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A Bedtime Buzz for Diaper Boy Scotty

MmB, anal, oral, humil, spank, inc
A palimpsest based on a story by Jellico

At a quarter after seven, John Tabor climbed the stairs then popped his head into his oldest boy’s bedroom. Since it was Sunday night, his three oldest sons were grouped together and hunched over their controllers, frantically thumbing buttons with their eyes glued to the TV screen before them. The brothers did not usually hang out together — their interests and personalities were too widely divergent in most areas — but with only one Nintendo in the house and only one day a week during which it was allowed to be used, the boys had made an unspoken rule to accept each other’s company every week.


As always, whenever John stepped into this room on Sundays, he stood for a moment and quietly observed his sons. Asthmatic and slightly overweight, thirteen-year-old Jason was wearing pajama shorts and a Marvel Comics T-shirt, and on either side of him, neither one of his older brothers were dressed much more than he was. Sixteen-year-old Rick was in an A-shirt and close-fitting boxers that accentuated his all-American physique, and as for Scott, the bespectacled fourteen-year-old was clearly dressed to imitate his big brother, even though he could not pull it off by half. At first, John only took in the loose-fitting tank top that merely draped Scott’s angular body instead of shaping it, and he shook his head at the sight until he noted what his middle son was wearing down below. At that point, he frowned.

“Scott Tabor, you’re not dressed for bed, and it’s after supper. Why aren’t you wearing your diaper?”

As Rick snorted with derision even as he continued to play Urban Champion, Scott flushed, trying hard to pretend that he was not bothered by his father’s question.

 

“Just a minute, Dad, I already creamed Jase, and I’m, like, two seconds away from beating Rick.”

 

John planted his hands on his hips and sharpened his tone.

 

“No, Scott, no more minutes. You know the rules. You put down that thingamabob, you get those boxers off, and you go put your diaper on before you wet the floor. It’s close to your bedtime. You know how you get at this time of night.”

 

“I’m not gonna wet the floor!” Scott insisted angrily as Rick’s shoulders began to shake silently beside him. Scott glanced at the clock on the night table then punched the buttons on his controller with more fury than speed. “I’m not two years old, Dad, and it’s not even close to ten o’clock, so just lay off, okay?”

 

By today’s standard, that was not much attitude coming from a teenager of fourteen, but for John Tabor, the sass he’d just heard was more than enough — especially since it was coming from this particular kid. He marched over to his sons, plucked the mouthy one from the floor, and then wrenched the boy’s underpants straight off his hips.

 

“Dad! Stop!”

 

“Never get fresh with me, son. You should know better by now.”

 

With a vein now pulsing in his neck, John slapped Scott across the head as he tugged roughly on the boy’s underpants, yanking them down and then off his son’s feet. If he noticed the comical flopping of Scott’s penis or the ogling of Scott’s brothers, he did not show it.

 

“When I tell you to do something, you do it, you hear me?”

 

Before Scott could answer, John tucked the struggling youngster beneath his left arm then delivered the first of two dozen blistering smacks.

 

SPANK!

 

“OW! DAAAD!”

 

SPANK!

 

“This is what you get for back-talking me.”

 

SPANK!

 

“This is what you get for not doing as you’re told.”

 

SPANK!

 

“This is what you get for trying to act like a big man when you’re nothing but a bad little boy.”

 

SPANK!

 

“You feeling this, son?”

 

SPANK!

 

“YES, DAD! YES!”

 

 

SPANK!

 

“Are you sorry yet?”

 

As the spanks continued to rain down, Scott was indeed sorry, and he said so loud and clear. How could he help but be sorry when his ex-Ranger dad had such a strong right hand? Each swat from the man’s large palm was burning, and though Scott tried hard to suck it, but he could not quite keep it together. First, his chin wobbled, and then his eyes flooded, and before he could coach himself to ride it out, the first of several deep sobs escaped him, interspersed with an embarrassing series of “Daddy, no!” He would have given anything for his brothers not to see him this way. However, that ship had sailed; his brothers were not about to go anywhere with Scott kicking and crying, providing them with such interesting if lowbrow entertainment. Even with his head bent low and his glasses now dotted with his tears, Scott could see that his brothers were totally fixated on his misery. Their video game was abandoned and forgotten in favor of watching Scott get in trouble once again.

 

Rick, as always, was especially enamored of the show. His handsome mug was a picture of amusement while he took in the rosy hue to Scott’s bottom, and it did not take much to see that he was even more thrilled by the constant jiggling of his brother’s bald, little dick and balls, and thanks to the supersonic whacks being applied to Scott’s backside, the teen boy’s bald, five-inch organ was bouncing left and right as if it was performing a dance solely for Rick’s appreciation.

 

And Scott could not do anything about it. He could not stop his dad from hitting him, he could not stop Rick from staring at him, he could not escape, and he could not even stop crying. The sole outlet available to him was his tears, but even then, the louder he cried, the more cacophonous and painful the slaps to his bottom felt.

 

“Now, stand up.”

 

Humiliated and pained, Scott heeled his streaming eyes under his glasses and fought to swallow his sobs as John pulled him upright to lecture him again on the rules of the house. He did not hear half of what his father told him, but he did not need to. He had heard it all before. He knew all about the respect and obedience he was supposed to exhibit towards his elders. He kept his wet face averted from his brothers and nodded in all the right places, one hand soon plastered behind him in a vain and frantic effort to knead the soreness from his bare cheeks. The only thing in the whole world to be grateful for this at this moment was the fact that his little brother had not overheard anything yet since he was clearly still downstairs.

 

“You hearing me, son?”

 

“Ye…Yes…sir.”

 

“Good. Now get into the bathroom, drain that dragon of yours, and then go put a diaper on. After that, you brush your teeth and get into your crib. You’re going to bed, soldier, and you can thank that attitude of yours for having lights out this early.”

 

“Bu…But it’s not even seven-thirty—”

 

“Are you arguing with me, son? Do you really want another whipping?”

 

Still sniffling against his will, Scott glanced at his brothers. Jason looked semi-embarrassed for him but not Rick. The sixteen-year-old’s dimples were even more pronounced than before, his delight in his brother’s predicament plain for everyone to see. No way in hell was Scott going to give him another free show, so with a tighter grip on his bottom, he shook his head negatively in answer to his father’s question while he muttered the only acceptable response.

 

“No, Daddy.”

 

“Then get your butt into that bathroom and do as you’re told.”

 

Fourteen years old or not, Scott had no choice but to go. With the backs of his thighs slapped twice more to get him moving and then his whole body shoved toward the hallway, Scott found himself propelled out of Rick’s bedroom far faster and more disgracefully than he would have preferred. He kept his resentful thoughts inside his mouth where they belonged for the moment, but once he was alone and behind closed doors (and once he was sure his father was more than halfway down the stairs again), he swore balefully at the mirror and banged his fists on the countertop. He hated his dad at times like this: really, truly, unequivocally hated him.

 

The man was never going to let him grow up at this rate; he was never going to treat him the way he treated Rick, or Jason, or even eight-year-old Conner. With them, John Tabor acknowledged the milestones they passed with each year, but with Scott, there were no milestones. There was only his bedwetting problem that he had never outgrown, and as a consequence, there was only perpetual disappointment. Scott was not really fourteen in his father’s eyes. In fact, he was probably never going to be fourteen. He was always going to be two or three or four, an embarrassment of a little boy who needed diaper changes and spankings and early bedtimes like no one else in the family. It was a Peter Pan problem, and Scott hated it.

 

The angry brushing he gave his teeth to get even with his dad was cursory, and then he flatly refused to “drain his dragon” like everyone expected him to. He also did not stuff himself inside his diaper. Weak bladder or not, he was not going to piss his bed tonight, no matter what his father feared. He was not a baby, after all, and he was tired of being treated like an infant.

 

Still half-naked back in his room, he slammed his door, punched the light switch, and then tossed his nerdy glasses across the floor. Ten feet away stood yet another affront to his pride, but there was nothing Scott could do about the baby bed that dominated his room, the single mattress crib he slept in every night with steel bed rails painted a periwinkle blue to match the clipper ships and smiling sea turtles patterned into his wallpaper. Hating it this night more than he ever had before, Scott nonetheless stomped over to it, climbed inside, then wrenched his covers up to mid-chest, completely ignoring Rick’s sarcastic good night singsong from next door. Instead, he lay on his side and scowled at the bunny rabbit nightlight glowing happily through the prison slats of his crib wishing he could go live with a foster family of some kind.

 

Determined not to pass out anytime soon — which would only prove to his father that he was the baby that they insisted on treating him as — Scott flushed with acute discomfiture as he was jerked awake by the sinking of his mattress some twenty minutes later. With the side rail down on one side, his bedside lamp now shining full in his face, and his father’s stolid visage looming over him like a nightmare come to life, Scott turned over and buried his head under his pillow.

 

“Go ‘way, Dad.”

 

John did not. He removed the pillow from his son’s tousled head then pushed the brown bangs from Scott’s forehead, which was about all he could see of the boy’s face. His expression was sober but surprisingly not yet offended as he shifted his weight on the bed.

 

“You don’t like me again, is that is?”

 

“No,” Scott grumbled, “I don’t.”

 

“Well, I didn’t like you either a few minutes ago after the way you disrespected me in front of your brothers.”

 

Scott turned over then, his eyes stormy.

 

“I didn’t disrespect you, Dad! I just wanted to play video games a little while longer!”

 

“And you could have,” John pointed out sternly. “All you had to do was to take a break and then go put your diaper on like you’re supposed to.”

 

“I didn’t need one then, and even if I did, why do you have to remind me in front of Rick?” Scott pounded one fist against the mattress. “I hate it when you do that, Dad! He always laughs at me!”

 

“He doesn’t laugh at you,” John contradicted, his brows drawing together. “And if you think he does, it’s your imagination running wild again. You need to stop blaming your big brother for everything you don’t like about yourself.”

 

“I don’t blame him without reason!” Scott argued. “He’s a bully! Every time you let him get away with smiling like a jackass while I’m getting smacked around and humiliated, he picks on me when you’re not around! He’s giving me shit all the time for wetting the fucking bed and you never—

 

“Hey! You’d better watch that filthy mouth of yours, son, or you’ll be sucking on a bar of soap for a good long while tonight, you hearing me?”

 

“But Dad—”

 

“And another thing,” John shoved an angry finger in Scott’s face, “your brother is not a bully. I don’t cotton to those kinds of cowards, so don’t you be trying to mar my boy’s reputation by calling him a bully!”

 

Scott did not answer. It was no use, and he knew it. His hypocrite of father did not have a clue about anything he refused to see, so where the favorite son of the Tabor family was concerned, nothing was ever a problem, Rick never did anything wrong. Turning to face the wall again to hide the tears of rage that were threatening to come, Scott clamped his lips together.

 

Letting loose a heavy and still somewhat angry sigh, John took note of Scott’s resentful silence but decided not to let that frustrate him further.

 

“Fine, you don’t like me tonight, we’ve established that, but you know your old man still loves you, right?”

 

Scott shrugged bitterly. He knew all right, and the sum total of his father’s love for him did not amount to jack-shit, in his opinion.

 

“Well, you just think about that anyway,” continued John seriously as he forced Scott to turn back and face him. “And while you’re thinking, I suggest you keep in mind that it’s not easy being a parent to four kids, and one of them a bed wetter.”

 

“Being a bedwetter is not my fault.”

 

“So you keep saying, son, but I don’t agree, and all the sulking in the world isn’t going to change it. Don’t give me that look either. I’m the adult, you’re the child, and I know a damn sight better than you do. You may not like how I’m handling this bedwetting problem of yours, but that’s just too bad. What I do when you pee yourself is for the best, and someday when you stop being lazy and go the bathroom when you’re supposed to like your brothers do, well, you’ll just be grateful that I was so strict. And when that day comes, I’ll expect a heartfelt thank you.”

 

At that, John straightened the bed covers then stood, automatically posing the same question he did every night before lifting the side rail on the crib and snapping it back into place.

 

“You got your diaper on now, young man?”

 

A stiff nod was his answer, but something about Scott’s expression said he was lying. Frowning anew, John leaned down and slid a determined hand under the comforter to be sure, even as Scott tried to slide away. John did not let him get far, and the moment skin touched skin, he set his jaw. As suspected, there was no absorbent material between Scott’s legs, only smooth balls, and a fat, young penis that began to harden and rise from the sudden external stimulation. John was definitely not impressed, and it showed as he removed his hand, sat back down on the bed, and then gripped Scott’s chin to force the teenager to face him.

 

“Little boy, you just lied to me.”

 

The fourteen-year-old boy refused to make eye contact as he tried to twist his head out of John’s grip. So he had lied. What was there to say? He’d tried to trick his dad, and obviously, he had failed. What was he supposed to do now? Prepare for the inevitable beating, brace himself for a blistering lecture, or get out of bed to go put his diaper on? He waited to be ordered to do the latter, but no such luck. His dad kept pushing him.

 

“Why didn’t you put it on?” John demanded.

 

Scott told himself not to answer but then every one of his festering resentments — at his father’s favoritism, at Rick’s perpetually smug face, at his body’s stubborn inability to grow past its incontinence — quickly rose to the fore.

 

“ ‘Cause I’m a freshman in high school now, Dad! I shouldn’t need a stupid diaper, and…and I’m not gonna wear ‘em anymore! I don’t care what you do to me!”

 

To that kind of willful declaration, John only had one response. He slapped Scott full in the face. It was not enough to rattle the boy’s teeth or split his lip this time, but it was definitely enough to get Scott’s right cheek burning and the eye above it tearing. As the teenager touched his face instinctively, his doe eyes brimming with betrayal, John set about listing the facts as he saw them.

 

“Were you wet this morning when you woke up?”

 

“Dad—”

 

“Well, were you or weren’t you?”

 

A tear borne of anger slid down the side of Scott’s face.

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

“And would you have pissed the bed all last week if you hadn’t been wearing your diaper?

 

Silence.

 

“Answer me.”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

“And since the day you were born, has there ever been a night when you didn’t pee in your sleep like a goddamn baby?”

 

Hating his father far more at this moment than he hated his body’s fundamental lack of control, Scott sniffed as another angry tear escaped. He shook his head briefly in answer to his father’s callous questioning, his face aflame with utter mortification but mostly impotent fury.

 

“Then you need a diaper, and we’ve gone through this before,” John concluded with his usual bluntness.

 

He stared hard at this son then flicked a finger at the diaper pail by the door and the laundry basket in the corner with Sesame Street bed sheets peeking over the top.

 

“Look around you, son. Just look at this room. You act like a baby, then we’re going to dress you like one, and if you don’t like it, stop pissing yourself and start acting like your big brother. Be a man.”

 

John did not wait for his son to agree. He ripped the covers off his half-naked boy and was just about to get up when the door opened, and eight-year-old Conner popped his blond head in the room. Without waiting for permission to enter, the little boy pushed the door against the wall, then backed up a bit and did a near-perfect cartwheel round-off into the room. The moment he bounded upright again with a proud smile, John let him know he was not pleased.

 

“Young man, I told you not to do your gymnastics in the house. You nearly hit the top of the doorframe with your feet just now, and that could’ve broken both your ankles. Do I need to slap your bottom to get you to remember?”

 

“But I have to practice, Daddy!”

 

Conner ignored his father’s chide, confident in the emptiness of his threat when it came to his bouncy baby boy. He pouted for a moment with both hands clasped demurely behind him, then abruptly changed the subject with a sunny skip deeper into the room.

 

“Dad, Scott’s touching his penis again, but anyway, can we go to Six Flags for my birthday next week?”

 

As soon as his little brother had burst into his room, Scott had discreetly covered his junk, but now, of course, thanks to Conner’s tattling, his secret was out. He was not surprised when his father turned back to him, and angrily slapped his hands away, but he was still profoundly mortified.

 

“Daaad, please—” he begged under his breath, but his father was merciless.

 

“You’ve nothing to hide,” John retorted without sympathy. “You don’t have anything your brother hasn’t seen before.”

 

To Scott’s everlasting shame, this was true. Though nowadays he was mostly allowed to diaper himself in the seclusion of his bedroom, it had not been so long ago that he was subject to fatherly interference both upstairs and downstairs, usually in public, very rarely in private. Spread-eagled on the floor of the living room, the family room, the kitchen, and even the back of the station wagon a good ten times, Scott’s groin had long ago ceased to be a family mystery, even to Conner. It had been exposed, scrubbed, oiled and powdered daily for over fourteen years, every wrinkle in his nut sack and every fold in his foreskin memorized by his rabidly curious siblings. That Rick, Jason, and Conner often had friends sleeping over to add to the carnival atmosphere of his diaper changes was never a problem for anyone, but Scott — and no one else except him ever seemed to mind when a baby bottle of piss was sometimes forced between his lips as an added punishment, or worse, when his father had him suck his cock for fresh milk like a baby on a tit. His father’s outlook was simple. Whenever and wherever John Tabor thought to address his son’s incontinence, that is where and when he did it, especially if the hour was growing late and Scott’s bedtime was looming close. It honestly never mattered to him who was around since Scott’s shame was a secondary consideration, if it became one at all, and his prudery was given no concern.

 

Scott knew all of this, of course, but after four months of relative privacy, his loss of face felt greater than he could possibly withstand. He wished his little brother were more intuitive so he could sense his distress and get the hell out of his room, but no dice. Conner was oblivious to the depth of his older brother’s discomfort as he skipped thoughtlessly to Scott’s crib to cuddle up to their father.

 

“Daddy, did you hear me? I wanna go to Six Flags with all my friends. Can you take us, please? Please, please, pretty please?”

 

“I thought you wanted to go to the movies?”

 

“I did, but now I want to go to an amusement park even more, so can we go? Pleeease?”

 

John kissed Conner’s cheek then patted his ass. “Go get your brother’s things from his top drawer,” he replied, not taking his sharp eyes off his disobedient son, “and I’ll think about it.”

 

Conner didn’t have to ask what things. Like Jason and Rick, he’d helped his father before with prepping Scott for bed, so he knew exactly what articles to fetch from Scott’s bureau:

 

A quilted changing pad,

 

Baby powder,

 

Silky soft moisturizing baby oil,

 

Two thick cloth diapers made with 100% cotton,

 

Two diaper pins with smiling elephant heads painted a cheery lemon yellow,

 

And a crinkly pair of nursery-print, plastic pants.

 

Arms full, Conner skipped back over, dumped everything at Scott’s feet, and then hovered at the foot of the crib, letting his father organize the things his youngest son brought. While Conner lingered, he chewed on his bottom lip and kept his eyes riveted to Scott’s midsection. Suddenly, he cocked his head in curiosity.

 

“Daddy, how come Scotty’s thingy is always bobbing like that? It kinda looks like a jumping jack without any arms and legs. Do all penises do that, Daddy?”

 

Scott thought he would die. As more tears of shame and frustration built behind his eyes, he tuned out his father’s response to his brother, determined not to lose it in front of his eight-year-old brother. He already thought he was somewhat of a pussy since he could not control his bladder overnight, so he focused on the ceiling instead of on his brother’s presence, praying that he would grow bored and soon leave. To Scott’s astonishment, he did exactly that, but taking his place was someone even worse.

 

Big brother Rick.

 

The high school junior had clearly been eavesdropping on the goings-on next door to his bedroom, so he knew exactly what was coming up next and no way was he going to miss out on the festivities. Leaning casually in the doorway for a moment, he soon sauntered into the room proper where he drank in his fourteen-year-old brother’s discomfort and smirked openly at the fate that awaited his bedwetting sibling. How he wished he could do more to provoke him openly! He could not, of course. Not with their dad so close by, but he could make a lot of mental notes regarding Scotty’s latest humiliation, and then wham! He would shove them down his brother’s throat one at a time while he sat on him and slapped him around the next time they were alone together. Hell, he could hardly wait!

 

Face up on the bed with his nervous erection now pointing due north, a red-faced Scott tried not to read his twisted brother’s mind, which he could tell from Rick’s face was not plotting anything good. Instead, as the lesser of two evils, he watched his dad transfer most of the objects Conner had brought over to a small rolling table, his anxiety building by the second. The expression on the man’s face was inflexible, and Scott was filled with some real trepidation. Years of experience getting punished for dishonesty and disobedience at bedtime told him exactly what was coming next, and he did not want it. He could not take a whipping for lying with Rick standing by, watching, and he definitely did not want to get oiled and powdered and diapered by his dad afterward while his striped ass was still throbbing.

 

Should he jump up and run, even if it meant leaving the house half-naked and without his glasses? Would the element of surprise be enough to save him for once? Or would track star Rick ruin his life as he always did by catching him and dragging him back upstairs to their dad before he could truly escape?

 

Scott never found out.

 

Seconds before John would have unbuckled his thick, brown leather belt then ordered Scott to turn over, a loud thump followed by an agonized scream was heard from the ground floor. It was Conner from the high-pitched wailing that was filtering upstairs, and it did not take a genius to figure out he had disobeyed his father’s directive yet again and was now paying the price with some kind of gymnastics-related injury.

 

Immediately, John leaped to his feet and charged out of the room. Scott sat up as well, but Rick shoved him back gleefully. Stretching out one long, muscular leg, he kicked the door shut then turned back to his brother with a sadistic grin, a deep and very evil chuckle rumbling up from the back of his throat.

 

“Daddy’s gone, little brother. He might be gone for hours, taking Conner to the hospital. You know what that means for you and me?”

 

Scott knew all right. And he was not in the mood for it.

 

He scrambled from the crib to try and access the Magic 8 Ball he always kept on his dresser since it was the only weapon nearby on which he could lay his hands quickly. It was not much, but his room was not large enough to swing the baseball bat in his closet before Rick wrenched it from him. In the right hands, though, a Magic 8 Ball could do some acute damage, especially if Scott could manage to sock it right in between his brother’s fat, pouty lips. With these thoughts in mind, Scott clambered from his crib, lunging for his dresser — and was promptly tackled from behind.

 

The brothers fell to the floor in a heap, rolling twice until they stopped for good with Scott half-blind and flat on his stomach while Rick pancaked him from above, lying square on top of him. Scott could not move much with the quasi chin lock Rick had on him, but his mouth was still free, so he moved that instead.

 

“Get off me, motherfucker!”

 

Rick ground his boxer-clad penis against the scrawny backside beneath him. “You’re my prisoner!” he laughed. “Why should I?”

 

“ ‘Cause I’ll tell!”

 

“Like you did a few minutes ago? That worked well for you, didn’t it?” Rick snorted his derision then pinched his brother’s neck viciously.

 

“OW! Quit it!”

 

Rick pinched him again, slapped the spot, then pinched him a third time, harder than before.

 

“You’re a bad little brother for trying to get me in trouble with Dad like that, a bad little brother indeed. And do you know what happens to those kinds of brothers?”

 

“Get off me, you fucking prick!”

 

“They get spanked by their good big brothers for being such naughty, rotten little boys.”

 

On the verge of shouting for his father, Scott was promptly thwarted by Rick, who clamped a hand solidly over his mouth. With years of practice muffling Scott, Rick knew just how to mash his brother’s lips together so they could not separate to bite him, and he did so now while he dry-humped Scott’s ass two, three, four more times. He would never actually rape someone – least of all his own brother – but every once in a while, it was fun to torture the kid and make him think the opposite, especially when his own cock was huge, veined, and throbbing for immediate release the way it was now.

 

Abruptly, Rick called for Jason. It took almost four minutes, but finally, Jason opened the door and poked his crew-cut head inside, warily taking in the scene before him.

 

“What do you guys want?” he asked.

 

“Hurry up and get in here!” Rick hissed at him. “Is Dad still in the house? I don’t hear Conner yelling anymore.”

 

“They’re in the kitchen checking out his arm. He twisted it pretty good doing some kinda flip thing.”

 

“Shit, he’s not taking him to the hospital to see if it’s broken?”

 

“I dunno. Probably.”

 

“Okay, well, until they leave, I need you to muffle Scott for me while I persecute his ass.”

 

Jason looked at Scott, who was barely managing to twist his head in his direction. Scott’s eyes were slightly unfocused since he was not wearing his glasses, but that did not stop him from conveying without words what he thought of Rick’s plan to Jason.

 

Scott would hate him for helping Rick out, but then again, Scott probably hated him anyway. Scott was always bitching that his brothers were spoiled while he was not, and just last week, when some of the guys from school were taunting him about his flab and his asthma, Scott had walked right on past like the teasing of his baby brother was no concern of his.

 

What was one more nail in the coffin between them?

 

It was not much, Jason decided angrily. It was not much at all.

 

Hesitating no further, the chubby thirteen-year-old entered the room, shut the door behind him, then took over for Rick, worming a dirty sock deep into Scott’s mouth the very second Rick removed his hand. Scott coughed and tried to swear at him around the sock with venom and retribution written all over his face, but Jason ignored it easily. He helped Rick to flip Scott over and then assisted the bigger boy in dragging their half-naked brother closer to the crib, his grip on Scott’s wrists remarkably tight for a pot-bellied kid nearly two years younger. Rick winked at him in approval.

 

“Good job, Jase. Make sure he can’t sit up while I teach him a lesson, okay?”

 

Jason nodded eagerly and watched the athletic teenager flick the tip of Scott’s penis painfully for several minutes before snatching up the baby powder to sprinkle it generously from neck to ball sac. As Rick sprinkled some on Scott’s upper lip too, then laughed and sprinkled some more when Scott promptly sneezed it off, Jason spoke up.

 

“Hey, you gonna make him cum like last time?”

 

Rick did not pause in the torture he was meting out.

 

“Well, I was gonna turn him to the side and spank his butt after this, but I guess I can oil him up first until he squirts. You want me to?”

 

Remembering again how Scott had ignored him recently in his time of need, Jason sneered down at the red-faced fourteen-year-old then grinned over at Rick.

 

“Hell, yeah! Do it, Ricky!”

 

Muzzled as he was, Scott nonetheless screamed his indignation as loud as he could. He kicked and twisted as much as he was able to, despite knowing he probably would not getaway, and he continued trying his level best to inflict at least a little bit of damage on the two bastards he had for brothers. Nothing he did stopped them though, and within seconds, he felt Rick’s dead weight constraining his legs even more while the older brother’s greasy hand rapidly pumped Scott’s dick. The last time this had happened, a humiliated Scott had succumbed in less than two minutes, unable to suppress his body’s innate reaction to receiving such outstanding stimulation. That he might erupt against his will, spurred the teen to double and then triple his efforts to escape, and a minute later, he was still fighting hard for all he was worth when the most blessed sound he’d ever heard suddenly brought an end to his nightmare.

 

“What the hell is going on in here?”

 

To Scott, what happened next was the tipping point in his adolescent life. It was not so much that his star rose to the stratosphere as much as it was Rick’s star that came crashing down to earth, but that was all right. Scott could live with that. He listened to the paternal bellow from above reverberate around the room, and then he watched with immense satisfaction as his brothers practically flew in tandem to opposite ends of his bedroom. No doubt they were under the mistaken belief that if they distanced themselves physically from their crime, their father would somehow forget the attack he had just witnessed, but they were wrong, so very wrong. If there was one thing John Andrew Tabor despised more than bedwetting, it was cowardice, and at the top of his list of cowards were bullies. John himself was exempt, of course.  What he did he considered parenting, not abuse.

 

The man glared at the two sons who had scattered to the far corners of the room, and then he repeated his question again in a tone not even Scott had ever heard him use before.

 

“Just what the hell was going on in here? What were you two doing? Richard Alan Tabor, answer me!”

 

Looking distinctly frightened, Rick’s all-star muscles seemed to deflate as he hunched his shoulders and strove immediately for little boy innocence. It was instinctive since it was the method he add been using since he was a toddler to get back in his father’s good graces, and it was a tactic that had always worked before. With no choice now but to pray that it worked once again, he scrubbed his greasy hands up and down the sides of his boxers, looking over at his father with wide and pathetic green eyes.

 

“Um, Daddy, this isn’t what you think. We were just...just…you know…fooling around. You know, messing with each other. Scott didn’t mind, did he, Jase?”

 

Quaking by the window and on the verge of an asthmatic attack from the stress of being caught dead to rights, Jason’s head jerked up and down in agreement. It was a foolish lie to tell with Scott right there in the room and rising furiously to his feet, but frankly, Jason did not know what else to do. Aligning oneself with Golden Boy Rick was usually a sure and safe bet in the family, even when one was caught red-handed. Of course, he and Rick had never been caught tormenting their own brother before, so what was their dad going to do? How much shit was he going to give them?

 

The boys soon found out.

 

“Scotty, come here to me,” John commanded.

 

He waited for the fuming fourteen-year-old to wipe the powder off his face and then to finish spitting the taste of a sweaty sock from his mouth. When Scott finally trudged over to him, John placed a firm hand on the boy’s trembling shoulder.

 

“You weren’t having fun just now, were you, boy?”

 

Almost too livid to speak, Scott glared at his brothers in turn then focused back on their father.

 

“No, sir!”

 

“Would you call what they were doing bullying?”

 

“Yes, sir!”

 

Remembering what the teen had told him before about Rick, which he had dismissed without a second’s hesitation, John softened his gaze a bit.

 

“It isn’t the first time, is it, son?”

 

Scott raised his chin defiantly.

 

“No, sir!”

 

John’s jaw was already set, but now it seemed to pulsate.

 

“I’m sorry I didn’t believe you before,” he said, “but we’re going to be put things right tonight, son, you and me. Go put some shorts on.”

 

While Scott retrieved his glasses and then hid the pounding, leaking erection his brothers had caused inside a pair of sweatpants, John’s head swiveled to fixate angrily on his firstborn.

 

“Richard, take yours off and remove your shirt while you’re at it. We’re gonna start things off with you, boy, so strip!”

 

With only one reason coming to mind why such a command would be snapped in his direction, Rick’s hands flew back to cover his bubble butt.

 

“No, Daddy, I’ll be a good boy! Please don’t whip me!”

 

“You think the first thing you’re getting is a whipping, son? Oh no. I got a lot more planned for you than that, and it’s starting right now. Get those clothes off.”

 

“Please, Dad, no! Not in front of everyone! Not in front of Scott!”

 

“This ain’t everyone, son, but I can fix that, and thanks for reminding me. Jason, go get your brother.”

 

Before Jason could take a step, Rick flew to the open doorway and blocked it.

 

“No! I don’t want—”

 

“Then strip, or I’ll do it for you!”

 

As John took a menacing step forward, Rick hopped in frustration but then did as he was told. He wrenched his close-fitting A-shirt over his head and then peeled his boxers off narrow hips, self-consciously covering his privates as he straightened up. Usually, he was proud of his ripped physique, which was the best one in school. However, at this moment, divested of all clothing in preparation for punishment, Rick wanted only to cover himself back up. He blushed hard and cupped his hairy balls with a pounding heart, unable to stop himself from glaring at Scott even though he knew it was probably unwise.

 

That Scott was enjoying his humiliation, there was no doubt. All his life, it seemed the young teen had been waiting for the tables to turn, and with his dream finally coming true, the fourteen-year-old obviously could not help himself. He smirked right back in his older brother’s face with the widest, cheesiest grin Rick had ever seen. John took note but said nothing, allowing his middle son to enjoy the moment. Abruptly, he beckoned his middle son over then clapped a hand on his shoulder.

 

“Son, what’s the first thing I do to you every Saturday morning?”

 

Immediately, Scott sneered as his eyes drifted deliberately to Rick’s groin.

 

“You wash my dick and my butt, and then you shave me.”

 

“And why do I do that?”

 

“ ‘Cause it’s gross and messy mixing baby oil and powder with pubic hair.”

 

“That’s right, and since your big brother here is going back into diapers tonight, I think he should look smooth like you, don’t you think?”

 

Scott certainly did. He watched avidly as a protesting Rick was promptly led by the neck from the room, and he followed step by step as the high school junior was propelled by their father down the hallway. More than once, during the short walk to the bathroom, Rick suffered a smack to the head and then a hard spank to his compact buns for attempting to slow them down, but while these were fun to watch, Scott prayed there would be a lot more delivered before the night ended. Three measly handprints to his brother’s pasty white butt was a start, but Scott would not be satisfied until the whole of it was a throbbing candy-cane red!

 

In the bathroom, John immediately barked at his firstborn to get in the tub.

 

“Dad, please! Please don’t shave me!” Rick begged. “The guys’ll laugh their asses off at school! What’ll I tell them?”

 

“Ask Scott,” John retorted without sympathy as he gave the boy a good, hard wallop into the tub. He reached past Rick to plug the drain and start the water. “He’s been in your shoes for years. Jason! Get in here and watch!”

 

Still quaking in Scott’s bedroom, Jason scuttled to obey despite his fright. When he reached the bathroom, though, he stood in the doorway and stopped, unable to force himself to cross the threshold and get closer to his dad. Puberty had just barely started for him — he only had four hairs under each arm and a measly two at the base of his penis — but what if his father decided to shave him anyway? It had taken forever for Jason’s ten hairs to grow. What if they never grew back.

 

Jason desperately wanted to whisper his question to Scott to ask if such a thing was even possible, but one quick glance at his brother, and he knew he would never get his brother’s attention. Scott was enthralled by what was happening to Rick, and there probably was not anything in this world, short of Armageddon itself, that could tear his attention away. With few options left, Jason raised his head by inches to take in the scene before him, scared to watch but also lacking the nerve not to observe. He knew without a doubt that he would never forget what he was seeing, and ahead of him, Scott was thinking much the same thing.

 

Boy, oh, boy, had this been a long time coming! As far as Scott was concerned, the spectacle before him was truly a tableau for the ages, a panoramic presentation of righteous reckoning that needed to be preserved for the next fifty-three generations.

 

Hot damn, what would Rick’s teammates think of him now if they could see him spread-eagled and buck naked in the bathtub having his dick and balls washed by his daddy.

 

What would they say to hear him whining like a little bitch, begging his father to stop?

 

Would his girlfriends admire the way the water was glistening on his skin, or would they mock Rick for boning up in front of his family?

 

Scott could only imagine. He looked into Rick’s face and knew without a doubt the shame his older brother was feeling at getting bathed like this since Scott himself had felt it every Saturday for as long as he could remember. To a teenage boy, there is no lower feeling than to be displayed against his will, his most private of private places exposed for washing by his father while curious siblings barged in and watched.

 

Where can he hide when his genitals are soaped and manipulated for agonizing minutes?

 

How can he stop his father from parting his butt cheeks wide and then forcing a sponge in between to rub and scrub until everything squeaks?

 

Is there any way at all to retreat inside himself when the inevitable happens, and his penis rises to its greatest tumescence?

 

In Scott’s experience, no, there is not. There is absolutely no place to run to when these things are happening. There just is not anywhere big enough or black enough to hide the embarrassment of this magnitude.

 

If Rick had been a better brother to him, Scott would have pitied the older teen for what was happening to him now, but Rick had rarely been a good big brother if ever. He deserved to be trading places with Scott for once. He deserved to have his dignity ripped from him and his body overtaken by others. In fact, he deserved this to happen to him every day for the next ten years.

 

Rick, of course, thought otherwise.

 

At his advanced age, the sixteen-year-old despised having his father’s wet hands traveling all over his bare skin, and he squirmed endlessly throughout his bath, repulsed by the childish treatment he was getting. When he was not pleading with his father to let him out of the tub, though, he was glaring daggers at his brothers for not getting the hell out of the bathroom. Rick hated that they were there witnessing every step of his degradation, and it was killing him that he could not do anything about it. Why was the old man doing this to him? Rick was special, the firstborn, the golden one, the preferred son of the family. How could his father treat him like Black Sheep Scott, as if Rick was the stinking bed wetter no older than four?

 

Rick did not get it. His high self-worth and formerly charmed life just would not allow him to fathom why the punishment was justified, why retribution of this specific incident was necessary. And because he could not wrap his mind around it, he fought it as much as he dared, begging for a ceasefire and then for privacy, and then when neither of those worked, he simply begged for his dad not to go too far.

 

What Rick defined as too far, John Tabor did not know, and he did not let it interest him. He was incensed at his oldest son for betraying the family and for destroying the near-perfect image he had been cultivating for sixteen years, the image of a star athlete and an A-student, an aspiring college graduate whose commencement would make him the pride of the entire Tabor family, coast to coast. Rick was not supposed to be some punk bully who preyed on the weak and tormented the helpless when no one was looking. He was not supposed to be a tyrant in the making like the assholes in the service for whom hazing others had been a daily delight. When had Rick become a delinquent like them? For the moment, John was too angry to try and backtrack, and though a part of him tried to lay responsibility at his own feet, a much larger part of him — the part he invariably listened to — put the blame squarely on where he believed it belonged: on Rick himself.

 

Single-minded in his determination to teach his firstborn son a lesson, John soaped Rick’s penis more thoroughly than he had ever soaped Scott’s, well aware that the longer he bathed the teenager, the greater Rick’s shame would be. Over and over, he scrubbed and buffed and rinsed, far from disturbed by the thick muscle that bobbed and expanded and eventually began to leak from the constant ministrations. When an accident seemed imminent, he ordered a mewling Rick to turn around and face the tiles, and then he commanded the boy to project his backside like a fag eager to be fucked. Rick tried to play dumb by feigning confusion, but a quick, wet-bottomed spanking promptly ensured his cooperation.

 

Entranced by the erotic sight of Rick’s comeuppance, neither Scott’s nor Jason’s eyes strayed one whit. They watched their formerly untouchable brother push his muscular bottom out as far as it would go, and then under orders, to reach back and part his own cheeks with trembling fingers. At first, Rick whimpered as he felt his outer ring getting scrubbed, but the moment John wormed a slick finger deep inside him the way he always did with Scott on Saturday mornings, Rick tensed up then grunted, his buttocks trembling suggestively.

 

Jason may have been confused by the sight, but Scott knew exactly what that meant. Between Rick’s wide-open legs, he watched the wall carefully for proof of his suspicions, and within seconds, he was rewarded as five creamy-white trails snaked their way down the tiles. Just yesterday, Scott had suffered a leather session for losing control during his own bath, so the gleeful teenager was not the least bit surprised when a grim-faced John removed his finger, dried his hands, and then began to unbuckle the military-style belt around his waist.

 

Rick heard the movements and recognized the sounds, but it was too late.

 

“No, Daddy! Wai—”

 

THWACK!

 

THWACK!

 

THWACK!

 

Straight on the heels of his orgasm, Rick suffered a merciless whipping — his first in ten years, the second of his entire life — that was a genuine shock to his system from the pitch of his screams. The licks were not many by Scott’s standards – only twelve to his bottom plus another four to the back of his thighs – but each one was hard, and Golden Boy Rick clearly felt each one. Bawling and jumping throughout his whipping as though his backside was being pitched into a boiling cauldron, he surely would have slipped and fallen flat, but John snatched his son’s arm before he completely lost his balance, righting him in time to deliver three final licks to his son’s low hanging ball sack.

 

Sobbing continuously as John deliberately placed his belt within easy reach on the counter, Rick was a virtual kitten, if an angry one, for the rest of his sentence in the bathtub. He didn’t dare protest as his dirty penis was scrubbed once more, and though he clearly wanted to argue against the loss of his pubes coming up next, one look at John’s heavy army belt and he shut his mouth. With tears dripping down his face, Rick hiccupped as he rubbed his striped bottom, but he was otherwise silent as John rinsed him off one last time, and then set the soap and the sponge aside in favor of scissors, shaving cream, and a safety razor.

 

Behind John, Scott and Jason were also silent, neither one willing to interrupt the proceedings, although for two very different reasons. Jason did not want any attention drawn to him or his own meager smattering of hair. As for Scott, he was not about to do anything to distract his father from the incredible chore set before him. Scott caught Rick’s eye and winked at him in silent jubilation while the scissors snipped away whole chunks of tight, manly curls, and then he turned his attention to what really mattered most, the shaking of the shaving cream, the lengthy spritz from its nozzle, and then the scraping of a razor over every millimeter of Rick’s midsection.

 

To Rick, it took forever for this latest humiliation to end, but for Scott, it did not take nearly long enough. He wished it was he stripping the manhood from his older brother’s dickhead, that he was the one cutting away the bulk of Rick’s hair, then mowing down all remaining traces with a razor. He wanted to order Rick around, to force him to squat here, lift there, and to hold certain appendages out of the way, but he was not allowed to, and he understood why. Still, he could not help wishing things were different, although, in the end, it did not really matter.

 

The final results were beautiful.

 

With years of practice on Scott, John was a master at denuding a teenage boy, so by the time he stood up and stepped back, the most defining parts of Rick were just as bald as the day he was born. The teen’s testicles were barren, his bottom was smooth, and even the sex trail he’d been growing so proudly from his navel was gone, a mere memory for the next two years.

 

Rick took one look at himself, and his chin trembled, but John was not done with him yet. As he put things away, he barked orders at his remaining sons.

 

“Scotty, go get your diaper stuff. Jason, you go downstairs and get Conner and wait for us in the family room.”

 

Nearly sick with anxiety at this point and scared practically shitless about when his turn was coming, Jason nonetheless took off downstairs while Scott hustled to obey their father’s directive. With the bathroom door wide open, fourteen-year-old Scott could hear his sixteen-year-old brother begging earnestly for his punishment to be over now, that he had learned a lesson already.

 

“Sorry, Daddy, I’m so, so sorry.”

 

Would G.I. John agree and end things prematurely?

 

Scott did not think so, but just to be sure, he did not waste any time collecting the humiliating bedtime paraphernalia that usually defined him. He grabbed his school backpack and shook everything out of it with impatience, and then he hurriedly stuffed inside the pins, the powder, the changing pad, the plastic pants, and the baby oil that were still on display near his crib. Last, he shoved in a few diapers, but on his way out the door, Scott had a second thought. He turned back and began rooting in his top dresser drawer, searching for one of the penis-capped pacifiers that his father sometimes forced him to suck when he was extra bad. As his fingers closed around one, he spotted his butt plug lying there too, just waiting to be picked up, so he grabbed that as well with a devious smile, along with a half-full jar of Vaseline.

 

“Son, you done in there?”

 

“Yeah, Dad, I’m coming!”

 

Charging back out of his room, Scott could not contain himself any longer once he returned to the bathroom. Eight feet away, a freshly shaven, totally bare-assed and red-faced Rick was shifting from foot to foot while his daddy dried him off, and if ever there was a more angry or oversized toddler in this world, Scott could not imagine it.

 

Laughing at the sight, he knew just what was missing. He reached into his backpack for the baby blue pacifier he had only just located, and then he went over to Rick to try and worm it between the older teen’s lips. Rick was not having it. He could not do anything about what his father was doing to him, but no way was he going to just stand still and offer his bedwetting brother carte blanche to boss him around too. He boxed Scott’s arm away then shoved his younger brother hard for good measure.

 

“Fuck you, you little fuck! I’m not putting your baby shit in my mouth!”

 

Uh oh. Bad move.

 

As Scott righted himself with a scowl and rubbed the bruise forming on his hip after stumbling into the counter, John dropped the terry-cloth towel he’d been using and calmly ordered Scott to hand him the pacifier.

 

“Give it here, son.”

 

The moment John held it in his palm, he raised it in front of Rick’s mouth and narrowed his gaze.

 

“Open up.”

 

“No, Dad, plea—”

 

“Open up!”

 

There was no disobeying a roar like that, so Rick did as he was told and opened up. Millimeter by millimeter, he separated his lips, and when John lost patience and shoved it in, he fought it for a second before accepting the inevitable. For the briefest of moments, his eyes were riveted on Scott, silently vowing murderous revenge, but then his worldview abruptly turned topsy-turvy. Without warning, John propped a leg on the toilet then tipped Rick right over, his strong right hand rising and falling three times before either son had a moment to digest what was happening.

 

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

 

“DADDY, NO! I’M SORRY!”

 

The pacifier in Rick’s mouth fell to the floor, and Scott immediately squatted to collect it, although he never took his eyes off his brother’s jiggling hind end.

 

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

 

“OW! DAAAD!”

 

“Your brother is my helper tonight, you got that?”

 

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

 

“YESSS!”

 

“You don’t tell him ‘no.’ You don’t shove him. You don’t do anything to him unless I tell you to. Is that clear, Richard?”

 

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

 

“YES, DADDY! YESSSS!”

 

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

 

“You want a mouth-soaping?”

 

“NOOO!”

 

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

 

“Then, watch your mouth, or that’s exactly what you’re going to get.”

 

“OKAY, DADDY! I WIIILL!”

 

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

 

“Now get up.”

 

Beet red in the face and trying hard not only to control the sobs in his chest but also the trembling in his chin, Rick straightened his back but kept his gaze averted. He refused to look at Scott to see the vindication planted there, and instead, he reached both hands behind him to rub the fresh burn that simmered. Unfortunately for him, he was not permitted more than four seconds to console himself before the next phase of his chastisement began.

 

“Hands on your head, boy. Let’s go.”

 

Rick raised his head long enough to look at his father, a sick panic creeping over his face.

 

“Dad?”

 

“You heard me,” John said as he snatched his belt from the countertop and put it back on. “Why do you think I told Jason to get Connor? For you to stay up here and hide your shame behind closed doors? No way, baby boy. We’re going downstairs so every member of this family can get a good long look at what happens to bullies in this house.”

 

“No, Daddy, please! I can’t! I’m naked!”

 

“That’s right, son, you are, and you’re going to stay that way a lot more than not from now on. As Scotty here can tell you, bad little boys don’t get to cover up this house, so I want you downstairs in the all-together where your brothers can see you.”

 

“Daddy, please! For god’s sake, I’m begging you! Don’t make me do this! I’ll never live it down! Please!”

 

John turned to his middle son and arched an eyebrow.

 

“Scotty, what do you think?”

 

Thrilled that his father asked his opinion, Scott nonetheless stared off into space and remained silent for almost a full minute while he pretended to mull over his decision. Finally, when he was sure that his brother was on the verge of screaming at him to hurry the fuck up and say something, he fixed his gaze on Rick, smirked, and raised the pacifier.

 

“I think my big brother needs a lesson he’ll never forget, Dad.”

 

That was all John needed to hear. He clamped a hand on the back of Rick’s neck and squeezed, reminding the powerless teenager to open his mouth and quickly. The second Rick made a face but bit down on the rubber prick Scott was offering him, John gestured for Scott to move out of the way and then gave his grimacing firstborn a sharp shove toward the open doorway.

 

“Hands on your head and move it,” he ordered. “You’re going first.”

 

Dragging his feet down each carpeted step, his fingers laced awkwardly on top of his head, Rick slowly descended the stairs while tears of shame and impotent fury prickled painfully behind both his eyes. He wished his dad or even Scott was walking in front of him to conceal at least a sliver of his nudity, but it did not happen. Both kept pace behind him the entire way down, allowing Jason and Conner a completely unobstructed view of his bald and bobbing penis once he entered the family room and faced them.

 

Jason clearly had not informed his brother of just what he should expect, so both were understandably shocked when Rick — not Scott — led the parade into the room. A giggling Conner forgot the mild sprain in his wrist and pointed a bandaged arm straight at Rick’s shaven groin. He actually leaped to his feet and gasped at the sight of his oldest brother. Needless to say, it did not take long at all for him to turn his shocked green eyes on his father.

 

“Daddy, Ricky’s naked!”

 

“Richard is undressed because he more than deserves it,” John stated without apology. He pushed his son straight over to his youngest son, then removed the pacifier from Rick’s mouth and delivered a stinging swat to the boy’s hindquarters. The spank thrust the teenager’s hips forward and got his thick cock bouncing anew, but that was precisely John’s intent.

 

“Tell me what you and Jason did,” he ordered.

 

Rick honestly did not think he could. Mortified more deeply than he could ever remember being in his life, he shut his eyes and tried to pretend he was not standing stark naked before his family at the age of sixteen, and that his little brother was not getting a gander at his sexual organs for the first time ever in his life. For five blissful seconds, he was allowed to indulge in this fantasy,  but then he heard his father removing his belt, and that goddamn jingle loosened his tongue. With tightly clenched buttocks, a bowed head, and beet red ears, Rick mumbled a short, one-sentence summary of what John had caught him and Jason doing upstairs, completely forgetting all of the other things he had done to Scott before Jason had joined in the fun.

 

Scott, of course, did not forget, and he stopped unpacking his schoolbag to stand tall and tattle.

 

“That’s not all you did,” he announced self-righteously. “Tell Dad the rest. Tell them how you wrestled me to the floor and humped my ass. Tell them how you hurt my dick and how you were gonna spank me like you always do whenever he’s not arou—”

 

“Richard Alan Tabor!”

 

A fresh set of storm clouds developed on John’s face, Rick only had a split second to worry about the damage Scott’s declaration had wrought. Before he could open his mouth to deny anything, he lost his chance. Slapped in the face and then yanked by his father over to the couch where he was forced over the back, the disgraced teenager soon found himself screaming in pain as the belt re-connected with his backside. Three, six, then ten lashes fell and branded him, yet still, they continued to come, over and over, across his butt, upon his thighs, along his calves, and even twice across his back. Exactly how many additional stripes he suffered, Rick was not able to count, and no one thought to tell him it was almost sixty. All he knew by the time he was allowed to stand was pain and shame. He hurt physically more than he ever had in his life, and he did not know how he was ever going to be able to face his family again after enduring such a long, public whipping.

 

The thing was—he had to. The night was not yet over for him.

 

With the pacifier forced once more between his lips, a bawling Rick stumbled after his father as John took his hand and then pulled him firmly back around the couch. There, Rick was ordered to lie on the floor on his back and center his bare, aching butt on the quilted changing pad Scott had brought downstairs.

 

“You know what you’re in for next, son?”

 

Rick sobbed.

 

“You’re in for a major change,” John declared right over him. “I don’t know when you became a son that I am ashamed to call my own, but I’m not giving up on you. I’m just going to start over. I’m going to put you back in diapers like Scott, and I’m going to watch you like a hawk. Get used to what’s happening now, soldier, because it’s going to happen every night for a good long while.”

 

“Is Ricky going to pee his bed like Scotty now?” Conner asked with a wrinkle of his pert little nose.

 

John looked at Scott’s blushing face while he answered.

 

“No. Richard knows how to control his bladder so he will not be wetting his sheets ever.”

 

At that, John turned his focus on Rick.

 

“You hear me, son? You’d better not let me catch you pissing in any one of these diapers we put you in unless I give you permission.”

 

“But Daddy, how come—”

 

“Because wearing diapers will shame him and force him to learn his lesson,” John said in answer to Conner’s unfinished question. “Your brother Richard is a naughty little boy now, and naughty little boys always wear diapers at night. When they’re especially bad, they also wear them during the day inside their footie pajamas, isn’t that right, Scotty?”

 

With all eyes on him, Scott blushed but held his head high.

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

“And when that happens, what are the rules about going to the bathroom?”

 

“I know, Daddy!” Conner’s arm shot up. “No peeing or pooping in the toilet unless you’re there, and you give permission.”

 

“That’s right, and if the rules are broken by bad little boys, what happens then? Jason, you know, don’t you, son?”

 

Like Scott before him, Jason’s face turned beet red, but he opened his mouth and forced himself to stutter a reply.

 

“Yes, sir, if…if bad li…li…little boys break the rules, they get spa…spa…spanked buck naked in the backyard every morning for a we…week.”

 

“Good answer,” John said. He sternly stared down at each of his three sons for a moment. “Now, that’s enough talk. You kids help get Richard ready for bed.”

 

Jason preferred not to help since he was pretty damn sure his own turn was coming soon, but he was not about to defy his father at a time like this. Reluctantly, he inched out from beside the bookcase where he’d been rooted in dread the last five minutes, and then he joined Conner and Scott, who were both eagerly crowded at Rick’s feet. Neither seemed the least bit perturbed by their brother’s soft blubbering, which meant they probably were not going to mind either when the scene before them repeated itself in less than half an hour.

 

***

 

Was Dad going to mind at least when Jason took the starring role?

 

Actually, he was, although he had no intention of showing it. As the male head of the Tabor household, John was indeed disturbed by Rick’s misery and by Jason’s fears, but the more he recalled what he had just learned about his sons, the more his sympathy was overtaken by serious displeasure. Was he looking forward to diapering yet more children well past the age of toddlerhood? No, he was not, but he was a great believer in the power of humiliation, for he had seen it work wonders on all three of his own brothers growing up. God knows it had its place raising Scott, so if he felt that Richard and Jason also needed a taste of it, well, then he was more than willing to help his sons.

 

Pursing his lips at the overlapping evidence of Rick’s whippings, John softened his gazed only once he turned to his attention to his middle son.

 

“Scotty, did you bring the butt plug down and the Vaseline?”

 

“Yeah, Dad. Here.”

 

“Good. Your brother needs stretching.”

 

Scott instantly sprung an erection at the good news but tried to conceal his jubilation behind a facade of helpfulness. “You want me to hold his legs up?”

 

John smiled.

 

“No need for you to do all the work, son. You can lift his left foot and hold it up for me while Jason does the same with his right. Jason Matthew Tabor, did you hear me? Are you daydreaming when you’re supposed to be paying attention?”

 

“No, Daddy. I’m sorry. I—”

 

“Not yet, you aren’t, but I’m sure I can fix that. For now, I expect you to watch and learn from what’s going on here, is that clear, young man?”

 

“Ye…Yes, sir.”

 

Like his father, Scott was not interested in Jason’s apologies. With sparkling eyes and a very stiff dick, he tightened his grip on Rick’s left ankle, his breathing shallow as he watched his father open the jar of petroleum jelly then dip the rectal plug inside.

 

This was it he knew, perhaps the most electrifying experience of his young life.

 

Usually, he was the one splayed wide open and crippled with endless humiliation, the tears on his cheeks a source of amusement rather than pity. Not tonight, though. Tonight it was Rick’s turn to flush crimson as Vaseline was massaged ever so diligently by their father into his winking pucker. This time, it was Rick lying all naked and shamed, completely and totally spread-eagled before four pairs of unblinking eyes. It was not Scott’s deepest recesses that were being unveiled right now. It was Rick’s, and of his hairless asshole. This was the first the siblings had ever seen Rick’s butthole, which was so new, so greasy, so very fascinating! The diamond star in the middle was winking a lot more than Scott’s usually did as their father slowly inserted the thick plug. Loving every second of it, Scott eased Rick’s leg closer to the ground to increase the teen’s exposure then looked at his little brother to see if he was enjoying the show — which, of course, Conner was.

 

Chewing compulsively on his lips, Conner was sitting transfixed as his dark blue eyes devoured every movement that was made to commit it all to memory. Even more than Scott, he was sorry when the butt plug was fully in, and Rick was pronounced fully corked, but then his interest was rekindled as he watched his father reach for the bottle of silky soft moisturizing baby oil. Conner fully expected his father to hand it to him so he could finally participate alongside his brothers, and when nothing of the kind happened, he sat back with a pout.

 

“I wanna help too,” Conner complained. “When do I get to do something, Daddy?”

 

“You can help me apply the powder once I’m done with the oil, all right, honey?”

 

To Scott’s delight and Rick’s eternal shame, Conner nodded and leaned forward, his eyes once again riveted to the area below Rick’s waist. With their father focused on his task, Scott soaking up every slather with a grin, and Jason unable to tear his fearful gaze away, there was simply no way for the sixteen-year-old to tell himself that he was not quite as naked as he felt or that there was still some secret part of his body that remained his own.

 

There was not.

 

With his thighs so widely separated and absolutely no thick, bushy hair left to hide behind, Rick’s family could see everything. They could see his asshole crimping and flowering by turns around the butt plug, and there was no way they could miss the limp noodle his cock had become, too scandalized and disgraced now to remain proudly erect. Even worse, it kept rolling left and right as his father thoroughly greased it, and when Scott was finally enlisted to hold it up out of the way while his balls were oiled, Rick truly wished he could die. At this precise moment, more than any other so far, he felt his degradation was complete.

 

And yet, still, it was not.

 

“Can I powder him now, Daddy?”

 

“Yes, dear, but not too much, all right?”

 

John stood looming over them all, making sure that his oldest son stayed put and didn’t fight, but Rick’s tear-filled eyes could not look anymore. Sniffling, he drew an arm over his eyes and tried hard to pretend he was somewhere other than where he was, refusing to observe his baby brother at work. He could not stomach to watch his eight-year-old brother’s enraptured face as he happily sprinkled cornstarch onto his sixteen-year-old naked dick, and then even went so far as to lift his heavy cock like Scott had done seconds before so he could access his testicles. He waited for his father to drive another nail into his coffin by giving Conner permission to rub the powder all over him as he had once for a certain bedwetting brother when Scott was about twelve, but it did not happen. That privilege remained with his father.

 

Rick tried to feel grateful for even this small mercy, but he could not. As his tears dried up, anger, pure and true, reared its head again, but without the means to protest or to defend himself without suffering a punishment god-knows-how-much worse, Rick could only stew internally. He cursed his father in his head for taking such care to smear the powder in every nook and cranny he owned, and then he cursed him out some more for taking a geological age to cover him up with a diaper. Did he absolutely have to waste an eternity tucking the cloth so snuggly around his waist and in between his legs? And why was his dad so inflexible in the first place in foisting this entire nightmare on his oldest son? Rick could not say, but he also did not waste too much time thinking about it.

 

For the most part, he reserved his hatred for Scott.

 

If Scott had never been a bedwetter, none of this baby stuff would still be lying around so readily available to humiliate Rick, which meant the firstborn son of the Tabor family would not be sucking on a penis pacifier right now in full view of his family. More than that, he would not have to withstand the wretched feel of a pair of crinkly nursery print plastic pants being forced up his legs, and he sure as hell would not have to wince as they were snapped in place around his hips.

 

With every additional second, Rick hated Scott more for putting him through this nightmare, but every time he looked at his brother, he knew the boy was not the least bit bothered by his antipathy. If anything, Scott was enjoying it.

 

And indeed the teenager was.

 

As Rick got to his feet and tried to get comfortable in his new bedtime underwear, Scott snickered and grinned, his eyes gleefully traveling his brother’s body from top to bottom. Scott suddenly remembered something and zipped upstairs to fetch it. When he returned, he was holding a camera. Rick took one look and wigged out.

 

“NO! NO DAMN WAY, YOU’RE TAKING PICTURES! DAAAD! DO SOMETHING FOR THE LOVE OF CHRIST!”

 

John did not do a thing except cuff Rick upside the head for swearing. He stood right where he was and held the camera case for Scott when the young teen asked him to, and then he watched his two oldest sons chase each other over and around the furniture while a shrieking Conner joined the fun. When Rick made the mistake of passing by his father too closely, John snagged his eldest son’s arm and forced the boy to stand still, giving Scott carte blanche to take as many photographs as he liked.

 

Scott took three to start, and then he shot another five before his father pulled out his cock, as he sat in the La-Z-Boy and ordered Rick to join him between his legs so he could feed him. Scott seriously would have sold his soul for a video camera. He watched his older brother argue and plead for five full minutes before relenting and taking their father’s cock in his mouth under threat of more whipping, and then while Conner giggled non-stop, Jason looked ready to puke, and Baby Ricky sucked their father’s cock for his fresh milk, Scott took his pictures.

 

Had it been worth it all these years to suffer as a bedwetter just so he could enjoy Big Brother Rick being put in his place?

 

Scott was not sure. What he did know was this was the best time he had ever had with his family — particularly his father — and he did not want it to end. He sidled up to his father bit by bit, in the hopes that his dad would not forget about him and discovered his world was complete when his hair was suddenly ruffled and then his shoulders hugged for the first time in years.

 

“It’s Jason’s turn, son. You ready for round two?”

 

Scott beamed up at his father, nodding fast. “Absolutely, Dad, I wouldn’t miss this for anything!”