I thought the man at my door wanted to be spanked, but he was selling WiFi

Melissa explores the problems of getting into character as soon as her client arrives (Picture: Getty/Metro)

A chap contacted me recently asking if he could book a session — and if possible, bring some 18th century outfits for us both? Oh, and a makeshift stile, too…

‘Well, of course’, I said. Instantly, I knew a delightful afternoon beckoned, as I love a role play session and the more imaginative the better.

It turns out my client wanted to be transformed into a member of the Georgian gentry, out walking with his fiancee (whose name had to be Alice), when by some mishap he got caught halfway over a stile, buttocks exposed, trousers snagged on a nail.

While he squirmed, begged and remonstrated, naughty Alice would spank him, birch him, belt him, take a hairbrush to him, and for the finale, fig him with a piece of ginger.

Quite where Alice found the root to put up his bum in the English countryside wasn’t fully addressed in the narrative. Maybe they were carrying a picnic, but either way, he seemed to enjoy the burning sensation it created.

For two hours, and £300, I played naughty Alice, and it was one of the most elaborate, exciting sessions I’ve ever engaged in.

Role play is a huge part of my career as a sex worker and dominatrix and I love it, but usually I’m expected to be a strict aunt, boss, wife, mother-in-law, prison officer, member of a socialist revolutionary kidnapping collective… or, most commonly, a teacher.

Melissa’s favourite role play involved a makeshift stile (Picture: Getty Images)

Education based role play probably accounts for 50% of all my sessions and that’s because school scenes are hard wired into the British psyche.

My favourite spanking sessions are the ones that start the second I open the door. Often a chap produces a note from his mummy or teacher, which gives me something to work with.

‘Ah, William, your mother says she caught you scrumping in my back garden and insists I deal with you… in any way I see fit.’

Another time there was a chap who played an estate agent coming to value my house, that made several derogatory remarks about the state it was in, until I, incensed, threatened to tell his boss, unless…

Recently, one of my clients calculated I must have delivered around 1300 strokes of the cane in his session.

When it comes to role play, whether you’re exploring stories with a play partner or a client, rules are crucial. For example, you must disclose any places you definitely don’t want to go, or definitely must, for the story to work.

Once I’m in role I don’t come out of character, unless something very unexpected and untoward happens. Not so long ago, a neighbour started banging angrily on my door recently to say my ‘guest’ had blocked his drive with his car.

I knew this was the time to break role and admit to the client he must revert back to real-life Dave with the silver BMW, who’d have it keyed if he doesn’t get his pants back on stat. 

Melissa runs a school once a month where she spanks her students (Picture: Getty)

Otherwise, stay in role. Trust to the story. If you’re with somebody inexperienced and they start giggling and making fatuous remarks, punish them for it. Let them know you’re serious. They will thank you for it afterwards.

Another thing to remember in all role-play, is that outfits count. I had a treasured dressing up box as a kid, and how privileged I am to possess a still more elaborate kit, now I’m in my forties.

Changing for a session promptly lifts you away from the workday, helps you inhabit another character, whether it’s a high court judge or correction officer.

When I slip on my seamed stockings, pencil skirt, silk blouse, I promptly become Clara. She’s a persona, her patterns of speech become more elaborate, her stance more dominant; she moves and speaks in a way that automatically conveys – and moreover, demands – total respect.

She can take on many different roles, but her personality is always unwavering.

In these sessions, a few of my clients want to explore real life misdemeanours for which they were never caught, the guilt for which has often haunted them over the years.

I’ve punished some for drink-driving, for lying and cheating, recklessly endangering people’s lives and happiness. Often they want to be taken beyond their limits, properly thrashed in a way that will truly hurt them, seeking release in tears the way most masochists seek release in orgasm.

I’ve made men sob by probing their deepest shame while beating them until they scream, but I don’t seek those sessions out. For me, discipline is about play. It’s an escape into fantasy, dressing up and larking about: a journey away from torment, not through it.

Melissa accidentally dragged a Sky salesman off the street because she thought he was her client (Picture: Getty Images)

The way I see it, there’s only one potential pitfall to role play. I once opened the door to a slightly nervous, handsome looking man in his early 20s, whoI thought I was up for a happy hour.

‘Right, you. Upstairs this minute,’ I said. He looked a bit surprised, but did as he was told as I ushered him into my study and sat down.

‘I’m sure you can guess why you’re here,’ I began, playing the role of headmistress. ‘Your form tutor Miss Brown has explained that you were caught cheating in your maths exam…’

‘What? What’s going on?’ he stuttered.

‘Silence! Insolent boy! There is only one possible punishment for cheating at this school. As you’re doubtless aware we are still firm believers in corporal punishment, and twelve cold hard strokes of the cane will be exactly the painful, humiliating punishment you need to ensure you never try cheating again! Take down your trousers this minute.’

Completely perplexed, he said: ‘I only wanted to know if you wanted to change your broadband to Sky…’ Then there was another knock on the door and the penny dropped with a horrifying clang, right in the pit of my stomach. Wrong guy.

The poor chap fled only too willingly and I let in the real client – late 60s, scrawny-arsed, rather smug looking – and bid a sad adieu to the happy hour I’d briefly imagined.

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