by Banks, R. R.
“What’s at the end of the path?” I asked.
Fawn stood and gestured to the door to the parlor. I could only assume she was indicating that it was time for me to go to the path.
“You’ll find out,” she said. “Enjoy.”
I got the distinct impression that the conversation was over and that she wasn’t going to give me any more insight into what was awaiting me down the path. I stepped out of the cottage and followed the path to the back, then found the second path that led away from the vegetable garden. This path was smaller and not as well maintained as the first. Not that it looked abandoned or neglected. It simply looked like it was not used anywhere near as often as the path that led to the back of the cottage. I felt strangely special as soon as I stepped onto the path, as though I was getting a privilege that few others were given. That feeling fueled me on and I followed the path curiously. It wove through the small lush yard and into the thick woods just beyond. All of the wonderful fall smells were intensified here and I filled my lungs with them, getting the same intoxicating feeling as I had before, somehow nostalgic for something that I hadn’t even really experienced before.
The path led further and deeper into the woods than I would have anticipated that it would and I was starting to get nervous when I finally saw another small cottage appear several yards ahead of me. I climbed the few steps that led to the front door and hesitated. I didn’t know if I should knock or just enter. Finally, I decided to just go in and pressed the ornate metal handle, pushing the door into the building. I had expected this cottage to be much the same as the first, but what greeted me was completely different.
I stepped immediately into a large room that appeared to take up the majority of the building. There was a single door to either side of the room, nearly hidden against the rich purple brocade wall covering. The wall in front of me, however, was completely mirrored. A few pieces of furniture were scattered through the room, with a single large chair the same shade as the walls, positioned so that it faced the mirrored wall. I looked around, unsure of why I was there or what I was supposed to be doing. I noticed a table a few steps away and saw that there was a piece of paper on it. Walking toward it, I realized that it had writing on it.
I picked up the paper, surprised to see that it was addressed to me. I didn’t know if that meant that it had been waiting for me all along, or if Fawn had somehow arranged for it to be put into place while I was still on my way down the path.
“ Snow,” I read, “ on your journey to find yourself you must start by discovering yourself. Be open. Be unafraid. Allow yourself to explore and remember, this is about you.”
Feeling even more confused than before I had started reading, I put the paper back down and turned to leave, intending to go back to Fawn and tell her that I wasn’t sure that this was right for me. Before I could get to the door, however, one of the doors to the side of the room opened and a figure stepped into the room with me. He was shirtless, low-slung black pants revealing his chiseled body. I was so focused on his muscles that it took me a few moments to register his face. It was the same beautiful man that had brought me my dinner the night before and, I assumed, my breakfast that morning. His eyes locked on me as he stepped up closer.
“Should I help you undress?” he asked, his voice as rich and creamy as his eyes.
My mouth fell open slightly in shocked response to the question.
“What?” I asked.
“Should I help you undress or would you prefer to do it yourself?”
I felt a shiver ripple through me and a spark of desire in the back of my mind that I hadn’t felt in as long as I could remember. I thought of the words in the letter and what Fawn had said to me. I had been so unsure of what was happening and the purpose of this retreat, but instead of explaining it to me, she had sent me here and told me to be open. I was still unsure, still nervous. I didn’t know what to do. Part of me wanted to run out of the cottage and go back to my house so that I could pretend like none of this had happened. Another part of me, though, was curious in a way that I could never remember myself being. Not wanting to speak for fear of what I would say, I nodded.
The man stepped closer to me and brought his hands to the hem of my sweater. I lifted my arms to allow him to lift the sweater up and off of me. He folded it carefully and rested it on a nearby couch, then returned to remove my camisole. Once I was in my bra, he opened the button on the front of my pants and began to ease the zipper down. I stepped out of my shoes and socks as he opened my pants the rest of the way and brought them down my hips. He lowered himself to his knees in front of me so that he could bring my pants to my ankles and helped me step out of them. When they were on the couch with my shirts, the man came back to my side and took my wrist, he guided me across the room, stopping when I stood beside the chair facing the mirror, then turned me so that I faced the same way.
“Go ahead,” he said.
Knowing what he meant, I released the hooks on the back of my bra and let it slide down my arms, then removed my matching panties. It was an incredibly strange sensation standing in the room completely naked in front of a stranger, but at the same time it felt liberating.
“Look at yourself,” he said. “Really look at yourself.”
At first it was an odd instruction. I looked at myself every day. When I turned my attention fully to the mirror, however, I realized that this was different. Looking at myself each day was usually about doing my makeup, styling my hair, or making sure that my outfit looked right. I couldn’t remember the last time that I had taken the time to just look at myself, especially naked, if I ever had.
Squaring my body to the mirror, I let my eyes start at my shoulders and trailed them down my body. I examined the swells of my breasts and the pink of my nipples, noticing how they had hardened slightly in the cool air of the cottage. My eyes moved slightly lower and I turned, tilting enough to see the ridges of my ribs become visible under my skin. This led into the dip of my waist, then the curve of my hip. I had always felt somewhat self-conscious about the soft swells of my body, but as I looked at them this way I started to see them as feminine and attractive. My eyes slipped lower to the wisps of fine hair nestled at the apex of my thighs. Heat rose to my cheeks, but before I was able to look away, the man stepped up behind me and I felt him wrap his arms around me. I drew in a breath, expecting him to touch me. Instead, he rested his hands to the back of mine so that he could pick them up and bring them up to my breasts.
I allowed the man to guide my hands to rest on my breasts and felt him give a slight, leading squeeze. His hands fell away, but I left mine in place, massaging into my breasts and running them across my nipples. I felt the peaks tighten even more in response to the touch and an unexpected sensation rush through my body. My ex had never spent much time focusing on my body, giving any time or attention to giving me pleasure he didn’t think would benefit him. Now I was discovering that even that slight touch was enough to cause anticipation to build in my belly.
I traced my body with my hands in the same way that I had with my eyes, feeling the texture of my skin and the contrast of the bones beneath in some areas and the softness in others.
“Sit down.”
I had nearly forgotten that the man was in the room with me and I glanced over my shoulder in my reflection to look at him. He was standing beside the purple chair, smoothing what looked like a silky blanket over it. I took the few steps over to the chair, aware of the tingling between my thighs that had started under my touch and increased by the thought of the man there with me. I sat on the chair and felt the smooth fabric of the blanket tease my skin. As soon as I had settled into place, the man walked around to the back of the chair and reached down on either side of me to tuck his hands between my thighs. He applied pressure until I complied with it and allowed him to part my legs. I felt a twinge of nervousness and resisted the pressure. He responded my pressing a little harder. I didn’t feel forced, more encouraged, as though he wasn’t go
ing to give me the chance to give up on what I had started.
When my legs were open, my feet curved so that just my toes touched the floor in front of the chair, he brought his mouth close to my ear.
“Look at yourself,” he whispered.
I did as he said, bringing my focus down between my parted thighs. I had never looked at myself that way and though there was a hint of discomfort in the newness of it, the longer I looked, the more intrigued I became by my own body. I tried to remember what it felt like when my ex had touched me, trying to link those sensations to what I was seeing now, but I couldn’t bring any memories forward.
“Are you wet?” he asked.
I drew in a shuddering breath.
“I don’t know,” I said.
He walked around the chair until he was in front of me and lowered back down to his knees the way that he had when he was helping me undress. Without warning, he leaned forward and drew his tongue up my core. I gasped at the intense, unknown feeling and watched him climb back to his feet.
“You are now,” he said. “Feel.”
I brought my hand down between my thighs, hesitating for only a moment before I let my fingertip slip down into my folds. I felt the wetness there, the combination of his incredibly sexy lick and my body’s own fluids. I touched the swollen pearl at the peak of my core and nearly cried out at the intensity of the sensation.
“Watch,” the man said to me. “Watch yourself.”
Feeling bolder, I looked into the mirror and watched as I explored myself. I felt the curves and dips of my petals, intoxicated by the combination of feeling intricacies of my body that I had never known were there while watching myself create the powerful pleasure. The more I touched, the more my body responded, offering up more of the silky fluids. I gathered them with my fingertips to allow them to move more easily as I experimented with different patterns and pressures to create different sensations. I was learning myself, finding things that I enjoyed that I had never known, and stirring feelings within myself that were beyond anything that I had ever experienced. A compulsion washed over me and I brought two fingers down to press them inside me. I felt the heat and wetness of my walls around my fingers and I plunged them deeper, enjoying the slight stretch they caused.
I could feel tingling heat sweeping over my skin as my breath grew faster and more shallow. I wanted to close my eyes and give myself over completely to the sensations that I was feeling, but I didn’t. I didn’t want to miss watching for even a second. Pressure was building through my hips and stomach, and I pressed my thighs further apart, opening myself more and allowing my fingers to go deeper. I turned my hand slightly so that I could touch the pad of my thumb to my clit. It took only seconds of stroking for all of the pressure within my body to surge up until it was almost unbearable and then it crashed. I screamed at the powerful explosion of sensation and pressed my fingers as hard into myself as I could, feeling my walls spasming frantically around them.
This was something that I had never felt, an all-encompassing, breathtaking experience that seemed to bring me out of myself yet connected me more with my body than I had ever been. As my body relaxed and I felt the contractions slow and stop, I let my fingers slip out and my hand rest against my thigh. My eyes drifted closed and I concentrated on the rhythm of my heart and my breaths evening out again.
I didn’t know how long I reclined there, but when I opened my eyes again, there was a warm damp cloth and a fresh towel beside me and the man was gone. I took my time to freshen up and get dressed, then started back down the path toward the main cottage at a faster pace. Fawn was sitting beside the vegetable garden, slowly watering the pumpkin vine. She looked up as I approached.
“I’m in,” I said breathlessly.
A smile came to Fawn’s lips and she stood.
“Do you know your fantasies yet?” she asked.
I shook my head.
“No,” I said. “But I want to know.”
“Alright. Then we’ll try a little of everything. How many men would you like me to find for you?”
I thought about her question for a moment. My mind felt clear but also like it was rushing, spinning as I contemplated the possibilities that lay ahead of me. I remembered what Robin told me and felt a smile come to my lips. If I was going to do this, I was going to do it right.
“Seven.”
Chapter Nine
Snow
“Seven?” Fawn asked. “I arrange dates every two weeks. Are you prepared for that type of investment?”
She sounded surprised at the declaration, and I had to admit, I was a bit surprised at myself. The answer had just come out of me without me thinking through what it really meant for me to commit to three months of going down the road of being truly dirty. Now that I had said it, though, and heard Fawn repeat it to me, I knew that I was making the right decision. The thought of what I had experienced in the other cottage sent another thrill of arousal and desire through me and I felt my body starting to heat up again. If I could create this type of feeling in myself, I wanted to know what it was like to let a man explore my body the same way and nurture it beyond what I could accomplish on my own. The realization was powerful, finally helping me to understand exactly what Fawn had meant when she insisted that this experience was all about me.
“Yes,” I told her. “Is that alright?”
“That is more than alright. I always appreciate when my guests are truly committed to the experience and what they can achieve here.”
“Good,” I said, feeling a sense of relief just knowing that I had made the decision and given myself over to the possibilities ahead.
“Now, I have to be honest with you. I have strict rules and regulations when it comes to how I manage this retreat and the experiences that happen here. I will give you a contract and you will be bound to it and its expectations. The most important is anonymity. I’ve already told you that the men will each plan fantasy dates for you and that their personal lives don’t matter. This is not just a platitude. They, too, have signed contracts agreeing not to discuss their personal lives in any way that does not directly connect with the date. The contracts on both ends will also include agreeing that you will not attempt contact or to spend additional time with each other outside of your assigned and appointed date. You are not to share last names, in fact the men will utilize aliases, and you will not exchange any form of contact information. Do you understand?”
I nodded.
“Yes,” I said.
While part of me felt as though I should have been bothered by the restrictiveness of Fawn’s contract, I couldn’t help but be relieved by it. Not being able to make any personal connections with the men meant that I was going to be able to focus entirely on myself and what I was going to be able to get out of each date. No names. No connection. No emotions. No people-pleasing. Just indulgence, fun, and sex.
My mouth watered at the thought and I couldn’t wait to get started.
“Did you think about the fantasies that you would like fulfilled?”
I tried to think, tried to bring my brain to a place where I could imagine fantasies, but I couldn’t. The truth was that I had never thought about it. Maybe that was part of the reason that I had never experienced the type of satisfaction and pleasure that Robin had always talked about. I felt like I should have been embarrassed to admit it, but at the same time, Fawn struck me as the kind of person who would never judge. She was there specifically to help me and if I was open and honest with her, she would. I shook my head.
“I have no idea.”
“Alright,” she said. “Then I will create a sampler for you.”
“Like a box of assorted doughnuts.”
Fawn smiled.
“So much better.”
“Then I will take the sampler.” I hesitated for a moment, unsure of how exactly to phrase the question that I had on the tip of my tongue. “These men,” I finally said, “how many other women have they been…assigned to?”
&nb
sp; “None,” Fawn told me, her face suddenly serious. “Each man that I bring into the retreat is only assigned to one woman. I maintain a database of applications and background information for men who are interested in being a part of the experience, and when a woman comes here, I select the men who correspond to her needs.”
“Are they actors?”
I wasn’t sure if that idea bothered me or not. On one hand, it seemed that professional actors would be able to make the experience as realistic as possible, but on the other it could end up being incredibly awkward and part of me hated the idea of feeling like I was being pandered to.
“Absolutely not,” Fawn told me. “Even though your experiences with these men are limited, I can assure you that everything that happens is completely by choice. They are not given instructions for what to do or say or how to interact with you. These are real men and the time that you spend together is as real as if the two of you met in a bar or through friends or on a dating app. The only thing that’s different is that you know these men have been carefully screened, are safe, and know that they are there for you rather than trying to get anything for themselves out of the date. Of course, that doesn’t mean that they won’t enjoy having sex with you if you choose.”
“If I choose?”
Fawn looked at me strangely.
“Of course. This is your experience, Snow. Just because the men will be chosen for you doesn’t mean that you have to do anything with them. You might not be attracted to them. You might not like their personality or the date that they bring you on. If that’s the case, that’s fine. You just let them know that you are done for the day and they will bring you back here and leave. No hurt feelings. No negative thoughts. This is stress relief and personal discovery, not an obligation. If you are interested, however, you can do, say, and experience anything that you please with these men. They will only say and do what is natural and real for them, so you can trust the authenticity of every moment that you spend with them.”
