This picture was emailed to me by accident. It wasn’t meant for me, and it appeared in my inbox among other “cartoon characters” — what I called anything animated, as I didn’t care much for the art. Then I looked more closely. At first I didn’t pay much attention to the rubber-masked head behind the woman. I looked at her and what I perceived to be a sleek leather mask covering most of her face. Only her ghostlike eyes and full lips were revealed.
First I gazed upon her tight fitting, thigh-high PVC boots with heels that could pierce the skin. My eyes traveled further up, and I admired the bodice that was a smothering corset fastened by leather straps. Straps were also attached to those beautiful boots. Her hands and arms were enveloped in the same PVC material and kept secured by yet another relentless strap reaching from shoulder to sensual shoulder. Her thighs, neck and exquisitely shaped firm breasts were protected only by a thin layer of latex. And in her left hand she held a whip.
I felt strangely aroused. I did have a slight whip fetish… I decided that I was going to let myself unashamedly fantasize about an animated woman. Nobody needed to know. She seemed so real.
I was alone in my apartment as usual. She was the picture of unrivaled beauty, this feline fatale. Even though I could not see her entire face I knew she was gorgeous. She had the body of a goddess, legs so sinful they should be declared illegal in all 50 states. I couldn’t help but long for those legs to be wrapped around me.
I felt myself becoming the masked creature with crimson eyes that could tear right through her like a blade through soft fabric. I, too, was holding my identity secret in a rubber confinement, yet my skin could easily have burnt right through it with unbridled lust. I wanted her in a way a lost cub wanted its mother when hungry. I needed to run my tongue along those delicious leather thigh-high boots and taste the material as if it were her very skin. I vividly saw us trapped together in a dungeon, she my dominatrix and I her slave forever. She would do to me as she pleased and I would tremble in erotic fear.
And last but definitely not least I beheld her whip – my latest fetish. It became the beacon of my every want, my every need. She could stun me into submission with a mere look but the touch of a whip on desirous skin is like a furious kiss planted with such haste you could only yearn for more. She could pin me down with her ferocious heels, digging into my flesh and I would not be satisfied. She could strangle me with one of her many straps and still I would want more. It was time to stop fantasizing. It was time to taste her venom and relish in whatever punishment she saw fit. It was time to open my eyes and begin enjoying the fruits of my imagination.
If only I could remember where I’d last seen my whip…