Tijuana Whip Fight

Browsing in a second hand San Diego bookstore I come across a copy of THE ENGLISH VICE, Beating, Sex and Shame in Victorian England and After. I'm engrossed in a vivid account of an eleven year old boy's brutal judicial whipping when I notice a stranger smiling at me. "It is an interesting book." the man remarks, "Less than a century ago boys were flogged by the thousands, but now?" He shrugs and I think he must have seen the tent in my trousers. I mumble something about how much things have improved but I sound unconvincing. "Have you ever seen boys whipped?" I recall classroom strappings by old lady teachers in the last decade of corporal punishment at my school and I admit that I found them fascinating. In fact watching these mild hand strappings got me sexually aroused long before I knew much about sex and formed the basis for elaborate fantasies where boys were whipped and tortured. The stranger is very interested and I soon confess that I'm curious about seeing boys whipped. He writes an address on a slip of paper and hands it to me.

I look up the address the stranger in the bookstore gave me, a shabby, dimly lit cantina a block off the main tourist drag in nearby Tijuana just over the border. I ask for Pablo, the one with three fingers, and the old man behind the counter bades me wait so I order a Corona beer and sit at a table in a corner. Twenty minutes later a thin, flashily dressed young man with an expensively ringed, three finger hand joins me. "You looking for me, Senor?" I explain what I'd heard from the stranger about boys fighting with whips and indicate my interest. Pablo Three Fingers says that he too has heard about such things but seems very vague. I offer to buy him a drink but he declines fingering the gold ring in his right ear. I take a twenty dollar bill out of my wallet and hold it casually in my hand. "Ah Senor!" he smiles reaching for the bill. "You like to see boys fight with whips?" I nod. "It happens sometimes, yes. Maybe I can help you." He hesitates again. I feel like I'm in some oldtime detective movie as I pull out another twenty. "You are very generous Senor, I help you.... You come here seven o'clock Friday, I take you. But you need lots of money, cost two hundred American dollar admission, more money to bet on boy you like, and maybe you want to spend more after, lots of boys you may like."

I return to my hotel in San Diego to wait out the three days till Friday. "... boys fighting with whips, often until both are bleeding freely." that's what the stranger had said. My mind romps through everchanging fantasies of floggings and boyish fortitude. One must take precautions; I leave a note with the address of the cantina and a description of Pablo Three Fingers in my safekeeping at the hotel desk. I decide to take eight hundred dollars which I carefully stash on myself in different places.

The cantina is busy, but I find a table near the back. As I sip on a Corona I notice a few other foreigners, one of whom I judge to be German by his accent. Pablo arrives about twenty after seven and signals me and three other foreigners to follow him through the kitchen and out the back door. We are introduced to Big Mac, a burly, silent gorilla of a man, and frisked for cameras, recording and other devices, an understandable precaution. We get into an immaculate old '56 Buick sedan parked nearby and I find myself sitting next to the older German gentleman who introduces himself as Karl. Pablo drives with many turns for well over half an hour, a circuitous route I suspect, although in the dark and with tinted windows, I can see very little. After a long, bumpy stretch we get out by a large barn like shed. Before we are hurried inside I notice a couple of other big American cars and the twinkle of lights from a cluster of shanties a few hundred yards down the road. A stout balding Mexican in an oversize, loose white shirt comes up and greets us, introducing himself as Manuel. He collects two hundred dollars from each of us, some of which he passes to Pablo.

Inside there is a dirty, stained canvas about twelve feet square staked into the ground with metal pegs and with crude benches arranged around it. A dozen foreigners, and almost as many Mexicans I assume, have already arrived. In one corner a grim faced youth with a small horsewhip is practicing his stroke on a large leather punching bag suspended from a beam. A buddy interrupts him to criticize his stroke and demonstrate. A wide doorway leads off into another room at the back. Along a side wall about ten boys from about twelve up are talking loudly and fooling around as boys do. I sit down next to Karl.

Two of the smallest boys, giggling and jostling each other, step onto the canvas. One is a pretty, curly headed, urchin-like child; the other is slightly darker and huskier with long straight hair dangling over his face. They assume karate poses, kick and punch in an exuberant play fight which soon evolves into crotch grabbing and wrestling where after managing to pull down each others pants, they start jacking each other. Several foreigners cheer their antics and toss a few coins on the canvas to encourage them. The curly headed youngster crouches over the other and pretends to fuck him with his stubby, hairless prick as both moan and pant, grinning at the audience. Scattered applause and more coins of appreciation land on the canvas.

Then one of the others, a lean muscular lad of about fifteen, grabs the long haired lad and twisting his arm, forces him to the canvas. He quickly pushes his own pants down revealing an enormous rod for his size and pinning the struggling boy to the ground he pretends to fuck him. The boy writhes and grimaces in mock agony. Then another boy dashes over and starts smacking the bigger boy's ass with a belt bringing hilarious laughter from the others. Soon most the boys pile on in a gigantic free-for-all of grabbing, groping, jacking and ass smacking. Some boys lose their pants as the spectators cheer and shower them with coins.

After several more foreigners have arrived Manuel strides up to the canvas cracking a mean looking buggy whip, his long white shirt dazzling under the lights. "ENOUGH, ENOUGH!" he shouts. The boys scamper. When the room quietens he beckons to two younger boys who've remained on the sidelines and they join him on the canvas. "Gentlemen, Gentlemen," Manuel announces, "for our event tonight, LITO and RONNIE." The two boys take off their ragged clothes and hand them to their seconds who stand nearby. Both are handsome lads. Karl, my German neighbor nudges me, "It is good to see the young boys fight."

"LITO," Manuel calls out and the wiry, muscular dark boy whose proud features suggest pure Indian blood stands beside him. Several small boys sitting in front shriek loudly and chant, "GO   LITO   GO". "Lito tells me he is almost fifteen. He has never fought before but you can see he is strong." Lito poses, muscles flexed in different classic positions, and then haughtily, like some chieftain's son, his noble profile gazing into the beyond as his fans scream. His body has neither fat nor hair except for the small black puff on his pubes. Manuel reaches into a small leather case and takes out a huge shiny safety pin, holds it up for us to see, and as Lito calmly stands in front of him he forces the point through the flesh on the top of his right shoulder and closes the pin. Karl leans over, "It is best to watch the face to see how they take it. The pins are not too sharp so they make plenty pain." Manuel gives Lito a smart slap on the ass and signals Ronnie to come forward.

Ronnie is a couple of inches taller and maybe a little heavier with a lanky build. His supporters cheer and clap, chanting, 'RONNIE,   RONNIE.' He is obviously Mestizo with wavy hair and huge soulful eyes, and despite the larger cock he proudly displays he is almost hairless. "Ronnie is fourteen and has fought twice before, winning once." Manuel announces. Ronnie poses, perhaps inspired by TV wrestling villains, and gives his meanest expressions as he shows off his pubescent physique. He affects indifference as the pin pierces his shoulder. "The fight will start in ten minutes. In the meantime gentlemen, you may place your bets."

The two young gladiators, accompanied by their seconds carrying the short, twin thonged whips they will use, make their way around the spectators. Karl nudges me, "These small whips only for young boys because skin not too thick, but they make good marks. Boy need good hit to cut and make other bleed. Older boys get nice long whips, flick better, but harder to use.... I think this will be good fight, you see." I ask Karl how the winner is determined. "When one boy give up, can't take more. Sometimes Manuel will stop fight if boy getting badly hurt." I ask what's to stop a boy from giving up easily. "That not happen. Boy lose money and other boy be very angry too. Usually fights are long and not end until both boys bleeding. You see boys want to win, boys are proud. Winner gets one hundred dollars plus ten percent of bets. And after loser give up winner gets ten free hits, so boy not to lose, you see. Free hits are better, boy can take time to aim and get good hard hit, maybe draw blood. Loser only get half money thrown on canvas. Good fight, loser get more, and after the loser gets his free hits people may throw more money for him if he is brave and people like him. If loser not make good fight and get money, maybe his papa beat him worse when he goes home." I ask if they wear anything to protect their eyes. "No, but that is what the pin is for. Manuel will tie cord around left wrist and to pin. Boy can protect face with arm but not use hand to grab whip of other boy. It make for good fight because boy cannot protect other parts and use whip at same time. Boys not allowed to hit above the nipples or other boy gets five free hits. On free hits it is OK to go a bit higher, maybe try for nipples, people like to see. Also boy cannot try to hit penis, but small accident OK. Lots of free hits in good fight, you see."

Ronnie is allowing himself to be examined by a young, short bearded American who seems mainly interested in his cock. Getting some promise from the man Ronnie comes over to us still proudly erect. Karl makes a jacking motion and says to him, "Not good before fight? Hah!" Ronnie grins back. The German studies the slender, smooth skinned body closely, stopping to examine barely visible marks and scars. "Look here," he says to me, "see this nipple, see how it was split by the whip. Good hit, much pain, and see, not yet healed, not enough time, maybe two weeks. Must need money bad to fight so soon. And see on his side, nice thin scars where whip cut good. Ah, more on ass and better here." He holds Ronnie's thigh forward in the light so I could see better. On the inside I see several raised spots. "Tips of whip make deep cuts in soft skin." Karl squeezes Ronnie's buttocks with both hands and looks up at his face. "You tough boy, hah?" The boy grins back and Karl dismisses him. "What you think? Not so much muscles." I pretend to agree but I'm fascinated by the boy's lithe form and big expressive eyes, and perhaps the scars he proudly bears.

I notice other boys going around amongst the foreigners, allowing themselves to be fondled for a few coins. A lad about sixteen stops, rubs his crotch and cutely smiles at us. Karl waves him away and continues his explanations. "They tape the whip handle to the boy's right hand so he can't drop it, or grab the whip of the other boy. They fix it so all the boy can do is whip the other. And if boy steps off canvas, the other boy get two free hits, so they try not to."

Lito comes by and stands in front of us. He takes his whip and demonstrates his technique slashing the air over the canvas. Karl seems pleased and beckons the boy closer. He stands up and starting at the neck and shoulders his hands firmly explore Lito's handsome adolescent body down his arms, back, stomach and thighs. The boy stands impassively with a patient expression on his face. At Karl's suggestion I do the same; the boys muscles are surprisingly hard beneath the velvety skin. Then Karl slips his fingers around the Lito's little testicles and pulls, squeezing them hard and watching his face for any reaction. There is none. "Good boy, good boy." Lito smiles proudly and leaves. "Strong boy. I like him, but skin so soft, cut easy, you see."

Karl puts one hundred dollars on Lito and I bet the same on Ronnie. Some of the Mexicans make bets too. Betting is heavy with the odds fairly even. As the boys sit in chairs being massaged by their seconds Manuel ties the leather thong bracelets to their left wrists and through the pins, and tapes the whips securely into their right hands but leaving their wrists free for flicking.

The pretty curly headed youngster who'd been playing on the canvas earlier comes around, fully clothed now, and asks me if I'd like him to sit with me. I'm not sure what he means until he adds, "You like me play you? Only ten dollar time of fight." Karl interrupts saying the little boy is just after money. The boy tries to bargain, "OK, me play two of you, five dollar each, OK?" Karl tells him emphatically no. He undoes his fly and says, "You like play me too? OK for free." Karl speaks to him in Spanish and the boy, Juanito is his name, approaches a couple of other tourists without success. Juanito returns to sit beside Karl and after a few words he seems very pleased with himself and smiles smugly at his friends around the room.

More and more people keep arriving, mostly local boys I would guess, and the younger ones, some not more than six or seven, sit and squat down in front of us only a foot or so from the canvas. Karl turns to me, "Manuel likes many small boys to come. Makes the bigger boys braver when fighting. And it is good for boys to learn whipfighting."

The room quietens, Manuel speaks briefly to Lito and Ronnie, presumably explaining rules, then the boys embrace, hugging each other with their whip hands. Manuel announces that each boy will get one free hit to start. "Good idea, make better fight." enthuses Karl. On Manuel's instructions Ronnie stands on his toes, both arms over his head as Lito slowly circles him. He positions himself carefully to Ronnie's side, he flicks his whip back and both thongs flash audibly across Ronnie's pale chest just catching one nipple. Satisfied murmurs come from the benches as the stripes darken but Lito has failed reopen Ronnie's old wound. Now Lito takes the tip toe position and Ronnie, standing more to the front, catches him smartly on the ribs with the tips curling around and nicking his back but no blood appears. Again the audience murmurs its appreciation. The young fighters slowly turn around to display their weals and after a few seconds Manuel steps off the canvas and orders the fight to begin.

Lito and Ronnie face each other, posturing, feinting and making exploratory flicks which won't leave them too exposed. This goes on for a couple of minutes without either landing a good blow although both now sport a fair number of fainter weals. Then Lito, who's the more aggressive, catches Ronnie around the thigh with a loud snap and gets away unscathed. He tries again but this time Ronnie, not defending himself, gets in a hard blow across his opponent's back, and closing in he gets in several more vicious lashes before Lito regains his balance. The audience gasps and cheers. After this both boys are more cautious and the fighting slows down. Manuel calls for "ACTION! ACTION!", but after a brief flurry they resume their slow circling. Karl leans over, "Not good when boys just dance. Manuel not like, and people pay good money. Once, different place, Manuel make each boy take three free hits. When that not work he give each two hits himself with the big boys' whip. Both get good cuts on ass. They make good fight after that."

Things pick up when Lito lands a well placed hit across Ronnie's pubes cutting the tender fold where the thighs join the body. Lito moves in to follow up his advantage but Ronnie dodges, and Lito trying to follow steps off the canvas. Manuel guides him back where Lito again stands on his toes, arms overhead like a bronze statue glistening with blood tinged sweat. As Ronnie, taking his time, positions himself the room becomes absolutely silent. As in his initial free hit he lashes Lito across the chest with the tips cutting into the darker boy's ribs. Manuel steadies Lito for the second blow which overlapping draws the first real, dripping flow of blood in the fight and applause from the audience. The fighting intensifies, with Lito pressing but often bested by Ronnie's longer reach. After a few minutes, with both boys panting and dripping, Manuel calls a timeout. Both are trembling as their seconds sponge them off, give them water and speak reassuringly. The young fans crowd around their heroes chattering excitedly.

Two youths in special, padded leather jackets take over the canvas and have a practise fight using the longer, heavier whips used in the big boy fights. I watched them flail each other, often with skill and a certain style, the long tapered lash looking like it could easily open ugly cuts. "Usually more betting when big boys fight." Karl comments, "especially if friends have money, and many Mexicans come too.... And sometimes small boys, maybe seven, eight years old fight. Use very small thong whips, just make red mark, not cut. And no pins, just tie wrist around neck. No betting, just for fun and five or ten minutes only." We stop to watch a small boy near our feet who's boasting to some others. Karl, who understands Spanish well, tells me the boy is challenging the others to a whip fight, "It is a good way to be macho, and if they make good show people will give them some money." The boy is making a point of guzzling on a large bottle of Pepsi. "I see many good small boy fights.... At end people vote for winner. No free hits after, but loser has to lie on ground and let winner piss on him. They drink pop to piss more. Even little boys not like to lose."

When the gladiators have rested and their seconds have finished, Lito and Ronnie again make their rounds of the audience where their welts are examined, their cocks fondled and their ears filled with praises and promises. Lito's formerly unblemished body is a maze of raw welts, some of which will leave tiny scars, especially on his back and sides. But Ronnie may have the worst cut, an oozing one that Lito has opened up across his hairless pubes, starting an inch above his drooping cock. Both appear confident. Little Juanito examines the cuts and announces that he's brave too, and shows us a thin scar on his belly.

The fight resumes with Lito taking the initiative, landing several loud lashes on Ronnie's stomach and thighs, receiving only a couple on his back in return. Then he gets his whip wrapped around the paler boy's leg and is pulled off balance. Ronnie advances and stands over Lito laying on blow after blow as he tries to rise. Lito makes it to his feet taking two slashing strokes across his belly, one nicking his cock, as he regains his stance. Ronnie keeps at it but accidentally strikes Lito on the neck and Manuel steps in and calls a foul. The referee steadies Ronnie by his whip arm as he stands on his toes. Lito, blood dripping freely from several cuts places himself behind Ronnie. The crowd hushes and Lito waits, gathering his strength. Then swinging the whip back he lashes as hard as he can at Ronnie's side so the tips curl around and cut into his already raw pubes and upper thighs. He's deliberately working on his opponent's sorest spots. Ronnie flinches noticeably with the second blow but maintains his stance. Lito repeats the same stroke the five times he is allowed by the rules, always just managing to miss Ronnie's cock. After the last blow the audience applauds Ronnie's fortitude and tosses what looks like over fifty dollars on the canvas. This the heaviest punishment either has taken yet and Ronnie's face if not his manner shows it. Manuel allows Ronnie's second to swab the cuts and examines them to make sure they are not serious.

The fight is restarted after a minute with Ronnie desperately attacking. Lito continues to concentrate on the wounds he's opened up but takes more than he gives as both strike out wildly. And for what seems like a minute the two youngsters stand toe to toe, seemingly oblivious to pain, whipping each other in a frenzy and bringing the audience to its feet shouting and cheering. It can't last, the gladiators are exhausted and the action subsides. Manuel calls another timeout, he seems pleased and waves smiling to some of the spectators he knows. More money is tossed on to the canvas, I throw in ten myself, and the seconds pick it up dividing it between them.

The seconds take longer with their ministrations this time carefully sponging and massaging the warriors' lacerated bodies. The small boy who wants to whip fight has found an opponent and they both plead with Manuel to let them fight during the timeout. Manuel's answer is clear and the boys walk away disappointed. Karl is amused, "It is good to see small boys wanting to fight with whips, but Manuel is right, not time tonight."

Again the two boy gladiators mingle with the audience acting tough and brave, shrugging off their welts and wounds. Ronnie stands in front of me, his big eyes betraying the bravado of his words and stance. The cuts on his pubes which have drenched his genital area in blood are not as serious as I thought, and Karl says they will leave only "nice little thin scars". I look up into Ronnie's face, the angle of the light above me highlights the pattern of raised ridges across his glistening body. I tell him that he "make a good fight", and he smiles proudly. I toss another ten on the canvas, I want him to win but I can see he's very tired.

Lito comes along not long after and leans against Karl's knee. His naked backside looks like it has been scarified, welts overlap again and again creating raw oozing patches. The German inspects him thoroughly, particularly the nick on his cock, and praises him lavishly. Then standing up he puts his hands on Lito's shoulders, "You good boy. You brave, I like. You get many fine scars now." There's tears in his eyes and for moment I think he's going to hug the boy. Lito's flattered, makes a quick grin and postures himself defiantly, a ferocious scowl on his face, before moving on.

The fight doesn't last much longer. Ronnie stumbles when their whips get entangled and all but his legs land off canvas. As he struggles to get up without having to take two free hits Lito lays into him with amazing ferocity, slashing at his stomach and thighs, and the whip arm he tries to protect himself with. From less than four feet away I can see stroke after stroke flailing his sorest parts, blood starting to splatter. Ronnie doesn't have the strength to make it up and calls it quits after many savage blows. There's no question of his courage. Well over a hundred dollars is tossed on the canvas. Bets are paid off and Karl is delighted with his winnings.

Manuel leads Ronnie back to the canvas, the whip and pin through his shoulder have been removed and his body rinsed off. He looks dejected but tries to put on an act, if only for his small boy fans. Lito follows, his fans cheering loudly and chanting, and stands beside Ronnie. At a signal from Manuel the two whip scarred warrior boys hug each other. And there seems to be genuine affection as they clench tightly for twenty seconds, resting their heads on each others shoulders. They shake hands and Manuel announces, "THE TEN FREE HITS, back and buttocks only." and hands a whip to Lito. Ronnie moves over to the edge of the canvas near us and folds his arms over his head, his chest out, looking straight ahead. Lito stands a few feet behind him and lays on three solid diagonal strokes across Ronnie's relative unmarked back at five second intervals but then appears to slacken off for a couple. Manuel tells Lito he must hit harder. Karl comments, "It is not fair for Lito to go easy. All money thrown now goes to loser so he wants hard hits to make a good show. Better if some new blood." The small boys, many of them unconsciously rubbing their hardons, begin chanting, "HARDER, HARDER." Lito resumes his task working down, his last two strokes bloodying the narrow buttocks. Ronnie is just able to keep his position and half slumps as Lito embraces him again and they hug with tenderness and tears. Manuel keeps the young fans back as handfuls of pesos and over a hundred dollars are tossed onto the canvas. Karl says it's the most he's ever seen for a loser. The fight including timeouts lasted well under an hour. Then the small boys are allowed to surge onto the canvas to be near, to touch and maybe smear some of their heroes' blood on themselves. Manuel patiently gets them to go back to their places.

Lito, followed by a retinue of admiring boys makes his rounds again. Karl congratulates him profusely, fondles his soft cock and kisses his forehead which seems to embarrass the boy. He also hands him another twenty dollars. Moments later he leaves with the neglected Juanito. I see Ronnie looking exhausted but in good spirits, perhaps because of the money, being fondled by a group of Americans. They then take turns kissing his hardon. He's collected a handful of money when he comes and sits beside me. I notice the cuts on his pubes and one on his thigh have been closed with tape. He looks at me with his big eyes, spreads his blemished legs presenting his slender, sculpted, unscathed rigid erection and asks, "You like kiss?" I nod and holding him gently, feeling the welts and ridges on his hips and thighs, I take his tool inside and explore its contours with my tongue. "Kiss only, you not woman." and he pushes me away. I congratulate him on his performance and tell him he is brave. He smiles and when I give him another twenty his huge eyes brighten. I ask what he is going to do with his money. "Buy doctor for sister." he indicates a small child. "Or maybe video games.... You come see me fight again? Maybe two, three weeks?" I tell him I don't know.

I've noticed Karl and some of the other foreigners, many with boys, enter the room at the back of the shed. I find out what it's all about when two youngsters approach me and the older one who looks around fifteen asks, "You like spank me? Nice soft bum, you like." He lowers his pants to his thighs, "You like feel?" I reach around and he does have a nice firm, soft and compact ass that would be a delight to spank. And the boy's flashing eyes, eager expressive face, and the generous lips topped by a wispy smudge of fine dark hairs also arouse me. "Only two dollars one spank, use belt, you like?" His young friend shows me a homemade strap over a foot long with a neatly wirebound wooden handle. The thick leather belt has been well oiled and the handle polished with shoe wax. I look into the first boy's active eyes, they seem to be pleading as I continue to stroke his lovely bum. "Please, my name is Ricky. You like many? More better, two dollars one spank.... You like play? Suck me? Five dollars. OK?" When I agree the boys bubble with excitement and start tugging me towards the room at the back.

The room which was probably an old stable has a Pepsi machine, a couple of old pinball machines and four stalls about ten feet wide leading off it. In the first of the stalls, which are only partly screened by palm matting I see Karl with curly haired Juanito and his long haired buddy. Karl beckons me in and I decide to stay and watch. I give Ricky and his younger friend, an undistinguished boy named Max, some money to buy soft drinks for us.

"Juanito and I have a good talk." Karl explains, "He is a good boy. I explain what I like. I will give him nice whipping with much pain." Juanito trembling with excitement sits down astride a bench and leans back against his buddy who puts an arm around his chest. Karl, half kneeling beside him shows Juanito a fine black leather strap just over a foot long. "This hurt, much pain." he says letting the child take it in his hands. "Make beautiful marks. No crying, you be brave." He ruffles the boy's curls and moves his legs apart so his thighs are well separated. "I do it here, nice skin, so soft. You will feel much pain.... OK. You be brave?" Karl briefly massages the skinny thighs and then putting one hand over Juanito's tiny genitals he raises the strap. "Ready?" The boy nods. Karl slaps the strap down hard diagonally across the top of the child's thigh. Juanito winces but doesn't cry out as his friend hugs him reassuringly. A neat red stripe blooms in the leather's path. Karl whispers in the boy's ear, strokes his head and calls, "Ready?" Juanito tries to smile, "Si Senor Karl." Again he only winces. The procedure's repeated until the boy has three wide flaming red welts down each thinly fleshed thigh.

Karl speaks softly, reassuringly to Juanito and fondles him soothingly. When the boy who'd begun to sob settles down Karl says, "Now we do bum, five dollars each spank. OK?" Juanito sits up, looks at his welts which have risen and gingerly touches them.

The long haired boy examines them too and turns to Karl, "Me brave also." Karl asks him if he would like a free sample. "No. For money." the boy answers indignantly.

Karl  repeats his question, "OK? Do bum now? No more than ten. You say 'Stop!' when hurt too much." The child hesitates, looking at his friend and feeling his welts again  before nodding agreement and lies face down on the bench. His friend squats beside him an elbow across his shoulders and with his long hair tenting a very private space between their faces. Karl briefly massages the tiny mounds and calls out, "Ready?"

Juanito pokes his face out, "Si, Senor Karl." With hard measured strokes the man begins belting the boy's puny buttocks. The sharing helps at first, his friend is right there, but pain tires the will and pain erodes the spirit. Juanito struggles to control himself, keens and finally screams “Stop” after seven blows. He's whimpering with tears streaming down his face, his little ass is purpling, but he composes himself quickly.

"Very good, very good. You good brave boy." Karl picks him up tenderly, hugs and kisses him. Ricky is impatiently tugging at me and we find the end stall empty.

Ricky starts to undress as soon as we enter the stall and asks how many spanks I want. I like their hefty homemade strap, it's nicely made and much heavier than Karl's, and I think how soft Ricky's bum felt. I'm not sure why but I take out a twenty knowing it's not enough. "Only ten?" Ricky acts as if insulted and his young friend says something in Spanish I assume is rude. "You play me!" Ricky demands. "Me too!" his friend adds. I pull out another twenty and the boys calm down.

"You want me bend over? Lie on bench?" I'm undecided. "Maybe you like tie me up? Only five dollar more." I see large nails high in the end wall, possibly for this purpose, and open beams I can reach. I agree. Max goes off to get some rope and Ricky takes off the rest of his clothes.

I take a good look at the boy I'm paying for the pleasure of paining. His rich golden brown skin has only the finest, barely visible hairs except towards his ankles where they thicken and lengthen. I place my hands on his head and run my fingers through his untidy longish locks and down his slender neck, letting my fingertips linger on the velvet skin. I inhale his arousing aroma, the scent of pubescent boy, and I'd like to kiss him but I don't think he's into that. I begin to feel his chest and find his nipples swollen with the rush of puberty. I know they are likely tender at his age and I lightly tweak them which brings a grin to his face. "You like pinch?.... Five dollar." I massage them until they are erect little cones and then I clamp them between my thumbnails and fingers and with much of my strength I pinch and twist. I watch his flashing eyes as hangs on with proud determination for the half minute I prolong his delightful anguish. My hands explore his ribs, squeezing firmly, feeling the bones beneath his unblemished skin. At his waist I press my thumbs into his flat undulating stomach and feel the muscles push back.

The black fur on Ricky's pubes stands out boldly in a well defined patch. I comb it with my fingers and his prick lengthens and begins to rise, and his eyes flash encouragement. My fingertips follow the soft fold at the bottom of his belly, the place where Ronnie was so badly abused, and I trace the fold around and down to his compact scrotum. I carefully stretch out the crinkly, blue tinged sac and gently massage the nuts inside. His cock rises above horizontal and the deep rosy knob begins to emerge from the darker foreskin. Ricky adjusts his position slightly, putting his hands on his hips and thrusting his pelvis forward. I touch his slender five inches, just right for his size, and with a quiver it tenses full hard. I repeat this a few times teasingly and then holding his shaft loosely I manipulate him slowly. Ricky's eyes become languid and his tongue lazily plays with the generous lips I find so sensuous. I put my own lips to the tip of his glans and firmly, without haste, I suction his rod full in, feeling the skin slide by as my tongue teases. And then very gradually I withdraw. I will save his orgasm for later. Ricky looks disappointed.

I pick him up, he's not that heavy, and stand him on the bench, bending him over and feeling the ass I'm soon to whip and welt. It's very smallness turns me on. I can see no marks on the clear, golden skin which darkens only slightly around the bud of his anus. With a finger probing I can feel the tightness of his sphincter. I stand back trying to imagine angry welts across his ass's soft contours.

Ricky's buddy has not returned with the rope and my curiosity is aroused by the sounds from the next stall. I look through a gap in the woven palm matting. A trembling youngster, not as skinny as most, is bent over touching his toes, and a tall bespectacled, professorial looking man is beating him with a yard long cane. I see him wind up, take a couple of strides and with a practised swing strike the already raw and bleeding, but narrow stripe across the boy's buttocks. When the boy straightens up I see his timid, sweet face in agony. He has perhaps just a dozen hairs emerging on his pubes. He pleads, "Not same place all time."

"SHUT UP!" the man snaps at him. "I'm not paying you to babble. And you forgot to say 'Thank you, Sir' after, again. How many times do I have to tell you. That last stroke shouldn't count."

"But.... SIR, eight all same...."

"Shut up, you little smart alec. I paid for ten and I should still have three, if not four left.... Now bend over, smartly now. I want to see the palms of your hands flat on the floor. And keep your legs straight.... Come now boy, you can do better than that.... Now, what are you supposed to say?"

"Please, SIR, may I have a....anudder."

The man winds up and gives the trembling lad's lacerated ass another vicious, accurately placed stroke.

Ricky's young friend, Max finally comes back, he couldn't find any rope but I'm not really disappointed. I have Ricky stand on the bench in the free hit position with his arms folded over his head, legs slightly apart, a perfect, proud living statue for me to flog and welt. "You like me cry?" I tell him no, and promise him a bonus if he's brave. I suck his lovely cock hard first and then smack his bum as hard as I can. He looks around at me and grins. I smack his ass again and again allowing several seconds for the pain to sink in between until five overlapping welts have made his ass glow brightly. He still stands proudly, affecting nonchalance and joking with his buddy. He looks me in the eye, his own flashing, and demands, "You like more?" He seems almost eager. It's the money, but it's also boyish bravado and I know he hasn't been pushed or severely tried yet. I lay on another five with the heavy strap in rapid succession, the bruises darken and I can tell the whipping is really getting to him, eroding his grit. He's less animated but there's still confidence in his voice when he asks, "You like spank more, Senor?"

I contemplate the situation, I don't really want to pound his swollen and numb ass anymore, and.... then I have an idea. Ricky, agrees to ten more, but not on the bum I tell him. His cock is slower to respond but I soon have it pointing skyward. I ask his younger friend, Max to take over the belt. He's confused until I explain what I want. I stand right behind Ricky, bodies touching and holding him across his loins. I tell Max to belt his buddy "extra hard" across the chest and belly and add that he will get a bonus if does a "good job". I also suggest that he take off his clothes, he's not ugly, and am not surprised to see a boner with countable hairs by its base. I am very pleased with his performance, boner and all, as he applies himself with force and diligence, and I meanwhile indulge. I stroke Ricky's hair, caress and kiss his surprisingly slender neck while my other hand fondles his softening cock. I can see his thin flesh bounce with the blows and feel the shuddering impact of the strap transferred to my own body. I massage his tenderized buttocks and hook two fingers in his anus where I feel the contractions that follow every blow to his body. Raw and blood smudged welts decorate his chest and belly, but his spirit is unbroken I know, when his eyes flash into mine. I tell Max he did a good job.

"You like spank me too?" Even though I don't find him attractive, despite his tender years, I don't think it's fair to refuse him, especially when he's still so horny. From the scars on his ass I know he's been whipped many times before, and far more savagely than I enjoy. I give him six good ones bent over and have Ricky, who's gentler than his friend, bring it up to ten.

Ricky reminds me of the sex I've promised, I haven't forgotten either. The marvelous boy, so pretty and so abused gladly stands on the bench as I cuddle his waist and blow him. I delight in the spasms and the taste of the brave boy's man juice. I let his virile member soak, keeping it hard before I vigorously make him squirt again. To be fair, especially to such a horny child, I serve Max too, not stopping when he cums so as to enjoy his desperate writhings for a moment. The boys happily count their good fortune, I throw in an extra twenty each. I hug them both, we shake hands and they bid me, "Adios Senor."

I look into the first stall where I'd seen Karl and Juanito earlier. A lean muscular youth is tied on a wall, almost suspended by his wrists. He's being flogged with a long slender whip by a balding, gray haired man in an immaculate, pale blue gabardine suit, white shirt and tie. A buddy of the youth stands by chatting with him and keeping count of the blows. The man stops, takes out a Bible and reads a short passage before he starts to flail away again. He's starting to get a little blood for his efforts when the youth's buddy interrupts, telling him he has to come up with more money. The youth says he wants five dollars for each stroke from now on. The man counts out a hundred and resumes flailing the bloodied youth.

Pablo Three Fingers is waiting in the main room with the others. Karl tells me he found an older boy to whip while he waited. Most of the other foreigners have left. Juanito is still showing off his welts to any boys who'll look, and apparently his long haired friend was lucky enough to find someone to whip him too. They're both feasting on Cheezies and Pepsi.

Manuel, his brilliant white shirt and shoes speckled with boy blood, comes up as we are leaving and asks if we enjoyed the match. Everyone expresses their satisfaction. "It is good for our economy, especially the poor people. I hope you all come again soon." Manuel smiles and adds, "Sometime I would like to get some nice blond white boys to fight. Their skin would show up marks so well. And, I think, many rich Mexicans would pay much to watch them… lose. Adios Senors." Big Mac is waiting outside and we drive back to Tijuana in half the time we came.