When a model needs to relax after the arduous schedule of New York Fashion week, a luxury spa offering a "hundred hands massage" is just the right thing for her

Within the labyrinths of New York's skyscrapers, one can find many pleasures. Some available to all, some only to those living in decadence. Places with hushed passwords, places with masked concierges. Anonymity a given, a privilege of the rich and famous in these extraordinary spaces that none but them know about.
Millions walk by these buildings every day, think of nothing as they go about their business. Yet they exist, pitch-black elevators inviting daring guests. One such establishment, perhaps a little lighter than the others, had only recently been created. Seventy stories above the streets of the metropolis, there was a spa. If one plucked a man from the streets and threw him in there, they would think nothing suspicious of the place. It was grand - soft wooden floors, intricate panelwork hiding walls of concrete. Orange lights soothed eyes and soul alike. A scent of sandalwood omnipresent throughout the building.

Perhaps, one detail would have stood out. A massage room unlike any other they may have seen. No, it did not seem like a massage room at all: To most, the first impression was that of an arena. Three ranks of seats, enough for hundred-or-so people. Staircases led down into the ring, the floor here of rougher concrete. At the center was, of course, a massage table. A slim piece, barely wide enough for a slender person to fit onto it, barely long enough for them to rest their entire body on it. Usually covered by a white duvet, one would not see the holes in it at first glance. But they were present - offered other angles for the men and women entering this arena.
Ultimately, this plucked stranger would find it odd, perhaps, but they would likely forget about the space eventually. It was extravagant - perhaps an auditorium to train the staff of this luxurious spa?

Proper guests knew the truth. They knew that this room would not be filled by students, but by men and women of their choosing. Men built like Greek Gods, those would be present here. Nude from head to toe, glistening with oil by the time a guest arrived. This guest would be led into the room by the concierge. The door would fall shut behind them. The men, one-hundred masseurs, would greet their muse. They would undress her and guide her onto the table.
And the morning after, once they were all spent, they would carry her into a bath, soothe her sore body, and then, she'd be ready to be plunged back into the real world, one experience richer.

I'd like us to invent a celebrity for this - she does not need to be a model, she could be a proper a-lister for our narrative, but I do not want to use a real celebrity. I do like using faceclaims though (usually models, not actresses and such). I am looking to tell a slow-paced story of a beautiful woman being overwhelmed by the passionate, sensual and rough worship of one-hundred studs. If you are interested, tell me which type of heroine you'd like to portray, and which celebrity you'd like us to use as her reference. You'll find some infos on the type I prefer below as well. Tell me about your kinks and limits too, especially how they relate to my own, and what kind of scope you'd expect from this. I am also open to writing this story with a mix of masseurs and masseuses.

Kinks: CMNF, Gentle Maledom, Oral (both ways), Deepthroat, Bodyworship, Toys, BDSM (light bondage, orgasm control), performing, outfit play, recording, romance, making out, athletic men, skinny/fit women, SSC, aftercare, collar/leash), massages, oilplay, anal, interracial

Limits: Toilet play, sweatplay, sounding, petplay, animals, incest, cheating, pubic hair, blood, lactation, impregnation, pregnancy play, footplay (except for massages), deliberately ugly characters, raceplay, DDlg

I am 18 and all participants and characters must be 18