I was standing in the hotel lobby, waiting for the lift….

There’s a particular kind of anticipation that builds before I take a client into a dungeon..

I’ve found the perfect little spot beside the water, tucked away just enough….

By now, the club feels less like a spectacle and more like a current. You’re inside it…..

Later, as the carriage quiets further and other passengers drift into sleep, I mention our cabin…..

This room is made for this version of you. For the parts of you that don’t see daylight very often…..

As hands work over your body, easing tension….

At My feet, under My gaze and ready to feel the warmth….

I showed up at your office today, under a perfectly believable pretense….

We settle in front of the fire, blankets draped around our shoulders….

The Connaught was dressed for Christmas…

They weren’t looking for anyone, yet their presence spoke louder than any word….

The city is half asleep when I arrive at your hotel….

Yours is the role of the serving sub. Which means one thing….

I slid the blindfold over your eyes and just like that the world faded…..

You booked dinner like it was something innocent…

There is something deeply intimate about foot worship, something reverant…

It started with champagne always chilled…

There’s something thrilling about the clinical world isn’t there?

You’ve mentioned it a few times now….