After the tattoo placed by her owner on her backside had healed, Anne's real training began. In her garter-belt and stockings, she was brought to the training shed that stood, well-hidden, in the woods behind the manor, well out of the earshot of anyone who did not know that Jacob Burns had bought himself a new sex-slave.
Taking his time, because he intended to take photos that he hoped he could sell, and he thus wanted to make sure the rope-work was as perfect as it could be, Jacob trussed Anne's arms up to the post that loomed over her prostrate form.
"You'll be here a long while, pet," said Jacob. "It's not too uncomfortable, I hope?"
"No, Sir," replied Anne, who was already terribly warm between her thighs just at the tension of her posture and the feel of the rope.
Jacob began with the paddle, enjoying at leisure the way his new girl's bottom-cheeks squirmed as they grew rosier and rosier and the way her cries and moans rose and fell. He saved the cane for after his first ride inside her rear, which he enforced on her with vigor. When it was time for the rattan, though, Jacob's favorite implement, he administered her chastisement slowly and ritualistically, instructing her as he did in the ways of pleasing him, and telling her exactly how lovely her bottom looked, with its new stripes under the tattoo with his initials.
Between Anne's thighs, the moisture flowed ever warmer, it seemed to her, even as she cried out in pain at each new stripe. When at last, after the caning, Jacob rewarded her, ritually, with his hand, the ritual rope made her climax something she had never dreamed she could feel.
As frequently, the confluence of two elements--in which it always seems one element is the essential, the other the supplementary--made up the arresting hotness of the photo that inspired this story, for me. The primary element is the classic submissive pose in which the area of the Dominant's principal interest is presented for sex and discipline at one and same time, giving a visual existence to the the ineluctable association of the two in the imaginations of us who are lucky enough to be kinky.
The second element is of course the beautiful rope-work, by which this fundamental posture is enforced. Not only does the rope add imaginary resonance from the world of shibari, but the enforcement itself carries a powerful charge, as if the Dominant partner in the scene were saying "Yes, she's in her proper submissive pose, but she is so in need of discipline that she must be held there, so that I can give her everything she has coming, whether she can take it or not." (This is the fantasy, you understand! In fantasy, SSC can be discarded, and, at least in my imagination, almost always is.)
Add to that the hint of the tattoo under the garter-belt, the lingerie itself with its absolutely classic framing of the submissive charms, and the ambiguous rusticness of the space with its menacing gags and weights hanging to the right, and the scene as a whole rises to that special level where not to narrate seems like a crime.