The Heckler boys were in trouble again. This was nothing new, as popular opinion in the neighborhood held that one or more of the little hooligans would end up in reform school one day. But this time it was serious trouble.

"So you admit you were playing with matches?" Mr. Carlton frowned, glaring at the boys through thick glasses.

"Yes, sir," murmured Sean, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"Speak up!" urged Mrs. Heckler, standing behind her progeny. She cuffed Sean, her eldest, for emphasis.

The blonde twelve-year-old winced, shifting his weight nervously. Owning up was almost the worst part of the aftermath of these misadventures. Almost. "Yes, sir," Sean said, more forcefully this time.

"We didn't mean to start a fire," protested Tommy, the brown haired nine-year-old.

"I see," said Mr. Carlton flatly. "So why exactly were you lighting matches in our garden?"

Four chins dropped on four chests. Four pairs of eyes stared intently at the floor, searching desperately for a hole into which they could crawl. "I...don't know," Tommy sputtered.

"We're REAL sorry," quavered Garth, the second oldest. His face, framed by a mop of brown hair, nearly glowed with the sincere sorrow of a boy who knows he's in very deep trouble.

"Real sorry," piped Nathan, the youngest of this band of rogues. His blonde hair and baby face were smeared with dirt. His bright blue eyes were wide with fear and could barely contain the tears that were forming.

Mr. Carlton grunted, then turned to glare imperiously at his own offspring, a stout brown haired lad, short for his eleven years of age, who shrank visibly under his father's withering gaze. "Well, Daniel?"

Daniel bit his lip, "We were just playing..."

"Playing with matches! Something any boy HALF your age knows not to do!"

"Yes, sir," Daniel croaked, his lower lip quivering.

Mrs. Heckler let out a loud sigh. "Aye, these little brats know better than that too. Don't you, brats?"

"Yes, ma'am," chorused four fearful voices.

Mr. Carlton took a deep breath, and slowly exhaled. All eyes in the room were on him. The five crestfallen boys gazed fearfully at the man who had their immediate future in his hands. Even his own son was terrified of what might happen next. Daniel had been in big trouble before, but setting fire to his father's garden was beyond precedent.

Even worse, the wind had been blowing the fire towards the house. Fortunately a helpful neighbor, a volunteer fireman who was home at the time, was able to put the fire out with a garden hose before it went out of control and the Carlton family lost everything. Daniel's mother was hysterical and had to be sedated. The shamefaced boy had never seen his father so angry before, and seriously began to wonder if he would live long enough to see his mother recover.

Mr. Carlton took another deep breath. The tension in the room was nearly choking the young miscreants. "Well, we were lucky as it turns out. The garden will grow back," he glared sternly at his son, "next year." Daniel couldn't meet his father's gaze, and instead concentrated on studying the polished floorboards on which he stood - floorboards which could easily be ashes now.

"As will the grass," continued Mr. Carlton. "So, if I can be assured that this kind of thing will NEVER happen again..." He looked at each boy in turn, and was rewarded with an affirmative nod and an emphatic "yes, sir" from each. "I don't think it will be necessary to bring the police into this matter." Five audible sighs of relief filled the room.

"Punishment can be handled within the families," Mr. Carlton finished, looking to Mrs. Heckler for support.

"Oh, yes!" Mrs. Heckler agreed. "You can be assured that these four little arsonists will be dealt with properly when I get them home." Relieved looks quickly drained from the four faces. "Unless you want me to warm their fannies here..." she offered diplomatically.

"No, that won't be necessary, Mrs. Heckler. I have my own junior pyromaniac to deal with." Mr. Carlton glared at his son, who was exchanging meaningful looks with Garth, his friend and classmate. "Right, Daniel?"

"Ye...yes, sir," answered the pyromaniac in question, his voice rather unsteady, aware that his time was nearly up.

Mrs. Heckler started to move her brood towards the door. "Well, then, sir. I thank you for being so understanding about this unfortunate affair. I hope when we speak again it will be under better circumstances."

As Mrs. Heckler ushered her sons out onto the Carlton's porch, Garth looked back and saw Mr. Carlton take off his belt and order Daniel to his room. As the unhappy group trudged down the street towards their own home (and waiting doom), they were overtaken by the distant sound of leather sharply striking bare flesh and Daniel Carlton's anguished howls.

The Heckler house was a block away. The four Heckler lads didn't need to be told what to do when they got home. This wasn't the first time they all got into serious trouble together. They marched into their back bedroom, a long, thin affair that ran the entire width of the small house. Containing two bunk beds, plus two large dressers and a small closet, the room was a tight fit for the four boys, but it got the job done.

Garth always fancied that their bedroom looked like a barracks, which he liked, since he planned to enlist in the Army one day. Sean had lately begun to complain about having no privacy. Garth, at age eleven, couldn't imagine what his brother suddenly needed privacy for. The brothers had seen each other naked on a daily basis all their lives. Sure, Sean was sporting some sparse hair around his growing genitals, but Garth didn't see what the big deal was. Sean always acted he was hot stuff because he was the oldest, but this privacy kick was stretching the point, at least in Garth's opinion.

The four brothers immediately proceeded to remove their clothes. Sean and Garth hung their clothes over chairs. For minor offenses, their mother would usually sit on one of these chairs to punish the offender. The unruly lad would have to strip to his underpants while one of his brothers fetched the hairbrush. Then the miscreant would drape himself over his mother's lap. Mom would then bare the bottom of her errant offspring and apply the wooden-backed brush to his nether cheeks while his brothers watched in morbid fascination. A loving, but firm mother, she never stopped until SHE thought the sufferer had had enough.

All the howling, crying, squirming and kicking in the world would not stay her hand, and hairbrush, from their appointed task. Afterwards, she gave the squalling boy a minute or so to settle down before gently pushing him off her lap. The chastened boy then walked over to one of the bunk beds and climbed part way up the ladder. He had to remain there, underpants still pulled down in back, until Mom released him. The next offender, if any, was dealt with in the same way. When finished, she left all the boys in the room for a half-hour or so, the vivid red spanked bottoms of the sniffling offenders on display, a warning to those who hadn't mis- behaved this time.

Tommy and Nathan sat on their lower bunks undressing slowly, in a vain effort to stave off the inevitable. When the two eldest boys were clad in only their underpants, Sean urged his younger siblings on in a stage whisper, "Come on, guys! We're dead meat as it is. We'll only get it worse if Mom has to call for us."

"I'm waiting!" Mom thundered from the next room.

"Shit! Do you hear that?" Garth queried. "Hurry up, you two!" Sean and Garth rushed from the bedroom into the living room. They found Mom pacing back and forth in the room, her face as dark as a thundercloud. The two boys crossed the hardwood floor of the living room and toed the edge of a throw rug near the center of the room. Mom stopped her pacing, and faced her eldest progeny, her foot tapping with impatience. Neither boy had the courage to look her in the face, preferring to examine the pattern of the rug. A few seconds later Tommy and Nathan burst into the room, running nearly full tilt. They skidded into place in line next to Garth. As they stopped, Nathan suddenly yelped and began hopping on his right foot, holding his left foot gingerly in his hands.

Mom rolled her eyes and gave Nathan a hard, less than sympathetic look. "Splinter?"

"Yeeesss!" Nathan whined, his lower lip quivering, tears streaming from his eyes.

"How many times have I told you - all of you - not to run in the house, especially in bare feet?" Mom was clearly not in the mood for rule breaking a the moment.

"I'm sorry, Mom!" Nathan squeaked, barely able to keep his balance. The eight-year-old finally lost his battle against the combined forces of pain, apprehension, and gravity. He tumbled backwards, falling quite hard on his backside. "Yeow!" he yelped, and began to cry in earnest.

Mom was suddenly standing over Nathan, her face showing a small amount of motherly concern despite her anger. "What's the matter, did you get a splinter in your butt?"

"Noo! It just hurts," Nathan wailed. Nobody in the room was fooled by his obvious attempt to garner sympathy, and possibly a pardon, from his mother.

"It's gonna hurt a lot worse in a couple minutes," Mom stated coldly. She picked up Nathan's left foot and examined the sole. "That splinter doesn't look too bad, but we'll have to get it out before you get your lickin'."

Nathan groaned as Mom helped him up and escorted him towards the bathroom. She held her baby's left arm, acting as a crutch so he wouldn't have to step on the splinter. Before they left the room Mom turned and told the others, "Your lickin's are gonna last for a good long while, so you all better use the bathroom if you have to while I tend to his splinter. I don't plan to allow any more interruptions once we get going."

All three boys remaining on line moved to follow, since they knew their sore butts would be on display for some time after the actual whippings ended. Their next chance to relieve themselves wouldn't come until after the "thinking about what you done" period was over.

Mom took Nathan into the bathroom and sat him on the edge of the bathtub. She opened the door of the small bathroom closet and retrieved what she was looking for, the "splinter kit." A splinter kit is mandatory for any family living in a house with old hardwood floors. She set the box, an empty bandaid box, on the side of the tub next to her.

Mom drew out a pair of small metal tweezers, and made Nathan place his left foot in her lap. Before she started to work on the splinter, Mom noticed her other three offspring standing in the hallway, nervously waiting to enter their home's only bathroom. "Well, what are you three waiting for? Use the toilet or get back out there on line!"

Sean, his face turning red, was the first to find his voice. "But Mom, we're waiting until you're done in there!"

"Nonsense," Mom stated, "I changed your diapers for years. I'm certainly not gonna be upset by little boys, MY little boys, using the toilet. Take care of your business and get back out there!"

Sean's face was beet red. "But, Mom..."

"But nothing! Do it now or hold it! I'll have no more foolishness." Mom was clearly not in a foolishness mood.

While Sean stood in the hallway and steamed silently, Garth decided that he, for one, couldn't wait and stepped up to the toilet. He was glad that Mom had her back turned as she worked on Nathan's foot. Nathan was even too busy wincing and putting on a show of great injury for Mom to notice his older brother lift the toilet seat, pull his boyish penis from his briefs, and sigh in relief as his stream of pee gushed into the toilet. Garth was just finishing up when Mom turned to dig something else out of the splinter kit box behind her on the side of the bath tub. Garth, in a sudden fit of modesty, slipped his penis back into his underpants just as the final squirt of pee was released, creating a good sized yellow stain on the front of his white cotton briefs.

"Garth, really!" Mom looked at her son, whose face quickly reddened. "I know you're father's been dead these many years, but didn't anybody teach you to 'shake it off' before putting it away?"

"Yes," Garth barely managed to croak.

"Well, are you gonna just stand there peeing your undies, or will you let the others have a chance at the toilet?" Mom could be very sarcastic at times.

Garth slinked from the room, wishing the floor would open up and swallow him. As Tommy took his turn at the toilet, Mom found what she was looking for in the splinter kit, a needle.

In what was either a show of bravado, or an attempt to make certain he didn't embarrass himself like Garth, Tommy simply pulled down his briefs to his knees while he relieved himself. Tommy was distracted by Nathan's yelps as Mom dug the obstinate splinter out of his foot with the old needle. Tommy almost started peeing on the rim of the toilet, but redirected his stream just in time. He didn't want to give Mom any reason to be any angrier with him at that particular moment. Just as Tommy finished, and carefully shook himself off, Mom triumphantly pulled the splinter from Nathan's foot. Tommy pulled his briefs back up and left the room just as Mom was getting out the Bactine and some cotton to disinfect the hole left in Nathan's foot by the splinter.

The splinter finally attended to, Mom put away her implements. Nathan still sat on the side of the tub, holding his injured foot and trying to act as if his foot needed to be amputated. "Alright, Nathan. That's enough. Use the toilet if you have to, then march your little butt out to the living room with the rest of them." Nathan moaned until Mom left the room, then walked over to the toilet to attend to his needs.

Mrs. Heckler walked back into the living room to find Garth and Tommy waiting nervously on line. "Where is Sean?" she asked them.

"Dunno!" Garth said emphatically.

Mom looked at Tommy. "I don't know, either," Tommy stated, a little too loudly.

"You don't, eh?" Mom's anger was rising again. Not that it had ever subsided all that much.

At that moment Nathan came into the room from the hallway, limping noticeably. "Nathan, did you see Sean just now?"

Nathan froze. "No."

"He's not in the bathroom?"

"No."

"Alright, get on line, Nathan."

At that moment Sean suddenly appeared, obviously coming from the door to the basement stairs. He froze when he saw his mother standing there glaring at him, her foot beginning that dangerous tapping motion. "Well, what's your story, young man? It had better be extremely good."

Sean swallowed slowly, then said, "I went downstairs to get Stinger." He was having enormous trouble meeting his mother's eyes.

"I see. Did you find Stinger there?"

"No."

"Garth, tell your brother why he didn't find Stinger in the basement." Mom spoke to Garth while still staring straight at Sean.

Garth cleared his throat, "because Stinger is in your bedroom closet."

Mom smiled coldly, still staring at Sean. "Correct, Garth. Go fetch it, and the hairbrush." Garth immediately turned and trotted from the room. "Sean, come over here." Sean sidled over to stand about two feet away from his mother. "Hand me your shorts, Sean."

"What?" Sean gasped.

"You heard me, mister. Take off your underpants and hand them to me. Now!"

Gulping, his face turning blood red again, Sean complied. He slipped out of his briefs, handed them to his mother, his hands automatically going to cover his genitals after they completed this task.

Mrs. Heckler took the briefs, turned them inside out, then ran her fingers over the crotch area. She smiled coldly again as she found what she expected. "What's this, Sean?"

Sean leaned over and looked at the place she was pointing. "It's just a little stain in the front from the last time I peed. At least I'm better at shaking off than Garth." Sean tried to laugh nervously.

Mom's smile didn't change. "You decided to wait until after your whipping, didn't you?"

"Yes," said Sean. Obviously not following where this was going.

"So why is this still wet?"

"Ahh..." Sean's face flamed a brighter red.

"You peed down the drain in the basement, didn't you? You thought you'd be back here before I was through with Nathan." It was no longer a question.

Sean's head hung like whipped puppy. "Yes. But I..."

"No buts, young man! You've been told you're not allowed to pee into that drain. You might as well just pee out on the street, or on a fire hydrant like a dog!"

Garth returned at this point, trotting back into the room holding a large-backed wooden hairbrush in one hand and Stinger, a length of rubber hose, in the other. Garth stopped when he saw his older brother standing naked, his underwear being held by his mother. Mom looked over her shoulder, "put those down on the chair, then get back on line." She turned back to Sean, "you too."

Garth hustled over to Mom's big easy chair and placed the brush and the hose on the arm of the chair, then he returned to line. Sean held out his hand, expecting to get his underwear back. Mom slapped Sean's outstretched hand. "Get over there, you little mongrel!" Sean plodded back over the carpet and took his place on line. Mom laid Sean's briefs, dry side down, on the arm of the sofa.

Moving to within a few feet of her sons, Mrs. Heckler drew herself up to her full height, which was only an inch or so taller than Sean at this point, and addressed her shamefaced row of arsonists. "You all know better than to play with matches, and this will be the last time for all of you, got it?"

"Yes, ma'am," the boys chorused.

"You will each get a good dose of Stinger for that little stunt." The boys all stared at the floor, and Nathan gulped. This hardly came as a surprise to any of them.

"But first, you each get a hairbrush spanking."

"What?" "No!" "Oohh." The boys generally reacted with dismay.

"Sean gets it for peeing in the drain downstairs." Sean eyed the carpet and clamped his hands closed around his genitals. "Garth gets it for that 'four letter word' I heard him say just after I called you all in here, also for peeing his undies while standing at the toilet." Garth bit his lip, and tried to cover the stain on the front of this briefs with his hands. "Tommy and Nathan get it for dawdling when getting undressed in the first place. If you little idiots hadn't dawdled, Nathan wouldn't have ended up with that splinter." Tommy was near tears, and Nathan was sobbing freely already.

Mrs. Heckler concluded her remarks, picked up the hairbrush from the arm of the easy chair, and then seated herself in the middle of the sofa. "Sean, get over here," she ordered.

Sean slowly marched himself over to her, kneeled on the sofa on her right side, then draped himself over her lap. His mother wasted no time, placing her left hand in the middle of Sean's back to hold him down. She grasped the large hairbrush firmly in her right hand and brought it crashing down with great force on Sean's left buttock. Next it was the right cheek's turn, and so on, alternating. The boy's bottom quickly reddened, almost to the bright red shade his face had for some time. Sean tried to be brave, but soon all his bravado and anger were overcome by the intense stinging, and he started yelping with almost every whack of the brush. Finally, the damn of Sean's self control burst, and his body was wracked with great shuddering sobs, fat tears streaking his face. By the time Mom stopped spanking Sean, she thought it was a toss up which pair of cheeks were redder, those of his face or those of his backside. She grabbed Sean by the hair at the back of his neck and turned his head to face her. "Oww. Stoppp," the boy cried.

Sean found himself staring into his mother's angry eyes. "Where do we pee?" she asked.

"In th..the toilet," Sean managed to force out between sobs.

"That's correct. Just remember it." To punctuate this admonition, Mom released his hair and delivered a final volley of swats with the brush to the boy's already sore seat. She then pushed the howling boy off her lap. "Get over to the corner." Sean staggered unsteadily to the indicated corner of the room.

Mom turned and beckoned her second oldest with her finger. "Garth." The indicated boy, already near tears, shuffled most unwillingly towards the sofa. She held up her hand to stop him when he drew near. "Take off those soiled undies." Garth blushed, then quickly slipped off his briefs, placing them with Sean's on the arm of the sofa. He then moved to kneel on the sofa next to his mother.

To Garth's great surprise, his mother drew a small bar of soap from the sofa next to her. Garth couldn't imagine how it got there. "Thought I forgot about that word you said before, did you?"

"No," Garth replied unsteadily.

"Open up." Garth complied, and his mother slipped the soap neatly into his mouth. "Mnnth."

"Keep your yap shut, before you talk yourself into more trouble." Mom pushed the boy down over her knees, retrieved the hairbrush, and began to administer hearty swats to his squirming backside. This went pretty much as Sean's spanking, except that Garth's howls were muffled by the bar of soap in his mouth. When the end was near, Mom grabbed a handful of hair and asked Garth, "You gonna say bad words anymore?" She released his hair and the lad emphatically shook his head from side to side. "Gonna clean yourself properly after you use the toilet?" An equally emphatic up and and down shake of Garth's head answered this query. Mom delivered a final burst of swats to Garth's red hot posterior, then he was headed for a corner of the room, sniffling in a soap- muffled fashion.

Tommy was next over his mother's lap. He retained his underpants, which were pulled down in back to bare his bottom for the spanking. The nine-year-old howled early and often during his punishment. After assuring his mother he would come IMMEDIATELY when called from now on, even for punishment, Tommy was awarded a final volley of spanks with the brush and consigned to a third corner of the room, his briefs still pulled down to reveal his bottom, glowing red with heat.

Nathan was bawling pretty good before he even got over his mother's lap, but it didn't seem to matter. His bare bottom got its share of smacks from the hairbrush. The lad howled and screamed through the whole operation like his fingernails were being pulled out. Once he had provided his mother with the same assurance as had Tommy, Nathan received his final hairbrush smacks and ended up in the remaining unoccupied corner of the room, sobbing bitterly.

Mrs. Heckler rose, set the still smoking hairbrush down next to the hose, then addressed her weeping brood, "now you four stay in those corners until I come back. Anyone who moves, and that includes rubbing your fannies, you'll get a double dose of Stinger. No talking, either." The only answer she received was sobbing and sniffling from the four corners of the room.