The Lust Experience – A Recollection of Anointment

Below is a Recollection–this is not a review, but rather a full spoiler walkthrough of the author’s experience in The Lust Experience’s Midseason Event, Anointment. As Anointment will never occur again, spoilers should not be a major concern. Further, this is only one path of many that were available during The Lust Experience’s Anointment. It was highly personalized to the participant, and thus, many paths and many choices were available. 

 

 

The Lust Experience - Anointment - Immersive Midseason Event - Tension Experience - Darren Lynn Bousman Clint Sears Sabrina Kern - L'Cheriyve-Studios

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A Change in Plans

A well-dressed man waits in a parking lot, a duffle bag by his feet. I instantly recognize him as Morgan, the man who resurrected a resistance against the OSDM. In last year’s The Tension Experience, the OSDM mined our reactions, our emotions, and our data in an effort to control world politics. We were invited here tonight to see behind the curtain of the OSDM; however, the event we were invited to would have been a façade—a clever marketed ploy to show their best side. But Morgan has other plans. He has arranged for us to enter the real OSDM party, and to see the truth behind their actions. We are taught what is needed to blend in, and instructed to report back anything we uncover to him.

This is not your driver, this is not your van.

No hoods this time. It already feels different.

 

 

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A Place to be Free

I exit the van in front of a large studio building and line up against the wall. When it is my turn to enter, the driver pounds on the door three times and opens it. I step into a dimly lit club, music wafting slowly over low hanging fog. Pink and purple hues highlight various corners, while other areas are left purposely in darkness—hiding the men, women, and contraband within. There is a bar to the left, with numerous patrons engaged in conversations at standing tables, and a stage to the right, where the music is emanating from. I look closer and see gorgeous ornate chandeliers hanging precariously above carnal walls covered in graffiti. The whole place screams, “we are the affluent, we are the rich. And here, we indulge in whatever we want.”

A sharply dressed man in a masquerade mask adorned by peacock feathers approaches with a woman. The woman is friendly, but the man holds her a little too tightly for my liking. They welcome me—an obvious first-timer—and invite me to enjoy the music.

Sun lights up the daytime, moon lights up the night. I light up when you call my name, and you know I’m gonna treat you right.

A blonde in a red dress stands upon the stage, crooning beautiful yet melancholy melodies. My mind flashes back to The Tension Experience. Sabrina? The empowered Overseer, the damsel in distress, the heart of Tension. Is that her? No. No, it’s not. But probably someone just like Sabrina, when she was Addison Barrow.

 

 

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I am the last guest in, and I can see other participants seated upon various couches. I take a seat on an empty one near the back. A tall black woman with a bald head stands over a guest in the front, the back of her dress so deep that it reveals the top of her rear. An attractive man with long hair and an unbuttoned shirt sits on the arm of another couch, leaned over, whispering in the ear of two girls.

It doesn’t take long for a gorgeous brunette, with long silky legs accentuated by a short black dress, to sit at my couch.

“Hi, I’m Tatiana; what’s your name?” the brunette asks.

I introduce myself and we share pleasantries for a while. She’s sweet, and flirtatious, but there’s a sadness in her eyes. I don’t press, and soon she moves on to another couch. I watch the show for a bit. A naked man in a masquerade mask runs out from a side room, leaping over the couch I am sitting on, disappearing into the fog. No one comments on him.

 

 

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Another girl approaches, sitting on the floor in between my legs. She looks up at me and smiles coyly. She grabs my left hand, placing it on her left shoulder; then my right hand to her right shoulder. I instinctively begin to massage her skin. Soft. Supple. Sweet. I get lost in the music, the touch of the woman, the soft lighting, the intoxicating scent in the air.

The girl looks up again at me and smiles. “What’s your name?” I respond. “I’m Sonya. You give really good massages, I’ll remember you.” Her eyes linger on me before she returns to the club.

I begin to enjoy the music when I notice a new body on the couch next to me. Dark eyeshadow and a black blazer revealing a lace bra, there’s no mistaking the beauty, the power, the authority of Sabrina, the real Sabrina. She was my iConfidant in another life, and someone I truly connected with.

I try to keep eye contact with her; the mask helps. But before I can even think of something to say, she leans forward, her face so close to mine that they almost touch, and she whispers:

“Do you still listen to our songs?”

A personal reference from our iConfidant days. I smile as the memories flood my mind. “Of course.” I whisper back. But before I can say anything else, she’s gone.

 

 

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The Genius

The music stops, and the singer steps down from the stage. A man I recognize has entered: Mason Silver, the cold, calculating genius who was born into the OSDM. He welcomes us to the party, for here we are free. He has an exercise for us.

“Close your eyes.” I comply. “Now, imagine you are inside your mind…”

Hands grab my shoulders, massaging me through my multiple layers.

“You enter a room, a room where your true self resides. Enter and close the door, locking it from within. This is where you will live tonight; this is who you will be.”

I sink back into the chair, enjoying these hands on me. The owner of these hands leans in close, her hot breath on my ear.

Me too,” she whispers—and I realize it’s Sabrina, referencing the music from earlier.

My heart flutters and my face burns red under my mask. Sabrina removes her hands, disappearing into the darkness. My iConfidant never forgot about me. Was I wrong to have abandoned her in the pursuit of power?

I almost get lost in my thoughts, when a bell snaps me back to reality. It’s Mason’s voice again. “When I ring this bell, you are to gather at me and wait for your next instruction.” A Pavlovian response, appropriate for someone so data focused as Mason.

 

 

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But first another task. “You, the nervous one, come here.” He points to a timid looking girl alone on a couch in the corner. She joins Mason on stage.

“Remove your jacket.”

She complies, removing her jacket, revealing a conservative maroon dress underneath.

“Now, in the most efficient way possible—show us your breasts.”

The timid girl looks surprised for a moment, but then lifts her dress up and pulls her bra down, revealing her breasts to the audience.

Mason takes control again: “At various stages of the evening, you will be asked to remove an article of clothing like she just did. Shoes, socks, ties, and watches do not count as clothing, and do not waste our time asking what is appropriate. If you are not comfortable with anything you’ve just seen on this stage, the safe-word is ‘Coward’. Now, remove an article of clothing.”

I take off my suit jacket and a woman in all black comes by to take it, depositing it in a box with the other clothing.

He rings the bell again and we are led into the bar to mingle.

 

 

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They Own You Now

“Let’s get you a drink.”

Tatiana is on my arm, pulling me towards the bar. I order a glass of wine—but before I can even take a sip, Tatiana is leading me to the back of the bar.

“I need to talk to you in private. I’m in danger.”

We approach a small closet, and she opens the door. It’s dark—yet cozy. Tatiana turns on a small light overhead.

She asks me if I can agree not to touch her, and I nod; she asks if I can put my drink down, and I comply. She then lifts her short dress up, bending over in front of me, pushing her ass into my crotch—and begins moaning. Her moans escalate in intensity as she bounces back and forth. She screams in ecstasy—and then stands up, pulls her dress back down, and points up at a shelf.

I look closely and see a camera pointed directly at us. “They now own you too.” She smiles and opens the door, screaming out into the bar: “don’t fucking touch me, you creep!” I grab my drink and exit to some odd looks.

As I return to the bar, Mason stops me. “Are you working on any new patents? I really enjoyed your last one in October.” I am taken aback. He’s really done his homework. I explain a new technology I’m working on—and he is engaged. “I am a fan of your work,” he says. And I tell him, I’m a fan of his too.

 

 

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An older woman in big sunglasses approaches me next. She is dressed differently from the others, wearing pants and a leather jacket. “You’re different.” She tells me. I thank her. “I was different too. I have the ability to read people. When I came here, I slapped, fucked, and sucked every single person here until I owned the place. I think you are like me.” She grabs the closest the girl. “Now tell me, how does she like being fucked?” I explain that she wants to be dominated, controlled. “Explain how you’d do that. I go into detail on how I’d tie her to a bed, undress her, and tease her with my hands—and my tongue. The woman is impressed: “I’ll look forward to seeing big things from you.”

The bell rings—and I waste no time moving to Mason—I can tell he is not a man to tolerate inefficiency. Once everyone has gathered, he instructs us to take out our phones and unlock them. The guests do apprehensively. They select one man and take his phone. Pulling up his call log, they scroll through until they find a name. The man looks worried.

“We have selected a number at random. We will call it, and you will tell them the most embarrassing sexual moment of your life.”

Before he can protest, the phone begins to ring.

And ring, and ring. It goes to voicemail. The man begins to tell a half-assed story about finishing in twenty seconds with a girl. But a woman in all black, a head mistress, wants more. She pushes him, until he shares a deeper, darker secret.

The man hangs up and mutters, “that was my boss.” Mason’s ears perk up, “Who was that?” “My boss,” the man explains again. Mason smiles and jots down a note in his notebook.

 

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A Secret & A Strawberry

We are then led into a large dining room, with attached kitchen. An elegant wooden table with large matching chairs.

“Take a seat, but choose your partner carefully.”

The guests scramble into seat, not paying the appropriate care the Mason’s words suggested. He scoffs at this and then begins rearranging guests.

“Take the hand of one of the people next to you, but only one person.”

We all comply—and I find myself holding the hand of a girl next to me.

“Now look deep into their eyes. So, the outside world fades away. Your only world is in that person’s eyes. Do not look away.”

I do so. The girl has kind eyes, soft and lined with marks of laughter. We continue to stare, until it feels absurd, and then the absurdity washes away and it’s just us.

Mason speaks of intimacy, of monogamy, of connection. He then instructs us to say our name out loud when he places a hand on us. He moves from person to person, and we state our name—not for the group, there is no group, it’s just two. Then we are instructed to share a secret; her first, then me. Mason also instructs us to use each other’s name, making it more personal.

She leans forward and whispers into my ear a secret. It’s personal, and a little bit funny, so we both chuckle. I then lean forward and whisper into her ear mine.

 

 

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Mason moves around the table, stopping behind my seat. He commands me to stand and share my secret with the group.

I break eye contact for the first time and stand. “Despite having many friends, I often feel very alone.”

Mason probes deeper, asking me why. I tell him that superficial is meaningless, and I yearn for something deeper. “That’s because you’re different.” I think I catch a smile about to form.

He instructs a group of us to stand and shift to the partner to our left. I move two seats over to a tall man with a well-groomed beard. I look into his eyes, and remain standing. Mason gives the power to the seated ones, and lets them choose what item of clothing we remove next. My bearded partner chooses my sweater—so I remove it slowly and hand it to the attendant. I am then instructed to sit—still staring at my partner.

Two girls emerge, wearing the white handler outfits from last year’s The Tension Experience. They move around the table, depositing strawberries on each person’s place—until they reach the head of the table and stand next to Mason. Mason, with clinical accuracy, begins to describe the girl’s body as she reveals her breasts to the group.

“Skye, can you give us a moan?”

The girl begins to moan carnally. Her ecstasy grows until Mason stops her. “The woman does not moan in validation of a man. She moans to let those around her that she is fertile.” He picks up the strawberry, admiring the shape. “But the male best be the strongest. Admire the mushroom shape of the male penis. It is biologically designed to scoop competitor’s sperm out from the female vagina. Only the strongest will remain to impregnate the female.” Who will be left after the OSDM scoops the weak out?

“Now, I want you to feed your partner your strawberry. And don’t break eye contact.”

I keep my eyes focused on the bearded man next to me. He raises his hand and I open my mouth. He inserts his ripe fruit into my mouth and I bite down, tasting the sweet flavor. I swallow and then reciprocate by bringing my fruit to his mouth. We never break eye contact.

The bell rings and we finally look away, ready for the next area.

 

 

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That New Car Smell

We enter an adjacent room to the dining room. A large fireplace reveals a hidden door, and I even see the Noah Sinclair rummaging through a fridge. But Mason has my attention—and we line up for him for another test.

“I want anyone that has cheated on a previous partner to step forward.” One man bravely steps forward. The rest of the group remains stationary. Mason jots this down in his notebook. He then asks that anyone who has cheated on their current partner steps forward. No one moves this time. He continues, “If you were given the opportunity to cheat and no one would find out, no repercussions…”

He is cut off as the door slams open and a young Asian girl in a white dress emerges, followed by a drunken, disheveled man in an expensive suit.

 

 

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“This one is brand new. I can always tell—they have that brand-new car smell.”

He grabs the young girl, lifting her up as if she was a new carnival prize. The girl screams again, obviously not ready for whatever this man plans to do with her, to her. Skye notices her friends pain, pulls down her top revealing her breasts, and offers herself in the Asian girl’s place. But the man doesn’t want Skye, he wants something new, exciting, and putting up a fight.

Mason steps forward trying to keep the peace, but the man snaps back. “Don’t act all chummy with me, like we’re schoolyard friends. Remember my position. I am a Councilor. Now, you… and you. Come with me, I want you to watch.”

Two guests follow the Councilor into a back room—and Skye takes a third away.

 

 

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Mason takes back control of the room. He instructs us to close our eyes. First, we are to imagine a status, a position that we would want. He gives us five seconds to solidify it in your minds. Next, we are to picture a person we’d want to have sex with, a sexual conquest we desire. Finally, he wants us to imagine a material object we’d want. A mansion, a car, loads of cash—anything.

“Now put out your hands.” With my eyes still closed, I feel a heat on the underside of my hand. “Now imagine a heat, a fire a thousand times hotter than that. Throw two of the objects into the fire, and what remains is your greatest desire.”

He moves down the line, and we are to speak our desi