One of the most incredible parts of being a fetish model is all of the tributes and gifts you receive from your fans, so I have packages arriving at my doorstep on a regular basis. Most don't come with a note-silent sends, if you will. However, I've never gotten a package without a label or a note before. I take the box upstairs and shake it a bit, cracking a joke to myself about how it could be something bad! To my surprise, I open it to find a sexy red choker.

I admire the necklace, noticing a weird sensation coming from inside the wrapping as I start to unravel it. It's as if my...

One of the most incredible parts of being a fetish model is all of the tributes and gifts you receive from your fans, so I have packages arriving at my doorstep on a regular basis. Most don't come with a note-silent sends, if you will. However, I've never gotten a package without a label or a note before. I take the box upstairs and shake it a bit, cracking a joke to myself about how it could be something bad! To my surprise, I open it to find a sexy red choker.

I admire the necklace, noticing a weird sensation coming from inside the wrapping as I start to unravel it. It's as if my hands are moving on their own, removing the choker and beginning to place it tight around my neck.. and once it's on, I feel myself speaking the words "Object caught". Momentarily I snap out of the weird trance like state, attempting to remove the necklace while realizing it's the cause of the madness ensuing in my own home. It's to no avail, though, as the necklace won't come off, and things start to take a turn as the rest of my body moves on it's own as well, walking around the room like a zombie before heading downstairs. Once I return to the couch, I give one last fleeting attempt to remove the cursed jewelry but it's too late. "Personality Obliterated. Transformation Program initiated. Awaiting masters arrival".

When we return, I've changed into a very revealing and shiny leather top, complete with slick black leggings hugging every curve of my long, muscular legs. My eyes have gone white, and I've applied a sleek, glam makeup to my face and lids to match. I'm mindless. I'm masters foot slave. I have no purpose other than to serve him, doing everything he asks of me and my perfect soles. Whether that means rubbing oil on them to provide the sexy shine he dreams about, or lifting them to his mouth with my toes pulled skyward for him to lick between each one. Will I ever remove this veil placed over my mind, or will I remain trapped in his spell?