♥ Site recommended story ♥
A brand spanking new story by hot guest author JOELSTRAP. This story is exclusive to The Canery! All the spanked males are age 18 or over. WARNING: ADULTS ONLY!
Flight Of The Cane by Joelstrap
Jim rode swiftly into the farmyard, already dismounting as he brought his bike to a skidding halt.
“Green to go, huh?” he asked with a broad grin.
Damon gave him a thumbs-up and beckoned him over to a shed-door. Both young men entered and gazed at the small surveillance-drone which was sitting on a bench.
“Dad’s off to see old Curtice down the road, so he’s out of the way for a couple of hours at least. God knows what they find to talk about, but they go on for ages,” said Damon.
“And we never know what to say to each other,” observed Jim sarcastically.
“That’s different,” protested Damon. “We’re young and best mates and…….”
“……….we do fun things together as well as chatting,” ended Jim.
“Yeh,” replied Damon.
“What about your mum?” enquired Jim, nodding towards the farmhouse.
“Baking,” replied Damon, “round the other side of the house, and with a murder-mystery on the radio. She won’t bother us.”
“Okay. Let’s see this baby fly!”
The lads strode out of the shed, Damon carrying the drone carefully, and made their way along a track which led over a ridge of land and down into a broad pasture out of sight of the farmhouse. There Damon tinkered with the flier and then began to operate the controller. The drone took off smoothly, rising steadily until it was hovering about thirty feet above the ground.
“Awesome,” gasped Jim.
Damon guided the drone down to within a few inches of a molehill and the boys stared at the screen on the controller.
“Shit! You can see every grain of earth!” said Jim admiringly.
“Yeh! Dad says it’s brilliant. He can survey a whole crop from above and swoop down to examine anything that looks like it might be a sign of disease.”
“How far can it go?” asked Jim; and for answer Damon sent the little flier soaring skywards and then out across the field until it looked no larger than a wren at the far edge of the next field.
“Wanna go?” invited Damon; and Jim eagerly took the controller and began to bring the drone back towards them, quickly getting the hang of steering it.
As it approached them, he sent it skyward again before bringing it round in a long, smooth arc to land at their feet.
“Ace!” declared Damon.
The boys continued to take turns at playing with the flier for almost an hour before heading back to the farmhouse. They chatted together for a time and then Ji mounted his bicycle and headed off home.
Damon worked steadily for the next two hours because he had a lot of things to do, as instructed by his father, and didn’t want to be accused of slacking. As it approached time for the evening-meal, he went into the house and made his way to his room, intending to have a shower. He opened his bedroom-door and was confronted by Robbie, his kid brother, guiltily stuffing something under the bed.
“What the fuck are you up to?!” demanded Damon.
“I was just…..” began Robbie, turning bright red.
“You’ve no bloody business messing with my things, you little shit!” shouted Damon angrily.
“Mum wouldn’t like it if she knew you had gay magazines,” declared Robbie.
“You don’t come into my room and you don’t touch my magazines or anything else,” snarled Damon furiously. “It’s none of your fucking business.”
“So, what were you doing with Jim when you snuck off down to the bottom fields with him?” enquired Robbie cheekily.
“Me and Jim are best mates and he’s straight as they come, okay? said Damon. “Now promise you won’t come back in here again without my permission.”
Robbie glared at him but said nothing.
“Okay!” said Damon; and he bounded out of his room, dived into Robbie’s room and snatched his smart-phone.
“Give that back!” yelled Robbie.
“I’m keeping it until tomorrow,” Damon told him, “and then you’ll get it back if you promise to stay outta my room.”
“Okay, okay, I promise,” snapped Robbie.
“Tomorrow,” repeated Damon. “You need twenty-four hours without it to teach you what happens if you mess with me.”
You’re a sadistic bastard,” retorted Robbie, “but I’ll get you back.”
“Oh yeh? You and whose army? Now bugger off and let me get stripped for a shower.”
Robbie gave his big brother a glare, dodged a kick from Damon, and fled the room.
*********************************
No-one, it seemed, had told Robbie that vengeance is a dish best served cold.
“Dad?” he enquired, all innocence, as they ate their meal at the big table in the kitchen, “can I have a go with the drone?”
“No. I’ve told you before; it’s a valuable bit of equipment and only I am going to operate it,” replied his father.
“Damon has flown it,” objected Robbie.
“Yes, but only under my supervision,” his dad said.
“But you weren’t here when he flew it with Jim this afternoon.”
There was a silence during which Damon felt the heat rising in his face as his father turned to look a question at him.
“Er….well….yeh, me and Jim took it for a short flight,” he admitted. “I was just letting him see it. His dad might want to get one too,” he improvised hastily. “I just flew it across the field and back. It’s fine.”
“I’ve no doubt it is,” answered his father, “but that’s not the point, is it, Damon?”
“No,” replied Damon softly. “Sorry. I should have asked you first.”
“I think you need a little reminder about the importance of obedience, young man,” said his father, looking stern. “Eighteen you may be, but you’re not too old to get licked hard.”
“What! Dad, no!” gasped Damon.
“I’ll see you in your room at nine o’clock,” said his father grimly. “Understand?”
“Yes,” murmured Damon sullenly while across the table Robbie grinned gleefully.
*****************************
Alone in his room, Damon paced anxiously. As far as he could remember, the last time he’d been spanked was just a few days before his sixteenth birthday and he’d just assumed during the past two years that his spanking days were over. He jumped nervously as he heard the sound of his father’s feet on the stairs and turned to face the door. His dad entered, already undoing the buckle of his leather belt as he came in.
“Dad, I’m too old for this,” Damon pleaded.
His father eyed him. He saw a well-built young man standing just on six feet, fully an inch taller than himself. The unruly shock of light-brown hair framed a broad, open face and gentle brown eyes. He knew only too well though that Damon could be tough enough when he had to be; and he’d watched with some awe on many occasions as he’d brought down a hefty opponent on the rugby field. Damon still had something of the slenderness of youth but was filling out swiftly and his father admired the broad shoulders and slim waist. He was proud of his boy; but he also knew when he needed discipline.
“If you’re not too old to blatantly disobey me, then you’re not too old for a leathered tail,” declared his father, pulling the belt from the waist of his jeans and doubling it before giving it a vicious snap. “You haven’t forgotten what to do, Damon?”
“No,” replied Damon softly; and he quickly kicked off his trainers and removed his jeans and briefs before bending over the end of his bed and displaying a pair of taut young buttocks.
His father eyed them for a few seconds and then proceeded to leather them hard. His belt snapped ferociously again and again across the quivering, flinching, squirming flesh, turning Damon’s skin bright red and raising stinging welts. Damon maintained a stoical silence until almost the end, only the desperate clenching of his gluteal-muscles and his white-knuckled clinging to his duvet, betraying the level of pain that he was processing. A vicious lash of the belt low across his crease made Damon buck violently and forced a half-stifled squeal from him. Small yelps and a good bit of writhing accompanied the next few strokes; and then it was done. Damon’s dad re-threaded his belt into the loops on his denims and Damon himself stood panting as he waited for the blazing fires in his bottom to ease.
***************************
“He tanned your hide?” repeated Jim. “Fuck! The last time my old man skelped my arse was when I was thirteen.”
“Yeh; well it didn’t feel like it hurt any less at eighteen than it did the last time I got it when I was fifteen.”
“So I guess that’s it with the flier, huh?” said Jim.
“Why?” asked Damon.
“Well, you don’t want another arse-scorching from your dad’s belt, do you?” said Jim.
“Course not; but he won’t be scorching my arse next time because he’s never gonna know. I’ll just make damned sure that shitty scumbag of a kid-brother of mine is well out of the way,” declared Damon.
“Wow! You don’t mind living dangerously,” said Jim admiringly. “I spent a couple of hours last night screwing Linda through the mattress while her parents were watching TV downstairs, and I though that was risky.”
“I know how to handle the thing and dad knows I know how to handle it. I’m not stupid. We’ll get out again with it in a fortnight or so when Robbie’s away at his scout-camp during the holidays; and dad’s usually one of the parents who volunteers to take some of the lads to the camp-site, so that gets them both out of the way. We’ll get it flying again soon, I promise.”
*************************
The time for Robbie’s scout-camp arrived and, as usual, his dad was one of those who helped transport the lads and their gear to the camp-site, which was almost two hours’ drive away.
“Great,” said Damon to Jim. “That means Robbie’s out of the way and dad will be away for at least five hours by the time he gets there and back and probably has lunch at the camp before he leaves. Even better, mum’s away most of the day to a show of home-baking over at Beatineggs, so I’ll be alone on the farm here. We can take the drone down to the river and give it a good fly.”
The boys carried the drone down through the fields and along a track to the river-bank where they proceeded to put it through its paces, taking turns at making it perform various manoeuvres. They sent it out over the water and down round a bend in the river so that it was out of sight; and then brought it swooping back. Jim took control and the flier raced up and down the river and close to woods on the far bank.
“What’s behind there?” asked Jim.
“It’s a converted barn,” replied Damon. “Old Cornscrew, who has the farm on that side, sold the tumbledown barn and a bit of land a few years back and a rich guy bought it and did the ruin up. They say he’s made it into a luxury pad. He even built a little tower on one end of it. You can just see the top of it away over there beyond the wood.”
“Oh, yeh, I see it.”
Local rumours say it’s supposed to be the guy who’s in that horror-film, you know – Outlandish,” said Damon. “The one who’s hot as a hornet’s sting?”
“Ivor Hotman?” asked Jim, looking sceptical
“So they say; but I dunno. It’s a remote place, just a mile of rough track from the nearest road; and even that’s only a single-track one, well off the main road. The guy keeps to himself when he’s there; and he’s probably not there most of the time. I guess it could be him; but maybe that’s just rumours.”
“So, how about we send this baby over the trees to see if it can reach the skies above the tower? Then if it can, we’ll bring it back, attach the camera and send it over again. Maybe if you’re lucky you might see Ivor sunbathing in his birthday-suit,” suggested Jim.
Damon’s eyes shone.
“Oh, hell, yeh!” he enthused.
Jim sent the drone over the treetops and then headed it for the just-visible top of the tower, allowing it to circle well above the building before bringing it back to land accurately at their feet. They fitted the camera and then Damon took the controller and sent the flier off once more. It crossed the river, passed over the tree-tops and hovered over the land beyond. Both boys gazed at the screen on the controller and looked at the pictures the drone’s camera was sending back. They saw a substantial house with a well-tended garden around it. There was a swimming-pool and barbecue-area as well as a large wooden picnic-table and chairs.
“Shit! Money there okay,” said Damon, “but no sign of life.”
He explored the grounds, looking at the gardens and the paved area near the house.
“Looks like nobody’s home,” said Damon.
“So how about getting right down near the stones of the patio and see if we can see anything inside through the windows?” urged Jim.
Damon obliged and then both boys gasped aloud. The huge French-windows were open.
“Wow! He must be there after all. Can’t see anyone in the room though.”
Damon flew the drone carefully through the open windows to reveal a vast, luxuriously-furnished lounge. He let the drone hover over various things in the room and was admiring a large bronze of a slender youth when Jim shouted, “Hey! The French-windows are closing!”
Damon looked and to his horror saw that Jim was right. The two huge glass-doors were moving steadily together. For a moment Damon thought of trying to get the flier through the narrowing gap, but he realised it was too late. He did the only thing left. He brought it down to land on the floor.
“Fuck! Now what?” he exclaimed.
“We’ll need to go over there and get it back,” said Jim, “or your dad’s gonna blast your arse into next year.”
“But there must be someone there,” objected Damon. “Windows don’t close themselves.”
“Maybe they do,” suggested Jim. “Maybe they’re designed to open automatically when someone approaches them; and so the flier actually opened them when it was over the patio; and then they closed once it was inside.”
“Not very burglar-proof,” observed Damon.
“Well, no, you ass! If the place was empty you’d have them locked so they didn’t open automatically.”
“So we’re back to someone being there!”
“But maybe not right there in the lounge. Maybe having a snooze upstairs; or out for a walk; or watching porno-films on a computer in another room,” said Jim.
Damon sighed.
“Well, we gotta try,” he said. “I need to get that flier back or my arse is gonna lose six layers of skin every day for a month. And if we’re gonna try to sneak in and get it, we’ll have to take the car but leave it out on the road and go in on foot.”
“Yeh,” agreed Jim. “Hey! Look! It’s coming back!”
Both boys gazed across the river and saw the flier soaring over the tree-tops and then diving steeply as it crossed the water and then soared out across the meadow.
“But I’m not controlling it!” objected Damon as he snatched up the controller and started to press buttons. “It’s not doing anything I’m telling it to do!”
“Oh, shit! This is weird! And what’s that thing hanging down under it?” asked Jim.
Even as he spoke, an object dropped from the drone and landed on the grass several hundred feet away. The drone then soared skyward again and, crossing the river, disappeared beyond the trees.
The boys glanced at each other and then hurried over to see what had fallen from the drone. It was a long, very slim cardboard tube, such as might be used to contain a rolled-up poster. Jim picked it up and, at a nod from Damon, opened the plastic-cap on one end. A lithe cane slid out on to the grass. Both boys stared.
“It’s a fucking cane!” gasped Damon.
“No shit, Sherlock!” declared Jim sarcastically.
“What the hell is going on?” demanded Damon, looking wildly round as if expecting further disturbing deliveries.
“I’d guess whoever is in that house trapped our flier and then sent his own one with a message. That’s why we couldn’t control it; it was a different drone,” explained Jim.
“Message?” repeated Damon, picking up the cane and bending it into a smooth arc. “Presumably the message is that he wants to beat the shit outta us for sending a drone into his lounge?”
“Makes sense,” agreed Jim. “And, let’s face it, he’s maybe got a point. We’d no business nosing around his house with a drone.”
“Yeh, but…..a fucking cane? He can’t cane us!”
“I suppose we’d have to agree to take it,” said Jim.
“And we don’t!”
“But he’s holding our drone hostage and we gotta get it back or your arse is toast,” Jim reminded Damon.
“Oh, bloody hell!”
“So I think we gotta get over there pronto and do what it takes to get that drone returned,” said Jim.
“Even take a caning? I’ve never been caned. I know dad tans my hide, but boys haven’t been caned at school for yonks,” protested Damon. “It’s gonna hurt like hell.”
“More than your dad’s belt?” asked Jim.
Damon hesitated. “Dad’s gonna take all the skin off my arse if I don’t get that drone back. Maybe a caning wouldn’t be as bad as that.”
“Okay,” declared Jim decisively. “Let’s go for it. At least we can take the car right up to the house now, since we’re not trying to sneak in any more.”
“What about the cane?”
“What about it?”
“Well, do we take it with us? If he hasn’t got a cane, he can’t cane us,” said Damon.
“Yeh; and if he needs that cane to beat us with, he’s just gonna send us back for it if we don’t take it with us,” replied Jim. “Leaving it here isn’t gonna save our arses.”
“Right! Let’s go. If I’m to be beaten with a bloody cane, at least I want to get it over with,” said Damon.
The two boys made their way back to the farmhouse and jumped into an old Mini which Damon drove out to the road, over a bridge and back down the other side, turning on to a narrow side-road before taking a rough track between two stone pillars. Jim flexed the cane as they travelled.
“This thing means business,” he declared.
“I always thought canes had crook-handles,” said Damon, “but that one’s just straight.”
“I shouldn’t think whether it’s got a handle or not will affect the sting,” said Jim. “This little monster is gonna bite like an adder and sting like a scorpion.”
“Thanks for cheering me up,” retorted Damon as they edged between the gate-posts and drove up the approach to the house.
Damon brought the car to a stop on the gravel near the main door and the two boys jumped out.
“Think I should bring the cane?” asked Jim.
“Well, we’re gonna need to give it back to him sometime,” said Damon, “so might as well be now.”
He went up to the door and pressed the bell. After a short pause, the door was opened by a tall young man in his early thirties, clad in close-fitting leather shorts and an even closer-fitting vest. He was evenly sun-bronzed, muscular and lithe. Short black hair fitted his head like a cap and a dark shadow showed round his chin and upper lip. Damon and Jim glanced swiftly at each other as each registered the fact that the rumours had turned out to be true. This was undoubtedly Ivor Hotman.
“Er……” began Damon; and then halted and went red.
“We….er…..you see…..this is yours,” added Jim, holding out the cane.
Ivor took it and suddenly lashed it viciously hard through the air. The boys winced instinctively.
“So,” said Ivor quietly, “anything you want to say to me?”
“Could we have your autograph, please?” asked Jim.
Damon, taken aback at this piece of barefaced cheek, gasped audibly. Ivor smiled.
“Oh, yes,” he said, “I think I can let you have my autograph.”
“Wow! Thanks!” declared Jim.
“I’m going to autograph your bare arses with my cane,” said Ivor grimly. “It will fade, I’m afraid; but not for a long time,” he added.
“Oh!” said Damon. “Right.”
“Spying on me in my own home; sending a drone right into my lounge; a scandalous invasion of privacy,” declared Ivor. “You agree?”
The boys lowered their heads and shuffled their feet and looked embarrassed before glancing up at Ivor through fringes of hair.
“Yes,” they said in unison.
“For what it’s worth, we’re sorry,” said Damon, “but we know that doesn’t excuse what we did.”
“And we got the message you sent,” said Jim, nodding towards the cane. “We had to come to get our flier back, but I promise we’d have come anyway because we know we were in the wrong and…….”
“And you want to be caned hard,” ended Ivor.
“Er, no,” said Damon, “we don’t want to be caned at all, but I guess we deserve it.”
“So we’ll take it,” concluded Jim.
“Never been caned before, guys?”
The boys shook their heads.
“But my dad still leathers my tail, even though I’m eighteen,” admitted Damon.
“Not hard enough though, to judge by today’s behaviour,” suggested Ivor.
Damon, who considered that his dad leathered him more than hard enough, nonetheless felt it would politic to say nothing.
“In here!” ordered Ivor and ushered the boys through the door and along to a room at the rear of the house, overlooking the patio and pool which they had seen from the air earlier. The room appeared to be a small sitting-room with large, comfy armchairs.
“Okay, guys, shorts and briefs off,” ordered Ivor.
There was a startled silence.
“Bare?” queried Damon nervously.
“Does your father let you keep your clothes on when he tans your hide?” asked Ivor.
“Well, no,” concurred Damon reluctantly.
“Get them off. NOW!”
The boys obeyed and then, on Ivor’s instructions, each bent over the back of a large armchair, his buttocks raised and neatly presented for punishment. Ivor did several vicious-sounding slashes with his cane, which made both the air and the two boys wince. He approached Jim and rapped the slim rod several times on the young lad’s taut buttocks and then whipped the cane in hard across the centre of his sit-spot, flicking his wrist smartly at the moment of impact to maximise the sting. An audible gasp escaped Jim and he clenched his gluteal-muscles and dealt with the pain. Two more strokes followed, each slightly lower down his bottom, which elicited sharp intakes of breath and powerful clenching and flinching on Jim’s part.
Ivor moved over to Damon and inflicted three equally hard and closely-spaced cuts on his behind, leaving neat, parallel welts on the quivering flesh. Damon made no sound but Ivor, noting the fierce tension in the boy’s body as he processed the sting of each stroke, knew that he’d felt them. He smiled to himself, rearranged his straining penis, and then returned to Jim. He continued to hit hard, dealing out three more strokes below the first triplet, and raising pulsing, pain-laden weals on the tender flesh of the lad’s crease. Jim uttered little yelps at each stroke and bucked as the cane bit deep. Damon, learning from his friend’s reactions that more intense pain was coming, steadied himself, breathing carefully, as he awaited his turn.
The powerfully-wielded cane incised three more searing cuts low on Damon’s bottom and, in spite of a resolve to maintain silence, he was broken at the second and third strokes, half-stifled squeals of agony being driven from him as his body jumped and squirmed. Breathing hard, Damon prayed that the punishment was over; and then felt his heart drop as Ivor moved back once more to Jim. He lashed four strokes into the sensitive band of flesh where the boy’s buttocks merged into his upper legs, at high speed, extracting a series of desperate squeals and making the beaten boy writhe violently.
Damon listened and tried to prepare, but the quadruplet of swiftly-delivered cuts sent the pain-level soaring so high that he had no hope of keeping silent and in spite of a valiant effort, he found himself writhing in agony. Against his will, his hand flew round to try to protect the tortured flesh. Ivor was not impressed.
“Get your fucking hand back on the chair!” he shouted angrily; and, twisting his body round to get maximum power behind the stroke, he inflicted a fifth at an angle across the lowest welts. Damon squirmed, a yell of pain forced from him; but he kept his hands, white-knuckled, on the chair. Ivor took a handful of his hair and forced his head round so that he could look into the boy’s pain-contorted face.
“You might rub your arse when your dad’s leathering you,” he said to the panting boy, “but you don’t ever put your hands anywhere near it when I’m beating you.”
Ivor released him and walked away before returning to look at the two lads as they lay, thrashed bottoms blazing like beacons in the room.
“Get up,” he ordered coldly.
Jim and Damon complied slowly and each began to feel, with wondering hands, the havoc wrought on his bottom by Ivor’s brutally-wielded cane.
“Clothes back on!”
Obediently, the pair pulled on briefs and shorts over throbbing behinds; and then looked interrogatively at Ivor.
“Punishment over,” he declared, “unless you feel you need more to drive the lesson home?”
Each boy assured him fervently that he’d got the message and that no further application of that fire-dealing cane to his unprotected bottom would be required.
“Right. Either of you want to join my fan-club?”
Two heads shook firmly. Ivor grinned.
“Ah, well; it will probably survive without you. Okay, guys, come out on the patio and I’ll make some coffee.”
He walked out of the room and, after raising their eyebrows briefly at each other, the pair followed him through the lounge and out into the sunshine.
“The loungers are pretty well-padded,” grinned Ivor, “so you should be able to lie back in them without too much discomfort. I won’t be long.”
So saying, he headed back into the house. Jim and Damon lowered themselves carefully on to loungers, wincing slightly at pressure on highly tender bottoms.
“Oh, shit! I never expected the bugger to beat us as hard as that,” said Damon softly. “He’s an absolute bastard with the fucking cane.”
“Tell me about it,” agreed Jim, shifting uneasily in his lounger. “Ten screamers, and the sadistic sod was enjoying every one of them! Did you see the front of his shorts?”
“Yeh,” breathed Damon. “He looked like he had a rabbit down there. Well, I guess there’s not many guys who can say they’ve been beaten by the star of Outlandish. Wonder what his fan-club would think if they knew what he could do with a cane!”
Jim snorted. “He said he was gonna autograph our arses and he sure has. I bet these welts are going to be around for days. You had a bit of a boner too, I noticed, in between the times when he was caning you; and when you stood up at the end.”
“Yeh. It hurt like shining hell, but……..I dunno………just knowing what a sexy guy he is and feeling his power like that…….it did something for me. I don’t understand….”
He broke off as Ivor reappeared with coffee and a huge chocolate-cake from which he cut three large slices, giving one to each boy and sinking into a lounger with the remaining one.
“So, did you know who lived here, guys?” he asked.
“We’d heard rumours,” Damon admitted, “and that’s why we were nosey and flew our drone over to see if we could see anything; and then we went a bit too far. We know that was bad and we were really sorry – even before you beat the living fuck out of us.”
“We’re even sorrier now,” added Jim with a rueful smile.
“Did you enjoy Outlandish?” asked Ivor.
“Oh, yeh. It’s a great story. You’re one red-hot guy and you gave a fantastic performance. What’s not to like?” said Damon.
“You pair into each other?” enquired Ivor.
“No, no,” answered Jim. “Damon here is into boys, but I prefer the female of the species. We’re just good mates.”
“Rumour does say,” added Damon daringly, glancing at Ivor, “that you’re gay?”
“Rumour in this neck of the woods seems to be unusually accurate,” said Ivor. “And what did you think of my performance this afternoon?” he enquired with a grin.
“Unbelievable,” said Jim.
“Awesome,” added Damon.
“Like an encore, boys?”
“No thank you,” replied Jim firmly.
Ivor glanced towards Damon, but he was gazing steadily at his feet and said nothing.
For a further half hour Ivor entertained them with stories about his life making films; and the value he put on having a remote hideaway like this so he could escape the pressure of being well-known for a time. When the cake and coffee were done, he returned the flier to Damon and saw the lads to their car. He handed each of them a signed photograph of himself and then, when Jim had slid into the passenger-seat and Damon was about to open the driver’s door, Ivor laid a hand on his arm and stopped him.
“If you do want an encore,” he said softly, “come along next Friday evening.”
*****************************
Lying in his bed that night, his balls just emptied and his hands moving over the raised welts which were still standing out clear from his caned behind, Damon considered that unexpected invitation. On the whole, he thought he might like to accept. The cane had been intensely painful, but that fierce, challenging sting had touched something in him; and he thought he just might want to feel it again. Over the following days, he thought about it repeatedly, and ultimately decided to go.
“You outta your tree?” gasped Jim when he told him.
“Maybe; but I hope not. There’s just something about that cane….and Ivor’s as sexy as a buck-rabbit in spring. Fuck, but he’s hot!”
“But he’s gonna make your arse blaze like a furnace,” Jim reminded him. “You can’t have forgotten what that bloody cane felt like!”
“I haven’t. I can still see some faint marks on my bum; but I don’t think it’ll be the same as that,” replied Damon.
“On your arse be it,” declared Jim, shaking his head.
****************************
Ivor welcomed him warmly and they had a talk about why Damon had returned.
“Fine,” declared Ivor. “You’re not getting punished tonight, so it will be a bit different from last week; but it will still be a caning and you’ll still feel it.”
Damon inclined his head and was then taken into the room where he and Jim had been beaten previously and told to strip.
“Everything?”
Ivor nodded. Damon swiftly removed his clothing and stood naked before Ivor, fully aroused and with a faint tremor of anticipation and nervousness rippling through his body.
“Very impressive,” observed Ivor, flicking lightly at Damon’s erection with the tip of his cane. “You think you can keep that?”
“Yes,” replied Damon defiantly.
“Bend over.”
Damon leaned once again across the big armchair and immediately felt Ivor’s slender cane exploring his bare behind. The first stroke delivered a fierce sting and was followed by a flurry of further strokes which worked their way down his buttocks, hard enough to make him wince, but not so hard that he made a sound or lost his erection. After that Ivor hit much more slowly but with noticeably more force, and Damon soon found himself working hard to process the burning lashes of the rod. When Ivor paused, Damon was panting with the effort of keeping quiet and resisting the urge to caress his behind.
“Now, Damon, since you’re still pretty hard, I think you could cum while I’m caning you. So, step back a bit and get your cock on the chair-back, between it and your body; and each time the came hits you, thrust forward hard,” instructed Ivor.
Heart thudding with excitement, Damon obeyed. The cane lashed him firmly enough to make him buck; and then he gave a powerful thrust. As his body eased back, the cane whipped across his crease and he yelped as he thrust again; and again; and again. The speed of delivery increased and the pain-level rose as endorphins flooded Damon’s body. He felt something like a red-hot rod sliding through his perineum and the blazing fires in his bottom were both pain and pleasure as he drove hard and fast to his climax, sounding the bass strings of delight as his spunk soared clear across the chair-cushion to splatter the floor beyond.
“Stand up.”
Damon obeyed and pressed both hands to his buttocks, arching his body back, his eyes closed. Eventually he sighed and opened his eyes and gave Ivor a shy grin.
“Okay, Damon?”
“Oh, boy! You deserve an Oscar for that performance,” said Damon. “You got me flying higher than the drone!”
“You’ll be back?”
“Try and stop me!”
The pair retired to the swimming-pool where Ivor also stripped and they slid naked into the water, still warm in the evening sunshine, and shared wine and conversation until the darkness was beginning to fall. Ivor told Damon that he was in no fit state to drive himself home and instead took him to a small boathouse and ferried him swiftly across the river in a little motor-boat.
“You gonna cane me again tomorrow morning when I come back to collect my car?” Damon asked as they neared the far bank.
“You think you can take it again so soon?”
“Yeh; I think I’m up for it.” He paused and then added, “But I think I might need a bit of comfort afterwards, if I’ve been caned on two successive days.”
“And you think that a famous star, with all the golden youths of the film-world open to him, is interested in a farmer’s boy?” asked Ivor, a gentle smile playing round his lips.
“Yes,” said Damon confidently. “If I’m good enough to cane, I’m good enough to kiss. I might not be a golden-boy, but I think I’m fairly hot; and you definitely are. So, famous star, you think if us two red-hots get together we can do a spot of alchemy?”
Ivor’s eyebrows rose.
“An educated farmer’s boy,” he said softly. “I think you could be right. Let’s go for gold. Tomorrow I beat you and then I……comfort you,” he ended with a broad grin.
Damon was silent as Ivor cut the engine and the boat nosed into the shingly ground on his own farm-land. Both got out and stood and hugged for a while before Ivor returned to the boat.
He watched, gently caressing the throbbing mass in the front of his shorts, as Damon began to walk away. Already Ivor was anticipating eagerly the chance to cane those exquisite buttocks yet again; and to explore further the other delights of that sexy young man. The flight of his cane had paid off handsomely. He was about to turn on the engine of the boat when he saw Damon stop and turn round.
“Er……I’ve changed my mind,” called Damon softly.
Ivor was hit with a sudden pang of disappointment as he feared that now Damon was about to take flight.
“Yeh?” asked Ivor nervously.
“Yeh; I gotta ask you,” said Damon. “Can I join your fan-club after all?”
____________________________
The Canery 