The Long Day of Revenge (9 page)

How De La Torre had found this spot was anyone’s guess, but he was quick to recommend it to others when in Nogales. He wondered, since they were performing together the next day, if he was himself going there for some form of session. If not, he was surely on Canal Street with the true whores, rather than the specialists here. It was hoped he used a condom.

Manolo found the two story house and rang the doorbell, wondering how many rooms were on the inside.

No answer came.

There was still time to turn back.

The devil made him ring the bell again, and this time a woman answered. She was clearly not one of the working girls, but an overseer who ran the show. To call her a madam seemed inappropriate, for this was not a simple place for the horny to buy a piece of ass.

“I am Eva,” she announced. “You are here for the eight o’clock appointment?”

Manolo nodded and flicked his cigar into the street.

“My friend De La Torre has advised you of my preferences?”

The woman nodded.

“We have the correct girl for you. I will make the introduction in a moment. But…”

Manolo reached into his back pocket and pulled out a folded envelope full of money. As he handed it to the proprietor and she inspected the contents, it was obvious the sum was sufficient.

“Close the door behind you and wait for a moment. I will introduce you to your partner. You have three hours.”

The woman disappeared up a flight of stairs, leaving the matador to wait in what was evidently a sitting room. He did not, however, wish to sit. Instead, his eyes darted about the room, where he saw among other things, a set of framed bullfighting posters. One bore the names of Rodolfo Gaona and Juan Belmonte, dating back to 1917. Both men he recognized as legends from long ago in the profession, but there was no way they could have been customers. The house was not that old.

Another poster bore the name of De La Torre. This was more contemporary, and he was not surprised the matador had even signed it.

“Meet Esmeralda.”

The proprietor had ushered down an olive skinned beauty with raven black hair, who stared emotionlessly at him.

“Good?” the proprietor asked.

Manolo nodded and approached the woman, who had extended her hand to usher him up the stairs. She was wearing only a robe.

“The first room to your right,” Esmeralda informed him and pointed toward the door.

Once inside, he saw there was very little furnishing. There was a single bed, a dresser, and a second door leading into what must have been a bathroom.

“A massage comes with this,” she offered. “So take off all your clothes yourself and lie on your stomach, if that is what you wish to start things.”

“Fine,” the matador answered.

As he removed his own clothes, he watched Esmeralda primping herself in the mirror by the dresser. The motions were designed simply to kill time until he was nude and lying on the bed.

“Do you prefer powder or lotion?” she asked.

“Neither,” came the reply. “Just use your hand. That will be great.”

Esmeralda opened the robe to expose her full frontal form for his approval. As he anticipated, she wore nothing underneath.

Her skin was darker than Lucinda’s, and so were her pubic hairs. Her nipples were darker and larger than those of his wife as well.

“You have been briefed on my preferences?” he asked.

The girl nodded.

“Everything is in order. It is just that a massage comes with this. If you would rather skip it that is up to you.”

“No. I need to release my stress. I have a lot to do.”

“I know who you are,” she responded. “I saw you in Nogales last year with Carlos Corbatin. I knew of you since that goring you took at that one ranch. You’re famous.”

Manolo frowned.

“Don’t worry. Lots of famous people come here.”

Esmeralda grinned and knelt by the bed, rubbing her hands against his back. Her fingers felt soothing.

“All kinds come here, because we know how to be discrete, and we know how to service special needs. Everything is confidential.”

In his mind, he wondered what De La Torre liked to do. Was he a fan of spankings also, or perhaps he liked to be on the receiving end? Did he like to dress up in nylons and wiggle and shake in front of a mirror while one of the women from Casa De Campo fingered herself? Did he like to be pissed on or watch while two women did it with each other? It was hard telling, and he knew better than to ask. Confidentiality was the rule of the evening.

“Are you coming to the bullfight tomorrow?” he queried.

The girl continued to rub his back, drifting slowly downward to his buttocks and legs.

“I am planning on it. I missed the last two bullfights here because I had appointments. Business first, you know.”

“So we have three hours to do whatever we want?”

Again, the girl nodded.

“Anything and everything.”

Manolo sighed as the girl worked down to his ankles and his feet.

“I’m not sure about sex. I am, after all, a married man. I would feel kind of funny, but there are some things she won’t do or doesn’t like to do. There are certain things that interest me.”

“I know what those things are, and I am skilled in them,” she again replied. “Everything has been arranged for you.”

Manolo shut his eyes, no longer concerned over his image or whether the woman he was with would be willing to comply with the most unusual of requests he might make. He thought of the bulls to be fought the following afternoon. They were waiting in the corrals now. Horned death beneath the moonlight.

He would fight and kill the bulls like always; wishing one of them would be Gaditano. The long day of revenge was coming. Each week and each month brought the two of them closer to their destiny, but that would take time and planning. He had done both.

De La Torre was thinking of retirement. How then would he be able to break away from his own wife and come to the Casa De Campo? Once he said farewell to the bulls, it would be difficult for him to justify trips to Nogales from his home far in the interior in Guadalajara.

“The long day of revenge is coming,” he whispered carelessly.

“What?”

Manolo caught himself, but the cat was out of the bag.

“That calf that gored me in Hermosillo on the ranch. I asked the bull breeder to save him for me. One day I plan to fight him and kill him. The time is coming where he will be a full grown toro bravo and I, now being a matador de toros, will do to him what he tried to do to me and failed.”

“You hold a vendetta against a bull?” Esmeralda marveled. “I have known several matadors, but none have ever made what they do personal.”

“With this bull, it is personal.”

Esmeralda was working her way back up his legs.

“This bull is something different from the norm. I swear, he thinks like a human. I swear he feels as much hatred for me as I do for him. I visited the ranch yesterday, before coming up to Nogales. Don Eliseo and I went out into the country, and from our jeep I saw him. He has grown, you know! He looked at me and recognized me from before. He has not forgotten me, and I, of course, have not forgotten him. When I roll over, you will see what he gave me to remember him by.”

“All bullfighters have their scars,” Esmeralda shrugged as she continued to rub. She was working on his back now. “That’s part of the risk.”

“We have all kinds of stories,” he went on. “You know, long before, there was a bullfighter named Andres Blando. He spent over two decades in front of the bulls and was never gored. Then he did a retirement fight in Tijuana and killed both his bulls. His work was done and he had escaped unhurt, but then with another matador’s bull, he stepped out to do some cape work and he was gored in the leg. It didn’t kill him, but even he didn’t leave this trade unmarked.”

Esmeralda again frowned.

“Isn’t it discomforting to talk of horn wounds before a bullfight? Doesn’t it bother you?”

Manolo sighed again, not from any tedium in the conversation, but the relief he was getting from the magic fingers. While he loved Lucinda, this new girl was good at what she did.

“Nothing bothers me anymore. In fact, my wife says I have two emotions, calm and angry. I love her very much, but she doesn’t truly understand my needs. She doesn’t like some of the things I want to do, and she doesn’t understand why I want to kill one particular bull so badly. The first is hard to explain, but the second is easy to understand. Gaditano had his chance and failed. I will not. That little prick nearly ended my career before it could start. I hate him and I will destroy him. I will turn him into a slice of beef and eat him myself.”

It was then Manolo decided to switch topics. An image of Lucinda had come to mind and with it a touch of guilt.

“You know, I wonder what my wife is doing right now. For all I know, she is doing the exact same thing I am doing now.”

“Getting a massage from a woman?” Esmeralda questioned.

Both laughed at that.

Closing his eyes once more, Manolo absorbed the manipulations as the two hands caressed his body. Beneath, he felt himself stiffening as well. For the moment, he said nothing more, trying to clear his mind. He should have perhaps been thinking of Lucinda and feeling guilty, but instead, images of Gaditano came to mind. He hated that bull more than anyone or anything in his life. Perhaps his wife was right, and he was going mad.

“Are you ready to roll over?” Lucinda asked.

“Sure.”

As he turned, his erection was ramrod straight and Esmeralda noticed this with a satisfied grin. It was then she fell upon the huge scar where Gaditano had done his handiwork.

“Try to relax,” she whispered. “If that thing spurts, I am used to it. If it spurts, it spurts. If it doesn’t, I can help you, if you want.”

Her hands caressed his chest, and as they did, his erection twitched further, as if it had a life of its own.

“Would you like me to skip the rest of the massage for now and fix that?”

Out of control, Manolo nodded.

Esmeralda slid her hands down his body, caressing the horn scar before going right to his prick.

With her tongue, she gave one lick against the shaft, which provoked a low moan from the recipient.

“You can get as loud as you want,” she informed him.

“Okay.”

Esmeralda took the tip in her mouth.

All thought of impropriety were thrown out the window. Ideas of a mere spanking session but no sex were as dead as tomorrow’s bulls would be.

“My wife won’t do this,” Manolo complained. “This is what I have wanted, but it wasn’t what I intended to ask for here.”

Esmeralda lifted her head off the pulsating organ and smiled.

“That’s what we are here for, and everything is discreet.”

Once more, her mouth went down on the quivering cock.

“Would you like to eat me too?”

“I swore I would just do spanking and no sex,” Manolo countered. “But we’ve gone this far.”

Without a word, Esmeralda climbed on top of him, placing her knees by his shoulders and moving forward. Her breasts pressed against his stomach, and her mouth was again angled toward the ever-growing prick, while her own beaver faced him.

Manolo jerked in satisfaction and inserted his tongue.

Together they started to move, making only muffled moans, for their mouths were full.

Manolo felt the fresh, damp stickiness coming from Esmeralda’s open cunt, but this sensation was surpassed by another feeling, far more intense.

No longer gentle, but driven with lust, he drove his organ into Esmeralda’s mouth. She gobbled upon it hungrily and he exploded within, sending what seemed to be a wave of hot juices into her throat. She actually swallowed.

They had climaxed together and for whatever it was worth, the joint orgasm was greater than any Manolo had experienced as a married man.

Silently, Esmeralda rolled off of him, arose and headed toward the bathroom, most likely to rinse out her mouth and brush her teeth. As the door shut behind her, he waited, exhausted and drained. There was, however, a lot more time and other things to do. After all, Esmeralda was bought and paid for.

“If only Lucinda would be like this,” he piped out, addressing the walls of the empty room.

Esmeralda would have let him call her Lucinda if she was ordered to do so, but there was no point in it. After tonight, he would not see this girl again.

“That was nice,” he said aloud. “When you’re back here, I’ll tell you what we’re going to do next.”

The bathroom door opened, and Esmeralda came out with a hot washcloth.

“This will make you better,” she whispered.

Like an obedient slave, she washed both his organ and his face. As she leaned forward, he could tell she’d gargled as well.

“They told you I like to spank people?” he asked.

Esmeralda nodded.

“Did they tell you I like to be spanked?”

“I assumed. Hard on the ass, isn’t it?”

The girl shrugged as she took the washcloth back to the bathroom.

“Sometimes I need a day or two off afterward. That’s part of the job.”

“The hours are good, and so are the wages,” Manolo offered. “Safer than fighting a bull.”

Again, Esmeralda had disappeared and reappeared from the bathroom. Kneeling by the bed, she examined his limp member and the horn wound scar.

“We’ll get that thing hard again in no time. We still have a long time to go.”

Manolo agreed.

Without being asked, Esmeralda climbed back onto the bed next to him, with a leg over his own, so her wiry pussy hairs pressed against his side.

“How do you like to do it? What do you want me to do next?”

“It’s time for your spanking,” he announced.

Still unmoved, Esmeralda complied.

“Do you want to do it with your hand, or do you want to paddle me? I have a little paddle I like.”

“The paddle,” Manolo answered. “Let’s use the paddle.”

“In the dresser. I’ll go get it. Tell me how bad I’ve been.”

For a man who had just orgasmed, Manolo showed amazing resilience. As Esmeralda rolled off of him and went to the dresser, he sat up and sounded as cross as he could.