Picture a hybrid form of athletic jock with babyface twink and likely you’ll conjure an image of a young man named Tony Law, who is just that. He’s also a little punk bastard that hasn’t paid his gym membership off yet and nevertheless makes liberal use of the facility, pumping his muscles to the tune of entitlement, which like a leaking vapor, spreads forth in coils from Law’s sweaty physique, suffusing the room with the scent of his hooliganry. Fortunately for the gym owner, the spoor of Tony’s uncouth draft leads the problem solver, Daddy Barboza, straight to Law’s location. Daddy concludes a call of assurance to his employer (the disgruntled gym owner) as he walks through the front door, affirming the fee will be collected from the ill-mannered punk who Barboza, presently, proceeds to confront.
Prior to making demands, Barboza offers civility to the ungrateful one, with stern but softened tone. The hired muscle insinuates the possibility of a peaceful resolution to the predicament, wherein Tony would pause his workout, grab his wallet and pay up. This courtesy extended by Barboza quickly evaporates as the cheeky youth continues to lift, his attitude dismissive of the older man.
“We’ll discuss payment later,” exhales Tony after some reps.
“We’re gonna do it right now!” roars an infuriated Barboza, forthwith launching the insolent brat with the sort of violent proficiency that only decades of practice can produce. Barboza sheds his blazer, truly pissed with the punk’s immaturity and audacious arrogance, which Barboza begins to address with alternating strikes and submissions. “You gonna listen to Daddy now, or what?” yells the heavy hitter as he loosens his collar with his free hand, while the other tends to Tony’s throat.
Law is reluctant to concede just yet despite the dawning intelligence of how fucked he is. Fishhooks from Barboza help Law come closer to cooperating as the daddy disciplinarian works the boy in all sorts of compromising holds. A nice long Camel Clutch punishes the punk as Barboza gets comfortable aback the little shit, wrenching the twink’s face with the leverage of his fingers that are stuffed deeply in the pockets of Tony’s cheeks. In this compromised position, the ill-mannered Law struggles to form words from his gaped-wide mouth. Daddy, in order to hear if his boy is ready to repent, grants a reprieve from the beating that lasts a couple of seconds, before it commences with the inspiration resulting from fresh provocation by the punk, who can’t seem to help himself and now is facing Daddy’s sweaty crotch while completely pinned. From his mounted seat atop Law’s chest Barboza slaps the boy around asking do you give, each fresh refusal generating a corresponding slap. As Barboza begins unbuckling his dress pants, the notion of asking for what he wants becomes more a statement of what he is going to do. “I don’t just want the money now, you’re gonna have to pay with something else.” “You’re gonna give it to me!” Tony pleads of needing to go to the bank for the money, but Barboza assures him, “Daddy’s gonna take you to the bank.”
Squirming and stripped to his jock, Tony blunders anew by calling Barboza a creep. Furious, Daddy demands an immediate apology from the little bastard and by twisting the punk’s limbs in directions foreign to their natural constitution, Daddy quickly inclines the jobber boy to compliance. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry daddy!” Law whimpers, when the pain solicited by his own obstinacy finally surpasses the extreme humiliation of the circumstance. With the formal extraction of penance acquired Daddy is pleased but nonetheless determined to teach his boy a lesson. Barboza is far from finished teaching manners to Tony, and if it remains unclear whether or not Law learns the lesson one thing is certain, his ass will never forget it.
