## THE RESORT (Revised and Completed)

Post by sarobah » Tue Dec 22, 2009 9:35 am

Please see the explanation below for why this post has been deleted.
Last edited by sarobah on Thu Jan 07, 2010 4:43 pm, edited 4 times in total.
Words, like Nature, half reveal and half conceal the soul within.

### Re: The Resort

Post by lasse672000 » Tue Dec 22, 2009 11:53 am

I wish i could have been on an island resort like that!
Whazzzz up!.

### Re: The Resort

Post by bondagefan » Wed Dec 23, 2009 6:55 am

I like how you make sound like this resort exist somewhere.

### Re: The Resort

Post by ticklebethel » Wed Dec 23, 2009 8:47 am

Excellent work as always. Bravo, Sarah.

### Re: The Resort

Post by sarobah » Thu Dec 24, 2009 12:09 am

> lasse672000 wrote:I wish i could have been on an island resort like that! :wink: :lol:

> bondagefan wrote:I like how you make sound like this resort exist somewhere.

Although the resort in the story doesnâ€™t exist :o( many elements of the story are true, although obviously in different settings and contexts.

> Charles W wrote:Lovely though I wouldnâ€™t use blindfolds.

I adore blindfolds, for the reasons I mention in the story... but to each his/her own :o)

> ticklebethel wrote:Excellent work as always. Bravo, Sarah.

Aw, shucks... Hopefully, days 4-7 will follow in due course.
~ Sarah
Words, like Nature, half reveal and half conceal the soul within.

### Re: The Resort

Post by Plueschbabycd » Thu Dec 24, 2009 3:28 am

Hallo would also go in a Resort like this. For me must not a south sea island. The blindfold make for very interesting. But donÂ´t understand why blindfolds forbidden on beach. I thought it would be alternative to sunglasses. Perhaps can get for the beach really black glasses.
I need day to find out that is not sexist only boy got a certificate. The certificate is only was for the ego the gags ten time more worth.
I my Resort I would make a workshop where all get both. The adventure camp sound interesting for me.
Andrew
"Don´t dream it, be it." Dr. Frank N. Furter in Rocky Horror Picture Show

### Re: The Resort

Post by sarobah » Thu Dec 24, 2009 6:46 am

> Plueschbabycd wrote: But donÂ´t understand why blindfolds forbidden on beach. I thought it would be alternative to sunglasses.

Good point, but I spend enough time on the beach to see how many people shed their common sense along with their clothes. So, unfortunately, if it were my decision, I would ban all beach bondage.

> The certificate is only for the ego the gags ten time more worth. :)

Nice. I wish Iâ€™d thought of that :o)

> The adventure camp sound interesting for me.

Wait till you see what I have in mind!
~ Sarah
Words, like Nature, half reveal and half conceal the soul within.

### Re: The Resort

Post by hvspcst » Thu Dec 24, 2009 10:36 am

> sarobah wrote:Wait till you see what I have in mind!
> ~ Sarah

And we can hardly wait!!!

### Re: The Resort

Post by lasse672000 » Thu Dec 24, 2009 10:48 am

PLEASE hurry!
Whazzzz up!.

### Re: The Resort

Post by sarobah » Sat Dec 26, 2009 3:24 pm

Please see the explanation below for why this post has been deleted.
Last edited by sarobah on Thu Jan 07, 2010 4:44 pm, edited 1 time in total.

### Re: THE RESORT (continued)

Post by whatever747747 » Sun Dec 27, 2009 11:06 am

Amazing. The uniqueness of the "bondage/tug life" theme, and your writing skills, it's like you invented a new story genre!
And like most pioneers, chances are nobody will top your stories for a long, long time.

### Re: THE RESORT (Days 1-5)

Post by sarobah » Mon Dec 28, 2009 10:27 pm

> whatever747747 wrote:... it's like you invented a new story genre!

Sarah's Flights of Freaky Fantasy?
Please see the explanation below for why the rest of this post has been deleted.
Last edited by sarobah on Thu Jan 07, 2010 4:45 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Words, like Nature, half reveal and half conceal the soul within.

### Re: THE RESORT (Days 1-5)

Post by canuck100 » Tue Dec 29, 2009 8:08 am

> Charles W wrote:never liked girl tying boy but great day

On the contrary I love it when the roles are reversed!
Great saga, Sarah.

### Re: THE RESORT (completed to Day 6)

Post by sarobah » Wed Dec 30, 2009 7:43 pm

Please see the explanation below for why this post has been deleted.
Last edited by sarobah on Thu Jan 07, 2010 4:46 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Words, like Nature, half reveal and half conceal the soul within.

### Re: THE RESORT (completed to Day 6)

Post by lasse672000 » Thu Dec 31, 2009 3:38 am

> sarobah wrote:[/b][/u]
> dâ€™[/i]
> PS. Mum got back to the Chain Store this evening after dumping Alex at the hotel. I hope she picked up something for her number one daughter.

I'm sure, she did! I can only agree, great story. I'd like to be in one of the boy's place!
Whazzzz up!.

### Re: THE RESORT (completed to Day 6)

Post by avrobemm » Wed Jan 06, 2010 1:12 pm

Great story you need to go there again. How about details of home life that should give you plenty of choice for new storys.

### Re: THE RESORT (completed to Day 6)

Post by sarobah » Wed Jan 06, 2010 7:08 pm

I have not quite finished the story (one day to go). However, always the perfectionist, I am rewriting the earlier parts that need a bit of polishing.
And yes indeed, I am thinking of exploring this alternate universe in more detail.
~ Sarah
Words, like Nature, half reveal and half conceal the soul within.

### Re: THE RESORT (Revised and Completed)

Post by sarobah » Thu Jan 07, 2010 4:52 pm

Having reviewed this story, I thought it could do with some polishing, correcting and expanding in parts, especially Day Two. (There are also two glaring mistakes in the original.) So I have rewritten the whole thing and added Day Seven.
I think the new, improved version is worth reading, but then I do admit to some small bias.
~ Sarah
Sarahâ€™s Journal, Day One
Well, here we are. We made it. Despite bad weather, a traffic jam, a recalcitrant taxi driver and airport delays, we caught our connection with minutes to spare. And after all that drama, the flight to the island was rather monotonous. It took just under six hours, with nothing but flat ocean to look at outside, and not much happening inside either. There were about two dozen other passengers on board, mostly young couples. Judging by their lovey-dovey expressions, Iâ€™d say the majority were honeymooners. There was a group of five girls and three guys, aged twenty-something, at the rear of the cabin who were in quite a party mood, but they werenâ€™t causing any trouble. One of the guys couldnâ€™t wait till we got to our destination and started tying up one of the girls, but the flight attendant quickly put a stop to that. Safety regulations, she explained.
We were the only family on board.
â€œWhere are the boys?â€ I asked Dad.
â€œWhat am I then?â€ said Alex with an indignant frown.
I didnâ€™t give my obstreperous baby brother the answer he deserved. Considering where we were heading, I decided that discretion would be the better part of valour.
The journeyâ€™s tedium had its benefits. I managed to sleep most of the way, and woke just as the
excitement was beginning to build. In my window seat, I watched as a fleck of emerald and gold appeared on the crystal blue horizon and steadily grew nearer and larger until it took up the entire view. From the air, the island looks spectacular, and somewhat creepy, like a giant, jade-coloured spider with an ugly grey hump on its back. Of course, thatâ€™s merely the effect of the yawning bays which cut in on all sides, creating a series of long, slender, verdant promontories that radiate from the central volcanic peak.
Our objective was the broadest and flattest of the headlands, located on the north-western side of the island. A grass airstrip runs along its spine and seems scarily narrow when seen from above. However, we touched down with nary a bump. The passengers broke into spontaneous applause (which sort of unnerved me â€“ what were they expecting?), and as we began to file out, the captain emerged from the cockpit to wish us a happy stay. She was a pleasant-faced woman of no more than thirty years who spoke with the confident, no-nonsense manner of a veteran pilot. I decided that we had been in good hands.
Stepping from the plane onto the tarmac, we were greeted by a busty young lady with long, strawberry blonde hair and startling green eyes who introduced herself as our hostess Marlene. She was dressed in a barely there floral pÄreu that was secured by a knot nestled perilously low in her cleavage. Encircling her neck was a delicate silver choker crafted in the shape of a triple-braided cord, and she wore bracelets and anklets of the same design. Attached to each of the bands around her throat, left wrist and right ankle was a tiny padlock.
As we followed her to the terminal, Marlene gave us a concise briefing on the resortâ€™s highlights, directions to our accommodation and a package containing a map, a restaurant guide, souvenir catalogue, that sort of thing. Inside, as we waited for our luggage to be unloaded, each of the females was presented with a gift box containing soaps, perfume, a pearl-shell hair comb, a perky little sarong (in an assortment of colours and patterns â€“ mine is tangerine-hibiscus), and some other girlie stuff. Each of the males was given a plastic-wrapped parcel containing... I know not what. I asked Alex if I could look inside his, and he just snorted and snatched it out of range of my prying eyes. His â€œyouâ€™ll find outâ€ expression left me a tad disconcerted.
Marlene had arranged for three minibuses to convey us to the main settlement, which lies on the south coast of the island about three kilometres from the airfield. It is nestled within a shallow bay flanked by craggy headlands and rimmed with steep, forested hillsides. The beach inside the bay is wide and its sands are almost unnaturally golden, with here and there the sprinkled pink tones of crushed coral. Lying some distance off the eastern cape is a rocky islet which shelters Resort Cove from the winds and waves of the open sea.
It was now around noon. Our bus took us through the outskirts of Resort Village. Most of the buildings in the centre are high-rise, but on the periphery are picturesque, white-washed houses. The streets shimmered in the mid-day heat; the beach was almost deserted; the footpaths and sidewalk cafÃ©s we passed seemed abandoned. The driver assured us that appearances can be deceiving. At the peak of the holiday period, the resort accommodates up to two thousand guests, and even now, off-season, there must be several hundred.
We turned up a steep roadway leading to the high ground behind the village, towards our hotel. The Regatta sits atop a low hill and provides a spectacular view of the entire sweep of the bay. It is built in graceful but unpretentious colonial style, set amidst manicured lawns, carefully tended gardens and groves of palms and pines.
Only our family disembarked at this stop, and the lobby was empty but for us and the receptionist. She was a beautiful, statuesque Polynesian girl, impeccably groomed but dressed identically to the woman at the air terminal. In fact, Iâ€™d already seen the skimpy floral pÄreu from a distance half a dozen times, and had concluded that this is the uniform for female resort workers. Up close now, I saw that the desk clerk also wore the five ring and lock combo as Marlene. The male employees, who seem to be heavily outnumbered, are outfitted in white trousers and sea-green safari shirts. They donâ€™t wear the five rings.
The hotel is genteel, cosy and informal. Thereâ€™s no doorman, no attendant to carry your bags, no lift operator; and there are signs all about saying things like: â€œNo room service availableâ€ and â€œPlease do not tip the staff.â€ Our suite, located on the fourth floor, is spacious enough. Thereâ€™s a living room, a small kitchen and two bathrooms (one an en-suite). It has a balcony that overlooks the village and the bay beyond; but there are only two bedrooms. I donâ€™t fancy the thought of having to share with my brother for the next week; but such is the price one must pay for seven days in paradise.
When weâ€™d finished unpacking, which didnâ€™t take long, we reconvened in the living room. Dad said, â€œWell, how about something to eat and maybe a stroll?â€
My mother nodded agreeably; I shrugged a â€œwhy not?â€ and Alex â€“ predictably â€“ grumbled something no one heard, or cared to hear. My parents disappeared into their bedroom once more and I retreated to mine, shutting the door in my brotherâ€™s face. As I shed my travel clothes, I pondered my choices and decided on my lime green Agustina bikini. I thought I might as well try out my new sarong. It was short and sassy; I hitched it low with the knot on my left hip. I checked out the result in the mirror and thought I looked pretty hot. As I opened the door again, Alex shoved past, still complaining and mumbling something about needing to make rules.
Mum turned out her customary stunning in her magenta strapless maillot and matching wrap skirt. Dad was dressed casually dapper in crisp cream slacks and neat Hawaiian shirt; but my brother â€“ I should not have been surprised â€“ had chosen for his sojourn in the tropics a pair of baggy cargo pants, a black Motorhead sweater and scruffy Doc Martens. Mum dolefully shook her head when she saw his get-up, but said nothing.
Gathered once more in the living room, we all looked at each other for ages â€“ at least, it felt like ages. Finally, Dad said, â€œSo, do we start straight away, or do you two want time to, you know, get better acquainted with how thing work?â€
Mumâ€™s answer was to smile and put her hands behind her back. Dad gave her an â€œIâ€™m impressedâ€ look and reached for the package heâ€™d gotten at the airport. He reached inside and pulled out a long, thin strip of what appeared to be soft leather. He gently took hold of Mumâ€™s wrists and placed one over the other, and secured them with the leather strap. It was a straight-forward, criss-cross tie, but he stood behind her so close that as he bound her, his chin nuzzled her bare shoulder, and he teased her hair with little puffs of his breath. She closed her eyes and pursed her lips, and her head rolled slowly sideways as he drew her arms more tightly behind her. His eyes lifted and connected with mine; I must have blushed or something, because he winked at me, then lowered his gaze again, down across her gently heaving bosom.
I was about to say â€œDo you two want to be left alone?â€ when I glanced over at Alex. He was totally oblivious to what was going on, instead gesturing for me to come nearer. His face bore that supercilious expression he gets when heâ€™s especially pleased with himself.
â€œFront or rear?â€ he demanded.
Knowing full well he would do the exact opposite of whatever I said, I in fact said nothing and turned away from him, crossing my wrists over the small of my back. He didnâ€™t try to argue, but got his revenge by giving my bindings an extra sharp tug as he finished. The leather was nicely pliable and about a centimetre wide, perfect for its purpose. I ran my fingertips over the ends that hung loose and discerned that one side was embossed, perhaps with the resort logo.
â€œNot too tight,â€ my dad called across to Alex. My mother waggled her elbows to demonstrate how it should be just right.
Alex responded with a perfunctory, â€œYeah, I know, donâ€™t cut off the circulation,â€ as he gave one final hard wrench to make sure I got the real message. I made sure to not react.
My parents had already shifted their attention and were discussing the rest of Mumâ€™s ensemble. Dad reached again into his gift pack and pulled out, with a flourish and an exultant â€œTa-dahhhh!â€, a large floral scarf. Grasping diagonally opposite corners, he twirled it skilfully into a neat blindfold. As he lowered it slowly over her eyes and tied it in place, drawing back with tender firmness, my mother couldnâ€™t hold back a faint gasp, nor disguise a subtle grimace of pleasure. (Their performance had me feeling a little awkward, but itâ€™s nice that they can still get such joy out of a simple tie-up.)
Alex did likewise for me. The scarf was made out of the same diaphanous material as my sarong, so I thought it might be see-through, but after a couple of doublings it was impervious to even the direct sunlight from the balcony. Actually, I was kind of annoyed at having to wear it, because I was looking forward (yeah, feeble pun) to seeing more of the resort; but I was not about to start arguing about it. Anyway, the blindfold has its own perks. I love the enhanced awareness and increased sensitivity which turn on when your visionâ€™s cut off. Things you normally donâ€™t notice or disregard or are below your normal level of perception become part of your input. And so it was in our hotel suite. Wafting into the room on the bay breeze, a lush profusion of exotic aromas, a gaudy mosaic of tastes and flavours and a rich symphony of sounds â€“ birds calling, insects chirping, leaves rustling, the distant roar of surf breaking over the outer reef, the voices of people in the hotel grounds coming and going â€“ piled up against my senses like those waves crashing on the coral. The mad rush of impressions was as bracing as the salt-sea air.
A discordant noise broke the spell. â€œCan we go already?â€ Alex was growling.
â€œWait,â€ Dad snapped back. â€œLetâ€™s give your mother and Sarah a bit more time.â€
Alex stopped complaining, but he was still behind me holding my arms, and I could feel his impatience in his tightening grip. Unlike Dad, he doesnâ€™t know â€“ or more likely doesnâ€™t care â€“ that when your blindfold goes on, it takes a few moments for you to adjust your remaining faculties; otherwise it can be very disorienting, and instead of a more intense experience you end up feeling just numb. My brother hasnâ€™t yet got the message that tying up a girl is a two-way process, that itâ€™s about giving as well as getting. But hey, heâ€™s young, and with enough time Iâ€™m sure even he can be educated. If you can train a puppy to keep off the furniture, with a special effort I can civilize my Lil Bro.
â€œOkay, thatâ€™s enough,â€ Dad proclaimed. â€œTime to move out.â€
Mum said something I didnâ€™t catch, but I heard her sandals making soft scuffing noises on the carpet as she shuffled towards the door, guided by Dad. Alex then clamped his hands on my shoulders to steer me through the doorway and out into the corridor. He shoved and jostled me impatiently, and Dad had to call out: â€œDonâ€™t be so rough with your sister. Itâ€™s not a race.â€
As Alex mumbled a reply, I desperately tried to construct a mental image of the hallway, to recall any corners, furnishings or miscellaneous obstructions that might cause grievous injury to my shins or other vulnerable parts of my anatomy. I didnâ€™t quite trust my brotherâ€™s navigation skills, and certainly not the extent of his mercy for me in my defenceless condition. I neednâ€™t have worried this time... but I always do. Experience has taught me that much.
As we entered the escalator, I could tell that there were at least four other passengers, who would have come down from the upper floors. From beside me, the delicate bouquet of expensive perfume drifted past my nose. Our arms touched and I could feel several ridges of coarse rope wound tightly just above the ladyâ€™s elbows. When the car jerked to a halt, she made a noise that was unmistakeably the sound of a grunt through a gag. As we alighted, I could hear her stumbling forward, so she was probably blindfolded as well. The second couple were on the other side of the lift, and he was whispering to her, but I wasnâ€™t able to pick up enough to get any clear picture in my mind. She didnâ€™t say anything in response, so she was probably gagged as well.
Trying to interpret your surroundings, and trying to get a picture of the people around you, is part of the fun of being blindfolded; and when your hands are tied as well, the feelings of vulnerability and dependency induce a delightful sense of intimacy, both with yourself, because you have to draw on the emotional, physical and sensory resources within you, and with your partner on whom you must rely â€“ even when itâ€™s your otherwise insufferable baby brother.
In our case, the element of uncertainty was reinforced by our situation. As newcomers, not knowing quite what to expect or what was expected, Iâ€™m sure that all four of us were feeling relief and reassurance from the company of our fellow guests. (The best parallel for what we were experiencing that I can think of is how you might feel going to a nudist beach for the first time â€“ not that I have practical knowledge of this â€“ so insecure and self-conscious until you realize that everyone around you is just as naked. Well, thatâ€™s how I see it.)
Crossing the lobby, I could sense the presence of several more people around us. Business seemed to have picked up since our arrival. Out on the porch, the direct tropical sunlight blasted my face and glowed a dull, diffuse orangey red through my mask. Alex assisted me down the steps, with one arm around my waist and the other clenching my bound arms to ensure I didnâ€™t lose my balance. I would have thanked him, except I knew he wasnâ€™t suddenly smitten with sibling affection. He just didnâ€™t want a roasting from Dad if he let me fall. His grip on me was comforting, but it was still nice to feel the lawn grass between my toes.
It was no more than a ten-minute journey down the hillside to one of the cafeterias on the boardwalk. I faltered a couple of times on the uneven pavement, but with a steadying hand from my brother I managed to stay upright. Yet it was exhilarating, being in a strange place and trying to make sense of it all without being able to see my way about or to grope my way forward, feeling helpless and dependent, yet revelling in the thrill of uncertainty and relishing the challenge. Dad kept up a commentary as we descended, while Mother and I sniffed the air for telltale smells and listened for revealing, familiar sounds, and tried to pick up clues from touch and taste. From the sudden gush of fragrance and chorus of insect chatter, I knew we were passing by the gardens near the base of the hill; and I could tell when we were close to the beach from the caress of the onshore breeze on my skin and the gritty, salty tang on my lips. It was all so vivid, the colours in my mind so vibrant and intense, the sounds and scents so sharp, the textures so palpable and elemental, that I kind of felt sorry for my father and brother, missing what I was experiencing in my bonds and behind my blindfold.
Of course, that sentiment never lasts. A sudden spasm of pain surged through the toes of my left foot and up my leg.
â€œThanks for warning me about that rock, Alex.â€
â€œYouâ€™re welcome, sis.â€
As much as I love being a girl, there are times when I think it must be nice being on the free end of the rope and the bright side of the blindfold.
Dad found us a table close enough to the water that I could hear the waves lapping against the wooden pylons. As the waitress set down our servings, Alex asked if Mum and I should be untied.
â€œItâ€™s up to you, sport,â€ Dad replied.
My brother reached behind me and freed my wrists from the leather strap.
â€œI donâ€™t feed the birds,â€ he muttered.
Since the topic of my blindfold didnâ€™t come up, I left it on. I expected that would be the case anyway, because Dad had gone up to the counter to place our order so Mum and I wouldnâ€™t know exactly what we were having. It took a couple of nibbles of my muffin to identify the apricot filling, and a few sips of my drink to make out the sweet zest of guava juice. It was so cool of Dad to give us that. The anticipation and the revelation amplify the experience. Itâ€™s like if you add a drop of dark blue to a tin of white paint, the white appears whiter; it intensifies the soft, tepid tone. So when youâ€™re wearing your blindfold, the darkness brings clarity. (Okay, enough of the philosophy.)
Once we were finished our afternoon tea, Alex bound my hands behind my back once more. I think Dad had kept Mum tied the whole time, because she giggled as few times and Alex had made a snarky comment about some people not being capable of eating a muffin without making a mess. Anyhow, we continued our stroll along the shore. It was too late in the day to think about swimming. In mid-afternoon at this time of year the sun sinks rapidly below the ridgeline, and while the water stays warm, within just minutes the entire beachfront is immersed in shadow. Of course, I didnâ€™t see this happening, but I felt the sudden tickle of the chill air on my flesh.
By the time weâ€™d returned to our hotel suite, my arms were aching because when we departed the cafÃ©, Alex had tied my hands with my palms together rather than my wrists crossed â€“ which puts a lot of strain on your upper arms and shoulders. I was too proud to complain.
Mum and Dad retired to their bedroom. â€œGet some rest as well, kids,â€ Dad said as he closed the door. I kind of doubt they got too much rest themselves, because I heard the lock click.
â€œWanna watch TV?â€ Alex asked. I said okay, and he took off my blindfold. â€œSo long as you keep your mouth shut,â€ he warned. I had no choice but to concur, since he held the advantage, what with my hands still tied behind my back, and I wasnâ€™t going to beg him for release. Nevertheless, to further ensure compliance, he trussed my ankles with the scarf. I didnâ€™t bother resisting. I sat on the sofa and drew my feet up under me so he could hitch my wrists and ankles together with the loose ends of the strap that bound my wrists.
During an ad break, even though Iâ€™d held up my side of the agreement, he rolled me onto my side, hauled off my sarong and tried to gag me with it; but I was feeling rebellious. Iâ€™m still bigger than him (although the size gap is closing fast), so I managed to fight him off even with my hands and feet bound; but we tumbled off the couch and he landed on top of me, winding me. He jumped up in fright when I started gasping for air, and when I got my breath back and saw his aghast expression, I started laughing hysterically. We didnâ€™t want to disturb our parentâ€™s â€œrestâ€ so we called a truce. I remained tied up, but the gag and the blindfold stayed off.
Around six oâ€™clock it started to get cool. I knew how quickly the sun goes down in the tropics, but I didnâ€™t anticipate that the temperature would drop so suddenly. I pleaded with Alex to untie me so I could change out of my bikini. He weighed the hazards of wrestling me into a gag against the benefits of shutting me up by letting me go, and determined the latter course to be the more prudent.
Mum and Dad emerged from the room not long afterwards, she looking just a little flushed and flustered. There were faint purplish rope marks on her arms and legs that hadnâ€™t been there before. She ignored my smile and Alexâ€™s smirk and suggested that we should dine â€œin styleâ€ for our first night on the island. By that she meant the swank restaurant next to the hotel. Dad rang to make our booking, then we got cleaned up and dressed. Mum went for glamour in her vermillion gown with thigh-high side slit and ample dÃ©colletage. I went for pretty and pert in my babydoll little black dress. The guys, even Alex, looked elegant in their smart-casual suits, sharp enough to escort two such knockout babes.
As we went down to the lobby and across to the restaurant, I felt a little uncomfortable because Mum and I were the only females not bound in any way; but we hadnâ€™t been quite sure what the standard would be in a posh establishment. So when we encountered a sign at the entrance insisting that â€œLadies must be suitably restrained,â€ Dad â€“ always prepared â€“ withdrew a couple of long strips of gold satin ribbon from his coat pocket and handed one to Alex. They bound our wrists in front, and my father showed my brother how to finish off the cinch with a neat, cute rosette.
The place was staffed by a couple of waiters in tuxedos and four or five waitresses in bandeau tops and mini-sarongs of fluorescent green and black. The women wore the ubiquitous five rings; but as a charming extra touch, the collar was fashioned as a little bowtie. And in contrast to the others we have seen today, their bracelets and anklets were linked by slender silver chains about twenty centimetres in length. The wrist chain gave the wearers just enough freedom of movement to serve dishes, pour drinks and clear tables; and the ankle fetters had sufficient margin to allow them to hobble about the room without too much trouble, even in high heels.
We were greeted by the maÃ®tresse dâ€™hotel, a small, pretty brunette with a commanding voice and manner. Unlike the waitressesâ€™, her hands were shackled behind her back (itâ€™s the only time so far that Iâ€™ve seen one of those tiny padlocks in use), but she didnâ€™t let that interfere with her duties or detract from her authority. She was also very adept at walking in her ankle chain, sort of gliding across the floor by the simple expedient of sliding the feet rather than taking small, mincing steps like the other women staff. How interesting it must be when your job demands that you are chained like that the whole time.
She smiled approvingly at the ribbon binding my wrists and directed us to our table. â€œWill the ladies be dining sans vue?â€ she asked as we took our seats.
Dad looked across at Mum and she nodded. The maÃ®tresse just tilted her head, so far as I could detect, and on cue one of the waiters promptly appeared bearing a silver platter. On it was a neat stack of blindfolds. Since our menfolk were already sitting, he stood directly behind my mum and said, â€œMay I, Madame?â€
â€œCertainly, thank you,â€ she answered, grinning at the formality. He placed the tray on the table in front of her. They were all of the sleep-mask style but in a variety of designs and colours. She raised her bound hands from her lap and pointed to a black velvet one framed with delicate white blossoms. He slipped the band carefully over her head, gently brushing back a few wisps of hair, and adjusted the cover with the smooth, tender touch that is sensual without being too intimate.
â€œAnd for the young lady?â€ He looked across at me.
I chose a petite, mulberry red mask, hand-embroidered with tiny cornflower blue flowers, that I thought went well with my dress. The waiter tinkered with the strap for a while to make the fit comfortable. He had cold hands and when they brushed against my cheeks and bare shoulders I must have flinched, because a couple of times he paused and apologized and asked if I was okay. I felt like Milady of the Manor being fussed over like that.
Iâ€™m glad we went with the blindfolds, because I love what they call sans vue dining. I enjoy the anticipation and the momentary puzzlement and the sudden awareness of what it is youâ€™re eating and drinking. I adore how the loss of one sense stimulates the others, how it arouses the taste buds and heightens your sensitivity to aromas and textures as well as the flavours. Admittedly it can get messy if youâ€™re not vigilant, and with your hands bound as well, you have to really concentrate on what youâ€™re doing. It means you need to focus your attention on your meal, which adds to your appreciation. It elevates the simple art of dining into a skill, and thatâ€™s what the best bondage is all about â€“ it doesnâ€™t limit your experience, but rather enhances it. (It also helps keep you from overeating... although Mother Dear insists thatâ€™s the least of my problems. â€œYou are way too skinny, my girl,â€ sheâ€™s always nagging.)
As we finished, the maÃ®tresse told us that the blindfolds were ours to keep. We left them on as Dad and Alex took us out onto the terrace to savour the exquisite cold caress of the evening sea breeze. My skin tingled as the goosebumps rose on my legs and arms... such a delicious torment. We stayed a while, then went back upstairs.
Mum and Dad retired almost immediately. Alex untied me, so I could write up my diary, on condition that I brew him a mug of cocoa â€“ a fair trade. So here I am, finishing up my first entry for the holiday. Iâ€™m excited, of course, wondering what the morrow holds... but Iâ€™m hoping thereâ€™ll be boys.
Sarahâ€™s Journal, Day Two
Well, itâ€™s funny how things turn out. I woke this morning feeling so disappointed because it was raining steadily outside. So much for swimming, sunbathing and all those other things youâ€™re supposed to be out doing on a tropic isle. But itâ€™s turned out okay... in fact, better than okay... great!!!
When I finished last nightâ€™s entry, Alex wanted to tie me to my bed. Maybe he was afraid I would get up in the middle of the night to exact payback for the dayâ€™s insults and injuries. Mum and Dad donâ€™t permit it (tying me overnight, that is; they have no problem with vengeance and retribution) in case thereâ€™s an emergency like a fire. Thatâ€™s logical; but I felt a bit sad saying no. I was still hyped up from the dayâ€™s adventures and needed an outlet.
On a related issue â€“ sharing the bedroom â€“ my Lil Bro has worked out a set of rules, a couple of which actually make sense. Rather than devising some sort of schedule or trying to coordinate our movements, we have a simple arrangement. When I want to get dressed or undressed, he leaves me alone in the room; and when weâ€™re in there together, I have to be blindfolded so he can have his privacy (or assert his dominance, or something).
So, on to this morning... Mum made us breakfast, in the cramped kitchenette, since we didnâ€™t want to walk downtown in the drizzle and Dad figured that the two hotel restaurants would be crowded. As her reward (because heâ€™d promised she wouldnâ€™t have to cook), Dad tied her to the chair to feed her. She loves that (and who doesnâ€™t?). They were behaving like naughty little kids â€“ so much for all those â€œDonâ€™t play with your foodâ€ reproaches of my youth â€“ as he contrived to smear all of her face and most of her upper body (and some parts lower) in various messy, mushy foodstuffs. He then hauled her off, still bound hand and feet, to the bathroom and we didnâ€™t hear anything more, except for a few shrieks and squeals, for the next half hour. At times I wonder why those two didnâ€™t just leave Alex and me at home with a babysitter for the week.
Anyway, during breakfast, in a brief intermission between food smearings, Dad had announced, â€œI have an idea for what to do today.â€
â€œUh-oh!â€ I thought.
â€œOh no!â€ Alex said.
Dad explained and we relaxed. One of the items listed in the what-to-do brochures is a tie-up workshop, â€œfor all ages and all levels of experience.â€ We had been thinking of signing up later in the week, but it made better sense to do it early, and the rain provided the perfect opportunity. Given that the alternative was a morning of dullness punctuated by boredom, we agreed to give it a go, even killjoy Alex. We got suitably rugged up â€“ it was cold and windy as well as wet outside â€“ and braved the elements to prepare ourselves for a dash down the hillside. Fortunately for us, an island taxi had just pulled up. These cabs are little electric buggies, like golf carts, that are free of charge (money I mean, not electricity) but normally have to be booked in advance. We were lucky because this one had been unloading a couple of early arriving guests.
The workshop was being held at Rope Riggers, which is a former sailing clubhouse on the waterfront thatâ€™s been converted into a sort of entertainment centre. We arrived just in time to register and pay the nominal fee, which covers the cost of materials. The sign advertised three all-day programs. There was the one for adults which Mum and Dad went off to, another for teens which Alex and I joined, and a third signposted â€œAbsolute Beginners.â€ Oddly enough, the five-girl-three-guy group from the plane were queued at that entrance... odd because they didnâ€™t look so clueless to me. On the other hand, I also recognized two of the honeymooning couples, and I thought that was sweet.
We were among the last to arrive, and in Alexâ€™s and my group there were about two dozen kids, ranging in age from approximately Alexâ€™s to mine. A young woman about twenty years old, attractive and athletic, was in charge. She wore a leotard version of the staff sarong, but she was the first female resort employee Iâ€™d seen who bore the silver collar without the complementary bracelets and anklets. She was accompanied by a rather nondescript looking guy who appeared a year or two older. She introduced herself as Sue and her assistant as Brian.
The first order of business was for us girls to be taken to a dressing room where we changed into Lycra spaghetti-strap camisole leotards, like Sueâ€™s. There was a large stack available in various sizes and colours. Out of whimsy I chose shocking pink, and out of necessity I chose small. When we reunited with the boys, we all went into a spacious hall adjacent to the reception area. The floor was spread with soft mats, and there were tables along one wall laden with all sorts of gadgets, paraphernalia and thingamajigs.
Sue arranged us into male-female couples. The pairings were basically random, but with a plan. Brothers and sisters, like Alex and me, were separated, and there was a boy-girlfriend duo that Sue also broke up. She put us with partners of roughly our own age, and where that wasnâ€™t possible she placed an older girl with a younger boy... I assume this was so that the girl wouldnâ€™t feel too intimidated. Alex, who grumbled at first when he realized he wouldnâ€™t be working on me, beamed when he was matched with a well-built chick who was at least half a head taller. She looked down at him with a scornful expression at first, but it turned out that they had very good chemistry together.
There were two girls and one boy left over. The girls didnâ€™t mind pairing up, and Sue claimed the boy (Steven) for herself. I thought it was smart, the way she did that. She didnâ€™t want one of the girls left out on her own, and Steven appeared to be surly and unresponsive. Yet immediately that she called him over and put her arm around his shoulders, and asked in a kittenish voice if he would be her partner, he was won over. His churlish expression cracked into a sheepish smile and then twisted into a wolfish grin, and we all cheered. Steven turned out to be quite a character, and I donâ€™t know what had been bugging him earlier.
Okay, saving the best for last... my partner was Philip, a guy about my age (I learned later in the day that Iâ€™m three months older), quite good-looking and very well-mannered. He seemed shy at first, but we hit it off and wasnâ€™t long before we were like the best of friends.
The workshop was divided into three two-hour sessions during the daytime and a three-hour class in the evening. The first was called â€œLearning the Basicsâ€, and thatâ€™s what it was, nothing really new, although we picked up some handy hints about stuff like the best materials to use in different circumstances â€“ rope, tape, that sort of thing.
After a concise introductory seminar and a brief workout to limber up and smooth out the kinks, the practicum itself was divided into segments, each of which commenced with Sue demonstrating some technique and positions â€“ or rather, Steven demonstrated on her, with some guidance from Brian (who mostly stood off to the side to observe, with a blasÃ© expression). We then copied the moves. It was rather amusing, watching our teacher instructing her partner on how she was to be tied up, in such a matter-of-fact manner, while she was being tied, and looking up from her own contorted mangle of trussed limbs to follow our progress as the boys copied Stevenâ€™s actions. Every so often her deadpan delivery would be interrupted by a grunt or a groan or a squeak, when he hauled extra hard on the rope or wrenched her arms ferociously behind her or arched her body backwards in a too-stringent hog-tie, or when the intensity of the moment simply got too much for her to keep inside.
The program was divided by body part â€“ arms, legs and torso â€“ but not surprisingly it was more complicated than that, and Sue used words like â€œholisticâ€ and â€œfusionâ€ to emphasize how all the different dimensions of good bondage come together. We began with rudimentary hands-in-front and simple behind-the-back, wrist-over-wrist ties. The boys used soft, flexible nylon cord which wasnâ€™t abrasive and didnâ€™t chafe or burn the skin. While we were going through the essentials, it amazed me that many of the guys didnâ€™t have much of a grasp of the fundamentals, such as cinching, especially when it came to binding our ankles. I could have wriggled or kicked myself free of some of the initial jobs in seconds flat... Of course, Iâ€™ve had a lot of experience.
When we came to the more strict ties, Sue put the boys through a few simple familiarizing exercises, like having them attempt to get their elbows to touch behind their backs and trying out the reverse prayer position. Even without the extra stringency of rope, most were quite shocked by how difficult it can be, and by the sort of stress it puts on your shoulders in particular. Most gave up after a minute or so, and Sue reminded them that we might have to be in this position for several hours! If nothing else, the guys learnt just how tough we girls really are.
At the same time, Sue was never patronizing, and at times her delivery was quite risquÃ© â€“ like when she advised the boys to tie our feet with ankles crossed, so the knees can be spread apart. Most of the girls giggled at that, but I donâ€™t think many of the guys got it. To his credit, my partner did â€“ or at least he gave the appearance.
Towards the end of the first session we got into the more arduous poses and postures. We practised three in particular. First was the classic hog-tie, ever popular and with enough variations that it can always feel fresh and exciting. We began with a straightforward wrists bound to ankles, with the torso flat on the floor. Then we advanced to a shoulder harness to arch the body backwards â€“ though uncomfortable, it looks more painful than it actually is, and many of the guys winced as they wrenched and tied us into position. After that we did a lotus-like position, where your legs, with ankles crossed, are drawn up folded to your chest, and you are forced to bend until your shoulders are between your knees and your chin almost touches your heels. A rope is looped behind your neck (not around it, because you donâ€™t want to strangle) and tethered to your ankles to keep you restrained in this balled-up position. With hands still bound behind your back, this is a very effective arrangement because youâ€™re completely helpless, unable to move anything â€“ except maybe wiggle your fingers and toes.
We finished the class with a strappado. It was a good thing that we ended with it, because after nearly two hours of being tied up and tied down in all sorts of positions, I was pretty much exhausted and this is, for me, one of the ultimate challenges. We started out with an elbow tie â€“ really the upper arms, of course. Sue reminded the boys to use several windings of the cord, not to make it more secure but to prevent damage to the skin that just one or two loops will cause as the rope digs in. We began with a fairly loose binding, which was gradually tightened until our elbows came close to contact. A few girls, including Alexâ€™s partner, had supple enough limbs that the elbows went all the way to touching; but not mine. Still, it left us, one and all, gasping.
â€œAre you all right?â€ Philip whispered to me at one point.
â€œOf course I am, silly,â€ I whispered back. I reminded him of the old formula, â€œIf it ainâ€™t tight. It ainâ€™t right.â€
Incidentally, the reason the elbow tie is such a crowd pleaser is not just that it totally immobilizes the arms. By dragging the shoulders backwards, it enforces a posture that is rather flattering, especially for girls like me who are not generously endowed in the chest department. Letâ€™s just say that it has the equivalent effect of a push-up bra.
After the boys were done admiring their handiwork, we progressed to the key part of the strappado. Because there were no overhead beams for the rigging, we (the girls) had to kneel to do it properly. Philip tied one end of a rope around my bound wrists and, standing with his arm stretched above his head, hauled upwards until my arms were pulled up vertically behind my back and I was forced to lean forward until my forehead almost touched the mat. We only had to hold the position for a couple of minutes, but even by then my arms and shoulders felt like they were on fire. The purpose of the demonstration, Sue explained, was to show us that this is not the sort of thing we should try without supervision, at least not until weâ€™re older and more experienced. As I rubbed my poor aching muscles, I could only agree.
The break for morning tea was welcome, but the adrenaline was still flowing, so mostly we paced about, trying to work off the nervous energy. Philip and I got to chat a while. Heâ€™s from Melbourne, and today was his fifth on the island. He and his family are staying for two weeks, so if all goes well (and it has so far!) we will have the entirety of my remaining days here together. (Yay!!!)
After the recess, the second class was called â€œR.E.S.P.E.C.T.â€ I donâ€™t remember what the acronym stands for exactly, but it was self-explanatory â€“ all about respect (naturally), health, wellbeing, safety, â€œno means noâ€, that sort of thing. I didnâ€™t surprise me that this session included gags, because there are so many hygiene and safety issues involved. We girls were each given our own ball-gag, bit-gag, plug-gag and ring-gag (which we got to keep â€“ they donâ€™t reuse or recycle gags). I got to confirm that I really, really hate the ring variety (dreadful things!) and hope I donâ€™t have to wear one too often. Philip, not unexpectedly and along with most guys I know, prefers the ball-gag and says I look â€œwickedâ€ with it in place, which I choose to translate as â€œincredibly hot and super sexy.â€ However, I discovered a new favourite, the ball-plug gag. It consists of a cover or panel that fits over the mouth and is moulded to the shape of the lips, with a sort of teardrop-shaped plug (tapered end attached to the cover). Itâ€™s more comfortable than a ball, itâ€™s fixed in place, filling the entire cavity of the mouth without hurting the jaws, and most importantly it reduces the drool factor.
Following lunch, the afternoon program was entitled â€œLimits and Extremesâ€ although there was nothing too radical, considering the age of the student body. We started off with a few popular and some less well-known tie-up games, then moved on to topics like chest-ties and crotch-ropes.
The lesson on chest-ties proved to be very entertaining, because, like most of the other guys, Philip was so endearingly careful trying hard to avoid actually touching my breasts while looping the cord between and around them. â€œTheyâ€™re just boobs,â€ I wanted to tell him, but I was wearing one of my gags at the time. I ended up giggling so much that tiny bubbles were foaming out of the corners of my mouth and dribbling down my jaw and onto the very chest he was trying to bind up. So much for the hot and sexy!
Meanwhile, Steven and my very own Alex seemed to be having the best of it, because their partners were the most well-endowed of us all and they also appeared to be the least inhibited of the guys. (Hooray for my brother â€“ I have obviously taught him well.) However, the couple with the easiest time were the girl-on-girl pair, who got to alternate in their tie-up and being-tied-up roles throughout the day and not surprisingly didnâ€™t have any problem working on each otherâ€™s bosoms.
On the other hand, even I felt a bit queasy when we got onto the subject of crotch-ropes. As with the strappado, this was another case of â€œDonâ€™t try this at home... but if you do, hereâ€™s how to do it properly.â€ The boys learnt (what we girls already knew) that there are two basic ways to position the rope, inside and outside the groove. I did discover (with a blush!) why some crotch-ropes are braided or have a strategically placed knot tied into them.
We closed the session with more demonstrations, just Sue and Brian this time, as he tied her in some hanging and dangling positions and into a variety of gymnastic poses which left me breathless with admiration. They kept warning us that we shouldnâ€™t rush into anything or get too ambitious too soon, but all they really achieved was to make me (and probably everyone else as well) want to rush back to our hotels to try out the new moves (but we didnâ€™t â€“ at least Alex and I didnâ€™t).
When the daytime workshop was over, each of the boys received a certificate. We girls didnâ€™t get one, which I thought was rather sexist, but I suppose it was because the guys were the ones who did the actual tying. On the other hand, we got to keep our gags. Those of us girls who were returning for the evening session were told weâ€™d be wearing our leotards again so we should hold onto them until then.
We finished at the same time as the adults. Mum came out looking flushed and fatigued, but radiant, and Dad was looking very pleased with himself. I said good-bye to Philip, because he wouldnâ€™t be coming back tonight, but we parted with a promise to meet up at lunchtime tomorrow, on the beach (rain or no rain). Meanwhile, Alex took his leave from his partner, whose name was Karen. I got quite a shock when she kissed him on both blushing cheeks and held out her hands for him to bind one last time. I thought that was a lovely gesture. He wanted to tie and blindfold me for the walk back up the hill, but Iâ€™d had enough for one afternoon.
The sky was clear, so we took our time. As soon as we were back in our suite, Mum retreated to her room for a much-needed nap. Dad, Alex and I watched television and made plans for an early dinner, since we had to be back at Rope Riggerâ€™s by seven. We strolled down to a salad and noodle bar just as the light was fading. Mum didnâ€™t come with us, but when we got back she was in her leotard once more, and I got into mine. We put a change of clothes into a carry bag and then we all set off, giving ourselves plenty of time for a tranquil stroll in the twilight. Lots of other people were on the move as well, bearing towards the neon lights of the local nightlife like moths to a street lamp.
When we arrived for the evening program, we found about half the number of people as attended the daytime class. The two honeymooning couples were back, but not the party of eight. This time everyone collected together in the main hall and the families kept together. The session was called â€œThe Three Elementsâ€ and I was intrigued by what these might be.
Our instructors were a tall, striking, red-haired woman and a smaller, wiry, Japanese man. After introducing herself as Meredith and her partner as Sensei Ryo (at first I thought it was Rio, but I later saw it written on a brochure as Ryo), the woman organized us to sit in a semi-circle with her and Master Ryo at the focus. She quickly enlightened us to the identity of the three elements â€“ they are sensuality, vulnerability and strength. These are the qualities which are expressed when a man ties a woman and she submits to the ropes. (And here I was thinking it was just about having fun!) She also talked about the three facets of being â€“ body, mind and spirit â€“ which I think are supposed to correspond to the three elements.
I donâ€™t remember everything she told us, but Iâ€™m inspired to do some research when I get back home. Essentially, when I am bound, my helplessness is my power. Though it sounds like mystical doublespeak, what this means is that in my captivity resides my freedom â€“ the freedom to define and explore my limits and my desires, to connect with my spirituality and discover my sensuality. My bonds are not restraints as much as they are a doorway to new perceptions and experiences; and by daring to be vulnerable, I reveal my strength.
All this could have turned into arcane mumbo-jumbo, but Meredith kept it light-hearted and Master Ryo had a rather quirky sense of humour. He kept referring to her as his â€œchicchai doreiâ€ (or something like that) which I picked up means his little slavegirl â€“ ironically humorous because she was almost a head taller than her companion and was clearly neither passive nor subservient. She didnâ€™t hold back in any way. As they began their demonstration, Meredith nonchalantly pulled the top of her leotard down to her waist.
â€œDonâ€™t worry, ladies,â€ she laughed, â€œyou can keep yours on this time.â€
This time? Alex and I stared at Mum, as she pretended not to notice.
After some yoga exercises to relax the muscles, we went through lots of different positions, postures and poses, far too many to write about tonight. Some of them were painful â€“ â€œBreak through the pain,â€ Meredith panted through gritted teeth, but I never quite worked out how to do that, or even what it meant â€“ and some were rather humiliating. â€œThat is no more than a condition of your mindâ€ she declared. â€œShame is something that is created inside you; it cannot be inflicted on you.â€ Some put me in a trancelike state and others raised me to such an intensity of awareness of everything around me that it was like I was floating out of my body and absorbing all the energy of the room.
â€œYou are not doing, you are being,â€ we were told. And just when I thought it was going to get too opaquely esoteric, Master Kyo lectured us on the role of adrenaline and endorphins. He also explained that meditation before a strenuous tie-up session is as much for physical as mental preparation, to loosen up your body for the stresses and strains it is about to receive.
There were other aspects to the bondage art that Meredith and Master Kyo covered. I didnâ€™t really get the stuff about aesthetics, that a bound female is like a flower in early bloom, that the different arrangements of ropes and knots reflect different states of ki or chi.
I should add at this point that Iâ€™m making this sound like the class was all for the benefit of us females, that the men were just there as the instruments of our pleasure and enlightenment. On the contrary, though the focus was on us, as subjects and objects of the bondage, Dorei Meredith and Sensei Kyo always made sure that it really is a two-way process, that whichever end of the rope youâ€™re on, you are both giving and receiving pleasure.
For the third and final hour, the sexes were segregated. The males went to one of the other rooms for a Q-and-A discussion. In the meantime, Mum and I and the other females remained in the hall, and Meredith was joined by half a dozen other young women, including Sue. We were told to take off our leotards. That worried me for a second or two, but Meredith explained that when you are naked and there is nothing between you and the ropes, this becomes the point of convergence for all your thoughts, emotions and sensations.
Meredith and her assistants tied us in two positions. The first was a â€œbondingâ€ exerciseâ€ â€“ I donâ€™t know if the pun was deliberate. We were put into pairs, I with a girl about my age and size, and bound to each other. We knelt back to back, our arms interlocked in what I think is called a box tie (my right wrist to her left elbow, etcetera) and our legs also interlocked with my ankles bound to her knees and vice versa. Our heads were drawn backwards, mine onto my partnerâ€™s left shoulder and hers on mine, so we could just see into the corners of each otherâ€™s eyes. We were held together in place by a rope harness that ran, in a double loop, from a ring on the strap at the back of her gag, over my right shoulder, down my front between my breasts and through my crotch to hers, up her body and over her right shoulder to attach to my gag, completing the circle. Meredith gave the position a name, but I donâ€™t recall what it was. We were completely immobilized, and any small movement from either one of us was felt by the other. It was beautifully intimate.
The second was an â€œisolationâ€ exercise. We arranged ourselves in an inward-facing circle and were tied in lotus-like positions, sitting cross-legged with our ankles bound, hands secured behind our backs in double hammer-lock style (wrists crossed between the shoulder blades), a loop of rope about the neck attached to our ankles to bend the torso forward, and another rope connecting our breast harness to our ankles to ease the pressure on the neck. We were gagged and blindfolded and left in this position for at least half an hour. It wasnâ€™t a very long time, but enough to have me slipping into that dreamy state in which your whole world shrinks down to your bonds. Youâ€™re tied stringently enough that your mind doesnâ€™t wander far from the ropes but not so tightly that stress overwhelms the senses. Youâ€™re immersed in an eternal moment, or at least thatâ€™s how it feels as the initial ecstatic intensity of your bondage slowly dissolves into languid pleasure.
What happened after that, until we arrived back at the hotel, is largely a blur, even though itâ€™s not much more than an hour ago. After we were untied, Mum and I changed into our normal clothes and met up with Dad and Alex outside the hall.
Alex gave us a brief run-down on their discussion session. â€œAnd what do you talk about?â€ he asked us.
Mum and I looked at each other and smiled.
â€œWhoâ€™s for cocoa?â€ Mum said.
After supper, I left Alex watching television while I started writing up todayâ€™s diary entryâ€¦
There is a break here, because Alex came into the room, and according to his rule number two I had to put on my blindfold (the one from the restaurant). He stayed an awful long time, doing who knows what, so I was obliged to wait patiently to get back to this entry. Come to think of it, having done so, I find I have nothing left to say, so this is my conclusion.
The rain had stopped at about lunchtime, and weâ€™re all hoping for sunny skies tomorrow. Nevertheless, I have to say that this morningâ€™s bad weather was providential. The workshop sessions were fascinating and enlightening, and as a wonderful bonus I got to meet Philip.

### Re: THE RESORT (Revised and Completed)

Post by sarobah » Thu Jan 07, 2010 5:01 pm

Sarahâ€™s Journal, Day Three
Fine weather, glory be! I thought we were in for more frustration when there was a huge downpour just as we were getting ready to go down for breakfast; but the sun burst through the clouds and they quickly dispersed.
To celebrate, Mum and I got into our matching itsy-bitsy, teeny-weeny green and yellow string bikinis that we bought last Christmas. Alex suggested I wear one of my new gags, and I went with the ball (now only my second favourite, but what the heck, I look good in it). Mum refused his kindly offer of one of my others. I then had an idea, and when Dad bound Mumâ€™s hands behind her back, I asked Alex to fix mine in front and position me behind her so my wrists could be tied to hers. I figured we would look cute, mother and daughter in our twin bikinis, bound together like that. Indeed, we did get some affectionate smiles from passers-by. This place is fun!
We had breakfast at one of the open-air cafeterias. Mum and I both remained bound, but Alex separated us, so that I, with my hands tied in front, could help Mum eat her breakfast. I did a much better job that Dad yesterday. After that, we spent most of the morning swimming and sunbathing. Safety regulations forbid beach bondage, which I think makes good sense, because there is always someone who will do something silly. Alex, not surprisingly, disagrees â€“ but heâ€™s probably the one who will do something silly. So we put away the ropes and gags and blindfolds for the morning. Before long a thick layer of clouds built up, but far from ruining our day, it kept the sand from getting too hot and us from getting sunburnt, so it was like the overcast had been ordered up especially for the tourists.
On cue, at exactly noon Philip turned up. He brought along his family â€“ parents, older sister and younger brother. His mum and dad are about the same age as mine. Mrs M is a diminutive, vivacious blonde; Mr M is square-shouldered and soft-spoken. Kelly is an attractive, well-built, bubbly brunette, aged around seventeen. She was wearing a sundress with a low-cut bodice revealing cleavage that I can only dream about. Kevin was approximately Alexâ€™s age, of about the same height, physique and personality.
The adults hit it off immediately, so it was decided we should stick together for a while and explore the resortâ€™s various nooks and niches. In fact, there are only two main thoroughfares: the promenade which follows the sweep of the bay and is lined with cafeterias, restaurants, bars and nightclubs; and the boulevard that runs further inland and curves around the base of the amphitheatre formed by the encircling hills and which contains the stores, boutiques and salons. We took the latter path and spent an hour sightseeing and window-shopping. When the males were diverted into a place called the Trading Post by a semi-naked model, the mums, Kelly and I investigated the Swimsuit Emporium. I resisted the urge to splurge, but Kelly picked out a microscopic bikini that made me feel positively overdressed. She swapped out of her dress and I must say that she looked spectacular, filling it to perfection, much better than Iâ€™m able to do with mine. (Perhaps Mother Dearest is right â€“ I need to start eating meals instead of morsels.)
While browsing, I noticed that two of the customers were wearing the familiar resort staff choker but not the bracelets or anklets. Kellyâ€™s mother explained that all female personnel on the island, including management, are required to wear the collar at all times, even when off duty. The salesgirl misinterpreted my interest and directed us to a rack of accessories. There were some very elegant â€“ and insanely expensive â€“ items, such as stirling silver handcuffs, a silk blindfold with vicuÃ±a-wool lining and a ball-gag with suede-leather strap and gold buckle. Wow!
At this time of day, the boulevard was crowded with people, mostly couples, a few families, and a number of off-duty resort employees â€“ I could now tell them apart from the tourists, the women at least. Everyone was relaxed and friendly, as youâ€™d expect, and in varying degrees of dress and undress, as youâ€™d also expect, from barely-there bikinis like Kellyâ€™s to a three-piece suit, no less. Most of the females had at least one bondage accoutrement â€“ a gag, a leash, cuffs, whatever â€“ but there were virtually no blindfolds. That makes sense. No thinking male would deprive his better half of her right to sight in a shopping precinct like this and hope to keep his manhood intact.
By the time weâ€™d traversed the street twice, weâ€™d worked up an appetite. The adults took off to a pub for lunch, and we kids bought hamburgers and drinks and went to one of the small parks that adjoin the beach. After weâ€™d eaten, Philip asked if he could tie me up and I said of course. We played around, with me pretending to change my mind and resist. I struggled but made sure that he overpowered me without too much difficulty. He also played his part well, being forceful without being too rough. He ended up putting me in a rather strict hog-tie, and confessed that he hadnâ€™t gone this far with a girl before, except for his sister. She yelled â€œLiar!â€ and laughed. I donâ€™t know whether she meant that he hadnâ€™t hog-tied any other girl, or if she was insisting that he hadnâ€™t done it to her. I didnâ€™t ask.
Kelly sat and watched Philip tying me up, looking bored, until suddenly my little brother and her little brother pounced on her, forced her hands behind her back and her heels up to her butt and trussed her in a hog-tie as well. She screamed and threatened, but she didnâ€™t make much of an effort to fight them off.
When we were both subdued and helpless, Philip decided to have some serious fun with us. He put us lying together on the grass facing each other, I on my right side, Kelly on her left, and pushed us up close until our bodies were pressed against each other. Then he undid the tie-strings of my bikini pants and fastened them to the sides of his sisterâ€™s thong. That left us completely immobile unless we chose to pull apart, in which case we would de-pants each other. It was really quite embarrassing, but a hoot nonetheless, and though we cursed him we couldnâ€™t stop giggling, mainly because the two younger guys had begun torturing us with some fiendish tickling. However, just as Philip was turned his attention to our bikini tops and was starting to undo my halter strap, we heard a loud feminine voice going â€œHarrumph!â€
I turned my head and looked up, to see my mother and Philipâ€™s silhouetted against the sky, standing over us, hands on hips, shaking their heads. The game thus came to an abrupt end... probably a good thing, because I was starting to feel terribly itchy after being prostrate in the grass for so long.
The two dads came up soon afterwards with good news. Philip had earlier informed me that tomorrow he and Kevin would be going off on a two-day adventure camp thatâ€™s located on the far side of the island â€“ Camp Commando, itâ€™s called. Alex was naturally enthused; and though camping is not on my list of all-time favourite leisure activities, I was very much in favour of spending time with my newfound guy, so we put it to our parents... who seemed perhaps just a little bit too eager to indulge our desire to get away. So Philipâ€™s and my dad had gone to see if they could book two more places. They could. At dawn tomorrow, weâ€™re off to camp!
Philip and I spent the rest of the afternoon with each other, getting in a bit more swimming and an impromptu game of beach volleyball with a few other kids, including Karen, Alexâ€™s partner from yesterday. She seemed a bit disappointed that my brother wasnâ€™t with us. I told him about it later and heâ€™s hoping for a chance to catch up with her some time for some more â€œpractice.â€
After that, Philip walked me back to the Regatta. He didnâ€™t tie me again, after our lark in the park, but that didnâ€™t bother me too much. All in all, it was a very pleasant day, with one more highlight yet to come. We had dinner downtown again. Mum and I decided on a plain summer dress and a simple tie, wrists bound in front in prayer position and secured to a cord looped around the waist to restrict arm movement. We ate at a small but first-rate bistro, and when we declined blindfolds, Alex suggested gags instead. For a second I thought he was being serious.
On the way home we ran into Sue (my tie-up tutor from yesterday), strolling the promenade with a very handsome guy (not Brian). She was wearing a yellow party dress, and only her collar, which meant she was off-duty. She was quite a sight to behold. Her mouth was crammed with a large, bulbous butterfly-type gag which looked not at all comfortable. Her hands and elbows were secured very tightly behind her back, her upper arms pinned to her side and her knees shackled together with lengths of heavy-duty chain. She was being led on a leash, also chain, that was attached to her collar at one end and her companionâ€™s trouser belt at the other. With her legs fettered at the knees, she could only sort of waddle along the street. She was breathing heavily and panting through her gag. Little beads of perspiration glistened on her face, neck and shoulders. Her eyelids were drooping like she was exhausted or zoned out, but she nodded a tired greeting when we saw each other.
Sue and her friend appeared to be heading for one of the nightclubs, but I was more interested in where theyâ€™d been. Once they had passed, Mum and Dad both turned to see where they were going, and exchanged meaningful looks which I sensed had to do with tomorrow night, when Alex and I would be safely ensconced in camp on the far side of the island.
Before going to bed, the family had the customary cocoa in the living room. Alex and I ran through some of the things weâ€™d been taught yesterday, with some practical demonstrations while our parents looked on, nodded encouragement and smiled benevolently. I asked Mum if she would show us some of what she and Dad had learnt, and she just sort of blushed and said â€œMaybe when you have kids of your own.â€ Whatever that means (the girl said innocently).
Afterwards I went to the bedroom to write this diary entry. Itâ€™s taken me a long time tonight, mainly because I have been having dreamy fantasies about Philip, but also because Iâ€™ve been thinking about Sue and her friend on the promenade, and also about some of the stuff we did and learnt yesterday in the workshops. I realize that there are going to be times when itâ€™s going to be difficult for me, that along with the sweet will come the bitter.
It wonâ€™t all be roses, role-play and poses;
And not all grandstanding;
These games are demanding.
Once again my beastly baby brother barged into the room, interrupting my poetic endeavours, and I had to put on my blindfold for about fifteen minutes. Iâ€™m sure he does this sort of thing deliberately, to annoy me. If so, heâ€™s succeeding; but itâ€™s also plausible that heâ€™s merely clueless. Luckily he left when Mum called him out for some supper, and so here I am once again, signing off on day three and looking forward to tomorrow and all sorts of high adventure at Camp Commando.
Sarahâ€™s Journal, Day Four
Well, Iâ€™m now back in that sanctum of salubrity, my hotel bedroom. Iâ€™m exhausted, aching and chafed all over and mildly sunburnt, but utterly elated, from our two days in the wilderness. Camp Commando wasnâ€™t exactly what I expected â€“ in some ways better, in others not so much. But it never got boring.
I was up and about half an hour before dawn, partly due to excitement, but mainly because I had gone to bed early, and went out onto the balcony to just sit and think. I love that time of morning, when the nightâ€™s reign is ending and the coming day is still but a delicate violet blush on the eastern horizon. The tranquil silence, broken only by the gentle roar of waves on the beach and the distant haunting cries of early rising seabirds, caresses your senses as the mellow onshore breeze caresses your skin.
The serenity couldnâ€™t last.
â€œWatcha doing?â€
My brother was still half asleep, groggily rubbing his eyes with one hand and scratching hisâ€¦. Rewind that image... My brother was still half asleep.
â€œIâ€™m sorry if I woke you up,â€ I said.
â€œYouâ€™re forgiven.â€
â€œNo, I mean I really am sorry I woke you up.â€
â€œAnd as I said, youâ€™re forgiven.â€
â€œOh, just forget it.â€
â€œHow long we got?â€ he demanded.
â€œAbout forty minutes.â€
â€œThen come and help me pack my stuff.â€
â€œPlease.â€
â€œYou donâ€™t have to ask permission. Just come and help me.â€
I didnâ€™t bother to reply. And since my peace had already been shattered, I followed him back to our bedroom.
â€œForgotten something?â€ he said as I began sorting through the drawers.
â€œDo you want me to help you or not?â€
â€œI donâ€™t make the rules.â€
â€œActually, yes you do.â€
â€œWell then, rules are rules.â€
This was one â€“ make that another â€“ battle I was not going to win. With a shrug and a sigh, I took up my blindfold (the one from the restaurant) and put it on.
We didnâ€™t have to pack much for our two-day adventure. The Camp Commando brochure informed us that they would supply most of the clothing and equipment weâ€™d need. We were told to bring, in addition to toiletries, just a few basic items such as socks and underwear. Nevertheless, Alex succeeded in making it a chore for me. Thatâ€™s one of his few genuine talents.
â€œThese socks?â€ I asked, feeling a pair of woolly ones.
â€œNo, dummy, theyâ€™re the wrong colour.â€
â€œHow am I supposed to know that?â€
â€œI thought you knew everything.â€
I could hardly argue with that. When I had finished with his kit, I packed my own. Instead of undies, girls are advised in the Camp Commando brochure to wear a swimsuit, so I picked out a couple of bikinis. I expelled Alex from the room to put one on, what I thought was the little lime green number. As my blindfold came off, I cursed my brother, who had let me pick out two grotesquely mismatched sets, the polka dots, the cherries, and so on. Did he think I wouldnâ€™t notice when I had my sight back? No, Iâ€™m overanalyzing again. He just did it to annoy me.
By the time I was ready, our parents were up, and Mum was making breakfast. We still had plenty of time, because the place we were heading to was just a few minutesâ€™ walk from the hotel. Itâ€™s the ranger station. Most of the island is a nature reserve, and there are a dozen full-time rangers who manage the park and its facilities, take care of the wildlife, conduct tours and, of course, organize camping expeditions.
Alex and I left the Regatta just as the sun was rising over the headland on the eastern side of the bay. Mum and Dad accompanied us as far as the bottom of the hill, then sent us on our way with the customary â€œHave a good time and take care.â€
â€œAnd Sarah,â€ Mum continued, â€œwatch out for your brother.â€ She added a superfluous â€œYou know what heâ€™s like.â€
Alex just sneered and said something like â€œWhereâ€™s a gag when you need one?â€ and Dad responded with something like â€œDonâ€™t be cheeky, young fella.â€
I started to wave good-bye, but our parents were already heading back up the hill.
â€œHave fun yourselves,â€ I called after them. â€œTry not to...â€
â€œDonâ€™t you be cheeky either, young lady,â€ my mother said, without looking back.
â€œAssume the position,â€ Alex demanded. He was holding the leather strap from his gift pack.
â€œNot now,â€ I told him, and he sulkily put it back in his pocket.
When we reached the ranger station, about forty kids, maybe fifty, boys and girls in about equal number, were already assembled or just arriving. Philip and Kevin came in at the same time as us. I also recognized quite a few of the others from the workshop, including Karen. In addition, there were seven adults (early to mid twenties, mostly) and about a dozen teenagers who looked a bit older than us (around eighteen). All were dressed in a green and brown camouflage-design uniform â€“ a poly-cotton short-sleeved tunic, bush hat and boots. For the males, camo-pattern trousers completed the ensemble. The adult women wore the ubiquitous collar. One of them, aged about thirty, called us together, waited for the noise to disperse, and introduced herself as Laura. She and the other adults, she announced, were park rangers and they would be supervising. The teenagers were the children of resort employees, and Laura asked us to thank them for giving up their time to help out as camp leaders. We gave them a rousing cheer.
We were treated to a rather long and dreary lecture about rules, safety procedures and a few other things. To my discredit, I didnâ€™t listen every closely. The wind had picked up, and I was staring to shiver, regretting Iâ€™d chosen to wear just my bikini. Eventually, however, we lined up for our kits. Our outfits were identical to those worn by the supervisors and leaders. (Since only the guys got to wear the pants, I now understood why we girls were instructed to wear a swimsuit rather than regular underwear. Even so, I wish theyâ€™d let us know this beforehand. I would have chosen one that was more substantial. Oh well, live and learnâ€¦)
The process was efficient. We were arranged in order of height to be matched with the right sizes. Most of the females, including myself, were already in our bikinis, so we could get into our gear right there and then. The boys and those girls who needed to change were shown to make-shift dressing rooms adjacent to the ranger hut. While we were doing this, our supervisors were conferring with each other and consulting their lists of names; and when we were ready they sorted us, apparently at random, into two groups designated Blues and Reds. We were given appropriately coloured tags to clip onto our shirts.
I found myself assigned to the Blues. Alex was a Red and so, to my dismay, was Philip. Kevin was on my team, but it wasnâ€™t the same thing. However, my disappointment was short-lived. When we had assembled, the two units facing each other and already baring teeth and tossing hostile stares at each other â€“ how quickly and easily weâ€™re stirred up into mutual enmity â€“ Laura thereupon ordered all of us girls to switch sides. Baffled but delighted, I crossed over and stood with Philip. Karen was also a Blue, and I was rather flabbergasted when she moved to be beside Alex. They really had hit it off the other day. The camp leaders also split up between the two teams, while the rangers stayed detached.
While it was nice to be with Philip, I remained perplexed, even more so when the male leaders drew the boys on their respective teams aside for some sort of briefing. The female leaders just cooled their heels, making light conversation with some of the girls, and I got the distinct impression that they were just as ignorant of what was going on as the rest of us. As we waited, I did a count. Numbers had increased slightly since Alexâ€™s and my arrival. There were fourteen girls on the Blue side, plus three female leaders, the same on the Red team. From what I could see, there were fifteen guys on each, plus the three male leaders.
The boys came back, and one of the leaders ordered us (the girls) to line up facing the beach. A couple hesitated and the command was repeated, more emphatically. I looked across to the rangers, who appeared unfazed, so we hurriedly formed a row, each about half an armâ€™s distance apart. The three leader chicks helped organize us, then joined the end of the line.
The senior leader (from now on Iâ€™ll call him the SL) began barking orders: â€œStand to attention! Feet together! Hands behind your head! Look straight ahead! Keep still!â€ I could hear his Blue colleague yelling basically the same thing at the Red girls.
We waited for what seemed like hours but was probably just a few minutes, not daring to even twitch. At last, still behind us and thus out of our sight, the SL informed us, maintaining his stentorian tone, that we were now prisoners of the Red team and would be for the next thirty-six hours. If our own side managed to rescue us, all well and good, but the Reds would do everything in their power to recapture us. It sounded a bitâ€¦ well, violent. On the other hand, I was happy this was not just another routine camping trip, but rather like the war games that I still sometimes play with my friends back home.
I heard movement and realized that the boys were taking up positions directly astern of us. Knowing what was coming, I naturally hoped it was Philip behind me. I glanced quickly over my shoulder, earning a rebuke from the orotund SL but snatching a glimpse nevertheless. It was a small guy, not more than twelve by the look of him, kind of good-looking with a mess of shaggy blonde hair. I felt his hand grasp my left wrist, pull it away from my head and draw it down behind my back. He did the same with my right arm. Thinking quickly, instead of crossing my wrists, I nestled my right hand in the palm of my left, so that when he started binding, the rope would not be so tight. He was obviously inexperienced, and Iâ€™m pretty sure he was nervous, because of how easily he allowed me to take control like that. I guess this was the first time he had tied up a strange girl (and they donâ€™t come much stranger than me, or so Iâ€™m told).
One of the other girls must have started resisting, for some reason, probably to cause trouble just for the fun of it. She was forced onto her knees by two of the Reds, her guard and the guy who was in reserve (because there were eighteen males and seventeen females â€“ Iâ€™m counting the leaders, since they were being bound as well). She was quickly subdued. During my quick peek to see what the flurry of fuss was about, I also managed to catch that Alex had contrived to get Karen as his prisoner. In the meantime, my own custodian was having an inexplicably hard time getting the cord â€“ it felt like soft nylon, but I soon recognized the familiar leather strap â€“ properly looped and cinched. As a result, he was tugging and hauling and heaving on my arms and jerking me about. Just when I was afraid he was going to do me some damage, he got help from one of his comrades to complete the job.
By this time, an hour must have elapsed since Alexâ€™s and my arrival, and we hadnâ€™t yet left the starting point. The sun was now high in the sky and beating down with fierce intensity. My hat had come off during the effort to get me tied, but Blondie kindly replaced it on my head. (I call him Blondie rather than Shorty coz Iâ€™m so thoughtful and considerate... though not enough, I confess, that I ever found out his real name.) Meanwhile, the village was starting to come alive, with resort staff going about their business and guests heading for the beach or the early opening cafeterias. A few passers-by stopped to find out what was happening with us. A couple of kids pointed and began haranguing their parents, no doubt to arrange their own booking for the next Camp Commando expedition.
At last, as I was getting increasingly restless, Laura, the ranger in charge, called out something, and our SL yelled: â€œLeft turn, move out!â€
Like the other captives, I assumed (correctly) that this meant us, so we rotated ninety degrees and began marching. The male members of the Blue team with their prisoners were about a hundred metres ahead. I was right in the middle of our line. Our guards shepherded us in a tight group, and at first we were bunched up so closely that I could sniff the hair of the girl in front of me; her shampoo smelled like vanilla and raspberries. But the lopsided rhythm of our pacing, the uneven ground and a series of stops and starts as we headed up the winding trail caused the column to spread out to about an armâ€™s length between each of us. This was a good thing because I didnâ€™t fancy stumbling into Miss Vanilla and Raspberries to my front or tripping over the feet of Miss Whomever to my rear.
â€œFrom this point, you donâ€™t talk, you donâ€™t make a sound, you donâ€™t try to escape,â€ the SL demanded.
â€œYou donâ€™t say,â€ a squeaky feminine voice retorted from somewhere behind me. Surprisingly, there was no reprimand.
Blondie decided he needed to grip my arm as we walked, which became irritating after a while. Again I got the impression that he was a novice to tie-ups â€“ where did he come from, Mongolia or maybe Mars? â€“ and he liked having this physical connection with his captive.
A couple of dozen parents were still hanging around to wave good-bye, and a handful of interested onlookers stayed on until we passed out of sight into the forest. We trudged up the track which narrowed and began to meander as it ascended the south-western flank of Granite Peak (yeah, thatâ€™s the highly imaginative name thatâ€™s given to the islandâ€™s central pinnacle). At first I thought we were going to climb to the very top, which was a daunting prospect, especially with my hands bound behind my back; but after maybe an hour and a couple of kilometres the trail began to veer to the left, and we ended up skirting the summit. It was, however, spectacular and beautiful, as we trekked along the base of a wall of sheer pink and grey-speckled granite maybe sixty metres high, hemmed in by the fantastically lush vegetation thatâ€™s fed by the constant streams of water flowing down and out of the rock face. The sound of leaves crunching underfoot was the only noise any of us made â€“ everyone was hushed by the awesomeness of our surroundings â€“ and even that was drowned by a shrill chorus of birds and insects and the incessant patter and splatter of the water.
With the forest canopy closing in almost completely overhead, the temperature had dropped dramatically, but the humidity was high and I was beginning to feel its effects. My tunic was drenched with perspiration and maddening rivulets ran down my forehead and cheeks, and trickled into my eyes and seeped into the corners of my mouth. With my hands immobilized, all I could do was try to blink the sweat away and lick the salt from my lips. More annoyingly, errant tree branches and talons of undergrowth invaded the pathway and clawed at my bare legs, scratching and grazing, and I was incapable of protecting myself. I didnâ€™t mind that my hands were bound; after all, we were captives; but I envied the boys for their trousers.
It was still only mid-morning when we crossed over the ridgeline that runs westward from a jagged outcropping of the peak. At the crest, we were treated to a breathtaking vista, the entire western half of the island. The ground fell away steeply, the verdant lower slopes still enveloped in shadow, to a couple of deeply embayed beaches separated by a rugged headland. Off to our left was another promontory, the one with the airstrip which looked just as perilously narrow from this location as it had on our approach from above. The more northerly bay I recognized from the map on the resort brochure as the inlet to Pioneer Valley. It was flanked on the north-east by a large peninsula, something like two kilometres long and bisected lengthways by a craggy spine of barren stone. Beyond that (according to my memory of the map) lay Adventure Valley.
â€œDonâ€™t stop, keep moving, prisoners,â€ the SL brayed. As I tramped over the rim, I took a last look to the rear. Just visible behind a smaller ridge that snaked off to the south-west was the outer edge of the resort village. In middle of the cove, a large white yacht was anchored, and a dinghy was departing for the shore, leaving a spreading silver trace in its wake. I could make out tiny figures on the beach and could see the corner of our hotel perched on one of the hills. I thought about Mum and Dad down there and what they might be doing right now. I giggled at the idea. Blondie nudged me forward.
Maybe half an out later, the track bifurcated. One path swerved sharply to the left, and my Blue team and their captives, who were still some distance ahead of us, took that trail, into Pioneer Valley, and were soon out of sight. We continued, cresting another ridge before beginning the descent into Adventure Valley. We had gone only a hundred metres or so when the SL called out â€œHalt!â€
He and his two associates organized their men to get us (the girls) bunched up again. On command, we turned from column into row. The boys were behind us again, and I heard a couple of gasps and an â€œOh no!â€ before I realized what was happening. Our captors were blindfolding us. I suppose that was inevitable; after all, we were being taken to the enemy camp. Nevertheless, it was a bit scary and definitely demoralizing, which was probably the point. The way ahead did not look any easier to negotiate than what we had already traversed, so I knew we were going to have a hard time of it. Still, itâ€™s part of the challenge, and as I have always maintained, thereâ€™s no thrill without the chill.
Indeed, the going got tough almost immediately. Descending the muddy, greasy, winding track without the use of our hands or the benefit of eyesight caused plenty of slips and spills. After landing on my backside for the third time in as many minutes, I almost wept for my little lime green bikini bottoms â€“ lime green no more, I was afraid. Blondie helped me to my feet each time and he was very gentle. Iâ€™m sure he felt sorry for me. I was about to thank him for his assistance when I thought, â€œNo, Iâ€™m his captive; itâ€™s his responsibility to look after me.â€ Nevertheless, I felt a tad guilty, because I think he was hurt by my ingratitude.
â€œHeâ€™ll get over it,â€ I told myself, as I landed on my blemished behind once more.
It must have been approaching mid-day when we finally reached our objective. Our blindfolds remained on, but I could tell, mainly from the salty smell, that we were very near a beach. There was no sound of waves, so I knew we were still deep inside the bay, and there was hardly a breath of wind, which meant the area was enclosed by high ground. As I continued to sense my surroundings, I got the impression that we were in a prepared campsite, not just out in the middle of nowhere, because the grass underfoot felt like it was mown. Somewhere I could hear a tap flowing, so there were decent amenities â€“ running water, proper toilets and maybe even shower facilities. (Okay, so Iâ€™m not exactly a roughing it kind of gal. My idea of wilderness is no room service.)
We were ordered to kneel. By now I was so tired, and anyway grubby from half a dozen tumbles in the mud, that I was grateful even for this sort of respite.
The SL captives again with his harangue. We were now in the Red camp and we shouldnâ€™t forget that we were still their prisoners. There was to be no talking, or we would all be gagged, no attempt to move about (what, blindfolded?) or we would be hobbled. Then there were sounds that took me a while to work out â€“the boys were breaking out food packs and eating lunch. No one had hauled supplies over the mountain; in fact, if there had been any carrying to do, Iâ€™m sure it would have been us prisoners doing it â€“ so the provisions must have already been here, probably brought in by boat. I was getting resentful as my stomach began to growl â€“ I should have taken Mumâ€™s advice and eaten a proper breakfast â€“ when I felt something pressing against my lips. For a second I thought I was being gagged and was thinking â€œThatâ€™s not fair, what did I do?â€ when I realized it was Blondie holding a sandwich to my lips.
I didnâ€™t bite though, because I could smell something I didnâ€™t like.
â€œIs that egg?â€ I whispered.
He paused to check. â€œYes, thereâ€™s egg in it.â€
I quietly explained that Iâ€™m allergic. He apologized, went away and came back with lettuce and tomato. He quite obliging, really, for an enemy dealing with his helpless hostage. He fed me the sandwich and asked if I wanted more. I declined, so he gave me a drink, plain water but cold, refreshing and very welcome. With that, I was starting to feel good again, but soon after that things took a turn for the worse. Not that Iâ€™m complaining, of course, because it was still fun, but by late afternoon I was beginning to wonder what I had signed up for.
I didnâ€™t know exactly what was happening, but by listening carefully I could make out the essence of what was going on. The Red team split into two squads, one to go on patrol â€“ scouting the area for enemy incursions and possibly mounting a raid on the Blue base â€“ the other to stay and defend the camp and watch over us captives. Because we now outnumbered our guards, even though bound, they decided we needed to be better secured. First they gagged us. I knew that was coming, but I was not pleased when I discovered what we had to wear, bulbous rubber gags that filled the mouth, making it impossible for us to make a sound but not very comfortable, having a mild acrid taste and very thirst-inducing. Then they bound our elbows with broad leather straps, not especially tight but sufficient to pull the shoulders back and put pressure on the chest. Then they strapped our ankles as well, and â€“ I knew this was coming as well â€“ taped them to our wrists for a full hog-tie.
We had to lie on our bellies, still in line, close enough to each other that our arms touched, and there we remained for several hours. Now I think it is a great test of patience and stamina, and also good training in perseverance and self-discipline, to be trussed up for hours on end, keeping your mind occupied as best you can so as to stave off the boredom and distract your mind from the increasing discomfort. Nevertheless, I hadnâ€™t expected to spend my first afternoon at Camp Commando lying prone and bound in the grass. Some biting insect took the opportunity to molest my poor unprotected legs in perfect safety. I tried to shake him (more likely her) off but merely succeeded in bumping and jolting the girl on my left. She grunted through her gag and squirmed about, which only caused the disturbance to move down the line, like a wave. I followed its progress by the soft groans and whimpers which marked its passage. We were tired and stiff and grumpy.
Things got desperate when my bladder started sending ominous messages. After bearing the strain for ages, getting more frantic, I felt I was just about to burst or â€“ worse â€“ let go, when a shudder passed along the row of bodies. The girls to my left were being stood up one by one. When the process reached me, firm hands grasped my upper arms and assisted me to my feet. My ankles were freed and we were marched a short distance. We were kept close together, each girl touching the one in front (and thus the one behind) so we could be properly guided. When we reached the ablutions block â€“ yes, I was right about there being proper amenitiesâ€“ we were taken in two by two and helped to... well, you know. What Iâ€™d almost forgotten was that there were a couple of women rangers in the camp, and they are the ones who helped us.
With great relief, I marched with my fellow prisoners back out onto the grass, and I didnâ€™t mind a couple more hours in my hog-tie. Again, this is not what Iâ€™d anticipated. I could hear the boys having a good time, playing soldier, coming and going, joking and carrying on as they passed us, and I suppose I was just a little bit jealous of their freedom and the good time they were having.
I could feel the late afternoon closing in fast as a cooling shadow swept across my legs, raising a light scattering of goosebumps. I started to fret again, hoping we wouldnâ€™t be kept like this all night. However, not long afterwards there was a commotion in the camp, excited chatter and laughter. The patrol squad was returning from their mission. I could hear at least a couple of female voices, so it appeared that they had managed to rescue some of their own teammates from the Blues.
The freed girls made straight for us, to exact their revenge on the poor helpless captives, subjecting those at each end of the line to merciless tickle torture. Lucky for me, I was near the middle, so I escaped this additional torment.
Then, suddenly, the fun and games ended. With hardly a word spoken, we were freed from our bonds and allowed to get up, walk around and stretch our cramped and aching muscles. It felt so good when that horrible gag came out. We were even permitted to talk and to fraternize with our captors. Philip came over and actually kissed me (wow!), and Alex went over to speak with Karen. She introduced him to a boy about Alexâ€™s age, who I assumed (and Alex later confirmed) was her bother. In the meantime, I happened to glance about and saw Blondie, standing off to the side and watching Philip and me rather dolefully. I couldnâ€™t just ignore him, so I went over â€“ Philip didnâ€™t follow â€“ and said â€œHiâ€ and thanked him for his help when I needed it. He smiled shyly and we talked for a couple of minutes. Funny, I never asked his name.
The camp turned out to be even better equipped than I had pictured behind my blindfold. As well as the shower and toilet block, there was a kitchen and mess hall, a shack that I think was the ranger station and medical facility, and a row of prefab wooden huts, the sleeping quarters. We were right on the edge of the beach and, as I had suspected, deep inside the bay. The sun was still above the ridgeline on the far side of the water, but very close to the rim. Within a few minutes it was gone.
Laura, who was attached to our camp, called us together for a briefing. We stood apart, Blues and Reds, whereupon she announced that all â€œoperationsâ€ were to be suspended between now and dawn. That made sense â€“ you canâ€™t have a bunch of teenagers crashing about in the bush in the darkness. Until then, we were all the same. Well, not exactly. After a quick wash, we females were called to the kitchen area to prepare the dinner. Iâ€™ve never really understood the logic that having boobs makes me inherently good at cooking, or sewing for that matter, and indeed my inadequacy in both departments is legendary. So I basically just hovered on the edges of the action, helping out as best I can. The girls in the other camp must have had a slightly more onerous job, since we had five of their number. The males, in the meantime, engaged in some sort of sporting activity on the beach. So once again the females got to do the housework while the males got to play games. Oh well, being the superior sex has to have its downside.
After dinner, it was the usually campy activities (and I am aware of the double entendre) â€“ singing songs and telling stories around the fire, roasting stuff, everyone hushing to listen to the friendly crackling of the coals and the gentle splashing of the waves and the sinister shuffling and scuffling of the nightlife prowling the nearby forest. After that we retired to our sleeping huts, spartan but homely. I shared with four other girls and one of the leaders, Patricia. We stayed up late. We talked about boys, we talked about sex, we talked about boys and sex, then we got onto the important things, shoes, clothes and music. It was probably around midnight when we finally got to sleep. I had survived my first day at Camp Commando.
Sarahâ€™s Journal, Day Five
I was woken this morning by heavy rain falling on the roof of our quarters. What a great beginning to my second day at Camp Commando!
Everyone in the hut was soon awake and with nowhere to go without getting soaked, we sat on our bunks and resumed our gossip session from last night. Two of the girls were Red team members, so we also swapped descriptions of how weâ€™d spent yesterday. Like us, they were bound and blindfolded most of the time, and they werenâ€™t exactly sure how they had come to be rescued. All they were aware of was lots of shouting and a couple of screams and crashing noises, then being slung over someoneâ€™s shoulder and carried off to freedom.
We were also inquisitive about Patricia, the leader, and her island lifestyle. Her parents are both managers in the resort and the family has lived here for just over a year. There is a school at the eastern end of the village and other facilities for resident children. We thought how amazing it must be to be able to go to the beach every day and wear a bikini all the time and play tie-up games in school and not have teachers freaking out because you... well, we exchanged some interesting experiences which I will leave out because who knows who might be reading this diary (like nosey baby brothers). I had noticed that Patricia was wearing the silver chain choker that women staff have on at all times and asked if she and the other girls are expected to wear it as well. No, itâ€™s not compulsory, but a lot do anyway.
After a while the gabfest broke up because Patricia told us it was time to get moving. There was a large carton under one of the beds and in it was a pile of fresh tunics. They came in a variety of sizes and we all found ones that fitted. This was good news because I hadnâ€™t been looking forward to putting my grubby, smelly shirt from yesterday back on. Of course, last night I also changed bikinis. My poor little lime green number wasnâ€™t totally ruined, but after the punishment it has received, the bottom half will likely never be the same again. I deposited it and my toiletries and other stuff in my pack. (The packs were shipped back to the resort village when we struck camp, and arrived before us â€“ very efficient. I have to give the organizers credit. The camp has been well-managed to save us a lot of time, energy and hassles.)
Naturally, the business of making breakfast was allotted to the non-trousered members of the camp community, so we made a mad dash through the rain to the kitchen and set about our chores while the boys got to spend an extra hour in their huts. That didnâ€™t much bother me. In fact, we had a fun time of it, and just as last night, I made sure to disqualify myself from actual food preparation. As well-equipped as the campsite is, I didnâ€™t expect there to be stomach pumps.
Afterwards it was still raining hard, so we all assembled in the mess hall. The tables had been folded and stowed at one end of the room, and the seats rearranged into a U-shape. We played some games and head ranger Laura gave a short but very fascinating lecture on the ecology of the island. Anyway, I found it fascinating (but Iâ€™m an unreconstructed nerd). Then the session got really interesting. Gina, the other female ranger, and one of the ranger guys (Ben) came out into the centre of the U.
â€œAnd now for something completely different,â€™ Gina announced.
Well, it was different. I consider myself to be progressive and open-minded, but at heart I guess Iâ€™m an old-fashioned gal. So I was rather shocked when she started tying up him. Of course, everyone laughed and she kept up a rather witty repartee throughout, while making some obvious points like how a chest-tie doesnâ€™t have the same impact on a guy, and how a crotch-rope doesnâ€™t work exactly the same way either (which got us girls giggling and the boys wincing). Ben looked somewhat uncomfortable during the show, so I think this was probably his first time on that side of the ropes. Gina finished the demonstration with the advice that we should always be willing to try new things.
I knew what was coming next, the call for volunteers, and I said to myself â€œWhat the heck?â€ and raised my hand. Half a dozen of us ended up stepping forward, and Gina invited us to choose our partners. All the guys began to fidget and act preoccupied. Alex glowered and Blondie appeared stricken, but they were not in my sights anyway. Poor Philip hesitated for a few seconds, then had his own â€œWhat the heck?â€ moment. Nevertheless, he flashed me an â€œI will get you for thisâ€ look.
Gina ran us through a few basic ties. Funny thing is, despite having always been on the receiving end, I assumed it would be relatively easy to reverse the process, but instead I fumbled and bungled, and managed to mangle and mutilate some perfectly innocent and harmless knots. Itâ€™s like trying to reverse engineer a complicated piece of machinery while blindfolded â€“ at least the last bit I can relate to. But it wasnâ€™t just about skill, it was also about attitude. You have to prepare yourself mentally as well as physically for being tied up, so thereâ€™s no reason why it should be any different when youâ€™re doing the tying. I just hadnâ€™t thought about it like that.
Philip, I have to say, was very patient with my inexperience, even though he was clearly ill at ease with playing whatâ€™s always been the girlâ€™s role â€“ like if he wore a dress and heels to the school formal and let his partner take the lead on the dance floor. Okay, enough of the analogies â€“ letâ€™s just say it was a new sensation for both of us. It felt weird and a little unsettling, and hey, even kinky. Yet I discovered that it can be almost as much fun to be doing the tying as being tied... almost.
In any case, I think we all felt palpable relief when the clattering of the rain on the rooftop began to ease off and eventually ceased altogether. Laura announced that the war game was back on and we all cheered. Even though my immediate thought that I was going to spend another day hog-tied in the camp was rather daunting, it felt good that I was going to be on the proper side of the ropes again. And sure enough, we were lined up on the grass and bound once more. This time, the Red chicks did the tying, and they were not as gentle as their male counterparts had been. The girl who tied me was one of those with whom I had shared sleeping quarters and gossip, but the camaraderie was kaput.
I donâ€™t know if it was for the novelty or for some other reason we were not privy to, but they tied our arms with our elbows bent and hands up between our shoulder blades â€“ a double hammerlock. It was very tight and a bit painful, and I donâ€™t think the boys would have gotten away with tying us like that. Then we were given chest harnesses as well, and we were linked together in single file with ropes leading from one girlâ€™s wrists to the chest bindings of the girl behind. Again I was near the middle. Finally, we were once again gagged and blindfolded. Like Iâ€™ve said, I dislike the noisome rubber plug gag we had to wear, but I was more dismayed by the blindfold because something was going on about us and I was desperately curious.
There was lots of sound and movement all around, while we just stood there for maybe half an hour, completely oblivious to what was happening. Then suddenly we were urged forward and marched back up the track we had descended yesterday morning. We continued to climb as the sun rose, and it soon became obvious that we were leaving Adventure Valley. To where and for what purpose I had no idea.
As the trail steepened, it became more and more slippery from the recent drenching, and even more so than yesterday I found it impossible to keep a firm footing. We were yoked about an armâ€™s length apart, and today I didnâ€™t have Blondie to assist me. From what I could gather, we were being escorted by the five Red girls, and they were, as Iâ€™ve mentioned, totally unsympathetic to our plight. Well, I couldnâ€™t blame them for that, because this time yesterday they had been prisoners as well, of my teammates.
Every time the girl in front of me or the girl behind me skidded or slipped over, she pulled me down too, and I did the same, so we spent the next couple of hours in this sort of weird conga line dance, slurping through the mud, bobbing up and down, lurching this way and that, wallowing sideways, making grunting and groaning and snorting noises through our gags. (Alex has kindly reminded me how ridiculous we looked and sounded.) Luckily, the mire was so deep and glutinous that we didnâ€™t get hurt, though when I saw myself for the first time later on, I found out just what a treat I looked, caked in a thick layer of red and brown foul-smelling goo. Making things worse, the rain had brought out hordes of ravening insects which assailed my arms and legs without mercy. On the other hand, the mud coating offered some defence â€“ not my preferred form of protection, but moderately effective.
Still, it was an exciting challenge, and though fun may not be the correct term, it was anything but boring. Thinking back to the switching places session earlier in the morning, I realized how nice it was to be on the inside of the ropes again.
We had been walking for so long that I figured we must be near the head of the valley when I heard distant shouting. Our girl guards ran up and down the line, ordering us in low voices to crouch, and shoving us down when we didnâ€™t react fast enough. It occurred to me that the Red boys, or some of them, must have gone forward on patrol and come into contact with the enemy. After weâ€™d waited, squatting on the path, for an awful long time, there were voices close by, including laughter. I eventually made sense of it all. The Reds had managed to free two more of their girls. They were evidently winning the day, because they had rescued seven of their teammates now, while all of us Blue girls were still held in captivity.
More time passed, and then we started up the track again. I still had no clear picture of what was going on, why we had abandoned our camp and why the Blues had also â€“ after all, what were they doing so far from their base with their prisoners in tow? I havenâ€™t had a chance to ask Alex about this since we arrived back this evening. I will do so tomorrow.
Following that little drama, the gruelling monotony returned as we continued our trek back in the direction of Granite Peak. We stopped for a rest and drinks. When the gag was taken out, my mouth was horribly dry and I must have swallowed half a canteen of water. Happily, pity prevailed and they decided not to replace the gags when we moved off once more. And after that, it was basically nothing that I havenâ€™t already described. We retraced our steps back over the ridge onto the high ground above Pioneer Valley, then circuited the grand monolith and began the descent towards Resort Cove. Our blindfolds stayed on, but I had a precise image in my mind of the trail ahead. I am fortunate to be blessed with a near-perfect memory, so I could recall and avoid every little obstacle and pitfall in my path. Of course, I had the less than perfect recollection of the other girls in my line to contend with, so the homeward journey was not really any less hazardous. There was also the call of nature to worry about, and we were never allowed a relief stop. By the time we reached home, I was once again near to bursting.
While we still had the great stone parapet right up against the left edge of the track, I noticed that our route was not the exact reverse of yesterdayâ€™s. We continued to slog directly eastwards long after we should have altered course and headed due south. As a result, it was nearly mid-afternoon and we were still high up on the mountain. Then the column halted and we were unhitched and untied. We waited to be told to remove our blindfolds, and when we did I was hit by a wave of vertigo. We had traversed the entire upper valley, past the resort, and were standing on the brim of a ridge looking out over â€“ this time â€“ the eastern side of the island. It is truly an amazing sight, a broad, deeply indented peninsula blanketed by an impenetrable mantle of tropical rainforest, looking from our vantage point like a gargantuan green claw. The ridge upon which we stood branched into several smaller wrinkles about a kilometre in front of us, and one of these terminated in a boulder field, the only break in the dense jungle canopy, littered with rocks some of which must have been as big as houses. It was an unforgettable scene, and I was glad and grateful that we were permitted to see it.
The rest of the trek home was an anticlimax. We reached the resort village just as the sun was settling on the western headland, still about an hour before actual sunset. It felt rather strange, being able to hike the remaining distance without being tied. There was one final opportunity, however. After a quick and overdue (almost too overdue!) rush to the toilets, we reconvened for a ceremony to recognize the Red teamâ€™s victory over the Blues. We prisoners â€“ fourteen Blue and seven Red girls â€“ were blindfolded and bound (just a simple wrists crossed behind backs on this occasion) for the last time, to be handed over for what was deemed â€œrepatriationâ€. Each boy on the Red team was given a miniature trophy. Each girl received a silver medallion. Those of us who were bound were formally liberated and untied. Laura praised us all for our â€œgreat effort and great attitudeâ€ and told us we were one of the best groups sheâ€™d ever taken to Camp Commando (yeah, sure... I bet youâ€™ve said that to every group youâ€™ve taken out). We showed our appreciation to the rangers and the leaders with a hearty round of applause.
We handed in our kits and got back our packs of personal effects. I said good-bye to Blondie and a couple of the other girls I had come to know. Philipâ€™s sister Kelly came down to meet him (and Kevin of course). He and I kissed (I tasted tongue â€“ weâ€™re practically engaged!) and made plans to meet up again tomorrow afternoon. As the crowd dispersed, I pulled Alex away from chatting up a couple of girls (not Karen...I didnâ€™t ask).
â€œCall me,â€ he yelled after them as they walked off.
â€œIâ€™m sure theyâ€™re calling you all sorts of things,â€ I said.
Mum and Dad were waiting for us at the bottom of the hill, where they had left us yesterday morning. They took one look at me, smeared in mud, and shook their heads.
â€œI canâ€™t take her anywhere without being embarrassed,â€ Alex mourned.
The hotel receptionist also gave me an appalled look as we crossed the lobby, scrutinizing the floor behind me to see if I was leaving a trail of muck. Back in the suite, I was sent straight to the bathroom. When I emerged, feeling refreshed but oddly let down, Mum was holding my poor little, soiled and sullied lime green bikini pants, at armâ€™s length.
â€œThis will require some heavy-duty treatment,â€ she declared.
â€œDo what you can,â€ I implored.
We went downtown for dinner. Dad tied Mumâ€™s hands in front, but I asked Alex to leave me be, having had enough for one day. To my surprise, he agreed. My Baby Bro can be quite the gentleman when he isnâ€™t being quite the nuisance.
Later on, sipping cocoa in the living room, Alex and I described our adventures, going into every aspect of the two days in great detail. Mum listened indulgently â€“ â€œVery nice honey, sounds great sweetieâ€ â€“ until we got to the bit about the girl-on-boy tying. She shook her head in mild disapproval. I didnâ€™t realize she was so conservative. Of course, in her reflection I see me. I will have to be more receptive to new experiences from now on, try things outside my comfort zone.
Alex proudly showed off his trophy.
â€œWhat did you get, Sarah?â€ my dad asked.
I held out my arms and legs to show then the bruises and scratches. Mum sort of clucked and gave me a â€œYou should take better care of yourselfâ€ look.
â€œI bet you have a few of your own from the past two days, Mummy dear.â€
â€œThatâ€™s enough,â€ was her reply. â€œItâ€™s getting late. Off to bed, you two.â€
â€œOh, have we interrupted something?â€ I beat a hasty retreat.
I got into my nightie while Alex was in the bathroom, and started on todayâ€™s diary entry. I was just getting to the midday part when he returned and insisted that I put on my blindfold.
â€œCanâ€™t we suspend the rule just once?â€ I pleaded.
â€œWhat would happen to society if we just ignored all the rules?â€ he admonished.
â€œTheyâ€™re your rules,â€ I said.
He looked at me blankly. â€œWhatâ€™s your point?â€
I put on my blindfold. Thatâ€™s why Iâ€™m finishing this entry in the morning. Iâ€™m sitting out on the balcony watching the dawnâ€™s rosy glow as it slowly fans out across the purple sky. There isnâ€™t a cloud in sight. I wonder what exciting things this new day has in store for me.

### Re: THE RESORT (Revised and Completed)

Post by sarobah » Thu Jan 07, 2010 5:19 pm

Sarahâ€™s Journal, Day Six
The question I finished off with this morning has been answered. Another incredible day on this incredible island. Sadly, itâ€™s our last full one.
It started off slow enough. After finishing yesterdayâ€™s diary entry, I went back to bed. When Alex woke me, sunlight was pouring in through the window. I blinked away the blur, only to be confronted by my brotherâ€™s smiling visage. On the whole, the blur was better.
â€œWhat do you want?â€ I demanded. My mouth was dry and cottony, as if Iâ€™d been chewing on my pillow. Maybe I had been.
â€œFirst this,â€ he demanded. He was holding my blindfold in front of my face.
â€œYouâ€™ve got to be kidding! Iâ€™ll just close my eyes and you can say whatever it is you have to say.â€
â€œRules are rules,â€ he repeated the mantra.
â€œIs there a rulebook?â€
â€œI can write one for you.â€
â€œGood, and then I can stick it...â€
â€œOkay, I get the message... Gee, Sarah Sux, youâ€™re not cool.â€
Actually, I think I am cool, but the blindfold in the bedroom tradition had by now been worn threadbare.
â€œWhy are you traumatizing me?â€
â€œItâ€™s breakfast time.â€
â€œThanks. No. Go.â€
For all his myriad faults, the brat knows when heâ€™s not wanted. He faded into my oblivion.
On the third hour (or maybe just one) I rose again. The place was empty, idyllically empty, and silent, blissfully silent, but for a pair of seagulls on the balcony demanding tribute. I grabbed two slices of bread, tossed them one, ate the other, had a shower, drank a glass of milk, fixed my hair, put on my last pristine bikini (the cherry red crochet halter-top), painted my toenails, sifted through a pile of pamphlets, perused the restaurant guide, talked to the seagulls, changed my toenail colour... I was so bored that I was missing my family. How pathetic is that?
Eventually, the loved ones returned. My mother was excited, my father was inscrutable, my brother was... well, my brother.
â€œCalm down, Alex. Put your shoes on, Sarah,â€ Mum called out as she bee-lined for her bedroom. â€œPlease calm down, Alex.â€
â€œWhatâ€™s the sitch?â€ I asked.
â€œWeâ€™re going on a mystery tour,â€ Alex explained.
â€œWhere to?â€ I asked, innocently enough.
â€œUm, you do know the meaning of the word mystery?â€
I chose not to answer.
â€œAnd people say that youâ€™re the smart one...â€ He stopped to think about that, then slunk away.
Dad chuckled. As I retrieved my sandals from under the sofa I watched him grab the newspaper and head for the balcony. He flopped into the banana lounge.
â€œShouldnâ€™t you be getting ready as well?â€ I ventured.
â€œYour fatherâ€™s piking out,â€ my mother explained. She was at the table sorting through her purse, wearing her Gottex lilac strapless maillot, her new sarong tied low on her hip. She always looks so good.
â€œNot into the mystery?â€ I said.
â€œMore like misery,â€ he said.
â€œHeâ€™s in a mood, honey,â€ she said.
â€œWhat mood?â€ he said.
â€œThat mood,â€ she said.
There was nothing more to be said.
Mum turned to me instead. â€œWhatâ€™s Alex doing?â€
â€œHow do I know? Iâ€™m not my brotherâ€™s zookeeper.â€™
As if on cue, the bedroom door opened and from it emerged an apparition from a 1970s tourist brochure â€“ cream pleated slacks, Bali print shirt, Panama hat, tropic-style loafers, Ray-Ban knock-offs. We just shook our heads. I pushed past him, found my sarong, wrapped it around my waist and grabbed my Gucci shades.
On the way out, Alex held up his faithful strip of pliant leather.
â€œSarah?â€
â€œGive me a break.â€
â€œMum?â€
â€œNot right now, sweetie.â€
He mournfully stuffed it back in his pocket.
â€œYou two are no fun.â€
We yelled good-bye to Dad, whose nose was by now buried deep in his newspaper. We went downstairs, down the hill, downtown, to the tour agentâ€™s office. Mum paid for the tickets. Our guide would be here around ten oâ€™clock. That gave us half an hour to kill, and I had an inspiration.
â€œWhat about Philip?â€
â€œAnd Kevin?â€ Mum added.
â€œAnd Kelly,â€ Alex smiled.
Mum and I rolled our eyes. We headed for the eastern end of the village, where Philipâ€™s family was staying, in one of the fancier high-rise hotels. We found them still in their suite. Philip and Kevin had their sister trussed up on the living room floor, swathed in knotted and intertwined bikinis, sarongs, scarves, what must have been half her entire wardrobe. She was wriggling and squirming as they tickled her feet. Their parents were in the kitchen just finishing breakfast.
We put our proposal to them. Philipâ€™s mum and dad had other plans, but he and his brother were eager. Kelly wasnâ€™t given the choice. The boys removed all but her wrist bindings and gag, and frog-marched her out the door.
Mum frowned. â€œShouldnâ€™t she at least...?â€™
â€œSheâ€™s our prisoner,â€ Kevin declared. But she didnâ€™t resist.
Becoming a party of six worked out perfectly, because that meant we didnâ€™t have to share our guide with the other tourists. Not that it would have been a problem, because they seemed pleasant enough, but itâ€™s nice when it feels like youâ€™re getting special treatment. Our guide introduced herself as Regina. She could almost have been my twin sister, only a bit older (so not really a twin, I guess). She was petite, with sandy blonde hair cut in a short, masculine style to go with her boyish figure â€“ breasts perky rather than voluptuous, narrow hips and flat derriÃ¨re â€“ like I said, could have been my twin. She was wearing a very, very small bandeau top and a mini-mini-sarong, so there was not much of her that wasnâ€™t au naturel. The boys couldnâ€™t keep their eyes off her.
Regina said â€œAre we ready to start?â€ and Mum, Alex, Philip, Kevin and I all chimed in with a â€œYesâ€ and Kelly mumbled something through her gag. The boys were each given a large plastic shopping bag, and Regina continued, with a sprightly smile, â€œThen letâ€™s start the mystery.â€
Interestingly, it was Kevin who took the hint, reached into his bag and pulled out a large bandana or scarf, made of satiny fabric and midnight blue in colour. His brother and my brother nodded with understanding and did the same. Kevin blindfolded Kelly and Philip did me. He was gentle, but I noted that he took his time, more than he needed just to be gentle. His fingers grazed slowly across my face, caressing my skin, brushing and stroking my hair, causing me to tingle inside. He was so close to me I could feel the tickle of his breath on the back of my neck.
Just before the darkness closed in, I saw Mum take her blindfold from Alexâ€™s hand as he looked crestfallen, and begin to tie it in place around her head.
Led by Regina, the boys steered us along a cobblestone path which I worked out ran up a long grassy slope behind the main part of the village. Philip guided me by walking at my left side, his right arm around my waist, his left across his front to grasp my left arm. The pavement was smooth but slick in places, so he had to assist me a few times to keep my balance. It was very sensual and romantic, but I wondered how Kelly was doing, since she was still bound and gagged, and then how Alex was managing with Mum.
I giggled and Philip said â€œWhat?â€ and I replied â€œNever mind.â€
Regina informed us that this pathway was called the Aromatic Trail, and the reason was clear. It was lined with flowerbeds of lush fragrance, familiar and exotic â€“ sweet, spicy, pungent, musky, resiny, citrusy, earthy, wafting and mixing in the breeze. The blindfold, as usual, both stimulated the senses and heightened perception, almost to the point of overload, because without my eyesight it was impossible to separate and highlight individual scents from the potpourri. So it was a strange experience, intense and intoxicating but at the same time disorienting.
Regina casually informed us that the rush of sensation causes some women to have an orgasm, and I almost fell over in shock. Philip only just managed to save me. I wish I could have seen my motherâ€™s face at that moment, even half hidden behind her midnight blue mask.
The stroll through what will always be for me the Perfumed Garden (Iâ€™m surprised the resort people didnâ€™t come up with that gem themselves â€“ or maybe they did) took about half an hour. By the end I was near exhausted, not just from the effort of walking blindfolded but also from the psychedelic palette of bouquets. During the rest stop, we used the bathroom. We had to help Kelly because we werenâ€™t authorized to untie her. I asked Mum what she thought of the tour so far.
â€œInteresting,â€ was all she would say.
Back outside, we found Alex and Philip manhandling (womanhandling?) Regina. Each had hold of one of her arms and had twisted them behind her back. My brother looked like he was playing with her bottom, and I was about to sing out â€œOh Alex, thatâ€™s just wrong!â€ when I realized he was struggling to fasten her silver bracelets together with the tiny lock. It took some doing, and she wiggled her hands and flexed her arms to make sure she was properly shackled.
I thought the boys were just having some fun, until Regina turned to Mum and me with a â€œYour turnâ€ expression.
We put our hands behind our backs as Alex and Philip reached into their plastic bags and each withdrew a set of cuffs identical to Reginaâ€™s. Having seen similar ones for days now, I was interested to find out how theyâ€™d feel. However, I didnâ€™t know until Philip started putting them on me that they werenâ€™t really that easy to wear. The bracelets connect to each other on the inside of the carpal area, between wrist and palm, so they arenâ€™t very comfortable even when your elbows are bent. With the arms straight, they are even less so. Yet it somehow didnâ€™t surprise me when Philip went back into his bag and produced a long strap with a buckle. It was made of very soft leather, lined on the inside with a fleecy material, but when looped about my upper arms and drawn taut, it was severe. Still, it wasnâ€™t exactly painful, and for me and Regina (who was getting the same treatment from Alex), the enforced posture is rather flattering. We are, neither of us, much well-endowed in the chest region, and a strict tie like this, hauling back the shoulders, has a pleasing effect on the bustline.
Kelly, whom nature has blessed with a greater profusion in that area, looked spectacular when Kevin finished with her. I noticed that he had removed her makeshift wrist bindings to put her in the bracelets, and he was now tugging rather harshly on her elbow strap to achieve the maximum effect. She was grunting rather loudly through her gag as the band tightened around her arms, and her body strained against a flimsy tank top; but her eyes sparkled. I think our Kelly likes to show off her assets.
All eyes turned to Mum, who was waiting patiently for her turn to come, her arms resting behind her back. Philip and Kevin didnâ€™t move, so Alex manfully stepped forward. Itâ€™s not like he hasnâ€™t tied her hands before, but I donâ€™t think he relished having such an attentive audience and... well, letâ€™s face it, like Kelly, me and Regina, Mum was not exactly overdressed. But to be supportive, she held her hands out behind her, a long way from her backside. I couldnâ€™t help but smile, and Mum winked at me. She was kind of enjoying my baby brotherâ€™s unease. He can be a bit of a chauvinist at times (most times), and itâ€™s always a lark when weâ€™re cutting him down to size. Nevertheless, Kevin took it upon himself to apply her upper arm strap, and as with Kelly he did not hold back. Mum took it with her usual stoicism.
Although this intermission was entertaining enough, I was beginning to wonder what the mystery part of the tour was going to be. I expected to be blindfolded once more, but instead Regina strode off along another pathway, calling â€œFollow meâ€ over her shoulder. We set off after her, and eventually we reached a narrow causeway which traversed a broad estuary that emptied into the bay beyond the eastern limits of the village. It led onto a sand spit anchored in place by a hulking granite outcrop. I had seen this from our hotel balcony, but it had been too far away to pick out the structure on its summit. Snuggled among the boulders and spinifex was a low, coral pink building designed like a cross between a Mexican hacienda and a mediÃ¦val citadel. Over the gateway, a sign proclaimed â€œThe Sand Castle.â€
It was, in fact, a restaurant, and here we stopped for a late morning tea. I was not at all surprised when the blindfolds went back on. I expected that weâ€™d have to be fed by the boys, but instead we were each assigned an assistant â€“ mine was a girl but I think Mumâ€™s was a guy (hmmm...). We had a sinfully sumptuous serving of newly baked scones spread with a lavish coating of rich strawberry jam and topped by huge dollop of freshly whipped cream. I kind of made a pig of myself, and my helper was kept busy wiping blobs of cream from my nose, cheeks and chin. I also managed to dribble my juice down my front. The girl apologized but I take full responsibility. I had a lovely time.
Before we left on the next leg of our tour, there was another trip to the bathroom. We are each quite adept (by now) at doing this while bound and blindfolded... but I neednâ€™t go into detail.
It was around about noon when we left the Sand Castle and headed back towards the village. Contrary to my expectations, the blindfolds stayed on, and I think poor Kelly was gagged once more. By now my arms, and particularly my shoulders, were beginning to ache, and even my breasts were getting a bit sore from the tension of the strap. Still, I didnâ€™t really want it to end too quickly. Itâ€™s like when youâ€™re having a weird dream â€“ you hope itâ€™s over soon, but you donâ€™t want to wake up until you find out how it ends.
It turned out to be a long walk, with the boys once again guiding us. The funny thing is, Regina was now blindfolded as well, and she was reciting directions from memory while being steered by Philip, who had his arms about both her and my waists. I felt his hand slide downwards over my bottom a few times, and his fingers played with the knot holding my sarong in place and with the top of my bikini pants. I thought for a moment that he might be doing the same with Regina, and decided he probably wasnâ€™t. He never went any further, but he gave me some goosebumps. Oh well, I could hardly blame him, a young, red-blooded male in charge of two scantily clad, good-looking chicks in bondage.
Finally we stopped, and Regina asked: â€œIs this it?â€
Philip replied â€œI think it is.â€
The boys took off our blindfolds and then, mercifully, our cuffs and straps. As I massaged my wrists, stretched my arms and rubbed my shoulders, I looked about. We were close to the centre of the village, on the boulevard, in amongst the stores, boutiques and salons. There were people all about. Most of the women and girls were bound in some way; there were a few gags but not many blindfolds. As Iâ€™ve already mentioned, only a brave man would deprive his damsel of her sight on a shopping strip such as this.
Our destination was an establishment called The Chain Store â€“ no need to guess its product line. Regina quickly assured us that we were under no obligation to buy anything â€“ we were here for a free fitting and a gift. So we looked about for a while, fantasized about some of the merchandise, hypothesized about a few items. There appeared to be something for every part of the body and some things that didnâ€™t seem to belong anywhere that I can conceive. The products came in a range of materials, from plastic to platinum. Not everything was a chain, but that was the general theme. As well as accessories like gags, blindfolds and hoods, there was other gear like chain mail bikinis (ouch!); and Kevin showed Kelly a choice range of chastity belts, receiving a very nasty look in return.
The salesgirl measured me up for a beautiful set of fine gold chains â€“ collar, waist, wrists and ankles, with accoutrements that included linking chains which could be connected in different combinations, elbow and knee shackles, and detachable fur lining, indeed everything a fashion-conscious gal could want. Thus outfitted, the three of us were taken into a studio at the rear of the shop and put into gorgeous little Roman-style slavegirl dresses for souvenir photographs. The assistant told me how pretty I looked in my chains, but the fact is that Mum and Kelly were especially stunning.
We were allowed to keep the collars as our gift. Iâ€™m looking at it now as I write this. Itâ€™s elegantly crafted and canâ€™t be cheap. However, Iâ€™m sure the store gets its investment back in the business this generates. We didnâ€™t buy anything at the time, but I know Mum went back this evening, when I had gone off with Philip.
The mystery tour was far from over. Still wearing our complimentary collars, but otherwise unbound (even Kelly), we trekked over the base of the headland west of the village to Pirateâ€™s Cove. According to local lore, or at least the version I had read in the brochure, the island was once a haven for buccaneer; but frankly I donâ€™t believe a word of it. I donâ€™t recall ever reading about pirates operating this far west in the Pacific, at least those of the Blackbeard or Captain Kidd pedigree.
Upon arriving, we were confronted by a land-locked â€“ beached, I suppose youâ€™d say â€“ fully rigged pirate ship, which was of course the faÃ§ade for your typical touristy entertainment area, kiosk and souvenir ship. Every hour during daylight, they put on a show, with the usual cutlass fighting and roaring cannons and salty language and kidnapped maidens. However, to my delight, our mystery tour status qualified us for more than just a seat in the stands. As special guests, we had a role in the show. We were taken backstage and changed into period costumes, the boys as bold buccaneers, us gals as busty wenches. Mum, Kelly and I squeezed into ornate dresses with abundant dÃ©colletage and more than generous cleavage (though I donâ€™t have that much to cleave). Mum wore a fabulous gown with an emerald green lace-up bodice that split open a long, long way down her front, and she looked amazing. Poor Dad didnâ€™t know what he was missing. (We let him know.)
With her showgirl looks, Mum was cast in the lead as Lady Claudia, an Irish noblewoman who really did exist, so we are led to believe, and had been carried off along with her handmaidens (played by Kelly and myself, naturally) during a voyage to the colonies. The first act of the show was the requisite boarding battle, replete with lots of shouting and loud explosions. Upon the opening of the second act, we maidens came on stage for our fate worse than death. We had our hands bound behind our backs by our lusty captors and slung over their shoulders, as we kicked and screamed. That wasnâ€™t all just a performance. It was actually rather terrifying, because the actors had to leap from the deck of the prop ship onto the stage; but they were well-trained, experienced and athletic, so there was no danger. Kelly and I were lashed to the mast, while Mum, after some faux mauling and molesting, was forced to walk the plank. She really did â€“ I could hear the splash when sheâ€™d disappeared over the side â€“ but of course it was into a shallow pool just a metre below, out of sight of the cheering audience. (They cheered as the poor heroine was fed to the sharks?)
Kelly and I got to remain on stage for the rest of the second act, albeit tied all the while to the mast, and we got a big cheer from the crowd at its conclusion. Iâ€™m not sure what was supposed to have happened to the unfortunate captives between the second and third acts, but we werenâ€™t seen again, so I imagine the ill-fated handmaidens were tossed overboard to join their wretched mistress.
By the way, I felt a bit sorry for the boys who only got walk-on parts while we got starring roles; but they didnâ€™t seem to mind.
It was time to move on when we saw the other tour group coming down the road. We told Regina what fantastic fun weâ€™d had, even Mum with her sodden, bedraggled hair and running make-up. We still had one more venue to visit, but in the wake of Pirateâ€™s Cove it was almost an anticlimax, though still very interesting. It was a late luncheon (or early afternoon tea) at the Bayview, which is the ritziest restaurant on the island. But it was with a difference. We went behind the scenes to visit the kitchen and got to sample the various dishes in the company of the head chef.
At the Bayview dining is, de rigueur, sans vue for the ladies, and so all food and drink is prepared with this in mind, designed to appeal to four senses â€“ yes, four, including hearing â€“ rather than the usual sight, smell and taste. In fact, the menu describes a â€œfeminine sixth senseâ€ that takes over and melds the other four, but I take that with a grain of salt. Anyway, the most interesting aspect of the visit was that we tasted each dish both with and without our blindfolds to experience the contrast. It was like eating completely different things, not necessarily better but different. The boys did the same, but they just shut their eyes for the dining-in-the-dark part. I guess theyâ€™re too â€œmanlyâ€ for blindfolds. (Guys and their egos... what can I say?)
On our way out, Sally the maÃ®tresse dâ€™ â€“ yes, another woman in charge; this place really is very progressive â€“ presented us with a final treat, a â€œone adult one child freeâ€ voucher. Now that sounds like just your typical promotional shtick, but it makes the meals for a family of four like ours half-price, a real bargain, and not surprisingly Mum said â€œWeâ€™ll be back.â€
It was closing in on four oâ€™clock when we finally said good-bye to Regina and thanked her for the amazing day. Although it is technically forbidden to tip staff, Mum presented to her, on behalf of all of us, a miniature silver rose, which she clipped onto her choker.
As Mum nodded her consent, Philip and I made a date to meet up after dinner. Then he, Kevin and Kelly left us. As we started walking towards our hotel, I looked around. They had stopped. Philip and Kevin were tying their sisterâ€™s hands behind her back before gagging and blindfolding her. How nice I thought, that they get on so well.
My brother nudged my arm.
â€œNot in the mood, Alex,â€ I deflated him.
â€œDonâ€™t even think about it,â€ Mum pre-empted him.
Back in the suite, we described our adventures to Dad, showed him our lovely collars, and explained to him what heâ€™d missed.
â€œOh, and Mum got ravished by pirates.â€
â€œReally? And how was that?â€
â€œWet,â€ my mother replied. My father just blinked.
Following a brief consultation, the parents announced that for our last night we would be going to the Bayview for dinner. After that, Mum and I both wanted a nap to freshen up. Fortunately for me, Alex was too hyped up to sleep and went downstairs to the games room.
Since weâ€™d decided to dine early, we were ready by five oâ€™clock; and having brought a limited wardrobe, Mum and I wore what we had on the first night, her vermillion gown and my little black dress. It was a pleasant walk in the late afternoon breeze, and when we arrived I was impressed that Sally the maÃ®tresse dâ€™ welcomed Mum and me and Alex by name. Weâ€™d brought our own blindfolds, but the house provided very elegant, very expensive ones (that we didnâ€™t get to keep).
What I hadnâ€™t anticipated was that each night the Bayview staff wore a theme costume, and tonightâ€™s was co-incidentally ancient Roman. Maybe they co-ordinate with the Chain Store for mystery tour guests â€“ who knows? The waiters wore togas (in fact the crimson-edged toga praetexta which only a history nerd like me would knows they shouldnâ€™t have, but of course I kept quiet). The waitresses, including Sally, were wearing tiny, exquisite slavegirl dresses, with golden neckbands, bracelets and anklets. However, unlike those in the hotel restaurant we visited the first night, the female staff didnâ€™t have to serve in chains. Alex expressed disappointment at this, and I saw Dad nod although he said nothing.
I scolded them. â€œWhatâ€™s the big deal?â€ Alex asked. â€œYou try working in a set of chains,â€ I said, and he said â€œI wonâ€™t have to,â€ and I said â€œWhy not?â€ and he said â€œIâ€™m not a girl,â€ and I said â€œYouâ€™re not human,â€ and Dad said â€œBoth of you give it a rest.â€
Naturally I got the last laugh. I poked my tongue at Alex, then put on my blindfold before he could respond in kind. Hey, Iâ€™m not immature, not me!
The sans vue dining was, of course, very nice, although perhaps not as much as that first night, when it was more of a novelty (in a restaurant, that is). We finished around seven thirty, and met up with Philip at our rendezvous point at the western end of the promenade. He was spruced up and looked very handsome. He showed me a pair of stylish bracelets, and I smiled and nodded.
â€œFront or back?â€ he asked.
â€œFront, please.â€
He took each of my hands in turn, placed the ring around my wrist, then brought them together and secured them with a tiny clip.
â€œMay I?â€ he then said. He took from his jacket pocket a piece of slender cable about a metre long, made of two braided strands of teal and burgundy coloured leather, inlaid with multi-hued glass beads, with a silver clasp on one end.
â€œOf courseâ€¦ please,â€ I said.
He fixed it to the small ring on the front of my collar. He ran the strap down to my wrists and looped it around the link between my bracelets, so that when he drew in the slack my hands were pulled upwards to chest level. It was a simple but effective way of keeping me in his control.
â€œWeâ€™ll be back before midnight,â€ I told my parents.
â€œHow about eight?â€ Alex intruded.
â€œMake it ten,â€ Mum conceded. She came up close to me, and Philip stood back, though still holding onto the strap so my arms had to stretch out.
â€œRemember, Sarah, just because a boy puts you on a leash, that doesnâ€™t mean he owns you.â€
â€œYes, Mummy dear.â€
â€œI mean it, Sarah.â€
â€œSorry. I know.â€
â€œThatâ€™s okay, honey. Have a good time.â€
Mum and Dad and Alex headed back to the hotel. Philip and I turned into the promenade. A couple of blocks down was a place with bright coloured lights, loud thumping music and lots of teenagers milling about. A flashing neon sign proclaimed this to be the Underage Disco. I did a double take. I can see what theyâ€™re getting at â€“ underage means alcohol-free â€“ but itâ€™s nevertheless a bit creepy.
Admission was free, so Philip pushed through a small mob crowding the entrance, leading me inside by the length of chain between my collar and my wrists. Indoors was just as congested. It was also pretty informal. Most of the boys were in jeans or shorts and T-shirts, most of the girls in bikinis or miniskirts and micro-tops. A few, like us, were more elegantly attired, but nobody seemed to care one way or another. About half the girls were bound in some way, and here and there I could spot the locals by their distinctive chain-style chokers.
The music was good (that is, fast, loud and non-stop), the drinks were free and the dancing was frenetic, if a little difficult for those of us who were bound. There were a couple of sets when the girls had to wear blindfolds on the dance floor, and this turned into a game with lots of â€œaccidentalâ€ nudging and bumping. However, after not much more than an hour, I developed a whopping headache, so we went for a walk along the beach and then back to the Regatta. Mum and Dad were surprised to see us so early. Philip didnâ€™t mind cutting our disco visit short, since we went out onto the balcony for some kiss and cuddle.
When I read this over, it seems like everything just fizzled out, but the time with Philip this evening was in fact the best part of my entire dayâ€¦ itâ€™s just that there isnâ€™t that much to write about. We had one last bit of fun when it was time to go. I was lying on the banana lounge, and he tied my wrists, which were still cuffed, to the bar along the top. Before I realized what he was up to and could offer some resistance, he gagged me with â€“ of all things â€“ my lime green bikini, which Mum had washed and put out on the balcony to dry. He then said good-bye to my parents and left; and it was ages before Alex wandered out and found me, helpless and starting to shiver. Of course, he had no intention of releasing me, and it wasnâ€™t until Dad asked about my whereabouts that I was freed. (Now I could have attracted their attention earlier, or even wriggled my way free, but I had this funny feeling that after our first â€“ and almost certainly only â€“ date, it was important that Philip should leave me with something to remember him. So it was rather romantic, in a way.)
In the bedroom, I declared my brotherâ€™s blindfold law null and void and began writing up todayâ€™s diary entryâ€¦ which, with these words, comes to an end.
PS. Mum got back to the Chain Store this evening after sending Dad and Alex back to the hotel. I hope she picked up something for her number one daughter.
Sarahâ€™s Journal, Day Seven
I am writing this entry on the plane thatâ€™s taking us home from one of the best weeks of my short (so far) and happy life. Everyone on board is feeling a bit mopey. Weâ€™re elated from the amazing experiences and adventures weâ€™ve had, but sad to be leaving it all behind. We are, every one of us, promising ourselves that we will be back.
As usual I was up before dawn. And as usual I went out onto the balcony to see the sun rise and wait for my family to rise. We were blessed with another perfectly fine day. Indeed, the only cloud on the horizon was our impending departure this afternoon. Looking down the hill, over the promenade, the boulevard and the foreshore, and out across the bay, I watched the village slowly come to life. Some distance offshore, a medium-sized cruise ship was anchored on the leeward side of the rocky island which shelters the cove from the open sea.
I went back inside to get changed, and of course Alex was just waking up as I entered the bedroom. I didnâ€™t wait for him to say anything, thinking: Well, this is our final day, so I should humour the enfant terrible one last time. So I reached for my sarong which was lying on the dressing table, folded it several times and wrapped it around my head.
â€œMake it tight,â€ he said.
â€œAround your neck?â€
He called my bluff, so I tied it over my eyes and tilted my head back to show him I couldnâ€™t see out past the bottom edge. I shuffled through the top drawer of the dresser until I felt coarse fabric. I took it out.
â€œThatâ€™s your khaki capris.â€
â€œIdiot.â€ I was holding my denim shorts. They would do. I pulled out another item.
â€œThatâ€™s your yellow bikini top.â€
â€œNice try.â€ I could feel the fine lace trim. It was my black Panache balconnet bra. â€œBut good choice. You should be a fashion consultant.â€ That deflated him. I felt about in the drawer until I was sure I had my hands on the correct item. (I could tell by touch that it was the yellow top because itâ€™s the only one with ruched cups.)
I groped my way carefully out of the room. I half-expected my brother to trip me up, just for laughs. His anti-big-sister tactics are generally more subtle; but itâ€™s better to be safe than sorry. In fact, I made it out of the bedroom with no mishap. Then it was off to the bathroom, and after that back to the balcony to read a magazine. However, after maybe thirty minutes of blessed peace and quiet, Alex came to join me. Without a word he dumped the four gags I brought from the workshop the other day on the table.
â€œWho said you could go through my things?â€ I demanded.
â€œNo one. Why do you ask?â€
â€œBecause I donâ€™t like people going through my things.â€
â€œThatâ€™s understandable. I wouldnâ€™t like it either.â€
There is no use arguing with my brotherâ€™s relentless, twisted logic.
â€œWhich one do you want?â€ he continued.
â€œWant for what?â€
â€œDuh... To put in your mouth, dummy.â€
â€œHow about none?â€
â€œThatâ€™s not an option.â€
It was easier to acquiesce than to argue, so I gave in and pointed to the ball-plug gag. I should have foreseen his response, but I donâ€™t really blame myself. Alex is predictably unpredictable.
â€œWell, it wonâ€™t be that one. Which one next?â€
â€œAlex, Iâ€™m not going to play your game. Itâ€™s that one or nothing.â€
He shrugged, grabbed it and tossed it into my lap. I put it between my jaws and buckled it in place. Alex looked very pleased with himself, until he realized that once I was gagged there was no fun in tormenting me with his gallimaufry of gobbledygook. Since I couldnâ€™t answer back, there was no point in answering at all, so I just ignored him and went back to my magazine. After a manful effort to distract me, he gave up in frustration and retreated inside.
Eventually the parents made their appearance. That was the cue to remove my gag... but I have to say, after almost an hour it still felt comfortable. My jaws were not the least bit stiff. This has definitely become my favourite gag.
â€œGood morning, youâ€™re finally up. I guess you were just getting in a little last minute...â€
â€œ... packing,â€ Mum finished my sentence. â€œHow about you?â€
â€œThe packing? Was just about to.â€
Alex was in the bedroom, staring out the window, no doubt at the naked sunbathers on the hotel lawn four storeys below.
â€œWhereâ€™s your gag?â€ he demanded. Who gave you permission to take it off?â€
â€œNo one. Why do you ask?â€
Recognizing his own words, he let it go. Arguing with his own brand of logic was too much even for the likes of him. Yet oddly, he didnâ€™t insist on the blindfold as we packed away everything we werenâ€™t wearing or wouldnâ€™t need before lunchtime. I donned my collar from the Chain Store; I also left out my sarong but didnâ€™t put it on. It was sad to be getting ready to leave the island; but it had been a fantastic week. We hauled our bags out to the living room and put them with Mum and Dadâ€™s.
â€œCheer up, kids,â€ Dad said. â€œLetâ€™s go downstairs and get some breakfast.â€
â€œI canâ€™t,â€ I said. â€œPhilipâ€™s coming over.â€
â€œNo worries. Weâ€™ll grab a table outside the entrance where we can see whoâ€™s going in and out.â€
It was decided. I turned to Alex. â€œOne last time?â€
He grinned, and within seconds he was holding his gift pack from the airport. It had gotten a lot of use over the past six days and was starting to look the worse for wear, but he hadnâ€™t put it away with his other stuff. He pulled out the leather strap, I placed my hands behind my back and he tied them. Mum put on her â€œWhy not?â€ smile, faced away from Dad and presented her arms for him. But he surprised me when he pressed in close behind her and reached around to her front.
â€œWhat are you doing?â€ I thought.
Mum was wearing her little powder blue sundress which has a drawstring belt. He untied it, slid it from around her waist and bound her wrists with it. He tied the loose ends to the belt loop at the back of the dress.
â€œNice touch,â€ I thought. Then a shadow fell across my eyes.
Alex had come up behind me, and in pure reflex I shook my head vigorously to resist. He forced me into a kneeling position by the simple expedient of ramming his knees into the back of mine, and as I crumpled towards the floor he put the weight of his body on my back and shoulders.
â€œDonâ€™t hurt your sister,â€ Dad called out; but I wasnâ€™t distressed at all, just surprised, and I let him complete the blindfold. He was using my sarong.
Alex took me by the arms and helped me to my feet. â€œDo we gag them?â€ he asked.
â€œThatâ€™s up to your mother and sister.â€
â€œLetâ€™s leave that at least until after weâ€™ve eaten,â€ Mum said.
Alex grumbled something and began pushing me towards the door.
â€œBe careful there,â€ Mum said. That was unexpected, because I assumed she had been blindfolded as well. But Dad said â€œWait upâ€ and there was a brief hiatus, so I think he was just slow in applying hers.
As we were guided out into the corridor and to the lift, it brought back fond memories of our arrival six days ago. I immediately rid my brain of those thoughts â€“ I decided I wasnâ€™t going to spend the last day in paradise reminiscing about the first. Nevertheless, it was like dÃ©jÃ vu, working up a mental image of my surroundings, sensing the presence of someone else in the elevator, trying to orient myself as we crossed the lobby to the bistro. Dad found us a table which was, as he promised, near the entrance â€“ I could hear lots of people coming and going.
Dad and Alex each ate a hearty feast of bacon, eggs and thickly buttered toast â€“ basically one huge cholesterol molecule. Mum and I had muesli, croissants and juice. To make it interesting, Dad untied Mum and Alex took off my blindfold, so she had to feed me while I provided the necessary instructions to minimize the mess. That was fun, and not easy to do, since her success in getting the food or drink to my mouth effectively gagged me, so we had to coordinate our actions, like a ballet movement, but with drips, dribbles and crumbs.
We had hardly finished when I looked up and saw Philip coming up the roadway towards the hotel. Kelly was with him. She wasnâ€™t bound, but she was topless! She was wearing just bikini pants, her bra slung casually over one shoulder. Now I should make three points here. First of all, I wasnâ€™t shocked or upset, just a little surprised. Second, while there werenâ€™t a lot of bare breasts to be seen in the village, thereâ€™s no rule against it (which is why Alex had his visual treat earlier on the balcony). Thirdly, I already knew that Kelly was not the sort of girl who would be shy about showing off her wares. Of course, Alex smiled broadly and didnâ€™t even try to shift his focus from her chest area. Kelly just smiled back and with as blasÃ© an attitude as you can imagine put her top back on as she sat down â€“ no different from the way you take your cap off when you take your seat at the table (but sort of in reverse, I suppose). Mum and Dad gave me a strange â€œWhat have you been up to?â€ look, but I just shrugged â€“ I donâ€™t really have so much to show thatâ€™s itâ€™s worth taking my top off.
Philip told us that theyâ€™d already eaten, so after a couple of minutes we got up to leave. Philip and Alex switched partners and tied our hands again. While they were busy with us, Mum asked if she could have her blindfold off, to see the sights for the last time. When Dad agreed, I said, â€œSame here, no blindfold please.â€
I asked Philip to get my sarong from Alex and fasten it around my waist, but my brother naturally had a better idea. He tied one end to my choker, and the other end to Kellyâ€™s â€“ she was wearing a slim, black leather, dog-collar style â€“ so we were tethered close enough that we had to walk one slightly behind the other. I took the lead as we set off down the hill towards the village.
Our last stroll was not very exciting but charming nonetheless, with a final tour of the shops and morning tea at one of the sidewalk cafÃ©s. Things got a little more interesting when we saw something happening at the eastern end of the bay, at the dockside where small ferryboats were bringing passengers from the cruise ship moored offshore. We went closer to check it out. Like cruise ship passengers everywhere, these came in a variety of ages and shapes, but most appeared to be young. There were a few families. The funny part was watching them, especially the couples, go into the small terminal building located at the edge of the quay. Theyâ€™d go in one door hand-in-hand and come out the other with the female half of the pair being led bound and blindfolded. I just think itâ€™s amusing that they could hardly wait to be ashore to get started.
All good things must come to their inevitable conclusion, and as the sunâ€™s inexorable passage across the crystal clear sky passed the meridian, I said farewell to Philip. I had kind of expected to finish with a bang, some grand gesture, a sort of big bondage extravaganza. Instead, it had been just a nice, pleasant, carefree morning together, ending with a good-bye kiss and a promise to keep in touch. He offered to accompany us to the airfield to see us off, and Kelly was sweet enough to volunteer to come along, but I told them that this was too much to ask of them. I last saw Philip as we re-entered the hotel lobby. He was starting down the hill and didnâ€™t look back.
There were two couples already on the bus when we boarded. The women were blindfolded, and this was a good idea, so Mum and I joined them. That way, our last visual memory of the resort would not be of it receding into the past. We took off at one oâ€™clock and expect to make the connecting flight around seven this evening. If all goes well, we will be home by midnight.

### Re: THE RESORT (Revised and Completed)

Post by Qarl » Tue Mar 30, 2010 10:41 am

> sarobah, the sexy feminist author, who happens to adore a very tight tie wrote: It was still only mid-morning when we crossed over the ridgeline that runs westward from a jagged outcropping of the peak. At the crest, we were treated to a breathtaking vista, the entire western half of the island. The ground fell away steeply, the verdant lower slopes still enveloped in shadow, to a couple of deeply embayed beaches separated by a rugged headland. Off to our left was another promontory, the one with the airstrip which looked just as perilously narrow from this location as it had on our approach from above. The more northerly bay I recognized from the map on the resort brochure as the inlet to Pioneer Valley. It was flanked on the north-east by a large peninsula, something like two kilometres long and bisected lengthways by a craggy spine of barren stone. Beyond that (according to my memory of the map) lay Adventure Valley.

Sarah,
This tale from a TUG lover's "journal" is exquisitely written, and lovingly edited. I'm amazed at your ability to describe the geography so thoroughly, and still be enthralling. Throughout the experience, the dialog, action, settings, and development all make it a great story, and truly would be enough to make it enjoyable. Oh but Sarah. Your vivid depictions of the sensory experience -- rich scents and flavors, subtle textures, sounds that beckon, and transporting sights, (I'd swear I've been there with you) along with the tapestry of emotions that all of the above evoke, make it a complete immersion into a world that I instinctively love. I want to go there, stay there, and I hate to leave.
Thanks for your sharing your love and your gift!

### Re: THE RESORT (Revised and Completed)

Post by milagros317 » Sun Sep 05, 2010 8:54 am

Great story! Love the detailed descriptions of the bondage and the plot.
I love bondage, tickling, and women's bare feet.
http://www.mtjpub.com/ezines/TrappedandTickled.html

### Re: THE RESORT (Revised and Completed)

Post by Hiddenwishes » Mon Jul 18, 2011 9:10 pm

Nice, detailed and long. Doesn't everyone hate the great stories that are only a few paragraphs? So good, but over so fast.

### Re: THE RESORT (Revised and Completed)

Post by edarelleb » Thu Aug 04, 2011 12:16 am

Wonderful kept me reading non stop.

### Re: THE RESORT (Revised and Completed)

Post by sarobah » Fri Aug 12, 2011 6:36 pm

Thanks.
I am actually in the process of rewriting this story AGAIN (!), definitely for the last time.
If you want to see the work in progress, here it is...
http://www.scribd.com/doc/63087861/AIR- ... emqqihx2zb
http://www.scribd.com/doc/62203599/The- ... lw28mnxg16
~ Sarah
Last edited by sarobah on Thu Aug 25, 2011 2:36 am, edited 1 time in total.

### Re: THE RESORT (Revised and Completed)

Post by injareco » Wed Jan 15, 2014 8:54 pm

I loved the story