Destined to Feel (20 page)

The photo fades only to be replaced by a close-up of my bound wrists then it morphs into Jeremy straddled over me as I sit helpless beneath him. I can feel my cheeks flush with embarrassment as I wonder how they accessed such personal photos. And more concerning is that if Xsade has them, who else does? This could be my professional undoing. The temperature seems to have increased and I can hear the type of classical music that makes special times with someone you love even more mesmerising and memorable. More photos from the weekend dance before my eyes, some I have never seen before. And to see Jeremy’s face gazing at me so protectively threatens to undo me. That is when I notice a change in smell filter through my nostrils. Oh god, what are they doing to me? It is his smell, the musky, masculine freshness permeating the air around me. My nipples instantly react to this penetration of my senses and I feel myself swell with anticipation. The mere sight of his hands touching my body in the photo was difficult enough to absorb emotionally but all of this combined is sensory overload, it’s just too much. Now, it’s as if I can feel his fingers stroking my opening in time with the music, eliciting my pent-up juices from deep within me. His smell makes me feel as if he is right here.

I close my eyes and in that second I understand just how much I long for his touch again, and I silently cry out for him in my mind, imagining and hoping for the impossible. My hand automatically tries to respond to my swelling sex and aching breasts and I accidently release an audible whimper at the disappointment of being perfectly immobile.

Then it all stops. Music. Smells. Photos. Including my attachment to the chair. Everything comes to an abrupt end, as I though I’ve been released from a spell.

‘Excellent, Dr Blake. I think we have everything we need for our baseline.’

Whoa, what? It takes me a minute to gather myself together.

‘You may feel a little fatigued after this session. We often find that many of our clients do.’

Dr Muir’s cool voice brings me some way back to myself. ‘So please take your time to relax when Françoise shows you to your room.’

I can’t remember a time when I’ve been so categorically dismissed. The images caused such intense emotions, I honestly don’t know how to respond. And that thought reminds me: ‘Those last photos, how come you have them?’

‘Your contract states that the results of our experimentation here will be given to you. That is all we are required to provide.’

Well, finally we have some steely undertone to the superficial politeness I’ve been experiencing since my arrival.

‘Thank you, Dr Blake, I shall look forward to our next session.’ I can’t even imagine what that may entail, though I suspect this is merely the tip of the iceberg.

Françoise escorts me back to a plush-looking room for some time to myself. I breathe a deep sigh of relief at being alone and attempt to take my suit off to go to the bathroom. After a few minutes of struggling and flipping around uselessly I decide it’s impossible — and I’m grateful I’m alone because I’ve no doubt I looked ridiculous! It’s only when I stop that I notice there is a conveniently covered flap that provides the access for me to urinate.

I lie in the middle of the firm bed and, as if on cue, I suddenly feel exhausted. Before I drift off, I feel the bracelet beneath my silver suit. Thank heavens it’s still there. I have no idea whether they have tried to remove it, but I am so happy it is still securely around my wrist. Even though I can’t see or touch it, I can feel it against my skin. Unable to keep my eyes open any longer, I fall immediately into a dreamless sleep.

I wake up however long later and stare at my silver silhouette in the mirror for quite some time.

It’s weird seeing one’s face without any hair, and the curves of one’s body without any infringing layers. Hot and cold face cloths have been provided in separate buckets and their alternate use instantly revives the skin on my face. It reminds me of the thermal waters I experienced with Jeremy.

A tap on the door startles me, and my friendly keeper, Françoise, lets herself into the room.

‘I hope you enjoyed your rest, Dr Blake.’

I am immediately consumed by conspiracy theories: I’ve no doubt there are hidden cameras in the room and I wouldn’t be surprised if my room was ventilated by some insidious sleeping gas — it’s not as if they don’t have access to these things, as I’ve learnt firsthand. But either way, I have woken up considerably calmer and less emotional than I was beforehand.

‘If you would please come with me to your next session.’ Obviously there is no time to be wasted — she waits by the door for me to exit with her immediately. Her politeness feels even more odd given I have disclosed so much of my sexual history and desires to her earlier.

Once again we meet up with the now familiar Dr Muir. ‘Dr Blake, welcome back, please make yourself comfortable.’ She indicates a chair similar to the one I was in before, but without the hefty visual equipment overhead. This looks a little less complicated, at first glance anyhow.

I sit down.

‘This is another of our sensory laboratories, specifically designed around touch. It is at this time that we shall analyse the liquid exuded from your orgasm.’

Dr Muir seems confident that I will, in fact, orgasm and I’m interested as to whether I can in an environment like this. I could assure them I am nowhere near ‘in the mood’, but I decide that’s my business not theirs. I just want to get this part over and done with as efficiently as possible. She adjusts a few bits and pieces before turning to me directly.

‘Do you have any questions?’

‘Just one. How many other women have you tested with this procedure.’

‘Two thousand, three hundred and fifty-eight. Globally, of course.’

‘Oh, right.’ Well, that is substantially higher than I was expecting. I feel like an orgasmic lab rat!

‘Anything else, doctor?’

‘No.’ I can’t bring myself to reciprocate their polite formality.

‘Good. Let’s proceed. I’ll be next door.’ She immediately leaves the room.

Once again I feel the chair magnetically capture me from beneath and I’m stuck in position.

That is, until the chair spontaneously separates and my legs are spread wide apart — I’m as far apart as in a traditional birthing suite with stirrups. It’s not the most dignified position.

Françoise, who is standing nearby, delicately comes into my view to slide a kidney-shaped tray between my chin and my breasts rendering it impossible to see what is happening below. Such privacy. I feel her open the convenient flap between my thighs and the coolness of the air surrounds my sensitive slit. Instinctively, I try to close my legs but obviously to no avail. It’s like I’m being prepared for a pap test and I decide that is the mindset I must adopt. People have vaginal examinations all the time, I’m sure this will be fine. She then does a similar thing to each of my breasts; I hadn’t noticed seams there in the suit. This essentially leaves me completely covered, except for my genitalia and breasts. I’m not sure whether this specially-designed attire makes me feel any more or less exposed.

The silence in the room is deafening, so the slight vibration of the wand in Françoise’s hand sounds like it ricochets around the room. I cast my eyes upward to the lights in the ceiling, which makes the room feel even more clinical, and await my fate. I’ve never experienced a woman do this to me, but then again I’ve never been in an environment like this before either, never say never! There is absolutely no other stimulus to put me in the mood, so to speak.

The vibrations begin around my breast slowly and methodically, carefully avoiding my areola. First my right breast, then my left. My breathing stabilises and I feel myself relax a little.

It actually feels very pleasant. At the end of the massage the tip barely touches the tip of my nipple, which immediately sends a shiver through me, and she repeats the entire process. I could get used to this… And then it stops. Damn.

Next thing I know the vibrations are teasing my vulva, slowly and softly. My breathing calms and I adjust to the sensation. Eventually, I feel the wand slip in and out of the entrance to my vagina, not too far, just enough for me to sense the change in pulse and pressure. I tense a little as I adjust to the tempo. It slides lengthways along the edge of my vulva and I’m wide enough for my clitoris to respond to such pleasantries. As I get used to this lovely sensation, I can’t help but wonder whether I will actually be able to achieve an orgasm in such an environment. I’ve no doubt I’m relaxing into it, but these are purely physical factors for me — all science and no psychology.

The pressure then increases substantially along with the vibrations and I groan at the intensity now penetrating and sliding along my sex. She has certainly upped the ante now. It feels good and my nipples harden as another instrument focuses on my clit more specifically. Okay, this is becoming rather full on — my breaths shorten. As I’m trying to maintain focus, still staring at the ceiling, my breasts are fully covered with warm silicon cups that suction on to them, massaging them consistently and methodically. However, every so often something tweaks and twists my nipples and the direct stimulus is so intense, I can’t resist a yelp escaping in the silence of the room every time it occurs. The only other noises are the discreet vibrations of the instruments Françoise is using on my body, which now feel as though they have significantly multiplied in number. I’m not sure where or how to focus in this strange room of sexual machinery.

Reluctantly, I acknowledge that I’m becoming unavoidably more vocal as the intensity continues to increase, as does the biting sensation sporadically targeting my nipples. My back would be arched off the seat if I could move. My body can’t do anything but absorb the sensations bombarding it. And it is intense. So, very, intense. I’m secretly pleased I had the enema and wonder if that has had an impact on my reaction so far.

The heat in my erogenous zones must be going off the scale as Dr Muir continues to monitor my situation from the anteroom. I desperately attempt to isolate in my mind the sensations my body is receiving, to distract and prolong what I now understand will be inevitable. I’d hate to be considered easy! There is a gratifying penetration deep within my vagina, not unlike the purple egg Jeremy bought me all those years ago. Oh jeez, I can’t think of him or I’ll come undone in seconds. Then my breasts are being continually massaged, slowly and methodically, until the random bite — this is becoming more extreme and shocking as we continue but I must admit, it’s working a treat and sending my clit into overdrive. I’m losing focus. My breathing is both rapid and irregular with my G-Spot being stimulated so absolutely, so perfectly. It makes my vibrator at home seem like a cheap, dodgy imitation. How will I ever be able to return to something so obviously inferior after experiencing this? Not to mention the simultaneous stimulation of my clitoris and, oh, dear lord…the nothingness is so close, so near…my body is unable to do anything but accept what’s being done to it and I can’t take it any more…

I hear myself sigh, then groan, as I so desperately try to hold back from moaning into the clinical silence until I finally relent, accept and welcome sensation to come and claim my body and…release! Oh, it feels so good as I exhale and tremble and pump around the instruments that enable my body to achieve such physical pleasure. As I can’t move any other part of my body all I can feel is the continual distinctive spasms of my sex muscles. I close my eyes and allow the room to recede until I’m in a more composed state.

All the instruments are removed from my body with such efficiency I can’t help but gasp at the cold draft they leave behind, then the silver suit flaps are returned to their more modest positions. In my peripheral vision I can see Françoise carefully labelling things before she carries them to Dr Muir. They both return, the visual barrier is removed and I’m ‘magnetically’

released from the chair. Dr Muir offers me a glass of water with hydrolytes dissolving in it.

‘Well done, Dr Blake,’ she says. ‘That wasn’t too bad for you, was it?’ There’s a knowing smile at the corner of her lips, experience perhaps suggesting that she has never had too many complaints to date.

‘Survivable,’ I allow.

I’m a little embarrassed about my noises having echoed around the room, although I reluctantly admit to myself that I doubt I’d say no if, for some reason, they needed me to do it again. What is happening to me? It’s really hard to say no to a sensational orgasm, particularly when it releases hormones and tension and puts you in a fabulous mood. That makes it good for everyone, doesn’t it? Perhaps they are really on to something with their purple pill, after all. If not, I’m sure they could always successfully diversify into high tech sex toys. I’ve no doubt that market would be recession-proof.

‘If you would be so kind as to provide us with a pinprick of your blood now.’ I’d forgotten about the blood.

‘Sure.’ The glove covering my hand is removed and my index finger subjected to a brief sting before a drop of blood is saved in a Petri dish. Much better than another needle.

‘That concludes our baseline testing, Dr Blake.’

‘Will the rest of the testing continue in this way?’ I ask.

‘No, not as such. The next two sessions will measure your sexual arousal based on various configurations of factors derived from the information you provided to Françoise during your questionnaire, on the visual baseline experiment we conducted earlier and, of course, on the results from your recent orgasm.’

‘And this suit enables you to continue to monitor these variables?’

‘That’s right, doctor. The development of these suits has been instrumental in ensuring the accuracy and consistency of our results.’

‘Do you mind if I ask you a few more questions?’ My usual curiosity seems to be asserting itself.

‘Not at all.’

‘How many people are you testing in this facility at any given time?’

‘Females?’

‘There are others?’

‘Yes, men and children are used for testing other drugs we are developing. This department can accommodate up to fifty women at any given time. We currently have twenty with us and anticipate the arrival of another thirty by the end of the week.’