The Resort Pt. 03

Day Three. Mystery

It's funny how things can work 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 the tropical island paradise! But in the end, it turned out to be a delightful day.

I rolled over and went back to sleep. So for once I would not be the first in the household to be up and about. I fell into a dream. I don't remember much, except that it was good and I was feeling content; when suddenly I felt myself being rudely shaken into the reality of wide awake. I opened my eyes, blinking away the blur, to be confronted by my cousin's grinning visage. On balance, the blur was better.

"What are you doing in here?" 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. I shook my head and slammed my eyelids shut, hoping that I was still asleep and my pleasant dream had gone bad. I opened my peepers once more. It wasn't the nightmare I was hoping for.

"Get up!"

"Why are you traumatizing me?"

"It's breakfast time."

"That's it? Thanks. No. Go."

For all his myriad faults, Bratman knows when he's not wanted, not needed and not 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 others had gone downstairs to eat, so I had the place to myself. It was blissfully silent but for a pair of seagulls perched on the balcony demanding tribute. I grabbed two slices of bread, tossed them one and watched them wrangle noisily over it. I 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 even missing Daniel. How pathetic is that?

Eventually, the loved ones returned. My aunt was excited, my uncle was inscrutable, my cousin was... well, my cousin.

"Calm down, Daniel. Put your shoes on, Sarah," Rachel called out as she bee-lined for the bedroom. "Please calm down, Daniel."

"What's the sitch?" I asked.

"We're going on a mystery tour," Daniel 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 you're the smart one..." He stopped to think about what he'd said, then slunk away.

Richard 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.

"Shouldn't you be getting ready as well?" I ventured.

"Not coming with you today."

"Not into the mystery?"

"More like misery."

"Richard has business, is what he means," Rachel explained. She was wearing her lavender Gottex strapless maillot, over which her pāreu was tied low on her hip. She was fixing her hair into a loose bun. "Where's Daniel?"

"How should I know? I'm not my brother's zookeeper."

(Okay, he's not my brother, but the phrase works better that way. Besides, our families have always been close, and though we are not that much different in age, because I have always been so much more mature I used to be Daniel's babysitter, which is when I learned to be bossy. And on that note, I've probably given the impression that we don't get along. It's not true. Our sparring is good-natured and never malicious. The insults we fling at each other are of the kind you wouldn't use if they were actually true. Is this common? Perhaps it's a family thing.)

As if on cue, his bedroom door opened and from it emerged a startling apparition from a vintage tourist brochure, in cream pleated slacks, Bali print shirt, Panama hat, Venetian loafers, Ray-Ban knock-offs. Rachel and I just rolled our eyes (our usual reaction). I went to my room, chose the sarong which best matched my bikini and wrapped it around my waist. I put on my Vasque Grand Traverse hiking shoes and grabbed my Gucci shades and Tennille cross-body sling purse. (For obvious reasons, on Aranea most women's handbags and purses have shoulder straps.)

On the way out, Daniel held up two pairs of the handcuffs we'd been issued at the Commissariat.

"Give me a break," I growled at him.

"Not right now, sweetie," Rachel smiled.

My crestfallen cuz mournfully returned them to the box.

"You two are no fun."

We yelled good-bye to Richard, whose nose was by now buried deep in his newspaper. We went downstairs, down the hill, downtown. The rain had definitely gone away, but the sky was still heavily overcast, 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 pāreu. Rachel was beginning to shiver as well. Daniel 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. Rachel checked the street signs and we stopped outside a small storefront. There we were greeted by a young woman who announced herself as Camilla. She has a trim, compact body, china-blue eyes and champagne-blonde hair styled in an adorable layered razor cut. She was wearing a tiny, and I mean really tiny bandeau top, and a mini, really mini sarong. There wasn't much of her, and a lot less that was covered. Daniel couldn't keep his eyes off her, but she didn't seem to notice, or care. I guess that when you work in Aranea Resort and you're female, you get used to being stared at.

She ushered us inside, where two other women were waiting to begin the tour with us. Camilla introduced them as Emily and Charlotte. Both were wearing the staff uniform. Emily is in her late twenties or early thirties, a curvaceous brunette with bright brown eyes. Charlotte is a little older than me, tall and slim, honey-blonde and sweet-faced. Both have short-cropped hair styles. Indeed, "boy" cuts for girls 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 had on the little floral-pattern sarong, albeit in different ways. Emily wore hers as the strapless minidress, like Kate's, whereas Charlotte had opted for the skirt like Camilla, except it was knotted in front rather than on the hip. I'm still not sure what the rules are, whether it's individual choice. But it's obviously the case that if you wear it full-length, tied at your bosom, it's without your bikini top; so it can be perilous for gals like Charlotte and me who are not especially voluptuous. On the other hand, if you have fabulous legs, like Emily, the dress allows you to show off every bit of them because it's 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. They, like Camilla, had red ball-gags, not inserted but slung around their necks.

Rachel looked uncomfortable, because she was wearing neither her choker nor one of the regulation sarongs; but Camilla gave her a "just relax" smile. Since we are not officially residents until the end of the week, we don't have to adhere to the full dress code until then.

With Rachel appeased, Camilla explained that while the mystery tour experience was a part of our staff 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."

"What's the usual number?" Emily inquired. (She asked the most questions during the day... when she was able to. From this I assumed that she was to be employed as a guide or hostess; but it turns out she's some sort of technical specialist, and was simply curious. She certainly has the technician's no-nonsense, down-to-earth, matter-of-fact, plain-speaking approach to everything.)

"Twelve per group," Camilla answered. "Normally we have more than the one gentleman..." She tipped her head towards Daniel with a subtle gesture I didn't 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 cousin with a sprightly smile.

"It's up to you to do the honours."

Despite having gone through this yesterday morning with Kate, it took Daniel a couple of seconds to take the hint. Then his face lit up in sudden realization and morphed into a broad, goofy grin. Rachel raised her eyebrows and rolled her eyes (which, as I've mentioned, she does a lot around Daniel these days), and I shook my head. Emily and Charlotte looked puzzled at first, then benevolently amused as Camilla 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 curious cousin's mind (for there madness lies), but I can imagine what was racing through it as he clamped Camilla's wrists together. Having learnt from yesterday's effort, this time he was adept at handling the tiny coupling. Camilla 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, Camilla 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. It's nice to see that living on Aranea Island doesn't make you blasé about your bondage.

"Ladies," she said, regaining her composure but puffing just a little, "you can leave your bags in the lockers behind the counter. And you won't be needing your sunglasses either."

I was about to say that the clouds had started to disperse when I realized that wasn't what she meant.

She then tipped her head in the direction of a cupboard in one corner of the room. "Top shelf," she instructed, and Daniel extracted four sets of handcuffs. They were nothing fancy like the ones we got in the Depot, 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. Camilla informed us that with strenuous yanking they can be pulled apart. That was a bit disconcerting, since our "official" restraints can't be. I didn't get round to asking if all visitors' cuffs are like this, or if has something to do with specific activities or venues -- like the mystery tour. This made the day's agenda suddenly more intriguing. But my main problem with such easily removable cuffs is that I don't really see the fun in being bound if it's so simple to get out of.

I must have been frowning while I was having these thoughts because Rachel, 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 Daniel was struggling to get her cuffs on. It was funny to watch my cousin become increasingly frustrated and flustered. He had just done basically the same to Camilla with no difficulty; but the 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 aunt's 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 Daniel's expression was pricelessly comical. She winked at me.

Of course, as much as I was enjoying my cousin's 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 at Rachel, who just smiled indulgently.

While this was going on, I caught a few glimpses of Charlotte and Emily as they awaited their turn. Charlotte 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 Daniel moved behind and took hold of her wrists to draw them backwards, she couldn't suppress a flinch. Her face contorted and she gasped several times as she was being put in her shackles. And when my cousin was finished, she twisted her wrists in 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 Charlotte is a novice at this. It's easy to forget that not everyone shares the same depth of experience as you.

She joined Rachel and me, standing patiently next to Camilla as everybody now shifted our focus to Emily.

I classify the reaction to being bound into five main types -- stoic, playful, edgy, defiant and submissive. That fifth type is common enough but didn't describe any of us. My aunt and I are stoics. Camilla seems playful. Charlotte is most definitely the jittery, on-edge type. Emily proved to be defiant. She glared over her shoulder at Daniel as he endeavoured to connect her bracelets. I don't know if she was deliberately tensing her arms to make it more difficult for him, but if that was the case she only made it harder on herself. Maybe it was part of a game. I do that. Or perhaps she was a little unsettled by the age difference. Some women are like that; they don't enjoy being tied up by much younger guys, and her face certainly bore a peculiar expression as she watched him shackling Rachel. (The difference is less than ten years, but Daniel is your quintessential man-child.) Yet I feel there are times when you can suck all the fun out of things by being too serious or oversensitive. My personal motto is Sudo non super vegrandis res. I don't sweat the small stuff.

Naturally, Emily's show of haughty bravado merely served to inspire dauntless Daniel. He was taking great pleasure in his position of dominance. Well, I could hardly blame him for that. What young man doesn't fantasize about being the solitary male in command of a bevy of scantily clad damsels? Okay, perhaps not all; and in fact he was still a bit uncertain as he glanced across at Camilla. Without a word spoken, she smiled and tilted her head in a "You're the boss" way, so he went back to the cupboard, 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. Emily grumbled something unintelligible and Rachel 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. They must have been waiting to start their own mystery tour. There was a very striking young couple; she was blonde, beautiful, bare-breasted, bound and blindfolded; he was fair-haired and handsome, and was whispering to her, no doubt explaining what she was missing out on.

(I have a feeling I've seen this couple somewhere before this. Given their looks, perhaps they are models, or television/movie actors, possibly music artists, maybe sports stars. Aranea does get its share of celebrities, although for privacy they are more likely to patronize the more exclusive resort complex at Palm Cove, on the east coast. And on that note, a blindfold is as good a way as any of concealing a famous identity -- for the females, at least.)

My attention was wrenched back inside. Daniel 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 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 I'm quite limber, but it's 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).

Camilla was next, followed by Charlotte. I have to admit that Daniel did good work. He was sensitive to each woman's response as he tested how strict to make the strapping. None of us, except maybe Camilla, knew how long we would have to endure it. Nevertheless, my cousin's concern was not so much for our ordeal as for prolonging his own enjoyment of it. (Good for him, I suppose; but it's something I really cannot comprehend. My personal view is that with bondage it's better to be than to see.) Camilla's elbow tie was as severe as mine, but I knew my cousin would go easy on Rachel, 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 whatever's covering it. Even Daniel has his limits. And in that respect, Charlotte's ended up so slack that it didn't serve much purpose. He must have understood that she was not ready for anything more stringent. In addition, her earlier wiggling about had pushed her strapless bikini top so far down that all that seemed to be holding it in place were -- and I feel squicky just writing this -- her aroused nipples.

Emily, again the last, looked on fearfully, expecting the worst, and with good reason. Daniel had his fun with her, yanking the strap so hard that she yelped, more in shock than anguish. When he eased off, her wan smile of gratitude showed that she had been broken, at least for the moment. And after he was done, my cousin 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 Camilla who had other ideas. She went to the cupboard, 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 braided with a metal clasp at each end.

"You've got to be kidding," a reinvigorated Emily snarled under her breath, as my cousin sorted out five of the leashes and discarded the rest. Meanwhile Camilla was back at the cupboard, and this time she took out a small stack of scarves, of shiny midnight blue.

But before Daniel continued, Camilla came up and whispered to him and he said "Oh, yeah." He grabbed her gag, pulled it up over her chin and pushed the ball into her mouth. As he went to seize her arms to spin her around, she turned away; so, denied this tiny bit of extra domination, he contented himself with making her groan through the gag as he wrenched the harness to secure it. He repeated the process with the rest of us. Emily's expression of revulsion and the way she instinctively pressed her jaws together betrayed that she did not like being gagged. Or it may have been just one of her acts of defiance.