Preamble
Serena and I were off to Chemistry – my first visit to the party in a decade or so. In my memory, Chemistry was (is?) New York’s biggest, hottest, sexiest, most decadent sex party. NYC’s best sex party.
Our plan? To meet for dinner, and then head to the party. Doors opened at 9 or 9:30, and the evening began with a “sexy icebreaker.” We were meeting at 8:30, so we would miss that. Instead, we planned to arrive in time for the 11:00 burlesque show. In retrospect, I wish we’d organized things to be there for the icebreaker: though Chemistry is a friendly, welcoming place, it’s always a little awkward to start conversation with strangers at a party – especially when you’re naked – so having done an icebreaker might have been nice. Particularly given that my one regret of the evening was not talking with more other partiers.
In any event… Serena was, characteristically, half an hour late. (See this post for a few thoughts on that.)
We had a nice, connected, dinner, and then, headed a couple of miles south to the party. The theme was “Booty Shorts and Cheeky Ts.” We recognized the building by the attractive 30-something couple standing outside, smoking, in short shorts and tight tops. Serena wore tiny patterned short shorts and a form-fitting black zip-top, over a green strappy top that wrapped around her breasts. And, a black collar I had bought her. She carried a leash I had bought her as well. I wore ridiculously short and tight khaki green shorts, and a funny lighter green Mr. Clean t-shirt.
So many years having passed since my last Chemistry party, I didn’t have much of a sense of just how a leash would read, so my instructions to her were that she simply carry it, to start. [Soon enough, we both decided we wanted the leash on her.]
Arriving at NYC’s best sex party
We entered a non-descript building, and descended to what clearly is, by day, a boxing gym. On this night, the first thing we encountered was a table of THC products, being sold by a local producer. Then, the bar, at which we could leave our alcohol. (Chemistry is strictly BYOB, though they had plenty of lemons, limes, and mixers.) We wrote our names on tape that the friendly bartender affixed to the bottles (a small bottle of Ardbeg An Oa for me, and a bottle of Don Julio Anejo tequila for Serena). The bartender poured us each a drink from each of our bottles. We tipped her, and headed to the bag check. We left our bags there, and returned to the party.
Probably 200 people milled about – 200 young, hot people. Diverse, varied, along just about every dimension. I definitely was, if not the oldest in the room, certainly among the oldest ten or so. I tried hard not to be self-conscious about it, but of course, I was, at least a little. And I will say: at least one couple was really young. Like – Chemistry didn’t check our IDs when we entered, and I wondered if they had checked these kids’, because, by the looks of it, they might have had to use fake IDs to get past a 21-year hurdle. In general, I’d say, the median age was probably mid- to late-20s. There were plenty of folks in their 30s and 40s, but that was where the precipitous drop-off happened. I felt both fortunate and self-conscious. Maybe even a little guilty. [Note: when I showed this post to the folks who run Chemistry, they assured me that they card everyone who looks remotely like they’re 25 or younger.]
Most of the folks were concentrated in the front room – a room with a makeshift stage, a St. Andrew’s cross, and a neon “Pro Domme” sign. We meandered toward the back, where there were two more rooms: one, a large room with maybe fifteen mattresses on the floor, all separated by about two feet of space. At the foot of each was a bowl with lube packets, and another bowl with condoms. The second room was much smaller: it had just three beds – these, elevated off the floor, on metal frames – and three little pup tents, offering a bit more privacy. On the bed closest to the large, open area, a man fucked a woman doggy-style, facing the crowd. No one seemed to notice.
Serena and I had pre-negotiated some limits and rules and expectations: neither of us would touch another. Any numbers exchanged would be exchanged by couples, not individuals. And anything we did in public would, to the greatest extent possible, be preceded by some private time. And, no promises, no expectations, of anything. Serena didn’t promise orgasms, or even public nudity. I didn’t promise erections.
The evening begins: burlesque at NYC’s best sex party
Just about then, a very sexy woman introduced herself as “Daddy,” and began a sort of orientation/pep talk. A super-hot brunette – LydiaVengeance – wore tiny short shorts and a sexy top, over a glittery bar. Her patter was quick, funny, comfortable. She made everyone feel at home, demonstrating consent by inviting up a (n incredibly eager) volunteer, whose pretty, round ass, she spanked ten times. And then, after the spanking, she introduced the first performer – Tiny D.
Tiny D wore improbable 1970s gym shorts – they weren’t quite… sexy… but she was. Her top, too – I don’t recall exactly what it was, but there was something almost intentionally un-sexy about her initial self-presentation. Or if not “un-sexy,” then maybe, “not intending to be sexy.” Her act played up the tension between sexy and not, as, for part of it, she actually wore a ski mask. In no time, her shorts came off, and her ass – unquestionably sexy – and the thong bisecting it – also sexy – filled out faces. This was about when the ski mask went over her face (she had begun with another mask, which she lost before the shorts – and with her hair up, which she let down to great effect). She finished her act, which featured lots of pretend shooting of revolvers which she had in her hands, removed her top, shook her breasts at us, and left the stage.
LydiaVengeance returned to the stage and introduced the second performer: Nola Bunny. I confess – all I remember about Nola Bunny’s act was that she was super hot, had a great ass, wore short jeans shorts, and ventured out into the crowd to gyrate in front of a couple of the women sitting on the floor up front. I was, at this point, a bit distracted by Serena. Serena was super-enthusiastic, loving the show – not quite as focused on me as I was on her – but I was just drinking her in with my eyes and my hands through much of Nola Bunny’s act – and, through LydiaVengeance’s act, which followed – and which also featured some venturing into the crowd.
The three acts were, I remember, all that most excellent combination of smart, funny, and sexy that characterizes the best burlesque. And that made me think, “Hmm – I should go see more burlesque!”
Playtime
We weren’t quite ready to start sexy time, and there was a little bit of a “pro domme” demonstration kicking up: a stunning, slender, porcelain-skinned redhead in an elaborate black lacy floor-length robe was serially spanking, cropping, and whipping volunteers. We watched as she expertly teased and (just barely) tortured three successive hot women’s asses with her tools. She was exquisite, this domme – both in her striking looks, and in her delicate, firm, strong technique. Serena and I discussed visiting a dungeon together. She talked about possibly exploring her domme side and maybe trying to do a bit of pro some work in a dungeon. She had heard of a place called “Pandora’s Box,” but wasn’t sure if it was a dungeon for rent, or a venue for sex workers, or what. [I just looked it up. It looks… interesting. From my perspective, what would be interesting would be to rent a room and torture Serena a bit. Maybe with a domme guiding/teaching. But that latter part? Not so sure. And who knows. Maybe, maybe, I would let Serena be my domme. That I’ve never tried. Not sure how it would go….]
So. After the third whipping, Serena and I finished our drinks and meandered toward the back of the venue. Would there be a tent available? We feared not. But our fears were for naught: the middle tent was open. I kneeled down, reached in, confirmed that the sheet over the mattress wasn’t wet, and we entered. As we entered, we noticed that the spank-ee was in the next tent over and, by the sounds of it, getting very well fucked.
We kissed. We touched one another. I teased Serena’s cunt, first over, around her shorts. Then, over, around her panties. I pulled her panties off, and began my feast in earnest.
There’s just not enough I can say about eating Serena’s cunt. She’s so sweet, mild, tasty. Her body’s responsive, but not exaggeratedly so. I wasn’t certain about her orgasms – though there were a few little tastes, though not gushes, of saltier-than-usual fluid – but we certainly were having fun, and when the spanked woman stopped moaning, Serena picked up the ball and ran with it.
The tent was hot. Dripping with sweat, and having collected a few orgasms, we emerged. We walked over to the larger play area, and watched just a bit. We conversed with a very comely young woman in black lingerie and a chain collar and leash, who remarked that she and Serena seemed to share the “being-leashed” thing in common. She had, apparently, played with the short-haired close-cropped-bearded guy with a resemblance to Prince Harry (at least in my memory) to my left, in a bit of a demonstration. Damn – that would have been fun to see, but I guess Serena’s thighs had been around my head. Oh well.
We talked a bit longer. Went and got first a drink, and then some of the weed tincture I had brought. We walked around a bit more. Talked with a single guy (“My partner’s away, but she let me come by myself. It’s not the same.”). Maybe another time I’ll write a bit about the interesting complexities of our interaction with him. TL;DR: he objectified Serena, and admired me, in ways that were a bit off-putting, a bit… uncomfortable. For Serena. Me? I was in my narcissistic glee, delighting in being envied by a man, and was for the most part oblivious to his (in retrospect I agree) (more than?) slightly off-putting words.
We finished our drinks. We walked around a bit. We watched some people in the big room having sex.
Something I didn’t notice in the moment, but that struck me the morning after, as I gathered my thoughts: the back rooms, the sex – those featured a much smaller, much older population than the front. Not that I wasn’t still among the older folks there – I was. But as I looked around me, the folks actually fucking and sucking were, for the most part, older. And if there had been 200 people in the front area, there couldn’t have been more than 40 or 50 in the back. [Notably: the people Serena and I had singled out to one another as the hottest guests there were nowhere to be found in the sex rooms.]
We picked out a bed. I pulled her down onto it by her leash. We kissed a bit. “Now, it’s time for you to suck my cock,” I said. I added: “I’m gonna want your pussy on my face pretty soon, too….”
She shook her head, “No.” “My pussy’s shy,” she said. “I don’t think I can.”
I shrugged, disappointed, but pulled my shorts off, and Serena lowered her mouth to my boxers. Moments later, the boxers were gone, too.
“My cock’s shy, too,” I said. “But it’ll wake up. Slowly.”
Wake up it did, as Serena devoured me. “I can go slow,” she reminded me. She licked. Sucked. Slurped. I was distracted, as Prince Harry was talking on the mattress to our right with an attractive topless Asian woman. His comely performance companion – the one with the chain collar/leash – came over to hand him something – maybe a crop? And left. All this was distracting me. My cock was hard. It was happy, in Serena’s welcoming mouth. But I wanted more of Serena, less of everyone else.
“Let’s move to the back room,” I said. It was getting late, emptying out, and we stationed ourselves on the back-most bed. The room – previously busy – was now empty, but for us. And, intermittently, for one of the “angels” – attractive men and women, fully clothed, ensuring and maintaining the safety, cleanliness, and comfort of the place. It seemed he was maybe one-quarter policing the room and three-quarters doing a bit of preliminary breakdown of the set, as the evening was coming to a close.
Serena’s pussy was a bit less shy in the back room, and I was able to continue my earlier feast for a bit – though every time the angel entered the room, Serena giggled, losing her focus. A few more orgasms passed, and I started to feel a bit like a patron in a restaurant whose waiters are waiting for me to leave so they can close up.
“Suck my cock some more,” I said to Serena. “I’ll come quick. I think we need to leave.”
She did. I did. And then, we did. Though before we left, we ascertained we had a bit more time, still, and there were a few more couples, still. We paused at the “photo booth,” and took three photos of us, smiling happily with that post-orgasmic glow. The pictures came out great. Not sure exactly what either of us will do with them, but they’re nice souvenirs.
We walked forward, to the front room, and paused at the St. Andrew’s cross. First, facing outward, I cuffed Serena’s hands and rubbed her clit through her shorts, hard, bringing her close to orgasm. People were walking back and forth through the room, and Serena was distracted. “They think you’re fingering me!” she said.
So I licked my fingers, shoved my hand down her tiny shorts, and slid them into her cunt, pressing against her clit. She writhed for just a moment, and then objected. “No,” she said. “I can’t.”
I drew my hand out of her shorts, uncuffed her, and turned her around. “Grab the cuffs,” I said. She’s too short for her wrists to be cuffed in this position. I spanked her ass. Through her shorts. A lot. I slid by fingers between her thighs, and pressed against her cunt, reaching up to press her clit.
“The good thing about this position,” I said, teasing her, “is that you can’t see all the people watching you!”
She burst out laughing, let go of the cuffs, and turned around. There was a little but of an audience, I suppose, though honestly, they seemed to be more focused on their conversation than on us.
We went to the bathroom, picked up our checked bags (we were, literally, the last to do so), got our bottles from the bartender, and headed out to the street. I put Serena in an Uber, got my own cab, and we each headed home. As my car drove, I dictated some notes into a voice memo. I texted Serena thanks, and asked her to confirm with me when she made it home safely. She thanked me back. We each walked through our doors within about sixty seconds of one another, texted a final goodnight, and I crashed. Hard. Delicious cunt flavors on my lips and in my beard, and thoughts swirling through my head.
