Was She A Natural?
by Wendy

A young, experienced model is sweet-talked into doing her very first bondage shoot by her very experienced agent. Much against her will. Nor did it turn out how she'd anticipated it to either. But that isn't really true, you know, for Penny simply had no idea what to expect in the first place, never having done such a thing before.

I'd been a photographer's model ever since I was... Ever since I had the nerve to claim to be eighteen, but wasn't. I'd done all sorts of things, some romantic, some frankly evocative, without turning a hair, but the latest job my agent was strongly suggesting I accept brought me up with a jerk.

"It pays extremely well," she persisted.

"But a bondage session?" I protested. "I've never done anything like that before." I shuddered inwardly. I couldn't think of anything I would rather do less.

"I know you haven't. But I have a feeling that you would be good at it. And, as you know, my feelings are seldom wrong on such issues."

I had to agree with her on that score. Usually, Elsie had a perfect knack of being able to choose exactly the right model for each job, suiting her perfectly for the task and the photographer. But I knew she was wrong this time.

"Why? What makes you think that?" I asked.

"Because you take to everything else like a duck to water," Elsie stated. "You enjoy nude modeling. It seems you are a natural there. And you enjoy a challenge. This will challenge you a bit."

"Challenge?" I retorted crossly. "I don't like being tied up."

"And haven't you ever been tied up, my dear?" Elsie asked softly, putting on her best motherly tone of voice.

I had to admit that I hadn't. "And I don't want to try... even for good money," I stated, hoping that would be the end of this repulsive-sounding job.

"A refusal like this wouldn't be terribly good for your career," Else remarked, flicking a ball pen end to end - always the first sign of impending irritation.

"Meaning?" I hazarded.

"Well," she replied thoughtfully, "it's well known in the industry that it isn't a good idea for a model to pick and choose assignments... not if she really wants to get ahead."

"That almost sounds like bribery," I retorted hotly. "If I don't accept this job, you won't give me another. Is that it?"

Elsie shook her head sadly. "It's just that I really think you should accept this assignment, Penny. I know in my bones that you will be good at it. When you unbend a little. And," she added as if clinching the matter, "I really want you to do it."

"Why?" I asked bluntly.

"Because you are the best girl for the job."

"Meaning that all the other girls have turned it down," I suggested nastily.

Elsie gave me one of her I'll-be-completely-honest-with-you looks. She nodded affirmatively. "A couple did, but I didn't bother pressing either of them, because I thought they would be wrong for the job."

"And I am your very last chance," I asserted. "If I don't do this job, it'll look bad for you."

"True," Elsie admitted, "but I honestly believe you will be good at this. Won't you give it a try? Just for me?"

And, because if I didn't, I knew Elsie had it in her hands to send my career into a nosedive from which it would never recover.

* * *

To say that I was nervous when I arrived for that first bondage shoot would be a massive understatement. I was absolutely scared out of my wits. I felt slightly sick. I couldn't stop my hands trembling. And I wanted to keep swallowing, yet my mouth was too dry to do so. I was met by the photographer, whom I'd never met before, a serious-looking, sandy-haired, slender young man, and his two assistants, whom I immediately sensed were a married couple.

"I'm Mark," the photographer introduced himself, smiling broadly, whilst evaluating me at a glance. His two assistants didn't introduce themselves, choosing to remain in the background. I had a feeling that was for the best for I instinctively knew it was they who would be tying me up, whist Mark busied himself with his cameras.

I shook Mark's hand. "You're easy with nude work," he remarked, as though reading from notes.

I nodded. I was quite incapable of speaking at the moment.

He looked me up and down with a photographer's easy, no-holds-barred, scrutiny. "Yet you've never done anything like this before," he added.

I nodded again. I hoped he wouldn't think I was one of those silent girls who never said anything when spoken to. I wasn't. Usually.

"In that case, I'll get our two friends here to take it easy with you... to begin with. We'll do an easy shoot, just to get you into the feel of things."

I tried to smile, but found my face muscles were paralyzed. I simply stood my ground, and hoped it would be soon over.

"If you'd like to undress..." And Mark indicated a flimsy screen, the sort of thing that was always judged suitable for models to change behind.

"A nude one, right from the beginning?" I asked. I had hoped that I would be let into this gently.

Mark fiddled with a camera. He nodded. "That's what the client wants. And what a client wants..."

"Is what a client gets," I echoed for him. It was almost the signature tune of the profession.

I went behind the screen and slipped off my open sandals, shorts, top, bra and panties. I regarded myself cursorily in the fly-blown mirror. I knew I looked good. Dead sexy and immediately available. Though I wasn't really. Immediately available, I mean. It was just a look I had been born with.

"If you would just sit on that chair," the female assistant suggested quietly.

I complied, realizing this was the easy part.

"Hands behind your back."

And I gasped with horror as I felt soft ropes going round my wrists. I had never felt more naked. I knew that was impossible, as there were no degrees of nakedness. You either were, or you weren't. Possibly it was something to do with unaccustomed helplessness. Whatever, I didn't like the feeling at all, and stared straight ahead so that none of my mixed emotions I was undergoing would show.

I continued to stare straight ahead as one of them tied my ankles together, and then to one of the legs of the chair.

"That's good," Mark observed, moving around me, clicking away with his camera from all angles.

But I'd done sufficient modeling to know that he wasn't pleased with the result, and was only going through the motions of taking pictures of me. I doubted he even had any film in his camera.

"And how do you find that?" Mark asked me, pausing directly before me so that I was forced to look him straight in the eye.

I knew I had to say something, so I plumped on the truth, hoping it wouldn't sound too unprofessional. "I don't like it," I murmured.


And I immediately knew I was in the hands of a master here. Mark was clearly a photographer who knew his business. And knew how to bring out the very best from the most reluctant model. "I don't like the feeling of restriction. It feels unnatural, somehow."

He shrugged. "Perhaps, but lots of people accept it as normal behavior, or are even excited by it."

"All men," I suggested nastily.

"It's true that men tend to enjoy seeing pretty women helplessly tied up, but lots of women do too, you know."

"So women have to suffer like this just to please men," I retorted. "That doesn't seem fair to me. And couldn't we have this conversation when I'm untied?"

Mark smiled. "I left you tied up deliberately while we talking, hoping that you would relax into the restriction. But you haven't yet, have you?"

I shook my head. And did my best not to struggle, for I sensed somehow that was what the two helpers were hoping I would do.

"Quite a few women enjoy being tied up, you know," Mark observed. "They really enjoy it."

"Then why didn't you get one of those for this shoot," I retorted angrily.

"Because I wanted someone fresh. Someone who would appear in the pictures that she was being tied up for the first time. Kidnapped against her will, perhaps. That's why Elsie, your agent, chose you."

"Oh," I murmured, the anger departing from me in the instant. Everyone liked to be chosen specially. It was a compliment.

"Then we can tie you up for the real shoot now?" Mark asked.

I swallowed hard, then gave a hesitant nod.

"That's a good girl. This will be a restrictive tie, in which you are helpless, unable to move at all."

I nodded again, trying my best to be professional in adversity. A painful knot or abject terror had descended to the pit on my stomach.

"A strict hogtie," he said over my head to his assistants.

"How long..." I started to say.

"Shhh," Mike smiled. "Like every other shoot you've done, you will stay in character until all the required photographs have been taken."

I said nothing. For that was the rule. Get it right and it could be over quickly, make a mess of it, and we could be here all night.

The two assistants quickly untied me then got me to lie face down on a soft rug that was placed in the center of the studio.

I gasped and murmured a fervent "No" as my wrists were pulled behind my back, and then lashed together. Nor was it a hurried tie this time, as I had been secured to that chair. This wasn't a token effort as that had been. This, I knew, was the real thing. The roping, the clinching, the finishing off was leisurely, professional, inviolable. I knew there would be no possible escape from this. I was completely at their mercy - for as long as they decided.

Working together without saying a word, the two assistants then roped just above my elbows, and pulled them sharply together.

I cried out with the sudden pain.

The ropes were tightened until I thought my shoulders were going to be dislocated, and then clinched.

"It's going well," the woman murmured, giving me a businesslike smile.

"It hurts," I murmured. "Does it have to be as tight as this?"

"You know perfectly well, Penny, that realism is important in any shoot, if convincing pictures are required. And this client wants really convincing pictures."

I forced myself to say nothing as my ankles were crossed, then tied together. I had expected them to be tied together, side by side, but this was worse as it left me feeling very exposed.

I gasped with horror as a rope was attached to my ankles, which were then pulled up towards my shoulders. The sense of restriction was incredible. The pain in my joints had now become an all-over one. I seemed to be a mind and a burning body. And there was no connection between the two. "Don't keep me long like this," I pleaded. "Please!"

The female helper laughed. "Spoken like a true woman. But it's not up to you now, is it? Now that you are helpless, you have no bargaining power. Us women realized that fact ages ago, you know."

I was ignored as they started arranging furniture under Mark's direction. They were clearly creating a household interior in the studio. But wasn't this usually done before the model appeared on the scene? Why was I having to wait like this?

Finally, everything was arranged to Mark's satisfaction. Lights were arranged, and Mark began prowling around with his camera. But I immediately sensed that something was wrong, that he was not satisfied.

"It needs time," he observed. "Let's break for coffee."

"Don't go away, the woman remarked to me with a chuckle. We'll be back... eventually."

"I get the feeling that she's enjoying it," the man observed, "for she hasn't complained once. Usually, beginners are most voluble. I thought we'd have to gag her to prevent complaints for the neighbors. But not this one, I reckon she's a natural."

So, because I'd kept quiet, they thought I was enjoying it. But I wasn't. Far from it! It never ceased to amaze me how you can give the opposite impression to the intended one if you're not careful, or if you politely go along with what someone else wants.

"Perhaps we ought to gag her now," the woman suggested eagerly. So eagerly that I instinctively realized she wanted to do this for her own sake, not for the sake of the shoot. I definitely had no ally in her!

"If you wish," Mark observed offhandedly. "She's clearly enjoying it, despite her earlier protestations, so you might as well."

It was done so quickly that I had no time to object. Something large, round and hard was forced into my mouth and straps secured behind my head.

"And a blindfold?" the woman suggested hopefully.

"You're worse than any of the men," Mark laughed. "At least, Penny will know to keep out of your clutches... if she has any sense."

"I bet she'll be falling over herself to volunteer for one of your Saturday afternoon sessions," the man laughed, "when this is over."

To my horror, something soft and snug-fitting was clamped over my eyes, excluding every atom of light. As before, a strap was fastened behind my head.

"That's nice, isn't it?" the woman asked me in a voice that clearly anticipated only one possible answer.

I moved my head a fraction, desperately trying to either speak or see, but I couldn't manage either. The movement was taken as a nod of agreement.

"See," the man retorted, "as I thought, she's a natural."

"Now that you've finished playing," I heard Mark remark, "we ought to go and have our lunch. We'll come back and do the shoot then, Penny," he added for my benefit.

I was filled with horror when it sunk in that they were not going to do the shoot now, but were going off to have lunch first, leaving me like this. Naked. Helpless. Unable to move. In agony from my unnaturally contorted limbs.

The constriction was horrible. And I so desperately wanted to move, to be able to see, to be able to speak. But they had taken all these abilities from me. And the female assistant wasn't on my side, as I had expected her to be. She was worse than the men. The words echoed in my frantic brain. If it hadn't been for her, I wouldn't be gagged and blindfolded now. She had wanted to do this to me. It had been her idea.

I heard them prepare to leave.

Someone hovered over me, and gently stroked my exposed buttocks. The touch was intimate yet casual. If it was meant to reassure me, it failed to do so. Instead, to my utter embarrassment, it sent a wave of sexual desire shooting right through me. Mixed in with the continuous throbbing agony in my grossly contorted limbs, it became a totally overwhelming feeling.

Without warning, a hand descended on each of my buttocks in turn. A hard, spiteful slap which made me cry out but, of course, no sound emanated from the gag. If those two malicious slaps had been intended to fuel the fire of my steadily blossoming sexual desire, they achieved their objective immediately. And how! I felt myself tense with the intensity of the feeling.

"Don't mark the goods," Mark laughed. "We need her spotless for the shoot, remember?"

And they quickly left the studio, laughing and talking together; clearly mindless of the feelings of the naked and helpless girl they had left behind them.

Part of me tried to relax against the bonds that restrained me, but the pull of those ropes was clearly designed to be in opposition to relaxation. But, to my relief, my tortured limbs appeared to have deserted me, leaving my mind in control of absolutely nothing.

It was a really strange feeling, for I was no truly longer me.

Then if I was no longer me, who was I? I was someone who had allowed herself to be tied up like this, who hadn't objected once. Why? Not because I was one of those weak, mindless creatures who always did exactly as she was told. I wasn't. I could be quite assertive on occasion. And, normally, I was a very active person, seldom remaining still for long. And it was that nervous energy which helped me when modeling before an irritable photographer who didn't really know what he wanted and so relied upon me to adopt pose after pose whilst he clicked away like a mad thing.

And now, I was so cruelly restrained that no only were my limbs painfully contorted, but I was rendered incapable of any movement. Me, Penny, who was normally always on the move. Why was I accepting this strange state of affairs? For I really was, wasn't I? I had meekly let them do this to me. I hadn't objected, as I knew I normally would have. Nor had I even considered resisting. I had simply let them do this to me. Why?

Nor was I struggling to free myself now. Why the spiritless acceptance?

Strangely enough, the mouth-filling gag, which prevented my making any sound, and the snugly-fitting blindfold, which had plunged me into the blackest world I had ever experienced, seemed to be an essential part of the total surrender. For once in my life - for the first time in my life - I could no longer act, I simply had to be.

After what seemed an age, they returned and I felt the heat of lights being trained on my naked body. I heard cameras and other equipment being prepared. There was little conversation. They were clearly used to working together. I was ignored. And this seemed right somehow.

A camera's shutter started clicking. First on one side of me, then the other. And, immediately, I felt myself respond to the indifferent probing of the camera's lens. When being photographed, normally my who body became alive and dynamic, every inch of me becoming charged with a sort of sexual excitement. But now, now that I was restrained motionless on the floor, gagged and blindfolded, I couldn't respond as I normally did. But, somehow, I knew with an experienced model's highly-developed inner feeling that the shoot was going well, that Mark was relaxed and happy.

As I say, I normally projected whatever was required of me, allure, glamour, desire... whatever. But, this time, the only thing I could possibly project was total helplessness.

Despite the agony in my limbs and the forced constriction, I began to enjoy the shoot and wished, as I always did, that it would go on for ever.

The clicking stopped.

"Take off her blindfold," I heard Mark order.

I blinked against the unaccustomed light.

The clicking resumed.

"She doesn't look distressed enough," Mark said. "She needs to cry a bit."

Now, that was something I had never been asked to do before. I simply didn't know how to make myself cry to order.

"And it must be realistic," Mark urged.

Without warning, I received a couple of painful slaps to my bare buttocks. I felt tears start to my eyes.

"That's better," Mark enthused. And he resumed taking photographs.

"Can you make her cry a little more?" he asked. "She needs to be really distressed in some of these more advanced shots."

I received a couple more slaps, but I could sense that Mark was still not really satisfied.

Without warning, I felt something cold and sharp touching one of my nipples. A clip was attached to each, its pointed barbs digging painfully into my tender flesh.

I went to scream aloud, but the gag prevented my making more than a distressed mumble. I felt the tears begin to flow.

"More," Mark requested heartlessly, his camera clicking away all the time.

The clips were removed, resulting in more severe pain than their initial application, and then were replaced. This heartless maneuver was completed several times, the pain becoming worse with each.

I felt my initial tears become abject sobbing.

"Perfect," Mark murmured. And his camera clicked away close up to my face.

"That's good! That's really good!" Mark enthused. "Trust a woman to know how to make another woman cry. We men are simply no good at that side of things."

The clips were removed from my mutilated nipples, causing me to cry out again.

The gag was removed. And perversely, now that I had an opportunity to speak, I just didn't know what to say. I sensed I ought to say something, but I felt so remote and, in a way, fulfilled, that I simply had to remain silent.

"We're finished here now," Mark observed, busying himself with several cameras. "You've been very good, Penny."

The lights were turned off, providing the studio with a virtual sense of romance after the brightness of their glare. Normally, for me, this was the best part of the day. I could now relax, get dressed and go home. But not today. I was still tied up, and no one seemed in a hurry to untie me.

"You know," the male assistant observed, looking down on me thoughtfully, "Penny here hasn't objected once the whole time. Nor is she begging to be released now. I get the feeling that she really is enjoying this, as I first thought. I bet she's a natural. What do you say, Penny? Are you?"

I just didn't know what to say. Part of me desperately wanted to be released, of course. But, somehow, for some strange reason that I couldn't begin to understand, I just couldn't bring myself to say the words. It suddenly did seem natural to be in the control of these two people, so I remained silent.

"You don't want to be released just yet, do you, Penny?" The man persisted.

Strangely enough, I didn't.

"I can use you for another shoot tomorrow," Mark announced, bending down so that he could speak to me. "I've cleared it with your agent, Elsie. And I've told her how well you've done today, and how pleased I am with you. I'll now leave you in the capable hands of my two assistants to release you at their leisure. I presume you are okay for tomorrow?"

I nodded. "Will it be like today?"

Mark laughed. "Every day is unique," he remarked evasively. "I'll see you tomorrow."

The male assistant knelt down before me so that he could cup my breasts in his hands, making a further flood of sexual desire shoot through me.

I felt someone gently fondle my buttocks, then trace the line between them, seeking out my clitoris with the confidence that only a woman could do.

Together, they quickly raised me to a plateau of the most intense desire I have ever experienced.

Skillfully holding me there, the woman remarked, "If you come a couple of hours early tomorrow morning, we can get you tied up nice and tight, so that you'll be ready for the shoot. This will avoid Mark having to hang about, as he had to today. Are you easy with that?"

I agreed that I was. My breathing was completely out of control now. I was hovering on the very edge of the precipice.

"Then you'll have something to look forward to."

I remained as still as I could. Hovering... hovering... hovering...

"I think we ought to invite Penny here to one of our Saturday bondage sessions," the female helper remarked.

"I agree," the man said. "I bet she'll be good."

A tiny surge of terror and revulsion shot through me at that suggestion. But, immediately, the surge of fear became one of exquisite terror. One that could only be met by permitting it to happen. I knew, without even having to think about it, that if they asked me, I would agree. Instantly. And I sensed that they knew it too.

And, very gently, but extremely masterfully, she fingered my clitoris until I could hold out no longer. The climax was utterly overwhelming, and it seemed to last for ever. And, during it, I heard the woman laugh.

As soon as I had come down in their hands, they quickly untied me, massaged my cramped limbs and helped me into my clothes. All as if it were the most natural thing in the world, which it clearly was to them.

"Then until tomorrow," one of them said.

"Until tomorrow," I agreed. And I found myself wondering, what tomorrow's shoot would be like. And was I really a natural?