Erotic Fiction by Rod Cayenne, repeated from 2011.
“Is this your crop?” I shouted at the passing rider. He was rather handsome in a tweed jacket, cream jods and very shiny black boots. His silk tie was gold and red and looked expensive. I waved the crop at him. It was a nice plaited black leather item.
“Yes, I do believe it is, thank you!”
“I found it over there near those bushes. It looks a fearsome weapon.”
“Ha! It certainly is. I don’t use it on the horses much, but my stable lad has felt it a few times!”
“Lucky boy!” I said somewhat incautiously.
He dismounted and shook my hand firmly and introduced himself as “Cyril Makepeace, those are my stables over there. It’s a wicked crop, that one. If you really envy my stable lad, I could give you a good whipping with it. Ahem, as your reward for finding my crop. If that’s not too kinky for you, lad?”
“No Sir, I’ve always wanted to try it, honestly Sir.”
“Good lad. Then your wish will come true. I also use a cane on my stable lad. Would you like to try that as well?”
“Sounds a bit harsh Sir, but in for a penny, in for a pound,” I replied.
“What’s your name lad?”
“Jason Newman, Sir.”
“Very good lad, follow me.”
I was beginning to feel foolish. I walked behind him as he led his horse to the stables. Suddenly the horse had a big dump. I felt even more embarrassed. He put the horse in the stable block and we walked towards the house.
“Come on in lad. Make yourself comfortable, while you can. Scotch?”
“No thank you,” I declined. He quickly knocked a glassful back. Perhaps it was Dutch Courage?
“Right then lad! You want a thrashing as a reward do you?”
“Yes please, Sir! It’s something I’ve wanted for a long time.”
“Right lad. And you wanted it bare arse I am guessing, too?”
“It’s the only way, Sir, isn’t it?”
“Well, it’s certainly the best way. It’s going to hurt, you do realise that, don’t you?”
“Yes, Sir. But I do want to be properly rewarded”.
“Aha. Over here then. Bend over and I’ll take your trousers down for you. And we’ll have these down too!”
I was feeling exposed. The room was cold and so was my bottom.
“Oh, I’ve forgotten. You wanted a taste of the cane too, didn’t you lad?”
“Yes please, Sir.”
“Well you stay right there while I go and fetch one from the bedroom.”
He soon returned, swishing the cane as he entered the room. I turned around to look at him. He looked so horny in his jods and boots and with a crook handled cane too, it was like all my fantasies had become real at that moment.
“Face the front, lad! There’s no need to stare. I think that’ll cost you extra strokes!”
“Yes Sir, sorry Sir.”
“Well we’ll start with a swift dozen from the crop you found. I think you’ll find it quite rewarding!”
THWACK! The crop lashed down. I cried out. That was a heavy stroke.
THWACK! THWACK! Two strokes in quick succession. My arse was on fire.
THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! Half way through and I was beginning to think I’d been rewarded enough.
THWACK! THWACK! “AAAARGH!” I screamed.
THWACK! THWACK! I was regretting my bravado.
THWACK! THWACK! Extra hard strokes had me close to tears.
“Very good, lad,” he complimented me. He put the crop down and poured himself another stiff one. “Very satisfactory. Very rewarding. Have you had the cane before, lad?”
“No Sir. Is it worse than the crop?”
“Yes, I’d say so. It stings and burns in a unique way. I had it a lot at school. Prep school and boarding. And then when the horse thing came along, I got a taste for the riding crop, courtesy of my riding mistress. She has a lot to answer for. As do my old housemasters. Anyway, as I said, the cane is worse. Stick that bottom out for me, laddie!”
SWISH-CRACK! The sound of the cane was thrilling, and the pain didn’t seem too bad for a second or so, but my, did it kick in!
SWISH-CRACK! A second stroke. Absolute agony, although I was proud not to cry out.
SWISH-CRACK! The third made me gasp.
SWISH-CRACK! He was really getting into the swing of it.
SWISH-CRACK! “YEOWWWCH!” That was the worst one.
He dropped the cane to the floor. I was expecting more. He’d threatened extra strokes earlier. They didn’t materialise. I think the alcohol may have dulled him as he suddenly seemed mellow.
“Good boy. Let me have a look.” His hands wandered over my arse too. They were quite cold, which was a relief as my arse was really hot after the caning. “Why don’t you come over next Saturday, lad? You could help my David muck out the stables and then have a thrashing as another reward. You did enjoy it, didn’t you Jason, my boy?”
“Yes I did enjoy it, thank you, and I will come on Saturday. What time Sir?”
“Oh, let’s make it early, you will need plenty of time for your reward.”
The following day, Cyril Makepeace was out on his favourite horse again. He ‘accidentally on purpose’ dropped his crop again. Horse and rider then cantered off a safe distance. Makepeace raised his binoculars to see if anyone would pick the crop up.
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 and picture © MMXI by Rod Cayenne
All rights reserved