Tour of the Resort
Layla and Sir were led through organized wildness of tropical plantings. They passed a gazebo where a couple sat at a round table. Was someone crouched under the table?
“You’ll notice there’s a lot of wrought iron around,” said their guide, gesturing to luxuriantly upholstered iron lounge chairs. “The weight is useful. We don’t want anything tippy, unless it’s MEANT to be tippy.” He motioned to a narrow wrought iron table, mounted on a long rocker. A young woman was bound on her back on the table, a man astride her filling her mouth with his cock, rocking her and filling her.
Ten or so people stood there watching, many with camcorders.
“We get a lot of watchers. And people enjoy capturing the memories, building their video libraries for when they’re back home. Of course, one of the amenities here is a huge video library. We have several home theater rooms if you want to watch with a group, and there are naturally good TV setups in the cottages. But then, why watch when you can DO whatever you can think of? We have a full staff of sex slaves of both genders, well trained in both domination and submission. They are at your command, and you are of course free to participate or watch as you please. The slaves are delineated by red collar and cuffs. Guests wear anything BUT red. Here comes one of the slaves now.”
She crawled today them on all fours on the grass at the edge of the tiled walkway. She wore a red chain at her neck and waist, and red cuffs on her wrists and ankles. The woman walking beside her wore a silk sarong, and held a leash that was attached loosely to the collar at the slave’s neck. “Kneel up now,” she said to the slave. “And move to the bricks, hands behind your head, elbows wide, stick those breasts out there and keep your eyes down…. That’s right”
The slave moved toward them, now upright on her knees in awkward movements over the brick verge of the walk. Her breasts, proud and upright, each sported a stainless steel ring about an inch in diameter. From each ring hung about six inches of swaying chain.
“All sorts of uses for those rings,” said their guide. “We keep plenty of chain about that combines with the cuffs, collar, and belts in all the ways you can imagine. Piercings with rings are of course a whole other level with bondage and submission. All our slaves have them – they’re so useful. Many of the submissive guests eventually acquire their own rings, as the doms get spoiled by the ease with which our slaves can be bound and positioned. We do have body slaves specially trained in piercing and tattooing, also at your command. ”
An arrangement of couches on their right held four men and two women, all with camcorders focused on a woman leading a man by a small chain leash which was fastened to a one inch ring like they’d seen in the slave’s nipples. But this ring was fastened to the male slave’s scrotum. His mistress pulled him to and fro, his wrists behind him making him more off-balance. Wrist cuffs were fastened to each other and to a belt at his waist.
“Here is one of three full-service bars on the property – all staffed 24 hours a day. And of course any slave can be commanded to bring food or drink anywhere you want it delivered on the property.”
A boardwalk snaked off the tiled path with brick verges. The boardwalk crossed sand and became a bridge to a big gazebo perched about the water. The center of the building was the bar, and it was surrounded by swings. Most were filled by people in swimsuits and sports wear, but on one swing a woman was standing, naked but for her cuffs and blindfold.
Sir took Layla’s hands and stepped to face her when he heard her sharp intake of breath. “What, darling.” He followed her eyes to the woman on the swing. “She’s not wearing red.”
“Does your woman need a blindfold?” asked their guide.
“No, she’s fine.”
“Well there are blindfolds and all sorts of accoutrements placed about the grounds for the convenience of our guests.” He gestured toward a two foot ring hanging from a tree nearby. Around it were fastened blindfolds in leather, fur, silk, rubber – all sorts of colors, but not red.
They continued to watch the swing bar as a woman approached where the bridge entered the bar. There stood a basket, and she leaned down and inspected it, eventually moving toward the woman standing on the swing, swishing something down by her leg. The woman with the whip was small, but apparently quite strong, as her lashes moved the woman on the swing and it swung about wildly. Some people at the bar ignored the show, but most turned to watch, some filming. The woman on the swing moved her head and neck in abandon with the blows that concentrated on her buttocks, but sometimes crept up her back. She wore fur cuffs and collar.
“Oh she’s fastened quite securely, you see. The swing’s more for effect. Her hands are cuffed to an iron bar above the serving bar and that’s more than able to support her weight times 100. The guy behind the bar has a ladder to get up there, and he’ll turn her if told to. She likes that swing with the sunset view. She’s there most every night of her visits. It’s unusual for her to be there a couple of hours before sunset.”
“So you recognize her habits?” Sir said.
“Sure. She’s been coming here for years. The first time was before my time, thirty odd years ago, but believe me that story is never going to fade. She came in heavy chains and a bridal gown, and seemed hypnotized or drugged. Believe me, even the management here had second thoughts, and that takes some doing. But it was all in order. Her man had a consent agreement, all signed and proper. And she’s still coming all these years later, even now he’s dead. Yes, we do have a dedicated clientele, even though there are always some who aren’t really in the life, just come to gawk for vacation…. And fine gawking it is around here.”
The beachfront restaurant stretched along the shore. This place was profligate with its shoreline, but then there was a lot of it. The resort was an island and the island was the resort, nothing else. Acres of lush beauty devoted to hedonism in the form of games with power and submission. The walkway separated a wide beach from the verdant grounds dotted with playspaces, guest cottages, bars, and restaurants.
“There’s not a bad water view from any table in this restaurant,” their guide claimed. “We get a lovely sunset most every night, but sometimes the seats at this end have a very special and rare view.”
He pointed at a glassed-in room, just past the last restaurant tables. “That’s our branding room. We have slaves willing to obey most every command, but we do not allow our slaves to be permanently marked, other than piercings they agree to. Branding is strictly for guests, and it is not an everyday event, so I won’t tantalize you with details. It may not happen during your stay here.
“Note the large screens suspended here and there. When the provided camcorders are plugged in for charging, our technical staff downloads video. Identifiable faces are digitally distorted. Only the resort’s cameras are allowed on the island. Guests can take home DVDs prepared by the technical staff, but identities are protected in any video that makes the cut. No one need be concerned about showing up on the internet or in a porn movie. Our guests sign an agreement not to use materials from our DVDs for anything other than their own pleasure, and no faces are shown. A continuous stream of what our guests find interesting plays on screens around the resort and is available on one of the broadcast channels in the cottages.”