profane expletive
]?" moment. Even as he flashed a face-saving grin and bounded into the centre of the U, he flung an "I will get you for this" look that blazed straight past me towards Wendy.
We went through a few basic ties. The funny thing is, despite having always been on the receiving end, I assumed it would be relatively easy to reverse the process; but instead I fumbled and bungled, and managed to mangle and mutilate some perfectly innocent and inoffensive knots. It's like trying to reverse engineer a complicated piece of machinery while blindfolded. But it isn't just about skill, it is also about attitude. You have to prepare yourself mentally as well as physically for a tie-up, and there's no logical reason why it should be any different when you're the one doing the tying. I just hadn't thought about it like that, and I have to give my cousin and all the other guys some overdue credit. From now on when I'm being bound, I will have an appreciation of what it involves to be the one applying the ropes.
Brendan was, I also have to say, very patient with my inexperience. He was clearly ill at ease, just as it felt weird and a little unsettling for me. But he quickly gave up on his passive resistance, which was a good thing because he is a lot stronger than me and by flexing his muscles and stiffening his limbs he could have made my task impossible. So while I could tell he was glad when his ordeal was over, I had discovered that it can be nearly as much fun to be doing the tying as being tied -- emphasis on "nearly".
In the end, everyone got a turn at the role reversal, if only for a brief time. Nevertheless, we all felt palpable relief when the clattering of raindrops on the rooftop began to slacken and eventually ceased altogether. Laura proclaimed that the sky was clearing from the west, and we all cheered. Even though the prospect of how I would be spending most of the day was rather daunting, there was the thrill of anticipation, and also the good feeling of soon being on the right and proper side of the ropes. And sure enough, we went back to our tents to disassemble the cots, fold up the sleeping bags and deposit our packs in front of the hall. (We left the tents standing for the next party of trekkers. But we never passed them on the hike home, so obviously they didn't set out today.) Then we girls were ordered to fall into line. We applied more layers of sunscreen and insect repellent to our exposed parts. We shivered a bit in the cool, damp air, and once again I felt some irrational resentment of the males and their cosy coverings.
I was wondering how the guy's few minutes tied up would affect the treatment of their prisoners, who were to be bound for most of the day. Indeed they were less gentle than they'd been yesterday. In addition to trussing our wrists behind our backs, they applied elbow ties and then proceeded with chest harnesses. This time it was Tim who claimed me, as well as Jessica while James busied himself elsewhere. I didn't see which girls Blondie worked on. I tried not to smile as Tim looped the cord between and around my breasts several times, trying to minimize actually touching them. I took a peek when he began on Jessica's outstanding bare boobs. He looked more confident; and she didn't appear embarrassed by her upstanding nipples.
I began to really wonder what we were in for as we were rearranged into pairs of roughly equal height. My partner was about my size and physique, with a pixie face, pigtails and a voice even squeakier than mine. We were told to stand two arm-lengths from each other, all facing in the same direction. I expected that we would be tethered in our pairs. Instead, two long wooden poles were placed on our shoulders to connect us, held in place with yokes of rope anchored to our chest harnesses. The poles where they rested on our bare shoulders were padded to prevent chafing and slipping. I had already figured out the purpose, besides humiliation, when three or four backpacks and a couple of other heavier sacks were suspended from the poles between us. (I was in the lead position of our pair, so I couldn't see my own load, but could see the ones in front.) It was a similar set-up to porters hauling baggage and supplies in old safari movies. I don't know why we had to carry the bags and equipment back from the camp instead of by boat, but I guess they wanted to make the homeward journey even more interesting and challenging than the outbound trek. It was.
It turned out to be a two-man job and Blondie joined Tim in harnessing my partner and me in our rig. He approached with a creepily genial "Hello again" expression on his otherwise beatific face.
When they were done, the girl behind me called out to me, "I'm Gabrielle."
"Sarah," I replied. "This will be fun."
"Looking forward to it."
I couldn't turn around or even look back, so I don't know if Gabrielle and I got off easier in terms of weight because we are so small. Probably not -- which made me happy. It would show how tough the minikins can be.
I was a little startled when Laura and Wendy were hitched at the front of the column, bound and yoked just like the rest of us. Yesterday they had their hands tied in front but were otherwise unencumbered. At first I thought this change might be revenge for the gender-switching bondage session; but it would still have to be consensual, and more likely it was routine. No doubt Suzi and Sabrina brought up the rear. While Brendan, still in his OC role, mustered the guys for a briefing, one of the other two Rangers stationed himself at the front of the line, and I imagine his colleague was posterior.
Brendan gave his instructions to the guys. He told them to be especially vigilant with us, making sure we didn't get into any serious difficulty or become exhausted carrying our loads. He didn't say anything that was not self-evident, but it was reassuring because it meant I could relax, mentally if not physically, and enjoy my impending ordeal.
The preparations took at last half an hour, during which time patches of blue and shafts of gold were starting to break up the clouds. At last we were urged forward and began our march back up the track. We continued to climb towards the head of Pioneer Valley, watching the sun rise over the eastern rim of Starfish Bay but mostly watching our steps. As the trail steepened, it became ever greasier from the recent drenching, and even more so than yesterday I found it impossible to keep a firm traction. The sway of our dangling loads made it extra hard to maintain our balance. (However they had been anchored in place so they didn't slide along the poles.) But despite the OC's admonitions, we didn't get much assistance, or for that matter sympathy, from our escorts. Blondie accompanied Gabrielle and me, but he seemed totally unmindful of our plight. Every time one of us skidded or slipped, she pulled the other down with her. So twenty-nine women spent the next few hours in a sort of weird conga line dance, slurping through the mud, bobbing up and down, lurching this way and that, pitching back and forward, wobbling and wallowing.
Gabrielle lost her footing more than I did, presumably because her vision was hampered by our loads. However, being in front was no easier. When she stumbled, I was jerked backwards. The yoke was secured in a fashion that prevented me from choking, but the rigidity of the poles connecting us caused me to topple sideways. That's the only time that Blondie came to my rescue, to help me to my feet -- impossible to do with my arms pinioned behind me, with the weight of our baggage and without assistance. The women in front of us fared no better.
Daniel has kindly reminded me of how ridiculous we looked. Some guys will maintain that there is nothing sexier than the sight of a skimpily clad girl bound and harnessed, puffing and panting and muddied to boot; but I felt about as sexy as... well, as someone who's slathered in slime and lathered in sweat. Luckily for us, the mire was so deep and glutinous that we didn't sustain any major injuries, although when I saw myself for the first time later on, I found out just what a treat for the eyes I was, caked in a thick layer of red and brown, foul-smelling goo. My arms and legs ended up covered in tiny scratches, and making things worse, the departing rain had brought out hordes of ravening insects -- even more numerous than yesterday's dive-bombing squadrons -- who assailed my unprotected limbs without mercy, utterly contemptuous of or completely oblivious to the repellent. The stinky mud coating offered some defence -- not my preferred form, but moderately effective. However, I was afraid that leaches would come oozing out of the sludge and attach themselves disgustingly to my legs. Still despite (or maybe because of) the torments, this new trek was an exciting challenge, and while fun may not be the correct term, it was anything but boring. And I'm proud to have endured it.
We had been tramping, slowed by our burdens and pausing for rests and drinks, for what must have been two hours before we finally passed over the crest of the ridge and onto the high ground above Rainbow Bay. We'd completed just under a third of our journey. The track levelled out but became more winding. The gruelling monotony returned as we continued our slog around Granite Peak. Eventually we stopped for a longer respite, which included a light lunch. Our carry poles remained in place, which made it hard to get any actual rest. On the other hand, the guys untied our elbows and loosened the ropes around our breasts, which was a mighty relief. None of the women had said a word. We were focusing on conserving energy, but also afraid we might be gagged. But of course that fear was unreasonable. The men were not going to impede our breathing. Of course, since we were bearing their backpacks as well as our own and other luggage, I felt no gratitude.
We retraced our steps from yesterday to circuit the grand monolith, and began the descent towards Resort Bay. It was downhill from there, but with fatigue having long since set in, the homeward leg was no less arduous. Once again I had the call of nature to worry about. But reprieve came when, somewhere along the track, we stopped in what must have been a picnic area, because one of the guys spoke of a concrete toilet block. But we didn't use it, because it would have taken too long to unhitch us from our harnesses and then put them back in place. So instead we were taken into the nearby scrub and assisted by the four female Rangers, whose hands were freed but who remained coupled. They were so skilled at this task that I knew it wasn't their first time. Nevertheless, I felt especially degraded, squatting in the undergrowth in my yoke, Gabrielle behind me getting a full view of my bare backside as I relieved myself. It was also humiliating to be providing another ludicrous spectacle for the males. (Being led to our place of concealment behind the shrubbery, that is; not the actual exudations, of course.) One of them joked that we were being environmentally friendly by fertilizing the forest, but no one responded. I think most of the guys felt embarrassed for us. And that made me feel good, oddly enough, as if somehow it gave us the moral high ground. (It's one of the perks of bondage on the receiving end, being able to reverse the "power dynamic" even as you are being subjugated and humiliated...
because
you are being subjugated and humiliated.)
While we still had the great stone parapet of Granite Peak right up against the left edge of the track, I noticed that our route was not the exact reverse of yesterday's. We continued to trudge directly eastwards long after we should have altered course and headed due south. As a result, it was mid-afternoon and we were still high up on the mountain. We had traversed the entire southern flank of the Peak, ending up well past the town, and were standing on the lip of a precipitous ridge looking out over the entire southern and eastern sides of the island. The bay is pretty, but the view to our left was truly amazing. The east coast is dominated by a broad, deeply indented peninsula blanketed by an impenetrable mantle of tropical rainforest and looking, from our vantage point, like a gargantuan green claw. The ridge branches into several smaller wrinkles some distance in front of where we stood, and one of these terminates in a boulder field, the only break in the dense jungle canopy, littered with rocks some of which must have been as big as houses. It is an unforgettable scene.
The rest of the trek home was a tedious anticlimax. As we neared the Ranger station the sun was settling on the western headland flanking Resort Bay. We had been on the move for around seven hours. I had pains all over and my legs were shaky; but I was feeling elated and invigorated. Once again we of the weaker sex had proved our toughness and resilience. Of course we received some strange looks from a lot of spectators as we tramped past fastened in our harnesses toting our loads and covered head to foot in gunk.
After another trip to the toilet, this time unbound, we reconvened for a ceremony in which Laura commended us girls for our strength and stamina and the males for... something. (I refused to listen.) We showed our appreciation to the Rangers with a hearty round of applause.
I said farewell to Blondie and the other girls I had gotten to know and would probably not see again. I exchanged "See you soon" good-byes with Tim and Amanda, David and Jane.
Things went back to normal... well, normal for the Aranea Resort. Most of the women were soon bound once more to be led away. After he'd shackled his wife, James stripped off Jessica's g-string and tied it around her throat to use as a short leash. I was surprised when Zoë was greeted by a young man, who kissed her then bound, gagged and blindfolded her. Five women whom I hadn't realized were a group were lined up by two of the males and joined by a tether which ran from loops around their necks and down between their legs and which, when drawn taut, served as a very snug-fitting shared crotch-rope.
