A Night I am Still Wearing on My Skin: My Elite Party Experience

There are some nights that feel less like memories and more like fingerprints, something that lingers long after the laughter of the night faded away. Nights that hardly feel real, and if it weren’t for the photos of the aftermath, could have easily been mistaken as a whimsical fantasy I never truly got to experience. This was one of those nights.

I arrived at a private, invitation-only soiree tucked inside an unmarked building; the only indicator of the naughty deeds to occur was a slight red hue shining from behind the window covered in black draping. We handed our phones away to ladies dressed in skin-tight black, and entered into our escape.

The energy was decadent and pulsing from the moment my heels hit the floor of where the true show was located. Low lighting, warm bodies, and electronic music that thrummed like a heartbeat. My attention was immediately captivated as a woman, all luscious curves and sex appeal, lounged on a chaise in nothing but her lingeire and sheer confidence. Her feline movements set the tone for the night ahead. The night was still early, and guests were in their elegant attire and an air of nerves buzzed around the room. I approached the bar to grab a glass of champagne, hoping to calm my own butterflies as I got accustomed to this new place where all morals and sense of propriety left us when we handed our belongings over.

The night drew on, and with a drink in hand, I allowed myself to truly settle into the atmposhere. Every conversation was foreplay, each glance lingered, and every touch hummed with an ask, and an intention. Before the first performance of the night, we slipped into a blush colored room, walls draped in satin, with a steel chair in the center. While we talked and sat on a couch in the corner of the small space, a pair of performers stepped in and began their own private scene, unapologetically raw and rhythmic, atop the steel chair. Across from them and near to us, another slender woman touched herself to the display. The whole room was coated thick with desire, and before I knew it, skilled fingers were coaxing sounds out of me, ones I had no intention of holding back.

After this intimate display, it was time for the first performance of the evening. Three women were on the small stage, two playing at submissive, the other commanding the room with her presence. There were machines involved, these strange futuristic tools used with a kind of precise intention that made the whole space feel like a temple of pleasure. I watched with wide eyes, my breath caught between my chest and heat pooling in my core.

Ending with a heated applause, first-time guests were pulled into the room I had been in earlier, and an illusionist performed mind-bending tricks while outlining the rules for the nights. I volunteered for one. I still can’t tell you how it was done, the magic was as real as the ache I had for more.

We drifted through room after room, each with its own rhythm. Clusters of bodies were intertwined, impact play occurred in shadowed corners, and soft moans blended with laughter. I watched a man so skilled with a flogger it bordered on pure artistry as he struck a woman bent on her knees on a counter as though she were offering up her body for him to play, like an instrument.

Eventually, I found myself in a members-only room where I experienced a stingy flogger that hit my nerves the wrong way. Thankfully, another dom in the space offered up a wodden paddle instead. Oh… the sound of it. The weight of it. My whole body melted under the smack of the paddle on my bare ass. I let that room with bruises I still find myself daydreaming of.

Toward the end of the night, I found myself witnessing a collision of eight bodies, a scene that felt as though I was witnessing a renaissance painting in front of my own two eyes. One particular well-endowed woman made eye contact with me as she was being pleasured, and I was perfectly content with my voyer ways. A performer approached me with an electric wand, teasing it over my nipple as I dramatically pretended to fear for my life over the electric shock that would ripple through my skin. I think she enjoyed my theatrics almost as much as I enjoyed the sting.

The final show was a sensual fever dream, three women and one man all wrapped in a futuristic storyline that ended with bodies tangled and breathless. Just when I thought the party was over, I was invited to an afterparty in a historic apartment that whispered stories of Hollywood glamor. Pleasure found me again there, on a bed as another couple did the same next to us. It felt like being allowed to feast with my eyes while being devoured from the inside out.

I swam nude in a basement pool, lounged in front of a fireplace to dry off, and finally drifted back to my hotel at sunrise. My body was aching, mind spinning, but my soul was oddly at peace.

Cleo lounging in front of a fire to dry off after a swim