By Elizabeth Swan onI am thinking of changing my name to the Comedy Domme. Seriously. To explain what I mean I will take you through my most recent outcall. Now I am pretty sure that most of my colleagues can visit a slave in a hotel without incident. But not me. So I get up early because I am off to visit one of my regular slaves for a 9am wake up call. I get to the right hotel. Enter. Then get into the lift. Press the right floor. Get out of the lift when it stops as two women get in. Then realise I am on the wrong floor. Press the button again. Wait. Get back in lift. Then travel back to the ground floor. Humphh. Then one of the hotel staff gets in and asks me if I am okay. I said yes thank you and muttered something about liking riding up and down in lifts. I thought that would be the end of it. After all, this is London where people generally don’t enter into verbal dialogue. We tend to communicate by way of passive aggression. Either elbows on the tube to the city boys and their ego filled full possession of the armrests or shoulder barging when a group walks towards you on a pavement and your only option is to plow through them or jump in the road and get hit by a bus. Then of course there is the two finger salute to the cyclist who goes through on red and almost knocks you on your arse, but thinking about that I do normally verbalise the word “WANKER” at that point as well…But you get my point. So back to the never ending lift. “Staying here long?” Pause “Just the day,” Pause “Well when you check out tell them that Glen looked after you” Just as I started to pray that the lift would HURRY THE FUCK UP it dinged and opened…and we both got out. There are about 20 floors so WHY did he have to be coming to the SAME floor as me?! For the love of fuck I had just pretended I was staying there but I had no idea which way to go. Luckily as he was wishing me a good day and I was mumbling something back I saw the direction of the room. I get there and the session begins without incident. Now fast forward fifteen minutes, my handsome late 30s slave is now on his knees, dressed in a baby pink slutty dress, with my knickers on his head and sucking a pink dildo. It was at this point that his hotel room slammed shut and we could hear footsteps hurrying away down the corridor. Now whether whoever it was saw anything I don’t know but immediately before the door slammed I had told my slave to “Suck it harder. I want to see the dildo covered in your pink lipstick you panty sniffing slut” or something along those lines. The session continued after much laughter and finished successfully. Lovely guy and great fun to play with. And as I left I contemplated my history of outcalls and thought that all in all it could have been worse. After all, once in the past I had turned up to the right room…in the wrong hotel.