She sat on damp leaves. Her hopelessly long hair was entwined round the trellis behind her and tied to it with red velvet ribbons. He said she was his brightest rose when he tied her there and left her for the night. At least he had allowed her to wear her tiered skirts and petticoats, even though she was topless. Her rosy nipples were perky in the dewy morning air. She had cried for a while when he first left. But dipping her head down only pulled her hair and made her more aroused. So now she sat proudly, with good posture, in a way he would have approved for his brightest rose in the garden.
Her fingers were locked into a contraption made of finger rings and chains. He said, "I know you and if I didn't secure your hands you'd be pleasuring yourself when I'm away." Her hands were palm to palm with the fingers secured to each other. He was clever. She had no way to untie her hair from the trellis on her own and he knew it. She might have called for help, but he had sent all the servants away for the weekend. And most likely they wouldn't help her anyway. They'd probably come over and pinch her nipples knowing there wasn't much she could do about it.