When I made my BDSM escorts London profile I added role play without thinking much. Felt like something you should tick, right? Hardly anyone asked. Mostly GFE, a bit of kink, nothing wild. Then one day this guy wrote with a request that was… strange. Not bad strange, just left-field. I hesitated. Said yes anyway. Curiosity always drags me in. We set it at a hotel lobby. A meet cute, he said.
That morning I stood in front of the mirror, lace on. Black. Cheap? Maybe. Or maybe powerful. Both, honestly. Dress over the top, floral, soft—contrast. I liked the secret of it. He hadn’t told me what to wear, which annoyed me a little. But fine. Casual works.
I sat at the bar pretending I belonged there. He slid onto the stool beside me. Tom. Quiet, almost awkward. The kind of man who makes you want to fill the gaps for him. I ordered something silly just to have something in my hand. We talked—well, I talked. He nodded, added bits about his job, a hobby. Fifteen minutes. Felt enough. I cut through the small talk: his room or mine. He blinked, then his. Obviously.
Upstairs. Door shut. Everything faster, heavier. Kissing like we were rushing into something. I pressed him back against the wall, felt him give way. He laughed when I was rough, like he didn’t believe me yet. I didn’t laugh back. Needed to stay in it.
I remembered the research. Succubus. Stronger, colder. Voice lower than mine usually goes. Told him what I wanted. He hesitated but didn’t fight it. Hands pinned down—reminder of what we’d agreed. Not cruel, just firm.
It wasn’t about lust really. More about control. Power. About him letting go because he wanted to. That tension in the air. The way he looked at me when he realised I wasn’t giving him space to move. Strange thrill in that. My movements sharper, uneven, keeping him guessing.
Afterwards we lay still. Both of us catching breath, staring at the ceiling. He grinned—shy, sheepish—like he’d just survived something new. I felt a flicker of pride, though honestly also a bit ridiculous. Pretending to be a demon in lace. Still, it worked. We dressed in silence. Walked out like strangers, carrying something quiet between us that no one in the lobby would ever see.
If you want to know what happened when the succubus came back—this time sharper, more demanding—read the sequel: The Succubus Returns for Spanking and Control.