I’ve never viewed my fetishes as a means of getting off. I’ve always seen them as a means to enslave me.
I never wanted to have them. The guilt and shame that helped birth desires into fetishes created self-inflicted wounds. I can never be “normal” ever again. I live with the deep, dark secret that abnormal things get me off and I pretty much need them (or the fantasy of them) to even get that far.
I don’t know if this is typical or atypical of fetishists. I know that the guilt/shame aspects are often at the root of most fetishists foundations. Many that I have encountered seem to be a lot more at peace with theirs than I am with mine. I have to wonder just how much I differ from them. Frequently in interactions with other fetishists I find them trying to force their fetish onto me. They look to me to provide them with wank fodder. In many ways I find this disgusting. In other ways I’m kind of envious.
I have never seen my fetishes as something I want to admit to anyone. I don’t want to force them upon someone, I want to keep them a secret and bury it inside me where no one else can see it and see the real me.
In D/s, I see this as a functional situation. Rip them to the surface and make me face my shame. Watch me twist, writhe, and suffer while what I want no one to know about me gets exposed for anyone to see. This is my greatest fear. It is also the #1 fuel for my submissive mental space.
My fetishes make me exploitable. Easily exploitable. The word “blackmail” doesn’t even have to be spoken. I know how vulnerable and helpless they make me. These are the things that make me run and hide. The greatest power imaginable is granted to the one who chains me to them and never lets me forget that there is nowhere to hide. She is the one that I love. She is the one that I serve. She is the one that I am helpless to resist. She is the one that wields fetish as a weapon.