Postby sarobah » Thu Jan 07, 2010 5:01 pm
Sarah’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 Mum’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 – but he’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 – 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 Alex’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 resort’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 I’m able to do with mine. (Perhaps Mother Dearest is right – 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. Kelly’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 – and insanely expensive – items, such as stirling silver handcuffs, a silk blindfold with vicuña-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 – I could now tell them apart from the tourists, the women at least. Everyone was relaxed and friendly, as you’d expect, and in varying degrees of dress and undress, as you’d also expect, from barely-there bikinis like Kelly’s to a three-piece suit, no less. Most of the females had at least one bondage accoutrement – a gag, a leash, cuffs, whatever – 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 we’d traversed the street twice, we’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 we’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 hadn’t gone this far with a girl before, except for his sister. She yelled “Liar!†and laughed. I don’t know whether she meant that he hadn’t hog-tied any other girl, or if she was insisting that he hadn’t done it to her. I didn’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 didn’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 sister’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 couldn’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 “Harrumph!â€
I turned my head and looked up, to see my mother and Philip’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 that’s located on the far side of the island – Camp Commando, it’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 Philip’s and my dad had gone to see if they could book two more places. They could. At dawn tomorrow, we’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, Alex’s partner from yesterday. She seemed a bit disappointed that my brother wasn’t with us. I told him about it later and he’s hoping for a chance to catch up with her some time for some more “practice.â€
After that, Philip walked me back to the Regatta. He didn’t tie me again, after our lark in the park, but that didn’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 companion’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 they’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 we’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 “Maybe when you have kids of your own.†Whatever that means (the girl said innocently).
Afterwards I went to the bedroom to write this diary entry. It’s taken me a long time tonight, mainly because I have been having dreamy fantasies about Philip, but also because I’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 it’s going to be difficult for me, that along with the sweet will come the bitter.
It won’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. I’m sure he does this sort of thing deliberately, to annoy me. If so, he’s succeeding; but it’s also plausible that he’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.
Sarah’s Journal, Day Four
Well, I’m now back in that sanctum of salubrity, my hotel bedroom. I’m exhausted, aching and chafed all over and mildly sunburnt, but utterly elated, from our two days in the wilderness. Camp Commando wasn’t exactly what I expected – 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 night’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 couldn’t last.
“Watcha doing?â€
My brother was still half asleep, groggily rubbing his eyes with one hand and scratching his…. Rewind that image... My brother was still half asleep.
“I’m sorry if I woke you up,†I said.
“You’re forgiven.â€
“No, I mean I really am sorry I woke you up.â€
“And as I said, you’re forgiven.â€
“Oh, just forget it.â€
“How long we got?†he demanded.
“About forty minutes.â€
“Then come and help me pack my stuff.â€
“Please.â€
“You don’t have to ask permission. Just come and help me.â€
I didn’t bother to reply. And since my peace had already been shattered, I followed him back to our bedroom.
“Forgotten something?†he said as I began sorting through the drawers.
“Do you want me to help you or not?â€
“I don’t make the rules.â€
“Actually, yes you do.â€
“Well then, rules are rules.â€
This was one – make that another – 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 didn’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 we’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. That’s one of his few genuine talents.
“These socks?†I asked, feeling a pair of woolly ones.
“No, dummy, they’re the wrong colour.â€
“How am I supposed to know that?â€
“I 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 wouldn’t notice when I had my sight back? No, I’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 minutes’ walk from the hotel. It’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 “Have a good time and take care.â€
“And Sarah,†Mum continued, “watch out for your brother.†She added a superfluous “You know what he’s like.â€
Alex just sneered and said something like “Where’s a gag when you need one?†and Dad responded with something like “Don’t be cheeky, young fella.â€
I started to wave good-bye, but our parents were already heading back up the hill.
“Have fun yourselves,†I called after them. “Try not to...â€
“Don’t you be cheeky either, young lady,†my mother said, without looking back.
“Assume the position,†Alex demanded. He was holding the leather strap from his gift pack.
“Not now,†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 – 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 didn’t listen every closely. The wind had picked up, and I was staring to shiver, regretting I’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 they’d let us know this beforehand. I would have chosen one that was more substantial. Oh well, live and learn…)
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 wasn’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 – how quickly and easily we’re stirred up into mutual enmity – 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 Alex’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 arm’s distance apart. The three leader chicks helped organize us, then joined the end of the line.
The senior leader (from now on I’ll call him the SL) began barking orders: “Stand to attention! Feet together! Hands behind your head! Look straight ahead! Keep still!†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 bit… 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 I’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 don’t come much stranger than me, or so I’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 – I’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 – it felt like soft nylon, but I soon recognized the familiar leather strap – 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 Alex’s and my arrival, and we hadn’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 I’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: “Left 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 arm’s length between each of us. This was a good thing because I didn’t fancy stumbling into Miss Vanilla and Raspberries to my front or tripping over the feet of Miss Whomever to my rear.
“From this point, you don’t talk, you don’t make a sound, you don’t try to escape,†the SL demanded.
“You don’t say,†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 – where did he come from, Mongolia or maybe Mars? – 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, that’s the highly imaginative name that’s given to the island’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 that’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 – everyone was hushed by the awesomeness of our surroundings – 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 didn’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.
“Don’t stop, keep moving, prisoners,†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 “Halt!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 “Oh no!†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, it’s part of the challenge, and as I have always maintained, there’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 – lime green no more, I was afraid. Blondie helped me to my feet each time and he was very gentle. I’m sure he felt sorry for me. I was about to thank him for his assistance when I thought, “No, I’m his captive; it’s his responsibility to look after me.†Nevertheless, I felt a tad guilty, because I think he was hurt by my ingratitude.
“He’ll get over it,†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 – running water, proper toilets and maybe even shower facilities. (Okay, so I’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 shouldn’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 –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, I’m sure it would have been us prisoners doing it – so the provisions must have already been here, probably brought in by boat. I was getting resentful as my stomach began to growl – I should have taken Mum’s advice and eaten a proper breakfast – when I felt something pressing against my lips. For a second I thought I was being gagged and was thinking “That’s not fair, what did I do?†when I realized it was Blondie holding a sandwich to my lips.
I didn’t bite though, because I could smell something I didn’t like.
“Is that egg?†I whispered.
He paused to check. “Yes, there’s egg in it.â€
I quietly explained that I’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 I’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 didn’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 – scouting the area for enemy incursions and possibly mounting a raid on the Blue base – 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 – I knew this was coming as well – 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 hadn’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 – worse – 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 – yes, I was right about there being proper amenities– we were taken in two by two and helped to... well, you know. What I’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 didn’t mind a couple more hours in my hog-tie. Again, this is not what I’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 wouldn’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 Alex’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 couldn’t just ignore him, so I went over – Philip didn’t follow – and said “Hi†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 “operations†were to be suspended between now and dawn. That made sense – you can’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. I’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) – 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.
Sarah’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 we’d spent yesterday. Like us, they were bound and blindfolded most of the time, and they weren’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 someone’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, it’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 hadn’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 wasn’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 – 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 didn’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 didn’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 I’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.
“And now for something completely different,’ Gina announced.
Well, it was different. I consider myself to be progressive and open-minded, but at heart I guess I’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 doesn’t have the same impact on a guy, and how a crotch-rope doesn’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 “What the heck?†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 “What the heck?†moment. Nevertheless, he flashed me an “I will get you for this†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. It’s like trying to reverse engineer a complicated piece of machinery while blindfolded – at least the last bit I can relate to. But it wasn’t just about skill, it was also about attitude. You have to prepare yourself mentally as well as physically for being tied up, so there’s no reason why it should be any different when you’re doing the tying. I just hadn’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 what’s always been the girl’s role – 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 – let’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 don’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 – a double hammerlock. It was very tight and a bit painful, and I don’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 girl’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 I’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 arm’s length apart, and today I didn’t have Blondie to assist me. From what I could gather, we were being escorted by the five Red girls, and they were, as I’ve mentioned, totally unsympathetic to our plight. Well, I couldn’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 didn’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 – 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 didn’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 we’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 – after all, what were they doing so far from their base with their prisoners in tow? I haven’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 haven’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 yesterday’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 – this time – 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 team’s victory over the Blues. We prisoners – fourteen Blue and seven Red girls – 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 “repatriationâ€. 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 “great effort and great attitude†and told us we were one of the best groups she’d ever taken to Camp Commando (yeah, sure... I bet you’ve said that to every group you’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. Philip’s sister Kelly came down to meet him (and Kevin of course). He and I kissed (I tasted tongue – we’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 didn’t ask).
“Call me,†he yelled after them as they walked off.
“I’m sure they’re calling you all sorts of things,†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.
“I can’t take her anywhere without being embarrassed,†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 arm’s length.
“This will require some heavy-duty treatment,†she declared.
“Do what you can,†I implored.
We went downtown for dinner. Dad tied Mum’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 isn’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 – “Very nice honey, sounds great sweetie†– until we got to the bit about the girl-on-boy tying. She shook her head in mild disapproval. I didn’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.
“What did you get, Sarah?†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 “You should take better care of yourself†look.
“I bet you have a few of your own from the past two days, Mummy dear.â€
“That’s enough,†was her reply. “It’s getting late. Off to bed, you two.â€
“Oh, have we interrupted something?†I beat a hasty retreat.
I got into my nightie while Alex was in the bathroom, and started on today’s diary entry. I was just getting to the midday part when he returned and insisted that I put on my blindfold.
“Can’t we suspend the rule just once?†I pleaded.
“What would happen to society if we just ignored all the rules?†he admonished.
“They’re your rules,†I said.
He looked at me blankly. “What’s your point?â€
I put on my blindfold. That’s why I’m finishing this entry in the morning. I’m sitting out on the balcony watching the dawn’s rosy glow as it slowly fans out across the purple sky. There isn’t a cloud in sight. I wonder what exciting things this new day has in store for me.