Pride and Humiliation

This is a story about a woman who enjoy letting go - in multiple ways. Constructive comments are appreciated, as are any positive feedback! :-) If you are offended by fantasies of sex in a bit rough, dirty and consensual way, don't bother to read or complain. Although this is not a story from true life, I do hope to keep a tiny line to reality, however exaggerated the actions may be... This is the first story, with another under way if this is received positively - Annie is definitely ready for more if you are. Enjoy!

*****

First session

"So, Annie - tell me why you are here. Are you enjoying your stay?" The nametag on his shirt read "Lawrence, advisor and mentor". I looked at Lawrence from my comfortable lounge chair, a man in his mid-40ies, with this particular clean-cut appearance shared by lawyers, doctors and pilots. My guess was doctor. His blue shirt matched the blue in his eyes, no necktie, but his clothes had that unmistakable high-street feel - making me feel slightly underdressed in my white cotton bathrobe. Underdressed and a little uncomfortable, I chose to give the easy part of the answer first:

"It's been real lovely days. Different but lovely. Your staff has been friendly, the sun has been shining, and we feel like newborns! And yet - I believe my experience has just begun." I looked him straight in his blue eyes, knowing fully what document those eyes were studying now.

"As for why I'm here...", I started, "Well, it was my fortieth birthday a few weeks ago. Donald, my husband, surprised me with a gift-card for a whole week here."

"That seems very generous of him," stated Lawrence, "given our prices here, you could have spent a month in some other spa or resort. I believe he was aware of our special services, yes?"

"Yes, his gift to me was a four-hour fuck." I couldn't believe I was saying these words to a stranger, and still keep a calm voice and a straight face. But it was the simple truth.

"And you accepted his gift, Annie?"

"Well, you asked me why I was here, so yes - I'm here, so obviously I accepted his gift", I almost snapped back - eager to get this interview over with.

Lawrence raised two apologetic hands. "Sorry, Annie. I just need to confirm that you are here of your own free will. Unfortunately, that's not always the case with pushy boyfriends coercing their partners to our place. We don't want that. Now, let's get on with the preparations for tomorrow..."

***

My thoughts started travelling back to my birthday, my initial surprise, my doubts. Perhaps I should have anticipated something like this. Donald and I had for years - especially after our two kids became adolescents - revamped our sex-lives. We worked our way through desires we unearthed together. In real life we opened up new ways of pleasuring each other in our own bedroom. At nights when the kids were happy camping or visiting friends, new sounds could be heard; hands slapping the bare skin of my buttocks, the buzzing of toys, muffled voices behind the ball-gag. We explored new places when travelling abroad, being part of a culture we before only would fathom. From the innocent naturist hippie spas to down-and-dirty sex clubs in the more libertine cities.

But it was always the two of us, perhaps watching others having sex, but always keeping our own sexual activities between ourselves. In our fantasies at nights, though... I always felt a bit more reluctant than Donald when it came to the number of dicks involved and fantasies of public sex, but sometimes I would indulge him and mind-travel to places where things happened that I had no plans of taking part of in real life.

So perhaps I could have seen the gift-card coming, but when I opened the envelope and for the first time scanned the print from a web-page, I was genuinely surprised. "Is this for real?", I wondered, seeing the slogans and the euphemisms: "Center of attention", "complete satisfaction", "fantasies coming true" - and of course the most stupid one: "Committed to fulfillment". The very elegant and carefully exposed photographs left no uncertainty of the nature of fulfillment: fulfillment of my pussy, of my mouth, of my ass, in any combination possible. But it was the lead paragraph that got to me, that in the end was the one thing that got me to this point. The simple questions: "Have you ever wondered how it would be to be completely satisfied, beyond the capabilities of your partner and yourself? How would it feel to be taken beyond the possibilities of your marital sex-life?" I had often wondered. During and after our occasional porn-watching-sessions I always imagined myself being thoroughly fucked like the stars of the movies, making me so drippingly horny - but knowing that these particular activities was beyond the realms of possibility. Until now.

***

The next few weeks, the prospect of this adventure made it really hard for me to concentrate on anything else. The upside of my being distracted at work, was that it made my request for a week off seem plausible. As a mid-level manager in a publishing house I had put in way too many extra hours the last couple of years, I knew my boss would be less than surprised when I told him I really needed a break. Before I even got to actually ask for a whole week's leave, he suggested that I should find a nice spa and spend some "quality time - a quality week" with my husband. Little did he know that I already had that week planned - or that the week of sun and baths would end with a half-day long sex romp with myself as the focal point.

This was the concept of

Desert Delight

; a nude spa with the option of a very special "happy ending". Looking at the website, the spa seemed not so different from a couple of the naturist resorts we had visited earlier, but with an unarticulated sexual tension in the descriptions and photos. A google search later confirmed this impression, the comments from patrons of the spa were abundant with more or less explicit references to the very liberal rules. Where nude spas normally would emphasize modest and courtly behavior, Desert Delight was a couple-only place where uninhibited display of affection and lust were a central part of its attraction. However, the "fuck me" option were nowhere to be found on their website, until Donald logged in to the member's section.

"You remember Mary and Tyron?" Donald asked. "The American couple we met in the club in Berlin? Late that night he drunkenly told me that their most intense experience had been a special place back in US, but at the time I just believed he was boasting. However, when he befriended me on Facebook, I asked him about this place. He played ignorant at first, but he gave in when I pressed him and told him I wanted to give you a special surprise for your birthday. He told me he was not at liberty to give out information to non-members, but he would see if he could get me an invitation. And lo and behold, a couple of weeks ago I got an email from Desert Delights with a link to a inscription page." Donald kept his breath a couple of seconds too long, like he always does when he has spent too much money on a new bike or fishing-rod without consulting me... "And five hundred bucks later, I had this username and password." He entered the required information on the web page. And there it was.

The information was fairly thorough: the presentation that Donald had printed out and put into my happy-birthday-envelope; a more direct section dealing with the practicalities of the full package, an a juridical section with their disclaimers and quite severe sanctioning on breach of the non-disclosure terms. In essence, what they were offering as a very special end to a week of spa, was a "sexual experience" based on the patron's sexual preferences, and they seemed to cater to a large variety of preferences - short of illegal activities and lasting bodily injuries. BDSM - no problem. Gang bang - you got it. To facilitate the preparations, we were to complete a questionnaire of my sexual inclinations. The duration was set to four hours, or whenever the patron used the safeword. Health issues and privacy were obviously important, stressing both the need for medical reports and discretion: both the patrons and the spa must keep these activities secret. The terms of agreement spelled out that the payment of the flat five-thousand-dollar fee for the whole week was non-refundable, as the website read, "to ensure that economical considerations did not interfere with the realizations of the patron's fantasies". Further on, also to guarantee the privacy of the patrons "any verbal or graphic disclosure of the activities inside the member-only area of the spa, will result in the exclusion of the member as well as confiscation of the security deposit."

"Security deposit?" I quizzed Donald. I had always been head of the financial department in the house, not quite trusting Donald's economical dispositions.

"10.000 dollars," he mumbled. "They offered a solution for this, a credit card with collateral in the beach house. Sorry for not consulting you, but as long as we keep the silence, we should be fine."

"Keep the silence.." I mocked, but at the same time reassured - my biggest worry since the start of this adventure had been to be outed as a sex-crazed wife. And the beach house was my husband's property by some clauses in his uncle's will. He never liked me.

"Hey, I have put my mountain bike up for sale on eBay, I reckoned I'd get a bigger thrill of thinking about your adventure than any muck-infected bike ride might offer."

I gave him a loving glance, knowing fully well that the bike, would sell for quite a lot of money, being hardly used. Still it was an important part of his mid-life crises to picture himself on this awesome bike in the surrounding hills. It wasn't necessary - although I keep a strict eye on expenditure, we were well enough off to afford it. Occasionally I could be a little scroogy, I didn't want money to stop me from life's great adventures. So instead of a larger house, a pool or a second car, we travelled often, dined in better restaurants, and now - enabled us to this new adventure.

"I want to give you this experience," Donald continued, "but are you really sure you want to go through with this?"

"Yes," I said without hesitation. After the initial surprise and before I had the chance to understand the concept in full, I did have doubts. Now, reassured by the focus on health and privacy, I knew that I wouldn't let this opportunity pass me by. My personal ethos was that my achievements in life had come from my willingness to accept challenges in the different areas in life. That was what had brought me to my current prestigious - well, prestigious in the world of literature - job, and I knew that if I passed this once-in-a-lifetime chance of a sexual adventure, I would regret that more than anything I could regret doing during those four hours in Desert Delight.

The hardest part in the days that followed, was to visit a clinic in our neighbouring city to get the required STDs examination, for the first time since my sophomore spring break... A more satisfying event - with a lot of blushing smiles and deliberations, we completed the questionnaire of my sexual desires, a print-out of which Lawrence now held in his well manicured hands opposite of me.

***

"So Annie," Lawrence alerted me from my reveries, "let me guess the origin of these answers."

He traced the questionnaire with his finger, stopping from time to time.

"'Multiple partners'; that would be your husband's - Donald's - suggestion? Same for 'Lesbian', yes?" I could almost hear him chuckle, but I didn't object. "Let's go on..." He traced his finger further down the list. "I see you have ticked both 'Bondage' and 'Spanking/whipping', my guess is that was your own suggestion. 'Anal' would be Donald's idea." I just looked calmly at him, trying not to show my inherent contempt for men's need to show off.

"We completed the form together, but I wouldn't let anyone, not even my husband, tell me to do something I don't want. So you can stop implying that I am just living out my husband's fantasies, I know what I want." I said that with far more certainty than truth, just to set him straight while tightening my bath robe around my body.

"Well, there you have the key question," Lawrence replied. "How do we know what we want in a world of so many taboos, so many social expectations, so intimate feelings that we never get to analyze this objectively. Let me tell you about an experiment some psychologists carried out a couple of years ago. The scientists wanted to see if there were gender differences in the relationship between conscious sexual preferences and the same person's' subconscious desires. Or put another way - if you ask a person about what sexual activities arouse him or her, will those activities actually make the person horny? And the other way - will activities that a person states are not arousing, still make him or her begging for more when exposed to those activities?"

I let him drone on with the story; I knew where he was heading. I had already read the full paper from that study, after it was mentioned in a newspaper. According to the study there was a huge difference between men and women - men are simple creatures with a nearly 100 % correlation between the conscious and subconscious stimuli; if a man says he's turned on by lesbian sex, he will get a hard-on when showed a lesbian porn flic. Women on the other hand - chaos. When showed scenes involving activities that they declared arousing, nothing happened, and the other way round. I remembered especially a pretty weird parameter they used: the test subjects were asked if they would be turned on by watching monkeys having sex, and everyone regardless of gender said it wouldn't. None of the men got got an erection. But guess what, a whopping fifty percent of the women were physically aroused by watching baboons have a go at it. Good grief!

I was waiting for Lawrence to conclude, expecting him to do exactly what the psychologists of the study had warned against: declaring women inherently incapable of making decisions about their own sex-life, that a woman's "no" in reality is a "I'm saying no because that's what my puritan self demands of me, but if you do it anyway I will be forever grateful for giving me the pleasure." However, Lawrence surprised me when wrapping up his tale:

"To be clear: The researchers stressed that their findings suggested more abstract and complex sexual reactions in women. Although it seems that the specter of what physically arouses women is wider than expected, it doesn't make a woman more promiscuous. And in spite of a woman's seeming difficulties in knowing consciously what will turn her on, no one else knows better - a 'no' is still simply a 'no'."

I instantly liked Lawrence better, and a sudden fear of the introduction of an ape during my fuck-session was put away. I looked at him more openly, and asked: "So, where are you heading with this tale?"

He smiled to me, and continued: "Arousal is very hard to predict - with women. What I know, is that this form," lifting up my questionnaire, "tells me just one thing, what you and your hubby together through years of sex and sharing of fantasies, have come to define as the boundaries of your playing field. That's good, but it's not a mental map of your actual sexual triggers. You may have noticed that we in our promotion material or in the terms of agreement, never have said that what will happen in your four hours, is defined by the questionnaire. That is up to you, now."

"What do you mean - are you suggesting I revise my order for tomorrow? Include a baboon?"

He laughed, saying: "We don't want the ASPCA on our doors, complaining about the treatment of monkeys. No, seriously, what I'm doing is giving you an option to put this form in the shredder, and instead let you spend some time this afternoon with another approach to what we cater for here at Desert Delights - ", he made virtual quotes with his fingers: "'Fulfillment of your true desires' - as reported by your physical reactions and not by a discussion between you and Donald."

I must have shown my confusion, because he continued without waiting for a response:

"We have developed quite accurate ways of measuring arousal, the same basic concepts as used in the research I referred, but more sophisticated. If you agree to this approach, you will undertake an examination which lasts about an hour, where we measure your reaction to various activities. Basically, we will put you in a chair with different receptors connected to your body, and let you watch an explicit movie that will take you through different areas of sexuality. Based upon the results from this, we will put together a package tomorrow to take you where your body tells us to go. For this to succeed, there are two basic conditions: first of all you must mentally place yourself in the activities shown to you on the screen, and secondly you must keep an open mind. To achieve the latter, you will before the examination have to agree to the free pursuit of excitement, regardless of this." He held up the questionnaire again. "What actually makes your body react, will guide the experience tomorrow, nothing barred."

"You mean a carte blanche to do whatever you please to my body?" I asked, defiantly.

"Yes and no", Lawrence answered. "Anything within the limits explained in our general agreement. Any activity listed in the form goes. You will not be exposed to, or participate in, anything illegal or anything harmful."

Annie's mind raced through the questions she and Donald had checked in the "no-go-column" in the detailed and long list; exhibitionism, water sports, domination, ass-to-mouth, rimming etc. She consider herself in no way a prude, and knew from erotica and films that others had these inclinations, but really... At the same time, she also knew the specter of possibilities from the same list, and while slightly offended and put off by some of its suggestions, it was all within fantasies that she and Donald had shared between them.

Lawrence paused a while, letting her take in his proposition, before he continued. "Or we could go by the form and we will give you a great time within these limits. But then again, you will not know how high your ecstasy could have been. Think about it, it's your decision."

"Will I know what's going to happen to me?

"Well, there is a difference. If you go by the form, then you know quite precisely what kind of things we will do, not so much if we go by the examination. Think of us as a restaurant - you choose to eat a-la-carte, ordering your different courses. Our menu was the form, and you have made your order, and that is what we'll give you. You don't necessarily know all the ingredients, but you have a pretty concise anticipation of what you will be served during the meal. Or you let the chef decide, only knowing what kind of meat or fish you will eat. That's what will happen if you do the examination; we will afterward tell you in which direction we will take you tomorrow, but the surprise - the suspense - is a central part of the meal. But our chef will know your tastes, and cater to them."

"And there is no way of excluding certain activities? In your restaurant, you would want to know about my allergies, right?"

"Sorry. It's a house policy. But really, does it make a big difference? In my experience it's the men, the husbands or boyfriends, who are very focused on issues like which penis goes where. Women, and especially women with such a strong sexual confidence like yourself," Lawrence threw me a flirty look, "seem to be more oriented towards ambience and emotional direction. Based on our little conversation and your file, I would clearly recommend the chef's surprise. But, as I have said, it's really all up to you."