From Clippers to Chains The Escorts True Calling

Rumyana Grozdev was a vision of unapologetic maturity and seduction. At 36, with her flowing honey-blonde hair, generous curves, and those unmistakable full, natural breasts that bounced softly beneath her white dog-grooming smock, she blended professionalism with temptation. She was a master of duality. By day, she clipped and fluffed the fur of designer spaniels, toy poodles, and purebred Labradors. By night — or in between baths and blow-dries — she surrendered her busty body entirely to her clients' more taboo appetites.

Her “business” in Bayswater, a boutique dog-grooming service, was legitimate enough to stand scrutiny. But her website had a discreet members-only page, hidden in plain sight — a quiet invitation to wealthy professionals who craved the particular brand of submissive escort intimacy she offered.

The next two weeks were fully booked.

Day 1 – South Kensington London SW7

Rumyana arrived at the West London townhouse of Mr. Fontaine, a divorced managing director of a nationwide trucking company in his fifties with a Great Dane called Nero. While she gently brushed Nero’s dense fur in the tiled kitchen, Fontaine loomed behind her, sipping his espresso, staring hungrily at her backside as it moved in rhythm.

“You know the deal,” he said, placing the espresso cup down. “Collar on.”

Rumyana turned around slowly, offering him the leather collar from her kit. “Yes, Sir.”

He fastened it tightly around her neck. “On all fours. Let me see how obedient my slut of an escort bitch has been since our last session.”

The next hour was filled with crawling, face-slapping, leash-yanking discipline. Fontaine didn't undress her right away — he wanted her humiliation to build slowly. Eventually, naked on the floor beside Nero’s dog bed, Rumyana took his belt across her thighs until she was whimpering and wet.

Day 2 – Belgravia London SW1

Today was Mrs. Colleen Greaves, an intimidating ex-model with a pampered pomeranian named Chewy. But the real client was her husband, Giles the BDSM aficionado — a silent barrister who only spoke when giving orders. As Rumyana worked on Chewy in their marble bathroom, Giles entered, unbuttoning his shirt.

“She’s yours today,” Colleen said with a smirk, sipping champagne by the window.

Rumyana was told to kneel and open her mouth while Giles slid a silk blindfold over her eyes. The couple always appreciated just how good Rumyana was at swallowing cum. For the next hour, the busty escort was touched, teased, and slapped by unseen hands, her mouth had been thoroughly fucked by cocks and dildos. Whispers danced across her skin — was it Giles or both of them?

When the blindfold came off, she was tied to the mirror rail with her knees spread, her mouth dripping cum onto the marble as Colleen recorded it on her phone.

Day 3 – Holland Park London W11

A different energy.

Doctor Atif Karim, a Middle Eastern neurosurgeon, ran his sessions with fetish escorts clinically. “Safe word is ‘lavender,’” he reminded her.

His rescue greyhound watched disinterestedly from a plush armchair.

Rumyana was told to remove all clothing, kneel in the centre of his immaculate bedroom, and be still — no touching, no noise, no eye contact.

He used her slowly, methodically. Anal training plug first, then clamps on her nipples, which he periodically snapped off with a light flog. No emotion, no praise. Just precision. When she came from being used like furniture, she cried from the intensity — which he documented, photographing her tear-streaked face beside his name written in black marker across her large breasts.

Day 5 – Earls Court London SW5

The client here was younger — in his late 30s — and more chaotic but with a large company expense account for London escorts which, he called corporate entertainment.

Milosz ran a crypto start-up. His French Bulldog, named Ledger, had its own Instagram following. After Rumyana finished trimming Ledger’s paws, Milosz grinned.

“I want you gagged and crawling. This is going on my OnlyFans,” he chuckled.

The video started with her crawling across his polished floor in high heels, ball-gagged, eyes pleading. He filmed from above while pressing her face into his crotch, pants barely pulled down. She deepthroated him with practiced ease, the camera catching every glistening slurp.

Later, her wrists were bound to the radiator while he came in her mouth and on her face, laughing as he used her mouth to clean himself off, it was the perfect submissive CIM escort experience.

“Tag me in the final cut,” she mumbled afterward, wiping semen from her chin.

Day 6 – Chelsea London SW3

Lady Arabella St. James was the most discreet of all Rumyana’s clients. Publicly married to a Lord, she was known for her charity galas and Cocker Spaniel shows. Privately, she dominated.

Rumyana arrived in a latex maid’s outfit.

“You were late by 4 minutes. Strip.”

The punishment was swift. Arabella bent her over the breakfast bar, inserted a vibrating egg, and activated it via her phone app. Rumyana was forced to serve tea, walk the dog, and vacuum Arabella’s mansion while enduring the constant buzz inside her.

When her legs finally gave out in the drawing room, Arabella knelt and licked her trembling, orgasm-soaked thighs, whispering, “You’re so fucking perfect when you break.”

Day 8 – Baker Street London W1

The client here was a surprise. A married couple. Both late 40s, both utterly professional in appearance. Their bulldog, Winston, was freshly trimmed, and as Rumyana cleaned up, Mrs. Taylor turned to her.

“My husband wants to watch me wreck your arse. You okay with that?”

Rumyana’s face lit up. “Yes please, Mistress I love anal sex.”

What followed was filmed on three cameras — Mrs. Taylor strapping on a harness and pegging Rumyana over the kitchen island while her husband stroked himself on a stool, drinking whisky.

The dialogue was filthy, the humiliation deep. Rumyana begged, pleaded, and whimpered until she orgasmed violently, slumping forward a bruised and proud anal escort.

Day 9 – Edgware Road London W2

This time it was more casual.

An Emirati playboy named Zayed had flown in for 48 hours and wanted "London’s kinkiest busty escort bitch." He booked her via referral and greeted her in Versace trunks, oiling himself like a bodybuilder.

“You’re going to bark like a dog while I cum in your mouth and on your face,” he said, unwrapping her like a present.

And so she did — her large tits bouncing as she crawled naked across the floor, barking with each slap of his cock across her cheeks. When he finished, covering her in warm, pearly streaks, he whispered, “You really are a perfect little toy, aren’t you?”

Day 11 – Marylebone London W1

This was one of her regulars — a lonely novelist named Julian, always slightly drunk, always heartbroken.

He didn’t want filth. He wanted tears.

He made her read erotic fiction while he whispered degrading things in her ear. “No one really loves you. You're just holes. Be grateful.”

She knelt on his rug, vibrator pressed between her thighs as she read a passage from Anaïs Nin, climaxing mid-sentence while he rubbed spit on her nipples.

When it was over, they held each other for a moment.

“Same time next week?” he asked softly.

“Yes, Julian,” she whispered, kissing his shoulder.

Day 13 – Canary Wharf London E14

Corporate. Cold. A cruel Dominatrix in a tailored navy suit, named Zara, who worked in fintech and had a spotless Bengal cat.

Rumyana wore a full-body latex catsuit and crawled into the penthouse office during Zara’s lunch break.

“You’re my kitten today. Show me how you clean yourself.”

She obeyed, licking her own thighs as Zara watched, sipping Prosecco.

Then the riding crop came out.

Zara beat her until the skin behind her knees turned red. Then, fingering her from behind, Zara forced an orgasm while Rumyana mewed like a kitten, her mouth wide and tongue out, begging for her mistress’s milk.

Day 14 – Camden Town London NW1

The final session was filthy in every possible way.

Punk band manager. Tattoos. Mohawk. His flat reeked of weed, dog piss, and stale sex. The mongrel he owned was half-shaved.

“Climb into the cage,” he said, pointing to a dog crate in the living room.

Naked, Rumyana obeyed.

He fed her scraps of kebab while urinating in a bottle. Later, he used her as a footrest, then had vaginal and anal sex with her over a beanbag while playing his band's demo on full blast. Her mouth was stretched wide, her ass raw, her lips swollen by the end.

“I’ve fucked hundreds of escorts in London but, you’re the dirtiest I’ve ever met,” he said, panting.

Rumyana smiled. “Thank you.”

Back in Bayswater London W2 – Sunday Evening

She soaked in her tub, inspecting bruises with gentle fingers, breathing in the vanilla and patchouli oils. Her phone buzzed: New appointment request – Knightsbridge.

Another week was filling fast.

Rumyana smiled, setting her phone down and sinking deeper into the water, fingers drifting between her thighs. She touched herself slowly, thinking back over each degrading, beautiful, filthy encounter — her reward not in money, but in the exquisite freedom of total surrender.

In the secret corners of London, she was more than a dog groomer.

She was every man’s fantasy and every woman’s secret indulgence.

She was obedience incarnate.

OUR EXCLUSIVE SELECTION OF SUBMISSIVE FETISH ESCORTS in LONDON

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