I’m a seasoned sex worker, but once it went wrong and my client nearly died

I’ve been thinking about the time I went to a dungeon in North London, and was quickly reminded why I avoid such establishments. Thing is, I nearly killed a man.

I’m not usually one for dungeons. There’s too much equipment, too many things to get wrong and make you feel a twerp: I really haven’t the spatial awareness for domination proper. Domestic discipline, my speciality, requires only a stern look and a hairbrush.

Proper BDSM is all leg irons, tubes, locks, cages, queening stools and horse speculums, and the uneasy realisation an ignorant idiot like me could do some real damage. Still, it’s a day out. 

My client, Henry, who’s in his mid-sixties, knows all about dungeons having played all over the world, and gives me a guided tour of all the gear, which I promptly forget, and never fully understood anyway.

This one contains a wrestling arena, an enormous array of bondage equipment and a bedroom for overnight playdates.

This was back in March 2022, and Henry was a client who wanted more extreme BDSM play, although he wouldn’t admit where his penchant for being tortured came from.

He’d turned up all excited about a fur-lined hood, with two tiny holes for his nostrils, which attached round his neck with a complicated fastening system he couldn’t operate himself.

So, obediently I’d pushed the beast over his head and buckled it tight round his throat, before securing his ankles to the bed and beginning to flog his feet with one hand, while checking his emails with the other.

Breath play is wonderful but you do need to know what you’re doing. Using just hands, or my bottom on their face, does feel more manageable, but hey what the client wanted, he got.

Moments passed and then came a muffled moan from the bed. ‘Actually, could you get this hood off? I’m struggling to breathe a bit.’

‘Righto!’ I said, with an air of perky competence. But I couldn’t get the hood off. The fastenings were impossibly tight, and the more I tried, the tighter it got. Henry started to struggle, and shout, then more alarmingly, went quiet.

‘I’m just running downstairs for some scissors!’ I said, with a perky competence I’m was now far from feeling. I hitched up my pencil skirt and kicked off my heels and actually, properly, ran – and believe me, I never run.

While I hunted through the kitchen I considered my options. I was alone in the building. No one on the street knew what happened at this property, which is exactly how the owners wanted it.

How long can a man live without oxygen, and how on earth had I found myself in this idiotic position? I could be prosecuted if he dies, I thought, like that chap who was mummified in a sex game and his mummifiers were done for man slaughter.

Even if he doesn’t die, I could be done for Actual Bodily Harm – that happened to a pal of mine. God, I thought.

Why were there no damn scissors? Why did he have to tell me he’d voted Tory all his life? If he survived he was going to assume this incompetence was deliberate.

While I hunted and worried I heard some groaning from upstairs, which somewhat reassured. Ah, scissors, thank God! I ran back up. 

He was thrashing on the bed, his hands round his neck.

‘Keep still!’ I said, firmly, and started trying to cut. But the strap was made from solid leather, and the blunt blades made almost no impression.

Happily, my frantic squirming fingers did, and entirely by accident, the buckle released. I yanked the hood off his head. We stared at each other, and I realised I was shaking, violently, from fingers to knees.

He was genuinely fine. I was fine, eventually. The two tiny holes were apparently closer to his eyebrows than his nostrils, which explained the unnerving air absence.

We took ten minutes to calm down before he insisted play began once more. We even tried the hood again, could you believe, although I insisted the strap should not be employed.

Of course, I didn’t offer a discount and kept the £450 for the three hours of my time. A few weeks later he requested another session together, although I kept the scissors handy for that one.

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