Hi, my name is Anabelle Joy. I'm a journalist reporting on anything and everything to do with intimacy and pleasure. Please enjoy the stories about my ventures into the world of temptation and sex parties.
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I step into the taxi. My trench coat prevents anyone guessing to what kind of party I'm going. Because underneath, I'm wearing nothing but lingerie. The instructions for tonight were clear. The men were to come in suits while the women were only allowed to wear lingerie and heels. I had chosen one of the more scandalous sets from my wardrobe, made from a delicate black lace, that gave me a deep cleavage, and from which the thong put my ass cheeks on full display. My black stiletto's were the only other thing on my body.
The taxi stops and I step out of the vehicle. In front of the neatly hidden entrance to a private club stands a line. I walk past it, addressing the bouncer in a fishnet outfit, the strands stretching around her curvaceous figure. I'm not sure because of the lack of light outside, but are those her nipples poking through? "Hi, my name's Anabelle Joy. I'm here to write an article about the place. I should be on the list."
The woman gazes across the list, then back at me. I untie my trench coat and pull the front open, revealing my enticing lingerie underneath. The bouncer nods her approval and ties a VIP bracelet around my wrist. "Have fun," she says with a naughty wink.
I walk towards the music, house with some dubstep mixed into. There are already a lot of people on the dancefloor. Behind the DJ booth on the podium hangs a large screen on which visuals are projected. I see a naked woman in paradise, surrounded by colourful butterflies, birds, and tropical plants. She sensually eats an orange, the juices running freely down her body. A moment later a handsome man appears, and caresses her. While the music is a treat for the ears, this is one for the eyes, enhanced by professional, scarcely dressed dancers flanking both sides of the screen.
I approach the bar. "One rum and coke, please," I say to the bartender.
As the bubbles run across my tongue, I feel a hand tapping my lower arm. I look sideways into the clear blue eyes of a stranger. The man's blonde hair lies wild on top of his head while his tailored suit fits him like a glove. His appearance is contradictory. He's in his late thirties I guess.
"What shall we toast to?" he asks, looking mischievously at me and bringing his bottle of beer closer to my glass.
I smile. "To tonight, of course. Your first time here?"
He shakes his head with a smirk on his lips. And he tells me about the previous edition.
I sense a captivating story. "Can I ask you a couple of questions? I'm a journalist reporting on erotic parties."
The man agrees and answers every question without hesitation. "...and that's when I experienced my first threesome, with two women. It was everything I could have wished for, and more," he ends his answer to the last question.
When I finish writing the details down, I thank him. If I'd been here for pleasure only, I'd have indulged in another drink with him, but there is reporting to do and other people to interview. I turn around but he gently grabs my arm.
"Hey, I hope to see you again. What's your name?"
"Anabelle," I say, unable to hold a smile back. Then I leave, walking as slowly and sexily as possible, giving him a great view of my swaying hips and nude buttocks. He deserves that after his willingness to share everything I asked him.
On both sides of the dancefloor I notice some enclosed cubicles with long, satin curtains. I gingerly pull one aside and enter a small space, beautifully decorated with feathers, cushions, and soft, red light. On a purple, velvet couch sits a woman with a high updo. While a man slides his fingers in and out her pussy, she is intimately kissing another man sitting next to her. Her bra has been discarded. I take in her large breasts with dark nipples that are stiffly pointing at me. The man she's wrestling with her tongue is kneading her breasts and plucking her nipples. Oh how I long to stay here, but I have more stories to collect. And that will not happen here. It would be rude to disturb them.
I leave the cubicle and take five more interviews. One with a dancer from next to the screen (she's only wearing glitter powder on her nipples and a thong), three men in sleek suits who all make advancements towards me, and another woman I bump into when she leaves a cubicle, an orgasmic blush on her face. I decide I've gathered enough information. I'm grateful for the openness of people in this place to talk about sex. It's lovely hearing them elaborate on their escapades without filter.
Now I feel like dancing. The music is great. I'm standing close to the DJ, making eye-contact with him, which intensifies my experience of his beats. When I look around, all I can see are cool and beautiful people dancing, flirting, and kissing with each other. It's one big foreplay.
