Inn on the Edge (10 page)

I remembered the black pouch. I remembered Vane’s fingers as
he probed it.

It had to be Vane.

I writhed in pleasure, gulping for air.

The mouth left my breast. Kissed its way down my stomach.
Sent tingles up my spine.

Man number one, right? Josh?

Fingers caressed me, filled me, massaged my insides—two,
three, four fingers at once
.

God!

It’s never felt like this!

I’m going to
faint
.

Then one of my lovers shifted his position, the mattress
rising and falling with his weight. Had there been another silent signal
between them? Because those beautiful fingers one by one abandoned my wet
place, leaving me bereft. I held my breath, waiting, quivering, no invisible
hands on me for the first time since we’d started playing. The mattress dipped
between my legs. Someone—
who?
—touched me lightly on the knees, crouching
in front of me. He scooted in closer, leaning in on top of me, stretching out
his legs alongside my own. I felt his breaths on my chest, his weight along my
length.

Who?

Someone was about to make love to me.

Who?

More movement.

Someone elsekneeled close to my stomach, almost
sitting on me, leaning in on me, shifting his arms to make room for whoever was
between my legs. Someone leaning over to kiss my belly and my ribs and my hips.

The same someone? A different someone?

How could only two men do so many things, be so many places
at once? I badly, so badly it hurt, wanted to run my hands up and down their
legs, their chests, their arms, their necks and heads…but I didn’t. I wouldn’t.
I lay there, my hands clutching the Invisa-Lover. Oh the agony! Oh the bliss!
My mouth puckered and my neck strained as I tried to kiss the shimmering shapes
that floated over me and around me and beside me. My hips rose, trying to meet
whoever was on top of me. Pretty soon, an invisible, unknown lover would be
inside me.

Inside me!

Two shimmering beautiful men making love to me.

At the same time.

I almost came.

An invisible cock touched me between the legs, asking,
pleading, begging, and I no longer cared whose it was. Gasping, I spread my
naked legs even farther, thrusting my hips upward, opening for him. I didn’t
care who the cock belonged to, I didn’t, I really didn’t. I was a new bride
with only a single day as a married woman, had just promised before family and
friends to honor and love my husband ’til death do us part, but fuck that, I
wanted that big fat cock inside me and I wanted it now, and so I opened myself
wider yet—an invitation, a demand.

Do it.
Fuck me!
I’m ready, whoever you are.

And so they did.

Things began to happen all at once. A kiss. A mouth on mine,
a wet slurpy wonderful kiss. Another kiss, from another mouth.

And…now! Now! Now!

An invisible penis pressing its hot length slowly, so slowly
into me. Hands reaching around me to clutch my butt, pulling me to him, pulling
our writhing, hot bodies together, to him, to whoever he was, my unknown lover.
I raised my hips to the man who was fucking me, shouting out loud as he moved
within me, faster and faster and faster.

The bed, bumping against the wall.

A man, rocking and groaning on top of me, making love to me as
no one ever had.

A second man, panting, grinding his cock on my hip, twining
his legs with one of mine as he fucked my side.

Me, about to expire with the ecstasy of it.

A mouth on my breast. A hand caressing the other. Yet
another hand, finding my clit with a finger and rubbing it in tight hard
circles.

Oh, oh,
oh
!

Two men!

One man fucking me and another sucking my breast and
diddling my clit. As long as one of them was Josh, I was happy.

And then I came.

A yowling filled the room as my entire body exploded into a
thousand flaming shards. I gasped, arching my back, trying to get that penis farther
into me. The most shattering orgasm of my entire life. I swear.

With a final lovely cadence of fluttering flames, it slowly
came to an end. I lay trembling and winded on the bedspread, on the
Invisa-Lover, an invisible man sprawled on top of me and another at my side,
all of us spent, wasted, breathing heavily.

I couldn’t help myself. I reached up and gingerly touched
the head resting on my shoulder. And felt a ponytail.

Vane!

I sucked in my breath. Clenched my nether lips around his
cock. Pulled him farther into me. Vane.

Josh must have seen me feel Vane’s ponytail. He took my hand
from Vane’s head, put my knuckles to his mouth, licking and slurping and
sucking as he never had before. I watched, wide-eyed, as my fingers became wet
with saliva from an invisible mouth. After a while Josh broke the silence. “I
love
you, Angie,” he said hoarsely, knowing that another man’s thick penis was still
within me, still made my body hum with pleasure. “And I’ll be damned if I’ve
ever wanted you as much as I do right now. Or loved you this much.”

Josh.

Another man was still inside me, still making me feel as if
I might possibly have another orgasm, and Josh had never loved me more
.

I was the luckiest woman in the world.

“I love you too,” I said, touching Josh’s invisible cheek
with my wet hand, shuddering, as Vane nuzzled my neck and held me close. Vane
moved his pelvis on mine, mashing my breasts with his chest, thrusting his
penis inside me a few final sweet times.

I sighed.

Two lovers. Heaven. “Thank you for this, Josh. Thank you.
And you too, Vane. It was…” I left the sentence unfinished.

Josh patted my hand. Kissed it once more. Took my little
finger in his mouth. I pulled it out with a small, wet pop.

“Not now, babe,” I said, “Get ready. It’s your turn.”

After dinner—which was, like all our meals, fabulous beyond
description, so I won’t even try—Zettia gave everyone a stack of personalized
calling cards. Who ever heard of calling cards, in this day and age? Who even
knew what to do with them?

“To get to know one another better,” said our host, watching
Zettia’s unhurried progress around the table. His voice sounded stronger,
somehow. Not at all like the quavering voice of the ancient man who’d met us the
night before. Perhaps Mr. Abiba hadn’t been feeling well. Maybe he was on the
mend. Certainly he didn’t look to be one hundred and twenty years old anymore.
More like ninety-nine. “You are delightful, my dears!” he said. “Every last one
of you! So much to offer one another!” He looked long and lovingly at us, his
guests, his gaze lingering on me, on Josh. “I do believe it would be
heartbreaking, a shame of epic proportions, an unheralded tragedy, to let this
opportunity pass you by. Do you not agree?”

I nodded along with everyone else. A tragedy? It surely
would be!

What opportunity?

Josh shoved the detritus of our lavish dinner out of his way
and picked up his calling cards, tugging at the shiny black ribbon that bound
the stack. He slid out the top card. Rubbed his index finger over the raised
writing. Turned it over. Sniffed it. Nodded. Passed it to me so I could take a
look.
Joshua Brandon Taylor
,
Guitarist
, it read in an elegant
script. I handed it back. He tapped it on the table top, grinning. Such a
simple thing, to make him so happy. It was one of the things I loved most about
Josh, that he was so easy to please.

What did
my
cards say? Did they say
Angela Louise
Penn Taylor
,
Artist
? Or did they say something ridiculously
old-fashioned, like
Mrs. Joshua Taylor
,
Legally Wedded
Wife
?If they did, I would turn them in and demand something different. Maybe after
my romp with the Invisa-Lover, the cards would say
Ms. Angie Giggles Taylor,
Orgasmic Phenomenon
. I smiled to myself.

I peeked.
Angela Taylor
,
Painter.
I approved.

I held up a card to show Josh. Then I turned the card so
Vane could see. He sat at the far end of the table between Geoffrey and
Jonathan. Vane squinted at my card and gave me a thumbs-up, then went back to
studying Geoffrey and Jonathan’s cards. He pointed to something on Jonathan’s
card, and the three of them, their heads close together, laughed.

Vane. Invisible or not, I wanted him again. Come to think of
it, after the shenanigans that had taken place during dinner, I wanted half the
people in the room. Including Josh. Of course.

Of course
including Josh.

Mr. Abiba cleared his throat. The chatting stopped. People
set their cards down and turned toward him. Light from the candles on the table
reflected off his smooth, bald head. He clasped his hands together. “Your first
full day with me! A day to remember, I trust?”

Nods, smiles, small touches between people who had very much
enjoyed their first full day at the inn. I kissed Josh for good measure. Yes.
We would remember this day.

Mr. Abiba sipped from his sherry glass. “Your Lessons—they
were pleasurable?”

Murmurs of agreement around the table.

“Your Guides were presentable? And well-behaved?”

Scattered titters.

I glanced at Vane, amused. Presentable, yes.
Well-behaved…not so much. It all depended on how you defined the word. My
mother, for example, would be appalled by his actions. She’d think Vane was
positively delinquent
.
Well, maybe he was.

But if Vane was delinquent, what did that make me?

Mr. Abiba’s voice grew louder, shoving such thoughts from my
mind. “And your Toolboxes? They were to your liking?”

I nodded vigorously. We allnodded vigorously.

“I so want to hear your experiences!”

No one volunteered to share.

“Come, come now!” Mr. Abiba said, his voice colored with
something—amusement, perhaps. Or irritation? Impatience? I couldn’t tell.
“We’re all adults here. Must I call on someone at random, like a
schoolteacher?”

Still not a peep from his guests.

We held our collective breath as Mr. Abiba searched the
table for someone to pounce on. He fixed his gaze on Geoffrey, then frowned
slightly and moved on. He looked at Rhonda-Lynne the footsie-hater. She turned
white. His eyes landed on me for a quick moment—I held my breath—then passed to
the man sitting directly to my right, a fellow guest named Logan. Mr. Abiba’s
glance flickered back and forth between me and Logan, back and forth.
Not me
,
I pleaded silently.
Please, not me. Choose Logan instead.
Logan was
probably chanting the same thing, about me. Mr. Abiba tapped his fingernails on
the tabletop,
ratta-tap-tap
, considering his choice at length, enjoying
the minor torture he was putting us through.

I was just getting to know Logan. He was from San Francisco,
a place I’d never been. Logan was quiet and soft-spoken, amusing in a dry,
easy-going sort of way. The more Logan and I talked, the more I liked him. We’d
even enjoyed a friendly bit of flirtation during dinner. More than a bit,
actually. He’d held my hand all through the third main course, a delicious
venison dish with tiny braised onions in the sauce. I’d managed to eat just
fine with my left hand. I hadn’t dropped a single onion on my lap, not even
when he’d leaned away from me, still clutching my hand, and started to make out
with Nikki, his wife.

Mr. Abiba made up his mind. He clapped sharply. “Logan
Millhouse!”

Good. Not me.

Logan sat up straighter. He folded his hands on the table
and cleared his throat. “Yes sir?”

“Which of my delightful Tools did you and your lovely wife
use? Do tell.”

Consumed with sudden burning curiosity, the rest of us
stared at Logan and Nikki.

Yes—what Tool did they use?

Logan blushed furiously. He and his wife squirmed in their
seats. Nikki let out a strangled laugh, ran her fingers through her short,
spiky hair. She glanced at Logan, then spoke. “The Magnifier. We…uh, we used
the Magnifier.”

“Indeed?” said Mr. Abiba, raising his eyebrows.

“Yeah, the Magnifier. And we liked it,” added Logan. “We
liked it a lot.”

“Brilliant! How many times did you employ its charms?”

“Um…” said Logan, “I don’t remember.”

Nikki put her hand on Logan’s arm, and lowered her voice.
“It was seven times, honey. We had to stop, remember? Dinner?”

Seven!

Josh and I shared a look. Seven? All the way until dinner?

“A veritable marathon, then!” said Mr. Abiba, his head
tilted, his expression earnest, an excited flush rising on his cheeks. “And who
was your Guide, my darlings?”

How odd that he would ask.

Mr. Abiba must know who their Guide was. He seemed to know
everything that happened in this place. Why put poor Logan and Nikki in the hot
seat? I studied Mr. Abiba. He looked very interested in their answer, as if his
happiness, his health, even, depended on it. Maybe this exercise in baring our
sexual lives was his way of getting us, his dear darling guests, to talk. Was
this question-and-answer session his way of getting to know us better? Or was
he doing it to help us get to know each other better, as he’d said?

Maybe he just wanted to know.

Or maybe it turned him on.

“Zora helped us,” said Nikki, gnawing on a fingernail,
stealing a glance at Zora.

Logan’s head bobbed up and down. “We liked her a lot too.
But wow—that Magnifier! I hardly know what to say. Just, wow.”

What was this Magnifier?

I wanted one. Josh and I had one in our Toolbox, surely? Or
maybe we didn’t. Mr. Abiba might stock the four Toolboxes with different Tools.
That seemed like something he would do. Although it was hard to believe that
anything could be better than our Invisa-Lover.

But Mr. Abiba wasn’t done asking questions. “Who used the
Magnifier first?”

Logan put up his hand. “I did, sir.”

“An apex worth remembering, I assume?”

Logan blinked. “Sir?”

Mr. Abiba blew air through his lips, looking like a teacher
with a slow student. “An
apex
, Logan Millhouse. A pinnacle. A summit.”
He stared at Logan. “Think about it. An apex. The summation of an erotic
episode. The culmination of the correct amount and type of sexual stimulation.”

“An
orgasm
, honey,” said Zora, “we call them ‘apexes’
around here.”

“Oh! I get it.” Logan said, “Um…yes, it was great. They all
were.”

“How magnificent for you, Mr. Millhouse!” Mr. Abiba tapped
his arched fingers together, glowing with happiness. “I am delighted for you! I
truly am! My poor dear, there is no need to be bashful. Please don’t be embarrassed.”
He sat up straight, seeming to grow in bulk and presence. He spread his arms,
included everyone at the table in his sweeping gesture, a very regal move. “I
beg you! All eight of you! My inn is a safe place. We’re all friends here!
Please do not be afraid to share your sexuality!”

I stared at him, holding my breath.

“Will you do that? Each of you? For me? Yes?”

We all nodded, wanting to do it, for him—he’d asked so
nicely—but relieved just the same that
we
weren’t the one currently “sharing
our sexuality among friends”.

Mr. Abiba smiled, a benevolent host again. “It is wonderful,
isn’t it, my Magnifier? One of my proudest achievements, a marvel of sensual
sophistication!” Satisfied, he let poor Logan off the hook and began scanning
the table for a new victim. He found one. “Tim Maddox!”

Tim Maddox, sitting across the table from Josh, jumped. “Yes
sir?”

“Share with us, if you will!”

Tim looked as if he’d rather walk on hot coals. “We…” He
cleared his throat. “Rhonda-Lynne and I, we…”

Zenith rose from her seat and stood behind Tim and
Rhonda-Lynne, put reassuring hands on their shoulders. “They did very well, Mr.
Abiba. They took the first step! They were nervous at first—having a third
person in the room and all, who could blame them? But they were willing. They
tried. They tried so hard!”

“Good for you!” Mr. Abiba said. “‘A’ for effort!”

What was this? Third grade?

Rhonda-Lynne leaned her head on Zenith’s hand, looking proud
of herself. Embarrassed but proud. I suppose receiving an “A” for effort will
do that to you.

“We used the Golden Ticket,” said Zenith. “They loved it.
They went to places they never knew existed!”

“That’s true,” whispered Rhonda-Lynne. “I didn’t know.”

“Next time they’ll work harder. Next time they’ll have
multiple apexes.”

Tim Maddox twisted in his seat so he could better see
Zenith, adoration written all over his round face. Zenith pulled the couple
close and leaned in to them, whispering, her Burnt Sienna hair falling over Tim
and his wife, hiding the kisses she gave them. Rhonda-Lynne’s hand found one of
Zenith’s pert little breasts and stayed there.

I frowned, swallowing.

I
wanted to feel up Zenith’s pert little breasts! Not
to mention that I was dying to run my fingers through her amazing hair, to kiss
her. Yes, to kiss her! Well. Perhaps I more than just a tiny bit lesbian after
all.

They were still kissing, the three of them. The rest of us
watched.

Wasn’t it Rhonda-Lynne who had freaked out that very morning
during breakfast about Zenith playing footsie with her? Hadn’t Rhonda-Lynne
shrieked and hollered and made a commotion? Hadn’t Mr. Abiba been forced to
speak to her, to talk her down? It seemed so long ago, hazy in my memory, but
yes, I was pretty sure he had made her see reason. I tried to remember the
Rhonda-Lynne incident, even though the effort gave me a dull headache. I stared
at my pack of calling cards, unsettled. Rhonda-Lynne hadn’t been the first
person Mr. Abiba had had to speak to. No. There had been others. I frowned. A
wisp of a memory tickled at the edge of my mind. Had Mr. Abiba spoken to
me
in a rather sharp tone, and Josh too? Not all that long ago? Why?

Now my head really hurt.

I sipped at Zettia’s home-roasted coffee, ate two of her
poppy-seed butter cookies and gave up on thinking. Why waste time and energy on
trying to figure things out when there were more amusing things to do? I went
back to watching the big kiss. Tim and Rhonda-Lynne might not have achieved “multiple
apexes” during their Lesson, but they were coming pretty darn close to giving
the restof us orgasms. I mean, apexes. Right there in the dining room.
Especially the lesbians among us.

A sharp clap from Mr. Abiba brought it to an end. Zenith sat
down, wiping her mouth, smiling.

“Very well!” said Mr. Abiba, “We’ve heard from two couples.
That’s quite enough for now. Let us move on to the next item on the agenda,
shall we? Zenith? If you will, grace us with a short performance. Our Zenith is
an award-winning dancer—she used to be with the Chicago Ballet.” He stood up.
“Valerian, will you move my chair to the side?”

Zenith went to the front of the room, to the space vacated
by Mr. Abiba. She was wearing a wide skirt and a close-fitting knit tube top,
and I realized with a start that she looked exactly like a dancer, all willowy
and graceful and long-limbed. How had I missed it? I’d never noticed until that
moment. The sound system crackled. Music started up, swelling, violins and
flutes and who knows what else, filling the room with the sweet sounds of the
overture of
Swan Lake.
Zenith kicked off her shoes, then struck a pose.

I stared at her. We all did.

Then she sprang into motion. She twirled and swayed and
dipped and spun in the small area, her movements complementing the music, her
dance a beautiful thing to behold. She held us captive until the last strains
of
Swan Lake
died away. Her audience sat in stunned silence for a
moment, then broke into thunderous applause. We rose to our feet, a standing
ovation.