Imagine you were a regular client of a Michelin starred restaurant. Perhaps you visit once a month, dropping a few hundred pounds on expense account meals. Would you expect the chef to spend time between your visits chatting about the food you’d eaten, the menu, what you might be looking for on your next visit? No. That wouldn’t be reasonable. For the same reason, clients need to respect the value of a sex-workers time in their pre and post session communication.
I struggle with this, I really do.
My life lacks connection and intimacy so I constantly have to remind myself that I can’t expect someone I’ve been with, however wonderful our time together, to still be talking to me about it a week later.
Lilly Watson is absolutely lovely. We are exploring my taste for domination and her taste for submission and this week we spent a whole night with each other in the Secret Dungeon in High Wycombe, a fantastically kinky venue that I highly recommend. Our time together was wonderful; consisting almost exclusively of sushi, champagne and very spanky sex. Lots of very spanky sex.
But there was also intimacy and connection, quiet touching and long, comfortable silences. There was companionship and sharing.
Here’s what I wanted to say to her afterwards:
Oh, God, Lilly! That was fantastic. I know I said thank you before, but thank you again. Really, a huge thank you.
So much intimacy and tenderness, served up alongside the hot sex and the spanking, has left marks on me that we can’t see to match the marks on you that we can. It was; you were; just delicious and completely lovely.
There was so much to remember:
I’d planned to start our time together with a complicated little role play, something to do with a novice in a religious order sent to the monk for punishment; I even had the atmospheric music lined up. It never happened. Instead we kissed a lot and I made love to you on the bed, coming inside you. It was wonderful.
I remember being sat on a sofa, you sitting astride my lap. We were face to face. Your reaction when I squeezed your nipples and pulled them upwards so accurately mirrored mine from moments earlier when you had done the same thing to me. Your face was full of the sharply focussed pain, yet also full of deep, sensual pleasure, your body arching towards me in response to both. Have I created, or discovered perhaps, a sensual masochist? Is some strange kinky osmosis causing my tastes to be replicated in you?
You were in so deep when I tied you to the leather covered flogging frame, all fear and anticipation, almost crying when I picked up the whip and slapped it into a bench before flogging you with it. I wondered at your bravery when I picked up a cane, your fear now a tangible, palpable thing, threatening to overwhelm you. I loved that you were still there at the end of my twelve strokes.
It was lovely to sit on the bed, drinking champagne and eating sushi, both of us trying not to spill the soy sauce. We were all companionship and shared experience; you seemed so comfortable in my company, so relaxed. It touched me to see that.
You, in your black hotter-than-hot, not-to-be-used-for-swimming swimsuit. The stretchy material was holding the rumbling doxy directly on to your clitoris, leaving my hands free to cause sensations of pain and pleasure in other parts of you. Your orgasm, not your first, lifted you off the sheets, and I held you there, suspended in my arms, until you stopped shaking. Bloody Hell! It was fantastically erotic to see you so completely lost in the sensations I was causing.
I remember how, in the morning, you lay across my thighs after I’d spanked you, breathing hard. Once your breath had settled, you stayed still for a while, afloat in the sudden quiet. I touched you gently on your shoulder, waiting for you to return from wherever my hard spanking had sent you. Seeing you like that: so immersed, so vulnerable, so……so ‘mine’…..sent a surge of emotion through me, traces of which are still there.
When you’d gone, I sat on the sofa for a while, the sudden emptiness of the room weighing heavily on me. I cleared up the dungeon, throwing out the wrapping paper from the gifts we’d exchanged and disposing of the detritus from a long night of kinky sex. I replaced floggers, paddles and ropes where I’d found them and returned the cane to its container. I gave it a wistful swish or two, remembering your reaction to the same sound the night before
The last thing I did before locking the door and venturing into the grey, wintry street was to strip the bed and pile the sheets on the floor. They were stained with lube, massage oil and soy sauce. How appropriate.
Till next time, my kinky friend.
I knew I’d been affected by my time with Lilly because I drove north quite slowly and with the radio off, alone with my thoughts. I wasn’t so much a businessman in a hurry as a traveller too fond of the road, not yet ready for the return home.
This session took place at The Secret Dungeon. It a great venue for a few hours or overnight; fantastically well equipped, clean and with helpful management who make you feel really welcome. Also: There’s a hot tub!