A Guided Experience

Jasmine sips wine and gorges on the olives during our third-this-month gettogether that has turned into a streak of unexpected deep sharing sessions. We've known each other since university and I consider her my closest friend. That's over 2 decades now through thick and thin. Jasmine has been telling me about a place she connected with in the past year and visited twice since. She called it "life-changing" and did thorough research to vet every part of it. Her brilliant lawyer's brain has incredibly high standards for safety and quality. I curl up beside her on the couch and swipe the remaining olives before she decimates them all. Pulling my long, dark red, straight hair back into a low ponytail, I listen as Jas slips into attorney mode, and presents evidence about why I seriously need to consider giving this place a go. There would be nothing unusual about this scenario, except for the fact that the place Jas is advocating for trying is apparently a very classy,

sexual experience

private club, priding itself on their utter professionalism, safety and confidentiality, while delivering what they promise to be "curated guided experiences that maximize pleasure and become life's highlights."

I tell her honestly that life is pretty good now, though sometimes lonely. We're both healthy, comfortable financially in our early 40s, satisfied in our careers, able to enjoy frequent foodie treats and travel. We're both exploring our hobbies and passions. We're both doing good work in therapy. As a staunch feminist and self proclaimed militant introvert, I really don't need a man and we both agree they can be more trouble than they're worth. When Jas hears I haven't had partnered sex in almost a decade, however, she's incredulous and adamant this must be remedied.

"You're hot as hell and this body of yours is going to waste!" She quips.

"Wow, thanks for the ego boost, but with the 30 extra pounds on my petite frame, I don't know I'd call that smoking hot, though I'll give you that my boobs are now in D cup size territory with the weight gain, so for some... maybe?" I shimmy my ample cleavage in front of her in jest, and continue:

"Jas, it's not a big deal, really. You know I'm a sex-comes-only-with-love kinda girl so it's not easy to just break a dry spell. And I've dated a bit recently, so I'm definitely not antisocial! You know I'm a regular with inventive and frequent, ahem, self-love, so I'm not drying up down there either." I giggle.

"I know, but maybe it's time to flip the script just a little, Mar. Solo sex can't be the only way forever, and even with that, its so easy to get into a boring rut. You're working late often again, and I know you're brilliant at your non-profit and love your Sunday shifts at the wildlife rehab, but that just can't be your all. We're aging Mara - don't let life pass you by. It's NOT about getting a man or a relationship. It's also not about some wham-bam empty sex just to tick it off the list. It's... hard to explain and part of the deal is that we can't share much detail as members, but their tagline checked out for me, my two visits were life highlights and have added so much to my journey. I'll be going back too. I so want that for you."

"Ok, but dish a little, girl, please," I tease.

"Like, will I get to fuck a hot escort guy there? What's the deal, how does it work? Sleazy much?"

"No, not like that. It's curated, Mara. It's personalized with attention to your fantasies, boundaries, desires. Part of the set up process is this giant experience, fantasies and boundaries inventory. It's also not a dating site or anything to do with relationships. That's all actually strictly off limits there. You know when we were into Star Trek? It's kind of like...a Hollodeck with a carnal twist." She laughs.

I snort.

"Only you could kill a hot sex club idea with Trekkie imagery girl! ...And that's why I love you!"

"Look, seriously Mar, check out the website and explore a little. If you go, you actually shouldn't tell me, but I'll give you a referral code that will grant you entry should you choose to give it a try. It's referral only, and no, I don't get any kickbacks. It's for vetting purposes. Helps keep it as exclusive and high end as it is."

She slips me a black business card with a minimal embossed metallic design of delicate florals. The letters "GoDD" feature priminently plus a QR code, a url and the tagline "curated guided experiences to bring highlights to your life". Looking at it, one would never guess it was anything steamy.

"Thanks Jas...I'll poke around."

* * * * *

A very thorough online questionnaire exhaustively asking about my sexual experiences, proclivities, fantasies and boundaries has me intrigued, and frankly hot and bothered. I fill it out slowly in chunks over several days and have to admit it leads me down the self pleasure path repeatedly. Not complaining. I've never examined all that so thoroughly. I suppose that now makes me very adult and healthy. Sexy times adulting achievement unlocked! Exploring the website, I learn that GoDD, or the Garden of Dark Delights in full, is painfully thorough and profesional and there are tons of liability forms to complete. The operation does look legit, classy and professional.

I've been doing great work recently with my therapist on mindfulness and learning to get out of my own head and into the sensory world instead. I'd medal at the "overthinking Olympics", and we've established that is the root cause of many of my anxieties and blocks. The therapy work actually inspired me to revisit Jas's strange suggestion. A powerful, sensory guided experience could be gold for practicing my new mantra: "don't think, just feel and do more to chase the feeling." I suppose if it's a little sexy on the side, maybe that's just an added bonus. No strings attached and a chance to break at least a part of my dry spell in the comfort of safety and confidentiality sounds pretty intriguing.

Over several weeks, I convince myself to give GoDD a try. Part of me thinks I'll chicken out and not show up on the day, but the date rolls around and I feel strangely clearheaded and at peace with my decision. I'm also more than a little excited. Garden of Dark Delights, here I come.

* * * * *

The silence feels strange. This place is in the far countryside and quite secluded. Way to keep that low profile. It's a gray and crisp Spring day, like many we've been having this season, that makes one feel a little disoriented in time, as if transported to autumn. It's April, but feels like it could be Halloween. I love crisp weather, and comfortable Spring temperatures - it's actually my favourite kind of weather and so I feel lucky that the weather Gods seem to have blessed me on this particularly momentous day. It's a small encouragement, but every nudge helps. I wander through the vast gardens of this curious and empty estate. Excitement and panic battle for control inside me. Improbably, I'm really doing this, and a small bud of pride rises in the pit of my stomach.

It must be around 10:30 AM now. I arrived around 10 AM and have been wandering with the strange QR code map placed on my phone for at least half an hour now, since leaving the car in a secure but deserted parking lot. My phone has been modified for the duration of the experience and while I've been assured emergency features all work, regular timekeeping among many other functions has been disabled and I've been instructed to not make calls, text or access the internet to keep to the contract I signed. I intend wholeheartedly to follow the rules and do this right. The natural setting is calming and the many elaborate flowerbeds are beautiful, evoking a very vintage vibe. I could say that despite my age, me being here today makes me just like the spring flowers all around - shyly coming to bud, intending to bloom.

Walking past some Victorian looking wall fragments, I quickly find myself in a partly fenced off, garden-like courtyard. Scattered around the open, grassed area, are several...stations, I suppose, each containing curious contraptions or pieces of equipment. They are well spaced out, and the area also contains small, charming, French-style flower beds interspersed on the clearing. I glance quickly from one station to another. There's an upright, X-shaped wooden cross, with cuffs in all four corners and various ropes hanging from wall sections nearby, and further beyond, a dais of sorts, with pillars, chains, ropes and wall sections upon it. To the far right of the clearing, I see something resembling a gym sawhorse, or mechanical bull and closest to where I'm standing, a wooden bench of sorts fills the space. My eyes widen.

Curious and burning up with embarrassment, I quickly approach the low built station closest to me, willing my legs forward before I can spook and bolt. I notice a vintage looking plaque next to it. The plaque is like something one might find at a historical site, customarily containing some instruction or context about the artifact displayed. I move close enough to take it all in, and I feel a sudden blush hit my face, rising up from my neck. My breath involuntarily quickens.

The plaque depicts a very life-like, yet clearly romantic era inspired illustration of a young woman. She is

naked

, and

using

the contraption in front of me. As if to instruct without any doubts remaining on the user experience, the drawing is graphic and doesn't leave much to the imagination. The young blonde is buxom, almost, but not quite, Rubenesque, and quite obviously in the throes of carnal pleasure. I swear I hear myself gasp very softly before regaining control again, when the realism of the piece fully hits me.

The woman is on all fours, with bottom raised high, supported by a padded, bench-like section of the device she is straddling with her lower body. Her legs are splayed open, assisted by a bar of sorts clipped in between her ankles, enforcing a wide, open angle. Her knees are bent, resting on padded surfaces. The wide bar between her ankles exerts enough tension to define her thigh and buttock muscles, but not so much that it seems unnatural or painful. Her bottom is raised enough that...not only her puckered hole, naturally seen at this angle, but also her slit, are visible. Both sets of her labia are plump, swollen and gaping open, allowing the viewer's gaze to...peek within. On closer inspection, with another unconscious gasp escaping before I quickly silence it, I notice very realistic rivulets of moisture surrounding the opening, some gathering in gravid droplets, threatening to fall.

My face now throbs with heat, and I'm grateful for the crisp breeze in the air. A rush of incredulity washes over me as I literally feel like I'm watching myself in a movie and cannot believe I am here, actually doing this. I remind myself of my resolve to be fully present, using this unique experience to practice getting out of my head.

Feel, and act in response to that feeling. Do not think.

The woman's forearms rest fairly comfortably on padded boards, lower than the bench section. Her fingers tightly grasp small, sculpted, phallic-shaped wooden handles protruding from the ends of the boards. The most curious piece of the drawing, is that the woman's breasts hang loosely through two round openings in a wooden, padded section supporting her upper body and head. Gravity emphasizes the fullness of her breasts, engorged and pointed nipples just touching a rough surface of sorts built into the bottom of the device. The woman's face is seen only in partial profile, with head thrown back and to the side, lips unabashedly parted, pleasant features contorted in a tension-filled moan, eyes closed and cheeks wildly flushed.

The view is from the back, presenting a central image of her upturned ass and dripping slit. The illustration is definitely lewd, but at the same time inviting and charming, like a romantic picture book. Her honest and eager demeanor seems to beckon others to try this delight as well.

I close my eyes and take a very deep breath. My heart is thumping in my chest. Gods, why am I here? What am I doing?

Panic sets in and my mind begins to spin. I sit on the grass beside the station and force a few slow deep breaths to calm my nerves. I'd trust Jasmine with my life. She's a solid friend and the smartest woman I know. She vouched for this place and has always had my absolute best interest in mind. I need this. My heartbeat slows a little. I open my eyes and look at the plaque again. Gods.

I crawl over to the station and try it on. I don't know whether to laugh or die of embarrassment. Yet there's no one here but the stillness and the breeze. As I mount the device, it clearly hits me that to emulate anything close to the illustration, the key missing ingredient must be unencumbered nudity. Curiosity springs inside me, a child-like excitement to feel what the painted woman must be feeling. The instructions were very clear as to attire, so I have relatively little to shed should I choose to fully give this a go.

Don't think, just feel, and do.

I tell myself.

Another deep breath to steel the nerves. I scramble up and quickly shed my top, bra, and skirt, losing my nerve at the last second and leaving my underwear on. My breasts, released from the bra, feel heavy and full and the crisp breeze is pleasant but makes be keenly and cruelly aware of my nakedness and vulnerability. I toss the clothes into a tote bag with my phone and to the side. Before I have a chance to take in my current situation and stop myself, I rush to the device and clamber on top. Steeling breaths, eyes closed.

"Just feel." I coach myself.

I'm shocked to find excitement blooming in my body, like a shy flower. My mind is particularly preoccupied with anticipating how the rough surface will feel against my bare breasts. It's a fluttering, very naughty curiosity. I take a minute to align myself properly, and jump suddenly, startled, as my heavy breasts fit through the cut-outs and rest against the rough, brush-like surface, which suddenly starts rotating and shifting with a click! Slight vibrations from mechanical motion pleasantly permeate the entire contraption. The static illustration kept this delicious secret hidden, and I squeal with delighted surprise.

Unlike the woman in the demo picture, I have nothing between my ankles, so I make a deliberate effort to spread my legs apart and am greeted by the coolness of the breeze against my inner thighs and heated, still cotton-covered core.

"Breathe." I tell myself.

I let out a hiss, startled and delighted by the unexpected motion that scrapes my highly sensitive nipples.

Another small patch of the brush-like surface, previously unnoticed, springs to life against my still panty-covered clit. I jump, lift myself up a little and off of both surfaces, and experiment with gently lowering myself down to adjust the sensation and pressure. My abs contracting, I suddenly become aware of my position and how lewd and hot it is.

My plump ass is pointed high up, only thin cotton covering my most private nether regions, now stretched and openly displayed.

"Daaaamn." I snarl out loud.

My folds feel on fire, and clammy now against the underwear. There's no denying I'm already

very

wet. Part of me longs to feel the breeze fully, to be bare and free. Another part squirms wondering in someone is watching or will appear out of the silence. Without thinking, I reach back, push the panties down and peel them down my legs. I throw them to where the tote bag lies, and make another effort to open my legs. The wind picks up just as if on cue and I'm thankful for the delicious cooling and drying sensation on my steaming folds. Yikes, this is it, I'm completely naked now and going for gold.

The realization that I'm now completely nude brings a wave of dizzying heat washing over me. I feel my wetness trickling down the back of my thighs, the breeze not powerful enough to dry the impending leakage. I'm

never

this wet. I often have to use lube at home for any penetrative play, but now I'm producing plenty of my own, without even a cock or a toy in sight.

I lose track of time. I tell myself to just feel, and do only what will help me feel more. I hear myself moan gently, as if the sound was coming from someone else. I move rhythmically to grind and adjust the sensation against the moving plates. My clit swells and my inner labia feel stretched and full, engorged with blood. My hands grip the erotically shaped handles, my small fingers white knuckled with pressure. I find myself panting. I lose myself in the sensations, grinding my clit down and lifting my chest to titillate my hard, swollen nipples, working myself closer to release. For milliseconds, I wonder about the illustration-like view someone might have if they were directly behind me, but I remind myself I'm eerily alone. Is that a tinge of disappointment surfacing? Today is full of surprises.

The brush plates and gentle vibrations of the wooden frame are amazingly effective. My eyes shut and breaths come fast and ragged now. I hear more soft moans as if from far away. I'm almost there. I feel the tightness coil in my belly and rhythmically arch and bear down, seeking release. My breasts feel so full and tight, like luscious, giant apples, ripe for juicing. A few more moans.

Suddenly, my heart is in my throat and I shriek, startled, as I hear an utterly unexpected voice from right behind me, and a gentle but decisive touch from behind. A warm hand rests now on the small of my back.

"My, my....beautiful, ma petite..."

It's a man's voice, deep and husky, French accented. The voice is teasing and strangely comforting in this highly disturbing moment.

In a frenzy of scrambling kicks and writhing, I move to get off the wooden frame but am shocked to be held in place by a wide, solid metal band now encircling my waist and pinning me to the device.

"What the fuck?! Where did this come from? Let me go! Don't touch me! Who are you???" My panicked shrieks pierce the air as I struggle, my movement and choices severely restricted.

"Help, heeeeelp!" I scream at the top of my lungs.

" Shhhhhh... you may scream if you like... we are quite alone and private here, ma petite. You're not disturbing anyone. I do suggest however that you try to calm down, as this racket has quite broken the mood, and you were SO very close..."

"Quel dommage..." He clucks his tongue three times.

He doesn't remove his hands from my body. He stays behind me and I can't fully see him. Craning my head around as much as possible, I catch glimpses of a tall, well built frame, decisive movement, tanned skin, a bare chest, black leather pants on well muscled legs, and a brown hood concealing his face. The smell of leather, black tea and something else I cannot place fills the air.

"Let me go! Undo this band!" I shriek my demands.

"Listen, ma petite. The band will soon release. You are free to go. It's on now to let us converse before you bolt, so that you may make an...informed choice. When the band releases, you may go at any time, however, that will be the end of it. Understand, ma chère, there's no coming back. When you leave, our promising acquaintance sadly ends for good. You will never explore this experience to its fullest and you will be short changed. Suit yourself."

"Who are you? I thought I was alone here." I snap in outrage.

"This is, as was described to you, a guided experience, ma petite.

I am the guide to exploring this place. My name is Master Claude, and you may address me as Sir, Monsieur, or Master, whichever suits your fancy."

"How long have you been here, watching me???" I hiss. His words sink in and my swollen, exposed sex spasms, clenching quickly.

"I assure you, I just arrived. We allot plenty of time for our guests to make themselves...fully at home, as you definitely have..." He laughs quietly but deviously.