I had been dipping my toes deeper into the world of BDSM, cautiously but curiously, and finally the escort agency in London about it. He didn’t waste time. The next time a client asked for a submissive, my name was quietly suggested. He called me beforehand to check if I was comfortable. I said yes, though in truth my chest fluttered with nerves. It was meant to be just light restraint, nothing too overwhelming.
The whole day I was restless, counting down the hours. Every time I glanced at the clock my heart seemed to skip. When evening came, I dressed carefully and arrived far too early at the hotel. The nerves had me wandering the gardens outside, trying to steady myself. I wasn’t used to being obedient. I worried I might do it wrong somehow, that the client would be disappointed. For all my work as a fetish escort, my greatest concern was always making someone feel safe and satisfied. What if I couldn’t manage it this time?
I almost convinced myself to call in sick. But my phone chimed with the reminder — too late to turn back. The key was waiting for me at reception. I held it tight, took a long breath, and went upstairs.
The room was dark, eerily so. I stepped inside, coat in hand, not sure what to do. “Hello?” I whispered, not wanting to break the silence.
A low voice answered from the shadows. “Go to the bedroom.”
I stiffened, uneasy at not seeing him. Still, I did as I was told. The space was dim, lit only around the bed. In the corner I saw his outline, watching.
“Turn around,” he said.
I obeyed without a word, reminding myself that in this world, obedience was part of the thrill. My pulse was unsteady but I kept moving.
Somewhere between fear and anticipation, I realised I was finally stepping into the realm of bondage and restraint — the kind of play I’d only read about but never fully surrendered to. It made me think of the guides others whispered about, written for those new to this art. The hush of the room seemed to magnify every breath, every beat of my heart.
“Lie down,” came his next order.
The mattress was soft, the pillow almost too kind for such a setting. When the bed shifted, I felt the brush of metal on my wrists. My breath caught. “Are those… restraints?” I asked, half fearful, half curious.
“What did you expect?” His tone was sharp, yet not unkind. “No more questions. Just wait.”
I murmured a quiet, “Yes, sir,” the words strange on my tongue yet oddly fitting.
Minutes passed, and then a hand pressed against me, slow and deliberate. It traced a line downward before gripping firmly, securing me with rope. One ankle, then the other. I realised how exposed I was, how vulnerable, and the sensation sent both dread and desire rushing through me.
Then, the faintest touch along my spine — his finger dragging, pausing just above the small of my back. It was nothing more than suggestion, yet it unravelled me. This, I thought, was what restraint was really about: the helplessness, the surrender, the charged silence in between.
“What do you want?” he asked softly, voice dipping lower, the weight of it pressing against me more than any rope.
I swallowed, words barely escaping. “Take me.”
And that’s where the night truly began.
If stories like this intrigue you, you may also be drawn to tales of power and control such as A Dominatrix Claims Power in Kensington — another glimpse into the hidden world of the bondage escort.
Part Two of this journey is waiting for you. Don’t hold back — continue to Power Games Continue in Marble Arch and let the tension carry you further.