Martin And The Cane (M/M) NEW!

♥ Site recommended story ♥

By popular request, a follow-on story to “Key To A Caning”, by very special guest author JOELSTRAP.  This story is exclusive to The Canery!  All the characters are 18 or over. WARNING: ADULTS ONLY!

Martin And The Cane by Joelstrap

Martin gave me permission to tell the story of how his great-uncle came to dish out a severe caning to Phil and Simon. Some readers have, perhaps understandably, asked the question about whether or not Martin himself had ever been on the receiving-end of his great-uncle’s cane. The fact that he knew about it and knew that his great-uncle liked to use it, certainly gave rise to natural speculation as to how Martin knew what he knew.
I decided to ask Martin; and although he was reluctant, and indeed evasive initially, he did eventually tell me the story. I’ve written it down as if he himself were telling it, with a short section from great-uncle Clive’s perspective, and have tried to convey something of the drama of the situation as they described it. Martin hasn’t actually given me permission to pass it on to you, but I’m hoping that he won’t mind.
Joel

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

Great-uncle Clive was one of my favourite relations. He was gran’s brother and I used to see him two or three times a year when our family went to see gran. He’d turn up one day for lunch while we were there and was great fun as well as being extremely generous, usually slipping me a tenner as he left. He retired when I was eighteen and, his wife having died the previous year, chose to come and live nearer to his daughter and her family, who were only a few miles away from us.

I saw a lot more of him after that as his bungalow, almost opposite Simon’s house, was only a couple of minutes’ walk from my own home. In spite of the age-difference, or possibly because of it, we got on very well together and he was a frequent visitor to our house; and we began to watch football or go fishing together. If you’re wondering why I didn’t tell the other guys, like Simon and Phil, it was because I was a bit embarrassed. I mean, I could just imagine what they’d say if I said I enjoyed going to see a match with a guy in his late sixties! I’d never hear the end of it!
It was a few weeks after he’d moved in and after he’d got rid of the decorators who were sprucing up his new home, that he asked me for tea one Saturday. The summer holidays were coming up and I was due to leave school before starting a college course in the autumn. He asked me if I’d like to put his car in the garage. I stared at him, wondering what the hell he was on about.

“I’ve only got a provisional-licence,” I said, “but I’m getting lessons. But why can’t you just do it yourself.”

“It’s tricky,” he replied, “and I need some assistance. Promise me that you’ll help, Martin?”

“Sure,” I agreed. “I promise. Just don’t blame me if you lose a wing-mirror!”

After tea, we went outside and I pulled open the large front-door of the garage – to be confronted with a wall of boxes to almost chest-height and stretching back into the darkness.

“Ah,” I said. “Now I see why you said it would be tricky.”

“But you promised to put the car into the garage.”

“You crafty old sod! I’ve been done!” I protested.

“That’s no way to speak to your revered great-uncle,” he said.

“That’s no way to treat your kind and respectful great-nephew,” I retorted.

“All the same, you’d better keep your word or I’ll take my cane to you.”

“You’ll what?”

“Cane you. Like I used to do to the boys in my early teaching days, before corporal punishment was abolished.”

“Cane me? You can’t cane me!” I protested.

“You’re eighteen; old enough to decide for yourself.”

“Yeh; well I’ve decided there’s no way you’re gonna be taking a cane to my bottom.”

“So, you’ll be keeping your word and helping me get the boxes into the house and emptied, and all the stuff put away in cupboards or in the attic?”

“Yeh, sure. I’ll do it; but not because I think you’d cane me if I didn’t. I’ll do it because I keep my word; and I like you, even though you’re a manipulative old codger,” I informed him with a grin.

I spent a good chunk of the next day carrying boxes into the bungalow, a few at a time, and then emptying them while he put the contents away where he wanted them. A number of them had to go into the attic because he said they contained books and papers and things he wouldn’t be needing access to very often. Since the only way into the loft was via an extending-ladder, I lay face-down on the attic-floor and he carried the boxes half way up the ladder and passed them up to me. Hefting them into the loft was hard work and by the time all was done, I was hot and sweaty. A couple of cold-lagers helped revive me and I promised him I’d be back the next Saturday to continue the task of getting the garage cleared.

Thus it was that I found myself the following Saturday kneeling on the floor and emptying a box of photographs in frames. I admired pictures of him in graduation-gown many decades earlier; pictures of his wedding and of various events in his family. There were also some pictures of the private-school where he’d spent most of his teaching-career; and of classes of well-behaved-looking boys. I took out the last of these and then stopped and stared. Right at the bottom of the box, lay a school-cane.

I lifted it out and eyed it warily.

“Ever seen one of these before, Martin?”

“Not for real. I’ve seen pictures. Wow! It’s surprisingly lithe and springy.”

I stood up and did a practice-swing and the air winced.

“Shit!” I muttered.

“Pardon?”

“I mean, yeh, this would sting. Not half. No wonder the boys in the photos are so well-behaved,” I said.

“Oh, yes, it was very effective. I never had any discipline-problems.”

“I bet you didn’t,” I agreed, laying the cane on a table and kneeling down beside the next box.

For some reason that cane fascinated me. While he was making us some lunch, I went back and picked it up and examined it again. I ran my finger along it and bent it into an arch. I tried to imagine how it would feel on my arse, but didn’t really have much idea. I even tried using it on myself but that wasn’t very successful.

Shortly before I went home, I couldn’t resist returning to handle the cane once more and was aware of a powerful reaction in the front of my jeans. I was standing holding it in both hands, bent into a smooth arc, when great-uncle Clive came in suddenly.

“Yes,” he said softly, as if answering my unasked question. “It hurts like hell.”

“Er, yeh. Well, I best be going. I’ll be back tomorrow to finish off. See you about ten o’clock.”

“At ten; not about ten. If you’re late, you won’t be holding the cane in your hands. You’ll be feeling it across your bottom.”

“That’ll be right,” I riposted with a grin as I laid the cane down and then made my way home.

That cane intruded into my thoughts for the rest of the day. I was out with some of the guys that evening, having fun, enjoying the banter; but my mind kept returning to the slender rod and its potential for pain. Later, lying in my bed, I wondered. Was great-uncle Clive offering me a chance to feel the cane? Was he actually serious in saying that if I was late he’d cane me? It put the choice very firmly in my hands, because if I wanted to find out how the cane felt, all I needed to do was turn up a good bit after ten tomorrow morning. Assuming he was serious of course. I might turn up at ten thirty and he’d not say a word. That would be a relief; or would it? Would it really be a disappointment? Twisting and turning my thoughts, I drifted into sleep.

I awoke next morning remarkably sure. It was as if sleep had sorted out all my uncertainties. I was going to turn up at great-uncle Clive’s house at ten twenty; and see what happened. It would then be up to him; but I knew now that if he said he was going to cane me, I’d take it.

He didn’t! When I arrived he just sent me out to bring more boxes in from the garage and we set about emptying them. As I knelt there, handing out ornaments which I’d unwrapped from newspaper, I decided that I was relieved. Who wants a cane to be wielded viciously across his behind after all? There was, however, an insistent little voice which told me that I was disappointed. The cane still fascinated me and I felt a need to know more about it.

After some lunch, I brought in the final three boxes and we soon had them emptied and the contents put away as my great-uncle wished. I took the opportunity while he was away briefly when the ‘phone rang, to examine the limber cane yet again; and once more I experienced a powerful reaction in the front of my jeans.

“So,” said my great-uncle, “have you kept your promise and done as you agreed, Martin?”

“Yup. No boxes left; all done,” I replied.

“You remember what I said I’d do to you if you didn’t keep your agreement, don’t you?”

“Er, yeh. You said you’d cane me.”

“You’d better go and bring me the cane then,” he said.

“What? But I’ve………”

“Look out of the window, Martin. What do you see there?”

I looked.

“It’s your car,” I said, giving him a baffled glance.

“So?”

“I don’t….oh!”

“Yes, Martin?”

“I promised to put the car in the garage,” I replied, “and I haven’t.”

“Which means?”

“I get the cane?”

“You get the cane. Hard.”

I swallowed, a mixture of excitement and anxiety surging through me. He nodded towards the room where the cane still lay. I went through, picked it up, and took it to him. He slashed it through the air with a whistling sound and I flinched.

“Bend over, Martin, hands at your ankles.”

I complied and waited, tense and nervous while he rapped my behind several times with the cane before he hit me firmly across the centre of my bottom. I felt a sharp sting; and a jolt of pleasure in my balls. He meted out a second stroke with similar results.

“Stand up,” he ordered. “Good; now you know what it feels like, you’re ready to be punished. Jeans and pants down.”

“What? But I thought that was it!”

“Don’t be silly, Martin. You hardly felt that.”

“I did! It stung,” I protested.

“It’s going to do a lot more than sting on your bare buttocks, my lad. Now, do as you’re told and then bend over with your hands on that chair.”

Reluctantly I obeyed and stood feeling scarily vulnerable as I waited to be beaten. Now he hit hard. It wasn’t just that I had no clothing between my skin and the cane; he was also using the rod with considerably more power. I flinched and tightened my grip on the chair. Two more strokes followed, each a little lower than the previous one and each delivering a searing streak of fire to my rump. The fourth landed just where my bottom merged into the top of my legs and I yelped as pain blazed across my flesh. I was still trying to steady my quivering rear when the cane landed again, lower still, and once more forced a squeal from me as I clenched my glutes desperately, fighting the pain. I was breathing hard as I awaited number six; and he made me wait. He even did a couple of practice-cuts, making me wince as I heard the cane whine. The stroke crossed the first three welts at an angle and inflicted the most intense burn yet as I writhed and squirmed.

“Well taken,” observed great-uncle Clive; and that gave me a sudden buzz of pleasure.

I stood up and explored my thrashed bottom with both hands. I could feel raised welts and a noticeable heat in my skin. My cock seemed to like it and was rising swiftly.

“What did you think?” asked my great-uncle with a smile.

“It bloody well hurts,” I told him, “but……..I know it maybe sounds daft…….but I liked it.”

“So did I.”

I stared at him.

“You enjoyed beating me?”

“Definitely. I hope you’ll want me to do it again, now that you know how it feels.”

“Not for at least a week,” I said, scrubbing ruefully at my still-burning behind.

“Next weekend then,” he said, “and don’t be late or you will be caned for it!”

“But you’re going to cane me anyway!”

“If you’re late, I’ll give you extra. Understand, Martin?”

“Yeh. I understand. I’ll be on time.”

Most weekends after that I went to him for six of the best on the bare, until I went off to college; but as soon as I returned for the holidays, I was back. The revelation in the Easter holiday that Simon and Phil had got themselves spanked and were keen to experience a real caning, was a surprise. I always like to help my mates though, so I hatched a swift plot and went to see great-uncle Clive.

“Leave a key under the third planter; and then drive off for a few hours and come back later in the evening and you should catch them. I can’t guarantee they’ll take a caning, but I’m pretty sure they will, because they really seem to want to feel one. I’ll pretend I once saw you getting a key from under the planter when I was walking past; and that I checked and it’s still there. What do you think?” I asked him.

“It’s worth a try. You know how I like to use my cane.”

“Tell me about it!”

“Right. Now there’s just one thing. You are in serious trouble, young man.”

“Me? How? I’m trying to do you all a good turn.”

“And I’m furious at your bare-faced insolence in daring to suggest that a sensible guy like me would ever do anything so foolish as to leave a key permanently hidden under a planter by my front-door,” he declared.

“But it’s just a story to give a way to get them into your house, you idiot! I know you wouldn’t do that.”

“Idiot?”

“Oh, er, sorry; that was a bit rude. But come on, I can’t be in trouble for………..”

“Go and get the cane, Martin.”

I gave him an exasperated look and turned to go to the other room to fetch the cane, gasping as my swiftly-hardening penis caught on my briefs. He gave me a knowing wink.

Here’s my great-uncle Clive’s account of what happened:

“Whoof!” panted Martin as he straightened up and pressed his hands to his blazing bottom.

I flexed my cane slowly and admired my handiwork. Across Martin’s taut young buttocks nine fiery horizontal welts stood out from the skin in a band from the centre of his behind down to his crease; while three equally vivid welts cross-hatched them at an oblique angle. I nodded gently in approval and continued to watch the freshly-beaten lad as he stood with his naked body arched in a long bow, feet and head back, stomach and chest forward. His eyes were closed and on his face was an expression of pain and ecstasy. His splayed fingers moved carefully over his caned rump and then he opened his eyes and glanced at me.

“Thanks,” he said. “That was sheer hell.”

“Yes, I thought I was getting through to you,” I said complacently. “You certainly looked like you were feeling it.”

“I dunno how you can hit so hard,” replied Martin, shaking his head.

“I trust you’re not complaining,” I said.

“No way! I know better than to complain,” he responded with a rueful grin. “You’d just beat me again, even harder.”

“You’re learning,” I told him. “And by the way, if Simon and Phil don’t go for a caning, I’ll be giving you a double-caning instead. I won’t let you away with building up my hopes and then having them dashed.”

“Why, you sadistic ba…brute!” he retorted.

At least that was one caning I didn’t get, because Simon and Phil chose the cane anyway and my great-uncle was cock-a-hoop. He even managed to give them a second caning before they returned to college; and they appreciated my part in arranging things for them.

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

So now you know how Martin came to be aware of his great-uncle’s interest and how he himself experienced the cane. Only one thing bothers me. Martin doesn’t seem to think that I should have told you all this, because he hadn’t given me his permission. I got a text from him saying that he had borrowed his great-uncle Clive’s cane. I don’t know if Martin has ever dished out a caning before, or if he’s any good at it; but I’ve a nasty feeling that I may very shortly find out.
Joel

______________

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

Key To A Caning (M/M) NEW!

♥ 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!

Key To A Caning by Joelstrap

“Simon and Phil got themselves spanked!” said Jordan.

We all had stories to tell of our experiences and occasional escapades during our first couple of terms away from home, and the alcohol we’d consumed, plus some cans which Kev managed to produce, ensured that we were talking animatedly and freely. There were eight of us lads, meeting up back in Kev’s house while were home for the Easter holidays from the various places where we were at College. It was in a brief lull in the conversation that Jordan made his announcement.

His statement was greeted with a stunned silence before Martin asked carefully, “You mean they got cheated? Some bastard scammed them?”

“No, no!” insisted Jordan. “They got spanked; as in over the knee, arse in the air and spanked.”

Every eye seemed to slide to my face and I felt myself flushing scarlet; and I observed that Phil too was looking decidedly uncomfortable.

“Were you a naughty boy?” enquired Liam of me with a mischievous grin.

“No; of course not,” I replied, giving Jordan a furious glare.

“So, you gonna tell us?” asked Martin.

“It was just…..look, it was nothing,” Phil said. “Just forget it.”

“You mean Jordan’s telling porkies?” enquired Joey. “Maybe I should spank him for that.”

Joey’s hands went to the broad leather belt he wore round the waist of his jeans.

“I’m not lying,” insisted Jordan, eyeing Joey’s belt anxiously. “Simon and Phil got a real spanking; and they said it hurt.”

“Will you shut up!” I hissed angrily at him.

“But it’s true,” persisted Jordan.

Phil, who was sitting on the floor between my legs, leaned his head back so that it was resting on my tackle. My penis leapt and as I looked down at his close-fitting jeans, I could see from the straining fabric that he was massively aroused.

“Looks like you pair have been getting pretty close while you’ve been away,” remarked Joey. “You gonna tell us about this spanking?”

“Okay,” I sighed. “Jordan and Phil and me were in this gay bar just having a quiet drink and eyeing up the talent, when I noticed a real spunky boy come in. Whip-thin, black haired, neat, tight arse that really filled his black jeans. I was watching him because I really liked the look of him and wondered if I should go and try to get to know him. He went to the bar but didn’t buy a drink. He just said something to the barman and then headed off to a door in the far corner and went through. I nudged Phil and he looked just in time to see the guy disappear. Oh, yeh, Phil said. He’s fucking hot!

“So, where’s he gone? I asked. That’s not the bogs. Phil just shrugged; but I wanted to know. Over the next twenty minutes, I watched closely and saw four other young guys come in and then vanish through the door. Phil was taking an interest by now too, and when I suggested going to the barman to ask, he came with me.
Yeh, well, you’d best talk to Jamie if you’re interested, the barman said to us and nodded to a good-looking guy, perhaps in his early thirties, who was sitting with a companion at a table nearby. For a moment we hesitated and then decided that outright honesty was probably the best policy; so we went up to the guy called Jamie, told him our names, said what we’d noticed, admitted the appeal of the first guy we’d seen going through the door, and said we knew it was a bit of a cheek, but we wanted to know what was going on.

“In response, Jamie invited us to sit down. Then he told us. Every Tuesday evening a small spanking-club met in an upstairs room. Phil and I exchanged startled looks and I think we couldn’t quite take it in at first; but he made it clear that some lads met who liked to spank or be spanked. My cock was getting so hard that I squirmed in my seat and Phil was the same. Jamie noticed and grinned. Think you might be interested in being spanked, guys? I felt hellish embarrassed, but there was a bit of me that seemed to find the idea sort of exciting. I asked Phil what he thought and he nodded and then said to Jamie, I’ve never been spanked. It might hurt. Well, that was a daft thing to say. Jamie gave him a kind of pitying look and said that it was meant to hurt. He asked again if we’d like to try a spanking; and he assured us that it would hurt.

“I told myself that agreeing to be spanked would presumably get me through that door and into the place where the sexy guy had gone; but my body was kind of yelling at me that maybe I needed to get spanked anyway. There was just something that was almost calling me, even though I knew it’d hurt.”

“Hey! Back up,” interrupted Joey. “If you and Phil were together, why were you chasing after another sexy guy?”

“We weren’t more than friends at that point,” explained Phil. “Anyway, me and Simon had a confab and we agreed we liked the idea of a spanking, so we told Jamie we’d like to try it and then we went over to tell Jordan where we were going.”
“So they come over to me,” Jordan interrupted, “and tell me that they’re gonna get a spanking. I told them they were outta their tree, but the silly buggers were determined, so I said I’d wait for them. And off they went, back to the Jamie guy who took them off through that door.”

“And you got spanked?” asked Martin.

“Yeh.”

“What do you mean, yeh?” he demanded. “Who spanked you? Were you over his knee? Did he take your jeans down? Did he use his hand? Did he use a hairbrush? Did you cry? What was it like?”

“It stung,” I said.

“A lot,” added Phil.

Martin got up and looked down at us.

“Did you like it?” he asked.

“Look,” I said, “I got introduced to a few sexy guys and then one of them, red-hot boy with a muscles tee-shirt, asked me if I want to go over his knee for a spanking. So I did. He spanked me on my jeans and I was hard as a rock; and then he told me to take off my jeans and he spanked me on my briefs. That stung a lot more. He had a hell of a hard hand. Then he had me take off my briefs and he spanked me bare. I felt that, but it was still kinda exciting. Okay?”

“So, you liked it?” Martin persisted.

“Yeh!” I snapped irately. “I fucking liked it!”

“And you, Phil?” he enquired.

“Oh, yeh. I liked it,” admitted Phil. “I was hard as a rock the whole time.”

“Did you get the cane?” asked Martin, eyes shining.

Phil and I glanced at each other.

“Well, yeh, we did,” Phil answered, “but we didn’t like it much.”

“Too bloody sore, huh?” grinned Martin.

“Not sore enough,” I replied. “It stung a bit, but I’m sure it felt nothing like a real caning would’ve felt like back in the day when boys got the cane at school.”
“You’re telling us that you pair actually want to get a real punishment-style caning?” enquired Martin, wide-eyed. “That’s weird.”

“Like I told them,” interjected Jordan. “They’re outta their tree. They go out for a quiet pint and end up with a pair of roasted arses.”

“That’s not all we ended up with though,” said Phil, flushing slightly. “Me and Simon went back to his flat afterwards and talked about how exciting the spanking had been; and then we decided to examine each other’s behind; and then………”

“…….and then we put our hands on each other’s bum and somehow we ended up with our hands on each other’s cock,” I continued.

“And you’ve been fucking like rabbits ever since!” ended Jordan triumphantly.

“We’ve been enjoying an intimate and mutually fulfilling relationship,” said Phil firmly.

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

Later, Phil, Martin and I walked towards our respective homes.

“Shit! I really need to get my balls emptied,” I said. “But we can’t go to my place. My parents would hear us. I don’t think they’re ready for knowing I’m gay, never mind that I like to get my rocks off with you. And my kid brother’s always sticking his nose in where he’s not wanted. I can’t wait to get back to College.”

“Same at my place,” admitted Philip.

“Er, I’m here too,” said Martin.

I turned to him.

“Sorry, Martin. I guess we just got carried away. It’s frustrating having to sneak around and do it in odd minutes when there’s nobody at home; or behind the rhododendrons in the park.”

“I don’t suppose your house is empty?” suggested Phil; but Martin shook his head.

“Sorry guys,” he told us, “I’d like to help you, but my parents are at home. I’ll think about it. Meet you at the cafe tomorrow morning?”

“Okay,” we agreed and parted towards our respective homes.

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

“Your problems are solved, guys,” declared Martin as he bounced into the cafe to join us at our table next day. “Old Chalmers’ house.”

“What? The old chap diagonally across from us?” I queried. “You think I’m gonna go and ring his bell and ask if we can fuck on his lounge carpet?”

“No, you chump! But he goes away to his daughter most weekends. I know, because he knows my parents. So his house is often empty,” said Martin.

“Fine; I know that,” I admitted. “If his car’s not in the drive on Friday night, then he’s away. But how are we supposed to get into his house? Slide under the back-door? Jump down the chimney?”

“I said I’d solved it and I’ve solved it,” said Martin, looking hurt. “He keeps a key under the third planter to the left of his front-door.”

“How the hell do you know that?” asked Phil.

“I saw him once, when I was walking past. He was pawing around in his pockets and obviously couldn’t find his key; and then he went to this big planter, lifted the edge of it, and pulled out a key from there and let himself in. I guess it’s a spare for when he loses or forgets his normal key. I snuck along early this morning, when his curtains were still shut and had a look. The key’s still there, guys. And today’s Friday. You just need to see if his car’s away by early evening and it’s all yours.”

Phil and I glanced at each other.

“We wouldn’t do any harm,” he said. “He’d never know we’d been there; and it’d be fantastic to get a few hours just to ourselves.”

“Right! Thanks, Martin. Now we just need to see if he goes away this weekend.”

“I can’t arrange everything for you,” said Martin. “Keep your fingers crossed.”

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

It seemed that the gods were favouring us. When I came home, bringing Phil for his meal at my house about six o’clock, there was no car in Chalmers’ driveway.
By half past seven, we were comfortably ensconced in the front-room of his bungalow and there on a thick rug we slowly stripped each other, revelling in the renewed thrill of nakedness before exploring each other’s body thoroughly as if we’d never done so before. When we could hold ourselves in no longer, we sat with our backs against the sofa, bodies touching, my right leg over Philip’s left one, and began work on each other’s penis. Orgasm came disappointingly quickly, but the intensity of it made me gasp and I heard Philip give a low moan of pleasure. We spent some time kissing and then resumed operations on our genitals, taking it more slowly now. I came with a bass cry of ecstasy and Philip echoed it with a sibilant “yes-s-s-s-s-”, followed by a much louder, “Fucking YES!”

We got ourselves entwined and were deep in a passionate kiss when the sound of the door opening penetrated my consciousness and even as we began to move apart the room was flooded with electric-light.

“What is the meaning of THIS?” demanded an irate male voice.

Instinctively, we both tried to reach for our briefs, but were halted in our tracks by a bellow from the irate male who commanded us to keep still. We did.

“So,” said the man as he approached us. “It’s young Simon, isn’t it? And who are you?” he demanded.

“Phil,” he replied submissively.

“And how did you get in here?”

There seemed nothing for it but the truth, although to keep Martin out of it I said that I was the one who’d once spotted him taking the hidden key from beneath the planter.

“We’ve not done any harm,” interjected Phil. “Me and Simon wanted a quiet place to…….well you can see what we wanted to do…. and because we realised we could get in and the house was empty…….”

“….you decided just to make yourselves at home,” ended Chalmers. “I had to come back because I’d forgotten my thyroid-tablets.”

“I’m terribly sorry,” Phil said. “I know that doesn’t make up for it, because we should never have been here; but if it helps, my dad’s gonna ground me for months when he hears about this.”

“And you?” enquired Chalmers.

“Yeh. He’d take the skin off my arse if this was twenty years ago. He’s always telling me how he got his hide tanned when he was a boy. I’ll get grounded too; and probably no mobile or internet either.”

Phil nodded gloomily.

“You, eh, wouldn’t maybe let us work for you for the next couple of weeks?” I asked tentatively, desperate to try to avoid a lengthy period when I’d probably not be able to meet Phil. “Free,” I added. “As a punishment.”

Chalmers looked at us steadily for several seconds and then told us to get ourselves dressed; which we did gratefully. He took us into the kitchen, sat us at the table and poured mugs of coffee while we eyed him warily, glancing at each other from time to time as we tried to assess whether or not he might be taking my suggestion seriously.
He put down his mug, leaned forward and said softly, “I realise that you both expect to be punished, because you can’t get away with behaviour of this kind.”

“But we should have known better than to come in,” I jumped in swiftly. “We knew it wasn’t right, but……well……I’m afraid we let our feelings silence our sense of what’s right and wrong.”

For several long seconds he looked into my eyes so that I cast my gaze down to the table-top; and then he rose and left the room. I glanced at Phil.

“Do you think he’s gone to ring your dad?” Phil asked.

“Oh, hell! I hope not.”

We fell silent as the sound of Chalmers returning reached our ears. He entered the kitchen; and in his right hand he held a slender cane which he placed on the table in front of us before he sat down. I eyed it warily, only having seen such a thing on TV.

“I get the impression,” he began, “that you two might not be very keen on having your fathers, or even the police, informed of this escapade; and so perhaps you might like to consider an alternative. It’s a way which has gone out of use, of course, since the cane was abolished in schools; but which I have to admit that in my younger teaching days, I found highly effective when it came to taming young lads and keeping them in line. Sitting on a throbbing, burning bottom concentrated a boy’s mind on his work to a remarkable degree.”

I shifted uneasily on my chair as my penis swelled rapidly; and I observed Phil too looking decidedly uncomfortable.

“You’re offering to cane us instead of telling our dads?” asked Phil, trying to get things absolutely clear.

“You’re what? Nineteen?” asked Chalmers.

We nodded.

“So, you can make your own choices. To be honest, I’d struggle to find enough work to keep the pair of you occupied for a fortnight, although I appreciate the offer of that as a way of punishing you. It seems, though, that you’d prefer an alternative to your fathers being informed and to perhaps being unable to meet each other for a while, eh, boys?”

We both went red and inclined our heads.

“Six of the best is the traditional severe punishment; and as neither of you is a schoolboy, it will be given on the bare bottom. You’ll need time to talk about it and decide, so I’ll say nothing to your parents tonight. Come back here at ten tomorrow morning and tell me if you want me to inform them; or if you’d rather be caned. Understand?”

“Yes, sir,” we said in unison.

We hurried back to my house, let my parents know we were in, and dashed up to my room where we lay on the bed and had a discussion.

“So, what do you think?” I asked.

“Gut reaction’s that a caning is gonna hurt like hell; but getting grounded for weeks will hurt even more; just in a different way,” he said.

“Yeh. I don’t want to be stopped from seeing you for weeks on end. That’s gonna really, really hurt; and a caning? Shit! Schoolboys got caned and survived; surely we can. Okay, I know it’s going to be pretty horrendous, especially on the bare, but we’re nineteen; we can take it.”

“And we did want to find out what a real punishment-caning felt like,” Phil reminded me. “None of those poofy little strokes we got at the spanking-meeting.”

“Yeh! Funny how I don’t feel quite so curious about how it feels when I realise it could actually be happening for real. But, like you said, we can take it; and we might even like it,” I said.

“Right; is that it then? We’ll take the cane?”

I nodded and confirmed, “We’ll take the cane.”

We celebrated our decision with high-fives.

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

Somewhat nervous, but resolute, we went across to Chalmers the following morning at the appointed time. He admitted us and took us into the kitchen where we were told to sit at the table. He took the cane from a cupboard and laid it in front of us and we eyed it uneasily. Suddenly, a decision taken in the security of my room last night felt very different when faced with a nasty-looking cane in the cold light of morning. We glanced at each other and then at Chalmers.

“Well, boys? There’s the cane. Do you refuse it? Or do I use it?”

I swallowed and said as steadily as I could, “You can use it, sir.”

“Right,” he replied briskly, picking up the rod, “follow me.”

He took us into a small room, furnished as a study and told Phil to drop his jeans and pants. I watched as Phil’s fully-rounded bottom was revealed and admired it as he bent over the desk in response to Chalmers’ command. The cane was rapped several times across Phil’s buttocks, as if Chalmers was trying to decide where to hit him first. I was staring longingly at Phil’s cleft when suddenly the cane was raised high and brought down with a sharp crack across my mate’s behind. I heard him gasp and saw after a few seconds a red streak emerge on his skin. Chalmers eyed it for a little time and then hit again, hard and true, landing the cane just a short distance below the first mark. Once more I heard Phil gasp and saw his buttocks quiver as he held them taut and then slowly relaxed.

Chalmers lined up the next stroke just below the first two; and managed to hit his target accurately. From Phil a hiss of pain and a shudder of his lower body; from Chalmers a silent nod of his head as he approved his own skill. He landed the fourth a bit lower than I suspect that he intended, leaving a quite a gap between it and the previous one; but if he was disappointed in his aim, he had ample recompense in the half-stifled yelp which he forced from the beaten boy as he clenched his glutes fiercely. I watched closely, horrified and yet fascinated, as he touched his cane to that narrow band of flesh between welts three and four, paused and then hit hard. This time his aim was true and he etched a neat red mark in the gap, eliciting a squeal and a squirm from Phil as he fought his pain.

I expected the sixth stroke to cross-hatch at least some of the earlier ones, but instead Chalmers drove his cane in viciously hard to the tender flesh where Phil’s bottom merged into his upper legs. A snarling squeal was driven from him and he writhed from the waist, his knuckles white as he gripped the far edge of the desk.

“Yes,” remarked Chalmers with a self-satisfied nod, “you felt that, didn’t you, Philip?”

“Yes, sir,” Phil replied in a strangled whisper.

“Right. Go and stand at the wall, hands on your head. You, Simon, jeans and pants down and over the desk.”

I complied, telling myself to keep calm and to try to relax, because it might hurt a little less that way. As I lay in position awaiting the commencement of my punishment, I felt a mixture of apprehension and excitement. The cane felt cool on my skin as he rapped my behind a few times, and then I held my breath as he lifted it away. There was a moment of expectancy before the lithe rod lashed across the centre of my globes and a vicious tongue of fiery pain forced me to take in breath sharply and to clench my buttocks hard for a several seconds until the burn eased down. As with Phil, he worked his way down, laying parallel welts on my skin and forcing little gasps and yelps from me. He appeared to have managed to keep the space between the strokes neat and even and had no need to return to fill in any gap; and I was aware that he was inexorably moving towards the sensitive flesh of my crease. The fifth was very low on my bottom and drove me to squirm violently as I panted with pain. Aware that there was just one to go, I desperately struggled to get myself under control, calm, steady, ready; but he maintained the pressure mercilessly by driving in the final cut before I was prepared. As the searing blast of torrid fire scored a blazing furrow across the most tender part of my behind, I couldn’t stop my right hand leaping back and scrubbing desperately at the tortured skin. Furious with myself for letting him see that he’d got through to me, I forced my hand back to the desk’s edge and stood breathing hard as I tried to steady my quivering body.

“Over to the wall, hands on your head,” ordered Chalmers.

I obeyed, half blinded by scalding tears, and stood beside Phil.

Chalmers showed us his cane.

“Next time, I’ll make it a dozen each,” he informed us grimly. “Understand, boys?”

“Yes, sir,” we murmured together; and I for one was silently resolving that there would never be a next time.

Dismissed, we returned to my house and to our delight found that both my parents were out. We lay, bare from the waist, face-down on my bed, allowing the fierce heat to gradually ebb away from our well-thrashed bottoms. At first we compared notes about the intensity of the sting, the reactions it had forced from us, and the way we’d come through the ordeal. Once things had cooled a little we fell to licking each other’s cane-welts tenderly and repeatedly until we drove ourselves into a frenzy of need and brought each other to cataclysmic release.

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

It was about three weeks later and the little group of us had gathered again at Kev’s house before we returned to our various places of further education for the summer term. Cans were necked and chat was ebbing and flowing across the room when Jordan glanced at Phil and me, a mischievous grin on his face. Phil was on a chair and I was sitting on the floor between his feet.

“So,” enquired Jordan. “You pair get yourselves another spanking?”

“Ha, ha!” retorted Phil sarcastically.

“You sure?” persisted Jordan.

“Of course we’re bloody sure,” I riposted. “We wouldn’t forget a spanking.”

“It’s okay,” interjected Martin. “They’re telling the truth. They didn’t get spanked. They got caned.”

A stunned silence greeted this comment.

“How the……..” I began; and then stopped abruptly.

“Yes?” said Kev. “You weren’t going to deny it, Simon, were you? You were going to ask how he knew?”

“Look, it’s none of your bloody business,” replied Phil angrily.

“So you did get the cane?” insisted Kev.

“Yeh, okay, we got the cane, right? Satisfied? Not that it’s any of your business,” I snapped.

“Sure. Keep your hair on,” replied Kev. “But you can’t blame us for being interested. Did you like it?”

“It hurt like hell,” said Phil.

“And then some,” I added.

“That’s not what I asked you,” said Kev.

Phil and I glanced at each other and then he spoke.

“At the time it was horrendous; but the sex afterwards was outta this world; and we’ve been talking about it ever since and in a way we did like it.”

“It was exciting and challenging and fucking agony,” I added, “but all the same…….there was just something…..I dunno exactly what….but…….”

“You’ll be going to try to get another caning once you’re back at college, huh?” asked Martin. “A proper one I mean.”

“Probably,” agreed Phil as I nodded.

“Who caned you?” asked Joey.

“That’s not important,” I said, hoping to shut down the conversation.

“It was a retired teacher who’s still got his cane and likes to use it across the bare backsides of young guys who misbehave,” said Martin.

“How the hell do you……..?” I began furiously, glaring at Martin; but I was interrupted by Joey enquiring eagerly, “Bare? You got it bare-arse? Shit! I bet that stung.”

“Stung?” interjected Phil. “It didn’t bloody sting! It blazed across our behinds like forked-lightnings; vicious, searing fires!”

“Never mind that,” I said, coming back to my original point and looking squarely at Martin. “How do you know?”

Martin spread his hands. “Okay,” he said, “I set it up for you. I told Chalmers that you pair wanted to feel the cane used properly and that if his car was away on Friday evening, you’d be using his hidden key to get in. So he went out for a few hours and then came back and caught you red-handed, wanking on his rug; and then he offered you a choice of parental involvement, or a dose of his cane. He was thrilled you chose to take the cane. Said you both had fantastic arses and he really enjoyed caning them hard.”

“You deliberately arranged for us to get caught?” I gasped. “But why?”

“You said you wanted to feel what a real caning was like.”

“Well, yeh, but we weren’t really thinking about a brutal, bare-arse punishment caning like that,” I protested.

“And how come you know so much about Chalmers and can get him to do things for you?” demanded Phil.

“Ah,” replied Martin. “Didn’t I say? He’s my great-uncle.”

“I think,” said Phil, glancing at me, “that we should scrag the manipulative bastard.”

“If you hold him down,” I said, “I could leather him with my belt. I think I could get through to him.”

“Hey, hey, steady on, guys,” objected Martin. “I was trying to help you; and you did admit you kinda liked it and you’re gonna be looking for more real caning back at college; so what are you complaining about?”

“I guess,” said Phil, looking somewhat mollified.

The conversation revolved around caning for a little longer and then slid on to other things. Eventually Martin stood up and said he had to go.

“See you all in June,” he said cheerfully. “Oh, by the way, I’ve got a little treat for you and Simon, Phil. My great-uncle’s agreed to give the pair of you another caning before you go back to college. Six of his best each, bare of course.”

“What! You’ve no business……..” I began furiously.

“Ten tomorrow morning at his house,” said Martin. “He asked me to tell you that if you’re late he’ll give you eight each.”

Phil and I leapt to our feet.

“You……!”

“No need to thank me, guys,” said Martin as he slid out and closed the door. “Have fun,” he called as he went down the stairs.

“He can’t do this!” exploded Phil.

“We don’t need to go,” I pointed out.

There was a pause while we both stood silent, pondering, and the other guys just sat and watched us.

“Of course we’re well-brought-up boys,” I said, “and it’d be rude not to turn up when the old guy’s expecting us.”

“Yeh,” concurred Phil, “and if he’d give us eight just for being late, how many would he give us for not turning up at all?”

“But he couldn’t give you any if you didn’t turn up,” objected Joey logically.

“Shut up, Joey,” I said.

“So we’re going to get another hard caning?” asked Phil; and I nodded.

“Looks like it. That sadistic brute Martin’s really landed us in it,” I said.

“Yeh,” agreed Phil slowly. “What we gonna do about him?”

“I’ll send him an Amazon gift-token,” I said.

 

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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

Barry’s Beating (M/M) NEW!

♥ Site recommended story ♥

A brand new caning story by your host, Rod Cayenne.  All the characters are age 18 or older.  This story is currently exclusive to The Canery and is only suitable for adults!

Barry’s Beating by Rod Cayenne

It was a sad, dismal Thursday afternoon in September.  Grey and moody clouds threatened an overdue downpour.   Barry had pedalled fast to get to The Vicarage.  He was visiting his ageing great uncle, as was his wont at least once a month.  In the plush and spacious lounge the two men were enjoying one of their occasional chats.  This time the conversation was turning more frank than usual.

“The truth is that I hate pretty much everyone and everything!” Barry declared.  He really meant it, too.  His uncle had already given the lad a beer to help calm his nerves, but evidently, it had not worked.  The lad paused to reflect for a moment on what he’d just said.  It had just slipped out, after all.  He swigged on the brown bottle.  As usual, he had declined a glass.

Uncle scoffed at the irate words.  “Tut, tut, still in angry teenager mode, then, Barry?”

“That’s not very diplomatic!”

“I believe in plain speaking.  It’s the way of the good Lord. I do hope you don’t hate me, along with everyone else,” he said adjusting his starched white dog collar, “You have a lot of anger issues, don’t you?  For a 24-year-old.  Why so bitter?”

“Oh, I don’t know.  It’s just me.  And I really don’t hate you.  It’s just me.  Just ignore it.”

“I’m not sure that I can.  You know what I think might help?  Prayer, my boy.  The power of prayer.  It can be a great healer.  Give it some thought.”

“Well, I don’t know.  I’m not sure that’s what I really need.”

“So, what do you think you need then?”

“Well, I’m not sure I should mention it.  But Dad confided in me.”

“About?”

“Err, well.  It’s difficult.  You might not want to discuss it.  You see, Dad mentioned your cane.”

“Ah, he did, did he?  I’m surprised at that.  He really should not have told you.  So, what did he say about it?”

“Well he was telling me about how he felt cleansed and uplifted after a good, hard thrashing.”

“Indeed, indeed.  And well sore, I should imagine.”

“Well, yes of course.  It must have hurt.  But, you know, strangely as soon as he told me about it, I felt calmer.”

“I see, I think.  And do tell me, where is this all leading?”

“Well, do you still have it?”

“Have what?” uncle said, feigning obtuseness.  He was toying with his visitor, of course.

However, Barry was getting uncomfortable, with his anger resurfacing.  He shouted, “That cane, that fuckin’ cane!”

Uncle gasped with mock horror, “No.”

Barry gazed into uncle’s brown eyes, saying only, “Oh.”  He was disappointed.

“No, that cane broke.  They sometimes do when used with vigour.  But I do still have a couple of others.  Ideal for thrashing moody, foul-mouthed young men!”

“Oh.  Errr, right.”

“Let me tell you now, my canes tamed and calmed your father and his brothers.  Has he only just mentioned that to you?  Hmmm?  He took his time, although I’m disappointed as I had instructed him to keep our little secret.  Anyway, the fact is that I think it’s just what you need.  A good, hard caning.  Yes, there are times when a penance has to be paid, as your father may testify.  Perhaps now is one of those occasions?”

Suddenly Barry was not so keen.  In fact, he felt a little bit stupid, “Well, I don’t know.  It all sounds a bit strange.  Though, I’ve always wondered what it would be like.  Corporal punishment, I mean.  It might toughen me up, I suppose.”

“Exactly!  You want to try it, I think.  It’s strange, but it might help you.”

“Alright, alright.  Maybe I do.  But don’t tell Dad.”

“I won’t.  You can be sure of that.  Mum’s the word.  Some of us are very good at keeping secrets.  I see it as part of my job and my calling.  Let me go and fetch a cane and you can take a look, and we’ll take it from there.”

He disappeared for what seemed like an eternity.  His impatient visitor could hear various wooden cupboard doors banging and a lot clattering.  Eventually the old man reappeared.  Barry’s eyes were immediately drawn to the cane his uncle held.  It looked scary, about three feet long, with that crook handle you see in old illustrations and plates.  Barry gulped and said, “I’m not so sure now, Uncle.”

“Don’t mess me about, Barry!  I think we’ve already established that you want and need a caning, haven’t we?  You will definitely feel the benefit.”

At that moment, Barry was more worried about feeling pain, rather than any benefit,  “Sorry, uncle.  I don’t think I can go through with it, after all.”

“No, no.  Nonsense!  Now, this particular cane has served me well.  It’s a senior model left over from my private tutoring days.  It has helped eighteen-year-olds struggling with their re-sits.  And young men in their twenties, just like you.”

“Just like me?”

“Yes, just like you.”

“OK, OK, let’s do it then.  Where do you want me?”

“Very well.  Let’s have you bending over my desk.  That’s it.  That’s good.  Now stick your bottom out a bit more.  I need a good target for my cane.  You wouldn’t want me to miss, now would you?”

“No, uncle.”

“No, indeed.  So, stick it out some more.  Be a good lad.  Up a bit more.  That’s it!  Good.”

Barry’s pert, trousered rump was now presented ready for the lash of the cane.  Despite being fully clothed, the smooth curves of the masculine bottom were tempting in an almost obscene manner, inviting the harshest of sadistic canings from the older man.  However, the vicar was wise and canny, knowing full well that it would that he should not be too hard on the lad this first time.  A little pain kept in reserve could help to help secure repeat sessions in the future!

The first stroke of the cane generated almost instant heat and pain, just as intended.  Barry gasped and cursed as the burn sunk in.  He stood up, rubbing his pert backside.  Despite this, Barry’s calm and youthful face betrayed no resentment despite his obvious pain. 

“What do you think you’re doing, Barry?  Get back down immediately!  We’ve barely started!”

The vicar pushed the lad down roughly, and drew his arm back and put his whole body weight into delivering a fierce second blow. The sound ricocheted around the room, and Barry grunted plaintively.  Once again, he stood up involuntarily, his hands flying to soothe his assaulted bottom.

“Get back down!  Really, this is not good enough.  It’s supposed to hurt, you know. Such disobedience! I shall not tell you again.  If it happens again I’ll add penalty strokes.  Is that clear?”

“Yes, sorry uncle.  Very clear.  It won’t happen again.  Sorry, it’s just a bit of a shock.”

The lad bent over again, raising his bottom submissively.  The third stroke followed with with the cane making a delightful whoosh and a deeper cracking retort, as it struck Barry’s aching bottom.  Rapidly, the vicar slashed the stick down for a fourth stroke. This time the lad cried out loudly.  The vicar ignored the obvious distress of his young relative.  He’d heard it all before, many a time, after all.

The old man thrashed the penultimate stroke down with a vicious crack!  Barry remained in position, determined now to take each and every stroke as stoically as possible.  The vicar teased the lad by tapping the cane playfully against the shapely bottom cheeks, and then thrashed down a final stroke.  Barry let out a final deep and sexual grunt.  His eyes were moist.  It had been really painful and, indeed, humiliating.

“There, I think we can call that a firm first caning, if not quite six of the best.  Has that done the trick?”

Barry took that as a cue to stand up, and he rubbed his scorched arse frantically.  Shit, yes it had done some good despite the pain.  He could feel a serene calm taking over.  But he knew the answer to his uncle’s question was really a no.  So he said it out loud, much to his surprise.

“No, no, not really.  It’s helped, but I think I need some more.  Please.”

“My, my, you are a glutton for punishment, aren’t you?  Really?  Well, let’s see if we can  wipe that impudent grin off your face. Would it help if your further chastisement was on you bare flesh?”

“Give over, uncle!”

“Less of your cheek, young man!  I’ll take that as a yes!  Get your trousers down right now!”

Reluctantly, Barry unbuckled his thin black leather belt, and allowed his trousers to fall in an untidy heap around his feet.

“A good start, my boy.  Your underpants will have to come down too.  Let me pull them down for you.  Mmmmm.  Nice, crisp white pants, clean on, Barry?”

“Oh, yes.  Of course.”  Barry had been sure to put some fresh underpants on with this sort of potential outcome in mind.  And he did want to please his uncle, very much.  In truth, though, he wasn’t always so thoughtful.

“Ah, yes. That’s a very, very nice bottom, Barry.  Almost divine.  Let’s see if we can turn the pink to red, shall we?”

Six more strokes were donated in quick and painful succession by the whippy old cane.  These strokes were evidently a bit harder, as Barry’s delightfully bare bottom squirmed, bucked, rose and fell as if following instructions from the remorseless stick.  It had been an entertaining and gratifying show for the old man, who was now doing his damndest to hide a rare and pleasing erection in his Harris Tweed trousers.

Barry was to leave the vicarage on his battered old pushbike.  It was going to be a sore ride home, that was for sure. The skies were darkening with imminent rain.  He stopped off at the public conveniences in the local park.  He chained his bike to a drainpipe and went inside.  A couple of old men he thought he knew were standing at the urinal, cocks in hand.

Barry didn’t join them, instead he headed into one of the cubicles, and slammed and bolted the door.  He was desperate to have a good feel of his bottom after his first caning.  He unbuckled his belt, not for the first time that afternoon.  He dropped his trousers and underpants.  His hands immediately flew to his scarred cheeks.  He could feel distinct, raised weals.  They were sore to the touch, but also somehow strangely exciting.  He rubbed the scars and then he rubbed his penis.  Sure enough he was rewarded with a strong and virile erection.  He tried to peer at his bottom, but it was hard to get a proper view of the marks he wanted to see.  That would have to wait until he was back home in his bedroom with a choice of mirrors to use.

Barry bent over towards the cistern, so that he could feel the marks better.  He had the uneasy feeling that he was being watched.  That was a distinct possibility as he noticed that the walls of the cubicle had a few peepholes.  His suspicions seemed to be confirmed as was sure he heard a faint whistle of what he assumed was admiration from the cubicle to his left.  He ignored it as he inspected his bottom further.  A minute or so later, a hastily-scribbled note was passed under the partition.  Against his better judgement, Barry picked it up and read it.  It said, “Been a naughty boy?  Let me in.”  Barry was excited, tempted, but also disgusted.  He would pass up on that invitation.  He screwed the note up and threw it into the pan.  He had a quick slash, flushed and left the toilets in a hurry.

Barry’s unwashed hands gripped the handlebar and he pedalled away furiously.  What an interesting afternoon it had been.  Perhaps the most exciting of the year.  Of his entire life maybe?  Exciting.  Exhilerating.  Sexy.  Memorable. Enjoyable.  Unforgettable.  Painful.  Distressing.  Arousing!  His mind was awash with conflicting thoughts and emotions.  One word kept recurring.  That word was “Repeatable”.  He felt sure that the event could be repeated.  He could manipulate his uncle into giving him another caning, he was sure.  After all, it sounded like his father had had multiple encounters with the stick.

His father!  Oh God, what if he found out?  He had asked his uncle for discretion.  Surely, he wouldn’t tell?  Uncle had promised that he wouldn’t but right now Barry wasn’t feeling particularly trusting.  And then another horrific though sprang up in his mind.  What if his father found out anyway?  And then, what if his father were to acquire a cane?  He didn’t want that!  Or maybe he did?  At 24, and living at home, if it were to happen he wouldn’t be the only lad living in the shadow of a parental cane.  In some ways, he felt that every father should keep a cane for disciplinary purposes.

Back home at last, Barry made his weary way up the stairs to his bedroom.  He turned the key in the lock, and was soon completely naked.  At last he could get a proper look at the damage!  Yes, the large mirror revealed a pert bottom criss-crossed by angry red cane lines.  Those marks would take some time to disappear, he though to himself.  He could see why the old perv in the toilets had been impressed.  He grabbed a hand mirror to get a closer view.  Impressive, he thought!  And there we leave Barry inspecting himself and masturbating hard with determination.

Meanwhile, back at the Vicarage, the the old uncle gazed at the cane which was still on his desk.  How he loved it!  In a rectory full of joyless trinkets and souvenirs, that cane, along with a few others, was what brought him the most pleasure.  What an unexpected delight that fun-filled afternoon that had been.  He laughed quietly to himself.  He expected Barry to be back sometime, as the lad was clearly a masochist in the making.

With the coast clear and his erection long gone, the old man picked up the telephone.  He rang Barry’s father, “You have betrayed our old secret and are in obvious need of a reminder.”

“Now come on, one of us brothers was bound to tell young Barry, sooner or later.”

“Maybe it was inevitable, but it’s still not acceptable.  Not by any means.”

“Well, I’m sorry, that’s all I can say.”

“Not good enough.  Not nearly good enough.  No more argument.  You are in definite need of that firm reminder.  Report to me forthwith!”

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D I S C L A I M E R

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

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Story © MMXXII by Rod Cayenne.  All rights reserved.

Comments welcome – authors love your feedback, so please leave some.  Comments are here.

The Man Behind The Cane (M/M)

♥ Site recommended story ♥

A repeat of this short story from 2015.  All the characters are aged 18 or over. Strictly adults only!

The Man Behind The Cane by Rod Cayenne

Ah yes, the man behind the cane. What makes him tick? Why is he so driven? Why the cane in particular? Well now, he’s obsessed with my discipline, and it’s not as if I’m a bad young guy. Generally. You’d think I was too old for it at the ripe old age of 22, wouldn’t you? But, oh no! He’s quite adamant. I need keeping in line, and I need to be reminded of that regularly. It seems that these days, that’s at least once or twice a fortnight or so.

My Uncle George has taken me under his wing. I live in his town house, just a few minutes from the temptations of the city centre. He’s very strict, and I am forbidden more than an hour on the internet every day, and there’s no alcohol or chewing gum allowed in the house. And under no circumstances am I allowed to come home smelling of cigarettes or cigar smoke.

Uncle cuts a sleek, dapper figure, often dressed in shiny-buttoned blazer and chinos. His thinning mousey hair is Brylcreemed in a traditional parting, and one of many colourful, nay flamboyant silk cravats usually adorns his neck. Even if you didn’t know his background, there was definitely a nautical air to him.

We got on well at first, and I was happy to put up with his rules. The rent was reasonable, and the house was clean, warm and welcoming. But as I gradually began to rebel, I soon learnt that there was a distinctly cold and less welcoming part of the house. It was his study cum office, a rather old-fashioned room. There were bookcases lined with heavy and worthy tomes, while other shelves were graced by a veritable flotilla of model ships, and the walls were decorated with ancient maps and charts. There was an old oaken desk, and expensive, plush olive green leather buttoned seating. He would lean back in the swivel chair behind his desk lecturing me about my faults and oversights. I grew tired of this routine, gazing at my feet or ceiling until my frequent dressing-downs had finished. Then, one day, three years ago, he kind of lost it with me!

“Look at me when I’m talking to you James! I’ve had enough of your evasiveness!”

“Sorry, Uncle,” I replied, slightly worried that he was going to blow his top completely, “Very sorry!”

“Bringing vile pornography into my house is beyond the pale, young man!”

“I know. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again, Uncle! I promise you.”

“It had better not! I know you lads like this sort of explicit filth, but it’s not what I expect to find lying around in my bathroom!”

“Sorry, Uncle. I should have remembered to take it with me when I’d finished in there.”

“Yes, no doubt about that. What if a visitor had found it? Yes, indeed you should have removed it. But I imagine your hangover didn’t help your memory or your judgement, did it?”

“No, Uncle. I must cut down on the drinking.”

“Indeed, you must!”

“Sorry.”

“Instead, I was left to find this filth defiling my bathroom. I hope you weren’t masturbating in there in the poop deck as it were?”

“Oh no, Uncle. Just flicking through it, my headache was too bad for anything else.”

“I’m not sure that I believe you!”

“Believe me, Uncle, please. I am sorry.”

“You’ve said you’re sorry so many times James, that I’m almost inclined to believe you.”

“Thank you, Uncle.”

“But I don’t! Listen to me lad! Such depravity! When I was on the ships, this sort of selfish behaviour would have resulted in a sound caning from one of the senior crew!”

“Really, Uncle? Ha, that’s barbaric!”

“Not so much, really my boy. I soon learnt to behave myself. A crew is only as strong as the weakest link you know.”

“I suppose so.”

“No suppose so about it, my boy! A jolly hard thrashing or two from the ship’s Chief Engineer soon sorted me out.”

“Gosh, I bet.”

“And it just so happens that I have two ship’s canes here!”

“Oh.”

With that, Uncle George placed two supple looking rattan rods on the gold inlaid and finely tooled leather desktop. One cane had a crook handle, the other was basically straight, though one end was slightly bent, perhaps through wear.

“There, they don’t look so barbaric, do they?”

“No, Uncle. But gosh, they must have hurt back in the day, though.”

“Yes they did. And they still can. Still plenty of life left in these beauties! Now, how about six of the best to make amends, James?”

My jaw dropped. I couldn’t believe it! He was suggesting that he caned me! No way, was my immediate thought. But then almost as soon as that idea had gone, it was replaced by a bizarre fascination to find out what the cane was like. To see whether I could take it or not! I was also full of remorse for leaving the jizz mag in the bathroom. So it was that I soon found myself nodding silently and shamefully.

“That’s the spirit lad! Admirable! We’ll make a good crew member of you yet!”

Suddenly, I was worried again. Was this some strange re-enactment of his seafaring days I was indulging him with? Yes, it probably was.

The old seadog soon had me bending over the arm of one of the leather chairs in his study. My trousers were down to my knees, but he had allowed me to retain my modesty by still having my briefs on. He pushed me into position, and I dutifully stuck my bum out for him to do his worst. I soon felt the tap-tap of the cane as he lined it up against my blue underpants.

Crack! The cane lashed down on my arse for the very first time. The pain kicked in and it was overwhelming. I must have gasped or shouted or something. I can’t remember, but I was surprised at just how much I’d been hurt by the whippy stick fresh out of retirement!

Crack! A second punishing blow followed soon after. The intense heat and pain spread all over my bottom, merging with the blazing caress of the first stroke. I squealed. Oh boy! Did it ever hurt? And why on earth had I agreed to it?

“Learning your lesson, lad?” he suddenly asked as he swished the cane through the air a few times.

“Certainly Sir!” I replied, not knowing quite where the ‘Sir’ had suddenly come from.

Sir didn’t ease off as he laid the third stroke on. It was the worst yet, and despite myself I yelped. Then I heard him changing canes, I think. The fourth stroke landed in almost exactly the same place. It was sheer agony.

“ARRGH!”

“Quiet lad!” he exclaimed.

The fifth landed with an almighty crack, accompanied by a squeal from me. I couldn’t help myself, and was ashamed of the unmanly noise I’d let out.

“I said quiet!” he admonished. Again and again, he flexed and swished the cane through the air before it hit me one final time. This time I squealed again and then half choked as I was well and truly winded by the vicious stroke.

“Very well. That makes the full six. You can pull your trousers up now, young James.”

“Sorry Uncle, Sir. I didn’t take it very well did I?”

“No you didn’t! And all that noise was most undignified, I must say. Dear, dear. Well, I still remember my first time. I’m afraid I was much like you. Still, at least you stayed in position. And anyway, welcome aboard!” he said, shaking my hand earnestly, and at that very moment I decided that he was completely mad! Stark, staring mad! “We may yet make a fine crew member of you, lad!”

I wasn’t so sure, as beneath my trousers and pants my scarred and welted flesh throbbed and ached like never before. My eyes were moist and I rubbed the cheeks of my arse like mad. Nothing though would take away the intense stinging, burning pain! If this was a taste of crew life, I’d be applying for extended shore leave at the first opportunity!

Those two canes became regular features in my life. As I moved into my twenties, he upped the ante more than somewhat. Six stroke canings became rare, and eight, nine, ten and then twelve strokes became the norm. Somewhere along the line he had me bare my arse for some of the beatings. This he told me was a “proper Captain’s punishment” but I wasn’t convinced this wasn’t all stuff he’d made up as an excuse to beat me on the bare. I have been meaning to research it on the internet, but being allowed only an hour a day on there, I usually have more urgent things to look at! Perhaps I shouldn’t have agreed to the bare arse beatings, but I’ve found it best not to argue with the man behind the cane.

 

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Story © MMXV by Rod Cayenne

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D I S C L A I M E R

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

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Shane Finally Gets A Tanning (M/M) NEW!

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♥ Site recommended story ♥

New to The Canery is this exciting spanking and caning story by very special guest author Baddlad17.   All the characters are 18 or older. WARNING: ADULTS ONLY!

 

My nephew Shane was on the whole a good lad, though he often sailed close to the wind. Unlike my own lads he had been brought up without the benefit of a paternal hand to keep him in line, and up till now my sister had always taken care of things as best she could.

He had recently reached the age of eighteen, no longer a boy in the eyes of the law, though his attitude and behaviour was most juvenile in almost every way. The previous evening the telephone had rang loudly, I answered to hear my sister’s distressed voice on the end of the line. Shane had finally gone too far, and she had had enough of his behaviour.

She started to tell me how bad things had become in recent times. Coming home drunk, treating the house like a hotel, and his mother like an unpaid servant. That evening had been the final straw. She had walked in and literally found him masturbating in the lounge, with a porn movie on the TV. She nearly died with the shame because she had invited a couple of the ladies from her weavers club in for coffee. This had caused her, and them acute embarrassment and the ladies were blushing furiously, yet Shane merely stood up and smiled, his manhood still swollen he calmly put it away before reaching for the remote and turning off the movie. He seemed to find the entire episode highly amusing, which just made matters worse.

In desperation she had telephoned me to see if I could take the young pup in hand, and finally give him something he should have had a long time ago. The fact he was now eighteen did not cause me any qualms. I had used corporal punishment on both of my boys till they were in the early twenties. A smile crossed my lips as I extracted the slender cane which had been used many times to curb their bad behaviour. Young Shane needed to feel this cane biting into his bottom, and it was my intention to give him something he would never forget. I was so angry to think of how he had embarrassed his mother, and her friends, and then found the incident funny. It did not occur to him that she had to face those ladies next week, and no doubt the bush telegraph would have gone round the class. How could she ever look them in the eye again? I was determined he would be laughing on the other side of his face, and his bottom would be far redder than his mother’s face.

I placed the cane into a bag and shortly afterwards, made my way across town to my sister’s home. Jean was waiting for me when I arrived, looking anxious.

I don’t know if I can go through with this John, Shane will never agree to this, and he only make life more unbearable for me if we try to force him.

Leave that to me love, and don’t worry. I suggest you make yourself scarce, I will await the little runt’s arrival and deal with him in a way that has been long overdue. I assure you there will be no further behaviour like this, he will be a changed young man by the time I am finished with him.

Jean reluctantly decided to follow my advice and headed out for the evening, leaving me to await the arrival of my errant nephew. It was over an hour later that I heard the front door bang shut and Shane bounced in. He had been straight to football practice after finishing at college, and he had skipped the shower, coming home still in his kit. Despite being indoors he thought it was fine to bounce a football up and down as he came down the hall. I knew this young man needed to be dealt with harshly. I had seen for myself how he treated his home. He was about to have a huge shock.

Shane come in here son.

The door to the lounge opened and my nephew popped his head round the door. He was a little taken aback at my presence, and seemed a little uneasy. He was a good looking boy, with dark brown hair and blue eyes, his face was round with dimpled cheeks and he had a cheeky smile that could melt most hearts, but not mine. He was athletically built, his body toned. His peachy arse was firm and meaty, and his thighs and legs which were covered in thick curly hair were solidly built.

Where is Mum, and what are you doing here Uncle John? He said in a voice that betrayed his sense of unease. I had often threatened to take his pants down and smack his backside for him over the years, which had made him uncomfortable to be alone with me. He knew how his cousins had been punished when they were at home, so he was under no illusion that given a chance I would carry out the threat.

Close the door lad. I am here to see you, we have a lot to discuss, and your mother has left us to it. We need a man to man talk. Now where do we start lad? Yes you can put that ball down over there, and stand here.

I was used to being assertive, and my tone got an instant response from the lad. I eyed him up and down for a moment, making him feel like a little boy before launching into my tirade.

Right lad where do we start? I know we shall begin with you wanking in here and watching porn on the telly. That will do for kick off. Your mother brought her friends home to be greeted by the site of her son playing with himself, and you found it amusing. Think how mortified she will be next week when she has to go to her class and face those ladies. Do you think that will be funny for her? Then we turn to the way you have been treating your mum recently. Dirty laundry strewn across the bedroom floor, turning up for meals as and when you feel like, generally treating the place like a hotel, and your mum as your personal slave. Well it is going to stop do you hear me Shane? You have been behaving like a lout and I know how to deal with louts.

And what’s it got to do with you?

I stood up and in shock slapped him across the face. He reeled back for a moment, then came towards me, fist raised ready to punch me. In an instant I had him pinned down, his arm up his back.

Listen here young man, from now on you will do as you are told. You have treated your mum with contempt for the last time. Now you are going to find out what happens to brats who think they are grown up. You are not too old to get your arse tanned, and that is what I intend to do. Now we can do this the easy way, or the hard way, but whichever way you choose I am not leaving here until I have given you the sore arse you have been asking for-for years.

I held him in position for a few moments longer ensuring he knew who was in charge before I let him up.

You can’t do this Uncle John, I am not a little kid, and I am not your son.

Well you have behaved like a little kid, so you can expect to be treated like one. Stand by the chair, drop those shorts down, and then bend over the back of it.

Shane glared at me for a moment, defying me to do my worst.

Well lad here is the deal. You have a choice to make and let’s hope for your sake it’s the right one. You can either bend over and take a long overdue hiding from me, or we go upstairs and pack your bags. Your mother has had enough.

Jean had not said anything about this, but I had used the threat on my own lads when they got older and it had always worked. One mention of being thrown out on the streets soon had them dropping their pants, and it was no different with my nephew. Shane stood facing the chair back for a few moments, contemplating his fate, then with great reluctance he edged his football shorts down off his arse and down his thighs, leaving them hanging mid-thigh. I began to unbuckle my leather belt, pulling it clear through the loops. I intended to warm his backside up with the belt before taking the cane to his arse to finish the job.

Over the chair back, and grip the arms. Keep hold and don’t get up or try to cover yourself or it will be worse for you.

Once he was in position I took a firm grip on his ’under armour’ jockey shorts and pulled them down to land on top of his shorts. This caused the lad to panic and plead for them to go back in place. I curtly told him he deserved a bare arse thrashing for his behaviour, and to keep quiet. I looked at the naked cheeks before me. Pale, lily white, virgin mounds, never before had they felt the kiss of leather or rattan against them. That was about to be ratified, and my nephew would soon learn what a sore backside felt like.

I doubled the belt in two, and tapped it against his bottom a few times before raising my arm to shoulder height, and letting it fly to land with a resounding and noisy splatt across the expectant cheeks. The lad winced and let out a loud wail as the first swathe of red appeared across his tail. This was his first ever taste of corporal punishment and it had taken him by surprise. I raised my arm again and lashed down for the second time, landing it lower. This produced an audible grunt, and a second layer of red was imprinted across his previously unblemished bottom. Having set the mark I began to lash the belt above and below the first strokes until his entire bottom was a deep shade of red from the top of his thighs to the crown of his rump.

Ten leather strokes left Shane crying like a little boy, his bare rump, blazing like a furnace, and for the first time in his eighteen years he realised what getting a good hiding from a man felt like.

I threw down my belt and unwrapped the cane from the bag.

Right lad, six with the cane now to ensure you never forget what happens to naughty boys who misbehave, and then cry when they get their bottoms smacked.

Shane pleaded for mercy as I lined the rod up across his red-raw cheeks. I was used to this which was something my own lads often did. Getting the cane over a red hot, leathered backside was one of the worst punishments I inflicted on them. I knew how effective it was, and felt it was something that my nephew should benefit from too. Selecting my spot near the base of his buttocks I raised the cane, and cracked it down. The response was immediate, he screamed, his hands flying round to protect his bottom from further arse torture.

Move them away now or I shall crack the cane across your knuckles lad, and I mean it.

My threat was taken seriously, he quickly put his hands back on the chair arms, leaving his reddened bottom clear for further arse pain. I watched the first stripe swell across his cheeks before preparing for the second cut. I swiped number two higher up the smouldering cheeks, and got a similar reaction to the first stroke, though this time his hands stayed firmly on the chair arms. Slowly I delivered the remaining four strokes between the first two, ensuring I kept them all close in a two inch band on the lower portion of his backside. Each cut produced a squeal, his buttocks quivering as they absorbed the punishment. Number six hit the sit spot and his hands once again flew round to grasp the ravaged flesh.

I stood back for a moment, observing the red, weal corrugated buttocks. Satisfied the job was well done I put down the cane, picked up my belt and began to re-thread it.

You can get up now Shane.

Very slowly he pulled himself up from the chair, his hands reaching back to gently grasp his stinging arse cheeks. His face was red, and tear streaked. He kicked off his football shorts and his trunks before turning round to face me. I caught an eyeful of his flaccid cock, hanging low from his pubic bush. He had no thoughts to cover his manhood as his hands were far too busy trying to comfort his backside.

Have you learned your lesson young man?

Tearfully he nodded his head. Pick up your shorts and go to your room. If your mother contacts me again to say you are still behaving like this I will be back. Next time it will be worse; much worse. Do you understand?

Still snivelling he nodded at me, then reached down and retrieved his clothing before hobbling from the room, his one hand pressed against his burning behind, while in the other he was carrying his football shorts and pants. My last sight was of him a rear view image of my handiwork. I was certain he would not be coming back for more, well not anytime soon.

When Jean returned I told her what had happened. She was shocked that her son had accepted his whacking so readily. I never mentioned the ultimatum I had given him. I left shortly after ensuring I had the cane firmly wrapped up again. Jean promised to ring me if Shane got out of line again. It may have been his first tanning, but I felt sure that once the fire in his arse had died out, and the bruises faded he would start to forget tonight, then I would be called on again to give him another tanning. Boys have short memories, but I don’t, and next time, well I would do my utmost to keep my promise. Shane’s backside now belonged to me and I intended to make these sessions a regular occurence.

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Story ©MMXI by Baddlad17, and used here by very kind permission of the author.

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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.

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Authors love your feedback!  Please leave a comment. You can find the comments here, or by using the link at the top of the story.

 

Baddlad17’s excellent earlier stories for The Canery are available here.  Further great stories by Baddlad17 may be found at this external link.

 

The Bullwhip On The Wall (M/M)

⇒Site Recommended Story⇐

A repeat of this hot story by Rod Cayenne, from 2014. Strictly for adults only!

Terry was staying at Uncle Billy’s house for a fortnight.  He looked around the large lounge.  It was full of souvenirs from his uncle’s seafaring days.  Uncle Billy had eased back from that whistle-stop lifestyle a long time ago and his home now paid homage to those distant days.  The room was dominated by a large black wooden elephant and a coiled bullwhip hanging on the wall of an alcove.  Terry looked at the whip and shook his head.

“Fearsome, isn’t it?  Mexican, if I recall correctly.  It’s savage!” paunchy Uncle Billy stated in his gruff Liverpool accent.

“Looks kind of exciting.  In a fierce way, of course,” Terry added.

“Yes, although I’m not sure exciting is the right word there, young Terry.  I can see it would get the adrenaline flowing.  It cuts and tears flesh.  Not suitable for use on humans, only animals with tough, leathery hides.”

“That’s a relief!” exclaimed the young nephew.

“Well, you’re here for a holiday, aren’t you?  I’m sure you won’t do anything to upset me and wish I could whip you!” laughed Uncle Billy, “It’s only for show, I could never use it.  However, be warned that I do have a riding crop and cane.  I could use both of them on you if you do play me up!”

“Oh really?” Terry asked, excitement returning to his voice, “Are they from Mexico too?”

“Don’t be stupid, lad!  The riding crop is from the saddlery down the road.  It’s a lovely item.  The cane was my father’s, of course.  I remember its sting all too well!  Yeowch!”  Uncle Billy grimaced and rubbed his bottom with earnest nostalgia and perhaps a hint of fun.

“Hold on, your father used to cane you?”

“Oh yes!  Hard beatings they were, too.  And always trousers and underwear down.  I even got it at your age.”

“What?  21?”

“Oh yes!  21, 22, 23, I think.”

“Gosh!”

“Well 21 was the age of majority back then, and I lived with Daddy and his cane for another couple of years after that.”

“How awful!  And on your, err, naked, er, backside?”

“Oh yes indeed!”

Terry gulped as he took it all in.  Perhaps it was no wonder that Uncle Billy had eventually run away to sea?  Suddenly he found himself rubbing his own bottom through his thin summer-weight shorts.  He caught his uncle’s intense and beery gaze.

“Wow!  That must have been painful.  Was it a bit exciting, too?”

“No!  Not at all.  What a strange question!  Really, you youngsters have no idea.  How can you think being caned, let alone whipped, was exciting?  You’re not, you know, a bit strange are you?”

“Oh no, Uncle.  It’s just that it seems like another world.  So very different from today.  So hard to comprehend.”

“I understand, I think, young Terry.  Would you like to see that cane?”

“No thanks.  No need, Uncle.  I’m not that interested, really.”

It was a lie.  Both men knew it.  Uncle raised his bushy right eyebrow quizzically and instructed Terry, “It’s in the umbrella stand in the hall, right by the front door.  I think the riding crop is there too.  Be a good lad and bring me both.  Go on then!  See to it!”

Terry made his way to the hall.  He was annoyed that his uncle had wondered whether he was a bit strange.  After all, Uncle Billy was the one with the bullwhip, cane and riding crop in his house, and all for ornamentation rather than use!  He found the cane straight away, its lithe crook handle sticking out prominently above the umbrellas and walking sticks.  It didn’t look that old, Terry thought to himself.  He then busied himself looking for the riding crop.  Being a tad shorter, it was not visible immediately.  Only after removing a few sticks and brollies did he find it.  It was a beautiful item, with the shaft’s leather plaited neatly in black and blue.  Somehow that seemed appropriate to young Terry.

“Ah, thank you, Terry.  What do you think to these then?”

“Well, they’re less intimidating than that bloody bullwhip thing.  That’s really creepy.”

“Aha, but I thought you said it was exciting?”

“I meant exciting in a sort of creepy way!”

“You mean something like a horror film, then?”

“Exactly, Uncle.  I suppose you’d say it was a kind of morbid fascination.”

“Yes.  You’re making sense now.  So which do you want to try first?  The cane or the crop?”

Terry blushed a brighter red than he had ever done before, “I never said anything about trying them, Uncle!”

“I know that, lad.  But I can read you like a book.  You want to, don’t you?  Yes, you’re a bit of a masochist on the quiet, unless I’m much mistaken.”

“Oh Uncle!  What a horrible word!”

“I believe in calling a spade a spade, Terry.  You want to give it a go, don’t you?  Eh?”

“No, I really don’t.  And if we’re calling a spade a spade then you’re not even a proper uncle!”

“Well, that’s a bit rude Terry, but I suppose you’re technically right there.  But I am a family friend.  A friend of yours, and I’m offering you a favour, aren’t I?  You’re a masochist, and maybe there’s a little sadist in me, I  think.  Well now, this is getting awkward.  Are we going to do it or not?”

“Alright, alright!  But not too hard!”

“Terry, it has to be a bit hard, you know.  To see what it’s like.  To see whether you like it or not.  We’re not playing a school playground game here, after all.  Now, drop those shorts for me please.”

Terry dropped his summer shorts, revealing some surprisingly conservative grey briefs.  Sensing some residual reluctance, Uncle Billy bent Terry over the back of the sofa and yanked down the underwear in one seamless movement.  All was revealed!

“Oh!  I wasn’t expecting that!” exclaimed the youngster.

“Oh yes you were!  I think six strokes of the cane for persistent lying and disrespect.”

“Hey!  That’s a lot!”

“No, trust me.  It’s not.  Not at 21.  You can take it.  But do try to be quiet as the windows really do have to be open at this time of year.  Ready?”

“No!” Terry suddenly exclaimed.  But he was too late to alter his date with destiny, for the cane cracked down viciously just at that moment.

“Ye Gods!” Terry exclaimed as the red-hot burn kicked in, “Oh hell!”

Uncle Billy laughed at his nephew’s discomfort.  The cane was raised high again, and again Billy let rip with a severe stroke which lashed Terry’s naked bottom.  This time Terry just yelped.  He was prepared for the pain the second time.  But he really didn’t like it.  Not one bit.  This was definitely no fun at all.  He was telling himself this just as Billy guided the cane in for a third stroke.  This was the worst stroke so far, whipping the pale young flesh with gay abandon.   Terry squealed this time.

“You can have a break for a minute, if you want to,” Uncle Billy informed his guest.

“Thanks, but I’d rather get it over with.  I can’t believe I agreed to this!” said Terry ruefully.

“You didn’t!  Actually, perhaps you did.  Anyway, I do believe it’s just what you need.”

Just then uncle lashed the fourth stroke down, slightly off-cue and rather low down.  Judging by Terry’s reaction, it was by far the worst stroke yet.  The youngster leapt to his feet, clutching his thrashed behind.

“Yes, very entertaining, Terry.  But you’ve got five seconds to get back down, otherwise you’ll be getting extras!  One.  Two.  Three.  Four.  Five.”

Terry held out until the last count before bending back over the sofa.  Four distinctive scarlet tramlines decorated his otherwise pale buttocks.  Uncle sighed with pleasure as he surveyed them.  He had done all that, and it felt great!  He really liked being on the right end of the stick after all these years.  Yes, it was terrific.  Already he was forming plans for further beatings for Terry during his two-week stay.  He flexed the cane and then sliced it down again.

This time Terry gasped, and his hands flew back to his buttocks, in a vain attempt to soothe away the burning pain.  Uncle Billy was not amused.  “Terry, get those hands off there immediately!  They’re right in the firing line, and you are this far from those extras I promised you.”

“Sorry, Uncle. “

“Right.  Apology accepted.  Last stroke coming up.  Keep still and keep those hands out of the way!”

Crack!  The cane lashed down for the last time.  Terry cried out; he really couldn’t help himself.

“Good!  That’s better.  Not bad for a beginner.  Of course, Daddy used to give me more than that.  But I was used to it.  Now, time for the extras!”

“Whaaat?”

“Yes, Terry!  Just a couple with the crop, I think.  Stay just where you are.”

Terry had forgotten about the crop.  Uncle picked it up and sliced it through the air.  It made a different sound, when compared to the cane.  Perhaps a deeper sound, still chilling and exciting, however.  Uncle moved closer and whacked the crop into the waiting target.

“Owww!” cried Terry, somewhat startled at the pain this new assault delivered.  It was different, but really just as bad!

Uncle Billy laughed and sliced the crop down again.  Terry gasped, and almost choked as pain engulfed his wiry frame.  Eight red lines were causing new waves of agony on the punished buttocks.

“Pull your shorts back up then, that’s a pretty disgusting sight!” Uncle Billy lied.

Terry rubbed and rubbed at his arse, but nothing would help ameliorate the throbbing hot pain.  He looked embarrassed, as Uncle Billy patted the cushion next to him on the sofa, saying, “Come and sit down, Terry.  You look like you’ve had enough excitement for one day!”

“You’re not wrong there, uncle.  But thank you.  I hope we’ll fit in some more excitement before I go home.”

“Yes, Terry.  I’m not surprised.  Plenty of time for that.  We’ve got fourteen days.  Fourteen nights, as well.”

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D I S C L A I M E R

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

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Story © MMXIV by Rod Cayenne

All rights reserved.

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Comments facility not available for this story, but comments from the original 2014 post are here

 

Uncle Knows Best (M/M) NEW!

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Hot spanking and sex in this brand new story by special guest author David Stewart.  This story is currently exclusive to The Canery.  All the characters are 18 or over.  Strictly adults only!

Uncle Knows Best by David Stewart

I had a great childhood and was brought up in a strict but loving way.  I often stayed with an aunt and uncle (they were not blood relatives, but we always called them Uncle and Auntie) and would go there on a Friday evening and be returned to my loving parents at church on the Sunday morning.  A better Aunt and Uncle you could not wish for.

On a few occasions my Uncle would discipline me over his knee.  My Aunt would always go to the shops on a Saturday afternoon around three and it was then, if it was to happen, she would tell me, “Your Uncle needs to have words while I am out.”  That always meant a trip to the bedroom, where he sat on the edge of the bed and had me bare bottom over his knees to get a sound hand spanking.

I continued to stay with them regularly, right up until I was about 20.  It was at that time, post-school, that things changed for me.  I mean nothing bad against Uncle, but I got what I deserved (and actually wanted).

I was 18 and had stayed and had gone out on the Friday and came home a bit worse for wear and neither were impressed.  On the Saturday morning it was Uncle who had a pop at me when we were out in the garden. He was a wise owl and was disappointed in me, rightly, and told me how my Aunt had been upset at how I had been.
I apologised to him, of course, and he commented, “If this had been a year or so back you would have been apologising over my knees when your Aunt went out.”

I made some glib comment about “Well, just as well I am older then” and shrugged my shoulders with a smirk. That seemed to piss him off and he said, “I said a year or so ago you would have been over my knees.  I did not say you would not get a good leathering.”

We looked at each other and I remember a movement in my groin and bravely responding, “You’re joking, right? I mean you’re not going to wait till Auntie is out, are you?”

“Oh, you want me to do it now, with Auntie in the house?”

“No, no that was not what I mean…I well, I just meant…well you said it would not stop me getting a leathering…what were you meaning?”

“I was meaning that when your Aunt went out you would be upstairs getting a leather belt on your bum.”

I was experiencing the excitement of an adolescent lad who had been wanking over spanking for a couple of years, but even my response surprised me, “I suppose it is better with Auntie out, but would you tell her?  It would be so embarrassing for me at my age.”

He looked at me and said, “No, we can keep this to ourselves but as soon as Auntie leaves I want you up in your bedroom waiting for me.”

After lunch Auntie said, “Right boys, I am off down to the shops.  See you shortly and I will get something nice for afternoon tea.”

Uncle looked at me and with his eyes indicated upstairs.  I went to my bedroom and soon heard Uncle climb the stairs and in he came. He lectured me and then said, “So, now you are an adult you will get an adult’s punishment, which is a good leathering.  Now, get your jeans off!”

He watched as I removed my shoes and then jeans and stood with my t-shirt unable to hide the bulge in my baggie pants.  It was obvious Uncle saw this but he did not falter and simply said, “Now pants down and lay on the bed.”

I did this quickly, to hide my erection.  I then heard the unmistakable sound of leather belt coming through trouser loops and turned to see my Uncle folding his belt.  That belt must have been two inches wide.

“This will teach you a very sound lesson and you deserve this, so let’s get it over with.”

I turned my head just as the first flash of that leather belt landed and took my breath away. What followed was a slow but continuous leathering of my bared buttocks and a very adult boy crying towards the end.  He gave me a cuddle when I got up and said he hoped it had done me some good, but if he ever had to do this again it would be much worse.  At that point he left me and when Auntie arrived home we had tea and scones, with nothing said.

About two months later I was there just for the Saturday afternoon and in the workshop with my Uncle when a conversation relative to my leathering was started by him, firstly asking how long it took to stop burning.  He asked me about my arousal at the start and why that had happened, and I blushed and just shrugged it off.
“So, do you think it did you good, getting my belt?” he asked, and I answered that, “Yes it did, thank you,” which upon reflection must have sounded a bit sad.

“Thank you is it?  So you are glad I gave it to you are you?”

There was a bit of a pause and I said “Well not exactly, but I suppose thank you for not letting me get away with things,  To that extent it probably does me good now and again to be reminded that I am not that old yet.”

He eyed me, and with a smile asked, “So are you saying you are grateful to me for leathering your arse last time, and you think it does you good?”

“Well in a strange way it does.  I remember when I was younger and I acted up, and went over your knee.  Yes it stung but it made me better and I did not need it so often.  Nowadays I suppose I just tend to be a bit of a pratt at times and not exactly miss it, but well you know…miss it….a bit like knowing your limits.”

My cock was as hard as a rock during this conversation.  It was not going to soften.  Uncle asked, “So would another leathering do you good later when Auntie goes out?”

I know I blushed and stuttered as I said that I always felt going over his knee was very helpful.  It put me in my place, but yes the belt was certainly a more adult way to deal with someone like me.

He looked at me then said, “ Well.  I’ll tell you what, when your Aunt goes out today, if you think it will do you good, then come and ask me if you can go and wait for me in the bedroom.”

I smiled and said that was OK and he added, “But just so I am not encouraging anything here, your bottom will be black and blue by the time I am done and I doubt you will come back for more.”

So it was that I had to try and hide my erection for the rest of the day until Auntie did go out, a little later than usual.  I then confidently but nervously asked my uncle, “May I go and wait in the bedroom for you please, Uncle?”

He nodded and off I went.  Only a few minutes later Uncle came up too.  As he entered the room he announced, “ Right, lad.  Today is going to be a real lesson for you, so get your trousers off!”

He sat on the edge of the bed and once my trousers were off he called me to his side and hooked my underpants down and made me step out of them too.  He commented on my erection “I see.  An adult spanking for an adult reaction, then.  Get over!”  What followed was an extremely painful hand spanking which lasted perhaps ten minutes, by which time I was in tears.  I was grateful for the temporary rest.  Uncle looked at my groin and commented, “Not so much of an adult now, are you?  He stood and undid his belt and drew it through the belt loops.  That action excited me then, and to this day still does.  He folded the thick leather in half and cracked it down on the bed with an almighty blow.

My cock grew again at this.  Uncle noticed this reaction straight away, and said, “Right!  Time for some honesty.  honesty.  Does what is about to happen excite you and is this what you wank over at night in bed?  The thought of someone leathering and spanking you?”  My blushing said it all, and he added, “More to the point, and this will go nowhere other than this room, are you secretly wanting me to leather your arse harder than last time?  Because if you do, now is the time to be telling me.”

I was in a state and blustered away, something like, “Uncle, I am sorry…but…but well I don’t know why I do, but I do want that.  Please!”

He came over to me and put an arm round me and said, “Well then.  This is going to hurt like mad but I understand what you want and need, so I am going to give you the hardest leathering of your life.  Now lie down on the bed.”

I laid on the bed and he was true to his word.  Stroke after stroke of that doubled-up thick leather belt landed on my bared cheeks.  Tears flowed and flowed and it seemed to go on forever, so much so that I feared my Aunt would be home before he was done.  When it stopped, I was truly pleased.  Through my tears I saw his benign smile as he threaded his belt back through the loops.  I was rubbing my assaulted buttocks and he told me to, “ Dress and go wash your face, so Auntie does not know.”

That night Uncle walked me to the train and as we waited said to me, “So, did that leathering live up to expectations?”

I said, ”Far more than that Uncle, thank you.  I needed that.”  He then said, as the train arrived, “So long as between you and I, any time you feel you need a repeat then come and ask me.  It is no problem and if it helps then so much the better.”

It was another six months before I asked, having had a few visits in between.  It was mid-morning and in my perverted way I wanted to enjoy the nervous expectation of an impending beating.  So I asked him almost as soon as I arrived, “Does Auntie still go out to the shops in the afternoon?”

“Oh, always,” he said with a smile.

I must have waited all of five seconds before trying to ask, nonchalantly, “Eh then Uncle, when she does go, may I go and wait in the bedroom please?”

“I have been disappointed that you have not asked before now, so the answer is yes, of course.”

I loved the nervous expectation and as soon as Auntie left it was, “Uncle, may I go and wait in the bedroom for you please?”

“Yes, and hurry up and get yourself ready so that we have more time.”

That got me harder and when he came up I was in my underpants, t-shirt and socks and well erect.  In he came and in his hand was a wooden hairbrush.  He announced, “This will stop my hand being so sore.”  He sat down and my pants were pulled down and off.  He smiled at my youthful erection, saying, “Get over!”  A hand spanking followed for about five minutes before that wooden hairbrush started to slap at my buttocks.  I couldn’t help but yelp.  “Teaching you a lesson this, boy?” And he continued on and on.

When I got up, I was jumping about, rubbing my smarting arse cheeks.  But there were no tears.  As he repeated the process of drawing the belt through the trouser loops, my cock came back to life and and stuck up proudly for Uncle.  He smiled as always and said, “Well you obviously did not find that too off-putting so I assume you are wanting me to put this belt to good use, are you?”

In my youthful way, cock erect and not much else to say I simply whispered, “Yes please, Uncle.”

He asked me candidly, “So, when you are having a wank do I feature in those wanks?”

I smiled and said, “Yes, you do Uncle.  Yes, you do.  Every time.”

“And in these wanks, do I do anything we have not done here…and don’t be shy, as I will take it as a compliment.”

“Alright.  You leather me to tears, then sometimes you help me.”

“You mean I wank that big lad’s cock for you?”

“And do you do anything for me?”

“I have never done anything or had anything done to me Uncle, but yes I fantasise that sometimes I suck your cock or I wank you, or well, or you bend me over.”

“So, you have never been touched by another guy?”

“No.  Never ever.”

He stepped forward and his hand took hold of my cock and he started to wank me. “Is this nice?” he almost rhetorically asked followed by, “And nice as this is, I am about to leather you bared arse till you are crying like a baby. That is what you want, isn’t it?

Between sighs I said, “Yes please, I want you to teach me a lesson.”

He let go of my cock and said, “Right!  Get on the bed, I will need a rest after this one.”

That leathering was extreme and not only my bottom but also upper back of legs got it.  I was in tears well before he stopped.  I tried to count but lost it at 30 something.  When it was over Uncle was not hiding his own erection and we smiled at each other knowingly.  Soon I was on the bed. on my back.  The hand that had spanked me was now wanking me off!

“Can I touch you?” I asked, and he undid his trousers and allowed me to feel it.  Without being told or asking, I then tasted cock for the first time, and he appreciated it.

He pulled back and left the room to return a few minutes later with a condom, “You want this?”

I nodded and said, as I knelt on the bed, “Please be gentle.”

He was gentle and nudged slowly into me and I was in ecstasy as he moved in and out.   His hand came round to my groin and he wanked my stiffening cock.  In truth we both came almost together, with me spunking all over the sheets.  It was pretty funny and we tidied up hurriedly.  We had just returned downstairs when Auntie came back and said, “So have you boys been having fun?”

That was to become a semi-regular event over the next five years or so until he had a stroke and eventually passed away at a relatively young age.  However, it all helped discipline this boy who is now an adult to be proud of.  Unfortunately, not to be continued.

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 Story text © MMXXI by David Stewart

Story used here by very kind permission of the author

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D I S C L A I M E R

All characters appearing in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to real businesses or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.  All the characters are age of 18 or older.

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To comment on this one please use link at top of story

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Uncle’s Den (M/M)

♥ Site recommended story ♥

A repeat by request of this popular caning story. All the characters are aged 18 or over. Strictly adults only!

Uncle’s Den by Rod Cayenne

“Marvels of miniature engineering, these.” My uncle coughed and wheezed as only a failed ex-smoker could.  The N-gauge locos sped around the track in the large room, known to all and sundry as “Uncle’s Den”.  There were bookcases of detective stories, railway and wildlife books.  A small collection of classical CDs filled another small bookcase. Talking of which, some jaunty baroque ensemble playing could be heard when the trains weren’t drowning it out.

I looked around again and then did a double take. Strangely, on the back of the door hung a school cane. Of course, I had to ask him about it.

“Oh that sweet old thing! That’s there as a deterrent.  One of my friends drives the trains too hard sometimes.  He really canes them.  If he causes a derailment, he gets a sound six of the best from me.  Seems fair.”

“You’re joking?”

“I’m not!”

“It hurts?”

“So I’m told.  Often quite loudly!”

“Where did it come from?”

“The jungles of Malaya, I should imagine.”

“No, no Uncle!  That’s not what I meant at all.  I mean, how did you come by it?”

“It must have been exported from Malaya to dear old Blighty at some stage.  Then, no doubt an Educational Supplies company must have cut it to size and steamed on the crook handle, and then sold it on to the school I worked at.”

“Wait!  You never told me you were a teacher.”

“You never asked!  I didn’t teach for long.  I didn’t have the knack or the calling for it.  So I only did three terms.  Almost a year.  That was enough.  That was enough.”

“Enough to convince you that you weren’t cut out for it?”

“No, no!  Enough for me to learn how to cane most effectively.”

“Oh wow!”

“Yes, and that cane is one of a handful I liberated when I left the profession.  The rest are under my bed.”

“You stole it?”

“No, I borrowed it and a few others, I like to think.  After all, abolition was nearing and the canes weren’t seeing nearly enough action.”

“Abolition?”

“Yes, abolition of corporal punishment by the Conservative government of the time.”

“The Tories?”

“Yes, that woman!  Don’t get me started.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Anyway, let me tell you a secret. Promise not to tell?  Well, my friend gets it bare.”

“Eh?”

“He gets the cane on his bare bottom.”

This revelation made me nervous. Clearly there was more to my mild-mannered uncle than I’d ever imagined.  I gazed into his brown, slightly bloodshot eyes, and could feel my face reddening with embarrassment.  It was hard to imagine this friendly, paunchy fellow as a strict disciplinarian.

Later that afternoon, I was playing trains with my uncle.  I’d forgotten what fun it could be, and yet after a good hour or so, a sense of devilment took me over and I cranked the controller well into the red.  The sad maroon diesel couldn’t cope, spinning off the tracks just by the points before the tunnel.

“My fucking Warship!  The pride of my hydraulic fleet!  You little bugger!  Ah well, it doesn’t look like there’s any damage.  But you can fetch me the bloody cane!  I’m going to damage your arse, all the same.”

Like a zombie, and shocked by his language, I walked towards the door.  I unhooked the cane from its resting place.  I’d expected it to feel like a serious combat weapon, but instead I was struck by its light featherweight form.

Uncle seemed really annoyed with me.  This meant trouble, of that I could be sure. He said, “Six of the very best for you!  We’ll do it here in the den,” and then his attitude softened momentarily, “After all, only the very naughtiest boys get to visit Uncle’s bedroom.”

I didn’t pay much attention to the meaning of those words, as I bent submissively over the back of a chair as instructed.  The whippy cane lashed down on my thin Adidas shell suit trousers.  They offered little protection from the burning sting of the stick.  A second stroke followed.  It was harsher, and yet somehow quite invigorating.  Uncle was certainly a master at this, I reflected as the unbridled agony of the third and fourth strokes hit me.  I was just recovering a bit when the fifth stroke landed, unleashing new waves of pain. The sixth stroke was late.  I think he was teasing me by delaying it.  I tried to focus on the baroque music, but it wasn’t easy to do as the throbbing in my arse consumed nearly all my attention.  Eventually the final stroke crashed down, seemingly re-awakening the weals from the earlier strokes.  The pain peaked and then rose again and again.

At home that night, I examined the six crisp lines adorning my bottom.  They looked angry and sore.  But that’s not how I felt.  The pain had been awful but it had been a real turn-on.  I masturbated several times in my bunk bed that night.  In the end, I fell asleep, drained of spunk and energy.  Then I awoke and after examining my bottom again, my right hand was soon gripping my cock for another frantic wank.

It was just a fortnight later that I found myself round at my uncle’s house again. We played with the model railway again, and then because of more reckless train driving we were suddenly teacher and pupil again!  This time, he insisted I dropped my trousers and pants for a bare bottom caning.  I loved it, and I’m pretty sure he did too. After all, I had a real peach of a teenage bottom.  He probably hadn’t seen anything quite like it in years!  This time as well as the six of the best, he awarded two extra strokes for ‘excessive wiggling and general disobedience.’  Now, they really hurt!

“Well, how was that, young Wayne?” he asked as he hung the cane back up.

I had to be honest with him, “Actually, although it hurt, I did quite enjoy it. Well, actually I enjoyed it a lot, I’m ashamed to say.”

“Aha!  It seems that we have a young masochist in our midst then, doesn’t it?  You enjoyed it, eh?  Tut, tut.  In that case, in future there’s no need to go crashing my expensive trains just to secure a sore bottom!  If you want a caning, just ask me for it.  Is that clear?”

“Yes, Uncle!  Perfectly clear!”

“Yes, good.  I’m sure we can find some other pretext for it.  Let’s see now, you’re nineteen, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am.  Nineteen and a half, in fact.”

“In that case, I’m sure that every week I can cane you for excessive masturbation and dirty thoughts, can’t I?  Well, come on now, am I right or am I right?”

“You’re right, Uncle.  Of course,” I confessed.  In truth, wanking was my favourite pastime.  So it seemed that we had an understanding.  No longer would I have to cause trouble on the tracks to get my whacks!

 

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D I S C L A I M E R

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

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Story © MMXVII by Rod Cayenne

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Comments welcome, please use the link at the top of the story.

 

Uncle’s Birthday Present (M/M)

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Erotic fiction by your host, Rod Cayenne.  Repeated from 2013 as part of the new “Birthday Present” season. 

All the characters are 18 or older. WARNING: ADULTS ONLY!

 

I’d grown very fond of Uncle Robbie as I left my teens and moved into my early twenties. When I was younger, I’d found him to be rather stuffy and old-fashioned. As I matured though, I began to appreciate his ways. After all, he was a product of his harsh upbringing.

He had often regaled me with tales of his school days. Of his permanently sore bottom, courtesy of strict teachers and sadistic prefects. Then again, he eventually became a caning prefect himself. He was less forthcoming about that! I suspected he was a little ashamed about how he had become a small cog in the machinery of institutionalised brutality.

We used to joke about how I could have benefited from just such a regime. After all, it was no secret that I was a bit lazy and lacking in ambition. Despite this and the depressed local economy, I had managed to secure a part-time position at a local outlet.

Every now and then, it had become customary for me to spend a weekend at Uncle’s place – a timber-clad bungalow in a lovely wood, miles from any neighbour. Those weekends were really special, as we would spend hours exploring the woods, and catching up. There was no TV, but the radio was almost always on, usually blaring  classical pieces and often from a foreign station.

This particular weekend, he picked me up straight from work in his beaten-up old Ford. I’d had a bit of a struggle securing the time off, I told him as we headed back to his place.

I knew it had been his birthday the previous day. I’d bought him a little something, and wrapped it neatly in one of my more productive moments. I handed it to him as soon as we got into his place. He looked surprised, although it wasn’t the first time I’d remembered his birthday.

He took his time unwrapping the present. As the contents were revealed he gasped, then chuckled. It was a school cane with a crook handle. It was rather aged, as I’d bought it from an antiques dealer near where I lived.

He picked it up and swished it around. A broad grin crossed his face. He slammed it down on the arm of the chair next to him. It made a fearful crack, causing us both to laugh heartily.

“Well, thank you for the present,” he said eventually, “And really, you shouldn’t have.”

“It’s OK, Uncle. I thought you might like it. It’s not new you know, it’s from an antiques bric-a-brac place.”

“No, Liam. When I say you shouldn’t have, I mean I might be tempted to use it this weekend!”

I laughed nervously. Stupidly, I hadn’t foreseen that eventuality.

“Yes, a very dangerous present. A cane begs to be used, you know? You’d better watch your step, my lad!”

We both laughed. It wasn’t my step I had to watch, it was my arse! I was glad when the subject was dropped as we decided to eat. Over teacakes and jam, there was no more talk of it.

As it was a lovely fresh autumn evening, we took a stroll out into the woods. We saw a deer in the distance. I was quite captivated by it as it seemed so wild and untamed. Uncle told me all about the mating habits of deer, and about the rutting he’d seen more than once.

Back at the bungalow, we both stared at the cane lying on the coffee table. Its presence was making me nervous and I was regretting buying the thing. We didn’t talk about it during the rest of the evening, as Uncle was keen to hear about my job and the family. Only when it was time to turn in, was the subject of the cane brought up, somewhat awkwardly.

“I must thank you again for the cane, Liam. Most thoughtful. Now, why don’t you hang it on the hook on your bedroom door tonight? It’ll remind you to be good. No wanking tonight, mind!”

I was shocked to hear him use that word. In truth, by this time I was terrified of that cane. I did as was expected, however, and hung the cane on the back of the bedroom door. After washing, I lay silently on the bed. The ghostly light from the corridor shone through the glass panel above the door, and onto the cane. The pale light seemed to emphasise the curve of the handle of the cane.

In some ways, I wished I was back home with Mum rather than spending the weekend with Uncle Robbie. Perhaps because of what he had said, my urge to masturbate was strong. As I played with my stiffening cock, I stared at the cane. I wondered what it would feel like to receive a good thrashing from it. I didn’t want it, I told myself, but it would certainly be an experience to remember. My cock was rock hard and desperate for relief. I fantasised about Uncle Robbie caning me as I rubbed my cock frantically. It was a strong orgasm, with cum spurting everywhere. I used some toilet paper I’d sneaked in from the smallest room to dry up the evidence. I didn’t want Uncle to find it. My arse was on the line!

It was a beautiful morning. Sunlight was streaming into the room through the thin curtains and the glass panel above the bedroom door. Time for an early morning wank, I told myself. But evidently, it was later than I thought as suddenly I could hear Uncle Robbie calling me and telling me I had twenty minutes before breakfast was ready. I rushed to the bathroom and had a quick shit, shower and shave.

I dressed hurriedly. As I pulled on my jeans I saw the cane glistening in the sunshine. I took it down and flexed it. As if in a trance, I brought it with me as I made my way into the kitchen/diner.

I put the cane down on the small table. Uncle Robbie looked surprised to see it. We sat down to eat. I tapped at my boiled egg, and we made small talk about the weather and the morning. After breakfast we enjoyed a second cup of filter coffee.

“So, why is the cane here, Liam?”

“I thought you might want it back,” I sighed.

“Nothing you want to confess to then, Liam?”

“No, Uncle.”

“Quite sure?”

“Quite sure, thank you, Uncle.”

“Really? I thought I heard noises in the night. Wanking noises.”

“Well, maybe just a little, Uncle.”

“Come off it Liam. No-one has a little wank. A quick one, or a slow one maybe. But you had a full one, didn’t you?”

“Yes, alright I did.”

“Aha! So I’m getting the truth now. Tell me more about it! Uncle wants to know!” he said, picking up the cane.

“Uncle!”

“Come on Liam, tell me about it. We’re both grown men. No need to be shy with me.”

“Well it was a very good one, if you must know.”

“Tell me honestly, Liam, was the cane in your thoughts?”

“Errrrr. Yes, a little, Uncle.”

“Pah! There’s that ‘little’ word again. You had a good wank and you found the thought of the cane exciting, didn’t you boy?” Uncle Robbie had adopted a more authoritarian air.

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“Good. In that case a caning does seem to be in order, as you disobeyed me and played with yourself. And you want to find out what the cane’s like don’t you?”

I nodded. I couldn’t speak. I did want to find out what a caning was like. I was ready for it, but not what came next.

“Very good. Now, drop your trousers and pants, and bend over this chair.”

“Bare, Uncle?” I asked, the horror of the thought only just sinking in.

“Of course! I’m not caning you through those bloody thick jeans. You’d hardly feel a thing. The pants won’t make much of a difference but I’ve never caned a bottom that wasn’t bare, and I’m not going to start now. Get them down, lad.”

Slowly, I eased my jeans down, followed by my pants. I felt incredibly foolish with my bottom bared towards him.

“Come on, come on!” he goaded me, “I want to try out my present!”

I bent over submissively, offering my bottom for chastisement. It felt like a very strange thing to have to do. Strangely too, it felt quite thrilling.

Suddenly, the first stroke whipped down. It stung like blazes, I’d never felt anything quite like it! I felt hot all over, but my bottom was definitely hotter still and rapidly overheating. I reflected on how stupid and naive I’d been to furnish Uncle with this instrument of torture.

After a lengthy pause, a second stroke landed a little below where the first had marked me. Again, I was astonished by the severity and intensity. I felt flushed in the face, as I suddenly began to realise that the pain was starting to bring pleasure, too.

As the third stroke fell, I realised I was enjoying the caning. Of course it hurt, but the pain and sting produced waves of erotic pleasure. I wasn’t sure how to react, as I’d never experienced sexual pleasure from a man before.

I let out a most unmanly squeal as the fourth stroke cut into my naked cheeks. I heard Uncle chuckle behind me.

“Feeling it then?” he asked, but it was a question I had no intention of answering.

He slashed another stroke down, saying, “I asked you a question, lad. Are you feeling it?”

Well, as questions go, it was a pretty stupid one. No-one could not feel a caning. Especially one like that. I grunted an affirmative. I’d had five strokes and was hoping that number six would be the final one. I was enjoying the session, and was becoming turned on, but felt that six strokes was all I could take.

After another long pause, stroke six slashed down, slicing into my sore cheeks with real force. My arse throbbed and ached. My cock was stirring. I told myself I’d had my six of the best, so I decided to stand up.

“Not so fast, young man!” Uncle Robbie admonished, “I do believe you can take a little more. Besides which, I’m enjoying using this present of mine too much to stop just now. Bend back over for me please. Bottom out a bit more. That’s it!”

Well, I had to admit I admired his mastery, honesty and even his sadism. As the seventh and eighth strokes hit home, I had to admit to myself that I was enjoying the proceedings too. Nine and ten followed rapidly, which I hadn’t expected. I gasped at the double dose of pain.

Another brace of strokes followed. That was surely it, I told myself. I’d taken a sound caning of a dozen strokes. I started to rise. He pushed me back down again, roughly. I heard the swish and crack of stroke thirteen. Waves of pleasure and pain rushed through me. He whipped a fourteenth stroke down.

That was it! He helped me up, rubbing my bottom gently as he did so.

“Go and sit on the sofa,” he commanded. Soon he joined me. He put his arm around me and said, “Thanks for the cane, Liam.”

“Thanks for the caning, Uncle.”

I seized the initiative and kissed him on the cheek. He followed through immediately, and our lips met passionately. We went to bed. I had lost my caning virginity that day. My anal virginity joined it later that morning too. He was quite the skilled lover. We didn’t see much of the woods the rest of that weekend. I did see rather more of the cane, and my bottom got several more workouts from the rattan and from Uncle’s cock.

As soon as I passed my driving test I moved into the bungalow in the woods. I never regretted buying him that birthday present. It was used constantly, and always with me on the receiving end. He died a few years ago. Now I have a younger lover, and he is the one on the receiving end. I think Uncle Robbie would have approved.

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Story © 2013 by Rod Cayenne

Comments welcome – please use the link at the top of the story

Comments from the original post are here

The Man Behind The Cane (M/M)

♥ Site recommended story ♥

A first repeat of this hot homoerotic fiction by Rod Cayenne…

WARNING ADULTS ONLY

Ah yes, the man behind the cane. What makes him tick? Why is he so driven? Why the cane in particular? Well now, he’s obsessed with my discipline, and it’s not as if I’m a bad young guy. Generally. You’d think I was too old for it at the ripe old age of 22, wouldn’t you? But, oh no! He’s quite adamant. I need keeping in line, and I need to be reminded of that regularly. It seems that these days, that’s at least once or twice a fortnight or so.

My Uncle George has taken me under his wing. I live in his town house, just a few minutes from the temptations of the city centre. He’s very strict, and I am forbidden more than an hour on the internet every day, and there’s no alcohol or chewing gum allowed in the house. And under no circumstances am I allowed to come home smelling of cigarettes or cigar smoke.

Uncle cuts a sleek, dapper figure, often dressed in shiny-buttoned blazer and chinos. His thinning mousey hair is Brylcreemed in a traditional parting, and one of many colourful, nay flamboyant silk cravats usually adorns his neck. Even if you didn’t know his background, there was definitely a nautical air to him.

We got on well at first, and I was happy to put up with his rules. The rent was reasonable, and the house was clean, warm and welcoming. But as I gradually began to rebel, I soon learnt that there was a distinctly cold and less welcoming part of the house. It was his study cum office, a rather old-fashioned room. There were bookcases lined with heavy and worthy tomes, while other shelves were graced by a veritable flotilla of model ships, and the walls were decorated with ancient maps and charts. There was an old oaken desk, and expensive, plush olive green leather buttoned seating. He would lean back in the swivel chair behind his desk lecturing me about my faults and oversights. I grew tired of this routine, gazing at my feet or ceiling until my frequent dressing-downs had finished. Then, one day, three years ago, he kind of lost it with me!

“Look at me when I’m talking to you James! I’ve had enough of your evasiveness!”

“Sorry, Uncle,” I replied, slightly worried that he was going to blow his top completely, “Very sorry!”

“Bringing vile pornography into my house is beyond the pale, young man!”

“I know. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again, Uncle! I promise you.”

“It had better not! I know you lads like this sort of explicit filth, but it’s not what I expect to find lying around in my bathroom!”

“Sorry, Uncle. I should have remembered to take it with me when I’d finished in there.”

“Yes, no doubt about that. What if a visitor had found it? Yes, indeed you should have removed it. But I imagine your hangover didn’t help your memory or your judgement, did it?”

“No, Uncle. I must cut down on the drinking.”

“Indeed, you must!”

“Sorry.”

“Instead, I was left to find this filth defiling my bathroom. I hope you weren’t masturbating in there in the poop deck as it were?”

“Oh no, Uncle. Just flicking through it, my headache was too bad for anything else.”

“I’m not sure that I believe you!”

“Believe me, Uncle, please. I am sorry.”

“You’ve said you’re sorry so many times James, that I’m almost inclined to believe you.”

“Thank you, Uncle.”

“But I don’t! Listen to me lad! Such depravity! When I was on the ships, this sort of selfish behaviour would have resulted in a sound caning from one of the senior crew!”

“Really, Uncle? Ha, that’s barbaric!”

“Not so much, really my boy. I soon learnt to behave myself. A crew is only as strong as the weakest link you know.”

“I suppose so.”

“No suppose so about it, my boy! A jolly hard thrashing or two from the ship’s Chief Engineer soon sorted me out.”

“Gosh, I bet.”

“And it just so happens that I have two ship’s canes here!”

“Oh.”

With that, Uncle George placed two supple looking rattan rods on the gold inlaid and finely tooled leather desktop. One cane had a crook handle, the other was basically straight, though one end was slightly bent, perhaps through wear.

“There, they don’t look so barbaric, do they?”

“No, Uncle. But gosh, they must have hurt back in the day, though.”

“Yes they did. And they still can. Still plenty of life left in these beauties! Now, how about six of the best to make amends, James?”

My jaw dropped. I couldn’t believe it! He was suggesting that he caned me! No way, was my immediate thought. But then almost as soon as that idea had gone, it was replaced by a bizarre fascination to find out what the cane was like. To see whether I could take it or not! I was also full of remorse for leaving the jizz mag in the bathroom. So it was that I soon found myself nodding silently and shamefully.

“That’s the spirit lad! Admirable! We’ll make a good crew member of you yet!”

Suddenly, I was worried again. Was this some strange re-enactment of his seafaring days I was indulging him with? Yes, it probably was.

The old seadog soon had me bending over the arm of one of the leather chairs in his study. My trousers were down to my knees, but he had allowed me to retain my modesty by still having my briefs on. He pushed me into position, and I dutifully stuck my bum out for him to do his worst. I soon felt the tap-tap of the cane as he lined it up against my blue underpants.

Crack! The cane lashed down on my arse for the very first time. The pain kicked in and it was overwhelming. I must have gasped or shouted or something. I can’t remember, but I was surprised at just how much I’d been hurt by the whippy stick fresh out of retirement!

Crack! A second punishing blow followed soon after. The intense heat and pain spread all over my bottom, merging with the blazing caress of the first stroke. I squealed. Oh boy! Did it ever hurt? And why on earth had I agreed to it?

“Learning your lesson, lad?” he suddenly asked as he swished the cane through the air a few times.

“Certainly Sir!” I replied, not knowing quite where the ‘Sir’ had suddenly come from.

Sir didn’t ease off as he laid the third stroke on. It was the worst yet, and despite myself I yelped. Then I heard him changing canes, I think. The fourth stroke landed in almost exactly the same place. It was sheer agony.

“ARRGH!”

“Quiet lad!” he exclaimed.

The fifth landed with an almighty crack, accompanied by a squeal from me. I couldn’t help myself, and was ashamed of the unmanly noise I’d let out.

“I said quiet!” he admonished. Again and again, he flexed and swished the cane through the air before it hit me one final time. This time I squealed again and then half choked as I was well and truly winded by the vicious stroke.

“Very well. That makes the full six. You can pull your trousers up now, young James.”

“Sorry Uncle, Sir. I didn’t take it very well did I?”

“No you didn’t! And all that noise was most undignified, I must say. Dear, dear. Well, I still remember my first time. I’m afraid I was much like you. Still, at least you stayed in position. And anyway, welcome aboard!” he said, shaking my hand earnestly, and at that very moment I decided that he was completely mad! Stark, staring mad! “We may yet make a fine crew member of you, lad!”

I wasn’t so sure, as beneath my trousers and pants my scarred and welted flesh throbbed and ached like never before. My eyes were moist and I rubbed the cheeks of my arse like mad. Nothing though would take away the intense stinging, burning pain! If this was a taste of crew life, I’d be applying for extended shore leave at the first opportunity!

Those two canes became regular features in my life. As I moved into my twenties, he upped the ante more than somewhat. Six stroke canings became rare, and eight, nine, ten and then twelve strokes became the norm. Somewhere along the line he had me bare my arse for some of the beatings. This he told me was a “proper Captain’s punishment” but I wasn’t convinced this wasn’t all stuff he’d made up as an excuse to beat me on the bare. I have been meaning to research it on the internet, but being allowed only an hour a day on there, I usually have more urgent things to look at! Perhaps I shouldn’t have agreed to the bare arse beatings, but I’ve found it best not to argue with the man behind the cane.

 

 

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Story © MMXV by Rod Cayenne

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D I S C L A I M E R

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

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Diese Geschichte ist hier auf Deutsch.

 

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Music From The Bell Foundry (M/M)

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Hot spanking and caning fiction by Rod Cayenne – repeated from 2013.  Strictly over-18s only!

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D I S C L A I M E R

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

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“Welcome to the Old Grange Meadow Bell Foundry.”

“Thanks for inviting me, Uncle.  I’ve wanted a tour for years.  There’s a lot of history here, isn’t there?”

“Yes, young Rick there certainly is.  It’s a very old-fashioned set-up even now.  There’s a lot of tradition.  We have to be a bit circumspect about what we say and about appearances, even in this day and age.  That’s why I’m a little disappointed you’ve come in your goth clothing and piercings.  Really, some of our customers would be outraged.  The churches, I mean.”

“Sorry, Uncle.  No disrespect intended, Uncle.”

“Well, I’ll take your word for it.  All the same, it’s just as well no-one else is here.  Now, where was I?  Oh yes, the history of the place, before I start the tour proper.  I started here as an apprentice way back when.  The place had been running for several centuries by then.  Surprisingly for this type of business, it’s changed hands a lot of times.”

“It’s not a real foundry though, is it Uncle?”

“No it’s not!  Well spotted.  We don’t cast bells here anymore.  Before my time, they did.  Nowadays we use subcontractors for that heavy work.  We are more of a service operation now.  Bell hanging, repairing, maintenance, frames, designing.”

“Is it a viable business, then?”

“Yes, I think so, it’s a niche business but demand is good and profits are healthy, I think, although I don’t do the accounts.  Sis does them.”

“Of course.  So, what was it like being an apprentice?”

“Oh, Rick!  You youngsters don’t know how lucky you are!  It was bloody hard work, with little pay and harsh discipline.”

“Discipline?”

“Yes, discipline.  Not a word you’d understand, judging from your dress today, if I may say so,” he said shaking his head and staring at the skull logo on his goth nephew’s faded black T-shirt.  “The foreman was a beast.  He used to whip the bare behinds of us apprentices with a leather bell strap.  He’d go at it like the clappers.  They were harsh whippings where the sounds echoed around the bells like bitter-sweet music.”

“Gosh, Uncle!  Sounds a bit gothic!”

“Yes, I got thrashed for all sorts.  Not going to church, drinking, blasphemies, swearing, twiddling my thumbs.  There was a cane, too.  If anything, that hurt even more.  I’ve still got his strap and cane, if you’d like to see them?”

“Well, I did ask for the full tour, Uncle.”

“Very well, they’re in my office.  But first, let me show you the main workshop areas.”

As Rick toured the workshops, he was a little distracted.  He kept thinking about the harsh whippings his Uncle Godfrey had mentioned.  They sounded fearful, yet exciting.  Somehow the dusty bells and wooden frames seemed less interesting than the thoughts that were in his head.

Eventually, the two men headed to the office.  It looked quite forbidding, with a shiny black door with a cracked window.  Below the glass was a grubby brass plaque: Godfrey Horne, Foreman.  The office was quite a mess, with large dyeline blueprints, charts, photographs and tracings lying everywhere.  In the corner stood a yellowing cream HP computer, which Rick could tell was far from state of the art.

“Look up there!” said Uncle Godfrey, pointing at a small glass-fronted case mounted on the wall.  It bore a description: IN CASE OF EMERGENCY BREAK GLASS.  Inside the case was a standard school cane and the leather punishment strap!  Carefully, Uncle unhooked the case from the wall.  In fact it wasn’t necessary to break the glass at all.  The rear panel was hinged and Uncle soon liberated the punishment implements.  “Want a feel?” he asked his nephew.

Rick nodded and unbuckled his studded belt, unzipped his jeans and allowed them to fall to the ground.

“Rick, what on earth are you doing?  I was asking whether you wanted to handle these, not be whacked with them!”

“Oh!” said Rick, feeling incredibly stupid, “I thought it was part of my tour!  I was thinking maybe you’d give me one stroke with each?”

“You stupid lad!  I could never hurt you!  Although you do deserve it for your stupidity and  inappropriate dress today.”

“You’re right.  Well then Uncle, let’s go for it!  One stroke with each, like I said.”

“What?  What?  Definitely not.  Hmmmm.  Oh alright!  If you insist!”

Rick did insist.  He’d long had an interest in corporal punishment, torture and all things dark and goth.  This was something he had to try!  However, he was surprised when his uncle grabbed him by the ear and frog-marched him out to the adjacent workshop.  Most realistic!  Soon, Rick was bent submissively over one of the smaller bell frames, his pert bottom displayed in his black briefs.  But not for long!  Uncle Godfrey soon pulled the underpants down, revealing the 18-year-old’s buttocks in all their glory.  In contrast to Rick’s dark gothic image, the cheeks looked remarkably peachy, pale and hairless.  Was Uncle Godfrey going to enjoy this?

Removing his leather apron, Godfrey headed back to the office to collect the strap and cane.  As he handled them, he reflected on the years of misery they had brought him and his fellow apprentices.  The cane had been worse than the strap, although both were hellish.  There was no doubt that the old foreman, George Bassett, had been a sadist.  Beneath his god-fearing veneer, the man was just plain cruel.  Godfrey gazed at the cane and strap.  He felt he really couldn’t inflict such pain on his nephew.  The glass case to contain the implements had been a bit of a laugh shared with the current workforce, but Godfrey felt it was now a sick joke.  Just then, however, he gazed through the office window at his nephew waiting expectantly for a taste of strap and cane.  His bottom was a tempting target, and he did deserve a thrashing for wearing that tasteless T-shirt!

Godfrey approached his nephew, put the cane down and started slapping the strap gaily on his palm.  It tingled, but that was nothing compared to what it would do to Rick’s buttocks!

CRACK! The strap lashed down noisily.  Young Rick leapt to his feet, clutching his bottom, and declaiming, “God, that fucking hurt!”

Godfrey surveyed the scene with disdain.  Then he laughed at his nephew, “You know, when I was an apprentice, I’d have got an extra stroke for leaping up, an extra one for blasphemy and maybe a couple for that disgusting swear word!  I don’t think you could take another four after that cowardly display though, could you?”

“I could and I will!” answered Rick bending over the bell frame, “Do your worst!” he goaded.

Uncle Godfrey was always keen to rise to a challenge, and stepped up before lashing the leather down on Rick’s expectant arse.  A fresh red stripe appeared on the naked flesh, accompanied by a loud gasp from young Rick. A third stroke landed lower, causing a girlie squeal from the lad and unrestrained laughter from his uncle.  That strap had corrupted Godfrey with its contagious sadism.

“Ready?” Uncle Godfrey asked, but there was only a grunt for a reply.  This seemed to annoy him, so he put some extra force behind the next stroke which bit mercilessly into the teenager’s buttocks.  There would be bruising from this beating alright.

Uncle Godfrey sniffed at the leather strap.  It had matured over the years, just like he had.  It had a gorgeous dark tan hue, and now it was time to saturate his nephew with its pain one last time!

“ARRRRRRRGGH!” cried Rick as the stroke hit home.  Tears formed in his teenage eyes.

“You can get up for a minute, Rick.  But don’t forget, you’ve got the cane to come yet!”

“Oh, Uncle!” said Rick as he massaged his bottom, “I don’t think I can take any more.  Especially if the cane is worse.”

“Nonsense!” said Uncle Godfrey, “That’s a tough hide you’ve got there lad.  Remember, it’s only one stroke of the cane, no matter what.”

“Promise, Uncle?”

“Promise, Rick.  Now bend over and stick your bottom out nicely for me.  That’s it.  Now, let me examine your marks.”

Godfrey looked at the five livid red stripes.  They seemed to suit the buttocks, making them  look even more attractive.  Rick thrust his bottom out a little more for his uncle, as if he was teasing him.  Godfrey was tempted to touch the marks, but decided against.  Instead he laid the spiteful strap down on top of the nearest bell and picked up the cane.  In a flashback, he imagined it was thirty-something years ago and that it was his bottom on the receiving end.  He remembered the fire and the humiliation of a particularly severe beating at the hands of Mr. Bassett.  He was in two minds about Rick’s forthcoming stroke.  Should he show the lad how bad the cane could be, or should he show a little mercy?  In the event, it was a medium-strength  stroke.  However, Rick wasn’t to know that his uncle had been holding back a little.  The pain engulfed the teenager, who jumped up and did a merry dance, hopping around and rubbing his bottom.

Uncle Godfrey laughed heartily at the lad’s display of discomfort.  He flexed the cane and swished it through the air.  Rick flinched and stopped his frantic rubbing.

“Don’t worry, Rick.  That’s it.  No more cane.  It’s good that you had a taste of it though.  Now you know what I had to go through.  So, tell me, was the cane worse than the strap?”

“Oh yes, Uncle!  Much worse.  I didn’t like the cane at all!”

Uncle looked at his nephew with puzzlement.  It rather sounded as if he’d enjoyed the strap, but not the cane.  Just then, a thought occurred to the old man.

“You made so much noise and disturbance that we didn’t hear the bells singing and echoing the thrashing sounds.”

“Oh come on, Uncle.  Really!  Surely that must just be your imagination?”

“No, really.  I remember it distinctly.  So let’s try it!”

“No, no, Uncle.  My poor bottom.”

“Poor bottom, my arse!  I’ve hardly touched you.  We’re going to try it.  Keep perfectly quiet after the cane lands.  Listen intently.”

CRACK!  The cane swished down on the teenager once again.  Rick obeyed instructions and remained quiet despite the shocking pain of the cane.  And indeed, there did seem to be some sort of echo or reverberation of the noise of the cane’s strike.

“Did you hear that?” Uncle Godfrey quizzed impatiently.

“Maybe, a little something,” said Rick, “Try it again, please.”

CRACK!  Again the cane landed, but this time with a louder retort which echoed around the bells in the workshop.

“Hey, I really heard that!  Wicked!  Let’s try the strap, Uncle.”

And so it was that the strap landed and gave a perfect echo.  Rick hadn’t reckoned on what followed next though!  Three more rapid strokes of the strap crashed down on his teenage buttocks. The cumulative echo was much more noticeable, the bells almost singing in chorus.

“Well done!  You took those last few really well, Rick.  I think it’s time to call a halt though.  We don’t want to get carried away with our little game, do we?”

Rick smiled enigmatically at his uncle.  Rubbing furiously, a broad smile crossed the teenager’s face.  He had a question too, “Any chance of an apprenticeship, Uncle?”

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Story © MMXIII by Rod Cayenne

All rights reserved.

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Comments from the original 2013 post are here

 

…And The Gods Made Love (M/M) repeat

♥ Site recommended story ♥

A first repeat of this hot story by Rod Cayenne, from 2014. Strictly for over 18s only!

In the seaside convenience store, the two retired headmasters eyed each other warily.

“Bernie?”

“William?”

Gradually, broad grins emerged. The two hadn’t seen each other for many years, although Christmas cards had been exchanged regularly. They had met each other at a teaching conference in London, where they immediately hit it off and ended up bed-sharing. Of course, back in those dark and distant days, they had to be really discreet. They soon discovered that they had both retired to the same vibrant coastal town with its many attractions and gay-friendly atmosphere.

“Back to my place?”

“That would be nice!”

“Better get some of these then. I’m right out of them. Can’t be too careful these days,” said Bernie as he tossed a box of a dozen Durex into his basket.

William made no comment, but picked a tube of KY lubricant and followed his friend to the checkout. As they queued, he couldn’t resist slipping his hand under Bernie’s cord jacket. He pinched the pert bottom hard! Bernie gasped with surprise, before saying, “You’ll pay for that, William!”

“Oh, I do hope so, Bernie, I do hope so.” Already roles were being arranged for what would be their first encounter for many years!

The checkout guy was young, fresh-faced and extremely large. He joked with Bernie and then with William, laughing as he wished the gents “a fun evening!” After all, it was obvious what was on the cards for the two friends.

As they strolled along the esplanade, William raised a topic of mutual interest, “You’ve got a cane at home?”

“Several, actually. And you will be feeling them all!”

“Yes, I rather thought I might be.”

“Tell me, William, did you take my advice all those years ago?”

“Rather! After the conference, I thought long and hard about the benefits of corporal punishment, and then became an enthusiastic caner. I got quite a taste for it. Used to cane the buggers really hard. I loved it when they squealed! And of course, behaviour and academic achievement went through the roof!”

“Told you so!”

“Yes, you did. Teachers like us were like gods in those days. And then I hooked up with our Classics master. Somehow we discovered that we had a mutual fascination for cp. We used to cane each other a lot, especially when his wife was away. I didn’t think I’d like being on the receiving end, but I did. It’s jolly good fun, isn’t it?”

“Yes, indeed, almost a sport of kings.”

“Eh?”

“Never mind.”

“Well, anyway, I used to lie in his arms afterwards and say, ‘I never expected to be doing this.’”

“Mmmmm, nice!”

“I’m so glad to have found you again, Bernie. I need it badly.”

“Yes, you do. And don’t worry, I’ll be giving it to you alright. Hot and hard!”

“Right! It has to be hard to feel the benefits, doesn’t it?”

“Indeed it does, indeed it does. No pussyfooting.”

Bernie’s house was a whitewashed art deco treasure. It boasted superb coastal views and had an air of opulence. The sympathetic furnishings emphasised the expensive look. Bernie fiddled with the espresso coffee machine as William took in the view from the kitchen.

“A quick cuppa, then I shall be sorting out your naughty botty!” said Bernie, slipping into some childish banter, “Your very wicked, naughty botty!”

William blushed a deep red, and then Bernie landed a sharp smack on his friend’s buttocks. “Ooh, Sir!” William camped it up.

Bernie took the tray of coffee and biscuits into the living room and switched on the TV, saying, “I just need to check the cricket.”

“I do so miss the traditional cricket whites,” William observed, “So much sexier than those coloured outfits.”

Bernie sighed and nodded. It was becoming apparent that the two men had so much in common. A love for the good old days, leather and willow, rattan and flesh. He could see that they could end up living together. The thought rather startled him, and he wasn’t sure how comfortable he would be sharing his palatial place. Better make William’s beating extra hard, he decided. After all, the man would have to earn his keep!

“Right William!” Bernie suddenly announced in his most headmasterly tone, “Time for your thrashing! I’m just going upstairs to get some canes. When I come back, I expect to see you bent over this sofa. You can keep your trousers on. For now!”

Unfortunately for William, the trousers didn’t stay up for long, and neither did his skimpy briefs. The tariff was soon escalating, 6…12…18…24…30…36! William’s arse was a deep scarlet, or was it black and blue? Well, it was a bit of a mess, anyway. Bernie felt a bit ashamed of the beating he’d given his sweet friend, but both had clearly derived enjoyment from it, all the same. And then, up in the bedroom, among the Egyptian cotton sheets, the two gods made love.

A few months later, William let himself into his lover’s house. He was surprised to find Bernie had company.

“Who’s this then?”

“It’s my nephew, Steven. He’s come down on the train for the day. He’s a good lad, aren’t you, Steven?”

“Err…”

“Well, good on the whole, but like all boys he can be a bit naughty at times.”

“Really?” asked William.

“Yes, honestly. He likes to drop in unannounced. Although he’s 22, he can be a bit of a pest.”

“Really? He looks more like an angel than a pest. Tell me, Steven, have you been pestering you Uncle Bernie?”

But Bernie leapt in with a quick retort, “Yes, he keeps pestering me for a caning, would you believe? Says he wants to find out what it was like!”

“Really, Steven?”

“Err yes. It was just a silly notion. Just to find out. I was only interested because Uncle Bernie was a headmaster back in the days when the cane was allowed.”

“So was I!”

“Oh wow! Two headmasters. I can’t believe my luck!”

Bernie cleared his throat noisily, saying, “Steven, it’s not luck, I feel. Coincidence possibly. More likely that it’s destiny. Now, I’ve never entertained your wish before. But with Headmaster William here as well, I’m sorely tempted, if only to nip this nonsense in the bud! Now, how about if both of us give you six of the very best? Each.”

“Oh, Uncle! 12? That’s rather more than I had in mind.”

“Take it or leave it, my boy!”

“I’ll take it then, but not too hard, Uncle!”

“They will be hard. It’s the only way. You will survive, maybe it will stop you pestering me and you may even come out as a better young man because of it. Let me just check that William is willing to assist. Well, William?”

“Oh yes! I could use some practice! Getting a bit rusty, don’t you know?”

“In that case, William, please go and fetch me a couple of senior boy’s canes. I think you know where they are?”

If young Steven had been gifted with common sense, he might have wondered just how the visitor knew where Uncle Bernie’s canes were kept. But he didn’t. All he could think of was his pending thrashing. Something he had wished to experience for years, and which had been a masturbatory fantasy since his early teenage years. Now that his wish was about to come true, he was rather worried and started to bite gently on his lip.

William ran upstairs, only to return quickly with two crook-handled canes and a broad, cheesy grin. He surveyed the scene before him. During his short absence, Bernie had arranged for nephew Stephen to bend over the sofa, in just the same spot that the two friends had made favourite for William’s own canings! So there was the youthful angel or pest obediently bent, offering his denim-clad buttocks for chastisement.

“Right! Listen carefully, Steven. I expect total obedience during your beating. No jumping up, shouting or swearing. Is that clear?”

“Oh yes, Sir!” young Steven exclaimed.

“Well, it had better be! Any disobedience will result in extra strokes. And they will be extra hard. Still clear?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good. Now, it will be six strokes. To get the full school experience, it will be two strokes on your jeans, two more on your underwear, and a final two on your unclothed seat!”

“Wait a minute. Bare?”

“Yes, of course bare! Think yourself lucky I’m not giving you all six bare.”

“Alright, alright! I’m ready. Can we get on with it please?”

William detected some impatience and rudeness in young Steven’s tone. He wasn’t going to put up with that! Well, he would, but the lad’s reward would be a harder caning than William had first planned! Two swift, crisp and hard strokes landed on the blue denim, causing gasping from young Steven. His 22-year-old brain wasn’t used to processing such pain! He couldn’t believe how the pain seemed to be multiplying and overwhelming any feelings of embarrassment and excitement. He was starting to think he’d bitten off more than he could chew.

“Right, Steven! Drop your jeans down for me. There’s a good lad!” said William in his most patronising headmaster tones. Reluctantly Steven did as he was told, craftily giving his bottom a rub as he did so. “Steven, I saw that! No rubbing! That’s expressly forbidden!”

“Actually, Sir, you didn’t forbid it, expressly or otherwise,” said Steven cockily.

“That’s enough! Don’t push me, lad!” said William, waving the lithe cane menacingly, “Smart arses get extra, if they’re not careful.”

Steven thought about sparring further, but the pain in his ample bottom reminded him that this was a time for obedience, not for cheek.

Crack! The cane lashed down on the boy’s tight black briefs.

“Oh my God!” exclaimed Steven, surprised by how much more sting the cane gave now that it was on just the one thin layer of clothing.

“QUIET!” shouted William as he slashed down the fourth stroke with gusto.

“OWWW!”

“I shall not tell you again! Get those pants down!”

Slowly, Steven edged his briefs down to join the jeans crumpled around his feet. Both retired headmasters admired the view revealed to them. A peachy, fleshy pink bottom decorated with harsh red striping. It throbbed and ached as Steven adjusted his position, bending over the edge of the sofa, offering his naked buttocks to the two men. Salty tears were threatening to flow from his misty eyes. This wasn’t exciting, this was humiliating!

The fifth stroke cracked down, the cane bending and distorting the flesh beneath it. It was the hardest stroke yet, waves of heat and hurt overwhelming the cheeky youngster.

“Shit!” muttered Steven to himself. This was bad, and then it got worse as the sixth stroke lashed his buttocks! His arse was red-hot, incandescent with heat and as sore as hell.

William sighed heavily. He walked around the other side of the sofa and looked the boy in the eye. “Not too badly taken, for a beginner,” he said, “Let’s see if your uncle can cure your pestering, shall we?”

“Oh don’t worry about that, Sir! I won’t be pestering him for a caning ever again! Uncle, are you there?”

“Yes, I’m here. Been watching you take your first beating.” In fact, Bernie had been watching with growing pleasure.

“I’m sorry for nagging you, Uncle. You can let me off, if you like!”

“Nice try, Steven. But you’ve been asking for this for months. Literally asking for it. No, no. I won’t be letting you off at all. In fact, I want to ensure that you never ask me for a caning again. And it seems to me that the best way to ensure that is for me to beat you hard. Harder than William already has.”

“Oh, Uncle!”

“All six strokes from me will be on your bared bottom!”

“Oh!”

“Yes, indeed. No sense in covering it up again. Same rules, no shouting, swearing, moving out of position or rubbing! Understood?”

“Yes, Uncle.”

“Call me Sir! If it was good enough for William, then it’s good enough for me!”

“Yes, Uncle Bernie.”

“Are you trying to provoke me, boy?”

“Sorry Sir!”

“That’s better. Now, brace yourself! Here it comes.”

And come it did. It lashed down with staggering force. The pain came too. Wave after wave of it. Bernie smiled to himself. He was a better caner than William, he was sure. It wasn’t a competition, but he was determined to make a more severe impression than his lover had. Steven was startled by the viciousness of that first stroke. He gasped and choked. It was all too much, too much by far!

A second harsh stroke from the slightly sadistic uncle followed. The red stripe throbbed and pain shot all around from it.

“Fuck, fuck, FUCK!” squealed Steven, leaping to his feet, rubbing his bottom frantically.

“GET BACK DOWN, STEVEN!” shouted Uncle Bernie. William laughed loudly at the perhaps predictable turn of events. Bernie was worried that his nephew was going to start playing up. So he quickly lashed the remaining four strokes down, rapid fire style.

“ARRRGH!” cried Steven.

“Well now, Steven. I think you are due some extras. One for swearing, one for getting up, one for rubbing, one…” It was now Bernie’s turn to laugh. “Well, OK, maybe not. I think you’ve had enough for one day, haven’t you? Well, what have you got to say for yourself?”

“Err. Two things, really. First, thank you, uncle. Second, I don’t think you’ll be seeing me again for quite a while!”

“Aha. Suit yourself. You know I’m very fond of you. Come back when you’re good and ready. And I’ll be dismayed if you ever pester me for another caning.”

“Oh don’t worry about that, uncle. I’m cured!”

“And please don’t tell your parents about any of this.”

“Oh, no chance of that,” said Steven, zipping up his jeans smartly, “No chance at all. I’d be far too embarrassed for one thing.”

“Good. You’re a good lad. With a tough arse. Wouldn’t you agree, William?”

“Yes, you did well, Steven. Here, give me a hug!”

It ended as a group hug. And then after Steven had gone, the two men had their own cuddle on the sofa. They masturbated each other as they listened to a secretly recorded tape of Steven’s thrashing. How they laughed as the lad squealed on the tape. They wanked faster and faster. “I never thought I’d be doing this,” said William wistfully.

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D I S C L A I M E R

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

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Story © MMXIV by Rod Cayenne

All rights reserved

Photograph © Jonathan, R.I.P.

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