In The Garden of Lust

Chapter Two-1

Chapter Two

I’m too keyed-up to write. Nerves fried to the bone. Stomach jittery. My brain just won’t work. Attempts to draft the statement are completely wasted. I start and stop a dozen times, frustrated by my inability to convey my submissive sentiments in the way I truly feel them. I know my efforts aren’t entirely wasted—every failed attempt just adds to the smoldering desire rumbling deep. The perfect treatise will eventually come. But probably not until Thursday night after a frenzy of m**********n—I can feel that desperation even now. I’ve suffered this way before, until whatever is blocking my thoughts finally shakes loose and allows the passionate truth to surface. If I’m true to form, in less than ten minutes, I’ll have penned a real gem of a statement with plenty of persuasive reasons why being a man’s s*x slave is the most right and sane thing Marlena Lucci can do with her summer.

Wednesday afternoon. The phone rings, Miriam calling with a Friday appointment time of five p.m.. “And I’ve scheduled you for a physical exam tomorrow morning at ten.”

“A physical?”

“You don’t think I’d offer merchandise without checking to be sure that it’s in good working order?”

“Of course not. I’ll be there. Just tell me when.”

***

The doctor’s office is in one of the newer medical buildings connected with the University. I expect to wait, since I have a feeling that the doctor is fitting me in as a favor to Miriam. However, when I arrive, I don’t even take a seat. I’m immediately taken to the examination room by a fast-moving aide who dispenses with me quickly and moves on to someone else.

“The doctor will be with you shortly, Mrs. Lucci,” she smiles tersely, then leaves me to my fraying nerves.

I wait, sitting on the end of the examination table fully clothed. While patience has never been my virtue, I’m rewarded for the attempt with the doctor arriving in less than five minutes. He’s not at all what I pictured. I’m thinking crusty, middle-aged and distinguished; instead he’s young, tall and, by the look of his muscled body, very virile. He’s also as arrogant as any doctor I’ve known, as if he’s made a study of looking sexy but unapproachable.

“Mrs. Lucci,” he speaks as he enters. After giving me a quick once over, he moves to the sink to wash his hands. “I can’t conduct an exam if you’re fully clothed,” he adds in passing. As he’s drying his hands, he stares at me, as if he expects me to jump to my feet and begin disrobing. But I’m a little too shaken to speak or move.

“S-so, you want me to undress now?” I manage to blurt out.

He’s obviously annoyed. “How about we cut to the chase here. I’m a close acquaintance of Miriam Peron. I know why you’re here and what kind of examination this will be. Modesty at this point would be counterproductive to your intentions, Mrs. Lucci. So let’s get on with it, shall we?”

“Yes, sir, certainly.” I move off the end of the table and to the far corner of the room where I begin to remove my clothes under the man’s watchful eye, trying hard to appear relaxed, when I’m actually trembling so hard that I nearly lose my balance trying to get my shoes off without falling on my face.

The doctor stands, arms crossed in front of his chest, his eyes trained on my every move—or so it seems. As soon as I’m naked, he motions me back to the table where I lay down and he assists in positioning me—cradling the back of my thighs in stirrups, leaving my crotch hanging open and completely uncovered. No sheet. No gown. I’m a slave here, too. This is something to get used to.

“A little further forward,” he adds before he’s satisfied. I inch my ass forward so it’s nearly hanging off the end of the table and even then he pulls it another inch.

I breathe deep, trying to settle, but every touch of his hand sends another tremor of arousal through my horny body, and I can’t hold back my physical response. This is totally embarrassing for me, although the cold practitioner seems immune to my physical reaction. I imagine Miriam as a fly on the wall watching my every move, every emotion, every facial expression. She’s testing me, I’m sure. I won’t let this rattle me, I won’t. But when the doctor’s fingers move into my v****a, my entire body quakes with a mini-orgasm that would be impossible not to see. Still remote. Still unfazed. This is all too weird.

However, he’s soon moving his fingers in and out of my p***y as if he’s f*****g me—I assume that is exactly his intension. When he finally withdraws his hand and turns away, I watch as he pulls a pair of latex gloves from the box on the counter and snaps them over his hands. A chill rushes down my spine. When his gloved fingers begin probing my slit, he stops briefly at my p***y, gathering its juices, then moves downward to my anus. I expect some degree of sensitivity from a trained doctor, but he exhibits none as he abruptly shoves three fingers into my taut asshole.

“Ouch!” I muffle the tiny shriek.

As the doctor’s fingers move within me, they set off a wave of new sensations that I’d not counted on being so erotically charged. My breath is short, my chest heaves. I’m afraid I’ll be coming in seconds. But then he abruptly withdraws his hand, slaps my thigh and orders me to turn over. “On your hands and knees.” He removes my legs from the stirrups and steps back.

Turning over, I settle myself on the exam table with my naked ass open to the draft. More probing of body parts begins, including insertions in my v****a and ass. I begin to suspect that this vulgar examination is intended for the sole purpose of demeaning me—which it manages to do with some success. I’m ashamed, embarrassed and blushing.

Finally, he pulls his hand from my crotch, announces we’re done, and after discarding the gloves, he heads for the door.

“Should I-uh stay for a consultation?” I cautiously venture. I’ve already scrambled from the table and am reaching for my clothes.

He looks back, his face a blank slate, “Miriam Peron is paying for the visit. I’ll consult with her. You can get dressed and go.” He walks out, leaving me stripped of dignity and any semblance of human connection. I realize this is part of the world that I have entered with my request for Miriam’s services. I wouldn’t be surprised if she urged the doctor to be especially cold with his examination, but rather than putting me off my plan, my submissive desires have only amplified. I could try to deny the effect but my body refuses to lie to satisfy my lingering sense of propriety. A trickle of p***y juice runs down my thigh, and in the tepid air, I catch the scent of my rising pheromones. This has been a heady aphrodisiac, even if I didn’t need one. If I had the time, I’d get off before I leave the exam room, but I’m just not that brave.

Late Thursday evening I begin the writing assignment. After several attempts that I immediately erase with a click of the delete key, my brain finally clicks in and completes an honest, soulful attempt to explain myself. It’s one a.m. when I finally finish, print off the document and after carefully folding the paper, retreat to my bedroom where I tuck the statement into a zippered compartment in my purse.

Looking in the bathroom mirror moments later, I stare at my tired face. I need to sleep. But suspecting that my over active mind will make for a restless night, I grab a bottle of sleeping pills and down one. No use suffering needlessly.

***

After being ushered into Miriam’s parlor by the cheery Adrienne, I wait nearly fifteen minutes before ‘The Mistress’ arrives dressed for a session in her dungeon, wearing a hip-hugging plush leather skirt and a beautiful, purple brocade bustier that pushes her voluptuous breasts into a seductive cleavage. I can barely take my eyes off the alluring sway of her billowing flesh. Still, I’m impatient and nervous, about to sputter out something that I’m sure I’d regret, as Miriam nestles her firm behind into the dainty parlor chair. Seeing the flushed look on her face, I suspect she’s been beating some poor fool in the dark bowels of the house. The men she dominates in her tiny fiefdom—those that I’ve managed to glimpse coming and going over the years—all seemed like bland and uninspiring pretty boys that have no appeal for me. But then, this is Miriam’s world, not mine. I long ago accepted that her s****l needs were intrinsically different from mine—however, I no longer think of her as just another kinky slut when I could easily say as much about myself.

“Are you as nervous as you look?” she asks. Her smile now sublime, even blissful.

“Nervous? Why on earth would I be nervous?”

“I don’t know, darling, I just sense that you are.” She sits back like an elegant queen and continues… “Relax, sweetheart, and take a deep breath… let the rest of the world fall away…” Her voice seems to have dropped an octave with its mellifluous vibrato easing me into what I acknowledge is a terrifying moment. I had no intention of honoring my apprehensions and I worry that any display of panic will cause Miriam to withdraw her support for my quest. The incense that typically permeates the house seems stronger today, wafting through the room in a great wave, working like a drug to ease fear and strip away the inhibitions of the timid. I feel so much better after a few cleansing breaths. “So,” she shifts even further into her Domme role, “do you have your statement prepared?”

“I do.”

“Good. That’s a good sign. Although,” she smirks, “I bet you wrote it late last night in a crazed frenzy. Am I right?”

Although I’m normally put off by her smugness and typically ignore it, it’s more difficult today, knowing the mission I’m on. “It wasn’t easy,” I sidestep the direct reply. “But that’s not because of fear or nerves. I wanted to say the right thing.”

“And I’m sure you did. But we’ll get to that later. The first thing we do is the photoshoot.”

Just the mention of the word is cause for alarm. “Photoshoot?”

“A complete, personal and graphic illustration of your physical assets,” she explains.

Even the words she uses are alarming. “Is that really necessary?”

“Yes it is,” she begins, her tone condescending. “I mentioned last week that the process for long term arrangements is totally different from the sort of short rendezvous I arranged for you before. You’d better drop any assumptions you have right now if you expect to go through with this.”

“Of course, I expect to go through with this. I have every intention of going through with this,” I snap. I try not to sound indignant, but it’s clear that the building anxiety has made me edgy.

“All right then, on to the photo shoot. Since the physical body is a good deal of what these gentlemen are purchasing, it’s up to me to give them as vivid a picture of you as possible without your actually meeting face to face.” She must see how I initially flinch, although I’m not sure if it’s revulsion I feel or excitement. However, just the idea of being so dehumanized ramps up my desire. “Sounds demeaning, doesn’t it? It’s meant to. You are not in Kansas anymore, honey. So, don’t expect to be treated like the self-sufficient and free-thinking female you are. Are you sure you don’t want to try match.com or what’s the other one—eharmony?”

“Stop it, Miriam. If the photoshoot comes next, then let’s get on with it.”

“Very good.” She gracefully lifts herself from her chair and motions for me to follow as she moves toward the back of the room.

Directly behind her parlor through several panels of thick burgundy drapes is a small photo set with walls covered in a black matte fabric and nothing but a plain bare stool sitting on a raised dais about five feet across. I pause before I enter. I’m suddenly feeling as if I’m going to be swallowed up by a huge black hole.

“The entire session will be videotaped,” she says as she points to an opening in the back wall. Beyond the opening are several cameras aimed directly at the dais. “There will also be a series of still shots. Some men prefer the video, others insist on the stills. Most ask for both.”

Everything about that idea has me quaking in my shoes with excitement. Sure I feel a tinge of fear, but that’s swept aside the moment it arises. I’ll jump through whatever hoops necessary to have what I’m after.