Stryker's Desire

by Meg Ripley

  The conversation between the two guests seemed to bubble along pleasantly enough, though they seemed to be discussing designer brands as though they were people. Then it dawned on Rayne that they actually did know the designers and they were talking about them.

  The magazine, the fashionable woman; the ease she had walking in stilettos, who was that woman who was supposed to have this card? I’ve made a grave mistake…

  Before Rayne could think of a surprise illness that would send her back home, there was an insistent tap on her shoulder. Turning, Rayne came face-to-face with the magenta pixie, a fixed smile emblazoned on her professionally made-up face.

  “Hi there, I don’t think we’ve met. My name’s Billie Toms,” she held out her hand.

  “Oh--hi, Billie. I’m Rayne Baker.”

  “You’re not of the Baker House Fashion family, are you?” Billie’s eyes widened.

  “No, I’m afraid not. I’m of the…” Rayne thought screw it “I belong to a prominent financial institute; unfortunately, my terms of agreement don’t allow me to mention the company’s name.” Where was this coming from?

  Billie nodded in understanding; Rayne had obviously passed some internal test.

  “So, you’re here to review as well?”

  “You could say that. I’m sure there are some other members of my team who would like to come along with their wives and girlfriends--or both.” Rayne smiled conspiratorially.

  Billie smiled and sat back into her chair; the plane was readied for landing.

  ****

  Rayne exited the plane into a blast of warm humid air and a vague scent of coconut oil drifting across the tarmac. The plane sat on a heavy-duty runway that ended with a cluster of huge hangars. Makes sense, they would have had to maintain commutes for their construction and staff teams.

  The trio descended from the plane to be greeted by a slew of resort staff in freshly pressed linen uniforms and a tray of tropical cocktails. One by one, the guests were led to a brand-new chauffeur-driven golf cart emblazoned with “Eden Resort” before they were whisked into the tropical forest that surrounded the landing strip.

  “You work in finance?” Rayne’s driver chirped. Obviously, her suitcase and attire didn’t hint at any other reason why she would be invited to the resort. The driver wore a luxurious cream-colored linen shirt cut in a Chinese style over slightly darker slacks.

  “Yes, actually; how did you know?” She hoped he might reveal something of the other guests she would meet.

  “Pardon my frankness,” it seemed that English wasn’t this driver’s first language and he hesitated before continuing, “You seem very different from the other guests I have met. Is it, how they say, professional?”

  Rayne laughed and nodded, “I guess that’s the best excuse for it. I will take it as a compliment.”

  Her driver smiled and started pointing out various sites along their trip to the resort. “You may have noticed that the other guests have disappeared; they are living in a slightly different area from you. You are in the best area. Guests in cheaper accommodations are not given quite the same view.” On cue, they drove past a thundering waterfall that tipped river water from a height of several stories into a brimming lagoon. “They are also slightly further away from the luxury services.”

  They wound gently through the forest until the tree line parted to reveal a stunning vaulted cabin. The driver parked and hauled the suitcase off the golf cart, motioning to the doorway.

  Stepping over the threshold, Rayne was assaulted by the most magnificent views she had ever seen in her life. The entire far end of the cabin consisted of single-panel windows that reached from the hardwood floors to the vaulted ceiling two stories up. Beyond the balcony that sat outside the windows was a plummeting view of the tropical rainforest. To the left, misty mountains; straight ahead, a leafy rainforest canopy that cut sharply into the white gold sandy beach and aquamarine tropical waters; to the right, a gentle curve of similar style cabins and buildings--the continuation of the resort.

  “Wow,” Rayne stood stunned. The driver chuckled and made an attempt to explain where her amenities were before disappearing out the back door and to his golf cart.

  Everything about the cabin was supersized: the bed was a king, the bathroom had a shower you could cartwheel into, the spa was gigantic and the kitchen was better equipped than her apartment’s. Flipping idly through the amenities brochure, glossy magazine stock, how la-di-da, Rayne gathered that the cabin functioned as a complete separate entity to the resort. Guests were encouraged to hire the on-site chefs and staff rather than mingle with the ‘common people’ down in the restaurant and pool area. The room also came with a private-use golf cart, but as this was yet to be delivered (according to the booklet,) Lotus Suite guests were entitled to a courtesy driver.

  Just as Rayne began unpacking her clothes, there was a ring from her door. Rayne let in a petite, prim woman in Eden uniform. This attendant gave Rayne a quick once over before plastering what could only be a professional smile on her face. Am I going to be kicked off the island? This attendant’s glossy black ponytail and barely-there makeup made Rayne feel uneasy; she felt like, at any time, a photographer would pop out to take some in-situ shots for the staff training manual: staff evicts chubby sham guest.

  “Welcome to Eden Resort, Ms. Baker! We are so thrilled you could join us. I hope you are finding this room to your liking; is there anything you need?”

  Rayne had a quick, cursory look, “No, I don’t think so.”

  “I am so pleased to hear that, but remember, you can call housekeeping any time if you would like to make a request.”

  “Okay. I’ll keep that in mind then.”

  The attendant stood expectantly for just a moment too long—long enough for Rayne to rummage out a crumpled bill for the attendant’s tip.

  “Oh, no thank you, Ms. Baker; we don’t accept tips here. Thank you for your generosity, though. What I was going to ask, I mean, say, is that you have been invited to our beauty room for a free private session. It’s perfect timing as tonight we are hosting drinks with a pre-set dinner to welcome our newest guests.”

  “The three of us who arrived?”

  “Well, yes and no; we are also welcoming guests who arrived yesterday and the day before.”

  Rayne stood and nodded slowly, “Sorry, what time is the dinner?”

  “Seven pm.”

  “And what time is the beauty session?”

  “It’s happening right now. You would need to leave soon to be ready for dinner.”

  Rayne looked at the clock in the kitchen; it was just after lunchtime. “I’m going to be gone for hours?”

  The attendant had the conscience to look at least sheepish while she nodded, “It’s free, Ms. Baker.”

  Resigned to fate, Rayne gave a bewildered nod and followed the woman.

  Rayne had been plucked, massaged, trimmed, washed and blow-dried to a rosy pinkness before the beauticians had called it quits and trolleyed out a makeup stand worthy of a department store display. Two women had then worked on Rayne’s face, critiquing and refining their work until they both stood back and clapped. Rayne had never felt so humiliated; they’re relieved the Herculean task is over.

  Rayne was escorted back to her cabin where she had just the briefest moments to marvel at the work the beauticians had done. Losing two inches from her auburn hair and having a professional eyebrow threader at her face gave prominence to her cheekbones and illuminated her honey-colored eyes. Slipping into her favorite sapphire dress, Rayne couldn’t help but twirl before the mirror; I look like a million bucks. Stepping into a pair of mid-heeled pumps, Rayne clattered back to the doorway where her driver stood patiently; her beauticians refused to let her walk down to the party after their laborious work. The driver, the same from that morning, was taken aback by Rayne’s new appearance and ducked his head in embarrassment.

  “Good to see you again. Sorry, I didn’t get your name?” Rayne smiled as she slipped
into the leather seat.

  “Oh, it’s Adam, Miss. You look very lovely tonight.” Rayne failed to still her grin as the cart took off into the forest.

  ****

  The cocktail party was in full swing by the time Rayne arrived. Adam had said there were about twenty-eight other guests on the island and that every night she could be sat with a different group of guests unless she asked otherwise.

  Men and women strolled and chatted amongst themselves at the party, which was hosted in the resort’s main atrium. The atrium was a vaulted common area of glass that ascended six or so stories into the forest canopy. The interior of the atrium was done in a minimalist earthy style to perhaps maximize the amazing views from above. A pond wove through areas of the atrium in a rather unique touch.

  A brimming piña colada was thrust into Rayne’s hand the moment she stepped into the atrium. Taking a sip to prevent accidental spillage, she was delighted by the deliciousness and gulped down a bit more.

  Occasionally, men and women would turn their heads to scope out their newest arrival, but it was the reappearance of Rayne’s magenta-headed co-traveler who swept her up.

  “Oh my gawd, you look amazing!” Rayne was prickled by Billie’s thick helmet of magenta as the maven went in for the double-cheek kiss. “I have to say I was convinced by your attempt to slum it into the resort; you had me, you know!”

  Rayne pursed her lips together just slightly, but decided that if she was going to play the role of a financial mogul, she might as well play along. Rayne was pulled through the crowd, careful not to spill her drink, and was led to a slightly quieter area where her other co-traveler stood nursing a rum and Coke.

  Blondie’s eyebrows shot up when Billie reintroduced Rayne, “This is the chick from the plane; who’d have guessed?”

  Blondie thrust his hand forward for a shake; Rayne gave what she would describe as an overly firm squeeze in response. “Nelson Patrick. Nice to formally meet you, Rayne.”

  Oh, fuck off, you ass! “Likewise,” she smiled her HR this-is-a-formal-warning-you-idiot smile.

  The conversation drifted between Billie and Nelson with Rayne adding the special effects of “ah” and “really?” at the appropriate times. What had kept her going was the delicious cocktail in her hand. Within just a few minutes, there was a delightful buzz in her head and her muscle tension from an overly long day seemed to have melted away. Finishing her tall glass, and seeing her first legitimate reason to abandon these thieves of air, Rayne motioned that she was going back to the bar and tottered through the crowd.

  “Dear God…I think my brain has given up,” Rayne muttered to herself as she leaned against the bar.

  “Strong drink?”

  Rayne looked up to find the voice and took an involuntary intake of breath. A man of equal parts Wolverine and Patrick Dempsey was smiling back at her with genuine interest.

  “No, though it’s a good one. I picked the two worst people to meet on my first day,” she nodded her head back toward the crowd, “They were debating jacket cuts and now they are both insisting they got the exclusive first looks at so-and-so’s next season wardrobe and are comparing very different notes.”

  The stranger laughed, giving Rayne the chance to drink in the cleft chin, gentle stubble and firm jawline. “Would you believe it hasn’t been easy for me to make friends here either?”

  Rayne raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow at him.

  “It’s true--swear on my heart,” he leaned back from the bar and crossed his heart to reveal a rugged athletic build. “Seems that no one wants to befriend an advertiser,” he shrugged comically.

  A bartender dropped another piña colada in front of Rayne and waved away her purse. “Must be free tonight,” Rayne said as she took a large sip of her cocktail, thrilled at the creamy chill.

  “I’m Ben, by the way,” the handsome stranger extended a large, warm hand; this time, Rayne returned a gentle squeeze.

  It was a couple of seconds before Ben motioned to her, “And you are?”

  Rayne instantly reddened, and spluttered out a laugh; this cocktail is amazing!

  “I’m so sorry,” she coughed between gasps. “I’m Rayne, Raynebow Baker. Gee-whiz, this drink is definitely getting to my head!”

  “Raynebow?” Ben looked at her like she wasn’t telling the whole truth.

  “Yes, Raynebow. My parents had a spiritual awakening and joined some strange commune before I was conceived. Fortunately, they saw the error of their ways and we moved out, but not before they named me Raynebow. I was yet to learn the horrors of that name until I was finally let out of home schooling. You can call me Rayne.”

  Rayne was about to launch into twenty questions when the lounge music playing on the AV was muted and a voice cut across: “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for being here tonight. Please make your way to your assigned seats in the dining room and dinner will be served.”

  Rayne was certain she could see a definite fall in Ben’s shoulders, “Looks like I’ll have to catch you a bit later, Rayne; it has been lovely meeting you.” He gave a sad little nod and made his way into the crowd. Rayne gathered her drink and followed the procession into the dining area before a gentle little hand settled on her elbow, “This way, Miss.” A staff member herded her towards a table in the center of the room lit overhead by a modern chandelier.

  Finding her name card, Rayne sat heavily in her chair and looked at the other guests. They were all a different shade of fake tan from the natural looking bronze to the sickly orange hue of poor formulations. Rayne was the only representative of a genuine indoor-colored specimen.

  Each table was equally shared between men and women. There was a near perfect split, except for one table where they seemed to be missing a man, and two women were sat together instead.

  Now that she was seated--and didn’t have to focus on standing up--Rayne took stock of her fellow guests. They were all unattached looking men and women ranging from early 20s to mid-50s, which was strange; she had expected there to be couples. The men occupied the highest echelon of the age bracket, but there seemed to be plenty of amorous flirting across the age groups--more than Rayne had ever seen before. Maybe this is how rich people date?

  For someone who worships at the temple of food, Rayne was shockingly not hungry during the meals, and neither were her compatriots. The food looked divine and had lots of delicious flavors, but she could barely stomach more than a few mouthfuls, Rayne was starting to think she may have drank a little too much. She chatted idly with her table guests and watched as they all pushed their food around, taking bites only every so often. Her thirst, however, had grown and despite feeling tipsy, she downed her cocktail; another was presented in its spot within moments.

  After dinner, the guests were guided to the open deck area. Now unsteady on her feet, Rayne took her time navigating the tables and made a beeline for some bench seats. She was quickly joined by others who also seemed a little unsteady, and ended up with two slightly older men sitting on either side of her. Guests were dividing into pockets and dispersing along the deck or wandering into other outdoor areas. Rayne looked for Ben, but couldn’t see him.

  A deep bass had started thumping through the floors, and a low melody was being played through the inbuilt AVs. Must be a DJ playing, she thought. Driven by the addictive beat, Rayne started swaying to the rhythm and tapping her feet. The men sitting on either side of her had also begun to sway and move their bodies to the sound, their hands tapping rhythmically against their thighs. The sounds seemed to intensify to a point where Rayne felt her grip slip on her glass and she dropped her cocktail, but no one looked; they were too absorbed in the music. For the first time in months, Rayne was feeling sexy, and she couldn’t resist the strange sensations that her hands were giving as she caressed her body. Almost as if by invitation, the strangers on either side of Rayne started to stroke her curves. A hand travelled up her waist and gave her left breast a sensual squeeze before slipping up to her face and gently turning i
t for a full mouth kiss. A thick tongue slipped into Rayne’s mouth and she sucked on it hungrily, not caring about the face on the other end. Her other neighbor was gently stroking her knee and waited until Rayne opened her thighs before slipping his hand up her soft alabaster skin.

  A hot, throbbing desire awoke inside Rayne’s center; it was like she was eighteen again and her libido had skyrocketed. The intensity inside her ached for release, and without any thought other than to satisfy her craving, she sat up and guided her neighbor’s inquisitive hand up into her panties. She let the two men guide her hands to their own crotches where she massaged their thickening lengths through their pressed pants, but her concentration was elsewhere. The hand inside her crotch had slipped past the panty line and was slickening her with a sudden rush of her wetness. Her clit ached as the stranger’s fingers fluttered and circled past.

  You’re in public, Rayne.

  As though a bucket of ice water had been dumped on her head, Rayne whipped her head back and untangled the hand fiddling with her panties. Looking around in shock, Rayne saw that the entire party was a tangle of bodies in various states of sex. A girl was bent over a railing, her skirt hiked up around her waist as an older man with a toupee rutted feverishly. A man and woman were dry humping on a picnic table, though it looked like the woman was only a few moments from removing her partner’s underpants. Rayne got up off the bench and was going to apologize to the strangers sitting next to her when she noticed that they had turned to fuck guests on the other side of them. All the while, that deep bass thrummed through the floors, encouraging the guests to fuck to the same rhythm.

  Rayne staggered away and found herself at a staircase that led down into what looked like a dimly lit pool and spa area. For no other reason than the throb between her legs urging her to, she took a few dainty steps down. She had hardly made it a third of the way down the staircase when she saw slithering bronze bodies gyrating against each other in the water. Rayne’s jaw dropped as she counted no fewer than nine people fucking in the shallow waters of the spa. Men with tight beer bellies swapped partners with men with six-pack abs, women turned and climbed their interchanging partners with the hunger and desire of the sex starved. Among this carnage was the flaming magenta head of Billie, who had her legs wrapped around the thickened torso of pale and blotchy stranger. Rayne was about to take another step down, her aching desire urging her down there, when a firm hold gripped her upper arm.