New Book for Bondage Lovers

I had an amazing experience interviewing Gillian Simpkins about her experience as a fetish photographer's assistant and mistress. Miss Simpkins is a very pretty girl and she has a lovely young maid, Imogene. Who likes bondage and girls in that order.

I have the feeling Mady will want Miss Simpkins and, especially, Imogene to become regular visitors.

I have no doubt elliot would be please with that arrangement as well. However, Miss Simpkins has her patron to attend to and photoshoots with lovely young models to arrange. Plus working in the used book store and keeping up her mistress glossiness.

But she seems to be doing very well.

You can see the book at Amazon. Here is a short excerpt:

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I arrived at the outer door, keyed in the code, went to the inner door, keyed in the code and shoved my worldly possessions into the studio. I looked around.

Over in the photo studio space there was a girl in a corset and stockings with her arms manacled above her head. Paul was happily taking pictures and the dark haired girl was posing as hard as she could in her restraints. What do you do?

I decided to do nothing. I pushed my boxes into the studio and walked over to where Paul was engrossed with what looked like a film camera.

“Mr. Livingston, how long have you had that poor girl chained up?” I said with what I hope was a laugh in my voice.

“About half an hour Miss. I’m Jules. I’ve worked with Paul before. This is the easy part,” said the trussed up girl. “But the money is great. Are you doing a shoot?”

“Not today,” I replied. “Paul needed a stylist. I’m it.”

Somehow it seemed perfectly normal to be chatting to a woman in a black corset, heels, and, on closer inspection, vintage stockings and shackled to a pillar in a space I was moving into. Which was because Paul was so absolutely normal. He was, matter of factly, snapping pictures.

“Miss Simpkins!” he said. “So glad you’re here. Could you just lower the left cup of Jules’ corset so I can shoot her nipple. It’s fine, I have the consent right here.”

“Totally fine Paul, and a lot more fun to have a pretty girl strip me.”

We spent the next hour making Jules increasingly naked and more than a little uncomfortable.
As I hoisted her arms behind her and pulled down her panties to reveal a luxurious 1950’s bush, Jules kept up a steady stream of conversation.

“Really Paul, you’d make much more money if you stuffed something up my pussy,” She said at one point.

“Not in it for the money Jules. In it for the style and the style says we barely see your pussy,” said Paul to my surprise. “This is all about a damsel in distress; but she mostly keeps her modesty.”
Which was somewhat true if you ignore her breasts, the nipples of which Paul had had me clip twenty minutes before. And nothing mild like the adjustable clips you see in sex shops – or I saw once – rather full on bulldog clips with her nipples pushed into the gap. This was not hardcore but it was serious. I’d attached her to a gym horse looking ready for a flogging. I was really hoping Paul would not ask me to lay on the strokes. He didn’t. A dozen close ups later and we were done.

“Miss Simpkins, set a kettle to boil and you’ll find tea in the cupboard. You did beautifully, Jules.”
I’d unstrapped Jules and brought her a robe.

“It was fun Paul,” said Jules unconsciously rubbing her clipped and swollen nipples under the robe. “It always is. And now you have an assistant.”

“I do.”

“Will she be…”

“Not today Jules. In future, perhaps,” said Paul.

“Well then, still my turn,” said Jules and she dropped to her knees in front of Paul, took his cock out of his nicely pleated wool trousers, and got to work sucking. She didn’t even take the clips off her nipples.

As I made tea, I could see her head bobbing up and down and, in a couple of minutes, just when the tea was done, so was Paul.

“Thank you, dear Jules,” he said. “Now, tea?”

“In a moment Paul, I’ll just go and rinse.”

And off she trotted to the bathroom entirely unconcerned that she’d just given her photographer a very public blow job.

I brought the tea to the coffee table where Paul had been so recently serviced.

“Really?” I said.

“Mostly,” said Paul. “I make it very worth their while.”

“Then whatever do you want me for?” I asked genuinely perplexed.

“I need to stop. I still want to shoot for my collection but I can’t afford the possibility that one of these girls is going to turn on me. Not Jules, but one of them will eventually and that will cost me a lot of money and a good deal of reputation,” he said.