In The Strawberry Fields (M/F, M/M)

 ♥ Site recommended story ♥

Erotic fiction by Rod Cayenne, repeated by popular demand…

All the characters are aged 18 or over.  Suitable for adults only.

Sergeant Dexter couldn’t believe his eyes. The tip-off had been correct. Through his binoculars he could see a young couple, as naked as jaybirds, fornicating in the strawberry fields for which the village was famed. Although we were in the enlightened late 1950s, this was an outrage even by the prevailing modern, progressive standards.

He watched as the young man’s naked bottom bobbed up and down as he serviced his willing female companion. When to interrupt? Now, mid-flight as it were? Or afterwards, as the young lovers came back down to earth?

He decided to watch a little longer, as he was impressed by the young man’s technique. Indeed, the Sergeant was learning that his own skills were perhaps a little dated as he watched the youth driving and thrusting into the maiden. Suddenly, they swapped, and the girl went on top, sliding the man’s erect penis into her. The man massaged her ample breasts and then the lovers kissed passionately.

The Sergeant admired the lilly white feminine buttocks as they bounced around. They begged for a spanking, and were quite a contrast to the hairy male ones he had been watching only a few moments earlier. Indeed, our policeman was finding all of this a most rare and entertaining spectacle. His own penis was rising to the occasion, and for a brief moment, he considered masturbating right there and then in the Austin patrol car. He decided against, as it would be undignified, and there was also a slim chance he could be caught himself. He’d never live it down!

It was a lengthy session of lovemaking. Obviously, the young man had very good control, something again that the Sergeant could only dream of. Eventually, the lovers climaxed and fell into each others arms. Now was the time to strike!

The Sergeant gathered his notebook, pencil, truncheon and handcuffs. He slammed the door of the patrol car noisily, causing the lovers to stir from their post-coital embrace.

“Caught you!” announced the Sergeant. He recognised both of them, “George Trevose and Susan Waterman, whatever will your parents say?”

“Sergeant, we’re both eighteen, don’t tell them please,” requested young George, “You don’t have to tell, do you?”

“Yes I do! You’re not even twenty-one, yet here you are disgracing yourselves in the open air. Get dressed! We’re going down to the station.”

He bundled the hastily-clothed pair into the patrol car and they drove off to the police station, which was located in the local market town. There he read his copious notes out loud to a couple of his colleagues, as the lovers squirmed with embarrassment.

The policemen huddled in conspiratorial conversation behind the reception desk. Suddenly, there was raucous laughter! George and Susan wondered what on earth was going on. Eventually, Sergeant Dexter called them over and announced that they were to join him in the interview room.

In the room, the Sergeant picked up the bakelite receiver of the telephone. He then rang the local chairman of magistrates, Colonel R C H Smith (retd.). They spoke at length about the incident, while across the interview table, the lovers held hands tenderly.

“Yes, totally naked. Unofficial punishment, you say? If the parents agree? I suppose so. Yes, yes. We do have a selection of canes here. Yes, nice and whippy. Sting like the devil. Good idea. I quite agree, Sir. I’ll put it to the lad. I’ll keep you informed, yes, of course.”

Young George wasn’t stupid. He knew what was coming from the half of the conversation he had heard. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder what was to happen to his partner in crime, Susan Waterman.

The Sergeant spoke, “The chair of the magistrates is most annoyed with you two. If it weren’t a bank holiday weekend, a special court might have been convened. He’s a great believer in swift justice. So he’s suggested unofficial punishment, if you agree. It will be a caning for young Trevose, and I’ll talk to your parents, Susan, about what we are to do about you. Are you both agreeable? You’re getting off very lightly, considering. I understand that this naked exhibitionism has been happening on a regular basis. Well, do you both agree?”

The lovers nodded dejectedly.

“Right then! Here’s what’s going to happen. I will cane Trevose. Eighteen hard strokes. One stroke for each year of his age, as prescribed by the magistrate. The caning will be on the bared posterior, of course. After the caning, he can walk home. I will drive Susan back home, and talk to her parents.”

“So I don’t even get a lift back to the village? Shit!” said George.

“Watch your tongue, young man!” admonished the Sergeant. Meanwhile, tears of shame and fear rolled down Susan’s face. Her father would be furious! He might even withdraw her meagre allowance.

“Let’s get on with it then. Susan, you will remain here. WPC Green will arrive in a minute to keep an eye on you. George, you will accompany me next door for your punishment. Try to keep the noise down, as Susan will hear otherwise.”

As it transpired, it was all too easy for the sounds from the adjacent room to be heard. The Sergeant had left the door wide open deliberately, and the WPC did the same with the interview room door.

The first crack of the cane on the naked flesh of George Trevose was wickedly loud and accompanied by a pitiful “Owww!”

A second stroke seemed even louder and from the room the order from the Sergeant for Trevose to keep still could be heard. A third and a fourth stroke lashed down.

The fifth stroke must have been extra hard as the victim shrieked loudly and was admonished by the Sergeant, “Shut up and take it like a man!”

The caning was worse than anything George Trevose had experienced at his school. The next five strokes were lashed down quickly.

In the interview room, Susan’s eyes were filling with tears again as she listened to her lover being thrashed by the brute of a policeman. The WPC offered her no support, just a cold, steely stare, occasionally punctuated by a smirk when a hard cane stroke broke the silence.

There was a long gap before the eleventh stroke. The Sergeant was admiring his work. How pleasing the buttocks looked now that they were covered in the vicious red tramlines donated by the cane. It was quite a contrast to the unmarked but hairy bottom the Sergeant had watched in the strawberry fields.

With a sigh, strokes eleven and twelve cut into the naked flesh causing a loud squeal from Trevose. Again, the Sergeant stopped and admired the sight before him. What a pity there wasn’t more sanctioning of this sort of unofficial punishment, he thought to himself. In truth, it was dying out slowly and this would be one of the last occasions that the Sergeant would enjoy what was becoming something of a passion for him.

“Shit!” the Sergeant muttered, annoyed that so few disciplinary opportunities were available to him. He sliced the cane down hard again and again until the full sentence of eighteen strokes had been delivered. The painful payload had caused George Trevose to slump exhausted over the chair which had been bent over.

“Get up! Get dressed and get out!” the Sergeant instructed. Next door, WPC Green admired his masterliness. He’d have made a wonderful headmaster she reflected, as she ejected Susan from the interview room, gleefully aiming a slap at the miscreant’s pert bottom.

The Sergeant drove Susan back to the village. On the way they passed a dejected George Trevose walking home.

“I bet he’s got one sore arse,” the Sergeant guffawed. His bawdy and sadistic comment fell on deaf ears. Susan was more concerned with her own fate. Whatever would her parents say? Her father would be devastated, she felt.

That night, the WPC and Sergeant enjoyed a wild session of lovemaking in his rented house. Somehow, Dexter’s technique had suddenly improved, and WPC Green ended up more satisfied than ever before. He had learnt a lot from the folly of youth, well, from George Trevose anyway.

Two days later, the Sergeant was cycling from the police station back to the village. Tied with string to the frame of his trusty Raleigh bike was a school cane. Reluctantly, Susan Waterman’s father had agreed that she should be thrashed for her indiscretions. He had begged Sergeant Dexter to carry out the distasteful task. Little did he suspect that the policeman possessed almost indecent flagellant enthusiasm for the task he had been given.

Neighbours peered from behind net curtains as the policeman propped his cycle near the front gate and carefully untied the string holding the cane in place on the frame. The Sergeant had oiled the cane, to increase its suppleness and to protect it from the elements. What a figure he looked in his handsome uniform! The cane he carried made him look quite formidable.

The Watermans hadn’t seen the Sergeant arrive, although he had been expected. He knocked purposefully on the door. Susan’s father duly appeared, looking a bit sheepish.

“Are you sure about all of this, Sergeant?”

As he crossed the threshold, Dexter reminded him, “I saw the whole thing, Mr. Waterman. Quite a disgusting exhibition. No shame at all, these kids.”

“Yes, I suppose so. I was thinking no more than six strokes. Cup of tea, Sergeant. Or something stronger?”

“I’d love a bitter, but I’d better not. I’m on duty still. So yes, a tea would be most welcome.”

Waterman shouted up the stairs, “Susan, the Sergeant’s here. Make us a pot of tea please, honey.” Just then Waterman’s wife joined them. She had asked for tea too and sat down with her husband and the policeman.

“Well,” said the Sergeant, “I don’t think six strokes is enough for the disgusting display I endured. Remember, at least one other person in the village must have seen them at it before now. After all, it was a tip-off that alerted all of us at the station to the problem. No, six strokes isn’t enough. Hardly worth me taking the trouble to come over. I’d recommend eight or ten as a minimum. What do you think Mrs. Waterman?”

“Oh, I don’t know officer! I’m thoroughly ashamed of her. I can’t believe they weren’t taking any precautions either! The stupid girl! I don’t want to be a grandmother just yet, thank you very much! Eight strokes seems entirely reasonable to me.”

“The lad took eighteen,” the Sergeant reminded them, “Really, she’s getting off very, very lightly. Eight will suffice, then. Now, one delicate matter to discuss. The lad took his on his bared posterior. How do you feel Susan should get hers?”

“She can have them bare too,” interjected Mr.Waterman. Perhaps more surprisingly his wife nodded silent agreement.

Just then, Susan opened the door, carrying a silver tray with the tea, crockery, milk, sugar and some home-baked cakes on. Her hands were shaking a little, causing the cups to rattle.

“Ah Susan, we were just discussing your punishment,” said her mother. “A caning, just like George’s. On your bare bottom, eight strokes. The Sergeant will do the honours.”

“Not bare, surely? Oh Mum!”

“Yes, talking of which, you can be mother, as it were, and pour us the tea.”

Soon the tea was being sipped, and all eyes were on Susan. Except her own, which were on the cane Sergeant Dexter had brought with him. Strangely, she felt quite excited and was looking forward to showing the officer her bare bottom. She was really quite incorrigible!

“Let’s get on, shall we?” asked the Sergeant taking control. “Skirt up, knickers down, over the arm of the sofa. Hurry up girl!”

Mrs. Waterman admired the masterful way he took charge. Must be trained that way, she mused. She found it quite a turn-on all the same. If only her own husband were made of sterner stuff!

All eyes were now on Susan who bent submissively, flipping her skirt towards the heavens, and gently eased her knickers down. The target was revealed. Dexter licked his lips, and flexed the cane. Mr. Waterman was more embarrassed, and was wondering about the wisdom of the whole set-up.

Swish-crack! The first stroke landed on the girl’s milky-white flesh, causing an angry red line. She gasped, as did her mother. The sting was bad, but somehow Susan forced herself to stick her bottom out ready for a second stroke.

Swish-crack! The second was a little harder, and right on target, causing the girl to writhe with discomfort. She rubbed her thighs together, then relaxed a little, revealing her treasures to the Sergeant. Something was stirring in his police trousers.

Swish-crack! A third forceful stroke almost sent the poor girl flying, as she cried out with pain. Her parents were finding this a suitable punishment for their daughter’s lewd behaviour. Mrs. Waterman in particular had a satisfied grin as she surveyed the red stripes adorning her daughter’s naked bottom.

CRACK! Stroke four was loud and hard. Susan squealed with pain. Her mother’s excitement was mounting as she witnessed the comeuppance her daughter so deserved.

Swish-crack! The fifth landed low, right on the crease and caused the girl to leap up.

“GET DOWN IMMEDIATELY!” Sergeant Dexter shouted. “That will incur a penalty stroke, I think.”

“Oh yes!” cried the girl’s mother supportively, “And make it a hard one!”

Mr. Waterman was astonished by his wife’s whip-lust. He sat nervously on his hands as the Sergeant raised the cane high once again.

Crack! CRACK! Two rapid strokes again caused the girl to cry out in torment. Her mother was sat on the edge of her chair willing the officer to beat Susan as hard as humanly possible.

Swish-crack! The eighth stroke was slightly more restrained, but it still caused Susan some distress, as she gasped and wriggled under the cane’s stinging caress.

The ninth stroke was now due. It was the penalty one for jumping up earlier.

“Sergeant Dexter, please make this last one extra hard,” Mrs. Waterman requested. “Susan must be taught to behave herself in public and also to take her punishment with dignity.”

The officer adjusted his trousers and raised the cane before whipping it down viciously. The noise of this final stroke was incredible and resounded all around the poky living room.

“AARGH!” cried Susan as the pain hit home. She started to cry. She was utterly humiliated.

Mrs. Waterman clapped her hands together. “Ah! A most satisfactory lesson for the little minx, I feel. Thank you ever so much, Sergeant. Oh, one thing…”

“Yes, Mrs. Waterman?”

“I wonder whether you could be persuaded to leave the cane here? Perhaps in return for a donation to the Police Benevolent Fund?”

“Of course, of course! You can keep it. After all, you never know when it may come in handy again,” he winked. “And a contribution really isn’t necessary. Times are hard, aren’t they? I’ll just book it as a breakage.”

“Tim, take the cane up to our bedroom,” Mrs. Waterman commanded her husband. She gazed longingly at Sergeant Dexter, her new hero.

Susan was recovering slowly from her beating. Carefully, she slipped her knickers back on. She noticed that the Sergeant wore no wedding ring. She wondered whether perhaps, he didn’t have a girlfriend? Perhaps she should force herself on him?

The Sergeant said his goodbyes and made his way back to his bicycle. It had been a good day, and the sunshine made it feel even better. Before heading back to the police station, he was minded to stop off to masturbate in the strawberry fields.

_____________)

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 © 2013 by Rod Cayenne

Comments welcome – please use link at top of story

Mum’s Birthday Present (F/F)

A favourite spanking story by Rod Cayenne, repeated by popular demand.

All the characters are age 21 or older. WARNING: ADULTS ONLY!

 

“A cane?”

“Well Mum, you said it was almost impossible to get you anything. What do you get the woman who’s got everything?”

“Yes, I did say something like that didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did. And then I remembered you saying something a while back along the lines of you’d like to hold a cane again, just once to remind yourself how powerful it made you feel.”

“Well, yes I may have done. It certainly takes me back. I feel just like Head Girl again,” Mum said grinning and swishing the beautiful crook-handled cane through the air.

“You like it then?”

“Oh yes, Carol darling! It certainly takes me back, it certainly does.”

“Did you use the cane much, Mum?”

“Oh yes! It was expected, encouraged. I was a bit of a beast, really. I feel a little guilty about it now. It wouldn’t be allowed now, would it?”

“No, certainly not. Anyway, is it a good one?”

“Yes, I’d say so. Let’s try it on this cushion, shall we?”

Swish-CRACK! Swish-CRACK! Swish-CRACK! Swish-CRACK! Swish-CRACK! Swish-CRACK!

“There we are! Six of the best. Very impressive. Thank you darling.”

Mother and daughter kissed.

“You’re welcome Mum. I had to buy it from an online sex shop.”

“Really, do people find it sexy?”

“Well someone must, otherwise they wouldn’t sell any, would they?”

“I remember being on the receiving end too. Phew, it burns like fire.”

“Really? It seems so thin and inoffensive.”

“Yes, but it’s whippy as you’ve seen and bites like a snake. Not that I’ve been bitten by a snake, of course. Not at all sexy, anyway.”

“So Mum, one thing has always puzzled me. You used the cane at school, but you didn’t believe in it at home?”

“No. Your father and I argued about it, but I was adamant. No cane in our house. Although I regretted that a bit when Penny went off her head.”

“The drugs?”

“Yes, that was difficult. To this day, I don’t know where she got them from.”

“I do Mum. It was me. I’ve always felt very, very guilty about it.”

“YOU? Oh no, no, no!”

“Yes, sorry Mum. Still Penny’s turned out fine hasn’t she? All those dressage awards!”

“No thanks to you!”

“Mum!”

“Well, frankly I’m very disappointed with you. Very. If I’d found that out at the time, I probably would have got a cane!”

“Really? I had a lucky escape there then!”

“Yes!”

“You’re not happy with me now are you, Mum?”

“No I’m not! I think you’d better leave, before I say something I might regret later.”

“What, like ‘Bend over’?”

“No, that’s not what I was thinking of at all, but it’s not a bad idea.”

“Really, Mum? If it would help, I’d do it.”

“No. Don’t tempt me. Wait! Yes, let’s do it!”

Carol was a bit shocked that her mother had suddenly expressed a wish to cane her. This hadn’t been in her plans when she bought that jokey present. She was a bit old for the cane, too.

“Seriously, Mum? Don’t you think I’m a bit old for it? I’m twenty-nine, remember.”

By this time, Carol’s mother had pulled a dining chair into the middle of the room. She obviously wasn’t joking.

“Shut up Carol! Of course you’re not too old. Now bend yourself over this chair. We’ll start with a traditional six of the best. Like that cushion just had!”

“Oh, Mum!” exclaimed Carol, remembering what a sound thrashing the cushion had taken. Indeed, dust from the cushion was still in the air, and visible in the streams of sunshine coming through the window.

“You can keep your skirt and knickers on if you behave yourself, although the skirt will be raised out of the way.”

“Oh, Mum!”

“Six of the best, then.”

Swish-Crack! Mum wasted no time slashing the first stroke down on her daughter’s pert knickered bottom.

“AARGH!” Carol cried, leaping up and clutching her bottom. She massaged her cheeks frantically.

“Just what do you think you’re doing, Carol? You’re meant to stay in position. Really, the girls at school were so much better behaved.”

“Well they were probably used to it!” Carol exclaimed, still rubbing her bottom frantically.

“Carol, I suggest you bend over again, right now, unless you want me to repeat the stroke!”

Filled with horror at the suggestion of an extra penalty stroke, Carol bent over submissively for her mother, somewhat embarrassed by events. Mum flexed the cane, eyeing the temptation before her. Carol’s bottom was more womanly than pert, offering an ample and very punishable target. Mum prepared herself for the next stroke, telling herself that there was no point in holding back! After all, this was likely to be the one and only time the cane would be employed for its designated use.

Swish-Crack! The second stroke landed on Carol’s white lacy knickers. The daughter gasped, and her face flushed. This was quite an experience, one she thought she would never have.

Swish-Crack! The cane landed again, causing Carol to squeal, much to her mother’s satisfaction.

CRACK! A heavy, brutal stroke crashed onto Carol’s bottom. She leapt up again! Her mother frowned as she watched Carol rubbing her bottom.

“That’s cheating, my girl! No-one dared to rub their bottom in my study at school. Get your knickers down, hurry up! Bend over again! And an extra stroke for getting up!”

Swish-Crack! Swish-Crack! Mum was getting into her stride. Her daughters naked, striped bottom was a delightful sight. It seemed to encourage and beckon the whippy stick.

Indeed, the cane lashed down again, causing a very vocal shriek.

“I’m not sure I’ve forgiven you properly yet! Stay down for two more!”

“Oh, Mum!”

CRACK!CRACK! On and on it went, two more each time. Mum’s taste for caning had been rekindled. Carol just felt sore and stupid, wriggling as the cane lashed her bum.

A few days later, Mum was over at her other daughter’s home. Mother and daughter were sat on the rattan sofa in the conservatory, enjoying a Pimms in the spring sunshine.

“Mum, I heard about Carol’s caning.”

“Oh, you did, did you? Well, let me tell you Penny, she deserved every one of those strokes.”

“But Mum, there were over twenty, I’m told. That was a bit harsh. Especially as it was me who was caught with the drugs.”

“Being caught was your own stupid fault. You took your punishment.”

“Yes, Mum. But Community Service hardly compares with what you gave Carol the other day.”

“Maybe not, but I don’t believe in punishing twice for the same thing. You don’t want the cane do you?”

“Yes, I do actually. Have you got it with you?”

“No, of course not. I’m not going to keep it in the car, now am I? Now who’s being stupid? It’s hidden in the bedroom where your father and I can keep an eye on it. We don’t want Carol breaking it.”

“OK Mum. I do deserve a good whipping, though. I thought you might not have the cane with you, so I thought we could use one of my riding crops instead. Let’s go into the living room, I’ve left my favourite crop in there.”

__________)

Story © 2013 by Rod Cayenne

Comments welcome – please use link at top of story

Old comments are here

Suntanned (M/M)

♥ Site recommended story ♥

A repeat of this popular spanking fiction by Rod Cayenne.

All the characters are 18 or over.

Strictly over 18s only!

Poor Kevin Brown couldn’t understand why his mother was being so very frosty.  As arranged, she had collected him and friends Peter Watson and Tony Taylor from the airport.  An old Boeing 727 had returned them from their Club 18-30 Balearic holiday.  The lads all boasted suntans, hangovers and stupid grins.

The grey Ford Escort headed back home along the motorway.  Kevin was sat in the front with his mother, while his two chums were in the back.  Even through his hangover he could sense that there was a problem. He had to find out exactly what it was.

“Mum, you seem a bit annoyed.  It’s very kind of you to pick us up like this.  Really, we’re very grateful, Mum.  Is there a problem?”

“Apart from missing my WI meeting?  Yes, there certainly is.  I heard about what you youngsters got up to on the island!”

“Whaaat?”

“Yes, my friend Gladys Griffith was at the same hotel in the same resort, with her teenage daughters.  You probably didn’t realise who those girls were when you were hitting on them, pestering them, drunk and boorishly.  Fiona and Millie.  Remember them?”

“Oh, Mum!  I’m sorry.  We’re sorry, aren’t we guys?” The other passengers nodded on cue.

“Fortunately the girls had the sense to move on.  But Gladys heard you swearing your heads off at the pool and beach as well.  I suppose that was alcohol-fuelled as well?  You do know her husband works with your father?  It’s all very embarrassing.”

“Sorry,  Mum.”

“Oh, you’ll be sorry alright.  You have an appointment with your father and his cane.”

That news caused Tony and Peter in the back of the car to laugh and guffaw at their friend’s shame and apparent comeuppance.

“But Mum!  I’m 22!  Much too old for the cane!”

“Not while you live under my roof, you’re not.  Anyway, this was my idea.  I asked your father if he still had that old cane of his.  He couldn’t find it, but he managed to buy a brand new one.  It wasn’t cheap, but is extra pliant and extra painful, I believe.  I heard him trying it out on some old cushions as I left the house.  It sounded like it was worth every penny.”

Tony and Peter laughed again at their pal’s misfortune. What friends they were turning out to be!

“Shut up you two!” cried Kevin in his distress  and embarrassment.  “Bastards!”

“That’s enough of that bad language, Kevin,”  his mother admonished.  “That’s the sort of behaviour that’s got you into this trouble.  Now, Peter and Tony.  You are not blameless in this whole business, of course.  But that’s not my concern.  However I would like you both to witness Kevin’s punishment, if you’d be so kind.  It might make you two think twice in future, as well.  Now, can you both spare a few minutes?  It won’t take long for the cane to remind Kevin how to behave.  Peter, can you make it?”

“Well, yes.  As long as I’m not copping a few strokes,” said Bastard No.1.

“No, no.  Your bad behaviour isn’t my business.  Kevin’s is, of course.  Tony, how about you?”

“I’m cool with it.  We’re sorry about everything, Mrs Brown, and thanks again for the lift, but the truth is Kevin was kind of the ringleader, anyway,” said Bastard No.2.

A shame-faced Kevin blushed and looked straight ahead at the motorway traffic, fighting back angry tears. He couldn’t bear to look at his two so-called friends in the rear-view mirror.  What bastards!  His mother shook her head in dismay.  Was her son really the ringleader in this sorry business?   She was becoming quite distracted.  Fortunately, Junction 15 loomed on the horizon, and she remembered to exit just in time.

Now home, Kevin’s father was shouting at the trio, “Never in all my years have I been so ashamed!  Guy Griffith said I should beat the living daylights out of you, Kevin!  I’m not a cruel man, but he does have a point.  You need a good, hard reminder to behave yourself!  You have gone too far this time!  I’m not sure I can show my face at the Bowls Club ever again!”

Kevin’s father was indeed an older man; just the right age for the Bowls Club, and a product of the public school system.  As such, he remembered only too well how much a caning could hurt.  He remembered that every time, the shock of a caning was something you couldn’t prepare yourself for.  His old prefect’s cane had seen a little use over the years, until it went missing. Finding a replacement cane had been an uphill task. Fortunately, one of the club members informed him about a local ironmonger who still had stocks of the increasingly unfashionable punishment implement.  He also remembered the glee on the shopkeeper’s face as the sale was made.  “You’re doing the right thing.  This trendy ‘spare the rod’ business will be British society’s undoing,” he had said.  What Mr Brown didn’t know was that Kevin had hidden the old cane, fearful of its sting and retribution.

Father flexed the new cane.  It was a vicious beauty, and perhaps his most satisfying purchase in many a year.  Yes, it was money well spent.

“Right, Kevin.  Let’s have you over this chair.  Trousers and pants down.  I expect you’ve been skinny dipping, so your friends will have seen it all before.”

Indeed, the three lads had indulged in the pleasures of the nudist beach, but only a couple of times.  So when Kevin dropped his pants, the bottom revealed was still fairly pale when compared to his suntanned back and legs.  Peter and Tony looked on, somewhat embarrassed, while sandwiched in between them, Kevin’s mother showed only grim determination.  She did not really want to see her baby hurt, but he did deserve the punishment.  She crossed her legs and fidgeted nervously.

The cane lashed down on Kevin’s flesh. Immediately, a prominent line appeared and Kevin leapt to his feet, swearing and cursing!  Father pointed the cane at son, gesturing that his submissive posture should be resumed.

“Well, that was a very immature reaction, Kevin!  And the sort of foul language Mrs Griffith tipped us off about.  Dear, dear!  I think we’d better start again.  First stroke coming now!”

Kevin’s friends grinned at the display before them.  His mother uncrossed her legs, and then crossed them again hastily.  She too was transfixed by the naked exhibit before her.  She sighed with contentment as she looked at the red weal on her son’s bottom.

CRACK!  CRACK!  Two hard strokes landed on the youthful flesh, causing Kevin to gasp and writhe.  A most indecent display, his mother reflected.  His friends were quiet, but Kev was seriously embarrassed when he thought about the eyeful they would be getting.

“Keep still, Kevin!  More to come!”  Mr Brown stated in a very matter-of-fact way.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!  He wasn’t pacing himself, and these rapid strokes would teach his son the hard lesson both parents had deemed necessary.  Again and again the cane lashed down, until a full baker’s dozen red stripes decorated Kevin’s pert posterior.  Waves of agony shot through his body.  He was allowed to rise, which he did slowly.  He pulled up his underwear and trousers, and turned to face his friends and mother.  All three were recovering from the shock of what they had just witnessed.  Mr Brown had exited the room, to pour himself a refreshing glass of water.  He guzzled it greedily, almost as if he’d been in the desert for weeks.

Kevin’s companions were now on their feet, commiserating with their friend, only slightly insincerely. Mrs Brown was reaching for her car keys, ready to offer lifts, when the phone rang.  She picked it up.  It was evidently the father of Tony Taylor, Kevin’s friend and a witness to the beating, of course.  Mrs Brown handed the phone over to her husband.

“Yes, yes.  Most regrettable.  I expect the whole town knows now,” Mr Brown said in a peevish tone, “Well all three lads are here.  I decided to cane Kevin, and the other two witnessed it as a warning.  Yes. a traditional school cane.  Yes, with a shepherd’s crook-type handle.

Definitely rather whippy and painful.  No, it’s new!  My old one went AWOL.  No, I didn’t know you could still buy them either.  Got it from Murgatroyd’s.  You should get one yourself!  OK, we’ll talk it over down at the Queen’s Head.  What?  You want me to cane Tony for you?  Well, I don’t know.  What?  Yes.  Yes.  Perhaps.  I gave Kevin twelve.  Yes, it was rather a lot, I suppose. Oh, and an extra one for some childish behaviour. Alright, I’ll do it.  But you’d better have quick word with Tony yourself, so that he knows it’s your idea.”

Although Tony had only heard half the conversation, he knew exactly what his father was going to tell him. Anxiously, he twisted at the coiled lead of the trimphone as his father shouted down the line.  The whole room could hear as Mr Taylor tore a strip off his son.  The words ‘bare arse’ seemed to echo around the room!  Tony handed the phone back to Mr Brown.  The two fathers had a quick farewell chat  after agreeing a tariff of ten strokes.

“Just ten for you then, Tony.  I don’t like to ask, but your father was most insistent on a bare bottom for you.”

“It’s OK, Mr Brown, sir.  I suppose I deserve it.”

Kevin was rubbing his bottom as discreetly as he could. But all the rubbing in the world wasn’t reducing the sting very much at all.  Still, it seemed like the right thing to do.  Certainly, his body was telling him to do it. He gazed over at Tony who was slipping his board shorts down to the ground, revealing a boyishly smooth bottom.  Meanwhile, Peter Watson bit at his nails nervously.  He was only too aware that natural justice and fair play demanded that he too should be caned. He’d have to persuade his parents otherwise.  Hang on though!  At 23, it was no business of theirs!  Hell, at 23 he was too old to be caned, full stop! However did he get himself into this mess?

CRACK!  Mr Brown’s cane was now getting a fresh workout, this time on Tony Taylor’s naked haunches.  Mr Brown was a natural caner.  He knew it, and the boys knew it.  Tony knew it even better than the others, as he was the one feeling the wrath of the angry adult right at that moment.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!  Yes, Mr Brown was having a cracking time alright!  So was his wife, who was only too happy to watch the handsome lad being reduced to a wreck before her eyes.  The smooth babyish buttocks were marking up a treat!

CRACK!  Tony was losing count.  He wasn’t trying to count as such, although it was a natural thing to do. But he lost it.  Lost count, that is.  And then he lost his dignity as well as the cane did indeed reduce him to a snivelling wreck.  Kev had found his beating hard to bear, but Tony was totally unaccustomed to this kind of harsh punishment and it showed. Oh yes, it showed. Mrs Brown wriggled restlessly on the sofa as the final stroke cracked down.

An eerie silence fell on the room.  Tony pulled his shorts back up , gave himself a quick botty rub, and went and sat down in a vacant armchair.  Mr Brown slashed the cane through the air.  It made a shocking swishing noise as it sliced through the silence.  He stared towards the only unbeaten lad, Peter Watson.  He beckoned him with his forefinger.  He made Peter stand a couple of feet in front of him, then purposefully bent the cane into an arc right in front of the lad’s gaze.

“Well, Peter?”

“No, no, you can’t Mr Brown!  Please!”

“I can and I rather think I should.  The other two have taken their punishment, so why shouldn’t you do likewise?”

“But my parents!  They haven’t agreed to this!  Besides I’m almost 24!  The cane is for teenagers!”

Mr Brown bent the cane right in front of Peter’s face once again, saying, “This is all very tiresome.  The very fact that the others have taken a caning means you’re not too old.  And do you really want me to ring your parents?”

“No, but…”

“Take your punishment like a man, Peter!” interrupted Kevin, at last extracting some kind of revenge at the expense of his sometime friend.

“Be quiet, Kevin!” snapped Mr Brown, “You are still in disgrace.  Any more from you, and I’ll have you over the chair for another twelve strokes!”

Kevin blushed a deep, deep red.  Once more the room fell quiet.  Then the silence was broken by Peter unzipping his Wranglers.  It seemed that his time had come!

___________)

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 © MMXIV by Rod Cayenne

Lead photograph © MMXI by Jonathan, R.I.P.  Model: Rod

All rights reserved.

___________)

You are gonna comment on this one, aren’t you?  Please use the link at the top of the story.

Comments from the original 2014 post are here

Hot Time For A Valentine (F/M) repeated

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Erotic fiction by your host, Rod Cayenne.

“Mmmm, a dozen red roses, my favourite artisan chocolates and breakfast in bed.  My, you really have pushed the boat out, darling, haven’t you?”

He just grunted, exhausted temporarily from their lovemaking.  She kissed his stubbly face and then dabbed copious amounts of cum away from his cock with a tissue, before announcing, “Actually, I’ve bought something for you.”

“You have?” he asked, with barely disguised surprise.

“Yes, just a little something.  Something you’ve wanted for a while, and something I wanted to give you.”

She reached under the bed and retrieved a long, white cardboard box, tied with a bonny red ribbon. He took it from her with a kiss, and was immediately surprised by the light weight of the box, immediately suspecting that it was empty, or some other kind of wind-up.  He untied the ribbon and lifted the lid of the box.  Inside was black tissue paper, which he parted to reveal a rattan school cane!

“Oh good lord!” he exclaimed.  “What’s this for?”

“Well, it’s for you of course, my darling.  You said you’d missed out on the cane when you were younger, and that you’d often wondered what it was like.”

“Oh!  I didn’t mean it.  I’ve changed my mind!”

“Nonsense, darling.  Don’t lie to me.  You know you really want it!  Let’s try it out.”

“No way!”

“Don’t you like my present, darling?” she pouted, “I’m hurt.  You said you wondered what it was like and I thought, at 52, it’s time you found out!”

“Alright, alright.  But I’m a damned fool for saying yes.  Just don’t do it too hard, will you?”

They both climbed out of their peachy duvet, and she picked up the cane.

“Right darling, bend over the bed then.  I think a dozen red marks to match the dozen red roses!”

“A dozen sounds a lot.  Go easy on me!”

“No!” she cried, lashing the cane down with a laugh and all of her strength.  The cane wrapped around badly, cutting his haunch painfully.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!  That’s not meant to happen!” he cried.  “Look, you’re holding that cane all wrong!”

“Nonsense darling.  I’m holding it by the handle.”

“Exactly!  As I understand it the crook handle is just for show, or for hanging the cane up by.  You need to hold it a few centimetres down the shaft, otherwise you can’t control it properly.”

“Quite the expert, aren’t you?”

“Well, all boys know this stuff.  Let’s try again shall we?”  The second stroke was hard but landed accurately on his ample arse.  He gasped at the pain.  Had he really wanted to try this?  Just two strokes in, and it was proving to be quite an ordeal.

“How was that darling?”

“Fine, just fine,” he said through gritted teeth.

A third stroke whipped down, accompanied by a manly grunt.

The fourth however, was met by a boyish squeal.  She laughed and laughed.  “This is really turning me on darling,” she chuckled.

“I’m glad someone’s enjoying it!” he moaned.

Strokes five and six landed on top of the earlier ones, causing more discomfort and grunts.

“Can we leave it at six of the best, darling?” he asked.

“Certainly not!” she said, becoming ever more turned on, “This cane is a present we can both enjoy!”

A seventh stroke hit hard and he cried out, “I can assure you I’m not enjoying this at all!”

She whipped the eighth and ninth strokes down, saying, “Maybe not now, but later you will.”

“ARRRGH!” he exclaimed as the tenth stroke hit, clearly not enjoying it one bit.

“Elevensies,” she laughed and then “Last one darling!”  Her face was flushed, not so much from exertion, more from being really turned on.

After the final stroke, he leant over and dabbed the cum-soaked tissue on his wounded haunch.  That seemed to help with the pain.  Just then they both heard a key in the front door, followed by a loud cry of “Yoohoo, darling.”

He dropped the tissue, saying, “Shit!  It’s your mother!  Doesn’t she know it’s fucking Valentines Day?”

(__________

Story © MMXVI by Rod Cayenne

Heart image: Creative Commons

____________

D I S C L A I M E R

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

_____________

 Comments welcome

Suntanned (M/M) repeated (again)

♥ Site recommended story ♥

A repeat of this popular spanking fiction by Rod Cayenne.

All the characters are 18 or over.

Strictly over 18s only!

Poor Kevin Brown couldn’t understand why his mother was being so very frosty.  As arranged, she had collected him and friends Peter Watson and Tony Taylor from the airport.  An old Boeing 727 had returned them from their Club 18-30 Balearic holiday.  The lads all boasted suntans, hangovers and stupid grins.

The grey Ford Escort headed back home along the motorway.  Kevin was sat in the front with his mother, while his two chums were in the back.  Even through his hangover he could sense that there was a problem. He had to find out exactly what it was.

“Mum, you seem a bit annoyed.  It’s very kind of you to pick us up like this.  Really, we’re very grateful, Mum.  Is there a problem?”

“Apart from missing my WI meeting?  Yes, there certainly is.  I heard about what you youngsters got up to on the island!”

“Whaaat?”

“Yes, my friend Gladys Griffith was at the same hotel in the same resort, with her teenage daughters.  You probably didn’t realise who those girls were when you were hitting on them, pestering them, drunk and boorishly.  Fiona and Millie.  Remember them?”

“Oh, Mum!  I’m sorry.  We’re sorry, aren’t we guys?” The other passengers nodded on cue.

“Fortunately the girls had the sense to move on.  But Gladys heard you swearing your heads off at the pool and beach as well.  I suppose that was alcohol-fuelled as well?  You do know her husband works with your father?  It’s all very embarrassing.”

“Sorry,  Mum.”

“Oh, you’ll be sorry alright.  You have an appointment with your father and his cane.”

That news caused Tony and Peter in the back of the car to laugh and guffaw at their friend’s shame and apparent comeuppance.

“But Mum!  I’m 22!  Much too old for the cane!”

“Not while you live under my roof, you’re not.  Anyway, this was my idea.  I asked your father if he still had that old cane of his.  He couldn’t find it, but he managed to buy a brand new one.  It wasn’t cheap, but is extra pliant and extra painful, I believe.  I heard him trying it out on some old cushions as I left the house.  It sounded like it was worth every penny.”

Tony and Peter laughed again at their pal’s misfortune. What friends they were turning out to be!

“Shut up you two!” cried Kevin in his distress  and embarrassment.  “Bastards!”

“That’s enough of that bad language, Kevin,”  his mother admonished.  “That’s the sort of behaviour that’s got you into this trouble.  Now, Peter and Tony.  You are not blameless in this whole business, of course.  But that’s not my concern.  However I would like you both to witness Kevin’s punishment, if you’d be so kind.  It might make you two think twice in future, as well.  Now, can you both spare a few minutes?  It won’t take long for the cane to remind Kevin how to behave.  Peter, can you make it?”

“Well, yes.  As long as I’m not copping a few strokes,” said Bastard No.1.

“No, no.  Your bad behaviour isn’t my business.  Kevin’s is, of course.  Tony, how about you?”

“I’m cool with it.  We’re sorry about everything, Mrs Brown, and thanks again for the lift, but the truth is Kevin was kind of the ringleader, anyway,” said Bastard No.2.

A shame-faced Kevin blushed and looked straight ahead at the motorway traffic, fighting back angry tears. He couldn’t bear to look at his two so-called friends in the rear-view mirror.  What bastards!  His mother shook her head in dismay.  Was her son really the ringleader in this sorry business?   She was becoming quite distracted.  Fortunately, Junction 15 loomed on the horizon, and she remembered to exit just in time.

Now home, Kevin’s father was shouting at the trio, “Never in all my years have I been so ashamed!  Guy Griffith said I should beat the living daylights out of you, Kevin!  I’m not a cruel man, but he does have a point.  You need a good, hard reminder to behave yourself!  You have gone too far this time!  I’m not sure I can show my face at the Bowls Club ever again!”

Kevin’s father was indeed an older man; just the right age for the Bowls Club, and a product of the public school system.  As such, he remembered only too well how much a caning could hurt.  He remembered that every time, the shock of a caning was something you couldn’t prepare yourself for.  His old prefect’s cane had seen a little use over the years, until it went missing. Finding a replacement cane had been an uphill task. Fortunately, one of the club members informed him about a local ironmonger who still had stocks of the increasingly unfashionable punishment implement.  He also remembered the glee on the shopkeeper’s face as the sale was made.  “You’re doing the right thing.  This trendy ‘spare the rod’ business will be British society’s undoing,” he had said.  What Mr Brown didn’t know was that Kevin had hidden the old cane, fearful of its sting and retribution.

Father flexed the new cane.  It was a vicious beauty, and perhaps his most satisfying purchase in many a year.  Yes, it was money well spent.

“Right, Kevin.  Let’s have you over this chair.  Trousers and pants down.  I expect you’ve been skinny dipping, so your friends will have seen it all before.”

Indeed, the three lads had indulged in the pleasures of the nudist beach, but only a couple of times.  So when Kevin dropped his pants, the bottom revealed was still fairly pale when compared to his suntanned back and legs.  Peter and Tony looked on, somewhat embarrassed, while sandwiched in between them, Kevin’s mother showed only grim determination.  She did not really want to see her baby hurt, but he did deserve the punishment.  She crossed her legs and fidgeted nervously.

The cane lashed down on Kevin’s flesh. Immediately, a prominent line appeared and Kevin leapt to his feet, swearing and cursing!  Father pointed the cane at son, gesturing that his submissive posture should be resumed.

“Well, that was a very immature reaction, Kevin!  And the sort of foul language Mrs Griffith tipped us off about.  Dear, dear!  I think we’d better start again.  First stroke coming now!”

Kevin’s friends grinned at the display before them.  His mother uncrossed her legs, and then crossed them again hastily.  She too was transfixed by the naked exhibit before her.  She sighed with contentment as she looked at the red weal on her son’s bottom.

CRACK!  CRACK!  Two hard strokes landed on the youthful flesh, causing Kevin to gasp and writhe.  A most indecent display, his mother reflected.  His friends were quiet, but Kev was seriously embarrassed when he thought about the eyeful they would be getting.

“Keep still, Kevin!  More to come!”  Mr Brown stated in a very matter-of-fact way.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!  He wasn’t pacing himself, and these rapid strokes would teach his son the hard lesson both parents had deemed necessary.  Again and again the cane lashed down, until a full baker’s dozen red stripes decorated Kevin’s pert posterior.  Waves of agony shot through his body.  He was allowed to rise, which he did slowly.  He pulled up his underwear and trousers, and turned to face his friends and mother.  All three were recovering from the shock of what they had just witnessed.  Mr Brown had exited the room, to pour himself a refreshing glass of water.  He guzzled it greedily, almost as if he’d been in the desert for weeks.

Kevin’s companions were now on their feet, commiserating with their friend, only slightly insincerely. Mrs Brown was reaching for her car keys, ready to offer lifts, when the phone rang.  She picked it up.  It was evidently the father of Tony Taylor, Kevin’s friend and a witness to the beating, of course.  Mrs Brown handed the phone over to her husband.

“Yes, yes.  Most regrettable.  I expect the whole town knows now,” Mr Brown said in a peevish tone, “Well all three lads are here.  I decided to cane Kevin, and the other two witnessed it as a warning.  Yes. a traditional school cane.  Yes, with a shepherd’s crook-type handle. Definitely rather whippy and painful.  No, it’s new!  My old one went AWOL.  No, I didn’t know you could still buy them either.  Got it from Murgatroyd’s.  You should get one yourself!  OK, we’ll talk it over down at the Queen’s Head.  What?  You want me to cane Tony for you?  Well, I don’t know.  What?  Yes.  Yes.  Perhaps.  I gave Kevin twelve.  Yes, it was rather a lot, I suppose. Oh, and an extra one for some childish behaviour. Alright, I’ll do it.  But you’d better have quick word with Tony yourself, so that he knows it’s your idea.”

Although Tony had only heard half the conversation, he knew exactly what his father was going to tell him. Anxiously, he twisted at the coiled lead of the trimphone as his father shouted down the line.  The whole room could hear as Mr Taylor tore a strip off his son.  The words ‘bare arse’ seemed to echo around the room!  Tony handed the phone back to Mr Brown.  The two fathers had a quick farewell chat  after agreeing a tariff of ten strokes.

“Just ten for you then, Tony.  I don’t like to ask, but your father was most insistent on a bare bottom for you.”

“It’s OK, Mr Brown, sir.  I suppose I deserve it.”

Kevin was rubbing his bottom as discreetly as he could. But all the rubbing in the world wasn’t reducing the sting very much at all.  Still, it seemed like the right thing to do.  Certainly, his body was telling him to do it. He gazed over at Tony who was slipping his board shorts down to the ground, revealing a boyishly smooth bottom.  Meanwhile, Peter Watson bit at his nails nervously.  He was only too aware that natural justice and fair play demanded that he too should be caned. He’d have to persuade his parents otherwise.  Hang on though!  At 23, it was no business of theirs!  Hell, at 23 he was too old to be caned, full stop! However did he get himself into this mess?

CRACK!  Mr Brown’s cane was now getting a fresh workout, this time on Tony Taylor’s naked haunches.  Mr Brown was a natural caner.  He knew it, and the boys knew it.  Tony knew it even better than the others, as he was the one feeling the wrath of the angry adult right at that moment.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!  Yes, Mr Brown was having a cracking time alright!  So was his wife, who was only too happy to watch the handsome lad being reduced to a wreck before her eyes.  The smooth babyish buttocks were marking up a treat!

CRACK!  Tony was losing count.  He wasn’t trying to count as such, although it was a natural thing to do. But he lost it.  Lost count, that is.  And then he lost his dignity as well as the cane did indeed reduce him to a sniveling wreck.  Kev had found his beating hard to bear, but Tony was totally unaccustomed to this kind of harsh punishment and it showed. Oh yes, it showed. Mrs Brown wriggled restlessly on the sofa as the final stroke cracked down.

An eerie silence fell on the room.  Tony pulled his shorts back up , gave himself a quick botty rub, and went and sat down in a vacant armchair.  Mr Brown slashed the cane through the air.  It made a shocking swishing noise as it sliced through the silence.  He stared towards the only unbeaten lad, Peter Watson.  He beckoned him with his forefinger.  He made Peter stand a couple of feet in front of him, then purposefully bent the cane into an arc right in front of the lad’s gaze.

“Well, Peter?”

“No, no, you can’t Mr Brown!  Please!”

“I can and I rather think I should.  The other two have taken their punishment, so why shouldn’t you do likewise?”

“But my parents!  They haven’t agreed to this!  Besides I’m almost 24!  The cane is for teenagers!”

Mr Brown bent the cane right in front of Peter’s face once again, saying, “This is all very tiresome.  The very fact that the others have taken a caning means you’re not too old.  And do you really want me to ring your parents?”

“No, but…”

“Take your punishment like a man, Peter!” interrupted Kevin, at last extracting some kind of revenge at the expense of his sometime friend.

“Be quiet, Kevin!” snapped Mr Brown.  “You are still in disgrace.  Any more from you, and I’ll have you over the chair for another twelve strokes!”

Kevin blushed a deep, deep red.  Once more the room fell quiet.  Then the silence was broken by Peter unzipping his Wranglers.  It seemed that his time had come!

___________)

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 © MMXIV by Rod Cayenne

Photograph © MMXI by Jonathan, R.I.P.

All rights reserved.

___________)

Comments welcome

Comments from the original 2014 post are here

Comments from the 2015 repeat are here

Hot Time For A Valentine (F/M)

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Brand spanking new erotic fiction by your host, Rod Cayenne.

“Mmmm, a dozen red roses, my favourite artisan chocolates and breakfast in bed.  My, you really have pushed the boat out, darling, haven’t you?”

He just grunted, exhausted temporarily from their lovemaking.  She kissed his stubbly face and then dabbed copious amounts of cum away from his cock with a tissue, before announcing, “Actually, I’ve bought something for you.”

“You have?” he asked, with barely disguised surprise.

“Yes, just a little something.  Something you’ve wanted for a while, and something I wanted to give you.”

She reached under the bed and retrieved a long, white cardboard box, tied with a bonny red ribbon. He took it from her with a kiss, and was immediately surprised by the light weight of the box, immediately suspecting that it was empty, or some other kind of wind-up.  He untied the ribbon and lifted the lid of the box.  Inside was black tissue paper, which he parted to reveal a rattan school cane!

“Oh good lord!” he exclaimed.  “What’s this for?”

“Well, it’s for you of course, my darling.  You said you’d missed out on the cane when you were younger, and that you’d often wondered what it was like.”

“Oh!  I didn’t mean it.  I’ve changed my mind!”

“Nonsense, darling.  Don’t lie to me.  You know you really want it!  Let’s try it out.”

“No way!”

“Don’t you like my present, darling?” she pouted, “I’m hurt.  You said you wondered what it was like and I thought, at 52, it’s time you found out!”

“Alright, alright.  But I’m a damned fool for saying yes.  Just don’t do it too hard, will you?”

They both climbed out of their peachy duvet, and she picked up the cane.

“Right darling, bend over the bed then.  I think a dozen red marks to match the dozen red roses!”

“A dozen sounds a lot.  Go easy on me!”

“No!” she cried, lashing the cane down with a laugh and all of her strength.  The cane wrapped around badly, cutting his haunch painfully.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!  That’s not meant to happen!” he cried.  “Look, you’re holding that cane all wrong!”

“Nonsense darling.  I’m holding it by the handle.”

“Exactly!  As I understand it the crook handle is just for show, or for hanging the cane up by.  You need to hold it a few centimetres down the shaft, otherwise you can’t control it properly.”

“Quite the expert, aren’t you?”

“Well, all boys know this stuff.  Let’s try again shall we?”  The second stroke was hard but landed accurately on his ample arse.  He gasped at the pain.  Had he really wanted to try this?  Just two strokes in, and it was proving to be quite an ordeal.

“How was that darling?”

“Fine, just fine,” he said through gritted teeth.

A third stroke whipped down, accompanied by a manly grunt.

The fourth however, was met by a boyish squeal.  She laughed and laughed.  “This is really turning me on darling,” she chuckled.

“I’m glad someone’s enjoying it!” he moaned.

Strokes five and six landed on top of the earlier ones, causing more discomfort and grunts.

“Can we leave it at six of the best, darling?” he asked.

“Certainly not!” she said, becoming ever more turned on, “This cane is a present we can both enjoy!”

A seventh stroke hit hard and he cried out, “I can assure you I’m not enjoying this at all!”

She whipped the eighth and ninth strokes down, saying, “Maybe not now, but later you will.”

“ARRRGH!” he exclaimed as the tenth stroke hit, clearly not enjoying it one bit.

“Elevensies,” she laughed and then “Last one darling!”  Her face was flushed, not so much from exertion, more from being really turned on.

After the final stroke, he leant over and dabbed the cum-soaked tissue on his wounded haunch.  That seemed to help with the pain.  Just then they both heard a key in the front door, followed by a loud cry of “Yoohoo, darling.”

He dropped the tissue, saying, “Shit!  It’s your mother!  Doesn’t she know it’s fucking Valentines Day?”

(__________

Story © MMXVI by Rod Cayenne

Heart image: Creative Commons

____________

D I S C L A I M E R

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

_____________

 Comments welcome

Suntanned (M/M) re-posted

♥ Site recommended story ♥

A repeat of this popular spanking fiction by Rod Cayenne.

All the characters are 18 or over.

Strictly over 18s only!

Poor Kevin Brown couldn’t understand why his mother was being so very frosty.  As arranged, she had collected him and friends Peter Watson and Tony Taylor from the airport.  An old Boeing 727 had returned them from their Club 18-30 Balearic holiday.  The lads all boasted suntans, hangovers and stupid grins.

The grey Ford Escort headed back home along the motorway.  Kevin was sat in the front with his mother, while his two chums were in the back.  Even through his hangover he could sense that there was a problem. He had to find out exactly what it was.

“Mum, you seem a bit annoyed.  It’s very kind of you to pick us up like this.  Really, we’re very grateful, Mum.  Is there a problem?”

“Apart from missing my WI meeting?  Yes, there certainly is.  I heard about what you youngsters got up to on the island!”

“Whaaat?”

“Yes, my friend Gladys Griffith was at the same hotel in the same resort, with her teenage daughters.  You probably didn’t realise who those girls were when you were hitting on them, pestering them, drunk and boorishly.  Fiona and Millie.  Remember them?”

“Oh, Mum!  I’m sorry.  We’re sorry, aren’t we guys?” The other passengers nodded on cue.

“Fortunately the girls had the sense to move on.  But Gladys heard you swearing your heads off at the pool and beach as well.  I suppose that was alcohol-fuelled as well?  You do know her husband works with your father?  It’s all very embarrassing.”

“Sorry,  Mum.”

“Oh, you’ll be sorry alright.  You have an appointment with your father and his cane.”

That news caused Tony and Peter in the back of the car to laugh and guffaw at their friend’s shame and apparent comeuppance.

“But Mum!  I’m 22!  Much too old for the cane!”

“Not while you live under my roof, you’re not.  Anyway, this was my idea.  I asked your father if he still had that old cane of his.  He couldn’t find it, but he managed to buy a brand new one.  It wasn’t cheap, but is extra pliant and extra painful, I believe.  I heard him trying it out on some old cushions as I left the house.  It sounded like it was worth every penny.”

Tony and Peter laughed again at their pal’s misfortune. What friends they were turning out to be!

“Shut up you two!” cried Kevin in his distress  and embarrassment.  “Bastards!”

“That’s enough of that bad language, Kevin,”  his mother admonished.  “That’s the sort of behaviour that’s got you into this trouble.  Now, Peter and Tony.  You are not blameless in this whole business, of course.  But that’s not my concern.  However I would like you both to witness Kevin’s punishment, if you’d be so kind.  It might make you two think twice in future, as well.  Now, can you both spare a few minutes?  It won’t take long for the cane to remind Kevin how to behave.  Peter, can you make it?”

“Well, yes.  As long as I’m not copping a few strokes,” said Bastard No.1.

“No, no.  Your bad behaviour isn’t my business.  Kevin’s is, of course.  Tony, how about you?”

“I’m cool with it.  We’re sorry about everything, Mrs Brown, and thanks again for the lift, but the truth is Kevin was kind of the ringleader, anyway,” said Bastard No.2.

A shame-faced Kevin blushed and looked straight ahead at the motorway traffic, fighting back angry tears. He couldn’t bear to look at his two so-called friends in the rear-view mirror.  What bastards!  His mother shook her head in dismay.  Was her son really the ringleader in this sorry business?   She was becoming quite distracted.  Fortunately, Junction 15 loomed on the horizon, and she remembered to exit just in time.

Now home, Kevin’s father was shouting at the trio, “Never in all my years have I been so ashamed!  Guy Griffith said I should beat the living daylights out of you, Kevin!  I’m not a cruel man, but he does have a point.  You need a good, hard reminder to behave yourself!  You have gone too far this time!  I’m not sure I can show my face at the Bowls Club ever again!”

Kevin’s father was indeed an older man; just the right age for the Bowls Club, and a product of the public school system.  As such, he remembered only too well how much a caning could hurt.  He remembered that every time, the shock of a caning was something you couldn’t prepare yourself for.  His old prefect’s cane had seen a little use over the years, until it went missing. Finding a replacement cane had been an uphill task. Fortunately, one of the club members informed him about a local ironmonger who still had stocks of the increasingly unfashionable punishment implement.  He also remembered the glee on the shopkeeper’s face as the sale was made.  “You’re doing the right thing.  This trendy ‘spare the rod’ business will be British society’s undoing,” he had said.  What Mr Brown didn’t know was that Kevin had hidden the old cane, fearful of its sting and retribution.

Father flexed the new cane.  It was a vicious beauty, and perhaps his most satisfying purchase in many a year.  Yes, it was money well spent.

“Right, Kevin.  Let’s have you over this chair.  Trousers and pants down.  I expect you’ve been skinny dipping, so your friends will have seen it all before.”

Indeed, the three lads had indulged in the pleasures of the nudist beach, but only a couple of times.  So when Kevin dropped his pants, the bottom revealed was still fairly pale when compared to his suntanned back and legs.  Peter and Tony looked on, somewhat embarrassed, while sandwiched in between them, Kevin’s mother showed only grim determination.  She did not really want to see her baby hurt, but he did deserve the punishment.  She crossed her legs and fidgeted nervously.

The cane lashed down on Kevin’s flesh. Immediately, a prominent line appeared and Kevin leapt to his feet, swearing and cursing!  Father pointed the cane at son, gesturing that his submissive posture should be resumed.

“Well, that was a very immature reaction, Kevin!  And the sort of foul language Mrs Griffith tipped us off about.  Dear, dear!  I think we’d better start again.  First stroke coming now!”

Kevin’s friends grinned at the display before them.  His mother uncrossed her legs, and then crossed them again hastily.  She too was transfixed by the naked exhibit before her.  She sighed with contentment as she looked at the red weal on her son’s bottom.

CRACK!  CRACK!  Two hard strokes landed on the youthful flesh, causing Kevin to gasp and writhe.  A most indecent display, his mother reflected.  His friends were quiet, but Kev was seriously embarrassed when he thought about the eyeful they would be getting.

“Keep still, Kevin!  More to come!”  Mr Brown stated in a very matter-of-fact way.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!  He wasn’t pacing himself, and these rapid strokes would teach his son the hard lesson both parents had deemed necessary.  Again and again the cane lashed down, until a full baker’s dozen red stripes decorated Kevin’s pert posterior.  Waves of agony shot through his body.  He was allowed to rise, which he did slowly.  He pulled up his underwear and trousers, and turned to face his friends and mother.  All three were recovering from the shock of what they had just witnessed.  Mr Brown had exited the room, to pour himself a refreshing glass of water.  He guzzled it greedily, almost as if he’d been in the desert for weeks.

Kevin’s companions were now on their feet, commiserating with their friend, only slightly insincerely. Mrs Brown was reaching for her car keys, ready to offer lifts, when the phone rang.  She picked it up.  It was evidently the father of Tony Taylor, Kevin’s friend and a witness to the beating, of course.  Mrs Brown handed the phone over to her husband.

“Yes, yes.  Most regrettable.  I expect the whole town knows now,” Mr Brown said in a peevish tone, “Well all three lads are here.  I decided to cane Kevin, and the other two witnessed it as a warning.  Yes. a traditional school cane.  Yes, with a shepherd’s crook-type handle. Definitely rather whippy and painful.  No, it’s new!  My old one went AWOL.  No, I didn’t know you could still buy them either.  Got it from Murgatroyd’s.  You should get one yourself!  OK, we’ll talk it over down at the Queen’s Head.  What?  You want me to cane Tony for you?  Well, I don’t know.  What?  Yes.  Yes.  Perhaps.  I gave Kevin twelve.  Yes, it was rather a lot, I suppose. Oh, and an extra one for some childish behaviour. Alright, I’ll do it.  But you’d better have quick word with Tony yourself, so that he knows it’s your idea.”

Although Tony had only heard half the conversation, he knew exactly what his father was going to tell him. Anxiously, he twisted at the coiled lead of the trimphone as his father shouted down the line.  The whole room could hear as Mr Taylor tore a strip off his son.  The words ‘bare arse’ seemed to echo around the room!  Tony handed the phone back to Mr Brown.  The two fathers had a quick farewell chat  after agreeing a tariff of ten strokes.

“Just ten for you then, Tony.  I don’t like to ask, but your father was most insistent on a bare bottom for you.”

“It’s OK, Mr Brown, sir.  I suppose I deserve it.”

Kevin was rubbing his bottom as discreetly as he could. But all the rubbing in the world wasn’t reducing the sting very much at all.  Still, it seemed like the right thing to do.  Certainly, his body was telling him to do it. He gazed over at Tony who was slipping his board shorts down to the ground, revealing a boyishly smooth bottom.  Meanwhile, Peter Watson bit at his nails nervously.  He was only too aware that natural justice and fair play demanded that he too should be caned. He’d have to persuade his parents otherwise.  Hang on though!  At 23, it was no business of theirs!  Hell, at 23 he was too old to be caned, full stop! However did he get himself into this mess?

CRACK!  Mr Brown’s cane was now getting a fresh workout, this time on Tony Taylor’s naked haunches.  Mr Brown was a natural caner.  He knew it, and the boys knew it.  Tony knew it even better than the others, as he was the one feeling the wrath of the angry adult right at that moment.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!  Yes, Mr Brown was having a cracking time alright!  So was his wife, who was only too happy to watch the handsome lad being reduced to a wreck before her eyes.  The smooth babyish buttocks were marking up a treat!

CRACK!  Tony was losing count.  He wasn’t trying to count as such, although it was a natural thing to do. But he lost it.  Lost count, that is.  And then he lost his dignity as well as the cane did indeed reduce him to a sniveling wreck.  Kev had found his beating hard to bear, but Tony was totally unaccustomed to this kind of harsh punishment and it showed. Oh yes, it showed. Mrs Brown wriggled restlessly on the sofa as the final stroke cracked down.

An eerie silence fell on the room.  Tony pulled his shorts back up , gave himself a quick botty rub, and went and sat down in a vacant armchair.  Mr Brown slashed the cane through the air.  It made a shocking swishing noise as it sliced through the silence.  He stared towards the only unbeaten lad, Peter Watson.  He beckoned him with his forefinger.  He made Peter stand a couple of feet in front of him, then purposefully bent the cane into an arc right in front of the lad’s gaze.

“Well, Peter?”

“No, no, you can’t Mr Brown!  Please!”

“I can and I rather think I should.  The other two have taken their punishment, so why shouldn’t you do likewise?”

“But my parents!  They haven’t agreed to this!  Besides I’m almost 24!  The cane is for teenagers!”

Mr Brown bent the cane right in front of Peter’s face once again, saying, “This is all very tiresome.  The very fact that the others have taken a caning means you’re not too old.  And do you really want me to ring your parents?”

“No, but…”

“Take your punishment like a man, Peter!” interrupted Kevin, at last extracting some kind of revenge at the expense of his sometime friend.

“Be quiet, Kevin!” snapped Mr Brown.  “You are still in disgrace.  Any more from you, and I’ll have you over the chair for another twelve strokes!”

Kevin blushed a deep, deep red.  Once more the room fell quiet.  Then the silence was broken by Peter unzipping his Wranglers.  It seemed that his time had come!

___________)

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 © MMXIV by Rod Cayenne

Photograph © MMXI by Jonathan, R.I.P.

All rights reserved.

___________)

Comments welcome

Comments from the original 2014 post are here

Comments for this 2015 repeat are here

Mother-in-law Knows Best – Part 1 (F/M)

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Repost of hot erotic fiction by very special guest author David Stewart

Mother-in-law was a rather fearsome lady, never one of David’s great admirers.  She was scathing about his lack of achievement and inability to provide, as she thought, what her daughter deserved.  A lawyer by calling, she had an authoritative tone and dominant nature, that in truth David had often admired. He saw much of that in her daughter, his wife, and this was one of the reasons that the couple had lived so happily in their ten years together.

In truth, she was well off the mark and David was a thoughtful and hard-working individual devoted to his wife, who, in their private life, was every bit as dominant as he perceived her mother to be.

It was one of the bi-annual visits to the house that she made her discovery.  As usual David had spent the week making sure the house was cleaned and ready for his mother-in-law to arrive. His wife had ensured, with two sound thrashings that he had done so. Hidden from all the family was the fact that David was subservient to his wife and had been since early in the relationship.

On the second night of the four night stay the alarm bells sounded as David, with bravado and too much wine, had argued with his wife over something quite silly. Never the less, if looks could kill, David would have been collecting his insurance premium, or rather his wife would have.

His mother-in-law commented about, “David is being brave tonight, is he not?”

His wife replied, “Yes he is, or rather he is being silly tonight and will pay the price after your visit.”

Smiles and laughter led to a blushing face from David and his mother-in-law rounded on him saying, “Oh, so you will be on the end of some retribution when I am gone, will you David?”

David blushed, his wife laughed and his mother-in-law added, “Perhaps the canes you keep upstairs are explained now?

It was his wife who blushed now, and his mother-in-law continued, “I did wonder, who used these and I am pleased to assume it is you, my dear, who chastises David here! Is that the case?”

A conversation where his wife opened up and admitted to taking charge led to David feeling totally humiliated as his wife and mother-in-law started to discuss marital domestic discipline.

“I am no stranger to this my dear, as I can assure you that your late father was as obedient to me, and was soundly thrashed at times by me. That is the secret of success!”

Almost oblivious to David’s presence they both discussed how early on in the relationships they had discovered that their partners were basically in need of guidance and discipline and one thing led to another. “I used to take your father over my knees for the hairbrush at regular intervals, both as a reminder and also when he was badly behaved. Much the same dear as I recall doing to you with the same hairbrush!”  It was David’s wife who blushed as her mother recounted how she would administer the hairbrush with good effect to both sisters at times.

The wine continued and eventually all retired to bed. In bed that night David apologised, but as they cuddled, he was obviously excited about what his mother-in-law had revealed and pressed his wife for more intimate details about how she herself had been spanked with that brush.

“She was a real monster with that brush and the mere threat of it was enough, once we had sampled it a few times. I got it till I left the house at 21 and it was a most humiliating experience, but I suppose it was never given unless deserved.”

Question after question led to some marital fumblings and at one point his wife made the comment, “I think it is you that should perhaps sample her brush next?”

David drew a breath and could not hide the delight at this prospect saying, “Ooh, my darling, how absolutely humiliating that would be!”

In the morning all were a bit embarrassed, and at lunch the mother-in-law suddenly started the conversation that altered the day, “So my dear, last night?” adding, “Last night was an eye-opener and I have decided that my stay should not interfere with your marital discipline. I suggest we send David home and we continue to the shops. After that we can join David and you can do whatever you would do to him as punishment for his intolerable behaviour last night. I suggest if the boy wants to be disrespectful in front of his mother-in-law then I deserve to see his punishment?”

So after some small talk it was accepted and David returned home. It was a lonely wait of mixed anticipation and fear for the three hours before they returned.

“Mother wants to see you punished as I would do normally, and I see no reason not to do that. Go and get ready for me now David, and we will be along when we are ready.”

As he headed out the door he turned to his wife and asked “Err, darling, is that exactly as I would be for you?”

She smiled and both her and her mother laughed and she said “Yes, exactly!”

So it was that twenty minutes later his wife and mother-in-law entered the bedroom and found a naked David, head lowered and blushing with his shaven cock and balls on display.  A cane, three-tailed tawse and heavy bath brush were laid out on the bed.

His mother-in-law tried not to look amused, but she was.

“Now perhaps an apology to myself and Mother?  And then your usual?”

David, still head lowered, said, “Darling, I am sorry for answering back the other night.  I deserve this thrashing.  I also want to apologise to you, Alison, for having to be a witness.”

“You will be sorry very soon David, now bend over!” said his wife in her strictest tone.  He bent over the edge of the bed, grateful not to be exposed any longer.

“So how many will you give him?” asked his mother-in-law.  The magical sentence of 36 was announced.

The caning started and David yelped and the next landed shortly afterwards. He took the full 36 and heard various comments from the audience culminating in, “Good show, darling!”

The caning stopped and the order was given to lie on the bed. The tawse was administered to his backside 36 times too, and each blow brought a yelp from the ever-suffering David.

“Are you feeling sorry now David?” asked his mother-in-law.

“Yes, yes, I am very sorry.”

“I think you may like to take over mother,” his wife said and handed the brush to her mother. The brush was then used with amazing force on poor David’s burning cheeks! He was amazed at the strength of the woman.

What also amazed him was the tirade of verbal insults she gave with the spanking, “You deserve every one of these, David!”, “This will teach you to obey your wife!” “My boy you need this so much!”

The force of the beating caused David to shout out, “For fuck’s sake, I am sorry, sorry!”

His mother-in-law asked, “What was that you said David?”

“Ssssorry, I said I was sorry!”

“Yes, but did you not say the “F” word as well?”

“Yyess. Ssorry I did!  I am sorry I did not mean to, just it is so sore, and it slipped out!”

“Stand up David!” his mother-in-law commanded and he gratefully stood in front of her, his hands covering his front.

“Swearing is unforgivable and your wife knows what happens now don’t you my dear?”

His wife blushed, thinking back to the days when her mother spanked her, then she smiled knowingly and said, “Yes Mother, you would start again, wouldn’t you?”

His humiliation was complete as both ladies burst into laughter.  He was taken by the ear and almost thrown back on the bed and told by his mother-in-law, “50 smacks and any swearing you’ll get the same again!”

The spanking that followed caused David to cry out a lot.  But he did not swear and despite tears welling he managed not to cry for real.

The thrashing over, David stood up and his wife raised her eyes to the ceiling. David reacted by saying, “Alison, thank you for my spanking which was deserved.”

After a pause his wife added, “And what else do we say after a spanking?”

He added, “Oh and Alison, if I ever deserve another please don’t hesitate, because I need to be disciplined when I am naughty.”

It was a well-rehearsed sentence that David always had to use, but somehow both ladies found it so humorous and before laughing too much his mother-in-law sarcastically added, “Thank you David.  Be assured I shall  do so!”

That concluded his thrashing, and for the remainder of the visit his behaviour was impeccable.

Before leaving, his mother-in-law sat both of them down and said, “Now I may have found David’s reactions amusing, but I am proud of you both. You my darling for taking charge, and you David for accepting the need for a strong woman to lead you. I shall help out again if needed, and this is obviously our secret. It is, I am sure, the secret to a very successful marriage, so long as you my dear never forget that David requires discipline, and plenty of it!”

____________)

Story ©2012 by David Stewart

Comments welcome

Comments on this revisited story are here

Comments on the original 2012 post are here

Part 2 is already available here

Part 3 is already available here

In The Strawberry Fields (M/M, M/F).

 ♥ Site recommended story ♥

Erotic fiction by Rod Cayenne, reposted by popular demand…

All the characters are aged 18 or over.  Suitable for adults only.

Sergeant Dexter couldn’t believe his eyes. The tip-off had been correct. Through his binoculars he could see a young couple, as naked as jaybirds, fornicating in the strawberry fields for which the village was famed. Although we were in the enlightened late 1950s, this was an outrage even by the prevailing modern, progressive standards.

He watched as the young man’s naked bottom bobbed up and down as he serviced his willing female companion. When to interrupt? Now, mid-flight as it were? Or afterwards, as the young lovers came back down to earth?

He decided to watch a little longer, as he was impressed by the young man’s technique. Indeed, the Sergeant was learning that his own skills were perhaps a little dated as he watched the youth driving and thrusting into the maiden. Suddenly, they swapped, and the girl went on top, sliding the man’s erect penis into her. The man massaged her ample breasts and then the lovers kissed passionately.

The Sergeant admired the lilly white feminine buttocks as they bounced around. They begged for a spanking, and were quite a contrast to the hairy male ones he had been watching only a few moments earlier. Indeed, our policeman was finding all of this a most rare and entertaining spectacle. His own penis was rising to the occasion, and for a brief moment, he considered masturbating right there and then in the Austin patrol car. He decided against, as it would be undignified, and there was also a slim chance he could be caught himself. He’d never live it down!

It was a lengthy session of lovemaking. Obviously, the young man had very good control, something again that the Sergeant could only dream of. Eventually, the lovers climaxed and fell into each others arms. Now was the time to strike!

The Sergeant gathered his notebook, pencil, truncheon and handcuffs. He slammed the door of the patrol car noisily, causing the lovers to stir from their post-coital embrace.

“Caught you!” announced the Sergeant. He recognised both of them, “George Trevose and Susan Waterman, whatever will your parents say?”

“Sergeant, we’re both eighteen, don’t tell them please,” requested young George, “You don’t have to tell, do you?”

“Yes I do! You’re not even twenty-one, yet here you are disgracing yourselves in the open air. Get dressed! We’re going down to the station.”

He bundled the hastily-clothed pair into the patrol car and they drove off to the police station, which was located in the local market town. There he read his copious notes out loud to a couple of his colleagues, as the lovers squirmed with embarrassment.

The policemen huddled in conspiratorial conversation behind the reception desk. Suddenly, there was raucous laughter! George and Susan wondered what on earth was going on. Eventually, Sergeant Dexter called them over and announced that they were to join him in the interview room.

In the room, the Sergeant picked up the bakelite receiver of the telephone. He then rang the local chairman of magistrates, Colonel R C H Smith (retd.). They spoke at length about the incident, while across the interview table, the lovers held hands tenderly.

“Yes, totally naked. Unofficial punishment, you say? If the parents agree? I suppose so. Yes, yes. We do have a selection of canes here. Yes, nice and whippy. Sting like the devil. Good idea. I quite agree, Sir. I’ll put it to the lad. I’ll keep you informed, yes, of course.”

Young George wasn’t stupid. He knew what was coming from the half of the conversation he had heard. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder what was to happen to his partner in crime, Susan Waterman.

The Sergeant spoke, “The chair of the magistrates is most annoyed with you two. If it weren’t a bank holiday weekend, a special court might have been convened. He’s a great believer in swift justice. So he’s suggested unofficial punishment, if you agree. It will be a caning for young Trevose, and I’ll talk to your parents, Susan, about what we are to do about you. Are you both agreeable? You’re getting off very lightly, considering. I understand that this naked exhibitionism has been happening on a regular basis. Well, do you both agree?”

The lovers nodded dejectedly.

“Right then! Here’s what’s going to happen. I will cane Trevose. Eighteen hard strokes. One stroke for each year of his age, as prescribed by the magistrate. The caning will be on the bared posterior, of course. After the caning, he can walk home. I will drive Susan back home, and talk to her parents.”

“So I don’t even get a lift back to the village? Shit!” said George.

“Watch your tongue, young man!” admonished the Sergeant. Meanwhile, tears of shame and fear rolled down Susan’s face. Her father would be furious! He might even withdraw her meagre allowance.

“Let’s get on with it then. Susan, you will remain here. WPC Green will arrive in a minute to keep an eye on you. George, you will accompany me next door for your punishment. Try to keep the noise down, as Susan will hear otherwise.”

As it transpired, it was all too easy for the sounds from the adjacent room to be heard. The Sergeant had left the door wide open deliberately, and the WPC did the same with the interview room door.

The first crack of the cane on the naked flesh of George Trevose was wickedly loud and accompanied by a pitiful “Owww!”

A second stroke seemed even louder and from the room the order from the Sergeant for Trevose to keep still could be heard. A third and a fourth stroke lashed down.

The fifth stroke must have been extra hard as the victim shrieked loudly and was admonished by the Sergeant, “Shut up and take it like a man!”

The caning was worse than anything George Trevose had experienced at his school. The next five strokes were lashed down quickly.

In the interview room, Susan’s eyes were filling with tears again as she listened to her lover being thrashed by the brute of a policeman. The WPC offered her no support, just a cold, steely stare, occasionally punctuated by a smirk when a hard cane stroke broke the silence.

There was a long gap before the eleventh stroke. The Sergeant was admiring his work. How pleasing the buttocks looked now that they were covered in the vicious red tramlines donated by the cane. It was quite a contrast to the unmarked but hairy bottom the Sergeant had watched in the strawberry fields.

With a sigh, strokes eleven and twelve cut into the naked flesh causing a loud squeal from Trevose. Again, the Sergeant stopped and admired the sight before him. What a pity there wasn’t more sanctioning of this sort of unofficial punishment, he thought to himself. In truth, it was dying out slowly and this would be one of the last occasions that the Sergeant would enjoy what was becoming something of a passion for him.

“Shit!” the Sergeant muttered, annoyed that so few disciplinary opportunities were available to him. He sliced the cane down hard again and again until the full sentence of eighteen strokes had been delivered. The painful payload had caused George Trevose to slump exhausted over the chair which had been bent over.

“Get up! Get dressed and get out!” the Sergeant instructed. Next door, WPC Green admired his masterliness. He’d have made a wonderful headmaster she reflected, as she ejected Susan from the interview room, gleefully aiming a slap at the miscreant’s pert bottom.

The Sergeant drove Susan back to the village. On the way they passed a dejected George Trevose walking home.

“I bet he’s got one sore arse,” the Sergeant guffawed. His bawdy and sadistic comment fell on deaf ears. Susan was more concerned with her own fate. Whatever would her parents say? Her father would be devastated, she felt.

That night, the WPC and Sergeant enjoyed a wild session of lovemaking in his rented house. Somehow, Dexter’s technique had suddenly improved, and WPC Green ended up more satisfied than ever before. He had learnt a lot from the folly of youth, well, from George Trevose anyway.

Two days later, the Sergeant was cycling from the police station back to the village. Tied with string to the frame of his trusty Raleigh bike was a school cane. Reluctantly, Susan Waterman’s father had agreed that she should be thrashed for her indiscretions. He had begged Sergeant Dexter to carry out the distasteful task. Little did he suspect that the policeman possessed almost indecent flagellant enthusiasm for the task he had been given.

Neighbours peered from behind net curtains as the policeman propped his cycle near the front gate and carefully untied the string holding the cane in place on the frame. The Sergeant had oiled the cane, to increase its suppleness and to protect it from the elements. What a figure he looked in his handsome uniform! The cane he carried made him look quite formidable.

The Watermans hadn’t seen the Sergeant arrive, although he had been expected. He knocked purposefully on the door. Susan’s father duly appeared, looking a bit sheepish.

“Are you sure about all of this, Sergeant?”

As he crossed the threshold, Dexter reminded him, “I saw the whole thing, Mr. Waterman. Quite a disgusting exhibition. No shame at all, these kids.”

“Yes, I suppose so. I was thinking no more than six strokes. Cup of tea, Sergeant. Or something stronger?”

“I’d love a bitter, but I’d better not. I’m on duty still. So yes, a tea would be most welcome.”

Waterman shouted up the stairs, “Susan, the Sergeant’s here. Make us a pot of tea please, honey.” Just then Waterman’s wife joined them. She had asked for tea too and sat down with her husband and the policeman.

“Well,” said the Sergeant, “I don’t think six strokes is enough for the disgusting display I endured. Remember, at least one other person in the village must have seen them at it before now. After all, it was a tip-off that alerted all of us at the station to the problem. No, six strokes isn’t enough. Hardly worth me taking the trouble to come over. I’d recommend eight or ten as a minimum. What do you think Mrs. Waterman?”

“Oh, I don’t know officer! I’m thoroughly ashamed of her. I can’t believe they weren’t taking any precautions either! The stupid girl! I don’t want to be a grandmother just yet, thank you very much! Eight strokes seems entirely reasonable to me.”

“The lad took eighteen,” the Sergeant reminded them, “Really, she’s getting off very, very lightly. Eight will suffice, then. Now, one delicate matter to discuss. The lad took his on his bared posterior. How do you feel Susan should get hers?”

“She can have them bare too,” interjected Mr.Waterman. Perhaps more surprisingly his wife nodded silent agreement.

Just then, Susan opened the door, carrying a silver tray with the tea, crockery, milk, sugar and some home-baked cakes on. Her hands were shaking a little, causing the cups to rattle.

“Ah Susan, we were just discussing your punishment,” said her mother. “A caning, just like George’s. On your bare bottom, eight strokes. The Sergeant will do the honours.”

“Not bare, surely? Oh Mum!”

“Yes, talking of which, you can be mother, as it were, and pour us the tea.”

Soon the tea was being sipped, and all eyes were on Susan. Except her own, which were on the cane Sergeant Dexter had brought with him. Strangely, she felt quite excited and was looking forward to showing the officer her bare bottom. She was really quite incorrigible!

“Let’s get on, shall we?” asked the Sergeant taking control. “Skirt up, knickers down, over the arm of the sofa. Hurry up girl!”

Mrs. Waterman admired the masterful way he took charge. Must be trained that way, she mused. She found it quite a turn-on all the same. If only her own husband were made of sterner stuff!

All eyes were now on Susan who bent submissively, flipping her skirt towards the heavens, and gently eased her knickers down. The target was revealed. Dexter licked his lips, and flexed the cane. Mr. Waterman was more embarrassed, and was wondering about the wisdom of the whole set-up.

Swish-crack! The first stroke landed on the girl’s milky-white flesh, causing an angry red line. She gasped, as did her mother. The sting was bad, but somehow Susan forced herself to stick her bottom out ready for a second stroke.

Swish-crack! The second was a little harder, and right on target, causing the girl to writhe with discomfort. She rubbed her thighs together, then relaxed a little, revealing her treasures to the Sergeant. Something was stirring in his police trousers.

Swish-crack! A third forceful stroke almost sent the poor girl flying, as she cried out with pain. Her parents were finding this a suitable punishment for their daughter’s lewd behaviour. Mrs. Waterman in particular had a satisfied grin as she surveyed the red stripes adorning her daughter’s naked bottom.

CRACK! Stroke four was loud and hard. Susan squealed with pain. Her mother’s excitement was mounting as she witnessed the comeuppance her daughter so deserved.

Swish-crack! The fifth landed low, right on the crease and caused the girl to leap up.

“GET DOWN IMMEDIATELY!” Sergeant Dexter shouted. “That will incur a penalty stroke, I think.”

“Oh yes!” cried the girl’s mother supportively, “And make it a hard one!”

Mr. Waterman was astonished by his wife’s whip-lust. He sat nervously on his hands as the Sergeant raised the cane high once again.

Crack! CRACK! Two rapid strokes again caused the girl to cry out in torment. Her mother was sat on the edge of her chair willing the officer to beat Susan as hard as humanly possible.

Swish-crack! The eighth stroke was slightly more restrained, but it still caused Susan some distress, as she gasped and wriggled under the cane’s stinging caress.

The ninth stroke was now due. It was the penalty one for jumping up earlier.

“Sergeant Dexter, please make this last one extra hard,” Mrs. Waterman requested. “Susan must be taught to behave herself in public and also to take her punishment with dignity.”

The officer adjusted his trousers and raised the cane before whipping it down viciously. The noise of this final stroke was incredible and resounded all around the poky living room.

“AARGH!” cried Susan as the pain hit home. She started to cry. She was utterly humiliated.

Mrs. Waterman clapped her hands together. “Ah! A most satisfactory lesson for the little minx, I feel. Thank you ever so much, Sergeant. Oh, one thing…”

“Yes, Mrs. Waterman?”

“I wonder whether you could be persuaded to leave the cane here? Perhaps in return for a donation to the Police Benevolent Fund?”

“Of course, of course! You can keep it. After all, you never know when it may come in handy again,” he winked. “And a contribution really isn’t necessary. Times are hard, aren’t they? I’ll just book it as a breakage.”

“Tim, take the cane up to our bedroom,” Mrs. Waterman commanded her husband. She gazed longingly at Sergeant Dexter, her new hero.

Susan was recovering slowly from her beating. Carefully, she slipped her knickers back on. She noticed that the Sergeant wore no wedding ring. She wondered whether perhaps, he didn’t have a girlfriend? Perhaps she should force herself on him?

The Sergeant said his goodbyes and made his way back to his bicycle. It had been a good day, and the sunshine made it feel even better. Before heading back to the police station, he was minded to stop off to masturbate in the strawberry fields.

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D I S C L A I M E R

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

Story © 2013 by Rod Cayenne

Comments welcome – please use link at top of story

Suntanned (M/M)

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Spanking fiction by Rod Cayenne – strictly over 18s only!

Poor Kevin Brown couldn’t understand why his mother was being so very frosty.  As arranged, she had collected him and friends Peter Watson and Tony Taylor from the airport.  An old Boeing 727 had returned them from their Club 18-30 Balearic holiday.  The lads all boasted suntans, hangovers and stupid grins.

The grey Ford Escort headed back home along the motorway.  Kevin was sat in the front with his mother, while his two chums were in the back.  Even through his hangover he could sense that there was a problem. He had to find out exactly what it was.

“Mum, you seem a bit annoyed.  It’s very kind of you to pick us up like this.  Really, we’re very grateful, Mum.  Is there a problem?”

“Apart from missing my WI meeting?  Yes, there certainly is.  I heard about what you youngsters got up to on the island!”

“Whaaat?”

“Yes, my friend Gladys Griffith was at the same hotel in the same resort, with her teenage daughters.  You probably didn’t realise who those girls were when you were hitting on them, pestering them, drunk and boorishly.  Fiona and Millie.  Remember them?”

“Oh, Mum!  I’m sorry.  We’re sorry, aren’t we guys?” The other passengers nodded on cue.

“Fortunately the girls had the sense to move on.  But Gladys heard you swearing your heads off at the pool and beach as well.  I suppose that was alcohol-fuelled as well?  You do know her husband works with your father?  It’s all very embarrassing.”

“Sorry,  Mum.”

“Oh, you’ll be sorry alright.  You have an appointment with your father and his cane.”

That news caused Tony and Peter in the back of the car to laugh and guffaw at their friend’s shame and apparent comeuppance.

“But Mum!  I’m 22!  Much too old for the cane!”

“Not while you live under my roof, you’re not.  Anyway, this was my idea.  I asked your father if he still had that old cane of his.  He couldn’t find it, but he managed to buy a brand new one.  It wasn’t cheap, but is extra pliant and extra painful, I believe.  I heard him trying it out on some old cushions as I left the house.  It sounded like it was worth every penny.”

Tony and Peter laughed again at their pal’s misfortune. What friends they were turning out to be!

“Shut up you two!” cried Kevin in his distress  and embarrassment.  “Bastards!”

“That’s enough of that bad language, Kevin,”  his mother admonished.  “That’s the sort of behaviour that’s got you into this trouble.  Now, Peter and Tony.  You are not blameless in this whole business, of course.  But that’s not my concern.  However I would like you both to witness Kevin’s punishment, if you’d be so kind.  It might make you two think twice in future, as well.  Now, can you both spare a few minutes?  It won’t take long for the cane to remind Kevin how to behave.  Peter, can you make it?”

“Well, yes.  As long as I’m not copping a few strokes,” said Bastard No.1.

“No, no.  Your bad behaviour isn’t my business.  Kevin’s is, of course.  Tony, how about you?”

“I’m cool with it.  We’re sorry about everything, Mrs Brown, and thanks again for the lift, but the truth is Kevin was kind of the ringleader, anyway,” said Bastard No.2.

A shame-faced Kevin blushed and looked straight ahead at the motorway traffic, fighting back angry tears. He couldn’t bear to look at his two so-called friends in the rear-view mirror.  What bastards!  His mother shook her head in dismay.  Was her son really the ringleader in this sorry business?   She was becoming quite distracted.  Fortunately, Junction 15 loomed on the horizon, and she remembered to exit just in time.

Now home, Kevin’s father was shouting at the trio, “Never in all my years have I been so ashamed!  Guy Griffith said I should beat the living daylights out of you, Kevin!  I’m not a cruel man, but he does have a point.  You need a good, hard reminder to behave yourself!  You have gone too far this time!  I’m not sure I can show my face at the Bowls Club ever again!”

Kevin’s father was indeed an older man; just the right age for the Bowls Club, and a product of the public school system.  As such, he remembered only too well how much a caning could hurt.  He remembered that every time, the shock of a caning was something you couldn’t prepare yourself for.  His old prefect’s cane had seen a little use over the years, until it went missing. Finding a replacement cane had been an uphill task. Fortunately, one of the club members informed him about a local ironmonger who still had stocks of the increasingly unfashionable punishment implement.  He also remembered the glee on the shopkeeper’s face as the sale was made.  “You’re doing the right thing.  This trendy ‘spare the rod’ business will be British society’s undoing,” he had said.  What Mr Brown didn’t know was that Kevin had hidden the old cane, fearful of its sting and retribution.

Father flexed the new cane.  It was a vicious beauty, and perhaps his most satisfying purchase in many a year.  Yes, it was money well spent.

“Right, Kevin.  Let’s have you over this chair.  Trousers and pants down.  I expect you’ve been skinny dipping, so your friends will have seen it all before.”

Indeed, the three lads had indulged in the pleasures of the nudist beach, but only a couple of times.  So when Kevin dropped his pants, the bottom revealed was still fairly pale when compared to his suntanned back and legs.  Peter and Tony looked on, somewhat embarrassed, while sandwiched in between them, Kevin’s mother showed only grim determination.  She did not really want to see her baby hurt, but he did deserve the punishment.  She crossed her legs and fidgeted nervously.

The cane lashed down on Kevin’s flesh. Immediately, a prominent line appeared and Kevin leapt to his feet, swearing and cursing!  Father pointed the cane at son, gesturing that his submissive posture should be resumed.

“Well, that was a very immature reaction, Kevin!  And the sort of foul language Mrs Griffith tipped us off about.  Dear, dear!  I think we’d better start again.  First stroke coming now!”

Kevin’s friends grinned at the display before them.  His mother uncrossed her legs, and then crossed them again hastily.  She too was transfixed by the naked exhibit before her.  She sighed with contentment as she looked at the red weal on her son’s bottom.

CRACK!  CRACK!  Two hard strokes landed on the youthful flesh, causing Kevin to gasp and writhe.  A most indecent display, his mother reflected.  His friends were quiet, but Kev was seriously embarrassed when he thought about the eyeful they would be getting.

“Keep still, Kevin!  More to come!”  Mr Brown stated in a very matter-of-fact way.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!  He wasn’t pacing himself, and these rapid strokes would teach his son the hard lesson both parents had deemed necessary.  Again and again the cane lashed down, until a full baker’s dozen red stripes decorated Kevin’s pert posterior.  Waves of agony shot through his body.  He was allowed to rise, which he did slowly.  He pulled up his underwear and trousers, and turned to face his friends and mother.  All three were recovering from the shock of what they had just witnessed.  Mr Brown had exited the room, to pour himself a refreshing glass of water.  He guzzled it greedily, almost as if he’d been in the desert for weeks.

Kevin’s companions were now on their feet, commiserating with their friend, only slightly insincerely. Mrs Brown was reaching for her car keys, ready to offer lifts, when the phone rang.  She picked it up.  It was evidently the father of Tony Taylor, Kevin’s friend and a witness to the beating, of course.  Mrs Brown handed the phone over to her husband.

“Yes, yes.  Most regrettable.  I expect the whole town knows now,” Mr Brown said in a peevish tone, “Well all three lads are here.  I decided to cane Kevin, and the other two witnessed it as a warning.  Yes. a traditional school cane.  Yes, with a shepherd’s crook-type handle. Definitely rather whippy and painful.  No, it’s new!  My old one went AWOL.  No, I didn’t know you could still buy them either.  Got it from Murgatroyd’s.  You should get one yourself!  OK, we’ll talk it over down at the Queen’s Head.  What?  You want me to cane Tony for you?  Well, I don’t know.  What?  Yes.  Yes.  Perhaps.  I gave Kevin twelve.  Yes, it was rather a lot, I suppose. Oh, and an extra one for some childish behaviour. Alright, I’ll do it.  But you’d better have quick word with Tony yourself, so that he knows it’s your idea.”

Although Tony had only heard half the conversation, he knew exactly what his father was going to tell him. Anxiously, he twisted at the coiled lead of the trimphone as his father shouted down the line.  The whole room could hear as Mr Taylor tore a strip off his son.  The words ‘bare arse’ seemed to echo around the room!  Tony handed the phone back to Mr Brown.  The two fathers had a quick farewell chat  after agreeing a tariff of ten strokes.

“Just ten for you then, Tony.  I don’t like to ask, but your father was most insistent on a bare bottom for you.”

“It’s OK, Mr Brown, sir.  I suppose I deserve it.”

Kevin was rubbing his bottom as discreetly as he could. But all the rubbing in the world wasn’t reducing the sting very much at all.  Still, it seemed like the right thing to do.  Certainly, his body was telling him to do it. He gazed over at Tony who was slipping his board shorts down to the ground, revealing a boyishly smooth bottom.  Meanwhile, Peter Watson bit at his nails nervously.  He was only too aware that natural justice and fair play demanded that he too should be caned. He’d have to persuade his parents otherwise.  Hang on though!  At 23, it was no business of theirs!  Hell, at 23 he was too old to be caned, full stop! However did he get himself into this mess?

CRACK!  Mr Brown’s cane was now getting a fresh workout, this time on Tony Taylor’s naked haunches.  Mr Brown was a natural caner.  He knew it, and the boys knew it.  Tony knew it even better than the others, as he was the one feeling the wrath of the angry adult right at that moment.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!  Yes, Mr Brown was having a cracking time alright!  So was his wife, who was only too happy to watch the handsome lad being reduced to a wreck before her eyes.  The smooth babyish buttocks were marking up a treat!

CRACK!  Tony was losing count.  He wasn’t trying to count as such, although it was a natural thing to do. But he lost it.  Lost count, that is.  And then he lost his dignity as well as the cane did indeed reduce him to a sniveling wreck.  Kev had found his beating hard to bear, but Tony was totally unaccustomed to this kind of harsh punishment and it showed. Oh yes, it showed. Mrs Brown wriggled restlessly on the sofa as the final stroke cracked down.

An eerie silence fell on the room.  Tony pulled his shorts back up , gave himself a quick botty rub, and went and sat down in a vacant armchair.  Mr Brown slashed the cane through the air.  It made a shocking swishing noise as it sliced through the silence.  He stared towards the only unbeaten lad, Peter Watson.  He beckoned him with his forefinger.  He made Peter stand a couple of feet in front of him, then purposefully bent the cane into an arc right in front of the lad’s gaze.

“Well, Peter?”

“No, no, you can’t Mr Brown!  Please!”

“I can and I rather think I should.  The other two have taken their punishment, so why shouldn’t you do likewise?”

“But my parents!  They haven’t agreed to this!  Besides I’m almost 24!  The cane is for teenagers!”

Mr Brown bent the cane right in front of Peter’s face once again, saying, “This is all very tiresome.  The very fact that the others have taken a caning means you’re not too old.  And do you really want me to ring your parents?”

“No, but…”

“Take your punishment like a man, Peter!” interrupted Kevin, at last extracting some kind of revenge at the expense of his sometime friend.

“Be quiet, Kevin!” snapped Mr Brown.  “You are still in disgrace.  Any more from you, and I’ll have you over the chair for another twelve strokes!”

Kevin blushed a deep, deep red.  Once more the room fell quiet.  Then the silence was broken by Peter unzipping his Wranglers.  It seemed that his time had come!

___________)

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 © MMXIV by Rod Cayenne

Photograph © MMXI by Jonathan, R.I.P.

All rights reserved.

___________)

Comments welcome

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Good In Bed (F/F)

Erotic fiction by Rod Cayenne

One of the beauties of being an art teacher is having an eye for detail. To recognise each brush or pen stroke of a particular artist is an incredible gift.  Mrs Parkinson was a teacher at the local technical college and possessed just such a gift.  Her grasp of every nuance of the old masters was almost peerless.  She also fancied herself as a handwriting expert.

One rainy Tuesday she was quite unprepared for the weather.  Fortunately, a knackered bus from the local operator was approaching, so she flagged it down and was grateful to board it and escape the rain.  As a rule, she never used the bus, but the deluge that day had broken her resolve.  The grimy, dimly lit interior of the bus was quite depressing, and Mrs Parkinson’s gaze fell on some graffiti on the back of the seat facing her.  She was outraged to see, in thick black marker, ‘Anja Parkinson Good In Bed’ inscribed for all to see.  Anja was her nineteen-year-old daughter.  What really upset her was when she recognised the boastful writing as not being from some local stud, but in her daughter’s own handwriting!

As the day wore on, Mrs Parkinson seethed and fumed.  Whatever had possessed her daughter to write such a bold and fearless self-advertisement?  If only the girl’s father was still around!  He, however, had headed back for Holland several years ago, tempted no doubt by free love and the herbal smoke of the cafes.  Teaching that Tuesday, and encouraging her pupils was proving difficult.  All she could think about was her daughter and the slutty graffiti.

Walking home after a stressful day, a plan began to form in the teacher’s mind.  She felt sure that a good thrashing would be just what Anja needed to bring her to her senses.  Her husband had been against corporal punishment, but he was gone, and he didn’t understand the English disciplinary traditions.  Mrs Parkinson did, however, and she felt sure that somewhere in the loft back at home she would find her late father’s punishment cane.  She decided to retrieve the cane and confront Anja.  However, it would have to keep until the weekend as a trip into the loft was a major undertaking.

The rest of the week was awkward.  Anja could sense that something was on her mother’s mind but she gave it only momentary thought.  Mrs Parkinson was getting quite tetchy, aggravated by a lack of sleep as the enormity of her daughter’s actions kept her awake.

Eventually, Saturday came.  Mrs Parkinson told her daughter she would be going into the loft  in a few minutes, and asked if there was anything she wanted retrieved.

“No, I don’t think so, thanks Mum.  But I’m sure you’ll find something interesting in there.  You usually do.  Surprise me!”

“Oh, I’ll do that alright, my girl!” Mum muttered to herself as she clambered up the rickety ladder into the loft.  The heat was intense as the rain earlier in the week had been supplanted by a most un-British heatwave.  Mrs Parkinson sweated heavily as she moved chests and boxes around as she looked for her father’s carved wooden trunk.  If memory served her well, his knobbly punishment cane was stashed inside, along with curios from his seafaring days.

Then she found it!  She swung the heavy lid back, and was greeted by the smell of camphor.  The cane was near the top, but the allure of her father’s memorabilia meant a good browse was irresistible, despite the sweltering heat.  Eventually, thirst got the better of her, so she took the cane and closed the wooden trunk.

Anja was indeed surprised to see her mother emerge with the cane tucked under her arm. She couldn’t help but ask her mother what the item was.

“It’s my father’s old punishment cane.  He used it a lot on my brothers.  He would beat them regularly.  I only caught it a few times, when I’d been really, really bad.”

“Looks vicious.  I bet it hurt.  Thank goodness those days have gone.”

“They’re fading fast, Anja, but they haven’t gone completely.  The cane is a wonderful corrector of wickedness, even now.  There’s something you and I need to talk about.”

“There is?” asked Anja, shuffling nervously.

“Yes, there is.  Come and sit here, while I tell you more.”

“OK, Mum.  If you insist.”

“Yes, I do.  In fact, you could say I feel quite insistent.  Let me tell you why.  Last Tuesday, the rain was so bad that I hopped on one of those green buses.”

“That’s not like you, Mum.”

“I know, I know.  Anyway, I found some graffiti I didn’t much care for on that bus.  It said ‘Anja Parkinson Good In Bed’.  In your handwriting, I believe!”

“Oh!”

“Oh?”

“Oh Mum!”

“Well, at least say you’re sorry my girl!”

“Mum, Mum.  I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am.  There was only the one bus.  And the male toilets at college.”

“WHAT?  At my technical college?”

“Err, yes.  It was a joke, really.”

“Anywhere else?”

“No, I don’t think so.  It was a joke, like I said.”

“Bah!  At my college, too!  I bet I’ve been the laughing stock for a while.  Well?”

“Oh Mum!  What can I say to make things right?”

“Well, Anja!  How about this?  ‘Mum, I’m sorry, perhaps you should give me a good thrashing with your father’s cane?’  How does that sound?”

“Oh Mum, no, please!”

“No, Anja.  It’s just what you need and deserve.  My week has been ruined.  I’m not sure I can show my face in college again after this new bombshell.”

“Mum, it’s my reputation, not yours.  I’m sorry, really I am.  I’ll take that caning, if it’ll make you feel  better.”

“I know you will.  I’ve already decided.  And since your graffiti implied you would drop your knickers for all and sundry, then you can drop them for the cane!”

“Oh Mum!”

“And if I hear you say that again, I’ll double the dose.”

“Oh.”

“Anja!”

“Sorry.”

“Right!  Skirt up, knickers down!  Bend over this chair!  Hurry up.  Mum’s not happy!”

Nothing had prepared Anja for what was to come.  Mum’s unhappiness was revealed by the first cane strokes which sliced down viciously on Anja’s pale bottom.  The girl squealed with shock as the sting burnt deeply.

Rapidly, further strokes followed.  Anja’s bottom was used to being pampered by her many attentive boyfriends, but now it was being battered by that wicked cane.  It cut and beat down without forgiveness.  Again and again Mrs Parkinson whipped the knobbly cane down.  Again and again Anja squealed.  At first, it was with pain and humiliation, but as the beating continued something else was creeping in!  Simultaneously she felt a delightful lightness and a darker wickedness.  Yes, the girl was deriving some pleasure from the intense sting and burn of her grandfather’s cane!  It was heaven; it was hell.  It was good in bed, but it was even better being bent over for the cane!

________________)

Disclaimer

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

 

(________________

 

Story © 2013 by Rod Cayenne

Comments welcome

Comments are here

In The Strawberry Fields (M/F, M/M)

Erotic fiction by Rod Cayenne

Sergeant Dexter couldn’t believe his eyes. The tip-off had been correct. Through his binoculars he could see a young couple, as naked as jaybirds, fornicating in the strawberry fields for which the village was famed. Although we were in the enlightened late 1950s, this was an outrage even by the prevailing modern, progressive standards.

He watched as the young man’s naked bottom bobbed up and down as he serviced his willing female companion. When to interrupt? Now, mid-flight as it were? Or afterwards, as the young lovers came back down to earth?

He decided to watch a little longer, as he was impressed by the young man’s technique. Indeed, the Sergeant was learning that his own skills were perhaps a little dated as he watched the youth driving and thrusting into the maiden. Suddenly, they swapped, and the girl went on top, sliding the man’s erect penis into her. The man massaged her ample breasts and then the lovers kissed passionately.

The Sergeant admired the lilly white feminine buttocks as they bounced around. They begged for a spanking, and were quite a contrast to the hairy male ones he had been watching only a few moments earlier. Indeed, our policeman was finding all of this a most rare and entertaining spectacle. His own penis was rising to the occasion, and for a brief moment, he considered masturbating right there and then in the Austin patrol car. He decided against, as it would be undignified, and there was also a slim chance he could be caught himself. He’d never live it down!

It was a lengthy session of lovemaking. Obviously, the young man had very good control, something again that the Sergeant could only dream of. Eventually, the lovers climaxed and fell into each others arms. Now was the time to strike!

The Sergeant gathered his notebook, pencil, truncheon and handcuffs. He slammed the door of the patrol car noisily, causing the lovers to stir from their post-coital embrace.

“Caught you!” announced the Sergeant. He recognised both of them, “George Trevose and Susan Waterman, whatever will your parents say?”

“Sergeant, we’re both eighteen, don’t tell them please,” requested young George, “You don’t have to tell, do you?”

“Yes I do! You’re not even twenty-one, yet here you are disgracing yourselves in the open air. Get dressed! We’re going down to the station.”

He bundled the hastily-clothed pair into the patrol car and they drove off to the police station, which was located in the local market town. There he read his copious notes out loud to a couple of his colleagues, as the lovers squirmed with embarrassment.

The policemen huddled in conspiratorial conversation behind the reception desk. Suddenly, there was raucous laughter! George and Susan wondered what on earth was going on. Eventually, Sergeant Dexter called them over and announced that they were to join him in the interview room.

In the room, the Sergeant picked up the bakelite receiver of the telephone. He then rang the local chairman of magistrates, Colonel R C H Smith (retd.). They spoke at length about the incident, while across the interview table, the lovers held hands tenderly.

“Yes, totally naked. Unofficial punishment, you say? If the parents agree? I suppose so. Yes, yes. We do have a selection of canes here. Yes, nice and whippy. Sting like the devil. Good idea. I quite agree, Sir. I’ll put it to the lad. I’ll keep you informed, yes, of course.”

Young George wasn’t stupid. He knew what was coming from the half of the conversation he had heard. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder what was to happen to his partner in crime, Susan Waterman.

The Sergeant spoke, “The chair of the magistrates is most annoyed with you two. If it weren’t a bank holiday weekend, a special court might have been convened. He’s a great believer in swift justice. So he’s suggested unofficial punishment, if you agree. It will be a caning for young Trevose, and I’ll talk to your parents, Susan, about what we are to do about you. Are you both agreeable? You’re getting off very lightly, considering. I understand that this naked exhibitionism has been happening on a regular basis. Well, do you both agree?”

The lovers nodded dejectedly.

“Right then! Here’s what’s going to happen. I will cane Trevose. Eighteen hard strokes. One stroke for each year of his age, as prescribed by the magistrate. The caning will be on the bared posterior, of course. After the caning, he can walk home. I will drive Susan back home, and talk to her parents.”

“So I don’t even get a lift back to the village? Shit!” said George.

“Watch your tongue, young man!” admonished the Sergeant. Meanwhile, tears of shame and fear rolled down Susan’s face. Her father would be furious! He might even withdraw her meagre allowance.

“Let’s get on with it then. Susan, you will remain here. WPC Green will arrive in a minute to keep an eye on you. George, you will accompany me next door for your punishment. Try to keep the noise down, as Susan will hear otherwise.”

As it transpired, it was all too easy for the sounds from the adjacent room to be heard. The Sergeant had left the door wide open deliberately, and the WPC did the same with the interview room door.

The first crack of the cane on the naked flesh of George Trevose was wickedly loud and accompanied by a pitiful “Owww!”

A second stroke seemed even louder and from the room the order from the Sergeant for Trevose to keep still could be heard. A third and a fourth stroke lashed down.

The fifth stroke must have been extra hard as the victim shrieked loudly and was admonished by the Sergeant, “Shut up and take it like a man!”

The caning was worse than anything George Trevose had experienced at his school. The next five strokes were lashed down quickly.

In the interview room, Susan’s eyes were filling with tears again as she listened to her lover being thrashed by the brute of a policeman. The WPC offered her no support, just a cold, steely stare, occasionally punctuated by a smirk when a hard cane stroke broke the silence.

There was a long gap before the eleventh stroke. The Sergeant was admiring his work. How pleasing the buttocks looked now that they were covered in the vicious red tramlines donated by the cane. It was quite a contrast to the unmarked but hairy bottom the Sergeant had watched in the strawberry fields.

With a sigh, strokes eleven and twelve cut into the naked flesh causing a loud squeal from Trevose. Again, the Sergeant stopped and admired the sight before him. What a pity there wasn’t more sanctioning of this sort of unofficial punishment, he thought to himself. In truth, it was dying out slowly and this would be one of the last occasions that the Sergeant would enjoy what was becoming something of a passion for him.

“Shit!” the Sergeant muttered, annoyed that so few disciplinary opportunities were available to him. He sliced the cane down hard again and again until the full sentence of eighteen strokes had been delivered. The painful payload had caused George Trevose to slump exhausted over the chair which had been bent over.

“Get up! Get dressed and get out!” the Sergeant instructed. Next door, WPC Green admired his masterliness. He’d have made a wonderful headmaster she reflected, as she ejected Susan from the interview room, gleefully aiming a slap at the miscreant’s pert bottom.

The Sergeant drove Susan back to the village. On the way they passed a dejected George Trevose walking home.

“I bet he’s got one sore arse,” the Sergeant guffawed. His bawdy and sadistic comment fell on deaf ears. Susan was more concerned with her own fate. Whatever would her parents say? Her father would be devastated, she felt.

That night, the WPC and Sergeant enjoyed a wild session of lovemaking in his rented house. Somehow, Dexter’s technique had suddenly improved, and WPC Green ended up more satisfied than ever beore. He had learnt a lot from the folly of youth, well, from George Trevose anyway.

Two days later, the Sergeant was cycling from the police station back to the village. Tied with string to the frame of his trusty Raleigh bike was a school cane. Reluctantly, Susan Waterman’s father had agreed that she should be thrashed for her indiscretions. He had begged Sergeant Dexter to carry out the distasteful task. Little did he suspect that the policeman possessed almost indecent flagellant enthusiasm for the task he had been given.

Neighbours peered from behind net curtains as the policeman propped his cycle near the front gate and carefully untied the string holding the cane in place on the frame. The Sergeant had oiled the cane, to increase its suppleness and to protect it from the elements. What a figure he looked in his handsome uniform! The cane he carried made him look quite formidable.

The Watermans hadn’t seen the Sergeant arrive, although he had been expected. He knocked purposefully on the door. Susan’s father duly appeared, looking a bit sheepish.

“Are you sure about all of this, Sergeant?”

As he crossed the threshold, Dexter reminded him, “I saw the whole thing, Mr. Waterman. Quite a disgusting exhibition. No shame at all, these kids.”

“Yes, I suppose so. I was thinking no more than six strokes. Cup of tea, Sergeant. Or something stronger?”

“I’d love a bitter, but I’d better not. I’m on duty still. So yes, a tea would be most welcome.”

Waterman shouted up the stairs, “Susan, the Sergeant’s here. Make us a pot of tea please, honey.” Just then Waterman’s wife joined them. She had asked for tea too and sat down with her husband and the policeman.

“Well,” said the Sergeant, “I don’t think six strokes is enough for the disgusting display I endured. Remember, at least one other person in the village must have seen them at it before now. After all, it was a tip-off that alerted all of us at the station to the problem. No, six strokes isn’t enough. Hardly worth me taking the trouble to come over. I’d recommend eight or ten as a minimum. What do you think Mrs. Waterman?”

“Oh, I don’t know officer! I’m thoroughly ashamed of her. I can’t believe they weren’t taking any precautions either! The stupid girl! I don’t want to be a grandmother just yet, thank you very much! Eight strokes seems entirely reasonable to me.”

“The lad took eighteen,” the Sergeant reminded them, “Really, she’s getting off very, very lightly. Eight will suffice, then. Now, one delicate matter to discuss. The lad took his on his bared posterior. How do you feel Susan should get hers?”

“She can have them bare too,” interjected Mr.Waterman. Perhaps more surprisingly his wife nodded silent agreement.

Just then, Susan opened the door, carrying a silver tray with the tea, crockery, milk, sugar and some home-baked cakes on. Her hands were shaking a little, causing the cups to rattle.

“Ah Susan, we were just discussing your punishment,” said her mother. “A caning, just like George’s. On your bare bottom, eight strokes. The Sergeant will do the honours.”

“Not bare, surely? Oh Mum!”

“Yes, talking of which, you can be mother, as it were, and pour us the tea.”

Soon the tea was being sipped, and all eyes were on Susan. Except her own, which were on the cane Sergeant Dexter had brought with him. Strangely, she felt quite excited and was looking forward to showing the officer her bare bottom. She was really quite incorrigible!

“Let’s get on, shall we?” asked the Sergeant taking control. “Skirt up, knickers down, over the arm of the sofa. Hurry up girl!”

Mrs. Waterman admired the masterful way he took charge. Must be trained that way, she mused. She found it quite a turn-on all the same. If only her own husband were made of sterner stuff!

All eyes were now on Susan who bent submissively, flipping her skirt towards the heavens, and gently eased her knickers down. The target was revealed. Dexter licked his lips, and flexed the cane. Mr. Waterman was more embarrassed, and was wondering about the wisdom of the whole set-up.

Swish-crack! The first stroke landed on the girl’s milky-white flesh, causing an angry red line. She gasped, as did her mother. The sting was bad, but somehow Susan forced herself to stick her bottom out ready for a second stroke.

Swish-crack! The second was a little harder, and right on target, causing the girl to writhe with discomfort. She rubbed her thighs together, then relaxed a little, revealing her treasures to the Sergeant. Something was stirring in his police trousers.

Swish-crack! A third forceful stroke almost sent the poor girl flying, as she cried out with pain. Her parents were finding this a suitable punishment for their daughter’s lewd behaviour. Mrs. Waterman in particular had a satisfied grin as she surveyed the red stripes adorning her daughter’s naked bottom.

CRACK! Stroke four was loud and hard. Susan squealed with pain. Her mother’s excitement was mounting as she witnessed the comeuppance her daughter so deserved.

Swish-crack! The fifth landed low, right on the crease and caused the girl to leap up.

“GET DOWN IMMEDIATELY!” Sergeant Dexter shouted. “That will incur a penalty stroke, I think.”

“Oh yes!” cried the girl’s mother supportively, “And make it a hard one!”

Mr. Waterman was astonished by his wife’s whip-lust. He sat nervously on his hands as the Sergeant raised the cane high once again.

Crack! CRACK! Two rapid strokes again caused the girl to cry out in torment. Her mother was sat on the edge of her chair willing the officer to beat Susan as hard as humanly possible.

Swish-crack! The eighth stroke was slightly more restrained, but it still caused Susan some distress, as she gasped and wriggled under the cane’s stinging caress.

The ninth stroke was now due. It was the penalty one for jumping up earlier.

“Sergeant Dexter, please make this last one extra hard,” Mrs. Waterman requested. “Susan must be taught to behave herself in public and also to take her punishment with dignity.”

The officer adjusted his trousers and raised the cane before whipping it down viciously. The noise of this final stroke was incredible and resounded all around the poky living room.

“AARGH!” cried Susan as the pain hit home. She started to cry. She was utterly humiliated.

Mrs. Waterman clapped her hands together. “Ah! A most satisfactory lesson for the little minx, I feel. Thank you ever so much, Sergeant. Oh, one thing…”

“Yes, Mrs. Waterman?”

“I wonder whether you could be persuaded to leave the cane here? Perhaps in return for a donation to the Police Benevolent Fund?”

“Of course, of course! You can keep it. After all, you never know when it may come in handy again,” he winked. “And a contribution really isn’t necessary. Times are hard, aren’t they? I’ll just book it as a breakage.”

“Tim, take the cane up to our bedroom,” Mrs. Waterman commanded her husband. She gazed longingly at Sergeant Dexter, her new hero.

Susan was recovering slowly from her beating. Carefully, she slipped her knickers back on. She noticed that the Sergeant wore no wedding ring. She wondered whether perhaps, he didn’t have a girlfriend? Perhaps she should force herself on him?

The Sergeant said his goodbyes and made his way back to his bicycle. It had been a good day, and the sunshine made it feel even better. Before heading back to the police station, he was minded to stop off to masturbate in the strawberry fields.

_____________)

Story © 2013 by Rod Cayenne

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