“Good girl,” he said, low and sharp, like a laugh caught in his throat. It wasn’t tender. It wasn’t cruel either. Just that tone that told me, without question, who was running this.
I closed my eyes, half to steady myself, half because it was easier than staring him down. I’d played plenty of games before as a domination escort in London, but this one… it unsettled me. His hand slid to my throat, not squeezing, just there, hovering. Too firm to ignore. Too careful to call dangerous. My instinct said to pull away, but another part of me… well, it wanted to see what would happen if I didn’t.
“You’ll only breathe when I say.” He said it plain, like he was mentioning the time. My body tensed, and then—ridiculously—I gave the smallest nod. He loosened, let me catch air. It hit like a rush. Almost sweet.
Then, the order: “Turn.” Simple. Hard. I did, slowly, bracing myself on the table in his Bayswater hotel room so I wouldn’t stumble. My dress rode up without me meaning it to, and suddenly the air felt colder than it should have.
“Look at you,” he muttered, almost amused. The slap came after, not brutal, just sharp enough that I gasped. “Eager already.”
I should have denied it. Played coy. But my body betrayed me, as it always does.
He leaned close enough for me to feel his breath. “Tell me what you want.”
The words tumbled out before I could swallow them back. “Yes. Please.” It sounded pathetic. Desperate even. And yet… I meant it.
What followed wasn’t neat. It never is. His dominance pressed into every corner, relentless, and I found myself slipping under it faster than I thought I would. This is the truth of booking roleplay escorts—it’s not the script you agree on, it’s how quickly the script dissolves.
By the time he eased back, my legs were shaking so badly I wasn’t sure they’d hold me. “Thank you,” I whispered, though the words felt paper-thin.
“You’re better at this than you think.” His eyes didn’t soften. He was just stating fact.
A laugh escaped me, weak, almost a cough. “So are you.”
The smirk he gave in reply wasn’t kind. It was a promise. “Next time, I’ll push you further. You liked it more than you’ll admit.”
Heat burned up my face. I didn’t answer. Didn’t trust my voice. Silence was enough. Maybe more than enough.
Nights like this remind me why being an escort in Bayswater never feels routine. It’s messy, unpredictable, a tug between danger and desire that doesn’t leave when the door closes.
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