Confessions of a Fetish Model – An Erotic Story by Venus O’Hara


A photoshoot isn’t just a moment for the model or the photographer. As I pose, I’m very aware that I’m also showcasing the talents of the stylist, the hair and makeup artist as well as the set designer. I’m the canvas for a lot of people’s artistry and I absolutely cannot let them down. Knowing this, I do feel a lot of pressure before a shoot. I need to be in form and possess the energy that will provoke the imaginations of the spectators who have yet to enjoy the fruit of our collective fetish art.


This is what is going through my head as I arrive at a fetish-themed shoot in an abandoned industrial building on a spring morning. After greeting the team, I enjoy a much-needed black coffee as my transformation begins. Thanks to the help of professional hairstyling and makeup, you would never know that I have been up since 5 am. When I look in the mirror, I hardly recognize myself. My ‘war paint’ makeup and big old-school Hollywood-style curls couldn’t be more different from my usual redhead lioness, freckle-face, natural look.


Although I’ll be dressed in latex for the photos, being a model means that I have to be comfortable with a whole room of strangers seeing me naked.  There is no place for self-consciousness, or underwear for that matter, as I change into and out of the selected latex costumes for the shoot.


I notice that the first black dress is a size too small. Fuck. I’m going to need help, so I demand it. I stand naked with my arms raised as two guys try to ease me into the dress. I breathe in. Now, this is what I call restraint; it’s tight but manageable.  I feel as though it won’t be too difficult for me to give evil domme stares to the camera now. 


Once I’m dressed, they help me into a pair of mega-high heels that are in no way designed for walking. Heels are for photos and sex, I say. But despite this, I still feel powerful when I’m wearing them.


After gaining a few inches, now I’m now taller than the entire production team. Feeling like a giantess changes my body language as I begin to pose. Am I the same person who turned up in converse and a tracksuit just a couple of hours earlier? It doesn’t seem like it. Now, I’m Femdom extraordinaire about to conquer the world. You will do as I say, I think to myself as I strike my well-rehearsed fetish poses.


My nakedness underneath the latex makes me so horny. I’m almost lost in my own fetish delirium when the photographer declares that she has the shots she was after. Now it’s time for a costume change.


When I’m naked again, I do wonder if the crew notice my engorged labia or the trickle of intimate nectar on my inner thighs. As I stand with my arms raised, I suddenly feel submissive as they undress and dress me again. I’m briefly obliged to follow their instructions before I return to my domme, fetish posing. Then, I can continue with my mission to provoke the erotic imaginations of all of those spectators who have yet to fall under my fetish spell. Although a photoshoot it’s a moment for everyone on set, at the precise moment when I’m devouring the lens, it is really just about me.

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