My Evening in the Most Famous Parisian Sex Club
My French King and I walked down a small avenue in Paris, looking for door numero un! We must have walked by it three times. When we finally noticed that inconspicuous blue barrier, our nerves ignited. Stepping into that marbled gold waiting room, I could feel that this would be an evening to remember. An evening spent in the most famous Parisian sex club.
James and I stood in the lobby, giggling, and kissing each other. The six-by-six space already held such intense energy, I couldn’t imagine the atmosphere beyond. We were not alone in that dark room. A couple in their mid-50’s eagerly awaited the doorman. After a few moments, the tallest, broadest man I’ve ever seen, opened the gates to Les Chandelles. His suit could have been melted to his body, it fit like black porcelain skin. He was gorgeous, gay, and terrifying.
The giant took one look at the couple in front of us and nearly turned them away. I hadn’t understood the problem, as the woman was in a gorgeous lace mini, and the Italian man who accompanied her sported an elegant white suit jacket, and dress pants. That’s when James subtly pointed to the man’s feet. He wore a casual, high quality sneaker. Our beautiful doorman took notice, and told them it was against dress code. The gentleman in sneakers begged, telling him that he and his wife had travelled a long way to visit Les Chandelles. Through pressed teeth and a snarl, they were eventually granted access.
J and I, having already understood the strict dress code, entered without issue. He, in a blue suit; I, in a black mini; low enough to reveal the leather straps of my breast harness. We fit the profile perfectly.
In the red velvet foyer of Les Chandelles, J and I handed over our coats and phones. The only loose item we were permitted to take with us was a gift J had brought for me. Once checked in, the gargantuan doorman led us down a flight of stairs, into a dimly lit restaurant. Similar to Moon City, the room burst with red glow. The temple theme was replaced, however, with Les Chandelles’ more sophisticated décor: cushioned crimson booths, blazing chandeliers, candles on every table, rouge upholstered walls, tiny bowls of chocolate covered almonds for each guest. It was a Victorian dreamland.
We started our evening dining in the luxurious rouge sal á manger. To be frank, I don’t remember too much about the food; however, should you visit Les Chandelles, do not skip out on the cheesecake. I had my first and only orgasm that night the second I put it in my mouth.
Once the meal was complete, and our wine glasses emptied, we made our way underground…
Down a second staircase we discovered the club. A paradise that can only be described as a heavenly hell. Men in suits, women in expensive lingerie. A cave of wonders…with a candy buffet!
I was floating. I felt I had walked out of real life and into some forbidden society. The music moved through me, the clinking of glass, and the laughter of women… pleasure was no longer a concept to be applied. I was inhaling it, intoxicating myself off its ominous glow. It was a living, breathing thing.
When you walk into the club, directly in front of you is a small lounge. The walls are lined with more of those lavish, cushioned couches, and in the center of the floor, unfitting to the scene, stood a single stripper pole on a fixed, raised platform.
To the right of the lounge are archways into the bar side of the club. A long, black surface lines the far wall, booths parallel, both running the perimeter of the dance floor. But those weren’t the spaces we were most curious about. It was to the left of the lounge – behind the curtain – where the hedonists go to play.
Prior to my experiences, when I heard the term “sex den” I’d imagined exactly this: Les Salles de Les Chandelles. It’s no wonder they call it l’univers de Les Chandelles – because that’s what it is, its own, entire universe.
You literally move out of the light and into the dark. The walls are stone. It feels like you’re inside a medieval prison – which for me, adds to the eroticism. There are two rooms at Les Chandelles. One that includes two large, raised, padded areas, and a booth-like structure that is fixed to, and lines the perimeter of the far wall. The padded areas – like mattresses – are occupied by a group. The booth-like structure provides little space. The second room is like the first, only much, much smaller. Again, another group occupies the surfaces. In here, I can’t tell where one human ends and the other begins.
The only “private” area in Les Chandelles is a petite opening in the wall between the medieval prison and the small sex sallons. It is large enough for two people; however, anyone passing by can see you as clear as day.
Les Chandelles is known to attract celebrities and politicians. It is the most up-scale club I’ve ever been to. Everyone there smelled of money. Perhaps the suits and lingerie created that illusion. Regardless, the place devours money, and the people devour each other.
I found the crowd to be quite diverse. We were still the youngest couple there, but it was the first club I’ve visited without feeling like a target. During the one, short moment J and I attempted to be intimate, a man brushed my leg as he walked by. J simply shook his head, and the man disappeared into the darkness. I could feel a silent code between people.
Although it was an aesthetic dream come true, it was one of the most frustrating clubs I’ve been to. The atmosphere screams sex, and yet it felt impossible to have. Keep in mind that J and I are not swingers, nor do we participate in spontaneous group sex. For those who are into those practices, this is your wet dream brought to life! It was difficult for me to be present sexually, as there was so much visual and auditory stimulation.
Les Chandelles was a surprising experience. The sexual appeal is not there for me; however, I would return to the restaurant for a luxurious meal (and that cheesecake!), and the bar for an extravagant evening of partying. Saying that though, it’s critical to note that we visited on couples’ night (single men were not allowed in). Our entry fee included dinner, a bottle of wine, access to the club and two rounds of drinks. The damage? Approximately €300, which J and I later agreed was worth the experience; however, it would be some time before we return. We concluded that there are less expensive clubs that guarantee a good time, if you know what I mean.
Les Chandelles Gallery
Until next time,
Fuck well, friends!
Quean Mo xx
So, tell me, what would be your ideal sex soirée?