By Kimberly Haddad
That moment when you realize you’re proud to be yourself—not a replica of someone else, not a manifestation of an ideal image you hold in your mind, and definitely not a portrayal of what others expect you to be. Simply existing as you are, completely and beautifully flawed, because true beauty lies in imperfection. This realization enables you to reveal your most authentic self, which has resided within you all along, eager to be accepted. Sometimes all it takes is the right experiences and people to help you see it. For me, that moment came when I chose to become a sex worker at a BDSM dungeon in Los Angeles.
Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine myself working in the sex industry. It wasn’t a path I consciously chose or even entertained. In fact, I stumbled into it unexpectedly. I was completely unaware of the influence I would hold in this space, or the effect I would have on the men I encountered. Terms like “sex dungeon” and “professional submissive” were unfamiliar to me. Yet, that’s where I found myself for nearly three years.
In 2018, about five months after canceling my wedding, I made a bold move: I quit my high-paying job on a whim, without a safety net or backup plan. All I knew was that I felt deeply unsatisfied. All I wanted to do was focus on writing and turn my passion into a sustainable income. Depleted of savings, I maxed out two credit cards, survived on cheap pasta, and sold many of my belongings just to make ends meet. While I did secure a part-time position at BASIC magazine (hello six years!), the financial strain continued as I lived beyond my means. To escape my financial stress, I turned to my usual comfort of food and decided to have dinner with a woman named V.
I first came across V on social media while I was still involved with my ex-fiancé. Her profile popped up as a suggested connection, and despite being strangers, it felt like we had a cosmic tie from a past life. What truly intrigued me, though, was her job as a professional dominatrix. I admired her edge and respected her bravery in openly sharing her work online. At the same time, I felt a desire to delve into the BDSM scene myself, but held back because of my insecurities and lack of knowledge.
As my relationship evolved, my desire to fully explore my sexuality only grew stronger. I yearned for intense experiences that felt out of reach, and gradu-ally, this desire enveloped me in tempta-tion until I was completely consumed by it. Yet, even still, I kept my feelings to myself. Regrettably, like many others, I felt ashamed of these desires as they were considered taboo, making me uncertain of how to communicate what I wanted. I was too afraid to even mention the subject around my partner. V, on the other hand, was completely different in nature, entering my life like a much-needed slap in the face, something she did particularly well.
We met for dinner at St. Felix, a chic lounge planted in the heart of Hollywood. The menu featured an array of shared plates like Malaysian-style steak skewers, Thai deviled eggs, and creamy mac and cheese loaded with crispy bacon and sweet peas. During our conversation, we spent time reconnecting and sharing updates on where we currently stood in our lives. She was happily married and I was newly single, but I didn’t feel any underlining resentment towards her or the strong relationship she possessed. Instead, it felt incredibly liberating to be independent and engrossed in meaningful conversation with a new friend.
When I told her that I was looking for additional work opportunities, she spoke freely about her occupation as a dominatrix, offering a fascinating glimpse into parts of her life that she hadn’t shared online. She recounted some of her most scandalous experiences, elaborating on jaw-dropping escapades with clients from all walks of life. One gentleman exhibited multiple personalities and transformed into three different characters with distinct voices and mannerisms all within an hour. Gripped by her explicit storytelling, I hung on to every single word. I eagerly listened as she described instances where she tightly restrained individuals to a bondage table using leather handcuffs and smeared red lipstick across their mouths. Occasionally, she would even use shoelaces to limit blood flow to their nether regions, wrapping several twists around the scrotum and attaching clothespins to their testicles, only to skillfully smack them away with a riding crop and delight in their squirms of pain.
“Oh my God, come work with me,” she said. Her voice carried a sharp sense of urgency. “You’ll make really good money. The men would love you.” Though entertained by her stories, the thought of engaging in erotic roleplay and interacting with foreign bodies in these ways triggered a severe anxiety within me. The work itself didn’t hold much appeal, yet I couldn’t help but attentively absorb every detail she shared about the dungeon’s inner workings. She explained the shift structure, the rules, and the requirement for each new girl to begin as a submissive and gradually climb the ranks to the reversed role of a dominatrix, if they wished.
“This is crazy,” I said. “I can’t do what you do.” Yet, as I hungrily sank my teeth into the dripping brisket burger that had been momentarily forgotten, I pondered whether this thought stemmed from actual insanity or my apprehension towards the unfamiliar. I had already explored a few of my own fetishes within the kink community, but the prospect of becoming a sex worker left me feeling jittery and slightly nauseous.
When I was younger, I frequently daydreamed of becoming an escort, sitting assertively tall at a bar, dressed in sophisticated attire, and sipping an old fashioned. Alternatively, a seductive stripper effortlessly commanding attention as I sauntered across the room in stilettos and strappy lingerie, a handbag brimful of dazzling wealth. But these were only fantasies, a romanticized interplay of taboo and rebellion, an escapist notion that nurtured my disallowed desires, fiercely cautioned against by those who dictated my path in life.
In the world we grow up in, the negative stigma surrounding sex work is incredibly harsh. This stigma often leads to an irrational fear and prejudice, driven by misconceptions and a lack of proper understanding. We are made to believe that sex workers are somehow inherently flawed—seen as immoral, promiscuous, and prone to disease, that women should never sell their precious bodies or behave in such a licentious way. When we are taught to believe certain things from a young age, it is not our fault for accepting them as our truths. It becomes all we know. However, where we do hold accountability is when we consciously choose to ignore the opportunity to broaden our perspectives and seek enlightenment. As individuals, and as a society, it is our job to educate ourselves on complex matters and encour-age women to make their own choices. We must actively support one another and be willing to adopt a compassionate and open mindset when it comes to our attitudes towards sex. Whether we agree or not, we must recognize the agency and human rights of those who choose this course.
I will admit, it took quite some time for me to let go of my own skewed misconceptions of sex work, especially coming from a family who criticized anyone who revealed a little too much skin. Every time, they would utter “Eayb ealayk,” an Arabic expression that means “shame on you.” But I made a sincere effort to do my research, had many candid discussions with other women in the industry, and actively pushed myself to welcome an alternative standpoint on the subject. These were all fundamental steps that led to my growth and personal transformation.
Eventually, I began my journey as a sex worker, and V served as a mentor to me. It was an experience that fostered a ripple of positive change that poured into every aspect of the life I was striving to build for myself.
The Dungeon
Hidden behind a tangle of trees and the shrubs of Pink Forsythia, the Dominion stood quietly, blending in with its surroundings. Unnoticed by the hustle and bustle of the street, this commercial dungeon disguised itself as a simple residence next to a local florist. Only the sight of alluring women darting across the driveway towards the adjacent entrance of the building betrayed its true purpose. Dressed in tall boots and flowing trench coats, hiding our lingerie, latex, and thigh-high stockings, we briskly walked the deteriorating sidewalk, determined to avoid its cracks.
As I sat cross-legged on the carpeted floor of the reception area, I pondered the appeal of my outfit—wobbly Pleaser heels and a skimpy cheerleading skirt I had borrowed from V. Every step I took felt like a high-wire act, but eventually, it became as natural as my episodic laughs and the flattery I used to make men feel important.
I took in the unfamiliar surroundings— extravagant furniture and a narrow passageway lined with a scarlet rug and erotic implements of wood, metal, and soft leather. My innocent portrait hung crooked on the deep green wall as if it were taunting my presence. I observed the different men who walked in, eagerly awaiting their prearranged sessions, or requesting to see a lineup of the ladies. We would gather from the back room, waiting to be summoned and paraded one by one like cattle in the Parlor, kneeling before the strangers like good girls. The rush of emotions that came with being chosen was an addiction I shamelessly craved. I basked in the thrill of feeling valued and desired by others. It didn’t take long for me to become a favorite among these men, a sense of achievement that brought me immense pride.
Working at the dungeon came with a unique set of rules and as a submissive, I quickly learned its distinct code of conduct after being called a “wench” for my failure to place a single cushion back in its designated spot. The head woman of the house assigned each submissive a task during our shifts, a daily reminder of our inferiority. We laundered soiled towels stained with bodily fluids, untangled piles of dick rope, which was nothing more than shoelaces used to restrain genitals, and rehung the trampy outfits worn by men who reveled in cross-dressing and vulgar insults. We washed the dishes, sanitized the furniture, vacuumed each of the rooms, restocked the kitchen, and disposed of the trash. Dark colors were strictly prohibited from being worn and the generously-sized tub chairs were always reserved for the mistresses. Our place in the dungeon was not given, but rather earned through a traditional hierarchy of dominance.
The start of my first shift sparked a deep period of self-reflection, consuming my thoughts for the entirety of the day. During each interaction, I wrestled with uncertainties regarding my worth, sense of identity, and womanhood. Becoming a sex worker was never in my plans. I felt disoriented and out of my element, yet undeniably intrigued by the possibilities of who I might become in this secret place.
The Work
Contrary to popular belief, one of the biggest misconceptions about working at a dungeon is that it’s all about sex. While physical touch may be a part of the job, the work was much more nuanced than that. The main focus of this kind of sex work is to create a safe and consensual space for clients to explore their desires and fantasies within the BDSM community. This includes a variety of activities like spanking, flogging, corporal punishment, tickle torture, rope suspension, bondage, creative role-play, sensory deprivation, and more. Additionally, similar to many other dungeons, our space featured a variety of themed rooms ranging from a cozy classroom and a relaxed living room setting to shower facilities and rooms with a colder, more extreme atmosphere. There was something for everyone.
Although various sex-related activities took place in these spaces, the Dominion strictly prohibited intercourse and any related sexual activities. Our work did not expand further than consensual psychodrama and fetish-related acts, and everything we did within the doors of the dungeon was considered safe, sane, and legal. The women there, me included, were experienced professionals who prioritized consent, communication, and boundaries in all client interactions.
However, I won’t sugarcoat it: despite experiencing more highs than lows, working in this industry was a wild ride of emotions that were both draining and terrifying. From intense sessions like being tied up for an hour or being tickled until I couldn’t breathe, to humiliating situations like mimicking a lion’s roar and crawling on all fours to fetch a clothespin with my teeth, it was not always easy. Moving between sessions throughout the day felt like entering different worlds. Each client encounter brought a new and unpredictable dynamic, forcing me to adapt my energy on the fly.
The harsh reality of potential dangers would often seep in. Even though we were never truly alone in the building, there were moments where I felt isolated in the rooms, particularly when confronted by men who disregarded my boundaries. It’s chilling to contemplate willingly allowing a stranger to restrain me to a table with limited means of escape, only to rely on a safe word. The uncertainty of whether a client would respect the safe word was a constant concern. We all took that risk, and sometimes it led to uncomfortable situations. Countless times, I’ve had to fend off unwanted advances and abruptly end sessions. One client left severe marks on my body after using my safe word. Another disrespectfully spit on my face. Someone released their bodily fluids on my feet without any warning or my consent. One of the girls even caught a regular client taking inappropriate photos of her while she was blindfolded. Having a diverse client base led us through a variety of situations, from enjoyable sessions that fostered genuine connections and shared laughter, to challenging scenarios that tested our limits and made us want to walk away from the work entirely. Staying firm in my self-care routine and consistently monitoring my mental health were critical components of this role. Without them, I might not have lasted long or discovered the expansion it brought. After all, true growth emerges from discomfort. I acknowledge that it may be difficult for those unfamiliar with my journey to comprehend, but every experience, regardless of the challenges, has filled me with a profound sense of fulfillment.
The Clientele
The most fitting adjective to describe the dungeon clientele is utterly intriguing. I always had a constant curiosity about them— their lives outside the dungeon, their thoughts during our interactions, the discovery of their sexual preferences, and the inner workings of their minds.
Our diverse client base included corporate professionals, famous actors, and everyday individuals spanning a wide range of ages (18 to 60+), genders, and orientations. Despite their differences, they all shared a common desire for intimacy, emotional connection, and validation. Many carried the burden of rejection, shame, and heartbreak. Some sought a listening ear for their loveless marriage woes, while others favored a physical release. However, a select few derived pleasure from inflicting severe pain, intently spanking me until I cried.
Navigating my clientele was both challenging and satisfying. Establishing trust and rapport is essential in this line of work, yet it’s a topic often overlooked in society. Sex workers must excel at deciphering emotional cues and creating a welcoming space for their clients. Understanding boundaries and triggers, listening to needs and desires, and offering emotional support or after-care are all essential skills for this role. In many ways, we functioned as therapists. The bond created between sex workers and clients often proved to be meaningful and lasting, particularly with those who frequently utilized our services.
Reflecting on my clients, one particular individual always comes to mind. He was a regular heavy client of mine, and out of respect for his privacy, I will not disclose his name. As a heavy client, he would use more extreme implements during our impact sessions, such as thick straps, bamboo canes, or wood and metal paddles that would always leave marks. I had to pass a test to become a heavy player. One of the mistresses would take potential heavy players into a room, lay out intimidating implements, and instruct us to bend over the bondage table. Without any warmup, she would strike our bottoms as hard as she could, three times with each implement. The goal was to determine our capacity. Any attempt to protect our bottoms would result in failure. Shedding tears to guilt-trip her into stopping early would also lead to failure. If we requested a break, we would not pass the test. It was brutal because that was the nature of the majority of our heavy clients, and they would pay double for our time. They were true sadists who were indifferent to our well-being and found great satisfaction in causing us pain in ways they couldn’t do elsewhere.
This particular client, however, was unlike any I had ever seen before. He genuinely cared about my well-being and consistently allocated about 15 minutes near the end of our sessions to make sure I received appropriate aftercare. This usually involved either icing my ass or holding me for a while. Regardless of his caring nature and the playful energy he brought to our meetings, there was always an underlying sense of fear. He would bring along his own assortment of implements—a belt, two canes of varying sizes, a large wooden paddle, and a thick leather flogger—each labeled with a number on a Post-it note. Adding an element of surprise, he would ask me to draw from a deck of cards to select the chosen implement. We’d then engage in a game of War, where the outcome dictated the number of strikes I would receive. If I won, I would receive the number of strikes on his lower card, but if he won, I would receive the higher number of strikes. He sometimes allowed me to gamble by guessing whether my next card was higher or lower. If I guessed correctly, I’d receive the lower number of strikes, but if I guessed wrong, I’d receive double the higher number. I gambled often. I cried often. He comforted me often. But it always ended up being a cathartic release. I suppose his games benefitted us both in the end.
The Empowerment
Becoming a sex worker allowed me to challenge societal taboos and stigmas surrounding intimacy, leading me to a more embodied and uninhibited self. Throughout this journey, I have unearthed new dimensions of my sexuality, delved into different aspects of my identity, and broadened my understanding of my body and boundaries. I have come to realize the vital importance of self-acceptance. I have learned how to assertively communicate my needs and desires, particularly with men, who once seemed intimidating. I now have a heightened appreciation for the unique experiences I am privileged to have and a deeper sense of gratitude for the intimacy and vulnerability I can share with those in my life. I have learned to fully embrace the power that comes with my femininity and feel good in my own skin. This experience has cultivated a sense of self-assurance and confidence that extends beyond the dungeon walls, positively influencing every aspect of my life.
Furthermore, these experiences have completely shifted my perspective on the women in this industry and changed my outlook on the work as a whole. Being a sex worker goes beyond fulfilling fantasies for our clients; it’s also about celebrating our own sexuality in a society that often tries to stifle it.
The unforgettable connection formed among the women in the dungeon was a significant factor in my empowerment. It was truly life-changing and irreplaceable. I often yearn for that same feeling of belonging, support, and sisterhood, which was crucial for succeeding in such an intimate and misunderstood industry. We always had each other’s backs, whether it was by applying Arnica gel to each other’s freshly bruised bottoms, cuddling after a rough encounter, sharing vital information about potential clients, or loaning out clothing when sessions required items we didn’t have. But most importantly, we offered emotional support in a way that was completely unique to this profession.
We often found ways to collaborate during sessions when one of the girls required additional funds or had no clients on a given day. Pooling our resources, we worked on refining our skills and expanding our knowledge, such as practicing new rope ties, perfecting flogger techniques, or, in my case, perfecting the art of kicking a man in the groin. This created a lasting sisterhood rooted in respect and empathy that nurtured us in every part of our job. In the end, it was these friendships that truly made my work fulfilling.
The Dominion was more than just a dungeon to me. It was a second home. It was my kinky little sanctuary where I was accepted for exactly who I was and could explore intimacy on personal and professional levels. It was my safe haven to connect with numerous amazing women, embrace every part of myself, and evolve in ways I never thought possible.
