Lisa – Street Lesson in Control
I get paid to make men sweat, and I’m good at it. The game isn’t about touching them—it’s about knowing exactly how to peel away their pride in public while they still thank me for the privilege.
He met me downtown, where the noise and neon blur together. I told him to stand by the corner and keep his hands at his sides. People passed, none of them noticing that the nervous man in the tailored jacket was paying for every second of my attention. That’s what makes it delicious—it looks ordinary, but he knows it isn’t.
I circled him once, slow enough for him to feel it. “You wanted public,” I said. “You wanted to see if you could keep your composure while I took it apart.” His throat worked as he swallowed. I smiled—cold, slow, professional. “Don’t look at me. You haven’t earned that yet.”
The smallest orders are the sharpest weapons. I made him repeat words that burned on his tongue, each one tightening the invisible leash between us. My tone never rose; cruelty doesn’t need volume, only precision. Every command was a scalpel, carving away his confidence until there was nothing left but obedience.
He flinched when I laughed—quiet, amused. “You pay for this, remember,” I said. “You pay for every word I use to remind you who holds the reins.” He nodded, barely breathing. I let the silence stretch until it hurt, then leaned close enough for him to feel my breath against his ear. “You did well,” I whispered. “For now.”
When I finally walked away, I didn’t look back. I didn’t have to. I could feel the tension still wrapped around him, the ghost of my voice clinging like perfume. That’s the secret of control—you leave it behind, and they carry it for you.