"Sandy, where are you? It's time to go!" Porter Ricks called to his elder son from the front porch of the Ricks home. The blue suit and the smile he wore made him appear even more handsome than usual. Mr Ricks was dressed up and swelled with paternal pride because he and Sandy were about to attend a banquet at the junior high school, during which Sandy was to receive a special award.
Even Mr Ricks' elevated mood was now disturbed by Sandy's failure to answer. He was about to call again when he heard the sound of the boys' quarreling voices behind him. He turned and found Sandy and Bud before him.
At least, Mr Ricks assumed they were his boys. They were covered from head to toe with dirt and mud. "What in the world...!" was all he could manage to shout. Sandy burst out, "Bud told me I looked silly in this suit, so I had to fight him." "Your suit!" Mr Ricks yelled. Surveying Sandy's mud-covered body, he asked, "Is it under there anywhere?" Sandy gazed downward. "I guess so. It was a few minutes ago when we fell in the water."
Mr Ricks tightened his lips to prevent an unfortunate word from escaping. Instead, he looked for a clean place at which to take a hold of his son. Unable to find one, he settled for his usual target, Sandy's left ear. Seizing it, he pulled the protesting boy toward the front door. "Get in here!" he growled between his teeth.
Porter didn't bother to close the door to the bathroom when he dragged Sandy into it. "Take off those clothes!" he commanded, and began running water in the tub. "We're going to clean you up!" Sandy started to undress. "Gee, Dad, I've got another suit I can wear tonight." "Yes, but do you realize how much it will cost to clean this one?" Mr Ricks had now removed his suit jacket and was rolling up his sleeves. "It's Bud's fault!" Sandy objected. "He was making fun of me, and..." "Sandy, are you determined to act completely like a child? Not only do you get into a fight with your brother about some trivial teasing, but you try to throw the blame on him." The young man offered no excuse, but stood looking ashamed, now wearing only his underwear. His discarded suit lay in a muddy pile nearby. "Well, if you're going to act like a child, I'll have to treat you like one, and give you a bath as if you weren't old enough to do it yourself! Now take those underpants off and get in the tub!"
Sandy reluctantly pulled the white cotton briefs down to the floor and stepped out of them. He stood naked, his body gleaming with a golden tan except for a pale band around his midsection. A few dabs of dirt and mud stained his chest and legs, but most of it was concentrated on his face and hair. Sandy moved unwillingly toward the bathtub. When his back was to his father, Mr Ricks gave him a sharp smack on his bare butt. Sandy yelped "Ow!" and rubbed his wounded backside. A scarlet imprint of his dad's right palm glowed vividly against the snow-white butt cheek. "In the tub, I said!" Mr Ricks ordered, and as Sandy stepped into it, pushed him down with his head under the running faucet.
"Dad!" Sandy wailed, as the stream of hot water washed away the greater part of the mud from his hair. Mr Ricks, perceiving that this method wasn't quite going to do the job fully, released his son's head. He picked up a bottle of shampoo, and, still partly blinded by anger, squeezed three times as much as he needed into his palm. After working it into a lather, he began rubbing it into Sandy's hair. The excess foam flowed over the boy's shoulders and chest into the water, forming suds. After completely covering Sandy's head with the lather, Mr Ricks poured out more shampoo, mixed it, and rubbed it almost gently all over Sandy's upper body. Then his hands moved up and down the young man's thighs, delicately brushing the pubic hair and prick.
When Mr Ricks felt that Sandy was properly cleansed, he once more held the boy's head under the faucet to rinse the shampoo from his hair. All this activity seemed to increase his anger rather than soothe it. Sandy stepped from the tub and stood, naked body dripping with suds, looking for a towel. His dad offered, "Here, let me dry you off!" He rose, propped his left foot on the side of the bathtub, tossed Sandy across his thigh, and began spanking the offered butt. Smack! Smack! Mr Ricks' hand struck the wet rear end repeatedly, making drops of water and soapsuds fly. "This is something else I haven't done for a long while, as is obvious from your behaviour!" Smack! Smack! "Ow, Dad! That really stings!" Sandy howled. "Good!" his father answered. Mr Ricks well knew that the wetness of Sandy's backside magnified the severity of his swats. The young man's butt was now completely exposed and practically dry. A patch of pink, gradually becoming red, decorated each cheek. Mr Ricks paused. "Let's make it sting some more!" He scooped up a handful of water and suds, and after coating his son's rear end with it, began removing this layer with a volley of brisk spanking. Suds sailed everywhere.
Sandy's butt grew increasingly hot. He squirmed and kicked his legs, but was unable to escape his dad's energetic blows. "How does it feel to be treated like a little boy, Sandy?" "Ow! Ow! Ow!" was the response. Mr Ricks stopped. "Well I'll tell you what. I'll treat you like a big boy and use this!" He seized a long-handled wooden bath brush and began applying it to the wet butt bouncing on his thigh. Crack! Crack! The brush really made a noise, and left bright red ovals on the young man's butt cheeks. "Ow, Dad! Treat me like a little boy again! Use your hand! Please use your hand!" "All right, little boy!" Mr Ricks, overcome with what he believed was fatherly indulgence, threw down the brush and began again to spank Sandy with his bare hand.
The once white butt was now more than dry - it was burning hot. Its color, snow-white only a few minutes before, was now fiery red. Mr Ricks at last released Sandy. His well-punished son, of course, danced around, trying with both hands to rub the sting out of his butt. "Okay, Sandy. Go put on your other suit. We have a banquet to attend." Sandy stopped his prancing. "Dad, we can't go! I won't be able to sit down!" "We are going to the banquet, Sandy. You are not going to cheat me of the opportunity to be proud of you. Now get dressed." "But I'll be embarrassed!" "You'll really be embarrassed if I haul you down there without your clothes on and spank you in front of everyone!" "Aw, Dad!" "So get your little red butt to your room and put on some clothes. In five minutes I'm coming for you no matter what you're wearing or not wearing." Sandy raced from the bathroom, still clutching his burning behind. He ran into Bud, lurking behind the door, who had obviously been watching the whole degrading scene. Sandy gasped at the realization. Bud chanted, low enough so his father couldn't hear, "Yah! Yah! Sandy's got a red butt!" "Shut up, Bud!" Sandy yelled through his tears. "This is all your fault!" He ran into the bedroom and slammed the door.
Mr Ricks emerged from the bathroom, and, noticing his still dirty younger son, commanded, "Bud! Get in here and get cleaned up!" "Yes, sir!" Bud cheerfully answered. He was more than happy to take a bath on his own after watching the humiliating one Sandy had just received from his dad.
Soon after Mr Ricks and (the fully dressed) Sandy arrived at the banquet, a friend of Porter's complimented the boy on the award he was about to be presented, and gave him a congratulatory slap on the seat of his pants. Sandy howled and grabbed the rear of his trousers. Mr Ricks, although now beginning to feel some sympathy for Sandy, couldn't quite repress a chuckle. They sat down, Sandy with great difficulty. A classmate observed, "Look at Sandy. He's so excited he's squirming in his chair!"
Mr Ricks and Sandy both heard the remark. The once again proud father leaned down and whispered in his son' ear, "A sore butt might have something to do with it, huh, Sandy?" He playfully tousled the freshly cleaned blond hair. Sandy barely managed a weak smile.
Later, when he received his award, Sandy looked at his dad's beaming face and knew everything was all right.