Todd Driver knew the boy would be trouble the moment he saw him, that’s why he pulled the car over and offered him a ride.
“Where you going?” he leaned through the car window to get a closer look at the hitchhiker. He looked like he hadn’t slept for days. Probably hadn’t changed his shirt in a week.
“Anywhere,” he replied, the fatigue evident in his voice. “As long as it ain’t here.”
Todd reached across to the passenger door. A stale odour followed the boy. Todd put the car in gear and eased down the highway. Todd Driver, aged forty-five, but not yet looking it. He took care of himself, visited the gym, fought against the aging process. Still had a thirty-two-inch waist.
“I’m a salesman,” he said to try to make conversation. The boy’s head nodded against his own chest, fighting sleep. “I can take you as far as Tonisville. My people have booked me a motel room there.” But Todd was speaking to himself.
It was an hour’s drive. Simple. Highway all the way. No traffic to talk of. From the corner of his eye he watched the boy sleeping. His hair was greasy, his neck unwashed. His clothes stained. But Todd had known the second he saw him; the boy was sex on a stick. Let him shit, shower and shave and he would buff up lovely. Todd’s heart fluttered. Silently, he reproached himself. “Here you go again Todd Driver, will you never learn?”
The boy was still sleeping when Todd pulled the car up at the motel. Todd had to shake him hard before he came around. “This is the end of the line,” he paused, waiting for a response. The boy yawned, stretched, rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. Expecting Todd to ask his question.
“I’m checked in for one night,” he nodded at the motel office as if that explained everything. More silence. The boy waited. His bladder was full, aching. He needed to take a piss. He opened his bright hazel eyes wide, encouraging Todd to make the right decision.
“You could stay the night here, if you want to.” His lips parted into what he convinced himself was a winning smile. “We could share the room, if you know what I mean?”
The boy knew what he meant well enough. “It’ll cost you fifty,” he said.
“Okay,” Todd made to open the car door. The boy cursed silently. That was too easy, he should have asked for a hundred.
The night clerk gave Todd a key. He asked no questions. The bill was already taken care of. If he started asking too many questions about his guests and the people they brought to their rooms, the motel would soon go bust.
Todd had never stayed at this motel before, but he knew it well. The noisy wall heater, low watt electric bulbs, the dark patterned carpet. The bedspread was five shades of brown, ideal for concealing stains. There was nothing Todd hadn’t seen a million times before.
“I need to go,” the boy pushed his way past Todd and entered the bathroom. Todd marvelled at the noise of a strong stream of urine hitting water. Impressive, he mused. Like a stallion. He hoped the boy would be like a stallion in other ways as well.
“You need to shower,” Todd told the boy. “Do you have any clean clothes?” he already knew the answer, the boy only had what he stood up in. A dirty white shirt, blue jeans and a red jacket. “Maybe I’ve got a clean shirt you can borrow. We need to go find a diner, I need to eat.”
Todd hovered outside the bathroom door, listening to the shower splash over the boy. He imagined him naked under the cleansing water. He looked sexy as hell in those dirty clothes, he would probably be gorgeous naked, Todd reckoned.
He didn’t have to wait long to find out. The door opened and the boy stood towelling his privates and ass. Todd’s dick stiffened. The boy had a muscular chest, he probably did manual work, when he could get any, Todd supposed. His waist was flat and his cut dick was long and thin. He would be perfect for what Todd had in mind.
The boy turned his back on Todd and let the towel drop a little, giving Todd a perfect view of the goods he was paying for.
The saliva drained from Todd’s mouth, “Hey,” he croaked, “I’m Todd, what’s your name?” The boy missed a beat, before replying, “Joe. My name’s Joe.”
The hell it is, thought Todd, but who cared?
The diner was across the street. It was almost deserted. The supper customers had come and gone. Two guys in some kind of security company uniform drank coffee in one booth. A tired waitress, in her forties and showing it, lumbered up. She smiled, what she probably thought was her winning smile and greeted them like long-lost cousins. Todd smiled back. She was on minimum wage, he supposed, relied on the generosity of her customers’ tips to get by.
Joe scrutinised the pictures on the menus. “Two cheeseburgers, double fries,” he said. He grinned across the table at Todd, “And whatever he’s having.”
Todd ordered the diner’s “special” and coffee. The waitress wrote it down. “Does the boy drink coffee,” she asked sweetly. “Is he old enough?”
“Soda,” Joe snapped. “Coke. Ice. Lots of it.”
Todd watched the waitress sashay over to the counter, then turned to Joe. The boy’s hazel eyes sparkled. There was mischief there. “How old are you anyway?” he whispered.
“Don’t worry pal,” Joe was hungry and irritated. “I ain’t no jail bait.”
Joe ate hurriedly, gulping another mouthful before the first one had been properly swallowed. Todd reckoned he hadn’t seen food for a week. Todd watched, trying (and failing) not to gape. Joe was beautiful, absolutely stunning. His reddish hair suggested Irish heritage. His lips were full, most of his body was tanned by the sun. Now, it was clean Joe’s face shone. His eyes sparkled. Todd had already seen the boy’s naked body. The strong muscles, the tight butt. Todd needed to get the check paid and hightail it back to the room. Now.
It was late, the motel was mostly deserted. Todd had asked for and gotten a room as far away from other guests as was possible. The night clerk hadn’t blinked an eye. He’d seen it all before. Most motel clerks had a tale or two to tell. Hookers, husbands cheating on their wives with other dames; heck with other guys. Men dressed as women, you name it. A middle-aged guy checking in with a boy for rent didn’t turn a hair.
Todd pulled the drapes and switched on the lights, the cheap bulbs gave a dim, yellowy light. Todd had done this before. The boy knew it and Todd knew that the boy knew it. There was no need for soft talking. No wine was drunk, no “sweet nothings” whispered into ears. They could just get down to it. Once fifty in used bills had been counted out.
Todd unbuttoned his shirt. His torso was muscle-toned, but the skin was ruffled. He was advancing on middle age and there was nothing that could be done to hold back nature. Joe took his shirt off, his shiny tight skin testament to his youth. He was half Todd’s age and then some.
Todd undid the buckle of his belt, popped the button on the waist of his pants and pulled the zipper. They tumbled to his feet. He kicked off his black town shoes and stepped out the pants, all the time staring intently at the Adonis before him. Joe purposely avoided Todd’s eye as he stripped himself to his grubby shorts. Then, he stopped. Now, he had to acknowledge the man in the room. His eyes asked the question, “What do you want me to do?”
Todd bent down picked up his pants and withdrew the wide leather belt from the loops. He tossed the pants onto a cheap plastic chair, then tested the belt in his hands. It was heavy. He already knew that fact. He had purchased the belt especially for its thickness and weight. That had little to do with keeping his pants up.
Joe’s sparkling eyes shone brighter. He had a shrewd idea what Todd wanted. He really should have asked for a hundred, he thought. He watched silently as Todd doubled up the belt and swished it through the air. That little beauty could do some real damage, he supposed. Memories of a guy in Reno blurred his thoughts.
Todd was completely naked now. “This is what I want.” He gave clear instructions. Joe had thought he’d heard it all before. From the guys he did tricks for and from other hustlers. There were some right kinky bastards out there, but he’d seen no one like Todd.
Todd offered the belt to Joe. “Whip me as hard as you can. On the butt. Give it all your strength,” Todd smiled and gently caressed Joe’s biceps. “Make me suffer,” Todd said, lying face down on the bed. Joe stood stunned as his John adjusted his dick and balls with his hands so the weight of his body wasn’t squashing them and then reached his arms forward and gripped the bed headboard.
Todd closed his eyes tight and waited for the ecstasy to begin. He had never understood where his compulsion originated. The need to be beaten by other men. People might think it stemmed from childhood, but Todd had never been spanked as a kid. His parents were kind and loving, they would be devastated to discover his obsession. Late in adolescence, Todd had fooled around with a guy from school. His dad kept a wooden paddle in the den. Todd was transfixed the first time he saw it; the sparkling varnished wood, the smoothed down sides.
By the time he graduated Todd was what they called a “bottom” and would willingly offer up his butt for spanking. Someone introduced him to a private little club where the eighteen-year-old was made most welcome. That was the start of it. It was nearly thirty years ago. Now, what with the travelling and the need to keep his job (scandal is bad for business), he had to get his kicks with hookers.
Joe anxiously fingered the leather in his hands. The figure prostrated on the bed breathed heavily. His buttock cheeks twitched in delighted anticipation of the pain to come. Joe couldn’t do it. The humiliation was too great. He had done many things before for his Johns, but not this. The fucking faggot was demented.
“Come on boy, I’m waiting,” Todd thought he was being alluring. He wasn’t. Red mist descended. Sweat soaked Joe’s naked torso; his tanned flesh glistened in the poor light. His heart raced. He slapped the leather across the centre of Todd’s ass, a crimson line immediately appeared on the solid flesh. He slapped another and then another.
“Harder. Harder. Put all those wonderful muscles into it.”
Joe glared, lifted the belt high and turning his body into the swing he landed a dozen or more mighty swipes across Todd’s buttocks. The man wriggled and writhed. He struggled to control his arms, they flailed about, instinctively wanting to cover the target area and stop the belt crashing into his flesh.
“Keep still,” Joe growled. He supposed the flogger was supposed to say something like that. He whipped another flurry of strokes. It looked like Todd was trying to swim off the bed. His arms and body moved like he was doing the crawl.
“Stop,” he gasped. “In my bag there’s some rope. Tie my wrists to the bed.”
“Loser!” Joe snorted silently. He found the rope; two pieces, each about eighteen inches long. Joe had never been a Boy Scout and he knew nothing about knots. Todd did. He had plenty of experience. He guided the boy until he was securely tied; arms akimbo, head down, butt naked to the wind.
“As hard as you can. Take my ass off,” Todd could not, would not, contain his excitement. He didn’t see the boy, contempt stamped into his face. He hated this two-bit salesman for making him do this. He gripped the belt tightly in his hand, stepped closer to the bed so he stood almost over Todd’s body. From this position, he could whip the belt directly down into the man’s already-blistered flesh. He paused. Thinking. Taking his time. Todd had relinquished control. Maybe that’s what really turned him on. Being powerless. That and, of course, the pain.
Todd sensed something was wrong. This wasn’t what he was paying for. He wanted to feel the burn of the leather as it struck again and again across his submitted ass. He raised his head from the mattress and as best he could he looked over his shoulder at Joe. “Get on with it, will you?” he demanded.
Joe grinned. Loser. Fucking loser. He put the belt down on the plastic chair, found his jeans and climbed into them.
“What the … ?” Todd complained.
“Shut up, fucking loser.” Joe reached for one of Todd’s socks. There was nothing the man could do.
“Open wide,” Joe sounded like a dentist with a patient. Todd’s eyes blazed with fear. He clenched his teeth shut.
“Oh per-lease,” Todd cuffed an almighty smack of his hand across Todd’s face. His mouth opened to sound a protest and Joe stuffed the sock home. Todd gagged, it filled most of his mouth. He wasn’t sure he could breathe. He pulled his wrists, but he had taught Joe well. He was going nowhere until the boy decided to release him.
Joe finished dressing. He stood over Todd and ruffled the man’s hair. “Who’s a naughty boy then,” he teased, imitating the voice of a five-year-old. He smacked Todd’s bare butt playfully. Todd pleaded with his eyes, tears welled.
Joe picked up Todd’s bag, tipped it over and let the contents fall to the floor. Not much there. Just clothes. Joe smiled. He had thought of something. Quickly, he toured the motel room stuffing all Todd’s clothes in to the bag. He zipped it up. Then he took the man’s wallet from the night stand, pulled out the currency notes and stuffed them in his own pocket. Contemptuously, he threw the empty wallet at Todd.
Joe mocked Todd’s muffled cries. Then, making sure the man knew exactly what he was doing, he pocketed Todd’s watch.
“Bye, bye, baby,” he jeered as he rattled Todd’s car and house keys. He slipped Todd’s bag over his shoulder and walked out into the cold night air, leaving the man behind to deal as best he could with his raging hard-on.
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More stories from Charles Hamilton II are on the MMSA website
Charles Hamilton the Second