Max liked larger women, the more dominant, beautiful and statuesque the better. His fantasies involved them assisting him to dress and then binding and beating him until he cried. Only then could he attain an erection and satisfy himself.
Instantly, he felt a curious attraction to the tall English girl in the pool. He rarely experienced sexual feelings without some assistance, but her lithe and powerful physique started him on a fantasy. He could imagine her, dressed in black leather, dominating him and abusing him to a point where he felt the familiar arousal of his lower regions.
He downed his daiquiri, nervously looking around and noting, with some amusement, that most of the men in the poolside area were also staring at the girl as if hypnotised.
The girl completed a length and hoisted herself effortlessly out of the pool in a fluid movement, so she was sitting with her legs dangling into the turquoise water. She rubbed her short auburn hair with a towel and waved at a waiter. Max smiled and stood up, adjusting his immaculate white pants.
Michelle had seen the man and noted his interest quite early. It was something she’d learned to do out of self preservation in her previous existence. She also guessed that there was something not quite right about the man. His white shirt and yachting pants were immaculate and he had a very predatory smile. However, he was just too clean and too neat; few normal men actually plucked their eyebrows and varnished their nails.
“Hi there, I understand you’re a new guest here. I’m Maxwell Huntercombe.”
Michelle gazed at him, trying to get into the role of a superior English aristocrat.
“Fiona Hardwicke,” she said, holding a long and elegant hand out, palm down.
Max stared at the proffered hand slightly confused. He had found out from one of the staff that she was an English aristocrat – a Lady, so he, being a backwoods boy from Arkansas, had never encountered anyone with a title before. He wondered if he was meant to shake or kiss the hand, so in the end, he took it, shook it, kissed it and curtseyed.
Michelle smiled with genuine amusement, as did many of the poolside guests. Max’s secret was still secret, but rumours managed to escape, rendering him as a figure of mild amusement amongst a very few of his peers. His business acumen and wealth were, however, never questioned, as was his ruthlessness with people who crossed him.
Flushing with a mixture of sexual anticipation and embarrassment, Max smiled and retained her hand.
“Is this your first time in the States?”
“Goodness me, no, Daddy has a chalet in Breckenridge and I normally shop in New York in the autumn, just to get those last minute Christmas presents, you know.”
Max felt completely dominated by her, despite her still sitting and wearing a skimpy bathing suit that displayed her ample curves, leaving very little to the imagination. Her nipples were standing erect through the thin material. Her superior attitude and wonderful accent made him squirm, as his nether regions began to respond already.
“Are you on your own?”
She released her hand from his sweaty grasp and held up her other hand, showing the engagement ring on her ring finger.
“My fiancé may be joining me later. He’s in law, you know.”
Maxwell disguised his disappointment well, still hoping that something may come of this encounter.
“Well, until such time as he does, may I ask you to join me for dinner?”
She stared him for a moment, stretching the moment to fuel his unease.
“Perhaps,” she said. “I normally eat at eight, would that be acceptable?”
“Of course,” he replied, overwhelmed that she’d accepted.
“Very well, eight, in the bar?”
“Yes, that’ll be fine.”
She stood up and he found his eyes almost level with her beautiful breasts, held firmly by her suit but through which her nipples were still very obvious. He swallowed and raised his gaze to meet her eyes. He found she was smiling in faint amusement. He immediately felt embarrassed and reddened accordingly.
Without a further comment she turned and walked off, leaving him staring at her wonderful rear view.
Another was watching her from a different vantage point. Manolo Estavez was the operations manager of the unseen part of the operation. A duplicate security control room was located beneath the resort, but with full access to all CCTV and indeed even had extra ones, the existence of which the genuine security had no knowledge. He knew, for example, that Max liked to dress as a woman, and had seen things of most guests that would make his future less than certain if everyone knew. He had a file to which he stored exceptional photographs and video footage which constituted his retirement fund. Should he lose his job, he’d make enough from blackmail to be able to retire comfortably.
“Her father is in the British civil service, as is her uncle,” he said, as the suave lawyer came into his small empire.
“So?”
“Her uncle is the DEA’s contact with the British Intelligence services in the Caribbean.”
“Aha, so is she working for them?”
“No, not that we know. Her pedigree is immaculate, for I’ve been checking. She studied drama at college and aspires to be an actress, but enjoys the life of a rich bitch too much to work for a living. She sails yachts, rides horses, flies airplanes, and spends a month every year on the ski slopes. She doesn’t go in for the society life, and detests new money and actors.”
“How do you know this?” the lawyer asked.
“I read most it in a magazine.”
Ricardo laughed. Manolo continued to impress him, as the man was very thorough.
“Is there a picture of her?” he asked.
“Yes, it’s rather blurred,” Manolo replied, handing over a creased photograph that had come from a celeb gossip magazine. It had been taken by telephoto lens and could have been anyone. The hair style and general appearance indicated that it could well be the girl they were watching on the screen.
“She’s better looking in the flesh, it seems. I find it unlikely that they’d send in anyone as a guest, and particularly with her history. I think it more likely that they will attempt a covert intrusion if anything. Ensure that the security is tight. Tell anyone who asks that there is a chance that the English Lady is under threat from Irish paramilitaries, that way any wandering Anglo’s are more likely to get checked. We can use her presence to our advantage.”
“Is there anyone we need to keep an eye out for?”
Ricardo thought for a moment. He remembered the fact that the DEA used a German transsexual on the last job, so it wouldn’t hurt to alert Manolo to the faint possibility of them trying to use the same person again, if she was still alive, that is. He dug in his wallet and pulled out a creased publicity leaflet.
“Any woman who looks like this,” he said, passing the leaflet to the other man.
The photograph displayed Michelle in costume, so showing a lot of leg in a figure-hugging tight dress.
“One thing, Luis had a thing for she-males, so anyone like this, who looks as if she is a male, or had been, at one time.”
“What?” Manolo asked, dumbfounded.
“You heard. This is the woman who betrayed Luis, and she wasn’t a girl. She was a boy, who looked like a girl. You think you can tell the difference?”
“Ah, a travesti, of course. I heard rumours about Luis. Trust me, I can tell the difference.”
“Good. Now, we know she was shot and wounded when the DEA stormed the island, but then the American authorities claimed she died. I wouldn’t be surprised if the DEA don’t use her again if she is still alive, so if you ever see anyone who looks like a travesti, then call me, at once!”
Ricardo left as silently as he had entered, leaving Manolo to watch the tall English girl in chalet six as she took her wet swimsuit off and headed for the shower. Manolo whistled though his teeth, grinning, for the girl was perfect in every way. He glanced at the publicity leaflet from Miami and shook his head, he’d heard rumours about Luis, but had discounted them. Now with someone like this, one could almost be excused.