Nosy Neighbour (M/M) NEW!

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Red hot new spanking fiction by very special guest author Sukemnsee.  This story is currently exclusive to The Canery!  All the characters are 18 or older. WARNING: ADULTS ONLY!

Nosy Neighbour by Sukemnsee

Life took an unexpected turn recently.  Just when I was seriously considering options on my imminent reaching of State Pension Age, my employer became insolvent and I felt I was unemployable at my advancing age. So much for structured planning to reduce my working hours and to develop new volunteering opportunities! 

My days were now long and devoid of much interest. Fortunately, I had never been a prolific television watcher.  Just as well, as otherwise my afternoons would have been spent watching adverts for a zillion charities, funeral plans and incontinence aids.  So I restricted the TV to late evening news and not much more.

I am however a people watcher. Living in a small cul-de-sac I can easily see a lot of my neighbours’ activities.  I could win a quiz based on the habits of fellow residents!   One such neighbour was a special focus of my attention.  I was quite certain that he was single, aged between 40 and 50, and he moved in two months ago.  We had only got to stage of nodding when passing in the street and one time I think I told him that if he needed any local information to be sure to look me up.  That got a polite acknowledgment.  I have to say he always looked in good condition, and took care in his appearance, for sure.  I’m almost certain he works for some sort of night operation and sleeps in the mornings, as I only ever seem to notice him in afternoons going in and out from his place.

One thing that was noticeable was that often he would return with various younger men, but their visits rarely last more than an hour.  They always departed his place alone and some of them looked uncomfortable.  Now, if my house was only by the entrance to the cul-de-sac I could intercept them.  However, my house’s somewhat central location lent to observation of the comings and goings only.

I very quickly noticed that whenever these young men visited, our man, forgotten his name again (I think he only ever mentioned it once), always shuts the vertical blinds on the front room’s window.  That piqued my interest for sure. 

One day recently, taking my shopping trolley with me for cover, I managed to get close to his bay window and what a revelation!  I only went and heard that he was punishing these young men.  True! Listening to words said, noises made and the distantly remembered sound of a cane from schooldays, I was convinced he was regularly beating young men.  I took to eavesdropping often as I could when I returned home.

Only last week, I was returning from shops and passed him leaving his house and greeted him in friendly manner. He looked me up and down and confirmed I lived further along the street. Suddenly he stated, almost accusingly, that I had been in his front garden on a recent afternoon. I quickly thought and said I was probably removing some discarded litter. I tended to do that for neighbours and also took my picker, hoop and sack and often tidied the nearby copse and green space.  He thanked me for this and said I should carry on doing so whether he was in or out.

Over the intervening days, there has been litter everyday near his bay window. Having stated my position I felt compelled to clear it daily. In this process I stole a glance at his immaculate furnishings or lingered unduly if he had a guest, confirming my suspicions all the more.

Monday afternoon, it came to a head. I thought he had returned alone but he closed his blinds again.  I stole out with a rubber glove and carrier bag and was soon in position trying to hear activity. I could not hear any sound and  I was caught unaware when he opened his front door and stood watching me from his step. He was seemingly cordial and invited me in for coffee, placing me in the front lounge. I think it was halfway through the second ginger snap that he asked why I timed most of my visits when his younger men visited. I didn’t know how to answer and was trying to make some excuses in my mind. He then stated I knew what was going on and I surely flushed.  I just managed to say that all I had spotted was that he had a habit of closing the blinds when he had visitors. He said I was being economical with words and I surely knew a lot more.

Lingering by the window meant I was bound to have heard noises, he said.  Noises that caused me to visit often.  Noises that I would really want to observe.  I stayed silent, now embarrassed at being caught out.  He told me the front door was easily opened if I wanted to leave but he planned to show me a couple of videos.  Directing me to a large wall mounted screen he replayed a couple of recent scenarios.  It was indeed sessions of him caning younger men.

The intensity varied as did his attire from schoolmasterly to leathery dominant to average Joe but each boy got a good thrashing, always bare by the end with a couple getting extra special attention at the end. I couldn’t leave of course, for one thing the second I arose he may have spotted my own excitement, not such a usual occurrence of late, but he knew and I knew.  It was sexy viewing.

Eventually he asked me if that confirmed what I had taken pains to eavesdrop to hear.  I had no choice but to agree.  He then told me I was no better than many of his friends and needed to atone for my nosiness.  I protested that I hadn’t been caned in almost 50 years since my schooldays.  He countered that I obviously had some interest otherwise I would never have lingered more than once.  I had been getting off on my illicit listening.  I saw him move a hard backed chair from by the wall and place it centrally in the room near the bay window.  I became nervous but still slightly excited.

My next tactic was to plead that as an older man, I was now losing definition on my behind and that I couldn’t provide an attractive target.  He countered that only he could describe what was attractive to him or not, the only concession he made was that he rarely caned older men so that this was an intriguing day for him.  I then asked if he would at least give me some kind of warm up.  His response was that I had surely just bent over on demand last time the Headmaster had caned me.  And so it was that I had to present myself over the back of that chair, resting my hands on the seat with my ample stomach pressed against the inside of the chair back.  I didn’t consider escaping, though I could see that was a possibility.  He stated that six was the traditional tariff so I had better be ready.  I nervously waited, only later realising that this session was probably being videoed.  Would I ever have the gall to request a viewing?  He slashed the first cane stroke.  Oh. that was painful, so painful!  And that was just stroke one.  As a schoolboy we expected the short sharp shock but we had bravado and never admitted to our peers that we struggled to withstand a caning.  It was only the wimps who shed tears.

Now I felt a whole line of fire, stretching across my whole bottom or so it seemed. Strokes two and three followed rapidly and the intensity grew. I had no idea whether they were higher or lower, it was all just so sore.  A pause, I heard him moving about, was he going to change sides?  I really couldn’t see.  Then at machine gun pace he landed that cane three more times, seemingly each stroke straight after I was starting to feel the pain of impact.

I stood up and reached around to feel my bottom. I was told off for doing that before I had been given permission.  I had incurred three extra strokes!  This time, I had to lower my trousers and underpants.  It was strange being back in position, bared over the chair. I felt so much more vulnerable. It was the wait, I think.  Other times in life I had been bent over bare was all about sexual activity, and that was often fast and furious.  It was a long wait.  The first extra stroke was way more powerful than the initial session, as were strokes two and three.  I began to wonder if I could go through with this?  I had created the situation by my behaviour and as one who always stressed taking responsibility for my actions it would be hypocritical if I tried to evade the punishment. Those lofty thoughts somehow took me through the three stroke barrage.  I didn’t dare stand this time.

In fact, I got another two strokes, each one so painful I would love to have screamed but I just grunted on impact. I was now told to turn the chair around and stand to the side of it, and face the closed window blinds.  Eventually I heard him approach and he sat down on the chair.  He then commanded me to go over his lap.  As I placed myself I realised he was partially naked.  He was  also excited!  He started spanking me firmly. He told me he preferred to spank a bottom after giving a caning.  He liked to fully chasten his boys and ensure their bottoms were well-reddened, over and above the marks the cane had left.

Reflecting later, he probably didn’t spank me as firmly as he could have done.  By the time he was finishing off, I was squirming a lot.  My bottom was also rising to meet the blows, and I was moaning with pleasure and pain.  One thing was for sure – he definitely enjoyed punishing his nosy neighbour!

At long last I was allowed to stand.  He had me bend over again with my hands resting on the chair seat.  Probably this was for some final footage for the video.  Before I left, he said he had considered taking me anally, but instead he made me turn around, stoop to my knees and pleasure him. Who was I to disobey?

Afterwards, he gave me permission to get dressed.  Back in respectable neighbour mode,  he offered me a glass of cold beer.  Somehow I knew this was just the start of an interesting friendship.  He said that I was still at liberty to keep his garden free of unwanted litter but in future if I felt the urge, I could knock on the door when he had suitable visitors.  He said that it would be useful to have an assistant sometimes.  An assistant who would learn to respect boundaries, or face correction!

Later at home I derived a lot of pleasure from feeling my bottom and the ridges where his cane had landed.  Life became a lot more interesting, with fewer miserable afternoons at home.  Being a nosy neighbour had certainly paid off!

_________

D I S C L A I M E R

All characters appearing in this story are over 18 and are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

____________

Story © MMXXIV by Sukemnsee and used here by very kind permission of the author.  All rights reserved.

All of Sukemnsee’s excellent stories for The Canery can be found here.

Comments welcome. 

Comments are here.

The Bare-Arsed Hitch-Hiker (M/M)

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Another chance to read this hot spanking fiction by very special guest author JOELSTRAP.   All the characters are 18 or older. WARNING: ADULTS ONLY!

 

The Bare-Arsed Hitch-Hiker by Joelstrap

Joe raised his eyebrows as he took in the young lad standing by the roadside, thumb extended in the traditional sign of a guy hoping for a lift. The youth was worth looking at. He was around six feet tall, a large sun-hat failing to contain an unruly mop of thick, curly black hair. He wore no shirt and his sun-tanned torso was lean and muscular, as were the long, bare legs which ended in black trainers. His face was young, good-looking and sexually appealing. His shorts were pale-cream and at the front both revealed and concealed a generous endowment. What really caused Joe to raise his eyebrows though was the back of the boy’s shorts; or rather the fact that there wasn’t one. From just below the waist the whole area of material which should have covered the buttocks had been roughly cut away, and all that remained was a narrow strip above the hem-line on each leg. The kid was going commando and Joe admired a perfectly-formed bottom, tanned as golden-brown as the lad’s back. Joe brought the car to a halt a few metres past the youth and watched in his wing-mirror as he trotted up to the passenger-side window.

“Hi!”

The smile was broad and confident, the teeth white and even, the voice low and pleasant on the ear.

“You don’t need your thumb to attract attention when you’ve got an arse like that on display,” remarked Joe.

The boy grinned even more broadly.

“Thanks. I wasn’t having much luck, so I went behind some bushes, ripped the rear outta my shorts and tried again. The girls like a nice arse,” observed the boy thoughtfully.

“So do the boys,” said Joe.

“I’m quite partial to a guy with a good body,” the boy observed, his bright gaze sliding appreciatively over Joe’s athletic frame.

“So am I,” replied Joe. “You got a pack?”

The boy patted the front of his shorts.

“Oh yeh. All in working order too.”

“I meant,” said Joe with a smile, “a rucksack.”

The youth coloured slightly under his tan.

“Oh, right, yeh; behind the bushes. I’ll get it.”

He trotted off and returned with a large pack which he deposited in the rear-seat on Joe’s instruction; and then slid his body into the front passenger-seat.

“You heading into town?” he enquired.

“Yup; and out the other side,” said Joe.

“Town would do me fine,” the boy said. “I’m hoping to get into the Youth Hostel for the night. I’m Brad.”

“And I’m Joe. What are you planning to do in town? You’ll be in trouble if you walk around like that; and they might not let you in the Youth Hostel either.”

“Guess I’ll have to put on my jeans; but it’s a bit hot for them. I’ll see if I can get another pair of shorts in a charity-shop tomorrow.”

“Pity to hide a fantastic behind like that.”

Brad looked at Joe.

“You like my arse, huh?”

“What’s not to like?”

“Thanks.”

“Except for one thing,” said Joe.

Brad looked interrogatively at him.

“It needs to be beaten.”

“Huh? Beaten? What the hell for?”

“Standing around on a public road with it on show, and not a stitch of material to cover its delicious curves and breathtaking contours,” said Joe.

“Oh; yeh, well, it’s like I told you. I needed to attract attention to get a lift. And you gotta admit, it worked,” observed Brad.

“Just because it worked, doesn’t mean it’s acceptable behaviour,” Joe told him sternly.

The boy looked suddenly contrite.

“I guess not,” he conceded. “But, bloody hell, guys don’t get their hides tanned for misbehaving these days.”

“No reason why they shouldn’t if they agree that’s what they deserve.”

“You think I deserve a beating?” asked Brad, a note of incredulity in his voice.

“Do you?”

Brad was silent a few moments as he considered.

“Okay, I guess I do. So, you offering to thrash me?”

“Yes.”

“What? But you can’t!”

“Why not?”

“Well it’s….you just can’t!”

“Listen. I think you deserve a beating; you think you deserve a beating. What’s the problem?”

“But I’m nineteen, and I’ve never been beaten in my life!”

“What’s that got to do with it, Brad?”

“Hmm. Nothing, I guess. But I don’t even know you.”

“You know that I believe that badly-behaved young guys need to have their behinds tanned,” said Joe. “What else do you need to know about me?”

“How are you going to beat me?”

“Hard.”

“Yeh? Okay, I guess. But what I meant was, what you gonna use on me?”

“What do you think?”

Brad eyed Joe and took in the broad leather belt at his waist.

“That seems like a useful-looking belt,” he said. “Or I suppose you could spank me with one of your trainers.”

“Yup. I could; but that’s not what I’m intending to do.”

“A table-tennis bat? A wooden-spoon? A hairbrush?” hazarded Brad.

Joe shook his head.

“A cricket-bat?”

“A bit brutal, I’d have thought,” said Joe.

“I dunno. Tell me.”

“Do you know what boys used to get used on them in the good old days of corporal punishment at school, Brad?”

“Eh? Yeh, I’ve read about the cane. Old Wackford Squeers in Nicholas Nickleby! He used to cane the hell out of them! Hey! You’re not telling me you’ve got a cane, are you?”

“Too right I am!”

“Shit!”

“Pardon?”

“Oh; sorry. But, gee, a cane? What are you doing with a cane?”

“You, my lad, are going to find out!”

“I don’t think I want to be caned.”

“You’ll be caned if I say you’re going to be caned. Understand, Brad?”

To his own surprise, Brad heard himself saying, yes, very softly. His penis was so large that it was trying to force its way painfully out of the top of his shorts. He slid a hand into his waistband to adjust things. Joe slapped his hand away.

“Hands on your knees!” he snapped harshly; and Brad obeyed instinctively.

“I was only….” he began.

“Hold your tongue!”

Brad looked at him and was about to speak when he caught the look on Joe’s face. He remained silent. His protesting penis was causing him considerable discomfort and he squirmed in his seat, trying to ease the pressure.

“Sit still!”

“How the hell can I sit still when my cock’s trying to go through the bloody roof and you won’t let me touch it?!” demanded Brad angrily.

Joe drew into the side of the road and stopped the car.

“Do you want to get out?” he asked.

“What? No!” Brad replied. “I just….”

“You are needing to have your attitude adjusted, young man. You will not argue with me, and you will not lose your temper with me. Is that clear?”

“Yeh; I’m sorry,” Brad responded submissively.

He looked sideways at Joe from beneath his eyebrows and his throbbing penis strained for another few millimetres of length. Joe would be no more than twenty-three or twenty-four, Brad estimated. He admired the muscular arms, the broad, deep chest, the slim waist and the massive bulge in the groin; and he didn’t miss the fact that Joe was as aroused as he was.

“So, you gonna beat me at your place?”

“Yup. Nice, quiet, country cottage. No nosey neighbours. It’s actually a holiday-house belonging to my parents, but I live in it since I’m working in town here.”

“And then you’ll bring me back into town, to the Youth Hostel, yeh?”

“If you want.”

“Why wouldn’t I want?”

“You might want to stay the night at the cottage. I’ve got a spare room.”

“You’re gonna thrash my arse with a bloody cane and then you think I’ll want to stay over?” demanded Brad.

“That’s exactly what I think,” replied Joe, laying a hand on Brad’s bare leg and sliding it gently but firmly up inside his shorts until his finger-tips touched Brad’s balls.

Brad felt a thrill streak through his body and he held his breath. Joe’s hand insinuated its way even further up until strong fingers encircled Brad’s balls and a long forefinger stroked the root of his penis. Brad gasped audibly.

“You’ll think about staying over, Brad?”

“Yeh,” panted Brad.

“I thought you would.”

******************

Brad was desperate to touch his genitals, but made a big effort and obediently kept his hands on his knees. Joe’s fingers stroked the length of his pulsating shaft and he quivered on the brink of orgasm, beads of pre-cum oozing from the exposed head of his cock where it protruded well above the waist-band of his shorts.

“Boy, you need to be beaten,” remarked Joe as he withdrew his hand and returned it to the steering-wheel.

They had passed through the town and were now negotiating a twisting country road which led up into the hills. Joe glanced at the randy youth at his side and smiled to himself. Caning this boy was going to be sheer delight. Joe imagined Brad bent over, his bottom bare, the smooth arc of his buttocks presenting a perfect target for the stinging rod. He visualised him wincing and flinching and then squirming and writhing as the sting burned deeper and deeper into his fully-rounded rump. He pushed a hand into his own jeans and adjusted his over-excited organ. Brad eyed him.

“What you thinking about?” Brad asked.

“The exquisite pleasure of caning you.”

“Pleasure? You’ll really enjoy thrashing me?”

“Bloody right I will.”

“I don’t think I’ll enjoy it,” said Brad.

Joe shrugged.

“As if I care.”

For some reason this callous remark sent a spasm of excitement through Brad’s already over-stretched cock. He was about to reply when Joe slowed the car and turned into a rough track.

“Almost there,” he said.

Brad thought about the cane. If they were nearly there, then he was close to getting his bottom caned. His penis pulsed strongly with excitement while in his head anxiety and anticipation chased each other relentlessly. The car came round a corner and behind a rise in the ground, Brad saw the cottage. It stood in a patch of land, a lawn and flower-beds at the front and shrubs at the sides.

“What do you think?” asked Joe.

“It doesn’t look like the kind of place where a guy gets his first caning,” said Brad unexpectedly.

“Wait until you see the punishment horse and the handcuffs and the whips,” replied Joe.

Brad sat up straight, a look of alarm on his face.

“Wh….whips?”

“I’m joking,” said Joe.

“Yeh?”

“You worry too much.”

“Hey! Amn’t I allowed to be worried when I gotta caning coming my way anytime soon?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you feel it.”

“That’s what I’m worried about!”

The car stopped and Joe jumped out, signalling Brad to do the same. Brad retrieved his pack and followed Joe into the cottage. Joe eyed the rucksack.

“I see you’ve already decided to stay,” he observed with a grin.

Brad flushed.

“Well, you’re hell of a dominant; and you look pretty hot too,” said Brad daringly.

Joe’s eyes widened.

“Insolent boys get caned,” he said.

Brad shrugged.

“So what? You’re gonna cane me anyway.”

“True; but I can add extra strokes for insolence.”

“I wasn’t being insolent,” Brad protested. “That was a compliment. I really meant it.”

“You got a honeyed tongue, I’ll grant you that,” said Joe. “But we’ll see if you still want to say complimentary things about me after I’ve put a few cane-welts on your arse.”

Brad swallowed and looked uneasy.

“Right! Get those shorts off; such as they are; t-shirt too, and your trainers and socks. I want you buck-naked, boy!”

Brad leapt to comply and within a few seconds was standing nude before an admiring Joe in the hallway of the cottage. He carefully kept his hands behind his back, refusing to try to cover his towering erection or swollen balls. Joe nodded approvingly.

“Wow!” he said softly. “You’re one big boy!”

He stepped forward and placed a hand flat on Brad’s bare chest and looked into his eyes. Brad returned his gaze. Joe passed the palm of his other hand lightly over the glistening tip of the youth’s penis and felt his body jerk in response. He smiled and ran a finger up Brad’s thigh and across his stomach before scything it back down through the thick hair in his groin and grasping his balls firmly. Brad rose a little on to his toes.

“Ready for the cane?” he enquired as if he was offering Brad a beer.

“I dunno,” replied Brad candidly, “but I’ll take it.”

“Why?”

“Because for some reason I think I want it; and maybe need it too,” he added.

“Through here.”

He pushed a hand into Brad’s hair and pulled him firmly in his wake into the living-room. He released him and strode to a cupboard from which he took a slim cane and slashed it through the air. Brad winced at the sound, his resentment at being hauled by his hair driven out by the realisation of the imminence of his caning. Joe arched the limber cane in front of Brad’s large, wide eyes.

“Think you’ll feel this, Brad?”

“Oh, hell, yeh!”

“Why are you getting a beating?”

“For baring my arse in public; and for showing a bit of attitude,” replied Brad, suddenly meek and docile.

“Bend over with your hands on that chair, legs well apart.”

Brad obeyed. He could feel his heart thudding in his chest and was aware that his penis was still fully erect. Whatever his brain might think, his body wanted to be caned. Joe touched the rod on his bottom, slid it over the skin, let him feel the cane; let his buttocks know what was coming to them. He was as aroused as Brad was and gazed at the beautifully-formed and perfectly-presented behind. He rapped the cane several times on Brad’s rump and then delivered a strong, accurate stroke which brought Brad’s head up with a snap and forced a gasp from his throat. Across the centre of the youth’s behind, a red line emerged slowly from the sun-tanned skin. Joe flexed the cane a couple of times and touched it lightly on Brad’s bottom a little below the first welt, savouring the tension in the boy’s body as he waited, and surreptitiously adjusting his own strong arousal. He swung the cane and with a snap it whipped a second line of fire across Brad’s buttocks, eliciting a sharp intake of breath and a powerful tensing of the glutes. Joe smiled, raised the cane and hit lower and harder. Brad’s body jerked and a barely-stifled yelp escaped him. For a moment Brad’s right hand left the chair and looked as if it might attempt to come back and rub his bottom; but he gained control of it and forced it determinedly back to its place.

Joe was impressed. He hit Brad again, lower still and just as hard. This time the yelp of pain wasn’t stifled and Brad bucked as his rump sizzled with searing fire.

Joe went round to the youth’s head and took a handful of the thick hair, twisting it so that Brad was forced to look up at him. He showed the lad the cane and watched the anxiety in the handsome young face.

“Next one’s going down where you’re really sensitive,” Joe informed Brad. “Right where your arse merges into the tops of your legs. It’s really gonna hurt. You man enough to take that, Brad?”

Stung by the implied insult, as Joe intended, Brad gave him a scornful look.

“You cane me; I’ll take it,” snarled Brad.

Joe smiled at him, released his hair and went back behind him. He saw Brad’s frame tense as he anticipated the fifth lash of the cane. Joe made him wait for almost half a minute, sliding the cane tantalisingly across the curved mounds of his rear, before he delivered a hard stroke full along Brad’s crease. The boy squealed and writhed and kicked out violently with his right foot before settling himself, breathing hard and noisily. Joe gave him just a few seconds before he wielded the cane yet again crossing two of the earlier welts. As fiery pain blazed a savage furrow across his behind, Brad grunted and clenched his buttocks desperately as he fought his agony.

Joe was about to lay down the cane when he noticed that Brad was pushing his bottom out, as if expecting, possibly inviting, another stroke. He passed his hand swiftly through between Brad’s legs and felt the youth’s semi-erect penis hardening further under his touch. Joe resumed his position to Brad’s side, raised the cane, and administered another hard stroke between two earlier welts. Brad shuddered and squirmed; and then steadied and waited. Joe hit him at an angle, slashing a ferocious band of fire across highly-sensitive and ridged flesh. A squeal was accompanied by a desperate scrubbing at his rump by Brad’s right hand.

“Felt that, did you?” Joe enquired.

“Yes, sir,” panted Brad.

“Good. No more obscene shorts, boy?”

“No more, sir.”

“And a respectful attitude to me?”

“Very respectful, sir.”

“Stand up.”

Brad rose stiffly and stood feeling his way with both hands over his caned rump.

“Fuck, but that was sore,” murmured Brad. “My arse feels like it’s been blasted with a blow-torch. That’s some cane you got there.”

“You think I know how to use it?” asked Joe with a grin.

Brad turned round to face Joe, his hands still caressing his beaten rump, his erection towering unimpeded towards his navel.

“You know how to use it,” Brad confirmed in tones of deepest admiration. “That was sheer hell.”

He continued to rub at his bottom, staring fixedly at his bare feet, before suddenly raising his head and giving Joe a flash of golden smile. “And I kinda liked it,” he said.

“Okay. Get your kit back on; proper jeans over your arse; and we’ll have some food.”

Joe went through to the kitchen and Brad fetched jeans and pants from his pack, putting them on carefully over his thrashed rear, before pulling his shirt back over his head. He picked up the cane and examined it, running a wondering finger along its smooth curve. “Fuck! You’re a beauty,” he muttered to himself, before laying the rod down and following Joe into the kitchen.

“So; do you want me to show you the spare-room?” asked Joe.

Brad shook his head.

“You’re not staying the night after all?”

“Oh, yeh, I’m staying the night; but I won’t be needing the spare-room. Any guy who can beat me like that can do what he wants with me.”

Joe turned towards him and Brad suddenly grabbed Joe’s junk and smiled into his face, having gained his full attention.

“And this is the rod you want to use on me next, isn’t it?” he asked softly, his strong thumb sliding up the hard shaft of Joe’s penis, stimulating it powerfully even through his pants and jeans.

Joe reached round and clasped Brad’s buttocks with both hands, squeezing hard so that the boy squealed.

“Quite right,” Joe confirmed. “But you obviously haven’t learned not to get attention by inappropriate means. Baring your bottom on a public road isn’t on; and nor is grabbing a guy by his balls. Hands on the table and bend over.”

“But….”

“Now, Brad!”

Brad obeyed. Joe delivered a series of hard and swift smacks with the flat of his hand and Brad flinched and gasped as his tender flesh was re-stimulated by the spanking. On Joe’s command he stood up and then rubbed at the seat of his jeans.

“You’re a fucking sexy bugger when you behave like that,” he informed Joe with awe in his voice. “Now you got my full attention; and I’m not complaining about the way you did it. I never thought that a guy would get himself into my pants by beating the shit outta me with a cane.”

“And you’d better give the performance of your life tonight; because if I’m not satisfied, you know what you’ll get, Brad?”

Brad grinned happily.

“A caning,” he said softly.

“And it’ll be just like your cock,” Joe informed him.

“Huh?”

“Long and hard,” said Joe.

______________

 D I S C L A I M E R

All characters and businesses appearing in the text or pictures of this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

_______________________

Story ©MMXIX by Joelstrap, used here by very kind permission.

Authors love receiving feedback.  Please leave a comment if you enjoyed the story.  Comments are here.

________________

Joelstrap’s other stories for The Canery are available here.

________________

More great stories by Joelstrap may be found at this external link

A Moving Experience (M/M)

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Another chance to read this fine old story by much-missed friend Skinpang, R.I.P. All the characters are 18 or older. WARNING: ADULTS ONLY!

A Moving Experience by Skinpang

Barry and Robin had been close friends for most of their lives. They had been through junior and secondary school together and now the two eighteen year olds worked together. They were employed by a removal firm; Barry, who had passed his HGV driving test, drove a removal van and Robin acted as his mate. One morning they reported to the boss as usual to find out what jobs they had got for that day.

“What have we got today, Mr Speed? asked Barry.

“Ah! Yes!” replied Mr Speed, “This should keep you busy for a day or two! You have to move the furniture out of the old Drayshaw Secondary School. The desks are to be taken to their new premises in Cromwell Road. I don’t know how many trips it will take; – I understand there are just over a thousand of them! The rest of the furniture, such as cupboards and filing cabinets etcetera, they don’t need. They’ve got all new stuff. You are to take all that down to the auction room to be sold off. I should see to that first if I was you, there’s no hurry for the desks as the school is on holiday anyway. They tell me that anything left in drawers or cupboards is all useless and can be thrown out. Take anything like that down to the tip and dump it.”

“I’m sorry in a way to see the old place close!” said Barry.

“You were there?” asked Mr Speed.

“We both were!” answered Barry, “Robin and I sat side by side throughout our school years.”

“Well, the school’s not closing. Just moving to a modern building. Here’s the key, by the way.”

“Thanks!” said Barry, taking hold of the key, “Come on Robin, let’s get cracking!”

They drove to their old school and entered the building.

“Don’t it seem ghostly!” remarked Robin, “I mean all quiet and empty like this. It used to be so full of life when we were here!”

“Does seem strange, don’t it?” replied Barry, “Let’s go round every room first and see what there is to chuck out.”

They found lots of files and papers dating years back, rulers, chalk and other brick-a-brac. Eventually they came to the headmaster’s office. Again they found bits and pieces to throw out; half used pencils, erasers and more old files. Robin opened a tall cupboard which stood against a wall.

“Well-well-well! Look what I’ve found!” he exclaimed as he pulled an old gymshoe and a cane from the cupboard, “However long have these been here!”

“Good God!” ejaculated Barry, “Since before we were born! They haven’t used canes for about thirty years!”

Robin flipped it through the air and it produced a loud “swish!”

“Cor! I bet that used to hurt! imagine getting that across your arse!” said Robin.

He looked at the shoe. “I always thought they used slippers.” he remarked.

“That’s what they called them, but they were nearly always gymshoes,” explained Barry, “I’ve heard my grandfather talk about it.”

Barry picked up the slipper. “I should think this carried quite a wallop too!” suggested Barry.

He handed the slipper to Robin and bent over the table!

“Come on! Give me a wallop across my arse with it! I want to know what it was like!”

Robin laughed and obliged! He brought the slipper down hard on Barry’s backside with a resounding “CRACK!”

Barry stood up. “It stings a bit!” was his verdict, “But it’s not that bad!”

“That was only one!” said Robin, “Don’t forget they used to get six! Six of the best they called it! And you’re an adult; the little’uns used to get that! Bend over again and try another five!”

“I will if you will too!” challenged Barry.

“Yes! Okay! I want to find out what it was like too!” responded Robin.

Barry bent flat across the table, his trousers stretching tight around his well formed buttocks. Robin got got the feeling that he was going to enjoy doing this!

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

Barry got up and could not resist giving his bottom a quick rub!

“That hurt!” was his first comment, “But it’s rather a nice feeling! Let’s have the slipper. Now it’s your turn!”

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

Robin squirmed a little after the forth stroke. It was obviously beginning to bite!

WHACK! WHACK!

Robin got up smiling and rubbing his stinging buns!

“It hurts, don’t it!” stating the obvious! “I’ll bet that stopped them messing about better than detention did!”

Barry was looking down at Robin’s crutch! “You’ve got one too!” he remarked.

“One what?” asked Robin.

“A hard on!”

“Er! Yes” admitted Robin, “It seems to turn you on, doesn’t it!?”

Now Robin was carefully examining the cane. “I bet you couldn’t keep over the table for six with this!”

“You’re on!” said Barry taking up the challenge, “I bet you a fiver I can!”

“Right!” Robin said, “Let’s see the colour of your money!”

They both put a fiver on the table. Barry again took up the classic position over the table.

Swish CRACK!

“Yeeeeoooowl” yelled out Barry, completely unprepared for such an intense sting!

“Had enough already!” was Robin’s half question half statement.

“No way!” exclaimed Barry, “It just took me by surprise, that’s all! Carry on!”

Swish CRACK! Swish CRACK! Swish CRACK!

Barry did not call out any more, but he was squirming like billy-ho!

Swish CRACK! Swish CRACK!

Barry leapt up, his hands too busy grabbing his rear end to pick up the money!

“Cor! F..king hell!” he gasped out, “That thing’s a killer!”

After a minute or two he released his hands and picked up the cane.

“I’ll give you the chance to get your money back!” he told Robin.

“Okay! If you can take it, so can I!” replied Robin.

Robin bent over the table. He had seen how Barry had been caught out by the first stroke so he braced himself for it!

Swish CRACK!

Robin managed to remain quiet, but he could now see (or rather feel!) what Barry had meant! He could not remember ever before experiencing such searing pain!

Swish CRACK! Swish CRACK! Swish CRACK!

When the fifth stroke came he could not prevent himself from calling out!

Swish CRACK!

“Aoooowl!”

Just as Barry had done, he was squirming, his bottom doing a merry dance from side to side!

Swish CRACK!

“Aoooowl!….Aoooowl….aooooowl!”

And just as Barry had he jumped up and grabbed the affected parts! Barry pushed one of the fivers across the table towards Robin and put the other one in his pocket.

“We’ll call that a draw!” said Barry with a grin.

“Hell’s bells!” ejaculated Robin, “And to think they used to do that to lads half our age!”

“Yes! But my grandfather told me that most of them had enough sense not to get in trouble in those days. I can see why now!”

“I don’t feel like loading this stuff up for a while till I get over it a bit!” said Robin, “Let’s have our morning break now, shall we?”

They fetched their vacuum flasks and sandwiches and brought them back into the headmaster’s office. There were chairs in there but they concluded that it would be more comfortable standing up! Robin looked at the cane and slipper on the table.

“It would be a pity to throw them away!” he mused, “I mean, there’s some history there, isn’t there? I wonder how many arses they’ve been across!”

“Several hundreds I bet!” speculated Barry, “I’ll tell you what! I could take them home with me and keep them in my car! My folks go out every Friday night. Perhaps you would fancy coming round to my place some Friday nights and then we could go up to my bedroom and…..You get my meaning?”

Robin grinned! “I’m game!” he replied.

__________________

Story ©MMIV by Skinpang.

______________

D I S C L A I M E R

All characters and businesses appearing in this story and pictures are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

__________________

Please leave a comment.  Comments are here.

 Further great stories by Skinpang may be found at this external link.

---

The Wrong Party (M/M) NEW!

♥ Site recommended story ♥

A brand spanking new story by hot guest author JOELSTRAP.  This story is exclusive to The Canery!  All the characters are 18 or over. WARNING: ADULTS ONLY!

The Wrong Party by Joelstrap

“Says here that this guy’s been fined for assaulting his neighbour’s son,” observed Austin, glancing up at me from his lap-top.

“Yeh?” I enquired, wondering why I’d be interested in that.

“Neighbour’s son was a student, aged eighteen. Apparently he came home drunk and spewed all over the guy’s front-garden. So he yanked off his belt and leathered the living fuck outta the student.”

“Bet that sobered him up,” I suggested with a grin.

“Yeh; but he didn’t like it and reported the guy and now he’s been fined for assault,” said Austin.

“So?” I enquired. “Do you know the guy who got tanned?”

Austin shook his head and then said meditatively, “I wonder what it feels like to get a belt used on you.”

“Huh? Fucking sore I should think,” I replied. “Remind me not to throw up on anybody’s garden next time I’ve had a bit too much.”

Austin was looking pensive. I liked Austin a lot and was sure that we had the makings of a very enjoyable relationship, but there seemed to be something in the way. I honestly didn’t think it was me. I did all I could to get things on a more sexual level with Austin, but he always held back. I was admiring his thick mop of hair and lean figure when he suddenly came out of his reverie and said, “We’re invited to a party tomorrow night; at Colin’s place.”

“Yeh? When did you hear that?”

“He emailed me earlier. Sorry; I meant to tell you. You wanna go, Shane?”

“Sure. Why would I miss out on a party? You taking your car?”

Austin nodded. I began to wonder if maybe a chance for changing the nature of our relationship was opening up.

*****************************************

“You’re lost,” I accused Austin.

“No, I’m not!”

“So, where are we then?”

“On the road between Strapford and Arseburn,” he replied.

“Ha, ha! Very funny! You said you knew where Colin’s place was, but you don’t. We’re probably on the wrong road altogether,” I said.

“I think he said something about oak-trees,” Austin snapped.

“Well, I haven’t seen any bloody oak trees,” I snarled. “What’s an oak tree look like anyway?”

“It’s….sort of….very big…..and it’s got conkers under it in autumn,” he replied vaguely.

“Oh, great! I suppose you’ve noticed that it’s the middle of winter?” I retorted sarcastically. “And anyway, how would we see chestnuts on the ground in the dark?”

We drove on in silence for a bit and then I saw the balloons.

“There!” I yelped. “There, on the left; balloons! That means a party. Yeh; look! There’s a little road off to the left just there.”

Austin slowed down.

“I guess that must be it,” agreed Austin. “Balloons at the road-end.”

He turned the car into the narrow entrance and drove slowly up a twisting track with a lot of potholes.

“Oak trees,” I said.

“Where?”

“No! There weren’t any,” I elucidated.

“What the hell are you blethering about, Shane?”

“There weren’t any oak trees at the road-end.”

“How do you know? It was dark and you wouldn’t know an oak tree from a windmill,” retorted Austin.

I was trying to think of a withering reply when we saw the lights of a house and Austin turned into a driveway between tall stone pillars.

He brought the car to a halt on a large gravelled-area to one side of the substantial house, where there were already a large number of cars parked.

“Shit! This is a big place,” I gasped. “Colin’s folk must be loaded.”

“Yeh. We best keep in with Colin, huh?” suggested Austin.

I grinned at him and we jumped out of the car and headed for the front-door, over which a welcoming light shone down on to the steps. I rang the bell and almost at once we heard footsteps. The door was pulled wide open and I did a double-take as I saw a very sexy young guy clad in black leather jeans – and nothing else at all.

“Hi! I’m Anton,” he announced with a broad smile. “Come in. Everyone’s through here.”

He closed the door behind us and led the way through a large porch and then across a vast hall towards a room near the back.

“Wonder who he is,” I whispered to Austin.

“The butler?” suggested Austin.

“Dressed like that?”

“Well, the house-boi then.”

“Colin’s as straight as they come,” I objected. “Why would he have a house-boi?”

We fell silent as Anton threw open a door and ushered us into a large room with a log-fire roaring up the chimney. A couple of dozen guys at least were standing around chatting and helping themselves to drinks and food from a table along one wall. Austin and I stared at each other, both registering simultaneously that we knew absolutely no-one here; and there was definitely no sign of Colin.

“Okay, guys,” said Anton, “help yourselves to some grub and drinks. Just introduce yourselves to anyone you don’t know. Most of the lads here won’t know everybody else anyway; at least not yet,” he added with a wink.

Before either of us could say anything, he sped off in response to another ring at the front-door.

“We’re in the wrong fucking party,” I hissed. “No oak trees at the road-end!”

“Well, I’m gonna have some food. Looks like nobody’s gonna know we’re not supposed to be here, so we might as well grab something to eat before we head back into the night,” Austin said.

I nodded and we approached the table.

“There’s some sexy looking guys here,” I remarked to Austin as we chomped on some pork-pies.

“Yeh; and no girls. Looks like it’s a gay do. Right up our street!”

“Judging by what that pair are up to, it definitely is,” I agreed, nodding towards a couple of blond-haired young lads who were standing face-to-face kissing passionately; and each had his hands on the buttocks of the other – inside his jeans.

“See that guy over there? The one with the toffee-brown curls? I’m gonna go and speak to him,” said Austin. “After all, you never know what might happen.”

I swore inwardly as I watched Austin thread his way across the room, concluding gloomily that any chance of us getting on more intimate terms was doomed to disappointment. A voice behind me said, “Hi, hot-arse!”

I jumped and turned swiftly to look into the face of a grinning young man. My quick check took in short, black hair, an appealing dark line round the jaw and upper lip, broad shoulders, slim waist, long legs in tight leather-jeans. I liked.

“Er, thanks. You’re pretty hot yourself,” I replied appreciatively.

“I’m Terry,” he said. “You up for some action,……er….?”

“Shane,” I said.

“Shane! Great! So…….?”

“Yeh; why not?” I agreed eagerly. If Austin wasn’t interested in me, then I might as well look elsewhere.

“I’m a top,” said Terry. “That okay with you, Shane?”

“Sure. I like to be the bottom; especially with a strong, sexy guy who can take control.”

“Oh, I’ll take control okay,” Terry assured me; and my penis tried to force its way out of my jeans.

Terry led me out of the big room and along a passage to a narrow staircase which brought us to a corridor with several doors. The first couple we passed were closed but the third was partly open and Terry strode confidently inside, closing the door behind me. There was a single-bed, a cupboard and a stool.

Terry took me in his arms and we were soon kissing excitedly. After a while, he began to strip me slowly and sexily, pausing frequently to admire my physical attributes and to enjoy them with his eyes and his hands. When he eventually yanked off my briefs, my massive erection bounced out and drew an appreciative ‘fuck’ from Terry. He stroked my penis, fondled my balls, ran a hand through between my legs and stroked my hole; and I gasped with delight and felt the pre-cum at the tip of my organ.

Terry ripped off his shirt in one fluid movement and I gazed admiringly at a firm six-pack below a deep chest on which two erect nipples stood out like fir-trees. Between his pectorals a fuzz of black hair made me quiver with delight; and my eyes swiftly travelled down to a dark treasure-trail which vanished enticingly below the leather-belt at his waist. He unbuckled the belt and then, to my surprise, drew it out of the loops in his jeans and cracked it like a whip.

“Okay, Shane, bend over that stool, hands grasping the edges,” he commanded.

I stared at him.

“You what?”

“Bend over,” he repeated testily. “You are a bottom, aren’t you?”

“Yeh, but I thought you ……..”

“Don’t bloody think! Do as you’re told! Bend over!”

He grabbed my arm and pushed me roughly down over the stool.

“Look, I think there’s been a bit of a ……..” I began; and then his belt snapped hard across my bare bottom.

I yelped at the sting and leapt angrily to my feet, scrubbing at the burning skin.

“What the hell do you think you’re playing at?” I demanded furiously. “That fucking hurt!”

“And what the hell do you think you’re playing at, coming to a spanking-party and saying you’re a bottom and then kicking up a fuss when a guy tries to leather your arse for you?” he asked, eyes flashing.

“Spanking-party? Leather my arse? Oh! I get it. Look, I need to explain something,” I said to him.

I told him how we were trying to find Colin’s party and had clearly got lost and ended up in the wrong place.

“But you must have known it was wrong as soon as you came in,” he objected perceptively. “So why did you stay? You were here for a good few minutes because I saw you arrive; and you were both helping yourselves to the grub as well,” he accused.

I flushed.

“Yeh, that was bad,” I admitted. “We’d been driving for a bit and were hungry; and it looked like not everybody here knew everybody else, so we thought we could have a bite to eat before we went on our way. When you asked if I was a bottom, I thought that you meant when I was having sex; ‘cos I like to take it kinda rough from a tough-looking guy like you.”

“Well, you maybe never meant to end up getting your arses tanned, but if I had my way the pair of you would be getting a good hard dose of the cane,” declared Terry fiercely.

“Cane? Not fucking likely, chum,” I informed him as I began to gather my scattered clothing.

Terry strode out of the room, banging the door. I finished dressing and then made my way back to the big room where the other guys were. Disco-lights were now churning out a kaleidoscope of moving colours across the room while loud music, with an insistent beat, filled the air. Austin was standing alone by the food-table. I went up to him.

“What about the toffee-brown curls guy?” I asked.

“Oh. I hadn’t even reached him when his boyfriend came up and kissed him so passionately his erection almost burst his shorts; so I had to retreat sharpish and came back here,” replied Austin.

“Nobody….er….told you what kind of a party this is, huh?”

“Kind of a party? No. Why?”

“It’s a spanking-party,” I said.

“Well, it might be spanking for you with that boy you went off with, but it’s pretty grim for me,” declared Austin moodily.

“No, no,” I corrected him. “I mean it’s actually a spanking-party. The guys here either get spanked or do the spanking. And Terry, the guy I went off with, said we should be caned for staying and helping ourselves to the nosh when we knew we were in the wrong place.”

Austin’s eyebrows rose sharply.

“Caned? He said that?”

“Exactly. Terry was dead sexy and we did some brilliant kissing and exploring each other and he stripped me and I thought we were gonna fuck; and then he ripped his belt outta his jeans and lashed me across the arse with it!”

“Shit! Did it hurt?”

“Of course it fucking hurt!”

“Okay. Keep your hair on.”

“Anyway, I think we need to get out of here before some dominant young bugger decides he’s really gonna cane our arses,” I advised.

“I don’t think anyone’s gonna do that to us,” said Austin. “It’d be assault.”

“And who’s gonna stop him?” I objected. “Nobody would hear us yowling away out here in the middle of nowhere.”

“There’d be marks if we got caned,” said Austin. “Evidence of assault.”

“But we’re at a spanking-party,” I hissed angrily. “Who’s gonna believe that we didn’t volunteer to be caned?”

I glanced across the room towards the log-fire and saw a couple of young lads bringing in a spanking-horse.

“Look!” I yelped in a panic. “They’re probably planning to tie us to that thing and beat the living shit outta us. Come on, Austin!”

I grabbed his arm and hauled him towards the door to the entrance-hall; but Terry and a group of guys were standing there and I saw Terry staring at me.

“He’s gonna try and stop us getting out,” I whispered. “Let’s go out the other way and see if there’s a back-door somewhere.”

“You’re getting fucking paranoid, mate,” declared Austin.

I ignored him and hauled him along as we wove our way through the crowd of boys who were gyrating sexily to the music. We slipped out into a passage and eventually reached a large door.

“Probably the kitchen,” opined Austin and, before I could stop him, he flung open the door.

Two young lads who were loading drinks on to trays, turned and looked at us.

“Just looking for the back-door,” said Austin. “This way, is it?”

“Hey! Aren’t you the pair they’re saying gatecrashed our party?” demanded a black-haired lad with useful-looking muscles.

“Run!” I hissed furiously at Austin and I grabbed his arm and yanked him back down the passage with the two lads in pursuit.

I dashed into an open doorway and found that we were in a small utility-room with an open window above the sink.

I clambered on to the sink and wriggled through the window. It was a tight squeeze, but a few seconds later I landed in a heap on wet grass. I stood up and saw that Austin was struggling to get through the narrow aperture, although since he was a bit slimmer than I was, I couldn’t understand why. I grabbed his hands and pulled; but, even as I did so, I heard the sound of boys crashing into the room and a yell of: “There’s one of the bastards!”

Austin was yanked unceremoniously back into the room and the window slammed shut. I crept carefully along the wall of the house, keeping to the shadows and then paused in an angle between two walls to try to decide what to do. I knew that I couldn’t just sneak away and abandon Austin; but I couldn’t see how I could rescue him. I’d no idea where he was; and were they going to thrash him? After all, surely that’s what guys who went to such parties did. The masochists’ society motto came into my head: if you can’t beat us, don’t join us!

I realised that I had to go back into the house, even if it meant that I got my hide tanned. Maybe if I let that Terry guy leather my tail, he’d then let me and Austin go.
I squared my shoulders and made for the front-door. Rather to my surprise, it was standing slightly ajar. I pushed it open a little and peered in. No-one in sight. I slipped in, crossed the porch and went through into the main entrance-hall. The door to the big room where we’d first been taken was closed, but I could hear sounds. There was a snap and then a yelp. I raced across the hall and listened carefully at the door. Another snap followed by another yelp. I put my hand on the handle, and a third snap elicited a squeal and a voice saying, “Yeh; he’s feeling it!” The brutes were beating Austin!

I burst into the room and plunged through the crowd of guys to see a tall young man in leather shorts and nothing else at all, raising a slim cane above the buttocks of a naked boy bent over a chair.

“Stop you sadistic bastards!” I yelled as I skidded to a halt.

The young man with the cane lowered it and stared at me. Every eye turned to look at me; and I realised that Austin was standing there too, his astonished face gazing at mine.

“It’s okay,” said the guy bent over the chair. “I volunteered to be caned. I like it.”

“But I thought that…..oh, fuck! Austin; you okay, mate?”

“Sure. You didn’t think they were caning me, did you?”

“Well, er….that is….er, well, yeh, I did actually.”

“And you came to save me? Aww, Shane!”

He suddenly gave me a huge kiss while the assembled guys cheered.

“Gerroff, you bloody fool!” I snapped.

“Don’t you like it?” asked Austin, looking hurt.

“Well, of course I like it, but not when I’m trying to save you.”

“But I didn’t need saving!”

“I didn’t know that!” I retorted irritably. “So, can we go now?”

“Hi,” said a blond guy with an open leather waistcoat over his bare torso. “I’m Gerry. This is my house; and my party. These weird guys all like to spank or be spanked,” he added, waving an arm at the room where sweating, happy boys were dancing with undisguised eroticism.

“Hey! Who you calling weird?” objected a voice.

“Shut it, Garry, or I’ll give you twenty minutes bare-arse with the bath-brush,” replied Gerry.

“Sorry, sir,” said Garry, looking anything but.

“We were just letting Austin see the kind of thing we get up to here,” said Gerry. “Lee here actually swore when speaking to a Dom, so he’s getting punished. Just watch while Nick finishes giving him a full dozen with his cane. How many has he had, Nick?”

“Four,” replied Nick, arching his cane.

“It’s actually five,” said Lee; and indeed I could see five clear welts on the youth’s bottom.

“Eight to go then,” said Gerry, apparently ignoring Lee, “and give him an extra one for arguing.”

I eyed the parallel marks on Lee’s bare bottom and watched in horrified fascination as Nick raised his cane and lashed it down hard just under the lowest welt, close to the place where Lee’s buttocks merged into his upper legs. I heard the snap and saw the fresh weal rise from the boy’s skin. I heard his half-stifled yelp and saw him clenching his glutes desperately. He was just easing the tension a little when he was hit again, lower still. This time he couldn’t stifle the yelp.

“Harder,” said Gerry, quietly. “He needs to feel it more.”

I felt that I ought to protest, but I needed to see that attractively-formed bottom being beaten. The next pair were lower still and elicited urgent squeals and energetic writhing on Lee’s part. Nick then moved up to the centre of the quivering buttocks and whipped the cane across four of the weals at an angle. Lee gasped and his right hand flew back to scrub desperately at the tormented flesh.

“Give him that one again,” ordered Gerry. “He should know better than to rub his arse while he’s being beaten.”

Another cut was delivered at an oblique angle, firing earlier welts. Lee squirmed but his hands remained firmly clamped to the edges of the chair.

“He didn’t like the punishment; but he definitely learnt from it,” observed a slim, wiry lad with black curls, who was struggling with a massive boner which was clearly trying to burst free of his tight jeans.

Nick plied his limber cane once more just above Lee’s crease and then even as the boy was trying to steady his shuddering lower quarters he delivered yet another in almost the same place. Lee writhed, a yell escaping him, his bottom plunging towards his heels. He got his body under control and waited. To my amazement, I noticed that his penis was steadily rising. Nick stroked the welt-scored bottom with his cane and then delivered two in swift succession to the underside of Lee’s buttocks. He bucked violently, squealing in pain; and then very slowly settled himself. His penis, which had gone into retreat, came roaring back.

“That’s the full dozen plus the one for arguing,” said Nick.

Gerry went over to Lee and took a handful of the boy’s thick hair, forcing his head round so that he could look into his face.

“Learnt not to swear at a Dom, boy?” enquired Gerry.

“Yes, sir,” panted Lee.

“Get up.”

Lee stood up slowly and caressed his ridged bottom carefully before going over to Nick and shaking hands with him.

“So that’s what it’s all about, guys,” Gerry told Austin and me.

“We didn’t realise,” I said. “Or at least I didn’t until Terry scared the pants off me by expecting to leather me instead of fuck me.”

“Like I said before, you could do with a damned good thrashing for the way you’ve behaved,” declared Terry, his hands going to his belt.

“Look, we’re sorry,” I said quickly. “Staying and helping ourselves to food and drink instead of just admitting we were in the wrong party was bad.”

“It sure was,” agreed Gerry. “So what do you think I should do about it?”

Austin and I glanced at each other.

“You…eh…..you wanna give us a beating?” asked Austin tentatively.

“Do you want a beating?”

“Course not!” I declared loudly.

“Then you’re not getting beaten,” said Gerry. “You’ve got to agree to it.”

“Would it be like Lee got?” asked Austin.

“Austin!” I hissed furiously.

“No way,” replied Gerry. “Lee’s very experienced and can take it hard. You wouldn’t get caned nearly so hard. Feeling guilty, huh?”

“Well, just a bit. I sort of feel maybe I should be punished – a bit,” he added.

“But your conscience is clear, eh, Shane?” said Gerry.

“No, not exactly,” I admitted, “but a caning? Shit! I don’t know if I could take that.”

“Come!” said Gerry suddenly and beckoned us to follow as he led the way out into the entrance-hall and into a small room near the front door.

“Right! I think you need to be caned to punish you for your bad behaviour tonight. It sounds as if you both have some conscience about what you did and are at least wondering if maybe you do need to feel the cane. So, I’m going to leave you here for ten minutes by yourselves. The door won’t be locked and the front-door is just outside and it’s not locked either. Have a discussion and then decide what you’re gonna do. If you don’t want to be caned, just leave. If you do think you should get the cane, you’ll still be in here when I return in ten minutes; and then Nick will cane you both.”

“N..Nick?” I stammered nervously.

“Yeh. He’s an expert with a cane,” asserted Gerry.

“He’s a fucking brute,” I burst out. “I saw what he did to Lee’s arse!”

“He’s an expert,” reiterated Gerry. “That means he knows exactly what he’s doing and can deliver the correct level of caning to any boy. Caning hurts; it’s meant to; but there are levels of hurt and Nick will give you pain at the appropriate level.”

“But he decides the level of pain?” I queried. “Don’t we get any say?”

“No,” replied Gerry. “You don’t. It’s punishment. You take what you’re given.”

Without another word, he walked out, closing the door behind him. Austin and I looked at each other.

“There’s two things going on here for me,” said Austin at length. “I do feel kind of guilty. We should have admitted it as soon as we realised it wasn’t Colin’s party and just left. The other thing is that……..well, there’s a bit of me wants to know what it feels like to get the cane.”

He looked straight into my eyes as if challenging me to call him a weirdo. I took a deep breath.

“I’m with you on the guilt. We were wrong. I’m not so sure about getting the cane though. That Nick is a vicious bastard. Yeh, yeh, I know,” I said hastily as Austin tried to say something. “Gerry said he wouldn’t be beating us like that; but I bet he could still dish out a hellish sting.”

“So, you think we should just get out?”

“Yeh. No. I dunno, do I?”

“I think,” said Austin firmly, “that we both deserve to get the cane; and that’s what we’re going to do.”

I began to object, but Austin raised his hand and said, “Okay, Shane?”

“Okay,” I assented reluctantly.

Austin kissed me on the mouth. It took a while and our tongues were swirling around each other like mating snakes.

“Fuck!” I panted as we drew slowly apart. “What was that for?”

“You’re a sexy bugger,” replied Austin.

“And you’ve only just noticed?”

“No; but…….”

He stopped as the door opened and Gerry came back in. He grinned at us.

“I’m glad you decided to stay,” he said. “I’m not saying you might not regret your decision while Nick’s working on you, but I’m certain that afterwards you’ll be pleased you did.”

“Will it be in front of all the guys?” I asked uneasily.

Gerry shook his head. “Nah. We’ll just go into a room where it’ll be you pair, Nick and me.”

“You’ll be there to make sure Nick doesn’t overdo it, huh?” suggested Austin.

“Nick won’t overdo it,” replied Gerry, “whether I’m there or not.”

Gerry took us along to a large room furnished as a library, where we were joined by Nick, who was carrying a lithe cane. I eyed it anxiously; but all the same, there was a slight movement between my legs. Nick was irresistible to look at with his leather-shorts and bare limbs and torso. He was tall, well-muscled but not over-much, lean and with an aura of animal-sexuality. There was a hint of dark hair around his chin and he bore an air of authority and power. As I registered the strong swelling in the front of his close-fitting shorts, I knew that he was going to enjoy beating us. A small part of me wondered if just possibly I might enjoy being beaten by him; but a larger part feared how much it would hurt.

Gerry took charge, ordering me to remove trainers, jeans and briefs, and then to bend over with my hands on a stool which he brought out into the centre of the room. I complied nervously and stood in position, waiting for a cane to be used on my bottom for the first time in my life. I tensed as Nick did a couple of practice-swings close behind me; and then tried to consciously relax a little, in the hope that might reduce the sting somewhat. The slim cane explored my bottom from high up near my waist to well down the upper part of my legs. The touch was gentle, pleasant in a mildly sexy way, but menacing too as I reminded myself that I was about to be punished. This was meant to hurt; and it did.

Nick brought his cane down with a sharp crack on the centre of my sit-spots and I felt a fierce line of fire blazing across my behind. I winced and clenched my glutes as I absorbed the sting. He worked his way steadily down, each stroke delivering another blast of burning torment and making me squirm and gasp as my body reacted to the rod. It hurt like hell and forced me to work hard to process the pain. By the time he’d hit me five times, Nick had reached the tender flesh of my crease and the sixth stroke raised the pain-level dramatically, driving a squeal from me as I writhed and clenched desperately. The following two landed lower still, each inflicting a vicious lash of fire which burned deep into my flesh and elicited further urgent yelps and violent bucking on my part.

“Good,” said Gerry. “That should have got through to him, Nick. Okay, Shane, up you get and go and stand over there. Austin! Trainers, jeans and briefs off and bend over.”

I stumbled over to stand near the wall, my hands pressed to my bottom, feeling the fiery heat in the caned skin and the tender ridges which had been raised on my buttocks. Unaccountably, my penis rose steadily as I felt under my exploring hands the aftermath of my beating. The sound of Nick doing his practice-strokes with the cane drew my attention away from my bottom to Austin’s very attractive rump as he stood awaiting the commencement of his thrashing.

The pattern was similar to what I had received and I was rock hard as I watched Austin react to the pain and also admired Nick as he wielded the cane. I could see now that he wasn’t hitting nearly as hard as I’d watched him cane Lee earlier; but I knew from my own recent experience and from the sounds and movements which Austin was producing, that he was still managing to inflict a lot of pain. To my surprise, I observed that Austin was semi-hard throughout the punishment; and, when he was ordered to stand up at the end, his organ rose swiftly to full length as he caressed his beaten buttocks and came over to take his place beside me.

“So,” remarked Gerry with a grin, “a couple of very aroused boys! Feeling cleansed of your sense of guilt now, lads?”

We nodded agreement as we continued to scrub ruefully at burning globes. We were told to get dressed and then Gerry said, “That’s it. Punishment over. You’ve got a choice now. You can either go on your way, or you can stay here and enjoy some more of this party.”

Austin and I looked at each other. Before we had a chance to say anything, Nick came up to Austin and ran a forefinger down his front from the hollow of his throat to his waist. I could see the powerful tenting in Austin’s jeans and hear his sharp intake of breath.

“You’d like to stay a bit longer so that I can spank you, wouldn’t you?” asked Nick.

“Sp….spank me?”

“As in bare-arse, over my knee,” elucidated Nick.

Austin gulped and then, “Yes, please,” he said politely.

Nick grinned, took him by the arm, and led him away.

“Come on, Shane,” said Gerry. “Let’s go back to the party.”

In the big room the lights were swirling, music sounded from speakers, and guys were dancing enthusiastically. Gerry took me into the middle of the swaying, twisting young bodies and we both began to respond instinctively to the music. I relaxed a little, enjoying the background burning-sensation in my rear, and the sexy bodies all round me. My mind though was focussed almost entirely on the memory of that stupendous kiss from Austin.

My thoughts were interrupted by the realisation that the bass beat of the music wasn’t the only beat in the big room. I looked over to the fire where I could hear the regular, rhythmic sound of leather snapping on bare skin. A lithe boy was lying across the spanking-horse while a muscular lad wielded a leather strap attached to a wooden handle. Gerry and I paused to watch as the boy got up revealing that he was in a state of full arousal, scrubbed at his fiery-red behind, and had his place on the horse taken by a guy with a shock of black hair tumbling across his forehead. The guy with the strap began at once to tan his arse and he was soon squirming and bucking energetically.

“So here you are,” said Austin’s voice and I turned to see him and Nick approaching.

“So, did you get spanked?” I enquired.

“Fucking right I did!” declared Austin. “Sadistic bastard put me naked over his knee and blasted seven shades of hell outta my arse with a hairbrush. It was horrendous.”

“You liked it,” supplied Nick with a grin.

“Well, yeh, kind of,” Austin admitted, going slightly red.

“And you kind of liked being caned, eh Shane,” said Gerry.

I grinned sheepishly.

Gerry and Nick left us together and we took some more food and drink and went to a corner to talk. We agreed that we didn’t regret taking our punishment; nor staying on at the party.

“So, you glad we ended up here, eh Shane?” asked Austin.

“Yeh. I never knew spanking could be so exciting. Just as well you got us to the wrong party,” I admitted.

“See, I liked the idea of being spanked and I wanted to find out if you did too. That’s why I talked about that guy who got fined for leathering the student who threw up over his garden. You didn’t sound like you wanted to be tanned, so I decided you maybe weren’t the boy for me after all; which was tough because you’re as hot as hell and randy as a raft of raccoons,” confided Austin.

“That’s why you’ve never let me get really close until tonight? You wanted a spanking-partner as a boyfriend?” I gasped. “And when I agreed to be caned, you knew I’d probably be okay and so you kissed me at last, you bastard?”

Austin flushed and looked decidedly uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “Will you forgive me?”

“Kiss me and I’ll think about it.”

He did, several times; and when at last we surfaced, he looked me in the eyes and asked, “Well?”

“Course I forgive you. I think I’m gonna like being spanked alongside you; and we can lick each other’s cane-welts,” I added.

Austin flinched and plunged a hand urgently into the front of his jeans. I grinned mischievously at him.

“It’s our lucky night,” I said happily. “And….hey! I just realised; it nearly didn’t happen! I was so desperate to get us out in case we got our hides caned that we almost left. I dunno why you struggled to get through that little window, because you’re slimmer than me, but if you hadn’t got stuck, we’d have been away and missed out on everything!”

“Yeh! You nearly ruined everything. I had to hook my leg round the taps,” replied Austin.

I stared at him.

“You think maybe we should go and join the queue for that leather-strap across our arses?” asked Austin, moving towards the spanking-horse in front of the fire.

“Austin!!”

“What?”

“Did we really end up at the wrong party tonight?” I asked.

Austin didn’t reply but moved towards the log-fire and we watched yet another lad lying across the spanking-horse and getting his behind roasted. We joined the short queue and twenty minutes later, each sporting a blazing red bottom, we retired to a small room and writhed naked together until our balls were pumping out spunk like fire-hoses.

“You never answered my question,” I reminded him.

“I didn’t need to,” retorted Austin, a vast grin splitting his face. “You already know the answer.”

 

**************************

D I S C L A I M E R

All characters and businesses appearing in this story and pictures are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

__________________

Story ©MMXXIV by Joelstrap, used here by very kind permission.

Authors appreciate feedback. Please leave a comment on this excellent story.  Comments are here.

Joelstrap’s excellent earlier stories for The Canery are available here.  Further great stories by Joelstrap may be found at this external link.

The Young Salesman (M/M)

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Another chance to read this fine old story by much-missed friend Skinpang, R.I.P.  All the characters are 18 or older. WARNING: ADULTS ONLY!

The Young Salesman by Skinpang

Mr Derek Stone was a retired headmaster in his mid-sixties. He was a widower, financially comfortable thanks to a legacy from his late uncle, and lived in an idyllic detached cottage in a quiet village. He had long toyed with the idea of having a conservatory built onto the rear of his home so that he could enjoy sunny days under glass and admire his lawn and garden.

One day the doorbell rang and when he opened the front door he saw a young man who looked as if he was aged about sixteen or seventeen standing on the doorstep with a folder full of leaflets in his hand. The caller certainly looked impressive in an immaculate navy-blue suit with razor sharp creases in his trousers, his well-fitting jacket buttoned up with one button as it should be, a white collar and green tie. His well tailored appearance was enhanced by his handsome smiling face, blue eyes and a delightful fringe of red wavy hair jutting out over his forehead. Derek first thought was that such smart teenagers were very rare creatures indeed these days! He would normally send doorstep salesman packing straight away but before he could speak his young visitor pulled a leaflet from his folder.

“Good morning sir! I represent Grandeur Constructions. Conservatories, Gazebos and greenhouses are our speciality. Could I interest you in any of our products?”

Derek knew of Grandeur Constructions. It was a firm in the nearby town and had a good reputation.

“You might young man, you might! Come along inside and let’s see what you have to offer.”

“Thank you sir. My name’s Gordon Grey.”

“I’m Derek Stone. Come along to the kitchen table. I’m a bit surprised that that a firm like Grandeur Constructions should have a boy to represent them – no offence intended!”

“And none taken sir!” the young man assured him, “But you are mistaken! I am not a boy! I’m eighteen! I’m an adult!”

“Oh! My apologies Mr Grey!”

“Lots of people make that mistake. I’m told that I look younger than my age! And by the way, please call me Gordon! Anyway enough about me!” said Gordon as they reached the kitchen.

“Right. let us stick to first names shall we? Call me Derek! Sit down and let’s see what you’ve got there!”

Gordon sat down and sorted out several leaflets. There were some very attractive designs and the prices seemed competitive. Derek was getting interested.

“May I see the layout outside?” asked Gordon.

“Certainly! Come along.”

Derek led his visitor through the kitchen back door into the garden.

“Oh yes!” said Gordon, surveying the back of the cottage, “Our Octagon model would be ideal here, don’t you think?”

“Yes indeed, but that one is a bit pricey!”

“I could perhaps shave a little off. Say ten per cent?”

“You give me the impression that you are very anxious to do a deal!” said Derek.

“Well to tell you the truth, I’m sort of on probation you might say! You see, Grandeur Constructions is owned by my father! I’ve just finished in the sixth form at school. He says before I can become a partner in the firm and join him in the office I have to know all aspects of the business. I’ll be honest with you, I’m desperate to get a good order!”

Derek had taken a liking to the fresh-faced boy – for ’boy’ he still was to Derek – and was inclined to try and help him by doing business with him. They returned to the kitchen table.

“I might be interested Gordon! But let’s get down to the nitty-gritty and find out what’s in the small print.”

Gordon went through the details one by one. Derek was satisfied with what he had heard.He had even agreed to the price.

“I wouldn’t want a couple of men to come and dig a big hole in my garden and then disappear for a month before I see them again! There’s all too many firms about who carry on like that!” said Derek.

“Our firm is not like that! I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll include a penalty clause in the agreement.” replied Gordon, anxious to complete the deal, “The work completed by the last day of next month or we will repay you twenty pounds for every day that we are late with the completion. How does that strike you?”

Derek put on a grin.

“I’m a retired headmaster! In my teaching days the penalty for being late was six of the best!” he quipped.

“That was before my time!” laughed Gordon, “there was none of that sort of thing at my schools!”

“Anyway, back to the conservatory! I’ll accept your offer!” said Derek.

“I’m so pleased! I am sure you are going to like it. I’ll get the office to put it in black and white then I’ll bring it back and sign it in front of you!”

Gordon was so keen to get the deal signed and sealed that he was back within two hours. They both signed the documents which they needed to, shook hands and parted. Derek was to see quite a lot of the young salesman over the next few weeks. Concerned that the work should be perfect Gordon would frequently visit the site to keep an eye on progress. However progress was not always as swift as he would have liked. Some snags would arise necessitating that some tasks had to be done again. Several outbreaks of heavy rain also slowed down the outside work. At the end of the month there was still a fair amount of work to be done. When the project was at last completed it had overrun by six days!

“Well you’re six days late, Gordon. That’s a hundred and twenty pounds off according to my reckoning!” said Derek.

“That’s what I wanted to see you about, Derek!” replied Gordon, “Are you really going to hold me to that?”

Gordon was sounding almost as if he was pleading. Derek could not understand why he was trying to wriggle out of the penalty clause. After all, business is business.

“You see it’s like this. I was so pleased when I got this order. I thought I had done something that would impress my father, but what with the ten per cent discount I gave you and now the penalty money all the profit has been swallowed up! My old man’s not going to be very pleased with me I’m afraid!”

“It just shows that you’ve got a lot to learn my lad.” said Derek.

“I suppose so.  I should never have asked you to give up the penalty money. I apologise!”

Derek was thinking, so for a moment there was silence in the room. Gordon was such a nice young lad and Derek was feeling rather sorry for him. He was just about to say that he would waive his right to demand the penalty money when Gordon spoke up with a sign of desperation in his voice.

“You remember what you said to me on the first day I was here? The penalty for being late was six of the best?”

“Yes! So what?”

“Will you give me six of the best like you used to in school instead of taking the money?”

Gordon was banking on the theory that Derek perhaps used to enjoy caning boys’ bottoms and would be tempted to accept his offer. He was not far wrong! Derek’s first reaction was one of disbelief! Then suddenly he felt twenty years younger. Suddenly here was a boy standing before him just as many had stood before him before. In those days the boy would have apprehension written all over his face in fearing he was going to be awarded the cane! Gordon too had apprehension written all over his face but in his case it was lest he was not going to get the cane!  The money was more important to him!

Derek was almost in a daze as he stared at the boy’s small but perfectly proportioned figure. He could just imagine him bending taut over a chair, that ginger fringe flopping into his eyes and his bottom protruding skyward! Derek found all the exciting feelings he used to get as he ordered a boy to bend over were coming back to him, and all of his body parts seemed to be in good working order! Gordon took the silence to mean that Derek was going to refuse.

“I shouldn’t have mentioned it!” said Gordon, “I’m sorry. Ha! – I don’t suppose you’ve got a cane anyway!”

“Not at all, Gordon! I am still considering it. And I have got a cane!” – Derek had kept his cane for sentimental reasons! – “I haven’t used it for about thirty years! Are you really serious about this?”

“Yes! In any case I’d like to know what it’s like! I’ve seen it on the television and read about it in books and I’ve often wondered it felt like to get it!”

In Derek’s teaching days boys were not anxious to find out what it felt like! He wondered if Gordon realised what he was letting himself in for!

“Okay! If you’re sure you know what you’re doing, you’re on! Six of the cane and I’ll waive the penalty money! I’ll fetch the cane! Oh yes, just while we’re doing this I would like to make it seem authentic, so I will address you by your surname and you will call me sir! Right?”

“Right!”

Derek left the room and returned with the cane. Gordon was feeling a prickling sensation in his bottom as if it was anticipating what was coming to it! Suddenly an innocent piece of wood was looking frightening and menacing!

“All right Grey! Bend over the arm of that chair!”

“Yes sir!”

It was just like the old days! To all intents and purposes Derek was back in the headmaster’s study! Gordon looked exactly as Derek had imagined he would. The hair flopping forward and his bottom, with the trousers stretched to bursting point, facing heaven. Derek flexed the cane, then he swished it through the air and then he gently tapped it on Gordon’s bottom! Every movement he made he was telling himself that it was the first time he had done this for thirty years! He was wondering whether a modern youth could take a beating as the boys of yesteryear used to! They had been brought up with spanking at home from an early age and progressed to school slippering and caning gradually. Feeling a little nervous about striking a boy’s bottom after all those years he raised the cane and brought it down hard!

Derek need not have worried! Gordon reacted just as most senior boys used to in those far off days. He went stiff and taut all over and his fist folded tightly but he made no noise. The second stroke landed and Gordon’s bottom was squirming in the most delightful fashion! Derek knew from years of caning experience exactly how the boy would be feeling. He would be in intense agony and would love to scream out but his ego would not permit him to do so! No boy, however, could avoid the telltale squirming and Gordon was no exception. There came a third swish and a crack and a forth and a fifth. The writhing had developed into a full scale bottom waggle from side to side! Derek raised the cane for the last time and as it fell he said:

“You may get up now!”

Gordon needed no such invitation. He sprang up, grabbed hold of his buttocks, arced his back and flung his head back with his face a picture of agony! That too was the normal post-caning reaction which Derek expected.

“You took that well, Gordon!” said Derek, returning to the use of the first name, “You can be proud of yourself!”

Gordon was in no condition to answer! His face was twisted and his mouth tightly shut while he held his breath until another peak of the ebbing and flowing pain was reached, then he breathed out with a sigh of relief and just had time to gasp out “Thanks!” before repeating the whole process.

“Well you’ve kept your side of the bargain, Gordon!” said Derek, “Now I’ll keep mine! While you’re getting over it I’ll be writing your cheque out!”

Perhaps Derek too needed time to get over it! He found his hands shaking as he opened his cheque book. He stretched out his arm and open and closed his fists a time or two, it helped to steady his hand. He wrote out the cheque and then looked up at Gordon. The boy was still convulsed in the throes of pain!

“I’m afraid there’s going to be a far amount of stinging for maybe an hour or two, Gordon!”

Gordon managed to let go of his backside and go over to Derek.

“I’ll be all right soon!” Gordon replied, “My word, that was quite an experience!”

“One that most boys were familiar with once! But you took it as well as any of them did! Here’s your cheque by the way!”

Gordon glanced at the document and a look of surprise came over him.

“What’s this….?”

“I’ve put the ten per cent discount back on as well!” explained Derek, “You deserve it Gordon, and I can see how much it means to you to show your father that you’ve done a good deal!”

“Well err gosh! I don’t know what to say! That’s very nice of you Derek!”

“I wish you the best of luck in your career!”

“Thanks! I shall see you again though! After a while I’ll come back to see that all is well with the conservatory. Probably in about a week’s time!”

They shook hands and Gordon left the cottage happy but dreadfully sore! He planned to potter about in the garden that evening doing something which did not involve sitting down! Gordon was as good as his word. He came back a week later. He was, in truth, keen to talk to Derek again. He had become fascinated by all aspects of school corporal punishment! He would not want to go through another hard caning again. That had hurt and was sore for days, but he would love to know what a slippering and a spanking felt like. He wondered whether he would pluck up the courage to broach the subject or whether he would be too bashful.

“I’ve just come along to see how you are getting along with the conservatory Derek.” said Gordon, “Any problems?”

“None whatsoever!” exclaimed Derek, “Even during that storm the other night not a drop of water came in!”

“Oh good! I pleased to hear it!”

“Have you got over the caning yet?” asked Derek with a twinkle in his eye.

Gordon was pleased that Derek had brought the subject up so soon.

“Ha! Sure! I have now. God, didn’t that hurt that night though!”

“I expect that just like a schoolboy the first thing you did when you got home was to go straight to a mirror!”

“Err, yes I did!” admitted Gordon as he coloured up slightly, “But I’m glad you’ve brought the subject up. There’s something I want to ask you!”

“Fire away! I’m all ears!”

“I’ve become interested in these old school punishments. Did you use any other corporal punishment other than the cane!”

“Oh yes! It depended on the severity of the offence. I used a slipper sometimes and occasionally spanked with my hand!”

“The slipper didn’t hurt anything like the cane I suppose?” asked Gordon hopefully.

“Not quite, but it did nonetheless carry a good sting. The main difference is that while the effects of the cane lasts for days the worst of the effects of the slipper can wear off after several minutes. I’m talking about a normal four to six strokes. If a slipper is applied relentlessly it can cause bruising just as the cane does!”

“I wouldn’t want to try your cane again but I’d love to find out what the slipper was like! Would you give me the slipper?”

Now Derek really was surprised. The boy had suggested and endured the caning for a good reason but now he was asking for another stinging bottom presumably for the fun of it!

“Are you serious?” asked Derek in amazement.

“Yes I am! I have got an urge to know just what boys had to put up with in those days!”

“My word! You weren’t put off by that caning then?”

“Not now that I’ve got over it!” said Gordon, “It was hell at the time but for the next two or three days when it was just sore and there was no stinging it was rather a nice feeling. I sort of felt proud to have gone through with it!”

Derek had long thought that the many boys he had caned might have left his study in agony but had come to regard their stripes as badges of honour! He would be only too pleased to oblige if Gordon was keen for more. he would love to see that youthful bottom bent across the seat of a chair once more!

“I haven’t got a real gym-shoe here,” said Derek, “but I’ve got a pair of those blue canvas ones with rubber soles. They are much the same thing! I’ll fetch one!”

Derek went out of the room and returned with a size eleven canvas top shoe.

“Are you sure you want to go through with this?”

“Absolutely!”

“Very well! Bend over the arm of that chair Grey!”

“Yes sir!” responded Gordon as he got across the arm.

The mere sight of that anatomically perfect rear end thrusting upwards and just crying out for attention was enough to arouse Derek’s physical as well as emotional feelings! How he would have loved to see that bottom bare, but perhaps that would be expecting too much! Trembling with excitement he raised the shoe and slammed it down upon the waiting buttocks.

Gordon was surprised as how mild the blow felt! What he did not know was that unlike the cane which produced an almost unbearable sting with the very first swipe, the pain from the slipper was to become more intense with each new wallop! The second whack produced a very noticeable sting! The third was beginning to convince him that the slipper was no toy! The sting was quite uncomfortable by this time. He wanted to shift the position of his bottom but managed to refrain from doing so in order not to reveal to Derek that it was hurting after only three! On the fourth stroke however he could not prevent himself giving a little waggle!

Derek smiled to himself, it was following a familiar pattern. Most boys would take the six and get up apparently unaffected, while in reality they were hoping to be released from the room immediately so that they could rub the affected area in private outside! Derek would deliberately keep talking to them until, in the case of nine out of ten of them, they could wait no longer to put a hand behind them! Gordon seemed to be behaving in the customary fashion!

Derek delivered the fifth stroke and the movement of the bottom became more pronounced! Then the final one crashed down.

“That’s it! That wasn’t too bad was it?” said Derek as his visitor rose rapidly to his feet.

“No, not really!” lied Gordon, trying to pretend that it did not hurt!

His right hand kept straying halfway round to his bottom before he realised what he was doing and he would withdrew it. Derek knew that it was now only a matter of thirty seconds or so before Gordon would be unable to resist giving a rub. He was right! With a sigh of relief his hand began to buff his stinging buttocks as if he was trying to polish them!

“That hurt more than you care to admit! didn’t it?” grinned Derek.

Gordon put on an expression which was half a smile and half a look of pain!

“Well yes! I didn’t think a slipper would sting that much!”

“At least you won’t have hours of pain and days of soreness!” Derek assured him, “It’ll probably sting like blazes for five minutes or so, but then, so some of my ex-pupils have told me, it developes into a nice warm glow like standing with your back to a roaring fire!”

“It’s beginning to feel like that already!” said Gordon with a note of enthusiasm in his voice, “It’s a great feeling!”

“It’s supposed to be a punishment!” laughed Derek, “You’re making it sound like a pleasure!”

“It is now!” replied Gordon, “It wasn’t while I was actually getting it though!”

Derek refrained from telling him that it had been a great pleasure giving it to him!

“May I come and see you again, Derek? I would love to complete the trio and sample a spanking some time!”

Derek’s heart was racing. He would certainly love to spank this boy and he was wondering if he dare mention giving it to him on his bare bottom! The truth was that at his school he never spanked boys over twelve. Once they had reached their teens it was always either the cane or the slipper! Up to age twelve he would put boys across his knee and spank them but he had never made a boy remove his trousers for punishment! But fortunately for him Gordon did not know that!

“Yes of course you may if you really want to try it. I must say you’re a glutton for punishment my boy! Actually when I spanked boys I used to make them remove their trousers and pants and then put them across my knee, but you would not want to do that of course!” said Derek hoping that in fact Gordon would want to do just that!

Gordon seemed somewhat astounded at first. He hesitated while he let the pronouncement sink in.

“I want to find out what it was like for real! If that’s the way you did it then that’s the way I want to try it!” said Gordon while wondering if he would regret committing himself to such undignified treatment!

Derek felt like rubbing his hands with glee, but did not do so of course! He feared that he might wake up in a minute or two to find that it was all a dream.

“If you’re sure then I shall be happy to accommodate you!” said Derek – in fact he would be over the moon! – “When are you thinking of coming again?”

“Hopefully early next week, but it’ll have to be in the evening, not during the working day. I can’t keep coming round to see how you are getting on with the conservatory!”

“No, I suppose not. How about Monday?”

“Suits me fine! About seven?”

“That’s fine with me!”

Gordon said his goodbyes and left. Derek wondered whether he could bear to wait for four days! He was actually going to put that handsome boy across his knee and smack his bare bottom! The mere thought would keep him supplied with erections until Monday he thought, as he headed for the bathroom to deal with one there and then!

On Monday Gordon arrived exactly on time. His visit was no longer during working hours so he had swapped his suit and shirt with tie for a pair of tight-fitting blue jeans and a T-shirt. Derek took him into he living room.

“Would you like a drink before we start?” asked Derek.

“That would be nice. It’ll steady my nerves!” replied Gordon.

“You’re nervous then?”

“A little!” grinned Gordon.

“Gin or whisky?”

“Oh! Whisky please with a little water.”

As he poured out the drink Derek looked towards Gordon who was standing sideways-on to him. What a fine figure he cut. The front of his body was dead straight from his shoulders to his feet and his back was equally straight except for that lovely curvy bulge half way down, enhanced by his tight jeans! Derek handed his guest the glass.

“Cheers!” said Derek, stopping himself just in time from saying “Bottoms up!”

The pair of them finished their drinks.

“I’m ready! I’m all yours!” said Gordon.

“Right! Get those jeans down Grey!” said Derek adopting his headmaster voice.

Gordon slowly dropped his jeans to his ankles. He was not wearing anything underneath them and his T-shirt only came down as far as the top of the crack of his bottom. It was all on display and it did not disappoint Derek. Two absolutely perfectly shaped buttocks greeted him!

“Come here, across my knee!”

Derek got hold of the boy and aided him over his lap. Did Gordon feel embarrassed and humiliated? Yes he did! Very much so! And he was enjoying it! He liked being embarrassed and humiliated! He even pushed his bottom up as high and taut as he could to make it even more attractive to Derek! Derek could hardly believe the sight before him! Never before had he had a boy across his lap with a bare bottom only inches below his eyes, and he could sense that Gordon was deliberately poking his bottom up. Derek too had something poking up but it was not his bottom! Now for the first time he was going to experience the feel of flesh slapping flesh!

SMACK-SMACK-SMACK!

Gordon’s bottom turned pink as it wobbled uneasily. Derek’s hand seemed to sting as much as the slipper did.

SMACK-SMACK-SMACK!

Derek was going to stop at six. He could see that the red squirming buttocks must be getting painful. Despite the intense sting Gordon was enjoying it! He wanted more!

“Don’t stop!” he called out, “Keep going!”

Derek was not unfamiliar with boys crying out in vain for him to stop but this was the first one had ask him to continue! It was a request he was not going to refuse! He landed another six hard spanks!

“Had enough?”

“Yes I think so!” responded Gordon.

The boy stood up and this time unashamedly rubbed his stinging cheeks!

“My goodness you can hit hard!” he said with a wry smile.

“It’s like riding a bike!” grinned Derek, “Once you can do it you never forget the technique!”

Gordon pulled up his jeans then continued the rubbing for a few moments.

“Sit down!” invited Derek, “I’m sure you could use another drink now!”

Selecting a soft comfortable armchair Gordon sat down. He was still feeling somewhat embarrassed after the undignified way he had presented his bare bottom to Derek.

“Thanks I’d love another drink.” said Gordon.

They chatted away as they sipped their drinks, talking almost exclusively about corporal punishment. Derek got the impression that Gordon was longing to either say something or ask something. After a while he came out with it.

“I want to ask you something Derek! May I keep coming to see you?”

That question was the icing on the cake for Derek! It was better than winning the lottery!

“Sure you may, Gordon! You want more?”

“More spanking like this evening! Once is enough for the cane and slipper. But I would love to come and see you regularly for a spanking over your knee with my trousers down! It hurts but it’s great fun! And afterwards,” – here Gordon glanced down at his crotch – “it err, sort of turns me on! I don’t suppose it affects you like that! It’s routine stuff for you isn’t it?”

Derek was thinking just how naive this lad must be if he thought that stinging his bottom was having no physical effect on his spanker! He smiled.

“I have noticed the bulge between your legs my boy! You obviously haven’t noticed that I am in a similar condition! You don’t think I would go to the trouble of giving you all these whackings if I wasn’t getting something out of it myself, do you?”

“Oh yes, of course!” replied Gordon turning a little red in the face.

“Now I’ll tell you something. You are a born bottom, meaning you enjoy getting it! I am a born top, I enjoy giving it! We’re like a nut and bolt! We fit each other! Let’s drink to that! Empty your glass Gordon and I’ll refill it. And let us seal our new partnership with a toast!”

Derek had by this time convinced himself that this was no dream. It was really happening! And he had also got the conservatory he had always wanted!

__________________

Story ©MMIX by Skinpang.

______________

D I S C L A I M E R

All characters and businesses appearing in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

__________________

Please leave a comment.  Comments are here.

 Further great stories by Skinpang may be found at this external link.

Coast Of Living (M/M) NEW!

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Here’s another brand spanking new and explicit corporal punishment story by Rod Cayenne.  This story is currently exclusive to The Canery.  All the characters are aged 18 or over. Strictly adults only!

 

Coast Of Living by Rod Cayenne

Bill Finney was an uncle of mine, on my father’s side.  Uncle Bill passed away suddenly and all alone.  With my parents going on a cruise of the fjords, I was asked to clear out his home and to realise the value of any belongings by selling them off or just arranging a house clearance.  Uncle was a funny old stick and not particularly liked within the family.  I didn’t begrudge being landed with this task as I am a bit of a jumble sale fanatic.  So I figured I might find some interesting bric-a-brac and I might make a bit of money to put into the value of his estate.

I don’t know quite how you’d classify his stylish home  – was it a flat, an apartment or a maisonette?  Well it was split-level, so maybe a maisonette.  Whatever, it would be “highly desirable in a sought-after location” in Estate Agent parlance, no doubt. Some rooms had coastal views which were absolutely breathtaking.

Uncle was a bit of a collector.  There were stamp, beer mat and coin collections, snuff boxes, old books and a few random issues of glossy magazines, and some aviation memorabilia.  However, I was shocked to find a lot of spanking implements in among my uncle’s belongings.  The kinky old devil!  They were in a large old travel trunk stored near his double bed.

On opening the trunk, a sheet of A4 paper with my uncle’s handwriting was the first thing I noticed.  The knowing note explained that it was a hobby of his and said to take the implements if they were of interest, or to please dispose of them discreetly if not.  There were two Punishment Books.  One was apparently property of “Mr. William J. V. Finney, Headmaster”.  It was an expensive-looking burgundy leather-bound volume with gold embossed lettering on its cover.  The other was a tatty improvised volume, basically an old exercise book, for “Master William Finney, Lower Fourth Form”.  Careful reading of the inked information in both books informed me that my uncle liked to play both dominant and submissive roles.  Interesting!  He evidently had a few male friends and visitors with whom he played spanking games.  Shocking!  I knew it was the liberated days of the early 1980s, but still…

I rummaged through the trunk, finding leather punishment straps, several whippy canes and grubby old plimsolls and slippers.  Ouch!  There were also two pairs of grey shorts, a school tie and a cap.  Also a peashooter and a catapult.  It looked like Uncle Bill put a lot of effort into playing the part!  There was also a mortar board and a headmaster’s gown.  Well, I was well and truly lost for words about what I’d found.  I carefully considered my uncle’s request for the discreet disposal of what I’d found.  I decided I’d do exactly what he had requested, it was only fair after all, and I resolved to dispose of the items gradually in my domestic rubbish.  After all, the items were of only prurient interest to me, and I could hardly discuss what I’d found with any of the family, now could I?

That night, however, I slept badly.  My mind kept playing over what I’d found and what I’d found out about.  I started thinking a lot about my uncle’s interest in spanking and caning games.  I saw him in a very different light now.  My initial ambivalence to his kinky hobby had turned into some reluctant but definite enthusiasm for the subject.  My penis was also feeling the same way.  Well, it always did have a mind of its own.

After my fitful sleep, I decided to take a cab back to my uncle’s place as I didn’t feel up to driving.  This time, with a bit of effort, I tipped the heavy trunk over and started a more detailed audit of the contents.  While doing this, I found a small business card for a “Dr Derek Smith, Headmaster, Disciplinarian, Mentor and Coach” with his phone number.  I had to ring it; I just had to!  So, I did.

“Smith here,” a gruff but distinctly posh voice replied.  I explained who I was and what I’d found and that I was interested in exploring my uncle’s hobby for myself, as I’d been to a progressive school which had long abandoned corporal punishment.  “My, you are a brave boy, aren’t you?  I wasn’t expecting a surprise like this at this sad time.  Are you sure?”

“Definitely, Sir!” I answered.

“I see.  And how old are you?”

“24, Sir.”

“Hmmm.  Not a bad age for a spanking virgin, I suppose.  Maybe just the right age, indeed.  Very well then.  Why don’t we meet at your uncle’s place?  I’ve been there many a time and noise is not usually a problem there.  I can be free tomorrow, if that’s any help…”

“Tomorrow’s ideal, Dr. Smith.”

“Excellent.  If you’re sure?”

“I’m sure, Sir.”

“Good.  Wear the school uniform items you found.  By the way, your uncle like to be buggered after a good caning,” he revealed, much to my astonishment.

“And you were happy to do that for him as well?”

“Oh yes indeed!  Dear old William.  He was always a pleasure to beat and to bugger.  As you’re of age, it’s another service I could offer you, if it were of interest.”

“Ha!  I really doubt it.  I’d have to think very carefully about that one!  But, thank you for offering, Sir.  You know, this has  all come as a bit of a shock to me.  A secret underworld I’d never imagined.”

“A lot to take in, yes perhaps.  A secret definitely, but a potential thrill for us both, I’d hope.  Like all my services, there’s no charge.  I do it purely for my pleasure.”

So it was that Dr. Smith turned up at uncle’s the following day.  He was immaculately dressed, in a three-piece pinstripe business suit and shiny black patent leather shoes.  He was balding, of course, and he had a fine trimmed moustache.  I’d had the sense to bring a glass bottle of milk from home, so we sat and enjoyed a cup of milky instant coffee together as we discussed uncle’s interest and our potential play.  I felt a bit stupid as I’d slipped on the school uniform items as instructed.  His blue eyes penetrated my shy façade.  He knew I wanted it.

We soon got down to business in uncle’s bedroom.  He had me over his lap, and smacked my ample bottom while I wore one of the pairs of shorts.  He then made me take down both shorts and underpants, and resumed smacking.  This time the smacks were much harder, and my arse was soon stinging and burning from the relentless punishment I was receiving.  It went on and on for ages.  Perhaps inevitably, when he finished, I stood up revealing a stiffening penis as I tried to rub the pain in my bottom away.  “You’re not supposed to enjoy this laddie,” he laughed, though we both knew that was indeed part of the game, “I can see that firmer measures are required.”

He leaned over and picked up a rubber soled gym shoe from the big trunk.  I really didn’t feel up to taking any more but I wasn’t the one in charge.  Very soon that grubby plimsoll was whacking my arse with a vengeance.  The intense, punishing sting of the rubber sole was incredible.  After two dozen blows, he pushed me roughly off his lap.  My eyes were moist, close to the start of tears, as I gingerly felt my wounded bottom.  Meanwhile, he was rummaging among the contents of the old trunk.  He found the headmaster’s gown and mortar board and put them on.  He really looked the part.

“Time for the cane, my boy.  As you have not kept your uncle’s secret, I feel that only the most severe punishment would be appropriate.  Six of the very best.  Bare breech!” he announced.

I was taken aback.  I’d regarded six as a possible maximum sometime in the future, something to aim for perhaps, and yet here I was, facing a most harsh finale to my first disciplinary lesson.  He had me bend over a small table in the bedroom, my already red bare arse on display in the most rude and provocative of ways.

“Grip the end of the table, boy.  Hold on tight.  This will be difficult to take, but it’s what you need and deserve for your flagrant disobedience.  Pay attention, now.  I shall expect you to count out each stroke, and thank me after each one, too.  Is that clear?”

I could hear him swooping the cane through the air, practicing the strokes that were soon to be forthcoming.  Did he mean to intimidate me?  Well, whether he did or not, it certainly had that effect.  The first stroke sliced down, cutting right across the middle of my bottom.  “One!” I shouted out, and then thanked him sincerely.  But I was already feeling the red hot, severe pain that only a cane can give.  I was regretting my interest in this kinky game.

“Two!” I cried out but the pain of the second stroke was truly overwhelming.  The cane seemed to have wrapped around every curve of my bottom and set every last nerve and fibre alight.  In my agony, I almost forgot to thank him.  But I did, which was just as well as I didn’t want to incur any additional penalty.

The third stroke was firm and unforgiving but I took it in silence, duly counting and thanking my tormentor.  That calm status didn’t last, however, as the fourth stroke was the work of a true bastard caner, with the force of the stroke shoving my bare crotch further into the table edge.  I was feeling sorry for myself and I cried out and then whispered out the count and my thanks.

The fifth stroke was crisp and sharp, the sting intensifying as I awaited the final stroke.  He made me wait and wait and then slashed down the hardest stroke he could muster.  “Six,” I gasped, “Thank you Sir.”

He stood up and unzipped the fly of his pinstripes.  His girthy and excited penis was revealed.  “Good.  Now thank me properly.  Suck it laddie!”

I did.  I gave it my best despite my inexperience, and I’m still not sure that I enjoyed it.  But he did, moaning with very real pleasure, and was very definitely rock hard and rampant by the time we’d finished.  Once again, I was caught in his penetrating gaze, “You want to try the buggery?”

“I honestly don’t know, Sir.”

“Fair enough.  Let’s try it anyway and see whether you like it or not.  We can always stop if it hurts you too much.  But I’d rather carry on, once we’ve started.”  He stripped off completely. producing a jar of Vaseline and greased up his cock, ready for a different kind of assault on my arse.  We did it on the bed.  There was an initial and intense stabbing pain as his cock entered me but I soon got used to its stiff presence in my most intimate space.  There were times when I enjoyed the experience as he thrust in and out rhythmically and energetically, and other moments when I just wanted him to finish.  However, he was evidently a long-stayer and my first anal sex experience was prolonged and a very full introduction to the pleasures of male on male loving.  Eventually, he orgasmed noisily and pulled out soon after.  I didn’t come at all while he was there.  Only after he’d left, did I have a couple of most satisfactory wanks on my uncle’s double bed as I played through the events of the day and fantasised about what we might do together next time.

Just a week later we met for a second session at uncle’s.  With my parents due back imminently from their cruise, it would be our last safe opportunity to play there.  There were still faint marks from my previous caning, but they soon disappeared under fresh weals!  Indeed there were six strokes on those daft grey school shorts he liked so much, six on my white underpants, and a final six bare bottom.  It hurt like hell, but it was such a turn-on.  The buggery this second time was altogether more satisfactory and mutually enjoyed as we had both spunked copiously.  I couldn’t deny that I had become a convert to both the cane and gay sex.

After he’d gone, I decided to go for a bracing walk along the beach and on to the harbour.  In truth, I’d never felt more alive.

______________

 D I S C L A I M E R

All characters and businesses appearing in the text or illustrations of this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

__________________

Story © MMXXIV by Rod Cayenne

—————————–

There’s more seaside fun in the stories “The Bright Red Briefs” and  “Barber’s Pole”

____________

Authors appreciate feedback, so please comment on this story. 

Comments are here.

Student Discount (M/M) NEW!

♥ Site recommended story ♥

To kick off New Year, here’s a brand spanking new corporal punishment story by Rod Cayenne.  This story is currently exclusive to The Canery.  All the characters are aged 18 or over. Strictly adults only!

Student Discount by Rod Cayenne

I loved being a student.  Really, really loved it.  I had some great times, and some not so good.  I was pretty young and naive.  I hadn’t had many experiences sexually and so what happened to me was completely unexpected.  Let me tell you all about it.

In my first year, I was fortunate enough to get a room in the Halls of Residence.  It was almost a taste of luxury and really helped me with my studies.  But after that year, my entitlement to such modern accommodation ended.  As a second year student of nineteen, I had to find my own digs in the big, bad city.  With my friend Paul, we were lucky enough to find a couple of rooms in a suitable place.  That old house was a bit of a wreck, to be honest.  But boy, was it ever cheap!  Rent was just four pounds per week.  Not much, in the scheme of things.

We soon discovered that four pounds was the maximum we could pay as our landlord, Mr Patel,  offered a reduction for “naughty boys”.  When I first heard about it, I assumed he wanted to bum us, which would have been illegal as the age of consent for homosexual sex was then 21.  However, a less than discreet chat with Nick, a long-term lodger at the student house, soon put me right.  “No, it’s not that.  He waives or reduces the rent if you agree to him spanking you, generally once or twice a month.  That’s his little kink.  I was used to a bit of corporal punishment after my grammar school days, and found it was no big deal.  Sometimes I’m over his lap for a long hand smacking.  Other times the slipper, strap or plimsoll.  Less often it’s the cane, which is still hard to take quietly to be frank, even though I’ve had it often enough in the past.  But I took him up on the offer, as four quid is four quid.  That buys a lot of beer or smokes.”

“Yes, I see.  But what about your pride and dignity?” I asked.

“I can live without those for four quid a week extra in my pocket.  The pain’s not too bad, except for the cane.  Everyone has their price.  And there’s no hanky panky, just spanky.”

“So, no sex.   That’s good.  Does he get an erection, though?”

“Well, I should have said, it’s usually a bare arse job for us lads.  Even if it starts off on trousers or pants, they always come down in the end.  But an erection?  No I’ve never seen him stiff, or felt him have one when I’ve been over his lap.  He seems pretty sexless, and maybe impotent.”

“What does Mrs. Patel think of all this then?”

“He’s a widower.  Didn’t you know?”

“No, I didn’t.  Poor fella.  That explains it all.  Suppose he has to get his jollies somehow.”

“Save your sympathy.  He doesn’t deserve it really.  He’s a pervert.  No other word for it.  He’s a common or garden perv.  Lives with his uncle, who is even worse.  That uncle’s one to avoid as he really is a bum bandit, and is built like a brick shithouse too.  There might be something going on between those two.  That uncle propositioned me once.  He was after more than some spanking fun and quite shameless about it too.  He didn’t offer me anything for it, either.”

“Mmm.  A bit mean, that.”

“Too right!  Who does he think he is?  Or rather, what does he think I am?”

I couldn’t help but laugh at that point, “Maybe he thinks you’re a common prostitute?”

“Hey now, that’s not fair.  As I said there’s no sex between me and Patel.”

“No, but he is paying for your company.”

“Oh, maybe he is in a roundabout sort of way.”

“So, I’m right!”

“Hey, leave it out will you?”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to offend.  I’m just shocked by all of this.”

“Well, don’t be.  He offers everyone a discount in exchange.  I’m on the 100% discount scheme!”

“So when did you last get whacked by him?”

“Yesterday, actually.  Got the cane as he was in a mean mood.  Fuckin’ hurt for a few minutes, I can tell you.”

“But can you show me?   I mean, show me the marks?  I’d like to see how bad it gets.  I’ll know whether to accept or not then.”

“You want to see my arse?  Fuck that!  Fuck that!  Not likely!  Well, alright, I suppose I’ve got nothing to hide.  After all, Patel sees it quite often.  And sees to it quite often.”

Slowly, Nick undid his faded black denim jeans and slipped down his string underpants.  There, right across his arse were at least ten cane weals.  Bright red, they were.  I gasped and said, “They look really sore, mate.”

“They’re not too bad as marks go, actually.  Unfortunately, I mark easily.  Some do, some don’t.  It was just a dozen this time but the cane he used was really whippy.  It was a new one on me, I’m sure.  He’s got a friend who is a rattan importer, so he’s always got a fresh supply.  That new cane stung like the blazes.  Burnt like a Californian wildfire.  Still, I guess that’s me done for another two or three weeks.  Until he summons me again.”

I wondered whether there was a rota or something and how many lads were caught up in this bizarre scheme.  There was one big problem – I so wanted to touch Nick’s marks, but it didn’t seem right or proper.  I could feel my cock growing stiff, so I quickly wanted to distract him and said, “Must make it difficult to have a girlfriend.  You can’t hide marks like that, can you?”

“No, that’s true.  My last girl used to like the marks the cane left, mind.  Turned her on.  She was a dirty girl, alright.  But I dumped her as she was too fond of pills.  Anyway, you’ve got a chubby arse, I see.  Patel will like that.”

“He will?”

“Yes, definitely.  He doesn’t much go for the scrawny, slim look.  He prefers well-built, rugby types.  I reckon he’ll approach you about a discount within the week.  In fact, I’d put money on it.  He usually offers 50% discount if you’ll take the spankings, strappings  and slipperings.  If you’ll take the cane, make sure you ask for the maximum 100%!  Don’t sell yourself short.”

“Thanks for the tip, Nick, you’re a pal.   And thanks for checking out my chubby arse.”  He thumped me on the arm, but it was friendly, I think.  Anyway, I told him, “All the same, I don’t intend to join the discount scheme.”

“Well, don’t completely dismiss it,” he continued, “I quite enjoy the pain sometimes.  It’s like a test.  A challenge.”

“Ugh!  That’s mental, mate.  You must be some kind of masochist.”

“Do you want another thump?” he laughed.

“No thanks, I’m no masochist!”

“Time will tell, time will tell,” he said.

Time did indeed tell.  Patel soon summoned me to visit him in a flat above one of his retail properties.  Evidently this dingy place was one he shared with the uncle that Nick had warned me about.

I’d forgotten quite how handsome Patel was, but he had a way of leering lecherously that was not at all attractive.  He didn’t waste time getting to the point.  He asked me, “Any of the lads mention my unofficial discount scheme to you?”

I couldn’t help but laugh.  It was kind of clumsy the way he’d raised the subject.  Despite what I’d told Nick, I was by then tempted by the discount as I’d had an expensive week with a new pair of shoes and more textbooks to buy.  A little bit of pain would be a small price to pay, I reckoned.  I also realised that I had rather suddenly developed an interest in being spanked, if not thrashed.  Curiosity had definitely got the better of me, so I stared back at Patel and simply said, “Yes.”

“Eh?  Come again?”  Indeed I’d thrown him a little, as was my intention, “Yes they’ve told you about it, or yes, you want to join my scheme?”

“It’s a yes to both, Mr. Patel,” I said, trying hard to suppress a cheeky smirk.  I didn’t want to disarm him or to lose the discount offer.

“I can offer a 50% discount if you let me spank you now and then.  Once a fortnight or so.  How does that sound?”

“I was hoping you’d waive the rent completely, Mr. Patel.”

“Aha.  You drive a hard bargain, sonny!  I think I can stretch to that, though.  It will mean an occasional hard caning too, though.  I’m sure you can take it in your stride.  Yes?  I’m glad that’s agreed.  OK now, we should start as we mean to go on.”

“You want to spank me now?”

“Yes, I do,” said Patel as he sat himself down on a dining chair, “Over my lap right now, sonny!”

His hand was soon smacking down on my pale blue Farah slacks.  I was surprised at how much his hand could hurt me.  The pain was building and building and I was wriggling on his lap, trying to escape his punishing palm.  Only later did I find out from my fellow tenants that Patel loved it when a lad struggled to cope while being spanked.  I cried out as he landed a last smack.  It was too much.

“Now take your trousers down.”

“What?  You’re joking aren’t you?”

“No I’m not, young Tony!  I’ll be punishing you on your underpants, so get ready.”

Well, I didn’t have much choice.  I unbuckled my skimpy belt and my trousers fell down onto my new shoes.  He then started a fresh attack, slapping my arse cheeks really hard again and again and again.  I gasped as he picked up a rubber-soled slipper and let fly with that.  The sting was amazing but so painful.  I could feel teenage tears forming in my eyes.  But then it got even worse as he got hold of the waistband of my briefs and pulled them down too.  Again and again the slipper crashed down on my naked buttocks.  It was all too much.  The tears were welling again and I thought I was going to piss myself with pain.   He stopped and let me rest for a minute.  His hands started to caress my arse, which was a welcome relief despite me thinking he was taking a bit of a liberty.  Finally, he announced, “Just twelve strokes with the leather strap, then we’re done here.”

I could hardly believe it!  That leather thing was sheer hell as he laid into my arse once again.  The sting was so intense, as was my shame.  The bastard!  When he’d finished, he pushed me roughly off his lap and I stood, unsteadily for a minute, before my hands flew back to massage my cheeks.  Shit, that had been bad.  Worse than I’d anticipated.  I hated to think what a caning would be like.  Amazingly though, I thanked him and we shook hands as I left.

I returned to the student house, reflecting on my punishing afternoon with my landlord.  Unfortunately, when I walked into the kitchen I found four pairs of eyes staring at me.

It was Nick, my mate Paul, and two of the other residents, Vince and Robert.  They were all smiling and I’m sure they were waiting for a full report from me, as they had twigged exactly where I’d been.  At first, I was inclined to tell them to fuck off, but a second, better thought came into my head: to tell it like it was.  So I went with that and just said to them, “My arse is so fuckin’s sore, you wouldn’t believe!”

“I’m sure we would believe, Tony.  We’ve all been there.  And back,” said Vince shaking his head.

“And round the block.  You can’t say that I didn’t warn you,” added Nick.  “He follows a pattern.  You do realise that the second time is when he’ll introduce the cane, don’t you?”

“Errr, yes.  Got any tips on how I can reduce the pain?” I asked as I absent-mindedly rubbed my sore arse.

“None at all,” laughed Nick, “Can’t be done.”

“Actually, there is a way,” said Robert, “But you won’t like it.”

“Yes?” I asked.

“Well the only way to reduce the pain is to get used to having your arse thrashed.  Get it frequently and you will eventually get a tough as leather behind.”

“Gee, thanks.  That’s no help at all!”

They all disolved into laughter at that point and I stormed out of the kitchen and stomped up the creaking stairs to my room.  Only a wank seemed to reduce my discomfort.  At least I slept soundly that night.

A fortnight later I was back at Patel’s for my first caning.  He was beaming away happily.  There was no role play, he just let fly with the cane.  It was a crook-handled one, just like schools had back in those days.  It probably was a newish cane, as Nick had suggested.  He went straight into caning me.  Oh my god, how it hurt!  Three batches of six strokes.  Six on my slacks, six on my Y-fronts and six bare.  It was pure hell for a while, but I was quids in and content with the deal.

As luck would have it, Patel and I grew close.  He even let me call him Pranjit, which none of the others in the student house would have dared to do.  After a session, he and I would often have a naked cuddle together between the nylon sheets of his double divan.  Again, something the others didn’t get to indulge in.  There was still no sign of sexual excitement with him though.  I, on the other hand, was frequently erect as I’d begun to find the discipline of the cane was a huge turn-on for me.  A few times,  I’d noticed cane weals on his arse.  Eventually I asked him about it.  He was embarrassed, although surely he didn’t imagine that I wouldn’t see those marks?

“Oh, that’s my uncle.  He beats me.  Hard.  The difference is, when I spank and cane my boys it’s because they’ve asked for it in return for a low or zero rent.  Some of them like it too, and get off on it.  I think you’re one of my lads who finds a caning to be exciting.  However, when my uncle beats me, it’s harsher and I’ve never agreed to it.  I hate it and want to scream.  But when he fucks me afterwards, I forgive him, as I do like that.  He can be quite tender then.  And I think he loves me, in a strange kind of way.”

“You have sex with your uncle?” I asked in disbelief.

“Err, yes.”

“And you like it?”

“Err, yes.”

With that, I just sighed and thought, “Oh, what a tangled web we weave…”

I later found out that his uncle was the rattan importer that Nick had mentioned. From what I could gather, it was quite a lucrative trade as he supplied punishment canes to a lot of independent schools and even some sex shops.

So, that was the story of my early adventures.  By the time I left University, I’d developed a taste for spanking and caning, and for the sexual opportunities men enjoyed with each other.  I was more than happy with the new life I’d discovered, and I met some lovely Indian guys along the way too.

______________

: D I S C L A I M E R :

All characters and businesses appearing in the text or illustrations of this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

__________________

Story © MMXXIV by Rod Cayenne

—————————–

There’s more Indian fun in the story “Top Shelf Showdown“

____________

Authors appreciate feedback, so please comment on this story. 

Comments are here.

I Could Smell The Man On My Hands (M/M)

♥ Site recommended story ♥

A first repeat of this hot tale by Rod Cayenne. All the characters are aged 21 or over. Strictly adults only!  This story is exclusive to The Canery.

I thought I’d washed thoroughly in the showers before leaving the gay sauna. But somehow the smell of the young man lingered on my hands. Musky and masculine, with just a hint of funk and condom rubber, the smell was unmistakably him and not me.  I cursed the soap gel dispensers at that sauna, which always seemed to be half-empty, and difficult to use.  A lot of guys there took their own toiletries, I’d noted.  It seemed a rather French thing to do, but I resolved to do the same in future.  Still, I sniffed nostalgically at my hands as I walked down the historic Rue des Artistes.  Maybe I’d been too busy washing my head hair, as somehow or other, I’d accidentally managed to get a large dollop of lube in it.  Then I remembered what fun we’d had.  I’d spanked him for ages in a private room, le vice anglais indeed, and then we’d shagged each other senseless in front of an eager cosmopolitan audience in the cinema room.  The feeling as his thick bell-end eased and probed its way into my tight tunnel was just exquisite. Mmmm, such happy days!

Just a couple of weeks later I found myself cutting through the leafy park on my way to the car dealers.  The sun shone like molten gold on the boating lake as I stopped and sat myself down on one of the green-painted metal bench seats.  The ducks were quacking merrily and I could almost hear Debussy in the air.  Instead, I heard the purposeful exclamation of my erstwhile lover from the sauna, muscled young Henri, “Jim, it’s you!  I can’t believe it’s you!  I had assumed you were a tourist!”

“Oh no, Henri!  I’m no tourist, I live and work here!”

“In that case we have something to celebrate, Jim!  Hey, why don’t you come back to mine?  Now!”

“I’d love to but I can’t.  Car trouble.  Got to pick it up.  They’ve fixed the main problem but I’ve got to take it back again in another couple of days.  So much for fucking French engineering!”  Indeed, my locally-sourced Citroen had turned out to be a bit of a citron.

“Pfft!  Always whingeing, you Little Englanders!  Here, let me give you my number.”  He tore a page from a diary or some kind of French Filofax thing and scribbled away with a chewed blue BiC ballpoint pen.  I took the paper from his beefy hand and gave him a sly wink.

With indecent haste, just a couple of days later I was over at his apartment.  It was located off a swish and swanky little mews not so far from me.  He greeted me like a long-lost friend, kissing both my cheeks like many foreigners and the French always seem to do.  We sat down on a leather chaise, cuddling and kissing as the prelude to our hot afternoon.  Out of the corner of my eye, I could see a glass-topped table displaying a martinet and a beastly-looking riding crop.  Clearly my friend had a taste for corporal punishment games.

“Yes, my good friend,” he said, “They will both see some use today, don’t you suppose?”  I nodded and was just about to say how much I agreed, when he interrupted excitedly, “I have something else here that may interest you.  Something quintessentially British!”  He wasn’t wrong.  He was right.  He picked up the item from behind the sofa and waved it at me saying, “Look dear boy, it’s a cane!”

“I can see that!  Give it to me!” I bent the thing almost double before scything it through the Parisian air and whipping it down on a nearby plump cushionette, saying, “Where on earth did you get this?  These fucking hurt, you know!”

“So I’ve heard, my friend.  But I don’t really believe it.  More Little Englander exaggeration.”

“We’ll see about that!  Anyway, you haven’t answered my question about where you got it from,” I snapped testily back at him.

“I bought it at a sex shop, of course.  Where else?  It was – how you might say – an under the counter item.”

“I doubt that!”

“They had a few for sale.  Some straight and some, like this one, with that funny curved handle thing.”

He’d chosen well, I decided as I bent the rattan again, saying, “Come on then, bare your arse for me!”  He dropped his pale blue slacks and his burgundy underpants.  He looked faintly ridiulous standng there in just his Sasha Distel-stylee polo neck top.  So I ordered him to take that off too, and totally naked bent him over a chair near the window.  He had to stand on tiptoes due to the high back of the chair.  “Six strokes is traditional,” I informed him.

I whipped the rattan down with venomous intent.  The poison took immediate effect as my French friend gasped with undisguised horror.  “Quelle horreur!” he must have thought to himself.  Absolutely nothing prepares a virgin for that first stroke of their first caning!  Still, I wasn’t going to dwell on that thought, after all I had another five strokes to deliver.  I whacked the second one down, just below where the first one had landed.  “No!” he cried.  I feigned complete deafness as I raised the cane again. I aimed lower still, landing a real beauty on his naked flesh.  “No more, Jim!  Please!” he pleaded.  I chuckled inside with sadistic delight, for I had this French Fancy just where I wanted him.  He should have known better than to have so flippantly underestimated the power of the cane.

“Half way,” I said to him, but in truth I was half way to paradise.  My cock was twitching and straining in my trackies as our CMNM scene progressed.  His hairy arsehole was intermittently on view as he squirmed about.  It wasn’t the target area but it sure was enticing.  There was the promise and allure of more wild sex treasure there, for sure.  I lashed the fourth stroke down, laughing with delight at his undisguised misery.  He groaned loudly and muttered something foreign that I just couldn’t catch.  After all, I wouldn’t recognise the French word for “bastard” now would I?

I was half-tempted to make the final couple of strokes diagonal ones, but I didn’t want to blow it by being too sadistic.  That could keep for another time!  Right then, I landed two bracing parallel stripes on his French flesh.  He jumped up and jigged around, rubbing his bottom vigorously.  His member was half-erect, and open to admiration.

“That’s enough of that, Henri,” I admonished, “Now be a good boy and fetch me the martinet.”

“Oh, Jim.”

“Just do it!” I barked in my best military tone.

He duly presented the martinet to me.  It was a strange item to these English eyes.  Often referred to as a dog whip, this particular one was a rough and cheap item.  The handle was poorly fashioned, but the leather lashes were rather more professionally finished.  I really had no idea how to use it, but figured it couldn’t be that difficult.  I led him back to the chair, and bent him over.  The cane weals were now really prominent.  I couldn’t resist feeling them.  They were very hot to the touch and Henri groaned as I felt them all over.  I was a little disappointed that I couldn’t feel the weals throbbing, but I guessed that was a pleasure only the caned could enjoy.  I spat on my finger and rubbed the wetness on his arsehole as a tease of pleasure to come.  I then rubbed the handle of the martinet around the same enticing area.  I thought about pushing the tip of the handle in but instead decided to lash the martinet down on the waiting cheeks.  I did it again and again.  I was enjoying the moment as the leather strands whipped all around his arse, also filling in any gaps between the cane weals.  I could feel my cock stiffening as I brought the whippy lashes down again.  What an intriguing implement I though, and so quintessentially French!  Henri was now mewing, perhaps with pleasure but certainly with discomfort.  I threw the martinet down and picked up the riding crop.  Now, the crop was a real old favourite implement.  I scythed it through the air.

“Time for the crop, Henri.  I’m going to beat you like an animal!”

“No Jim, please.  Fuck me instead.  Please!”

Well, that was certainly an option.  My cock was rigid and its head was straining against my tracksuit bottoms.  But I really wanted to beat him hard with that crop first.  I was crazy with lust, desire and sadism.  The horse-whip was rather different to the dog-whip I mused as I cracked a first stroke down on top of flesh already scarred by the cane and the martinet.  Henri bucked with pain immediately.  I really didn’t care as the animal beastliness in me had taken over, and I crashed a second and a rapid third stroke down, enjoying the sound, feel and vision of the punishment.  I determined to make it just nine strokes of the crop, so I lashed the final six rapid-fire style and he gasped and complained throughout.

“Now, let’s fuck!” I laughed as I entered him roughly and started pumping for dear life. I slapped his arse a few times, relighting the barely-dormant flames of my sadism.  I was already close to cumming.  I pulled at his lanky black head hair as I gave a couple of final thrusts.  Hot spurts of cum gushed from my cock right inside his young arse.

Later that sunny afternoon, we swapped roles and he beat and serviced me.  Well, it only seemed fair and my gosh, what fun we had!  As I walked back home sore arsed through the park I noticed I could smell him on my fingers again.  It made me horny again and I laughed out loud to no-one in particular.  Well, I had to really, didn’t I?

_____________

D I S C L A I M E R

All characters appearing in this story are over 18 and are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons or businesses, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

(_____________

Story © MMXIX by Rod Cayenne.  All rights reserved.

__

Comments welcome.  Coments are here.

Comments from the original 2019 posting are here.

Rumbled On The Train (M/M) NEW!

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Red hot new spanking fiction by very special guest author Sukemnsee.  This story is currently exclusive to The Canery!  All the characters are 18 or older. WARNING: ADULTS ONLY!

Rumbled On The Train by Sukemnsee

Have you ever had that moment on a train when you have an eyeline view of a passenger further along the train and you feel that you cannot escape his attention? That happened to me recently when I was travelling to London for a final interview to secure a good entry level position for my career, now that my University studies and intern placements are over. Colleagues reckon I am sure to get the role, but you know how it is with formal processes. 

I had a seat at the end of the carriage opposite a luggage rack so I didn’t feel overlooked.  I was quite comfortable viewing my phone and using Bluetooth EarPods. From time to time when I looked up, I just seemed to catch the gaze of that much older man, he looked interesting and benign. Maybe he was lonely?  I couldn’t help myself though, I needed to watch some pornographic content on my phone!

That porn viewing had started a week or so back. I was with one of my mates, Ally,  that I have a casual connection with.  I’ve known him throughout University and he is always up for something. We kind of fell into mutual masturbation a while back, he was the expert at finding suitable porn to get us aroused and I always went along with it. He is not good at finding or keeping girlfriends so our no strings fun sessions happen quite often.   Through him I have seen an awful lot, though some of it is suitable for one-time viewing only, but others, well, once you know a few links it helps out for private solo experiences. 

As to whatever got him off, I don’t know, but at least it wasn’t strangers dogging in car parks this time. It was a lot kinkier! He has always liked some femdom so it progressed into guys getting spanked by erotically clad ladies. Quite alluring but then when you see the follow on links for this major production house – they mainly produced male/male spanking content and so we saw a lot of that while we beat ourselves to conclusion.  I say beat but I don’t mean physically – it was our slang for masturbation.  Beating the meat.

Well, I didn’t tell him but this really pushed my buttons, to my surprise.  Over the next few days I saw a wide range of clips and it was almost becoming a secret obsession. At one point I saw some guys’ butts in the street and imagined what it would be like to spank them bare. 

After the guard had checked our tickets, the older man I mentioned went off to the buffet car.  I had overheard him asking the guard for directions. What I didn’t realise was that when he returned he had found a way of standing quietly behind me and clocked what I was viewing.  When I heard him eventually, I shielded my screen and watched him return to his seat.  He laid out food and drink and consumed them. The looks of attention he gave me seemed to increase.  

Some time after his snack he got up and came over to my seat.  He sat down in the aisle seat. Quietly he told me he knew what I had been watching and that we needed to talk. He was ever so discreet, a real old fashioned gentleman and quite personable, so I couldn’t resist his delicate enquiries. In no time at all, I told him about my interview and the timing of it (several hours ahead actually, as I didn’t dare take chances with travel timings).  Before he returned to his seat I had basically committed to following after him when we left the train.  His hotel was very near the station. 

He got a friendly greeting from the hotel reception, so I assumed he was a regular customer. They told him they had his usual room and I gathered his planned stay was three nights. A young man, of maybe 18,  portered his bags to the upper floor room right at the end of the corridor. The porter also volunteered to bring us tea for two. 

Once we were in the room, Uncle Don as I was now to call him, asked me a lot more about my viewing and then probed about my real life experiences. Sadly I had virtually nothing to tell him and I didn’t feel that I would be convincing if I started to lie.  As he was trying to find out whether I would want to spank or be spanked, a knock came at the door.  It was the same young porter with the afternoon tea on a trolley.  After he had placed the trolley near our armchairs he stood waiting, possibly expecting a tip. Uncle Don inspected the layout of the tea items, and was highly critical, telling the boy he hadn’t learnt from before. Uncle Don then moved to a nearby upright chair, sat down and the boy followed him swiftly, placing himself over the old man’s lap.  A solid spanking followed.  I was gobsmacked that this was happening in front of me.  The porter made little fuss.  After some minutes, he was clearly becoming uncomfortable.  Uncle Don made him stand up.  It was then my turn to take on the role of spanker. On instruction, the boy lowered his uniform trousers and his white briefs and went over my lap. I was shocked and nervous as I had never spanked anyone before.

I gradually started slapping him.  Uncle Don coached me as I spanked away.  By the time I was told to stop, the young porter’s naked bottom was quite rosy.  The youth then made himself decent and made to leave the room.  It was so surreal.  Just before he left he asked Uncle Don if he was still having his cousin visit at 6pm.  Don confirmed that was the case.  I gradually discovered in our subsequent conversation that Uncle Don had quite a schedule of visitors planned over his stay.  After the porter left he asked me to describe that experience of watching and participating, which I was quite candid about. I had been truly amazed by the events. He told me I was a swift learner and would benefit from his future coaching.  My mind raced.  Would I be required to visit London or would he come to my home town or have me to travel to his location (wherever that was)? 

I snapped out of this reverie as he called me to come and bend over his lap.  It was my turn to experience being spanked and then caned.  Strangely, I didn’t resist, and laid myself over his lap in the way I had seen the young porter do. The first slap was a real surprise. For one thing it hurt way more than I expected.  His hand seemed to cover a large area. Several slaps later and I was struggling to keep still as I felt my bottom turning to fire but something within me told me not to get up until I was eventually told to.  He had me move over to the tea trolley, and made me bend over so my hands grasped the trolley handle.  I waited in position and heard him unzipping his large suitcase, followed by a bit of rustling.  Then I realised I was about to be caned as I felt something light touching my sore bottom. I thought quickly of the many videos I had watched and waited nervously. I also wondered why I hadn’t resisted.  Just then the cane landed for real. What an impact!  It felt like a line of fire.  How I stayed gripping that handle I don’t know. He caned me five more times. My bottom was ablaze and I think I whimpered a little.  He had me stand up. I started to unzip my trousers but was told to wait until after we had eaten some sandwiches.  I eased my tender bottom into the armchair.  It was a nice tea but as I ate away I was conscious that I was going to learn more from his cane.

In good time and after he had telephoned for a fresh pot of tea, he had me resume position in my gaudy orange boxer shorts.  After this little break and without the benefit of thick trousers, the first stroke was a much more shocking impact than the first time around.  The next five strokes landed rapidly and once again set me ablaze.  I grunted with pain.  I then heard the young porter enter with a further pot of tea.  He set it down on the trolley right in front of me.  He looked straight into my face. Could he see the pain I was feeling? As he moved away he was told to lower my boxer shorts.  He took hold of the waistband and dragged them down.

Once I was bared in front of him he gave me two quick slaps and then withdrew. Uncle Don was back tapping his cane, getting ready to inflict more pain. Once more I briefly wondered why I was taking this, as if it was a normal thing to do.  How had a train journey turned into this novel experience? All my thoughts vanished as the cane landed with a resonant crack that made anything I’d experienced before seem as nothing. I couldn’t help but yelp and scream a little.  It was terrible, and as fast as I processed my thoughts the cane was landing again and again.  I was making a continuous moan as it landed on my bottom, higher or lower, same place even, who knew?  It was just terrible, yet I stayed down ready for each new stroke until I was told to stand.

After the pain stopped pulsing in waves through my bottom I was sent to fetch my phone from my trouser pocket and to get it ready to take a picture. I then obediently got back into position while Uncle Don took some photos while assuring me that later I would be glad I had a record of my  first caning. When I was allowed to stand, I was directed to stand nearby.  It was then that I saw the porter was still present, so he had watched me being caned. Was that an embarrassment or a stimulant?  I found it hard to know.  Now the porter was taking off his clothes again as he was in trouble for the slaps he had given me. Uncle Don was back in the chair and Billy as he was called now climbed into a position I would later find was called the wheelbarrow. Billy had his hands and face towards the floor but his legs going back either side of Uncle who now rained an absolute torrent of slaps with his hands on the naked bottom.  There were brief pauses where Uncle Don’s hands roamed, but then the spanking resumed.  Billy was moaning more and more and his bottom was a deep red. 

I watched avidly and found I now had a strong erection that I didn’t dare touch.  Billy was allowed to stand and Uncle Don sent us both into the bathroom to sort ourselves out. Once in private I asked if I could touch Billy’s bottom and I duly felt how hot it was. I also enjoyed my own bottom being gently rubbed. Then Billy started working my cock to a rapid completion, as if it was a normal occurrence. Maybe it was for him!  Maybe this connection with Uncle Don was well established and even lucrative?  Billy was experienced and as I shot my load all over the bathroom floor my mind was full of competing questions.  I noticed Billy spunked himself too, then he pushed me to my hands and knees to clean up the mess.  Meantime,  he gave me lighter slaps on my bottom.

As we finished and made to leave the bathroom Billy expressed a desire to do a lot more with me next visit, as long as I kept it secret.

Once in the room, Billy dressed and left. I however had to stay undressed while I was given a privileged crash course in good interview technique!  I found that helpful. Then I was told to dress and head off to secure my future role. Uncle Don would be in further contact and although it was a surprising turn of events from being rumbled on the train journey, I knew it was going to be just the beginning of a strange new world. A world that began to be real when I looked at my phone without being overlooked and saw the photo record of my first caning.  I could see the clear outline of angry well spaced red lines against a well-spanked bottom. Would I dare to ask for video capture on another session?  Subconsciously I knew I would have many more encounters with Uncle Don and possibly others. I didn’t yet know if I would tell my mate Ally of this episode but I did think I might yet roast his fulsome bottom!  I could even get hold of a cane too. 

_________

D I S C L A I M E R

All characters appearing in this story are over 18 and are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

____________

Story © MMXXIII by Sukemnsee and used here by very kind permission of the author.  All rights reserved.

All of Sukemnsee’s excellent stories for The Canery can be found here.

Comments welcome.  Comments are here, or use the link at top of the story.

The Bucket List (M/M) NEW!

♥ Site recommended story ♥

A brand spanking new story by hot guest author JOELSTRAP.  This story is exclusive to The Canery!  All the characters are 18 or over. WARNING: ADULTS ONLY!

The Bucket List by Joelstrap

“Worst I ever got,” said Brian, “was six on my gym-shorts for calling the games-master a bloody slave-driver. He wasn’t meant to hear, of course, but the bastard must have had ears like a bat. He wasn’t best pleased. Slave-driver, am I? says he with a nasty smile. Right. You’ll come back at the end of the day and do a run up to the lake and back through the woods; and when you return, I’ll give you six of the cane. But if you take more than forty minutes to complete the run, I’ll make it twelve with the cane. Well, I ran my guts out to get back in under forty minutes and managed it with barely a minute to spare. I’m standing there, hands on my knees, lathered in sweat and panting like hell. Good, Greening, says he. By the look of you the threat of a dozen with my cane drove you very hard indeed, didn’t it, boy? I had to admit it was true, because no way did I want twelve of his fucking cane across my arse. Bastard didn’t even let me get my breath back before he told me to bend over and lashed six of his best into my behind. Boy, did he make sure I felt them!”

“I once got four on the bare for skiving a couple of lessons so I could get tickets for a pop-concert before they sold out,” vouchsafed Liam.

“Yeh? I thought they weren’t supposed to do that,” said Jimmy.

“The deputy-head was allowed to at my school,” explained Liam. “The guys said he liked it and if you were quite good-looking or had a neat arse, he’d always cane you bare if you were sent to him for punishment; but if you had a face like the back of a bus or didn’t have a cute bum, he’d just beat you over your trousers.”

“Must have been true then,” said Ali, “since he caned you on the bare; and you’ve got a hell of a cute arse.”

Liam flushed.

“Well, just keep your hands off it, or I’ll set my girlfriend on you,” threatened Liam.

“Be scared; be very scared,” interjected Brian. “I’ve seen his girlfriend playing hockey and she’s vicious. You don’t want her hockey-stick mucking around with your balls.”

Ali instinctively crossed his legs.

“What was the worst you got, Ali?” enquired Liam.

“You know I went to school in Scotland, so I never got caned. I just got the belt. Strip of dense, hard leather, slit into two thongs along about half its length and used on your hands. Stings like hell and makes your palms blaze. I got six a few times over the years but the worst was actually a time I only got four. It was the Easter hols and Seelongs, our French master, had taken a group of us to Paris for a week. We went across on the ferry and then got a train; and when we reached the Gare du Nord he strides off and says to me, Bring my suitcase, Ransome. So there was me, swearing at him under my breath, and trying to carry out my own case plus his great big one. Anyway, I get off the train and lay my own case down and then reach in to get his, and it’s pretty hefty and I stumble back a bit, trip over my case and his falls to the ground. Ransome, he yells furiously, how dare you treat my possessions like that, boy? I’m trying to explain that it was an accident when he suddenly whips out his belt from where it’s hidden over his shoulder under his jacket and orders me to hold out my hands. I can’t believe that he’s gonna leather me there on the station-platform in front of everybody; but he is. Like I said, I only got four; but they were screamers and had me jumping and hugging my hands against my body; but even worse was the fact that all these people stopped to look. The bugger made my palms bright red; but I think my face was even redder.”

“Shit, that sounds horrendous,” said Liam. “Why’d you call him Seelongs?”

“That’s what it sounded like when he said Silence in French; and he always seemed to be saying it,” explained Ali.

“You’re keeping pretty silent, Matt,” said Jimmy.

Matt looked uncomfortable.

“They didn’t use the cane much at the school I went to,” he confessed. “I saw a few guys get it over the years; but I never got caned. To be honest, most of us didn’t.”

“Do you think you missed anything, Matt, after hearing our stories?” asked Brian.

“Course not. Who’d want to be caned?” retorted Matt, going slightly red.

“You got the kind of cute arse that Liam’s deputy-head would probably have caned bare,” said Ali.

Matt flushed.

“You’ve got arses on the brain, Ali,” accused Liam.

Ali shrugged.

“I know what I like,” he said.

“Well, I’ve warned you to keep off……..” began Liam.

“Yeh, yeh, I get the message. I’ll leave your precious bum alone and concentrate on Matt’s instead,” declared Ali.

“Keep your back to the wall, Matt,” advised Brian, as Matt blushed even more furiously.

The conversation slid off into other channels and later in the evening, after a few beers had been necked and fish-suppers consumed, they began to talk about bucket-lists. Various outlandish suggestions were put forward about things the boys thought they would like to do before they died; and then Liam suggested they each make a list of six things they’d like to try to do before the summer was over. They agreed the wishes had to be things which there was, at least in theory, a reasonable chance of accomplishing. Paper was found and silence fell as they pondered and then wrote down their ideas. Once the task was completed, each boy read out his list.

Getting laid featured in a number of lists; but there were also various other aspirations like flying in a plane; dining in a posh restaurant; riding in an open-top sports-car; visiting a lighthouse; going down a coal-mine. Matt was the last to read his list out; and was a little hesitant about it.

“Maybe I’ll just keep it to myself,” he said shyly. “It’s a bit personal.”

“It’s supposed to be bloody personal,” objected Jimmy. “It’s the things you personally are gonna try and do by September.”

“I know that! I just don’t think I want everybody to know,” said Matt.

“So how we gonna know if you managed to do all your list, if we don’t know what’s on it?” asked Brian.

“Come on,” urged Ali. “We’re not gonna laugh at you.”

“Oh, okay,” agreed Matt reluctantly. “1. Find a boyfriend.”

“A boyfriend?” queried Liam. “Not a girlfriend?”

“A boyfriend,” said Matt firmly.

“I never knew that…..” began Brian; but Ali interrupted him.

“What’s number two, Matt?” he asked, giving Brian a fierce glare.

“Get a rabbit,” replied Matt.

“A rabbit?” repeated Liam and Jimmy simultaneously.

“I always wanted a rabbit when I was a kid; but my parents wouldn’t let me,” explained Matt. “No 3,” he went on swiftly before anyone could say anything else, “drive a tractor.”

“Oh, yeh. I wouldn’t mind doing that,” enthused Ali. “What’s next?”

“Slide down a helter-skelter,” said Matt. “I’ve never done that but it looks great.”

Only Brian had done such a thing and he confirmed that it was an exciting experience.

“Do a streak,” said Matt, folding up his sheet of paper.

“A streak?” queried Liam.

“Yeh; you know; run naked through a public place,” explained Matt.

“Like down the High Street on a Saturday afternoon?”

“No,” retorted Matt; “but maybe down the High Street at midnight.”

“Why?” asked Brian.

“Why not?” retorted Matt.

“That’s only five,” objected Liam. “You should have one more.”

“Yeh, well, that’s enough,” said Matt, his ears glowing red.

Jimmy suddenly lunged forward and snatched the paper from Matt’s hand. Matt leapt to retrieve it, but Jimmy bounded across the room.

“That’s mine,” said Matt quietly. “Give it back, Jimmy.”

“In a minute. Number 6,” he read out, “Get a caning.”

There was a stunned silence. Matt went scarlet and looked at the floor.

“It’s okay,” said Ali. “We all know what corporal punishment feels like; and it’s natural you want to know too. I hope you manage to get yourself caned; and that you’ll tell us about it if you do.”

“Thanks,” said Matt softly.

“Give him back his list, Jimmy,” said Ali. “And if I had a cane, your arse would be as red as a post-box by now.”

Jimmy glanced round at the others but detected no sign of support and so he handed back the paper to Matt.

“Sorry, mate,” he said, “I was out of order.”

“It’s okay,” replied Matt. “It wasn’t just the conversation earlier. I’ve always sort of wondered about it. From what you lot were saying, it hurts like hell; but I’ve just got this feeling that I need to find out for myself.”

******************************

Ali asked Matt if he’d like to go for a run with him the next morning and the two lads spent an enjoyable couple of hours pounding along the beach and then through the woods, up a hill and back down into the town again. They showered at the gym and then went into the cafe for refuelling.

“I kind of wondered if you might be gay,” said Ali. “It was brave of you to come out like that last night though.”

“I wanted to for a while,” Matt admitted, “and it suddenly seemed like a good chance to just do it. I wish I was as confident and open about it as you are,” he added.

Ali shrugged and remarked that everyone was different.

“Coming out about wanting to be caned was even tougher,” said Ali.

“Yeh! I wish Jimmy hadn’t done that; but maybe deep down I wanted you all to know, because I put it on the list and I knew we were gonna read our lists out.”

“Jimmy’s a crass oaf,” said Ali.

“You really sounded like you would have caned him if you could yesterday,” said Matt with a grin.

“Fucking right I would,” declared Ali vehemently. “He shouldn’t have embarrassed you like that.”

Matt looked at him curiously.

“What?” demanded Ali.

“Yesterday you said I had a cute arse; and you got all defensive on my behalf; and you’re still a bit worked up about it today; and you’ve invited me out to run with you, which you’ve never done before in the six months I’ve known you,” said Matt.

“So? I like you.”

Matt flushed.

“I like you too,” he said shyly. “You got a great arse too; and gorgeous ears.”

“Ears?”

“Yeh; just perfect the way they peep out from under your hair.”

“Er…right,” said Ali, somewhat at a loss for words.

 

Ali and Matt grew closer as the summer advanced and by the end of July Ali had achieved all the things on his list; but Matt still had three to go.

“Do a streak; find a boyfriend; get caned,” said Matt. “That’s half my list still to do.”

Ali kept to himself the pang of disappointment which he felt when he heard that Matt didn’t seem to think he’d found a boyfriend. He knew that Matt was rather reserved and so simply resolved to try harder to advance their relationship in the hope that by summer’s end Matt might realise that he’d actually achieved that particular aspiration after all.

“How’d you like to come home with me for the last week in September, before the new Uni term begins, Matt?” Ali asked. “You should be finished your summer-job by then and so will I. We could have a little holiday to ourselves without having to spend much money. My mum’s a pretty good cook,” he added.

“Yeh? You sure? I’d love that, Ali. If your mum and dad don’t mind.”

“Course they won’t mind; but I’ll give them a call and check. It’s still six weeks away yet anyway.”

Later in the week, Ali reported that his mum would be delighted to have Matt for the week when Ali returned home.
Ali was delighted; and continued to plan. He had high hopes that by the end of a week when they spent all the time together, Matt would recognise that he had a boyfriend; and he also had an idea of where they could do a public streak to fulfil the penultimate of Matt’s bucket-list. The caning was more of a problem, but he wondered if Matt might accept a light beating from him with a garden-cane and consider that as fulfilling the requirements.

*********************************

“So, Matt, this business of wanting to do a streak,” began Ali as the pair lay on loungers in the evening-sun in the garden of Ali’s parents’ rural abode. “I’ve got an idea.”

“Yeh? Tell me,” said Matt eagerly.

“Well, I guess you don’t want it just to be running in our birthday-suits down the village-street at two in the morning when there’s no-one about,” said Ali.

“Oh, yeh! It needs to have a bit of danger to sort of spice it up,” replied Matt.

“Right; well how about on Thursday evening about ten o’clock when the weekly whist-drive is coming out? They meet in a room at the local pub; mainly ancient crones. We can time it to zip past while they’re leaving and give them a thrill; and we’d be too fast for them to recognise us – or catch us.”

“Great!” said Matt enthusiastically. “I’m up for it!”

Thursday evening saw the two boys behind a large tree at the entrance to a footpath, just opposite the pub. They’d stripped in the bushes a few metres along the path and were now waiting for the women to emerge from the building opposite. Matt nudged Ali as he saw the first two or three ladies emerge; and they waited until several more had come out and had begun to slowly amble up the street. The boys glanced at each other and then sped out of the path-entrance and on to the road, turning swiftly to streak past the emerging ladies. There were gasps; there were shrieks; there were shocked stares; but before anyone could fully register what she had seen, Matt and Ali had rounded the corner and dashed into the empty playground of the local school where they went to ground behind a high wall, panting and laughing at their success.

“Did you see the face of that fat one when she clocked our junk?” asked Ali.

“Yeh; probably the biggest thrill she’s had since her husband lost his pyjama-bottoms,” giggled Matt.

They continued to trade comments on the women’s reactions and then decided that it was time to make their way back to where they’d left their clothes. At the back of the playground, a gate led to a path which linked up with the one at whose entrance they’d begun their streak. They were about to stand up when they heard voices.

“Young hooligans like that should be whipped,” declared one female angrily.

“And have their bits chopped off,” said another. “They came out of that path opposite the pub. I wonder if they went through the playground to get to the path that would take them back there? Let’s go and have a look.”

Ali peeped round the corner of the wall.

“Shit! This pair’s not so ancient and they look like they could run a bit. We best get outta here fast,” he declared.

The pair darted across the playground towards the gate leading to the path; and were spotted by the two women.

“There they go!” shouted one of them and suddenly took off in pursuit.

Ali and Matt sprinted for the gate and then Matt yelped in shock: “There’s a woman coming towards the gate from the other side!”

Instinctively the boys wheeled about and charged headlong round the back of the school-building, to be faced with a stone wall, blocking their way.

“We gotta go over,” urged Ali. “Jump!”

The two leapt high and scrabbled with their hands at the top of the wall, desperation giving them strength to haul themselves up even as an irate female voice shouted, “That’s them!”

She actually caught Matt’s ankle as he threw himself over the top of the wall; and the two landed painfully on the well-kept lawn of the schoolhouse garden on the other side.

“Fuck! That was close,” panted Matt. “But I think we’ve escaped.”

“Er…what about him?” enquired Ali; and Matt turned to see a large Labrador gazing curiously at them.

“Nice doggie,” said Matt tentatively.

“Grrrrrr!” replied the Labrador menacingly.

“Oh, hell!” gasped Ali. “I don’t feel very happy about those big teeth being so near my naked junk.”

“Come on, boy,” wheedled Matt.

He extended his hand and the dog sniffed it suspiciously.

“See? We’re harmless,” Matt informed it.

“Wow! Wow! Wow! Wow!” declared the dog very loudly; and then repeated himself several times, increasing the volume when the boys tried to edge past him.

Matt and Ali glanced at each other but before they could do anything else a man came round the corner of the house and then stopped and stared at them.

“And what exactly do you pair think you are doing?” he demanded angrily.

“Well, er….that is….we, er……” began Ali.

“A couple of ladies rang my bell and told me that there were two naked young men in my back-garden,” said the man. “And it seems they were right. Ran past the pub just as they were coming out from the whist-drive, they said. I take it that would be you?”

“Er, well, yeh,” said Ali, covering his tackle with his hands and going bright red in the face.

“You’d better come in,” said the man.

“It’s okay,” replied Matt. “We don’t want to bother you. If you’d just hold the dog, we’ll………”

“You’d better come in,” repeated the man.

“I don’t think it’s an invitation,” hissed Ali. “We gotta go in.”

The man led them into a comfortable sitting-room and sat down. He looked at the two highly-embarrassed youngsters standing before him.

“I’m George Black, the headmaster of this school,” he informed them. “Names?”

Ali glanced at Matt who shrugged. Ali told him their names.

“Your parents live here, don’t they?” he asked Ali.

“Yeh; but please don’t tell them what we’ve been doing. It was a dare; to run naked down the village-street; and we did it; but we shouldn’t have.”

“We didn’t mean any harm,” put in Matt.

“You don’t think subjecting elderly ladies to the sight of two naked young men running past them was harmless?”

“They might have enjoyed it,” suggested Matt recklessly.

“What my friend means,” interjected Ali quickly, giving Matt a furious glare, “is that we never meant to upset anyone; and if we did, we’re really very sorry.”

“Are you indeed? Behaviour like this is completely unacceptable, but fortunately we have here the means to deal with it. Stay!”

He rose and went out of the room.

“You’d think we were fucking dogs,” objected Matt. “What do you think he meant?”

Ali shook his head, but before he could say anything, George Black returned, carrying a cane. He showed it to the boys and then whipped it viciously through the air so that it whined menacingly. Both Matt and Ali winced.

“Now here I have a cane,” said Black superfluously, “which is the ideal thing for dealing with young hellions who don’t know how to behave in a civilised manner. A cane, however, requires something on which to work if standards of conduct are going to be improved. Fortunately, you two miscreants have provided just what is required: two bottoms, bared and ready for the punitive rod.”

“No!” gasped Ali.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I mean,” Ali amended hastily, “please don’t beat us! I know we were stupid, but it was just a joke.”

“Of course I could just ring up your parents……….”

“No!”

“No?”

“Please, no!”

“You’d rather be caned?”

“Yes,” said Matt loudly before Ali could reply.

“Good, there’s no more to be said then. You, Alistair, bend over with your hands on that chair.”

Ali threw a despairing look at Black and then obeyed. Matt watched closely, trying in vain to conceal his towering erection behind his hands. Black rapped his cane several times on Ali’s bottom and then suddenly swept it back and drove it in ferociously hard. A sharp snap echoed across the room as rod met boy-flesh at high speed. Ali clenched his glutes and blinked rapidly several times. Matt observed a red line emerging from his mate’s skin. The cane was wielded twice more with explosive power, each stroke landing just a short way below the previous one. A gasp of pain escaped Ali at the third cut. Matt slid a hand between his legs and pressed firmly on his perineum.

“Feeling that, boy?” enquired Black.

“Yes, sir.”

“Learning not to run about naked in public?”

“Yes, sir. I’ll never do it again.”

“It appears that the message has reached your brain,” observed Black. “But I now need to ensure that it lodges there. Keep still.”

As Matt watched, simultaneously horrified and fascinated, Black wielded his cane a fourth time and drove it in brutally hard on the sensitive skin where Ali’s lower buttocks merged into tops of his legs. Ali yelped and squirmed, clenching desperately as the fiery burn roasted his flesh.

“Touch your bottom,” Black informed him softly, “and I’ll repeat the stroke. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

Ali tightened his grip on the sides of the chair and steadied himself. Black gave him a few seconds to anticipate and to fear, and then he hit him hard a little lower, the lithe cane lashing savagely on tender flesh and delivering a searing blast of pain. From Ali, a violent clenching of his buttocks and a half-stifled squeal; and from the watching Matt, a sharp intake of breath and an urgent pressing of his perineum as he fought to stave off the incipient eruption from his balls.

Ali braced himself for a diagonal lash of the cane, but instead got another stroke which landed almost on top of the throbbing welt raised by the fifth hit. Pain exploded like a volcano in Ali’s rump. An agonised squeal was forced from him as he writhed, hot tears trickling down his face, panting with the effort to maintain position and resist the insistent call of his tortured flesh for some soothing caresses.

“Think the message is lodged in your brain now?” enquired Black.

“Yes, sir,” gasped Ali brokenly. “Definitely, sir.”

“All right. Up you get and go and stand over there. You, Matthew, bend over the chair.”

The boys exchanged rueful glances as they passed each other. Ali stood with his hands, fingers splayed, feeling the blazing heat in his bottom. Matt positioned himself to feel, for the first time in his life, the fiery blast of a retributive cane. Black didn’t rush things. He flexed his cane a few times and then showed it to Matt before slashing it twice through the air, making Matt flinch. He ran the limber rod over the boy’s behind slowly, savouring the nervous quiver in the lad’s legs; and then, before Matt was expecting it, he lashed the cane hard across the centre of his buttocks. Matt yelped and bucked, clenching his gluteal-muscles hard, as he learned what a powerfully-wielded cane could do to him.

Swiftly adjusting his expectations, Matt stiffened his resolve, steadied himself, breathed deeply, and awaited the next stroke. Aware now of the level of pain to expect, he processed the sting of the next three much better, flinching hard and crunching his glutes, but maintaining a determined silence. As he settled after the fourth stroke, he knew that Black was approaching the sensitive area of flesh at the lower edge of his bottom; and he remembered vividly how Ali had reacted to the cane hitting him there. Matt tried to prepare himself for the agony to come, his young body taut, his knuckles white as he gripped the chair.

Black whipped the cane viciously hard across the boy’s crease and a blazing streak of flaming fire seared his skin, forcing a squeal from him and driving him to scrub desperately at the tortured flesh.

“Do you remember what I told Alistair about rubbing while being beaten?” enquired Black.

“Yes, sir.”

“And what did I tell him?”

“That if he did it, he’d get the stroke repeated.”

“Repeat stroke coming up,” declared Black.

Matt swore ferociously to himself, gritted his teeth and tried to hold his tense body motionless. A few seconds elapsed and then the cane lashed again into the tender flesh of Matt’s crease, forcing a desperate yelp from him as he writhed in torment; but his hands did not leave the chair.

A sheen of sweat glistened on Matt’s skin and he stood, shuddering with pain, panting as he fought to master his body’s urge to jump up and run. The cruel cane was probing once more at that part of the boy’s behind where his upper legs began. He forced himself to steady the persistent tremor in his lower body and awaited the sixth stroke. It came at a slight angle, deliberately cross-hatching the welts raised on his skin by the two previous cuts, and Matt uttered a snarling yell. He bucked violently, squirmed – and then failed to prevent his right hand from flying back to scrub urgently at the fire-blasted flesh.

“Well, boy?” asked Black.

“I….I couldn’t help it, sir,” answered Matt.

“Then you’d better learn to help it, hadn’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What happens now, boy?”

“I get the sixth stroke again,” replied Matt reluctantly.

“Indeed you do. Keep still.”

Matt struggled to resist a pang of despair and told himself fiercely to stop being a baby and take the pain. Black made him wait; but that gave Matt a chance to get himself in hand. Resolve stiffened and he locked his knees and pushed his bottom out. He wasn’t going to let Black see his fear. Black admired the youngster’s resolution, but also made up his mind to challenge it. He lined up the rod with the sensitive flesh along Matt’s crease and then whipped his lithe cane in as hard as he could. Once more Matt bucked and squealed, his lower body dipping to the floor for a few seconds; but his hands remained clamped firmly to the edge of the chair. Panting with pain and effort, he nonetheless felt, rising like a tide within him, a soaring sense of achievement. He’d taken eight brutally-hard strokes with a vicious cane on his bare bottom; and he’d survived.

Ali stared in amazement at his pal. He was embarrassed to find himself powerfully aroused at the sight of Matt’s exquisite bottom being so savagely beaten; and he wondered at the boy’s stoicism as he processed and absorbed the excruciating sting of eight mercilessly-delivered cuts. Ali knew only too well how much it hurt; and he’d only had to endure six.

Both boys were ordered to stand, hands on head, side by side, while Black delivered a lengthy lecture on the standards of behaviour expected of young males in the community. Once the lecture was over, Black asked where their clothes were and then told them that he’d go and fetch them.

“You will remain standing there until I return,” he informed them. “You will keep your hands on your head. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

Once he’d left the house the pair exchanged comments about what they’d experienced. Within seconds, two eager young penises were reaching for the ceiling; but neither boy removed his hands from his head.

“He’s probably gonna ask when he gets back, if we moved,” said Matt, “and I want to be able to honestly say we didn’t.”

Black did indeed ask just that; and got a quiet but firm assurance that they had remained in position as he’d instructed. He told them to get dressed and then dismissed them. They walked slowly back to Ali’s house, painfully aware of the pulsing heat in their beaten bottoms. Retiring to Ali’s room, they stripped and massaged cold cream tenderly into each other’s welt-scored skin. After that, it seemed only natural to relieve the pent-up feelings in their randy bodies, and soon two pairs of balls were sending copious quantities of boy-spunk to spatter chests and faces.

“So that’s your bucket-list complete, Matt,” said Ali.

“Yeh?”

“You’ve done a streak; got yourself caned……”

“…not half!” interposed Matt.

“…and got yourself a boyfriend,” ended Ali.

“Boyfriend?”

“Me,” said Ali firmly. “And if you argue about it, I’ll get one of my trainers, turn you over my lap, and spank the living fuck out of you until you accept it.”

Matt gazed adoringly at Ali.

“Okay. I’ve got a boyfriend. You’re hell of a sexy when you’re dominant like that, Ali.”

“And you just drive me crazy for you,” said Ali. “Are you glad that you didn’t get the cane at school, now you know what it feels like, Matt?”

“N..n…no, not really. It wouldn’t have been as brutal as that at school and I think it might have been kind of exciting,” Matt confessed.

“You want to go back to old Black and ask him to cane your bare arse again, Matt?”

“Er, no. Eight scorchers on the bare from him will do me. But,” he added shyly, “if you were serious about spanking me, I think I might enjoy that.”

“You want me to spank you?”

“Well, not right now,” admitted Matt, caressing his cane-marked bottom carefully. “But one day soon when you’re feeling dominant.”

“I feel dominant most of the time,” said Ali.

“So if I add a seventh item to my bucket-list: get spanked hard; you think I’ll be able to cross it off before the week’s out, Ali?”

“I guarantee,” Ali assured him earnestly, “that you’ll be able to cross it off your list before tomorrow is out, Matt. I’ll be able to cross off the seventh item on my bucket-list by then too.”

“Yeh? What’s that then?” asked Matt.

“Spank Matt’s bare arse fucking hard,” replied Ali.

Each boy duly added the seventh item to his list; and the following evening, while Matt stood rubbing his soundly-spanked bottom, his penis stretching desperately for the ceiling, Ali scored item seven from his own list.

“Go on, Matt,” he said, handing him his list and a pencil, “score off your seventh one. You’ve done it.”

Matt duly crossed out the hope to get spanked hard.

“I guess it’s okay to do things on your bucket-list more than once,” he said, glancing at Ali.

“I bloody well hope so,” Ali assured him, “because I’m gonna be doing my number seven lots and lots of times.”

Matt scrubbed at his burning behind and grinned.

“That’s good,” he said, “’cos I want to do my number seven lots and lots of times too.”

And he did.

 

**************************

D I S C L A I M E R

All characters and businesses appearing in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

__________________

Story ©MMXXIII by Joelstrap, used here by very kind permission.

Authors appreciate feedback. Please leave a comment on this excellent story.  Comments are here.

Joelstrap’s excellent earlier stories for The Canery are available here.  Further great stories by Joelstrap may be found at this external link.

Some Like It Hot (M/M) NEW!

♥ Site recommended story ♥

A spanking hot new story by very special guest author JOELSTRAP.  This story is exclusive to The Canery!  All the characters are 18 or over. WARNING: ADULTS ONLY!

Some Like It Hot by Joelstrap

“Who’s the guy with the divine arse?” asked Jack.

Chris looked across the crowded room, heaving with happy party-goers, and asked, “You mean the boy with the mop of blond hair?”

“Yeh, him. How the hell did he get himself into those shorts?” marvelled Jack.

“That’s Ollie. You want me to introduce you?”

“Oh yeh. He’s one sexy bugger. Those shorts are fucking obscene! I can see the outline of all his junk; and would you look at how they’re drawn into his cleft. Shit! He’s just amazing!”

Chris rolled his eyes and led Jack across the room and introduced him to Ollie. Ollie eyed the tall, curly-haired young man with the tight black-leather jeans and skin-hugging t-shirt, and liked what he saw. The two chatted and then sat down in a corner and talked some more. Next day they met at the gym and then went for a pizza together.

“You, eh, with anybody, Ollie?” enquired Jack carefully.

Ollie shook his head. “I broke up with my boyfriend a couple of weeks ago.”

“I’m sorry; well, no I’m not,” admitted Jack. “At least I’ve got a chance.”

“Yeh, maybe,” replied Ollie, “but just give me a bit of space. I’m not sure why things cooled off with Dane and I need time to think things through and sort myself out. I’ll put you on the ‘waiting-list’ though.”

“Gee, thanks! You sure know how to make a boy feel good about himself!”

“There’s nobody else on the list,” Ollie assured him quietly. “Just be patient.”

**************************************

“Ollie’s the guy for that,” declared Jack confidently. “Hair like a sunburst, lean, smooth, boyish body; looks like an athlete.”

Jack was a member of a college-group which made short films, and he and his fellow members were discussing people to play roles in their latest project. One of the roles was a small part for a young guy to be a kind of Tarzan-like figure who races through a jungle and rescues someone. It was when this was mentioned that Jack suggested Ollie.

“Who the hell’s Ollie?” demanded Stan.

“He’s a guy I met at a party a few weeks ago,” replied Jack.

“Oh, yeh? Got into his pants yet, Jack?” said Stan.

“Shut up, or I’ll let you feel this in your pants,” threatened Jack, raising his fist.

“Okay, keep your hair on. Can we meet him?”

“I’ll get him along on Friday evening,” promised Jack

He duly did as promised and presented Ollie to his mates.

“See what I mean?” said Jack. “Stunning!”

Ollie felt his face turning scarlet and looked down at the floor.

“He’s embarrassed,” observed Jack superfluously, “but I’ve seen him, sweat-streaked after a hard workout, and he looks fantastic. Ollie’s the boy for our film.”

“Don’t I get a say?” Ollie demanded sarcastically.

“Sure,” replied Jack, “as long as you say yes.”

“Yeh, okay, I’ll do it,” Ollie replied, “but I’m not going naked.”

“Course not,” said Brett. “We’d not be allowed that; but you can just wear a thong to hold your junk, and the rest of you can be bare.”

“I don’t want people ogling my bare arse,” Ollie protested.

“Why the hell not?” said Jack. “It’s a fucking brilliant arse.”

“Oh, yeh? You been checking me out in the showers?” Ollie asked.

“You bet I have. Best-looking, sexiest arse I’ve seen this year.”

“Right,” said Brett, “now we’ve established that Ollie’s got a divine bum, can we get on? The script’s finished, so we’re gonna meet again on Saturday morning to read it and work out how we’re gonna act it out; okay, guys?”

They all nodded agreement and the meeting broke up.

They worked at their parts, rehearsed and reached a pretty good standard and felt they were ready to begin filming. They didn’t have a jungle of course, but decided to make use of the wilder areas of a local park. All the same, Brett who was producing the film became increasingly unhappy that it just didn’t look realistic.

“It’s bloody obvious it’s not a jungle and they’re just rhododendrons,” he moaned.

They all agreed, but couldn’t see what else they could do.

*******************************************

Ollie and Jack were out running after a workout at the gym. They made their way round the perimeter of the local park and then along the river to the botanic-gardens. It was early June and the sun was hot. Sweat-lathered and panting, Jack flopped down on a bench for a rest and Ollie joined him.

“Would you look at him!” said Jack, giving Ollie a nudge and indicating a young guy sitting gazing at his mobile on a bench a short distance away on the opposite side of the path.

Ollie’s penis rose swiftly in his shorts and he surreptitiously made adjustments. The guy was gorgeous, close to six feet, broad of shoulder and slim of waist, his dark-red hair close-cropped, skin sun-bronzed, a trace of growth along his chin and upper lip. Ollie was enchanted. Jack was watching him closely.

“You trying to make me jealous?” he enquired.

“No; but you’re the one who pointed him out,” said Ollie.

“Well, he is pretty sexy,” admitted Jack.

The young man got to his feet and headed off up a path leading towards a group of of interconnected hothouses, of whose existence Ollie had been aware, but he’d never had any reason to go into.

“Come on,” said Jack, “let’s follow him and get a closer look at that brilliant arse of his.”

They followed the young man and he entered the hothouses.

“Shit! No money. We can’t go in,” exclaimed Jack.

“It’s free,” said Ollie, nodding towards a sign.

They plunged in and then paused for a few seconds as the heat hit them. Outside it had been hot in the sun, but here the air was humid as well. Ollie caught sight of the young guy heading along a wet stone path through a jungle of tropical-plants which towered above his head. They kept far enough back not to be seen to be following and were just in time to see the guy disappearing through a door marked ‘Staff Only’.

Ollie stopped and wiped sweat from his face.

“Shit!” he swore softly. “He must work here.”

“Ah, well,” said Jack philosophically. “Let’s have a look round while we’re here.”

They padded through what felt like a tropical jungle, dripping with water. Around and high above their heads huge plants with massive leaves seemed to enfold them and the warm, humid air made beads of sweat break out on their faces.

“Hey! I got a brilliant idea,” said Ollie. “This would be the perfect place to do the bit of the film with me running through the jungle.”

“We’d never get permission,” said Jack.

They walked on and then they espied an iron spiral-stair. Half hidden behind foliage, it rose to where Ollie could see the underside of a small platform high up near the apex of the roof. Ollie stared at it and concluded that it was so that people could see the plants and trees from above. Eager to climb up, he made for the foot of the stair, but an iron gate closed it off, and on the bars was a notice which proclaimed: “Stair Closed”.

“That could be the answer,” said Ollie. “Keep watch while I have a quick look.”

He climbed over the low gate and ran swiftly up to the landing at the top. He lay flat on the iron floor and peered down through the greenery. He could catch tiny glimpses of the path far below, but that was all. To anyone beneath, he’d be invisible. It would be easy enough to come up here and hide shortly before the glass-house was closed for the day; and then when all the staff had gone, he could go down and open the door to admit the two or three guys needed to do the filming.

“Well?” demanded Jack when he came down.

Ollie explained his plan and Jack conceded that it could work.

Later they contacted the others and agreed to try it, deciding to choose a wet evening when there were less likely to be people wandering around the gardens outside and who might see the group being admitted by Ollie.

On the following Tuesday, with rain forecast to start in mid-afternoon and to continue well into the night, they agreed to put the plan into operation. They kept numbers to the essential minimum – Ollie and Stan who were to be acting in this brief part of the film, Brett as director and Mike as the cameraman. Mike’s flat was nearest to the gardens and so they met there in late afternoon and Ollie made his way to the glass-house about an hour before closing-time. He concealed himself without difficulty, waited for some minutes after the hothouses were closed and until all was silent and still, and then called Mike on his mobile, telling him to come now, with the other two.

Ollie trotted down the stair and headed along a wet stone path through towering plants, towards a rear-door. He knew it would take the others at least fifteen minutes to get here so he was in no hurry. He rounded a corner and almost bumped into the gorgeous young red-haired guy whom he’d been following a few days before. He was standing with arms folded, barring the way.

“Oh!” said Ollie.

“That’s all you’ve got to say?” he enquired.

“I….er…that is, I was……oh, shit!”

“Well, you’re right about the shit, mate, because you’re in it right up to your neck,” he said. “But first, I’m Steve. Who the hell are you?”

“I’m Ollie. I saw you a few days ago when I was out for a run in the park; and you’re so fucking sexy that I followed you in here so maybe I could get to talk to you; but you went into the staff-area and I couldn’t go any further,” blurted out Ollie.

Steve looked momentarily stunned and then enquired carefully, “You got yourself locked in so you could meet me? Bullshit!”

“Yeh, okay, that was bullshit. The reason I got locked in I mean; not the bit about following you the other day,” confessed Ollie.

“Right,” said Steve, looking slightly crestfallen. “You got a hell of a nice arse,” he added.

“Bullshit?” asked Ollie, raising his eyebrows.

“Straight up,” insisted Steve. “So, you gonna explain what you’re doing here if it’s not to get into my pants?”

Ollie shifted nervously from foot to foot and then made a decision. He told Steve exactly why he was there.

“You’re in bloody hot water, mate. You’ve no right to be in here and no business letting your pals in to do illicit filming. So, for starters, if you want to keep them out of this, call your mates right now and send them home.”

Ollie hesitated for a few seconds and then pulled out his phone and told Mike to abort operations and return to the flat and he’d join them later and explain.

“So, you gonna call the police?” asked Ollie.

“Do you want me to?”

“Well of course I don’t fucking want you to!”

“Okay; don’t get you pants in a knot. But you’re not getting away with behaviour like this,” Steve informed him grimly.

“Fair enough,” replied Ollie. “I shouldn’t be here and I deserve to be punished. Suppose I come and work here for free every weekend for a month?”

“And me have all the work of supervising you, finding you stuff to do, squaring it with my boss, who probably wouldn’t agree anyway? No way, chum.”

“Well, what do you suggest then,” demanded Ollie.

“I’m going to cane you.”

“Cane me? With a cane?”

“That’s the usual way to cane a boy,” retorted Steve sarcastically.

“I mean….well yeh, okay, I know what a cane is; but no way can you beat me,” declared Ollie.

“Oh, I can beat you all right; and I’m going to; hard!”

“Please, no!” pleaded Ollie.

“You’re getting caned,” declared Steve. “Now shut up and do as you’re told.”

Ollie considered. He was under no illusions that a caning from Steve would be easy to take. This would be punishment and Steve wouldn’t be holding back; but on the other hand, he didn’t want to get involved with the authorities. He was also aware that his penis was interested and was wrestling with his mind for the mastery.

“Where are you gonna do it?” he asked submissively.

“On your bare arse.”

“Yeh; I mean where about?”

“Right here; and right now. You wanted some action in a jungle-setting, didn’t you? Well, I’m gonna go wild with a cane, raise your arse to tropical heat, make you writhe like a snake, and cure you of any monkey-business in future,” declared Steve.

Ollie rolled his eyes.

“Strip!” ordered Steve.

Ollie took a deep breath and removed all his clothing except his briefs. He put his hands to the waistband and then hesitated.

“Them too,” ordered Steve. “That’s the bit of you I need to get my cane to work on; and I don’t want anything in the way to reduce the sting.”

Ollie slid down his briefs and stepped out of them. Steve noticed that he was more than semi-erect.

“You think you’ll be able to keep that once I start beating you?” he enquired with a grin.

“How should I know? Nobody ever beat me before.”

“If I’d had any say in it,” observed Steve, “I’d have been giving you a good hard thrashing once a week starting on your sixteenth birthday.”

“What? But I’m eighteen! That would be over a hundred beatings already,” objected Ollie.

“So? You’re the kind of boy who needs it.”

“Says you.”

“Stop wasting time. Just wait here a minute.”

Steve disappeared into the staff-area and returned with a stool and a cane.

“Come on; we’ll go into the centre of the hot-house where you’ll really feel you’re in the middle of the jungle. I’m looking forward to going really wild with my cane.”

Ollie scowled but followed Steve along the hot, wet path through the vegetation to a place where it did indeed feel as if they were in the heart of a jungle. Sweat trickled down Ollie’s face in the hot, humid air.

“What are you doing with a fucking cane anyway?” enquired Ollie.

“It’s for beating bad boys with,” said Steve with a grin. “You’re not the only boy around who wants his arse thrashed.”

“But I don’t want my arse thrashed!” protested Ollie.

“That’ll be right,” retorted Steve, rolling his eyes. “You’ve just asked me to cane you.”

“I didn’t! You just told me you were gonna cane me anyway!”

“Shut up, Ollie!”

Ollie looked slightly mutinous, but said no more.

“I keep the cane in the hothouse,” explained Steve conversationally, “because the damp atmosphere gives it a bit of extra weight and makes it nice and pliant. That’s so it moulds itself better to your bare arse, plenty of cane-to-skin contact. That way it hurts more,” he added.

“Very sadistic,” said Ollie. “Why do I have to be naked? You’re gonna cane my arse, right?”

“Yes.”

“So I could have kept my shirt on.”

“No you couldn’t. I need to be able to see your tits so I can tell if you’re excited.”

“That’s perverted!” objected Ollie.

Steve shrugged.

“Do I look like I care?” he asked.

“You’re going to enjoy this, aren’t you, you bastard?” said Ollie angrily.

“With an arse like yours to cane, what’s not to enjoy?” retorted Steve. “Now get yourself bent over with your hands on that stool.”

Ollie gave him a sullen stare for a few seconds and then obeyed. Steve kicked his feet further apart. Ollie looked along his side and glared at him.

“You got a very expressive face,” remarked Steve. “I can’t wait to see what it looks like once I start caning you. I wonder if I can make you cry.”

“No,” said Ollie loudly.

“I’m going to try,” Steve warned him.

“Try all you like,” retorted Ollie.

Steve smiled and laid the cane along the centre of Ollie’s bottom, observing the sudden tension which sprang into the boy’s lithe body as he registered the fact that the start of his beating was imminent. Steve rapped the taut skin several times, allowing the pressure of anxious anticipation to build in the waiting youngster; and then he hit hard and accurately. Ollie felt a fiery streak of pain ripping across his bottom and he clenched his muscles as he processed the vicious sting. It had hurt more than he expected, but to his surprise there seemed to be a direct link between his throbbing behind and his penis, because it stiffened further. He tightened his grip on the edges of the stool, forced himself to breathe steadily, and waited.

The second stroke landed just below the first; and he had barely begun to deal with the pain when the third lashed him a bare couple of millimetres lower down. Ollie bucked and yelped. Steve rubbed his groin, feeling his own rampant organ inside his shorts, and watched Ollie coping with the sting.

“Feeling it?” he enquired.

Ollie ignored him. Steve suddenly reached through between Ollie’s legs from behind and grasped his balls hard with strong fingers. Ollie gasped aloud and rose on to his toes.

“Feeling it?” Steve repeated quietly; and his fingers tightened a little round Ollie’s testicles.

“Yes,” panted Ollie.

“Good,” replied Steve. “I always like to feel that I’m getting through to a boy when I cane him.”

“Well, you are,” said Ollie.

Steve relaxed his fingers and as he drew his hand back between Ollie’s legs, he allowed his forefinger to slide slowly along the lips of Ollie’s anus, making the boy’s penis jump. Steve settled his own demanding organ and then laid the cane warningly on Ollie’s rump, just below the welt raised by the third stroke. Ollie steadied himself and waited. Steve lashed him with the slender rod, whipping it at the moment of impact to intensify the sting, and was gratified to see Ollie writhe violently with a squeal of protest. His right hand flew round and scrubbed desperately at the tormented flesh.

Steve went to Ollie’s head, grabbed an ear and twisted it brutally hard, forcing Ollie to look up into his face.

“You don’t rub your bottom in the middle of a caning,” Steve told him. “Don’t you know anything?”

“How the hell should I know?” retorted Ollie with spirit. “Nobody ever caned me before.”

“That’s insolence, boy,” said Steve.

Ollie looked defiantly into his eyes.

“I’m going to repeat the stroke to punish you for rubbing your arse; and you’re getting an extra penalty stroke as well to teach you not to be insolent,” declared Steve.

Ollie absorbed this information in silence. Steve watched his pain-contorted features for a few seconds and then released his ear and returned to his position behind the boy. Ollie tensed himself in readiness. Steve drove in his cane ferociously hard. Ollie squirmed and squealed; but his hands remained firmly clamped to the stool. He was breathing hard as fiery pain lanced savagely across his bottom, and, even as he strove to ready himself, the penalty-stroke was thrashed into him forcing from him a desperate howl as he twisted and writhed and clenched.

Steve watched him closely, stroking the throbbing erection in his own shorts; and then he went forward and ran his hand over Ollie’s welt-scored buttocks, eliciting a gasp of pain. Steve’s hand slid once more between Ollie’s legs from behind and, passing over the heavy balls in their nest of hair, grasped the boy’s semi-erect penis, bringing it almost at once to full length.

“Not managed to get rid of that for you yet, I see,” he remarked conversationally. “But you are feeling it, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” replied Ollie in a tight voice.

“That’s six you’ve had,” continued Steve. “Four, plus a repeat and a penalty. Which means there’s two more to go to complete the traditional six of the best. Think you can take it, Ollie?”

Ollie was silent.

“Too much for you?” suggested Steve.

“I’ve told you,” retorted Ollie venomously. “I don’t know. I’ve never had a fucking caning before.”

Steve looked respectfully at the boy. He was in a lot of pain, but his cock was bounding and he certainly hadn’t been defeated. He went to Ollie’s head and showed him the cane, which Ollie eyed balefully but without saying anything. Steve smiled to himself, took up his position once more behind the lad and meted out a ferocious stroke low on his crease. Ollie yelped, bucked violently, and kicked out automatically, catching Steve’s wrist with his foot.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, kicking me?” demanded Steve angrily.

“Well, keep out of the fucking way!” snapped Ollie. “You should know how a boy might react when he’s being caned!”

“Still insolent,” observed Steve; and he suddenly lashed his cane hard into the centre of Ollie’s bottom, firing a couple of the earliest welts and forcing a snarling yowl from the squirming youngster.

“What did you get that for?” he asked.

“Being insolent,” replied Ollie.

“And have I cured you?”

“You wish!”

“You realise that was another penalty-stroke, and that you’re getting number 5 again because you kicked me, don’t you?” said Steve.

“Yes,” replied Ollie sullenly. “Get on with it.”

Steve grinned broadly and rearranged his massive arousal before lining up his cane to deliver the next stroke at an angle across the three lowest welts on Ollie’s behind. He watched the boy tense in readiness and he made him wait, enjoying his instinctive flinches when he did a couple of practice-swings which made the air wince. Ollie was quivering and panting and a sheen of sweat glistened on his bare back. He waited;

and when Steve wielded the cane and detonated an explosion of searing pain in his flesh, he partly stifled his cry by biting down hard on the edge of the stool while his lower body leapt and shuddered. Steve stroked his erection and then, as he felt an impending orgasm, pressed firmly on his perineum to halt it in its tracks. He allowed several seconds to slip past while he got himself in hand and also because he enjoyed making Ollie wait.

Finally he raised the cane, took careful aim, and lashed it ferociously hard into the underside of Ollie’s buttocks, so that it landed partly on an earlier weal. Ollie yelped and bucked and then stood, every muscle in high tension, glues quivering, panting with pain as sweat trickled in rivulets over his skin.

The fierce tension slowly ebbed from Ollie’s body and his breathing steadied. Steve stepped forward and ruffled his hair. Ollie’s penis, which had gone into retreat, came roaring back. Steve ran his hand over Ollie’s buttocks and remarked, “You’re kinda hot down there.”

“It’s a hothouse,” riposted Ollie. “Of course I’m fucking hot!”

“Not beaten yet, I see,” said Steve.

“It feels like I’ve been beaten,” replied Ollie.

“Stand up.”

Ollie stood slowly and felt his way cautiously over his buttocks with splayed fingers, wincing as he touched sensitive flesh.

“That fucking hurt,” he accused, looking into Steve’s eyes.

“But you’re still hard as a concrete pillar,” observed Steve.

“It still hurt!”

“Next time I cane you,” said Steve, “you’ll maybe have learnt not to touch your bottom; and not to be insolent; and six of the best might actually be just six.”

“Next time?”

“Same time on Saturday evening,” replied Steve.

“You really think you’re gonna beat me with that cane again in just four days’ time?”

“Sure I am! I can’t wait. Don’t you be late or you’ll get extra,” he warned.

Ollie shook his head and then, on Steve’s orders, returned to where he’d left his clothes and dressed himself. Steve unlocked the rear-door and Ollie made to go out.

“Well, where’s your bloody manners?” demanded Steve.

“Huh?”

“I’ve very generously given you my time and skill to let you have your first caning. Haven’t you anything to say to me?”

“Er…thank you,” stammered Ollie.

“That’s better,” replied Steve. “I’m sure that your mum brought you up to express gratitude when someone does something for you.”

“She never told me to say thank you when a vicious brute beat the living fuck out of me,” riposted Ollie hotly.

“You’re showing signs of insolence again, Ollie.”

“And you’re showing signs of sadism,” replied Ollie.

“Next time,” promised Steve with a broad grin, “I’ll show you some more signs.”

Ollie rolled his eyes and strode out of the hothouse and through the gardens towards Mike’s flat to explain what had happened.

******************************

Naked in his bed that night, Ollie lay on his face. He had just wanked off copiously, but already his penis was rock-hard beneath him again. He reached back behind him and felt his way with both hands over the ridges on his bottom, flinching from time to time as his probing fingers touched a sensitive spot. In his head he was re-living on an endless loop the caning Steve had given him. He remembered the ferocious sting, the searing blaze of fire when the rod lashed his crease, the writhe-inducing, squeal-extracting burn of the cross-hatching strokes, and the punishments he’d had to endure. He rolled on to his side and relieved pent-up feelings once again.

Wriggling into a comfortable position on his front once more, he thought about Steve. Just visualising his dark skin, close-cropped red hair and lean, hard body brought the blood surging into Ollie’s irrepressible young organ yet again. Ollie wondered that he felt no anger or resentment towards Steve although he’d beaten him so hard; indeed, he felt only an unexpected respect for the guy who hadn’t been afraid to use his cane to such powerful effect on Ollie’s bare buttocks. And he’d asked Ollie to return for a repeat performance in a few days’ time. No! He’d told him to return. Not that he had to go, of course.

Ollie considered as he caressed his behind gently. Steve seemed so sure that he’d go back; but why would he subject himself to a thrashing like that again? What he’d received earlier had been punishment and had saved him from a lot worse trouble if his illicit presence in the hothouse had been reported. To return wouldn’t be to receive punishment for anything he’d done wrong; it would simply be because he wanted to be caned again.

And why the hell, thought Ollie, would I want to be beaten with that vicious cane again? That beating was blazing hot.

Over the next day or two he thought repeatedly about going back to be caned again by Steve. There was something exciting about the idea and yet he was nervous about the pain involved. On an impulse he went to the Botanical Gardens one afternoon shortly before they closed and tracked down Steve.

“Hi! Couldn’t keep away, huh?” Steve greeted him.

“If I come back on Saturday,” said Ollie, “it’s not gonna be a punishment like last week, is it?”

“No, it’s not,” agreed Steve.

“So you won’t be hitting me so hard?”

“Eh? Where did you get that idea? I’ll be hitting you harder,” Steve assured him.

“Harder? But why?”

“Because I want to. You’ve got a great arse, Ollie-boy, and I enjoyed beating it; and so if I beat it harder, I’ll enjoy it more,” explained Steve.

“And if you beat it harder, I’ll enjoy it less,” objected Ollie.

“So?”

“Well, don’t my feelings count for anything?”

“No,” said Steve.

“But it’s my arse!” Ollie protested.

“Not when I’m beating it, it’s not,” asserted Steve. “Then it’s mine; and I decide how long and how hard I’m gonna cane it.”

“Anybody ever tell you that you’re a savage bastard?” enquired Ollie.

“Yeh; or words to that effect,” said Steve. “You never met a brute like me before, Ollie?”

“I never met a guy who beat the shit outta me like you did. Dane, my last boyfriend wanted to spank me,” he added.

“What do you mean, he wanted to spank you?”

“Well, he asked if he could spank me?”

“Why the hell would he do that? And why didn’t he spank you?” demanded Steve.

“I said no,” replied Ollie.

“So?”

“So he didn’t spank me.”

“You said no when I told you I was gonna cane you, but I still gave you a fucking hard caning,” said Steve.

Ollie rubbed his bottom.

“Mmmm,” he said thoughtfully.

“And you’re getting another one on Saturday.”

“I’m still thinking about it,” said Ollie.

“When I tell you that I’m gonna beat you,” said Steve firmly, “you don’t think about it. You turn up when you’re told and you bloody well take a beating. Now fuck off; I’ve got work to do.”

He turned away and left Ollie staring after him in angry confusion.

*************************************

Ollie hadn’t told the others about the caning. He’d simply explained that he’d been caught and was lucky to get away without the police being called; and that they’d have to film Ollie’s part using the rhododendrons after all. He pondered telling Jack the truth, because he was getting increasingly friendly with Jack and was starting to feel that he was almost ready to let Dane go completely and begin a new relationship. He decided not to mention it yet. Maybe after he’d gone back to be caned again.

Now when, thought Ollie to himself, did I decide I was going back to let that sadistic brute beat the fuck out of my arse again?

He gave himself a shake. He was on his way very early on that Saturday morning so that they could film his brief part as he raced, near-nude through the rhododendrons. It didn’t take long and, once the filming was completed, they retired to Mike’s flat.

“Now,” said Jack, looking at Ollie with a broad grin, “are you gonna tell us how you come to have the clear marks of a caning on your arse?”

“What!” gasped Ollie; and then the truth dawned.

He’d completely forgotten that there were still fading marks from the cane on his bottom from Tuesday evening, and the others had seen them as he pranced about, wearing nothing but a leather thong, for the filming.

“I…er…..oh, shit! Look, I wasn’t being quite truthful when I told you about getting caught in the hothouse. The guy who caught me, Steve, agreed not to report me; but I got caned instead.”

“Cool,” said Jack.

“It was bloody hot!” declared Ollie.

“This…Steve, did you say his name was….can’t do that to you!” said Brett.

“Looks like he did,” observed Jack.

“Okay. Just forget it,” said Ollie. “It’s done. I didn’t get reported. I’m not complaining. End of story.”

“But it’s on our film,” said Stan.

There was a silence as this awkward truth sank into the lads’ minds.

“Okay; we’ll just have to do it again next Saturday,” said Mike. “The marks will have gone by then.”

Ollie just nodded; but his brain was racing. How long would cane-marks take to fade completely? If he had to have a pristine arse for the following Saturday, did he dare get another thrashing from Steve this evening? As he and Jack walked together back to Jack’s flat, Ollie was quiet.

“You’re not a very cheerful bunny,” observed Jack as they sat in the kitchen of his flat.

Ollie shrugged.

“So what did it feel like to be caned, Ollie?” he asked.

“What do you think it felt like? Fucking agonising!”

“Yeh. Steve can wield a mean cane,” said Jack.

“Tell me about it,” agreed Ollie. “The way he whips it into that sensitive bit where…….hey, back up a bit! How do you know about Steve’s cane?” demanded Ollie.

“I’ve had it a few times,” said Jack placidly. “Stings like the blazes; but I still go back for more when he tells me to. You going back, Ollie?”

“I haven’t definitely decided yet if I ………..how come Steve canes you?”

“I found him on a web-site a few months ago. I always wanted to find out what a caning felt like; and he obliged. It’s exciting. Hurts like hell, but I still want it,” admitted Jack.

Ollie stared at him.

“You really like it?” he asked.

“It’s tough, but, yeh, I want it and I need it. I dunno why; but I do,” admitted Jack. “So, Ollie lad, you are going back tonight aren’t you?”

“How do you know Steve told me to go back tonight?” asked Ollie curiously.

“You said so.”

“No, I didn’t. I didn’t even say I was told to go back. What’s going on, Jack?”

“Look, you got an absolutely divine arse, Ollie, and that’s what drove me to get Chris to introduce me to you at that party,” said Jack.

“What’s that got to do with it?” demanded Ollie.

“Oh! Sorry! I thought that was obvious. An arse like yours is just begging to be thrashed and so I wanted to give you a chance to find out if you wanted to be beaten,” elucidated Jack.

“What the bloody hell are you blethering about?!” snapped Ollie.

“So I got you to run with me into the Botanical Gardens and pointed out Steve to you when we sat on the bench for a breather; and persuaded you that we should follow him and see where he went – not that you needed much encouragement – and relied on your natural intelligence to see the potential of the hothouses for our film; and then…….”

“Are you saying,” interrupted Ollie, “that you and Steve set me up? You made sure he’d be in the garden at that time that day? He deliberately led us into the hothouse? And then you told him when I’d be there to let you lot in, and so he caught me?”

“Er, yeh,” said Jack.

“And you knew he’d beat the living fuck out of me?”

“Er, yeh,” said Jack.

Ollie stood up and gazed down at Jack, his fists balled, his body tense.

“Now, calm down, Ollie.”

“I am calm!”

Ollie suddenly leaned forward and grabbed Jack’s ears, twisting them hard so that the boy yelped in pain.

“Come on, Ollie! That hurts! Let go…….please!”

“Treating me like that,” declared Ollie, “has consequences.”

He brought his right foot up swiftly to land on Jack’s balls, pressing them hard as Jack was trapped against the back of the chair. Jack gasped.

“Ollie!”

Ollie brought his face close to Jack’s; and kissed him firmly on the mouth. He didn’t stop and gradually he felt Jack respond. Soon the pair were fathoms deep in a passionate embrace. Ollie released Jack’s ears, drew him to his feet, slid his arms around him and kissed him with growing intensity. It was some considerable time before they surfaced.

“Wow!” panted Jack. “What the fuck was that?”

“I warned you,” said Ollie. “The way you treated me has consequences.”

“I like the consequences. I take it you’re ready to get a bit more intimate, huh Ollie?”

“Er, yeh! You turn me on big-style. But there’s another problem,” said Ollie. “If I go back to meet Steve tonight, I might still have marks by next Saturday when we’re supposed to be doing the filming again.”

“Nah,” said Jack, “they should have faded completely by then; and if they haven’t then we’ll just have to tell the guys the truth and get you in something that covers your arse too.”

“Okay.”

“So, you’re going back for another dose of the cane later, eh Ollie?”

“On one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“Well, you’re used to getting caned by Steve, so I want you to come with me and I’ll ask Steve to thrash you for manipulating me so shamelessly,” said Ollie. “I think I’ll enjoy watching him put some nice hot welts on your bare arse.”

“You’re a bloody sadist, you know that?” demanded Jack.

“And then after Steve’s caned me too, maybe we can come back here and explore some more consequences.”

“You mean, you’re ready to let me get my hands on your junk, Ollie?”

“Yeh. I’m ready. In fact I’m flaming hot for you.”

“Of course, Steve was involved in manipulating you too, you know,” said Jack.

“Yeh, but he’s a Dom. He can do that with impunity.”

“And because he’s a Dom, I don’t think you can just tell him to cane me,” said Jack.

“I said I was going to ask him. I’ll do it quietly, politely, respectfully,” replied Ollie.

****************************

Ollie explained concisely why he had brought Jack along with him and asked very politely if Steve would please cane him hard.

“Okay,” agreed Steve. “I’ll cane him for you. I don’t usually just do what guys tell me or ask me though.”

“I understand,” said Ollie. “I know that you do the telling; and that’s why I’m back to get my own caning from you; because you told me to come.”

“You learn fast, young Ollie,” observed Steve with a grin.

He ordered Jack to strip and bend over with his hands on the stool. Ollie admired Jack’s neatly-formed, taut buttocks, and slid a hand into the front of his shorts. He watched the sexy and powerful Steve wielding the cane, and he watched Jack bucking and squirming and clenching as he absorbed his pain. As the cane-strokes fell, Ollie struggled harder and harder to keep his boy-cream penned in his balls, but the sight of Jack’s sweat-streaked body reacting to the lash of the rod, the sound of his yelps and squeals as the fierce sting got through to him, coupled with the thrilling sight of Steve driving in his lithe cane with full intent, all became too much for his self-control. He tried desperately to press on his perineum and hold back the flood, but it was too late. He put his head back and moaned as spurt after spurt of his spunk soaked into his shorts.

Steve completed Jack’s six of the best and told him to stand up. Jack did so and pressed his hands to his thrashed buttocks, eyes closed, a look of mingled pain and ecstasy on his face. Steve looked at Ollie.

“Did I say that you could cum?” he enquired.

“No,” replied Ollie. “I tried not to,” he added.

“You didn’t try hard enough, did you, Ollie?”

“No, I’m sorry.”

“You’ll need to learn. I’m going to let you feel what I do to boys who can’t control themselves,” said Steve. “Strip for the cane, Ollie.”

Ollie stripped and adopted the position, bent over with his hands on the stool, his feet wide apart. Steve rapped his cane several times on Ollie’s bottom and then hit hard and accurately just where his bottom merged into tops of his legs. Ollie squealed and squirmed, but kept his hands determinedly on the stool. Another stroke landed barely a cane-width lower and forced a similar reaction. Ollie gritted his teeth, steadied himself and breathed deeply. The third stroke came at a slight angle, crossing the welts raised on his skin by each of the previous two cuts. Ollie uttered a snarling yelp and writhed; and then settled again. Steve reached through between the boy’s legs from behind and Ollie’s semi-erect penis rose swiftly to full length.

“Randy young buck, aren’t you, Ollie?”

Ollie was silent.

“It takes more than a hard caning to tame your junk, doesn’t it?”

Ollie gave a slight shrug.

“Why did you get that, Ollie?”

“To punish me for cumming without permission,” Ollie replied submissively.

“And have you learnt?”

“I’ve learnt,” said Ollie. “I don’t want you to do that to me again.”

“Right. Now it’s time for the caning you came here for tonight. Not punishment-force like the last three. Just eight firm strokes to work you and hopefully to excite you as well,” said Steve.

“Eight?” queried Ollie. “You only gave Jack six.”

“Eight,” confirmed Steve, showing Ollie the cane. “I decide who gets what; and if I choose to give Jack six and you sixty, that’s up to me. You want to complain?”

“No,” replied Ollie.

As promised, the strokes were firmly delivered, each subjecting Ollie to a fierce sting which he rode with gasps, sharp intakes of breath and an occasional half-stifled yelp. Steve concentrated them fully on Ollie’s buttocks, sparing the sensitive band where the punishment had been given. After the seventh, Steve reached through again between Ollie’s legs and found the boy fully aroused.

“Impressive,” he remarked, making Ollie flush with pleasure. “But I’m gonna make you feel the last one a lot more, because I want you to remember it.”

“I’m not gonna forget this,” Ollie assured him.

The cane probed the area where the punishment had landed and Ollie tensed himself in readiness. Steve drove in the rod hard just below that tender, welt-scored band of flesh and Ollie felt a searing blast of pain which made him yowl and give a violent kick before he clenched his glutes desperately. As the blazing burn eased down, the savage tension in his body relaxed a little. Steve ruffled his hair. It was a sign of approval and Ollie knew it. From deep within him there welled up a powerful wave of euphoria.

“You can stand up and rub your arse,” said Steve.

Ollie rose slowly and pressed careful palms to his throbbing bottom, exploring gently with his finger-pads.

“You’ve not half made a mess of me,” he said, glancing at Steve from beneath his sunburst of fair hair.

Steve took a step towards him and looked straight into his eyes, arching the cane in front of Ollie’s face.

“You wouldn’t be complaining, would you, Ollie?” asked Steve quietly.

“No,” replied Ollie.

“The flesh of a healthy young buck like you recovers very fast,” observed Steve. “A few days and all you’ll be able to see will be some faint marks. Your arse will be fine when you come back next Saturday so I can beat you again.”

Ollie continued to caress his fire-blasted globes in silence.

“Right, you pair, let me see what you can do together,” said Steve, summoning Jack over.

“You mean we can get each other off…here..?” asked Jack.

“Right now?” panted Ollie, eagerly seeking clarification.

“Here and now,” confirmed Steve, “and if you don’t put on a good show for me, I’ll beat the living fuck out of both of you again.”

Jack at once knelt behind Ollie and began to lick his cane-welts while Ollie gasped and then dropped to his knees and swung round to take Jack into his arms. For a long time they kissed and then stroked and licked each other’s welts and fondled each other’s genitals until each was quivering on the verge of release.

“Get on with it!” urged Steve, his own hand working at his throbbing organ which he’d released from the confines of his shorts.

Within seconds eager hands and tongues were working frenziedly and copious quantities of boy-cream were spurting freely. Eventually the pair lay side by side on their backs on the warm, wet floor of the hothouse, sated and content.

“So you two are definitely together then,” said Steve as he massaged his own spunk into his chest.

Two pairs of shining eyes glanced shyly at each other and then at Steve.

“Yes,” the boys replied in unison.

“I’ll look forward to beating the pair of you together next Saturday then,” said Steve. “I think I’ll really enjoy it.”

Ollie and Jack rolled their eyes, but neither made any objection.

“And you won’t think about going back to that lukewarm boyfriend who wouldn’t give you a spanking whether you agreed or not, will you, Ollie?”

“Definitely not,” Ollie assured him.

“Yeh. He’s like me; needs a good tanning to get him really excited,” said Jack, “and then he’s a fucking firecracker!”

Steve flexed his slim cane slowly as the boys watched and a couple of eager young penises rose sharply.

Ollie glanced down at his towering organ and then up at Steve.

“I know what I need now,” he admitted. “Some like it hot.”

**************************

D I S C L A I M E R

All characters and businesses appearing in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

__________________

Story ©MMXXIII by Joelstrap, used here by very kind permission.

Authors appreciate feedback. Please leave a comment on this excellent story.  Comments are here.

Joelstrap’s excellent earlier stories for The Canery are available here.  Further great stories by Joelstrap may be found at this external link

How I Got Into Corporal Punishment Games (M/M)

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Hot and explicit true story by David Stewart, repeated from 2012.  All the characters are 18 or over.  Warning: Suitable for Adults only!

 

I’ve always felt that I wanted to be spanked, and I’m not sure why.

It was always ladies I fantasised about until I was about 22, when I made a friend who would introduce me to the world of adult discipline.

To set the scene here, I was a young police officer.  I met John, who was 59 and a retired teacher (or so he told me).  I had been schooled in Scotland and he had taught on both sides of the border.  I met him as a result of a call to assist with some children that were causing a nuisance.  We had a chat over coffee about ‘the kids of today’ and so on.  Over  a few visits the story was always the same, about people lacking discipline nowadays and eventually I guess we both learnt that each other was more than interested in the topic.  He did ask me if I was disciplined at home and in school, and did I think I was better for it.  In hindsight, nowadays he would be called a pervert, but there you are and remember this was the late ’70s.

He made an unusual comment one visit, asking, “Do you ever miss the way a spanked bottom or tawsed hands dealt with an issue and then it was over?”  I answered, “I suppose so, in a strange way.”

As I left that night John made his move and said, “You know David, if you ever felt the need to revisit those days of a spanked bottom, then you only need ask me to do it for you.”

Well I left, and I gave my cock a thorough workout later that day.  The following day I called him and spoke nervously about the comment.  Not wanting to make a complete fool of myself if I got it wrong, I asked,  “What did you mean last night when I left, about if I ever felt the need or something?”

“David, I know some adults still miss that old fashioned spanking thing and as a friend if you felt you needed it, then I would do it for you.”  It was a s simple as that, but it had taken about six visits before he asked.  I said that I thought I did and he said, “Well if you do David, bring your PE kit to change into and we will see to it!”

Two days later I turned up in uniform along with a bag with shorts and vest in it, and we had a coffee. “Did you bring anything with you today, David?”, he asked.  Nervously I showed him the plastic bag and then its contents.  John then went on to try to relax me, which was impossible.  He told me he had friends who he spanked, and not to think I was unusual in any way.

Eventually he said something about “So should we go and deal with you then?”  We stood and went to what was a small study.  It had a desk with leather chair, a hard-backed chair in the corner, and a small cupboard on one wall.

“So how should I deal with you, David?” 

I said, “Just like my father would, Sir.”  There had been no request to call him Sir, it just felt right.

“I will leave you to change then into your shorts and vest.” 

When he returned some five minutes later I was stood there with an erection in my PE shorts.  He smiled and pulled the hard-backed chair out, told me to go over his lap and then he spanked me over my shorts for a while.  I left that night disappointed, to be honest.

 

The next time I visited, we chatted about it.  I had brought my kit again.  He asked me how it had been.  I suddenly blurted out that “It was not quite as I expected.”  Asked why, I said, “Well I was always spanked on the bare bum and it always really stung.  I always felt as if I had been punished then.”

John looked at me, smiled, and said “Ah David, so you want a proper spanking do you, pants down, over my knee and one that teaches you a lesson?”

“Well yes, Sir,” I stuttered. “It’s just that I always thought spankings should be like that.”

As a result, a few minutes later I was at John’s side and having my shorts and pants pulled down.  This caused my erection to stick out (and be ignored by John).  I was then pulled over and I got the hardest spanking I could remember.  I recall yelling out “Oh Sir, I am so sorry!” 

After the spanking, I was made to stand in the corner, bottom bare and hands on head.  That was the way it went for a few months until one day I turned up without my kit.  Over coffee we were chatting about spanking and I said, “It makes me regret forgetting my kit today.”  John smiled and said, “Well David, I think, if you don’t mind, and as I have seen most of you anyway, we can do without the PE kit from now on, if you want.”

We went up to the study and John for the first time stood watching me and said “Right David I want all your clothes off today.”  I was soon stood naked and erect as he gazed at me.  “Does it excite you that I am going to spank you David?”

“Yes Sir!”

“Do you usually have a wank afterwards, thinking of me spanking you?”

“Yes, usually Sir!”

He moved closer to me. “Do you ever think of me touching your cock David, or does that thought never enter your head?”

“I do Sir, sometimes.”

His hand started to move towards my cock.  He touched it and it stood even more erect.  He pulled back and then had me over his knee, spanking that erection out of me.  It was a harder than usual spanking and I nearly cried.  Afterwards he put his hand between my cheeks and made me erect again.  So it was that I was wanked for the first time by another guy.  That became the norm and I would visit for a spanking at least twice a week and I started to visit him on my days off.  It was only a short while before I started to wank him off as well.

After about six months he re-introduced me to the tawse.   In doing so, he revealed his love of tawsing.  The norm then became for me to have to take six of the tawse along with any spanking.  Normally, this was after the spanking, as he liked my hands to be warm when I touched him.  After a tawsing, they were really hot! 

It was a year before I got caned and I was warned how sore that experience would be. We had discussed it before, but I was still rather unaware of the pain a cane could cause.  I recall being told that the cane would be applied next time I came and to make an appointment on a day off.  He promised me a real ‘six of the best’ and I got that, for sure.

It was six days later.  I visited him nervously.  This time, John was very different. “Come in boy!” was his command and I was taken directly to his study.  A a cane lay on the desk.  He lectured me and told me I was to be caned, six strokes and if I stood up  or touched my bottom that stroke would not count and he would add another.

Naked, I stood waiting and Sir said to me in a softer tone, “Now remember David, you asked for this and I need to give you it as I would if it were a real punishment.  It is going to hurt like nothing you have experienced before, but I have explained all that already, haven’t I?”

“Yes Sir”, I said.

“And you still want to find out what a real caning is like?”

“Yes Sir, please Sir.”

His attitude changed suddenly, “Right boy!  Over the desk, and grip the far side.”

The cane was tapped a few times before it thrashed down.  The sound felt delayed, as if it came after the hit .  There was a distinct moment when I felt nothing, but then a fearsome pain cut through me!  I stood up and grabbed my bum, only to hear a very unsympathetic, “Get down boy!  I expected better!”

The next stroke elicited a real yell from me followed by a third then a fourth which both did the same.  It was true agony and I had to wait for the fifth stroke.  The sixth cut deep into my cheeks and then Sir spoke, “Now you have to be given the first stroke again and then one extra.  Are you ready boy?”

“Sir, please no more!  I’m so sore!”, I whined.

“You wanted a real caning, now take the last two like a man, David!”

“Yes Sir!”

Almost immediately the cane delivered the penultimate stroke, followed shortly by the eighth, final stroke.  In tears, I stood up and Sir cuddled me, and then made me stand in the corner.  After a while the flames of pain diminished.  He led me to the bedroom where he undressed and we got into bed.   In the end, I stayed the whole night after being taken out for a curry.

Our relationship lasted for over six years and during that time my bottom was constantly spanked and caned.  My hands were tawsed so often that I lost count!  It was the only time I have had a long relationship with another guy.  Believe it or not, the reason we stopped was because by then I’d met my wife.  The marks were too conspicuous to have.  She became my chastiser.  I have however, always retained a desire to be spanked by another older guy and especially to be hand tawsed by one.  I have met a few guys who can tawse school-style and are happy to spank a naughty lad like me.

So that’s the true account of how I came to be into spanking.

_________)

 Story © 2012 by David Stewart . Used here by kind permission of the author.  All rights reserved.

______________

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.

_______________

Please leave a comment if you enjoyed this story. 

Comments are here.

__________________

Comments from the original 2012 post are here