Saturday, 3 September 2011

A Sore Bottom for Travis - Chapter One


It was his standard response to any annoying situation. And it seemed to Travis that more than his share of situations were annoying lately, if not downright frustrating. Not being the brightest bulb on the tree, Travis' many brilliant ideas often had a way of just not working out.

"Muh-ther-FUK-ker!" He whined to no one in particular.

For Travis, 'motherfucker' referred to all the nameless, faceless people and circumstances that conspired to keep him from getting what he wanted—easy money, free drugs, and plenty of sex.

"Fukfukfukfukfuk!!" He crumpled the envelope he was holding and threw it angrily at the blank TV.

Tiffany, Travis' latest in a long line of girlfriends, stuck her head in from the kitchen. She had one of those flawless faces that are irretrievable after the age of 28 and that crowd every nightspot and modeling agency from Encino to East L.A.

"What is it, Travis, honey? What are you yelling about?" She flipped her perfect, shiny blonde hair with surgical precision and blinked at him from wide-set, almond-shaped eyes. She wiggled over and settled in beside him on the sofa.

"Honey, don‘t get so upset." She stroked his head and cooed soothingly. "Don‘t waste all that energy on unimportant little things." She clearly had no idea what was actually bothering him. "You‘re going to need all the energy you got for the game next week…and for me…" She adopted what she thought was her sexiest pout and ran her hand across the front of his chest.

Travis White had picked her up the previous weekend at one of the hotter clubs in town and she had been staying with him ever since—that is, staying at the million-dollar condo in Westwood that belonged to his uncle, Charlie White. But she didn‘t know that. Travis had told her it was his place and his car. He had also told her that he was on the starting lineup of the Los Angeles Dodgers. The bar was about to close. She was drunk. He was flashing around a lot of cash. And neither of them thought past the end of Travis' dick.

They went home that night and had amazing sex. What each lacked in IQ points, they more than made up for in good looks and sexual enthusiasm. She wanted to believe she had hooked up with a big baseball star—and he intended to let her.

The deal was clinched when he showed up the next afternoon with a giant bottle of her favorite perfume. She had seen it in the store and knew exactly what it cost. Unconcerned that large-bottle-size rarely predicted quality, they each beamed with their own inner pride—she, pleased at how easy it was to get him to buy her the most expensive thing on the counter; he gloating that the ridiculously-priced bottle was a knock-off he had purchased for five bucks on the street.

The giant bottle gleamed obscenely on the coffee table while Travis' thoughts drifted to the note crumpled on the floor.

The metallic ratcheting sound echoed from the high ceiling as the bound figure was hoisted off his feet. The blooming redness of the man‘s bare buttocks was beautifully framed by the black jockstrap that was the only clothing he was permitted to wear. Two men, one on either side of the helpless man, applied loud rhythmic spanks to his exposed ass.


The force of an open-handed blow caused the dangling man to groan and swing forward. The man on the other side, dressed in chaps and harness, skillfully timed the man‘s return swing and planted a loud, full-arm swat with a leather paddle squarely across both cheeks.


The oval-shaped paddle made a fearsome noise in the near-empty bar. The helpless man grunted and muttered quiet words of aroused submission.


The bound figure spun clockwise from the hook in the ceiling.


He spun the other way.



Back and forth he spun. The relentless spanking/paddling continued. Sweat was pouring down the shirtless man's chest. He began to notice that his hand was getting sore.

"OK," said Phillip, the man with the paddle. "I think he's had enough." He spun the boy to face him.

"You had enough, boy?" He squeezed the boy's genitals through the fabric of the jockstrap, which was moist with sweat and spots of precum. The boy drew a sharp intake of breath. "I can‘t hear you boy! Have…you…had …enough?"

"No, Sir..." came the man's whispered reply.

Phillip's eyes sparkled...and the punishment continued.

With a teasing little peck on his cheek, she headed into the kitchen to heat up some frozen dinners, the full extent of her culinary skills.

When she was out of sight, Travis retrieved the crumpled paper from the floor. Eyebrows pinched and worried, he nervously smoothed it out on the coffee table. It was on official Dodgers letterhead and informed him that he had to complete his annual physical by the end of the week in order to remain on the team.

This included drug testing!

Some of what he had told Tiffany about being on the Dodgers was true. What he hadn't told her was that he was relief right field on the 4th string and was close to being fired. He had strewn enough Dodgers-logo stuff around the place to convince an un-inquisitive mind like Tiffany's that he was, indeed, on the team. He knew that if he got drug tested, his lab results would light up like a Christmas tree—steroids, opiates, THC, coke, you name it!—and they would dump him like a turd. He couldn't afford to lose this job.


Getting his physical, however, was the least of his worries. Tiffany expected to go out that night and it was inevitably going to be expensive. He had blown his last hundreds on that bag of coke. He needed to get some more cash—quick!

"Tiffany, baby, I‘m gonna run out to the store and get some wine." He called from the sofa. "I‘ll be right back." Before she could respond, he grabbed his backpack and shot out the door.

Phillip went to work more than a bit hung over. But he didn't mind. He liked his job running the free clinic at the hospital, and he liked the people he worked with. As a nurse, Phillip knew his job. He was competent and efficient. The doctor in charge respected him for it and let him pretty much run the clinic the way he saw fit.

Dr. Thompson was a pretty cool guy, thought Phillip. He was young enough that he hadn't had time to develop that insufferable God-complex to which so many docs succumb.

Plus, there were perks! Being a free clinic, the kids from the local community college all got their health care with them. This meant that some pretty hot young men would come in from time to time and need things like shots or sports physicals.

And Phillip never missed an opportunity to be front and center for the most embarrassing procedures!

It was a beautiful late afternoon. He was looking forward to a bit of exercise and fresh air. He had been cooped up all day working on a grant proposal for the local Veteran‘s association. He detested the layers of bureaucracy that had to be navigated just for a measly $5,000. Richard pulled on his jacket and grabbed his keys from the kitchen counter.

It had rained a little that day—just enough to wash the air clean and lend a sparkle to the late-spring growth. He loved this time of year before the hills dried out and everything around L.A. was still green. He patted the wallet in his back pocket and was reassured by its bulge.

Richard Thompson had a good life. He had a good job right out of med school ten blocks from where he lived. He had a beautiful girlfriend and the buoyant good health of a man in his late 20's. He ran the free clinic at the local hospital and really enjoyed the people he worked with. There was this one guy, Phillip, a nurse and a real crack up. He was that great combination of competence and fun. You could trust him to take care of business and still have a good time doing it. Phillip was bright and funny, and told hilarious—and often shocking—stories about his exploits in the L.A. gay S&M community. He had a breezy openness about his sexuality that Richard liked. He just couldn't always be sure how much of what the guy said was true. And despite himself, Richard somehow found the details of his exploits oddly fascinating.

The young doctor turned into the entrance to the park. He appreciated the way the place had been landscaped and how well-used it was. It wasn't all that big as city parks went. One end was always full of Latino families eating and listening to music while their kids ran around and played. The other end was a well-known gay cruising area. It was characteristic of the neighborhoods of L.A. that such diverse elements co-existed so well.

Although each group definitely kept to its own turf, it was this kind of live-and-let-live culture that he found so appealing about the city.

Richard was on his way to the bank. He and his girlfriend had attended a fundraiser the night before as a benefit for the V.A. Being one of the organizers, it was his job to collect the large bills from the cashier at the door. It was safer not to keep the large notes in the cashbox, so he would periodically swing by and collect the 50's and 100's. It was these notes that caused the substantial bulge in his wallet.

Thinking about them, he quickened his pace.

Richard entered into the gay section of the park. He smiled as he noticed a couple of guys leaning against a tree. They had that odd mixture of studied casualness and tense readiness that he had seen before between men in the park. They glanced over at him, ran their eyes up and down the length of his body, and then resumed their conversation. Richard had to laugh. He found the gay-male cruising ritual only slightly more ridiculous than the singles-bar, pursuit-and-dodge patterns of straights. Actually, he envied gay men in a way. Finding someone for sex seemed so much less complicated for them. The truth was, though, he was glad he was out of that whole desperate singles-bar scene. He had found a woman who was both a good friend and good in bed. He smiled as he recalled the deep, satisfying blow job she had given him the night before. She was incredible! His cock stiffened thinking about the way she looked up at him while his hard dick slid in and out of her amazing mouth. She had a way of cradling his balls and gently tugging on his scrotum as she sucked him that drove him absolutely wild.

Suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, a figure with a backpack appeared in front of him brandishing a knife.

"Gimme your wallet!"

Disoriented, head still lost in the memory of having his cock sucked last night, Richard stumbled backward a step. He raised his hands palms-forward in a placating gesture and looked around. Not a soul in sight!

"One peep and I‘ll cut a new smile across your neck." The young man was tall and clearly agitated. Richard wondered if he were on meth.

"Come on, buddy, you don't want to…" Richard's words were cut off by a violent stab of the knife toward his chest.

"Get behind that tree!" The young man cocked his head towards a large tree surrounded by thick bushes. "Move!" He stabbed again. This time the knife point penetrated Richard's jacket and nicked his skin.

Off balance, Richard allowed himself to be backed into the bushes. With a sudden shove, the young man caused Richard to trip over a tree root, fall backwards to the ground, and land painfully on his tailbone. Catlike and with surprising strength, the young man was on top of him and had him flipped over onto his belly before Richard knew what had happened. One hand held the knife at his throat, while the other hand deftly searched his pockets. With a satisfied grunt, the young man extracted the fat wallet and slipped it unopened into his backpack.

The knife still held at his throat, the young man grabbed Richard by the hair on top of his head and pulled him painfully to his feet.

"Alright. Getcher clothes off!" He jerked Richard's head back and pressed the blade into his Adam's apple.

"Huh? What?" Richard was incredulous. Was he going to be raped?

"Do it, muh-ther-FUK-er!" There was a childish glee in the young man's voice. He sounded crazed. Trembling, Richard complied. He undid his jeans and let them fall to the ground.

"Underwear too, asshole!" Richard felt the knife bite into the skin of his neck and a drop of blood run down his Adam's apple. He pulled his underpants slowly to his ankles. The cool spring air felt weird on his naked ass and inner thighs, and he could feel his scrotum contract.

"Keep going! I want you totally stripped!" The young man barked. Richard struggled to get his pants off over his shoes. The young man scoffed at the ridiculous sight of his terrified victim stumbling around in front of him. Richard kept his back to the man.

"And just remember, asshole, I got your wallet so I know where you live." He hissed into the doctor's ear, more than a little impressed by the way the guy was hung. "Try anything stupid and you're a dead man!"

The young man punched him in the kidney, and Richard toppled face-down into the dirt. Lying on the ground, completely naked, Richard panted with anger, humiliation, and fear. He was terrified of what the young man had in mind.

Travis knew he should get out of there, but something in him couldn't resist one further humiliation. With his left hand, he jabbed the knife under Richard‘s rib. With the other, he fumbled in his jacket pocket.

"Don‘t move, muh-ther-FUK-er, or this knife goes right in your lung!" Richard trembled with cold and fear. He felt something wet being drawn across his back.

"There! A little something to remember me by!" The young man sneered as he backed away, gathering Richard's clothes and stuffing them in his pack.

And then suddenly, he was gone.

The young doctor waited a moment, lying perfectly still, breathing heavily. Oddly, he became aware of the sensation of his genitals pressed into the dirt, and he could hear the faint sounds of a boom box at the other end of the park.

After what seemed like an eternity, Richard ventured to lift his head and look around. The young man was nowhere to be seen. Stiffly, he came to his feet. Glancing desperately around, he realized that the bastard had taken his clothes as well as his wallet.

What was he going to do?

His eyes fell on a pile of discarded newspapers. He snatched them up over his groin and did his best to keep to the perimeter of the bushy area. Despite his best efforts, there were unavoidable points at which he was forced to come out into the open.

Richard had never felt so humiliated in his life. Several people in cars had seen him. There was no way to prevent it. Most of them just laughed at him or made wolf whistles. Hopefully, nobody would recognize him. Actually, part of him was surprised that nobody offered any help. People in LA were probably used to seeing just about everything. He wanted to call out for help, but the mortification was just too great.

And then, one particularly rowdy car-full drove by filled with shouting young men.

"Hey, faggot! Get back in the queer park where you belong!"

"Whatsa matter? Didja ya wander away from the AIDS ward?"

The car swerved as if to hit him and then sped past, leering faces and middle fingers extended out of rolled-down windows.

Mercifully, it was only a short distance home from the park. He heaved a huge sigh of relief as he rounded the last corner and his apartment building came into view.

Travis felt great. He couldn't wait to get into the shower.

He glanced at his reflection in the glass door of the shower. Absent-mindedly, he sucked in his gut and puffed out his chest. He thought fleetingly of the guy in the park and smirked. He thought with deep satisfaction of the wallet, fat with bills, lying on his bed. Quickly, he stripped off his designer briefs, which cost him a fortune. He knew exactly how good his basket looked in those briefs. He copped a surreptitious little sniff of the still-warm crotch of the pricey garment and then laid it carefully over the edge of the sink.

Whistling, he stepped naked into the shower.

He had a lot on his mind. It was probably only a matter of time before Tiffany caught on that he was lying to her about being a big-shot baseball star. But, what the fuck? He was already getting kind of sick of her anyway and figured she was only good for a few more fucks.

Travis adjusted the water to the perfect temperature—he did not like it too hot—and leaned back into the luxurious flow. Clear water sheeted across his flat stomach, caressed down his inner thighs, and streamed off the end of his cock. Sure, he had a few details to work out, but for right now, he just wanted to relax and get ready for a crazy night out. He closed his eyes and lost himself in the soothing sensations of warm, flowing water on his lean, muscular torso.

Unbeknownst to Travis, Tiffany bustled into the bathroom with an extravagantly-fragranced gift basket of frilly bathroom accessories. Happily she began unpacking the basket, pausing to admire a stiff-bristled back brush. Suddenly, her eyes fell on the dirty underpants lying across the sink. Her face squinched with disgust. She quickly plucked the offending garment between an exaggerated thumb and forefinger and flicked it to the floor.

Blissfully unaware, Travis vigorously washed and rinsed his hard body. He loved the feeling of the water running over the crack of his ass.

Tiffany turned to study herself in the mirror. She noticed a tiny smudge of lipstick at the corner of her mouth, which she immediately corrected with a tissue. Humming tunelessly, she dropped the tissue into the toilet, gingerly replaced the lid, and gave it a flush.

Almost instantly, Travis let out a yowl of surprise and pain. The momentary redirection of cold water to the toilet caused a surge of scalding water to blast across his ass and thighs!

"What the FUCK!" He whirled furiously to face the startled girl. Giggling, she backed away from him as he charged out of the shower. He had the angry expression of a little boy who was about to cry.

Eyes stinging with shampoo, his heel landed on the underwear just outside the tub and skidded out from under him. Both feet shot ludicrously into the air. Desperately, he twisted his body to avoid hitting his head on the tub and landed ass-first directly on top of Tiffany‘s new brush!

Travis shrieked with pain and outrage, and then he cut loose with a withering torrent of profanity!

"Omigod!" She tried to sound sympathetic, but couldn‘t suppress a giggle. Trying not to get wet, she made ineffectual little movements to help him to his feet. He continued cursing a blue streak.

"Muh-ther-FUK-ker!" He yelled as he struggled to his feet. "Jesus, Tiff! What the fuck!" He whined, rubbing his buttocks.

"That‘s my new brush," she replied peevishly.

"Take a look, wouldja? See if it‘s OK!" He bent over and pulled his ass cheeks apart to reveal an angry set of welts where the bristles of the brush had painfully jabbed and pricked the flesh around his tender butthole.

"Yeah, it‘s OK," she replied examining the brush. Flipping her hair, she ran her fingers gingerly over the bristles, turned, and flounced out of the room.

Angry and humiliated, Richard stood in the shower letting the warm water calm him. But, as horrible as the experience was of being assaulted and stripped in public, he felt worse about losing all the money they had taken in the night before at the fundraiser. Mentally, he kicked himself for being so careless. He dabbed at the spot below his chin where that asshole had nicked him with a knife. The bleeding had finally stopped.

Richard's girlfriend, Denise, was cooking dinner. She wiped her hands on a towel and moved quietly around the kitchen. She felt horrible. Richard had looked so unhappy, and nothing she said seemed to make any difference. She choked back tears the entire time it took to scrub the writing off his back. For his sake, she hadn't wanted to lose it. He had already been unspeakably humiliated and she didn't want to make it any worse. Her heart broke for him.

At the other end of the apartment, Richard stepped carefully out of the shower and began toweling off.

"We have to call the police," he called toward the kitchen.

There was steel in his voice.

His mood was already starting to improve. Friday night was his favorite part of the week. They did a couple of lines and got ready to go out. A hot new dance bar had opened on Melrose. Travis' uncle was CEO of one of the top modeling agencies in town and, after a lot of whining, he had had Travis' name put on the list. That impressed the hell out of Tiffany.

Travis squirmed in his seat all the way to the club. The pain around his butthole was pretty bad. However, his mood lightened as the drugs began to kick in. He let the valet park the car and they headed toward the entrance to the club. Travis whispered a few words into the bouncer's ear and pressed a $50 bill surreptitiously into his palm. The bouncer unhooked the velvet rope and allowed the two to enter in front of a glowering line of would-be revelers.

Once inside, Tiffany ordered a glass of the club's most expensive champagne and made a beeline to a group of her fellow models. She posed and jabbered with her friends, all but ignoring Travis. The pounding music made it impossible to hear, but Travis was pretty sure they were talking about him. Absentmindedly, he rubbed his sore butt crack.

Travis was getting irritated and the drugs in his system were not helping him relax. Tiffany was nattering with her bubble-headed girlfriends and completely ignored him. Despite the loud music, he got the definite impression that she was telling them all about the bath-brush incident. They kept looking over at him and laughing.

Suddenly, Travis decided he'd had enough. He grabbed Tiffany's hand mid-air, removed the champagne glass from her manicured grasp, and pulled her roughly to her feet. Her squawks of protest were drowned by the thundering techno pulse as he dragged her stumbling out of the club.

"Hey! What‘s got into you?!" She screamed a bit too loudly now that they were out in the night street and away from the music. He ignored her as he handed his claim ticket to the valet.

"Why‘d we hafta leave?" She was a bit scared by the way he was acting, but her voice softened when she saw the huge wad of bills spilling from his wallet.

"Whatsa matter, baby?" She cooed. "Didn‘t ya like that place? I thought it was pretty hot." She took his elbow in both hands and leaned into him, purring. She realized she had gone a bit too far back in the club, and figured she had better ease off.

"Come on, baby. Let‘s go back to your place and…" She looked up into his eyes and slid one hand down the front of his thigh. He became immediately hard. His eyes skimmed down her cleavage and his anger evaporated. He helped her into the car, got in on his side, and sped his way back to Westwood.

Click here for Chapter Two