Being an independent escort in London means saying yes to all sorts of fantasies, some tender, some playful, some… oddly specific. This time it was Adam again, one of my regulars, steady as clockwork whenever work pulled him back into town. He wanted me to be his nurse. Not the first time a man’s asked me for that this month, but with him it felt sharper somehow, like he’d been sitting on this idea for a while.
So I went along with it. Dug out the little uniform, pulled a coat over the top, and made my way to his hotel. He’d told me not to knock, just come in like it was a ward, which already made me laugh under my breath. Still, I slid the card through, stepped inside. The room was warm, faintly humming with that expectant quiet. I took off the coat, swapped into heels he loves, fixed my hair in the mirror, and headed for the bedroom.
“Hello, handsome,” I said, as though I was checking charts. “How are we feeling today?”
“Better now you’re here,” he shot back, smile tugging at his mouth like he couldn’t help himself.
When he tried to sit up, I pressed him back down. “No, no. Patients don’t get to boss their nurse around. You’re weak. You’ll only make it worse.”
“And what if I stand anyway?” he teased, already slipping straight into our little theatre.
I gave a huff, swung a leg over, and eased him back onto the pillows. “Then I’ll just have to keep you down, won’t I?”
For a while it was nothing but push and pull — him pretending to resist, me tightening the reins with mock authority. That delicious edge of control and surrender hanging in the air. He obeyed more than he fought, and that’s what made it fun. His eyes had that gleam, the one men get when they secretly love being told no.
And this… this is the part I love most about my work. Being an independent escort in London isn’t just about glamour or champagne. It’s stepping into someone’s imagination and giving it weight, mood, a little breath of life. With Adam, the nurse wasn’t just a costume. It was escape.
I leaned close, hair brushing across his skin, stretching out every movement just long enough to test his patience. He whispered my name, a touch pleading, but I only smiled and shook my head. “You called for a nurse,” I told him. “So you’ll take your medicine my way.”
He groaned, frustrated and amused at once, his body stiff with waiting. For me, that’s the thrill of a bedroom roleplay experience not the props, not the outfit but watching power slip and slide between us. Seeing someone who’s used to commanding others let go of the reins, if only for an hour, and trust me to decide the pace.
I shifted easily between strict and soft, holding him off then giving just enough to keep him burning. When I finally let the game tip over, it was like we both fell into the same fever. Laughter, breathlessness, hands clinging as though the fantasy itself had left us dizzy.
Afterwards, I smoothed back his hair and whispered, “Looks like the treatment worked.” He just lay there smiling, still catching his breath. I knew before I even left he’d call again — next time, his uniform escort would be waiting.
If you liked this little scene, you’ll probably enjoy Outcall in London with a Domination Escort too — a different roleplay but the same surrender of control.