I’m almost certain I posted a similar story, a while back. I couldn’t find it in the archives, though.
It was a Friday afternoon. My mum and I were walking along the mall, when we were stopped by a man. He asked how old I was. “15†I said. “I’m doing a degree project in photography, and I’m searching for a model. When I saw you, I thought to myself; ‘Wow! There she is!’ Would you be willing to be my model for a couple of pictures?†He gave us the name of a very well known and well established university.
Of course, I was flattered, so naturally I said I would be. He gave us a card with his address and phone number, and said I’d need my parents’ permission. When I had it, I was to call the number on the card, and we would arrange for me to come to his place. The only thing was I might have to stay at his place for a couple of days. “Only to make certain I’ve got all the pictures I need.â€
“No problem†I said, adding;â€What do you think, mum? Can I? Please?†She looked him over very thoroughly, but gave her permission, right there and then. Then, the photographer asked if it would be OK, if I were to spend the night there as well. She gave him another thorough once-over, and then shrugged, saying:â€I suppose so. But in return, you will have to promise me, not to take any pictures that would be considered inappropriate, in any way, shape or form. Furthermore, I will want to see them, and I mean ALL of them, before you do anything else. Even those you’re not planning on using. I will make the final, final decision. Is that clear, young man?â€
He looked as if he was about to burst into tears right there and then, hung his head, but said he agreed to her terms. Then he turned to me and asked if I was prepared to go with him. “What?†I said “Do you mean right now?â€
“Well, you’ve got your mothers’ permission, and there is no better time than the present, right?†So I was whisked away, to live the “glamorous†life of a photo-model. Or so I thought, anyway.
When we came to his apartment, which happened to be in the same building we lived in, I took my coat off, and he asked me if I had a leotard or a swimsuit. I said I had both. He told me to go get it along with some tights. When I came back a couple of minutes later, I had a plastic bag full of leotards, tights and swimsuits. I told him to take his pick, and I’d wear it. While he was picking through the clothes, I had a good look round the room. There wasn’t much to see, just a couple of stools, a pole, two cameras (one of them being a video-camera), and sitting on a bench in the corner, a pile of ropes. In one corner, there was a screen. When I looked behind it, I saw it was a make-shift changing-room. The walls were made of white, or possibly, pale beige bricks. In some places, hooks had been driven into one of the walls, at different levels.
I was yanked back to reality by him saying he had picked out some clothes for me to wear, but they would start with him taking some photos of me wearing my street ones. “Before we begin, I have to ask you something. What’s with all the rope?†I asked with a tremble (of anticipation?) in my voice. “We’ll come to those in a minute. First, I want to take some pictures of you, as you are. Then, we can start having some fun. It’ll be quite innocent, I can assure you. Now, let’s get started, shall we? Come over here and sit down on this stool, please.†He took a whole bunch of photos of me from different angles. Then he asked me to change into the clothes he had picked out, a long-sleeved leotard and tights. I went over and changed behind the screen.
When I came back, he took some more photos, and then went over to the bench and picked up one of the ropes. “I would like to tie your elbows behind your back now. The idea is to take some “Damsel-in-distressâ€-type photos. I will tie you up in various ways and gag and probably even blindfold you for a while, and take pictures of you. Would you mind me doing that?â€
I thought about it for a couple of seconds, and then said: “I’m OK with it. How do you want to start?â€
As I’ve already said, I’ll tie your elbows behind your back, and then we’ll take it from there, shall we.†I gave him sort of a regal nod and he gently took my elbows and brought them as close together as he could, behind my back. He noticed when he had tied the rope off, the elbows almost touched. I groaned a bit, but said I wasn’t in any pain, or even discomfort, although I wouldn’t be able to hold that particular position for very long. He put a ball-gag in my mouth and buckled it, then took a couple of photos of me standing up. When he had done that, he blindfolded me and took some more. I had the idea out my hands, so it almost looked like I had wings. He hadn’t told me to, but I thought it would look good. He took the blindfold off, and showed me the pictures. I was right; my holding out my hands like that did look good. After that, he helped me to sit down on the floor. He tied my ankles together, and took a third set.
The photo-session lasted the entire afternoon, and at the end I had been tied up in so many ways, both with and without the blindfold, I’d lost count. I had been tied up with my hands behind my back, in front of me, by my sides. Then I had been sitting on the floor, with my ankles tied together, I had been sitting with my arms up in the air, tied to one of the hooks, and the list could go on. As I was sitting on the floor, hands tied behind my back and ankles tied together, he said:â€A couple more pictures, and then we’re done, I think.†He came over and helped me to lie on my stomach. He bent my knees, so my bound ankles touched my bum. He took a rope and connected my hands and my ankles together, pulling on it so hard, my back arched, and my knees lifted off the floor. He took four more pictures, and said he was finally done. He loosened the rope connecting my wrists to my ankles and then started looking through the pictures he had taken. He took the camera over to the computer and printed them out, for me to give to my mother. When he came back over to me, he finally released me saying he was done and the photos were stunning. I changed back to my street clothes and went home with the pictures in a folder. When she saw the pictures, my mother agreed that they were really good, though she had a hard time understanding why I had to have been tied up in practically all of them.