Manhandled in Mexico

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Over the Christmas holiday, my fiance, Stacy, and I joined her parents for two weeks in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico. The warm but mostly overcast sky was a welcome break from the snow back at home. Half of the clothes we brought remained in our suitcases and not once did we wear socks. My sandals with the tire tread soles held up quite well but my girlfriend’s leather sandals were needing repair as a strap had separated from the side. We asked the hotel concierge if there was a local shoe repair shop and she pointed us in the direction of a leather expert not more than four blocks away.

Stacy’s mom joined us on our walk to the shop. We showed the sandal to a man behind the counter and he assured us it was repairable and he could do it as we waited. I chose to wait as Stacy and her mom visited the adjacent boutiques. I ventured to the far reaches of the shop and found an assortment of riding gear and whips hanging from the walls. I reached up to grab a small whip – maybe a foot in length.

“Cuarta,” said a man as he emerged from a back room.

I nodded as the handsome gentleman approached my side.

I continued to look at the whips and then asked if he actually made all those.

“Si, si. I make,” he said as he struggled for the right words. His English was about as bad as my Spanish so we didn’t say much more. He took a long whip down and began showing me how well it was braided. He really did a good job making it and could tell I was impressed.

“You give cuarta?” he asked.

I thought he was asking if I would want to give it as a present.

“No, gracias. No me interesa.”

He hummed and then asked, “You like cuarta? You get whip?”

I processed his words for a second and then he made the classic whipping sound: Whoop-pshhh!!

My face suddenly turned red as I realized he was asking if I enjoyed being whipped. There was no hiding my response so I just shook my head and smiled. In fact, the whip has long been a major fetish of mine and in truth I was always curious about how it might feel on my skin. This was something I could never explore with Stacy or any other woman I’d been with. Had Stacy been standing right there with me I would have turned and moved onto something else. But she wasn’t there and this whip expert was asking if I was interested in being whipped.

I replied, “Maybe someday.”

That took a lot more courage than to deny this desire. What’s the worst outcome? We were leaving soon and I’d never see this guy again. I didn’t really care enough to respond falsely.

The man reached over to a work bench and picked up his business card.

“How long in Mexico?” he asked.

I told him we were leaving the following day. Then it occurred to me Stacy and her parents were leaving the following day. I would be leaving a day later because I had decided at the last minute to join the three. Their flights were booked and I went with a different airline entirely.

The gentleman wrote his name on the back of the card and handed it to me. He had signed his name ‘Sergio’ with a heart above the ‘i.’

“I train you. Call this.”

I dropped his card into my shirt pocket after I pulled out my sunglasses. I was feeling strangely excited but decided to leave the shop and go looking for the girls.

I spent the next 15 minutes going shop to shop but did not find them until I saw the two returning to the shoe repair place. We went back inside and paid for the great work. The sandal appeared to be new and as Stacy thanked the man, Sergio walked from the back room. I smiled and put my hand on Stacy’s shoulder just before we turned to leave.

Once we returned to the hotel I emptied the loose change from my pockets and took the business card out as well. I tossed it in the trash but couldn’t stop thinking about the display of whips. And what did Sergio mean by training? Was he going to teach me how to handle a whip or was he going to train me how to take it?

Later that evening Stacy’s parents invited us to dinner at the resort’s fancy restaurant. The heat and humidity make regular showers necessary and I definitely needed one before heading downstairs. The heat also did not help my libido as I was semi-erect the moment I disrobed. Thoughts of the whips and, admittedly, thoughts of gaziantep bayan eskort Sergio wielding one gave me a hard-on. I don’t know why. I lathered up and jerked off to the thought of being whipped. I’d never been whipped or even spanked. Not as an adult and never as a child but for some reason I masturbated over the years to the thought of being stripped and whipped. Usually the fantasy involved a leather or latex-wearing dominatrix but a man holding a whip had some new appeal.

The next morning was spent cleaning and packing up. I helped Stacy and her parents down to the lobby and we summoned a taxi to the airport. Vacation definitely seemed to be winding down even though I was not to leave for 24 more hours. We got to the airport and waited with them as long as I could before they were about to board the airplane. I wasn’t wild about the idea of flying home alone but it wasn’t such a big deal. By the time I arrived back at the hotel I’d decided to retrieve Sergio’s card from the garbage. Unfortunately, housekeeping had already been through and had taken out the trash. I did not need the card. Calling Sergio would’ve been pointless because of the language barrier. I needed to go see him in person. First, I went down to the bar and ordered a gin and tonic to help suppress any voice telling me this was a mistake. I did not feel the alcohol much as I walked to the leather shop. Sergio was standing behind the counter where the other man had been. His face lit up as he immediately recognized me. He glanced out the window for a moment half-expecting Stacy to walk in behind me.

“No womens today?” he asked.

I shook my head but didn’t attempt to explain why I’d returned. I stared at the floor a moment waiting for his next words.

Sergio looked me up and down and then looked to the back of the store. His partner was back there. Quietly he wrote something down on another business card and then handed it to me. He seemed to understand why I’d returned. There was no more pressure to explain or even talk about what I was seeking. Sergio knew and when I saw the place and time I was to meet him, I was relieved.

I don’t remember much in the hours between the time I left his shop and the time I got into the cab that evening. I was nervous and slightly drunk after my third gin. I showed the cabbie the address on my card and he began driving toward town. Ten minutes later we stopped on the cobblestone street in front of a bar. The rustic buildings all look the same so I made note of the cross street. There seemed to be a lot of nightlife for a Wednesday night. I went inside the bar and saw Sergio right away. This was obviously a gay bar as the only woman I saw was serving drinks. Sergio had a bag similar to a bowler’s bag next to him. I ordered us drinks and paid for his.

“Are you ready for pain”? he asked.

I was surprised at his straightforward question and how well he’d asked it.

I looked at my drink and then back at him. His gaze did not stray from me.

“I am ready for your whip. How many times will I be whipped?”

Sergio’s eyes sort of squinted and then he replied, “Cincuenta.”

I had to process his answer and once he saw the look on his face he put his hand on my shoulder.

“Si. You take 50. If no, you say ‘caliente.’ Then I stop.”

I realized this was the safe word. He repeated ‘caliente’ two or three more times and I let him know I understood.

We finished our drinks and he led me to the back of the small room. The bartender said something to him just as we passed by and handed him a key. I was getting a little nervous since I did not like the idea of being isolated or away from a public place. The room had no windows but it was right behind the bar and Sergio had propped the door open. The room had a few benches and an X I’ve seen in movies where people are fastened for punishment. A few people came in behind us holding drinks as though they were casual observers. Against the wall I noticed what looked like a short telephone pole. There was a hook near the top and two sets of foot pegs on each side.

Sergio tried to tell me something but could not translate at all. Instead, he started to undress me. Once I got what he was asking, I undressed myself. I was soon standing in my underwear and he pointed at them with a disapproving look.

Once I was stark naked he approached me with ten feet of soft, white rope. I brought my hands together and he quickly wrapped my wrists together and then led me to the pole. He guided my arms upward and hooked the rope over the hook. My feet were flat against the floor but I was completely stretched upright.

Sergio removed his shirt and hung it on a hook. A couple more people shuffled in as Sergio removed from his bag a narrow leather paddle. My heart pounded and I closed my eyes. What in the hell was I doing there? I wondered. A conversation or two in Spanish added to my concern. Sergio joined in a conversation and the men’s response in laughter did not help, either. The room got quiet as my punisher took his place behind and to my left. I heard the slight tap of leather against his hand. Five seconds later I heard the paddle and then felt it slap against my butt cheek. Ouch! That wasn’t too bad. I thought a man in the corner said, ‘Oooh’ but he was counting off with ‘Uno.’

The next nine strikes against my butt cheeks were hardly tolerable. In fact the strikes of that paddle burned in the worst way. Sergio decided to change it up by replacing the paddle with a six foot-long whip and striking across my upper back. This time the strike made a ‘pop’ sound and I felt the burn immediately. I tensed up but still did not say anything. Every lashing after that stung worse than previous strike. I was panting and covered in a sheen of sweat. Sergio expertly landed the whip in various places from my neck to the back of my calves. I could tell the welts were beginning to rise and the pain from repeated strikes in the same place was almost too much. Still, I had yet to scream. In some weird way I justified my punishment based on the fact I was there in the first place.

“Veinticuatro” a man murmured as though he didn’t want to be heard.

I was only halfway through my ordeal yet I could barely catch my breath.

Sergio took a break and glided his hands over my welted skin. Again, there were comments in Spanish. I felt his hand caress my butt cheek and the other hand close around my balls. He squeezed just hard enough and released before I protested.

“Caliente?” he whispered.

I said ‘no’ before I even gave it much thought.

He was giving me the chance to quit and I declined.

Just then he held my wadded up underwear beneath my nose. I opened my mouth and let him stuff the silencing fabric between my teeth.

Sergio picked up the whip and took his place. Part two would be my introduction into pain I’d never felt before.

I felt like I was in an altered state as he landed blow after blow against my burning skin. I knew there were about ten lashings left but I could not contain myself anymore. I screamed and bit down on my underwear hard. My legs collapsed and I fell side to side against the pole. Sergio would wait until I was back in position before he’d wind up for another strike. I was startled to catch a glimpse of Sergio’s cock hanging through his unzipped trousers. It made sense he’d be aroused at my suffering. I just hadn’t considered this display a likely scenario.

I knew enough Spanish to know there were only about five more whippings to go. I did not bring myself to yell ‘uncle.’ I deserved my punishment and faced the fact I’d held onto this perverse fantasy for too long.

Somehow I’d managed to hear one of the men say the word ‘sangre’ and I knew I was bleeding. I must have been bleeding at that point. Still, Sergio showed no mercy. He brought the remaining blows with an angry energy reserved for only a true sadist. My face was a mess of sweat, saliva and tears. My entire backside felt like the worst sunburn ever and someone slapping that sunburned skin. My right nipple burned from being whipped at least once. That was probably the worst part.

Sergio coiled his whip and put it back into his bag. I could hear the men heading back into the bar and then the sound of a lid being removed from a jar. I craned my head to see Sergio slathering up his hands with a salve. Very gently he started to caress my skin. He traced the welts from my neck all the way to the tops of my ankles. The ointment was very soothing and the burn turned into cool ripples upon my back. Sergio stopped for a moment and closed the door to the room. I looked toward a mirror and caught the sight of him without pants. I nearly panicked but managed to control my breathing as he continued to slather my skin with the mystery salve. His hands began to knead my shoulders and arms and I could feel his breath on my neck. His cock was now grazing my legs and his intentions were obvious.

“Caliente!” I muffled.

Sergio stopped and I could feel him back away. He must’ve been standing there staring at me.

In a calm voice he repeated the word. ‘Caliente?’

I did not know what to say so I remained silent.

I could sense he’d moved closer and once again he asked quietly, ‘Caliente?’

“No.” was my response.

He pressed his naked body against mine and rolled my nipples between his fingers. His cock was up and strategic between my cheeks. It felt bigger back there than it looked.

He lifted my left leg to where my foot rested against a peg -about half a meter off the ground. Then he told me to rest my right foot against the other peg. It was the same position as being on a motorcycle except my arms were still hooked and suspended. My ass was there and available for Sergio. He groped and handled my testicles while driving his greased thumb into my hole.

“Not before?” he asked.

I knew he was asking if I’d ever been fucked.

“Uh-uh. No.” is all could say. I could have spat out my underwear but I knew the pain was not over.

Sergio’s thumb finished exploring my hole and then momentarily there was nothing.

I was sort of at a loss – still burning from my punishment.

Then the tip of Sergio’s cock was pressed against my tight hole.

I sputtered to get the underwear out of the way to once again say, “Caliente!”

This time Sergio stuffed my underwear back in.

“Shhhhh! No mas,” he whispered. “I’m clean. No worry.”

He continued to work the head of his cock into my asshole.

I could do nothing but breathe, relax and take the ache. This was part two of my punishment; a natural progression of submitting.

Gently his hands rested against my hips.

His cock was entering me.

The dull ache and the unusual sensation within me told me there was no turning back. A man I know only by name was fucking me and without protection.

Once he was all the way in he stopped as if to savor the experience. No man had ever invaded my personal space in this way and I think he paused to let me think about it.

After a minute he began to pull out. I glanced down to see my rigid cock dripping with my own fluid.

I quickly looked up as Sergio’s cock slowly pumped in and out. He didn’t seem to be in much of a hurry but once he got going I knew he was unstoppable.

As his pace quickened I could feel his balls pound against mine. My prostate was taking a beating as well and the sensation of needing to pee turned into my full, hands-free ejaculation. I climaxed just as Sergio wrapped his hands around my throat and banged his cock into an explosive orgasm.

Once again he came to rest inside and against me.

He pulled out and patted on my butt. He was so casual as he helped my legs down and unfastened me from the post.

I leaned against the post trying to get the blood back into my extremities. I was spent.

I likened this to being beaten and raped -except I’d consented.

Sergio gathered his belongings -still nude and somewhat hard. I stared at his big cock still in disbelief I’d just been taken by it.

After Sergio hurried to get dressed, he thanked me for the fun and then said goodbye.

I did not want my shirt to touch my skin but I had to get dressed in order to take the taxi home. I opted for the bus since I preferred to stand instead. I doubt anyone noticed the whip marks on my legs. At least I hoped no one would.

Once I arrived at the hotel I undressed and examined my back. I looked as bad as I felt and I’d still look bad the following night when I crawled into bed with my fiance. What would I tell her? Many thoughts came to mind. I could tell her I was arrested by Mexican police and punished. No. That wouldn’t be right. No, I’d tell her the truth because it was bound to happen again. You don’t taste the whip and that sort of ordeal and not want it again. I would be a pain slut again. I just didn’t know whose.

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