Brandon stood in the corner, nose pressed snugly into the crease.  He was naked from the waist down save for his white crew socks.  His red "Nike" T-shirt was already almost a size too small and provided him no sense of protection or modesty.

When he had walked in from band practice , he had found his step-mom sitting in the living room surrounded by the stash of dirty magazines he had carefully kept hidden between his mattress and box spring.  They were spread around the floor and coffee table, opened to various lurid pictures.  People's private parts and private acts forming a carpet of black and white and color photos.

Mom had simply said, "Get you pants off and get into the corner, Brandon.  Now!"

He began to stammer a protest, but was cut off.  "You seem to like to see naked people, Brandon James.  Well, it happens that I like to see naughty young boys naked.  And I like to see them with red, paddled behinds the best of all!  DON'T YOU DARE ARGUE, BRANDON."

He very quickly complied, shedding his shoes and jeans in a pile.  He began to head for the corner but Mom jumped up, spun him by the shoulders to face her, and saying, "Oh no, Mister, these too," she yanked his briefs down.  He had quickly half-stumbled out of them as he hurried to get to the corner trying to cover himself with his hands as he went.

Now, he could here Mom upstairs getting her hairbrush.  Didn't she realize how big he was now?  The thought made him blush as he immediately realized the nature of the offense that was causing his disgrace and he knew that, of course, she knew he was growing up and that she didn't care.  Here he was, almost fifteen-years-old and he was being bared and spanked like a little boy!