This story was written during my teenage years, but has been since polished and refined hopefully

y for the better. It draws upon my favourite fantasies as well as some of my real-life experiences. The story is about a family, including a teenage girl and boy. It involves extensive female bondage and some nudity. However, there is no graphic or explicit sex, no underage sex, no adults tying up children, no torture or other types of physical or psychological abuse (except such torments as tickling and long-duration tie-ups). All bondage in the story is consensual and non-violent. S.P.D.

resort
The
SARAHS JOURNAL
Two Years on Aranea Island
Sarah
by

Chapter 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14.

Arrival Page 1 Fittings 8 Mystery 15 Lessons 25 Shadow 32 Trek 44 Pioneer 52 Oasis 57 Class 00 Eighteen 00 Reunion 00 Welcome 00 Return 00 Xooo 00

1. Arrival.
As our plane started on its final approach in a wide arc high above the Coral Sea, I watched a tiny speck of emerald and gold emerge from the sapphire blue horizon. It grew steadily bigger until it filled the window. We were descending towards Aranea Spider Island. From the air, it looks spectacular, and somewhat creepy, like a monstrous, misshapen, jade-coloured tarantula. Of course, this is merely the effect created by the yawning bays which cut in on all sides, creating a series of verdant peninsulas that radiate from the central volcanic peak; but in its appearance the place lives up to its name. Yet as we got closer, from out of the arachnid grotesquery there bloomed a tropical paradise. The surrounding waters were crystalline clear and teeming with activity, the bigger inlets dotted with yachts and skiffs and fishing boats. Just inside the entrance to the southernmost bay, a large cruise ship lay at anchor. I could easily make out from their gleaming wakes etched upon the surface a fleet of small ferries delivering passengers to and from the marina located at the eastern extremity of the cove. Following the curve of the sandy shore, neat rows of buildings glittered brilliant white and vivid pink in the tropical sunlight, pushing up against the forested foothills which enclosed Resort Village in a vast, viridian amphitheatre. The flight had taken a little under four hours. For most of the trip we had nothing but monotonously flat ocean to look at outside, and not much was happening inside either. There were some two dozen other passengers, mostly young couples. Judging by their lovey-dovey expressions, Id say the majority were honeymooners. There was a group of five girls and three guys, aged twenty-something, at the rear of the cabin. They were in a party mood, although they were not causing any trouble. One of the guys couldnt wait until we got to our destination and had started tying up one of the girls; but the flight attendant quickly put a stop to that. Safety regulations, she explained. He just laughed and shrugged off what was but temporary frustration. We were the only family on board. Where are the boys? I asked Dad. You said thered be boys. What am I then? replied Alex with an indignant frown. I didnt give my obstreperous baby brother the answer he deserved. Considering where we were heading, I decided that discretion would from now on be the better part of valour. The atmosphere on a plane full of vacationers is generally the same whatever and wherever the destination excitement at the outset, settling into quiet languor as the hours pass, rising to exhilaration near the end of the journey, modulating to mild apprehension during the descent, surging to elation as you come in to land. The tedium part of the flight had its benefits, though, as I managed to catch up on the sleep Id missed the night before. I awoke to the buzz of anticipation and the whine of the engines changing mode, and to Alexs elbow jabbing in my side. 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. It looks scarily narrow from above, which made me feel just a little queasy, especially when we passed through turbulence from the air currents rising and curling over the mountain summit. However, we touched down with hardly a bump, and all passengers broke into spontaneous applause. As we began to file out, the captain emerged from the cockpit to wish us a happy stay. She was a pleasantfaced woman who looked no more than thirty years of age, but who spoke with the confident, no-nonsense manner of a veteran pilot. I decided that we had been in good hands. Meanwhile, one of the flight attendants had spoken quietly to Mum and Dad, and we held back as the rest of the passengers disembarked. By the time we stepped onto the tarmac, the others were already being ushered into the terminal. It was just on mid-day, and a blazing sun was muscling its way through a haze of high cloud. We were greeted by a young lady in her late twenties, slim and tanned, with auburn, caramel-streaked hair and expressive hazel eyes. She introduced herself as Kate, your hostess. She had a crisp, professional style, not at all compromised by what she was wearing, a barely-there floral preu secured by a knot nestled perilously low in her cleavage. Encircling her throat was a black leather choker, buckled at the back, with a leash ring in front like an elegant dog collar. In addition, she wore bracelets and anklets delicately crafted in the form of fine, braided chains. Attached to the band around her left wrist was a miniature padlock. After the usual I hope you enjoyed your flight and Dont hesitate to ask... formalities, as we followed her to the building Kate gave us a concise briefing on the resorts highlights, information about our short-term accommodation, a brief rundown of our timetable for the next few days, and a package, which she facetiously called a survival kit, containing a map, a restaurant guide, souvenir catalogue, that sort of thing. We were also each presented with a small gift parcel for the females, a beribboned box containing perfume, scented soap, a pearl-shell hair comb and other girlie stuff. Alex, after managing to draw his attention away from Kates sleek legs and dcolletage, rummaged through his package, which folded out into a carry bag, containing... I knew not what. After he had inspected mine with a turned-up nose, I asked if I could look inside his. He just snorted and snatched it out of range of my

prying eyes. His youll find out expression left me disconcerted. Once indoors, we caught up with the last of our fellow passengers awaiting the unloading of their luggage. They gave us some curious looks, since we were getting the VIP treatment, and I felt a sudden surge of selfimportance. However, our hostess quickly and slickly deflated my amour-propre with an indulgent smile, the kind that says: Welcome to the team, but remember, youre a newbie. Dad had collected our bags, and we followed Kate to the exit. To convey everyone to the Resort Village, which is about three kilometres from the airfield, parked outside the terminal was a small convoy of taxis. These are golf-cart type buggies which Kate explained serve as the principal form of transport on the island. There are almost no conventional automobiles, the exceptions being emergency vehicles, a handful of electric-powered shuttle buses, a few delivery vans and some heavier trucks for construction and maintenance. We piled into the cart at the end of the queue, the only one without a driver, and Kate took the wheel. We drove at a sedate pace along a single-lane road, skirting ridges and gullies and grazing the edge of some scarily precipitous coastal cliffs. Kate acted as our tour guide, pointing out all the notable features of the landscape along the way the imposing charcoal grey monolith of Granite Peak off to our left, Pirates Cove on the right, and so on. She assured us that these would be familiar names and places soon enough. Near the end of our journey, on the western edge of the town, we pulled into a tree-lined cul-de-sac in the midst of a cluster of low, salmon-pink and cream-coloured buildings, of stark design softened by trim gardens and neat hedges. This is the staff residential district, Kate informed us. We call it the Oasis. Once youve had a few days to acclimatize, this will be your home. She explained that the Oasis is a largely self-contained community with amenities and services to provide a comfortable lifestyle for five hundred employees and several dozen families like ours. Its far from luxurious, but no worse than some of the places where weve stayed and paid. However, our interim destination lay beyond, so we drove on into Resort Village. This is a compact, fully functioning small town, nestled within the great southern bay, flanked by craggy headlands and hemmed in by steep, forest-shrouded hillsides. Most of the buildings in the centre are high-rise, but on the periphery are picturesque, white-washed cottages and bungalows. The beach is wide and its sands are almost unnaturally golden, with here and there the sprinkled pink hue of crushed coral. Lying some distance off the eastern cape is barren, dune-capped Frigate Island, which shelters Resort Cove from the winds and waves of the open sea. The streets shimmered in the early afternoon heat; the beach was deserted; the footpaths were almost empty and the sidewalk cafs we passed seemed abandoned. Kate 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, in the offseason, there were almost that number. Indeed, as we turned onto a broad avenue in the very heart of town, the pedestrian traffic increased dramatically. There is no operational concept of right-of-way on the islands thoroughfares, so our buggy slowed down from a crawl to a snails pace in order to weave our way through the crowds. There were very few children about, not surprising given the time of year. And it could have been a beach resort like any other, with women strutting around in pert sundresses and microscopic swimsuits, men sauntering about in loud shirts and silly hats. Yet the difference was immediately obvious. Most of the females were bound in some way, hands in front or hands behind the back, or arms pinned at the side. Some shuffled along with shackles around their ankles or hobbles on their knees. A few were being led about on leashes. A lot were gagged. Some were blindfolded, but not many (because, I guess, that would be too extreme, for to deprive a woman of her sight in such a bountiful shopping precinct is akin to torture). Although most people were in couples, there were a few larger groups. One which drew my attention was a party of seven bikini-clad young women, meandering along the street with a single guy in the lead. The girls were bound, gagged and blindfolded, tethered close up to one another with a rope looped around their necks. The young man, looking very self-satisfied, was carefully guiding his captives along the boulevard, using what looked like a coded sequence of tugs on the front girls halter to steer them around and past obstacles, albeit not with complete success. Every so often as I watched, one of his prisoners collided with sidewalk caf furniture or a potted plant or something, and she protested with a muffled whimper through her gag. Sorry about that, he would respond with doubtful sincerity; but they were moving too slowly for any real damage to be done. Kate noticed that we were staring and explained that these were medical students who were celebrating their recent graduation. Since their arrival a few days ago, they had made quite an impression, memorable even by the singular standards of Aranea Island. Lucky guy, Alex said, earning disdainful looks from Mum and me, and a polite smile from Kate. Lucky girls, I said to myself. Members of the resort staff were easy to spot. The males were smartly turned out in white or grey slacks and floral-pattern shirts. The women were wearing skimpy sarongs identical to that on our hostess, but either full-

length as a strapless dress like Kates or folded and tied on the hips as a miniskirt. They the females that is were also fitted with the collar, bracelets and anklets ensemble. Some were gagged, the ball variety by far the most popular. Dad nodded his approval and turned to Mum to gauge her reaction, but our attention was suddenly diverted as we turned out of the main street and continued through the village outskirts. We were driving by a section of the resort where construction was still in progress. In one of the vacant lots, there was a party of two dozen or more labourers, of both sexes. They were bent over rakes and hoes and shovels, busily clearing the ground of debris and detritus. The girls were strung out in a line in one part of the site. Like their male counterparts, they were dressed in overalls, with work boots and gloves, but unlike the men, they were manacled hand and foot, as well as shackled together, with thick cables running from heavy metal collars just like a chain gang. As we passed, one of the prisoners paused to wipe the perspiration off her brow. Her face was begrimed, her hair unkempt, her overalls darkened with sweaty patches. She was hunched over, her body bowed from fatigue or by the weight of her fetters. She saw us and grinned, before returning to her task. I was still mulling over that strange tableau as we carried on up a steep roadway leading to the high ground behind the village, past a sign proclaiming Hotel Andromeda. This, Kate announced, is to be our home for the next seven days. It sits atop a low hill and provides a magnificent view of the entire sweep of the bay. It is built in a graceful but unpretentious colonial style, set amidst manicured lawns, carefully tended gardens and lush groves of palms and pine trees. In the driveway, tiny chips of fractured granite crunch cheerily underfoot. On a marble plinth flanking the portico there is a bronze sculpture, larger-than-life, of a naked woman bound to a rock with chains, gazing forlornly into the heavens. Thats Andromeda, Alex informed us. We know, sweetie, Mum replied, smiling benignly. Kate tarried outside as we went in. The lobby was empty but for us and the receptionist. She was a beautiful, statuesque Polynesian girl, impeccably groomed with a radiant smile. Her tiny preu clung precariously to her spectacular breasts. It was a miniature masterpiece of structural engineering to stay in place with such modest load-bearing support. Dads professional curiosity as an architect got the better of him, and he could not take his eyes off it. Dont you worry, dear, Mum said, Ill take care of this, as she signed the register and received our keys. We went upstairs. The tone of the hotel is genteel, cosy and informal. There is no doorman, no attendant to carry your bags and no lift operator. 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 not huge but spacious enough. Theres a living room, a small kitchen and bathroom. It has a balcony that overlooks the village and the bay beyond. There are only two bedrooms, and while I dont fancy the thought of having to share with my brother for a week, such is the price one must pay for paradise. Alex commandeered the bed by the window, and I was not in the mood to argue. When we were finished unpacking, which didnt take long, we all reconvened in the living room, just as Kate rejoined us. She brought two parcels with her. She gave one to Mum and the other to me. Inside were a number of colourful pieces of material which it took me a few seconds to realize were sarongs like hers. Then she took her leave, arranging with my parents to meet up with us again tomorrow morning. As soon as Kate was gone, Dad said, Well, now that weve settled in, how about we go and get something to eat and maybe take a stroll to look around? My mother nodded agreeably; I shrugged a why not? and my brother predictably grumbled something no one heard, or cared to hear. The parents disappeared into their bedroom once more and I retreated to mine, shutting the door in Alexs face. As I shed my travel clothes, I pondered my choices and resolved upon my lime green Agustina bikini; and I thought I might as well try out one of my new sarongs. It was a perky little number, soft and translucent with a tangerine-hibiscus pattern that coordinated rather well with my bikini. I folded it to wear as a skirt, and hitched it low on my hips with a flamboyant bow on the left side. I checked out the result in the mirror and conclude that I looked pretty hot. As I opened the door again, Alex shoved past, mumbling something about needing to make rules. Mum turned out her customary gorgeous in a magenta strapless maillot. Shed done the same thing as I with her sarong, but made a much better job of it she had chosen a black one with golden orchids that matched her swimsuit perfectly. She studied mine with a frown, and then refashioned it, showing me how to gather the ends for a single wraparound, short and sassy with an open leg split. She tied it with a double overhand knot to keep it securely in place. Though I do say so myself, we made stunning pair of sexy vixens. Dad beamed approvingly, and even Alex seemed impressed. I should add, in the interests of full disclosure, that my father was dressed casually dapper in crisp cream slacks and Hawaiian shirt. On the other hand, my brother and I should not have been surprised by this had chosen for his sojourn in the tropics voluminous khaki cargo pants, a scruffy black Motorhead sweatshirt and a pair of scuffed Doc Martens. Mum dolefully shook her head, but said nothing.

We were ready to go, but we all hesitated. We 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 some time to, you know, get better acquainted with how things work? I looked at Mum, and she just smiled and put her hands behind her back. Dad gave her an appreciative look and reached for the package hed gotten at the airport. He scrabbled about in it and pulled out a long, thin strip of what appeared to be soft leather. He gently took hold of her wrists and placed one over the other, securing them with the 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 lolled slowly sideways as he drew her arms more tightly behind her. His eyes connected with mine, and I must have blushed or something, because he winked at me, then lowered his gaze again, down across Mums 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 hes 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 didnt try to argue, but achieved his revenge by giving my bindings an extra sharp tug as he finished. The leather was nicely pliable and about a centimetre wide, ideal 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 (a stylized teal spider). Not too tight, my dad called across to Alex. My mother waggled her elbows to demonstrate how it should be done just right. Alex responded with a perfunctory, Yeah, I know, dont cut off the circulation, as he gave one final hard wrench to make sure I got the real message. I did not react, denying him the satisfaction of seeing me squirm. Our parents had already shifted their attention and were discussing what should be next. Dad reached again into his pack and pulled out, with a flourish and an exultant Ta-da!, a large crimson scarf. Grasping it by diagonally opposite corners, he twirled it skilfully into a neat blindfold. As he lowered the cloth slowly over her eyes and tied it in place, drawing back with tender firmness, my mother couldnt hold in a faint gasp, nor disguise a subtle grimace of pleasure. (Their performance had me feeling a little awkward, but its good 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 pouring in 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 decided not to resist. Anyway, the blindfold has its own perks. I love the enhanced awareness and increased sensitivity that switch on when your visions cut off. Things you usually dont notice or which you disregard or that are below your normal level of perception become part of your sensory 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 piled up against my senses like those waves out there crashing on the coral. The rush of impressions was as bracing as the salt-sea air. A discordant noise broke the spell. Can we go already? Alex was growling. Im hungry. Wait, Dad snapped back. Lets give your mother and Sarah a bit more time to adapt. 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 doesnt know or more likely doesnt 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 just feeling either numb or too worked up. The problem is that my brother has not yet got the message that tying a girl is a two-way process, that its about giving as well as getting. But hes young, and with enough time Im sure that even he can be educated. If you can train a puppy to keep off the furniture, with a special effort we can civilize my Lil Bro. Okay, thats enough, Dad proclaimed. Time to move out. Mum said something I didnt 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 out into the corridor. He shoved and jostled me impatiently, and Dad had to call out: Dont be so rough with your sister. Its 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 didnt quite trust my brothers navigation skills, and certainly had no confidence in the extent of his mercy for me in my defenceless condition. I neednt have worried this time... but I always do.

Experience has taught me that much. As we entered the elevator, I could tell that there were at least four other passengers, who must 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 ladys elbows. When the car jerked to a halt, she made a noise that was unmistakeably the sound of a grunt through a gag. And 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 wasnt able to pick up enough to get any clear impression in my mind. She didnt 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 moving about blindfolded; and with your hands tied as well, the feelings of vulnerability and dependency induce a delightful sense of intimacy, both with your own self, 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 its your otherwise insufferable baby brother. Crossing the lobby, I could sense the presence of several more people around us. Business must have picked up since our arrival. Out on the porch, the tropical sunlight seared the exposed parts of 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 clutching my bound arms to ensure I didnt lose my balance. I would have thanked him, except I knew he wasnt suddenly smitten with sibling affection. He just didnt want a roasting from Dad in the event that he let me fall. His grip on me was comforting, but it was still gratifying to feel the congenial cushioning of the spongy lawn grass under my tread. It was no more than a fifteen-minute journey down the hillside to one of the cafeterias on the boardwalk. We werent taking the road wed driven on the way up, so I guessed we were following an adjacent path, which made the going a little more difficult because I couldnt rely on memory for guidance. 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 of what we were missing (sightwise) as we descended, while Mum 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 got close to the beach from the caress of the sea 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, who were 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. Youre 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 told Alex to choose one of the cafeterias and I think he just pointed out the nearest. They found us a place close enough to the water that I could hear the waves lapping against wooden pylons. As the waitress set the table, Alex asked if Mum and I should be untied. Thats up to you, sport, Dad replied. My brother reached behind me and freed my wrists from the leather strap. I dont feed the birds, he muttered. Since the topic of my blindfold didnt come up, I left it on. Id anticipated that this would be the case anyway, because Dad had gone up to the counter to place our order so Mum and I would not 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 cool of Dad to give us that pleasure. The anticipation and the revelation amplify the experience. Its like when you add a drop of dark blue to a tin of white paint, and the white appears whiter; it intensifies the soft, tepid tone. So when youre wearing your blindfold, the darkness brings clarity. 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 a few times and Alex had made a snarky comment about some people not being capable of eating a muffin without making a mess. After that, 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 a few minutes the entire

beachfront is immersed in shadow. Of course, I didnt see this happening, but I felt the tickle of the cooling air on my flesh. By the time wed returned to our hotel suite, my arms were aching, because when we departed the caf, 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; and in any case, a little bit of suffering is part of the total bondage experience. 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 being still tied behind my back, and I wasnt going to beg him for release. Nevertheless, to further ensure compliance, he trussed my ankles with the scarf. I didnt 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. During an ad break, even though Id kept faithfully to my side of the agreement, Alex pushed me down onto my stomach and shortened the rope connecting my hands and feet, to put me in a full hog-tie. Then he rolled me onto my side, hauled off my sarong and tried to gag me with it; but I was feeling rebellious. Im still a bit bigger than him (although the size gap is closing fast), so I managed to fight him off though tightly bound; but we tumbled off the couch and he landed on top of me, knocking the wind out of my lungs. He jumped up in fright when I started gasping for air, and as I got my breath back and saw his aghast expression, I started to laugh hysterically. We didnt want to disturb our parents rest and recreation, so we called a truce. I remained tied up, but the gag and blindfold stayed off. Around six oclock it started to get chilly. I knew how quickly the sun goes down in the tropics, but I didnt anticipate that the temperature would drop so suddenly. I pleaded with Alex to untie me so I could change into something warmer than my bikini. He weighed up 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 judicious. Nevertheless, I thought it prudent to thank him profusely for his benevolence. Mum and Dad emerged from the room not long afterwards, she looking a tad flushed and flustered. There were faint purplish rope marks on her arms and legs that hadnt been there before. She ignored my smile and Alexs 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 book a table and then we got cleaned up and dressed. Mum went for glamour in her Faviana vermillion gown with the thigh-high side slit and ample dcolletage. I went for pretty and pert in my little black Talulah baby-doll. The guys, even Alex, looked debonair in their smartcasual suits, handsome 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 hadnt 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 dad showed my brother how to finish off the cinch with a neat, cute rosette. Its heart-warming to see a father teaching his son such handy skills... showing him the ropes, as it were. The place was staffed by a couple of waiters in tuxedos and four or five waitresses in bandeau tops and minisarongs of strikingly fluorescent green and black. The women wore the ubiquitous collar and shackles; but as a charming extra touch, the choker was fashioned as a little bowtie. And in contrast to most of the others we have seen today, their bracelets and anklets were linked by slender silver chains. The wrist coupling 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 matresse dhotel, a petite, very attractive brunette with a commanding voice and manner. Unlike the waitresses, her hands were shackled behind her back (its the first time Ive seen one of those tiny padlocks in use), but she didnt 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. How interesting your job must be when you have to work the whole time manacled hand and foot. 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 matresse just tilted her head 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 mother and said, May I, Madame? Certainly, thank you, she answered. He placed the tray upon 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 sweeping back 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 mulberry red mask, 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 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. Im glad we again went with the blindfolds, because I do so enjoy what they call sans vue (or dans le noir) dining. I love the anticipation and the momentary puzzlement and the sudden awareness of what it is youre eating and drinking. I adore how the loss of one sense stimulates the others, how it arouses the taste buds and heightens your receptivity to aromas and textures as well as the flavours. Admittedly, it can get messy if you are not vigilant, and with your hands bound as well you have to really concentrate on what youre doing. It means you need to focus your attention on your meal, which adds to your appreciation. It elevates the simple art of dining to a skill, and thats what the best bondage is all about it doesnt limit your experience, but rather enhances it. As we finished, the matresse 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. And while I love to see the moon glisten on the water, as with dining blind there is something very romantic about being in the dark and relying on your other senses for illumination. Its as if you can actually feel the moonlight. We stayed a while, then went back upstairs. Mum and Dad retired almost immediately. Alex agreed to untie me so I could write up my diary, on condition that I first make him his cocoa a fair trade, although just to be spiteful he insisted that I do it with my hands still bound. Of course, I could have easily freed myself, and there was not much he could have done about it; but that would be wimpy. I can brew a mug of cocoa with one hand tied behind my back, so with two hands tied in front the jobs a piece of cake. Once freed of my obligations, I started working on the first entry of my new journal. And of course, when I was about halfway through my recounting of todays events, Alex came crashing though the doorway. He did not actually crash into, over or through stuff, but my little brother doesnt do anything or go anywhere without an accompanying tumult. I was already in my PJs, sitting on my bed, concentrating on my writing and trying to ignore him. Get out, he said. What? Get out. I want to change. Well, that was not going to happen. Even if up until then I had been inclined to leave, now I had to stay. Good grief, I replied. Like I care about seeing your scrawny carcass. But if youre really concerned, Ill close my eyes. I pressed them shut. Hows that? Not good enough. So Alex presented me with a set of rules. I have to admit that, unless he had worked this out in advance, it was pretty remarkable that he could come up with them on the spot. Rather than devising a schedule for who should have privacy in the room, when and for how long, or otherwise trying to coordinate our movements, weve settled on a simple arrangement. When I want to get dressed or undressed, Alex leaves me alone; and when were in there together, I have to be blindfolded; and thats not just when hes getting changed but any time at all. So the deal is rather one-sided, but as he pointed out... Im the man of the house. No, Dads the man of the house. Then Im the man of the room. There was no point in debating the issue, so I reached for my restaurant blindfold, which I had left on the bedside table. I showed it to him and he nodded with approval. After hed gotten into his pyjamas, he tried to sneak out of the room so I would be left sitting in the darkness, wondering what was going on. But as Ive mentioned, my brother is physically incapable of stealth. So I get to finish my journal entry barely as he comes back into the room, and my blindfold is about to go back on. I have begged for a one-minute respite to add this final thought... Im excited about being here on Aranea Island, wondering what thrills and adventures the morrow holds... but Im hoping therell be boys.

2. Fittings.
I was awake half an hour before dawn, and went out onto the balcony to sit and think and watch the sunrise. Im usually the first in our family to be out of bed. I love that lonely, peaceful time of morning, when the nights reign is ending and the coming day is still just a pallid violet blush on the eastern horizon. The tranquil silence, broken only by the gentle roar of the waves on the beach and the distant haunting cries of seagulls, delights and beguiles your senses as the mellow onshore breeze caresses your skin. The serenity couldnt last. Watcha doin? 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. Im sorry if I woke you, I said. Youre forgiven. No, I mean I really am sorry I woke you up. And as I said, youre forgiven. Oh, just forget it. He dropped into the deck chair beside me, and as if in sympathy with the darkening of my mood, a grey cloud drifted across the face of the sun. Soon it was raining steadily. Naturally I was disappointed; but its daft, in a way, how you expect a tropical island to be warm and sunny and dry all the time. By the time I had showered and fixed my hair, our parents were also up and about. Mum was busy making breakfast, since no one fancied a walk downtown in the drizzle and Dad was convinced that the two hotel restaurants would be crowded. As her reward and compensation (because he had pledged that she wouldnt have to cook for the first few days), Dad tied her to the chair to feed her. She loves that (and who doesnt?). They were behaving like naughty little kids, as he contrived to smear all of her face and most of her upper body (and some parts lower) in mess and mush. So much for all those Dont play with your food reproaches of my youth. He then hauled her off, still bound hand and feet, to the bathroom. Alex and I didnt hear anything more, except for a few shrieks and squeals, for the next half-hour. Trying to expel the images from my brain, and remaining positive about a weather change for the better, I put on my Daisy Mae shorts and cherry print halter top. Alex took his turn in the bedroom, and re-emerged in his most eye-catching faux-punk raiment. Mum, who had rejoined us (in her cute little blue and yellow polka dot sundress), and I just shook our heads in unison. However, we didnt have time for anything else because there was a knock on the door. Dad answered and Kate entered. She looked dishevelled, in an attractive way, her hair slicked down by the rain, with strands plastered to her cheeks and forehead, her sarong clinging wetly to her curves, tiny beads of water glistening on her bare shoulders. Alex was entranced, and Dad also gave in to the lingering gaze. She allowed them a few seconds, and then treated us to one of her dazzling smiles. She promised us that the deluge would soon be over. So whats on the agenda? Dad asked. Although we have been assured that we will have plenty of time this week for touristy stuff, we do have some obligations and appointments to keep us busy over the next few days. So Kate laid out a rough schedule for this morning, a trip to the Oasis for our fittings. Mum and Dad have their staff uniforms. Alex has his school and I my TAs uniform, and he and I have our Pioneers outfits. As for the latter, I dont know too much (yet) about the Aranea Island Pioneers, except that they are some sort of adventure club thats organized by the Park Rangers. Well be finding out more soon enough and will like it, or so Kates assured us. Dad said, Are we ready then? and we all turned again to our hostess. Yet instead of moving towards the door, she shifted closer to my brother, saying nothing but performing a little curtsy and then a slow whirl to face away from him. She placed her hands behind her back. Dad chuckled softly, waiting for Alex to respond. It took him a couple of seconds. Im sure my Lil Bro understood at once what was expected of him, but I guess he was taken by surprise by Kates gesture. However, when he saw that we were watching his reaction, he focused on his task. He drew the insides of her wrists together, trying to be gentle but firm as he fumbled with the miniature padlock to clamp it over both her bracelets. She gasped as he wrenched and twisted her arms behind her, but she said nothing. The problem was that he was attempting to keep them straight, while she kept bending her elbows. Alexs approach made it easier for him to manoeuvre the lock into position, whereas Kate was trying to ease the stress on herself. Eventually, of course, she gave in, but while it lasted it was an interesting contest of wills. She is obviously used to getting at least some cooperation from the guy whos binding her, while my obstreperous little brother is accustomed to having it all his own way. Finally done, Alex stepped back to inspect his workmanship. Kate gritted her teeth for a few seconds and then smiled. She wiggled her hands and flexed her arms as if to make sure she was properly shackled. The tension

on her shoulders and chest created by the tight cuffing put an additional strain on the front of her already taut sarong and especially on the knot nestled between her breasts. It created an appealing effect, but I dont think there was much more than friction working against the outward thrust of her torso and the downward pull of gravity to hold her dress in place and prevent dcollet becoming seins nus. Meanwhile, Dad had begun tying Mums hands with the leather strap, in front rather than behind her back; and when Alex was confident that Kate was secured, he did the same for me. I was wondering why, unlike Kate, we were being bound with our hands in front, until Dad summoned Kate to his side, and hitched Mums wrists to hers with a short piece of cord (which must also have come from his gift package, because it was braided with burgundy and teal, the signature colours on the resort logo). I was then added to the ensemble with Alex attaching my wrists, so that Mum and I were positioned side by side, to the rear of Kate. He wanted to complete the job with blindfolds, but Dad vetoed that the paths were too slippery from the rain. And so we set off, with Kate in front, Mum and me behind. We no doubt looked a cute threesome as we went downstairs, through the lobby and out onto the hotel driveway. But we were linked so closely together that it was difficult to see the ground in front even with my sight, and the road was indeed slick and treacherous. If Mum and I drew back to get a better view of what lay ahead, this dragged Kates arms upwards and she was forced to bend forward in order to alleviate the pressure on her back and shoulders, which simply pulled us in close once more. It became like a little dance, and got quite frustrating and fatiguing. I heard Alex laughing at us, off to one side, and shot him a quick vengeful glare. He didnt seem at all fazed. On the other hand, Kates prediction and my optimism had been spot on. The rain had ceased, and as we started down the slope, sunlight began to push through the clouds and they quickly dispersed. At the bottom of the hill, Alex asked if it was now safe for us to be blindfolded, and Dad agreed. Naturally we werent consulted, and Mum seemed rather reluctant, but my brother was already tying mine in place. He was so quick that I didnt have time to see what he was using before the darkness descended over my eyes; but from the dull red sliver at the bottom edge, I could tell it was the scarf Id worn yesterday. I also didnt get to see whether Mum offered any resistance. If she did, she didnt make a sound. Dad or Alex (most likely the latter) must have been carrying a spare blindfold for Kate, because she said, Yes, of course. I can give you the directions from memory. She was as good as her word. Theres an intersection up ahead; we go left; we should be passing the fountain just about now; well need to veer to the right; we must be approaching the boulevard, and so on. We walked for at least half an hour, and in spite of my blindfold I could tell that we were moving in a generally southwesterly direction, because I could feel the warmth of the suns rays on my back and left side. So it was pretty clear that we were heading for the Oasis. At first it was easy going, except that we bumped into the occasional pedestrian. Since Im sure neither Dad nor Alex would have deliberately allowed us to collide with anyone, the streets must have been very congested. Oddly enough, however, apart from soft shuffling noises (which hinted that many of the passers-by were, like us, blindfolded), I heard very few voices, just the rustling of the wind in the trees, the far-off pounding of the waves on the reef and the doleful cries of the seabirds. Once we had left the built-up area, the roadway became narrower and more uneven. Because Mum and I were abreast of each other, it was impossible for both of us to keep on the path at the same time. So it would have been hazardous to let us proceed unsighted and unaided; but our menfolk were not yet ready to remove our blindfolds. Instead I felt Alexs hand grasp my right arm, from behind, and as I was on Mums left, I realized that he was steadying and guiding the both of us. Most likely Dad was doing the same for Kate. Nevertheless, we three were soon puffing and panting from the exertion, both physical and mental, of maintaining our equilibrium on the corrugated track. Hows it going? Dad asked. Good, Mum replied. Easy, I fibbed. Were almost there, Kate said, then Oops! I dont know what happened. Near the end of our journey, Dad ordered us to halt and move over to the side. I could hear feet scraping on the bitumen and the sound of air rasping though gags. The tenor of the breathing was unmistakeably female. A column of women was passing us, at least two dozen I estimated from the time it took for them to go by. There was a hesitancy in the footsteps which indicated they were bound and blindfolded, as well as gagged. Alex later informed me that they were resort employees on their way to begin a shift in the village. Now thats an interesting way to start your work day (and, I suppose, really not that much more onerous than sitting idly in traffic or standing in a crowded bus). When the strength of the breeze suddenly dropped and I started to hear faint echoes of our footsteps around us, I knew that we had entered the Oasis and were passing between the buildings. Kate instructed the guys to look for a place with a red awning and a small sign saying Commissariat. Just a minute later we had arrived, and Alex released us from our tethers. He kept us bound and blindfolded. Dad must have then taken Kate up to the entrance because I heard them talking. After a while they returned and we went inside. Our blindfolds

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were removed and I saw we were in a large warehouse, divided into sections by racks and stacks containing all sorts of clothing and other paraphernalia. We were greeted by a young man whod been lounging on a deck chair near the entrance reading a magazine. He saw us and quickly shot to his feet. He acknowledged us with a perfunctory nod but became more salutary under Kates censorious gaze. (A digression... I am finding this very intriguing, the study in contrasts which Aranea Island provides. Here was Kate, in a next-to-nothing sarong clinging parlously to her torso under the strain of the pinioning of her arms behind her back, matter-of-factly giving orders to this guy who, fully dressed and unrestrained, listened and nodded dutifully. Its a fascinating juxtaposition, and Im sure that life here is going to be interesting.) She dismissed him with a curt tip of the head and turned back to us. Lets start by getting you measured up for those uniforms. Dad untied Mums hands and Alex untied mine. Then they went over to the guy and walked off with him, while Mum and I followed Kate down one of the aisles. A young woman came out from behind the tiers of shelving and introduced herself as Sandra. Like Kate she was slim, shapely and very pretty, though somewhat taller, with sea green eyes, strawberry blonde hair and a light sprinkling of freckles. Instead of Kates full-length preu, she was dressed in a short, fuchsia-coloured half-sarong with a bright floral bikini; but like Kate (and all female employees, of course) she wore the collar, bracelets and anklets. She guided us to the dressing room which was really just a partitioned-off corner. She told us to strip, and although I felt self-conscious at being naked in front of a stranger, she and Kate, who had come in after us, very quickly put me at ease. For instance, when she measured my bust and announced my size as an A cup, she could see me about to protest and pre-empted my objection with a cheery Lets call it a B minus. I had to laugh. We tried on our outfits. Mum has several for day and night duty, summer and winter (or what here passes for winter), formal and casual. She was fitted for two one-piece swimsuits and no less than three styles of bikinis, plus a variety of sarongs and skirts and a cool weather wrap. Theres a rather complex and convoluted set of rules for whats worn when and where and why. For instance, two entire pages in the staff handbook are devoted to just the sarong. As a skirt, you must wear it low on the hip, with the hemline no lower than midthigh. The manual even spells out when its to be fastened in front and when the knot should be tied on the hip to expose one thigh (always the left leg its that specific). It makes for a very sexy look, but as Ive already seen, its not easy to keep on, especially when youre moving about a lot. So its a bit daunting, especially since as a strapless dress it has to be worn without a bra. Sandra showed Mum how to fit the knot snugly in her cleavage to give her boobs maximum exposure without full disclosure. Kate watched us during the fittings but couldnt be of assistance because her hands were still locked behind her back. The rules are a lot less complicated for the males, of course, because they have just the one basic, year-round, day-and-night ensemble trousers and shirt and a weather-proof jacket. But its funny that the sex wearing by far the lesser amount of clothing has by far the greater number of regulations governing how its to be worn. I only got my teaching assistants uniform today (since my Pioneers kit wont be available until later in the week). Its a mix-and-match bikini set with complemental mini-sarongs. Not exactly the sort of uniform Im used to wearing, but I cant wait to tell the gang back home that I get to wear a bikini to my job every day! Sandra packed our uniforms into a box for delivery to the hotel, along with copies of the handbook. When we emerged, Dad and Alex were waiting for us, looking bored and impatient, since their fittings had taken just a couple of minutes. We then followed Kate to another section of the room. As we rounded the corner of one of the floor-to-ceiling shelf stacks, what I beheld momentarily took my breath away. Arrayed before my eyes were rack after rack, row after row of accessories, ornaments and accoutrements, in glittering gold, sparkling silver, glistening black, lurid red, shocking pink, flamboyant purple. The spectacle was at once captivating and intimidating. Sandra, who had trailed along behind us, gave us a minute to take in the sight. I turned to Mum. She was staring open-mouthed. I turned to Dad. He just raised an eyebrow. I turned to Alex and he laughed it must have been my expression. Sandra produced her measuring tape to determine our neck, wrist and ankle sizes. She consulted her inventory, and then fetched four items from one of the shelves. Try these on, she said. I am not really sure of the difference between a choker and a collar, but apparently width is the criterion and we were given one of each kind. They are both soft leather. The choker is two centimetres wide and burgundy in colour, secured with three press studs. The black collar is twice as wide. Mine is held in place with a simple latch, whereas Mums is fastened with a buckle and tiny padlock at the back. On the front of each collar is a small tether ring; but Sandra mentioned that a leash can be attached to the choker as well. Alexs eyes lit up (even more) when he heard that. I have a feeling this feature will be getting plenty of use in the very near future. Both pieces are made of stiff leather and the collar is rather heavy, but they fit snugly without being too constricting. Thats important because, as Sandra explained, Youre expected to wear your collar at all

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times when youre on duty, and the choker off-duty whenever youre in public. Mum frowned as she studied the collar, turning it over and over before putting it around her neck. She deftly locked it into place, but when I tried on mine, I fumbled and Dad secured it for me. Kate assured us that for safety reasons the clasp is made of brittle plastic which can be easily broken, by twisting it sharply. Sandra demonstrated with her own. The padlock snapped cleanly. She then retrieved a new one from the spare parts drawer. Meanwhile, Kate had called out Terry! and the young guy whod greeted us at the door rejoined us. He was carrying a bundle of clothing which appeared to be Dads and Alexs uniforms. He placed them in the box. Sandra then selected a fine silver chain and a leather strap, each about a metre long, from another drawer and handed them to him. He grabbed Kates left arm, not being particularly gentle, and spun her around to face away from him, and then attached one end of the chain to the padlock on the rear of her collar. He ran the chain once around the link between her bracelets, and back up to the collar, adjusting the final length so her elbows were bent and her wrists fixed in the middle of her back. This put a lot of stress on her arms, because she had to hold them up behind her with the chain pulling on her collar (although not quite to the point of choking her). The strain showed in her face. After that, he tied the leather strap to her leash ring and ran it down her front, between her legs, to secure it to her wrists. To make it reach he had to pull it tight, and this made her grunt loudly and roll her eyes. Mum and I winced, Dad went Ooh! and Alex just laughed. Terry then went back to... whatever it was he was supposed to be doing. But its interesting that a male had to be summoned to perform this operation with Kate, given that Sandra was there and could have done it. When I later asked Kate about this, she explained that its not a rule, just one of the local customs that females dont restrain each other if theres a male around to do the job. I have no problem with that. The masculine sex does have its uses. Sandra continued with our fittings, and Im not quite sure what purpose the demonstration had served, except perhaps to remind Mum and me of the sort of thing we can expect while were living here. In addition to our collars, well have to wear the wrist and ankle bands when on duty. They consist of finely crafted silver bands the width of my finger, fashioned into the shape of a braided cord, with a soft matte finish. The fastener is a simple clasp which also serves to lock the rings together. Its relatively easy to get them off when your hands are free but impossible to remove when youre properly shackled. Sandra found me a pair of bracelets that fit and put them on my wrists, with the two parts of the clasp on the palm side (the carpal area, I think its called). She brought my hands together and deftly clamped the rings in place. They felt comfortable. The edges are rounded to prevent chafing, which is imperative because, while they are snug without being too constricting, when your arms are fixed behind you theres going to be a lot more tension. To demonstrate, Sandra released my hands and invited Alex to link them behind my back. Dad did the same for Mum. My ham-fisted brother fiddled with it clumsily for a couple of minutes (or at least it seemed like minutes), and he was starting to hurt me with his tugging and twisting. Stop squirming! he demanded. I was about to give him a ferocious blast when mercifully the lock snapped shut. It was certainly tight. I had to intertwine my fingers to keep my hands together, which of course transmitted the stress from my wrists to my upper arms and shoulders. Its thus rather insidious because if you bend your elbows to ease the strain, it simply transfers it back to your wrists. If you dont mind some abrasion, you can rotate them until they are crossed, easing the pressure somewhat, but you have to be careful that you dont cut off your circulation. On the plus side, I suppose, keeping your arms straight pulls back your shoulders and pushes out your chest for a pleasing display. And lets face it, my boobs need all that sort of help they can get, especially here where covering them up is not really an option. How do they fit? Sandra asked. Not too uncomfortable? I shook my head but Mum just grimaced. She was raising and lowering, bending and stretching her arms. Dont worry, Kate said, you get used to it. That was probably not as reassuring as she intended it to be. I gave them a couple of hard yanks. Kate smiled. Theyre not like the collar. You cant break out of these. That didnt bother me, since I was just curious. Nevertheless, I wondered how that fits in with safety rules and procedures. Sandra returned to the shelves and brought back a bundle of items that she placed on the closest bench top. There were several pairs of leather handcuffs, with velvet inside lining and Velcro attachments. These are not part of your official kit, Kate explained. Theyre your fun cuffs. There were also some leather and vinyl straps, and Sandra demonstrated one of their uses. She attached one to Kates ankle bands to make a hobble, about twenty centimetres long. My father and brother followed her lead with Mum and me, then stood back to admire their handiwork. Dont make it too strict at first, Sandra advised, because you dont want her to fall. Try it, be careful, Kate told Mum and me.

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I took a few small, shambling steps, and when I got my rhythm I was able to shuffle about with not too much effort. Mum was more poised, but still very cautious, because with our arms pinned behind our backs it was easy to lose our balance with no good way of breaking our fall. If you do, Kate cheerily advised, apparently reading my mind and trying to be helpful, bend at the knees and try to go down on them. She then demonstrated the same graceful, gliding movement that the matresse dhotel had performed at the restaurant last night. It just takes familiarity and practice, she announced as she executed a dainty pirouette. Mum and I then practised, and after a few minutes Kate determined that whereas my mother had achieved a sufficient degree of deftness and dignity, I would remain at least for the foreseeable future a lost cause. Sandra handed Dad and Alex each another cable. It had a loop at one end, and at the other a little clip fastener. Dad knew exactly what it was for and immediately snapped it onto the ring on Mums collar. Alex got the idea. He couldnt resist a sharp tug that forced me to jerk forward. Bow to me, woman! he commanded. He pulled downwards on my leash. Alex! Dad growled. Behave yourself. Later, my brother whispered, as he let me up. Sandra placed the rest of the accessories into the box with our uniforms, as Kate led the way again. Dad and Alex followed, with Mum and me in tow, waddling along behind our menfolk. I had a pretty good idea where we were headed, and when we stopped in front of a large cabinet, I knew what to expect even before Sandra had flung open the door. Inside was a fantastic array of gags, just about every type of oral appliance conceivable, in an assortment of colours and sizes and shapes ball, bit, butterfly, plug, ring, muzzle and harness gags, in soft leather, polished silver and satin-finished nylon. However, before I could get too excited, my eyesight shifted to the bottom shelf, where resided a collection of true horror devices, like medical and dental gags, the kind that hold your jaws spread apart (for some nefarious purpose, no doubt, that I dont want to go into). Mums eyes widened as her gaze traversed the rows. Mine did as well, as Sandra picked out something that looked sinister, ominous, creepy and yucky. I recognized its menacing form an inflatable gag. Dont panic, Sandra laughed. This is just a fitting. She took a little black rubber bladder from a sealed plastic bag, stuck it onto the tube and put it in my mouth, then began slowly, carefully pumping the bulb on the other end of the hose until the flaccid globe swelled and hardened to fill the cavity. It tasted foul, sort of chalky but also slimy; and it was humiliating to have my mouth stoppered up, stuffed and sealed like that, especially in front of my dad and Alex. My darling Lil Bro moved around so that I could see his face, to let me know how much he was enjoying my discomfiture. Mum looked on dolefully as she awaited her turn. Sandra prodded my cheeks and the corners of my mouth until finally declaring This will allow a perfect fit. You want that, dont you? I just nodded. After writing down my dimensions, she deflated and removed the balloon, wiped off my saliva with a cloth and put it aside. She picked up a new one and went through the same process with Mum. When that was done, she consulted the inventory to choose the right sizes. She selected for each of us a set of six a standard ball gag (mine with a cherry red ball on a black harness, Mums all-black), a ring gag (dreadful thing I hope I dont have to wear one too often), a muzzle-and-harness (not one of my preferences, but more secure than most types), a dog bone (which is a type of bit-gag, but I dont really like the connotation), a regular latex plug gag (also known as a penis gag... eww!) and a ball-plug-gag. Sandra instructed us to select one each. Mum and I both chose the ball-plug and she handed them over to Dad and Alex. I moistened the inside of my mouth and ran my tongue over my lips a few times, because I still had the aftertaste of the inflatable gag. When Alex inserted the plug, I decided that this would be my favourite. It consists of a black, stitched leather panel which is contoured to fit snugly over your mouth. It has a teardropshaped stopper (mine in an attractive shade of pink) that is tapered where the shaft attaches to the inside of the cover, rather like a pacifier. Because the plug is somewhat smaller than that on your plain ball-gag, its more comfortable to wear. Its large enough to take up the entire cavity of your mouth, without forcing your jaws apart and making them ache. It is sufficiently malleable that you can bite into it (if you need to), but durable enough that you cant damage it if you do. Most importantly, the fact that you can close your lips around it reduces (but of course never entirely eliminates) the drool factor. The material is a tasteless, odourless and washable silicone-based compound, and therefore totally safe, non-toxic and hygienic. On the negative side, the snug fit actually makes it rather irritating after a while, because the plug fills your mouth and the panel clamps your lips in place so you cant make any sound at all except for a low murmur. Which is what a gag is for, so I cant complain about that; but it also makes it difficult to control the air flow. There are several small holes to enable you to breathe through the gag, but the result is that the air mixes with your saliva which has nowhere to go but down your throat, so you are constantly sucking and swallowing, and

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making strange little slurping noises. The straps are narrow, soft and pliable, removable for proper cleaning, with a buckle that can be adjusted to fine-tune the length. Some girls prefer a Velcro fastener, but not me because almost invariably your hair can get stuck in it. Instead, this one has clip-on holders that can be pulled apart for a quick release with a single, sharp tug. So my new ball-plug gag looks good, its flexible, reasonably comfortable, sturdy, secure and safe what more can I say? It may not look as sexy as a straight ball-gag, but for every other feature its hard to beat. Of course a gag, as with all aspects of bondage, shouldnt be too cosy, but like in a recipe, one ingredient should not be so sweet or spicy that it overwhelms the others. As I was pondering all this, Alex could see my furrowed brow and misinterpreted my reaction to the gag. My compassionate Lil Bro smirked at me with the appropriate Schadenfreude. I glared at him and he just grinned back. But then Sandra asked him to remove it, and when he had done so she used an embossing machine to stamp our names onto the straps of each of our new gags. Every female staff member has her own personal ones, Kate informed us. For sanitary reasons its against policy for gags to be shared or swapped or recycled. Once they had been inscribed, Sandra placed them in the box all of them, to my brothers chagrin. Our collars, leashes and cuffs came off as well. I was a little disappointed as well, but I suppose that, as we are not yet certified residents, we arent qualified to wear the official accoutrements. This proved to be the last of our fittings. Terry rejoined us to unhitch Kates wrists and ankles. That surprised me, since she had been cuffed by Alex and I figured it would be a breach of courtesy to undo another guys work. Indeed, she turned to my brother with an apologetic expression but said nothing, nor did anybody else, and Im wondering if it was just a reflex action by Terry. He sauntered off without a word, and Sandra wished us well for our time on Aranea Island. Thereafter, Kate accompanied us back to Resort Village. It was not a very long walk from the Oasis, but it was blisteringly hot and we quickly worked up a sweat. I was weary from the mornings proceedings, glad that we were not bound and looking forward to some swimming and sunbathing. However, as we approached the western edge of the town, Kate steered us towards a large beachside park. She looked up and squinted at the clock tower which loomed over the heart of the central business district. Just in time for the show, she announced. There were maybe a hundred people in the park, some starting up barbeques and setting out picnic lunches, others just taking refuge under the trees from the heat. We skirted the perimeter, and I knew something was up because when Alex stepped onto the grass Kate asked him to wait. She turned in the direction of the sea, and when my eyes followed her gaze I spotted some unusual movement on the water. Although we were facing away from the sun, the glare was intense, but as I continued to peer out across the bay, I discerned two large rowboats skimming swiftly and silently towards us. A few people in the park had taken notice as well, and as the boats glided to the shore and ran up onto the sand, all heads spun about. Amused curiosity turned to amazed excitement as suddenly the air was rent with hair-raising shouts and blood-curdling yells. Twenty or so men in full, colourful pirate regalia leapt out and charged up the beach, heading straight for the bemused spectators. There was laughter and shrieking as the marauders began scooping up surprised women and girls. As the startled victims screamed for rescue and begged for mercy, none of their male companions made even the feeblest attempt to intervene. They were either in a state of shock or too busy laughing and applauding, as the squealing captives were roughly bound and hauled off. One young woman in a white sundress tried to make a break for the safety of the trees but was brought down in a rather heavy tackle by a hulking red-bearded fellow, who wrenched her arms behind her back and tied them with hemp rope. She winced at her brusque handling, and I winced at the hideous chartreuse grass stain on the front of her once pristine dress; but she giggled as she was tossed over her abductors broad shoulder. Nearby, a mother and daughter the girl about Alexs age had been cornered by two fearsome blackguards and were pondering fight or flight. When they looked to their menfolk and found no saviour, they resigned themselves to their fate. It was all very exciting, but looking beyond the spectacle, I noted that only females not already bound in some way were caught up in the attack. Anybody in restraints, and anyone who showed signs of putting up genuine resistance, was left unmolested. It seemed to me that the raiders spared those who had already settled down to lunch and they also ignored our own little party; whether it was because of Kates presence or the fact that we were outside the bounds of the part I couldnt tell. Nonetheless they netted some two dozen captives. And just when I and the other onlookers, and no doubt the victims thought the fun was over, the beastly buccaneers abandoned their boats to withdraw inland with their struggling, squawking booty, heading up the road running westwards in the direction of naturally! Pirates Cove. A large crowd followed. Every two or three days, different locations, Kate answered my unspoken question. Its not easy to pull off because we want it to be a surprise and a thrill, but we also dont wish to cause too much disruption. We continued to watch until the last of the captives, two wriggling young wenches slung over the shoulders of their hulking kidnapper, had disappeared over the crest of the ridge.

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Do I get to play pirate? Yes, Alex, said Kate, youll get to play pirate. Mum raised her eyebrows. I shook my head. No good could come of this... There is more I could write about todays activities, but this journal entry is already too long, and I need sleep. Alex hasnt helped. He came into the room (Im writing this in bed) and according to rule number two I had to put on my blindfold. He stayed an awfully long time, doing only the devil knows what, so I was obliged to wait patiently to get back to finishing this entry. We had lunch in one of the many eateries which line the promenade, and did get to spend the afternoon on the beach. Later we went shopping and sightseeing. As soon as we were back in the hotel, at around five oclock, Mum retreated to her room for a nap, while Dad, Alex and I watched television. When Mum rejoined us, we had dinner at a salad and noodle bar, and afterwards took an evening stroll. When we returned to our suite, the box from the Commissariat was sitting just inside the door. Mum and I left the guys in the living room with their television while we tried on our uniforms and tried out some of our new accessories. So thats our second day on Aranea Island. I still havent met any boys, but as the saying goes, tomorrow is another day.

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3. Mystery.
Its funny how things can turn out. I awoke this morning mightily annoyed because it was raining again, and by the time we were getting ready for breakfast it had turned into a frightful downpour. So much for your tropical island paradise! But in the end it turned out to be a delightful day. Hearing the sound of the rain, I rolled over and went back to sleep. So for once I was not the first in the family to be up and about. I fell into a dream. I dont remember what it was about, except that it was good and I was feeling content; when suddenly I felt myself being rudely shaken into wide awake reality. I opened my eyes, blinking away the blur, to be confronted by my brothers grinning visage. On balance, the blur was better. What do you want? I demanded. My mouth was dry and cottony, as if I had been chewing on my pillow. Maybe I had been. Maybe it was that sort of dream. First this, he commanded. He was holding my red sash blindfold in front of my face. Youve got to be kidding! I shook my head and slammed my eyes shut, hoping that I was still asleep and my pleasant dream had gone bad. I opened my eyes once more. It wasnt the nightmare I was hoping for. Tell you what, I groaned, Ill just close my eyes again and you can say whatever it is you have to say. Rules are rules. I could continue to argue, but surrender was the easier course. Sitting up, I tied the band around my head. Why are you traumatizing me? Its breakfast time. Thats it? Thanks. No. Go. For all his myriad faults, the brat knows when hes neither wanted nor needed nor safe from harm. He faded into my oblivion. On the third hour I rose again (or maybe it was just one). The rain had stopped ,but it was still dismal outside. The family must have gone downstairs to eat, and I had the place all to myself. It was blissfully silent but for a pair of seagulls perched upon the balcony demanding tribute. I grabbed two slices of bread, tossed them one and watched them wrangle noisily over it, ate the other piece, had a shower, drank a glass of milk, fixed my hair, put on my Kiargo black and gold string bikini, painted my toenails, sifted through a pile of pamphlets, put on some make-up, perused the restaurant guide, chatted with the seagulls, changed my toenail colour... I was so bored that I was missing my family. How pathetic is that? Eventually, the loved ones returned. My mother was excited, my father was inscrutable, my brother was... well, my brother. Calm down, Alex. Put your shoes on, Sarah, Mum called out as she bee-lined for the bedroom. Please calm down, Alex. Whats the sitch? I asked. Were going on a mystery tour, Alex explained. Where to? I asked, innocently enough. Um, you do know the meaning of the word mystery? I chose not to answer. And people say that youre the smart one... He stopped to think about that, then slunk away. Dad chuckled. As I retrieved my sandals from under the sofa, I saw him grab the newspaper and head for the balcony. He flopped into the banana lounge. Shouldnt you be getting ready as well? I ventured. Not coming with you today. Not into the mystery? More like misery. Dad has business, is what he means, honey. Mum explained. She was wearing her lilac Gottex strapless maillot, over which her sarong was tied low on her hip. She was fixing her hair into a loose bun. Whats Alex doing? How should I know? Im not my brothers zookeeper. As if on cue, the bedroom door opened and from it emerged a startling apparition from a vintage tourist brochure cream pleated slacks, Bali print shirt, Panama hat, Venetian loafers, Ray-Ban knock-offs. Mum and I just rolled our eyes. I pushed past him, found one of my mini-sarongs which best matched my bikini, wrapped it around my waist and grabbed my Gucci shades. On the way out, Alex held up two pairs of the handcuffs wed been issued at the Commissariat. Give me a break, I growled at him. Not right now, sweetie, Mum smiled. My Lil Bro looked crestfallen as he mournfully put them back in the box. You two are no fun.

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We yelled good-bye to Dad, whose nose was by now buried deep in his newspaper. We went downstairs, down the hill, downtown. It was still heavily overcast although the rain had let up. The air was damp, the ground was sodden and the trees and bushes drooped and dripped. A chilly breeze tickled my bare skin and I started to regret having nothing on but my bikini and sarong. Mum was beginning to shiver as well. Alex was fine, as ridiculous as he looked. There are times when I envy males and their fashion sense. The town centre was almost empty. People were only just starting to emerge from their warm, dry indoors. Mum checked the street signs and we stopped outside a small storefront. There we were greeted by a young woman who announced herself as Regina. Shes small but curvaceous, with champagne blonde hair styled in a striking layered razor cut. She was wearing a tiny, and I mean really tiny bandeau top, and a mini, really mini sarong. There wasnt much of her, and a lot less that was covered. Alex couldnt keep his eyes off her, but she didnt seem to notice, or care. I guess that when you work in Aranea Resort and youre female, you get used to being stared at. She ushered us inside, where two other patrons were waiting to begin the tour with us. Regina introduced them as Roz and Amanda. Both were wearing the staff uniform. Roz is a woman in her late twenties or early thirties, brunette, with a trim, compact body and expressive, dark hazel eyes. Amanda is a girl of nineteen or twenty, tall and slim, honey blonde and sweet-faced. Both have short-cropped hair styles. Indeed, boy cuts appear to be common here, and for a while I thought this might just be some quirky local trend; until a more prosaic reason occurred to me. Aquatic activities like snorkelling and scuba-diving are a popular pastime with the residents, and for that long hair can be problematic. However, there could be no mistaking them for boys. They each wore the floral-pattern preu, but in different ways. Roz had hers as a strapless dress, like Kates, whereas Amanda opted for the skirt like Regina, except knotted in front rather than on the hip. Im still not sure what the rules are, whether its individual choice. But its obviously the case that if you wear it full-length, tied at your bosom, youre not permitted your bikini top; so it can be perilous for girls like Amanda and me who are not especially voluptuous. On the other hand, if you have fabulous legs, like Roz, the dress allows you to show off every bit of them because its very short. They also wore the choker, though not the bracelets and anklets. As we learned yesterday, this indicated that the two were off-duty at the time. Mum looked uncomfortable, because she was wearing neither her choker nor one of the regulation sarongs, but Regina gave her a just relax smile. Since we are not officially residents until the end of the week, we dont have to adhere to the dress code until then. With Mum appeased, Regina explained that while the mystery tour experience was a part of our orientation, it would be a fun day. Normally there would be resort guests joining us, but the threat of bad weather meant that the first scheduled tour would not begin for another hour. So there will be just us on this one. Whats the usual number? Roz inquired. (She asked the most questions during the day. From this I assumed that she was to be employed as a guide or hostess; but it turns out shes some sort of technical specialist. She certainly has that no-nonsense, down-to-earth, matter-of-fact, plain-speaking approach to everything.) Twelve per group, Regina answered. Normally we have more than the one gentleman... She tipped her head towards Alex with a subtle gesture I didnt interpret straight away. So, are we ready to begin? We all nodded and she looked towards the doorway, but before anyone had moved she turned to my brother with a sprightly smile. Alex, its up to you to do the honours. It took him a couple of seconds to take the hint, but his face lit up in sudden realization and then cracked into a broad, goofy grin. Mum raised her eyebrows and rolled her eyes (which she does a lot around Alex these days), and I shook my head. Roz and Amanda looked puzzled at first, then benevolently amused as Regina turned away from him and placed her hands behind her back. She straightened her elbows and interlocked her fingers. I try not to visualize what goes on inside my brothers mind (for there madness lies), but I can imagine what was racing through it as he clamped Reginas wrists together. Having learnt from yesterdays effort, this time he was adept at handling the tiny coupling. Regina flexed and stretched a couple of times, either to make the fit more comfortable or to show him that she was properly restrained. And when he was done, after looking around at the rest of us to make sure we were suitably impressed, he placed his hands on her shoulders and ran them slowly down her pinioned arms, lightly drumming his fingers as he did so. He gently grasped her wrists and jiggled her bracelets to confirm they were secure. And while this was happening, Regina closed her eyes and licked her lips with the tip of her tongue. Her nostrils flared and her chest heaved as she drew in long, deep breaths. Its nice to see that living on Aranea Island doesnt make you blas about your bondage. Ladies, she said, regaining her composure but puffing just a little, you can leave your bags in the box behind the counter. We deposited our belongings in a plastic crate.

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And you wont be needing your sunglasses either. I was about to say that the clouds had started to disperse when I realized that wasnt what she meant. She then tipped her head in the direction of a cabinet in one corner of the room. Top shelf, she instructed, and Alex extracted four sets of handcuffs. They were nothing fancy like the ones we got yesterday, just plain rings made of hard plastic and connected by two links providing enough length that when your arms are behind you they give you some freedom of movement but not so much that you can slide them down your bottom and over your legs to escape. Regina informed us that with a really strenuous tug they can be pulled apart. That was a bit disconcerting, since I dont really see the fun in being bound if its so easy to get out of; but its a safety feature. Perhaps it has something to do with what can happen on the mystery tour. I dont know that for sure, but it made the days agenda suddenly more intriguing. I must have been frowning while I was having these thoughts, because Mum, misconstruing it as lack of enthusiasm, had taken the initiative and put her arms behind her back. She had her palms facing inwards, and had to lock her thumbs together to hold her hands in place, because Alex was struggling to get her cuffs on. It was funny to watch my brother become increasingly frustrated and flustered. He had just done basically the same to Regina with no difficulty, and it wasnt like family ties are a new thing. But the tiny catch on each of the rings is located right beside the chain attachment, and in attempting to join them he was trying to avoid touching his mothers backside. To be supportive, she was stoically pushing her hands as far from her body as she could, but this is not so easy to do when someone is forcing your wrists together behind you, and it was putting a lot of additional strain on her chest and shoulders. She let out a soft moan and Alexs expression was pricelessly comical. She winked at me. Of course, as much as I was enjoying my brothers discomfiture, I knew full well that he would take it out on me. And indeed, when my turn came, he made sure to give my arms a few hard and completely unnecessary heaves and jerks. I looked plaintively to mummy dearest, who just smiled indulgently. While this was going on, I caught a few glimpses of Amanda and Roz as they awaited their turn. Amanda was fidgety, not knowing what to do with her hands as she beheld us being fettered, grimacing and grunting. She kept her arms rigidly at her side, but her fingers were tapping out some random rhythm on her thighs. When Alex moved behind and took hold of her wrists to draw them backwards, she couldnt suppress a flinch. Her face contorted and she gasped several times as she was being put in her restraints. And when my brother was finished, she twisted her wrists around her cuffs, raised her hands as high as she could and tried to straighten her arms (finding it was painful to do so). The struggle with her restraints caused her to wriggle about, and when her squirming strained the thin fabric of her flimsy top and her boobs threatened to spill out, she blushed a bright pink. I got the distinct impression that Amanda is a novice at this. Its easy to forget that not everyone shares the same depth of experience as you. She joined Mum and me, standing patiently next to Regina as everybodys attention now turned to Roz. I classify the reaction to being bound into five types playful, submissive, stoic, edgy and defiant. My mother and I are stoics, Regina looked to be playful; Amanda was most definitely the jittery, on-edge type. Roz was a defiant. She glared over her shoulder at Alex as he endeavoured to connect her bracelets. I dont know if she was deliberately tensing her arms to make it more difficult for him, but if that were the case she only made it harder on herself. Maybe it was part of a game. I do that a lot. Or perhaps she was a little unnerved by the age difference. Some women are like that, they dont enjoy being tied up by much younger guys, let alone a boy, and she certainly wore a peculiar expression as she had watched him shackling his mother. But I dont really get what the issue is. There are times when you can suck all the fun out of things by being too oversensitive. My personal motto: Sudo non super vegrandis res. Dont sweat the small stuff. Naturally, Rozs show of haughty bravado merely served to inspire my dauntless Lil Bro. He was taking great pleasure in his position of dominance. Well, I could hardly blame him for that. What adolescent boy doesnt fantasize about being the solitary male in command of a bevy of scantily clad damsels? Nevertheless, he was still a bit uncertain, as he glanced across at Regina. Without a word spoken, she smiled and tilted her head in a Youre the boss way, so he went back to the cabinet, rummaged about and withdrew a bunch of long leather straps. Flaunting them before us, he slowly counted out five, draping them one at a time over his left arm and nodding at each of us in turn. With a flick of his hand he beckoned us to face away from him. Roz grumbled something unintelligible and Mum sighed, but we all obeyed. We were standing in a rough semi-circle, facing towards the large storefront window. Around a dozen people had collected just outside the shop and were looking in. I think they were waiting to begin their own mystery tour. There was a young couple; she was blindfolded and he was whispering to her, no doubt explaining what she was missing out on. She was also naked but for a microscopic g-string. Nudity is not forbidden on Aranea Island (not for females, anyway), and bare breasts are not infrequent, although such displays are normally confined to the beaches and parks. My attention was wrenched back inside. Alex had started with me. He looped the strap around my upper arms just above the elbows. It was composed of soft, supple leather, lined on the inside with a fleecy material, and

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secured with a glide or slider buckle for precise fitting. He pulled it as taut as he could, hauling my shoulders backwards and drawing my elbows together so they almost touched behind me. It was not painful, nor even particularly uncomfortable, because Im quite limber, but its always stressful. Of course, the elbow tie is a perennial crowd pleaser, for the way it enhances your bustline. The tighter it is in the back, the more agreeable the effect on your frontage (from the point of view of your audience, at least). Regina was next, followed by Amanda. I have to admit that Alex did good work. He was sensitive to each womans response as he tested how tight to make the strap. None of us, except maybe Regina, knew how long we would have to endure it. Of course, my brothers concern was not so much sympathy for our ordeal as for prolonging his own enjoyment of it. Reginas elbow tie was as severe as mine, but I knew my brother would go easy on Mum, and that was partly because she was wearing her strapless swimsuit. While aesthetically enhancing the display of your chest, the posture puts a lot of strain on whatevers covering it. Even the Lil Bro has his limits. And in that respect, Amandas ended up so slack that it didnt serve much purpose. Alex must have understood that she was not ready for anything more stringent. In addition, her earlier wiggling about had pushed her bikini top so far down that all that appeared to be holding it in place were and I feel squicky just writing this her aroused nipples. Roz, again the last, looked on fearfully, expecting the worst, and with good reason. Alex had his fun with her, yanking the strap so hard that she yelped more in shock than distress and then he eased off. Her wan smile of gratitude showed that she had been broken, at least for the moment. And when he was done, my brother stood back, arms on hips and head bobbing in self-satisfied conceit as he looked us over, thoroughly pleased with his efforts. Yet while he thought his work was complete, it was Regina who had other ideas. She went to the cabinet, squatted with her back to it and reached in, fumbling about until she had what she wanted. It was another bundle of leather straps, these ones finely braided with a metal clasp at each end. Youve got to be kidding, a reinvigorated Roz snarled under her breath, as my brother sorted out five of the leashes and discarded the rest. Meanwhile Regina was back at the cabinet, and this time she took out a small stack of scarves, of shiny midnight blue. Alex took them and blindfolded us. I was first, so I dont know what happened, but I heard one of the others, Amanda I think, emit a soft Ooh sound. Alex had triple-folded the cloth to eliminate any trace of illumination, even when I turned my face directly to the window, where sunlight was now streaming in. As the darkness descended, the satiny texture was cool and tickly against my cheeks. Alex grabbed my shoulders and shifted me sideways until I sensed that I was standing directly behind someone. It took me a while to realize it was Regina. We were close enough that I could sniff the subtle fragrance of her perfume, no more half an arms distance between us. My brother looped one end of the strap around my neck and secured it with the clip in a loose-fitting noose. I had an idea what he was doing. There was a soft tugging on my halter and I moved very slightly forwards, to hear a faint click as he snapped the catch on the other end of the tether to the back of Reginas collar. Then I felt pressure on the back of my yoke as one of the other women was harnessed to me. It was Amanda. Once the five of us had been hitched in line, a gentle pressure on the back of my neck told me that we were to be moving off, and there was a small jerk on my throat as Amanda to my rear got the message half a second after me. I quickly grasped that Alex was leading Regina at the vanguard of our little column by her leash, because he was doing so with little tugs that were transmitted via our tethers along the line. By keeping the strap in tension, when we got started on our journey we could each follow the lead of the one in front and so negotiate the path in relative safety. Regina must have the trail imprinted precisely in her brain, because she didnt need too much guidance from Alex. In fact she gave him accurate directions all the way, just as Kate had done yesterday. I guess that when you spend so much time blindfolded, you learn to navigate by memory, aided by finely tuned sensory perception and well-honed instinct, in addition to some elemental good luck. Be careful, theres a door sill, Regina warned as we crossed the threshold. Alex hadnt alerted us, but its possible that was due to being careless, not callous. I heard the people at the shop entrance shuffling aside to let us pass. There was a nervous giggle from one of the women, who was no doubt picturing in her mind how she would look in her own little procession a half-hour from now. Stepping cautiously out onto the sidewalk, I tried to get my bearings. We appeared to be heading eastwards, because I could feel the sunlight, weak though it was, on those parts of my face not concealed by my blindfold. The noise of the street seemed distant, although I could sense the presence of people on every side pedestrians going by, shop and caf proprietors opening up for business, maintenance workers clearing away the detritus of last nights festivities and this mornings inclement weather. With the experience of yesterdays trek, it was a relatively simple matter to hobble along in our little sightless queue. Even so, time stretches out when youre concentrating so hard on where to place each new step, and I was beginning to get a little bored and irritated, not being able to see where we were going or what was happening all around us. Then suddenly it became worthwhile. We had left the built-up part of the village and Alex was steering us along a cobbled track which ran up a

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long, slightly undulating slope. I must have been fidgeting in my bonds, because my thoughtful Lil Bro, thinking I was getting wobbly, was walking by my side with one arm around my waist. From the angle at which he was holding me, it seemed that he was using his other arm to steady Regina and keep her on course. Yet though she occasionally needed his support, her skill at navigating behind her blindfold was really quite remarkable. There was no hesitancy in her pace which actually made things harder for the rest of us because the tempo was just a little too fast to sustain. The ground underfoot was smooth but slippery in places, and every so often Alex had to assist me in staying upright; and because we were tied together I could tell that the others were having difficulties as well. My brother must have had his hands full keeping the five of us on our feet, and for that I must give him due credit. Its a nice feeling, being vulnerable and dependent, but I admit that it was also quite scary, because with your arms pinioned behind your back, you are in a helpless and perilous position. Not only is it extremely hard to maintain your balance, but if you do fall you cannot protect yourself. Still, its part of the thrill, and a true test of your feminine fortitude. I felt a constant tugging on the loop around my throat as Amanda staggered along, but there at least as no danger of my choking, because there was a lot of slack in it. None of us spoke, but there was a lot of huffing and puffing. It was really quite strenuous; but just as I was beginning to lament my bonds and blindfold, I became aware that we were passing through a lush garden. The aromas were so potent that it was like walking into a wall of scented cushions. We slowed down to take it all in. The pathway was lined with flowerbeds from which issued a rich effusion of opulent bouquets, familiar and exotic sweet, spicy, pungent, musky, resiny, citrusy, minty, earthy wafting and mixing in the breeze. The blindfold, as it does, stimulated my senses and heightened my awareness, in fact almost to the point of overload, because without my vision it was impossible to separate and highlight individual scents from the potpourri of fragrances. It was a strange, almost psychedelic experience, intense and intoxicating but at the same time disorienting. Regina informed us that this was called the Aromatic Trail. I would have named it the Perfumed Garden, and Im surprised the resort people didnt come up with that one themselves or maybe they had. For as if on cue, Regina casually added that the sudden rush of sensation causes many blindfolded women to have an orgasm. I almost tripped over in shock. Alex only just managed to save me. I heard one of the women behind me gasp and my mother giggle. I wish I could have seen her face, even half hidden behind her midnight blue mask. By the time we reached the end of the Trail, I was near exhaustion, not just from the physical effort but also from the sensory inundation. When we finally came to a halt, Alex asked if any of us needed to use the toilet. We all said yes, and Im sure that the overstimulation had something to do with it. He took off our blindfolds which was decent of him but we remained bound and tethered. I blinked and squinted to adjust my eyes to the sunlight, and saw that we were standing on a small terrace on the side of the mountain, overlooking the village. We were quite high up funny, I hadnt noticed how rapidly wed been climbing and the view out over the bay and beyond to the open sea was truly breathtaking. Nestled amongst the trees was a concrete ablutions block. Once inside, we could have released each other from our bonds without too much difficulty, but we didnt. That would be against the rules, and whats the point of submitting to rules in the first place if youre going to break them whenever its convenient? So we had to assist each other in getting the job done. That was hard enough linked together with our hands cuffed and arms strapped behind our backs. In the narrow confines of the stall, it required intricate coordination and considerable gymnastic skill. It would have looked hilarious, if wed had an audience, because we had to go in two at a time, while the others remained just outside, but with the next in line forced to lean into the cubicle because of our halters. We rotated through. I helped Regina, Amanda helped me, and so on. Mum presented a special difficulty because, unlike the rest of us wearing bikinis, she had on her one-piece, which was easy to get down but a lot harder for her partner, Roz, to pull back up into place with her hands clinched behind her. Somehow we managed, but on the way out I made the mistake of glancing at the mirror. I have learned from experience that you should avoid seeing your reflection when you are helpless to take remedial action. My hair was a mess and my make-up runny from the effects of the damp air; my sarong was hanging askew from Amandas handcuffed attempt to fix it back in place. Indeed, we all looked dishevelled. When we emerged, Alex had the temerity to demand to know why wed taken so long. I wanted to punch him ... or at least kick him. Regina inquired about what we thought of the tour so far. Interesting, was all any of us could say. My brother just grinned. We got ready to set off again. From where we were, the track descended precipitously towards the eastern edge of town. Alex had taken note of the way ahead, winding and uneven as well as steep, and decided not to re-blindfold us... except for Roz. Im not exactly sure why she was singled out, although I presume it was due to her earlier bad attitude. She gasped in dismay but didnt say a word, at least not straight away. However, with our eyesight restored (apart from Rozs), Alex figured that his captives required some further

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restraining. I knew what was coming when he twirled the first of the scarves into a strand and tied a knot in the middle. When he realized that it now wasnt big enough for an effective gag, I thought he was going to abandon the enterprise. Not Alex. He unknotted and folded the material into a rectangular wad and pushed it between my lips. I didnt resist, but started to regret my acquiescence when he reached down to my waist, took hold of my sarong and whisked it off my hips. He fixed it over my mouth and tied it around my head. It was kind of bulky but did its job. I dont like any sort of cloth stuffed in my mouth in fact I hate the dry, musty taste but the glossy texture of the blindfold scarf made this one bearable. While Alex was gagging me, I glanced behind at Amanda, for her response. Its always interesting to see how the novice reacts to new situations. She was boggle-eyed when my brother pulled off my skirt how far did she think he was intending to go? but she had settled down by the time her turn came. Nevertheless, it was obvious from her expression of revulsion and the way she instinctively pressed her jaws together that she was not used to being gagged. Alex, however, showed admirable restraint, allowing her a few seconds to relax, to lick her lips and moisten the insides of her mouth to accept the wad. Her eyes widened again and her head swayed slightly as he reached down to remove her sarong. The knot was positioned just above her crotch and as he grappled to untie it, she shivered... but bravely kept her silence. She was still agitated when Alex put the folded material around her head. She tried to spit out the wad, but before she could succeed he spun her around, clamped a hand over her mouth and put his other arm around her shoulders to pull her into a tight embrace. Shes at least half a head taller than my brother, with a wiry athleticism, and could likely have fought him off with relative ease, but for her arms being pinned behind her back. She struggled in the clinch for perhaps a minute before giving up her resistance. Nevertheless, when Alex let her go, he took a couple of steps backwards to give her space. She thought about her situation for a few more seconds, then slowly blinked and bowed her head in submission. Alex extracted the saliva-soaked clump from her mouth and refolded it. Amanda didnt say a word, but she opened her jaws wide when it was time for reinsertion. He told her to bite down on the stuffing to make sure that it didnt go too far in and cause her to choke. She nodded meekly, finished with her show of defiance. He completed the job, securing the gag with a sharp tug of the ends that elicited a gargled moan. And to further remind her of who was in command, he grabbed her arms and rotated her again to tighten her elbow strap. As her shoulders were wrenched backwards and her chest thrust forward, her eyes bulged. He turned her to face him once more. He gently took hold of her bikini top where it had slipped and lifted it back up to cover her breasts. It was a gesture of benevolence but also a demonstration of his absolute control over her. It was fascinating to observe their little pantomime. They each played their part in a drama with a predestined outcome his triumph and her vanquishment. I suddenly realized that Amanda, though a novice, was no naive ingnue. And I felt so proud of my Lil Bro, that he can be so firm with his damsels when the situation requires it. On the other hand, there are times like this when his precociousness gives me chills. Of course, three women remained to be muzzled. Mum was next, and Alex gingerly removed her sarong. She whispered something to him. I dont know what it was she said, but he grinned as he pushed the stuffing into her mouth. She clenched her teeth when it was halfway in, and he tied the cover in place without any fuss. However, when he turned to Roz and Regina, I wondered what was coming. Neither was wearing a bra under her sarong. Yet his solution was so simple and obvious that I realized the ceremony with the sarongs was just a ritual to reinforce his ascendancy. Since arriving here, Alex has kept a couple of the pliable leather straps in his pocket, for impromptu use on me or any other female he can get his paws on; and so he employed these to hold the two womens gags in place. Like Amanda, Roz had learned her lesson and was behaving, but this hadnt relieved her of the blindfold. And although she kept her silence for a short while, once we were headed down the track she started complaining again because we were now going faster and this was causing her some problems. Her protests were pointless and more than a little ridiculous, but its funny how some gals like the sound of their own voice even when muffled and garbled through a gag. As for me, if I cannot say it loud and clear, I keep it to myself (mostly). Regina was the last to be gagged. Alex hesitated, but only because she had to give the directions. Of course, with her sight restored she could see where we were going and would be able to communicate by means of grunts and other assorted noises, plus head and eye movements. So even as Alex was considering his move, she opened wide to accept her gag. Then, without waiting for instructions, she strode forth. Caught unawares, I was jolted into following her lead as the tether between us stiffened. The same thing happened with Amanda to my rear, and so on down the line, to Roz at the end. Being blindfolded, she was taken entirely by surprise and uttered a muted curse as she staggered forward. I didnt have much sympathy for her (since her attitude was becoming, quite frankly, just a tad tiresome), but I felt sorry for Mum, directly to her front, who had to put up with the jerking and lurching which tugged on her halter. At least Alex had the decency to walk beside Roz on the way down the side of the ridge, to keep her from tumbling (and taking the rest of us with her). We had veered off the main path and were treading a narrow trail that runs parallel to the ridge enclosing the eastern end of Resort Village. This stage occupied about half an hour, and it had only just occurred to me that

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the first part of the walk must have taken at least twice that long. I hadnt realized because its so easy to lose all track of time when youre blindfolded and your attention is focused steadfastly on each step you take. It certainly feels like a long time, but you have no way of knowing for sure. Now, without that diversion, I was starting to regret not having a proper breakfast, although at least the hunger pangs provided some distraction from the dull throbbings in my arms and shoulders. Even my boobs were getting a little sore from the tension of the elbow strap. So I cant say I was enjoying our little adventure; but that doesnt mean I wished it would stop. Its like when youre having a really weird dream you hope its over soon, but you dont want to wake up until you find out how it ends. Eventually we came down off the side of the ridge, emerging onto the headland, a grim, hulking protuberance of taupe-coloured granite, windswept and barren. We continued to a broad causeway constructed of gigantic boulders, and thence onto a long, tapering sand spit anchored across the mouth of the estuary which empties into the bay. About halfway along, perched upon a rocky outcrop snuggled amongst the spinifex, is a low, coral pink building designed like the hybrid offspring of a Mexican hacienda and a medival citadel. Over the gateway, a sign proclaims The Sand Castle. I had seen this structure from our hotel suite, but it had been too far away to pick out the details. It is, in fact, a restaurant. The place was almost empty, with the morning tea crowd departed and lunchtime customers yet to arrive. The ambiance was standard family style, but the decor was ancient Greco-Roman, or at least its colloquial version. We were greeted by the proprietress, a diminutive woman who introduced herself as Marcia. She was wearing a tiny, exquisite slavegirl dress, with all the proper accessories gold neckband, bracelets and anklets in a baroque, antiquarian design. There were three or four waitresses clearing and setting tables, wearing similar costumes, and a couple of waiters in full-length togas. In fact, the latter were clad in the crimson-edged toga praetexta, attire which only a history geek like myself would know is wildly inappropriate for serving staff. Of course, even had I been able to say something, I would not have. I have come to understand that reality and fantasy rarely intersect. Marcia ushered us to a table on the balcony which offered a superb view towards Frigate Island and the open sea. Without hesitation, my etiquette-challenged Lil Bro took his seat, leaving his five damsels standing by the table, bound, gagged and tethered in line. Poor Roz was still blindfolded and trying to get a sense of her surroundings. Marcia inspected us unsympathetically before gesturing to one of the waiters. He acknowledged Alex with a polite tip of the head, but was brusque as he seized Regina by her shoulders and twisted her about to unleash her from me. He shoved her to one side and removed my halter, and then the others. He barked an order at Marcia to help get us ready. For a moment I was taken aback by his gruff behaviour and the insolent treatment of his boss, but of course he was playing his role. In keeping with the theme of the establishment, Marcia was a mere slavegirl and we were Alexs captives. At least, I think it was role-play. Alex stayed in his chair and began chomping on a bread stick as Marcia and the waiter took off our gags and removed the straps from around our upper arms, for which I was grateful. The saliva-sodden scarves and the three discarded sarongs were collected and placed on a vacant chair. However, our hands remained shackled behind our backs. My brother, ever the considerate one, glowered with displeasure and insisted he was not going to ruin his enjoyment of the meal by having to feed five helpless females. Marcia reassured him that this would be taken care of. We were blindfolded once more, with red sashes. We were each allocated one of the waiting staff to assist us. The girl assigned to me kept me in pig-out bliss with a sinfully sumptuous serving of newly baked scones spread with a lavish coating of rich strawberry jam, topped by a gargantuan dollop of freshly whipped cream. I happily gorged myself, and my helper was kept busy wiping blobs of jam and cream from my nose, cheeks and chin. I also managed to dribble my grape juice down my front. The girl apologized but I took full responsibility. I had a lovely time. We all did. The four women were assigned male helpers, and from the tittering and sniggering, I had a strong hunch that there was more going on than mere hand-feeding. Alex snorted in disgust a couple of times, as I regretted being left out. I heard Mum giggle and wondered what Dad was doing at that very moment. Before we departed on the next leg of our mystery tour, there was another trip to the bathroom. We were by now sufficiently adroit at doing what was necessary bound and blindfolded, and not being leashed together made it a lot easier. Theres no need to go into the details. It must have been around about noon when we left the Sand Castle and headed back towards the village. The mornings walk had made us pretty much exhausted, and our feast had left us feeling even more lethargic, so Regina commandeered one of the taxis parked behind the restaurant. All she had to do was say something to the attendant. Our blindfolds and cuffs stayed on (except, of course, for driver Regina) but that was all. When I heard Alex grab Roz, probably to reapply her gag, or maybe the elbow strap, and she started to pull away, I silently cheered for her. Let it go, sweetie, Mum said, guessing, behind her blindfold, what was happening. Alex replied with a sullen grumble; but it was a timely reminder to him that the privileges of being the sole possessor of a penis in our group extended only so far. I think that for a brief moment he was weighing the

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odds of successfully wrestling his damsels into submission; but even bound and blindfolded, four feisty females (we couldnt expect resistance from Regina) would be more than a handful for one obstreperous adolescent, so he wisely opted for a tactical retreat. He was gracious in helping us into the buggy, and on the way back into the village he good-naturedly described the picturesque scenery for us... Come to think of it, he waxed so lyrical that I now realize that he was, in his inimitable way, taunting us. I was so disappointed. If that was the best he could come up with, I obviously havent taught my Baby Bro as much as I like to think. As the rumbling of the wheels across corrugated bitumen transitioned into a smooth rolling across level pavement, I knew that we were back in town. When we came to a halt, Alex tapped me on the shoulder and I climbed out. He guided us two at a time across the threshold of one of the buildings, and since hardly a word had passed between him and Regina, I had no idea what to expect. When he uncuffed me and took off my blindfold, as I adjusted my eyes, massaged my wrists, stretched my arms and rubbed my shoulders, I looked about. I saw that we were standing inside a place called The Chain Store no need to guess its product line. Regina quickly assured us that we were under no obligation to buy anything we were here for a free fitting and a gift. Roz, always the cynic, suggested that the hard sell was reserved for the paying guests, and Regina responded with a good-humoured smile. We looked about for a while, fantasizing about some of the items, hypothesizing about others. Here there was something for every part of the body, and a few objects which didnt seem to belong anywhere that I can conceive of (or indeed want to). Alex asked Mum about a pear-shaped gadget with a screw mechanism on the handle end, and she just gave him a funny look. The merchandise came in a range of materials, from plastic to platinum. As well as appliances like gags, blindfolds and hoods, there was other gear, like chain mail bikinis (ouch!); and my brother became interested in a showcase full of chastity belts. He called me over and asked me to explain what they were and how they worked. Since he knew perfectly well what they were and how they worked, I ignored him. There was a couple in the shop. The female was already blindfolded but was using her sense of touch and smell (for the leather!) to guide her appraisal of the goods. When they were finished, the salesgirl showed us around the store. Her name was Natalie. She measured me for a beautiful set of fine gold chains for the neck, waist, wrists and ankles with accoutrements that included connectors to be used in all sorts of different combinations, shackles for elbows and knees, and indeed everything a fashion-conscious damsel in distress could desire. All pieces had detachable fur lining sheer luxury! She told me how cute I looked in my bits and pieces and turned to Alex. Doesnt she look pretty? she said. Huh! he replied. My brother is nothing if not eloquent. Alas, the gold chains were not to keep, but Natalie presented us each with an elegant suede-leather choker, mine magenta with a heart-shaped lock. Im getting quite a collection now. She introduced Mum, Amanda and Roz to various other interesting devices, like spreader bars, posture bars, yokes, prangers, fiddles. Im sort of glad I wasnt expected to try out any of these, because they looked rather demanding. The most fearsome was an apparatus that Roz was put into. It consists of a bar in the form of a yoke which braces around the throat like a solid collar. At the ends of the bar are wrist cuffs, so the wearers arms are extended to the side; but also attached to the collar part is a rod which connects to another bar with ankle cuffs to splay the legs. The rod and spreader are adjustable, and Natalie demonstrated by shortening and lengthening them, forcing poor Roz into some uncomfortable positions bent forward with her head between her knees or the other way with her body arched backwards, feet forced so far apart that she winced and pleaded for release (but she had a good laugh when she was liberated from the horrid contraption). My brother was invited to do the adjusting, and he enjoyed himself immensely. We stayed about an hour before moving on. We wore our new collars, but Alex magnanimously chose not to exercise his prerogative to put us in anything more. It was good to be free for a while. We piled into the buggy and set off through the village, back towards the docks area on the eastern edge of town. We came upon a small cluster of weather-beaten, white-washed timber structures which I had seen a few times from a distance and assumed were just the old, rundown parts of the resort that had not yet been renovated. Regina set us straight. This is the core of the historical settlement which has been preserved in its original condition. We pulled up outside a building signposted Courthouse and disembarked. (Okay, its since occurred to me how unlikely it is that in the islands pre-resort days the population was anywhere near large enough to warrant its own courthouse and jail. Dramatic licence for the tourists, I guess.) We were met by a man dressed in an old-time police uniform and a woman in a short and shabby grey tunic labelled Trustee across her chest. Of course, she wore the ubiquitous collar, bracelets and anklets, which was fitting for her character. As soon as we alighted we were (no surprise) arrested on the spot, except for Regina. The real surprise was that Alex was taken into custody as well. We were handcuffed, with antique iron manacles, and marched off to the cells. My brother was still in a state of mild shock as we were incarcerated, being for once on the

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receiving end. Nevertheless, as a concession to his gender, he got off lightly. While his hands were shackled in front, for the rest of us it was behind the back. This became a nuisance because there were flies buzzing about, being irksome and irritating, as is their wont. Alex was kind enough to drive them away from us, at first. Eventually, however, he wearied of being so gallant and left us to fend for ourselves as best we could. The cell had barely enough room to accommodate the five of us, seated on tatty mattresses on two bare metal bunks set against opposite walls, close enough that Alex could perform his fly-shooing task (while it lasted) without having to get up. I should add that he had a ball and chain attached to one ankle. Afterwards, I was a little disconcerted to find out that it wasnt locked; he could have reached down at any time to free himself; but one must concede that safety should always take precedence over authenticity. (Thats probably why we gals were spared the ball and chain not out of consideration for our tender natures but because it was harder, with our hands secured behind our backs, to release the ankle restraint in an emergency.) We spent about half an hour behind bars, sufficient for tedium to set in but not long enough for excruciating boredom. We learnt that you can sign up for an overnight stay, with the complete tin bucket latrine, straw pallet, bread and water experience. You can even join a chain gang, like what we saw on our first day. Not my cup of tea, but whatever floats your boat, I suppose. (Splendid mixed metaphor, there.) The mystery tour was far from over. It was still just early afternoon. Back in our buggy, we skirted the village, taking a circuitous route that ultimately had us heading due north, up the islands west coast. I had a suspicion of where we were going, confirmed as we crested the ridge above the Oasis. On the road about halfway to our destination, we encountered a ragged line of some twenty or so women and girls, bound and tethered by neck ropes and escorted by about a dozen buccaneer types who were striding up and down the column, urging their prisoners forward with a dastardly fervent zeal. Following behind them at about ten paces distance, a crowd of spectators was laughing and joking and calling out words of encouragement (whether to the captives or their captors it was hard to tell). Both groups moved to the side of the roadway to let us pass. Some of the hostages got into the spirit of the game by calling plaintively for rescue. We just shrugged sympathetically and drove on. Pirates Cove is a small deepwater harbour on the south-west coast, enclosed by sheer cliffs and shielded from the open sea by the broken remnants of a wave-shattered prehistoric shoreline. According to local lore, or at least the version I read about in the brochure, Aranea Island was once a haven for the buccaneer fraternity; but frankly I dont believe a word of it. I dont recall ever reading about pirates operating this far west in the Pacific, at least those of the Blackbeard or Captain Kidd pedigree. Still, its a romantic legend, and the rugged terrain provides an apposite setting. Upon arrival, we were confronted by a fantastic but slightly ludicrous spectacle a fully rigged pirate ship drawn up on the narrow beach and enclosed on three sides by tiers of bleacher seating. Regina flashed her ID that she whisked out of who knows where, and ushered us through the entrance, past two cutlass-wielding sentries, just as a show was reaching its climax with a salvo of musketry, a thunder of cannons, the clash of steel blades, a barrage of salty language, the shrieks of kidnapped maidens, whistles and cheers from the audience. Instead of showing us to the stands, to my delight Regina took us backstage, where amidst frenetic activity we girls were bustled into a dressing room. We were squeezed and laced into period costumes, magnificently ornate gowns with gorgeous trimmings and abundant dcolletage, as the producer gave us a quick briefing. Mum, with her showgirl looks, was given the lead role as Lady Claudia, a beautiful Irish noblewoman who really did exist, or so were led to believe. She had been carried off by pirates during a voyage to the colonies sometime in the seventeenth century (albeit in the Caribbean, not the South Pacific) along with her bevy of handmaidens. The latter were to be played by Amanda and me. Roz was cast as one of the picaroon crews busty serving wenches. And so we got to star in a rip-roaring, eye-popping, hair-raising, heart-stirring, chest-thumping, bodiceripping buccaneer saga. Alex had a part too, more a walk-on, as Corky the cabin boy (or whatever I didnt pay much attention). The first scene that we played was the requisite boarding battle, replete with shouting, screaming and loud explosions. The boat from which we fair maidens were abducted to meet our fate worse than death was a prop faade, but it was rather terrifying, because we were slung, kicking and squealing, over the shoulders of our lusty captors who had to leap nearly two metres onto the main stage. With our hands bound behind our backs, we had no way of protecting ourselves if the guys had lost their grip and wed fallen; but they were well-trained, brawny and experienced, so there was no real danger. At the opening of the second act, Amanda and I were lashed to the mast while Mum, after the customary mauling and molesting by her wicked captors, was forced to walk the plank. She really did. I could hear the splash when she disappeared over the side but of course it was into a shallow pool just out of sight of the cheering audience. (Applause as the tragic heroine was fed to the sharks? Charming!) Amanda and I were then taken off stage, not to appear again. Apparently the ill-fated handmaidens were tossed overboard to join their wretched mistress. I was glad that little drama took place off-stage. I had no desire for a dunking.

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We watched the rest of the show from the sidelines. Looking out into the stands, I recognized several of the captive women and girls we had seen being herded down the road toward the cove. Regina explained that they were given free admission and their menfolk got tickets at half-price (which, of course, was labelled ransom). Mum joined us, sodden and bedraggled, before we went below to change out of our costumes. It was now about three oclock, still quite early, but we were all tired, and the last leg of our mystery tour was something of an anticlimax, which was fine by me. We stopped in at one of the bistros in the village for afternoon tea. We went behind the scenes to visit the kitchen and got to sample the various dishes as guests of the chef de cuisine. Dining is, typically, sans vue for the ladies, and all the food and drink is prepared with this in mind. Anyway, the most interesting aspect of the visit was that we tasted each dish both with and without our blindfolds, in order to experience the contrast. It is illuminating to discover (or at least have confirmed) the extent to which sight is involved in our appreciation of food, because it was like eating completely different stuff not necessarily better but different. Alex took part in the experiment as well, but he just shut his eyes for the dining-in-the-dark, refusing to wear the blindfold. Men dont wear blindfolds, he told us. Ah, the adolescent male ego! It was closing in on five oclock when we returned to our starting point, picked up our things and said thanks and good-bye to Regina. It had been a fascinating day. Amanda and Roz accompanied us to the bottom of the hill and, incredibly, Roz allowed Alex to tie her hands behind her back and blindfold her for the (admittedly brief) walk. I guess it was her way of saying no hard feelings for her attitude during the day. Once wed parted company with them, my brother nudged my arm. Not in the mood, I deflated him. Dont even think about it, Mum pre-empted him. Back in the suite, we described our adventures to Dad, showed him our lovely new collars, and explained to him what hed missed. Oh, and Mum got ravished by pirates. Really? And how was that? Wet, my mother replied. My father just blinked. We had dinner in the downstairs restaurant, followed by another night in. Mum and Dad went straight to bed. Alex watched TV while I retired to write up this journal entry. And so, as day three on Aranea Island draws to a close, I wonder what other mysteries and further adventures await us.

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4. Lessons.
Last night I slept fitfully, still hyped up from the mystery tour. But I awoke feeling wonderful. There was no sign of yesterdays rain, so I went for a walk. Theres a lookout point on the hill directly behind the hotel, and from there I witnessed the days very first light. A gentle wind wafted across the waters of the bay. From one corner of the beach, a flock of gulls rose to greet the sun as it crept over the ridge into a cloudless sky. Somewhere in the distance I could hear the clang-clank of trash bins being emptied and the swish-whoosh of a hose on pavement not the most romantic dawn chorus, but sounds of the town coming to life. By the time I returned to our suite, Mum and Dad were up and about, and I was assigned the chore of rousing my brother. He looked up at me through droopy eyelids and demanded to know where was my blindfold. I could have argued or acquiesced, but instead I barked Get up! and beat a hasty retreat to the living room. We had only a hazy idea of what was on the agenda for today, but as we were deciding where to have breakfast, we got a call from Kate, asking us to meet her in the lobby at nine oclock. She didnt say anything more, and I dont know if she was being deliberately vague. We were told only that we would be attending a workshop of some kind, and Mum and I were instructed to wear our collars. I was mystified and intrigued. Because it was still quite early, we ate an unhurried meal in one of the open-air cafeterias on the beachfront, and returned to the hotel just in time to see Kate pull up in her little buggy. Without explanation, she took us on a short drive down the hill to a building near the centre of the village. There was a sign over the entrance, Rope Riggers. Dad made a joke about the name and Kate revealed Its not what you think. The place used to be the headquarters of the now defunct Aranea Island Yacht Club. She ushered us into the lobby, where a substantial crowd had gathered, fifty or so people. About a third of them were teenagers, ranging from Alexs age to a bit older than me. The adults included the party of eight who had been on our plane, as well as two of the honeymooning couples. Everyone had the look, nervous but excitedly impatient, that you see on, for example, the faces of people queuing for an especially awesome rollercoaster ride. Just as we arrived, they had begun to assemble into three groups in front of notice boards announcing Advanced, Basic and Juniors. By now we had a good idea of what was going on, what sort of workshop this was to be. After we had signed in at the registration desk, and Kate had departed, Alex and I joined the other kids for the Junior class, which was being marshalled by a woman who appeared to be in her late twenties. She announced herself as Sue. She was tall, attractive and athletic. She wore a leotard version of the staff uniform, without the sarong, and the collar without the bracelets and anklets. That prompted me to look around at the other girls. Only two besides myself were wearing the collar, the signature of permanent residents. Of course, it was impossible to tell who among the boys was a resident, except for a guy of about my age standing beside one of the collared girls. These were alike enough to be brother and sister. In fact, they looked to be twins. Sue led us upstairs, to a spacious hall on the second floor. It had been cleared of all furniture except for a row of tables along one wall which were laden with all sorts of gadgets and paraphernalia, including mounds of coiled ropes, heaps of silk or satin material and most ominously a bundle of bamboo poles. The floor was spread with soft canvas mats which were being arranged by a rather nondescript, bored-looking young guy whom I judged to be eighteen or nineteen years of age. Thats Brad, Sue explained. Say hello, Brad. Brad looked up from his chore and nodded curtly. He didnt say hello. Sue waved a hand in the direction of one of the tables. This way, girls. On it was a multicoloured stack of Lycra, camisole-style leotards. We had to sort through the pile to each find a suitable size. The best I could get was in a rather hideous mustard yellow, saved from terminal ugliness by sparkly emerald trim and a little embroidered butterfly on each breast. Meanwhile, Brad led the boys outside so we could change. I dont like stripping naked in public, even in front of just females (not that I have done any other sort of public stripping, of course!), but we were all pretty tense, so I didnt feel too self-conscious. Shoes as well, please girls, and any jewellery, Sue instructed, and when we were ready, she called out to Brad, and the guys filed back into the room. Naturally they gave us the once-over, even if many of us were actually wearing somewhat more than we had before the change. Sue clapped her hands and called for us to give her our full attention. She talked for a couple of minutes, briefly outlining what was on the program. She had an easy-going, confident, sympathetic manner that was very reassuring, and a droll wit. She often made Brad the butt of her little jokes, and he took it with casual good humour. It was their way of breaking the ice, and they worked well as a team. I suspect that the standoffish attitude was part of his act. Sue arranged us into male-female couples. The pairings were basically random, but with a plan. Siblings were separated. We were matched with partners of roughly our own age, although where that was not possible she placed an older girl with a younger boy. I assume this was so that we (the girls) wouldnt feel too intimidated

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although for most of us, from what I could tell, that wasnt really a problem. Alex grumbled at first when he realized he wouldnt be working with me. Instead he was partnered with one of the other collared girls. She was about my age but almost a head taller than my brother. At first she looked down at him literally and figuratively with ill-concealed disdain; but as it turned out, they had very good chemistry together. There were two girls and a boy left over. The girls didnt mind pairing up, and Sue claimed the boy (Steven) for herself. I thought it was smart, the way she did that. She didnt want one of the girls left out, and Steven appeared initially to be surly and unresponsive. Yet immediately she called him over and put her arm around his shoulders, and she 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 dont know what had been bugging him earlier. Okay, saving the best for last... my partner was Philip, almost my age, a few months younger. He is quite good-looking and very well-mannered. He seemed shy at first, but we connected, and it was not long before we were like the best of friends. His sister (Nikki) was there as well. She was the oldest girl in the class, very pretty, statuesque and from what I could see a bit of a flirt. She had squeezed into a leotard that was at least a size too small for her stature and it was hugging her curves and crevices with not much left to the imagination. I think it was deliberate that Sue matched her with the youngest boy in the group. The girl looked distraught because she had been eyeing one of the more mature guys. Sue began by announcing that the workshop would be 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 thats what it was nothing really new, although we tried out some interesting techniques and picked up a few handy hints about stuff like the best materials to use in different circumstances: rope, tape, that sort of thing. Sue reminded the boys that whenever possible they should wind or wrap the cord around several times, not just to make the binding more secure but to spread the pressure and prevent damage to the skin. You should always be thinking of her needs, not just your wants, she admonished. She finished her short lecture with the standard Were here to learn but also to have fun. Then she led us girls in a fifteen minute drill of calisthenics and yoga. The boys were invited to join in, but only a couple took up the challenge, and even they dropped out quickly. I thought that was rather wimpy, and I would have made them participate; but I guess it allowed them the opportunity to stand back and enjoy at their leisure the sight of us jigging and bobbing, sweating and puffing and straining in our snug little leotards. Sue explained (though I dont think it really needs explaining) that a good warm-up is the best way to prepare yourself, physically and mentally, for a tie-up session. It helps you to relax when under stress and also to become more flexible. This makes for a better experience at both ends of the ropes. She also reminded us that a rigorous workout teaches you the discipline that will help you to focus your mind and immerse yourself in your bondage, which allows you and your partner not just to prolong the experience but to get the maximum pleasure and fulfilment out of it. She used words like holistic and fusion to emphasize how all the different elements of good bondage should come together. In fact, she described the bondage experience as being like a spiritual awakening. The ropes deny you the ability to move in the world around you, your blindfold deprives you of one sensation, while stimulating others, and your gag prevents communication. But when youre cut off from the world, with your entire existence shrunken down to the confines of your bonds, your isolation becomes a connection to your inner being, as you draw on your own resources of willpower and endurance; while at the same time you are intimately bound to your partner, not physically by the rope but emotionally by your dependence on him. You discover strength in your vulnerability, power in your submission, self-reliance in your helplessness, sensuality in your suffering, ecstasy in your agony, joy in your shame, intense self-awareness in your sensory deprivation. This is the paradox that makes your bondage so excruciating and so exhilarating the experience of being imprisoned and yet liberated, feeling incredible arousal and unbelievable serenity. (I cant quite remember how much of this came directly from Sue and how much is my interpretation and interpolation of what she said. She didnt deliver all the information as a seamless whole but interspersed with demonstrations of the various positions and techniques. In any case, this is a diary, not a dissertation, so Ill get back on topic, lest I be writing all night to get finished.) The preliminary activities also included the boys giving us girls a back and neck massage. Most of the guys were at best half-hearted about this, being impatient to get on with the bondage; but Sue made them take it seriously. Its good preparation for both partners. You must exercise patience and self-discipline, she told the guys. It makes it more enjoyable for the both of you, and you will be able to tie her up for longer if shes relaxed and comfortable. That last bit, at least, got them motivated. As for me, I revelled in my rubdown. Philip was gentle and very thorough, even as some of the others were not, totally missing the point Sue had been making. I have to admit that Alex appeared to be doing a good job with his partner. As obnoxious and obstreperous as he can be at times, at others he really does come through. After that, we got down to the practical. The session was divided into segments, each of which commenced

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with Sue demonstrating some technique and position or rather, Steven demonstrated on her, while she coached him and us. Brad provided some extra guidance, but mostly he stood off to the side observing, with a carefully crafted blas expression. It was rather amusing, watching our teacher instructing her partner, in such a matter-of-fact manner, on how she was to be tied up, while she was being tied, and looking up from her own contorted tangle of trussed limbs to follow our progress as the boys copied Stevens moves. 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 bottled up inside. We began with rudimentary hands-in-front and simple behind-the-back, crossed-wrist ties. The boys used supple nylon cord that felt like it had been treated with softener so it wasnt abrasive and didnt chafe or burn the skin. And while we were going through the essentials, it surprised me that many of the guys didnt 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 free of some of the initial jobs in seconds flat. Of course, Ive had a lot of practice. Philip was more adept than most, although he was a bit too tentative when it came to properly tightening the ropes. I figured it wasnt my job to tell him, but it did become rather frustrating, knowing how I could escape with just a small effort. When we came to the more rigorous ties, Sue first 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 at how difficult it can be, and by the sort of stress it puts on your shoulder blades in particular. Most gave up after a minute or so, and Sue reminded them that we girls might be tied in these positions for hours! If nothing else, the guys learnt just how tough the so-called weaker sex really is, and maybe some of then became a little more appreciative of what we put up with. At the same time Sue was never patronizing, and at times her delivery was quite risqu, 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 dont think many of the guys got it. To his credit, Philip did or at least he gave the appearance. Perhaps he was just being polite (which in a way makes it funnier). Towards the end of the first session we got into even more arduous poses and postures. We practised four in particular. First was the classic hog-tie, which has enough variations that it can always feel fresh and exciting. We began with a straightforward wrists bound to ankles, with the girl lying belly down, 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. Next came the ever popular elbow tie. Its something Im familiar enough with, but several of the other girls were left gaping and gasping. We started with a fairly loose binding, which was gradually tightened until at least in some cases our elbows came close to contact. Alexs partner had supple enough limbs that they went all the way to touching, which was impressive to see. Of course, as we know the major attraction is not that it totally immobilizes your arms, but rather the ornamentally enhancing effect it has on your chest. By hauling back on your shoulders it forces your boobs outwards; and for the likes of myself, not generously endowed in that department, the enforced posture is rather flattering. However, Nikkis figure-flaunting chickens came home to roost. The structural integrity of her leotard was put to the ultimate test and I dont know how the straps held mostly a matter of luck, I surmise. After the boys were done admiring their ropemanship, we progressed to the lotus technique. This is where your legs, with ankles crossed, are drawn up folded to your chest, and you are forced to bend forward at the waist until your shoulders are between your knees and your chin almost touches your heels. A rope is looped behind your neck (not all the way around, because he doesnt want to throttle you) and tethered to your ankles to keep you restrained in your balled-up position. With your hands still bound behind your back, this is a very effective arrangement because youre completely helpless, unable to move anything except maybe wiggle your fingers and toes. Its also very taxing on your muscles and joints. Philip crouched beside me, gently stroking my back and shoulders. In my heightened state of receptiveness, the tickle of his fingernails gliding deliciously across my bare flesh made me shiver. I dont think he realized how arousing his touch was, until the goosebumps rose on my quivering skin. Are you okay? he whispered. Of course I am, silly, I whispered back, between my puffing and panting. I reminded him though not in so many words of the old formula, If it aint tight, it aint right. We finished the morning lesson with a strappado. It was a good thing that we ended with this, because after nearly two hours of being tied up and tied down in all sorts of ways, I was pretty much exhausted, and this is one of the ultimate challenges. Because there were no overhead beams for the rigging, we (the girls) had to kneel to do it properly. Philip tied one end of the suspension 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

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I was forced to lean forward until my forehead almost touched the mat. It would have been a lot harder on me if hed had the strength to lift me all the way off my knees. We only had to hold the position for a few minutes, but even by then my arms and shoulders felt like they were on fire. The purpose of the demonstration, Sue explained, was actually to show us that this is not the sort of thing we should try without supervision, at least not until were older and more experienced. As I rubbed my poor aching muscles, I could only agree. The break for lunch was welcome, but the adrenaline was still flowing, so mostly we paced about, trying to work off some of our nervous energy. Philip and I got to chat a while. This is his fifth day on the island. He and his family are staying for two weeks. He was suitably impressed to learn that I am a resident. I also talked to his sister, Nikki. I had thought she would be one of those vapid, stuck-up, airhead, bimbo types, but she turned out to be friendly and intelligent. I was also intrigued that Alex and his partner were still together and appeared to be really hitting it off. I think he had proved himself. Her name is Karen and shes only been on the island with her parents a few days longer than us. After the recess, the second class was called R.E.S.P.E.C.T. I dont 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 didnt surprise me that this session included gags, because there are so many hygiene and safety issues involved. Each couple was given a ball gag, a bit gag, a ball-plug gag and a ring gag. I was reminded of how much I really, really hate the ring gag. Philip, not unexpectedly and like most guys I know, prefers the ball-gag and said I looked wicked with it in place which I choose to translate as incredibly hot and super sexy. On the other hand, I confirmed my new favourite, the ball-plug. However, this one was not as quite as nice as the one I got the other day, because it wasnt tailor-made to fit. Still, it did its job. First we put them on ourselves, then the boys tied our hands behind our backs and took over. Philip was rather clumsy and caught my hair in the buckle a couple of times. He apologized profusely the first time but laughed on the second, while I tried my best to utter the appropriate profanities through the latex orb wedged between my jaws. Sue made a joke of the process. She started with a running commentary and continued as Steven inserted each gag in turn, and she kept the comments flowing as the words decohered into a jumbled mess of Urrrgghs and Mmmffs and Aarrghs, punctuated by intermittent grunts and accompanied by oodles of drool. As one gag came out, her speech resumed its normal pace and tenor until the next one went in. We kept each gag in place for just a short while, to give us a taste of each. Then we selected which one we wanted to wear for the rest of the afternoon, and I naturally chose the ball-plug. For the second intermission, we remained gagged, so there wasnt much conversation, not from half the group anyway. Since our hands were still bound as well, sign language was also out of the question. Nikki did make a valiant and comical effort at choreography I got to like her even more for that. We were allowed a drink of water, but had to take it through a straw, poked into the corner of the mouth between lip and gag. The boys obliged, holding the water bottles for us. And of course Alex made a game of it, teasing Karen by inserting and then withdrawing the straw several times before his victim could suck out more than a few drops. Come to think of it, there may have been some sexual symbolism in that, but I prefer not to think about it. As we waited to begin the next session, the girl and boy whom I had taken to be twins came over to introduce themselves... well, the boy introduced them. They were indeed were twins, David and Jane. Theyd seen my collar and wanted to know all about me. Of course, Philip had to speak on my behalf, summoning Alex for back-up to fill in the knowledge gaps. Like Karen and myself, they are also newcomers to Aranea, which explained their attendance at these lessons. Karen, Jane and I exchanged a few significant looks and nods, but it was frustrating to be unable to correct some of the misconception and misrepresentations, especially those emanating from the twisted mind of my psychotic Lil Bro. so it was a relief when the final part of the program commenced. It was entitled Limits and Extremes although there was nothing too radical about it. 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. This part proved to be very entertaining. In binding my torso, Philip was endearingly careful, trying hard to avoid actually touching my breasts while looping the cord between and around them. Theyre just boobs, I wanted to tell him, but I was still wearing my gag. Instead 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 making the most progress, principally because their partners were the best-endowed of us; but they also appeared to be the least inhibited of the guys. So hooray for my brother I have obviously taught him some things well. However, the couple having the easiest time were the girl-girl pair, who had been alternating in their tie-up and being-tied-up roles throughout the day and not surprisingly didnt have any problem working on each others racks. (Being tied up by another girl has not been high on my agenda, but they looked to be having so much fun that it may be worth experimentation.) On the other hand, even I felt a bit queasy when we got onto the subject of crotch-ropes. The boys learnt what

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most of us girls already knew, that there are two basic ways to position the rope, inside and outside the groove. Once again Philip was funny, desperately trying to avoid touching anything sensitive while nestling the cord in its proper place. But I also discovered (with a blush!) why the most effective crotch-ropes are braided or have a strategically placed knot tied into them. Even through the fabric of my leotard the effect was intense, and I was grateful that we didnt keep them on long enough for it to become visible. We closed the session with more demonstrations, just Sue and Brad this time, as he tied her in some hanging and dangling positions and in a variety of gymnastic poses which left me breathless with awe and admiration. They warned us that we should not rush into anything or get too ambitious too soon, but all they achieved was to make me and probably everyone else want to rush back to our hotel rooms to try out the new moves. (But we didnt at least Alex and I didnt.) When the daytime workshop was over, each of the boys received a certificate. We girls didnt 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, although that was because they arent reusable (on anyone else, that is). Those of us girls who were returning for the evening session were told wed be wearing our leotards again so we should either leave them on or 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 wouldnt be coming back tonight, but we parted with a promise to meet up at noon tomorrow. My family has appointments in the morning and afternoon, but lunchtime is free, so we have arranged a rendezvous in the park by the beach. Meanwhile, Alex took his leave from Karen. I got quite a shock when she held out her hands for him to bind one last time and then kissed him on both blushing cheeks. I thought that was a lovely gesture. He wanted to tie and blindfold me for the walk back up the hill, but Id had enough for one afternoon. Mum appeared to be limping, as if certain parts of her were feeling sore, but I didnt enquire. As soon as we were back in our suite, Mum retreated to her room for what was obviously 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 Riggers by seven. We found a kebab shop just as the light was fading. Mum didnt 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 set off, giving ourselves plenty of time for a leisurely stroll in the twilight. Lots of other people were on the move as well, bearing towards the neon-lit 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. Karen was there, and the twins, with her parents, but we didnt get a chance to talk. This time everyone collected in the main hall and the families kept together. The session was called The Three Elements and I was curious to learn 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 (I think Ive got the spelling right), the woman organized us to sit in a semi-circle with Ryo and herself at the focus. She quickly enlightened us to the identity of the three elements 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 dont remember everything she told us, but Im inspired to do some research in the near future. Essentially, when I am bound, my helplessness is my power. Although its a paradox, what it means is that in my captivity resides my freedom that is, 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 the doorway or a channel to new perceptions and experiences; and by daring to be vulnerable, I reveal my strength. We had already been told most of this earlier during the day lessons, and of course it could have been nothing more than arcane mumbo-jumbo. However, Meredith kept her delivery light-hearted, and Master Ryo had a rather quirky sense of humour. He referred to her as his chicchai dorei which means Ive looked it up! his little slavegirl. It was ironically humorous, because she is almost a head taller than him and is clearly neither passive nor subservient. Meredith didnt hold back in any way. As they began their demonstration, she nonchalantly pulled the top of her leotard down to her waist. At that, there was much audible drawing in of breath. Dont 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. Meredith led the females through some yoga to relax our muscles, and Master Ryo guided us through a few minutes of meditation, to loosen our bodies for the stresses and strains they were about to receive. We were then put through lots of different bondage positions, postures and poses. Some of them were excruciating. Break through the pain, Meredith panted through gritted teeth, but I never quite worked out how to do that, or even what it meant. Some were rather humiliating. That is no more than a condition of your mind, she

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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 not having done to you, you are being, we were told. And just when I thought it was going to get too opaquely esoteric, Master Ryo got scientific, lecturing us on the role of adrenaline and endorphins. There were other aspects of the bondage art that dorei Meredith and Sensei Ryo covered. I didnt really get the stuff about aesthetics, that a bound female is a flower in the instant before the bloom, or that the different arrangements of ropes and knots reflect different states of ki or chi. It made more sense when Meredith described how a skilled ropemaster is an artist and you the woman being tied is his composition. The artistry is in how the ropes highlight the beauty and grace of your female body. Their pattern and texture harsh, geometrical, rigid and forceful contrasts dramatically and aesthetically with the smooth skin, the subtle yielding flesh, the sensual curves, the soft swells and crevices, following the natural lines of the feminine anatomy in some places, shaping other parts in ways that bring pleasure to both the artist and his subject. That last bits important. Just because your role is passive doesnt mean you cant participate fully in the experience. In actuality, while for your partner its a visual experience, for you its tactile. He beholds the product of his artistry, but you feel it you are it. A skilled ropemaster is a true craftsman. He knows not just how to tie the ropes in all different ways and places to create a tableau, but how to use them to give you pleasure, like positioning the knots at the receptor points, and drawing the rope slowly and gently across your skin, to induce maximum stimulation and arousal. He moulds your physical sensations, your thoughts and perceptions and emotions. He twists and bends and interweaves them, as he does the ropes, until they begin to merge. Your ropemaster is your dance partner as the man he takes the lead, but he cannot dance alone, it is a pas de deux. He is your teacher, training you to become a stronger person, in body, mind and spirit. He is also your guide. He conducts you on a journey of exploration, both sensual and emotional. He takes you out of your comfort zone, beyond the realm of the cosy and the familiar, because your bondage, though it may be joyful and challenging or even just plain fun should never be easy. It can be it will be uncomfortable, sometimes painful, often humiliating, but thats the point. If it were otherwise, it wouldnt be worth it. It is not though ease and comfort that you define and explore your limits, discern and evaluate your hopes and dreams and fears, discover and draw upon and channel your inner strength, open your mind to new experiences and fresh insights. A skilled ropemaster owns you. Once you have surrendered to his control, you are in his power. He exercises complete dominion over your body and thus over your ability to feel pain and pleasure. You feel what he allows you to feel, you see what he permits you to see, go wherever he decides you should go. And yet your submission is not about what he takes from you your freedom, your comfort, perhaps your dignity but what he gives to you. Its interesting in that respect that Meredith stopped using the terms master and active partner and submissive, passive partner and slave, and started talking about the giver and the receiver. Of course, Sue also reminded everyone about safe words and gestures. Sensei Ryo contributed with advice to the males in addition to instruction on preparation, technique, positions and safety, including stuff I didnt know, for example the use and misuse of pressure points, and issues that need to be reinforced, such as the dangers inherent in suspension, strappado and the like. His insights included amusing things like how to interpret the difference between a moan, a groan, a gasp, a sigh and a whimper. Meredith demonstrated these while bound in a severe hog-tie, and I think her responses were genuine, because he was doing things to her to elicit the appropriate sound effects. It was entertaining, but at times also wince-inducing. During the half-time break, Meredith showed us how to remain in tie-up mode when not actually restrained by the ropes. We females had to do this while the males were able to relax with coffee and biscuits (a bit unfair, really, but in bondage some of the fun is going to be one-sided). You stand with legs and torso straight, feet together, hands behind your back with fingers loosely interlocked (or alternately arms folded behind your back), remaining silent and keeping your head bowed and eyes downcast. I dont enjoy this kind of overtly subservient posture, because its not who and what I am, plus its not like youre physically bound and dont have a choice; but its an acknowledgement of submission to your ropemaster. Sensei Ryo talked at one stage about invisible ropes and blindfolds, and the paradox of the strongest bonds being those which do not tie you down, and I guess this is at least partly what he was referring to. For the third and final hour, the sexes were segregated. The males went to one of the other rooms for Im not quite sure what. (Alex has refused to tell me and Dad hasnt mentioned it, so Im doubly intrigued.) In the meantime, Mum and I and the other females remained in the hall, and Meredith was joined by half a dozen more young women, including Sue. We were told to take off our leotards. That worried me, because I thought the guys were about to come back. However, Meredith explained that this was to be a demonstration, without the males to inhibit us, of how nudity enhances the bondage experience. When you are naked and there is

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nothing between you and the ropes, this becomes the point of convergence for all your thoughts, emotions and sensations. Im not so sure that I get this, but it goes back to what she was saying earlier about exploring and celebrating the natural beauty of your body and how it interacts with and relates to the ropes. To reassure us, Meredith (who was already bare-breasted), Sue and the other assistants stripped naked as well. They tied us in two positions. The first was a bonding exercise I dont know if the pun was deliberate. We were sorted into pairs of approximately the same age and size, and I was put with Jane from the day class. We knelt back to back, limbs interlocked our arms box-tied and bound together, my ankles bound to her knees and vice versa. Our heads were drawn backwards, mine onto my partners left shoulder and hers on mine, so we could just see into the corners of each others eyes. We were held together in place by a rope harness that ran 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 loop. Meredith gave the position a name, but I dont recall what it was. We were completely immobilized, and any small movement from either one of us was felt by the other. It was harsh but also beautifully intimate, and the sensitivity to each others bodies was wonderfully enhanced by our nudity. The second was an isolation exercise. We arranged ourselves in an inward-facing circle and were tied in another of the lotus positions, sitting cross-legged with our ankles bound, hands secured behind our backs in double hammer-lock style (thats wrists crossed between the shoulder blades), a halter 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. Gagged and blindfolded, we were left in this position for the rest of the session. It was uncomfortable, not unbearably so but just enough that it was impossible to separate myself mentally from my bonds. Thats important in this type of bondage, Meredith explained. You must feel every centimetre of the ropes and you must feel them every second that you are bound. In fact, this sort of rigorous, long-duration tie is one of my favourite experiences. As you settle into your enveloping bondage, your resistance fades, your struggles subside. Discomfort, pain and humiliation begin to blur into pure sensation, and you enter a blissful, trance-like state of acceptance and serenity. You slip into a dreamlike condition in which time ceases to have any real meaning. Your whole world shrinks down to your bonds. Youre tied stringently enough that your mind doesnt wander far from the ropes but not so tightly that stress overwhelms the senses. Youre immersed in an eternal moment, or at least thats how it feels as the initial ecstatic intensity of your bondage slowly dissolves into languid pleasure. At that point, you can drift out of your bonds (mentally that is, not physically of course), to go to that other place beyond conscious thought and feeling. If thats what you are trying to achieve, it can be incredibly liberating. But the sort of bondage we were being taught here was for the very opposite effect. You submerge yourself totally, drawing energy and vitality from the ropes even as youre surrendering to their hold on your body. Eventually, the stress of the severe binding began to overpower the other sensations and perceptions. Mild cramping began to set in, nothing serious but enough that I was starting to wonder just how much longer this would go on. But Meredith timed it well. At that juncture, the session came to a close. We were untied in an unhurried manner so that we could come down slowly. We remained blindfolded, with our hands still tied behind our backs, as our senses gradually readjusted. I lay with my head in Mums lap. Her warm, naked skin was soothing and comforting against my cheek and brow. She was gently panting and trembling a little, and I suppose I was too. What happened after that, until we arrived back at the hotel, is largely a blur, even though its not much more than a couple of hours ago. As we were finishing getting dressed, the males came back into the room, just in time for them to give us some interesting and interested looks. We all thanked dorei Meredith and Sensei Ryo and their assistants with an ovation that was somewhat muted. We (the females at least) were still a little too spaced out to get very animated. It occurred to me as we were walking home that the bamboo poles I had seen that morning hadnt been used. I did not know whether to be relieved or disappointed, and I asked Mum and Dad about them. They responded with another of their inscrutable looks, so I didnt pursue it. After supper, I left Alex watching television while I started writing up todays diary entry. Today has been... interesting... and tomorrow is going to be a busy day. Were getting an insiders tour of the resort, which means shadowing members of the staff as they go about their jobs. I think it will be fascinating. But more important, Ill be meeting up with Philip.

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5. Shadow.
When I woke this morning, I had no idea how the day was going to turn out. Now, eighteen hours later, I can pronounce it a success. I have a better understanding of how this place works and what life will be like here. The idea of following members of the staff about all day as they went about their jobs had sounded distinctly unexciting. But I have discovered, through both observation and experience, that even the routine becomes an adventure on Aranea Island. Kate phoned at seven oclock for our final briefing. She didnt know exactly who we would be shadowing or what sorts of jobs wed be observing or where we would be going except for poor Alex. He was less than enthused to learn that hed be going to school. However, he was quickly reassured by Kate that he would be just visiting and would not be subjected to anything like actual education heaven forbid! I was going with Mum in the morning and Dad in the afternoon. The Resort workforce is organized into four sections: supply, maintenance, hospitality and management. When they start their jobs next week, Mum and Dad will both be employed in maintenance, she in infrastructure planning and he in engineering. But we were told that today they would be assigned to the other divisions, in order to get a more general overview of dayto-day operations. To my good fortune and great delight, I found I was allotted a two-hour break in the middle of the day while the parents attended an orientation lecture. That meant I would have plenty of time for my rendezvous with Philip. We decided to eat in after Dad volunteered to make the breakfast. Hes actually quite a good cook, so long as he sticks to the basics. Of course, I got the usual Sarah, for pitys sake, eat something before you fade away to nothing, which, of course, I ignored. When we were finished, we got into our uniforms. We had been given specific instructions on what to wear. For sure, Dad and Alex have only the one outfit for all occasions, slacks and shirt, but for Mum and me its more elaborate. I was told to wear my bikini style A-3 which according to the handbook means the triangletop slider bra and tie-string bottoms; and Mum her halter-top one-piece, although she was instructed bring her bikinis as well. We were to wear the pink hibiscus sarong, mine as a skirt and Mums as a dress. That meant she had to detach the halter on her costume, because it must be worn strapless with the sarong. Naturally we were directed to wear our collars, bracelets and anklets, and to bring two of our gags. I chose the ball and ballplug. We packed our gear in a couple of carry bags, just as it was time to go. We were scheduled to meet Kate outside City Hall. Despite the grandiose name, this is a rather nondescript office building and warehouse located at the western end of the central business district. It was a brisk tenminute walk away, and this part of the village, well separated from the cafeterias, restaurants and bars, was almost deserted. Yet even as we arrived, a crowd had begun to gather along the roadside. Before too long, there were several hundred people. Some were eating takeaway breakfasts, most were brandishing cameras, all were abuzz with anticipation. A few, seeing Mum, Dad and me in our staff uniforms, gave us inquisitive and in a couple of cases oddly disapproving looks. My curiosity was piqued because we werent aware of any shows being put on at this time of morning. Then a voice called out Theyre coming, and all faces turned to the west, towards where the ground rose to conceal from view the Oasis, which was about half a kilometre distant. As I watched, figures appeared on the crest of the ridge, and thereafter we were confronted by a truly extraordinary sight. At least a hundred perhaps a lot more sarong-clad women were shuffling towards us, strung out in single file. They were ball-gagged and blindfolded, their arms shackled behind their backs, their ankles hobbled. They were tethered to each other by chains linking their collars. Each had a purse or shoulder bag slung around her neck. They were accompanied by about two dozen young men. These were positioned at regular intervals along the line, languidly chanting left, right, left, right to keep the females in step so they would not, in their sightless state, trip over each others feet. When the vanguard of the column reached the small plaza in front of City Hall, the women executed a skilful pivot I say skilful because they performed the manoeuvre without any obvious prompting from their escort and formed a row with their backs to the building. After two dozen had done so, one of the men tapped the next girl on the shoulder and she took a position directly behind her predecessor, so that a second rank was formed, behind the first. After twenty-four more, a third row was formed, and so on. The spectators broke into spontaneous applause, and I was expecting some sort of ceremony; but instead, once all the women were in formation, one of the men released the first of the prisoners from her bonds, blindfold and gag. He handed her a clipboard. She rubbed her eyes, moistened her lips, massaged her wrists, straightened her sarong and raised a hand to summon the males to gather around her. When they had received their orders of the day, they went along the rows and unhitched a dozen more women, who were brought out to the leader. They listened to her instructions, unable to see or speak but nodding acknowledgement. Only after that were they liberated from their shackles, gags and blindfolds, and amongst them I recognized Kate. They and four or five of the men

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began freeing the rest of the females. There appeared to be a particular order in the way they went about this, and it quickly occurred to me that these were section heads getting their teams together. As the women were released, they stood about chatting until it was time to go, as if this were nothing special... which, from their perspective, was the case. And so, as the audience dispersed, the workers of Aranea Island went off to their jobs. When Kate saw us, she smiled and came over, reapplying her lipstick. Well, did you like the show? she asked. Dad and Alex grinned. Mum had a strange look Im sure she was thinking that in a few days she would be part of that show. Kate must have read her expression. Its just one of the little rituals we put on for the tourists. Anyway, lets not be late. Alex My Lil Bros face lit up. Youre off to school My Lil Bros face darkened. I will take you, if thats okay. My Lil Bros face lit up again. Meanwhile, wed been approached by a young man and woman who were now standing back, waiting to be introduced. Lucy, Matt, Kate informed us. She completed the formalities and explained the agenda. Mum and I were to be shadowing Matt this morning, Lucy this afternoon; for Dad, it was vice versa. Then, without further ado, Kate tapped Alex lightly on the shoulder and began walking away. As he followed, I have no doubt at all that he wanted desperately to put her back in her cuffs but did not have the nerve to ask. She didnt volunteer and I dont know what would have been her response if he had worked up the courage. While they set off in the direction of the Oasis, Lucy turned to face away from us. I thought she was about to walk off, but she held her position and put her hands behind her back. There were a few seconds of awkward silence before my dad responded and drew her wrists together to secure them. As he did so, he couldnt hold back a sheepish grin, and a wink at my mother, who replied with her customary roll of the eyes. She and I then waited a moment, our arms wavering; but Matt answered with a discreet shake of the head. So I was a bit confused. At first I thought there might be some code or protocol, that female staff dont get tied up by their superiors or in this case, our mentors but during the day I saw several cases of that. I dont think it was because Dad was with us. Since he had just cuffed Lucy, that would have been a double standard. Im sure it was because of me, and that got me a bit concerned. Was this going to be the pattern for the rest of the day? Lucy said something to Dad, and he replied See you later to Mum and me. Then they were off. Matt ushered us into the building. The lobby was empty it was still very early except for two receptionists, a male and a female. While there are not a lot of things left here that surprise me, I got a bit of a shock to see that the girl was chained by her collar to the counter. She had just enough freedom to move about in her workspace but not enough to leave it. Mum asked the obvious. The girl smiled, turned to her colleague for approval (apparently thats important) and released herself. Health and safety regulations always apply, Matt explained. We work on the honour system. I took that to mean that you dont let yourself loose except in an emergency. The girl reattached her chain and returned her attention to her paperwork, while her associate dealt with us. Matt told us to hand over our bags containing our spare uniform bits. We were instructed to keep one gag, and since we were given the choice, we both opted for the ball-plug. We did not have to put it in yet, just wear it around our necks, ready for when the occasion arose. Matt then took us up to the second floor. My heart sank. The room appeared bleakly barren, filled with office cubicles, a bank of telephone consoles lining one wall. And thats where we spent the morning, in what is officially the guest information and inquiries unit but what its denizens facetiously call the G spot (for grouses, gripes and grumbles). It was not the most exciting of times. We moved around, observing the various functions and procedures. Most of the staff were women, who were not chained to their desks. Some were gagged not the phone operators of course but I couldnt detect any scheme for who was and who wasnt. So I asked Matt. Personal choice, was all he said. Sorry, but I have hard time believing there isnt more to it than that. For a start, no workplace Ive been in features personal choice as an employee option, especially if it has an impact on staff performance. And in any case, I like my gag as much as any girl does, but theres a time and a place and as far as Im concerned, on the job isnt that time or that place. I suspect that the choice has more to do with a commitment made to a boyfriend or husband, or something like that. Nevertheless, the sight of the gags was a reassurance that the resorts raison dtre is not just a faade for the tourists. In fact, the most important thing I have learned today (and I guess Im jumping ahead of my story here) is that being a member of the staff is, for the females in particular, not just a job but a lifestyle. We are reminded of

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that by the collar, bracelets and anklets we are required to wear on duty, and the choker that must be worn at all other times, at least when in public. They are not just part of your uniform, they are the symbols of what you are, and what youre not. They become like a part of you. Thats how its different for the males. Matt and my dad get to shed their company personas at the end of the working day; and its the same with Alex and his school uniform. We dont. What defines us as females, what separates us from the males, is what we are twenty-four-seven. The way Alex, for example, would see it is that having the freedom of choice to be whatever you want to be and do what you want in your own time is one of the privileges of being male, on Aranea Island. And in a way I can understand his perspective. The laws and customs of this community do confer on one sex certain special rights and on the other certain obligations. For instance, it must be quite a treat for a boy to be able to give commands to his big sister and have her obey like making me wear the blindfold in our bedroom. But I think thats missing the point, or at any rate its only a part of the equation. Bondage is not about equality how could it be true bondage if it were? But its not about abject inequality either. For me, the pleasure comes from my submission to the ropes, and sometimes oftentimes this means accepting that there is a degree of... well, I guess the word is asymmetry. Its part of the package of being a girl, and I would no more want to exchange places with my brother than he would with me. So the obligations and impositions are one-sided, and that may seem unfair. But how can it be unfair if were all happy with the way things are? I am starting to digress from my story, but the point is that I think the Resorts rules and customs do not just reinforce but actually define the ethos of Aranea Island. You cannot sell the lifestyle to the guests if you dont believe in it, and follow it, yourself. But I should get back to my story, which in any case illustrates my argument much better that tedious exposition. We took a mid-morning break in the ground floor canteen. This was, in fact, one of the few places where I have not seen a single blindfold or gag, and minimal use of wrist and ankle cuffs. Im sure thats because its a self-serve facility, and with females outnumbering the males two or three to one it would make the process very slow and cumbersome if it were otherwise. Mum and I had coffee, and she insisted that I eat at least a banana. I humoured her, picking out the smallest in the bunch. By the time we returned upstairs, the flood of inquiries (and a few complaints) from the guest population had abated. Matt told us this was normal, with the next deluge due to begin around lunchtime. So this was the opportune time to hold staff meetings and training seminars. We were permitted to sit in, along with Matt. Not all starting employees get this sort of star treatment there are just too many. However, new families are not so common, and a special effort is made to assist us in our assimilation. Today, the section heads were getting together to discuss WHS procedures relating to front office operations. Which, translated, means workplace health and safety measures for staff dealing face-to-face with the guests. A range of issues had been identified, and I found it not at all astonishing that virtually the entire agenda was taken up with matters involving female staff. One was a recommendation that security personnel be absolved of the compulsion to wear the collar and cuffs, for both practical and symbolic reasons. This proposal comes up every so often, it seems, and it was voted down. There simply arent enough incidents of a kind to warrant such a drastic revision of fundamental policy. If youre female, you wear the collar and cuffs. I am impressed that two-thirds of senior personnel here are women. That number accurately reflects the ratio of the staff in general, but its still unusual to see so many of my sex in higher level corporate positions. The meeting was chaired by the woman who had presided over the mornings assembly, and at its conclusion she came over to say hello. She looked about forty, but well-preserved. I dont mean that in any patronizing or belittling way. Its just that you can tell a persons approximate age from subtle clues like faint lines about the eyes and corners of the mouth and yet she had an otherwise flawless complexion and a body any chick half her age would kill for. Her name is Maggie and shes one of the three AIR executive directors. It gave me a thrill to be talking to someone so far up in the hierarchy. Yet despite her rank, she was not exempt from the regulations, being clad in the skimpy sarong and wearing the collar, bracelets and anklets. And of course she had been part of that extraordinary pageant earlier in the day. Maggie seemed genuinely interested in our goals and plans as a family, and in particular my decision to defer full-time university and take on a casual position as teaching assistant. Were very proud of our school, she said, but before she could continue, Matt came up behind her and politely tapped her on both her elbows. She glanced over her shoulder, hardly moving her head, although her expression betrayed a flash of annoyance as she placed her hands behind her back. She blinked a couple of times and wobbled a little as he connected her bracelets. He wasnt very gentle, showing no deference to her seniority. In fact, I think he enjoyed making her wince. She looked as if she were about to say something more as he loosened the gag strap hanging around her neck. Just as her lips began to move, he pushed the ball between them, into her mouth. Sorry, ladies he explained, Maggie has an appointment. He may have been sorry to us, but there was no apology for her as he roughly seized her upper arms, swung her around and pointed her towards the door. As she was hustled away, she looked back and nodded a good-bye, before being taken into custody by another

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young man. He already had in tow two women from the meeting. He attached a leash to Maggies collar and led his three captives off to their conference. Matt read my expression. Theres a delegation of big shots just arrived from head office. Anyway, he continued, Helen, you have an engagement as well. Its time. Mum knew what that meant and put her hands behind her back. Sarah, I hear you have a date of your own. I didnt like his rather snide tone, but I didnt respond. Do you need help? No thanks, I know the way But thank you for the tour. Bye, Mummy. She didnt reply. She couldnt reply. Matt had just finished tightening the strap around her head. Outside, it took me a few moments to transition from the artificial light of indoors to the dazzling sunshine. I only just remembered to retrieve my belongings from the reception desk. Then it was a short walk to the park where Philip and I had agreed to rendezvous. But first I had to meet Alex. His orientation was only for the morning session, and it was my onerous duty to assume the supervisory role over his strenuous objections, naturally. However, since his alternative was to spend the entire day at school, he decided that the attendance of Little Big Sis was the lesser of two evils. He and Kate were waiting for me on a lawn bench in the City Hall plaza. They were happily chatting, but she looked relieved as I arrived. Her wrists were shackled to her collar, hands in the prayer position, and her ankle cuffs were attached, so she couldnt escape my brothers company, if she had been so inclined. Alex, disappointed to see me, reluctantly freed her feet, but left her hands bound. She took her leave with a reminder that we were to be back on this spot by one oclock. As soon as she was gone, knowing what he had in mind I waved my brother away and took off towards the park, calling Come on over my shoulder. I suppose he could have been obstreperous, but like me he knows which battles to fight and which to avoid, so he trailed glumly after me. It was only a few minutes to the park. There werent a lot of people it was too late in the morning for breakfast and too early to start picnic lunches but on cue, just as we entered from one direction so did Philip from the other. We met in the middle, under a vast, ancient palm tree. He was with a boy of about Alexs age, whom he introduced as his brother Dean. After the customary, cursory Yo to Alex, the brothers looked me up and down. I gave them a minute to fully appreciate my bikini-clad hotness. Just as I was about to break the gaze and suggest we get something to eat, Philip asked us to wait for Nikki. It took me a second to recall that she was his sister, whom Id met yesterday. My excuse is that there have been a lot of things happening to clutter up my memory. So we found a suitable patch of grass in the shade of a massive palm frond. The boys eyes widened a bit when I took off my sarong and laid it neatly beside me. I gave them the usual Dont get excited look. I didnt want it grass-stained. We exchanged a few idle, awkward pleasantries, and it wasnt too long before Philip asked if he could tie me up. I resisted the urge to respond Its about time and instead went with Well, okay Alex wasnt fooled, and I doubt that the other two were deceived either, but its a girls prerogative to play hard to get. Most guys prefer to tie rather than cuff a girl its more intimate so I removed my bracelets and anklets and laid them on the grass nearby (rather than in my bag, so I wouldnt forget to put them back on later). Philip took from his trouser pocket a coil of white nylon cord. He asked me why I was smiling, and I told him my joke. I dont think he got it. (Is that a rope in your pocket or are you just happy to see me? Okay, I admit that its lame.) He held it out draped across both hands and I stroked it a couple of times it was soft and silky before nodding my approval. I was pleased by his observance of the etiquette not all guys are so thoughtful. I swivelled my body to face away from him and waited impatiently as he pondered what sort of artistry he could produce. Then he took hold of my wrists and drew them gently behind my back. He wanted to bring my hands together in the palm to palm position, but I crossed my wrists and held them there, and he got the message. Of course, if he had insisted, I would have given in, but I was expecting that hed learned enough from yesterdays class to know which is the more comfortable way, and that hed be gentleman enough to apply the lessons. Its a good if rudimentary test of character, and I decided that Philip had passed. But he then started wrapping the cord around my upper arms. I had to smile, because I could predict that this was coming. Boys will be boys, and one of the first thing they discover, if they havent worked it out already, is the pleasing visual effect that a stringent elbow or biceps tie has on a girls chest. Why are you laughing? Alex demanded. Not laughing, I replied, Just having fun... Uhh! Philip pulled hard to tighten the knot. Dean had by now joined in and was trussing my ankles. My ever helpful brother showed him how to cinch the loops to make them more secure. Once that was done, they allowed me two or three minutes to get the feel of the ropes and themselves time to give me a good looking over. Then Dean ordered me to kneel so they could

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get a better view. They were surprised that, from my sitting position, it was almost impossible for me to do so. Obviously they have never tried to change position when bound hand and foot. (Well, theyre boys, so how would they?) So naturally they made a game of it. Philip, trying to be gallant, was encouraging, while Dean and Alex mocked my futile efforts as I flopped onto my side and wriggled about on the grass. Philip took me gently by the arms and I thought he was going to lift me to my knees. Instead, he rolled me onto my stomach. I always know whats coming when a guy does that, so I bent my knees to bring up my heels to my backside. He bound my wrists and ankles together. And in the process, he couldnt resist allowing his fingers to crawl a little way under the edge of my bikini pants and press into the flesh. I shivered as he did so, but he didnt react. Even as he was doing this, Dean reached for the gag still hanging about my neck. He held the tip of the plug to my lips. Im sure he was taunting me and thought I would resist, but I countered with a Thank you as I moistened my mouth and let him slide it in. Once they had me helpless in my hog-tie, there wasnt much the boys could do with their captive, so they ignored me and talked about the sorts of things boys talk about sports, women, cars, women, computer games, other stuff, women. I wasnt really listening, being absorbed in my bondage, except when the subject of me came up. Philip complimented Alex on having a sister like me. Shes cool and shes hot! Alex reciprocated in kind, and suggested maybe they could swap Nikki and me. I felt flattered by the accolades, until they started on discussing my attributes in detail. It was nothing terribly offensive, but being referred to in the third person while lying on the grass in front of them unable to respond was a little humiliating and what girl wants to hear that her tits could be bigger? I realized that I was being teased, but because I was beginning to get bored, I protested with a few loud grunts through my gag. Naturally, that provoked them. On Philips instructions, Dean and Alex took hold of my upper arms to raise my torso off the ground, while he tied another piece of cord around my shoulders and anchored it to my wrists to put me in a harness. When it was tightened, my body was arched backwards until, as I lay on my belly, my boobs only just touched the grass. The guys were very pleased with the effect, and this level of severity is normally something which I can endure for a long time Ive had enough practice. Unfortunately, because they had only enough rope to loop it twice, the pressure wasnt spread and it straight away began to burn into my unprotected skin. I was soon squirming, puffing and panting, so Philip removed the harness and sat me up in order that he and Dean could try out some breast bondage. They both seemed a lot less reticent than theyd been yesterday. They spared me anything too extreme, but just as they were starting to get creative, a shadow fell over us. I looked up to see the figure of a statuesque young woman silhouetted against the sky. In her hands were paper bags from which emanated the unmistakeable aroma of deep fried chunks of seasoned congealed fat. Lunch, boys, Nikki declared. The boys immediately switched their attention from my tethered boobs just in time, because Dean had fashioned the remaining two pieces of cord into what looked like nooses, and I had no idea what exactly he was planning. Nikki shook her head dolefully as she seated herself on the grass next to me. She glanced at her brothers and mine for permission and then untied my hands. Dean nodded his approval and I took out my gag. Nikki smiled when she saw my appalled expression as the guys ripped apart the defenceless paper sacks like ravenous hyenas. Out of one of the ravaged bags rolled a small, forlorn bundle. She snatched it up before the pack pounced. It contained two prawn and avocado salad wraps. At that instant she ascended to the status of a goddess. As we ate our lunch, Dean told us Nikki and me that we were not to speak, but we just ignored him. She studied my bracelets and anklets with admiration, and said how lucky I was to be living here on the island. As I had discovered the other day, this girl is a study in contrasts. Shes just a few months older than me, but way more mature taller, more curvaceous and more elegant, and at the same time shes very much down to earth. She was wearing a string tanga and bandeau bikini so tiny it made me feel positively overdressed, and yet she carried it off with panache. Her expression, bearing and attitude signalled a fearsome pride and a formidable self-confidence, but she wore about her throat a slavegirl collar from which dangled a ready-to-go ball-gag; and when she spoke she did so in a self-deprecating manner and showed towards her two younger brothers a certain deference that I would never evince towards my own Lil Bro. The contradictions are so obvious that I am sure shes playing the game. Back home, Im willing to bet shes the ice queen or the iron maiden. Once wed finished our lunch, while Nikki cleared up the detritus and deposited it in a nearby bin, Philip hogtied and gagged me once more. And, of course, as soon as Nikki returned Dean and Alex seized her, forced her hands behind her back and her heels up to her butt, and trussed her in a hog-tie as well, using the rope Dean had intended for my boobs. She squealed, wriggled about and spat out threats, but her resistance quickly faded after she was silenced with her ball-gag. Once we were both subdued and helpless, the boys decided to have some more fun with us. They positioned

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us together on the grass, lying on our sides facing one another. They pushed us up close until our bodies were pressed against each other. Philip undid the tie-strings of my bikini pants. I struggled violently as he did this, because I wasnt sure how far he was aiming to go, but the other two guys held me down. He fastened them to the sides of his sisters thong. Nikkis eyes, directly in front of mine, bulged, and I felt her rasping breath on my face. And suddenly the darkness descended. I could tell from the coloured sunlight fringes at the edges of the cloth that I had been blindfolded with my sarong. As usual, knowing what guys are like, I had a good idea of what was coming and steeled my body for the onslaught. Fifteen or twenty minutes of unmerciful tickle torture ensued, made more fiendish by the fact that we couldnt writhe and twist in our torment because any major squirming by either Nikki or myself pulled our bodies away from each other and we risked de-pantsing ourselves. We cursed our captors though our gags. The boys played with us for about an hour or so, but all too soon it was time to go. They let us up but kept us bound and gagged. Philip tied my sarong back in place and brushed the grass out of my hair and off my arms and legs. We looked at each other for a minute or two, and I could see that he was trying to pluck up the courage to say something. His voice was croaky how cute was it that he was still so nervous? Are you doing anything tonight? he finally got out. Theres this disco I did my best to play it cool, not so hard to pull off when all you can do to answer is tip your head and flutter your eyelids. I looked to Alex, not for his permission (hardly!) but to ensure we did not have any prior family engagements. He shrugged a Nothing stopping you and Philip looked very pleased with himself. Well, sis, we gotta go, Alex spoilt the moment, but he was right. He grabbed my purse for me, and gathered up my bracelets and aklets. However, Nikki was making grunting noises and started vigorously wiggling her head. I thought Uh-oh, wondering what she needed to tell us, as her brothers got the message and Dean released her from her gag. Ask for the room number, she said. Andromeda Hotel, right? she turned to Alex. Better idea, he replied. Well come to you. Save you a trip up and down the hill. We? Philip and I glared at him. He took his time to savour the moment. Dean, he finally said. I got the latest Nintendo. Its sweet as. Awesome. I have to give my Lil Bro credit. He had me going there, if only for a minute. I could also see what Nikki had done. They already knew where we were staying I had mentioned it more than once. So its clear that she would make a good social organizer. As her reward, Dean thrust the ball of her gag back between her jaws while Philip took one of the ropes, fixed it to her collar and with as casual a See you at six as he could muster, led her away. Dean tarried for one last lingering gaze at me little pervert. He and my Alex would make a great partnership. Once they were gone, Alex and I set off back to City Hall, and by the time we reached the plaza, Dad was waiting there for us, with Lucy. We exchanged pleasantries well, the three of them did, while I made some gag noises. Lucy told us that I could keep my hands bound with the cord, that I didnt have to wear my cuffs, and then we set off in her buggy, right across town to the eastern end of Resort Cove. We headed into the wharf area. What followed was a less than thrilling couple of hours, but Lucy herself was an interesting enough study. Shes the transportation coordinator for the entire docks, but appears to be in her mid-twenties, so she is either very youthful looking for her age or must be something of a prodigy, to have such a high rank. The waterfront was not very busy, and in fact we spent the time observing her job in a haze of ennui, but she supervised vehicle movements in, out and around the place like a choreographer. Although it meant nothing to me, Dad and Alex were fascinated by the balletic interplay of machinery and equipment boys love big toys. When they didnt have their eyes on Lucy, that is. She is small and slim, with an impish face framed by ash blonde hair in a rather shaggy bob-cut that makes her look even younger. But theres none of the little girl innocence about the way she wears her bikini and sarong. She knows how to create the maximum visual impact. The shoulder straps of her top kept slipping off her shoulders and her hands were in perpetual motion pushing them back up. She could have just tightened them to keep them in place, so Im sure it was a calculated effect. She wore the sarong slung so low on her hips that just one more centimetre of slippage would have rendered it superfluous. And yet it did my feminist heart proud to see this wisp of a girl, wearing next to nothing, ordering and bossing about big, husky men. I noticed that every so often one of the guys would gaze pensively at the slave collar encircling her neck, the ball-gag hanging on its strap next to it, the shackles on her wrists and ankles. However, the docks are not just the only place on the island where Ive seen more men than women, but also where there is no staff bondage at all. The latter is no doubt due to WHS regulations. At about three oclock, Lucy took us down to that part of the wharf adjoining the passenger terminal. I was looking about, trying to decide what we were supposed to be observing, when she somewhat impatiently pointed out into the bay. Anchored offshore, about halfway between the beach and Frigate Island, was a sleek, glistening white whale of a cruise liner. It was too far away for me to make out the name, but it showed the

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unmistakeable signs of opulent excess. It was of medium size, stubby but stacked with six or seven decks, meaning anywhere from four to eight hundred passengers. As we watched, a small fleet of water taxis appeared from behind the bow, strung out in a single file and bearing straight for us. Since they had departed from the far side of the ship, Im not sure how the passengers had been off-loaded, and it struck me as rather odd that the disembarkation would be on the seaward side, exposed to the ocean waves; but I presume the prevailing wind is from the south-east and that the anchorage is therefore sheltered by Frigate Island. In any case, the surface of the bay was flat as a tabletop as the little flotilla chugged on towards the shore. Lucy was on her transceiver issuing instructions, so Dad, Alex and I took up a suitable vantage point to view the approaching vessels. Its not a lifeboat, Dad informed Alex. Its called a tender. I could have told him that, but I wasnt in a condition to say anything. As the first one docked, a half-dozen or so young women emerged from the nearby terminal building carrying parcels like those we had received at the airport on our first day. The passengers came off, were greeted by the hostesses and continued inside. These numbered around sixty. They could have been tourists arriving at any tropical resort, and were decked out in the paradigmatic gaudy shirts and voluminous shorts, sarongs and sundresses, flip-flops and sandals, hideous hats and silly sunglasses. Once the second boat had pulled in, nothing happened for a good while. Their windows were tinted, so we couldnt see what was going on. And then someone appeared, a crewman. He had one arm held up, and as he started to walk slowly down the gang-plank, a rope he was clutching at shoulder level drew taut. At its other end there now appeared the first of what turned out to be about thirty females, of ages from around twenty to maybe fifty. They were wearing everything from bikinis to frocks to jeans and t-shirts; but all were bound, in various ways, gagged with all sorts of appliances, and tethered by the neck with a thin, metallic cable attached at metre-length intervals to stiff leather halters. Their menfolk walked alongside, carrying luggage but leaving one hand free to steady their ladies, some of whom appeared bewildered and disoriented. Others looked cheerful and all keyed up. Some were giggling, several appeared to be scowling or grimacing, and many were clearly embarrassed to be trussed and tethered. It was obvious that they were not used to being bound like this, at least not in public. We were standing just a short distance away, and as they passed us by, some gave me a funny look. Id almost forgotten that I was still gagged, my hands still tied behind my back. Even so, it was rather odd that I would get their attention like that. Perhaps they hadnt thought through what their experience would be, and to see me standing casually on the dockside awakened them to what Aranea Resort is really all about. The gangway rocked slightly from the small swells washing up against the pier, and some of the women, in particular those who had been blindfolded, almost lost their balance and had to be braced by their partners. Seeing them, I immediately understood the reason for the delay on board before they disembarked. They had not been bound and helpless while they still out on the open water. That would be too dangerous. Lucy had been directing traffic, but as the new bunch moved slowly towards the building she came over to us. The ships on an overnight stopover, she explained. Most of the passengers will be sleeping aboard since there arent enough hotel beds and other facilities ashore. Dad and Alex nodded but didnt say anything. Their lack of curiosity annoyed me because I was still gagged and had some questions. Like how often the cruise ships come in, and do many of the people choose to remain on board the entire time of anchorage in the bay? Lucy continued, and she did in fact answer my unspoken questions. However, as she was doing so, one of her team, a rather fearsome looking fellow, came up behind her. Without acknowledging his presence or skipping a beat in her exposition, she placed her arms to her rear and he forced her wrists together, quite brusquely so that she winced. When her hands were secured behind her back, he went back to his normal duties while she broke off her commentary and began walking towards where the third boat had pulled away and a fourth had berthed. Come on, she laughed. Its time for the meet and greet. We mounted the gangway and it was indeed difficult to stay upright as it swayed beneath us. Dad assisted me and Alex helped Lucy. We were welcomed as we stepped onto the deck by the skipper, who nodded a cordial greeting to Lucy, shook hands with Dad and Alex and gave me an indulgent and rather patronizing smile. He ushered us into a large canopied area behind the wheelhouse where a few dozen people were gathered. There were some bulging eyes and gasping breaths when they saw Lucy and me, but even as we arrived the male passengers had started binding their ladies. The half-dozen crew members, including a couple of women, were moving about, giving advice and assistance. Dad stayed with Lucy and the captain, while Alex and I decided to be helpful. There were three families from what I could see. One of these was having some problems, and I guessed that this was their first time. The husband was preoccupied with his wife, leaving their son to tie up his two sisters. He was a bit younger than

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Alex. The girls looked to be around sixteen or seventeen and could have been twins. I could tell that they were willing to be bound but were being difficult, which reinforced the impression that this was a novel experience for them. One of the girls stood passively with her hands behind her back while her brother struggled with the other, and when he gave up in frustration and turned to her, she began playing up as well. The boy was getting quite agitated, and so we intervened. When the girls beheld me bound and gagged, they settled down a bit because (I presume) they could see I was not in any discomfort. Then, under Alexs direction, their brother grabbed one of them and spun her around to face away from him, but he immediately calmed her by placing his hands lightly on her shoulders and running them down the length of her arms, slowing and gently drawing them behind her back as he did so. He crossed her wrists and looped the cord about them, and Alex showed him how to apply the cinch. The second girl then co-operated without any more fuss. Once they were helpless, they both squirmed and whimpered, but had that tight-lipped grin you see on people who dont want to reveal how much theyre actually enjoying themselves. They twisted their bodies about to inspect each others bonds, then turned back to their brother and looked as if they were about to say something, when their eyes opened comically wide. Their father was in the process of gagging their mother, who was already tightly bound at the wrists and elbows and blindfolded with a black sash. He had one hand on her forehead to hold her head back and still as he pressed a large red ball between her jaws. The gurgled moan that dribbles out as the gag goes in, which is so familiar to tie-up veterans like me, must sound scarily exotic to the ingnue. Alex handed his protg a waffle-type ball-gag (the one with breathing holes), stripping away the cellophane and holding it up by one end of the elastic strap so that both girls could view it with boggling eyes. The boy chose one of his sisters at random and she meekly opened her mouth wide; but as soon as the ball touched her lips she clenched her teeth just a fraction of a second too late. Though she bit down on it, the ball was inside her mouth. Seeing this, the other girl surrendered to her fate without resistance. While Alex was helping out, my gallant father went to the assistance of three young women a tall blonde, a small brunette and a curvaceous redhead. The latter had tied and gagged her companions, so Dad volunteered to do the same for her, and she accepted his offer with a smile that was both coy and coquettish. She swivelled her hips halfway to facing him, with a slow and sinuous motion, as he bound her hands behind her. To secure the cord, he had to pull her arms back towards him, which put stress on her flimsy bikini top, akin to the effect of an elbow tie. I think she was about to speak to him when he pushed the gag into her mouth. I wonder what she was going to say. By this time, every female on the deck had been bound and gagged. This included Lucy and the two crew members, though I didnt see who worked on them. Only about half the women were blindfolded. Unlike the passengers on the previous boat, there was no tethering, so each family or group simply departed when they were ready. While Alex accompanied Lucy and me, Dad escorted two-thirds of the threesome. As soon as she was on dry land once more, since the worker who had cuffed and gagged Lucy did not come back, Dad released her. Altogether, six boats came in. As the very last emptied, the women were in uniform. In contrast to so many of the passengers, they all appeared totally at ease with being bound, gagged and leashed, and so I assume this particular ship makes regular calls here. Lucy advised us to take a closer look at the first woman in line, a well-groomed, distinguished-looking woman with slightly greying hair. I could tell that she was important from the gold stripes on her epaulettes. She (like her fellow crew members) was bound far more severely than the civilians. Her arms were pinioned tightly behind her back, at the wrists and just above the elbows, with thick black flex of some kind. The tether which connected her to the woman behind was not attached to her collar. Instead, she was wearing a bit gag, and the leash was fixed to a ring on the bar clenched in her teeth. The cable ran not over her shoulder but down her front and between her legs, hitching up and constricting her dress and forcing her to take small, wobbly steps. Thats the X-O, Lucy whispered. Whats an ex oh? my clueless brother demanded. Shut up! he growled as I grunted my disdain. Executive Officer, Lucy replied patiently. Second in command. She discretely pointed out a couple of other senior officers in the line-up. I find this a little surprising, but I suppose its good public relations that the brass get into the Aranea spirit. The XO lifted and tilted her head in our direction as she and the others shuffled by. It was impossible to tell if she was smiling, but she nodded and winked a greeting. Lucy replied with a nod and a smile. Soon the docks were deserted once more. It was getting on towards late afternoon, Lucys shift was ending and she was ready to head back to the Oasis. Dad asked me if I wanted to be untied and ungagged, but I decided to wait until we got back to the hotel. Lucy dropped us off at the front entrance and Dad thanked her for an interesting and informative day I dont believe he was being sarcastic. We made our farewells and went up to our suite.

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Mum arrived just after we got back to our suite. She had at some stage changed into one of her bikinis. Matt brought her in cuffed and gagged. Dad gave them a funny look, but he could hardly object since hed been doing the same to Lucy. She went off to her bedroom to change, so I had my shower and got prettied up. It was time for some serious decision-making. Should I go with the cute or casual, frilly or formal, slinky or slutty? After much careful consideration, I chose my powder blue Chambray ruffle blouse and flirt skirt, and new Qupid strappy sandals. For my accessorizing, I went with the burgundy choker and Velcro fun cuffs with faux vicua lining, the mulberry red sleep-mask blindfold from the restaurant (because the cornflower blue blossoms match my outfit, of course) and after some agonizing the muzzle-and-harness gag (which is not my favourite but the one that minimizes the drool and dribble factor). I wasnt quite sure how our parents would take the news that Alex and I were going out straight away. In fact, they were pleased that we had made new friends. They were, however, a trifle too happy that wed be gone till ten oclock. Dads eyes kept flickering in the direction of their bedroom, and Mum blushed when Alex as ever my precocious Lil Bro promised, Dont worry, we wont get back early. It was getting on towards six oclock when we left the hotel. I allowed Alex to put just one restraint on me, and wasnt at all surprised when he chose the gag. Bossy big sis isnt so bossy when she cant talk. Philips family is staying in the heart of the downtown area, in one of the fancier establishments. We had to check in at the front desk before proceeding. Like her counterpart at City Hall, the receptionist was chained by her collar to the counter top. I wondered why the girl at the Andromeda was not, and decided that each place must set its own policy. This one smiled approvingly at my collar and gag as Alex announced our names. She consulted a register, then nodded and smiled again. Im guessing that it has a list of staff and family members, because her manner seemed to indicate that she knew we were residents. Also unlike our own, the Regatta Hotel has a porter (actually here theyre called stewards), a handsome young guy in an awfully unstylish, nerdy white trousers and kitschy floral shirt. I have to say that Resort uniforms do not do justice to the male employees. Whereas the womens outfits are cute and sexy, the mens are neither. I have a feeling that the contrast is designed that way, to put the focus where it belongs (and I have no problem with that). John I read his name tag said hello, and as he gestured for us to follow, he gave me a thorough looking up and down. I was wondering if he does that to all the girls who walk in the door, as he turned to the receptionist and smirked while she frowned. I dont mean to imply that he made me feel uncomfortable; its just that it was a rather laissez-faire attitude for an employee of such a swank establishment. John left us at the elevator. We went up to the tenth floor, the Regatta being the tallest building on the island. Dean answered the door and ushered us into the living room. There, prostrate on the carpet, was Nikki, hogtied in a balled-up position. She was enveloped in a mess of knotted and intertwined bikinis, sarongs, pantyhose, tights, scarves it looked like her brothers had emptied out her entire wardrobe to find things to bind her with. Her head was swathed in various items of her clothing, and underneath them I could tell she was gagged, because her screams were muffled as she wriggled and writhed while Philip maliciously, mercilessly tickled her. Philip looked up, saw me and grinned. I didnt like that grin. Having crossed the threshold into the room, I had Dean behind me, barring any attempt at a sudden exit. But I was saved when their mother appeared in the archway which led to the kitchen. I had seen her briefly the other day at Rope Riggers. Shes a beautiful, elegant woman, and she was fabulously dshabill in a stunning off-the-shoulder gown with a spectacularly low-cut gold-filigreed bodice and side split all the way to the hip. On her sleek left thigh was an exquisite white lace garter, and she wore its twin about her throat as an ultra-feminine choker. Its easy to see where Nikki gets her beauty and grace. She stared down at her daughter, struggling in her bonds on the floor, and frowned. Young lady, she said sternly, I wish youd stop fooling around (with only the subtlest hint of irony in her voice). Nikki squirmed in futile indignation, but her mother was already, purse in hand, headed for the door, swapping a polite but perfunctory greeting with Alex and me. When she was gone, I expected to join the girl on the floor; but instead her brothers disentangled her from her wrappings and lifted her to her feet. They untied her hands but grabbed her arms and frog-marched her to her bedroom. Philip then went off to get dressed as well, while Dean entertained Alex and to my surprise left me alone. I signalled my request for permission to remove my gag so I could get a glass of water, and Lil Bro did not insist that I replace it. He and Dean were already absorbed in their Nintendo universe. After a few minutes, Nikki reappeared, having changed into her nightclubbing best. Alex was enchanted and I was jealous, as she looked so incredibly hot in a rose pink chiffon top with steeply plunging neckline and a black tapered hobble skirt. And it really was a hobble because the hem just above the knees was drawn tight with a slender silver chain. Her ensemble was accented by a black satin ribbon collar and matching lace cuffs, connected with more of the fine chain to a daintily crafted O-ring at belly button level. A black sash encircled her hips, ready for service as either blindfold or gag. Just as we were about to leave, Philip turned to me. He hesitated and our eyes met. I smiled.

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Which way? he said. I put my arms behind my back. He gave me a light kiss on the neck as he linked my bracelets. Alex, who had continued to watch us, now turned away in disgust. Our destination was not far away, but it took us a while to get there. There are only two main thoroughfares in the Village, but they extend the entire length of the town and connect everything to everything else. Staying close to the shoreline, the Promenade follows the sweep of the bay and is lined with cafeterias, restaurants, bars and nightclubs. The Boulevard runs further inland, curving around the base of the great amphitheatre formed by the encircling hills, and it contains the stores, boutiques and salons, as well as all the agencies for the various services and utilities. Both were crowded, and my gallant hero walked a half-pace ahead of us to clear a passage. Some of the other escorts on the street were not so chivalrous, and I loved how Philip gently nudged those women who were blindfolded out of our path rather than try to bulldoze a corridor through the multitude. We were also delayed by poor Nikki, who could take only tiny, measured steps in her speedlimited skirt. Crossing several side-streets, she had to bunny-hop on and off each kerb. On the way, I was reminded of just how small Resort Village really is. Its virtually impossible to miss seeing people you know. First we encountered Sue (our tie-up tutor from yesterday), strolling the esplanade with her partner (boyfriend or husband). She was wearing a little yellow party dress and her off-duty collar. Her mouth was crammed with a large, bulbous butterfly 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, which was attached to her collar at one end and her companions 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. I was impressed that she recognized us. The couple appeared to be heading towards the nightclub strip, but I was more interested in where theyd been. Further along, I witnessed an even more intriguing scene. A party of seven people were making their passage through the crowd. In the lead was Maggie, whom Id met this morning. All were in evening dress, the men in expensive suits, the women in elegant gowns, so I assume they were coming from (or perhaps on their way to) a formal reception. Maggie, accompanied by a gentleman I presume to be her husband, was adorned with exquisite jewellery that included a gorgeous silver choker and matching chain leash, plus wrist, elbow and ankle cuffs. Her hands were shackled in front, but secured to another silver chain encircling her waist, while her elbows were bound behind her back, so her arms were completely immobilized. She was blindfolded but not gagged, and conversing with a man walking alongside, opposite her husband, who was quietly guiding her with her tether. The other two women were gagged but not blindfolded, nor tethered. Their arms were bound behind their backs, and one of them was learning the price of that as she wore an awesome strapless chiffon dress which barely contained her mammary charms. From their wide-eyed expressions, and those of their partners, I surmised that these were the newly arrived VIPs Maggie had met this morning. Another couple whom I feel compelled to mention were a lesbian duo at least I am pretty sure they were. They were dressed (or at least semi-dressed) in skimpy satin-lace teddies, with garter belts and stockings and stiletto heels, in white and black respectively. The one in white was severely bound, gagged and blindfolded, and being led in a leash, which was hardly an unusual sight on that street. But her partner had an identical gag and blindfold dangling about her neck, so I imagine they swapped places every so often. Philip gave the pair an extra lingering look as we passed. What is it with guys and their affection for what my Lil Bro calls girlon-girl? Just after that, we reached the Tarantella discotheque, located halfway along the Promenade near the centre of town. Its for under-21s and alcohol-free, but apart from that its your typical brash and boisterous nightspot, jam-packed and pulsating with frenetic energy, thumping music, throbbing beats, flashing lights, gyrating bodies in shimmering sequins and sparkly spandex, diminutive halter tops, wobbly tube tops, overflowing bustiers, parsimonious denim cut-offs and picayune micro-minis. Peppy, preppie, gothic, gaudy, grungy, funky, punk, hip-hop, hippie, indie, raver, rocker, retro, surfer, skater, skank you name it, it was swinging and spinning on the dance floor. Admission was free, but the doorway was guarded by two security officers, a man and a woman, the first I have seen, or at least been aware of. She was wearing the standard bikini and hip-hugging sarong, but khakicoloured. I also noticed that, although she wore the collar, bracelets and anklets (a subject brought up at the staff meeting this morning), these were different from the usual in that there are no locking or other fastening attachments, so they were just symbolic. Obviously this is a safety feature. You dont want to be grappling with an unruly drunk (or whomever) if he can snap your wrists together and render you helpless. I estimate that there were about a hundred teens in the place. That must have been a significant fraction of the islands population aged 16 to 21; I didnt see anyone much younger. Most of the girls were bound and/or

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chained and/or leashed in some form or another; blindfolds were popular, though not gags. That made sense dancing makes you thirsty, and it would be reprehensible for a guy to keep his girl gagged all evening. Apart from that it wouldnt have been an issue, since the music was too loud for anything resembling conversation. Philip released his sister from her cuffs and she disappeared into the swirling mlange. He and I made our way across the room, to where a small space had opened up. He left me there while he tunnelled back to the bar, and eventually returned with two large drinks. In the meantime, I had managed to fend off a couple of predators. With my hands immobilized behind me, they might have posed a problem; but they were harmless, and indeed everyone was well-behaved. The drinks were like bowls of fruit salad. Philip didnt release my hands but held the straw to my lips whenever I nodded to indicate I wanted a sip. (Some guys get tired of that chore, but most like it when their girl is helpless and depends on them. We like it too.) When wed finished our punch, Philip reached into his coat pocket and drew out a slim leather strap. He clipped it to my choker and tugged on it lightly to lead me out to the middle of the dance floor, just in time for a slow number. He looped the other end of my tether around his own neck and put his arms between mine and my waist, behind my back to hold my hands. Our fingers intertwined; and since boys will forever be boys, he gently pressed downwards, so as my arms straightened, my shoulders went back and my breasts were pushed forward against his chest. Our gentle hug-and-sway had the predictable effect. I could feel his heart beating furiously, and further down I felt another part of him stirring. So it was probably a good thing when the tempo of the music picked up. There was more bump and grind, but less chance of Philip getting into the groove, so to speak. During another slow number, he released my hands and cuffed them again in front so I could put my arms around his neck for a more romantic close-up. To add variety to the program, each hour there was a novelty event and everyone was encouraged to join in. It was Dance with a Stranger, a sort of improvised, freestyle waltz. Youre blindfolded (the girls, that is), and at intervals of about two minutes a gong sounds and you swap partners with the couple closest to you at that moment. So as well as the challenge of making the right moves without your sight, you have to adapt to a new lead, whom you not only do not know but cannot see. Since most guys are hopeless at anything resembling ballroom dancing, their ability to lead and your ability to follow are severely tested. After a few rounds, to make it more interesting, the girls hands are bound behind our backs, and much hilarity ensues. But it can also be perilous, and it was a minor miracle that there were no sprained ankles or worse. After about three hours I was suffering from excitement overload and it was nice to escape the noise and the neon for the cool, dark stillness of the late evening. There were not many people about. It was that time of night when most are either already at home getting ready for bed or still cutting loose in the nightclubs. My arms were beginning to ache, so I asked Philip to uncuff me. He agreed, on condition that he hook my wrists to my collar in front. I had no objection to that. In fact, as it was getting chilly, with my hands locked just below my chin, I could hold my arms against my chest to conserve body heat. Philip helped out by putting an arm around my shoulder. Every so often his hand wandered down my back, to fondle my rear end or play with the hem of my skirt and my knickers underneath, but I didnt complain. Nikki, however, was in a bad mood because she had wanted to stay on. But Philip had promised their parents that he would have her home well before midnight. She was annoyed, and I couldnt really blame her, because it was rather sexist, given that shes two years older than him. But, as my own Lil Bro will continue to remind me, once youve submitted to being bound, you give up your freedom of choice, and you have to take the bad with the good. On the other hand, I had the feeling she was also a little relieved to have had the decision taken out of her hands. My impression of Nikki is that she is a sensible, sensitive soul trapped in the gorgeous body of a party girl who feels obliged to live up to the image. She discovered the downside (she eventually admitted) when someone at the disco unhitched her chains and reversed them so her arms were pinioned behind her back. She had quickly rued her compliance, because in the crowded confines it left her vulnerable, and she received some unwanted attention. So she conceded, just as we were arriving back at their hotel, that her brothers taking charge had been the right thing to do. Alex came down to the foyer to meet us. Dean accompanied him but wasnt interested in a late evening stroll to the Andromeda. However, before heading back in the elevator, he insisted on gagging and blindfolding his sister, for no particular reason. He employed her black sash for the blindfold, and to no ones surprise produced a ball-gag. She didnt protest, so Alex turned to Philip. You dont have to ask him for permission, I pre-empted. He doesnt own me. I immediately regretted that not what I said but how I said it. In any case, technically I was wrong because protocol dictates that since Philip had cuffed me, he was in charge. But he took it in good humour. Be my guest, he replied, and as my reprimand he added, Shes all yours. His brother decided to join in, and as soon as Alex unhitched my bracelets from my collar, Dean, positioned at

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my rear, seized my wrists and pulled them forcefully behind my back. As he shackled me, Alex raised my blindfold and inserted my gag. Dean tightened the strap. Thereupon Dean wished us good-night and went back upstairs. By now I was quite proficient at negotiating the path up the hill without my sight, but Philip held me all the way, to keep me warm as well as guide me. It was very romantic, or it would have been except that Alex was talking adolescent nonsense the whole way. I was also rather concerned for Nikki, because she was puffing and gasping through her gag. I have no idea what was happening to her. When we reached the hotel, Alex invited Philip and Nikki, on my behalf, to come up for cocoa. I have to admit that it considerate of him to do so, as I didnt want the night to end just yet. The reception desk was unattended, but a cleaning crew was working its way methodically across the lobby floor with mops. There were four of them, one male and three females. The latter had short tethers attached to their ankle fetters, which could not have made it easy to do their job. One was wearing a ball-gag. Otherwise she was just like the others, so I dont know why; but as I learned this morning some women like to be (or are willing to be) gagged even at work, and so long as it does not interfere with their duties, thats okay with the management. When we reached our suite, Mum had good news. The package containing Alexs and my Pioneers uniforms had finally turned up. As Nikki and I were released from our bonds, Mum unpacked our uniforms and sorted the various pieces into two bundles. Alexs pile was by far the bigger. Dad looked down at my brothers, then at mine, frowned, rubbed his chin and said to me, Well, wheres the rest of it? I merely responded with an Oh, Dad, grabbed my stuff and headed for the bedroom to change. Nikki came in with me but poor Philip was left standing on the far side of the closing door, looking tragically crestfallen. Being a devout believer in Murphys Law, I was doubtful that the Commissariat people had gotten our sizes right, but everything was a perfect fit. I tried on each part and Nikki gave her assessment Thats cute... thats hot... thats pretty. The uniform is very much figure-hugging, and I couldnt help feeling how better her more curvaceous body would have filled it. I sensed that she was thinking the same. Also in the kit was a canvas backpack containing the usual accoutrements to remind me of just where I would be wearing my snug little outfit a folded plastic raincoat, water bottle, pocket knife, insect repellent and sunscreen, assorted toiletries including toilet paper, a small magnetic compass, plastic whistle, a map of the island, a slim survival guide and fieldcraft manual, that sort of thing. I still have only a vague idea of what the Pioneers are all about, but we will be finding out soon enough. What I do know is that it is an adventure club associated with the Park Rangers, who are responsible for managing the islands natural resources and tourist facilities, preserving the environment and protecting the wildlife, conducting tours, disseminating advice and information and, of course, organizing bushwalking and camping expeditions. Attached to the cover of the manual was a curt note instructing us to Report to the Ranger station at 0700 tomorrow, along with a map showing its location. I called Alex into the room. He came in and close on his heels was Philip, disheartened to see me in my fluffy full-length PJs. Before I could say anything, my brother glared at me and Nikki, and tapped an index finger next to his eye. I sighed and put on my blindfold. Nikki tied hers in place as well. I broke the bad news. Seven oclock? my brother wheezed. SEVEN? In the MORNING? No, dummy, seven PM. The Pioneers are a nightclub. Philip and Nikki had to go home soon afterwards. We wont have another chance to see each other for three days, but weve arranged for another rendezvous, after my family have moved into our permanent home in the Oasis. When theyd left, Alex wanted to go to bed, so I retired to the kitchen to write up my journal. Its now approaching midnight and so here I am again, signing off on day five of our new life on Aranea Island. Although Ill miss Philip, I am looking forward to tomorrow and all sorts of high adventure.

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6. Trek.
Here I am, back in that sanctum of salubrity, our hotel suite. Im exhausted, aching all over and chafed in all sorts of places, insect-ravaged and mildly sunburnt, but still psyched up, from our sojourn in the wilderness. As I write this, it is the dawn of our eighth day in the Resort, and Im sitting on the balcony, basking in the misty rose glow of another tropical sunrise. This is our last in the Hotel Andromeda. This afternoon, we are moving into the Oasis, to become official residents of Aranea Island. My Pioneers adventure was not exactly what I expected in some ways better, in others not so much. But it never got boring. Yesterday morning I was, as usual, the first in the family to be up and about, and waking Alex was one of those ambiguous pleasures disrupting his tranquil slumber is fun at the time, but you know its going to cost you. As he shook the fuzz out of his head, he grumpily demanded that I put on my blindfold, but instead I fled to the sanctuary of the kitchen, to help Mum prepare breakfast. When he eventually joined us, as much as it pains me to say so, Alex looked rather dashing in his Pioneers uniform poly-cotton trousers, T-shirt and long-sleeved shirt, all in a greens-and-browns camouflage pattern, plus a webbing belt, bush hat and trail boots. All pristine, crisp and neat normally anathema to my brother. Well, dont you look dashing? Ugh! I had thought it, which was bad enough, but did our mother have to come right out and say it? Before things got worse, I retreated to the bedroom to put on mine. Very nice, dear, Mum said, as she turned her attention back to the stove. Make sure you put on plenty of sun lotion and insect repellent. Youll need it, Alex affirmed. Your... Yeah, I get it. I had to concede his point. Like his, its in camo-pattern, but the resemblance ends there. My entire outfit could fit in one of Lil Bros trouser pockets. Its a cotton-spandex, figure-hugging, skin-baring ensemble of slim-fit cropped spaghetti-strap tank top, and shorts in two styles, boy and booty. I had no idea which of these I was supposed to wear, so I settled on the slightly more substantial boy-cut style, and put the other in my rucksack. Unlike Alexs, my kit doesnt include boots, but I own a decent pair of hiking shoes. A bra is optional so I decided to go without; and there wasnt room for knickers under my shorts; but I packed one of each for good measure, along with spare socks, handkerchiefs, tampons and some other stuff that might come in handy. Finally, the instructions were to wear my choker and pack my collar. We had breakfast with plenty of time to spare. The Ranger station is located just a few minutes walk from the hotel. Mum and Dad accompanied us as far as the bottom of the hill, and sent us on the rest of our way with the customary Have a good time and take care. And Sarah, Mum continued, watch out for your brother. She paused. You know what hes like. Alex sneered. Wheres that gag when you need it? Dont be cheeky, young man, Dad growled. 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 get too... Dont you be cheeky either, young lady, my mother said, without looking back. Put your hands out, Alex demanded. He was holding one of the familiar leather straps. Not now, I told him, and he sulkily put it away. When we reached the station, a tidy wooden two-storey cabin with a broad veranda, some fifty or so kids, all in Pioneers uniform, were already assembled or just arriving. There was an even number of boys and girls, the age spread from around Alexs to a little older than me. About one in four of the girls wore chokers like mine. The sun was just beginning its climb over the crest of the ridge, but because there was still moisture in the morning air, it clung icily to my uncovered limbs. I joined the other girls stamping on the grass and swinging arms to keep warm, and I envied the males in their long sleeves and trousers. As for my shorts dilemma, I saw that it had not been mine alone. The two styles, boy and booty, were equally represented. Watching us gather, a half-dozen Rangers were standing off to one side, two men and four women. They all appeared to be in their mid to late twenties. Their uniforms were identical to ours, except in plain olive drab colour rather than camouflage greens and browns; the females wore the collar rather than the choker. One of the women stepped up onto the veranda to call us together, and waited patiently for the noise to abate. Hi, Im Laura she announced. Hi, Laura, we all intoned. Im the senior Park Ranger and these are your camp leaders. She acquainted us with the other Rangers. I dont recall every name, so in the interests of fairness I wont mention any of them. Then she summoned four of the boys and four collared girls to come forward, and she introduced them as ranger cadets. One of them I recognized as Karen, Alexs partner from the workshop the

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other day. Laura asked us to thank them for giving up their weekend to help out as team guides. We gave them a rousing cheer. Thereafter we were treated to a rather long and somewhat tedious lecture about rules, safety procedures and a few other things. It was all just common sense, really but I guess it depends on how you define common. The wind had picked up, and we were starting to shiver... well, half of us were. Laura rubbed her bare forearms, looked at her colleagues, nodded and announced: Lets get moving. One of the men took over the proceedings. He instructed us girls to remove our backpacks and place them in a neat stack beside a van that was parked next to the hut. He and one of his colleagues began stowing them in the rear of the truck. The boys kept theirs, so I knew that there was more to this than simply relieving us of our loads for the impending trek. In the meantime, a few tubes of sunscreen and cans of insect repellent were passed around. Alex tended to his face and hands, his only exposed parts. I needed a lot more. Meanwhile, Laura and two of the cadets conferred and consulted a list of our names. Once we were slathered and sprayed, we were sorted into two groups, balanced by age and sex. We were designated the Reds and the Blues and were each given a small tag of the appropriate colour to clip onto shirt collars (the boys) and left shoulder straps (the girls). I found myself assigned to the Blues. Alex was a Red. The teams stood apart, separated by a few metres, and already we were deeply into the spirit of the contest, baring teeth and tossing hostile stares across no-mans land. I guess thats human nature, the tribal instinct. Yet almost immediately, Laura ordered all of us girls to switch sides. Baffled, we crossed over. The cadets had been allocated to the two teams as well, and Karen joined mine, standing next to Alex. I thought it was a sweet gesture, and he grinned like the proverbial Cheshire cat. But then the male cadets drew the boys on their respective teams aside for a whispered briefing. We girls cooled our heels, no one speaking, but I and no doubt most of us had a fairly good idea of what was coming next. The boys came back and stood in a row facing us. One of the team guides ordered us to turn about and get into a line with our hands behind our backs. A couple of girls wavered and the command was repeated, more emphatically. I glanced back towards the Rangers, who were watching the action unfazed, as we hurriedly formed a single rank. The guy in charge (I shall call him the CO, for cadet officer) began barking orders: Stand still! Keep quiet! Feet together! Wrists crossed! Look straight ahead! Wrists CROSSED, I said! I could hear his Blue counterpart shouting the same thing at the Red girls. Having obeyed, we waited for what seemed like ages but was really just a minute or two, not daring to even twitch. Finally, still astern of us, the CO gruffly informed us that we were now prisoners of the Red team. He continued with his harangue as we stood silently facing away from him, and I could hear feet shuffling behind us. The boys were getting ready for something, and because my attention was diverted I missed most of what we were being told. From the scraps I did manage to pick up, it seemed that the object of the exercise was that over the next two days our Blue teammates would attempt to rescue us from the clutches of our captors. I hadnt anticipated that my Pioneers adventure would be a war game. I had assumed we were in for a couple of days of hiking, camping and all that other outdoor adventure stuff that I love so much (she said with tongue planted firmly in cheek). It would be like the commando games Alex and I used to play with our friends back home, before I (somewhat regretfully) left behind my tomboy days. Back then, we girls usually ended up as prisoners, so this was all so very nostalgic. I took a quick peek over my shoulder, earning a rebuke from the CO but catching a glimpse of one of the boys advancing upon my rear. He was small and around Alexs age, kind of good-looking with a mess of bushy blonde hair. As I felt his hands grasp my arms, I flinched, and maybe that intimidated him, because instead of immediately tying my wrists he tightened his grip and began trying to push my elbows together. I stiffened my arms and was about to protest, but the girl along the line had started to resist I dont know why, perhaps for no other reason than to cause trouble, purely for the fun of it. She was forced onto her knees with the help of the CO and quickly subdued. So I decided to play it cool; but even when he got around to binding my wrists, Blondie (as I shall call him, since I never found out his real name) was having an inexplicably hard time getting the cord properly looped and cinched. As a result, he was tugging and hauling and heaving on my arms and jerking me about. I dont know whether he was nervous or merely inexperienced probably both. Possibly this was the first time he had tied up a strange girl (and they dont come much stranger than me, or so Im told). Just when I was afraid he was going to do me some real damage, he got help from the CO to complete the job. Good girl, the CO said as he patted me benevolently on the head. I imagine that was for putting up with the rough treatment without complaining, but I found it to be rather patronizing. The fact that our hands were tied in the wrists crossed position, to minimize the stress on our arms and shoulders, and that the rope employed for the job was soft nylon cord, told me that we were going to be this way for a long stretch. By the time we were ready to set off, an hour must have elapsed since Alex and I had left the hotel. The sun was now high in the sky and beating down on us with fierce intensity. The tingling goosebumps on my skin

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had given way to glistening beads of perspiration. Meanwhile, the village was starting to come alive, with resort staff going about their business and guests heading for the beach or to breakfast. A few passers-by stopped to see what we were up to. At last, as I was getting increasingly restless, Laura called out something. I looked to discover what was happening, just in time to see her being bound by one of her male deputies. He tied her hands in front, and I kind of resented that the female Rangers got it easier than us Pioneer girls. But I figured they had responsibilities which required their hands to be at least partially free. As I was pondering this, our CO yelled: Prisoners, right turn! Company, move out! We began marching. I was right in the middle of the line. We werent tethered, but we were ordered to keep close, and at times we bunched up so tight that I could sniff the hair of the girl in front of me. Her shampoo smelled like strawberries. But the uneven rhythm and a series of abrupt stops and starts as we headed up the track caused the column to gradually spread out, to about a pace between us. That was a good thing, because when the trail got rougher I didnt fancy stumbling into Miss Strawberry to my front or tripping over the feet of the girl to my rear. From this point, you dont talk, you dont make a sound, you dont try to escape, the CO insisted. Since we hadnt done any of these things, the command seemed superfluous. You dont say, a squeaky voice retorted from somewhere behind me. This elicited a few giggles but, surprisingly, no reprimand. A couple of dozen parents had stuck around to wave good-bye, and the handful of interested bystanders hung about until we passed out of sight into the forest. We trudged along a muddy track which narrowed and began to meander as it ascended the southern flank of Granite Peak. The summit loomed sombrely through the dissipating mist, about two kilometres distant. As the path got steeper, it became more slippery, so Blondie decided I needed his assistance and clamped his fist around my left upper arm as we walked. That became irritating after a while because it hindered my progress rather than helped. He kept pulling and jolting me. He obviously liked having this physical connection with his captive but was blissfully unaware that for me it was just a nuisance. Most of the boys were walking alongside us. They were laughing and joking, trying to act and sound casual, although you could hear the excitement in their voices. It was likely that none of them had ever before seen a column of bound, scantily clad female captives being herded up a mountainside. It was a first for me too. So everyone was keyed up. Of course, if any girl made even a sound, she was rudely threatened with a gag. Half a dozen places ahead of me, near the front of the line, Alex was escorting Karen. He was holding onto her bound wrists, and his hand was resting on her backside. Her shorts had ridden up somewhat, and I could see Lil Bro was fondling the bare flesh. Every so often, for a reason I dont care to speculate on, Karens fists clenched and her butt cheeks quivered, and she flashed him a glare. But she maintained her silence. He looked back, saw me staring at him, and gave me one of his Dick Dastardly grins. At first I thought we were going to climb to the very top of the mountain a daunting prospect, especially with my hands bound behind my back; but after maybe an hour or so the trail began to veer to the left, until we were heading directly west, skirting the summit. The scenery was beautiful and spectacular, as we trekked along the base of a wall of sheer black-and-grey speckled stone, towering sixty metres or more above us. It is hemmed in by fantastically lush vegetation fed by the constant streams of water flowing down and out of the rock face, and covered in its lower reaches by delicate mosaics of moss and lichen. By now, everyone was hushed by the awesomeness of our surroundings, and the only sound anyone made was the crunching of leaves underfoot subsumed beneath 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 feeling its effects. My clothing, such as it was, had become drenched with perspiration, and maddening rivulets ran down my forehead and cheeks, trickling into my eyes and seeping 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 did not mind that my hands were bound. After all, we were prisoners. But my envy of the boys for their trousers was turning to resentment. Not that I could do anything about it. It was still only mid-morning when we crossed over the ridgeline that runs westward from a jagged outcropping of the central peak. At its 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 three deeply embayed beaches, separated by rugged headlands. The southernmost I recognized as Pirates Cove; and recalling the map, I identified the most northerly and deep-set of the inlets as Pioneer Valley. It was flanked on the north-east by a large peninsula, some two kilometres long and bisected lengthways by a craggy spine of barren rock. Beyond that, hidden by the sullen taupe monolith of Granite Peak, lay Adventure Valley. Dont stop, keep moving, the CO brayed. As we tramped over the rim, I took a last look to the rear. Just

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visible behind a smaller ridge that snaked off to the south-west was the outer edge of Resort Village. In the middle of the cove, the cruise ship was still anchored, and a dinghy was departing for the shore, leaving a spreading silver trace in its wake. Along the curve of the beach I could make out the tiny figures of swimmers and sunbathers, and I could see, perched on the hillside above, the Andromeda Hotel. 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. Because this part of the trail was relatively level, we were moving quickly now. After half an hour more, the track bifurcated. One path swerved sharply to the left and fell rapidly away into Pioneer Valley. The Blue team and their captives, who were some distance ahead of us, took that route. They were soon out of sight. We continued in the straight-ahead direction, cresting another ridge before beginning a long, steady descent into Adventure Valley. We had gone only a hundred metres or so when the CO called out Halt! He and his associate organized their men to get us prisoners bunched up once more. On command, we turned from column into row. The boys stood 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 enemys camp. Nonetheless, it was a bit scary and definitely demoralizing, which was likely 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 difficult time of it. Still, this was part of the challenge, and as I have always maintained, theres no thrill without some peril. 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. Once I tripped over the stub of a tree root protruding from the muck. Blondie helped me to my feet each time I stumbled. He gently brushed away the sticks and leaves and dirt that had plastered to my legs. I was about to thank him for his assistance when I thought, No, Im his captive; its his responsibility to look after me. And anyway, a couple of times he adjusted my blindfold to ensure that I remained completely helpless. The straps of my shirt had slipped off my shoulders, but it was a snug fit, so there was no danger of me flashing my boobs. Nevertheless, Blondie tried to be helpful and fix it for me, and I recoiled once again from his touch. That must have hurt his feelings, because he brusquely grabbed my arm and hustled me forward. I dont think he wasnt being mean, just covering up his embarrassment. A couple of times he offered me a sip from his water bottle. I declined (because Im squeamish about sharing saliva with a stranger), but pretty soon I had a raging thirst to go with my aches and pains. My legs were stinging from the swishing of the undergrowth. I was sweating profusely, due as much to the tension as to the heat and humidity, and my perspiration soaked into the blindfold, making it prickly and uncomfortable. Still, the experience was invigorating and in fact quite exhilarating. Its been a long time since I have had a test like this of my endurance. I was feeling quite proud of myself, and of all the other girls as well. The trek around the island was much harder on us than on the males, and we never faltered. The boys were probably feeling very pleased with themselves, herding their helpless prisoners down the trail, but Im sure at least some of them were wondering how well they would cope if they were in our position bound, sightless, bare limbs exposed to the elements. Of course, it wouldnt be a fair test because we are used to being tied up and blindfolded, whereas boys arent. And actually, Im sure they would do just fine; but I guess the point is that until youve faced your big test, you dont know how you will respond. Its when those moments come that you find out who and what you really are... It must have been approaching mid-day when we finally reached our objective. Our blindfolds remained on, but I could tell from the brackish tang in the air and the squish of sandy soil underfoot that we were near the 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 make sense of my surroundings, I got the impression that we were in a prepared campsite, not just out in the middle of nowhere, because the grass felt like it had recently been mown. Somewhere I could hear a tap flowing, an indication of decent amenities running water, proper toilets, maybe even shower facilities. Confirming my deductions, the CO announced Welcome to Camp Commando, gentlemen. (Naturally no welcoming words for us wretched captives.) We (the wretched captives) were herded onto a patch of turf and ordered to kneel. After several minutes during which nothing happened (or at least, from my perspective behind my blindfold, nothing seemed to be happening), we were told to squat. It didnt bother me that we were not allowed to sit down because the grass was wet and I didnt want to get my shorts any more damp and dirty than they already were from my tumbles on the muddy track. But crouching on your haunches is a position thats very hard to sustain for long when youre fatigued, and especially when you dont have your arms to keep you stable or your sight to maintain your sense of balance. However, I dont think the CO was being cruel. He has probably never been tied up and underestimates the difficulties and complexities that go with it. After a while my ankles started to wobble, my calves began to cramp, my thighs began to quiver and my body began to sway. Still, for no reason but

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pride, I was determined not to surrender to the strain; and the girls on either side of me, puffing and panting, were equally resolved. Meanwhile, the CO had launched into another harangue. We were now in the Red camp, we were informed (as if we hadnt worked that out), and we shouldnt forget that we were still prisoners (as if we needed to be told). There was to be no talking or we would be gagged, no attempt to move about (what, blindfolded?) or we would be hobbled. Then there was movement and noise all around us, followed by another lengthy, mysterious lull. It took me a while to work out that the boys had gone off to their barracks to deposit their packs and then to lunch. I was starting to feel the pangs of hunger and regretted my light breakfast. I also hadnt had anything to drink since leaving the village, so my mouth and throat were parched. The squatting was becoming painfully hard to bear and I was starting to feel bitter when at last I heard the guys returning. I felt something pressing against my lips. For a second I thought I was being gagged and was thinking Thats not fair, I havent made a sound, until I realized it was Blondie holding a sandwich to my lips. I sniffed but did not bite. Is that egg? I whispered. He paused to check. Yeah, egg salad. I quietly explained that Im allergic. He apologized, went away and came back with what tasted like cheese and tomato. He was quite obliging, considering that I was his helpless hostage. He fed me the sandwich and asked if I wanted more. I declined and thanked him, so he gave me a drink, plain water but cold, refreshing and gratifying. With that, I was starting to feel good again, but soon afterwards things took another turn for the worse. Not that Im complaining, naturally, but by mid-afternoon I was definitely beginning to wonder what I had signed up for. I didnt know exactly what was afoot, but by listening carefully I could make out essentially what was going on. The guys had split into two squads, one of which set out on patrol, scouting the area for enemy incursions. I was dubious that any sort of attack was likely, since the Blues base (my base, really) was so far away, but my teammates and their prisoners had enjoyed about an hours head start getting to and settled in their camp, so it was conceivable that they could launch a raid in the next couple of hours, or possibly after sunset. The latter prospect I found less than appealing. I did not fancy the idea of being rescued if it meant blundering through the undergrowth in darkness in my skimpy uniform. It would also mean leaving behind my backpack with all my spare gear. On the other hand, captivity meant... well, captivity. The remaining boys stayed in the camp to defend it and watch over their prisoners. Because we now outnumbered our guards two to one, even though bound, they decided we needed to be better secured. First they gagged us. I knew that was coming it was inevitable, really but we were subjected to bulbous, acrid-tasting, thirst-inducing rubber gags which filled the mouth, making it impossible for us to emit any sound. I quickly realized that it was Alex gagging me; I guess Blondie was out on patrol. A few of the girls chose to offer futile resistance. I could hear muffled protests through clenched teeth and clamped jaws. Still, I knew it was just a part of the game, because interspersed with the stifled remonstrations were giggles and noisy clowning about. The captors teased and taunted their victims who in turn mocked and cursed their tormentors well, it sounded like mocking and cursing, because as soon as anyone opened her mouth to say anything, the gag went in and defiant invective became inchoate burbling. And since this was a no-win situation, I resolved once again to play it cool and cooperate. We had been alternately kneeling and squatting for so long now that my legs were becoming numb, so it was actually a relief when I heard scuffling and grunting down the line and quickly worked out that the first half of my fellow prisoners were being hog-tied. The boys were making a game of it, with joking and teasing, and I could hear muffled squeals and groans. My arms touched those of the girl next to me, and I could feel her breathing heavily and trembling as we awaited our turn. Suddenly, I pitched forward as two hands shoved on my back to force me down onto my stomach. The grass was dry by now, but it was itchy and scratchy under my bare limbs and midriff. My assailant strapped my elbows, knees and ankles with some sort of tape, in doing so wrenching back my shoulders. I moaned behind my horrid gag, and so did the girl beside me, so we were all getting the same rough treatment. The boy I dont know if it was Alex only had to press against the rear of my knees for me to get the message and bend my legs to bring my heels up to my backside. He completed the hog-tie. It was not very stringent, but my muscles and sinews were stiff and sore from the mornings exertions. We were still arranged in line, now bound, gagged and blindfolded, prone on our bellies, close enough to each other that we were in physical contact the whole time. We lay there for what must have been several hours. The tedious monotony became excruciating, and the girl to my left was constantly squirming and fidgeting. To add to the unpleasantness, we were being molested by swarms of biting insects. The repellent had worn off or been diluted by perspiration, and being bound we were helpless to protect our exposed skin. Whenever any of us tried to ward off the little devils, or shake off an incipient cramp, she bumped and jolted her neighbours.

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Each wriggle and twitch sent a tremor up and down the line, accompanied by a ripple of soft grunts and whimpers. I think it is a great test of patience and stamina, and also good training in perseverance and self-discipline, to be so trussed up for hours on end, keeping your mind occupied as best you can to stave off the boredom and to distract your mind from the increasing discomfort. However, some of the less resilient girls had begun to groan, and someone was thrashing about, jostling us all. This was almost as annoying as the strafing by the insect pests and made it increasingly difficult to release my mind from my bonds. I was already feeling grumpy enough, when things got desperate, as my bladder started sending dire warnings. After bearing the strain for ages, getting more frantic, I felt I was just about to burst or worse let go, when a final shudder passed along the row of bodies. The girls to my right were being stood up one by one. When my turn came, my legs were freed and firm hands grasped my upper arms to haul me to my feet. We were marched a short distance, kept close together, each girl in physical touch with those in front and behind, so that we could be properly guided by just a couple of escorts. When we reached the ablutions block yes, I was right about there being decent amenities we were taken in two at a time and helped by the women Rangers. I hadnt seen any of our camp leaders since the departure from Resort Village, so I have no idea if they had tagged along with us for the entire hike or gone on ahead. Of course, it would have been easier for everyone, and certainly quicker, if wed been untied before we went in and then put back in our bonds when we came out but it seems that nothing is ever that simple on Aranea Island. The woman who helped me was Laura. I could tell from her voice. From the way she assisted us, I could also tell that her hands were still bound in front. She guided me to one of the stalls and I backed into it. With my arms tightly strapped I couldnt push down my pants very far by myself. Laura understood how humiliating it was for me as she drew them down to my knees; but I suppose its not the most dignified job for the senior Park Ranger to be doing either. Yet greatly relieved, I was frog-marched with my fellow prisoners back out onto the grass, and I didnt mind another hour or so in my hog-tie. While it was certainly not what I had expected of my first day in the Pioneers, in retrospect I suppose I should have anticipated something like this. It wasnt exactly a fun-filled episode, and the excitement had long since worn off. Nearby I could hear Alex and the other boys, laughing, joking, playing about (not highly vigilant about guarding their base, I have to say), and I was feeling just a little bit jealous. Oh well, I guess this was a reminder to us girls, prostrate and hog-tied, that there is price to pay for being the superior sex. I could now feel the late afternoon closing in fast, because shadows were sweeping across my legs, raising a light scattering of goosebumps. I started to fret again, irrationally, that we might have to stay like this all night. However, not long afterwards there was a commotion in the camp, excited chatter and laughter. The patrolling squad was returning from their mission. I could hear feminine voices, so it appeared that they had managed to rescue at least some of their females from the enemys clutches. The freed girls decided it was appropriate to exact their revenge on us poor, helpless captives, subjecting us to merciless tickle torture. I heard one of the Rangers say No, thats going too far, but I dont know what additional suffering we were thus spared. Then, suddenly, the fun ended. We were released from our bonds and, while our blindfolds remained in place, we were allowed to get up, walk around and stretch our cramped and aching muscles. I massaged my wrists, pink and raw from ten hours of being bound. It felt so good when that horrible gag came out. We were even permitted to fraternize with our captors, even if we couldnt see them. Blondie and I talked for a while. I cant recall if he told me his name. He is here on a two-week visit, and he was impressed to discover that I am a permanent resident I didnt tell him that I was a veteran of exactly six days. He seemed quite shy and I did most of the talking (which is, of course, not unusual). He was also amused and pleased, and in a way flattered, to learn that I am almost three years his senior. I might have been a little offended, but I do in fact look a fair bit younger than my age. I could tell it gave him a thrill to have an older woman as his prisoner. Guys do seem to enjoy that sort of thing. I thanked him for his help when I needed it during the hike over the mountain, and he replied with something like Youre my prisoner, I have a duty to look after you. And I said Well, thanks anyway. And he said Youre welcome. All so civil and polite. (Its always interesting, having a conversation with a guy when youre blindfolded, especially someone you dont know well. You cant see him to pick up or convey signals. Your eyes are hidden from him as well, but he can see the rest of your face and he can study your body language. So in that respect he has the advantage. You have to be alert and rely on tone of voice and other nuances for cues and clues. It can be frustrating, but it adds a degree of subtlety and lets face it a certain piquancy to the interaction.) Eventually the blindfolds came off as well. The camp turned out to be better equipped than I had pictured behind the folds of black fabric. As well as the shower and toilet block, there is a kitchen and mess hall, a shack which doubles as the Ranger station and medical facility, and a row of prefabricated wooden huts, our sleeping quarters. Its located right on the edge of the beach and, as I had suspected, deep inside the bay.

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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 called us together for a briefing. Her wrists were still tied, and in fact were connected to her collar with a short length of cord, so her fists were clenched just under her chin as she addressed us. I noticed green stains on her knees, so she had been kneeling on the grass for some time just like the rest of us. Her male colleague was standing to one side, watching the proceedings, but the other woman was out of sight. The game was suspended till dawn, she announced. That made sense; my earlier fears were groundless. You cant have a bunch of teenagers crashing about in the rainforest in the darkness in the middle of nowhere. So until morning, all operations were cancelled, all allegiances were annulled. We were all the same... Well, not exactly. After a quick wash, we females were called to the kitchen area to prepare the dinner. Ive never really understood the logic that being born without a penis makes you inherently adept at cooking and sewing and stuff like that. Indeed, my inadequacy in such areas is fast becoming legendary. So I basically just hovered on the edge of the action, helping out as best I can and trying to avoid contaminating the food. As well-equipped as the campsite is, I didnt expect there to be stomach pumps. The girls in the other camp must have had a more onerous job, since we had five of their number to share the workload. The males, in the meantime, engaged in some noisy sporting activity on the beach football, volleyball, cricket maybe all I know is that while we made the dinner, they played with their balls. Thats another thing guys enjoy. After dinner, the leaders and guides volunteered to clear and clear up (both sexes!), and then we sang songs and told stories around a roaring fire. Everyone went quiet to listen to the cheery crackling of the coals and the gentle splashing of the waves and the sinister shuffling and scuffling of the nightlife prowling in the forest beyond the friendly circle of light cast by the flames. And as the embers began to wink out, one by one, the moon and stars took over. After that, we retired to our sleeping quarters. It was still quite early, no more than about nine oclock. I wanted to stay outside and study the stars under a pristinely dark sky. Its one of the reasons I have been looking forward to joining the Pioneers. Unfortunately, it was becoming overcast, so I went into the hut. It was austere but liveable, with bunks to accommodate four other girls and one of the cadets. The latters name is Sabrina. Shes my age but has been living on the island for nearly a year. We also shared with one of the Red girls, Cassie. Nobody was getting ready for bed. Everyone was still hyped up and wanted to talk about the days fun and games. As the only permanent residents, Sabrina and I were the centre of attention but out of everyone, I was the newbie. All the other girls have been here longer than me. We shared our experiences and exchanged our thoughts and feelings, until we were interrupted by a shout from outside, a gruff male voice. Make yourselves decent! Were coming in! We knew immediately what was happening. So much for the game being over for the night. Having come in late, I was still in my shirt and shorts, but the others had stripped down to their underwear. No one brought pyjamas. Someone had lent Cassie a camisole and pair of knickers, since her pack was still at the Pioneer Valley camp. Sabrina managed to grab her shirt but it was too grimy to put back on, so she flung it aside. Then she stood silently beside her bunk, feet together, hands clasped behind her head. She knew the routine, and we followed suit, except Cassie. As we did so, three of the guys came into the hut. One of them was Blondie. They inspected us for a minute or two. The girls in their undies squirmed as they were being scrutinized, which is a bit funny since I in my uniform was not wearing that much more. We were then ordered to lie face down on our beds, arms behind our backs, Cassie as well. Why do I..? she began to protest. Fraternization, Blondie informed her. He grinned proudly his comrades nodded their approval. For a few seconds she began arguing and was contemplating resistance. I could hear that in her voice. And although she was technically the enemy, the rest of us were ready to join her rebellion. I was, and I could see in the expressions of the other girls that they were in the same frame of mind. It actually would have been interesting had we gone through with it. The six of us could have overpowered the three boys with relative ease. We might even have started a camp-wide uprising. It might have been fun, but it would have taken someone to initiate the act of defiance, and no one did. So, after that fleeting pause (during which I saw a look of consternation on Blondies face), we obediently took to our bunks. I lay on my belly, hands resting on my backside, and awaited my turn. Blondie made sure he got me. We were bound wrist and ankle. The boys used tape and applied it lightly, so I figured we were in for a long-term tie-up, perhaps all night. We were blindfolded but not gagged the latter is a definite no-no for unsupervised captives. I must have sighed or something, because Blondie stroked my head tenderly a couple of times to show his sympathy. However, he then wrapped the tape around my biceps and finished off with a final, harsh tug. Then the guys left us. From somewhere outside, most likely one of the other huts, I could hear shouting and laughing. I asked Alex the next morning (thats this morning) about the commotion. The two Rangers, Laura

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and Wendy, had been abducted from their quarters and dragged down to the water for a dunking. Left alone tied up, we did what any half-dozen teenage girls are going to do when confined to barracks and are too hyperactive to sleep. We gossiped. We talked about boys, we talked about sex, we talked about boys and sex, and then we got onto the important stuff, shoes, clothes and music. To a fly on the wall it would have looked and sounded pretty strange, us lying in our undies on our bunks, bound hand and foot and blindfolded, nonchalantly chatting away. We didnt remain that way all night, but it must have been a couple of hours before we were released. One of our deliverers was Alex. I introduced him to the other girls, and one of them ruined my evening by saying out loud, What a cutie. There was cocoa in the mess hall for anyone who wanted it. I declined. I got out of my yucky uniform and into my bra and knickers. When the other girls returned, we swapped more gossip. We stayed up late, still keyed up from everything which had transpired that day. It was around midnight when we finally got to sleep. I had survived my first day as a Pioneer and as a captive at Camp Commando.

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7. Pioneer.
We woke to the depressing sound of heavy rain pounding the roof of our quarters. With nowhere to go without getting soaked, the six of us stayed in the hut, sat on our bunks and resumed our gossip session from the previous night. So it wasnt really so bad. We swapped descriptions with Cassie of how wed spent yesterday. Like us, the Red girls had been bound and blindfolded most of the time, and she was not exactly sure how they had come to be rescued. All she had been aware of was that after a couple of hours in the Blues camp, she heard shouting and screaming and crashing noises, and then being grabbed and slung over someones shoulder and carried off to freedom. We were all, including Sabrina, mystified by how the Red raiders had managed to get as far as the Blue camp and back in the time we remained hog-tied and helpless in Camp Commando. Our new friend regretted the tickle torture which she and her teammates had inflicted on us when they arrived, but we said they shouldnt fret about it no harm done, all in good fun, and anyway, we would have done the same if our roles had been reversed. We talked about lots of other things. In particular, we were inquisitive about our cadet ranger and her lifestyle here on Aranea Island. Sabrina is just three months older than me, and has lived here for just over a year. Her parents are both managers in the resort. Shes small and slender, half-Chinese, half-Irish, with silky-sheen jetblack hair, startling green eyes (emerald or jade, both work with her heritage) and the most exquisite Eurasian features. All the females here are so over-the-top gorgeous that Im starting to get jealous. Like me, Sabrina has finished school and has recently commenced her university studies, via correspondence. The other girls were envious of her, and of me. They thought it was amazing to be able to go to the beach every day and wear bikinis all day long and get tied up all the time. We talked about some of our favourite bondage experiences. Sharyn, the youngest of us (going on sixteen, Id say) was pretty much a novice. What? Your boyfriend doesnt tie you up? Cassie was incredulous. Well, maybe once... or twice. Sharyn flashed a coy smile. Rebecca looked gloomy. I miss mine. Rebecca had the most interesting stories. She has two younger brothers who keep her tied up round the clock at home, or so she told us, as well as her boyfriend who performs the same service at other times. I wonder if were going to be tied up all day today, said Sharyn. Oh, I think thats on the cards, replied Joanne, who turned to Sabrina for confirmation. She nodded. Eventually the gabfest broke up as Sabrina, with a heartfelt sigh, informed us that it was time to get moving. We grumbled that it was still pouring outside, which had no effect on the decision whatsoever. Each of us still had our spare pair of shorts to put on, but we had only been issued with the one shirt, and it was soiled and smelly from yesterdays ordeal on the track and on the grass. Sabrina said Not to worry, as she reached under her bunk, to pull out a carton containing a pile of fresh tank tops. They came in a variety of sizes... except mine. As the smallest girl, I ended up with an oversized one that looked awfully daggy, hanging slack on my frame and perilously low and loose around my boobs. Sabrina told me I couldnt wear my bra because only strapless ones are allowed with the uniform. I complained that this hadnt been specified in the brochure, and that it was pretty darn sexist, but she just apologized and advised me to refrain from bending forward as much as possible. Thanks a lot, I replied. Sabrina told us we had ten minutes to freshen up if we needed to do so, and then report to the kitchen. And I suppose the boys get to sleep in, said Sharyn, as she stared bleakly out into the chilly downpour. She looked down at her skimpy uniform and gave her bare arms a brisk rubbing. Of course, silly, were girls, Joanne responded. Anyway, Sabrina laughed, the kitchens nice and warm. I got soaked in the mad dash through the rain, but she was right about the kitchen. Besides the stoves, there was the heat emanating from twenty bodies bustling about. With so many hands at work, the business of making breakfast was hardly an arduous chore, and we had a fun time of it. Nevertheless, it was a bit galling as I laboured to think of my brother and the other males snug in their warm, dry quarters. When they filed into the mess hall an hour later looking bleary-eyed and bedraggled, I could not muster any sympathy. However, afterwards they did help with the clearing, cleaning and washing up duties. At the tables, we spontaneously segregated ourselves by sex, but the Red and Blue girls mixed freely. Camp leader Wendy sat beside me. She had heard of my interest in astronomy and promised that I will have lots of opportunities for stargazing. In fact, there is a small observatory located on one of the ridges flanking Palm Cove, and she happens to be one of the Rangers responsible for it. We made a tentative appointment for next weekend, when theres a new moon and the skies will be particularly dark. She turned to gaze out the misted window into the deluge. Provided the weather clears.

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Once we got the work out of the way, since it was still raining hard we all assembled once more in the hall. The tables were folded and stowed at one end, and the seats rearranged into a U-shape. We played some innocuous games, and Laura gave a short but fascinating lecture on the ecology of the island. Anyway, I found it fascinating (but of course, Im an unreconstructed nerd). Then the session got really interesting. Wendy and the male Ranger, Ben, came out into the centre of the U. And now for something completely different, she announced. It was. I consider myself to be progressive and open-minded, but at heart I guess Im an old-fashioned gal. So I was rather shocked when she started tying up him. Of course, everyone thought it was a great joke, and she kept up a rather witty repartee throughout, while making some obvious points like how a chest-tie doesnt have the same impact on a guy, and how a crotch-rope doesnt work exactly the same way either (which got us girls giggling and the boys wincing). Ben looked somewhat uncomfortable during the show, so maybe this was his first time on that side of the ropes, at least in public. Wendy finished their demonstration with the advice that we should always be willing to try new things. I think she may have enlightened some of the girls, but the boys looked unconvinced. 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 Wendy 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. Everyone laughed and no one more appreciably than Sabrina when I chose as my victim the stentorian CO who had hassled us so relentlessly on the trail yesterday. He hesitated for a few seconds as he had his personal What the ****? moment. Even as he grinned and bounded into the centre of the U, he flashed an I will get you for this look that blazed straight past me to Wendy. We went through a few basic ties. The 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 inoffensive knots. Its like trying to reverse engineer a complicated piece of machinery while blindfolded. But it wasnt just about skill, it was also about attitude. You have to prepare yourself mentally as well as physically for being tied up, so theres no reason why it should be any different when youre the one doing the tying. I just hadnt thought about it like that, and I have to give my brother and all the other guys some overdue credit. From now on when Im being tied up, I will have some appreciation of what it involves to be the one applying the ropes. The CO was, I have to say, very patient with my inexperience. He was clearly ill at ease playing the girls role like a guy wearing a dress to the school formal and letting his partner take the lead on the dance floor. Okay, a tortured analogy lets just say it was a new sensation for both of us. It felt weird and a little unsettling, and hey, even kinky. But after a short while he relaxed and eased up on his passive resistance, which was a good thing because he was a lot stronger than me, and by flexing his muscles and stiffening his limbs he could have made my task impossible. And while I could tell he was glad when his ordeal was over, I discovered that it can be almost as much fun to be doing the tying as being tied... well, almost. Actually, I think he enjoyed himself as well, even if he wasnt prepared to show it. (At the same time, while the guys who got tied up might congratulate themselves for their willingness to try the new experience, it was not really the same as what we girls go through. Their tie-up had been of a brief duration, whereas we are often bound for hours yesterday for instance. And the role reversal was not exact. When we were bound, the rope was applied directly to our bare skin, whereas the guys this morning had the luxury of long sleeves and trousers to protect against marking and chafing. This is all very trivial, and Im not complaining. In fact, I guess that Im a bit selfish, even elitist a chauvinist when it comes down to it. I dont really want to share the full bondage experience. The males have their things, and we girls have ours.) 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 the prospect of how I would be spending most of the day was rather daunting, there was the thrill of anticipation, and also the good feeling of being on the right and proper side of the ropes once more. And sure enough, after we were ushered outside and had applied more layers of sunscreen and insect repellent to our exposed bits, we prisoners were ordered to fall into line. This time we were tied up by the Red girls, and it surprised me not at all that they were even less gentle than the males had been the previous day. The girl who bound me was Cassie, with whom I had shared sleeping quarters and gossip last night and this morning, but the camaraderie was now kaput. For some reason, either because of the novelty or on some other grounds to which we were not privy, they tied our arms in a double hammerlock with elbows bent and hands up between our shoulder blades. It was very tight and a bit painful, and I dont believe the boys would have gotten away with tying us like that. Then we were put into chest harnesses as well. The cord was looped between and around my breasts several times well, at least it took up the slack on my outsized top. We were linked together in single file with ropes leading from one girls wrists

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to the chest bindings of the girl behind. As with yesterday, I was near the middle. Sabrina was at the front of the line; and to my surprise Laura and Wendy were added to the rear. I dont think that had been the plan, because they both looked surprised when Ben and the CO seized them and dragged them to their places at the end of the line. Maybe this was the payback. Finally, we were once again gagged and blindfolded. Like Ive 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 about what it was. 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 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 arms length apart, and today I didnt have Blondie to assist me. From what I could gather, we were being escorted by the five Red girls, and they were, as Ive mentioned, totally unsympathetic to our plight. Well, in a way I couldnt blame them for that, because this time yesterday they had been prisoners as well, of my teammates. Theyd suffered as we had, and we were the only ones on whom they could take it out. Every time the girl in front of me or 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 a sort of weird conga line dance, slurping through the mud, bobbing up and down, lurching this way and that, pitching back and forward, wallowing sideways. Alex has kindly reminded me of how ridiculous we looked and sounded. Some guys maintain that there is nothing sexier than the sight of a skimpily clad girl bound, gagged, blindfolded and tethered, and muddied to boot, but I felt about as sexy as... well, as someone whos slathered in slime and lathered in sweat, whos grunting and groaning and snorting through a mouthful of rubber. Luckily for us, the mire was so deep and glutinous that we didnt sustain any major injuries, although 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. My arms and legs were covered in tiny scratches, and making things worse, the rain had brought out hordes of ravening insects who assailed my arms and legs without mercy, utterly contemptuous of or completely oblivious to the repellent. The stinky mud coating offered some defence not my preferred form of protection, but moderately effective. However, I was afraid that leaches would come oozing out of the slime and attach themselves disgustingly to my unprotected legs. Still despite (or maybe because of) the torments, this new trek was an exciting challenge, and while fun may not be the correct term, it was anything but boring. We had been tramping 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 beside the track. They shoved us down forcefully when we didnt react fast enough. As I squatted in the long grass, head between my knees, huddled with my fellow prisoners, I tried to figure out what had occurred, and guessed that the scouts up ahead had come into contact with the enemy. After wed waited a long, 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 war, because they had rescued seven of their teammates by now, while all of us Blue girls, so far as I could tell, were still in captivity. More time passed, and then we started up the track again. I still had no clear picture of what was going on. The gruelling monotony returned as we continued our trek back in the direction of Granite Peak. We stopped for a rest, a drink and a light lunch. 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 our captors decided not to replace the gags when we moved off once more. And after that, it was basically nothing that I havent already described. We retraced our steps back over the ridge onto the high ground above Pioneer Valley, and 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... well, most of them. Of course, I had the imperfect recollection of the other girls in my line to contend with, so the homeward journey was not really any less hazardous. Once again I had the call of nature to worry about, especially after absorbing so much water. But relief came when, somewhere along the track, we stopped in what appeared (from behind my blindfold) to be a picnic area, because there was a concrete toilet block. We were unhitched and taken in three or four at a time by the Red girls. Here in the privacy of the ablutions, feminine solidarity prevailed over team loyalty and they were gentle and helpful. Once outside, we were on opposite sides again. While we still had the great stone parapet of Granite Peak right up against the left edge of the track, I noticed that our route was not the exact reverse of yesterdays. 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

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remove our blindfolds, and when we did I was hit by a wave of vertigo. We had traversed the entire upper valley, past the town, and were standing on the lip of a precipitous ridge looking out over the eastern side of the island. It was truly an amazing sight, dominated by a broad, deeply indented peninsula blanketed by an impenetrable mantle of tropical rainforest, and 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 Ranger station just as the sun was settling on the western headland. It felt rather strange, being able to hike the remaining distance untied. Indeed, it was something of a letdown. I guess its because bushwalking is not my favourite pastime, but the fact is that this last phase was rather dull and tedious, without the challenge of bonds and blindfold I almost missed that ghastly gag (almost). I felt sorry for the freed Red girls that they had been denied the experience. Of course, I have no sympathy for the boys. They would not have appreciated it anyway. Although I have never understood the attraction of being on the unbound side of the ropes, missing out on all the wonderful sensations, we each have our own ways. There was a final opportunity, however. After another trip to the toilet, we reconvened for a ceremony to recognize the Red teams victory over the Blues. A substantial crowd of spectators, mainly parents and younger siblings by the looks of it, including Mum and Dad, had gathered to witness the occasion. We prisoners fourteen Blue and seven Red girls were blindfolded and bound (just a simple wrists crossed behind backs on this occasion) for one last time, to be handed over for what head Ranger Laura called our repatriation. 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 shed ever taken to Camp Commando. (Yeah, and I bet youve said that to every group.) We showed our appreciation to the Rangers and the cadets with a hearty round of applause. I retrieved my backpack from the van and Alex offered to carry it for me. How uncharacteristically chivalrous of him. I expected that it was so he could tie my hands for the walk back to the hotel, but he never suggested it he was just being gallant. I said good-bye to Blondie and a couple of the other girls I had gotten to know. As the crowd dispersed, I pulled Alex away from chatting up a couple of the chicks. Call me, he yelled after them as they walked off. Im sure theyre calling you all sorts of things, I said. What happened to your girlfriend? He looked at me quizzically before saying Karen? He said nothing more and I didnt press. After all, he was still carrying my pack. Mum and Dad took one look at me, smeared in mud and muck, and shook their heads. I cant take her anywhere without being embarrassed, Alex mourned. The hotel receptionist gaped at me, appalled but sympathetic, as we crossed the lobby. She scrutinized the floor in my wake to see if I was leaving a trail of dirt and detritus. 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 shorts and top at arms length. These will need some heavy-duty treatment, she declared. Do what you can, I implored. We went downtown for dinner. Mum was bound and blindfolded, but I asked Alex to leave me be, having had enough for one day. To my surprise, he agreed. My Lil Bro can be quite the gentleman when he isnt being quite the nuisance. Later on, sipping cocoa in the living room, he and I described our wilderness adventure, going into every aspect in elaborate detail. Our parents listened indulgently Very nice, honey. Well done, sport. Sounds great, sweetie. Alex proudly showed off his trophy. What did you get, Sarah? Dad asked. I held out my arms and legs to show then the bruises, welts 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. Thats enough for tonight, was her reply. Its getting late and you both look very tired. Time for bed. I couldnt argue with that. Alex graciously gave me a couple of minutes head start to get into bed so I didnt have to put on my blindfold. However, the graciousness couldnt last. When he came in, he wanted to tie me to my bed. Either he saw that this was the last easy opportunity to put me in my place, or he was afraid that I would get up in the middle of the night to exact payback for recent insults and injuries. Of course I refused, and not just because Mum and Dad dont permit overnight tying in case theres an emergency like a fire. At the same time, I felt just a little a bit sad saying no. I was still hyped up and it might have been a nice outlet

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for my pent-up energy. So we went to sleep... and this is me writing on the morning of day eight. Its an historic day. We are leaving the Hotel Andromeda and moving into the Oasis, to become permanent residents of Aranea Island. What I have learnt since our arrival a week ago (What, only a week? It feels like so much longer.) is that I am going to encounter all sorts of new experiences and sensations; and what I must continue to learn is how to be receptive to them, to try things outside the familiar, to explore beyond my comfort zone. I realize that there will be times when its going to be difficult for me, that along with the sweet there will be the bitter. It wont all be roses, Role-play and poses; And not all grandstanding; The games are demanding. I would write more, but if this is the best that my poetic muse can produce, its better that I quit right now. Anyway, I can hear someone moving about inside. Its time for the next phase of our great adventure.

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8. Oasis.
I awoke this morning still stiff and sore. Sleeping in was an attractive option, but I had two days worth of diary entry to complete, so I dragged myself out of bed, quiet as the proverbial mouse so as not to rouse my brother, and took up my usual place on the balcony. Luckily I had several hours of uninterrupted peace and quiet. Having gone to bed so early, I was up at around three oclock. Accordingly, I had almost finished as, for the last time, I watched the renascent daylight creep westward across the rooftops of the town below. I had a further sixty minutes or so to review and edit, and was just winding up when I heard the nearest and dearest moving around inside. They were already dressed. I guess they had been up and about for some time, but in my focused state I had blocked out all tangible evidence of their existence. So I must give Lil Bro some rare credit for not disturbing me. For sure, the peace and quiet never last, but I take what I can get. But now he was being his usual self, grouchily complaining of lack of sleep despite having had four hours more than me. On the whole, Id had the harder time of it in the wilderness, so I thought his attitude was rather wimpy. Dont harass the poor boy, Mum chided. All I said was Man up, I protested. Go get dressed, she diverted. You cant go downtown like that. This being our last morning at the Andromeda, we would have breakfast in the style in which we are unlikely to become accustomed. Too daring? I said, looking down at my nightie and then pointedly across at her minuscule Seafolly bandeau bikini. She chose to not respond, so I went off and changed into my Azzura minihipsters and Roxy criss-cross halter top and Balenciaga slingback sandals. I topped it off with my burgundy choker. As I returned, Dad was fastening Mums collar. He was playfully tugging at her hair, pretending that it kept getting stuck in the tiny lock. Stop fooling about, she grumbled, but she couldnt do much about it because her wrists were already cuffed behind her back. Your turn, Alex said, but he walked past me into the bedroom. Ladys choice, whats it to be? I told him what I wanted and waited in the living room, watching my parents. He had secured her arms behind her in the box position. This is normally one of the more comfortable ties, but he had attached her cuffs to the rear of her collar with a leather strap, and she had to lift her hands high up her back to relieve the pressure on her neck. There was no danger of her choking (naturally) because of the way the collar is shaped, but the result was nevertheless quite a strain on her arms and shoulders. Her eyes were closed, she was biting her lower lip and breathing heavily. He kissed her, and as he drew away, he pushed into her mouth the black orb of her ball gag. He tenderly brushed a few errant strands of hair away from her eyes as he tied the black satin blindfold in place. He took one of the leashes and lightly grazed the clasp over her bare shoulders and throat before fastening it to the ring on the front of her collar. She shivered and moaned softly through her gag as he drew it slowly, lovingly down her chest, over her breasts, across her belly and between her legs. In connecting it to her wrists behind her back, to make it reach he placed a hand on her head and gently pushed. As she bent her body forward, he tightened the strap to keep her in her forced bow. She was quivering slightly at the knees and her fingers drummed against her elbows to diffuse the tension building within her. Just seeing them, I began to feel all tingly and goosebumpy. Distracted, I forgot about Alex until his hands came around from behind me and seized my elbows. He pulled my arms back with such force that I gasped. My wrists were somewhat chafed and my muscles still aching. Be more careful, I growled. Stop whining, he snarled back, as he began winding the cord about my wrists. Dont be such a girl. I am a girl! Well, take it like a man. Thats just... ugh! Now youre doing it deliberately! He had changed his mind and tied the rope into two little nooses which he used to pull my hands together behind me very tightly, instead of the wrists-crossed Id been expecting. He wasnt gentle. Dad, crouched in front of Mum and tethering her ankles, looked up to see what we were up to. He just smiled indulgently. Mum tilted her head, wondering behind her blindfold what was going on. Whats the big deal? Alex demanded, as he looped more cord about my biceps and hauled until I grunted in a very unladylike fashion. How about both of you calm down, Dad finally interrupted. Alex, dont hurt your sister. Sarah, do you want to be tied or not? Of course I do. Its just... There really not much more to say... if I could have. For my Lil Bro pushed the ball between my teeth.

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There was really no answer to that, so I said nothing more and stopped resisting. I had been pretty sure that Alex would ignore whatever preference I expressed and was not let down. Anyway, I have to admit that its more fun when you dont know whats coming well, usually, although my brothers surprises are rarely congenial. I had asked for the fleecy cuffs and was not at all shocked when he clamped my right wrist over my left and began binding them with the nylon cord. He looped more of it around my shoulders to fashion a harness, to the back of which he attached my wrist bindings. I think he was about to funnel the free end between my legs, but he decided that a crotch-rope was just a little too icky to be putting on his sister. So instead he ran it up over my left shoulder, between and around my boobs for apparently unlike parts farther south, sibling breasts are not off limits back over my right shoulder and again around my wrists. And as if the yoke were not stringent enough, he looped the last of the rope around my waist to make my arms completely immobile. Dad, who had finished preparing Mum, watched our progress with nodding approval. For my blindfold, Alex went with the sash rather than the mask. As we left the suite, I could hear Mums shuffling feet and panting, rasping breath. She was having a hard time of it, I know she was loving every bit of it. We were not moving into the Oasis for a few hours, so we decided to finally spend some time on the beach. This is our eighth day and yet it was only the second opportunity weve had. Mum was already in her bikini, so she gathered together all the things wed need while the rest of us got ready. Once I had changed into my emerald Riverina bikini, I decided against wearing my choker; but its funny that I hesitated for a second before taking it off. It may be that I am becoming assimilated into the local culture to the extent that I am beginning to feel naked without my accessories; but it may also be that Im turning into a snob, because the collar and choker are our badges of residency. Good grief, Ive been here for just over a week and Im already looking down my nose at the uncouth tourists! As we were about to go, Mum set down the bag of stuff shed put together at Dads feet, and placed her hands behind her back. Dad and Alex bound and blindfolded us, and my thoughtful Lil Bro decided that I needed to be gagged, whereas Mum was spared that. I say spared because Alex had picked out the ring gag for me to wear. Have I said how much I hate this sort of gag? Of course I have! I could have refused, but the etiquette is that you can say no to being gagged but not to the specific type and I was quite happy with the gagging per se. In any case, I didnt know that it was going to be the ring (since I was blindfolded) until I was instructed to open really wide and felt the ring pressing behind my top row of teeth. The metal hoop is wrapped in soft rubber or latex, so it doesnt injure the roof of your mouth or your tongue. When you try to close your jaws, it bends very slightly, so its more flexible than many gags. Also, its the type that best allows you to breathe. Nevertheless, my overall assessment has been once more confirmed. Its very uncomfortable because even though there has to be some elasticity to allow for insertion, it holds your mouth open wide so rigidly that you feel like youre getting lockjaw. You can make all sorts of sounds, but none of them elegant or coherent. And it causes you to drool uncontrollably. This particular humiliation is, I believe, the main attraction. There are other draw-cards, but out of a sense of decorum I will not go into them here. Anyway, from Alexs point of view, it was definitely the drool factor. I could sense his amusement as the saliva oozed its way out through the ring and out of the corners of my mouth, trickled down my jaw and dripped onto my chest and slithered between my boobs and down my tummy to soak the front of my briefs. I might have looked to Dad as my saviour, if I had been able to look. At one stage he did ask Are you okay, honey? and I just nodded and emitted a gurgled yes pride would not allow any other response, of course. So it was nice to finally feel the golden grit between my toes. Alex was prompt in releasing me, and we spent the next couple of hours swimming and sunbathing. Safety regulations forbid any sort of beach bondage, which I think makes good sense, because there is always someone who will do something silly. My brother disagrees, not surprisingly, but hes likely to be the one who will do something silly, so he doesnt have much of an argument. Although Dad had picked a spot on the beach, he asked Mum and me if it was a good location for us. It had been a long walk, because where he chose was towards the eastern end of the bay, sheltered by the headland and Frigate Island, so there wasnt much surf; but it was also less crowded than the more westerly parts. Also, we were well away from the parts susceptible to pirate raids, so there wasnt much chance of Mum and me being abducted and carried off as buccaneer booty. In fact, towards noon we did see and hear a commotion at the far end of the strand, about a kilometre distant, so too far to be sure.

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Not long after wed settled, a thick layer of clouds had built up, but far from ruining our morning, it kept the sand from getting too hot and us from getting sunburnt. At lunchtime we found a half-empty bistro, a rarity at that time of day, and once nourished we returned for the last time to the Andromeda. Then come and help me pack my stuff. Please. You dont have to ask permission. Just come and help me. I didnt 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? I dont make the rules. Actually, yes you do. Well then, rules are rules. 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. Nevertheless, Alex succeeded in making it a chore for me. Thats one of his few genuine talents. These socks? I asked, feeling a pair of woolly ones. No, dummy, theyre the wrong colour. How am I supposed to know that? I thought you knew everything. 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 brochure to wear a swimsuit, so I picked out a couple of bikinis. I expelled Alex from the room to put one on, the little lime green number. As my blindfold came off, I cursed my brother, who had let me pick out two grotesquely mismatched sets. Did he think I wouldnt notice when I had my sight back? No, Im overanalyzing again. He just did it to annoy me. The place is compact, meaning that its not very big but efficiently designed to feel more spacious than it is. All six rooms are clustered around a square central space. Navigating anti-clockwise from the front door, you encounter first the dining and living room, then a well-appointed kitchen, and then the bathroom. At the opposite end of the apartment, theres the master bedroom and two rather small bedrooms. Its not luxurious by any means, but comfortable. My room is too tiny to be anything but sparsely furnished, but the window above my bed provides a sublime view out over the bay. I dont have a lot of closet space, although that is not a serious issue since I wont be wearing a lot of clothes. In fact, I got a chuckle out of the fact that when I glanced into Alexs room, next to mine, I saw that he has more than me. In the world beyond Aranea Island, there cant be many homes where a girl has less wardrobe capacity than her brother. But I knew we had been allocated the correct rooms, because his is decorated in a somewhat clichd, blue-tinted boys-own theme of rocket ships, racing cars and bikinis; whereas mine is a pink-hued parody of girlie-girlishness, adorned with balloons, ribbons and bows, teddy bears and kittens, blossoms and butterflies. Kate saw my expression and started to explain about the previous occupants. However, my indignation was not so much directed at the wallpaper. In the corner of Alexs room was a table with a full desktop ensemble of computer, scanner and printer. In the same place in mine is a potted fern. But to rub salt into my wounded feminist pride, whoever had heard that someone in the family had an interest in astronomy had jumped to the conclusion that it must be the one with testicles, because also in Alexs room, a new and beautifully framed star map was attached to one wall, and scaled model globes of the Moon and Mars dangled from the ceiling. I knew that wresting them from my Lil Bros possession would cost me dearly. All the same, lest I complain too much, I should say that on the whole were pleased with our new quarters. We didnt expect a mansion as our abode. We dont pay rent and can eat for free if we take advantage of the communal dining hall facilities, which are open twenty-four-seven. We also get a clothing allowance, gratis hairdressing and stuff like that. Plus were living in a tropical paradise. So I suppose my gripe is that Alex gets to enjoy it without any drawbacks or downsides. Not because hes the youngest, or because I am the smarter and more responsible, but because hes the boy and Im the girl. So the thing is, as much as I have loved just about every minute of our time here so far, and as much as I am looking forward to the next two years, I know there are going to be times when I get frustrated and maybe even angry with the sort of disparities symbolized by our rooms. Of course, Aranea is hardly a place where equality of the sexes has much meaning. It would be silly to suggest otherwise. But difference is not the same as unfairness,

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and it will be interesting to see where the line is drawn and how the balance is maintained. That in itself is an exciting prospect. My suspicion is that there will be a lot more opportunities for Alex to define and extend himself than I will find. For instance, I discovered that to be pretty much the case during our forty hours in the wilderness. Im not saying that I didnt have fun of course I did but for the boys it was much more of an action adventure, with a range of experiences, than it was for us girls. In other words, the focus was on the males. It was their war game, and as their prisoners, our role was really to be an adjunct to their adventure. We all know that, whichever side of the ropes youre on, there are (or should be) two facets to the bondage experience. Theres the please you feel yourself, and the pleasure you give to your partner. In a way, as the one being tied, being essentially passive you dont have to endure the pressure of performing.