Destined to Feel (22 page)

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. Eventually 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?

My breathing shallows again as they wrap the silkiness gently around my neck, cover my lips, my nose and my forehead before sealing me up with a knot around my high ponytail, the only requirement Françoise gave me for this session. Now I understand why. I feel my hot, short breaths move in and out against the silky layer covering my mouth, my arousal impossible to ignore.

My vision is now through a haze of purplish pink as my entire body is mummified in the fine, sensuous, fabric. Every sense is heightened and feels extreme as my arousal ratchets up the scale. My breasts and groin ache as both women take a step back to inspect their artistry.

Experiencing such an exotic sexual ritual has left moisture pooling between my thighs. I feel so lightheaded I could faint with lust.

They each take one of my wrapped arms and guide me backwards towards the velvet beanbag. I am lowered softly on to my back, looking up towards their beautiful faces. Am I dreaming? Will I wake up in a sweat suddenly wondering if I have bisexual tendencies I never knew existed? Will I have changed my position on the Kinsey heterosexual–homosexual rating scale after this experience? Maybe I don’t know myself at all…

My meandering mind screeches back at the sensation of two mouths suckling on my breasts.

Oh. My. God. I gasp in shock, only to breathe in the fabric and exhale a groaning sound as their lips and tongues flicker and fondle, their hands massage and pinch and play with thigh, belly and arms — all through the silky sheath. Fingers softly edge around my lips and as I sigh in delight with the sensations, a tongue pushes through to my mouth but can’t penetrate past the material, distracting me from the continually adjusting position of my body on the beanbag. I’m rolled over and the sucking and biting continues on my back, my butt, under my arms, the soles of my feet… It is as if they are bringing every nerve ending in my body to the surface. I could cry at their soft stroking of that especially sensitive spot near my tailbone and that’s before they continue along my crack as my inner thighs are being simultaneously nibbled. All of this sensation is made strangely more arousing by the additional layer shrouding my skin. There is no rushing, no force, just the perfect sensual tempo of their touch. After everything I have experienced today, I feel like I could come any second, should the friction increase ever so slightly.

I lose focus as my sensate body takes over, something I only ever believed Jeremy was capable of eliciting from deep within me… The feelings are so exotic, so rhythmic and intense, it’s as if the room itself is charged with our innate femininity. Our three bodies are entwined, forming an indescribable mix of black, purple and white. I’m captured by the moment and can no longer stand my passive role in this scene. I need to play and fondle and feel them just as they are playing with me. My bound silken hand reaches out to touch a breast and I’m delighted as I feel the responsive nipple. My hand is considerately kissed and gently guided away before being I’m rolled over again on my back, this time my legs are raised higher than my upper body due to moulding of the bean bag.

Ms Japan positions herself between my legs and anchors my hands my hands firmly by my side. I see her cheeky, perfect smile and her eyes meet mine just before her face disappears between my thighs. Oh god, is this really happening? I throw my head back and my body jolts at the gentleness of her breath blowing past the silk in through my vulva. Is it meant to feel this incredible? The pill, it must be the pill, I counter, but my goodness they are very good at this.