♥ 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?”
“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.
“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?”
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.”
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.”
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.
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?”
“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 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.”
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!”
“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.
“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!
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 ©MMXXII by Joelstrap, used here by very kind permission.
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♥ Site recommended story ♥
Hot all-male erotica by Rod Cayenne, repeated from 2013 by popular request. All the characters are aged 18 or over. Strictly Adults Only!
The air was heavy with cigarette smoke. The two men were chatting behind the counter, waiting for the flood of punters who would arrive as soon as the city offices closed. It was unmistakably a sex shop. The windows were blacked out, there were tacky neon signs and entry to the shop was via a beaded curtain. There were rows and rows of magazines, ranging from the tame to the explicit, though the latter were censored due to the Obscene Publications Act. It hadn’t been that long since the last police raid on the premises…
Proprietor Rick, 35, lanky, greasy and bearded, puffed on his long cigarette. Boyish runaway Peter, just 21, gazed naively at the contents of the shop. He’d only just got the job, which was proving to be quite an education for him.
“Is there a lot of demand for this homo stuff?” Peter asked Rick.
“Yes, it sells pretty well. Mainly to married men. City gents. Public school types.”
“I don’t really understand any of this stuff, it does nothing for me.”
“Don’t worry my boy. Later tonight, I’ll show you some proper uncensored stuff. Some of the gay stuff is pretty hot.”
“Well, if you must. I just don’t get it at all.”
“It’s taking off, Pete, my mate. Zig has been the spur, all that bisexuality stuff. It’s the future, I’m sure of it.”
“Oh yes, trust me, mate.”
“Yes, I do, Rick. And what about this stuff, the spankers as you call them?”
“Ah yes, the spanking mags. Our best sellers, they are. The English are just mad about the stuff, especially the caning mags. It’s lost on most of the tourists, of course.”
“I had the cane at school. I can’t see the attraction. It bloody hurt, and wasn’t sexy at all.”
“Ah. Pleasure from pain. Yes, that’s a bit harder to explain. Very popular, all the same. There’s a good margin on spanking stuff and the cops don’t always seize it. Of course, a lot of them are into it. In a big way. Caning especially!” he laughed. Rick went on to explain the fine details of the bondage, S&M and fetish magazines and accessories stocked in the shop.
“So, going back to the police. Got any tips for me when we do get raided?”
“It doesn’t happen very often, Pete. Hopefully I’ll be here. But if not, just don’t let them near the ‘under the counter’ stuff. And be polite, for Christ’s sake. “Yes, Officer, No Officer, Three Bags Full, Sir”. I think they cream off some of the stuff for themselves, the wank mags, the spankers. Just make sure you do as they say. Otherwise I’ll be taking a cane to your sorry arse!”
“You wouldn’t dare! Anyway, I bet you haven’t got a cane.”
“You’re right. I haven’t got a cane. I’ve got several! We used to sell them, but the cops kept nicking them. Arseholes!”
“Shit, I’d better behave myself.”
“Yes, lad. You better had. You’re never too old for the cane, I always say.”
Peter gulped and decided to change the subject a little, “These blow-up dolls are a bit crap, aren’t they?”
“Ah yes, the Roxys, as I like to call them. A bit sad, but they’re good sellers. They’re crap, as you say. I certainly wouldn’t fuck one of them!”
“No, me neither, I’d rather wait for the real thing,” said Peter eyeing the masturbation aids.
Suddenly, the influx of customers arrived. There were older men in raincoats, and a few younger guys, all looking for wank fodder. Of course, some had guilty expressions, red faces and others had indulged in some Dutch courage. Peter enjoyed flirting with the older punters, as he slipped their purchases into discreet brown paper bags. Trade was brisk that evening.
“I think you’re good for sales, young Peter. Maybe I won’t cane your arse just yet,” Rick laughed.
That night young Peter was shown a lot of uncensored material, and ended up sleeping with Rick upstairs in the damp flat above the shop. It was a night that Peter would never regret. The two men became regular sexual partners. The arrangement suited young Peter as he could never pull the girls. For Rick, it was just lust for the 21-year-old’s youthful arse and tight hole. Both were curiously dispassionate about their affair and it never really developed into love.
A few months later, there was a police raid on the premises. Rick was absent, so young Peter had to handle things alone. A substantial amount of magazines was seized. Rick was furious but at least none of the more, ahem, specialised material was found by the coppers. Peter couldn’t help but feel guilty for the upheaval, though in truth he was blameless. The following few days at work he was completely downcast.
“Don’t worry, Peter. It’s not your fault we were raided. I’ve been in touch with the law, and they have said they might return some of the stuff as it has been cleared. I’m pretty matey with some of the lads down the station these days. Our paths cross a lot, as it were. I sometimes slip them a few spankers to keep them sweet. They’re only doing their job, after all.”
“You bribe them with spanking magazines?”
“That’s a very strong word, Peter. I just like to oil the cogs of the machines of justice, as it were.”
“Well it hasn’t worked, has it? They’ve not returned the stuff have they?”
“Not yet, but they will, my boy, they will.”
“No, I know. Now bite your lip, unless you want a good hard caning from your boss?”
“No thanks, Rick,” said Peter, although he did wonder if such a thrashing might purge his overwhelming feelings of guilt. His mind was in turmoil following the raid, and about his relationship with Rick. He was even beginning to feel guilty about working in the shop and how it would impact on his life and career.
A few days later, two policemen turned up at the shop at closing time. They had brought many of the seized magazines back with them, so Peter was tasked with unloading them from the Austin panda car. Soon the car was emptied, and the police sergeant sent the driver on his way.
“Drink, Mark?” Rick asked the sergeant.
“Well, I shouldn’t really, I’m still on duty. But if you insist.”
“I do, I do. Come upstairs for a beer, you too Peter.”
Peter was reluctant to join the two men. The presence of Sergeant Mark was making him nervous. After all, he was the cop who had fronted the raid on the premises. However, soon all three men were enjoying cans of frothy Watney Truman bitter while a Roberts transistor radio piped an offshore pirate station around the flat.
“Sorry about the raid, Rick. It was orders, of course.”
“It’s OK Mark, I understand.”
“The Super’s been ordering a crackdown. We’ll try and leave you out of the next round.”
“Cheers, Mark. I think the raid terrified young Peter here.”
Peter nodded and blushed.
“Well, he certainly could have been more helpful.”
“Really? PETER, IS THIS TRUE?” barked Rick.
Peter wasn’t sure how to react, so he just shrugged his shoulders.
“Yes, he wasn’t very cooperative,” said the sergeant, frowning.
“Well, I’m sorry Mark. I had no idea. Perhaps the lad should have a taste of my cane? He must learn to help the rule of law!”
“Yes, Rick, a good caning would teach the lad some respect!”
“In fact, Mark, maybe you could do the honours?”
Peter’s jaw dropped as events started to move rapidly. Soon Rick returned from the bedroom with a swishy rattan school cane in his hands. He gave it to the sergeant.
“A fine specimen!” the policeman exclaimed, “Just like the ones at my old school. Err, Peter, it has to be bare, I’m afraid.”
Rick pulled a wooden chair into the middle of the room, commanding Peter, “Over!”
Peter complied reluctantly. He was scared. Scared of the sergeant, and scared of Rick. More than anything, he was scared of that cane. He’d always assumed Rick was joking about having some canes. Evidently not! He hadn’t had the cane for several years, and now he was going to get it from the big, burly policeman! He decided to comply to the letter, in the hope of some clemency or maybe a reduction in the number of strokes. Sighing, he let his jeans fall, and then his less than clean string pants followed.
The sergeant was enjoying the view, as was Rick. Their plan was working perfectly. Peter had been set up! The sergeant flexed the cane enthusiastically. He was going to enjoy this!
SWISH-CRACK! The policeman sliced the whippy rattan down hard on Peter’s unblemished buttocks. A deep red line appeared. It was a good cane. It was a very good cane! Rick already knew it was a very good cane, as he sourced all his canes direct from the importer. The importer was only to happy to supply the sex shops with the finest of punishment implements. After all, they gave a higher profit than the school trade.
SWISH-CRACK! Sergeant Mark whipped a second stroke down on Peter’s arse. The cheeks gave way as the cane sliced like a hot knife through butter.
SWISH-CRACK! Peter gasped and wriggled as the assault continued. He was told to keep still by the sergeant, “unless he wanted extra!” He didn’t! Of that, Peter was sure!
SWISH-CRACK! “YEEEOW!” Peter cried, just like a schoolboy. How gratifying that sound was.
SWISH-CRACK! A fifth stroke slashed down. What an expert tormentor the sergeant was proving to be!
SWISH-CRACK! A sixth stroke and Peter felt sure that would be the final one. But he was wrong! Very, very wrong!
SWISH-CRACK! The seventh was a real corker, cracking and burning into Peter’s soft posterior.
SWISH-CRACK! The eighth was the worst so far, searing and unforgiving. Peter bucked and writhed but by now Mark was almost in a trance, slashing the cane down without thought as he rejoiced in his own sadism.
SWISH-CRACK! SWISH-CRACK! SWISH-CRACK! The beating carried on relentlessly. From a distance, Rick admired the red stripes adorning his lover’s youthful buttocks.
SWISH-CRACK! The twelfth surely was the last? Yes, it was! It hurt like the blazes, but Peter was pleased to hear the cane clatter on the floor as the sergeant threw it down with a grunt.
Peter’s ordeal wasn’t over yet, however. The sergeant dragged him off to the bedroom saying, “We won’t be long!” to Rick.
“There’s some lube in the top drawer!” Rick shouted, just as the bedroom door slammed shut. Soon the sounds of the two males at it could be heard by Rick, after he’d switched Radio Veronica off! It all reminded him of when he was younger, when Mark had given him much the same treatment. Yes, Mark liked some “chocolate on his biscuit” as he had so charmingly referred to it. But Mark only liked them young. He had lost interest in sex with Rick once Rick had reached the ripe old age of twenty-five.
The frantic mating noises didn’t last long, just as the copper had predicted. Evidently, Mark had delivered his payload and soon emerged from the bedroom zipping up his police trousers.
“Take some pictures of Peter for me, will you Rick?” Mark asked with a grin on his face. Rick nodded and later that night duly snapped Peter with his Praktica. The lad’s shagged and caned arse featured heavily in the resulting portfolio. Rick knew exactly what Mark wanted in the photos, and had them processed by a trusted photolab just around the corner from the sex shop.
Over the next few days and weeks, Peter couldn’t decide if he’d enjoyed the sex and caning he’d endured courtesy of hunky cop Mark. Sometimes, he felt as if it had been terrific. Other times, he felt used and dirty. Eventually, his mind settled on the positive and he confided in Rick that he’d like to see Mark again. It happened! And it so happened that there were also threesomes where Peter’s bottom entertained both Rick and Sergeant Mark. There were no more raids on the shop for another four years or so.
Story © 2013 by Rod Cayenne
D I S C L A I M E R
All characters appearing in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Due to circumstances beyond the control of Team Canery, comments are disabled for this story. Comments from the original post are here
♥ Site recommended story ♥
Both parts of this caning story by your host Rod Cayenne presented together for the first time. All the characters are aged 18 or over. This story is for Adults Only!
Revelations by Rod Cayenne
Peter was moving in with his father. The old man, now 75, needed a little looking after, and as Peter was penniless after a messy divorce, it made sense for the two men to pool their resources.
Dad shook his son’s hand firmly to welcome him back to the old family home. It was a generous four-bedroom property with ample room for just the two of them. However, as Peter had become a bit of a hoarder over the years, the place was soon cluttered by a large number of cardboard boxes full of his belongings, ephemera and junk. The clutter became a source of friction between the two men, as Dad had always liked things “just so.”
As it happened, one day Dad tripped over a pile of the boxes. Luckily he was unhurt, but the contents of one of the boxes spilt out everywhere. Riding crops and school canes fell onto the floor. The two men looked at each other. 52-year-old Peter blushed just like a teenager. Dad’s Cairn Terrier, Duke, barked furiously at the upset. Who would blink first? In the end, it was Dad, “Well, son. What a revelation! A bit kinky, are we? No wonder Sandy left you! You’d better put them away. We’ll talk about it later.”
Peter scrambled on the floor, picking up the various implements of correction. He blushed furiously as he placed his “toys” back in the box. Duke barked again, and Dad couldn’t resist a chuckle.
The two men spoke little over the fish and chip supper. Peter felt awful, and he could sense some amusement from his father. How Peter wished he had hidden that particular box in the bedroom he’d been allocated.
“Alright Peter. That was a nice meal, thank you. Now, we have something to discuss, haven’t we? Bring the box, we’re going to my study.”
The study was one of the nicest rooms in the old house. It was light and airy, with the sunshine streaming through the window that autumn evening. Peter put the box down on the desk and his father sat down, facing his son.
“Well now. I think you have some explaining to do, Peter. Take the lid off the box and talk me through the contents, please.”
Peter picked up a traditional school cane. It was golden brown, three feet long and had a curved handle. “Well, you should recognise this one Dad! It’s your old cane!”
“Whaaat? Give it to me this instant!” Dad was handed the cane, and he flexed and swished it, just like old times. He pointed it at Peter and said, “It is my old cane! Lovely, but I thought I told you to throw it away? That was a long time ago now. And you’ve kept it all these years?”
“Well yes. I was going to throw it away but then I didn’t, Dad.”
“Evidently not! Has it seen a lot of use since then?”
“Oh yes, I’ll say!”
“And have you been on the receiving end or the giving end?”
“I’d rather not say, Dad!”
CRACK! Dad slashed the cane down on the desk, right in front of Peter.
“I didn’t ask whether you wanted to reply, I asked which end of the cane you were on!”
“Err, right Dad. A bit of both, actually.”
“I see. So you really are kinky then? I’m confiscating this cane, or rather taking it back as it was mine all along. I’ve thought of a use for it.”
Peter gulped. He wasn’t keen on his Dad having a cane again. Dad and cane was a near-lethal combination that brought back painful memories.
“OK Dad, of course, it’s yours to keep.”
“What else have you got in there?”
Peter extracted another cane. He swished it around.
“I got this one at a country fair. It’s a bit thinner and has an awful sting. It’s not quite as nicely finished as yours, and the crook handle isn’t as beautifully curved.”
“Mmmm. I see. Well, you can keep that one. Next!”
“A nice brown leather riding crop bought at the same country fair. It was new, unlike the cane.”
“Let me have a look please. Yes, very nice. Can you spare it?”
“Yes, Dad. You can have it, if you really want it. I’ve got another one here much the same, but in black leather.”
“Oh yes, very nice. Thanks, I will keep the brown one. You’d better hang on to the other one, Peter.”
Dad sniffed the plaited brown leather crop as Peter rummaged further in the box.
“And then I’ve got this one, which is a fluorescent pink. Quite a fun item. Popular with the ladies.”
“A bit effeminate that one. Are you sure you’re not gay?”
“Dad! Sandy chose that one. We got it mail-order from some sex supplies company.”
“Tut, tut. How seedy! What else have you got?”
“Silver handcuffs from the same supplier.”
“I’ll take those, please,” Dad said.
“A straight cane with a rubber handle. Same place again.”
“How does that compare with the others, Peter?”
“It’s a bit of a bruiser. No fun at all. And lastly, there’s this malacca cane. From the old antiques shop in Victoria Avenue. Knobbly and very punishing.”
“Mmmm, yes, it does look like something from an S&M film,” said Dad, much to Peter’s surprise. “So that leaves me with my original cane, and this rather nice brown crop you have given me. Excellent! Oh, and these handcuff thingies. Now go and put that box away in your room. We won’t be needing it again, and I don’t want it tipping out in front of any visitors. See to it, Peter. And then come back for another chat, please.”
Peter took the box up to his room. That chat had been embarrassing. He was a little worried about his Dad.
Back in the study, Dad was flexing his cane. Peter came back in and was blushing again.
“Well, Peter. This has been a day of revelations! It seems my son is what is commonly known as a spanko! With a secret supply of implements of chastisement. Dad thinks this is a bit shocking, you know.”
“Err yes, Dad.”
“Don’t worry, Peter, my boy. I shall keep your secret safe. No-one will find out from me.”
“However, it would be a shame if this crop and cane slipped into retirement. I propose a thrashing for you for all the clutter and the fact that I could have been injured. How does that sound?”
“Dad, come on, you’re joking, surely?”
“No, actually, I’m not. I’m a bit of a spanko, too. Let’s get down to it, shall we?”
“No, Dad. This is all wrong.”
“Right or wrong? Who bloody cares at my age?”
“Well, that’s how I feel. Make the old man happy, please.”
“Well, if you’re sure? And it will be a secret?”
“Of course! Now how about six with the crop for the clutter? And another six, on the bare, for the box business. With the cane, of course.”
“On the bare?”
“Yes, it always was, wasn’t it?”
“Err, of course. But things are different now. I’m 52! Can’t I be allowed a bit of modesty?”
“No! Not appropriate, I feel. You may be 52, but you’re still a naughty boy in my eyes. Now over the desk for six with this beautiful crop.”
Peter bent over the oak desk, just like in times past. It had been over thirty years since he had last bent over it. A rush of excitement consumed him. He grinned and then grimaced as his Dad swished the brown crop through the air. Dad paced up and down the room, swishing the crop some more and smacking it gently on his leg.
“You know, I think this is really going to hurt, Peter,” Dad said. “It could be worse than the cane. Perhaps we’d better have you bare for these as well, so that I can see the marks. I don’t want to get carried away.”
“I’m more worried about you having a heart attack, Dad.”
“Shut up boy! Trousers and underpants down for your father!”
So it was that Peter’s Farah slacks slid down, followed by his cream Marks and Spencer briefs. An unmistakable erection was growing between his legs and pressing against the desk. Dad had no matching stiffness! He hadn’t been troubled by an erection for a long time.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! Dad lashed the crop down enthusiastically on his son’s bottom. Oh boy, was this good!
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! Peter needn’t have doubted his father’s ability to deliver a sound beating. Dad’s handshake and grip were still firm and fatherly, despite the ravages of time.
“Very good, Peter!” Dad admired his handiwork on the naked cheeks. Red marks from the shaft of the crop decorated the arse. Yes, vivid red marks which betrayed the throbbing, burning pain Peter was feeling.
“Gosh, Dad. You haven’t lost your touch at all. My arse is killing me!”
“Language, Peter! Don’t make things worse for yourself. Now for the cane. I’m grateful you didn’t throw it away. But I need to find out if the old beauty still performs.”
The performance didn’t disappoint at all. That cane always was a special one. Its loving, bitter caress was undimmed. Peter gasped and groaned as the cane slashed down, skilfully aimed by his disciplinarian father. Dad criss-crossed the strokes, making a really sore impression. Peter wasn’t broken, but he sure was chastened. He would be a lot tidier in future!
“Fish, chips and chastisement every Friday!” Dad announced to Peter.
“You’re paying, by the way. Think of it as your rent.”
Revelations by Rod Cayenne
Dad’s trusty old cane thrashed down on the naked buttocks of prodigal son Peter.
“Owww!” Peter cried. He could usually take his strokes stoically, but this seventeenth stroke hurt beyond belief!
The eighteenth bitter-sweet stroke lashed down.
Outside the study door, the sound of leather crop and rattan cane on bare flesh had sent Duke the Cairn Terrier into a barking frenzy. It was ever thus.
The thrashings took place every Friday evening. To start with they had been after the gents had enjoyed their fish and chip suppers. Latterly, however, Dad had taken to sending Peter out to buy the food after his thrashing. Peter would therefore stand in Pam’s Fish Bar with a red hot bottom, almost hotter than the food on offer! On returning home, Peter would sit awkwardly at the dining table facing his father.
This evening was no different. Peter’s pert bottom throbbed and burnt from the eighteen strokes. His face was flushed with embarrassment, or was it sexual excitement? This particular evening, Dad also looked rather red-faced. He leant over and touched his son’s hand.
“I hope that thrashing has taught you a lesson, my naughty boy. Now, listen. I want you to share my bed tonight, son.”
“Yes, why not? And we’ll both be naked, won’t we? I want to have a good talk about your spanking and caning interests, Peter. Pass the ketchup, please.”
“Dad, this is kinky, kinkier than we should allow ourselves to be.”
“Nonsense, son! We’ve a shared interest. Now, I want to share it more intimately.”
“Dad, you really are incorrigible!”
“Maybe son, maybe. Are you up for it, then?”
“Well, yes, as long as you don’t tell anyone. Especially Sandy, if you ever bump into her.”
“Mum’s the word!”
“How about an early night then, Dad? These fish and chips always send me into a bit of a drowsy kind of slump.”
“I’ll decide when son. Is that clear?”
As if on cue, Peter felt a shooting pain, just where the crop and cane had done their very dirty work.
“Yes Dad. Perfectly clear.”
“Good boy. I could always give you a reminder of who makes the decisions around here.”
“No Dad, no reminders necessary. You’ve made a firm impression already.”
Was that innuendo, or cheek? It didn’t matter.
“You will have a bath at nine o’clock and then come and join me in bed, naked. In the meantime, you can wash up when we’ve finished eating.”
“Son! It’s nine o’clock! Toilet and bath now. Don’t forget your teeth. Oh, and take the cane and crop from my study and put them on my bed, will you?”
“Errr, yes Dad. Of course.”
Peter wasn’t too sure he liked the sound of all this. He was being treated like a kid. Told when to use the toilet indeed! Nevertheless, he was excited and felt his cock stiffen as he called into the study to pick up the cane and crop. Already they had wreaked havoc that day. Now it seemed that an encore was in prospect. It was only a few hours later, but Peter was craving more punishment, especially as it seemed to fit in with his father’s plans.
Peter entered his father’s bedroom. It stank of cigar smoke, and there sat on the bedcovers was Duke. More worryingly, Peter could see his handcuffs, confiscated by his father, lying on the bedside table. Next to them, was a well-used tube of lube. Peter gulped with dread, placing the cane and crop down carefully on the bed. Duke barked at him.
Peter made his way to the bathroom. Soon the taps were running, and Peter sat on the toilet, which reminded him how sore his bottom was.
Dad popped his head round the door.
“Good lad! I’ll be in later to soap you down.”
Peter rolled his eyes. He couldn’t even have a shit in peace, it seemed.
A few minutes later, Peter was enjoying his hot bath when the door swung open. Peter was astonished to see Pam the proprietor of the chip shop stood holding the cane, and Dad just behind her.
“Your father has invited me round to join in the fun! Lucy is minding the shop. I’ll be caning you both tonight! Hurry up and get dry! This cane needs some use!”
She swished the cane down and chuckled. “Two strokes for each minute it takes you! You’d better hurry up!”
Peter pulled the plug out and smiled to himself. By the time he got to the bedroom, his father was stood naked and handcuffed.
“Five minutes! Ten strokes! Your father will be getting the same. Peter you can go second.”
It was the first time Peter had seen his father naked. For a 75-year old, his body was in surprisingly good shape. His bottom was most attractive, pert and hairy. Peter was also naked, after his bath. Unlike his father, Peter had a stonkingly stiff erection. Pam gazed at it lovingly as she flexed the cane. She was particularly fond of uncircumcised penises. She flexed the swishy rattan cane again. Oh yes, it was going to be a night of revelations!
Both parts of this story © MMXII by Rod Cayenne. All rights reserved.
D I S C L A I M E R
All characters appearing in this story are over the age of 18 and are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons or businesses, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Comments and masturbation welcome. Comments are here.
♥ Site recommended story ♥
Just in time for Valentine’s Day comes this brand spanking new caning story by very special guest author JOELSTRAP. This story is exclusive to The Canery! WARNING: ADULTS ONLY!
The Chocolate Bottom by Joelstrap
“Justin’s got a Valentine!” squealed Derek. “Look! He’s gone as red as a post-box!”
“Shut up, you little shit!” I hissed furiously at my kid-brother, as mum came back into the room carrying a plate of poached eggs.
She smiled at me as she placed the plate in front of me.
“That’s nice, dear,” she said. “It’s very early. Valentine’s Day is still over a week away. Is it from that very sexy Tony?”
“Mum!” I yelped, outraged.
“You can’t say he’s sexy. He’s half your age.”
“What’s that got to do with it? He’s gorgeous,” retorted mum. “If he’s even half as good as he looks in his t-shirt and shorts, he must be red-hot out of them.”
Derek spluttered into his cereal and I gave him an angry glare before turning on mum.
“You’re disgusting,” I said coldly.
“He’s scared you pinch Tony for yourself,” interjected Derek. “He can’t get into Tony’s pants, so he doesn’t want you to get in either.”
“That will do, Derek,” snapped mum irately. “You will not talk like that.”
“But I was only…….”, began Derek before he caught mum’s eye and subsided into silence.
“I’m sorry, Justin. I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” she said, turning to me.
“It’s okay; and you’re not disgusting. Tony is as sexy as a cartload of monkeys; but I don’t think the card’s from him anyway. I guess it could be; but it’s not signed.”
“Ah! Maybe you’ve got a mystery admirer, Justin.”
“Who’s so hot for you that he can’t wait for Valentine’s Day to send his card,” giggled Derek; and he suddenly snatched the card from me.
“Oooh, it says: To The Boy With The Beautiful Bottom,” he yelped excitedly as he dodged past me and made for the door.
“Mum!” I yelled. “Tell him to give it to me!”
“All right, Derek. Hand it over to Justin,” said mum.
“I wonder who likes his arse!”
“Derek!” said mum dangerously quietly.
My younger brother knew that he was in imminent peril of losing his mobile-phone for a week, and so he reluctantly handed me the card and left the room.
“Thanks, mum. I know he’s only fourteen, but he’s a bit of a pain sometimes.”
“While at eighteen, you’re a constant joy to live with,” said mum with a smile.
“Okay, I know I can be a bit awkward at times,” I admitted, “but I’m trying to be grown up.”
“I know, dear. You’re doing fine. I hope you’re not eating too much chocolate from that shop where you’ve been working since new year. You’ll put your beautiful bottom in danger if you do,” said mum. “It’d be a pity to spoil it. I used to think, when I was changing your nappies and putting cream and powder on your behind, how beautifully-formed it was; and when I was bathing you when you were a bit older…….”
I heard no more as I fled the room and thundered up to my bedroom.
A kindly neighbour who knew Mr. Bean, the owner of the shop in the High Street called Chocs, had put in a word for me; and since, like any 18-year-old I was desperate for money while I was at college, I had been delighted to land the job on Thursday and Friday evenings and all day on Saturdays. Bean turned out to be a rather good-looking guy in his mid-thirties who had started the shop just three years earlier. The fact that some of the chocolate was made by his cousin and was therefore different from the chocolates he bought in to sell, had helped, along with his undoubted business acumen, to make the enterprise a success. The shop was well-stocked in readiness for Valentine’s Day, with heart-shaped tins and boxes of chocolates, chocolate teddy-bears, animals, birds, slabs of chocolate made to look like bunches of flowers; and, hidden under the counter, chunks of chocolate made into exquisite pairs of breasts, buttocks and some very generous cocks-and-balls. A discreet notice informed customers that they could ask to see the adult range.
“They’ve got to be eighteen to see these things though,” I was warned. “If they don’t look old enough, you must ask for ID, Justin, okay?”
In the middle of the shop stood a stunning chocolate-fountain, a cascade of liquid chocolate flowing down in a thin curtain from the top bowl, to fill and then overflow a slightly larger one and then into the largest one at the foot. From there it was pumped round to repeat the process. I’d been allowed to insert the bowl of a long-handled spoon into the curtain of falling chocolate and to withdraw it, full to the brim. The chocolate was delicious.
“We make that ourselves,” he had said. “And some of the other chocolates in the shop too.”
“And the chocolate goolies and things as well?” I’d hazarded.
“Yes. They’re proving rather popular, especially with the younger people.”
“I’m not surprised.”
The Thursday and Friday evening-opening, which had only begun in January, was aimed at increasing the number of customers in the run-up to Valentine’s Day and then to Easter. It had been a huge success and although in theory I was serving in the shop by myself at those times, Bean himself often had to come through from doing his paperwork in the back-room, to help out.
It was the Friday evening ahead of Valentine’s Day on the Monday when the bell jangled and in walked Neil. He had been at school with me, but while I had embarked on a college course, he had joined his family’s bookselling business. It seemed appropriate because Neil was of slim build and had a slightly bookish air about him. He had fair hair which fell in a boyish fringe across his forehead; and he had a hell of a cute arse on him.
“So, Neil, got your eye on a girl at last?” I asked with a grin. “Needing something to show her how much she means to you and maybe give you the key to her pants?”
“Cheeky bugger! But it’s gonna be tricky and I do need something different to really show how I feel,” admitted Neil good-naturedly as he began to browse among the myriad boxes of chocolates in every form imaginable.
I had to serve another two customers before I could turn my attention back to Neil.
“See anything you’d like?”
“Dunno. There’s so much. What would you get for somebody you really wanted to impress, Justin?”
The shop was almost empty apart from a couple of girls giggling over various chocolate-selections near the window and I beckoned Neil to the counter and showed him the chocolate-buttocks. He gave a low whistle.
“Shit! They’re hell of a sexy!”
“You think they might give you a chance?” I asked.
“Yeh. I think they might be just the thing,” he said thoughtfully.
At that moment the two girls came to the counter and I was about to slide the chocolate-bottom out of sight when Neil stopped me and turned to the girls.
“If a guy gave you that as a Valentine gift, what would you think?” he asked them.
“I’d think he needed to have his face slapped,” replied one.
“And I’d be putting a padlock on my pants,” vouchsafed her pal.
Neil looked pensive while I served the girls and they left the shop.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll take the chocolate arse.”
“You sure?” I enquired. “The girls’ reaction didn’t sound too encouraging.”
“Oh, I don’t know. It got their attention, didn’t it? Anyway, that’s what I want. Can you put it in a bag? I don’t want to walk down the street carrying something like that openly.”
I duly bagged the item, took Neil’s money and watched his stunning behind as he walked towards the door. He’d just put his hand on the handle when the door was pushed violently open from the outside and two guys whom I recognised from school came barging in, knocking Neil aside. I eyed Geordie and Mike uneasily. They were bullies and liked to cause trouble. I was relieved to know that Bean was in the room at the back, within call, but felt that I had to try to deal with the situation myself.
“So, you found a girl daft enough to go out with you?” said Geordie to Neil.
“It’s none of your business,” retorted Neil.
“It’ll take more than chocolate to persuade any decent girl to look twice at a twerp like you,” remarked Mike rudely.
“Leave him alone,” I said. “Do you want to buy anything?”
“Hell, no! Real guys like us don’t need chocolates to get us into a girl’s pants,” asserted Geordie. “We just came in to see what this little squirt was buying.”
He lunged at Neil and tried to grab the bag from him but Neil dodged away and retreated behind the chocolate-fountain. The two bullies pursued him and I strode forward to intervene. Mike made an attempt to snatch Neil’s purchase but his arm caught me a stinging blow on the ear. Angrily, I grabbed his collar and strong-armed him out of the door and locked it behind him. By the time I got back, Geordie had managed to get the package from Neil.
“Give that back to him right now,” I ordered.
“So what did the little poofter buy, eh?” sneered Geordie. “A bunch of chocolate pansies? A soppy teddy-bear? A…….fucking hell!”
He had ripped open the bag and was holding the chocolate-buttocks and staring disbelievingly at them. Neil made a leap to retrieve his purchase, but Geordie held it high, out of his reach and ducked round the fountain.
“Come and get it!” he taunted.
“Give it to him right now, Geordie,” I ordered, “or I’ll call Mr. Bean.”
“What does a shit-faced little runt like him need with something like this?” demanded Geordie. “I bet he’s gonna try fucking it because he can’t get a real girl to shove his cock into.”
Neil, his face red with fury, jumped at Geordie who ran towards the door and I barred his way. For a moment he paused and then he dropped the chocolate-arse on the floor and jumped on it, smashing it to little pieces. I lost it. I grabbed him by the hair and shoved his head hard into the chocolate-fountain. At that moment, Bean, alerted by the loud voices, came through and demanded angrily to know what I was doing. I released Geordie and he emerged, dripping liquid-chocolate from his hair, his chin, his nose, his hands. He tried to clear chocolate from his eyes and blinked at us all.
Bean acted instantly, instructing me to get rid of the broken chocolate on the floor and the splashed chocolate around the fountain, before piloting Geordie away into the back-shop where he cleaned him up and emerged again with him, more or less chocolate-free, a few minutes later. As he ushered him out of the shop, I noticed that Geordie was clutching a £20 note. I approached Bean cautiously and began a profuse apology; and it was only then that I noticed that Neil was still in the shop, standing quietly by the window. Bean summoned him over and asked him to say what had happened. Neil was impressive, telling succinctly and accurately what had occurred; and, pressed by Bean, he confirmed that I had deliberately pushed Geordie into the chocolate-fountain. He insisted though on stressing the extreme provocation.
“I’m indebted to you, sir, for being so helpful,” Bean told him, “and I’ll replace your broken item free of charge. These, er, special items are made by ourselves and I don’t have any more at the moment; but I will make sure there’s one ready for you if you come in late afternoon tomorrow.”
He shook Neil’s hand and escorted him to the door and then returned to me.
“We’d better finish the evening session,” he said. “And then you and I, young man, need to have a serious talk.”
My heart sank. I just knew that I was going to be sacked. In spite of the provocation, I was perfectly well aware that I’d had no right to shove Geordie into the chocolate-fountain; however much I’d enjoyed doing so. We eventually got rid of the last customers about twenty past eight and then we locked up for the night before I was summoned to the office behind the shop.
“Are you going to fire me?” I asked gloomily.
“Yes,” replied Bean. “You can’t go around pushing people into the fountain, however obnoxious or badly-behaved they are, with impunity. You know that, don’t you, Justin?”
“Yes,” I admitted dejectedly.
“It is, however, possible for me to fire you but for you to continue working here,” he said. “You are, after all, a valuable member of the staff and I wouldn’t want to lose you.”
“But……but…I don’t understand.”
“I can fire your bottom,” said Bean with a smile, “but still employ you afterwards.”
It took several seconds for the import of this statement to sink in and then I stared at him in disbelief.
“You want to give me a beating?”
Bean opened a cupboard and abstracted a slender cane which he bent into a smooth arc.
“Exactly. This should fire your behind to punish you for your bad behaviour; and then I won’t need to fire you, as it were.”
I continued to stare in fascinated horror at the lithe cane.
“So, you’re saying that if I agree to get my bottom ‘fired’ with the cane, the rest of me doesn’t get fired?”
“Admirably put,” agreed Bean. “It’s up to you.”
“I’ve never even been spanked in my life,” I confessed. “I dunno how I’d cope with that.”
“Only one way to find out.”
I thought hard, my mind racing. The job was great. I loved it and the money was an important consideration. I was eighteen. Surely I could take a caning? I eyed the rod nervously and reminded myself that boys much younger than I got beaten with a thing like that in former days. I swallowed and looked straight at him.
“Okay,” I said. “I know I’ve behaved badly and need to pay the price; but I do like the job and I’d like to go on working here; so……I’ll take the cane.”
“Right. Let’s get on with it. Trousers and pants off, Justin!”
“You mean I’m getting it bare?”
“Completely. Hurry up!”
Uneasily, I complied and then stood with my back to him, shy of showing him my genitals, not least because my cock was surprisingly perky. He put a chair in front of me and told me to bend over, hands grasping the sides. “And don’t move,” he said.
I felt scarily vulnerable and yet there was a thread of curiosity running through my nervousness. I felt a tremor of excitement at the prospect of finding out what the punishment of yesteryear was all about. He didn’t leave me long in suspense. I felt the cane sliding over the taut skin of my rump before it was lifted away and returned at high speed, delivering a searing line of fire across the crown of my buttocks. I drew in breath sharply. That had hurt a lot more than I’d expected. The cane rapped my bottom again and then was driven in hard a little lower down. As the pain burned fiercely, I clenched my glutes and rode the vicious sting.
The third was lower still and the slim rod seemed to lash me like a whip. I gasped aloud and bucked a little as the pain really got through to me. I’d scarcely managed to get my body under control when he hit me again, a streak of blazing flame ripping through my flesh immediately below number three, so that the fires of that earlier stroke seemed to be reignited. I stifled a yelp and writhed. I fought to steady myself and then the fifth came very low, raising the pain-level considerably and forcing another barely-stifled squeal from me. I was aware that my breathing was fast and that a sheen of sweat was glistening on my chest. I tried in vain to still a persistent quiver in my legs as I waited for number six. It came with ferocious power, scoring a white-hot furrow of infernal flame across my crease so that I yelped loudly and scrubbed desperately at my tortured flesh with my right hand.
“Stop that at once!” ordered Bean, “or I’ll repeat the stroke.”
I quickly returned my hand to the edge of the chair. Everybody’s heard of ‘six of the best’ and I assumed that was the beating complete. I was steadying my breathing when I felt the cane probing my behind again; and I realised with a horrified start that he hadn’t done with me. I tensed my body only just in time before a brutal stroke landed at an angle, cross-cutting several earlier welts. I twisted from the waist, uttering an agonised squeal; and then forced myself to settle down. Another stroke landed, also at an angle and the pain soared, driving a howl of agony from me as I bucked and squirmed in a frantic effort to process the torture.
“Good. That looked as if it got through to you,” observed Bean. “I’d say that your bottom had definitely been fired, wouldn’t you, Justin?”
“Yes,” I panted.
I rose carefully and felt my way with wondering hands over my ridged and flaming buttocks. My penis, which had gone into craven retreat early on, returned with a burst of enthusiasm.
“There will be no more strong-arm tactics with customers; and definitely no more pushing anyone into the chocolate-fountain. Understood, Justin?”
“Understood,” I assured him. “Never again.”
“Get your pants and trousers up and I’ll see you at 8.30 tomorrow morning,” he said.
I obeyed and left the shop, feeling my cane-welts every step of the walk home. In my own room, I lay on my bed and wanked myself off, eyes closed as I relived the caning, until my balls exploded in one of the most powerful orgasms I’d ever had.
About half-past four the next afternoon, Neil arrived to collect his newly-made pair of chocolate buttocks, which had been wrapped and left under the counter in readiness. The shop was fairly quiet and Claire, who worked daytimes during the week and on Saturdays, was dealing with a customer, so I had a chance to speak to Neil softly.
“So you didn’t get fired?” he asked.
“Well, yeh, I did, in a way; but I’m still working here.”
He looked blank and I gave him a hasty explanation.
“He caned you?” exclaimed Neil, an astounded look on his face.
“Fired my bottom bloody good and hot,” I confirmed, “but I’ve still got the job.”
“It was my fault,” said Neil, looking upset.
“No it wasn’t. It was that bloody Geordie; and it was me too. I should never have lost it and shoved his stupid face in the fountain.”
“It was fucking funny though,” replied Neil with a grin.
Some more customers entered the shop and I hastily handed over Neil’s parcel.
“Best of luck,” I said to him. “I hope she likes them.”
Neil smiled shyly and turned to walk out. For several seconds I was distracted by watching his perfect globes as he made for the door; and then I turned to serve the next customer.
Since I’d made no progress in discovering who had sent me the Valentine and since no-one had admitted to doing so, I’d concluded that whoever it was would reveal himself on Valentine’s Day itself. At breakfast that Monday morning, mum wanted to know if I had any plans and I told her that I was hoping some sexy guy would at last unveil the plans he had for me. All that day between college-classes and at lunch-time I’d waited expectantly; but no guy came up to me to say he’d sent the Valentine. At the end of the day I made my way dejectedly homewards.
“Maybe he’ll contact you this evening,” said mum encouragingly.
“You mean come here? With Derek around? Shit! I hope not!”
“Tell you what. I’ll take Derek to the tenpin-bowling tonight; so that if your mystery-boy turns up, you’ll have the house to yourselves.”
“Yeh? Mum, you’re ace!”
She and Derek were getting ready to set off after the evening meal when the door-bell rang. I heard Derek run to answer it and then he called, “Justin! It’s Neil!”
“Aw, hell! What does he want?” I muttered as I got to my feet.
“Be polite, dear,” said mum as I headed for the door.
“Hi, Neil. Everything okay with the Valentine-gift?” I asked.
“Dunno yet. But I’ll find out soon, I hope. Could I…could I talk to you for a minute?”
Derek was standing close by and showed no sign of moving.
“Sure. Come up to my room.”
“It’s okay, dear, Derek and I are ready to go out,” said mum. “You can go into the sitting-room. Come on, Derek.”
“But I want to hear what…….” began Derek.
“It’s none of your business,” mum told him firmly and shoved him unceremoniously out of the front-door.
I gave her a thumbs-up in gratitude and ushered Neil into the sitting-room.
“So, when are you meeting this girl, Neil?”
“Who said it was a girl?”
“Er…well, I just assumed that it was……are you saying it’s a boy?”
“Shit! I never realised you were gay. Anyway, he’s a lucky guy. I hope he’s got the sense to say yes.”
“So what plans have you got for tonight, Justin?”
“Nothing. See, I got……….”
I stopped; and then decided that I wanted to tell him.
“I got this unsigned Valentine about ten days ago and I assumed the guy who sent it would tell me who he was today; but it never happened. I’m just hanging around now, hoping he’ll maybe phone or turn up; but it doesn’t look like it’s gonna happen.”
“To The Boy With The Beautiful Bottom,” said Neil.
“Yeh,” I admitted, going red. “Hey! How the hell did you know that?”
“How do you think, Justin?”
I gaped at him and then gasped, “You? You sent that Valentine? But why?”
“Because you’re drop-dead gorgeous; you’ve got an arse to die for; and you’re sexier than a warren-ful of rabbits,” replied Neil.
I sat down suddenly on the sofa and stared at him.
“You want me to go?” he asked quietly.
“What? No. NO! I just….it’s only that I never…….you want ME?”
“I thought that should be obvious by now,” replied Neil. “The question is, do you want me?”
I looked at him; really looked; and my penis reacted so swiftly and violently that I yelped as it tried to force its way painfully out of my pants.
“I guess that answers that then,” observed Neil with a grin. “Here! This is for you,” he went on, presenting me with a parcel.
As if in a dream, I opened the wrapping to reveal the chocolate-bottom; but it wasn’t exactly as I’d expected.
“Fuck!” I breathed as I gazed at the thing I held in my hands. In bright red icing, six slim lines lay parallel across the chocolate buttocks with another two crossing them on the diagonal.
I laid the chocolate bottom aside and stood up and shyly took Neil’s hand. I slid my finger-tips down his face and neck and rested the palm against his heart.
“You are something else,” I whispered softly in his ear, my body quivering as I felt the touch of his hair brushing against my skin.
Ever so slowly, our faces moved closer and closer until our lips touched and we were soon writhing together in a passionate kiss. On coming up for air, I asked breathlessly: “How did you know to put eight red marks on the chocolate-arse? I never told you how many Bean gave me.”
“Ah!” said Neil. “After you told me how you’d got your bum caned, I contacted Bean first thing this morning, to ask how many he’d given you; so that I could put the red stripes on the chocolate. But he said I’d never be able to make a neat job of it and to bring it in right away and he’d get the marks done in red icing, for me to collect later. I think he was quite tickled with the idea of what I was doing, and he wanted to help.”
“Wonder why he’d do that?”
“He said you were a great worker and he didn’t want to lose you; and he also said he really enjoyed caning you. I think he’s maybe hoping to get to do it again.”
“What! He’s expecting me to shove some other hooligan’s head in the chocolate-fountain?”
“No; I don’t think that’s it. I think he’s hoping you might have liked it enough to want more; but not so ferociously of course.”
“It was kind of exciting,” I admitted slowly. “There’s something about that fierce sting.”
“Yeh; really gets to your balls, doesn’t it?” said Neil.
I stared at him.
“How do you know?” I demanded.
“I’ve always liked the idea of being caned and I went on a site a few weeks ago; and found Bean. I’ve had five canings from him since the new year. They all stung like hell. I loved them!”
“You really are incredible,” I gasped.
“So, you gonna let me see the cane-marks on your bum?”
I stripped and Neil looked and then felt his way over the fading welts with gentle finger-pads.
“Three days on and I can still see them and feel a bit of raised skin,” he remarked. “That was one bloody hard caning you got, Justin.”
“Tell me about it!”
“Think you might like to get a sexier caning from Bean along with me sometime?” he asked softly.
“Mmmmm! I think I might.”
We kissed again and then Neil stripped as well and we were swiftly entangled on my bed, exploring, writhing, caressing and licking until he came in a powerful explosion of pent-up boy-cream. I licked Neil’s spunk off his chest and looked into his eyes; and then he got to work on my throbbing penis until powerful spurts of my spunk soared so high they splattered his face.
“Now that’s the kind of fountain you can shove my face into any day,” he told me with a grin. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Justin.”
“And chocolate-buttocks are fine,” I replied caressing his exquisite rear, “but there’s nothing like a pair of real, firm, boy-buns. Happy Valentine’s Day, Neil.”
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 ©MMXXII by Joelstrap, used here by very kind permission.
Please leave a comment on this fine story. Comments 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
♥ Site recommended story ♥
All three parts of this hot story by very special guest author David Stewart presented together for the first time. This story is currently exclusive to The Canery. All the characters are aged 18 or over. This story is for Adults Only!
The Friendly Landlord by David Stewart – Part One
David’s life was changing for the better. After finding his new “Uncle Harry”, David started to talk more openly with this man. Harry had never married and admitted to David he was bisexual having had several relationships with both men and women.
D I S C L A I M E R
All characters appearing in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to real businesses or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Story © MMXVI by David Stewart
All rights reserved
More great stories by this author can be found here
Comments are here.
D I S C L A I M E R
All characters appearing in this story are over the age of 18 and are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons or businesses, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Story © MMXXII by Rod Cayenne. All rights reserved.
Comments welcome. Comments are here.
♥ Site recommended story ♥
New to The Canery is this exciting caning story by very special guest author Baddlad17. All the characters are 18 or older. WARNING: ADULTS ONLY!
The Unseen Witnesses by Baddlad17
So it is true then, the Head does cane them trousers down.
Annabelle Scott could barely believe what she had just witnessed.
Yes. The boys were telling the truth.
Annabelle had smiled as she watched the teenage boy drop his trousers and bend across the arm of the chair, his bare bottom fully displayed, giving her a bird’s eye view. She had watched mesmerised as the Head laid stripe after scorching stripe across the poor boys bottom.
When told, the boy stood, rubbed his sore backside vigorously, in doing so displaying his manhood shamelessly before the Head. Lord knows what he would have done had he known female eyes had been eagerly watching. The tears rolled down his face as the Headmaster admonished him. Finally he had bent down to retrieve his fallen pants and trousers, covering his red welted buttocks.
Uplands Private Independent Day School had, up until this year, been a boys’ only establishment. However, times were changing, the school had been put under some pressure to modernise, part of which had been a pledge to admit female students. The governors, after much debate, voted in favour of this change, so for the first time in its one hundred and sixty year history, girls were allowed as members of the student body. For a trial period they were only accepted in the sixth form. If successful, they would introduce younger students from next year. Of course the school was run and operated entirely by male staff; none of them had any experience of dealing with the fairer sex, something which was of some concern to the Head and his staff.
The Headmaster, Mr Barrowclough, had argued this point with the Governors; but he had been overruled. The Head was a tall imposing man in his mid-fifties; the boys found him quite frightening, with good reason. It was certainly not wise to cross him!
Used to dealing with boys and young men, ruthlessly, he was rather intimidated as to how he would handle these’females.’ The question of discipline had been uppermost in his mind. When the boys misbehaved they could be certain of a cane connecting with their bared posteriors. He had though made it crystal clear to the Governors that he would never bring himself to cane any young lady regardless of what they had done. So for the first time in his career he would have to consider implementing some form of non– physical punishment should any of the girls need to be punished.
The senior boys, in contrast to the staff, had been very welcoming of girls attending the school. In this first intake there was only twenty. Most of the boys, from the third year up, were totally enamoured of them. Within days a number of suitors were making advances, making their choices and as males throughout the animal kingdom will, tried to win a mate. It was becoming a bit of a problem in the sixth form classes, and lessons had started to be disrupted as the boys were more interested in attracting the young ladies, than concentrating on their studies. They were warned to buckle down or face punishment. Some masters even threatened to get the slipper out to warm the backsides of these big lads, a punishment that was usually reserved for the younger boys.
In desperation, the masters complained bitterly during a staff meeting about the disruption the girls were having on classes, so that the Head had to issue a warning to the seniors that discipline would be rigidly enforced if behaviour did not improve. He made an announcement during morning assembly.
It has been brought to my notice that a number of sixth form boys are not concentrating on their studies this term. This seems to be as a direct result of having young ladies present. I will issue this warning just once to all of you. I am going to be keeping a close eye on end of term exam results and if I find any boy has dropped below the benchmark he is expected to achieve, he will be invited into my study. I do not need to spell you what that portends, do I gentlemen?
A low murmur went round the hall as the boys knew only too well the Heads meaning. Invariably when invited into the study, a lad left clutching a very sore bottom. Mr Barrowclough knew how to use a cane and he applied it with relish to the upturned bottom of any boy unlucky enough to have received an invite. A number of the sixth gave each other knowing looks with some gently pressing their buttocks as they recalled a previous painful visit to the Heads study.
The innocence of the girls soon became apparent as they questioned the boys as to what happened in the Heads study.
James Anderson and Matt Handley grinned widely when their new girlfriends Annabelle Scott and Lindsay Owen wanted to know what the Head had meant.
Well if you are invited into the Heads study, you receive a long lecture about your behaviour and then you are asked to lower your trousers and bend over the easy armchair. The Head then canes you, four, six or even eight strokes. On a bare arse it is excruciatingly painful.
James Anderson’s eyes glazed over as he recalled a visit to the study the previous year. On that occasion he had received four strokes but he had been in tears and could barely sit down in class for the rest of the afternoon.
Stop telling lies Jamie! The Head doesn’t make you take your trousers down!
The girls giggled while Matt and James looked at them incredulously.
I am telling the truth girls, ask Matt.
Matt nodded before confirming his friend’s version of events.
Oh boy yes he does. I once got six and could not sit down afterwards. My backside bore the stripes for over a week. When Barrowclough canes, you know about it!
The girls laughed, neither of them fully believing their boyfriends. However, a plot was forming in their minds. One way or another they would get the proof, and find out the truth.
Because the decision had been taken to permit girls into the sixth form at short notice, Mr Barrowclough had decided that it would not be wise to allow girls to share the same common room with the boys so a new area had to found. Directly opposite the Heads office in an old building, there were a couple of rooms which would be ideal. Situated on the first floor the rooms had at one time been used as classrooms, but had been used for nothing more than storage for over ten years. A lick of paint, fresh curtains and some comfortable chairs and sofas, had made the rooms suitable for the purpose. However no one had realized that from one of the windows you could get a full view straight into the Heads study. Lindsay had been the first to realise this as she stood looking out of the window one day. As she looked down she could see a boy standing before the Headmaster. From the way he hung his Head she sensed he might be in trouble. This was confirmed a minute or so later when the Head came round the desk and brought out a cane.
Lindsay had been fascinated as she looked on. Then she was amazed as the boy turned round and swiftly dropped his trousers and underpants before bending over the back of an armchair. The Head flicked back his shirt leaving his bottom bare. She watched in total shock as four very hard strokes were delivered to the naked bottom. When he stood up she could see he was distressed and his eyes were wet. He could not let go of his bottom at first. She sensed the Head must have said something as he quickly reached down and replaced his fallen clothes. The whole scene had lasted less than three minutes but it confirmed the boys had been telling the truth. They were caned on the bare backside.
She could hardly contain what she had seen, but decided it might be prudent to keep this to herself, as should others find out, the news might leak out and measures put in place to prevent the girls from seeing the going’s on in the Heads study. At first Annabelle did not believe her friend but after what she had just witnessed she knew better. Better still, tomorrow the end of term exam results would be issued, so the girls had a feeling some sixth form boys would be baring all in the study after the end of school and they had every intention of watching the proceedings.
Anderson, Andrews, Cole, Handley, Stephens and Webb; despite the warning I issued a couple of weeks back, you have all achieved results more than five per cent below expectations. Therefore I will follow through on my promise and invite you all to visit my study at four pm this afternoon.
Barrowclough cast a cold glare at the six blushing lads who knew without a doubt what awaited them, as did the rest of the school. Matt Handley gulped, while James Anderson shook his head in disbelief. Across the hall the lads’ girlfriends cast a knowing look at one another. Not only would they get to see six senior boys getting the cane. They would also be getting a bird’s eye view of their boyfriends’ sufferings. Lindsey licked her lips in anticipation of the afternoon’s events.
Throughout the day the condemned lads struggled to concentrate on their studies, this was compounded by the ribbing they were receiving from their classmates. Some of the girls found it quite amusing as a description of what was to happen, was described to them. Lindsay and Annabelle though, played it cool. They would be having ringside seats and did not want to jeopardise that for anything.
All too soon four pm arrived and the six seniors made the trip down the dark corridor to stand outside the Headmaster’s study. Each of them was lost in their own thoughts of their impending doom. They had all been in front of the Head before, so they were more than aware of their fate and how painful it was going to be. Meanwhile Annabelle and Lindsey made a quick dash from their last lesson up to their common room, which was as expected at this time of day, empty.
The girls were very excited at the prospect of what they were about to see. From their viewpoint they could make out the Head turning the easy armchair around so the back faced the window. This meant they would see the naked buttocks clearly being caned.
Outside the study the six boys stood, hands clammy, stomachs churning, as they waited. The door opened and Barrowclough looked down the line.
Alphabetical order gentlemen. Mr Anderson, step inside please.
James Anderson gave a weak smile to the rest of the condemned before stepping inside and closing the door behind him.
Anderson, there is no point in mulling over why you are here. Since the arrival of the girls at the start of term, classes have been disrupted as you boys seem to prefer to spend time chatting them up rather than studying. I might have expected this from the fourth or even the fifth form, but sixth formers should be more mature. Despite my promise you have seen fit to carry on. Well now I will keep my promise. If I can’t get it into your head, then maybe your bottom will be a better recipient. Come round by the chair and present your bare backside over the back.
In spite of expecting this James gulped and blushed before carrying out the instructions. As he came into view Lindsay nearly wet herself. She was about to witness her boyfriend getting his bottom tanned and she was relishing the prospect. Both girls watched as James dropped his trousers and then his underpants before bending over the back of the easy chair. His smooth muscular buttocks were in direct line of their vision. The girls looked on entranced as the Head came and stood beside him, a long slender cane in his hands. Suddenly he reared back and the first stroke sliced into the naked buttocks. As the Head removed the cane a red line was visible across the dead centre of the quivering buttocks. They watched him line up again and lash a second stroke. This time the bottom swayed a little as James struggled to absorb the fire burning across his behind. A second line was visible. They now watched entranced as the Head delivered a further four strokes, lower and lower down the boy’s bottom. By the time the last stroke had landed James was in tears and his backside was blazing.
Lindsay was licking her lips. She had actually enjoyed that, though she did not know why. In addition she was feeling moist inside her panties. She was looking forward to seeing her boyfriend later when she could rub some cream in and feel those raised welts. She was also hoping that he might finally take her tonight. So far they had enjoyed oral sex and some heavy petting but she wanted more, she was desperate to feel his hot rod probing deep inside her.
Before they realized it, James had his trousers back up and was wiping his eyes with a tissue as he walked his other hand massaging the inflamed cheeks. The two looked at one another and briefly smiled. A minute or so later they recognised the hunky figure of Gavin Andrews, captain of the rugby first XV. He was over six feet tall, a well– built athletic lad. His short black hair, piercing blue eyes and dimpled cheeks had made him a favourite amongst the girls. He was seeing Collette Adams but she was unaware of the window. Lindsay and Annabelle smiled cheekily as they watched him undress and present his backside over the armchair. His broad muscular backside was pale and white in contrast to his suntanned back, His legs were covered in tight short dark hair. He presented a fine figure across the chair.
Mr Barrowclough lined up the cane and lashed it across the rugby captain’s bottom. Like James before him he tried his best to remain stoical but as the strokes landed lower and lower down his backside, stinging and striping the naked cheeks, tears welled in his eyes. As the sixth sliced into him the room rent with a howl before he collapsed into the chair, tears now falling down his face. The Head watched the last stroke swell before giving Andrews permission to stand up.
The girls’ eyes nearly popped out of their Heads as the lad stood gripping his buttocks, his more than ample cock semi erect swinging freely while the Head gave him the final admonishment. Very soon Andrews was limping from the office to face his mates still waiting for their entry into the legal torture chamber.
Jonathon Cole was next followed by Annabelle’s boyfriend Matt. Each boy had swallowed their pride and bared their arses before going over the chair. If they had been aware of the audience looking on, they might have thought differently. The girls got more and more excited as the final two lads entered, stripped and bent over for their six strokes. By the time Oliver Webb had pulled up his trousers, the girls were damp and moist between their legs. They were very turned on and could barely wait to see their boyfriends later.
While the girls had enjoyed the last few minutes, the same could not be said for the six senior lads. Each one of them had emerged from the Heads study in excruciating pain, their backsides burning, throbbing and stinging like hell. As the pain reached a peak they had stopped dead in their tracks and stood just holding onto their buttocks as if their lives depended on it. Despite their seniority they could not stop tears from trickling down their cheeks as the pain engulfed them. After a few moments they had, one by one, hobbled off to the toilets, their hands unable to let go of their bottoms, their faces etched in pain resembling someone who has severe toothache.
On arriving at the toilet block they slowly eased down their trousers and pants to turn round and to try to see the damage that had been done to their arses. Tears continued to fall as they tried in vain to cool down the fires by applying cold water to the throbbing ridges. One by one they arrived in the block and commiserated with one another over the injustice of what had happened.
It was some three hours later that Jamie and Matt met up with their girlfriends. They arrived in loose fitting trousers and seemed to be walking with a gait. The girls could not help but laugh as the lads arrived.
What is so funny Jamie asked
You two are! We saw you getting your botty’s smacked earlier.
What! How! How could you see that?
Both boys blushed deeply, very embarrassed that their girlfriends seemed to be fully aware of how they had been punished.
Still giggling the girls explained the view from the window and how they had stood and watched each one of them drop their trousers and present their bottoms for the Heads cane. The boys shook their heads in disbelief.
You girls should get a taste of the cane; you would not find it so funny then!
They laughed again before asking the boys if they wanted their bottoms rubbed better. A few minutes later the boys had their bums exposed again, lying face down on Lindsay’s bed while the girls applied cold cream to the hard swollen welts. The girls seemed fascinated at the stripes while the boys began to get erect. In no time at all the lads were on their backs while their girlfriends brought them off side by side.
Later that evening, with Lindsay’s parents out of the way, the two couples made love, the girls losing their virginities. The lads ended up in ecstasy as they reached their climaxes, all thoughts of the afternoon’s beatings gone from their minds. If anything, the thrashing’s had made the boys more virulent. In spite of the rawness of their arses.
Many more boys would visit the Heads study over the coming months and bend over the back of the armchair, totally unaware they had an audience watching their beatings. If only Barrowclough had known. But ignorance is bliss and the window which overlooked his study remained a secret, shared only by the four sixth form students.
Story ©MMXIV by Baddlad17, and used here by very kind permission of the author.
D I S C L A I M E R
All characters, institutions 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. 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.
♥ Site recommended story ♥
New to The Canery is this fine old story by much-missed friend Skinpang, R.I.P. All the characters are 18 or older. WARNING: ADULTS ONLY!
The Young Salesman by Skinpang
Mr Derek Stone was a retired headmaster in his mid-sixties. He was a widower, financially comfortable thanks to a legacy from his late uncle, and lived in an idyllic detached cottage in a quiet village. He had long toyed with the idea of having a conservatory built onto the rear of his home so that he could enjoy sunny days under glass and admire his lawn and garden.
One day the doorbell rang and when he opened the front door he saw a young man who looked as if he was aged about sixteen or seventeen standing on the doorstep with a folder full of leaflets in his hand. The caller certainly looked impressive in an immaculate navy-blue suit with razor sharp creases in his trousers, his well-fitting jacket buttoned up with one button as it should be, a white collar and green tie. His well tailored appearance was enhanced by his handsome smiling face, blue eyes and a delightful fringe of red wavy hair jutting out over his forehead. Derek first thought was that such smart teenagers were very rare creatures indeed these days! He would normally send doorstep salesman packing straight away but before he could speak his young visitor pulled a leaflet from his folder.
“Good morning sir! I represent Grandeur Constructions. Conservatories, Gazebos and greenhouses are our speciality. Could I interest you in any of our products?”
Derek knew of Grandeur Constructions. It was a firm in the nearby town and had a good reputation.
“You might young man, you might! Come along inside and let’s see what you have to offer.”
“Thank you sir. My name’s Gordon Grey.”
“I’m Derek Stone. Come along to the kitchen table. I’m a bit surprised that that a firm like Grandeur Constructions should have a boy to represent them – no offence intended!”
“And none taken sir!” the young man assured him, “But you are mistaken! I am not a boy! I’m eighteen! I’m an adult!”
“Oh! My apologies Mr Grey!”
“Lots of people make that mistake. I’m told that I look younger than my age! And by the way, please call me Gordon! Anyway enough about me!” said Gordon as they reached the kitchen.
“Right. let us stick to first names shall we? Call me Derek! Sit down and let’s see what you’ve got there!”
Gordon sat down and sorted out several leaflets. There were some very attractive designs and the prices seemed competitive. Derek was getting interested.
“May I see the layout outside?” asked Gordon.
“Certainly! Come along.”
Derek led his visitor through the kitchen back door into the garden.
“Oh yes!” said Gordon, surveying the back of the cottage, “Our Octagon model would be ideal here, don’t you think?”
“Yes indeed, but that one is a bit pricey!”
“I could perhaps shave a little off. Say ten per cent?”
“You give me the impression that you are very anxious to do a deal!” said Derek.
“Well to tell you the truth, I’m sort of on probation you might say! You see, Grandeur Constructions is owned by my father! I’ve just finished in the sixth form at school. He says before I can become a partner in the firm and join him in the office I have to know all aspects of the business. I’ll be honest with you, I’m desperate to get a good order!”
Derek had taken a liking to the fresh-faced boy – for ’boy’ he still was to Derek – and was inclined to try and help him by doing business with him. They returned to the kitchen table.
“I might be interested Gordon! But let’s get down to the nitty-gritty and find out what’s in the small print.”
Gordon went through the details one by one. Derek was satisfied with what he had heard.He had even agreed to the price.
“I wouldn’t want a couple of men to come and dig a big hole in my garden and then disappear for a month before I see them again! There’s all too many firms about who carry on like that!” said Derek.
“Our firm is not like that! I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll include a penalty clause in the agreement.” replied Gordon, anxious to complete the deal, “The work completed by the last day of next month or we will repay you twenty pounds for every day that we are late with the completion. How does that strike you?”
Derek put on a grin.
“I’m a retired headmaster! In my teaching days the penalty for being late was six of the best!” he quipped.
“That was before my time!” laughed Gordon, “there was none of that sort of thing at my schools!”
“Anyway, back to the conservatory! I’ll accept your offer!” said Derek.
“I’m so pleased! I am sure you are going to like it. I’ll get the office to put it in black and white then I’ll bring it back and sign it in front of you!”
Gordon was so keen to get the deal signed and sealed that he was back within two hours. They both signed the documents which they needed to, shook hands and parted. Derek was to see quite a lot of the young salesman over the next few weeks. Concerned that the work should be perfect Gordon would frequently visit the site to keep an eye on progress. However progress was not always as swift as he would have liked. Some snags would arise necessitating that some tasks had to be done again. Several outbreaks of heavy rain also slowed down the outside work. At the end of the month there was still a fair amount of work to be done. When the project was at last completed it had overrun by six days!
“Well you’re six days late, Gordon. That’s a hundred and twenty pounds off according to my reckoning!” said Derek.
“That’s what I wanted to see you about, Derek!” replied Gordon, “Are you really going to hold me to that?”
Gordon was sounding almost as if he was pleading. Derek could not understand why he was trying to wriggle out of the penalty clause. After all, business is business.
“You see it’s like this. I was so pleased when I got this order. I thought I had done something that would impress my father, but what with the ten per cent discount I gave you and now the penalty money all the profit has been swallowed up! My old man’s not going to be very pleased with me I’m afraid!”
“It just shows that you’ve got a lot to learn my lad.” said Derek.
“I suppose so. I should never have asked you to give up the penalty money. I apologise!”
Derek was thinking, so for a moment there was silence in the room. Gordon was such a nice young lad and Derek was feeling rather sorry for him. He was just about to say that he would waive his right to demand the penalty money when Gordon spoke up with a sign of desperation in his voice.
“You remember what you said to me on the first day I was here? The penalty for being late was six of the best?”
“Yes! So what?”
“Will you give me six of the best like you used to in school instead of taking the money?”
Gordon was banking on the theory that Derek perhaps used to enjoy caning boys’ bottoms and would be tempted to accept his offer. He was not far wrong! Derek’s first reaction was one of disbelief! Then suddenly he felt twenty years younger. Suddenly here was a boy standing before him just as many had stood before him before. In those days the boy would have apprehension written all over his face in fearing he was going to be awarded the cane! Gordon too had apprehension written all over his face but in his case it was lest he was not going to get the cane! The money was more important to him!
Derek was almost in a daze as he stared at the boy’s small but perfectly proportioned figure. He could just imagine him bending taut over a chair, that ginger fringe flopping into his eyes and his bottom protruding skyward! Derek found all the exciting feelings he used to get as he ordered a boy to bend over were coming back to him, and all of his body parts seemed to be in good working order! Gordon took the silence to mean that Derek was going to refuse.
“I shouldn’t have mentioned it!” said Gordon, “I’m sorry. Ha! – I don’t suppose you’ve got a cane anyway!”
“Not at all, Gordon! I am still considering it. And I have got a cane!” – Derek had kept his cane for sentimental reasons! – “I haven’t used it for about thirty years! Are you really serious about this?”
“Yes! In any case I’d like to know what it’s like! I’ve seen it on the television and read about it in books and I’ve often wondered it felt like to get it!”
In Derek’s teaching days boys were not anxious to find out what it felt like! He wondered if Gordon realised what he was letting himself in for!
“Okay! If you’re sure you know what you’re doing, you’re on! Six of the cane and I’ll waive the penalty money! I’ll fetch the cane! Oh yes, just while we’re doing this I would like to make it seem authentic, so I will address you by your surname and you will call me sir! Right?”
Derek left the room and returned with the cane. Gordon was feeling a prickling sensation in his bottom as if it was anticipating what was coming to it! Suddenly an innocent piece of wood was looking frightening and menacing!
“All right Grey! Bend over the arm of that chair!”
It was just like the old days! To all intents and purposes Derek was back in the headmaster’s study! Gordon looked exactly as Derek had imagined he would. The hair flopping forward and his bottom, with the trousers stretched to bursting point, facing heaven. Derek flexed the cane, then he swished it through the air and then he gently tapped it on Gordon’s bottom! Every movement he made he was telling himself that it was the first time he had done this for thirty years! He was wondering whether a modern youth could take a beating as the boys of yesteryear used to! They had been brought up with spanking at home from an early age and progressed to school slippering and caning gradually. Feeling a little nervous about striking a boy’s bottom after all those years he raised the cane and brought it down hard!
Derek need not have worried! Gordon reacted just as most senior boys used to in those far off days. He went stiff and taut all over and his fist folded tightly but he made no noise. The second stroke landed and Gordon’s bottom was squirming in the most delightful fashion! Derek knew from years of caning experience exactly how the boy would be feeling. He would be in intense agony and would love to scream out but his ego would not permit him to do so! No boy, however, could avoid the telltale squirming and Gordon was no exception. There came a third swish and a crack and a forth and a fifth. The writhing had developed into a full scale bottom waggle from side to side! Derek raised the cane for the last time and as it fell he said:
“You may get up now!”
Gordon needed no such invitation. He sprang up, grabbed hold of his buttocks, arced his back and flung his head back with his face a picture of agony! That too was the normal post-caning reaction which Derek expected.
“You took that well, Gordon!” said Derek, returning to the use of the first name, “You can be proud of yourself!”
Gordon was in no condition to answer! His face was twisted and his mouth tightly shut while he held his breath until another peak of the ebbing and flowing pain was reached, then he breathed out with a sigh of relief and just had time to gasp out “Thanks!” before repeating the whole process.
“Well you’ve kept your side of the bargain, Gordon!” said Derek, “Now I’ll keep mine! While you’re getting over it I’ll be writing your cheque out!”
Perhaps Derek too needed time to get over it! He found his hands shaking as he opened his cheque book. He stretched out his arm and open and closed his fists a time or two, it helped to steady his hand. He wrote out the cheque and then looked up at Gordon. The boy was still convulsed in the throes of pain!
“I’m afraid there’s going to be a far amount of stinging for maybe an hour or two, Gordon!”
Gordon managed to let go of his backside and go over to Derek.
“I’ll be all right soon!” Gordon replied, “My word, that was quite an experience!”
“One that most boys were familiar with once! But you took it as well as any of them did! Here’s your cheque by the way!”
Gordon glanced at the document and a look of surprise came over him.
“I’ve put the ten per cent discount back on as well!” explained Derek, “You deserve it Gordon, and I can see how much it means to you to show your father that you’ve done a good deal!”
“Well err gosh! I don’t know what to say! That’s very nice of you Derek!”
“I wish you the best of luck in your career!”
“Thanks! I shall see you again though! After a while I’ll come back to see that all is well with the conservatory. Probably in about a week’s time!”
They shook hands and Gordon left the cottage happy but dreadfully sore! He planned to potter about in the garden that evening doing something which did not involve sitting down! Gordon was as good as his word. He came back a week later. He was, in truth, keen to talk to Derek again. He had become fascinated by all aspects of school corporal punishment! He would not want to go through another hard caning again. That had hurt and was sore for days, but he would love to know what a slippering and a spanking felt like. He wondered whether he would pluck up the courage to broach the subject or whether he would be too bashful.
“I’ve just come along to see how you are getting along with the conservatory Derek.” said Gordon, “Any problems?”
“None whatsoever!” exclaimed Derek, “Even during that storm the other night not a drop of water came in!”
“Oh good! I pleased to hear it!”
“Have you got over the caning yet?” asked Derek with a twinkle in his eye.
Gordon was pleased that Derek had brought the subject up so soon.
“Ha! Sure! I have now. God, didn’t that hurt that night though!”
“I expect that just like a schoolboy the first thing you did when you got home was to go straight to a mirror!”
“Err, yes I did!” admitted Gordon as he coloured up slightly, “But I’m glad you’ve brought the subject up. There’s something I want to ask you!”
“Fire away! I’m all ears!”
“I’ve become interested in these old school punishments. Did you use any other corporal punishment other than the cane!”
“Oh yes! It depended on the severity of the offence. I used a slipper sometimes and occasionally spanked with my hand!”
“The slipper didn’t hurt anything like the cane I suppose?” asked Gordon hopefully.
“Not quite, but it did nonetheless carry a good sting. The main difference is that while the effects of the cane lasts for days the worst of the effects of the slipper can wear off after several minutes. I’m talking about a normal four to six strokes. If a slipper is applied relentlessly it can cause bruising just as the cane does!”
“I wouldn’t want to try your cane again but I’d love to find out what the slipper was like! Would you give me the slipper?”
Now Derek really was surprised. The boy had suggested and endured the caning for a good reason but now he was asking for another stinging bottom presumably for the fun of it!
“Are you serious?” asked Derek in amazement.
“Yes I am! I have got an urge to know just what boys had to put up with in those days!”
“My word! You weren’t put off by that caning then?”
“Not now that I’ve got over it!” said Gordon, “It was hell at the time but for the next two or three days when it was just sore and there was no stinging it was rather a nice feeling. I sort of felt proud to have gone through with it!”
Derek had long thought that the many boys he had caned might have left his study in agony but had come to regard their stripes as badges of honour! He would be only too pleased to oblige if Gordon was keen for more. he would love to see that youthful bottom bent across the seat of a chair once more!
“I haven’t got a real gym-shoe here,” said Derek, “but I’ve got a pair of those blue canvas ones with rubber soles. They are much the same thing! I’ll fetch one!”
Derek went out of the room and returned with a size eleven canvas top shoe.
“Are you sure you want to go through with this?”
“Very well! Bend over the arm of that chair Grey!”
“Yes sir!” responded Gordon as he got across the arm.
The mere sight of that anatomically perfect rear end thrusting upwards and just crying out for attention was enough to arouse Derek’s physical as well as emotional feelings! How he would have loved to see that bottom bare, but perhaps that would be expecting too much! Trembling with excitement he raised the shoe and slammed it down upon the waiting buttocks.
Gordon was surprised as how mild the blow felt! What he did not know was that unlike the cane which produced an almost unbearable sting with the very first swipe, the pain from the slipper was to become more intense with each new wallop! The second whack produced a very noticeable sting! The third was beginning to convince him that the slipper was no toy! The sting was quite uncomfortable by this time. He wanted to shift the position of his bottom but managed to refrain from doing so in order not to reveal to Derek that it was hurting after only three! On the fourth stroke however he could not prevent himself giving a little waggle!
Derek smiled to himself, it was following a familiar pattern. Most boys would take the six and get up apparently unaffected, while in reality they were hoping to be released from the room immediately so that they could rub the affected area in private outside! Derek would deliberately keep talking to them until, in the case of nine out of ten of them, they could wait no longer to put a hand behind them! Gordon seemed to be behaving in the customary fashion!
Derek delivered the fifth stroke and the movement of the bottom became more pronounced! Then the final one crashed down.
“That’s it! That wasn’t too bad was it?” said Derek as his visitor rose rapidly to his feet.
“No, not really!” lied Gordon, trying to pretend that it did not hurt!
His right hand kept straying halfway round to his bottom before he realised what he was doing and he would withdrew it. Derek knew that it was now only a matter of thirty seconds or so before Gordon would be unable to resist giving a rub. He was right! With a sigh of relief his hand began to buff his stinging buttocks as if he was trying to polish them!
“That hurt more than you care to admit! didn’t it?” grinned Derek.
Gordon put on an expression which was half a smile and half a look of pain!
“Well yes! I didn’t think a slipper would sting that much!”
“At least you won’t have hours of pain and days of soreness!” Derek assured him, “It’ll probably sting like blazes for five minutes or so, but then, so some of my ex-pupils have told me, it developes into a nice warm glow like standing with your back to a roaring fire!”
“It’s beginning to feel like that already!” said Gordon with a note of enthusiasm in his voice, “It’s a great feeling!”
“It’s supposed to be a punishment!” laughed Derek, “You’re making it sound like a pleasure!”
“It is now!” replied Gordon, “It wasn’t while I was actually getting it though!”
Derek refrained from telling him that it had been a great pleasure giving it to him!
“May I come and see you again, Derek? I would love to complete the trio and sample a spanking some time!”
Derek’s heart was racing. He would certainly love to spank this boy and he was wondering if he dare mention giving it to him on his bare bottom! The truth was that at his school he never spanked boys over twelve. Once they had reached their teens it was always either the cane or the slipper! Up to age twelve he would put boys across his knee and spank them but he had never made a boy remove his trousers for punishment! But fortunately for him Gordon did not know that!
“Yes of course you may if you really want to try it. I must say you’re a glutton for punishment my boy! Actually when I spanked boys I used to make them remove their trousers and pants and then put them across my knee, but you would not want to do that of course!” said Derek hoping that in fact Gordon would want to do just that!
Gordon seemed somewhat astounded at first. He hesitated while he let the pronouncement sink in.
“I want to find out what it was like for real! If that’s the way you did it then that’s the way I want to try it!” said Gordon while wondering if he would regret committing himself to such undignified treatment!
Derek felt like rubbing his hands with glee, but did not do so of course! He feared that he might wake up in a minute or two to find that it was all a dream.
“If you’re sure then I shall be happy to accommodate you!” said Derek – in fact he would be over the moon! – “When are you thinking of coming again?”
“Hopefully early next week, but it’ll have to be in the evening, not during the working day. I can’t keep coming round to see how you are getting on with the conservatory!”
“No, I suppose not. How about Monday?”
“Suits me fine! About seven?”
“That’s fine with me!”
Gordon said his goodbyes and left. Derek wondered whether he could bear to wait for four days! He was actually going to put that handsome boy across his knee and smack his bare bottom! The mere thought would keep him supplied with erections until Monday he thought, as he headed for the bathroom to deal with one there and then!
On Monday Gordon arrived exactly on time. His visit was no longer during working hours so he had swapped his suit and shirt with tie for a pair of tight-fitting blue jeans and a T-shirt. Derek took him into he living room.
“Would you like a drink before we start?” asked Derek.
“That would be nice. It’ll steady my nerves!” replied Gordon.
“You’re nervous then?”
“A little!” grinned Gordon.
“Gin or whisky?”
“Oh! Whisky please with a little water.”
As he poured out the drink Derek looked towards Gordon who was standing sideways-on to him. What a fine figure he cut. The front of his body was dead straight from his shoulders to his feet and his back was equally straight except for that lovely curvy bulge half way down, enhanced by his tight jeans! Derek handed his guest the glass.
“Cheers!” said Derek, stopping himself just in time from saying “Bottoms up!”
The pair of them finished their drinks.
“I’m ready! I’m all yours!” said Gordon.
“Right! Get those jeans down Grey!” said Derek adopting his headmaster voice.
Gordon slowly dropped his jeans to his ankles. He was not wearing anything underneath them and his T-shirt only came down as far as the top of the crack of his bottom. It was all on display and it did not disappoint Derek. Two absolutely perfectly shaped buttocks greeted him!
“Come here, across my knee!”
Derek got hold of the boy and aided him over his lap. Did Gordon feel embarrassed and humiliated? Yes he did! Very much so! And he was enjoying it! He liked being embarrassed and humiliated! He even pushed his bottom up as high and taut as he could to make it even more attractive to Derek! Derek could hardly believe the sight before him! Never before had he had a boy across his lap with a bare bottom only inches below his eyes, and he could sense that Gordon was deliberately poking his bottom up. Derek too had something poking up but it was not his bottom! Now for the first time he was going to experience the feel of flesh slapping flesh!
Gordon’s bottom turned pink as it wobbled uneasily. Derek’s hand seemed to sting as much as the slipper did.
Derek was going to stop at six. He could see that the red squirming buttocks must be getting painful. Despite the intense sting Gordon was enjoying it! He wanted more!
“Don’t stop!” he called out, “Keep going!”
Derek was not unfamiliar with boys crying out in vain for him to stop but this was the first one had ask him to continue! It was a request he was not going to refuse! He landed another six hard spanks!
“Yes I think so!” responded Gordon.
The boy stood up and this time unashamedly rubbed his stinging cheeks!
“My goodness you can hit hard!” he said with a wry smile.
“It’s like riding a bike!” grinned Derek, “Once you can do it you never forget the technique!”
Gordon pulled up his jeans then continued the rubbing for a few moments.
“Sit down!” invited Derek, “I’m sure you could use another drink now!”
Selecting a soft comfortable armchair Gordon sat down. He was still feeling somewhat embarrassed after the undignified way he had presented his bare bottom to Derek.
“Thanks I’d love another drink.” said Gordon.
They chatted away as they sipped their drinks, talking almost exclusively about corporal punishment. Derek got the impression that Gordon was longing to either say something or ask something. After a while he came out with it.
“I want to ask you something Derek! May I keep coming to see you?”
That question was the icing on the cake for Derek! It was better than winning the lottery!
“Sure you may, Gordon! You want more?”
“More spanking like this evening! Once is enough for the cane and slipper. But I would love to come and see you regularly for a spanking over your knee with my trousers down! It hurts but it’s great fun! And afterwards,” – here Gordon glanced down at his crotch – “it err, sort of turns me on! I don’t suppose it affects you like that! It’s routine stuff for you isn’t it?”
Derek was thinking just how naive this lad must be if he thought that stinging his bottom was having no physical effect on his spanker! He smiled.
“I have noticed the bulge between your legs my boy! You obviously haven’t noticed that I am in a similar condition! You don’t think I would go to the trouble of giving you all these whackings if I wasn’t getting something out of it myself, do you?”
“Oh yes, of course!” replied Gordon turning a little red in the face.
“Now I’ll tell you something. You are a born bottom, meaning you enjoy getting it! I am a born top, I enjoy giving it! We’re like a nut and bolt! We fit each other! Let’s drink to that! Empty your glass Gordon and I’ll refill it. And let us seal our new partnership with a toast!”
Derek had by this time convinced himself that this was no dream. It was really happening! And he had also got the conservatory he had always wanted!
Story ©MMIX by Skinpang.
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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♥ Site recommended story ♥
A brand spanking new caning story by very special guest author JOELSTRAP. This story is exclusive to The Canery! All the characters are 18 or older. WARNING: ADULTS ONLY!
Leon’s Christmas Present by Joelstrap
“No way! I am not dressing up as a bloody elf!”
“Aw, come on, Leon, it’s for the kids!”
“The kids get plenty at Christmas already. Far too many presents. Little buggers are spoiled rotten.”
“Not all of them. This is for the ones who won’t get much at Christmas. It’s only a couple of weekends,” pleaded Nick.
“Only? You’re wanting me to dress up like fairy and ponce around in public in a supermarket, packing shopping-bags for bastards who could easily do it themselves, just to try to earn a few pounds to give stupid presents to fat kids? Do I look like an idiot?”
“No; but you sound like one. Stop being so ruddy selfish, Leon.”
At that moment, a lithe young lad in an elf’s costume sprang into the room, grinning broadly.
“Hey! This is brilliant! I bet I’m the best-looking elf in the store. They’ll be queuing up to be at the checkout where I’m working.”
“Big-head,” said Leon caustically.
“Oh yeh? Go and get a costume on yourself, Leon, and then Nick can decide who’s the sexier.”
“I’ve told Nick already, Dane. I’m not doing it.”
“Eh? Course you are! It’s for the kids.”
“Yeh, yeh, I’ve heard that already. Badly-behaved brats, most of them. I think they should get a good, hard spanking. Do them a lot more good than presents.”
“You what?! Come on, students always do this to raise money in the college here. It’ll be fun. Get that elf-outfit on and let’s see how you look,” urged Dane.
“He’s scared that it’ll be obvious that you’re sexier than he is,” observed Nick in an audible aside.
“Like hell he is!” snapped Leon, glaring at Nick. “Okay! I’ll put it on, but just to show how irresistible I am. I’m not doing the bag-filling thing.”
Leon strode out of the room and Dane glanced at Nick.
“It’s well seen you’re a psychology student,” he said with a grin.
A few minutes later, Leon entered, clad in an elf’s costume.
“Oh, wow!” gasped Nick. “I’m sorry, Dane, but when it comes to sexy, I think Leon’s just got something extra.”
“Yeh,” admitted Dane. “Would you look at the way his arse fills those shorts; and that bulge at the front? I think I might go for him myself if I wasn’t straight.”
“Shut up, the pair of you!” retorted Leon. “This thing’s fucking obscene. The shorts are so short you can see the bottom of my bum…….”
“….and it’s a bum to die for,” observed Nick.
“And I don’t want every dirty old guy or randy old woman ogling my package,” went on Leon, ignoring Nick’s interruption.
“Why not? Give them a thrill for Christmas,” said Nick. “And maybe some young stud will notice you and ask if he can get his hands on your celery and giant onions.”
“Ha, bloody, ha! Well, we’ve established that I’m the sexier one, so I’m getting out of this right now.”
As he made for the door, Sean came in and stopped dead in his tracks. He gave a low whistle.
“Shit! That’s some weapon you got there, Leon. I think I’ll have to report you to Elf And safety.”
Leon rolled his eyes, pushed past Sean, and went to remove the costume.
“I don’t think he’s gonna do it,” he said. “Pity. With his looks, he’d be a hit with the shoppers, female and male, and he’d probably get huge donations for the kids.”
“Selfish brute!” muttered Dane.
Sean retained a very clear impression in his memory of the sight of Leon’s generous package threatening to burst out of the tight confines of the elf-shorts. For the first time he began to see Leon in a slightly different light; not just as a friend, but as potentially a much more intimate partner. He spied Leon finishing off his lunch in the refectory the next day and slid on to the bench beside him.
“Hi, sexy-elf,” he said with a grin. “I like your jeans, ‘cos they’re tight and snug, but I liked those elf-shorts even better. I never realised just what a big boy you are.”
Leon flushed and muttered, “Er, yeh; thanks,” before glancing down at Sean’s groin and remarking, “And you look pretty big yourself in the weaponry-department.”
“Oh, yeh! I think we could have a lotta fun firing each other’s cannon,” he suggested.
Leon wriggled as a strong movement strained the fabric of his denims.
“You’re on! How about this evening?”
“’Fraid not,” replied Sean. “I’m part of a little group which is going round to the old-folks’ home to entertain them tonight; but, hey! You could come along too! I’ve heard you sing and you got a great voice. The geriatrics will love to hear you; and I bet the ladies won’t be able to take their eyes off you either!”
“Why the hell would I want to go and sing for a bunch of oldies who should be quietly put to sleep? To hell with that, Sean! Forget the old buggers and come up to my house tonight and we’ll sort each other out.”
“Aw, come on, Leon, you can’t mean that. You still got grandparents?”
“And you think they should be put to sleep?”
“No! But they’re in their own home; they go around; they do things. These folk in the Old People’s Homes, they’re blind and deaf and smelly, and can’t walk, and pee their pants, and tell you they’re Napoleon.”
“You ever been in a home for the elderly, Leon?”
Leon shook his head.
“Yeh; well, maybe you need to come with me tonight; or one of the other nights. We’re doing several Homes over three weeks. You might get a surprise. Sure, some of them have problems, but most of them are great fun. Come on; come with me and help to entertain them for Christmas.”
“And be bored outta my skull all evening? No way. Where’s the fun in that?”
“Well I’m going,” he said firmly, “and I think it’s gonna be more fun than an evening with a selfish pig like you.”
“Suit yourself,” retorted Leon with a shrug as Sean rose and stalked off.
“Got your Christmas-shopping done, Leon?” enquired Dane as the pair walked through the shopping-centre on a Saturday morning a couple of weeks or so before Christmas.
Leon shook his head.
“Nah! I don’t believe in all that stuff. It’s just shops trying to blackmail people into spending a whole lot of money on things nobody needs. If I buy you a present of something you don’t really want and you do the same for me, what’s the point?”
“It’s a way of showing we care about each other as a friend,” said Dane.
“I can ruddy well tell you that I care about you as a friend,” retorted Leon. “I don’t need to buy you a T-shirt with an elephant on the front to prove it!”
“Okay, suit yourself; but I’m getting you something anyway.”
“You dare! That’s how they get you! You buy something for me and then I feel bad and have to rush out and get something for you. It’s emotional blackmail. Can’t you see? We’re all being manipulated!”
“But it’s fun! Feeling your way round a parcel, wondering what it is? Ripping into it and then getting a surprise? Okay, it’s not always a very good surprise, but it’s the thought that counts, Leon. You must be getting stuff for your mum and dad, huh?”
“Oh, yeh. I know they’ll get me presents, so I’ve got to get them things. Like I said, I get forced into the game; but that’s as far as I go. Only family get a present from me,” declared Leon.
“Must be fun in your house on Christmas morning,” observed Dane.
“Where’s the fun in knowing you’ve been taken in by the great commercial rip-off?” demanded Leon.
“Ever heard of Scrooge?” asked Dane.
“Of course. A Christmas Carol. Everybody’s heard of Scrooge. Great chap. Bah! Humbug! and all that. He had the right idea; at least at first, before the bloody ghosts got to him. What about him?”
“Compared with you,” said Dane, “he was a real ray of sunshine.”
“It was when I was talking to him about Christmas presents that I suddenly thought he was even worse than Scrooge,” said Dane to Sean and Nick as they sat in a corner of the bar with pints in their hands.
“Wouldn’t be an elf to help the kids,” agreed Nick.
“Wouldn’t come and help me entertain the old folk,” added Sean.
“And thinks presents are just a commercial rip-off,” said Dane. “But listen! Thinking about Scrooge gave me an idea. I think maybe we need to try to change Leon, just like the ghosts changed Scrooge.”
“You mean we dress as spectres and scare the shit outta him?” asked Nick.
“Well that’s not quite what I was thinking; although you might be on the right lines with the idea of scaring the crap out of him.”
“Okay, then. Tell us, Dane,” urged Sean.
The three leaned forward, heads almost touching, and listened as Dane explained his plan. When he’d finished there was a brief silence.
“You think it’ll work?” enquired Nick.
“Dunno,” said Dane, “but Leon’s actually a great guy and I think we need to give it a go.”
“And he’s got one hell of big cannon in the front of his pants,” added Sean.
“What’s that got to do with it?” asked Dane and Nick together.
“I was just saying,” replied Sean, looking slightly embarrassed.
“You hoping to fire it?” asked Nick with a grin.
“Maybe,” replied Sean.
“Or maybe you’re hoping he might fire yours?”
“Shut up!” snapped Sean. “Can’t you let a guy dream in peace?”
“That’s lucky,” said Nick when Dane explained a few days later that Leon’s parents were in an amateur drama-production and would be out of the house in the evenings for most of the week. “We can catch him there alone.”
“Yeh; and I’m gonna go to the gym with him Monday late afternoon and then we’ll go for a pizza and I’ll go home with him; just to make sure he’s there,” said Dane. “You two need to arrive about seven o’clock, okay; and don’t forget his present.”
“No way!” said Sean. “It’s all wrapped up nicely and ready to go.”
“Okay. I think we’re good. I wonder if it’ll work?”
“Even if it doesn’t, I’m really gonna enjoy it,” said Nick, while the others grinned enthusiastically.
Dane duly went back to Leon’s house with him and was sitting in the lounge chatting when Sean and Nick arrived. Leon’s eyebrows rose in surprise when he saw them, but he ushered them into the lounge where Dane was waiting.
“Why aren’t the lights on your Christmas-tree switched on?” demanded Nick.
“My olds are out; and why would I want the lights on? There’s nothing wrong with the standard-lamp.”
“But it would look Christmassy,” protested Dane.
“Humbug!” said Leon. “What are you lot doing here anyway? What’s going on?”
“We got together and got you a Christmas present,” said Sean, producing an oblong box from behind his back, brightly-wrapped in coloured-paper.
“Aw, shit, guys! You know I don’t do Christmas presents,” Leon protested.
“Yeh; but you said you objected to presents which nobody needed; just bought because it was the thing to do; blackmail by the shops to make you spend money,” explained Nick. “But what we got you is something that you definitely need.”
“Okay,” he said, “let me have it.”
Sean, Nick and Dane exchanged amused glances, but Leon didn’t notice. He took the proffered gift and ripped off the paper to reveal a long, slim cardboard box. He lifted the lid and: “What the fuck?!” he stammered.
In his hand he held a lithe school-cane, such as had been used more than thirty years ago to keep order and discipline among recalcitrant and badly-behaved youth. He arched it and released one end so that it sprung back, quivering, to the horizontal again.
“Boy!” he said. “I bet that would sting like hell. I’ve never seen one for real; but why would you think I need a cane? I’m not gonna cane anybody.”
“No,” agreed Nick, “but we’re gonna cane you.”
“You what?! No way! What for, anyway?” demanded Leon.
“For being a selfish, carmudgeonly bugger who won’t do anything to help anyone else at Christmas and who out-Scrooges Scrooge in being miserable and cynical about Christmas in general,” said Dane.
“Okay, Leon, strip for it!” commanded Nick, leaning forward and taking the cane from him.
“If you think I’m gonna…….”
“As I thought,” said Nick. “We’ll have to do it for him. Come on, guys!”
The three launched themselves at Leon and in spite of furious protests and powerful resistance on his part, they swiftly managed to subdue him and pull off his clothes, leaving him naked, face-down on the floor with Nick and Sean kneeling on his back and legs.
“If you so much as touch me with that cane, I’ll have you all charged with assault,” threatened Leon furiously.
“Yeh, yeh,” said Sean, unbuckling his belt and giving it to Dane, who proceeded to tie Leon’s hands with it.
“Get off me, you bastards!” snarled Leon.
“That’s not very festive language,” said Dane. “Come on, lads, let’s get him over the arm of the sofa.”
Leon proceeded to regale them with a torrent of extremely un-festive language as they hauled him into position. Nick knelt on the sofa and held his ankles tightly, while Sean held his tied hands. Leon was going nowhere.
“We need to stop all those expletives,” remarked Dane; and he picked up Leon’s briefs and then pulled his head back before giving a vicious tug on Leon’s hair.
When he yelled, Dane stuffed the briefs into Leon’s mouth and buckled Leon’s own belt round to hold them in place. Muffled sounds of fury still escaped the outraged Leon.
“That’s better,” said Dane. “Okay, Leon. This is it. You’re a selfish bastard; a real modern-day Scrooge. And now we’re gonna give you what you need for Christmas,” he continued, showing Leon the cane. “Scrooge got visits from three ghosts to sort him out; and your arse is gonna get three visits from this cane, one visit from each of us guys, to sort you out. Scrooge didn’t like it much and I don’t suppose you will either; but we’re all hoping it’ll be worth it.”
Leon’s eyes blazed with frustrated anger. Dane took up his position, rapped the slim rod several times on Leon’s fully-rounded bottom, and then swung the cane, bringing it down hard and accurately across the centre of the youth’s behind. A muffled snarl of pain escaped Leon and as a red welt rose slowly from his skin, his buttocks tensed, quivering, and then relaxed. Dane continued to wield the cane with considerable power and deadly precision, etching six neat, parallel red lines across Leon’s rump. The boy struggled in vain to escape from the hold Nick and Sean had on him and in his eyes shone a fierce rage, rivalling the ferocity of the fires burning in his rear.
“Very nice,” observed Sean approvingly as he admired Dane’s handiwork and took the cane, while Dane took over holding Leon’s hands steady.
Sean delivered his strokes at a slight angle so that every one cross-hatched the six inflicted by Dane. Searing fires blazed deep into Leon’s buttocks and he clenched and writhed desperately as he fought to process the savage pain. Sean took his time, allowing Leon to savour the full sting of each stroke before he inflicted the next one; and he hit ferociously hard. Tears glistened in Leon’s eyes and the fury was replaced by a look of growing apprehension. Sean completed his quota and passed the cane over to Nick, who hit on a downward diagonal, every cut firing the underlying welts to a savagely-powerful intensity. Sean and Dane worked hard to keep the bucking, writhing Leon in position. By the time Nick had administered his six, Leon’s bottom was fiery-red, bordering on crimson, throbbing agonisingly with raised, pulsating, criss-crossing welts.
Nick showed the cane to Leon.
“Now,” he said, “are you gonna come with me, dressed as an elf, and help with the bag-packing at the supermarket, to raise money for the kids who won’t have much at Christmas? Just nod if you agree.”
Leon’s eyes showed bitter rage, and from his throat came a muffled roar of refusal.
“Okay,” said Nick; and he proceeded to deliver a full-power stroke with the cane to that sensitive area of a boy’s behind, where his bottom merges into the top of his legs.
Leon’s shriek of agony was clear even through his mouthful of briefs. Nick waited and then inflicted a second stroke, just below the first, eliciting an even more desperate cry of torment. He glanced at Leon’s face and thought there might be a chance that he had changed his mind about helping; but he decided just to make sure and so lashed a third stroke on a diagonal, cross-cutting the first pair and sending the pain-level felt by Leon into the stratosphere.
Nick showed Leon the cane again.
“I can give you three more if you want,” he said. “All just as hard and all down there where you feel it. Unless you’re ready to come with me to help at the supermarket?”
For several seconds Leon seemed to be fighting a battle with himself; and then he suddenly gave in and nodded his agreement. Sean took the cane and held it before Leon’s eyes.
“You’ll be coming with me to entertain the old folk, won’t you, Leon?” he enquired.
He flexed the cane slowly and Leon got the message clearly. He nodded his consent. Finally Dane showed the cane to Leon.
“We’ll all be getting you other Christmas-presents,” he said, “and you’ll be getting presents for us too, won’t you, Leon? And you’ll be switching on the lights on the Christmas-tree and getting mince-pies from the kitchen for us all, when we let you free, yeh? And there’s not gonna be any Bah! Humbug! nonsense; or any un-festive language,” he warned. “Because if there is, your briefs go straight back in your mouth and you get some more of the cane. Got it?”
Leon nodded dumbly.
“Brilliant,” said Dane; and the three guys proceeded to release Leon and remove the gag.
Leon stood rubbing disbelievingly at the tender welts on his bottom; and then gazed equally disbelievingly at his three mates. With a nonchalance which was decidedly studied, Dane picked up the cane again and arched it carefully. Leon swallowed, looked as if he was about to speak and then seemed to change his mind. Slowly he crossed the room, bent down and switched on the lights on the Christmas-tree. Seconds later he was in the middle of a fierce group-hug which took his breath away.
“Great present, eh, Leon, and exactly what you needed,” said Nick. “See, presents show you care about someone; and we all really, really care about you. That’s why we went to all this trouble to get you what you needed.”
Leon stood very still, gazing at his pals, and all three of them tensed themselves, ready for him to launch an attack; but suddenly he broke into a sunburst of smiles.
“Okay, guys,” he said, “that was one hell of a lesson; but I’ve learnt it. If that’s the way you beat a guy you care about, I’d hate to be a guy you didn’t care about.”
“Oh, but if you were a guy we didn’t care about, we wouldn’t have bothered to beat you so hard,” said Dane. “We so desperately wanted to get you to waken up and to share the happiness of Christmas with us, that we decided we really had to beat the living fuck out of you, to make sure you did.”
“Yeh, okay. You changed me; like the ghosts changed Scrooge,” admitted Leon.
“Nah, we didn’t change you. And I don’t think the ghosts changed Scrooge either,” replied Sean. “See, I think that deep down Scrooge had a good heart and all the ghosts did was to uncover his Christmas spirit. Same with you. We all think you’re really a great guy with a good heart; but you just needed us to reveal it. The ghosts gave Scrooge a hell of a fright and he found his Christmas spirit; and we scared the shit outta you with a cane and found yours. Simple.”
Leon dressed himself in silence and then went out of the room, returning a few minutes later with hot mince-pies and cans of lager.
“Come and sit beside me,” invited Sean. “I loved getting a look at your fantastic tackle and I can’t wait to get my hands on it.”
Leon flushed and, “Thanks,” he muttered bashfully, “but I think I’ll stand for a bit.”
A gale of laughter swept around the room.
Leon was every bit as popular in his tight elf-costume as Nick had predicted, and his sexy looks, combined with his cheerful and joking manner, ensured a steady flow of generous donations for the kids.
He sang with gusto to entertain the old folk and when he walked around the room singing a love-song and planted a swift kiss on the cheek of every lady in the place, he earned himself a swelling chorus of demands for more songs.
On the afternoon of Christmas Day, the four guys met at Nick’s house to exchange gifts; silly, pointless gifts which were just plain fun. The last present given to Leon was from Sean. It was a T-shirt with a picture of Scrooge on the back with a red line through it; and on the front were the words: Spank Me Hard If I’m Not showing The Spirit Of Christmas! Leon tore off his own shirt and hauled the new T-shirt over his head.
Sean came forward and placed his hands on his shoulders and then kissed him softly on the mouth. Leon gasped as things surged in his jeans.
“You and me have got another present for each other,” said Sean, looking straight into Leon’s eyes; “but it can wait until tomorrow.”
“I think I’m really gonna like it,” said Leon.
“You’d better,” retorted Sean, “because I’ve still got that cane; and that message on your chest is serious!”
“Happy Christmas, guys!” said Leon, “and God bless us every one!” he added with a mischievous twinkle.
D I S C L A I M E R
Story ©MMXXI by Joelstrap, used here by very kind permission.
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♥ 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.
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.
Story © MMXVIII by Rod Cayenne. All rights reserved.
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Short erotic equestrian fiction by Rod Cayenne, repeated from 2012. All of the characters are 18 or older. This story is suitable for adults only.
The Crop Circle by Rod Cayenne
My riding instructor cut a handsome figure in his tweed jacket, jods and shiny black Aigle boots.
“You seem to be a little too fond of the whip, my friend!” he admonished. “Please cut down its use on the horses. If you have a sadistic streak, you should take it out on the stable lads or lassies. They are used to the riding crop and dressage whip on their haunches.”
“Really?” I laughed as I dismounted and tied the horse. “Don’t tempt me.”
“Aha, another enthusiast, if I’m not mistaken. I’m not shocked. Your interest is quite common. Are you really keen? If so, I may be able to help.”
“Really?” I asked again. I stared into his blue eyes.
“Yes, really. There is a flogging group hereabouts. Interested?”
“Yes, rather! Tell me more please,” I added, more than intrigued.
“It’s called The Crop Circle. Get it?”
“Oh, how very droll. Sounds right up my street.”
“Well, don’t get too worked up about it just yet. Let me tell you a bit more about it.”
“Thank you,” I added, trying to seem humble and at the same time trying to will away an erection from forming in my jodhpurs as I thought about beating stable lads and lasses.
“Alright then. I’ll be honest with you. It started off as a spin-off from an occult group.”
“Oh, wicked!” I said, somewhat childishly.
“Quite. But then quite a few of us realised we were more interested in the floggings than the witchcraft.”
“I see. I understand.”
“Of course, some of the traditions have followed on. There is an initiation. Which will be painful for you…”
“Oh, don’t worry about that. I can handle that.”
“Don’t be so sure about that. Most likely it’ll be be a birching. With rods you’ve collected yourself from the sacred forest.”
I gulped a little. It’s true I was less keen suddenly, although I was aware that I had a masochistic side too. We went into the stables where he showed me the fine collection of crops and whips, which were prominently on display. I picked a crop and admired its beautiful craftsmanship and leatherwork. I placed it back with a shudder.
“I’ll get the Circle Master to contact you. Of course, I cannot guarantee anything. He is choosy. There is the initiation and you have to prove yourself worthy. There are dominant and submissive members of the group. And of course, some who like a little of both sides of the coin. Tell me frankly, where would you see yourself fitting in?”
“Well, to be honest, I do like a bit of variety in all things.”
“I see. At least, I think I do. You want some give and some take?”
“Yes. Yes, to be honest, that’s what I really want.”
“Good! In that case I think a preliminary thrashing right now would be appropriate.”
“Yes, just think of it as a pre-initiation. After all, I could forget to mention your interest to the Circle Master.”
I don’t think I’d ever felt so trapped in my life before!
“Can I keep my jods on please?”
“No, no, no! That won’t do at all! It wouldn’t be a proper initiation if it wasn’t on the bare, would it?”
“But this is just the pre-initiation,” I tried to plead.
“Don’t split hairs and don’t try to be funny with me. The stable hands get it bare, and they are a lot younger and less tough than you are. Get your bottom bare now and get over the bale. I’m going to beat you for excessive use of the whip. Isn’t that fair?”
“Yes, I suppose so. Although I didn’t mean any harm by my use of the whip.”
“Tell that to your mount! But don’t worry, because I won’t mean any harm by my use of the whip on you. To make it fair, I’ll use your own whip on you. Give it to me please.”
I handed the crop over. It was a cheap item, not as impressive as those in the display, and I was seriously doubting that it was that severe. However, my opinion soon altered as it thrashed down on my naked haunches!
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
I gasped as lines of fire lit up my backside.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
It was humiliating.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
It was even worse that I was being beaten with my own crop.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
I resolved to go easy on the horses in future.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
The flames began to subside just a little as the crop was thrown down beside me.
“I think we’ll complete your schooling with a final half-dozen with the dressage whip!”
I wanted to say no, more than anything in the world. But I was under the instructor’s spell, and the word just wouldn’t come out. He pushed me further into the bale with his shiny boot.
That dressage whip was even worse! It cut and flailed and reduced me to tears. It was agony. Agony and ecstasy. I loved it!
There were to be several more sessions over bales, fine leather saddles and in a bedroom back in the farmhouse once the weather got really cold. But I didn’t hear from the Circle Master in all that time. Had I been tricked, or was I just not worthy? I didn’t want to press it with the instructor as our sessions were so intense and enjoyable. No, I didn’t want to jeopardise the good thing we were sharing.
Story © MMXII by Rod Cayenne
D I S C L A I M E R
Photography © by Jonathan, R.I.P. Models: Jonathan (dom) and Rod (sub).
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