Mr. Marshall drove the Hunter Green Dodge Caravan smoothly down the country roads, with his compliant wife in the passenger seat and their two boys in the middle seat. Out for a Sunday drive, enjoying the calm Country... what could be a nicer diversion from the weekday "rat race"? Mr. Marshall was a tall, stern, and austere man, who expected immediate obedience from his children. The way to deal with youthful miscreants' rear ends was clear to Mr. Marshall!
Kevin was 12 going on 13, with red hair, a pert upturned nose, sparkling fun-filled green eyes, and a scattering of freckles across the bridge of his cute nose. He was neither fat nor thin, but had just a perfect amount of boy flesh, but interestingly his buttocks protruded more than one would expect, and they had such perfect form under the tight trousers that he was required to wear. Even people who had no conscious desire to spank children could not often resist the opportunity, if it arose, to give his impudent bottom a playful swat, upon which it would jiggle within the tight trousers. Kevin would just give his mischievous smile in response.
Kevin's younger brother Nathan was riding alongside in the Dodge Van. His hair was also red (a Marshall trait) and he wore it in a "Beatle-Cut" just trimmed over his blue-green eyes. He was an extremely cute boy, one that Walt Disney would have loved to conscript into his children's fantasy movies. He had the characteristic smattering of reddish freckles over the bridge of his nose, and an almost permanent playful grin too, just like his brother. Of note, his buttocks jutted out so impertinently that he was also accustomed to people (even perfect strangers) risking a swat, and on many occasions he had felt people's hands "accidently"brush by them. Like his easygoing brother Kevin, he just grinned at people's interest in him, and was excited that someone liked him.
Now, for as many people as had fantasized about giving either Marshall boy a good Old-Fashioned spanking, no less was the number of real spankings these boys got from their strict father. The Marshall parents were united in believing that the only proper way to raise recalcitrant boys was with proper discipline, which could only mean one thing: Stinging Bare-Bottom Spankings. Mr. Marshall was not going to have his children ruined by the permissive society where no personal responsibility was demanded-- he would raise his boys to be respectful, thoughtful, and obedient to authority-- even if he had to skin their behinds to do it! In the Marshall family, a spanking only meant one thing--Pants OFF, Underwear OFF, shirt tucked up to the waist, boy positioned over the knee or bent over a stool... discipline! Mr. Marshall attributed the boys' good grades and general popularity to his fathering methods, and was very proud of them!
Now the boys, having spent over an hour quiet in the back seat, began to get antsy. They at first commented to each other in low tones about the passing farm-houses--how much fun it would be to live on a farm. But after an hour of good behavior, boys will be boys. Kevin grabbed a Beanie-Baby penguin from Nathan, who started squirming to get it back. Whispers turned to shouts, and shouts to outright fighting. Mr. Marshall gave a severe warning look to his miscreants. The effect lasted a full five minutes! Soon the boys were back to making a racket, fighting, and being quite rambunctious. Once more Mr. Marshall warned them, and they settled down--for a couple of minutes. Then Kevin reached over and pinched Nathan's butt (a favorite ploy of his), eliciting a piercing scream from his 10-year-old brother.
Father stopped the van on the shoulder! Both boys knew they were in for it now. An occasional passing car went by, the driver looking out to see if anything was amiss. Mr. Marshall waved them on as he exited his driver's door, opened the sliding side door of the van, which faced the roadway, and instructed Nathan to go into the back seat of the van. Glaring at Kevin, he commanded the boy to stand up. Tremulously, Kevin obeyed his strict father. With the boy stooping in the van, and Mr. Marshall standing just outside of it on the shoulder, he instructed Kevin to completely remove his shoes, pants, and underwear.
"Please", "Please Dad"-- "Don't Spank Me Here!" Kevin pleaded. Mr. Marshall just said "Get those clothes off now boy, or you punishment will be doubled!" Reluctantly, knowing he was "licked" in one sense and about to be licked in another, Kevin removed his gym shoes, and undid his belt. He placed the shoes up between the front seats of the van, while his mother looked at him intently.
"Now the Pants!" father commanded, and Kevin unfastened his pants, which opened with a 'popping' sound (they were stretched tightly across his prominent buttocks). He eased them down, and completely off, then folded them and handed them to his mother in the front seat. He was standing, shivering in his underwear, as cars passed by with intrigued drivers staring directly at him.
"Now the Underpants!" his father intoned. Slowly, with the other family members looking on, Kevin started to peel off his tight, white, Fruit of the Loom Underwear. He actually had to stretch the elastic band to get the back part over his jouncy buttocks, and then the front elastic to prevent the underwear from being caught up on his still hairless, but growing, prepubescent penis and testicles. He bend over to completely remove the white underpants, which he obediently handed to his mother-- under her watchful eye.
Tears were already started to form in his pretty green eyes. "Please, Dad, Please- I love You!" begged Kevin, but it was TOO LATE. Now a severe old-fashioned spanking was inevitable. Mr. Marshall re-entered the Van, and sat on the middle seat next to Kevin. Then he carefully guided the trembling boy, who was having goosebumps on his exposed buttocks, over his lap. Raising his hand high, Mr. Marshall delivered a rousing, stinging slap to Kevin's left buttock which resounded through the van.
"Ouch!" cried Kevin.
Mr. Marshall was an expert on spanking boys, and left his hand over the perfectly molded buttock for a moment for the full spank to "sink in." As soon as he removed his hand from the impertinent buttock, it snapped back into shape, with four finger marks and the side of a thumb mark decorating it. A similar spank was then applied to the right buttock, which was held down for a moment to let the full effect penetrate. Mr. Marshall's hand nearly exactly covered each buttock, and so each spank compressed one bottom cheek perfectly, leaving the other to remain upright and springy. Alternating from buttock to buttock, the SLAP SLAP SMACK WHACK was echoing through the van. Uncontrollably, Kevin's cute freckled face turned red, and tears were streaming down his cheeks. His hips bucked and swashed back and forth, but Mr. Marshall had perfect aim from years of practice. Nathan looked on in fascination from the back seat, knowing his turn was next.
Soon, Kevin started bucking and heaving, in spite of an order to "Stay Still" from Father. Kevin's father, being a true expert, punished every centimeter of the exposed behind, as the boy's tee-shirt rode up his smooth back. From the junction where the buttocks ascended precipitously from the smooth thighs, to the "Y" where the protuberant buttocks melded into the boys back, every centimeter received its dose of punishment. As the buttocks yawned open, Mr. Marshall would aim his fingers between the glowing cheeks, so that the soft center, and puckering pink boyhole would receive their full measure of discipline. Drivers of passing cars looked wide-eyed as they passed, slowing to witness this roadside spectacle. Some even turned off at the next junction and headed back, driving by slowly to see more. Kevin was mortified. Mrs. Marshall was smiling, and Nathan was starting to get sweaty, looking at the degree of his brother's punishment-- What was in store for him?
The spanking had been going well-- Kevin's buns were ever brighter, and Father was doing his duty. The boy's bottom cheeks heaved open and closed with each punishing spank. Every nuance of the mysterious shadow between his bottom cheeks was revealed... His puckered little boyhole periodically opened up to view...
Then Kevin made a mistake. He took his right hand, which had been flailing around helplessly during the prolonged spanking, thrust it behind his back and without thinking suddenly tried to protect his aching behind from his fathers stern strong hand. Mr. Marshall was not amused. "That, my boy, will now earn you extra punishment. You can forget about putting your pants on again before tomorrow morning! And if you don't keep those hands out of the way until I say your spanking's over, the same thing will be done with your underpants."
The spanking resumed...SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! Each hard spank rang out like a pistol shot and produced as loud a wail from Kevin as though it were. At the end Kevin's beautiful boybottom looked like twin ripe tomatoes. Finally, sore red buttocks aglow, he was allowed to get up off Father's lap, but did not--could not--sit down on the sun-heated vinyl car seat. Hanging his head and weeping silently, Kevin simply stood there in utter dejection, both hands frantically clutching and rubbing his bottom, so totally preoccupied was he with dispelling the pain from his lower cheeks rather than wiping away the tears that continued to roll down the upper ones.
Finally he heard his father speaking to him--much more gently, now that the boy had been chastised-- "Go on, son, you need to get in the back seat while I deal with your brother."
"Yes, Daddy," Kevin said meekly and started to climb over the middle seat to go into the rear seating section of the van. At once his father stopped him with a hand on his back.
"No, son. Don't climb over. The side doer's open. Go around."
The blush on Kevin's face deepened as he again realized that the door indeed not only was open now but had remained open all during his spanking. There was no telling how many people had driven by and eyeballed him in the depths of his pain and humiliation! Now even if for only a few seconds he had to step out onto the road while nude from the waist down. The shame was almost too much to bear... But after the whaling he'd just received hr was not about to argue with his Dad. Not about anything. So, modestly covering his hairless dick and balls with one hand and carefully holding his shirttail down as low as possible with the other, he dutifully squeezed past his father, exited the middle section of the van, and in a split second he climbed into the rear section, where his brother still sat as though frozen.
Largely for this reason, if Mr. Marshall's wrath toward Kevin was now appeased, his displeasure with Nathan was now heightened.
"Nathan!" he bellowed. "I told your brother to get his bottom bare fifteen minutes ago! You knew you were going to get spanked too. How come you're still sitting there with all your clothes on, haven't even unsnapped your pants!"
"Please, Daddy, I'm sorry!" Nathan began to bawl. "I was hoping you weren't gonna spank me bare, or might wait till later, or might be too tired after you got through with Kevin... Please, Daddy, I don't want all those people to see my bare bottom and my underwear!"
"Get up here, boy, NOW!" Mr. Marshall roared.
When Nathan remained immobile, his father reached back and, seizing Nathan's right wrist, drew the little boy to him and pulled him over and into the middle seat. In an instant he had removed Nathan's tennis shoes, but before his hands touched the clasp on the boy's pants, Mr. Marshall's eyes and nose detected the unpleasant fact that Nathan had wet himself. The damp, dark patch that already covered Nathan's crotch was spreading down his thighs. In disgust remarked: "Jesus Christ, boy! You pissed yourself!"
"I'm sorry, Daddy," Nathan blubbered. "I didn't mean to."
"Is that how scared you are of getting a spanking?"
"I'm scared, Daddy, yes. But it's not just that. I've had to go for a long time now, but I couldn't say anything while you were busy with Kevin."
"Oh, hell!" the man exclaimed, in frustration rather than anger. "Tell me this: Are you through pissing now?"
"Yes, Daddy." Nathan sniveled.
"All right, then," Mr. Marshall said in a normal tone of voice, "let's get these wet clothes off you."
As soon as Mrs. Marshall, ever the practical one, had handed him a large plastic bag and a roll of paper towels, her husband set about the task of removing Nathan's sodden pants and briefs, then drying Nathan's skin in the wet places with the paper towels. All this time--about five minutes-- the boy sat on his father's lap as though he were two years old instead of ten. If Nathan had hoped that this diversion would save him from the fate his brother had suffered, at this point those hopes were dashed. He knew that his fate was sealed when he heard his father say resolutely: "Now, then, back to where we were."
In no time he had Nathan, now wearing only his pullover shirt and socks-- over his lap in the time-honored spanking position, and lost no further time applying the delayed punishment. SPANK! The big hand struck hard the creamy hemispheres of Nathan's adorable little bubble-butt, which was only slightly smaller than but otherwise almost identical to his brother's. SPANK! SPANK! SPANK! The big rough palm returned in rapid succession. It punctuated every word of the brief (except to little Nathan, to whom it seemed anything but brief!) but direct lecture:
"I
By this point little Nathan's behind was every bit as sore and reddened
as
his brother's, and when he could articulate anything more than weeping
and wailing, he was ardently promising to be the best-behaved little
boy in the world...
Bad things as well as good do at last come to an end. Satisfied that
his
younger son too had been chastised sufficiently, Mr. Marshall, after
finishing the spanking with a stinging slap across both reddened
buttocks, set Nathan on his feet and said, "Now let that be a lesson
to you!" Thereupon he stepped out, shut the sliding door, got back
into
the driver's seat and started the engine. In another minute they were
back
on the road.
Both boys fidgeted and whimpered as they sat again on the middle seat.
The discomfort in their bare, spanked bottoms was intensified by protracted
contact with the sun-warmed vinyl. The embarrassment of being without
pants like two-year-olds, was heightened exponentially when they had
to
get out to get a snack and use the bathroom at a gas station.
Even though Kevin was allowed to put his briefs on again by this time,
the experience of being seen by strangers while he had to walk around
in his
tight white underpants (of which his red pullover shirt his VERY little!)
was EXTREMELY embarrassing to the sensitive boy. After flushing the
urinal
he was washing his hands in the MEN'S restroom, unaware both how his
shapely bottom stuck out as he bent over the sink, and how attractive
it
was, encased in the snug, white cotton briefs. Not only did he feel
unutterable embarrassment when he suddenly felt the hand of a
middle-aged adult, a total stranger, cupping Kevin's left buttock
in the
palm of his hand, but also, in the mirror over the sink, at the same
moment
Kevin saw his own face blushing scarlet with mortification. Somehow
he
did not entirely believe the friendly-sounding Southern-accented voice's
perfunctory apology: "'Scuse me, son, I have to get by you to get
to the john."
Although no one had commented on Kevin's walking around in underpants,
when the spectators' eyebrows were raised even higher at the sight
of
Nathan walking around completely bare-bottomed, Mrs. Marshall's
apologetic remark ("I'm sorry. My little boy had an accident in his
pants
when we were on the road.") seemed to explain everything and satisfy
everybody--everybody except little Nathan, who wished he could just
disappear into a crack in the sidewalk or wake up and find out that
it had
all been only a bad dream.
Unfortunately, the feel of the pavement underfoot and the gentle breeze
blowing against his bare legs, as well as the residual throbbing and
tingling in his now publicly bare bottom all assured him too well
that
he was very much awake and all this was quite real. So now could they
just please get home? As far as Kevin and Nathan were concerned, it
couldn't happen soon enough. Unfortunately for them both, too, it
probably wouldn't...
However much twelve-year-old Kevin
Marshall and his ten-year-old brother Nathan
longed for their no-longer-enjoyable Sunday
excursion to be over, it was not to happen soon.
Kevin was mortified to be sitting in the car,
riding along without pants but otherwise
fully dressed. Darn, he hadn't seen anyone older
than five years old going around in public like
this, and here he was--at 12--having to
spend the rest of the day in underpants.
Funny thing about it (funny-strange, not
funny-ha-ha) having his shirt, socks and shoes
on too did not make it less embarrassing, but
somehow more so: It made it look as though he
was USED to going around like this--as though
he LIKED going around like this. And while he
did sometimes lounge around the house in a
shirt and underpants in the evening during the
half hour between his bath and bedtime or
sometimes just after he got up on Saturday
mornings, it was never with socks and shoes
on too. That made him look and feel too much
like a dumb little kid who dressed himself but
forgot to put on his pants--the most
important thing of all--and THAT was
really dumb!
Worse still, they had had to get out of the
car back at the gas station, and everybody
had noticed him. He had seen their stares,
their furtive grins... And worst of all had
been that man patting him on his
underweared butt in the bathroom and
saying "Excuse me," as if he hadn't
meant to do it (Yeah, really!) But he
knew--oh, how he knew!--better
than to complain to Mom or Dad:
they let him know that things could
ALWAYS be worse. Yeah, and they
had a knack for making it so!
Nathan, sitting on the other side of the long
back (actually middle) seat felt even more
chagrinned, being without underpants as well,
particularly so that it was partly by his own
doing. After all, if he hadn't wet his clothes,
he would probably have been allowed to put
his underpants on again like Kevin. Who
knows? Since he hadn't struggled or tried
to cover his bottom during the spanking,
he might even have been allowed to get
fully dressed again. But then he had gone
and pissed himself. Oh. the shame! And
then having to walk around at the gas
station like that! Kevin didn't know what
embarrassment was!
As they drove down the highway through the
American heartland, passing rich fields and poor
sharecropper shacks, Mr. Marshall felt a deep
sense of self-satisfaction. After all, hadn't
he come from surroundings no less humble
than these? Now here he was, a respected
businessman with a six-figure salary,
a two-story home in the city, a loyal wife
and two obedient sons, and even this fine, new
RV! Yessir. he had done well in this world,
and no sir, he didn't have a whole lot of sympathy
for the poor slobs who had stayed in the rut they
were born in. Any man who couldn't get what he
wanted, obviously didn't deserve it!
His wife was speaking. "Dear, it's almost threethirty. Hadn't we better be heading back to town?"
"Right," he answered, then asked, "Say, didn't
you pack some sandwiches and a jug of
lemonade? I thought we agreed we'd have a
little picnic?"
"Well, of course I brought the things you asked,"
she answered, then added tentatively, gesturing
toward their sons in the back seat, 'but do you
think we still should... since they...?"
"You mean, the way they are right now?"
"Yes, dear."
Mrs. Marshall was alluding to the fact that
neither boy was fully dressed. After the long,
spanking they had gotten an hour ago, Kevin's
pants were off, and his younger brother, who
had accidentally wet himself, was without
underpants as well. Even though they had
gotten out of the van in that state of attire
to use the restroom at a gas station, Mrs.
Marshall felt dubious about the prospect of
her sons venturing pantless (and in Nathan's
case, bare-bottomed) into the countryside.
However, in this as in all other matters over
the course of their marriage, she had learned
to defer to her husband's judgment, stern
though it often was.
"No matter," he answered. "If they don't
want to reap thistles, then they'd better
learn not to sow them. As for the picnic,
we planned on having one, so we're going to
have one. That includes the boys too,
pants or no pants."
Almost as if a genie had heard his words,
within minutes they came upon a tidy, shady
roadside park with two concrete tables,
each with two concrete and wood benches.
Glumly but without protest, Kevin and Nathan
got out of the van and helped their parents
carry the picnic basket and large thermos jug
of lemonade to an empty table. Of course--to
the boys' incalculable relief--ALL the tables
and benches were empty. They were the only
people in sight, and the boys fervently hoped
that that's how it would stay until they left.
It didn't. They had scarcely been there five
minutes, had just poured and served everyone's
lemonade, and were taking the first bites of
their sandwiches, when a Chevy Blazer rolled
up, parked, a family of four got out. The parents
looked looked to be in their late thirties or
early forties like Mr. and Mrs. Marshall,
and the children, both boys, seemed about the
same respective ages as Kevin and Nathan.
The Marshall brothers' initial panic and
mortification at the prospect of being
seen in their own immodest state was
suddenly tempered by a curious realization:
Although the older boy in the other
family was fully dressed, the boy
Nathan's age was in a state somewhat
different from but no less embarrassing
than theirs: Not only was he without pants,
he was wearing diapers! Old-fashioned
fluffy, white, cotton diapers, snugly pinned
in place at the sides with safety pins!
To Kevin's and Nathan's amazement,
their parents and the adults introduced
themselves at once and were soon chatting
like long lost friends. That was OK maybe,
but they also wanted their kids, who had
never met before now, suddenly to take
up with each other as though THEY had
known each other for ages. This family was
the Crosbys. The blond boy who seemed
Kevin's age but was actually 11, was named
Jimmy. His brown-haired younger brother was
called Deke.
The Crosbys were going to grill burgers
and hot dogs. They invited the Marshalls to join
them. The Marshalls accepted, and in turn each
gave one half of his sandwich and a paper cup
of lemonade to a member of the Crosby family
so that everyone had something to eat and drink
while the charcoal was lit and made ready in
the grill. And of course the new family's arrival
changed the configuration so that the adults
would sit at one table, the children at the other.
Among the latter group, Jimmy, at once
conscious of--but not at all tactful about--the
fact that he was the only boy fully dressed,
bluntly stated, "With my brother it's obvious,
but how come you guys don't have any pants on?"
Nathan showed his bottom, now only rather
pink, but enough so to leave no doubt what
it had been subjected to. At once Jimmy
nodded sympathetically.
"Uh-huh," he said. "I figured it must be
something like that. Our old man gives us
lickings on the bare sometimes, but he's
never made me go bare-bottomed
afterward, at least not for long and
never outside. I hope he doesn't get any
ideas now!"
"Well, he probably would have let Nathan
put on his underpants again, except they
got all wet when Nathan peed in his pants."
Kevin said with a gleeful grin at his
brother's embarrassment. Then he added,
"Hey Nate and leaky Dekey ought to get to be
good friends--they have so much in
common!"
"Kevin, don't!" Nathan yelled in protest.
"Hey, you boys!" Mr. Marshall yelled in
warning to them: " Don't give each other or
me any trouble. Or I'll give you more than
you can forget for a long time, understand?"
"Yes, sir." both Marshall boys answered
automatically.
No longer yelling, but speaking firmly to
his peer group, little Nathan asserted:
"Look, I just had to go to the bathroom
and Dad didn't let me in time, so I wet
my pants. It hasn't happened to me since
I was four years old until today. I swear,
it's the only time I've wet my pants in years,
and I never wet the bed!"
"It's OK," Jimmy said. "I believe you. It's
not like my little brother. Deke here is hopeless.
Ten years old and still walking around in double
diapers like a one-year-old. For a while--when he
was seven---we thought he was toilet trained,
at least during the daytime (he'd ALWAYS wet
the bed if he wasn't double-diapered at
night!)--but then he again started peeing
and pooping in his pants in the daytime.
That's when Mom and Dad decided to put him
back into diapers full time and not to waste
any more money on pants or underwear for him.
The really weird thing is, I think he LIKES it.
You do, don't you, Deke?"
His younger brother smiled a tight, guilty,
embarrassed smile, but said nothing--at least
not with his mouth. The opposite end of his
GI tract, however made quite a bit of noise,
as he suddenly farted quite loudly. That was
immediately followed by the sound (and smell)
of a substantial bowel movement.
"See, this is what I mean," Jimmy explained
(as if explanation were still necessary!). "He
doesn't just pee in his diapers--he craps in
'em too. And guess who has to clean it all up?"
"Doesn't your Mom?" asked Nathan.
"Yeah, but she makes Dad and me take turns
with him too."
Suddenly Deke spoke up: "Yeah, Jimmy, and
it's your turn now. I really need a change.
My diaper's poopy."
"You little shit!" Jimmy answered in exasperation.
"MOMMY! DADDY!" the younger brother now wailed,
red-faced. "Jimmy called me THAT WORD!"
Faster than any of the Marshalls would have thought
possible, Mr. Crosby had closed the distance between
the adults and the children and was all over Jimmy
in fury.
"Boy, haven't I told you NEVER to use that kind of
language, especially to your own brother! You're
going to pay for that, and I mean big time!"
Instinctively the three other boys had backed away
to the other side of the table, leaving the entire
bench to Jimmy and his father. The next minute,
Mr. Crosby, seated on the bench, was undoing Jimmy's
white tennis shorts and pulling them down. In the same
motion he pulled down the boy's Hanes white cotton
briefs.
"No, Daddy! Please don't spank me, not on the bare
bottom! Not out here in front of everyone! Please!"
Jimmy knew, though, that he had no chance of
dissuading his father. Even as he protested, his
treble voice sounded hopeless, half-hearted,
perfunctory.
Not so, however, the howls that the boy emitted
as the father's broad, rough palm struck hard and
repeatedly the eleven-year-old's soft but firm
little bubble-butt.
SMACK! -- OWW!
SMACK! -- OWWW!
SMACK! -- OWW! OWW! OWWW!!
SMACK! SMACK SMACK --- OWIE! OWIE! OWIE!
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! WWWAAAAHHHHH!!!
After ten minutes Jimmy was limp and his
face wet with tears. His cries and protests had
become incoherent and almost inaudible.
Even so, Mr. Crosby still took off his belt and
finished off the spanking with ten sound blows
of the leather on Jimmy's already well-reddened
behind.
Although Jimmy's briefs were still at the
top of his thighs, his tennis shorts, which
had been dropped to the boy's ankles before
the punishment began, had been kicked off
in the course of the spanking. After dancing
around
In agony and rubbing his little glowing
globes frantically for about five minutes
to assuage the excruciating ache effected
by his punishment, Jimmy at last composed
himself and pulled up his underpants
When he thought to retrieve his shorts,
however, he was chagrinned to see that
they were not on the bench or the ground,
but in his father's left hand--and the man
was walking away back to the other table.
Not knowing what else to do, Jimmy ran up to
his father and hugged him, silently
asking for affection and forgiveness. Mr.
Crosby responded affirmatively by running
his fingers through his son's lovely blond hair
and patting him on the shoulder.
"Ah, Daddy..." Jimmy began tentatively.
"Yes, Son?"
"You've got my pants in your hand."
"That's right."
"Well..."
"Well, what?"
"Well, aren't you gonna let me have 'em?"
"What for?"
"To put on."
"No, I don't think so."
"But, Daddy, I can't go around without pants."
"Yes, you can. All the other boys are.
Why should you be the exception?"
"But, Dad, what am I gonna do?"
"I think you're going to go change Deke's
diaper. And make sure you clean him up really
well with the Handiwipes, and put plenty of
lotion and powder on him, so he won't get
a rash. Understand?"
"Yes, Daddy," Jimmy answered, not happy
but resigned to his fate.
As he took the diaperkit from his father and turned around
and walked back to do as instructed, his father could not
help noticing how well the snug snow-white briefs accentuated
the handsome shape of his son's well-formed thighs and buttocks.
And to think that boys were now being pressured to wear those
hideous ugly shapeless boxer shorts! Well, it would be a cold
day in hell before his son Jimmy ever would. There ought to be a law
against
such opportunism in the fashion world. If not, those obscene panderers
ought to be lynched, or at least publicly flogged!
After Deke's diapers
were changed, the Marshalls and the Crosby
grilled their burgers and hotdogs, and the
rest of their picnic proceeded uneventfully.
The only other development was that Nathan
did not have to ride home bare-bottomed after
all, since Mrs. Crosby had plenty of extra diapers
and pins. And as strange as it felt to Nathan to
have one of Deke's clean, fluffy, white cotton
diapers snugly fitted and pinned in place on him,
it was a whole lot better than riding with the skin
of his sore, spanked bottom directly in contact with
the vinyl upholstery of the car seat.
Maybe with a little luck, by the time they got home
it would be dark and Kevin and Nathan could slip
into the house before anyone in the neighborhood--
especially any of the other kids--saw the two
brothers without their pants on. Otherwise,
there would be no end to the teasing they
would get!
The Sunday Drive Continues
by Will Faber
More stories by Will Faber
More M/M spanking stories
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