In Shanghai's elite circles, where manicured golf courses double as stages for power and prestige, a polished businessman from Cyprus sought me out with a bold request. As a professional dominatrix, I specialize in crafting bespoke BDSM experiences that balance daring with discretion. His desire: a semi-public scene on one of the city's premier golf courses, blending his passion for the game with the thrill of submission. What unfolded was a meticulously orchestrated session, charged with tension and trust.
Shanghai's golf courses are more than pristine fairways—they're arenas of status and strategy. For my submissive, a suave expat accustomed to commanding boardrooms, this was the perfect setting for a private power play. The contrast between the course's public elegance and our hidden dynamic set an exhilarating stage.
Before the session, we established clear boundaries and a safe word, ensuring his safety and comfort. My role as a dominatrix demands precision in controlling desire, and this scene was tailored to his craving for exposure balanced with discretion.
Under the morning sun, my sub played the first few holes, his tailored golf attire concealing the anticipation in his eyes. I observed from the sidelines, my presence a subtle command. After the third hole, with sweat glistening from both the game and his nerves, I approached. In full view of the oblivious caddy—a young local managing the clubs—I handed him a delicate silk garment: my panties, offered as a "towel" to wipe his brow.
His fingers shook as he took it, the soft fabric a stark contrast to the public setting. The caddy, preoccupied with equipment, missed the charged moment, but my sub's flushed cheeks betrayed his intensity. He pressed the silk to his face, inhaling discreetly, each breath deepening his surrender. The act was intimate yet invisible, a secret woven into the open fairways.
Then came the crux of our scene. I presented a transparent bottle, its contents a bold challenge: my morning essence, carefully prepared. In a calm, authoritative tone, I commanded him to drink. The caddy, standing nearby, glanced over, curious but unaware of the bottle's significance. My sub's eyes flickered with hesitation, as if the potent scent might reveal our game. Yet, under my steady gaze, he stepped back, raised the bottle, and drank deeply.
Morning essence is intense—rich, overwhelming, a test of devotion. His expression wavered between struggle and surrender as he swallowed, each sip a quiet triumph. The caddy, oblivious, resumed his tasks, leaving us in our private dance of power and trust. For my sub, the act was transformative, a moment of submission that left him standing taller, bound to me in the heart of Shanghai’s elite greens.