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Moshpit Mayhem: Father & Son

By Adric

The rowdy noises and bright lights of the country fairground exploded around
him as Josh Phillips watched his 15 year old son Ryan come running up to
him. Ryan's favorite punk band had just finished their set on the
fairground's outdoor stage and Ryan had had a ball, crowd-surfing and
moshing his brains out to the loud, uptempo tunes on this hot summer day.
Now, shirtless and slick with sweat, his red spikey hair tousled and matted
to his head, Ryan was grinning ear to ear as he came to where his dad had
been waiting for him.

"You look like you've been through the wringer," said Josh, laughing. "Aw, dad, it was WICKED!" exclaimed Ryan. "You should've moshed too. You
miss half the fun standing in the back."

The surprising fact was that Josh Phillips at 36 still looked young enough
to be in a moshpit. He kept impeccable care of himself, working out
regularly at the gym, keeping his flat 32-inch waist taut and trim and his
body in tip-top shape. The tank top he wore today because of the heat
revealed a gymnast's build, with broad shoulders, heavily muscled arms, and
firm, rounded pecs. His son Ryan at 15 was just beginning to fill out.
Wet and winded from his exertions in the moshpit, Ryan wiped the sweat from
his chest, revealing a long lanky frame, small but tight pecs, and the faint
outline of a six-pack on his smooth, flat tummy.

"Hey Dad, I met a guy in the pit who said he could get me an autographed
poster," said Ryan. "He's waiting for me over at the trucks. Maybe we can
even catch the band at their tour bus if we go over there. He gave me this
sticker so we can go over there." Ryan held out a All Access pass in the
palm of his hand.
Josh looked at the pass dubiously. "And why is this guy being so nice?" "I
dunno," said Ryan. "We were just moshing and we started talking between
songs. He really liked my tattoo, he said that he's totally into Japanese
philosophy." Ryan had a small Japanese symbol tattooed on his right
shoulder, a 15th birthday present from his dad. The symbol represented the
Japanese word for "peace." "The guy said he was one of the road crew.
C'mon, let's go see."

Ryan dragged his dad across the sloping field of the fairgrounds, over to
the back lot where the crews' big container trucks and the bands' tour buses
were parked. The area was pretty much deserted. He saw Ben, the roadie he
had talked to, leaning against one of the trucks and rushed over to him.
"Hey dude, this is my dad," said Ryan. "So where's that poster you promised

Ben looked over Ryan's sweaty, shirtless torso and his dad's promising
stocky build and licked his lips. "Right in here, little dude," Ben said.
"Ever see a road crew's truck before? C'mon in and take a look." Ben swung open a door at the back of the truck. Josh had a funny feeling
about this, but before he could say anything, Ryan had jumped into the
truck and Josh followed hesitatingly.

It was stifling hot inside the truck, almost airless, dark and dank like a
dungeon. Josh blinked his eyes to adjust to the darkness and froze when he
saw two large barechested men in front of him. One of them was holding Ryan
in a bearhug, with one beefy hand over Ryan's mouth so he couldn't shout
out. Before Josh could react, stars exploded in his head as a hard, heavy
object collided with the back of his head. Josh fell forward into a pool of

Josh came to with a splitting headache, the room spinning around him. He
could feel the truck moving forward and bouncing up and down - they were on
the open road. When he could finally focus, he realized that he had been
spreadeagled and handcuffed to the front wall of the container truck. His
tank top had been ripped from his body, its tattered remains now tucked
into the waistband of his pants, exposing his lightly furred chest, heavy
pecs, and washboard abs. A strip of duct tape covered his mouth, making
breathing difficult and speaking impossible. Josh's eyes widened in horror
as he looked up and saw Ryan similarly spreadeagled against the side wall of
the truck, his wrists and ankles bound with rope. Ryan looked terrified as
two of the roadies stood inches away, inspecting his glistening, smooth teen
body. His bare chest was slick with sweat. With his arms extended to the
side and above his head, Ryan's cargo shorts had slid down to his hips,
revealing about two inches of boxer shorts.

Ben, the larger of the two roadies, laughed. "First things first, kid.
You ever have an atomic wedgie?" Ryan shook his head no. Ben looked at
Tim, the other roadie, and nodded. Ben grabbed the front of Ryan's boxers,
Tim reached back and held onto the back, and Ben heaved with all his might.
Ryan screamed as the cotton cloth strangled his genitals until it slowly
rent and eventually ripped apart, Ben held the remains of the boxers
aloft like a trophy, laughing deeply. "Good one, Ben," said Tim. "You got
him good." Ryan's khaki shorts had now slid down even further, revealing
several inches of smooth flat belly beneath his belly button and a tuft of
red pubic hair just below the waistband.

Ben flattened his hand against Ryan's belly, prodding the soft flesh. "You
work out, kid?" he asked. Ryan nodded in terror, not sure what the men
wanted. "Whaddaya do? Ya lift?" "I r-r-run track," stuttered Ryan. "And
I do crunches before I go to bed every night."

"Well, here's what I wantcha ta do," said Ben. "You tighten your abs as
hard as you can. We're gonna work 'em a little. And then we'll see what
happens, okay? You keep your abs tight and your mouth shut and you'll be
okay." Ben bent down and rummaged through a box on the floor, slipping on
a pair of lightweight workout gloves, the kind boxers use to work the heavy
bag. He placed his right fist against Ryan's abs. "You ready?" Ryan
tensed his abs, closed his eyes, and nodded yes.

The first punch didn't hurt at all. But then, Ben didn't punch very hard.
He started working Ryan's abs with soft jabs to the hardest part of the
muscle wall. Ryan squirmed and strained to keep his abs tight, realizing
full well that Ben wasn't really trying yet. Ben looked over at Josh, who
had given up trying to break loose from his shackles. He was slumped
against the back wall of the trailer, looking heartsick and defeated, as he
watched his son being beaten and felt completely powerless to stop it. Ben
grinned evilly. "Now we're gonna step it up a bit."

Ben threw a harder right jab to a spot just below Ryan's belly button,
where his abs weren't developed. Ryan let out a muffled gasp as his body
jackknifed violenty. Ben followed with a left jab to Ryan's midsection.
The boy's eyes bugged out of his head as the breath was knocked out of his
body. Ben chuckled at the reaction and quickly threw a quick combination of
left-right uppercuts deep into Ryan's solar plexus, piledriving the boy into
the wall and forcing every bit of air from his lungs.

Ben stepped back and watch Ryan's heaving frame as the teen tried to suck in
as much air as he could. Ben flattened his fists and started driving them
into Ryan's gut. The boy's belly had lost all resistance already and every
punch pushed the muscle wall of his abs deep into his body. One, two. One,
Ben continued the combinations relentlessly. Ryan took the punishment
silently, his soaking wet body pushed flat against the wall of the trailer,
arched up onto his tiptoes. Bang, bang. More punches to the gut. An
uppercut to the solar plexus lifted the boy off his feet. Back to jabs, one
two, one two. Ryan's head was now tilted back, his eyes glassy, his entire
body slick with sweat. . Saliva dribbled from his mouth and down his
smooth chest, mucous ran from his nose, tears flowed from his eyes.
Finally, Ben stopped throwing punches and stepped back to admire his
handiwork. Ryan slumped down, unable to hold his weight on his shaky legs
anymore, his body suspended by the ropes around his wrists. "Stop, please
stop," the boy cried, gasping for breath. "No more. Please."

Ben placed his palm against Ryan's abs and could feel the knotted, bruised
muscles underneath the skin. He applied a claw hold and squeezed as hard as
he could. Ryan jerked back to his feet, arched his back, and let out an
agonized scream that made Ben smile even more. Now that the boy was broken,
it was time to play. Ben peeled off his workout gloves, bent down and
rustled around again the box on the floor. He pulled out a pair of gold
tit-clamps. Smiling, he placed one of the clamps on Ryan's left nipple.
The boy yelped with pain. Ben applied the second clamp to Ryan's other
nipple. The clamps were attached by a gold chain which dangled across Ryan's
still-heaving chest. The teen grimaced in pain and looked at Ben fearfully,
wondering what was coming next. Ben untied Ryan's hands and let the boy
lower them to his side. Ryan rubbed his wrists, where the ropes had cut
into the flesh, but he wasn't to enjoy his newfound freedom for long. Ben
attached a pair of metal manacles that fit snugly around Ryan's wrists. The
manacles were connected by an iron bar about 6 inches across with a metal
ring in the center. Ben motioned to Tim and the two of them wrapped their
arms around Ryan and lifted him several feet off the floor. Ben used one
arm to guide Ryan's arms over his head and attached the manacle's O-ring to
a hook on the ceiling of the trailer. Ryan now dangled helplessly,
suspended by his wrists, his lean torso stretched so his pecs flattened out
and the outline of his sore, reddened six-packed abs glistened in high
"That takes care of sonny boy," said Ben. "Now it's time to play with dear
old dad."

Josh stood slumped against the front wall of the trailer. His wrists were
scraped and bleeding from the handcuffs and Josh's frenzied attempts to
break free while watching Ryan's punishment at the hands of Ben. While he
was helplessly watching his teenage son being gutpunched and worked over,
Josh's mind was filled with conflicted emotions - rage, pain, fury,
humiliation, sadness. When Ben and Tim walked over and stood in front of
him, Josh straightened up to his full height and glared at them with
unbridled anger.

"Looks like Mr. Tough Guy here wants to fight," Ben said to Tim. "You wanna
fight, huh, tough guy? I bet you'd like to fucking kill me if you had a
chance," Ben said, spitting the words in Josh's face. Ben pinched Josh's
left nipple and twisted it until Josh winced in pain. "Well, ain't really
enough room in here for a fight, but we'll see how tough you really are
anyway. Looks like you're in pretty good shape."
Josh stood defiantly, trying to maintain his composure, his rock-hard
cantalope-sized pecs heaving.
Tim walked over to the box of supplies on the floor and returned with two
hard-rubber police batons. "You ever see one of these?" asked Ben. "They
pack quite a wallop. Cops use 'em to bust heads but we like 'em to work
over the guts of overaged gym boys like you."

Ben and Tim then set to work, alternately clubbing Josh's rippled abs with
the truncheons. Josh steeled himself and tightened his gut, absorbing the
first sets of blows easily. Ben varied his pace, bringing the baton down
against Josh's right pec and then across his side into his ribs. Josh
winced with pain and before he could ready himself, Tim smacked him again
in the abs, this time hitting soft muscle and knocking the wind out of
Josh. Ben continued swatting Josh's abs, gradually feeling them soften.
In a few minutes, each "swack!" brought a satisfying grunt or gasp of pain
as Josh's abs slowly softened under the unrelenting abuse. Ben dropped his
baton and started throwing lefts and rights into Josh's gut with his bare
fists now, doubling Josh over with every blow. Ben's punches got harder
and stiffer as Josh gasped for air. Like his son, the man was now bathed
in oily sweat, as spittle leaked from the sides of his mouth.
Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! Ben adjusted his stance and changed the roundhouse
rights and lefts into uppercuts, each one penetrating Josh's solar plexus,
forcing every ounce of air from his lungs. A dozen of those and Josh saw
stars exploding behind his eyes, as he wondered how many more punches he
could take before his lungs exploded.

Ben stepped back and stopped his punishment. Josh fell to his knees,
choking and gasping for air and hugging his bruised, aching abs with both
arms. "Nothin' like a little workout to get the old juices pumping," said
Ben. "Now what are we gonna do? I know, we can play mattress."

Tim clapped his hands together enthusiastically. He and Ben grabbed the
mattress that was hooked to one of the walls of the trailer and dropped it
on the floor. Then Ben unlocked Josh's handcuffs. Josh was too bruised and
winded to offer any resistance. Ben and Tim dragged Josh by the arms and
laid him on the mattress, belly up. "You ever watch pro wrestling," asked
Ben, looking down at Josh. "Cos this is my favorite move." With that, Ben
hooked his elbow and jumped in the air, landing on his knees and dropping
the point of his elbow solidly into Josh's midsection. "Oooofff!" Josh
sprayed the air with spittle as Ben's elbow drove the air from this lungs
again. "My turn!" yelled Tim, and he dropped an elbow, this time into
Josh's ribs. The two huge men took turns flopping around the cramped
interior of the trailer, bouncing off the walls and leaping over Josh's
body, but always falling onto the mattress and inflicting some additional
punishment - elbows, knees, a full bellyflop onto Josh's prone body.
Finally, he brought an elbow down smack onto Josh's forehead. Josh's head
bounced against the floor and, couple with the impact of the earlier
concussion, knocked him senseless, unable to move or speak.

All this time, Ryan had been hanging suspended by his wrists in the corner
of the trailer. His body was soaked with sweat from head to foot, his arms
ached with unbearable pain, his head spinning from the effects of the pain
and dehydration. Ryan wanted to yell at Ben and Tim to stop hurting his
father, but all he could get out was a muffled groan. It was enough to get
the roadies' attention, though. Ben and Tim stopped their pro wrestling
maneuvers and walked over to Ryan's dangling body. "I think sonny boy here
feels left out," said Ben. "We'll let him play too." Ben and Tim again
grabbed Ryan and lifted him off the hook that was holding his manacled
wrists. Tim removed the manacles and the tit-clamps and half walked, half
carried Ryan over to where his father lay on the floor. Then Ben pushed
Ryan down so he fell face-down onto his father's chest. Ryan put his arms
around his father's shoulders and gave him a silent hug.

"Turn him around," grumbled Ben. Tim grabbed Ryan's legs and first, turned
him over onto his back, then spun him around so his body made a T,
crisscrossing Josh's over his waist.

Ben backed up a few steps and then yelled "Weee-ooooh, Geronimo!" He
skipped two steps and then jumped into the air, landing a 300 lb. belly
flop right onto Ryan's chest. "Ahhhhh!" screamed Ryan. Both Ryan and Josh's
bodies bounced from the impact and both let out a sharp cry of pain. Ryan
had tears in his eyes and was valiantly trying to keep from crying in terror
as Tim lined him up again and parted his hands, putting them at Ryan's
sides. Then it was Tim's turn. Almost as big as Ben at 280, Tim performed
his splash onto the boy / man sandwich with a gleeful whoop. Again, the
impact caused both Ryan and Josh's bodies to buckle and bounce from the

Ryan was now curled up in a ball, softly sobbing as he hugged his badly
bruised ribs and mid-section. Josh was still in la-la land. Suddenly, the
trailer lurched to a halt. A few seconds later, Matt, the third roadie who
had been driving, opened up the door of the trailer. "We're in the middle
of nowhere, now's a good time to dump our passengers. Did you guys have
fun? I could hear all the bumpin' and jumpin'," he said.
Matt looked down at Ryan and Josh's prone bodies. "Looks like you gave them
a good whuppin'," he said. "Shame to waste that cute little boy's bubble
butt, though."

"None of that, none of that," said Ben. "These two took their punishment
like men. No crying, no begging. So don't even think about taking the kid.
But we still have to get our insurance." Ben helped Ryan to his feet.
"Drop your shorts," he said. Ryan looked into Ben's eyes uncomprehendingly.
"Strip! Get those shorts off." Ryan undid his waist button and fly and
stepped out of his shorts. He stood naked, trembling, not knowing what was
coming next. As he did so, Tim reached down and pulled Josh's shorts and
boxers off. "Now lie down next to your dad," Ben barked. Ryan, choking
back tears from the humiliation, but not wanting to be beaten again, did
what he was told. Tim arranged Josh's arm around Ryan's shoulder so the two
looked like lovers nestling in a post-coital embrace. Then he started
massaging Josh's flaccid cock until it started to take on some tumescence.
When Josh was half-erect, Tim stepped back and Ben took a series of
snapshots with a Polaroid camera. "Now," said Ben, "anybody comes after us
and these photos go to the authorities." Ben helped Ryan up again and
pushed him out of the door of the trailer, still nude, into the inky
blackness. Then he and Tim picked up Josh and deposited him outside too.
"Your dad will come to in a few minutes," Ben said. "Give him these with
our compliments." Ben threw Ryan and Josh's shorts on the ground. "And
tell your old man he's one tough fucker. And you are too. Have a nice
night." Then he smiled. All three roadies went to the cab of the trailer
and drove off to the next stop on the tour.

Like this story? Let me know. (p.s. This story was
written before the events of September 8, when a shirtless father and son
attacked a Kansas City Royals coach at a baseball game in Chicago, and was
NOT in any way inspired by that event.)