emotions. Living near a railway-line in Glasgow, I was familiar with trains and had made a number of journeys in my seventeen years. I decided that perhaps a trip to Mallaig on the West Highland Line would be a good idea. I planned to take the train as far as Rannoch Station and then to walk the nine miles to Corrour Station before picking up the train again after a night in the Youth Hostel there. This would make a pleasant interlude and allow some quality thinking-time.
After placating my mother with repeated assurances that I was well-equipped and would not fall into a bog, I set off on a cloudy morning from Glasgow’s Queen Street Station, and watched as the city faded and the Clyde gave way to the Gare Loch and then Loch Long before we were running along the north-western shores of Loch Lomond. We reached Crianlarich and then headed north into the mountains and on towards the wilds of Rannoch Moor and so to the remote station at Rannoch.
By now the skies had cleared and the sun was out and I felt cheerful as I alighted at the tiny station, the only passenger to do so. It was shortly after eleven o’clock and the little café provided welcome sustenance before I set off eastward along the only road into Rannoch. After following it for a short distance, I turned off to the left up a track which eventually led to a footbridge over the river and to a path under the southern ridge of Carn Dearg.
Far to the south and west the moor stretched away to the mountains of Glencoe. I however was headed north towards the vast bleak, boggy acres of Rannoch Moor as they extended towards Corrour. The path descended to the ruins of the old Corrour Lodge, long replaced by a new building at the north end of Loch Ossian after the West Highland Line was constructed in 1894.
Not far from the tumbled remains, there was a small stone cottage which appeared, from the smoke rising lazily from the chimney into the summer sky, to be inhabited. The path passed within a couple of hundred yards of it and I could see as I approached that there was a small sign propped against a stone where the footpath to the cottage began.
My eyesight was pretty good and I could read it well before I came up to it. I grinned to myself because it appeared to say: Free Spankings.
Obviously, I decided, my vision wasn’t quite as good as I thought; but as I drew nearer, I had to alter my opinion. My vision was 20:20. The sign did indeed read: Free Spankings. I stopped by the sign and re-read it several times; but it made not one whit of difference. It still said undeniably, Free Spankings. I tried to work out if it was a corruption of something but made no headway. I stared at the cottage, in a quandary. Curiosity was fighting a strong battle and eventually I conceded defeat and turned up the narrow, grassy path to the house.
The door stood partly open and so I stuck my head in and shouted “hello”. A large dog padded out and sniffed suspiciously at my crotch and then turned away as if disappointed. I waited and then a man appeared. He was perhaps in his mid-thirties, about my own height of six feet, with black, straight hair receding slightly and well-muscled arms visible in his close-fitting tee-shirt.
“Er, I couldn’t resist coming to ask about your sign,” I began. “Free spankings?”
“Oh, yes. That’s right. Do you want one?”
“What? A spanking?” I asked, incredulous.
“Sure. It’s free,” he added as if that made the prospect more attractive.
“But who the hell wants to be spanked?” I enquired.
“Don’t you?” he asked.
“No,” I answered, shaking my head. “But I couldn’t help wondering about the sign.”
“Why did you wonder about the sign?”
“Well, it’s a bit odd, isn’t it?”
“Why? I give spankings and some guys like to be spanked. What’s odd about it?”
“Some guys like to be spanked? Where’d you get that idea from?”
“It’s true. They find it exciting. Some of them even come while they’re getting spanked.”
“They…..fuck! I don’t believe it!”
“Want to try?”
“Well, nobody’s going to pay for a spanking, are they?” I objected.
“Of course they are. And if you want the cane or the tawse, it’s £1 a stroke; but if you go for five, I’ll give you the sixth one free.”
I stared at him, baffled.
“You can’t be serious! I’d more likely pay not to get caned. And what the hell’s a tawse anyway?”
“You’re a Scot aren’t you? You should know that. It used to be used in schools to discipline youngsters.”
“You mean the belt? I’ve heard of that. Got it across their hands, didn’t they? Bloody sadistic. There was none of that in my schooldays,” I said.
“Anyway, how about this spanking then? Bare bottom, across my knee,” he offered.
“Bare bottom? Across your…….no fucking way, mate. You’re seriously kinky, you are.”
“Sure you don’t want to try it? You’ve got a brilliant pair of buttocks there, just crying out to be spanked.”
I felt myself going red.
“I……….well, thanks…..I think………oh, shit!”
The trouble was that I really liked the look of him. I didn’t want to be spanked; but the idea of lying across his knees had a strong appeal. There were stirrings down below as I imagined it.
“So, how about letting me see the target,” he suggested. “I’d like to know if your bum’s as good in the flesh as it is in your shorts.”
The sheer effrontery of this almost left me speechless.
“You want me to drop my shorts and let you see my bare arse?” I asked, in disbelief.
“Why? What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing’s wrong with me!”
“Come on then; let me have a look. I promise not to touch.”
I decided that a look would do no harm and dropped my shorts and pants, turning my back, partly to conceal my genitals and partly so he could see my behind. I knew I’d nothing to be ashamed of and felt a tingle of pride as I displayed my assets. To my own astonishment, I found myself hoping he’d approve.
“Awesome! Perfectly formed; taut and muscular. I can’t believe no-one’s ever spanked them,” he said enthusiastically.
It was undoubtedly a compliment but I was unsure how to react; and in my confusion I found myself, to my horror, blurting out:
“Well, maybe just a little spanking; so I can feel what it’s like.”
“You won’t regret it,” he assured me.
“Hmmm!” I said.
He sat on a sofa and patted his knees.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Hi, Dave. I’m Neil. Right! Over my knee, boy!”
Not quite believing I was still in the real world, I shuffled across the floor and lay down carefully across his lap, feet on the floor, pants round my ankles, head resting on my folded forearms on the sofa arm. He shifted his legs slightly and pushed me a little to get me correctly positioned. I was acutely aware of his erection pressing against my thigh and of my own surprising tumescence trapped between my stomach and his groin.
His hand slid across the bare skin of my bottom and I stiffened; but as it continued to explore, I relaxed a little and enjoyed the sensation. I tensed again as his fingers probed deep into my cleft and a daring forefinger teased the lips of my anus, but thrills of pleasure allayed any serious fears and I made no protest.
The first smack was unexpected and barely registered as more than a light slap. It was followed by several more, methodically covering every inch of my bottom from my waist to my thighs and the tops of my legs. A growing warmth in my skin was exciting and enjoyable and I relaxed into the experience, moving my hips slightly in time to the smacks and giving a little extra stimulus to my now rampant cock.
A much harder smack on the crown of my left buttock made me flinch and, before I’d time to really register it, another followed on the other buttock. A flurry of stinging spanks ensued and the pleasant warmth became a more insistent burning, strong enough to make me squirm and wriggle. Still Neil’s hand fell steadily, never quite where I was expecting it and, as the sting built up, I began to breathe hard with the effort to process the pain. A particularly well-placed spank near my crease had my hand reaching back automatically to scrub the stinging flesh; and my wrist was instantly grabbed and my arm twisted across my waist so that I was effectively prevented from any further pain-alleviation activity.
There was a pause and I lay, panting, cock still rigid beneath me, bum burning like a bonfire.
Wow! Well, if that’s what a spanking feels like, I’m bloody glad I came here. That was fantastic; and I feel fantastic. I’d just love to wank off, but I don’t suppose that’s allowed. I can feel his hand now, caressing the skin now it’s over; cool hand on hot bottom. Pure dead brilliant! as they say in Glasgow.
Something hard slammed into my left buttock, right on the sit-spot and it stung like hell. I struggled, but was firmly held. It came again and again and I soon became aware that I was yelping and squealing, twisting and writhing as a sting like a nest of scorpions engulfed my behind and penetrated deep into the burning flesh. I looked round and saw that Neil was wielding a wooden hair-brush. Never could I have believed such an innocent-looking implement could deliver such an intense pain. It was searing; it was excoriating; it was ferocious. I could have endured it for eternity.
Each new swat hurt like a blast of flame but I didn’t care. I was into it. I loved it. Tears streamed down my face. I sobbed and cried like a kid who’s skinned his knees and all the questions and doubts I’d had after my break-up with Iain seemed to fade away and I felt clean again.
The spanking stopped and I lay, quivering, as the pain slowly eased to a steady throb of heat. Neil lifted me to my feet and directed me to the bathroom. There I felt gingerly round my bottom, registering the heat emanating from a pair of soundly-spanked buttocks. I looked over my shoulder in the mirror and admired my fiery-red globes. I lay on the floor and scrubbed swiftly at my balls until I achieved a shattering release. I lay still and relived again and again the revelatory wonder of being spanked.
I donned my pants and shorts and returned to the living-room.
“Thanks,” I said, feeling a little foolish. “I don’t know what else to say.”
“No need to say anything,” he replied.
He told me to sit down and I did so carefully, enjoying the discomfort in my behind, the steady reminder of my first spanking. He provided coffee and then we talked. I told him of Iain and my break-up and why I was here. He told me he was a businessman and worked mainly from home, visiting an office in Glasgow every two or three weeks for a day.
“I’m successful enough that I can employ someone to do the day-to-day running of things and I can live here and just go in occasionally.”
I envied him and resolved to get on with making my first million as soon as possible.
“Now,” said Neil, “what about the cane?”
I tensed nervously.
“What about it?”
“Think you’d like it?”
“Like to see it?”
Curiosity won the day and Neil went out of the room and returned with a limber rod which he arched before my eyes. I stared at it, as a rabbit stares at a snake, knowing it is in danger but unable to run. It was longer and thicker than I’d imagined a cane would be. It certainly wasn’t a toy. He handed it to me.
I felt my way along the lissom length of it, felt its springy curvature, imagined it moulding itself to my bare buttocks in a red-hot embrace, and rapped it several times against the palm of my hand as I tried to assess its potential for inflicting pain. I concluded that it would hurt like fuck, and then some.
“Boy! That’s vicious,” I breathed and suddenly had to plunge a hand into my shorts to rearrange things.
“I see that you like it,” observed Neil with a sardonic smile.
“Er, well, it’s sort of exciting to think about,” I admitted, “but there’s no way I’d ever want it for real. You’d have to be a bloody masochist to ask for that.”
“You enjoyed the spanking,” he reminded me.
“That was different. This is much more savage.”
“Think you couldn’t stand that kind of pain?”
“I didn’t say I couldn’t stand it. I just don’t want to have to stand it.”
“It scares you?” he asked.
“I’m not a fucking coward,” I protested. “I’m just being sensible; like not putting my hand on a hot-plate.”
He took the cane from me and laid it on the coffee-table where I found my eyes drawn repeatedly to it. We talked on, but I found the cane distracting and disturbing, not least to my penis, and decided I should resume my journey.
“Maybe,” I suggested tentatively, “I could drop in for another spanking on my way home next week?”
Neil picked up the cane.
“If you set foot in this house again, boy, it will be the cane for you. Understand?”
“Okay,” I said, disappointed. “But I’m sorry. I’m not coming back to be caned. I’d have liked another spanking; I’d even pay for it next time; but not the cane. Probably couldn’t afford it anyway,” I ended in a mild attempt at humour.
“If you come back again,” said Neil with a smile, “I’ll cane you for free.”
“Gee, thanks!” I said sarcastically.
“It’s an offer you can’t refuse,” he said.
Neil arched the cane and suddenly slammed it down on the top of a leather stool, making a crack which echoed through the little cottage and made me take a pace back in alarm.
“How do you think that would feel, Dave?”
“And you expect me to come back and just bare my bottom, bend over and let you hit me like that with a cane?” I asked, disbelievingly.
“You got it in one,” he said.
I shook my head, hoisted my rucksack on to my shoulders, thanked him for his hospitality and for the spanking, and set off.
I could still feel the sting of the hair-brush as I resumed my interrupted walk to Corrour. A curious sense of well-being coursed through me.
As I walk, I relive over and over again, the spanking of the early afternoon, aided and abetted by the sting in my bum which is stimulated by the act of striding along in shorts which I have to admit are pretty close-fitting. My persistent erection becomes so much of a nuisance that I am forced to retire behind a huge boulder and relieve pent-up feelings. After that I think about the cane as I walk, touching it again in my memory, tracing with a mental finger-pad the long, smooth curve, imagining it cracking hard across my bottom, feeling the blossoming pain. Undaunted, my cock rises to the occasion and I force myself to think about the geography and geology of the area through which I’m walking. Nothing like thinking about hard rocks to get rid of a rock-hard; nor thinking about soggy bog to induce a soft, spongy cock.
To my left the vastness of Rannoch Moor stretches away toward the skyline, a mass of bogs, lochans, small rivers and rocks. During the last Ice Age, about ten thousand years ago, a huge glacier covered the moor and, as the ice slowly radiated outwards, it gouged out the glens of Rannoch and Tummel, Coe and Etive. Where the acres of peat have dried out I can see the roots of age-old pine trees, sorry remnants of the ancient Caledonian Forest which once covered this land.
On my right Carn Dearg rises calmly into the afternoon heavens and I follow the path which skirts its southern ridge. Mindful of the stories that the boggy ground of the moor has been known to swallow men whole, I keep carefully to the track and eventually I see ahead the shining waters of Loch Ossian and the Youth Hostel set on a peninsula protruding into the loch. Corrour Station itself is about a mile to the west but I don’t intend going there until tomorrow morning. There is no road to Corrour. You either come in on foot or on the train.
I found myself to be remarkably popular at the hostel. First a slim, well-developed girl showed a blatant interest in me, plonking herself down beside me as I sat gazing at the loch and engaging me in conversation. She probably sensed that she wasn’t getting very far as she eventually said:
“You look pretty good. Would you like to come into the bushes and let me find out if you’re as good as you look?”
I shook my head and she shrugged.
“Pity,” she said and wandered off.
Later, as I was washing up my plate and mug, a muscular young guy with a centimetre-long fuzz of hair all over his head, patted my behind and asked if he could see it bare? I told him to fuck off. Later still, as I was sitting in the hostel shortly before bed-time, a large, hairy mutt made vigorous attempts to mate with my left foot, much to the amusement of the owners who seemed to find the whole thing hilarious. I scowled at them and stalked off to my bed. Honestly, the whole place was sex-mad!
Next morning I made my way along the Road to the Isles as far as Corrour Station and boarded the train which in due course deposited me in Mallaig on the west coast. Between hostels and bed-and-breakfast accommodation, I made my way around the area and then over to Skye before returning a week or so later to pick up a return train at Mallaig. It would have been possible to just stay on the train all the way to Glasgow, but I felt myself in no hurry to get home and decided to extend the trip by a day and break the journey with an overnight again in the Corrour hostel before walking south to Rannoch and picking up the train there.
Part of me wanted to see if they were still sex-mad at Corrour; and a part of me wanted to walk past the cottage on the way to Rannoch again, although I couldn’t have put into words exactly why. It was a simple little plan and would bring my holiday to a pleasant and unhurried end. As a good Scot, I should of course have been mindful of the words of my national poet, the illustrious Robert Burns, who observed so pertinently that:
“The best-laid schemes o’ mice an’ men gang aft agley.”
I alighted from the train and ambled slowly along the mile towards the hostel and about half way was overtaken by a young guy with a large rucksack whom I’d noticed had also left the train at Corrour and had been sitting on the platform as I’d set off. He was one of those lads who looked about twelve as far as his open, freckled face went, topped by a shock of light-brown, curly hair. Closer inspection, and I’d taken the chance when walking past him on the platform for a closer look, showed that there was a honey-coloured down on his face and he had the well-developed chest and bulging groin of a fully-mature young man, at least as old as I.
“Hi,” he said, cheerfully, giving me a disarming smile. “I’m Guy.”
My knees felt slightly shaky. I had a feeling that if there was going to be any mad-for-it sexiness at the hostel this time, I’d be contributing substantially to it. This guy was gorgeous.
“Hi! I’m Dave. You headed for the hostel?”
“No. I’m walking down towards Rannoch but I’m spending the night with a friend of mine on the way so I won’t pick up the train again until tomorrow morning,” he replied.
I started. The only habitation I’d seen between Rannoch and Corrour, apart from very close to the village was the cottage of my spanking chum. I gave Guy a curious glance and wriggled my hips a bit to accommodate movements down below.
“Oh,” I said with feigned insouciance, “I didn’t realise there were any houses until you got to Rannoch.”
“Not far from the old Corrour Lodge,” he said. “My pal lives in a cottage there.”
So it was the spanker! It had to be!
“Strange place to live,” I said, hopeful that he’d open up and tell me more.
“He’s a strange chap in some ways is Neil. But he and I share a particular interest and I visit him every two or three weeks. I’m a student in Glasgow but my home’s in Fort William, so I break the journey by doing the walk between Rannoch and Corrour and visiting him when I’m travelling between the two places. Sometimes it’s just for an hour; sometimes for a night like this time.”
I was desperate to ask what the shared interest was, but you can hardly ask a guy you’ve only just met if his kink is getting his bare buttocks spanked. We were approaching Loch Ossian and the hostel hove into view. Overhead the sun shone in a sky of unsullied blue and the air was warm, only a slight breeze ruffling the surface of the moor.
“Like to join me for a picnic by the loch before you set off for Rannoch?” I asked, fingers and toes crossed that he’d agree.
“Sure. You got food?”
“I stocked up before I left Mallaig,” I said.
“Come on, I know a good grassy bit to sit and eat.”
I followed him and we unpacked our comestibles, placing what we had between us, apparently managing to reach an unspoken agreement that we’d share what we had. With Guy it was that easy. Conversation was easy too and we soon established that we were both gay and immediately a barely-suppressed frisson of sexuality became overt. We looked appreciatively at each other and had a giggle when we simultaneously had to plunge a hand into our shorts to release a trapped erection.
There was a spark which very quickly ignited a roaring conflagration, boosted by a wind of testosterone. The afternoon grew hot and we removed our shirts.
“How about a swim?” I suggested.
“Yes! Just have to wear my underpants though,” he said, pulling off his shorts. I gazed with undisguised admiration at the massive bulge in the front of his pants.
“Wow!” I said.
He smiled in a rather embarrassed fashion and watched closely as I removed my own shorts and allowed him to see my package.
“And wow! back at you,” he said with a broad grin.
We plunged into the water, gasping as its icy coldness, even on a hot July afternoon, stung our bodies. We horsed around energetically, swimming, diving, splashing each other, chasing and catching each other, revelling in the touch of each other’s naked, wet body; until, exhausted by our efforts, we clambered ashore and lay panting, side by side on the warm grass, letting the sun dry our skin.
I glanced at the remains of our picnic. Only a small amount of juice was left and I picked up the bottle and held it to my mouth.
“Hey! How about sharing?” objected Guy in mock outrage.
I eyed the fluid in the bottle.
“There’s only enough for one of us to get a decent mouthful,” I said; and then added daringly. “Fight you for it?”
I laid the bottle aside and at once Guy threw himself on top of me. I hastily responded, struggling to fight him off. We strained and panted, wet skin sliding sensually over wet skin, first one on top and then the other as we fought like young animals, determinedly and in near silence. Once I thought I’d got him and was about to force a submission, when he suddenly wrenched free and rolled me on to my back, pinning me with his weight on my chest. I don’t give in that easily though and after a sustained effort I had him again and this time made no mistake. Some painful pressure and he gasped audibly. I looked a question but he just stared back at me. A little more pressure, a contortion of his features and he panted: Okay. I surrender.
I released the pressure and lay still on his chest, my face inches from his as he lay on his back beneath me. We were laughing breathlessly; and then the laughter died and the silence was absolute and the sun was hot on my shoulders. Between us I was acutely aware of two erections. His eyes were fixed steadily on mine as I slowly lowered my head, tense with the awful possibility that he might turn away, until our lips touched. Like an electric-shock, a jolt zipped through me and, as Guy’s lips responded to mine, a fiery lust gripped us both and we writhed like coiled snakes in a mating-ritual as we kissed hungrily in several minutes of torrid passion.
By mutual although unspoken consent we fell apart and lay on our sides, words unnecessary, gazing into each other’s eyes. At last Guy stirred.
“You’re fantastic,” he said softly, running a finger along my jawbone.
I leaned forward and kissed his hand.
“You’re pretty special yourself,” I admitted.
“Why don’t you come down to Neil’s with me this evening, instead of staying in the hostel here? He won’t mind another guest for the night; and then we can go back to Glasgow together tomorrow morning.”
Into my mind there flashed a sharp, clear vision of Neil arching that vicious-looking cane; and in my head I could hear his words:
If you set foot in this house again, boy, it will be the cane for you.
And it would too. I had no doubt about it. My thoughts about the cane, and I’d had them daily in the past week or so, had convinced me that it held a fascination, but I still found the prospect of actually baring my bottom and bending over for its powerful sting something which frankly scared me.
“I couldn’t do that. It would be rude just to turn up and expect to stay. I’ll spend the night here and leave early in the morning and catch you up at Rannoch Station if not before.”
“Come on. I want you to be with me.”
He stopped and I waited as he seemed about to say more. After a few seconds, during which I could see by his face that he was wrestling with something in his mind, he continued.
“Look. Can I tell you something? Something kind of personal and private, I mean?”
“Sure. I won’t spread it,” I assured him.
“This chap Neil that I’m going to see. Well, he’s into spanking; and, well………..well, that’s why I’m going…you see?” he ended lamely.
“You’re going to get spanked?” I asked.
He nodded, watching my face uneasily. I tried to decide what to say next. Guy misinterpreted my hesitation.
“You’re disgusted, right?” he asked, looking a bit miserable.
“No, no. I’m not, honest,” I insisted. “I was just thinking. You see, I’ve got a bit of a confession to make.”
“I walked up from Rannoch on my way north and there was a sign outside that cottage which said, I kid you not,”free spankings“; and, well, I was kind of curious and so I went to the door and, well, one thing led to another and………”
“And you got spanked!” ended Guy with a grin which reached from ear to ear.
“Er, yes, I got spanked; fucking hard too. Bastard didn’t just use his hand; he took a fucking hairbrush to my arse as well. Hurt like the fires of hell.”
“Brilliant! Bet you could feel it when you were walking,” he said eagerly.
“Too right! Stung all the way to Corrour.”
“And you liked it?”
“Yes,” I admitted, feeling slightly shame-faced. “It made me feel bloody good after it was over; all sort of calm and content and relaxed; and I liked the sting while I was walking too,” I added honestly.
“He canes me,” Guy vouchsafed, watching me closely.
“C..canes you? With a cane?”
“Usual thing to use for a caning,” he said.
“Yes, I know. I just mean that…..he actually canes you? How does that feel?”
“Sore. But it’s exciting too. I’ve had the cane a few times and I’ll be getting it tonight.”
“A bit; that’s natural; but I want it too. There’s nothing like the kiss of the cane on your bare bottom.”
“Kiss? That’s hardly the word I’d use about a fucking great rod lashing my bare backside,” I said, but my cock was erect.
“Some kisses can be very intense,” said Guy solemnly.
I sighed and said nothing. We lay in silence for several minutes.
“Why not come, then? You could get another spanking and watch me getting caned,” offered Guy.
My cock soared at the prospect of this double-whammy of delights.
“It’s not a simple as that,” I said. “I’ve not told you everything yet.”
Guy stared at me.
“Well, come on. Out with it. What’s the big secret?” he demanded.
“Neil wanted to cane me but I wouldn’t let him. I just don’t think I could take the cane; and he told me that if I ever set foot in his house again, he’d cane me – for free,” I ended.
“Ah! So, if you come with me tonight, you won’t just get a spanking; you’ll get a caning, is that it?”
“So, aren’t you kind of curious to find out what the cane feels like?” he enquired.
“Not really. I think it’d be fucking awful.”
“Or it might not,” suggested Guy. “Did he let you see the cane?”
“Yep! Held it too.”
“So, you’ve forgotten all about it?”
“No. I can’t stop thinking about it; but that doesn’t mean I want it,” I added hastily.
“Okay. Listen, I’ve got a tent in my rucksack, so why don’t you come with me this evening and stay in the tent nearby; maybe in the ruins of the old lodge; and then we can go on in the morning. That way you don’t need to enter Neil’s house so you won’t get caned. Mind, you won’t get spanked either,” he said. “Unless Neil comes out and spanks you in the open air.”
For some reason this prospect excited me enormously and Guy noticed.
“That’s settled then,” he said firmly, “and we can stay together for the rest of the day.”
I smiled contentedly; for I wanted to stay with him, very much indeed.
With Guy the hours flew by, more swiftly than the wind-driven clouds scudding across the summer sky. By seven in the evening, we were approaching Neil’s cottage and I was sure that I wasn’t imagining the tingling sensation in my behind. A memory of what had been the last time I was here; or a hope for what I might get if Neil deigned to come out to me?
Guy went to the door while I waited at the end of the path. A minute or two later, he joined me and we made our way to the ruins of the old lodge where he showed me how to erect the little one-man tent where I’d spend the night, in the shadow of the ancient, tumbled walls. He told me he’d asked Neil if he’d like to come out and give me a spanking but the answer had been unequivocal. I had to come into the cottage; in which case I’d be caned. Guy made one last effort to persuade me to come and join him.
“You can see me getting it; and I’ll be there when it’s your turn,” he said.
Almost he persuaded me, as the prospect of seeing Guy’s bare behind getting the cane was hugely thrilling. The prospect of my own bare behind getting the cane was sufficiently less so to sway me. I declined, albeit with some reluctance. We’d stick to the plan. Guy would spend the night in the cottage and get a caning; while I’d spend the night in the tent and go un-caned. What was it Burns had said about the best laid plans?
I wandered rather disconsolately around the old lodge in the evening sun. The wind had dropped to almost nothing and the summer air was still and warm. This was a gorgeous place, I decided, peaceful, beautiful in its own remote, majestic way. Not, certainly, the domestic beauty of the cottage garden or the village by the stream; but the grander beauty of bare moor-land stretching to the horizon, the hint of distant mountains and the nearer bulk of Carn Dearg to the east.
Into every Eden however there comes a serpent and I had feared that the serpent might be Neil’s cane; but the President of the Immortals, who had had such sport with Tess, wanted to play with me a little first. I had failed to take account of that scourge of the West Highlands, that vicious torturer which has had grown men running away in terror, that tiny tormentor which blights the summer days and especially the still evenings; Culicoides Impunctatus, or the Scottish midge.
The females do the biting, requiring a little meal of blood before they can lay their eggs. Almost too small to be seen, they hunt in packs of hundreds, biting mercilessly on every area of exposed human skin they can find and raising painful bumps which itch infuriatingly and persistently until the victim is driven to escape the onslaught by vacating the field in ignominious defeat.
At first the assault was only a minor irritation and had me slapping and rubbing at my neck and face and bare arms and legs; but soon it became more determined. For a moment I had a vision of the tiny world of the midge in which a sign had gone up saying, Free Blood. I tried to escape a cloud of the little monsters by running swiftly around the old lodge’s walls. It was of no help. They followed; reinforcements came. Scratching and swatting desperately, I withdrew to the tent; but they were there before me and drove me daft as I struggled in vain to defeat them by covering my head with my arms.
Yet still they bit and still I slapped and rubbed and scratched until I fled the tent and ran at full pelt along the path in a vain attempt to out-distance them. They were driving me crazy. I’d met midges before and I’d heard of them compelling campers to pack up and flee in the middle of the night; but never had I realised how horrendous and unbearable their assault could be on a still, warm evening with no breath of wind to blow them away.
I had to escape. Anything was preferable now to this torment and I perceived at last how cunningly I’d been played; for the only escape from the pain of the midges was to the cottage; and the pain of the cane. So desperate now was my situation, however, that even the cane seemed a minor irritation compared to the relentless bites of the midge-horde. I fled to the house and banged on the door.
Neil answered and took one look at me; and laughed.
“So,” he said, “it looks like there’s something you fear more than my cane, eh Dave?”
“Just let me in, please,” I begged, still scrubbing furiously at my face and then at my neck and then at my legs.
He stood aside and admitted me and I went into the sitting-room. On a sofa, lying face-down was Guy. I stopped short. Across his taut, muscular bare bottom was etched a series of five parallel cane-lines, all crossed on the diagonal by a sixth. They looked angry and red and painful; but Guy was looking round at me with a broad, cheerful grin on his face. He appeared to be perfectly content.
“So you came for the cane after all,” he said.
“Fucking midges,” I swore savagely, scratching and rubbing still. “I couldn’t take any more; even in the bloody tent.”
Neil approached me. I turned and saw that he was holding the cane. I gulped; but I knew I was for it.
“You planning to argue, Dave?” Neil enquired.
“No,” I said. “It’s what we agreed. I just never thought I’d be in this position.”
“Nor in the position you’re going to be in very soon,” chortled Guy.
“Sadistic bugger!” I muttered.
I continued to scrub at my bites. Neil looked at me with some sympathy.
“The midges are tough,” he said, “but I promise that once you’re bent over, bare-arsed and waiting for the cane, you won’t be thinking about a few midge-bites.”
“A few midge-bites? The whole fucking army of Rannoch midges has been dining out on my body for the past two hours; squadrons of the blasted monsters! What the hell do they do for their blood when I’m not here?” I demanded unreasonably.
“Right! Stop moaning. You’re going to get something to really scrub at shortly,” said Neil, his voice suddenly harsh. “Guy; up against the wall, boy!”
Guy sprang instantly from the sofa and took his stance facing the wall, hands on his buttocks.
“You; strip!” Neil ordered, turning to me.
I found myself obeying at the double, hauling off my boots and socks, yanking down my shorts and pants and finally pulling off my shirt. I stood in all my naked glory. I observed Guy turning his head to look.
“Face the wall, boy!” shouted Neil; and Guy obeyed immediately. “Now I’m going to give you a spanking first to get your endorphins going,” Neil informed me, “and then we’ll move on to the cane. Understand?”
“Yes, what, boy?!”
“Yes, sir,” I replied hastily.
“That’s better,” agreed Neil. “Now stand up straight; hands on your bottom; and stop that bloody scratching!”
I said no more and adopted the position required; but I glared resentfully at him as the bites throbbed and itched and I forced myself not to rub them. Bloody ironic that the only place I was allowed to put my hands, on my bottom, was about the only place I had no bites!
Neil sat on the sofa and summoned me across his lap. My cock rose as I positioned myself and the feel of his denims under my bare, hard penis, sent a thrill of excitement through me. Neil’s hand performed a circular motion on my behind, firmly caressing the full surface of my buttocks, his index finger occasionally sliding easily between my legs and along my perineum and back up through my cleft to pass lightly over the lips of my anus with a touch of fire.
I relaxed and even the midge-bites seemed less intense; and when his hand suddenly came down with a sharp smack on the crown of my bottom, I forgot the bites altogether for a second. Spank after spank followed in a steady stream, covering my behind from waist to crease, raising the temperature to a hot glow. I was wincing and wriggling and gasping a bit by the time he stopped. My bum was aflame and my penis was at full attention.
“On your feet, boy!”
I scrambled up and stood, feeling my way over my backside, revelling in the stinging heat; and the midge-bites were little more than a background irritation. Neil stood and picked up the cane. I tensed. He arched the rod slowly, letting me see what I was going to get. I took in the lithe arc and its potential for pain. I tried to imagine what cane-welts would feel like under my hands. I swallowed and listened to the blood pounding in my ears.
“Over here, boy!”
He led me to a small, plain, wooden table and instructed me to bend over with my lower-arms on the table’s surface, on their sides with palms open and facing each other, as if I were holding an invisible piece of wood between them. He kicked at my feet to make me spread my legs a bit more; and then he tapped my behind with the cane. I flinched, not with pain but simply because it was the cane. He drew the cane back and forward across my bottom several times, letting me feel its hard, unyielding texture, its slim length; letting my buttocks know what was coming.
My penis, erect after the spanking, had gone into retreat.
“Don’t break position,” he ordered.
The cane was drawn back and I tensed my body in readiness. I was aware of the rod descending, of the whistling sound in the still air of the room, of the crack as wood and bare flesh came into violent contact; and then on a sudden I was aware of the sting, a lash of pain across the crown of my bum, penetrating, burning, forcing me to clench my glutes to a quivering intensity as I fought to ride the pain.
I released my breath slowly and relaxed my muscles slightly as the sting subsided. I felt the cane touch my behind again. It was removed; the air sang and I heard the crack and a split second later felt the burn. I reached forward and grasped the edge of the table.
“Get your hands back in position, boy!” roared Neil, so loudly that I moved them instinctively. “Now keep them there!”
Oh, God! He doesn’t believe in making it easy. Isn’t it bad enough having to cope with the pain without having to keep fucking still as well?
I abandon my resentful thoughts as the cane touches my skin once more and is then raised and brought back down, hard. I gasp aloud as the tip of the rod bites savagely at my thigh.
For fuck’s sake! I’m in agony here. Can’t I even make a bloody sound? Fucking sadist!
I steady myself and feel the rod now high on my behind, near the top, approaching my waist. There’s a pause and then the routine of withdraw, bring down hard, crack, burn, pulse with growing intensity, fight to keep still and quiet; and easing slightly of pain. Just two to go. I hope. He never actually said six, but that’s what Guy got and he surely couldn’t give me more than that; could he?
The cane is resting on my crease now and I’m scared. I know how sensitive I am there, just where my legs join my buttocks. He knows it too and that’s why the next stroke is going there. He intends to hurt me; and I intend to show him I can take it! The cane lashes down; pain screams along my crease and I thump my feet on the floor as I wrestle for self-control.
“Keep still, boy!”
Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!
I force my feet to be still. Why? Why should I obey him? I don’t know; but I want to. One to go and I am fairly sure now that I can do it.
I wait for the touch of the rod, the preliminary which warns me that a stroke is imminent; but it doesn’t come. Nothing happens. I stand, bent over, bottom throbbing with heat, ready for a final explosion of fire. Still he makes me wait. The silence in the room is absolute and I’m aware that Guy too is waiting. He can’t see what’s happening but he can hear it all and I find myself hoping that he’s proud of me.
Come on, you bastard! Stop torturing me! Cane me, damn you!
I hear the whine of the rod as the air winces and am barely ready when the cane strikes. The diagonal cut reawakens all the previous fires of the earlier strokes and my bum blazes with a searing heat. In spite of myself, I grasp the table’s edge once more and stretch out a leg behind me, holding it taut and a-quiver. A yelp which I can’t quite stifle escapes me. Pain flourishes, triumphant, and then softly dissipates leaving behind a steady, burning sting which stimulates my genitals and my penis rises fast.
“Get up, boy!”
I rise painfully, like an old man rising stiffly after sitting too long. I place my hands tentatively on my thrashed bottom and feel with a degree of awe the welts raised on my skin, radiating heat on to my palms.
“You may come and see him, Guy,” says Neil and Guy is there, a golden grin splitting his face, his eyes dancing. I feel a dark and secret delight in what I’ve experienced and I feel at one with Guy for he too knows exactly how I feel. He takes me into his arms and hugs me tightly and I feel a few tears trickling down my face. Guy notices and licks them off tenderly.
I feel awesome. A sense of euphoria has flooded my being. My pulsating bottom is a source of powerful sexual stimulation. If I were to be offered three wishes now, I’d wish to go to bed with Guy three times over.
“You were right,” I confessed, turning to Neil who was watching us with a wide smile on his face. “I did want to be caned. I just didn’t realise it.”
“How are the midge-bites?”
We all laughed.
“Right, you pair, into the spare room and sort yourselves out and then come back here and we’ll eat. Getting caned gives you a good appetite.”
Neither Guy nor I needed any second bidding. Cocks like flag-poles, we retired to the bedroom and shyly began to relieve each other’s tensions. I had one of the best orgasms I’d ever had. Once we’d done, we lay on our fronts for a while, side by side, shoulders and thighs touching, and discussed the intimate experience of being caned.
Neil fed us like fighting cocks and then sent us back to the bedroom for the night.
“I’m afraid it’s only a single bed,” he said. “Will you manage?”
I glanced at Guy and we both sniggered.
“I think so,” I replied. “We won’t need a lot of space.”
Nor did we; and after two more increasingly-confident workings at each other’s balls, first with tongue and then with hands again, we fell asleep, Guy lying behind me, his arms around me, one hand resting on my balls and his organ soft now between my buns.
Neil provided us with breakfast and then we accepted his invitation to spend the day with him, exploring a little of the country round about and enjoying his entertaining company. We had to catch the train at Rannoch station about half past six that evening and wanted to give ourselves a couple of hours to get there. Shortly before we left, Guy and I dropped our shorts to let Neil see the lasting effects of his efforts with the cane the previous night.
“Are you still offering free spankings?” I asked.
“Of course. Want one?”
“I’m still marked from the cane; but maybe a little one?” I suggested.
A couple of minutes later I was over Neil’s knee and the wooden hairbrush was snapping across my buns in a flurry of swift, sharp swats to whichever area of my bare bottom I couldn’t get my hand near to protect. I writhed and yelped and felt the tears come as a roaring inferno engulfed my buttocks. As suddenly as the onslaught began, it ended and I was hoisted to my feet to stand, scrubbing ruefully at my blistered bum while Guy went over Neil’s lap for similar treatment.
“Fucking shit!” I panted, blinking back tears. “How the hell do you manage to make it sting that much so quickly?”
“You’ve got a lot to learn, boy,” he answered as I watched a somewhat nervous-looking Guy lower himself across the waiting knees.
“You think I’m coming back for more?” I enquired, eyeing my rearing erection.
Neil just raised his eyebrows at me and began to beat a swift tattoo of spanks on the crown of Guy’s buns.
“Okay,” I admitted, watching Guy flinch and wince. “I will be back.”
A few minutes later, bottoms tingling pleasantly, we strode off down the path towards Rannoch. The skies were somewhat overcast and a brisk breeze meant that smart walking was in order so that we covered the ground fairly swiftly. On the approach to Rannoch, however, the cloud-roof parted and a pale sun streamed through, transforming the almost monochrome moor-land into a patchwork of heather, peat, rocks and pools which extended to the south and west to where the mountains of Glencoe brooded darkly over their ancient memories of hideous betrayal of hospitality. The early evening sunshine tinged the edges of the clouds with gold and, far to the north-west, Ben Nevis and the mountains of Lochaber stood stark against the horizon.
We gazed in wonder at the remote loveliness of the landscape and then became aware that the wind had dropped and the midges were on the attack. We were both scratching and slapping at our bare skin.
“Midges are hell,” remarked Guy, scrubbing furiously at his neck, “but all this” (and here he swept his arms out in an expansive gesture encompassing the panorama before us) “makes even them worth enduring.”
“I suppose it’s kind of like the cane,” I said meditatively. “When it cracks across your bare bum it hurts like a jellyfish-sting; but that feeling afterwards, the adrenaline-high, the sexual arousal, the sensation that you’re on top of the world and invincible; wow! That makes it all worthwhile.”
“So you’re glad you went to investigate the ’free spankings’, then?”
“Definitely,” I confirmed. “And when there’s a red-hot, sexy boy, randy as a rabbit and panting to share the experience with me,” I added with a grin at him, “then everything is just perfect.”
“We’re a bit early for the train,” observed Guy. “Since you liked the free spanking so much, I’ve got another free offer for you.”
I looked expectantly at him.
“Free wanking,” he said. “In behind those rocks there.”
My penis had already accepted the offer but I had one reason to hesitate.
“The midges are getting bad.”
“We’ll be quick; and I bet you the pleasure’s worth the pain.”
I got bites on my bum and on my cock; but Guy was right. Together we soared above moor-land and midge on the wings of ecstatic release; and then, hand in hand, we walked down to Rannoch and along the road to the station.
I wriggled uncomfortably on the train-seat as midge-bites and the after effects of Neil’s hairbrush made themselves felt. It had been a tough couple of days. Guy watched me and grinned.
“You’ll be coming back with me in two or three weeks’ time?” he asked.
“I hope I can afford it. He said the cane was a pound a stroke,” I said.
Guy smiled broadly and fished out of the back-pocket of his shorts a small pile of cards. He handed me one. It said:
Caning Voucher – value: 6 strokes
I stared at Guy.
“Where the hell did you get this?”
“From Neil. Good customers get free vouchers. I’ve got quite a lot of them. Have another couple.”
He handed me two more. One was the same as the first. The other read:
Tawsing Voucher – value: 12 strokes
“That’s two dozen you’ve got lined up for nothing; and I bet he starts giving you some free vouchers of your own pretty soon. Aren’t you the lucky boy, Dave?”
I gave my bottom a careful rub. Twelve strokes of the cane; and twelve with the leather tawse, which I hadn’t even felt yet; and probably that fucking bastard yelling at me to keep still and keep quiet as well. This could be hell. My cock soared excitedly in anticipation. I decided I’d not be using the vouchers all at once. I remembered vividly the six I’d got the previous evening and scrubbed thoughtfully at my behind again.
There was no doubt about it. I was the lucky boy!
The train thundered south towards Loch Lomond.
You can still travel by train on the West Highland Line from Glasgow to Fort William and Mallaig and, if you choose, leave the train at Rannoch and walk the nine miles along the path over the moor to Corrour before boarding again.
Neil and his cottage are, I regret to say, entirely imaginary. The midges are definitely for real!
Story ©MMXI by Joelstrap, and used here by very kind permission of the author.
D I S C L A I M E R