Now Reading
Dungeon Life: The Reality of Being a Professional Submissive

Dungeon Life: The Reality of Being a Professional Submissive

I remember the very first day I stepped into a commercial dungeon as a professional submissive—the round-the-clock nerves, the inexperience, the humiliation of wearing a sleazy cheerleading outfit, a collar and unstable Pleaser heels. My shift was quiet. I refrained from speaking with the other women as I was timid. I needed breathing room to realize my surroundings and adjust to the unfamiliar environment—a caged passageway of implements, gaudy furniture, subdued lighting, my innocent mug framed on the wall of the reception area. I was naive and excruciatingly uncomfortable as I eagerly awaited the client who would open my eyes to the seductive world of sex work.

The doorbell buzzed and a strange looking gentleman approached the entrance, tugging on the hatch to let himself inside. Dear God, I thought. This man is ancient. His white hair glowed beneath the doorway and his balloon-like belly protruded far beyond his torso. My eyes grew large as I pursed my lips together and clenched my jaw, restraining my facial muscles from breaking out into a big, cheeky grin. This man cannot be my first client, I thought. Oh, but he was, and he was a man notorious for his tickle fetish.

We had our initial meet-and-greet, engaged in a brief conversation, and handpicked a trickle of feathers before heading upstairs to a vacant room. I could feel his goggling eyes examining my limbs from behind as I led the way. We entered into the chamber-like space adorn in red and black furnishings and paraphernalia—a black leather bondage table, nickel-patterned flooring, a scarlet beam, and an ample cage fit for a human. I removed my cheerleading skirt, white tank, and the way-too-high Pleasers I had no business wearing. I stood there—exposed and defenseless—in front of a stranger wearing nothing but my darling lace panties and Lolita heart-shaped collar.

“You have a very nice body,” he said. “Wow.”

“Thank you,” I replied. I was tense and self-conscious, looking downward towards the jet-black rubber floor.

“Okay, get up onto the table and lay on your back.” I do as I am told, anticipating his next feat like waiting for an opponent to make a move with his queen in a game of chess. My heart began racing and my skin felt warm to the touch. I stared at the ceiling wondering and worrying. The last human who tickled me was my abusive alcoholic aunt who poked and prodded my underarms with her cutting claws when I was six years old. I cried. She was not a nice person then and she is not a nice person now.

The stranger unbuttoned his shirt, removed his jeans and stood over me—his balloon-like belly still protruding. He smiled with eagerness and clasped onto one of the long ostrich drab plumes resting beside my body.

I felt the delicate sensation of the neon pink hairs circulating along my bare chest, down toward my belly button and between the insides of my thighs.

I laid there static and silent and stiff like a white porcelain doll as he continued to play, alternating between the fluff and his fingernails. After about ten minutes of caressing and titillation I found myself completely dumbfounded by my actions. How the fuck did I get here? What happened in my life to make me think that accepting money from someone’s grandpa in exchange for sensual tickling was an acceptable day job?

“Okay, now flip over, please,” the stranger requested. I do as I am told, adjusting myself and pulling the panties out from between my ass crack. He proceeded to stroke my flesh with the feathers for a while longer. I let out a half-suppressed giggle on occasion to break the awkward silence of wheezing and tittering.

“It’s my turn now,” he said, requesting we relocate to another area of the room. Wait, what? It’s your turn? What do you mean it’s your turn? I sat beside him as he put his arm around me and pulled me in closer. The musty aroma of old person smell and shitty cologne was peculiar and stale, his furry gut still swollen and extended. He handed me a violet quill. Wait. Hold on. Oh. OH, I thought. It’s his turn.

I leaned towards his body and began to lightly trail the tips of the feathers along his bare chest, down toward his belly button and over the tops of his thighs. And then it happened. He suddenly began hooting like the mother fucking Pillsbury Doughboy. My eyes grew large as I pursed my lips together and clenched my jaw, restraining my facial muscles from breaking out into a big, cheeky grin. Only this time, I was unsuccessful. I half laughed and coughed simultaneously, looking the other way to hide my face and recollect myself.

“Oh my God, you’re so good at this,” he said. “Wow, this is incredible.” I smiled and thanked him for the kind compliment, trying not to make direct eye contact. This went on until the hour had passed and the session had ended. He handed me a very large tip and let himself out. Holy shit, I thought. Holy. Fucking. Shit. I tidied up the room, saturated my hands in rubbing alcohol and headed back downstairs.

Working at a commercial dungeon has brought forth an eccentric array of experiences—from tickling grandpas and fierce corporal punishment to bondage and some of the most hysterical role play scenes I have ever been part of.

Becoming a professional submissive has opened my eyes to many walks of life, many unique fetishes, and has taught me the true meaning of unadulterated vulnerability.

After receiving a number of messages from curious readers about what it is like working at a commercial dungeon and what a professional submissive really does, I thought it was finally time to share my story.

The Roles

I began my sex work journey as a professional submissive and after one year, I trained and developed into a sadistic little bitch—switch, I mean, a sadistic little switch. Whether a submissive, switch, or dominant however, the role is synonymous.

We are available to provide a consensual and comfortable environment for a human to explore their innermost fantasies.

From creative role play, corporal punishment and impact play to bondage, electro play, cross-dressing and of course, tickling, we expose our most vulnerable selves to an array of clientele to create both satisfying and meaningful experiences.

A common misconception of this kind of work is that it involves sex or happy endings and that is the furthest thing from the truth. Our work does not expand further than consensual psychodrama and fetish-related activities. In fact, our panties must remain on during every scene and while a little complicated, everything we do within the doors of the dungeon is considered safe, sane, and legal. My time spent at the dungeon has yielded both gratifying and totally absurd sessions that have not only changed the way I view sex work, but have also allowed me to become more confident and capable as a woman.

The Clientele

The dungeon attracts a variety of clients, but if I am being completely sincere, they do skew on the older side—the gentleman who is old enough to be my father or perhaps, my grandfather, kind of side. I have had sessions with younger cats ranging from 22 to 30 years old, middle-aged men, and others who have been on planet earth for almost 80 years and are at the mercy of a walker. I once had a client pick me up out of excitement that a pretty woman stood half-naked before him and he almost tumbled over onto the floor. While this may amuse you, the broad age range never really surprised me. Why? It’s simple.

Regardless of youth or seniority, gender or sexuality, our needs for passion and intimacy do not have a limit.

We are humans who crave closeness, belonging, and adoration. We want what we want, and that is a really essential piece of knowledge to embrace as a sex worker.

The majority of clients that step foot into the dungeon are yearning to be heard, aching to experience new kinds of intimacy without judgement, longing for the feeling of being wanted. There are those who pine for comfort as they vent about their broken marriages, those craving to be beaten until they bruise, those looking for lighthearted role play during their lunch break, and those simply wanting to sit beside a beautiful woman and feel appreciated for existing. The work we do as sex workers reaches far beyond the average understanding of the profession and it is a community I am forever grateful to be a part of.

The Feelings

Working as a professional submissive has been emotionally draining, comically awkward—like the time I had to roar like a goddamn lion, crawl on all fours, and fetch a plastic clothespin with my mouth—a little scary, and at times, unexpectedly arousing.

Wandering in and out of sessions throughout a booked day can be a total mind fuck. Every 30 minutes to an hour involves a completely different scene with a completely different client and we are forced to readjust our energy accordingly. This can be incredibly exhausting, especially after a heavier scene or back-to-back sessions with nothing but a battered ass and a half-eaten granola bar in your tummy. True story: I once fell asleep on the bondage table in the middle of a hypnosis role play scenario.

With such a wide range of clientele, we are immersed in a myriad of sessions and scenarios. There are scenes that are remarkably enjoyable, those that enable us to genuinely connect with our client, share reciprocal laughter or pain, and play in a way that is mutually delightful. There are some that make us giggle until we are left crying and breathless, others that provoke our triggers and make us want to quit. And there are those that leave us feeling a type of way—unpredictably aroused and a little bit wet—even when we are not physically attracted to the client. This was an uncomfortable truth for me and it took some time to understand that while I was not physically smitten by the client, I was emotionally stimulated by his words and imagination, and my body was naturally responding to that. I remember the first time this happened to me. I walked into the bathroom after my session and pulled down my panties.

“What the hell? Why am I so wet right now?” I said aloud. I can hear the girls cackling on the couch in the room. I opened the door with pure shame and dug into my slut bag (a duffle bag filled with lingerie and schoolgirl outfits) for a dry pair of panties.

The Danger

It is important to know that when there are good feelings, there are also the bad feelings—the ones that make us cringe and bite our tongues. One of the hardest realizations I have had to come to terms with as a sex worker is that it is a dangerous job and not for the faint of heart.

The harsh reality is, that while most of our clients are harmless, there are clients who have zero experience in the BDSM world and are using our precious pieces of ass as a practice target. There are clients who have no aim, no knowledge of safety protocol, and no sensitivity to the discomfort or pain they are inflicting because they are paying us to be there. There are clients who leave consent at the doormat before walking into the room and those who repeatedly push our boundaries until we are forced to physically intervene or end the session. There are those who ignore our safe words and strike with great force. There are those who purposely place nipple clamps on the tips of our nipples rather than behind them, and those who will bound us so tightly in rope our fingers will throb and tingle.

See Also

As sex workers, we are forced to maintain our professionalism, regardless of boundary pushers and displeasures, and that can take a toll on our hearts, our minds, and our bodies. And while we have the opportunity to turn down a session or remove ourselves from a scene that is no longer safe, the truth is, sometimes a client can take it too far and sometimes, we are tied to a bondage table, nude and powerless.

Things Learned

Many of my Instagram followers have asked if being a professional submissive or switch has affected experiences in my real life. The answer to this question is yes and no.

When I originally began working at a commercial dungeon I was fairly new to the community, but I wanted to explore further and thought it would be a really good place to continue my journey.

My initial experiences were challenging for me—partaking in impact play with strangers, learning how to act spontaneously to unplanned and unscripted scenarios, conversing with men in provocative lingerie as I kneeled before them.

I felt uncomfortable in my skin, subspace was unattainable, and I lacked the real-life D/s dynamics and experiences to truly take on a submissive role in a commercial setting. But after about a month, the discomfort diminished and I found myself evolving and molding into the bottom I knew I’ve always been. Working at the dungeon helped me to become more familiar with a number of implements, safety, negotiation, and protocol—a valuable education that I quickly incorporated into my personal play and partnerships.

While committing to a steady schedule of four seven-hour shifts per week, I noticed a slight change in my mood. At times, after a back-to-back shift, I was frazzled and completely fatigued. I had no desire to be touched in any way, let alone be hit or played with. I was agitated and wanted nothing more than solitude, Netflix, and wine. I realized I had been giving too much of my energy away throughout the day and not allowing myself time to recharge or partake in the aftercare I so desperately needed. As a result, I removed one shift per week and learned how to be more conscious with my time and spirit, both at the dungeon and at home. This allowed me to play in my personal and professional life with mindfulness, ease and a lot more enjoyment.

Now, after over a year, I am finding myself slowly retreating from the professional side of play. The consistent isolation of our current pandemic has enabled me to reflect on my life and where I am heading and I am beginning to feel as though the dungeon may not be serving my highest self any longer. There have been times it has completely desensitized me to play in my personal life because I have seen and tried so much. There have been scenes that pushed me beyond my comfort levels and others that have bored me for 60 long minutes. But in contrast, it has allowed me to be more appreciative for the personal experiences I am lucky to endure and to be more grateful for the intimacy and vulnerability I am able to share with the humans I am connected to.

The fact of the matter is, the job is not for everyone and it takes a really solid woman to do it with ease and assuredness. I have learned so much about my mind and body. I have welcomed newfound fetishes and feelings. I have become more fluent and assertive when communicating my needs and boundaries—especially when it comes to men, and I have become one hell of actress.


Favorite role play?

Daddy/bratty daughter role play.

Favorite implement?

Straps.

Favorite scene?

A heavy impact play scene with one of my regular clients.

Weirdest role play?

An interrogation scene about whether or not I wear tampons or maxi pads with my pretend boss who also happened to have dissociative identity disorder.

Least favorite implement?

The Silicone Ball Crop can eat a dick.

Worst scene?

The sensual scenes that aren’t really scenes and consist of excessive groping and unpleasant boob massages.

View Comments (0)

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.

© 2020 OfTheFlesh.
All Rights Reserved.

Scroll To Top