MAYDAY!

Postby sarobah » Sat May 05, 2012 6:36 pm

In honour of the month of May, I have revamped one of my stories from yesteryear. Be forewarned – it takes a while to get to the bondage bits.

Part 1

Being a freshman student in a big university when you’re from out of town can be a daunting experience; and my first few days were indeed baffling and hectic. Yet once I knew my way around and understood the rhythms of campus life, things became easier and almost ordinary. I had anticipated feeling lost and lonely, and nothing could have been farther from the truth. I found the place to be familiar and friendly.

My integration was greatly assisted by my admission to Clermont House, one of the more prestigious of the residential colleges. Situated at the end of a tree-lined cul-de-sac, it is an imposing, granite-clad edifice of five storeys, with a fine portico, a grand lobby and seventy-six twin-share rooms, exclusively for female students. Accommodation on each floor is according to seniority – first-year girls on the first, sophomores on the second, and so on. It’s not exactly opulent, but it’s comfortable, the amenities are excellent, the camaraderie is strong and academic standards are kept high by a system of peer mentoring and tutoring. The spirit of self-reliance and autonomy is reinforced by a form of governance unique on campus. Clermont and Lakeside Hall, the adjacent men’s residence, are managed by the students themselves. Only the senior administrators, who rarely interfere in day to-day affairs, are appointed, by an alumni association. By nurturing leadership qualities, the two colleges have been influential within the university, providing many prominent members of the faculty and half a dozen student presidents.

A couple of decades ago, financial pressures led to an amalgamation of the two institutions. Although physically separated, they are now governed under a single charter. Yet the merger was not universally well-received, and when I arrived there were still residual tensions and unresolved issues; but this has taken the form of a good-natured rivalry, such as vying for the number of prizes awarded by the university each year for academic and sporting achievement. I can proudly say that the Clermont women have emerged the clear-cut winner in this contest, and that I have played my part.

By my second year at uni, I could be pleased with myself for two reasons, apart from good grades. Firstly, I had used my connections to get my boyfriend David admitted to Lakeside. Secondly – and this is obviously related to the first – I had become a woman of influence. I was active in campus politics and won election to the Clermont House Committee. There were twelve members, and together with our Lakeside colleagues we constituted a unified College Council which convened each month to co-ordinate policy and disburse funds. As an indication of lingering discord, the Council chair was rotated between the residences so that neither could gain a long-term advantage. Nevertheless, our meetings ran smoothly and inter-house relations were generally harmonious.

The trouble this year started with the Mayday tradition. The first week of May is a festive time on campus, the last chance to cut loose before the countdown to exams and the onset of winter. There are no classes, and in their place are organized all sorts of fun-filled activities. It is the convention that no one studies and everyone parties. Clermont and Lakeside are no different, except on May Day itself. The double meaning of the name is manifested in a long-standing tradition that the men from Lakeside “invade” Clermont House and occupy the premises for one day. The practice can be traced back to the university’s early days, as a sort of protest against curfews and other petty regulations.

Mayday had always been a friendly affair, if somewhat controversial. In fact, my freshman experience was rather disappointing, considering some of the lurid stories I had been told about past episodes. It was more ritual than riot. The males were almost apologetic as they took over the lobby and charged up and down the stairs and corridors making lots of noise – “full of sound and fury, signifying nothing,” in the words of the Bard. We the hypothetical victims were all very tolerant and good-humoured. Some underwear was looted for display as trophies. Then things went back to normal.

This year, however, some members of the Clermont House Committee thought Mayday should be cancelled. It was decadent, obsolete and sexist, they claimed. I’m not sure why, in this of all years, we turned radical, but we voted to end the custom. A message was sent across the cul-de-sac warning that an incursion like that on previous Maydays would no longer be welcome.

The Lakesiders were incensed at our decision. They threatened to boycott the Council, and we called their bluff. But a standoff developed on the last Friday in April, when in retaliation for our stand the Lakeside councillors refused to relinquish the chair. As soon as we objected, the session was adjourned. We were meeting in the men’s residence, and when it broke up the Clermont contingent staged an impromptu sit-in protest. It was about five o’clock in the afternoon. Most of us hadn’t eaten all day, and some had social functions to attend. Nevertheless our resolve held firm and we stood our ground, defying all threats and inducements to leave. Yet by morning, tired, hungry and unwashed, we were beginning to waver.

What salvaged our pride was a tactical blunder by our opponents. Security officers were called in to remove us, an overreaction that turned us into martyrs. We emerged, escorted by campus police, to be greeted by the cheers of dozens of girls who had rallied outside in support. We congratulated ourselves on our triumph; but we underestimated the enemy. We also did not know that there were traitors in our midst.

We returned to Clermont to a rousing reception; but all I wanted was breakfast, a bath and bed. I slept most of Saturday, went to a party that evening, and spent Sunday with David. Everything seemed quiet – as the expression goes, too quiet. David proposed that we book into a hotel for the night. He was acting rather mysterious and I demurred. As we parted, I said I would see him first thing in the morning. Without classes to attend, I assumed we would have lots of free time to be together over the coming week. He replied with a cryptic remark about expecting the unexpected.

A bunch of girls were having a late supper in the lobby, so I joined them. Many of the residents had used the nine-day break to take trips away, so about half the total were left in the house. Around midnight, I went to my second floor room, which I shared with another sophomore, Mary. She was rather introverted, but we enjoyed each other’s company and we never intruded upon each other’s privacy. So we were ideal roommates. Mary was already asleep when I came in. I quickly drifted off, still puzzled by my boyfriend’s odd behaviour.

Re: MAYDAY!

Postby sarobah » Sat May 05, 2012 7:10 pm

Part 2.

I opened my eyes. It was dark. I gazed out the window. A faint pink radiance fanned across the eastern horizon. Above it, a pallid crescent moon hovered amidst wisps of cotton-candy cloud. I’d awoken from a nightmare. I had been running through a forest. Vines drooping from overhanging trees formed a curtain across the pathway, clutching and clawing at my arms and legs as I tried to escape some formless peril. In the distance I could hear shouts and the pounding of a drum, growing louder and closer...

There came a crash and a thump and a bang, all at once, battering on the door. A loud voice, harsh and urgent, was yelling “Wake up! Open up!”

I looked across the room to where Mary lay, still serenely asleep, angelic face illuminated by the dim glow of the clock on her bedside table. It read 5:27, almost an hour before sunrise. On the other side of the door, I could hear the shouting very distinctly now, but also, reassuringly, laughter. I was already beginning to suspect what was happening, but my mind was still fuzzy. I stumbled out of bed and pulled on my dressing gown. I was too drowsy to bother searching for my slippers under the bed.

I unlocked the door and opened it. I peered into the corridor, squinting through slumbery eyes, blinking away the blur. I was confronted by monstrous creatures swathed in hooded robes, brandishing weapons and rattling chains. That couldn’t be right. I was still in that dreamy twilight of half-asleep and half-awake. I shook my head and the rush of blood brought crystal-clear clarity. There were two figures framed in the doorway, men wearing hooded jackets. The breast pocket of the guy in front carried a logo or emblem of some kind. I looked closer, adjusting my eyes to the gloom, to understand the ominous import of that symbol. It shifted into focus – a picture of Bart Simpson.

I giggled, and someone behind Bartman growled at me to “Be quiet and get out here.” The owner of the voice was a young woman. She wore a black, red-lace-trimmed corselet and fishnet stockings, scarlet garters and stiletto-heeled boots. Her face was covered by a birdlike mask, but I recognized her voice. She was Jenna, one of the third-year residents.

I looked at her skimpy attire and at her track-suited companions. “You must be cold,” was all I could say.

That was a mistake. She grabbed my arm and dragged me into the hallway. She didn’t use much force, but only because I didn’t struggle. I was still too dazed to resist when she ripped my robe off my shoulders and tossed it through the doorway onto the floor. Meanwhile, the two men had pushed past me into the room. Poor Mary was bundled out of her bed still more asleep than awake, mumbling incoherently. We were hustled into the corridor, which was already noisy and congested. Mary and I occupied one of the rooms near the end of the hall, so most had already been evacuated. There were about twenty girls, all of us in our undies or nighties and already beginning to shiver. The less fortunate were clad only in bra and panties; a lucky few had on more substantial pyjamas. I was wearing just a camisole and knickers. Mary was in a flimsy chemise and wrapped her arms around her body to keep out the cold.

We were instructed to stand at attention, faces to the wall, in a single line. There was some quiet grumbling, and Mary was yelled at for being slow to unfold her arms. There were a number of males milling about, but Jenna appeared to be calling the shots, relentlessly barking out orders. The frosty air was enveloping me like an icy shroud, and it took all my willpower just to stand there, stiff and still, staring at the blank wall. It was by now pretty obvious what was going on. Mayday.

I considered whether I should acquiesce and comply, wondering what would happen if I didn’t. The three or four girls who’d been laughing and joking had stopped; but I wasn’t aware of any anger or fear. We outnumbered our captors by two or three to one, and yet no one offered any resistance. Some, like Mary, were still too sleepy and disoriented to fight back. Others, like me, had worked out what was going on but kept to the script because we were curious to learn what was in store for us. Most of us were also too focused on coping with the cold to fight back.

One of the men called out “All clear!” and Jenna commanded us to put our hands behind our backs. I heard a couple more grumbles from somewhere down the line, but nothing more. No one made any attempt to defy her authority. A pair of her minions then started at one end of the queue, stopping at each girl, who whimpered or groaned or giggled as she was bound. When they reached me, I felt the familiar thrill as a pair of hands seized and crossed my wrists. As the henchman started trussing them, all I could think was that he wasn’t doing a very good job. He was using what felt like nylon cord, but never bothered to cinch the loops, so I could have wriggled out of it in no time. However, Jenna was checking his work and showed him the proper way. That intrigued me. When this is all over, I said to myself, I must have a talk with Jenna.

Mary, next to me, moaned softly as her hands were being tied. We caught a glance at each other out of the corners of our eyes, not daring to turn our heads. I gave her an encouraging smile and she responded with a nod – too much. “Don’t move!” Jenna shouted. Mary jolted with fright, but after that she kept still. The girl on the other side, Christina, laughed nervously when her turn came, and she also copped a tongue lashing. Whereas I tried to play it cool; but I recoiled and gasped when icicle fingers brushed against my bare shoulders. Our abductors were blindfolding us, wrapping bandanas or something similar around our heads. I earned myself a salty reprimand for my flinch, and Mister Cold Hands further retaliated by yanking the ends of the cloth with unnecessary force, and binding the knot so tightly that my head jerked back. I bit my lower lip to suppress a yelp.

Once we were all secured, Mistress Jenna moved along the line, scrutinizing our bonds and blindfolds. She seized my wrists, tugging downwards and sideways. She was not gentle, and I almost lost my balance. “Careful, sweetie,” she whispered. Then, because some of the girls must have been getting fidgety and anxious, she announced to all of us: “Stay calm, ladies. Once we’re outside, you can go free.” But I had my doubts that it would be so simple. There had to be a catch. There’s always a catch.

It had been maybe half an hour since we’d been roused from our beds. It wasn’t getting any warmer, and after the adrenalin surge of the initial excitement had subsided, the chill really set in. We were huddled close enough that our arms touched and I could feel Mary’s and Christina’s goosebumps; but we were not so snug that we could share our body warmth. Nobody dared complain; yet no one was in a hurry to move. I quickly worked out what was causing the delay. From the far end of the hallway, where the stairs were located, I could hear rhythmic scuffling sounds and muted voices. Despite my blindfold, I could sense what was happening. The upper floors of Clermont House, where the senior girls lived, were being emptied.

Finally, Jenna clapped loudly a couple of times. “Right turn, ladies,” she ordered. “Bunch up. More, ladies. That’s better. Now, quick march.”

We didn’t march, we shuffled. Our escort made us close up until we formed a single mass. It made our progress awkward but also made it safer for us to proceed blindfolded. Because our bodies were in contact, we could each use the movements of the girl in front as our cue, so long as the very first prisoner was properly guided. At the same time it was bizarrely sensual. I could sniff the fragrance of Mary’s hair to my front, and on the back of my neck I felt the tickle of Christina’s breath. Her bosom snuggled between my upper arms and shoulder blades, and my boobs pressed into Mary’s back, while her bound hands nestled in another intimate part of me. She was nervously clenching and unclenching her fists. That, and the jostling and swaying movements as we shambled down the corridor, made the sensations very pleasant, but just added another level of unease to our predicament.

A shudder passed along the queue as we slowed to enter the stairwell. With superfluous advice from our escort to “Take it easy,” I warily negotiated the steps, feeling with my toes for the edge of each before committing myself. It was an interesting challenge; but there was always the danger that one of the girls above me would lose her footing and bring us all tumbling down. Our guards did give us a helping hand, although sometimes they helped themselves. Oh well, I thought, an occasional grope is better than a broken leg.

Somehow we made it to the lobby without catastrophe. As we passed the first floor, I heard giggling and murmuring and a tell-tale shuffling as the first-year girls joined the rear end of our bound and sightless procession.

The corridors and stairs were at least carpeted. The lobby was paved with marble tiles that felt like a sheet of ice under my bare feet. Traversing it, we were surrounded by a confused clutter of voices, mostly male, low-key and loud. Somewhere someone burst into creepy, high-pitched laughter. Elsewhere there were cheers and clapping, and off in the distance the metallic screech of a megaphone. Disoriented, but more inquisitive than apprehensive, I wished my blindfold would come loose so I could get a sense of what was happening.

“Bunch up, keep moving!”

I heard a girl squealing and then swearing.

“Watch your step,” a shrill voice responded.

“How can I watch my step when I can’t see?” she yelled back, quite reasonably. To that there was no riposte.

As we filed out of the building, we encountered a blast of a frigid morning air. Like hitting an invisible wall, the head of the column came to a sudden halt. The loss of momentum travelled as a wave down the line, each girl bumping into the one in front. I nudged Mary with my breasts. Sensitized by the cold and the excitement, they tingled at the touch. Christina knocked into me from behind, and I fondled her in the only part of her I could reach. She laughed and earned herself another rebuke from our escort.

“For that I’ll make you pay,” she whispered.

We started again. The stone slabs of the portico were even colder, more slippery and more treacherous than the lobby floor. It took every effort of concentration to maintain my balance and manoeuvre down the steps and onto the grass. My toes curled as they sank into the dew-sodden turf. Someone took my arm and guided me to a spot where I was told to “Stay!” There was movement and noise all around.

It didn’t take any great feat of logic to realize that we were being marshalled into ranks on the lawn directly outside the college. I still had no idea what exactly was going on, but I was beginning to appreciate how well-planned this operation was. The preparations must have been in the works ages before our mini-mutiny the previous Friday, and I began to wonder if all along we had been manipulated.

My immediate concern, though, was to keep warm. Nervous tension, embarrassment and the stimulating effects of our close-order pageant had made us all perspire, but as soon as we stopped moving the beads and rivulets of sweat became an icy glaze on our unprotected skin. I wiggled my toes, knocked my knees, swivelled my hips, twiddled my fingers and flexed my shoulders, the most I could do, but I earned another sharp reprimand. Yet I was hardly alone, because the air was filled with braying demands to remain still. I knew we were turned to the east, towards the building, because after a while I felt the delicate heat of the rising sun on my face. A congenial breeze wafted around us, caressing my skin and smoothing out the goosebumps.

Our guards removed our blindfolds, but our hands remained bound behind our backs. Since it was only just getting light, my eyes quickly adjusted. There were around sixty to seventy of us captives, just about all the girls who had stayed in the college over the weekend. We were arranged in five rows, mine in the middle. Since none of us was properly dressed, we were all still shivering, but nobody moved from their assigned spot or spoke a word. On the edge of the lawn, spilling onto the roadway, was a crowd of several hundred people. I didn’t recognize many faces, so they were not residents of Clermont or Lakeside They were in a jovial mood – it was a party atmosphere, which should not have surprised me. Mayday had been a major spectator event on campus for decades. Nevertheless, I’m sure those gathered to witness this year’s performance had not anticipated anything quite so dramatic.

Although we formed the centrepiece of the action, the men from Lakeside – who mainly stayed on their side of the cul-de-sac – were putting on their own show. Some were cheering, others jeering, many chanting stuff I couldn’t understand over the clamour. There were wolf whistles lauding our state of undress, which I resented, although modesty was not my biggest issue. Like the rest of our audience, the Lakesiders were amply clad against the cold.

I scanned the mob and there, with his characteristic bemused grin, was my David.

Most of the Lakeside men were passive bystanders. By the looks of it, no more than a dozen had taken part in the raid. They could be identified by the trophies tucked into their belts – items of plundered women’s underwear. And it was in seeing their small numbers that it struck me how easily we’d been conquered. However, the most extraordinary part of all this was that the apparent ringleaders were not from Lakeside at all. They were our own Clermont sisters. There were six or seven of them. The masks had come off, but all wore the same dominatrix meets showgirl ensemble as Jenna. On that late autumn morning, they must have been as frozen to the bones as we were.

Also present was a contingent of campus security officers. They kept a close watch on the proceedings but did not intervene or interfere as the number of onlookers continued to grow, no doubt as word spread around campus. Eventually, the senior officer spoke to the woman in charge – a postgrad named Camilla who was a member of the House Committee – and she conferred with her lieutenants. I was surprised, and somewhat dismayed, to have it confirmed that the Lakesiders had a secondary role in the event. As we stood there bound and shivering, awaiting our fate, the hard-hearted guards who took over now were not our male adversaries from across the road but members of our own sex, from our own college.

From the position of the sun just above the horizon, I could tell that it had now been an hour since our abduction. And yet we were made to stand there for another hour, during which time very little happened. The strict discipline was relaxed, and we were allowed to stamp our feet and even jog on the spot to keep warm. We were forbidden to otherwise move or to talk. Any girl who spoke was threatened with a gag.

Camilla and her henchwomen took turns to watch over us, two or three at a time, while the rest mingled with the Lakesiders. In their tiny costumes, surrounded and almost inundated by the unruly mob which surged around them as if to absorb and assimilate them, they looked small and vulnerable, almost pathetic. Every so often I saw one of them gaze in our direction with a wistful expression. There are times and situations when there is more dignity in being the captive than the captor.

At last, Camilla mounted the portico and addressed us. It was a lengthy speech, but the gist was that Clermont House was, for the next five days, the property of Lakeside Hall. Dissenters were advised to make “other arrangements” for accommodation. I had no idea what that entailed. We weren’t told what to expect, just to “be prepared for a few changes.” But I was quite certain that none of this was lawful. Yet the campus cops didn’t seem to have a problem, so long as things didn’t get out of hand. And nobody else raised any objections – not our audience, and not us, the victims, who remained totally passive throughout. It was like a weird dream. You don’t like it, you want it to be over, but you want to see how it ends.

Then, finally, came the welcome announcement. “In a few minutes you can go back inside, get dressed, have your breakfast.” Audible sighs of relief swept along the lines, and I felt the elation, though I remained doubtful that our ordeal was really at an end. It was too simple. There had to be more. Still, it was a relief when the guards released us from our bonds. My hands were becoming numb, and not just from the cold. I massaged my wrists to restore the circulation, rubbed my arms and thighs to warm them, entertained pleasant thoughts of a hot shower and a hot breakfast. Meanwhile, from the rapidly thinning spectator crowd, I could hear murmurs of both satisfaction and disappointment.

“One last thing,” Camilla said, when quiet was restored. Her wicked smile portended the bad news I was anticipating. “These prisoners will remain behind.” She began reading from a list. As I recognized one name after another, my heart sank. Mine was the tenth and last. The other girls, as they were dismissed, gave us sympathetic looks and feeble shrugs, but they were jostled back into the building; and soon we were alone on the lawn with our guards. The security detail dispersed the remnants of the crowd, although the Lakeside boys retreated only as far as their home turf.

It was time for us, the members of the Clermont House Committee, to pay for our alleged misdeeds. On Friday night we had resolved that none of us should leave the college premises for the nine-day break, in case any Mayday-related trouble flared up. That decision had now come back to haunt us... except for Camilla and Zoë, whose black corselets and fishnet stockings exposed – amongst other things – the betrayal of their sisters. The funny thing was that I didn’t recall them having been especially vocal in opposition to our revolt. That convinced me even more that the entire affair had been a set-up. I wondered what reward Camilla and Zoë and the other traitors were expecting for their defection.

We were ordered to sit, in an inward-facing circle, cross-legged, hands clasped behind our heads. The dread cold returned as the dew on the grass soaked through my knickers. Joanne, the head of the committee, was directly opposite me, shivering in a lacy brassiere and g-string panties. There was something odd about her appearance, and it took me a while to work out what it was. She was wearing her bra inside out. It looked like, during the raid, she had been bundled quickly out of bed and had just enough time to grab her undies and pull them on. (I found out later that she was with her boyfriend when the takeover commenced, that it was he who handed her over to the enemy.)

We studied each others’ faces. Several rolled their eyes as a couple of our guards began haranguing us about our evil ways. I didn’t really listen. Then we were made to stand up, one by one. Joanne was first. One of the men pulled her arms behind her back. He was not gentle, and she swayed and staggered as he bound her wrists and elbows. She looked stunned as he looped more rope around her upper arms and drew it tight, wrenching her shoulders back and thrusting out her chest. She gritted her teeth and curled her lips in revulsion as he held a large red ball-gag in front of her mouth. As she started to protest, he forced it past her lips. As she chomped and gulped, her eyes bulged – until the blindfold went on.

The other girls sat watching in mute bewilderment, as each in turn was ordered to stand up. I, most junior of the group, was last. Just before the cloth went over my eyes, I looked around. It was a strange sight, a circle of scantily clad young women bound, gagged and blindfolded, shivering and sweating at the same time, facing inward towards each other but unseeing, writhing and wriggling, making incomprehensible noises through bulbous gags, some straining frantically and others feebly at their bonds. I offered no resistance, but it was a rough tie-up. I think the guy was frustrated that I didn’t react more. “That will do,” Camilla told him.

The final indignity came when we were pushed into a straight line and halters were looped about our necks. Tethered with less than half an arm’s length between each other, we were marched back towards our college. I heard Joanne swear through her gag, and a laughing, belated warning from someone to “Mind that first step.” We mounted the portico without further injury and stumbled back into the lobby. There was silence all around, and it was impossible to tell if we had an audience.

We were herded off to the left, where a short passageway leads from the lobby into a small room that is normally used for storage. I was trying to imagine what my fellow captives must be thinking and feeling; but for me the greatest concern was once again that accursed floor under my bare feet – the wooden boards were highly polished, as smooth and as cold as the marble paving in the lobby. I must have made a noise just thinking about it, because a voice barked in my ear to keep quiet.

We were again arranged in a circle, a very tight one due to our halters, and ordered to sit cross-legged once more. Except for some heavy breathing, which came out from the sides of our ball-gags as ragged, rasping sounds, no one made any sound or moved at all. By now we were resigned to our fate as hostages. But though we had no idea what was coming, I felt once more the uncanny compulsion to see it through. I wondered if I had a choice.

We must have sat there, immobile, bound, gagged and blindfolded, until noon. By then it had warmed up slightly, but the floor was implacably hard under my numbing bottom and cramping legs. Because of the shortness of our tethers, we were forced to lean forward, which after a while exerted severe stress on our backs and bellies. The rope around my upper arms was very tight, putting an unrelenting strain on my shoulders and chest, making it hard enough to breathe even discounting the crimson orb lodged between my jaws.

There was noise and movement outside the room, but all that really existed in my little world were, apart from my thoughts, the touch of the girls’ knees to my left and right, the puffing and panting and the occasional muffled moans. I tried to occupy my mind with pleasant images, and when that didn’t work, with unpleasant ones – anything to distract me from the tedium, tension and discomfort.

Around midday, someone came in and fed us a sparse lunch consisting of a sandwich and a glass of milk. It was one girl at a time. Only our gags were removed, and replaced as soon as we’d eaten. After that, thank heavens, we were taken to the toilet; but it involved another trek across the lobby to the ground floor bathroom. This time, I could hear noise and movement all about as we shuffled across the chamber. We were made to line up outside, untethered and taken in one by one. Our handler was a female, but from behind my blindfold I couldn’t tell if she was one of Camilla’s accomplices or a resident conscripted for this rather awkward duty. Her job was to put me in position and... well, my delicate sensibilities forbid elaboration, but I was glad I only had to relieve my bladder.

On the way back to the room that had become our prison cell, our guards saw fit to remove our blindfolds, no doubt so we could see for ourselves what our Friday night rebellion had wrought. The lobby was as crowded as I’ve ever seen it. There were dozens of young guys from Lakeside, moving in or out of the building, heading to or from the stairways that lead to the upper floors, or just lounging about revelling in their ascendancy. There were even more girls milling around, and were still in their nighties and undies, so it seemed they had not been allowed to return to their dorms. Some formed little isolated knots, looking dazed and uncertain, clinging to the walls and corners, keeping a distance between themselves and the males. Others were mixing freely with the guys, chatting and smiling and flirting. A few had been pressed into service as waitresses and were busy dispensing drinks and snacks. No one appeared to be showing concern or anger or outrage. Yet everyone stopped to watch our little procession pass by, and most of the faces registered some degree of sympathy. Nevertheless, while nobody said more than a hushed word or two, there were a few mocking laughs and some self-conscious sniggers and chuckles.

I was at the very front of the line. We had been leashed once more, and I remember feeling resentful that I was the girl most exposed. My gag was causing me to salivate uncontrollably, and a little stream dribbled from both sides of my mouth and down my jaw, to drip onto my chest and tickle into my cleavage. Adding to my embarrassment, with my elbows wrenched behind my back by the rope, the strain pushed out my boobs. Because it was still quite cool, and in my keyed up state, I had become stimulated and was showing it through the thin fabric of my camisole. That drew some laughs and comments. But the peculiar thing is that, rather than being horrified or mortified, the ordeal made me feel nice and tingly inside. I actually laughed, and even though it came out as more of a gurgle than a giggle, Zoë who had a grip on my left arm swung her head around to stare at me, with a comically quizzical frown.

Blindfolded again, we resumed our silent, sightless vigil in the back room until the rapidly falling temperature told us it was nightfall. We were given a light dinner in the same manner as our lunch. After a repeat of the bathroom ritual, and another couple of hours sitting in our circle, we were taken to our beds. We were assigned three girls to a room on the third floor – in mine it was Joanne, a third-year named Liz and myself. We were untied and ungagged, though our blindfolds remained on. We had to share a single bed, while one of our female guards occupied the other, to make sure we didn’t misbehave. We were not allowed to speak or to communicate in any other way. I was in the middle, on a bed not designed for three, and suffice it to say that it was cosy. After one very strange day, sleeping off my nervous exhaustion as my body entwined with the two other girls’, I had some interesting dreams.

Re: MAYDAY!

Postby GentleDom » Sun May 06, 2012 8:45 am

man...... i need to go to school where you go. sounds awesome
I am one with the rope! I am the politest Dom, I always ask whats your limit, and if your willing,
If you would like to break them ^.^ *bows* A Gentle Dom, one who still can do it quite well ;D
at your service, and you will be at mine ^.^

Re: MAYDAY!

Postby Jay Candice » Sun May 06, 2012 4:18 pm

AWESOME! Sarobah story!
In the end, it matters not how many breaths you took, but how many took your breath away.
-shing xiong

We are not retreating, we are advancing in another direction
-General Douglas MacArthur

Fall down seven times, stand up eight
-Japanese Proverb

Re: MAYDAY!

Postby sarobah » Sun May 06, 2012 4:36 pm

GentleDom wrote:I need to go to school where you go.

In fact, this story is in fact based very loosely on a real event. Not nearly as exciting as my fictional imaginings :o(


Part 3.

We were up before sunrise. Again it was chilly, and since none of us had been permitted to change or add to what little we had now worn for thirty or more hours, we were feeling cold and grimy; also hungry. The snacks we’d been fed so far instead of meals had long since given up what sustenance they offered.

My blindfold had come loose during the night and our guard commanded me to tie it back in place. Before I did, I scrutinized her, a girl I recognized as a rather mousy little first-year named Katrina. She was changing out of her warm pyjamas back into her barely there uniform and was looking irritable as she did so. I could hardly feel compassion for her as my goosebumps resurfaced; but I was perplexed how someone so callow had gotten herself mixed up in betraying her Clermont sisters. However, she seemed to relish bossing us about, especially Joanne, whose formidable reputation in the house made her a high-end target, so maybe that’s what motivated her.

“Outside!” someone barked. Raising my hands in front of me, I felt my way to the door and out into the corridor. As we had the previous morning, we were made to stand at attention facing the wall for an interminable amount of time. There was a muted hustle and bustle behind us, as other girls on the floor moved to and from the bathrooms and down to breakfast. As I stood immobile, unsure of what was to come, I wondered what they were thinking as they passed by us, going about their business.

Most of our second day of captivity went much like the first, and there’s no need to go into monotonous detail. It continued to astound me that neither we nor the rest of the girls in the place had attempted any sort of resistance. I guess the Mayday tradition had a stronger hold on our psyches that we had realized.

Around mid-afternoon, things changed. We were released from our bonds and given a few minutes to pace about our little cell, to stretch aching muscles and restore full blood circulation. Then we were ordered to kneel in two rows, with our hands clasped behind our heads. Camilla, flanked by two assistants, subjected us to another speech, on what we should expect over the next four days – in essence, more of the same. However, there was an issue to be addressed. Most of us had jobs to go to that evening, and it was unlikely that any boss would accept “I’ve been tied up” as an excuse. So those of us who had to go were granted a short-term pass – with strict orders to get ready, go to work and return promptly.

We were taken out into the lobby and up the stairs to be let off at our respective floors. We had to march in silent single file, hands still behind our heads, watched by a large assemblage of Clermont women and Lakeside men. The males appeared to have made themselves at home, at least in the ground-floor spaces, and the women, except when they stopped to gaze at us with pity and (to my shock) some undisguised contempt, seemed unperturbed by the enemy occupation.

It was lovely to be free of the watchful eye of the guards for the first time in thirty-six hours, to shower, wash my hair and change out of my grungy undies and into my waitress clothes. None of the other girls in the house spoke to me, or even acknowledged my existence, and I presumed that they had been ordered not to. I hoped to find David waiting for me as I left the building, and was disappointed that he wasn’t. So I took the bus to the restaurant, and after my shift I obeyed the directions to get back without delay, except for a quick detour to ingest a greasy agglomeration of calories and cholesterol in the shape of a colossal hot dog. It went into me feeling better than sex. Deprivation can be a marvellous aphrodisiac.

By the time I returned, around ten in the evening, an eerie, lonely silence had descended over Clermont House. It was not particularly late for the night before a day without classes, but the lobby was almost deserted. A couple of Lakesiders were sitting at a table near the entrance, and as I came in one of them yelled something over his shoulder. Katrina emerged from the side room. In one hand she was clutching a blindfold and ball-gag, and in the other one end of a strap. It was attached to a loop around Joanne’s neck, and behind her trailed Liz, on her own leash joined to Joanne’s noose. Both girls were in their undies, bound, gagged and blindfolded.

I was ordered to take off my skirt, blouse and shoes. I hesitated, glancing towards the two sentries at the door, but they showed no interest as I disrobed. I guess they had seen enough half-dressed girls in the past day and a half – even young, robust, red-blooded males can become sated. Katrina impatiently snatched my garments from my hands and instructed me to fold my arms behind my back, clasping my elbows. She tied the black bandana over my eyes, inserted the gag and put a halter around my neck, connecting it to Liz’s. Then, without a word but with a less than gentle tug on our tethers, we were ushered towards the stairs and taken up to our third floor room.

We reprised the previous night’s sleeping arrangements. Katrina was in a domineering, petulant mood. She was clearly enjoying her power and our compliance. It really was surprising how easily and quickly we submitted. Our spirits were by now completely drained, and even Joanne remained meek and obedient as Katrina ordered us to strip down to our knickers and lie on our bellies on the bed. We were allowed to remove our gags but kept our blindfolds. Using pantyhose, she tied our hands behind our backs and bound our ankles. She pottered about the room for a while, and then, apparently after some thought, she decided to put us each in a full hog-tie. It was not very effective, and I could have gotten free in a very short time. But I didn’t, and none of us showed any defiance, although Joanne and Liz grunted and moaned as they were bound.

It was another night of fitful sleep. At some stage our blankets slid off. We were in no position to pull them back over us, and we were not about to waken Katrina. So we snuggled up, interlocking our bodies as best we could to stave off the cold. Joanne lay on her left side, Liz on her right. I was the luckiest being in the middle, on my stomach, enjoying the combined warmth of our three bodies.

In the morning, Wednesday, Katrina slept through her alarm. One of her fellow guards had to come in to rouse us, although we three were already awake and starting to squirm in our hog-ties. The girl at the door expressed surprise, in the form of a nervous giggle, to see us lying side by side, semi-naked and trussed like heifers. My blindfold had slipped off again, and I stared back at her through the pre-dawn greyness.

Katrina was obviously not a morning person. She grumpily untied us and hustled us out into the hallway, allowing us to grab just our brassieres. After that, the routine was by now familiar. Restrained and secluded in our makeshift prison, we had very little idea what was happening in the rest of the house, let alone on the campus outside or in the world beyond. At one stage, there was lots of mystifying noise – shouting, laughing, cheering, squealing – emanating from the lobby. I heard later that the Lakeside boys were playing games with the Clermont girls – nothing appalling, but not anything that one would call “politically correct”.

Each day we were allowed to put on a bra or a singlet, and a thong or g-string panty. The reason for the skimpy bottoms was, I concluded, just another petty humiliation. Sitting on the hard, cold floor, the bare flesh of our backsides was in direct contact with the wooden boards. Our guards tried to further unsettle us with additional torments throughout the day. The worst was when Katrina was assigned and proved that she was indeed a diminutive demon. She made us kneel, which before too long became an agonizing torture. When we began to moan and groan, she told us we could squat, but that turned out to be just as excruciating, because it was hard to keep our balance for very long, and our legs quickly became stiff and sore. Each guard’s shift lasted just an hour, and we were so grateful when Katrina’s ended that I think I cried a little. Her replacement was Jenna, who had demonstrated on that first morning that she could be both stern and compassionate. She allowed us to settle back onto our rear ends.

Once again, in the late afternoon we were set free to go to work. As I was leaving the restaurant, I was met by David. We greeted with a kiss and a cuddle, and he asked how I was coping, but on the bus ride back to the college we never talked directly about the events of the past few days. I decided it would be unfair of me to induce from him anything that might jeopardize his relationship with his Lakeside brothers. Nevertheless, that struck me as rather ironic. If we Clermont girls enjoyed that same sense of solidarity, we wouldn’t have the likes of Jenna, Camilla, Zoë and Katrina collaborating with the enemy.

Unlike the previous night, the lobby was noisy and crowded, with some sort of party going on. While we were still standing on the porch, peering in, David turned to me with an apologetic expression, cleared his throat and told me to undress. Knowing the drill, I handed him my clothes and shoes and folded my arms behind me. As we entered the foyer, the entire place feel silent, and several dozen pairs of eyes – curious, disdainful, compassionate – turned in our direction. A few of the girls nodded and smiled, and David turned to look at me, perplexed.

When getting ready for work that afternoon, I’d had a flash of foresight and put on my most expensive, most exquisite bra and knickers. Of course, I hadn’t anticipated such a large audience, but I was determined that if I was to be making any sort of show, it might as well be a good one. When you are a helpless hostage, this is the sort of minor victory you can score.

David left me at the foot of the stairs. In the room, Joanne and Liz were already prone on the bed, face-down and motionless, but untied. I discovered we had a new guard. Jane was the girl who’d woken us that morning. I don’t know – and have never asked – if Katrina had been taken off duty because of what she’d done to us, or whether it was a scheduled rotation. In any case, we were left alone for what might almost have been a regular night’s sleep. And oddly enough, I was feeling some sympathy for Jane, who was missing the downstairs festivities.

Re: MAYDAY!

Postby sarobah » Sun May 06, 2012 5:09 pm

Part 4.

The first half of Thursday passed as did Wednesday as did Tuesday as did Monday. Seated silently in our circle, bound, gagged and blindfolded, tethered to each other, was beginning to feel almost normal; except that after four days I had run out of novel ways to occupy my mind, and the boredom was becoming an ordeal in itself. I almost longed for the return of Katrina, who appeared to have been taken off duty altogether, or had been assigned duties elsewhere. From the whimpering sounds and constant shuffling around me, I was aware that my fellow captives were also close to their breaking point.

Now I should make it clear that we were, considering the circumstances, well-treated, and we remained in good health. Our guards checked us individually at regular intervals. When anyone showed signs of distress, she was offered a chance of freedom – though no one took it, I can proudly declare. In that sense, our morale stayed high. Every so often, one of us would be unhitched from the others and permitted to stand up and stretch. As another concession, after the first day only our wrists were bound (behind our backs, of course) but not our upper arms, which would have been too painful for a long-duration tie-up.

A few times we were visited by various people who inquired how we were coping and asked if we wished to be released. Gagged, we could only respond with a nod or shake of the head; and blindfolded, I could not tell if our visitors were university personnel, student union representatives or someone from the college warden’s office – possibly all came to examine us at one time or another. However, none of us gave in. We felt that the indignity of our captivity was easier to bear than the humiliation of admitting defeat. Nevertheless, it was strange how complicit the campus authorities appeared to be in the Lakesiders’ occupation and hostage-taking.

To boost our spirits, we developed a way of communicating with each other, by rocking slightly sideways in a rhythmic fashion, to rub knees, arms and shoulders with the girls on either side. On Thursday evening, after work half a dozen of us rendezvoused off campus (against orders, of course) to devise a simple code. While doing so we briefly discussed our captivity. Everyone seemed remarkably cool with it, even Joanne our leader and Vanessa, the most hot-headed of us. We talked about ways of getting our revenge and regaining the upper hand, but all vowed to see it through. I guess we wanted to teach the Lakeside boys a lesson in “endurance with dignity” as Liz put it. But really, I’m not so sure that’s the lesson the guys took away from the Mayday affair.

Using our rudimentary code was actually fun, and it certainly helped pass the time. We’d transmit surreptitious messages around the circle without alerting our guards that we were up to something, getting bolder and making up more complex ones as we went along. On Saturday, with our ordeal nearing its end, we deliberately gave away our little ploy by synchronizing our movements, baffling the guards until they finally woke up to what we were doing.

Most of the time, however, we just sat there in a dreamy haze, drifting in and out of conscious awareness, cut off from everything outside our little clique.

On Friday, however, something different happened. All of our female guards were on hand during the lunchtime ritual, possibly to deter the disorderly crowd in the lobby from becoming too obstreperous as we were taken to the bathroom. When we were back in our chamber, instead of sitting in our circle, we were made to lie on the floor side by side, on our stomachs. The guards helped us into position but they were not particularly gentle. We must have been arranged in two rows, because there wasn’t enough room to be laid out in a single file. They bound our ankles and elbows, and from the way the ropes were being applied I knew what was coming next. The girl next to me, Laura I think, was struggling and twisting, and making plaintive grunting and snorting sounds. She was experiencing her first hog-tie.

From my own familiarity, I understood the difference between a hog-tie intended for mere restraint and one designed for punishment (or for the amusement of one’s captor). This was the latter. We were bound in such a way that we had to alternately arch and relax our bodies to shift the strain back and forth between our wrists-and-ankles and back-and-shoulders. Pretty soon we were all puffing and moaning through our ball-gags as exertion turned to exhaustion, as our muscles and tissues began to stiffen and cramp up. Eventually, one by one, we were released from our ordeal, over the space of maybe half an hour. I don’t know what criteria our tormentors used, but they seemed to know when each of us had reached the threshold that separated severe discomfort from unbearable agony. I was the very last, despite being the smallest, youngest and skinniest, and I remember thinking what the guards might be making of that fact. They toyed with us a lot more over the next couple of hours, but the hog-tie challenge was the most demanding and most interesting of the games they played. It was not all fun, but after nearly four days of sitting immobile, any sort of novelty was a blessing.

I never discovered the reason for this change in routine. Ever since the first morning of our captivity, I’d had the impression that despite appearances, the show was being run not by the Lakesiders but by our own, traitorous sisters. So I’m guessing that the inspiration and motivation for the torments and humiliations we suffered did not emanate entirely from the far side of the cul-de-sac.

I wasn’t rostered to work that night and informed Camilla when she came for her afternoon inspection. She said “Uh-huh,” like she was checking my name on a list. She untied me and one other girl and instructed us to have a quick shower, then go back to our own rooms and “put on something sexy.”

I’d suspected what was afoot from the tone of Camilla’s uh-huh, and that last order clinched it. I chose my favourite negligee and waited for Jane, who came in eventually and bound my hands again, gagged and blindfolded me. Then I sat on the edge of my bed for another long wait, until I heard the door open and close. A hand, more gentle than most I had felt over the past few days, slid the straps of my nightie off my shoulders and caressed my arms before slipping off my blindfold and taking the red ball from my mouth and kissing my puckered lips. I nibbled David’s earlobe as he hugged me and reached behind my back to free my hands.

At around midnight, the visit over, David remorsefully tied my hands again, replaced my blindfold and gag, and took me up to the third-floor bedroom. Jane arrived soon afterwards with Joanne and Liz. As they took their places on either side of me, I felt them flinch just a little when their skin came into contact with my body still hot and sweaty from David’s attentions. I was in a frisky mood, and I must confess that my bed-mates during the night discovered that my latent tendencies were maybe not so latent. Yet afterwards, neither complained. When the occasion warrants it, I can be very good at being a bad girl.

Most of Saturday was spent in what was becoming a familiar routine. As evening approached, it was amazing to think that the incident which had precipitated this entire state of affairs was less than a week in the past – it seemed like the proverbial eternity ago. Yet there was one final ignominy to bear.

That evening, the Lakeside house committee convened a “special emergency session” of the joint college council. I’m told it was the first ever held on a weekend. The ten of us were marched, still bound, gagged, blindfolded and tethered to each other, to the men’s residence. For extra entertainment, the guards added crotch-ropes and breast harnesses to our fashion ensemble. Once again there were startled moans from those girls who were new to this kind of treatment.

As we were escorted out of our cell for the last time, the lobby, full of movement and chatter, fell silent. Outside, however, I could hear the commotion from a large crowd of spectators as we were led across the cul-de-sac, to Lakeside Hall and into the committee room. Seated in the chamber still in our bonds, we were forced to listen to the males debating motions and passing resolutions, mainly items condemning “the intransigent attitude of the female members” and such like. We were taunted with “Those in favour say Aye” and “Any objections, raise your hands” and “Peruse the notices” – since we couldn’t say nor raise nor peruse anything. I was aware that our two faithless councillors, Camilla and Zoë, were present, but they did say much at all during the proceedings.

Yet I have to admit, the farcical formalities appealed to my warped sense of humour. The sitting ended with the most comical irony of all. The council voted, with ten abstentions (guess who?), to confirm Joanne as presiding officer for the rest of the month, backdated to the last Friday in April. That was the masterstroke, because it effectively expunged our original grievance from the records. The Lakeside members of the council then untied the Clermont members; and chairwoman Joanne, her words garbled from the residual effects of the ball-gag, adjourned the session. We retired to our own residence where things returned to normal with remarkable speed.

And so ended a most eventful Mayfest week. We had no more trouble from the men’s contingent on the council, at least for the time being, nor from the Lakesiders in general; and none of the girls in Clermont House made much of a fuss. The six-day occupation received only a small write-up in the university newspaper, although I did get some uncommon attention from a few of my fellow students when classes resumed the following week. For not warning me of the impending crisis, I gave David a roasting that he probably didn’t deserve but which made me feel better. He showed his contrition by booking us into a beachside hotel the following weekend.

There were no significant reprisals against the henchwomen, the handful of quisling females who had collaborated with the Lakesiders. For a few days they strutted about the place like they were still in charge, until we put them in their place with a few harsh words of sisterly advice. I found out that Katrina had an elder brother at Lakeside, although this didn’t really explain her defection. I did have that talk with Jenna. We compared notes, swapped stories and tried out some tie-up techniques on each other. Later that year she was elected to the house committee, and she did an especially good job, so her role in the conquest and hostage-taking was not held against her. At our first session after the election, she showed her sense of humour by wearing her black-and red corselet, stockings and garters. Camilla, on the other hand, lost her seat.

My roommate Mary wanted to know all about my experiences in captivity, and we sat up late as she listened wide-eyed to my story. I must confess that it felt rather strange going to bed alone that Saturday night.

Final summation: The men of Lakeside, ably assisted and abetted by their Clermont henchwomen, had done a splendid job organizing and executing their early morning raid on Clermont House, and maintaining their occupation unresisted for the ensuing six days. I am definitely looking forward to finding out what’s in store for us on next year’s Mayday.

Re: MAYDAY!

Postby mattbind1974 » Sat May 12, 2012 2:03 pm

you are fabulous ...

Re: MAYDAY!

Postby italianarg » Sun May 13, 2012 7:47 am

Thats a great story!

Re: MAYDAY!

Postby vantran » Tue May 15, 2012 10:24 am

love this