A Fetish in My Life

This was the second story I wrote in the erotic genre, back in 2003, and my first attempt at conveying my ideas about it in a much more subtle way.

It’s been revised once ever since, with some minor tweaks especially near the end in order for the text to flow more smoothly, as well as a couple of extra scenes. I hope you enjoy the outcome.

Not so long ago, I read an article in a magazine that claimed the following: a great number of behavior deviations, such as fetishes for instance, usually manifest themselves before the age of ten. I’m not sure if this is a valid statement for all fetishists – probably not – but, to me, it could not be closer to the truth.

It all started on a rainy weekend when I was nine. My sister Barbara, who was seventeen at the time, invited one of her friends for a study session. There was going to be a very important Math test the following Monday and, since no one in the class could outsmart Tracy on that particular subject, my sister thought of her as a human lifeline, and was willing to go the extra mile to make her feel welcome.

She arrived right after lunch. When my sister opened the door, I was playing a video-game in the living-room, but curiosity took hold of me so I decided to peek… just a little bit, as children usually like to do.

A year older than my sister, Tracy was a slender beauty, with intriguing, light-gray eyes and curly, black hair. Reaching almost six feet, she had the longest legs I had ever seen. Her fluttering mini-skirt danced as she walked in, making me wonder what kind of treasures were hidden beneath.

I watched her in fascination for a minute or so, while she greeted my sister and removed her coat. I could write that I got lost in the waving of that skirt, which is true, but soon afterward, I found myself looking down at her beautiful and lustrous boots. They were as black as her hair, yet all the colors in the world seemed to emanate from them, and all of them came my way, piercing my brain as if they were needles and not threads of light.

I remember feeling a bit hazy with it all: my jaw dropped and I couldn’t find the necessary strength to close my mouth; my legs started trembling and I almost fell to the ground. At the same time, I experienced my first true erection – I say true because although my body had already produced a seeming phenomenon a couple of times, no other experience had been so intense, both physical and mentally. Compared to that wave of pure delight, all previous moments rapidly felt like illusions, phantoms of a higher degree of reality.

Before anyone could see me looking rather silly because of a pair of boots, I went back to my game, wishing that the polygonal and colorful images of a square-looking cop chasing an equally square-looking escaped convict could help me shake off those impressions from my mind.

I couldn’t do it, for my brain simply refused the idea. It started sending strange erotic impulses throughout my body that heightened the power of those images over me instead of dimming them. I eventually lost all interest in the game when I realized that my innocent glance at Tracy’s boots was becoming more of an obsession, one I was unable to understand, much less resist.

When I finally lost control and decided to peek once again, the girls were already gone. I heard them giggling in my sister’s room so I went to check it out. Spying through keyholes wasn’t exactly my specialty, and I knew that it was wrong to do so, but the urge was just too strong, infiltrating itself on my every thought.

I could see clearly that Tracy was sitting on one side of the bed with her legs crossed and a Math book wide open in front of her. As for my sister, she was probably at her desk or in front of the computer – I could only hear her voice. Not that she mattered at all, at that time. The only thing I wanted was to see Tracy’s black boots again and I got my wish.

I watched them for about an hour, drooling at regular intervals, feeling sexually aroused. During that period, my mind almost ceased functioning. I had fallen on some kind of lethargy, completely unaware of my surroundings, invaded by a strange peace.

I hardly moved at all, except for a few seconds. That was the time when Tracy lifted her left boot and I could see the triangular shape of its heel pointing in my direction as if it was watching me. Almost instantly, my legs went numb and I fell to the ground in complete silence. Being small as I was, the keyhole became suddenly distant, and I could think about something else for a moment or so. When I realized that, after the fall, my legs had bent in a rather awkward kneeling position, I felt scared.

I got up, looked at Tracy one last time through the keyhole, and locked myself in my bedroom where I started masturbating, and enjoying every step of the process.

* * *

As the years went by, things changed in my life. I grew taller than my sister in only three springs, my voice changed and I found hairs growing rather rapidly in some very intimate parts of my anatomy. Through all these metamorphoses that marked my entrance in the teenage years, not even my small fetish for boots remained unchanged: it accompanied the natural tendency of nature and grew as well until it became as ordinary to me as eating and sleeping.

Tracy and her boots were a part of such a realization for a few more years since she and my sister actually became best friends and even went to college together, but there were many other erotic stimuli in my life.

At thirteen, if I happened to see a girl in a magazine wearing boots, I would take the picture immediately to the nearest bathroom. Right about the same time, I started searching the Internet for pictures of women with boots: actresses, singers, perfect strangers, it didn’t matter – I wanted boots (black, red, varnished, crocodile, whatever…). Eventually, I managed to assemble a collection of almost two thousand different pictures and I am pretty sure I masturbated at least once looking at every one of them.

Two years later, on a video store, I managed to steal a porn movie by hiding it in my backpack under the camera’s nose without looking suspicious. The movie was called Orgy in the Army and all of the recruits were women whose sole piece of uniform were green leather boots. On a scene where twenty-four of such recruits marched towards the camera before engaging in a frenzy of pure lesbian action, I even cried… of sheer delight, of course.

Unlike most guys who used to hang around in groups, I spent most of my time alone. I did meet some girls though, who turned out to become my friends. All of them enjoyed walking around with a good pair of boots and, in return, I liked to be near them, listening to their conversations, or simply staring at the perfect mixture between human and animal skin in their legs.

On the day of my nineteenth birthday, my life changed again quite abruptly, all because of a gorgeous-looking blonde. It was the day everything started to make sense to me. Let me tell you all about it.

* * *

I saw her for the first time in the campus library. She was sitting near the shelf of the Psychology books, looking very concentrated on a volume about the Gestalt theory. Not being an enthusiast about such subjects, I didn’t pay her much attention at first. I found a place by a window and started to read a science magazine, just to pass the time. I had to wait three hours ‘til my last class, and though I could spend them at home – for I happened to live just around the corner – I really didn’t feel like it at all.

I sat there for about ten minutes or so, looking at the black printed words, but hardly understanding the very nature of what I was reading. My strongest recollection of those moments was when she got up from her table to get another book and my eyes rolled at her direction to encounter her tanned legs and her dark-blue velvet boots, which looked as soft and delicate as powerful and commanding.

Slowly, so I wouldn’t be noticed, I raised my eyes at her. Instead of the face of a girl, I saw something angelic, pure. I wish I had the right words to describe her, but I don’t. I’m not much of a poet so I won’t try to play with metaphors or something like that. I just want to make perfectly clear that her face was more than beautiful… and I guess that pretty much says it all.

When she passed right next to me holding another volume with Gestalt written all over it, I pretended to be reading while observing her by the corner of the eye. My attempt to be discrete was everything but successful. She dropped her book on purpose making a hell of a racket and looked straight at me. The strange color of her eyes, something between green and blue paralyzed me completely. Then, she smiled and my heart started running wild as if it was trying to break some kind of speed record. I started blushing, sweating and God knows what else! All of my physiological reactions were colliding at each other, and the result was far from pleasant….

Being as shy as I was, not to mention cursed with an extreme tendency to make a fool of myself, I ran away from the library as fast as I could, and eventually missed the class I was waiting to attend. Alone in my bedroom, surrounded by images of boot goddesses that captivated me every time I looked at them, I tried to rationalize what had just happened. It hadn’t been just my compulsion about boots that produced such a hormonal wreck; that was just a small part of something greater. The answer could only be found in her presence, the totality that presented before my eyes as infinitely greater than all the details I could perceive. Yes, I had a Gestalt thought, because that was the only line of reasoning that actually made sense.

During that night, I dreamt of her, the wonderful vision of paradise that walked the Earth in velvet boots. I’m pretty sure I didn’t masturbate, yet I woke up twice in the middle of the night, with the need for a clean pair of boxers. The erotism of my dreams was intertwined with a feeling of incompleteness in my heart. I knew then that my altered state of mind was impregnated with the scent of love blooming. When I fell asleep for the third time, my fetish had begun shifting into a one-sided orientation towards her, and I was already one step closer to the whole truth about my behavior.

* * *

After the whole scene at the library, I tried to keep a low profile by avoiding the most crowded places, as well as those where beautiful girls used to gather like hungry packs of wolves looking for their preys.

Yet, you all know how it goes: the more you try to hide, the more people notice and eventually, the situation goes out of hand. That’s what happened to me. I was looking for my History book in the midst of the natural confusion that governed my locker when a musical woman’s voice suddenly reached my ears from behind me. “Hi”, it said.

I knew on the spot that it was her voice, even though it was the first time I was actually hearing it. It is claimed that women have a sixth sense, but I guess that must be true for some men also, myself included, of course. I grabbed my book, closed the locker with a slam and looked once more to her charming face.

“I saw you yesterday in the library, looking at me”, she continued. “My name is Samantha, Samantha Jones, but everybody calls me Sam.”

“I’m Andrew Malone”, I babbled. “Nice to meet you, Sam.”

“Likewise. Andrew, you said? Can I just call you Andy or you don’t like the name?”

She was quite right about it. I didn’t like the name, but I didn’t say anything about it. In fact, I remember nodding as if her suggestion was quite brilliant.

“Andy’s just fine”, I heard myself say.

“Good. I like short names, you know? It’s easier for me to memorize them. Besides, I have a little brother named Andy as well.”

“That’s nice”, I mumbled. Her eyes seemed to be smiling at me. I looked the other way.

“You seem a bit nervous, Andy. Is something wrong?”

“No… I’m just a bit surprised, that’s all. What happened yesterday in the library was quite embarrassing. You’re the last person I expected to…”

“Come talk to you?”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I was going to say.”

“Well, I like to surprise people. And what happened yesterday wasn’t that bad at all. I actually enjoyed the way you looked at me, which is the main reason why I’m here right now. Believe me, I don’t do anything I don’t want to!”

“I bet you’re pretty used to get all you want, as well.” I declared.

“Not always, but ninety-nine percent of the times, yes.”

“No wonder…” I thought as I strived not to stare at her, or her boots, which were the same as the day before. Under my arms and on my forehead, I was already perspiring.

“My last class is just two hours away. Do you want to go for a drink after that? I know a wonderful bar near my place.”

“A drink would be great…” She smiled again. Her shining lips seemed to blow me a kiss and I remained very still, while I felt myself melting inside. I couldn’t believe what was happening. Out of the blue, the most heavenly creature of the Universe had crossed my way and was looking for some extra time with me. Such twists of fate only happen once in a lifetime, and I sure wasn’t stupid enough to let the opportunity pass me by. I agreed to meet her at the college’s front gate after her class. At the time, it felt like the best decision of my life. Keep on reading to see if I was right or not.

* * *

The bar she chose was indeed a wonderful place to hang around, though I’m pretty sure that even if it were a dump, I would have enjoyed it as well. For the first time, I was seeing life with pink goggles. I couldn’t take them out, even if I wanted to.

We were sitting at a cozy little table, way deep inside the establishment. The light was dim and, because we were near a corner, the shadows all around granted us the gift of invisibility. We could talk all we wanted without being bothered.

She opened the conversation with a question that was far than subtle:

“Tell me, Andy: do you usually look at the all the girls the way you looked at me yesterday?”

“No, I don’t.” It was true. Most of the times, I would only see her boots and a little skin out of their legs. Even when I sat at my computer masturbating, my head was always low, concentrating on my fetish.

“Then why did you look at me differently, then?”

“I really don’t know what kind of answer to give you…”

She wasn’t very pleased.

“Really?! You’ll forgive me for being straight, but I find that hard to believe.”

“Why is that?”

“Well, for starters I have a mirror in my bedroom. I know for sure that I’m attractive. Don’t you find me attractive, Andy?”

Of course I found her attractive, and she obviously knew it, otherwise, I wouldn’t be there with her. I couldn’t blame her for her vanity, either. Even that little flaw didn’t change my growing feelings, for one as beautiful as she was definitely entitled to some special privileges.

“What’s the sense of asking me for something you already know it’s a fact?” I replied. Hell, if she was going to be direct all the time, I might as well do the same! I had to overcome my natural shyness just to keep up with her if I actually believed there was a chance to win her heart.

“I could give you plenty of reasons, but the truth is I like to hear those things from the mouth of other people. Indulge me.”

“Very well: Yes, I do find you attractive. Not only that, I am also certain that you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen in my life. Are you happy, now?”

She adjusted her body position.

“Not quite. There’s something else you’re not telling me. A small secret in your life, perhaps?”

“I don’t have any secrets whatsoever.”

“We all have secrets, Andy. The problem about some secrets is that they become rather obvious for a keen eye,” she replied with an intriguing tone.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I had never told a soul about my fantasies and I didn’t want her to know them either because I was afraid she would go away. Besides, I had just met her, and there are some things that cannot be said out loud before anyone, not even to your closest relatives.

“That’s not the answer I was hoping to hear. You can trust me. I’m good at keeping secrets.”

“I believe you, but there’s nothing to tell.”

The moment I said this, she rose her feet and placed them on the table, very silently. My heart went all aflutter when one of her heels touched my left cheek.

“Does that mean you don’t like my boots?” she asked.

“They’re… very nice.”

I could feel myself choking with words instead of letting them out naturally. I started sweating again and, underneath the table, my dick began rioting, spewing my manhood all over my legs against my will.

“The bathroom is that way.” She pointed to a door to her right. “Go clean yourself up and come back to continue our talk.”

I ran as fast as I could to that door and locked it on the inside so that no one else invaded my space. My boxers were all sticky and I had semen still dripping uncontrollably. I cleaned up, washed both my hands and my face and got out pretending nothing important had happened. I even whistled a pop melody as I walked towards Samantha’s boots.

“Feeling better now?” she asked.

“Not really.”

“Don’t look so shocked! I did tell you some secrets are obvious for someone paying attention….”

“Even so, I saw you yesterday for the first time and we were only introduced a couple of hours ago, for crying out loud!”

“Just because you only saw me yesterday, that doesn’t mean it was also the first time I laid my eyes on you.”

I’m sure you can understand why I was suddenly baffled.

“You’ve been observing me?!!”

“Yes, ever since the beginning of the year. We even crossed a couple of times in the hallways, in the past few months.”

That was impossible!

“How can I have missed you, then?”

“Simple.” She retorted gently. “I wasn’t wearing boots. I just wanted to study you at the time, and that was the only way to be invisible.”

“Study me? I don’t like the way that sounds.”

Her radiant smile froze me once more.

“Sure you do. You like it just as much as you like my boots. You could have gone away after that small… let’s call it incident… like you did at the library. Yet, here you are and I don’t think you’ll be leaving so soon.”

“I only wanted to hear what you had to say and to find out how on earth have I become so transparent!”

“You know as well as I do that there’s more to it, but we’ll talk about that in due time. Now, I believe you’re looking for an explanation.”

“That’s right.”

“Why don’t I give it to you back at my place?”

“I’m not going anywhere else with you, Samantha.”

Her voice changed to a more domineering tone.

“I know you want to believe that, but we’ll do things my way. You’re going with me now not only because I want to, but also because that’s what you want to do, too.”

I saw her get up and head for the door, feeling confident I would go right behind her, just like a small puppy. The truth is I don’t bark or scratch flees with my paws since I don’t have any. Nevertheless, I did follow her shortly after, merely for the sake of my secret which shouldn’t be made public.

* * *

She lived in a real mansion with up to twenty bedrooms. Her father was a diplomat and her mother a teacher at Yale, so it was no surprise she was fully loaded! As she led me up a large set of stairs, she told me she could have gone to any university of her choice or even don’t go to one at all, and simply spend her fortune without ever feeling any kind of remorse or fear that the well would dry up all of a sudden. It turns out that all she wanted was to live a regular life, to and learn on her own, free from the influence of others.

“Teachers have a tendency to inflate my grades when they know who my father is. Honestly, I don’t like that. How am I supposed to prove my real worth that way?” she asked.

We entered a bedroom, scarcely decorated in comparison with the rest of the house. There was a large bed on one side, a small desk buried in paperwork and a series of shelves filled with test tubes and other glass vials, oddly labeled canisters, cotton balls and a whole load of syringes. At a corner, there was a silver, shiny computer monitor. Everything combined, the whole place felt more like a laboratory than a bedroom and I was reluctant to sit on the bed next to her like she suggested.

“Sit, Andy!” she eventually ordered. Her legs were crossed, her boots pointing down at the floor. When I did comply, she placed her arm around my neck and started giving me a message, whilst filling me in all the details.

“The first time I saw you, you were not alone. There was this redhead walking along with you. She wasn’t at all pretty but had a wonderful pair of cowboy boots on. You were helping her carry a TV set, or should I say you were taking it for her? Do you remember this?”

“Sure. I had seen her in the hallway and it didn’t seem she had the strength to carry the device without some help. I volunteered for the job.”

“Because she was wearing boots….”

“No, because helping out seemed the right thing to do.”

“Come on, Andy! You wouldn’t have looked at her if she was wearing anything else other than boots. I saw the way you were focused on them. You were very pleased, and had a stupid smile on your face.”

“So what?!”

“So, I saw that smile over and over again whenever a girl with boots walked you by. For instance, I know you’re quite good at French, and that there’s a girl in your class named Vivian who asks for your help every now and then. Strangely enough, you only seem to be willing to help her out if she’s wearing boots. I know for a fact that a couple of times you also volunteered for the job before she asked you anything.”

“I knew she was going to…”

Unhappy with my answer, she stopped massaging me and gave me a very stern look.

“Wrong!” she exclaimed. “You did it because of your submissive tendencies, because of the power of that fetish of yours over your mind. Women’s boots bring out the servitude in you; they make you both horny and docile. You find very hard to resist any suggestion given to you by a female wearing boots, no matter how ugly she turns out to be. You even volunteer to do things you would never do, because it feels good to be in that position, of wanting what someone else wants. I bet you dream of being manipulated by them, seeing your world torn asunder by your natural desire to submit to such power! That’s why you’re here right now because my boots exert a spellbinding control over your body and your thoughts…”

“That’s not true!” I yelled. “Yes, I have a fetish for boots, yes they arouse me more than anything else, but I’m not and I will never be submissive. You’re delusional, Sam, and I’m getting it out of here, right now!”

She grabbed my wrist and guided my hand towards one of her boots so that I could feel them. The ecstasy that hit me betrayed me.

“Wrong answer again, Andy.” She said, this time whispering like an enticing siren. “You’re not going anywhere! Not when you’re so close to the object of your desires, not when you finally have a chance to give in….”

My fingers were trembling while being guided through every curve of her boot and the shivering sensation spread throughout my whole body.

“You and I have complimentary desires, you know?” she continued. “Deep inside, you want to be made into a boot slave and I yearn to be properly pampered by one. That’s why I brought you here, today. Don’t you feel the acquiescent rush taking over you right now? Why don’t you go down and take your tongue out so you can lick them?”

Tempting, very tempting indeed, much more than I wanted to admit, but it was one thing to have thoughts of fetish devotion and another to yield to them for real, to blissfully sink in front of a flesh and blood woman, even more so one I had only met a couple of hours ago, no matter how gorgeous and enticing she was. I tried to leave once again, but she didn’t let go of my hand and kept purring in my ears and soul.

“Why are you fighting me? Better yet, why are you fighting yourself? I sense some pretty nasty barriers within your spirit, and it’s time to break them. I’ll help you do it.”

I was gently pushed to a stool right in the front of the computer screen. It came alive before my eyes almost instantly, carrying within an unforgettable message.

“I’ve been working on what you’re about to see for a while, now”, she confessed. “More than anyone, I believe you’ll comprehend its significance.”

She hit a key to open up a shortcut to a video file and smiled.

The video started in slideshow fashion, showing classy pictures of women in boots. Well, as a matter of fact, it was just one woman, parading lots of different pairs, each one more intriguing than the one that came before and yes, the woman was most definitely her although most of the images were meticulously cropped to show only gorgeous legs and extravagant footwear.

At first, it looked a lot like two or three folders of my private collection with no tampering whatsoever, no backstage tricks. It all changed with the introduction of a curious rippling effect to signal the transition from one slice of temptation to the next, parts of reality constantly dissolving to be born anew once again in just a matter of seconds. It was some sort of metaphor for the constant changes in life, the ever-fleeting thoughts of our daily lives, I believe, almost like a breathing creature trying to break free from the circuitry of the machine.

Then, the images started flashing and dissolving at the same time, trapping my already overly stimulated in a loop. Rapidly, the boots grew in size, shrunk and exploded into a thousand twinkling fireworks, over and over again, while she leaned behind me, breathed sexily on my neck and licked her lips in eager anticipation.

“You know you’re fooling yourself by trying to escape the pleasure my boots can offer….” She insisted, feeding my mind with the sound equivalent of the lustful visual spectacle I was being confronted with. “You know that all it takes is a crack in that mental blockade you built for you to see the truth.” I felt her left boot slowly climbing up my back, the heel leaving small impressions of power on my shirt, so close to branding my skin.

The power of the images grew. The two-dimensional and the three-dimensional boots marched in unison to claim my spirit. It was as if I could feel the loosening up of the neural pathways, as if all words and thoughts were being swept, or dragged down a giant cascade where it takes more than luck to survive the fall. I think I began to drool at this point, but I’m not really sure. I don’t remember what was happening around my lips, but only the rush of imminent, orgasmic rapture.

Aware of my growing weakness, Samantha had me face her again. I was hazy, phasing in and out of the world I knew, at the threshold of a dirty dream that felt so good. Her eyes burrowed deep into mine. Slowly, she placed her both of her hands on my temples, exerting just the necessary amount of pressure to make me sink to the ground before her. As this took place, my attraction for her only grew more and more intense.

“Accept your fate, Andy. Lick my boots and become mine!” she commanded.

I’ll never forget that moment. Being there, down at her feet, completely helpless, reminded me of the day I saw Tracy for the first time and my knees bent by the keyhole of my sister’s bedroom. It was the same feeling of defeat being brought forth only this time ten thousand times deeper, the craving to surrender just like Samantha’s voice and the dazzling image sequence flashing on her computer screen had told me and still dancing furiously in my mind was still doing. She was right all along. I wanted to be pushed around and made hers, obedience was my credo. I started licking her boots all the way up to her thighs: up and down, from top to bottom, never stopping, never questioning her rightful authority…. As long as she had them on, I was her pet, a living toy and, as I’m sure you all know, toys are to be played with, and don’t think on their own.

* * *

Three years have passed since she opened my eyes to a life of domination and subservience. I’m her boyfriend when the rest of the world is watching, her puppet when we’re all alone. Those are the rules and, as her slave, I revere them as holy. The Ten Commandments have been summarized into just one, so easy to memorize and live by: to do whatever she orders me to do when she orders it.

Sometimes, she uses one of those syringes on me to break my spirit even further. I don’t know what kind of drugs she uses or how she got them in the first place, but they work like a charm whenever a piece of my old self starts to give some signs of unease with the whole situation.

Other women have been erased from my mind by her natural and chemical allure. Now, the only boots that bind me are the ones she wears, and she has already bought fifty new pairs of them, one for each new way of exercising her influence over me.

Today, she stumbled upon a very intriguing website http://www.mcstories.com/index.html, if I recall it correctly – and, even though the tales depicted therein are nothing but written fantasies, she was fascinated with the prospect of using other mind reshaping techniques on me, just as another reminder of my real place in her life. She went out to buy the necessary equipment for a series of tests and left me in her ‘lab’. She bought a new laptop recently, the one I’m using to write down these memories.

Why do I do it, you ask? No, she didn’t instruct me to. It so happens that I’ve always liked to keep a journal; my recollections are better off preserved on paper, even if the sheets are electronic than inside my head. It’s the result of the drugs, I guess – I forget a lot of things, except I’m hers.

I don’t know if she will be mad at me when she finds out about these lines. Perhaps not, since I’m being true and my words are mainly of gratitude. She had the courage and the will-power of putting an end to my erratic behavior, and I can never thank her enough. The world sure does spin, my friends: to think I found perfect happiness because of a fetish in my life proves just that.

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