Inn on the Edge (17 page)

“Show us!” begged Logan.

Valerian grinned. He opened the pouch, and poured
five…things…into the palm of his hand. The rest of us leaned forward, hushed,
trying to see what he held. Whatever they were, they bore no resemblance at all
to the shimmering fabric of the Invisa-Lover.

I determined to remember everything, every tiny detail, to
share with Josh.

“What do they do?” I asked.

Valerian didn’t answer. Instead, he put one of the things
back inside the pouch, then held up his hand for us to study the four oval,
marble-sized capsules left in his hand. I leaned in, peering at them. What were
they made of? I couldn’t tell. Were they crystal? Glass? Something else? They
glinted in the firelight, hinting at buried color. Each capsule had a black
velvet cord attached to one end. Ah, so they were necklaces. Pendants on
necklaces, to be precise. They were necklace Tools, made and prepared by Mr.
Abiba himself.

For us.

I shivered. I wanted to touch one but I didn’t.

Valerian smiled mysteriously. “Like I said, they’re called Storybuilders.”

I wrapped my arms around my middle. “That sounds like fun.”

He laughed softly. “You have no idea, honey. None.”

Logan reached for one but Valerian shook his head. “Not yet.
We have to get naked first. Why don’t you turn off the lights? We have enough
illumination with this great fire Geoffrey made.”

Funny thing. Ten minutes before, in the Fine Arts Room, I’d
been
this close
to tearing Logan’s pants off and making love with him.
Five minutes before, just inside the Castle Room, it had been Valerian. One
minute ago, seeing Geoffrey’s chest…well, it had just about done me in. So why
was it so hard now to take my clothes off in front of these men?

Because it was.

I wasn’t the only one. We took our time about it. Shirts
pulled over heads. Belts unbuckled. Pants unzipped. Nervous looks from side to
side. Clothing tossed in corners, or carefully folded and placed on the loveseat.
Socks torn off. And our four almost-naked bodies, shivering, crowding closer to
the warmth of the fire.

“Underwear too,” said Valerian. “Come on.”

I unhooked my bra and pulled the straps from my arms, baring
my breasts.

Logan peeked.

Geoffrey took off his boxers, revealing himself.

I snuck a look. Just as I’d thought. His cock was big, just
like the rest of him. Big and beautiful and nestled in a forest of lush
hair—and hugely erect.

I thought I would faint.

Valerian slipped off his underwear.

Geoffrey’s cock got even bigger.

And so it went until none of us wore a single scrap of
clothing.

“Okay,” said Valerian breathlessly. His very thick, shortish
cock was standing straight up, winking at me. “We’re good to go. Nice view,
everyone, by the way!” He drew a capsule up by the cord and slipped it over my
head. The pendant fell between my breasts, feeling cool and heavy on my skin.
Then he placed a pendant around Logan’s neck, and Geoffrey’s and finally his
own.

We watched him intently.

“We have to do the ceremony,” said Valerian. “The Tools
won’t work if we don’t. Everyone kneel, like this.” He arranged us into a
circle and the view improved drastically, all those beautiful nude male bodies
and erect cocks arrayed for my pleasure. I thrust my chest out, making the most
of my breasts because obviously their eyes were on me too and I didn’t want to
disappoint.

Mount Vesuvius—my private volcano—stirred.

“This is the first step. Now we have to turn them on,” said
Valerian, staring into my eyes. “Angie, you first. This Tool is—these capsules
are—the Storybuilder.”

“The Storybuilder,” I repeated.

“Do you want to play?”

“Yes.”

He let go of my hands and cradled his pendant in his cupped
palms.

Following his example, I did the same. The capsule felt
warmer now.

“Angie,” he whispered, looking into my eyes, “am I your
friend?”

“Yes, Valerian. You are.” I smiled at him.

He smiled back. “Thank you. Angie, do you, as user of this
Tool, invite me to play?”

“I do.”

“Good. Then we shall!” Valerian paused for a moment, then
moved to the next person in line. “Logan, your turn. This is the Storybuilder.
Do you want to play?”

Logan answered the questions affirmatively. Then Geoffrey
did.

Valerian nodded. “Good. Do you—Angie, Logan and
Geoffrey—wish to play with each other?”

“Yes, we do,” we answered in perfect unison.

Mount Vesuvius rumbled. Lava boiled and bubbled. I looked at
my chest, at the place between my breasts and over my breastbone, knowing the
skin there had taken on a rosy hue. It always did.

“We’re ready to start, then.” Valerian grinned. “This is
going to be fucking awesome!”

I don’t think that was supposed to be part of the script.

“Fucking right,” said Geoffrey.

Still holding the necklace in his hand, Valerian breathed on
the capsule. “Watch this,” he said.

A blue light flashed inside its mysterious depths, then a
violet one. Then ruby red and scarlet. And orange. In another moment, the
capsule was alight with color.

I let out a long breath. “You have confetti lights on your
face!”

He gazed at the capsule in his hand, his eyes lowered, his
face astonishingly alive with moving flecks of light, an abstract version of
himself. I couldn’t take my eyes from his otherworldly face. The artist in me
said,
paint him, paint him, paint him!
The lover in me said,
fuck
him, fuck him, fuck him!

I just about knocked myself over, I was breathing so hard.

Valerian looked up. “Steady there, Angie.”

“I’m okay,” I whispered.

“Now all of you breathe on your capsules.”

I forced the volcano down, just enough that I could
function. Then I lifted my hands to my mouth and breathed on my pendant. I sat
back on my heels and watched it come to life, marveling at the lights that
danced and twirled inside.

“Holy Mary,” breathed Logan.

“Amazing,” I whispered.

“There’s more!” Valerian said, holding his capsule in the
center of our little group. “Touch yours to mine. All of them. Like that. Yes.
Now wait a moment.”

I stifled a gasp as the four capsules…how can I describe it?
They noticed each other. We watched, transfixed, as they began a synchronized
light show far beyond anything we’d yet seen. Wands of colored light streaked
across our faces, our nude bodies, the walls, the fire, the ceiling.

Valerian, wide-eyed, whistled softly. “It’s never been this
dazzling!”

“Oh?” said Geoffrey.

“It likes you!”

We liked it too. Our own private fireworks show.

After a few minutes the show settled down to beautiful, as
opposed to its former state of breathtaking.

“Okay,” said Valerian, “let’s get comfortable! Time to have
some fun.” He lay down on the carpet and patted the ground next to him.
“Snuggle with me? Let’s get close. Really close.”

We lay down in a tight row, holding hands, with our feet
facing the fire and our heads almost touching the loveseat. I was in the
middle, with Valerian on one side and Logan on the other. Geoffrey was at the
other end, next to Valerian. I wriggled and squirmed, getting closer to the
long, warm bodies on either side of me as they inched toward me. Heaven! I
threw my leg over Valerian’s and we played footsie. On my other side, Logan
pulled our clasped hands onto his belly. My hand grazed the very tip of his
erection. He turned his face to me. It was flushed. His eye twitched. He opened
his lips slightly but no words came out.

I flicked his cock with my pinkie. “You want it first, loverboy?”

He grinned. “Is that a promise?”

Valerian spoke up, silencing the banter. “Okay. I’ve grabbed
a handful of condoms. They’ll go with us into storyland. The capsules are
primed and ready to go—they’ll generate the Storybuilder. Don’t take them off
or you’ll be cast out. Shall we start?”

Cast out? What did that mean? We didn’t say anything, just
stared at him, wide-eyed.

“Then get ready for the ride of your life!”

The Storybuilder.

It was amazing. How did Mr. Abiba come up with these things?

The four of us lay there in the firelight, trembling with
excitement. Valerian started talking. We listened, twitching, trying not to
move too much because…well, we’d waited all this time for a Tool, why jump the
gun?

“It’s a story,” he said, “we need a setting. Who has a
setting?”

Logan squeezed my hand. Gazing into my eyes, he licked his
lips.

“Come now,” prompted Valerian, “someone has an idea,
surely?”

“Um,” said Geoffrey, “how about the Wild West?”

The combined lights emanating from our pendants rose up
again, swirling, trying to coalesce. Vague shapes formed and disintegrated
around us. Entire landscapes came and went. Was that a desert I saw briefly
where the stone wall above the fireplace used to be? Was that a saguaro cactus
rearing its arms where the doorway had been? Open-mouthed, I squinted and
stared and turned my head this way and that, straining to see things before
they faded from view. It was the same fool-your-eye magic the Invisa-Lover had
employed, looking so real, so very real, as if these imaginary things were more
substantial than the room we were actually in. I gaped in amazement and
delight.

An ancient wooden windmill appeared, then faded away.

“This is so cool…” whispered Logan.

“Oh my god,” said Geoffrey, “I can’t wait to tell Jonathan
about this…”

“The Wild West. Good,” said Valerian softly. “But we need
more. Add a few details. Be specific. Someone else this time—we all have to add
something.”

“A ghost town,” I said, “An old deserted silver mining town
in…um…Colorado.”

“In 1895,” added Logan.

Things started to happen. The lights from our capsules
flashed, then coalesced. Reality began to fade, replaced by our Storybuilder
world. A derelict wagon appeared in front of our feet, mere inches away, making
me flinch. A row of faded wooden buildings materialized on the other side of
the wagon, connected by a boardwalk. A tumbleweed blew over us, just out of
reach. In the distance were mountains. Even the air had changed. It was golden,
dusty, hot, smelling of dirt and prairie grass and horse shit. How did Mr.
Abiba accomplish
that
?

We sat up, peering around.

“I never get tired of this!” Valerian said, “Okay. We have
the setting. Now for the characters. Who are we?”

Horny
, I thought.

Geoffrey cleared his throat. “We get to choose?”

“Yes.”

“I’m an outlaw,” laughed Logan. “Mean, mysterious—and on a
mission. To get me a woman!” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, dusty
black trousers, a button-down dingy white shirt, and a leather jacket covered
his bare skin. He gasped in surprise.

We all did.

“This stuff is real!” he sputtered. He touched his trouser
leg and rubbed it between his fingers, shaking his head in wonder. “And—ugh—it
smells like I’ve been wearing it for a couple of months.”

A train whistle blew in the distance. Now there were sounds
too?

Valerian grinned. “Good effects, huh? It’s what makes this
Tool so fun. Who is next?”

“Me,” said Geoffrey, “I’m a prospector—a mountain man—and
I’m a horny old coot. I go from place to place, looking for gold in them thar
hills!” A moment later, marvelously, he was outfitted in proper mountain-man
clothing. Heavy denim pants. No-nonsense shirt. Utilitarian broadcloth jacket.
Suspenders. Wide-brimmed leather hat. He turned this way and that, examining
himself. Then he plucked at a tear in his jeans, muttering.

Valerian looked at me, his eyebrows raised.

My turn.

I took a breath. I wanted something interesting. Not a
saloon girl, not a preacher’s wife, not a schoolteacher… Who would I be? I
pondered for a moment, then made a quick decision. “Okay. My name is Running
Deer,” I said, swallowing. “An Indian maiden. I am alone—and I need a man!”

Valerian rocked with laughter.

“Not what you expected, was it?” I said, elbowing him with
an arm covered in softest buckskin. My eyes shot open in surprise. Buckskin! I
was wearing buckskin. I examined my outfit. I wore a skirt—I could feel it, it
was real—and a beautifully beaded, low-necked shirt that showed off the curve
of my breasts. Not particularly historically accurate, but who cared? I lifted
a moccasin-clad foot and moved it from side to side, admiring the fine
stitching.

“You’re hot, Angie,” said Logan.

“My name is Running Deer, white man.”

He made a face at me.

As one, the outlaw, the mountain man and the Indian maiden
turned to look at Valerian. Who would he choose to be? Valerian closed his
eyes, then cleared his throat. He opened his eyes again and took a good long
look at the three of us. “I am the law. I am the sheriff who has searched long
and hard for that outlaw over there.” He pointed at Logan. “And by the way, I’m
also in desperate need of a woman…”

Three very interested, very desperate men turned to stare at
me.

A raven screeched in the distance. A cloud threw a shadow
over us.

Geoffrey stood up. He looked at me, then at the darkening
sky. “As the resident mountain man, I say a storm is about to catch us out in
the open. Running Deer, you pretty little thing, may I escort you inside, under
shelter?”

Logan swore under his breath. “Why didn’t I think of that?
He gets her first?”

We all laughed.

I rose to my feet, amazed by how completely Logan’s Castle
Room had transformed into a ghost town. The illusion was complete—there wasn’t
anything left of Logan and Nikki’s room unless I squinted my eyes and crossed
them slightly, which I didn’t want to do. Why ruin what Mr. Abiba built for us?

I tucked my arm in Geoffrey’s, and we rushed across the
street, dodging hailstones.

He barreled through swinging saloon-style double doors—it
was the Wild West, after all—and the others followed. It was dark inside. And
empty, but for a pile of woolen blankets leaning against the far wall. Light
came in through slats in the front of the room, casting surreal-looking stripes
over us. Geoffrey pulled me close. “Running Deer,” he whispered, “that outlaw
dude is right. You’re the purtiest thing I ever done set eyes on!”

I undid the top buttons of his shirt and buried my hands in
his chest hair. My heart pounded. “Mr. mountain man—you are as furry as my
totem animal, the mighty grizzly bear!” Lame response, I know, but it was the
best I could do under the circumstances. The circumstances being, of course,
the way my head felt all fuzzy due to dire lack of blood. The missing blood was
now residing in my genitals. Geoffrey the mountain man encircled me in his
strong arms and kissed me. His hands rested on my butt. His erection pressed
against my stomach. I moved my pelvis hard against him and heard his sharp
intake of breath.

There was yelling from the other side of the room.

“Don’t listen to them,” said the mountain man, “the outlaw
and the sheriff are swinging at each other. Fighting over you, I believe.”

“Oh,” I said, laughing. Then I put my hands flat against his
chest and searched his face. “Geoffrey, do you really want to do this?”

He pulled me close and nestled his chin on top of my head.
“I do. This place—the inn—is doing something to me, Angie. It’s making me see possibilities.
I’m the same person as always, just curious.”

“Like I was curious with Zenith.”

“Exactly. It’s in the air.”

I believed him. He kissed me again, and I decided curiosity
was a very good thing indeed.

“Look at those two,” the mountain man said after another
delicious kiss.

The outlaw and the sheriff had come to some sort of
agreement. They were in each other’s arms, feeling each other up. Good. They
were occupied for the moment.

I pulled the mountain man over to the stack of blankets. I
tugged off the top one, spread it on the dusty floor and got to my knees in
front of him. Finally, some real action. Almost an hourafter my blood had
first begun to boil. All that rule-making and planning had been fun, really it had,
but now it was time to do the deed
.
Time for some skin-on-skin action.
With shaking hands, I worked at the buttons on the mountain man’s trousers. No
zippers—Mr. Abiba had thought of everything. “Damn,” I said, shaking my head.
“Who needs six buttons on a fly?”

Finally I got his pants off. I waited for him to make the
next move.

He kneeled in front of me, joining me on the blanket, and I
lifted my arms so he could pull my beaded blouse over my head, leaving me with
nothing but the pendant falling between my breasts and my yellowish leather
skirt. He put those wide hands of his on my breasts and closed his eyes. “I’ve
always wanted to do this,” he said. Then he leaned down and took one hard,
erect nipple in his mouth.

My back arched.

“Tasty,” he said, still sucking, his words slurred and
garbled. His hand worked its way under my skirt and his fingers walked slowly
up my thigh. “Well, well,
well
,” he whispered, releasing my nipple, “it
appears that Indian maidens don’t wear any underwear.”

My breath came in soft puffs as he slowly, gently explored
me. I spread my knees to give him more room. His hand cupped my mound, fitting
as perfectly as it had fit over my breast, warm and confident. “You’re so wet,”
he murmured, “sopping, in fact. Know what? That totally turns me on!”

“Me too, me too!”

His erection, surrounded by wild black hair, pointed
directly at me, an invitation. I took it in my hands, not doing much of
anything, just holding it and maybe squeezing it a little, waiting, because the
mountain man wasn’t finished with me yet.

Not by a long shot.

I bit my lip as a finger trailed its way over my mound,
found my cleft and moved inward, following the path of least resistance—a
prospector looking for gold. He found it. His finger settled on my nub, then
began to make languorous circles. I sucked in my breath and looked down at the
arm buried under my skirt. The muscles rippled under his skin as he worked his
magic on me. I almost had an apex just from watching.

I was an Indian maiden in a ghost town in the Wild West, and
a gay mountain man had his hand up my skirt…holy shit. Just wait ’til I told
Josh about this.

I almost had another apex.

This man knew what he was doing…even though he didn’t.

“What’s this I’ve found?” he whispered, kissing the top of
my head, “could it be the elusive, never-before-seen clitoris?”

I gasped.

He flicked my clit…then quicker, and quicker, and quicker… Oh
my lord! Until my legs quivered so hard that I thought I would topple over on
top of him.

“Well, is it?” he asked.

“Yes, it is! Yes!”

“Ah. I thought as much. And this…” His finger left my clit
and wandered in a tortuously indirect trail toward my vagina. Slowly—very
slowly. The man was killing me. “What is this? What have we here? A cave? I’m a
mountain man, and we mountain men adore caves!”

I moaned as he carefully slid his finger into me,
investigating my depths. I gasped and trembled—oh god, oh god—and spread my
knees as his finger plunged ever deeper. I held his thick erection in my hands,
massaging it, wanting it, wanting it in me.

“Tell me when,” he whispered.

“Geoffrey,” I gasped, saying his real name, using the same
words that Zenith had said to me, “you’re a goddamn natural! You can fuck me
now—see how wet I am?” I sucked in a ragged breath. “Oh god, I want you so
bad!”

His finger withdrew.

He kissed me. Then he shoved my buckskin skirt up around my
waist, exposing me to the cool air, and helped me to lie down on my back. I
squirmed, but it wasn’t from the scratchy wool blanket. He stood over me,
naked, holding his erection, his feet planted on either side of my ankles,
stripes of light from the slatted walls falling on him in brilliant, abstract
bands. He was beautiful. Striking. Otherworldly. This little tableau was yet
another vision I would have to paint someday.

“Fuck me,” I pleaded.

He grinned. He lowered his big hairy self on my mostly naked
body and I almost apexed right then and there.

My god, what it did to me!

I spread my knees, lifting them, opening myself for him.

And then, in a single, mighty thrust, that huge cock was in
me, filling me, making me clutch at his ass and making me push my hips up to
meet his, making me forget that I’d ever had sex with anyone else.

He buried his face in my neck, moaning. “Angie…Angie…Angie!”

Oh, the hairy bliss of it!

He rode me like a man possessed.

And I rode himlike a woman possessing her man.

I took handfuls of his chest hair—that hair! Then all at
once—oh god! I was shuddering and writhing and shouting, and…apex!

So soon, so soon, the familiar wild surge of molten lava
rose inside me, expanding and flowing and infusing every cell of my body. I
grabbed at his ass, riding the wave, knowing he was having his own very special
apex.

Special indeed.

Phenomenal.

He collapsed on top of me. Then we lay there together,
panting, still clutching each other, his cock still inside me. I threw my arms
around his back, hugging him tight, enjoying his man-weight on my bare chest.
It had been one of the quickest fucks of my life but I didn’t mind. Fast was
sweet. Fast was intense. Sometimes it was exactly what a girl needed. I smiled
up at my mountain man, content.

“Thank you for that, Running Deer,” he murmured, kissing my
neck. “I can’t wait to tell Jonathan.”

I patted the small of his back, smiling. “I know, I know.”

He pulled out of me and I felt empty, alone—just me again. I
was just Angie, by herself again, no longer sharing my body. My least favorite
part of sex, so necessary and unavoidable, so final. I’d never get used to it.
I scooted out from under him and we rearranged ourselves, cuddling on the
blanket. He threw an arm over me and pulled me close, cupping my breast in his
warm hand. It felt nice.