Ballbusting Backstage during LA Fashion Week

You knew I had to model that day but when you saw my legs in that silk chartreuse evening gown you just had to touch the French Chantilly lace underneath. I should have known that when you begged me to take you backstage, you weren’t hoping to see the head designer or catch a glimpse of the TMZ reporters—you wanted to see me. You wanted to expose me.Although my friends Sebastin and James knew that I was a Dominatrix and accepted my BDSM lifestyle, when they asked me to walk for their Spring/Summer 2021 Runway Show they begged me to keep it hidden from the publicity. Things had been so turbulent in the fashion industry since COVID-19, the brand couldn’t take another upset. I was modeling under my real name, “you have to be on your best behavior”, I told you the night before as you sat patiently in your cage. Why is it that you are always so obedient when you’re restrained, yet so rebellious when I give you a taste of freedom? If I needed further evidence of why your manhood must remain under my control, what you did at the fashion show was proof

I didn’t want to see you until after the show had ended. Though hair and makeup would take approximately three hours the runway show would be completed in less than twenty minutes. “If the show will be over that soon, how can I appreciate your pantyhose, Mistress?” you said hungrily as your hands reached to grip the flesh of my inner thigh. I smacked your hands away like a cat might bat their tail—hard and just confidently enough to invite flirtation. I gave you more reasons to desist. “I just spoke to James and he told me that we’re 15 minutes away from start time. I shouldn’t even be out here right now,” I said, looking at you firmly. “Then take me with you,” you stared back at me even harder

We walked speedily through security guards, hairstylists, and endless rows of undressing models. No one could see us together back here, even with the VIP badge I’d given him, reserved exclusively for the press. In hindsight maybe that was the joke I wasn’t able to savor, the punchline he had hoped his actions would elucidate. The only thing I could gather from it was an obvious need for discipline. Finally backstage, hidden safely in plain sight amongst the beautiful chaos of Los Angeles Fashion Week 2021, I allowed you to indulge in the soft folds of my designer silk gown. Once there I shifted your hands up my thighs, to the delicate lace, and even more translucent nylon pantyhose. Your weakness

I should have known you’d stuck your iPhone up my skirt from the look in your eyes, your impish look of satisfaction, but I was too distracted by the cry of horror from the model who’d discovered you first. It wasn’t until later, after the media fiasco that I realized what you’d been doing all along. Still, in that moment when I heard the models and casting agents at Wilhelmina scream, “Pervert!”, I knew instinctively it was you. So I cocked my leg back, aimed high at your nuts, and kicked with enough force to send your balls backwards. Swinging