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

Cover

Title Page

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

Copyright

About the Publisher

Welcome to Killing Kittens!

1 Members only.

2 Women make the rules and only women can break the rules.

3 No means no.

4 Men cannot approach women. They must wait to be invited before approaching or engaging in fun.

5 If there is something that is not right at any point in the evening, my team and I expect to be told. There may be times when one half of a couple is playing while the other is not, but guys should never look like they are on their own, flying solo – or hit uninvited on any of my women.

6 We expect the parties to be self-policing, and we want everyone to have the best time possible.

7 Behave within the Killing Kittens’ remit – and make sure those around you are as well – and we will all have an experience to remember.

8 Don’t forget your masks. A no-mask, no-entry policy will be enforced, and they must be worn for the first few hours (until they become too hot to wear – in more ways than one).

9 Strictly no mobile phones or cameras in the venue.

10 Dress code is sexy. There is a very large Jacuzzi for you to play in, so appropriate clothing is paramount. Large lockers and towels are provided.

And remember – enjoy yourself!

Eight years ago I decided I wanted to start a business running parties. These parties would not be professional events or corporate functions. I wouldn’t be organizing leaving dos, work parties, birthdays or wedding receptions. No marquees, caterers or dozy DJs. Instead, I had the deliciously wicked idea of creating a very special private club, whose members were open-minded and where the atmosphere would be relaxed and friendly and, ultimately, intensely liberated. No one is getting hurt, no one is getting cheated on and every woman is being respected.

Twice a month a group of people who’d been accepted for membership via my website would congregate in cities across the UK for an evening where they could make their fantasies and desires come true. At my soirées, I would create an atmosphere of non-judgemental curiosity and acceptance. Nothing would be repressed or off-limits. If a woman wanted to dance around the bar in her underwear, or even totally naked, she could, knowing that she was not going to be either thrown out or jumped on. Party-goers would be able to toss their inhibitions aside and feel free to do whatever they liked. My parties would be for people at ease with their own and other people’s sexuality, who weren’t afraid to live out their desires with willing partners. Taking part would not be enforced: people would be free to watch, or to come as a monogamous couple, or even alone (if they were girls), to see what might happen and perhaps taste their own hidden desires without shame or judgement.

Now, I know this isn’t the kind of soirée most party planners would organize. So I guess you’re wondering why a normal girl from Surrey would choose such a wicked career path. Well, I was determined to make this vision a reality because, one life-changing night, I had seen for myself exactly how liberating it could be, when I witnessed an A-list crowd indulging in sheer, joyous erotic abandonment. I decided that it was my mission to help other people taste those delights and that freedom.

But this would not be a tacky swinging party, or an orgy fuelled by testosterone and male fantasies. My vision was to create a sophisticated environment where women were in control and felt comfortable. Anything could happen as long as it was initiated by women. My parties would be the first to be dedicated to female pleasure and feminine desires.

Some of my guests have told me that my soirées are like vivid daydreams where they feel as though they’re floating on air. They tell me that it’s intoxicating, captivating, titillating, thrilling, addictive and the most erotic experience they have ever had.

That makes me happy, because that’s exactly what I want, and why I founded my Killing Kittens’ parties in the first place.

And now I want you to experience it too.

‘Once made equal to man, woman becomes his superior.’

Socrates

I have two hours to kill before I am to host this evening’s party. Tonight, it’s in a stately home in London’s exclusive Mayfair, and that always draws a particularly upmarket crowd, but my members come from all walks of life. For the most part they are young and curious, drawn by the glamorous settings and the enticing atmosphere of anticipation, for my parties are places where anything can happen. Members apply through my website and they must supply a photograph and some details about themselves (some like to send pictures that aren’t strictly of their faces). Acceptance is not based on looks or wealth, but on a certain mind-set: will these people fit into the hedonistic environment and do they have the right spirit of fun and adventure mixed with respect for rules?

Tonight, 200 paying members will be attending my party. They expect something special and I intend to make sure they get it. As well as pleasing the regulars, I’ll also be making sure the new members are having a good time and fitting in nicely. Anyone who doesn’t play by the rules will be asked politely to leave. But thanks to the careful vetting process, there isn’t usually a problem. A good time ought to be had by all.

Before then, I’m meeting a friend in Claridge’s Fumoir bar. I’m not strictly following the dress code, but no one seems to mind my silky black sleepwear, which is a trademark of mine. If anyone has a discreet word, it will take me less than two minutes to whip on the chic Italian designer dress I’ve stuffed into my handbag. I love to be comfortable, but I never go anywhere without something smart I can slip on, just in case.

The glamorous Art Deco 1930s bar feels like a haven of tranquillity as I step inside. It’s dark, sensuous, alluring and, best of all, tucked away behind a secret door, which appeals to my inner sense of drama. Inside, the decor is a rich aubergine with dark leather seating and low crystal lighting, and the walls are adorned with vintage photographs of beautiful women. I slip onto a seat near the horseshoe-shaped bar and order my wake-up call, a Bull Shot, which consists of vodka and beef consommé and tastes 10 times spicier and more potent than a Bloody Mary. ‘And a bottle of rosé too, please.’

While I’m waiting for my drink, I get out my phone and start checking my messages. After a moment, I look up and see my friend Miss D striding slowly and gracefully towards me. I’m not the only one who’s noticed the new arrival: all eyes are on her, which is just the way she likes it, and probably why she handed her coat to the cloakroom attendant before waltzing into the bar. She’s wearing a sexy black strapless dress with sheer panelling down the sides that highlights her derrière to excellent effect. At first glance, she looks perfectly proper and very alluring with her bee-stung lips, olive skin and thick, glossy dark hair falling around her shoulders, but on closer inspection there’s something missing. Her underwear! Typical. She’s getting in the mood early.