Bondage Brothel

( AUTHOR’S NOTE: ) No animal was actually hurt in the filming of this motion picture. – Except for a wild squirrel that dashed out in front of the Craft Services truck as it was on a run for Pizza and Beer for the Producer’s Party. The driver has denied all responsibility for the accident. The squirrel was smashed flat and was unavailable for comment. Edited by Proof Reader.

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Without doubt, the best piece of ass I ever got was in a small town in Central Mexico.

It was at a small brothel; but not just an ordinary brothel…..

This one was special, and the only one I’ve seen anywhere in the world during my travels.

You see, I was in nearby Guadalajara, Mexico on business; buying leather goods for export to the United States. That’s my job; to buy stuff in bulk to be resold on the American market.

Carlos Reynosa was my guide and interpreter. I’d worked with him before; in fact, we had worked out a sort-of good cop, bad cop routine. Carlos would negotiate the best price, and I would sort-of hang back and select the product we would purchase at that price.

The product: virtually anything produced by local artisans; leather purses, belts, strappy sandals called “huaraches”, and airbrushed paintings of bull fighters, or bare-breasted women on black velvet in day-glow, florescent colors.

As a matter of fact, our best seller is produced by a local artist…..

It’s a super-imposed painting called “The Spanish Lady”. It depicts the formal portrait of a Spanish woman in a Victorian-style dress holding an open fan in front of her chest. Under ordinary light, it is a formal portrait of the woman from the waist up. But under black light, her dress and fan disappear, revealing her to be bare breasted, holding a five-leafed marijuana plant in what became the anthem symbol of the hippie generation.

Carlos was a savvy guy from the local area that spoke pretty good English. That was good, because my Spanish is quite limited, and generally amounts to the Berlitz method of asking where the nearest bathroom or train station might be.

Anyway, back to the brothel…..

It was my third night in Guadalajara, and I was pretty well leathered out – meaning I didn’t care if I never saw another purse, bag, or leather-strap shoes. After dinner, the conversation turned to women. I commented that some Latin women were very beautiful, and Carlos asked if I’d ever been to a “bondage brothel”?

I’d never heard of a bondage-brothel before, but the combination of words piqued my interest. I’m not particularly into bondage – or brothels, but for some reason the combination of words caught my interest. Somehow I could imagine young women all tied up, and used sexually against their wills. Suddenly, that seemed very hot, and might well be worth a trip to see what it was all about.

The “House” was in a nearby town; really a suburb of Guadalajara, in an area called “Clacky-Packy”. Well, that’s not entirely accurate, but the town’s name consisted of a bunch of discordant letters of the alphabet, lots of T’s and X’s where they shouldn’t be, and completely unpronounceable. All the locals just called it “Clacky-Packy”. And of course, ask any cab driver in Guadalajara, and he would know where you wanted to go.

(Editor’s Note: The town’s name is “Tlaquepaque”. “Clacky-Packy” is a good approximate pronunciation.)

The “House” was literally known locally as the “House of Pain”; “Casa de Dolor”. (I told you my Spanish wasn’t really very good, but “House of Pain” is a literal translation of “Casa de Dolor”, as derived from the Spanish word “dolor” or “pain”.)

I’m sure than any cab driver could get you to the right place even if you only asked to go to “Casa Dolores”. But a word of warning….. Don’t ask your cabbie to wait. Chances are you won’t be coming out quickly, and the cab driver charges for waiting time. There will be plenty of cabs waiting around to take you back into the city if that’s your wish; or when you’re ready to go.

Carlos convinced me that I should go take a look. (Really, I didn’t need much convincing. I wanted to see this for myself.) So we gathered ourselves together, I got some cash from the hotel desk clerk, and off we went on an adventure.

The “House” wasn’t much of a house to look at….. It was more of an old hacienda-style building that had seen better days. But it was large, and sprawled out in several different directions. Mostly white stucco walls that had been patched with cement too many times, under a red tile roof. Inside, the rooms were open to the rafters, which were more or less wood logs that supported the weight of the red clay tiles that formed the roof. I guess that the open ceilings, exposing the rafters, made it simple to string up female victims for whippings or punishments….. (You see how my mind was working, don’t you?)

Inside was a small vestibule containing two chairs and a small desk upon which a black-and-white TV was showing an old movie in Spanish…..

A small man was sitting at the desk and as we entered, he looked up as he said “No guns, no violence”, perhaps for the thousandth time. (I’m not being demeaning here, he was literally a “small man”. Probably less than four feet in height. Nowdays we call them “Little People”.) The conversation ended with Carlos asking “How Much?” It was obvious that some negotiation was going on here.

Small man said, “One hundred pesos, pay inside.”

He seemed almost disinterested at what he was saying, just repeating it verbatim once again. At the official exchange rate, eight to one, that came to about eight bucks. (A bit more if you paid in US dollars and they converted it on the unofficial, de-facto market.)

Incongruously, a sign on the wall proclaimed, “No Shoes – No Service”.

Carlos exchanged a few more words in Spanish and offered a five-dollar bill to small man after opening his jacket to reveals that he wasn’t carrying a gun, machete, or other implement of destruction….. I did the same.

Hesitantly, small man took the bill being offered, and slowly turned it over to inspect both sides. It was obvious he was trying to decide if it was a real bill or not.

Satisfied that it was, the bill disappeared into his pocket. Likewise, satisfied that we were not a threat to the brothel, small man bid us enter into the inner sanctum through a door at the rear of the room.

“Passé’, Apse’ Usted!” he intoned while making a sweeping motion with his hand and pointing at the door.

I got that one.

Inside, the lighting was different – brighter; almost as bright as daylight.

The floor was covered, wall-to-wall by brown carpeting, sort of a chocolate brown. I flashed on the thought that shoes didn’t really matter, you couldn’t tell from the carpet whether it had been walked on with muddy feet or not, there would be little difference.

The room was large, and dominated by poster-sized photographs depicting women in bondage, tied and gagged on the walls. A life-sized statue of a woman with her hands tied above her head stood in the middle of the room. She appeared to be stretching for the ceiling, although her wrists were depicted as tied together, nothing was actually holding her upright as she stretched for the ceiling. As a work of art, it was certainly remarkable.

On one side of the room was a small bar, and against the other side of the room, but not actually against the wall, stood the other point of interest, an imposing monkey bar, about four feet off the floor, supported by large beams, like railroad ties. An imposing structure.

Standing behind the monkey bar, three women, totally nude, and attached to the bar individually by a leash around each of their necks. Additionally, each woman’s hands were tied behind her back, and she had a ball-gag in her mouth. If that was all they had to offer, Carlos and I would be out of there pretty quickly.

There was a blonde - charitably, all I can say is she’d seen better times; a brunette who appeared to be in her late 20’s or early 30’s, and a third woman of indeterminate age. Her claim to fame might best be described as bald with a shaved head and public area.

Additionally, she featured five-point body piercings with a ring in each ear, one in each nipple, and one in the genital area, from which hung a lead fishing weight – probably four ounces or so if I gauge it right. Just enough to exert continuous pressure on the clitoris or whatever it was attached to somewhat permanently between her thighs.

Tethered as they were, the women were forced to stand for inspection, presumably until they were rented for the evening – or for an hour, whichever suited the customer, and the size of his wallet. Most women in brothels are rented by the hour, and service several men during the course of a day. In that respect, this one was no different.

Carlos took a quick look, and decided he needed a drink, so he headed for the bar to get a beer.

I, however, was more intrigued.

A man appeared out of nowhere (he had been sitting at the bar) who I gauged to be the guy – the pimp – running the place.

“First time here?” he asked.

Sheepishly, I replied, “Yes, how could you tell?”

“Oh, I know most of the regulars”, he replied, “…and I don’t recall ever seeing you here before.”

He spoke pretty good English.

“Well, we have some simple rules here….. You can pretty much do whatever you want to the women, as long as you don’t do any permanent damage. You can whip them, or fuck them, depending on what you want.”

A simple philosophy, and he pretty well laid it on the line.

“You pay in advance, and keep her as long as you want. …..”

“What about the bondage?” I asked.

“Tie her up any way you like. We got plenty of cuffs and straps if that’s what you prefer.”

“What if I want to untie her?”

“You can do that if you like. Just bring her back like you got her; tied and gagged. Once you’re in the room, you can do whatever you like.”

He was certainly accommodating. Especially with her body.

Curious, I asked, “Don’t they ever try to escape?”

“Nah”, was his reply. “They know better than to try that. Besides where would they go?”

“The police?”, I offered.

“Nah, we got an arrangement with them. No girl has ever escaped ‘La Casa’. Once here, she’s here permanently unless we sell her.

“Oh, so you do sell them”, I ventured.

“Sure”, was his reply. “When they get old, or tired out. If they don’t bring in the customers, they’re out of here.”

I didn’t want to think about the implication of that statement.

I suddenly became aware that during our entire conversation, he had been moving me toward the women. Somewhat subtly, but definitely toward the women.

I have to hand it to this guy….. He was a born salesman. It wasn’t that he was just a flesh peddler, it was obvious that he enjoyed his work.

I decided in my mind that since we hadn’t been introduced, I’d call him “El Pimpo” in regard for his job. But not to his face, of course…… That could get me killed!

Meanwhile, he had moved around the women so that he was standing behind the blonde., while he maintained a steady chatter about the “girls”; how good they were, etcetera…..

To hear him tell it, they were all practically virgins….. He was doing his best to sell me.
Knowing exactly what he was doing, I smiled to myself…..

“Spread your legs, ladies”, he intoned. “Show the man what you’ve got between your legs…..”

I hadn’t noticed it before, but the mention of legs drew my attention to their feet which were shod in laced-up bondage boots. Each shoe featured an ankle strap and buckle which held it on the foot. Attached to each strap was a steel ring, presumably which could be used for unspecified bondage games. Without the use of their hands, removing the shoes was impossible. The shoe itself, held the foot in a gentle arch that only women seem able to achieve.

In response to the command to spread ‘em, each woman thrust her hips forward by clenching her butt muscles, resulting in an odd posture exposing her naked pudenda.

While holding this forced position, El Pimpo reached around the blonde’s body and grabbed a breast in each hand.

For some reason, I thought of her as a Blanche.

I don’t know why, she just sort of fit the image of a Blanche being manhandled.

El Pimpo, holding a breast in each hand, began to move them up and down, alternately. First one, then the other….. He picked up speed and effort, and in a moment, her tits were wigwagging around like Railroad Signals.

It was definitely a turn-off. I like women with perky breasts, and the wigwagging only emphasized that her breasts were stretched all out of shape, and they were old before their time.

I tried not to express my disgust at the sight, but El Pimpo was pretty sharp, and picked up on it somehow. Perhaps it was because I turned my head away and looked at the brunette tethered between the two other women.

It took him only a moment to move from behind the blonde to behind the brunette.

He slapped her on the butt, pretty hard. Unexpected, it made her lose her concentration holding her pose as her body jumped in response to the slap.

“You like tight pussy?” El Pimpo asked. “This one is the tightest.”

Somehow, I couldn’t believe that!

To demonstrate, I suppose, El Pimpo reached between her legs from the back, and grabbed her by the labia, pulling it downward. His fingers gripped her sex tightly, and her knees bent as she tried to relieve the pressure of being pulled toward the floor. It was only slightly effective, as the leash around her neck kept her standing mercilessly at the monkey bar.

“Squeal like a pig, bitch”, he barked. “I want to hear you squeal!”

A piteous squeal escaped her throat and from behind the ball-gag that had been forced into her mouth and behind her teeth.

It would be very easy to dislike this man. …..

“Again! Louder! I want to hear you squeal!” he commanded.

Obediently, her squeal became louder….. Louder and longer. It was easy to tell she was in some pain here. I’d almost decided to take her for the evening, if only to get her away from El Pimpo, and the pain he was inflicting on her.

Just at that moment when I was about to speak, an older woman came in, leading another young woman by the leash and handed the leash to El Pimpo.

Distracted by the new arrival, El Pimpo turned his attention to the new girl….. He released the brunette as he took the new girl’s leash and tethered her to the monkey bar.

“Stand up straight, girl. We’ve got customers here” he hissed.

The new girl did her best to straighten her body while assuming the pose with her legs spread apart.

Turning toward me, he asked, “You like dark meat? This one’s ready…..”

I took my first good look at the new arrival, and she was magnificent!

She was young….. probably only in her early twenties. And she was beautiful.

Her skin was the color of light brown chocolate with Caucasian features and a short, African hairdo. She was obviously the product of a mixed racial background. The only other place I’d seen such beauty was in New Orleans, among mulatto Cajon women.

Her genitals had been shaved – impossible to tell whether she shaved herself, or whether someone had done it for her. – Or to her!

In the style of the house, she was gagged, her hands were tied behind her back, and she wore high-heeled shoes with the ankle straps and steel rings. Her arms were crossed behind her back, with each hand gripping the opposing elbow, and laced together tightly with leather straps. It would have been impossible for her to use her hands or arms in that position. Even more so, it would have been painful for her to lie on her back while her arms were held in that position.

With her arms thus trussed up, her breasts stuck out noticeably, if not provocatively! The nubs of her nipples were elongated, and stuck out invitingly on dark circles of skin against the lighter mounds of flesh that were her tits.. It was obvious that someone had spent a lot of time paying attention to those nipples.

With her arms trapped behind her, it forced her breasts forward and upward. The skin across her young breasts was stretched tight, and each breast pointed in a slightly different direction. But it was the nipples that were most prominent. Stretched as they were, her nipples stuck out even more – near perfect cones of stiff flesh, just waiting to be nuzzled.

I’d read somewhere that in many third-world countries, young girls were impressed into caring for younger siblings, including dry-nursing them to keep them quiet during their pre-adolescent years. Often, children would be “nursed” until they were of age to take over the household tasks, including dry nursing the next generation of children. This often resulted in elongated or exaggerated nipple growth. (My guess, it’s a cultural thing!)

New girl’s nipples were easily a half-inch long and stuck straight out.

I felt Mr. Happy stirring within my trousers!

“You like her, meester?” the old woman spoke. “She very special. I wash her for you if you like eat pussy.”

“No, that won’t be necessary” I said. If I wanted to eat her pussy, I could wash her myself, but I was here for a piece of ass, nothing more.

El Pimpo chimed in….. “This one is very special – Best girl in the house, but she costs a little more.”

“How much more?” I asked.

Sensing a sale, Pimpo paused for a moment considering how much he thought he could get out of me. I knew his first offer would be the best he thought he could get. Knowing how a saleman’s mind works, I was prepared for him to high-ball the price – to get all that he thought he could out of me without any extensive negotiation. Quick quote, quick sale. But I also knew that wasn’t going to happen….. At least not the way he was thinking it would.

He didn’t know that I knew what it was all about!

Making what was obviously a quick decision, El Pimpo offered, “Double!”

Double for the woman’s services for an hour? Two Hundred Pesos? That would come to about sixteen dollars for an hour’s pleasure. Not an unheard of price, as hookers go, but a bit much, considering the circumstances.

But I didn’t really want to negotiate. Mr. Happy wanted to get to know this woman. He wanted to come out and play!

“That’s a bit much”, I heard myself saying. – I had slipped into negotiating mode.

Carlos, who had been standing at the bar nursing a beer, came to my rescue. With a few words in Spanish, he convinced El Pimpo that I wasn’t going to pay such an outrageous price….. After all, she was a mere girl, and there were lots of girls who could be rented for less. I heard Carlos say “Mas oh Menus”; “more or less” several times as he took over and negotiated downward. Pimpo obviously didn’t like it – he wasn’t happy when it dawned on him that he wasn’t going to get the inflated price.

Mas-oh-Menus (pronounced “Mah-sew-men-uhs”) may have been Carlos’ favorite phrase. In context, he uses it to convince a seller that the asking price is unreasonable, and negotiating it downward. After all, it’s better to accept a lower price than to get nothing at all.

El Pimpo finally came around to Carlos’s price, taking only a premium of ten percent for the girl. A handshake, and the deal was accepted. Money changed hands, and the old lady took the girl’s leash and led her through another door in the back. “You come now”, she said, not realizing what she had said in broken English.

I gathered that she meant for me to follow her, and the girl, to her room.

As a last thought, I thanked Carlos for the help, and followed the old lady and the girl down a darkened hallway.

There is something about following a naked woman down a dark hallway that is strangely exciting. First of all, it’s just amazing to see the woman walking in front of you with the bare cheeks of her ass bouncing up and down as she walks along in high heels. I mean, it’s like a perpetual motion machine; all up and down motion, while her hips sway from side to side. For a woman, it seems to take no effort as she glides along, with her butt muscles rubbing together.

Then there is the fact that her arms were tied, and presumably she would not be able to escape. Certainly she wouldn’t be able to run very fast, if she was going to try to get away.

I thought about the fact that she was going to get fucked; that I was going to have Mr. Happy inside of her, and it was going to be good. ….. Very good!

· · ·

I had her twice in my allocated hour, and it was good both times.

I tried to make her cum using a cheap, battery-operated vibrator I found in the nightstand, but was unable to do so in the time I had available.

The old lady washed me, then turned her attention to the girl.

I dressed, and returned to the Great Room, where the three ladies I had seen earlier were still there, waiting for their first customers. They had been joined by a fourth woman whose bright red hair obviously came out of a bottle.

El Pimpo was chatting up another customer at the bar, and Carlos was nursing a beer – or possibly another beer.

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( FADE TO OLD MAN TALKING )

“We didn’t know much about sexually transmitted diseases back then. Thank God I never caught one.”

“I never got back to Casa Dolor. Several months later I heard there had been a gang war there and three Americans were killed. The Police shut the place down.”

“Carlos moved to Texas, and over the years I lost touch with him. Too bad, we made a good team.”

“I never did know the name of my chocolate colored beauty. Perhaps that was for the best. …..”

(MUSIC SWELLS TO A CRESCENDO AS OUR HERO SLOWLY TURNS AND WALKS AWAY FROM THE CAMERA, LOST IN HIS MEMORIES…..)

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-- CAST IN THE ACT --

(Imagine this as a scroll, like the end credits in a motion picture, synchronized to a music track playing the March of The Wooden Soldiers. If you finish reading this before the music ends, you’re reading too fast to get all the jokes.)

Kinky Kong
As Himself

Harvey Cordman
As The Guy in the Gorilla Suit

Shawn Connors
As Secret Agent Oh-Oh, Eight

Roma Isosceles
As The Girl Who Knew All The Angles

Regis Filburn
As The Man Who Never Was

Dom deLouise
As the Flatulent Farmer

Trigger Happy, The Wonder Horse
(It’s a wonder that he’s still working…)

Joe “Stinky-Fingers” McCoy
As the boy you wouldn’t want to shake hands with

Craft Services
By Cal Worthington’s dog “Spot”

Confucius say…
“Woman Who Fly Airplane Upside-Down, Have Crack Up!”

( FADE TO BLACK )

( AUTHOR’S NOTE )

“ AND THAT’S A WRAP, FOLKS “

15.01.12