Randy shivered - he was freezing! There was still some snow on the ground in the forest, and if he had been still wearing his jogging top and bottoms he would have been able to handle the cold early spring temperatures, but unfortunately they were lying in a pile a few yards away, along with the remains of his t-shirt and his trainers.

He was still confused - Two hours ago he had awoken with a slight hangover (yesterday had been his 22nd birthday celebration), and he had decided that a brisk run would help clear his head. He had followed his usual route, cutting through the woods on that sharp cold day, and was just up near the quarry in the most remote part of the forest when something had tripped him up. He had fallen in an undignified heap on the path, and before he had a chance to get up, a strong, leather gloved hand had clamped a foul smelling rag across his face. He had struggled briefly before his vision went blurry, and he had passed into unconsciousness.

The man had been watching Randy for several years, watching him maturing from a brash, arrogant teenager into a powerful, physical young man. The young hunk had a wild streak about him, always getting into trouble or causing trouble for others. He had been the star school athlete, but ever since leaving he had lacked purpose, drifting from one job to another, often getting sacked or walking out after a few weeks. He had a criminal record for drunkenness and getting into fights, and he looked like he was slipping into that vicious circle of failure and crime that affected so many young men in this small mountain community.

But the boy looked after his body, and he was not stupid - the man had managed to get hold of the boy's high school records, which showed that, before he had flunked out, he had the potential to be an above average student, if only he overcame his laziness and arrogance. Five years of menial work in the lumber mills or pushing trolleys in the supermarket had not made the youth any more focused, and it looked like his life was doomed to go nowhere.

As a senior figure in the community, the man decided that he had to take action. He had to reform this youth while he was still young, setting him back on the correct path. He knew that conventional methods would not work with this sullen, sarcastic stud. No, something more extreme was called for, something a bit more traditional, and painful, that the boy would remember. But his ideas were not just altruistic, he knew along the way he could satisfy a lot of his own private urges and desires by teaching this youth a lesson. He wanted to fix this boy, but he wanted to make him pay, as well. Oh yes, this was going to be fun...

When Randy had awoken, he was tied, spread-eagled, between two trees, his wrists and his ankles bound in firm leather restraints. His legs were naked and cold from the icy draught blowing through the woods, but at that point he still had his T-shirt and shortsvon. He had cursed and struggled, but the bindings were firm and unmoving. Who had done this to him, and why? He looked around, as best he could, and noticed immediately that there was a small, folding camping chair sitting on the ground about ten feet away, with a canvas bag next to it. Apart from those items, there was nothing to see but trees, and patches of snow. The day was bright and sunny, and there was no sound except his own breathing, and the echo of his voice when he yelled off into the distance. The woods were huge, and he knew full well that the chance of someone hearing him out here was remote.

Someone did hear him, though. The man who was standing, unseen, only a few feet behind the tied hunk, admiring his bondage handiwork. He heard the boy stirring and smiled to himself. He put on the balaclava, as he had no intention of revealing his true identity to the boy, and he approached quietly.

When he heard a movement behind him, Randy tried to twist around, but his restraints prevented him seeing his captor. Angry and confused, he called out, demanding that his unseen assailant showed himself. Instead, he felt his captor close behind him, out of his line of sight but close enough that Randy could feel his warm breath on the back of his neck, and hear his heavy, deliberate breathing. He saw the clouds of vapour produced by the man's breathing in the cold forest air drifting over his shoulder.

'Hello Randy' said the voice - a firm, unfamiliar voice, with a hint of sarcasm in its tone.

Randy responded as he always did - with a tirade of swearing and curses, and threats of bodily harm to the mystery man, but this only seemed to amuse his assailant, who pressed up against Randy's back. Randy stretched and pulled against the unexpected physical contact - how dare this guy touch his sexy young body?

'Get off me you fucking pervert!' he shouted. But the man did not pull back; instead, he reached round and placed his leather gloved hands on Randy's broad chest, taking a good handful of t-shirt in each palm...

'That's another five' said the man, cryptically.

With a sudden, sharp movement, the man tore Randy's t-shirt in half, before peeling back the material to expose his broad, muscled chest to the icy elements. Randy gasped in surprise as the cold air struck his naked skin, and again as the man's gloved hand slowly moved across his firm flesh, first exploring the flat muscled stomach, before moving up and examining the pecs, and the nipples, which were standing erect in the cold air.

'Don't fucking touch me!' Randy screamed, but in truth there was nothing he could do about it. He struggled as best he could, but he was going nowhere. The man took his own sweet time over the examination.

Abruptly, the intrusion stopped. Randy cursed and gasped under his breath. The man walked round from behind him, and Randy got his first real look at his abuser, although, to be honest, there was not much to see. The man was older, and obviously strong, but most of his features were concealed as he was dressed in a large, hooded parka, and his face was concealed by a woollen balaclava. All Randy could make out was the eyes, which stared at him with evil intent, and the mouth, which smiled broadly, revealing a row of perfect shiny white teeth. The man went to the chair, sat down, and reached into the canvas bag. He produced a beer, and began to drink it.

For what seemed like hours, but was probably only fifteen minutes, Randy struggled against his constraints, while the man sat, silently, drinking his beer and watching the show. Randy's skin had gone quite pink in the cold, and he could feel his muscles becoming stiff and uncomfortable. He shouted at the mystery man, cursed him, threatened him, but the man simply sat there, watching and smiling. Randy's rage began to transform into a mixture of embarrassment and fear. Why was he being held captive here, tied up and naked except for his puny little underwear? What was this man's intentions? He began to worry that he would suffer hypothermia, although he had no idea how long it would take for this to have an effect.

Randy had run out of insults five minutes ago, and he decided to try another approach. His teeth were chattering from the cold as he spoke.

'p..p...please... tell me what you want from me. What have I done...'

The man smiled, put down his beer, and stood up.

'Good. You are learning.'

He walked up next to the freezing boy, and placed his hand on the boy's shoulder.

'I've taken an interest in you' The man said. 'I've seen you all over town, getting drunk and into trouble. Last night, you and your friends smashed a few shop windows in town, didn't you? You probably don't remember, you were so drunk. I saw you doing it. Well, I can't allow that kind of behaviour to go on. I know what it's like - you live in this small town, nothing to do but drink and misbehave, well, I think you would be capable of so much more. You are sexy and fit, and you're not stupid. So I've decided to get involved in your education, to help you make more out of your life. I've decided to use a carrot and stick approach. I will help you if you make something of yourself, but if you don't you will suffer the stick.'

Randy listened with astonishment. Who the hell was this guy to treat him like this? He decided to do what he always did, when the cops pulled him up for rowdy behaviour or when some bigger man threatened to beat him to a pulp - he would act weak and apologise profusely until he was free, and then carry on as before.

'Y...y..you're right' Randy shivered. 'I have been bad. I know I should g..g..get better. Let me go and I'll start again. I'll be b..b..better, I promise...'

The man's sharp, sarcastic laugh told Randy immediately that this technique was not going to work today.

'No, Randy' he said. 'I don't believe you. You're not getting away that easily today. You need to be punished for what you have done'

'Fuck you! Let me go!!!' screamed Randy, but the man simply shook his head, slowly.

'And the first think we need to attend to is that foul mouth of yours.'

The man went back to the canvas bag, and reached inside, He pulled out a short bamboo cane, and showed it to Randy.

'I've been counting the swear words that came out of your mouth. I think today you will get five stripes for each one. That means, so far, 150 stripes with the cane. Your body will be striped with red cane marks from shoulder to thigh, and then maybe you will learn a lesson...'

Randy looked in horror at the cane. He began begging, pleading for mercy, but the assailant was offering none.

'I will give you the first caning now, maybe twenty five stripes, and then let you hang there for a while, thinking about what you have done. If I believe you are ready to change, I will let you down. If not, you will receive another 25, and so on, until you have begun to learn your lesson'

The man stood next to Randy, and placed his free hand on the boy's quaking shoulder. He placed the end of the cane in the middle of the boy's shaking stomach, and gently rubbed it over the muscled landscape of his abs.

'This is going to be fun' The man whispered, and he raised the cane. He held it aloft for a few seconds, and then, with a furious movement, he brought it back to connect against the boy's helpless skin.

The crack of bamboo on flesh echoed like a gunshot around the woodland, followed by the loud, anguished wail of the poor helpless stud. The man paused to let the full sensation sink in. A bright red mark appeared quickly on the boy's flesh, and the man took a moment to feel the wounded skin with his leather glove. He seemed satisfied with the effect he had achieved. He also admired the way that the boy's chest rose and fell as the adrenaline surged through his body, and the way that the young man struggled and pulled against his harness, desperate to get free.

The man raised the cane again, and repeated the blow, this time a few inches lower. Crack!. Again the boy squealed. The man loved the noises coming from his victim, and he decided to repeat the punishment. He raised the cane. Crack! Crack! Crack! For the next few strokes, he paused after each shot for twenty to thirty seconds, to let the pain sink in, however, by the fifth stroke, he decided that a more vigorous approach was necessary, so he began to strike in a rhythmic pattern, every couple of seconds, moving up and down the torso, whipping brutally the young body, savouring the boy's anguished cried, loving the way that his breathing changed to dog-like pants, expelling clouds of breath into the frosty air. He meant to stop when he reached twenty five, but he decided immediately that the lesson had not been learnt, so he switched to the boy's bare back, and began the process again, beating and whipping the taut stretched muscles from his shoulder blades down to just above his waistband, At fifty strokes, he paused for breath. He stepped away to get a full length look at the boy. The young muscles were now marked with dozens of straight, bruised lines, none of them breaking the flesh but all clearly defined, and all no doubt agonisingly painful. The body was shivering, but whether this was from the cold or from fear, the man did not know. He was sure that the cold was now the last thing on the boy's mind.

Randy's face streamed with tears, and his voice, now little more than a whisper, repeated the same phrase over and over again.

'Please no more... Please no more...'

'That's one third of your punishment out of the way boy. You should see what I've done to your pretty young body. You look like a zebra, but with pale red stripes instead of black! I wonder if you have begun to learn your lesson?'

'I have. I have... P..p...please let me go... I won't do it again. Please, no more pain...'

The man shook his head.

'No. You are not there yet. I think a more rigorous approach is necessary'

The man reached down to Randy's last remnant of clothing, the small yellow jockey shorts, and he yanked them down to the boy's thighs, simultaneously exposing his cock and his firm, rounded buttocks. He grabbed the boy's organ.

'Cold's made you shrink a bit, boy' He smirked. 'Let's see if we can get some blood back into those extremities...'

The man began to pull and fondle on the youth's cock. Randy groaned at this latest violation, but he had little strength left to pull away. The man's hand felt warm against his cold flesh, and he had to struggle hard to prevent the smooth stroking from stimulating him.

'You know...' said the man, '... You don't need to have the remaining hundred strokes. I don't know if your body can handle it. Maybe we can come to a deal. You're just a young guy. I'll bet you are driven by your cock, aren't you? You can't help it. Well, here's a deal for you. I'll reduce the rest of today's punishment down to just twenty strokes instead of the hundred you are owed. Only one condition. As it's your cock that's driving your actions, it is your cock that should suffer. If you can get an erection, I will put ten blows down on this firm, pert butt of yours, and the remainder, well, they will be administered to your rebellious organ...'

No, thought Randy. Not my cock, please...

As if reading his mind, the man continued. 'Of course, if you don't want that, well, I'm sure I can find a few inches of your flesh that I haven't beaten yet. A hundred more strokes will leave you looking like you have a sunburn over your entire body. You won't be able to lie down for a month. If that's what you want, I'm happy either way. In the mean time, while you are thinking about it, I'm going to punish that firm butt of yours. It's just crying out for discipline...'

Without letting go of the youth's flaccid cock, the man raised the cane again, and brought it down firmly on the muscular cheeks. Randy wailed in pain and misery as his pert buttocks, which he had always thought of as one of his best features, suffered the same fate as his proud torso. Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack!

'I can't take any more!' Randy wailed. 'Please, don't hit me anymore!'

'You've got ninety more blows owing' The man laughed. '...or, you can go for the other deal. Just ten more stripes. Your choice. But you better decide now...'

Randy's mind was swimming. The thought of having that whip applied to his cock filled him with horror, but he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he could not stand another ninety blows to his body. The hand was still fondling him, still pulling and stroking his penis, and in the midst of all the pain and cold and embarrassment, the sensation was almost pleasant... He swallowed back a cry of despair, and began to allow that gloved hand to do its work...

The man smiled to himself as he felt the flesh begin to harden in his palm. This was definitely the outcome he had been hoping for - not only did he relish the opportunity to bring punishment down on this rebellious boy's most sensitive skin, it also represented the first stage in his plans for reforming this angry youth, making him into what he had always wanted, a compliant, subservient slave...

Randy's face was slick with tears. He could not believe what he was being made to do. He looked down, and saw the cock, His cock, going hard in the stranger's gloved hand. The man continued to manipulate his flesh, bringing him up to full strength.

The man felt the firmness of the young muscle in his hand, and was pleased that the boy's erection was everything he had hoped for. Without further comment, he raised the cane, and brought it arching down onto the helpless, firm flesh.

'OOOOWWWW!!!!' Yelled Randy. The pain was more than he could have ever expected. He could hardly breathe. At that moment he would have done anything, anything at all, to prevent another blow. He would have taken the ninety swipes on his torso, more even, to prevent a repeat of that first swipe, but his abuser was not going to stop now.

The man laid another nine, measured and forceful swipes, upon the poor youth's beautiful erect cock. He spaced them out along the length of the seven inch shaft, striking both on top and underneath. He made sure several blows hit the exposed sensitive head. He paused between each blow for as long as he could, watching the organ bouncing up and down from the impact, listening to (and ignoring) the squeals and pleas of its owner. By the end, he was sweating from the exercise, and the boy was nearly incoherent, muttering and wailing under his breath.

The man released the straps which were holding the boy in place, and he slumped to the floor, curling up painfully into a little ball. The man stared down at the wounded stud, contemptuously.

'You have had your lesson for today' The man said, not even sure if his victim was still able to hear him. 'I wouldn't recommend telling anyone about what happened today - I suggest you tell people you are ill and go back to bed for a few days, until your bruises have healed a bit... remember though, that I will be watching you from now onwards. I want you to take action to change your life. Go back to college, study for a qualification. If you do that, I will reward you. You will receive money and benefits. However, if you decide to return to your old life of rowdy and uncontrolled behaviour, just remember that I can get to you easily. You will find yourself back here, among the trees, and todays little session will feel like a picnic compared to what you will suffer'

Randy did not answer. He reached for his discarded clothes and began the slow, painful process of putting them back on. He had no intention of telling anyone what he had just suffered - he was no friend of the police, and his drinking buddies would offer little in the way of sympathy. All he wanted now was to crawl back under his duvet, get warm, and cry himself to sleep like some immature child.

The man packed up his equipment and walked off, satisfied. He wondered if his training session had had the desired effect on the youth. Part of him, however, hoped he had not yet crushed that rebellious streak, and that another session or two would be necessary...


Tyler Bernard

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