♥ Site recommended story ♥
Hot spanking fiction by new special guest author Baddlad17 – strictly over 18s only!
I was reaching the end of my tether. My son had been thrown out of university a few months before after he had been caught with drugs. Since then his behaviour has spiralled out of control.
David will be twenty one in a few weeks’ time. Since being kicked out of University he has done nothing. He gets up at midday, makes himself something to eat and leaves his plates and cups in a stack in the living room. His bedroom is a no go area. Pants and socks strewn on the floor along with porn DVDs, even dirty glasses and plates that he has taken to his room and not bothered to return to the kitchen.
He leaves towels on the bathroom floor. I even found the toilet in a mess after he had been in there. Overall he has turned into a slob with no respect for either us or our home. He often walks around the house topless, only wearing a pair of football shorts. When he can be bothered to go out he often returns in the early hours, banging doors and falling up the stairs in a drunken stupor.
My wife’s nerves have become frayed and she came close to a breakdown with the strain. I have tried talking to him but he simply does not listen. Even threats to throw him out have failed. He simply laughed at me.
It was after one of these heated arguments that I went into the garden to cool down. My neighbour Ted Wilson was out tending to his roses.
“Hello Tom, what’s wrong mate, you look a little stressed?”
“Yes, sorry Ted. It’s David! He is out of control. I don’t know which way to turn.”
Ted listened as I poured out my heart to him. Eventually, having got it off my chest, he leaned on his fork and gave me a long hard look.
“You need to take control back Tom. What that boy needs is a long hard thrashing. Even grown up boys need to be brought up sharp now and again.”
I stared at him, unsure how to answer. Ted is a retired Headmaster. For many years he had been in charge of the local Grammar school. David was a former student and had told me that Mr Wilson was not a man to cross. Ted himself admitted he had been a firm believer in corporal punishment and even sixth formers had not been immune from his cane. David had once found this out to his dismay and horror.
“I am serious Tom. That boy needs to know who is in charge. He needs to realise that actions have consequences and his behaviour is not acceptable. Your house, your rules! If he is not happy, then show him the door.”
I knew deep down that Ted was right. David was now a grown man and no longer a boy. Sensing my mood my neighbour suddenly came up with a solution.
“Look Tom, if you think that lad of yours is out of control, and from what you have told me, it sounds as if he is. Would you like me to deal with him?”
“Ted are you saying….”
“Yes I am. I have had plenty of experience handling young men, including your own son. Do not forget at my school I retained the use of the cane right up until I retired. That buffoon who took over from me abolished it straight away and now the school is in a downward spiral. I have a couple of canes here. They are still in perfect working order, so if you want me to punish David, I will gladly do it for you.”
I realised my neighbour was serious. Also, deep down, I knew I did not have the courage to take my son in hand; but knew that Ted would have no such problem. But would David accept a caning from him? I somehow doubted it. Though something had to be done, or Jean would become really ill.
“This needs to be sorted for your own wellbeing. Take Jean to her Sister’s for the evening and I will come around about seven if that’s ok?”
I agreed. After all, I was at my wits end. I had not punished David since he turned thirteen. Ted had caned him a few times during his school years, the last time when he was a sixth former, aged seventeen. That was almost four years ago now. How would Ted get him to agree to this?
He was right though. I really would have to stand up to him and if he refused to take his medicine, then for my wife’s sake, I would have no option other than to throw him out.
Ted arrived bang on seven o clock, carrying a package wrapped in paper. I showed him into the front room, a place we only used on Sundays or special days and we sat down to discuss what was going to happen.
“Tom. Leave the talking to me. I know how to deal with recalcitrant youths. All I ask you to do is stand firm. If he says he will pack his bags and leave then let him. In fact, offer to help. He won’t find anyone willing to put up with him for long, so if he goes, you must warn him he will only be allowed back after he has taken his medicine.”
I nodded my agreement.
“Call him down Tom.”
I did, so a few minutes later the door opened and David arrived in a pair of football shorts and a t shirt. His arrogant sway changed immediately on seeing Ted.
“Hello David. I hear you had some trouble at University?”
David blushed bright red, lowered his head immediately as he was in awe of his former headmaster, and looked ashamed.
“I also hear you have been disrespecting your parents, coming home late, drunk, going around like a slob, as I can see for myself. In general, you have become a liability. Are you aware how much your laddish behaviour is affecting your Mother?”
“Sorry sir, but I am not one of your students any more.”
“No you are not; if you were you would have felt my cane long before this. In fact I think that is just what you need young man.”
Ted then unwrapped the parcel, the cane emerging from its wrapping.
“What the fuck! No way Mr Wilson. I am not letting you cane me.”
Ted got up from his chair, and stood looking steadily at my son, who instantly seemed to regret his outburst.
“Young man, your Father has asked me here this evening because he is at his wits end. Your behaviour needs to be addressed. You will be punished, by a thrashing, or you must pack your belongings and find somewhere else to live.”
I thought for a minute David was going to leave the room. He looked from Ted to me and his eyes pleaded with me. Ted nodded at me and for the first time. I spoke.
“Sorry David, Mr Wilson is right. I can no longer control you. Your behaviour is way out of order and your Mother is worrying herself to death. Tonight you will be punished by Mr Wilson; or we can go and pack now, if you prefer.”
“But I have nowhere to go. You surely don’t expect me, a grown man, to take a schoolboy caning do you?”
“If you had behaved like a grown man, I wouldn’t have had to call on Mr Wilson.”
“But I am nearly twenty one Dad, not a kid any more.”
“Then behave like a man! Your attitude has been appalling. Mr Wilson has offered to give you a punishment which is long overdue. Even young adult men need to be punished sometimes. It is up to you. Take a beating, or go.”
Close to tears his shoulders slumped. He turned to face Ted.
“Alright Mr Wilson. I will accept a caning. How many sir?”
Ted considered before answering.
“Young man your behaviour recently, and this evening has been despicable. You have acted like a child half your age. It is my intention to make this memorable. To begin with you will receive eight strokes of the cane. Once I am done you are going across your Father’s knee for a good old fashioned smacked bottom worthy of a ten year old. Now like we used to do at school you will go to the chair and prepare to be punished.”
David gulped and very slowly walked up to the back of the chair and went to bend over.
“Shorts down boy and underwear!”
“But sir! That’s not how you did it at school.”
“You are no longer a schoolboy; but you are a spoilt brat that I intend to teach a lesson you will not forget for some time.”
David stood for a moment, his hands holding onto the side of his shorts, contemplating what was going to happen. He came to a decision and slowly pulled his shorts down. He was not wearing underpants. He bent over the back of the chair mooning Ted and me. Ted picked up the cane and swished it through the air before bringing it to rest across the middle of my son’s backside.
“Move and I will add penalty strokes.”
He raised the cane, then brought it smartly down landing with a crack across the chubby backside. David winced and his buttocks shook as he absorbed the first stinging cut. Ted raised the cane and cracked it down a second time just below the first stripe. This time David moaned and wriggled a little more. Ted got into his stride, striking each blow one below the other in a tight band no more an inch wide.
David became more and more vocal as the caning continued. His buttocks were red and striped. After number six had been cracked across and into the boys under bottom, Ted changed stance and cracked the next stroke at an angle intersecting each of the previous six strokes. David could no longer hold back and roared in agony. Before he had a chance to recover, the eighth landed, again at an angle, and he began to sob across the back of the chair.
Ted stood back and put the cane down. He admired his handiwork for a moment, watching the red stripes form across his former pupils buttocks.
“Stand up David. Go and stand in the corner for a few minutes. Leave your shorts off. While you are there, think about your behaviour and why this has been necessary.”
David stood up and gave his bottom a quick rub before kicking away his footy shorts and walking across to the corner. His eyes were wet with tears. I noticed his cock was semi erect. Had my son enjoyed his thrashing? Ted and I left the room for a few minutes, giving him a chance to think about his behaviour.
In the back room Ted said, “Right Tom, when we go back in there your son is going over your knee. He may be a grown man but he is not too old for a good old fashioned spanking. After the caning a smacked botty will do no significant damage, but will reinforce the punishment. It will also be very humbling for him to go across your knee. And Tom, make sure you lay it on hard.”
Moments later, we returned to the front room. David was still standing in the corner, naked from the waist down, hands behind his head. His backside had six clear horizontal welts with two further ones crossing them which looked raw and livid. I sat on the chair and at Ted’s nod I called my son to come over.
As he walked over I could not help but notice the raging erection he was now sporting. I patted my knee and without question David lowered himself over placing his hands flat on the floor. I could feel his cock pressing hard against my thigh.
“David, your Father will now give you a much overdue spanking. Learn from this and change your ways. If your Father tells me you have been behaving badly again, I will return with the cane, only next time you will receive twelve strokes with a long spanking to follow.”
I raised my hand high and for the first time in years struck hard across the red striped buttocks presented to me. My son immediately groaned as the fire returned. Time and again I struck his backside, left cheek, right cheek back and forth. As I continued to smack him my anger at his behaviour emerged.
“This is what you have needed for some time. That’s one for the dirty magazines, that’s one for swearing at your mother, that’s another for leaving your smelly socks on the bathroom floor, and that”, I slammed my palm down relentlessly across the exposed buttocks, “is for coming home drunk!”
David cried and yelled like a five year old, as I turned his bottom almost purple. At last my anger abated and my son lay prostrate over my knee sobbing gently. I allowed him to get up and he stood immediately placing his hands on his scarlet buttocks.
I was pleased to note his erection had gone.
“Get your shorts and go to your room young man. Think about your behaviour and learn from this. We will talk later.”
My Son bent down to retrieve his clothes and limped from the room one hand holding his clothes while the other was trying to soothe his burning cheeks.
I stood up, feeling a lot better, and poured two large brandies from the decanter.
“I think you got the message across Tom. His backside was blazing.”
I sat back and sipped at my brandy feeling pleased with myself. I had just taken all my built up frustration and anger out on David’s backside. Ted also seemed satisfied. He had been retired just over three years and I think he had missed wielding the big stick.
“Tom, I will leave this cane here with you. Hang it up in David’s wardrobe as a reminder that should he return to his old ways, the stick will be used again to correct his behaviour.”
I thanked Ted for what he had done and promised to keep in touch. After Ted left I went upstairs, the cane in my hands. David’s door was ajar. I looked at him lying face down on the bed. Still naked from the waist down, his backside was very red and the welts clearly now raised across his cheeks. His hands were resting gently on the scorched flesh. He had fallen asleep, no doubt worn out after what had happened. Quietly, I went in and hung the cane on the rail in his wardrobe, where he would certainly see it.
It seemed to work. David’s behaviour improved dramatically over the coming weeks. Whenever he went to extract a shirt or a pair of jeans, the cane was there to remind him. I cannot help but think though, that at some stage his behaviour will slip and once again I will call in Ted to assist me in bringing him into line. Something I feel sure, he would thoroughly enjoy.
To be continued…
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 © MMXIII by Baddlad17, used here by very kind permission
All rights reserved
Comments are here
♥ Site recommended story ♥
Sexy spanking fiction by Rod Cayenne – strictly over 18s only!
In the seaside convenience store, the two retired headmasters eyed each other warily.
Gradually, broad grins emerged. The two hadn’t seen each other for many years, although Christmas cards had been exchanged regularly. They had met each other at a teaching conference in London, where they immediately hit it off and ended up bed-sharing. Of course, back in those dark and distant days, they had to be really discreet. They soon discovered that they had both retired to the same vibrant coastal town with its many attractions and gay-friendly atmosphere.
“Back to my place?”
“That would be nice!”
“Better get some of these then. I’m right out of them. Can’t be too careful these days,” said Bernie as he tossed a box of a dozen Durex into his basket.
William made no comment, but picked a tube of KY lubricant and followed his friend to the checkout. As they queued, he couldn’t resist slipping his hand under Bernie’s cord jacket. He pinched the pert bottom hard! Bernie gasped with surprise, before saying, “You’ll pay for that, William!”
“Oh, I do hope so, Bernie, I do hope so.” Already roles were being arranged for what would be their first encounter for many years!
The checkout guy was young, fresh-faced and extremely large. He joked with Bernie and then with William, laughing as he wished the gents “a fun evening!” After all, it was obvious what was on the cards for the two friends.
As they strolled along the esplanade, William raised a topic of mutual interest, “You’ve got a cane at home?”
“Several, actually. And you will be feeling them all!”
“Yes, I rather thought I might be.”
“Tell me, William, did you take my advice all those years ago?”
“Rather! After the conference, I thought long and hard about the benefits of corporal punishment, and then became an enthusiastic caner. I got quite a taste for it. Used to cane the buggers really hard. I loved it when they squealed! And of course, behaviour and academic achievement went through the roof!”
“Told you so!”
“Yes, you did. Teachers like us were like gods in those days. And then I hooked up with our Classics master. Somehow we discovered that we had a mutual fascination for cp. We used to cane each other a lot, especially when his wife was away. I didn’t think I’d like being on the receiving end, but I did. It’s jolly good fun, isn’t it?”
“Yes, indeed, almost a sport of kings.”
“Well, anyway, I used to lie in his arms afterwards and say, ‘I never expected to be doing this.’”
“I’m so glad to have found you again, Bernie. I need it badly.”
“Yes, you do. And don’t worry, I’ll be giving it to you alright. Hot and hard!”
“Right! It has to be hard to feel the benefits, doesn’t it?”
“Indeed it does, indeed it does. No pussyfooting.”
Bernie’s house was a whitewashed art deco treasure. It boasted superb coastal views and had an air of opulence. The sympathetic furnishings emphasised the expensive look. Bernie fiddled with the espresso coffee machine as William took in the view from the kitchen.
“A quick cuppa, then I shall be sorting out your naughty botty!” said Bernie, slipping into some childish banter, “Your very wicked, naughty botty!”
William blushed a deep red, and then Bernie landed a sharp smack on his friend’s buttocks. “Ooh, Sir!” William camped it up.
Bernie took the tray of coffee and biscuits into the living room and switched on the TV, saying, “I just need to check the cricket.”
“I do so miss the traditional cricket whites,” William observed, “So much sexier than those coloured outfits.”
Bernie sighed and nodded. It was becoming apparent that the two men had so much in common. A love for the good old days, leather and willow, rattan and flesh. He could see that they could end up living together. The thought rather startled him, and he wasn’t sure how comfortable he would be sharing his palatial place. Better make William’s beating extra hard, he decided. After all, the man would have to earn his keep!
“Right William!” Bernie suddenly announced in his most headmasterly tone, “Time for your thrashing! I’m just going upstairs to get some canes. When I come back, I expect to see you bent over this sofa. You can keep your trousers on. For now!”
Unfortunately for William, the trousers didn’t stay up for long, and neither did his skimpy briefs. The tariff was soon escalating, 6…12…18…24…30…36! William’s arse was a deep scarlet, or was it black and blue? Well, it was a bit of a mess, anyway. Bernie felt a bit ashamed of the beating he’d given his sweet friend, but both had clearly derived enjoyment from it, all the same. And then, up in the bedroom, among the Egyptian cotton sheets, the two gods made love.
A few months later, William let himself into his lover’s house. He was surprised to find Bernie had company.
“Who’s this then?”
“It’s my nephew, Steven. He’s come down on the train for the day. He’s a good lad, aren’t you, Steven?”
“Well, good on the whole, but like all boys he can be a bit naughty at times.”
“Really?” asked William.
“Yes, honestly. He likes to drop in unannounced. Although he’s 22, he can be a bit of a pest.”
“Really? He looks more like an angel than a pest. Tell me, Steven, have you been pestering you Uncle Bernie?”
But Bernie leapt in with a quick retort, “Yes, he keeps pestering me for a caning, would you believe? Says he wants to find out what it was like!”
“Err yes. It was just a silly notion. Just to find out. I was only interested because Uncle Bernie was a headmaster back in the days when the cane was allowed.”
“So was I!”
“Oh wow! Two headmasters. I can’t believe my luck!”
Bernie cleared his throat noisily, saying, “Steven, it’s not luck, I feel. Coincidence possibly. More likely that it’s destiny. Now, I’ve never entertained your wish before. But with Headmaster William here as well, I’m sorely tempted, if only to nip this nonsense in the bud! Now, how about if both of us give you six of the very best? Each.”
“Oh, Uncle! 12? That’s rather more than I had in mind.”
“Take it or leave it, my boy!”
“I’ll take it then, but not too hard, Uncle!”
“They will be hard. It’s the only way. You will survive, maybe it will stop you pestering me and you may even come out as a better young man because of it. Let me just check that William is willing to assist. Well, William?”
“Oh yes! I could use some practice! Getting a bit rusty, don’t you know?”
“In that case, William, please go and fetch me a couple of senior boy’s canes. I think you know where they are?”
If young Steven had been gifted with common sense, he might have wondered just how the visitor knew where Uncle Bernie’s canes were kept. But he didn’t. All he could think of was his pending thrashing. Something he had wished to experience for years, and which had been a masturbatory fantasy since his early teenage years. Now that his wish was about to come true, he was rather worried and started to bite gently on his lip.
William ran upstairs, only to return quickly with two crook-handled canes and a broad, cheesy grin. He surveyed the scene before him. During his short absence, Bernie had arranged for nephew Stephen to bend over the sofa, in just the same spot that the two friends had made favourite for William’s own canings! So there was the youthful angel or pest obediently bent, offering his denim-clad buttocks for chastisement.
“Right! Listen carefully, Steven. I expect total obedience during your beating. No jumping up, shouting or swearing. Is that clear?”
“Oh yes, Sir!” young Steven exclaimed.
“Well, it had better be! Any disobedience will result in extra strokes. And they will be extra hard. Still clear?”
“Good. Now, it will be six strokes. To get the full school experience, it will be two strokes on your jeans, two more on your underwear, and a final two on your unclothed seat!”
“Wait a minute. Bare?”
“Yes, of course bare! Think yourself lucky I’m not giving you all six bare.”
“Alright, alright! I’m ready. Can we get on with it please?”
William detected some impatience and rudeness in young Steven’s tone. He wasn’t going to put up with that! Well, he would, but the lad’s reward would be a harder caning than William had first planned! Two swift, crisp and hard strokes landed on the blue denim, causing gasping from young Steven. His 22-year-old brain wasn’t used to processing such pain! He couldn’t believe how the pain seemed to be multiplying and overwhelming any feelings of embarrassment and excitement. He was starting to think he’d bitten off more than he could chew.
“Right, Steven! Drop your jeans down for me. There’s a good lad!” said William in his most patronising headmaster tones. Reluctantly Steven did as he was told, craftily giving his bottom a rub as he did so. “Steven, I saw that! No rubbing! That’s expressly forbidden!”
“Actually, Sir, you didn’t forbid it, expressly or otherwise,” said Steven cockily.
“That’s enough! Don’t push me, lad!” said William, waving the lithe cane menacingly, “Smart arses get extra, if they’re not careful.”
Steven thought about sparring further, but the pain in his ample bottom reminded him that this was a time for obedience, not for cheek.
Crack! The cane lashed down on the boy’s tight black briefs.
“Oh my God!” exclaimed Steven, surprised by how much more sting the cane gave now that it was on just the one thin layer of clothing.
“QUIET!” shouted William as he slashed down the fourth stroke with gusto.
“I shall not tell you again! Get those pants down!”
Slowly, Steven edged his briefs down to join the jeans crumpled around his feet. Both retired headmasters admired the view revealed to them. A peachy, fleshy pink bottom decorated with harsh red striping. It throbbed and ached as Steven adjusted his position, bending over the edge of the sofa, offering his naked buttocks to the two men. Salty tears were threatening to flow from his misty eyes. This wasn’t exciting, this was humiliating!
The fifth stroke cracked down, the cane bending and distorting the flesh beneath it. It was the hardest stroke yet, waves of heat and hurt overwhelming the cheeky youngster.
“Shit!” muttered Steven to himself. This was bad, and then it got worse as the sixth stroke lashed his buttocks! His arse was red-hot, incandescent with heat and as sore as hell.
William sighed heavily. He walked around the other side of the sofa and looked the boy in the eye. “Not too badly taken, for a beginner,” he said, “Let’s see if your uncle can cure your pestering, shall we?”
“Oh don’t worry about that, Sir! I won’t be pestering him for a caning ever again! Uncle, are you there?”
“Yes, I’m here. Been watching you take your first beating.” In fact, Bernie had been watching with growing pleasure.
“I’m sorry for nagging you, Uncle. You can let me off, if you like!”
“Nice try, Steven. But you’ve been asking for this for months. Literally asking for it. No, no. I won’t be letting you off at all. In fact, I want to ensure that you never ask me for a caning again. And it seems to me that the best way to ensure that is for me to beat you hard. Harder than William already has.”
“All six strokes from me will be on your bared bottom!”
“Yes, indeed. No sense in covering it up again. Same rules, no shouting, swearing, moving out of position or rubbing! Understood?”
“Call me Sir! If it was good enough for William, then it’s good enough for me!”
“Yes, Uncle Bernie.”
“Are you trying to provoke me, boy?”
“That’s better. Now, brace yourself! Here it comes.”
And come it did. It lashed down with staggering force. The pain came too. Wave after wave of it. Bernie smiled to himself. He was a better caner than William, he was sure. It wasn’t a competition, but he was determined to make a more severe impression than his lover had. Steven was startled by the viciousness of that first stroke. He gasped and choked. It was all too much, too much by far!
A second harsh stroke from the slightly sadistic uncle followed. The red stripe throbbed and pain shot all around from it.
“Fuck, fuck, FUCK!” squealed Steven, leaping to his feet, rubbing his bottom frantically.
“GET BACK DOWN, STEVEN!” shouted Uncle Bernie. William laughed loudly at the perhaps predictable turn of events. Bernie was worried that his nephew was going to start playing up. So he quickly lashed the remaining four strokes down, rapid fire style.
“ARRRGH!” cried Steven.
“Well now, Steven. I think you are due some extras. One for swearing, one for getting up, one for rubbing, one…” It was now Bernie’s turn to laugh. “Well, OK, maybe not. I think you’ve had enough for one day, haven’t you? Well, what have you got to say for yourself?”
“Err. Two things, really. First, thank you, uncle. Second, I don’t think you’ll be seeing me again for quite a while!”
“Aha. Suit yourself. You know I’m very fond of you. Come back when you’re good and ready. And I’ll be dismayed if you ever pester me for another caning.”
“Oh don’t worry about that, uncle. I’m cured!”
“And please don’t tell your parents about any of this.”
“Oh, no chance of that,” said Steven, zipping up his jeans smartly, “No chance at all. I’d be far too embarrassed for one thing.”
“Good. You’re a good lad. With a tough arse. Wouldn’t you agree, William?”
“Yes, you did well, Steven. Here, give me a hug!”
It ended as a group hug. And then after Steven had gone, the two men had their own cuddle on the sofa. They masturbated each other as they listened to a secretly recorded tape of Steven’s thrashing. How they laughed as the lad squealed on the tape. They wanked faster and faster. “I never thought I’d be doing this,” said William wistfully.
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 © MMXIV by Rod Cayenne
All rights reserved
Photograph © Jonathan, R.I.P.
Comments are here
♥ Site recommended story ♥
Hot erotic fiction by special guest author Steveman -
strictly over 18s only!
I had been fascinated by corporal punishment for as long I could remember. I was never punished at home and by the time I went to school it had been banned. Films and books involving spanking were the only ways I could live out my fantasies.
My favourite fantasy involved the use of the belt. I saw a couple of western films where cowboys used their belts to administer a spanking. I was always attracted to men wearing wide leather belts and often hung around building sites where I could see fit blokes wearing wide belts with their jeans.
Now in my early 20s, I got really excited when I bought a gay mag and saw an advertisement for a club in London for CP enthusiasts. A few weeks later I made the trip to London, booked into a cheap hotel and that night made my way to the club. It was held in the cellar room of a back street pub. It looked quite frightening and I just walked past the door trying to pluck up the courage to go in.
After I had walked past the entrance several times, a voice behind me said, “What’s the matter mate, your first time?”
I was really scared but replied, “Yes, but I’m not sure it’s for me.”
I looked at the guy fully for the first time. Mid 30s, about 6 feet, well built, wearing a black leather jacket and jeans. I had to admit that he looked the part.
“Look, how about coming in with me?” he offered,”I’ll make sure you’re OK.”
“Don’t think so,” I replied, “I’ve changed my mind, perhaps it wasn’t such a good idea coming without knowing about the place.”
“OK, tell you what,” he offered, “My car is just around the corner, come with me and have a chat and we’ll see what we can work out.”
I have to admit the guy attracted me especially when he placed a hand on my shoulder in a friendly sort of way, so I agreed to go.
In his car he asked me if this was my first attempt at meeting someone and what I was hoping for. As he was so friendly, I managed to hide my embarrassment and told him my fantasies.
“Tell you what,” he said, “Forget the club for now and come back to my place and let’s talk some more. Then if you want to take it further you can.”
I was still feeling apprehensive but agreed. The guy did seem genuinely friendly. We drove for some time out of the centre of London towards the northern suburbs. The guy, who told me his name was Dave, was chatting all the time and was making me feel more at ease.
We finally arrived at his place; a small terraced house in a residential area that looked very respectable so I was less worried.
Inside, we went into the lounge furnished with a big black leather sofa and chairs. “Take off your jacket and sit down,” Dave said, “Like a drink?”
I asked for beer and Dave collected two cans, handed me one and opened the other. After taking a swig he put it down, unzipped and took off his jacket and threw it over the back of the vacant chair.
It was then I saw it, his wide, dark brown, shiny leather belt, just like the ones in my fantasies. I almost choked on my beer with excitement! He must have noticed me staring but said nothing. This man was really something, he looked even better in the light, good body, tight-fitting jeans and highly-polished black Doc Marten boots.
We finished our beers. “Are you ready to try something?” Dave asked. “Nothing too heavy, lets ease you in gently.”
“OK,” I replied, beginning to feel a little apprehensive again.
“Stand up!” ordered Dave. “From now on you do as you’re told, understand?”
“Yes,” I said quietly.
“Yes what?” snapped Dave.
“Sorry, I don’t understand,” I stammered.
“It’s Sir when you speak to me, I’m the boss and you’re my boy, understand now?”
“Yes Sir, sorry Sir!” I replied, beginning to feel a mixture of fright and excitement.
“Right, I want your shirt, jeans, trainers and socks off,” was Dave’s next order.
Nervously, I took off the clothes as ordered, leaving me standing in just my briefs. “Now come over here!” ordered Dave.
I went over and stood next to him. “Hands on head!” he shouted. I did as ordered. Then he grabbed the top of my briefs and pulled them down to my ankles. Next he grabbed my arm and hauled me over his knee, getting rid of my briefs.
“I’ll start you off with a good old fashioned spanking,” he said, rubbing his hand across my bare buttocks.
The first smack was a shock; it almost took my breath away. I didn’t think a guy could spank so hard with his hand. He kept going for what seemed an age, left cheek, right cheek and some smacks in the centre, some with his fingers catching the inside of my crack. I couldn’t believe the pain but also the excitement, and noticed I was getting a real boner against Dave’s thigh, which he couldn’t fail to notice.
Eventually the smacks stopped and Dave began rubbing my red-hot cheeks which only made my boner even harder.
“Stand up boy!” ordered Dave. Gingerly I stood up and instinctively my hands went to my stinging cheeks. “Leave your arse alone and sit down,” snapped Dave. I lowered myself gently into the chair, the cold leather felt good against the heat of my cheeks.
“How did that feel?” asked Dave, now back in his friendly role.
“Fantastic!” I replied.
“Good, glad you enjoyed it,” said Dave. “Now I had better get you back to your hotel. I’m free tomorrow if you want to take it further. What do you think? It’s a shame not to make the most of your visit.”
“I’d love to meet up again,” I replied eagerly, “But will my cheeks have cooled down by then?”
“Yes,” said Dave. “That was only a fairly moderate spanking, you’ll be back to normal tomorrow.”
“In that case I want you to belt me, and one more thing – can I see your belt before I go, just to give me something to think about?”
“Sure,” said Dave unbuckling his belt and drawing it through the loops on his jeans with a snapping noise, folding it double and handing it to me.
It felt wonderful, thick, wide, and smooth, I couldn’t resist bringing it up to my face and sniffing that strong scent of leather made stronger by the warmth of Dave’s body.
Dave took the belt back and snapped the two ends together making a loud crack that made my boner start again.
On the journey back to the hotel Dave arranged to pick me up the following morning. Sleeping was difficult. I kept feeling my still hot bottom, remembering with pleasure the session over Dave’s knee. Then thoughts of tomorrow’s belting. Could I really take it?
Next morning I had that now familiar feeling of apprehension and excitement. This is what I had come to London for and I was now determined to see it through.
Now with a cooler bottom, Dave collected me as arranged, still his friendly self, chatting away and checking that I still wanted to continue.
Back at his place he told me to go upstairs and go into the room on the right, there I was to strip and wait for him. At the top of the stairs I pushed open the door. The room was blacked out with a heavy blind; just a single light was on. The only thing in the room was a wooden frame with a padded top covered in leather; this was obviously how Dave carried out his real punishments.
I heard footsteps outside; Dave entered the room now bare-chested. The sight of this real man made my legs go like jelly.
“I ordered you to strip boy!” he snapped.
“Sorry Sir,” I whispered,”I didn’t have time.”
“Do it now boy!” yelled Dave. “You need some proper discipline.”
I quickly stripped and waited his further orders.
“On your knees in front of me.”
I went onto my knees.
“Now, lick my boots boy, and depending what sort of a job you make of them will decide your punishment.”
Without daring to hesitate, I put by face to his boot and licked, noticing the heavy scent of leather and polish.
“Harder and quicker!” yelled Dave.
I licked until my tongue ached and after completely covering one boot moved to the other with Dave constantly smacking my arse cheeks as encouragement until I had covered both boots.
“Right boy, perhaps that shows you who’s boss. Now on your feet.”
“Yes Sir,” I replied passively.
I stood in front of Dave. His hands went to his belt buckle which he unfastened, pulled the belt free from the loops of his jeans and folded it double. This was it, what I always wanted, now I was scared but had to go on.
“Over the frame boy.”
I turned to face the frame, took a deep breath and bent over the padded top, grabbing the front legs with all my strength, hoping I could take it without letting myself down. I had forgotten about my legs until I felt Dave’s boot between them, forcing them apart and making me feel very vulnerable.
I flinched as I felt Dave’s belt placed across the centre and then my cheeks as he measured his stroke. Then, a swish and a loud crack. My arse felt on fire but before I had a chance to recover, the second landed, followed by more. I tried not to cry out but the stokes seemed to be getting harder and soon I was yelling out. Despite the pain, I suddenly realised that my cock was rock hard and it was forced against the leather padding of the frame.
I lost count of the strokes. I was in heaven and hell at the same time. A really heavy stroke landed then no more. Was it over? Had I really accomplished my ambition?
“OK, get up,” Dave voice was much gentler now. “You took that well.”
With Dave’s help I stood up. My cock was now less hard and I noticed, to my embarrassment, a wet patch on the padding of the frame.
“Looks like you enjoyed that,” said Dave. “Perhaps you had better shower and then I’ll see you downstairs.”
The cooling shower was very welcome and in the mirror I could see the welts which made be feel proud, like a soldier with battle scars.
Showered and dressed I went downstairs where Dave fixed me a drink before driving me back into the centre of London.
“Anytime you want to see me again just give me a call,” he said, giving me a contact number. Somehow I think I may need it.
D I S C L A I M E R
Story © MMVI by Steveman
All rights reserved
Used here by very kind permission of the author
Photography © Jonathan, R.I.P.
Comments are here
♥ Site recommended story ♥
A work of total fiction by Rod Cayenne. Strictly Over-18s only!
I’ve always had a funny relationship with my brother Patrick. He always called me “kid” which was guaranteed to piss me off big time. That and the fact that he was a good ten years older than me.
A few years back he purchased his first house. In a less than desirable suburb of the city, he really thought he had arrived. It was a Victorian terrace, with a big railway viaduct down the bottom of the garden. Being a bit of a gricer, I took pleasure in telling him that it was the line the nuclear waste trains ran along. That freaked him out briefly! His green credentials were seriously dented. Yes, we were siblings with the traditional rivalry. Even so, I was happy to help him move in and decorate as I was waiting to start a new term at University. I stayed for a few days.
Towards the end of my stay, I was enjoying a fine brew of tea and a crafty cigarette as my elevensies break. My brother had taken the train into town to sort out some things. I was a bit bored and tired as I gazed idly out of the kitchen window. I picked up the previous day’s evening paper and scanned through it as I puffed on my fag. Suddenly, I spat tea out of my gob with disbelief as I started to read an article about corporal punishment and the cane in particular. It was a hot piece alright, on a subject I’d always had an unhealthy interest in. In fact, it was so hot that I soon whipped Mr Cock out of my trousers and began to masturbate furiously. Unfortunately for me, my brother returned just at that moment, unheard by me. Perhaps the radio had drowned out the noise of him opening the front door?
“What the fuck are you doing, kid?” he boomed at me. “Wanking in my kitchen! What if the neighbours have seen? They might think it was me. Their new neighbour is a wanker indeed! Shit, I hope they haven’t seen you. You little sod! What are you wanking off to anyway?”
He snatched the rag from me. I blushed a deep red as the penny dropped.
“So, into spanking, are you?”
I thought it best to say nothing at that point. I mean, what could I say? My mind raced, and I remember a few smacked bottoms he’d given me when we were younger.
“I can see that you need a good hard spanking now, kid!”
“Don’t be daft,” I replied, “I’m twenty!”
“Shut up! Go to your room and wait for me.”
Reluctantly, I made my way up the stairs to the small bedroom I’d been sleeping in. The fresh magnolia paint gave the room a sunny air. The window was open to allow the paint smell to dissipate. I sat down on the bed, feeling for all the world like a guilty teenager. Soon my brother appeared, smiling a sinister smile. He unlaced his Green Flash trainers and slipped them off silently. The meaning was clear. He was going to beat me with them.
“Such depraved behaviour, kid! Demands punishment, don’t you think?”
“Yes.” I agreed submissively.
“Better bare your bottom for me, then. It’s traditional, after all. Then bend over the bed.”
“Patrick, is all this really necessary?” I asked, in one last forlorn attempt to avoid a beating.
“Oh yes, I’d certainly say so! That’s it, nice and bare now.” I slipped my jeans and pants down. “Tut, tut, carrying a bit of extra weight on your buttocks these days, I see!”
My humiliation was almost complete. He picked up one of his green and white tennis shoes and slapped it down hard on my naked arse. An almighty thundercrack seemed to accompany it and a wave of pain engrossed my body. Rapidly, a second, third and fourth stroke struck home. Already the pain was overwhelming me. If my brother was worried about the neighbours seeing me wanking, why wasn’t he worried about the noise from my spanking? Surely it was drifting out of the open window? I needn’t have worried though, as just then two expresses passed on the viaduct, drowning out the sounds of my beating.
“AAARGH!” I cried as further strokes lashed my naked behind. I was close to begging him to stop, but really I was so ashamed of my behaviour that I felt I really had to just grin and bear it. As further strikes hit me though, this became harder and I soon felt silent tears rolling down my face. Again and again he hit me, sometimes with the left tennis shoe, sometimes the right. My arse was aglow, bright red and throbbing. Certainly the beating had cured my urge to masturbate. Eventually it was over. Patrick slapped my arse gratuitously with his hand a couple of times as I staggered to my feet.
“Don’t think I’ve finished with you yet, kid,” my brother said. “This afternoon you and I will take the train into town where you will buy a cane, seeing as you have such an interest in them. You will pay for it and I will use it on you. Clear?”
I almost forgave my brother later as he cooked us the most sensational Italian lunch. However, my arse was sorer than sore as I sat on the hard wooden seat of the refectory-style table. As we enjoyed a cold ice cream dessert from the freezer I wondered whether it might not have been better used to cool my inflamed cheeks.
After lunch, Patrick dragged me off into town on the train. That was a bit of a treat in a way, but our eventual destination bore heavily on my mind. A place that sold canes? Surely there were no such places any more? Then I remembered I’d seen some pretty feeble-looking canes in a local sex shop. My brother grinned at me as we passed over some uneven points and I grimaced as my bottom was bounced around on the seating.
Eventually, we got to town and emerged from the station. Almost opposite was our destination, a rather old-fashioned looking shop. It specialised in umbrellas, hiking and walking sticks and “canes”! I followed Patrick in, the door causing a loud bell to sound as it was opened. I was immediately hit by a slightly musty smell as I surveyed the dingy surroundings. A wizened old gentleman appeared and offered us assistance.
“I’m looking for a punishment cane. Probably a senior model, preferably with a crook handle,” Patrick informed the man.
“Ah. Right, sir. Not much call for those these days, I’m afraid. Yes, a great shame. But we do keep a few in stock for connoisseurs and enthusiasts. Come and have a look.”
Patrick duly inspected a variety of canes, and I blushed every time he swished one through the air. The stock was rather more extensive than we’d been led to believe and my brother didn’t seem to be in a great hurry, unfortunately for me. Eventually, he selected a golden brown specimen, with a quite beautiful curved handle. It looked as if it was straight out of an ancient comic. Somehow I knew that it would be no laughing matter, however.
“The boy will pay for it!” Patrick announced. I duly scraped the necessary together, which was humiliating, but at least it gave me the chance to ask the assistant to wrap the cane for me. And so it was that we left the shop, with me carrying a lightweight package wrapped in brown parcel paper! On the train ride back, Patrick winked at me a couple of times. Was he enjoying my humiliation, or was he, as I was beginning to suspect, a bit of a spanko himself?
Back at the house, Patrick ordered me upstairs again, “And this time change into your pyjamas. You will be sent to bed after your caning!”
“But I don’t have any pyjamas with me!”
“What? No pyjamas? I suppose you sleep in the nude, do you?”
“Well, as a matter of fact, I do. Except when I’m at Mum and Dad’s.”
“I see. More lewd behaviour! Extra strokes for that, kid.”
I walked up the stairs with my tail between my legs. Well, not really as I don’t have a tail. And, even if I had, I felt that Patrick would have beaten it off in next to no time!
I was sat on the bed again when Patrick came in. He was taking the wrapping off the cane. It’s full majesty was soon revealed. He cut it through the air a couple of times. I really wasn’t looking forward to this. Although caning had been a major fantasy for me, I was pretty sure I didn’t want one in real life.
“I thought I told you to get ready for bed?” Patrick reminded me.
“But I told you, I sleep in the nude!”
“In that case you will be caned in your bed clothes, that’s to say stark bollock naked! See to it!”
Reluctantly, I stripped off. I could smell my sweat. If only his shower had been working.
“Right, bend over brother. Six for masturbating in my house, and four extra for sleeping nude in my house! And two more for a general lack of respect for me and my house! How many does that make?”
“No! It makes twelve of the very best! Stick that bottom out more!”
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! Three shockingly hard strokes landed on my already tender arse. The sting of that cane was unbelievable.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! It was all too much. This time tears and snot fell down my face. I had hoped that the cane from that tired old shop would have been past it, but it was full of youthful vim and vigour. Shit!
“Oh please Patrick, no more! I’m sorry. Haven’t I done a good job for you here?”
My brother paused. Perhaps I had struck a chord?
I was amazed. He’d used my first name! That was the first time for ages. Surely a good sign?
“You have done some really good work on the house and with helping me move in. Thank you. I shall of course reward you for that. However, your inappropriate behaviour does still need to be punished!”
He flexed the cane and slashed it down on my naked arse once more. It wasn’t quite such a harsh stroke, and neither were the other five that followed on. So maybe I had six of the very best and six close to the best? Anyway, I couldn’t help sobbing a little by the time he threw the cane down.
“That was fun!” he laughed.
I wanted to call him a bastard but I thought better of it. And then, he didn’t send me to bed after all. I think that was because he wanted me to do some more work on the house for him. I was glad to be standing up as I painted, for my bottom was way too sore to do anything requiring sitting down!
At the end of the stay, he did give me an envelope stuffed with cash. It certainly helped out over the following term, so I did feel grateful to him. Despite this, for a while I was reluctant to visit him again. I was wary of his punishments. However, eventually I had to admit to myself that it had all been very exciting, if a tad painful. So, I did spend a few weekends and holidays in his tender care! The cane and slipper were used a lot, but only because we both wanted it that way.
D I S C L A I M E R
Story © MMXIV by Rod Cayenne
All rights reserved
Photographs © by Jonathan, used by very kind permission
Comments are here
♥ Site recommended story ♥
Hot spanking fiction by special guest author Steveman – strictly over 18s only!
I wasn’t really interested in the poster advertising a charity county fair at a country house nearby until I saw, in smaller print nearer the bottom, tours of the house and stables. I had more than a passing interest in stables, such masculine places and all that leather. I found the mixed aroma of horse and leather a real turn on.
Two weeks later I made my way to the fair and booked myself in the for the stables tour which wasn’t until later in the day. I tried to amuse myself looking around the various stalls, but my mind was on the stables tour. Eventually the time arrived and I assembled with others at a gateway leading to the stable block.
We were greeted by someone who introduced himself at Matt, the head groom and stables manager. He really looked the part, tall, well built, longish fair hair. He was wearing shiny black leather riding boots, but in place of the riding jodhpurs I was expecting, he wore jeans tucked firmly into his boots topped off with a wide black leather belt.
We started by visiting the horses in their stalls, some were racing horses others, Matt told us, used for their riding school. It was interesting how the horses recognised Matt and how they reacted to his commands. Each of the horses had their name on a sign over their stall. Every horse looked in tip top condition.
It was time to move onto the tack room, now things were getting really interesting. The smell of leather hit you as you entered. I could feel myself becoming aroused. It didn’t help when Matt picked up a riding crop which he used to point out various parts of the saddles and other equipment. I was hoping my arousal wasn’t showing too much when someone in the party asked a question and whilst answering, Matt started slapping the crop against his leg of his boot. The excitement was now too much for me to conceal and I moved away from the other visitors noticing dampness in the front of my jeans.
The tour was over and people were thanking Matt and leaving, but I wanted to stay longer. I frantically searched for something to ask him to delay my leaving. I finally thought of something.
So you have a riding school here. I’ve always wanted to ride. How much does it cost? I asked.
We only do complete courses, not individual lessons, so it runs into hundreds of pounds, Matt replied.
This was not what I wanted to hear. I had only recently started my first job and couldn’t afford that sort of money, but I still needed to engage Matt in conversation. He was now sliding his crop down into his boot, a sign he may be about to leave.
How about working here? I asked in desperation.
What a full time job? I’m not sure that we need anyone at the moment, Matt replied.
No, weekends, I’ll do anything. I’d love to work with horses, I told him.
Matt looked thoughtful for a moment and then seemed to come to a decision.
We may be able to work something out, he announced.
We always need extra help at the weekends and, if you worked enough hours, we may be able to arrange some lessons in lieu of payment. How does that sound?
Yes, that would be wonderful, thanks, I enthused.
Come to the office and let’s see what we can work out.
We left the tack room and Matt led me to a separate building beyond the stables which housed his office. The walls were covered in photographs of horses accompanied by brightly covered rosettes won at various shows and horse trials. Before he sat at his desk, Matt removed the crop from his boot and threw it down on the desk.
Let’s get a few details, he said pulling a notepad in front of him.
Matt noted my name and address, where I worked, what school I attended, along with my qualifications.
I need to OK this with the owner. I’ll try and locate him now, but with all the visitors it may be difficult. Sit down here and wait and I’ll be back as soon as I can, Matt said as he left the office.
I sat down in his chair. The riding crop was still on the desk, it looked an awesome piece of equipment and I couldn’t resist picking it up. It was heavier than I expected, made of platted leather with a thicker handle and a flat plain leather tab on the other end. Nervously I raised it up to my face; the scent of the leather was wonderful. Holding the handle I slashed it though the air enjoying the swishing noise it made. I quickly placed it back on the desk as I heard a voice in the distance which was possibly Matt returning. I hoped I had placed the crop exactly as he had left it. I got up from his chair and he sat down.
Right, that’s all arranged then, Matt announced.
You can start next Saturday, eight o’clock sharp, same conditions as the full time stable lads. Don’t expect the work to be exciting, it will be mucking out, feeding and watering, but later, if you come up to scratch, we may show you how to look after the saddles and other equipment.
That sounded perfect.
Thanks, I’ll not let you down, I assured him.
Better not, Matt replied.
One other thing, we run a disciplined business here built on respect. All the lads call me sir and that will apply to you as well, understand?
Yes, no problem, I replied.
Let’s try that again, Matt snapped.
Or you will have a problem.
Sorry. Yes sir! I corrected myself.
That’s better, Matt said getting up from his seat.
See you on Saturday.
I thanked Matt again and made my way home in a daze, not believing what had happened.
The following Saturday I got up early determined not to be late for my first day. The only way I could get to the stables for eight o’clock was to cycle there. It took about thirty minutes and I arrived well before eight o’clock.
I was met by one of the full-time stable lads who introduced himself as Keith. He was slightly younger than me and explained that usually one, sometimes two of the regular stable lads had to work at the weekend and have time off during the week, so they were pleased that I had started to work there at the weekend. Matt was elsewhere and had told Keith to get me started.
I asked Keith what it was like to work there and what Matt was like to work for.
OK, he replied.
But he’s pretty strict so don’t get on the wrong side of him or you’ll come off worse.
Keith took me to what he called the boot room which was just behind the tack room. A row of wellington boots stood on a low shelf, overalls hung on pegs and tools such as brushes, shovels and pitchforks were hanging on a rack.
Find some wellies and a pair of overalls that fit and if you take your own clothes off first, you won’t go home stinking of horse shit, Keith suggested.
Keith showed me what tools were needed to start mucking out and we took them to the first stable where he showed me how to slip a halter onto the horse and lead it to a spare stall while we mucked out.
Keith stayed with me until we heard a vehicle outside in the yard. I looked out and saw a large van towing a trailer containing a portable forge.
That will be Andy, the Farrier, Keith said.
He’s here today to do a couple of urgent jobs; his apprentice doesn’t work on Saturdays so I have to help him.
I couldn’t help but be aroused when I saw the farrier. He was younger than I expected, his hard work had obviously developed his muscular body which looked good in a sleeveless t-shirt. Over his jeans he wore a pair of leather chaps finished off with a pair of heavy boots. Keith and Andy walked off together to the next stable block. I couldn’t help being a bit envious.
I carried on working on my own, doing exactly as Keith had shown me. The next time I looked out Andy and Keith were working at the portable forge, Andy holding a horse’s leg with upturned foot against his legs while he attended to its hoof.
Matt eventually arrived and I heard him talking to the farrier, then he came to the stable where I was working.
Hope you’re doing a thorough job there, he shouted across to me.
Yes sir. Keith’s showed me what to do, I replied.
Matt walked into the stalls that I’d already completed, moved the new hay around with this boot and seemed satisfied.
Just the next block to do, then barrow the muck round the back, he instructed.
By the time I moved to the next stable block the farrier had finished working on the two horses and he stood by his van talking to Matt. The next time I went out into the yard, his van was still there but no one was around. I carried on with my work until I needed to empty the barrow. As I passed the other stable block I heard voices inside, it sounded like Keith and the farrier. Curiosity got the better of me and as quietly as I could, I went into the stable block. Sounds were coming from a stall at the other end. I crept into a nearby stall and positioned myself so I could see what they were doing.
Andy, the farrier, was leaning on the back wall. Keith was kneeling in front of him servicing his cock through the leather chaps and jeans. Andy’s head was thrown back and his hands were on Keith’s head urging him on. So this was what he meant by helping the farrier. The sight was quite a turn on and I felt my cock hardening until I couldn’t resist unfastening the front of my overalls and pleasuring myself.
Suddenly Andy and Keith broke apart and I needed to get out of there. As I darted from the stall my foot caught a metal water bucket which tipped and clattered across the brick floor. Andy and Keith both turned and saw me as I frantically tried to fasten the front of my overalls.
What are you doing in here? demanded Andy.
I… I… I was just….. Andy didn’t allow me to finish
You were spying on us instead of getting on with your work and, by the look of your overalls, that wasn’t the only thing. Matt’s going to love this.
You’re not telling him are you? I pleaded. Surely he didn’t want Matt to know what had been going on in that stable.
Why shouldn’t I? After all it’s Matt that provides me with a lad, Andy replied.
That was it then, probably my first and last working day at the stables. I looked at Keith who just shrugged and walked off followed by Andy. I completed my work hoping that perhaps the matter would be forgotten.
I had just taken the final load to the dump when Matt appeared looking angry.
You, tack room, now boy, he shouted to me across the yard.
I crossed then yard to the tack room; both Matt and Andy were inside.
Matt glared at me before he spoke
So instead of working, you go spying on other people.
No sir, it wasn’t like that, honestly, I stammered.
What was it like then? Seems pretty clear to me, Matt continued.
I couldn’t think of anything to excuse myself, I just waited for the inevitable.
Matt turned to Andy.
How do you deal with your apprentice when he steps out of line? he asked.
He feels my strap, good and hard, Andy replied.
Good idea. Get those overalls off, he instructed me.
Was I really hearing this?
No sir, please… I didn’t…
Your choice boy, Matt told me.
Do it or you’re out.
So this was to be my only way of staying. I made my decision, kicked off my wellington boots and removed the overalls which left me standing in just my underpants and feeling very vulnerable.
Last week when I left you in my office, you seemed very interested in my riding crop, or so it seemed when I saw you through the window, so perhaps…..
Matt picked up the crop from a nearby rack and smacked it loudly against the side of his boot causing me to flinch.
But as it’s your first time……
Matt put down the crop, unbuckled his belt, pulled it through the loops and folded it double.
Get those pants off. Matt ordered looking threatening.
No sir, not bare, please sir, I pleaded.
I’m waiting, do it now! Matt shouted.
I slid my underpants down and stepped out of them leaving me standing completely naked waiting for the inevitable.
Matt nodded at Andy who stepped forward, grabbed a handful of my hair, bent me over and clamped my head between his legs in a vice like grip just like he did the horse’s leg. The scent from his chaps which were now pressing hard against my face was overpowering, a mixture of leather and horse. I was so overcome I hardly noticed that he had grabbed my wrists and was holding them tight against his hips. I jumped as I felt a hand stroking my cheeks, then a finger running down my crack.
I then heard Matt’s voice.
Nice meaty bum, just right for the belt.
There followed a load crack and a band of red hot fire spread across my buttocks. I struggled but Andy was holding me in his firm grip and my yell was muffled by my head being encased in his legs. More followed, again I tried to yell out. Matt certainly knew how to use a belt. Then I noticed, I was getting hard and, as the belting continued, I got harder despite the pain which somehow was getting more bearable.
Eventually the belting stopped and Andy released his grip on my hands and head. I stood up, my hands going straight to my red hot cheeks in an attempt to rub away the stinging. I had forgotten about my hard cock.
Looks like he enjoyed that, joked Andy staring down at my erection.
Make sure he enjoys the next lot then, answered Matt.
That was for being in the stable spying when you should have been working, Matt continued.
Now Andy’s going to punish you for spying on him.
Andy went over to his old wooden toolbox which on the floor just inside the door, opened the lid and took out an old heavy wide leather strap, longer and wider than a waist belt and placed it on a saddle stand. He then stripped off his sleeveless top revealing even more of this strong muscular body. If this was intended to intimidate me it was certainly working. A belting from this man would be no soft option. He picked up the belt, folded it double, its extra length allowing him to wind some of the buckle end around his fist.
Andy pointed to the saddle stand.
Get across there, he ordered.
I hesitated only to feel Matt’s hand grab the back of my neck and force me over the stand. He then went round to the front and held me down by pressing on my shoulders.
Andy put his boot between my ankles and forced my legs further apart then moved to my left side. With his belt being so long he stood well back and I could see him lining up his first stroke. I clenched my buttocks tight and the belt landed with a load crack and re-ignited the heat and stinging as he sought new spots to land his belt. He went lower finding the tender area. Matt was good but Andy was an expert. This time my yells as each stroke landed were not muffled, but it didn’t seem to matter how much noise I made.
Andy finally stopped and Matt released my shoulders allowing me once again to rub my red hot and stinging bum.
Get dressed and get on your way, ordered Matt,
And remember, that’s how we deal with lads who step out of line here. Next time it could be my crop.
Andy and Matt left the tack room and I quickly put the overalls and wellingtons back on and went to the boot room to change for home. It was then I remembered I had a thirty minute ride home on my bike, it was going to be uncomfortable, but I could always stand up on the pedals if it got too much.
I was half way down the drive from the house when Andy’s van and trailer overtook me. Further down the drive he stopped and signalled me to pull up.
It must be really painful sitting on that saddle, Andy observed.
How far do you have to go?
I told him and he replied that it wasn’t too far out of his way so I could put my bike in the van and he would drop me off. I did as he suggested and was thankful that I didn’t have to ride that bike any further. I climbed into the front of the van beside Andy, he laughed as I carefully lowered myself onto the seat.
Was that your first belting? Andy asked as he drove off.
Yes, I confirmed.
You took it well. Which one hurt the most? Andy asked.
Yours of course, I replied.
That’s quite some belt.
Yes, and I get plenty of practice. My apprentice often needs to go over the bench for a good leathering. Look, we’re near my place now so I’ll drop the trailer off and then take you home.
We pulled up in front of his forge. The sign above the door was similar to the one on the sides of his van. Andy unhitched the trailer, then shouted,
Come and have a look round if you like.
I left the van and followed him into the forge. He was carrying his toolbox which he placed on the bench.
I wanted to show you this, he said opening the box and taking out the belt he had used on me earlier. He unrolled the belt and placed it flat on the bench, the rough back uppermost.
See those marks? he asked.
There’s a mark for every time the belt’s been used. The first, nearest the buckle, are when it was used on me when I was an apprentice. It was then passed to me when I took over the business and the later marks are when I used it.
The rows of marks were small but I could make out a date, a number and some had another mark.
Let’s add you, Andy suggested.
He took a marker from his tool box and added the date followed by an 8, the number of strokes, and then made the other mark which, he explained, was for others, not an apprentice. Looking at the belt there had been numerous others. I wondered who they were.
Were you envious when you saw Keith and me in the stable? Andy asked changing the subject.
Err… yes, I eventually admitted.
Let’s try you out then, Andy suggested.
I went down on my knees and Andy opened the front of his chaps and unzipped his jeans. As he pulled my head towards him I again caught the smell of his chaps, but this time in place of pain…pleasure.
D I S C L A I M E R
Story © MMXIII by Steveman
All rights reserved
Used here by very kind permission of the author
Photographs © by Rod Cayenne, except riding boots © by Jonathan, used by very kind permission
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♥ Site recommended story ♥
Hot spanking fiction by new guest author Steveman – strictly over 18s only!
Ken, my older cousin, had just come out of the army and having driven army trucks and tanks, became a truck driver. He often used to call into see us when passing and although I liked him a lot, he often teased me about being soft as I worked in an office. “You want to come out with me, I’ll show you what work is,” he would often say.
I thought about this a lot and the more I thought the more the idea appealed to me. I quite fancied going around with this very hunky truck driver, so I decided the next time he mentioned it I would take him up on it.
It was sometime before Ken came around again but when he did I tried to get the talk around to work and before long he offered me the challenge of going out on the truck with him. I had holiday due so, to his surprise, I told him I could spend a week with him.
The first day arrived. I was really excited when Ken called to collect me and climbed up into the cab beside him. “Don’t expect any special treatment ‘cus you’re my cousin,” he told me. “You’ll be treated like any other driver’s mate.”
The first morning went well. We called at a warehouse and had pallets of goods loaded onto the back of the truck and Ken showed me how to fasten the side curtains and back doors securely. He told me it was my job to check them at every stop.
Whilst driving Ken talked about our families. I was the only one but he came from a large family where things were very different. I knew his father, my uncle, was very strict and he always scared me. In a teasing sort of way Ken said I needed toughening up, I had led a sheltered life with no discipline, whereas he had received firm discipline at home and then in the army.
“I bet you’ve never had a good hiding in your life,” he mocked.
“I got smacked when I was a kid!” I replied jumping to my defence.
Ken sneered and replied, “That’s not a proper hiding, not like I got at home and when I first went in the army, that’s what you need to toughen you up.”
We arrived at a truck stop and both started walking towards the building. “Haven’t you something to do first?” Ken said. “What?” I replied not knowing what he meant.
“You supposed to check the side straps are still tight at every stop like I told you,” Ken reminded me.
Quickly I checked that they were all tight and joined Ken inside. He gave our order at the counter and joined another trucker at a table.
“Who’s this?” asked the other trucker who Ken seemed to know.
“He’s my cousin who wants to be a trucker’s mate,” Ken replied.
“What’s he coming along like, any good?”
“Nothing that a bit of trucker’s treatment won’t put right!” Ken told him with a grin.
I couldn’t help wondering what this meant. I was beginning to find this talk about me between two tough masculine blokes a bit exciting.
Back on the road I asked Ken, “What’s trucker’s treatment?”
“It’s what happens to you if you don’t do as you’re told, or forget one of your jobs like you did back there, it helps you to remember.”
This didn’t answer my question although I was beginning to guess, but needed confirmation. I decided to enquire further.
“Yes, but what is the treatment?”
“OK son, you want to know so I’ll tell you, but I don’t think you could take it. See my belt?” he pointed to the wide leather belt he was wearing. “It’s not just for show, the trucker’s treatment is a good leathering on the bare arse. Think you could take it?”
So I was right, it was punishment. This made me really excited, the thought of this man’s man dealing with a lad like me but, as he asked, could I take it, did I want to try? The excitement was making me want to say yes but what was I letting myself in for?
“OK,” I said, “Next time I do something wrong, I’ll take the trucker’s treatment to show you I’m not a wimp.”
Ken grinned and muttered, “We’ll see.”
Overnight I thought about it more and more and decided I was going to prove myself so I needed to provoke Ken into dealing with me. My opportunity came at one of our collections when the warehouse manager gave me some delivery notes to go with the load. I took the papers and stuffed them behind the seat in the cab.
At the delivery stop Ken asked for the papers. “I think I left them behind,” I confessed. Ken was really mad and yelled, “Right son, you’re in for the treatment, still think you can take it? If you can’t you’re finished.”
My excitement grew although now I had finally done it. I felt apprehensive, could I really take it? When would he do it and where, not in the cab surely?
Nothing more was said on the way back. At the depot I got out, Ken parked the truck up then took me inside to the drivers’ room with its open shower at one end, lockers down both sides and a bench down the middle.
“Usually lads go over the bench for the treatment,” he said, “but, as it’s you, I’ll give the choice of getting it here in front of anyone who comes in or coming back to my place and having it in private.”
I choose his place; I didn’t want an audience. We went out to Ken’s car and drove the short distance to his place, a top floor flat in an old house. Inside, Ken checked I still wanted to go ahead with this which I did despite feeling apprehensive.
“Right then through to the bedroom and take off you jeans and briefs,” ordered Ken. I went though to his small bedroom with a single bed and started to take off my shoes and socks. Ken came into the room at this point and stood watching me and unbuckling his belt. I could now see how heavy it was, obviously obtained for the purpose. He folded it double and snapped the two ends together a couple of times, which was very intimidating.
Finally I was stripped apart from my T-shirt which was short and hid nothing. “Face down on the bed and spread you legs,” was Ken’s next order.
I lay face down on the bed, burying my face in the pillow, grabbing the top corners and placed my feet at either side of the foot of the bed, feeling very vulnerable. I had to go through with this to prove myself.
I risked turning my head to the side, Ken had moved to the side of the bed holding the belt and staring at my arse. “Ready boy?” he asked. I had difficulty replying but managed a soft Yes.
Ken placed the belt across the centre of my arse to measure his stroke and seconds later, the first stroke landed, first the crack followed by a sharp and deep pain. How many of these was he going to give? I doubted I could take more than the customary six.
I forced myself to look to my left; Ken was preparing for the second stroke, which landed in a fresh spot. Three, then four landed, and then I noticed to my amazement that despite the pain I was getting hard, very hard. Was it the belting or the sight of this strong guy to my left?
Strokes five and six did nothing to relieve my now throbbing cock. My whole body felt red hot and down below I thought I would burst. I looked up, Ken had raised the belt for more, but this one was different. The folded end of the belt landed squarely on my arse crack followed by another making the pain even more intense. Then nothing, the treatment was over. Ken told me to get up and as I eased myself upwards, I shot my load like never before.
Ken was threading his belt back through the loops of his jeans. “Well done son, I see you enjoyed it,” he said with a grin.
Ken helped me up off the bed and we stood face-to-face. He pulled me towards him, put his arms behind me and rubbed my red-hot arse. “You didn’t have to hide the papers,” he said. “I found your hiding place when I was parking the truck up. All you need to do is ask.”
“Thanks,” I said. “Next time I will.”
“Stay here overnight,” Ken suggested. “I’ll phone your folks to tell them. We’ve got a bit more bonding to do.”
D I S C L A I M E R
Story © MMVI by Steveman
All rights reserved
Used here by very kind permission of the author
Comments are here
♥ Site recommended story ♥
Explicit spanking fiction by Rod Cayenne – strictly over 18s only!
What a stupid question! No, of course not! No, I never regretted moving to the coast. Why would I? A tidy little inheritance and my early retirement had enabled it. My house was one of a detached pair in typical 1950s style. With extensive sea views and long gardens, I counted my good fortune every single day. The coastal climate was fantastic and I felt ten years younger at least. In fact, the only annoyance at my new home was the seagulls. Of course, you get them almost everywhere inland these days, but I did tire of their constant noise and of them shitting all over the place.
My neighbour was Mr Shepard. He was 70, if he was a day. He was a retired barber from the West End of London. He used to regale me with tales of his famous and infamous customers, though rarely of the more humdrum ones. Evidently, his salon had been a fairly lucrative business.
He was a stocky man, completely bald on top but with a neatly trimmed white moustache. He always wore dark, neatly pressed trousers and had a taste for striped shirts. His shoes shone immaculately, whether brown or black, and he always wore a matching thick leather belt. It soon became clear to me that this handsome old devil was gay, whereas my own sexuality had always been a little, how shall we say, ambiguous? Despite myself, I fancied him something rotten.
I was amazed to find he’d refitted one of the downstairs rooms of his home as a bijou barber’s salon. There was just one leather padded adjustable barber’s chair, but the illusion was completed by all the usual trappings – a huge mirror lit from above, clippers, razors, combs, towels, tubs of dressings, styptic pencils and even a display of what appeared to be fine old Fetherlite and Gossamer condom advertisements. On hooks to the side of the chair hung a back mirror, a razor strop and somewhat incongruously, a school cane. I asked him about that cane.
“Oho, that! Gets a lot of comment, that! I call it my barber’s pole! I used to use the strop and cane on uncooperative customers, back in the day.”
I assumed he meant young customers but I couldn’t be sure! I wanted to talk about it a bit more, but didn’t know how to tune the conversation in on the subject. In truth, I’d been caned at school rather a lot and began to enjoy the invigorating sting of the rattan. I was waiting for him to offer me a short back and sides, or a short, sharp shock, but sadly neither was mentioned!
It was a few days later when we were sat in his garden enjoying the summer sunshine and the cool ocean breeze. I gazed lovingly into his sea-blue eyes. I sipped at my vodka and Coke and cursed as a seagull crapped on the cast iron table we were sat at.
“Those fuckin’ seagulls! Always shitting everywhere!”
“Tut, tut, Jason! What awful language! I ought to tan your hide with my strop and pole for that. Wherever did you pick up such foul language?”
My first thought was that I’d picked it up at school, like you do, decades before! I blushed a little. It was as if he could read my every thought.
“You’re right of course! You should tan me,” I laughed nervously as the words tripped out.
“Inside then!” he ordered. Oh my God! He wasn’t joking.
I soon found myself bent over the magazine table in his salon room. A pile of football and girlie mags fell to the floor. I felt his hot breath behind me as his hands made for my belt buckle. He must have done this before as he released the belt like an expert, undid the button and zip and yanked my trousers right down.
“Actually, you’re far too low there. Let’s have you over the arm of the barber’s chair instead.”
I waddled over with my trousers around my ankles. But the barber’s chair was too high! He pumped the chair down a little. I stared into the big mirror to my right. I was horrified to see him approach and then pull down my boxers. My naked arse was on display to Mr Shepard and the mirror. He pushed me down so that I was bent over the arm with my hands resting on the chair seat.
“Now that’s what I call an arse!” he laughed, landing a hearty slap right on my naked bum. I reflected that he was the one using less than refined language now, but I wasn’t going to argue as I spied him reaching for his leather strop. I began to fear it. It looked heavy and purposeful. Obviously, it was a professional piece of kit from the days when things were made properly here in England before our industrial decline.
Crack! The heavy leather hit me hard. My worst fears were confirmed. This was no toy; this was the real thing! It burnt and blazed and was rapidly followed by another equally hard stroke.
A third lick of the leather bit into my reddening arse. “Shit!” I muttered quietly to myself, mindful of how my bad language had landed my in this humiliating position. I stuck my bottom out ready for the next stroke. It wasn’t long coming, and was followed by another two in rapid succession. That made six in total, surely enough to satisfy him and to make amends? Evidently not! The sadistic bastard cackled loudly and lashed seven, eight and nine into me. I’d had enough pain, but some pleasure was kicking in now, too.
“Last three,” he announced. He left me there waiting for them for what seemed like ages. Suddenly a hard stroke hit my left cheek, and then an equally stinging one hit the right. A final stroke landed right in the middle of both cheeks. It really was a killer blow, forcing me to cry out. Gently, I rose and started to rub my assaulted arse. He cackled again.
“I don’t know where you think you’re going, young man! That concludes the razor stropping, but there’s still the cane to come! So you can get down again. And make it smart, otherwise you’ll get double!”
I did as I was told, bending back over the barber’s chair, slyly catching a quick glimpse of my reddened arse in the mirror. What a sight! As I bent over again, I realised I really wanted the caning. It had been a long time, but I really needed it. As the first rattan stroke lashed down, my memory of beatings past surfaced. I remembered distinctly how I’d grown to like the sting, which wasn’t what was meant to happen in a punishment. Yes, I liked the bite and the sting, and maybe the shame too!
A second stroke broke my nostalgic reverie as it hit just below where the first had landed. Both marks throbbed and ached as my tormentor paced around the room, whipping the cane through the air. He cackled and admonished me, “I hope I’m getting through to you, young Jason. I won’t have any foul language in my garden or house. Is that clear?”
I agreed submissively as he sliced a third cane stroke down on my naked bottom. I was enjoying the beating but it did hurt like fuck. I was torn between pain and pleasure. He stopped to pick up the magazines from the floor. I watched him in the mirror as best I could. He tutted as he assembled the reading pile back on the table. He lined the magazines up neatly, almost obsessively. I began to suspect he was trying to wind me up by making me wait for further cane strokes.
At last, he was back and a fourth stroke sliced me, and then a fifth. He stopped to feel my bare arse. The old perv! His hands were cold as they surveyed the damage the strop and cane had inflicted. His fingers lingered over each weal, and then he rubbed my bottom as if to make it feel better, but then he landed a swift slap right over the marks. He laughed and picked up the cane.”This will be the last one as long as you promise to do as I say.”
I promised, not really knowing what was in store, although I could hazard a guess. The sixth stroke sliced into me. It was a hard, unforgiving stroke. I grunted with pain.
After my beating, I was dragged off to his master bedroom. It was a masculine room, with no pretence of routine domesticity. The decor was predominantly black, red and white, just like the salon room below. The duvet and sheets were shiny, satin black. So was the condom he slid onto his impressive erection. That was a barber’s pole of magnificent proportions! He started off spooning me, which wasn’t uncomfortable, but he soon demanded doggy which was both humiliating and painful. He pounded my beaten arse like a man possessed. He grunted and sighed and I squeezed my anal muscles to increase his pleasure. I knew there and then that this would become a permanent arrangement. My bottom was his to beat and fuck as he saw fit. Oh yes! What a man!
D I S C L A I M E R
Story © MMXIV by Rod Cayenne
All rights reserved.
Comments are here
♥ Site recommended story ♥
Brand new spanking fiction by guest author Macstrap – strictly over 18s only!
I have always been attracted to men in uniform, police, army, firefighters, but mainly policemen. If I saw one on foot patrol I would follow him, admiring his body and the equipment he carried, handcuffs, baton, noticing the fit of his uniform and his well-polished boots.
I was on the lookout for a new job. The one I had since leaving college was becoming boring and repetitious and seemed to be going nowhere. After scanning the situations vacant columns in local newspapers for several weeks, I was immediately attracted to a vacancy at the town’s main police station. The post was described as an administration officer and the list a responsibilities was nothing I couldn’t tackle with ease. I phoned the number given and requested an application form which I completed and returned along with a copy of my CV.
After an anxious wait of over three weeks I received a letter inviting me for an interview. I spent the time before the interview thinking about what questions they might ask and what my replies should be. The day of the interview arrived; I dressed smartly determined to make a good first impression. There were three people on the interview panel, a senior police officer, the administration manager and a representative from the human resources department.
The interview seemed to be going well. A lot of the questions I had anticipated were asked and I had my answer ready. Then the senior police officer asked why I wanted that particular job. I didn’t think my truthful reply that I wanted to be around hunky police officers would do anything for my chances so, thinking on my feet, I replied that I wanted to support the police in what I imagined was at times a difficult job. This seemed to go down well with the interview panel and I was told that they would be in touch.
I had an agonising wait of 48 hours before I received a phone call offering me the job which, of course, I accepted. There followed another month of form filling, security checks and working out my notice before I actually started the job.
The day finally arrived. I was shown to what was to be my office and introduced to a mature police constable, PC Reg Freer, who was retiring after doing the admin job for the past two years. This coincided with the post being civilianised. My small office was on the ground floor of the police station unlike the main admin offices which were on the first floor. The ground floor was where the operational side of the station was and as my main duties were concerned with operational matters, that’s where I was conveniently located.
As each shift finished the officers brought to my office intelligence reports, completed summonses and warrants, vehicle logs and overtime claim forms. PC Freer explained how to process these and where they all should go. He explained that I may meet a little resistance at first; some officers are against civilianisation, but providing I was pleasant and helpful I should be OK.
I was delighted that to reach the nearest toilet facilities I had to cross the corridor to the locker room which contained the toilets and showers. If I was really lucky I might catch a glimpse of an officer clad only in a towel emerging from the showers. I perhaps visited the locker room more than was necessary. I found its aroma of masculinity a real turn on.
Eventually PC Freer left and I was on my own. I had started to choose my favourites out of the many officers that came to my office. I picked out one in particular, PC Craig Russell, early 30s, well over 6 feet tall and with a muscular build. His uniform fitted perfectly showing an attractive backside and an inviting bulge at the front. I even managed to check his personal record and discovered that he was single which made him even more interesting.
About two months into the job I was giving out wage slips to the officers coming on duty. These included Craig Russell who came in to the office to collect his before he had fully changed for duty. He wore a black leather jacket over his uniform shirt which somehow increased his appeal. A few moments later he was back holding his wage slip which he had removed from its envelope.
He approached my desk. “There’s something wrong here. I’ve not been paid for last month’s overtime.”
One of my responsibilities is to collate all authorised overtime claims and send them off to headquarters. I went to a filing cabinet and took out last month’s return hoping to find the mistake was made at headquarters, but looking down the list there was no entry for PC Craig Russell so it was my mistake. I put the list down on my desk aware that Craig was behind me looking over my shoulder. I was distracted by his intoxicating scent, a manly smell combined with the natural smell of his leather jacket.
“So, where’s my name?” he asked stretching further over my shoulder.
I was unsure of what to say. “I… I’m sorry” I stammered, “It looks like I accidentally missed you off the list”.
PC Russell looked annoyed. “It never happened when Reg was doing the job. Just make sure it’s put right… OK?”
“Yes, sure… Look, I’m really sorry, it won’t happen again” I assured him.
“It better not, or else I’ll make an official complaint” was his parting shot as he left the office.
Fortunately, after a phone call to headquarters, I managed to arrange for an extra payment to me made to PC Russell to cover his overtime. I just hoped this wouldn’t be held against me as was on a six month probationary period.
Later, when the early shift had all gone and the afternoon shift had all left the station, I crossed the corridor to the locker room. As I passed by the lines of lockers, one grabbed my attention. The locker was slightly open and a familiar leather jacket hung over the top corner of the door. Sure enough the name on the locker was PC Russell. Remembering the intoxicating smell from earlier, I put my face into the jacket and inhaled deeply… wonderful! The locker door swung open further, inside I saw a used T-shirt which I grabbed and sniffed, increasing my excitement.
Suddenly there was a shout behind me “WHAT THE…?”
I turned and to my horror saw that whilst I had been enjoying myself, PC Russell had entered the locker room. Grabbing me he slammed me face first into the locker forcing my right arm up my back.
“Looks like I’ve caught you in the act” he hissed in my ear. “What you looking for… my wallet… money? You won’t find any so you’re in the shit for nothing.”
“I wasn’t trying to steal anything, honestly, you’ve got to believe me” I panicked.
“Oh yes, so what were you doing? It better be good or else I’ll take you straight to custody and charge you with attempted theft” he retorted releasing his arm lock and turning me round.
What was I going to say? There seemed to be no other explanation I could give other than the truth.
“I was smelling your leather jacket and then I saw you T-shirt” I confessed in little more than a whisper.
PC Russell grinned. “So, you’re a little faggot. It’s been noticed how much time you spend in here, now we know why. The next thing is how I deal with you.”
“Please don’t report me, I really like this job” I pleaded.
“First you lose my last month’s overtime, now you interfere with my personal property. You can’t expect to get away Scott free, so are you going to accept my punishment?”
“Yes, but please don’t report me” I pleased.
“OK, this is the deal. Meet me when I finish duty at 10 o’clock at the top end of the car park, don’t be late, I won’t hang about waiting for you” he warned.
I returned to the station in plenty of time and stood in the shadow of the building at the top of the car park as instructed. At 10 o’clock I heard the late shift leaving and saw cars being driven out of the car park. A few minutes later I saw PC Russell approaching, he had changed from his uniform top into his leather jacket, but apart from that was still in uniform.
“Glad to see you’re here” he said grabbing me and turning me to face the wall holding my arms behind my back. I heard a click and my wrists were handcuffed into position.
“We’re going for a drive to my place to get you sorted out” he told be leading me none too gently towards his car. I was pushed into the back seat and the seatbelt fastened around me.
We drove to his place, a small, modern house on a development on the outskirts of the town. He parked in the driveway, opened the rear door, released the seatbelt and guided me out and towards his front door. Inside he took me to a sitting room, drew down the blinds and looked me over for a few seconds.
“So, you definitely agree to take my punishment?” he asked.
“Yes” I almost whispered.
He produced his keys and released the handcuffs “Right, strip” he ordered.
“Sorry, what?” I asked, confused.
“You heard … STRIP” he shouted.
I then began to realise what he may have in mind, but it was preferable to the alternative. I took off my top followed by my trainers, socks and jeans leaving just my boxer shorts.
PC Russell took off his jacket and threw it over a chair. I caught a whiff of its manly scent. He then caught me by the arm and roughly yanked down my boxers before sitting down, pulling me over his knee and then completely removing my boxers leaving me naked.
“Firstly I’ll deal with the lost overtime. You need to learn to be less careless and this may help” he told me as he positioned me squarely across his knees.
SMACK! He brought his big, heavy hand down hard across both buttocks. I had always thought that hand spanking was a fairly light punishment for kids, but the way PC Russell was dishing it out was anything but light. As the smacks continued I squirmed about on his lap, my cock rubbing up against the rough serge of his uniform trousers causing my cock to become harder and harder. The punishment was hurting, but at the same time I felt a kind of pleasure at receiving this sort of attention.
Finally the smacks stopped and PC Russell hauled me to my feet. My cock was rock hard. He started at it for a moment whilst I rubbed my red hot arse cheeks furiously.
“Looks like you enjoyed that” he observed. “Let’s see if you feel the same after the next bit. We’ve still got interfering with my property to deal with and in my book that’s a lot more serious.”
The next thing I knew PC Russell was again securing me in his handcuffs, this time at the front and guiding me towards a large leather armchair.
“Bend over the back and stay there until I tell you otherwise” he instructed. I did as he said, leaving my backside high and exposed.
“Legs further apart” he ordered, encouraging my feet to the sides with his boot.
When he was satisfied with my position, PC Russell moved to the side of the chair, I could see him in my peripheral vision stripping off his shirt, unbuckling his uniform belt and pulling it free from the loops. As he removed it I could see it was wide and of thick leather. He folded it double and swiped it across his hand.
“So, you like the smell of leather, see how you like this” he said as he hung the belt near my face so I could smell its scent. “Only this time you’re going to feel some leather, some heavy police leather.”
I grabbed the chair harder waiting for the first stroke. It came with a loud crack high on my arse re-igniting the heat of the previous spanking. Further stokes followed getting lower. I ground my teeth trying not to cry out, but not completely successfully. As when I was being spanked, my cock was getting harder, this time rubbing on the leather of the chair. PC Russell certainly knew how to use a belt leading me to think that this wasn’t his first time.
I had probably received about 10 strokes when my cock was so hard I knew I was going to cum and, at that moment, I understood something I had read about the thin line between pain and pleasure. The belting was painful, but being administered by a man I seriously fancied which seemed to make the difference. Also I was close to cumming and on the next stroke, with a load groan, I ejaculated on the back of the leather chair.
PC Russell seemed to have noticed and grabbing me by the arm, pulled me to my feet. The evidence was on the back of the chair. He forced my head down onto the sticky mess.
“Lick it clean you filthy little faggot” he ordered.
I did as he said desperately wanting to rub my red hot stinging arse cheeks, but the handcuffs prevented me. When the back of the chair was clean he pushed me backover.
“No more, I’m sorry, honestly” I pleased.
PC Russell laughed “Don’t worry; I’ve got something else in mind now.”
I instantly knew what this was when he flung his belt down and I heard a zip being undone followed by his hands on my thighs pulling me onto his hard cock. He was good, very good, occasionally encouraging me with further slaps on my arse.
Eventually he collapsed onto me dripping in sweat. “Well done” he said. “You’ve passed the test.”
“What test” I asked.
PC Russell stood up, helped me to my feet and released the handcuffs. “The first time I saw you I suspected you were a faggot” he explained. “I’m on the lookout for my own faggot so you played into my hands. Come with me.”
I followed him into a spare bedroom containing just a bare bed and a double door cupboard. He opened the doors. On each door was a rail with objects handing. A flogger, leather paddles, belts, and restraints. Hanging inside the cupboard was leather clothing and a full leather harness.
“So, what’s your answer?” PC Russell asked.
What else could I say but ‘yes’? There were going to be some exciting times ahead.
D I S C L A I M E R
Story and photography © MMXIV by Macstrap
All rights reserved
Used here by very kind permission of the author
Comments are here
♥ Site recommended story ♥
Spanking fiction by Rod Cayenne – strictly over 18s only!
D I S C L A I M E R
“Welcome to the Old Grange Meadow Bell Foundry.”
“Thanks for inviting me, Uncle. I’ve wanted a tour for years. There’s a lot of history here, isn’t there?”
“Yes, young Rick there certainly is. It’s a very old-fashioned set-up even now. There’s a lot of tradition. We have to be a bit circumspect about what we say and about appearances, even in this day and age. That’s why I’m a little disappointed you’ve come in your goth clothing and piercings. Really, some of our customers would be outraged. The churches, I mean.”
“Sorry, Uncle. No disrespect intended, Uncle.”
“Well, I’ll take your word for it. All the same, it’s just as well no-one else is here. Now, where was I? Oh yes, the history of the place, before I start the tour proper. I started here as an apprentice way back when. The place had been running for several centuries by then. Surprisingly for this type of business, it’s changed hands a lot of times.”
“It’s not a real foundry though, is it Uncle?”
“No it’s not! Well spotted. We don’t cast bells here anymore. Before my time, they did. Nowadays we use subcontractors for that heavy work. We are more of a service operation now. Bell hanging, repairing, maintenance, frames, designing.”
“Is it a viable business, then?”
“Yes, I think so, it’s a niche business but demand is good and profits are healthy, I think, although I don’t do the accounts. Sis does them.”
“Of course. So, what was it like being an apprentice?”
“Oh, Rick! You youngsters don’t know how lucky you are! It was bloody hard work, with little pay and harsh discipline.”
“Yes, discipline. Not a word you’d understand, judging from your dress today, if I may say so,” he said shaking his head and staring at the skull logo on his goth nephew’s faded black T-shirt. “The foreman was a beast. He used to whip the bare behinds of us apprentices with a leather bell strap. He’d go at it like the clappers. They were harsh whippings where the sounds echoed around the bells like bitter-sweet music.”
“Gosh, Uncle! Sounds a bit gothic!”
“Yes, I got thrashed for all sorts. Not going to church, drinking, blasphemies, swearing, twiddling my thumbs. There was a cane, too. If anything, that hurt even more. I’ve still got his strap and cane, if you’d like to see them?”
“Well, I did ask for the full tour, Uncle.”
“Very well, they’re in my office. But first, let me show you the main workshop areas.”
As Rick toured the workshops, he was a little distracted. He kept thinking about the harsh whippings his Uncle Godfrey had mentioned. They sounded fearful, yet exciting. Somehow the dusty bells and wooden frames seemed less interesting than the thoughts that were in his head.
Eventually, the two men headed to the office. It looked quite forbidding, with a shiny black door with a cracked window. Below the glass was a grubby brass plaque: Godfrey Horne, Foreman. The office was quite a mess, with large dyeline blueprints, charts, photographs and tracings lying everywhere. In the corner stood a yelllowing cream HP computer, which Rick could tell was far from state of the art.
“Look up there!” said Uncle Godfrey, pointing at a small glass-fronted case mounted on the wall. It bore a description: IN CASE OF EMERGENCY BREAK GLASS. Inside the case was a standard school cane and the leather punishment strap! Carefully, Uncle unhooked the case from the wall. In fact it wasn’t necessary to break the glass at all. The rear panel was hinged and Uncle soon liberated the punishment implements. “Want a feel?” he asked his nephew.
Rick nodded and unbuckled his studded belt, unzipped his jeans and allowed them to fall to the ground.
“Rick, what on earth are you doing? I was asking whether you wanted to handle these, not be whacked with them!”
“Oh!” said Rick, feeling incredibly stupid, “I thought it was part of my tour! I was thinking maybe you’d give me one stroke with each?”
“You stupid lad! I could never hurt you! Although you do deserve it for your stupidity and inappropriate dress today.”
“You’re right. Well then Uncle, let’s go for it! One stroke with each, like I said.”
“What? What? Definitely not. Hmmmm. Oh alright! If you insist!”
Rick did insist. He’d long had an interest in corporal punishment, torture and all things dark and goth. This was something he had to try! However, he was surprised when his uncle grabbed him by the ear and frog-marched him out to the adjacent workshop. Most realistic! Soon, Rick was bent submissively over one of the smaller bell frames, his pert bottom displayed in his black briefs. But not for long! Uncle Godfrey soon pulled the underpants down, revealing the 18-year-old’s buttocks in all their glory. In contrast to Rick’s dark gothic image, the cheeks looked remarkably peachy, pale and hairless. Was Uncle Godfrey going to enjoy this?
Removing his leather apron, Godfrey headed back to the office to collect the strap and cane. As he handled them, he reflected on the years of misery they had brought him and his fellow apprentices. The cane had been worse than the strap, although both were hellish. There was no doubt that the old foreman, George Bassett, had been a sadist. Beneath his god-fearing veneer, the man was just plain cruel. Godfrey gazed at the cane and strap. He felt he really couldn’t inflict such pain on his nephew. The glass case to contain the implements had been a bit of a laugh shared with the current workforce, but Godfrey felt it was now a sick joke. Just then, however, he gazed through the office window at his nephew waiting expectantly for a taste of strap and cane. His bottom was a tempting target, and he did deserve a thrashing for wearing that tasteless T-shirt!
Godfrey approached his nephew, put the cane down and started slapping the strap gaily on his palm. It tingled, but that was nothing compared to what it would do to Rick’s buttocks!
CRACK! The strap lashed down noisily. Young Rick leapt to his feet, clutching his bottom, and declaiming, “God, that fucking hurt!”
Godfrey surveyed the scene with disdain. Then he laughed at his nephew, “You know, when I was an apprentice, I’d have got an extra stroke for leaping up, an extra one for blasphemy and maybe a couple for that disgusting swear word! I don’t think you could take another four after that cowardly display though, could you?”
“I could and I will!” answered Rick bending over the bell frame, “Do your worst!” he goaded.
Uncle Godfrey was always keen to rise to a challenge, and stepped up before lashing the leather down on Rick’s expectant arse. A fresh red stripe appeared on the naked flesh, accompanied by a loud gasp from young Rick. A third stroke landed lower, causing a girlie squeal from the lad and unrestrained laughter from his uncle. That strap had corrupted Godfrey with its contagious sadism.
“Ready?” Uncle Godfrey asked, but there was only a grunt for a reply. This seemed to annoy him, so he put some extra force behind the next stroke which bit mercilessly into the teenager’s buttocks. There would be bruising from this beating alright.
Uncle Godfrey sniffed at the leather strap. It had matured over the years, just like he had. It had a gorgeous dark tan hue, and now it was time to saturate his nephew with its pain one last time!
“ARRRRRRRGGH!” cried Rick as the stroke hit home. Tears formed in his teenage eyes.
“You can get up for a minute, Rick. But don’t forget, you’ve got the cane to come yet!”
“Oh, Uncle!” said Rick as he massaged his bottom, “I don’t think I can take any more. Especially if the cane is worse.”
“Nonsense!” said Uncle Godfrey, “That’s a tough hide you’ve got there lad. Remember, it’s only one stroke of the cane, no matter what.”
“Promise, Rick. Now bend over and stick your bottom out nicely for me. That’s it. Now, let me examine your marks.”
Godfrey looked at the five livid red stripes. They seemed to suit the buttocks, making them look even more attractive. Rick thrust his bottom out a little more for his uncle, as if he was teasing him. Godfrey was tempted to touch the marks, but decided against. Instead he laid the spiteful strap down on top of the nearest bell and picked up the cane. In a flashback, he imagined it was thirty-something years ago and that it was his bottom on the receiving end. He remembered the fire and the humiliation of a particularly severe beating at the hands of Mr. Bassett. He was in two minds about Rick’s forthcoming stroke. Should he show the lad how bad the cane could be, or should he show a little mercy? In the event, it was a medium-strength stroke. However, Rick wasn’t to know that his uncle had been holding back a little. The pain engulfed the teenager, who jumped up and did a merry dance, hopping around and rubbing his bottom.
Uncle Godfrey laughed heartily at the lad’s display of discomfort. He flexed the cane and swished it through the air. Rick flinched and stopped his frantic rubbing.
“Don’t worry, Rick. That’s it. No more cane. It’s good that you had a taste of it though. Now you know what I had to go through. So, tell me, was the cane worse than the strap?”
“Oh yes, Uncle! Much worse. I didn’t like the cane at all!”
Uncle looked at his nephew with puzzlement. It rather sounded as if he’d enjoyed the strap, but not the cane. Just then, a thought occurred to the old man.
“You made so much noise and disturbance that we didn’t hear the bells singing and echoing the thrashing sounds.”
“Oh come on, Uncle. Really! Surely that must just be your imagination?”
“No, really. I remember it distinctly. So let’s try it!”
“No, no, Uncle. My poor bottom.”
“Poor bottom, my arse! I’ve hardly touched you. We’re going to try it. Keep perfectly quiet after the cane lands. Listen intently.”
CRACK! The cane swished down on the teenager once again. Rick obeyed instructions and remained quiet despite the shocking pain of the cane. And indeed, there did seem to be some sort of echo or reverberation of the noise of the cane’s strike.
“Did you hear that?” Uncle Godfrey quizzed impatiently.
“Maybe, a little something,” said Rick, “Try it again, please.”
CRACK! Again the cane landed, but this time with a louder retort which echoed around the bells in the workshop.
“Hey, I really heard that! Wicked! Let’s try the strap, Uncle.”
And so it was that the strap landed and gave a perfect echo. Rick hadn’t reckoned on what followed next though! Three more rapid strokes of the strap crashed down on his teenage buttocks. The cumulative echo was much more noticeable, the bells almost singing in chorus.
“Well done! You took those last few really well, Rick. I think it’s time to call a halt though. We don’t want to get carried away with our little game, do we?”
Rick smiled enigmatically at his uncle. Rubbing furiously, a broad smile crossed the teenager’s face. He had a question too, “Any chance of an apprenticeship, Uncle?”
Story © MMXIII by Rod Cayenne
All rights reserved.
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