EIGHTEEN
Grudge Match
After more than four hours on the road, our motorcade pulled to a stop inside Bautista Pico's compound, located in Las Arroyo, not far from Poza Rica. It hadn't escaped my notice that Voice's compound was located nearly in the center of the State of Veracruz, with his three lieutenants located at the extreme edges north, south, and west of him. The State of Veracruz wasn't very wide, with the one hundred or so kilometers from Veracruz to Diego Garcia's compound outside Cรณrdoba, very nearly its widest point. Though narrow, the state snaked along the Gulf of Mexico from just south of Tampico to the north, to just south of Coatzacoalcos in the south, a distance of over seven hundred kilometers, and it appeared that Voice, through his subordinates, controlled it all.
We were led through a side gate into a large walled garden filled with massive, raised planting beds, overhanging trees, and beautiful stonework. The garden was almost jungle-like, filled with birds, fountains, and large trees that shaded the stone patio undulating between the beds. We were led through the landscape to another gate in the back wall that opened into a much smaller walled courtyard. Extending from the walls on all four sides of this much smaller garden was a narrow roof of wood and clay tile over a slate floor. Comfortable looking wicker chairs, with matching tables sandwiched between every two, filled the area beneath slowly spinning fans. As I'd seen twice before, opposite the gate we'd just entered, four chairs were set well apart from the others, each with a wide red ribbon draped over its back.
Immediately to the left and right of the entrance, also covered by the roof, were outdoor showers. Seeing the showers, I recalled that in addition to Pico having us fuck outside in the grass, he was also the one that liked seeing the competitors covered in dirt, oil, and other stuff.
I did some quick counting. Twenty chairs to a side, less a few where the principals sat, and a few more to make room for the gate and showers, there were probably between sixty-five and seventy chairs available for guests. The number of guests seemed to be relatively consistent, and I wondered if each principal could invite twenty people to their games. That was more than the available chairs, but maybe the host invited twenty, and the remaining men invited a few less.
Unlike the stone paving in the primary garden, here the guest area surrounded a yard so lush it must rival any lawn in the world. The grass was separated from the slate flooring by a sensually curving bed of buff colored, rounded, fist sized stones. The light-colored rocks made the grass seem impossibly dark green, and it was so evenly cut, it looked more like a carpet than any growing thing. I stepped into the grass and crouched, running my fingers through the sod to verify it was real grass, and not some type of artificial turf. While it wasn't as springy as the wrestling mats at Martos' and Garcia's games, and certainly not as soft as the padded floor in Voice's fuck room, it was amazingly dense and soft, and would be the envy of any homeowner in the world. I rose and rejoined my teammates in the shade of the roof.
Like every other time, we were the last to arrive at the games, and we took up station next to the entrance, enjoying the gentle breeze from the fans. The other three walls had already been claimed by the other teams, and they were likewise enjoying the shade and fans.
"Check out the televisions," Gregorio murmured.
"Huh," Marta grunted. "That's new since the last time."
Behind the chairs, mounted on the walls, were huge televisions that were at least as large as the one in our home. Each wall was divided into thirds, the two screens equidistant from the ends and each other.
"You suppose he put them in because everyone had to stand around the pool in the sun to see the last time?" Teresa asked.
"Maybe," Gregorio allowed as he looked around. "I don't see any cameras, though."
"Maybe he hasn't installed them yet?" Teresa suggested.
"Maybe," Gregorio agreed again.
Marta snickered. "Live fucking on the big screen. That'd be new."
"Sounds kind of sexy though," Teresa added. "If that's what they're for, I wonder if we can get a copy?"
"You want one?" Marta asked.
"Maybe. I'd like to have a copy of us when we were fucking in the gelatin."
"You still talking about that?" Gregorio teased.
"Oh yeah..." she purred. "That was hot as
fuck
!"
"Check these out," I said, stepping to one of the tables positioned between two chairs. In front of it was a woven basket as large as the table, and nearly as tall. I reached in and pulled out what appeared to be a water balloon filled to fit comfortably in my hand. "What are these?" I asked as I held one up for their inspection.
They joined me and we peered into the basket. There had to be hundreds of the baseball sized objects inside. I sloshed the one in my hand as I glanced around. There was no doubt it contained liquid, and there was a basket the same as this one sitting in front of every table.
"Beats me," Gregorio said. "First time for those, too."
"Maybe we're having a water balloon fight," I suggested.
"A what?" Teresa asked.
"A water balloon fight. You know, where you fill balloons with water and throw them at each other?" The three glanced between themselves. "Come on! You never had a water balloon fight when you were kids?" When they began shaking their heads, I grinned. "Then you haven't lived. If that's not what we're doing, then when we get home, we'll get some balloons and have one."
"Okay," Teresa agreed with a bright smile. "Sounds like fun!"
As we stood talking, waiting for the guests to arrive, I realized again how much I enjoyed my housemates' company. Not only was I having the best sex of my life every night, but they were also fun to be around. I supposed they could be fun loving and carefree when everything was taken care of for us, and all we had to do was spend a couple of hours fucking our brains out once a month, but that didn't change the fact I cared about them, and I think they cared about me as well. Despite them not understanding why I was troubled over my assignment, they'd demonstrated their concern for me when I'd returned.