The Liberation of Ate

From

Syrena Exposed — A Traveller's Guide

Advice For Women

There are two good reasons why you must be naked in public during your visit to Syrena. The first is that to honour the natural beauty of the female body, all women are forbidden to wear clothing. The second is that, while you are here you are a slave, and your nudity is a reminder, to you and to your owner, of what you are and what you are not.

Therefore, adult females are not permitted to wear clothes of any kind in public outside the Grandin Bay administrative district. Offenders are rarely prosecuted, but you will be asked to remove anything you may be wearing. No one will forcibly strip you, although wilful and persistent violators of the law may be detained. You have the right to apply for an exemption, but this is rarely granted to visitors.

The nude law does allow headwear, footwear, gloves, garters, armbands, bracelets and anklets, jewellery, collars and chokers, feminine hygiene products, bandages and other medical dressings, and — in exceptional circumstances — safety coverings. It is not strictly illegal but is considered a breach of social etiquette to cover or conceal any part of your body. For instance, if you have long hair it should not cover your breasts. Bed linen, towels and blankets must be used only for their specified purpose. You should not carry or hold any object in a way that hides your nakedness.

If you think these rules are onerous or unfair, remember that nature gave us this wonderful body, for both women and men to enjoy. Be proud of it. Show it off and enjoy the attention.

As for bondage and other aspects of your slavery, keep in mind that Syrena is a place for vacationers and adventurers to live out a fantasy or experiment with a lifestyle. The main requirement is that our guests exercise common sense and good taste and not interfere with other people's appreciation of our island's unique attributes. Most of our laws are the same as those anywhere else, and that includes statutes to protect you from unwanted attention. But the number one rule for everyone is — Have a great time!

Part Four

In the morning, I woke to find Kate again on the balcony. By the time I realized there was no neighbour, I was already resolved to punish her. I ordered her to stand up against the latticework screen, facing it with her arms and legs extended. As she obeyed, she twisted her head to peer at me over her shoulder.

"What are you going to do?"

"What do you think?"

"Is this payback for yesterday morning?"

"Of course it is."

I used the rope I had bought at the Chain Store to secure her wrists to the lattice, and strapped the leg-spreader to her ankles, so her limbs were stretched out in an X.

"Up on your toes," I instructed.

"How long am I going to be like this?" she asked.

"We'll see," I replied.

I concede that I was a little disappointed that she didn't complain. It's not that I want my beloved to suffer, but I didn't expect her to be so calm and accepting of her punishment. When I stepped back to view her beautiful naked body spreadeagled and pressed against the frame, she said nothing more but just stared to one side, out over the edge of the balcony. When I ordered her to open her mouth so I could insert the ring-gag, she whimpered but did not resist.

"Yell when you've had enough," I told her. "Can you make a noise?"

She responded with a "Ga-ga-gaaah" sound, which would work well enough. I went inside to have my toast and coffee and read the local newspaper. It was filled with advertisements and puff pieces; but I did glean enough useful information to make some plans for the next few days.

I took a shower and got dressed. After an hour, Kate still had not given up. Yet the strain of being pinned to the rack and stretched on her toes was having its effect. Her legs were starting to shake and buckle, and her buttocks had begun to quiver. I ran my fingernails down her back and slid my hands around her hips to play between her thighs. She groaned softly.

"Had enough now?" I whispered in her ear.

She shook her head and sucked in a deep breath through the ring that spread her jaws.

I was proud of my little honey's endurance, as I have always been of her strength; but there is a point where stamina becomes just plain stubbornness, and I could not help but be frustrated. I knew she would quit eventually and beg for release, but in the meantime I felt as if I were the helpless one. And I knew also that she was fully cognizant of what she was doing. Kate likes to be in control. That bothers me, I must confess. While I have encouraged her to be strong and independent, she must sometimes be reminded that our marriage is an equal partnership. So I took off my belt and gave her a few light whacks across her bottom, barely enough to raise little pink ridges on the sleek, trembling flesh.

However, when at last I freed her from the latticework and she slumped into my arms, panting and sweating, and she gasped "I just want to please you," I was not sure that Kate had learnt the right lesson.

"No, my love," I told her. "We're here for you."

She blinked back tears as she looked up at me, and I don't know if she really understood. But I had plans that I was certain would empower her to achieve complete liberation.

That required another trip downtown. Because she was still a bit sore, I decided not to put Kate in her harness from the Chain Store, just her collar and leash. As I tied her hands behind her back, I told her about my plans for her, and she seemed enthused.

In the lobby we found our French femmes. Adèle was seated in one of the big leather armchairs and Élise was kneeling beside her. With them were two more girls, Rachel and Lucinda. Unlike Adèle and Élise they were not a couple, just friends wanting a taste of the exotic lifestyle. They were Australians, university students on a break for a year-long, round-the-world surfing safari, who had decided to take a detour to Syrena. Rachel was gregarious and funny; she had the classic beach-girl looks — very pretty, sandy-haired, blue-eyed and freckled-faced, slim but sturdy, with an all-over tan and a leaping dolphin tattoo which arced around the contours of her

mons pubis

. Lucy was small, olive-skinned and dark-haired with large brown eyes, more introverted than her compatriot but with a mischievous wit. I asked about the long scar which ran up the inside of her left leg, and she said it was the result of a surfing mishap.

Since they were also heading downtown, and it had started to rain, we decided to take one of the open-air taxis. They are provided free of charge for tourists (gratis from the hotels). The cabbie this time was a young female, who was more businesslike — and much more picturesque — than our previous driver. The drizzle had blown in under the canopy, and she used a cloth to wipe down the upholstery at the left rear for my benefit. My fellow passengers were not accorded this courtesy, but that made sense because they would not be stuck wearing damp trousers for the rest of the morning. However, the sides of the awning were rolled down to shield us from the increasing downpour, and I wondered why this hadn't been done earlier. In some ways, the Syrenes can be quite lackadaisical.

This vehicle had seatbelts, and once the six of us were buckled in, our

chauffeuse

gestured politely at the metal collars, each suspended on its chain to the rail behind the seats. I put Kate into her yoke, and Élise dutifully put on hers. Rachel and Lucy hesitated. I suspected immediately that they were not especially fond of Syrena's bondage customs; but they collared each other, fumbling and giggling. Adèle was far more resistant. When, however, our vehicle showed no sign of moving, she sighed and complied.

We set off down the hill, but came to an abrupt halt after just a couple of minutes, outside the Seaview Apartments. There was another taxi parked beside the roadway with its engine bonnet raised. The male operator was standing under an umbrella while six women, who could have been sitting in the relatively dry back of the vehicle, were standing next to it, hair dripping and skin slick from the rain. The two drivers conferred and Harry — a small, wiry man with coffee-coloured, leathery skin, a weatherworn, unshaved face, bloodshot eyes and a broad, toothy grin — asked me to disembark and sit in the front cabin. Kate and the others were told to bunch up; their chains could slide along the rail. The six women were summoned. Each carried a small bag, not much bigger than a purse, which probably contained all their possessions. They were bedraggled and shivering, and I have to say that there is something extraordinarily sexy about a wet female body covered in nothing but moisture and gooseflesh. As each climbed up to take her seat, Harry gave her a slap on the backside. I was sorry that there wasn't sufficient room for me, because being crammed in with eleven nude women would have made for an interesting ride down the bumpy, winding road. Still, the driver's cab was enclosed and dry, and

chauffeuse

Rosalie looked to be good company.

There were not enough seatbelts, collars and chains for the new passengers, but they were ordered to sit in silence with their arms folded behind their backs. Naturally this lasted only until we had resumed our journey, leaving Harry to await a mechanic. It was a slow journey; Rosalie was much more careful than our first driver; but it was enjoyable and informative. Rosalie, was from Dominica, one of the islands to the north of Syrena. She told me her owner worked in construction. This was the first time I heard a female referring to herself explicitly as property. Technically all women on the island are slaves, both residents and visitors, but it was still rather odd to hear it expressed so unequivocally. However, aside from her nudity and her collar, she did not appear particularly subservient nor go out of her way to act the part of a humble slavegirl.

Adèle and Élise, Rachel and Lucy, Kate and I were dropped off downtown. I asked Rosalie where the other women were headed. She explained that one of the more popular activities for unattached females is to sign on as a playmate-stewardess aboard a yacht or cruise ship. In return for providing unpaid labour, they get to enjoy the full slavegirl experience. I thought that this might be good for Kate, but I had other plans.

We split up when we reached the Boardwalk, Adèle and Élise moving off towards the entertainment precinct, Rachel and Lucy heading for the beach (because the rain had stopped), Kate and I returning to Catriona's travel agency. She greeted us like long-lost friends, and after a brief discussion booked Kate in for three days at the Calliope Bay slave training camp, to start the next morning. I would have preferred to wait a while, but Kate seemed eager to get started on her self-improvement. She was warned that the curriculum would be rigorous, so she should get plenty of sleep beforehand and might need a couple of days afterwards to recover. My girl just smiled at me and nodded. Yet almost as soon as we left the office I began to have misgivings. What would I do for all that time without my Kate?

The unexpected answer came a few hours later. We had spent the morning and early afternoon sightseeing. We walked back to the hotel and found Rachel and Lucy sitting in the bar with Adèle and Élise. The Australian girls were dejected and explained that while they had a few days remaining on the island, they could only afford to stay one more night at the Bonaire. This was almost too perfect a coincidence, certainly a splendid opportunity. The French girls' suite was smaller than ours, so I offered the use of our second bedroom. Kate gave me an odd look but agreed. After all, what was the point of such expensive and spacious accommodation if we couldn't have two gorgeous guests?

With that settled, the six of us had drinks and dinner in the downstairs restaurant. Kate and Élise were bound as well as blindfolded, so Adèle and I fed them the entire meal. Lucy and Rachel donned their blindfolds and served each other, with predictably comical results as the waitress and the

maîtresse d'

frowned and shook their heads.

Kate and I had an early night so we could be up at sunrise. At dawn we showered and made love one last time before our separation. I wanted her to wear her straps-and-rings and the ball-gag, and decided to blindfold her for the trek down the hill.

Rachel and Lucy arrived on time to deposit their bags. Their luggage consisted of a backpack each, not much for an around-the-world trek. That was more than enough for Syrena (where, according to the tourist brochure, if you're female "all you really need is a toothbrush"), but I guess that, for a globetrotting surfer chick, a bikini is generally

comme il faut

.

The girls stared at Kate's harness, which confirmed for me that they'd not had much of a taste of bondage. What a waste, I said to myself, but something that could be remedied. As they were stark naked, with not even collars or footwear, I told them to put on shoes since they would be walking with us. They looked at each other and at me and grinned. I don't think it had occurred to them that I would be in charge for the next five days. But they obeyed. Lucy had sandals and Rachel a pair of scruffy flip-flops.

"Do you have your own collars?" I asked.

They nodded. These turned out to be cheap plastic junk, and I resolved to treat them to proper leather ones. I clipped Kate's leash to Rachel's collar and for Lucy I made a second lead from a length of cord. I detected just a twinge as I tethered them. I instructed them to each take one of Kate's arms so they could guide her (in her sightless state) while I led them. And so we began our journey. Out of the hotel, down the hill, into the town, I felt proud and privileged, attracting admiring and envious glances (from both sexes) as I paraded my three exquisite slavegirls.

On a patch of open ground at the rear of Patrick's Emporium, several dozen women had been assembled. There was a registration tent where I signed in Kate, and she was allocated to one of two columns that were forming. I removed her harness, gag and blindfold, and she was shackled into the line, her arms behind her back, with heavy chains around her neck, wrists, elbows and ankles. Commanded to look directly ahead but with eyes downcast, she risked reprimand to steal a couple of quick glances in my direction, and even managed to mouth a few words, which I didn't understand. By the time they were ready to begin marching, weighed down by their shackles, she was about halfway down a line of forty or fifty women. The twin columns shuffled off on parallel paths, and quite a large crowd had gathered to watch. Many of the spectators followed in their wake, but I monitored the proceedings only until Kate had disappeared over a low ridge.

Rachel and Lucy were waiting expectantly, looking a little nonplussed by what they'd witnessed. I asked what their plans were.

"Oh, just hit the beach, have some lunch..."

"Mind if I tag along?"

"Please join us," Lucy replied.

Maybe I'm wrong, but I got the impression that it came as a relief to have someone to break up their routine. Perhaps they had come to Syrena expecting more than what they found. And this seemed like a good time to educate them. I said that one could wear Kate's harness. They turned to each other frowning, but Rachel volunteered with a saucy grin. She was taller than Kate, but their breasts were about the same size, so the rings fitted over them snugly. The straps and belt could be adjusted to suit her waist and hips. As a result it was a good fit, and when I'd locked her wrists in the rings behind her back she looked so incredibly sexy that I think Lucy was a little jealous. So I bound her hands behind her as well, using the rope leash, while applying the leather tether to link their collars. I wished I'd brought gags to complete the ensemble.

I took my pets back to the Boardwalk, to the Chain Store where I bought them their new collars, and each a ball-gag.

"Thank you, master," said Lucy.

Rachel stared at her friend for a second or two before whispering, "Yes, thank you, master."

"Good girls," I said. "You deserve another treat."

I inserted their gags and took them to the nearest ice-cream kiosk. I taunted them for a minute before freeing their mouths. Afterwards we went to the beach. This is one place on Syrena where male and female bodies approach any degree of sartorial symmetry. Yet even on the sand the difference remains. You are warned in the literature, and by shorefront signage, that full male nudity is prohibited. Indeed, Syrenes are rather prudish about this. Exiting the beach, men are expected to at least put on a shirt, and trousers or dress shorts are mandatory downtown. In any case, I kept all my clothes on. I have no great affinity for sand, sea or sunlight.

At the base of the headland at the north-eastern end of the beach you can hire surfboards. Rachel and Lucy naturally gravitated to this point. They were both extremely athletic and skilled at riding the waves. Rachel was amazing at aerials, Lucy at carving and trimming. (Picking up these terms was

my

education, nothing as exciting as what Kate would be learning at Calliope Bay.) I was content to recline in the shade of a broad umbrella watching the girls, and was quite flattered that during their rest periods they came and sat with me. Emerging from the water and scampering up the shingle, their sleek naked bodies glistening with water and suntan oil, their perky breasts bouncing and their silken hair flouncing, their deliciously bare backsides and delicate crevices encrusted with gritty wet sand when they set themselves down next to me, they almost made me forget my gorgeous Kate.

And yet, although it was nice to have three days when I didn't have to worry about pleasing her, Kate's absence left a void in my schedule. Getting bored with the surf show, I took the opportunity to learn more about Syrena's history, government and culture. I left the girls at the beach and returned to Catriona's office, in order to hire a tour guide. She took me to a vacant lot nearby where several taxis were parked, with their drivers slouching, chatting, smoking and playing some card game. There were half a dozen males and one female. Apart from her nudity, the girl was acting no differently from her co-workers. But nearby, being ignored, were half a dozen young women, silently standing rigidly at attention and chained to a post. The drivers stopped talking, put down their cards, discarded their cigarettes and stood up straight when they saw Catriona; and once again I was impressed by how a nude woman in a slave collar can command such attention and respect from men. She asked me to choose from the chained women. I demurred so she selected one herself — tall and curvesome, with unusual amber eyes and a strawberry-blonde, "pageboy" hairstyle.

"This is Monique," Catriona revealed as she freed the girl and handed me her leash.

"Hello, sir." Monique greeted me in a cheery voice, though keeping her gaze lowered. She had an American accent with a cultivated aspect, and I subsequently learned that she is — like Rachel and Lucy — a college student taking time off. She came to Syrena four months ago with her boyfriend for what was intended as a short visit, and he sold her to a nightclub. That's not as bad as it sounds. It just means that she took a waitressing job to pay for the next leg of their Caribbean expedition, but here women are chattels. When he managed to get himself deported for some minor offence (about which Monique was vague), she stayed on and eventually got this present job. She's due to return home in eight weeks, she said glumly.