It was a sleazy, dimly lit little bar, similar to any of those in or near major cities all around the world. Cities like Hong Kong, Saigon, certain places in Africa, and of course, Tijuana, Mexico. This was the late 50’s, and this one was in Tijuana – just across the border from a major military training station in San Diego, California. It was traditional among many military men that new recruits should get drunk and get laid as a rite of passage upon graduation from their basic training, and in San Diego, the place to go was Tijuana. Cheap prices, and reportedly, cheap whores.
Outside, there was a thin Mexican passing out flyers, and urging tourists to come in and see the show. “Two girls and a donkey – Guaranteed!”
This was the kind of place to be found on the side streets, just off the main drag, in the sleaziest parts of the world, catering primarily to the curious, daring, and the twisted of the world. Three or four buddies of mine, and myself, of course, were on a weekend pass, and slumming to get one of our band drunk and laid in the best of military traditions. In those days, you had to go in a group so there was always someone to watch your back. You never knew what might happen in a place like this.
The “Two girls and a donkey – Guaranteed!” was too much of a curiosity to refuse, and we were ushered inside while the doorman urged us forward toward the bar with the comment, “Show time - ten minutes.”
One of my buddies eagerly asked, “You sure there’s a live donkey?”
“Oh, yes”, was the reply – “Real donkey – Guaranteed”. With that, he smiled broadly as if this was some real accomplishment, and revealing a mouth full of bad teeth, terribly in need of some dental attention.
As our eyes became adjusted to the change in light, you could see this wasn’t much of a place. A stand-up bar, a half-dozen tables spread around the room with stools to sit on, and a couple of booths that had seen better days -–somewhere. The lighting was low, and there was a candle stuck in the top of an empty beer bottle on each table. Real class, that! A bottle of beer was three bucks, and apparently, beer was all that was available. The same bottle that you could get cold on ice for 50 cents at any market in the U.S. Nevertheless, we paid the three bucks, just so we could soak up the ambiance, sat in a booth and waited for the beer.
This was the kind of place where there was always a “back room”, for more serious pursuits, and a back door, which led down an alley to an old house or shady hotel, which served as the brothel. (The whore-house for those who remember the era.)
A couple of B-Girls (“Bar-Girls”) were making the rounds of the customers, surreptitiously offering sexual favors…. “Hi, Joe. You like good time tonight?” Or more blatantly, “Blowjob, five bucks!”
One of them slid up to the booth that our group had selected, and with her back to the room, raised the hem of her too-short skirt to reveal a black thatch of hair, and no panties. She said not a word, but we all knew what she was offering….. A good look!
She took a moment to look from face to face, and not seeing any takers, dropped the hem of her skirt and moved on to the next booth, where another group of recruits had just been served their warm beer.
A couple of minutes later, a waiter arrived with beer. Nothing fancy – just an open bottle. No napkins, no nuts, no amenities. As I said, “Real class”.
“You staying for the show”, he asked?
My friend who had asked about the donkey before asked again, “A live donkey?”
“No donkey”, he said. “Donkey on Fridays only! Tonight girl who steals gets punished. Whipped good!”
Now that was a switch! (No pun intended!) We were suckered in with the promise of two girls and a donkey, and after paying for our over-priced drinks, were told there were no girls and no donkey!
Ah, Bait and Switch!
“Cover charge”, he offered….. “Ten bucks.”
“We’ll think about it”, I said.
“Shit!” I thought to myself ….. “We missed the feature attraction!”
“Okay, Joe”, he said as he moved away.
“Seems like all military men are named Joe”, I thought to myself!
Well, my buddies had already started drinking their warm beer, so there was no point in leaving immediately, so I joined them. That first swig was an eye-opener. Not being used to warm Mexican beer, it had an entirely different taste than I was used to. It tasted more like warm piss than anything I could imagine, and seemed a lot stronger. Perhaps, I thought, it gets you drunk faster this way…..
A couple more minutes passed as our anxious recruit eyed the B-Girls, imagining who knows what (I know what!), as we engaged in crude jokes and wild tales.
A guy came into the bar from the backroom and announced, “Show Time! Ten bucks”.
Most of the bars patrons got up and started to file toward the back room door, and one of my buddies piped up, “We’ve got a virgin here. Can he get a discount?”
“No discount here, Joe”, the Mex replied. “Girl is a virgin, too!”
I was just about to take the last swallow of my beer, and I nearly choked on the thought of a virgin getting whipped in a whorehouse bar, and would have, had the beer not shot out through my nose!
Nevertheless, we lined up, paid our ten bucks each, and were ushered into the back room. The “back room” was significantly less accommodating than the bar. There were three rows of bleachers, made of thick boards laid across empty beer kegs. Nothing fancy, just a place to sit while you watched the show. On one side of the room, a small stage had been set up, and a couple of spotlights, consisting of a hundred-watt bulb inside a large tin can, were pointing at the stage. There was a rope in the middle of the stage, hanging from the ceiling. The Mexican doorman stepped up on the stage, someone flipped a switch, and the homemade spotlights spilled their beams unevenly across the stage.
“Welcome to our show”, he offered, “I am your host”. It had the same effect as Ricardo Montalban’s “I am your host” on “Fantasy Island” many years later! “We have a very good show tonight. This girl was caught stealing from another girl, and she will be punished.”
With that, he motioned to a door to the side of the stage, which opened, and a second man pulled a struggling girl onto the stage. She was fully dressed, with her wrists tied in front of her, and was gagged with a black rubber ball. She was protesting, moaning, and shaking her head in protest, obviously knowing that she was going to be punished, and resisting it as best she could. Except for the bondage, she could have been any young woman just pulled in off the street.
Her dress was slightly brown, with small white flower pattern all over, puffy sleeves, and white piping along the seams. A white leather belt circled her waist and clasped in front. She wore white strapped open toed shoes with three-inch heels to match the belt, with well manicured and red polished toenails. Her hair was curly brown, long, and neat, in the style of many Mexican young women, and it was obvious she had been crying. No telling how long she had been tied like this. As she blinked into the brightness of the homemade spotlights, you could see fear in her eyes, along with quick glances from face to face, hoping to find a sympathetic face that would help her. Someone to rescue her from what she feared was going to happen to her.
As she reached center stage, the host grabbed her from behind while the second man grabbed the hanging rope, wrapped it swiftly around her wrists and knotted it. Immediately, someone, somewhere, pulled on the rope, pulling her bound hands above her head, and nearly jerking her up off the stage. An involuntary yell of pain escaped from her throat, and was immediately stifled by the ball-gag in her mouth. Her body was stretched tight, and and her back arched as her head was thrown back behind her upstretched arms. I wondered if she had been kept in that position before she was brought into the room and for how long. Strangely, I found it exciting to see her is this helpless position and my mind started to work on how beautiful she was, and so helpless.
As she held that position, the host – the guy who had been running this show – tested her body to see that it was stretched as much as possible without seriously hurting her. As he ran his hands over her body and down her back, he teased the audience by pulling her skirt up here and there to reveal a little thigh and leg. Satisfied she had been stretched tight, he picked up a roll of duct tape from a small table at the side of the stage, knelt down behind her, and pulled the tape around her ankles, securing them together as if they were pinioned, which would surely prevent her from kicking either of them. A double wrap of tape and her feet were secure.
“Take her up”, he said to a third man who was standing at the side of the stage and holding the free end of the rope. It was now possible to see that the rope had gone up to the ceiling, over a pulley and back down at the side of the stage where she could be raised and lowered by pulling on the rope.
“Slowly!” the host commanded.
With that, the third man pulled slowly and slightly on the rope, seemingly stretching her bound body even tighter. In truth, she was lifted only an inch or so, just enough to raise her heels from the floor, forcing her onto the balls of her feet. Another moan escaped from her throat from the additional weight of her body being forced onto her feet. It was obvious that she was stretched tightly, and encountering some pain, probably on her wrists, and perhaps in her back. Although it did seem that this stretched position also made her butt stick out in back further than it had before. Might have been the stressed position.
Suddenly it became very quiet in the room as we began to see this young woman being punished. You could hear a pin drop as they say, and her whimpering behind her gag.
This was for real! This wasn’t an act! They were really going to punish her. Maybe even whip her.
Our host had paused for effect, and was letting the audience experience the moment, trying to imagine how the young woman was feeling, how much pain she was experiencing, and what they were going to do to her next. It seemed as if time stopped and I became aware that there was some action going on in my pants. I was starting to get an erection! It wasn’t raging hard – not even stiff, but there was some movement there, and it could become stiff without too much trouble. Lost in my own thoughts about what I was seeing, I became aware that our host was speaking.
“Look how beautiful she is”, he said….. “Look how beautiful her body is when it’s stretched like this.”
“Look at the line of her breasts….. Her flat belly….. The curve of the torso…..”
His hands were moving down the front of her body, touching each area as he spoke, and as he said ‘torso’ his fingers slipped between her legs and pressed upward as she tried to pull away.
“How pretty – how beautiful she must be underneath all those clothes…… How pretty she must be when she’s naked…..?
This guy had the spiel down pat! It seemed as if he knew just what to say, and where to touch her to guide a man’s mind into all sorts of fantasy images and desires.
“How nice it would be to own her….. How nice to stretch her to the breaking point, and possess every part of her…… How nice to just cut all her clothes off her and revel in looking at her naked body before taking her again and again…..”
His hand was massaging her breast, and I began to imagine my own hand on that breast. That breast that seemed more beautiful than any woman’s breast I had ever seen or touched.
She was moaning. I couldn’t tell whether she was moaning in pain or pleasure. Did it matter whether the pain came from being stretched, or being touched like this? Did it matter that she was helpless, and had no control of what was happening to her, or was going to happen to her? Did it matter that she had no control at all about what was happening?
Could she be enjoying this?????
You couldn’t tell by seeing her facial expression. With her hands pulled toward the ceiling, her arms forced her head back so she could only look at the ceiling, and you couldn’t see her face.
She was definitely moaning!
The second man had slipped over to the table by the side of the stage, and had returned to stand behind her, holding a pair of scissors, as the host’s voice droned on.
“Let’s see what she’s hiding under her clothes”, he said.
With that, the second man reached up, took hold of one of the puffy sleeves on the dress, brought up the scissors, and snipped it off, dropping it to the floor. The girl tried to pull away, realizing that she was about to be stripped by having her clothes cut away from her body, and who knew what else? But it was a futile gesture being tied, gagged, and forced to stand on the balls of her feet like this. She could do little more that jerk and strain at her bonds. I watched as she opened and closed her hands, trying to grab something that wasn’t there, and shaking her head back and forth as if in protest. But this was happening to her, and she had no idea how far it was going to go.
Meanwhile, my penis was making efforts to assert itself within my trousers again. It was becoming noticeably tight down there. Dammit! I was enjoying this! It seemed as if I entered the moment – as if I could actually reach out and touch this girl – to touch her and experience what she was feeling.
Snip, snip, and the other puffy sleeve from her dress fell to the floor. Her dress was now sleeveless, and my imagination was beginning to undress her despite any protest she might make.
Our host’s voice droned on; almost hypnotically. I watched as he held her waist and turned her body ninety degrees so we could look at her in a side view. Hands pulled up, head pushed back, back arched, tits sticking straight out, high and proud, butt sticking out, and long legs supporting herself on the balls of her feet, heels raised only an inch from the floor.
My God! She was beautiful!!!
As his voice droned on, I heard, “Look at the curve of her back. Imagine the stress of her muscles being pulled tight, holding her straight and erect….. Holding her so tight she almost can’t breathe…… Imagine a corset strapped tightly around her waist, holding her in, and forcing her to gasp for breath……”
His hands tightened around her waist, forcing it into a tight circle.
Snip! And a piece of her dress from over her right shoulder fell to the floor. The loose material fell away down in front of her chest revealing a pointed, cone-shaped breast in a white bra sticking out enticingly, and the smooth skin below her breast. I had not noticed before the perfect olive brown color of her skin. It was flawless, and beautiful. Before, she had just been another girl --- any girl. With her head pushed back like that, her throat was completely exposed from the chin, clear down to the soft curve of the top of her breasts and the cleave between them. I could only imagine how delectable her nipples might be.
Snip! The piece of fabric over her left shoulder parted, fell forward, and both breasts pointed straight ahead, away from her body, like perfect cones of flesh. God, how I wanted to touch them as our host pulled the fabric down to her waist, revealing the perfection of her stretched body from the waist up.
Holding her waist again, he turned her body once again so the audience could get a full view of her near naked back, crossed only by the straps of her brassiere and the drape of her curly hair hanging down her back. The fabric of her ruined dress hung loosely from her waist. It was obvious she wouldn’t be wearing that dress again. I thought how humiliating for her to be having her dress cut off like that, exposing her near naked body for the enjoyment of these spectators. And yet knowing that there was more to come. More exposure and humiliation, with pain yet to come. How much? And how long was she going to have to take it? How long was she going to punished? How severely was she going to be whipped? How much was she going to be hurt???
His hand was exploring her revealed skin again….. His fingers sliding down the line of her spine, touching each vertebra as it passed from the nape of her neck down to the waist. Slowly….. Slowly….. Make her feel it. Make her feel this man touching her spine – touching her bare skin – more than any other man had ever touched her nakedness. And there was nothing she could do to stop it. That was the worst part of it – there was no way to get away. They were going to do it – whatever they wanted. They could rape her if they wanted. They could make her take men and give up her virginity to them. Over and over if they desired. They could even make her pregnant, and there was nothing she could do about it. Crying was useless. Screaming was useless. Begging was useless – being gagged, she couldn’t even beg!
And Mr. P inside my pants, was growing stiffer and stiffer, and demanding some attention!
The second man knelt, grasped the hem of her dress and raised the scissors into position. Our host stepped around behind the girl, facing the front of her body, reached around her torso as if to hug her, cupped her buttocks in both hands, lifted and spread her cheeks, and pulled her tightly to his body. Although the fabric of her dress still covered her bottom, the effect was nearly electric as he momentarily lifted her bound feet off the floor, raising her. I imagine it offered a brief respite to her bound wrists, as he held her only a small distance off the floor, but there must have been some feeling as her butt cheeks were spread and held apart as she was held there.
“How nice it is to think of her little puckered hole exposed like this, How cool it must feel as the cold air touches her forbidden zone…..”, he droned on, almost as if it were scripted and he had repeated it before.
“See how she accepts it….. See how she accepts being spread….. What more need be said. She will take it there if I want her to.”
He lowered her back onto the balls of her feet, and the second man started snipping away at the bottom of her dress with the scissors. A straight line up the back of the dress, from bottom to top, revealing the back of her legs from her taped ankles up to her buttocks where he pauses. Our host, who still is holding her by her buttocks, releases them, grasps the fabric of the dress and pulls the two sides apart, rending the fabric to her waist, and revealing the white panties underneath. Our second man cuts the waist belt and the remnant of the dress falls to the floor. The girl stands before us with her back to us, revealed in nothing more than white bra and panties, and those strappy white shoes.
Our host once again takes her by the waist and rotates her back to her original position. Allowing us a full view of her nearly naked body, stretched and held helplessly in place as she is. Beautiful! Absolutely beautiful! I think to myself there is nothing so beautiful as a woman who is helplessly bound and gagged. Sex doesn’t even enter into it. It’s the power. It’s the control. It’s the submission! And it must be wonderful to have pointy-shaped titties that stick out like that!!! I almost wish it were me up there! But while I was spacing out on my own thoughts, the next phase of her humiliation was approaching.
The man with the scissors was now behind her, and preparing to snip away the bra, defining and framing her pert, pointy breasts. Snip, one shoulder strap. Snip, the second shoulder strap! Standing behind her, he slips his fingers under the third and last strap holding the bra to her body. It’s now a question of whether her bra is holding up her breasts, or her breasts are holding up her bra! The suspense is deafening to mix metaphors.
Snip! And the bra drops to the floor!
Her breasts don’t move!
They continue to point straight forward and continue to hold their beautiful cone shape, with lovely little nipples at each end. It must be that her chest muscles being pulled upward by her tied hands over her head, the breasts are being held in that perfect, pointy position. Whatever it is – or was – they were perfect! So enticing….. So beautiful….. So exciting!
I can’t help it. Mr. P is fighting now. He wants out of my trousers. I had to move about a bit to give him some wiggle room! And I notice that some others are having the same problem.
Now she stands there, stretched to her limit, with everything gone except her white panties and white shoes. A sight to behold! And I can see her visibly, silently, sobbing into her gag. She’s only a step away from total humiliation being fully exposed in front of a crowd of “Joe’s” who are looking on and enjoying her nakedness! Yet, I imagine she knows she isn’t done yet. She knows she’s going to be whipped as punishment for her stealing! She’s wondering how much more she can endure! She knows it’s going to happen, and wonders how much more she can take? How much more she’ll HAVE to take!
Our host is running his hands up and down her body again. And with the breasts fully exposed now, has taken the opportunity to pay attention by squeezing and painfully twisting the girl’s tits back and forth. It reminded me of an old joke where a woman says to her boyfriend, “For God’s sake, squeeze, don’t twist, they aren’t doorknobs!” As he twists hard, you can hear her muffled protests at the pain he’s causing her at each end of the rotation. He’s twisting so hard it’s obvious she would be screaming at the extreme end of each twist.
As he pays attention now to her nipples, he squeezes AND twists. She throws her head back as far as she can, and is screaming in pain behind her gag! To no avail, he is determined to hurt her! It doesn’t last too long., but it was long enough for Mr. P to react in my shorts. You can’t call it premature, since this whole show has been going on for about ten minutes or so, but my shorts are wet as I cum within them. Using her tits as handles, our host turns her sideways again, and I realize that I don’t even know this girl’s name, yet I have just had the most satisfying experience of my young life. Even better than the self-abuse my dad told me about.
Suddenly stopping, he reaches around from behind, takes a breast in each hand and squeezes hard while pulling them apart as far as he can. Meanwhile, “Mister Scissors” starts on the panties! First one leg, then the other, he starts at the elastic hem at the top of each leg and cuts upward, to a point just under the waistband, then stops. The effect is that the panties are in shreds, hanging from the waistband elastic. Our host releases one breast, takes hold of the panties at mid-waist level, just under the girl’s navel, and pulls outward, ripping the panties away from her body. The ripped fabric slides out from between her legs, revealing her most private areas. She has a full thatch of brown genital hair, as is the custom of women of that era. Our host spins her around allowing us to see the lovely curve of her hips, and the crack of her ass, along with the beauty of her naked butt. I cum again at seeing her fully naked, and imagining having her sexually.
Meanwhile, our host uses his grip on one breast to turn her sideways again, and pushes the fingers of his free hand between her legs from the front as before, releases her breast and pushes the fingers of his now free hand between her legs from the back, and it’s obvious he’s feeling around down there.
He smiles and says, “Yes, she’s a virgin!” He rotates her slowly, so everyone can see that he’s actually got his fingers into her, and is feeling around. She must be totally humiliated!
“Up”, he commands.
The third man, who was holding the rope before, pulls on it, raising the girl’s feet totally off the floor. She is now totally suspended, and her tied wrists are holding all her weight. It must be quite painful as she begins gasping for air and screaming into her gag. Our host steps back and just lets her twist, trying to find a surface on which to stand. Placing a hand on one hip, he gives her a push, and she swings back and forth like a human pendulum on an antique clock.
“Tick… Tock… Tick… Tock…”, he exclaims, emphasizing the point that she’s totally suspended now, and swinging free.
It’s almost painful to watch. Yet fascinating to watch what’s being done to her! How she’s taking it, and how she’s ABLE to take it! I’d read about girls who like to be spanked, but that sounded a lot like porno fiction, and nothing like this! So far this is WAY beyond spanking, and presumably there was a lot more to come!
And I was right ….. There WAS a lot more to come!
Mr. Scissors was back.
Nobody had been paying attention to him after he had cut the final fabric of her panties, and he suddenly reappeared carrying an assortment of whips, crops, paddles, and a cat-o-nine-tails. It was obvious what they were for….. She was going to be whipped! It was the main event, after all. It was the function of the evening. The question now became, for how much, and for how long! How badly was our victim going to be whipped? (I’d begun to think of her as a nameless victim - of someone who might have been kidnapped, who was being tortured, either into submission, or to reveal some state secret.)
I don’t know whether it was empathy, or a shifting of the masculine mind that was leading me to empathize with the victim – this poor girl who was being mistreated, humiliated, hurt, and only moments away from some real pain. But I watched in rapt attention as Scissors put these implements on the side table, and as our host stopped the girl’s swinging, and forced her head forward so she could see what was happening in front of her.
Still gagged, and still hanging suspended, she suddenly realized it was time for the whipping. Her eyes grew large in fear, and she began shaking her head in protest. Our host tried, unsuccessfully, to make her look straight forward by holding her by the hair and pushing her head between her upstretched arms, to no avail. She was already crying, with a combination of moaning and pleading sounds. Sounds that told you she didn’t want to go through this – that she’d never steal anything again if only they’d let her go.
Scissors picked up a long switch, sort of like an old carriage whip, and swished it through the air in front of the poor girl, where it made a swishing sound. Although it never stuck her, she whined and tried to twist away as if it had. She was audibly crying behind her gag. In response, our host loosened the strap holding the gag in her mouth, and I thought he was going to remove it. But no, in fact, he tightened it another notch, pulling the ball further into her mouth, and stifling her sounds even more.
Scissors nodded to the host who took a step backward, while still holding the girl by the hair, forcing her to watch what was going to happen, Scissors swished the whip a couple more times in front of the girl where she could see it, then drew his arm back, and swung the whip at her body, striking her hard and fully across both breasts. Her scream of pain could only be described as a blood-curdling scream! And as he stepped back so all could see, an angry red welt appeared across the girl's breasts. She gasped again for air, and let out a second scream, if anything, louder than the first.
Despite being held by the hair, her body jerked from the blow. She twisted, and kicked out, trying to escape another blow. As the red welt across her chest darkened, it was obvious that she wouldn’t be able to take many of those. While the girl openly cried while gasping for air through her gag and nose, Scissors virtually pranced around the stage, swinging his whip up and down, and waving it in front of her, for at least a full minute. Now a minute may seem like a long time if nothing is happening, having a man with a whip, waving it in front of you just after delivering the kind of blow you’d probably never felt before, could have been an incredibly painful experience. And while we all knew she was going to be whipped again, none of us knew how much, or where the blow would be struck.
As the minute of prancing ended, Scissors took a position at the girl’s right side, and waved the whip back and forth, leading to the conclusion that the girl was going to be struck across the breasts a second time. But swish, the second blow struck her fully across the belly. Of course it left another red welt where it had struck her flesh! As she screamed again, it was evident that she was in for a serious and painful beating!
Her feet kicked forward involuntarily in a reaction to the blow, but struck nothing more than thin air as Scissors pranced about the stage a second time.
The host spun her around again so her backside was facing the audience, pulled her into a hugging position and held her tight. Scissors brought down a third blow across the swell of her bare buttocks, leaving a third red welt across both globes. The blow caused her to jerk forward into the host who was already holding her tight, and no doubt caused some sexual reaction from him, as it was to me. I think I counted a third ejaculation into my shorts as my prostrate jerked in response. It was amazing. I was ejaculating with no direct, physical stimulation of Mr. P. That had never happened before.
Quick blows across the top of the girl’s thighs left ugly red marks, screams, and body jerks as she was holding onto consciousness for dear life, trying not to pass out from the pain. I was empathizing with the pain the girl felt and cumming at the same time. Mr. Scissors had enough with the switch, apparently. He put it down on the side table, and picked up a relatively short riding crop – maybe 18 inches long or so, with a wicked looking piece of leather tail attached to the end. I assumed the punishment was due for a change, and remembered wondering how much pain was going to be administered by that little tail of leather as it struck her body.
And while Scissors was swishing it around for effect, the girl was spun around again so the front of her body faced the audience, and she was held tightly in position by the host. It was obvious that Scissors was going to whip the front of her body again, using the riding crop this time. Her head was pulled back by the hair again, forcing her to look at the ceiling. Her breasts were forced forward again as her back arched from the pressure of her hair being pulled back. The dark red welts had already formed across her breasts, and I remember wondering how long it would take for the welts to go away or if they would be permanent markings of her treatment.
As I wondered, my attention was diverted for a moment, and I failed to see the first blow with the riding crop, but I quickly brought my attention back to the punishment, and caught the jerk of her body and the wail of pain that escaped from her throat. It was apparent that he had struck her across the rib cage, just under both breasts, and the trickle of blood down the side of her body attested to the fact that the little leather tail on the end of the crop could do some serious damage! He had not drawn blood before!
Quickly he struck blow after blow across her body, in a descending staircase of blows from just below the breasts, across her belly, to the junction where the hips meet the torso, where her pussy lies. The blows were stuck quickly, and none, other than the first, appeared to permanently mark her skin or draw blood. They seemed more designed to inflict a large area of pain than to create damage. Her body continued to jerk as each blow struck home, and her scream was reduced to a constant wail of pain, coming from deep within her and escaping through the muffle that had been forced into her mouth. Her eyes seemed as if they had rolled up into her head, and all you could see was the white of empty eyeballs. Somewhere, she was lost in the pain of the moment, or had been driven to near unconsciousness.
Having enough of his frontal assault, Scissors tossed his riding crop onto the table and picked up the cat. It appeared to be made of a wooden handle, attached to strips of suede leather, each about a half-inch wide. He dipped the suede strips in a jar of water, letting the strips soak up some water. (For those who don’t know, this makes the suede strips heavier, and blows become more serious and painful to the victim.) Meanwhile, our host had spun the girl around again so her back was now facing the audience. It was apparent that she was going to get the tradition cat-o-nine-tails beating across the back, and perhaps the buttocks.
I was wrong.
Mr. Scissors started at the nape of the neck, and proceeded down the back, across the buttocks, and down the thighs to just above the knees. By the time he had reached her waist, her body had stopped jerking from the force of the blows, she had fallen silent, and had obviously passed out. It was a moment of release for the audience who had virtually felt every blow she had taken for a long time. But Scissors, determined to finish his task, dowsed her with water from the soaking jar, and when she responded to the pain once again, finished his task of whipping her complete backside. Our host had a few words to say, our nameless victim was lowered to the floor, untied and ungagged. She was helped off the stage, still nude, wet, and beaten, and led through the door where she was brought in.
A SECOND ENDING
As they were lowering her to the stage, and untying and covering her body, our host droned on…..
“……. And this performance of the Barrio Performance Theater featured Maria Rodriguez as the victim, with Mike Ruiz as your host. Maria will repeat this performance next month. Stop at the entrance on your way out for a list of dates and performances by our many other cast members.”
No matter. I was forever affected by the performance, and all my fantasies for a lifetime have been tinged with the thoughts of punishing women and being the woman being punished at the same time.
03.02.10