Beck & Call Domme

Beck & Call Domme

It’s just a game to be played. A busy man with a full schedule, I am his secret escape. It’s his choice to compartmentalize passion, excitement, and fulfillment; it’s my choice to earn a living, to wait when necessary, and to maintain strict boundaries.

A quick bit of background: I chose the lifestyle of a high-end dominatrix during the European financial crisis. At that time I divided my time between London and the Netherlands. After several years running an international expat consultancy, I encountered a financial situation that required cash income. Consequently, around 2011–2012 I began advertising as a domme primarily in London, and in several other cities during business travels. JetSetMistress came to life. The rest is history. My focus is the sensual, sensory, and psychological dimensions of BDSM.

In this blog, I recount the story of a male client in his thirties, never married, a serial entrepreneur.
“Mistress, I miss you and I need you. Could you please come to Scottsdale this week?”

I researched the prices at two preferred hotels, plus meals and gas for the drive, and I calculated a two-hour minimum session. We agreed on terms for a DMTY (Drive Me To You).

This DMTY entails a four-hour drive, a perfect opportunity to catch up on Audible titles and podcasts. In my Tumi bag are his outfit requests and a selection of toys he enjoys me using on him. He is a submissive with a foot fetish who also appreciates the use of a strap-on.

Upon arrival at the hotel, I text him to reconfirm our meeting time. It is 4:30 p.m.; he replies, “5:30.” My first order is to prepare the room with the equipment and supplies required for our session before I shower and get ready.

5:30 p.m.: Him: “Stuck at the office, see you at 6 p.m. Red wine or Tequila.” I respond, “Completely understand; red wine, see you soon.” The game has begun; he has already started delaying his arrival time.

In my briefcase I always have a journal, a book, and multiple iPads. During waiting periods, I can check emails, blog, post on social media, or create content —an efficient way to stay productive.

6:30 p.m.: My stomach is growls; I haven’t eaten since breakfast. I forgot to bring a protein bar. At this upscale hotel I won’t raid the minibar for snacks. I text, “Are you on your way?” and send a sexy, in room photo of me in my latex pencil skirt. No response from him.

7:15 p.m.: My hunger grows louder. The water and coffee haven’t helped. I text, “If I don’t hear from you by 7:30, I’m going down to the hotel bar to eat something. I am hungry.” Immediately I receive, “Sorry, got stuck in a flood of emails and calls. I’ll meet you there.” Now the question becomes: do I change into street clothes or stay in my latex pencil skirt, latex Jimmy Choo stilettos, a sheer black blouse, and an Alexander McQueen blazer? I decide on the blazer, as this Scottsdale hotel bar scene is trend-conscious. No doubt my conservative look with a kinky twist will go unnoticed. If a curious eye spots me, they will most likely see I’m here on social media. (I gained two new followers after this visit.)

7:30 p.m.: I feel relaxed and relieved to eat. I order a glass of Italian wine and a simple bowl of pasta that the kitchen can prepare quickly. After my first sip, I relax, certain everything will be fine once I have something in my stomach. The bar was almost empty when I arrived, but within an hour it filled. It’s reasonable to assume he will not show up; not showing up is one of his habits. He has prepaid for me to drive here, so the outcome should be fair, whether he arrives or not. Either way, I am hungry, and I plan to enjoy a meal and have him cover the tab when he arrives.

8:00 p.m.: I send a photo of my legs, highlighting my high heels, latex skirt, and a glass of red wine. “Waiting at the bar for you.” No reply.

8:30 p.m.: The bartenders offer another glass of wine, noting that I’ve clearly been waiting. I joke, “Do you have caviar? When he arrives, I’m making him pay for my dinner.” The bartender laughs and hands me the menu. “The caviar is right here at the bottom. I’ll personally bring it to you and present him with the bill when he arrives.” We share a smile. I return my attention to the entrance, the bar, and my phone.

8:45 p.m.: “Are you on your way? I’m getting tired. If I don’t see you by 9 p.m., I’m heading up to bed.” Immediately I receive a text: “Hey, beautiful, I’m on my way. It’s been a crazy day at the office. I’ve headed home to take a shower and pick up some red wine.”

It’s reasonable to assume he sits in his office, unaware of the time or the waiting I’ve endured. It’s all part of the game. It’s not personal; his behavior reveals a brat-like preference that I accept within the boundaries of the arrangement.
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Boundaries and self-respect are essential in any business. I’ve waited in the bar for over an hour and in my room for over two hours. I’ve driven roughly four hours for our appointment. The odds of his showing up are uncertain; he knows my morning will be free if the appointment does not occur.

This client I have known for several years. He once scheduled an appointment and, upon arrival at my hotel, smoked a joint to relax before our session, then passed out in his Range Rover while I waited in my room.

Today I require a 50% deposit, because I cannot be certain he will show up. In the last two sessions, he either ghosted or canceled at the last minute and yet sent the full amount for my time.

8:55 p.m.: The time has come to call his bluff. He knows that at 9 p.m. I will turn my work phone off. He has failed to arrive on time, and I have warned him of the consequences. After all, it’s just a game. As I gather my things to leave, a map image arrives showing he would arrive at 9:01 p.m.—too late.

9:00 p.m.: Standing at the cash register, the bartender hands me the bill, and I sigh, “I give up.” I turn off my work phone, pay, and walk to the elevator. I feel beautiful tonight—the kind of beauty I see in the mirror when I am proud of how well I take care of myself. It’s a pity he didn’t get to see me at my best.

9:06 p.m.: I check my personal phone, which remains on. He is late and perhaps misrepresented his plans. I press the elevator button, glance around the lobby, and scan the restaurant again. I think I might see someone approaching the bar with a bag. The doors begin to close, and I step inside. A moment later I hear “Gwen.” Is it my imagination, or is it really him? I’ll discover in the morning when I turn my phone back on.

5:00 a.m.: I wake, drink coffee, and turn on my phone. There is a notification of a gift payment for my dinner. I decide to share the photos and videos I took of myself while waiting for his arrival.

7:00 a.m.: Dressed and ready to head to the gym after two hours of emails and blogging. I’m prepared for a solid workout before the four-hour drive home. “Hey, beautiful, mind if I come over right now? I saw you by the elevator, called your name, but you didn’t respond. I watched you get in the elevator.” A photo of the elevator arrives. “Wow, I didn’t think you were actually going to make it. Anyway, I’ll hop in the shower and be ready in 30 minutes. Text when you arrive. See you soon.”
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7:30 a.m.: He arrives and I decide to make him wait. He texts nonstop and keeps calling my phone. I don’t answer. He is not getting his way and will annoy me until I respond.

8:00 a.m.: I reply that I’m ready and I’ll meet him at the elevator. I am cheerful, dressed in the same outfit as the previous evening, and we begin our usual social banter. In a five-star hotel, it is important to look inconspicuous. We enter the room, and he tells me he only wants to do foot worship. For most of the session he was texting and calling, pushing boundaries I do not permit. He tends to pout. As he leaves, he thanks me for coming to Arizona and remarks that it has been years since we last met; indeed, it has been years since I’ve seen him in person, though we have had multiple appointments scheduled in the past that he did not honor.

* This is a professional business, much like any other consumer or hospitality venture. The customer is always right, even when respect is questionable. This man is safe, kind, and generous, yet his behavior is often inconsistent—sometimes predictable, sometimes not. There is a reason men like this seek out women like me and remain loyal year after year. For the sake of my sanity, I set boundaries and strive to uphold them with kindness and self-respect. I aim to conduct myself with graciousness, even when his behavior is less than ideal. After all, this is a professional relationship, and his behavior toward me is not personal.