From a gagged Mary Goodnight in “The Man with the Golden Gun,” waist-bound Barbara Bach in “The Spy Who Loved Me,” to a strung up, serpent-plagued Solitaire in “Live and Let Die,” the chair-bound Bond heroine embodied, to me, a particular kind of perilous elegance, the damsel in distress poised between fear and composure. Through sleek ritual ropes, cuffs, and elaborate traps rendered as choreography rather than cruelty, danger stylized into suspense, I had only one question: why would one ever want to escape? Perhaps then, it is no surprise that my prize possession, to this day, is an early, German Language edition of “The Adventures of Sweet Gwendoline,” by John Willie (bought for a bargain five pounds at a flea-market). P.S. Can you believe I still haven’t seen “The Perils of Pauline” (1914). Could there be a better date idea?

Whether cuffs, gags, bars, shackles, stocks, cages, the simplicity of duct-tape or intricacy of Shibari,* I dream about the sweet embrace of bondage. Delightful when delivered alongside forms of sensory deprivation. I have a particular penchant for device bondage, and in a former life even made bespoke pillories, tested out on yours truly.

*Clients wishing to engage in Shibari must undergo additional screening, and demonstrate skill level requisite to the desired tie(s).

Ever since seeing Catherine Deneuve dragged across the mud, flagellated by her husband’s men for hire in Belle de Jour (1967), I knew my desires were not what you’d call quotidian. Maybe it was Séverine’s muted fantasies of submission that tormented me most; the suggestion that the longing for correction and ritual alway exist beneath respectability.

Cropping, flogging, strapping, whipping, paddling, over-the-knee-spanking, or simply the classic wooden-spoon; you name it, I crave it. Clips and clamps make for double the fun.

I am well adept at taking the cane, and with trust in tow, can even endure up to one hundred strokes per session. Late at night, when I’m curled up in bed and allow my thoughts wander, like a tongue returning to a cavity, I imagine the cane strikes; it is less about the stroke itself than the moment before it—the stillness, the knowledge of what’s next.

Note that impact play incurs charges supplementary to my base rate; this differs based on implement and intensity sought e.g. number of strokes, cold caning etc. Please get in touch to enquire.

I’ll do anything for a good grade. With a past in the performing arts, I have a verve for role-play and adore dressing up in costume; whether serving as an unsullied school girl, surreptitious sister, unsuspecting secretary, impressionable patient, or simply your classic damsel in distress, I promise complete immersion and capacity to suspend your disbelief.

In the right circumstances, I even adore indulging role-plays of more 'taboo' stripes. Don't hesitate to share with me your most salacious storylines. See also “Age Play” and “CNC.”

From the Gorean constructions of John Norman, to the understated conditioning imparted upon Maggie Gyllenhaal in, I found in myself an uncanny recognition. Who knew one could watch a film entitled “Secretary,” and find within it a vocation other than the title belies. Eye contact restrictions, being instructed to maintain particular postures or positions, adhere to rituals, are a mere few of my favourites, all the more fun with spreader bars and posture-correcting implements. Can also be an ideal accompaniment to pet-play.

Can you help me colour inside the lines? ABDL, DDlg etc., you know the drill.

Consensual non-consent, also known as CNC, as the representation of ultimate surrender, is an absolute favourite of mine. Nothing embodies the damsel in distress trope quite like a reluctant, though nonetheless resigned, acquiescing to circumstance. Pepper in the feeling of transgression that comes with dipping one’s’ toes in taboos, and you’ve got yourself a winner.

I offer different levels of intensity surrounding CNC, from the lighter side of the spectrum E.g. “oh-no,” “please don’t,” feigned attempts to break loose from bondage, persuasion etc. to the fully fledged rape/ravishment fantasy. 

Being a human is hard. Being a coffee table, a lot less so. This is the crux of why I am drawn to objectification, or in this case, forniphilia (fetishising the transformation of human beings to furniture). Human ashtray after a hard days’ work anyone? Bonus points when combined with Shibari.

Objectification and humiliation doesn’t always have to be so carefully choreographed; corner-time, scoulding, lecturing, being made to crawl on all fours, even the simple act of undressing can be made humiliation. Being forced to drool along down my gag, combined with panty-wet, forced squirting, orgasm denial are all forms of humiliation I can never resist. What other ways can you think of to humiliate me?

A fetishist through and through, I have a longstanding love (not to mention impressive collection) of all things latex, leather, nylon, lingerie, heels, and corsets.

“Deviant Desires: A Tour of The Eroitc Edge” by Katherine Gates still represents a formative text in my exploration of kink. Balloon kink (or looners), Splooshing (among other kinds of Wet and Messy play), Tickling, I even once entertained a client who had me simulate sinking in quicksand. I welcome all the weird and wonderful!

Kitten, puppy, fox, pony, and even hu-cow, are a few of my favourites when it comes to pet play. The relief of shedding language and responsibility, the quiet pride in obedience freely given. It’s the simple acts—kneeling to be collared, learning to move with deliberate care, accepting praise or correction - that offer a counterpoint to the constant self-command of adult life. Plus, is there anything cuter than me in a kitty tail?

It’s not all canes and chains, I’m equally content with a trip to the theatre to see the latest offering West End or Broadway has to boast, meeting in one of central London’s many chic bars or restaurants, or checking out an art-opening. With a past life in international affairs and interests as diverse as niche meme-culture, to Foucault, to rape-revenge films, we’ll never have a dull-moment.