Melissa and Emmy are college students who can’t help but party it up while they’re studying abroad in Mexico. After a few drinks, both girls are intoxicated beyond belief and Melissa ends up telling her cute waiter friend that she, um, kinda likes spanking. Imagine how she felt the next day when she didn’t even remember telling him that, and he was more than happy to oblige.
The night started at my friend, Emmy’s, favorite club. As young college students unable to drink in the states, we took every chance to intoxicate ourselves while studying abroad in Mexico. Of course, the abundance of gorgeous Mexican guys offering to buy us drinks didn’t help any. This is why Emmy liked La Cucaracha — loads of American-hungry guys just waiting to buy us alcohol. I, on the other hand, preferred the Grill — another pulsating techno club — and not because of the hott waiter, Caesar, that worked there and I’d befriended on a drunken night when he offered to walk me home. I just preferred it over La Cucaracha because… okay so maybe it was Caesar. And besides, who wants to go to a club called the Cockroach?
“Hola bonitas,” the bouncers said as we pushed through the doors, smiling at them. We’d almost gained the status as regulars going there at least once, sometimes twice, a week. And since I had bright red hair and her’s was streaked with blue, it’s not like we blended in very well.
“Emmy, I really wanna go to the Grill,” I whined.
“We won’t stay here too long,” she assured me, but she was checking her jacket and umbrella which meant she was planning this to be our primary club for the night.
The club was fairly small, at least a lot smaller than the Grill. There was a dance floor in the middle with a stage set up near some tables so all of the drunks could try to dance without falling off. Along the walls of the club were table that were separated by being elevated, almost as high as the stage. There were two bars, one in the back near the main dance floor and the other was hidden — you had to go through about two “chill” rooms before you arrived there. And that’s where Emmy and I headed, carrying our “free shot!” coupons. The music was so loud and there were so many people there I almost forgot that I would have preferred to be somewhere else.
“Besides, at the Grill they don’t have free shots. And Caesar will be there all night, we can chill here and drink a while,” Emmy yelled over the music.
Not that I had a choice in the matter — we always did what she wanted.
We arrived to the bar and gave the bartender our coupons. He smiled and poured the shot glasses half-full of tequila then finished it off with something red… no idea what it was.
Emmy and I lifted the shots. “Salud!” she said, clinging her glass against mine.
“Salud!” I repeated, then tilted my head back pouring the oh-so-smooth tequila down my throat. In Mexico do as the Mexicans do — party!
After our shots we made our way back to the dance floor. The music was great and I was in the mood for dancing, but I can’t dance and watching everyone else made me self-couscious. Emmy, on the other hand, was going at it, like always. I desperately wished for a drink, anything to save me from standing there like a bump on a long in the mass of dancing drunkies. Which is worse? Looking like an idiot while dancing or being the only one not dancing?
“Dance!” my friend ordered.
“I need a drink.”
She looked around the room, checking for guys who were scoping us out. Of course, there wer etons — Emmy just has that effect on people. She’s got the looks, the personality, the dance moves. She’s just the type of girl who walks into a place and you just have to look. That’s why she gets what she wants… she’s too beautiful and fascinating. No one could say no. Which is why I liked Caesar… he chose me instead of her.
Emmy spotted some guys in the corner of the room with a bottle of tequila and the Mexican version of Sprite… I forget its name. They were definitely watching as Emmy made eye contact and kept dancing, now more provocatively. Within a matter of moments the guys would be coming over to dance with her,then they’d ask her where she’s from and her name. Then they’d recognize me, ask me a couple of questions, and offer us drinks. I’d played this game before.
I inched up near my friend, almost able to feel the shot I’d taken. I swayed a little, still too self-conscious to get too crazy. Just as I’d known, the guys stalked over towards us. Two began dancing with Emmy while the other settled for me. I jus thoped he was too drunk to notice my lack of rhythm.
“Where you from?” the guy asked me in English and I figured it was about all that he knew.
“Louisiana,” I answered, wishing for the drink already.
I peeked over at Emmy who was sandwiched between the other two guys and carrying on a conversation — probably informing them that her mom is from Cuba.
After soberly enduring two songs, they finally asked her if she wanted a drink and out of politeness asked me, too.
“What do you want to drink?” Emmy asked me.
“Same as always,” I mumbled.
She turned to the guys to translate that I wanted vodka and orange juice although I was practically a pro at saying that in Spanish by now. One of the guys stopped a waiter and ordered the drinks for us. I practically chugged it when the waiter put it in my hands.
“You like?” the guy I was dancing with asked.
I nodded. “My favorite,” I shouted, now loosened enough to dance a little more. This made my dancing partner happy and before too much longer he ordered me another. Emmy and I were sufficiently tipsy which meant it was about time to ditch the guys. It was always easier in the Grill… it’s darker and bigger. But judging by the alcohol they’d drank, I doubt they’d have noticed we were gone.
“Come on, chica,” Emily called in the middle of a rap song that neither of us liked. “We’re going to get another free shot.” And she dragged me away, both of us waving goodbye to our drink-buyers (yes, their status had changed from dancing-buddies to drink-buyers).
We stumbled out of the club letting our bouncer friend know we’d be back. We knew where the guy passing out the free coupons was and although we’d already gotten one, he’d give us another pleading ignorance.
“Your guy was too cute! I’m jealous.”
Wow… I’d managed to make her jealous. Kickass. “Yeah, and he was fun to dance with.”
We picked up our coupons from the guy whose job is to stand in the streets shoving them in everyone’s hands. He seemed bored so we struck up a conversation about the rain and some techno song he liked. He was cute and kept eyeing me. My self-esteem was getting higher by the minute.
On our way back to La Cucaracha I said “hola!” to about four different passerbys, Emmy and I talked about when we’d go to the Grill, and then we passed by a bar where a couple of Americans from our school stood on the balcony, bottles of beer in their hands.
“Jacob! Paul! Hey!” I yelled.
“Heya! What are y’all doing?” Jacob asked. His Tennessee accent was much worse than my Louisiana one, but he was super sweet and I loved hanging out with him, even though I rarely saw him outside of class.
“We’re going to La Cucaracha. Getting our dance on!” Emmy replied.
“Come on up and have a drink before you go,” he insisted.
“No money,” I said. “Gotta take a cab home.” It was partly true… I was low on cash, but probably wouldn’t spend it on a cab.
“Don’t worry about it,” Jacob answered. “We gotcha.”
I smiled and glanced at Emmy who shrugged.
“Oh come on, Emmy… yo ucan do a few minutes without dancing with all those guys. I’ll buy you a drink, too,” he coaxed.
“Fine, fine, you convinced me.” We giggled and climbed up the stairs to the bar. They met us in the entrance way, giving us a half-hug and kiss on the cheek — the Mexican way of greeting.
By the time we got back to La Cucaracha, we were barely walking straight and giggling abuot everything. We told almost everyone we passed in the streets “hola!” and even stopped a few taxi drivers just to carry on a conversation. They didn’t mind… we were too cute.
Back in the club we took our shots and danced for about thirty minutes before I finally convinced her to go to the Grill. And I think the only reason she agreed was because the guys were paying me more attention and one was sharing his drink with me. I was pretty toasted.
The walk to the Grill was amusing, considering my drunken state and hers. I was more drunk than she with having drank heavier stuff and having a lower tolerance. We still talked to random people but didn’t stop any cabs this time.
“Ooooh! Drunk call time!” I yelped when we passed a cluster of payphones. Each of us took our own. I tried to dial my calling card number but couldn’t press the right buttons. It took me three tries before I finally got through, then another four tries to get both my account and pin number right, and two to get my friend’s number. Cell phones are so much easier.
“Katie! I miss you!” I yelled.
“Holyshit! Melissa! I miss you, too! What’re you doin’?”
“I’m drunk as fuck. I’m about to go find Caesar and tell him how sexy he is.”
“Dude, you should so be here. I’m so drunk,” I repeated.
“Drink one for me!”
“You got it!” Emmy was off the phone and waiting impatiently. “I’m gone. Call ya tomorrow!” I hung up the phone and danced (yes, the same girl who hours earlier wouldn’t dance to music was now dancing in the middle of an alleyway, alone, with no music). “Vamonos!”
The Grill was definitely hopping and the bouncers didn’t give us a second look when we went inside, I almost tripping over the carpet.
“I’ve gotta find Caesar,” I told her. “And drink one for a friend. You want anything?”
“I think I’ll find someone to buy me one,” she giggled.
I giggled, too, opening the door to meet loud techno, smoke, and flashing lights. I skipped to the bar and ordered my screwdriver, thinking of my friend stuck alone in Louisiana. I gulped on my drink then found Emmy already dancing with some guys. I tried not to dance, but I was too drunk. I wanted to look for Caesar, although I was so drunk I probbaly wouldn’t recognize him.
I’d met him at the club one Saturday while I stood drunkenly near the wall watching Emmy make out with some guy. I’d told her I was going home then he approached me. We’d talked off and on all night, so it didn’t surprise me when he wanted to know if I was walking alone. It did, however, surprise me when he asked me to wait for a little while and he’d walk me home. Totally hadn’t been expecting that one. It turned out that he went to the university as a philosophy major and I just happened to go to that department to sit in on smoe classes. So we saw each other almost everyday and quickly became friends. And I had a super major crush on him, but he didn’t know it… yet.
During the middle of my dancing, I spotted him dancing alone near the stairs. I told Emmy where I was going, grabbed my drink, then shoved through the mass of people towards him.
He smiled when I finally got over there and kissed my cheek. I was so drunk that I couldn’t think or see straight.
“How are you?”
“I think you’re very handsome,” i replied. Of course, we were both talking in Spanish.
“I think you don’t need that drink,” he said, still smiling.
“I’m drinking this one for a friend. Then I’m finished.”
We danced together for a few minutes then he had to go clean off some tables or something. i was out of drink and decided to get another while he was gone. He was there when I came back, still adorable, even though he wasn’t smiling.
“I thought you were finished drinking?”
“Just this one,” I slurred.
“You don’t need anymore.”
“I have a secret to tell you.”
“A secret? What is it?” he replied, somehow managing to get the drink out of my hands.
“I like spanking,” I whispered, giggling.
“Want to know one of my secrets?”
I nodded eagerly. He bent down to my ear and whispered gently, “I do, too, and you’re definitely getting it because I’m not happy with you right now.”
I looked into his eyes after he said that, not quite sure what was happening. Had I said that? Had he said that? He patted me on the shoulder then guided me to a chair and exchanged my drink for a bottle of water. The loud music stopped and I realized they were closing. By this time the room was majorily spinning and I lay my head on the table. I wasn’t quite sure what was going on and couldn’t comprehend the voices around me. Eventually, Caesar helped me up and out of the club.
“Emmy?” I stammered.
“I told her I’d take you home.”
“No taxi money,” I replied, not even sure myself what I was saying.
I leaned onto Caesar for dear life. “Come on, let’s sit for a few minutes.”
I nodded and plopped down on a bench next to him. “I’m a little drunk,” I admitted.
“I’d say you’re a little more than ‘a little’ drunk.”
I shrugged. This wasn’t the time to get technical… and my Spanish wasn’t that great, so I just let him talk for a while. Don’t ask me what he said… if he’d been speaking in English, I still wouldn’t have known.
“Come on, here’s a cab,” he finally said, realizing there was no way I could walk all the way home.
“I got it. Don’t worry,” he said, helping me into the car.
I was glad he was there because I couldn’t even remember my address. He just rattled it off the top of his head, then instructed the driver on which turns to take and stuff.
The rest is kind of hazy. He helped me out, unlocked the house door for me and practically carried me upstairs. I idly wondered what my host parents would say if they happened to wake up, but luckily they didn’t. He put me into bed and took my shoes off.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he whispered.
I wanted to tell him that he didn’t have my number, but all that came out was a groan. next thing I knew an obnoxious noise was waking me up and it was daylight.
I moaned in an attempt to make whatever it was shut up. It didn’t work. I tried swatting at things on the nightstand next to me. Still, to no avail. I almost peeled my eyes open to see where the noise was coming from, but it finally stopped. Finally. Now for some peace and quiet… until the noise sounded again. I agitatedly opened my eyes and noticed a cell phone on my nightstand about to vibrate itself to the floor. Who had left their cell phone at my bedside? And couldn’t they wait until a reasonable hour to call me? And what kind of crappy taste in ringtones did they have…?
“Hello?” I grunted irritably.
“About time you answered. I’ve tried to call you three times already.” He was talking to me in Spanish and fast. It took me a second to realize it was Caesar.
“Your ringtone bothers me,” I replied. “What time is it?”
“It’s after two. I’d like my phone back.”
“Then why’d you leave it here?”
He paused. “Do you remember what we talked about last night?” he asked.
“Honestly? No. I don’t remember much of anything. Why?”
“Because I owe you something. I left enough money for a taxi and my address next to the phone. Do you see it?”
“Caesar, I’m still sleeping. My eyes are closed!”
“Well open them and look,” he ordered.
“I don’t wanna…”
“Trust me, you really don’t want me to come over there. It’ll be much easier on you if you come over here. I’m giving you an hour to get here. If I haven’t heard from yo uby then, you can be expecting a visit, got it?”
“Yeah, okay,” I murmured. “See you soon.” I lazily turned off the phone and glanced over to see the money money and his address scribbled down. I knew I had to go to his house because my host family wouldn’t be delighted if he came to the house. But I was so tired…
Finally I pushed myself out of bed, fresh clothes and a towel under my arm as I made my way to the shower. It was a very short shower because someone else happened to be showering elsewhere in the house and got more hot water than me. At least it woke me up.
All fresh and clean, I stumbled out of the house and made my way downtown. Taxis usually don’t congregate where I live, but luckily I found one not too far away. The driver knew the exact location in which the address was, which is comforting because I had not a clue. We made small talk about the usual stuff as he drove me down the narrow streets and around mountains. I was relieved when he finally stopped in front of a blue two story house and announced our arrival. I paid him in hopes that Caesar would give me a little more money so I could take another cab home: I had no idea where I was.
He met me outside. “There you are.”
“Here I am.”
He smiled, motioning for me to follow him inside. “My roommates are out of town for the day.”
He pushed open his front door. “You got pretty drunk last night.”
“Just a little,” I said, though the pain in my head proved otherwise.
He sat down on the couch. “You remember what happened last time you got really drunk?”
I plopped down beside him. “I met you,” I giggled.
“Exactly. And remember what I told you about drinking?”
I pondered that for a moment, coming up with nothing.
“That it’s dangerous to drink so much because anyone could find you wandering around alone and take you home with them.”
“That’s why I have you.”
“You were drunk before we even met up. Someone could’ve come after you and Emmy on your way to the Grill.”
“But they didn’t. That’s the important thing.”
He shook his head. “A couple of drinks is fine. A little tipsy is okay. Completely wasted is not. It’s dangerous. And I’m going to give you a spanking.”
I froze. So that wasn’t a dream? I’d actually told him that I liked that? “Uh… um…” I stammered. “Caesar, really, you don’t have to do that.”
“I know I don’t *have* to, but I’m going to. So get rid of your pants and panties and get over my lap.”
“Now, Melissa,” he ordered sternly.
My stomach twisted into a thousand knots. I reluctantly pushed myself off the couch. No matter how much I was into this, it didn’t help me become any less nervous. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Yes,” he answered plainly, waiting.
I fidgeted and nervously tugged at the button of my jeans, finally getting them loose and pushing them to the floor. Shortly after, my panties followed and I uncomfortably fell across his lap wondering if he’d ever done this before.
He lightly rested his palm on my bottom causing me to quiver ever so slightly. I half-expected him to continue lecturing me, but instead he started spanking. I’d never actually been spanked like this before — never as a punishment. So the first spank was much harder than I’d imagined and by the fifth I was squirming and yelping like you can’t even imagine. He was spanking really hard!
“For someone who likes spanking, you could’ve fooled me.”
“It hurts!” I replied.
“Good. Maybe you’ll remember this next time you go out drinking,” he said, still steadily spanking, concentrating on my sit spots mainly, because that’s what go tthe most reaction out of me.
“I’m sorry for drinking so much,” I whined.
“Only because you’re getting spanked.”
This was true. “I’ll be more careful next time,” I promised.
“Good, because if I catch you drinking that much again, you will not enjoy the spanking that follows. This will seem like nothing.”
I wiggled and squirmed, whining at each smack that was inflicted upon my aching backside.
“And next time I tell you that you’ve drank too much, don’t buy another drink, okay?”
“Okay, okay!” I howled. “I’ll be good, I promise! Please stop… it hurts…”
He didn’t stop, though. He kept it up until I was kicking and crying like a two year old. Then he picked me up and scooped me into his arms, kissing the top of my head.
“I’m sorry,” I murmured.
He held me tightly. “Don’t worry about it. Just don’t ever drink that much again, okay?”
I sniffled, nodding. As if my headache hadn’t been bad enough, now I had to deal with the pain in my backside, too!