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We were soon in a cab heading for an address uptown. When we arrived at the address Vicki had given me, I was impressed to see it was a private house, rather than an apartment.  "I don't know what your daughter may look like, but you look utterly charming. I've never seen such a figure-that tiny waist and full bust."  "Oh, this figure?" she answered me in an oddly detached tone.  "This is just the figure I wear in public-can't stop traffic, you know. But wait till we get inside." "Would you unlock the door, please? My gloves are so tight that it's very difficult for me. Use the big fat key."  I soon had the door swinging open and she stepped inside. I followed. I heard a pleasant, slightly French accented voice begin speaking as I followed her in.
"Madame is back so soon, surely, the play cannot be over? But of course not; madame didn't stay beyond the second act, that is when the interest ceases."  "Fifi, this is a new friend of mine. You may be seeing a good deal of him. His name is Mr. Walk."  Fifi looked at me, giving me a warm, inviting smile.  Meanwhile, I was looking at her, well, maybe staring was a better word. Believe me, this Fifi was worth a long stare any day. Actually about medium height, she appeared to be tall, by reason of the slim six-inch heels on her pretty ankle-strap sandals, of black patent leather, shackled at wrists and ankles with dainty cuffs and chains.
"Show Mr. Ted into the living room, Fifi. Then come upstairs and help me. I'm going to slip into something more comfortable."  Fifi watched her mount the stairs to where they turned at a landing, then she turned to me and breathed,  "Madame is so lovely. But then, Mamselle Nicki is lovely, too . . . Then she waited.  "You're lovely, too, Fifi," I assured her.  "Thank you, monsieur, I was beginning to think you would not say it."  She opened the door with a grand gesture, ushered me through.  "This is the living room, monsieur," she informed me. She was interrupted by Nicki's voice, calling from above.  "Fifi! Stop flirting, come up here and tend to your job!"  Left alone, I turned and inspected the living room for the first time. Money, and plenty of it, was obvious in the furnishings. But it was money controlled by quiet good taste. One of the most striking features of the room was the number of photographs. Some were hung on the walls, some were placed on the tables and occasional pieces. One picture in particular caught my eye; at first I thought it was an oil painting in tones of sepia, in a very low key.
It was just a girl's head, in an old-fashioned travelling hood, against a dark background. As I looked more closely, I saw that the girl was Vicki, or somebody that looked very like her. And the pose was modelled on the famous sequence in "Jamaica Inn," and the subject was gagged, although the fact was not too obvious at first because of the shadow that the cloak cast on the face. Unlike Maureen O'Hara, in the original, this girl was really gagged. Her mouth was almost wide open, and very tightly packed with a large pad of cloth, while the band that crossed the face and circled the head, keeping the pad in place, went between the parted teeth, and was obviously pulled very taut. The subject's wide open eyes, with a tear trembling in the corner of one, looked at the observer with a mixture of fright and desire that was extremely interesting. Another photograph nearby was just a pair of bound hands. Clearly, they were crossed and bound behind the owner's back; they were tightly gloved in glistening black kid, which contrasted very sharply with the almost white cord that imprisoned them. The cord, by the way, it sank into the flesh, was drawn very tightly. There was a tremendous sense of tension in the rigidly held, almost claw-like fingers. Over the rather modern looking fireplace was a very large photographic enlargement, done in the manner of the time-honoured family portrait. At first glance it was exactly like hundreds of other family works. The subject, who was presumably Vicki, was seated stiffly upright, in a rather ornate straight chair, the figure three-quarters to the camera, the face looking straight at the viewer.
She wore a light coloured evening dress and appeared to be so tiny in the waist and so full in the bust that it seemed obvious that a retoucher had been at work. But as you looked more closely, several things became apparent. To start with, Vicki's arms were drawn over the back of the chair, and seemed to be secured behind her back in some manner; so far were they drawn back, in fact that the elbows must have been very close together, or actually in contact. That accounted, at least in part, for the stiffness of the pose and the way the high, huge bust was thrust forward. The evening gown was transparent, allowing the figure to show through in pretty semi-visibility. It also showed that the legs were tightly laced into thigh-high boots carrying heels at least seven inches high. Further, the pretty ankles were strapped together and loops ran from the ankle bondage to each of the front legs of the chair. But it was the face that worried me most. Partly, around the eyes and upper part of the face, it looked exactly like Vicki; but the lower part of the face, from the nose down, did not. It looked rather stiff, somehow, with rather too much distance from nose to chin, and a pair of flat-looking, unnatural lips. They seemed painted on. Then I got it. Vicki was wearing a concealed gag. The upper part of her face was free, but her mouth was apparently packed with a pad that held her jaws about an inch apart. Then, from the root of the nose to the base of the chin her face was smoothly covered with something concealed, and sealed the mouth. It seemed to be smoothed well out onto each cheek, and may have gone all around the head; it was so skilfully done that one could not tell from the picture. Finally, a pair of lips was painted in the proper position. All in all, it was a picture to delight a bondage-lover's heart.
There was another photograph that fascinated me. It was in colour, and was obviously based on an old master. Which one it was had me baffled until, in one corner of the frame I saw the words, "After Goya." Then I placed it. It was the famous "Naked Maja." The couch, the pose, the lighting, all were carefully reproduced. But in this picture the subject who was, quite obviously, Vicki, wore a pair of marvellously fitting over-knee boots in flesh-coloured leather, with heels that I guessed to be not less than eight inches in height. From boot-tops to waist she wore a pair of nude elastic mesh tights, and from the waist to just below the jutting bust, a tiny waisted, stiffly boned corset of leather to match the boots. Her arms, which in the original are held languorously behind the head, were in the same pose. But in tight flesh-coloured leather gloves, which were actually joined to each other in such a manner that each hand was clasped around the opposite elbow. Thus, she was actually in capable of defending her self, though, to judge by her attitude, defence was the last thing she had in mind. Her mouth was drawn far back at the corners into a sort of fixed grin by a narrow band of the same leather drawn very tightly between her teeth, and presumably buckled behind her head. A certain appearance of pressure about her mouth showed clearly that though it was forced into invisibility, her mouth was packed with some sort of silencing pad. The sexy quality of the boots, the helpless arms and the tight gag all combined into an effect of charming willingness that was quite indescribable. There were numerous other pictures in the room, some just costume studies, some stressing bondage, too. All were interesting, but there is no point in describing them here.

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