Rule by The Lash London Escorts of the Hidden Chamber

Private diary entries from London’s most exclusive escort, now invited to serve at the city’s most elite fetish club — where power shifts, masks drop, and everyone pays to be undone.

Prologue – Invitation Only

The Mistress’s Diary — Mayfair, 11:42pm

I’d heard whispers from London escorts about The Velvet Room for years.No website. No reviews. No real address. Just a name murmured in high-end hotel lobbies by men who liked to be broken quietly.

Last week, one of my regulars — a financial kingpin with a breath control fetish — sent a handwritten letter sealed in wax. “They’ve requested you.”

Tonight, I walk through its door. A private townhouse in Chelsea, guarded by discretion, sealed by velvet. Entry only by reputation. Mine, apparently, was enough.

Day 1 — The Auction Room

Mistress POV:

The first room smelled of money and fear.Leather benches. Low light. Champagne with no label. Men and women in masks, lounging as though watching art unfold. And we, the performers escorts London’s finest, were that art.

A submissive woman was strapped to a Saint Andrew’s Cross while her Dom whispered into a microphone — narrating each slap, each cry. The crowd sipped, some touched themselves, others simply watched.

Then I was called to the centre. Not to perform, but to choose.

Three men. Masked. Silent. One bore a visible hard-on under his trousers. The host turned to me and purred: “Which one shall serve you tonight, Madame Irina?”

I walked slowly. Circled them. Smelled their desperation. Picked the one who didn’t look at me at all. That’s how you spot the real subs — they know.

In the corner, a woman in red latex whispered to a man in a suit: "That’s the escort. The one they say swallows sin.”

I smiled as I led my chosen toy to the obedience mat. Let the gossip grow.

Client POV — “Subject #7”

I didn’t dare speak. She circled me like a lioness — cool, amused, an utterly dangerous Dominatrix.

When her heel clicked in front of me, I dropped to my knees without command. The room faded. There was only her breath. Her voice.

“Open.”

She fed me a grape. Then her fingers. Then her spit. I’d paid £10,000 to kneel tonight. I would’ve paid double.

When she took me into the velvet backroom and locked the door, I wept. Not because I was afraid.

Because I’d never been more ready to belong.

Day 3 — The Masked Couple

Mistress’s POV:

They were called “The Ravens.

”She wore feathers. He wore shame. Married, powerful, poly. She wanted to watch him crawl.

We met in the mirrored lounge. I wore nothing but a sheer robe and thigh-high suede boots, the epitome of fetish and fantasy. She handed me a remote-controlled plug and whispered: “Make him leak while I sip gin.”

I obeyed. I bent him over the ottoman and teased him mercilessly. Tongue, toy, slap, whisper.

She moaned watching him shake. When I slipped a strap-on into place and pushed into his arse, her legs spread involuntarily.

They left hand-in-hand, her lipstick smudged, his shirt torn.

Client POV — The Wife (aka Raven)

 I’ve never seen him cry from the pleasure of anal sex. Never seen his hands shake as a woman devoured him from behind like a predator.

Irina didn’t ask for permission. She took it — elegantly. Controlled. Like a Mistress in a black opera.

When she whispered “Should I make him beg you now?” I nearly came on the spot.

This isn’t work of a normal London escort. This is sorcery.

Day 4 — Voyeur Suite, Level 3

 
Mistress’s POV:

The Voyeur Suite is a circular room lined with two-way mirrors. You never know who’s watching — but you always feel it.

Tonight, I wore a collar and walked a billionaire around the room on a leash. Fully nude.

He was gagged. Plugged. Crawling. Each lap earned him one inch of freedom. He cried when I let him kneel before me. He begged through the gag when I slid a lubed strap-on into his tight hairy arse and made eye contact with the mirror.

I spoke softly, not to him — but to the audience behind the glass.

“Is this what you came to see? This is your king… now my pet.”

Client POV — “Observer 14”

I didn’t touch myself. I couldn’t. I just watched.She made him into something holy. Something shattered.

Irina looked directly into the mirror where I stood. Somehow, I knew she knew.

And I’ve never felt more exposed in my life.

Day 5 — The Human Table

Mistress POV:

Sometimes submission takes shape in stillness.

Tonight, four men served as furniture. Two chairs, two tables. I ate strawberries and drank champagne while they strained, breathless.

My “table” was a banker who'd asked to be ignored. So I crushed berries with my heel and let juice drip onto his back while I laughed with a group of escorts.

The cameras rolled silently. This footage will be sent to them in USBs wrapped in velvet ribbon. A thank-you. A reminder.

They will watch themselves serve and break. Again. And again. And again.

Day 6 — The Breath Cage

Mistress’s POV:

Not every scene is loud.

He asked for control. Specifically, of breath. We used a latex hood with nose valves. Every exhale required permission. Every inhale, reward.

I sat on his face — slowly, gently — while the cage pressed against his ribs. His panic made his cock twitch.

I allowed three orgasms. None of them his.When I finally let him breathe freely, he came untouched. I whispered: “Next time, I’ll hold it longer.”

He smiled through tears. “Please escort Mistress.”

Day 8 — The Dress Code Violation

Mistress’s POV:

He wore a red tie. The invite explicitly said black only.

As punishment, I stripped him in the hall. Slowly. In front of two dozen guests. He was hard before I finished unbuckling his belt.

I bent him over the front desk and paddled him until the guests applauded. Then I let him kneel, lick my heels, and finish all over the lobby marble.

He left the security of the Chelsea townhouse red-faced, clothes in his hands. The host tipped me double. Apparently, I’m now part of the rules.

Day 10 — The Private Room: “No Safe Word”

Mistress’s POV:

He booked the blackout suite. Three hours with the cruellest of the domination escorts in the house.

His note read: “Push me. I don’t want to like it.”

I gagged him. Bound him wrist to ankle. I alternated between a crop, a cane, and a whisper. I spat in his mouth. Rode his face while slapping his chest.

He came once. I didn’t stop.

He cried. I paused. He nodded.

He came again. This time with no sound at all — just a full body shake and a tear sliding down his temple.

Aftercare took forty minutes. He thanked me for every second. Then he kissed my hand and whispered:

“You’re not a Mistress. You’re the devil. And I’m grateful.”

Closing Entry — The Envelope

Tonight, I received a black envelope with a wax seal. Inside:

“You’ve been observed.

We’d like to invite you to Paris.

There’s a château.

And they’ve heard you can ruin a man with just a look.”

There was no signature. Only coordinates.I slipped the letter into my stocking.

For escorts in London the capital may be our playground…But apparently, my reputation has legs.

OUR EXCLUSIVE SELECTION OF DOMINATION ESCORTS

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