Lance O'Brien sat on his bed, nervously wondering what his dad had in store for his sixteen-year-old butt.

He hadn't meant to hurt the Carter boy, but the kid was such a pest! And a few good swats on the seat of the pants don't amount to much.

Mr Carter hadn't seen it that way, however. He had called Lance's dad after Mr O'Brien had gotten home from work, raising all kinds of hell. Lance defended his actions, claiming he "just gave Jeff a smack or two, trying to make him leave me alone. That's all." Mr O"Brien didn't see it Lance's way, either.

"I promised Mr Carter you'd be properly punished. And you will be. After supper."

That was the usual time Mr O'Brien dished out any correction he felt was needed. Lance really didn't know what to expect this time. His dad had been threatening to use the razor strap on him again. "Please don't let it be that!" Lance pleaded to himself. One time had been more than enough. Mr O'Brien had also sometimes warned him, only half-seriously, to expect a paddling - literally, with his old college fraternity paddle. Lance didn't like the sound of that any better than the strap.

He was pretty sure that whatever the case, he'd get it on the bare butt. Mr O'Brien almost always made him pull down his pants and underwear for his whipping. The last few times, he'd even made Lance take all his clothes off. "You're getting too big for your britches, son, so they better come off!" was his dad's line - Mr O'Brien constantly had to reproach his son about his arrogant attitude. Even the thought of having to undress completely, if only in front of his dad, caused Lance to blush.

Lance felt he was too old to be embarrassed that way. Although Mr O'Brien disciplined his son in the privacy of his bedroom, everyone in the house still knew what he was getting. And boy, did his little brother tease him about it! Mr O'Brien gave Mark only a token scolding when he taunted Lance that way, maybe believing that the extra humiliation was part of the punishment. "No," Lance convinced himself, "Dad just has to stop treating me like a kid."

At that moment, Mr O'Brien opened the bedroom door and put his head in. "Let's go, son."

Lance, too surprised to state his case against further corporal punishment, asked, "Go where?"

"I'm taking you over to the Carters' to give you your whipping. That's where. C'mon." Lance stared at his dad in amazement. "I told Mr Carter I was going to give you a good whipping, and I want him to see that you get it. Now move."

Lance stood and walked haltingly toward his father.

"Hurry up, son. Mr Carter and Jeff are waiting."

"Jeff!"

"That's right, Lance. Jeff is the one you slapped around today, remember? It's only fair that he sees me slap you around - to say the least."

Lance protested, "Dad, you can't be serious!" and stopped in the middle of the room. "Lance, I'll drag you to the Carters' by your ear if I have to. Now, do you want to be even more embarrassed than you're already going to be? Then move!" Responding more to the authority in his dad's voice than to his own benumbed will, Lance headed to the doorway. There Mr O'Brien placed a fatherly hand on his shoulder, although this was perhaps as much to guide the young man the rest of the way as it was a friendly gesture. Fortunately for Lance, his mother had taken Mark to a scout meeting.

In the living room, Lance seemed to want to move toward the door to the garage, but Mr O'Brien's hand urged him toward the front door.

"We aren't driving, son, we're walking."

Lance, still somewhat in a state of disbelief, asked, "Walking?"

"It's only three blocks. Can't one of the stars of the high school track team manage three blocks?" As they were walking out of the house, Mr O'Brien paused in the doorway. "We can't go off without this, now can we?" He picked up from a nearby chair a sturdy wooden paddle.

Lance was silent in horror as his father shut the door behind them. Finally he burst out, "Dad! That's your fraternity paddle!"

"That's right."

"You aren't gonna use it on me?"

"Haven't I been promising to, son? Now, come on. I told the Carters we'd be there right at seven." He once more had to propel Lance with a hand to the shoulder.

"Dad! Please!"

Mr O'Brien stopped. "Okay. We can go back for my strap if you'd rather." He half turned.

"No! Dad..."

"I thought you'd prefer the paddle. Let's go!"

As they resumed their walk down the sidewalk, the appalling nature of Lance's predicament fully dawned on him. Here he and his dad were, strolling along, with Mr O'Brien cheerfully swinging the paddle. Everybody who saw them would know what the young man was in for. And at this time of day, the neighborhood was quite busy, with fathers coming home from work and kids out playing - this was summer and there was still plenty of daylight to enjoy. No one was in sight now; but Lance, dragging his feet at the terrifying prospect of meeting somebody, had to be nudged forward by Mr O'Brien. A car pulled up to the curb, and Mr Barton, a friend of Lance's family, got out. On seeing the O"Briens, he waved and called hello. Then, observing the paddle, he said in a mocking, grave tone, "Uh oh, somebody's gonna get it!" and looked significantly at Lance.

The sixteen-year-old jock blushed, and his father answered, "Fraid so, Paul You know how these kids can be."

Mr Barton chucked Lance on the chin with his fist. "Too bad, pal," he said, added a good-bye and walked on to his house.

Immediately after that encounter, Lance spotted a group of neighborhood boys playing ball directly in the path that he and his father were taking. Lance halted and tried to turn back, but Mr O'Brien's hand restrained him. The boys had now already seen the oncoming O'Briens.

To Lance's alarm, his dad spoke first. "Excuse us, boys. Lance and I have an important appointment to keep."

"Hi, Mr O'Brien!" the boys responded. They had observed the paddle in his hand and, immediately inferring the nature of the appointment, were quite cheerful at the thought that the neighborhood bully was about to get his butt heated.

As Lance and his dad passed on, Lance moaned to himself, "I can't take two more blocks of this!" But the next stage of his ordeal was already apparent: another group of kids, this one consisting of boys and girls. Lance steeled himself as they approached the brats. Catching sight of father and son, and no doubt quickly appraising the situation, one of the boys nevertheless maliciously asked, "Whatcha doin', Mr O'Brien?" "Oh, Lance and I are going over to the Carters so..." "Dad!" Lance wailed in protest. Mr O'Brien showed him a little compassion. "Well...for a little father and son chat." He dispelled any merciful feeling by swinging the paddle menacingly. "Ohhh," said a number of the boys, obviously aware of the nature of this "chat." Some of the girls giggled. All of the kids went into a huddle as Lance and his dad passed on, and their whispering and occasional amused glances at Lance stung him more than any verbal taunts.

As the O'Briens walked away, a few of the boys broke out at last, calling in that jeering tone that only gloating little kids can master, "Lance is gonna get it on his bare butt!"

"Dad!" Lance whimpered, hoping his father would put a stop to the childish ridicule.

Mr O'Brien turned and replied, "He sure is! Have fun, guys!" He told Lance, "They're just telling the truth, son."

"You mean I am gonna get it on the bare butt? While the Carters watch?"

"Hey!" Mr O'Brien stopped and gave Lance a mild shake. "What have I told you about using that word?"

"You use it!"

"Well - it slips out sometimes. But I don't want to hear it coming from you.!"

They continued their agonizing route. "But to answer your question: Yes, you are."

"You're going to make me pull down my pants and underpants in front of Jeff and his dad?!"

"It's worse than that, sport."

"You mean..."

"That's right. You're going to take off all your clothes for Jeff and his dad."

"Dad! Please, no! Don't make me!"

"You take 'em all off for me, so you're taking 'em all off for the Carters. Now, hurry up, we're going to be late."

And as much as Lance hated being thus paraded by his dad through the neighborhood, he dreaded even more finally arriving at their destination.

As Mr O'Brien knocked on the Carters' front door, Lance prayed that they wouldn't be home. He knew his hopes were in vain: Mr Carter and Jeff were no doubt eagerly awaiting them.

Mr Carter opened the door. "Hey, Miles," he spoke, and the two men shook hands. Then he looked disapprovingly down at Lance. "Hello, Lance," he said indifferently. "Come on in. We've been expecting you."

He opened the door to admit his guests, and Lance saw Jeff, a cruel smile on his face, standing at the end of the hall. Mr Carter said, "My wife is next door. I thought it best to leave her out of this."

Mr O'Brien agreed. "I'm sure Lance appreciates it. Say 'thank you', son."

Lance uttered the words feebly.

"And I kept Jeff home from the scout meeting - just for this."

Mr O'Brien tousled Jeff's hair. "That's too bad, pal, but I'm going to see to it that you don't regret it." He gently smacked the paddle against his palm. Jeff laughed.

Lance knew that Mr Carter didn't believe in spanking, as was obvious from his son's behaviour. Why, Lance wondered, was he so insistent on my getting a whipping?

His dad turned to Mr Carter. "So where do you want to do this, Dave?"

"How about here - in my den."

"Fine." They all entered, and Lance noticed with relief that there were no windows. He heard his dad tell Dave Carter, "I make Lance take off all his clothes for his whippings. Now, if you think that will embarrass Jeff..."

"No, go right ahead and handle this as you usually do. I want Jeff to learn a good lesson from this."

Jeff, who had been too busy smirking at Lance to listen carefully, heard his name and walked over to Mr O'Brien.

"Am I going to get to see Lance's bare butt?"

Mr O'Brien laughed. Lance stood open-mouthed at his father's failure to say even one word of reproach to Jeff for using that word.

"You're going to see Lance's bare everything, Jeff! He's gonna take off all his clothes for us in just a minute! He'll be standing there naked as a jaybird!"

Jeff clapped his hands in delight.

"Are we ready?" Mr O'Brien asked everyone but Lance. "Okay, Dave you sit here, Jeff over there, I'll sit right here for the time being. Lance, you don't sit - not now, or for quite a while." This produced general laughter, again with the exception of Lance.

Mr Carter and Jeff sat on straight-backed chairs facing Lance, and his father moved another chair between them. Mr O'Brien finally took his position in the chair, sitting comfortably with the paddle balanced across his knees. He gave Lance a look that expressed his disappointment, althought it was alloyed with some pity. "All right, son." He leaned back and placed his hands behind his neck. "Take off all your clothes."

Lance attempted a final appeal. "Daad.."

"Son," Mr O'Brien commanded, "If you don't do just as I say, I'll have to add a nice long restriction to your punishment."

Mr Carter asked, somewhat disapprovingly, "You mean you haven't already?"

Mr O'Brien tapped the paddle. "Believe me, this will be enough." He faced his son. "Unless Lance fails to cooperate."

"I'm cooperating, I'm cooperating!" Lance yelled and began removing his shoes. He knew how much his dad loved him, and couldn't believe that he was making him do this. But he reasoned that the only way things might go a little easier would be if he did exactly what his father said.

As he undressed, he tried to pretend he wasn't being watched. This was easy as he removed his shirt, but became almost impossible as he pulled down his pants. Lance felt the relentless gazes on him as he revealed breath-taking expanses of golden brown skin. At last he stood with only his underwear remaining, and hesitated once more.

"What are you waiting for, son?" Mr O'Brien gently asked.

"Dad, please..."

"Lance." That single word allowed no argument.

Jeff smiled at the older boy in triumph.

Lance blushed as he reached to lower his white cotton briefs. He pulled his underpants to the floor, stepped out of them, then kicked them away to join the pile of his other clothing. He now stood completely naked in front of his dad, Mr Carter and Jeff. The young jock was really well-endowed, and in other circumstances would have been proud to exhibit his equipment. At the moment, however, being the only one naked, he felt at a disadvantage.

Mr O'Brien indicated his son with a palm. "There he is. Naked as jaybird, just as I promised!" He let this sink in, then addressed Lance. "The first thing you're going to do is apologize to Jeff."

Acting under the impulse that told him to obey his father fully and immediately, Lance delivered a pretty decent apology.

When he was finished, Mr O'Brien turned to Jeff and asked if he was satisfied. Jeff gave his reluctant assent, not knowing what else to do. He asked the same question of Mr Carter and received a nod.

"Well, then, it's time for Lance to be punished." He stood and walked, paddle in hand, over to join Lance.

Mr Carter pointed a finger at his son and admonished, "Pay close attention, Jeff. This is what happens to boys who misbehave."

Mr O'Brien ordered his son, "Up against the wall, Lance." Lance obeyed. He stood a short distance from the wall with his hands against it and his legs spread. His beautiful pair of milky-white mounds was thrust out enticingly. Mr O'Brien, content with these arrangements, asked Mr Carter and Jeff, "Does everybody have a good view?"

Receiving an affirmative answer, Mr O'Brien raised his paddle. He then noticed a slight imperfection in his son's posture. "Hey, Lance, you know that's not quite right." Lance, unaware of what his father meant, only shuffled uneasily.

Mr O'Brien ordered, "Stick that butt out!"

Jeff echoed maliciously, "Yeah, stick that butt out!"

Lance crouched down even more. He knew from Jeff's giggling that he was making an embarrassing spectacle of himself.

"That's more like it!" Mr O'Brien approved, then raised his paddle again.

Lance closed his eyes, and after a short wait, Smack! The paddle struck the center of his offered butt.

"Yeow!" he howled, thrusting his midsection forward, but not daring to reach back and rub his afflicted parts.

"Back in postion, Lance!" Mr O'Brien commanded. His son once more stuck out this butt, only now its snow-white surface was decorated with a pink rectangle.

Smack! Mr O'Brien's paddle obscured the pink area and drew another yelp from Lance. The rectangle was now red.

Mr O'Brien announced, "I think I'll work on this cheek for a while!" He placed several smart blows on the right side of his son's butt. Tears formed in the boy's eyes and he pounded his fists against the wall.

Smack! Mr O'Brien delivered a swat that Lance just couldn't take. "Oh my butt!" he yelled. He grabbed his reddened buns with both hands and began dancing from one foot to the other in a wide circle. Mr Carter and Jeff thus received an ample display of a wildly bouncing set of jock _c_o_c_k_ and balls.

"Lance!' Mr O'Brien seized his son's left ear. "I told you not to use that word!" He practically pushed the dancing stud back against the wall. "Now stay there! You've just earned yourself some extra licks!" He immediately began giving Lance's other butt cheek some required attention.

Jeff couldn't help rubbing in, "Gee, Dad, Lance's butt is awfully red, isn't it?"

Indeed it was. Lance howled through his tears as his dad paddled away. He wasn't quite keeping still, but was wiggling his bright red butt from side to side. "Oh, Dad, please!" he begged, not believing his butt could get any hotter until the next lick of Mr O'Brien's paddle convinced him otherwise.

The whipping stopped at last. Mr O'Brien stood aside and surveyed Lance's glowing buns. "That looks red enough to me. But are you satisfied, Jeff?"

Jeff hesitated.

Mr O'Brien added, "I really think he's had enough."

Mr Carter answered for both himself and Jeff, "You're right, Miles. The boy has had enough."

Lance mixed a sigh of relief with his wailing.

Mr Carter turned to Jeff. "I hope you've learned something from this, young man!"

Mr O'Brien said, "Okay, son, I'm through. Do what you have to do."

Lance's hands flew back to soothe his burning behind. He resumed his dance, but this time kept his back to his audience.

His dad added, "When you're finished, Lance, you can go stand in the corner for a while."

Lance obeyed. Jeff went up and carefully surveyed the well-blistered jock butt. Meanwhile, Mr Carter was complaining about the lack of discipline among kids today. But he showed himself not to be all bad. He went to the kitchen to fix cokes for everyone, and even brought Lance one in his corner.

After refreshments, Mr O"Brien announced, "Well, Lance and I will head home if you're satisfied he's been punished enough."

Mr Carter didn't allow the still-unsatisfied Jeff to respond. "I think Lance has learned not to pick on defenseless children."

"It won't happen again, will it, Lance?"

"No, Dad" Lance sniffed.

"All right, son, let's go"

Lance bent down to retrieve the pile of his discarded clothes, but his father scooped them up and said, "Sorry, son, but you don't get them until we're back home."

The pull impact of these words struck Lance suddenly. "You mean I've got to walk home - naked? Dad!"

"To reinforce the lesson, son. You've been acting like such a big man around the neighborhood. Well, the neighborhood is going to get a good look at you and find out how big you really are!" He added in an undertone, "It's practically dark, son, and I doubt we'll meet anyone. And if we do, they won't be able to see anything. Or, at least, not much."

Mr O'Brien clapped the unwilling and unclothed teenager on the back and nudged him out the door. He himself paused in the doorway and said, "I hope that you learned something from this, too, Dave. If you'd put a few blisters on Jeff's butt once in a while he wouldn't be such a brat." Mr O'Brien and Lance began their return journey.

It was indeed practically dark, but Lance's cheeks once again this evening tingled with embarrassment, this time at being forced to walk buck naked in such a very public place. They tingled even more when he realized that by tomorrow, the entire neighborhood, now thankfully quiet, would know of his humbling. Mr O'Brien, pitying his son's discomfort, said, "Try this, Lance," and handed him the paddle.

Lance seized it, grateful for any cover. He held it in front of his midsection, where it provided little more protection than the twilight. Lance was now able to rub his blistered butt with only one hand, which he did constantly, one cheek at a time.

The excursion was as uneventful, though torturous, as Mr O'Brien had foreseen. He wanted to embarrass the arrogance out of his son, but didn't want the boy to be completely humiliated.

Halfway back, Mr O'Brien couldn't resist teasing, "If you'd stop rubbing so much, we'd get home a lot quicker, Lance."

"I can't help it, Dad! My butt's on fire!" He froze, realizing that he had uttered the forbidden word.

Mr O'Brien patted him reassuringly on the back. "That's okay, son. I think I can let it go this time. After all, you've got a good excuse - your butt's on fire!"

Arriving within sight of the O'Brien house, Lance perceived a new cause for alarm. His mother and Mark, returning in the car from the scout meeting, were just pulling into the garage.

Lance halted and grabbed his father's arm. "Dad! There's Mom and Mark! Please don't let them see me!"

Mr O'Brien reflected a moment, then laughed. "Okay, son. Hand me the paddle. Now get down in your runner's crouch."

Lance obeyed as his dad continued. "Let's see if those track skillls can do you any practical good. When I give the signal, you take off. If you move fast enough, you can make it through the front door and up to your room before your mother and little brother get to the kitchen."

Lance nodded, silently begging for the signal. He had assumed the traditional starting position, half-kneeling. His butt was stuck up and out, once again furnishing a perfect target for his dad, as it had so many other times that evening. Mr O'Brien didn't fail to take advantage of the opportunity. Not with the paddle, but considerately, with his hand, he delivered a sharp smack to his son's left butt cheek. "Off you go!"

The track star howled as his tender butt tingled yet again, and took off. Although his pace was somewhat slowed by his repeatedly grabbing his freshly stung butt, he ran the distance in record time. He reached the front door, zipped up the stairs, and was safely in his room before Mrs O'Brien and Mark even walked into the house.

Mr O'Brien thoughtfully concealed the paddle and Lance's clothes before greeting his wife and younger son. Later, he took the clothes upstairs, and administered a little fatherly comfort to Lance before saying goodnight.