My life had become dull and mundane. The 2.4 kids, gas guzzler and house in the country had not come to pass and even if they had, I doubt they would have made me happy. Certainly my first attempt(s) at wedded bliss didn’t do much to convince me that I was cut out for that particular institution.
I’d already decided to pack up my old life in the north and move to the capital in search of excitement, and on a whim I clicked on an ad for a fetish escort agency. I’ll just make an enquiry about working for them, I thought. I don’t have to go any further with it. I sent the email before I could change my mind.
The next day, a nice lady phoned me up. Did I have any experience, she asked? None at all, I responded. She seemed a little surprised (I later learned that I’m pretty long in the tooth to be just starting out in the industry), but she assured me my lack of experience wouldn’t be a problem. She asked if I’d like to go in for an interview and we fixed a date. I’ll just go in to see what it’s all about, I thought. I don’t have to go through with it.
Fast forward to four weeks later and I’m standing in a bedroom that’s kitted out as a fully-fledged BDSM dungeon, waiting for my first client. I’ll just work this one day, I thought. If I don’t like it, I don’t have to carry on with it…
Well, dear reader, I did like it. So here I am.
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