♥ Site recommended story ♥
Hot off the press is this 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!
The Cane Beneath The Bear by Joelstrap
It was thanks to the cane beneath the bear that we had a spare-room. For a start though, I have to admit that I’d never been caned. My bottom was quite well-formed in my own opinion, filling my jeans nicely behind, the gluteal muscles firm and taut as a result of regular running; and the few boyfriends I’d had in the past couple of years had been enthusiastic about my posterior assets. Corporal punishment had been abolished in schools years before I was born, and so at eighteen I’d never felt what it was like to have a cane used on me. Any boy worth his salt though has a good dollop of curiosity as well as a desire to explore new experiences; which is probably why, as I handled the cane carefully, I couldn’t help speculating on how it must feel to have one used across my bottom.
I’m jumping the gun a bit though, and I need to take you back a few weeks before that little incident occurred. I’d been a student for almost a term and was fed up living in a hall of residence a long way from the centre of the city. My home was a large town about ten miles away and I’d looked forward to getting to enjoy life in the metropolis. I decided to seek a room-mate and get a shared flat nearer to the heart of things. None of my friends was keen though and so I advertised on the college-noticeboard and Zak replied. Lean and firm of body, with eyes which danced beneath an unruly mop of black curls, I liked the look of him straight away. We chatted and chatted more; and then met up on two other days that week before concluding that we had enough in common, and got on well enough together, to be able to share a flat amicably.
Zak lived at home but was desperate to get away and gain some independence. We set about finding a flat and were fortunate to get a reasonably-priced one without too much difficulty. Once exams were over in the final week of term, he invited me to come to his house so that we could arrange to move in during the first week of January, when I returned to the city after the holidays. Zak’s dad knew a guy with a van who did small moving-jobs and often shifted boxes and other things for students flitting in and around the city. He was willing to come out to the town where I lived and collect my things and then collect Zak’s things and take them to the new flat early in January. I’d have liked it to be a bit cheaper, but the van-guy said he’d almost certainly get one or two other people wanting to have stuff moved and that would bring the shared cost down.
That is how it transpired and with two other small moves in the same load, the cost fell considerably. Being outside the city, my boxes were collected first and then, while I got a train into town to head for the new flat, the van went on to collect things from Zak and the other two clients. Zak and I had been at the flat for almost an hour when the van arrived and we went out to carry our boxes upstairs. The other two lots of stuff had already been delivered and, with the van-driver’s help we made short work of clearing the vehicle and getting all the boxes dumped in our living-room.
We had a can of lager to celebrate our arrival and then we each began carting the boxes into his own room. I came back to the living-room to find Zak staring down at a box which he’d placed on the table.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“You said you’d got all your boxes; and this one isn’t mine.”
“Oh! I guess it must belong to one of the other guys he was delivering stuff to today. It’s not sealed or taped up. Maybe we should take a look and see if there’s any identification inside,” I suggested.
Zak looked doubtful and so I pulled open the lid to reveal a few books, a pile of folders and, peeping up from where it was squashed between the side of the box and a large volume on freshwater fish, a dark-brown teddy-bear with a well-worn muzzle.
“Aw,” said Zak. “He’s cute. I like a bear.”
“A bare what?” I asked mischievously.
“A red-hot sexy boy with a bare bottom,” he replied astoundingly, making me flush.
To cover my embarrassment, I pulled the bear out and examined it. Zak was right; it was rather cute and had clearly been well-loved. It was as I made to return it to its place that something down near the base of the box caught my eye; something which I’d never have seen had I not taken the bear out. I plunged in a hand and slowly pulled out from beneath the pile of folders which concealed most of it, a slender cane. I gasped in surprise. This is where we came in; as I, an un-caned eighteen-year-old, gazed in fascination at a genuine cane. I ran a careful forefinger along its length and then bent it gently into a smooth arc.
A sudden flash made me look up to see my new flatmate with his mobile-phone.
“Did you take a picture of me?” I asked.
“Yeh. You looked bloody good standing there examining that cane as if you were expecting to be beaten with it and were wondering how much it would hurt,” replied Zak with a grin. “Look!”
He handed me his phone and I gazed at myself arching the slender rod gently in both hands. My head was down as I stared at the cane, my long, thick hair flopping over my forehead and obscuring most of my face from the camera. I eyed my tight t-shirt, the muscles of my bare arms, the bulge in the front of my shorts, and my legs, still lightly-brown from the previous summer.
“You’re one spunky guy,” observed Zak.
“Er….thanks. You’re not bad yourself,” I added.
“So, do you want me to give you a beating with that thing?” he enquired unexpectedly.
“No! I mean, why would I want you to beat me?”
“It might give you an erection,” he replied disconcertingly.
“You what?” I stammered; and then paused as my penis swelled alarmingly fast and tried to force its way out of my shorts, making me gasp aloud and do some hasty readjustment.
“Fuck! You’re keen,” Zak said. “Just the mention of a caning gets you as hard as a rock.”
“I don’t think it was…..I mean I wasn’t expecting…..oh, shit!” I ended, flustered and aware that my face was going bright red, as my determined cock forced me to plunge an urgent hand into my pants and rearrange things again.
“Maybe if I caned you on the bare you’d cum,” remarked Zak. “What do you think, Chris?”
“How the hell should I know!?” I demanded angrily.
“I bet you could make your boy-cream spurt half way across the room,” continued Zak. “You look like you got big balls.”
“Big b……Look, shut up about beating me! For fuck’s sake, I only met you a few weeks ago. Why would I let you thrash me?”
“It would help us get to know each other better.”
“Yeh; well I’d rather get to know you better over a pint at the pub,” I replied.
“Great. I’m fine with that. Maybe I could cane you at the weekend,” Zak said.
I stared at him in stunned disbelief.
“I never said anything about you caning me any time,” I protested. “Come on! Let’s get our stuff unpacked and then we could go out for a pint.”
We both spent half an hour or so emptying boxes in our own room and when I returned to the living-room of the flat, Zak was standing looking down at the sole remaining box.
“So, what do we do with this?” he asked.
I shrugged. “Since there’s no clue inside about whose it is, I’ll get in touch with the guy with the van. He’ll know who else he was delivering stuff to.”
“I wonder who he canes?” mused Zak as we set off to the pub.
“Maybe he’s the one who gets the cane,” I suggested. “Must be a bit kinky.”
We left it at that and spent a couple of hours over our drinks indulging in guy-chat.
“So, where is it?” asked Zak when we returned to the flat.
“The cane, Chris! It’s not in the box.”
“Oh, er no. It’s in my room actually.”
“I was holding it when I went through to unpack my boxes and I laid it down there,” I replied quickly. “I’ll put it back in the box after I find out who it belongs to.”
“Right,” said Zak.
I contacted the van-driver the next morning, which was Saturday, and he told me that, as well as collecting my stuff and that of Zak, he’d also picked up some small pieces of furniture for a girl across the city and some boxes for guy called Liam Bale. He’d delivered the furniture first and then Liam’s things because they were loaded after Zak’s and mine and were easiest to get at. It seemed one of Liam’s boxes had been left on the van by mistake and been delivered to our flat along with our own stuff. Both Zak and I had carried the contents of the van up to our flat, with the driver’s help, and since we weren’t necessarily carrying our own boxes, we hadn’t realised that the box in question belonged to neither of us. The van-driver gave me a mobile-number for Liam and I called him.
“Oh, that’s great,” he said. “I’m afraid I’ve not got round to emptying my boxes yet and I didn’t realise one was missing. I’ll come round and get it.”
“I’m actually going out just now,” I said, “so if you’re not too far away, I could bring it to you.”
He told me his address and I realised that he was just a few minutes walk from where I now lived.
“I just got to get ready; and I’ll probably be with you in about half an hour,” I told him.
Zak looked at me as I ended the call.
“You weren’t planning to go out,” he accused. “What are you up to?”
“Nothing. I’m just gonna return the guy’s things.”
“Don’t forget the cane,” said Zak with a mischievous grin.
“Why would I forget it?” I demanded, slightly ruffled.
Zak shrugged and I strode into my room, picked up the cane, and returned to the living-room where I put it carefully back in the box.
“You sure that’s exactly where it was?” he enquired.
“Yeh. It was at the bottom, bent into a bit of an arc, with the folders on top covering most of it and the bear stuck in at the side hiding the handle. What’s it matter?”
“He might wonder why you found it.”
“He’s not gonna know that I found it!”
“You’re not gonna tell him?”
I gave him an exasperated glare, picked up the box and made for the door.
“Maybe he’ll cane you,” suggested Zak as I left the room.
I stopped and turned round.
“Yeh, right,” I answered uncertainly and headed for the stair.
The box seemed to get heavier and heavier as I walked along towards where Liam lived. I asked myself repeatedly why I was doing this. After all, Liam had offered to come and collect the box and I had no need to lug it round to his flat. Maybe it was that I wanted to see the guy who had a cane; but I’d have met him had he come round to our place anyway. Zak would have been there too though. Why didn’t I want Zak to be there? A thought insinuated its way into my brain and clung on there in spite of my half-hearted efforts to dislodge it. Did it all come back to the cane; and was I secretly hoping in some deep part of my psyche that Liam might cane me and it was more likely to happen if Zak wasn’t there? I’d resisted Zak’s offers, which hadn’t really sounded too serious anyway, to use the rod on my rump; but although I’d not admitted it to him, there was a part of me which felt that it might be an exciting experience.
Liam lived in a top flat up two flights of stairs and my arms were aching by the time I laid the box outside his door and paused to catch my breath and rest for a few seconds before I rang the bell. When Liam answered, I was instantly sure that all the effort had been worthwhile; because he was stunning. Maybe an inch below six feet, slim and athletic in build, his head a mass of thick brown curls which clustered about his ears and tumbled across his forehead, my first sight of him brought a spasm between my legs. I took in the plain black t-shirt which fitted his torso sufficiently closely to reveal his nipples and to cling tightly round his biceps; and, topped by a studded leather belt, the skinny black jeans which bulged enticingly at the front and were stretched taut across a delectable pair of buttocks.
“Hi! You’ll be Chris? I’m Liam,” he said in a deep voice as he took the box from me. “Come in and have a coffee.”
I couldn’t have refused if I’d wanted to. I followed him into a cosy living-room where he deposited the box on a low table and nodded me into an armchair, taking a seat himself opposite me.
“It was good of you to bring the box round. I moved in last autumn and this is the last of the stuff from home. I’m in my final year studying marine-biology, by the way and I’m going to be staying on to do a Ph.D. I had all my boxes clearly marked because unfortunately I couldn’t be in when he delivered my stuff. I had to ask the guy across the landing to bring the boxes up; and I told him that they all had L.B. on them in black felt-pen; but he must have missed this one.”
“Sorry we didn’t notice when we were unloading,” I explained, “but we were carrying up some of each other’s things and so neither of us realised one of the boxes didn’t belong to either of us until we started to sort them out; and by then the van was long gone.”
“How did you find me?” asked Liam. “I don’t think there was anything in the box to identify me.”
“No, there wasn’t; so I contacted the van-driver and he gave me your mobile-number.”
I noticed Liam’s eyebrows rise briefly.
“Yeh?” he said. “So you did have a look in the box? Did you find Snuggles?”
I resisted with difficulty an urge to say Your bare what?
“Oh, yeh. Kinda cute.”
“Ah! You took him out, huh?”
“Er, well, yeh. Just ‘cos he looked so cute, like I said. I wanted to hold him. He looked like he’d been well-loved,” I added, aware that my face was feeling hot.
I hesitated. I suspected he must have guessed that I’d probably seen the cane; but I waited to see if he’d say any more. Liam, however, remained silent. Something drove me on.
“I….eh…..look, I noticed something else in the box when I lifted Snuggles out, which was…….well, a bit unexpected. I know it’s none of my business, but I’m curious. Why have you got a cane?”
“Same reason any guy has a cane,” replied Liam.
I stared at him; and he said no more, forcing me to go on.
“You mean…….so that you can cane someone?”
“Who?” I asked.
“Any guy who needs it.”
“You, for example.”
“Don’t you think you need it?”
“You opened my box; the cane was right down at the bottom, mostly under some folders, the handle hidden under my bear. You really didn’t have to rummage through everything, because it must have been clear almost at once that there was no identification there. You took out Snuggles, although you’ve no business touching another guy’s bear.”
“What? I just wanted to look at him. I didn’t rip off his ears or tear out his stuffing!”
“A guy’s bear is a very personal thing,” declared Liam solemnly. “Okay?”
“Okay,” I agreed reluctantly.
“And then, when you saw what was under the bear, you took the cane out, ran a finger along it, arched it and had a really good look at it, didn’t you? A guy doesn’t like having his cane handled by anyone else.”
“No, Chris, he doesn’t.”
“Okay,” I assented doubtfully. “I’m sorry.”
“And then you hauled this heavy box all the way round here. Why, Chris?”
“Will I tell you why, Chris?”
I nodded dumbly.
“Because the cane didn’t just interest you; it excited you. You wanted to find out how it felt; and you’re here now because you want me to use my cane on you. That’s one reason why you need it. The other reason is to punish you for messing around with another guy’s private possessions. You’d no business handling my bear or my cane. Understand, Chris?”
“Well, yeh, I guess I was a bit curious. It’s sort of embarrassing; and I’m sorry for interfering with your things. I suppose I’d better go,” I ended, rising to my feet.
“Aren’t you forgetting something, Chris?”
“Oh, yeh. You offered me coffee.”
“Besides that, Chris.”
I hesitated again and then said nervously, “You’re serious, aren’t you? You want to cane me.”
“And you need to be caned, don’t you, Chris?”
“Yes,” I admitted and felt a sense of relief that it was out.
“Okay, alphabetically, cane comes before coffee, so we’ll do that first,” he said as he went to the box, lifted out Snuggles and withdrew the cane from the bottom of the pile of stuff.
I watched fascinated and anxious as he arched the slim rod into a perfect arc; and then told me to bend over with my hands on the cushion of the armchair in which I’d been sitting. There was an air of unreality about the whole situation as I obeyed and then felt the cane exploring my behind, stroking, rapping, moving from crown to base and side to side.
“Count them aloud, Chris; and keep still.”
I tensed myself in readiness and a few seconds later the cane lashed hard across the centre of my sit-spots delivering a line of fierce sting which made me wince and draw in breath sharply.
“One,” I said.
My penis loved it, straining painfully to escape the restrictions of my pants and jeans. Liam wielded the cane again, hitting slightly lower and inflicting a second line of fire across my rump. I flinched and counted, flinched and counted until the fifth stroke landed just where my bottom merged into the top of my legs and the sting blossomed with considerably greater intensity. I gripped the cushion desperately hard, clenched my gluteal-muscles, uttered a little yelp of pain and, “Five,” I panted.
The sixth was lower still and extracted another yelp and a powerful bucking of my lower body as the fires got through to me. I gasped out ‘six’ and then breathed hard as I processed the pain, forcing myself to still the tremor in my legs. Slowly but determinedly my penis, which had gone into partial retreat at the last two strokes, came surging back.
“Okay, Chris. That was to let you know what a cane feels like on your bottom. Now I’m going to punish you for messing with my things. Stand up; jeans and pants down, and bend back over.”
I looked round at him as I straightened up.
“Of course. It’s punishment. An 18-year-old gets punishment on the bare. Hurry up.”
I swallowed and complied and was soon feeling the lithe rod sliding across my skin while it probed my behind as if trying to decide where to hit me. Although my brain was warning me to beware of pain, my cock was rock-hard and eager for it.
“Go on counting from seven; and stay in position.”
I felt vulnerable and exposed. I knew this was going to hurt a lot more, not just because I no longer had the protection of my denims, but because this was punishment. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him raise the cane and then heard the air flinch as it was driven down and into my behind. A lash of flame seared a fiery furrow across my bottom and I gasped as I bucked violently and clenched my glutes hard. The pain peaked and began to ease back. “Seven,” I said unsteadily.
The next felt as if it was right on top of the welt left by previous one and I squealed and writhed at the vicious intensity of the sting. It took an effort not to rub my behind. I did the count and tried to ready myself for number nine, which came much lower and forced another squeal from me as I squirmed in pain. Ten and eleven were slightly higher, scoring blazing paths of liquid fire across my flesh. My penis had long given up its enthusiasm for being caned as I fought to calm the tremor in my beaten body in preparation for the twelfth stroke. He drove it in at an angle, cross-cutting several earlier weals and sending the pain-level soaring, making me writhe wildly, my right hand flying round to scrub at the tortured skin.
“T..twelve,” I panted as I returned my hand to the chair-cushion.
The pulse of pain throbbed on in my buttocks, slowly ebbing; and, to my astonishment, as it did so my cock came swiftly up once more. When I stood up with my hands on my head on Liam’s command and turned to face him, he was confronted with a guy in full arousal. He watched me for several seconds and then rapped my towering erection with the tip of his cane, making me wince.
“Liked that, didn’t you, Chris?”
“It was horrendous.”
“So why have you got a stiffie I could anchor a battleship to?”
“I don’t know.”
“Think you’ll get a boner when I cane you next Saturday, Chris?”
“Sure. You want more, don’t you?”
“I….I don’t know. It hurt so much on the bare.”
“That was punishment; it had to be hard, just so you understood. I know how to cane you on the bare so that you stay rock-hard most of the time.”
“Okay; but I still don’t….”
“You’re needing your balls emptied, aren’t you, Chris?”
“Yeh, sure, but….”
“Fuck! Will you stop making objections. Bend over the back of the chair!”
“No way! I’ve had enough for today!”
“Just do it, Chris,” he instructed as he took my arm and piloted me behind the armchair and pushed me down across the back, my throbbing organ trapped between it and my stomach.
He began to hit me lightly with the cane, over and over and, as the sting built, I thrust forward, driven by a thrilling burn which increased as he hit faster. I could feel my body powering towards climax as I matched my thrusts to his delivery; and then suddenly I was over the edge and my balls were pumping out spunk at high velocity, delivering sensations of pleasure so intense that for a few seconds my world spun.
The orgasm ebbed away and I came back to earth, panting, exhausted and deeply content.
“Next week, Chris?”
“Yes,” I replied simply.
I got myself cleaned up and we had coffee and chatted eagerly for some time before I set off for my own flat. As I walked, something which had been nagging at my brain came suddenly into focus. Liam had been remarkably sure that I’d taken out the cane and examined it. He hadn’t said that he supposed that I’d taken it out; he’d simply stated that I had done so, as if he knew it for a fact. Now, it was probably a reasonable assumption that I might have done so, maybe even that I’d arch it; but run a finger along it? Sure, I’d done that, but how did he know? There was something going on here. Under that stunning, sexy exterior, I had a feeling that Liam was playing a deeper game.
On my return to the flat, I told Zak what had happened.
“He caned you? You bent over and let him fucking cane you?”
“Yeh. Stop sounding so disbelieving. Anyway, that’s not why I’ve told you about getting caned. Why did he sound as if he knew exactly what I’d done when I took out the cane?”
Zak shrugged and then said, “Dunno.”
“No? There’s only two people who know what I did with that ruddy cane: me – and you.”
“So?” said Zak, but his eyes didn’t quite meet mine.
“I didn’t tell him exactly what I did; so it can only have been you, Zak.”
There was a silence before Zak threw up his hands and said, “Okay. You got me. Liam’s my cousin and that day you came to my house in December, to make our plans for moving in here, he was there, visiting my olds. He told me he saw you leaving and – I’m quoting here, Chris – he said: That young stallion’s got an arse on him that’s just crying out to be caned. I knew Liam was into caning young guys with attractive bottoms; and so when he came to me with this plan to see if you might be interested in the cane, I agreed to make sure it was you who opened the box he deliberately left in the van; and that you saw the cane. Not that I had to do much. The cane grabbed your attention right away and you were obviously fascinated by it. I didn’t even have to manoeuvre you into being the one to return the box to Liam, because you were determined to do it anyway.”
“You two set me up for a caning?”
“Yup; and it worked perfectly. I sent him the photo I took of you. You got the cane; and you’re going back next Saturday for more,” said Zak.
“How do you know that?”
Zak raised his eyebrows.
“Liam phoned you while I was walking back here, huh?”
He nodded and then added, “You are going back next Saturday, aren’t you?”
“I said I would.”
“Great! We’ll have a ball!” enthused Zak.
“Ah, yes. You don’t know everything. Liam canes me too; so I’ll be coming with you.”
“Mmmm. I think I might enjoy that a lot,” I said, eyeing Zak’s firm, full buttocks.
“Come here, you,” instructed Zak; and I went and stood before him.
We started with hands on each other’s bottom and then somehow got very entangled and began kissing. We were both a bit hot and bothered when we surfaced.
“I’ll give Liam a ring,” panted Zak. “No way are we waiting until next Saturday. We’re going tomorrow.”
A grinning Liam welcomed us the next morning and after a warm-up of six each across our jeans, he got us to strip each other and then told Zak to lie on his back on the sofa and me to kneel astride him, my hands at his shoulders. On Liam’s orders, Zak held my balls in one hand and closed my throbbing penis in the other. I was told to thrust against Zak’s hand with each stroke of the cane. So thrilling and arousing was the experience that I exploded in an earth-shattering orgasm after the ninth stroke. We changed places and Zak held off for thirteen strokes. We had another go each and I lasted to twenty-two and Zak to nineteen the second time. The sting of Liam’s cane was incredible as he drove us on to the climax, hard enough to build the excitement, yet not so hard that he damaged our erections.
Cleaned up and drinking coffee a short time later, Zak suggested that Liam could come and stay with us sometimes. “You could have the spare-room,” he informed Liam.
“But we haven’t got a spare-room,” I objected.
Zak’s eyebrows almost hit his hairline and, as understanding dawned, I felt a wave of heat surge up my face.
“He’s embarrassed,” remarked Zak superfluously. “But he knows what he’ll be doing.”
“If you do have any trouble with him, just give me a call and I’ll come round with my cane. A good, hard caning can be very persuasive,” opined Liam. “Eh, Chris?”
I gave my still-burning bottom a thoughtful rub, glanced at the lithe, sexy Zak, and replied: “I don’t think you’ll need your cane to persuade me. It’s pretty hot stuff; but Zak’s even hotter. We’ll have a spare-room for when you want to come and stay over.”
That is how the cane beneath the bear provided us with a spare-room in our flat.
Zak also insists that I point out the moral of this tale: which, according to him, is that you shouldn’t interfere with another guy’s bear, or you might get your bare bottom caned.
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 ©MMXXII by Joelstrap, used here by very kind permission.
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Joelstrap’s excellent earlier stories for The Canery are available here. Further great stories by Joelstrap may be found at this external link