Rites of Passage · Part 1 (1/2)
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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!
Rites of Passage · Part 1 (1/2)
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