From the beginning, they wanted me bare. Almost everyone one of them wanted to see a slick, smooth pussy without a trace of hair on it. Even my peach fuzz needed to be gone. Only then, did I get their approval. What’s funny, at the time, I mostly thought it was because that’s how most of the women in porn were. At first, I didn’t realize there were other reasons that they liked it like that. It changed how they visualized me in their head. I felt mature and grown because I thought they were seeing a porn star in their head. I was their porn star. But really, I was something else to them.

Not that all of them pushed it. Mostly, the men just wanted to see me naked on their screens. Some politely asked and some demanded. Both strategies were likely to work with me. They used sweet words and cruel. Some of them made me feel like the most special and grown-up girl on Earth. Others tore me down and left me sobbing. But all of them wanted me naked.

It’s probably why it’s so natural for me now; nudity is just another facet of my life. I only think about it when I go out. The only clothing I need is my collar, a plug, and heels. Then I’m fully dressed and ready for the world. Because that was what they wanted then as well as what I want now.

And it was exciting, to show myself, to get praise. It was so easy. Lift up my t-shirt, let them see my tits, and they liked me. Part my legs, pull my panties to the side, and they loved me. It was intoxicating. People who haven’t had to fight to feel worth something or good enough have no idea how addicting that feeling can be. And all I had to do was undress for them. Easiest fix in the world. I’d watch their cocks grow hard as they lusted after my body. Another hit of validation that made me desperate to do more.

Of course, the nudity wasn’t enough. They always wanted more as well. More suggestions on how to look, how to dress, what to do, and what they wanted to see. Some wanted close-ups of my mouth. My tongue sticking out, drooling, as they called me a good little cunt. That word still stung then, but all I truly heard was “Good”. I stole lipstick, makeup, whatever they recommended for me to make myself prettier for them. I bought some too, but it was expensive and I couldn’t ask my parents for the money. I’d never used much makeup, both not allowed and didn’t care about it. But I did then for them. Bright reds, pinks, even blues and blacks for my lips. Blush, even painting my nails in secret. Mostly, they wanted red or pink. I didn’t realize the difference then. Red made me look sluttier. Pink made me look fresher.

Clothes, I couldn’t do much about. I bought a thong and a lacey bra and hid them away. But I didn’t have much variety there. They didn’t care. They wanted to see the soft skin, not the clothes. Sometimes, I did my hair up in pony or pigtails. Again, I was oblivious. I’d seen enough porn to know that pigtails could be “handlebars”. Rarely did it click that it was another way to see me differently. I didn’t know of concepts like dressing someone up to dress them down. I only understood how makeup and clothes could make me look older. The opposite didn’t occur to me at the time.