I had only seen the image for a few seconds, but it was etched permanently on my mind. I couldn't stop thinking about it. It was one of those photographs that draw you in. Her face was in sharp focus, the rest of the picture slightly blurred. She had been naked when the photographs was taken, as far as I could tell and knelt on the floor, looking up at the camera with deep brown eyes. Her hands were behind her back; they must have been bound. What had really struck me was the bright red ball strapped into her mouth, It held her mouth open, and the painted, crimson lips stretched around it. The gag would make talking impossible, and surely restrict her to a few muffled whimpers and groans. It could not be pleasant to wear a gag like that for long.
Around her neck was a slim black collar. A bright metal chain depended in a loop from a hasp at the front of her throat, blurring out of focus as it fell to the floor. To be collared and leashed, to be led like an animal, would be such a humiliation. I couldn't think of this without feeling a knot tightening at the pit of my stomach, and a familiar warmth spreading down between my legs.
It was difficult to imagine how it would feel to be bound and gagged, kneeling in submission, but I imagine that the helplessness was a thought that had always aroused me, even if I had never dared let anyone try. My last boyfriend had tried to tie me, but I had panicked at the feeling of restraint. We'd never talked about it again, and the relationship only lasted a few weeks longer. The thought had been pushed to the back of my mind since then.
I had turned away from the photograph quickly when I heard Claire coming back into the room. It had been left, almost casually on the table at the back o the room. I didn't want her to think I'd been snooping. We'd not known each other very long, but there was something about her that had intrigued me. She had a kind of attraction that was difficult to explain. She was a bit above average height, with long dark hair and green eyes. I couldn't describe her that clearly; to me she was beautiful. I had dismissed it as a crush, like the ones I'd had on school friends, but this felt different. Two weeks ago, we'd kissed after a night out, and it was clear the attraction was mutual. Today, I'd just called round on a Saturday morning. It was the first time I'd been in her flat. And then I'd seen the photograph.
She came into the room with two cups of coffee. I knew I looked guilty.
'Are you all right?'
'Fine.' I said, taking the proffered cup of coffee, feeling anything but.
She looked at me. She looked right through me.
'er... the photograph?'
Her gaze turned to a querying look, her brow slightly furrowed. Then her eyes lit up and she laughed. She walked to the table and picked up the print.
'A hobby of mine...' she looked at me again, and her expression turned to concern. 'Is it a bit, well, weird?'
'No, it's beautiful.' I wasn't quite sure what I was saying. 'It's such a beautiful picture of a beautiful woman. Did you take it?'
I wasn't sure why I asked, or what answer I expected.
'I was very pleased with it myself. It draws you in, make you want to ask the story behind it. It's in her eyes- she's pleading with you, but you don't know if she's begging you to stop or begging you to carry on. I stopped it right down to keep the focus on her face. It's so much more erotic when you mind fills in the story and the details, don't you think.'
My mouth was dry. I was struggling for words. 'You took that yourself?'
'I told you I was a photographer- didn't I?'
It was true, she had.
'I take the usual commercial stuff, portraits and the like for the day job, but every so often, I like to indulge my kinky side...'
'But who was...'
'A friend. She likes to explore her submissive side. She feels it gives her more control over her fears. Would you model for me?'