♥ Site recommended story ♥
A brand spanking 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!
An Unscheduled Cane by Joelstrap
“It can’t be called that. It sounds like a plateful of oven-chips,” objected Doug.
“I didn’t name the bloody thing,” I retorted. “See! Here it is on the map; just a couple of miles away up that little side-road.”
Doug looked and then snorted.
“Daft name, if you ask me,” he said coldly.
“Who’s caring? Let’s go and have a look. It might be interesting,” I urged.
“But it’s off the route we’re supposed to be on today and it’d muck up our schedule; and we’d probably end up being late at Supperbury where we were going to eat,” said Doug.
“So what!” I half shouted. “We’re on holiday, not following a parade-route. We can do what we want, so let’s go and look at Crinkly Towers.”
“Okay, okay, keep your hair on,” grumbled Doug as he remounted his bike and set off up the side-road.
“I am keeping my hair on,” I replied in an effort to be calm. “Losing my hair’s not in the schedule for today anyway,” I muttered under my breath.
“I heard that,” said Doug, glancing back at me over his shoulder.
“So what you gonna do about it?” I demanded cheekily. “Spank me for making an unscheduled remark?”
Doug turned again to look at me and his bike wobbled into the verge.
“Watch out! You’ll end up……..”
Doug swore luridly, wrenched the handlebars of his bike round, lost his balance, and fell off sideways into the ditch.
“……….in the ditch,” I said.
Trying to hide my laughter, I dismounted and ran across to help him up.
“That was your bloody fault,” he complained, “and if my bike’s damaged maybe I will spank you.”
“Why not?” he demanded, picking up his bike and examining it.
“Spanking me isn’t in today’s schedule.”
“I’ll put it in as an emergency addition,” he said. “2.00 p.m. – Spank Gary fucking hard.”
“How come you can add a spanking for me to the schedule but you make a fuss when I want to add a visit to Crinkly Towers to the schedule?”
“But we’re going to Crinkly Towers,” Doug pointed out.
“Only after you moaned about it and I insisted.”
“I don’t moan; and don’t blame me if the cafe at Supperbury is closed by the time we get there.”
He mounted his bike and pedalled off while I made a very rude gesture behind his back before getting back in the saddle and following him.
“And I saw that,” said Doug.
“You couldn’t have.”
I pedalled hard and caught him up.
“What did you see?” I demanded.
“You made an obscene sign at me.”
“You don’t know that. You were facing the other way.”
“Okay. Are you saying that you didn’t make a rude sign?”
“Well, no; but you didn’t see me.”
“But you did it and I knew.”
“Very clever of you,” I retorted sarcastically. “Look, let’s forget it and see what this place is like. There’s a pair of gateposts just ahead.”
We rode between two tall pillars, each topped with a stone lion with one front paw raised as if in warning. A long, curving driveway, overshadowed by trees, brought us to a wide expanse of grass behind which lay Crinkly Towers. A sign directed us to a car-park and there we found a rack for bicycles as well. We chained up our machines and made our way round to the main entrance, pausing to look up at the huge building.
There was only one tower and it appeared to be the oldest part of the edifice. It stood proudly at one corner while wings extended from two sides of it and were themselves linked together to form a hollow square. An archway led into the square and on either side of it a curving stone stair swooped up to a broad landing in front of a magnificent entrance at first-floor level. We climbed swiftly to this door and paid our entrance-money before being admitted to a vast hall with a tiled floor. Wood-panelling was everywhere while the walls were adorned with ancient portraits, several stags-heads, complete with antlers, and an array of swords, spears and muskets.
“Wow!” said Doug.
“See? I said it would be worth coming,” I replied.
“So where do we go?”
I pointed to a sign which directed us to a desk in a corner. A white-bearded old guy explained that the next tour would begin in about ten minutes.
“Can’t we just go round ourselves?” I asked; but it appeared that wasn’t allowed.
He directed us to a group of seats beside a vast fireplace and said we could sit and wait there and he’d call us over when the tour was due to start.
“Cor!” I gasped, eyeing the massive fireplace. “I could almost stand up in there.”
I stepped over the shiny brass fender and stuck my head up the chimney. An insistent alarm suddenly went off, gave me a fright, and I cracked my head on the chimney-piece. The old guy hurried over and took my arm, pulling me back out of the fireplace.
“Did I do that?” I enquired, wincing at the high-pitched bleeping of the alarm.
“You shouldn’t have crossed the fender,” he said. “That’s what triggered it. It should….”
The bleeping suddenly ceased.
“Perhaps if you were just to sit down, young sir? The tour won’t be long in starting.”
I sat on a chair beside Doug who was shaking his head.
“Travis was right.”
“Huh? What the hell’s Travis got to do with it?” I demanded.
“I was talking to him after you split up and he told me that you needed to be kept under control,” said Doug.
“He said WHAT?”
“Told me you were impulsive and liable to get into trouble,” continued Doug with a grin.
“He’d no business saying things like that about me,” I objected.
“And he said that a really hard spanking with his trainer on your bare arse seemed to get through to you and tame the worst of your excesses,” Doug went on, his grin widening by the second.
“The sneaky, slimy bastard! So that’s why you were talking about spanking me earlier! Well, I don’t need you to keep me under control; and there’s no way that you’re gonna spank me, okay?”
“He told me that’s what you said to him the first time he told you that you were getting spanked; and he just ignored you and spanked you anyway. He suggested I should do the same,” ended Doug, looking smug.
“Well, I suggest you don’t,” I snapped furiously.
“Did he spank you a lot?” asked Doug innocently.
“Quite a few……..hey! This is none of your bloody business!”
“I think that what I’ll do is……..”
But he never got to tell me, because the old guy summoned us over to join a small group of a dozen or so people who were taking the tour. The rooms were spectacular, but the guide was as dull as a wet Sabbath in the Outer Hebrides in January. He droned on interminably about history and the people in the massive portraits which hung everywhere. By the time I’d heard about the third earl’s illegitimate son’s second wife, I’d had enough. As we were led out of the grand dining-hall into a passage, I grabbed Doug’s arm and nodded towards a doorway with a crimson rope across it.
“Come on! Let’s nip through here and get away from that old bore,” I urged.
“What? No! We have to stay with the tour,” protested Doug as he watched the last of our group heading into a room at the far end of the passage.
“Why? It’s fucking monotonous. We can have more fun exploring ourselves.”
I unhooked the crimson rope from a hook at one side of the open doorway and shoved Doug through, hooking the rope up again behind us. We were in a short stone passage with no carpets, and stairs led both up and down. I started up and Doug followed, hissing angrily about us getting into trouble if we were caught.
“Aw, shut up, Doug! Who’s gonna catch us? And anyway, what they gonna do? Throw us out? So what?”
He subsided and followed me in silence as I continued to trot up the narrow, winding stair. I decided this must be a servants’ staircase, allowing them to move around the castle without intruding on the main living-apartments except when necessary. We emerged on to a small landing with three doors leading from it. One was a large modern-looking bathroom; another was a bedroom and the third was a bright and sunny living-room, complete with TV in the corner. As I entered this, Doug tried to haul me back.
“Gary! This is someone’s living-quarters! We can’t go in here!” he hissed.
“There’s no-one here and I’m just having a look round,” I replied, moving into the room.
I approached the large window and saw that we were high up above the central courtyard, close to the old tower.
“I wonder if that door leads into the tower,” I said and moved towards it with Doug hanging from my arm, struggling to haul me back.
“Travis was right,” he panted. “You’re completely out of control. No wonder he had to spank the living shit out of you three times a day after meals.”
“What? Balls! It was nothing like as often as that. And I’m not out of control. I just like to enjoy life and be adventurous. You know,” I said seriously to Doug, “you’re a bit like Travis; always trying to stop me doing things.”
“I’m nothing like Travis,” protested Doug. “He’s as bent as a corkscrew and I’m dead straight.”
“Dead’s about the right word, I reckon,” I muttered to myself.
“What?” demanded Doug; but I just shook my head. “I hope when you do find a new boyfriend,” continued Doug, “that he’s strong enough to tame you. Spanking obviously isn’t painful enough.”
“I’ll have you know that spanking with a trainer really hurts; and I don’t need to be tamed. I’m going to live my life the way that I………..”
I broke off as the sound of voices came to my ears.
“Shit! Someone’s coming,” whispered Doug. “Come on. Let’s get behind that big screen-thing in the corner.”
He zipped out of sight behind the arras, but I ran to the door which I thought might lead to the tower and went through. Even as I closed it carefully behind me, I heard someone entering the room.
I looked round and the massive walls of bare stone confirmed my belief that I was now in the original tower. Two doors faced me and a swift glance behind each showed bedrooms, clearly in use although with no-one in them. A stair led down and also up and I decided once more to ascend. On a higher landing I found a bathroom and then a large room which looked like a kind of bed-sitter. It was very untidy. The bed in the corner was unmade. The large desk was a mass of books and papers and empty coffee-mugs. Jeans, shirts and trainers were scattered all over the place. I was gazing appreciatively at several photographs of naked young guys, all sporting dramatic erections, which were pinned to a cork-board above the desk, when I heard footsteps on the stair. A swift glance round showed that there was no alternative way out of here and so I did the only thing I could think of. I dived down behind the sofa and held my breath.
“Get in,” ordered an angry-sounding male voice.
There was a sound of stumbling feet, as if someone had been shoved into the room; and a youthful male voice protested, “Okay; okay. I’m going.”
“Right! I’ve had enough of you, my lad. I’ve told you often enough to ride along the track; and still you have to go leaping the hedge into a field and scaring the living daylights out of the sheep.”
“But it was an accident, honest, Mr. Carver,” pleaded the young voice. “I was just trying to get the horse to turn left when it suddenly took off and soared over the hedge.”
“Yes; and Crinkly Towers is made of cheese and gets eaten by a giant mouse at every full moon before it reconstitutes itself from a mammoth block of Cheddar,” snapped the other voice. “So, do I need to contact your father?”
“No,” replied the young voice softly. “I’ll take the cane.”
“Right. Over there facing the wall, hands on your head; and don’t move. I’ll be back shortly.”
I inched forward on my tummy and saw a young lad clad in shorts and t-shirt moving over to the wall and placing his hands on top of his thatch of brown hair. The other guy went out. I looked carefully at this young lad who had apparently just agreed to be caned. He’d be about my age, eighteen or so, and stood a couple of inches short of six feet. He had an athletic body and I liked the look of the sturdy, sun-browned legs as they emerged from the hem of his shorts and plunged to a pair of scruffy trainers. The shorts themselves were quite something, clinging skin-tight to his neat, firm buttocks and drawn some way into his cleft. I wished that I could see him from the front, as I felt sure that the fabric of those shorts would be fully-stretched across his groin. I drank in the exquisite bottom for several seconds before letting my eyes slide up over the slim waist to the well-proportioned shoulders, sunburnt neck and crowning cap of hair which lay in thick sheaves on his head.
I wondered if I should let him know that I was here, but was afraid of what might happen. For some reason, I desperately wanted to see that young guy getting beaten; and it was possible that if I alerted him to my presence he might sound the alarm and I’d be thrown out on my ear. As long as he remained obedient and stayed facing the wall as instructed, I was okay, and he wouldn’t discover me. Of course there was always the chance that the man would spot me, but I hoped he’d be too intent on his punitive task to be looking behind the sofa.
Another thing gave rise to exciting speculation in my head. This appeared to be the young lad’s room; and, to judge by the pictures on the wall, he was very probably gay. Could it be that my adventurous decision to get Doug to come to Crinkly Towers, abandoning his precious schedule, and to leave the boring tour-guide, outraging Doug’s sense of propriety, was going to pay off for me in the form of a new and highly attractive, not to mention arousingly-sexy, boyfriend?
Footsteps were audible, approaching the room and I shrank right back behind the sofa, resolved only to peep out once I was sure the guy was focussed on the caning and the young lad was fully occupied processing his pain. In a sudden flash of panic, it occurred to me that maybe the boy would be ordered to bend over the sofa and I’d be discovered. It was too late to go anywhere else now though and I realised that I’d just have to hope. The door opened and the man entered. I held my breath.
“Right, Ross; shirt and shorts off, and bend over the end of the bed,” he ordered.
I breathed again. That meant that both of them would have their backs to me and I could push my head out from behind the sofa a short distance and watch the caning with little likelihood of being seen. I waited and then heard a vicious whine and realised that the man had slashed the cane through the air. I winced at the sound; and wondered how Ross felt, knowing his bare bottom was about to feel the ferocious lash of that rod. I eased forward cautiously and saw Ross standing, bent over, hands tightly clasping chunks of bedding, while the guy stood behind him and to his left. I eyed the cane, a slim rod with a menacing look about it; and even as I did so, the guy did another practice-stroke making the air flinch. I noticed that Ross flinched too. I didn’t blame him.
The cane was laid across the boy’s bottom and I was momentarily distracted by the sheer perfection of those taut globes; but as the guy lifted the rod away and raised it high, my attention leapt back to the punishment about to be inflicted. Again the cane whistled through the air, but this time the sound of the swiftly-descending rod ended with a sharp crack. As I watched, Ross clenched his buttocks and slowly a red mark emerged from his skin. My penis throbbed urgently and I had to thrust a hand into my own shorts to shift things around. The cane lashed down again and a second red mark, parallel to the first and slightly lower, was etched across Ross’ behind. Again he clenched, but remained silent. Two more strokes followed, each a little lower, approaching the area where his buttocks merged into his upper legs. At the second of them, he shook his head violently. I knew from my experience with Travis’ trainer that that was a sensitive area, and Ross clearly knew that too because I could see his whole body tense as he waited for the fifth stroke.
This time the crack of the cane on bare boy-flesh was accompanied by an audible gasp from the beaten lad. I winced in sympathy with him. He’d felt that. The sixth followed swiftly and landed still lower, eliciting another, slightly more desperate gasp. I had to admire the accuracy of the guy’s caning as I drank in the six neat welts, evenly spaced, across Ross’ bottom. I was starting to ease my head back out of sight when I saw that the guy with the cane wasn’t finished. The rod was raised again and brought down hard at an angle across the lowest marks on the boy’s skin. His body shuddered and a yelp of pain was forced from him; and, even as he steadied himself, another diagonal lash of the cane was inflicted, eliciting a more high-pitched yelp and a violent writhe as he fought to process his pain.
“Get up,” ordered the man; and I watched as Ross obeyed and stood very still, hands at his side.
“No more messing about when you’re out riding, Ross. Understood?”
“Yes,” he replied quietly.
“Good. You’ll stay here by yourself for the next hour and then you may go out again. Clear?”
The guy left and I heard his footsteps receding.
I watched, entranced, as the boy slid his fingers and palms gently across the angry red ridges on his bottom.
“You can come out now,” he said without turning round.
I started violently.
He knows! How the hell does he know? Does it matter? Get yourself on your feet, you chump!
I stood and approached him and he at last turned towards me. He was gorgeous, from the smiling face to the smattering of hair on his chest, from the dark treasure-trail which led enticingly down across his washboard tummy to the generous fuzz of hair in his groin, within which nestled a couple of bulging balls and from which protruded a long, fully-aroused penis.
“Hi,” he said as if my presence was the most natural thing in the world. “I’m Ross and I just got a hell of a caning.”
“Er, yeh, I saw,” I admitted, flushing with embarrassment. “You can’t half take it,” I added admiringly. “I’m Gary; and, in my defence, I wasn’t hiding in your room so that I could watch you getting beaten.”
“No, I didn’t think you were; ‘cos how would you know I was gonna get a thrashing? I didn’t know myself until a few minutes ago. I bloody well know now though,” he ended, scrubbing ruefully at his buttocks.
“I’m sorry. I mean I’m sorry you got tanned; and sorry that I was in your room,” I said. “But how did you know I was here?”
“When I bent over the bed, before Carver started to cane me, I had my head right down and could see through between my legs; and I saw you peeping out from behind the sofa.”
“Shit! And you never let on!”
“Why would I? I could only see your head, but I liked the look of it, so I thought I’d wait until I’d been caned and Carver had gone, and then see what was going on.”
“It didn’t bother you that a strange guy was watching you getting your bare arse beaten bloody hard?”
“There’s nothing wrong with my arse,” he said simply, “and I can take a good caning.”
“Fucking right you can,” I breathed admiringly.
“So just as a matter of interest, why were you in my room?”
I explained what had happened and his grin widened.
“Fuck! You sound like you’re the same as me. You heard why I got the cane? I do adventurous things; different things; things that often get me in trouble.”
“Yeh, me too. My pal, Doug, he’s organised and careful, and to be honest, a bit boring. I wonder what happened to him? My last boyfriend was a bit like that too; and the bastard trainer-spanked me when I acted irresponsibly. Okay, I maybe deserved it, but it stung like shining fuck. Never stopped me enjoying life though,” I told him. “So, who’s this Carver guy who canes you? Not your dad, from what I overheard.”
“Nah; dad’s away abroad quite a lot and mum died when I was a kid. That was Mr. Carver. He’s the estate-manager and dad puts him in charge when he’s away. He’s okay actually. Of course, I fuck up quite a lot and early on he gave me the choice of reporting to dad, who would order long periods of incarceration in my room with no mobile or internet; or take a dose of the cane from him.”
“And you went for the cane? Wow!”
“It was a no-brainer,” asserted Ross. “Hurts like the blazes at the time, but soon over; and then I can get on with enjoying life. He doesn’t go easy on me – well, you saw that – but I’m eighteen, so I can take it.”
“I’ve never been caned, but in old stories six always seemed to be the most given; but you got eight,” I observed.
“Yeh. Carver never gives me less than six these days; but for something serious, like the business with the horse, I knew I’d be getting at least eight. To be honest, I was afraid he might give me a full dozen. He hits bloody hard too. Did you get a good look at him?”
“Only from behind. He looked quite tall and fit.”
“Yeh; probably late thirties, and he works out, so he’s got big muscles.”
“All the better to beat you with,” I said with a grin.
He reciprocated, his eyes sparkling.
“Like to feel my welts?” he invited, turning away from me.
“Could I? Ace!”
I decided I wasn’t going to be tentative about this. Ross was as sexy as a cartload of monkeys and his still-bounding erection argued a sexual interest in me. I’d been presented with a totally unexpected situation, and I wasn’t going to let it pass. I resolved to make a move. I placed my left hand firmly on his shoulder and applied a little pressure to encourage him to bend forward; and he did so compliantly. I slid my right hand over his burning globes, tracing each of the eight welts slowly with my index-finger while his whole body quivered. I slid my left hand round to his front and placed it on his chest, pushing him back upright, while I insinuated my right between his legs from behind, running along his perineum and making him draw in breath sharply. I cupped his heavy balls for a few seconds and then slid my hand back, pressing firmly as I did so. I continued with the side of my hand up the deep cleft between his buttocks, pressing hard on the lips of his anus for a second or two. He gasped aloud. I moved both hands to his shoulders and turned him to face me.
“You like me,” I said, nodding at his straining arousal.
“You like me,” he panted, glancing at the bulge in my shorts which was threatening to rip them asunder. “So why the fuck aren’t you kissing me?”
“Just about to, mate,” I replied; and then I did.
His response was all I could ever have wished for. We only stopped when the door of the room crashed open and a loud voice demanded to know what was going on. We sprang apart and turned to behold Mr. Carver staring at us.
“Who the hell might you be?” he demanded of me angrily.
I explained honestly how I came to be there.
“And you were watching Ross being caned? You pair seem to be of a kind,” he said.
“It wasn’t Ross’ fault,” I insisted.
“Yet I seem to recall telling him to remain here by himself for an hour and then he could come out.”
“But he didn’t bring me here,” I protested. “He had nothing to do with it.”
“He doesn’t appear to have been in any hurry to expel you from his room though,” remarked Carver.
We both went slightly red. Carver smiled.
“Okay, boys will be boys; and gay boys will do what gay boys do,” he said. “You, however,” he continued addressing me, “had no business leaving the official tour, nor entering private parts of the castle. That is unacceptable behaviour. Are you here with a parent?”
“No; a mate; but he stayed with the tour,” I lied, desperately hoping that Doug had managed to escape and was by now outside again.
“Indeed? So what would you say if I told you that I observed a young lad about your age, while the tour was still going on, emerging from the door at the foot of the tower and intercepted him and asked what he was doing there, in the private area; and he said that he was looking for his friend who had ‘got lost somehow’?”
“Can I take that as an admission of lying?”
“Yes,” I replied. “He tried to stop me leaving the tour; and I kind of hoped he might have got back to it.”
“None of which is any excuse for deliberately invading the private quarters of the family and lying to me. Is it, boy?”
“No,” I said. “Are you gonna cane me?”
“It’s either that or I report you for trespass,” he informed me.
“I’ll go for the cane,” I said.
“But you can’t…….” began Ross.
“Quiet, Ross. Are you sure, boy? You’ve seen what I can do to a lad’s behind with my cane; and Ross is used to it. I suspect that you’re not, are you?”
“No,” I admitted, “but I’m not a coward. I can take what I deserve.”
“Very well. Get your shorts and shirt off and bend over the bed, and wait until I return with the cane.”
He went out.
“Are you sure about this, Gary,” asked Ross anxiously as I removed my shirt and then pulled down my shorts and kicked them off.
“Shit! You got one hell of a sexy arse, Gary; and I like a boy who goes commando.”
“Right back at you,” I riposted, grinning. “And yeh; I’m sure. No way do I want police involved for trespassing. A caning will probably be good for me; but it won’t stop me being adventurous and getting into trouble,” I added.
“It better not,” asserted Ross, “or I’ll change my mind about inviting you to come and stay here for a few weeks.”
“You’d like me to come and stay? Oh, boy, that’d be awesome. And if you get me a horse, I promise to drive it over every hedge in sight.”
“Er, you don’t ‘drive’ a horse, Gary. You ride it.”
“Yeh, whatever. You’ll need to show me how to ride it; and how to get it into the right gear for jumping hedges.”
Ross snorted; and then we both fell silent as Carver entered the room with his cane.
“Disobedient, I see,” he observed.
“I told you to bend over the bed.”
“Oh, sorry,” I replied and moved swiftly into position.
“Over by the wall, Ross, and hold your tongue or I’ll send you out. Understand?”
“Yes,” answered Ross softly as he moved across to the wall and stood there, hands behind his back, watching.
Carver rapped my bottom several times with his cane and then, before I was expecting it, lashed it down hard across the centre of my sit-spots. I flinched and gasped aloud as a fierce sting blazed briefly on my rump. I hastily got myself together, gripped the bedding tightly, and forced myself to breathe steadily. The cane hit me again slightly lower, etching another searing band across my skin. I clenched my glutes hard. Boy, this hurts! I’ve got to take it though. I’d hate Ross to think I was a softie.
Lower still came the third stroke and the pain-level rose noticeably, forcing a louder gasp from my throat and sending my gluteal-muscles into spasmodic tightening and quivering.
“Oh, ya bast…….!” I yelped as the fourth lash of the cane scored a burning path where buttocks merge into legs.
I bit back the end of the word as I writhed; but he had heard.
“What did you call me, boy?”
“I’m sorry, sir,” I replied urgently.
“You’ll take that stroke again, boy; and you will hold your tongue while I’m beating you. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir,” I panted, steadying myself and then taking a large mouthful of bedding.
He whipped his cane in once more, even lower, delivering a ferocious blast of fire to my quivering flesh. I snarled into the bedding and squirmed in agony. Barely had I begun to marshal my resources when I felt the punitive rod exploring the tender skin of my upper legs. The sadistic brute! I bet he’s hoping he can force another obscenity out of me! Well, you’ve lost that bet, chum!
I tensed myself and then he hit me viciously hard again, exactly where I feared he would. The excoriating pain ripped like a lightning-stroke through my flesh and I kicked briefly before clenching and shuddering as I got the torment under control.
I was breathing hard and fast and I could feel my heart pounding; but he wasn’t going to break me. I took a tighter grip of the bedding with hands and teeth; and pushed up my bottom, just to show him I was ready to take whatever he chose to give me.
He chose to hit explosively hard on an angle which cut savagely across at least three welts and sent the pain-level soaring. The bedding stifled my yell; but he’d see the violent writhing of my lower body. He’d know that I felt it.
“Get up!” he commanded roughly, and I slowly rose upright and pressed wondering hands to my thrashed bottom.
Under my palms and fingers I felt heat and ridged skin. So that’s what caned buttocks feel like.
“Have you got a ticket, boy?” Carver demanded.
“Of course I have,” I replied, somewhat nettled. “I’m not dishonest.”
Sullenly, I went over to my shorts, rummaged in a pocket and produced my entrance-ticket which I showed to Carver. He dismissed it with a curt nod.
“Right. You’re going outside, but you can stay in the grounds if you want. Ross is going to begin again with his hour alone in here; and after that he can go out to see you if he chooses. You will not re-enter any part of the building unless he asks you in. Have you got that, boy?”
“Yes,” I replied, deliberately omitting the ‘sir’ to show what I thought of his rude use of the word ‘boy’.
I put on my shirt, shorts and trainers, exchanged a swift glance with Ross, and followed Carver out and down to the foot of the tower from where I was unceremoniously ejected and the door slammed behind me. Rubbing my bottom, I walked slowly out of the courtyard and round to the front of the main building, where I found Doug sitting on a bench overlooking an ornamental lake.
He turned and responded, “Where the hell did you get to?”
“Nice to see you again too,” I retorted sarcastically.
“Whatever. After you skedaddled from that sitting-room place, I stayed behind the screen and this guy and a youth about our age just passed through. They never saw me so, as soon as they were gone, I slipped back the way I’d come and managed to find my way outside. But you were still nowhere around, so I went into the tower-door and had a quick gander there, but didn’t dare go upstairs; and as I was coming out the guy I’d seen before, passing through the sitting-room, caught me and I had to say I was looking for my mate who’d got lost. I’ve a feeling he might be looking for you,” he ended.
“Yeh,” I confirmed, “and he found me.”
“So what did he say to you, Gary?”
“He said Take off your shirt and shorts and bend over!”
“Oh yeh? Gave you a beating did he? Told you it’s a castle from the old days, so he was gonna give you some of the discipline of yesteryear? I wish he had. It might make you act a bit more sensibly,” said Doug.
“He did. He caned me fucking hard, with Ross watching.”
“Who the hell’s Ross?”
“The guy whose bedroom I was in.”
“What in the name of all that’s hairy were you doing in a guy’s bedroom,” demanded Doug.
“Hiding; and I saw him get a hiding from that guy who caught you; and you told him I was on the loose somewhere, so he came back and caught me and Ross; and then he gave me a hiding,” I explained.
“What on earth are you blethering about? Honestly, Gary, do you really think I’m gonna fall for all that guff?”
“Okay,” I retorted, “come into the rhododendrons.”
“No way. I don’t mind you being gay, but I’m straight; and you’re not getting into my pants,” declared Doug.
“Pants? I don’t want to get into your flaming pants! Just come with me. Now!”
I strode off and he followed. Concealed by the bushes, I suddenly turned my back on him and dropped my shorts. There was a long silence and then he ejaculated, “Fucking hell!”
“Believe me now?”
“That’s assault! We’re going to the police. No way should he have laid a finger on you, never mind do anything like that!” declared Doug.
“Aw, Doug, that’s sweet of you to stand up for me,” I said in seductive tones as I hauled up my shorts, and then swiftly planted a kiss on his mouth.
“Get off me!” he yelped, backing away while I grinned widely at his discomfiture.
“It hasn’t done me any harm,” I told him.
“No harm? Have you seen what he’s done to your arse?”
“Well, no; but I’ve felt it with my hands. I’ll recover.”
“But how did he do it? Did this Ross guy hold you down?”
“No! Why would he? I was kissing him when Carver (that’s the guy who caught you and beat Ross and me), came back and……..”
“Kissing? I thought you just met this Ross chap when you went into his room. How the hell could you be kissing him?”
“Watching him getting his bare arse caned kind of speeded things up a bit, I guess. We soon realised we were very alike. Both did adventurous things that sometimes got us in trouble; and we were both excited, cocks like flagpoles, and kissing just came naturally,” I explained.
“So, to get back to you being caned,” said Doug, “are you trying to tell me you just bent over and took it?”
“Er, yeh. It was bloody tough though.”
“Well he’s a muscular young guy, probably late thirties and he was hitting me hell of a hard; and a cane’s no joke on your bare arse and ……….”
“No, you moron!” Doug interrupted. “Not why was it tough; why did you just take it?”
“Oh, well, I was trespassing; and I was in Ross’ room when he was supposed to be alone thinking about his punishment for flying his horse over a hedge; and when Carver asked if I was here with a parent, I lied that I was with a mate who had gone on the tour; but of course he knew you weren’t on the tour so I was found out, see?”
Doug stared at me and then said, “A flying horse? Are you on something, Gary?”
“No! Look, I think he was supposed to drive his horse on a track, but he somehow got it to go over a hedge; and I gather he wasn’t supposed to do that, though I dunno why. I’ve seen horses on TV going over hedges and things.”
Doug sighed and gave himself a shake before trying again.
“Let’s get back to you getting the shit beaten out of you. Why did you let the bugger cane you?”
“I told you! I was trespassing and in Ross’ room and told a lie about you; so I deserved to be punished and he gave me a choice of being reported or taking a thrashing. So I agreed to take the cane.”
“See, if you’d just stayed with the tour like I said, none of this would have happened,” said Doug.
“But it was exciting and the tour was as boring as hell!” I protested.
“You got an arse that looks like a pound of mince and you think that’s exciting?”
I shrugged. “I think I got a new boyfriend too,” I said. “That’s definitely exciting.”
“Boyfriend? Who? Where?”
“I told you! Ross!”
“But you just met him! You hardly know him! And if you go back into the castle to see him, won’t this Carver guy just take a few more layers of skin off your arse?”
“He’ll be coming out to meet me after he’s been in his room for an hour. That’s part of his punishment; and then I can go back inside if he invites me.”
“We’re not waiting here for another hour! Come on; let’s get our bikes and go. We’ll be lucky to get to Supperbury in time for food anyway.”
“I’m staying! This is an adventure and Ross is a red-hot guy! You can’t deny me a red-hot boy!”
“I can’t deny you a red-hot arse either! Travis was definitely right. You’re completely out of control; wild as mountain-lion. You definitely need to get your backside roasted and I’m gonna do it.”
“You can threaten to spank me all you like. I’m staying to see Ross again. So there.”
“I guess I can’t haul you away; and I’m not gonna leave you. Fuck knows what trouble you’d get into on your own. But after you’ve spoken to him, we’re leaving. Okay, Gary?”
“Okay,” I sighed. “But I wish you’d lighten up and go with the flow a bit. Be laid back, like me.”
“You’re so laid back you’re horizontal,” he riposted. “Come on; let’s go see if there’s anything edible we can get in the castle-shop.”
We bought some biscuits and sat out on a bench to eat. In due course Ross arrived and introduced himself to Doug.
“Look, I know it’s messing up your day a bit,” he said to Doug, “but me and Gary really want a bit of time together by ourselves. Would you mind hanging about a bit longer? I’ll take you up to our private lounge and you can be comfortable and watch telly; and I’ll get some grub sent up from the kitchen for you.”
“Oh well, if I’m gonna get fed here, there’s not so much hurry to leave,” Doug consented. “Lead the way.”
Ross took us into the tower and then into the lounge.
“Hey! This where I hid behind that screen when that guy dragged you through to your room,” exclaimed Doug.
“No need to hide this time,” Ross assured him. “I’ll just ring down for some food for you and we’ll see you in about an hour.”
Leaving Doug comfortably ensconced in an armchair, Ross took me back to his bedroom and we stripped each other slowly, exploring all the time. Powerful urges drove us to relieve each other’s tensions and we soon had spunk spurting high and fast.
“You wanna get into me next time?” demanded Ross eagerly.
“Oh, yeh! This is gonna be really special!”
“Hey! I know how to make it even more special,” said Ross excitedly. “Let’s go into the main part of the house and do it on the big four-poster bed in the principal bedroom.”
“But what about the tours of the house? I don’t want a group of visitors coming into the room and the guide saying, And there on the wall is a portrait of the ninth earl; and on the bed a young hunk fucking the next earl.”
Ross burst into delighted laughter and, “You’re brilliant!” he declared. “The tours are over for the day. Let’s go!”
He snatched up a towel and then led me through the house, neither of us even bothering to put on shorts, and into a palatial bedroom with a massive canopied-bed. Spreading the towel on the richly-embroidered coverlet to protect it, he bounced aboard and I followed.
“Go for it, Gary! Hard as you can!” he urged; and I did.
So engrossed were we as I climaxed deep inside him that neither of us was aware that the door had opened until we heard a half-stifled scream and turned urgently to see a middle-aged woman dashing out of the room, leaving a vacuum-cleaner behind her.
“Oh, bloody hell,” moaned Ross. “I forgot about the cleaners. Now I guess it’ll be another caning for my arse.”
“Let’s get back to my room,” said Ross and we fled, naked as we had no clothes with us, and ran right into Doug and Carver on the landing.
A furious Carver sent us to Ross’ room with instructions to wait there. We were pacing nervously when footsteps in the passage announced the imminent arrival of both Carver and Doug.
“You were well past the hour you said you’d be,” said Doug, “and so I went down to ask where to find you and ran into Mr. Carver. Since he’d last seen me, sneaking out of the tower when I was hunting for you after we left the tour, he’d discovered that you were as irresponsible and out of control as Ross; and he commiserated with me. We’d just agreed that you both needed a lot more discipline, and were about to come up to this room to find you, when a cleaner came rushing in and described a shocking scene in the main state-bedroom.”
“A scene of appalling debauchery, made worse by despoiling a valuable bedspread and being so utterly stupid that you did it in a public room which you knew was cleaned every day after the tours ended,” declared Carver.
“We used a towel,” protested Ross.
“We didn’t despoil the bedspread,” he elucidated.
“Oh, good,” retorted Carver sarcastically. “All you did was make Mrs. Lindon think she’d walked in on a Roman orgy.”
“She might have enjoyed the sight,” objected Ross unwisely. “We’re both good-looking young boys; and her husband’s a middle-aged skunk.”
“How dare you!” roared Carver; and to my horror he grabbed Ross by the hair, dragged him to a wash-basin in the corner, squeezed some liquid-soap into his hand and proceeded to rub it liberally round the inside of Ross’ mouth.
I assumed that Ross submitted to this because he knew if he didn’t he’d just get an extra beating with that vicious cane; but he certainly didn’t like it. When he was told to rinse out his mouth with water he did so repeatedly and was still screwing up his face in disgust at the taste when he was hauled back to where Doug and I were watching.
“Well, boy?” demanded Carver.
“I’m sorry. That was rude,” said Ross meekly.
“Could I make a suggestion, Mr. Carver?” asked Doug; and, when Carver nodded, he proceeded: “Gary’s last boyfriend used to trainer-spank him when he behaved irresponsibly and I’ve already promised him a spanking because of the way he’s behaved today. It’s a lot worse now, but that just means I’m going to give him an extra long and extra hard dose of my trainer. If you agree, I’ll tan the hide of each of them, with you watching to satisfy yourself that they’re getting it hard enough. I know you’ve made a great job of caning them both, but I think maybe they need something different now, but which is definitely gonna get through to them.”
Carver nodded approvingly.
“You look like you’ve got a good strong right arm, young man,” he said to Doug.
“I work out regularly,” replied Doug. “When I wield my trainer across their bare arses, they’ll feel it all right.”
Ross and I glanced nervously at each other, but there seemed no way out. I decided that it couldn’t hurt as much as Carver’s cane anyway.
We were still fish-naked from our exploit in the state bedroom and so Doug’s target was ready and uncovered when I bent over the back of an armchair and he removed his right trainer. I waited only a few seconds before it slammed into my bottom with the force of a railway-sleeper. I gasped aloud at the ferocious sting; and, even as I did so, he drove it brutally hard into the other buttock. He continued like that, hitting with scary force and delivering sets of three or four swats to the same area of skin so that my behind felt as if it was being scorched by a blowtorch. I gasped and yelped and squirmed; but when he got to work on the backs of my upper legs the burn was so intense that I leapt upright, scrubbing desperately at the tortured skin.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” demanded Doug. “Get yourself back in position! Mr. Carver, would you mind holding his hands so that he stays down while I’m spanking him? I thought he’d know better than to stand up in the middle of a spanking,” he added, shaking his head.
I gave him a fierce glare and bent back over as Carver agreed to hold me. He grasped my wrists painfully tightly and made sure I stayed down while Doug smashed the hard, unyielding sole of his trainer over and over and over on to my bottom, crease and upper legs. Scalding tears were trickling down my face as I kicked and writhed while my behind erupted in a savage conflagration of unbearable fires. When he stopped, I was aware that my breaths were coming in great, noisy gulps; and only gradually did I pant my way to stillness. Carver pulled me roughly upright and then told Ross to get in position. As Ross complied, I was pushed back to the wall and told not to move. I pressed desperate hands to my fire-lashed buttocks, and watched.
Seeing Doug at work, I understood how he had inflicted so much pain. I hadn’t realised how powerful he was, but as he put all the force of his body behind every single swat, driving the hard sole of his trainer at high speed into the tender flesh of Ross’ rear, I appreciated why he had managed to deliver such an unforgettably excruciating spanking. Ross too needed to be held by Carver as the pain intensified when Doug began work on his upper legs; and he too was tearful when he was eventually allowed to stand up.
We dressed on Carver’s orders and stood side by side and promised, with all the fervour of the freshly-spanked, better standards of behaviour in future.
“So, I assume you and Gary will be on your way,” said Carver to Doug, who agreed.
“Maybe we should just give them ten minutes together here and then we’ll be off,” suggested Doug; and he and Carver went out and left us alone.
The sex which followed was white-hot and, of necessity, high-speed; and we arranged that I’d come and stay at the castle for several weeks later in the summer before I went off to college. Outside we found Carver and Doug deep in conversation. Ross told them what we’d arranged.
“The Earl, Ross’ father, allows him to have friends to stay,” said Carver, “but they are expected to behave themselves. I fear that the pair of you together are going to find it impossible to keep out of trouble; but I warn you both now that I will use the cane on your bare bottoms as hard and as often as I need to in order to tame your wilder excesses and to try to keep you within reasonable bounds.”
“I agree that they’re gonna be a handful,” said Doug, looking thoughtful, “so maybe I’ll come and stay too; and between my trainer and your cane we might be able to keep them in order.”
“No way!” I protested. “Ross hasn’t invited you; and no way are you ever gonna spank me with that bloody trainer of yours ever again. The spankings Travis gave me were fairy-tickles compared to that. I dunno how you can hit so hard.”
“He’s right,” assented Ross firmly. “That was the worst spanking I’ve ever had. Sorry, but I’m not inviting you to stay.”
“But I am,” interjected Carver unexpectedly. “I could do with a bit more help on the estate over the summer and I’m sure I can persuade the Earl to employ you for a few weeks,” he said to Doug. “Nothing too onerous in the way of work of course,” he added with a grin, “and time to administer trainer-spankings as often as required. I could teach you to use the cane as well. From what I saw of the power you put into wielding your trainer, I think you could really put some spectacular welts on that pair of badly-behaved bottoms.”
“No way!” Ross and I gasped together.
“Weren’t expecting that, were you?” asked Doug, “but I’m beginning to see that maybe there’s something in breaking free of plans and doing something completely different. I was going to spend a few weeks working in a shop at home; but I’ve just decided that I’m abandoning that idea and coming here instead. You know, you should be pleased that I’m starting to see things at least partly your way,” he said to me with a grin, “although not the irresponsible behaviour of course. I’m always responsible; and Mr. Carver and I are going to make ourselves responsible for keeping you two firmly under control.”
“You agree, boys?” enquired Carver.
Ross and I glanced helplessly at each other and then conceded defeat.
“Yeh,” said Ross. “Okay. We want time together so if that’s the price, we’ll pay it. And we won’t be asking for any sessions with your trainer either,” he said respectfully to Doug. “I still don’t understand how you can hit that hard,” he added; and there was a strong note of reluctant admiration in his voice.
“And Gary doesn’t mind,” put in Doug, “because it’s really all his idea. He was the one who insisted on messing up my schedule and coming to Crinkly Towers in the first place. I’ll admit that I wasn’t happy initially, but I realise now that he was right. I need to be a bit less rigid in my planning and leave more room for being impulsive; within reason of course.”
I rolled my eyes at him and he grinned even more broadly. Carver took us into the office and showed us a large planner on the wall. We agreed on the date we’d come back to Crinkly Towers, a couple of weeks later, and Carver entered it on the sheet, along with the date, six weeks after, when we’d leave again.
“I was thinking,” he said to Doug, “that maybe we should give them a maintenance-spanking every Saturday evening, just to cover any irresponsible behaviour we don’t know about and to encourage good behaviour in the week ahead. Maybe four each with the cane and eight each with your trainer; bare of course, because we want them to feel it. What do you think, Doug?”
“Great idea,” agreed Doug.
“No!” panted Ross and I simultaneously.
Carver printed the letters M-S in the corner of each of the Saturdays that we’d be back here.
“That’s for Maintenance-Spanking,” he explained.
“You can’t do this to us!” Ross protested.
“Please,” I pleaded.
Doug shook his head.
“Can’t change it now,” he said firmly. “It’s on the schedule!”
“But you said you’d realised it was okay to abandon a schedule sometimes,” I urged.
“True,” replied Doug slowly, “but I think this schedule needs to be adhered to rigorously.”
Over six Saturdays later that summer, it was; and that’s to say nothing of the unscheduled caning and spanking we got when our adventurousness led us into trouble. At the end of the summer, Ross and I organised to move into a flat together when we started at college.
On our last night at Crinkly, we took Doug up to Ross’ room.
“We’ve got a request,” said Ross to him. “Me and Gary would like you to come and share our flat at college.”
“Me?” said Doug looking astounded. “I thought you’d be glad to see the back of me and my trainer.”
“Yeh, but we’re gonna need to be kept on schedule at college; getting to classes on time, doing the studying, handing in work when it’s due. We’ve been talking about it and we know that there’s some things that need a schedule and we’ve gotta stick to it,” I said.
“And if you were there in the flat, with your trainer, you could just make sure that we do what we’re supposed to do; and pull us into line if we don’t,” continued Ross.
Doug thought for some time and then agreed.
“Fine,” he said. “I’ll keep you up to date with your studies, but your arses will feel it if you give me any trouble.”
“We know. We’ll take a spanking when we need it,” I told him. “Great; that’s that organised.”
Ross and I gave each other high-fives behind Doug’s back in celebration. Shortly after, Doug went off to his room for the last night; but he paused at the door and looked back at us.
“I’ve had a sudden brainwave,” he informed us. “Carver won’t need his cane while Ross is at college, so I’ll just borrow it from him during term-time. I think I’ve got pretty good at using it this summer and, if I tenderise your arses a bit with my trainer first, then you should really feel the cane when I thrash you with it; and it’ll be just the thing to keep you pair in your place. Good night.”
Ross and I stared at each other in horrified silence.
“Well that definitely wasn’t in the plan,” said Ross eventually.
“Yeh; the sadistic bugger’s getting too good at doing impulsive things. Trainer and cane? He’s really gonna keep us on our work-schedule.”
Doug’s trainer slammed our bare bottoms and his cane lashed our bare bottoms repeatedly over the subsequent three years; and as a result, we completed all our essays and passed all our exams, bang on schedule. It was all thanks to that unscheduled cane one summer’s afternoon at Crinkly Towers.
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