How He Would Punish Me

We were laying together in bed, sitting up on the pillows, in a hotel in Copenhagen. It was about 9 AM, and he’d already fucked me.

“When the time comes,” I ventured timidly, “How will you punish me…?”

“Punish, or discipline?  They’re two separate things, you know.”

(They are.  Discipline is control with respect.  It’s positive and intended to better improve the individual, even if it hurts.  It’s what they do in the military (at least, in a good and competent military).  It’s what teachers do to children in school.

Punishment is deliberate cruelty and vengeance, even if it’s just.)

“Punish,” I said.  I was afraid to ask, but I had to know.  I was starting to tremble.  Everything in my body was tense, and I was getting excited.

“Suspend privileges.  Take away your use of furniture; make you sleep in the kitchen on the floor without a blanket.  Corner time, so that you may ruminate on your infractions. Beating you in a way you could not process.  It would not be pleasant.  Making you wear something humiliating in public.

…Is this arousing to you…?”

(I’d started to rub myself under the blankets.)

“I can’t help it,” I said.  I was ashamed, but the longing was very strong.  My eyes were suddenly full of water and I was salivating.  When I swallowed, it hurt.  The sex drive is deep; primordial.

“I want to see it,” he said, and threw off the bedding to expose me. His voice was calm and authoritative.  He knew exactly what he was doing.  “Don’t stop.”

“Please, X.  Please don’t hurt me from inside.”  I spoke his name.

“The only thing that I like even more than the sound of my name in your mouth is when you beg me.”

Crying, now.  Not sobbing, but all the water was leaking from my eyes.  The emotion was building; impending. It felt like standing in a river.  It felt like standing in the water at the ocean, when the wave sucks the sand out from around your feet.  It felt like vertigo.

“I want you to come for me,” he said.

I did.  It was almost involuntary.

Smirking, he got out of bed and looked down at me.

“I just made you come with the power of my words.  Imagine what I could do to hurt you.”

“You won’t have to.  I will obey you in all things.”

He nodded.  “For your sake, I hope you do.”


I have to write about my last client.

Beautiful Persian Zoroastrian man, immaculately dressed, who brought me olives, grapes, a pear, and a pomegranate. He was a physicist by profession.

He wanted to smell my nylons while I sang to him.  I can’t sing with a good Goddamn, but I laid on top of him while he was curled up underneath the blanket like a shrimp.

I hummed Edelweiss.  I don’t know how to sing.  I can read music, but my sense of tune is completely off. I have a tin ear.

He started to cry.  He wasn’t sobbing…just, water came out of his eyes.  He was very composed.

He looked up at me and said that my hair is reddish-gold, the same color as the most expensive gold in his homeland.

Then he rolled over onto his stomach and asked me to sing some more.

I tell you this because it ripped out my heart, and it really happened.  Just now.

Clients Who Stalk (II): This One Sends Spies

So, yes, let me tell you about my new stalking client…

Since I started working again in San Francisco, I’ve written at length about the ways in which the clients are different from my clients in New York.  The most prominent distinctions are their professions and racial demographics: in New York, my clients were mostly gentile white men and Jews…lots of MBAs, lawyers, and financial services creatures (most of my regulars, though, were PhDs or some sort of egghead, because they gravitate towards me).  In San Francisco, I get gentile white guys and a lot of Asians and Asian-Americans, including Indians.  On the whole, I think they’re a little younger than my New York clients (ugh…young clients…the older ones are usually better, IME).  A lot of them work in tech or computers.  What’s worse: a financial services creature or a Silicon Valley tech bro who feels conflicted about women because he spent his adolescence and 20s locked in a computer lab…? (To be fair, I spent mine in libraries, but it’s not comparable because I was also always getting laid.)

I hate to make generalizations because I don’t want to be racist or to stereotype people, but, on the whole, my experience with East Asian clients has been very positive (Indians, alas, are another story).  They tend to be good clients because they have no concept of “sin” and, historically, sex work has been regarded as a perfectly legitimate, if personally undesirable, profession for a woman in their cultures.

There is one thing I’ve noticed about SOME of them, though, that I’ve never seen before with any other clientele (which brings me to my stalker):

They treat seeing sex workers as a male-bonding sport.

Other clients don’t tell ANYONE in their lives that they come to see me.  They don’t talk about it with their guy friends.  Part of that is the stigma surrounding BDSM, especially for submissive men, but it’s also simply not part of the American culture to talk about seeing sex workers (with the possible exception of going to strip clubs with your friends, as a group) to your friends or colleagues. I could envision a bunch of 20-year-old servicemen in San Diego getting drunk and deciding to go to a brothel in Tijuana as a sort of adventure field-trip…but mostly, men are secretive and solitary when it comes to hiring sex workers.

Some Asians don’t see it that way.  As I’ve said, they have zero shame about it, and they also think it’s all in good fun (which is true, or, at least, it should be), and it is also a macho/masculine thing to do.

As I said in my last post, I did sensual massage for two tours in San Francisco.  I decided that it wasn’t a good fit for me, so I stopped.  In that time, about half of my clients were Asian or Indian, and a LOT of them immediately started referring their buddies to me.  I’d get emails: “Hi Margo, this is X, my friend Mr. I-Heart-Massage-On-My-Lunchbreak loved you and said I have to see you for myself.  May I book?”

My new stalker is an early-40s wealthy Korean businessman I met doing sensual massage. He LOOOOOOVED me (they kinda fetishize my height and coloring, which is odd to me) and immediately started sending his friends.  He’d book me for a session every day I worked in SF. I started to be weirded out when he’d show up with two friends, and the other two would wait in the car or go get a drink or a bite to eat until it was “their turn.”

On one hand, the business was good, right…?  And they all were happy to screen.

On the other hand…there was something offensive to me in the way these guys were passing me around like a jar of cookies.

My soon-to-be-stalker started to ask me if I’d do outcalls to visit him in Palo Alto.  At first, he just asked me, which is fine, but then he tried to talk me into it.

Then he started asking me for pictures, and if he could record me (NOPE sorry).

Then he asked me if I was willing to see him and his friends at the same time. (Same time for what?  I only have two hands!  I can only give one person a backrub at once!)

Then his buddies would come it, and try to convince me of the same things.  Like I said, these clients are not subs and they come into the session with a totally different mindset.

The stress reached critical mass and I blacklisted my soon-to-be stalker (not to his face) and stopped doing sensual massage.  Nope, not for me.  My ads under that stage name disappeared from the internet.  I’d only done it for 6 shifts in all.

Well, Stalker McStalkerpants did not do the sensible thing and move on to the next appealing woman on Eros.  Oh NOOOOOOOO.

Somehow, he tracked me down under my prodomme name, and started emailing me through that ad.  I don’t know how he could do that (especially since I never show my face in my ads, distorted my body statistics slightly, and wore completely different outfits, and my ad copy was different).

Actually, I do know how he could do that: obsessively checking and comparing all the ads on the sex worker ad malls and emailing the women he thought might be ME.

It probably didn’t take him as much time as my New York City stalkers, because the market in San Francisco is considerably smaller.

I ignored him completely.

He starts trying to book a massage through my Google Voice.  BLOCK.

Then, it gets weirder…

I started to get booking requests from totally new clients, asking for leg-worship sessions or tease-and-denial.  We do the usual email exchange and set something up.  They come in, and all they want is a massage (which they didn’t say in their email).

Well, now I’m on the spot.  It wasn’t what I expected, but I’m already dressed and the session is booked, he’s paying me…so, I did it.  This has happened with three different new clients, and they were all middle-aged Korean guys.  After the second one, I started to feel concerned.  Spidy sense started going off.

They’d book a second session for the following week, and, sure enough, they’d ask, towards the end of the session, “Hey, why won’t you see Stalking Client?  He really likes you!  He recommended you!  He wants to see you again.”

Now, reader, please imagine this from my perspective: I’m standing by the bed, trying to get the tension out of this new guy’s calves or shoulders, la-dee-dah, I’m thinking everything is fine…

…when suddenly he lets me know that he is essentially a fucking spy sent by my stalker to convince me into seeing his stalking friend again.

Yeah, very very uncomfortable.

And now I have another problem: if I admit to being the sensual massage provider, stalker will know for a fact that, well, it’s me.  If I say “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I still have deniability.  But if I deny it, I can’t be honest and say, “Your friend was a boundaries-violator who made me uncomfortable.”

But, why would I say that anyway…?  Stalker doesn’t give a shit about my comfort, or else he wouldn’t be a stalker.

So, I get the spy out of the room and then immediately blacklist him, too.

Stalker has sent three guys to me (that I know of).  The last one was a retired computer executive whom I thought was pretty cool, and not a spy for Stalker, because I’d seen him 3 times and he hadn’t dropped the bomb yet, but, sure enough….as he’s getting dressed to go, he says, “My friend, the Stalker, really likes you, and will give you a $1000 tip to see him again.  More, if you do threesomes with one of his friends.”


I took a gamble and blurted: “I don’t want to ever see your friend again for any reason, and if he ever shows up at my door, I am going to call the police.”

What is up with Stalker and his friends?  How does he have this many friends willing to do his bidding and book sessions with me and try to push his creepy agenda?  And does he really think, after all of this, that I would be willing to see him EVER AGAIN?

What this also means is that Stalker is monitoring my ads and touring info online, just waiting for me to be in town so that he can have one of his jerk buddies call me.  Really healthy, normal adult behavior there, Stalker.

It’s to the point now where I am paranoid of taking clients who  have Asian names, which is completely unacceptable for my business because they’re at least 25% of my clientele.  I sit here scrutinizing the names in my message box and typing them into Google to find out what nationality they are.

I don’t want to antagonize this guy because he’s obviously entitled and pushy as hell, which is spooky, and also because he’s rich and he has a network of friends who apparently see nothing wrong with his behavior.

What I think I am going to do is have a male friend call Stalker on his cell phone and politely say “This is Margo’s friend.  Stop calling her.  She never wants to hear from you again.”  That’s it, that’s all.  I’ve had to do this before, and it ALWAYS works.  The sound of another man’s voice drags the stalker out of his little omnipotent fantasy world and back into reality.

Still…what a sick, disrespectful fuck.  Like I said in my last post: the stalkers do this because they don’t see you as fully human.

That’s the conclusion of Clients Who Stalk.  God, I hate these guys.