Katy's Body Pt. 01

All images in this fictional work were created by the author. All models in these photos are 18 years of age or older, and are fully consenting participants in the creation of these images.

CHAPTER 1: INTRODUCTION*

*With thanks to my editor - Chris6160

I have always had what some might call an unusual attitude to my own body. On reflection it is not uncommon for people to think of their body as something partly distinct from their concept of their own self. Perhaps this separation of body from self has always been stronger in me than in others. I have known for a long time that I am very attractive, beyond just how I look. With the right make-up I can add a sexy face to a glorious body. A very long time ago I was offered the opportunity to become a fashion model in the former Soviet republic where I grew up. I turned it down when I realised that I would end up as the property of an oligarch until he tired of me, at which point I'd be quietly disposed of by a henchman. I don't regret that decision for a moment, but my reasoning is kind of ironic when I consider how my life has gone since then.

This is the true account of how, over a period of about 10 years, beginning in my mid 20s, I gradually allowed myself and even volunteered to be used, objectified, and pushed to extremes in the name of pleasure. I am not recounting every part of my life; I have focused on the pivotal points that caused me to recognise my inner need to have my body owned, abused and exploited, because of course it didn't happen all at once. The events I share here are the ones that brought out my inner longings. Much of the time between them was uneventful but I am privileged to have my intense, sexual inner feelings result in detachment from the abuse and suffering of my own flesh.

It is not possible to share it with you in person but I hope that this account awakens your desires too. Where possible I have included photos for you to better visualise the circumstances that I describe. In some cases the photos were not taken at the same time but I chose ones that best illustrate what I was wearing (or not wearing) at the time. Much of the real action was not captured by still photos. Generally these were committed to video, which has certain advantages. In a still photo you cannot hear the thwack as a strap or whip as it connects with my bare flesh, nor can you hear my gasps as it does so. Please enjoy and if it awakens thoughts of what you would like to do with my body - good.

My body is not really like that of a typical fashion model. I am slim with long legs and a flat abdomen but more toned, perhaps more similar to a less muscular fitness model. My breasts are small but natural and I am very proud of my rounded rear. You can make up your own mind from the photographs here. Something that seems unique is that I am very sexually attracted to my own body. Beyond simple masturbation, I often looked at my naked body in the mirror and wished, longed, that I could truly fuck myself. But it was also more than that. At heart I was always an exhibitionist and wanted to proudly show my body, even if I kept a coy attitude. Short skirts and small bikinis were always my favourite ways of showing off within social limits. I often fantasised about being nude and fucked in public.

Over time I admired my body with a gradually growing feeling that it took some time for me to articulate to myself. As I began to understand myself more, this developed into a desire to let someone own my body to do with as they pleased, at least for a short time. Somehow, I knew that despite whatever abuse or treatment they inflicted on me physically, inside I would be fine. I wanted to see someone enjoy my body without restraint. The mere thought of someone controlling my sexy body gave me an uncontrollable hunger and very sexual urge deep inside. I wanted to feel that my body, rather than my inner being, was being used for someone else's pleasure.

The second photo shows one of my typical activities - looking at my body in the mirror, being sexually attracted to it and fantasising what might be done to it. My objective in writing this story is simple; I would love to have my body admired and lusted over by as many men as possible. At the same time I want my body to experience a degree of cruelty and humiliation, to punish it for the desires that it awakens in others and, not least, me.

From time to time I would share photos on social media, receiving many comments about my body. A few made me pause to think. Of course most of them wanted to fuck me, but some said they had a compelling urge to be cruel to my body or to tie me up. I always thought those comments were strange rather than offensive, but gradually a thought took root and I found myself warming to the idea. I started to want to see my lovely sexy body not only owned but also mistreated. To be clear, pain and physical mistreatment were not initially part of my fantasy. I was unsure how much pain I would want to feel but eventually I felt the same deep internal sexual longing for my flesh to be made to suffer. I longed to be able to separate my inner self and watch, perhaps feel, my body being cruelly treated. In a sense my inner self is sexually attracted to my body in a sadistic way, while my body is forced to simply take the punishment.

My first real experience with any of this came about thanks to an Englishman.

Back in my home country I had been working as an interpreter for an American company but I fell out with my boss. I went for an interview for a European company and tried to balance looking sexy and professional at the same time.

As I was shown into the interview room I felt very uneasy. Seated opposite me was one of the most beautiful men I had ever seen, with clear blue eyes and a lovely facial structure. From his accent I knew him to be English. To cut a long story short I was offered the job and started work as an interpreter for the Englishman.

Despite my attraction to him, a relationship took a long time to develop. We travelled around the country for different meetings, each time staying in separate hotel rooms. Being on the road together a genuine friendship began to develop. Occasionally I thought that I caught him looking at my legs in the short skirts that I invariably wore.

Although he was director of our project he was only in our country for a few weeks at a time. One time when he returned, though, he informed all of us that he would be visiting less frequently because he was moving from England to Barbados for a year or two. Although we had still not moved beyond friendship he privately asked if I would like to visit him in Barbados. I pretended to need time to decide but there was no decision to make. I had always dreamed of visiting an exotic Caribbean island but never expected to have the opportunity. It was even more enticing to do so in the company of a beautiful man.