Twelve Nights (7 page)

“I won’t try to have an orgasm. It would take too long on
the fourth go. I just want to feel myself inside you.”

“Come on in,” Monica offered with a smile. “How do you want
me?”

Jimmy positioned her frog-like before him as he stood beside
the bed. This time he put two condoms over his organ then slicked her asshole
with jelly.

“Here I come,” he warned.

He held her buttocks steady and pressed his penis into the
little rear mouth. It tensed and he waited for her to relax. When the opening
felt soft, he pushed hard once and heard a gasp as the muscles tightened again.
The pressure was almost too much for pleasure, but not quite.

“Try to relax,” he murmured. “I’ll go slow.”

“It’s okay,” Monica gasped. He could hear how hard she
worked to steady and slow her breathing. “I’m ready.”

Though the muscles were still tight, Jimmy thrust again
hard. Sometimes quickly was the best. Monica trembled and he held her steady in
his hands. One more good push. Ah. He could hear her panting now and feel the
throbbing of her overstretched muscles. But God, it felt good. He tried a
gentle in and out, barely an inch. Monica gasped. She was too tight.

Jimmy leaned over her back and wrapped his left arm around
her waist to hold her firm. He knew his penis shifted inside her with the
movement and he apologized mentally. Just hold on for one minute, he promised.
I’ll make it better. His more agile right hand found her cunt and cupped the
softness for a moment. Then he slid a finger into the crease and found her
clitoris.

“No,” she protested weakly. “You don’t need to…”

“Hush,” Jimmy whispered. ‘This will feel good.”

He massaged her gently, knowing the ache in her rear made
arousal slow. But it would come. Patiently he worked each sensitive spot,
touching and teasing and then pressing insistently. All the time his cock
throbbed in the snug embrace of her penetrated rear. Eventually her breathing
became more regular and then shortened to aroused rather than pain-managing
pants. He slipped his finger inside her dripping cavity and knew she was almost
there. He twisted his finger inside her and savored the almost-orgasm.

Then his hand went back to work and he stroked and twisted
and pulled. Now that he knew she was ready, he pushed her insistently. Stroking
and stroking and pinching until… Her vibration spread from womb to anus and
then engulfed her whole body. Jimmy braced his legs to hold her safe as he
surrendered to the beautiful tremors. Her muscles kneaded him like the most
skillful masseuse, the contractions more rapid than could be achieved by
volition. Ah, to be in a woman’s ass when she came.

Slowly the tremors subsided. He wanted to feel it again. His
cock ached for the massage to continue. His hand adjusted on her crotch and his
finger snaked out toward the clitoris, the key to her and his ecstasy. Monica
whimpered and Jimmy’s desire began to fade. She was a limp weight in his arms,
he realized. He couldn’t do this to her again, not even for what he planned to
pay her. He eased himself slowly from her backside and lay her gently on the
bed.

“Are you all right?” he asked as his hand smoothed her hair.

His only answer was her trembling. He lay down beside her
and cradled her body spoonlike with his. He murmured nonsense to her as his
hand rubbed her back. Slowly her trembling ceased.

“Did I hurt you too much?” Jimmy asked. “Did I go too far?”

She turned in his arms and hugged him fiercely.

“I’ve never done that,” she admitted. “It was…”

Jimmy waited.

“Unbelievable.” Monica smiled. “Overwhelming. I’m just now
recovering.”

“I’m sorry if…”

Monica put her finger to Jimmy’s lips and hushed him.

“No apologies. It was good. It was so powerful, I fell apart
a little.”

“You are quite a woman, Monica.” Jimmy kissed her forehead.
“I’m going to leave now. You sleep here till the morning. The room’s paid for.
Order up whatever you want for breakfast.”

“Thank you.”

Jimmy took a short hot shower followed by a cold rinse which
effectively doused his lingering erection. By the time he dressed and returned
to the room, Monica was fast asleep. He kissed her once more on the forehead
and tucked a five thousand dollar tip into her fist, then turned and walked out
the door.

Angela and Aggie arrived at Vancouver International Airport
at 11:20 am on Saturday, December 13. Aggie must have bought a travel guide; she
snapped open a large black umbrella as they stepped out the doors toward the
taxis. Rain swept in under the overhang drenching unprepared travelers within
seconds. Angela huddled under the umbrella with her twin and stared out into
the dark day.

“Brrr,” she commented. “I thought Vancouver weather was mild
because of the ocean.”

“It’s the humidity,” Aggie explained. “Damp cold is way
colder than dry cold.”

The twins entered the first in the long line of cabs that
waited at the curb.

“Where to, ma’am?” The driver’s words were more
understandable by their necessary content that by their actual sound. His
accent was as obvious as his turban. He smiled and displayed broad, strong
teeth. “You go downtown?”

“The Vancouver Hotel,” Angela said.

“I thought we were staying at the …”

Angela poked her sister sharply in the ribs. Aggie looked at
her askance but didn’t protest further. The view over the Arthur Laing Bridge
and up Granville was blanketed in thick misty rain, but that didn’t stop Aggie
from enumerating the sights as they passed: the south arm of the Fraser River,
the Marpole district and then Shaugnessy. Angela drank in the British style
mansions that lined even the major thoroughfare through the exclusive
neighborhood. She could picture herself in one of those, with a giant bedroom
and a garden full of roses.

The cab went straight as an arrow, though slowly to Angela’s
New York expectations. The cab driver was calm; he didn’t get angry at other
motorists, didn’t shoot yellow lights. Angela glanced at the clicking meter. No
wonder – the fare was obscene. When they pulled into the downtown area,
the traffic slowed almost to a halt. Aggie craned her head looking up at the
skyscrapers that made an alley of their street.

“Fodor’s says that Vancouver has one of the most beautiful
downtowns in North America,” she commented.

“Hard to tell in the rain.”

“Don’t be a grump. This is a vacation.”

“You’re right.” Angela knew her anxiety had little to do
with the weather. She smiled and hugged her sister’s arm. “It’s great to be
here with you. Who cares if it’s raining?”

“Not me,” Aggie answered the rhetorical question. “Besides,
it’s more British. We’re getting the full experience.”

Angela laughed and then sobered as the cab pulled into the
high tunnel at the taxi and limousine entrance to the Vancouver Hotel.

“Wait here,” she told Aggie and the cab driver. “I’ll be
right back.”

She ran into the lobby, hardly noticing the British East
India rugs and heavy mahogany furniture. She stepped to the imposing front
desk.

“May I help you, ma’am?” a stately middle-aged gentleman
asked from behind the counter.

“Do you have any messages for Agnes Trout?”

“Let’s see,” the man flipped through a stack of papers. “I
have one here for an Aggie Trout.”

“That’s me,” Angela smiled. “Thank you.”

She took the folded paper and turned away from the desk.

“Miss.” The man’s voice halted her. “We have a room reserved
in your name, Miss Trout. Would you like to check in now?”

“I’ll be back later,” Angela temporized. She didn’t want to
cancel the reservation and alert the man who placed the ad. Besides she needed
to be able to pick up messages. But she had no intention of waiting at the
arranged hotel like a sitting duck. She debated whether to take a key and risk
paying an exorbitant figure for a room she wasn’t going to use. A man who could
pay $120,000 for a twelve night stand wouldn’t stiff her for the hotel room,
surely. “No. I’ll sign in now.”

“Do you have a vehicle, Miss Trout?” the man asked,
undisturbed by her waffling. He lifted his pen over a room slip.

“No.”

“You’re in the Queen Anne suite on the top floor. That’s a
non-smoking suite. I hope that is all right.”

“That’s fine.” Angela dug in her wallet for her credit card.
Praying the man would stop her before he noticed the wrong name.

“No need, ma’am,” the man lowered his voice discretely.
Angela’s face flushed with relief. “The charge is taken care of. We often put
customers of TransGlobe in the Queen Anne. If you could just sign here.”

Angela tucked the company name into a corner of her memory. She
looked at the slip and wondered why she needed to sign if not to pay for the
room. Maybe the rules were different in Canada. She took the offered pen and
signed ‘Anges Trout’ without hesitation. She had practiced for such an
eventuality. The man handed her an envelope with the words ‘Queen Anne Suite’
engraved on the front. She could feel a flat credit card key inside.

“Thank you,” she smiled.

“If there’s anything I can do to make your stay more
pleasant, Miss Trout, please don’t hesitate to ask. My name is Jeremy Smythe.”

Angela was used to friendliness from strange men. Though the
Canadian was most discrete, she saw the more than polite interest in his eyes.
She knew how to handle the situation.

“Thank you, Mr. Smythe,” she said in a no nonsense business
voice. “Your hotel is lovely. I’m sure I’ll enjoy my stay in Vancouver.”

As she walked away from the desk, she rubbed the message
slip between her fingers. She could feel Smythe’s eyes on her back and didn’t
want to stop and read the note with him watching. The lobby was large and she
quickly turned a corner that hid her from view of the front desk. She stopped
next to a tall white pillar. Her fingers trembled as she opened the folded
paper.

“Hi Aggie,” the note began informally. “Meet me in the lobby
near the front desk at 10am on Monday. Danny.”

Angela shook her head at the brevity of the note, then she
drew a deep breath. It was really going to happen. She leaned back against the
pillar and drew in another deep breath. Keep breathing. She thought of her
sister and winced. How would she ever convince Aggie to go for the interview?
Maybe she should forget the whole thing. She forced herself to relive the
moments as the ‘Captain’ forced the rolled bills up her ass. More than the
bruises and cuts, more than the pain of forced sodomy, the memory of the money
in her anus turned her bowels to liquid. She firmed her resolve. Aggie would
understand when she told her. Her twin wouldn’t let her down.

“What were you doing?” Aggie’s words greeted her as she
opened the back door of the cab. Angela slid onto the seat. “Are we staying
here?”

“I didn’t like the room,” Angela lied.

“Take us to the Sylvia Hotel,” Aggie told the driver. She
explained to the startled Angela, “The guidebook says it’s one of the best buys
in downtown Vancouver. And it’s right on English Bay.”

A short drive took them to the entrance to the Sylvia.
Angela was entranced by the ivy covered walls of mellow stone. The hotel was
indeed on the waterfront. Across a narrow but busy road, a sandy beach fronted
by weathered logs stretched out toward choppy white-capped waves. She could see
the tops of pedestrians half-hidden by a low stone wall. The location was
idyllic even in the persistent rain.

Angela insisted on entering the lobby alone. At the front desk,
she pulled out a wad of Canadian cash and paid up front for three nights of a
suite facing the water. The receptionist didn’t ask her to sign a room slip,
didn’t even ask for a name, and she wondered again about the man at the
Vancouver Hotel. Why would he, or Danny, want a sample of her handwriting? It
was only too easy to guess. She went back out to the cab.

“Drive us around to the underground parking,” she ordered
the driver.

“Why…” Aggie began.

“I don’t want you to get wet,” Angela explained.

Luckily the elevator was empty. Angela knew she had to keep
herself and her twin from being seen together, at least in downtown Vancouver.
They were too memorable a sight. She hurried Aggie along the hotel passageway
and breathed a sigh of relief when she closed and locked the door of the suite
behind her.

“This is nice!” Aggie exclaimed.

Angela followed her sister’s voice into the living room. The
furniture was shabby genteel. To the right was a small kitchenette with fridge,
two-burner stove and teakettle. The British habit of tea must prevail in
Vancouver too. The view from the living room windows was spectacular. Though
only on the fourth floor, they could see over the traffic and trees, across a
large body of water to the land on the other side.

“That’s Kitsilano directly opposite us,” Aggie explained.
“Then there’s Jericho Beach and the University Endowment Lands.”

“And the water must be English Bay. Is it another arm of the
Fraser River?” Angela asked.

“No. It leads to Burrard Inlet, after you get around Stanley
Park. We’ll have to walk around the park along the seawall. It’s one of the
sights of Vancouver.”

Angela murmured an assent, though she knew they couldn’t
risk exposure that close to downtown, at least not until after Monday. If the
man chose someone else for his extended romp in the sack, they could go
wherever they wanted.

“Let’s go to Chinatown for lunch,” Aggie’s enthusiastic
voice interrupted Angela’s thoughts.

“Sounds good to me,” she agreed. Surely they could lose
themselves in Chinatown.

Aggie donned rain boots she had providently packed and
Angela pulled on a dark red coat with a hood. With her hair covered, they
wouldn’t be so noticeable. She called a cab to meet them in the basement
parking lot.