My name is Sean W. I'm twenty-nine years old and, by profession, I'm a junior-junior-junior partner in a medium-sized law firm. The following incident occurred this past summer and I've been unable to get it out of my mind since then. I wouldn't say it keeps me awake at night but I do think about it perhaps more than I should.

Very shortly after I first joined the law firm I work for last May, I found myself invited - along with the entire legal staff -- to a weekend party at one of the Senior Partner's homes. A very nice place. Swimming pool, tennis court, volleyball court, four-car garage - all of the amenities you would expect a Senior Partner to have after some twenty-five years of lucrative practice of civil law.

I was introduced around to the spouses of the other partners and staff - even met some of the partners I hadn't yet had time to be formally introduced to. I had no "date", having just moved into this suburban town from several thousand miles away only two weeks before.

To be honest, I hate these kinds of "parties" since I'm not a real social person - especially around relative strangers. But I felt obliged to attend and actually looked forward getting to know some of my contemporaries in an out-of-office setting. But since most of the people there already knew each other and I was the "new" guy - and a very junior new guy at that - I sort-of drifted off by myself without being too obvious about it. There were lots of kids there too, ranging in age from toddlers to older teenagers. And I generally shy away from kids, having none of my own and finding them immensely uninteresting.

I had managed to drift off to the kitchen area of this rather large house and sat the large kitchen counter watching the television in the adjoining room - what I would call a 'rec' room. This room opened immediately onto the kitched area and contained a TV, a large stuffed couch, several stuffed chairs, a coffee table, some end tables and a circular dining table. The circular table appeared not to be used for any meals since it was covered with some sort of art project - colored paper, scissors, felt-tip pens, a huge bottle of Elmer's glue, a roll of masking tape and a long wooden ruler. I'm an avid golfer and I was watching a golf tournament on the TV, munching on pretzels and sipping a can of Pepsi.

Every so often a young, quite attractive, uniformed maid would come into the kitchen, grab a tray of something or other or fill a pail with ice and disappear. Otherwise I had this little corner of the house to myself. Certainly nobody out on the lawn and near the swimming pool missed me, although I could hear the noise kids make around a swimming pool and the laughter of adults since the kitchen opened right onto the pool area.

Suddenly the relative quiet of the kitchen was interrupted when a boy I guessed to be maybe fourteen or perhaps fifteen years old came bursting in. I looked up at the noise. He saw me. I saw him. He was wearing a pair of brief-type bathing trunks. He had apparently just gotten out of the pool since the trunks were soaking wet and clung tightly to his youthful butt. He headed directly for one of the stuffed chairs and plopped down, obviously upset about something. We again looked at each other briefly before he began sulking, staring at the carpet.

Just as I had dismissed this obviously upset youngster's sudden intrusion and returned my interest to the golf game, another person noisily entered through the kitchen's patio doorway. I recognized him to be the husband of the firm's chief receptionist, Karen. I had met him a half-hour before but couldn't at the moment recall his name. He, too, had on swimming trunks but of the "boxer" style. They were bone dry indicating the he had not been in the pool, not recently anyway. He had to have seen me sitting there but he said nothing at first. He headed directly for the boy.

"They you are," he said. "Don't you ever walk away from me when I'm talking to you, young man." The boy - name as yet unknown - didn't even acknowledge the presence of - I assumed - his father. His dad continued, standing not three feet from me. "Bradford James Scott," he said angrily, "you look at me when I talk to you or you'll regret it." Bradford James Scott slowly looked at his dad for all of two seconds but said nothing. He returned staring at the floor.

Mr. Scott - first name as yet unknown - finally acknowledged my presence. "Sorry," he said. He held his hand out. "Ken Scott, Karen's husband. You're....Sean, right?"

"Right," I said. "You've got a good memory."

"So-so," Brad said. "I can't remember your last name, though. Guess it doesn't make any difference at the moment. I've got a disrespectful, disobedient teenager on my hands who is about to get his butt spanked." Under the circumstances, I saw no need to remind him of my last name. Young Bradford suddenly looked up.

"What!??" He said in a "you've-got-to-be-kidding" tone of voice.

"You heard me Brad," dad said. "Your behavior this afternoon has earned you a spanking and if we were home right now, I'd have the paddle out and you darn know it!"

"You're not going to spank me here," the boy said as though it were an obvious, foregone conclusion. Dad turned to me.

"You see? As I said 'disrespectful'." He turned back to the Bradford. "Yes. Right here. Count on it, son. Now stand up."

"You're not going to spank me here," young Brad repeated, again with an air of assurance.

"And, as I said, 'disobedient' as well," Ken said in my direction. I found myself agreeing. Although neither I nor any of my three brothers were ever spanked at home, neither did we ever talk to our father in the tone and with the attitude this boy was using at the moment. What a brat, I thought.

"Sean," the older Brad said to me, "would you mind heading off any traffic through here for the next few minutes?"

"Sure," I said. And based on this kid's attitude toward his dad I was beginning to look forward to seeing him "get his butt spanked".

"Bradford James Scott," dad said, pointing a finger at his son, "I'll give you five seconds to stand up. One!" Ken began counting. I watch a subtle but sudden change come over Bradford. His _c_o_c_k_y attitude evaporated as soon as dad showed that he was, in fact, about to spank him. "Two!" Bradford started to stand, but slowly. He was not going to cave in immediately. "Three!" Bradford was almost all the way up. "Four!" He stood having gained a small victory in not standing immediately. What a brat, I thought again.

"You know what to do, son. Hands behind your back." Apparently, but not surprisingly, young Brad had been spanked so many times that there was an established routine which he knew to follow. This was getting interesting - much more interesting than the golf match. Bradford placed his hands behind his back, His expression showed that he had just taken a large dose of humility. He looked around to make sure no one - other than dad and myself - was witnessing this humiliation he was being made to undergo.

Ken looked around the room briefly and seeing one of the low-backed chairs at the table, pulled it out and placed it in front of his son, maybe six feet from where I was still seated.

"Stand in front of the chair, son," dad said in a no-nonsense tone of voice. Bradford took the two steps to place him squarely in front of the chair. Ken knelt down and tugged Bradford's swim trunks all the way to the boy's ankles.

"Dad!!??" The boy protested - almost in a pleading way. It's amazing how quickly a blush can appear. In young Brad's case his faced turned a bright red immediately. And this blush extended to his neck and even - and I had never seen this before - his completely hairless chest. Brad started to move his hands to cover his genitals but thought better of it and returned them behind his back. If it weren't for the thick mat of light brown pubic hair, Brad's genitals resembled more those of a ten year-old boy. I attributed his tiny penis and shrunken scrotum to the fact that Brad had obviously just recently climbed out of the swimming pool. I recalled how painfully aware of their bodies the average adolescent male can be and for a brief second I felt sorry for young Brad. Not only had his genitals been suddenly exposed against his will, they were currently in a most unflattering "little boy" condition. No wonder the boy was blushing from his forehead to his nipples.

Although it didn't face the pool area directly, I walked to the sliding patio doors and pulled the curtain closed. Brad continued to stand, hands behind his back and a look of total embarrassment on his face. In a matter of less than a minute young Brad had undergone an amazing change of behavior and attitude.

"Step out of them, son," Ken said and he pulled Brad's trunks from around his feet and tossed them on the couch. "Now turn around." Bradford seemed only too willing to turn so that his genitals were no longer exposed. But now he gave his father and me a full view of his naked butt. The aspect of Brad's butt that immediately struck me was how large it was. Actually, 'large' is not the proper word. Perhaps 'plump' is better. And the roundness of his buttocks was accentuated by the fact that, unlike the boy's legs and back, which were lightly tanned by the sun, they were as un-tanned as the day he was born. A deep crevice separated the two firm-looking globes. I waited to see what was next.

Ken gently took hold of his son's neck and guided him as the boy now bent forward over the back of the chair. "Grab the seat, Bradford." Ken said. Brad reached down and grasped the side of the chair seat with both hands. His butt was now raised above the level of his head, neck and back.

"Please, Dad," Brad made a last minute appeal. But to no avail. Ken took a stance to his son's side and without further warning landed a very hard slap with his open hand across Brad's buttocks. The boy's entire body flinched and I heard the sudden intake of breath from young Brad. The slap had taken him by surprise. I then watched as Ken very methodically landed a series of hard slaps -- to Brad's left buttock, to his right, to both again, to both but low on his butt. Then the repeated the entire series again - if anything slapping even harder. By the end of the second series of five slaps, Bradford was really beginning to squirm. But, so far, the boy managed to not embarrass himself further by yelling.

"Legs apart, Brad," Ken said and Brad immediately moved his feet apart. This was apparently part of his "standard" spanking at home. Moving his legs apart had the effect of lowering his butt somewhat and separating his buttocks. "More, son," Ken said, giving the boy's right ankle a gentle tap with his foot.

"Please, Dad. Not here." Bradford pleaded.

"One!" Dad started another countdown. This was all it took for Bradford to immediately spread his legs further. This pulled his buttocks apart further. His anus and the back of his scrotum and his penis came into view. His scrotum had relaxed in the last couple of minutes and now hung loosely between the boy's legs. His penis had also relaxed to the extent that it could be easily seen. The insides of his upper legs were also now accessible to Ken's open hand.

Ken moved into position again. The first smack landed hard on the inside of Bradford's left leg, just below his buttock. The boy yelled out. Ken landed another in the same spot. Again the boy cried out in pain. Ken then moved to the boy's right side and, changing hands, slapped the inside of his right leg twice. More yelling.

I saw Ken look up. The ruler on the table caught his attention. He reached over, picked it up and smacked Bradford across both buttocks with it. He paused a few seconds to see the effect the ruler had. Bradford said nothing so Ken proceeded to land a series of perhaps as many as twelve smacks with the ruler, spaced a few seconds apart. Most of these landed squarely across both buttocks but some were aimed lower and a couple hit the boy's upper legs. By this time Bradford was really dancing around, shifting his weight from foot to foot and wiggling his butt. At about the sixth ruler hit Bradford also began pleading for Dad to stop. Strangely, the boy's pleas were spoken rather softly, not yelled. Finally Ken tossed the ruler onto the table.

"Just hold your position for a while and think about ever walking away from me again while I'm talking to you," Ken said. He then walked into the kitchen proper and looked around. Apparently not finding whatever it was he was looking for, he began opening the kitchen drawers. "Just stay the way you are, Bradford," he said as he continued opening drawer after drawer. I now had a completely unobstructed view of Bradford's behind, his small-looking anus, his small scrotum, his penis and his plump buttocks. I couldn't help but stare at the boy's nakedness.

"Here we are!" Ken said slamming a drawer. He now held a long-handled wooden kitchen spoon in his hand, waving it for me to see. He walked over to his son. "See what I've got son," he said holding it down in front of Bradford's face.

As Bradford turned his head slightly to see what his dad was holding I saw that he was crying. There were tears in his eyes and the evidence of recent tears on his cheeks. And - really for the first time since he walked into the room - we looked at each other. He stared at me for a brief couple of seconds and his look was a mixture of sheer humiliation and hatred.

"I asked if you see what I have," Ken said again. His voice was calm and measured.

"Yes, sir," Bradford said looking at the spoon his dad was holding.

"And do you know what I'm going to do with it?"

"Yes, sir. Please Dad."

"Good." Ken then stood beside his son, halfway facing me. He placed one hand on the boy's lower back and raised the spoon in the other. He quickly brought the spoon down in a vertical movement. The bowl of the spoon landed loudly on Bradford's anus. The boy winced in pain, his face contorted. "Five more just like that one, son." Ken said. He then proceeded to deliver another five hard slaps to his son's anus. Bradford began to really squirm and moving his legs about uncontrollably. Ken kept his movements to a minimum by pressing down on the boy's back with his free hand. Once again Bradford began pleading and he was now obviously crying. "Please Dad....please." "Owwll...owwwwwll....!" I watched, fascinated.

"Okay, Brad, that's it," Ken finally said. "Stand up." As the boy brought his legs together and stood he immediately reached back and began rubbing his butt. Ken walked into the kitchen and tossed the spoon into the sink. "Sorry," he said to me. "Thanks for standing lookout."

"Sure," I said not knowing what else to say.

"Okay, son;" Ken said from the kitchen, "you get those trunks back on and if and when you feel you owe me an apology, I'll be out at the pool. Otherwise you can wait in the car. Your choice." And with that he walked out of the kitchen and back to the party.

Bradford quickly grabbed his swimming trunks and began to put them on. In order to give the boy at least some privacy, I got off my stool and went to the kitchen sink. I pulled off a length of paper towel and moistened it under the faucet. I then carried the damp towel to where Bradford was standing.

"Here," I said, "why don't you wipe your face off and blow your nose." He looked at me for a second then took the towel. He wiped his face and blew his nose. "I'll get rid of that for you if you want," I said holding my hand out for the towel. He hesitated then handed it too me. "Just out of curiosity - although it none of my business - are you going to wait in the car or apologize?" He blushed.

"Apologize, sir," he said.

"Good," I said. "I think that's what I'd do too." I pretended to return my attention to the golf match on the TV. But as Bradford started to walk out of the room, I said over my shoulder, "Actually, I think you did pretty good." I turned to look at him as he got to the doorway.

"Thank you," he said. And there was just the slightest hint of a smile on his face. I looked back at the TV and grabbed another handful of pretzels.

Now I didn't then and don't now have what I consider an unnatural or unhealthy attraction to the nude male body but I must admit that I "enjoyed" watching young Bradford's punishment that day and I do think about the sight of his handsome adolescent body from time to time. Strange.