This tale is based on my own impressions of the fetish modeling industry and what it entails as told through the eyes of the narrator who is experiencing these events. Along the way, she will tell stories about how she got into the position she is in using what I will call “Interludes” that will be hidden in the “spoil” tag thusly. These interludes will involve BDSM themes and tell a story within the story that relates to the “present” events the narrator is sharing, but some will be a bit heavier than some readers like. The use of the "spoil" tag makes it easier to skip for those who don't want to read them.
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Story 1 Chapter 1: How It Began
October 11, 2014
I sat at my crappy, small junker computer/laptop. I made up for its crappy smallness with a multitude of labeled flash drives. Today, however, I was browsing the web in search of a job. I already worked one job and was full-time at the Community College of Minneapolis Southwest Campus, but I needed more money. This week, I stooped to eating plain refried bean tacos for dinner 5 out of 7 days. I was 18 and knew it was a matter of when, not if, I either starved to death or froze to death from turning off the heat some days just to save money.
Rent. Utilities. Tuition. Fees. Textbooks. Right there, my income was drained to about $100 left each month, so I had to eat, dress, and drive on that. I knew my circuit well and minimized my driving distance to under 75 miles per week. $40 in gas meant under $60 for the food and clothing. This was my life from when I turned 18 in March, graduated high school, survived a murder attempt in July, got my job by the end of that month, and was in October of my first semester of junior college.
What can I do? I thought to myself and slowly stood up and walked around.
Panicking wouldn't help me, but I felt my heart racing regardless. I had to do something quickly. I wasn't able to cut it like this. I was literally alone in the world of my suburb southwest of Minneapolis. My ex-boyfriend was in prison for life, my parents had disowned me, and I refused to sponge off my few remaining friends. I was the epitome of the sin of pride in that last regard. I had done it to myself, and I wished daily and sometimes hourly that I could do it all over again.
My little four room place was only 400-500 square feet. A little living room, dining room, and kitchen were all part of one half plus of it. The bedroom and bathroom were the other parts. The bathroom had two doors, one to the bedroom and one to the living room. The bedroom’s second door went to the kitchen. I had a thrift store sofa but nothing else in there because I had no money to spare for such frivolities. I ate at a folding table while sitting in a metal folding chair. My bureau was a plastic drawer unit, and my mattress was on the floor. Clothes were a joke as I had only what clothes I had taken when my parents threw me out… what clothes still survived and didn't have holes. Freaking coin laundromats; now I washed my clothes by hand.
Don't do drugs.
I walked around wearing one of my two winter outfits, blue sweatshirt and sweatpants and kerchief bandana. As I walked by the mirror, I saw my outfit and thought about the days when I was younger and the friends I had then and of the bondage games we had played. TUGs were the name. I remembered I enjoyed being tied up and gagged, as well as what that b-stard Greg did to me, and I remembered that there was an industry behind this.
I sat down and began typing into my computer until raw experience taught me the right wording. Finally, I was looking at fetish modeling jobs in the Minneapolis area, but I was not letting someone burn me with cigarettes, r-pe me, strangle me, or force me to urinate. I kept searching and hoping for someone who would just tie me up and pay me for it. Then I found it after hours on Model Mayhem and other such sites.
Tied After Class: Classic bondage, bondage games, and damsels-in-distress
That was the place for me, and so I went to “Steve Moreau’s” website. There it was, rope and tape bondage scenes. No exposed crotches, but there was some vibration and/or soft nipple play. Mostly pretty girls hamming it up. Ball gags. You get the type. Think something like Captured Snapshots or Imago Studios. I quickly filled out the questionnaire form and sent an email.
Dear Steve,
I am a down-and-outter who wants to reclaim her life. I have past experience with bondage as a damsel and a nabber. I hope you will give me a chance because I am just looking to eat more than a can of beans for once.
Your scenes are eclectic, and the damsels are gorgeous. I bet it would be a pleasure to work with you.
Respectfully yours,
Hannah Larsson
I sent the email and didn't think much. I’d give it 48 hours, and I was going to wait until the morning before possibly contacting less savory studios. I was in no hurry to sell my crotch or do anything but bondage work even if it was all still fetish modeling. Maybe I would be provided clothing to wear during a scene! Just a few hours of other clothing besides my ratty old rags would make me happy!
It was just a typical day off for me. I breezed through the trivial homeworks, but they were numerous. I tried to enjoy my one day a week that had no working hours. How do you enjoy yourself when you're 5’3” and wasted away to under 100 pounds? You have to distract yourself from the gnawing on your stomach and find other things to do. To my shock, a response came in under 1 hour.
Miss Larsson,
Text or call me at xxx-xxx-xxxx. You sound like you would be a good match for us, and every studio craves a girl as genuine as you. We can possibly do something today if you're available.
Steve
Of course I called. You know I called. I wouldn't be telling you this story otherwise! Ten minutes later, I found myself driving the 15 minutes to the house that doubled as the home of Tied After Class. To my surprise, instead of the 40 year old man whom I called before I left, I was greeted by a woman about 10-12 years younger than that, closer to my age than his.
“Hello, I’m Kristine.”
“Hi, I’m Hannah,” I shook a bit with fear.
Last time I had been “tied up” was an attempt to leave me in a basement to starve to death. Before that, it was sex, often as punishment, from the same party, and before that it was so a demented prison guard could do an extra cavity search on me. Ages 16 to 18 royally sucked so far. Here’s hoping I could at least make some money and not starve to death and maybe get to go to a real university.
“Would you like a warm drink?” she asked me warmly.
“Ummmm,” I hadn't heard such words in years, “I guess, yeah. I’ve been an outcast so long I forgot how to ask and answer such questions.”
“Are you local?”
“Close, Mudville. Are you and Steve business partners or life partners?” I squirmed.
“Just business. His wife does join us though. So you're that Hannah Larsson.”
“Which one?!” my voice became shaky, “Isn't it a common name?!”
“Yes, but you're the one with that girl Stacy and that creep Greg Lofton. I’m sorry.”
I was grateful for not having to talk more about it. Greg Lofton, the f-cking whacko. Yes, indeed, I was that Hannah Larsson. What’s it to you, Ma’am? Thankfully the creep pleaded guilty, sparing me having to be grilled by attorneys. I hope someone rams a steel pipe up his…
I could see the studio vibe in some rooms just by how they were painted. As soon as I reached the basement, I recognized tape spots on the floor from other studios I had seen. Hooks, a chair, a stool, an office chair, and a metal frame twin bed were just some of the fixtures of the space. It was a candy store of sorts if variety was your thing; one could get tied up 50 different ways in this room and not have one repeat and keep her shirt on throughout each shoot.
But I was here to make money and hopefully have fun at least most of the time.
Steve mostly explained the role in the scenes to me. Steve had his part; Kristine had her part; I had my part if I appeared in a film; sometimes other girls had a part in it. Then came the best part of all: they had a massive wardrobe ready, and I just had to pick something I liked. I didn’t jump physically; but I did jump in my mind.
Paperwork.
The first thing before a scene, even when cash is the method of payment, is paperwork. Lots and lots of paperwork. It’s fetish modeling and subject to certain laws about privacy, being a legal adult, consent to being tied up, and so forth. I did not have to go through any kind of testing because no sexual acts were involved.
$200 per hour! Oh, the things I could do with that! I could already taste the ground beef in my tacos!
I stepped into the wardrobe and froze because it was an entire 12 foot square room. He said to just choose anything that would make me comfortable for my first scene, and that they would do this unscripted. I was also tasked with picking out a name.
With the name thing, I thought about it while picking out my clothes. Kristine said it would take a long time the first two or three times, and she was right. Karina sounded nice to me because it seemed Nordic. I don't know if it’s even a Nordic name or not, but I liked it.
Outfits outfits outfits. Oh, the clothes everywhere! I picked out a gray knit business suit and put on a pair of hose knowing the expectation was for me to provide my own socks, panties, and hose in the future unless there was a special theme that required an article I didn't have, like those fancy knee socks in the drawer. I studied myself in the mirror and added a pair of black high heels and marched out.
“Is it erotic enough for you?” I asked.
“Oh ho ho! She's got the idea,” Steve cackled.
“You’ve studied well!” Kristine’s eyes popped in a way that told me she liked girls.
“Thank you. I decided my first should appeal to the masses instead of to me.”
“There’ll be masses for sure! You're a doll, Hannah!” she ogled me.
“Karina… for the camera.”
It was time to begin the scene.
“Well, Karina, have you ever been tied up before?” we started with an interview.
“Many times. It's fun. I like being helpless at the hand of someone I trust to not harm me.”
“What brings you here today?”
“To have fun and get paid for it! I know there's work as well, but it's a process,” I sensually crossed my legs and saw Kristine’s eyes pop again.
“Since you have experience, what gag do you enjoy most?” he continued.
“Depends on the scene and outfit. For this suit, stuffing and strips of duct tape sound sweet.”
He continued to ask me questions of that nature and about my previous experience, and I answered in as general of terms as I could so that people got to appreciate my own experiences and feelings without doxxing myself. The interview was only 10 minutes or so, and then it was time to film. I stood up and walked over to Kristine and gave her a smile and a teasing wink.
One of these times, we would play a little rougher during or after the scene.
That white rope you see so often in such scenes made its appearance. Steve started tying my wrists behind my back, and for this first scene he took it easy to see how I reacted. Then came the surprise: he tied my elbows. I had experienced elbow ties 1 or 2 times, but I never believed I could handle it. Today, I learned I could handle it in short bursts.
He continued to tie me up nice and tight. I didn't know what to expect really, but Kristina stuffed my mouth with a pair of socks and covered my lips with strips of tape. I was seated on a wooden chair so Steve could tie my legs, and Kristine took the camera and began filming my torso alone without getting Steve on camera while he bound my ankles and thighs.
Lights. Camera. Action.
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During the scene, what will Kristine do to Hannah?
A) Put her in a hogtie
B) Tie her to the chair
C) Put her in a strappado
keep going 
