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 Córdoba, 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.
It was nearly one when I arrived back home. At that time of the morning, we'd normally either be fucking or sleeping, but all three were waiting for me in the main room. They'd been apprehensive over my mental wellbeing and appeared to be genuinely relieved that I'd made peace with myself. When they realized they weren't going to have to put me on a suicide watch so I didn't drown myself in the pool, they wanted all the sordid details.
I'd been gone a bit over three hours. I calculated we'd spent about an hour driving there and back, plus the hour or so we waited in the car for Madam Lash's client to leave, which meant I'd probably spent approximately an hour inside the house. I guessed about forty-five minutes of that was us role playing and me actually fucking Lola, while the remainder had been me pumping her for information.
The ordeal hadn't been as appalling as I'd imagined it would be, and the sex hadn't been as rough as it sometimes got in my contests or with Beth. Other than her probably having a few bruises from fucking on the floor, I suspected that my own light bruising, and the scratches on my chest and back, were the only battle scars of our confrontation.
I might have fucked Lola for only forty-five minutes, but I'd spent over an hour in the retelling. I told the story the same as I'd told it to Valencia, but in far greater detail. Though I included the part that I was a PFM agent, I led them to believe that the questions were only about her and Berto.
They'd razzed me over her ripping off my shirt, heckled me that I'd made her come so hard she'd dug furrows in my back, and expressed amazement over the incident in the closet with the gun. I left out entirely the pause as I questioned her after she was disarmed, letting them think I was actually fucking her while we fought over the gun.
When all their questions had been answered, Marta took me to her room where she fucked the
shit
out of me as we reenacted the parts she found most exciting, except on the bed for comfort, and substituting her vibrator for a gun. We came the first time when I was pumping her aggressively for information about her shadowy contact. Our second time was about twenty minutes later as we engaged in a long and hard-fought battle over the 'gun,' though the only shooting that happened was my essence into her channel.
"We're all here. I wonder what's taking so long?" Marta grumbled, pulling my thoughts back to the present.
Despite the breeze from the fans, it wasn't cool, and I was beginning to sweat. As we seemed to always be the last to arrive, the games typically started soon after our arrival, but that wasn't the case today. We'd been standing around for at least a half hour, maybe a little longer, though until Marta's comment, I hadn't realized the delay was unusual. Finally, after another ten- or fifteen-minute wait, the gate to the secret garden opened. We watched as the guests filed past us. I smiled and nodded at my fan, and then smiled more broadly when Lola passed. She noticed me standing to the side at the last moment, gracing me with an air kiss and a beaming smile as she continued into the garden to make room for others to enter behind her.
"That's her," I whispered into Gregorio's ear with a nod as Lola moved away. He bobbed his head in acknowledgement.
The four principals entered last and took their seats in the reserved chairs, Valencia giving me an odd look as she passed that made me wonder what I'd done.
"Guests," Pico said as he paused to stand in the center of the large grass square. "I'd like to thank each of you for attending today." He looked up and smiled at the bright blue sky. "Today is a perfect day for some competitive fucking." After a brief pause he continued. "Competitors... if you please," he said before taking his seat.
The event followed the same pattern, with us undressing before we mingled with the guests. My fan had selected a seat as near the entrance as possible, and I again asked her to hold my clothes. We mixed and mingled as we were caressed and stroked, with Lola kissing the tip of my cock as I began moving away from her.
After giving the guests plenty of time to fondle and caress us, Pico rose from his chair and walked back to the center of the grassy area. Bautista Pico was the tallest of the principals, but he was painfully thin, and his skin had a slight jaundice cast. His voice was still clear and strong, but he was beginning to look like warmed over death. During the drive, Marta had told me she thought Pico had pancreatic cancer, and that he'd lost a lot of weight in the past several months. I was no oncologist, but I'd absorbed enough medical knowledge while in school that seeing him, I agreed with her diagnoses. While not necessarily fatal, I knew the survival rate of pancreatic cancer was very low and I wondered what Pico's death would mean to Toro's empire, and if there was anyway the DEA could use his death to get to Voice.
