Vice(68)
I hadn’t even thought about that. Fernando announced the party three days ago, and all of these people have somehow managed to get here in time. These are the top one percent, though, the richest of the rich. They don’t have jobs to attend, and it’s unlikely they have families to care for, either. They probably all have private jets they can fuel up and fly off in whenever the f*ck they want.
“I am pleased to see some familiar faces here this evening. I’m equally as pleased to be meeting many of you for the very first time. For those of you who are new to my household, please note, you are welcome to participate in any kind of sexual activity with my friends in white. All that I ask is that you are respectful and make sure you are not jumping the line ahead of another of my guests. We are all gentlemen and gentlewomen here at the Villalobos estate, and my friends are happy to accommodate all of you. They will be taking regular showers as the night progresses in order to maintain the height of cleanliness. All of the women in white are on birth control, so please feel free to ejaculate where you wish. Similarly, all of the men in white have had surgical procedures to ensure they are not capable of fathering children. If you would like for them to complete inside you, all you have to do is ask.”
I feel like I have razor blades underneath my f*cking skin. He has to be f*cking joking. He’s not only doping the Servicio, but he’s got the women on birth control? I suppose they’re no good to him if they get knocked up. And the guys have all had vasectomies? I’m itching to lose my shit. I’ve never been so furious in my entire life. This, from the man who happily discards dead bodies in open graves for the animals to pick over, though. Should I have expected anything more? Bile rises up the back of my throat, leaving a sour, acidic, bitter taste in my mouth.
This will all be over soon.
This will all be over soon.
This will all be over soon.
I have to repeat it over and over in my head, otherwise I’m not going to be able to keep a lid on my temper. I try to tune out, then. Try not to see anything, or hear anything, but it’s pretty impossible. The crowd is swarming around the bottom of the stairs now that the Servicio have arrived, and it’s like a f*cking meat market, people dressed in black, arguing passive aggressively over the people dressed in white. Plato smiles blandly as three people try to talk to him at once, trying to get him to go with them. The girl he was holding hands with laughs strangely as a guy with full sleeve tattoos and a nose piercing picks her up and throws her over his shoulder, like she’s a sack of potatoes. Three other men join him as he carries her through one of the reception room doorways off of the foyer.
There’s no screaming. There are no objections. There is only mild indifference, and the empty, vacant eyes of the Servicio as they are led off one by one by excited, assertive guests.
The couple who were discussing who they would like to play with a moment ago has secured the woman they were admiring, and the guy is making out with her, jamming his tongue into her mouth, cupping the back of her head in his hand as his partner in crime helps herself to a ridiculous amount of cocaine from a shiny metal bowl being held by one of the regular servants. She must deal about ten thousand dollars’ worth of blow out onto a large, flat mirrored tray. The servant hands her two metallic looking straws, bows, and then he walks away, handing someone else a similar mirrored tray, and similar metal straws.
To my right, two men are caressing and stroking another of the women in white. One licks and bites at her neck, while the other undoes the ties at her shoulders that are keeping her dress up, folding down the material to expose her breasts. Both of her nipples are pierced, which seems to excite the guy undressing her. He undoes the top button of his shirt, and then ducks down, taking one of her pink, peaked nipples into his mouth, running his tongue around her areola while kneading and squeezing her other breast.
In front of me, through the ever-shifting sea of people milling around, simply talking, I can see a guy sitting on one of the plush white couches, with a woman on her knees, blowing him while another guy watches. He has his dick in his hand, and he’s slowly stroking it up and down. None of them are part of the Servicio this time. They are all willing participants in what they’re doing. The girl on her knees blowing the first guy pauses in her attentions, grinning up at the guy. She takes his hand, and slowly, cautiously moves it so that he’s touching the other guy’s cock. I can read this moment like a book. The guys know each other. Maybe they’re friends. This is the first time either one of them has had any interaction with another guy, and neither one of them knows how the f*ck to react. The girl strokes one of the guy’s faces, and then the other, guiding them together so that their mouths meet in front of her.
They don’t kiss at first. They both freeze, chests rising and falling, but slowly they begin to come to life. The girl sits back on her heels as the two men begin to tentatively make out. It’s not long before the first guy is running his hand up and down the other guy’s hard cock, and his friend is rocking his hips upward, thrusting into his hand.
The scene is like something from Dante’s Inferno. People are exposed everywhere, men and women alike. As the minutes pass by, barely anyone is wearing any clothes and it’s not so easy to pick out the Servicio from the guests. Only when they open their eyes can I tell them apart.
I see Plato through an open doorway, leading through to what looks like a Bedouin tent—there are white silks hanging from the ceiling, and huge, white satin cushions scattered all over the floor—and a group of people are lounging around, watching him. His hands are all over a naked woman, who appears to be a guest. He touches her everywhere, his fingers teasing lightly over her breasts, her stomach, down her sides, between her legs. She’s gripped in ecstasy, though Plato doesn’t seem to be sharing her enjoyment. His dick is rigid, rubbing up against her * as he leans up, stroking the woman’s body. I doubt his cock is that way because he’s into what he’s doing. The cocktail in his system must be considerable—he’s definitely been dosed with Viagra, heroin, and god knows what else. Once again our eyes meet across the bustling space, and he doesn’t react. It’s as though he’s looking right through me.