## The photographer

Post by lasse672000 » Mon Nov 22, 2010 2:52 am

Iâ€™m almost certain I posted a similar story, a while back. I couldnâ€™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. â€œ15â€ I said. â€œIâ€™m doing a degree project in photography, and Iâ€™m searching for a model. When I saw you, I thought to myself; â€˜Wow! There she is!â€™ Would you be willing to be my model for a couple of pictures?â€ 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 Iâ€™d need my parentsâ€™ 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. â€œOnly to make certain Iâ€™ve got all the pictures I need.â€
â€œNo problemâ€ I said, adding;â€What do you think, mum? Can I? Please?â€ 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 youâ€™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. â€œWhat?â€ I said â€œDo you mean right now?â€
â€œWell, youâ€™ve got your mothersâ€™ permission, and there is no better time than the present, right?â€ So I was whisked away, to live the â€œglamorousâ€ 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 Iâ€™d wear it. While he was picking through the clothes, I had a good look round the room. There wasnâ€™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. â€œBefore we begin, I have to ask you something. Whatâ€™s with all the rope?â€ I asked with a tremble (of anticipation?) in my voice. â€œWeâ€™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. Itâ€™ll be quite innocent, I can assure you. Now, letâ€™s get started, shall we? Come over here and sit down on this stool, please.â€ 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. â€œI would like to tie your elbows behind your back now. The idea is to take some â€œDamsel-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: â€œIâ€™m OK with it. How do you want to start?â€
As Iâ€™ve already said, Iâ€™ll tie your elbows behind your back, and then weâ€™ll take it from there, shall we.â€ 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 wasnâ€™t in any pain, or even discomfort, although I wouldnâ€™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 hadnâ€™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, Iâ€™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 weâ€™re done, I think.â€ 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.
Whazzzz up!.

### Re: The photographer

Post by Plueschbabycd » Mon Nov 22, 2010 4:50 am

Hallo, lasse very nice story. The mother must really open mind. I think the most people I know would say: "tie up photos form a no adult female person in no street clothes are inappropriate"
Andrew
"Don´t dream it, be it." Dr. Frank N. Furter in Rocky Horror Picture Show

### Re: The photographer

Post by lasse672000 » Mon Nov 22, 2010 5:52 am

They probably would. But these pictures were for a "artistic" purpose.
Whazzzz up!.

### Re: The photographer

Post by Plueschbabycd » Mon Nov 22, 2010 6:14 am

Thy would say :" the "artistic" purpose is only a pretextual argument."
Andrew
"Don´t dream it, be it." Dr. Frank N. Furter in Rocky Horror Picture Show

### Re: The photographer

Post by lasse672000 » Tue Nov 23, 2010 2:16 am

The other day, the doorbell rang. It was the photographer from a while back. â€œMy teacher said I need a few more pictures to complete my work. Would you consider taking some more photos, I wonder? This time, I think weâ€™d be working out of the studio. Iâ€™d really appreciate it!â€
I looked at him and thought for a while. My mother had by this time, come to the door. When she heard his question, remarked:â€ If you havenâ€™t noticed, young man, itâ€™s snowing today!â€ then she noticed the plea in his eyes, and relented. â€œItâ€™s up to you.â€ she sighed. I thought about saying â€˜No, Iâ€™m far too busy!â€™ for a moment, but then I remembered, how much fun I had had the last time, so I said:â€Yes, of course. Just a moment! Iâ€™ll just go and put on the clothes I was wearing in the photo-shoot, and my snow-suit.â€ â€œGreat!â€ he said.
When I came back a couple of minutes later, he was talking to my mother. I could see she wasnâ€™t happy about something, but just as I got near them she said:â€Well, I suppose I can. But you best bring her home safe and sound and on that day! , Earlier, if possible. No telephone calls with a lot of â€˜ifâ€™s and â€˜butâ€™s. Is that clear?â€ she said, in a menacing voice. She can sound very threatening if she wants to, but itâ€™s usually just words. But words can be very effective, used the right way. As this was going on, I put on my mittens, scarf and hat. He gave her his word as a gentleman (to which she just sneered) and off we went. When we came down to the car park, he turned to me and remarked:â€Your mother isnâ€™t one to take â€˜noâ€™ for an answer. Is she?â€ â€œNo, she isnâ€™tâ€ I replied. â€œYou donâ€™t want to upset her, thatâ€™s for sure. Not if youâ€™re not wearing a bullet-proof vest, anyway! So, where are we going? Iâ€™m dying to know!â€
â€œWeâ€™re going to a place I know, just out of town. There, we will start filming. You see, when my teacher saw the pictures I had taken, he thought they were so good, he told me to make some short film-sequences to go with them. Just when you get there and when you leave. Maybe a few sequences of you while youâ€™re there. As it is quite late in the day, I thought weâ€™d shoot the sequence, when you get there, and tomorrow, weâ€™ll shoot the one when you leave. Or how about this; you manage to escape your captors and get rescued by a knight in shining armour! Or at least, a person with a fast car.â€ he added. â€œHow about that, for an ending?â€ I gave it some thought, and then said it sounded great.
We drove on for a while, until we were well out of town. He turned in to a small dirt road and stopped a few hundred meters in. There was a small, very run-down house, at the end of the road. Out through the door, came a man not much older than I am. After brief presentations all around, we got to work. I had my hands tied behind my back and gagged. Then I was led back to the car, where I was blindfolded and put in the back. The car reversed A few meters, and then stopped. It revved up, and with a jolt, it shot forward. I was yanked out of my seat and into the house. The door slammed shut, and the â€œdirectorâ€ shouted stop. The blindfold was taken off again, just as he came in, and said it had been a perfect shot. There was no need to do it again. Now, he just needed a sequence, where I was locked into a room. That meant I had to be blindfolded again. I could hear him say â€œActionâ€ and was grabbed by the arm and dragged into a room and in to a hard wooden chair. My hands were freed, and I was told to take my snowsuit, hat, scarf and mittens off. Then I was tied to the chair. When the sequence was executed to the directorsâ€™ liking (which took a while), I was freed from the chair and permitted to put it all back on again. Strangely enough, I wasnâ€™t permitted to take my gag or blindfold off, however. Then, something even more strange happened. I was ordered back in the chair, and I was tied up once more. But this time, my legs were tied separately to the back-legs of the chair. Then, door was closed. As I sat there, I realized I wasnâ€™t alone in the room. I could hear someone sobbing softly, somewhere behind me. It sounded like another girl.
When â€œthe directorâ€ came in next time, it was to give me some food and drink. He took off my gag and blindfold. When he had done that, I turned around as much as I could, to try to see where the sound had come from. As far as I could see, though, we were the only ones in the room. â€œWhat are you looking for?â€ he asked inquisitively. â€œNothing, it would seem. But I thought I heard someone a while back. It sounded like a girl crying, and it wasnâ€™t me.â€ â€œAh, then you have one of two choices.â€ He said smiling. â€œItâ€™s either a ghost, or the wind blowing through the cracks in the wall. Personally, Iâ€™d favour the ghost theory, because they say the house is haunted. There apparently lived a little girl here about 100 years ago, and she, again apparently, was murdered in this very room! So the story goes, anyway. But there are a lot of cracks in it, so you never know.â€ â€œHaha, very funny!â€ I said, infuriated about him making fun of me. â€œWhen are you going to release me from this chair? Itâ€™s getting rather uncomfortable sitting here. Not to mention cold! And lastly, am I going to get out of these ropes any time soon?â€
â€œIâ€™m afraid the ropes will have to stay on until tomorrow. So you donâ€™t lose the feeling of helplessness. I can however tie your hands in front of you, instead, and put you in the pile of hay over in the corner, if you want to.â€ I hung my head but nodded. He loosened the ropes around my wrists, and I brought them around in front of me, where he crossed them and tied them together again. He untied my legs so I could walk over to the hay. I lay down in it, and he tied my feet together. He then replaced my gag and blindfold. When he rose he said:â€Be prepared for an early start tomorrow. By the way, we start filming in the crack of dawn. Youâ€™ll know when, when the door opens and youâ€™ll be taken out of here. Be prepared to run with your hands bound. Please be careful, itâ€™s slippery out there!â€ He left, closing the door behind him. I had a very cold and miserable night ahead of me.
I was awakened by the door bursting open, and a male voice saying: â€œThere you are! Let me get you out of here!â€ As promised, my feet were untied and my blindfold taken off. I heard him asking me if I thought I could run. I nodded, and he said:â€Then do it!â€ I wasnâ€™t one to be told that more than once, so I ran for all that I was worth, until â€œthe directorâ€ said â€œStop! Cut!â€ I slowly walked back to the house, and I was told I had done an excellent job.
We stayed there the rest of the morning. Not once were my hands freed, but my gag was taken out, and I was fed breakfast before it went back on again. By midday, everyone left the site; me gagged and with my hands still bound, sitting in the directorsâ€™ car. I wasnâ€™t really freed until we reached the car park at home.
Whazzzz up!.

### Re: The photographer

Post by Plueschbabycd » Tue Nov 23, 2010 4:17 am

That film sound for very strange. I do not know if it only low bought production and the want not pay the actor or is a production not really lawful. But if is save I would work in this production.
Andrew
"Don´t dream it, be it." Dr. Frank N. Furter in Rocky Horror Picture Show