It was in the late 70’s. Vic, the guy I’d caught eating my wife out when I came home early one night, had introduced us to local sex parties. I had never dreamed there was so much of that type of activity around. We quickly slipped into the genre, became part of the crowd, and were invited to more and more parties.

One invitation we accepted turned out to be a very unique and interesting evening. It was in one of the newer, high-end developments of fully custom homes. When we arrived, we were greeted in the foyer by a lovely older woman in an evening gown. You’d think she was going to the opera instead of being a greeter for a sex party. She graciously took the invitation that had been mailed to us and directed us to the men’s and women’s UN-dressing rooms (she emphasized the “un” with a dazzling smile). I gave my wife a quick kiss and said, “See you later”, then went down the hall to the left as she went to the right.

At the end of the hall was a room, much like a gym locker room, but with cushions and leather upholstery on the benches, no locks on the mahogany lockers (cabinets, actually), and it smelled nice, too. There I met a few other men; we introduced ourselves and went through another door into a large room. It had soft, long shag carpet, a light red but not quite pink. The walls were lined with wide benches about the width of a twin mattress, but continuous around with the only openings at the two locker rooms. Above the benches were blacklight-lit black velvet paintings of two or more people in various sex acts. The rest of the floor was a sunken pit about 30 feet across and about two feet below our level. There were a few places that had a couple of steps down, so you didn’t have to make the full drop all at once. But the most intriguing feature was an odd contraption smack in the middle.

At first glance, it looked like some kind of homemade medical table, but there the similarity ended. Well-padded and covered with a very soft cloth, the main “slab” was adjustable to varying torso lengths. There were two supports at one end, also well-padded that were obviously where a person’s calves were to be strapped in. They were adjustable to both fit the person comfortably and to position their legs as desired, from closed to spread wide apart, legs straight or bent. Where the shoulders went was recessed slightly with another pair of supports designed for holding the arms. They were adjustable from placing the person’s arms across their body to holding them below and under, out of the way. There was also a support for the head that would allow it to be positioned left, right, center, or tilted up or back. Finally, the whole contraption was on a pedestal that would allow the table to be adjusted with foot pedals for height and head/foot/left/right tilt. It was obvious that a great deal of attention had been given to the comfort of the person on the table, but it still looked a lot like a medieval torture device.

There were several people already there, all naked, chatting, drinking, smoking, and basically waiting for the party to start. None were paying particular attention to the contraption in the middle of the room, so I assumed they were all used to it. My wife was with a few women on the other side of the room, casting glances at it; not worried, simply curious.

Simultaneously out of each locker room appeared an older couple. He was very distinguished looking, tall with a pretty good body for 60-something and a head full of silver hair. She was the woman who greeted us, now also naked and sporting one hell of a body. Note that this was before the days of the drive-thru plastic surgery like they have now. She was all natural. They walked into the pit next to the table, kissed, and turned to us. I noticed him holding a plastic tub. The man spoke first in a polite, but commanding voice, “Welcome, guests. I see we have newcomers. Our rules are simple. ‘No’, in any form, means immediately stop what you are doing. Do not think, do not analyze, do not question. You STOP!”