Mike Brady stuck his head out his den door and yelled "Greg, get in here!"
His oldest son halted his progress up the stairs, turned, and sauntered back down to where his father stood. "Yeah, Dad?"
Mr Brady pointed inside the den. "We need to discuss your punishment for that prank you pulled the other night."
"Oh, that. Right." Greg's smile somewhat drooped as he went inside the den and heard his obviously annoyed parent slam the door behind them. Greg immediately noticed his two younger brothers, Peter and Bobby, perched on the sofa, wearing smug grins. He was about to ask what they were doing there when Mike Brady began speaking.
"I've already told you how disappointed I am at how childishly you can still behave at your age. That little stunt of yours that you seemed to find so funny could have hurt your brothers badly. Not only that..."
Greg, although he was directly facing his dad, managed to keep a serious face as he drowned out the lecture. He had heard all that before, and was totally unconcerned. After all, he reflected smugly, what could his punishment be? Mike Brady had promised his son some months ago that now he was seventeen, he ought to be too old for corporal punishment, and he would receive no more whippings from his dad.
"Are you paying attention, Greg?"
"Oh, yes, sir!" the teenager responded automatically. Bobby and Peter chuckled.
"Hm. Well, as I was saying, son, if you've ever had a whipping coming, you deserve one for your behaviour with the car!"
"Whoa, Dad. You promised you would never whip me again, remember?"
"Yes I did, Greg, and I'm sorry to say how much I regret that promise right now."
"Don't tell me you're going back on your word, Dad." A smirk played at the corners of his mouth.
"Hey!" Mr Brady snapped, grabbing his son by the shoulder, "Can't you see how angry I am? You're lucky I don't blister your butt this minute!"
Greg tried to look mature. "So what are you going to do?"
Mr Brady eyed his son, then walked over to his desk. From a drawer, he pulled the thick leather belt that had been a fundamental part of Greg's education. Mike snapped it sharply, then folded it and walked back to Greg.
"Hey, Dad, what happened to no more whippings?"
"I promised that I wouldn't give you any more whippings, son. I'm going to make you regret that promise, too."
"I don't understand." Greg realized his brothers were giggling.
Mike Brady quietly explained. "I said you needed a whipping for your antics, Greg, and you're going to get one. But I'm going to give you a choice. Either Peter and Bobby can give it to you..."
Greg whirled around in alarm. "No way!"
His father continued, "Or you will give it to yourself."
Greg looked open-mouthed at his father. "Huh?"
"You heard me. Bobby and Peter have a right to take part in this, since they're the ones you almost injured. Now which way is it to be?"
Bobby and Peter chanted from the sofa, "Let us do it, Dad!"
Mr Brady calmed them. "It's your brother's choice, boys." He looked inquiringly at his oldest son, then down at the belt. "Shall I give it to Peter and Bobby..."
"I'll do it!" Greg said, snatching the belt from his father's hand.
"Fine," Mike Brady replied, then sat down comfortably between the two boys. "Let's get started."
"Right now?'
"Right now."
Greg hesitated, not knowing how to begin.
His dad helped him out. "Why don't you start by pulling your pants down?"
"Pull my pants down?" Greg repeated blankly.
"This is going to be a real whipping, son. Just the way I'd do it. On your bare butt, remember? I also expect to see some hard licks, Greg. Now how can we ensure that you do a good job? Come here, son."
As Greg stepped forward, Mike Brady reached up and took his son's senior ring from his finger. It was adorned by a large imitation ruby. "I expect to see this color, Greg." He asked the other boys, "Red enough for you, fellas?"
Bobby and Peter laughed in agreement.
"Got it, Greg? Now begin. And you don't stop until I see a bright red butt!"
Greg stood in the middle of the room, still dumbfounded.
"So get those pants down, son."
Peter smilingly repeated, "Yeah, get those pants down, Greg!"
Greg remained motionless.
His father suggested, "Maybe you should take off all your clothes, Greg. Peter and Bobby will help you."
This prompted Greg to action. "No! No! I'll do it myself, see?" He dropped the belt to the floor and began undoing his jeans.
"That's more like it!" said Mike Brady as he leaned back to enjoy the show.
Greg let his jeans fall around his knees. He realized he was standing there in his underwear - white cotton jockeys - and modestly turned, presenting the audience with the tight seat of his underpants. After casting a pleading look over his shoulder and meeting only eager faces, Greg reluctantly reached down and lowered his underpants to just below his cheeks.
Greg's snow-white butt was framed above and below by a strip of tanned skin. Blushing slightly at this embarrassing exposure, he stooped down and picked up the belt. Again he hesitated, not knowing what to do next. Finally, he stuck his butt out to the left, and grabbing the belt in his left hand, raised it.
Smack! Greg gave himself a light lick, which barely left a pink mark on the white cheek.
Smack! Smack! Smack! He continued the feeble strokes. The pink spot was at least growing larger.
But Mike Brady wasn't satisfied. "Come on, Greg. At this rate we'll be here all night. Hit harder, son!"
Greg looked back, and seeing his father was serious, increased the force of his licks. He couldn't aim very well, but tried to cover the entire buttcheek. After a few medium strokes, it began to get hot and sore. Greg decided to change sides. He jutted his butt out to the right and began swinging the belt with his right hand. This made more of an impression, as he was right-handed, and Greg began to wince as he continued to whip himself. Soon this cheek was as pink as the left.
Mike Brady looked down at the flashing red of Greg's ring and up at the light pink of Greg's butt. "Harder, son."
"I'm trying, Dad!"
Smack! Smack! "Ow!" Greg yelped at last. He began alternating cheeks.
"That's more like it!" his dad encouraged.
Greg's butt was really getting sore. Also, he was having to stop the rhythm of the licks every now and then because his underwear kept trying to fall, and he didn't want to expose himself more than necessary.
His dad ordered, "You'll have to try another position, Greg. Your butt isn't nearly red enough."
Greg pondered a moment, then lay down on his side on the floor and began whipping one cheek. It was stretched tighter now, and the licks hurt bad.
"Ooh! OOh! That stings!" he howled.
Bobby and Peter laughed. Mr Brady said "Now we're getting somewhere!"
Greg flipped to his other side and began to use the belt on that cheek. His butt was pretty well striped now, but not enough for his dad.
"It looks as if Peter and Bobby will have to take over, son."
"NO!" Greg protested, and thought wildly how to stretch his butt tighter and get the belt to it better. He got on his hands and knees and stuck his butt up in the air.
Crack! went the belt. That hurt, but this wasn't going to work either.
"You aren't making much progress, son. Need some help?"
"No!" wailed Greg. He shot up and looked around, then scurried over to an armchair. He thrust himself back into it and stuck his legs in the air.
Bobby and Peter broke into laughter. Greg's cheeks were spread so wide they could almost see his butthole! Not only that, his dangling balls and _c_o_c_k_ were clearly viisible! Greg tried to cover them with one hand as he swung the belt with the other. He whipped his tight butt from the side, and between his legs, sometimes holding the belt with both hands. His pants, however, wound about his legs, didn't give him ample room for a good swing. His butt was a nice shade of red now, but not red enough for his father he knew.
Sure enough, Mike Brady said, "You'll just have to take the pants completely off, Greg, to get the full effect."
Greg kicked off his tennis shoes, then worked his bunched jeans and underwear off his legs to the floor. He swung his legs back high in the air.
His brothers and even Mr Brady whooped with laughter. Greg maneuvers had spread his cheeks even farther apart, fully revealing his butthole. And this time there was no concealing his _c_o_c_k_ and balls - they danced wildly as Greg whipped away at his own butt.
Crack! Crack! Greg wailed as tears formed in his eyes.
Then "Yeow!" Greg had missed his butt and snapped his balls with the belt!
He continued to blister his butt, as Mr Brady, followed closely by Peter and Bobby, approached. The boys' dad compared the ruby on the ring to the upturned buttcheeks. "Not quite, son."
"Oh, Dad, I can't do this anymore!"
"Then Bobby and Peter will have to finish for you. Let's go, boys." Mr Brady took the belt from Greg's trembling hand and gave it to Bobby. Then he grabbed Greg's left leg and pulled it back toward Greg's head, as Peter did the same with the right leg. Bobby began whipping his older brother's butt.
"Oww!" Greg sobbed. Bobby was concentrating his licks on the tender skin just inside the buttcrack, which Greg had avoided.
Mr Brady let Bobby have a nice long turn, then allowed Peter to take his place. Peter used his time to touch up the few spots on Greg's butt that were only a medium red.
All this commotion had taken its toll on Greg's insides. Unable to control himself, he emitted a long, noisy fart.
"Whew! That'll be enough of that, Greg!" Then after a pause, "Evidently you need a nice long enema before bedtime!"
"No!" Greg pleaded between cries of pain.
At last, after a detailed comparison of the ring with the butt, Mr Brady decided the latter was red enough. When the squirming teenager was released, he fell to the floor and crawled around on his knees, unable to rise, furiously rubbing his burning butt.
Mike viewed all this with some amusement. He placed a fatherly hand on the backs of his two younger sons. "Now, what has Greg learned tonight, boys? Remember that old saying - if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself!"
"Ohhh!" howled Greg. He had just scooted past the mirrored door of a closet. "Look at my butt!" he wailed, and started crying again.
Peter spoke up. "Hey, Dad, can we help you give Greg his enema?"
"I don't see why not. Go on up to the bathroom and wait for us, boys." They yelled "Yay!" and ran out the den door.
Mr Brady ordered, "Up you go, too, son." Greg, still wearing only his shirt and socks, was looking around for his other clothes. "You won't be needing your pants anymore tonight, Greg. Now move!" Greg ran out and up the stairs half-naked. Mike Brady had to chuckle at the sight of his son's bouncing red butt.