Some bookings stick with you more than others. Tonight in Fulham, I was about to meet a man who wanted to step into new territory. Not the usual wine-and-conversation sort of date, but something heavier with power at its core. He’d asked for strapon play. I’d been recommended because people knew I enjoyed the control that came with it, the way it shifted balance in the room. It wasn’t only the act—it was the trust that made it electric. We agreed to meet first in the hotel bar, neutral ground, and I promised I’d come prepared.
I lingered longer than usual in front of the mirror, smoothing down my dress, tilting my head at myself as if asking whether I looked more mentor than mistress. Silly, maybe, but I wanted him to feel safe even as I planned to take him apart.
The hotel was one of those quiet Fulham spots where strapon play escorts slip in and out without fuss. The receptionist gave me that smile she saves for regulars, and I headed into the bar. My eyes searched the room until I found him. A deep voice, a nervous smile that softened the moment he saw me. Relief in his shoulders too. That made me like him straight away.
He bought me a drink, and I let my gaze wander as he walked to the bar. The cut of his trousers did nothing to hide the shape of him. I caught myself smirking, already imagining how it would feel to take the lead with him. Back at the table we spoke easily, set our boundaries, agreed a safe word—zebra, of all things. His eagerness was so honest it almost made me laugh, but I tucked that away.
Later, in his room, I sat on the bed with that look I’ve learnt no man can really refuse.
“Undress for me?” I tilted my head.
He did, piece by piece, eyes darting away from mine as if I’d see too much. When he hesitated at the last, I raised an eyebrow. He understood. Off came the briefs.
“Now, turn around,” I said. “Bend over.”
He obeyed instantly. I loved that about him already. A light smack and the way he flinched—half-embarrassed, half-thrilled—made me smile.
“Lie down,” I told him, and he followed without a word.
An idea sparked in me, unplanned. “Do you want to try mutual oral, maybe a 69?”
He grinned shyly. “Sure. Just get on top.”
And so we did. His mouth was warm against me, hungry but careful, while I leaned forward, teasing him into hardness. Our rhythms fell into one another until time blurred. It wasn’t about perfection—it was about connection, and it had me trembling more than I’d expected.
Finally, I pulled away, catching my breath. “That’s enough for now. Stay. I’ll fetch some toys.”
His anticipation was impossible to miss. I laid them out: plugs, the strapon, the bottle of oil. All in plain sight, a quiet promise.
“On all fours?” I asked gently.
He moved, his back arched in that way only first-timers manage, courage and vulnerability all at once. I kissed his skin, softening the moment.
“Do you remember the safe word?” I whispered.
“Yes. Zebra.”
“Good. We’ll take it slowly. This is for you, not just for me.”
He nodded, shoulders easing, and in that pause between words I could feel trust knitting itself into the room. The night was only just beginning.
If you want to see how far things went after that first taste of control in Fulham, don’t miss the continuation in Next Level Strapon Fun with a Fulham Escort.