My attention returns to the lovers before me as two more naked bodies enter the room. Good grief. The music stills as if something major is going to happen and the lovers look as though they have been caught a little off guard — until they welcome the new arrivals into their embrace. The tempo quickens and suddenly the limbs of two male and two female bodies intertwine — caressing and stroking and kissing each other as though they are fused as one. I’ve seen women naked before, but not like this, not charged with sexuality like the women in front of me. And I’ve certainly never looked directly at naked women, noticing every twitch, every rise and fall of their breast, every quiver of their nipple.
The music is loud and I’m sure the oxygen in the room is being replaced with pheromones.
The scene unravelling before our eyes is impossible to ignore. The four bodies glisten with sweat and lust as the exploration of each other’s bodies deepens and intensifies and I can hear their cries over the music.
The air becomes heavy. I’ve never been this close to other people having sex before — it’s as if I’m watching something private, forbidden, and yet for some reason, it doesn’t seem wrong.
I have never been into pornography but I imagine the presence of technology or a screen might perhaps provide some kind of filter. This is raw, real and we are witnessing it with absolutely no barriers. I can literally feel the lust vibrating within the confines of the circular room, there’s nowhere for it to escape.
One woman is moaning and sighing as if it is becoming too much for her to bear. She seems desperate for touch but she is trapped, immobile as we all are, left with no choice but to absorb the sexually-charged atmosphere. I feel the knowing fire in my lower belly and my own body’s arousal in the face of such abundant desire. Every set of nipples around the room is on high alert; even the woman with her eyes closed isn’t spared, confirming there’s more than visual stimulation causing our reaction.
The music changes again. It becomes darker, edgier, and the slippery bodies disentangle from their self-created sexual nest.
Soft black ropes are released from the ceiling. The newcomers seductively separate the original lovers and deftly weave the fabric around their arms, binding their wrists together.
Arms now pinioned high above their heads, their bodies are unable to touch but their eyes remain locked. The room electrifies. The music meanders as the newcomers take a moment to acknowledge and appreciate their captives, lightly stroking their skin as if contemplating what pleasures will next take their fancy. I’m a little embarrassed that my loins and breasts are throbbing with anticipation as to what might happen, but I’m mesmerised by the scene, barely aware of the other silver-suited women wrapped around the walls. The intensity of my feelings is inexplicably linked to the bound beings at the centre of the room.
They blindfold the man and his erection immediately becomes even more rigid, leaving the bound female to watch. There is no denying she is turned on by this and I can’t deny that my arousal ramps up a notch as I feel my heart pounding faster. The male and female suck and tease him to the point of orgasm, which doesn’t take long given the previous foreplay and his body trembles and shakes. At the last second the blindfold is removed and we are left to watch the tormented face of the bound man just before he comes and he releases a euphoric groan as the woman on her knees swallows his seed in her mouth without spilling a drop, something I’ve never been able to do. She licks her lips as if she’s received a potent elixir. One day, I concede, maybe I could try it, I’ve never seen it from this perspective and it’s a powerful image…
The bound woman simultaneously throws herself back against her restraints as if she is feeling every sensation with him. They allow his limp body to recover turning their attention to the highly aroused female. She too is blinded and left to feel everything their touch incites. I can’t help but release my own whimpering moan as the memories come crashing back through my mind. Now, I’m watching as others once watched me. If I weren’t pinned to the wall my legs would have given way at this sight. My body floods with warmth and emotion that’s so intense, it’s overwhelming.
I watch as they suckle her nipples and fingers, and tongues entice her opening, lightly biting her inner thighs on the way. I am throbbing below, my own sex pulsing to the music, perfectly attuned to the bound woman’s body, to what’s before me. I was fearful of what others may have seen of me during my experience but now I’m absolutely overawed by the apparent beauty of sexual acts between consenting adults. I had no idea watching could have such an undeniable impact. I’ve never seen another woman orgasm before. Not even myself in a mirror. I’m both captivated yet quietly appalled that I can’t bring myself to turn away. I always considered it such a personal, private affair. Now, I want to see what Jeremy sees in my face, in my eyes when he takes my body to such extremes. I’m silently begging for them to remove her blindfold as they did with the man. Her moans are becoming increasingly excitable as the woman stands behind her, opening her thighs for the man; his fingers continue their play, as do his teeth on her breasts and her groans crash and bounce around the circular room. His penis is hard and fully erect and I picture him penetrating her hard and deep right now. The vision of it in my mind is so real, it takes my breath away. I can no longer distinguish between what I’m seeing and what my body wants me to feel. His fingers disappear deep into her sex, the blindfold is removed and his thumb finally ignites her orgasm. I don’t think I’ve focused on a face more in my life, as if I’m studying the mesmerising artwork of Da Vinci’s Mona Lisa.
It’s as though her life is suspended, breathless, still, as if some angelic force has frozen her body and mind with pleasure. The music softens, my own breathing pauses along with everyone else’s in the room, and I feel as though I’m flying with her, somehow connecting to her, until finally her breath is expelled with an intense cry, as her gratified body jolts and spasms back to life, to this reality. The music resumes with a bursting crescendo at her climax and dies off as the juice of her orgasm literally flows down her leg. Her eyes remain unfocused on the room, her body hanging limply around her. It’s only then I hear another pleasured moan and turn to see another orgasmed face the other side of the room. Absolutely extraordinary. Can that really occur? I only need to recognise my own dampness below and shortness of breath to confirm the answer to my question. I scan the room and see most sets of eyes are clouded with a lusty haze, no doubt mine included if my aching clitoris is any measure. What an experience. I feel exhausted and have done nothing except stand against a wall. None of us touched or pleasured, just watching others — the results pumped out from these suits should be truly mind blowing for Xsade.
Back in my room, I find my suitcase filled with my clothes but unfortunately still no handbag.
Françoise informs me that I can relax in here for a while until my final session and that I’ll no longer be required to wear the silver suit. Happy days. She helps me out of it via some tricky fastening that was out of my reach and, although it was comfortable, I’m relieved to be free. It’s quite surreal being unable to touch the skin on your own body. She hands me a robe to cover my naked body and carefully folds the suit into a special container. I’d love to see their testing laboratory, but what I want now is a bath and sleep. I feel shattered. I can only imagine how the four performers in the room feel…or maybe they’re used to it?
I’ve been relaxing and dozing for a while when a disembodied voice interrupts and tells me to be ready with my bag packed for my final session in ten minutes. Almost there… I’m assuming my 72 hours must almost be up. I wouldn’t know, I’ve lost all concept of time since arriving here. I close my bag and attempt to wait patiently on the edge of the bed for Françoise’s last knock on the door. I have to admit I’m a little anxious about this last session and what may occur. I harden my resolve. I’ve come this far and survived unscathed. How bad could it be?
I am led to a new room, which is favourably lit with the sort of lighting that makes
skin look soft and sensual, as if you’re shrouded in romantic candlelight — no doubt it is only clever artificial illusion but needless to say I’m grateful.
It is sparsely furnished except for a huge black beanbag. It looks strangely inviting. I bend down to run my fingers along its length to feel the soft velvety material. The room is decorated with elaborately draped pale purple, almost lavender, silk scarves that flow like a meandering stream around the blackened walls of the room. The effect is simple, stylish and clever. The fabric is silky soft and superfine; I can barely feel it as I slide it smoothly between my finger and thumb.
In the corner of the room I spy a small table with a glass of water and the infamous purple pill nestled at its side. In the other corner, much to my surprise, is a bottle of vintage Dom Pérignon chilling in a silver ice bucket surrounded by three crystal champagne flutes. It appears I’ll be having company.
I’m not sure whether I should open it or wait. I’ve been told that nothing will occur in this room until I have taken the purple pill. If I decide not to take it, I shall be escorted back to my room before a final ‘exit interview’ and then my contractual commitments are complete, except for the final pinprick of my blood. Then I’m free. I can’t believe how elated that makes me feel.
Ecstatic, even. I reflect on the fact that after my initial concerns, I’ve been treated really well.
My time here has been nothing short of fascinating and — if I’m being really honest — even tantalising. I’ve learnt so much about myself, sexuality, female libido, and the desire of drug companies to cure female sexual disorders — and, of course, make stacks of money. It’s impossible to ignore the capitalist reality of such products.
However, the idea of being so close to speaking to my children and seeing Jeremy again —
wherever he is — suddenly puts me in a pre-emptive celebratory mood. So without further ado, I walk over to the ‘almost approved’ purple pill and promptly swallow it so I don’t change my mind with my usual vacillating self-talk. Done.
Making that decision has given me added confidence and ease, or perhaps I’m more comfortable wearing my own black and white dress and sensible black slip-on shoes instead of being covered from head to toe in that strange silver suit. Whatever the reason, I decide to pop open the Dom.
Immediately, some slinky, sexy eastern music begins to echo around the room as I pour myself a glass and ‘cheers’ myself for making it this far through the ‘ordeal’ — which is what I’d presumed it was going to be. They have confirmed that I don’t have female sexual arousal disorder, which is no surprise to me after the recent changes in my sex life. But I do wonder, if I had undergone similar analysis before Jeremy flamboyantly re-entered my life, would my results have been different? Would I have been the perfect recipient for this drug of theirs?
Apparently, this final session has been designed around a potentially unfulfilled fantasy of mine — integrating elements of pleasure, desire and the unknown. I honestly can’t even imagine what it could be — so, if I don’t have the slightest inkling, how would they know what I want? I thought I’d pretty much done everything with Jeremy but then again, if I let my mind wander, I can think of a few things I wouldn’t mind exploring when I see him again…
I flush at my passionate thoughts and take another sip of champagne to bring my mind back into the room. My last mission in the clinic of sexual experimentation. It should be enlightening, if nothing else. The good thing is, if I want it to stop, I only need to walk out of the room and that’s it — all over. I still have a choice so I can’t complain. I take a few more delicious sips —
it’s been a while since I’ve had an alcoholic drink — and take a mental note that as yet, I don’t feel any effect from the pill. At least, I think I don’t.
The door opens and a stunning woman enters slowly. Her skin is dark and she is wearing sheer white harem-style pants, that sit low on her wide hips with slits either side of her legs. A matching silky scarf is folded over her ample breasts and wrapped, halter-neck style, leaving her shoulders bare — her obviously erect nipples not disguised in the least by the material that covers them. Her belly and back are flat and bare and their darkness is a stark contrast to the white flimsy material. Her hair is jet-black and wild, defying gravity in a rigid afro. Ignoring me, she saunters seductively over to the bottle of Dom in time with the music and pours herself a glass, as I stand staring at her, mesmerised and barely breathing. Her arms are toned and muscular and move like liquid silk. Finally, she raises her eyes and her glass towards me in silent cheers, and takes a long sip with the most sensuous, plump lips I have ever seen in my life.
I almost let out a sigh, I’m so overawed by her beauty. Without uttering a word, she places her glass down to fill the third champagne flute. I feel like my body has been frozen in place even though I can’t deny the warm glow of anticipation beginning in my belly and loins. Much to my shock I feel myself moisten with anticipation. Obviously it must be the pill having this effect on me, surely? She stands confidently with a glass of Dom in each hand, her presence filling the silence of the room.
The door opens again and a Japanese woman with pale skin, unusually large doe-like eyes and a perfect, neat nose, bounces delicately across to join us. She is dressed in a black version of the same outfit, has a pierced belly button and a chain hanging over her hips linking through it.
Her hair is also jet-black but impossibly shiny and plaited into a braid that slithers down her back and past her pert arse. Black on white and white on black, they look amazing together. She smiles at me and looks excited as she accepts the champagne.
They both take long silent sips, simultaneously licking their lips after they’ve tasted the delicious bubbles. My body releases me from its frozen spell and I subconsciously raise my glass to my lips as they do. They both meet my eyes, mine the only ones infused with any anxiety as to what comes next. This continues until we complete our drinks.
Ms Africa (as I have mentally dubbed her) takes the glass from my hand and guides me into the centre of the room; the music’s seductive tempo shifts audibly up a notch, as does my pulse.
This is my potential fantasy? Hell no, other women? Surely this can’t be it. Although, I must admit they do look so soft and seductively beautiful in their outfits… Oh dear lord… Jeremy would give anything to witness this! I notice the security bulb unobtrusively positioned in the centre of the ceiling, most likely recording everything, and absently consider that if he had access, he probably could. Somewhat emboldened by this thought, I can’t deny a thrill of anticipation as to what will happen next. I blame the pill!
The Japanese woman’s fingernails slide slowly over my shoulder, along the edge of my dress. I inhale sharply as she slides over the material covering my breast and exhale as she continues her journey to the other side. Ms Africa stands behind me and unzips my dress, so it can be pushed off my shoulders. It falls to the floor in one fluid move. My shoes are removed one at time, deliberately, slowly, the music and touch our only forms of communication. I feel myself flush with excitement and nerves but there is no part of me that wants to stop this from progressing. The sexual tension in the room steadily escalates and it’s making me hot —
everywhere. As my bra is removed my nipples are standing to attention, my blood is pounding to ensure their immediate pertness. As my bra drops away, my panties are sliding down my legs, I stand centred in the room, completely still yet mysteriously engaged, awaiting their next move, their next touch. Simultaneously their breasts slide around my body as they circle me. I inhale sharply, for the first time in my life I experience the sensation of breast caressing breast, nipple against nipple through the silky fabric. It’s intoxicating.
They move away, as if releasing me from a spell, and my clothes and shoes are bundled neatly under the table. With grandly elaborate movements they whisk the lavender scarves from the walls and swirl them around the room with such skill they could be ribbon dancers in gymnastics. Even
tually the flimsy material lands lightly draped over my body. Their bodies twist, turn and spiral rhythmically to the music as exotic silk floats around my naked flesh, taunting and teasing until I feel desire thoroughly spread through all my erogenous zones. The scarves oscillate between barely caressing my nipples to sliding between my thighs with enough intensity to prompt my clitoris to swell and throb.
The music changes slightly, the bass lightens and the strains of a guitar flit through the air as I come to realise they are wrapping my entire body in the sheer silk. They begin at my feet and ankles, delicately wrapping one at a time, before continuing along each leg and towards my thighs, wrapping me around and around. As they reach my apex, I gasp and they gracefully swap sides continuing their circular motion, maintaining all fluidity in perfect unison with the music around my body, covering my buttocks, my belly, my breasts, my chest. My arms become their focus as I’m wrapped from fingertip to underarm and up over my shoulders. My body is pulsing with lust and desire, as I fantasise about being part of their secret harem. I’ve never been intimate with another woman and have never allowed my mind to wonder what it would be like, to touch and explore the female form…would I be brave enough now?
Destined to Feel Page 17
