The Resort

Day Four. Lessons

Last night I slept fitfully, still hyped up from the mystery tour. But I awoke feeling wonderful. Unlike yesterday morning there was no sign of rain, so I went for a walk. There's a lookout point on the hill directly behind the hotel, and from there I witnessed the day's very first light. A gentle breeze drifted across the waters of the bay. From one corner of the beach, a flock of gulls rose to greet the sun as it crept over the ridge into a cloudless sky. Somewhere in the distance I could hear the clang-clank of trash bins being emptied and the swish-whoosh of a hose on pavement -- not the most romantic dawn chorus, but sounds of the town coming to life.

By the time I returned to our suite, Rachel and Richard were up and about, and I was assigned the chore of rousing my cousin. He looked up at me through droopy eyelids. "New rule," he said with a snarky snarl. "When you come in here you wear your blindfold. No female should set eyes..."

At that point I was gone.

We had only a hazy idea of what was on the agenda for today, but as we were deciding where to have breakfast, we got a call from Kate, asking us to meet her in the lobby at nine o'clock. She didn't say anything more, and I don't know if she was being deliberately vague. The timetable outline we'd been given said only that we would be attending a workshop of some kind, and Kate apparently wanted to keep it a surprise until the last moment. But Rachel and I were instructed to wear our collars. I was intrigued.

Because it was still quite early, we ate an unhurried meal in one of the open-air cafeterias on the beachfront, and returned to the hotel just in time to see Kate pull up in her little buggy. Without explanation, she took us on a short drive down the hill to a building near the centre of the Village. There was a sign over the entrance, "Rope Riggers". Daniel made a predictable joke about the name, and Kate revealed that the place used to be the headquarters of the now defunct Aranea Island Yacht Club.

She ushered us into the lobby, where a substantial crowd had gathered, soon growing to fifty or more people. Included was the party of six who'd been on our plane, as well as two of the honeymooning couples. Everyone had the look, nervous but excitedly impatient, that you see on, for example, the faces of people queuing for an especially awesome rollercoaster ride. They had begun to assemble in two groups in front of notice boards announcing "Advanced" and "Basic". By now we had a good idea of what was going on, what sort of workshop this was to be.

We signed in at the registration desk. We found that Rachel and Richard had been booked into the advanced course, while Daniel and I were assigned to the basic class. I wasn't offended because the two groups were approximately equal in size and appeared to have been sorted by age rather than experience. After a couple of minutes we were marshalled by a woman who announced herself as Sue. She was tall, blonde, attractive and athletic. She wore a leotard version of the staff uniform without the sarong, and the collar without the bracelets and anklets. That prompted me to look around at the other girls. Only two besides myself were wearing the collar, the signature of permanent residents. Of course, it was impossible to tell who among the males was a resident, except for a guy of about my age standing beside one of the collared girls. These were alike enough to be brother and sister. In fact, they could have been twins.

Sue led us upstairs, to a spacious hall on the second floor. It had been cleared of all furniture except for a row of tables along one wall which were laden with all sorts of gadgets and paraphernalia, including mounds of coiled ropes, heaps of silk or satin material and, most ominously, a bundle of bamboo poles. The floor was spread with soft canvas mats which were being arranged by a rather nondescript, bored-looking guy whom I judged to be somewhere between Sue's age and mine.

"That's Brad," Sue explained. "Say hello, Brad," she called to him.

Brad looked up from his chore and nodded curtly. He didn't say hello.

Sue waved a hand in the direction of one of the tables. "This way, girls."

On it was a multi-coloured stack of Lycra, camisole-style leotards. We had to sort through the pile to each find a suitable size. Because I'm smaller than average, the best I could get was in a rather hideous mustard yellow, saved from terminal ugliness by sparkly emerald trim and a little embroidered butterfly on each breast. Meanwhile, Brad led the males outside so we could change.

"Shoes as well, please girls, and any jewellery," Sue instructed, and when we were ready, she called out to Brad, and the guys filed back into the room. Naturally they gave us, in our leotards, the once-over, even if many of us were actually wearing somewhat more than we had before the change.

Sue clapped her hands and called for us to give her our full concentration. She talked for a couple of minutes, briefly outlining what was on the program. She had an easy-going, confident, sympathetic manner that was very reassuring, and a droll wit. She often made Brad the butt of her little jokes, and he took it with casual good humour. It was their way of breaking the ice, and they worked well as a team. I suspect that the standoffish attitude was part of his "Mr Cool" persona.

Sue arranged us into male-female pairs. These were basically random, but with a plan. For example, boy-girlfriend and husband-wife couples were separated, as were the brother and sister.

Now I should point out that there is no petty prejudice in the Aranea Resort. Your sexual orientation and gender identity are your own business. There are lesbian couples, and there are very likely transgender people among the staff and guests. But the theme of this place is specific -- female bondage. The sex ratio was supposed to be even, but apparently one of the girls had pulled out and there was a guy left over. Sue claimed Steven for herself, filling a role I assume is normally Brad's (though he didn't seem to mind). Steven was looking a little lost and even surly, until she went to him, put her arm around his shoulders and asked in a kittenish voice if he would be her partner. He was won over. His churlish expression cracked into a sheepish smile and then twisted into a wolfish grin, and we all cheered. Steven turned out to be quite a character, and I don't know what had been bugging him earlier besides being the odd man out. (Maybe it had to do with the girl who withdrew from the class.)

Sue did a good job of organizing us quickly. Daniel was partnered with one of the other collared girls. She was about my age but half-a-head taller than my cousin. At first she looked down at him -- literally and figuratively -- with ill-concealed disdain; but as it transpired they had a good chemistry together. And now, saving the best for last... my partner was Matthew. He is quite good-looking, with dark eyes and tussled brown hair, and is very well-mannered. He seemed shy at first, but we connected, and it was not long before we were like the best of friends.

Sue began by announcing that the workshop would be divided into three two-hour sessions during the daytime and a three-hour class in the evening. The first was called "Learning the Basics" and that's what it was -- nothing really new, more of a warm-up. We did try out some interesting techniques and picked up a few handy hints about stuff like the best materials to use in different circumstances: rope, tape, that sort of thing. Sue reminded the males that whenever possible they should wind or wrap the cord around several times, not just to make the binding more secure but to spread the pressure and prevent damage to the skin.

"You should always be thinking of her needs, not just your wants," she admonished.

She finished her short lecture with the standard "We're here to learn but also to have fun." Then she led us girls in a fifteen minute drill of calisthenics and yoga. The guys were invited to join in, but only a couple took up the challenge, and even they dropped out quickly. I thought that was rather wimpy, and if it had been my choice I would have made them participate; but I guess the actual reason they gave up was that it allowed them the opportunity to stand back and enjoy at their leisure the sight of us jigging and bobbing, sweating and puffing and straining in our snug little leotards.

Sue explained (although I don't think it really needs explaining) that loosening up is the best way to prepare yourself, physically and mentally, for a tie-up session. It helps you to relax when under stress and also to become more flexible. This makes for a better experience at both ends of the ropes. She also reminded us that a rigorous workout teaches you the discipline that will help you to focus your mind and immerse yourself in your bondage, which allows you and your partner not just to prolong the experience but to get the maximum pleasure and fulfilment out of it.

She used words like "holistic" and "fusion" to emphasize how all the different elements of good bondage should come together. In fact, she described the bondage experience as being like a spiritual awakening. The ropes deny you the ability to move in the world around you. Your blindfold deprives you of one sensation while stimulating others, and your gag prevents communication. But when you're cut off from the world, with your entire existence shrunken down to the confines of your bonds, your isolation becomes a connection to your inner being, as you draw on your own resources of willpower and endurance; while at the same time you are intimately bound to your partner, not physically by the rope but emotionally by your dependence on him. You discover strength in your submission, power in your vulnerability, self-reliance in your helplessness, sensuality in your suffering, ecstasy in your agony, joy in your shame, intense self-awareness in your sensory deprivation. This is the paradox that makes your bondage so excruciating and so exhilarating -- the experience of being imprisoned and yet liberated, feeling incredible arousal and unbelievable serenity.

(I can't quite remember now how much of this came directly from Sue and how much is my interpretation and interpolation of what she said. She didn't deliver all the information as a seamless whole but interspersed with demonstrations of the various positions and techniques. And though she tried to keep it pitched at a level her audience could understand, a lot of it fell on deaf ears. In any event, this is a journal entry, not a dissertation, so I'll get back on topic, lest I be writing all night to get finished.)

The preliminary activities also included the guys giving us girls a back and neck massage. Most of them were at best half-hearted about this, being impatient to get on with the bondage; but Sue made them take it seriously. It's good preparation for both partners. "You must exercise patience and self-discipline," she told the guys. "It makes it more enjoyable for the both of you, and you will be able to tie her up for longer, and more strictly, if she's relaxed and comfortable." That last bit, at least, got them motivated.

As for me, I revelled in my rubdown. Matthew was gentle and very thorough, even as some of the males were totally missing the point Sue had been making. I have to admit that Daniel was doing a good job with his partner. As obnoxious and obstreperous as he can be at times, at others he really does come through.

After that, we got down to the practical. The session was divided into segments, each of which commenced with Sue demonstrating some technique and position -- or rather, Steven demonstrated on her, while she coached him and us. Brad provided some extra guidance, but mostly he stood off to the side observing, with a carefully crafted expression of blasé detachment. It was rather amusing, watching our teacher instructing her partner, in such a matter-of-fact manner, on how she was to be tied up, while she was being tied, and looking up from her own contorted tangle of trussed limbs to follow our progress as the guys copied Steven's moves. Every so often her deadpan delivery would be interrupted by a grunt or a groan or a squeak or a heavy sigh, when he hauled extra hard on the rope or wrenched her arms ferociously behind her or arched her body backwards in a too-stringent hog-tie, or when the intensity of the moment simply got too much for her to keep bottled up inside.

We began with rudimentary hands-in-front and simple behind-the-back, crossed-wrist ties. We used supple nylon cord that felt like it had been treated with softener so it wasn't abrasive and didn't chafe or burn the skin. And while we were going through the essentials, it surprised me that many of the guys didn't have much of a grasp of the fundamentals, such as cinching, especially when it came to binding our ankles. Even though Matthew was more adept than some I saw, I could have wriggled or kicked free of some of the ties in seconds flat. Of course, I've had a lot of practice. And although he was a bit too tentative when it came to properly tightening the ropes, I figured it wasn't my job to tell him; but it did become rather frustrating, knowing how I could escape with just a small effort. (However, I was wrong. Sue reminded us "Don't be afraid to tell him 'Tighter, harder' if that's what you want.")

When we came to the more rigorous ties, Sue first put the males through a few simple familiarizing exercises, like having them attempt to get their elbows to touch behind their backs and trying out the reverse prayer position. Even without the extra stringency of rope, most were quite shocked at how difficult it can be, and by the sort of stress it puts on your shoulder blades in particular. Most gave up after a minute or so, and Sue reminded them that we girls might be tied in these positions for hours! If nothing else, the guys learnt just how tough the so-called "weaker sex" really is, and maybe some of then became a little more appreciative of what we can put up with.

At the same time Sue was never patronizing, and at times her delivery was quite risqué, like when she advised the men to tie our feet with ankles crossed, so the knees can be spread apart. Most of the girls giggled at that, but I don't think many of their partners got it. To his credit, Matthew did -- or at least he gave the appearance. Perhaps he was just being polite, which in a way makes it funnier.

Towards the end of the first session we got into even more arduous poses and postures. We practised four in particular. First was the classic hog-tie, which has enough variations that it can always feel fresh and exciting. We began with a straightforward wrists bound to ankles, with the girl lying belly down, flat on the floor. Then we advanced to a shoulder harness to arch the body backwards. Although uncomfortable, it looks more painful than it actually is, and many of the guys winced as they wrenched us into position.

Next came the ever popular elbow tie. It's something I'm familiar enough with, but several of the other girls were left gaping and gasping. We started with a fairly loose binding, which was gradually tightened until, at least in some cases, our elbows came close to contact. Daniel's partner had supple enough limbs that they went all the way to touching, which was impressive to see. Of course, as we know the major attraction is not that it totally immobilizes your arms, but rather the ornamentally enhancing effect it has on your chest. By hauling back on your shoulders it forces your boobs outwards; and for the likes of myself, not generously endowed in that department, the enforced posture is rather flattering. On the other hand, the structural integrity of our figure-flaunting leotards was put to the ultimate test and I don't know how they held together... mostly a matter of luck, I surmise.

After the males were done admiring their ropemanship, we progressed to the lotus technique. This is where your legs, with ankles crossed, are drawn up folded to your chest, and you are forced to bend forward at the waist until your shoulders are between your knees and your chin almost touches your heels. A rope is looped behind your neck (not all the way around, so you don't get throttled) and tethered to your ankles to keep you restrained in your balled-up position. With your hands still bound behind your back, this is a very effective arrangement because you're completely helpless, unable to move anything -- except maybe wiggle your fingers and toes. It's also very taxing on your muscles and joints.

Matthew crouched beside me, gently stroking my back and shoulders. In my heightened state of receptiveness, the tickle of his fingernails gliding deliciously across my bare skin made me shiver. I don't think he realized how arousing his touch was, until the goosebumps rose on my quivering flesh.

"Are you okay?" he whispered.

"Of course I am, silly," I whispered back, between my puffing and panting. I reminded him of the old formula, "If it ain't tight, it ain't right." He chuckled, as if he'd never heard it before.

We finished the morning lesson with a strappado. It was a good thing that we ended with this, because after nearly two hours of being tied up and tied down in all sorts of ways, I was pretty much exhausted, and this is one of the ultimate challenges. Because there were no overhead beams for the rigging, we (the girls) had to kneel to do it properly. Matthew tied one end of the suspension rope around my bound wrists and, standing with his arm stretched above his head, hauled upwards until my arms were pulled up vertically behind my back and I was forced to lean forward until my forehead almost touched the mat. It would have been a lot harder on me if he'd had the strength to lift me all the way off my knees. So it really is the ultimate in (acceptable) bondage. Even Sue was moaning.

We only had to hold the position for a few minutes, but by then my arms and shoulders felt like they were on fire. The purpose of the demonstration, Sue explained, was actually to show us that this is not the sort of thing we should try without supervision, at least not until we're more experienced. As I rubbed my poor aching muscles, I could only agree.

The break for lunch was welcome, but the adrenaline was still flowing, so mostly we paced about, trying to work off some of our nervous energy. Matthew and I got to chat a while. He was duly impressed to learn that I will be not just a resident but a Park Ranger. This is his fifth day on the island. He's staying for two weeks, with his sister Beth, who is two years older. She had already made an impression in the room -- very pretty and shapely, and from what I could see a bit of a flirt. She had squeezed into a costume that was at least a size too small for her stature and it was hugging her curves and crevices with not much left to the imagination. She was matched with a rather nondescript young man and had a mildly distraught expression as she eyed a nearby pair, a small dark girl and a really handsome guy. And of course I leapt to the wrong conclusion.

I was intrigued that Daniel and his partner were still together and appeared to be really hitting it off. I think he had proved himself. We spoke briefly. Her name is Amanda and she's about to start work as a mechanic in the resort's maintenance department.

After the recess, the second class was called "R.E.S.P.E.C.T." I don't remember what the acronym stands for exactly, but it was self-explanatory -- all about respect (naturally), health, wellbeing, safety, "no means no", and so on. It didn't surprise me that this session included gags, because there are so many hygiene and safety issues involved. Each couple was given a ball gag, a bit gag, a ball-plug gag and a ring gag. I was reminded of how much I really, really hate the ring gag. Matthew, not unexpectedly and like most guys I know, prefers the ball-gag and said I looked "wicked" with it in place... which I choose to translate as "incredibly hot and super sexy." On the other hand, I confirmed my new favourite, the ball-plug. However, this one was not as quite as nice as the one I got the other day, because it wasn't tailor-made to fit. Still, it did its job.