As the night wore on, I found myself growing more and more relaxed by the vibe of the party. The gorgeous models, the conversations, the clinking of glasses—it was an adult industry scene that, frankly, I am barely a part of, but it felt like I belonged there somehow. Or maybe it was just my desire to.
When the event began winding down, I achieved something I was never expecting for the night: I talked my way into a private after party. It was being held in a penthouse room in a nearby hotel, and somehow, my persuasive charms had paid off!
I made it to the hotel with a small group of hopefuls, and we were invited up to the top floor.
The after party was a whole different vibe. It was intimate - about twenty people in a spacious hotel room. The vibe was laid-back, but there was an undeniable air of expectancy, as a handful of gorgeous models interacted with a bunch of well-known adult producers.
I felt a little like an outsider, to be honest. I didn’t know anyone, and everyone seemed to have their own group, their own conversations. It was easy to feel like I didn’t quite fit in.
But I tried not to let it bother me. Instead, I took it all in - the models, the music, the easy mingling of sexy people who had likely known each other or worked together previously. There was a sense of familiarity among the group, and I could only hope to blend in, even if just for a little while.
So there I am: I’m standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows, watching the city lights flicker below. The r n' b music hums in the background, a mix of ambient beats and low conversation filling the space in the haze of post-party euphoria.
I’m talking to the girlfriend of one of the producers, trying to keep the conversation afloat as I sip my drink. She’s animated, discussing some latest project, but my eyes keep drifting to the corner of the room. Where I spot her. The blonde model with the short hair.
She’s sitting across from a Black King, but a different guy from earlier, listening intently to whatever he's saying, her bright blue eyes sparkling in the low light, her long, smooth, perfect legs crossed tantalisingly. She looks perfect, the kind of model beauty that would not be out of place at Fashion Week.
I don't recognize the King - he’s younger, tall, with an easy charisma. He's clearly someone who belongs here, just like her.
And I—well, I’m just here, trying to get through this conversation. I feel a little out of place, but I know better than to make it obvious.
The night stretches on, and the buzz in the room intensifies. The blonde model, for a moment, breaks away from her conversation, and I think, maybe now—this is it. She’s free. She’s no longer caught up in whatever charm this young King has been laying on her. But before I can even make a move, the previous King / boyfriend enters the picture.
I’m trying to keep my attention on the girlfriend of the producer in my ear, but I can’t help but keep glancing over. The blonde model is now standing, smiling as her boyfriend pulls her to his arm and leads her to the couch where he is sitting with a small group of white men. A few words are exchanged.
When I look back, I catch something that knocks the wind out of me. The couple are sitting flanked by the same two older white gentlemen they were speaking to earlier at the event. And she’s kneeling in front of them. Yes. Kneeling.
I just want to be free to be able to observe this scene, but the girl I'm talking to is still in full flow and I'm too polite to turn my back. Time passes, and all I can think about is turning round to take in the sight of the beautiful blonde model kneeling at the feet of the Black King and his allies.
Then I hear it.
A loud - and unmistakable - SLAP rings out across the room. So loud, in fact, that there is an immediate hush to the conversation. We all turn to look at the source of the sound. It's come from the couch area.
It's a sight that I will never forget.
The tall blonde is draped over the knee of the Black King. Her dress has completely disappeared. She is wearing only a black silk thong, and the black stiletto heels. Next to them, the two older gentlemen are watching so intently that nothing could distract.
The Black King raises his hand into the air...and let's it fall...spanking the perfectly shaped rear of the blonde, hard. Her whole body shudders. Her face is buried into the sofa. Her body convulses, her breasts squashed into the couch under her.
The King raises his hand again. He is measured. In no hurry. His hand falls and strikes the blonde's exposed rear once again. SPANK. Her long body twists in response.
I am staring, open-mouthed. I can see that the blonde's entire ass is glowing rose-red under the impact of her King's large open palms.
The two older men sat with them on the couch are taking in every inch of the blonde laid out before them, staring with barely-concealed lust. There is some exchange between them and the King - I can't decipher what - and the three men laugh. The King raises his hand again and spanks the blonde's beautiful ass. SPANK.
There is something about this whole scene that is so deeply intimate and mind-blowing. My mind races as I try to make sense of it. I watch as the spanking continues - SPANK...SPANK...until the blonde is almost motionless across her King's lap, her face buried in the couch in surrender and her ass and the backs of her legs glowing pink red.
I have no idea how much time passes. The spanking has stopped. The King is stroking the long smooth back of the blonde across his knee. Then his hand continues down, slowly, caressing the curve of her ass, slowly finding it's way between the glowing cheeks, and down, down, where it settles in the spot between her legs, finding its home and slowly massaging.
It is a matter of just moments before the blonde lets out a deep, shuddering and prolonged orgasm. There is something intensely vulnerable as her long body releases and she buries her head deep into the couch in surrender. The two older guys have not taken their eyes off her, even as she lays exhausted and motionless they are taking in every inch of her.
Not one word of the above account have I exaggerated. This is exactly how the scene played out and it is a scene that will stay with me forever.
Some minutes later, the blonde is sat next to her King on the couch. She is putting on a pair of grey combat pants and a black crop top, her short blonde hair dishevelled and a light sheen of sweat across her smooth tan skin.
There is a little vulnerability there - but her King puts a reassuring arm around her and she curls up next to him. He continues his conversation with the other men sat on the couch. They are laughing.
It's past 2am and I feel like it is time for me to leave. The energy of the room has changed and I don't know these people well enough to settle in for the next phase. Quietly, I leave the room and head downstairs to find an Uber home.
My head is still spinning, enamored with the beautiful blonde model who has just been spanked in front of the party thart is continuing upstairs. I don't even know her name.
