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 fuck 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 pussy 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.
“Dios mio,” someone mutters. “This girl, she is stunning. We should have her, my love.” I glance around, trying to see who spoke, but the crush of Fernando’s guests is pure chaos. I see who they’re talking about, though: Natalia is walking hesitantly down the staircase, her hands pressed flat against her sides, and she looks like she wants to about-face and run back to her room. She’s so incredibly beautiful. Instead of being dressed in white or black, she’s wearing a sheer green silk dress that hits the floor, cut low so that her breasts are almost on display. It’s backless, and hugs her slender figure, accentuating her curves. Her hair has been curled and shimmers as she moves, caramel shot through with spun gold. Her lips are a shock of crimson, complimenting the tan of her skin perfectly. She is the only splash of color in a monochrome world, and she is breathtaking. Men stop what they’re doing as she descends the stairs. Women, too. Her arrival is enough to bring the party to a screeching halt.