9 comments/ 16495 views/ 3 favorites Border Town Ch. 01 By: Barbara_Em It was an old building with whitewashed clapboard walls and a tin roof. Several large lights hung from the ceiling. The lights added to the oppressive heat. From the walls to the center were low wooden tiers that descended to the center, each tier only five or six inches higher than the next inside. The tiers were occupied by a folding chairs, some metal, some wooden. I made certain Bob got us metal chairs. The wooden ones were old and I had no desire to get splinters in my backside. The center of the building was roughly octagonal. It had a sand and sawdust floor. Bob and I sat about a third of the way down. Over half the audience were like us, turistas. Most of the Americans were college boys, but I was surprised to se several couples. Bob alone in his thinking. Seeing the women made me feel a little better about being here. The rest of the audience were Mexican and all male. Among us, boys in dirty clothes moved selling bags of peanuts and cans of beer. I was wondering what I was doing here. This was Bob's idea. After my niece's wedding, Bob had suggested a trip into Mexico. He told me to dress casually. While I changed, my husband called a cab. We had a rental car, of course, but it's always risky driving across from Texas to Mexico. Mexican drivers and traffic laws can be intimidating. Bob had spoken to our driver in Spanish that was too quick for my understanding. Then he settled back with in the seat and pulled me close for a little pitching and woo. When we got to the international bridge and the Border Patrol officer looked in the back of the cab, he had to get his hand out of my pants. The driver explained that we had hired him for a three hour trip. The guard just nodded and waved us through to the Mexican side. Getting out of the country was easy. Getting back in might be something else altogether. Once past the bright lights of the crossing, the city of Nueva Laredo looked much like it's sister city in Texas. Neon lights advertised restaurants and night clubs and the people on the sidewalks were well dressed. The appearance changed as we got farther away from border. The buildings and the people were shabbier. The streets were rougher, the streetlights less frequent. Dirty pre-teen boys came out of the shadows at each stop sign to try to sell us gum or cheap pens or religious trinkets. Our driver kept the cab windows up and the air conditioning blasting against the hot night. Through a maze of narrow streets he took us. We were about fifteen minutes into Mexico when he pulled up in front of the building. It had a painted sign under a large wattage bulb but the paint was faded so I couldn't read it. The walls were decorated with sun breached posters for boxing or wrestling matches. There was a ticket booth at the entrance and an old man with one leg sat beside it to take the purchased tickets. Our driver turned to look at us. I knew he'd been watching us in his mirror as Bob and I made out like horny teenagers. "Thees ees" he told my husband "an hokay place for the gringa hermosa. Ver' safe. The woman who sells the teeckets, she weel say seventy-five pesos for one. Tell her no, you weel pay five dollars American for the both of you. She weel look sad, but she weel agree. You have pesos or American dollars?" "Both." "Pay in dollars. Eet weel be cheaper. The peso, eet ess not so good right now. The legal exchange ees about seex cents to the peso. The cerveza, eef you want eet, weel be good and cold. Muy frio. Any food, not so good. Do not buy eet. The banos weel be behind the arena. They weel be sanitary but not so much clean." I wondered at the distinction "I weel peek you up een two hours. He held up two fingers. "Hokay?" "OK," Bob agreed after glancing at his watch. It was a cheap sports watch. His Rolex was locked in the room safe back at our hotel. He opened the car door, got out and turned to help me. I took a few seconds to adjust my clothing and joined him in the street. I felt momentarily self-conscious until I noticed there were a smattering of women with the men filing past the crippled man at the entrance. Many were about my age and similarly dressed. The taxi driver leered at me, tipped his dirty chauffeur's cap, and drove away. Bob took my arm and steered me to the ticket booth. "This is crazy." "You'll love it," my husband insisted. He haggled briefly with the ticket seller. He's good at it. Maybe in a former life he worked in a Turkish bazaar. Personally, I hate haggling. I don't do it at the grocery store and see no reason to do it anywhere else. Our driver was right, though. The elderly woman exchanged two tickets for a $5 bill. The one legged man - I think he was the ticket seller's husband - took the tickets and an opportunity to pat my fanny, returned our stubs, and waved us past. The arena was filling nicely. Bob said, "I want to get a good spot." The "spots" such as they were, all looked the same to me. It wasn't as if we were choosing a box for the symphony. Still, he led us over to our right and about a third of the way down Bob offered to buy me a beer. I asked for a Diet Coke, but that wasn't available, so I accepted a Modelo Negro. It was ice cold. In the heat of the arena, it tasted good. Two stage hands brought in a brass bed and it's stained mattress. They set their burden down dead center of the floor, gazed over the crowd, and left. I didn't need to ask what the prop was for. To hear my husband tell it, he'd spent every weekend during his college years in Nueva Laredo' Boys Town; he was an expert in its entertainment. A man in a fancy caballero outfit, all black with silver buttons and gold designs came out. He took off his broad brimmed sombrero and bowed. He wore a bandito style moustache and was dark complexioned. He spoke at length in Spanish. Again, it was too fast for me to do more than catch a phrase here or there. I did catch his name, Tomas. It sounded like he was describing three acts. His voice was loud and clear. At the end of his speech, he switched to English. "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to you for tonight's entertainment. We start our program with Lorena and Bruno. He made way for a black haired plump woman and her partner. It was a performance that wouldn't have played well in Mayberry, USA, or even Peoria, but it got the crowd excited. Some of the men were jumping and crying out in encouragement as the act ended. Even Bob had been caught up in the fervor. He put his arm around my shoulders and let his hand drape over my boob. Maybe I was being a prude, but if this was going to be the standard of the entertainment, I'd rather wait in the taxi. After Bruno had removed himself from Lorena and they had departed the stage, the two stage hands came out. They flipped over the used and abused mattress and departed One of the men sitting behind us leaned forward, inserting his face between us. He said, in surprisingly good English, "That was very good, no? Bruno, he is muy fuerza." Maybe very strong, yes, but not my idea of a sexual partner. The Mexican, he had surprisingly blue eyes and a long face with a very thin equally long scar down one cheek that made him look dangerous, passed forward a clear bottle with an elaborate label. Inside the bottle was a honey colored liquid. "A taste?" "Sure," Bob said, the silly ass. He uncorked the bottle and took a pull. His eyes got bright. "That stuff came from the right cactus. Honey?" "No thanks." But I took the bottle anyway and passed it back to the man behind us. He certainly was a handsome devil, I decided. Was this where he came for kicks? Or did he pick up women here? That hardly seemed possible. Single women didn't come to a place like this. I told Bob I wouldn't mind another beer, though, and he waved a boy over. My husband bought three and handed one to his new best buddy. I took a drink and to hell with my hips, I thought. Tomas came back out. He brought with him two long legged women in flowing gowns. One woman, barely twenty, was slender. She was pale with red hair. The other of about the same age, had more meat on her bones, and was black. Tomas introduced them to us as Bambi and Jemima. He pronounced the last name Spanish fashion, 'Hay-mee-mah." Despite his variation in pronunciation, it was the most unlikely name for a black girl in this day and age I could imagine. But then, I really didn't believe the willowy blonde was named Bambi. He spoke in low tones to the duo and stepped away from them. Immediately, they went after each other. Screaming. Clawing. Cursing each other as they grappled. The gowns were quickly rent from the sweating bodies as they wrestled in front of the crowd. The fighting didn't last long, however. Soon after they were naked, the slaps became caresses, the bites became kisses. The catfight had obviously been just a diversion to get them naked. They fell together on the bed. My husband leaned over to whisper in my ear, " I'm going to hit the john." "And leave me here alone? What if I'm abducted and sold into white slavery to a bunch of rich A-rabs?" He patted my thigh in a tender fashion. "I guess I'll read about in the papers. Damn, I sure will miss you." Bob kissed my cheek and left me sitting there. For the first time, I noticed the heat was more oppressive. It seemed like every Mexican was smoking - lung cancer obviously wasn't a concern south of the border - and a heavy haze hung under the rafters occasionally stirred by the air currents caused by the heat from the lights. I caught the aroma of sweat and sexual excitement. A few of the couples in the crowd were snuggling closer to each other. I was surprised how quiet the crowd was. I returned my attention to the performers. Well, if they were acting, they deserved Oscars. They were entwined, face to crotch. Even across the distance separating us, I could see their bodies were sleek and shiny with perspiration. Even across the distance, I could hear their moans; the sounds of their kissing were audible. It was nice to see two young people who obviously enjoyed their work. Bob came back. I asked him about the facilities. He said, all things considered, they were OK. I told him I didn't trust his judgment at the moment, but I was willing to risk it. If necessary, I could always find a convenient bush or cactus. "Through the door. Damas to the left, hombres to the right." The restroom was actually pretty clean. No need to hover. I pulled up my panties, snuggled them into place, and hitched up my trousers. Away from the slightly malodorous johns, the night smelled fresh from the smoky atmosphere of the arena. I walked around a bit to get the fug out of my lungs. Around the front of the arena, the ticket booth was dark. The old man with one leg had been joined by another old man. They had set a stool between their chairs and were playing cribbage. I watched as they counted and pegged their points. Both men smiled at me. The friend tipped his hat to me. I idled a few minutes longer. The game was foreign to me, although I remembered that one of my grandfathers had been a wizard at the game back in the day. Inside the building, the two girls had been joined by a male dwarf. The mattress was barely big enough to contain all three of them. I'd never seen a naked little person before and wondered if dwarf males were all so well hung. It certainly explained a lot about Snow White. For the first time, I felt the beginning of a tingle. The trio seemed more interested in slap-stick comedy, though, and the tingle didn't grow. The Mexican with the bottle had moved up from his seat behind us and was sitting in my chair. As I came up, Bob was handing back the bottle. Its level of liquid was appreciably lower. "Senora," the man said as I came up. He rose, gestured to my chair, and let me sit. He sat in the empty chair beside me. "Your husband introduced himself. I am Antonio." he offered my his hand. Most Latinos, in my experience, have handshakes like a dishrag. Ditto many Middle Easterners. Not Antonio. He had a firm handshake like any norte Americano. "Do you enjoy the performance?" There was no need to insult him. After all, sex shows were practically the national sport along the border. I said that Bambi and Jemima certainly put on a show. "Next will be the intermission. It is always good. Tomas is a, how you say, master showman." "Yeah," Bob said. "Tony's been saying he can put on a good show." I asked him to get me a third beer while I silently hoped it wouldn't be another Bruno-type act. The dwarf fell out of bed. The girls, laughing, jumped down to join him. Surrounding him, if you want to call it that, they rolled around with him. I wondered what the sawdust would do to their twats. I remembered a long ago attempt Bob and I tried for beach sex. The sand had about rubbed us raw. Finally, squeaking and giggling, the two naked women let the dwarf chase them out of the arena. The crowd applauded as the two stage hands came out and removed the bed. Most of the lights hung from the ceiling were turned off. Tomas came back out. A spotlight hit him. Obviously, something big was on tap. Tomas turned around slowly, looking at us, letting us see his pretty outfit. He spoke in Spanish a bit. Then he switched to English, the words carry as he projected them from his barrel chest. I'd heard similar spiels from emcees on cruise ships. Hope we were enjoying the show, the next act would be such-and-such, make sure to get your refreshments, et cetera. A naked girl appeared on a horse and I felt a sick shudder course through my body. But she just rode the stallion around the arena floor, throwing flowers at the crowd from a two sacks looped over the horse's withers. I didn't envy her. I had ridden horses in my life, but never bareback and never naked. The entire proposition sounded almost as much fun as rolling around nude in sand and sawdust. The horsewoman rode away. Tomas reappeared. "I need, next," he called out in his clear tones, "a beautiful volunteer." The first voice I heard was Antonio's. He cried out, "Aqui!" Bob, the boob, joined him. "Aqui! Aqui! Over here!" They were pointing at me. And I sat there like an idiot, not protesting at all. Tomas pointed in my direction and the spotlight swept over to hit me smack in the eyes. Before I knew what was happening, Tomas was bounding up the aisle and pulling on my hand. Lord, love a duck! What the shit have I gotten into? Correction, what has my fucking brain dead husband, love of my life, father to my children, sharer not only of my bed, but also all - OK, most of my dreams and secrets gotten me into? My husband and his new best bid Antonio. I tried to resist. I might as well have been trying to resist in a tug-of-war battle with a mastiff. *+* Tomas got me to the middle of the arena floor. He said in a whisper, "Do not fear. You will not be embarrassed or harmed. I, Tomas Ignacio Geraldo Cristofer O'Malley-Saenz, promise this on the head of my twelve children and fifty-one grandchildren." He paused for dramatic effect. "In truth, the crowd will love our performance. And you will enjoy it. Have no doubt." He smiled to the cheering crowd and turned us so that everyone could see us. I put a nervous smile on my face. OK, I should have run screaming from the spotlight, but what woman could resist? Especially one with a smidgen of vanity. There are better looking women than me, for sure. Don't doubt it for a second. But for a forty-something wife and mother of two, I look damned good. And these people were cheering me. ME! My smile got more confident. After all, if another Bruno came running out of the darkness, I could always flee. "What is your name, corazon?" If the other two were Bambi and Jemima, my mind snapped to the fact that I could be Barbie. I told him that was my name. "Tonight, compadres, I present you - Senora Bar-Bee." He held up my left hand in salutation. I had no doubt the rock I wore was dazzling in the spotlight. Bob has great taste and he told me at the time he'd saved up six months to get me a diamond I'd be proud of and would make all my sorority sisters green with envy. It had, too. The crowd went bonkers. Even above the din, I was certain I could hear Bob the Boob, though. Despite my swelling ego, I knew he was going to pay for this. He had no idea! So there I stood. Miss America. Just won the Oscar for best actress. Or better yet, Miss Pepo at the Luling, Texas, Watermelon Thump. "We will return, amigos, Senora Bar-Bee and me." Tomas led me from the spotlight and from the arena. We stopped in the shadows. "Things I must know: Are you with child?" "Oh God, I hope not." He smiled. "Any disease or infirmity?" I shook my head. "Do you smoke?" "I used to. I quit when I had my first baby." "But if you hold a cigarette between your lips, you will not cough?" "Nope." "Do you embarrass?" Another shake. "You wear, I think, a brassiere." "Yes." Where was this going? Does it - " he struggled to come up with the word and finally gave up. "Does it fit in front or back?" "It has a front clasp," I said, touching my chest in the center of my chest. I may not be up to Christie Canyon's status, but my girls are OK. At least, I'd never gotten any complaints. "Augusta!" he called out. A blonde woman appeared. She had the build of a Brunnhilde, the coloring of a beer hall fraulein. She was puffing on a cigarette. She was about eight or nine paces away and stood in profile to us. I envied her development. If they were real. I thought they probably were. Tomas took a bullwhip off a chair. With a quick flick of his wrist, he knocked the ash off the woman's cigarette. He looked at me. The woman's boobs were sticking out almost as much as the cigarette. Another wrist movement and the cigarette was snapped from her mouth. "Do you see?" "Yes," I nodded. The fabric of Augusta's blouse had barely rippled from the passage of the whip. "But before we start, I'd like to visit the little girls' room again." The man smiled, showing his big white even teeth. He aimed rapid fire instructions to Augusta. She took me to a plain but tidy dressing room and showed me a bathroom that was up to Texas standards. I got rid of the last of the beer and thanked the woman. She said in Spanish that Tomas was a good man. At least, I think that was what she told me. She gave me a pack of smokes and a small box of wooden matches. Tomas led me back to the center of the arena. He whispered that when he turned to face me, I should take out a cigarette and light it. "Don't shake out the match." He turned from me. He harangued the crowd in Spanish. Then he switched to English. I had, he told the crowd, much courage. Much beauty. He turned to face me and I took my cue. I'd barely gotten the cigarette lit when my fingers felt a rush of air. The tip of the whip snuffed out the match and left a sonic crack lingering in the air. Then he took off the glowing tip of my cigarette, Then the end third of its length. Then the last of the cigarette. Other than the quick rush of air, I'd felt nothing. The crowd applauded. "Smoking is a bad habit," Tomas joked. He walked around me, continuing his schtick. I ignored that, trying to judge his position by the sound of his voice. I didn't want any surprises. Whatever was coming, I needed to see it coming. I didn't want to flinch from surprise. As he spoke, he cracked the whip several times. He was showing off, I guessed. Nothing came close to me. When Tomas was in front of me, he took my hand. Raised it to his lips. Kissed the back of it. His eyes bored into mine, full of confidence. He whispered, "You are very pretty. Are you proud?" "Yes." "Good." He strode away from me with quick long steps. Seven paces away, Tomas whirled around. The whip danced between up. The top button of my blouse flew away. Border Town Ch. 01 I smiled at the whipmaster. I nodded with the smallest of movements. He returned my minute gesture. He flicked away the second button and the third. Four disappeared into the darkness. Five. My blouse, hanging outside my pants, gaped open. Tomas put his back to me. I turned slowly on one heel, letting the audience see that he'd plucked away each button. He hadn't even come close to touching my skin. I made a second turn. This time I shrugged my shoulders, letting my gaping blouse fall to the sawdust. When they saw my unmarked skin, the crowd cheered. Maybe it was because of Tomas' skill, maybe because of my filmy lace bra. Tomas gave me a slight smile when he saw me. I faced him with building excitement. My behavior was so out character,: was this really me? I could read Bob's thoughts as surely as I read the approval and appreciation in the barrel chested Mexican's face. Where was his wife and who was this fraud taking her place? The whip jumped in Tomas' flexible wrist. The tip touched the clasp of my bra between my tits. The lace cups parted. Another shrug of my shoulders and I was bare to the waist. The crowd went crazy. I looked over the crowd as I showed them my boobs. My eyes found Bob's. He looked as if he were in a trance. Tomas came up behind me. He put his arm around my waist. We walked out of the light, into the cool darkness that surrounded the center of the arena.. "You are incredible! Do you know the entire people love you and what you have done. But not as much as I love you. Your husband, he is lucky man." "I don't do this for him. I do this for Tomas Ignacio Cristofer O'Malley-Saenz. I do this for the audience. And I do this for me." "Madre de dios. You are a corazon after my own heart. Querida!" Augusta came into view. She was carrying my discarded blouse and bra. I took my blouse and thanked her. In halting Spanish, I told her to take that, that garment and throw it to someone in the crowd. High school and college Spanish classes never mentioned the word for brassiere, She smiled, nodded, and left us. "When she returns, she will take you to the dressing room. She will have several attires for you. Wear what you like. I can trust your sense of - of style. Fifteen minutes and I will come for you." The dwarf appeared with an ice cold bottle of water. I thanked him. He bobbed his head, grinned, nodded again, and walked away on his bandy legs. He may spend his working life carousing with naked girls, but I like to think he appreciated me. Augusta returned, grinning like a madwoman, and took me to the dressing room. Jemima was sitting at a table reading a week old Austin newspaper. She didn't seemed startled by my half-naked condition. The well upholstered Augusta had several outfits for me choose from. Some were rather ornate, making me think of Old West saloon girls. I made a quick decision. Augusta nodded as I stripped off my trousers and bikini panties and put on the chosen clothes. *+* Tomas led me back into the spotlight. The crowd had been waiting quietly. When we appeared, the audience started raucous applauding. We bowed to them like two Olympic ice skaters turning to the four points of the compass, arms extended so there was a goodly distance between us, fingers intertwined. "Bar-Bee esta el dona de comezon." I think he was calling me the lady of desire and as the crowd grew hushed, I certainly felt desired. I was dressed in a simple white satin gown. It had spaghetti straps that tied with tiny bows. The dress hung down to my bare feet. The gown was thin; I knew my dark nipples were visible. In the valley of my cleavage I wore a heavy cross as unadorned as my gown and made of native silver. The clasp of the silver chain was arranged so that it was near the cross. Tomas let go of my hand. He stepped off stage. I stood there, head held high. I forced my body to relax. My stage partner came back. As I'd been instructed, I spun around to face him. He barked at me. As I'd been coached, I lowered my head. I moved one foot in a circular motion, leaving a pattern in the sand and sawdust. I tried to look like a guilty child in fear of punishment. I heard the quick crack of the whip and felt the tip sing past my left ear. I turned slightly in that direction. That was the message. A flick at an ear was a small turn in that direction. If the whip came by my shoulder, I made a quarter turn that way. I had to be in a specific position in regards to Tomas and he'd discovered long ago, he'd told me after I'd dressed and he grinned at my selection, the show was more effective if he steered his accomplice while he stood in one place. The whip came within a hair's breath of my chin. I lifted my face. The man with the whip leered at me theatrically. I kept my face impassive. He raised his whip hand and slashed at my right shoulder. The bow holding the gown's strap together parted. He struck to my left. That strap came undone, too. The gown fell to my feet. Naked except for tiny panties, I stood motionless. Suddenly in a voice filled with anger, Tomas shouted "Deshacerse de la cruz!" He aimed the braided end of his whip directly between my tits. I didn't flinch as the chain's clasp parted. The heavy cross dropped to my feet. Now his laughter echoed from the rafters. He began to whip at my breasts. First right, followed by a slash to the left. I had to keep my breathing even or my heaving chest would throw off his aim. I kept my eyes on him. The leather tip came within fractions of inches of my nipples. Contact was just that far away. I felt my nipples getting harder with each flick of his wrist, each approach to the sensitive flesh of my nipples. Tomas casually brushed his left hand against the seam of his black trousers. Another cue. I looked at the ground. Another scream of anger. The end of the whip almost barely touched my dark bangs. I jerked my face up to see him. His left hand now flat against his leg, he struck towards my breastbone. I took a careful step backwards. He took an equally careful step forward, appearing as casual as a man can appear. He lashed at my left nipple. I stepped back and slightly to the left as he stepped forward. His hand still flat, he hit toward my right nipple. I took a second step backwards and slightly to the left. We continued our duet. He was steering me in a tight circle so the entire audience could see me. The crowd was silent as I moved in my small arc. The only sound was the hiss of the leather as it struck towards me time after time always but never quite touching me. By that time, my nipples were so hard, I thought they would burst. I felt the dampness between my thighs. It was time to give a signal of my own. I brushed my right hand over the middle of my belly. In mid stride, Tomas changed his point of aim. The whip touched the ribbon that rested on my right hip. Then quickly as a snake's tongue, the whip parted the ribbon on my left hip. My briefest of panties fell away. I was naked. To emphasize the fact of my nakedness, Tomas flicked just below my navel. Once more the lash came at me, only lower. If I hadn't have been so closely shaved, I would have felt the leather tip of the whip touch my pubic hairs. The crowd broke in to cheers as they saw my nude body. I wished I could see myself as they did. I had absolutely no tan, so my creamy white alabaster body would be glowing under the harsh incandescent lights that gave off a heat that was nothing compared to the heat flowing through me. It was a woman's body, not willowy like Bambi's, nor obscenely rounded like Jemima's, but the body of a woman who'd known the caresses of lovers, who'd borne the pain of childbirth, and was as proud of itself as any could be. The flashes of the whip came more quickly. My backward pace increased. Tomas had placed me in the center of the arena floor. Time for our third act. *+* Tomas took of his hat. He pulled out a bandana and wiped the sweatband. He wiped his face. He put the bandana away and returned his wide brimmed sombrero to his head. I realized that he had me facing my husband. Bob was leaning forward in his chair. His face was ashen. Tomas was behind me. He flicked at the back of my right knee. Immediately, I bent the knee and went to the ground. He lashed at the other knee. I knelt. I felt the whisper of the whip between my shoulder blades and I fell backward. The sawdust felt raw against my back and butt. I stretched out fully. My feet were apart about the breadth of my shoulders. I put my hands along my flanks, palms down. The man with the whip came to stand over me. In the shadow of his hat, no one could see the grin he gave me. I winked in return. We had the entire crowd in our hands, putty to do with as we wished. We both knew that the women who remained in the audience were envious of me, wishing they had been chosen. And Bob? Did he have any idea he'd be seeing his wife like this when he'd yelled in Spanish, "Here?" Tomas coiled his whip. He walked around me several times. I turned my head to keep him in view. He uncoiled the leather whip. Let it trail behind him like the body of a snake. Sometimes he would twitch the serpent's tail. The crowd waited. Watched. Someone whispered in Spanish and in the silence of the arena, the whisper carried easily to my ears. I didn't know all the words, but I caught the word "latigo." "Whip." From the other side of the audience came a protest. Someone wanted Tomas to use the whip on me; somebody else wanted nothing of the sort. I wished I knew what was in Bob's mind. Tomas looked around the arena. He cocked his head to one side as if taking stock of the whispers. Slowly he coiled the leather whip. He continued circling me. His eyes didn't leave my supine form. They feasted on my white skin, the dark nipples, the crimson gash between my thighs. He unrolled a few inches of the whip. Dangling from his hand, he dragged the tip over my nipples. The contact was as if an electric current had passed through them. I shuddered. The crowd in the stands erupted into noise. The cries for me to be whipped increased in volume. Any dissent was drowned out. A chant began and feet started stomping on the tiers. It all stopped immediately, though when Tomas raised his hand high.. He made another circuit of my body. I felt the sweat running off my body, the sawdust and sand sticking to my body. I'd never felt so hungry, so empty. I was in a time and place totally foreign to me. The sensations I felt, the desires I felt, were totally new. If the whipmaster decided to use his lash on me, I knew I'd accept it. Glory in it. I, who when Bob had teased me about getting a tattoo, I'd said emphatically "no." I hated pain, hated needles, had to steel myself for the ordeal of the twice yearly blood drives at work because I couldn't bear the pain. Yes, but I was willing to bear the pain Tomas could so easily inflict. He laid the end of the whip between my feet and casually stepped around me. He carried the end of the whip between my thighs. He dragged the end of his whip between the lips of my cunt. My body arched from the contact. I screamed. It was the first sound I'd made since our entrance, my God, how long ago? Our audience fell silent in the echo of my scream. I lifted my head slightly. Saw the leather whip coming from below my belly to roughly bisect my body. Tomas stepped away from me. Dragged the snake through my labia till the braided tip tickled my clit before appearing across my belly and coming higher up my body. Worked it's way through the valley of my tits. Leaving a slimy trail of my excitement like a disgusting slug or snail. Tomas stood with his feet either side of my head. He reversed the whip in his hand and dangled the leather haft over my face. He dropped the handle till it was just above my mouth. I opened my mouth, extended my tongue. Caressed the leather with my tongue. Cries of approval shook the building. When the handle of the whip came lower, I took it in my mouth like a cock and sucked it. Louder roars from the audience. Tomas pulled the whip's handle from my mouth. He moved down my body and dangled the haft over my pussy. He dragged the leather over my wet cunt. The contact made my entire body quiver. It was a reaction that even the crowd could see. They roared. I felt the handle of the leather whip pressed against the labia of my pussy. Tomas twisted the haft. The excitement flowing from the people in the arena, the stimulation of being so wickedly exposed, the artful teasing Tomas put me through were all my overloaded nerve endings could take. My lungs emptied in a long wail of orgasmic ecstasy. *+* I came out of the bathroom with a small inadequate towel. There was no shower, but there was a small tub and I'd bathed to get the sawdust, sand, and sweat off my body. Tomas was sitting in the outer room, the dressing room, waiting for me. "Querida." He looked at me as I put the towel over the back of a chair. "Please, Tomas. I need you." The big Mexican stood. He bent down to kiss my cheek. He picked up his hat from the dressing table and set the sombrero squarely on his large head. Under his moustache, his lips spread in a broad grin. "You can't go. You can't leave me like this." "But I must." I took his hand. I wanted to cry, so desperate was I. "You can stay. Ten minutes is all I need." "But I cannot. My wife, she would be most jealous." "Your wife?" "Augusta. She lets me have my dreams because it pleases her. She lets me have this job, because it also pleases her. And when we go home, I am more a man than when the day began. Never will she let me share that with another woman." "Your wife." "Si. She says you are much woman. The people, they have never seen one as you. What a performance we gave them. You gave them." I put my hand on his arm, felt the solid muscle. "No, it was the two of us." "She says if you ever need a job or just a time away from your work, you are most welcome. I will any time work with you with pleasure. Now, your shirt is here, and your other clothes. The shirt, que lastima, has no buttons for some strange reason," his eyes sparkled as he said that, " and your brassiere -" He ended with an expressive shrug of his massive shoulders. Then he went on. "My wife has picked out a very nice fiesta dress for you. Perhaps you would like to wear it. We, you and I, must take a final bow." He held out a dress for my inspection. It had a white top with a low scoop neckline and puff sleeves. The full skirt was multi-colored. "It's lovely." I took it from him, slipped it over my head, and snuggled it down over boobs and hips. The small dressing room didn't allow much space for twirling around, but it was the sort of dress that practically demanded a set of hem raising turns. I stepped in to my low heeled shoes. Tomas handed my bikinis. I put them in the paper bag with the rest of the clothes I'd worn into the building earlier. "Shall we go take out final bow?" We watched the last few minutes of the night's final performance. It involved a sword dance with Augusta and three black men in African headdresses. Apparently the dance involved slicing away her dress as the dance progressed. Maybe the dress had been ornate at one time; by the time of the finale, it was little more than tatters. The German ran off-stage with her Masais. Her figure naked was everything I'd imagined. She came straight to me and gave me a hug that might have cracked a couple of ribs. She kissed my cheek before running off chattering to her tall escorts like a magpie. Tomas watched her departure with a mixture of love, pride, and lust. Once she was out of sight, he became all business. "Ready?" "Let's do it, partner." Tomas put his arm around my waist and together we walked back into the arena. As soon as the people saw us, they jumped to their feet. Whistles, shouts, and feet stomping greeted our slow walk to the center of the floor. We took our bows. Multiple bows. Then Tomas stepped away from me, one arm extended, and I took several solo bows. I did my twirls, letting the people in the lowest seats see my bare legs, if not more. Finally the din subsided and Tomas rejoined me. He kissed both my cheeks. He stepped away from me. He offered me his arm. I took it. Tomas escorted me up the aisle till I was back beside my husband. I took Bob's hand. In a loud voice that carried to every ear, my Mexican partner thanked Bob for allowing my participation in his "little bit of theatre." He complimented Bob on having chosen "a sparkling woman" as his wife. He wished us years of happiness. He shook hands formally with my husband. He gave me a final and very formal bow. He stepped away and with a cock of the walk stride, departed. The crowd cheered again. "I can't," Bob told me, "believe all this. You were, hell, I don't know the words. I can't believe what I saw. I never dreamed you had that in you and we've been married for years!" I kissed his cheek. "I never knew I had it in me either." "I'll never forget this." "Neither will I." "You deserve a medal. Hell, you deserve something special. The whole place was going crazy." "Something special?" "Anything!" I don't even remember making the decision. Don't know from where the idea came. "Anything?" "Absolutely." Bob nodded his head in emphasis. I looked past his shoulder. Antonio was standing there looking at me. I extended my hand to him. The End of Part One Author's Note: This story is the oldest surviving erotica I wrote. Somehow, it survived on different computers, floppy disks, and flash drives for 15 years or more. An incest novel and several, maybe a dozen short stories, have disappeared behind the mists of time. The old story was highly modified for this story, however. My original plot could never have been submitted to Literotica and anyone who's ever been across the border at Laredo or Tijuana - I can't speak for Nogales or Piedras Negras across from Eagle Pass - and gone to one of the sex cabarets can imagine what my story was about. I kept the setting, the three main characters, and the plot device of the whip. My original story was told in third person; I decided for a variety of reasons this tale would be better related from the woman's point of view. Perversely, the sequel I've roughed out is being planned as first person, also, but from the husband's point of view. Can I really think like a man? Oh the horror! I guess a projected third installment involving my nameless wife, Bob, and the taxi driver should be written in third person just to make a fine mishmash. Anyway, I hope this one is an enjoyable read.