Dive into an intimate and exhilarating review of our recent Sensual Soirée. One of our members, captivated by the event, journaled her entire experience and wanted to share it with everyone. Join us for a deeply honest and erotic read as she invites you to see the night through her eyes.

It was the first time I was actively exploring my sexual side alone. Ever since visiting KitKat in Berlin (which left me wanting more), I had been yearning for the opportunity to explore sex. To watch sex. To be seen having sex. To observe others’ kinks. Couples exploring and pushing their limits. Unfortunately, my friends weren’t as kinky as I was. And as supportive as they were, they would never be able to see this side of me without judging or feeling disgust or disapproval.

So, I asked this guy (whom I’d met at KitKat two weeks earlier, a Portuguese anesthesiologist living in Berlin for 10 years) if he knew of any beautiful sex or hedonistic parties I could attend. He recommended Shame LESS Society, and I couldn't have been more pleased with the suggestion.

The same day, I googled what this Society was and found out there would be a party in Lisbon in two weeks! But I had to register first.

Damn, I’m a clinical psychologist, and it wouldn’t be great for my kinkiness to be known by society, patients, or potential patients. Oh well, here goes nothing. At least now I have the tools to defend myself against bullying.

I filled out several personal details like contact information and email, as well as sensitive information like sexual orientation and a social media profile. At the end, they asked for comments, and I explicitly wrote that I did not authorize the use of my data for any purposes other than verifying my profile and considering my membership. Shortly after, I received an email inviting me to an online interview. Wow. I appreciated the meticulous screening.

I scheduled my interview for half an hour before a job interview for a humanitarian foundation. I had a very informal chat with a fellow psychologist, who asked me several open-ended questions about how I heard about the Society, what I was looking for, and my expectations. She also explained how it worked. The dress code should be sexy elegant. Coats and phones would be checked at the door. There would be “workshops” throughout the night, with the first one dedicated to beginners. She explained the basic rules of respecting others’ dignity. There would be a team of trained security from Berlin to monitor and ensure the members’ safety, as well as a team of mental health professionals on site (the awareness team) available to help members socialize, deal with potential discomfort, etc. After half an hour, I was approved. I immediately registered for the event, which would take place in a palace in the center of Lisbon. Then I went to my job interview.

During the week, I put a lot of effort into deciding what outfit to wear. The one I wore to KitKat, though I loved it, was too daring and “Dom”. I felt this event called for something more elegant. So, I chose my favorite red lace lingerie, because I had to show off my piercing. Matching garter belt and stockings. Combat boots for comfort and a touch of independence, and a tailcoat-style jacket. I bought a collar, but the truth is I couldn’t get used to it, as my inclination towards submission is very low unless I trust the other person 200%. I won't be trusting humanity that much anytime soon.

I spent the day before in bed taking paracetamol and ibuprofen (side effects of acne medication). On the day of the party, I was still feeling a bit under the weather. I spent the morning in bed as well and ordered food. I started getting ready early since the party started at 6 PM and I wanted to be there from the beginning. In the shower, I went all out — shaving, hair mask, face mask, exfoliation. I did my feet, nails, and eyebrows. Simple makeup, a cat eye with nice contouring. Packed my small bag: lots of condoms, lube, my bullet vibrator (small and easy to store; fully charged the day before; and it never fails me, unlike…), and intimate wipes. A few cereal bars, a lollipop (a recent magic trick for those who suffer from substances clenching — not that I planned to, but I wanted to be prepared), lip balm, wallet, pack of cigarettes, and off I went. Over my outfit, I wore a short dress. It wasn't the best choice, as the garter straps showed underneath, and I had to keep pulling it down. But I felt powerful — fuck the police, fuck the system. I decided to loosen up a bit before the party, so I made my favorite homemade cocktail, coconut and pineapple juice with tequila, which I put in a plastic bottle to sip along the way. I had two or three additional shots of pure tequila and headed out.

A 20-minute walk wasn’t part of my plan because the roads were closed. So, there I was, walking to my mom’s place to drop off the dog with “grandma,” since I didn't know what the night had in store and didn’t want any responsibilities. Made a sandwich and caught the train, then the metro. Got a bit lost in Lisbon in an area I’d never been to before, looking for the venue, as neither Maps nor Waze gave me the exact location of the entrance.

I sat on a park bench to relax, feeling very excited and starting to get a bit agitated. I sipped my cocktail, sent my exact location to a friend (you never know), and waited for a sign. The sign: an extraordinarily beautiful couple stepping out of a taxi with a gym bag, looking a bit lost as they checked their phone and headed towards the back of the building. Ding ding ding. I took my last sip (leaving quite a bit of the drink, as I was already tipsy and God knows how hard it is for me to cum when I’m drunk), tossed it in the trash, and followed the couple to a green gate with a security guard at the door. They were still disorganized, so they kindly invited me to go ahead of them. I showed my ticket QR code (prepared while I was on the park bench) and was allowed in.

Further inside, two staff members asked if I was attending alone. They gave me a high five for the courage. I liked their approach; it made me feel among friends. They asked if I wanted to be photographed. If not, they’d give me a red bracelet, which I put on my right wrist minutes later. At the entrance, another staff member chatted with me. I asked where the coat check was. As I headed there, feeling a bit lost again, I asked the security guards for directions.

JEZUS WHAT IS THIS?! We’re not talking about kittens, ladies. We’re talking about lions. Two-meter-tall, handsome, solid guys.

One of them had green eyes. I think I didn’t even manage to hide it; I stood there for a few seconds in a blank stare, immersed in my thoughts, imagining him taking me standing up, holding me with his hands wide on my butt.

Right, Aurora, focus. “Hi, where's the bathroom?”

They kindly pointed me in the right direction again. I took off my dress, left it at the coat check along with my phone, and went in.

A long banquet table in the atrium was filled with cakes, fruit, and plenty of water. There were still a few minutes before the beginner “play-shop” started, so I went to explore the space. There were about eight rooms, more or less, each with a different purpose. One for food, another for play-shops, a third for massages and lounging, a fourth and largest for dancing, a fifth hidden and dark, then the bar, the terrace, and a room with a pool table. All the rooms had sofas, with soft areas visible or hidden behind translucent curtains.

I met a shy and quite introverted Egyptian, then an Englishman. It was the first time for all of us. We were then called for the first play-shop, where we met the magnificent organizer and a colleague who introduced the concept of freedom, without shame or judgment, as well as the rules of respecting others. During the play-shop, there was a lot of interaction, and I met various people, couples, and individuals with doubts and no expectations, who assured me they definitely wouldn’t get involved in sex that night (yeah, right). In particular, I met two couples. The first couple, the “intercultural” one, were in their thirties. I wasn’t sure of her nationality, but she was quite dark-skinned, curvy, and beautiful; he was gorgeous too, an Argentine. They were the couple that got out of the taxi, whom I followed to find the event entrance. I liked them and often imagined myself joining their fuck. The second couple, the “newbies,” were in their twenties. He wanted to try many things, but she was a little bit apprehensive, so they promised nothing would happen. The first Englishman I met was cute, but I didn’t want to commit to a “friendly face” just yet. I wanted to stay loose and free for most of the night, exploring the temptations the night would offer me.

Between play-shops, there was a 15-minute break during which we would head to the banquet table and chat with each other. Everyone greeted each other with a gentle handshake, followed by their name (real or persona) and a broad smile. It was easy to start a conversation, as everyone was open to a friendly chat. About 60% of the attendees were foreigners. I met some Portuguese and Brazilians who immediately tried to “cling” to me. I had to gracefully brush them off, as I felt they were putting too much attachment on me, and I wanted to stay loose until the end.

By the third play-shop, I was getting a bit tired of it. I almost didn’t go, but I’m glad I did. It was a “dance” class, but more like a lesson in synchronized movement. The instructor, clearly Portuguese from his accent, was mature, well-groomed, and well-dressed, in his late thirties, confident, easy-going, with a mischievous and authoritative vibe. He lectured about the concept of leader and follower in dance, giving exercises where we alternated roles. In the last exercise, he invited the follower to tell the leader what they wanted. This confused me a bit, but in my relationships, I am either a leader or a follower; perhaps my personal growth lies in finding a middle ground. Anyway, despite being an excellent follower, I allowed myself to be one only the first time since my partners had no idea what they were doing, and I ended up leading with great difficulty. Men find it hard to allow themselves to be led by a woman. And since I could only use my hands and in a non-erotic way, it was quite challenging but very fun. The next play-shop was about femme domination, but since humiliation isn’t my thing, I decided to mingle in the space instead.

I went to the terrace to smoke a cigarette, a good place for an emotional and mental recharge. But I rarely stayed alone for long. People quickly gathered around me. We covered ourselves with blankets because it was chilly outside. I met a member of the awareness team, a psychiatrist from Portugal. What an incredible conversation I had with that woman. Intelligent. Wise. Knowledgeable. We shared a cigarette while talking about how society is sick. Then I talked a bit more with the “intercultural” couple. I had already spoken a lot with her during the workshop and with them as a couple in the atrium between workshops. But now, on the terrace, we talked more openly. They asked me about my experiences and if I had chosen anyone yet. Little did they know that secretly they were among my choices for the night. I was always subtle in indicating that I was available. After all, they were a fairly new couple who never thought they would interact with anyone else during the party.

I repeated this routine a few times: I went inside, grabbed a glass of wine, explored the rooms, talked to people, grabbed some fruit or water. The Portuguese were always on the lookout to latch on. I always greeted them with a distant toast and discreetly slipped away. At a certain point, someone from the organization gave a presentation of the night and the concept and held a contest for the best outfit (and by the way: I was too clean, but fuck it, it’s my style anyway). My God, what a woman—I was infatuated. A tall woman, who reminds me of a Siren, with curly black hair, well-built, curvy. She wore a very short, strapless black lycra dress with a metallic blue leather grid structure on top. Magnificent blue makeup matching her outfit and blue platform shoes. I really wanted to get to know her better. So fun. Naughty. Confident. Clearly, I have a type.

I crossed paths with a handsome guy at the bar who gave me a seductive smile and raised his glass for a toast. I stopped and shook his hand. When we said hello and exchanged names, we paused. We looked at each other, perfectly synchronized in a shared confusion and suspicion, and said in union, “Portuguese?” He was the first handsome Portuguese guy I had met, that didn't make me want to run away. It was refreshing. We exchanged some conversation and walked towards the next play-shop, but we ended up stopping along the way in the lounge to watch a demonstration of hot wax on the body of a pretty girl with monumental curves and pink hair.

He asked me if I liked the idea of the hot wax, reassuring me that it didn’t hurt, unaware that I am a boxer and can handle (and love) a rough play. We talked about erotic strangulation: a hot topic for me, as well as anal, spanking, slapping, or spitting in the mouth, because the vast majority of men don’t know how to do these things properly, ruining such an important experience in a woman’s pleasure exploration. When I was about to start my feminist speech, he interrupted me. He explained how to do it. “Alright,” I thought, impressed, and excited. My look gave him the permission he sought. He slowly approached my neck, gently caressing it, searching for the jugular and carotid arteries. And when I least expected it, he grabbed my neck firmly, precisely, and confidently. I think I even lifted slightly from the couch where we were talking. The noise became muffled. My head felt confused and light. Felt my pussy pulsing. He let go of me. Only to do it again after 2 seconds of “relief”. He pulled me slowly towards him and gave me a very light kiss on the cheek.

Damn, this is the kind of dominance I like!

He let go of me. And the arousal couldn't be controlled anymore. We kissed. The kiss was intense, wet, slow, and full of passion.

Among words, he asked me how I dressed for KitKat, being impressed that I had multiple outfits. I explained that I wore a sheer top to show off my pierced nipple. And he wasted no time, opening my coat with one hand, pulling aside my bra with a finger, and sucking on my nipple. In front of everyone. I liked it so much. I was so excited. I was tempted to fuck him right there. But, as I said, I didn’t want to commit just yet. I didn’t know if he might turn out to be jealous. I told him I was going for a walk and that we would meet later in the night. I went outside to smoke another cigarette. Met a security guard, a very easy-going Brazilian. He ended up being my “wellness break” several times during the night, as he was on duty at the entrance atrium where the banquet table was. I met another beautiful Russian girl. She told me she was going to get a massage next. We instantly became friends. She said she didn’t want to fuck anyone. And I told her I would do it as soon as I chose the right person or people. She laughed.

I went back inside and at the bar I ordered another glass of wine. On the other side of the bar, the dance teacher was now transformed into one of the event photographers. A man of many talents, it seems. We exchanged a very intense look and a smile. He didn’t seem interested in coming around the bar to talk to me. I felt like it, but I held back. I stopped by one of the couples from earlier in the evening, “the newbies”: he, very enthusiastic; she, a bit apprehensive. I made sure of speaking directly to her more than to him (even though I only knew him, I didn’t want to make her uncomfortable). I asked them about their experience, what they were enjoying the most. An American joined us, stating that this party is soft, compared to what is done in the USA. His speech made me gag.

Fortunately, I was summoned by a Portuguese who proudly wanted to show me the ass of a submissive girl, who had her ass spanked (by him) until it was a mixture of scratches, bruises, with welts in the shape of a stick. And lucky me: he made me walk around the bar; ended up right next to the photographer. With a noticeably shocked and confused look, I asked the girl if I could take a closer look. She nodded and I bent down to examine it.

What nonsense! This is not domination, this is torture. But, well. Everyone likes what they like, and I have to respect that.

I felt like kissing her marks, but I held back. I glanced sideways at the photographer who was also looking at me, but he didn’t give me an opening. Well, it won't be this time. I ditched the Portuguese and went to explore other rooms. On the way, I passed by the dark room where several couples were having sex. At the back on the bed, the “intercultural” couple: he was lying with his hands behind his head while she gave him a blowjob. I leaned against the doorframe and looked at him, enjoying the scene as I sipped my wine. He looked at me. I imagined him calling me with just a gesture of his finger. We would start by give him a blowjob together. After that, the idea of lying on top of her while we kissed, and he fucked us one at a time would be quite interesting. He would take his time with us, so we could feel his entire cock and moan into each other's mouths. I waited for him to signal me to join them. But it didn’t happen and after a few minutes, I toasted him from afar and went to the atrium to eat some grapes and strike up a conversation with the security guard I had met a few hours earlier.

In that room, I crossed paths with a guest with whom I had danced in the play-shop. We talked about his difficulty in letting himself be led in the dance. And just in time: the photographer (and dance teacher) passed by, and hearing the conversation, he cheerfully joined us exclaiming: “you’re talking about my speciality!” We explained the idea of men having this difficulty, asked him how the follower asks the leader, and how to make “a conversation” in dance. He explained the thing, using dance concepts, which I interpreted as if we were talking about sex. So intense. Passionate. I liked it. Eventually, we asked each other where we were from. They were surprised when I said I was Portuguese, they told me I looked Bulgarian. I asked him if he taught at a school I know, but he said he lived in Milan and was only visiting for the party. The sacrifices a man makes.

We ended up being abandoned by the others who clearly already felt alienated. The conversation leads him to ask me if I wanted to be photographed. And I, who have been looking for an erotic photographer for too long, said yes right away. He took me to the room with the pool table.

A person was playing alone, so we talked about everyday subjects while he photographed me sitting in a chair. He would touch me lightly to adjust the pose, straightened my jacket. He spoke dangerously close to my face, but still far enough away: he didn’t have any notions. I love the feeling of not knowing. I like it more when it’s deliberate though. Alone in the room, he asked me to pose next to a chair. He photographed me from the other side of it, leaning on the edge. A few minutes later, he told me to do whatever I wanted. All right. It’s show time. I slowly took off my jacket. I climbed elegantly onto the chair and stretched, like a cat, towards him. I bit myself. I licked myself. I invited him. He understood the assignment. He circled the chair and photographed. I changed positions. Still on the chair, strategically with my ass out, I was sitting on my heels, playing my glass of wine.

He approached subtly and silently until he was completely behind me. He placed the camera in front of me and asked, “May I?” I said yes. He then leaned completely against me, and I felt his whole body on my back. As the scent of his perfume. His arms grabbed my whole body. He felt me. Touched me. I took his hands and guided them all over my body, as he had taught me. I turned my head back, felt his lips. This one kisses well. He has thin lips. Well isolated kisses. Perfect amount of tongue. He touches me. A couple on the other side of the room, which I only noticed when he exclaimed “this is fucking beautiful,” gesturing with both hands Italian-style. He was already running his hands on my pussy, fingering me. Stroked his cock. Unbuttoned his pants and held it, eager for when he would penetrate me right there in full light. He whispered to me:

Have you ever had a squirt?

I replied that it hasn't happened in many years. He asked me to get up. I was very lost as to what he would do next. He kissed me while making me walk backward and leaned me against the wall. He asked me to lift my left leg. And I did, of course, the good girl that I am. He took a tube of lubricant. He squeezed it onto his fingers and my pussy. He put two fingers inside me, firmly, massaging fast and hard, in a vertical position while kissing me. I didn't even notice the pleasure building up, as my moans were already being heard on the other side of Lisbon. After a few seconds, I felt a warm liquid dripping down my leg into my boot.

What?!?! How?!?!

What, you want more?!

He didn’t even let me answer, he was already bending over me completely and I was dripping more juice until my legs almost gave way. He stopped and kissed me. Admired the wet fingers. Touched me, proud. He put his cock away and told me I should clean up. He was a little drunk and I still didn’t feel fully on for penetration. We said goodbye with a kiss on the lips, with the implicit promise that we would meet again later. This was exactly the lightness I needed. I hurried to the bathroom. Hearing the “squash squash” noise inside my boot, soaked panties. As if I had dipped them in water. Dizzy and stumbling.

In the bathroom: inside the stall, I placed the wine glass on the floor. My legs were trembling, so I couldn’t squat. Toilet paper in the toilet and I sat down for a precautionary pee. I cleaned up with a moist intimate wipe and dried my legs with toilet paper. But what do I do with the panties now?! They're soaked. How uncomfortable! While no one was in the bathroom, I ran to dry them in the hand dryer. Always in escape mode to the stall when the door opened, and someone entered. At some point, tired, I thought

Fuck it, I’m supposed to be shameless!

I left the stall and proceeded to dry the panties in the dryer without any shame. A girl I had only crossed paths with about three times, entered the bathroom, looked at me surprised and I promptly said “please don't judge me, this guy made me squirt and now my panties are soaking wet.” She laughed. Congratulated me. Asked who he was to go approach him. At this point, another girl lost in the bathroom asked me which door was the exit. I pointed to the exit door and exclaimed “you go girl!” She laughed and we never saw each other again. When I finally fully dried the panties, my legs were still so shaky that I needed to sit for a bit. I went to the terrace to smoke my last cigarette of the night. I just wanted a moment alone to recharge, but it was difficult. Friendly people joined me, and I didn't want to be rude. I escaped to the fruit room.

I wanted water to counteract the effects of the wine, but there were no glasses left. So I went to the kitchen to ask for one and came face to face with one of the most stunning guys of the night. I had already noticed him. Another secretly chosen one. Tall. In his early thirties. Black pants, bare torso with a black fur coat. I loved his style. Brunette with a moustache. I don't usually like moustaches, but it suited him well. It gave him a French look. I didn't know for sure if he was French, but a few minutes later, when he told me his name, my suspicions were confirmed 99%. I told him there were no glasses, and he smiled very kindly, bringing a pyramid of glasses in one hand. With the other, he handed one to me, and we went together to the banquet table, exchanging some words along the way. I was very clear that I found him extraordinarily attractive. I told him about KitKat and that I was alone. He asked if he could hug me and obviously I said yes. He kissed me on the cheek. I was preparing to kiss his chest (he was really tall), run my hands over his torso and back, kiss his mouth, and open my coat to feel the warmth of his skin close to mine. A whole scenario was playing out in my head: he picks me up by the waist, pushes all the dishes and food to the floor, and fucks me right there in the atrium and…some of the awareness team members appear. He put his arm around my shoulders as we talked together.

You two already know each other! What a great match you're making here!

Some of them said. And yet, they interrupted us and ended up leaving the room with my chosen one. My one who got away.

And then the American guy (the one who was bragging) appeared again. He struck up a casual conversation with me. I just wanted 5 minutes of silence in the dark. I teased him, saying that he probably wasn't enjoying himself since his parties are much better than those in Lisbon. One thing led to another, and he told me he’s a personal coach, focused on sex, or whatever. He asked me something, and before I knew it, I got all emotional and started talking to him about my anarchic and hopeless phase of life. We ended up sitting down, I continued the talking and he just listened. I don’t know if I moved him, or if he saw it as the right opportunity to kiss a vulnerable girl. We ended up making out. But it didn’t feel right. I told him I felt like dancing and that I’d see him later.

Run, Aurora, run!!!

This time on the dance floor, I thought I’d dance a bit alone. The music wasn’t very danceable for me though. Much to my surprise, I saw the “newbies” couple on the dance floor, with another newbie couple: the girls were making out with each other while the guys caressed their respective partners’ backs. Beautiful. I applauded inwardly. I ran into the “intercultural” couple again. I told them about my squirt-encounter and how I dried my panties in the bathroom. They laughed, and we separated again. Then this charming Brazilian showed up. Good grief, give me a break.

I fled to the bathroom and found my new Russian friend there. She said the massage was too relaxing and she was feeling sleepy. I told her it couldn’t be, of course! I suggested we go dancing. With her company, maybe no one would bother me anymore (thinking I was alone and abandoned). We grabbed a drink first. Passing by the dance floor, the “newbies” had already swapped partners. What a delight to see people expanding their horizons. Amidst small talk, the photographer reappeared. I introduced them. I wanted to be with her, but she understood that she should leave us by ourselves. She was wise. I’m sad that I didn't spend more time with her, but…life’s a bitch and a lady’s gotta fuck.

We made some small then later surprisingly deep talk, I stopped him and said: “I’ll follow your lead”. My chosen.

We inspected the space. We went to the dark room where a lot of sex was happening. But the sex was ugly. It was way too crowded, and it was too dark. We continued to the lounge area. It was brighter, just the way I like it. I think I already mentioned that I wanted to be seen. That was my kink for the night. But we didn’t have a spot. We headed to another room where earlier the play-shops took place. They had already finished and the room was empty. It was even brighter than the previous one. Some rugs on the floor, a few scattered chairs, and a huge red leather sofa decorated the space that had previously been used for him to teach me how to dance with someone else. Two people followed us in and sat down. We didn’t waste any time, I jumped right on him. Dry humped him. Kissed him. Strangled him, as the other guy taught me. He pulled out his cock and showed me the piercing on his frenulum. I thought, “Damn, that must have hurt.” He made gentle movements to get me to suck him, but I wasn’t very eager to blow a guy I didn’t know, although I was very curious to know what it was like to give head with that piercing there. I asked if I could put the condom on. He nodded. And so I did. He helped and added more lubricant. And I rode him like I hadn’t had sex in years (and in practice, I think I hadn’t wanted to fuck this much for more than a year). Every time I thrusted forward, it was a half-orgasm. I didn’t cum, but it was like I was always halfway to an orgasm. It was too good. I didn’t care, I made so much noise that I drove away the people who had sat next to us, and we were the only ones in that 50 square meter room, fucking in in full light. Anyone passing by would see. Anyone who wanted could join. And fuck if I care, I didn’t notice a single presence except for that magnificent cock inside me. I asked him if I could hit him, he said:

As long as it doesn’t bleed, do whatever you want.

Damn, this guy doesn’t feel pain at all. I got even more violent. From time to time, I’d stop, exhausted. He’d tell me to rest and took over. One arm wrapped around my waist, the finger of the other hand in my ass, and he thrust. Oh, what a delight. I asked him to fuck me on all fours. But by then he was having some difficulty. So, I had to give him a blowjob. I started with the condom on. A bit crappy, but I was still self-conscious. I ended up taking it off and giving him what he deserved. He earned it. I tried various things. He liked it when I was rough and made noise. It’s not my style at all, but it doesn’t hurt to be sloppy just for a guy’s pleasure. He sat next to me and masturbated me again. Made me squirt two more times. Fuck, I had no idea it was possible to have so much juice inside of me. The couch looked like a pool. Eventually, we stopped to rest. He went to get some paper, we cleaned everything and ourselves. And we rested a bit, snuggled up. I talked to him, tried to deconstruct this peer pressure he put on himself. And we relaxed on the couch.

In a few moments, the Siren that intrigued me earlier showed up. That stunning woman, with her boyfriend. They sat next to us, and she immediately jumped on him, giving him a blowjob, already naked. She looked even better naked than dressed. What a feast. She sucked him while looking him in the eyes. I looked at the photographer and asked if he liked watching. He was indifferent. But I watched. The guy looked at me while she sucked him, he was wild. They were both wild. He picked her up and threw her to the floor, onto a carpet. He started eating her out. I said to the photographer:

You know, I brought my bullet.

Really?!

Yes. How would you feel if I used it now?

He said he would be delighted. I took out the bullet and masturbated while watching the guy go down on her, she moaned with pleasure, and the photographer fingered me. I started moaning again, probably too loudly. Suddenly the guy got up, leaving her on the floor, looking for something. At that moment, she looked at me. She looked at me as if she was going to devour my soul. And that was the trigger that finally made me cum. I came so intensely that I had to grab the photographer's arm to stop, such was the sensitivity. All this happened while looking her in the eyes. I leaned back on the couch to rest and enjoy what was to come. The guy was running around like a headless chicken. Then I realized he needed a condom, so I threw a few at him from my bag. He quickly put one on, thrust into her and fucked her hard. The floor was shaking. She was enjoying it but not having the pleasure I wanted her to have. I wanted so badly to ask her if I could join, but she was so intimidating. I didn’t want to offend her at all. I just watched them, hungry. He put her on all fours; she liked that better. Eventually, he also started having some trouble and lost his erection. These events should have a sign at the bar saying:

After the third drink, you won’t be able to get it up.

Eventually, we left them there, and went to the bathroom. The photographer wanted to hook up with me there and I was up for it, but they were cleaning, so we moved on.

As we entered another bathroom, the photographer led us into the stall. He needed little or no stimulation. I put his cock back in my mouth, and he asked me to bite. I was surprised, “What do you mean??” The first guy who asked me to use my teeth. This guy doesn't seem to feel pain at all. He said he wanted to feel something. Well, okay…I made noise, I bit, everything. Poor guy, little does he know that my curse in sex is always ending up with guys that don’t cum. And fuck, what a shitty curse, I love seeing the look of pleasure on their faces when they reach the final climax. We fucked a bit more but ended up giving up. He was frustrated. I offered him some comforting words again and told him about the curse. He laughed.

We left the bathroom and danced until the party was over. He went to get his things from the staff room, I went to the cloakroom to retrieve my dress, and the phone that had been forgotten all night, how about that! He mentioned where he lived, and when I realized that my place was halfway, I suggested we split an Uber. He asked if I lived alone, but honestly, I didn’t feel like sleeping with anyone. I just wanted to get home, take a shower, have a sandwich, reply to some messages, scroll through social media, and sleep. I told him we could still see each other before he left for Milan, but he couldn’t. He was respectful though. In the lobby, as he ordered the Uber and we said goodbye to the others, we spotted the Siren from a distance. So sensual. She was now strolling around wearing only the blue leather harness, naked, her curly black hair flowing, barefoot. I said goodbye from afar, I felt like giving her a kiss. Telling her that if I had a dick, I’d fuck her the way she deserves to be fucked. But I didn't have the courage.

In the Uber, we talked about various mundane things. He invited me for the third time to go to Milan. He mentioned he’d give me a bed and cook for me. That led us to talk about my disorganized eating habits, and he started giving me tips.

This is hilarious, we went from fucking in public to sharing easy lunch recipes!

Poor Uber driver, he probably didn’t know what he was getting into. He dropped me off at home. As he exited the Uber, he hugged me, kissed me. He said it was a pleasure to meet me and asked if we would stay in touch? I said yes, and that I would consider the visit…

I walked up to my third floor not believing any of it. I took off my shoes and felt like it had all been a dream. But it wasn’t. Because I still had the red bracelet on my right wrist.

A Psychologist’s Chaotic Diary: First Time at the Sensual Soirée Through the Eyes of a Single Portuguese Woman