16 - The Resort
Story index at the bottom
By Sarobah
Thu Jan 07, 2010 4:52 pm
Having reviewed this story, I thought it could do with some polishing, correcting and expanding in parts, especially Day Two. (There are also two glaring mistakes in the original.) So I have rewritten the whole thing and added Day Seven.
I think the new, improved version is worth reading, but then I do admit to some small bias.
~ Sarah
Sarah's Journal, Day One
Well, here we are. We made it. Despite bad weather, a traffic jam, a recalcitrant taxi driver and airport delays, we caught our connection with minutes to spare. And after all that drama, the flight to the island was rather monotonous. It took just under six hours, with nothing but flat ocean to look at outside, and not much happening inside either. There were about two dozen other passengers on board, mostly young couples. Judging by their lovey-dovey expressions, I'd say the majority were honeymooners. There was a group of five girls and three guys, aged twenty-something, at the rear of the cabin who were in quite a party mood, but they weren't causing any trouble. One of the guys couldn't wait till we got to our destination and started tying up one of the girls, but the flight attendant quickly put a stop to that. Safety regulations, she explained.
We were the only family on board.
"Where are the boys?" I asked Dad.
"What am I then?" said Alex with an indignant frown.
I didn't give my obstreperous baby brother the answer he deserved. Considering where we were heading, I decided that discretion would be the better part of valour.
The journey's tedium had its benefits. I managed to sleep most of the way, and woke just as the excitement was beginning to build. In my window seat, I watched as a fleck of emerald and gold appeared on the crystal blue horizon and steadily grew nearer and larger until it took up the entire view. From the air, the island looks spectacular, and somewhat creepy, like a giant, jade-coloured spider with an ugly grey hump on its back. Of course, that's merely the effect of the yawning bays which cut in on all sides, creating a series of long, slender, verdant promontories that radiate from the central volcanic peak.
Our objective was the broadest and flattest of the headlands, located on the north-western side of the island. A grass airstrip runs along its spine and seems scarily narrow when seen from above. However, we touched down with nary a bump. The passengers broke into spontaneous applause (which sort of unnerved me - what were they expecting?), and as we began to file out, the captain emerged from the cockpit to wish us a happy stay. She was a pleasant-faced woman of no more than thirty years who spoke with the confident, no-nonsense manner of a veteran pilot. I decided that we had been in good hands.
Stepping from the plane onto the tarmac, we were greeted by a busty young lady with long, strawberry blonde hair and startling green eyes who introduced herself as our hostess Marlene. She was dressed in a barely there floral pÄreu that was secured by a knot nestled perilously low in her cleavage. Encircling her neck was a delicate silver choker crafted in the shape of a triple-braided cord, and she wore bracelets and anklets of the same design. Attached to each of the bands around her throat, left wrist and right ankle was a tiny padlock.
As we followed her to the terminal, Marlene gave us a concise briefing on the resort's highlights, directions to our accommodation and a package containing a map, a restaurant guide, souvenir catalogue, that sort of thing. Inside, as we waited for our luggage to be unloaded, each of the females was presented with a gift box containing soaps, perfume, a pearl-shell hair comb, a perky little sarong (in an assortment of colours and patterns - mine is tangerine-hibiscus), and some other girlie stuff. Each of the males was given a plastic-wrapped parcel containing... I know not what. I asked Alex if I could look inside his, and he just snorted and snatched it out of range of my prying eyes. His "you'll find out" expression left me a tad disconcerted.
Marlene had arranged for three minibuses to convey us to the main settlement, which lies on the south coast of the island about three kilometres from the airfield. It is nestled within a shallow bay flanked by craggy headlands and rimmed with steep, forested hillsides. The beach inside the bay is wide and its sands are almost unnaturally golden, with here and there the sprinkled pink tones of crushed coral. Lying some distance off the eastern cape is a rocky islet which shelters Resort Cove from the winds and waves of the open sea.
It was now around noon. Our bus took us through the outskirts of Resort Village. Most of the buildings in the centre are high-rise, but on the periphery are picturesque, white-washed houses. The streets shimmered in the mid-day heat; the beach was almost deserted; the footpaths and sidewalk cafés we passed seemed abandoned. The driver assured us that appearances can be deceiving. At the peak of the holiday period, the resort accommodates up to two thousand guests, and even now, off-season, there must be several hundred.
We turned up a steep roadway leading to the high ground behind the village, towards our hotel. The Regatta sits atop a low hill and provides a spectacular view of the entire sweep of the bay. It is built in graceful but unpretentious colonial style, set amidst manicured lawns, carefully tended gardens and groves of palms and pines.
Only our family disembarked at this stop, and the lobby was empty but for us and the receptionist. She was a beautiful, statuesque Polynesian girl, impeccably groomed but dressed identically to the woman at the air terminal. In fact, I'd already seen the skimpy floral pÄreu from a distance half a dozen times, and had concluded that this is the uniform for female resort workers. Up close now, I saw that the desk clerk also wore the five ring and lock combo as Marlene. The male employees, who seem to be heavily outnumbered, are outfitted in white trousers and sea-green safari shirts. They don't wear the five rings.
The hotel is genteel, cosy and informal. There's no doorman, no attendant to carry your bags, no lift operator; and there are signs all about saying things like: "No room service available" and "Please do not tip the staff." Our suite, located on the fourth floor, is spacious enough. There's a living room, a small kitchen and two bathrooms (one an en-suite). It has a balcony that overlooks the village and the bay beyond; but there are only two bedrooms. I don't fancy the thought of having to share with my brother for the next week; but such is the price one must pay for seven days in paradise.
When we'd finished unpacking, which didn't take long, we reconvened in the living room. Dad said, "Well, how about something to eat and maybe a stroll?"
My mother nodded agreeably; I shrugged a "why not?" and Alex - predictably - grumbled something no one heard, or cared to hear. My parents disappeared into their bedroom once more and I retreated to mine, shutting the door in my brother's face. As I shed my travel clothes, I pondered my choices and decided on my lime green Agustina bikini. I thought I might as well try out my new sarong. It was short and sassy; I hitched it low with the knot on my left hip. I checked out the result in the mirror and thought I looked pretty hot. As I opened the door again, Alex shoved past, still complaining and mumbling something about needing to make rules.
Mum turned out her customary stunning in her magenta strapless maillot and matching wrap skirt. Dad was dressed casually dapper in crisp cream slacks and neat Hawaiian shirt; but my brother - I should not have been surprised - had chosen for his sojourn in the tropics a pair of baggy cargo pants, a black Motorhead sweater and scruffy Doc Martens. Mum dolefully shook her head when she saw his get-up, but said nothing.
Gathered once more in the living room, we all looked at each other for ages - at least, it felt like ages. Finally, Dad said, "So, do we start straight away, or do you two want time to, you know, get better acquainted with how things work?"
Mum's answer was to smile and put her hands behind her back. Dad gave her an "I'm impressed" look and reached for the package he'd gotten at the airport. He reached inside and pulled out a long, thin strip of what appeared to be soft leather. He gently took hold of Mum's wrists and placed one over the other, and secured them with the leather strap. It was a straight-forward, criss-cross tie, but he stood behind her so close that as he bound her, his chin nuzzled her bare shoulder, and he teased her hair with little puffs of his breath. She closed her eyes and pursed her lips, and her head rolled slowly sideways as he drew her arms more tightly behind her. His eyes lifted and connected with mine; I must have blushed or something, because he winked at me, then lowered his gaze again, down across her gently heaving bosom.
I was about to say "Do you two want to be left alone?" when I glanced over at Alex. He was totally oblivious to what was going on, instead gesturing for me to come nearer. His face bore that supercilious expression he gets when he's especially pleased with himself.
"Front or rear?" he demanded.
Knowing full well he would do the exact opposite of whatever I said, I in fact said nothing and turned away from him, crossing my wrists over the small of my back. He didn't try to argue, but got his revenge by giving my bindings an extra sharp tug as he finished. The leather was nicely pliable and about a centimetre wide, perfect for its purpose. I ran my fingertips over the ends that hung loose and discerned that one side was embossed, perhaps with the resort logo.
"Not too tight," my dad called across to Alex. My mother waggled her elbows to demonstrate how it should be just right.
Alex responded with a perfunctory, "Yeah, I know, don't cut off the circulation," as he gave one final hard wrench to make sure I got the real message. I made sure to not react.
My parents had already shifted their attention and were discussing the rest of Mum's ensemble. Dad reached again into his gift pack and pulled out, with a flourish and an exultant "Ta-dahhhh!", a large floral scarf. Grasping diagonally opposite corners, he twirled it skilfully into a neat blindfold. As he lowered it slowly over her eyes and tied it in place, drawing back with tender firmness, my mother couldn't hold back a faint gasp, nor disguise a subtle grimace of pleasure. (Their performance had me feeling a little awkward, but it's nice that they can still get such joy out of a simple tie-up.)
Alex did likewise for me. The scarf was made out of the same diaphanous material as my sarong, so I thought it might be see-through, but after a couple of doublings it was impervious to even the direct sunlight from the balcony. Actually, I was kind of annoyed at having to wear it, because I was looking forward (yeah, feeble pun) to seeing more of the resort; but I was not about to start arguing about it. Anyway, the blindfold has its own perks. I love the enhanced awareness and increased sensitivity which turn on when your vision's cut off. Things you normally don't notice or disregard or are below your normal level of perception become part of your input. And so it was in our hotel suite. Wafting into the room on the bay breeze, a lush profusion of exotic aromas, a gaudy mosaic of tastes and flavours and a rich symphony of sounds - birds calling, insects chirping, leaves rustling, the distant roar of surf breaking over the outer reef, the voices of people in the hotel grounds coming and going - piled up against my senses like those waves crashing on the coral. The mad rush of impressions was as bracing as the salt-sea air.
A discordant noise broke the spell. "Can we go already?" Alex was growling.
"Wait," Dad snapped back. "Let's give your mother and Sarah a bit more time."
Alex stopped complaining, but he was still behind me holding my arms, and I could feel his impatience in his tightening grip. Unlike Dad, he doesn't know - or more likely doesn't care - that when your blindfold goes on, it takes a few moments for you to adjust your remaining faculties; otherwise it can be very disorienting, and instead of a more intense experience you end up feeling just numb. My brother hasn't yet got the message that tying up a girl is a two-way process, that it's about giving as well as getting. But hey, he's young, and with enough time I'm sure even he can be educated. If you can train a puppy to keep off the furniture, with a special effort I can civilize my Lil Bro.
"Okay, that's enough," Dad proclaimed. "Time to move out."
Mum said something I didn't catch, but I heard her sandals making soft scuffing noises on the carpet as she shuffled towards the door, guided by Dad. Alex then clamped his hands on my shoulders to steer me through the doorway and out into the corridor. He shoved and jostled me impatiently, and Dad had to call out: "Don't be so rough with your sister. It's not a race."
As Alex mumbled a reply, I desperately tried to construct a mental image of the hallway, to recall any corners, furnishings or miscellaneous obstructions that might cause grievous injury to my shins or other vulnerable parts of my anatomy. I didn't quite trust my brother's navigation skills, and certainly not the extent of his mercy for me in my defenceless condition. I needn't have worried this time... but I always do. Experience has taught me that much.
As we entered the escalator, I could tell that there were at least four other passengers, who would have come down from the upper floors. From beside me, the delicate bouquet of expensive perfume drifted past my nose. Our arms touched and I could feel several ridges of coarse rope wound tightly just above the lady's elbows. When the car jerked to a halt, she made a noise that was unmistakably the sound of a grunt through a gag. As we alighted, I could hear her stumbling forward, so she was probably blindfolded as well. The second couple were on the other side of the lift, and he was whispering to her, but I wasn't able to pick up enough to get any clear picture in my mind. She didn't say anything in response, so she was probably gagged as well.
Trying to interpret your surroundings, and trying to get a picture of the people around you, is part of the fun of being blindfolded; and when your hands are tied as well, the feelings of vulnerability and dependency induce a delightful sense of intimacy, both with yourself, because you have to draw on the emotional, physical and sensory resources within you, and with your partner on whom you must rely - even when it's your otherwise insufferable baby brother.
In our case, the element of uncertainty was reinforced by our situation. As newcomers, not knowing quite what to expect or what was expected, I'm sure that all four of us were feeling relief and reassurance from the company of our fellow guests. (The best parallel for what we were experiencing that I can think of is how you might feel going to a nudist beach for the first time - not that I have practical knowledge of this - so insecure and self-conscious until you realize that everyone around you is just as naked. Well, that's how I see it.)
Crossing the lobby, I could sense the presence of several more people around us. Business seemed to have picked up since our arrival. Out on the porch, the direct tropical sunlight blasted my face and glowed a dull, diffuse orangey red through my mask. Alex assisted me down the steps, with one arm around my waist and the other clenching my bound arms to ensure I didn't lose my balance. I would have thanked him, except I knew he wasn't suddenly smitten with sibling affection. He just didn't want a roasting from Dad if he let me fall. His grip on me was comforting, but it was still nice to feel the lawn grass between my toes.
It was no more than a ten-minute journey down the hillside to one of the cafeterias on the boardwalk. I faltered a couple of times on the uneven pavement, but with a steadying hand from my brother I managed to stay upright. Yet it was exhilarating, being in a strange place and trying to make sense of it all without being able to see my way about or to grope my way forward, feeling helpless and dependent, yet revelling in the thrill of uncertainty and relishing the challenge. Dad kept up a commentary as we descended, while Mother and I sniffed the air for telltale smells and listened for revealing, familiar sounds, and tried to pick up clues from touch and taste. From the sudden gush of fragrance and chorus of insect chatter, I knew we were passing by the gardens near the base of the hill; and I could tell when we were close to the beach from the caress of the onshore breeze on my skin and the gritty, salty tang on my lips. It was all so vivid, the colours in my mind so vibrant and intense, the sounds and scents so sharp, the textures so palpable and elemental, that I kind of felt sorry for my father and brother, missing what I was experiencing in my bonds and behind my blindfold.
Of course, that sentiment never lasts. A sudden spasm of pain surged through the toes of my left foot and up my leg.
"Thanks for warning me about that rock, Alex."
"You're welcome, sis."
As much as I love being a girl, there are times when I think it must be nice being on the free end of the rope and the bright side of the blindfold.
Dad found us a table close enough to the water that I could hear the waves lapping against the wooden pylons. As the waitress set down our servings, Alex asked if Mum and I should be untied.
"It's up to you, sport," Dad replied.
My brother reached behind me and freed my wrists from the leather strap.
"I don't feed the birds," he muttered.
Since the topic of my blindfold didn't come up, I left it on. I expected that would be the case anyway, because Dad had gone up to the counter to place our order so Mum and I wouldn't know exactly what we were having. It took a couple of nibbles of my muffin to identify the apricot filling, and a few sips of my drink to make out the sweet zest of guava juice. It was so cool of Dad to give us that. The anticipation and the revelation amplify the experience. It's like if you add a drop of dark blue to a tin of white paint, the white appears whiter; it intensifies the soft, tepid tone. So when you're wearing your blindfold, the darkness brings clarity. (Okay, enough of the philosophy.)
Once we were finished our afternoon tea, Alex bound my hands behind my back once more. I think Dad had kept Mum tied the whole time, because she giggled as few times and Alex had made a snarky comment about some people not being capable of eating a muffin without making a mess. Anyhow, we continued our stroll along the shore. It was too late in the day to think about swimming. In mid-afternoon at this time of year the sun sinks rapidly below the ridgeline, and while the water stays warm, within just minutes the entire beachfront is immersed in shadow. Of course, I didn't see this happening, but I felt the sudden tickle of the chill air on my flesh.
By the time we'd returned to our hotel suite, my arms were aching because when we departed the café, Alex had tied my hands with my palms together rather than my wrists crossed - which puts a lot of strain on your upper arms and shoulders. I was too proud to complain.
Mum and Dad retired to their bedroom. "Get some rest as well, kids," Dad said as he closed the door. I kind of doubt they got too much rest themselves, because I heard the lock click.
"Wanna watch TV?" Alex asked. I said okay, and he took off my blindfold. "So long as you keep your mouth shut," he warned. I had no choice but to concur, since he held the advantage, what with my hands still tied behind my back, and I wasn't going to beg him for release. Nevertheless, to further ensure compliance, he trussed my ankles with the scarf. I didn't bother resisting. I sat on the sofa and drew my feet up under me so he could hitch my wrists and ankles together with the loose ends of the strap that bound my wrists.
During an ad break, even though I'd held up my side of the agreement, he rolled me onto my side, hauled off my sarong and tried to gag me with it; but I was feeling rebellious. I'm still bigger than him (although the size gap is closing fast), so I managed to fight him off even with my hands and feet bound; but we tumbled off the couch and he landed on top of me, winding me. He jumped up in fright when I started gasping for air, and when I got my breath back and saw his aghast expression, I started laughing hysterically. We didn't want to disturb our parent's "rest" so we called a truce. I remained tied up, but the gag and the blindfold stayed off.
Around six o'clock it started to get cool. I knew how quickly the sun goes down in the tropics, but I didn't anticipate that the temperature would drop so suddenly. I pleaded with Alex to untie me so I could change out of my bikini. He weighed the hazards of wrestling me into a gag against the benefits of shutting me up by letting me go, and determined the latter course to be the more prudent.
Mum and Dad emerged from the room not long afterwards, she looking just a little flushed and flustered. There were faint purplish rope marks on her arms and legs that hadn't been there before. She ignored my smile and Alex's smirk and suggested that we should dine "in style" for our first night on the island. By that she meant the swank restaurant next to the hotel. Dad rang to make our booking, then we got cleaned up and dressed. Mum went for glamour in her vermillion gown with thigh-high side slit and ample décolletage. I went for pretty and pert in my babydoll little black dress. The guys, even Alex, looked elegant in their smart-casual suits, sharp enough to escort two such knockout babes.
As we went down to the lobby and across to the restaurant, I felt a little uncomfortable because Mum and I were the only females not bound in any way; but we hadn't been quite sure what the standard would be in a posh establishment. So when we encountered a sign at the entrance insisting that "Ladies must be suitably restrained," Dad - always prepared - withdrew a couple of long strips of gold satin ribbon from his coat pocket and handed one to Alex. They bound our wrists in front, and my father showed my brother how to finish off the cinch with a neat, cute rosette.
The place was staffed by a couple of waiters in tuxedos and four or five waitresses in bandeau tops and mini-sarongs of fluorescent green and black. The women wore the ubiquitous five rings; but as a charming extra touch, the collar was fashioned as a little bowtie. And in contrast to the others we have seen today, their bracelets and anklets were linked by slender silver chains about twenty centimetres in length. The wrist chain gave the wearers just enough freedom of movement to serve dishes, pour drinks and clear tables; and the ankle fetters had sufficient margin to allow them to hobble about the room without too much trouble, even in high heels.
We were greeted by the maîtresse d'hotel, a small, pretty brunette with a commanding voice and manner. Unlike the waitresses', her hands were shackled behind her back (it's the only time so far that I've seen one of those tiny padlocks in use), but she didn't let that interfere with her duties or detract from her authority. She was also very adept at walking in her ankle chain, sort of gliding across the floor by the simple expedient of sliding the feet rather than taking small, mincing steps like the other women staff. How interesting it must be when your job demands that you are chained like that the whole time.
She smiled approvingly at the ribbon binding my wrists and directed us to our table. "Will the ladies be dining sans vue?" she asked as we took our seats.
Dad looked across at Mum and she nodded. The maîtresse just tilted her head, so far as I could detect, and on cue one of the waiters promptly appeared bearing a silver platter. On it was a neat stack of blindfolds. Since our menfolk were already sitting, he stood directly behind my mum and said, "May I, Madame?"
"Certainly, thank you," she answered, grinning at the formality. He placed the tray on the table in front of her. They were all of the sleep-mask style but in a variety of designs and colours. She raised her bound hands from her lap and pointed to a black velvet one framed with delicate white blossoms. He slipped the band carefully over her head, gently brushing back a few wisps of hair, and adjusted the cover with the smooth, tender touch that is sensual without being too intimate.
"And for the young lady?" He looked across at me.
I chose a petite, mulberry red mask, hand-embroidered with tiny cornflower blue flowers, that I thought went well with my dress. The waiter tinkered with the strap for a while to make the fit comfortable. He had cold hands and when they brushed against my cheeks and bare shoulders I must have flinched, because a couple of times he paused and apologized and asked if I was okay. I felt like Milady of the Manor being fussed over like that.
I'm glad we went with the blindfolds, because I love what they call sans vue dining. I enjoy the anticipation and the momentary puzzlement and the sudden awareness of what it is you're eating and drinking. I adore how the loss of one sense stimulates the others, how it arouses the taste buds and heightens your sensitivity to aromas and textures as well as the flavours. Admittedly it can get messy if you're not vigilant, and with your hands bound as well, you have to really concentrate on what you're doing. It means you need to focus your attention on your meal, which adds to your appreciation. It elevates the simple art of dining into a skill, and that's what the best bondage is all about - it doesn't limit your experience, but rather enhances it. (It also helps keep you from overeating... although Mother Dear insists that's the least of my problems. "You are way too skinny, my girl," she's always nagging.)
As we finished, the maîtresse told us that the blindfolds were ours to keep. We left them on as Dad and Alex took us out onto the terrace to savour the exquisite cold caress of the evening sea breeze. My skin tingled as the goosebumps rose on my legs and arms... such a delicious torment. We stayed a while, then went back upstairs.
Mum and Dad retired almost immediately. Alex untied me, so I could write up my diary, on condition that I brew him a mug of cocoa - a fair trade. So here I am, finishing up my first entry for the holiday. I'm excited, of course, wondering what the morrow holds... but I'm hoping there'll be boys.
Sarah's Journal, Day Two
Well, it's funny how things turn out. I woke this morning feeling so disappointed because it was raining steadily outside. So much for swimming, sunbathing and all those other things you're supposed to be out doing on a tropic isle. But it's turned out okay... in fact, better than okay... great!!!
When I finished last night's entry, Alex wanted to tie me to my bed. Maybe he was afraid I would get up in the middle of the night to exact payback for the day's insults and injuries. Mum and Dad don't permit it (tying me overnight, that is; they have no problem with vengeance and retribution) in case there's an emergency like a fire. That's logical; but I felt a bit sad saying no. I was still hyped up from the day's adventures and needed an outlet.
On a related issue - sharing the bedroom - my Lil Bro has worked out a set of rules, a couple of which actually make sense. Rather than devising some sort of schedule or trying to coordinate our movements, we have a simple arrangement. When I want to get dressed or undressed, he leaves me alone in the room; and when we're in there together, I have to be blindfolded so he can have his privacy (or assert his dominance, or something).
So, on to this morning... Mum made us breakfast, in the cramped kitchenette, since we didn't want to walk downtown in the drizzle and Dad figured that the two hotel restaurants would be crowded. As her reward (because he'd promised she wouldn't have to cook), Dad tied her to the chair to feed her. She loves that (and who doesn't?). They were behaving like naughty little kids - so much for all those "Don't play with your food" reproaches of my youth - as he contrived to smear all of her face and most of her upper body (and some parts lower) in various messy, mushy foodstuffs. He then hauled her off, still bound hand and feet, to the bathroom and we didn't hear anything more, except for a few shrieks and squeals, for the next half hour. At times I wonder why those two didn't just leave Alex and me at home with a babysitter for the week.
Anyway, during breakfast, in a brief intermission between food smearings, Dad had announced, "I have an idea for what to do today."
"Uh-oh!" I thought.
"Oh no!" Alex said.
Dad explained and we relaxed. One of the items listed in the what-to-do brochures is a tie-up workshop, "for all ages and all levels of experience." We had been thinking of signing up later in the week, but it made better sense to do it early, and the rain provided the perfect opportunity. Given that the alternative was a morning of dullness punctuated by boredom, we agreed to give it a go, even killjoy Alex. We got suitably rugged up - it was cold and windy as well as wet outside - and braved the elements to prepare ourselves for a dash down the hillside. Fortunately for us, an island taxi had just pulled up. These cabs are little electric buggies, like golf carts, that are free of charge (money I mean, not electricity) but normally have to be booked in advance. We were lucky because this one had been unloading a couple of early arriving guests.
The workshop was being held at Rope Riggers, which is a former sailing clubhouse on the waterfront that's been converted into a sort of entertainment centre. We arrived just in time to register and pay the nominal fee, which covers the cost of materials. The sign advertised three all-day programs. There was the one for adults which Mum and Dad went off to, another for teens which Alex and I joined, and a third signposted "Absolute Beginners." Oddly enough, the five-girl-three-guy group from the plane were queued at that entrance... odd because they didn't look so clueless to me. On the other hand, I also recognized two of the honeymooning couples, and I thought that was sweet.
We were among the last to arrive, and in Alex's and my group there were about two dozen kids, ranging in age from approximately Alex's to mine. A young woman about twenty years old, attractive and athletic, was in charge. She wore a leotard version of the staff sarong, but she was the first female resort employee I'd seen who bore the silver collar without the complementary bracelets and anklets. She was accompanied by a rather nondescript looking guy who appeared a year or two older. She introduced herself as Sue and her assistant as Brian.
The first order of business was for us girls to be taken to a dressing room where we changed into Lycra spaghetti-strap camisole leotards, like Sue's. There was a large stack available in various sizes and colours. Out of whimsy I chose shocking pink, and out of necessity I chose small. When we reunited with the boys, we all went into a spacious hall adjacent to the reception area. The floor was spread with soft mats, and there were tables along one wall laden with all sorts of gadgets, paraphernalia and thingamajigs.
Sue arranged us into male-female couples. The pairings were basically random, but with a plan. Brothers and sisters, like Alex and me, were separated, and there was a boy-girlfriend duo that Sue also broke up. She put us with partners of roughly our own age, and where that wasn't possible she placed an older girl with a younger boy... I assume this was so that the girl wouldn't feel too intimidated. Alex, who grumbled at first when he realized he wouldn't be working on me, beamed when he was matched with a well-built chick who was at least half a head taller. She looked down at him with a scornful expression at first, but it turned out that they had very good chemistry together.
There were two girls and one boy left over. The girls didn't mind pairing up, and Sue claimed the boy (Steven) for herself. I thought it was smart, the way she did that. She didn't want one of the girls left out on her own, and Steven appeared to be surly and unresponsive. Yet immediately that she called him over and put her arm around his shoulders, and asked in a kittenish voice if he would be her partner, he was won over. His churlish expression cracked into a sheepish smile and then twisted into a wolfish grin, and we all cheered. Steven turned out to be quite a character, and I don't know what had been bugging him earlier.
Okay, saving the best for last... my partner was Philip, a guy about my age (I learned later in the day that I'm three months older), quite good-looking and very well-mannered. He seemed shy at first, but we hit it off and wasn't long before we were like the best of friends.
The workshop was divided into three two-hour sessions during the daytime and a three-hour class in the evening. The first was called "Learning the Basics", and that's what it was, nothing really new, although we picked up some handy hints about stuff like the best materials to use in different circumstances - rope, tape, that sort of thing.
After a concise introductory seminar and a brief workout to limber up and smooth out the kinks, the practicum itself was divided into segments, each of which commenced with Sue demonstrating some technique and positions - or rather, Steven demonstrated on her, with some guidance from Brian (who mostly stood off to the side to observe, with a blasé expression). We then copied the moves. It was rather amusing, watching our teacher instructing her partner on how she was to be tied up, in such a matter-of-fact manner, while she was being tied, and looking up from her own contorted mangle of trussed limbs to follow our progress as the boys copied Steven's actions. Every so often her deadpan delivery would be interrupted by a grunt or a groan or a squeak, when he hauled extra hard on the rope or wrenched her arms ferociously behind her or arched her body backwards in a too-stringent hog-tie, or when the intensity of the moment simply got too much for her to keep inside.
The program was divided by body part - arms, legs and torso - but not surprisingly it was more complicated than that, and Sue used words like "holistic" and "fusion" to emphasize how all the different dimensions of good bondage come together. We began with rudimentary hands-in-front and simple behind-the-back, wrist-over-wrist ties. The boys used soft, flexible nylon cord which wasn't abrasive and didn't chafe or burn the skin. While we were going through the essentials, it amazed me that many of the guys didn't have much of a grasp of the fundamentals, such as cinching, especially when it came to binding our ankles. I could have wriggled or kicked myself free of some of the initial jobs in seconds flat... Of course, I've had a lot of experience.
When we came to the more strict ties, Sue put the boys through a few simple familiarizing exercises, like having them attempt to get their elbows to touch behind their backs and trying out the reverse prayer position. Even without the extra stringency of rope, most were quite shocked by how difficult it can be, and by the sort of stress it puts on your shoulders in particular. Most gave up after a minute or so, and Sue reminded them that we might have to be in this position for several hours! If nothing else, the guys learnt just how tough we girls really are.
At the same time, Sue was never patronizing, and at times her delivery was quite risqué - like when she advised the boys to tie our feet with ankles crossed, so the knees can be spread apart. Most of the girls giggled at that, but I don't think many of the guys got it. To his credit, my partner did - or at least he gave the appearance.
Towards the end of the first session we got into the more arduous poses and postures. We practised three in particular. First was the classic hog-tie, ever popular and with enough variations that it can always feel fresh and exciting. We began with a straightforward wrists bound to ankles, with the torso flat on the floor. Then we advanced to a shoulder harness to arch the body backwards - though uncomfortable, it looks more painful than it actually is, and many of the guys winced as they wrenched and tied us into position. After that we did a lotus-like position, where your legs, with ankles crossed, are drawn up folded to your chest, and you are forced to bend until your shoulders are between your knees and your chin almost touches your heels. A rope is looped behind your neck (not around it, because you don't want to strangle) and tethered to your ankles to keep you restrained in this balled-up position. With hands still bound behind your back, this is a very effective arrangement because you're completely helpless, unable to move anything - except maybe wiggle your fingers and toes.
We finished the class with a strappado. It was a good thing that we ended with it, because after nearly two hours of being tied up and tied down in all sorts of positions, I was pretty much exhausted and this is, for me, one of the ultimate challenges. We started out with an elbow tie - really the upper arms, of course. Sue reminded the boys to use several windings of the cord, not to make it more secure but to prevent damage to the skin that just one or two loops will cause as the rope digs in. We began with a fairly loose binding, which was gradually tightened until our elbows came close to contact. A few girls, including Alex's partner, had supple enough limbs that the elbows went all the way to touching; but not mine. Still, it left us, one and all, gasping.
"Are you all right?" Philip whispered to me at one point.
"Of course I am, silly," I whispered back. I reminded him of the old formula, "If it ain't tight. It ain't right."
Incidentally, the reason the elbow tie is such a crowd pleaser is not just that it totally immobilizes the arms. By dragging the shoulders backwards, it enforces a posture that is rather flattering, especially for girls like me who are not generously endowed in the chest department. Let's just say that it has the equivalent effect of a push-up bra.
After the boys were done admiring their handiwork, we progressed to the key part of the strappado. Because there were no overhead beams for the rigging, we (the girls) had to kneel to do it properly. Philip tied one end of a rope around my bound wrists and, standing with his arm stretched above his head, hauled upwards until my arms were pulled up vertically behind my back and I was forced to lean forward until my forehead almost touched the mat. We only had to hold the position for a couple of minutes, but even by then my arms and shoulders felt like they were on fire. The purpose of the demonstration, Sue explained, was to show us that this is not the sort of thing we should try without supervision, at least not until we're older and more experienced. As I rubbed my poor aching muscles, I could only agree.
The break for morning tea was welcome, but the adrenaline was still flowing, so mostly we paced about, trying to work off the nervous energy. Philip and I got to chat a while. He's from Melbourne, and today was his fifth on the island. He and his family are staying for two weeks, so if all goes well (and it has so far!) we will have the entirety of my remaining days here together. (Yay!!!)
After the recess, the second class was called "R.E.S.P.E.C.T." I don't remember what the acronym stands for exactly, but it was self-explanatory - all about respect (naturally), health, wellbeing, safety, "no means no", that sort of thing. It didn't surprise me that this session included gags, because there are so many hygiene and safety issues involved. We girls were each given our own ball-gag, bit-gag, plug-gag and ring-gag (which we got to keep - they don't reuse or recycle gags). I got to confirm that I really, really hate the ring variety (dreadful things!) and hope I don't have to wear one too often. Philip, not unexpectedly and along with most guys I know, prefers the ball-gag and says I look "wicked" with it in place, which I choose to translate as "incredibly hot and super sexy." However, I discovered a new favourite, the ball-plug gag. It consists of a cover or panel that fits over the mouth and is moulded to the shape of the lips, with a sort of teardrop-shaped plug (tapered end attached to the cover). It's more comfortable than a ball, it's fixed in place, filling the entire cavity of the mouth without hurting the jaws, and most importantly it reduces the drool factor.
Following lunch, the afternoon program was entitled "Limits and Extremes" although there was nothing too radical, considering the age of the student body. We started off with a few popular and some less well-known tie-up games, then moved on to topics like chest-ties and crotch-ropes.
The lesson on chest-ties proved to be very entertaining, because, like most of the other guys, Philip was so endearingly careful trying hard to avoid actually touching my breasts while looping the cord between and around them. "They're just boobs," I wanted to tell him, but I was wearing one of my gags at the time. I ended up giggling so much that tiny bubbles were foaming out of the corners of my mouth and dribbling down my jaw and onto the very chest he was trying to bind up. So much for the hot and sexy!
Meanwhile, Steven and my very own Alex seemed to be having the best of it, because their partners were the most well-endowed of us all and they also appeared to be the least inhibited of the guys. (Hooray for my brother - I have obviously taught him well.) However, the couple with the easiest time were the girl-on-girl pair, who got to alternate in their tie-up and being-tied-up roles throughout the day and not surprisingly didn't have any problem working on each other's bosoms.
On the other hand, even I felt a bit queasy when we got onto the subject of crotch-ropes. As with the strappado, this was another case of "Don't try this at home... but if you do, here's how to do it properly." The boys learnt (what we girls already knew) that there are two basic ways to position the rope, inside and outside the groove. I did discover (with a blush!) why some crotch-ropes are braided or have a strategically placed knot tied into them.
We closed the session with more demonstrations, just Sue and Brian this time, as he tied her in some hanging and dangling positions and into a variety of gymnastic poses which left me breathless with admiration. They kept warning us that we shouldn't rush into anything or get too ambitious too soon, but all they really achieved was to make me (and probably everyone else as well) want to rush back to our hotels to try out the new moves (but we didn't - at least Alex and I didn't).
When the daytime workshop was over, each of the boys received a certificate. We girls didn't get one, which I thought was rather sexist, but I suppose it was because the guys were the ones who did the actual tying. On the other hand, we got to keep our gags. Those of us girls who were returning for the evening session were told we'd be wearing our leotards again so we should hold onto them until then.
We finished at the same time as the adults. Mum came out looking flushed and fatigued, but radiant, and Dad was looking very pleased with himself. I said good-bye to Philip, because he wouldn't be coming back tonight, but we parted with a promise to meet up at lunchtime tomorrow, on the beach (rain or no rain). Meanwhile, Alex took his leave from his partner, whose name was Karen. I got quite a shock when she kissed him on both blushing cheeks and held out her hands for him to bind one last time. I thought that was a lovely gesture. He wanted to tie and blindfold me for the walk back up the hill, but I'd had enough for one afternoon.
The sky was clear, so we took our time. As soon as we were back in our suite, Mum retreated to her room for a much-needed nap. Dad, Alex and I watched television and made plans for an early dinner, since we had to be back at Rope Rigger's by seven. We strolled down to a salad and noodle bar just as the light was fading. Mum didn't come with us, but when we got back she was in her leotard once more, and I got into mine. We put a change of clothes into a carry bag and then we all set off, giving ourselves plenty of time for a tranquil stroll in the twilight. Lots of other people were on the move as well, bearing towards the neon lights of the local nightlife like moths to a street lamp.
When we arrived for the evening program, we found about half the number of people as attended the daytime class. The two honeymooning couples were back, but not the party of eight. This time everyone collected together in the main hall and the families kept together. The session was called "The Three Elements" and I was intrigued by what these might be.
Our instructors were a tall, striking, red-haired woman and a smaller, wiry, Japanese man. After introducing herself as Meredith and her partner as Sensei Ryo (at first I thought it was Rio, but I later saw it written on a brochure as Ryo), the woman organized us to sit in a semi-circle with her and Master Ryo at the focus. She quickly enlightened us to the identity of the three elements - they are sensuality, vulnerability and strength. These are the qualities which are expressed when a man ties a woman and she submits to the ropes. (And here I was thinking it was just about having fun!) She also talked about the three facets of being - body, mind and spirit - which I think are supposed to correspond to the three elements.
I don't remember everything she told us, but I'm inspired to do some research when I get back home. Essentially, when I am bound, my helplessness is my power. Though it sounds like mystical doublespeak, what this means is that in my captivity resides my freedom - the freedom to define and explore my limits and my desires, to connect with my spirituality and discover my sensuality. My bonds are not restraints as much as they are a doorway to new perceptions and experiences; and by daring to be vulnerable, I reveal my strength.
All this could have turned into arcane mumbo-jumbo, but Meredith kept it light-hearted and Master Ryo had a rather quirky sense of humour. He kept referring to her as his "chicchai dorei" (or something like that) which I picked up means his little slavegirl - ironically humorous because she was almost a head taller than her companion and was clearly neither passive nor subservient. She didn't hold back in any way. As they began their demonstration, Meredith nonchalantly pulled the top of her leotard down to her waist.
"Don't worry, ladies," she laughed, "you can keep yours on this time."
This time? Alex and I stared at Mum, as she pretended not to notice.
After some yoga exercises to relax the muscles, we went through lots of different positions, postures and poses, far too many to write about tonight. Some of them were painful - "Break through the pain," Meredith panted through gritted teeth, but I never quite worked out how to do that, or even what it meant - and some were rather humiliating. "That is no more than a condition of your mind" she declared. "Shame is something that is created inside you; it cannot be inflicted on you." Some put me in a trancelike state and others raised me to such an intensity of awareness of everything around me that it was like I was floating out of my body and absorbing all the energy of the room.
"You are not doing, you are being," we were told. And just when I thought it was going to get too opaquely esoteric, Master Kyo lectured us on the role of adrenaline and endorphins. He also explained that meditation before a strenuous tie-up session is as much for physical as mental preparation, to loosen up your body for the stresses and strains it is about to receive.
There were other aspects to the bondage art that Meredith and Master Kyo covered. I didn't really get the stuff about aesthetics, that a bound female is like a flower in early bloom, that the different arrangements of ropes and knots reflect different states of ki or chi.
I should add at this point that I'm making this sound like the class was all for the benefit of us females, that the men were just there as the instruments of our pleasure and enlightenment. On the contrary, though the focus was on us, as subjects and objects of the bondage, Dorei Meredith and Sensei Kyo always made sure that it really is a two-way process, that whichever end of the rope you're on, you are both giving and receiving pleasure.
For the third and final hour, the sexes were segregated. The males went to one of the other rooms for a Q-and-A discussion. In the meantime, Mum and I and the other females remained in the hall, and Meredith was joined by half a dozen other young women, including Sue. We were told to take off our leotards. That worried me for a second or two, but Meredith explained that when you are naked and there is nothing between you and the ropes, this becomes the point of convergence for all your thoughts, emotions and sensations.
Meredith and her assistants tied us in two positions. The first was a "bonding" exercise" - I don't know if the pun was deliberate. We were put into pairs, I with a girl about my age and size, and bound to each other. We knelt back to back, our arms interlocked in what I think is called a box tie (my right wrist to her left elbow, etcetera) and our legs also interlocked with my ankles bound to her knees and vice versa. Our heads were drawn backwards, mine onto my partner's left shoulder and hers on mine, so we could just see into the corners of each other's eyes. We were held together in place by a rope harness that ran, in a double loop, from a ring on the strap at the back of her gag, over my right shoulder, down my front between my breasts and through my crotch to hers, up her body and over her right shoulder to attach to my gag, completing the circle. Meredith gave the position a name, but I don't recall what it was. We were completely immobilized, and any small movement from either one of us was felt by the other. It was beautifully intimate.
The second was an "isolation" exercise. We arranged ourselves in an inward-facing circle and were tied in lotus-like positions, sitting cross-legged with our ankles bound, hands secured behind our backs in double hammer-lock style (wrists crossed between the shoulder blades), a loop of rope about the neck attached to our ankles to bend the torso forward, and another rope connecting our breast harness to our ankles to ease the pressure on the neck. We were gagged and blindfolded and left in this position for at least half an hour. It wasn't a very long time, but enough to have me slipping into that dreamy state in which your whole world shrinks down to your bonds. You're tied stringently enough that your mind doesn't wander far from the ropes but not so tightly that stress overwhelms the senses. You're immersed in an eternal moment, or at least that's how it feels as the initial ecstatic intensity of your bondage slowly dissolves into languid pleasure.
What happened after that, until we arrived back at the hotel, is largely a blur, even though it's not much more than an hour ago. After we were untied, Mum and I changed into our normal clothes and met up with Dad and Alex outside the hall.
Alex gave us a brief run-down on their discussion session. "And what do you talk about?" he asked us.
Mum and I looked at each other and smiled.
"Who's for cocoa?" Mum said.
After supper, I left Alex watching television while I started writing up today's diary entry...
There is a break here, because Alex came into the room, and according to his rule number two I had to put on my blindfold (the one from the restaurant). He stayed an awful long time, doing who knows what, so I was obliged to wait patiently to get back to this entry. Come to think of it, having done so, I find I have nothing left to say, so this is my conclusion.
The rain had stopped at about lunchtime, and we're all hoping for sunny skies tomorrow. Nevertheless, I have to say that this morning's bad weather was providential. The workshop sessions were fascinating and enlightening, and as a wonderful bonus I got to meet Philip.
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Sarobah's stories
- 01 - The Adventure Begins (mm/f)
- 02 - Mayday (F+/F+) in Archives for Adults
- 03 - The Obligatory Babysitter Story (mf/f)
- 04 - Bond-Expo (M+F+/M+F+) in Archives for Adults
- 05 - Captured Commando (f/f)
- 06 - Slavegirl (M+F+/F+, M/F)
- 07 - Uniformity (m/f)
- 08 - Tent Ropes - The True Story (FFF/M, M+/F+)
- 09 - Tent Ropes and Captive Campers - Fiction (FFF/M, M+/F+) in Archives for Adults
- 10 - Family Ties (m/ff, m/fff)
- 11 - Setting the record straight... Family Ties, # 2 (m/ff) Story from Sarobah's brother Alex
- 12 - The other end of the rope (m/ff, m/f) Story from Sarobah's brother Alex
- 13 - Adventures in Tieland (f/m, mmm/f, m/ff) Story from Sarobah's brother Alex
- 14 - Setting the record straight... The awesome foursome (f/f, m/fff) Story from Sarobah's brother Alex
- 15 - Back in the game! (M/F)
- 16 - The Resort (M/F, m/f, M+m+/F+f+)
In Archives for Adults - Balls: The rematch (MMMM/FFFF)
- Birthday Girl (M/F)
- The Girl Next Door (M/F)
- Tie-up Tuesday (M/F)
- The prisoners' dilemma (m/f)
- Château Chaînerie (mmf/f)
- THE TIE-UP CHRONICLES (Continued) (m/f)
- Two first times (m/f)
- Adversity (F/F)
Index of all stories in the "Archive for Everyone" section
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Index of all stories in the "Archive for Adults" section