Mrs. Davis was sitting perched on the edge of the desk, with her back to the window. Her elbows were tied behind her back, and her wrists were secured at her waist sides, with a rope that also anchored a tight crotch rope, running through her lips and buttocks up to the elbow tie. Her distinguished silver-grey coiffure had been distorted into two ridiculous little girl pigtails. With her ankles cross-tied as they were, getting off the desk wasn't an option, so she was just sitting there, biding her time. Oh well, and earning money at the same time, she mused. At the moment, she was on her own, once more. As ever once happened, Gerald was off for a few minutes, to do whatever an errand that couldn't wait.
For seven months now, she had been modeling for Gerald, and it had actually become a very pleasant working relationship, despite the age difference. Gerald had turned out to be an extremely considerate young man, and notwithstanding the nature of the shoots, she felt totally safe in his hands. At one point, she had encouraged him to call her by her first name, but he had refused, kindly but firmly, saying that it would make him feel uncomfortable.
Once again, she arched her back. Her head went up and her knees down a bit, and as she did, she could feel the ropes tighten in her private parts. She shouldn't be doing much more of that, she realized, slumping forward again. A reaction was starting to build up. She felt it in her buttocks, creeping up her lower spine, tingling... Better to just sit erect, motionless.
As she sat in the chair, reversed and kneeling, she could hear him going through the closets. He did it quietly, methodically, and even though she couldn't see him, she had the impression that the whole place wasn't turned into a mess. It just sounded as if he picked things up, and put them right back. Whenever he looked in a drawer, she heard a little rummaging, and after that, he would just slide it back.
She leaned forward a bit, trying to find some slack in her bonds. There was none. her knees and wrists were tied firmly together, and though her elbows weren't quite touching,
she couldn't move those more than an inch at the most. The worst was the rope that kept her legs doubled up beneath her, keeping her in this humiliating kneeling position. It was cutting into her upper thighs like crazy.
He had carried her to the classroom on the second floor. She had been heavier than he had expected, but he had managed. At location, he had placed her in a chair at the short end of the table, opposite to the large clock on the right wall of the room.
Then, he had done the tieing. This had been an excruciating job, with her unable and, had she been conscious undoubtedly unwilling, to comply in any way. For minutes, he was moving under the table, on top of it, moving around it. Tieing her ankles, lifting her legs, yanking at her arms, groping for the ropes.
When he had finished, her position looked quite relaxed, with her head resting on the table, between her forearms. But beneath the desk, almost parallel to it, her legs were stretched out in a way that predicted the torture that was to come.