Living as a mistress escort in London

My name is X and I lead a double life. I’m a mother, so it’s not unusual to see me walking down the street, wearing casual jeans and functional sneakers, lugging a diaper bag or a gym bag. My glasses will be balanced on my nose, my extended, blonde hair pulled back into a casual ponytail, my iPhone stuck to my ear as I sort out the details of my daughter’s after school activities and my husband’s weekend golf getaway.

If you looked more closely, though, you’d see that my nails are always long and perfectly manicured and that I’m probably wearing more makeup than you’d supposed to see on a busy mom on a Tuesday afternoon. If you kept watching, you’d see me turn off the busy street and into a mysterious-looking building with no sign above the door. There is a little tag over the doorbell and it reads “Mistress S”.

My first customer of the day is already there waiting for me. He arrived early, as he always does. I slide behind him and into my dressing room. Under my jeans, there are dark fishnet thigh-highs and a pair of skimpy underwear my husband has never seen. Under my pullover is a black leather corset, smooth and sparkling. I free my hair, and brush it out rapidly, allowing it to tumble down my back. I know how good it looks and how much my slaves wish they could touch it. I very rarely allow it. Out of my bag comes a pair of tall, leather boots with hostile spiked heels. I zip them on quickly. As a final step, I correct my makeup, putting on an additional layer of deep crimson lipstick and pick up my riding crop. By now, my slave will be waiting in the dungeon and I’m ready to join him.

This particular slave reminds me a lot of my mate. Same hair and eye color, similar build. The difference is that when I order my slave to crawl across the floor of the dungeon to lick my boots, he does it gratefully.

As you can probably imagine, I didn’t always lead this double life as a Mistress. It all started a few years ago, when I was surfing the web and ended up reading this article about another woman who was a full-time Mistress in the same city I live in. Her name was Valerie August. She had clients and made a heck of a lot of money (and fun) punishing men and treating them like slaves. I was bored with myself and my regular day-to-day routines so I decided to email this Mistress and ask her all types of questions on how she got started, and how I could get in on the action. London, as far I’m concerned, was always submissive London.

I was curious, but clearly nervous too, I had never really experienced something like this before. She let me assist some of her sessions, and progressively, I was able to build enough confidence to go seek these despairing men on my own, off of craigslist and other dating websites. My first experience was with this young man who got off on getting spanked and trampled on. I still don’t get it, because I would never let anyone walk on me on purpose, but I delivered on his request. I didn’t want him to know that this was my first time doing it on my own, so I would faintly ask if he liked it, so he can guide me through it. The more he squeaked, the more I got off on the fact that I was doing it right.

It is very empowering to know that you are in full control of the situation, and this role-play gives me a break from my gloomy day-to-day life. While my husband is going his thing, I can do mine.  I now have a list of regulars that I see on a weekly basis, in between all of my mom/wife duties, like this middle-aged man who was excited, waiting for me to walk in on him. Knowing what I expect, he’s already naked and the second he sees me, his cock becomes instantly hard.

He licks and kisses my boots until I tell him to stop. I sit down and lean back in my chair, spreading my legs before him. I commend him to worship my pussy with even more devotion than he just lavished on my boots. He moans with pleasure at being allowed such an honor and buries his head between my legs. While he services me, I tease his cock with the toe of my boot, but he soon grows distracted, his hips moving as he tries to get the abrasion he needs to cum. Annoyed, I move my foot until my sharp heel is digging into his most sensitive areas. He whimpers and tries to pull away, but I bring my riding crop down sharply on his back, leaving behind a bright red mark.

He does his job well and brings me to orgasm several times during the hour of my time he has paid for. When his time is up, I push him away. His poor cock looks bruised and abraded and is gleaming with pre-cum. His back is covered in welts. I laugh, quite satisfied.

He stays kneeling on the floor as I walk away, one desperate moan leaving his lips as the door closes. I know he’ll be back at the same time tomorrow. As I change back into my street clothes, my jeans hiding my soaking wet underwear, I think about what I might inflict on him the next time we meet. Perhaps I will even finally allow him to cum.

As I slip back into my normal clothes, I can’t help but have this little ‘kick’ in me as I walk out of the building knowing that I can go on with my day to day routine.