Sari Bound

Copyright Oggbashan December 2009

The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.

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My sister Mary is the evil twin. She isn't really. She's playing the Evil Princess in our amateur Pantomime this Christmas. I'm playing the Good Princess. Much of the plot is about her efforts to supplant me in the hero's affections.

The director of the pantomime had chosen the script because he had identical twin sisters in his potential cast. In the final scene I'm supposed to marry the hero but as I am about to change into my wedding dress Mary ties me up and takes my place at the hero's side, intending to stay veiled until the ceremony is complete, but her evil plot is foiled at the last minute. The hero rescues me and we can wed as planned.

The name of the pantomime doesn't matter. The real plot doesn't matter either. The hero hadn't been cast yet. If the pantomime was to follow tradition, the hero would be a principal boy and therefore female. For some reason that we don't understand we have to be Indian Princesses and wear saris. I think it's only an excuse for some Bollywood style dancing by the ladies chorus and us.

As identical twins Mary and I are very close.

When she hurts, so do I. When I'm upset, so is she.

About three weeks before Christmas my boyfriend Ralph and I had a stupid row. It was about the family arrangements for Christmas. My parents expected me, and Ralph, to visit them on Christmas Day. His parents expected Ralph, and me, to be there. We should have discussed it calmly and rationally but both families were putting pressure on us and we argued until we said things we shouldn't have said.

Now I was miserable. Ralph was miserable. And because I was miserable, so was Mary even though she and her boyfriend Tony had avoided the family arrangements by booking a holiday abroad for Christmas.

The amateur dramatic society had appealed in the local paper for Indian-style clothing. As villainess and heroine, Mary and I had first choice of the donations. That afternoon we were alone at the society's clubhouse sorting through the large pile of saris, salwar kameezes and dupattas, long Indian scarves. Some of the clothes were exquisitely embroidered and heavy. Some were light and filmy, too translucent to wear on stage.

After a couple of hours Mary and I had found enough saris for the dress changes we needed, and the wedding sari that I should wear but Mary would wear instead.

"What are you going to wear, Jane, when I tie you up?" Mary asked suddenly.

"Does it matter?"

"It might. The tying needs to look effective but the hero has to get you out of it quickly. It wouldn't do if he undressed you as well as untying you. Some of these saris might slip, exposing more than you should..."

"I could wear a salwar kameez for that scene," I suggested.

"I can't remember if there was one in your size." Mary responded. "At least not one dressy enough for a Princess."

We sorted through the piles again. We had already separated saris from salwar kameezes so we had only one pile to check.

"I think that this one might do," I said, holding the heavy silk top up for Mary to see.

"Maybe. It has a long zip at the back. Would you have time to do that up?"

I tried. The top was really too large for me and made for a very tall woman. It fell beyond my feet. It would have to be shortened and taken in at the sides, but our wardrobe mistress could do those adjustments easily.

"How am I going to tie you up?" Mary asked. "With rope? With scarves? Some of these dupattas would make great bonds."

"Could the hero undo them quickly?"

We tried tying a couple of the dupattas. One slid every time I moved. Another locked in a tight knot. We nearly broke our fingernails undoing it.

"How about wrapping me in a sari?"

"That might work, Jane. The hero could stand you up and spin you round to unravel you."

I stripped to my bra and panties. On stage I would be wearing a jewelled top and harem pants. Bra and panties were the closest approximation.

At first we were unsuccessful. The first sari wouldn't stay in place. The next one we tried was made of heavy silk. Mary tied one end around my ankles as I stood still. She pulled each layer of silk tight as she wound it around me. She wrapped my arms against my sides. She took the other end over one of my shoulders, down below my breasts, and tied the edges behind my back.

"This will help," she said, picking up the salwar kameez top. She tossed it over my head, pulled in down hard and zipped it up to the neck. My arms were held even tighter against my sides.

I stood there afraid to move because I couldn't have regained my balance if I had wobbled.

"Can you get out of that?" Mary asked.

I wriggled my fingers. That didn't work. Mary had folded that part of her wrapping so that my hands and arms were bagged before she had added layers around me. The salwar kameez top gave me no leeway to move my arms.

I tried to move my feet but Mary's first knot around my ankles was too tight.

"I can't wriggle much in case I fall over," I protested.

"You should be lying down anyway," Mary retorted.

She pushed me over to the settee and lowered me to lie on it.

"Now you can wriggle, Jane."

I wriggled. I could almost get to a sitting position but the silken wrappings still held me tightly. I could have rolled off the settee to the floor, but why should I? I'd still be tightly bound.

"I think that it would look better if you were tied to the bed as well," Mary said.

"Perhaps."

Mary took a long dupatta, looped it around my waist, fed through the cushions of the settee and tied it to the frame. She tied another one around my ankles over the skirt of the salwar kameez and a third over my chest. Once those were fastened I was secured to the settee. She picked up the dupatta that had knotted tightly before.

"What are you doing with that scarf?" I asked. "It won't come undone."

"I know," Mary replied.

I opened my mouth to reply. Mary looped a thick fold of the scarf between my teeth. She crossed it behind my head, pulled tight.

"Wha.." I tried to speak. My word was cut off by a double fold of scarf over my mouth. That infernal scarf was yards long. Mary wrapped it again and again over my mouth until my faint protests were almost inaudible. Then she knotted it behind my head.

"There. You're bound. Tied up by your evil twin princess. Get out of that if you can."

I tried. I couldn't do much more than a feeble squirm. I watched helplessly as Mary went to my handbag and pulled out my mobile phone. She scrolled through my favourite numbers and dialled Ralph.

"Ralph? No. It's not Jane. It's her phone but this is Mary. Jane needs you. She's a bit tied up at present but she needs your help. Now. She's at the amateur dramatic clubhouse. You'll come? Good."

Mary switched off my phone and put it back in my handbag.

"He's on his way. I think I'll leave you for him to find. You're not going anywhere, are you?"

Mary left me alone. She waited outside until she saw Ralph arrive and then she left.

Inside I had been frantically trying to extricate myself from her tight binding. I had to admit defeat and accept that I was completely helpless, mummified in sari silk, bagged in a silken top, tied with long scarves, silenced by layers of dupatta, just waiting for my boyfriend to release me.

Would Ralph come? Mary had said he would. But after our row would he come running because Mary said I needed him?

He did. When he saw me, he laughed. I could have hit him then. But what could I do? I was absolutely at his mercy.

He untied me from the settee, picked me up, sat down on the settee and deposited me, a helpless silken parcel, on his lap. My head rested on his shoulder. It felt good to be there again.

He kissed my forehead, my nose and my eyes. That was all of me that wasn't encased in silk. I shook my head, wanting him to ungag me. He didn't.

"Jane," he said, "I love you."

My eyes felt wet.

"Do you love me?"

I couldn't speak. All I could do was nod.

He kissed me again. I wanted to kiss him properly. It was at least five minutes but seemed much longer before he could untie that scarf muffling my mouth. Then we didn't need to speak. We kissed, kissed again and I nestled in his arms.

Ralph unwrapped me slowly, stopping to kiss me frequently. When I was finally free he laid me down on the silken heap and we made love, slowly at first, then passionately.

"I don't think Mary's bondage is practical for the pantomime," Ralph said. "I'll never get you untied in the few seconds we have."

"You'll never...?"

"They've cast me as the hero prince. I get to kiss you, and Mary."

"Mary! Once I get my hands on her..."

"No you won't. She knew we were unhappy. She found this way of making us realise what was important. I came running as soon as she said you needed me. I'll always come when you want me. You'd do the same for me, wouldn't you?"

I kissed him instead of answering. He understood that kiss.

Mary understands me too well. She let me tie her up a few days later.

During the pantomime scene she wrapped a couple of dupattas around me with one loosely over my mouth as a gag. I acted helpless and struggling before Ralph untied me in seconds because I wasn't really bound.

Ralph and I ate two Christmas dinners on Christmas Day, satisfying both families.

After the pantomime I kept the sari, the salwar kameez and the scarves. Sometimes Ralph wraps me up in silk. Sometimes I wrap him. We're never wrapped as tightly as Mary wrapped me. We don't need to be. We're wrapped in each other.