Now this is interesting, as I have always been a firm believer that lack of desire in women is more psychologically grounded than physical, at least in the majority of cases. The substantial global success of Viagra — or, to give its proper name, sildenafil citrate — is due to its end result of increasing blood flow to genitals, providing a physical solution to a physical problem.
Xsade’s solutions to promote sexual function in females includes a variety of products - topical creams and pills derived from a variety of sources, which include male hormones produced by the adrenal gland, natural extracts from tree bark that stimulate the nervous system, and testosterone supplements. How on earth do they come up with these things? In various combinations and by using sensory therapy, some women reported having orgasms up to seventy percent stronger than placebo. Honestly?
It is finally beginning to dawn on me that I have, in fact, been sent by Madame Jurilique to an orgasm factory. I can’t help but smirk at the knowledge that a few of my close female friends — well, quite a few actually — would pay for an experience like this, rather than having to be paid. Are we so different from all those women in the 1900s who visited medical practitioners to cure their supposed ‘hysteria’? Technology solved that female disease forever with the invention of the vibrator. And admittedly, we’ve been buzzing ever since! Now, it seems, we need a purple pill to solve our arousal disorders, a condition that Xsade ensures me is widespread in the female population. I can’t help but be intrigued from both a psychological and professional perspective. The fact that they abducted me demonstrates just how far at least one pharmaceutical company will go to ensure their future profits and market share, but now I feel strangely committed to testing personally what they have come up so I can judge for myself.
Françoise returns to collect me as the documentary finishes and she informs me that I’m now going to meet the physician who will conduct my sensory testing. Given my background and expertise, how could I ever say no to that? We depart the private cinema and I am led into a room that looks like an expensive doctor’s clinic.
‘Dr Blake, my name is Dr Edwina Muir. It is indeed a pleasure to meet you. Welcome to our clinical research facility.’ She too has her hair pulled back, no make-up, and doesn’t appear threatening in any way. I’m not sure what I was expecting.
‘Hello.’ I shake hands with my gloved fingers, unable to decide whether I feel more excited or nervous as to what could happen next.
‘I trust you are comfortable?’
‘As comfortable as possible under these circumstances, I suppose.’ I’m scientifically in awe of this place, but remind myself that it’s not like I’m here of my own volition. Although I do I notice at this point that I’m not hungry, not thirsty, don’t need to use the toilet, so my basic physiological needs as listed in Maslow’s hierarchy have been met…and I’m suffused with an odd sense of wellbeing.
‘Great. If you’d both like to follow me, we shall get started in the room next door.’ She opens a heavy door and I follow her tentatively. The room has a large piece of equipment in the centre. It looks an exceptionally hi-tech machine, like a cross between something you’d find at the optometrist’s for eye testing and a dentist’s chair. It is a little daunting. The thought of happy gas seems rather appropriate right now.
‘We will conduct the majority of our sensory testing from this equipment. As Françoise will have explained, we aim to establish a baseline for your preferences before progressing to other stimuli. Do you have any questions at this stage, Dr Blake?’
Questions? They all seem frozen in my brain.
‘No, not right now.’ Very unusual for me.
‘Okay then, if you could please make yourself comfortable on the chair.’
I move over and carefully slide myself onto the ‘dentist’s’ chair, which is surprisingly comfortable and supports my legs, head and back.
‘Let me explain the suit you are wearing in a little more detail. This fabric has been designed to monitor your temperature, the pulse points throughout your body and record any increase in blood flow, particularly in the region of your genitalia.’
She seems to be getting down to business. If they have already started recording I’m sure they can see my pulse rate starting to climb — rapidly.
Dr Muir continues. ‘It also enables us to monitor the sensory and neural pathways in your brain. This will not cause you any discomfort.’
Well, that’s a relief, even though I continue to feel my anxiety levels rising.
‘Given the high sensitivity of the equipment we use, your movements will be restricted to ensure the integrity of the results. Having said that, our aim is to maximise your comfort during the entire duration of the experiment.’
It is right about now that I mentally note how my life has taken such a drastic turn so quickly and I’m gearing up for being on the opposite side of an experiment — again. Something to be debated with myself at a later date.
Suddenly I have a question, thankfully.
‘Will anyone else be in the room during this process?’ Memories and feelings of the experiment Jeremy conducted flood my mind, as I could never visualise who was in the room, and if I’m honest, would prefer not to know.
‘Only Françoise to assist and myself. Does that cause you any problems?’
‘No, that’s fine.’ For some reason knowing that there will only be the two women in here with me is reassuring, given the male orientation of last time. It helps put me in a more clinical rather than sexual mindset.
‘Are you ready to begin, Dr Blake?’ And they always address me using my professional title.
Ready? I have no idea. ‘As ready as I’ll ever be. I doubt it will get any easier… Wait, I do have one more question.’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Have either of you undergone this testing?’
The two women exchange a quick glance. ‘Yes, we both have,’ Dr Muir answers, with a smile. ‘Anyone in our facilities who conducts testing such as this, is also able to participate in our experimentation process. In this particular instance, we have all happily volunteered.’
‘Oh, right.’ Well, that makes me feel slightly less concerned.
‘Anything else?’
‘No, that’s it for now, I think.’
‘Then we shall proceed. Please, just relax.’ Sure, that’s what you always say and I can assure you it is easier said than done. I take a deep breath and wriggle and adjust myself in the chair. I’m grateful I’m covered from head to toe, literally. It can’t be too bad, can it?
When I’m in position, the chair reclines back halfway, my bottom sinks slightly lower than my legs and my knees are supported slightly higher. It’s comfortable and I settle in.
‘Please move your arms and legs a little wider, Dr Blake, so they are not touching the rest of your body.’ I spread my legs and arms.
‘Thank you.’ So polite. I then feel the odd sensation of being pulled deeper into the chair almost magnetically. The force is strong enough that when I attempt to raise my limbs they don’t lift at all. My head is trapped in the same way and I’m left primed to experience whatever they have to offer.
‘Is everything okay for you, Dr Blake?’ Dr Muir asks.
‘I suppose so.’ I’m apprehensive but not enough to prevent the procedure from continuing.
‘We will commence the experiment for the baseline in one minute and will not talk to you until it is complete. It should take approximately thirty minutes and will incorporate stimuli involving vision, smell and sound. All you need to do is remain calm, still, and keep your eyes open.’ I hear a door close behind me and assume I’m now alone. Right, calm — difficult but not impossible. Still — can’t move so that is sorted. Eyes are open — this is very different from Jeremy’s version, interesting. A computer-generated voice in the room counts down from ten. I can’t help but try to lift my head and wiggle my fingers and toes but they are all firmly trapped by the suit I’m wearing and whatever is bi
nding it to the chair. Five — four — please let me be doing the right thing — two — too late now — one — here we go!
At take-off, part of the complex machinery moves directly toward my face and I can’t shift to avoid the potential collision. It settles softly against my face, the only exposed part of my body. It covers my eyes so I can only assume it will be responsible for establishing my visual sensory baseline.
I focus on trying to control my breathing when suddenly my brain is ambushed with pictures and photos of beautiful and exotic locations of all kinds. Dreamy tropical beaches, majestic valleys and gorges, lush forests and waterfalls, they are beautiful and it calms me a little. It makes me feel excited about what else there is for me to experience and see in the world. It also triggers the realisation that there are absolutely no outside influences in this laboratory, no windows whatsoever.
I don’t have time to dwell on that as the pace changes, as do the images. Now I am seeing people in various states of emotion, some laughing, some sad, some exuberant, some pained and grieving. Then it speeds up again and shifts to disturbing images of poverty and war. I’m reminded of the children we sponsor in third world countries, one for each member of our family, which leads me to thoughts of what Elizabeth and Jordan could be doing and how I feel a million miles away from them right now. But the progression of images forces me back to attention. They become more and more horrific, and instinctively I try to turn my head away to protect myself from seeing them, but it is anchored steady.
I close my eyes for a few seconds and open them to return to exactly the same scene of torture, as if the flow and speed of the pictures is sensitive to the position of my pupils. It makes me feel sick to the core that human beings can treat others that way. I feel myself shaking but I’m still firmly positioned in the chair. Finally, the horror of war ebbs to be replaced by babies and happy couples walking along beaches. I immediately feel the tension ease from my muscles and sigh in relief. Another switch, to household chores — weird — and another to gay couples, and straight couples, then bondage — hundreds of images are flashing before my eyes in rapid succession. Some fascinating and arousing, some utterly repulsive to me.
More images flash of masturbation, cunnilingus, fellatio. As they evolve from sexual to more obscene, it dawns on me that they seem to centre around the seven deadly sins — wrath, greed, sloth, pride, lust, envy and gluttony — depicting both ancient and modern-day reflections of these characteristics. It makes me feel giddy.
Each picture flashes before my eyes for just as long at it takes for me to register what I’m seeing before the next image appears. I’m familiar with this association process from a psychological perspective, but their technology must be at a level of sophistication I never knew existed if it is monitoring my responses this quickly. Amazing.
Then, abruptly, my children are in front of me and I swear my heart stops beating and jumps uncomfortably into the back of my throat. My body immediately tries to wrench itself from the seat, an impossible task. It is the photo they sent me on the phone. Of course, they would have access to that, I haven’t seen my phone for days. I feel like my heart is being ripped out of my body and is desperately trying to join them and those angelic faces before me. Tears stream down my face as violent sobs threaten to overwhelm me. Oh god, I need them, I miss them so badly. The photo fills me with such simultaneous love and pain that I feel like I’ve been beaten. I let out an anguished scream as the image disappears like a mirage. Just when I think I can’t take any more, that the emotions are too much, images of religious significance appear before me: Buddha, Christ, Mohammed, Mother Teresa, sacred symbols, ancient symbols, pyramids, Stonehenge, Easter Island…it’s going so fast I find it difficult to believe my brain could assimilate any of it. Just as I can’t take it and begin to close my eyes to give my overstimulated brain some relief, I see a photo of myself in the red dress and blindfold from my weekend with Jeremy — I immediately freeze. All emotion, all breathing, all responses are on hold until I see what will come next.
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.
Destined to Play, Feel, Fly Trilogy Page 38