As I struck the ball, something in Julius's words resonated with me. Not just the promise of novel pleasure, but the subtle reminder that my growing attachment to Theo might need tempering. He was a companion, after all. Professional. Here to provide a service, not to become entangled with a client, no matter how willing.
Perhaps some new experiences were what I needed to maintain perspective.
The rest of our game passed pleasantly, filled with good-natured competition and easy conversation. By the time we finished the eighteenth hole, I had not only enjoyed a stimulating afternoon but had made valuable connections that could benefit Avaline's technological and diplomatic interests. This, I reflected, was the true value of places like The Ranch, not just the physical pleasures they offered, but the opportunities for meaningful interaction away from the constraints of formal diplomatic channels.
After a lengthy shower to rinse off the golf course residue, I opted for comfortable attire—linen pants paired with a light button-down shirt. I selected a Bordeaux from the villa's impressive cellar, poured myself a substantial glass, and carried it to the patio along with the resort-provided tablet. Until now, I had only used the device to schedule my time with Theo.
I scrolled through the weekly events calendar, surprised by the variety. The Ranch offered nightly burlesque performances, underwater massage sessions, BDSM workshops, costumed fantasy roleplay experiences, tantric yoga classes, couples' rope bondage instruction, and even a “Sensual Cuisine” night where body-safe ingredients becamepart of the intimate experience. There were also more conventional offerings: horseback riding, meditation retreats, and wine tastings, though each with The Ranch's distinctive sensual twist.
As I continued browsing, one particular entry caught my attention: “The Bathhouse—Dark Room Experience.” The description was deliberately vague, mentioning only “anonymous encounters” and “primal pleasure,” but something about it intrigued me. Perhaps it was the promise of anonymity, a rare commodity for someone in my position—or simply the allure of the forbidden.
I took a long sip of wine, considering. Throughout my life, my sexual experiences had been carefully controlled, discrete affairs with men who understood the need for absolute secrecy. Even here at The Ranch, my encounters with Theo, while intense and satisfying, had been private, contained within the walls of my villa.
The thought of anonymous bodies in the dark, of surrendering to the unknown, both terrified and excited me. It represented everything I had been denied in my carefully managed existence—spontaneity, anonymity, risk without calculation.
And if I was honest with myself, there was another reason the Dark Room appealed to me. Since meeting Theo, I'd found myself preoccupied with thoughts of him. Not just sexual fantasies, but domestic daydreams that had no place in reality. I imagined showing him Avaline, introducing him to my favorite cafés in Valmont, watching his face as he experienced the majesty of the Alps for the first time.
Such thoughts were dangerous, setting us both up for disappointment. An anonymous encounter, pure physical release without emotional entanglement, was exactly what I required to reset my expectations.
Yes, the darkness would provide perspective that the light had obscured. I would recalibrate my emotions, remember my purpose, andapproach my remaining time with Theo with appropriate detachment.
The bathhouse was located in a separate building near the edge of the property, somewhat removed from the main complex. As I approached, I was struck by its understated exterior: a simple structure of stone and wood that gave little indication of what lay within. Only a small, discreet sign marked it as my destination.
Taking a deep breath, I pushed open the door and stepped inside.
The anteroom looked like a somewhat dilapidated locker room—a stark contrast to the luxury evident elsewhere at Dove Canyon. Dim fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a pallid glow over metal lockers and wooden benches. The effect was deliberately unsexy, I realized, perhaps to heighten the anticipation of what lay beyond.
The attendant looked up from his phone as I entered. “First time?” he asked, his tone friendly. He was a slender man around my age with close-cropped dark hair, warm brown eyes, and forearms covered in intricate geometric tattoos. A small name tag identified him as “Alex.”
I nodded, trying to project more confidence than I felt.
“Pretty simple,” he said, sliding a key across the counter. “Locker's for your clothes and valuables. Towel if you want one, though most don't bother past the entrance. Showers are through there.” He pointed to a door on the right. “Take one before you go in. House rules.”
“And then?” I prompted when he didn't continue.
He nodded toward a set of stairs leading downward at the far end of the room. “Then you go down. Two sections inside—dimly lit and pitch black. Your choice. No names, no talking unless it's to say yes or no. Everything's consensual. You don't like something, you move away. Simple as that.”
I absorbed these instructions, my pulse quickening. “Thank you.”
“Enjoy,” he replied with a helpful smile. “Oh, and the safe word is 'red' if you need to stop anything immediately. Staff members are stationed throughout and will respond right away.”
I moved to the locker he'd indicated and began to undress, folding my clothes neatly out of habit. The mundane act of disrobing in this utilitarian space felt oddly vulnerable, more so than it had in the privacy of my villa or even during my massage at the spa.
The shower was brief but thorough. I dried myself, wrapping the towel around my waist, then stood facing the stairs that would lead me into the unknown. For a moment, I considered turning back, and returning to the safety and privacy of my villa.
But no. I had come this far. And there was something compelling about the promise of anonymity, of pleasure without the weight of identity. In Avaline, I was forever trapped within the constraints of my title, my family's expectations, the watchful eyes of the public. Even my most private moments were colored by awareness of potential consequences. Here, in the darkness below, I could be anyone or no one at all. Just a body seeking pleasure among other bodies.
Taking a deep breath, I descended the stairs.
The first thing that struck me was the heat—a warm, humid atmosphere that enveloped my naked body like a caress. Then the smell, a heady mixture of sweat, sex, and some kind of subtle incense that somehow transformed what could have been unpleasant into something primal and arousing.
The floor beneath my feet was slightly tacky, a textured surface that provided traction in what could otherwise become hazardous conditions. The air itself seemed to have weight, pressing against my skin, filling my lungs with each breath, carrying the low hum of pleasure that permeated the space.
As my eyes adjusted to the dimness, I found myself in a large, open space divided roughly in two. To my left, low red lighting illuminated an area where shadowy figures moved against walls and over plush surfaces, the crimson glow transforming bodies into living sculptures of light and shadow. Occasional flashes of teeth, the glint of an eye, the curve of a back arched in pleasure emerged from the gloom like details in a Renaissance painting.
To my right, near-total darkness concealed all but the vaguest suggestions of movement, though the sounds emanating from that direction left little doubt about the activities taking place. Gasps and moans created an erotic symphony, punctuated by the wet sounds of bodies joining, the rhythm of flesh against flesh, the occasional whispered command or plea. The darkness seemed alive, pulsing with energy that called to something primitive within me.
Taking a tentative step forward, I explored the dimly lit section first. As I moved deeper into the space, details began to emerge from the shadows. Plush couches and loungers arranged in intimate groupings, alcoves set into walls offering semi-privacy, strategically placed handholds and supports that hinted at their purpose.
