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.