TWO SMACKS FOR A DOLLAR

Author: Alan Paul alan@quest-net.com      

It was early autumn, and a little cool in Eastwick, a small country town outside of Boston, Massachusetts.  Six men were gathered in the den at Mac’s house.  Josh, Pete, Alex, Roy, Brett, and Mac himself – all between thirty-two and forty-four years old.  Each one there was in a different work area, but all members of the local Masonic Lodge.  They had been appointed the committee responsible for fund-raising this year; money needed for relieving poverty and starvation in one of the third world countries.

“We don’t have anywhere near enough,” Josh grumbled.  “We should at least be able to match what the other guys raised last year.”

“Well, don’t look at me,” snapped Brett (who was the wealthiest) – “I’ve already given more than my limit.”

“I wasn’t thinking of you.”

“At least a hundred dollars more,” Pete suggested.  “That’s what it would take to go a little over.”

“We still have a week,” Roy said. 

“So what can we do in a week?”

“We ought to be able to come up with something.”  That was Alex.

There was a glum silence for a while.

Then Mac grinned.  “Maybe we could use Alan...”

“Alan Carter?” Brett scoffed.  “That snotty little bastard wouldn’t give you a red cent!”

“He isn’t even a Mason!” Roy complained.

“I didn’t mean asking for money from him – I said maybe we could use him to raise the money we need...”

“How?”

“Well, nobody here in town really likes him, right?”

Josh frowned.  “No.  Especially since he started name-dropping about the famous people he knew back in Hollywood.”

“And he knows how good-looking he is,” Alex groaned.  “He always acts as if he’s doing you a favor by letting you LOOK at him!”

“But that’s exactly why he could help us out!”

Brett snorted.  “He doesn’t help anybody except himself – unless there’s something in it for him!”

“I didn’t say voluntarily.”  Mac was still grinning.

“Oh?”

Everybody began to look interested.

“So what do you have in mind, then?” Pete asked.

Mac told them.

The following day was lovely. Blue sky, warm for the third of October, and the leaves were out in full color.  Around the time commuters were beginning to return home from the city, Alan took his favorite route through the common in the center of town just above Main Street.  He was heading home to his apartment. 

He was happy in Eastwick - he’d gotten himself a great job in Boston as a male model (he knew he had the looks for it even though he was short).  And even though getting used to the traffic in a larger city again had taken a while, at least he’d managed to get away from all the reminders about that embarrassing party he’d been to back in Maine. 

He scowled, remembering.  The bastards had taken his pants off – right there in front of everybody – and they’d never let him forget it.  Even if he went back for a visit he always seemed to run into somebody who knew the whole story. 

Well, that was all in the past.  He’d kept his mouth shut about the guys he’d pretended to know ever since, too.  Except lately.  After all, who could ever check up on him here?  So he’d begun – gradually at first, then with more and more confidence – dropping little hints in his conversations – famous names like Brad, Leonardo, Pierce and Tom – letting these New England peasants know he was somebody really important! 

He felt good.  He’d just come from a shoot, and was looking his best in a silk suit complete with shirt, a Countess Mara tie and Italian shoes.  The black silk socks had been a problem at first, until he found the garters.  He guessed nobody much ever wore garters anymore – most socks now had elastic in the top and stayed up by themselves.

There was a bunch of guys – about six – gathered on the pavement across the street.  He saw them as he finished crossing the common.  He knew them all – slightly.  Let’s see – Pete – that was the guy from the lumberyard – Brett – he worked at the bank.  Alex, Josh, and Roy he only knew by sight (but privately thought they were all pretty cute).  And Mac, of course.  Mac ran a trucking business and had that big house in town.  They all must belong to some local organization or something.  That could be the only reason they were together.

Roy was carrying some kind of sign, but it was turned back side out and he couldn’t see what it said.  Brett was holding something behind him.  Alan was curious.  What could they be doing?  Certainly that was a pillow Alex had under his arm.  Now they seemed to be looking at him.  Alan strutted a little. Why not?  Let them look - he was worth anybody’s attention!  He waved at them tentatively.  Mac grinned.  Then they all headed his way.  Alan stopped dead and stared.  It was a pause he was later to regret.

  They surrounded him.

“Uh – hi.”  What the hell did they want?

“Hi, Alan.”  That was Mac, still grinning.  “We thought maybe you’d help us out this afternoon.”

“Well – uh – sure, but how?  I don’t have much money to spare – “

“Oh, we don’t want your money.”

“Well what, then?”

They were all smiling now.  “We’ll show you,” Alex grinned.

Before Alan realized what was happening, they were pulling off his suit coat!

“HEY!”

“You won’t need this for a while...”

Alan grabbed for the coat, but Pete and Josh immediately got his arms in a vise-like grip and twisted them behind him.  Alan struggled, but found himself held firmly – and his wrists tied behind his back!

“STOP IT!  What are you DOING?”  Didn’t they realize who he was?  Why were they treating him like – like –

Alex had dropped the pillow and was undoing Alan’s tie.

“We don’t want money from you – but you’re gonna help us raise a little.  For a good cause, of course!”  Josh was laughing.

The tie was pulled off.  Alex then unfastened the collar button at Alan’s throat.  “No sense in spoiling a fancy tie,” Alex murmured, grinning.  “Or making you too uncomfortable – at least at this end...”  He rolled up the tie, stuck it in his pocket and picked up the pillow again.

“How?  How?  What do you mean?  What are you talking about?”

Mac told him.

“No!  NO-OOO!” screamed Alan.  His eyes opened wide with fear.  He blushed red.

Then Brett showed Alan what he’d been concealing.  It was a sturdy wooden paddle.  Roy turned his sign around so Alan could read it.  It said ‘TWO SMACKS FOR A DOLLAR!  Paddle Alan’s Ass for a Good Cause!’

“NO!” yelled Alan again.  “NO!  GET SOMEBODY ELSE!”

“But you’re so good-looking!” Alex cooed.  “People might not pay to paddle another guy!”

“YOU CAN’T!”  Alan searched his mind desperately for a reason.    “You CAN’T!  YOU’LL RUIN THESE TROUSERS!  THEY’RE PURE SILK!”

“Oh, we’ll take care of THAT,”  Mac chuckled.

And that’s when they took Alan’s pants down – right out there in public – in front of everybody passing by!

Having your pants taken down in public has been the ultimate embarrassment of many schoolboys, both in the schoolyard and on the school bus, but not a single one of those experiences could equal being a grown man losing his pants and his dignity right on a busy street!

He fought, of course.  He cursed and struggled and kicked and did everything he could to break away, but Josh and Pete held him under the arms while Mac undid his belt and zipper – then down came his pants!

Commuters coming home began to honk.  Cars swerved to the curb for a better look.  People walking down the street stopped to stare and grin.  Alan was wearing boxer shorts with bright green checks – making a nice contrast with his white shirt-tails.  Mac pulled the suit pants off over Alan’s expensive Italian shoes and held them up.  And Alan was left standing without any pants on in his shirt-tails, socks, and garters.

A crowd began to gather, laughing.

They frog-marched the struggling, de-pantsed and angry Alan down to Main Street, then turned right and took him to the round-topped, U.S. mailbox just outside the A&P.  The store was already a busy place, with shoppers going in and out and people coming home from work.  Alan’s face was burning.

Roy held up his sign.  “Com’on, everybody!  Help the starving!  All the money goes to Masonic World Relief!  Bring out your dollars and you get to paddle Alan Carter’s behind!  Everything’s for charity!  You won’t get an opportunity to swat a handsome hunk like this again!  Paddle Alan’s ass for a good cause!”

Giggling and pushing, people reached for their wallets and purses – the crowd growing larger every second.  Cars were honking and traffic was almost at a standstill while commuters gawped or pulled right to the curb.  Alex placed his pillow on top of the U.S. mailbox.  Then they turned Alan around with his back to the crowd, and Mac pulled up Alan’s back shirt-tail over the hands tied at the wrists.  Mac put a beefy hand under the waistband of Alan’s checked shorts.

By now Alan’s face was beet red, and realizing what Mac was about to do, got even redder.  “NO!” he screamed.  “NOOOOOOO!”

But Mac yanked down Alan’s undershorts!

They landed around Alan’s ankles, leaving his perfect, rounded bare behind on view for everybody to see.

The crowd went wild!

It was obvious Alan had few real friends, if any.  Everybody wanted a look - and a chance to smack the handsome young man’s round, bare ass cheeks!  Then as if that wasn’t enough, they pushed forward to see what kind of equipment he carried in front, too!  People jostled each other around him to pull aside his front shirt-tails and gawk at his bare cock and balls!  Alan’s eyes were wide with fear and humiliation as the blood kept rushing to his red face.  He was struggling and wriggling as hard as he could to break free – although he wouldn’t have gotten very far even if he could have accomplished it.  The crowd, so obviously eager to smack his bottom, wasn’t about to let him run away!

People were waving bills.  Pete and Josh lifted Alan off his feet.  In the next moment he was face down on the pillow over the mailbox, with Josh holding him in place by the shoulders and Pete between his ankles – while Alex pulled Alan’s shirt-tail up as far as it would go over his tied hands.  And there was Alan – boxer shorts down, shirt-tail up, and a perfect, round, bare behind sticking up in front of the crowd - ready for the paddle!

“Gimme that paddle!  Here’s my buck!”

“Hell, here’s five!  I want ten swats on that bastard’s ass!”

“Here’s a dollar!”

“I got ten – he’s gonna get twenty good smacks from me!”

Mac waved them back.  “OK, OK!  Get in line, everybody!”

They began to form a queue.  Roy waved his sign, and the crowd quickly doubled.  People coming out of the store ran to dump their groceries in their cars and come back to join the line.  Others stopped before going in, and still more cars turned into the parking lot, emptying out their commuters and joining the line – which by now extended well down the street.  Kids without money just gathered to watch, along with many of those who had already had a turn.  It became a mob – all intent on smacking Alan’s bare, upturned bottom, or watching the fun as the paddle began to smack the bare heine raised high above the crowd so everybody could see!

SMACK!  SMACK!

“OOOOW!   OOOOW!”  Alan began to squirm as the first swats landed on target.

“My turn!”

SMACK!  SMACK!  SMACK! 

“OOOW!  NOO!  OOOOW!”

SMACK!  SMACK!  SMACK!  SMACK!

“OOOOH!  OOOW!  OOOW!   STOOOOOP!”

SMACK!  SMACK!  SMACK!

“OOOUCH!   OOOOW!    OOOOOOW!”

Alan’s bare buns were bright pink after ten healthy smacks of the wooden paddle, and he was wriggling hard, but Pete and Josh held him fast.  Brett was collecting the money.  The line was already more than fifty people long, all giggling and laughing and waving bills.  The next guy in the queue gave Brett a ten.  Mac recognized him as one of his truckers.  He grinned and handed him the paddle. 

SMACK!

“OOOOH!”

It was a hard one, and Alan’s bare ass turned bright red.

SMACK!  SMACK!  SMACK!  SMACK!  SMACK!

“OOW!  OOOOW!  OOOOH!  OOOW!  NOOOO-OOO!”

SMACK!  SMACK!  SMACK!  SMACK!  SMACK!”

“OW!  OOW!  OOOOW!  OW!  OW!”

SMACK!  SMACK!  SMACK!  SMACK!

“NO!  NO!  STOP!  OOOOW!  NO MORE!”

SMACK!  SMACK!  SMACK!  SMACK!

“OOOOW!  PLEASE!  STOP!  OOOOOW!”

SMACK!

“OOOOOOOW!”

Twenty good ones – right on Alan’s bare, upturned bottom!  His twin cheeks were now both burning...

“Me next!  Me next!”

Roy lifted his sign.  “STEP RIGHT UP, FOLKS!  TWO SMACKS FOR A DOLLAR!  TEN SMACKS FOR FIVE!”

The crowd shoved forward.  Little kids in the front gaped and giggled to see a grown man getting spanked with a paddle.  Brett was stuffing bills into a paper bag someone had handed him.

“TWO SMACKS FOR A DOLLAR!  PADDLE ALAN FOR A GOOD CAUSE!"

“I got a buck!”

“I got two!”

“Oboy!  I wouldn’t miss this for anything!”

“Here’s five!”

“Three bucks!  Yeah, man!  I get to smack Handsome’s bare seat six times!”

Mac had Alan’s coat draped over his arm, waving Alan’s pants over his head jubilantly.

SMACK!  SMACK!  WHACK!  WHACK!

“OW!  OW!”  (Sob)  “OOOW!  OOOOW!”

WHACK!  SMACK!

“OOOOW!  OOOOOH!”

SMACK!  SMACK!  SMACK!  SMACK!  SMACK!  SMACK!

“OOOW!  OOOH!  NOOO-OOOO!  OOOW!  OW!  OW!”

WHACK!  WHACK!

“NOO-OO!  PLEASE!  OW!”

Alan was trying to kick, while Pete held his ankles tight, just below the checkered undershorts and gartered socks.  Alan’s face was a sight to see – it was as red as his paddled bare buns, and his features were all squinched up as he yelled and howled, humped and bounced with every smack of that paddle on his defenseless naked ass cheeks.  He tried to push his shirt-tail back down over his bottom with his tied hands, but Alex just pulled it up again. 

WHACK!  WHACK!  WHACK!  WHACK!

“STOOO-OOOP!  NOOOOO!  NO MORE!  OOOOOW!

SMACK!  SMACK!

“OOOOW!  OOOOOOOW!”

Of course there were women as well as men who were eager to crack the paddle across Alan’s bare butt, and some of them swung it as deftly and as hard as any man.  Some of the women in the crowd cheered them on.  Brett certainly didn’t care whose money he took!

SMACK!  SMACK!

“OOOOOOW!  OOOH!”

WHACK!  SMACK!

“NOOOOOO!  OOW!”

CRACK!  CRACK!  SMACK!  WHACK!

“OOOOW!  OOH!  PLEASE!  OOOOW!”

Those who had already gotten to smack Alan’s bare behind joined the crowd watching – and egged the others on.  Now there were jeers and cat-calls as well as whistles and hoots.  Cars pulling in to the parking lot of the A&P disgorged more – some who came to look and snicker, others who joined the queue, and a very few who looked shocked and haughtily passed by to enter the store, pretending not to sneak a look at Alan’s bare, squirming red bottom.

CRACK!  WHACK!  CRACK!  SMACK!

“OOOH!”  (Sob)  “OOOOW!”  (Sob)  “OOOW!  OW!”

Tears had begun to run down Alan’s face as he howled and struggled, but no one paid any attention.  Everybody was only looking at his bare, scorched behind!

“TWO SMACKS FOR A DOLLAR!  HELP THE THIRD WORLD COUNTRIES!  PADDLE ALAN’S BARE HEINE!”

“Jesus, it’s worth ten just to SEE it!”

“Wow!  I want another turn!”

SMACK!  CRACK!  SMACK!  SMACK!  WHACK!

“NOOOOO!  OOW! (Sob) OOOW! (Sob, sob)  OOOH!  OOOW!

WHACK!  WHACK!  CRACK!  CRACK!  SMACK!

“STOOO-OOP!  (Sob)  OOOW!  OW!  OW!  OOOOH!”

SMACK!  SMACK!  SMACK!

“OOOOW!  (Sob)  OOW!  (Sob)  YOOOOOW! (Sob, sob)

“Lookit that, Mildred! That young man doesn’t have any pants on!

“They’re paddling him!  Right on his bare bottom!”

(Giggle)  It’s that cute little Alan Carter!  (Giggle, giggle) Oh dear!

“TWO SMACKS FOR A DOLLAR!  PADDLE A BARE ASS FOR A GOOD CAUSE!”

“I got an extra dollar here somewhere...”

“His bare seat’s all red!”

“Oh my goodness!  You can actually see his – when he humps up and down like that – “

CRACK!  WHACK!  SMACK!  SMACK!  SMACK! WHACK!

“OOOOW! (Sob)  OOOW!  OH!  OW! (Sob) OOOOOW!”

SMACK!  SMACK!

“PLEASE STOP! (Sob)  OOOOW!”

CRACK!  SMACK!

“OOOOH!  (Sob)  OOOOH!”  (Sob)

“Kik-kik-kik-kik-kik!”

“It’s Alan Carter!  I’m gonna swat his smart ass!”

“Look!  They got his bare behind stickin’ right up there!”

“Oh God, I wanna smack that one’s bare butt!  Loan me a buck!”

When the line had shortened to more than half its original length, a TV truck arrived – lights were quickly set up - and Alan’s bare ass being soundly paddled was placed for posterity on film while reporters interviewed the crowd and the Masons.  It would all be on that night’s local news show.

By the time the crowd had thinned and the last one had delivered a stinging SMACK! with the paddle across Alan’s bare bottom, it was well after the dinner hour.  Brett had collected close to two hundred dollars in his paper bag – some had given tens, some fives, some two or three dollars, but most had handed him one.  And Alan had received over three hundred swats of the paddle on his bare ass cheeks.  They now sported growing purplish bruises under the glowing red.

The few people still standing around when the paddling was over got a good glimpse of Alan’s bare cock before they allowed him to pull up his undershorts.  Then Mac handed him his pants, and when he’d got them back on and fastened, they returned his coat.  Alex handed him his tie.

“That was great, Alan!  Thanks so much for your participation!”

“Yeah – we got even more than we hoped for!”

“Seems like everybody in town wanted a chance to – uh – help out the cause...”

“Even those who had already contributed!”

“Did you notice some got back in line for a second time?”

Alan glared at them.  What could he say?  Someone sniggered in the few stragglers left.  Alan’s face was still red, blotchy, and tear-streaked.  He stayed silent, but pushed past them all with his red face (and redder behind now covered decently with pants) and headed toward home.  He had dinner standing up in his shorts, after he’d spread some healing cream over his ass.

The TV coverage that night began with a grinning male reporter burbling “An unusual fanny fund raiser was held in this town tonight – “ and the next morning’s local paper headlined page two with “Local Male Model’s Bare Seat Up For Bucks” – all in all over seven thousand people got to view Alan’s bare bottom getting smacked on TV and read about it in the papers.

People at the modeling agency where he worked had seen the TV report and kidded him unmercifully.  And from that day on, there was always a crowd of kids waiting for Alan outside his apartment when he came home.  It was always the same – just like what they were asking the very first night after it all happened:

“Hey Mister!  We saw yuh wid yer pants down!”

“’An yer bare ass up over thuh mailbox!”  (Snigger, snigger)

“Yuh gonna do it again, Mister?  Huh?”

“I sawr yuh on TV!”

“Gettin’ his bare beheine smacked right in fronta everybody!”

(Snigger)  “People was PAYIN’!”

“Kin we see yer bare bottom?  Huh? Huh?”

“Kin we see, Mister?  Please?”

After a week of that, Alan decided he had to move again.