Darren Wyndham Stiles III was not a happy camper. His father was out of town on business, which wasn't the least bit unusual. As an executive vice president for a major international bank, Darren Wyndham Stiles Jr. was a real globetrotter. Between all the business travel and long hours spent in his office at the bank's headquarters in downtown Charlotte, North Carolina, the man was only rarely able to spend much time at home with his family. So while Darren the Third (known to his friends as DarWyn3) truly loved his father, they had never had a chance to become particularly close.

In fact it sometimes seemed to DarWyn3 that the only place he really got to spend time alone with his father was in the busy man's private walnut-paneled study, where he would lecture the boy on his behavior and often administer a strong dose of corporal punishment to reinforce the lecture. Call him picky, but lying across DarWyn2's lap with his pants and undies down between his knees and ankles, writhing, kicking and howling as the man painted his pubescent posterior a neon shade of cherry red with a wooden paddle was not the kind of bonding that DarWyn3 yearned to do with his father.

Of course even the frightfully painful paddle was preferable to that stupid souvenir his father had picked up in London a few months back. DarWyn3 eyed the hateful thing with his peripheral vision, perched there on the back seat of the minivan with him, then looked away and tried to think of happier thoughts.

Unfortunately, happy thoughts were hard to come by that particular weekend. DarWyn3's best friend from school, ClayMan3 (known officially to the world as Clayton Jericho Mansfield III) was also out of town for the weekend. The two 13-year-olds were normally inseparable, both in school and out, but ClayMan3 had been unable to wangle an invitation for DarWyn3 to accompany his family, who were visiting relatives in Chicago during the long holiday weekend break from school. This left DarWyn3 stuck back home in Charlotte in the company of this mother and 16-year-old sister, Victoria.

Victoria Patricia Stiles was the bane of DarWyn3's existence. She could have served as the postergirl for overbearing, know-it-all, tattle-tale, completely obnoxious females. DarWyn3 and ClayMan3 referred to her as CTB2, which was an acronym for CutThroatBitch2, their secret nickname for her - borrowed from a character on one of their favorite television shows, House, MD. DarWyn3 couldn't even begin to calculate the number of times that CTB2 had gotten him in trouble with their parents.

DarWyn3's musings were interrupted when his mother pulled off of the highway and into the parking lot of a large warehouse building. There were huge banners plastered across the side of the building that read "Warehouse Clearance Sale!" and "This Weekend Only!" So this was the main warehouse for Scarlett's Curtain, the women's clothing store chain where both his mother and sister loved to shop? Ho hum. It just looked like any other warehouse. Except most warehouses don't have anywhere near this many cars in their parking lots.

It was clear that the parking lot was stuffed full of cars - in fact it looked like the average mall parking lot on Black Friday. Only it wasn't Black Friday, and this warehouse's parking lot was nowhere near as big as a mall parking lot. They did have a couple of guys directing traffic in the lot - that was something you didn't see everyday. His mother actually got lucky and found someone who had finished shopping and was pulling out of their spot. She ended up parking in a spot not much more than half way back along the length of the warehouse.

During a brief argument with his mother DarWyn3 insisted on staying in the minivan instead of tagging along with her and CTB2. Yes, he realized that they might be gone an hour or two. He would be fine - he had brought along the book he was reading for school, The Red Badge of Courage. He completely ignored his sister's snarky parting comments about his needing more courage. He had long since learned that the best way to deal with CTB2 was to ignore her, at least to the extent that was possible.

As he opened his book to begin reading he glanced over at the souvenir sitting next to him. For some inexplicable reason his father had brought back a rattan school cane the last time he visited England. Even worse, the stupid thing was supposed to be a "souvenir" he bought for DarWyn3! It was nearly 3 feet long and at least 3/8 inches in diameter, with a half turn at one end creating a "shepherd's crook" handle. This cane had only one purpose: imprinting painful red stripes on the backsides of naughty children. And guess which naughty child this was one was used on exclusively? It's alleged owner!

The cane was supposed to be stored in the closet in DarWyn3's bedroom, to be fetched by its owner if his father decided that his son had once again gone way too far and that the paddle would not be sufficient to get the point across to his errant offspring. The only reason the cane was here in the back seat of the minivan with DarWyn3 was because CTB2 put it there for the express purpose of scaring her younger brother. Too bad for her the plan wasn't working... or was it?

DarWyn3 suddenly realized that he had been sitting there for several minutes, staring at the stupid cane instead of reading his homework. He wasn't exactly scared of the cane, although he was justifiably frightened of the damage it could do to his backside with his angry father wielding it. But sitting here on the seat next to him, it was just an inanimate object.

Finally DarWyn3 closed his book and set it aside for the moment. He clearly wasn't going to get any reading done right now, not with his mind on the stupid cane. He began to reach out towards the cane hesitantly, like it was a venomous snake on guard and ready to attack. Come on, Darren! It's just a thing! He reached out confidently and picked up the cane. It was cool to the touch. Not that surprising, really.

In fact DarWyn3 realized that the only times he had held the cane was when he had first received it (and had no real concept of what it was or what it was used for), and when he carried it between his bedroom and his father's study when it was actually used on him. That could explain his reaction to the stupid thing. He usually only held it when he was about to have his ass cut to ribbons by it, or when he limped back to his bedroom, the cane having already caused the horrendous tears and snot-inducing pain that still radiated from his blazing rump.

The fucking cane belonged to him, didn't it? Maybe he should try to get some use out of it that didn't involve turning his buttocks into confetti. He grabbed the cane at both ends and flexed it into a semi-circle, as he had seen his father do a couple of times. When he let go of the tip it sprang back straight. It was amazing that any kind of wood could be that flexible. He decided he wanted to swish the cane through the air like DarWyn2 did before he began to apply it to his son's waiting backside. Unfortunately the backseat of a 2010 Honda Odyssey minivan didn't really provide enough room for that.

So DarWyn3 opened the door and exited the vehicle, carrying his souvenir with him. Since he was in for quite a wait, stretching his legs seemed like a good idea, plus it would give him room to play with his "toy" properly. He started with a leisurely walk around the small parking lot.

The lot was clearly filled to overflowing with cars, and as DarWyn3 got nearer the rear end of the warehouse, he could see that the overflow was being directed into what looked like a large empty lot behind the warehouse proper. The cars back there were being parked right on the grass, as opposed to the pavement of the main parking lot where his mother had parked. The two young men directing traffic both looked to be about college age, so maybe only 5 to 9 years older than DarWyn3 himself. One of them was tall and skinny as a rail while the other was shorter and thicker - almost chubby. Both attendants were dressed casually in jeans and sweatshirts.

It was soon apparent that there wasn't really much of interest to him in that parking lot, so DarWyn3 strolled back towards his mother's minivan. As he walked he swished the cane experimentally through the air a few times, amazed at the unique "whirring" sound it made as it cut through the air. The previous times he had heard that sound, the boy had been bent over the arm of a leather chair in his father's study and a bit preoccupied with other concerns, like how much it was going to hurt when the whirring stopped and the cane bit into his bare bottom.

Now that he had time to wonder about what was causing that sound, DarWyn3 took the opportunity to carefully examine the surface of the rattan. Science was one of his favrorite subjects at school, and he loved trying to figure out why things worked the way they did. After a few minutes he determined there was nothing obvious on the surface of the rattan that would make the whirring sound, or at least nothing that could be seen with the naked eye in daylight from an overcast sky.

DarWyn3 eventually decided that he would have a closer look at it with his magnifying glass later at home, and possibly even his microscope if necessary. Anyway, enough of this, time to get back in the van and start reading his homework.... oh shit! His door to the minivan was locked! He quickly checked all the doors including the rear cargo hatch, and they were all locked! Fuck! Shit! Piss! Many other foul words!

DarWyn3 immediately became quite angry, mostly at himself for being so stupid. Why didn't he leave the stupid, fucking door open when he got out so he could get back in? Grrrrrrr!

Before he realized it, DarWyn3 was swishing the cane through the air as hard as he could. His anger was adding to the force he was putting into each swish, or at least it seemed so to him. Eventually he did vaguely begin to wonder how much energy the cane was generating at its tip as it thrashed through the air. Based on the pain it imparted to his backside, he would guess about the same amount of energy that was produced by all the turbines in Hoover Dam in an hour.

DarWyn3 entertained himself by swishing the cane and imagining that the tip was biting into his sister's naked ass. Let the rattan viper sting someone truly deserving for once! CTB2 said that DarWyn3 needed more courage, eh? Let's see how she would cope with a proper caning. The worst she ever had was a dose of mom's hairbrush, and the last time was at least a couple years ago. Courage? DarWyn3 remembered the incident he overheard about four years ago when his sister actually sprang a leak while over their mother's lap being spanked with the hairbrush. At least he had never peed all over the place when being punished!

Eventually DarWyn3 noticed that one of the parking lot attendants - the shorter one - was staring at him as he swished the cane. Hmm, he wondered if that guy knew what the cane was, and what it was used for? Hard to tell, but the guy sure seemed interested. Apparently rattan canes were fairly rare here in the United States, so the guy might not have any idea. But it is an odd item that makes some weird noises when swished. Whatever, the guy was just standing there staring, at least when there were no cars to direct. He wasn't moving towards DarWyn3, and the boy certainly knew better than to approach or talk to strangers unless there was an emergency.

Well, as long as the attendant kept his distance, DarWyn3 would keep doing what he was doing. He kept swishing the cane around, ignoring the attendant and the odd looks he was getting from other customers headed into the warehouse, or back out to their cars. He wondered how this usage for rattan was first discovered. The wood didn't seem to have any other use, being too flexible to build with. Hmm, perhaps early hunter/gatherers used the springy properties of rattan for making some kind of snares for small game? In any event, DarWyn3 decided that if he could ever meet the fellow who invented the rattan cane for punishment of children, he would kick the guy square in the nuts!

DarWyn3 began wondering what his mom would say when she found him locked outside the van, and with the "souvenir" in hand. Oops! Oh, shit! He could hear his smartphone ringing, right where he left it, inside the van. It was his mom's ringtone - swell! That meant his mother would be out shortly, to discover why he wasn't answering his phone.

DarWyn3 briefly considered the idea of "losing" the souvenir somewhere on the warehouse property. He could quite truthfully say that he never removed it from his closet unless ordered to by his father. He could claim that he never noticed it on the way to the warehouse. Could he make that story fly? Hmm, probably not. CTB2 probably told their mother she had put it back there, plus loads of witnesses had just seen him swishing it around the stupid warehouse parking lot for the past half hour.

He looked for the shorter parking lot attendant - who was busy directing traffic at the moment. But there was no question that guy had been staring at DarWyn3 and his cane long enough to be a reliable witness in case anyone asked him about it. Crap! If only he had thought of the idea of losing the souvenir immediately after mom and CTB2 went inside, he might have found a way to make it work.

It was too late now anyway, here comes mom, walking swiftly from the warehouse store entrance towards the minivan. She looks really irritated. This should be interesting...

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Here we go again! The lecture was over and it was time for action. DarWyn3 slowly unbuckled his belt and dropped his jeans. He looked up at his father, but there was no mercy in those eyes. DarWyn2 swished the cane menacingly and told his son to get on with it.

DarWyn3 gulped in fear, before hooking his fingers into the waistband of his underpants and pulling them down as slowly as possible. This was gonna be the third time that his father used the cane on him. The first time was only 4 strokes, although the pain had been astonishing. Despite DarWyn3 being quite accustomed to being spanked with his father's paddle or his mother's hairbrush (she handled her son's discipline when her husband was out of town), that first dose of rattan cane had actually left DarWyn3 with tears and snot running down his face as he tried to gently massage the maddening ache from the four puffy stripes that suddenly decorated his 12-year-old backside.

DarWyn3 celebrated his 13th birthday before his second appointment with the cane took place. This time it was 6 stokes, what DarWyn2 referred to as "six of the best". Whomever had thought up that name for it clearly had a very sick - or at least ironic - sense of humor. The second dose of the cane was no less shocking than the first, with the two extra strokes more than compensating for any advantage the boy might have gained from his previous experience being caned. There were plenty of tears after his second caning, though no snot leaking from his nose. Well at least that was his story, and he was sticking to it.

Finally his underpants joined his jeans down below his knees. DarWyn3 was quickly running out of ways to stall - his third dose of the cane was coming right up. Again DarWyn2 had decided on a sentence of six strokes, only this time multiplied by two!

DarWyn3 looked over at ClayMan3, who was due for the second set of six strokes. His best friend stood by DarWyn2's desk, as motionless as a statue, his eyes locked on DarWyn3 as he prepared to receive his punishment. DarWyn3 nodded at ClayMan3, who looked like he was ready to puke. He tried to reassure his clearly terrified friend that they would both get through this - then he turned and bent over the arm of the leather chair, presenting his bottom for the cane.

Damn it! Why hadn't he gotten rid of that fucking cane two weekends ago when CTB2 put it in the minivan for that shopping trip? Now not only will DarWyn3 get it again, but ClayMan3 is gonna get his first ever dose of the cane too, and DarWyn3 was't sure how his friend would get through it.

Whoa! That first stroke of the cane on a bare bottom will really get your attention! DarWyn3 gasped involuntarily and was already blinking back tears. Doesn't this ever get any easier?

Yikes! Apparently not, at least if the second stroke was anything to judge by. Blinking no longer could stop the tears, which began running down his upper cheeks.

The third and fouth strokes slammed into his already-blazing tail in short order, each new band of fire causing him to yelp in pain and protest. For some reason DarWyn2 wasn't dragging this out like he usually does. DarWyn3 was scared to look back, since he was pretty sure that the reason for the rush was because ClayMan3 was probably falling apart watching this.

Wow! The fifth stroke arrived, causing the recipient to howl in agony. It was actually hard for DarWyn3 to feel too sorry for ClayMan3. Both boys had known that they were practicing passing the football too close to the house. But ClayMan3 was the one who wildy overthrew the football, breaking the kitchen window and landing them in this world of hurt.

The sixth stroke arrived right on time based on the new, accelerated schedule. The blazing agony it imparted caused DarWyn3 to revise his previous estimate. The tip of the cane was probably packing the same energy as two hours' output from all the turbines in Hoover Dam!

DarWyn2 told his son to get up. The boy's hands immediately moved to try and massage away some of the horrendous pain radiating from the six fresh stripes that branded his bottom. DarWyn3 could actually feel the ridges of the puffy swollen stripes that criss-crossed both his nether cheeks. Tears ran freely down his cheeks, though no snot this time. He was sniffling a bit though, and would need to blow his nose eventually.

Remembering the urgency of the situation, DarWyn3 reached down to pull up his underpants. DarWyn2 stopped him, telling him to leave his pants down and just go stand next to ClayMan3. The boy looked questionly at his father. The man looked impatient, and pointed towards where he wanted the boy to stand, using the tip of the cane as a pointer for emphasis. DarWyn3 got the message loud and clear, this was not a good time to begin questioning his father's authority.

DarWyn3 waddled over to stand in front of his father's desk, his gait slowed and made clumsy by the clothes down around his ankles and the agony radiating from his backside. He finally had a good look at ClayMan3, who still looked a bit sick. But his friend met his gaze, and DarWyn3 could see determination in his best friend's eyes. This was a good sign, and it gave him hope for ClayMan3 getting through this okay. It was gonna be bad enough having to stand here watching his best friend take his first caning. The very last thing he needed to see was his friend puking or fainting before it was over.

ClayMan3 moved forward in response to orders from DarWyn2. He stood there next to the leather chair, facing the man who was lecturing him. Soon he was responding to the order to drop his pants and underwear and assume the position. DarWyn3 had seen his best friend naked loads of times, of course, in the showers at school after gym or swimming, just for starters. He was a bit startled when ClayMan3 dropped his underpants and revealed a raging pubescent boner, which he quickly covered up with his hands. DarWyn2 coughed a bit and then solved the situation by ordering ClayMan3 to bend over the arm of the chair. The boy looked almost relieved as he did so.

DarWyn3 had to stop himself from chuckling. ClayMan3 would be feeling considerably less relieved and happy after the first stroke of the cane connected, that much was certain. He wondered if his friend had popped that boner in response to witnessing his own caning, or if it was some kind of weird fear reaction? DarWyn3 was personally limp as a noodle when he was scared, but he knew that different guys react in different ways to various stimuli.

ClayMan3's first-ever caning went a lot better than DarWyn3 had been expecting. One thing, though. It ended up feeling weird for DarWyn3 himself. He had seen his father swish the cane for practice, and had swished it around that parking lot himself two weeks ago. The one thing he had never seen was the cane connecting with the buttocks of a human being. This gap in his experience was about to be closed, and in dramatic fashion.

The first stroke elicited a gasp from ClayMan3, it also left a white band across the boy's bottom where it hit. This puzzled DarWyn3 at first, but as he watched the edges of the band turned red, and the entire stripe seemed to acquire a 3 dimensional aspect. This explained those raised ridges that he could feel on his own bottom as he gently rubbed both cheeks.

The second and third strokes provoked yelps of protest from ClayMan3, and caused him to begin writhing over the arm of the leather chair. DarWyn3 felt sympathy for his friend, but all he could do was stand there and rub his own aching hindquarters as he watched the stripes bloom in succession on the writhing, clenching, clearly throbbing bottom perched over the arm of the chair.

The fourth stroke caused ClayMan3 to howl and to stick his right hand back to rub his aching bottom. DarWyn2 wasn't having any of that nonsense and lightly tapped the boy's hand with the tip of the cane, warning him to keep it away from his bottom unless he wanted extra strokes. The hand was immediately withdrawn. It was at this point that DarWyn3 became aware of an intensely embarrassing situation of his own. His noodle, which had been hanging completely limp for his own thrashing, was now rapidly growing erect as he watched his best friend's thrashing. Great, this must be the same thing that happened to ClayMan3 as he witnessed DarWyn3's caning.

As much as he tried, DarWyn3 couldn't look away as the final two strokes of the caning impacted on ClayMan3's writhing backside. Both strokes drew lusty howls of protest from the owner of the newly branded buttocks. DarWyn2 left ClayMan3 in position for a bit after the last stroke was delivered. Only after the sixth and final stripe had fully blossomed on the still clenching bottom was ClayMan3 released to get up and rub his bottom.

As he turned away from the chair, ClayMan3 revealed a tearful face with snot dripping from his nose. He was also sporting a boner that, if anything, had grown larger during his chastisement. If ClayMan3 was aware of this erection he gave no indication of it, continuing to rub his bottom as he waddled over to join DarWyn3 standing by DarWyn2's desk.

This made DarWyn3 much less embarrassed by his own pubescent, but sturdy erection that was on display as well. If ClayMan3 wasn't going to bother covering his, than neither would he. Besides, his hands had urgent work elsewhere, trying to quell the fires that were still radiating from the six new stripes on his bottom. It felt like he had accidentally sat on a stove with the burners on!

Another lecture followed, the two boys being reminded to be careful when playing outside the house. Then each boy was escorted to a corner of the study where he was expected to stand facing the corner with his pants down and his fresh stripes on display, his hands laced behind his head.

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An hour later the two boys were up in DarWyn3's bedroom, comparing stripes and experiences. Both friends got boners again just talking about the caning while rubbing their still-quite-sore bottoms. They each took care of their "problem" in the usual way, with DarWyn3 experiencing the most mind-blowing orgasm of his young life. ClayMan3 was quite a happy camper as well when he finished himself off.

Neither boy was sure what had caused their boners when seeing their friend get caned. Since neither boy had ever seen someone else spanked before, they had nothing with which to compare the experience. The paddle was used in their school, but always in private in the Assistant Principal's office. DarWyn3 had overheard his sister getting it a few times - and of course CTB2 had overheard him getting it as well. But of course audio can never really compete with video and audio combined. There is a reason why television replaced radio as the primary media format back in the mid-20th century, after all.

Eventually they got around to discussing the precision of the canings they had received. They each were sporting what looked like a set of six reddish parallel ladder rungs almost evenly spaced across their bottoms from the crease where their bottoms met the tops of their thighs right up to the upper slopes of their twin cheeks.

DarWyn3 knew from his experience swishing the cane around two weeks before that the extreme flexibility of the cane meant that the tip didn't always go where you intended it to go. Unfortunately DarWyn2 had taken to storing the cane in his study after hearing about the incident in the warehouse parking lot. So the boys had no way of experimenting with the cane to see just how accurate it could be.

They couldn't imagine where or how DarWyn2 had gotten so good at wielding a rattan cane. As far as DarWyn3 knew, his father had never attended school in England, or any other country where they commonly used canes on children. Of course the man visited many of the countries in the world in the normal course of his job duties, so who knows where he might have picked up the knowledge?

There were several things the friends decided by bedtime that night:

• If there was anyone better at using a rattan cane than DarWyn2, they did not want a caning from that person, even just for comparison purposes.
• They hoped to never get another caning from DarWyn2 for any reason.
• They might want to try spanking each other in the future - but not until after their cane stripes had healed!

(Author Note: This story was inspired by a real life event. In his youth the author spent some time working at the distribution warehouse for a regional chain of women's clothing stores. During the big annual "warehouse clearance sale" for the chain the author was directing cars in the overcrowded parking lot and witnessed a boy swishing a rattan school cane around with an angry expression on his face. The rest of this story comes strictly from the author's imagination. To answer the most obvious question: Yes, the author was aware of what a rattan cane was and what it was used for, although he had never seen one in person at that point.)