Fiction: Every Night for a Week (FM/M)

I’m fascinated by the psychological impact of a miscreant sentenced to a week of spankings, every evening at the same time. Naturally, over the course of the week there may be visitors from time to time…

The Call

The phone rang at exactly 8:17 pm Mark Reynolds set down his newspaper and reached for it, sensing something was wrong before he even picked up. His wife, Susan, glanced up from where she was folding laundry on the couch, her brow furrowing at his sudden stillness.

“Hello?” Mark said.

“Mr. Reynolds?” a deep voice on the other end asked. “This is Officer Bradley with the Crestwood Police Department. We have your son, Ethan, here at the station.”

Mark sat up straighter, his pulse quickening. “What?”

Susan's hands froze on a pair of jeans.

“I'm afraid he was caught shoplifting,” the officer continued. “A pair of sunglasses from the department store. Since he's a minor and has no prior record, the store manager isn't pressing charges. We're bringing him home shortly, but we wanted to inform you first.”

Mark's jaw tightened.

“Thank you, Officer. We’ll be waiting.”

He hung up, turning to Susan, whose face had gone pale. “It’s Ethan. He was caught stealing.”

Susan pressed a hand to her forehead, exhaling sharply. “Oh, my God.”

“Police are bringing him home.”

“Oh my goodness! Are they pressing charges?”

“Looks like not.”

She stared at him for a moment, processing. Then, her lips pressed into a thin line.

“Well, that's good at least,” she said finally, “but we can't just let this go unpunished.”

Mark nodded grimly. “Absolutely not.”

There was a long pause.

Then Susan took a deep breath. “He needs to be spanked.”

Mark's eyebrows lifted slightly. “Spanked?”

“I know, he hasn't been spanked since he was six,” Susan continued, “but maybe that's the problem. We stopped too soon. He's sixteen now, and he thinks he can just take things that don't belong to him? He needs a punishment that will leave an impression. Something he can’t just laugh off.”

Mark considered this. He wasn't one for spur-of-the-moment punishments, but Susan had a point. A grounding wouldn't cut it. A lecturing wouldn't cut it.

No, this needed to sting.

“Agreed,” he said after a moment. “But how?”

Susan exhaled, collecting her thoughts. “First off, it has to be bare-bottom. Otherwise, it won't be impactful enough. He needs to feel like a little boy again.”

Mark nodded. “Who should do it?”

Susan tilted her head. “It'll be more effective coming from you. A teenage boy doesn't want to cry over his father's knee. It’ll hit him harder—mentally and physically.”

Mark smirked. “True.”

Another pause.

“And it should happen in the living room,” she added.

Mark raised an eyebrow. “You want his sisters to see?”

“Yes,” Susan said firmly. “He’s sixteen. If we send him to his room and do it privately, it'll just be something he endures. But if his sisters watch, it'll drive the point home. That shame will stick with him long after the pain fades.”

Mark thought for a moment, then nodded. “Alright. We’ll do it in the living room and they’ll be welcome to watch.”

Susan sat back, satisfied. “And it shouldn’t just be tonight.”

Mark glanced at her. “You’re thinking more than one spanking?”

“Absolutely,” she said. “One spanking won't be enough. By tomorrow, he'll move on. I say we do it for a full week. Every night before bed, at the same time, right here in the living room. And end it with a doozy.”

Mark's lips curled into a smile. “A nightly reminder?”

Susan nodded. “By the time it's over, I expect he'll think twice before stealing again.”

Mark leaned back in his chair, mulling it over. It was extreme. But then again, so was shoplifting.

Finally, he said, “Alright. Every night at nine o'clock, he's over my knee.”

Susan gave a satisfied nod. “Then it’s settled.”

They heard the distant sound of tires pulling up outside.

Mark stood, rolling up his sleeves.

“Let’s go meet our little thief.”

The Arrival

The sound of the police car's tires crunching on the driveway made Mark and Susan exchange a final glance. It was time.

Mark folded his arms across his chest. Susan adjusted her posture, standing tall. Neither had any intention of making this easy for Ethan.

The doorbell rang.

Susan pulled the door open to find two uniformed officers—a tall, broad-shouldered man in his forties and a sharp-eyed female officer who looked to be in her early thirties. Between them stood Ethan, cuffed, red-faced and visibly miserable.

The moment he saw his parents, he dropped his gaze to the floor.

“Mr. and Mrs. Reynolds,” the male officer greeted, tipping his hat. “We found your boy trying to steal a pair of sunglasses from the department store. As we said on the phone, the store isn’t pressing charges.”

Susan nodded. “We appreciate that, Officer.”

The female officer smiled slightly. “He's been quiet the whole way here. I think the reality of the situation has started sinking in.”

Ethan squirmed.

His mother narrowed her eyes at him. “Oh, he has no idea what's about to sink in,” she said coolly.

Ethan's stomach dropped.

Mark stepped forward. “Thank you, Officers. We’ll take it from here.”

The male officer nodded, uncuffing Ethan and handing him over to his parents’ custody. “You're lucky, kid. This could’ve been a whole lot worse.”

Ethan muttered something unintelligible, still staring at the floor.

Susan stepped aside. “Ethan, inside. Go to the living room. Sit on the couch. Don’t move.”

Ethan hesitated—just for a second.

SMACK!

His mother's hand cracked against the seat of his jeans.

Ethan yelped, stumbling forward.

Both officers grinned at one another. The male officer fought back a chuckle, while the female officer raised an eyebrow, amused.

“Inside,” Susan ordered.

Ethan hurried in, his face burning.

Mark turned back to the officers. “Thanks again for bringing him home.”

“No problem,” the male officer said. “We'll get out of your way. Have a good night.”

As they stepped off the porch, heading toward their patrol car, the female officer shook her head, smirking.

“Based on that smack, you think he’s getting spanked?” she whispered to her partner.

He chuckled. “Oh yeah. That kid’s got a spanking waiting for him, for sure.”

The female officer grinned. “Poor kid. Sixteen and getting spanked like a little kid. I’ll bet he won’t be sitting comfortably for a while.”

“Serves him right,” her partner said, unlocking the squad car. “Bet he won't be stealing again anytime soon.”

With that, they pulled away, leaving Ethan to face his fate.

Back in the House

As the lights from the departing police car disappeared down the street, Mark and Susan Reynolds turned toward the living room, their footsteps slow and deliberate.

Ethan sat slumped on the couch, hands clenched in his lap, face burning. His whole body felt tense, his mind racing. He already knew this was going to be bad—he just didn't know how bad.

His mother was the first to speak.

“Sit up straight,” she snapped.

Ethan flinched and quickly obeyed, straightening his back.

Susan folded her arms, her eyes hard as stone. “Your father and I are very disappointed in you, Ethan.”

Ethan swallowed hard, his throat dry.

But before he could mutter a response, his mother turned toward the stairway.

“Emma! Lily! Get down here.”

Ethan's stomach dropped.

He whipped his head up, staring at her in horror. “Mom—no! They don’t need to—”

“They absolutely do,” Susan said coldly. “Your behavior is a disgrace to this family, and your sisters have every right to hear exactly what you did.”

Heavy footsteps pounded down the stairs, followed by two sets of giggles.

Emma (14) and Lily (12) appeared in the doorway, bright-eyed and curious.

“What’s going on?” Emma asked.

“Yeah, why’d the cops bring Ethan home?” Lily added, grinning.

Their parents didn't answer them right away. Instead, Mark turned to Ethan.

“You tell them,” he ordered.

Ethan's mouth went dry.

He shifted uncomfortably, cheeks flushing red-hot. “I—I—”

“Nice and loud, Ethan,” his mother interrupted. “Tell your sisters why the police brought you home.”

Ethan's breath caught. He could feel Emma and Lily watching him, waiting.

His whole body burned with shame.

“…I got caught shoplifting,” he mumbled.

Emma gasped dramatically. “You stole something?!”

Lily's jaw dropped. “Ooooh, you’re so in trouble!”

Ethan's ears turned crimson.

Susan tilted her head. “Details, Ethan.”

Ethan gritted his teeth. He could barely get the words out.

“I—I stole a pair of sunglasses,” he muttered, barely above a whisper.

Emma snorted. “Seriously? Sunglasses? That’s so stupid.”

Lily giggled. “I bet he cried when he got caught.”

Ethan's fists clenched in his lap. This was already worse than he could have imagined.

His father spoke next, his voice low and authoritative.

“Stealing, Ethan,” he said slowly, letting the weight of the word settle over the room, “is not just some childish mistake. It's a serious crime. You are lucky—very lucky—that they didn't press charges. Because if they had, you would be sitting in juvenile court right now.”

Ethan looked down at his lap, silent.

Mark's voice hardened.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you.”

Ethan's head snapped up immediately.

“You disgraced yourself tonight,” Mark said. “And worse—you disgraced this family. You disrespected everything your mother and I have taught you about honesty and integrity.”

Susan shook her head. “We've never had to deal with something like this from you, Ethan. We thought you were more mature than this. Clearly, we were wrong.”

Ethan felt his throat tighten.

His father's voice lowered, but it only made him scarier.

“And let me be very clear,” Mark said. “This will never happen again.”

Ethan barely had time to process the weight of those words before his mother spoke the final blow.

“Your father and I have discussed it while you were on the way home, and we’ve already decided on your punishment.”

Ethan's breath hitched.

Emma and Lily leaned forward in anticipation.

Susan folded her arms. “Your father is going to spank you.”

Panic Sets In

Ethan sat frozen, his mind racing.

No. No, this isn't happening.

He looked at his parents, waiting for them to change their minds—to realize how ridiculous this was.

But their faces remained unmoved.

They were serious.

His stomach twisted into knots. His palms felt sweaty.

“I—” He swallowed hard. “You—You can’t be serious.”

His father's expression didn't waver. “We very much are.”

Ethan shook his head. “But—but I haven’t been spanked in ten years!” His voice cracked slightly as he gestured wildly. “Not even Emma and Lily get spanked anymore!”

Emma smirked. “Yeah, because we don’t steal.”

Lily giggled. “Guess that makes you the baby of the family now.”

Ethan flushed deep red, whipping his head back to his parents. “Come on! Please—just ground me! Take my phone! Anything but this!”

His mother's gaze was like steel. “No, Ethan.”

“But—but I’m sixteen!” he protested, his voice rising with desperation. “Dad, I'm too old for this! I’m practically an adult!”

Mark leaned forward slightly.

“You weren’t too old to steal,” he said flatly.

Ethan flinched.

“This is happening, Ethan,” his mother said, her tone firm and unshakable. “You can beg and plead all you want. It won’t change a thing.”

Ethan felt his throat tighten. His legs felt weak. This was really happening. But still, a small part of him clung to one final hope. Maybe—maybe they won't do it like when I was little. Maybe his dad would just give him a few swats over his jeans and call it a day. Maybe he wouldn't actually have to be embarrassed. Maybe—

But then his mother spoke again.

“And you should know something else, Ethan.”

Ethan's breath hitched.

His mother's lips curled into a cold smile.

“I’m sure you think this will occur in the privacy of your bedroom?”

Ethan's heart stopped.

“Perhaps, given your age, with your pants still up?” she added.

His whole body went ice cold as a slow, creeping horror washed over him.

His mother let the words hang in the air for a moment before she delivered the final blow.

“If so, you thought wrong.”

Ethan's stomach dropped through the floor.

No Escape

Ethan's whole body trembled as his father spoke, his voice calm, unwavering, and final.

“You're getting a spanking, Ethan,” Mark said, “and it's going to be done properly.”

Ethan's stomach twisted. His legs felt like they might give out.

“P-Properly?” he stammered.

His father acknowledged. “That means bare-bottom. And it will be done right here, in the living room, in front of your mother and sisters.”

A cold shudder ran down Ethan's spine. His father continued as if Ethan wasn't already on the verge of complete panic.

“You will stand up,” Mark said, “take down your jeans and underwear, and place yourself over my knee.”

Ethan jerked his head up, shaking it frantically.

“No! No way!”

His voice cracked, but he didn't care. This couldn't be happening.

His mother's eyebrows arched. “Are you telling us no, Ethan?”

Ethan's mouth opened and closed, his face burning with shame.

“I—I—” He turned desperately back to his father. “Dad, please! You don't have to do this! I get it, I really do! I messed up! Just—just ground me! Take my phone! Take my PlayStation! I'll do extra chores! Just—just not this! Not in front of them!”

He threw a frantic look at Emma and Lily, who were barely containing their glee.

Emma smirked. “Oh my God, I can't believe this is really happening.”

Lily giggled into her hands. “He’s gonna cry like a little kid.”

Ethan whipped back around, his breath coming in shaky gasps, looking at his parents, begging for mercy.

But his father's voice remained as steady as ever.

“You don't get to negotiate your punishment, Ethan,” Mark said. “You're not in charge here.”

Ethan's throat tightened.

His father folded his arms. “You will do exactly as I said. You will take down your pants and underwear. You will go over my knee. And I will spank you until I'm certain that you fully understand the consequences of stealing.”

Ethan's legs trembled.

“No,” he whispered. “Please.”

Mark's eyes darkened. “Do you really think begging is going to get you out of this?”

Ethan nodded rapidly, his hands clasp together in sheer desperation.

“Yes! Please, Dad! Please! I'll never steal again! I swear! I promise!”

His mother let out a short, humorless laugh.

“Oh, you're right about that,” she said coolly. “Because after we’re done with you, you won't even think about stealing again.”

Ethan's vision blurred with panic. This was really happening.

His father leaned forward slightly, his expression deadly serious.

“And once I'm finished spanking you,” he added, “you will stand in the corner for thirty minutes, hands on your head, with your bare bottom on display.”

Ethan's breath hitched.

“No!” he wasted. “Dad, please, that’s—that’s humiliating!”

“It’s impactful,” Mark said simply.

Ethan felt like he might throw up.

But his mother wasn't finished.

“If you think this is just a one-time punishment, Ethan,” she said, her voice turning here, “you’ve got another think coming.”

Ethan's blood ran cold.

His mother folded her arms. “You're going to be spanked each and every night this week the same way.”

Ethan's heart nearly stopped. No. No, she couldn't mean that.

His mother's eyes were sharp, unyielding. “Every night, at nine o'clock sharp, you will come to this living room, take your pants and underwear down, and get another spanking from your father.”

Ethan's vision blurred.

Lily gasped, then burst into laughter. “Oh my God! Every night?! He's gonna get spanked like a little kid all week?!”

Emma smirked. “I bet he'll cry before it even starts by the third night.”

Ethan squeezed his eyes shut, his breath shaking. He had no way out.

The Chair is Set

Ethan sat frozen, his breath coming in shorts, panicked bursts. His mind raced for a way out, but there was none. His father had spoken. His mother had spoken. This was going to happen.

Mark Reynolds slowly turned from his trembling son and walked to the adjoining dining room.

Ethan barely noticed at first—until he saw his father effortlessly lift a heavy wooden chair, the kind meant for firm, upright seating, armless and sturdy.

Ethan's stomach twisted painfully.

His father turned back and carried the chair into the living room, his movements calm and deliberate. There was no rush—he knew exactly how this was going to play out.

Ethan watched in horror as his father placed the chair right in the center of the room. It was so exposed. It was right there, in full view of everyone.

Emma and Lily sat forward eagerly on the couch, eyes shining with amusement.

Ethan's stomach churned.

His father sat down in the chair, planting his feet firmly on the floor. Then he turned to Ethan. The room was dead silent. The moment had come. Mark patted his thigh once, deliberately. “Come here, Ethan.”

Ethan's breath caught. He felt lightheaded, like the walls were closing in. His face burned hot, his whole body prickling with shame. He shook his head frantically. “Dad, please.” His voice broke. “You don’t have to do this! I get it! I really do!”

His mother's voice was cold as steel. “Stand up, Ethan. Go to your father. Now.”

Ethan lets out a small, choked whimper. His sisters were watching. The chair was waiting. And his father's lap was empty. Waiting for him.

The Walk of Shame

Ethan couldn't breathe. His father sat in the chair, waiting. His mother stood nearby, arms crossed, her gaze cold and expectant. Emma and Lily sat wide-eyed and grinning on the couch, whispering to each other, soaking in every second of his humiliation.

Mark patted his thigh once more. “I said, come here, Ethan.”

Ethan let out a shaky breath. His entire body felt weak, like his legs might give out beneath him. Still, he didn't move.

“Ethan.” His father's voice was low and firm, a warning in itself.

Ethan swallowed hard. He had no way out. His legs felt like lead, but somehow, he forced himself to stand up. As he took his first shaky step forward, the pleading spilled out of him before he could stop it. “Dad, please—I swear, I won't ever steal again!” His voice was tight, desperate, trembling. “I've learned my lesson! Please! There’s no reason to—”

“Come here,” his father interrupted, his voice steady and unshaken.

Ethan shuddered but obeyed, forcing one foot in front of the other. With every step closer, his breathing grew shakier, his face burned hotter, and the reality of what was about to happen became more and more unbearable.

Lily giggled. “Look how slow he’s going.”

Emma smirked. “Like a prisoner walking to his execution.”

Ethan squeezed his eyes shut for a second, willing himself to disappear. But when he opened them, the chair was right in front of him. And so was his father.

Mark looked up at him—not angry, not yelling, just calm and firm, like this was already decided. Like Ethan had no choice but to obey.

Ethan's voice shook as he begged one last time. “Dad…please don’t do this…”

His father exhaled slowly. “Take off your hoodie. Fold it neatly and hand it to your mother.”

Ethan's fingers felt clumsy and weak as he pulled the hoodie over his head. The air felt colder without it, making him feel more exposed already. He folded it slowly, stalling for time, his vision blurry with humiliation. Then he turned and handed it to his mother, not meeting her eyes. She took it without a word.

His father's voice came again, calm and unwavering. “Now your t-shirt.”

Ethan's stomach clenched. He could hear Emma and Lily whispering behind him. His fingers fumbled as he reached for the hem of his t-shirt. It felt wrong—so wrong—to be stripping down in front of his whole family. But his father sat there, waiting. Unmoved. Unshaken. And so, with a burning face, Ethan slowly pulled off his t-shirt, exposing his bare chest. His skin prickled with shame. He folded his shirt with shaking hands and handed it to his mother, his shoulders hunched in humiliation.

His father's next words were a knife to the gut. “Now your pants. Take them off completely.”

Ethan's heart stopped.  Completely?  His eyes darted up in panic. “Dad, please—”

Mark's expression didn't change. “Take them off, fold them, and hand them to your mother.”

Ethan shook his head quickly. “Dad, come on—please!” Not in front of them!”

His mother's voice cut in, sharp and final. “Ethan. Now.”

A cold shudder ran through Ethan's entire body. His hands shook violently as they went to the waistband of his jeans. He unbuttoned his pants, and as he unzipped them, his humiliation tripled. He was about to stand in front of his entire family in nothing but his underwear. His tight white briefs. His babyish, embarrassing tightey-whities. Ethan's entire body was shaking now, but he couldn't stop. He shoved his jeans all the way down and stepped out of them, his hands weak and clammy. He stood there, bare-chested, his legs exposed, his thin, white briefs doing nothing to hide his vulnerability. His pants felt heavy in his hands as he folded them, his fingers numb. Then, with burning shame, he handed them to his mother. She took them without a word.

“Oh my God,” Lily whispered through a giggle. “He still wears those?”

Emma smirked. “That’s so embarrassing.”

And then—Ethan realized something even worse. He was still waiting. Still standing. Still not over his father's knee. And they were all staring at him like he was a little kid.

Lily giggled. “Wow. Look at him.”

Emma smirked. “He looks like he’s about to cry already.”

Ethan's face was on fire. His hands twitched at his sides, desperate to cover himself, but he didn't dare.

His father leaned back slightly, his gaze firm and steady. “Do you understand why this is happening?” he asked.

Ethan gulped. His voice came out small and broken. “…Yes, sir.”

Mark nodded. “Then say it.”

Ethan squeezed his eyes shut, his entire body prickling with unbearable humiliation.

“…Because I stole,” he whispered.

His father gave a small nod.

“Good,” he said.

Underpants Off

Ethan's breath came in shorts, shallow gasps, his whole body trembling as he stood before his father in nothing but his socks and underwear. The sheer humiliation of standing in front of his entire family like this was almost unbearable, but the worst was still to come. His father's expression was calm but unyielding, his eyes steady as he delivered the next instruction.

“Turn around so you're not facing your sisters,” Mark said. “Then take your underwear off.”

Ethan felt like the floor had been ripped out from under him. His entire body seized up, his stomach churning with dread. His underwear was the last shred of dignity he had left, the only thing protecting him from total humiliation. His head whipped up, eyes wide with silent pleading, but his father remained unmoved.

His mother crossed her arms and let out a small sigh. “Ethan, stop dragging this out. The longer you delay, the worse this is going to be for you.”

Ethan's throat was so tight he could barely breathe. His sisters weren't even trying to hide their amusement anymore. He could feel their eyes on him, the tension of waiting for the inevitable, knowing that they would see him bare and helpless in just a few moments.

His father's voice came again, firm and unwavering. “You may hold your underwear in front of yourself as you come over my knee, but I expect them all the way off before you do.”

A shudder ran down Ethan's spine. His hands twitched at his sides, reluctant to obey. Every instinct in his body told him to run, to cover himself, to do anything but what was being demanded of him. But he knew there was no way out. Delaying any further would only make things worse.

With his heart pounding in his ears, Ethan slowly turned his back to his sisters. His face burned as he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his underwear, his fingers trembling so badly that he could barely grip the fabric.

It took everything in him to force himself to pull them down. The cool air rushed over his exposed skin, making him feel even more vulnerable. His underwear slid down his legs, pooling around his ankles, and for one brief moment, he was completely bare in front of his entire family.

Behind him, he heard Emma stifle a giggle. Lily let out a little snort. His shame deepened.

“His buns are all pasty white,” said Lily.

“Not for long…” said Emma.

His whole body felt like it was on fire. Desperate to preserve whatever tiny scrap of dignity he had left, he quickly bent down, stepped out of them, and grabbed the discarded fabric, holding it in front of himself as best he could. His grip was weak, his hands sweaty, but he clutched onto that last bit of modesty like a lifeline.

“Now,” his father said, his voice calm and expectant, “come closer. Right here,” he said, pointing to his right side.

Ethan's legs felt like lead as he turned back around, still holding his underwear in front of him, his hands shaking so badly that the fabric barely covered him at all. Every step toward his father felt like walking toward a cliff's edge. His breath hitched in his throat, his heart racing as he the designated spot.

He stopped just beside his father's knee, staring down at the floor, his vision blurred with humiliation. He could feel the heat radiating from his face, from his chest, from his entire body. This was it.

Mark looked up at his trembling son and patted his thigh. “Over you go.”

Ethan stood there, frozen, his bare skin prickling with unbearable humiliation. His father's lap was waiting—solid, unyielding, and inescapable. His hands clenched around the soft, bunched-up fabric of his underwear, the last pathetic barrier between him and total exposure. His heart pounded against his ribs, his breath coming in short, desperate bursts.

“Over you go,” his father repeated, his voice calm and expectant.

Ethan hesitated, every muscle in his body resisting, his shame tightening around his throat like a noose. He wanted to plead one last time, to beg for some other punishment, but he knew it was pointless. His father wouldn't bend. His mother was watching, arms crossed in unwavering judgment. And worst of all—his sisters sat on the couch, wide-eyed and waiting.

He swallowed hard and took a slow step forward, awkwardly shifting his weight as he tried to lower himself over his father's lap without letting go of his underwear. His grip tightened, the soft cotton bunched in his trembling fists, held desperately over his crotch. He bent stiffly, trying to keep himself covered, but the angle was wrong. He lost his balance.

With a strangled gasp, he toppled forward, his bare legs lifting slightly as his body tipped over his father's lap. Instinct took over. His arms shot out to brace himself against the carpet—his hands landing flat against the floor, his right hand still clutching his underwear.

For one awful second, he wasn't thinking about covering himself. And that second was enough. A sudden burst of giggles erupted behind him.

“Oh my God, we saw everything!” Lily shrieked, her voice bubbling with laughter.

Emma snorted, barely able to contain herself. “I didn't think he'd actually flash us, but he totally did!”

Ethan's face ignited, a hot, suffocating flush creeping down his neck, across his shoulders, burning him alive. They had seen him. They had seen everything.

His breath hitched in sheer horror. The damage was done. The image of his brief, shameful exposure was now seared into his sisters' minds forever.

His father didn't acknowledge the giggling, didn't react to Ethan's frantic cries. He simply adjusted his grip, shifting Ethan forward until his bare stomach pressed against the rough fabric of his pant leg. One large, firm hand pressed down between his shoulder blades, keeping him pinned, his legs dangling off the floor.

“Settle down, Ethan,” his father said calmly, as if nothing had happened at all. “You'll have plenty to worry about besides modesty in a moment.”

Ethan's body tensed, his face burned hotter than it ever had in his life. His father's lap was solid, firm, and unyielding, and the moment he settled into place, the reality of his situation fully crashed down on him.

He was sixteen years old, yet here he was, draped over his father's knee like a misbehaving child, about to be punished in front of his mother and younger sisters. It was almost too much to process. His mind screamed that this couldn't be happening, that this was some kind of nightmare, that there was no way he was actually naked and exposed like this, but every humiliating second that ticked by confirmed the undeniable truth—this was real.

His breathing came in shorts, panicked bursts, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he dangled helplessly. His father had positioned him perfectly—his upper body slanted downward so that his face was just inches from the carpet, while his legs extended behind him, his feet off the floor.

And his bottom, his bare, vulnerable bottom, was completely turned upside down, the highest point of his body, fully presented and completely defenseless.

It was the most mortifying position imaginable.

He still clutched his underwear in his right hand, the small scrap of fabric that had been his last shred of dignity, but now it felt completely useless. He knew that whatever illusion of modesty he had tried to preserve was long gone. His father's lap was broad and solid, and his own body felt small and powerful in comparison.

It wasn't just the physical exposure that made this unbearable. It was the psychological humiliation. He felt like he was six again, like a naughty little boy who had just been caught doing something terribly wrong and was now going to get exactly what he deserved.

The worst part was that it was so public.

His mother was standing nearby, watching everything without an ounce of sympathy.

His sisters, sitting on the couch, were whispering and snickering as they took in every humiliating detail. He could practically feel their eyes on him, studying him, taking in how ridiculous, how childish, how utterly exposed he looked.

“Wow,” Emma said, her voice dripping with amusement, “he actually looks like a little kid.”

Lily giggled behind her hand. “I can't believe this is really happening.”

Ethan squeezed his eyes shut, his face twisted in shame as he dangled helplessly over his father's firm lap. His breath came in shallow, uneven gasps, his bare skin prickling with the unbearable exposure. The small scrap of fabric he still clutched—his discarded underwear—felt laughably useless. He no longer protected him. Nothing did.

And worst of all—his parents weren't going to let him forget why he was here.

A Bare Bum Lecture

“Ethan,” his father's deep voice rumbled above him, calm but heavy with disappointment, “I want you to tell me again why you're in this position.”

Ethan's throat tightened. He knew there was no way out of answering.

His voice came out small, weak, and broken. “…Because I stole.”

His father looked above him, resting a heavy palm across his bare lower back, holding him firmly in place. “That's right. You stole, Ethan. You were caught shoplifting. Do you have any idea how serious that is?”

Ethan squirmed slightly but stopped when his father's grip on his lower back tightened warningly.

“Yes, sir,” he murmured miserably.

His mother's voice cut sharply. “If you knew how serious it was, you wouldn’t have done it.”

Ethan winced.

“You embarrassed yourself tonight,” she continued, her voice cold and firm. “But more than that—you embarrassed this family. Do you have any idea how humiliated your father and I were when we got that call from the police?”

Ethan bites his lip, his face burns. He certainly understood embarrassment as he dangled, naked and helpless, across his father's lap.

“I—” He hesitated. He knew that no answer would be good enough.

His mother took a step closer, her arms still crossed tightly. “I want you to think about how different this could have been, Ethan. You're lucky—very lucky—that the store didn't press charges. Do you understand what would have happened if they had?”

Ethan gulped.

“I…” His voice came out weak. “Would I have been arrested?”

“Exactly,” his mother said. “And then what? You think a judge would just let you off with a warning? You would might have had to go into juvenile detention, Ethan.”

Ethan felt sick.

His father's hand pressed a little more firmly against his back. “Do you understand now why this is happening?”

Ethan's breath hitched.

He had already answered this, but he knew his father wanted to hear it again—louder.

His voice trembled. “B-Because I stole.”

His mother's voice was cold and sharp. “Because you stole, and because you need to learn that this behavior will. not. be. tolerated.”

To Tears

As Ethan lay bare over his father's lap, his entire body was rigid with humiliation. The realization of his complete nakedness in front of his family burned into him like fire, searing every nerve, every inch of his fully exposed skin. His breath came in shorts, sharp gasps as he gripped the useless scrap of underwear in his trembling fingers, his only pathetic attempt at shielding himself, even though it did nothing to hide the mortifying truth—he was as bare as the day he was born, about to be spanked like a naughty little boy in front of his mother and sisters.

His father's firm, heavy hand pressed into the small of his back, holding him in place, reminding him that he was trapped, completely at his father's mercy. Ethan could feel how vulnerable he was, his hips tilted downward, his upturned bottom the highest point of his body, completely exposed and awaiting punishment. His legs stretched out behind him, toes barely brushing the floor, his arms dangling uselessly toward the carpet. The position could not have been more humiliating.

His mother's voice cuts through the silence like a blade.

“I hope you fully understand just how ashamed we are of you, Ethan.” Her words were measured, sharp, each one pressing down on him like a weight. “We raised you better than this. We raised you to be honest, to take responsibility for your actions. And yet, here you are, naked over your father's knee, waiting for the spanking you have rightfully earned.”

Ethan lets out a small, pitiful whimper, his face burning. He tried to squeeze his legs together, desperate for even a shred of modesty, but it was impossible in this position. He had never felt so small, so powerful in his entire life.

His father exhaled slowly, his hand still firm against Ethan's bare skin, keeping him in place.

“This is the position you put yourself in tonight, son,” he said. “You made a choice—a terrible choice—and now you are going to be punished for it. I shouldn't have to remind you, at sixteen years old, that stealing is wrong. You're old enough to know better. But clearly, you need a reminder that will stick with you.”

Ethan's breath hitched, and he squeezed his eyes shut as his father's words sank in.

His mother stepped closer, her voice cool and authoritative. “And don't you dare think for a second that you're too old for this, Ethan.” She let the words hang, and Ethan could practically feel her gaze on him, taking in his completely exposed state, his helpless, childlike position. “You are acting like a naughty little boy, and you are going to be punished like one. That means bare-bottom, over your father's knee, right here, in the living room, for all of us to see.”

Ethan's whole body clenched. He let out a shaky breath, his fingers still gripping his underwear so tightly that his knuckles were white. His bare backside was on full display, the focal point of the room, and there was no escaping it.

His father’s solid frame felt completely unmoving beneath Ethan's helpless, dangling body. The weight of his father's firm hand, resting heavily on the small of his back, made him feel trapped, completely powerless to prevent what was about to happen.

Then his father spoke again.

“You need to understand something very clearly, Ethan.” His voice was calm, steady, absolute. “This spanking is about teaching you a lesson—a lesson that clearly should have been taught a long time ago.”

Ethan lets out a small, humiliated whimper.

“This spanking will continue,” his father went on, “until your mother and I are convinced that you’ve learned your lesson.”

Ethan's breath hitched sharply.

His mother's voice was cold, matter-of-fact. “And just so you understand, Ethan, that's not going to happen quickly.”

Ethan's stomach lurched.

“You are not just going to get a few swats and be done,” she continued. “You will not simply be uncomfortable for a moment and then go on with your night.”

Ethan's body stiffened.

“No, Ethan. You’re going to be spanked until you are well and truly crying.”

His entire body tensed like a coiled spring.

His mother stepped even closer, her voice unwavering. “And not just sniffling, not just tearing up, not just wishing it would stop. Not a few crocodile tears.”

Ethan's chest tightened, his breath shaking violently.

“You will be crying like a baby—loud, helpless sobs. And the spanking will not end there. And afterwards you will continue crying for quite some time after your spanking is over.”

Ethan let out a broken sound, a strangled mix of a gasp and a whimper, his mind reeling at what he had just heard.

Lily giggled behind him, whispering to Emma, ​​“Oh my God, he's already freaking out.”

Emma smirked. “And he hasn’t even been spanked yet.”

Ethan squeezed his eyes shut, his entire body burning.

His mother's voice cut through the giggles, still sharp, still final.

“You might as well prepare yourself now, Ethan.”

Ethan let out a shaky breath, his body shivering in fear and shame.

Spanked!

Then the first smack landed.

SMACK!

Ethan's entire body jerked, his breath catching in his throat. The sharp, explosive sting spread across his bare backside, and for a single, agonizing second, he processed just how much worse this was going to be than he had imagined.

SMACK!

The second crack of his father's palm against his exposed, defenseless bottom made his toes curl. His legs twitched instinctively, but his father had him firmly pinned in place.

“Sixteen years old,” his father's deep voice rumbled, pausing only to deliver another hard swat, “and I have to do this like you're six again.”

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

Ethan gasped sharply, his fingers digging into his underwear, his chest heaving. The sting was unbearable already, and he knew this was just the beginning.

Emma let out a mock-sympathetic hum. “Wow. I almost feel bad for him.”

Lily giggled. “Almost.”

Ethan's face burned even hotter, the heat in his bottom now spreading quickly, layer by layer, as his father's hand rained down hard, methodical swats.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

His breath came in shaky whimpers now. His body twitched involuntarily with every blow, his feet kicking slightly, but there was no escape, no relief. His father was thorough, merciless, ensuring that every inch of Ethan's bare backside was completely covered in relentless swats.

“Maybe,” his mother said coldly, watching his increasing squirming, “if we had continued spanking you beyond the age of six, we wouldn't be here now.”

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

Ethan let out a strained, choked sound, somewhere between a yelp and a sob.

His father paused for a brief moment, letting Ethan catch his breath—but the reprieve was short-lived.

“Since you seem to have forgotten what a proper punishment feels like,” his father continued, adjusting his grip, “let me remind you—a real spanking does not stop just because it hurts.”

Before Ethan could fully process that, the next round of blistering swats landed—even harder than before.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

Ethan let out a sharp gasp, his legs kicking involuntarily, the sting deepening to an unbearable fire.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

Tears pricked his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. He gritted his teeth, fighting it, but his father knew exactly what he was doing, knew exactly how to break him down.

His sisters were whispering and giggling, but Ethan could barely process their words now.

The pain built and built, layer upon layer, his already burning bottom turning redder and redder, the sharp sting intensifying into a deep, hot, throbbing ache.

Ethan's resolve began to crumble as the relentless onslaught continued. Each smack was a clear, painful reminder of his transgressions.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

His father's methodical pace never wavered, each hit landing with precision and unwavering firmness. “This is for your own good,” his father declared sternly, his voice a mixture of disappointment and resolve.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

As Ethan's cries grew louder and his body shook, he struggled to maintain any semblance of composure. His bare backside felt like it was on fire, the skin a bright shade of red by now. Each violent kick and twist caused more than just his legs to flail; his exposed genitals became a humiliating spectacle for his sisters.

“Look at him flop around,” Emma whispered to Lily, barely containing a giggle as Ethan's movements caused his most private areas to swing embarrassingly in and out of view across their father’s lap.

Lily covered her mouth, her eyes wide with a mix of shock and amusement. “It's like watching a fish out of water,” she responded, both of them keenly observing every unintentional display Ethan made.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

With each strike, Ethan's cries became more desperate, his movements more erratic. As he kicked out wildly he twisted and turned, inadvertently offering his sisters even more glimpses of his distress and exposure.

Despite everything, Ethan refused to cry in front of his sisters, determined to make it. But then it happened. A single, humiliating sob escaped. His whole body stiffened in horror at the sound.

Lily let out an excited squeal. “He’s crying!”

Emma smirked. “Took him long enough.”

Ethan squeezed his eyes shut, but the tears kept coming. His shoulders shook, his breath hiccupping, and he could no longer hold back the helpless, choked sobs.

His mother leaned in slightly, her voice cool and satisfied.

“Oh, you're crying now, are you?” she said, watching her naked, sobbing her squirm across his father's lap. “Good. But you're nowhere near done.”

Ethan let out a wretched, broken sound, barely able to form words now.

His father tightened his grip, keeping him firmly pinned in place, as he continued, his hard hand coming down without mercy.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

Ethan's cries turned into full, unrestrained sobs.

“D-Daddy! P-please!” he wailed.

Lily gasped dramatically. “He called him Daddy! Like a little kid!”

Emma laughed outright. “He’s totally broken now.”

Ethan didn't even care how much he was humiliating himself anymore. The blistering, unbearable sting was all he could focus on, his body wracked with helpless sobs as his father continued spanking him.

“No, Daddy! No!”

His bare bottom burned hotter than fire, throbbing with each desperate sob that wracked his body. His legs trembled, kicking weakly now, no longer in resistance but in pure, helpless reaction to the pain. His fingers, still clutching his useless underwear, were slick with sweat, his entire body glistening from the effort of enduring his punishment.

But it hadn't mattered—he hadn't endured it at all.

By now, he was crying freely, loud, uncontrollable sobs, just as his mother had promised. He had fought it, struggled, resisted, but his father's unyielding hand had broken through every layer of pride, reducing him to nothing but a sobbing, punished child draped over his lap, his entire body shaking from the effort of taking the relentless spanking.

Yet, his father hadn't stopped yet.

Even as Ethan wept openly, his father's hand continued to fall, each swat crisp, hard, deliberate.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

Ethan let out a wretched sob, his voice high and broken. “D-Daddy, please! I—I'm sorry! I'll be good! I swear! P-Please! No more!”

His mother let out a humorless chuckle from above him. “Oh, now you’re promising to be good?” she said coolly. “I think we're past that, Ethan.”

His father didn't ease up.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

Ethan wailed, kicking weakly, his cries completely unrestrained now.

Lily snickered behind him, clearly delighted. “Wow. He sounds just like a little kid.”

Emma smirked. “He is a little kid right now.”

Ethan didn't even care anymore. All he wanted was for it to stop.

His father delivered another round of punishing swats, landing ten firm, fast, blistering smacks directly to the sit spots, ensuring that Ethan would feel this for days to come.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!  SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

“Ow! Ow! Ow! Please! Daddy! Please!”

Ethan howled, his body squirming weakly, no fight left in him.

Then, finally—thankfully—it stopped.

Ethan was a mess, draped limply over his father's knee, heaving and sobbing, his breath broken and uneven.

His father exhaled continuously, resting his large hand on Ethan's trembling lower back, feeling the way his son's body shuddered with each broken sob.

Then he looked up at Susan.

“What do you think?” Mark asked, his tone calm, composed, as if he hadn't just delivered the longest, hardest spanking of Ethan's life.

Susan tilted her head, observing the pitiful sight before her—her sixteen-year-old son, naked, sobbing, broken, his bottom a deep, angry red, his bare legs trembling from exhaustion.

Ethan hiccupped weakly, sucking in ragged, wasting breaths, praying—begging silently—for her to declare it over.

But then she sighed. “I think,” she said smoothly, “he could use a bit more.”

Ethan froze. His blood ran cold. Then, in a single, desperate wail, he completely fell apart. “No! No, Mommy, please!” he sobbed, his hands clawing at his father's pant leg. “Please! I can't take anymore! I'm sorry! Mommy, please!”

His mother didn't even blink. “You should have thought of that before you stole, Ethan.”

Ethan wailed loudly, his entire body convulsing with sobs, but his father lifted his hand again without hesitation.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

Ethan screamed, his hands flailing helplessly, his legs kicking wildly, but there was nothing he could do.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

“Moooommy! Please!” he wailed, his words barely coherent, his face soaked in tears.

But his mother stood firm, watching without an ounce of sympathy, letting her son fully, completely break down.

His screams became high, childish sobs, his body trembling violently, his bottom radiating unbearable heat.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

“Please! Please! Mommy! Please!”

Then, finally, after what felt like an eternity, Susan lifted her hand. “Alright. I think that’s enough for tonight.”

Mark immediately stopped, keeping his hand firmly on Ethan's quivering lower back.

Into the Corner

Ethan was broken beyond all recognition. His body convulsed with full, wretched sobs, his cries loud and unrestrained, echoing through the living room as he lay completely bare over his father's lap. Tears and snot ran freely down his face, his mouth opened in helpless, wasting wails, his entire body shaking violently. His scorched, swollen bottom throbbed unbearably, his legs kicking weakly now, no longer in defiance but in pure distress.

And yet, through it all, his fists remained tightly clenched around the small, balled-up pair of underpants he had been clutching for dear life from the very beginning.

Mark exhaled slowly, allowing Ethan's shuddering, hiccupping sobs to fill the silence before finally speaking.

“Alright,” his father said firmly, his tone steady and controlled, as if he hadn't just reduced his sixteen-year-old son to a sobbing, naked wreck. “You're going to stand up now. Face away from your sisters. Use your underpants to protect your modesty,” Mark instructed simply.

Ethan let out a garbled, broken sob, his body completely unresponsive, as if it had forgotten how to move.

His father's large hands gripped his quivering sides, helping him lift his weak, trembling body upright.

The moment he was on his feet, Ethan let out a high, wailing cry, his chest rising and falling in frantic, shuddering heaves. His hands desperately pressed the crumpled underwear against his crotch, though it felt entirely useless. His face was a blotchy, tear-streaked mess, his lips quivering as he let out one miserable, broken wail after another.

His sisters were still seated comfortably on the couch, watching the scene with wide, entertained eyes.

Lily giggled behind her hand, her voice light and teasing. “I don't think I've never seen anyone cry so hard before.”

Emma smirked. “He sounds like a toddler who just dropped his ice cream.”

Ethan let out another choked wail, his breath hiccupping as more hot tears spilled down his face, his bare shoulders trembling violently. His legs shook beneath him, his humiliation complete, but his father wasn't finished yet.

Without hesitation, Mark reached for Ethan's ear, gripping it firmly between his fingers.

Ethan let out a strangled cry, his hands clutching his underpants even tighter as his father began to walk him across the room, his naked, burning backside fully exposed with every shaky, stumbling step.

“P-Please, Daddy! Please!” Ethan wailed loudly, his voice high-pitched, childish, but his father gave no response, continuing to guide him forward with firm, deliberate steps.

His mother and sisters watched intently, Lily bouncing slightly in amusement, Emma smirking with satisfaction.

The moment they reached the farthest corner of the room, Mark put his son’s nose in the corner and released his ear.

Ethan sucked in a sharp breath, his face crumpling as he sobbed uncontrollably, his bare body quaking in misery.

“Hands on your head,” his father ordered.

A fresh sob ripped from Ethan's throat, his chest heaving as he obeyed, his hands slowly, shakily rising, still clutching his underwear pathetically as he pressed them atop his damp hair like a white flag of shame.

His completely bare bottom, hot, red, and swollen, was fully exposed to the room.

Ethan stood in the corner, his entire body trembling, his face wet with tears, his bare backside burning like fire. His arms ached from holding his wadded-up underpants above his head, his final humiliating symbol of surrender.

His breath came in ragged sobs, his chest rising and falling erratically, his shoulders shaking with every wasting cry. The humiliation was endless, unbearable—standing there completely naked, his bright red, swollen bottom on full display, his privates completely vulnerable if anyone looked over their shoulder, and worst of all, his sisters still whispering and giggling behind him.

Lily let out another quiet snicker. “I still can’t believe this is real.”

Emma smirked. “I think the best part is him holding his little underwear on his head.”

Lily giggled. “He's still crying like a little boy being punished.”

Ethan let out another miserable sob, his toes curling into the carpet, his entire body prickling with unbearable shame.

Time dragged on endlessly. He didn't dare move, not even to shift his aching legs, because he knew—his father was still watching.

His breath hitched unevenly, his sobs still escaping in weak, broken gasps, and his face burned with shame as he tried to process the sheer humiliation of what had just happened.

How could he have been so stupid?

Stealing.  Stealing.

For what? A pair of sunglasses? A pair of cheap sunglasses he didn't even need?

The reality of it made him feel even worse. It wasn't just that he had been caught—it was that he had been so careless, so idiotic, so utterly reckless that he had been caught immediately. Like a dumb little kid who didn't know anything better.

And now, that was exactly how he was being treated.

Like a six-year-old. No. Worse than a six-year-old. Because even when he had been spanked as a child, it had never been like this. His father had never stripped him completely bare. He had never dragged him across his lap in the middle of the living room with an audience. His mother had never stood over him and coldly declared that he wouldn't be allowed up until he was crying like a baby. His sisters had never been there to watch, to snicker, to giggle over his complete and total humiliation.

Ethan let out a weak, shaky breath, his whole body twitching with aftershocks, his toes curling against the carpet. His bottom throbbed unbearably, the heat still radiating, a constant, searing reminder of just how thoroughly he had been punished.

And it wasn't over. Six more nights. That was the worst part. Not only had he endured the most humiliating experience of his life, but he was going to endure it again. And again. And again.

The spanking was over—for now—but the shame, the unbearable, crushing shame, was still very much alive, crawling under his skin, settling deep in his chest like a weight he couldn't shake.

He was sixteen years old.

A teenager. Practically an adult.

And yet, here he was—crying like a baby, standing in the corner, his bottom bright red, fully on display for everyone to see.

A fresh wave of humiliation crashed over him, and his shoulders jerked with another sob, the sheer embarrassment of his position suffocating him. He felt so… small. Helpless. Childish.

Just minutes ago, he had been over his father's knee, completely bare, kicking and wailing as his father spanked him harder than he had ever been spanked in his life. He had screamed, begged, pleaded—even called him Daddy like a little kid in the throes of punishment.

And now, he was standing here, sniffling and hiccupping in front of his entire family, naked except for his socks, clutching his own underpants to his head like an idiot, a true symbol of his defeat. He wanted to crawl out of his own skin.

Behind him, he could hear his sisters whispering, stifling giggles, and each tiny sound felt another stab of shame through him.

“Oh my God,” Lily whispered gleefully. “He’s still crying.”

Emma snickered. “Of course he is. Did you see how hard Dad spanked him? He probably won't stop for hours.”

Lily giggled softly, and Ethan bit his lip to stop another sob from escaping, but it didn't work. His chest hitched violently, and a broken, pathetic sound pushed past his lips, making him feel even more ridiculous.

He had never felt more like a little boy than he did at that moment.

Standing there. Exposed. Sobbing. On display.

And worst of all—he deserved it.

He had stolen, and now, he was paying the price.

His mother's voice, sharp and cool, cut through his shame.

“Thirty minutes, Ethan,” she reminded him from behind. “And you will stand just like that—hands on your head, bottom on display—until time is up.”

Ethan let out another weak sob, his face burning hotter, but he didn't dare disobey.

Because he knew—he had no choice.

Sent to Bed

When, finally, after what felt like an eternity, his mother's voice rang out, sharp and final.

“Your time is up, Ethan.”

Ethan let out a shaky, wasting breath, his whole body sagging in relief, but he didn't dare move until she told him to.

“Put your underwear back over yourself and turn around.”

Ethan's fingers twitched as he lowered his hands from his head, gripping the small, crumpled garment as he quickly brought it down, shielding himself once again. His hands shook so badly that he could barely hold the fabric in place, but at least he wasn't completely exposed anymore.

Slowly, hesitantly, he turned around.

His mother stood in front of him, her arms crossed, her expression unreadable. His father remained in the chair, watching him silently.

And on the couch, his two younger sisters sat smiling, their eyes still sparkling with amusement.

Ethan couldn't look at any of them. His head was tilted downward, his eyes focused on the floor, his face still hot with shame.

His mother let him stand there for a moment, letting his humiliation fully sink in.

Then she spoke.

“Straight to bed,” she said simply. “No dinner. No electronics. Nothing. I want you in your room, lying on your stomach no doubt, thinking about what you've done.”

Ethan let out a shaky, defeated sniffle. He didn't argue, didn't try to bargain—he just nodded weakly.

But then his mother stepped forward, her voice dropping into something low and cold.

“And don’t forget,” she said gently, “this wasn’t a one-time punishment.”

Ethan's blood ran cold.

Her lips curled slightly. “Tomorrow night, at nine o'clock sharp, you will be back in this living room, taking off your underwear, and going right back over your father's knee.”

A fresh sob broke from Ethan's lips. His entire body shuddered.

He couldn't take another one.

His mother tilted her head. “Perhaps that thought will help you fall asleep tonight.”

Ethan let out a weak, humiliated nod, his body quivering all over again.

“Go.”

Without another word, Ethan turned quickly, clutching his underpants tightly to his genitals, and hurried out of the room, naked but for his socks, his crimson, swollen backside fully on display as he bolted, his footsteps frantic against the hardwood floor. His bare feet slapped against the ground in uneven rhythm, his entire body still wracked with the aftershocks of the merciless spanking.

Behind him, his sisters exploded into giggles, the sound ringing in his ears, each peal of laughter piercing through him like a fresh smack.

“Oh my God,” Emma wheezed between fits of laughter, clutching her stomach. “Look how red his butt still is.”

Lily had to hold onto the arm of the couch to keep from doubling over. “It’s glowing!” she added.

Ethan didn't stop to listen. He couldn't. His only thought was escape. His only hope was to make it to his room before collapsing into his pillows, burying his face, and willing the world to disappear.

The last thing his sisters saw before he disappeared down the hall was the furious red of his thoroughly punished backside, his sore cheeks bouncing slightly as he fled. It was a sight neither of them would forget anytime soon.

And behind him, he could still hear his sisters giggling.

Days 2 and 3: The Routine of Humiliation

Ethan had never dreaded anything as much as he dreaded 9:00 PM.

Each night, as the hour approached, his stomach twisted into knots, his body tensing in anticipation of the inevitable. The shame of walking back into the living room, lowering his underpants, and climbing back over his father's knee was nearly as bad as the spanking itself.

Nearly.

The spankings on Day 2 and Day 3 weren't as ferocious as the first night, but they were still plenty painful. His father never rushed, ensuring that Ethan felt every swat, that the lesson was driven home over and over again.

Even though the spankings were slightly milder, the shame only grew worse.

His sisters were always watching, snickering and whispering as he laid across their father's lap, bare as the day he was born.

His mother always stood nearby, arms crossed, expression cold and satisfied, offering comments like:

“You should be grateful your father is being more merciful tonight. You'll still be crying when it's over, of course, but I suppose that's unavoidable. And remember, Ethan—this continues every night, right through the end of the week.”

And the worst part?

The corner time afterward, where he stood sobbing, hands on his head, holding up his underpants, bare bottom on display, the heat of his punishment radiating through him while his sisters whispered and giggled behind him.

By Day 3, Ethan had stopped even pretending to hold back the tears.

He cried as soon as he went over his father's knee, knowing there was no point in resisting, no hope of keeping any shred of dignity intact.

Day 4: A New Horror

At 8:50 PM of the fourth day, Ethan sat miserably in his room, his stomach churning with anxiety as he braced himself for yet another spanking, another round of shame and pain, another night of sobbing in the corner.

But tonight, there was something different. Voices. There were voices downstairs—his mother's voice, his father's, and then… a third voice. Ethan's stomach clenched violently. Someone was here. Someone had come over. He crept toward his bedroom door, his heart hammering, pressing his ear to the wood.

Then, his blood turned to ice. It was Aunty Linda. His mother's older sister. His aunt had stopped by—tonight, of all nights.

Ethan's breath caught. Maybe—maybe his parents would postpone the punishment? Surely they wouldn't go through with it in front of Aunty Linda?

But even as he had the thought, a terrible realization crept over him.

His mother and father had been unwavering about his spankings. They had spanked him in full view of his sisters without hesitation. They had made him stand in the corner, bare-bottomed, while his sisters mocked him. They had no interest in sparing his dignity. So why would they stop for Aunty Linda? A fresh wave of horror washed over him.

Then, the moment he had been dreading arrived. His mother's voice rang up the stairs, calm and matter-of-fact. “Ethan,” she called, “it’s time. Come down.”

His stomach twisted painfully. His legs felt weak. He wanted to disappear. But he knew—he had no choice.

Taking a deep, shaking breath, he forced himself toward the door, knowing that when he stepped into that living room, he was about to experience a new level of humiliation he hadn't even imagined.

Ethan's legs felt like lead as he made his way down the stairs, his stomach twisting with sickening dread. His heart pounded so hard he could barely hear anything over the rush of blood in his ears.

And when he stepped into the living room, his worst fears were confirmed.  Aunty Linda was sitting comfortably on the couch, a cup of tea in her hands, chatting easily with her mother and father as if this were just another ordinary evening.  Emma and Lily were already seated, watching eagerly, their eyes bright with anticipation.

All conversation paused when Ethan stepped into the room.

For a brief, fleeting second, he thought maybe, just maybe, they'd spare him the worst of it with his aunt here.  But his mother's next words destroyed that hope immediately.

“Well,” Susan said, glancing at Linda, “I suppose we should explain what’s happening.”

Ethan felt his stomach drop through the floor.  Linda sets her teacup down, raising an eyebrow as she looked at her nephew. "Oh?" she asked, a knowing edge in her voice.

Susan nodded, crossing her arms. “Ethan was caught shoplifting four nights ago.”

Linda's expression darkened immediately. “Shoplifting?” she repeated, looking genuinely surprised.

Ethan shifted awkwardly, his face burning, wishing he could disappear.

“Yes,” Mark confirmed, his voice firm and steady. “He was caught stealing a pair of sunglasses, of all things, from a department store. The police brought him home.”

Linda's eyes narrowed. “I cannot believe this, Ethan,” she said sharply, her disappointment cutting deeper than he expected. “I always thought you had more sense than that. Sixteen years old, stealing? What on earth were you thinking?”

Ethan opened his mouth, then closed it again, completely at a loss for words.

Linda shook her head, exhaling sharply. “Well, I certainly hope you've been punished for it.”

His mother nodded. “Oh, he has been, and he still is being.”

Linda looked between her sister and brother-in-law, then back at Ethan. "Oh? How so?”

Mark didn't hesitate. “He's been getting a spanking every night at nine o'clock. It will last the whole week.”

Ethan's blood ran cold.

Linda's eyebrows lifted slightly, and for a brief moment, Ethan saw something in her expression—not shock, not disapproval, but understanding.

Susan sighed. “It's what he needs, Linda. He clearly forgot how to behave, so we’re reminding him.”

Linda sat back, considering. Then, to Ethan's absolute horror, she nodded approvingly.

“Well,” she said, folding her hands in her lap, “I have to say, I completely agree. It’s about time parents got back to doing what actually works.”

Ethan let out a shaky breath, humiliated beyond words.

Aunty Linda turned her sharp gaze back to Ethan, her expression severe. “Honestly, Ethan, at your age, you should be ashamed of yourself—not just for stealing, but for needing to be spanked like a naughty little boy.”

Ethan's face burned. He swallowed hard, glancing at his mother, hoping—praying—that she might intervene and change the subject. But of course, she didn't. She simply nodded, crossing her arms as she looked at her son.

Aunty Linda sighed dramatically. “And I suppose it’s about that time now, isn’t it?” She turned to Mark. “How exactly do you go about it?”

Mark didn't hesitate. “Right here, over my knee. Clothes off. He’s spanked hard, and he stays in the corner afterwards.”

Ethan's breath hitched. His stomach twisted violently. It was one thing to endure this punishment in front of his parents and sisters—it was horrifying enough already—but for his aunt to be here, watching, approving, adding to his humiliation? It was unbearable.

Linda let out a small, satisfied hum. “Good. I wouldn't expect anything less. I'm glad you're handling it properly. Too many parents these days are afraid to do what needs to be done.”

Ethan wanted to sink into the floor. His heart pounded in his chest as he forced himself to stand still, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

Aunty Linda let out a slow sigh and shook her head, her gaze filled with both disappointment and amusement. Honestly, Ethan, you ought to be absolutely ashamed of yourself, she said, her tone crisp and cutting. Sixteen years old, nearly a grown man, yet here you are, about to be put over your father’s knee like a naughty little boy, your bare bottom on full display for everyone to see. Can you even understand how ridiculous this is? How humiliating? I should think you’d want the ground to swallow you up rather than this endure it, but, then again, you earned this, didn’t you? How utterly disgraceful.

Ethan's face burned hotter than ever, his eyes stinging as his chest tightened with overwhelming shame. His breath hitched, and before he could stop it, a choked sob escaped his throat.

Aunty Linda's eyes snapped back to him immediately, her expression hardening. “Oh, don't you dare start sniveling already,” she snapped, shaking her head in disbelief. “Crying? Before you've even been put over your father's knee? Good heavens, Ethan, could you be any more pathetic? If you had even a shred of dignity you wouldn't be standing here blubbering like a child, proving exactly why you still need to be treated like one.”

Ethan squeezed his eyes shut, fresh tears spilling down his cheeks, his shoulders trembling with humiliation.

“Just look at you,” Aunty Linda continued, her voice filled with scorn. “Sixteen years old, crying like a little boy who's about to have his bare bottom smacked. And that's exactly what's about to happen, isn't it? Right in front of your little sisters and your mother. Right in front of me.” She let out a sharp laugh. “I hope you realize how completely and utterly ridiculous you look right now. I certainly do.”

She turned back to Mark and Susan with a firm nod. “I think it's high time we stop wasting words and get this naughty boy over his father's knee where he belongs. Let’s get those pants and underpants off, shall we?”

Susan tilted her head. “Ethan, go ahead and get ready.”

Ethan felt his entire body tighten up.

Mark simply nodded. “Alright, Ethan. You know what to do.”

Ethan's breath hitched sharply.

He wanted to beg, plead, throw himself at their feet and sob for mercy, but he knew it wouldn't change anything.

His father was already pulling the chair into the center of the room, positioning it like he always did.

His mother and sisters watched expectantly, and now, so did his aunt.

This was happening.

And this time, his shame was about reaching a whole new level.

Ethan couldn't breathe.

The living room felt smaller, suffocating, as the weight of what was about to happen pressed down on him like a crushing force. His father sat in the heavy wooden chair, legs spread slightly apart, waiting patiently. His mother stood nearby, arms crossed, while Emma and Lily sat forward on the couch, grinning with anticipation.  And now, Aunty Linda was watching too.

Ethan could feel her sharp gaze on him, judging him, appraising his disgrace, as if he were no different than a misbehaving six-year-old about being disciplined for throwing a tantrum.

His father exhaled. “You know the routine, Ethan.”

Ethan swallowed thickly, his throat tight, his hands shaking at his sides.

“D-Dad—” he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper, but his father only gave him a single, pointed look.

Ethan felt his stomach twist violently.

There was no getting out of this.

His hands felt clumsy and weak as they fumbled for the hem of his shirt. His fingers trembled as he peeled the fabric over his head, the cool air prickling his skin, making him feel even more exposed.

He folded the shirt slowly, trying to stall, but his mother's voice cut through his hesitation.

“Pants now, Ethan. Let’s go.”

Ethan's stomach lurched.

He couldn't look at anyone as his hands fumbled with the button and zipper, each movement making him feel more and more ridiculous. His face was already burning as he pushed them down, stepping out of them, his bare legs feeling too exposed in just his tight white briefs.

He hesitated, clutching his pants in his hands, but his mother reached forward and took them from him, adding them to the growing pile of his discarded clothing.

Then came the final step.

Ethan's breath hitched sharply, his hands hovering near his waistband.

He felt sick.

But his father's voice was calm and expectant. “Turn away. Then take them off.”

Ethan's entire body flushed crimson as he slowly turned his back to the room, his toes curling into the carpet.

He could feel their eyes on him.

His sisters watching, giggling.

His mother standing there, arms crossed.

And now, his aunt, silently observing, her presence making his shame unbearable.

With trembling hands, Ethan hooked his thumbs into his waistband and began slowly peeling his underwear down.

The fabric slid over his hips, his backside, down his legs until it pooled at his feet. His face burned hotter than ever, his chest rising and falling in humiliated gasps as he quickly stepped out of them, bent down, and snatched them up.

For a single, horrifying moment, he was completely naked, facing away from the room, his bare bottom completely visible to everyone.

A soft giggle escaped Lily. “Oh wow. Every time, it just gets more embarrassing for him.”

Emma snickered. “Like he could possibly get more embarrassed at this point.”

Ethan squeezed his eyes shut, gripping his underpants tightly in both hands, bunching the fabric up desperately. He turned slowly, his face bright red, his hands clutching the small, white garment against his groin, barely offering him a sliver of modesty.

He felt utterly ridiculous.

A sixteen-year-old boy, standing naked in the living room, clutching his own underwear like a toddler caught sneaking out of the bath.

And then he had to walk.

Walk across the room, step by humiliating step, his bottom still on full display, his face lowered in shame, his entire body burning with mortification.

As he approached his father, his mother spoke again.

“Keep your hands where they are for now, Ethan,” she said, watching him closely. “You’ll be bare soon enough.”

A fresh wave of shame crashed over him.

Ethan bit his lip, barely holding back a whimper, as he finally reached his father's side.

He was about to be spanked, naked , in front of his Aunty Linda.

Ethan stood trembling, his entire body flushed with unbearable humiliation, his hands clutching his underpants tightly against himself as he stood next to his father's chair. The weight of every gauze in the room pressed down on him—his mother's, his sisters', and now, worst of all, Aunty Linda's.

Her presence alone was devastating.

It was one thing to be spanked in front of his immediate family, as humiliating as that already was. But now? Now his aunt was here—his mother's older sister, someone who had changed his diapers as a baby, babysat him as a child, someone who had always seen him as a growing young man.

And now she was watching as he was about to be spanked bare-bottomed like a disobedient child.

His throat tightened, fresh tears prickling behind his eyes.

His father exhaled calmly, adjusting his position in the chair. Then, without hesitation, he reached for Ethan's wrist.

Ethan flinched, his breath hitching sharply.

“Over you go,” his father said firmly.

Ethan let out a weak, broken whimper, his stomach twisting violently, but he had no choice.

His father guided him forward, pulling him down and across his lap, and in that single, awful moment, his hands had no choice but to leave his groin and fall to the ground in front of him.

For one fleeting second, as his body tilted forward, falling into place, his privates were once again completely on display—a brief but horrifying flash of exposure before his lower half settled across his father's thigh, his bare bottom raised and vulnerable.

Ethan let out a humiliated sob, his face burning, his entire body stiff with shame.

His father adjusted him slightly, ensuring he was positioned properly—his hips elevated, his bottom the highest point of his body, his legs stretched out behind him, completely helpless over his father's knee.

His mother let out a satisfied hum, looking down at him appraisingly.

“Well,” she said, folding her arms, “it’s certainly a good thing he’s being punished like this, Linda. Clearly, he still has some growing up to do.”

“I quite agree,” Linda said smoothly. “It's been a long time since I've seen a boy in this position, but I must say, Susan, you and Mark are handling this perfectly. Completely bare across his father’s knee, just as he should be.”

Ethan lay limp over his father's lap, his body rigid with humiliation, his bare bottom raised and vulnerable, his face burning with embarrassment as he listened to his mother and Aunty Linda discuss his punishment as if he weren't even there.

The room was quiet for a moment, filled only with the sound of his shaky breathing, the occasional sniffle as he tried to brace himself for what was coming.

Spanked in Front of Aunty Linda

Then—

SMACK!

Ethan jerked violently, a sharp, stinging pain blossoming across his already sore backside.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

His breath hitched, his legs twitching involuntarily, his left fingers gripping the carpet and his right fingers gripping his underpants, as the spanking began in earnest.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

The pain built quickly, deep and burning, each hard, deliberate slap sending shockwaves through his naked, upturned bottom.

“Sixteen years old,” his father said evenly, delivering a particularly hard swat across both cheeks. SMACK! “And I have to put you over my knee like a misbehaving child.”

Ethan let out a choked sob, his legs kicking slightly, his body squirming uselessly.

“Hold still,” his father warned.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

Ethan let out a small, helpless wail, his face scrunching in pain, tears threatening to spill.

“Oh dear,” Aunty Linda mused from the couch. “I think we're about to see some real tears.”

Lily giggled behind her hand. “It took him way less time than last night.”

Emma smirked. “He knows better than to fight it now.”

Ethan let out a humiliated whimper, but he had no energy to argue—his bottom felt like it was on fire, the steady rhythm of the spanking never slowing, never relenting.

His legs kicked again, his body rocking slightly forward, but his father's strong grip held him firmly in place.

His mother sighed. “Mark, make sure you focus on his sit spots. I don’t want him sitting comfortably for at least a day.”

Ethan sobbed openly, his shoulders jerking violently, his face wet with tears.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

“I-I’m s-sorry!” he wasted, his voice high and broken, his legs kicking frantically now.

His father didn't stop.

“Oh, I know you're sorry,” Mark said firmly, delivering a flurry of quick, stinging slaps directly to the undersides of Ethan's bright red, swollen bottom.

Ethan wailed, his fingers digging into the carpet, his entire body shaking violently as the spanking pushed him past his limit.

“D-Daddy, please! It'll be good! I won't steal again! P-please!”

Aunty Linda sighed. “Now there's a proper punishment. You don’t hear that kind of begging often these days.”

Susan smirked. “Oh, he still has more to learn.”

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

Ethan screamed, his body wracked with sobs, his breath coming in sharp, hiccupping gasps.

His father landed a final, punishing series of smacks—ten in a row, hard and deliberate, making sure the lesson was fully learned.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!  SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!  SMACK! SMACK!

Then, finally—thankfully—it stopped.

Ethan lay limp and broken over his father's lap, his body wracked with sobs, his bare bottom burning unbearably, throbbing with each shuddering breath. His chest heaved, his face drenched in tears, his nose running, but he was too exhausted, too humiliated, too completely defeated to even care.

Apologies to Aunty Linda

His father exhaled, adjusting his grip on Ethan's quivering body before lifting him up, careful to turn him in such a way that his back remained to the room, shielding him momentarily from the gazes of his mother, sisters, and Aunty Linda.

Ethan sobbed pitifully, his legs weak, barely able to support him as his father steadied him on his feet. His hands clutched desperately onto his crumpled underpants, his fingers trembling as he instinctively pressed them against his groin, shielding himself as best he could.

For one brief, fleeting moment, he allowed himself to believe that the worst was over.

Then his father's firm voice shattered that illusion.

“Ethan,” he said, giving his son's arm a slight but unmistakable squeeze, “before you go to the corner, you will face your Aunty Linda and apologize to her for having to witness your punishment tonight.”

Ethan's breath hitched sharply, his stomach twisting violently.

He couldn't.

He couldn't turn and face her—not after this.

He shook his head frantically, fresh tears slipping down his flushed cheeks, his fingers tightening their grip on his underwear as if he could somehow disappear behind them.

His father's grip on his arm tightened slightly. “Ethan.”

The warning was clear.

His mother's voice came next, cold and expectant. “You heard your father. Turn around.”

A broken sob shuddered through Ethan's chest.

With agonizing slowness, his body quaking, he turned toward the room, his tear-streaked face crumpling as he forced himself to face Aunt Linda.

She sat poised on the couch, her expression unreadable, watching him with a steady, appraising gaze.

Ethan's hands trembled, clutching his underpants tightly against his groin, his only shield, though utterly useless now.

His body shook violently, his throat tightening with sobs, his entire being burning with unbearable shame.

He tried to speak.

At first, only a strangled whimper escaped.

Then, after a shaky, wasting breath, he managed—his voice high, broken, trembling—

“I—I’m ss-sorry, Aunt Linda…”

His chest hitched violently, his tears spilling faster, his bottom still throbbing, his humiliation crushing him.

“I—I’m s-sorry you had to… to s-see me… g-get punished…”

Aunty Linda exhaled slowly, tilting her head slightly, considering the pitiful sight before her.

“Well,” she said at last, her voice smooth and composed, “I must say, Ethan, I don’t think I’ll forget it anytime soon.”

A fresh wave of shame crashed over him, and Ethan let out a soft, wretched sob, his head dipping down, his shoulders quaking.

Linda continued, her voice calm but firm. “But more importantly, I hope you won't forget it anytime soon.”

Ethan nodded weakly, his fingers gripping his underpants tighter, his body still shaking violently.

Aunty Linda crossed her legs, resting her hands in her lap as she looked at the trembling, tear-soaked boy before her. Her expression remained unreadable for a long, agonizing moment, before she finally sighed, shaking her head.

“I'm so disappointed in you, Ethan,” she said at last, her voice quiet but laced with unmistakable disapproval. “Sixteen years old, and you were caught shoplifting. Stealing. Taking what doesn’t belong to you.”

Ethan let out a strangled sob, his shoulders jerking violently. He wanted to disappear, to melt into the floor and never be seen again.

“I never thought I would have to sit here and watch you be punished like this,” she continued, her gaze unwavering. “But let me tell you something, young man. You deserved every single whack on your naughty bottom. And quite frankly, I think you deserved much more.”

Ethan whimpered, shifting on his unsteady legs, his bottom still throbbing with unbearable heat. His grip on his underpants never loosened, his entire body curling in on itself as though he could somehow shield himself from her words.

Aunty Linda exhaled through her nose, giving Ethan a long, appreciating look. “Turn around.”

Ethan let out a quiet, broken sob.

His father's grip tightened. “Now.”

With a shuddering breath, Ethan forced himself to turn, his bottom clenching instinctively as the cool air brushed against his swollen, burning flesh. His entire body trembled violently, his tears sliding silently down his cheeks.

Aunty Linda hummed in approval. “Bright red. Just as it should be.”

Lily giggled, while Emma smirked.

“Stick it out,” his mother ordered sharply.

Ethan gasped, shaking his head, his hands trembling at his sides.

“Now, young man,” his father said sternly.

A shuddering sob ripped through Ethan's chest, but he obeyed, pushing his fiery red bottom out slightly, the shame so overwhelming it made his vision swim.

“I hope you never forget how this feels, Ethan,” Aunty Linda said firmly. “Not just the sting in your backside, but the shame. The disgrace of standing here like this, showing everyone exactly what happens to a naughty little thief.”

Ethan let out a strangled, pitiful cry, his entire body shaking.

Ethan hiccupped a sob, his fingers curling into fists, his breath coming in sharp, shuddering gasps.

His father patted his burning bottom once—just a light touch, but enough to make him whimper.

"Corner. Now. Hands on your head.”

Ethan let out another broken sob, but he turned quickly, still pressing his underpants desperately against himself, and shuffled toward the familiar place of shame.

His father took his ear, guiding him the final few steps toward the corner.

“Hands on your head,” Mark said firmly.

Ethan hiccupped sharply, his chest heaving, but he obeyed, lifting his hands slowly, reluctantly, placing them atop his damp hair. His underpants, his last shred of modesty, came up with his hands.

Ethan stood trembling in the corner, his bare, swollen bottom on full display, his face burning hotter than ever, his hands resting atop his damp hair like a shameful child, his tears still streaming down his cheeks. His entire body quivered, every inch of him raw with embarrassment, the sound of his sisters' whispered giggles behind him only making it worse.

Aunty Linda leaned back against the couch, crossing her legs as she gazed at Ethan's trembling, bare figure in the corner. His arms had lifted hesitantly, his hands settling atop his head, but his entire body quivered from humiliation and exhaustion. Its bottom, a deep shade of crimson, twitched involuntarily with the lingering sting.

She let the silence stretch, letting the weight of his punishment settle in fully before turning to his father. “And how long will he be standing there like that?” she asked smoothly, as though discussing something as casual as the weather.

“An hour,” Mark replied, his voice even.

Aunty Linda nodded approvingly. “Good. He should have plenty of time to reflect on his behavior, then.” She shifted in her seat, casting another glance toward Ethan. “And I do hope you are reflecting, young man. You're standing there with your naughty bottom on full display, hands on your head like a toddler in timeout. A fitting punishment for someone who behaved like a child, don’t you think?”

Ethan's only response was a soft, broken sob.

His mother sighed dramatically. “He thought he was too old to be disciplined properly, but here he is, sniffling in the corner with a bright red bottom, just like he did when he was little.”

Ethan let out a quiet whimper, his shoulders jerking with fresh humiliation.

Aunty Linda smirked, tilting her head. “You know, I think it's important that he stands there exactly like this. If he had even a scrap of clothing, he might forget just how much he's disgraced himself.”

Ethan clenched his eyes shut, fresh tears slipping down his burning cheeks. The shame was unbearable.

Aunty Linda clicked her tongue. “I imagine that bottom of yours is very sore right now, isn’t it?”

Ethan lets out a trembling, humiliated whimper.

“I thought so.” She crossed her arms, leaning forward slightly. “But I hope the lesson sticks, Ethan. Because if you ever steal again, I'm quite sure your parents won't go as easy on you.”

Ethan sobbed gently, his hands trembling atop his head, his face buried in the corner.

“Oh dear,” Aunty Linda mused. “I do believe we'll be hearing sniffles from that corner for quite some time.”

Lily giggled again, while Emma smirked.

His mother merely sighed. “Good. That means the punishment is working.”

The heat radiating from Ethan's skin was unbearable, like a fire burning across his backside. Every shift of his weight feels another jolt of pain through his body, reminding him of exactly why he was here, standing like a scolded toddler, his shame on full display.

God, how could this be happening?

His cheeks burned, hot tears still slipping down his face. He couldn't stop them, couldn't control the pathetic, shuddering sobs that escaped his lips. He wanted to wipe them away, but his hands had to stay on his head. He had no choice.

Every humiliating comment from Aunty Linda sliced ​​through him like a blade.

“Standing there like a toddler in timeout.”

“A fitting punishment for someone who behaved like a child.”

“If he had even a scrap of clothing, he might forget how much he's disgraced himself.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, his breath hitching as he clenched his fists tighter.

He knew he had messed up. He knew stealing was wrong. But was this really necessary? Did they really have to make him feel this small?

And then there was Lily and Emma.

He shuddered, his stomach twisting violently. They were loving this. Giggling. Smirking. Drinking in every moment of his humiliation like it was a show put on just for them.

And the worst part?

It was.

He had no dignity left. Not after the way he had been dragged over his father's lap, not after the way his bottom had been thoroughly punished while they watched, not after being made to turn around and apologize, his hands barely able to cover himself.

And now, he was standing here—bare, beaten, and broken—while they talked about him. Like he was some naughty little boy who had been rightfully put in his place.

His legs quivered, his knees locking, his chest tightening with another wave of fresh, burning shame.

He didn't dare look back.

Didn't dare move.

All he could do was stand there and take it.

Just like a little boy in timeout.

The minutes dragged on like hours. His throat ached from sobbing, his legs shook from exhaustion, his bottom throbbed relentlessly, and still—he had to stand there, motionless, vulnerable, and utterly humiliated.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, his mother's cold, clipped voice cut through the silence.

“Ethan,” she said simply. “Your time is up. You're excused.”

Ethan let out a small, hiccupping sob, his arms dropping immediately, his hands flying to his groin, clutching himself as if it would somehow undo what had already happened.

He turned slowly, his face a blotchy mess, his tears still falling, his body quaking as he dared to glance at his mother.

But her expression held no sympathy.

“If I were you,” she said smoothly, “I wouldn’t get too comfortable just yet.”

Ethan's stomach twisted painfully.

His mother folded her arms, her eyes level and sharp. “This week, I'm hosting book club tomorrow night. The ladies will be here by seven.”

Ethan's breath hitched violently.

Book club.

That meant her friends.

Her group of middle-aged women, all of them chatting and gossiping over glasses of wine, sitting in the very same living room where he was spanked every night.

No. No, she couldn't mean—

But her next words shattered any lingering hope he had.

“I expect you to be here at nine o'clock sharp, just like every other night. Your father will be out so I’ll do the honors with a hairbrush.”

Ethan let out a soft, pitiful gasp, his tears spilling harder, his breath catching in his throat.

His mother raised an eyebrow. “And don't expect any lenience just because we'll have guests.”

Aunt Linda laughed and said, “That will make an impression.”

Ethan let out a choked, wretched sob, his whole body convulsing with humiliation.

His mother only tilted her head slightly. “I suggest you go to bed, Ethan.

Ethan let out another broken sob, his hands still clutching himself desperately, and without another word, he turned and bolted for the stairs, his bare feet pounding against the wood, his shaking body nearly tripping as he ran, his bare spanked cheeks the last of him to leave their sight.

He threw himself into his room, slammed the door behind him, and collapsed onto his bed, burying his face in his pillow as he sobbed helplessly.

Book club night.

He was going to be spanked in front of a room full of grown women.

And there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Night Five – Book Club

Ethan stood outside the kitchen, hesitating, his heart hammering in his chest. He could hear his mother inside, moving about, the sounds of chopping and plates clinking together filling the air. His sisters were helping her, chatting easily, laughing at something.

He swallowed hard. He had to try. Taking a deep breath, he stepped into the kitchen. His mother stood at the counter, arranging a cheese platter, while Lily stirred something on the stove and Emma set out glasses. None of them looked up at first, but as he approached, his mother sighed.

“I hope you're not here to beg,” she said without turning around.

Ethan flinched. “Mom, please—”

His mother turned, leveling him with a cool star. “I knew it,” she muttered, shaking her head. “Ethan, we’ve been over this.”

“But Mom!” His voice came out high-pitched, desperate. “It’s book club night!”

She raised an eyebrow. “Yes. And?”

His stomach twisted. He swallowed, trying to keep his voice steady. “You're not really going to… to spank me while they're here, are you?”

She sighed, setting down the cheese knife. “Yes, Ethan. You know the rules. You're getting a spanking at 9 pm every night this week, and I don't care who is here.”

His face burned. “But—but they’re your friends!”

“Yes, they are,” she said, turning back to her platter. “And they're all mothers. They understand discipline.”

Ethan lets out a strangled whimper. “But—but—”

His mother's voice turned sharp. “You knew this was coming, young man. One week of nightly spankings. That's what your father and I decided, and that's exactly what you're getting.”

Ethan clenched his fists, feeling panic rise in his chest. “But Dad’s not even here!”

His mother snorted. “And? You think I can’t handle it?” She shot him a look. “You know I can.”

His stomach twisted harder. He did know.

Tears pricked at his eyes. “Please, Mom, please don’t do this!

His mother sighed dramatically. “Oh, for heaven’s sake.” She turned to face him fully. “You have done nothing but whine since yesterday. It’s getting pathetic.”

His face burned. He stomped his foot and said, “It’s not fair!”

That was the last straw.

She set the platter down with a loud clack, grabbed him firmly by the arm, and yanked him forward.

“Okay, that's it.”

Ethan yelped. “M-Mom—?!”

His sisters turned, eyes widening in amusement.

She didn't answer. Instead, she reached for the waistband of his sweatpants and yanked them down in one swift motion, stripping him to his underpants right there in the kitchen.

Ethan gasped, his hands flying to cover himself, his face burning hotter than the stove. “M-Mom! N-no! Please!”

His sisters burst into laughter.

Emma grinned. “Looks like baby Ethan just lost his pants again.”

Ethan whimpered, his body shaking with humiliation. His hands clutched desperately at the front of his underpants, his legs squeezing together.

She reached for the hem of his T-shirt and pulled it over his head, stripping it off in one swift motion before tossing it onto a chair.

Ethan gasped. “M-Mom! W-wait!”

She ignored him, grabbing his wrist and bending down, her fingers hooking into the cuffs of his socks. Before he could react, she yanked them off, one after the other, leaving his feet bare against the cold tile, then she removed the pants tangled around his feet.

He shivered, completely unprepared for the sudden exposure.

His sisters burst into laughter.

“Oh my God,” Lily snorted. “Are you serious?”

Emma grinned. “Looks like baby Ethan just lost all his clothes.”

Ethan whimpered, his face burning, his arms instinctively wrapping around himself. He was now left in only his underpants—his too-tight, embarrassing white briefs that clung to his body like a second skin.

His mother clicked her tongue. “There. That’s much better.”

Ethan trembled violently, his hands hovering uncertainly in front of his groin, torn between shielding himself and begging for mercy. “M-Mom, please!”

She grabbed his wrist again.

“You can stand in the corner like this until you’re spanking at 9.”

His stomach dropped. “Mom, no! No!”

She didn't listen. She walked him out of the kitchen, his bare legs stumbling to keep up, his sisters following behind, still giggling at his predicament.

The living room loomed ahead.

Ethan shook his head frantically. “Mom, please! I-I'll stop whining! I swear! Just let me keep my clothes!”

She scoffed. “Oh, you should have thought of that before throwing a fit.”

They reached the corner and pushed him into it.

“Nose to the corner. Hands on your head.”

Slowly, reluctantly, he lifted his trembling hands, placing them atop his head.

He hated this position—it made his underpants feel even tighter, stretching over his bottom, leaving nothing to the imagination.

His mother exhaled. “There. Now stay put.”

Lily giggled. “He looks ridiculous.”

Emma smirked. “Yeah, in these tighty-whities especially. You can see everything.”

Ethan clenched his eyes shut, his face burning hotter than ever.

His mother exhaled. “There. Now stay put.”

His sisters giggled behind him.

“Well,” Lily smirked, “this is gonna be fun.”

Emma chuckled. “Can't wait to see how he looks after Mom's done with him.”

Ethan clenched his eyes shut, fresh tears spilling down his cheeks.

His mother sighed. “Honestly, Ethan, at this rate, I don't think one week is going to be enough.”

Ethan whimpered.

This was going to be the longest night of his life.

As he stood trembling in the corner, his nose pressed into the corner, his hands locked humiliatingly atop his head. His bare chest shivered slightly from the cool air, his feet shifting on the carpet, his legs tense with the effort of staying still. But the worst part—the absolute worst—was the feeling of his too-tight white briefs clinging to his body, stretched embarrassingly over his bottom, leaving him feeling as exposed as if he had nothing on at all.

And the worst of it is that the book club ladies were coming. They would be here soon. He swallowed hard, his throat dried, his face burned as fresh tears welled in his eyes. No, no, no—this can't be happening!

His mother and sisters were still in the kitchen, chatting casually, preparing the last of the refreshments like it was just another ordinary evening. Meanwhile, he was standing in the living room, put in toddler timeout—bare except for the most humiliating underwear imaginable—where every single guest would immediately see him as soon as they walked in.

His stomach twisted violently.

He had to get out of this.

He bit his lip, shifting on his feet, his fingers twitching against the top of his head. Could he beg again? Would his mother even listen?

No. He already knew the answer. She had warned him. She had promised that his spankings would happen every night at 9 pm, no matter who was present. And she always followed through.

If he complained, he was likely to lose even his underpants.

A shaky whimper escaped him, his toes curling into the carpet. The book club ladies. His mother's friends. All of them older, proper, mature women who probably had children or even grandchildren of their own. And they were going to see him—a sixteen-year-old boy—standing like a punished toddler, nose in the corner, in his underpants.

It was too much.

His stomach twisted harder, his breath coming in shallowly, panicked gasps.

Would they say anything? Would they laugh? Or worse—would they scold him, too?

Aunty Linda had already done it the night before. She had approved of his punishment, even suggested it wasn't enough. What if these women thought the same thing? What if they thought he needed even more discipline?

His fingers curled into fists. His knees trembled.

He could hear the seconds ticking by on the clock, bringing him closer and closer to the moment when the doorbell would ring… when the front door would open… when the women would see him.

A fresh wave of shame crashed over him, and he let out a quiet, helpless whimper. This was going to be worse than the spanking. So, so much worse.

The Ladies Arrive

Ethan stood in the corner of the living room, his face burning, his bare feet shifting uncomfortably on the hardwood floor, his chest tight with anxiety. The only thing covering him was his thin, white underpants, the last fragile scrap of dignity his mother had allowed him.

And yet, he knew—it wasn't going to last.

The first woman arrived right at seven.

Ethan's stomach twisted violently as he heard the door open, the sound of heels clicking against the floor, his mother's cheerful greeting.

“Marianne! Come in, come in.”

Ethan squeezed his eyes shut, his whole body going rigid as he heard the footsteps approaching.

Then his mother's voice—calm, casual, completely unfazed.

“You'll have to excuse Ethan tonight,” she said lightly. “He’s being punished.”

Ethan let out a small, strangled sound, his fists clenching at his sides.

Marianne let out a slight waste. "Oh?"

Susan sighed. “He got himself into some trouble this week, and we believe in old-fashioned discipline in this house.”

There was a small pause, then—

“Well,” Marianne said finally, her tone approving, “it’s good to see some parents still holding their kids accountable.”

Ethan wanted to die.

Another set of footsteps entered the house.

“Deborah! Come in,” his mother greeted, completely at ease.

Then, just as before, her even, authoritative voice filled the room.

“You'll have to excuse Ethan—he's being punished tonight.”

"Oh?" Deborah sounded intrigued. “And what exactly did he do?”

Ethan's stomach clenched, but his mother simply waved a hand dismissively.

“Oh, I’ll explain everything later.”

One by one, the women arrived.

One by one, they were informed of Ethan's predicament.

And one by one, they nodded in approval, murmuring praise for Susan's discipline, commenting on how rare it was to see parents hold their children truly accountable these days.

Well now,” another arriving guest’s voice said, amused. “What do we have here?”

Ethan’s entire body burned.

“Oh, my goodness,” her companion chuckled. “Susan, is that your Ethan?”

His mother sighed dramatically. “Yes, it is.”

A quiet hmm of disapproval.

“He’s—what, twelve?” the woman asked with a grin.

“Oh no,” Susan said smoothly. “You know very well he’s sixteen,” his mother confirmed. “And yet, here he is, standing in the corner, dressed like a little boy who doesn’t know how to behave.”

Ethan let out a quiet, strangled whimper.

“Oh my word,” one of the women laughed. “Sixteen? Are you sure?”

“Quite sure,” Susan said, a hint of amusement in her tone. “Though looking at him right now, I don’t blame you for doubting it.”

The women chuckled.

“I honestly thought he was younger,” another woman said, intrigued. “Especially in those…” She trailed off, and Ethan knew she was looking right at his underwear.

Another soft chuckle. “Yes. I must say, I haven’t seen a young man in tighty-whities in quite some time.”

“Indeed.” A pause. “They are rather snug, aren’t they?”

“They really are.”

Ethan’s entire face burned, fresh, hot tears prickling at his eyes.

“Oh, Susan,” another woman tsked. “You didn’t really make him stand out here like this, did you?”

“Oh, I did,” Susan said without hesitation. “And if he behaves himself, he’ll get to stay in his underpants. But if I hear a single complaint out of him, I’ll take those too.”

A ripple of approval went through the group.

“Well,” one of the women chuckled, “I’d say he’s already embarrassed enough like this.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” another woman mused. “The night is still young.”

A fresh wave of shame crashed over Ethan.

And the worst part?

It was still two hours until his spanking.

By the time the final woman arrived, Ethan's face was blotchy with humiliation, his bare skin burning as he stood motionless, listening to the quiet, amused whispers behind him.

The women settled onto the couch and chairs, chatting comfortably, sipping their wine, discussing their latest book choice—but Ethan wasn't forgotten.

He was just there, for two full hours, a constant presence, a shameful reminder of the punishment that was still to come.

Nine PM

Finally, just before nine, his mother's calm, commanding voice broke through the room.

“Ladies,” she said smoothly, “it’s time I told you the full story.”

Ethan's chest tightened painfully.

His mother didn't hold back.

She explained everything—how he had been caught shoplifting, how the police had brought him home, how she and Mark had decided that he needed a firm, week-long punishment to ensure he never did anything so foolish again.

“And that brings us to tonight,” Susan continued. “Normally, his father does the spanking, but he's away overnight on business. So I’ll be handling it myself.”

Ethan let out a small, choked gasp, his whole body going rigid.

The women murmured amongst themselves, some of them nodding approvingly, others chuckling softly at his predicament.

“Well,” Marianne said after a moment, sipping her wine, “I suppose we'll be getting a real demonstration of parental discipline tonight.”

Susan smiled. “Indeed.”

Ethan's legs felt weak, his stomach twisting into knots as his mother's voice rang out through the quiet living room.

“Move the chair to the center, Ethan. Make sure everyone has a clear view.”

A fresh wave of horror crashed over him. His hands twitched uselessly on his head, his body trembling all over.

His mother raised an eyebrow. “Now, Ethan.”

Ethan’s face burned hotter than ever as he shuffled toward the heavy wooden chair, his bare feet padding softly against the hardwood, his entire body trembling with shame. His hands felt clumsy, useless, hovering at his sides before gripping the sturdy frame of the chair.

The moment he bent down to move it, he became hyper-aware of his own body, of what these women—his mother’s book club friends—were seeing.

His underpants were thin, stretched tight across his bottom, the white cotton worn and threadbare from too many washes. It wasn’t like boxers, where there was at least some coverage, some looseness—no, these hugged every inch of him, clinging embarrassingly to his smallness, leaving nothing to the imagination.

He could feel their eyes on him, studying him, appraising him, and worst of all—he knew what they were seeing.

The way his underpants barely covered him. The way the fabric outlined everything. The way the thin material didn’t do nearly enough to hide his size, his vulnerability, his boyishness.

Marianne’s voice was low, amused. “That’s quite the little pair of briefs, Ethan.”

A humiliated whimper caught in his throat.

Deborah chuckled softly. “They don’t leave much to the imagination, do they?”

Ethan squeezed his eyes shut, his face scorching, his hands gripping the chair tighter as he dragged it into position. The legs scraped loudly, announcing his own impending shame, and yet he couldn’t stop hearing their voices, their quiet murmurs, their small, knowing chuckles.

He knew, in that moment, that he looked ridiculous—a sixteen-year-old boy standing in his flimsy, embarrassingly tight underpants, trembling as he positioned the chair for his own punishment.

Marianne smirked, exchanging a glance with Deborah. “Well, I must say, this is much more interesting than last month’s book club.”

Ethan let out a weak, broken whimper, his face burning as he positioned the chair exactly where his mother wanted it.

Just as he finished, there was a soft creak from the staircase.

He didn’t have to turn around to know what it was.

Emma and Lily had come down.

They weren’t saying anything—weren’t making a sound—but he could feel their presence, could sense their excitement, perched discreetly on the steps, ready to watch him be humiliated all over again.

His mother gave an approving nod. “That’s good.”

Then she reached over to the side table and picked up the large wooden hairbrush.

Ethan’s breath hitched violently.

His mother tested the weight of it in her palm, tapping it lightly against her thigh. The room felt thick with anticipation, the gathered women watching her with rapt interest.

Satisfied, she sat down in the chair, crossed her legs, and turned her gaze back to her son.

“Now,” she said simply, patting her knee. “Over.”

He slowly lowered himself over her lap.

The moment his weight settled across her thighs, he knew immediately—this was going to be even worse than his father’s spankings.

His mother had one leg crossed over the other, raising her knee slightly, which meant his bare bottom was elevated higher than ever, perfectly positioned for a thorough, merciless spanking.

His toes barely touched the floor, his hands gripping the legs of the chair, his face burning hotter than fire.

Then his mother’s voice rang out.

“Ladies,” she asked smoothly, “would you all be comfortable if I lowered his underpants before we begin?”

Ethan let out a small, strangled whimper, his entire body stiffening over her lap.

The ladies murmured among themselves for a moment, but the consensus was clear.

“Oh, absolutely,” Marianne said, sipping her wine. “A spanking isn’t a proper spanking otherwise.”

Deborah nodded. “Completely agree. He won’t learn his lesson if there’s anything in the way.”

The other ladies expressed similar sentiments, none of them objecting.

Ethan let out a broken sob, his toes curling into the floor, his face twisting with sheer humiliation.

His mother gave a satisfied nod.

“Well, then,” she said smoothly. “Let’s get on with it.”

Before Ethan could even brace himself, he felt her fingers hook into the waistband of his underpants.

Then, with a single, fluid motion, she peeled them down, dragging them over his hips, down his thighs, past his knees, where they bunched uselessly.

A wail of pure humiliation tore from Ethan’s throat.

The room seemed to shrink around him, the feeling of cool air against his fully exposed skin making it impossibly real.

The women watched intently, their eyes following every movement, their expressions calm and approving.

“Oh my,” one of them murmured, amused. “That certainly puts everything in perspective.”

“Poor thing,” another one added, though there was no true sympathy in her voice, only quiet amusement. “But I suppose he brought it on himself.”

Ethan let out another broken sob, his entire body trembling over his mother’s lap, his bare backside fully exposed to the gathered women. His underpants were now bunched uselessly at his knees, a final symbol of his total humiliation.

The murmurs from the book club sent a fresh wave of shame through him.

His mother smoothed a hand over his bare bottom, her touch firm, assessing, as though ensuring he was properly positioned for what was coming.

Ethan let out a shaky whimper, his toes curling, his fingers gripping the legs of the chair.

He wanted to disappear, to vanish, to sink through the floor and never be seen again.

But he couldn’t.

He was here, in this position, fully bared, about to be spanked like a naughty child in front of a room full of women.

And then—

CRACK!

The first blistering stroke of the hairbrush landed squarely across his upturned bottom, and Ethan let out a high, startled cry, his entire body jolting.

His mother wasted no time.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

The sharp, punishing smacks filled the room, echoing off the walls, and Ethan wailed, his legs kicking helplessly, his breath coming in ragged sobs.

“Oh, my,” Marianne murmured, crossing her legs as she watched. “That certainly gets a reaction.”

Susan didn’t respond—she was fully focused on delivering her son’s punishment.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

Ethan let out another high-pitched wail, his body jerking violently, his bottom already a deep, angry red.

“Mommy, please!” he sobbed without thinking, the word slipping from his lips in his desperate, humiliated state.

A delighted giggle sounded from the stairs.

Ethan wanted to crawl out of his skin, but there was nowhere to go, nothing to do but endure.

And the hairbrush did not stop.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

His mother’s strokes were methodical, ruthless, covering every inch of his bare, burning backside.

Tears poured down his face, his legs kicking uselessly, his toes scrabbling against the floor, but there was no escaping the punishment.

The book club ladies watched with rapt attention, their expressions unfazed, approving, occasionally taking sips of wine as they observed his thorough discipline.

“I have to say,” Deborah mused, glancing at the others, “Susan really knows how to handle a naughty boy.”

A few of the women nodded in agreement, watching as Ethan wailed and squirmed helplessly over his mother’s lap.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

Ethan’s cries turned into full, unrestrained sobs, his voice breaking, hiccupping, his body completely giving in to the punishment.

His mother didn’t let up, delivering a final series of searing smacks to the underside of his cheeks, ensuring that sitting would be utterly impossible for days.

Then—finally—it stopped.

Ethan lay limp and broken over his mother’s lap, his entire body trembling with sobs, his bare bottom glowing red-hot, throbbing with every shuddering breath. His chest heaved, his face drenched in tears, his nose running, but he was too exhausted, too humiliated, too completely defeated to even care.

His mother exhaled softly, adjusting him slightly before she reached down and, with deliberate care, slid his underpants back up over his sore, burning backside.

Ethan let out a shaky, miserable whimper, his breath still hiccupping as he felt the fabric press against his punished skin. But it wasn’t for his comfort—he knew that immediately.

His mother had simply returned them to ensure his front was covered as she carefully adjusted the waistband, making sure that nothing inappropriate would be seen by the book club ladies.

She let him lay limply over her lap for a moment longer, letting him quiver and sniffle, ensuring that his lesson had truly sunk in.

Then, without a word, she grasped his right ear firmly and began lifting him up.

Ethan let out a weak, broken whimper, his legs wobbling unsteadily beneath him as he was hauled upright, his tear-streaked face twisted in shame, his hands gripping the hem of his underpants as if it were his last lifeline.

His mother, still holding his ear, turned him toward the corner.

“You’ll stay here another hour until bedtime, Ethan,” she said matter-of-factly, steering him forward like a misbehaving toddler.

Ethan let out a small, miserable sob, but he stumbled forward, his feet bare and heavy against the hardwood, his body still shuddering with aftershocks of the spanking.

The book club ladies watched calmly, some with small, amused smiles, others nodding approvingly at his continued punishment.

Emma and Lily had crept further down the stairs, grinning in delight as they watched their older brother being marched—sniffling, broken, still rubbing his tear-streaked face—toward the same shameful spot he had stood in before.

His mother guided him the final few steps, then released his ear with a firm pat to his lower back.

“Hands on your head,” she instructed.

Ethan shuddered, his hands twitching slightly, but he obeyed, lifting his arms, pressing his hands against his damp hair, assuming his position of disgrace once more.

Then—just when he thought the humiliation couldn’t possibly get any worse—his mother’s hands grasped the waistband of his underpants again, and before he could even let out a protest, she tugged them back down, sliding them over his swollen, punished bottom, past his thighs, to his knees, leaving him bare bottomed once again.

Ethan let out a sharp, wretched sob, his face twisting in agony, but he dared not move.

His mother simply patted his bare hip, straightened, and turned back toward the ladies.

“Well,” she said smoothly, brushing her hands together as though she had simply finished a minor household chore, “now that that’s taken care of, let’s get back to the book.”

And just like that—book club resumed.

Ethan stood there, his red, swollen bottom on display for anyone who cared to look, while behind him, the women continued their conversation, sipping their wine, discussing literature as if nothing had happened.

The evening dragged on in the most agonizing way possible for Ethan.

Behind him, the women chatted casually, their soft laughter and murmured discussions filling the room as they enjoyed their book club meeting, sipping wine and flipping pages, occasionally glancing at his trembling, bare-bottomed figure in the corner.

Ethan’s chest still heaved with quiet, exhausted sobs, his legs trembling, his face burning hot with shame. His hands remained locked on top of his damp hair, his underpants still bunched at his knees, leaving him completely exposed, completely humiliated, his red, swollen bottom on full display.

At some point, he had stopped crying out loud—but that didn’t stop his body from shaking or the occasional fresh tear from slipping down his cheeks.

He wanted to disappear.

But there was no escaping this night.

Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, the clock struck ten.

His mother’s voice rang out, clear and authoritative, cutting effortlessly through the quiet murmuring of the book club ladies.

“Alright, Ethan,” she announced. “Bedtime.”

Ethan let out a shuddering breath, his stomach twisting painfully in relief.

He heard the sound of her heels clicking toward him, and then, without hesitation, her cool fingers grasped the waistband of his underpants.

In one smooth motion, she pulled them back up, covering his bare, punished backside at last. The fabric felt unbearably tight against his tender, throbbing skin, making him let out a small, involuntary whimper.

His mother ignored it.

She gave his waistband a sharp tug, adjusting it properly, then spoke calmly, firmly.

“Straight to bed. Hurry along.”

Ethan nodded weakly, still too humiliated to form words, but just as he began to shuffle away, her hand struck out—

SMACK!

A sharp swat landed directly on the seat of his thin underpants, making Ethan yelp softly, his body jerking forward.

“I said hurry along, young man.”

Ethan didn’t hesitate this time.

He scurried out of the living room as fast as he could, his bare feet padding frantically up the stairs, fresh tears spilling as he heard the soft laughter of the women behind him.

Ethan reached his bedroom, flung himself inside, and slammed the door behind him.

He collapsed onto his bed, burying his face into his pillow, his body still shaking, his bottom still burning, his heart still pounding with pure, absolute shame.

But worst of all?

He knew this wasn’t over.

Tomorrow night, at nine o’clock sharp, he’d be right back in that living room.

Right back, this time back over his father’s knee.

Night Six - The Sleepover

Ethan awoke the next morning with a dull, throbbing ache radiating through his backside, a stark reminder that last night had been real. The shame of it lingered like a sickness, the humiliation fresh in his mind, replaying over and over again.

He had stood in the corner, bare-bottomed, while his mother’s friends sipped wine and discussed books. He had been hauled over her lap, stripped down, and spanked to sobbing with a hairbrush. He had scurried upstairs like a scolded toddler, still sniffling, while the women laughed.

And worst of all?

It wasn’t over. At 9:00 PM, he would be right back in that position, this time over his father’s knee once again. Ethan tried to push the thought away as he slowly, stiffly climbed out of bed, his legs weak beneath him, but then—

He heard voices from downstairs.

Lily and Emma were chatting with their mother in the kitchen, their voices light and cheerful, and then—

The words that froze him in place.

“Mom, can we have a sleepover tonight?”

Ethan’s heart stopped.

“Yeah!” Lily chimed in eagerly. “It’s Friday! Just a few girls over, we’ll stay in the basement!”

Ethan’s stomach twisted violently, a fresh wave of humiliation crashing over him.

If their friends came over, that meant—

They would be here.

At 9:00 PM.

When he had to strip to his underpants, march to the middle of the living room, and go over his father’s knee.

A sharp, horrified breath escaped him, and before he could stop himself, he stumbled out of his room and down the stairs, his face pale, his heart hammering.

“Mom—please, no!” he burst out, his voice high, desperate, his hands shaking at his sides as he entered the kitchen.

His mother turned slowly, her eyebrow arching in calm amusement. “Excuse me?”

Lily and Emma exchanged grins, immediately catching on to his panic.

Ethan swallowed hard, his face burning red. “P-please, don’t let them have a sleepover,” he stammered. “Please! Not tonight!”

His mother sighed, turning back to the sink as she dried her hands on a dish towel. “Ethan,” she said evenly, “your sisters aren’t being punished. You are.”

“But—but Mom!” Ethan’s voice cracked, his stomach churning.

“I don’t see why they should suffer just because you decided to steal.”

Ethan let out a small, strangled sound, his chest tightening, his legs feeling weak beneath him.

Emma smirked. “Yeah, Ethan. Why should we suffer?”

Lily grinned. “It’s not like we’re the ones getting a spanking tonight.”

Ethan’s breath hitched sharply, his hands clenching into fists at his sides, but he knew—there was no use arguing.

His mother had decided.

And that meant that tonight, at 9:00 PM, while their friends were here, he would be spanked anyway.

At 7:00 PM sharp, the girls started arriving, their voices high and excited, giggles and whispers filling the house as they set up their sleeping bags in the basement.

Ethan stayed upstairs, his stomach twisting painfully, listening to the occasional bursts of laughter from downstairs.

He knew what was coming.

And the worst part?

So did Lily and Emma.

At 8:50 PM, he heard it—the moment he had dreaded.

Lily’s voice, loud and full of glee.

“Okay, guys, so you’re not gonna believe this—”

A chorus of excited whispers followed.

Emma giggled. “Every night this week, Ethan’s been getting spanked at 9:00 PM sharp.”

One of the girls gasped dramatically. “Wait—spanked? Like an actual spanking?”

Lily snorted. “Oh, you have no idea. Like, over-the-knee, just like a little kid.”

Another girl squealed with laughter. “No way! In front of everyone?”

Emma smirked. “Oh yeah. He stole and got caught. He’s been getting one every night the whole week. And guess what? You’re about to see it for yourself.”

Ethan felt his breath catch in his throat.

No.

No, no, no.

They were coming upstairs.

Ethan couldn’t breathe.

This couldn’t be happening.

He stumbled down the stairs, his heart pounding, bursting into the kitchen where his mother was calmly washing dishes.

“Mom—please!” he gasped, his voice high and desperate.

His mother barely glanced at him, simply drying her hands on a towel. “What is it, Ethan?”

He sucked in a sharp breath, his whole body trembling.

“Please don’t let them—don’t let them watch! Mom, please! I-I’ll be good! I swear, I’ll be good forever! Just—just don’t do this, not in front of them! Please!”

His mother sighed, shaking her head.

“Ethan,” she said calmly, “it’s happening, guests or no guests, and you better get used to the idea..”

Ethan let out a choked, broken sob.

“Please!” he begged. “Please don’t do this! I—I’ll do anything! I’ll—I’ll clean the whole house, I’ll do all your chores, just—just tell them to stay downstairs!”

“Go to the living room, Ethan,” she said. “It’s almost time.”

Ethan froze in terror.

“No,” he whimpered, his legs locking in place.

His mother gave him a pointed look.

“Do not make me call your father in here.”

Ethan whimpered helplessly, but his feet moved anyway, carrying him toward his doom.

By the time he reached the living room, his father was already there, standing calmly in the center, beside the spanking chair, waiting.

And all around the room, the girls were there, their faces lit with amusement, some whispering excitedly, others grinning outright.

Ethan let out a broken, horrified sob, his face draining of color.

“Dad, please,” he gasped, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his hands shaking at his sides.

His father simply gestured toward the center of the room.

“Come here, Ethan.”

Ethan shook his head violently, his breath hiccupping.

“No—please, Dad, not in front of them—please!”

Mark let out a small sigh, then stepped forward.

Before Ethan could react, his father grabbed him firmly by the arm.

“No—NO!” Ethan struggled wildly, his legs kicking feebly, but his father was far stronger, and within seconds—

He was being dragged to the middle of the room.

The girls burst into giggles, some covering their mouths, some whispering excitedly.

“Oh my God, it’s really happening!”

Ethan let out a choked, pitiful wail, but his father was not finished.

His fingers went to the hem of Ethan’s shirt.

“NO—DAD, PLEASE!”

Ethan thrashed wildly, desperately trying to yank himself free, but his father yanked the shirt over his head effortlessly, pulling it off completely.

One of the girls gasped dramatically. “Oh wow—he’s actually getting stripped!”

Ethan let out another helpless whimper, his arms crossing over his bare chest, but his father wasn’t done.

Next came his pants.

Ethan fought harder, his legs kicking frantically, but his father easily overpowered him, tucking him under one arm like a struggling toddler as he unfastened Ethan’s jeans and peeled them down his legs.

The room exploded with laughter.

“Oh my God, look at him kicking!”

Lily grinned wickedly. “It’s like watching a little kid getting undressed for bed!”

Emma giggled uncontrollably. “And look at his underpants! Tighty-whities!”

Ethan let out a wretched sob, his legs now completely bare, the cool air prickling against his skin, leaving him dangling from his father’s arm in nothing but his underwear.

His father sat and set him down firmly on his lap, keeping a steady grip around his waist to ensure he wouldn’t run.

“NO—PLEASE! Please, Dad, please, not in front of them, I’ll be good, I’ll be good forever, I swear, please don’t spank me!”

The girls leaned in closer, their whispers loud and delighted.

“Oh my God, this is so embarrassing for him!”

“This is literally the best thing I’ve ever seen.”

Ethan lay rigid over his father’s knee, his breath coming in sharp, panicked gasps, his fingers gripping the edge of his father’s pant leg as if it might somehow anchor him against what was about to happen.

The girls were watching, their whispers and giggles filling the room, their eyes locked on him, waiting for the moment he would lose all dignity.

And then—it happened.

His father’s fingers hooked into the waistband of his underpants.

Ethan sucked in a sharp, horrified breath, his body jerking instinctively, but his father’s strong grip kept him firmly in place.

Slowly, deliberately, his father peeled the back of his underpants downward, carefully tugging them just below his undercheeks, hooking them neatly beneath his bare bottom, exposing him only where it mattered most.

Ethan let out a high, broken wail, his face burning hotter than ever, his tears already slipping down his cheeks.

He knew that the girls could still see plenty, that his bare bottom was now completely vulnerable, and worst of all—

It was about to be spanked.

His father wasted no time.

SMACK!

The first blistering swat landed directly across his exposed bottom, and Ethan screamed, his legs jerking violently, his hands flying out in front of him.

“DADDY, PLEASE!” he sobbed, his voice high, desperate, already broken.

His father’s hand came down again.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

The girls burst into delighted giggles, whispering excitedly.

“Oh my God, he’s already crying!”

“Look at his legs kicking!”

Ethan wailed miserably, his body twisting uselessly, but his father held him firmly, ensuring he wasn’t going anywhere.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

Ethan let out a high, pitiful shriek, his shoulders shaking violently, his bare bottom quickly turning an angry shade of red.

“I’m sorry, Daddy!” he sobbed uncontrollably, his toes curling, his fingers digging into his father’s pant leg as he wept.

His father didn’t respond. He simply tightened his grip and kept spanking.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

“PLEASE! DADDY, PLEASE! I’LL BE GOOD! I’LL BE GOOD FOREVER!”

Lily snickered loudly. “Oh wow, he’s begging like a little kid!”

Emma smirked. “He even called him Daddy!”

Ethan sobbed harder, his humiliation crashing over him in waves, his bare, burning bottom jerking with every swat.

The spanking had been unrelenting, his father’s hard hand landing sharp, methodical smacks across his bare backside, turning his skin a deep, blotchy red.

But then—

Ethan felt it.

His father’s fingers hooked into the waistband again, giving a small, firm tug, lowering his underpants just a bit further, exposing the sensitive lower curves of his bottom and the tops of his thighs.

Ethan let out a shaky, horrified sob, his body going rigid, his toes curling into the floor as he realized—

His sit spots were completely bare now.

“Oh my God,” one of the girls whispered excitedly behind him.

As Ethan lay helplessly over his father's lap, his underpants tugged down to expose his sit spots, the girls couldn't help but lean in closer, their eyes widening at the sight before them. From their angle, they could just barely glimpse the backs of his testicles peeking out between his legs, the delicate skin exposed and vulnerable.

Ethan, lost in his own mortification, was completely unaware of what the girls could see, his mind consumed by the searing pain radiating from his freshly spanked bottom.

Ethan let out a weak, high-pitched whimper, but before he could even process the deeper humiliation, his father’s hand came down again.

SMACK!

The sharpest, most unbearable sting yet exploded across his newly bared skin, making Ethan wail loudly, his legs jerking violently, his body rocking forward.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

“DADDY, PLEASE!” Ethan sobbed uncontrollably, his voice cracking, his toes drumming helplessly against the floor, but his father ignored his pleading.

Ethan’s sobs grew desperate, his face damp with tears, his legs trembling as his father delivered a final, merciless series of swats directly to his exposed sit spots.

By the time the final flurry of punishing smacks landed, Ethan was completely broken, his chest heaving with raw, unrestrained sobs, his face damp and blotchy, his body limp and trembling over his father’s knee.

Then—finally—it stopped.

Ethan lay there, whimpering, shaking, his breath coming in shallow gasps, his bare bottom glowing red-hot.

Without a word, his father took the waistband of his underpants and slowly restored them, pulling them back over his sore, stinging backside, covering him once more.

Ethan let out a weak, shuddering whimper, grateful for even the smallest bit of modesty, though it hardly erased what had just happened.

His father patted his quivering lower back.

“Straight to bed, Ethan.”

Ethan nodded frantically, his breath still hitching, his legs trembling as he slid off his father’s lap, still sniffling.

He scurried up the stairs, his bottom burning with every step, his white underpants clinging uncomfortably to his overheated skin.

Behind him, the girls giggled and whispered, their laughter chasing him all the way to his room.

Night Seven – The Final Lesson

Ethan barely functioned throughout the day. His mind was consumed by the dread of the final spanking. But nothing—nothing—could have prepared him for it.

At 8:55 PM, his father stood up from his chair and pulled his thick leather belt from the loops of his jeans.

Ethan froze. His sisters gasped.

His father folded the belt in half and cracked it once against his palm. “Tonight, is your final spanking and you’re getting the belt.”

Ethan’s stomach turned to ice.

“Dad—please!” he gasped.

His father pointed to the couch. “Strip. Completely. Then over the back of the couch.”

Ethan’s breath hitched. “N-no, please! I’ll be good!”

“I said strip.”

His mother nodded. “You’ll take your final punishment properly, young man.”

Ethan shook like a leaf. The shame was unbearable.

Slowly, with trembling hands, he pulled his shirt over his head, dropping it to the floor. Then, he unbuttoned his jeans and slid them down his legs, stepping out of them.

Now in just his underwear, he hesitated.

His father’s voice turned stern. “Everything. There’ll be no covering this time”

Ethan let out a small whimper.

Tears already pricked his eyes as he hooked his thumbs into his boxers and slid them down.

His face burned hotter than ever before.

For the first time in ten years, he was completely naked in front of his family.

Emma let out a small gasp, then giggled. “Oh my God. He’s really naked.”

Lily covered her mouth, barely holding back laughter.

His father pointed to the couch. “Bend over the back. Hands flat on the seat.”

Ethan bit back a sob.

Slowly, he shuffled forward, his bare backside completely exposed.

His sisters snickered behind him.

“Spread your legs,” his father ordered.

Ethan let out a broken sob as he obeyed, feeling utterly humiliated and vulnerable.

His father raised the belt high—

CRACK!

Ethan let out a scream. The sharp sting of the leather seared across both cheeks.

CRACK!

“AHHHH! DADDY, PLEASE!”

His sisters gasped—then giggled.

“Oh wow,” Lily whispered. “He’s screaming already!”

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

Ethan kicked his legs wildly, his hands gripping the couch cushion as his father whipped the belt over and over across his already raw backside.

“DADDY, PLEASE! I’M SORRY! I’LL NEVER STEAL AGAIN! PLEASE STOP!”

His father was unmoved.

“You will take your punishment, boy.”

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

Ethan’s legs buckled, his tears soaking the couch.

By the tenth lash, he was a complete wreck.

By the twentieth, he was sobbing like a little boy.

By the thirtieth, he was beyond words—just a crying, shaking mess draped over the couch, his red, welted backside on display.

His father finally lowered the belt.

“Stand up,” he ordered.

Ethan shakily obeyed, sobbing, his hands darting to cover himself again.

“Corner. Hands on your head.”

Ethan let out a whimper and shuffled to the wall, his welted bottom on full display.

His sisters giggled as he stepped to the corner, penis dangling.

The Final Humiliation – Mother’s Touch

Ethan shivered in the corner, his welted backside throbbing fiercely. His legs trembled beneath him, and his face was still soaked with tears.

His hands rested on his head, forcing him to keep everything on display. The heat radiating from his thoroughly punished bottom was unbearable.

Behind him, his sisters whispered and giggled, no doubt mocking his red, welted skin.

His mom said, “That was quite the punishment, Mark. You really laid it on him.”

His father nodded. “He deserved it.”

Ethan sniffled miserably, wishing the night would just end.

But then—

“Well, we can’t send him to bed like this,” she said, setting her teacup down. “He needs some cold cream.”

Ethan froze.

His mother stood and patted her lap. “Come here, sweetheart.”

Ethan’s stomach twisted.

He turned slightly, his tear-streaked face filled with horror. “M-Mom, please—”

She gave him a firm look. “Now, Ethan.”

Ethan let out a soft whimper as he turned from the corner, completely naked, covering himself instinctively.

His sisters giggled.

“Still blushing all over,” Emma whispered.

His mother patted her lap again. “Come now, over my knee.”

Ethan felt like a toddler as he slowly shuffled forward, his hands shaking with humiliation.

He felt utterly exposed, utterly helpless.

His mother reached into a nearby drawer, pulling out a jar of cold cream.

“Bend over,” she instructed gently.

Ethan let out a shaky breath as he draped himself over her lap, just like when he was a child.

Her hand rested gently on his scorched bottom, and Ethan squirmed, the contact unbearable.

His mother unscrewed the lid and dipped her fingers into the cooling cream.

Ethan tensed.

And then—

She touched him.

The icy sensation was such a contrast to the blazing heat of his punished backside that he let out a tiny gasp.

His mother smoothed the cream over his swollen cheeks, rubbing in gentle circles.

Ethan bit his lip hard.

Emma and Lily giggled uncontrollably.

Ethan’s face burned brighter than ever.

And then—

His mother slid her fingers between his cheeks.

Ethan stiffened completely, eyes going wide.

“Mom!” he gasped, mortified.

“Hush, sweetheart,” his mother said calmly. “You need it here too.”

Her cool fingers rubbed the cream into the cleft of his backside, spreading it thoroughly.

Ethan wriggled involuntarily, his entire body burning with shame.

His mother’s fingers dipped even lower.

Ethan nearly jumped off her lap.

“M-Mom, please!” he pleaded, his voice high and desperate.

His mother simply shushed him and continued her gentle work.

“You poor thing,” she murmured, her fingers still spreading the cream into every tender area. “You really took your punishment well tonight.”

Ethan let out a choked sob, his entire body weak from embarrassment.

His mother gave his bottom one final, firm pat.

“All done,” she said. “Now, off to bed with you, young man.”

Ethan scrambled off her lap, grabbing his clothes in a desperate attempt to cover himself.

As he hurried toward the stairs, his sisters’ giggles followed him.

“Goodnight, baby brother,” Emma teased.

“Sleep tight,” Lily added. “Try not to rub your sore bumbum!”

Ethan raced upstairs, face still burning.

He never stole again.