The Girl’s Guide To Being A Fetish Model

wonderfoot584

Today I was paid to recreate the Violet Beauregarde scene from the old Charlie and the Chocolate Factory movie for the sexual gratification of men around the world.

You remember the scene—she shoves a piece of Wonka chewing gum in her mouth and then ends up blowing up into a giant blueberry. Well, I have news for you—that shit is a big turn-on for a certain demographic—so much so that there is now a respectable market for blueberry-inflation porn. I’m guessing that guys of a certain age popped their first boner while watching that scene, and ever since, the image of a female swelling up and turning into a giant blueberry has been inextricably entwined with their sex drives.

That’s right—the words “blueberry,” “inflation,” and “porn” can and DO exist in the same sentence for many people.

Now, I’m not one to judge—I’ve been working as a fetish model for over five years now, and being blown up as a blueberry is hardly the strangest thing I’ve done in the interest of sexual gratification. Men (and they’re pretty much always men) around the world have jerked off to videos of me sneezing, burping, eating donuts, holding my breath, washing my hair, popping balloons, and digesting food. (A stethoscope is used to amplify the sounds of my juices attacking the contents of my stomach.) There’s a whole crazy rainbow of sexual fetishes out there—and as I said, I’m not here to judge. I’m just here to make a buck!

Some guys get turned on by this.
Some guys get turned on by this.

I got into fetish modeling because I’m too chickenshit to do real porn—most of the sites where I model don’t even require nudity, let alone any overly erotic behavior. So even a nice gal like me can pay her way through college without compromising her integrity! (“Integrity” is a subjective term—I mean, I have kicked men in the balls, HARD, for websites. But they deserved it!)

Either way, I don’t plan on ever running for office—I have nothing to hide! Fetish modeling is easy money, and for the most part the work is fun…and the people you meet are really interesting. I once did a video shoot with a tall, handsome, soft-spoken beefcake who turned out to be a cop for the local police department—and a lieutenant, at that. This was for a femdom (female domination) site, so the videos called for me to abuse the shit out of this guy: spit on him, slap him, and stomp on his nipples. At the end of the shoot, I asked him why he was doing this—he obviously didn’t need the money. His answer was that all day, every day, he was feared and respected at work, so in his downtime he found it therapeutic to be abused by a petite woman.

Well, guess what? Beating the shit out of a cop was pretty damn therapeutic for me, too! It was a win-win.

Over my years of fetish modeling, I’ve come to feel a real kinship with my customers—my people! I mean, is there really anything that weird about being turned on by feet instead of tits? Who cares? I think it’s great that these guys have an outlet for their desires—imagine what it was like for a fetishist back in the days before the Internet: I’ll bet they felt like horrible dirty freaks, slinking into seedy Times Square bookstores to buy crappy magazines. Nowadays it’s so much easier.

With all that being said, I am a pretty open-minded girl. As long as no one’s being hurt (unless they wanted to, oh, say, be kicked in the nuts repeatedly with a cowboy boot), I’ll shoot just about anything. But I do have my limits. One super-popular genre I refuse to shoot is called “Damsel in Distress,” and it’s basically photos and videos of regular-looking girl-next-door types who are bound, gagged, and looking terrified. Maybe I’m missing something here, but a guy who jerks off to that seems to be in a different league than a guy who gets off to a chick eating donuts. Call me square, but I’m perfectly happy just sitting here getting blown up like a blueberry.

And besides, after my experience today, I kinda get the whole blueberry thing: the feeling of growing and growing and not knowing if you’ll ever stop filling up with gallons and gallons of sweet, delicious blueberry juice…so much juice that your skin is stretched taut, barely containing your sweet, sweet blueberry flesh. Mmmmmmmmmmm!

Uh-oh…I just spewed blueberry juice all over my laptop. TC mark

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