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The soirée is part of the Killing Kittens 20th anniversary weekend retreat (Picture: Getty Images) A beautiful woman in a Renaissance-style dress circles the floor with a silver platter of grapes, offering them as a palate cleanser before a formal three-course dinner begins. If you want one, there is a catch, she teases: ‘You must eat it from my master’s cheeks… and not the ones on her face.’ Many partygoers happily accept the offer and bury their faces in a stranger’s bum. It’s expected as the soirée is part of the Killing Kittens (KK) 20th anniversary weekend retreat, where couples pay up to £2310 to attend. An estimated 1.5 million Brits now embrace swinging, and KK, known for being a market leader, have seen a 400% increase in attendance over recent years. The demand has allowed the £10 million company to organise three cruises on top of this wellness weekend (which has nearly 1000 attendees altogether), and ads for the sea-based sexcapades play on a giant screen in the ballroom. I, on the other hand, have never been to an event of this nature. Thinking about myself as sexy feels quite embarrassing, and the only time I’ll discuss bedroom activity is when something funny happens. So on this wet and windy Friday at a manor house in Berkshire, I feel very out of my comfort zone. The grape server recognises this and takes pity, feeding me a cherry instead. As I tuck into my braised beef main during dinner, which has been selected from the menus sent by email a week ago, alongside consent rules and dress code (black Halloween-inspired glamour on Friday, and cocktail attire with masks on Saturday), a cabaret performance unfolds on the stage. I politely declined the offer of grapes (Picture: Killing Kittens) It includes a woman dressed as Little Red Riding Hood who is riding a man dressed as a wolf, a submissive who ties herself up in rope and then unties herself, and an erotic female dancer wearing just pants and nipple tassels, as she swings in a hoop. My food may be slightly on the cold side, but things are heating up. The circular tables are filled with couples, mainly in their 30s-50s, gently caressing each other, with others full-on snog. I feel like I’m at a wedding, watching on from the singles’ table. After the dancers shimmy to Whitney Houston’s I’m Every Woman finale, my table companion, Emma Sayle, the founder of KK, admits that she’s slightly concerned people might be too full to have sex. Time to play However, she has no reason to be worried. At 11pm, the ‘playrooms’ on the second floor of the mansion are opened, and the dancefloor quickly clears. After drinking an espresso martini for courage, I slowly climb the grand staircase, lit up only by electric candles. Reaching the top, the hallway is filled with men who’ve ditched their suits for briefs, while some are wearing only socks, and the women have abandoned their dresses in favour of lace underwear and suspenders. Behind one set of double doors is a room filled with 14 mattresses elevated to hip height and placed together, each covered in no-frills black sheets. The only sound is instrumental music and grunts from the orgy of around 60 people, who are mainly in missionary position. The staff are recognisable by their armbands (Picture: Killing Kittens) I put my back so far against the wall that I feel part of the 200-year-old manor house. Joining me on the sidelines are people wearing unmissable luminous red armbands to signal they are KK staff and ensure everyone’s safety. As the minutes wander on, I am overwhelmed by the action, unable to lock in on anybody, until I spot a couple struggling to stay on the packed bed. Their thrusting is interrupted by their need to shuffle away from the edge. I decide it’s probably time I gave them some privacy to figure it out, and head back to my hotel room at around 1am. Sex school is in session Discretion is very important at KK events (Picture: Killing Kittens) The next day, I take an eight-minute Uber ride back to the retreat’s secret location. I meander up a long driveway lined with autumn-hued trees, gearing myself up for a full workshop schedule. At 10:15am sharp, I start with a dance class taught by a sweet stripper, and learn how to do the perfect chair body roll (put chest out, then lift the bum, thrust and sit back down). I get chatting to a young model, who is there with her husband for a bit of fun. She seems quite shy, and so I wonder how she wound up here… until she suggests we give each other lap dances. I’m impressed by the supportive environment; everyone claps each other’s attempts at the sultry routine to a Weeknd song, and an older woman even tells me I have a nice bum. Next, I head to a seminar exploring sexual fantasies, where I learn that they don’t have to involve sex at all. The teacher speaks about a client who dreamt about seeing a man at the other side of a bar. He looked at her passionately before leaving, and this vision was enough for her. It makes me think back to the hottest moment of my previous evening; a security man opened my car door when I arrived, and then sheltered me from the rainfall by holding an umbrella over my head as I walked to the entrance. I have an epiphany; I’m not not a sexual person, but I just don’t find sex the sexiest thing. Guests were led to the three-course dinner by two masked KK workers (Picture: Killing Kittens) Before school is out, I am back in the orgy room, where a beautiful woman called Jessica is teaching a penis massage class. Dressed in a black and red maxi dress and bare feet, she straddles her male model. The smile doesn’t leave his face as she places both hands gently on his penis and gives it a ‘hug’, before talking through the moves to her receptive audience of around 30 couples. Each is peering over at the live demo, some jotting down notes, before they try on each other. Queueing for a spank As the sun sets, it’s time for the second party, this time with over 600 attendees. Masked financial advisors, doctors, and businesspeople fill the dancefloor to watch the stripper I met earlier sultrily eat whipped cream from a birthday cake. Before the proper action begins, and conversation is the last thing anyone is interested in, I speak to a few attendees to find out why they are here. It amazes me how quickly chat can go from the weather to preferences. A lot of couples get off on their partners being with someone else, while one single woman tells me she doesn’t want to have casual sex in her ‘sanctuary’ (at home), and another says she’s done with relationships but still wants sex. Everyone was required to wear a mask for night two (Picture: Metro) Suddenly, the time for chatter is over when an announcement interrupts an Usher song at 10:30pm: ‘The playrooms are now open’. Tonight, I avoid the overwhelming orgy room (that now has a few popped springs) and head to the more intimate ‘dungeons’. Inside one, a woman has her wrists and ankles cuffed so she sort of floats in a lying down position, while a man performs oral sex on her. It goes on for my entire 30-minute stay, and it looks like she is passing out from the pleasure. A few metres away, people politely wait in line for their chance to be spanked. Some occupy themselves with doggy style sex, while others stand silently, shuffling forward. I overhear one conversation on the exact guidelines someone is comfortable with, asking whether breathwork, pain, and kissing are okay. Consent is more purposefully granted than it likely is in other settings, like a bedroom after a nightclub meeting. I bump into a friend I ate the finger sandwiches lunch with earlier, and they give me an update on their evening. ‘I’ve done some puppy play with a man on a lead and wearing a gimp mask, but no sex yet sadly,’ they explain, before making their excuses and presumably going in search of it. I hate to be boring and leave before the 2am finish time (although people often continue in their private bedrooms for much longer), but I can’t fight my yawns any longer at 1:30am. Being a voyeur while everyone else is throwing themselves into the experience is not only exhausting, it’s also starting to feel creepy. As I pack up my suitcase to head home on Sunday, I decide that sex parties are probably not for me, as performing in front of others is not what turns me on. However, I feel undeniably different after being there. Watching gorgeous people be so unafraid to embrace their sexuality makes me feel a little silly for being so timid about my own. A couple of hours later, as I sit on the train thinking about all the fun and lustful goings-on I’ve just witnessed, I realise that men being nice to me is my ultimate turn-on (maybe that says something about the depressing state of dating in 2025). The adventurous people I’ve met may not relate to my vanilla tastes, but they encouraged me to embrace it. ‘Do what makes you comfortable,’ one sweet lady advised. But more important than their opinions is that I’m okay with who I am. Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing Josie.Copson@metro.co.uk Share your views in the comments below.
