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The transition to land wasa gentle slope onto a wide terrace of polished concrete,embellished with the occasional impression of a seashell or afossil or... I squinted down as I stepped over one. A belt buckle.The stone fence was a lot taller than it had looked from the boat;it was easily twenty feet high. The bronze torches bracketed to thestone weren't quite medieval, but the theme was starting to cometogether in my mind.
At the moment, that themewas "Pier One Imports does a Renaissance Fair."
I wasn't hating it.
A gothic arch with carved figuresloomed over the much more sensibly sized double doors at theentrance. As we got closer, I noted that the bas relief scenesdepicted wouldn't have been appropriate on a cathedral. There werecertainly scenes of torment and flagellation, but the wrong kindfor salvation purposes.
I didn't know what I'dexpected; who knows what to expect from a sex resort? But asidefrom the uniformed staff working on the pier and the two stoicsecurity officers standing beside the doors, the place seemeddeserted. I'd expected tits and ass and people being walked onleashes the second I stepped off the boat.
Miranda nodded to the two men, whonodded back and opened the doors for us.
And that was where all thepeople were. I stood rooted to the concrete, my greedy eyes takingin more naked flesh than I'd ever seen in one place before. Bodiesof all types, from lithe to generous, gleamed in the tropical sun,relaxing around a huge, circular pool with an enormous fountain inthe middle. Some guests reclined on lounges while resort stafffanned them with palm fronds. Others cavorted in the water, someplayfully, some carnally; an incongruously innocent splash fightwas happening about two feet from someone getting their pussy eatenby someone else getting fucked from behind. People were sippingdrinks and relaxing to the usual poolside sounds mingled with moansand grunts, as if it were the most normal place to be.
Oh, and there was the person beingwalked on a leash. Right on time.
"Welcome to Ascend Red," Miranda said,swinging her sleek ponytail. This moment of shock was obviously afavorite part of the job.
"I..." My jeans and t-shirt feltimmediately stifling in the heat once the presence of a pool hadbeen introduced. "I'm overdressed."
"Not to worry," Miranda assured me."We'll get that taken care of at check-in. If you would follow thered line?"
I looked down. Red glass tiles embeddedin the concrete formed a border around the textured floor of thepool area and widened into a curved path like a satanicyellow-brick road. I followed it, looking back to make sure Mirandawas still with me. I'd thought coming as a guest of the owner wouldhave meant I could skip the front desk.
The red path diverged into a fork atthe other side of the fountain and Miranda directed me to the left,past a potted palm currently being used for balance by a coupleengaging in some vigorous standing intercourse.
"Is it rude to stare?" I asked Miranda,lowering my voice. Not that the couple would have overheard me,anyway. They were both practically screaming.
"If something is happening in a publicarea or a voyeur zone? No," she answered.
Voyeur zone. I recognizedthe term from the handbook. There were "private" spaces that couldbe used by people who either wanted to be seen or simply didn'tcare, but which could only be viewed from peepholes or other hiddenvantage points.
It had been one of the first things I'dadded to my to-do list.
"Private rooms, however, are strictlycontrolled by our consent policy," she continued.
"Thanks," I said, relieved but also alittle embarrassed that she added that last part. "I did read thehandbook, I promise."
"There was a lot of information inthere," she said with an understanding smile. "If you have anyquestions, there is always someone on staff who can help. Although,I'm sure Mr. Ashe can answer those questions, too."
"Yeah, where is he?" The open-airfuck-and-suck fest had been a hot welcome, but I'd come to theisland for Matt.
"He arranged a specialcheck-in procedure for you," Miranda explained. "So, you won't seehim until you're finished at the spa."
A spa appointment? The man certainlyknew how to woo me.
In fact, the spa was the destinationMiranda led me to, not a hotel lobby. The red path ended in a looparound another, non-swimmable fountain, through a pointed stonearch and into a peaceful, deserted courtyard, where a gray stonebuilding butted up to the perimeter wall. Over the glass doors, thewords "Eros Spa" were engraved in a brushed-steel plate.
The name was shockingly familiar. DidMatthew frequent the same section of Literotica.com that Idid?
I hoped the inside was as good as thestory.
Before we even reached thedoors, two staff members appeared to greet us. One was astereotypically Nordic-looking guy with huge shoulders and bulgingbiceps that threatened to burst the sleeves of his pristine whitepolo. The other was a petite woman with ivory skin and mousey brownhair pulled back in a no-nonsense French braid and a similaruniform to her giant Viking counterpart.
"Welcome, Charlotte," theysaid in unison, and I decided that I was out of there at the firstsign of a flower crown.
I was not about togetMidsommeredat a sex resort.
Luckily, they dropped the creepy vibeinstantly. The guy introduced himself as Canson, which had to be afake name, but the woman looked like the Beth she claimed to be. Isupposed if I worked at a private island sex retreat, I probablywouldn't give my real name to guests, either.