“Well lads, this is very serious. Radio piracy is an offence under the Marine Broadcasting Offences Act, 1967. You could all be going down for this!”
The three 21-year-olds surveyed their surroundings. Their poky little studio with the twin turntables, and a pile of 45s. The pegboard on the walls, with egg boxes to provide some acoustic insulation. A valve amplifier and a rudimentary transmitter.
Sergeant Westlea and his two constables examined the pirate treasure with some disdain. The Sergeant picked up a Deep Purple single and snapped it in half.
“Oops! Well, that’s forever hushed!” laughed the Sergeant. “Fortunately for you three, I am under strict instructions not to arrest you straight away. If you know what’s good for you, you will accompany us to the police station where the Chief Superintendent wishes to interview you. Why he is so interested in small fry like you, I have no idea. The van’s outside, I suggest you all get in it before I change my mind and cuff the lot of you.”
Soon Bill, James and Hugh found themselves in the plush surroundings of the office of Chief Superintendent Walker. All three were sat in front of his large oak desk. He was reading the case file silently. Now and then, he would look over his half-moon spectacles, gazing at the three miscreants. He puffed on a large Churchillian cigar.
“Well, gentlemen. It’s taken us three years to track you down. You have led us a merry dance. A dance to the music of time, you might say! During this time, I have listened to your station a lot on my trusty Roberts. I must say I have enjoyed a lot of your output. Particularly that Cream bootleg you keep playing.”
To the three friends, this was the first sign of any relief from their predicament.
“I have studied the case file, and I must warn you that a judge might impose custodial sentences. This is really a most, most grave offence in terms of the law. However, here at the station, we tend to view this as a less serious offence. I see from our research that you are all ex-pupils of St. Stephens…”
“Yes Sir!” said James, who was evidently the leader of the pirate gang.
“So am I,” laughed the Chief Superintendent. “Not strangers to the cane then, lads?”
All three shook their heads.
“Mmmm. Just as I suspected. Now, listen to me! As a prefect I used to cane naughty lads such as yourselves, back then. It seems to me that an unofficial caning could be just what you lads need, instead of a spell in prison. Something to wake your ideas up! Well, lads?”
James spoke up, “If you’re suggesting we take a caning, I’m sure all three of us would be happy to accept that, Sir!” The other two nodded enthusiastically.
James was thinking how much he hated the cane. In the past, Bill hadn’t found the cane too bad if he felt he’d deserved it. Hugh however, had a masochistic streak and loved being caned. The Chief Superintendent was also very fond of the cane…
“Good. Some common sense from you three at last. I was thinking of six of the best. Six strokes for each one of the years you evaded us.”
The lads gasped. Eighteen strokes each!
“Don’t worry lads. I was thinking of three sessions of six strokes each, say a week apart. Just to drive the lesson home. On the bare, of course.”
James spoke up again, “Of course. Yes Sir, that seems very reasonable in the circumstances.”
“Now there is one problem. My right arm is recovering from an injury sustained just recently. I can’t cane you myself, although I feel I must witness your punishments. Which leaves me with a couple of alternatives. I could ask Sergeant Westlea…”
“We don’t like him, Sir. He deliberately snapped one of our records!”
“Not the Cream bootleg, I hope!” exclaimed the Chief Superintendent.
“No, no it was a 45 of ‘Hush’ by Deep Purple,” said Bill.
“One of my favourites!” said the Chief, shaking his head. “Well, I can’t trust the brute not to snap my cane then, can I? It’s my last one. Which brings me to the other alternative. Mrs Walker!”
“Your wife, Sir?”
“Yes, my wife. She’s an experienced caner. Do you have a problem with that?”
“No, Sir. Not really, but bare bottom Sir?” asked James.
“Good point, boy. I’ll have to ask her how she feels about that. She might want you to keep your underwear on. In which case, perhaps more strokes might be appropriate.”
“Oh, Sir!” said James, the one who feared the cane the most.
“Well, Gents. Maybe we’ll leave it at six each session. I’m a reasonable man and Mrs Walker will see reason too. It will hurt you, but it won’t kill you. Have we got a deal? Smith?”
James nodded, “Yes Sir, thank you.”
“Yes, yes thank you.”
“Very good. I want you all to call around to my house on Friday evening. Well after ‘The Archers’. Say eight o’clock. Here’s the address.”
The three lads trooped out of the station with mixed feelings. They passed Sergeant Westlea, who looked astonished to see them walking free without so much as a caution.
Back in the office, the Chief Superintendent leant back in his leather chair. Yes, this would be a most gratifying spectacle. Three naked, prime rumps being caned by his disciplinarian wife. Something for the weekend! In bed that night he shared his wicked plan with his wife. She mounted him eagerly and came heavily as he described his plans in detail.
“Well Charles, you have really excelled yourself this time. I’m almost tempted to cane you now as a reward!”
“Thank you darling, but don’t you think you’d be better off resting and waiting for the weekend?”
“Well no, my arm’s not the one that’s weak at the moment is it? Be a dear and fetch the cane…”
Despite the hot lovemaking he had just enjoyed, Charles Walker was regretting mentioning his plan. His wife switched on the bedside lamp and took the cane from him.
“Eighteen strokes, I think! Seems appropriate. Unless you’d prefer twenty-one?”
“Oh, Lynn, surely that’s too many?”
“Well, let me have a look at your bottom. Hmmmm. No signs of recent caning or trauma. Arse is looking meatier than ever. Too many trips to the canteen at work, I’d say. Eighteen!”
Charles placed a couple of pillows in the middle of the bed, and bent submissively over them. His wife could hardly contain her delight. How she loved caning this all-powerful copper!
CRACK! The first hard stroke from the whippy cane lashed down on the chunky, hairy cheeks.
CRACK! The second stroke was just as hard.
CRACK! She wasn’t playing as a third fiery stroke hit him just above the crease.
CRACK! Indeed, this was no love caning. This was punishment!
CRACK! The whippy, crook-handled cane bit into his bottom again.
CRAAACK! A harder stroke caused him to gasp.
CRACK! A satisfying sharp stroke.
“AAARGH!” Charles could no longer contain his pain.
CRAACK! His sadistic wife chuckled as the cane lashed down again.
CRACK! CRACK! She was truly in her stride now.
He felt his cock springing to life again. What magic the cane worked!
CRAAAACK! The cane broke clean in half!
“SHIT!” they both cried.
“What are we going to do now? We’ve got your boys coming on Friday and nothing to cane them with,” Lynn sighed.
“I know, I know. It’s so hard to find a decent cane these days. Those canes from school were top quality. I’ll have to get the lads at work to find me a supplier.”
“Well, you don’t have long, Charles. Don’t fail me or it will be very bad news for you! How about Soho? Or a whorehouse?”
“No, I don’t think so, love,” he got up from his submissive position, semi-erect, “the school might be a better bet. They still use the cane at St Stephens…”
Warning: Contains adult material. Forbidden to those under the age of 18.
This blog is intended for adults only. All listed sites, pictures displayed or referred to in this blog feature consenting adult models and players over the age of 18. All stories and artwork featured are fiction only and refer to adults in role play. This blog is not suitable for persons under the age of 18.
The owner of this blog does NOT condone, promote OR encourage the corporal punishment of minors or non-consenting adults.
Many people use the rattan cane in their adult relationships. Sometimes this is for domestic discipline. Others use it to spice up their sex lives. Some just like recreating experiences from long ago. You will find fictional stories here which explore these themes. All the characters are aged 18 or over.
All characters appearing in this blog are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.