The theme of this story is female submission and bondage. It was inspired by a couple of my earlier efforts and also by a scenario my brother and I developed several years ago. (The characters of David and Kate are loosely based on us and our early experiences of university life.)
As a result, the story is something of an experiment and will not be to everyone’s taste. I am posting it in the PG-17 section more for the adult concepts than for the language or imagery.
If you still wish to read on, please keep in mind these words…
“Invisible chains are those which weigh the most heavily.” (John Norman, Tribesmen of Gor)
“Non semper ea sunt quae videntur.” — “Things are not always what they seem.” (Gaius Julius Phaedrus, Fabulae Aesopiae)
Note to readers in the northern hemisphere — The events take place in Australia, where the university academic year begins in February.
Knights and maidens
“How far a man must stray before he becomes blameworthy is not easy to define. The decision depends on the circumstances and perception. Yet this much is clear. Virtue lies in the middle way. Sometimes we incline towards excess, sometimes deficiency. In understanding this, we find the best course and do what is right.” (Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics)
“The habit does not make the monk, nor the wearing of golden spurs make the knight.” (Thomas Usk, Testament of Love)
I.
As we made our way silently along the narrow, winding path, a full moon shone overhead. The eerie silence seemed to close in around us. The nightlife of the forest went silent as we passed through. All I could hear were muffled footsteps, the faint rustle of leaves, the soft swish of brushed aside branches and the occasional muted voice warning of a sudden change of direction or a tree root invading the trail. The moonlight was strong enough that most of us could see where we were going; but not the two prisoners.
Annabel and Donna were in the middle of the column. Wearing only their tiny white tunics, in the late night cold air they were beginning to shiver. And yet, in my shiny black breeches and flowing scarlet cape, I felt as silly as my comrades looked and, all things considered, I would have preferred the girls’ goosebumps. On the other hand, bound, gagged and blindfolded, our hostages were having a hard time negotiating the meandering path. In guiding Annabel, I confess that I was doing a lousy job. For all my earlier brotherhood-primed bravado, I felt squeamish about manhandling a helpless, half-clad female. Whenever I saw her in danger of stumbling or tripping, I offered a steadying and reassuring hand, but she pridefully tried to shake it off. I insisted, firmly gripping her arm; and each time she flinched, feeding my guilt with a gentle sigh or moan.
Annabel was small. She only just reached the height of my chin. But she had a sublime body, and stretched by the severity of her bonds it strained delectably against the thin fabric of her dress. Her wrists were tied in a crossed position behind her back with nylon cord. Her elbows were firmly bound, pulling her shoulders back and thus pushing forward her exquisite chest. More rope was looped around her neck to make a loose yoke. Another ran down her belly and between her legs to connect with her wrists. This was drawn so tight that it and the hem of her dress snuggled into the soft contours of her womanhood, with a clearly visible stimulating effect as she shuffled along the pathway. As a result, her panting became deeper and more rapid as we progressed. Despite the chill, little beads of sweat glistened on her bare arms and legs.
Directly ahead of us, Donna appeared to be having a slightly easier time. Perhaps her crotch-rope was not as snug. But the two women were barefoot, and there were prickly twigs which crackled under their tread and jagged stones which protruded from the corrugated dirt. They were also hitched together at the neck and waist with ropes of about two arms’ length. When one of them wobbled or wavered, the other was thrown off-balance as well and they both tottered and staggered. Several times I had to grab my girl to keep her upright, and these times she whispered a thank-you through her gag.
The traverse through the woods from the Temple to the Maidenhall would normally have taken just a couple of minutes, even in the middle of the night. Slowed by our captives, we took a good deal longer. Nevertheless, as we emerged into the pale orange glow cast by the porch lamps, there was no hint from inside that our approach had been detected. The place was shrouded in darkness, save for a half-dozen dimly lit windows behind which residents were still getting ready for bed or staying up late to study.
A pair of Cadets reconnoitred the entrance while the rest of us waited on the lawn next to the driveway, crouched behind the cover of a couple of vehicles and maintaining complete silence. It occurred to me that the deathly stillness of the forest might have given us away, but as the animals and insects came back to life with their chorus of chirps and twitters in the trees behind us, the building remained quiet. The distant, mournful hoot of an owl might have been an ominous presage of the drama about to unfold.
To prevent our hostages raising the alarm, we had them prostrate on the grass. Annabel was lying on her back. I was sprawled across her midsection, while Rick held her legs and Ben had both his hands clamped over her gagged mouth so that no sound at all could come out. She was a deceptively tough little nut to crack, and in the brief struggle to wrestle her to the ground, her blindfold had come loose. Her eyes were bulging. Her chest heaved. The pressure of my weight on her body, especially with her arms pinioned behind her, must have been torture. The tussle had also displaced the neckline of her dress, exposing her breasts. Her nipples showed the full arousing effects of the rope drawn taut between her thighs. Being careful that my fingers did not brush against them — I felt sorry for the poor girl and did not want to degrade her further — I lifted the top of the dress back to its proper place. She repaid me by kicking and squirming, and managed to land a knee on the side of my head. I couldn’t blame her.
When the signal was given, we hoisted Annabel and Donna roughly to their feet and hustled them forward. It didn’t matter if they made noise now. Bright light poured out onto the colonnaded portico from the widening crack between the great oak doors as they swung open. From inside I heard a scream, a shout and more screaming. A young woman in a frilly pink negligée dashed out onto the lawn and was quickly tackled. When released, instead of resisting or attempting to flee, she knelt with her hands clasped behind her head. The two Cadets assigned to guard the perimeter put her with Annabel and Donna, as the rest of us stormed up the steps and into the lobby. Yells and squeals echoed in the stairwells and along the corridors. The house had been penetrated. The twenty-third annual conquest of the Maidenhall was underway.
II.
My very first day at university had ended with a sense of relief and also exhilaration. The night before I left home, excited as well as nervous, I hardly slept. Maybe I could have been better prepared, but I had not been able to attend all of the orientation sessions the previous week.
Kate made up for it by acting as my guide during the first few days. Coming from a third-year veteran, her advice was invaluable. The campus is huge, crowded with buildings and people, and I was afraid I would get hopelessly lost and end up late for my classes. Instead, my sister escorted me to each venue and offered all sorts of handy information and practical hints. For example, she warned that my inaugural lecture would be a daunting, perplexing experience, so unlike high school. This proved to be wise counsel, because the professor strode up onto the dais, tersely introduced himself, gave out his contact details, outlined the syllabus, prescribed a formidable reading list, and then launched straight into the lesson at breakneck speed. I absorbed maybe a third of the content... and judging by the expressions of my classmates, they fared no better.
The rest of the day was like that, baffling and hectic. But I quickly settled in; and after a couple more days, once I knew my way around the place and understood the tenor and rhythm of university life, things became almost ordinary. I had anticipated feeling lost and lonely, and yet nothing could have been farther from the truth. Instead of alienating, the campus turned out to be a familiar and friendly environment.
My sister also took care of my accommodation, and that was a big help. She had arranged for me to stay at a boarding house for my first two weeks, and dropped me off on the Sunday afternoon before the start of classes. I had brought with me just a single bag of clothes and some other vital supplies. Most of my gear was still packed in boxes back home. Kate promised to fetch them once I was settled in. She introduced me to the landlord, the urbane Mister Swank (yes, that was really his name), gave me a kiss and took off.
The place was located off-campus but just ten minutes’ walk away. All the residents were students and most, like me, were first-years awaiting admission to one of the colleges, or seeking permanent lodgings elsewhere. It was inexpensive and reasonably comfortable. The decor was stark, but not as seedy as I had pictured it being.
In the doorway right next to my room, a lanky, dishevelled-looking character was loitering. We exchanged nods, and he thrust out both hands, one for me to shake, the other proffering a can of beer.
“Name’s Perry,” he drawled. “Welcome to the Hotel Hovel.”
I took his offering with thanks. It was slightly too warm, but welcome and refreshing after the long drive. I deposited my bags in my room. It was small and somewhat austere, but comfortable. Perry’s bleak assessment was rather unfair. He followed me in with the remnants of a six-pack, which we quickly demolished.
Perry and I got on well. He was lazy, lackadaisical and laid-back enough to be virtually horizontal (which indeed he was much of the time). But he was entertaining. Like me, he was a freshman, but he came across a great deal more worldly about university life, indeed about life in general. He knew all the best drinking venues on and off the campus and had a party detection radar second to none. Nevertheless, while he might have been frivolous and indolent, Perry was far from stupid. In fact he had a scholarly nature which he tried to conceal. Most of the time he did so with admirable success.
I got to know some of the other residents. Most kept to themselves, and it was not until the end of my first week that I met Sabrina. Perry and I were loafing in the yard with a few cans of brewed beverage when she appeared, the vision splendid in a barely-there bikini. She had spread a towel on the lawn when she spied us watching her. She came over. Petite and pretty, she had shoulder-length, rather shaggy honey-blonde hair and sultry brown eyes. Her lips curled naturally into an impish grin. Her body was trim and nicely tanned, well-toned and perfectly proportioned. She stood silently for a moment, allowing our eyes to linger on her delightful curves. She seemed not at all self-conscious.
“Well, Perry,” she said finally, with a quizzical raised eyebrow.
“Oh yeah... Bree, this is Dave. Dave… Bree.”
“Hi, David.”
I took the hint. “Hi, Sabrina.”
We chatted for a minute or two. She was a sophomore, studying science and philosophy. She spoke with a crisp, private schoolgirl accent that was beginning to soften into the egalitarian dialect of the campus. She seemed pleasant enough, if somewhat aloof in her manner, perceptive, with a wit that revealed the occasional sharp edge. I was immediately smitten, and lamented the lost first week, when I had seen her around the house but hadn’t summoned the courage to talk to her. That evening at dinner I made sure to grab the seat beside her. We got on well. She was rather coy about how long she would be staying in the house; but then I was, by necessity, discreet about my own plans, so I could hardly press her on the topic.
During the next seven days, the three of us spent what free time we had in each other’s company. Perry and I were both attracted to Sabrina and became friendly rivals for her attention. She did not appear to have a boyfriend and received no visitors. At the same time, I did not see any realistic prospect for taking the relationship further. She was older and more experienced, in the ways of the university but I guessed in other ways as well. So I settled for us just having fun together.
However, like all proverbial good things, it had to end. On the Friday of the second week, Perry announced that he was moving out. We commemorated our breakup with a decadent meal at a fancy restaurant and promised to keep in touch. But we knew how that normally goes. You say you will, and you genuinely mean it at the time, but rarely does it happen that way.
The following day, Sabrina and I took a long stroll around the campus. It was my first comprehensive tour, but I was more focused on Sabrina. She was wearing a little yellow sundress which fluttered and flounced in the mellow mid-morning breeze. She looked more gorgeous than ever, but was either oblivious or indifferent to the effect she was having on me. She led the way, pointing out the most important and interesting landmarks.
We followed a meandering course — through Lakeside Village, which is the main shopping precinct; past the Quad, the huge sports and recreation area; across Riverside Park, on the edges of which are located most of the residential halls and colleges; and finally up a steep, grassy mound at the far end of the park. From its summit, I found myself looking out over a sprawling and rather dreary-looking complex of multistorey apartment blocks. This, I was informed, is known officially as the Communal Housing Project but universally as the Commune. A town with a population of several thousand, virtually self-contained, this is one of the university’s major hubs of social (and sexual) activity. It’s big, noisy and crowded, and the revels never shut down. It is said that the residents’ motto is “Bibo ergo sum.” * There have been rumours of ritual virgin sacrifices; but no one actually believes that. Where would they find a virgin in the Commune?
Somewhere amidst that vast clutter of buildings was Richmond Hall, where Perry now lived. He would be happy there.
Sabrina tugged at my sleeve and pointed in the opposite direction, towards a distant sandstone edifice rising out of a large clump of trees near the lake.
“That,” she said, “is the Temple. It’s the most exclusive residence on campus.”
“That so?” I replied, nonchalantly.
“The Templars are very influential; not just at the university, but in business, government, law, diplomacy, education...”
“Like a secret society?”
“Well, not exactly secret; but I guess you’d call it… elite.”
“How do you get in?”
She laughed. “Not without an invitation. That’s why it’s elite.”
“Must cost a lot.”
She frowned. “Why are you smiling?”
But she didn’t wait for an answer. Instead she had turned away and was already halfway down the hill. “Come on,” she called. She veered off course, towards one of the several coffee shops that are to be found on the outskirts of the Village. We drank our caffè latte, talked about nothing special, watched people going by.
It was early afternoon when we arrived back at the house. A message awaited Sabrina. She had a strange expression as she read it, and at dinner was unusually quiet. She went to bed straight afterwards, and in the morning she was nowhere to be seen. Kate and I had plans to drive into town, and when I returned that afternoon I passed by Sabrina’s room. The door was open, her possessions were gone, and there were a half-dozen cardboard boxes stacked by the bed. Someone new was moving in. We were all moving on.
I spent the next day in a state of dull depression, trying to concentrate on my studies and looking about wistfully everywhere I went in the vague hope of spotting Sabrina. I didn’t, of course. On Tuesday morning, however, life changed again. My sister came to me, breathless with excitement. She handed me a large envelope, but blurted out the news before I could unseal it.
“You’re in!” She grinned. “Well… you still have the interview.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I teased, but she ignored me. So I opened the dispatch and studied the letterhead. Kate was right. It bore the distinctive red logo of the Order of the Temple. My instructions were to report that same afternoon. They did not give you much time to prepare or to rehearse, which was no doubt the point. So I tried to treat the day as if it were normal; but as the hours passed sluggishly by with callous indifference to my state of mind, the curiosity and the uncertainty were growing apace.
Kate had always been discreet about her campus residence. She said this was only so I could find out for myself; but I never believed that. Nonetheless, I did have some idea of what to expect, besides the fact that for a very low fee accommodation, meals and tuition were provided, as well as high-quality academic support. The Templars were extremely selective about whom they allowed in. Kate had earned admission in her second year, and ranking near the top of all of her freshman classes was the decisive factor.
Although I’ve never had much time for elitist institutions, the lure of subsidized housing and tuition (in addition to the other, less publicized perks) was a powerful incentive to compromise my principles. After graduation, members then become part of a powerful network of social and professional connections, as Sabrina had described. This is called the Guild, and it sustains the next generation of Templars. It also supports a variety of charitable, community welfare and environmental causes, which ennobles its image for self-righteous idealists like myself. In these respects, the Order is not unlike the sorts of student organizations and alumni societies which you’ll find at universities everywhere, just more circumspect about its membership and more outré in its conventions and customs.
Kate had insisted that I apply, and assured me that she would make all the necessary appointments and arrangements. As a protégé, or sponsored candidate, all I had to do was complete the relevant paperwork and await the reply. I was doubtful that it could be so easy. Yet it turned out to be so. We met outside a small, sparsely furnished office hidden away in a nondescript building on the edge of Lakeside Village. Kate was wearing a powder blue chiffon dress with ruffles and ribbons — very much recherché for my down-to-earth sister — and appeared even more tense than I felt.
Already in the waiting room were three other candidates with their sponsors, all females. As we entered, Kate and I received some odd looks, like we were being studied and assessed. I was not encouraged by the skeptical frowns. One of the girls was accompanied by an attractive, elegantly dressed woman whom I took to be her mother and reminded me of someone I’d encountered recently. The woman nodded rather curtly at Kate but appeared to be ignoring me. It took me a moment to recognize her, a professor who had spoken at one of the freshman orientation sessions. The girl and I exchanged polite, apprehensive smiles; and possibly without even realizing what she was doing, she drew the hemline of her skirt demurely down towards her knees.
Kate and I were called in first. I expected umbrage from the others, but I think they were happy to let us go in and have their own moment of truth delayed. We were all nervous.
The panel who interviewed us consisted of two stern-looking males of around Kate’s age, and a diminutive female with elfin features and short-cropped jet-black hair. She was wearing a prim white cotton frock, and encircling her slender neck was a black leather choker embossed with a magenta cruciform icon consisting of a two chains and an embedded rose. She remained standing until everyone else was seated and showed deference towards her colleagues; yet she handled most of the interrogation, such as it was. She perused my application form and examined my academic record, read Kate’s submission and nodded with approval. I was questioned about a few things that did not seem to have much to do with joining the Order. I think by then we were merely going through the motions, because eventually the young woman said, “Being a protégé, you have automatic admission, provided that you meet all the other requirements.” She paused to glance over the documents once more. “Which you do.”
Kate gave me a discreet “I told you so” nudge.
“Your sister has an exemplary record...”
Kate beamed.
One of the males interrupted. “Thank you, Annabel.” He held out a hand for me to shake. “Welcome to the Company of Knights. Congratulations.”
Kate gave me a hug and embarrassed me with a kiss. I thanked our interviewers.
On our way out, I gave the girls in the anteroom a reassuring thumbs-up. The gesture was meant to be inspiring, but I immediately regretted it. Though our destination might be the same, we would be following very different paths once we’d entered the realm of the Templars.
Kate and I ate a celebratory dinner at a gourmet pizza restaurant, but for once she did not have much to offer as advice. She said she was not qualified, which I thought was strange. She is not normally so reticent. In any case, it hardly mattered, because once the decision is made, the Order moves quickly. I had been instructed to present myself at the Temple at six in the evening, the very next day. Kate volunteered to come with me, but I declined her offer. I had to do something by myself. So I went to my classes as normal, managing to contain my excitement and apprehension; and when the time came, I returned to the boarding house, grabbed my belongings and checked out.
Mr Swank asked “And where are you off to?”
I said something vague and non-committal, and he nodded with a wry grin. From my evasive reply, I think he may have guessed my destination.
* “I drink therefore I am.”
To be continued…