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Craving for the Cane
06 – The Craving is Satisfied!

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: 25 Feb 2018

Linden tried hard to be brave as his father drove him to Heathrow Airport but the news that Frederic was critically ill was too much to bear and he alternated between periods of tense, forbidding gloom and bursts of weeping. When he asked what was wrong with Frederic Mr Arkwright wasn’t sure but thought it was a rare blood disease.

That’s why they had to cancel their visit to Oxford; Frederic was in hospital for tests. His father asked me not to tell you because Frederic was adamant that you weren’t to be worried.

This had Linden crying again. He remembered that morning in Mistral when Frederic came to see if he had a headache; it was the very moment when their love for each other sparked into flame, a flame that had since grown stronger and stronger.

Linden’s father told him to prepare himself to see a different Frederic this time. He’s terribly weak, old chap. He wants to see you but he mightn’t be fully conscious. Needless to say, the Caribbean trip is postponed until he’s well again.

But will he get better, Dad? Will he?

I really don’t know, old chap.

Linden’s mother was there at Heathrow and gave him a big hug before saying they’d be boarding very soon. As Linden sat in his school uniform, waiting for the summons to board, an overwhelming feeling of numbness developed. He’d cried all the tears he had and just sat, hearing nothing, seeing nothing and unaware of the bustle around him. Passing before his glazed eyes was image after image of Frederic. Each time he was looking into Linden’s eyes with an expression of ineffable sadness. His sweet brow was knitted more tightly than ever. Linden so wanted to be near him and to touch him, to feel his warm, smooth skin and to know he was going to be safe.

Linden remembered nothing of the night flight to Paris Charles de Gaulle, nor of the taxi that sped to the private clinic where his dearest friend was being treated but he’d never forget walking to the ward, clutching his mother’s arm, fearful and filled with dread.

Frederic was in a room by himself. Through a window was the Eiffel Tower, brightly illuminated in the dark, December sky. Linden had expected Frederic to be hooked up to all manner of things, and tubes to be passing into his precious body but he just lay between crisp white sheets, propped up on two fat pillows. He was asleep and beside him sat his mother, ashen white. His brow was perfectly smooth, with not a crinkle to be seen.

Frederic’s mother stood to embrace first Mrs Arkwright and then Linden. She gave him a long, silent hug. While this was going on Mrs Arkwright was stroking Frederic’s hair but there was no reaction from the sweet boy. Then Frederic’s mother said Linden could sit and talk to Frederic; he might be able to hear so Linden should talk about their times together.

If he responds to anyone, it will be you, mon petit. He talks about you so much. Never anyone else, just you.

Linden was close to breaking down but knew he must be strong. The two ladies left him with his sleeping friend and he sat down beside him. He reached for his hand and choked with emotion as he touched Frederic’s perfect skin and folded his fingers gently around his. Frederic was breathing but so lightly his chest was hardly moving. Linden was completely alone with Frederic and he began to speak, very quietly.

He recounted the times they’d had in Mistral and in Sussex. He mentioned Serge the steward and the skateboarder and how in their different ways they’d both exuded sex appeal. He talked about the pompous millionaires they’d had to be polite to in Monte Carlo and at Glyndebourne. He didn’t say anything about the fun they’d had in bed because to do so would have been indelicate and in any case, Linden would have collapsed into sobs. He paused for a minute at a time, just holding Frederic’s hand and watching his beautiful face for any signs of wakefulness.

Linden was heartbroken but didn’t cry. He hoped Frederic might wake up and see him there. He reminded him of their catch phrase.

Mmm, so tasty! he repeated, tears filling his eyes.

Linden could now see only a blurred image of Frederic’s face and it was a tiny squeeze of the fingers that told him he was conscious. Wiping his eyes Linden saw he’d moved his head very slightly and that his lovely eyes were half-open. Yes, Frederic was actually looking at him!

Oh, Frederic, have you any idea how much I love you? said Linden, at normal volume, immediately panicking that someone else may have heard. But the door was still closed and he was alone with his beloved Frederic.

Frederic squeezed Linden’s fingers again, a little more firmly this time. Then his eyes closed and his fingers relaxed.

Oh Frederic, please don’t leave me! beseeched Linden. I love you so very much!

Frederic’s eyes opened again and his dear little tongue peeped from between his lips, just briefly, did a little wiggle and then retreated. His eyes fixed on Linden’s and his mouth opened again, just for long enough to whisper Mmm, so tasty....

Then his eyes closed and he lay still.



Linden was enveloped in cold, paralysing darkness. It seemed to last ages but it probably wasn’t long because people came into the room and he was ushered outside and into the arms of his mother. In her warm embrace his will dissolved and he convulsed into uncontrollable weeping as he began to realise the significance of what he’d just witnessed. He’d lost the dearest friend he’d probably ever have.

That night he slept in the same room as his mother as he couldn’t bear to be alone. They flew back to London next day and went home to start the Christmas holiday. Except at night, Linden was hardly ever physically alone but sank into a dark little world of his own, numb to the festivities going on all around. His parents let him take the Christmas card which pictured poor Frederic. The more he looked at it the more sorrowful seemed Frederic’s expression, as if he knew what was happening to him. Linden kept the card in his top drawer.

He tried to cope with Christmas but thoughts of Frederic never left him. How long had Frederic known he was ill? He’d tired quickly when walking on the cliffs near Seaford. His mother had cried when he was playing the piano. He’d said they should never look too far ahead. Were these signals Linden should have spotted? And what about his father caning him and making him wear shorts in the Paris winter? A burning hatred of Frederic’s father kindled in Linden’s head. It’s just as well the Arkwrights weren’t invited to the funeral because Linden would have let Frederic’s father know exactly what he thought of the way he’d mistreated and humiliated his son.

Linden had nobody to talk to about his love for Frederic. His mother was brilliant when he’d had his first, hysterical outpouring of grief but he could hardly sit down and tell her – or anyone else – about why Frederic meant so much to him. He just kept it bottled up and lay in his room for hours on end, thinking and crying. He felt utterly empty. He was there on New Year’s Day, 1983 when his mother came up with some sandwiches and cakes and said he must eat something or he’d waste away.

Seeing Frederic go was truly awful, darling, she said. But you’ll make new friends and one day you’ll be happy again. Oh and I’ve just had a phone call. It was Alex Matthews, the boy who looked after you after the car accident. He said he’d be passing tomorrow and could he call in. I think it would do you the world of good to have someone about your own age to talk to so I invited him to stay the night and he accepted! He can sleep in the room next to yours.

Thanks, Mum but I won’t be very good company, said Linden.

It dawned on Linden that Alex was the one person he could talk to about Frederic. He’d told Alex after he’d rescued him from that Oxford hospital about how he and Frederic felt for each other and he’d seemed to understand.

Alex arrived in the funny little Peugeot he called Doris. He gave Mrs Arkwright a big bunch of flowers. Then he beckoned Linden into the hall.

Your mother told me about Frederic. I’m most dreadfully sorry, Linden. I know you and he were very special friends. Look, after lunch, can we go for a walk or something?

He drove Linden to Box Hill, a local beauty spot on the North Downs. It was a cold, bright afternoon and perfect for a brisk walk. They walked to the viewpoint known as Saloman’s Memorial and looked southeast over The Weald. The trees were bare and wood-smoke hung in the air. A vapour trail made a curved line in the pale blue sky. The low, wooded hills went on for miles, as far as a high ridge in the hazy distance – the South Downs, which led eastwards to Seaford, where Frederic and Linden had been so deliriously happy only five months earlier. Somewhere, just over that ridge, was the hotel near Lewes where they’d spent the best night of their lives.

Alex saw the tears rolling down Linden’s cheeks. You can tell me all about it, you know. Get it off your chest. Nobody else can hear.

With streaming eyes gazing blearily towards the South Downs, Linden told Alex about the sudden visit to Paris, about the time he’d spent alone with Frederic, about his hatred of Frederic’s father, about his feelings of despair and terrible sense of loss. He didn’t tell Alex about what Frederic and he did in bed or about their catch-phrase, Mmm, so tasty! Some things were too private for anyone else to know.

What you’ve told me is sad beyond compare, said Alex. You said some of this at my aunt’s cottage, especially about your feelings for Frederic. He must have felt the same about you. Love is a wonderful thing and your memories will never leave you. I wish I could say something constructive but I don’t have the words. It’s a privilege to be taken into your confidence.

I can’t tell my family, Alex. Obviously. So it’s a miracle, you turning up like this!

Not quite a miracle, Linden. I’ve been meaning to visit you and your mother very kindly asked me to pop in and stay the night. I wanted to see you again. The night I met you was fraught with drama of all kinds and we didn’t have time to say all we wanted to. And now there’s this terrible business with poor Frederic. I just want to help, if I can.

That evening, over a cosy family supper, Linden was less withdrawn than he’d been since Frederic’s death. Knowing Alex understood his feelings helped hugely. He was glad he was staying the night.

After supper it wasn’t long before Linden said he wanted to go to bed, as he could feel himself sinking back into melancholy and didn’t want to burden everyone with his misery. Alone for the first time for about ten hours, he felt the now familiar blackness descending and flopped onto his bed for a good cry. After an hour of grieving he undressed for bed. In his bathroom he blundered straight into Alex.

Oh, sorry! they both said.

D’you mind if I say something? said Alex. I can see what Frederic saw in you. You’re beautiful! There, I’ve said it. I’ll leave in the morning and you’ll never have to see me again.

No, please don’t go, said Linden. You’ve made me feel so much better and I need someone to like me now that Frederic’s .... gone. Please can we go for another drive tomorrow?



Alex seemed a bit shy at breakfast next morning.

It’s OK, Alex, said Linden. About last night, I mean. Do you have to rush off or can you take me for another drive?

Alex’s eyes lit up. You mean it? I’ve all the time in the world! Fancy a trip to Wisley?

What’s at Wisley?

The Royal Horticultural Society. The gardens are marvellous and they’ll be quiet today. We could talk our heads off and nobody’ll be around to listen.

At Wisley they walked in the vast gardens, almost the only visitors and Linden talked about Frederic. Words just tumbled from his tongue. He’d known Frederic’s company for a total of just twelve days but it was amazing how many little memories he could recount. Alex was a good listener. Later, as they walked among tall trees still sparkling with hoarfrost, Linden grew more sombre. One or two trees and shrubs had succumbed to disease and died, just like poor Frederic. Alex detected Linden’s change of mood, put his arm around his shoulders and offered some wisdom.

You must always be proud of your friendship with Frederic. There’ll be many people who won’t understand how you felt for each other – or won’t want to. Forget them, they’re not important. Your parents know you loved him and so do I. You and he had something unique and really beautiful and you mustn’t ever forget it.

I’ll never get over it, Alex. All I can do is learn to live with it. But I think if I had a really hard caning it might help me to know what poor Frederic went through when his father ....

Let’s go for tea and cakes, said Alex. The café’s not far. I need to make a phone call.

A pale sun managed to break through the cloud but the day still felt cold and in the café it was warm. After Alex had used the public telephone he came back to Linden who was polishing off his second cake. Alex sat down beside him and poured himself some tea.

Remember I said I’ve a friend who specialises in caning young men? said Alex. Well, he lives pretty close by and I could introduce you today ...

I don’t want to be caned today! interrupted Linden. I’d have to work up to it, if you see what I mean.

I didn’t mean for you to be caned today, you sweet boy. I just thought you might like to meet this friend and explain your needs. Then you could arrange to meet again – if you want to.

They drove towards Cobham and drew up beside a large and imposing Victorian house in extensive grounds full to bursting with rhododendron. To Linden it looked like one of those private boarding schools he’d read about where beating of boys took place around the clock. He was very nervous and clung to Alex’s arm as they waited for the doorbell to be answered.

Ah, come in, my master’s expecting you, said the uniformed boy who answered the door. He wore extraordinarily tight trousers of very dark blue and a starched white tunic with brass buttons on the sleeves. He led Alex and Linden into a vast drawing room and Linden saw a massive log fire blazing in the huge fireplace. Then he saw the occupant of the room, a young man in a wheelchair.

Ah, Alex, my dear, said the man, swivelling his wheelchair to face his guests. Introduce me to your gorgeous young friend!

With a shiver of fear, Linden recognised the man and his mouth went dry. It was Gustav Kimmeridge.

Oh, but we’ve already met! said a beaming Kimmeridge. You’re the lovely young Linden, aren’t you? We met in Monte Carlo. Come over here and let me shake your hand.

Linden went to offer his right hand to Kimmeridge but was drawn into an embrace and before he knew it he was being kissed on the cheek.

I was so sorry to hear about Frederic, whispered Kimmeridge into Linden’s ear. Such a tragedy and what a beautiful boy he was. Almost as lovely as you!

Blushing pinkly, Linden managed to free himself as politely as he could and moved to the chair indicated by Kimmeridge. Alex sat nearby and the other boy had disappeared. Kimmeridge manoeuvered his chair to face Linden and began to speak.

Now let’s see if I can remember – at that party in Monte Carlo you were asking me about caning and I gave you my card and said you must let me know as soon as you’d had your first caning. Don’t tell me you’ve escaped so far!

No, sir, I haven’t escaped. I was caned a few months ago. I’m sorry – I lost your card.

Do call me Gustav, you lovely boy. You’ve grown since we met. Must be almost six feet now. Are you seventeen yet?

Seventeen in the autumn, sir – I mean, Gustav.

Alex told me you feel guilt about a friend you’ve lost and want to be caned as he was. I take it we’re talking about Frederic.

Linden nodded. Then the other boy returned, with a tray bearing a bottle of Pol Roger and three glasses. He poured champagne into each glass and offered one to Alex, one to Linden and one to Kimmeridge.

Thank you, Sphincter, said Kimmeridge. I’ll ring when I need you.

When Sphincter had departed Kimmeridge explained that he was a new house boy, still learning the ropes and not very strong but a promising chef.

Now, let’s drink to the memory of poor, sweet Frederic, said Kimmeridge, looking at Linden with an expression of compassion. You must miss him dreadfully, Linden. His father’s a bloody monster and will live to rue his vile treatment of the poor boy. His wife has already left him and it’s she who has the money on which his business is built. To dear Frederic – may he rest in peace.

To Frederic, said Alex.

To Frederic, my best friend in the world, said Linden, sniffing back tears.

After a few moments of quiet reflection Kimmeridge asked Linden to tell him all about Frederic and his love for him. Alex nodded, suggesting that he knew and approved of what Linden would say. He was rewarded by a top up of Pol Roger. Linden, his tongue loosened by the champagne, began to tell Kimmeridge about his love for Frederic and his hatred of the boy’s father.

Why did he make Frederic wear shorts all through the winter when the boy was so obviously ill? Frederic was seventeen, for heaven’s sake! And how could he cane him for virtually nothing and deliberately leave marks that could be seen below his shorts? Frederic was made to take a girl called Simone to a dance but was forced to wear the shortest shorts of all and was humiliated and laughed at the whole evening, not least by Simone. How do you think he felt? And then his father caned him for what he said was disgracing the family! I won’t rest till I’ve felt something of what poor Frederic had to go through and as they’ve virtually stopped caning at my school I’ve got to have it done somewhere else!

Alex has brought you to the right place, said Kimmeridge, smiling like a predator surveying his lunch. If you’re really serious about this, Linden, we can arrange something. As you know, I cannot myself perform the function but I have an accomplice, a very pretty young man, not Sphincter, who’ll have great pleasure in caning you. I suggest you invite Alex to make the arrangements as soon as you’re ready. I assume you’d like to emulate poor Frederic in every regard and be caned wearing shorts. Do you still have that delicious suit you wore in Monte Carlo?

No, it went to Oxfam, thank God. But I’ve a tweed suit just like Frederic’s only the shorts are a tiny bit longer. I hate it. The rough tweed material murders my skin.

Yes, Linden, Frederic loathed his tweed suit. Bring yours if you like but I think by then we’ll have something appropriate for you to wear.

Alex drove Linden home and expected him to say he wanted nothing more to do with Gustav Kimmeridge but Linden was surprisingly upbeat and wanted to experience a caning in shorts. Otherwise how will I know what it was like for Frederic?

I take it you don’t want your parents to know, said Alex.

Christ! No! They must never know!

Well, I suggest we fix it for a weekend when you’re at boarding school. As you’re doing A Level Biology what say we have a visit to Wisley on a Saturday, look at some plants, nip over to Gustav’s and return to school on the Sunday?

Back at home, Linden’s spirits were buoyed by the knowledge that Alex and Gustav understood his grief and even seemed to approve of it. He was determined to receive canings, many canings, as his way of atoning for the punishments poor Frederic had taken.

The merger of our two companies has been abandoned, Mr Arkwright told Linden. Frederic’s mother has gone off with the money. It was hers to start with. His father’s lost everything. He’s a broken man and we won’t be seeing him again. I suspect the news doesn’t exactly sadden you.

No, Dad, I hope he rots in hell. He made Frederic’s life hell, so he should get a share of it himself.

Strong words, my boy but I agree with you. Poor Frederic didn’t stand a chance. I hope we’ve never humiliated you like that. We’ll never ask you to wear that concert suit again.

I’d like to keep it just to remind me of Frederic, said Linden, before adding enigmatically You never know, it might come in useful some day.

Back at school, Linden resolved to honour his pledge to receive a caning of monumental savagery but that wasn’t likely to happen at school so he’d have to go to the very strange Gustav. One advantage of being a senior boy was that weekends away from school could be taken for a deeper look at a subject the boy was studying for university entrance. Linden was doing biology so a little time at Wisley was in order and who better to go with than Alex, who was reading botany at Cambridge? And when better to go than in glorious springtime?

And so it was that on a Saturday in March 1983 Alex collected Linden from Winterbourne Barras School and drove him in Doris to Wisley gardens for three hours of exploration and then to Gustav’s house in Surrey, where they arrived at 6.00 pm.



The door was opened by the boy Sphincter, who had tear-stained cheeks and seemed to be moving with difficulty. His trousers looked impossibly tight. He was rubbing his bottom as he waddled rather than walked to the drawing room. Alex and Linden exchanged knowing glances and Linden felt lead in his tummy. What on earth was he letting himself in for?

Ah, said Gustav. So lovely to see you two again. A bit late for tea but we can have a drink and Sphincter will concoct something delicious for supper.

Has Sphincter just been punished? said Alex.

Yes, the silly boy spilt red wine on one of the Turkish rugs. He’ll live. It gave a chance for my accomplice to get in a bit of practice before he addresses himself to sweet young Linden. I take it you’re still game, Linden? Or else why have you come?

I feel as strongly as ever about sharing some of Frederic’s pain, said Linden, bravely.

Good boy, said Gustav, manoeuvring his wheelchair to be close to where Linden was sitting. You’re both staying the night, of course. Sphincter’s made up beds for you in separate rooms. Drinks first, then we’ll have supper and afterwards the entertainment. Don’t look so nervous, Linden. You’ll be among friends.

Sphincter brought in a bottle of Pol Roger and poured three glasses. Then he poured a fourth and departed carefully, scratching his bottom. At this moment entered Gustav’s accomplice. In pale blue shirt and phenomenally short, navy blue shorts, it was none other than the delicious Serge, late of Mistral, Frederic’s parents’ yacht.

Serge! gasped Linden. What are you doing here?

You may remember Frederic’s father dismissed me from the ship and I know you watched my punishment. Monsieur Kimmeridge has been kind enough to employ me. Now I live here. I’m eighteen now. Let me greet you properly!

Serge leant forward, clasped Linden and gave him a nice, long kiss on the mouth. Linden found it extremely pleasant. Serge stood up, tugging at the hems of his shorts, which had ridden up to reveal the lower region of his blissfully smooth buttocks.

How sweet to see two friends reunited, said Gustav, as Serge picked up the fourth glass of champagne and drank. Serge was wasted in Mistral, Linden but here he performs the functions I’m unable to perform myself and he’s good at it. As you will feel for yourself. The plan for tonight is that we have another drink and then you’ll dress for the part. After supper Serge will cane you. And after that – I can promise more fun for you. Are you still willing to sample just a little of what poor Frederic had to suffer in the last months of his life?

Put like that, a very nervous Linden could hardly refuse.

Yes, Gustav. I want to suffer like Frederic! I must do it, in honour of his memory!

Excellent, said Gustav. Serge is friendly with Madame Dupont, the lady who made all of Frederic’s suits. She’s sent some of his clothes to us in the hope you might like to wear them. Serge will now take you upstairs. I look forward to seeing your bare legs again.

Before he knew it, Linden was in the bedroom he’d been allocated for the night and Serge was showing him three of Frederic’s suits. There was the one in blue tweed that Frederic hated above all the others and the grey one he’d accidentally ejaculated into when cavorting with Linden in Mistral, action that had earned him a session with his father’s martinet.

Indicating the third suit Serge said This is his newest suit, the one he wore for the last Christmas card photograph and for the party with Simone. This is the last suit he wore before he fell ill and died. You can see the shorts are even shorter than any of his others. Quite amazing! I think you should wear this one tonight, Linden.

Emboldened, Linden said Yes, I will. I must know how Frederic looked when his father caned him that night. I love Frederic, Serge.

So do I, Linden.

Linden undressed and, with Serge supervising, put on a tail-less shirt and tiny briefs that had belonged to Frederic, and then the suit. With legs only an inch long the shorts had no chance of covering all of Linden’s bottom. The suit was what Frederic had worn at the dinner dance when he’d been so roundly humiliated and laughed at, not least by Simone, his so-called date. Linden’s visceral hatred for Frederic’s father grew stronger than ever.

Now you know how Frederic looked, said Serge, trying to hide his erection. But you are safe here. No girls will see you. We must go downstairs.

Despite his extreme apprehension, Linden noted Serge’s excellent command of English. At supper, Serge sat beside Gustav, who kept stroking Serge’s entirely bare thighs and Linden sat beside Alex, who desperately wanted to stroke Linden’s equally bare thighs but managed to desist. Sphincter served a delicious meal and the two older men drank wine copiously. When the meal was over Serge stood up, pulled the hems of his shorts down to cover his buttocks and left the room.



Now then, Linden, said Gustav. Time for punishment. Are you still prepared to take what Frederic had to take?

Dressed in Frederic’s clothes, Linden felt more in tune with his dead friend than he’d felt since he’d seen him die. Absolutely!

Alex is your friend, said Gustav. Indicate to him if you feel you’ve had enough and we’ll stop at once.

Frederic didn’t have that privilege, said Linden, so I won’t use it, thank you.

Alex sat holding a large whisky and nursing a beast of an erection. Serge reappeared, now in the thick, woollen trousers he’d worn in Mistral, so tight you could see the dimples each side of his bottom. He was carrying two canes.

Serge will tickle you first with the junior cane, Linden, said Gustav, manoeuvring his wheelchair to an advantageous viewing position. He’ll do it over your shorts – Frederic’s shorts – just to get us all in the mood. I’m sure you’ll hardly feel a thing.

Jacket off, please, said Serge. Then lean over the table.

Linden did as bidden and waited, trembling.

Swish – CRACK!

Serge’s aim was accurate and he smote the crown of Linden’s bottom with great force, causing him to gasp in pain and his eyes to water. In quick succession came three more strokes, each as hard as the other and all landing within a couple of inches of where the first weal was rapidly forming. Linden squeaked and gasped and his nose filled with snot and his eyes watered copiously. Now, concealed by Frederic’s shorts, were four very nasty weals stinging and throbbing and making Linden wonder why on earth he’d agreed to be caned. He waited for more strokes but felt Serge gently lifting him to the standing position. Now he felt it was safe to rub his poor bottom. He turned to face Gustav with an expression that seemed to say Is that all? Then he wiped his eyes and had a good sniff. His caning at school had been more painful than this but he didn’t know there was worse to come. Much worse.

It’s six of those that Sphincter received just before you arrived this evening, said Gustav. He was wailing pathetically after four – you’d hardly think the boy is twenty-one – but it had to be done and as I’m sure you’ll agree, he’s a very good chef.

Y-yeee-es, stammered Linden, shifting from foot to foot and rubbing his bottom.

Good boy, said Gustav. Now for the senior cane. This is the very cane that Frederic’s father used. Madame Dupont was kind enough to send it with the poor boy’s clothes. You’d better stand still and let Serge attend to those shorts. We need the target to be unprotected by that expensive woollen material.

I must pull them as high as they will go, said Serge. That is always how it was for Frederic.

Linden felt Serge’s hands in the waistband of the shorts and coaxing it upwards, not too abruptly but with gentleness, as if to cause minimal discomfort to Linden, whose bottom was already in great pain. When satisfied Serge whispered into Linden’s ear.

This is the cane you watched Lascelles beat me with on the day I was sacked from the ship. Remember? Then he kissed Linden’s cheek.

Linden’s trembling body once more lay over the table, almost half his bare bottom now exposed below the hems of Frederic’s tiny shorts. Two of the earlier weals were visible. Serge stopped pummeling the prominent bulge in the front of his so-tight trousers and took up the cane.

Swish – CRACK!! A stroke of massive power to Linden’s thus far unblemished lower bottom. He hissed in alarm and his knuckles whitened as he gripped the far edge of the table. Tears began to tumble from his eyes onto the table.

Swish – CRACK!! This thunderbolt struck just above the previous one, rather close to the lowest of the weals made by the junior cane. It sent the whole of Linden’s pelvic region into pulses of unspeakable agony and despite his best efforts to be brave he cried out loudly and drummed his feet on the floor.

Do you know how many of these Frederic had to take on his last caning, Linden? asked Gustav.

T-t-ten! squawked Linden, desperately trying to control himself.

Poor lad. Oh well, that’s another four for you, then.

Swish – CRACK!! This to the lowest part of Linden’s bottom. More crying out, more stamping of feet. And now there was sobbing.

Swish – CRACK!! At last, the crease. A beautiful stroke, hitting in perfect symmetry the crease below each of Linden’s buttocks. Serge was a true master of the cane. No wonder Sphincter had been wailing pathetically after only four with the junior cane.

I must go for your legs now, said Serge when Linden had quietened down enough to hear him. I don’t want to hit one of the marks on your bottom a second time.

Swish – CRACK!! This to the top of Linden’s beautiful thighs. The pain was excruciating but there was a vision of Frederic in Linden’s mind and he couldn’t give up now.

Just one more to go, said Alex, trying to be comforting. He’d already shot his load into his underpants.

Swish – CRACK!! Now a high-pitched scream from Linden, which dissolved into a fit of sobbing and groaning as the poor boy pushed himself off the table and staggered about, eyes and nose streaming, his hands pummelling his ravaged buttocks and upper thighs.

Serge threw down the cane and took Linden in his arms. He hugged him, tousled his hair, wiped his cheeks and stopped him from falling to the floor.

A few minutes passed. The older men had more whisky. Sphincter had materialised with tumblers of cold water for Serge and Linden.

At last, Linden had composed himself and stood in Frederic’s suit looking utterly forlorn. He looked at Serge, not reproachfully but with an expression almost of gratitude. Now he knew how Frederic must have felt.

Of course, said Gustav, Frederic had all ten with the big cane and as we know now, he was already gravely ill.

So I must have it again! shrieked Linden. And again and again!

Not yet, my sweet boy. But in a few weeks. Perhaps every month or two. We’ll always be happy to oblige. Now Serge will take you to bed.



Serge helped Linden upstairs to undress, wash and get ready for bed. The pain won’t be so bad in one hour, he said. I will come to see you, for some fun.

The pain was slowly dissipating but Linden’s bottom was still violently throbbing as he settled into bed on his tummy to think of Frederic. An hour later Serge returned, now in the navy blue shorts he’d worn earlier in the evening. Turning on the bedside light he sat on the edge of the bed.

You loved Frederic very much, Linden and so did I. You must have seen in Mistral how we behaved together. But I was only a junior steward so we had to keep our friendship secret, even from you. He loved you more than he loved me but I’m not jealous. We’ll both remember him all our lives. I want to lie with you tonight. My hands have felt his body and your hands have felt his body. We share some wonderful memories. He’d be happy to know we are together tonight.

Serge stood to undress. The hems of his shorts had climbed well up his gorgeous buttocks. Linden watched Serge carefully removing his shorts.

I think these things are made of Velcro, said Serge, grinning. They keep climbing up my bottom. Thank God my body is hairless or my skin would be torn apart!

But why ...?

Gustav’s orders. Sphincter looks really cute in his shorts of Velcro!

So do you, Serge – and you looked incredibly cool in those shorts you wore on the ship.

And you, dear Linden, have an incredibly cute bottom but at this moment it’s hotter than you would like. May I climb in beside you?

When Serge began to cuddle him, Linden was reminded of his last night with Frederic and how he’d had to be so careful not to hurt the French boy’s ravaged bottom. Serge was as gentle as Linden had been. Linden’s tongue was wrestling with Serge’s tongue just as it had wrestled with Frederic’s. Linden wondered whether it was Serge who’d taught Frederic his elaborate sexual techniques. Half an hour later he was sure of it. In a night of gentle lust, Linden revisited with Serge all of the exciting games he’d played with Frederic. There was kissing, licking, cuddling, sucking, spilling of seed and when Serge offered his bottom to Linden, even a bit of shafting. In the morning, an exhausted Linden knew he’d be coming for many more canings followed by many more nights with Serge. He was sure that if Frederic was looking down, he’d have approved. Linden’s craving for the cane had at last been satisfied – for the time being.



If you want to hear the dreamy piece of jazz Frederic played on the piano on the last night he and Linden slept together (Chapter 5) it is Peace Piece by Bill Evans and can easily be found on You Tube. It makes Linden cry each time he hears it and it always gives me a big lump in my throat.

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