Inn on the Edge (9 page)

Vane lifted the lid.

Josh and I leaned closer, our thighs pressed together, tight
and warm. We perched on the very edge of the bed, peering into the dark trunk.
It was lined in rich jewel-toned velvet—Viridian Green, although it might have
had a touch of Sky Blue—and I badly wanted to feel the fabric, to run my hand
over it, to write my name in its nap with my finger. But I didn’t.

“This trunk,” said a suddenly somber Vane, “is referred to
as a ‘Tool Box’. It’s yours for the duration of your stay. See? It has ‘North
Tower’ heat-pressed into the velvet.” He sat back on his heels, regarding us as
we studied the fuzzy words. “It’s yours. For now. Each couple has one just like
it. The trunks belong to Mr. Abiba, and they’re…special. Very special. The four
Tools within them are special too.” Vane reached into the trunk, pulled out a
black pouch tied with a cord. He untied the cord but didn’t open the pouch.
“Listen up, now. These Tools are infused with something powerful. They’re
infused, charged, like a rechargeable battery is charged. Understand? Kind of?”

I nodded, kind of.

“Infused with what?” asked Josh.

“I have no idea. Only Mr. Abiba knows,” said Vane, “and maybe
Zettia.” The pouch was flat, innocent-looking, about the size of a three-ring
binder. Vane held it carefully, reverentially. “Mr. Abiba takes care of them.
He infuses each Tool, keeps them in working order, tops them up after each
use.”

“Really?” said Josh.

“Oh yes. Most definitely.” As he spoke, Vane ran his finger
in languorous circles around the opening of the pouch, making me squirm. Then
he slowly slid his finger inside. Rubbed the interior lining. Took his finger
out again. Worked it in again. Wiggled it. He looked at me. Looked at my open
lips, my half-closed eyes, my slightly parted knees. He winked at me. “Yes,” he
continued, “Mr. Abiba knows it all. When a Tool has been used. How it’s been
used. How often. For how long. Everything.”

Josh pressed his leg so hard into mine that he shifted me
two inches to the left. “Really?” he said again.

“Josh,” I said, “I’m about to fall off.”

I was about to fall. Off a cliff! Off my rocker! I was about
to self-implode, and I hadn’t even seen the Tool yet.

Vane ran his hand over the pouch. “The trunks and the Tools must
never leave the premises. Never. Do you agree?”

“Sure,” said Josh, leaning back. He had an erection.

I had the female equivalent of an erection. A cauldron of
molten silver in my middle. An overflowing cauldron. “Yes,” I whispered, “I
agree.”

Vane raised an eyebrow and studied us. “The Tools are…erotic
enhancers.” He patted the pouch. “This is an erotic enhancer.”

We nodded. We weren’t idiots.

“And I,” Vane said slowly, “am going to teach you how to use
it. Okay?”

“Okay,” said Josh. His thigh rubbed against me, twitching.

“Yes,” I said, twitching back at him.

“All right, then,” said Vane, nodding. “It’ll take you right
over the edge! You’ll feel as if you’ve died and gone to heaven. Here we go. This
first Tool is called the Invisa-Lover.” Vane pulled a carefully folded
rectangle of thin fabric from the pouch, held it lightly in his hands. Then he
shook it and the gauzy, colorless packet fell open into a bath-towel-sized
rectangle. It shimmered. “It’s stronger than it looks. You won’t tear it.” He
held it out to us. “Here. Feel it. See? It won’t rip.”

I fingered the almost-not-there fabric, holding my breath.
It was cool to the touch, slick-feeling, unlike anything I’d ever touched
before. I felt something. A slight tingle? Like static electricity? I took my
hand away and held it to my cheek.

Vane rose to his feet, the Tool in his hands. “Shall we?”

Josh gave me a long, searching look.

“Yes,” I said, for both of us.

Vane closed the trunk and shoved it out of the way. Then he
spread the Invisa-Lover on the center of the bed, smoothing it with his hands
until it almost disappeared into the bedspread. Satisfied, he kneeled on the
far side of the bed, facing us. “Angie,” he said softly. “Come here.”

My heart skipped a beat. Or two.

Josh kissed me again. “Go,” he said.

I went.

“No,” said Vane. “Don’t get up. Stay on the bed. Scoot onto
the Invisa-Lover. On your knees.”

“But shouldn’t I, um, get undressed first?”

“No. Do what I say. Come to me.”

I went to him. I kneeled on the Invisa-Lover, facing him.
The molten silver in my middle was seeping upward, toward my breasts. And
downward, into my legs.

Vane smiled tenderly. He reached out a hand, touched my
cheek. “Am I your friend, Angie?”

“Yes. You are my friend.”

“Do you, as the user of this Tool, invite me to play?”

“Yes,” I whispered, “I do.”

Vane turned to Josh. “Now you.”

“Am Iyour friend, Angie?”

“Yes, Josh!” I said, “You’re my friend! My best friend. You
know that. You don’t even have to ask!”

“Yes, he doeshave to ask,” said Vane. “He has to
ask, or the Tool won’t work.”

“Oh. Sorry.” I shifted my weight from knee to knee.

“Now ask the second part, Josh.”

Josh made a face. He didn’t like taking directions. “Um. Do
you, as, um, the user of the…Tool…” He looked at Vane, who nodded. “Do you
invite me to play, Angie?”

“Yes.”

Vane put his hand on my shoulder. He motioned for Josh to
put a hand on my other shoulder, which he did. “Now, just wait. Be still. It’ll
happen. It can take a few seconds.”

“What will happen?” asked Josh. “I don’t see anything.”

But
I
did.

I gasped. Then I shrieked. I was going crazy! I must be
crazy because Vane was getting fuzzy around the edges and—and—

Josh!

Josh’s face! As I watched, within the space of two or three
seconds, it went through a lightning-quick series of changes, a loosening
almost, a fuzziness that got softer and softer until I couldn’t recognize him,
until I could barely even see him.

I bit my knuckle, horrified and enthralled at the same time.

Vane leaned forward, giving me a view of the wall behind
him. Through a saucer-sized holein his shoulder. A growing saucer-sized
hole. A hole whose edges were eating away at the rest of him. “Is it
happening?” he asked, excited. “Angie! What’s going on? Tell us.”

“Yes!” I breathed, daring to lean forward. Invisa-Lover! So
this was what it meant! “You and Josh—you’re
disappearing
! My god! You
really are!” My thighs trembled. My head spun. “I can see through you! You’re
almost gone! Holy
shit
! You scared the crap out of me. How is this
possible?”

“I have no idea, but isn’t it fun?” laughed Vane. “Are we
invisible now?”

I took a ragged breath, glad for their steady hands on my
shoulders. “Yes. Yes! You’re…gone. Both of you!”

“What? Can’t you see me?” asked Josh, aghast.

“No! I can’t see you at all.” I stared at where I knew he
was, even though I couldn’t see him. Where Josh had been just a second ago was
only a shimmering outline of his form. He was gone. I saw the roll-top desk. I
saw the picture hanging on the wall. I saw the bed. But I couldn’t see him
except for where his weight pressed downward into the bed. His hand was still
on my shoulder, so I knew he was there. I reached out a tentative hand and
touched his chest with my fingertips. So odd, feeling something I couldn’t see!
I traced the contour of his ribs with my index finger, shuddering. “Josh,
You’re invisible! I can’t see you at all! I
can’t
!”

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

I shook my head, feeling half panicked and half… I don’t
know! I don’t know! What does a person feel when her husband has just
freaking
disappeared
, when she knows she’s about to have erotically enhanced sex
with one, maybe two, invisible men?

“Angie!” prodded Josh. “How many fingers?”

“One?” I guessed, still gasping. “No! Wait. One…but it’s not
your finger!”

“This is bullshit. She can see me.”

“She can’t,” said Vane’s voice from my other side. “You and
I can see each other just fine, Josh, but she can’t see either one of us. Isn’t
that right, Angie?”

“Yes. It’s like you’re not even there.”

“Are you okay?” asked Josh, “You sound strange.”

A touch on my right arm, light, comforting. Invisible
fingers walking down from my shoulder, reaching for my hand, holding it
tightly. Josh.

“I’m okay.” I clutched his hand. “Vane? Where are you?” I reached
a hand toward him, hesitating. How could I reach for something I couldn’t see?
What if I ran into something else, instead? Like his shirt. Or his crotch
.
I needn’t have worried. A second invisible hand—Vane’s, feeling so different
from Josh’s, drier, bigger, meatier—took my left hand, and it was good.

It was very good.

“We’re not really invisible, you know,” said Vane softly,
his voice hovering above my left shoulder, nearer than I’d expected. “Squint,
Angie. Tilt your head. Try to cross your eyes a bit, you know, like those
fool-the-eye posters. Maybe you can see us. A little.”

“Oh!” I said as Vane and Josh slid briefly into soft focus,
then faded away again. I forced my eyes to cross and uncross, making them ache
deep inside. It would give me headaches if I consciously tried to see them, if
I attempted to bring them back and keep them there—better to let Vane and Josh
fade away to nothingness, like the Tool was designed to do.

“We’re not really invisible, we’re…camouflaged.” Vane’s hand
left mine and worked its way up my sleeve. “This isn’t magic. Not exactly.”

I turned my head, watching my sleeve wrinkle and shift at
the unseen touch. I shivered.

“Magic! Camouflage! Whatever. I want to try it too!” said
Josh, squeezing my hand.

Vane laughed. “After,” he said. His hand roamed across my
shoulder, across my back. Invisible. “It’s her turn first.”

Josh kissed me on the neck, then his hand left mine. A
second later an invisible hand crept up my stomach and cupped my breast,
lifting it, making me suck in my breath. Josh’s hand?

Wasn’t it?

“Angie,” whispered Vane, pulling me close, “you can make
this much more interesting, by not touching us.”

“Why?”

“You’ll see. Don’t feel for my ponytail. Don’t feel for
those long fingers of Josh’s. Don’t feel our faces. Don’t even try. Okay?”

“Okay,” I said, liking the concept of
much more
interesting
.
“I won’t.”

“Trust me,” he said.

I felt them moving around on the bed.

“We’re putting on condoms,” said Vane. “Just so you know.”

My insides quivered.

Someone placed his warm hand on my butt. Josh? Vane? I
shivered, losing track of whose hand was where. I gasped. I wasn’t so far gone yet
that I couldn’t see the irony of it all. I’d been blinded. Me! The artist! Who
spent her whole life looking at things. I am an intensely visual person, always
orienting myself in terms of color and value and perspective. This ought to be
freaking me out! Why wasn’t I having a heart attack? Why wasn’t I rolling up
into a quivering ball? Amazingly, I seemed to be adjusting to this particular brand
of sightlessness pretty darn well.

Of course I was. Two men at once. All for me. Who wouldn’t?

A silent message must have passed between Vane and Josh, for
they abruptly fell silent. I heard their movements, heard their breathing, but
neither of them spoke another word. If I hadn’t known better, I’d have thought
I was alone in the room.

But I did know better.

The Invisible Men were playing with me. Oh, how they played!

They crawled around my kneeling form, around and around,
tossing their shirts and pants and socks and underpants from the bed as they
went—those I could see—until I lost any concept of who was where, who was
touching me where. And then I felt their heavy, warm bodies crouching on either
side of me, close, so close. I trembled as their hands roamed over me,
alighting here, rubbing there, grazing, cupping, caressing. Their hands—four of
them—never left me. I fought the urge to touch them.

Someone leaned in and kissed me. Vane! It was Vane! I knew
it was! He felt different from Josh. His lips were softer, his kisses quicker.
And as Vane kissed me, the buttons on my shirt starting falling open. Josh!
Josh was undressing me!

Right? It was Josh? It had to be, because Vane was kissing
me.

But how could I know for sure? Because now Invisible Man number
one was freeing my breasts, shoving my bra out of the way, caressing them one
after the other. Gently, he pushed me onto my back so I lay face up on the
Invisa-Lover. He flicked my nipples, rolling them between his fingers, making
me roll from side to side under his ministrations, making my insides clench in
a most delightful way. This was new—Josh had never done it this way. I peered
at the empty space where I thought Invisible Man number one might be,
squinting, trying to cross my eyes, trying to see. It didn’t work.

Maybe it wasn’t Josh.

Was it Vane?

Invisible Man number two—Vane? Josh?—lay down alongside me
and hooked his fingers under the band of my pants. He undid the button and
unzipped the pants, tugging on them, as Invisible Man number one took my nipple
in his mouth and began to suck.

I arched my back, moaning.

Who was sucking me? Who? Who was pulling down my pants,
caressing every inch of my inner thighs? Who?

Who?

My breath came in gasps. Because man number two, whoever he
was, was done with my pants, had tossed them into the corner followed by my
panties, and was now gently but firmly nudging my legs apart and bending my
knees. Oh! Oh! Now caressing my inner thighs. Now spreading me wide, revealing
my most private parts. Cupping my pubic mound in his warm hand. And now…now…now…he
was walking a finger around me, opening me, exploring my folds and inner
places, all hot and wet and needful, with his curious fingers.