It was organized by a horrible man named John the Bone. It was efficent. At timed intervals, five men out of a pool of many dozens would walk up to a table where Jasmin was laying and use her body to masturbate with. When their time was up, a production manager would yell "Next five! Next five!", and a different grouping took their place. I'm not a homosexual, but the sound of that man's voice in this context was erotic to me. Anyway, at one point a paunchy, respectable-looking 40something man out of the pool managed to pump Saint Claire doggiestyle a handful of times and cummed on her plump butt. He lingered like a zombie afterward rubbing his nipples and cooing "Oh, Jasmine! Oh, Jasmine!" Saint Claire reacted by rolling her eyes and laughing at the man towards someone in the production end off camera. This was a powerful moment to me. I am of course fixated on the regret hypothetically experienced post-pornography by the women appearing in it, but this was a case where I wondered about the regret perhaps this poor fellow now has.