Hello all. I sent this (or tried to send this) praise to Hywel. Miss Harriet Cooper has such an incredibly lovely innocent and demure demeanor, and looked so sweetly vulnerable I was inspired to write this story/response. I hope someone enjoys this:

I just purchased the Harriet Cooper: Kidnapped Damsel photo set and I am in awe. Miss Cooper is a goddess grade beautiful woman. And she has been restrained and photographed with such obvious care and love as well as good taste. Going through each photo individually I felt a bit like I was watching a short movie about a Pre-Raphaelite painting of a barefoot nature spirit that someone had brought to life and tied up. The expression and body language of Miss Cooper are a perfect example of a lady having fun and feeling loved playing a damsel.

I am a fan of your light hearted short stories/scenario descriptions. Harriet’s photo set puts in mind of a favorite of my own about magically appearing restraints in which a young lady wakes up in a strange place (possibly in strange clothing) tied up and barefoot. She has no idea how she got there or who has tied her up and removed her shoes. She feels afraid and angry, as well as confused. As she squirms to test the limits of her mobility she tries to think about who could be responsible for her captivity. Could it be related to the Gypsy fortune teller who gave her the flower tattoo on her foot and refused payment, saying, “The spirits will collect?”. Or maybe something to do with the equally generous voodoo priestess who insisted in placing a charmed ring on the young ladies second toe of her left foot?. Maybe that coven of witches she disturbed in the woods is still mad? Are the ghosts rumored to haunt her apartment real? Did those ninjas she interrupted have anything to do with this? Maybe this has something to do with that short fellow in green who said he was a leprechaun and that he was going to use faerie magic to kidnap her and tie her up without her shoes on? So many possibilities? Where did she meet all those interesting people.

As the young lady struggles, the embrace of her restraints begins to place her in a state of frustrated arousal that her bound hands prevent her from releasing. Feeling guilty and self conscious for feeling pleasure during her kidnapping she calls out for help, but the house she is in feels empty. Still, the young lady feels like she’s being watched. She wants to hide herself but she can’t. Without meaning to she admires her helpless physique and is taken aback by it’s beauty, especially her shapely feet. Maybe a nearby mirror helps her admiration. She looks around for cameras, wondering if the whole internet could be watching. She looks at the glass globe by the bedside and wonders if gypsies of faeries are using it to watch her. Unable to resist she bends and lifts fer legs to show herself off. Hoping the world can see how lovely her feet are.

Her modesty catches up with her and she again feels a resentment about having this pleasurable captivity forced upon her, and the young lady worries and wonders if her pleasure could be used to justify, or maybe did justify her captivity. Quite possibly this sort of thing has happened to the young lady before. And she worries that it is only happening because she enjoys it. The young ladies struggles confirm her confidence that she is helpless, and she ceases to struggle for freedom, but only to increase the pleasurable pressure of her restraints. She starts to daydream of being harem slave or a rich girl held for ransom. She remembers how her older sisters would sometimes tie her up when they were children, and how this always made her feel safe and loved despite how much she complained.

I like it when the ladies’ empty slipper like shoes or revealing sandals are near where she’s tied up, and she sometimes tries to slide her feet back into her shoe’s. Either absentmindedly or fantasizing that it will help her get free or reduce her vulnerability. Her feet are very ticklish after all. But then again being tickled on her soft feet might alleviate her state of frustrated arousal. Either way She can never quite manage to get her feet back in her sandals. But she can admire her attempts in the mirror. Is she being watched through the mirror? She can’t tell.

Then the young lady realizes that from apparently out of nowhere another short length of rope has appeared and attached her bound wrists to her tied feet in a way that keeps her knees bent. She’s very surprised. How did this happen? She didn’t notice anyone come in the room, let alone seize her and tie her up further, but the reality of the new rope that held the ropes around her chest to the ropes around her ankles is undeniable. And soon the young lady is much more preoccupied with the reality of her new degree of confinement much more than the fantastical nature of it’s source. She marveled at how the additional rope made her feel twice as helpless even though it couldn’t have made her more than a little bit more helpless than she had been before. It seemed so out of proportion. How could such a little bit more rope make her feel so much more vulnerable? It seemed almost as magical as a rope appearing out of thin air to confine her. The additional confinement also had the effect of drastically magnifying her bodies state of frustrated arousal. Her arms almost ached to touch herself.

[When you can’t see the riggers tying up the bondage model it looks like the restraints are just appearing out of thin air]

Any thoughts of hopping away from the bed were now gone. Until her unseen unknown captor(s) decided to release her she would remain on the bed and she would remain barefoot and she would remain tied up. This was her small world until them. Somehow her enhanced helplessness only made the young lady feel safer and more comfortable in her restraint. And even more loved. She was certain that benevolent magic was behind her captivity. That was the only thing that could explain not only the magic appearing confining rope, but the comfort of her prolonged confinement. She’s been tied up for hours at the least, maybe days. And she was still comfortable in her ropes. She didn’t feel hungry, or cramped, or sore, or needed to use a restroom. Only white magic could keep her helpless and happy for so long. The young lady rubs her feet together as much as her bindings allow.

[The photo narrative ends about here, but not mine]

Rubbing her soft feet together has become the most that the young lady can do to massage her frustrated body. That’s what she’s doing when the powers keeping her captive decide she needs a nice scarf tied between her teeth as cleave gag. One moment it isn’t there. The next moment it is. The young lady never sees anyone enter the room to give her the scarf. And she has no chance to say thank you. Now gagged the young lady has a new toy to play with in a way, as she amuses herself exploring how being gagged feels and how she sounds trying to speak into it. She finds herself laughing often, and then laughing further at the sound of her laughter over the gag. She muses about how being gagged makes her a lot more helpless than before, since her ability to call for help has been compromised, and calling for help was one of the last actions she could take to free herself, but the young lady felt in her bones that anyone who could hear her would have no interest in freeing her. And thus her gag didn’t make her feel very much more helpless. A bit of the opposite of the rope connecting her feet to her hands, which made her feel much more helpless than it must have made her.

Laying on the bed whose satin sheets that felt so good beneath her bare feet, absentmindedly tugging her sacred feet at the rope holding them close to her dainty wrists, and slightly chewing the scarf between her teeth. The young lady had been having those strange dreams lately. The ones that always involved some permutation of her being tied up barefoot in a lush outdoor place surrounded by people who were bowing down before her. Either worshiping her, or more likely through her. Vague impressions echoed in the young lady’s mind, like from a past life, of a young Pagan barefoot Goddess in eternal captivity whose priestesses honor her with varying rituals in which they were lovingly restrained while barefoot. The young lady could now remember dreaming of waves of divine arousal flowing through her and out of her to blanket the whole land in healing and protective magic, as well as rendering her invulnerable and unaging. The idea struck the young lady like a religious epiphany. She could feel as certain as she felt helpless that she was either a new or reincarnated disciple of the flowing golden haired captive goddess she saw in her mind’s eye. And it was this same barefoot angel of peace who had traded her eternal freedom for her capacity to love and protect humanity and the gods, that was responsible for the young lady’s perfectly comfortable prolonged loving imprisonment. How else could she feel so loved and safe after being mysteriously kidnapped and tied up so thoroughly with magical restraints that kept appearing out of nowhere?

And the warm maddening glow filling her frustrated helpless body was the healing love of the pagan goddess who was the archetype beneath the Andromeda myth and all other divine lady captives. Either that or she was losing her mind. But crazy people were always tormented. And the young lady was ecstatic. “No better way than this to go mental”, she thinks.

Adrift in a euphoric haze the young lady wonders how the goddess chose her, and glancing at her feet in the mirror it seemed clear that her fondness for being shoeless must have attracted the Goddess’ attention. Then she started wondering how many barefoot inclined ladies were gaining the goddess’ attention. How many of her own friends? Could her best friend Bethany from college be having pagan dreams? Was Tina whom she worked at the bookstore with be tied up just as she is now? She hoped so. Tina was such a cute little brunette that would look stunning and feel so loved with her small bare feet tied to her little hands. And what about… Of course! Those domineering older sisters of hers. Always teasing her by hiding her shoes and tying her up when their parents were away. It was like they were grooming her to be a captive priestess. The young lady shook with a gentle anger at her older sisters. She loved them for the attention, but still, they didn’t ask if it was alright with her to have blissful barefoot captivity thrust upon her. The young lady resolves that if they are not already the goddess’ prisoners, her sisters will be. The young lady smiles over her scarf gag as she imagines each of her older sisters tied up beside her, as barefoot and helpless as she was. She could clearly imagine her tall long dark haired eldest sister tied tightly in tight jeans that would dig into the inside of her eldest sisters’ bent knees, her eyes burning over a tape gag with anger that little sister finally got the best of her.

The young lady imagined her other sister, the slightly prissy redhead tied up on her other side wearing… what were those things in movies? “Ballgags”, the young lady remembers. How a ballgag would look in her sister’s disapproving mouth as she sobbed a bit in frustration at not getting her way. Then the three of them would burst into laughter at their shared predicament and tickle each other as best they could. It was while the young lady is imagining having fun with her tied up sisters that it dawns on her that her own pretty feet feel slightly strange and more stuck together than before. Her eyes widen as she realizes that her big toes have been tied together.

Sitting up as best she can and twisting to examine her cute feet she can clearly see her big toes are secured with a twine-like rope. The young lady feels overwhelmed. She yelps into her gag and gasps. More amazing than the appearance of more mystic restraints is how much more helpless such a small addition to her confinement has made. No more rubbing her feet together with them locked side by side now. And no hope of slipping her feet back into any shoes. She was no longer merely barefoot, but very barefoot. Did the most barefoot lady in the kingdom get to be princess?

She grunted into her gag protesting involuntarily. She might be a happy prisoner, but this was too much. Tying her big toes together! Who ever heard of such a thing!? She struggled and tugged and moaned. Her toes getting attached had magnified the ecstatic helpless aroused frustration she felt even more. How long had she been here? Days? How long would she be kept? It almost seemed like she had been tied up in this room forever. The young lady flapped her ankles in tandem. How she wished someone would tickle her and release her arousal. She lapsed back into daydreaming about her sisters being fellow captives with her. Then she wondered if Cleopatra or any modern beautiful famous ladies had been inducted into the Goddess’ priestess-hood. Against their will or otherwise. Julia Roberts had spent so much time barefoot in public. If the young lady was going to be spending a long time tied up for her barefootedness, how long would Julia Roberts, or Joss Stone, or Sandie Shaw have to spend restrained?

It was while imagining Andrea Corr as tied up as she is barefoot in concert, that the young lady realizes that she has been tied up further again. Her tied up toes have now been connected the the knots at her wrists. She can no longer bend her ankles. She is more helpless and more barefoot than ever Opening her mouth as wide as she can to cry out, the scarf gag disappears, and in it’s place is a mouth filling ballgag. Utterly overwhelmed to young ladies body finally shudders as waves of divine pleasure ripple across and through her. She loses consciousness of the room around her. When she comes to she has either traveled through time and wakes up surrounded by centaurs. Either that or she awakes in her own bed, unbound. Hardly any time has passed, but faint rope marks remain…

This thing got a little out of hand once I started writing. I hope you found a description of what you inspired to be amusing. And I really can’t thank you enough for the vision of the lovely Miss Cooper. Please hire her again.

-John (Mr. Nice Guy)