A few months ago I found myself quietly pulled into the world of BDSM. At first it was a private pursuit, a curiosity that lived outside the boundaries of my work. But curiosity is rarely content with silence, so eventually I added it to my list of kinks as a domination escort. I knew I did not fit the stereotype of a stern dominatrix my slight frame, the wide eyes that clients always called innocent but that made me more intriguing, I suppose.
Today was my first booking in this new role. A man in his mid forties, polite and a little restless, arrived on time. He said he wanted to be a sub. He had tried before, he admitted, but only lightly. He wanted something simple, no rough edges. I nodded. Simple I could do.
I asked him to shower first, the small ritual that cleans more than just skin. I was already dressed in purple lace and black satin, the sort of thing that gives a man an idea of what’s to come while leaving plenty hidden. When he came back, towel wrapped tight, he looked less ordinary. The air between us shifted.
I led him to the bedroom. Curtains drawn, a single lamp throwing warm amber against the walls. I sat on the bed and let the pause hang before giving the first command.
“On your knees, slave.”
“Yes, Mistress.” He dropped so suddenly I almost worried for his knees.
I rested my foot on his shoulder, toes tracing his cheek. He tilted his face towards the touch like a man desperate for kindness. “Massage my feet,” I said, and he obeyed with hands that knew exactly what they wanted to prove. When I told him to use his mouth to remove my stockings, he obeyed with care. It was oddly intimate, the lace tugged down by teeth. I felt the tension crackle between us.
The longer he worked, the more I wanted to test him. “Stand up, slave,” I said, and pointed to his towel. He dropped it, careful but obedient. I slipped my robe from my shoulders and stretched back across the bed. “Please me,” I said softly.
He followed each instruction as though it were law, keeping within the boundaries I set. There’s a sweetness in watching a man surrender by degrees, especially when you know how easily he could cross a line. I thought briefly of a guide I once read about how to Dominate Your Partner, the way it spoke of restraint not as punishment but as invitation and I felt myself smile at how right it was.
When the moment became too sharp to stretch further, I shifted the rules again. “Lie beside me,” I told him. He did, still silent, still waiting. I touched him with fingers, then with my feet, teasing the patience he’d promised me. “Do you want to finish?” I asked. His eyes said yes long before his mouth did. “Not yet,” I whispered, and watched him tremble with the ache of obedience.
Eventually I allowed him the release he craved. It was quick, messy, honest. He apologised as though he had disappointed me, and promised to be better next time. When he left I laughed softly to myself. For most, I am simply a professional playing a role. But for him, in that dim Kensington room, I was Mistress in truth.
If you enjoyed this tale of quiet control and awakening power, continue the journey in An Escort’s Adventurous Stay in Kensington — where the story of surrender takes another turn.