I’d never called myself a dominatrix escort. Teasing, yes. Seductive, always. But the strictness of domination? That was new territory. Still, he had chosen me for this very reason, and something inside me — curiosity, pride, maybe both — kept me from saying no.
We started quietly in his Knightsbridge hotel suite. A drink in hand, I listened as he opened up about his desires. Foot fetish, trampling, the need to feel smaller under a woman’s presence. His words painted a world I hadn’t yet stepped into, and yet… the way he looked at me gave me confidence. Compliments about my feet, of all things, made me laugh softly — but they also reminded me of my power, the kind foot fetish escorts often carry with ease.
At some point, I told him to undress. The word “please” escaped me out of habit, and I almost cursed myself for it. But he obeyed instantly, clothes falling aside as though he had been waiting all evening for me to take control. My heels clicked against the polished floor as I circled him, letting the silence stretch until he was nearly trembling.
I placed one heel lightly against his chest, then shifted a little weight. His breath caught. That small, controlled pressure — not pain, just the hint of it — was enough to remind him of where he belonged. And to my surprise, it thrilled me too.
When he reached instinctively for my foot, lips parting as if to worship, I stopped him with a calm, firmer tone than before. “Not yet.” The sound of my own voice startled me — cool, commanding, the sort of voice that could bend someone’s will. He froze in perfect obedience, and that simple act lit something sharp and delicious inside me.
I pressed, teased, tested, never reckless but enough to keep him on edge. Each shiver, each low sound he made, pulled me deeper into the role. By the time I told him to kneel, it wasn’t a question anymore. It was a truth.
Later, when he laughed softly and asked, “So… are you a dominatrix now?” I found myself smiling in a way I hadn’t before — knowing, almost mischievous.
“Maybe,” I said, letting the heel linger against him. “If I can be yours.”
Nights like this remind me how varied and unexpected escorting in London can be — from the delicate intensity of a Knightsbridge dominatrix encounter to playful evenings that take entirely different turns. If this story intrigued you, you might also enjoy slipping into darker fantasy in A Fetish Escort Who Played in the Dark, or something lighter and more playful in Keith Brings Pizza, I Bring the Passion.