A Dirty Look (M/M) NEW!

♥ Site recommended story ♥

A brand new caning story by your host, Rod Cayenne.  All the characters are age 18 or older.  This story is currently exclusive to The Canery and is only suitable for adults!

A Dirty Look by Rod Cayenne

Bright sunshine was streaming through the window as 19-year-old Jon settled down, penis in hand.  As wanks go, this turned into a particularly satisfying one.  Rhythmically, his hand slid up and down the girthy shaft of his stiff member, keeping him just on the edge of orgasm.  But it was not to be.  There was a frantic rapping on the glass of the window, as to Jon’s dismay he could see his grandfather peering in.  There was no mistaking the old man’s anger and astonishment.  Somehow the net curtain had not been fully closed, leaving Jon’s obscene display open for the whole world to see.  As the tiny terraced house was located on the busy Junction Road, anyone could have looked in.  Unfortunately for Jon, the Peeping Tom on this occasion was George, his paternal grandad.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, young Jonathan?” shouted grandfather, as Jon let him in the door which opened straight into the living room.  The old man’s face was red with rage.  “I’m going to have to report this to your father!  Even though that will embarrass me further.”

“I’m sorry, Grandad.  Really sorry.  Don’t tell Dad, please!  He wouldn’t understand, for one thing.  And he’s got a lot on his plate, at the moment.”

“I can assure you that he would understand.  You know, I caught him playing with himself a few times.”

“Really?  Really?  Haha.  Well, that’s alright then.  Runs in the family.  Must be in my genes!”

“It’s not alright!  Let me tell you something.”

“Yes?”

“I bought a cane and beat him black and blue.  It was the only way to get him to curb his disgusting habit.  Broke my heart, but I had to do it.  Mind you, he wasn’t nineteen like you, he was courting your mother by your age.”

“So, exactly how old was he then?” Jon asked peevishly.

“I don’t like your tone, young man.  But I think he was just eighteen.” Grandad lit up a cigarette, which seemed to calm him a little.

“Anyway, I think you’d better come with me!”

“Why?  I mean, what for?”

“Well, I still have that cane, and right now I can think of a very good use for it.”

“But Grandad!”

“Don’t start!  Come along now, Jon.”

There was absolutely no point in arguing, as Jon certainly didn’t want his father finding out about his indiscretion.  They set off down Junction Road, then into Church Street and were soon at Grandad’s shabby bungalow.  The place was untidy and had a musty cigarette smell and yellowed net curtains.  Well, yellowed almost everything, really.  And, at the risk of sounding sexist, a woman’s touch was evidently missing in action.

“Sit down, while you still can,” Grandad barked at Jon.  The lad pushed some military magazines aside and sat on the sofa.  “I’ll just go and find my cane.  I think I know where it is, but of course it hasn’t been used for many a year.”

Jon hoped his Grandad wouldn’t be able to find it.  His hopes rose steadily as the minutes ticked by and he could hear cursing as the search failed to bear fruit.  Eventually Grandad appeared empty-handed.  “I’m sorry, Jon, my boy.  I can’t find the damned cane at the moment.  It might be in the loft, I suppose.  You’ll have to come back tomorrow.”

“Oh.  Perhaps we’d better forget the whole thing, Grandad.”

“Ha!  Nice try, Jon, but I really don’t think so.  It worked for your father and I know it will work with you.  In fact, perhaps I’ll discuss it with your father as there is time to do that now.”

“No, No!  Please don’t do that.  I’d rather he didn’t know.  OK, I’ll come back tomorrow for a caning.”

Grandad’s ruse had worked, and he’d got the lad just where he wanted him – squirming and obedient.  “Very good, we’ll say 2.30 tomorrow and don’t be late!”

“OK then Grandad, I’d better dash now.  Bye!”

Jon hurried back to his digs.  He slammed the door and there in the front room, adjusted the net curtain so that prying eyes could not see inside.  Not that he was planning to wank just then, but it was a precaution for the future.  In fact, his mind was in turmoil about his caning to come, and masturbating was the very last thing on his mind.

As the day wore on though, Jon thought more and more about his promised caning.  He decided to do some research, logging on and searching for information.  He was trying to find out how bad a caning could be, and what he was likely to be in for.  He soon found plenty of ‘hits’!  Much of the information was clearly pornographic, with both males and females being caned, sometimes severely.  Bare bottom canings seemed prevalent, which was something he had not really considered, perhaps naively.  But surely his grandfather wouldn’t cane bare?  The more he thought about it, his no-nonsense grandad probably would have caned that way.  He became a little disturbed at the thought.  Further contemplation gave Jon a more sexual perspective on his forthcoming beating – perhaps it would be a turn-on despite the pain?  Yes, it could be exciting, he decided.

That night, he couldn’t sleep.  Despite an extended wank session, his mind was full of the cane.  He was hot and he was bothered.  The thought of a bare arse caning kept looming up in his thoughts.  By the morning, he felt rough as he really hadn’t had enough sleep.  He brought himself off quickly before he went downstairs to fix breakfast.

Looking out of the window, he saw torrents of rain washing down the road.  What a drag!  He’d never known the weather be so changeable.  It rained all day and he arrived at his grandfather’s completely soaked through.

“You’re late, Jon!” Grandad barked at him, “and soaked through.”

“Yes, sorry, I was hoping the rain would ease off, but it didn’t and it slowed me down.”

“Well, think yourself lucky I haven’t added extra strokes for tardiness.”

Jon blushed, taking off his anorak which was dripping wet.

“You might as well take all your clothes off.  I’ll put them in the tumble drier for you.”

“Thank you.  But I’ll be naked!”

“Well, I will be caning your bare backside, my lad.  And I’ve already seen your manhood, haven’t I?”

“Gosh, a bare backside caning?”

“Yes, that’s what I said and, of course, it’s the only way.  Now, get those clothes off.”

Silently, Jon stripped off every last stitch of clothing, placing it all in a laundry basket that the old man had just brought in.  Jon tried to cover himself with his hands, trying to hide his embarrassment and his less than flaccid penis.  The excitement and shame were getting to him.  How he wished this wasn’t happening.

“You found the cane then, Grandad?”

“Yes, it was up in the loft.  Here it is, look.”

Jon didn’t really want to look, but he did anyway.  The cane looked old, with a crook handle and a golden brown colour.  It looked fairly harmless, but just then his grandfather sliced it through the air with a scary slashing noise.  Jon gulped.  This was going to be no picnic.

“The cane was a bit dried out so I soaked it in the bath.  It’s nice and springy and whippy now, I’m pleased to say.  Now, let’s have you over here.  Bend over the back of this chair.  Stick your bottom out.  That’s it.  A bit more.  Good!”

“How many strokes, Grandad?”

“Well, six is traditional.  I think you can cope with that.  Make sure you stay down, though.”

He slashed the first stroke down.  Jon jerked slightly as first the impact and then the pain hit home.  He gasped with despair.  This was going to be hard to take, he felt sure.  He was right, for the second stroke was if anything harder.  He shot up, clutching his arse cheeks.

“What are you doing, Jon?  I told you to stay down.  Now then, that stroke doesn’t count.  Let’s do it again!”

“Oh no!”

“Well, I did warn you.  Obedience is a very good idea when you are at the mercy of a man with a cane in his hand, you know.”

Talk about stating the obvious!  Jon just kept his head down as his grandfather whipped down the replacement second stroke and a third quickly after.  Suddely the sun came out and bright sunshine flooded the room.  It lit up Jon’s naked arse, highlighting the target.  Grandfather paused to admire his handiwork.  Four bright red tramlines decorated the teenage arse before him.  They looked good and sore, the old man told himself.  He quickly slashed down the remaining three strokes, causing Jon to squeal and squirm under their lash.  It was over, but Jon was gasping for air.  He shot up, rubbing his punished rump and fighting back tears.  He had never felt so humiliated.

“Good.  Now, I’m not a cruel man but there will have to be a reminder session with this cane in exactly a week.  To remind you to behave yourself.  Unless you want the extra strokes now?”

“No, no, please Grandad!  A week is OK.  That’s fine.  Just don’t tell Dad.  Please.”  Jon soon wondered just why he had agreed to a second caning.  At the time, it had just seemed the right thing to do, to assuage his own guilt and to keep the old man placated.  Yes, it had seemed right, but now he was having doubts.

Grandfather told him to sit down on the sofa.  Doing so hurt Jon’s bottom significantly.  He looked quite a sight, sat their in the nude.  His hands flew to his lap to cover a burgeoning erection.

“Now then.  Your clothes will take a few more minutes to dry.  Let’s have a fine single malt, shall we?”  It was a strange offer, but one Jon was grateful to accept.  Anything to take his mind off the throbbing, stinging pain in his rear.  Grandpa appeared with two tumblers of fine Scottish island whisky.  Jon held out his hand to take the glass, revealing the erection he’d been hiding.  “I shouldn’t worry about that.  Sometimes happened to your father.  You can sort yourself out when you get home.”

“Thanks, Grandad.”  Jon was embarrassed again as he sipped at the scotch, which was indeed as fine a one as he’d been promised.  It was damned strong though.  Jon coughed.  It was much stronger than anything he was used to.  It burned his throat a little, just as the cane had burned his arse.  It was a day of extreme experiences!

Jon also wondered why his grandfather was so forgiving of the erection stimulated or caused by the cane, but not the one when he had been caught masturbating.  It was a puzzle, alright.  “I’ll just use the loo, if that’s alright, Grandad?”

Grandad nodded and placed his tumbler down on the coffee table as he watched his grandson waddle off.  Seven bright red lines decorated the lad’s pert bottom as he disappeared off to the toilet. The teenager covered his front with his hands to hide his excitement.

Jon sat down on the black plastic loo seat.  It hurt his cheeks to do so.  He was concious of his rampant erection which had returned again.  It only took a few pulls for spunk to burst out onto the pink toilet tissue he’d grabbed hurriedly.  Flushing it away, he thought to himself that at least this time Grandpa hadn’t caught him on the edge of ejaculation!  It was a secret sin, but he couldn’t understand why he’d got the erection in the first place.  Surely he wasn’t a masochist?

Back in the living room, Grandpa had returned with Jon’s clothes which were nicely warmed after their spin in the tumble drier.  Jon duly dressed in front of the lustful gaze of his grandfather.  The warm briefs were some comfort to his punished bottom.  Only the anorak was still a little damp.

“Same time next week, then.”

“Another caning and another Scotch, Grandad?”

“Don’t push your luck, you cheeky lad!”  Grandfather landed a quick smack on the lad’s arse as he left.

Walking home, the whisky had certainly lightened Jon’s mood, although there was still an awful throbbing from the weals left by the cane.  What a day it had been!  A day to remember, for sure.  Back at his digs, he laid down on his single bed  and wriggled his arse to stimulate a bit more pain from the cane stripes.  An overwhelming desire to masturbate soon followed.

One week later, Jon appeared at his grandfather’s right on time.

“Glad to see that you can be punctual, Jonathon.  You can keep your clothes on this time, although I shall require your bottom to be bare for the cane.”

Jon nodded and dropped his jeans and briefs down to his ankles and bent over the chair as expected.  The wicked cane was soon set to work, slashing and burning the teenager’s rump as before.

“That’s your lot.  Six of the very best.  You took that really well.  Much better than last week.  I’m proud of you.  Now, do you need the toilet again, my boy?”

“Err no, no thanks.”  Jon had decided that he would wank himself off at home this time.  Although he did wonder whether Grandad had perhaps rumbled him last week, after all.

“I’ll just get the whisky.  How about we’re really naughty and have a cigar too?” Grandad said.

Despite the rampant pain in his arse, Jon was beginning to feel really grown up as he shared a drink and a smoke with his grandfather.  He wasn’t sure his father would approve, but Jon and his grandfather were obviously on the same wavelength.

“Now, this might sound like a funny offer, but if you ever need a good thrashing in the future, for any reason at all, you know where to come.  You just need to ask and I’ll be happy to give you what you need.”

“Err, seems unlikely but yes, thank you Grandad.”

Six weeks later, Jon turned up unannounced at the bungalow.  “Hi Grandad.  I hope this isn’t an awkward time.  I feel awful.  I’m sorry to have to tell you that I can’t stop playing with myself.  It’s getting to be a real problem.”

It wasn’t a problem for Grandad.  It would be a pleasure.

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D I S C L A I M E R

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

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Story © MMXXIII by Rod Cayenne

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Authors appreciate feedback, so please comment on this story.  Comments are here.

 

All Day Breakfast (M/M)

♥ Site recommended story ♥

 

A repeat of this short story of corporal punishment fun by your host, Rod Cayenne.  This story is currently exclusive to The Canery.  All the characters are aged 18 or over. Strictly adults only!

 

All Day Breakfast by Rod Cayenne

The Coronet Café and Milk Bar was opposite the faded Grand Theatre where Derek often performed, sometimes as a lead and at other times as an understudy.  It was also directly below the tiny flat he rented from the cafe’s proprietor, one June Prior.  A scratchy and warped Merseybeat 45 played on the jukebox.

“You boys! I can guess just what you’ve been up to. Why Derek, your guest can hardly sit still.” June wagged her finger at the young lovers, only semi-seriously. Fag ash from her roll-up narrowly avoided landing in the sink where she was scrubbing away the last remnants of a recalcitrant omelette. “Did you not get enough of the cane at school? Tut, tut what would your old headmasters say, if they only knew? You know, there should be a law against it. Yes, indeed my naughty boys! Anyways, there is a law against the other stuff I’m sure you get up to! Dirty, dirty boys!” Another clump of ash fell from the ciggy.  “How did youse two meet anyway?” 

“Actually we first met each other in the theatre toilets,” Russell sniggered, “It’s where all the big boys hang out.”

“Ach!  How I wish I hadn’t asked,” said June as she turned her attention to a prime cabbage she was preparing for the Sunday roasts, “The age of romance is certainly dead.” 

Russell burped loudly and Derek laughed.  

“See!  Dead!  Disgusting!  I ought to throw you both out, but you know you are my only two customers at the moment!”

“Two All-Day Breakfasts, please June,” said Derek as he looked up from his stone cold sugary cappuccino.

Suddenly, June’s mood improved.  After all, cash was king at the Coronet!  “With bread and butter?” she pushed her luck.  The two lovers nodded eagerly, “Soft eggs?”

“Aha,” said Rusell.

“Softie for me too please, love,” said Derek in his campest tone as he drummed his fingers on the red and white chequers of the Formica table top.

June stared at the ceiling.  “OK, just let me finish this,” she said as she started daydreaming while slicing the cabbage.  She was enjoying a flashback to that fateful day, only a few months back when she had stumbled across Derek and a different male lover in the flat.  It was rent collection day, so she’d let herself in, only to find herself confronted by a most unusual spectacle in the dingy living room.  Two naked youths, both sporting huge erections, one about to bend over the settee, and the other with a whippy crook-handled cane in his right hand.  Yes, it had been quite a shock.  She had mentioned it and the tin of Vaseline she’d seen to the vicar, but he’d reasssured that sort of thing was quite normal and could soon be legal.  “After all, we are in the Swinging Sixties!” he had laughed.  Those erections haunted her nights and her daydreams, for she was still a virgin most pure.  Her tireless pursuit of money had left her life quite barren.

“I could spare some of this cabbage if you want some with your breakfasts,” June offered.

“Err, no thanks, that is something I really did have enough of at school, thanks June,” Derek replied.

“Me too, me too,” added Russell.

Later that afternoon Derek and Russ were lying naked in each others arms.  The old bed creaked as they kissed passionately.

“That June’s quite a character, isn’t she?  Although that breakfast was pretty awful.  It keeps repeating on me.  It keeps repeating on me,” said Russell.

“Oh do shut up!  I get the joke.  Think yourself lucky that you escaped the cabbage.  But I am quite fond of June.  She’s such a sweetie.  I ought to fuck her sometime,” Derek mused.

“Nah, fuck me instead,” Russ suggested.

“Nah indeed, I don’t think so!  You’re due a caning, my boy.”

“I am?”

“Yes, you are.  After all, we’ve got to live up to the reputation June’s given us.”

“That bloody woman!  What an old slapper!”

“The only slapping that will be going on is my hand on your arse.  Then maybe a dozen strokes with my finest rattan for you.  For being rude about June.  She’s actually quite chaste.”

“Shit!”

“And that’s a word I don’t like hearing in my home.  Some extras for that I think.  Fetch the cane, my boy.” 

Russell dived under the bed.  For it was there that Derek kept two swishy canes.  A junior one which stung like the devil, and a senior one which raised wheals like nobody’s business. 

It was clear from Derek’s instruction that he meant to use the senior one, “Now bring the stool in from the parlour.”

Russell groaned.  A caning over the old wooden chemistry lab stool was something that would really hurt.  Clearly Derek meant business today.  Russell, completely naked, draped himself over the stool.

“Bottom right up, that’s it,” Derek instructed before landing a meaty slap on the right buttock.  He followed through, alternating firm smacks between the two pert and inviting cheeks.  So many generous and livid red handprints soon decorated Russell’s rear.  Derek wasn’t in the mood for wasting time though, and promptly landed the first cane stroke right across the middle of Russell’s arse. 

The second stroke was the killer though.  Derek had lashed it down right on exactly the same spot as the first one.  “Aargh!” cried Russell. 

Derek laughed and remonstrated with him that it was a bit early in the thrashing to be crying out, “But then, you are a real Softie, aren’t you?  Mister Softee!”  His cruel words added to Russell’s humiliation.  Then the cane thrashed down again, and again.  The beating was harsh, remorseless and hardly playful.  After twelve strokes, Russell was close to tears.  Close, but not quite there. 

“Stay where you are!” commanded Derek, “You’re due extras for swearing.  Two for ‘bloody’ and two more for that ‘S Word’ that I cannot abide!  Let me swap canes.  I think the bite of the junior is just what you need now.”

Derek scrambled under the bed, to retrieve the second, thinner cane.  If only Russell could have seen, for Derek was now presenting a most undignified spectacle.  His own naked bottom, arsehole and rampant cock were on display as he groped around under the bed to find the second cane.  He should have got Russell to do this, he thought to himself.  “Got you!” he cried eventually, crawling back up with the lithe cane firmly in his grip. 

Crack!  The junior cane lashed into Russell’s rump, relighting the pain from the previous dozen strokes.  The lad whimpered gently as a second stinging stroke followed.  At times like this, Derek could be a real bastard.

“There, that’s for the first swear word.  These next two will be harder; you know how I feel about that second word!” said Derek.  Little did Russell know where this prudishness had come from, after all Derek had just used the F Word.  In truth, that prude streak was from Derek’s own painful upbringing as the son of a beastly clergyman. 

So it was that the final two strokes were hard, stinging and masterful.  Derek threw the cane down and jumped on the bed.  Soon, Russell joined him.  Derek flipped him over to inspect the damage.  Indeed, the sixteen strokes had made quite a mess of Russ’s rear.  It was criss-crossed with angry red lines, and as Derek massaged gently, Russell could not help but wince as the pain was revived to some extent.  Derek’s cock was erect and primed.

“Make love to me,” pleaded Russell.

“No, not now.  Later perhaps,” said Derek enigmatically.  To be honest, Russell’s caned arse was such a sight, that his lover was a bit turned off momentarily.  Derek pulled on his blue jeans and a paisley shirt.  “I’m just popping down to see June.  Catch you later, naughty boy.”  He slapped Russell’s arse as he departed.

Russell rolled on to his side to gently soothe the damage Derek had wrought.  After a few minutes, the pain gradually subsided, to be replaced by a warm and calming glow of contentment.  Soon, his penis had sprung to life.  It was rock hard, and throbbing with life, like an independent spirit.  Of course, Russell had to attend to it.  Frantically, he pumped and pumped until he achieved a gratifying release.

Downstairs in the café, Derek was whispering in June’s ear.  “Sixteen hard strokes I gave him.  Made quite a mess of his arse, I can tell you.  That’ll teach him to swear in my fuckin’ flat!”

“My flat,” June corrected him, wagging her finger.  Little did Derek know that June had recently taken a trip uptown, like you do, and bought her own whippy cane.  She had definite plans to use it on her tenant.  After all, she shouldn’t have to put up with swearing from him, now should she?

 

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D I S C L A I M E R

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

__________________

Story © MMXX by Rod Cayenne

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Authors appreciate feedback, so your comments are most welcome.  Comments are here.

 

Comments from the original 2020 posting are here.

 

Where’s Reece? (M/M) NEW!

♥ Site recommended story ♥

It’s high time for another brand spanking new story by very special guest author JOELSTRAP.  This story is exclusive to The Canery!  All the characters are 18 or over. WARNING: ADULTS ONLY!

Where’s Reece? by Joelstrap

Jordan and I were sitting in deckchairs in his front-garden, chatting in a desultory manner while lapping up the sun. A perspiring Reece came running towards us along the road, clad in a thin vest and close-fitting shorts.

“Fuck! He’s hot!” I remarked to Jordan. “And I don’t mean his temperature.”

Jordan grinned. “And you’ve got the hots for him huh, Bran?”

“Well, yeh; but I don’t know if he’s interested in me. Shit, but those running-shorts are hot too!”

“And your breath’s coming in hot pants, eh Bran?”

“Shut up!”

“Hey! Reece! Come here a minute,” shouted Jordan. “Bran’s getting all hot and bothered at the sight of you.”

“You bastard!” I snarled furiously at Jordan. “Why the hell did you say that?”

“Because it’s true,” retorted Jordan, smiling unrepentantly. “He’s coming over.”

Reece slowed to a trot, pushed open the gate and came into the garden. He stood, hands on hips, partly bent over, breathing hard. In the centre of his vest was a dark patch of sweat and rivulets of perspiration trickled down his face and neck.

“Boy, it’s hot for running,” he admitted. “You couldn’t find me a cold lager, could you, Jordan?”

“No trouble,” replied Jordan, getting up and heading for the house.

Reece plonked himself down on the grass at my feet and looked up into my face.

“Was that right, what Jordan said; about you being all hot and bothered at the sight of me?” he enquired shyly.

“Jordan should keep his bloody trap shut,” I said.

“So it wasn’t true?”

“I didn’t say that,” I replied.

“Well, was it or wasn’t it?” demanded Reece with a touch of asperity.

I felt myself going red in the face and Reece grinned.

“You definitely look hot,” he opined.

“Okay, okay, I said to Jordan that you were red-hot in these tight shorts; but he’d no business shouting to you; and why would you be interested in me anyway? It was just a throw-away comment. Just forget it.”

“Like hell I will! You meant it, didn’t you, Bran? You think I’m hot?”

“Yes; but you don’t have to……..”

“I think you’re pretty hot too, Bran,” interrupted Reece.

“You do?”

“Mmmm! So we agree that we’re both hot stuff. That’s a good start. How about you meet me down the pub tonight and we have a couple of beers and get to know each other a bit better?”

“Brilliant!”

Jordan returned carrying three cans of chilled lager and handed them out before sitting down and demanding, “So, fixed up a date yet, guys?”

“Yes,” I said smugly.

Jordan stared at me.

“When?” he asked.

“Tonight, in the pub.”

Reece nodded confirmation and Jordan shook his head as if he couldn’t quite believe it.

“One minute you’re furious with me for telling Reece you think he’s sizzling-hot; and the next you’ve made a date to get into his pants!”

“You’ve got bloody pants on the brain,” I objected. “Who said anything about pants? We’re meeting for a drink and a chance to talk.”

“And if Bran tries to get into my pants in the pub, I’ll punch him in the goolies,” warned Reece.

“No way was I ever even thinking about getting into your pants in public,” I protested.

“Maybe after a couple of beers, behind the bushes in the park?” suggested Jordan mischievously.

Reece and I glanced at each other and then simultaneously each grabbed a leg of Jordan’s deckchair and tipped him on to the grass.

“Sodding bastards!” yelled Jordan. “Half my lager’s away, you rotters!”

“I don’t think he’s pleased,” observed Reece.

“No, he’s not,” I agreed. “A bit hot under the collar I’d say.”

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Reece and I got on very well and began seeing each other regularly. He was studying chemistry and loved running. Monday and Wednesday evenings he trained with a running-club; and most Saturdays he went off on a competitive run somewhere. I was studying history and got my exercise at the gym and playing football for the college team. We met several evenings a week and at the weekends fulfilled Jordan’s prediction of getting into each other’s pants to our mutual delight and pleasure.

The weeks turned into months and we moved out of halls and into a small flat together and were deeply happy.

Over a year had passed and on an autumn Monday evening, I happened to be near the sports-centre as the first of the runners were returning from their ten-mile run. I decided to wait for Reece, but the tail-enders came in and there was no sign of him. I went into the building.

“Where’s Reece?” I asked; but no-one knew.

When I got back to the flat, Reece was already there and I asked where he’d been.

“Oh, I didn’t feel right; maybe something I ate,” he said, “so I gave the run a miss.”

It was three weeks later on an October evening that I was sitting in the local pub with Jordan who remained a good friend. Jordan was straight as they come and played the field tirelessly among the girls at college; but we respected each other’s sexuality. I always felt that I owed Jordan something for getting me and Reece together, even if I’d resented the way he did it the previous year.

My mobile rang and I was listening to Nigel. “Where’s Reece?” he enquired “Is he with you?”

“Nah. It’s Monday. He’ll be at the running-club,” I told him.

“Oh! That’s probably why he’s not answering his phone. Look, Reece was at my room in hall earlier to get some lecture-notes he wanted and when we came out my phone rang and so Reece locked the door; and he must have pocketed the key without thinking, because I haven’t got it and I need to get into my room.”

“Right! Me and Jordan are at the pub, but we’ll pop up to the sports-centre now and see if Reece has got the key in his jeans. He’ll be out on a run, but the guys there know me, so they’ll let me look in his things. If it’s there, we’ll get it to you as soon as we can.”

“Thanks, mate. You’re a pal.”

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At the running-club’s changing-rooms, Gordie looked blankly at me.

“But Reece isn’t here,” he said. “He still comes on Wednesdays and does the competitions on Saturdays; but I’ve not seen him on a Monday for weeks.”

“Oh! I guess I got mixed up,” I said. “Thanks anyway.”

We walked in silence down the road back towards the pub. I was aware that Jordan was giving me frequent sideways glances; and eventually he asked tentatively, “So what do you make of that, Bran?”

“I dunno. Maybe he wasn’t feeling well and didn’t go tonight.”

“What about the other nights?”

“How should I know?” I replied irritably.

“Did he not tell you he wasn’t running on a Monday evening any more?”

“No,” I said.

We entered the bar, Jordan ordered pints, and we sat down.

“Bran?”

“What?”

Jordan raised his eyebrows.

“Okay, okay! I don’t know what to think. He goes out as usual every Monday evening with his sports-kit; and I don’t know where the hell he goes. Satisfied?”

“No, I’m not satisfied; and neither are you. So where’s Reece on a Monday evening? What do you think’s going on, Bran?”

“Look, it’s none of your fucking business,” I riposted angrily.

“You’re my friend,” said Jordan.

I took a long swallow from my glass.

“Yeh. Sorry. It’s not your fault. Do you….do you think he’s maybe seeing somebody else, Jordan?” I asked, voicing my fears uneasily.

“Any reason to think he is? Are you still getting on well?”

“We’re fine, honest. Blissfully happy. Really, Jordan, there’s no reason he’d go off with another guy. Anyway, even if he did fall out of love with me, I honestly think he’d just tell me and be open about it. It’s how Reece is.”

Jordan nodded. “Yeh. I agree. So there must be another explanation. You’ll just have to ask him.”

“Yeh,” I replied, not meeting Jordan’s eyes. “I guess I should.”

“And what about Nigel’s key?” asked Jordan.

“Oh, shit! I forgot that. I’ll try Reece’s mobile. Maybe he’ll have it switched on by now. He should be on his way home from…….wherever he is……shortly.”

Reece answered and I told him about the key; and after a moment when he was obviously rummaging in his pockets, he confirmed that he did indeed have it and would ring Nigel to say he was on his way with it at once.

“That’s that sorted anyway,” said Jordan.

“Yeh. I think I’ll get off home now,” I said, draining my glass. “See you.”

I argued with myself all the way home and by the time I reached the flat, I’d decided that I didn’t want to let Reece know what I’d accidentally discovered. Instead, I made up my mind to follow him the next Monday and see where he went.

It felt like a long week, but at last Monday came round again and Reece picked up his kit-bag and set off. I followed like a shadow, helped by the fact that it was dark and I could dodge from street-light to street-light and doorway to doorway and so avoid being seen should he look back. Not that he did. Nor did he make for the sports-centre, but headed to a rather posh part of town and then into a narrow mews which formed a cul-de-sac running behind a row of large, detached houses. Here the former stables-buildings for the mansions had been converted into small cottages and as I watched from behind a convenient tree, Reece rang the bell of one of these and was admitted. Unfortunately I couldn’t see who answered the door and as nothing was said, I couldn’t even tell the sex of the person who let him in. I made my way along the mews and gazed at a couple of dark windows at the front of the house. Going on a little, I found a narrow alley leading down the far side of the cottage, presumably giving access to the courtyard at the back. It was almost pitch dark as no light from the street-lamps penetrated down here. I made my way cautiously forward and came to a high wooden gate barring the way. Turning the handle carefully, I found that it was locked.

I hesitated and then decided that since I’d come this far, I had to see if I could find out more. I jumped up, grabbed the top of the gate and then hauled myself up with a considerable effort until I was perched on top. The courtyard into which I was looking was in near darkness, but there was a little light which I assumed came from a rear window. They had to be in there! I half slid and half jumped down and suddenly there was an offended screech and a cat shot out from under my feet. I had a feeling that I might have landed on its tail. Next moment all hell broke loose when a huge dog set up an almighty barking as it came pelting round the corner and danced excitedly around my feet.

I tried to kick it away, but it tripped me and I landed heavily. For a moment I saw in the gloom a large mouth and lots of teeth; and then it was licking my face enthusiastically. Even as I struggled to push it away and get up, a light came on and a young guy appeared and looked down at me.

“Who the hell are you?” he demanded irately. “And for that matter what are you doing here? This is private property.”

“I….er…..oh, shit!…..I can’t explain…….” I stammered before grinding to a halt.

The young man strode forward, yanked me up by the collar and hauled me towards an open French Window beyond which was a brightly-lit room. He shoved me through the doors and as I regained my balance, I gave a gasp of astonishment. In front of me, stark-naked and bent over a chair, was Reece. He turned his head to see what was happening and I heard him take in breath sharply as a tide of red swept from his neck up over his face.

“Oh, fuck!” he swore viciously.

I was still stunned because I had also noticed that not only was a nude Reece standing bent over a chair; but on his bottom were four neat, parallel cane-welts.

“What the……?” I began; and then the young guy shoved me into an armchair and demanded that I explain my presence.

“Why is my boyfriend here?” I asked quietly.

That shook him. He glanced at Reece and then back at me. “Your boyfriend?” he repeated. “Reece? Stand up and come here, hands on your head.”

I stared in disbelief as Reece obeyed and stood before the young man. I noticed that he was semi-erect.

“Is this your boyfriend, Reece?” he enquired, nodding at me; and Reece said, “Yes, sir,” very softly.

“I see. I also see that I may be able to work out why you’re here,” he said to me, “but I’d rather you told me yourself.”

I told him my name and explained exactly what had happened; how I’d found that Reece was no longer where he should have been on Monday evenings; and how I’d trailed him tonight and then caused something of a commotion in the courtyard.

“You thought I was cheating on you?” asked Reece, looking outraged.

“You went off as if you were going running, but you weren’t; and you didn’t tell me what was going on,” I accused. “What was I supposed to think?”

“Right,” said the young man. “I’m Barry, but Reece calls me ‘sir’, and you can do the same, Bran. Understand?”

There was a natural authority about him and I instinctively responded, “Yes, sir.”

“Now listen, Bran. Reece is not cheating on you. I dish out spankings, including use of the cane, strap, paddle, belt and a few other things, to young guys who feel they need some discipline or who just find it exciting. Reece has been coming to me for the past five Monday evenings for spanking. As no doubt you observed, I’m in the middle of caning him, so before we go any further I’m going to finish that. Get back in position, Reece.”

“But, sir,” pleaded Reece urgently, “you can’t in front of Bran. Please!”

“Are you permitted to argue with me, Reece?” asked Barry quietly; and Reece looked at his feet and muttered “no, sir.”

“That will be two extra strokes for disobedience,” said Barry. “Position, Reece!”

For a moment I saw a hunted look flash across Reece’s face and I wondered if he was going to make a run for it; but then he turned and bent over the chair once more. Barry picked up a nasty-looking cane from the sofa, gave a practice-swing, which made an intimidating whine and caused Reece to flinch; and then hit my boy hard twice at a slight angle across the four welts already showing on his skin. Reece gasped audibly and clenched him bottom fiercely as he fought the sting. My penis, swollen and throbbing desperately, tried to force its way out of my denims.

“Two more for disobedience,” said Barry and I saw Reece tense himself in readiness. The cane lashed hard across his lower bottom and the sting forced a yelp from him as he twisted from the hips. Barely had he steadied himself than Barry wielded the cane again, now full on Reece’s crease, making him writhe and scrub at his skin with his right hand while a squeal was driven from him.

“You never argue with me, boy. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir,” responded Reece submissively.

“Stand up, hands behind you, and hold your tongue.”

Reece obeyed, and then Barry addressed me.

“Bend over, Bran,” he commanded, arching his lithe cane menacingly.

“Me? You think you’re gonna cane me?”

“There’s no ‘think’ about it. I am going to cane you. You’ve climbed over a locked gate into my courtyard in the dark, presumably to break into my house and…….”

“Break into your…………no fucking way! I told you why I’m here. I’m not a flaming burglar and you know it!”

“Do you think the police will see it that way when I call them?”

“P…..police?”

“Behaviour like yours needs to be punished, Bran. I’m sure you can work out the choice you have. So, what’s it to be? Police or cane?”

I eyed the limber cane anxiously, remembering what it had done to Reece. I considered how my activities might well appear to an officer of the law, were Barry to summon one. Curiously, I also considered the question of why Reece was volunteering for the cane; and a small part of me wondered if there was something here that I needed to experience for myself. All the same, I really didn’t want my behind to get the sort of treatment Reece’s had received.

“Neither,” I declared with more conviction in my voice than in my head. “I’m leaving now and you can call the police if you want to; but no way are you going to use that vicious cane on my arse.”

I made for the French-window, turned the handle and then jumped as there was a resounding crash and the dog outside set up a horrendous barking. Barry strode across, flung open the door and switched on the outside-lights; to reveal Jordan simultaneously trying to fight off the over-affectionate mutt while struggling to pick himself up from a mass of broken flowerpots.

“Jordan!” I gasped.

“You know this young hooligan?” enquired Barry with a slight smile on his face.

“Hooligan? Don’t you call me a hooligan,” protested Jordan, succeeding in getting to his feet.

“He’s a friend of mine,” I told Barry.

“Where’s Reece?” asked Jordan.

“Is he a friend of yours too, Reece?” enquired Barry, stepping to one side so that Jordan could see Reece standing there.

“Yes,” admitted Reece softly.

“You seem to have some very badly-behaved friends,” observed Barry. “Two potential burglars in one evening and you know them both. I think that your bottom and my cane are going to need to become a lot more familiar before you go home tonight, my lad.”

“What? No!” I objected angrily. “You can’t beat him again! He didn’t know I’d be here; and I didn’t know Jordan would be here. Why are you here anyway?” I asked Jordan.

“I know you. I could tell you weren’t going to do the sensible thing and just ask Reece what he was up to on a Monday evening. I guessed you’d try to follow him and find out where he was going; and so I followed you. I saw you come round the back here, heard the dog and realised you’d been caught. But then nothing seemed to happen and I got worried, so I came over the gate to see what was going on.”

“There’s a very simple and ubiquitous invention,” remarked Barry conversationally, “called a doorbell.”

Jordan and I rolled our eyes.

“Reece comes here to get spanked and caned because it excites him and he likes it,” continued Barry. “Bran has arrived in highly-suspicious circumstances which I think the local constabulary might view as trespass with a view to breaking-and-entering. I’ve offered him the choice of being reported or of a caning but he seemed to want neither and was about to leave when you arrived so dramatically. Another event which might be viewed by agents of the law as very suspicious; and which has included vandalism, witness my broken flowerpots.”

“Witness your bro…….for fuck’s sake! That was an accident; and I’ll pay for new ones,” said Jordan.

“So I now have two young guys whose behaviour merits a good dose of my cane across their bare bottoms.”

“Bare bottoms?” I queried. “Bare bottoms? You really think we’re gonna let you beat our bare arses with that bloody cane?”

“The arrival of Jordan on the scene and Reece’s admission that he knows both of you, has however led me to think that maybe he is the real culprit here and has told his nefarious mates (that’s you pair of trespassers) that this might be a good house to burgle, being in a quiet mews. It was just unfortunate from your point of view that he happened to be here on the evening you chose to break in.”

“Reece never told us any such thing, you bastard,” shouted Jordan angrily, losing it completely.

“It’s just chance you tried to break into a house he knows about?”

“We didn’t try to break in,” yelled Jordan. “Aren’t you listening? I think you’re assaulting Reece and keeping him here against his will; and I’m gonna be reporting you, mate!”

“Am I assaulting you and doing anything to you or with you against your will, Reece?” asked Barry.

“No,” replied Reece softly.

“Oh,” said Jordan.

“So if you two would now like to leave, preferably via the front-door, I can get on with giving Reece here a good, hard caning to punish him for encouraging his criminally-inclined mates to break into houses; and to persuade him to find some more respectable friends,” said Barry.

“I already told you,” I intervened, “that Reece knew nothing about us coming here. It’s not his fault. You’re not touching him with that cane again. Come on, Reece, we’re going home.”

“No,” said Reece quietly. “If Barry says I’ve to be beaten again, then I’ll stay and take it.”

“But you didn’t tell us to come and break in here!” I shouted in exasperation. “He’s making it all up! No way do you deserve another thrashing!”

Reece said nothing. I turned to Barry.

“Please,” I said, “don’t cane him any more.”

“I’ll let him off any more of the cane if he’s really innocent,” said Barry thoughtfully, “but that must mean that you and Jordan did indeed come here off your own bat, allegedly unaware even of what the other was doing…..”

“Allegedly my arsehole!” shouted Jordan. “We didn’t bloody well know!”

“….illicitly entering a private courtyard with the probable intent of house-breaking. If each of you is prepared to bare his bottom and take a hard dose of the cane, then there will be no need to punish Reece. There is of course still the option of summoning an officer of the law, to ask him to consider trespass, suspicious behaviour and vandalism,” continued Barry calmly.

Jordan and I glanced at each other and moved away into a corner of the room together where we had a hasty, whispered conversation.

“That sadistic bugger is gonna lash Reece with his cane again; and Reece isn’t gonna resist. I don’t understand what he’s up to, but I don’t want him beaten again tonight.”

“I don’t think he’s gonna get the police,” said Jordan, “and anyway we can just walk out and there’s no evidence we were ever here. That hairy mutt out there could have knocked over the flowerpots. But if we do that Reece is gonna get it.”

“So we gotta take it instead?” I asked.

“Looks like it. You up for it, Bran?”

“Yeh. It’s funny, but there’s a little bit of me’s kinda curious about how it feels to be caned.”

“Me too. After all, Reece is a level-headed kind of guy. He must be getting something out of it.”

“You seen the stripes on his arse?” I asked.

“Yeh, I know; but there must be something else.”

“Okay, we’re agreed. We’ll take it.”

We returned and faced Barry.

“We don’t want Reece to be caned for something he didn’t do,” I said, “so we’ll take the cane instead.”

Barry inclined his head in acceptance of our decision and placed another chair beside the one over which Reece had been bent.

“Okay, boys, bend over,” he ordered.

He said nothing about dropping jeans or pants and I decided to keep quiet and just do as he said. I felt nervously vulnerable, but my penis was registering some unexpected excitement; and I observed that Jordan seemed to have some swelling in the front of his denims; while the naked Reece was almost fully-erect. The first stroke stung but was rather exciting; and the next few raised the intensity of the sting without spoiling my arousal. After six, Barry turned to give Jordan the same treatment, while I wondered at the way my body was reacting. Caning, it appeared, wasn’t as horrendous as I’d expected.

Barry came back to me and told me to drop my jeans and pants, which I did quite willingly. He stroked my behind with the cane – and then hit me hard. Pain seared like a lash across my globes and I uttered a squeal and clenched my buttocks desperately. My brain, lulled into a foolish confidence by the first six strokes on my jeans, was urgently racing to catch up with reality; while my body fought to keep still and show that I wasn’t a kid. The cane bit deep again and I writhed from the hips, grasping the edges of the chair with white-knuckled ferocity as I rode the vicious burn. Two more followed in swift succession, low on my bottom, etching blazing streaks of fire on my skin and forcing half-stifled yelps and gasps from me. A fifth stroke along the tender flesh where my behind merged into my upper legs detonated a savage blast of agony which had me rising and scrubbing urgently at my skin with both hands. I could feel hot tears trickling down my face; and my cock had gone into complete retreat.

“Get back in position, Bran!” ordered Barry; and I took a deep breath before slowly obeying.

The sixth stroke came immediately and forced yet another yelp from me as I twisted my lower body and scrunched my glutes. A few seconds later I heard Barry ordering Jordan to bare his behind and turned my head a little to watch. Barry hit hard and accurately, vivid crimson welts rising on Jordan’s beaten flesh; but he remained in position and silent throughout. What astounded me most of all was that after he’d had all six, he was fully aroused.

We were told to pull up our clothes again and then we stood, freshly beaten, and waiting in front of Barry.

“What did you learn from that, Bran?” he asked.

“That you’re a brute with that cane,” I retorted.

“And?”

“And not to go trespassing on other people’s property,” I admitted a little sulkily.

“You learnt that too, Jordan?”

“Yes, sir,” replied Jordan. “Next time, I’ll ring the front door-bell.”

“Next time?” I burst out, startled.

“Well, yeh. I think I sort of get why Reece is here; and I think…..I’m not absolutely sure yet……..but I think I might come back. If you’ll let me?” he asked, looking at Barry.

“When a boy asks me as politely as that to beat him, I can hardly refuse,” replied Barry with a grin. “But you don’t want any more to do with the cane, eh Bran?”

But I did. I really and truly did. It was embarrassing, but I forced myself to say it.

“I want to learn how to use it,” I said quickly. “I never knew that Reece was into getting his arse tanned; and he never said, or asked me to thrash him. But now I know he wants it, I think I could really enjoy giving it to him.”

There were several long seconds of silence into which I muttered, my face burning, “I guess you all think I’m a sadistic pervert.”

“Not at all,” said Barry. “I love to dish it out. Why shouldn’t you?”

“It’s just that I was thinking; since it looks like Reece is into getting his arse tanned, maybe you could show me how to do it? I’ve a feeling things are gonna be a little bit different in our relationship from now on.”

“Sure. It’d be a pleasure to help you thrash him so he really feels it. Come on! Let me see what you can do with a cane. Bend over again, Reece.”

Reece obeyed in silence.

“Hold it like this; stand a bit forward of his arse; aim for the near buttock, because the cane will naturally go further across when you use it; keep your eye on the target until you’ve actually hit him. Like this.”

Barry took up position, touched the cane to Reece’s bottom, and then delivered a firm stroke which made the boy wince silently.

“You hit me a lot harder than that,” I remarked.

“Yeh; but you were being punished. Now we’re just letting you get a feel for the cane as a giver. Here; take it and remember what I said.”

“You okay for some more, Reece?” I asked.

“Hey! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” demanded Barry.

“I just thought he might think he’s had enough,” I said.

“Who’s caring? It doesn’t matter what he thinks. If you say he’s getting more, he gets more. End of story. You’re in charge, Bran. Always.”

“Okay. Sorry.”

I took up my position, tapped the rod on Reece’s behind a few times to get the range right; and then delivered a fairly hard stroke on the lower half of his bottom. He flinched and I heard him draw in breath sharply. My penis surged.

“Oh, yeh! You’re a natural,” enthused Barry. “Nicely given and beautifully aimed. Now, let me see if you can give him another a little lower. Don’t try to hit too hard. Just concentrate on aiming accurately.”

I focussed determinedly on the area of skin about a centimetre below my first stroke and then brought the cane down firmly, giving my wrist a little flick to see if I could add a bit of zing to the sting. Reece gasped aloud and clenched his buttocks and I watched in fascination as a neat red line emerged from his skin a short distance below my first one. Beneath him, I observed that his resilient penis was rising steadily.

“Oh, boy! Brilliant, Bran! He felt that. And that little flick at the end just gave the stroke an extra bite. You’ll need to get yourself a cane. Here! I’ll show you where to order one,” he said, picking up his laptop.

After that, Reece was allowed to get up and dress and we all sat down to coffee and cake with Barry.

***************************************

The three of us walked back together until we reached our flat, and then Jordan went on alone to his own place. In our living-room, Reece placed a hand on my chest and looked into my eyes.

“Are you angry with me, Bran? The only reason I didn’t tell you what I was up to was because I thought you’d think I was weird. I wasn’t cheating on you. I’d never do that.”

“Yeh, I know; and I probably would have thought you were weird; but you had me worried.”

“I’m sorry, Bran.”

“It’s maybe worked out for the best,” I told him, “because I found out that dishing out a thrashing is very exciting; and since you like to get your arse tanned, we’ve got another thing to enjoy together.”

“You’re gonna spank me, Bran?”

“Yeh; I am.”

“You’re not really gonna get a cane though?”

“I am so. It sounds like Jordan will be going back to Barry to get himself beaten; but you won’t need to go back; because you’ll get all you want from me. And that means the cane as well as a hand-spanking or a dose of my belt.”

I saw a spasm of pain flit across Reece’s face and glancing down I observed that his cock had risen swiftly and was causing him considerable discomfort as it tried to force its way out of his pants.

“Like that idea, don’t you, Reece?”

“You’re fucking hot when you talk all dominant like that,” Reece admitted.

“Yeh? Well get yourself stripped!”

“Why?”

“Because I’m gonna take you to bed, spank you hard and then fuck you through the mattress.”

Reece gasped as his cock protested again; and headed for the bedroom, pulling off clothes as he went. My mobile rang.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Bran. It’s Nick. I need some help with a chemistry assignment. Where’s Reece?”

“Reece,” I informed him, “is in our bedroom, naked as the day he was born, waiting for me to come and spank him.”

There was total silence on the phone for several seconds and then, as Nick began to speak, I ended the call. I went through and put Reece across my knee and spanked his bare bottom long and hard, making all his cane-welts glow and blaze with fresh heat, until suddenly I was aware that he was thrusting harder and faster against my thigh until he exploded in a fountain of cum.

“Hmm,” I said as I eyed the globules of his boy-cream spattered far across the duvet, “not bad. But you’ll fire your load even further than that when I cane you.”

A few days later, once my new cane had arrived, he did!

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D I S C L A I M E R

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

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Story ©MMXXII by Joelstrap, used here by very kind permission.

Authors appreciate feedback. Please leave a comment on this fine story.  Comments on this story are here.

Joelstrap’s excellent earlier stories for The Canery are available here.  Further great stories by Joelstrap may be found at this external link

Sideboard Of Memories (M/M)

♥ Site recommended story ♥

A repeat from 2018 of this hot caning tale by your host, Rod Cayenne. All the characters are aged 18 or over. Strictly adults only!

Sideboard Of Memories by Rod Cayenne

Sometimes I couldn’t work the old sod out. Dad said he was downsizing, for no particular reason.  Consequently he offered me some surplus furniture. Four oak dining chairs. A drop-leaf table which didn’t quite match them but was too good to refuse. A serviceable coffee table. The sideboard where he used to keep his cane along with all sorts of bric-a-brac. Being fairly broke at the time, I took the lot.

Of course, I could only fit the chairs and coffee table in my Mini. Even then I had to make two trips. For the big table and sideboard I had to call a local man with a van. His name was Sean and I’d used him before. He often brought a hired hand with him to move particularly bulky items, like the second-hand leather sofas he delivered for me a while back. He offered a discount if the customer was able to help move the items himself. So that was the option I went for this time.

Sean was hunky. A big muscled young man, always in fashionable long board shorts, today with just the merest hint of a Hawaiian pattern on them. His face always beamed a friendliness, though I did wonder about a scar on his forehead. I’d always got on well with him, and always gave him a big tip despite my precarious financial situation. I think he could sense my lustful feelings. He invariably crushed my hand when he shook it. That was actually quite often as we both frequented the local German discounter. He was always there with his leggy wife, but he always had time to stop for a chat, and to slap me on the back while crushing my hand!

Dad was out when Sean arrived in his grubby white unmarked van.

I helped Sean load the table and sideboard. It wasn’t particularly easy task, as once again Sean had crushed my hand. I resolved to mention it when we set off, and indeed I did.

“Ha! Don’t be such a wimp, Jonathan!” he laughed at me. “You managed to move the stuff just fine, didn’t you? And those were bloody heavy items.”

“Yes, but my hand’s still throbbing!” I stated in my defence, “You know it’s a wonder your customers can assist with the removals after you’ve crushed their hands.”

“Nonsense, they all love it! They all love me.”

I sighed and reflected to myself that I was one of his customers who really did love him, for all his faults.  Yes, I loved him and I loved his sexy Irish accent. Anyway, he was off talking at a tangent, about music, James Brown and the power of the riff. He soon lost my attention as I dreamt about his muscles.

A near miss on the road woke me from my daydreaming, “You fuckin’ English git!” screamed Sean at the hapless female driver ahead of him. He was so annoyed that he tossed his mobile phone aside and actually started driving with both hands on the wheel. He soon calmed down, and was talking to me again. “So Jonathan! I can tell a lot about my customers from their handshakes,” he said cheerfully, “Characters and secrets are revealed. You I think are a little submissive, am I wrong?”

He was right, though I wasn’t going to admit it to him. I blushed and resolved to slash the value of the tip I was going to give him. Yes, I had to change the topic of conversation urgently. Fortunately another incident of road rage spared my modesty, and then we were at our destination, my grassy drive.

“Shit, this is muddy!” he complained as he backed the van up. “All this mud and shit is going to spoil my pristine paintwork. Needs a bit of TLC, your drive, I’d say.” With that he handed me the business card of a friend of his who specialised in tarmac work. He grabbed the handbrake roughly and the van skidded to a stop.

“Do you mind if I have a quick vape?” he asked, “The Mrs won’t let me smoke in the van and I’m gagging for one.”

Maybe she was the one who wore the trousers after all, I chuckled to myself while he puffed away. I looked at him as nebulous clouds of white aromatic smoke washed around his beefy physique.

Soon we were unloading the table. By this time, my hand was beginning to recover from the handshake from hell. The table was a big and bulky item but we managed to steer it into the front parlour. I opened the drop leaves out and placed my chairs around it. It looked good. I felt sure that Dad would be pleased with the set-up when he called round.

“Stop fannying around and give me a hand!” Sean shouted from the rear of the van. I ran out to help him, almost slipping on the mud as I did so. Maybe he did have a point about my drive! Gradually we eased the sideboard out of the van and then into the same room as the table. We pushed the sideboard up close to the rear wall.

“You know, there’s something rattling around in here,” said Sean, “I do hope I haven’t broken anything.”

“Yes I heard it too,” I said, “Maybe it is broken, because I’m pretty sure Dad and I emptied all the junk out of it.”

Sean opened the doors of the sideboard and then the drawers. In the big bottom drawer he found something, “Oh, it’s a cane!  Wow!  How long has it been since I’ve seen one of those?  Looks like a good one too.  Wow!  Just wow!”

“Oh gosh! That was my father’s. He used to use it too. Right up to my twenties,” I said as I rubbed my bottom to emphasise my point.

“I see. Well it looks like he decided you should have it again, you naughty boy! Fancy six of the best then?”

“No! Definitely not. Especially not from a brute like you!” I laughed.

“Mmmm. Maybe from a boyfriend then?” he teased.

“Leave it out!” I replied playfully.

“How about six of the best from me instead of me charging you for cleaning all the mud off me van?” Sean teased as he flexed the cane purposefully.

“No!” I asserted, but then I thought, it had been a long time, and a caning from Sean, well it might be madness, but it could be kind of exciting. I heard myself saying, “Well, OK, OK.  Just six and no charge for the mud now, promise?”

“Scout’s honour!” he laughed, which was a strange reply, but one I took to be a yes. “Looks like I was right about you.  Can we do it upstairs? This room’s a bit exposed.”

“Oh, I suppose, yes.” He was calling the shots and I was a bit confused. Perhaps my lust for him was clouding my judgement.

We made our way up the steep bare stairs and I led him to my bedroom. “My God! What an unholy shit tip!” he exclaimed. Well, my room was a bit untidy but I was unused to having guests up there.  “I haven’t finished yet. I think that the state of this room deserves some extra punishment, don’t you? Now, tell me, did Daddy bare your arse for you?”

“Yes, he insisted on it. Even in my twenties.”

“Hmmm.  I bet he did!  Now then, let’s have your arse in the air.  Jeans and pants down!”

“Bare?” I queried.

“Yes, of course.  It’s your family tradition, isn’t it?”

I wasn’t going to argue with Sean, at least not while he had the cane handy.  I dropped my jeans reluctantly, and tugged my briefs down, placing myself over a pillow on the bed to raise my bottom for the attention of the cane.

The first stroke wasn’t too bad.  Sean evidently hadn’t quite got to grips with the rod.  But he soon got the hang of it as he lashed strokes two and three down quite forcefully.  My poor bottom was on fire!  “Arrgh!” I cried as stroke number four cut across the earlier ones.  A fifth cracked down noisily, causing me untold agony.  He tapped the cane on my sore rump a few times, before raising the stick high and slashing it down in the sadistic climax of the sixth stroke.

“Owww!  No!” I cried.

He just laughed and swished the cane some more.

“Now there’s just the matter of this messy room.  I’ve seen tidier teenage dens!”

“Oh do leave it out, Sean!” I said, feeling angry, bruised and humiliated.

“That’s enough!” Sean reprimanded me.  “Six more for your cheek and slovenliness!”

I’d reckoned on just a couple more strokes, but it wasn’t to be.  His muscled arm whipped the cane down rapid-fire style, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve!  Waves of agony consumed me, I was so sore and defeated.  I fought back tears, only just successfully but I couldn’t help grunting and gasping as the fiery pain monopolised my attention.

Sean moved nearer, saying, “Right.  All done.  Let me have a look, now.  Phewee!  Needs a bit of TLC, your arse, I’d say.”

I was half-expecting him to hand me a business card of a friend who specialised in sore arses, but he didn’t. “Yes, you’re right there, it is a bit raw.  A bit sore.” I confessed.

“Of course, but never mind, I’ve got some hand cream in the van.  It should be good enough for your arse as well!  You stay there while I go and get it.”

He was soon back and massaging the white cream into the sore weals and ridges the harsh caning had left me with.  It was heaven and hell at the same time, soothing yet also stimulating fresh jabs of pain.  He was controlling me, alternating pleasure and pain as his beefy hands massaged the cream softly and then harshly.  Suddenly I felt the cream being worked into my crack and then into my arsehole.  That was an alltogether nicer feeling but I was surprised at the attention he was giving that area, as it had avoided the cane and so wasn’t sore at all.  But I was being young, foolish and naive.  Of course my hole wasn’t sore, it was being prepared for his thick meaty cock to enter me!  And he did.  He mounted me forcefully, pushing my legs high in the air like for the missionary position, and he was soon thrusting in and out rapidly.  This was going to be a quickie, of that I was sure, but I hadn’t reckoned on him forcing his tongue into my mouth as he began kissing me frantically.

“Play with me nipples, play with me nipples!” he urged.  I tweaked and teased them, then pinched them not too gently.  Evidently it did the trick as he gasped and came heavily.  He was laid on top of me, puffing for breath, sort of vaped-out I guess you could say.

“Shit that was good!  Wow!  Nice,”  Sean said.  I had to agree, silently.  A quiet minute later he whispered, “Anyway, I can see you again a fortnight Friday, say 8 in the evening.”

“But I don’t have any more items to move,” I protested.

“No, no, not for removals, silly!  It’s so I can cane and shag you again, Jonathan!”

“Oh, I see.”

“Yes, as well you might, my submissive friend,” he said as he picked up and flexed the wicked cane again.  He was still naked, and a final bead of cum dropped from his wilting penis.  “Now be a good lad and take care of this cane until next time.” He tossed the rattan rod down on the bed.

That old cane. That bloody old cane. That glorious old cane. Dad had obviously wanted me to have it. But why? And had he arranged my thrashing with Sean?  Maybe he had, just maybe.  Of one thing I was certain.  Sometimes I couldn’t work the old sod out.

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D I S C L A I M E R

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

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Story © MMXVIII by Rod Cayenne.  All rights reserved.

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Comments welcome!  Comments are here.

Awakening Desires (F/M, F/F) NEW!

♥ Site recommended story ♥

A brand new caning story by very special guest author Baddlad17.  This story is exclusive to The Canery!  All the characters are 18 or older. WARNING: ADULTS ONLY!

Lucinda stood tearfully beside me outside Miss Kerby’s office, her anxiety levels off the scale. “Will we be expelled, Steven?”

I looked down fondly at my girlfriend, the tears glistening her deep blue eyes was getting me hard again, despite my stomach churning over with the possibility of what might happen. You might ask what we had done to find ourselves waiting outside the office of the senior schoolmistress? Well, we had been caught `in flagrante’ in the laundry by Matron. I was topless, with my trousers and pants around my ankles, while Lucy was bent over a bench, her knickers around her ankles, and her skirt raised, giving me full access to her warm, moist cunt. I was thrusting deep inside the folds of her snatch, my knob getting harder by the second with lustful urges as I neared the point of no return when the door was unceremoniously thrust open. I don’t know who was more shocked, Matron, me, or Lucy. The old bag screamed like a demented cow, cursing us, and vowing to have us expelled as soon as she spoke to Mr Lawrence.

She stood outside while we rapidly made ourselves decent, my cock was dripping pre-cum, and I was desperate to finish myself off, but there was no chance of getting any sort of relief, instead, we were frogmarched down to the headmaster’s study. I could hardly believe this was happening, after all, we were no longer kids. I was only still at this prestigious boarding school to resit my A-Levels, I was nineteen years old and in my last term. Lucy was in the upper-sixth and was just about to sit her finals too, now aged eighteen we had been seeing one another since she arrived two years before with the first intake of girls ever to cross the threshold of our august establishment.

Until that momentous occasion we had been a boys-only establishment, with only a frumpy old Matron, and several domestics and kitchen staff being female, and looking at the state of some of them, their gender may well have been questioned, but suddenly the halls of the school were awash with sexy young ladies. Naturally, the older boys began to compete with one another, as males in the animal kingdom are prone to do for a mate, and I had been lucky enough to win the hand of Lucinda Evans, a blonde, blue-eyed stunner, with an hourglass figure and firm pair of tits that sent my cock into orbit whenever she was around.

Two years on and the school was transforming from a male-dominated environment, into a more modern forward-looking establishment, but one thing that was still in place was corporal punishment. Mr Lawrence was over sixty years old and had been headmaster for more than a quarter of a century. He had fought hard to prevent girls from coming to the school, but he had been overruled by the board of governors. One thing he had insisted upon was the retention of the cane, but he had also been adamant that under no circumstances could he swish a girl if it was required. The board had thought long and hard about it. Should the cane remain mandatory for boys alone? Or should they employ a senior Mistress to cane girls if it was required? Eventually, they decided, with Mr Lawrence’s approval to choose the latter option, and so Miss Geraldine Kerby was employed in the newly created role.

Miss Kerby was quite young, in her late twenties, she was tall, slender and athletic, spending a large amount of her free time playing tennis. As such, she had a powerful forehand drive which should occasion merit would be put to good use thrashing naughty schoolgirls. Naturally, young ladies do not require the corrective sting of the rod as frequently as their male counterparts, but when necessary she performed her duty robustly, leaving a miscreant with a well-striped bottom that she would find difficult to sit on for days. I had heard from some of the girls that she usually raised their skirts and swiped their beknickered bottoms heartily, leaving them in tears.

That was not to say that the boys got away lightly, Mr Lawrence was a proficient caner, who expertly seared lines of pain across the buttocks of misbehaving boys, trousers up, or for older boys and recidivists, down, often with underpants too he left troublemakers nursing sore behinds they would not forget for a long time. I had been caned many times during my years, and I knew his beatings were energetic and memorable. He had last caned me just over a year before, bent over the back of the battered leather armchair in his study, my trousers and pants pooled around my ankles he had given me six of the very best for being caught with tobacco on my person, despite me being eighteen years old. I had waddled back to my study in agony, the blisters across my bottom causing me merry hell as they rubbed against the elastic in my pants. Once again I examined the perfect five bar gate he had etched upon my flesh, before having a furious wank to relieve the pain in my arse.

That had been the last time, and now over a year later I thought I was finally beyond such childish punishments, but standing outside the office I began to have my doubts, even worse though was the fear that at this late stage of my school career I might be thrown out, dad had been far from pleased that I had had to stay on an extra year after failing my A-levels previously, should I now be expelled there would be hell to pay.

The office door was thrust open, and Matron emerged, her top lip curled up in disgust as she glared at us. “Miss Kerby will see you both now.”

I stood alongside Lucy in front of this formidable woman. She looked coldly at us both, unsure how to proceed. “Taylor! Evans! We appear to have a situation here, don’t we? You must both understand that sex between students cannot be permitted. I know you are both over eighteen, but you have broken one of the most sacred rules of this school. I have to tell you now that Mr Lawrence had to leave school this morning due to an unexpected bereavement in his family, otherwise you would be standing before him at this very moment. Your offence is so serious I feel the headmaster will wish to expel you, something which I am afraid I don’t have the authority to do, so, I propose suspending you both with immediate effect, pending a referral to the head and the board of governors.

Lucy burst into tears, while I struggled to comprehend the gravity of her words. “But Miss! Please don’t suspend us so close to our final exams, would it be fair to ruin our lives over this? After all, what we did was nothing more than any other young couple does.”

“Except Taylor, you did it on school premises, and you were caught in the act by Matron. What if it had been a pupil? A young boy or heaven forbid a girl. Regardless of you being on the cusp of leaving such actions cannot go unpunished. What would you suggest I do then, if not suspend you?”

“You could cane us miss.” The words spilt from my mouth before I had a chance to stop them. Lucy looked at me incredulously, and Miss Kerby was clearly shocked too.

“Well, you are both a little old to face such a punishment, but besides that surely you must understand I cannot possibly cane you; you are a fully mature young man. If caning was to be administered it would have to be Mr Lawrence, but as we have ascertained he is not here at the moment. I can of course give Miss Evans a few strokes, but I am not authorised to cane boys. Would you like me to refer you to Mr Todd?”

Mr Todd was the head of the sixth form, he was much younger than Mr Lawrence, strong, athletic and a stalwart of the local rugby team. He sometimes caned sixth formers instead of sending them to the headmaster, and by all accounts his thrashings were awesome. If I had to I would accept such an outcome, but I suspected my words were softening Miss Kerby, and I might persuade her to cane me herself.

“Please Miss, do we need to trouble Mr Todd? I am over eighteen and prepared to accept my punishment from you without complaint.”

A broad smile spread across her face. “And I suppose you think I would be a soft touch do you? I can assure you Taylor if that is in your thoughts you may come to regret asking me. Very well then, as the headmaster is not available I suppose I am the most senior member of staff in school, however what about you Miss Evans? Are you prepared to accept a caning, or do I need to suspend both of you, pending a referral for expulsion?”

Lucy teared up again, her beautiful blue eyes brimming with water made my cock jump with lust once again. My mind was wandering over what I wanted to do with her, and with the delightful Miss Kerby, I wouldn’t mind mounting her as well, but there was zero chance of that happening. Lucy turned and looked intensely at me, unsure what to do.

“It is best to take the caning and get it over with, it will hurt, but the pain will soon pass, the alternative could be the end of our future careers.” The mention of expulsion loosened the tear ducts completely, and she started to sob like a little child. Through her sobs, she reluctantly agreed to the caning. Miss Kerby rose swiftly from her chair and walked across her office, before reaching up and bringing down a slender cane from the top of a filing cabinet. She swooshed the instrument through the air and pointed towards me.

“Taylor, wait outside while I deal with Miss Evans please.” Lucy looked terrified as I turned to leave her alone, with the cane-wielding mistress. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest as I waited in trepidation outside her room. From behind the closed door, I could hear some mumbled conversation before a deathly silence prevailed. A swish, crack and a loud scream suddenly erupted into the corridor as the cane struck Lucy’s bottom for the first time. My cock was straining to burst out of my pants as I thought of her shapely arse across the senior mistress’s desk. I could not help but wonder if her skirt had been raised, and if so were her panties still in place or around her ankles. The cane struck again, followed by an ear-splitting howl, I wondered how Miss Kerby would punish me, thoughts of lowering my undies and showing her my throbbing cock sent my erection into orbit and I was desperate to whip it out and pull one off the wrist there and then.

Further strokes struck across the bending target, each one followed by ever more desperate screeches of anguish, yet despite feeling sorry for her, I was also getting more and more turned on. I felt a dampness in the front of my pants as pre-cum began to ooze from the end of my knob. The caning stopped abruptly after six strokes, but Lucy’s sobbing continued, along with a few more inaudible words before the door finally creaked open and Lucy stepped out. Her eyes were red, and her face awash with hot tears, while her hands were tightly pressed against the seat of her arse. “Taylor, come in please.” Shouted a voice of authority from inside the room.

I gave Lucy a reassuring pat on the shoulder, indicating that all would be well before stepping into the office and closing the door. The sight of Miss Kerby bending the cane between her hands was too much, and before I could stop myself I creamed my pants. It was so difficult trying to keep a straight face as my knob oozed creamy semen into the front of my undies. The mistress must have seen something as she flashed me a look of disgust.

“Stand in front of the desk boy. I hold you more culpable than Miss Evans, you are nineteen years old and fully aware that what you were doing was wrong. I will tell you now that your girlfriend received six strokes across the seat of her panties, however, for you, I feel I need to really get the message across, so, I am going to award you ten strokes of the cane, across your naked bottom. Have you anything to say before we begin?”

“No Miss, except I am very sorry.”

“You will be in a few minutes Taylor, very sorry indeed. Take your trousers and underpants right down, then bend over the desk.”

I felt my face flush as I unbuckled my trousers and let them fall to the floor. I stood as close to the desk as possible before hitching my cum soaked undies off over my dripping cock and let them pool down around my ankles, before stretching myself over the desk and presenting my bare arse for Miss Kerby’s ministrations.

She came behind me and tapped the inside of my legs with the stick to get me to stretch them slightly, and opening up the lower part of my cleft, giving her a bird’s eye view of my hairy crack. “Right Taylor, ten strokes for you boy.” The cane was gone, then it swiftly whistled down and smacked hard across the middle of my arse. The pain shot through my body like a bolt of lightning and my backside was aflame with an intense sting. A second stroke lanced into my flesh, just below the first cut, doubling the pain. Any thoughts that Miss Kerby was going to be a soft touch were completely eradicated from my thoughts.

When the third stroke bit into my bum I began to regret not taking up the offer of being caned by Mr Todd, surely even he wouldn’t beat as hard as this. My backside was boiling, and she was using her entire strength to thrash it raw. Strokes four, five and six fell at a steady pace, each one landing lower and lower, causing me to squirm and yelp like a whipped puppy. The next two cuts were lashed down across the crease of my arse cheeks, along the line of my thigh, causing the most intense pain I had ever felt, It was even worse than the time I had broken my arm. If I thought they were bad, I had not counted on the final two as she planted them diagonally across earlier welts, branding my poor bum horrendously.

I could not stop myself from roaring in pain, and despite my resolve not to, the tears began to trickle down my face. Miss Kerby had broken me, and I doubted the pain roaring through my arse would ever dissipate. “Get up and make yourself presentable Taylor. Just look at you. Nineteen years old, thinking you are a man, but crying after having your botty caned, you are a disgrace. Stay there for a moment.”

She dropped the cane onto her desktop while I gingerly pulled up my fallen pants and trousers, wincing as the soft cotton brushed against the painful welts. Once I was dressed, my hands gently touching my aching arse she went to the door and summoned Lucy back into the room. I turned to see my girlfriend standing beside me, looking a little more composed, but still clearly in a lot of pain. Miss Kerby seated herself behind her desk and glared angrily at us.

“I hope the pain surging through your bottoms will act as a constant reminder that your behaviour was completely unacceptable, should you get caught again indulging in acts of indecency on the school grounds there will be no second chances, next time I can promise you that you will be expelled. There are only a few short weeks until you sit your finals and depart from this school for your adult lives, you will then be free to explore each other’s bodies to your heart’s content. But for now, keep your heads down, revise hard and concentrate on those exams. You may leave.”

We turned and shuffled from the room, one hand vigorously massaging my scorched arse cheeks while closing the door with the other. Outside I gave Lucy a quick peck on the cheek and asked her how she was.

“I will be OK. My bottom is stinging like crazy, and it feels like it is on fire, but despite that Steven, I feel as randy as hell. I want you to take me, if only we could.”

Lusty thoughts returned to my head as she described what she wanted to do with me. The soreness in our backsides had done nothing to damper our ardour. An hour later, in a quiet part of the woodlands, I was again deep inside the tight folds of my girlfriend’s hole, her muscles clamping hard around my shaft, driving me on to wilder depths until we came together in a frantic explosion of love and lust.

Later that night I lay on my side in bed, my arse still sore, and my cock once again rampant as I recalled the days’ events. Bent double over the desk in Miss Kerby’s’ office, my arse bare to the wind, then wildly shagging Lucy in the woods, the livid stripes still rubbing horribly as I thrust in and out of her juicy quim, in no time I was spunking up for the fourth time that day. Whatever happened I knew that being caned by Miss Kerby had awakened a desire in me, a desire to be dominated and beaten by a woman. I found no pleasure being thrashed by a man, but with a female, it was completely different. As I drifted off to sleep I knew that in the not-too-distant future I would be seeking out a sadistic mistress to satisfy my carnal lusts.

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Story ©MMXXI by Baddlad17, used here by very kind permission of the author. Second and third photographs by Barry Spockings ©MMXXI, also used here by very kind permission.

Please leave a comment if you enjoyed this story.  Comments are here.

Baddlad17’s excellent earlier stories for The Canery are available here.  Further great stories by Baddlad17 may be found at this external link.

Wicked Stepmother (F/M, M/M)

♥ Site recommended story ♥
Hot corporal punishment fiction by special guest author Baddlad17, repeated by popular demand.  All the characters are 18 or over.  Suitable for adult readers only.

As I lay down on my bed, six burning lines of fire blazing across my buttocks, I could not believe what had just happened. Tears rolled down my face as I gently rubbed in the sting across my bottom cheeks. The pain and humiliation still fresh in my mind.

Why had this happened to me? For the first time since I was eight, dad had punished me with spanking. Well not a spanking, a caning. I never even knew he had a bloody cane. It is all Annabelle’s fault, I am sure that bitch really enjoyed herself and I have no doubt in my mind that she is behind this.

Annabelle is dad’s new wife. She is only twenty-five, just six years older than me and almost twenty years younger than dad. They have been married just over twelve months. I have had little dealings with her until recent weeks as I was away most of last summer, then I went straight to university. It was not until I came home for Christmas that I got to know her a little better; I also noticed a big change in dad around the same time. Before he married Annabelle, we had been good buddies. Over the festive period I could not help but note he was more distant towards me, he had always been pretty strict but he now seemed to be more stern than I remembered, on a couple of occasions he spoke very sharply to me and even threatened to punish me. I was more than a little shocked at the change in his attitude. Feeling uncomfortable, I cut short my stay and left to spend New Year with a mate.

I did not come back home until the start of the summer break. When I arrived, I immediately noticed all the changes in the household. Annabelle had certainly got herself established. The entire house had been revamped and re-decorated. I hardly recognised the place. Even my room had been fully decorated, with new furniture. I was a little put out to discover that most of my belongings had been removed, without me even knowing. At supper that evening I pointed this out to dad. His reaction shocked me, he was more than annoyed, accusing me of being ungrateful and telling me I should be thankful to Annabelle for all the work she had put in, not moaning and groaning about a few sticks of old furniture. Honestly I felt about 3 feet tall by the time he had finished with me.

Over the following couple of weeks dad found a few reasons to really have a go at me, often threatening to deal with me if my behaviour continued to be poor. I just did not understand what I was doing wrong, I had not changed my behaviour, it was dad who had changed towards me. I noticed that whenever he challenged me about something, Annabelle would be close by watching and listening. I had come to dislike my new stepmother and as far as I was concerned she was a bitch who just seemed to relish getting me into trouble. Then this morning I came downstairs to find her messing with my phone. I was very angry with her and all my frustration with her over recent weeks came flooding out. I saw red and snatched the phone from her.

What the fuck do you think you are doing? That is my phone and my personal property.

I beg your pardon Brett, how dare you swear at me?

I will fuckin’ swear at you whenever I want. Who do you think you are you little whore, you have only been married to my dad for five minutes and you think you can do whatever you want. I have just about had enough.

Her eyes blazed into me as she spoke again, How dare you speak to me like that, I am your stepmother and you should show me the respect due to me.

Respect! I almost spat the words out of my mouth, How can I respect a woman who marries a man twenty years older than her? You don’t love my dad; How many cocks have you had up you since you married him? I bet there has been a queue in here while dad’s working away, little whore.

I had really lost it. All my pent up anger had come to the fore and poor Annabelle had just been hit with two loaded barrels. I watched the tears well up in her eyes, suddenly I started to feel guilty and went to comfort her and apologise. As I approached her she moved away before spitting out her venom.

Just you wait till your father gets home Brett Porter, I shall have him cane you, pants down for what you have just said. And I shall enjoy watching you yell as he does it. We will see who is smiling when your backside is burning.

Shut up bitch, Dad does not even have a cane and if he did I am way too old to be treated like that.

We will see about that.

I watched her turn and head off towards the lounge. I could not help but admire the tight sexy curves of her shapely arse and thighs. No wonder my dad had married her, I would like to bet she is great shag. Despite my bravado I was a little concerned over what she had said. I knew I had gone way too far and I had no doubt dad would punish me for it, but surely not. Would dad try and cane me? My arse tingled at the thought of it. I had been spanked many times off him when I was younger but that had stopped a long time ago.  I watched from my bedroom window as Dad pulled onto the driveway, then waited in trepidation as dad got out and headed towards the house.

I was in my room when the door shut and I waited, fearful over what would happen. I could hear voices downstairs and I heard them talking quietly, unable to make out what was being said.

Brett, get your backside down here now, lad.

A chill went down my spine as I heard dad shout me down. Reluctantly I stood up and walked slowly towards the door and down the stairs to my doom. I had not even put my foot on the bottom step before I was hit by a smack right across my face. Dad stood looking at me, anger clearly written across his face.

You little bastard, how dare you speak to my wife in that manner, this is the final straw, it is a long time since I punished you but I think today it is time that period comes to an end.

I was still in shock as my cheek burned after the smack dad had just given me. There in the doorway stood Annabelle, smiling like a wicked witch.

Go into the lounge now lad, it’s time I did something I should have done a long time ago.

I was so shocked I did not argue, just walked towards the door and through into the lounge.

Annabelle was by the door smiling at me, while dad disappeared upstairs.  Now you are going to get what you deserve Brett, I shall enjoy this.

I had to bite my tongue as I did not wish to anger dad any more than I had already.  Less than a minute later he came back in, my eyes nearly popped out of my head as I saw a long slender cane in his hands.

 

Dad no, you can’t be serious.

Shut up Brett, this is long overdue; I should have used this on you years back.

But I am nineteen and a grown man; you cannot seriously expect me to bend over so you can whack me with that thing.

Listen here boy and hear me well. You have a choice, you will be caned now or you will go upstairs and pack your things. Bear in mind if you choose the latter, you are on your own, no more subsidy for your university fees or anything else and you can find somewhere else to live. If you want to continue to live under this roof and be supported by me then you will submit to this.

I was in a no win situation. Take the cane or leave? I had no real choice, dad was heavily supporting me through my education and if I wanted to continue then I had only one option. But really was I going to bend over like a little boy and let him hit me with that stick? Of course I was, I had no option.

Over the back of the armchair and drop those shorts.

I was wearing a thin pair of football shorts which would have provided minimal protection but dad wanted them down, that would leave just one thin layer between my arse and the stick. As I walked over I noticed Annabelle watching from the door, a huge smirk on her face. Feeling totally humiliated I stood in front of the chair and slipped down my footy shorts before bending over the back of it and reaching down, my arse was poking up high giving dad and Annabelle a perfect view of my muscular mounds.

I started to panic as I felt dad slip his hands into the waistband of my underpants and unceremoniously peel them down to sit on top of my shorts.

Please dad no, I wailed.

You are going to feel these strokes Brett and your stepmother will see how I deal with my bratty son. Stay down or I will give you extra.

For the first time ever I felt a cane resting across the middle of my backside. Seconds later I heard a slight whistle then felt the crack before pain, unbelievable pain, erupted along a narrow strip in the middle of my arse cheeks. I could hardly breathe when a second lashed down, landing slightly lower, imprinting another stripe of fire.

The third stroke landed lower still really setting my bum on fire. I could feel the tears welling into my eyes. As the fourth landed even lower the tears dripped from my eyes and fell onto the leather seat of the armchair. My bottom was on fire. Dad thrashed the last two down even lower and harder, each time despite my resolve I yelled loudly. I was no longer concerned about anything except the sting across my arse. I lay there sobbing, my bottom on fire.

Right Brett, your stepmother will now give you a few smacks to reinforce the message. If you ever speak to her like that again she will be giving you six with the cane before I give you a further six.

I could barely believe what I was hearing. I was totally humiliated; I felt Annabelle’s hand touching my raw skin then felt a sharp smack across my left cheek. My new stepmother soon got into the swing slapping each bum cheek in turn, left, right, left, and right. I began to cry aloud as the spanking continued. Suddenly it stopped and I heard her speaking.

That is just a taster Brett. Next time I will cane you.

Dad ordered me to stand up; reluctantly I resumed the vertical and reached round to grip my stinging bottom. Through my tears I saw the smirk etched across Annabelle’s face. She had clearly enjoyed herself.

Go to your room lad and stay there till morning.

I eased my pants and shorts over my blazing backside, before limping off, my hands gripping tightly onto the burning flesh beneath.  So I lay on the bed, letting tears of pain and humiliation drip down my face. Suddenly I heard a thwipp and a crack from downstairs. What was going on? There was another stroke, then another. I slipped off the bed and gently tiptoed to the landing. From the top of the stairs I could hardly believe what I could see through the banister rail into the lounge below. Annabelle was tapping a cane across a bare arse, Shock took over as I realised the recipient was dad. I watched the cane land hard leaving a fifth stripe, then a sixth one. I watched on transfixed as she continued to whip my dad. Grunts and yelps escaping his lips.

She finally stopped at twelve. I could hardly believe what I had just witnessed. Dad stood up and I saw his rock solid erection poking out in front as he rubbed his arse. Next I watched Annabelle kneel down and take my dad’s knob in her mouth. At that point I thought it was best to leave them as I had no wish to watch them having sex.

Back in my room I sat carefully on the bed and began to think about what had happened. So that was why dad had changed and why he had suddenly become real strict with me. His new wife was a sadist who enjoyed whipping his arse and she now wanted to get her hands on mine. I was shocked to the core to think of them having rampant sex downstairs while I had been a pawn in their sordid sex game. Giving my backside another rub I carefully climbed into bed and gave something else a rub. I knew I could not stay and that tomorrow I would have to ring up my mate and see if I could spend the rest of the summer at his place.

My wicked stepmother might enjoy whipping arses, but I was determined she was not going to whip mine. Somehow I was going to have to find a way of avoiding coming home until such time as I could afford to get my own flat. I lay down and began to make plans for the future, life was going to get harder but at the moment something else had gone hard and needed urgent attention. Tomorrow will be soon enough to sort things out.

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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.

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Story © MMXIV by Baddlad17, used here by very kind permission

All rights reserved

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The Bright Red Briefs (M/M)

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Hot and explicit caning fiction by very special guest author Joelstrap, repeated from 2017.  All the characters are aged 18 or older.  Adults Only!

The Bright Red Briefs

Jordan looked down at the bright red briefs and at once asked himself why they were there. The walk along the cliff-tops had brought him to several rocky bays, some of which he’d gazed into from above before moving on; and some had been sufficiently interesting-looking to entice him down steep paths on to the shore. He’d made the perilous descent to this one because it was almost one o’clock and he’d spied a good place to sit and eat his picnic-lunch. Approaching the rock which was just at the correct height to allow him to sit comfortably with his feet on the ground, he’d looked round at the bay. Behind him the cliffs rose steeply while in front, beyond a jumble of rocks, the sea heaved gently under an azure summer sky. To his right and left more rocks were scattered haphazardly around, as if dropped there by some giant who’d become fed up carrying them.

It was while engaged in this survey of the bay that he spotted the incongruous splash of brilliant red among the greys and blacks and browns of the rocky landscape. Unable to enjoy his meal until he’d found out what it was, he got to his feet and walked over to where the jarring, out-of-place colour, blazed at the foot of a tall, steep rock. There was a small patch of grass at the base of the rock and against that background the red appeared more violent than ever. Jordan bent down to look closely although he didn’t touch. There was no doubt about it, however. What lay there was a pair of bright red briefs. Probably belonging to a young man or late-teenage boy, he thought. They looked decidedly brief too and Jordan suspected that they would barely contain the tackle of even a moderately well-endowed youth.

His first thought was that perhaps the owner of the briefs was in the immediate vicinity, but there was nobody in sight. This was a remote bay and it had taken Jordan over an hour’s walk to reach it. Had the briefs been washed there by the sea? But there was no sign that the tide came up anywhere near the base of the rock; certainly not in summer. It may of course be that they’d blown there in the wind, although the calm weather of the past week or so seemed to make this unlikely; and they looked clean and fresh as if they’d not lain there for long.

A pang of fear struck him as he considered the possibility that some young guy had removed them to bathe naked in the sea and had come to grief. In such serene summer seas it seemed improbable, but it had to be considered possible. Jordan returned to his rock, sat down and proceeded to consume his picnic. Once he had finished, he leaned back against the rock and closed his eyes. The sun was warm on his face and he felt comfortable and relaxed. The only sounds were the soft lapping of the wavelets against the rocks at the sea’s edge and the intermittent cries of the sea-birds as they soared and swooped among the cliffs.

“Not while that bastard’s there!”

Jordan blinked. He realised that he’d been dozing and his first thought was that he was hearing the gulls calling to each other; and then fuller wakefulness reminded him that gulls don’t speak. He shook his head and looked cautiously around him. In spite of the little bay being apparently bereft of any human life but his own, Jordan realised that there had to be at least two other people about. He listened carefully but heard no more words. He stood up and walked over a stretch of sand and then climbed up on to a rocky slab, a folded table of rock formed in long-lost oceans and exposed here after millions of years of erosion. Even from this vantage-point, he could see no-one.

He walked across the rock-surface towards its edge and it was when he looked down from here that he saw, sitting with their backs to the rock on which he stood, a pair of young lads of maybe eighteen summers. One wore dark blue briefs. The other was naked. Their two heads were very close together, thick hair mingling, as they talked softly, making it impossible to hear what they were saying. The comment which he’d heard must have been spoken loudly in urgency, perhaps as one dissuaded the other from going to retrieve the briefs.

Jordan was feeling mischievous. A respectable businessman in his early forties he may have been, but he retained still a boyish enthusiasm for pranks. He slipped quietly back to where his rucksack lay by the rock where he’d lunched, took out a cup, filled it with cold water from his bottle, and padded over to the top of the rock where he could look down on the two boys. They were still sitting, deeply engrossed in conversation; and Jordan also noticed that they were holding hands.

Aha! So that’s the way the wind blows, he thought to himself with a smile.

He watched them silently for a few moments and then gently tipped the cold water down on the bare shoulders beneath him. There were a couple of offended bellows of shock and Jordan stepped swiftly back from the edge so that the boys saw nothing of him as they turned outraged faces upwards. In seconds he was back sitting demurely on his rock; waiting. There was absolute silence. Out of both his sight and his hearing, the boys were conversing in urgent whispers.

“Of course it wasn’t a bloody cloudburst. There isn’t a cloud in the sky!” protested Matt. “Somebody tipped water on us; and it’s gotta be that bugger who we saw sitting on the rock near your briefs.”

“But why’d he tip water on us?” demanded Phil. “What’ve we done to him?”

“I’d like to tip him in the bloody sea,” muttered Matt vengefully.

Phil laid a restraining hand on his arm.

“Okay, okay. I’m not going to,” Matt said.

For a couple of minutes they waited; and nothing happened.

“Do you think he’s gone?” asked Phil hopefully. “Maybe I could go and get my briefs back.”

“How should I know?” replied Matt unhelpfully.

Phil sighed.

“I’m gonna have a peek,” he announced and he stood slowly up and pushed his head carefully over the edge of the rock.

Matt joined him. Jordan watched as two pairs of eyes surveyed him as he sat calmly on his rock. He decided to leave the next move to them, so he simply looked back steadily at them. That seemed to unnerve them, as they glanced uncertainly at each other before one of them spoke.

“Was that you?” asked Matt.

“Was what me?” replied Jordan.

“Somebody threw water over us.”

“Somebody called me a bastard,” said Jordan.

Looks of consternation crossed both the faces opposite him.

“Er, sorry. You weren’t supposed to hear that,” said Matt.

“We don’t really think you’re a bastard,” added Phil. “We just didn’t expect anyone else to be here and I got a shock when I saw you there when I was going to come and get my briefs.”

“I see,” said Jordan. “But if it’s not too personal a question, why are you over there and your briefs over here?”

“That was him,” said Phil, glaring at his mate.

Jordan looked interrogatively at Matt, but that boy returned his look with an enigmatic smile.

“So you’ve been fucking each other inside out behind the rocks, eh?” asked Jordan brutally.

There was a shocked silence while the boys looked at each other and then back at Jordan.

“No!” they said in unison.

“You were having a deep, philosophical discussion about the meaning of existence?”

Matt snorted.

“No,” he said with a grin. “Oh, all right. I’ll tell you. We were spanking each other.”

Jordan was taken aback.

“Spanking?”

“Yeh; you know. I put Phil here over my knee and smacked his bottom hard. He liked it,” added Matt.

“And I spanked him,” supplied Phil. “He liked it too.”

“Got you hard, did it?”

“Oh, yeh! We were both solid as these rocks here. Then Matt said he wanted to spank me on my bare arse.”

“And he pretended to be all shy,” said Matt.

“I wasn’t pretending!”

“So I just ripped the briefs off him,” continued Matt.

“And when I tried to snatch them back, the bugger tossed them away over there,” explained Phil. “Then he spanked me bare. I liked that too,” he added thoughtfully.

“I see,” said Jordan, nodding in comprehension. “I like to have things explained; and I’ll admit that the briefs lying there by the rock were a bit of a mystery.”

“So……um……could I have them back, please?” asked Phil tentatively.

“Come and get them.”

Phil went as red as his missing briefs.

“But I’m…you know….bare,” he objected.

“So? I’m a guy. You’re a couple of guys. I’m sure you’ve got nothing I’ve not seen before, have you?”

“No, no, of course not,” replied Phil, still blushing.

“You should see the size of his balls,” interposed Matt unexpectedly. “Kinda balls a bullock would be proud of.”

Phil went crimson.

“Matt!”

“Well, you have,” Matt insisted. “You got nothing to be embarrassed about. So get up there and get your bloody briefs back or I’ll spank you again.”

Phil stared helplessly. Jordan laughed.

“I think,” he suggested, “that threatening to spank him again is going to make him less likely to come and retrieve his briefs. He looks to me like a boy who can’t wait to be spanked again.”

Matt surveyed his friend for a few seconds.

“Just go and get them, Phil,” he said.

For a moment Phil stood in an agony of indecision; and then he made up his mind. In one fluid motion he vaulted on to the top of the rock and strode purposefully across to where his red briefs lay. Jordan watched delightedly. The boy was beautifully proportioned, lithe and muscular, becoming a man but still with the slenderness of youth. He was sporting a massive boner above a pair of large balls, nestling in a thick fuzz of dark hair. He picked up his briefs and pulled them on swiftly. They just about held him, although much of his towering erection protruded well above the waistband of the close-fitting garment. Matt emerged from behind the rock to join him and the two youngsters stood side by side and looked uncertainly at Jordan.

He fished some biscuits out of his rucksack and offered them to the boys who accepted eagerly.

“Sit down and tell me about this spanking business,” he said firmly; and the boys obeyed, seating themselves cross-legged on the patch of sand at his feet.

“It was just an idea we had,” said Matt through a mouthful of biscuit. “We thought it might be exciting to spank each other. And it was,” he confessed.

“And we were gonna fuck each other after,” admitted Phil. “But I thought I’d best get my briefs back first and then I saw you and….well, you know the rest.”

“We like fucking,” supplied Matt, “and we thought spanking would make it even better. I think it would have too….if you hadn’t appeared,” he added resentfully.

“I’m sorry,” said Jordan. “I’ll go away and let you get on with it.”

“Hey, no!” protested Matt. “I didn’t mean that. It’s okay. We can fuck any time we want. I wasn’t meaning to be rude.”

“Okay, no offence taken,” replied Jordan with a grin. “But calling me a bastard; that’s a more serious offence.”

The boys glanced at each other.

“It was nothing personal,” urged Phil. “Honest; and you’re definitely not a bastard. I mean, you’re talking to us like we’re normal even though we spank each other.”

“Nothing odd about wanting to be spanked,” said Jordan. “I think you both need to be soundly spanked for calling me a bastard.”

This statement produced sudden consternation on the part of the boys and two pairs of eyes flashed a series of messages at each other. Eventually Matt spoke.

“You wanna spank us?” he enquired carefully.

“I think a sound spanking is called for, don’t you?”

Again the silent communion of eyes before Matt turned to Jordan again.

“Yes, sir,” he said softly. “We behaved badly and we should be spanked.”

“But,” began Phil.

“Yes?”

“Can we fuck after you’ve spanked us, please?”

“Of course.”

“You can watch if you like,” offered Matt generously. “We wouldn’t mind.”

“I might take you up on that,” said Jordan. “However, to more serious matters. When I said that you both deserved a spanking, I was using the word in its widest sense.”

Phil, who had been sitting with his eyes on his feet, suddenly looked up; and as he did so, the slightly-sagging erection in his briefs bounced up to full length again.

“You mean you wanna take your belt to us?” he asked.

“Well, you get the idea,” agreed Jordan. “I wasn’t just speaking about a hand-spanking. I meant something that would make more impression on a pair of big, healthy young bucks like you two. How old are you anyway?”

“Eighteen,” supplied Matt. “So………um……..if it’s not your belt….what were you thinking of tanning our hides with? Your trainer?”

Jordan shook his head.

“No. I’m going to cane you.”

Two surprised faces gazed silently at him for several seconds before Matt spoke.

“C…..cane us? With a cane?”

“That’s the idea.”

“But you haven’t got a cane!”

“What makes you think that?”

“But….but……you can’t have! Nobody goes wandering around the countryside with a bloody cane in his rucksack!” protested Matt.

“I do.”

Matt was about to speak again when Phil laid a hand on his knee and he remained silent.

“I’ve never even seen a school-cane,” said Phil. “Corporal punishment was abolished yonks ago. My dad says he got caned when he was at school though,” he added. “But he’s ancient; well over forty.”

“Thank you,” said Jordan sardonically.

“Eh? Oh, no! I didn’t mean…..you’re not over forty, are you?” gasped an embarrassed-looking Phil.

“Forty-three,” said Jordan.

“I didn’t really mean ancient,” Phil burst in again. “I mean it’s just another word for old, and I……”

As Jordan raised his eyebrows, Matt turned to his friend.

“Phil, shut up,” he ordered. “When you’re in a hole, at least stop digging.”

“Sorry,” muttered Phil.

“Why have you got a cane with you?” asked Matt.

“I like dishing out canings to guys. When I’m on holiday, like I am just now, I can go on to a contacts website and if there’s someone locally who wants his bottom dealt with, I can volunteer my services. It’s surprising how often I get to cane a guy; and so I always have my cane with me, just in case.”

“Can I see it?” asked Matt eagerly.

Jordan registered the boy’s shining eyes and straining erection; and then he reached for his rucksack, unzipped a compartment and slowly withdrew a limber cane with a crook-handle.

“Wow!” breathed two fascinated boys in unison.

Jordan handed the implement to Matt who accepted it as gingerly as if he’d been given an adder to hold. He arched it experimentally, savouring its pliancy. He ran the pad of a finger along the length of it and then looked up at Jordan.

“This isn’t a toy,” he said. “This is gonna hurt, right?”

Jordan nodded.

“Oh, yes. It will hurt; a lot. It’s meant to. No point in punishing you for calling me a bastard if you don’t feel it, is there?”

“I guess not,” Matt agreed, still bending the cane carefully as he tried to assess its potential for causing him pain.

“And you’ll cane us properly?” enquired Phil, suddenly rejoining the conversation. “Six of the best, like in the old school-stories?”

“Is that what you want?”

“I dunno,” admitted Phil honestly, “but I implied you were ancient as well, so I reckon I deserve to be properly punished. I’ll take what you think I need,” he added.

“Same here,” concurred Matt. “We’re both up for a caning. I’ve always kinda wondered what it felt like to get the cane; and sometimes when I was writing lines, I wished I could just have bent over and got a few strokes; and it’d all be over and done in a few seconds. Painful seconds,” he added as an afterthought.

Phil took the slender cane from his mate and examined it critically.

“It’s quite thick and heavy,” he observed.

“It’s called a senior-cane,” said Jordan. “Suitable for older boys.”

“That’s us,” Phil said. “So, you gonna cane us now?”

“Right now, if you’re ready,” agreed Jordan and he got to his feet and took back the cane.

He whipped it hard through the air with a vicious whine and both boys drew in breath sharply. Two pairs of eyes were fixed on the punitive rod; and two penises were reaching for the sun-filled sky.

“I think this should do,” said Jordan, indicating a large rock at almost waist-height. “You first, Phil. Briefs off and bend over the rock.”

There was a stunned silence before Phil eventually muttered, “Br…..briefs off?”

“Boys of eighteen get caned on the bare,” said Jordan. “Get them off!”

Phil obeyed, laying his briefs on the edge of the rock, and then bending over it with his hands supporting his upper body.

“Legs further apart.”

Phil complied; and Jordan admired the taut, firm, muscular buttocks, neat and fully-rounded. He rapped the cane on the smooth skin which showed only a slight trace of redness from the spanking Matt had given him recently. The boy flinched involuntarily at the touch and then settled his feet firmly in the grass at the base of the rock.

“Uh!”

Phil’s breath came out in a gasp as Jordan brought the cane down hard along the centre of his buttocks. Matt’s eyes widened as he saw the red welt rise slowly from the creamy skin, showing exactly where the cane had struck. Jordan took careful aim and delivered a second stroke just a short way below the first, etching another neat red mark on the youngster’s bottom. His buttocks clenched hard and quivered for a few seconds as he processed the fierce sting. The cane lashed across his seat for a third time and elicited a grunt from Phil as a line of fire scored a further throbbing welt across the lad’s behind. The fourth stroke caught the boy full on his crease and he uttered a half-stifled yelp as his right leg kicked violently before a sturdy foot was returned determinedly to its place in the grass. Aiming at the narrow gap between the third and fourth weals on the youngster’s skin, Jordan hit his target accurately, creating one broad, pulsating welt. Phil’s head came up abruptly and a groan escaped him before his head went down again and his shuddering buttocks eased slowly into stillness. He forced himself to relax a little as he waited for the final stroke. Jordan brought the cane down hard on a diagonal which cross-cut four of the previous marks on Phil’s flesh. He let out a strangulated squeal and writhed from the hips, his body dipping towards the surface of the rock as he absorbed and assimilated the ferocious pain.

“Well-taken, Phil. Get up.”

Phil rose slowly to his feet and felt his way wonderingly with both hands over his throbbing globes. Ridged flesh was under his finger-pads; hot skin was beneath his palms. Jordan watched him closely and, even as he rubbed at his caned bottom, his resilient young penis was rising again eagerly. The boy glanced down at it and gave an embarrassed laugh.

“I guess I kinda liked that,” he admitted, “but it stung like hell!”

“Good,” said Jordan, grinning at him. “It was meant to.”

Matt was standing to one side, a hand inside his briefs, cupping his balls while his thumb stroked his rampant cock.

“Ready, Matt?” enquired Jordan.

“Okay,” replied Matt with only the barest hint of a tremor in his voice.

He arguably had the tougher place in that he’d seen his mate get the cane and knew what to expect. He swallowed, pulled off his briefs and cast them aside, and took up his position over the rock. Jordan eyed the delectable target with pleasure, aware of the pulsing organ in the front of his own jeans. Matt was slightly broader than Phil and a faint covering of light-coloured hair showed on the surface of his globes as the sun caught them. The boy’s behind seemed to Jordan to be inviting the cane and, as he ran the rod along the skin to get his range, he saw the buttocks being pushed up eagerly as though he couldn’t wait to feel the punitive sting of the rod. Jordan let him have what he was asking for and Matt winced silently as he experienced the cane’s sting for the first time in his life.

He absorbed the second and third strokes with barely-audible gasps, and a powerful clenching of his gluteal muscles. Jordan felt that he had to try to force a little more reaction from the stoical lad and so he delivered the fourth stroke much harder, the tip of the cane, flying at high speed, biting viciously into the boy’s sensitive flesh just on the top edge of his crease.

“Oh, ya bastard!”

Matt reached round with his right hand and scrubbed desperately at the tortured skin.

“What did you say?” enquired Jordan softly.

“Sorry. That one just took me by surprise,” replied Matt, his voice unsteady.

“What did you say?” repeated Jordan.

Matt stopped rubbing his bottom and turned his head to look at Jordan.

“I said ya bastard,” he confessed. “I’m sorry. It just came out. I couldn’t help it.”

“You’ll have to learn to help it,” replied Jordan. “You’re getting that stroke again.”

“Aw, please!”

“Are you arguing with me, boy?”

Matt swallowed and took a deep breath.

“No, sir,” he replied submissively.

“Number four coming again. Keep still.”

To his credit, and Jordan’s admiration, Matt absorbed the searing burn of the repeat stroke, which was delivered very hard to a line immediately above the previous stroke’s mark, in almost total silence; and with only the desperate tightening of his quivering glutes betraying the agony with which he was coping.

“That’s better. You’re learning,” observed Jordan. “Two to go,” he added remorselessly. “You’re not going to give me any trouble, are you?”

“No, sir.”

The boy tensed his body as the cane explored his bottom before being raised and brought down hard and fast on his crease. A half-snarling squeal was forced from him as he squirmed and a deep-red welt was raised on tender flesh. Jordan didn’t allow him long to recover before he drove in the final cut and made the youngster buck violently. When he was told to stand up, Jordan noticed that there was evidence of a few tears on his handsome face. Matt rubbed carefully at his buttocks.

“Oh, boy! That was horrendous; but it was brilliant too. Does that make sense?” he asked.

“Sure,” replied Jordan. “You wanted it; and your cock seems to like it too.”

Matt grinned sheepishly.

“Yeh. I don’t half want Phil to bring me off now,” he confided. “Would that be okay?” he enquired respectfully, sensing that it was right to seek Jordan’s permission before proceeding.

“Go ahead,” said Jordan with a grin. “And you’d better both put on a good performance or I’ll give your young arses another dose of my cane!”

The boys required no second bidding and were soon writhing together like a couple of mating snakes, Jordan forgotten, enclosed in their own thrilling, lust-fuelled activity. Driven to new heights of ecstasy by their burning bottoms, they kissed and stroked, clasped and squeezed, thrust and pumped until boy-cream spurted and athletically-active young bodies slowly relaxed into contented stillness.

Phil tore his attention away from his mate’s kisses for a moment to turn an enquiring look on Jordan.

“Was that satisfactory, sir?” he asked, his eyes dark with sated desire.

“One of the best performances I’ve ever seen,” said Jordan, and was rewarded with a sudden rush of blood to the faces of both boys as they went bright red to the roots of their hair.

For a little longer the pair continued to lie entwined; and then they slid reluctantly apart and rather self-consciously retrieved and put on their discarded briefs.

“Thanks,” said Matt. “That cane is fucking awesome. And you sure know how to make a boy feel it,” he added with a grimace.

“No resentment about the stroke I made you take again?”

Matt shook his head.

“I deserved it. I shouldn’t have sworn like that; and I didn’t do it again, so I guess it worked,” he ended ruefully.

“Yeh, thanks a million,” said Phil. “I’ll be wanting more of that soon; we both will,” he said turning his head towards Matt.

Nothing was said, but once again Jordan caught that swift communion of eyes as the boys confirmed to each other that they were both up for further meetings with the cane.

“Are you two on holiday here as well?” asked Jordan and the boys nodded.

“We’re from Edinburgh but we’re walking through this area for a few weeks and just going where we feel like.”

“Edinburgh, eh? I think I can probably help you there. I know a guy who I think would be only too pleased to put a neat pattern of cane welts on your bottoms for you on a regular basis,” vouchsafed Jordan.

“You do? Ace!”

“I’ll check with him first and then, if he’s agreeable, I’ll give you his email address and you can contact him when you get home.”

“Thanks a million,” said Phil, “and all because Matt threw my red briefs against a rock.”

“You never know what’s going to happen in life,” observed Jordan sententiously. “Now come and tell me all about how you felt when I caned you. I love to hear a guy describing his thoughts and feelings when he was getting it. In fact,” said Jordan with a smile, “you could call it a kind of de-briefing!”

The two boys rolled their eyes and, silently agreeing that they wouldn’t sit down, lay side by side on their fronts at Jordan’s feet and, with shining, happy faces, told him exactly about their first ever experience of having their bare bottoms soundly caned.

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Story and briefs photograph © 2017 by Joelstrap, used here by very kind permission.  Please leave a comment here or by using the link at the top of the story.

 

Joelstrap’s excellent earlier stories for The Canery are available here.   Further great stories by Joelstrap may be found at this external link

Never Skip Pre-season Training (M/M) NEW!

♥ Site recommended story ♥

New to The Canery is this exciting spanking and caning story by very special guest author Baddlad17.   All the characters are 18 or older. WARNING: ADULTS ONLY!

 

Never Skip Pre-season Training by Baddlad17

 

It was a hot and sticky night; the recent weather had been very warm, sunny and oppressive.

Regardless it was Thursday night and with only a few weeks to go before the start of the new season, I had ordered the lads to report for the first pre–season training session.

I am the new coach of a semi–professional footy team. I used to be a player myself, but as I am now over the hill so to speak, I no longer play. I was still physically fit though. Standing six foot three I had been a goalkeeper, a position which had allowed me to play until I reached forty. Suddenly the strain on my body started to become noticeable. It could take me days to recover from a match, so after some soul searching, I decided it was time to hang up my boots and gloves and become a coach.

That had been two years ago, my passion for the game has not diminished, I left my club unsure what to do, then after a few months I made the decision to do my coaching badges. Once I had completed my training I returned to my old club as an assistant, now I had attained a new position as coach/ manager of Brent United, a small, semi-professional club in the heart of the country.

There were some good players on the books and lots of ability. The previous coach had allowed the team to slip a little, results towards the end of last season had not been good. The chairman and the board heartily sick of the slide dismissed the previous guy. I had been brought in to Smarten the team up and get them back on track. The chairman made it clear he expected results and it did not matter how I got them as long as I did. His words Any means necessary rang in my ears.

Despite being weeks yet till the start of the new season, I wanted the lads to be as physically fit as possible and to be prepared for the onslaught once we got underway. I had rung every player personally earlier in the week, introduced myself and requested their presence at the training ground at six-thirty where I would present myself to every member of the squad and get to know them. I also made it clear I intended to put them through an intense session so I could assess their ability.

I ticked off the names of the lads as they entered the changing room and was a little concerned to note two missing. Ryan Connor was the team’s centre forward and an excellent finisher. He had scored twenty eight goals last season and was a pivotal member of the squad. Also absent was Tony Wilkinson, a central defender who had played for the club for three years. I asked the others if they had any idea where either player was, but no one seemed to know, or if they did they were not saying.

Regardless, I went through my introduction, spelling out to the team what was expected and what I would demand from them. Commitment, dedication, a willingness to work, reliability and to work as part of a team. I wanted no prima donnas in this squad. I sent them out on the field and we started the session, pushing the missing lads to the back of my mind, for now.

After training the lads arrived back in the changing room, hot and sweaty from their exertions, they stripped off and hit the showers. I was soon amongst them soaping up and rinsing off. This surprised them as it was not something the previous coach had done. But as I pointed out to them, we were all blokes together and I had nothing to hide from them. I also made it clear I expected honesty and openness from them.

As we dried off Steve Anders the team captain came up to me, Gaffer, I have just received a text from one of my mates. He is in The Bell tonight. I told him earlier that the team were training, so I would not be in the pub till much later. He said he was surprised to see Connor and Wilkinson having a beer in the garden. I am a bit pissed off with them, boss, and feel they have let the side down. Do you want to come with me and confront them?

Two of my best players had chosen to go to the pub rather than attend the first session of the season! I was more than pissed off with them, I was very angry. How dare they, I thought! I immediately thanked Steve for his offer and said I thought that would be a good idea, as I needed to speak to them as soon as possible.

I also pointed out to him that it was my intention to discipline them for missing training. Steve looked at me questioningly before informing me that punishing players for missing practice was something the previous coach had not bothered to do. Instead he had delegated it to the captain leaving him to give the lads concerned a bollocking. I could see that’s what had been going wrong and change was needed.

This was the reason I had been brought in, and before long the squad would learn a new era had begun. From now on things were going to be done my way or else! Wilkinson and Connor would be the first to discover the fate awaiting any player who screwed up on my watch. It would not be very pleasant but maybe it would get the message across that things were going to change, and quickly.

We drove the short distance to The Bell public house; on arriving Steve led me through to the back to confront the lads still sat in the beer garden, with two empty glasses in front of them and a third half full. Ryan and Tony stood up sheepishly as we approached, both a little apprehensive as they took in the angry expression on Steve’s face.

Don’t bother with any excuses. This is the new gaffer and he will be dealing with this. Over to you boss.

I looked from one to the other as I took a seat on the bench opposite them. Tony Wilkinson was almost twenty-four years old. He stood six foot two with a crop of dark hair. His strong manly face sported two day stubble. I could tell he was trim and well-toned. Beside him sat twenty-year-old Ryan, He stood around five feet eleven with very dark hair and eyes, his long lashes enhanced them, making him appear very attractive. He looked a cheeky chappie who could get into mischief easily. I sensed this was Wilkinson’s idea, but both lads were adults and Connor would have to take the consequences.

Right you two, I will make this clear, here and now. I don’t give a shit if you are the best centre forward and central defender in the league. When I call a training session I demand you turn up, on time and be ready changed, into your strips to start. That is non-negotiable; I will only accept excuses if you are ill and I expect a phone call at least an hour beforehand. It is certainly not acceptable to miss training and come to the pub, that is for sure. So I am giving you both an option. I cleared my throat and prepared to inform them of their options, You will both present yourselves at the club tomorrow evening for a special training session. In attendance will be just the four of us that is providing Steve can attend?

The team captain nodded his assent.

Right then, six pm sharp and don’t be late. If either of you fail to turn up or refuse to do exactly as you are told then I will be more than happy to terminate your contracts. After the session is over you will both receive a penalty award for missing tonight’s training. What that penalty is and how bad it becomes will depend on your attitude tomorrow, and how much effort I think you have put into it. The choice is yours. So can I expect you tomorrow night or not?

What do you mean by a penalty? said Ryan who suddenly seemed to be concerned as to what was going to happen. I smiled at the lads before informing them that they would soon find out. They both reluctantly nodded their agreement at which point we left, informing them they had five minutes to drink up and get out of the bar or else.

As we left they began to swig down their ale, a little afraid of what might be in store for them. I had a feeling even the captain would be shocked at what I had in mind, but I had the backing of the club. The chairman had been clear: any means necessary.

My old gaffer at my first club had known how to keep order and how to discipline his players. I would be paying him a visit before going to the club tomorrow night. I had decided to take him up on his offer to let me have the tools of the trade. I reached round and gently rubbed my own arse as I thought back to those far-off days and those painful times in his little office. He had known how to deal with smart-arsed players. He had offered to show me how to use them and it was my intention to do so. These lads would smarten up sharp, or there would a lot of sore arses wandering around the changing room.

I left Bill Turner’s house with the tools just before five forty. He smiled and wished me luck as I packed them into my kit bag and headed off to the car. I could see him waving me off, a satisfied grin on his face. I entered the changing room just before six to find all three players waiting. I noted Connor and Wilkinson had changed ready to start, Steve had also put on his kit and was sat with the lads when I arrived.

I won’t keep you long lads. Steve take them out to the pitch and get them doing some warm up exercises. I want a strenuous session for these two, they need to burn off the calories from last night’s beer. I watched them head off before I went into the office and extracted two long slender canes. I ran my hand along the length of one feeling surprised how light it fell. My knob began to swell as I recalled the times this very rod had slashed across my own arse as a young player. Bill Turner was a hard taskmaster and he knew how to make a player perform. Placing the canes on the table I extracted the large rubber soled pump. How many times had that thing burned my backside in training? The smooth sole was very flexible, White fire the lads had called it. It certainly set your arse on fire, but it was no longer white, a kind of off grey colour and very old. How many arses had it burned over the years I did wonder?

 

It was over an hour later when we finally returned to the cool sanctuary of the changing room. Connor and Wilkinson were hot and sticky having sweated profusely doing punishment runs around the track, not to mention all the other exercises I had put them through. Steve Anders had joined them in some of the exercises, showing his commitment to me as captain.

Right lads that is the end of the session. You have now made up for missing last night’s training. However that is not the end of the matter. Years back when I was a player at my first club, the coach had a good way of dealing with any player who broke club rules, slacked or failed to attend training. He knew the best way to deal with athletic young men. Tell me lads, did either of your dads ever deal with you the ’old fashioned way‘?

I watched a look of bewilderment cross their faces for a moment before Tony Wilkinson suddenly realised what I meant.

By old fashioned, do you mean did he leather me when I was growing up?

Yes, that is what I mean. Did either of you ever get a taste of the slipper, belt or even the cane?

Ryan looked bemused while Tony’s face displayed the expression of someone who was remembering a painful memory. Ryan’s response as I expected was a resounding no, but Tony proceeded to tell me he had been walloped with a belt till he was sixteen. Steve also seemed a little bemused, unsure where the conversation was going. I decided at this point to go for jugular.

Well lads, the penalty award I said you would receive is along the lines that your dads would have given you. And if you had gone to school at the same time as I did, your PE teacher and possibly headmaster would have given you if you had played truant from your lessons. What you did last night is the same as playing truant. So what I propose is to deal with you in the same way as my old coach and yes my PE Master dealt with me when I failed to turn up for training.

What the fuck? You are not serious man, no way, no way, Said Ryan,

You have a clear choice lads. Either you take what you deserve or you can leave now, never to return. And Steve, as of now corporal punishment will become part of the disciplinary procedures at this club. It is my intention to give every player the choice of taking cp or leaving the club. I am sure most of the squad would rather have a short sharp shock than face the sack, but it will be their own decision.

I will give you lads five minutes to decide. At the end of those five minutes if you choose to take what is due I expect you to be standing outside my office. If you are not there I will assume you have chosen to leave and will proceed to deal with your dismissals for gross misconduct. Steve can you come along to the office as well? I want you to witness the punishments if they choose this route.

As I walked off, I overheard Ryan and Tony arguing. I could tell that Wilkinson was prepared to go through with it, Connor was less so.

Five minutes later I opened the office door and was surprised to find all three of them standing outside. I looked on and smiled as I took in the sight of three young men still dressed in their kits from the training field, two of them would very shortly be bending over and I was going to savour it. I asked Steve to come in and I sensed his shock as he noticed the canes and the old plimsoll on my desk. I picked up the slipper and tapped it in my hand.

From the next training session Steve I will be using this on any player who fails to pull his weight in training or during a match. For more serious infractions I shall use one of these.

I picked up a cane and slashed it through the air. Steve jumped in shock. I could tell though that the guy was a little excited at what was about to happen. Something that was obvious by the bulge at the front of his shorts.

I shouted for the lads to come in and smiled as they appeared hands behind their backs, heads down in a typical naughty schoolboy fashion. I put down the cane and picked up the large slipper once more.

Right then, as this is the first time I will go a little easier on you. I am awarding you six with the slipper, be aware that the slipper will normally be used for more minor offences and not pulling your weight. For missing training I would normally dish out twelve strokes of the cane. So think yourselves lucky. After you have had the slipper I will give you four each with the cane, just so you know what to expect. Is that clear?

They both nodded at me, I noted they both looked afraid. Looking across to the captain I could see an obvious bulge in his footy shorts as he savoured what was about to happen.

Right then, as you have been physically punished before I shall start with you Wilkinson. Stand in front of the desk and bend over, reach across, try to grip the far side.

I watched as Tony stretched his six foot two frame across the desk, his muscular buttocks tightly encased in his footy shorts for my ministrations. I had one final shock for them though. I walked behind him and gripped onto the hem of his shorts and yanked them down clear of his buttocks exposing his naked arse cheeks, tightly framed by his jockstrap. I heard Ryan gasp and utter a swear word as I tapped the target before me with the large rubber soled pump.

Stepping back I raised my arm high before swinging the weapon down ensuring I flicked my wrist and followed through. As the first splatt of the plimsoll landed dead centre onto his left cheek, I heard the guy gasp and his head shot back as the pain exploded across his arse. I quickly landed the second onto the same spot and then a third at which point I heard Wilkinson groan. Stepping back I looked at the red inflamed left cheek. It looked sore. Taking aim I targeted the as yet untouched right buttock and proceeded to give him another three very hard swats. With each swat I got a grunt and could tell that after the last one had landed, he had felt it.

Up and stand to the side. Connor your turn.

Wilkinson stood up, giving his red arse cheeks a good rub as he did. I watched as Ryan reluctantly lowered himself across the desk. Once again I gripped the hem of the shorts and peeled them clear. Unlike Wilkinson’s hairy bum cheeks, Ryan’s backside was white and smooth. His cheeks presented a tempting target as I tapped the slipper on his left buttock. I glanced at Steve who looked to be in a high state of arousal. My own knob was swelling in the highly charged atmosphere pervading the room.

Connor struggled to take his punishment. He squealed after the first swat and stood up as the second one burned across his backside. I ordered him back down, threatening him with extras. Once back in position I cracked a third one which emitted a blood-curdling scream from his throat. The three strokes to his right buttock produced a similar response but somehow he managed to stay down. I doubted he would do so for his caning so I had a plan in my mind. I watched as he stood there in tears rubbing his burning arse. Placing the slipper on the table I picked up the cane and swished it.

Wilkinson, I said tapping the cane in my hand. He resignedly bent back over the desk offering his already sore arse up for further treatment. I stepped back, took aim and cracked the cane hard across the middle of his backside. The response was immediate. A loud howl rang out and he shook violently across the desk. The following three strokes emitted further cries and yells as the cane cut into the already sore, inflamed flesh. After the last stroke which I had landed right on the crease, I allowed him to stand up and watched as the guy stood rubbing his very sore bottom. Despite his age he was clearly in tears and just could not let go of his bottom.

Connor. I watched as the lad almost on the verge of crying bent over the desk. Anders and Wilkinson, I want you to grip onto Connor’s hands and hold him in place, I doubt he will stay down for this.

Ryan began to plead as the lads gripped his arms, holding him across the desk. I tapped the cane on his red swollen cheeks before raising it high and cracking it dead centre. As predicted Ryan howled like a banshee. He struggled to free himself, but the lads kept a tight grip on him. I delivered the remaining strokes quickly. After each one he howled loudly. After the last stroke was delivered to the crease of his arse cheeks he screamed. It was obvious he had never been disciplined before. I nodded for the lads to let go and he was up immediately, dancing around the office gripping his buttocks tightly. After a couple of minutes he calmed down at which point I summoned both of them to stand in front of the desk.

Pull your shorts back up Connor. Now I hope you have both learned your lesson. Be warned if you wish to remain on the team this is what to expect if you fuck up. I bent the rod before them as a warning. Now then, hit the showers, you are dismissed. Remember next week’s training starts at six-thirty on Thursday and I expect you ready to start then or else you know what will happen.

I dismissed the lads and watched them go, rubbing their fiery arses. My knob was swollen solid and would require attention soon. I gave my cock a little rub and prepared to deal with it when I became aware that Steve was still stood there.

Need a hand there, gaffer?

The tent in his shorts made his intention clear. At a nod from me he was on his knees slipping down my shorts. He eagerly took my swollen manhood between his lips and began to blow me. As he did he pulled himself off, within a minute I had exploded into his mouth and he had spilled his seed onto the floor. I felt a wave of release as he swallowed my sperm down his throat, I jerked as the spasms of ecstasy surged through my body.

Once we had calmed down he stood up and wiped his cock clean with a piece of tissue.

I wanna feel that slipper on my arse, gaffer, and then that cane.

His meaning was clear. An hour later, once we made sure the block was completely empty, I gave Steve what he wanted, six hard slipper swats and six hard cane strokes. I lashed them hard across his naked arse cheeks. He took it well and gratefully thanked me. Once he had recovered we had a mutual masturbation session.

I had a feeling that this new job was going to turn out ok and I was looking forward tanning many other players’ arses in the near future. As for Steve, well we had both discovered something we enjoyed and many nights, long after the rest of the squad had left, I would deal with him and then we would have some fun. The future looked good and I had no doubt that before long the club would be back at the top.

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Story ©MMXIV by Baddlad17, and used here by very kind permission of the author.

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D I S C L A I M E R

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

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Authors love your feedback!  Please leave a comment. You can find the comments here, or by using the link at the top of the story.

 

Baddlad17’s excellent earlier stories for The Canery are available here.  Further great stories by Baddlad17 may be found at this external link.

 

Taking A Leap (M/M) NEW!

♥ Site recommended story ♥

New to The Canery is this exciting caning story by very special guest author JOELSTRAP.   All the characters are 18 or older. WARNING: ADULTS ONLY!

Taking A Leap by Joelstrap

Puddles! There were puddles everywhere; large puddles and small puddles, deep puddles and shallow puddles. The incessant rain had stopped, but the skies were still overcast, as Struan and I walked hand-in-hand along the road just beyond the edge of town. Behind us North Berwick lay quiet under the gloom of a February afternoon, and beyond it the Firth of Forth was a sullen slate-grey. Ahead was the path which climbed North Berwick Law, a solid volcanic-plug with the Whalebone Arch crowning its summit. We reached the car-park at the start of the ascent. A couple of cars sat there and a number of people were making their way up the hill in front of us.

“Lot of oldies,” observed Struan as we began to climb, catching up an elderly couple with a dog and overtaking them.

“Wonder what it feels like to be old,” I mused.

“Who’s caring?” replied Struan. “We’re young and we can get to the top while this lot are still getting their breath back from the effort of putting on their boots.”

I laughed and squeezed his hand, snatching a quick kiss as I did so.

“Bet that makes the old fogeys behind us furious,” said Struan.

“Because they wouldn’t approve of two boys kissing?”

“Naw!” retorted Struan. “Because they’d be jealous that neither of them was getting kissed by a spunky boy like you.”

I stumbled as my penis leapt swiftly upward, and Struan steadied me.

“Horny bugger, aren’t you?” he said.

“You should know!”

We grinned at each other and continued the ascent.

As we walked, I recalled our session of lovemaking in Struan’s bedroom earlier that morning; and also the conversation which had followed as we lay entwined naked in each other’s arms in post-orgasmic content.

“Oh, boy! That was brilliant,” I breathed as I caressed Struan’s bottom with one hand and stroked his cheek with the other.

“Yeh! So, what we gonna do with the rest of the day, Greg? It’s 29th February after all, so we should do something special.”

“We just did.”

“I mean something we don’t normally do, something new, different; because today’s kind of like an extra. It’s Leap Year’s Day so we need to take a leap and push the boat out.”

“I think we’d just get hell of a wet if we did that,” I said tartly.

Struan’s hand slapped my behind sharply.

I squirmed happily against him and asked what he thought we should do. He considered for a minute or two.

“You ever walked up North Berwick Law?” he asked.

I shook my head.

“I’ve lived here for four years and you’ve been here almost as long, and we’ve never done it. Why not?”

I shrugged. “I guess because it’s just there and we could do it any day.”

“But we haven’t. What about you? Anything you really want to do that we should do because it’s a bonus day?”

I thought for a few minutes while I ran my hand through Struan’s thick hair.

“Remember the film of Oliver Twist that were watching last night? And young Oliver kept getting caned?”

“Yeh; so?”

“You ever wondered what it feels like to be caned?”

“Mmm. I did think last night, when I saw the way Oliver squirmed, that a cane must hurt a bit; and I was kinda glad they don’t use it in school any more.”

“He was acting as a kid though, so I guess it would hurt a boy his age more than a teenager.”

“Probably. So, are you suggesting you want to be caned, Greg, just to find out how it feels?”

“It’d definitely be something different, something special to do on our extra day,” I said.

“Agreed; but it’s not gonna happen, is it? I haven’t got a cane, or I’d do it for you,” Struan offered.

“Gee, thanks!”

“And we don’t know anybody with a cane who could do it. Let’s go and climb The Law and you can think about something a bit more practical that we could do as your Leap Year thing.”

I agreed and we fell to kissing softly and intimately.


There were some boggy bits and the path got steeper as it curved round the hillside and then made for the top. We had overtaken several walkers, and on the last stretch strode past a couple of guys with walking sticks, one who looked about eighty and the other about a hundred.

“Hope there’s a cemetery on the summit,” Struan remarked, “’cos that old buffer looks as if his legs will never make it back down.”

“But there’s nothing wrong with my hearing,” said a voice behind us, making us jump.

“Shit!” muttered Struan. “The bugger must’ve heard me.”

He speeded up and perforce I did too, so that we arrived panting a little on the hill-top. Below us East Lothian lay like a patchwork-quilt of fertile fields. To the west, Edinburgh spread from the Forth to the Pentlands, while southward the ground rose slowly to the distant Lammermuirs. Below us North Berwick sat comfortably by the firth while a mile or so offshore, the huge bulk of the Bass Rock squatted solidly in the grey waters, surrounded by swooping gannets.

“Volcano,” said Struan.

“What?” I asked, glancing down to look between his legs.

“No, you idiot! This! It’s a volcanic-plug; like the Bass Rock out there.”

“Oh yeh. I thought you meant…”

“You’ve got a one-track mind,” he said severely, “and it’s a dirt-track,” he added.

I rolled my eyes at him and towed him over to the whalebone arch. The original had been put here in 1707 and had been replaced several times until a fibreglass one was erected in 2005. We walked hand-in-hand under it. The uniform grey of the skies began to break and a few patches of blue appeared, allowing blinks of sunshine to bring some colour to the monochrome landscape. The waters of the Forth began to sparkle and some of the fields of East Lothian shone green with the prospect of spring. For several minutes we stood and drank in the view and then Struan hissed in my ear, “Hey! Here’s the old codger with the sharp hearing, and his pal, coming up. Let’s go down the far side a bit. I don’t really want to meet him. I don’t think he’s gonna like me.”

“Can you blame him?” I asked fairly.

Struan snorted and we made our way across the rough summit and down the far side for some way. We wandered happily, engaged in desultory conversation, for some time, before making our way round the hilltop and back to the path which would take us down to the car-park and the route into town.

“That’s okay,” said Struan, pointing to the path far below us. “That pair of geriatric mountaineers is well ahead.”

“Looks like they might not need an undertaker on the top after all,” I remarked. “That’s you – wrong again.”

“Any more comments like that,” said Struan fiercely, “and you’ll be the one needing an undertaker!”

Bickering amiably, we plunged downward and were soon approaching the car-park. We were dodging small puddles, and then we came across a very large one near where the path ended. It was the puddles, you see, that were the cause of it all.

“Come on,” I said, “it’s Leap Year’s Day! Let’s leap it.”

It was probably because we were still holding hands that we failed to jump as far as we should have done; and ended up landing with a tremendous splash about two thirds of the way across the puddle. It was deeper than I’d expected and a veritable deluge of muddy brown water flew in wide arcs in all directions. There was an almighty bellow of rage and we turned and saw, to our horror, that the two old guys about whom Struan had been so rude, were standing, dripping with dirty water.

“Oh, fuck!” gasped Struan in my ear as we waded out of the puddle and approached the pair.

They didn’t look pleased and I could hardly blame them.

“I’m really sorry,” I began. “We didn’t do it on purpose, honest. We couldn’t jump as far as we thought we could.”

“Maybe we could help dry you off a bit,” offered Struan, pulling a grubby-looking hanky from his pocket.

“No thank you,” said the older of the two, glancing disapprovingly at the hanky as if he feared it might be infected with Bubonic Plague. “If I’d behaved like that when I was your age, I’d have had the skin taken off my behind with my dad’s cane. I’ve still got it, and it’s exactly what young hooligans like you need. Do you good.”

“Er, yes,” said Struan. “Anyway, we’re really sorry.”

As this brought forth nothing but angry glares from both men, we turned and squelched our way towards the road back to town. A thought struck me and I grabbed Struan’s arm tightly.

“Struan! Do you think this could be it? The chance for me to do the unusual thing I want, to mark Leap Year Day?”

“What? Go and ask that old dinosaur to cane us you mean?”

“Why not? He just might. He obviously wants to; and he’s hardly gonna be able to hit that hard at his age, is he?”

“Suppose not. Okay, let’s give it a go; but he’ll probably just tell us to go to hell.”

“So what? At least we’ll have tried.”

We turned and re-entered the car-park where the elderly pair were trying to dry themselves off with hankies which were decidedly cleaner-looking than Struan’s was. The younger of the two was leaning on a fence-post a few metres away as he squeezed water from his trouser-bottoms. The one who looked about a hundred was patting his hair with the hanky and scowled unpleasantly at us as we approached. This was the thing I wanted to do on the extra day, so I felt it was up to me to ask the question.

“Look, we both feel really bad about what we did, and although it wasn’t intentional, we realise it was thoughtless and stupid. You said that you thought we needed a good thrashing and so…well, if that’s what you think we deserve, we’re ready to take it.”

The old boy stared at me for several seconds.

“Are you trying to make fun of me, boy?” he roared suddenly, making us flinch.

“No, sir. Honestly, I’m not,” I pleaded. “I know this is going to sound a bit weird, but I’ll tell you exactly why I’m asking.”

I explained about the Leap Year’s Day idea of doing something unusual, something each of us wanted to do, but never had. I explained about Oliver Twist too, and how the idea had come to me.

“So in a way,” I ended, “it’s not just that we know we probably should be punished for our behaviour, but also that you’d be helping us do the second of our Leap Year Day special things.”

He stood in silence, contemplating us both for some time. I resisted the temptation to say any more. I’d made my case and the verdict was up to him.

“I said you deserved it and I stand by that,” he said at length. “I’m not sure that I could use my cane effectively on tough youngsters like you pair though. Still, maybe Andy could make more impression on your behinds. All right; six of the best for each of you in the traditional way with my senior cane. It will hurt. Go and have quick think about it and tell me if that’s really what you want.”

We walked across to the edge of the car-park.

“You up for it, Struan?”

“Yeh. You’ve done my special thing, coming up here, so I’ll go along with yours. I never thought it’d happen though. A caning! Who’d have believed it?”

“His mate; Andy I think he called him; he doesn’t look too much of a threat either. A bit younger but I should think we can take anything he dishes out.”

We both looked across at the younger of the two old chaps, who was now polishing his mud-bespattered glasses.

“Yup. Right, let’s do it.”

As we walked back across to the old guys, a small car slid into the car-park and came to a halt nearby.

“We’ve agreed that we’ll take the cane,” I said.

“Good. Here’s Andy now,” the ancient man added as the car-door opened and a guy in perhaps his early twenties jumped out.

He was about six feet tall with a lean figure and an open face crowned with a mass of dark curly hair. Leather boots, close-fitting jeans, a plain denim shirt, open at the neck, all helped to reveal rather than conceal his dominant physical presence.

“Hi, granddad,” he said cheerfully. “Hi, Rob,” he added to the other elderly man. “Hope I’m not late to pick you up?”

“Perfect timing,” the old guy assured him.

“Did you fall in a bog?” Andy enquired, taking in the muddy appearance of his granddad and his friend.

“No, we didn’t. This young pair of scallywags will explain.”

Andy turned a questioning face towards us and I glanced uneasily at Struan. He took a deep breath and made a full confession, though saying nothing about the punishment. The old guy, however, insisted that Struan spell it all out himself. I watched as my gorgeous boy flushed with embarrassment as he explained about the caning and why we were up for it.

“Wow!” observed Andy, a broad grin splitting his sexy features. “You two have got guts. That cane’s ferocious. I asked granddad to give me a couple of strokes when I was sixteen, just to feel what it was like. I guess it’s one of these things that guys like to know about,” he said, “so you’re probably not so unusual. But it hurt, I’m telling you. I mean really hurt!”

“I guess it’s meant to,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant while my stomach churned.

“You’ve probably made the old boy’s day,” he said. “He was a teacher, you know, and I think he enjoyed using the cane.”

“I did not,” retorted his granddad. “I used it when necessary to impose firm discipline and it worked. My classes were well-behaved and worked hard.”

“I bet they did,” Struan muttered in my ear.

“Anyway,” the old chap continued, “at eighty-six I doubt if I could get through to young lads like these, so I suggested you might like to do it and they agreed.”

There was a very definite twinkle in his eye as he added, “I’m afraid that I may have given them the impression that my eighty-year old companion here was Andy.”

Andy threw back his head and roared with laughter.

“Shit!” he gasped. “I bet you two got a shock when I appeared and you realised that I was Andy. Granddad’s as sharp as a tack. Nobody gets the better of him.”

“So I see,” I acknowledged ruefully. “Being caned by you is gonna be a hell of a lot tougher than getting it from your granddad or his pal.”

“Thinking of backing out, are you, boys?” enquired the old man.

It had crossed my mind, but I knew it would make us look like abject cowards.

“No,” we both said together; and I was pleased that we had agreed independently.

“Shall we say eight o’clock this evening? I’m assuming that you both live in North Berwick?”

We nodded our assent and he gave us a small neat card with his address printed upon it.

“Don’t be late,” he instructed.

“Will we get extra if we’re late?” asked Struan in an attempt at levity.

“Yes,” said the old man.

Neither of us smiled as we headed for the road.

We trotted towards the town in silence for a time, each holding hard to the other’s hand.

“That sexy young bugger is really gonna beat the shit out of us,” I said eventually.

“Do you think it maybe hurts less when the guy caning you is as hot as hell?” asked Struan.

I was doubtful. “I think when he’s making our arses as hot as hell, we won’t be thinking about how sexy he is. Are you angry with me for getting you into this, Struan?”

“No way! We’re in it together and we’re not cowards. For shit’s sake, we’re eighteen! We’re not snotty kids like Oliver Twist. We can take it; and then you’ll have got your special thing and I’ve had mine.”

A thought struck me.

“We went under the arch of the whalebone on the hilltop; and tonight we’re going under the arch of the cane,” I said.

“Hmm,” replied Struan, “but the whalebone didn’t come crashing down on our backsides. I bet that brute Andy arches the cane to let us see it before he beats us; but then that arch is gonna play merry hell with our bums!”

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On Struan’s advice, we wore loose-fitting jeans rather than the tight ones we normally favoured, as he thought the cane would hurt less that way. Just on eight o’clock we rang the bell at a neat bungalow and the old guy admitted us and took us into a small study where Andy was already sitting.

“Congratulations,” he said to Andy, and he handed over a ten-pound note. “I foolishly bet young Andy here ten pounds that you wouldn’t turn up,” said the old guy, “but he was confident that you would; and it seems that he was right.”

“But you might wish you hadn’t turned up,” said Andy, “by the time I’ve done with you.”

We flashed each other a strained smile.

“Over to you, Andy,” said the old guy as he took a seat by the wall and Andy stood up.

Tonight he wore black jeans which fitted closely enough to reveal a stunning pair of fully-rounded buns and a massive bulge between his legs. A studded black leather belt girt his waist and over his torso he wore only a tight blue T-shirt which showed off his impressive pectorals and biceps. I felt my penis harden as I looked at him. He opened a cupboard and took out a lithe cane. I’d never seen one before except in films, and it didn’t look too bad. It was quite slender and by holding it in both hands, he was able to bend it easily into a smooth arch. He suddenly released one end and slashed it swiftly through the air with a vicious whine which made us both wince instinctively.

“Think you’ll feel it, boys?” he enquired.

“Yes, sir,” we replied in unison.

We hadn’t decided in advance to address him as sir, but it clearly came naturally to us both in the circumstances.

“Right,” he announced, pointing to me with the tip of the cane. “Name?”

“Greg,” I replied.

“Jeans and pants off, Greg!”

“What? But you can’t give it to me bare!”

“I won’t be bare.”

“I meant that I’d be bare,” I stammered.

“Yes, you will be,” said Andy. “Hurry up!”

“But I…”

“No you don’t. You get your jeans and pants off NOW!”

I threw a hopeless glance at Struan and then obeyed. In spite of my nervousness, my penis bounced free from my pants at almost full erection. I put my clothing on a chair and waited, deliberately keeping my hands at my sides. After all, I was a young guy; I had nothing to be ashamed of; and in a curious kind of way it pleased me that Andy should see that I was a big boy.

“Yes, very impressive,” remarked Andy with a grin, “but I’ll soon get rid of it for you.”

This remark had the perverse effect of making my cock strain for another few millimetres of length.

“Bend over the desk, grasp the far side with your hands and put your feet wide apart.”

I complied with this order and he checked that I was positioned as he wanted me. I waited, feeling my heart pounding against the solid wooden desk, staring straight ahead at a row of books on a shelf. With a start, I realised that one of them was Oliver Twist! My pondering on the likelihood of this happening was interrupted by the tapping of the cane on my rump. It felt light and teasing, as if he was exploring and trying to decide exactly where to hit me. When the stroke came, it took me completely by surprise, lashing powerfully across the centre of my bare bottom and delivering a searing blast of pain which made me gasp aloud and clench my buttocks desperately.

I swiftly adjusted my brain to the new situation. This was no game and it certainly wasn’t easy. The pain-level was far beyond what I’d expected and the writhing of young Oliver in the film the previous evening suddenly appeared to have been under-acting rather than over-acting. I realised that I was holding my breath and, even as I released it, Andy plied the cane a second time, lacerating my flesh with another streak of fiery torment. I tightened my grip on the edge of the desk, rode out the burn, and tried to ready myself for more. I failed miserably. The next stroke whipped viciously into my lower bottom and forced a yelp of agony from me as I felt my body twist in a spasm of savage pain. Furious with myself for losing control and letting him know that he was getting through to me, I gritted my teeth and settled my feet firmly in position. There came the whistle of the punitive rod, the snap as cane and flesh were brought into violent contact, the slash of blazing fire across my behind, and then the half-stifled squeal as the pain-level soared.

I breathed hard, fighting to keep my body in check. I was aware that Andy had managed to get rid of my erection, as he’d promised; but he wasn’t going to break my spirit. I dug deep into reserves of strength and steadied my quivering buttocks. Andy hit them brutally hard. I writhed and I was aware of scalding tears on my face, but there was only one to go and I was going to take it. As the tsunami of pain subsided a little, I gathered my battered resources and prepared for number six, forcing myself to breathe deeply, consciously stilling the quiver in my buttocks. The cane bit deep into the sensitive flesh where bottom merges into upper legs and I felt my body buck violently as a white-hot blade of fiery heat seemed to scythe its way to the very heart of my being. My head came up and I yelled my pain to the unresponsive wall.

When he told me to stand up, I did so with a sense of weariness, as if I’d run a marathon. There was a sense of achievement too that I’d got through it. I felt behind me and explored carefully the raised welts on my bottom, so sensitive that even the light touch of my finger-pads made me wince.

“Over there,” ordered Andy coldly and I took up my place by the wall as he summoned Struan to bare his behind and bend over the desk.

I knew Struan’s bottom intimately and the sight of it bared and vulnerable to that brutal cane gave my penis an unexpected boost. Now I could see and admire Andy’s prowess with the cane. He made full use of his muscle-power and also twisted his lithe body round so as to get maximum force behind each stroke. He looked superb as he wielded the cane and I found myself watching him more than I was watching Struan; until the rod hit home and I saw the line of white across my boy’s buttocks, which quickly became a raised welt and turned an angry red. Struan was silent but I could see the high tension in his body as he waited.

The cane lashed him again and although he bucked, he remained silent. Andy flexed the cane a few times and then took aim and delivered a stroke which broke Struan’s silence, forcing a strangled squeak from him. My penis was rock-hard, reaching for the ceiling as Andy lined up the fourth stroke. Whether by accident or design, it landed almost exactly on top of the previous one and extracted a yelp of outraged agony from Struan as he writhed on the desk-top. Andy waited until he had stilled himself and then gave him the penultimate cut. Struan bucked and his gluteal-muscles clenched and unclenched as he fought the burn, but no sound escaped him. I held my breath as Andy prepared to mete out the last stroke. I knew where it was going and Struan, having seen what I’d been given, must have known too. His whole body was rigid with tension, but his bottom had been pushed firmly up. Andy drove his cane ferociously hard into Struan’s crease and a roar like that of an angry lion came from his throat as his body squirmed. Pre-cum was oozing from my straining penis as I watched Struan calm himself and regain control of his body. He stood upright slowly on Andy’s command and moved his splayed hands carefully over his beaten rump.

“That,” he said to Andy, “was hell-of-a sore!”

Andy smiled at him.

“Got through to you, did I? That’s what I was aiming for.”

“You got a bullseye,” said Struan ruefully.

“Me too,” I concurred. “I never expected it to hurt as much as that.”

“But you seemed to enjoy watching your mate get it,” remarked Andy, nodding at my rampant organ.

“Sorry, Struan,” I said. “It just happened.”

“You don’t need to apologise to him,” interrupted Andy. “You should have seen his boner while I was caning you!”

“Er, yeh, I’m afraid so,” Struan admitted shamefacedly. “I couldn’t help it.”

“More importantly,” said the old guy, rising from his seat and coming forward, “what have you learned from being caned?”

“Not to behave thoughtlessly and inconsiderately,” I replied at once.

“And to be respectful of older guys, sir,” added Struan very politely.

“Job done, I’d say,” observed the old guy. “But you also wanted to find out what a caning felt like as your Leap Year Day new experience; so what did you think?”

“Like I said, it hurt a lot more than I expected,” I replied, “but the challenge was kind of exciting too in a way. I almost felt as if I was fighting you,” I said to Andy, “determined not to let you break me; and that you were fighting back, trying as hard as you could to force as much reaction as possible out of me; and you succeeded with that last stroke. It was a screamer!”

“It was tough taking it after I’d watched what the cane did to Greg,” admitted Struan, “but I was determined not to make any sound if I could help it. I know I wasn’t very successful because I only managed the first two in silence before you broke me. I kept the sound in for the fifth one, but it definitely all came out at the sixth.”

“Are you glad that the cane wasn’t in use when you were at school?” the old guy asked. “I should say that it wasn’t normally used on a boy’s bare bottom and not usually as hard as Andy used it; but he was caning young men of eighteen, not schoolkids.”

“I think,” I said slowly, “that I’d rather have had the cane than detentions or lines; and I think it would have had a stronger effect in keeping me working hard and behaving myself,” I admitted.

“Same here,” added Struan. “I’d have been making serious efforts to avoid it, so I guess I’d have been better behaved.”

“Okay, lads, get your clothes back on and then you’re free to go. It’s been a pleasure to see my old cane back in action and to see a couple of well-chastised boys who have learnt their lesson.”

Andy saw us to the door and asked a bit more about our Leap Year doings. I explained about climbing North Berwick Law and going under the whalebone arch.

“I never thought I’d get my special thing and go under the cane’s arch though,” I said. “But then it happened out of the blue with that bloody puddle! It’s Leap Year, so we decided to leap it; and failed. Then when your granddad talked about caning us, it seemed like it was meant to be. We decided to leap at the chance, you might say. Your granddad’s a cunning old devil though. We thought that Andy was his old pal and we looked at him and decided that he wouldn’t be able to hit us that hard. We did remember to look before you leap; but the clever old bugger misdirected our looking; and by the time we looked the right way and saw you, we’d already jumped!”

“Will you be going back up The Law?” asked Andy.

“Yeh,” replied Struan. “Definitely. It’s a great little climb and brilliant views. I’d like to go up on a summer day and watch the sunrise from the top.”

“If,” said Andy, “you ever feel that you’d like another session under the cane too, here’s my mobile-number. Just give me a buzz. I’d be delighted to oblige.”

He shook hands with us both and we made off out on to the street.

“How’s your arse?” asked Struan.

“Hurts like the devil. It’s fantastic.”

“Me too. I’m horny as hell and I can’t wait to get into your pants.”

“So why are we walking? Let’s run!”

We ran, and arrived panting at Struan’s home, where we lost no time in indulging in a long session of uninhibited and gloriously thrilling sex.

“Wow!” I gasped. “Just wowsity, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow!”

“You still got Andy’s mobile-number?”

I nodded.

“That’s good. I think we’re gonna need it!”

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Story ©MMXX by Joelstrap, and used here by very kind permission of the author.

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D I S C L A I M E R

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

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Please leave a comment here, or by using the link at the top of the story.

 

Joelstrap’s excellent earlier stories for The Canery are available here.  Further great stories by Joelstrap may be found at this external link

Mr Black (M/M) NEW!

♥ Site recommended story ♥

New to The Canery is this exciting spanking story by very special guest author Baddlad17.   All the characters are 18 or older. WARNING: ADULTS ONLY!

Mr Black by Baddlad17

Roger Black loved his job. The longest serving member of staff at Farmley FC, he was in charge of the club’s laundry. It was his job to ensure all kits were washed, dried and pressed for the next training session or match for the first, second and youth teams, a job he did extremely well. Despite these tiresome and repetitive duties he took pride in his work, ensuring the lads were turned out well. As a lifelong fan of the club he loved every minute of it.

In addition to this, he also took in two or three of the younger trainees as lodgers, earning extra money from the club for looking after them. The young lads under his care soon discovered that the laundry man was a very different character at home than the jovial, lovable character well–known at the club.

The comedian was a real tartar with the lads under his roof.  Eighteen-year-old Jack Wilkinson rode his bike the last few yards down the street on the pavement as he made his way home to his digs after a long day at the club. He had spent the afternoon in the boot room, cleaning and polishing the first teams’ boots in readiness for tomorrow’s match. He was in the company of housemate and fellow trainee Colin Jenks who also boarded with Roger. Colin had been busy sweeping up, and taking care of other menial tasks that are necessary requirements of all club trainees.

Today was Friday and both lads knew that meant discipline night, the night their arses paid for any misdemeanours they had committed or deemed to have. As Jack dismounted his stomach began to do somersaults as he knew he was up for a whacking this week for sure. Roger had caught him smoking at the bottom of the garden on Wednesday. Club rules strictly forbade any player to smoke. Roger had given him the option and knowing that the likely outcome of the manager finding out would result in him being let go from the team, he had meekly agreed for his landlord to deal with it at the end of the week. In addition he had also overslept earlier in the week. He knew he would get little sleep tonight, face down on his stomach with blazing stripes burning across his pert, muscular mounds.

Colin was also up for a sore arse, leaving his dirty clothes on the bathroom floor, general slovenliness around the house and failing to get home before curfew which was ten-thirty on weekdays. Roger was a stickler for the rules, and both lads knew they would be getting a whacking.

Jack closed his bedroom door and began to strip down. He stood as always admiring himself in the mirror. He was a good looking lad, short dark hair, hazel eyes and a cheeky smile which could win anyone’s heart, except Roger Black’s. His broad muscular chest had a slight fuzz of hair, leading down to his washboard stomach and then a treasure trail of hair from his belly button down to his pubic bush. His ample cock sat astride his tight firm balls. His arse was smooth, muscular and firm to touch. Thighs thick and firm were covered in fine downy hair all the way to his ankles. Girls loved his looks and athletic physique. His first passion though was his football, his dream being to gain a permanent place at Farmley and play for the first team. He often dreamed he was leading the club out in a cup final at Wembley to thousands of cheering fans.

Colin was very similar. He was a very good-looking lad who would make it as a model if his football career did not materialise. Blonde and blue eyes with a smile to melt a thousand hearts he was already over six feet tall. He was, if anything more determined than Jack to make it. His grandad had been an icon for the club and when he had shown promise of following in his footsteps, he had been given an apprenticeship more because he was Arthur Jenks’ grandson than on merit. This made him focus on proving the other lads wrong, hence his determination to make it.

When the clock struck six o’ clock, two eighteen-year-old lads stood facing the wall, hands on head waiting for the summons into the dreaded study. Roger walked along from the lounge and admired the lads dressed in full kit, awaiting his pleasure. His eyes paid particular attention to their backsides, currently encased inside the club’s soccer shorts, and the firm thighs already bare. Roger’s cock began to swell as he looked lustfully at them. Yes, Roger was secretly gay and would want nothing more than to bend them over and take them from behind. Denied that pleasure, he contented himself with using the excuse of discipline in order to get his hands on the lads in his care. Later on he would enjoy his evening wank as he remembered the sight of their red, striped bottoms.

No one at the club was aware of this, or that he often brought home some of the soiled shorts and socks of his favourite players in order to sniff and masturbate over them. Being the laundry man no one ever knew any uniforms were missing.

He went into the little office and left the door ajar while he made the preparations for this Friday night ritual. He took out his little notebook and examined the reasons why he was about to thrash his charges tonight. It was a futile exercise, he had already read the notepad several times, sentence already decreed, the lads would be going to bed with very sore backsides. The cane was sat as always in a wicker basket behind his desk, and an old gymshoe lay in the desk drawer.

Jack was called in; he stood with his arms at his sides in front of the desk. Roger looked lustfully at the hunk in front of him. He would sorely love to slip his shorts down and take his cock between his lips and suck him till the creamy fluid erupted, but unable to perform that task and give the lad immeasurable pleasure, he would have to content himself with applying a very painful punishment, leaving his backside red and sore.

Where do we start this week Jack? You overslept on Wednesday, and why did you oversleep?

I was tired, Roger.

Come on now Jack, up half the night playing on your X-Box is the reason, don’t deny it, I heard the thing when I popped to the toilet. I have told you before about this, you can have no complaint as to the punishment. Six whacks of the gymshoe should serve as a reminder to get you out of bed on time in future. We now turn to the smoking incident, far more serious. You are well aware that Mr Coleman would dismiss you from the club if he discovered you had been partaking in such a filthy habit. If we keep this between ourselves I will award you eight strokes of the cane. Any repeat and I will have no option than to report this to club management.

Roger had no intention of reporting the incident to the club. He enjoyed tanning Jack’s arse immensely. He would never do or say anything to jeopardise that pleasure.

You know what to do, get them down and get over.

Jack stood in front of the desk, inserted his hands into the waistband of his soccer shorts, and then peeled them down, ensuring his briefs were lowered with them. Roger sat at his desk for a moment, salivating at the juicy cock now just inches from his face. He opened the desk drawer and extracted the large grubby old plimsoll. It had slapped many backsides over the years, once it had belonged to a goalkeeper who had size fourteen feet. When the old pumps were of no further use Roger retrieved them from the bin and brought them home in order to make use of them for a different purpose. They had seen far more use in this secondary role than their original. He stood up and walked behind Jack who had now positioned himself over the desk. Once again Roger looked lustfully at the two bulbous mounds presented for his pleasure. He could just see the tuft of hair poking out from between the twin globes. He tapped the slipper gently across the bared backside before taking his arm back to shoulder height. He held it for a second or two, then let it let fall rapidly onto the exposed surface. Jack hissed and twisted as the first bite stung his bottom.

The slipper cracked down a second time, rapidly inflaming the skin. A clear oval patch could be made out on each cheek. Roger’s knob was already starting to thicken and swell as he observed the results of his ministrations. Four more large loud cracks of the plimsoll rang round the room in the little office. Jack could not hold back and began to grunt and yelp as the fiery torment reached its conclusion.

Roger stepped back and took in the sight now presented, two quivering mounds of reddened bum cheeks awaiting the next part of their torturous punishment. He placed the slipper on the desk, sole side up, in front of the tearful lad who could gaze on the instrument that had inflicted white hot pain across his buttocks. Picking up the cane from its resting place he swished it through the air a few times before coming behind the waiting youth and gently resting it low down, close to where buttock meets thigh. He eyed the reddened target then raised the cane before bringing it cracking down. Jack yelled lustfully as the first bite of the rod sliced through the already tenderised cheeks, causing searing pain on the line it had struck. Tears rolled down the youth’s face as the pain reached his brain. Stroke after searing stroke of the rod sliced across his bottom causing untold agony to the young player. He vowed never to touch another cigarette.

The eighth and final stroke of the cane slashed across his buttocks leaving the lad sobbing gently.

Stand up Jack, and go across to the wall, leave your shorts dropped and your hands on your head.

The lad slowly rose and reached down to take hold of his shorts and pants. Roger looked on lustfully as he waddled to the wall, and then let his shorts drop again before placing his hands on his head. The old man gently stroked his cock as he looked at the red striped cheeks. How he would love to kneel down and let his tongue slip beneath those burning mounds. If only these lads would appreciate a bit of cock, it would save them a lot of arse pain.

Colin, let’s have you in lad.

The second good-looking youth stumbled into the little office, as always he was greeted with the sight of his housemate facing the wall, his red striped arse on full display. Colin hated this and often wished that Roger would deal with him first, but for some reason Jack was always called in before him. He stood before the desk, his eyes glued to the outsized gymshoe that lay sole side up. He winced remembering the many times it had slapped his arse cheeks. Roger was sat behind the desk looking lustfully at his second lodger. He loved Colin’s boyish good looks. If anything he found him more attractive than Jack.

Colin, you are a lazy little sod. How many times have I told you about clearing up after yourself? In addition you seem to think that you can ignore curfew and come in when you want. You need to understand that if you are to do well in training and earn that longed-for position as a centre half at the club, you need to be committed and sacrifice some of the things other teenage lads get up to.

He picked up the slipper and looked at the smooth surface, then opened the drawer and put it away, its work done for today.

Last time I gave you a walloping with the slipper, it did not seem to have the desired effect. Perhaps a taste of the rod might be more memorable? Shorts down and assume the position.

Colin knew it would be the cane this time; he had been warned last time that any further lateness would result in a caning. He slipped down his shorts and pants then went over the desk, gripping onto the far side. Roger stood up and picked up the cane once again. Once more he stood ogling a pair of fine muscular mounds, totally at his mercy. His cock was already stiff and he could feel pre-cum already dripping from the tip.

The bare arse cheeks quivered as he laid the rod in the crease ready to strike the first of six strokes. The cane lashed across Colin’s buttocks right on the crease, just as Roger had planned. Immediately the lad’s head shot up, his face contorted in agony. He shut his eyes tight and gripped firmly onto the desk. The next stroke doubled the agony and once again he bit down, desperate not to yell out. The third loosened the tear ducts, bringing water to the corner of his eyes and the fourth saw them drip down his face. The final two strokes had the lad grunting as the caning reached its ending.

Up, and go and join Jack by the wall.

Roger quickly turned his back on Colin for a moment in order to hide his raging erection. He watched as he hobbled across to the wall before dropping his shorts and placing his hands on his head.

Roger sat at his desk and looked at the two red, striped arses on display. Shorts and pants at their ankles, their socks pulled up to just below the knee. Footy kit always turned on the laundry man and the sight of the trainees with their shorts around their ankles, red arses on show was more than he could take. He slipped out a tissue from his desk drawer and whipped out his cock.

While the lads faced the wall, their own knobs now at ninety degrees, their landlord took just a couple of pulls before he exploded into the tissue. He somehow managed to control himself from grunting out. Clearing up the mess he looked on for a few moments longer at the sight before him. He knew he would be having another wank before bedtime as he recalled the events of the last few minutes.

Pull them up and off you go. I hope I don’t have to repeat this next Friday.

Of course that was a lie; he would make sure he found some reason to give them sore arses next week.

They pulled their underpants over their erect cocks before getting their shorts back in place. The lads left the office rubbing furiously at their stinging cheeks, then made their way upstairs and into Colin’s room where they could examine the damage, commiserate with each other, and then enjoy their own little wank sesh as they both tossed off to see who could cum first. If only Roger Black knew what was going on one floor above. But alas he would never know. He would have to content himself with a solo performance. He would have to wait another week before he got the chance to thrash the boys again. But one thing was for sure he would find a reason and next Friday the lads would be before him once again.

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Story ©MMXV by Baddlad17, and used here by very kind permission of the author.

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D I S C L A I M E R

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

__________________

Authors love your feedback!  Please leave a comment by using the link at the top of the story.

 

Baddlad17’s excellent earlier stories for The Canery are available here.  Further great stories by Baddlad17 may be found at this external link.

Father’s Favour (M/M)

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Repeated from 2015, this extra hot fiction is by very special guest author 11plus.  All the characters are 18 or over.  Strictly for reading by Adults Only!

 

“Dad, this may sound weird, but I want you to try corporal punishment on me.”

“Eh?  You what?  Damn right, son, that does sound weird!”

“Dad, listen to me.  I’m incredibly lazy.  We both know that.  I need some serious motivation if I’m going to get through University.”

“Maybe, maybe, but it’s out of the question.”

“It’s not like you can stop my pocket money. Gran’s inheritance has left me a lot better off than my mates.”

“True, but really, the very notion is preposterous and out of the question.  Let’s move on, silly!”

“No Dad!  I’ve thought about this a lot.  It’s taken me a lot of courage to raise this, you know.  I need something unpleasant to motivate me.”

“Listen Peter!  You don’t know what you’re asking for.  I imagine we’re not talking a hand smacking here?  I was thrashed regularly at your age, eighteen, and let me tell you, it’s no laughing matter!”

“Exactly, Dad.  No laughing matter, that’s just what I need.  I’m lazy and devious with it, you must know that?”

“Of course, I recognise that.  But we all have our crosses to bear.  You’ll just have to learn some self-discipline.  Listen, what you’re suggesting borders on sadomasochism, and I want no part in it.  If you ask me, you need to see a doctor, this is just so sick!  But if you’re serious, you’ll have to find someone else, perhaps a girlfriend…”

“Oh not that girlfriend business again, Dad!”

“Yes, again!  You need to sort yourself out!  That much is self-evident!”  Father banged his clenched fist down on the hard wood of the kitchen table, to reinforce the point.  Peter realised he was getting nowhere; his father was quite adamant.

It was about a week later when the two men were sat at the same table.  Father puffed on his cigar, while son coughed as he smoked a more modest cigarette.

“How’s your hangover, son?”

“Not too bad, thanks, Dad.  A little bit headachey, but I’ll get over it.”

“I heard you come back, you fell up the stairs.”

“Did I?  Gosh, sorry Dad.”

“And I heard you throw up in the loo.  About 4 or 5 in the morning, I think.”

“Yes, sorry Dad.  I did clean up the mess.”

“Yes, as well you might!”

“Sorry, Dad.”

“I had a bad night, because of you.  You really can be most thoughtless.”

“Dad, what more can I say, other than that I’m really sorry?”

“It’s just not good enough, my boy!”

“Dad…”

“Now, listen to me!  As I tossed and turned last night, trying to get back to sleep, I was thinking about what you said about corporal punishment.  It could indeed be just what you need, Peter.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Peter, who had cooled to the idea ever since his father seemed to be vehemently opposed to the idea.

“Yes, a short, sharp shock is just what you need.”

Peter groaned.  Suddenly, his headache seemed to be getting worse.  His father continued, “Yes, a good thrashing might sort you out.  But I can’t bring myself to do it.”

“Right Dad, good,” said Peter, immediately feeling somewhat relieved.

“So, I’ve called in an old favour,” the older man said, with a sly grin.

“How do you mean?”

“I’ve had a word with old Charlie Churchman at number 73.  You know, the old teacher from St. John’s.”

“What?” asked Peter, with a feeling of dread.

“He will provide you with some discipline, he seemed happy to help!”

“Dad!  Please no!  That’s way beyond strange.”

“Well, you asked for it, son.  In more ways than one.  I went over to his place for a chat first thing.  I imagine you were still out for the count at the time.  Now, listen.  You will report to his house this morning at 11.30 sharp!  Wearing your running kit.  Is that clear?”

“Dad, no!  I’m not having some old stranger spanking me!”

“It’s too late for that.  We can’t back out now.  If you want, I will walk up to his house with you.  At least that way, I can be sure you won’t back out of it.  And I doubt he will spank you.  He’s more used to using the slipper or cane.”

“Shit, Dad!”

“Language, Peter!”

“Sorry, Dad.  Whatever have I let myself in for?”

“I don’t really know.  But if it cures you from getting blind drunk and selfishly disturbing me, then I’m all for it.”  The older man laughed heartily.  “Now, how about you go and freshen up?”

With that, young Peter made his way up to the bathroom.  His head was spinning, but this time not from an excess of alcohol.  No, this time it was dread, fear and yes, a little excitement too! As he sat on the toilet, head in hands, he contemplated his fate.  Well, his father was right.  He had asked for it.  But now the prospect was all too real.  Perhaps he should have left things until he started at University?  Normally, there was nothing he liked more than a leisurely dump, but today he fidgeted around on the seat.  His pert teenage bottom was pale and unblemished but for how much longer?  He wriggled around restlessly on the toilet seat.  How much would it hurt?  Would it be bare? Was dad pleased?  All of these thoughts flashed through his mind as he flushed and cleaned the toilet diligently.

Peter stared at his teenage face in the mirror as he scraped away with the blunt Gillette.  A pale and worried lad stared back.  He washed away the blood from the razor cuts, and rinsed away the foaming residue.  He listened idly for the gurgle as the last few drops of water drained away down the plughole.  Yes, he normally enjoyed his morning routine and ablutions, but today he was preoccupied. Today was the day he would be thrashed!

The lad then made his way to the walk-in shower.  As he did so, he became acutely aware of the rank but manly BO of his armpits.  In truth, there was nothing he liked more than the erotic smell of sweat, even his own, but he knew that it was not socially acceptable, and so it would have to be washed away. Soon he was basking under the refreshing hot jets of water, working the white bar of soap carefully around his armpits.  Then he made his way down to his cock.  He had a gentle, short golden piss, as he’d become aware that he had not fully emptied his bladder earlier.  He then took the soap and smothered his whole penis is soapy lather, pulling back the foreskin and washing every little detail of the wrinkly member.  But as he did this, he became aroused, the cock stiffening and throbbing as the soap was worked on it.  He masturbated with joy and relieved some of the tension that had been building up.  Suddenly, as he thought about his imminent punishment, thick cum spurted from his piss slit, splashing onto the white ceramic tiles.  Gosh, that had been fun!  But at the same time, like so many teenage masturbators, he also had some feelings of guilt.

Peter carefully washed his penis again, this time removing all traces of his creamy sperm.  He moved the soap around to the protuberant cheeks of his pert teenage bottom and washed thoroughly.  As he did so, he reflected that his bottom could soon be a very different, reddened colour.  He washed and washed, and became excited again as he thought about what his punishment could be.  The soap worked a foamy lather into his hairy arse crack, and he spent extra effort on the beautiful puckered rose arsehole that was hidden among the hairy bush.  He wanted to be extra clean around there, just in case in his punishment was to be on his bare bottom!  Soon he was shampooing his hair, and then massaging shower gel into his teenage flesh.

As he dried himself, Peter again reflected on his unblemished, peachy bottom.  Standing on tiptoes he looked at his arse in the mirror.  He pulled his cheeks apart and looked at his own arsehole.  He was beginning to feel a little disgusted with himself.  What a young pervert he was becoming!  Just then he heard his father banging on the door with a curt instruction to hurry up!

And so it was that at 11.15, Father and son left the house.  Father was dressed in what you might call casual smart, with a cord jacket and cravat.  Son Peter was dressed in some running gear – black nylon shorts with a jockstrap underneath, and a white T-shirt. The contrast between the smart father in his timeless brogues and the teen in his trendy trainers was marked.  They soon arrived at Churchman’s house.  After some brief handshakes, father left son to the tender mercies of the retired teacher.

“So!” said Charlie Churchman gazing at the teenager before him.  “As I understand it, we have a boy here who needs some motivation to combat his habitual laziness.  Is that right?”

“Err, yes.  Yes, Sir!”

“And a boy who comes home drunk, waking his father, and so on?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And has a bit of an attitude in general?”

“Maybe, Sir.”

“THERE’S NO MAYBE ABOUT IT, LAD!  Your father has told me all about it.  Excessive masturbation too, I’m told!  You need a girlfriend lad!”

Peter groaned, “Not the girlfriend bit again!  You really have been talking to dad, haven’t you?”

“Well, of course.  You wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t!”

“No, I suppose not.”

“Are you stupid, boy?”

“No Sir,” said Peter on the verge of defeat, “But to be fair, I probably do need some stupidity thrashed out of me.”

“Yes!  Good!  Progress!”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Well then, a thrashing it shall be!”

“Yes, Sir.  Thank you, Sir.”

“How old are you?”

“Just eighteen, Sir.”

“So an adult then?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Eighteen years old, so I think eighteen strokes of the cane would be appropriate.”

“Eighteen!  That sounds a lot!  I was expecting a hand spanking, not the cane.”

“Really?  Really?  How naive!  Hand spankings are not for adult males.  No, the young adult male bottom can take much sterner treatment.  Let me see your bottom.  Bend over a minute.”

So Peter bent over.  His shorts stretched tightly across his bottom, while the white fabric of the jockstrap was hidden by the thin shiny black nylon fabric.  Mr Churchman gently felt the cheeks, and then pinched the flesh sharply.

“Ouch!  Do you mind?” cried Peter.

“Quiet lad!  Just seeing how fleshy your bottom is.  It’s quite well padded.  My expert view is that it can take a good beating.  Right then.  Perhaps six with the riding crop on these shorts.”

“Oh, thank you Sir!”

“Followed by twelve with my finest school cane on your bared bottom.”

“Oh, Sir!”

“It’s not a lot, trust me, lad.  At your age, and with that fleshy bottom of yours, you should be able to take it with ease, if not comfort!”  The man laughed heartily, “Now stay here while I go and fetch my crop and a cane.”

Peter considered running away as he surveyed the musty living/dining room.  However, he knew he had nowhere to run, even though he had his running kit on!  He was just considering his options when Mr Churchman returned.  He had a school cane and a purple riding crop stashed under his arm, almost up to his armpit.  His stiff, purposeful almost military gait assured Peter that he was in for a hard time.

“Very well then,” the old man announced as he pulled a dining chair over and plonked himself down on it.  “Crop first.  Over my lap!  Come here.”

Peter placed himself down on the lap, his hands and toes resting on the shabby beige carpet. Charlie Churchman slowly smoothed out the wrinkles in the lad’s shiny shorts before slashing the crop down violently on the cheeks.  Rapid fire-style, the other five strokes landed indiscriminately on Peter’s buttocks.  Peter grunted with each strike as the most unpleasant burning sensation lit up his flesh.  He wriggled and writhed as each blow struck home.

“Stand up!”

Peter dutifully shuffled to his feet, and his hands immediately flew to squeeze and massage away  the pain.  But Churchman was having none of it, “NO RUBBING WITHOUT PERMISSION!  Right, hands by your sides.  That’s better!  Right.  Shorts down!”

As Peter edged his shorts down, he heard Churchman put the crop down and then pick up the cane.  He whipped it through the air with determination.  “Take your jockstrap off.  How I dislike those modern things!  And with their tacky branding.  That’s it.  Might as well strip off completely.  That’s it!  You really are quite a handsome lad, aren’t you?  Lost your voice?  Now, let’s have you bent over the back of this chair.  Good.  Now, stick your bottom out for the cane.  It’s important that you show your proper submission by offering yourself to the stick.  That’s it!  I’m beginning to think that you’re a natural!”

Peter’s bottom was offered meekly to the cane.  Already marked with six vivid red crop stripes, it was about to feel the force of a rattan wielded in anger.  And it was a very angry first stroke indeed.  It sliced down right across the middle of Peter’s bottom cutting and burning almost immediately.  Peter let out a deep grunt.

“Stick your bottom out for the next stroke, Peter, you’re doing very well!”  It was the first time that Churchman had used the lad’s forename.  Peter’s bottom bobbed up dutifully for the next stroke which landed in almost exactly the same place as the first one had.

“ARRGH!” squealed Peter, caught by surprise by the viciousness of the two strokes merging into a single stripe of immense pain.

“QUIET!” directed the retired teacher, as he waited for the buttocks to raise in preparation for the third stroke.  Almost as if on autopilot, they did.  And also as if on autopilot, the cane lashed down again.

After six strokes, Churchman announced, “Time for a break.  Stay in position.  No rubbing.  I need to check how your bottom is bearing up.”

The retired teacher’s hands gently felt the scarred buttocks.  He massaged and probed, his fingers straying not only to the crack and arsehole but also to the cock and balls.  Peter wasn’t sure what to make of it all.  It was an exquisite torture, but it was an indecent one.  He felt violated, and yet somehow almost turned on.  Churchman was impressed by the lad’s compliance and also by his cleanliness.  Only a soft sheen of sweat betrayed the ordeal the boy was in the middle of enduring.

“Right!  Six more!  Bottom up further, legs wider apart.  Wider.  Wider!”

Peter’s bottom was now on offer even more, a most unusual and provocative position.  His arsehole was clearly displayed, much to the gratification of his tormentor.  Duly provoked, the cane slashed a seventh stroke, an eighth and a ninth.  By now Peter was wriggling his bottom, to the left and then to the right, in a vain attempt to avoid the sting and bite of the rattan.

“Keep still!  Don’t spoil things, you were doing so well, Peter!”

A tenth stroke landed unexpectedly quickly after that admonishment, causing Peter to squeal and gasp, “No more, please Mr Churchman, Sir!”

But the lad’s plea fell on deaf, un-receptive ears.  Already the old man was lining up a penultimate diagonal stroke which proceeded to cause a further yelp from the startled lad.

“Last one coming up, Peter.  Keep still and keep quiet!”

But it was impossible, the final stroke seemed to be the worst, causing another unmanly squeal.  Churchman tutted and threw the cane down on the nearby settee.

“A patchy performance, Peter.  Regular canings would do you no harm at all, in my opinion!  I’ll be telling your father that I am on call twenty-four hours a day, if you ever need a refresher.  Is that clear?  Well?”  The lad just nodded, sniffed and wiped away a tear as he dressed slowly.  “On your way now, Peter.  Run along to the park.  Your father will be waiting for you by the bandstand.”

“He will?”

“Yes, that’s what he told me.  And make sure you give him some respect.  Otherwise you can expect a return visit here.  Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, you do, Sir!  I don’t want a repeat visit, thank you.”

“Very well.  I didn’t think you would for one minute.  Now, make sure you don’t then.  And remember, respect!”

Peter dressed hurriedly and rushed out of the front door as quickly as he could, slamming it carelessly and running towards the park at the end of the avenue.  Though his buttocks felt like they were on fire, he was able to make quick progress and was soon through the Victorian cast-iron park gates.  He made a beeline for his father who was sat on one of the green metal seats, puffing contentedly on a cigar, almost predictably.

“You survived then?” Peter’s father asked sarcastically, “Bet it hurt though?”

“Too right!  Six on these thin shorts with the riding crop.  Like I was a fuckin’ horse or some other animal!”

“Language, Peter!”

“And then twelve with the cane on the bare!”

“Aha!  About the same as I used to get when I was your age.  Right, son!  We’re going into the Gents and you are going to show me your freshly caned bottom.  Before the marks disappear.”

“I don’t think the marks are going anywhere soon, Dad!  No, no, no!  If you must look, couldn’t we wait until we get home?”

“Do as I say, son, or we’ll be calling in to Mr Churchman’s on the way home.  And if that happens, I will watch your punishment.”

Crestfallen, the lad followed his father as he made his way into the toilets.  The loos were surprisingly well-lit, but the smell of stale urine and disinfectant assaulted their nostrils as soon as they entered.  Two other men were there, apparently masturbating furtively at the stainless steel trough urinal.

Father waved them an all-clear thumbs-up signal, and then spoke, “Don’t mind us, I’m just inspecting my boy’s thrashed bottom!”

Of course, the two men didn’t mind at all.  As father bent his son over, they turned round, cocks sticking out prominently, as they watched the boy’s shorts come down.  One of them whistled loudly as the red tramlines were revealed on the boy’s naked flesh, neatly framed by the jockstrap.  Father smiled at the men. He knew them by sight.  Since the divorce from his wife he had become a daily user of the toilets, and indeed, that’s where his friendship with retired teacher Charlie Churchman had first blossomed.  He smiled and then landed a meaty slap on his son’s bottom, saying, “Pull them up, son.  And then wait outside for me.  I need to use the facilities.”

Outside the Gents, Peter paced around impatiently.  His bottom throbbed and ached from the thrashing.  He suddenly realised that his father was taking an awfully long time to relieve himself. Must be a big job and washing and drying his hands, he thought.  Just then he heard loud laughter from the red brick toilets, and soon after his father emerged, looking a little flustered.

Father and son strolled home slowly, with little small talk.  As they approached No.73, Peter grew a little agitated.  And as they passed by, he thought he saw the net curtains twitch a little, but he couldn’t be sure.  Was Mr Churchman having a crafty look at father and son?   Peter rubbed at his very sore bottom involuntarily just at that minute.  What a day!

Only a few days later, Peter and his father were sat at the kitchen table again.  Peter’s bottom had recovered from the ravages of Churchman’s crop and cane.  Peter coughed and wheezed noisily and announced, “I’m just going to nip down to the shops to buy some more fags.”

“Oh no you’re not, son!” said father, puffing on his cigar, “Smoking is such a dirty habit.  Mr Churchman and I have decided that you are giving up.”

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Story © 2015 by 11plus, used here by very kind permission of the author.  The full list of stories by this author is available here.

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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.

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Photographs © 2015 by Rod Cayenne

Cane by http://www.quality-control.co.uk/

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The Quest For A Bigger Penis (M/M)

Another chance to read this explicit caning  entertainment by Rod Cayenne. All the characters are 18 or older.  Adults only!

I knew I was in big trouble as soon as Dad called me into his little office. He stood there with one of his many canes in his hands. I gulped with fear, for I had never been able to take his canings stoically. No, there were always tears, cries and desperate pleading and wriggling under the lash of the cane. I had hoped now that I’d turned eighteen, that the canes might be retired. It seemed not.

“Peter, you were sick in bed this morning. You hadn’t been drinking again, I hope?”

“No Dad. Sorry. It was nothing like that.”

“Good! Otherwise this beauty would be teaching you a lesson.”

I didn’t share his view of what constituted beauty. In fact, I would have classified that whippy cane as a beast! As one of those rare strict Methodists, I knew he didn’t like me touching alcohol.

“So, what did make you sick then, lad?”

I didn’t feel like lying. It wasn’t really in my nature. I thought it best to confess, so I pulled the blister pack of blue pills out of my leather jacket. I handed them to my father. I could tell that he thought they were drugs.

“It was these that made me sick Dad, they taste awful!”

He read the lettering out loud, “Vigorlon Penis Enlargement Pills! I don’t believe it! These things are just a con! I can’t believe that a son of mine was so stupid as to fall for one of these scams!”

I stood there embarrassed, and red-faced.

“I’m sorry Dad. It was just a whim when I bought them.”

“Over the internet, I suppose?”

I nodded.

“With your card?”

I nodded.

“You stupid boy! So this is what you waste your allowance on! You’ll probably have to cancel your debit card too. I wonder what else you’ve been looking at on the internet, you haven’t been looking at pornography?”

I couldn’t lie. My Methodist upbringing had taught me that lying was a most serious sin. Of course I’d been looking at porn.

Again, I nodded at Dad.

“Well, that’s good,” he laughed. “Most men do.”

I was amazed when he said that, so I just nodded again, this time with a little smile. I was even more amazed when he put the cane down on the desk and offered me a chair. He poured me a glass of water from his cut-glass decanter.

“Well, well, well,” he said eventually, “I really don’t know what to make of you, young Peter. You’re at a difficult age, aren’t you? Part man, part boy, I’d say. Maybe more boy.”

Once again, I found myself nodding in agreement. Experience had taught me never to argue with Dad once we were in his small home office. I drank the water nervously. It was refreshing, as I was still dehydrated after being sick. Things were looking good. He picked up the cane and placed it back in the brass umbrella stand, where it was kept along with several other rattans and a rather faded gents umbrella. I breathed a sigh of relief. It was too good to last, however.

“NOW LISTEN TO ME!” Suddenly, his tone became fierce. “I am quite insulted that you feel that the penis your mother and I gave you at birth isn’t big enough! The Lord moves in mysterious ways, you know.”

Here we go, I thought to myself. My bottom started to tingle.

“And! Let there be no doubt in your mind that I am very, very unhappy that you have spent money, the hard-earned allowance money I’ve given you, on this rubbish!”

He waved the strip of pills at me. Slowly, he popped each of the remaining blue tablets out of the blister pack. He counted the pills out loud. There were fifteen. I just knew where this was leading.

“Fifteen pills, fifteen strokes!” he announced. He reached behind him and selected a more severe rattan with a crook handle.

“But Dad, I’m eighteen now!”

“Good point, Peter. We’ll make it eighteen, then. Over the desk, trousers down!”

I wasn’t going to argue. I bent over submissively and the first cane stroke hit home. Oh, it was a hard one, for a first stroke. He was really angry, I could tell. He’d been hiding it well, but now the cane was letting him vent his full fury. That was reinforced by the second and third strokes which were straight out of the fires of Hell.

“Underpants down! Fifteen strokes on the bare for the fifteen pills.”

I wasn’t going to argue, as I lowered my pale blue Jockeys. I certainly wasn’t going to tell him that it was a hundred pills I’d ordered!

Stroke four sliced into my naked flesh. I was gasping, close to hyperventilating. I cried out loudly. I knew that would amuse him. For a religious man, he had a streak of sadism. Yes, there was a lot of cruelty within him.

I took the fifth quietly, and then the sixth much the same. He moved things up a gear as the seventh was by far the hardest yet. By now I was squirming under the cane’s vicious caress. My bottom was writhing, first in one direction, then the other in a vain attempt to avoid the blows of the cane. Eight! Nine! Ten! I was counting them quietly under my breath, while silent salty tears streamed down my face. This was a hellish beating!

He stopped and grunted. Suddenly, his hands were feeling the cane ridges on my bottom. He’d never done that before, and it was so humiliating, especially as he barked at me to keep still. He changed canes.

“Number Two cane to finish off, Peter.”

In all my years, and through numerous beatings, I could never fathom out the significance of the numbering system of his canes. Perhaps there wasn’t one, and this was all part of a sadistic game? All I knew was that Number Two cane was named appropriately, as it hurt like shit.

“AARRGH!” I cried as the eleventh stroke slashed down, quickly followed by a twelfth, landing just below.

Dad laid thirteen and fourteen diagonally, which was agony. The final four strokes were aimed at the tops of my thighs, his speciality, and they stung like mad. Strangely, all I could think about was that I wouldn’t be wearing my Speedos down on the beach for a while!

I wasn’t crying heavily, but my face was covered in snot. Dad offered me a tissue. I’d been trying not to say thank you, as an act of defiance, but it just sort of slipped out. He grinned when I said it. At times like that I really hated him. My only consolation was that my mother and sister were out shopping, so my beating had been a private, man thing.

That evening, I was over at my friend Andrew’s house. Somehow the story of the day’s events came out. I’d been trying to hide it, as I knew my friend had an unhealthy interest in my beatings. He managed to worm every little detail out of me this time. Nonetheless, he asked if he could see the marks, almost as if he didn’t believe me.

“Pervert!” I accused.

“No, really, I just want to understand. Although I could put some cold cream on them, I’m sure my mum’s got some in the bathroom.”

Reluctantly, I agreed. Andrew traced each and every mark with his forefinger. I’d found the day pretty confusing all round. My head was far from clear. Maybe it was another side-effect of those blue pills?

Andrew came back from the bathroom with a jar of cream. Gently, he massaged it into my bottom. My cock suddenly burst into life! It was rock hard. We gazed into each others eyes and knew we were going to have to take things further. No erection pills would be required! This time he put his forefinger into the jar of cream and then shoved the finger up my arsehole. His lips caressed my cock. He worked that cock for all it was worth. I came heavily in his mouth.

We lay exhausted on his bed for a few tender minutes. I offered to reciprocate. He just laughed.

“Not likely, mate. I’m not sticking my todger in there. Those pills have dyed your tongue blue. They could be poisonous, you know. Chinese, were they? I don’t want a blue cock, you know!”

I was really turned on by then. I offered him anal instead. I wanted it myself, but was a little reluctant only because my arse was still sore after the caning (and despite the cold cream massage). Andrew couldn’t believe his luck. Fortunately, he had a condom, and with the help of the cold cream we were soon at it. He thrust and thrust into my willing, striped arse. The knobbing felt even better than his forefinger had. It wasn’t long before he shot his load. It had been a short fuck alright, but we were both satisfied.

We lay in each others arms again, gently petting. He whispered in my ear, “Could you sneak out one of your dad’s canes? I want to try it.”

It seemed a strange request at first. But as I laid there in the afterglow, it seemed to make sense eventually. After all, it was a caning that had brought us together and I knew just which cane to smuggle out. It would have to be Number Two.

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* IMPORTANT – DISCLAIMER *

This is a work of fiction.  The author does not participate in substance abuse or condone it.

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

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Story © 2013 by Rod Cayenne

Comments always welcome – please use link at top of story