Caroline

I read “The Unbearable Lightness of Being” by Milan Kundera when I was in high school. I hated the main character, Tomas. He was a womanizer who justified his dalliances by thinking of them as an exploration of a woman’s uniqueness displayed only during the throes of sex. At the time, I thought that was a load of crap. Another story which shows a sexually promiscuous male as being deep, while all these women he entertains are reduced to squeeze boxes, sexual grunts and moans. Fuck that!

Regardless, the character stuck in my head.

It wasn’t until later in college, that I discovered  that my hatred of Tomas was more likely due to jealousy. That realization set me free sexually. I allowed myself not just to emulate Tomas, but to do so under much more challenging circumstances due to my alternative sexual preferences. I began my own study of female sexual individuality.

Luckily, we have been entering a new age where attraction and gender are not measured as binary values but are expressed on a continuum. Today, there are many young, heterosexual women who are interested in experimenting with same sex intimate encounters and that is where I excel. They are not interested in long term relationships with me. Sometimes, I’m just a check on a bucket list. That is completely fine with me. And, unlike Thomas, there is no chance that I will impregnate any of my temporary partners.

Needless to say, I am really, really good at sex. I tend to believe that I may even provide my targets with a gentle tug along the attraction continuum towards female exclusivity.

Regardless, shortly after I made my realization, I came upon Bessica. I chuckled when I saw her on campus carrying a parasol on a sunny day. She later explained to me that she had to protect herself from the sun due to a series of severe progressive skin allergies. My first impression, however, labeled her as a snotty sorority bitch immediately. I didn’t think that I would like her at all. That impression did not prevent me from wanting to have sex with her though. She is very pretty with her long, black hair and porcelain skin. And it’s no wonder she carried the parasol. She would’ve been fried in a minute by the sun.

It’s good to have an open mind and disregard first impressions. I only had to flirt a little, before Bessica had me in her bedroom with leather cuffs padlocked on each of my limbs, tied spread eagle, being expertly serviced by her tongue. I would not say that she is quite at my level when it comes to sexual skills, but we are certainly in the same league. When it was my turn to service her, I happily pushed her over a series of climactic falls which she thoroughly enjoyed if her screams can be any indicator.

We had collapsed, unconscious, still tangled together when her alarm went off sometime in the middle of the night. She apologized and crawled out from underneath me, grabbing her phone.

“I have to take care of something real quick,” she said as she threw on clothes and grabbed her keys. Seconds later she ran out the door, leaving me in her bed, naked except for the leather cuffs which I had no idea how to remove. True to her word, she returned about a half hour later. By that time I had gotten dressed, intent on slipping back to my apartment before the sun rose.

“No,” she said when she saw me. “Please stay!”

I tried to make some lame excuse about studying the next day, but she totally ignored me. “I had to go save my friend, Ynnym. She’s a total bondage slut. In fact, you’re wearing cuffs that she loaned to me. She’s got tons of really quality, expensive shit. She was doing a self bondage scenario last night and I am her last fallback. The key to her handcuffs, which was tied to a string, became tangled and well… Let’s just say that she was happy to see me. We’re going for breakfast tomorrow morning. I told her you would come along. You’ll like her. Besides… heh… I just remembered that she has the keys to the padlocks on those cuffs you’re wearing… Sorry.”

Needless to say, I decided to stay.

When I awoke in the morning, Bessica was in the attached bathroom wearing nothing but a pair of low riding cotton panties. She was slathering her pale skin with some sort of lotion.

“Good morning, Caroline,” she said with far too much exuberance, looking at me in the reflection of the mirror. “We’ll be meeting the others in about thirty minutes.”

I nodded and began pulling on my shoes. “Mind if I get a drink?” I asked.

“I think there is some orange juice in the fridge.”

I found the kitchen and started opening cabinets looking for a cup. Bessica didn’t have any dishes. The cabinets were filled with paper plates and paper bowls. Everything was disposable. I found a foam cup and tipped up the bottle of OJ which I had found in her sparsely equipped refrigerator. I sat on a bar stool by her counter and brushed my hand through my short, dark curly hair which is about all that was needed for my low maintenance hairdo.

Bessica came down wearing a floor length, tie dyed hippy skirt and a black, long sleeved button up croptop that left most of her pasty midriff bare. She wore lacy white cloth gloves on her hands. She obviously had no bra.

“I couldn’t find any normal cups,” I said raising my drink for emphasis.

“Oh, yeah. I keep all my cups and utensils in the dishwasher and run it every night. I can’t wash dishes because of my skin allergies. Prolonged exposure to dish detergent makes my hands break out in a nasty rash.”

“Wow! That sucks.”

“I always hated doing dishes anyways,” she said, smiling. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah… um… I was wondering,” I said raising my arm and pointing at the small padlock dangling from the black, leather cuff wrapped around my wrist, “Do you have anything I could use to cover these when we go out?”

Ten minutes later we walked into a small trendy diner down the street. Bessica was carrying her parasol and I ended up just folding my arms under the flimsy jacket that she let me borrow. Bessica waved to two women in a booth at the back of the diner. I totally recognized one - the crazy, blue-haired Asian girl with the facial tattoo. Her mods made her a minor campus celebrity. She was slouched against the wall with sunglasses apparently nursing a hangover. The second woman, who was wearing an overcoat with one arm awkwardly shoved in one of the pockets stood and moved to the other side of the table giving space for Bessica and I to sit down.

“Caroline, I want you to meet my best friends, Ynnym and Angela.”

I must admit that I was becoming really worried that Bessica was trying to push me through some awful new girlfriend panel with her besties. Fuck! I just hooked up with her. I sort of wanted to run. I waited for Bessica to climb into the booth so I wouldn’t be pinned in.

Instead she grabbed Ynnym by the shoulder of her overcoat and pulled her back to her feet. “Sit next to me, Ynny,” she said. “Did you bring the keys for Caroline?”

“Did you bring the keys for me?” Ynnym asked. After she flopped into the booth and Bessica sat down next to her, Ynnym pulled out the hand that was buried in her coat pocket along with about five feet of heavy chain, which she proceeded to dump on the table with a loud clattering sound. One end of the chain was linked to a heavy metal cuff on her wrist.

“Jesus! The noise!” Angela said, wincing as I sat down next to her. She grimaced at Ynnym for a second. “You are such a bondage slut!”

I could feel a number of eyes settle on our booth from throughout the diner.

“Yeah. This isn’t even part of last night’s setup. Bessica locked it on when she came to free me,” Ynnym said. I couldn’t believe that she was so frank about her self bondage adventure. She could just as well have been talking about the weather.

Bessica unlocked Ynnym’s wrist cuff and tossed it on the table with a clatter. Ynnym stuck her hand back in her pocket and pulled out a ring of keys, which she handed to Bessica.

“Give me your foot,” Bessica said to me. I raised my right foot onto Bessica’s thigh under the table. Bessica, pulled off my Chuck Taylor and rolled up the hem of my jeans to reveal the leather cuff padlocked there. After digging through the keys, she picked one and unlocked the cuff, tossing it up on the table. She then pushed my foot down between her thighs and began rubbing her knuckles in my instep.

“Mmm, that feels good,” I said.

“I owe you - making you come along and all,” Bessica said. She pulled my leg a little closer towards herself and began to grind her crotch against my heel a little. I could fee her heat emanating through the material of her skirt.

Meanwhile, a heavily tattooed waitress with a huge round nose ring came over and asked for our drink order.

“Bloody Mary,” Angela grumbled.

“Hungover again? You’re going to be an alcoholic,” Ynnym said. “I’d like a Diet Coke, please.”

“We can’t all be saints,” Angela replied.

“English Breakfast, please,” Bessica said abandoning my foot massage for a second to wrap an arm around Ynnym to pull her close for a lingering kiss on the cheek.

“I’ll have a coffee. Black,” I said.

The waitress looked at all the hardware strewn across the table. “I need to hang out with you guys sometime,” she said, walking away.

“I think that I’ve seen you before,” Angela said to me. Did you wear a bra made of melon rinds and a grass skirt to the Luau at Lucy’s Bar a couple of weeks ago?”

“Yyyesss…” I said slowly. “Yes, I did.”

“Oh, yeah,” Angela responded. “I think that I did a body shot off your stomach.”

“Mmm hmm. Yep. That probably happened,” I said looking over at Bessica who was still smothering Ynnym with a hug, smashing their faces together cheek to cheek. They both were smiling at me.

“What was your name again? Caroline?” Angela asked. “I think that you are going to fit right in with this group.”

    <>--+-

That was over five years ago, and we all did, in fact, become the best of friends. The best friends that I have ever had. Bessica and I never really dated. We’ve slept together several times over the years, but I realized fairly quickly that her skin allergies make her so high maintenance that it’s sickening. I used to goad her about her strange concerns and practices. I used to.

Every once in a while her allergies get the best of her. I still remember the first time I saw the fire red rashes streak across her skin. She would constantly slather herself with moisturizers - the whole time confining herself, naked, in an old, claw foot porcelain bathtub. She couldn’t even stand to soak herself in water though, so she would just curl up on the dry, hard, cold bottom and lie there for days. Ynnym, Ang, and I would sit with her, fetching food and water or lotion, or whatever. After that first time, I did not goad her any more. I was even afraid to touch her for a while out of fear that her skin would tear off from her bones.

I’ve slept with Ynnym upon occasion too. She is so utterly sweet, that it is almost sickening. Oddly, in bed, she is so guarded that sex is just awkward at best. I could see immediately why Angela always calls her “the Saint”. Not that she has an aversion to sex. Not by a long shot. Rather, she’d prefer to take care of herself. She argues that bondage does more for her than any other person could. I’d say that she is simply blocked when it comes to true physical intimacy. Whatever. She’s always willing to lend out items of her extensive collection of bondage hardware.

I’d say that I’m closest to Angela. We like to go out to bars together and hunt down one night stands. It’s fun and we keep each other safe. As an added bonus, if we are both unlucky and horny, then we can sleep with each other. We even joke that one day we will marry and spend our entire honeymoon at a lesbian swinger’s retreat.

    <>--+-

Bessica always spends summers down in El Salvador. She has an aunt who is some kind of academic who applies “non-FDA-approved” procedures to help Bessica with her skin allergies. This time shortly before heading down, she invited us all to go along and participate in her aunt’s studies on psychology and sexuality.

“Wait! Just pause there for a second! You want us to travel to El Salvador to stay in a big house on the coast for a week to study sex,” I exclaimed, “and you are going to pay us?”

“There’s no men involved, are there?” Angela asked somewhat skeptically.

“No!” Bessica said. “Only women are allowed at my Aunt’s place. And, yes, she will even pay for your transportation. And, yes yes, we will have lots of time to lie around on the beach. Well… what do you all think?”

“There’re no horses involved, are there?” Angela asked in the same dry tone.

“Uh… no… My Aunt is studying orgasms and arousal. There will be no barnyard animals,” Bessica promised patting Angela gently on her tattooed cheek. “Unless you find them arousing…”

Ynnym, Angela, and I looked at each other for a second.

“So?” Bessica prompted. “Do you all want to come?”

“Well… “ I said, “I’ve been trying to get a promotion at work. Fuck! My head says that I should stay here. But… arousal? orgasms? …my cunt says that I should go.”

“And we all know that Caroline always does what her cunt tells her to do,” Angela said. “This does not even appear as a choice for me. Fuck, yeah, I’m going!”

“How about you, Ynnym? Will your old ball and chain let you come along for a week?” Bessica asked, at which time Angela, Bessica and I looked at each other and said at the same time, laughing: “‘Ball and chain’ meaning actual ball and actual chain.” Somehow that joke never gets old.

“Ha ha ha,” Ynnym dead-panned. “Whatever. I’d have to be dead not to come.”

Before we knew it the week of the trip arrived. We flew to El Salvador and survived a harrowing van trip to the coast that flayed all of our nerves. I remember Bessica particularly getting really snippety. She had been pulling at her clothes and loosening her seatbelt repeatedly. I think that something was irritating her skin.

Ynnym was trying to diffuse the growing tension by describing some research that she had done on Bessica’s Aunt Lucette, our host. Ynnym described how many research papers cited papers written by Lucette, which, to Ynnym, was like the gold standard to respectability. Of course, Ynnym’s research just pissed Bessica off even more.

“I’ve been telling you this for years, Ynnym,” Bessica snarled. “You trust the internet more than your fucking best friend!”

“No! It’s not like that,” Ynnym tried to say.

Angela, of course, couldn’t help herself and piled on. “This is just the research Saint Ynnym has to do before she blesses someone. You should be happy, Bessica. Your aunt has been blessed by a saint now. Our deliverance is now assured!”

Ynnym then flicked Angela a bird.

“Holy shit!” I screamed. “Is that your aunt’s place?” I asked pointing out the window, happy to find a new subject in order to avoid conflict. There was a huge brick building out in the distance beyond which, I could see the ocean glowing in the last of the day’s sunlight.

“Le Puits Crux”, Bessica said. It sounded like “lay pee crew”, which made us laugh a little.

“This van ride has made me need to ‘le pee’!” Angela mumbled.

Bessica ignored Angela. “This has been used as an asylum for exceedingly rich patrons since the late 1800’s.”

“‘Has been used’?” I asked. “Did she say ‘has been used’? Not ‘was used’? Are you saying that there are still wackos there today?”

“Easy Caroline, they are not wackos!” Bessica said once again readjusting her shirt. “My aunt does not house serial killers at her place. The inhabitants are just not capable of taking care of themselves in the modern world. We keep them safe.”

“What?! You never told us that we were going to spend our holiday in an insane asylum!” I exclaimed. I turned to Ynnym. “Did you know this?”

“No,” Ynnym said, apparently still annoyed at Bessica.

“Maybe you should have looked at more than just Auntie Lucette’s CV,” Angela said to Ynnym. “Hmm… There are probably a lot of medical restraints. Perfect for you, your holiness.”

“Yes, there are,” Bessica said eying Ynnym, her lip twisted into a bit of a snarl. After a second, though, her face softened. “I’ll make sure to give you a tour.”

Ynnym looked at Bessica somewhat fearfully, until she saw the smile begin to form on Bessica’s face. Suddenly, she blushed and looked out the window. “OK,” she squeaked, working hard to keep from smiling, herself. Ynnym did not normally blush about bondage scenarios. Whatever she was thinking must have been extreme.

    <>--+-

We were greeted at the door by Bessica’s Aunt Lucette. I’m pretty certain that she is a vampire. She didn’t look that much older than we were, though Bessica claims that Lucette often took care of her as a young teenager. She had Bessica’s pasty complexion and deep, black hair.

We were led to a dining room by a particularly curvy Latina woman in a French maid’s dress who was totally hot. She didn’t speak a lick of English. Luckily, I took a number of years of Spanish in college, so I did my best to talk her up.

After a marvelous dinner, the maid led Angela and I to the room that we would be staying in. It was so small, that there was hardly room for the double bed. There was a sink and a toilet jammed right up next to bed and the two windows were only narrow vertical slits high on the wall. Our suitcases were set up on a metal shelf that was bolted to institutional, cinder block walls. I suddenly felt a wave of claustrophobia and had to test the door knob to make sure we hadn’t been locked in to a cell. Heck! I think that it was a cell at one point at time.

Angela collapsed onto the bed. “I’m so tired,” she said. I think she had had a lot of wine at dinner.

“Oh, come on!” I said crawling into bed and slowly lowering my body on top of hers. “We are on vacation! Let’s have some fun!”

Angela smiled and twisted a finger through her blue hair, but otherwise didn’t even open her eyes.

“Come on. We could go a couple of rounds of ‘willies’,” I said. And when she didn’t respond, I gave her a fat, wet lick up the side of her face over her odd tattoo.

“Ooo!” she screamed, pushing my face away from her, but finally laughing. “OK. OK. I want you to…” She thought for a moment. “I want you to lick my pussy.”

I guess that, at this point, I should explain what I meant by “a round of willies”. It is a game that Angela and I invented where the first person suggests something sexual that they desire. The second person can consider the act and then agree to it with a particular condition that the first does something in recompense. That is, the second person responds with a statement like “I will if you will…” followed by something sexual that the first must do. So, when Angela suggested that she wanted me to lick her pussy, if I were not particularly interested, I could say something like “I will if you will tattoo my portrait on your ass”. Angela could then decide whether she is willing to pay that price to get her pussy licked.

This exchange provides a safe way for a pair of lovers to gauge how ready and willing their partners are in the moment. As another example, I could respond to her request by saying, “I will if you will cuddle with me for ten minutes.” That might be a way to safely say “Yeah, I’m totally into licking your pussy, but I need something to get my engine running on all cylinders first.”

Of course, the game needs balance, so after we make the contract for Angela’s want, then it will be my turn to put forth a want for her to consider. We call this a “Round of Willies”. Which is kind of a stupid name, but it all pays off when some drunk dude approaches you in a bar and says, “You just haven’t met my dick. I’d fuck the lesbian out of you.” To which I could respond, “I get all the willies I need, thank you very much, douche bag” which is so much more satisfying when you have the “Round of Willies” game in mind.

Anyway. Angela had a drunk looking smile on her face when she proposed, “I want you to lick my pussy.”

To me, in this situation, she seemed to be communicating that she was tired and did not want to fuss around with a long warmup. I totally had no problem granting her wish, so after a moment, I responded with “I will if you will take off all your clothes and stay naked until the sun comes up.” I’m very tactile. I just wanted to make sure that I would be rewarded with a lot of skin on skin regardless of how quickly our session ended.

“OK,” she said and began to clumsily pull off her clothes, throwing them off in random directions. “Your turn,” she said.

“I guess that Ynnym probably did not try to smuggle any of her bondage gear through customs… So…” I thought for a second. “I want you to fold your arms behind your back and keep them there while I lick your pussy.” I may be the one providing the stimulation, but I wanted to make sure that I was in charge. Besides Angela sometimes absent-mindedly pulls hair when she is swept up sexually.

“I will, if you will wear a blindfold the whole time,” Angela responded.

“Oh!” I said in a mock complaining voice. Angela’s response was meant to wrest a little of the control back away from me. Also, she can be ticklish, and knew that I would likely exploit that for my own entertainment. Of course, in the end I agreed. “OK. But we don’t have a blindfold.”

Angela pulled a purple silk neglige from her suitcase and threw it at my face. “Use this. I won’t need it tonight.”

Angela stacked some pillows behind her to prop up her torso and settled back into the bed. “Turn off the light,” she said.

I had removed my shirt, jeans, and bra and had her neglige in my hands as I stood by the light switch. Angela’s arms were raised around her head as she arched her back a couple of times settling into the stack of pillows. “Arms!” I said. “They are supposed to be behind you.”

Angela opened her dark eyes which seemed heavy from the wine. She looked at me briefly, smiling as she wiggled her arms behind her back, pinning them to the bed. She must have noticed me watching her as she slowly spread her legs, pulling up her knees, pointing her toes and flexing her tight calves as she did. She let out a quiet, lazy moan.

To say that women are not visual is a lie, I think. We are just less likely to objectify what we see as something not human and feeling and needing. Watching Angela, as I did now, was all I needed to get the blood flowing to the correct areas.

My eyes slid from the tattooed circles and lines that covered the right side of her face past her thin neck. Her delicious, naturally tanned skin shone in the light. My eyes lingered across her abundant bosom, past her deep, dark navel to her swell of her shaved pubis which featured her second tattoo - a faux religious symbol that looked a bit like a Christian cross, except that the long arm was crooked like a sickle, or perhaps an upside down question mark - a symbol used by some old heavy metal band to add a sense of mystery to their image. And further down, her spread and swollen sex… my target.

I planned my approach and flicked the light switch. “I don’t think I even need a blindfold,” I said. “It’s pitch dark in here.”

“No excuses,” Angela slurred.

I wrapped the neglige around my eyes and tied it tightly in place. Sure. In “willies”, cheating is fair. But tonight there was no need. I blindly made my way on to the bed. Sliding my hands lightly up the insides of Angela’s thighs. She jerked a little, squeaking. “Lick!” she said. “You have to lick. Don’t use your hands!”

“I know. I’m just trying to find you,” I said.

“Uh-huh!” she said followed by a loud yip, when I pinched the tender skin at the top of the inside of her thigh. She squeezed her legs together real quickly but slowly opened them again as she felt the smooth soft fabric wrapped around my head move into position.

I began with soft, slow flat-tongued licks directly up the length of her vagina. I felt her moan a little and adjust her hips, settling back for a comfortable position. I pushed a little harder with my tongue thrusting a bit between her lips, confirming my sense of her arousal, by the wet lubrication that trickled out. Further exploration with my tongue caused her to lift her hips towards me, and I took the opportunity to slide my arms underneath her thighs until they rested upon my biceps. I bent my elbows and slid my hands up onto the soft flesh of her abdomen. From this position I would be able to control her flailing to some degree, which, from past experience, I found to be an important means to avoid getting a wrenched neck.

With her in position now, I gave one last deep thrust inside her with my tongue, then raised my head and used my lips to feel for her clit. Indeed, it had engorged and formed into a prominent nub. I pursed my lips in a tight circle and pushed my face into her crotch trapping her clit within. Next I began using the tip of my tongue to press slowly into the underside of her nub, after a moment withdrawing the pressure only to push back again seconds later. I have found Angela to be particularly sensitive there and a minimum amount of motion seemed to result in a very strong response.

My patient tongue-play turned from excitation to shear tease and Angela began to buck a little harder. In turn, I gripped her more tightly in my arms to hold her still. Her fight and my control is one of the things that works for me. I found my own hips had begun to grind into the bottom edge of the mattress.

I could not hold Angela tight enough to be in complete control, though, and she had found a way to twist finding exquisite resistance against my tightly puckered lips. I allowed her this freedom until I felt her arms begin to unwind from behind her and her hands seek to pull my head closer.

“Put your arms back behind you!” I said with a particularly stern tone in my voice which Angela seems to like. She quickly pushed her arms back underneath the small of her back with a whimpering moan and a small gush of fluid from within splashed against my chin.

I withdrew my face from her for a moment and pushed forward a bit, pressing my shoulders more firmly against the underside of her thighs, forcing her legs wider apart. In turn, she pushed her pelvis down seeking a suitable surface to grind herself against. When she found no relief, she whispered, “Please.”

I opened my mouth wide again and stuck my tongue out, letting the soft flat surface dab against her swollen clit, though removing the pressure after a short moment.

I let her languish for a moment, taking time to appreciate the spicy, pungent scent of her and the way her skin where my arms held her had become hot and slick with sweat. I curled my fingers where they lay on her abdomen, letting my nails scratch into there skin a little causing short, sharp jerks and grunts when the sensation was too much for Angela to handle.

Finally, I pursed my lips and pressed in towards her pubic bone again, searching and catching her clit once more. This time I curled my tongue along its length to form a tight point and flicked it over the end of her nub pressing more tightly and for a longer stint with each interaction. I could sense, by the stuttered thrust of her hips when she was reaching a particular edge, only to withdraw slightly before pressing in closer again until I finally sustained my pressure forcing a scream and a stream of fluid from her writhing body.

Angela collapsed after the peak of her orgasm passed. Her legs fell loosely to each side. I sloughed to the left and rested my head near the crook of her bent knee, breathing hard myself. I lay, still blindfolded, and felt all tension slowly evaporate from her muscles. After a few minutes, I raised my head and began to pull my arms from underneath her.

“Fuck, Angela!” Her legs flopped heavily when I moved them. She had fallen asleep. I considered my own arousal for a moment. It had abated as well, but I still felt short-changed.

I pulled the silk neglige from my head, throwing it randomly across the room, and turned on the light. Sure enough. Angela lay motionless with her mouth wide open, her arms still folded neatly underneath her.

I washed my face in the in-room sink. Angela had started to snore, so I pushed her on to her side, freeing her pinned arms in the process, doing my best to position her over the wet spot. Then I turned off the light and slid into bed with her, wrapping her up in my arms.

Oh, yeah! She would pay me back next time.

    <>--+-

The next morning, after breakfast, Lucette led us out one-by-one to participate in our assigned experiments. I was the last to go curious, excited, perhaps a bit nervous.

She led me through a labyrinth of corridors and stairs. “People say,” she explained as we walked, “that their consciousness is located in their head, behind their eyes. And if you ask them where is the house for their soul, they will likely point to their chest. But what about the seat of pleasure?”

I’m not sure that Lucette expected me to answer the question. Regardless, I used my arms to bracket my body from just below my navel to the top of my thighs. “Right in here.”

“Yes,” she said, “the clitourethrovaginal complex.”

“Yeah, that!”

“Sure,” she continued. “There is a concentration of pleasure sensors in that area, but alas, the orgasm is a product of the brain. We have been programmed by nature and reinforced by society to believe that physical excitation in a particular spot is the only way to achieve the end goal, the orgasm. Actually, though, the brain is a very flexible organ. That is, its wiring is highly subject to manipulation.”

“OK,” I said though I had no idea where she was going with her little lecture.

“The experiment that I would like to run with you, will be to enhance the set of excitation zones,” she explained.

“You mean that by applying simulation somewhere other than here…” At this point I repeated the hand waving signal that blocked off my pussy. “…I will be able to have an orgasm.”

“Yes! Precisely.”

“Well, like where? Angela says that she can get off with just breast stimulation… The bitch…”

“Yes. Some women can. And that is easy to achieve.”

“Something harder? How about an elbow? Or maybe my little finger?”

“Yes. Harder. But, hmmm… Certainly, yes.”

I was completely skeptical that I would ever be able to orgasm by playing with my little finger. Still, I felt a wave of tingles wash across my body at the thought of Lucette’s claim.

“How?” I asked.

“Good question. You are very smart, just like Beccisa said.” Lucette stopped at a large steel door and pulled out a ring filled with keys. “The key is to train the brain. And we will do that using…” She paused as she found the key that she was looking for and began to unlock the door in front of us. After the tumblers clicked into place she leaned all her weight against the door to slowly push it open. “…using technology, virtual reality. We must manipulate perception, create new pathways in the brain.”

The room that we stepped in to seemed quite large, but it was mostly dark, so it was difficult to see just how big. A couple of bright lights shone down on a chair that could have been stolen from a dentist office. Next to the chair was a stand with several articulating arms. But, Lucette pulled me over to the side where another overhead light illuminated a worktable of sorts upon which sat a large box.

“I want to show you a crude example of what I mean,” Lucette said, gently grabbing my right hand and pulling it towards the box. “Slide your arm in the hole in the box and then look through the view finder on top.”

I pushed my arm in the hole while Lucette walked around to the other side of the table. There must have been an opening on her side as well. I felt her grab my arm again and position it so it rested on some block of wood. She pointed to the a set of eye pieces on top of the box and motioned for me to look. When I did, I saw into the box, but rather than seeing my arm, I saw a plastic arm, a crude representation of an arm - something perhaps from a mannequin.

“There are mirrors set up in the box to make you feel as though you should be looking at your own arm, but instead you are looking at a fake one. Now, I will touch both your arm and the plastic arm in the same manner a number of times. Tell me when you feel me touch your arm.”

I saw a curved metal rod slide into the box with a dull pointed end that pressed against the fake arm half way up the forearm. Lucette simultaneously pressed my arm with a similar piece of metal. “Yes. I feel that,” I said.

“Yes,” I said again when I saw the rod press into the plastic arm and my arm at the same time.

“Yes, I feel that again,” I said as Lucette continued repeatedly pressing the rod. “Yes.”

After about half a minute of watching the rod and responding with each touch, Lucette said, “Are you certain that I am touching your arm? You’re not just saying ‘Yes’ because you see me touch the plastic arm.”

“Uh… no… I am certain that I feel the rod touching me,” I said.

“Well… in fact, I haven’t touched you for the past ten seconds, yet you still reported that I did.”

“What?!” I said suddenly yanking my arm from the box.

“You see. I trained your brain to believe that the fake arm was your real arm, and when you saw me touch the fake arm, your brain began to respond as though the touch was real, actually generating the sensation that you were being touched.”

“Whoa!” I said pulling my arm to my chest.

“As I said, this is just a crude and simple demonstration for a much more elaborate experiment that I have in mind. Sounds good, no?”

“Uh, yeah, I guess… Let’s do this…”

“Great! Venez, les femmes!”

I heard movement from the dark part of the room and when I looked, six tall, thin women walked into the light. For a moment I thought that I was on the set of a James Bond movie. Each woman seemed to be a different race, however, each could easily have come straight from some fashion runway. I felt myself trying to stand a little straighter and suck my stomach in a little. I expected a short, fat bald man scratching a Persian cat to walk out next.

“These are my assistants today,” Lucette said as the six formed a half circle around me, each posing with one leg forward, knee bent like this was a fashion shoot. “Donatienne, Aline, Noelle, Garland, Esme, and Regina,” Lucette explained as she pointed briefly at each. “They will take care of you.”

At that Lucette walked over to a control panel near the dentist chair while the assistants stepped into action. Three walked up to me. A dark skinned woman seemed to be in charge of these three and she looked me up and down for a moment. I felt the urge to whither under their gaze, but I think I succeeded in keeping my cool.

“You…” she said with a thick accent, seemingly searching for a particular English word. Finally, she half looked over her shoulder and yelled back towards Lucette, “Comment dites-vous «vêtements»?”

Lucite looked up from a terminal that she was studying. “Clothes. She wants you to take off your clothes, chatte cheri.”

I suddenly realized that I was starting to feel a little overwhelmed. Things were moving really fast and now with all these gorgeous woman moving around speaking to one another in French. It was all becoming a swirl. But, I am a lawyer. I am used to things moving fast and thinking on my feet. I just had to get my game face on. I had to shift gears into business mode.

Lucette looked up from behind her monitor again and looked directly at me. “Beccisa said that you are the least shy of her friends. Is that not true?”

The three women stood around waiting for me to answer.

“Oh, no! I’m not shy at all,” I said. Fuck it! This is a sex experiment. Of course, I was going to be naked. I may even be asked to orgasm in front of all these women. If so, I’ll make the show too irresistible for these women to NOT enjoy.

“OK,” Lucette said. “Good!” She waved her hand and looked back at the terminal. The dark-skinned woman stepped forward, signaling me to raise my arms. The other two, an Asian woman and another of Nordic descent stepped to each side and began pulling my shirt up over my head.

“OK. Let’s do this,” I said, despite the fact that I was already in their hands. By the time my shirt had been pulled from my arms, the dark-skinned woman had knelt in front of me and was unbuttoning my jeans. I let myself relax and go with the flow. I looked around and noticed that the other women were rolling more machines from out of the shadows and positioning them around the dentist chair. Meanwhile, I was stepping out of my shoes and jeans and panties and then being led by each arm towards the chair.

I sat on the chilly vinyl surface and pulled my legs up onto the footrest. As I leant backwards letting my head sink into the contoured pillow, I saw another woman begin to turn a crank. A seam appeared down the middle of the leg rest and as the crank turned, my legs split in opposite directions.

“Nous avons besoin de vous d'étaler vos jambes écartées.”

I have no idea what she said, but all six of them seemed to be standing over me watching the proceedings, having conversations in French.

One woman gently placed a finger on my chin. “Ouvrez la bouche!” She pulled down and I let my mouth open. Apparently that is what she wanted me to do. She slipped something in my mouth, wedging it far back between my molars, pushing my mouth open even farther. When she removed her fingers, I found that I could no longer shut my mouth.

“Today, we must make a few measurements in order to fit you properly with the technology that you will be wearing,” Lucette began to explain over the growing French chatter between all her helpers as they busily went about their tasks. “Unfortunately, some of the measurements are a little invasive. We will make you as comfortable as possible. OK?”

I tried to say something, momentarily forgetting that my mouth was jacked open wide. A face appeared directly over mine - smiling, large, dark brown angelic eyes. I think it was Garland. “Ees OK,” she said as she began gently stroking my hair, coaxing me to settle into the chair, her accent sexy and alluring. “Ees OK.”

Another woman on a rolling stool wheeled her way between my spread legs. The seat underneath me was manipulated for a moment then the section under my butt dropped away. The woman on the roller stool held up a probe attached to a long tube and began to coat it liberally with a clear lubricant. There was no question in my mind as to where she planned to stick the probe. I gripped the armrests, digging my fingers in as best as I could when the probe slowly pushed past my labial lips and slid smoothly into me. I heard a groan escape from my throat.

“Ees OK,” Garland assured me.

I was feeling a little disconnected. I needed to get my head together. They were moving a bit too fast.

A fat tube was pushed into my mouth wedging its way between my teeth, if anything, forcing me to open my jaws even wider. A third helper pulled a plastic face mask up along the tube, pressing the edges around my chin and cheeks and over the bridge of my nose, forming a firm seal. Air began to flow around my mouth.

I felt a similar sensation down around my sex - something pressing against my skin. I heard some sort of pump kick in and felt the device seal around my sex, pulling at my skin.

Garland continued whispering her assurances, pressing the mask more tightly to my face as she did, somehow securing the mask to the headrest behind me. Suddenly, I felt something rough, like a dry wash cloth, grab the tip of my tongue and pull it uncomfortably to its limit. My hands tried to reach for the tube shoved in my mouth, but never left the armrests. I realized that they had been strapped down.

I was starting to fill with anxiety. “Keep it the fuck together, Caroline!” I thought to myself.

“AAAGHHH!”

A sharp pain stabbed its way into the top of my sex, it felt like I was being stuck in the center of my clit. I heard a strangled scream rip from within my own throat. Apparently, my legs had been strapped down as well. I couldn’t move at all. A second stab of pain quickly followed the first - biting into the center of my tongue - cold and sharp. Tears gushed from my eyes.

I could see, peripherally, through the blur of tears a gloved hand twist a knob attached to the top of some sort of gas tank. I heard pressurized gas escape and the area under my mask cooled as a breeze filtered in around my face. I held my breath out of a sense of self preservation. At least, until something cold and slick and hard began to prod at my anus and I inhaled a gulp of air involuntarily. The air smelled sickly sweet.

The last thing that I remembered was Garland’s big, calm, dark eyes.

“Ees OK. Ees OK, Caroleena” she whispered. “Ees OK.”