Brian Lee Bradford III, or "B 3" as his parents called him was born on a cold morning in December, 1963. Notwithstanding his impressive sounding name, in fact, his family was extreemly poor. His father was employed as a shoe salesman, mainly due to a drinking "problem" that he had developed during his stint in the Korean "Conflict" where he lost two toes due to the extreemly cold weather. Brian's mother was a stay at home mom, raising his older sister Grace, who was twelve, his younger brother Michael, who was eight, and Brian, the oldest son, who was ten. Mrs. Bradford was in poor health for as long as Brian could remember. In fact, he had heard his parents talk about how Michael's birth almost killed her. She smoked six packs of cigarettes a day, and, due to her health, rarely did much of anything. Grace, being the eldest, and the only girl, learned at an early age to cook, and clean. The boys thought of her as the "queen", as she rarely got into any trouble with her parents, unlike the two younger children. While she was only two years older than him, she was the closest to a parent that he had. She also knew that she could pretty easily control the boys by threatening to tell "daddy" on them, which would result in a paternal application of a rather thick belt which hung ominously on the back of the kitchen door.
Three weeks after Brian's tenth birthday, he awoke to screaming and crying, to learn that his mother had died during the night. In the weeks ahead, this fact would both unite the children, and cause their only remaining parent to seek solace in the bottle of "nerve medicine" that was kept on the shelf, and never seemed to be empty. Brian, with the curiosity of a ten year old, conned his brother into holding a chair for him, as he climbed up, to check out the "medicine". He and Michael took a big sip of the stuff, and while they both tried to swallow it, both ended up spitting it out on the floor. In replacing the bottle, they dropped it, shattering it into hundreds of pieces, the noise bringing Grace on the run. All three worked to clean the mess up, but their timing was such that father walked in to find them on the floor. His eyes took in the spill, the brown glass, and....the lack of a bottle on the shelf. Those same eyes narrowed as he moved to the door, and pulled down the dreaded leather strap. He never said a word. His face was bright red, his eyes all squinty and they could see spittle drops on his beard. Before they could speak, or react, their father had lifted Grace up, and pulled her skirt and panties down to her ankles, then threw her on the top of the kitchen table, face down. The strap cracked into Grace's white buttocks, searing into the flesh, pushing it down, and separating her cheeks as the busy leather visited every inch of her buttocks, finally ending with a blazing trail of red on her thighs. Grace was lifted up, and stood up on her feet. Her face contorted in pain, her hands rubbing her bottom furiously, tears and snot dripping down her blouse, surprising the boys by showing her little mound.
Sobering somewhat, their father started to yell and swear at Grace, saying she was in charge, and it was her fault. The boys were petrified, and could not speak up. Grace was made to finish setting the table, and cooking dinner, with nothing covering her little backside which was now turning a deep blue color, with splotches of bright red everywhere. Brian waited until father left, swearing at them all as he went out to the garage to find more "medicine" in the car. He spoke to Grace, and told her how sorry he was. She simply nodded, being as much a mother to him as anyone had ever been. He knew he couldn't hide the truth, and, when father came back inside, remarkably more calm, Brian told him that he had broken the bottle, that Grace wasn't even in the room. A wicked gleam came into father's eyes, and he spoke softly and slowly "Grace was in charge. She got what is comin' to her. You (he almost lifted Brian by his right ear) are gonna wish you hadn't been born." With that, he half pushed, half dragged the boy to garage, where the light blue 1953 Desoto sedan sat in all its dull, but stately glory. "Get your clothes off boy" said father, and Brian hurried to do so. Strangely, his little penis stood at attention as soon as the cold air hit it. He tried to cover it with his hand, until his father pulled his hand away and lifted him bodily over the passenger front fender of the big car. "You hold onto that hood ornament like it was the only life line you got. If you let go, I'll start over whipping you." Brian turned his head, and saw his dad opening the trunk of the car, and taking out an electrical cord from one of his sweeper samples. He wrapped the cord around his wrist, leaving a doubled end dangling free. Brian knew that he was in trouble, and tears were already flowing down his face as the first stroke hit his little butt. The cord was worse than any strap. It not only bit into the flesh, it seemed to bore into it, and then snap away, giving as much pain on its exit as it did on its entran! ce. Entrance was a good way of describing the strokes, as the boy's butt was soon a series of deep red welts. Brian wasn't able to count, in fact, he was having a hard time even crying, he was hiccupping and screaming at the same time.
He felt his legs being pulled apart, and was told to keep them that way "or else". In fear, he did as he was told, and was rewarded for his efforts by the searing sting of the cord as it bit into the inside of his bottom cleft, cracking from top to bottom, and...worse, from bottom to top. Call it luck, or what you will, but his little bag was spared any stray strikes, although the flesh between his anus and bag would bear bruises for ten days, and he would cry out whenever he had to "poop" as his sore little anus would react.
Father finished, and left. The boy hung to the hood of the car, afraid to move, having been told to stay put. Later, Grace came to the garage, and gently pulled him down. She never mentioned her whipping to him, never said that she took part of his punishment, never said that she was punished for something he did. For that, he loved her.
Two weeks later, Michael made the mistake of telling a friend how he and Brian had broken a bottle, and Grace and Brian were spanked, but he wasn't. His laughter and silly grin caused Brian to grab him by the arm, and pull him into the living room. There, he pulled his little brother over his lap, and pulled Michael's short pants and Superboy undies down and off. For the first time, he observed a pair of buttocks which were under his total control. He raised his hand, and brought it down with a delightful "CRACK" across Michael's little butt, causing the boy to cry and kick. Michael kicked him so hard, that Brian could hardly concentrate on what he was doing. He reached under his brother's lap, and grabbed his dangling little penis and bag, and grasped them tightly, telling him to stay still. Now that he had Michael's undivided attention, he continued to spank him, over and over, leaving his bottom a bright red color. For some reason, he found himself staring at Michael's little penis as it danced up and down as he did the "just been spanked" dance. He felt his own little guy responding in kind, and was amazed. Grace walked into the room, obviously knowing what had just happened. If her ears hadn't told her, the sight of Michael's little red butt gave it away. She smiled at Brian, and whispered "good job". It was as if they had accepted Michael into their tribe, an initiation of fire..
Brian never felt a cord again, but was expected to tell father once a week what he had done wrong. All three children would recite their faults, and all three would be strapped. They knew that they had to say something, or they would be whipped harder, for lying. It was a pact that they formed, one that would follow them through life.
Brian looked down at little Brian IV, and tossled the little blonde hair of his three year old son, who had just broken a glass full of milk. "Don't let Grandpa know about this, son."