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Posted by Rod Cayenne on January 6, 2023
Posted in: caning, M/M, spanking. Tagged: cane, caning, consensual, discipline, Friends, gay, M/M, masturbation, orgasm, punishment, spanking. 3 Comments
A repeat of this short story of corporal punishment fun by your host, Rod Cayenne. This story is currently exclusive to The Canery. All the characters are aged 18 or over. Strictly adults only!
All Day Breakfast by Rod Cayenne
The Coronet Café and Milk Bar was opposite the faded Grand Theatre where Derek often performed, sometimes as a lead and at other times as an understudy. It was also directly below the tiny flat he rented from the cafe's proprietor, one June Prior. A scratchy and warped Merseybeat 45 played on the jukebox.
"You boys! I can guess just what you've been up to. Why Derek, your guest can hardly sit still." June wagged her finger at the young lovers, only semi-seriously. Fag ash from her roll-up narrowly avoided landing in the sink where she was scrubbing away the last remnants of a recalcitrant omelette. "Did you not get enough of the cane at school? Tut, tut what would your old headmasters say, if they only knew? You know, there should be a law against it. Yes, indeed my naughty boys! Anyways, there is a law against the other stuff I'm sure you get up to! Dirty, dirty boys!" Another clump of ash fell from the ciggy. "How did youse two meet anyway?"
"Actually we first met each other in the theatre toilets," Russell sniggered, "It's where all the big boys hang out."
"Ach! How I wish I hadn't asked," said June as she turned her attention to a prime cabbage she was preparing for the Sunday roasts, "The age of romance is certainly dead."
Russell burped loudly and Derek laughed.
"See! Dead! Disgusting! I ought to throw you both out, but you know you are my only two customers at the moment!"
"Two All-Day Breakfasts, please June," said Derek as he looked up from his stone cold sugary cappuccino.
Suddenly, June's mood improved. After all, cash was king at the Coronet! "With bread and butter?" she pushed her luck. The two lovers nodded eagerly, "Soft eggs?"
"Aha," said Rusell.
"Softie for me too please, love," said Derek in his campest tone as he drummed his fingers on the red and white chequers of the Formica table top.
June stared at the ceiling. "OK, just let me finish this," she said as she started daydreaming while slicing the cabbage. She was enjoying a flashback to that fateful day, only a few months back when she had stumbled across Derek and a different male lover in the flat. It was rent collection day, so she'd let herself in, only to find herself confronted by a most unusual spectacle in the dingy living room. Two naked youths, both sporting huge erections, one about to bend over the settee, and the other with a whippy crook-handled cane in his right hand. Yes, it had been quite a shock. She had mentioned it and the tin of Vaseline she'd seen to the vicar, but he'd reasssured that sort of thing was quite normal and could soon be legal. "After all, we are in the Swinging Sixties!" he had laughed. Those erections haunted her nights and her daydreams, for she was still a virgin most pure. Her tireless pursuit of money had left her life quite barren.
"I could spare some of this cabbage if you want some with your breakfasts," June offered.
"Err, no thanks, that is something I really did have enough of at school, thanks June," Derek replied.
"Me too, me too," added Russell.
Later that afternoon Derek and Russ were lying naked in each others arms. The old bed creaked as they kissed passionately.
"That June's quite a character, isn't she? Although that breakfast was pretty awful. It keeps repeating on me. It keeps repeating on me," said Russell.
"Oh do shut up! I get the joke. Think yourself lucky that you escaped the cabbage. But I am quite fond of June. She's such a sweetie. I ought to fuck her sometime," Derek mused.
"Nah, fuck me instead," Russ suggested.
"Nah indeed, I don't think so! You're due a caning, my boy."
"I am?"
"Yes, you are. After all, we've got to live up to the reputation June's given us."
"That bloody woman! What an old slapper!"
"The only slapping that will be going on is my hand on your arse. Then maybe a dozen strokes with my finest rattan for you. For being rude about June. She's actually quite chaste."
"And that's a word I don't like hearing in my home. Some extras for that I think. Fetch the cane, my boy."
Russell dived under the bed. For it was there that Derek kept two swishy canes. A junior one which stung like the devil, and a senior one which raised wheals like nobody's business.
It was clear from Derek's instruction that he meant to use the senior one, "Now bring the stool in from the parlour."
Russell groaned. A caning over the old wooden chemistry lab stool was something that would really hurt. Clearly Derek meant business today. Russell, completely naked, draped himself over the stool.
"Bottom right up, that's it," Derek instructed before landing a meaty slap on the right buttock. He followed through, alternating firm smacks between the two pert and inviting cheeks. So many generous and livid red handprints soon decorated Russell's rear. Derek wasn't in the mood for wasting time though, and promptly landed the first cane stroke right across the middle of Russell's arse.
The second stroke was the killer though. Derek had lashed it down right on exactly the same spot as the first one. "Aargh!" cried Russell.
Derek laughed and remonstrated with him that it was a bit early in the thrashing to be crying out, "But then, you are a real Softie, aren't you? Mister Softee!" His cruel words added to Russell's humiliation. Then the cane thrashed down again, and again. The beating was harsh, remorseless and hardly playful. After twelve strokes, Russell was close to tears. Close, but not quite there.
"Stay where you are!" commanded Derek, "You're due extras for swearing. Two for 'bloody' and two more for that 'S Word' that I cannot abide! Let me swap canes. I think the bite of the junior is just what you need now."
Derek scrambled under the bed, to retrieve the second, thinner cane. If only Russell could have seen, for Derek was now presenting a most undignified spectacle. His own naked bottom, arsehole and rampant cock were on display as he groped around under the bed to find the second cane. He should have got Russell to do this, he thought to himself. "Got you!" he cried eventually, crawling back up with the lithe cane firmly in his grip.
Crack! The junior cane lashed into Russell's rump, relighting the pain from the previous dozen strokes. The lad whimpered gently as a second stinging stroke followed. At times like this, Derek could be a real bastard.
"There, that's for the first swear word. These next two will be harder; you know how I feel about that second word!" said Derek. Little did Russell know where this prudishness had come from, after all Derek had just used the F Word. In truth, that prude streak was from Derek's own painful upbringing as the son of a beastly clergyman.
So it was that the final two strokes were hard, stinging and masterful. Derek threw the cane down and jumped on the bed. Soon, Russell joined him. Derek flipped him over to inspect the damage. Indeed, the sixteen strokes had made quite a mess of Russ's rear. It was criss-crossed with angry red lines, and as Derek massaged gently, Russell could not help but wince as the pain was revived to some extent. Derek's cock was erect and primed.
"Make love to me," pleaded Russell.
"No, not now. Later perhaps," said Derek enigmatically. To be honest, Russell's caned arse was such a sight, that his lover was a bit turned off momentarily. Derek pulled on his blue jeans and a paisley shirt. "I'm just popping down to see June. Catch you later, naughty boy." He slapped Russell's arse as he departed.
Russell rolled on to his side to gently soothe the damage Derek had wrought. After a few minutes, the pain gradually subsided, to be replaced by a warm and calming glow of contentment. Soon, his penis had sprung to life. It was rock hard, and throbbing with life, like an independent spirit. Of course, Russell had to attend to it. Frantically, he pumped and pumped until he achieved a gratifying release.
Downstairs in the café, Derek was whispering in June's ear. "Sixteen hard strokes I gave him. Made quite a mess of his arse, I can tell you. That'll teach him to swear in my fuckin' flat!"
"My flat," June corrected him, wagging her finger. Little did Derek know that June had recently taken a trip uptown, like you do, and bought her own whippy cane. She had definite plans to use it on her tenant. After all, she shouldn't have to put up with swearing from him, now should she?
(__________
Story © MMXX by Rod Cayenne
Authors appreciate feedback, so your comments are most welcome. Comments are here.
Comments from the original 2020 posting are here.
Posted by Rod Cayenne on December 26, 2022
Posted in: cane, caning, F/M, spank, spanking. Tagged: Barry Spockings, cane, caning, discipline, erection, F/M, femdom, headmistress, punishment, school, schoolboy, spank, spanking. 3 Comments
A hot new femdom caning story by very special guest author Barry Spockings. This story is exclusive to The Canery! All the characters are 18 or over. WARNING: ADULTS ONLY!
DELAYED RETRIBUTION by Barry Spockings
Some 5 years after leaving Grammar school I was surprised to receive a letter from my old Headmistress, Miss Gray, inviting me to a school reunion. It surprised me as I had had nothing to do with the Grammar school since leaving it and also that she knew of my new address. However my main concern was that I had left the school under a bit of a cloud and was worried that she might remember it. It was the last week of term and exams were over and as we were all looking forward to the summer holidays and perhaps thereafter studying at University, our spirits were high and as we were not being supervised some of the sixth formers' behavior was a bit over the top. Roy Suckling, whose foolhardiness had frequently got him into trouble resulting in his reputation of being the most caned boy by the Headmistress in the school, was unfortunately seated in the next row to me and as I was about to sit down he pulled my chair away causing me to fall to the floor, painfully banging my head and making the whole class laugh. Naturally I tried to pull my chair away from him but in so doing he also fell to the floor resulting in breaking both his chair and mine!
This was a serious situation and would be interpreted as vandalism carrying serious painful consequences for the perpetrators. Suckling and I quickly exchanged our chairs for two spare ones at the back of the classroom hoping no one would notice the damage. However our hopes were dashed at the end of the final assembly on Friday when Headmistress Gray announced that the previous day there had been a serious case of vandalism in the sixth form room discovered that evening by the caretaker. ''The person or persons responsible are expected to report to my study immediately after this assembly and can expect some painful consequences for their reprehensible behaviour!''
I immediately said to Suckling that we should own up as everyone in our class knew that we were both responsible. He disagreed as he said it had been his fault and that I should not be involved. ''I have been caned by the Headmistress many times before so it will be no big deal.'' I was so relieved to hear this as I had never been caned before and was terrified at the prospect. So we left it at that and he left me feeling more than a little pusillanimous and, strangely, perhaps because I had never been caned before I had a paradoxical attitude towards being caned – it would be painful but there was a strangely appealing aspect about being punished by a woman. I did not see Suckling again after he visited her study but learnt later from one of his friends that he had been sent home after receiving twelve strokes of the cane on his bare bottom! I felt awful as I considered myself as much to blame as he was and should have shared his punishment. But Friday was my last day at school and I left it unpunished.
Now five years later, after university and starting a career as a science teacher, I was returning to the Grammar school for a reunion. I parked my car near the entrance and entered the school through the main entrance to find it strangely deserted. Perhaps I had got the wrong date for the reunion – then I heard footsteps behind me and turned round to find Headmistress Gray approaching me.
"Ah, Barry Spockings! I am so pleased you could make it. Please follow me to my study. "
Meekly I followed her, a still very attractive woman now in her late forties. I noticed she had maintained her slim, trim figure and was dressed in a daringly short tight skirt with black stockings and black high heels. I found it strange that she had not married, as I always considered her to be very attractive. She entered her study and I followed in as she sat behind her desk. Addressing me she began by saying that she had to apologise for misleading me.
"I am sorry but I have brought you here under false pretenses – there is no school reunion today. I am afraid instead I have brought you here for some unfinished business or as I call it delayed retribution!"
My heart skipped a beat – and I suddenly suspected that I possibly faced the prospect of a beating!
"You may recollect that on your last day at this school I had to give Roy Suckling a severe caning for an act of vandalism. Do you remember?"
"Yes Miss Gray."
"Well at the time I suspected that he was not the sole perpetrator despite his denials. However a few weeks ago by chance I met Janet Priday, a classmate of yours and Roy Sucklings, at a local coffee bar and we reminisced about her time at the school. By chance I asked her what she remembered about her last day at school and, not surprisingly, she remembered that Roy Suckling was caned for vandalism which she had witnessed in class. Naturally I asked if he was the only one responsible and she said no another boy was involved and on asking his name can you guess what she said?"
I knew this was coming and realized that I could not deny that it was me so I said "Barry Spockings?"
Headmistress Gray smiled at me saying "Absolutely correct! And she told me where you now lived and that you too had become a schoolteacher. So how do you propose I should deal with this matter?"
I was gobsmacked! I had dated Janet for a while whilst at university but we broke it off unceremoniously so I was surprised that she had kept tabs on me but not so surprised that she had revealed my participation in the vandalism. I did not know what to say to Headmistress Gray and said so.
"Well I consider that there is unfinished business that needs completing. Also I consider that there is interest to pay – your failure to own up was both cowardly and unfair to Roy Suckling, allowing him to take all the blame! In effect you took a loan on his willingness to shoulder all the blame. Well today is payback day and when you take a loan over time there is interest to pay – if you had owned up you would have received the same punishment as Roy Suckling – twelve of the best on your bare bottom! But that was five years ago and twelve strokes at ten percent compound interest over five years earns an extra ten strokes. So I propose to give you a total of twenty two strokes with the senior boys cane on your bare bottom! What do you think?"
I was shocked! But the paradoxical attitude I had towards being caned resurfaced – yes it would be painful but there was the strangely appealing aspect about being punished by a woman, especially a woman as attractive as Miss Gray!
She added "I have checked the school punishment book for the time you attended this school and discovered that you were never caned during your time here. A rare occurrence indeed! But today I intend to rectify this omission despite your age and no longer being a pupil here. What do you have to say for yourself?"
I was at a loss for words – here was I, an adult male facing the prospect of a bare bottom caning from my very attractive ex-Headmistress. Reluctantly I decided to say yes and so I stuttered out the words – "Well if you really think I deserve it and you really want to do it how can I refuse?"
"Good boy! But I warn you it will be really painful as I intend to give you the very hard thrashing I think you deserve. Are you certain that you are willing and also believe that you can take it?"
"So be it then – but you must do exactly what I say. I have caned many naughty boys' bare bottoms but up till today they have all been juniors or sixth formers – you will be the first adult male to receive a bare bottom beating from me and I think I am going to enjoy giving your bare bottom the hiding it deserves. I have always found that caning the older boys bare bottoms an exhilarating experience!"
At this she rose from her chair and walked to a slim wall cupboard from which she withdrew a long crook handled school cane, which I presume she applied to senior boys' naughty bare bottoms.
"The procedure is as follows – I am going to remove your trousers and underpants, you will then bend over my desk and hold on to the far side. You will open your legs and stick your bottom well out and when I am satisfied with your position I will commence caning you. You will stay in position until after the twenty second stroke and I tell you to stand up. If you try to get up or try to resist or attempt to protect your bottom with your hands I will start your punishment over again. You can, of course, cry out as that is to be expected. Is that all understood?"
"Yes Miss." What more could I say as I had agreed to the caning. However I had developed another problem. The thought of being undressed by this very attractive Headmistress I found arousing and I was embarrassed to feel my penis stiffening. It continued to grow and felt fully erect as she approached me, took my jacket and undid my belt before pulling my zip down and then my trousers which she took off over my shoes. I was wearing only skimpy briefs and my fully erect penis was prominently "tenting" them to the obvious amusement of the Headmistress.
"I see that part of you at least is looking forward to your punishment – but I very much doubt whether your nether regions will enjoy it! Now let's get these off so I can get down to business!"
She then gently pulled my briefs down, carefully easing them over my erect and now weeping penis.
"My goodness you are a big boy!" She exclaimed "Perhaps later I will see if we can avoid that going to waste." At which point she gently gripped my penis and led me to her desk before pushing me and it against the woodwork before bending me over it. I did as she said and clutched the far side, opened my legs and stuck my bottom out, releasing my erection which continued to dribble.
"Well done Barry, you are in the perfect position to take a good caning!"
Tantalisingly I heard her swish the cane several times in the air before resting it across the centre of my buttocks. I felt her tap it six times before I heard the swish and on impact it initially felt harmless but microseconds later it became an incredibly painful collision with both buttocks as she thrashed the cane down on my unprotected bottom. I could not help but cry out in pain. Somehow I managed to remain in place but wondered how on earth I could take another twenty one such strokes. About ten seconds later I heard that terrible swish and felt the dreadful agonizing impact of the second stroke. Again I cried out. The next eight cuts were equally unbearable, with me yelling out in distress after each stroke. Amazingly despite the throbbing in my buttocks my penis was still erect and also throbbing!
Unexpectedly she interrupted my punishment saying "I think we both deserve a break and as this activity is tiring I need a glass of water. So just stay in position while I get one."
I heard her leave the study and lock the door. Despite being told to stay in position I could not resist standing up both to feel my bottom and attend to my penis. Even just touching my bottom was agonizing and I could feel the weals she had embedded into my buttocks. Strangely, despite the pain, my penis remained rigid, leaving me to wonder what she had meant when she said "Perhaps later I will see if we can avoid that going to waste." Such thoughts, however, came to an abrupt halt as I heard her key in the door and I hastily resumed my prone position over her desk.
"Good boy – you have not moved! I feel refreshed and so we can resume where we left off! But first I want to check that part of you that seemed to be looking forward to your punishment…." I felt her cool hand move between my legs and towards my groin, brushing against my testicles before grasping my penis! "My goodness it is both erect and very hard so, despite crying out in torment on receiving each stroke, the caning has aroused you as much as it has aroused me! Let us hope it maintains this condition right until the end or your punishment! So stick your bottom out I am about to continue!"
As before I felt the cane rest across my buttocks and felt it tap six times before I heard the inevitable swish and resounding crack as it whipped into my poor bare beaten bottom! Naturally I yelled out and continued to do so after each of the next nine strokes. "Now that's twenty strokes completed and, even if I say so myself, that is a jolly good job well done – your bottom has twenty parallel lines stretching from the base of your spine to the top of your legs! Two to come and they will each be a diagonal in opposite directions – very painful but it will be a work of art to admire when I have done! So brace yourself as these two will really hurt!"
And my god did they! Each stroke cut across twenty earlier ones causing the most appalling agony and I screamed out loud after each of the two strokes.
"Now Barry stay in position while I inspect the damage."
Gently she felt each of my buttocks, trailing her fingers along each cane track, her cool hands gradually easing the pain as she softly massaged my bottom. I was in heaven and my arousal was now crying out for some attention! She seemed to sense this and once again pushed her hand between my legs before gently squeezing my scrotum and clutching my pulsating penis.
"Well although your caning was undoubtedly painful you obviously found it pleasurable as indicated by the state of arousal of this big boy! You probably have guessed that caning older boys bare bottoms I also find incredibly arousing so shall we indulge each other a little?"
My goodness this was totally unexpected but how could I say no given the state of my throbbing penis and her undoubted sexual appeal? So I readily agreed and she made me stand up and fully kissed me on the lips.
"Well my very naughty boy I like being taken by well-endowed men like you from behind in doggy style. Do you think you could oblige if I undress and bend over the desk?"
Could I? This was the subject of so many of my unfulfilled dreams! So I readily agreed and watched her slowly disrobe. She slipped her black figure hugging skirt to the ground revealing black stockings, matching suspender belt and red silk panties. On slipping off her white silk blouse I saw she was wearing a red bra matching her panties. All in all a very sexy outfit and not one I would be expecting a mature Headmistress to wear! But more was to come as she removed her bra revealing two well formed and ample breasts and then seductively slipped out of her panties.
"Now are you ready? "She said bending over her desk with legs wide open and her already wet pussy just waiting to be plundered!
I was more than ready and positioned myself behind her with my erect and dripping penis ready to pound her pussy and provide the sexual relief we both needed. And so I slowly entered her and she pushed backwards inviting more vigorous penetration. I obliged and she screamed out in ecstasy as I pounded in and out until we both climaxed simultaneously.
"Barry that was amazing! Can you remember any other naughty exploits you got up to at school and got away with?"
"Why?" I asked.
"I thought you might like a repeat performance!"
Story and photographs ©MMXXII by Barry Spockings, used here by very kind permission.
Authors and the site management appreciate your feedback. Please leave a comment on this excellent story. Comments on this story are here.
Barry Spockings' excellent earlier stories for The Canery are available here. Further stories by Barry Spockings are at this external link.
Posted in: cane, caning, M/M, spank, spanking. Tagged: cane, caning, cop, discipline, gun, M/M, police, punishment, spank, spanking, strap, strapping. 5 Comments
Hot caning fiction by your host, Rod Cayenne, originally from 2019. All the characters are aged 18 or over. Strictly adults only!
Packing Heat by Rod Cayenne
It was Autumn, 1967. Hippies with flowers in their hair were everywhere, except in the once-noble village of Nether Bumming. Down at the half-timbered Fox And Hounds, Jim Rodgers played with his fresh pint. He tried to blow the froth off the top off the bitter ale. It wasn't shifting, so he sliced it off with a sticky, dog-eared and discoloured cardboard beer mat. That was not something he'd have done had he not been well on the way to inibreation. Anyway, clearly he was distracted; miles away.
"Just what's up, Jim?" asked his young friend PC Steve Churlington.
"Nothing's up. Really, nothing. Nothing at all."
"Don't give me that! You're brooding about something or other. It's that lad of yours I'll warrant, what's his name again?"
"Oh, you mean Peter?"
"Yes, Peter. Tell me now, what's he been up to? I thought you and I had no secrets." The cop winked at his close friend.
Jim gazed at his pint, tracing a pattern in the condensation on the outside of the glass with his grubby finger. He sighed and smiled and looked his friend straight in the eye, before revealing, "Well, you're right. Of course. He's been a real handful since his mother ran off with that low-life estate agent. I may have mentioned it before. He and I seem to be jostling to be head of the household all the time. Which is ridiculous, as it's my place, after all. Now the little sod's bought an air rifle, a gun. Can you believe it?"
"Oh I see. What's the problem, then? He's old enough to own one, he's seventeen isn't he?"
"Eighteen and a half, actually. It's just, it's just…"
"What exactly, Jim?"
"Well, it's just that I asked him not to buy one. I begged him not to buy one. I told him not to buy one. I forbade him from buying one."
"You didn't want him to buy one then?" laughed his friend the cop, supping ale with a twinkle in his eye. The froth from the beer decorated the cop's moustache briefly before his beefy hand wiped it away.
"Shit, Steve. No, I didn't want one in the house but the little sod is earning now and has got a mind of his own."
"I suppose that's the danger at his age. But he's not 21, so you are still in charge. He's testing you, as you hinted."
"Oh maybe, maybe not. Yes, definitely maybe."
"A very tricky situation then. And let me guess, his father's reluctant to leather him?"
"Yes, rather. Although, I suppose it's just what he needs and deserves."
"Hmmm. I agree. Totally. You know, I see this all the time. The young generation disrespecting their parents, their teachers even. Thank God the schools have the cane. It would be chaos without, especially with all this hippy, Summer Of Love nonsense at the moment."
"Shove the Summer Of Love!" said Jim, and then "Cheers!" as the two men crashed their glasses together, laughing and supping their ales. Jim belched loudly and "A Whiter Shade Of Pale" played on the distant jukebox.
Later, as the evening wore on, PC Steve leant over towards Jim, and put his hand on his friend's knee, saying conspiratorially, "You know I could deal with Peter. As an officer of the law, I'm sure I could find a way of giving the boy a really sore arse."
"Oh, would you?" implored Jim, "Could you?"
"Leave it to me!" said PC Steve conspiratorially. "But I do need some background. He's had the cane before? And a good slippering?"
"Yes, quite a lot, when he was younger. It was noted on his reports. By the Headmaster. He was a bad lad then, alright."
"You didn't follow it up ever, then?"
"Oh no, no. Isobel wouldn't wear it."
"Hmmm, seems to me that she wore the trousers in that relationship!"
"Mmmm. That's tired old territory though, Steve. And I was happy to leave it to the Head, who could be an unforgiving bastard at times, to be perfectly frank."
"Well, Peter's obviously a lad who needs a firm masculine hand. The smack of discipline! The bite of the cane! Don't you think?"
"You won't be too hard on him, will you?"
"I said to leave it to me, but I certainly won't go off half-cock! Let's just say I have some experience with this sort of thing. He's in safe hands. Or safe-ish hands!"
And so it was that PC Churlington put his plan into action. With inside information from the concerned father, he'd staked out the likely venue for young Peter to be practicing mayhem with his air rifle. He soon spied the lad and his mate, Rowan Knight, shooting at cans and the bark of trees on the edge of the medieval forest. There was just the one gun, which Peter was allowing his friend to use now and then. After a short but purposeful toot on his whistle, PC Steve bellowed, "Oi! You two! What the hell do you think you're doing?"
"Crikey! It's the cops!" cried Rowan with amazing powers of perception, before he scarpered away, his fat teenage thighs working harder than they ever had before. Peter was left holding the baby, or rather the gun. Suddenly the rifle seemed very heavy in his sweaty grip as he stared into the penetrating blue eyes of the constable.
"It's all legal, Officer!" exclaimed Peter.
The policeman grabbed the lad firmly by his ear, "Oh no it's not! Not in a public place like this, and this PC says a licence is needed under new legislation. Have you got a licence? My diligent research suggests that you have not."
"The new 1967 legislation requires a licence! Use of firearms especially in forested areas is strictly controlled, you know."
"What new legislation? They didn't mention that at the shop when I bought the gun. With respect, I reckon you're pulling my leg, Officer!"
"Oh no I'm not, sonny! And that's enough of your lip! Now, we can deal with this down at the station, with all the paperwork and publicity in the local papers. The Echo loves to print this sort of stuff. Right next to all the reports about the dirty importuners. Would you like all of that?"
"Errr, no. No. I wouldn't."
"No, I bet you wouldn't! Neither would your parents, I'd imagine. Well in that case, I could deal with this at my place. Off the record. Unofficially."
"Eh? What do you mean, deal with it?"
"I mean some corporal punishment for you my lad. A sore arse. A good hiding. I'm sure you've had one before?"
"Yeah, but those days are gone. Gone when I left that bloody tyrannical school. Long gone. Thank God!"
"Well it's up to you. If that's your decision, I'll just get the handcuffs from the patrol car. I should warn you that you'll be sharing a cell. We've just arrested a particularly nasty bunch of Rockers and some Mods."
"Oh. No, wait. Wait, please Officer! Surely there's another way?"
"I've already told you. It's back to mine, or take your chances down the station."
"But that's no choice at all!"
"Of course it's a choice! Now which is it to be? Hurry up, I don't have all day."
"OK, your place then."
"You mean, thank you, Officer, I'll come with you."
"Thank you Officer, I'll come with you." Adopting a submissive tone seemed somehow appropriate.
"That's better," said the constable as he pointed to the car. He opened the boot, and Peter stashed the air rifle carefully away, as instructed. The car soon left the forest way behind, with Peter sat in the back. The constable eyed his uneasy companion in the rear-view mirror and chuckled quietly. His devious plan was working and his naive prey had been well and truly captured.
The car skidded to a halt outside the ramshackle building that the policeman shared with his bachelor landlord. The two men stepped out, with Peter retrieving his air rifle. "Upstairs!" ordered the cop.
In his bedroom, as Peter watched, PC Steve laid out two crook-handled rattan canes, a favourite leather strap, some soothing cream balm, and he prised the lid off a small tin of Vaseline, just so he'd be ready instantly for any golden opportunity that presented itself. Peter blushed at the disturbing array as it was gradually unveiled before his disbelieving eyes.
"Just how old are you?"
"Errr, I was eighteen in March."
"In that case, we'll start with eighteen strokes of the strap! One for each year of your age. Seems more than fair to me. So there will be six on your slacks, six on your underpants, and six on the bare. Now, bend over the end of the divan for me." The burnt umber leather strap soon started to crack down purposefully, and punishingly. Whack after whack inflamed, irritated and distressed the cheeks of the cheeky teenager. The pain intesified of course as the layers of clothing were shed. After the beating, Peter was grateful when he was allowed to stand and rub his sore buttocks, but it was only a temporary respite.
Next it was time to reinforce the lesson with the bite of the rattan. The cop flexed the cane menacingly only a few inches from the teenager's nose. He scythed it through the air a few times. The sound took Peter back to the helplessness he'd felt during his school punishments. "Lie down flat on the bed. I think at least eighteen strokes with my beautiful canes. You're lucky to receive this care and attention. Make sure you count out loud after each stroke."
"Yes Officer, thank you Officer."
Peter braced himself for the onslaught. Nothing could have prepared him for the pain of the first stroke which was delivered with considerable heft by the fit young policeman. It was worse, far worse, than any caning at school. After the leathering, this was real agony. The second stroke followed after a lengthy pause. It was a gentler stroke, but still with a bite. PC Steve alternated heavy and milder strokes, but he suddenly stopped after the eighth. "You forgot to count. We'll have to start back at one, I'm afraid. Now, pay attention and do as you're told."
Peter groaned at his own stupidity in forgetting to count. How foolish he had been! Indeed, he'd had a most stupid day all round. He felt the tell-tale tap of the cane, before it was raised high in the air for the first of the repeat strokes. As it crashed down, Peter was properly prepared this time, "One!" he cried.
"No, no, no!" said the cop, "That won't do at all. I expect respect from you and 'One, Sir' or 'One Officer' or 'One, Constable'. Is that clear?"
"Yes, Sir! Sorry, Sir!"
So the caning and the counting resumed. This time the only pause was when the cop decide to swap from his "Bruiser" cane to "The Stinger" in the hope of getting more vocal reactions from his victim. With each solid whack the lad's arse bobbed up and down just like a fairground horse ride. Yes, he was bobbing and lifting to meet the cane just in time for each painful disciplinary stroke. Maybe it was involuntary, or just some kind of a natural submissive reaction to the rhythm of the punishment.
He gasped and groaned, and writhed and turned. The switch to "The Stinger" had worked! Peter became more frenzied and then suddenly at around twenty strokes the gasps became pleas for more! That cruel cane had rekindled something within him. Clearly the lad was experienced, and was well on his way to developing a taste for the discipline. PC Steve had found himself a masochist! The two were well-matched.
"Hmm. Looks like you enjoyed that. Just look at the state of your penis!" A silvery string of pre-cum was dripping from the rock-hard teenage erection. "Make sure you sell the gun, now."
"Oh I will, I will. Whatever you ask, Officer."
"You can call me Steve."
Suddenly they kissed passionately. Peter had never kissed a man before, moustached or not! He loved it, and what followed. He became a frequent visitor to PC Steve's lonely garret. The lad received the cane regularly and they indulged in many other activities which may or may not have been legal at the time, and about which even the editor of the Echo would have been too embarrassed to publish.
All characters appearing in this story are over 18 and are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons or businesses, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
(_____________
Story © MMXIX by Rod Cayenne. All rights reserved.
Comments welcome. Comments are here. Comments from the original 2019 post are here.
Posted by Rod Cayenne on September 11, 2022
Posted in: cane, caning, M/M, spank, spanking. Tagged: cane, caning, confession, discipline, father, M/M, nephew, priest, punishment, spanking, uncle, vicar. 3 Comments
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!"
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.
Story © MMXXII by Rod Cayenne. All rights reserved.
Comments welcome – authors love your feedback, so please leave some. Comments are here.
Posted by Rod Cayenne on July 4, 2022
Posted in: comment. Tagged: cane, caning, comment, paddle, spanking. 1 Comment
Ah, the good old USA! Yes, the Americans got their independence from dear old Blighty, but then they got the paddle instead of the cane! Very few of them will know the stinging pain and the sexual thrill that only the cane can give. If only they knew what they were missing…
Bottoms up! Let's see some stars and stripes!
Posted by Rod Cayenne around about the 4th July. This is a revised version of an earlier post.
Underpants by Primark, canes from under the bed.
Comments welcome – comments are here.
Posted in: M/M, spanking. Tagged: boss, discipline, M/M, oral, punishment, spanking. 2 Comments
Vintage spanking filth from your host, Rod Cayenne, repeated from the happy days of 2016. All the characters are aged 18 or over. Strictly adults only!
Spanked Over The Butcher's Apron by Rod Cayenne
It was week four of my new job as one of the butcher's boys. It was going well. I liked my uniform of white shirt, grey trousers and the traditional striped blue apron. At least I didn't have to wear a straw boater hat like my boss, Mr. Smith, always did. I suspected he wore it to hide his rather generous bald patch. Anyway, a hat like that would cause havoc with my heavily-gelled spikey hair. Another thing I liked was that now and then I got to ride the shop bike to deliver fresh cuts to customers all over the town. What I didn't like was dealing with difficult members of the public.
"Silly bitch!" I muttered as the troublesome customer left the premises.
"Joel! Apart from that being not a good time for your runny nose to be dripping into the ground beef, that was the lady of the manor! She expects to be treated with respect, and to be called Ma'am. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, Mr. Smith, err Sir!"
"Sir, eh? I like that, young Joel. I like that a lot. Come and see Sir in his office after work, will you?"
"Err, yes, Mr. Smith. Sir! But how come she doesn't send one of the servants to pick up her supplies?"
"Servants! Don't make me laugh! She does engage domestics but they never last long. She's too demanding. Even for the East Europeans. Anyways, she's got a good eye for the best cuts, that one. Likes to choose everything herself. Now, on with your work please! Get mincing!" he laughed heartily and slapped my arse playfully as he went down the back of the shop, and then upstairs to his office.
It was soon five o'clock, closing time, and my fellow assistant, Robbie, wished me luck as he left. Disturbingly, he winked as he said it. I watched as he made his way past my rusty Ford Fiesta to the bus stop. He was quite a hunk, I thought to myself as I duly made my way up the creaking staircase to see the boss.
The less than hunky Mr Smith was sat in his tatty swivel chair facing the window when I entered. He turned around slowly to look disdainfully at me. I fidgeted as I gazed at his desk, trying to avoid eye contact in my usual shy way.
"Look at me, Joel! That's better. My, what a handsome lad you are, to be sure. Now, you've been here a month, haven't you?"
"Yes, Mr. Smith, Sir!"
"Mmmm. Now, on the whole you're doing well. Very well. But I could do without you being cocky with the customers. Especially the rich ones! I can't afford to lose even one customer. They deserve your respect. Times are hard, and there are rumours of a supermarket moving in. That means every single customer is precious. Our livelihoods, and your job, depend on treating them well. Now, look at the window. What does the gold lettering say?"
"Traditional Family Butchers, Sir."
"Indeed. Traditional. Family. Two of my favourite words, son. Tradition. Family values. Respect. Decency. Tradition."
"Err, yes."
"Yes, and now I find your lack of respect for customers in general and for one of the town's finest families absolutely appalling! I suggest a traditional remedy! A good, sound smacking!"
"Whaaat? You're joking?"
"Oh, I'm not. Oh no. Not the sort of thing I joke about, at all. Oh no. And if you don't want me to show you the door, you'll get over here over my lap this instant!"
He grabbed my arm and I gave way. He hauled me over his lap, right over his blood-stained navy blue pinstripe apron. Urgh! He spanked me merrily over my thin grey trousers, it hurt like mad and then he made me drop my trousers. Then he spanked my skimpy pants like his life depended on it, and then OMG! He ordered me to remove my briefs. I was going to get some more on the bare! Slap after slap. He created merry hell. The fires of merry hell. At first it wasn't so bad, but boy, did he have a thorough technique! His hand felt tough and leathery as it crashed rapidly into my young flesh. Every inch of my arse was deep burning red by the time he'd finished. What was worse was that he was obviously enjoying it, chuckling away while admonishing me. I think he had a boner, too. Unless there was a penknife or something in his apron pocket.
After a final fast round of slaps, he finished and grunted. His hands stayed in contact with my bare bottom, however. He started rubbing it better, which was really nice for a while but then his fingers strayed towards my arsehole. I flinched.
"Don't be shy, young Joel. I know all about you! One of my friends told me he'd seen you down the gay sauna!"
"What gay sauna? What is a gay sauna even?"
"Don't give me that! You know damn well the one I mean. Down by the station, down the big town."
"OK but no, no, he must be mistaken!"
"Don't lie to me boy! He told me about this tattoo!" he said as he lifted my shirt up further, revealing my wicked Chinese dragon ink. He traced the design with his finger. "Nice!" he said.
"Well, alright it was me. One of my friends works there, handing out the towels and taking the cash."
"Really? A towel-folder, eh? What's his name? Gideon?" he laughed, "I hear you're a regular there, even wearing flip-flops like the old hands. Be careful not to be too regular there or you might bump into someone else you know. Me, for instance!"
"You! But you're married!"
"True, true. But then so are a good half of the guys there! And they are always on the lookout for young, fresh chicken. Like you! Still I'm sure I can rely on you to keep my secret, just as you can rely on me to keep yours. Now be a good boy, get up and suck my cock for me!"
"Just do it, lad! You know you want to."
Well as a young tart, how could I refuse? I unzipped his trousers, rummaged in his pants and found what I was looking for with no trouble! I slurped away at his engorged meaty column and he sighed contentedly. My tongue probed under his foreskin and teased around the piss slit.
"Good, good. I shall expect you to swallow, my boy."
"Yes boss, err Sir. Of course. It's the only way!"
"Indeed. Indeed."
He grunted, sweated and moaned and then came suddenly, jets of hot spunk splattering inside my mouth. It tasted great, really great. No, I mean really, really great. You've no idea. I began to think I could develop a taste for old men's sperm.
"Now, that's better. I'm pleased to see you can be a good boy. But I'm warning you, any more nonsense and you'll be feeling this!" With that he slapped a brown leather spanking strap down on his desk, right before my eyes.
"Shit!" I exclaimed.
"More like shit hot! Bespoke, made especially for me by my good saddler friend down the road. You wouldn't believe how much it hurts! He's bi too, by the way. And a regular down the sauna."
I wondered whether his saddler friend was the one who had tipped him off about my frequent trips to the sauna. In truth, I was becoming rather addicted to the anonymous casual sex on offer there. I then wondered whether my colleague Robbie had felt Mr. Smith's hand in anger, or even that leather strap? I rather thought he had, as that would have explained the wink. But I wondered if he'd ever sucked the boss's cock? I hoped not as I felt Mr. Smith had taken rather a shine to me, all of a sudden. I had one final thought. Maybe a pay rise could be on the cards?
(____________
Story © MMXVI by Rod Cayenne
Please comment on the story. Comments are here.
Posted in: caning, M/M, spanking. Tagged: cane, caning, discipline, headmaster, M/M, punishment, retired, salesman, Skinpang, slipper, spanking, teen, teenager. 3 Comments
New to The Canery is this fine old story by much-missed friend Skinpang, R.I.P. All the characters are 18 or older. WARNING: ADULTS ONLY!
The Young Salesman by Skinpang
Mr Derek Stone was a retired headmaster in his mid-sixties. He was a widower, financially comfortable thanks to a legacy from his late uncle, and lived in an idyllic detached cottage in a quiet village. He had long toyed with the idea of having a conservatory built onto the rear of his home so that he could enjoy sunny days under glass and admire his lawn and garden.
One day the doorbell rang and when he opened the front door he saw a young man who looked as if he was aged about sixteen or seventeen standing on the doorstep with a folder full of leaflets in his hand. The caller certainly looked impressive in an immaculate navy-blue suit with razor sharp creases in his trousers, his well-fitting jacket buttoned up with one button as it should be, a white collar and green tie. His well tailored appearance was enhanced by his handsome smiling face, blue eyes and a delightful fringe of red wavy hair jutting out over his forehead. Derek first thought was that such smart teenagers were very rare creatures indeed these days! He would normally send doorstep salesman packing straight away but before he could speak his young visitor pulled a leaflet from his folder.
"Good morning sir! I represent Grandeur Constructions. Conservatories, Gazebos and greenhouses are our speciality. Could I interest you in any of our products?"
Derek knew of Grandeur Constructions. It was a firm in the nearby town and had a good reputation.
"You might young man, you might! Come along inside and let's see what you have to offer."
"Thank you sir. My name's Gordon Grey."
"I'm Derek Stone. Come along to the kitchen table. I'm a bit surprised that that a firm like Grandeur Constructions should have a boy to represent them – no offence intended!"
"And none taken sir!" the young man assured him, "But you are mistaken! I am not a boy! I'm eighteen! I'm an adult!"
"Oh! My apologies Mr Grey!"
"Lots of people make that mistake. I'm told that I look younger than my age! And by the way, please call me Gordon! Anyway enough about me!" said Gordon as they reached the kitchen.
"Right. let us stick to first names shall we? Call me Derek! Sit down and let's see what you've got there!"
Gordon sat down and sorted out several leaflets. There were some very attractive designs and the prices seemed competitive. Derek was getting interested.
"May I see the layout outside?" asked Gordon.
"Certainly! Come along."
Derek led his visitor through the kitchen back door into the garden.
"Oh yes!" said Gordon, surveying the back of the cottage, "Our Octagon model would be ideal here, don't you think?"
"Yes indeed, but that one is a bit pricey!"
"I could perhaps shave a little off. Say ten per cent?"
"You give me the impression that you are very anxious to do a deal!" said Derek.
"Well to tell you the truth, I'm sort of on probation you might say! You see, Grandeur Constructions is owned by my father! I've just finished in the sixth form at school. He says before I can become a partner in the firm and join him in the office I have to know all aspects of the business. I'll be honest with you, I'm desperate to get a good order!"
Derek had taken a liking to the fresh-faced boy – for 'boy' he still was to Derek – and was inclined to try and help him by doing business with him. They returned to the kitchen table.
"I might be interested Gordon! But let's get down to the nitty-gritty and find out what's in the small print."
Gordon went through the details one by one. Derek was satisfied with what he had heard.He had even agreed to the price.
"I wouldn't want a couple of men to come and dig a big hole in my garden and then disappear for a month before I see them again! There's all too many firms about who carry on like that!" said Derek.
"Our firm is not like that! I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll include a penalty clause in the agreement." replied Gordon, anxious to complete the deal, "The work completed by the last day of next month or we will repay you twenty pounds for every day that we are late with the completion. How does that strike you?"
Derek put on a grin.
"I'm a retired headmaster! In my teaching days the penalty for being late was six of the best!" he quipped.
"That was before my time!" laughed Gordon, "there was none of that sort of thing at my schools!"
"Anyway, back to the conservatory! I'll accept your offer!" said Derek.
"I'm so pleased! I am sure you are going to like it. I'll get the office to put it in black and white then I'll bring it back and sign it in front of you!"
Gordon was so keen to get the deal signed and sealed that he was back within two hours. They both signed the documents which they needed to, shook hands and parted. Derek was to see quite a lot of the young salesman over the next few weeks. Concerned that the work should be perfect Gordon would frequently visit the site to keep an eye on progress. However progress was not always as swift as he would have liked. Some snags would arise necessitating that some tasks had to be done again. Several outbreaks of heavy rain also slowed down the outside work. At the end of the month there was still a fair amount of work to be done. When the project was at last completed it had overrun by six days!
"Well you're six days late, Gordon. That's a hundred and twenty pounds off according to my reckoning!" said Derek.
"That's what I wanted to see you about, Derek!" replied Gordon, "Are you really going to hold me to that?"
Gordon was sounding almost as if he was pleading. Derek could not understand why he was trying to wriggle out of the penalty clause. After all, business is business.
"You see it's like this. I was so pleased when I got this order. I thought I had done something that would impress my father, but what with the ten per cent discount I gave you and now the penalty money all the profit has been swallowed up! My old man's not going to be very pleased with me I'm afraid!"
"It just shows that you've got a lot to learn my lad." said Derek.
"I suppose so. I should never have asked you to give up the penalty money. I apologise!"
Derek was thinking, so for a moment there was silence in the room. Gordon was such a nice young lad and Derek was feeling rather sorry for him. He was just about to say that he would waive his right to demand the penalty money when Gordon spoke up with a sign of desperation in his voice.
"You remember what you said to me on the first day I was here? The penalty for being late was six of the best?"
"Yes! So what?"
"Will you give me six of the best like you used to in school instead of taking the money?"
Gordon was banking on the theory that Derek perhaps used to enjoy caning boys' bottoms and would be tempted to accept his offer. He was not far wrong! Derek's first reaction was one of disbelief! Then suddenly he felt twenty years younger. Suddenly here was a boy standing before him just as many had stood before him before. In those days the boy would have apprehension written all over his face in fearing he was going to be awarded the cane! Gordon too had apprehension written all over his face but in his case it was lest he was not going to get the cane! The money was more important to him!
Derek was almost in a daze as he stared at the boy's small but perfectly proportioned figure. He could just imagine him bending taut over a chair, that ginger fringe flopping into his eyes and his bottom protruding skyward! Derek found all the exciting feelings he used to get as he ordered a boy to bend over were coming back to him, and all of his body parts seemed to be in good working order! Gordon took the silence to mean that Derek was going to refuse.
"I shouldn't have mentioned it!" said Gordon, "I'm sorry. Ha! – I don't suppose you've got a cane anyway!"
"Not at all, Gordon! I am still considering it. And I have got a cane!" – Derek had kept his cane for sentimental reasons! – "I haven't used it for about thirty years! Are you really serious about this?"
"Yes! In any case I'd like to know what it's like! I've seen it on the television and read about it in books and I've often wondered it felt like to get it!"
In Derek's teaching days boys were not anxious to find out what it felt like! He wondered if Gordon realised what he was letting himself in for!
"Okay! If you're sure you know what you're doing, you're on! Six of the cane and I'll waive the penalty money! I'll fetch the cane! Oh yes, just while we're doing this I would like to make it seem authentic, so I will address you by your surname and you will call me sir! Right?"
Derek left the room and returned with the cane. Gordon was feeling a prickling sensation in his bottom as if it was anticipating what was coming to it! Suddenly an innocent piece of wood was looking frightening and menacing!
"All right Grey! Bend over the arm of that chair!"
"Yes sir!"
It was just like the old days! To all intents and purposes Derek was back in the headmaster's study! Gordon looked exactly as Derek had imagined he would. The hair flopping forward and his bottom, with the trousers stretched to bursting point, facing heaven. Derek flexed the cane, then he swished it through the air and then he gently tapped it on Gordon's bottom! Every movement he made he was telling himself that it was the first time he had done this for thirty years! He was wondering whether a modern youth could take a beating as the boys of yesteryear used to! They had been brought up with spanking at home from an early age and progressed to school slippering and caning gradually. Feeling a little nervous about striking a boy's bottom after all those years he raised the cane and brought it down hard!
Derek need not have worried! Gordon reacted just as most senior boys used to in those far off days. He went stiff and taut all over and his fist folded tightly but he made no noise. The second stroke landed and Gordon's bottom was squirming in the most delightful fashion! Derek knew from years of caning experience exactly how the boy would be feeling. He would be in intense agony and would love to scream out but his ego would not permit him to do so! No boy, however, could avoid the telltale squirming and Gordon was no exception. There came a third swish and a crack and a forth and a fifth. The writhing had developed into a full scale bottom waggle from side to side! Derek raised the cane for the last time and as it fell he said:
"You may get up now!"
Gordon needed no such invitation. He sprang up, grabbed hold of his buttocks, arced his back and flung his head back with his face a picture of agony! That too was the normal post-caning reaction which Derek expected.
"You took that well, Gordon!" said Derek, returning to the use of the first name, "You can be proud of yourself!"
Gordon was in no condition to answer! His face was twisted and his mouth tightly shut while he held his breath until another peak of the ebbing and flowing pain was reached, then he breathed out with a sigh of relief and just had time to gasp out "Thanks!" before repeating the whole process.
"Well you've kept your side of the bargain, Gordon!" said Derek, "Now I'll keep mine! While you're getting over it I'll be writing your cheque out!"
Perhaps Derek too needed time to get over it! He found his hands shaking as he opened his cheque book. He stretched out his arm and open and closed his fists a time or two, it helped to steady his hand. He wrote out the cheque and then looked up at Gordon. The boy was still convulsed in the throes of pain!
"I'm afraid there's going to be a far amount of stinging for maybe an hour or two, Gordon!"
Gordon managed to let go of his backside and go over to Derek.
"I'll be all right soon!" Gordon replied, "My word, that was quite an experience!"
"One that most boys were familiar with once! But you took it as well as any of them did! Here's your cheque by the way!"
Gordon glanced at the document and a look of surprise came over him.
"What's this….?"
"I've put the ten per cent discount back on as well!" explained Derek, "You deserve it Gordon, and I can see how much it means to you to show your father that you've done a good deal!"
"Well err gosh! I don't know what to say! That's very nice of you Derek!"
"I wish you the best of luck in your career!"
"Thanks! I shall see you again though! After a while I'll come back to see that all is well with the conservatory. Probably in about a week's time!"
They shook hands and Gordon left the cottage happy but dreadfully sore! He planned to potter about in the garden that evening doing something which did not involve sitting down! Gordon was as good as his word. He came back a week later. He was, in truth, keen to talk to Derek again. He had become fascinated by all aspects of school corporal punishment! He would not want to go through another hard caning again. That had hurt and was sore for days, but he would love to know what a slippering and a spanking felt like. He wondered whether he would pluck up the courage to broach the subject or whether he would be too bashful.
"I've just come along to see how you are getting along with the conservatory Derek." said Gordon, "Any problems?"
"None whatsoever!" exclaimed Derek, "Even during that storm the other night not a drop of water came in!"
"Oh good! I pleased to hear it!"
"Have you got over the caning yet?" asked Derek with a twinkle in his eye.
Gordon was pleased that Derek had brought the subject up so soon.
"Ha! Sure! I have now. God, didn't that hurt that night though!"
"I expect that just like a schoolboy the first thing you did when you got home was to go straight to a mirror!"
"Err, yes I did!" admitted Gordon as he coloured up slightly, "But I'm glad you've brought the subject up. There's something I want to ask you!"
"Fire away! I'm all ears!"
"I've become interested in these old school punishments. Did you use any other corporal punishment other than the cane!"
"Oh yes! It depended on the severity of the offence. I used a slipper sometimes and occasionally spanked with my hand!"
"The slipper didn't hurt anything like the cane I suppose?" asked Gordon hopefully.
"Not quite, but it did nonetheless carry a good sting. The main difference is that while the effects of the cane lasts for days the worst of the effects of the slipper can wear off after several minutes. I'm talking about a normal four to six strokes. If a slipper is applied relentlessly it can cause bruising just as the cane does!"
"I wouldn't want to try your cane again but I'd love to find out what the slipper was like! Would you give me the slipper?"
Now Derek really was surprised. The boy had suggested and endured the caning for a good reason but now he was asking for another stinging bottom presumably for the fun of it!
"Are you serious?" asked Derek in amazement.
"Yes I am! I have got an urge to know just what boys had to put up with in those days!"
"My word! You weren't put off by that caning then?"
"Not now that I've got over it!" said Gordon, "It was hell at the time but for the next two or three days when it was just sore and there was no stinging it was rather a nice feeling. I sort of felt proud to have gone through with it!"
Derek had long thought that the many boys he had caned might have left his study in agony but had come to regard their stripes as badges of honour! He would be only too pleased to oblige if Gordon was keen for more. he would love to see that youthful bottom bent across the seat of a chair once more!
"I haven't got a real gym-shoe here," said Derek, "but I've got a pair of those blue canvas ones with rubber soles. They are much the same thing! I'll fetch one!"
Derek went out of the room and returned with a size eleven canvas top shoe.
"Are you sure you want to go through with this?"
"Very well! Bend over the arm of that chair Grey!"
"Yes sir!" responded Gordon as he got across the arm.
The mere sight of that anatomically perfect rear end thrusting upwards and just crying out for attention was enough to arouse Derek's physical as well as emotional feelings! How he would have loved to see that bottom bare, but perhaps that would be expecting too much! Trembling with excitement he raised the shoe and slammed it down upon the waiting buttocks.
Gordon was surprised as how mild the blow felt! What he did not know was that unlike the cane which produced an almost unbearable sting with the very first swipe, the pain from the slipper was to become more intense with each new wallop! The second whack produced a very noticeable sting! The third was beginning to convince him that the slipper was no toy! The sting was quite uncomfortable by this time. He wanted to shift the position of his bottom but managed to refrain from doing so in order not to reveal to Derek that it was hurting after only three! On the fourth stroke however he could not prevent himself giving a little waggle!
Derek smiled to himself, it was following a familiar pattern. Most boys would take the six and get up apparently unaffected, while in reality they were hoping to be released from the room immediately so that they could rub the affected area in private outside! Derek would deliberately keep talking to them until, in the case of nine out of ten of them, they could wait no longer to put a hand behind them! Gordon seemed to be behaving in the customary fashion!
Derek delivered the fifth stroke and the movement of the bottom became more pronounced! Then the final one crashed down.
"That's it! That wasn't too bad was it?" said Derek as his visitor rose rapidly to his feet.
"No, not really!" lied Gordon, trying to pretend that it did not hurt!
His right hand kept straying halfway round to his bottom before he realised what he was doing and he would withdrew it. Derek knew that it was now only a matter of thirty seconds or so before Gordon would be unable to resist giving a rub. He was right! With a sigh of relief his hand began to buff his stinging buttocks as if he was trying to polish them!
"That hurt more than you care to admit! didn't it?" grinned Derek.
Gordon put on an expression which was half a smile and half a look of pain!
"Well yes! I didn't think a slipper would sting that much!"
"At least you won't have hours of pain and days of soreness!" Derek assured him, "It'll probably sting like blazes for five minutes or so, but then, so some of my ex-pupils have told me, it developes into a nice warm glow like standing with your back to a roaring fire!"
"It's beginning to feel like that already!" said Gordon with a note of enthusiasm in his voice, "It's a great feeling!"
"It's supposed to be a punishment!" laughed Derek, "You're making it sound like a pleasure!"
"It is now!" replied Gordon, "It wasn't while I was actually getting it though!"
Derek refrained from telling him that it had been a great pleasure giving it to him!
"May I come and see you again, Derek? I would love to complete the trio and sample a spanking some time!"
Derek's heart was racing. He would certainly love to spank this boy and he was wondering if he dare mention giving it to him on his bare bottom! The truth was that at his school he never spanked boys over twelve. Once they had reached their teens it was always either the cane or the slipper! Up to age twelve he would put boys across his knee and spank them but he had never made a boy remove his trousers for punishment! But fortunately for him Gordon did not know that!
"Yes of course you may if you really want to try it. I must say you're a glutton for punishment my boy! Actually when I spanked boys I used to make them remove their trousers and pants and then put them across my knee, but you would not want to do that of course!" said Derek hoping that in fact Gordon would want to do just that!
Gordon seemed somewhat astounded at first. He hesitated while he let the pronouncement sink in.
"I want to find out what it was like for real! If that's the way you did it then that's the way I want to try it!" said Gordon while wondering if he would regret committing himself to such undignified treatment!
Derek felt like rubbing his hands with glee, but did not do so of course! He feared that he might wake up in a minute or two to find that it was all a dream.
"If you're sure then I shall be happy to accommodate you!" said Derek – in fact he would be over the moon! – "When are you thinking of coming again?"
"Hopefully early next week, but it'll have to be in the evening, not during the working day. I can't keep coming round to see how you are getting on with the conservatory!"
"No, I suppose not. How about Monday?"
"Suits me fine! About seven?"
"That's fine with me!"
Gordon said his goodbyes and left. Derek wondered whether he could bear to wait for four days! He was actually going to put that handsome boy across his knee and smack his bare bottom! The mere thought would keep him supplied with erections until Monday he thought, as he headed for the bathroom to deal with one there and then!
On Monday Gordon arrived exactly on time. His visit was no longer during working hours so he had swapped his suit and shirt with tie for a pair of tight-fitting blue jeans and a T-shirt. Derek took him into he living room.
"Would you like a drink before we start?" asked Derek.
"That would be nice. It'll steady my nerves!" replied Gordon.
"You're nervous then?"
"A little!" grinned Gordon.
"Gin or whisky?"
"Oh! Whisky please with a little water."
As he poured out the drink Derek looked towards Gordon who was standing sideways-on to him. What a fine figure he cut. The front of his body was dead straight from his shoulders to his feet and his back was equally straight except for that lovely curvy bulge half way down, enhanced by his tight jeans! Derek handed his guest the glass.
"Cheers!" said Derek, stopping himself just in time from saying "Bottoms up!"
The pair of them finished their drinks.
"I'm ready! I'm all yours!" said Gordon.
"Right! Get those jeans down Grey!" said Derek adopting his headmaster voice.
Gordon slowly dropped his jeans to his ankles. He was not wearing anything underneath them and his T-shirt only came down as far as the top of the crack of his bottom. It was all on display and it did not disappoint Derek. Two absolutely perfectly shaped buttocks greeted him!
"Come here, across my knee!"
Derek got hold of the boy and aided him over his lap. Did Gordon feel embarrassed and humiliated? Yes he did! Very much so! And he was enjoying it! He liked being embarrassed and humiliated! He even pushed his bottom up as high and taut as he could to make it even more attractive to Derek! Derek could hardly believe the sight before him! Never before had he had a boy across his lap with a bare bottom only inches below his eyes, and he could sense that Gordon was deliberately poking his bottom up. Derek too had something poking up but it was not his bottom! Now for the first time he was going to experience the feel of flesh slapping flesh!
SMACK-SMACK-SMACK!
Gordon's bottom turned pink as it wobbled uneasily. Derek's hand seemed to sting as much as the slipper did.
Derek was going to stop at six. He could see that the red squirming buttocks must be getting painful. Despite the intense sting Gordon was enjoying it! He wanted more!
"Don't stop!" he called out, "Keep going!"
Derek was not unfamiliar with boys crying out in vain for him to stop but this was the first one had ask him to continue! It was a request he was not going to refuse! He landed another six hard spanks!
"Yes I think so!" responded Gordon.
The boy stood up and this time unashamedly rubbed his stinging cheeks!
"My goodness you can hit hard!" he said with a wry smile.
"It's like riding a bike!" grinned Derek, "Once you can do it you never forget the technique!"
Gordon pulled up his jeans then continued the rubbing for a few moments.
"Sit down!" invited Derek, "I'm sure you could use another drink now!"
Selecting a soft comfortable armchair Gordon sat down. He was still feeling somewhat embarrassed after the undignified way he had presented his bare bottom to Derek.
"Thanks I'd love another drink." said Gordon.
They chatted away as they sipped their drinks, talking almost exclusively about corporal punishment. Derek got the impression that Gordon was longing to either say something or ask something. After a while he came out with it.
"I want to ask you something Derek! May I keep coming to see you?"
That question was the icing on the cake for Derek! It was better than winning the lottery!
"Sure you may, Gordon! You want more?"
"More spanking like this evening! Once is enough for the cane and slipper. But I would love to come and see you regularly for a spanking over your knee with my trousers down! It hurts but it's great fun! And afterwards," – here Gordon glanced down at his crotch – "it err, sort of turns me on! I don't suppose it affects you like that! It's routine stuff for you isn't it?"
Derek was thinking just how naive this lad must be if he thought that stinging his bottom was having no physical effect on his spanker! He smiled.
"I have noticed the bulge between your legs my boy! You obviously haven't noticed that I am in a similar condition! You don't think I would go to the trouble of giving you all these whackings if I wasn't getting something out of it myself, do you?"
"Oh yes, of course!" replied Gordon turning a little red in the face.
"Now I'll tell you something. You are a born bottom, meaning you enjoy getting it! I am a born top, I enjoy giving it! We're like a nut and bolt! We fit each other! Let's drink to that! Empty your glass Gordon and I'll refill it. And let us seal our new partnership with a toast!"
Derek had by this time convinced himself that this was no dream. It was really happening! And he had also got the conservatory he had always wanted!
Story ©MMIX by Skinpang.
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Skinpang's earlier story on The Canery can be found here. Further great stories by Skinpang may be found at this external link.
Posted in: caning, M/M, spanking. Tagged: cane, caning, erection, Friends, M/M, plimsoll, school, Skinpang, slipper, spanking, teen, teenager. 2 Comments
A Moving Experience by Skinpang
Barry and Robin had been close friends for most of their lives. They had been through junior and secondary school together and now the two eighteen year olds worked together. They were employed by a removal firm; Barry, who had passed his HGV driving test, drove a removal van and Robin acted as his mate. One morning they reported to the boss as usual to find out what jobs they had got for that day.
"What have we got today, Mr Speed? asked Barry.
"Ah! Yes!" replied Mr Speed, "This should keep you busy for a day or two! You have to move the furniture out of the old Drayshaw Secondary School. The desks are to be taken to their new premises in Cromwell Road. I don't know how many trips it will take; – I understand there are just over a thousand of them! The rest of the furniture, such as cupboards and filing cabinets etcetera, they don't need. They've got all new stuff. You are to take all that down to the auction room to be sold off. I should see to that first if I was you, there's no hurry for the desks as the school is on holiday anyway. They tell me that anything left in drawers or cupboards is all useless and can be thrown out. Take anything like that down to the tip and dump it."
"I'm sorry in a way to see the old place close!" said Barry.
"You were there?" asked Mr Speed.
"We both were!" answered Barry, "Robin and I sat side by side throughout our school years."
"Well, the school's not closing. Just moving to a modern building. Here's the key, by the way."
"Thanks!" said Barry, taking hold of the key, "Come on Robin, let's get cracking!"
They drove to their old school and entered the building.
"Don't it seem ghostly!" remarked Robin, "I mean all quiet and empty like this. It used to be so full of life when we were here!"
"Does seem strange, don't it?" replied Barry, "Let's go round every room first and see what there is to chuck out."
They found lots of files and papers dating years back, rulers, chalk and other brick-a-brac. Eventually they came to the headmaster's office. Again they found bits and pieces to throw out; half used pencils, erasers and more old files. Robin opened a tall cupboard which stood against a wall.
"Well-well-well! Look what I've found!" he exclaimed as he pulled an old gymshoe and a cane from the cupboard, "However long have these been here!"
"Good God!" ejaculated Barry, "Since before we were born! They haven't used canes for about thirty years!"
Robin flipped it through the air and it produced a loud "swish!"
"Cor! I bet that used to hurt! imagine getting that across your arse!" said Robin.
He looked at the shoe. "I always thought they used slippers." he remarked.
"That's what they called them, but they were nearly always gymshoes," explained Barry, "I've heard my grandfather talk about it."
Barry picked up the slipper. "I should think this carried quite a wallop too!" suggested Barry.
He handed the slipper to Robin and bent over the table!
"Come on! Give me a wallop across my arse with it! I want to know what it was like!"
Robin laughed and obliged! He brought the slipper down hard on Barry's backside with a resounding "CRACK!"
Barry stood up. "It stings a bit!" was his verdict, "But it's not that bad!"
"That was only one!" said Robin, "Don't forget they used to get six! Six of the best they called it! And you're an adult; the little'uns used to get that! Bend over again and try another five!"
"I will if you will too!" challenged Barry.
"Yes! Okay! I want to find out what it was like too!" responded Robin.
Barry bent flat across the table, his trousers stretching tight around his well formed buttocks. Robin got got the feeling that he was going to enjoy doing this!
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!
Barry got up and could not resist giving his bottom a quick rub!
"That hurt!" was his first comment, "But it's rather a nice feeling! Let's have the slipper. Now it's your turn!"
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!
Robin squirmed a little after the forth stroke. It was obviously beginning to bite!
WHACK! WHACK!
Robin got up smiling and rubbing his stinging buns!
"It hurts, don't it!" stating the obvious! "I'll bet that stopped them messing about better than detention did!"
Barry was looking down at Robin's crutch! "You've got one too!" he remarked.
"One what?" asked Robin.
"A hard on!"
"Er! Yes" admitted Robin, "It seems to turn you on, doesn't it!?"
Now Robin was carefully examining the cane. "I bet you couldn't keep over the table for six with this!"
"You're on!" said Barry taking up the challenge, "I bet you a fiver I can!"
"Right!" Robin said, "Let's see the colour of your money!"
They both put a fiver on the table. Barry again took up the classic position over the table.
Swish CRACK!
"Yeeeeoooowl" yelled out Barry, completely unprepared for such an intense sting!
"Had enough already!" was Robin's half question half statement.
"No way!" exclaimed Barry, "It just took me by surprise, that's all! Carry on!"
Swish CRACK! Swish CRACK! Swish CRACK!
Barry did not call out any more, but he was squirming like billy-ho!
Swish CRACK! Swish CRACK!
Barry leapt up, his hands too busy grabbing his rear end to pick up the money!
"Cor! F..king hell!" he gasped out, "That thing's a killer!"
After a minute or two he released his hands and picked up the cane.
"I'll give you the chance to get your money back!" he told Robin.
"Okay! If you can take it, so can I!" replied Robin.
Robin bent over the table. He had seen how Barry had been caught out by the first stroke so he braced himself for it!
Robin managed to remain quiet, but he could now see (or rather feel!) what Barry had meant! He could not remember ever before experiencing such searing pain!
When the fifth stroke came he could not prevent himself from calling out!
"Aoooowl!"
Just as Barry had done, he was squirming, his bottom doing a merry dance from side to side!
"Aoooowl!….Aoooowl….aooooowl!"
And just as Barry had he jumped up and grabbed the affected parts! Barry pushed one of the fivers across the table towards Robin and put the other one in his pocket.
"We'll call that a draw!" said Barry with a grin.
"Hell's bells!" ejaculated Robin, "And to think they used to do that to lads half our age!"
"Yes! But my grandfather told me that most of them had enough sense not to get in trouble in those days. I can see why now!"
"I don't feel like loading this stuff up for a while till I get over it a bit!" said Robin, "Let's have our morning break now, shall we?"
They fetched their vacuum flasks and sandwiches and brought them back into the headmaster's office. There were chairs in there but they concluded that it would be more comfortable standing up! Robin looked at the cane and slipper on the table.
"It would be a pity to throw them away!" he mused, "I mean, there's some history there, isn't there? I wonder how many arses they've been across!"
"Several hundreds I bet!" speculated Barry, "I'll tell you what! I could take them home with me and keep them in my car! My folks go out every Friday night. Perhaps you would fancy coming round to my place some Friday nights and then we could go up to my bedroom and…..You get my meaning?"
Robin grinned! "I'm game!" he replied.
Story ©MMIV by Skinpang.
Further great stories by Skinpang may be found at this external link.
Posted by Rod Cayenne on November 29, 2021
Posted in: caning, M/M, spanking. Tagged: brush, cane, caning, hairbrush, Joelstrap, M/M, spanking, tawse. 8 Comments
Celebrate St Andrew's Day with this exciting CP story by very special guest author JOELSTRAP. This story is new to The Canery. All the characters are 18 or older. WARNING: ADULTS ONLY!
Free Spankings by Joelstrap
I looked carefully at the feet planted firmly on the floor; at the long, sinewy legs ending in a pair of taut young buttocks; at the slim waist and long back with the spinal cord rippling under the skin; at the broad shoulders and sun-browned neck and the muscular arms; at the shock of unruly fair hair which half covered the ears. I turned and looked at the frontal view; at the flat stomach with the line of dark hair pointing to the fuzziness in the groin, the heavy balls and slim, pendant penis; at the broad, flat pectorals and firm nipples; at the open face, framed by the profusion of hair; at the shining, dark eyes.
Yes, I thought to myself as I gazed in the full-length mirror, you're not bad-looking at all and if Iain doesn't want you any more, there's bound to be somebody else who will appreciate you.
Iain and I had been together for just over five months but it was becoming clear that we had little in common beyond the physical attraction of each other's body and he had announced the previous evening that he felt we should split up. He did it as kindly as he could but it still hurt, even although I knew it was probably for the best. After a restless night, I'd gone for a long walk this morning and decided that I just had to pick myself up and get on with it.
Although I wanted another boyfriend, I wasn't in any desperate hurry and felt that I needed some time alone to sort myself out and work through my feelings and emotions. Living near a railway-line in Glasgow, I was familiar with trains and had made a number of journeys in my seventeen years. I decided that perhaps a trip to Mallaig on the West Highland Line would be a good idea. I planned to take the train as far as Rannoch Station and then to walk the nine miles to Corrour Station before picking up the train again after a night in the Youth Hostel there. This would make a pleasant interlude and allow some quality thinking-time.
After placating my mother with repeated assurances that I was well-equipped and would not fall into a bog, I set off on a cloudy morning from Glasgow's Queen Street Station, and watched as the city faded and the Clyde gave way to the Gare Loch and then Loch Long before we were running along the north-western shores of Loch Lomond. We reached Crianlarich and then headed north into the mountains and on towards the wilds of Rannoch Moor and so to the remote station at Rannoch.
By now the skies had cleared and the sun was out and I felt cheerful as I alighted at the tiny station, the only passenger to do so. It was shortly after eleven o'clock and the little café provided welcome sustenance before I set off eastward along the only road into Rannoch. After following it for a short distance, I turned off to the left up a track which eventually led to a footbridge over the river and to a path under the southern ridge of Carn Dearg.
Far to the south and west the moor stretched away to the mountains of Glencoe. I however was headed north towards the vast bleak, boggy acres of Rannoch Moor as they extended towards Corrour. The path descended to the ruins of the old Corrour Lodge, long replaced by a new building at the north end of Loch Ossian after the West Highland Line was constructed in 1894.
Not far from the tumbled remains, there was a small stone cottage which appeared, from the smoke rising lazily from the chimney into the summer sky, to be inhabited. The path passed within a couple of hundred yards of it and I could see as I approached that there was a small sign propped against a stone where the footpath to the cottage began.
My eyesight was pretty good and I could read it well before I came up to it. I grinned to myself because it appeared to say: Free Spankings.
Obviously, I decided, my vision wasn't quite as good as I thought; but as I drew nearer, I had to alter my opinion. My vision was 20:20. The sign did indeed read: Free Spankings. I stopped by the sign and re-read it several times; but it made not one whit of difference. It still said undeniably, Free Spankings. I tried to work out if it was a corruption of something but made no headway. I stared at the cottage, in a quandary. Curiosity was fighting a strong battle and eventually I conceded defeat and turned up the narrow, grassy path to the house.
The door stood partly open and so I stuck my head in and shouted "hello". A large dog padded out and sniffed suspiciously at my crotch and then turned away as if disappointed. I waited and then a man appeared. He was perhaps in his mid-thirties, about my own height of six feet, with black, straight hair receding slightly and well-muscled arms visible in his close-fitting tee-shirt.
"Er, I couldn't resist coming to ask about your sign," I began. "Free spankings?"
"Oh, yes. That's right. Do you want one?"
"What? A spanking?" I asked, incredulous.
"Sure. It's free," he added as if that made the prospect more attractive.
"But who the hell wants to be spanked?" I enquired.
"Don't you?" he asked.
"No," I answered, shaking my head. "But I couldn't help wondering about the sign."
"Why what?"
"Why did you wonder about the sign?"
"Well, it's a bit odd, isn't it?"
"Why? I give spankings and some guys like to be spanked. What's odd about it?"
"Some guys like to be spanked? Where'd you get that idea from?"
"It's true. They find it exciting. Some of them even come while they're getting spanked."
"They…..fuck! I don't believe it!"
"Want to try?"
"It's free."
"Well, nobody's going to pay for a spanking, are they?" I objected.
"Of course they are. And if you want the cane or the tawse, it's £1 a stroke; but if you go for five, I'll give you the sixth one free."
I stared at him, baffled.
"You can't be serious! I'd more likely pay not to get caned. And what the hell's a tawse anyway?"
"You're a Scot aren't you? You should know that. It used to be used in schools to discipline youngsters."
"You mean the belt? I've heard of that. Got it across their hands, didn't they? Bloody sadistic. There was none of that in my schooldays," I said.
"Anyway, how about this spanking then? Bare bottom, across my knee," he offered.
"Bare bottom? Across your…….no fucking way, mate. You're seriously kinky, you are."
"Sure you don't want to try it? You've got a brilliant pair of buttocks there, just crying out to be spanked."
I felt myself going red.
"I……….well, thanks…..I think………oh, shit!"
The trouble was that I really liked the look of him. I didn't want to be spanked; but the idea of lying across his knees had a strong appeal. There were stirrings down below as I imagined it.
"So, how about letting me see the target," he suggested. "I'd like to know if your bum's as good in the flesh as it is in your shorts."
The sheer effrontery of this almost left me speechless.
"You want me to drop my shorts and let you see my bare arse?" I asked, in disbelief.
"That's right."
"Not likely."
"Why? What's wrong with you?"
"Nothing's wrong with me!"
"Come on then; let me have a look. I promise not to touch."
I decided that a look would do no harm and dropped my shorts and pants, turning my back, partly to conceal my genitals and partly so he could see my behind. I knew I'd nothing to be ashamed of and felt a tingle of pride as I displayed my assets. To my own astonishment, I found myself hoping he'd approve.
"Awesome! Perfectly formed; taut and muscular. I can't believe no-one's ever spanked them," he said enthusiastically.
It was undoubtedly a compliment but I was unsure how to react; and in my confusion I found myself, to my horror, blurting out:
"Well, maybe just a little spanking; so I can feel what it's like."
"You won't regret it," he assured me.
"Hmmm!" I said.
He sat on a sofa and patted his knees.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"Dave."
"Hi, Dave. I'm Neil. Right! Over my knee, boy!"
Not quite believing I was still in the real world, I shuffled across the floor and lay down carefully across his lap, feet on the floor, pants round my ankles, head resting on my folded forearms on the sofa arm. He shifted his legs slightly and pushed me a little to get me correctly positioned. I was acutely aware of his erection pressing against my thigh and of my own surprising tumescence trapped between my stomach and his groin.
His hand slid across the bare skin of my bottom and I stiffened; but as it continued to explore, I relaxed a little and enjoyed the sensation. I tensed again as his fingers probed deep into my cleft and a daring forefinger teased the lips of my anus, but thrills of pleasure allayed any serious fears and I made no protest.
The first smack was unexpected and barely registered as more than a light slap. It was followed by several more, methodically covering every inch of my bottom from my waist to my thighs and the tops of my legs. A growing warmth in my skin was exciting and enjoyable and I relaxed into the experience, moving my hips slightly in time to the smacks and giving a little extra stimulus to my now rampant cock.
A much harder smack on the crown of my left buttock made me flinch and, before I'd time to really register it, another followed on the other buttock. A flurry of stinging spanks ensued and the pleasant warmth became a more insistent burning, strong enough to make me squirm and wriggle. Still Neil's hand fell steadily, never quite where I was expecting it and, as the sting built up, I began to breathe hard with the effort to process the pain. A particularly well-placed spank near my crease had my hand reaching back automatically to scrub the stinging flesh; and my wrist was instantly grabbed and my arm twisted across my waist so that I was effectively prevented from any further pain-alleviation activity.
There was a pause and I lay, panting, cock still rigid beneath me, bum burning like a bonfire.
Wow! Well, if that's what a spanking feels like, I'm bloody glad I came here. That was fantastic; and I feel fantastic. I'd just love to wank off, but I don't suppose that's allowed. I can feel his hand now, caressing the skin now it's over; cool hand on hot bottom. Pure dead brilliant! as they say in Glasgow.
"Ow!"
Something hard slammed into my left buttock, right on the sit-spot and it stung like hell. I struggled, but was firmly held. It came again and again and I soon became aware that I was yelping and squealing, twisting and writhing as a sting like a nest of scorpions engulfed my behind and penetrated deep into the burning flesh. I looked round and saw that Neil was wielding a wooden hair-brush. Never could I have believed such an innocent-looking implement could deliver such an intense pain. It was searing; it was excoriating; it was ferocious. I could have endured it for eternity.
Each new swat hurt like a blast of flame but I didn't care. I was into it. I loved it. Tears streamed down my face. I sobbed and cried like a kid who's skinned his knees and all the questions and doubts I'd had after my break-up with Iain seemed to fade away and I felt clean again.
The spanking stopped and I lay, quivering, as the pain slowly eased to a steady throb of heat. Neil lifted me to my feet and directed me to the bathroom. There I felt gingerly round my bottom, registering the heat emanating from a pair of soundly-spanked buttocks. I looked over my shoulder in the mirror and admired my fiery-red globes. I lay on the floor and scrubbed swiftly at my balls until I achieved a shattering release. I lay still and relived again and again the revelatory wonder of being spanked.
I donned my pants and shorts and returned to the living-room.
"Thanks," I said, feeling a little foolish. "I don't know what else to say."
"No need to say anything," he replied.
He told me to sit down and I did so carefully, enjoying the discomfort in my behind, the steady reminder of my first spanking. He provided coffee and then we talked. I told him of Iain and my break-up and why I was here. He told me he was a businessman and worked mainly from home, visiting an office in Glasgow every two or three weeks for a day.
"I'm successful enough that I can employ someone to do the day-to-day running of things and I can live here and just go in occasionally."
I envied him and resolved to get on with making my first million as soon as possible.
"Now," said Neil, "what about the cane?"
I tensed nervously.
"Think you'd like it?"
"Definitely not!"
"Like to see it?"
Curiosity won the day and Neil went out of the room and returned with a limber rod which he arched before my eyes. I stared at it, as a rabbit stares at a snake, knowing it is in danger but unable to run. It was longer and thicker than I'd imagined a cane would be. It certainly wasn't a toy. He handed it to me.
I felt my way along the lissom length of it, felt its springy curvature, imagined it moulding itself to my bare buttocks in a red-hot embrace, and rapped it several times against the palm of my hand as I tried to assess its potential for inflicting pain. I concluded that it would hurt like fuck, and then some.
"Boy! That's vicious," I breathed and suddenly had to plunge a hand into my shorts to rearrange things.
"I see that you like it," observed Neil with a sardonic smile.
"Er, well, it's sort of exciting to think about," I admitted, "but there's no way I'd ever want it for real. You'd have to be a bloody masochist to ask for that."
"You enjoyed the spanking," he reminded me.
"That was different. This is much more savage."
"Think you couldn't stand that kind of pain?"
"I didn't say I couldn't stand it. I just don't want to have to stand it."
"It scares you?" he asked.
"I'm not a fucking coward," I protested. "I'm just being sensible; like not putting my hand on a hot-plate."
He took the cane from me and laid it on the coffee-table where I found my eyes drawn repeatedly to it. We talked on, but I found the cane distracting and disturbing, not least to my penis, and decided I should resume my journey.
"Maybe," I suggested tentatively, "I could drop in for another spanking on my way home next week?"
Neil picked up the cane.
"If you set foot in this house again, boy, it will be the cane for you. Understand?"
"Okay," I said, disappointed. "But I'm sorry. I'm not coming back to be caned. I'd have liked another spanking; I'd even pay for it next time; but not the cane. Probably couldn't afford it anyway," I ended in a mild attempt at humour.
"If you come back again," said Neil with a smile, "I'll cane you for free."
"Gee, thanks!" I said sarcastically.
"It's an offer you can't refuse," he said.
Neil arched the cane and suddenly slammed it down on the top of a leather stool, making a crack which echoed through the little cottage and made me take a pace back in alarm.
"How do you think that would feel, Dave?"
"And you expect me to come back and just bare my bottom, bend over and let you hit me like that with a cane?" I asked, disbelievingly.
"You got it in one," he said.
I shook my head, hoisted my rucksack on to my shoulders, thanked him for his hospitality and for the spanking, and set off.
I could still feel the sting of the hair-brush as I resumed my interrupted walk to Corrour. A curious sense of well-being coursed through me.
As I walk, I relive over and over again, the spanking of the early afternoon, aided and abetted by the sting in my bum which is stimulated by the act of striding along in shorts which I have to admit are pretty close-fitting. My persistent erection becomes so much of a nuisance that I am forced to retire behind a huge boulder and relieve pent-up feelings. After that I think about the cane as I walk, touching it again in my memory, tracing with a mental finger-pad the long, smooth curve, imagining it cracking hard across my bottom, feeling the blossoming pain. Undaunted, my cock rises to the occasion and I force myself to think about the geography and geology of the area through which I'm walking. Nothing like thinking about hard rocks to get rid of a rock-hard; nor thinking about soggy bog to induce a soft, spongy cock.
To my left the vastness of Rannoch Moor stretches away toward the skyline, a mass of bogs, lochans, small rivers and rocks. During the last Ice Age, about ten thousand years ago, a huge glacier covered the moor and, as the ice slowly radiated outwards, it gouged out the glens of Rannoch and Tummel, Coe and Etive. Where the acres of peat have dried out I can see the roots of age-old pine trees, sorry remnants of the ancient Caledonian Forest which once covered this land.
On my right Carn Dearg rises calmly into the afternoon heavens and I follow the path which skirts its southern ridge. Mindful of the stories that the boggy ground of the moor has been known to swallow men whole, I keep carefully to the track and eventually I see ahead the shining waters of Loch Ossian and the Youth Hostel set on a peninsula protruding into the loch. Corrour Station itself is about a mile to the west but I don't intend going there until tomorrow morning. There is no road to Corrour. You either come in on foot or on the train.
I found myself to be remarkably popular at the hostel. First a slim, well-developed girl showed a blatant interest in me, plonking herself down beside me as I sat gazing at the loch and engaging me in conversation. She probably sensed that she wasn't getting very far as she eventually said:
"You look pretty good. Would you like to come into the bushes and let me find out if you're as good as you look?"
I shook my head and she shrugged.
"Pity," she said and wandered off.
Later, as I was washing up my plate and mug, a muscular young guy with a centimetre-long fuzz of hair all over his head, patted my behind and asked if he could see it bare? I told him to fuck off. Later still, as I was sitting in the hostel shortly before bed-time, a large, hairy mutt made vigorous attempts to mate with my left foot, much to the amusement of the owners who seemed to find the whole thing hilarious. I scowled at them and stalked off to my bed. Honestly, the whole place was sex-mad!
Next morning I made my way along the Road to the Isles as far as Corrour Station and boarded the train which in due course deposited me in Mallaig on the west coast. Between hostels and bed-and-breakfast accommodation, I made my way around the area and then over to Skye before returning a week or so later to pick up a return train at Mallaig. It would have been possible to just stay on the train all the way to Glasgow, but I felt myself in no hurry to get home and decided to extend the trip by a day and break the journey with an overnight again in the Corrour hostel before walking south to Rannoch and picking up the train there.
Part of me wanted to see if they were still sex-mad at Corrour; and a part of me wanted to walk past the cottage on the way to Rannoch again, although I couldn't have put into words exactly why. It was a simple little plan and would bring my holiday to a pleasant and unhurried end. As a good Scot, I should of course have been mindful of the words of my national poet, the illustrious Robert Burns, who observed so pertinently that:
"The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men gang aft agley."
I alighted from the train and ambled slowly along the mile towards the hostel and about half way was overtaken by a young guy with a large rucksack whom I'd noticed had also left the train at Corrour and had been sitting on the platform as I'd set off. He was one of those lads who looked about twelve as far as his open, freckled face went, topped by a shock of light-brown, curly hair. Closer inspection, and I'd taken the chance when walking past him on the platform for a closer look, showed that there was a honey-coloured down on his face and he had the well-developed chest and bulging groin of a fully-mature young man, at least as old as I.
"Hi," he said, cheerfully, giving me a disarming smile. "I'm Guy."
My knees felt slightly shaky. I had a feeling that if there was going to be any mad-for-it sexiness at the hostel this time, I'd be contributing substantially to it. This guy was gorgeous.
"Hi! I'm Dave. You headed for the hostel?"
"No. I'm walking down towards Rannoch but I'm spending the night with a friend of mine on the way so I won't pick up the train again until tomorrow morning," he replied.
I started. The only habitation I'd seen between Rannoch and Corrour, apart from very close to the village was the cottage of my spanking chum. I gave Guy a curious glance and wriggled my hips a bit to accommodate movements down below.
"Oh," I said with feigned insouciance, "I didn't realise there were any houses until you got to Rannoch."
"Not far from the old Corrour Lodge," he said. "My pal lives in a cottage there."
So it was the spanker! It had to be!
"Strange place to live," I said, hopeful that he'd open up and tell me more.
"He's a strange chap in some ways is Neil. But he and I share a particular interest and I visit him every two or three weeks. I'm a student in Glasgow but my home's in Fort William, so I break the journey by doing the walk between Rannoch and Corrour and visiting him when I'm travelling between the two places. Sometimes it's just for an hour; sometimes for a night like this time."
I was desperate to ask what the shared interest was, but you can hardly ask a guy you've only just met if his kink is getting his bare buttocks spanked. We were approaching Loch Ossian and the hostel hove into view. Overhead the sun shone in a sky of unsullied blue and the air was warm, only a slight breeze ruffling the surface of the moor.
"Like to join me for a picnic by the loch before you set off for Rannoch?" I asked, fingers and toes crossed that he'd agree.
"Sure. You got food?"
"I stocked up before I left Mallaig," I said.
He nodded.
"Come on, I know a good grassy bit to sit and eat."
I followed him and we unpacked our comestibles, placing what we had between us, apparently managing to reach an unspoken agreement that we'd share what we had. With Guy it was that easy. Conversation was easy too and we soon established that we were both gay and immediately a barely-suppressed frisson of sexuality became overt. We looked appreciatively at each other and had a giggle when we simultaneously had to plunge a hand into our shorts to release a trapped erection.
There was a spark which very quickly ignited a roaring conflagration, boosted by a wind of testosterone. The afternoon grew hot and we removed our shirts.
"How about a swim?" I suggested.
"Yes! Just have to wear my underpants though," he said, pulling off his shorts. I gazed with undisguised admiration at the massive bulge in the front of his pants.
"Wow!" I said.
He smiled in a rather embarrassed fashion and watched closely as I removed my own shorts and allowed him to see my package.
"And wow! back at you," he said with a broad grin.
We plunged into the water, gasping as its icy coldness, even on a hot July afternoon, stung our bodies. We horsed around energetically, swimming, diving, splashing each other, chasing and catching each other, revelling in the touch of each other's naked, wet body; until, exhausted by our efforts, we clambered ashore and lay panting, side by side on the warm grass, letting the sun dry our skin.
I glanced at the remains of our picnic. Only a small amount of juice was left and I picked up the bottle and held it to my mouth.
"Hey! How about sharing?" objected Guy in mock outrage.
I eyed the fluid in the bottle.
"There's only enough for one of us to get a decent mouthful," I said; and then added daringly. "Fight you for it?"
"You're on!"
I laid the bottle aside and at once Guy threw himself on top of me. I hastily responded, struggling to fight him off. We strained and panted, wet skin sliding sensually over wet skin, first one on top and then the other as we fought like young animals, determinedly and in near silence. Once I thought I'd got him and was about to force a submission, when he suddenly wrenched free and rolled me on to my back, pinning me with his weight on my chest. I don't give in that easily though and after a sustained effort I had him again and this time made no mistake. Some painful pressure and he gasped audibly. I looked a question but he just stared back at me. A little more pressure, a contortion of his features and he panted: Okay. I surrender.
I released the pressure and lay still on his chest, my face inches from his as he lay on his back beneath me. We were laughing breathlessly; and then the laughter died and the silence was absolute and the sun was hot on my shoulders. Between us I was acutely aware of two erections. His eyes were fixed steadily on mine as I slowly lowered my head, tense with the awful possibility that he might turn away, until our lips touched. Like an electric-shock, a jolt zipped through me and, as Guy's lips responded to mine, a fiery lust gripped us both and we writhed like coiled snakes in a mating-ritual as we kissed hungrily in several minutes of torrid passion.
By mutual although unspoken consent we fell apart and lay on our sides, words unnecessary, gazing into each other's eyes. At last Guy stirred.
"You're fantastic," he said softly, running a finger along my jawbone.
"Cheeky sod!"
I leaned forward and kissed his hand.
"You're pretty special yourself," I admitted.
"Why don't you come down to Neil's with me this evening, instead of staying in the hostel here? He won't mind another guest for the night; and then we can go back to Glasgow together tomorrow morning."
Into my mind there flashed a sharp, clear vision of Neil arching that vicious-looking cane; and in my head I could hear his words:
If you set foot in this house again, boy, it will be the cane for you.
And it would too. I had no doubt about it. My thoughts about the cane, and I'd had them daily in the past week or so, had convinced me that it held a fascination, but I still found the prospect of actually baring my bottom and bending over for its powerful sting something which frankly scared me.
"I couldn't do that. It would be rude just to turn up and expect to stay. I'll spend the night here and leave early in the morning and catch you up at Rannoch Station if not before."
"Come on. I want you to be with me."
He stopped and I waited as he seemed about to say more. After a few seconds, during which I could see by his face that he was wrestling with something in his mind, he continued.
"Look. Can I tell you something? Something kind of personal and private, I mean?"
"Sure. I won't spread it," I assured him.
"This chap Neil that I'm going to see. Well, he's into spanking; and, well………..well, that's why I'm going…you see?" he ended lamely.
"You're going to get spanked?" I asked.
He nodded, watching my face uneasily. I tried to decide what to say next. Guy misinterpreted my hesitation.
"You're disgusted, right?" he asked, looking a bit miserable.
"No, no. I'm not, honest," I insisted. "I was just thinking. You see, I've got a bit of a confession to make."
"Yeh?"
"I walked up from Rannoch on my way north and there was a sign outside that cottage which said, I kid you not,"free spankings"; and, well, I was kind of curious and so I went to the door and, well, one thing led to another and………"
"And you got spanked!" ended Guy with a grin which reached from ear to ear.
"Er, yes, I got spanked; fucking hard too. Bastard didn't just use his hand; he took a fucking hairbrush to my arse as well. Hurt like the fires of hell."
"Brilliant! Bet you could feel it when you were walking," he said eagerly.
"Too right! Stung all the way to Corrour."
"And you liked it?"
"Yes," I admitted, feeling slightly shame-faced. "It made me feel bloody good after it was over; all sort of calm and content and relaxed; and I liked the sting while I was walking too," I added honestly.
"He canes me," Guy vouchsafed, watching me closely.
"C..canes you? With a cane?"
"Usual thing to use for a caning," he said.
"Yes, I know. I just mean that…..he actually canes you? How does that feel?"
"Sore. But it's exciting too. I've had the cane a few times and I'll be getting it tonight."
"You scared?"
"A bit; that's natural; but I want it too. There's nothing like the kiss of the cane on your bare bottom."
"Kiss? That's hardly the word I'd use about a fucking great rod lashing my bare backside," I said, but my cock was erect.
"Some kisses can be very intense," said Guy solemnly.
I sighed and said nothing. We lay in silence for several minutes.
"Why not come, then? You could get another spanking and watch me getting caned," offered Guy.
My cock soared at the prospect of this double-whammy of delights.
"It's not a simple as that," I said. "I've not told you everything yet."
Guy stared at me.
"Well, come on. Out with it. What's the big secret?" he demanded.
"Neil wanted to cane me but I wouldn't let him. I just don't think I could take the cane; and he told me that if I ever set foot in his house again, he'd cane me – for free," I ended.
"Ah! So, if you come with me tonight, you won't just get a spanking; you'll get a caning, is that it?"
"So, aren't you kind of curious to find out what the cane feels like?" he enquired.
"Not really. I think it'd be fucking awful."
"Or it might not," suggested Guy. "Did he let you see the cane?"
"Yep! Held it too."
"Vicious."
"So, you've forgotten all about it?"
"No. I can't stop thinking about it; but that doesn't mean I want it," I added hastily.
"Definitely."
"Okay. Listen, I've got a tent in my rucksack, so why don't you come with me this evening and stay in the tent nearby; maybe in the ruins of the old lodge; and then we can go on in the morning. That way you don't need to enter Neil's house so you won't get caned. Mind, you won't get spanked either," he said. "Unless Neil comes out and spanks you in the open air."
For some reason this prospect excited me enormously and Guy noticed.
"That's settled then," he said firmly, "and we can stay together for the rest of the day."
I smiled contentedly; for I wanted to stay with him, very much indeed.
With Guy the hours flew by, more swiftly than the wind-driven clouds scudding across the summer sky. By seven in the evening, we were approaching Neil's cottage and I was sure that I wasn't imagining the tingling sensation in my behind. A memory of what had been the last time I was here; or a hope for what I might get if Neil deigned to come out to me?
Guy went to the door while I waited at the end of the path. A minute or two later, he joined me and we made our way to the ruins of the old lodge where he showed me how to erect the little one-man tent where I'd spend the night, in the shadow of the ancient, tumbled walls. He told me he'd asked Neil if he'd like to come out and give me a spanking but the answer had been unequivocal. I had to come into the cottage; in which case I'd be caned. Guy made one last effort to persuade me to come and join him.
"You can see me getting it; and I'll be there when it's your turn," he said.
Almost he persuaded me, as the prospect of seeing Guy's bare behind getting the cane was hugely thrilling. The prospect of my own bare behind getting the cane was sufficiently less so to sway me. I declined, albeit with some reluctance. We'd stick to the plan. Guy would spend the night in the cottage and get a caning; while I'd spend the night in the tent and go un-caned. What was it Burns had said about the best laid plans?
I wandered rather disconsolately around the old lodge in the evening sun. The wind had dropped to almost nothing and the summer air was still and warm. This was a gorgeous place, I decided, peaceful, beautiful in its own remote, majestic way. Not, certainly, the domestic beauty of the cottage garden or the village by the stream; but the grander beauty of bare moor-land stretching to the horizon, the hint of distant mountains and the nearer bulk of Carn Dearg to the east.
Into every Eden however there comes a serpent and I had feared that the serpent might be Neil's cane; but the President of the Immortals, who had had such sport with Tess, wanted to play with me a little first. I had failed to take account of that scourge of the West Highlands, that vicious torturer which has had grown men running away in terror, that tiny tormentor which blights the summer days and especially the still evenings; Culicoides Impunctatus, or the Scottish midge.
The females do the biting, requiring a little meal of blood before they can lay their eggs. Almost too small to be seen, they hunt in packs of hundreds, biting mercilessly on every area of exposed human skin they can find and raising painful bumps which itch infuriatingly and persistently until the victim is driven to escape the onslaught by vacating the field in ignominious defeat.
At first the assault was only a minor irritation and had me slapping and rubbing at my neck and face and bare arms and legs; but soon it became more determined. For a moment I had a vision of the tiny world of the midge in which a sign had gone up saying, Free Blood. I tried to escape a cloud of the little monsters by running swiftly around the old lodge's walls. It was of no help. They followed; reinforcements came. Scratching and swatting desperately, I withdrew to the tent; but they were there before me and drove me daft as I struggled in vain to defeat them by covering my head with my arms.
Yet still they bit and still I slapped and rubbed and scratched until I fled the tent and ran at full pelt along the path in a vain attempt to out-distance them. They were driving me crazy. I'd met midges before and I'd heard of them compelling campers to pack up and flee in the middle of the night; but never had I realised how horrendous and unbearable their assault could be on a still, warm evening with no breath of wind to blow them away.
I had to escape. Anything was preferable now to this torment and I perceived at last how cunningly I'd been played; for the only escape from the pain of the midges was to the cottage; and the pain of the cane. So desperate now was my situation, however, that even the cane seemed a minor irritation compared to the relentless bites of the midge-horde. I fled to the house and banged on the door.
Neil answered and took one look at me; and laughed.
"So," he said, "it looks like there's something you fear more than my cane, eh Dave?"
"Just let me in, please," I begged, still scrubbing furiously at my face and then at my neck and then at my legs.
He stood aside and admitted me and I went into the sitting-room. On a sofa, lying face-down was Guy. I stopped short. Across his taut, muscular bare bottom was etched a series of five parallel cane-lines, all crossed on the diagonal by a sixth. They looked angry and red and painful; but Guy was looking round at me with a broad, cheerful grin on his face. He appeared to be perfectly content.
"So you came for the cane after all," he said.
"Fucking midges," I swore savagely, scratching and rubbing still. "I couldn't take any more; even in the bloody tent."
Neil approached me. I turned and saw that he was holding the cane. I gulped; but I knew I was for it.
"Oh, God!"
"You planning to argue, Dave?" Neil enquired.
"No," I said. "It's what we agreed. I just never thought I'd be in this position."
"Nor in the position you're going to be in very soon," chortled Guy.
"Sadistic bugger!" I muttered.
I continued to scrub at my bites. Neil looked at me with some sympathy.
"The midges are tough," he said, "but I promise that once you're bent over, bare-arsed and waiting for the cane, you won't be thinking about a few midge-bites."
"A few midge-bites? The whole fucking army of Rannoch midges has been dining out on my body for the past two hours; squadrons of the blasted monsters! What the hell do they do for their blood when I'm not here?" I demanded unreasonably.
"Right! Stop moaning. You're going to get something to really scrub at shortly," said Neil, his voice suddenly harsh. "Guy; up against the wall, boy!"
Guy sprang instantly from the sofa and took his stance facing the wall, hands on his buttocks.
"You; strip!" Neil ordered, turning to me.
I found myself obeying at the double, hauling off my boots and socks, yanking down my shorts and pants and finally pulling off my shirt. I stood in all my naked glory. I observed Guy turning his head to look.
"Face the wall, boy!" shouted Neil; and Guy obeyed immediately. "Now I'm going to give you a spanking first to get your endorphins going," Neil informed me, "and then we'll move on to the cane. Understand?"
"Yes, what, boy?!"
"Yes, sir," I replied hastily.
"That's better," agreed Neil. "Now stand up straight; hands on your bottom; and stop that bloody scratching!"
"But I………"
"Silence!"
I said no more and adopted the position required; but I glared resentfully at him as the bites throbbed and itched and I forced myself not to rub them. Bloody ironic that the only place I was allowed to put my hands, on my bottom, was about the only place I had no bites!
Neil sat on the sofa and summoned me across his lap. My cock rose as I positioned myself and the feel of his denims under my bare, hard penis, sent a thrill of excitement through me. Neil's hand performed a circular motion on my behind, firmly caressing the full surface of my buttocks, his index finger occasionally sliding easily between my legs and along my perineum and back up through my cleft to pass lightly over the lips of my anus with a touch of fire.
I relaxed and even the midge-bites seemed less intense; and when his hand suddenly came down with a sharp smack on the crown of my bottom, I forgot the bites altogether for a second. Spank after spank followed in a steady stream, covering my behind from waist to crease, raising the temperature to a hot glow. I was wincing and wriggling and gasping a bit by the time he stopped. My bum was aflame and my penis was at full attention.
"On your feet, boy!"
I scrambled up and stood, feeling my way over my backside, revelling in the stinging heat; and the midge-bites were little more than a background irritation. Neil stood and picked up the cane. I tensed. He arched the rod slowly, letting me see what I was going to get. I took in the lithe arc and its potential for pain. I tried to imagine what cane-welts would feel like under my hands. I swallowed and listened to the blood pounding in my ears.
"Over here, boy!"
He led me to a small, plain, wooden table and instructed me to bend over with my lower-arms on the table's surface, on their sides with palms open and facing each other, as if I were holding an invisible piece of wood between them. He kicked at my feet to make me spread my legs a bit more; and then he tapped my behind with the cane. I flinched, not with pain but simply because it was the cane. He drew the cane back and forward across my bottom several times, letting me feel its hard, unyielding texture, its slim length; letting my buttocks know what was coming.
My penis, erect after the spanking, had gone into retreat.
"Don't break position," he ordered.
The cane was drawn back and I tensed my body in readiness. I was aware of the rod descending, of the whistling sound in the still air of the room, of the crack as wood and bare flesh came into violent contact; and then on a sudden I was aware of the sting, a lash of pain across the crown of my bum, penetrating, burning, forcing me to clench my glutes to a quivering intensity as I fought to ride the pain.
I released my breath slowly and relaxed my muscles slightly as the sting subsided. I felt the cane touch my behind again. It was removed; the air sang and I heard the crack and a split second later felt the burn. I reached forward and grasped the edge of the table.
"Get your hands back in position, boy!" roared Neil, so loudly that I moved them instinctively. "Now keep them there!"
Oh, God! He doesn't believe in making it easy. Isn't it bad enough having to cope with the pain without having to keep fucking still as well?
I abandon my resentful thoughts as the cane touches my skin once more and is then raised and brought back down, hard. I gasp aloud as the tip of the rod bites savagely at my thigh.
For fuck's sake! I'm in agony here. Can't I even make a bloody sound? Fucking sadist!
I steady myself and feel the rod now high on my behind, near the top, approaching my waist. There's a pause and then the routine of withdraw, bring down hard, crack, burn, pulse with growing intensity, fight to keep still and quiet; and easing slightly of pain. Just two to go. I hope. He never actually said six, but that's what Guy got and he surely couldn't give me more than that; could he?
The cane is resting on my crease now and I'm scared. I know how sensitive I am there, just where my legs join my buttocks. He knows it too and that's why the next stroke is going there. He intends to hurt me; and I intend to show him I can take it! The cane lashes down; pain screams along my crease and I thump my feet on the floor as I wrestle for self-control.
"Keep still, boy!"
Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!
I force my feet to be still. Why? Why should I obey him? I don't know; but I want to. One to go and I am fairly sure now that I can do it.
I wait for the touch of the rod, the preliminary which warns me that a stroke is imminent; but it doesn't come. Nothing happens. I stand, bent over, bottom throbbing with heat, ready for a final explosion of fire. Still he makes me wait. The silence in the room is absolute and I'm aware that Guy too is waiting. He can't see what's happening but he can hear it all and I find myself hoping that he's proud of me.
Come on, you bastard! Stop torturing me! Cane me, damn you!
I hear the whine of the rod as the air winces and am barely ready when the cane strikes. The diagonal cut reawakens all the previous fires of the earlier strokes and my bum blazes with a searing heat. In spite of myself, I grasp the table's edge once more and stretch out a leg behind me, holding it taut and a-quiver. A yelp which I can't quite stifle escapes me. Pain flourishes, triumphant, and then softly dissipates leaving behind a steady, burning sting which stimulates my genitals and my penis rises fast.
"Get up, boy!"
I rise painfully, like an old man rising stiffly after sitting too long. I place my hands tentatively on my thrashed bottom and feel with a degree of awe the welts raised on my skin, radiating heat on to my palms.
"You may come and see him, Guy," says Neil and Guy is there, a golden grin splitting his face, his eyes dancing. I feel a dark and secret delight in what I've experienced and I feel at one with Guy for he too knows exactly how I feel. He takes me into his arms and hugs me tightly and I feel a few tears trickling down my face. Guy notices and licks them off tenderly.
I feel awesome. A sense of euphoria has flooded my being. My pulsating bottom is a source of powerful sexual stimulation. If I were to be offered three wishes now, I'd wish to go to bed with Guy three times over.
"You were right," I confessed, turning to Neil who was watching us with a wide smile on his face. "I did want to be caned. I just didn't realise it."
"How are the midge-bites?"
"What midge-bites?"
We all laughed.
"Right, you pair, into the spare room and sort yourselves out and then come back here and we'll eat. Getting caned gives you a good appetite."
Neither Guy nor I needed any second bidding. Cocks like flag-poles, we retired to the bedroom and shyly began to relieve each other's tensions. I had one of the best orgasms I'd ever had. Once we'd done, we lay on our fronts for a while, side by side, shoulders and thighs touching, and discussed the intimate experience of being caned.
Neil fed us like fighting cocks and then sent us back to the bedroom for the night.
"I'm afraid it's only a single bed," he said. "Will you manage?"
I glanced at Guy and we both sniggered.
"I think so," I replied. "We won't need a lot of space."
Nor did we; and after two more increasingly-confident workings at each other's balls, first with tongue and then with hands again, we fell asleep, Guy lying behind me, his arms around me, one hand resting on my balls and his organ soft now between my buns.
Neil provided us with breakfast and then we accepted his invitation to spend the day with him, exploring a little of the country round about and enjoying his entertaining company. We had to catch the train at Rannoch station about half past six that evening and wanted to give ourselves a couple of hours to get there. Shortly before we left, Guy and I dropped our shorts to let Neil see the lasting effects of his efforts with the cane the previous night.
"Are you still offering free spankings?" I asked.
"Of course. Want one?"
"I'm still marked from the cane; but maybe a little one?" I suggested.
A couple of minutes later I was over Neil's knee and the wooden hairbrush was snapping across my buns in a flurry of swift, sharp swats to whichever area of my bare bottom I couldn't get my hand near to protect. I writhed and yelped and felt the tears come as a roaring inferno engulfed my buttocks. As suddenly as the onslaught began, it ended and I was hoisted to my feet to stand, scrubbing ruefully at my blistered bum while Guy went over Neil's lap for similar treatment.
"Fucking shit!" I panted, blinking back tears. "How the hell do you manage to make it sting that much so quickly?"
"You've got a lot to learn, boy," he answered as I watched a somewhat nervous-looking Guy lower himself across the waiting knees.
"You think I'm coming back for more?" I enquired, eyeing my rearing erection.
Neil just raised his eyebrows at me and began to beat a swift tattoo of spanks on the crown of Guy's buns.
"Okay," I admitted, watching Guy flinch and wince. "I will be back."
A few minutes later, bottoms tingling pleasantly, we strode off down the path towards Rannoch. The skies were somewhat overcast and a brisk breeze meant that smart walking was in order so that we covered the ground fairly swiftly. On the approach to Rannoch, however, the cloud-roof parted and a pale sun streamed through, transforming the almost monochrome moor-land into a patchwork of heather, peat, rocks and pools which extended to the south and west to where the mountains of Glencoe brooded darkly over their ancient memories of hideous betrayal of hospitality. The early evening sunshine tinged the edges of the clouds with gold and, far to the north-west, Ben Nevis and the mountains of Lochaber stood stark against the horizon.
We gazed in wonder at the remote loveliness of the landscape and then became aware that the wind had dropped and the midges were on the attack. We were both scratching and slapping at our bare skin.
"Midges are hell," remarked Guy, scrubbing furiously at his neck, "but all this" (and here he swept his arms out in an expansive gesture encompassing the panorama before us) "makes even them worth enduring."
"I suppose it's kind of like the cane," I said meditatively. "When it cracks across your bare bum it hurts like a jellyfish-sting; but that feeling afterwards, the adrenaline-high, the sexual arousal, the sensation that you're on top of the world and invincible; wow! That makes it all worthwhile."
"So you're glad you went to investigate the 'free spankings', then?"
"Definitely," I confirmed. "And when there's a red-hot, sexy boy, randy as a rabbit and panting to share the experience with me," I added with a grin at him, "then everything is just perfect."
"We're a bit early for the train," observed Guy. "Since you liked the free spanking so much, I've got another free offer for you."
I looked expectantly at him.
"Free wanking," he said. "In behind those rocks there."
My penis had already accepted the offer but I had one reason to hesitate.
"The midges are getting bad."
Guy shrugged.
"We'll be quick; and I bet you the pleasure's worth the pain."
I got bites on my bum and on my cock; but Guy was right. Together we soared above moor-land and midge on the wings of ecstatic release; and then, hand in hand, we walked down to Rannoch and along the road to the station.
I wriggled uncomfortably on the train-seat as midge-bites and the after effects of Neil's hairbrush made themselves felt. It had been a tough couple of days. Guy watched me and grinned.
"You'll be coming back with me in two or three weeks' time?" he asked.
"I hope I can afford it. He said the cane was a pound a stroke," I said.
Guy smiled broadly and fished out of the back-pocket of his shorts a small pile of cards. He handed me one. It said:
Caning Voucher – value: 6 strokes
I stared at Guy.
"Where the hell did you get this?"
"From Neil. Good customers get free vouchers. I've got quite a lot of them. Have another couple."
He handed me two more. One was the same as the first. The other read:
Tawsing Voucher – value: 12 strokes
"That's two dozen you've got lined up for nothing; and I bet he starts giving you some free vouchers of your own pretty soon. Aren't you the lucky boy, Dave?"
I gave my bottom a careful rub. Twelve strokes of the cane; and twelve with the leather tawse, which I hadn't even felt yet; and probably that fucking bastard yelling at me to keep still and keep quiet as well. This could be hell. My cock soared excitedly in anticipation. I decided I'd not be using the vouchers all at once. I remembered vividly the six I'd got the previous evening and scrubbed thoughtfully at my behind again.
There was no doubt about it. I was the lucky boy!
The train thundered south towards Loch Lomond.
You can still travel by train on the West Highland Line from Glasgow to Fort William and Mallaig and, if you choose, leave the train at Rannoch and walk the nine miles along the path over the moor to Corrour before boarding again.
Neil and his cottage are, I regret to say, entirely imaginary. The midges are definitely for real!
Story ©MMXI by Joelstrap, and used here by very kind permission of the author.
Posted in: caning, M/M, spanking. Tagged: cane, caning, discipline, erection, M/M, masturbation, punishment, spanking, teacher, underpants. 9 Comments
Another 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!
Donor With A Boner by Rod Cayenne
"Good morning," a distinguished but gruff male voice replied.
"Is that the Trust's Charity Shop?"
"Yes it is, how can I help?"
"Ah well. I have some donations to bring round. I can borrow my dad's car."
"Very good, lad."
"There are books. Lots of them. Good quality, too. Glassware. Bric-a-brac. Oh, and an easel. Some Air Force memorabilia. Nothing electrical."
"Yes, that's all fine. Please do bring it all round to the shop. We accept donations before 12 noon, Monday to Saturday."
"Great, thank you. There's something else as well."
"These things all belonged to my late uncle, a retired headmaster."
"I see, well that's no problem. We'd be very happy to accept all of those things you mentioned."
"No, it's just that there's something else. I'm not sure that your shop will want them. You see, there's a trio of school canes."
"Ah, I see. Well now, that really is an unusual donation to offer us. Let me think. I suppose there could be some interest in them. Not sure it's what the shop should be selling. Not very woke, eh lad?"
"No indeed, hey, just forget it, I'll throw them away."
"No, no! Don't do that. That wouldn't be very green, now would it? We are an environmental charity, after all."
"Yes, sorry, silly of me."
"And they could be worth something, to the right buyer. Can you describe them in a little more detail for me?"
"Well as I said, there's three of them. All about the same length. Just around a metre long, I'd guess. Different thicknesses. All with a curved handle, and a medium sort of patina,"
"Very good description, my boy. I can just see them now. But even so, I'd like to see them in the flesh, as it were, so that I confirm my assessment of the potential sales value of them. We might be able to sell them through our online portal, rather than in the shop, you see. I wonder, is there any chance you could bring them round to my home, it's a bit late for today, perhaps tomorrow evening? I could assess them then."
"Well, I do want them to sell for the right price. I could come around. I've got the use of my dad's car for the week, while he's away."
"88, The Avenue."
"Oh yes, I know. I could be there for 7pm."
"Very good. Don't be late or I may have to use one of those canes on you, lad!"
"Yes Sir! Don't worry, I'm never late."
"Very good. And your name is?"
"Peter, Sir."
"I'll see you tomorrow, Peter. Remember, 7pm sharp, 88 The Avenue,"
Peter ended the call. He felt a little bit flustered. Why had he agreed to go round to this old stranger's house? He could end up dead! Or thrashed with one of those canes! Or he could just drop the canes off with the rest of the donations. Yes, that might be a more sensible option. Or he could just keep them. He decided to sleep on it.
In the event, sleep didn't come easily that night. He tossed and turned, remembering the older man's threat to use the cane on him, if he were to be late. What an awful thought. What an awfully exciting thought though! His penis seemed to have a life of its own as he thought about being on the receiving end of a caning. Perhaps on his bare bottom. Ouch!
The following day he woke early and had to masturbate about the exciting caning he'd been fantasising about. When he had finished, he cleaned up with some handy tissues, but then he had to have a repeat session. Why was he so turned on? He thought about the old man on the phone. He thought he could picture him. He could certainly imagine him wielding a cane.
The day was going to drag, of that he was sure. Indeed, time ran slowly as the lad paced around his home. Even his mother could detect there was something on his mind. He wasn't about to share his secret with her. He had an appointment that evening. He had instructions not to be late. He had already decided to be late!
The car engine chugged away as the lad sat only a short distance away from The Avenue. He waited until about ten past the hour before turning into the road, taking a leisurely drive up to No.88. He parked up and sprang out of the car, grabbing the canes which he had discreetly wrapped in a black plastic bin bag.
"Ah, there you are my boy! I was beginning to think you weren't coming. I thought you said you were never late?"
"I did say that, didn't I? Silly me!" Peter said, carefully not apologising.
"Well, we'll discuss that in a minute, come on in and show me what you've got there. Take your shoes off first please. Right, into the living room."
Carefully unwrapping the package, Peter said, "Well, here they are, what do you think?"
"My, my!" exclaimed the old man, "They are beauties. Fine specimens indeed. You undersold them! You know, I am a retired schoolmaster myself, so I know a good cane when I see one."
"Oh yes. I used to be a bit of a devil with the cane. Shocking, really. Tell me Peter, how old are you?"
"Me? I'm eighteen."
"Ah, sixth form age, then? I've beaten a few eighteen-year-olds in my time. They liked to think they were adults but I soon cut them down to size."
"Really? How interesting. May I ask, how did they take it?"
"Ah, now that would be telling, wouldn't it? Yes. Well, alright. You obviously want to know, don't you? Some took it rather well, I must say. Some were pretty hardened to the cane. Others, not so much. Some crying and shouting and so forth."
"Just a few I'm sure actually liked it."
"What, like masochists?"
"Maybe. Submissive, certainly."
"I see. My uncle never discussed corporal punishment with me."
"Perhaps because he could sense your interest in the subject?"
"Perhaps. But things have moved on now. No-one gets the cane nowadays."
"Well, I expect some caning does happen. As I said, some lads seemed to like it. And some gentlemen used to like giving it."
"So, let's not beat about the bush, how many strokes do you want?"
"I didn't say that I did."
"No, you didn't say it. But you do, don't you?"
"OK. Yes I do, if I'm honest. If you don't think that's too weird."
"It's fine, Peter. Doesn't matter what I think. I understand. Be aware, however, that I'm one of those masters who liked dishing it out. And hard. But."
"But what, Sir?"
"We cannot do it with you wearing those thick denim jeans. You wouldn't feel a thing. Well, not enough, anyway."
"They will have to come down. In fact, take them right off. Yes, I'm afraid that's non-negotiable. You can keep your pants on though. You do have pants on underneath, don't you?"
"Yes, I do."
"And they are nice and clean?"
"Yes, of course! Fresh on."
"Well, that's good. Let's get on with it then, shall we? Now, you never did tell me how many strokes you wanted."
"Six. Six of the best. That's traditional. That's what I want, please."
"Are you sure? That's a lot for a first-time offender with a delicate young bottom."
"Well, I have been spanked before. A few times. Actually."
"Ah, I see. Not your retired headmaster uncle obviously, but your father?"
"Err, no. He's not like that at all. It was a friend."
"Ah. A friend, eh? A good friend or a bad friend, or a boyfriend?"
"Well, a boyfriend, if you like."
"Yes, I do like. I like very much. You are a naughty boy! Incorrigible. In fact, if I didn't know better, I'd say you'd got this whole scene planned out in advance. Wicked lad!"
"Well my boyfriend wouldn't agree to give me a caning. I did ask after I found the canes in among the stuff for the charity shop. I asked him again and again, but he wouldn't have it. Or let me have it!"
"Hmm. That's sad, and an opportunity missed. To be frank, if he's not giving you what you want, perhaps you should dump him?"
Peter laughed, and the last remnants of the ice were broken, "Yes, I could I suppose. I certainly know what I want."
"Very well," the old man sighed "Six of the very best!"
"I thought perhaps…"
"Perhaps what, boy?"
"Perhaps two strokes with each of the three canes."
"A good idea. You are meticulous in your planning, I'll give you that."
"My teachers say that I have an eye for detail."
"Alright, alright, that's enough! Enough cockiness for one day. Let's have you bent over this chair here. Bend over. Right over. Now!"
Peter followed the instructions. His clean, crisp white underpants were soon on display, as was a stonking big erection clearly tenting at the front. He tried to hide it, and his blushes, but he knew for sure everything had been seen and noted.
"Face the front! Bend right over. Get you arse well up. No moving or noise unless you want extras!" barked the old man in full schoolmaster mode.
With a whistle and a crack, the first stroke of the cane landed on the pale pants. Peter was quickly taken aback. The pain was rapid, intense and unbelievable. This was nothing like the loving spankings his boyfriend gave! But there was no time for wistful reflection as the second stroke followed through, slicing the round mounds with sheer unadulterated sadism.
"Let's change canes, then," said the man picking up a thicker stick. "You might find this uncomfortable."
Well, that was an understatement! The thicker cane slashed down with venom, its harsh bite lighting new fire in the poor submissive lad's buttocks. "Arrrgh!" he cried.
"Quiet boy, take your punishment like a man. You wanted this, remember?"
Peter remembered all too well. How he was regretting his teenage folly. He regretted it even more as stroke four slammed into his pants. Below the tight white fabric thick ugly red weals were forming on his flesh. The boy was already conquered. Further defeat was in prospect, however.
"And now the third cane here. Looks a bit severe, this one. Dear, dear. Are you ready? Arse up properly, stick it out for me!"
Peter stuck his bottom out submissively, awaiting the stinging caress of the cane. But he got more than he bargained for, as two strokes lashed down, the second straight after the first. "Fuckin' hell!" he squealed.
"Oh dear! Now that was uncalled for, Peter. Such foul language would have incurred an extra stroke, back in the day. Plus, we haven't punished your deliberate lateness yet, have we?"
"It wasn't deliberate!" cried Peter.
"Lying to me also incurs extra," the old man added, flexing the cane.
"No more, please!" Peter begged.
"Alright, we'll postpone for now and review things later. Here, let me take a peek just to make sure I haven't overdone it." With that he peeled the white briefs down revealing a bottom decorated with vivid, throbbing red stripes. A tear or two ran down Peter's face. "Hey, let me rub it better. There, there. Ssshhh."
The rubbing helped ease the pain and the shock. Peter's erection soon reappeared. It was young, virile, teenage, stiff and almost painful.
The old man smiled knowingly, "Now, tell me honestly. Does being bedded feature in your detailed plan?"
"Yes, rather! An optional outcome of course Sir, but very much planned for. See?" A packet of three condoms was duly produced from a denim pocket. "Mum's not expecting me back yet. She thinks I'm courting a girl."
"I see. Devious, to the last. And you're definitely eighteen?"
"Yes, Sir. Eighteen and a half, in fact."
"And not a virgin?"
"Hardly!"
"It's just as well I've popped one of my magic blue pills then, isn't it? You are a promiscuous young tart, aren't you lad?" With that the old man landed a very sharp smack right on the centre of the boy's caned buttocks.
Story © MMXXI by Rod Cayenne. All rights reserved.
Comments welcome. Comments are here.
Posted by Rod Cayenne on November 1, 2021
Posted in: caning, M/M, spanking. Tagged: bare, cane, caning, hairbrush, headmaster, M/M, masturbation, spanking, teen, teenager. 4 Comments
A repeat of this hot fiction by your host, Rod Cayenne. All the characters are aged 18 or over. Strictly Adults Only!
My local newsagent, Mr Kumar, was such a sweet old thing. His greying hair and gold-rimmed spectacles betrayed his age, which was probably mid-60s. He carefully slotted my copy of "Mayfair" inside the "Telegraph." He winked at me as he did so, and I handed a crisp new note over to him. He understood that us men sometimes needed this one-handed reading matter to relieve our domestic tensions. Indeed, in my case it was being decidedly unattached which made my urges at times overwhelming.
Just as I was about to leave, Kumar pulled me to one side. "Mr Kemp," he said, "It's not my place to judge, but I wanted a word about your son, Robert."
"Really? I do hope he hasn't been stealing stuff," I laughed, knowing full well that my son wouldn't do such a thing.
"No, no, bless me, it's nothing like that. I just wanted to check his age with you."
"He's eighteen. Cigarettes?"
"No, not that either. Eighteen is good and legal. You see, he buys adult magazines too. Rather specialist ones, you might say. Mainly these spanking ones." With that, Kumar pointed a spindly finger at some top shelf titles like Janus, Blushes and Swish! "An unusual taste in one so young, if I may say so," he chuckled.
Ignoring his gaze, I picked up one of the titles, actually some sort of readers' letters edition. I flicked through and looked at the photos and illustrations of attractive maidens having their bare young bottoms spanked, slippered, hairbrushed and caned. I swallowed hard. I really couldn't see the appeal of it all.
I sighed and placed the magazine back on the top shelf, noticing the exceptionally high price tag on the fluorescent orange sticker as I did so. "Disgusting!" I exclaimed, probably more from embarrassment than true revulsion.
"I don't like stocking those magazines, but the wholesaler always sends them, and doesn't like too many returns. I'm probably cutting off my nose to spite my face here," said Mr Kumar, "Because young Robert is one of my best customers."
"Well thank you for letting me know," I said laughing, "Perhaps I'll get my slipper or hairbrush on the case!"
"Oh no! Oh no, no, no! I didn't mean to cause trouble!" he said, but you know, I rather think he did.
I went back to my old Cortina, wondering what to do. Was it any of my business? Was it any of Kumar's business? No and no, the answers came to me. Perhaps I should have let Robert have my back issues, although to be honest I rather prized my collection of Men Only and Mayfair magazines. I decided to do nothing. I got home and read the paper, and then proceeded to enjoy my adult reading. As I spunked over my belly and chest, I started to feel a little bit guilty. Guilty about knowing my son's secret, and guilty about my double standards. Still, there it was.
Unfortunately, things came to a head only a week or so later. I came home early, only to find Robert masturbating in the living room. He was looking at one of the spanking magazines.
"Robert! What the hell are you doing? In the lounge, of all places! Give me that magazine!"
Once again, I found myself flicking through what is commonly known as a "spanker," although this time my interest was more piqued. Page after page of naughty females being spanked, their arses up in the air, with pretty much everything clearly on view. Oh yes, this time I could kind of see the appeal. But that didn't stop me being a complete hypocrite! I shouted at my son some more, "This is utter filth! Girlie mags are one thing, but this sort of depraved thing's only suitable for the dirty mac brigade! I was brought up that it was wrong to hit women, so this really sickens me!"
"Sorry, Dad," was all that my embarrassed teenager could say.
"Have you any idea how much this would hurt?" I asked him, pointing to a graphic picture of a young minx being thrashed on the bare with a hairbrush.
"Well! Let's find out shall we? Go and fetch the hairbrush off the dressing table in my room!"
"Fetch it! NOW!"
A minute or so later, he appeared red-faced with the brush in his hand. I snatched it from him, still fuming at his totally inappropriate use of the front room.
"Jeans down! Over my lap!"
Suddenly I was confronted with the reality of the situation I'd created. My son was draped over my knees, his off-white Y-fronts on display, and fully expecting to be battered hard with the oaken brush. I began to have doubts. But it was too late to stop! I cracked the brush down hard, again and again, and my son cried out as the blows hit home. I wasn't going easy on him, I was so annoyed and so determined. I cracked the brush down again, and then tore his pants down, revealing a severely reddened hide. This seemed to encourage me to hit him even harder, and soon the brush was making frantic contact with his bare teenage flesh. After perhaps twenty more blows I stopped, much to his relief. I was rather embarrassed about it all. His hands flew to his bum as he stood up.
"Let that be a lesson to you! If I find this sort of thing again, I will be getting a cane. Then we can see how you like that!" I was shocked by my idle threat, and by the way my latent sadism had surfaced. "We'll say no more about it!" I declared, wanting instant closure.
Robert beat a hasty retreat to his bedroom. I picked up the magazine. It was called Swish! I skimmed through the pages. The content turned me on and I soon found myself wanking in the very same room my son had been jerking in! I kept the magazine and it made some very interesting bedtime reading. Needless to say, Robert didn't ask for it back.
It was a few days later that I bumped into my old headmaster, Dr Dillon. We exchanged some idle chatter in the street and then adjourned to the Crown Inn for a couple of beers. The alcohol soon loosened my tongue, and he found out about how I had disciplined my son.
"Good for you! You did the right thing." He gently squeezed my hand, saying reassuringly, "Eighteen can be such a difficult age."
"I don't know about that. I was so annoyed! I even threatened to buy a cane and use it on him."
"A cane, eh? Not a bad idea. Could help cure him of his strange interest, I suppose. By the way, call me Dave."
"Well, Dave, that's what I threatened him with! He went as white as a sheet."
"I bet he did. The cane has that effect!"
"I know, I didn't much care for it back in the day."
"No, indeed. I remember. Anyway, I can help."
"I've got some canes back at my place. Souvenirs from abolition. You can have one, if you like."
"Oh no. I couldn't possibly."
"Go on. I insist. A good, hard caning is just what your boy needs. I've got a few canes, and I can spare you one. After all, they don't get a lot of use nowadays."
So it was that we ended up at his house. It was a real tip, which was a surprise, given how he used to lecture us on tidiness and presentation! We made our way into his dining room, where he offered me a chair. He disappeared for a few minutes, then came in with a good half-dozen canes. All of them had that strange curved handle, so familiar to generations of British men.
We talked canes for a short time. He told me all about rattan and how it was so suitable for punishment canes, unlike bamboo which could split and break if used in anger. He swished a few of the canes and so did I. Then there was an awkward silence. "Choose one," he said, "Any one. They are all much the same."
I picked the one I'd just been swishing around. He nodded approvingly, "Yes, a fine specimen that one. Of course it can hurt like the blazes. Want a stroke to remind you?"
"Perhaps, I'd better," I agreed reluctantly and bent over the dining room table. He let rip with the cane which sliced into my trousers. "Shit! Shit! Shit!" I cried.
"Hurt a bit did it?" my headmaster asked while laughing sadistically. "Just one more I think, for swearing. Get back down!"
Foolishly I bent over obediently. He let fly again with another scorcher. This time I held my tongue, but as I rose I felt I had to hold my bottom too! God, how it stung and ached, and all after only two strokes!
"Well, what did you think of that little beauty?" he smiled.
"Yes, that would certainly teach him a lesson! I'd forgotten how much a cane can sting," I admitted, adding "But I'm worried about doing it. I mean, do I just whack him?"
"No there's a definite technique to it. Watch me!" With that he whacked some cushions and then let me try to do the same. I soon got a feel for the power of the rattan stick and how to handle it. Encouraging me, he said, "You have to aim for the middle of the buttock cheek furthest away from you. Of course what you really need is a real person to practice on."
"Yes, well that's not going to happen, now is it? Come on!" I said
"Don't be so cocky, Kemp! Or I'll give you some more."
"Sorry, Sir," I said, feeling a bit worse for wear after our drinking session, and with those two cane weals throbbing under my trousers.
"You may be surprised to hear this, but I'm not averse to taking a few strokes myself. You can practice on me!"
I was astonished. He couldn't be serious, could he? But he was, and then to cap it all, he promptly dropped his trousers and underpants and took my place bending over the dining table. I shuddered and hesitated as I gazed at the bare male flesh before me.
"Well, get on with it lad! I don't have all day!" he ordered.
I lashed a first strike down. It landed spectacularly, right on the manly, naked target and with a most satisfying crack. He grunted, and then said, "Good! You're a natural! Carry on." The second stroke was less successful, too tentative evidently, as he admonished, "Harder!" With determination, I then landed four crisp, harder strokes as instructed. My God, what fun it was! Moreover, I was strangely turned on, my rigid cock straining within my Falmers slacks.
I was so grateful for that cane he gave me. I was even more grateful for our friendship. We met up regularly for caning sessions. One thing led to another and we ended up bedding each other. Yes, we became the most unlikely of lovers.
So did I cane my son? You bet! Only a few times, sadly, as he became a pretty well-behaved senior teen, on the whole.
I eventually confided in Mr Kumar that I'd caned young Robert. He just smiled, and then said, "Unfortunately, I don't think it has cured him, Mr Kemp. He's been buying even more of the spanking magazines. And some of these homosexual ones too!" He pointed out titles such as Zipper, Him and Vulcan. I was shocked speechless and then he added, "Forgive me, I didn't want to cause more trouble." But you know, I rather think he did.
All characters and businesses appearing in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons and businesses, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Posted in: caning, M/M, spanking. Tagged: brother, cane, caning, discipline, M/M, masturbation, plimsoll, punishment, slipper, spanking. 1 Comment
A work of almost total fiction by Rod Cayenne, repeated here by popular request. Strictly Over-18s only!
I've always had a funny relationship with my brother Patrick. He always called me "kid" which was guaranteed to piss me off big time. That and the fact that he was a good ten years older than me.
A few years back he purchased his first house. In a less than desirable suburb of the city, he really thought he had arrived. It was a Victorian terrace, with a big railway viaduct down the bottom of the garden. Being a bit of a gricer, I took pleasure in telling him that it was the line that the nuclear waste trains ran along. That freaked him out briefly! His green credentials were seriously dented. Yes, we were siblings with the traditional rivalry. Even so, I was happy to help him move in and decorate as I was waiting to start a new term at University. I stayed for a few days.
Towards the end of my stay, I was enjoying a fine brew of tea and a crafty cigarette as my elevensies break. My brother had taken the train into town to sort out some things. I was a bit bored and tired as I gazed idly out of the kitchen window. I picked up the previous day's evening paper and scanned through it as I puffed on my fag. Suddenly, I spat tea out of my gob with disbelief as I started to read an article about corporal punishment and the cane in particular. It was a hot piece alright, on a subject I'd always had an unhealthy interest in. In fact, it was so hot that I soon whipped Mr Cock out of my trousers and began to masturbate furiously. Unfortunately for me, my brother returned just at that moment, unheard by me. Perhaps the radio had drowned out the noise of him opening the front door?
"What the fuck are you doing, kid?" he boomed at me. "Wanking in my kitchen! What if the neighbours have seen? They might think it was me. Their new neighbour is a wanker indeed! Shit, I hope they haven't seen you. You little sod! What are you wanking off to anyway?"
He snatched the rag from me. I blushed a deep red as the penny dropped.
"So, into spanking, are you?"
I thought it best to say nothing at that point. I mean, what could I say? My mind raced, and I remembered a few smacked bottoms he'd given me when we were younger.
"I can see that you need a good hard spanking now, kid!"
"Don't be daft," I replied, "I'm twenty!"
"Shut up! Go to your room and wait for me."
Reluctantly, I made my way up the stairs to the small bedroom I'd been sleeping in. The fresh magnolia paint gave the room a sunny air. The window was open to allow the paint smell to dissipate. I sat down on the bed, feeling for all the world like a guilty teenager. Soon my brother appeared, smiling a sinister smile. He unlaced his Green Flash trainers and slipped them off silently. The meaning was clear. He was going to beat me with them.
"Such depraved behaviour, kid! Demands punishment, don't you think?"
"Yes." I agreed submissively.
"Better bare your bottom for me, then. It's traditional, after all. Then bend over the bed."
"Patrick, is all this really necessary?" I asked, in one last forlorn attempt to avoid a beating.
"Oh yes, I'd certainly say so! That's it, nice and bare now." I slipped my jeans and pants down. "Tut, tut, carrying a bit of extra weight on your buttocks these days, I see!"
My humiliation was almost complete. He picked up one of his green and white tennis shoes and slapped it down hard on my naked arse. An almighty thundercrack seemed to accompany it and a wave of pain engrossed my body. Rapidly, a second, third and fourth stroke struck home. Already the pain was overwhelming me. If my brother was worried about the neighbours seeing me wanking, why wasn't he worried about the noise from my spanking? Surely it was drifting out of the open window? I needn't have worried though, as just then two expresses passed on the viaduct, drowning out the sounds of my beating.
"AAARGH!" I cried as further strokes lashed my naked behind. I was close to begging him to stop, but really I was so ashamed of my behaviour that I felt I really had to just grin and bear it. As further strikes hit me though, this became harder and I soon felt silent tears rolling down my face. Again and again he hit me, sometimes with the left tennis shoe, sometimes the right. My arse was aglow, bright red and throbbing. Certainly the beating had cured my urge to masturbate. Eventually it was over. Patrick slapped my arse gratuitously with his hand a couple of times as I staggered to my feet.
"Don't think I've finished with you yet, kid," my brother said. "This afternoon you and I will take the train into town where you will buy a cane, seeing as you have such an interest in them. You will pay for it and I will use it on you. Clear?"
I almost forgave my brother later as he cooked us the most sensational Italian lunch. However, my arse was sorer than sore as I sat on the hard wooden seat of the refectory-style table. As we enjoyed a cold ice cream dessert from the freezer I wondered whether it might not have been better used to cool my inflamed cheeks.
After lunch, Patrick dragged me off into town on the tube train. That was a bit of a treat in a way, but our eventual destination bore heavily on my mind. A place that sold canes? Surely there were no such places any more? Then I remembered I'd seen some pretty feeble-looking canes in a local sex shop. My brother grinned at me as we passed over some uneven points and I grimaced as my bottom was bounced around on the seating.
Eventually, we got to town and emerged from the station. Almost opposite was our destination, a rather old-fashioned looking shop. It specialised in umbrellas, hiking and walking sticks and "canes"! I followed Patrick in, the door causing a loud bell to sound as it was opened. I was immediately hit by a slightly musty smell as I surveyed the dingy surroundings. A wizened old gentleman appeared and offered us assistance.
"I'm looking for a punishment cane. Probably a senior model, preferably with a crook handle," Patrick informed the man.
"Ah. Right, sir. Not much call for those these days, I'm afraid. Yes, a great shame. But we do keep a few in stock for connoisseurs and enthusiasts. Come and have a look."
Patrick duly inspected a variety of canes, and I blushed every time he swished one through the air. The stock was rather more extensive than we'd been led to believe, and my brother didn't seem to be in a great hurry, unfortunately for me. Eventually, he selected a golden brown specimen, with a quite beautiful curved handle. It looked as if it was straight out of an ancient comic. Somehow I knew that it would be no laughing matter, however.
"The boy will pay for it!" Patrick announced. I duly scraped the necessary together, which was humiliating, but at least it gave me the chance to ask the assistant to wrap the cane for me. And so it was that we left the shop, with me carrying a lightweight package wrapped in brown parcel paper! On the train ride back, Patrick winked at me a couple of times. Was he enjoying my humiliation, or was he, as I was beginning to suspect, a bit of a spanko himself?
Back at the house, Patrick ordered me upstairs again, "And this time change into your pyjamas. You will be sent to bed after your caning!"
"But I don't have any pyjamas with me!"
"What? No pyjamas? I suppose you sleep in the nude, do you?"
"Well, as a matter of fact, I do. Except when I'm at Mum and Dad's."
"I see. More lewd behaviour! Extra strokes for that, kid."
I walked up the stairs with my tail between my legs. Well, not really as I don't have a tail. And, even if I had, I felt that Patrick would have beaten it off in next to no time!
I was sat on the bed again when Patrick came in. He was taking the wrapping off the cane. It's full majesty was soon revealed. He cut it through the air a couple of times. I really wasn't looking forward to this. Although caning had been a major fantasy for me, I was pretty sure I didn't want one in real life.
"I thought I told you to get ready for bed?" Patrick reminded me.
"But I told you, I sleep in the nude!"
"In that case you will be caned in your bed clothes, that's to say stark bollock naked! See to it!"
Reluctantly, I stripped off. I could smell my sweat. If only his shower had been working.
"Right, bend over brother. Six for masturbating in my house, and four extra for sleeping nude in my house! And two more for a general lack of respect for me and my house! How many does that make?"
"Twelve, Patrick."
"No! It makes twelve of the very best! Stick that bottom out more!"
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! Three shockingly hard strokes landed on my already tender arse. The sting of that cane was unbelievable.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! It was all too much. This time tears and snot fell down my face. I had hoped that the cane from that tired old shop would have been past it, but it was full of youthful vim and vigour. Shit!
"Oh please Patrick, no more! I'm sorry. Haven't I done a good job for you here?"
My brother paused. Perhaps I had struck a chord?
"Well, Wayne…"
I was amazed. He'd used my first name! That was the first time for ages. Surely a good sign?
"You have done some really good work on the house and with helping me move in. Thank you. I shall of course reward you for that. However, your inappropriate behaviour does still need to be punished!"
He flexed the cane and slashed it down on my naked arse once more. It wasn't quite such a harsh stroke, and neither were the other five that followed on. So maybe I had six of the very best and six close to the best? Anyway, I couldn't help sobbing a little by the time he threw the cane down.
"That was fun!" he laughed.
I wanted to call him a bastard but I thought better of it. And then, he didn't send me to bed after all. I think that was because he wanted me to do some more work on the house for him. I was glad to be standing up as I painted, for my bottom was way too sore to do anything requiring sitting down!
At the end of the stay, he did give me an envelope stuffed with cash. It certainly helped out over the following term, so I did feel grateful to him. Despite this, for a while I was reluctant to visit him again. I was wary of his punishments. However, eventually I had to admit to myself that it had all been very exciting, if a tad painful. So, I did spend a few weekends and holidays in his tender care! The cane and slippers were used a lot, but only because we both wanted it that way.
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 18 or over.
Comments from the original 2014 post are here