Last night, Bushwick Daily went to House of Yes’ LUST, an immersive, black-tie, fetish event hosted by Abby Hertz (we told you about it last week). We expected it to be a hedonistic affair, but there was no way to know it would have turned out like the bacchanalian party it was: it totally lived up to the hype.
The festivities began before attendees even entered the party. A Mistress named Veronica, who was scantily clad in leather straps and a waist-training corset, flirted with those in line, leading some away by leash.
Dinner was served on the bodies of nude performers. Among the offerings were steak, sushi, mushroom caps, and custard tarts that, it turns out, melt very quickly on the human body. It was this reporter’s first time eating raspberries not just from a naked woman, but literally off a naked woman.
Hulking topless men meandered the dance hall just being generally sculpted and massaging women’s shoulders. Women in leather straps and lace tops, or lace bottoms and pasties, or some combination thereof went about dressing the body platters with more food or flogging those willing enough to receive it. Nipples were everywhere. Butts abounded.
A woman swung from a sheet, like they do in aerial yoga if you’re familiar, above our heads while we ate.
This was, by the way, all before 8:30. I couldn’t wait to see what was to come. A mistress spotted this writer alone when I stepped to a secluded corner to write notes. To her, I was like a wounded gazelle.
“Here all alone?” she asked.
Yes.
“You know what we do with people who are alone?” She pulled out her leash, attached the collar around my neck and led me away to a separate table where she could pour whip cream in mouth and make me lick some off her cleavage.
After dinner, they quickly cleared the floor of tables to make room for the crowd. They created a makeshift couch in the front entrance. Then opened the doors to the crowd and brought on the live music. People poured in wearing lace and glitter, some in tassels, some in wigs.
Something different was happening in every corner.
There was a shibari rope tying session:
—a wax pouring exhibition:
—plus live body painting, and a woman lying on broken glass. There were women getting romantic on the couch. A man getting his nipples tweaked at the bar. A woman dancing in her underwear on the bar.
Eventually, it was impossible to tell who was hired to perform and who was just living what I can only assume was their best life.
