The Resort

Day Two. Fittings

I was awake half an hour before dawn, and went out onto the balcony to sit and think and watch the sunrise. As an astronomer I'm at my best in darkness. ("I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night," wrote the poet Sarah Williams.) Yet I also love that lonely, peaceful time of morning, when the night's reign is just ending and the coming day is still but a pallid violet blush on the eastern horizon. The tranquil silence, broken only by the gentle roar of the waves on the beach and the distant haunting cries of seagulls, delighted and beguiled my senses, as the mellow onshore breeze caressed my skin.

The serenity couldn't last.

"Watcha doin'?"

My cousin was still half asleep, groggily rubbing his eyes with one hand and scratching his.... Rewind that image... My cousin was still half-asleep.

"I'm sorry if I woke you," I said.

"You're forgiven."

"No, I mean I really am sorry if I woke you."

"And as I said, you're forgiven."

"Oh, just forget it."

He dropped into the deck chair beside me, and as if in sympathy with the dimming of my mood, a grey cloud drifted across the face of the sun. Soon it was raining steadily. Naturally I was disappointed; but it's daft, in a way, how you expect a tropical island to be warm and sunny and dry all the time.

By the time I had showered and fixed my hair, my aunt and uncle were also up and about. Rachel was busy making breakfast, since no one fancied a walk downtown in the drizzle and Richard was convinced that the two hotel restaurants would be crowded. As her reward and compensation (because he had pledged that she wouldn't have to cook for the first few days), Richard tied her to the chair to feed her. She loves that (and who doesn't?). They were behaving like naughty little kids, as he contrived to smear all of her face and most of her upper body (and some parts lower) in mess and mush. So much for all those "Don't play with your food" reproaches you get from your elders. He then hauled her off, still bound hand and feet, to the bathroom. Daniel and I didn't hear anything more, except for a few shrieks and squeals, for the next half-hour.

It's nice that they are still so lovey-dovey. They have been married six years. They don't have kids and they're very much career-focused. As is the whole family. Rachel is my mother's half-sister, ten years younger. (Grandpa Davis remarried after Grandma died, a few years before I was born.) In between them is Jane, my mother's full sister and procreator of Daniel (who is a year and a half my junior). Grandpa was away from home much of the time, running his various business enterprises; but when he passed away he left his three daughters a substantial inheritance. One was a controlling interest in the Aranea Island Resort.

I've always known it was not your run-of-the-mill holiday destination; but the family maintained a low profile in the company and for a long time none of us visited the island. However, I was enthralled, enchanted and excited by the place and its theme. I've always had tie-up fantasies, and wasn't really surprised to learn that the passion is in my genes. So when Rachel and Richard announced that they were moving to Aranea, I applied for a Park Ranger position. It was an impulsive decision, but on discovering that I could continue my university studies I made the commitment.

The Rangers are responsible for managing the island's natural resources and tourist facilities, preserving the environment and protecting the fauna and flora, organizing tours, disseminating advice and information, and guiding bushwalking and camping expeditions into the wilderness. During the interview part of my application process, my credentials in astronomy piqued the panel's interest, since there is a need for qualified personnel to maintain the local observatory and conduct "stargazing" seminars.

So this is the first time any of us have been on the island. Most of the staff shouldn't recognize us. We intend to fit in without fuss and not take advantage of our family connection. Rachel and Richard have come here to do regular jobs, not run the show. And I'm sure it was not a factor when my application was accepted. Of course the weak link in this egalitarian

modus operandi

is my uncooperative cousin; but he isn't staying on past our orientation period.

Anyway, here we are.

Trying to remain positive about a weather change for the better, I put on my Daisy Mae shorts and cherry print halter top. Daniel emerged from his bedroom in his most eye-catching faux-punk raiment. Rachel who had rejoined us (in a cute little blue and yellow polka dot sundress) and I just shook our heads in unison. However, we didn't have time for anything else because there was a knock on the door. Richard answered and Kate entered.

She looked dishevelled, in an attractive way, her hair slicked down by the rain with strands plastered to her cheeks and forehead, her sarong clinging to her curves, beads of water glistening on her bare shoulders. Daniel was entranced, and Richard also gave in to the lingering gaze. She allowed them a few seconds, and then treated us to one of her dazzling smiles. She promised us that the deluge would soon be over.

"So what's on the agenda?" Daniel asked.

Although we have been assured that we will have plenty of time this week for touristy stuff, we do have some obligations and appointments. So Kate laid out a rough schedule -- for this morning, a trip to the Oasis for our fittings.

Richard said, "Are we ready then?" and we all turned again to our hostess. Yet instead of moving towards the door, she shifted closer to my cousin, saying nothing but performing a little curtsy and then a slow whirl to face away from him. She placed her hands behind her back. Richard chuckled softly, waiting for Daniel to respond. It took him a couple of seconds.

I'm sure he understood at once what was expected of him, but I guess Kate's gesture took him by surprise. Still, when he saw that we were watching his reaction he focused on his task. He drew the insides of her wrists together, trying to be gentle but firm as he fumbled with the miniature padlock to clamp it over both her bracelets. She gasped as he wrenched and twisted her arms behind her, but she said nothing. The problem was that he was attempting to keep them straight, while she kept bending her elbows. Daniel's approach made it easier for him to manoeuvre the lock into position, whereas Kate was trying to ease the stress. Eventually, of course, she gave in, but while it lasted it was an interesting contest of wills. She is obviously used to getting at least some cooperation from the guy who's binding her, whereas my contrarian kinsman is accustomed to having it all his own way.

Finally done, Daniel stepped back to inspect his handiwork. Kate gritted her teeth for a few seconds and then smiled. She wiggled her hands and flexed her arms as if to make sure or show that she was properly shackled. The tension on her shoulders and chest created by the tight cuffing put an additional strain on the front of her already taut sarong and especially on the knot nestled between her breasts. It created an appealing effect, but I don't think there was much more than friction working against the outward thrust of her torso and the downward pull of gravity to hold her dress in place and prevent

décolleté

becoming

seins nus

.

Daniel was almost salivating. He hasn't had many opportunities to shackle a beautiful woman, let alone one so decoratively close to bursting out of her top.

Meanwhile, Richard had begun tying Rachel's hands with the leather strap, in front rather than behind her back; and when Daniel was confident that Kate was secured he did the same for me. I was wondering why, unlike Kate, we were being bound with our hands in front, until Richard summoned Kate to his side and hitched Rachel's wrists to hers with a short piece of cord braided with burgundy and teal, the signature colours on the resort logo. I was then added, with Daniel attaching my wrists, so that Rachel and I were positioned side by side, to the rear of Kate. My cousin wanted to complete the job with blindfolds, but my uncle vetoed that. He said the paths were too slippery from the rain. (I think Richard took his cue from Kate, who had subtly shaken her head.)

And so we set off, with Kate in front, Rachel and me behind. We no doubt looked a cute threesome as we went downstairs, through the lobby and out onto the hotel driveway. But we were linked so closely together that it was difficult to see the ground in front even with our sight, and the road was indeed slick and treacherous. If Rachel and I drew back to get a better view of what lay ahead, this dragged Kate's arms upwards and she was forced to bend forward in order to alleviate the pressure on her back and shoulders, which simply pulled us in close once more. It became like a little dance, and got quite frustrating and fatiguing. I heard Daniel laughing at us, off to one side, and shot him a quick vengeful glare. He didn't seem at all perturbed.

On the other hand, Kate's prediction and my optimism had been spot on. The rain had ceased, and as we started down the slope, sunlight began to push through the clouds and they quickly dispersed.

At the bottom of the hill, Daniel asked if it was now safe for us to be blindfolded, and Richard agreed. Naturally we weren't consulted, and Rachel seemed rather reluctant; but my cousin was already tying mine in place. He was so quick that I didn't have time to see what he was using before the darkness descended over my eyes; but from the dull red sliver at the bottom edge, I deduced that it was the scarf I'd worn yesterday. I also didn't get to see whether Rachel offered any resistance. If she did, she didn't make a sound.

Richard or Daniel (most likely the latter) must have been carrying a spare blindfold for Kate, because she said, "Yes, of course. I can give you the directions from memory."

She was as good as her word. "There's an intersection up ahead; we go left; we should be passing the fountain just about now; we'll need to veer to the right; we must be approaching the boulevard," and so on. We walked for at least half an hour, and in spite of my blindfold I could tell that we were moving in a generally south-westerly direction, because I could feel the warmth of the sun's rays on my back and left side. So it was pretty clear that we were heading for the Oasis. At first it was easy going, except that we bumped into the occasional pedestrian. Since I'm sure neither Richard nor Daniel would have deliberately allowed us to collide with anyone, the streets must have been congested. Oddly enough, however, apart from soft shuffling noises (which hinted that many of the passers-by were, like us, blindfolded), I heard very few voices, just the rustling of the wind in the trees, the far-off pounding of the waves on the reef and the doleful cries of the seabirds.

Once we had left the built-up area, the roadway became narrower and more uneven. Because Rachel and I were abreast of each other, it was impossible for both of us to keep on the path at the same time. So it would have been hazardous to let us proceed unsighted and unaided; but our menfolk were not yet ready to remove our blindfolds. Instead I felt Daniel's hand grasp my right arm, from behind, and as I was on Rachel's left, I realized that he was steadying and guiding both of us. Most likely Richard was doing the same for Kate. Nevertheless, we three were soon puffing and panting from the exertion, physical and mental, of maintaining our equilibrium on the corrugated track.

"How's it going?" Richard asked.

"Good," Rachel replied.

"Easy," I fibbed.

"No problems here," smart-aleck Daniel added.

"We're almost there," Kate said, and then "Oops!" (I don't know what happened to her.)

Near the end of our journey, Richard asked us to halt and move over to the side. I could hear feet scraping on the bitumen and the sound of air rasping though gags. A column of women was passing us, at least two dozen I estimated from the time it took for them to go by. There was a hesitancy in the footsteps which indicated they were bound and blindfolded, as well as gagged. Daniel later informed me that they were resort employees on their way to begin a shift in the Village. Now that's an interesting way to start your work day (and, I suppose, really not that much more onerous than sitting idly in traffic or standing in a crowded bus).

Only then did it really register in my mind what should have been obvious, that Kate was on duty at this time. I don't know if her being bound whenever practicable is part of the job description or one of the perks. But as with the waitresses in the restaurant, it spices up the routine parts of a working day. I'm hoping that applies to the Park Rangers.

When the strength of the breeze suddenly dropped and I started to hear faint echoes of our footsteps around us, I knew that we had entered the Oasis and were passing between the buildings. Kate instructed the guys to look for a place with a red awning and a small sign saying simply "Commissariat". Just a minute later we had arrived, and Daniel released us from our tethers. He kept us bound and blindfolded. Richard must have then taken Kate up to the entrance because I heard them talking. After a while they returned and we went inside. Our blindfolds were removed and I saw we were in a warehouse divided into sections by racks and stacks, containing all sorts of clothing and other paraphernalia.

We were greeted by a young man who had been lounging on a deck chair near the entrance reading a magazine. He looked vaguely familiar. Perhaps I had seen him during our tour through the Village yesterday. I found out later his name is Trent. He saw us and quickly shot to his feet. He acknowledged us with a perfunctory nod but became more salutary under Kate's censorious gaze.

(I am finding this very intriguing, the study in contrasts which Aranea Island provides. Here was Kate, in a next-to-nothing outfit clinging parlously to her torso under the strain of her arms pinioned behind her back, matter-of-factly giving orders to this guy who, fully dressed and unrestrained, listened and nodded dutifully. It's a fascinating conjunction, with so much symbolism and portent. Life here is going to be interesting.)

She dismissed Trent with a curt tip of the head and turned back to us.

"Let's start by getting you measured up for your uniform."

Richard untied Rachel's hands and Daniel untied mine. Then my uncle and cousin went over to Trent and walked off with him, while Rachel and I followed Kate down one of the aisles.

A young woman came out from behind the tiers of shelving and introduced herself as Sandra. Like Kate she is slim, shapely and very pretty, though somewhat taller, with strawberry blonde hair and a light sprinkling of freckles. Instead of Kate's full-length sarong, she was dressed in a short, fuchsia-coloured pāreu with a bright floral bikini; but like Kate (and all female employees, of course) she wore the collar, bracelets and anklets. She guided me to the "dressing room" which is really just a partitioned-off corner. She told me to undress, and although I felt self-conscious at being naked in front of a stranger, she and Kate, who had come in after us, very quickly put me at ease. For instance, when she measured my bust and announced my size as an A cup, she could see me about to protest and pre-empted my objection with a cheery "Let's call it a B minus." I had to laugh.

Rachel joined us and casually stripped. Small but perfectly proportioned, with pixie-cut copper-brown hair and sparkling sea-green eyes, she has the sublime self-confidence of a gorgeous woman. We tried on our outfits. There are several -- for day and night duty, summer and winter (or what here passes for winter), formal and casual. We were fitted for three styles of bikinis, plus a variety of sarongs and skirts and a cool weather wrap, and Rachel for two one-piece swimsuits. (My Ranger uniform will not be available for a couple of days.) Ours are just one of a dozen different styles, each of the four staff departments and sections having its own. Yet despite the variety, no one can accuse Aranea Island women of being overdressed. It's not exactly the sort of uniform I'm used to wearing, but not many girls get to wear a bikini on the job every day!

There's a rather complex and convoluted set of rules for what's worn when and where and why. For instance, two entire pages in the staff handbook are devoted to just the sarong. As a pāreu, you must wear it low on the hip, with the hemline not below mid-thigh. The manual even spells out when it's to be fastened in front and when the knot should be tied on the hip to expose one thigh (always the left leg -- it's that specific). It makes for a very sexy look, but as I've already seen it's not easy to keep on, especially when you're moving about a lot. So it's a bit daunting, especially since as a strapless dress it's worn without a bra. Sandra showed us how to fit the knot snugly in the cleavage to give our boobs maximum exposure without full disclosure. Kate watched us during the fittings but couldn't be of assistance because her hands were still locked behind her back.

After my shoe size was taken, Sandra packed our uniforms into a box for delivery to the hotel, along with copies of the handbook. When we emerged, our menfolk were waiting for us, looking bored and impatient, since Richard's fittings had taken just a couple of minutes. But of course the rules are a lot less complicated for male resort staff, because they have just the one basic, year-round, day-and-night set -- trousers and shirt and a weather-proof jacket. So it's funny that the sex wearing by far the lesser amount of clothing has by far the greater number of regulations governing how it's to be worn.

We then followed Kate to another section of the room. As we rounded the corner of one of the floor-to-ceiling shelf stacks, what I beheld momentarily took my breath away. Arrayed before my eyes were rack after rack, row after row of bondage tools, toys, accessories and appurtenances, in glittering gold, sparkling silver, glistening black, lurid red, shocking pink, flamboyant purple. The spectacle was at once captivating and intimidating.

Sandra, who had trailed along behind, gave us a minute to take in the sight. Rachel and Richard appeared unfazed, or at least inscrutable, with just raised eyebrows. Daniel was staring wide-eyed and open-mouthed. Sandra produced her measuring tape to determine Rachel's and my neck, wrist and ankle sizes. She consulted her inventory, and then fetched four items from one of the shelves.

"Try these on," she said. "You're expected to wear your collar at all times when you're on duty, and the choker off-duty whenever you're in public."

The collar is black, three fingers wide, made of stiff leather and rather heavy. It fits snugly without being too constricting, and is fastened in place with a buckle and tiny padlock at the back. On the front is a small tether ring, and Sandra mentioned that a leash can be attached to the choker as well. (Daniel's eyes lit up, even more, when he heard that. I have the feeling this feature will be getting plenty of use in the near future.). The choker is simmer and made of soft leather, burgundy in colour and secured with three press studs.

Rachel frowned as she studied the collar, turning it over and over before putting it around her neck. She deftly locked it into place, but when I tried on mine I fumbled and Kate secured it for me. She assured us that for safety reasons the clasp is made of brittle plastic which can be easily broken, by twisting it sharply. Sandra demonstrated with her own. The padlock snapped cleanly. She then retrieved a new one from the shelf. I'm not really sure why that precautionary feature is required, and it kind of bothers me. After all, what happens on this island that an easy-to-remove collar is

de rigueur

? And of course it only works for the wearer if her hands aren't restrained.