She wore a dress with a long, pleated skirt when she knocked at his door the next morning. He opened it promptly, smiled slightly, and then shrugged her in.

"My model called in sick," he said.

"Oh." She hesitated, relieved in a way. "Well, I suppose we can still conduct the interview."

"Or something."

She frowned suspiciously but said nothing as she preceded him into the large, open area where his easel and paints waited.

"Have you ever done any modelling?" he asked.

"No," she said.

He leaned back against a wall, powerful arms folded over his chest, and smiled.

"I seem to recall seeing a picture of you in one of your columns once."

"Oh, that." She flushed slightly. "I wasn't counting that. I just did that as a favour to a friend during school."

"He wasn't very good."

"I thought it quite a good likeness."

"There's more to art than painting a picture. There was nothing of your soul in that picture, nothing of your inner beauty, of your longings, your dark fantasies, your wilfulness, your intellect. He didn't do you justice."

She blinked, startled, and felt her stomach flutter.

"Ah, well. He was just a student," she said lamely.

"I'm sure I could do better."

"I'm sure you think you could," she said tartly.

He pushed himself off from the wall and moved closer to her, and Pamela forced herself to stand still as he towered over her, oddly menacing even with a smile on his face.

"Come now," he said. "We both know my art has fascinated you, that you have had fantasies about it, that you have discovered an interest in being bound which you did not know you held. Why be ashamed of that?"

"I'm not ashamed," she said with an attempt at aloofness.

"Why don't we explore those feelings then?"

"Because I choose not to."

"Then model for me."

She snorted.

"You need the money. I pay two hundred pounds a session."

She licked her lips at the thought of so much money, but shook her head firmly.

"Ashamed of displaying your body?"

"Of course not!"


"You're so smug and superior," she said caustically.

"I've reason to be. You have a fine body. And I've already seen... or touched it everywhere that counts. Why not make some money?"

"You make it sound like prostitution."

"All work is prostitution, if you care to think of it that way. You're paid to do things you don't particularly care to, be it fucking someone, or washing tables and floors. This is considerably easier than that."

"Except I'd have to do it naked."

He shrugged and smiled. "But you're an art connoisseur, no? The human body holds no shame for you."

She made a face. "Fine. I'll pose for you... for three hundred pounds."

He laughed.

"But that doesn't include any sexual favours."

"I want to draw you, not fuck you. If all I wanted to do was fuck you I'd have you on all fours right now."

She was flabbergasted at his arrogance, but before she could reply he'd thrown a robe at her.

"Undress over there," he said, pointing at a small alcove.

You are out of your bleeding mind, she thought as she moved across the room. Yet even as her chest tightened with anxiety she felt her legs trembling with sexual anticipation, and try as she could she could not quell it.

The thought of three hundred pounds was not something to be cast aside either. It would pay her rent, for one thing.

Her nipples were already firmly erect as she removed her bra, and her chest grew so tight she could hardly breath as she slipped off her stockings and panties and drew the robe tight around herself.

She fought to appear composed, then padded out of the alcove, her bare feet soft on the wood below. He turned and looked at her, and her stomach tensed up, her fingers trembling inside the pockets of the robe.

"We'll keep it simple," he said. "Nothing too dark or strenuous. Take off the robe and come here."

She took a deep breath, then, face flushing redly, she opened the robe and shrugged it off.

He looked at her carefully, eyes moving up and down. She held her breath under the close scrutiny, stomach churning as his eyes caressed her from head to toe. She had never felt quite so naked before, and was both shamed and exhilarated.

He reached out, touched her shoulder, and turned her so he could see her backside.

"Good," he said finally.

His hand closed around her upper arm and he eased her across the room towards the spot of sun before his canvas. Once there he let go of her, then picked up a length of soft black rope.

"Put your arms together behind your back, palms together," he ordered.

Nervously, she obeyed, fighting to show a casualness she did not feel. You're just a model, she told herself. Stay calm. Don't be a child.

She felt the rope encircle her wrists. He was tying her quite carefully, laying one loop precisely after another so that half a dozen lines circled her wrists. She felt his hands rise, gripping her upper arm, and the rope circled her just above the elbow.

"A-are you going to tie my elbows together like... like that other girl?" she asked anxiously.

"It's not that difficult. Just relax."

"But I... "


She felt the rope twining around her arms, tightening slowly. Her arms were drawn back together, and she felt the strain in her shoulders.

"Oh!" she gasped.

He massaged her shoulders, his big fingers surprisingly gentle, and eased up on the rope for a minute. Then it was tightening again, and she winced as her arms were drawn further back.


"Relax," he said softly.

She gasped as her shoulders screamed, then felt her elbows touch. "Oh God!" she panted.

The ropes wound around and around, then a length went between them, cinching tight.

He let her go, and she stood still, breathing raggedly as she adjusted to the oddity of her position. She found herself wishing for a mirror, wondering what she looked like with her arms so tightly pinned back.

He came before her, and she saw a thin wire in his fingers. She stared down at it, noticing the loop as he brought it against one of her already erect nipples. She blushed at the sight, then felt a jolt of anxiety as the loop closed around one stiff nipple, closed... and closed tighter.

"Ow! Oh! Ohhh! It's too tight! It stings!" she cried, rapidly shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

"It will ease in a moment," he said calmly.

He moved away, then returned with another wire, another loop. She stared at it in anguish, watching as it pressed in around her nipple, sliding in to the base, then pulled tight.

She kept quiet this time, clenching her jaw as the stinging pain assaulted her. Her heart was hammering and she was breathing roughly and rapidly.

"There now. That wasn't so bad, was it?"

He hooked a finger beneath the wire, and lifted slightly. The stinging grew in intensity, and she gasped, rising to her toes as her nipples were tugged upwards and towards him. She watched them stretching out, watched her breasts distend, sharpening into cones as he pulled still higher. The pain in her nipples grew dark and burned.

"Please!" she cried.

He lowered his finger, easing the strain on her nipples, though keeping her on her toes.

"Such small things, nipples. Two tiny bits of flesh, yet how they sting, and how easily the pain can control us if we give into it."

He raised his finger again, and again she gasped and cried out softly. He lowered his finger, then moved back, pulling it, and her along, even while keeping her on her toes.

"Stop it!" she cried.

"It's only a tiny bit of pain," he said mockingly. "Surely such small pain can't control a strong woman like you."

He drew down a small chain which hung above her, and clipped the centre of the wire to it. Then he patted her head and moved back to his easel.

Pamela was left gasping and sweating under the bright light, on the tips of her toes, her nipples stretched to at least an inch in length. Her back was arched painfully, her head back, hair brushing against the top of her buttocks.

It was an exquisitely uncomfortable position, and her nipples were burning embers. Yet his audacity and her own daring had her feeling deeply aroused. She was not in the habit of exposing her body to virtual strangers in such a fashion, and though she told herself that as an art student she should not see doing so as sexual, with this man it was.

Her toes began to ache far worse than her nipples, and her feet trembled. She felt genuine fear at what would happen if she could no longer support herself.

"Please!" she called, unable to look at him. "I can't stand on my toes any more!"

"So don't," he replied.

"The.... the chain is too high! My nipples..."

"Perhaps I should give you something to stand on then."

She felt something heavy dragged across the floor, and turned to see him approach with a metal post. It was gleaming stainless steel, and had a heavy round base. It most closely resembled nothing so much as the posts which supported velvet ropes blocking access to paintings and sculptures at the many exhibitions she'd attended.

Except for the odd pedal just to one side.

"J-just lower the chain," she gasped.

Instead he pushed the post in against her, so that she could stand upon it. It was higher towards the middle, of course, than at the edges, and even while this left the metal post pressed against her groin she sought to get her feet in as close to it as possible.

Of course, she immediately recognized the phallic aspect to the post, and glared at him before he moved away. No doubt he would work it into his painting as some kind of giant penis.

Yet the relief in her feet was flooding her body, and she groaned as she was able to stand almost flat, the sides of her feet pressed in against the centre post.

The post was not nearly as wide as most of those she'd seen, and she wondered if he really thought she was so much in heat she would try to impale herself upon it. Certainly it was not too high to do so, for its rounded top was perhaps an inch or two above her pussy, digging gently into her lower abdomen as she stood there.

The muscles of her arms tightened against the rope behind her, and her hands felt the top of her buttocks, the warm, rounded flesh, tighten and loosen as she shifted her weight from foot to foot.

I'm just doing this for the money, she thought, and to prove how wrong he is.

Yet she could feel the slickness of the metal now where it pressed into her groin, and she flushed with embarrassment, wondering what he would say when he pulled it back and saw the metal glistening.

She cursed her body furiously even as she fought the necessity of moving back away from the metal.

"Do you suppose I should keep you?" he called. "I could simply keep you in chains and train you like a sexual slave. I could make you my bitch dog and give you to my friends when they came by."

"Y-you could try," she panted dismissively.

"I have a feeling you'd beg for the opportunity."

"Y-You have an odd fantasy life!"

He walked closer to her, then slowly circled her.

"You have a lovely ass," he said. "Would you like to know what I'm thinking about it."

"N-Not particularly," she breathed.

"Have you ever been sodomized?"

The question was breathtaking in its casualness, and for a long moment she could not answer.

"No," she said finally. "And I shant be today either."

He smiled, his teeth gleaming. "I said I'd do nothing to you without your permission, and I won't. But I think this bottom could use a few strips across it, then something thick and hard inside."


He moved back to his easel and took up his brush as she stood there, mind surging with sexual electricity, breasts swollen and stiff nipples stinging. She pushed herself unconsciously against the metal bar, which had warmed now, gently grinding her pussy against the steel as heat surged through her veins.

"If you beg me," he called, "I might be willing to fuck you."

She did not trust her voice to respond.

"You're not a virgin, are you?"

"Don't be a-absurd," she snapped.

"I didn't think so. That being the case, why don't you ease yourself onto that post. It will improve the picture immeasurably."

"I-I will not!" she cried, her insides twisting.

"Why not? It's not like you haven't spread yourself before. And it's not all that thick. Why, I'm thicker myself."

She sneered weakly, and caught herself rubbing against the post.

Then he was beside her, and his hand was on her bottom, all-but covering it, his middle fingers slipping down beneath and touching her opening.

"Just move forward a bit, and lift yourself up," he said mildly.

"I... no I..."

She had risen instinctively, pulling her bottom up from those fingers, and as he eased her forward she felt herself rasp across the rounded top of the post, then sink. She felt the pressure against her opening, and even as she shrank from humiliating herself by doing so, could not prevent her body from sinking further.

She could have jerked herself away, and desperately wanted to, yet her body would not obey. She felt her labia spreading wider and wider, and groaned at the strain as the metal slipped into her opening.

"That's it," he said, his voice soft, calm.


But he was gone, back to his painting, and her tired, aching toes eased her lower still, until she had at least two inches of the thing inside her. Part of the steel was cold, the part which had not been gripped between her thighs or pressed against her belly, but most of it was warm, and her soft sleeve clung to it.

Now that she was directly over the thing her right foot was pressed against the small pedal there, and unthinkingly she shifted her heel to get some additional height. The pedal went down, and she gasped as she felt the post rise inside her.

"Oh God!" she whispered.

It had risen an inch, somehow, and she shuddered as her arms pulled against the rope binding them. Her foot had slipped off the pedal, and it lifted once more, yet the post did not descend.

It was hard, and warming within her snug sleeve, and she turned her head to see Simmons painting, head down, eyes flicking up occasionally.

I really am mad, she thought wonderingly.

She felt her lower body grind slightly, felt the irresistible hardness of the steel within her, and the slickness of her lips clasped around it. Her foot shifted and eased onto the pedal, and the post rose higher. An inch, then two, then four, then six, slowly, one push at a time, until her abdomen felt swollen and distended by the thickness of the steel rod lodged within her.

Her body trembled slightly, the sexual electricity setting her nerves fraying and her muscles twitching. She had never felt so lewd, so carnal, or so sexual aroused. She breathed in slow ragged gasps even as she fought - foolishly, she knew - to pretend she was entirely aloof from what was going on.

She shifted her foot onto the pedal and the rod pushed higher still. Her insides ached with it now, and she felt the first twinge of pain from deep within her. But at the same time it felt so magnificent inside her, so deep and thick and hard. She felt brazen and wild, and her pulse pounded as the blood raced through her body.

She forced herself to go still as he moved out from behind his easel and approached.

"I forgot this," he said, smiling as he held up a small metal object.

Pamela saw it without understanding. She felt his hand between her legs, touching the post, rather than her, but could not drop her eyes to see.

"This fits against the post, you see. It slots in right... here, and then..."

Pamela cried out as a hard pressure was jammed in against the top of her opening, right where it gripped the steel post. That pressure bore down almost nauseatingly hard against that most sensitive portion of her anatomy which rested just above the pillar.

She writhed, hardly able to cry out as pain and dizziness tumbled within her body. Never had her clitoris been subjected to such pain, such pressure, and she gurgled in helplessness as he returned to his easel and left her there to shudder and moan.

"P-P-Please!" she whimpered. "P-Please!"

She could not form a coherent sentence, could hardly keep her mind in one piece as her body burned with feverish pain and dizziness.

It subsided only slowly, leaving her with a feeling of intense pressure down there.

"Bastard! Fucking bastard!" she half sobbed, half panted.

He ignored her, painting furiously.

As the intensity of the pain diminished she felt a surging relief, yet still there was that awful pressure.

She knew, as her mind began to recover, what he was doing. But she did not find the crushing pressure brought against her clitoris to be arousing: Quite the contrary. For her lust was cooled for some time.

Yet it had been so powerful that it could not be quenched, and soon it began to overcome the pain and pressure, and her hips began to grind instinctively, even as that served to accent the pain.

Every little movement pulled her clitoris against that terrible pressure, and send a flood of pain/nausea and pleasure flooding through her body.

Soon enough the pleasure overcame all or absorbed it. The sensations coming from her clitoris became almost narcotic in their intensity, and just as irresistible. As the pleasure rose up around her she could not stop herself from twitching and pulling, from tugging upwards and sliding down. Each movement made her gasp in pain and pleasure, yet she continued to move, caught in the grip of a terrible lust which could not be denied.

And just as the pinching of her clitoris sent sharp pains shooting through her groin those pains were echoed, if with less intensity, as her body tugged against the wires clutching her nipples. Sharp, biting little bolts of pain ripped into her body as she writhed there helplessly, and her body poured sweat as the heat of her arousal swamped her senses.

She shrank from climaxing before him, even as some part of herself greeted the prospect of such slatternly behaviour with glee.

Yet she could not prevent it, nor could she silence her long wavering cry of wonder and ecstasy as the orgasm crashed down around her. Her body exploded, threatening to tear apart at the shocking power of the sensations released within her. Never in her life had she experienced its like, nor imagined anyone could.

She trembled violently, eyes rolling back in her head, body awash with fire as the climax rolled through her nervous system, an unstoppable force of raw, jagged power which blotted out the world.

Her head whipped back until her nipples felt ready to tear right off her breasts. She swayed and trembled, moaning aloud. She would have fallen over had the steel rod not been thrust so deeply into her nether parts.

She felt it tearing at her and the pain wakened her somewhat, regaining enough mind to catch her balance. Still, she barely held herself up as she gulped in air and tried to clear her mind.

"Very good," he said. "See if you can do that again."

"F-fuck you!" she panted.

He was beside her, grinning, and his booted foot came down the pedal. She grunted as he pumped it hard and another inch of rod thrust up into her body. Another pump and another, and she was on her toes, gasping and moaning.

"S-stop it!" she gasped.

"You'd do well to learn more respect for your employers, my girl," he said.

It was jammed up against her very cervix now, and the pain ate into her even as she realized she was utterly helpless to resist whatever he chose to do.

"I... S-soorry," she said in a choked voice.

"Are you?"

He cupped her breasts - which were cone shaped by the pull on her nipples - and held them in his hands, stroking his hands along the undersides. "How will you make it up to me?"

His fingers rose to pinch her nipples lightly, then he stepped back. His foot kicked the post and the rod began to sink away. She moaned in relief as she sank with it, falling back onto her heels. The metal crushing her clitoris was withdrawn, and she almost fainted from relief.



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