Yes, Master

I'm not your average girl. I may look it on the outside. But I'm not. I'm 17. 5'7 and with my dark red shoulder length hair, frumpy fat body and dazed blue eyes, I look like a typical teenaged blob.

On the inside, I felt like a freak with my strange nature to avoiding huge crowds and the numerous times I raised into arousal over the thoughts from me being whipped by a thick leather belt or forced into some sort of captured slavery.

Besides my usual way to put myself down I resorted to several hours per day chatting up male company online under my resource from KinkyLife.com. A handy site actually, a new fella each day and a new character to put myself into. Some days I was your bitchy dominatrix and others I was the innocent little brat. I enjoyed it so much and really helped ignore the solitary time passing that made me think about my direct flaws.

Every man on there was different and made me raise an eyebrow to each fetish or interest they may be having. Like, this older gentlemen I speak to often right now, aged 47. He lives just a few towns away and is an extremist into sadistic pleasure and has a huge twisted liking to scat play. He turned me on one time so strongly over an endless evening conversation where we spurred off into sharing contact about our fantasies and future playtime we could share. Admittedly I felt uncomfortable by the age gap but he really weakened me easily with his chilling words and constant teasing.  

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I awake in a cluster of cushioning to see the light streaming through my blinds and leeching a glow to my peachy walls. I sit up right, yawning and checking my phone. Ah the usual. Several notifications from the man himself, Thomas.

Thomas was a 47 year old, a workaholic for a global company and lived alone. I was the only exciting thing he had and he was for me too.

"Hello darling, I trust you've slept well. I'm back off to work, talk later. Love Tom x" at 6:27am

I grow a grin and lay back in my sheets thinking about the filth of a conversation we could share and as I do so I am soon shattered from daydreaming delights to hearing my mum call from down the hallway.

"Mandy! I need a hand with the cooking today. We have guests over for tea." as I'm groaning in pain of having to resort back to my normal life, I scrape out from my mattress and reply a simple yell of a "Yes" and skim through my wardrobe looking for something to pull on.

Opting for my trusting black leggings and flowing black shirt that showed a raw amount of cleavage yet still hiding those scar of my skin stretching, I pace down the stairs, managing to maintain my breathing and tidying up my hair into it a loose bun.

The door creaks as I pear into the kitchen to see my mum prepping up a mount of carrots and smiling at my arrival.

"Good morning! The Stanford's are joining us for dinner tonight, and they're bringing over that delicious son of theirs. Ya know? The one that looks a smidge like that Harry Styles boy."

"Yeah, Trent and his not delicious mum. He's so uptight." I flinch as I think of him pouting his lips and running his hands through his hair like some sort of prince charming.

"Well, if you don't want him, I'll have him" Mum says with a chuckle and winks at me as she continues to peel the batch of veg.

"Avoiding the topic of wedding bells, Mum. What can I do to help?"

"I need you to defrost and peel the prawns. I'm thinking potted shrimp for starters." My mum says oh so cheery. That's the thing, my mum is totally opposite to me. She's wild with her jet black spiked hair, sarcastically insane matching her odd idea of fashion sense and her loopy carelessness to being socially inappropriate.