Part 2.
I opened my eyes. It was dark. I gazed out the window. A faint pink radiance fanned across the eastern horizon. Above it, a pallid crescent moon hovered amidst wisps of cotton-candy cloud. I’d awoken from a nightmare. I had been running through a forest. Vines drooping from overhanging trees formed a curtain across the pathway, clutching and clawing at my arms and legs as I tried to escape some formless peril. In the distance I could hear shouts and the pounding of a drum, growing louder and closer...
There came a crash and a thump and a bang, all at once, battering on the door. A loud voice, harsh and urgent, was yelling “Wake up! Open up!”
I looked across the room to where Mary lay, still serenely asleep, angelic face illuminated by the dim glow of the clock on her bedside table. It read 5:27, almost an hour before sunrise. On the other side of the door, I could hear the shouting very distinctly now, but also, reassuringly, laughter. I was already beginning to suspect what was happening, but my mind was still fuzzy. I stumbled out of bed and pulled on my dressing gown. I was too drowsy to bother searching for my slippers under the bed.
I unlocked the door and opened it. I peered into the corridor, squinting through slumbery eyes, blinking away the blur. I was confronted by monstrous creatures swathed in hooded robes, brandishing weapons and rattling chains. That couldn’t be right. I was still in that dreamy twilight of half-asleep and half-awake. I shook my head and the rush of blood brought crystal-clear clarity. There were two figures framed in the doorway, men wearing hooded jackets. The breast pocket of the guy in front carried a logo or emblem of some kind. I looked closer, adjusting my eyes to the gloom, to understand the ominous import of that symbol. It shifted into focus – a picture of Bart Simpson.
I giggled, and someone behind Bartman growled at me to “Be quiet and get out here.” The owner of the voice was a young woman. She wore a black, red-lace-trimmed corselet and fishnet stockings, scarlet garters and stiletto-heeled boots. Her face was covered by a birdlike mask, but I recognized her voice. She was Jenna, one of the third-year residents.
I looked at her skimpy attire and at her track-suited companions. “You must be cold,” was all I could say.
That was a mistake. She grabbed my arm and dragged me into the hallway. She didn’t use much force, but only because I didn’t struggle. I was still too dazed to resist when she ripped my robe off my shoulders and tossed it through the doorway onto the floor. Meanwhile, the two men had pushed past me into the room. Poor Mary was bundled out of her bed still more asleep than awake, mumbling incoherently. We were hustled into the corridor, which was already noisy and congested. Mary and I occupied one of the rooms near the end of the hall, so most had already been evacuated. There were about twenty girls, all of us in our undies or nighties and already beginning to shiver. The less fortunate were clad only in bra and panties; a lucky few had on more substantial pyjamas. I was wearing just a camisole and knickers. Mary was in a flimsy chemise and wrapped her arms around her body to keep out the cold.
We were instructed to stand at attention, faces to the wall, in a single line. There was some quiet grumbling, and Mary was yelled at for being slow to unfold her arms. There were a number of males milling about, but Jenna appeared to be calling the shots, relentlessly barking out orders. The frosty air was enveloping me like an icy shroud, and it took all my willpower just to stand there, stiff and still, staring at the blank wall. It was by now pretty obvious what was going on. Mayday.
I considered whether I should acquiesce and comply, wondering what would happen if I didn’t. The three or four girls who’d been laughing and joking had stopped; but I wasn’t aware of any anger or fear. We outnumbered our captors by two or three to one, and yet no one offered any resistance. Some, like Mary, were still too sleepy and disoriented to fight back. Others, like me, had worked out what was going on but kept to the script because we were curious to learn what was in store for us. Most of us were also too focused on coping with the cold to fight back.
One of the men called out “All clear!” and Jenna commanded us to put our hands behind our backs. I heard a couple more grumbles from somewhere down the line, but nothing more. No one made any attempt to defy her authority. A pair of her minions then started at one end of the queue, stopping at each girl, who whimpered or groaned or giggled as she was bound. When they reached me, I felt the familiar thrill as a pair of hands seized and crossed my wrists. As the henchman started trussing them, all I could think was that he wasn’t doing a very good job. He was using what felt like nylon cord, but never bothered to cinch the loops, so I could have wriggled out of it in no time. However, Jenna was checking his work and showed him the proper way. That intrigued me. When this is all over, I said to myself, I must have a talk with Jenna.
Mary, next to me, moaned softly as her hands were being tied. We caught a glance at each other out of the corners of our eyes, not daring to turn our heads. I gave her an encouraging smile and she responded with a nod – too much. “Don’t move!” Jenna shouted. Mary jolted with fright, but after that she kept still. The girl on the other side, Christina, laughed nervously when her turn came, and she also copped a tongue lashing. Whereas I tried to play it cool; but I recoiled and gasped when icicle fingers brushed against my bare shoulders. Our abductors were blindfolding us, wrapping bandanas or something similar around our heads. I earned myself a salty reprimand for my flinch, and Mister Cold Hands further retaliated by yanking the ends of the cloth with unnecessary force, and binding the knot so tightly that my head jerked back. I bit my lower lip to suppress a yelp.
Once we were all secured, Mistress Jenna moved along the line, scrutinizing our bonds and blindfolds. She seized my wrists, tugging downwards and sideways. She was not gentle, and I almost lost my balance. “Careful, sweetie,” she whispered. Then, because some of the girls must have been getting fidgety and anxious, she announced to all of us: “Stay calm, ladies. Once we’re outside, you can go free.” But I had my doubts that it would be so simple. There had to be a catch. There’s always a catch.
It had been maybe half an hour since we’d been roused from our beds. It wasn’t getting any warmer, and after the adrenalin surge of the initial excitement had subsided, the chill really set in. We were huddled close enough that our arms touched and I could feel Mary’s and Christina’s goosebumps; but we were not so snug that we could share our body warmth. Nobody dared complain; yet no one was in a hurry to move. I quickly worked out what was causing the delay. From the far end of the hallway, where the stairs were located, I could hear rhythmic scuffling sounds and muted voices. Despite my blindfold, I could sense what was happening. The upper floors of Clermont House, where the senior girls lived, were being emptied.
Finally, Jenna clapped loudly a couple of times. “Right turn, ladies,” she ordered. “Bunch up. More, ladies. That’s better. Now, quick march.”
We didn’t march, we shuffled. Our escort made us close up until we formed a single mass. It made our progress awkward but also made it safer for us to proceed blindfolded. Because our bodies were in contact, we could each use the movements of the girl in front as our cue, so long as the very first prisoner was properly guided. At the same time it was bizarrely sensual. I could sniff the fragrance of Mary’s hair to my front, and on the back of my neck I felt the tickle of Christina’s breath. Her bosom snuggled between my upper arms and shoulder blades, and my boobs pressed into Mary’s back, while her bound hands nestled in another intimate part of me. She was nervously clenching and unclenching her fists. That, and the jostling and swaying movements as we shambled down the corridor, made the sensations very pleasant, but just added another level of unease to our predicament.
A shudder passed along the queue as we slowed to enter the stairwell. With superfluous advice from our escort to “Take it easy,” I warily negotiated the steps, feeling with my toes for the edge of each before committing myself. It was an interesting challenge; but there was always the danger that one of the girls above me would lose her footing and bring us all tumbling down. Our guards did give us a helping hand, although sometimes they helped themselves. Oh well, I thought, an occasional grope is better than a broken leg.
Somehow we made it to the lobby without catastrophe. As we passed the first floor, I heard giggling and murmuring and a tell-tale shuffling as the first-year girls joined the rear end of our bound and sightless procession.
The corridors and stairs were at least carpeted. The lobby was paved with marble tiles that felt like a sheet of ice under my bare feet. Traversing it, we were surrounded by a confused clutter of voices, mostly male, low-key and loud. Somewhere someone burst into creepy, high-pitched laughter. Elsewhere there were cheers and clapping, and off in the distance the metallic screech of a megaphone. Disoriented, but more inquisitive than apprehensive, I wished my blindfold would come loose so I could get a sense of what was happening.
“Bunch up, keep moving!”
I heard a girl squealing and then swearing.
“Watch your step,” a shrill voice responded.
“How can I watch my step when I can’t see?” she yelled back, quite reasonably. To that there was no riposte.
As we filed out of the building, we encountered a blast of a frigid morning air. Like hitting an invisible wall, the head of the column came to a sudden halt. The loss of momentum travelled as a wave down the line, each girl bumping into the one in front. I nudged Mary with my breasts. Sensitized by the cold and the excitement, they tingled at the touch. Christina knocked into me from behind, and I fondled her in the only part of her I could reach. She laughed and earned herself another rebuke from our escort.
“For that I’ll make you pay,” she whispered.
We started again. The stone slabs of the portico were even colder, more slippery and more treacherous than the lobby floor. It took every effort of concentration to maintain my balance and manoeuvre down the steps and onto the grass. My toes curled as they sank into the dew-sodden turf. Someone took my arm and guided me to a spot where I was told to “Stay!” There was movement and noise all around.
It didn’t take any great feat of logic to realize that we were being marshalled into ranks on the lawn directly outside the college. I still had no idea what exactly was going on, but I was beginning to appreciate how well-planned this operation was. The preparations must have been in the works ages before our mini-mutiny the previous Friday, and I began to wonder if all along we had been manipulated.
My immediate concern, though, was to keep warm. Nervous tension, embarrassment and the stimulating effects of our close-order pageant had made us all perspire, but as soon as we stopped moving the beads and rivulets of sweat became an icy glaze on our unprotected skin. I wiggled my toes, knocked my knees, swivelled my hips, twiddled my fingers and flexed my shoulders, the most I could do, but I earned another sharp reprimand. Yet I was hardly alone, because the air was filled with braying demands to remain still. I knew we were turned to the east, towards the building, because after a while I felt the delicate heat of the rising sun on my face. A congenial breeze wafted around us, caressing my skin and smoothing out the goosebumps.
Our guards removed our blindfolds, but our hands remained bound behind our backs. Since it was only just getting light, my eyes quickly adjusted. There were around sixty to seventy of us captives, just about all the girls who had stayed in the college over the weekend. We were arranged in five rows, mine in the middle. Since none of us was properly dressed, we were all still shivering, but nobody moved from their assigned spot or spoke a word. On the edge of the lawn, spilling onto the roadway, was a crowd of several hundred people. I didn’t recognize many faces, so they were not residents of Clermont or Lakeside They were in a jovial mood – it was a party atmosphere, which should not have surprised me. Mayday had been a major spectator event on campus for decades. Nevertheless, I’m sure those gathered to witness this year’s performance had not anticipated anything quite so dramatic.
Although we formed the centrepiece of the action, the men from Lakeside – who mainly stayed on their side of the cul-de-sac – were putting on their own show. Some were cheering, others jeering, many chanting stuff I couldn’t understand over the clamour. There were wolf whistles lauding our state of undress, which I resented, although modesty was not my biggest issue. Like the rest of our audience, the Lakesiders were amply clad against the cold.
I scanned the mob and there, with his characteristic bemused grin, was my David.
Most of the Lakeside men were passive bystanders. By the looks of it, no more than a dozen had taken part in the raid. They could be identified by the trophies tucked into their belts – items of plundered women’s underwear. And it was in seeing their small numbers that it struck me how easily we’d been conquered. However, the most extraordinary part of all this was that the apparent ringleaders were not from Lakeside at all. They were our own Clermont sisters. There were six or seven of them. The masks had come off, but all wore the same dominatrix meets showgirl ensemble as Jenna. On that late autumn morning, they must have been as frozen to the bones as we were.
Also present was a contingent of campus security officers. They kept a close watch on the proceedings but did not intervene or interfere as the number of onlookers continued to grow, no doubt as word spread around campus. Eventually, the senior officer spoke to the woman in charge – a postgrad named Camilla who was a member of the House Committee – and she conferred with her lieutenants. I was surprised, and somewhat dismayed, to have it confirmed that the Lakesiders had a secondary role in the event. As we stood there bound and shivering, awaiting our fate, the hard-hearted guards who took over now were not our male adversaries from across the road but members of our own sex, from our own college.
From the position of the sun just above the horizon, I could tell that it had now been an hour since our abduction. And yet we were made to stand there for another hour, during which time very little happened. The strict discipline was relaxed, and we were allowed to stamp our feet and even jog on the spot to keep warm. We were forbidden to otherwise move or to talk. Any girl who spoke was threatened with a gag.
Camilla and her henchwomen took turns to watch over us, two or three at a time, while the rest mingled with the Lakesiders. In their tiny costumes, surrounded and almost inundated by the unruly mob which surged around them as if to absorb and assimilate them, they looked small and vulnerable, almost pathetic. Every so often I saw one of them gaze in our direction with a wistful expression. There are times and situations when there is more dignity in being the captive than the captor.
At last, Camilla mounted the portico and addressed us. It was a lengthy speech, but the gist was that Clermont House was, for the next five days, the property of Lakeside Hall. Dissenters were advised to make “other arrangements” for accommodation. I had no idea what that entailed. We weren’t told what to expect, just to “be prepared for a few changes.” But I was quite certain that none of this was lawful. Yet the campus cops didn’t seem to have a problem, so long as things didn’t get out of hand. And nobody else raised any objections – not our audience, and not us, the victims, who remained totally passive throughout. It was like a weird dream. You don’t like it, you want it to be over, but you want to see how it ends.
Then, finally, came the welcome announcement. “In a few minutes you can go back inside, get dressed, have your breakfast.” Audible sighs of relief swept along the lines, and I felt the elation, though I remained doubtful that our ordeal was really at an end. It was too simple. There had to be more. Still, it was a relief when the guards released us from our bonds. My hands were becoming numb, and not just from the cold. I massaged my wrists to restore the circulation, rubbed my arms and thighs to warm them, entertained pleasant thoughts of a hot shower and a hot breakfast. Meanwhile, from the rapidly thinning spectator crowd, I could hear murmurs of both satisfaction and disappointment.
“One last thing,” Camilla said, when quiet was restored. Her wicked smile portended the bad news I was anticipating. “These prisoners will remain behind.” She began reading from a list. As I recognized one name after another, my heart sank. Mine was the tenth and last. The other girls, as they were dismissed, gave us sympathetic looks and feeble shrugs, but they were jostled back into the building; and soon we were alone on the lawn with our guards. The security detail dispersed the remnants of the crowd, although the Lakeside boys retreated only as far as their home turf.
It was time for us, the members of the Clermont House Committee, to pay for our alleged misdeeds. On Friday night we had resolved that none of us should leave the college premises for the nine-day break, in case any Mayday-related trouble flared up. That decision had now come back to haunt us... except for Camilla and Zoë, whose black corselets and fishnet stockings exposed – amongst other things – the betrayal of their sisters. The funny thing was that I didn’t recall them having been especially vocal in opposition to our revolt. That convinced me even more that the entire affair had been a set-up. I wondered what reward Camilla and Zoë and the other traitors were expecting for their defection.
We were ordered to sit, in an inward-facing circle, cross-legged, hands clasped behind our heads. The dread cold returned as the dew on the grass soaked through my knickers. Joanne, the head of the committee, was directly opposite me, shivering in a lacy brassiere and g-string panties. There was something odd about her appearance, and it took me a while to work out what it was. She was wearing her bra inside out. It looked like, during the raid, she had been bundled quickly out of bed and had just enough time to grab her undies and pull them on. (I found out later that she was with her boyfriend when the takeover commenced, that it was he who handed her over to the enemy.)
We studied each others’ faces. Several rolled their eyes as a couple of our guards began haranguing us about our evil ways. I didn’t really listen. Then we were made to stand up, one by one. Joanne was first. One of the men pulled her arms behind her back. He was not gentle, and she swayed and staggered as he bound her wrists and elbows. She looked stunned as he looped more rope around her upper arms and drew it tight, wrenching her shoulders back and thrusting out her chest. She gritted her teeth and curled her lips in revulsion as he held a large red ball-gag in front of her mouth. As she started to protest, he forced it past her lips. As she chomped and gulped, her eyes bulged – until the blindfold went on.
The other girls sat watching in mute bewilderment, as each in turn was ordered to stand up. I, most junior of the group, was last. Just before the cloth went over my eyes, I looked around. It was a strange sight, a circle of scantily clad young women bound, gagged and blindfolded, shivering and sweating at the same time, facing inward towards each other but unseeing, writhing and wriggling, making incomprehensible noises through bulbous gags, some straining frantically and others feebly at their bonds. I offered no resistance, but it was a rough tie-up. I think the guy was frustrated that I didn’t react more. “That will do,” Camilla told him.
The final indignity came when we were pushed into a straight line and halters were looped about our necks. Tethered with less than half an arm’s length between each other, we were marched back towards our college. I heard Joanne swear through her gag, and a laughing, belated warning from someone to “Mind that first step.” We mounted the portico without further injury and stumbled back into the lobby. There was silence all around, and it was impossible to tell if we had an audience.
We were herded off to the left, where a short passageway leads from the lobby into a small room that is normally used for storage. I was trying to imagine what my fellow captives must be thinking and feeling; but for me the greatest concern was once again that accursed floor under my bare feet – the wooden boards were highly polished, as smooth and as cold as the marble paving in the lobby. I must have made a noise just thinking about it, because a voice barked in my ear to keep quiet.
We were again arranged in a circle, a very tight one due to our halters, and ordered to sit cross-legged once more. Except for some heavy breathing, which came out from the sides of our ball-gags as ragged, rasping sounds, no one made any sound or moved at all. By now we were resigned to our fate as hostages. But though we had no idea what was coming, I felt once more the uncanny compulsion to see it through. I wondered if I had a choice.
We must have sat there, immobile, bound, gagged and blindfolded, until noon. By then it had warmed up slightly, but the floor was implacably hard under my numbing bottom and cramping legs. Because of the shortness of our tethers, we were forced to lean forward, which after a while exerted severe stress on our backs and bellies. The rope around my upper arms was very tight, putting an unrelenting strain on my shoulders and chest, making it hard enough to breathe even discounting the crimson orb lodged between my jaws.
There was noise and movement outside the room, but all that really existed in my little world were, apart from my thoughts, the touch of the girls’ knees to my left and right, the puffing and panting and the occasional muffled moans. I tried to occupy my mind with pleasant images, and when that didn’t work, with unpleasant ones – anything to distract me from the tedium, tension and discomfort.
Around midday, someone came in and fed us a sparse lunch consisting of a sandwich and a glass of milk. It was one girl at a time. Only our gags were removed, and replaced as soon as we’d eaten. After that, thank heavens, we were taken to the toilet; but it involved another trek across the lobby to the ground floor bathroom. This time, I could hear noise and movement all about as we shuffled across the chamber. We were made to line up outside, untethered and taken in one by one. Our handler was a female, but from behind my blindfold I couldn’t tell if she was one of Camilla’s accomplices or a resident conscripted for this rather awkward duty. Her job was to put me in position and... well, my delicate sensibilities forbid elaboration, but I was glad I only had to relieve my bladder.
On the way back to the room that had become our prison cell, our guards saw fit to remove our blindfolds, no doubt so we could see for ourselves what our Friday night rebellion had wrought. The lobby was as crowded as I’ve ever seen it. There were dozens of young guys from Lakeside, moving in or out of the building, heading to or from the stairways that lead to the upper floors, or just lounging about revelling in their ascendancy. There were even more girls milling around, and were still in their nighties and undies, so it seemed they had not been allowed to return to their dorms. Some formed little isolated knots, looking dazed and uncertain, clinging to the walls and corners, keeping a distance between themselves and the males. Others were mixing freely with the guys, chatting and smiling and flirting. A few had been pressed into service as waitresses and were busy dispensing drinks and snacks. No one appeared to be showing concern or anger or outrage. Yet everyone stopped to watch our little procession pass by, and most of the faces registered some degree of sympathy. Nevertheless, while nobody said more than a hushed word or two, there were a few mocking laughs and some self-conscious sniggers and chuckles.
I was at the very front of the line. We had been leashed once more, and I remember feeling resentful that I was the girl most exposed. My gag was causing me to salivate uncontrollably, and a little stream dribbled from both sides of my mouth and down my jaw, to drip onto my chest and tickle into my cleavage. Adding to my embarrassment, with my elbows wrenched behind my back by the rope, the strain pushed out my boobs. Because it was still quite cool, and in my keyed up state, I had become stimulated and was showing it through the thin fabric of my camisole. That drew some laughs and comments. But the peculiar thing is that, rather than being horrified or mortified, the ordeal made me feel nice and tingly inside. I actually laughed, and even though it came out as more of a gurgle than a giggle, Zoë who had a grip on my left arm swung her head around to stare at me, with a comically quizzical frown.
Blindfolded again, we resumed our silent, sightless vigil in the back room until the rapidly falling temperature told us it was nightfall. We were given a light dinner in the same manner as our lunch. After a repeat of the bathroom ritual, and another couple of hours sitting in our circle, we were taken to our beds. We were assigned three girls to a room on the third floor – in mine it was Joanne, a third-year named Liz and myself. We were untied and ungagged, though our blindfolds remained on. We had to share a single bed, while one of our female guards occupied the other, to make sure we didn’t misbehave. We were not allowed to speak or to communicate in any other way. I was in the middle, on a bed not designed for three, and suffice it to say that it was cosy. After one very strange day, sleeping off my nervous exhaustion as my body entwined with the two other girls’, I had some interesting dreams.