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.
