My fetish addiction started young.
I found a book under my parents’ bed when I was a girl. It wasn’t a standard porno magazine. It was hardcover, elegantly laid out, and featured fetish after fetish. I was entranced. Every page showed new and wonderful images of women and men experiencing pleasures far beyond the traditional fucking most people experience.
I remember flipping to a page and seeing a tall pale woman in heels. She wore black thigh highs and a garter belt with nothing else. Her delicate heel was pressed into the face of a prone man. It moved me more than any of the other images.
I knew that when I grew up, this was the kind of fun I wanted to have. That one image created a fantasy in my head, you see. I wanted my men chained and debased from that moment forward. But how was I going to get to that point in this fetish? To a young girl with limited internet access, it seemed impossible.
That’s never stopped me though.
So I started “training” my male classmates. I would give them just a hint of what they wanted…a coconut oil tit job, 30 seconds of the best blowjob they’d ever had, a well-placed finger, and then demand much more from them before letting them cum. They key was to get them right to the edge of cumming three or four times until they start shaking, and then get those naughty hands restrained so they can’t stop the fun themselves.
Then they were mine. A motivated boy makes for a malleable slave. I had three of these boys at one point, each so terrified and enraptured that they daren’t speak a word of it to anyone. Walking through the halls of my high school constantly had a smile on my face.
If I caught my boys looking at me, I Would smile like the Cheshire cat. They knew the consequences of looking at their fetish Goddess…
Come back to read more about my ascension to my Queenly throne next week or give me a call and I’ll tell you all about my sordid rise to power on our phone sex call!