It had been a long two days.

My Black friend Jerry and I had decided to take a trip to Cancun between high school and college. It was going to be a nice break between studies and, since the drinking age in Mexico was 18, we looked forward to having a good time.

After arrival, we checked into our hotel room and, within only a few minutes, there was a pounding at the door.

It was the local Policia and they had a search warrant to search our room. We were seriously confused, but they came in and began searching.

In the bathroom, behind the sink, they found a ‘crack pipe’. Of course, we didn’t bring it and hadn’t been in the room long enough to have hidden it, but, before we knew it, we were in handcuffs heading for the police station.

I had never imagined such a quick arrest, trial, and sentencing. They assigned us a Mexican lawyer who barely spoke English and our ‘trial’ was held entirely in Spanish, which neither of us understood. The whole process lasted maybe 1/2 hour.

When it was over, our ‘lawyer’, in broken English, told us that we had been convicted of having drug paraphernalia and have each been sentenced to 12 strokes of the cane and six months in prison.

There was also a guy from the US consulate there who told us, in confidence, that the corrupt legal system in Mexico periodically sentenced ‘fresh meat’ to keep the prison gangs entertained since the gangs ran the prisons in Mexico. He said there wasn’t anything to be done about it, but to be careful, while in prison, to do EXACTLY as we were told by the prisoners. Do that, and we would survive the six months.

Things were a blur after that. The quick trial, then a long ride in the back of a prison van with several others. There were no windows, so we had no clue where the prison was.

Inside the prison, I was stripped and restrained, bent over, face down, with my legs wide-spread, to a bench in the prison yard; it was on some kind of elevated stage and surrounded by prisoners and guards.

A fire erupted on the top of my ass, right near where the crack began. It felt like a hot poker had been applied across my butt cheeks. I struggled against the restraints, but could not get away.

After my head cleared from the first stroke, I saw all the prisoners standing around, watching my torment, and cheering. There were two caning benches on the stage; I was on one and Jerry was on the other one. I could feel the skin on my ass was stretched tight with a stripe of pain across it.

A loud yell to my left and I knew Jerry had gotten his first stroke.

Now, it was my turn again.

The guard doing the caning looked like a body builder with muscles on top of his muscles. The cane was about five feet long and maybe 3/4 inch in diameter. I could only imagine; then, ‘tap’ ‘tap’ on my ass and a loud hiss as the cane flew through the air and landed at the base of my cheeks, where they met the thighs, the ‘sit spot’.

I didn’t have to imagine any more. Another stripe of fire erupted and I yelled loudly followed by a cheer from the crowd. They were sure enjoying this.

And so it went. Me, then Jerry, back and forth. The first two strokes marked the top and bottom of my ass and the rest filled in the space in between. I felt blood trickling down my leg. Both of us were a sobbing mess; my ass had never been roasted like that.

When it was over, we were sent to the cell block where, although there were individual cells, all of the doors were open and the inmates roamed freely. The guards stayed on the outside. They cared little about what went on inside the prison; their only job was to keep prisoners from getting out.

I was lying on the floor, naked, curled up in the fetal position. My ass was a mass of fire and itching that I couldn’t get to stop. Across the room was Jerry, also naked. He was on his stomach; I watched as his ass clenched and unclenched, trying to relieve the results of his caning.

The biggest Mexican I had ever seen in my life walked up to me; he had a half dozen other men behind him. Luckily, he spoke English.

“Well there boy, I see you and your friend got your asses torn up. That’s what happens when you break the law here. It looks like your friend is in a lot of pain. Why don’t you go over and make him feel better with a nice blow job.”

It was an order, not a question.

I started to say, “But, I’m not...,” when all I saw is a flash of brown as he slapped me so hard it caused me to see stars. I shook my head and remembered what I had been told. I went over to Jerry and gently rolled him on his side. He had a substantial cock; it was uncut, black as coal, and around six inches long, soft.