♥ Site recommended story ♥
A hot and brand spanking new caning story by very special guest author JOELSTRAP. This story is exclusive to The Canery! All the characters are 18 or over. WARNING: ADULTS ONLY!
Caning Practice by Joelstrap
The doorbell rang while we were at breakfast. Dad looked up at me and I rose to go and answer it. Muttering irritably to myself about people who called before nine in the morning, I opened the door and scowled.
“Hi, mate! Parcel for you,” declared the postman as he handed me a long, narrow tube, wrapped in brown paper.
I glanced at the address-label and saw that it was for Dean, my elder brother.
“Okay, thanks,” I said and the postman strode off down the path, whistling tunelessly.
I returned to the kitchen and handed the parcel to Dean. He looked at it for a moment and then began to rip off the paper to reveal a cardboard cylinder, closed with a plastic cap at each end. He prised open one cap and pulled out a lithe, slender school cane.
“It’s a beauty,” he breathed, standing up and lashing it hard in a downward motion so that it made a whining-sound. “Think they’ll feel that, Garry?” he asked me.
“Oh, yeh, they’ll feel it,” I assured him. “You gonna hit them as hard as that?”
“Depends how old they are and how bad they’ve been,” replied Dean with a grin.
He arched the cane into a smooth arc and I eyed it warily. I’d turned eighteen a couple of months past, and had left school just six weeks ago to work on a local farm until my college-course began in September. All the same, it was over a year since I’d had a cane used on me; but I hadn’t forgotten how much it could sting. I watched as Dean experimented with the slender rod, bending it, swinging it, flicking it. Dean was four years my senior and had just completed his degree and teacher-training and was at home for the summer before he started his first teaching-job in September. That’s why he was ready to use that cane.
“Why did you buy it so soon?” I asked. “It’s gonna be a couple of months before you can use it.”
“I need to get the hang of how to cane properly,” he informed me. “There’s an art in it, Garry. Remember how that French teacher, Bong, used to do a huge swing; and it hardly hurt a bit?”
“Yeh; but old Fractions just seemed to give a little swing and a flick of his wrist and it stung like an angry hornet,” I agreed.
“So, I need to practise,” Dean told me. “I don’t want the boys laughing behind my back because I can’t cane them properly and really make them feel it.”
“I guess. I’m glad you’re never gonna be my teacher, because I think you’ll be able to make that vicious rod feel like a thousand bee-stings at once.”
Dean grinned and slashed the cane down on to the plastic surface of a kitchen-chair. Dad jumped and looked up from his newspaper.
“For goodness sake, Dean, watch what you’re doing! If you want to practise with that thing, go up to your room,” he said.
“You could use your pillow,” I suggested.
“You could not,” said mother, coming into the kitchen with a pile of dirty-washing. “I’m not having my good pillows split open by you messing around with a cane.”
“Yes, mum. It’s okay. I wasn’t planning to use it on my pillow. I was hoping that Garry would volunteer to let me practise on him,” said my big brother.
“You what?” I gasped.
“I wondered if you’d let me practise caning you,” said Dean.
“Why the hell would I do that?” I demanded angrily.
“Because you’re a good brother and you want to help me,” replied Dean with an encouraging smile.
“That’s one way I don’t want to help you,” I retorted firmly.
“Aw, go on, Garry! It’s not as if you haven’t been caned often enough at school. You know what to expect.”
“Yeh, I do. I expect a hell of a sting in my arse, and I ……..”
“Right, that’s enough, Garry,” interrupted dad. “You don’t use language like that here. Any more of it and I might borrow Dean’s cane and see how I get on using it on you.”
“Sorry, dad,” I said hastily.
“I could give him a few strokes of my cane to punish him for his bad language right now,” offered Dean eagerly. “It’d be great practice for me and do Garry a lot of good too.”
“I told you,” I snapped irritably, “you’re not using that bl…..blasted cane on me!”
“Tell him he needs to help me practise, please dad,” urged Dean.
“Don’t be silly, Dean. Garry’s eighteen. He can make up his own mind; and if he doesn’t want you to practise caning him, then that’s an end of it. I’ve got to go,” he said, standing up.
Dad went out and mum began to clear away the breakfast-things. I went up to my room to get ready for going out to the farm and was just about to head off down the stairs when Dean came in, still holding his cane.
“Look, I know the cane stings,” he said. “I got it too at school. It’s meant to hurt after all; but could you not help me, please? I know you’re not a wimp and you can take a bit of pain without making a silly fuss. Maybe just six across your jeans or shorts?”
“I said no!” I retorted.
“It’d only be once a day,” Dean said.
“Once a day? You think I’m gonna bend over and let you give me six of the cane once every day all fucking summer? Not bloody likely, chum!”
“You could take it, Garry. You’re a tough young bugger,” said Dean.
“That’s not the point,” I insisted. “You’re not caning me and that’s all there is to it. Now get out of the way and let me get to the farm or I’ll be late.”
Dean sighed and stood aside to let me pass.
“At least think about it,” he called after me as I went out the front-door.
On Saturday morning, I went out for a run after breakfast. I needed to be by myself for a bit because my boyfriend and I had just split up, by mutual agreement. We’d both accepted that it wasn’t working; but the separation still hurt and I had to work through it in my head. I’d got myself to the point where I’d decided that I’d go to the gay-disco that evening, not necessarily looking for a new boyfriend, but just to be with other guys and have some fun.
I was on a narrow, quiet road high on the side of a valley, enjoying the steady trot along a fairly level stretch after a long and challenging climb, when a cyclist passed me, heading in the opposite direction. We exchanged a brief greeting and I continued to run until I felt a sharp pain in my left shoe and stopped to remove it and extract the small stone which had somehow worked its way in. As I did so, I noticed that the cyclist had turned and was coming along behind me; but had stopped at the verge and appeared to be admiring the view across the valley. I wondered vaguely why he’d turned at that point as it wasn’t a road-junction or even a farm at which he might have decided to turn back. I ran on and then, surprised he hadn’t passed me, glanced back to see him still not far behind and moving very slowly. I continued running a bit longer and on looking behind once more, I saw he was still there, cycling at a glacial pace. I stopped and waited so that he was forced to catch me up. As he approached I admired his lean figure and the profusion of brown curls which tumbled over his forehead. He’d be in his very early twenties, I reckoned, and he wasn’t half sexy.
He came to a stop, one foot on the ground, the other on a pedal, and smiled at me.
“I guess you wonder what I’m up to?” he asked.
“Yeh. You turned round and came back, but you never passed me,” I replied, leaving it to him to explain his behaviour.
“You see, I just wanted to look at you,” he said, showing slightly red in the face.
“Oh. Right. You…uh…you like me, huh?”
“Oh, boy, yeh, I do! I liked the look of you when I was cycling towards you and then after I passed you, I looked round and nearly fell off my bike.”
“Best to look the way you’re going, eh?” I suggested.
“No, no. It wasn’t because I was heading for the hedge. It was your arse.”
“My arse? What’s wrong with my arse?”
“There’s nothing bloody wrong with it,” he shouted suddenly, throwing his hands in the air. “It’s a fantastic arse! It’s the best arse I’ve ever seen, ever! I turned round and started to come back behind you, just so I could keep on looking at that incredible bottom. In those short, tight running-shorts of yours, it was like a magnet. It drew me and I had to follow. That’s why I stayed behind; so I could just enjoy your bum while you ran.”
I eyed him warily. “You like my bum?”
“I worship your bum.”
I flushed and looked at my feet.
“You’re cute when you’re embarrassed,” he remarked.
“Er, thanks,” I replied.
“Look, I know this is a bit forward of me, but I’d really like to get to know you a bit better,” he said. “I’m Tim, by the way.”
“Garry,” I said, extending my hand. “Um; do you know the Guylife disco? I’m going there tonight.”
“That’s a gay disco,” he said.
“Yeh, I know. That’s why I’m going; but I thought that….well, since you like my arse, I thought maybe you were…….”
I dried up. He grinned broadly at me.
“Bent as a boomerang,” he announced. “I’ve been to Guylife a few times and I’m definitely going tonight. See you there, Garry.”
I stood naked in my room, looking at my bottom in the mirror. It seemed to have featured strongly in my life recently. My bastard of a brother wanted to cane it. Tim had said he worshipped it. It just looked like the same bottom I’d always had and known. Sure, it was rather neat and the glutes were taut with the running; but why was everyone apparently so obsessed with it?
I showered and dressed in very brief, tight shorts and a close-fitting t-shirt. I decided to go commando because that way my posterior assets really stood out. I was having a final look in the mirror when there was a knock on my door and Dean came in, holding his cane.
“Wow!” he ejaculated. “If you were any sexier even I might fall for you.”
“Ha, bloody ha! What do you want?”
“I’m still needing someone to practise on with my cane,” he said. “I thought maybe a nice stinging arse, after six with my cane, might drive your sex-appeal up a notch or two?”
“There’s nothing wrong with my sex-appeal, you cheeky bastard,” I retorted, rolling my eyes and giving him a crude gesture.
“You should be caned bloody hard for that,” he observed.
“Yeh? Well, you can stick your bloody cane where the sun don’t shine,” I told him brutally. “Fuck off!”
“Don’t blame me if another guy goes off with a boy you like the look of,” he said. “Just a tiny bit of a cane-welt showing at the edge of those obscenely-tight shorts should get you a bit of extra attention.”
For a moment, I almost found myself agreeing with him and then I said, “As it happens, I’ll be meeting a guy who was so taken with my arse when he saw me out running this morning, that he actually turned round and followed me so he could perv on my bum. If I can do that to a guy without cane-marks, I don’t think I need them at a hot, sweaty, testosterone-rich disco.”
“Okay. Suit yourself; but, Garry, remember that you’re just out of a relationship. Don’t go letting the first guy who comes along get into your pants, just because you’re feeling a bit down or lonely. Be sensible, huh?”
“I am sensible,” I protested. “You don’t need to talk to me like I’m a kid!”
“Fine! Keep your hair on. I care about you,” said Dean.
I felt a pang of guilt and smiled at him.
“I know; and I appreciate it. I’ll be sensible, I promise.”
“But not even a couple of strokes with my new cane, just to……….?”
“Out!” I shouted; and Dean retired, grinning broadly.
I took one final look in the mirror and then headed off to the disco.
There was no sign of Tim, but I danced with one or two very attractive guys and enjoyed myself as I flirted and explored. After a particularly energetic dance, I retired panting to a table and poured myself a huge glass of water. One of the guys I’d been dancing with earlier came up and sat beside me, his eyes wide, his lips parted, the front of his shorts positively straining. Between my legs, my body reacted strongly and I smiled encouragingly at him.
We both turned and there was Tim, stunningly clad in a leather t-shirt and leather shorts, and wearing large, heavy black boots. I stood up, gasping as my roaring erection caught on the waist of my shorts.
“Er, sorry,” I said to the lad with whom I’d been dancing earlier, “but I said I’d meet this guy here.”
The boy got up with an expression of disappointment on his face, and slid silently away.
“Was he trying to get into your pants?” enquired Tim.
“What? No! We’d been dancing together and I kinda liked him.”
“I didn’t mean to break you up.”
“It’s okay. I can find him later if I need to.”
“I won’t be long,” he said as he stood to go across to the bar. “No chatting up sexy boys while I’m away or I’ll beat that exquisite arse of yours until you can’t sit down.”
I half bent over in pain as my penis responded to this display of dominance; and sat down suddenly so that I could rearrange things under cover of the table-top. I gazed admiringly at his leather-clad shoulders as he moved to the bar and waited to be served before returning with our drinks and sitting down beside me.
“Cheers!” he said. “To the best bum I’ve ever seen.”
“Cheers! You look hell of a sexy in leather. I mean, I thought you looked hot in your cycling-gear this morning, but now you’re just……oh, fuck!”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said with a grin, winking at me over the rim of his glass.
We chatted comfortably and I learned that he’d completed his second year at Uni and was planning to train as a teacher in due course.
“Shit! I’ve got a big brother who’s doing the same,” I admitted. “He’s not here though. He’s straight as they come. So you must be about two years older than me?”
“Yeh. That bother you, Garry?”
“Nuh. I kind of like a guy who’s a bit older than me. Sometimes I think I need a guy just to keep control of me. That was kind of exciting when you said you’d beat the hell out of me if you found me flirting with another boy. I know you didn’t mean it literally, but I………”
“Why do you think I didn’t mean it?”
I stared at him and asked carefully, “Are you saying you did mean it? You really would have tanned my hide if there’d been another boy at the table here when you came back from the bar?”
“You bet your sweet life I would! I could really make that fantastic bottom of yours glow like a brace of suns,” he declared astoundingly.
“Fuck! My brute of a big brother wants to cane me as practice for when he starts his first teaching job in the autumn. He actually had the nerve to say he wants to give me six every day for the rest of the summer. Like I’m gonna agree to that!”
“Well if your brother’s first in the queue to beat that perfect bottom of yours, I’ll be right behind him,” declared Tim.
“You really want to beat me?” I asked doubtfully.
“Hell, yes! I get why your brother wants to practise on you with his cane. I’d love to take my cane to those perfect globes of yours too.”
“You’ve got a cane?”
“Sure. I inherited it from my granddad. He used it before he retired from teaching. So, you said you didn’t want your big brother to cane you; but what about me? Would you like me to cane you, Garry?”
“No way! I don’t want to be caned! I got the cane plenty at school and it fucking hurt. I don’t want any more,” I protested.
“Okay, fair enough. So how about showing me what you can do on the dance-floor?”
I got to my feet and he followed me out. We had a great time. He was good and by the time we collapsed, panting and sweating on a bench, we were both desperately hot for each other. All the same, I could hear in my head the words of Dean earlier, warning me against just having sex as a reaction to my split with my ex-boyfriend. He might have been a sadistic brute as far as practising with his cane was concerned, but I did listen to him, because I knew he cared about me; even if he did want to cane me every day for weeks on end!
Tim and I engaged in some intimate kissing and exploring of each other’s body and then I told him I really liked him and would like to meet him again. I expected him to try to persuade me at this point to go home with him; but he was perfectly well-behaved, took me by the hand and said he’d walk me home. He did too; and kissed me passionately under cover of a large bush at our gate before asking if I’d like to run with him the next morning. I agreed with alacrity.
I made my way in and upstairs quietly, because it was almost 1 a.m. and everyone was in bed. I was slipping along from the bathroom to my own room when Dean’s door opened and he beckoned me into his room.
“What? I’m ready to crash,” I informed him.
“I just wanted to know if you met anyone,” he said mildly.
“Yeh, I met up with the guy I saw while I was out running this morning. I told you about him.”
“No, I didn’t! Believe it or not, I do listen to you; and I knew you were right about not just letting a guy into my pants too soon, on the rebound like. But Tim was okay; and he didn’t pressure me. We’re going running tomorrow morning.”
“I’m glad you’re being sensible. Now, before you go off to bed, how about letting me have a little go at your arse with my cane? A stinging bum should make you sleep like a baby; and you’ll need a good sleep if you’re gonna run with a hot guy in the morning.”
“You never give up, do you?” I complained in exasperation. “Believe it or not, Tim’s in the same boat as you, but a couple of years behind, just done his second year at Uni and aiming to be a teacher; and he’s got a cane.”
“How do you know that?”
“He told me.”
“You telling me he wants to practise caning you as well?”
“No! But he did say that I had such an amazing arse that he wanted to beat it; but when I said no, he said that was fair enough and changed the subject. Some people know how to take no for an answer,” I added meaningly.
“So you’re not gonna let me cane you tonight?”
I rolled my eyes at him and then kissed him on the cheek.
“So, where are you running tomorrow?” he enquired.
“Eh? Hadn’t thought about it.”
“Try down the river through the estate. Some good thick clumps of rhodies there for you to hide behind if you can’t keep your hands off each other,” he suggested.
“Yeh; that sounds good actually. I’ll see what Tim thinks.”
“Good night, Garry.”
“Thanks for the good advice,” I said and headed along to my own room.
Tim liked the idea of the run my big brother had suggested and we set off side-by-side, running steadily along a track until we reached the river-bank; and then on a path which ran under trees, among bushes, beside open fields. When we paused for a brief break, Tim slid his hand over my buttocks and my penis leapt.
“The next section of path’s kind of narrow, so I’m gonna run behind you,” he said.
“You just want to perv on my arse,” I accused.
“Why not? It’s a fantastic arse,” asserted Tim; and he took me by the shoulders, turned me to face him fully, and kissed me.
“What was that for?” I asked.
“For having a brilliant bottom,” he replied.
I felt myself going slightly red.
“I’ve still got the same bottom,” I remarked; and he took the hint and kissed me again.
“Wow!” I panted.
“Come on; let’s run,” urged Tim.
Eventually we came to the edge of a village where private gardens ran down to the river.
“I guess it’s time to turn back,” said Tim. “That’s the only snag with this run. We can’t make a circle.”
“Yeh we can,” I said. “We just need to go back about half a mile and there’s a viaduct, so we could cross the river and go back the other side.”
“But that’s the railway-bridge. We can’t cross that. We’d get into trouble if we were seen,” objected Tim.
“I’ve crossed it lots of times,” I assured him. “As long as you look and listen carefully to make sure there’s no trains coming, you can race across on the service-path beside the track in well under a minute.”
“Okay; lead the way,” said Tim.
The bridge was well out in the deep countryside and there was no-one to see. We made sure no train was coming and then tore swiftly across and paused, panting to catch our breath on the other side. We took the chance to try out some more kissing before beginning the run home.
On Sunday evening, mum and dad had gone out to play Bridge with friends and I was watching TV when Dean came in. He was holding his cane.
“You’re not practising caning on my bum,” I told him, “so you can just put that thing away.”
“I’ve got something to show you,” said Dean, and he handed me a photograph.
It was slightly out of focus, but there was no doubt that the picture was of me, with Tim just behind me; and we were running full pelt over the railway-bridge. I stared and then looked up at Dean.
“Where did you get this?” I demanded.
“Took it myself,” replied my big brother smugly. “I thought there was a good chance you’d use the bridge so you could make a circle. That’s why I suggested that route, and I watched to see if that’s where you were going and then came along the other side to get a snap of you coming across. Pretty good, eh?”
My mind was whirring like a machine in over-drive; and I was starting to see where this was leading. I leapt to my feet and glared furiously at Dean.
“You’re gonna show this to dad if I don’t let you practise caning on my arse, aren’t you?” I accused.
“Boy! You’re quick,” he admitted with a broad grin. “Or even the police; or the station-master. Plenty options really. Whichever way, you’re in very hot water, little brother. Dad will probably ground you for the rest of the summer and your driving-lessons will vanish faster than a ferret up a drainpipe; and he’ll probably take his belt to your arse as well.”
“You vicious, sadistic bastard!” I raged at him.
“Now, now, Garry. Crossing the railway-bridge is illegal and you have to be punished to teach you not to do it again. Like I said, dad would probably put you under house-arrest; and the police might really arrest you. On the other hand, you could just bend over and take a good caning from me, and that would be the end of it.”
“It’s not like you’ve not run across the railway-bridge often enough,” I said bitterly.
“Have I? I don’t remember. Where’s the evidence? You on the other hand have certainly done so at least once; and you’re holding the proof.”
I glanced automatically towards the fire, but Dean just smiled and said quietly, “I’ve still got the negative.”
“Fuck!” I swore violently.
“So, ready to let me do a bit of practice on your behind with my new cane, Garry?”
“I haven’t got much choice, have I, you stinking brute? You’ve got me over a barrel.”
“Okay, that’s a good tight pair of shorts you’re wearing. Just bend over with your hands on the edge of the chair. I’m just wanting to practise my aim, so you shouldn’t find this any trouble.”
I rolled my eyes at him, but positioned myself as instructed. To my surprise, the strokes gave a sharp sting, but I’d had much harder canings over the years. After about twenty strokes, I could feel that he was getting his aim right and every one was landing in a band between the crown of my bottom and its lower edge. It actually felt quite exciting and stimulating and my penis was decidedly perky; so much so that I had to reach inside my shorts and rearrange things. Dean noticed.
“So; you like it, huh? Getting your arse beaten turns you on, eh Garry? That looks like some boner you’ve got there,” observed Dean, grinning broadly.
I stood up and plunged my hand into my shorts again, to deal with even more rampant movements, while Dean watched, a huge smile on his face.
“Okay; nice little strokes like that, enough to sting but not too hard, yeh, I liked that, okay? Stop making a bloody meal of it. Go away and leave me alone,” I snapped.
“Go away? But I haven’t finished.”
“That was just me practising, getting the range, sizing up the target……”
“My arse isn’t a fucking target!” I snarled.
“……….making sure I wasn’t hitting too high or too low,” continued Dean. “Now I’ve got the hang of it, I can move on to caning you hard as punishment for crossing the railway-bridge.”
“Caning me hard? No way, mate!”
Dean picked up the photograph; and I got the message.
“I never realised before what a sadistic bastard you are,” I told him angrily.
“But you realise now, huh?”
“Yeh. I do!”
“Well, just to make sure that you really and truly understand, I’m going to give you six of the best. Maybe that will teach you not to trespass on the railway. Get your shorts and pants down, Garry!”
I stared at him, speechless for several seconds.
“You trying to tell me you’re gonna cane me on the bare?”
“You got it in one,” agreed Dean.
“We never got the cane on the bare at school,” I protested, “and you won’t be using your cane on the bare either once you qualify; so you don’t need to practise that.”
“But this isn’t school. It’s serious corporal punishment for a tough young eighteen-year-old who needs to be taught a lesson; so you get it bare. Get them down, Garry. Now; or I’ll make it eight.”
He took a half-step towards me, arching the limber cane menacingly, and I felt the full power of his natural authority. For several seconds I hesitated and then I gave in, shoving shorts and pants to my ankles in one furious movement and immediately bending over again.
“Go on then,” I challenged, “let me see if you can use the cane like a real teacher!”
As soon as the words were out, I regretted them and cursed my stupidity in letting my anger get the better of me. Dean slid his cane across my rump and I felt the cool, smooth wood of the rod on my unprotected skin. There was a brief pause and I held my breath; and then he hit me. The slim cane lashed hard across my buttocks just below the crown and a fierce sting blazed in a fiery streak in my flesh. I gasped audibly and fought an urge to rub my bottom. My brain struggled desperately to come to terms with this new situation. No master’s punitive cane over the past few years had ever delivered such an intense burn to my behind. Dean had met my challenge head on. As quickly as I could, I steadied myself in readiness for the next stroke. It landed hard and fast just below the first one and another searing blast of pain ripped through my rear. I kept quiet this time and clenched my glutes as tightly as I could while I absorbed the pain.
Dean did a practice-stroke just behind me, making the cane whine as it descended, and I flinched instinctively.
“Bastard!” I muttered under my breath.
“Say something, Garry?”
“No,” I replied shortly.
“I can still make it eight if you want,” said Dean softly.
“No, thank you,” I replied firmly.
The rod rapped repeatedly at my skin and then was swiftly raised and driven in again, delivering a vicious arrow of pain which felt as though it was lacerating my flesh.
I squirmed as I wrestled with the pain.
“Feel that, did you?” Dean enquired.
“You know I bloody felt it,” I snarled.
“Language,” said Dean. “You do want eight, don’t you?”
“No, I’m sorry. Yes, I felt it.”
I was revolving in my head all the worst epithets I knew to describe my brute of a big brother, but I held my tongue. I still had three to take and no way did I want it to be five. He hit me again and I failed to stifle a little yelp as the cane burned a blazing pathway along the skin of my lower buttocks. Once more I writhed as I struggled to process the pain. As I awaited the fifth one, I was aware that there was a sheen of sweat on my skin and my whole body was trembling slightly. Furious for letting him see how much he was hurting me, I made an effort to steady myself.
He hit lower still and I bucked and then clenched hard; but I managed to keep silent. I expected him to cross-hatch some of the previous strokes with the final one, but he caught me by surprise and hit me full on my crease. A vicious lash of agonising pain gouged a furrow of shining hell deep in my sensitive flesh and I writhed and kicked as a squeal was forced from me.
I stood, still grasping the edge of the chair with white-knuckled intensity, my body a-quiver with pain, my buttocks throbbing as if an explosion of fiery heat had been detonated there.
“Stand up, Garry.”
I obeyed slowly and placed both hands on my tormented bottom, fingers splayed, as I felt my way over the pulsating welts he’d raised on my skin.
“So,” demanded Dean, “was that like a real teacher?”
“No,” I replied.
“What was wrong with it?” he asked, sounding slightly aggrieved.
“I didn’t say there was anything wrong with it.”
“So why wasn’t it like being caned by a real teacher, then?”
“Because of all the teachers who’ve caned me, none of them ever beat me as hard and hurt me as much as you did.”
There was a silence while I continued to caress my thrashed bottom, occasionally glancing at Dean from beneath my eyebrows.
“So, I really am a sadistic bastard?” he asked eventually.
“No,” I admitted with reluctant admiration, “you’re just the best fucking caner I’ve ever been beaten by; and I’m glad I’ll never be in any of your classes!”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It was,” I assured him.
“Have you learned not to cross by the railway-bridge?” asked Dean with a smile.
“I’ve learned to make damned sure you’re not around with a camera any time I do,” I replied with a watery grin.
Dean laughed and ruffled my hair.
“You didn’t half take it well,” he informed me.
“Yeh?” I queried, a glow of pride flooding through me.
“Yeh. Impressive. Now, wait here a moment.”
He dashed out of the room and returned a minute or two later with a negative which he handed to me, along with the photograph. I eyed them and then glanced into his face; and he nodded at the fire. I threw them into the flames and watched as they curled up and disintegrated into ashes.
“Right, that’s that,” said Dean. “Help me turn the sofa round.”
“The footie’s coming on telly and we’re gonna watch it.”
“I know; but why turn the sofa round?”
“So you can kneel on it and rest your arms on the back, you chump; and I’ll kneel beside you for company,” said Dean.
“Thanks,” I said. “I never thought of that.”
“And thanks for letting me practise with my cane on your arse.”
“I didn’t let you,” I objected. “You forced me.”
“Fucking hell!” gasped Tim as I showed him my cane-welts the next evening. “I never knew a cane could do that to a boy. Now, tell me all about it.”
We were in my room, where Tim had come at my invitation to spend a few hours. We lay back, side-by-side on my bed and I told him what had happened the previous evening.
“And you think Dean was really impressed with how you took the cane?”
“Yeh, I think he really was.”
“And you were impressed with how well he could dish it out?”
“I don’t think impressed is the word. Shocked, maybe,” I suggested.
“I think I’d like to meet this big brother of yours,” said Tim.
“Why? You’re not plotting to get me another caning, are you?”
Tim shook his head. I got up and went through to Dean’s room and asked him if he’d like to come and meet Tim. He followed me back to my own room and the pair of them immediately started to discuss the caning Dean had given me the previous night.
“You got one or two squeals out of him?” asked Tim. “Brilliant.”
“Hey! This is my bum you’re talking about,” I protested.
“And what a bum!” breathed Tim reverently.
I flushed, while Dean eyed my behind critically before saying, “Hmm. I see what you mean. It is a bloody good arse: nice tight globes, great cleft; and he fills those shorts superbly.”
“It’s what attracted me to him the first time I saw him. That bottom just grabbed me by the balls and wouldn’t let go! You’re hell of a lucky getting to give him a caning, Dean. I told him I’d love to beat that perfect arse of his, but he was having none of it,” Tim ended in a disconsolate tone.
“Well, you might not get to give him a real punishment-caning,” agreed Dean, “but I did about twenty moderately hard on his shorts, just to get my eye in; and he fucking loved it. Cock so hard you could tie up a battleship to it. You got a cane yet, Tim?”
“Yeh. Got one from my granddad after he retired. It’s got a real sting to it, so he said; and it’s been well-used. I’ve done a bit of practising on a striped cushion. I reckon my aim’s pretty good now. But I don’t suppose it’s the same as watching the reactions when you’re caning a real live guy,” said Tim.
“Soon as you get a chance, get him to bend over for you in his tight shorts and just cane him hard enough that he feels the sting. If he’s getting a boner, you know you’re doing it right. And then I guess you can do what I couldn’t really do; you know, deal with his boner for him.”
“Dean!” I yelped, horrified.
“He thinks just because I’m straight, that I don’t know what gay-boys like,” observed Dean.
“I think I can handle him,” said Tim confidently.
“But you respect him, mind,” warned Dean, looking suddenly serious. “Treat him right. He might be eighteen, but he’s still my kid-brother, and I look out for him.”
“Yeh, I get it,” Tim assured him solemnly. “I wish I had a big brother to keep an eye on me,” he said, turning to me.
“It’s not all it’s cracked up to be,” I muttered.
“Like to see my cane, Tim?” asked Dean.
“I’ll just go and get it. I think Garry needs to see it as well; just to remind him to watch his tongue,” said Dean as he went out.
“The cheeky bugger!” I gasped to Tim. “Did you hear that?”
“Yeh. Better watch your step, Garry,” replied Tim.
Dean returned and showed Tim his cane. The pair of them examined it closely and fell to discussing technique and power and numbers of strokes. They both did some practice-slashes in the air and on my pillow. Dean showed me the cane and raised his eyebrows interrogatively.
“No way!” I yelled at him; and my big brother, with a huge wink at Tim, returned to his own room.
“Brute,” I muttered.
Tim placed a hand on the throbbing bulge in the front of my shorts and said softly, “But he’s right about you needing moderate caning, isn’t he? And about me being able to deal with this for you?”
“Well, yeh, maybe; but he shouldn’t go saying it like that. I don’t tell him how to fuck his girlfriend.”
“Probably best not to,” agreed Tim. “He might cane you for being insolent.”
“That’ll be right.”
“So, you wanna come round to my place on Friday evening when my parents are out and I can introduce you to my cane?”
“I’d rather be introduced to your cock.”
“You will be, I promise; but cane first.”
“Not too hard? Just on my shorts?”
“Sounds good to me. Then, when my cane’s got you wound up tight as a watch-spring and your balls are bursting and your cock’s like a tree-trunk, I’ll think about doing what Dean suggested.”
It was all I had hoped and more. We’d kissed and explored each other intimately and then I’d bent over eagerly and Tim had given me several dozen strokes with his cane. It didn’t take him long to get his eye in and then he varied the speed of delivery and also the force, throwing in a harder one amid runs of moderate ones which screwed my sexual excitement up to screaming-point.
“Please!” I begged.
“Okay, Garry. I think we need to take this on to the bare. Strip.”
“Everything, Garry. Hurry up!”
In a frenzy of excitement I tore off my clothes, releasing a desperately bounding erection from which pre-cum oozed.
“You’re not gonna……..”
“Just hold your tongue and do as you’re told.”
I bent over and he resumed using his cane firmly, delivering a strong sting which was definitely more intense than it had been through my shorts; but still my cock loved it. He stopped and I glanced along my side to see him stripping fast before he began to drive confidently and determinedly inside me. As he did so, he spanked me hard with his hand and then reached round and took my balls in one hand and my penis in the other, pulling me back hard against his body as he thrust deeper and deeper. Shuddering on the brink of orgasm with the powerful stimulation of the cane on my bare skin and then the stinging slaps from his hand, it didn’t take long before his expert work on my tackle made me explode in an eruption so powerful and intense, that for a few seconds the whole room seemed to spin as constellations burst in my head. Even as I came, I was aware of Tim reaching his climax and sounding the bass-strings of delight.
We collapsed in a tangle of limbs on his bed and lay panting contentedly for a while before indulging in a long session of kissing and caressing of each other’s body.
“Got some good ideas, your big brother, hasn’t he?” said Tim.
“Yeh. Caning me and then fucking me was definitely the best.”
“That’s great, because I need to practise my caning and now I’ve got you to practise on. Okay, Garry?”
“Whenever you want, any way you want, any place you want, I’m up for it. Caning like that I really like,” I enthused.
As I was leaving later in the evening to walk home, Tim said, “Don’t forget to thank Dean for me; for getting you introduced to the cane so that we could have such fun. I really wish I had a big brother like Dean. You’re hell of a lucky, Garry. He’s a good guy; and he watches out for you too.”
“Yeh, he warned you to treat me right, didn’t he?” I said with a smile.
“And I listened,” Tim assured me, “didn’t I?”
“You treated me exactly the way I wanted,” I agreed. “I’m sure Dean wouldn’t find fault.”
“Anyway, just tell him.”
I promised to do so and kissed him goodnight.
Dean was away that weekend but on Monday evening I went to his room and conveyed Tim’s gratitude.
“Two different kinds of hot rod, eh Garry?”
“Yeh, yeh, he caned me and fucked me; not that it’s any of your business.”
“I’m pleased it worked out for you,” said Dean.
“Look, I know I wasn’t keen on bending over so you could practise using your cane, and I know that punishment-caning was pure hell; but it was thanks to you I found that caning could be fun when it’s not too hard; and I did appreciate it when you told me I took the punishment-caning well. I felt really good about myself after that. I know you look after me,” I continued, “and give me good advice; and Tim says I’m hell of a lucky to have a big brother who looks out for me; so………”
Dean had raised his eyebrows and was looking curiously at me.
“………I’d be willing to take six with my shorts on once a week from you until term starts, just to let you practise real canings; and as a kind of ‘thank you’ for being a supportive big brother. A bastard of a big brother sometimes, but you’ve always been there for me,” I ended.
“You really are quite something,” said Dean.
“Well, I need to make sure you’re fully proficient before term starts, because like you said, I’d hate to hear stories about boys laughing at you behind your back because you couldn’t cane them properly.”
“I definitely can’t have that,” agreed Dean, picking up his cane from his desk. “Right. Let’s get started. Bend over, Garry.”
“What! Now? But I thought maybe later in the week……”
“Bend over, Garry.”
I sighed and obeyed. I heard the cane whistle as it descended and then a vicious sting whipped in a fiery line across my buttocks, my tight shorts apparently giving me little protection.
“Uh!” I panted as I clenched hard.
It occurred to me too late that Dean didn’t really need to practise. When it came to wielding a cane, my big brother was a natural.
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.