Randy was yelling at the coach. So loud that Mark Calaway, known by many as 'The Undertaker', could hear pretty clearly all the profanities and other rudeness. And it was pretty annoying.
The most annoying thing was he knew the kid's father and his Bobby was one of the most country people he knew, there was no reason for his son to be sounding so disrepectful.
Of course their wrestling personas weren't real. In actuality they were all pretty good friends. It was all just act on stage. Even though they really did get hurt most of the time.
Randy slammed the door and stormed to his locker, cheeks slightly red from frustration.
"What was that about?" Undertaker looked at him as he polished his boots.
"Nothing," he huffed.
"Didn't sound like 'nothing' sounded like you pitched a fit."
"Thanks for your concern but I don't appreciate you eavesdropping on my conversations, Mark," he said coldly.
Undertaker raised a brow, "What I did was hardly eavesdropping since the whole locker room could hear your tantrum with the coach."
He scoffed and tossed his bag in the locker and slipped his knee pads on.
"Does Daddy Orton know his boy still throws tantrums like a toddler?"
"Go to hell," he growled.
Mark just looked at him with narrowed eyes. He stood and walked over, standing over him with his near 7 ft frame. The way he stood over Randy in his wrestling attire looking down on him sent a cold streak down the young wrestlers back.
"What?" Randy tried to pretend he wasn't afraid.
Undertaker put his hands under The Viper's arm pits and lifted him off the bench to look him eye to eye, leaving Randy's feet to dangle half a foot off the ground.
"You better remember who you're talking to, boy. What happens in the ring may be an act but you're treading on dangerous waters."
He leaned back, "Oh what are you gonna do?"
Thats all the older man needed, sitting on the bench in Randy's place and tossing him over his right knee. Randy knew this position very well from down home and instantly began kicking and squirming.
"You sure seem to know what this means for you," he pushed the young man's shirt to the middle of his back to he could have easier access to his toned backside.
"Don't you dare!" he growled and struggled to get loose. If he could get his feet to the ground he might be able to make his way out.
"I won't dare, I'll simply do it," he slipped his fingers into the back of Randy's black speedo and pulled it just above his knees.
Randy gasped and squirmed more as The Punisher, an appropriate title at this moment, raised his hand high above his head and swatted him hard, leaving a near perfect red hand print on the young man's chistled thigh. Before he could even recover from the first hit he got seven more on the same spot.
"Ow! Mark, people will see!" he complained as the hits went to his left thigh. His wrestiling outfit wasn't pants like Undertaker and Cena wore. His was much more revealing of his body, especially his legs and thighs. He had a match in about 25 minutes and he didn't know if his thighs would still be red and he didn't want to risk it.
"I wouldn't embarrass you like that!" he kicked at the image of he other guys laughing.
"You wouldn't be able to," The brunette said simply, but he complied and began to swat his sit spots. Hitting his left one multiple times until it became nice and red and then moving to the right, to Randy's dismay.
"You can't do that! I'm a growna- man!" he kicked and elbowed at his side, getting frustrated at how little it was apparently doing, "Are you listening to me!"
He rolled his eyes and laid six hard smacks to his right thigh and approved at the gasp he got, "if you keep yelling the others will here you and come to investigate. And if you keep elbowing me they'll see what happened in here."
He grit his teeth. before he could protest he got a series of hard, quick swats laid to his right buttock. He groaned and pushed at the larger man's left leg and thigh trying to get away from his heavy hand. That resulted in him getting a sharp slap to his right undercurve.
Undertaker heard him gasp, "When you move I can't control where I hit, so I suggest you sit still," he raised his knee to be able to hit his sitspots easier.
The viper sniffled and kicked, "I have to get ready for my match!"
"So?"
"I need to GET UP and get ready for my match!"
"You have 24 minutes."
Randy couldn't believe it'd only been one minute! How could he possibly get that much of a sting from just one minute! And to make it worse it didn't look or feel like his senior wrestler was stopping anytime soon.
By minute two Randy was kicking horridly, "Let go! I have to pee and I need to work out!"
"You can hold it and you're getting a good enough leg work out now," he purposely swatted his left undercurve, "Now stop giving me excuses. You're not getting up until I let you up."
"Is this because I accused you of eavesdropping?"
"This is because you were being a rude, spoilt brat and throwing tantrums."
"I didn't throw any tantrums!" he growled, getting a sharp swat to his upper left thigh, causing him to gasp, "Ok, ok, I threw a tantrum, but thats between me and coach!"
"I don't care." he continued on another two minutes.
Randy had his eyes pressed tightly training not to cry, "Ok, stop!"
"Why?"
"Daddy!"
Mark had to stop for a second after hearing that, "I'm not your daddy," he raised a brow.
"I know that!" Randy sobbed quietly.
The older wrestler rolled his eyes and set him on his feet, "Go get ready for your match and you'd better remember to mind your tongue. Next time I won't let you up so easily," he went off to prepare for his next fight as Randy frantically rubbed his butt.
