♥ 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.
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