Behind the Mask: Enter a World Where Women Make - and Break - the Rules

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Kitty has other useful skills too: she studied martial arts and was taught how to box by a British ex-heavyweight champion, which is handy for my security staff and me, as she often spies the first hint of trouble. She also employs these skills to fend off men. Despite numerous attempts to set her up with some very eligible bachelors, she has point-blank said no. In fact, Kitty hasn’t had sexual relations of any kind for three years, vowing abstinence after having her heart broken one too many times. Instead, she dedicates herself to helping me facilitate the pleasure of others.

I check the guest list as we take a stroll around the ground floor, looking over the set-up. It’s all brilliant, and I hand back the clipboard with a smile. ‘Thank you, Kitty, everything’s immaculate down here. I’m going to make a quick inspection upstairs before people start arriving. I’ll catch you later.’

‘Of course,’ she replies.

As I walk up the grand staircase, I can’t help but absorb the house’s dark glamour. It’s an ex-embassy, and its eight reception rooms, billiard room, clubroom with Jacuzzi, ballroom and 24 bedrooms make it perfect for entertaining. It also attracts the world of show business: Kate Moss filmed a lingerie advert here, walking sensuously down these very stairs. Amy Winehouse shot her ‘Rehab’ video here as well. And it’s also where Oscar-winning actor Colin Firth filmed his therapy sessions in The King’s Speech. If it weren’t so amusing, I would blush to think of the many Kittens who have enjoyed the kinkiest, acrobatic, down-and-dirty sex on the very furniture where Colin Firth, Helena Bonham Carter and Geoffrey Rush filmed their scenes. I can’t help remembering one woman who screamed and orgasmed three times on that very sofa as she embraced her dark side with the tanned Swedish model she and her partner had selected for the evening. Sorry, Colin!

I find Miss D upstairs in the ballroom. In this splendid room, several huge leather beds covered with red Egyptian-cotton sheets have been pushed together to form one huge one underneath a massive chandelier. Around the sides are sofas, chairs and cushions.

‘It looks lovely,’ sighs Miss D, her eyes glittering with anticipation. ‘I can’t wait to see what happens here later.’

‘Better keep your special toy handy,’ I advise her, and we both giggle. ‘Now – let’s find a glass of champagne. It’ll all start kicking off soon, and then I’ll be hard at work.’

‘Good idea,’ says Miss D. ‘I like your style.’

At 9.30 p.m. the first guests appear and then, suddenly, it’s busy. The atmosphere is one of a slightly louche drinks party as guests start arriving. I’m busy at the door, ticking off names and making sure everyone is wearing masks – I have a few spares just in case. All the guests are attractive – some even beautiful – and distinguished-looking, but not intimidatingly so. They don’t look like sex-mad orgiastic beasts, but like normal people, and any observer would think that this is just a normal party. Once inside, couples talk quietly together, glasses in hands, while groups chat around the bar as the champagne is served. The men are in lounge suits, and most women are immaculately dressed in cocktail dresses. The average age is late twenties to mid thirties. I wonder what they’re all talking about – this is one gathering where guests are reluctant to discuss their jobs or much about their everyday lives at all. And why not? This is where they live out fantasies; they don’t come here to dwell on the mundanity of existence. At this point in the evening, people are scouting for potential playmates. The more uninhibited are open about their desire to play – these are the ones who don’t mind performing, or get a thrill out of being watched as they have sex, and who may be up for several encounters and group episodes. Others are shyer, some even a little awkward. Experience tells me they’ll warm up. I’ve seen retiring, silent little birds turn into golden eagles when the play begins. Some are single girls looking for a couple or vice versa, or girls looking for one-on-one action with a man or a woman. Some are here to watch, perhaps while discreetly caressing their partner before going somewhere private to work off their inflamed passions. I notice two beautiful brunettes are wearing identical La Perla corsets made of pale-pink silk and boned into a hip bustle scattered with feathers. They are clasping hands, smiling, and give a hint of what is to unfold. I know exactly what these two will be doing before too much longer.

I watch as some people wander up the grand staircase towards the ballroom and wonder if the giant bed is seeing any action yet. At this point, I expect it’s more like a sofa than a bed, a place for chatting and flirting – for now. The mood is one of playfulness and gentleness laced through with great expectations of the fun to be had. I’m pleased. This is precisely the good vibe I wanted when I originally planned my parties.

I hand the door duties over to Jupiter for a while and go downstairs, where some guests are sitting waiting for the Jacuzzi to open. I tell them that the Jacuzzi will be ready for playing in 15 minutes and remind them where they can leave their clothes. On the way back upstairs I pass Kitty doing her rounds accompanied by one of the security team. In a venue this size, I always have an extra couple of discreet big guys around in case anything kicks off, though they’re rarely needed.

‘Everything OK?’ I ask.

‘So far, all fine. No drugs. No guys on the prowl.’

Any Kitten caught with drugs is thrown out, no excuses, no exceptions. Even Miss D was once asked to leave when I spotted she had drugs in her handbag. I have a zero-tolerance policy.

‘Great. I’ll head upstairs and see what’s happening.’

It’s after 11 now, and the place is full of people. The noise levels are rising, and the party-goers are loosening up after a couple of glasses of champagne. I know that any second now someone will start something and then, with amazing rapidity, it will begin. I walk around the ballroom and check out the mood in the other rooms. It’s definitely warming up. I can see people kissing, hands caressing, dresses unzipped, shirts unbuttoned. The regulars know the score and want to start enjoying themselves. Newcomers are a little less at ease, waiting to be transported out of their awkwardness by alcohol or lust, but also eager to begin.

By the time I return to the ballroom, that invisible switch has been pulled. It’s started. Masks are coming off and there’s a hedonistic, Bacchanalian vibe. The mood has swiftly changed to one of decadence, and what was a luxuriously relaxed drinks party 10 minutes ago has crossed the line into something else. Couples are on the bed, kissing, undressing one another. I can already see a beautiful naked girl sinking down to caress her partner’s huge erection with her lips. Around the room, some people watch the scenes unfolding before them, others are getting down to their own action.

I notice that in the corner near me, two toned, tanned and leggy women are lying naked on a couch in the ‘69’ position. They are devouring each other, as a beautiful young couple stands nearby, watching every erotic move. The couple look flushed, breathless, disbelieving. Then one of the women looks up and smiles at them radiantly. ‘Hi,’ she says invitingly. ‘Why don’t you come and join us?’

The young woman, dressed in a lavender draped cocktail dress, blushes and looks nervously at her partner.

He is handsome and impeccably dressed in a black pinstriped suit, and he gazes down at her, concerned. ‘Do you want to stop this now? Shall we go home?’

She looks at war with her own desires. She takes a long gulp of champagne. ‘No, don’t let’s go. This is what I fantasize about. You know I do,’ she says, her voice quavering.

She seems to be looking for permission to do what she’s longing for. Her lover takes her champagne glass, puts it down on a nearby table and wraps his arms around her tiny waist.

‘You look incredible,’ he says, his eyes gleaming as he takes in her form.

She beams. ‘You don’t look so bad yourself.’

He pulls his right hand from her hip and runs it up her leg, under her cocktail dress. He can tell that she’s obviously turned on and ready for whatever is coming next.

‘We could do it here. Just the two of us.’ His voice is soft, but urgent.

She shakes her head, smiling now. ‘I want to experiment – I want to see what it’s actually like. Shall we join our new friends? We don’t want to keep them waiting, do we?’ Then, with a wicked smiled, she leads him over to the sofa, where they submerge themselves into the luxuriant pile. Soon, hands are undressing them, releasing their bodies, mouths are taking possession of their mouths and they are completely lost to the sensations they’re enjoying.

Good, I think. Two more about-to-be-very-satisfied customers.

The huge bed is now covered with people having sex in every conceivable position, and the sofas around the room are occupied too. There are threesomes everywhere – two women and one man, two men and one woman, all kissing, licking, eating, caressing. One woman has invited three men to play with her. She looks like she is having a wonderful time.

A petite pale brunette is sprawled on the bed, her legs on her lover’s shoulders as she invites him to penetrate her. Another young woman is kneeling on the floor, enjoying a man’s huge erect penis like it is a giant lollipop. She is buxom, curvaceous, beautiful and sexual. Her breasts are swollen, her nipples hard and tingling with intense lust and need. She’s expertly working her tongue down to his balls, licking, teasing, then popping one slowly into her mouth, followed by the other.

I know this man. He’s a barrister who’s made an absolute fortune from closely guarding the domestic and financial secrets of the rich and famous. He’s tall and Draculine, with a penchant for blondes. His highly confidential, big-money business dealings are conducted in his glossy offices in London or New York. He’s formidable, never loses a case and is certainly not to be messed with in the courthouse. But tonight, he’s under my opulent roof, sprawled and thrashing about on my bed, totally defenceless. His fingers are tugging his lover’s mane of perfectly tousled blonde locks; he’s totally intoxicated by what she’s doing to him. She’s in complete control as she pulls her mouth away, grabs a condom from one of the many nearby baskets, expertly rolls it into place and then sits on top of him. She slowly bumps up and down his length, one hand on his chest, the other reaching behind her back to fondle his balls.

‘Oh fuck, I’m going to come,’ he says, panting and helpless, as she jabs him into her, deeper, quicker. She is setting her pace, fast and hard, as he writhes under her and then groans loudly as he reaches orgasm. I can tell that the woman is not finished yet. She’ll be looking for her own orgasm, either from him or from someone else.

A masked gentleman walks in looking for his partner and finds her naked, gently massaging and kissing another woman’s silicone-enhanced breasts. Slowly, her hands are wandering down the woman’s neck to her nether regions, amid moans and gasps.

‘Ah, there you are. Naughty wife!’ he says, without a trace of crossness in his voice. ‘I can’t leave you alone for a second, can I?’

She smiles, inviting him to join in. He quickly unzips his trousers as both women prepare to welcome him.

‘I’m glad you’re back, darling,’ his wife says, looking radiant, still kissing the other woman and stroking her breasts while she opens her legs wide for him. ‘I want you to do me first, and then her. How about it?’

‘Jesus, my darling, you are naughty! I am going to give you a good fucking now. I hope you’re ready.’

Others are watching as he plunges into her, making her gasp with delight.

‘Holy hell, watching this is the ultimate fantasy,’ whispers a tall, good-looking man to his female companion, a bulge growing in his trousers. He has a look in his eyes I’ve seen before. It’s a kind of wonder that’s turning into arousal and a fervent desire to taste some of the pleasure that others are enjoying. His girlfriend gazes back at him with the same look in her eyes and I know that they’ll soon surrender to the atmosphere of lubricity and the erotic stimulation of what is unfolding in front of them. This is no staged plastic porno with its relentless action and managed climaxes – these are real people giving and receiving real pleasure because they want to. The effect is liberating and highly arousing.

I’ve seen enough. I’ve grown used to scenes like this and I’ve taught myself to stay separate from it all. I can’t afford to lose my head and join in; I’ve got to stay on top of things here. I head downstairs. In the hallway, two couples are flirting. ‘We could go back to our house. It’s round the corner and the children are away tonight …’

In the other corner, a couple in their late thirties are looking for a female partner to join them.

‘No, definitely not her,’ says the woman. ‘She’s far too thin and will make me look like a beached whale! How about her?’ She points to a tall brunette, who looks very familiar. Miss D!

‘Perfect choice,’ mutters the man, as they saunter over to Miss D.

I laugh inwardly. Miss D will have them for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Before my watch has clocked 60 seconds, Miss D is clutching both their hands, leading them up the winding staircase.

‘I have a sex toy,’ she’s saying to her new friends. She smiles seductively at them. ‘I think you might enjoy it! What do you think? Sound good?’

Oh, Jesus!

Just then I notice a commotion at the front door, but it’s nothing to worry about. It’s just Trolley Dolly arriving and making plenty of noise about it. She’s wearing a mask and a Burberry mac with, I suspect, very little underneath. She’s flanked by two gorgeous men.

Guests stop and stare. This is the power Trolley Dolly has when she enters a room.

‘So you made it then.’ I smile.

‘Oh, Ems, Ems, I have. And look who I picked up at the bus stop of all places!’

‘The bus stop?’ I ask, bemused. Her companions are smiling nervously.

‘Yes, the bus stop in Hampstead. No car, no cab in sight. So I decided to hop it on a bus, and I bumped into these two fine specimens. Aren’t they just something? They liked my mask and said that I must be going to a pretty special party dressed like this. So I invited them along. And here we are. Gentleman, I introduce you to the hostess this evening, the glamorous Emma Sayle, my best friend and confidante.’

I say hello when she introduces her guests as Alfred and Kinsey.

There are blank expressions on their faces. ‘Our names are not Alfred and Kinsey,’ says one.

‘They are tonight,’ she smiles wickedly. ‘It’s in honour of my hero, Alfred Kinsey. Boys, I guarantee you are going to learn a lot here.’

They still look bemused. ‘We’ve never heard of the man.’

‘Listen and learn, boys. All you need to know is that we have him to thank for starting the sexual revolution back in 1953. If you can believe it, he was branded a Communist and investigated by the FBI – for saying that women have orgasms.’

One of the guys laughs in disbelief. ‘Really? That’s insane!’

Trolley Dolly shakes her head. ‘I know. As crazy as claiming the earth is flat. Thank God we live in more enlightened times – but a lot of that is down to Kinsey.’ She beams. ‘So wear his name well, my friends, and let’s see if you can prove his theory all over again! Follow me!’

She leads them off in the direction of the stairs. I suspect Trolley Dolly’s prey have no inkling of the frantic activities unfolding upstairs, but they soon get the hint when she flings off her coat and reveals that she’s wearing a black balconette Agent Provocateur bra, with flashes of hot-pink silk under the bust and along the straps, matching knickers and nine-inch killer designer heels.

‘It’s a Maddy bra. You like, gentlemen? Just call me Maddy tonight,’ she purrs. ‘See you later, Emma. I am going to show these lovely boys around now. I hope you don’t mind. Catch up tomorrow?’

‘Sure.’ I wink back. ‘Let’s be in touch. Enjoy yourself.’

Kitty comes up and tells me that things are going well. It’s in full swing now and won’t start winding down for another hour or two. I’m no longer needed. The party will run itself, the staff is managing the bar, Kitty and Jupiter will clear up and lock up.

There is only one thing I can do now, as I am feeling restless, frisky and very playful. The scenes unfolding around me have affected me despite my best efforts. I take out my phone to make a late-night booty call to Mr Black.

I call his private number. He picks up on the third ring.

‘Emma? It’s two in the morning,’ he says.

‘You’re still up. Is it a problem?’

‘I never have a problem where you’re concerned, Emma.’

‘I want to come over. Just for a little while.’

‘You can stay all night. Where are you?’

‘Round the corner. Usual place. Mayfair.’

‘My driver is on his way. Two minutes.’

I tuck my phone away. It’s time to leave the party now: I know everything is going smoothly. I need a little action of my own.