Chapter 22

Mrs. Garcia lay on the stage’s wood floor, on her side, curled up and hugging her knees to her chest, rocking back and forth. After a dozen men had fucked her, her listless body had slid off the chair when the last one pulled out and backed away. More men wanted a go at her, but Marco put a stop to it saying she needed to rest. He didn’t care if she was in pain. After what her husband had done she deserved it. But she had been no more than a ragdoll when the last man had abused her. Marco wanted her to be conscious. Alert. To know what was happening to her. She was getting close to that zombie-like state that made a woman useless. He wanted her to suffer for a long time, not just one night.

Marco scanned the room. The men were either naked or partially nude. Most of the women’s miniskirts were off. The ones that weren’t were tangled at their waists. Some of their fishnets were rolled partway down. A few were torn. They probably had all been fucked more than once and he was sure his guests had found inventive ways to use them. They looked drained and were moving slower than when the night began. A man slapped one woman’s bare butt. She took off and sprinted to the bar.

One woman lay on her back with another woman on top of her in the opposite direction, resting on her forearms and knees, sitting on the prone woman’s face. Their tongues were busy in each other’s pussy. One white and one black. Naked men stood over them leering and fisting their dicks.

Not far away, another woman was on her hands and knees. A man sat in front of her with his cock inside her mouth. Another man was behind her, leaning on her back with his hands gripping her shoulders as his hips rocked back and forth. Marco couldn’t tell he was fucking her ass or pussy. He didn’t care. The woman’s job was to keep his guests happy.

Most men had collapsed from the orgy and were sitting in chairs or on the couches. Some sprawled on the floor. Most alone, but a few had women sucking their dicks. One woman was slumped in a corner, her face and chest splattered with semen. A man grabbed her ankle and dragged her to a group of waiting men.

Marco waited until the two men in the threesome finished before climbing back onto the stage. He clapped his hands and watched his guests until he had everyone’s attention. The black woman on top of the other woman looked up from the pussy she was licking. She rolled off the white woman.

“I hope you all enjoyed the evening so far,” Marco said.

There was a round of applause and people shouting out their thanks.

“For those of you who’ve been here before, you know there’s one more activity. The main event. I hope you’ve saved some strength for it.”

One man sitting on the couch with a Mexican woman on her knees between his spread legs grabbed a lock of her black hair and yanked her head back, pulling her mouth off his dick. “You heard the man. Go get me a tequila.”

Marco waited for her to stand up and walk toward the bar. “As I was saying, it’s the main event and what we’re celebrating. But since there are new people here, you first have to listen to my story.” He paused and chuckled. “After all, I’m supplying the booze and broads.”

Laughter filled the room.

Marco was about to sit on the chair Mrs. Garcia had vacated when he noticed the pool of semen. He kicked the chair. It toppled over and skidded off the stage. Marco dragged another one onto the stage and sat down facing his guests.

“I grew up poor and had to steal to survive. My life really sucked. Many of you shared the same kind of childhood so you know what I’m talking about.”

Marco paused with lowered eyes before looking back up. “And then I met Sister María Guadalupe. She was a saint. She was the first person, the only person, to treat me with kindness. It almost changed my life. Almost.

“She even had me believing in God and attending church. She told me that God was there for me. That He would look after me. Sister María Guadalupe and I chatted for hours at a time. I trusted her with my life.

“But I needed to eat and God wasn’t looking out for me. My grumbling belly was a daily reminder of that. My father was a worthless piece of shit who was drunk all the time so it was up to me to put food on the table. No one would hire me so I had to steal. My mother cooked what little I brought home, but she never acknowledged what I did for the family. She wasn’t a loving mother. I don’t even remember her ever holding me.

“But Sister María Guadalupe was different. She held me. She was young and beautiful, but I didn’t see her that way. I respected her. I felt safe in her arms. It sounds stupid now, but that fifteen-year-old boy believed God was too busy to look out for him directly so he sent Sister María Guadalupe.

“During our chats, I told Sister María Guadalupe that I had to steal. She said it was a sin. I told her my family had to eat. She said it was still wrong and that I should confess it to the priest. The only one I trusted was Sister María Guadalupe so I never did that. Since God had sent her to look out for me, telling her of my sin would get me to heaven.”

Murmuring in the room caused Marco to pause. He waited for it to die down.

“I know it sounds stupid, but that’s what I thought. I was a naïve kid. Look what my life was like. My asshole father knocked me and my mother around. I didn’t trust him. My mother never stood up for me so I didn’t trust her. When I gave her money or food she took it and walked away. Never even a thank you. The only love I felt was from Sister María Guadalupe. She was the only one I trusted.

“One day I got home from school and found my mother curled up on the floor in the kitchen crying. Bleeding from the mouth. Her eyes black. My father was standing over her. He was drunk as usual. I asked him what happened. He said there was nothing to eat and blamed it on my mother. To this day I don’t know if he even knew I was the one who put the food on the table. But he blamed my mother when it wasn’t there.