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A brand new caning story by Rod Cayenne. This story is currently exclusive to The Canery and is only suitable for adults!
Jim Evans had a cold. A really filthy summer cold, perhaps brought on by the unseasonably wet weather. He was a man full of manflu. He laid back on the sofa, feeling more than a bit sorry for himself, despite having enjoyed some cherry pie. He sniffed away and sipped on a piping hot black coffee, to which he’d added a spoonful of local golden honey in the perhaps vain hope that it would help his recovery.
Jim’s only consolation was that the house was nice and empty as both of his sons were away working on security at the local rock festival. They’d done it before as a summer job, so he was looking forward to a long weekend on his own while he recuperated. The brothers, Mick and Rick, had been born only a year apart and were as close as close can be.
Turning the TV set on, Jim loosened the belt on his dressing gown, releasing his paunch from the tight confines of the beige towelling robe. He reflected on the ravages of time that had caused his weight gain. “That was a damn good coffee,” he said to himself while stroking his black beard. He was just about to get up and make a second cup, when he noticed a police car draw up, right outside his gate.
Two police officers strode towards the house. One was a big burly bear of a fellow, the other a female, a leggy brunette. Jim lifted himself from the sofa to answer the urgent ringing of the doorbell. “Yes, how can I help?” he asked.
“Mr. Evans? Mr. James Evans?” the policeman asked.
“Yes, yes, call me Jim,” he replied, his voice croaky, and with a hint of impatience. “What can I do for you, officers?”
“It would be better if we came inside, Sir.”
“Yes, of course. Silly me, come on in.”
“Regretably, we’re here to inform you that your sons, Michael and Richard, have been arrested for assault,” said the big police officer.
Jim’s face paled instantly. “What? For assault? Never! I really don’t believe you! Please, please do explain. There must be some mistake.”
“Sorry sir, I can assure you that there’s no mistake. They were involved in an assault at the rock festival last night,” PC John explained. “A complaint was made by a teenage male and both of your sons were arrested.”
“Surely not? That’s so out of character. They are both good lads. Brought up properly.”
“Well, to be honest, it’s a bit delicate, sir,” chimed in the policewoman.
“Yes, delicate is a good word for it,” added the policeman. “You see, your sons were acting as security men and decided to inflict a punishment on an 18-year-old. They’d caught him with drugs and a stolen wallet and purse. They gave that boy a harsh beating with a wicked leather strap.”
“Yes, a severe spanking on his bare bottom,” the WPC clarified, crossing her legs and with a glint in her eye.
“What? I don’t believe a word of this! Tell me it’s not true! Please?” Jim exclaimed.
“It’s all true, I’m afraid,” smiled the policewoman. “Unfortunately, it just so happened that I saw the severe damage to the youth’s bottom. It was not a pretty sight.” She crossed her legs again and smiled at Evans.
“Yes, it seems that they each inflicted a dozen blows. Clearly excessive and totally illegal. We’ve got them bang to rights, I’m afraid. The DCI is minded to press charges, especially as there are rumours of other unofficial punishments,” her colleague confirmed. “And there is some evidence we found that they pleasured themselves or indeed each other, afterwards. Just to be clear, the forensics team have access to some sperm-soaked items, which they could examine. The suggestion is that they got some sexual pleasure from their sadism. The way things are going, your two lads could even end up on the register. For years.”
“Oh hell! Can I come and see them? They’re down at the station? Surely we can sort something out? I’m lost for words. The little sods!”
“We can take you down to the station, if you really want to see them.”
“Thank you. Yes, I really need to see them and give them a piece of my mind,” he said. “I’ll get ready. I should warn you though, that I’ve got a bit of a cold.”
“No problem, sir. No problem at all. We get all sorts in the back of our car, you know.”
“Hmm, I bet you do.”
At the police station, Jim soon had the chance to tell his sons what he thought of their disgusting behaviour. He shouted at them, banging the table, and was in danger of losing his voice as his tirade continued. Eventually, he was led away to meet the Duty Sergeant.
“Is there any chance you could let them off, if I were to arrange a suitable punishment for the boys?”
“I doubt that, Mr. Evans, I really do. You’d have to convince me, and I have serious doubts about the whole thing. The one ray of light in all this is they may have allowed us to charge that lad that they hit with drugs and theft offences. Truth is, we’ve been after him for a long while. He could even be looking at a custodial sentence this time. Which would be a rather good outcome. Now, what sort of punishment did you have in mind for your boys? I’d have to get permission from upstairs to even consider letting them off.”
“Well, I was thinking of an eye for an eye…”
“Yes?”
“Well, my own father used to beat me when I’d been bad. With a whippy school cane. It hurt like hell, I can tell you. Yes. like the fires of hell. Thing is, I think he still has that cane. It came up in conversation just the other day.”
“Aha! Good man! I can see where this is all leading. I think it’s just possible that my boss might approve. Spare the rod, and all that. He’s very old school, you know. Between you and me, a lot of us policemen are, me included, for what it’s worth. It’s a slim chance, to be honest, but leave it with me.”
Jim was left in the corridor of the police station for what seemed like an eternity with only a stone cold and insipid milky coffee for company. He was devastated. His two sons had really gone far too far this time, that was for sure.
About half an hour later, the Sergeant returned. “I thought it was all sorted, but I’m afraid the boss wants to see you in person before making a final decision,” he said.
The Chief Inspector gazed out of the grimy picture window. For some reason he couldn’t bring himself to look Evans in the eye. “Well now. I’ve made my decision. I’m happy for you to discipline your boys in the old-fashioned way. Make it a hard beating. Twelve strokes each, at least. Entirely off the record and unofficial. The only other stipulation is that my Sergeant may ring you in a few days to check that it’s been done. Is that OK?”
“It’s more than OK! Thank you so much! I could almost hug you. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
“Alright sir. Your thanks are enough. A hug will not be necessary.”
Evans was soon back with the Sergeant. He quickly confided, “Let me just tell you what I was planning.”
“Yes?”
“Well, as you know I’m a bit under the weather. So I thought I’d ask my father to deal with them first, say six of the very best with his cane. He’s very experienced with the cane after all and will give them a very hard and punishing time. And then, when I’m feeling better and have got some practice in, I thought I’d follow it up a few days later with the same from me.”
“A very good plan, sir, if I may say so. So two beatings for the price of one, as it were. I like it. I’ll mention it to the boss, just in passing, you know. I’m sure he’ll be very pleased.”
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Jim was a bit anxious as he waited for the boys to return from the punishment at their grandfather’s. They duly did, and looked decidedly worse for wear. “So, how was it?” he asked.
“Awful dad, just awful. That cane really hurts. Really stings,” said Rick.
“Yes, it does. I’ll never forget the pain from when I was your age,” father said. “Did he let you keep your trousers on?”
“Yes, thankfully. On pants or even bare would have been just awful,” said Mick.
“He wasn’t always so kind with me when I was your age. You know I promised the police you’d get it bare from me. Just how you gave it to that low-life lad.”
“Oh, Dad!” both sons replied in dismay.
“Well, I did promise the police and they said they would check to make sure I’d done it. So another six of the best will sort you out for good, I’d hope.”
“Mick actually got seven strokes, Dad,” added Rick.
“Really? How come?”
“He stood up and refused to bend over. Till grandad told him he’d get an extra stroke.”
“Oh ho! Yes, your grandfather could be a bit mean like that. So seven stripes for you, Mick. Must have hurt a lot.”
“Yes, it did. Jesus! Can I go to my room now?”
“Well, I’m half minded to ask to see the stripes. But yes, off you go. You too, Rick. Both of you, out of my sight, now!”
Up in his bedroom, Mick stripped off his clothes. In the mirror, he stared at the cane marks adorning his meaty arse. All seven were clearly distinguishable, as they had formed into wide, puffy and sore weals. How they hurt still, especially when Mick rubbed and felt and teased them, just to be sure. It had been quite an afternoon. Grandad sure could cane! It had been awful…yet somehow also stimulating and exciting. He slipped into bed enjoying the warmth of the duvet and his right hand started to play with his rampant cock. His other hand was gently feeling the cane weals.
Across the landing, Rick laid on top of his own bed. He was also masturbating, slowly at first, but then frantically. He was enjoying replaying his visions of his brother being soundly caned. He’d loved that aspect and had secretly wished grandad had caned Mick much harder. Boys will be boys!
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Just a few days later, Jim Evans was fully rejuvenated. The cold had cleared and he was feeling much better. Earlier that day, his father had called in to deliver the old cane. Jim had since been practicing with the cane, slashing it viciously into some entirely blameless cushions. He’d told his sons that this evening would be the time for their thrashings.
Silently, the two lads entered the dining room. Their father was stood gazing out of the window, with the whippy cane in his right hand. Turning to face his sons, he sighed heavily, and said, “Well, the police have insisted on a bare bottom caning, so here we go. Who’s first?”
“I’ll go first, Dad,” said Mick, “I really want to get this over and done with.”
“Fair enough, son. Get your trousers and pants down then, and then bend over this table.”
Mick slowly slid both trousers and underpants down, sticking his arse out ready for the caning.
“Same rules as your grandad’s! No getting up or you’ll get an extra stroke. Six it is.”
With that, the thrashing began in earnest. Jim Evans had practiced a lot that day and his technique was almost faultless. He slashed that punishment cane down mercilessly for a second stroke, and then a vicious third one. “Oh, Dad!” sighed Mick, “Please, please! No more. Arrrrrgh!”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re getting the full six, now take it like a man.” Jim was being corrupted by the sadism inherent in the caning, and he paused for a moment, reflecting on how he was becoming more and more like his own father. He sighed and carried on, inflicting a fourth hard stroke.
Meanwhile, Rick’s erect penis strained against his briefs as he watched the cane’s rapid stinging descent and enjoyed the swishing and cracking as contact was made. How he was enjoying this vision of his brother’s comeuppance, even though his own was imminent. The rattan cane was leaving bright red angry marks as it slashed down repeatedly until the full six strokes had been delivered.
“Get up! Make yourself decent. Rick, it’s your turn now, let’s get this done and dusted!” Jim was in command and relishing his new role as a disciplinarian. Rick dropped his trousers, and then gently eased his grey underpants down over his rampant erection. He hoped his father and brother would not see his excitement, as it was adding to his embarrassment and shame. Again, Jim started to deliver each of the six strokes in carefully measured but stingingly accurate blows. Mick duly enjoyed seeing his brother’s punishment. He’d seen his cock too, in its excited state. He was minded to tease his brother about it later, but as he was now becoming erect himself, he decided that was probably not going to be a good idea. Besides, the throbbing and burning in his own arse was becoming a distraction.
“It’s Sgt. Moloney from the police station here. Just calling about your two boys. Did you sort them out?”
“Yes, I did. To start with my old man gave them six strokes each. And on thin trousers, not their jeans. Dad was most insistent. They were harsh beatings. One of my lads played up, so my dad gave him an extra stroke. As a penalty.”
“Ah, yes. Not a good idea to mess about during a caning, eh?”
“I’ll say! Anyway both of the boys seemed really sorry afterwards. And then about a week later, I gave them another sixer each. I’d been practicing with the cane. I think I probably did it just as hard as my dad did. Maybe harder, even.”
“A good cane is it, sir?” asked Moloney.
“I’ll say! It was a devil when I was a lad and I’d say that it’s lost absolutely none of its bite.”
“Pleased to hear it, sir. So, it’s a standard rattan is it? A standard school issue cane?”
“Err, well now, I’m really not sure. I’ve never thought about it’s history or provenance. I was always more worried about the pain when I was on the receiving end,” said Jim, rather surprised at the amount of detail the sergeant wanted to know, “I don’t know where my dad got it from. He’s always had it, as far back as I can remember. It’s just a cane, you know, with the curved handle.”
“A crook, sir, is the correct technical term, I believe.”
“Err yes, a crook then. But I’m sure you police know all about crooks!” Jim joked nervously.
“Yes indeed, Mr Evans, but this is hardly a laughing matter.”
“Err no, Sergeant Moloney, sorry.”
“So, the Chief Inspector will want to know a bit more about the follow-on as well. Tell me more about their second caning?”
“Well, as I said, I practiced on some cushions. It seemed strange to be dishing the caning out, rather than receiving one!”
“Oh yes, sir, I’m sure it would do. Carry on.”
“Well, as agreed the beatings were on the bare. I did it hard just in case my technique wasn’t quite up to standard. Though judging by my boys’ reactions, I did do it it properly. They both made a bit of noise and of course I could see the sore red marks as they appeared. I suppose I did rip up their arses a bit. If you’ll excuse my vulgarity. One of them did beg me to stop. So I just hit him a bit harder, I think. Anyway, I bet they were well sore for a long time after. They both seem a lot more respectful of me since. And of my father too, of course. Yes. they’ve been very quiet and circumspect since their canings.”
“All good sir, thank you. I’ll pass the information on to the Chief. But do tell, are you going to retain the cane for possible future use, in case of further trouble?”
“I hadn’t really thought about that, Sergeant. Hmmm. Yes, perhaps I should keep it. After all, my father certainly has no further need for it.”
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In the big double bed that night, The Chief Inspector got his sergeant to tell him all that he’d found out about the Evans boys’ beatings. The two policemen were secret lovers and not averse to adding some sado-masochistic fun to their bedroom activities. The reports the sergeant shared caused his lover to become seriously erect. Surprisingly, the Chief Inspector rolled over on to his stomach, so his erection was hidden and pressing hard into the mattress. He demanded, “Fuck me, Moloney!”
“Well, if you’re sure Chief?” He slapped his boss’s hairy arse hard and mounted him rapidly. It was a long, rough and unforgiving fuck. Their relationship had just taken a new and exciting turn, and all thanks to the canings that two young security guards had suffered.
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“It’s your own fault. I told you that those two lads of yours were getting out of control. But you were too meek, cowardly or feckless to take my wise advice.”
“Dad! That’s a bit harsh.”
“Oh no it isn’t. You should have disciplined them earlier.”
“But that’s not really allowed these days, Dad. I could have ended up behind bars.”
“I doubt that, son, I really do. Now go and fetch me my cane. I’m going to put it to some further good use right now.”
“Eh? Dad, surely you can’t mean…”
“I do son, indeed I do. You’re never too old for a caning.”
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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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