Maiden

"So, how much erotic modeling have you done?"

Normally a question like this would be a red flag for Marianne, the sort of thing a creep would ask right before dooming the shoot and putting the offender on her no-work list forever.

Not this time, though. Marianne had some idea what she was in store for and had consented to it all ahead of time. Leading questions and vague lasciviousness were all part of the plan, and she was game for it.

"Just pinup type stuff so far," she admitted. "You know, swimsuits, undies, tasteful nudes. I've got my portfolio back in the car if you want to..."

"I saw some of your work on your IG feed already. I agree, very tasteful," the photographer said without a hint of disappointment. "Any fetish stuff? Leather or latex?"

Marianne shook her head. It was hard to tell from looking at him what he thought of her apparent lack of experience in the realm that interested him the most.

Marianne had met men like Frank before, well off and well-to-do photographers, trust fund artists who were accustomed to getting what they wanted and expected accommodation, even deference, from everyone.

Marianne would soon learn that Frank was the sort of man who wanted a lot, but unlike those other men, he worked hard to earn it. He always paid well and never crossed any hard lines. Boundaries, in his opinion, were meant to be pushed, but a carefully planned and executed journey getting to the borders of the acceptable was vital and satisfying in its own right.

He was also nothing special to look at and knew it.

To Marianne's eyes, he was a guy you smiled at in the Starbucks line but forgot about until you caught his eye there again, a day or week or month later. Six feet tall, nice but not notable. Definite Dadbod (with a capital D) with its soft edges and wholesome curves. Blue jeans and a black crewneck t-shirt. Sensible shoes. Unstyled, lunch bag brown hair about two weeks overdue for a haircut. A salt-and-pepper beard trimmed to always look like a few days' worth of stubble.

He'd spent his life making up for his vanilla averageness by cultivating a fiercely perverse imagination that, once revealed, tainted every look, word, and gesture.

"Though, I think I'm finally ready to go beyond Marilyn Monroe and start being a little more Betty Page."

"An admirable goal, Miss Marianne."

To Frank's eyes, Marianne was a maiden in black yoga pants and clean white tennis shoes. Her red hair was even more striking in person than her IG selfies, especially as it sat in a messy pile on top of her head. She was short and pale like a proper highland princess and wore minimal makeup, as requested. As little as her leggings left to the imagination, her baggy gray hoodie did much to cover up the rest.

"Oh, please, just Marianne is fine."

Frank had come to meet her in the driveway of his cookie-cutter home. Sitting halfway on a block that was one among dozens along the same stretch of the anonymous suburban street, the house was just as unassuming as its owner. He'd chosen to take the state's advice and let his lawn die but had taken great care to keep up the rest, unlike most of his neighbors. It was two stories, appointed in brown and beige, and utterly normal.

"Actually," Frank retorted, "I prefer a certain amount of, oh...I don't know, formality I suppose, when shooting with such lovely ladies as yourself."

"Alright, I guess that's ok."

"And if you don't mind, please call me 'Sir' or 'Mister Frank'."

"Seriously?"

The man had an easy smile, but his eyes were hard in a way that struck Marianne as strange. She knew she would be looking more to eyes than his mouth for answers in the coming hours but what she found there now, barely past the greeting and small talk, was a little scary and a lot compelling.

"'Seriously, sir,'" he insisted. "Please."

"Um, ok...Seriously...sir?"

"Seriously," he confirmed. "Sir."

"Alrighty, Sir," Marianne repeated, but instantly regretted her tone. Sarcasm was Marianne's default response to pressure, and she was sure that it would only get her into trouble in this situation.

Frank didn't seem to notice though. He reached into his pocket and gave the remote in there a press.

The garage door rolled up to reveal what had been filling Marianne with exquisite dread since she had left the house that morning. Inside was a do-it-yourself bondage dungeon complete with several custom pieces of furniture and every implement of pain and pleasure that Marianne could imagine and a few more on top of that.

Marianne was entranced, but she could sense Frank nearby looking on, appraising her reaction.

"Well, this escalated quickly."

She stepped inside the space, unable to think, filled with a Jackson Pollack painting's worth of emotions. She knew she would soon be tied down to one of the devices that were pushed up against the wall. Was it going to be the medieval looking high-backed chair? Or the kinky cousin of her gynecologist's exam table? What on earth was the modern art erection of twisted metal pipes doing attached to that hardware store's flatbed cart?

"Would you take off your sweatshirt, Miss Marianne? We should get started."

"I, uh, yeah," Marianne answered, absentmindedly pulling the comfy hoodie over her head.

"'Yes, sir,' please, Miss Marianne."

She couldn't detect any threat in his words or tone, just a simple request. She held the ball of warm fabric and looked up at Frank.

"Is this really going to happen? Like..."

"Only if you want it to. And I'll be checking in with you every step of the way."

She looked at Frank, seeing him for what felt like the first time, even though they had met and talked a couple times before. Kindness was written all over his face, radiating through his body language. His voice was soothing in its firm confidence. The eyes, though. Blue-gray, armor piercing, X-ray laser beam eyes.

"Now your shirt and bra, please."

"Where do I put this?" She heard his request, but the significance escaped her for the moment. "Sir?"

Frank took her hoodie over to a tall, slim cabinet of lockers against the wall near the door to the house.

"Everything personal goes in here. Do you have your phone on you?"

"Yes," she pulled the phone from her hip pocket and handed it to him. "Yes, sir."

"This is going on the counter here. Ask for it any time, no judgment."

"Oh, is that usually a problem?"

"Some, um, models like to have it nearby. Others are content to let me lock it away. Since this is your first time..." he trailed off. Marianne wondered where he might have been taking that thought.

"Shirt please, then bra," he repeated.

Marianne pulled her old university t-shirt over her head and handed it to him. She reached back to unclasp her bra when she realized that the garage door was still open, and she was about to put on a show for anyone who happened by.

"Are you going to close the door, sir?"

"No. Why?"

"For privacy?"

"Not yet. Bra, please, Miss Marianne."

Modesty didn't come naturally to Marianne but getting naked in a bondage dungeon in full view of the neighbors helped her find it quickly. She looked down at herself, wondering about the choices that had led her to this stranger's garage. Her pale breasts were cradled in her favorite black bra that had been bought years ago from Target and worn down to sublime comfort. She quickly discarded the last layer of protection against Frank's klieg-light eyes.

Once she had handed the bra over, a faint feeling of liberation stirred inside her.

"I don't have any garment related kinks," Frank offered, as if he were having a perfectly normal conversation, "but there is something undeniably erotic about holding the warm clothing of a nude woman."

He held her bra with an odd reverence. Marianne had a strong desire to have those hands cradling her breasts instead.

"What next, sir?" Marianne asked, aiming to please him.

"Shoes and socks, please. There's a stool over there."

Marianne crossed the space and sat on a small wood footstool, next to what looked like a massage table on wheels.

"Did you buy all this stuff?" She nodded towards a padded St. Andrew's Cross leaning against the wall next to the lockers. "Or did make it yourself, sir?"

"The bondage devices? The table with the stirrups I bought. Everything else I made or modified myself."

"Wow."

"I've moved on to more elaborate steel and aluminum structures. Some stuff that's crossed over into robotics. I've got a couple pieces in the back yard if you want to see."

Marianne raised an eyebrow his way.

"After we're done, of course."

"Of course, sir."

Marianne balled up her socks, stuffed them in her shoes, and handed them to Frank. She realized that the floor was strange. It looked like hardwood flooring but was some sort of soft padding instead. Marianne also noticed that the garage-turned-dungeon was spotless and orderly, an arrangement that bordered on obsessive.

"This place, it's just so, I don't know..."

"Weird?"

"No," Marianne said, "impressive. I've seen basement railroads and Warhammer battlefields that weren't as detailed and well-kept as this."

"Warhammer?"

"I'm a nerd. All my friends are nerds. Sir."

"Understood. I like to think of myself as a sex nerd," Frank said, proudly.

"No better way to describe it, I guess," she gestured toward the perversions that surrounded her.

Marianne stood up, feeling much smaller barefoot while Frank only grew taller and more physically imposing.

"Leggings now, Miss Marianne."

A thought crossed her mind, something she'd learned long ago tossing dice on an old kitchen table surrounded by her nerd friends.

This is just roleplaying. It's not modeling. It's time to play a role.

"Should I face you or turn away while I take off my pants, sir?"

"Face me, Miss Marianne, and, you know, take your time."

"Yes, sir." She didn't think of herself as a submissive, but she found roleplaying as one enticing.

This could be fun! she thought.

She pulled the waistband away from her soft, slim stomach and started pulling the yoga pants down one small measure at a time, looking up at Frank, savoring his reaction. His gaze had weight, heat.

"I hope you don't mind, Miss Marianne."

"Mind what, sir? Watching me undress?"

"No," he said. "I hope you don't mind me complimenting you on your beauty."

"You want to compliment me?"

Frank nodded. Marianne stepped out of her leggings and picked them up off the floor.

"On my body?"

He nodded again, accepting her new gift.

"Compliment away, sir."

"You are extraordinarily pretty. Your skin and hair are amazing, and I can't stop looking at your lovely breasts and hips."

Marianne smiled at this appraisal. She began her modeling career on a lark and had never thought much at all about the attractiveness of her body. At best, her boobs, butt, and legs were present but nothing to write home about. She did love her own face though, and she was always excited to see it in pictures and videos. Her eyes were big, brown, and expressive, her face dainty and doll-like. A Pixar girl's face on a regular human's body.

"Aw, thank you sir. You're so sweet."

The man blushed. Blushed! He would soon have her tied up in some humiliating position, his tools invading her body, his camera capturing her distress for posterity, and the man was blushing.

"Do you want to see my butt now?" Nice move, she thought, but I can go farther. "I shaved for this, my pussy, that is."

"Very much so. You shaved?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Shame, is all."

It hadn't occurred to Marianne that he might want to have her natural red bush immortalized in pictures along with the rest of her. She had been informed and forgotten repeatedly that admirers of redheads were often fans of both the carpet and the drapes.

"Sorry about that, sir," Marianne apologized. Frank shrugged. "Ok, I'll turn around and take off my panties for you now."

She pulled her thin black thong down and bent over to pick them up in order to give him the full show.

"I wouldn't mind another compliment, sir," Marianne said over her shoulder as she stood back up.

"Your bottom is a perfect marble peach, Miss Marianne. Sweeter than the sweetest peach, I think."

Marianne had to admit, this guy was smooth. Despite the slight chill, she felt a pleasant warmth spreading from her stomach outward.

"Did you get a good enough look sir, or should I bend over again?"

"I'd rather get along with restraining you now, if that's ok."

A trio of responses fought to exit her mouth at the same time but all that came out was, "Uhhh..."

"What if I closed the garage door halfway?"

"I would appreciate that, sir."

While Frank fiddled with the garage door, Marianne let her hair down, tossing the little black band down on the nearby counter. Marianne noted that the workbench and the peg board that hung above it was the strangest collection of hardware store stuff mixed with sex shop items. Next to a normal electric drill was a hand-held jigsaw with a blue dildo where the sawblade would go. There were so many dildos! A wider variety of dongs, fleshlights, plugs, and gags then she'd only ever seen at the Hustler Hollywood shop for a bachelorette party.

Frank cleared his throat.

"I'm going to leave this hairband here just in case my hair gets in the way. There is a lot of it, and..." It seemed like they both kept stopping their parts of the conversation just before openly speaking the kinky truth of the next couple of hours. Conversational blinders, maybe, or the bouncers put in the gutters for kid's bowling parties.

Marianne noticed that with the door halfway down, her confidence had returned. There was still a lot of natural light and a pleasant breeze and anyone passing by would only see legs and feet.

"Are you scared?"

"Not really, nervous yes, but not scared."

"Have you ever been tied up before?"

"Do fuzzy handcuffs count?"

"Sure," Frank grinned. "How about ropes?"

"No, never ropes," Marianne contemplated, adding, "Sir."

"I think we'll leave ropes for a future session, assuming you are up for one."

"We'll see, Mr. Frank."

They stood looking at each other, the balance of power clearly established. Standing in the middle of the garage, bare, small, and shivering a little, Marianne felt like the center of attention for a crowd of one. Arms crossed, leaning casually against the lockers, fully dressed and in control, Frank appraised his new toy with naked intent.

"I have a plan for you."

"Yes, I saw and signed the outline."

"Right, yes. I bring it up because it's a good time for some, um, feedback? Suggestions. Feedback would be after, you know, we started."

Frank's way of speaking was endearing. Marianne wondered how the man was outside of work situations. Still 100% fuckable for sure.

"Suggestions..."

"Yeah, well, I know that this is probably a little overwhelming."

"Yeah, I guess so."

"So, suggestions?"

"Mr. Frank?"

The photographer nodded.

"I think you should just take control. You already know my safe word is 'safe word', and if you gag me, my hand signal is the Vulcan salute. Aside from that, I'm all yours, big boy."

"You sure you haven't done this before?"

"Only in my fantasies, sir."

"Well, Miss Marianne, let's bring some of those fantasies to life, shall we?"

-

The massage table on wheels turned out to be so much more than what it seemed.

In their one of their pre-session chats, Frank explained how he went through massage therapist school, did it for a while until he got burnt out. It was his first real gig and he loved it, but it was hard on his body. He bounced around a bunch of different career opportunities for a while and fell backward into photography, but he never forgot how fulfilling it was to help people feel more comfortable in their own bodies. Coupling massage therapy together with photography while finally getting to explore kink felt like a no-brainer following his messy and painful divorce.

Most of his early 'instillations', as he called them, were reproductions of stuff he found in porn. The massage table was his first try at doing something creative on his own and connecting the old life with the new felt real once he'd completed the modifications.

The story that he told her seemed like a heartfelt but often repeated speech, but that didn't make it any less interesting to Marianne. It was a nice diversion and interesting contrast to the peril that he was slowly introducing into his plan for their session together.

Peril, Marianne thought, a chill running through her. That's a good word. He's putting me in peril.

Returning to the moment, Marianne's attention kept getting drawn to the massage table. Seeing it, knowing that there was a good chance that he would be soon tying her to it, remembering that it had deep, personal meaning for its owner gave the table its own gravitational pull.

"Institutional cuffs would be good for a first timer," he said to himself, pulling a set off one of the many shelves. "I'll be putting these on you now. I don't need help, ok Miss Marianne?"

"Ok, sir," she agreed. She showed her willingness to comply by holding her hands out in front of her.

"Ah, nope. The exact opposite of what I meant."

Marianne cocked her head to the side, uncertain.

"Your hands. Leave them at your side. I don't need help. I want submission." Again, Marianne could detect no malice in his words, just patient instruction.

"Ok, yes. Yes sir," Marianne felt her self-assurance slipping again. "Ok, sir."

He dropped the ankle cuffs by her feet and knelt to put start putting accessories on his new plaything. The cuff felt heavy on her wrist, the padded leather thick, the short length of chain cold as it touched her outer thigh.

"Your wrist and ankle restraints all have a quick release lock, kind of like a carabiner. Ok?"

"Yes, sir."

He moved around to her other side, taking her delicate wrist in his large, warm hand.

"Stuff happens, you know. Plans of mice and men and all. I want you to be able to get out if I, like, have a stroke or something."

"I understand."

"Not too tight, right?"

Marianne nodded.

"I'm going to lock the cuffs behind your back now."

Excitement and helplessness danced in her chest, making her heart thump so hard she was surprised Frank couldn't hear it. He locked the cuffs together as promised and moved onto her ankles.

"You smell nice, Miss Marianne."

He seemed to realize how awkward such a compliment was, seeing as he was kneeling, face right next to her butt while he put her ankles in fetters, and laughed.

"Thank you, sir. How is the view?"

"Exquisite. Your bottom is deserving of much attention today."

They both had a nervous chuckle at that one.

"No matter how many sessions I've done, sexy talk never stops being goofy."

"I don't mind, Mr. Frank. Don't stop, you are helping me feel safe. Wanted? Yeah. Wanted." These were two things that she rarely ever admitted to a man, and it shocked her a little to hear coming out of her own mouth.

"All done down here."

Marianne looked down at her bare feet, testing the heft and give of the cuffs.

"How is it?"

"Fine. Good, sir. Cuter than my last pair of high heels, for sure."

"I want you to kneel now, ok? I'll help you down."

Having her ankles bound together made that trickier than she thought, so after a couple of attempts she gave her full weight to him as she simply folded her knees underneath her.

"Would you like a pad? I know that position can be uncomfortable for some."

"I'm fine, sir. Thank you." It was true, her knees did feel fine, but what she didn't anticipate was how it seemed like she might topple over with a stiff breeze in any direction.

"I'm going to tie you to my massage table," Frank announced. "As I may have mentioned before, it now has certain modifications that make it a comfortable place to explore exposure and humiliation."