The Liberation Of Kate Pt 05

From

Syrena Exposed — A Traveller's Guide

Syrena has, for environmental reasons, been forced to place limits on the number of our guests. Only those with pre-booked accommodation are permitted onshore overnight stays. Since the demand is high and the number of hotel rooms limited, preference is given to certain categories, in particular couples and all-female or mixed-sex groups. We have had, unfortunately, to restrict the entry of men without female accompaniment. Until not long ago, a certain cruise ship company ran weekly shuttles which were heavily patronized by males and became known as "voyeurges" (a clumsy term, but accurate enough). Some of these still operate, but they have been discouraged.

A vacation here is a special kind of adventure for women, a chance to be something different and daring. When interviewed, most women express a desire for self-discovery — to test limits, to explore new experiences and new sensations. For others it is, as one visitor explained, "a chance to show my partner that I am willing to share everything I am and give up everything I have."

However, nudity and slavery are not mere gimmicks to promote tourism. We are a self-governing state with our own laws and institutions. Our traditions have been in place for almost three centuries. We are proud to claim that our community is one of the most stable, harmonious and egalitarian in the world, and this includes both sexes. Our governor and chief minister are women, as are a majority of the members of parliament. Females occupy positions of influence in every sector of the economy. While we acknowledge that nudity and servitude were once for the benefit of men, today they are the expression of female pleasure and empowerment. If the males enjoy certain privileges, they understand that these depend on the cooperation and consent of the women.

Part Five

The time without Kate passed slowly. On the second morning, when I awoke Rachel and Lucy were already up and had prepared breakfast for the three of us. I told them they were not obligated, but they replied that they were happy to.

We went out onto the balcony. There was a table with four chairs — wrought iron frames with detachable cushions. Before they sat, I asked the girls to remove the padding from their seats. It was slightly sadistic of me, but they obeyed; yet I was disappointed that it did not have the desired effect. There were no "Oohs!" or "Ahs!" as warm, soft flesh came into contact with cold, hard metal. Perhaps they'd become habituated to the piquant perils of everyday nudity; but I like to think that Rachel's wry smile concealed gritted teeth.

Once more I took all four of my girls downtown, again trussing their hands behind their backs and putting them on their leashes. As Adèle and Rachel were the more headstrong, I decided to test their resolve with gags. Rachel submitted without a struggle, but the French girl was defiant, and I had to remind her that while she might be the boss in her relationship with Élise, she was nonetheless female and therefore, on Syrena, subject to me. I really did not think she would swallow that, but I guess she didn't want to get into an argument in front of her lover.

I tethered them in a single file, so close that each one's breasts nudged the back of the girl in front and her hands were lodged against the pubes of the one behind. I told them they must pleasure each other on the way down the hill, and that gave Adèle, at the rear, something to enjoy. Poor Lucy was at the front with me holding her leash, so she got the breast-to-back massage but not the crotch treatment. But when I left my surfer girls at the beach, even before I was out of sight I spied them hitching up with a couple of young men, so I was confident that Lucy's loins would get a workout of some kind before the day was over.

I contemplated hiring Monique for a second time but decided against it (and never saw her again). I contented myself with alternatively sitting in one of the air-conditioned bars with a good view of the street or at a table of a sidewalk coffee shop. And something very interesting occurred to me. Watching the women going by revelling in their nudity and toiling in their bondage, I realized how they were experiencing each moment so much more intensely than I, who could be no more than a spectator. Here every woman can be an exhibitionist without shame, a slave without humiliation, because every woman is both and has no option to be otherwise. Coming to Syrena is her own choice, so she has not given up her free will; but once here she resigns her right to choose. In so doing, she proclaims and celebrates her womanhood, proclaims and flaunts her natural, feminine beauty. Being owned, she feels desired. Freed from having to make choices and decisions, she can surrender herself to sensual and sexual delights without guilt or disgrace. That is the liberation I had been seeking for Kate.

Adèle in particular, was having the best of both worlds, as mistress and slave, and that is why I was determined to push and provoke her — to see, when she fell, on which side of the line she would land. It's been the same, in a sense, with Kate. She's a smart, strong, enterprising, independent woman, with a husband who understands her limits and knows when to take control. That morning, I thought of how lucky she was, how happy and proud she must be, training to become a better slave as I drifted along in aimless indolence, idling in bars and cafeterias. In a way, I envied her. I was determined that, for the rest of our three-week stay, I would make sure that Kate put her hard-learned lessons into practice.

The afternoon was hot, the sky was clear and the ocean breeze, when it picked up towards evening, came as a welcome respite. I returned to the hotel and sat by the pool watching a couple of girls cavorting in the water, then went back to the lobby. Regina was on duty. There were quite a few people about and she was being kept busy responding to requests and demands, looking flustered. She saw me and managed a tight-lipped smile. I took a seat in one of the armchairs and when eventually she was free I called her over.

"When do you go off duty?" I enquired.

She gave me a funny stare.

"Stay calm," I laughed. "It's just that you look worn out."

Her expression lightened. We talked for a while. I was impressed by the young woman's poise and professionalism. She kept one eye focused on the reception desk while never missing a beat in our conversation. I was not surprised to learn that she had been educated in England (Oxford, Cambridge, Oxbridge... one of those fancy places), nor that her father is the hotel's proprietor. The family belongs to Syrena's merchant aristocracy, the elite who have controlled the economy and government since the eighteenth century.

It fascinated me that such a compact, compatible population might be socially stratified, but the reality is that class divisions are blurred to the point of invisibility. No one flaunts their wealth or status, and the elegant, alluring Regina, working at the reception desk, personifies this egalitarian spirit. I learned that she is an only child who is engaged to marry a local man. (I met him briefly a few days later. He's not one of the gentry but claims a native pedigree. Most Syrene citizens boast they are descended from the pirate pioneers and their hardy womenfolk; but such large numbers cannot possibly be.) As a female, Regina cannot inherit the family estate — some of the island's traditions remain archaic — but that means little in practical terms. Because the sex ratio of the population has been skewed heavily feminine for more than a century, legacies are more often than not matrilineal, as it has been in Regina's case. For example, her father was one who married into the patriciate.

I also had a chance to discover more about Sarah, the little Australian attendant, after making a fool of myself by asking if she knew fellow Aussies, Rachel and Lucinda. Before she got to explaining the size of her homeland, I recovered by quickly adding "... here in the hotel, I mean."

"We've met," she said. Her normally high-pitched voice was now croaky. By the time we talked she had worked a ten-hour shift. She was just going off duty and I caught her at the top of the stairs which led down to the staff quarters. She did not seem to mind having her well-earned rest delayed a few minutes.

"How long have you been here?" I asked.

"On Syrena, sir? Almost a year; working here, about half that time."

"You like it here?"

"Love it." She smiled and puffed out her little chest. Her nipples bloomed like delicate rosebuds.

"You have a partner?" I pointed to the golden lock which guarded the entrance to her elfin body.

"Yes, my boyf... my master, Robert."

I was hoping we could talk more, but I heard Regina call her name. She apologized and left me alone again. I went into the barroom. As I looked back towards the lobby, I saw that Sarah was gone. Regina was speaking to the doorman. He was nodding, as if taking instructions. Alongside the copper-toned sheen of her magnificent, uncovered contours, his crimson uniform with silver trim and golden braid seemed drab and dull.

I settled onto a bar stool, and later into one of the big armchairs for the rest of the afternoon and the evening. Sarah came back on duty after a couple of hours, looking fatigued. The way she interacted with the barman, I quickly figured out that he was the lucky Robert. I was there for his entire shift which, in contrast to hers, did not seem very long. Then he sat quietly in a corner, sipping beer, reading a magazine and occasionally wandering out into the lobby to give encouragement to his exhausted little slavegirl. He was still there when I retired to my suite. I admired his patience.

I found Lucy on the sofa nursing a mug of steaming cocoa. Without asking, she rose and went into the kitchenette to put on the kettle. I did not need to inquire about Rachel. From their room I heard a guttural moan and then a squeal.

"I guess you will be sleeping on the couch tonight," I said.

Lucy grinned. "Why would you think that?" She caught my expression. "Don't worry, your virtue will remain intact."

The girl's big brown eyes twinkled as a man's laugh emanating from the other side of the bedroom door. Another lucky guy, I thought. As for myself, I was not sure whether I should be feeling relieved or deflated, flattered or offended.

***

I spent the next day and night exploring without my harem. The island with its unique customs and lifestyle continued to fascinate and tantalize, although I was missing my Kate. I made another visit to the Chain Store, for a few items to make her return memorable.

Wandering about, despite what Valerie had said, by now I found it easy to spot Syrena's permanent residents, be they native-born or expatriates. The men affect a nonchalance about their own womenfolk's nudity while showing a robust interest in that of the tourists; because supposedly familiarity breeds a degree of indifference. Yet when you observe closely enough, you see that this is a façade. I saw enough interactions to be aware that whenever he meets or passes or encounters any woman, the local man invariably gives her at the very least a brief visual frisking. On the other hand, he will show little interest in bondage. If a local female is tied or chained or leashed, it will almost always be by a tourist.

Making such observations became my

raison d'être

as I awaited the return of my beloved. And there were certainly many interesting things to observe. Around midday, a large party of hikers passed by on the edge of the beach, heading inland. There must have been two dozen of them. The males were attired in standard manner — jeans, chinos, cargo shorts, t-shirts, polo shirts, drill shirts and so on. The females were, of course, naked except for hats and boots and sunglasses. Because they all carried bulky backpacks, the hands of the girls were bound in front, secured at belly button level to a strip of leather tied around the waist. Most also wore snugly fitting crotch-ropes and were already red-faced from the stimulation these gave as they trudged alongside the road. Against my baser instincts, I found myself hoping for their sakes that they would not be trekking too far.

I even saw some women wearing clothing — not much, but enough to serve as a reminder that Syrena is a not just a glorified theme park but a functioning society. The island has a coast guard, with women crew members who wear life jackets (though nothing else). There are also female workers in areas such as emergency services and construction and maintenance who have safety vests and other protective gear, and I imagine that, for example, cooks are permitted to wear aprons. I could add to the list; but it occurred to me that many of these items could — should — be made out of transparent material... That's what a few days on Syrena does to your brain.

However, my most significant encounter was with the half-dozen girls who had come in on our plane. I met them on the road while I was drifting aimlessly in the early afternoon. I must confess that I saw them in the distance and decided to impose myself. Five were gagged and on leashes, their hands bound in front at waist height, and were being led by the sixth. I was gratified that they recognized me, even more so when the leader introduced herself as Beth. I asked if I could walk with them for a while and she agreed, although I was disappointed that she did not offer me control of her friends' tethers. I learned that they were staying at the Sunscape Lodge, on the north-eastern edge of Régate. They were recently graduated medical students from the US.

"So whose idea was it to come here?"

Beth turned and tapped a small girl with dark curly hair on the shoulder. The girl slowly nodded and let out a comically exaggerated moan. I mentioned that I had seen them at the bride bazaar and all six, including Beth, groaned in unison. (I wasn't sure what to make of that.)

After we'd walked a short while, I realized we were heading for the local hospital. Beth explained that the girls had arranged a work experience internship which paid for their accommodation. The modest, two-storey building is painted coral pink, with wide verandas and a monstrous, flame-foliaged poinciana dominating the entrance in radiant bloom. When we reached the driveway, Beth halted her squad of captives, and I assisted her in releasing them from their bonds and leashes, though they kept on their collars. (Beth was wearing one as well, and a ball-gag slung on its strap around her neck. Like Kristin and Gabrielle, the girls were taking turns at mistressing.) Our approach had been observed, because a young man came out to meet us, wearing the conventional white coat over blue scrubs.

I stood back as the doctor (or nurse, I had no way of telling) welcomed each of the six girls in turn. Although he had a West Indian appearance and accent, the way he scrutinized the bare bodies of his guests made me suspect he was not a native of the island. Beth introduced me as "a friend" which pleased me. She explained apologetically that I would not be able to join them inside, but that suited me. A hospital inspection is not my idea of sightseeing. But it was not a dismissal, because she added that she hoped I didn't mind waiting.

There was a settee on the patio, and as I got comfortable, with next to me the girls' ropes and leashes in a little pile, one of the female staff brought me a tall, cold, fruity drink with a dash of rum. After about fifteen minutes, five of the six girls returned with the young man and an older woman who greeted me with a firm handshake and spoke with a soft inflection which may have been German. Although she was tanned all over, there were faint bands of lighter skin across her breasts and pelvis which indicated to me — by a very rough estimate — that she had not worn clothing for at least several months. Unlike the girls who were smooth, the woman had a growth of pubic hair, usually an indication of marriage, although I saw no ring on her finger. From her crisply professional manner, I surmised that she was the hospital's director.

I would have liked to know more, but it was time to go. Each of the girls dutifully picked up a rope and a leash and one of the ball-gags. They didn't seem to mind which of the gags they chose, but in any case the female staff member came out with a box of tissues for cleaning them since they had been lying on the seat in the open air. I looked at Beth and she tilted her head towards one of her friends. It was Cally's turn for playing mistress; but to my surprise she grinned and held out her hands, wrists touching, towards me. It was truly marvellous that, when given the option of dominant or submissive, she chose the latter role. Still, I felt that she should be properly mindful of the consequences of her choice, so I ordered her to spin around and put her hands behind her back. I heard her sigh as she did so, and gasp as I seized her wrists, pulled them together and bound them tightly so her shoulders were drawn backwards and her breasts pushed out. I shoved the big red ball between her jaws and tensed the strap with such force that she let out a gurgled whimper. The other girls grimaced as they witnessed their own impending torment, but none complained or otherwise showed reluctance.

Meanwhile, I noticed that the director and her associate were still on the veranda, watching as I bound, gagged and leashed all five girls. Though it may have been my imagination, I think I saw the woman's nipples harden with arousal; I definitely saw the young fellow's eyes flicker in the direction of his naked superior a couple of times.

I soon regretted having gagged my girls, because it made for a tedious journey; so I made them trot. With chests thrust forward, their bouncing boobs provided entertainment for us all; but I allowed them a brief pause every so often so the jiggling did not become painful. Upon arrival at their hostel, I decided to quit while I was ahead, and left my pretty prisoners, still trussed and gagged, in the charge of two rather dissolute-looking young men lounging on the lawn with their girlfriends.

***

It was with great anticipation that I waited, with a large crowd, in the paddock behind Patrick's Emporium, for the return of the slave trainees. Over the crest of the ridge they came, trudging in twin columns. Kate was near the front. The women's bodies gleamed with a patina of perspiration and dirt. They wore the same heavy chains they had set out with, but were more bent under the weight than they had been three days before. Their heads were bowed, their faces were pallid and drawn, but most including Kate were smiling, happy to be back with their loved ones, relieved that their ordeal was over and proud that they had come through it.

The women stood patiently in their lines as their shackles were removed by half a dozen girls who had accompanied them from the training camp. These wore elaborate feathered headdresses and necklaces, armbands and belts of woven grass with glass beads; their faces, breasts and bellies bore streaks of coloured paint. When their job was done, they formed their own line and were marched back to Calliope Bay under the direction of a young man dressed in a kitschy costume that I can only describe as buccaneer à la Hollywood.

Kate slumped into my arms but quickly recovered her balance and composure. Seeing my expression, she laughed and took the collar from my fingers, buckled it about her throat and handed me the end of her leash. Then she turned to face away from me and put her arms behind her, wrists touching and elbows drawn together. I bound them. Her skin was browner than it had been before, while her back was traversed with fading pink stripes, too many to count. Her hands were covered in small callouses and blisters like you get after a day's hard work in the garden. I led her back through the town and up the hill to our hotel. Along the way, my lady seemed different, more relaxed and cheerful. Maybe she was just glad to be with me again; but she basked in the attention of passers-by, who must have puzzled over her dirty, dishevelled state. It was hard to believe that this was the same woman who had squirmed with embarrassment as she stripped in the airport terminal less than a week ago.