Real Estate Games Pt. 06

8400 Southern Border

Mark was still trying to maintain a low profile, even though some of his latest antics were sure to spread rumors. We avoided being seen in public places together which made eating out extremely difficult. Not wanting to invade yet another client's refrigerator, I suggested we go to a small Mexican restaurant for lunch.

"Why would this place be safe?" he asked. "Don't the high and mighty of Merryville eat Mexican food?"

"I'm sure they do. But not where I'm taking you. We'll be the only Gringos there and none of the city council members speak Spanish."

We pulled up to 'Juan's' just after noon. The small parking lot was crowded with rusty pickup trucks and work vans. Juan's customers were mostly construction workers and landscapers, people who worked with their hands and backs for a living. My dress and Mark's slacks made us feel conspicuously overdressed when compared to the other patrons, not to mention our pale complexions. But when Juan greeted me by name as I walked in the door, two men scooted their chairs to the other end of the long single table, making room for us to sit.

"Does 'Janis' mean 'big breasted blonde' in Spanish?" he asked. "Or are you a regular?"

"At least once a week," I answered. "Best tacos in town. And who can refuse a two-dollar Corona?"

"I certainly can't. Why don't you order for the both of us?" Mark turned his attention to his smart phone while I told Juan what we wanted. Mark was still heads down in cyber space when Juan brought our drinks. Rather than interrupt whatever it was that made him ignore me, I sipped my cerveza and listened in on our table mates' conversations.

Yes. I speak Spanish. Fluently. Thanks to a Puerto Rican nanny when I was a child. But I don't brag about it. I'm not that woman who goes into a Mexican restaurant and orders in Spanish just so people know how talented she is. Just the opposite. I only use my bilingual skill when it is absolutely essential, when I need to communicate with people who don't speak English. Not because I'm embarrassed by my Puerto Rican accent or I'm trying to force the Spanish American population to learn English. It's my ace in the hole.

Sometimes, pretending to not understand what is said around you can have its advantages. Take the three lawn maintenance workers sitting next to us.

"We've got the house on Southern Border next," the lead man told him compadres in Spanish.

"Is that the one where the mujer with the big tits sits by the pool to tease us?"

"Si, and the sun is out today."

"I hope she is wearing the pink bikini," the third worker said. "Last month, when she turned over to get sun on her back, you could see all of her ass."

"All of it?"

"Everything except for a piece of string down her butt crack."

"Do you think she does it on purpose?"

"She has to. If she didn't want us to look, she'd go inside, like all the other women."

"Enjoy it while you can," the lead man said. "There's a for sale sign in the front yard. The next owner will probably be an old hag."

Good chance the Mexicans wouldn't have had that conversation if they knew I understood everything they said. Not that the location of an exhibitionist sunbather was valuable information, but if they had mentioned somebody who needed a realtor, I would have been all over it.

"I've got a couple of ideas for our next stop," I told Mark after we finished our lunch.

"As do I," he said. "Let's start with this place, it's just around the corner."

He handed me his phone which was open to the navigation page with 8400 Southern Border Trail as the destination.

"You speak Spanish?" I whispered.

"I hope she's wearing the pink bikini."

***

Mark drove while I pulled up the listing. 8400 Southern Border Trail was a four bedroom, three and a half bath ranch on an acre of land... owned by Mike and Beth Mayfield. He was a mid-level executive in the soon to be closed auto plant. She started life as his secretary and recently graduated to the wife position. Considering the market, their asking price of three hundred fifty was reasonable, but I was sure Mark would try to talk them down.

"I'll give them a call to make sure somebody's home," I said.

"Call her husband's office. Find out when he's coming home."

"You want him here?"

"Of course not. I want to know how much time we have."

I dialed the number and got his secretary.

"Hello. This is Mrs. Joplin; I was wondering if I could have a half hour of Mr. Mayfield's time this afternoon?"

"I'm sorry," the woman said. "He's booked solid through quitting time. Would tomorrow afternoon at two thirty work for you?"

"I think I have something else planned for tomorrow," I lied. "I'll get back to you."

"Can I tell Mr. Mayfield why you want to meet?"

I hung up without answering.

"We're good until five," I told Mark. "Hopefully whatever you have planned for this poor woman won't last that long."

Going against everything taught in realtor school, we arrived at the Mayfield house unannounced. Mark rang the doorbell. We waited for a minute and then he rang it again. He was just about to go around to the back of the house when Beth opened the door wearing a bright pink bikini under a semitransparent cover up.

I introduced myself and apologized profusely for not making an appointment. "We tried to call your agent," I lied, "but kept getting his voice mail. Would you mind terribly if my client took a quick peek inside your house?"

"It's kind of a mess," Beth said, positioning herself so we couldn't see past her well-tanned and toned body.

"That's not a problem." Mark pushed the door full open and walked in without invitation. "I'm sure I've seen worse."

"Is he always this rude?" Beth said loud enough for Mark to hear.

He ignored her comment and kicked a few cardboard boxes out of his way as he headed for the back patio. Beth followed him out and I followed Beth... getting a good look at her backside. The Mexican landscapers were right. Her thong bikini bottom didn't hide an inch of her tight, well-formed ass cheeks.

As if on cue, I heard the sound of lawn mowers and gas-powered trimmers start up when we reached the pool deck.

"That's a good-sized lawn," Mark said. "Would you mind telling me how much you pay these guys to maintain it?"

"Way too much, I'm sure."

"How long has this particular crew been doing your yard?"

"I don't know. My husband's had a lawn service for several years, but this might be these idiots' first time here. They all look the same to me. Just a bunch of illegals who spend half their time ogling women and the other half drinking beer."

"So, you don't know their names?"

"My husband calls them Jose, hose B and hose C." She laughed at her own joke.

"Do you ever tip them?"

"Are you here to look at my house or talk about the hired help?"

"Just figuring out what kind of offer I should make."

Beth gave me a questioning look as Mark returned to the house. I shrugged, not knowing what he had in mind.

By the time we caught up with him, Mark was in an upstairs bedroom, looking down at the pool from a bay window.

"I'll give you two hundred fifty thousand for the house," he said without turning to face us.

"We're asking three fifty," Beth said.

"Your house has been on the market for six months and this is your first offer."

"How about three forty," Beth countered.

"You got any cold beer in the house?"

"Are you asking for something to drink?"

"No. I'm asking if you have beer in your refrigerator."

"We've got a second fridge in the garage for beer and wine. I'm sure there's at least a six pack in there."

"Good. I want you to take three beers out to the pool deck and offer them to the guys doing your lawn."

"Why would I do that?"

"To give me time to think about your counteroffer."

"What's the matter? You can't think with me in the room?"

"I'll be in a more generous mood if you do what I say."

Beth spun around, obviously annoyed, and stormed down the stairs.

We watched from the window as she put three bottles of beer on the patio table and then comically pantomimed her invite to the landscapers. After several useless gestures she finally grabbed one of them by the shirt, drug him into the screened in enclosure, forcibly sat him on a chair and put the beer in his hand. Once he was in place, the other two hesitantly joined him.

"The wetbacks have their beer," she said, coming back into the bedroom. "Hopefully you've had sufficient time to think about my offer."

"I'll go two sixty," Mark said.

"Unbelievable. I run around like a bar maid and you only come up ten thousand? What do I have to do to get a reasonable offer out of you?"

"It's hard to drink beer without any munchies. What do you have in the way of snacks?"

"You're shitting me?"

"Offer your guests something to eat and maybe I'll find a way to increase my bid."

She turned around again, but before she left, Mark gave her one more piece of instruction.

"Please give your bathing suit top to Miss Moorehead before you go."

Beth looked at Mark and then me in disbelief.

"Think of it as a token of your sincerity in the negotiation process," Mark said.

She turned her back to us, untied the top strap, rotated the cups around and undid the clasp allowing the bright pink top to drop to the floor. Her boobs bounced under the sheer cover up as she kicked the bikini top across the room towards Mark.

"I know what you're doing," I told him as Beth scurried around the kitchen.

"You care to make a little side bet?" he asked.

"What did you have in mind?"

"If I can get her to fuck all three of them for less than asking price, you quit wearing underwear for the rest of the month."

"And if you don't? If she refuses to have sex with any of them or her price is too high?"

"I double your usual commission."

We shook on the deal and turned our attention to the patio, where three landscapers desperately tried not to stare at Beth's chest as she placed a bag of chips and bowl of salsa on their table.

"Two seventy," Mark said when Beth reappeared in the bedroom.

"Is this fun for you?" she asked. "Do you enjoy running me up and down the stairs and watching me wait on a bunch of dirty day laborers?"

Mark peered out the window and then turned back to Beth. "Your guests have finished their beers. I'll go up another ten thou if you serve them another round."

"What makes you think I want three drunk Mexicans on my patio?"

"If you play along, they'll be on my patio... And you can dispense with the cover up. It'll be cooler without it."

The severely pissed off, now topless woman charged back down the stairs, grabbed three more beers from the garage fridge and almost threw them at the bewildered but happy landscapers.

"That's it," she said after sprinting back up the stairs. "I'm out of beer, out of clothes and out of patience. I'm also tired of climbing these stairs." Her well-formed chest heaved up and down as proof of her physical exertion. "Either make me a respectable offer or get out of my house."

"Fair enough. When I first saw the house, I was going to offer you twenty thousand under asking price. But seeing how you treat people; I think that is way too generous. So, I am offering you the opportunity to earn my original estimate of what your house is worth."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"You will go back downstairs and properly entertain your guests. The happier you make them, the richer I'll make you."

"I don't know how to entertain a bunch of illiterate spics."

"They're men," I said. "Treat them like you've treated all the rest of the men in your life. Like Mark said, the more you do for them, the more he'll do for you."

"Are you two going down with me?" she asked.

"No, we're sure you can handle them by yourself."

"How will I know when this little charity ball is over?"

Mark pulled his phone out of his pocket and made a call. My phone instantly rang.

"Answer it," he said.

I did.

"Put your phone on speaker and hand it to Beth."

I complied.

"We'll communicate via Miss Moorehead's phone. Put it on the table and I'll give you a running update on your progress."

"I hope you both burn in hell." I'm fairly sure she meant it, but it didn't stop her from taking my phone out to the patio.

I felt a little guilty. Not for being a part of Beth's undoing, but for enjoying it so much. In my mind, the way she treated the landscapers justified anything Mark was doing to her. So, I settled myself in the second-floor bay window and watched the show.

Unable to engage them in conversation, she finally convinced them to go swimming with her. First one and then the other two stripped down to their boxers and waded around the shallow end while Beth swam a lap.

"Two hundred eighty thousand," Mark announced over the phone.

I got on my hands and knees to position my face closer to the window for a better view.

One of the men took off his boxers and sat on the edge of the pool, showing off five or six inches of stiff burrito meat. Beth swam over and took it in her hand.

"Two hundred eighty-five," Mark announced.

Beth looked up at the window in disgust and then tasted the burrito.

"Two hundred ninety."

I felt cool air on my butt. Probably because my dress had magically bunched up around my waist.

Beth was obviously a burrito fan. She progressed from tasting to chowing down... way down... so far down I couldn't see it.

A second man used the opportunity to relieve Beth of her bikini bottoms while the third watched.

"Three hundred."

My pink panties followed the same path as Beth's.

The Mexican bikini bottom thief took several deep breaths of air and then submerged, ending face up between Beth's legs.

"Three hundred ten."

Frenchmen claim to be the world's most cunning linguists, but I've always preferred a Spanish tongue. The muscle control required to pronounce that rapid-fire language was prized by those who played the trumpet and other instruments... as Mark was demonstrating.

Beth and her submerged lover both came up for air at the same time. The man who was underwater replaced the deck edge sitter while the other took turns tasting clam sauce and breast milk. The third man still seemed happy to watch.

"Three hundred twenty," Mark said when Beth gobbled down the second Mexican offering.

Two hands snuck down my dress top and released my boobs to open air. Fingers toyed with my nipples until they looked and felt like old fashion thimbles.

As Mark's hands transition from my boobs to my waist, one of Beth's newfound friends swam around behind her and planted his feet between hers in the shallow water. She jumped in surprise when he entered her but didn't stop servicing his friend.

"Three hundred thirty."

I ground my ass into Mark, disappointed to feel the fabric of zipped up trousers between his erection and me.

The two landscapers apparently worked well together. The man in Beth's mouth and the one rapidly thrusting behind her finished up together with a rousing Mexican cheer.

"Three hundred forty."

Beth had one more man to satisfy. She half walked, half swam over to the side of the pool where he stood, still in his boxers.

"Three hundred fifty-five... but only if you get him to come," Mark announced.

I don't know what was more frustrating. Watching Beth try to seduce a hesitant Mexican or what Mark was doing to me.

Beth tried to relieve her man of his boxers. I tried to unzip Mark's pants. Both refused.

Beth wrapped her legs around his waist and rubbed her bare boobs in his face. I rubbed my ass in Mark's crotch and placed his hands on my boobs. No response from either man.

I could hear the Mexican with the waterlogged erection tell Beth in perfect English: "I would like to senora, very much. But I am married." He showed her his wedding ring.

"It's okay. I'm married too." Beth showed him her gold band.

"I'll fuck you if he fucks her," Mark whispered in my ear.

"You're an asshole," I whispered back.

The faithful, English speaking landscaper pushed Beth back into the pool and put his clothes back on. His compatriots wanted to take at least one additional turn with the crazy, naked gringo lady but the married man seemed to be the boss. The other two reluctantly dressed and followed him back to their work.

"Sold, for three hundred and forty thousand dollars," Mark announced loudly.

He left my half naked, fully aroused body in the bay window and went downstairs to adjust the contract.

I stuffed my boobs back into my dress and did what I could to un-rumple my dress. When I got as presentable as I could, considering the events of the day, I met Mark in the kitchen.

Except for my lingering state of unsatisfied arousal, the afternoon was a complete success. I wasn't sure what made me happier, watching that bitch screw the two Mexicans or seeing her beg the third man and get turned down. And since he did, I got to keep my panties.

***

One thing was gnawing on me as we drove away.

Why didn't Mark fuck me? He had several opportunities in the past few days but either kept it in his pants or put it in somebody else.

Maybe he already did and didn't enjoy it? What if it was him that night with the handcuffs and blind fold. What if he did it once and decided I wasn't worth the effort?

Highly unlikely. Whoever it was on the other side of that hood. Whoever it was that broke into the house, ravished me and departed... he definitely enjoyed himself. I had a sheet full of evidence to attest to that.

Could this be another of Mark's games? Fuck with the realtor's mind by not letting her know if she'd been fucked?

I wouldn't put it past him. But I was determined to find out. No matter what it took.