February 9th 2025.
This week's On Call story is about my regular client, The Butler. I call him that because, well, that's what he likes to be called. He first reached out to me two years ago with an interesting request - he wanted to spend a whole weekend cleaning my house while dressed in a servant's uniform and wearing a chastity belt underneath. At first, I thought to myself, "Why not?" He was willing to pay well and my house was in desperate need of a good cleaning, so it seemed like a no-brainer. Plus, he was coming all the way from New York, so he must have really wanted to do this.
But as I stood at my door, waiting for him to arrive after his seven-hour flight, I couldn't help but wonder what exactly we were going to do. Typically, my clients want to see me in stockings and heels, but this time I was just wearing whatever I felt like. And instead of sitting down and planning our session over some tea, I made him stand in my presence - after all, he was my servant now. He had a dreamy look in his eyes as I laid down the rules: he must call me "Madam" and I would use his surname, he was to wait on me and my guests, and he could only eat and drink what and when I told him to.
Then came the task - he was to work the whole weekend, from 7am when I had my coffee in bed, to 11pm when I was satisfied that all the doors were locked, the cat was out, and the lights were off. And so The Butler spent ten hours scrubbing my bathroom, fueled only by bread and margarine. Afterwards, while I was busy in the bedroom with my husband, he spent two hours in his room, listening to us and making sure he heard everything.
I couldn't help but feel a bit guilty, so I decided to give him a little more attention. My friends and I decided to give him a caning - a common request from my other clients - but he seemed more concerned about the marks it would leave on his skin. It was clear that he was really enjoying this whole experience.
Afterwards, he put his chastity belt back on and then dressed in a tailcoat, wing collar, and waistcoat, and got to work ironing - something he seemed to adore. But I couldn't help but feel a bit uncertain about what exactly he was getting out of all of this. So I opened up to him about my other clients that week - an adult baby, a watersports enthusiast, and a balloon lover, among others. He politely told me that he couldn't understand other people's fetishes, only his own. So I let him scrub my skirting boards for the umpteenth time while I ignored him.
After he left, I couldn't help but wonder about this man in his mid-50s who was willing to pay a fortune for this fantasy. He was a mystery to me, but not to himself. Unlike most of my clients, he had actually thought about his fetishes. He was born with a submissive streak and formed his kink during his school days. But he didn't blame anyone for it - not pretty teachers, his mother, or any of the usual suspects. It was simply a part of who he was.
He had been told by teachers in dresses and heels to wear his uniform and to respect and obey them, and he did. They would punish his failures by taking away his fun, so he found a way to make that fun by creating an erotic narrative in which women loved him for submitting and demanded his chastity. He even went to a therapist once, who asked him how he felt about being so submissive. His answer? Happy, loved, included, and childlike. But not in an adult baby kind of way. It was like he had an alter ego who was told what to wear, eat, drink, and do - a childlike servant.
When he first came to me, I'll admit I wasn't quite sure what to do with him. I was worried he might get bored with all the cleaning, so I told him about my other clients. But he was happy just being in his fantasy world, and the more I surprised him, the happier he was. He even learned to love my leather tawse on his hands.
I also extended his chastity beyond our meetings. He would email me every evening, asking for permission to masturbate, and I would mostly say no. It was all on the honor system, but I trusted him. For him, sex was 100% in his head. He had eroticized being denied all the luxuries he loved. And he couldn't be more different from me - I could never give up alcohol or go weeks without orgasms. But for him, this was sex work without the sex.
As we continued our sessions, I started to see it as a kind of performance art. We would go out in public, dressed and acting our parts. I felt like a lady with her staff, ordering drinks and having him hold my coat and shopping bags. And you know what? I felt fine about it.
But as much as I enjoyed being pampered, it still felt a bit awkward and unnatural to be playing this role for 72 hours at a time. It made my husband uncomfortable, and I still wasn't quite sure what The Butler was getting out of it. So we came up with a Plan B - now, he rents a flat in London and we go out together, with him sitting in the row behind us. He buys us tickets to the best shows and we visit our friends, with me traveling first class and him sitting in the back of the train. It's a win-win for both of us.
I'm still learning my part, but it seems that The Butler is happy as long as I'm surprising him. And I have to admit, I'm enjoying this new role of being a lady of leisure. We may not have a traditional client-dominatrix relationship, but it works for us. And now, The Butler's fantasy has become a part of mine.
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