I have been hesitant about posting this story. I think something went awry during the transition from my brain to the keyboard. It is a fictionalized version of an episode from my second year at uni (which I have described in the true TUGs forum) and a couple of incidents from the past that are also (AFAIK) true.
MAYDAY!
Being a freshman student in a big university when you’re from out of town can be a daunting experience. While I had some baffling and scary moments at first, I was fortunate that I had gained entry to Clermont College. As much as I would like to say I earned it on my own merits, the truth is my admission was facilitated by my mother being a CC “old girlâ€.
The College is a fairly exclusive residence for female students. Situated at the end of a tree-lined cul-de-sac, it is an imposing granite-clad edifice of five stories, with a fine portico, a grand lobby and seventy-four twin-share rooms. Quarters are assigned on each floor according to seniority – first-year girls on the first floor, sophomores on the second, and so on. The amenities are far from opulent, but the camaraderie is strong and academic standards are kept high by a system of peer mentoring, monitoring 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 house, are managed by the residents themselves. Only the senior administrators, who rarely interfere in day to-day affairs, are appointed, by an alumni association known as the Guild. Relative to their size, Clermont and Lakeside have been quite influential within the university over the years, providing several very prominent members of the faculty and half a dozen student presidents.
The two houses were once organized under a single charter. In my mother’s time, however, a rebellion broke out at Clermont against the male-dominated administration and its archaic policies. Although it was actually founded two years before Lakeside, Clermont was very much the junior partner. Much more than their male counterparts, the lives of the women residents were ruled by a strict “in loco parentis†principle, with a host of petty regulations and restrictions which did not apply across the street. Their protests led to a year-long confrontation and the eventual separation of the colleges. At first supportive and sympathetic, the Lakesiders became alienated as the dispute dragged on and the conflict escalated. As a result, mutual distrust persisted even after the two institutions re-amalgamated ten years ago in response to financial pressures.
When I arrived, there were still tensions and unresolved issues between the men’s and women’s residences. This has been manifested in the form of a generally 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 Clermont has 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 Rob 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 counterparts we formed a “unified†council which convened each month to co-ordinate policy and disburse funds. As an indication that residual strains existed, the council chair was rotated between the sexes so that neither residence could gain an 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 let 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 activities. It is a convention that no one studies and everyone parties. Clermont and Lakeside are no different... except for Mayday. On the first of that month, it has been a long-standing custom that the men from Lakeside “invade†Clermont College and occupy the premises for one day. This began supposedly as a reprisal for the women’s revolt in the early 1980s, but in various incarnations it can be traced back to the very foundation of the two houses in the ’sixties.
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 corridors making lots of noise – “full of sound and fury, signifying nothingâ€, in the words of the Bard. We the hypothetical victims were all very polite and good-humoured about it, condescending to allow our Lakeside kin to let off their steam. Some brassieres and knickers were 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 said. I don’t know why, in this of all years, we turned radical, but the committee voted to end the tradition. In any case, a message was sent across the cul-de-sac warning that an incursion like that on previous Maydays would not be welcome.
The Lakesiders were, not unexpectedly, up in arms about our decision. They threatened to boycott the joint council, and we just laughed off their warning. But a standoff developed on the last Friday in April, when in retaliation for our stand the men refused to relinquish the chair. As soon as we objected, the session was adjourned. The problem was that council meetings were always held at Lakeside Hall – a legacy of the old “patriarchy†– and when this one 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 saved us was a tactical blunder by our opponents. Security officers were called in to remove us, an overreaction that played into our hands. Suddenly we were martyrs. We had been cheated of the presidency, and now we had been ejected from the council’s meeting place. We emerged, escorted by campus police, to be greeted by the cheers of dozens of Clermont girls who had rallied outside in support. We congratulated ourselves on our triumph; but we underestimated the enemy. We also did not know that we had traitors in our midst.
We returned to Clermont and 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 Rob. Everything seemed quiet – as the expression goes, too quiet. Rob 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 next seven days. 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. Nearly half of all the residents had used the nine-day break to be away, so about eighty of us were left in the house. Around midnight, I went to my second floor room, which I shared with another sophomore, Mary. She was rather more introverted than I, 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.
I opened my eyes. It was dark. I gazed out the window. A faint pink radiance fanned across the eastern horizon. I’d awoken from a nightmare. I was running through a forest. Vines drooping from overhanging trees formed a curtain across the pathway, clutching 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!â€
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, wearing only my camisole and knickers and too drowsy to put on my slippers and drag on my dressing gown.
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 zone 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 and third member of the posse was a young woman. She wore a black, lace-trimmed corselet and fishnet stockings held up by red garters. She carried what appeared to be a riding crop. 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 skimpies and at her track-suited companions. “You must be cold,†was all I could say.
She grabbed my arm. She didn’t use much force, but only because I didn’t resist. I moved out into the hallway as the two men pushed into the room. Poor Mary was bundled out of bed still more asleep than awake, mumbling incoherently. We were hustled into the middle of the corridor, which was already congested. Mary and I occupied one of the rooms near the end, so most had already been evacuated. There were about twenty girls, all of us in our undies or nighties. A lucky few had worn flannelette long’uns to bed; the less fortunate were clad only in bra and panties. Mary and I were more or less in between – I tending toward the less, Mary to the more.
We were instructed to stand at attention, faces to the wall, in a single line. 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 a 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 keep to the script, and wondered what would happen if I didn’t. The three or four girls who had been laughing and joking had stopped; but I wasn’t aware of any anger or fear. Some, like me, were curious to learn what was in store for us. Others were simply trying to focus on coping with the cold. Like me.
One of the men called out “All clear!†and Mistress Jenna commanded us to put our hands behind our backs. I heard a couple of grumbles down the line, but nothing more. A pair of minions started at one end, stopping at each girl, who whimpered or groaned as she was bound. When they reached me, I felt the familiar tingling thrill as a pair of hands seized mine and crossed my wrists behind me. As the henchman started trussing them, all I could think was that he wasn’t doing a very good job. He 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. I was now doubly intrigued. When this is all over, I said to myself, I must have a talk with Jenna.
Mary, next to me, moaned softly as she was 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, giggled 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 captors were blindfolding us, wrapping bandanas or something similar around our heads. I earned myself a salty reprimand for my flinch, and Mister Cold Hands retaliated by yanking the ends of the cloth 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, 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 nervous, she announced to all of us: “Stay calm, ladies. Once we’re outside, you can go free.†But was it that 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 set in. Nobody dared complain; but we were huddled close enough that our arms touched, and I could feel Mary and Christina shivering. Yet no one was in a hurry to move, and I knew 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. Though blindfolded, I could sense what was happening. The upper floors of Clermont College, where the senior girls lived, were being emptied.
Finally, Jenna clapped loudly a couple of times. “Right turn, ladies,†she ordered. “Close it up. More, ladies. That’s better. Now, quick march.â€
We didn’t march, we shuffled. Our escort made us bunch 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 touching, we could each use the movements of the girl in front as our cue, so long as the very first girl was properly guided. At the same time it was strangely 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, while Mary’s bound hands pressed against another pleasure point.
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 chance 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 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 bizarre, 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!â€
I heard a girl squealing and then swearing.
“Watch your step,†a shrill voice responded.
“How can I watch my step?†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 giggled again and earned herself another rebuke from our escort.
“For that I’ll make you pay,†she whispered.
We moved 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 leap 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 had obviously been in the works 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. I stomped my feet, 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 warming breeze streamed around me, caressing my skin and smoothing out the goosebumps. And as if that were a signal, our guards removed our blindfolds. Since it was only just getting light, my eyes quickly adjusted.
There were sixty or more of us, just about all the girls who had stayed in the College over the weekend. We were arranged in five rows, mine in the middle. Only a handful of us were properly dressed. We all, of course, still had our hands bound behind our backs. On the edge of the lawn, spilling onto the roadway, was a jovial mob of several hundred spectators. Such a crowd could only have mustered so quickly if they’d had prior notice of what was going down. Yet I did not recognize many faces, so they were not residents of Clermont or Lakeside. Word must have gotten out very quickly that something was afoot. Mayday was hardly the best-kept secret on campus, but I’m sure those gathered here to witness the event hadn’t anticipated anything this 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 snugly wrapped against the cold.
I scanned the mass of faces and there, with his characteristic bemused grin, was my Rob.
Most of the Lakeside men were passive bystanders. By the looks of it, no more than a dozen had been involved in our capture. They could be identified by the trophies tucked into their belts – items of plundered women’s underwear. And it only struck me then and there how easily we had been taken. We outnumbered our captors five to one, yet not one of us had offered any resistance. 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 seven or eight of them. The masks had come off, but all wore the same dominatrix costume as Jenna – black corselet, fishnet stockings, garters and high heels. On that late autumn morning, they must have been as frozen as we were.
Also present was a contingent of campus security officers. They were keeping a close watch on the event, but they did not intervene or interfere.
From the position of the sun just above the horizon, I could tell that it had been just an hour since our abduction. We were made to stand there 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.
The crowd of onlookers continued to grow, no doubt as the word spread around campus. Eventually, the senior security officer spoke to the woman in charge – a postgrad named Camilla I vaguely knew – and she conferred with her lieutenants. I found it surprising, and somewhat dismaying, that the Lakesiders appeared to have a secondary role in the proceedings. As we stood there bound and shivering, awaiting our fate, the hard-hearted guards who took over now were not our male chauvinist adversaries from across the road but members of our own sex, from our own College.
Camilla mounted the portico and addressed us. It was a lengthy speech, but the gist was that Clermont 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 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 finished. 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 that 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 twelfth 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 mid-semester break, in case any Mayday-related trouble flared up. That decision had now come back to haunt us.
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 her bra and 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 College takeover began. I don’t know what part, if any, he played in her “arrestâ€.)
We studied each others’ faces. Joanne rolled her 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. Jo 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. 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 and between her jaws. 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 twelve, was last. Just before the cloth went over my eyes, I looked around. It was an eerie sight, a circle of scantily clad young women bound, gagged and blindfolded, facing inward towards each other but unseeing, writhing and wriggling, making incomprehensible noises through bulbous gags, straining 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 tied around our necks. Tethered with half an arm’s length between each other, we were marched back towards our College. I heard Jo 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 damnable floor – 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 because of our short tethers, and ordered to sit cross-legged once more. Except for some heavy breathing, which came out from the sides of our ball-gags as rasping puffs, no one was making any sound or moving at all. By now we were resigned to the fact of our conquest and to our fate as hostages. But though we had no idea what was coming, I felt once more the weird compulsion to see it through.
We must have sat there, immobile, bound, gagged and blindfolded, until noon. By then it had warmed up, but the floor was implacably hard under my numbing backside and cramping legs. There was noise and movement outside the room, but all that really existed in my little world were the touch of the girls’ knees, arms and shoulders to my left and right, some heavy breathing and occasional soft moans. I tried to occupy my mind with pleasant thoughts, and when that didn’t work, with unpleasant thoughts – anything to distract me from the tedium, tension and discomfort.
At 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 and were 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 dominatrices or just a resident conscripted for this 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 jail 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 men 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, so it seemed that the dorms had been completely emptied. They were in various states of dress and undress, with no particular pattern that I could discern. 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 embarrassed giggles.
We resumed our silent, sightless vigil in the back room until the falling temperature told us it was nightfall. We were then given a light dinner in the same manner as our lunch. (I am told that the Lakeside men were treated to a banquet in the Clermont dining hall, prepared and served by the girls.) 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 two other girls’, I had some interesting dreams.
We were up before sunrise. Again it was chilly, and since none of us had been permitted to change or add to what little clothing we had now worn for 24 hours, we were feeling both 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, whom I recognized as a rather mousy little first-year named Katrina. She was changing out of her warm pyjamas back into her minuscule dominatrix costume and was looking irritable as she did so. I could not feel any 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. She seemed to relish bossing us about, especially Jo, whose formidable reputation in the house made her a high-end target.
“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 as the first, and there’s no need to go into monotonous detail. It continued to astound me that we never 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 four of her assistants, subjected us to another speech, on what we should expect over the next three days – in essence, more of the same. However, there was an issue to be addressed, that most of us had jobs to go to that evening, and it was unlikely that any boss would accept “I’ve been tied up with stuff†as an excuse. So those of us who had to go were given a short-term pass – with strict orders to get ready, get 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 last in the ground-floor spaces, and except when they stopped to gaze at us, the girls 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 past-their-use-by-date undies and into my waitress uniform. None of the other girls in the College spoke to me, or even acknowledged my existence, and I presumed that they had been ordered not to. I hoped to find Rob waiting for me as I left the College, 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 to the College without delay, except for a quick detour to ingest a greasy agglomeration of calories and cholesterol in the shape of a colossal hot dog.
We reprised the previous night’s sleeping arrangements. Katrina was in a domineering, petulant mood. She was enjoying her power, especially since we were so compliant. Even Jo was uncharacteristically meek and obedient as Katrina ordered us to strip down to our knickers – I think she wanted but was afraid to go that final step – and to lie on our bellies on the bed. Using pantyhose, she tied our hands behind our backs and bound our ankles, then blindfolded us again. She pottered about for a while, most likely getting into her pyjamas. Then, apparently after some thought, she decided to put us each in a full hog-tie. It was not very stringent, and I could have gotten free in a very short time. But I didn’t, and none of us showed any defiance, although Jo and Liz grunted and moaned as they were bound. It really was surprising how easily and quickly we submitted. Our spirits, at least for the time being, had been broken.
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 for close contact to stave off the cold. Jo 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 Jo, Liz and I 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 College, 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 these days call “politically correctâ€.
Again that evening we were set free to go to work. Upon our return, Jo, Liz and I discovered we had a new guard. Jane was the girl who had woken us that morning. I don’t know – I have never asked – if Katrina was taken off duty because of what she’d done to us, or whether it was a scheduled rotation. Whatever, we were left alone for what might almost have been a regular night’s sleep.
The first half of Thursday passed as did Wednesday as did Tuesday as did Monday. Sitting on the hard, cold wooden floor in a circle, bound, gagged and blindfolded, tethered to the girls on either side, 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 excruciating torment. From the whimpering sounds and constant shuffling, I was aware that my fellow captives were also close to their breaking point.
Now I should make the point that we were, considering the circumstances, well-treated and remained in good health and reasonable spirits. There were always at least a couple of guards with us, and they 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. 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), 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 security 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.
To boost our morale, 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 Wednesday evening, the second time we were released for our jobs, half a dozen of us rendezvoused off campus (against orders, of course) to work out a simple code. It was actually fun – and it passed the time – to transmit surreptitious messages around the circle without alerting our guards that we were up to something. On Friday, knowing our ordeal was near 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 in a sort of dreamy haze, drifting in and out of semi-consciousness, cut off from everything outside our little clique.
On Thursday afternoon, however, something different happened. All of our female guards were on hand during the lunchtime ritual, possibly to deter the unruly crowd in the lobby from becoming too obstreperous as we were taken to the bathroom. When we were back in our chamber, instead being sat in the usual ring, 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, 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 sure that I was the very last, and I remember thinking what the guards might be making of that fact. They toyed with us a lot more over the next few 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 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 – there were four of us left behind – and told me to have a quick shower, then go back to my room and “put on something sexy.â€
I’d suspected what was afoot from the tone of Camilla’s uh-huh, and that final instruction clinched it. I chose my favourite negligee and waited for Jane, who came in eventually and bound my hands again, plus she gagged and blindfolded me. Then I sat on the edge of my bed for another long while 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 Rob’s earlobe as he hugged me and reached behind my back to untie my hands.
At around midnight, the conjugal visit over, Rob remorsefully tied my hands again and replaced my blindfold and gag. Jane arrived soon afterwards with Jo and Liz. I was feeling frisky, and I must confess that my bed-mates that 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 Friday 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 just 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. The twelve 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. As we were escorted out of our cell for the last time, the lobby, full of movement and chatter, fell eerily silent. Outside, however, I could hear the commotion from a large crowd of spectators as we were led across the cul-de-sac, into Lakeside Hall to 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 orders like “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. 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 twelve abstentions (guess who?), to confirm Joanne as presiding officer for the rest of the month, backdated to the previous Friday. That was the masterstroke, because it effectively expunged our original grievance from the records. The dozen Lakeside members of the council then untied the dozen Clermont members; and chairwoman Jo, 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 College made much of a fuss. The five-day occupation received only a small write-up in the university newspaper, although I did receive a bit of a razz from some of my fellow students when classes resumed the following week. For not warning me of the impending crisis, I gave Rob a roasting that he probably didn’t deserve but which made me feel better.
There were no significant reprisals against the “henchwomen†– what we called the handful of quisling females who had collaborated with the males. 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 betrayal of her Clermont sisters. 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, so her role in the conquest of the College was not held against her.
My ingénue roommate Mary wanted to know all about my experience, and we sat up late into the night as she listened wide-eyed to my embellishments. I must confess that it felt rather strange going to bed that Friday night. I had started to get very comfortable sharing my bed with two of my own sex... but Rob proved a first-rate substitute when we booked into a hotel for the weekend.
Final summation: The men of Lakeside had done a splendid job organizing and executing their early morning raid on Clermont College. I am definitely looking forward to finding out what’s in store for us on next year’s Mayday.