Thirteen-year old Sanna slipped into the studio, dressed in a red, long-sleeved leotard and red woolly pantyhose. She was around 1 meter 40 and weighed around 30 kilos. She had frizzy, shoulder-length, brown hair, and green eyes.
She sat down in the chair in which the photographer wanted her to sit, her feet just barely touching the ground. It was a creme-coloured, very high-backed, chair with armrests. On the middle bar, a long piece of rope was tied. Beside the chair, semi-hidden from view, was another small pile of ropes and other supplies.
“Right,” she said, “let’s get this over with, shall we? And remember; I have to approve every photo, before it can be used. EVERY photo; you hear?”
“Yes, I hear you. Loud and clear!” the photographer, Mr. Smith, sighed. They had been over this about twelve dozen times already. Why was she so worried? He was an honest man; if he had said she would have the sole control of which picture to use, then she would have!
He took some pictures of her sitting with her legs neatly put together.
She got out of the chair, and pulled the rope on the middle bar forward onto the seat. She sat down again, and pulled the rope up between her legs.
“Now, it’s your turn.” Mr. Smith took the ends of the rope, and passed them back around her, over the hips. He crossed them between the back of the chair again, before bringing them together in front of her, and pulling them tight before asking her: “Is this tight enough, or do you want it even tighter?”
Sanna tried to bring the small of her back forward from the back of the seat. When she found she couldn’t move an inch, she smiled and nodded.
“No, it is perfect!” she beamed, and he tied the ends together with a neat bow-tie.
Mr. Smith took another set of pictures, with Sanna sitting with her legs either together as before, or wide apart, so you could see the rope between her legs.
Then he tied her shoulders to the back of the chair, her arms to the armrests, land lastly her legs separately to the legs of the chair, taking a set of pictures between each segment.
“Right; are we done now, or do you want it all?” he asked.
Sanna thought about it for a while. Then she said: “I’d like to see the pictures you have so far, before I make a decision.”
Mr. Smith brought a laptop over and put the chip from the camera in a slot on the computer. They browsed the pictures, Sanna saying which pictures to keep, and which to delete.
When the browsing was done they had six pictures left; one from each segment.
“Yes, O.K; let’s do it all!” she told him.
“Thy will, be done!” Mr. Smith sighed. This sure was a tough customer to please!
He first gagged her by putting a large handkerchief in her mouth and then tying it in place with a bandana; then he blindfolded her by tying a bandana around her head, all the time taking pictures before doing something new.
“I have to use the bathroom. Would you mind if I didn’t untie you, and left you alone for a couple of minutes? Or would you like to use it, too?” he then asked.
She shook her head; no, she didn’t mind being left alone for a while; and no, she didn’t have to use the bathroom. Not yet, at least.
‘I have to consider myself lucky,’ she thought ‘to have found such a good-natured, open-minded and tolerant photographer. I’m sure there aren’t that many who are willing to do this to the people coming to their studio.”
Mr. Smith came back, took the blindfold off, and together they browsed the last sets of pictures and Sanna, still gagged, nodded or shook her head to indicate which pictures to save and which to delete.
With the job done, he released her from the chair, and took the gag out.
“Do you want a couple of minutes to stretch your legs, or do you want to continue right away?” he asked her.
“I’d appreciate a couple of minutes to stretch my legs, and a glass of water or something. That gag sure did a great job drying my mouth out!”
Sanna was ready to continue the session a couple of minutes later. This time however, she was told to lie on a mattress, face down.
Mr. Smith started by taking a couple of pictures of her just lying there, arms by her side. Then he tied a rope around her elbows, bringing them as close together as he could, without hurting her. He tied her wrists, knees and ankles together, all the time taking pictures before tying a new part of her body. This time, however, he didn’t gag her; he just put the blindfold back on.
The last set of pictures was of her, lying on her back and with her wrists crossed and tied together in front of her.
As before, they chose one picture from each of the segments, and discarded the rest.
Mr. Smith untied her and helped her to get off the floor.
“O.K,” he said. “Are you up for one last set of pictures, or have you had enough?”
She looked at him, as if he was out of his mind.
“We have a deal, haven’t we, about what pictures I would like you to take, and roughly what I was to use them for?” she said, suddenly very business-like. “I’m not putting myself through this just because I like it, although I am immensely, but because they fill a purpose.”
“And it’s one you won’t give me the specifics about; right?” Mr. Smith said.
“Mm, yes that’s right,” she nodded. “Shall we get started on that last part now?”
He put the mattress on a bed, already prepared with straps hanging down from the frame, and she lay down on her back.
He strapped her waist, elbows, wrists, knees and ankles to the bed, as before taking pictures as he went along. Lastly, he put a leather enhanced canvas-hood over her head and strapped it around her neck, before strapping it to the head-board.
When she had been released from the bed, Sanna used the bath-room; put a long-sleeved, beige-coloured dress on over the leotard, paid Mr Smith, took the pictures, and rushed out the door.
He stood in the window, looking at her walking away.
“Good luck kid,” he whispered. “Good luck!”