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Craving for the Cane
05 – The Craving Grows Stronger

by Jolyon Lewes

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Copyright on this story text belongs at all times to the original author only, whether stated explicitly in the text or not. The original date of posting to the MMSA was: 22 Jan 2018

Those four days in Sussex with Frederic were the happiest of Linden Arkwright’s life – until the moment when Frederic’s father burst into the boys’ bedroom and gave his son a caning to beat all canings, right in front of an appalled Linden. Later, as Linden lay beside his friend trying to comfort him, he knew he had to share the pain. He’d have to suffer a ferocious caning of his own, on his bare bottom; something he could tell Frederic about with pride. The caning would have to be at school, as Linden’s father would never hit his son, not even with his hand. Linden’s craving for the cane strengthened.

Next morning they all returned to Surrey with just one more day before Frederic and his parents left for Paris. After the last four days it was an anticlimax and the two boys just mooched about, exchanging tender glances, much to the amusement of Linden’s little sister. It was a melancholy evening, with a quiet supper after which the two fathers went to the study for cigars and brandy, leaving two mothers and two boys in the drawing room, Linden’s sister having gone to bed. At Linden’s request, Frederic went to the piano. With knitted brow, he perched carefully on the piano stool and played a slow, dreamy jazz number. There was something strange in the atmosphere. Linden’s mother asked her son to give her a cuddle. Frederic’s mother was reduced to tears by the music.

When Frederic had finished Linden’s mother said That was absolutely beautiful. Now, listen, boys. The housekeeper’s made up the spare bed in your room, Linden, so Frederic could sleep there as it’s the last night.

Linden smiled gratefully and Frederic said Thank you, I would like that!

The atmosphere lightened at once and Frederic played Percy Grainger’s Country Gardens, very jauntily. Then the two fathers came in, looking pleased with themselves. The merger of their two companies would take months of hard work and there’d be no late summer cruise in Mistral but to compensate she’d be sailed to the Caribbean in November and the two families would fly to Barbados and spend three weeks on board over Christmas, cruising the Windward Islands.

Linden’s joy was tempered with worry about the hot sun and Frederic’s allergy to strong sunlight. But won’t it be too hot for Frederic? He’ll have to spend all the time under cover!

I’ll be alright, Linden, said Frederic. Christmas in the Caribbean is kinder to me than summer in the Med. I know from experience. But thank you for your concern.

Yes, thank you, mon petit, said Frederic’s mother. What a thoughtful boy you are!

That night was the boys’ last night together for months, and they spent it in cosy togetherness, cuddled up in bed, carefully heeding Frederic’s still very painful bottom. They spoke about Christmas and Linden mentioned the possibility in a generation’s time of their being joint chairmen of the company. Frederic said they’d better wait and see. He changed the subject to Caribbean sunshine.

The Trade Winds make you feel less hot but the sun is still fierce. But long trousers in the Caribbean is preferable to shorts in mid-winter Paris! My father thinks freezing legs will make me tough.

Your father’s a monster, said Linden as he unbuttoned Frederic’s pyjama trousers and eased them gently down. He needed to feel Frederic’s gorgeous flesh now – he couldn’t wait till Christmas. They had to be quiet so were content to hold each other and let love pass between their two bodies in a spiritual way rather than a physical one.

At about one Frederic slipped into sleep, his last words being after he kissed Linden’s cheek Mmm, so tasty!



The rest of the school holidays passed with nothing of note happening. Thankfully, Linden didn’t have to wear that awful tweed suit, with its horribly itchy and incredibly short trousers. Frederic and he exchanged letters every week, always ending their messages with MST’ – the abbreviation for Mmm, so tasty! The boys missed each other terribly. They counted the days to their three weeks together in Mistral at Christmas.

Linden returned to boarding school. His future with Frederic seemed certain so he didn’t bother to develop any other serious friendships although there were boys he liked and some he quite fancied. He told nobody about Frederic and listened patiently to other boys telling of their conquests with girls – and sometimes boys – without saying much in return. He thought his love for Frederic was on a far higher plane than mere physical lust and when he wanted to discharge semen, thought instead of a cute boy sleeping across the dorm from him. Despite his best intentions, however, he invariably ended up with thoughts of Frederic’s gorgeous body fuelling his nightly ejaculations. He shagged the mattress with enormous enthusiasm. His desire for Frederic knew no bounds.

He wanted to tell Frederic he’d been caned but corporal punishment at his school was now practised so rarely he’d have to think of another way of sharing Frederic’s pain. For the moment, the craving was waning.

At home for half term Linden telephoned Frederic. Something was wrong with the phone line because it went dead just as Frederic was about to utter Mmm, so tasty! Linden knew he was going to say that because even on the phone he could recognise that uniquely musical drawing-in of breath Frederic always made before intoning their catch-phrase. Linden tried to reconnect but the line had obviously failed so had to give up.

Thankfully, Linden didn’t have to wear his tweed suit at half term. His parents evidently thought his normal school uniform was sufficient for most excursions and for the smartest dinners he had his dinner jacket. There were now just six weeks before he’d be with his best friend again, zooming across the Atlantic to Barbados, en-route for Mistral and all the sex he could desire.



In early December, not long after Linden’s sixteenth birthday, his mother telephoned him at school to say he’d be coming home for the weekend because on Saturday they’d be going to Oxford to see an opera. His sister would be away with friends and in any case the opera wasn’t for little girls. They’d be having an early supper with important friends, who’d be joining them for the opera and who’d be coming home afterwards.

At home Linden saw the formal photo on Frederic’s family’s latest Christmas card. Now seventeen and with characteristically knitted brow, a grey-suited Frederic looked slimmer than ever and his short trousers were shorter than ever, only just reaching the tops of his thighs. Linden couldn’t help getting a massive erection.

When it was time to get ready, Linden’s mother told him he’d be wearing the tweed concert suit.

You’ll understand why when we get to Oxford, darling. Just put it on, please!

All pleadings with his parents to wear his school suit failed so off came the boxers, on went the tiny briefs and then the hated concert suit. The tweed shorts exposed a vast expanse of bare thigh and being unlined were horribly itchy. He felt them slipping down over his hips so off they came again and he had to button on the braces which held the shorts shockingly high but at least stopped them falling down. He’d much rather have used a belt but the shorts had no loops through which to pass a belt.

Linden caught his reflection in the full-length mirror. The hems of his shorts were five inches above his tan-line! That tan-line, generated by the shorts he’d worn in the summer, emphasised the terrifying brevity of his tweed shorts. Shuddering with nerves he tied his tie, put on his jacket and went downstairs, only to receive a kiss from his mother for looking so sweet.

Can you guess who might be the important friends we’re meeting later, darling?

Is it anyone I know, Mum? asked Linden, morosely.

Well, it’s Frederic and his parents! We wanted to keep it secret but I can’t wait to tell you! They’re flying over for the opera – and an important meeting on Monday, of course. So they’re all coming back here afterwards and Frederic and his mother will fly home to Paris tomorrow! He can sleep in your room, if you don’t mind.

Oh! was all Linden could say but inside he was suddenly alive with joy. He’d be seeing his darling boy that very evening! And all night! He could bear almost any embarrassment if Frederic was there to share it with him. He was incredibly happy!

Why didn’t you tell me before, Mum?

Didn’t want you to get too excited, darling, in case it affected your schoolwork. Now you know why we want you to wear your concert suit. Frederic will be wearing one of his.

Oh, how well do mothers know their sons. If his dad had said that, Linden would have been really embarrassed but coming from his mum, well, he just went up and gave her a big hug.

His father came out of his study. Time to go! You know what the traffic’s like. Mustn’t be late at The Randolph!

Sitting in the eight-seat Peugeot on the way towards the M25, all Linden could think about was seeing his Frederic again, sitting next to him, watching this opera and then, best of all, spending the night with him in his bedroom. It was all so exciting. He asked the name of the opera they were going to see.

It’s Billy Budd, said Mr Arkwright, by Benjamin Britten. It’s a bit intense but the opera company’s fantastic so it’ll be worth watching.

Having seen the film, with Terence Stamp playing Billy, Linden knew the plot involved cruelty, whippings, murder and then Billy gets hanged. Just the sort of thing to watch with his boyfriend! He felt his cock hardening. This was going to be a great evening.

On arrival at The Randolph the receptionist told Mr Arkwright there was a message for him. It was from Frederic’s father saying they weren’t coming. Linden went from ecstasy to misery in two seconds flat.

Something really important cropped up and they can’t come, said Mr Arkwright. He’s phoned the theatre to cancel and we’ll be going home without them. What a pity! I’m sorry Linden – we know how much you were looking forward to seeing Frederic again. But it can’t be helped.

Linden felt numb with shock. Pre-theatre supper at The Randolph was served but Linden had lost his appetite. He was aware of people staring at his bare legs and the self-consciousness of earlier years returned. The tweed material of his shorts was chafing his skin and he was constantly scratching the uppermost parts of his thighs. No wonder Frederic hated his own tweed suit so much. But more than anything, Linden was mortified that his unexpected meeting with Frederic was no longer to happen.

It was time for the theatre. You look lovely, darling, said Linden’s mother, but for heaven’s sake, stop that scratching! Just think: a fortnight from now and we’ll cruising the Caribbean!

Linden had his long raincoat with him and although the weather was dry and mild, he wore it to give him a little modesty for the brisk walk to the Apollo Theatre. Arriving with less than ten minutes to curtain-up meant they could go straight to their seats and he wouldn’t have to hang around the foyer for everyone to point at and snigger.



In early December 1982 a nineteen-year-old Cambridge undergraduate named Alex Matthews was spending the weekend in a cottage in Oxfordshire lent to him by his aunt while she was away in New Zealand. On the Friday he’d discovered that the opera Billy Budd was playing in Oxford and the following evening he arrived at the theatre and managed to get a last-minute ticket as somebody had cancelled. It was the first time he’d seen anything by Benjamin Britten but the story of Billy Budd, the young sailor bullied by his Master at Arms and then hanged for killing him, had enthralled Alex since he’d seen the film as a teenager at boarding school. Billy was loved by the rest of the crew, not least by the ship’s captain, who was nearly destroyed by the weight of the decision he was forced to make to execute poor Billy.

Alex took his seat, buried his head in the programme and looked forward to seeing what Britten’s opera might do for him. His row was full but for the three seats immediately to his left. Then the occupants of the seats arrived: a smartly-dressed man and woman of about forty, with their son, a tall, fair-haired teenager in a long raincoat. As Alex stood to let them pass in front they thanked him. They sat down, the boy taking the seat next to Alex, who felt a little frisson of excitement.

The theatre was very warm. Alex heard the mother hiss to her son Take your coat off!

I don’t want to.

Take it off! Stand up and take it off, before the lights go down.

But Mum....

Do as your mother tells you, Linden! This was the father, leaning to his right and speaking quietly but emphatically.

With a deep sigh, the boy stood up to remove his coat, to reveal a dark blue tweed suit – with short trousers of extraordinary brevity. He was wearing knee-socks of dark blue wool. Alex suspected Linden would rather keep the coat folded on his lap but he was told to put it under his seat and with a sigh of disapproval he did so. Then he stood up and tugged at the hems of his shorts to try to stop them from rising as he sat down. That little gesture was pointless as by the time he was seated, the hems had risen to expose almost the entire length of his long thighs. He sat rigidly, his hands clasping his knees. Alex, who liked boys, was enthralled.

Don’t get stroppy, Linden, said his mother. Make the best of it. Just enjoy the show.

But you know how I hate this concert suit! whined Linden. You know how embarrassing it is.

Nice new suit next Christmas, darling, when you’re seventeen. Now be quiet, it’s starting.

Alex was astonished to find this delicious boy was only three years his junior. He tried to concentrate on the opera but was captivated by the glistening thighs to his left. They were smooth and hairless with a tan-line at the halfway point. Linden kept scratching under the hems of his shorts and every time he shifted in his seat his shorts rode higher. Alex had a hearty erection.

Towards the end of Act 1 Scene 1 the Novice was to be flogged. The atmosphere in the theatre was electric. Like every other member of the audience, Alex concentrated on the action. Linden was leaning forward, enthralled. The flogging took place off stage but then, to everyone’s amazement, the young Novice staggered on stage, wailing and entirely naked. He carried his clothes in a bundle before him, which gave him a little modesty in front but when he turned to stumble upstage the audience saw his back and bottom criss-crossed with livid, red whip marks. It was terrifically dramatic.

Slight movement to Alex’s left alerted him to Linden’s left hand. He was rubbing his groin. He was clearly aroused and was doing what all healthy boys do when aroused. Scene 1 closed and Linden, realising his shorts had climbed even further up his thighs, leant back in his seat, raised his bottom and yanked the hems of his shorts down as far as he could, which wasn’t far. He shot Alex a glance laden with self-consciousness.

For the next two scenes Linden managed to resist rubbing his groin but kept scratching where the tweed cloth was ravaging his skin. With a pair of beautiful, entirely bare, boy thighs beside him Alex was struggling to concentrate on the opera and when the interval came his erection was epic. He’d intended to go for an interval drink but sat tight, for two reasons: he wanted to be close to Linden’s shimmering thighs for a while longer and if he’d stood up, his erection would have been plain to see. Two girls were selling ice cream at the front of the stalls and a queue was forming. Linden’s father leant over and passed his son a fiver.

Would you nip down there and buy three ice creams?

Alex could feel Linden tensing up. Do I have to?

Yes, dear, said Linden’s mother. It’s really very warm in here. Go on.

Linden stood up, turned right, tugged on the legs of his shorts and gave Alex what could only be a look of despair. He reached the aisle and hastened to join the ice cream queue. He was