Since this is the sixth piece in my St. Petersburg series, let me back up a bit….

He invites me to spend four days with him in Russia. I like him. There is potential for our occasional relationship to develop into a D/s relationship. Something I’ve been desperately searching for. But it’s complicated.

He used to hire me as a fetish escort, I lied to him about my age. Then I got pregnant (AI – no, not artificial intelligence) and didn’t tell him. By the time we met in St. Petersburg, I was in my fifth month and had a little baby bump as well as a few extra pounds.

Our play had gotten more intense over the past three years. The one constant was our shared kink for latex. Pretty much in all forms, many involving bondage, breathplay, heavyrubber, as well as public humiliation and simply elegant dinners (still in latex dresses). He pushed my boundaries like nobody else had. I lowered my own walls more than I did with anyone else.

Getting ready for St. Petersburg, I knew that my body had already changed. So much of what I owned didn’t fit any longer. But I hadn’t told him about my pregnancy and, frankly, I didn’t see how it had anything to do with it. My plan was to be the best submissive I could possibly be; and find out whether our feelings are mutual.

Did I mention money? Even though I stopped working as an escort, never asked for money, he always paid me. I never had the guts to just tell him ‘stop’, or even ask ‘why?’. It got into my head that he saw me as an escort for hire, even though I was more than willing to leave that part of my life behind.

The days before going to St. Petersburg made me sick. Not morning sickness, sick that he would not treat me, or even see me, as his submissive anymore. Heck, I was about to tell him that I was not the ‘early 30s’ escort, but instead a 40 year old, 5 months pregnant, soon to be single mother! And still, I wanted to let him see through my personal choice, and discover the submissive gem that is right at his doorstep. All he had to do was pick me up and take me in.

I managed to find time in the evenings to try on a fair amount of my latex items. Some I hadn’t worn in ages. Some were a must for any date with him. If I was going to be the submissive he was used to, I wanted to show him that I could still do it, even if it was harder. I literally practiced on my own to do the things I could easily do just a few months earlier.

Getting into a custom-made catsuit through a small neck-opening is hard work under the best of circumstances. I struggled, but after several failed attempts figured out how to get it on without any help. He liked to see me wear it (indoors and outdoors), but it was my job to get dressed as he wished. I had every intention of keeping it that way.

He did not train me. I trained myself. Did I know what he really wanted? Absolutely not. Was I right in believing that showing him how I could still be his sub, even though I was half-way to being a mom, was going to work?

Without being in a relationship, and yet wanting to be in one that I may never be in, gives the word ‘training’ a different twist. Pleasing him is my aspiration, what that means is often unspoken. So I train by myself, keep my body and skills in shape, recall every little detail from previous dates, his likes, his dislikes. I’m training myself without any idea whether he even cares.

So why do I do it then? Because if he does care about me, I want him to care about me the way I am. And that includes all my kinks, my fetishes, my desire to please him.

Regardless of what it looks like, I cannot wait for the day when he is in charge of training me. To be continued, I hope.