I honestly don’t even know how to start this without sounding either silly or a bit crude. I’m not prudish, far from it, but when it comes to speaking about certain things I still get shy. The request from this new client… well, when I read it, my cheeks heated straight away. My heart fluttered like a trapped bird, desperate to escape. I said yes almost immediately, which seemed brave in the moment, though the boldness faded fast.
Later, when my friend asked what I had lined up, I clammed up. She could tell something was unusual because every time I shook my head she leaned in further, prying with that half-teasing grin. The words stuck in my throat. I’m supposed to be professional, confident, able to talk about anything. Yet I mumbled the answer so low she had to lean right in. She laughed when I said it, thinking it was no big deal, then read the whole request herself. “Lucky you,” she said, eyes glinting. I tried to laugh with her, but doubt was already creeping in. Maybe he’d prefer a woman who could take charge with no hesitation, someone more obviously dominant. Too late. I had an hour to get myself together.
I kept the make-up light, dressed neatly, tried to appear unshaken. My hands trembled anyway. He was already waiting at the hotel bar, calm as you like. He waved me over and pulled out a chair with easy manners. That helped, though I still fidgeted, playing with my hair. He noticed. “Why so nervous?” he asked, amused more than anything. I admitted the truth — that I wasn’t used to being in charge, not like this. He shrugged, almost kind, and told me maybe I’d like it once I tried. It was such a simple response it disarmed me.
Upstairs, the nerves flooded back, but he was gentle. He touched my waist, close enough that I could feel his warmth, and kissed me until my thoughts scrambled. The tension gave way to something softer. When he suggested a shower I let him lead. The tenderness surprised me. Usually I am the one orchestrating the mood, but here he was the one tending to me, washing me as if I were precious. It felt upside-down, but not in a bad way. I caught myself smiling at the strangeness.
Afterwards, stretched out on the bed, he traced a finger along my collarbone and whispered that I was perfect. I didn’t know what to say. Something shifted then, and I decided to lean into his fantasy rather than keep doubting myself. I took the step, and he welcomed it.
What followed was nothing like I had imagined earlier when my cheeks burned. It wasn’t crude or clumsy. It was indulgent, consuming, almost reverent. I found myself giving in more than I thought possible, the power dynamic blurred in ways I hadn’t expected. There were moments where I felt like I might lose myself entirely — breath quickening, body trembling, a kind of surrender I hadn’t experienced before.
By the end, I collapsed beside him, drained but glowing. I laughed at myself quietly. Perhaps I’m not a dominatrix, not in the strict sense, but maybe that’s not what mattered. Maybe power sometimes lives in daring to try, in letting go of fear long enough to taste something new. That night, I learned that I could carry it in my own way.
If this story of nerves and surrender stirred something in you, you may also enjoy Roleplay and 69 with a GFE Escort , another story where intimacy and fantasy blend in surprising ways.