Island Resort Ch. 02

See Island Resort to set the stage….

First Outing

“What to do, what to do, how to start….” he pondered. “It’s going to be a challenge for both of us to maintain our roles for this prolonged time here. I guess some physical reminders would help. I think some continuous amount of light bondage, with occasional slippage into more intense play. We need something to be continuous and ever-present though.”

“Can that be a blindfold?” Layla asked.

“I know that’s your favorite way to get into sub space, but no. You’ll have a blindfold some of the time, but there are definitely things here you need to see. Submission is easier for you when you are blindfolded, and I will take that into account, but I will make no promises. I think for the first couple of days anyway, I’m going to keep you naked. You’ll wear one of these heavy chain collars, with some chains dangling down to swing and touch you and remind you. I love the idea of you tanning with that chain on, and the white chain you’ll have in your tan when we get home. Remove your clothes and I’ll dress you.”

He fastened a heavy chain around her neck and clipped foot long lengths of chain to it in front. Slipping a neoprene cuff on each wrist, he fastened each hand to one of the chains attached to her collar. Moving her hands back and forth and up and down, he demonstrated her range of movement. “Still lots of freedom in your bounds,” he decided as he blindfolded her.

“I’m going to want you naked for awhile, other than those bits of wetsuit. Why don’t you sit in the chair while I get us some champagne?” He guided her to an armchair near the desk.

There was a knock at the door, and Layla stiffened as she heard Sir move to answer it. She would be seen, but this was just the beginning of so much to come.

“Good, our luggage,” he said.

“Shall we unpack for you, sir? It’ll just take us a minute.”

“Yes, please do.”

He stroked her breast in passing, commending her on her quiet compliance. He moved to the refrigerator, and poured some Veuve Cliquot. The cottage had been stocked, based on a questionnaire about preferences which they’d completed a couple of weeks before their visit.

After passing her a glass, he moved to the computer.

“Let’s browse the listings. It’s by time and location…. Let’s see – searchable by keywords…. Cutting, knifeplay, piercing…. Well, not much scheduled today, but we were told very few scenes are actually planned far enough ahead to hit the schedule. Most of what goes on is more spontaneous play, or scenes that evolve and might even become participative. How would you feel about that?”

His voice was low and smooth. She felt caressed, as if the timbre of his voice stroked her body. His voice acted on her mind also, soothing and almost hypnotizing her. Her mind slowed, slipping into sub space, her will connecting with his. She sipped champagne languidly, enjoying the warm air and salt scent of the ocean.

“We’ve never included anyone else in our games before, but this is already different. Exhibition is what this place is about, and you know the idea of exhibition has always excited me. As we saw all the subs on the tour, I could see you in all those positions.”

“Blindfolded.”

“Yes, at first anyway. Maybe later you’ll want the use of your eyes. But for now, we’ll help you along with a blindfold. So what about participation? What if I want to invite some watcher to touch or use you?”

“If it would please you.”

“Oh, I can imagine it pleasing me. So let’s get used to the idea….”

“Would you stay with me?”

“For now… for now, I imagine my pleasure would be in watching you submit to others, at my command, at my instigation. You serve for my pleasure….”

“It is my pleasure to serve for your pleasure.”

Layla heard the slaves moving about the cottage, drawers and closets opening and closing. She tingled at their mute witness to her subjugation. Knowing that they had seen and participated in thousands of scenes, she still felt a tightening deep within at the thought that now HER behavior was being witnessed, and perhaps soon others would be participating in her hitherto secret games with Sir.

“Will there be anything else, Sir?”

“No thank you, that will be all.” The door to the cottage closed softly and they were alone again.

“Have you finished that glass? Good – have some water.” He placed a mug of spring water with a straw on the table at her side, and leaned in to take a breast in his mouth, sucking hard on the nipple. “Fair and balanced,” he said as he moved to the other breast. “And now my dear, blindfolded with neoprene, let’s venture forth. Take your water.” He handed it to her as he took her by the elbow, lifting her from the chair and steering her to the porch. There he took her water mug from her and placed it on the round table.

“Now down two steps.” He held her arm and helped her down to the deck level. She coud hear the Jacuzzi bubbling as they passed it. “We’ve got to get our feet into the water,” he said. “We’re not really here until we have our feet in the water. Another step down.” They stepped from their front yard deck to the tiled walkway lined with brick which stretched along the edge of the beach all around the island resort. She felt the roughness of the brick edges of the walk under her feet and remembered the slave ordered from the grass to the brick as they passed. Next, she felt the warm smooth sand of the pristine beach.

“There are some people on lounge chairs on the beach and a few in the water,” he told her. “Do you want to know who can see you, or would you rather wonder?”

“mmmm, what a good question… however could I answer that, having experienced neither. I guess I would have to have both experiences first and later you can ask which I preferred.”

“There -- well I didn’t warn you that you were about to step in the water. Feels good.” The water was warm and silky, almost thick with salinity. “I’ll hold your arm while we figure out what this bottom’s like, how deep or shallow. I want you to walk out to hip deep and kneel down and get totally under.” They walked out deeper into the water.

“Here we are,” he said. “Now kneel.”

She knelt and the water came to high on her chest.

“Spread your knees and go under. Submit and submerge and then come back to kneeling.”

She followed instructions.

“Too bad you can’t see what’s standing up to see you, but I’ll just move over closer and introduce you. Open your mouth now and suck on this.” He drew her head toward him by pulling the chain collar.

He only gave her a minute to swath his cock with her mouth. Her lips stretched wide to accommodate him and her tongue pierced the little mouth of his cock, detecting a bit of pre-cum in the saltiness there. She relished the smooth skin sliding over her tongue, but he withdrew after only a few dips into her willing mouth.

Pulling her to her feet, he led her across the beach, holding both chains near her wrist cuffs, and through the hedge to their deck. Downward tugs on the chains guided her to her knees on the warm wood.

“You look beautiful, kneeling up so proud. Let’s put your hands behind you, and accentuate those wonderful breasts.”

He unclipped her cuffs from the chains and clipped her wrists to each other behind her back. The chains dangling from the chain collar now hung free, and she felt their cold wetness against her tight nipples.

“Let me turn you around,” he said, guiding her by the shoulders in a turn. She couldn’t see with the blindfold on, but he had turned her to face the beach and the resort’s main street, the tiled walkway that separated beach from grounds all the way around the island.

“I’m 50 years old,” Layla thought. “I’m kneeling naked where people can see me. And I’m proud of it.”

Hers was a fifty year old body, but one which showed signs of care – several kinds of care. Her pubic hair was trimmed close, but spread down the insides of her thighs. Her stomach pouched a bit, and showed that she’d given birth, but also showed signs of muscle definition around the edges. Her breasts would not have passed the pencil test, but they were full and well-shaped with large dark aureoles. Faint tracings of red lines were testimony to the fact that he took advantage of this most private place to mark her.

What couldn’t be seen were the large dark brown eyes which dominated her face when she wasn’t blindfolded. Her brown and gray hair was a short seal pelt, which she kept buzzed to about ¼ inch.

“I’ll get us more champagne,” he said and left her there. She sensed his return, and he stood beside her drinking for a bit before offering her a sip. They took a few minutes to empty their flutes of champagne and he brought the glasses to the table on the porch before returning to stroke her head. A minute later, she felt a mouth on her breast, not his mouth but softer, gentler, and without the beard. The mouth pulled at her breast, teasing the nipple with teeth, running full smooth lips over the tender puffiness of her aureoles. The mouth moved to the side of her breast, tongue tracing a line scar back and forth. Then she felt a hard sucking on the inside of her breast, just off the aureole. The mouth persisted, pulling hard at her, pulling an oval of breast tissue between those full soft lips. Goodness, how long had it been? She was getting a hickey on her breast, and she had no idea who that mouth belonged to. Amazing how this form of marking, usually reserved for adolescents, hadn’t been part of their marking repertoire. She could feel Sir’s leg beside her, and his hand occasionally stroking her head. She moaned and leaned into the mysterious mouth, which suddenly released its suction on that breast and slid wetly down the valley between her breasts and on to the next one. The mouth alternated lip sipping little sucks of skin with gentle nips of the teeth, exploring her other breast all around the circumference before edging in on the aureole and eventually sucking hard on the tight nub of nipple. More than one moan escaped Layla during this, and Sir too finally made a sound of pleasure.

“mmmmm…. Thank you. Now you can help me mount her on that sawhorse. We’re going to get a little deeper into this theme of nakedness, dear one. I’ve decided to shave you clean, and part of your grooming every day will include being publicly shaved.”

“Shall I call for one of the barbers? They’re so skilled, they could do it with a straightedge if you’d like,” offered the slave.

“No, slave. I want you to do it. You can use Layla’s safety razor. First get her up on the sawhorse. I want her on her back. Fasten her ankle and wrist cuffs to the sawhorse, and then you can get Layla’s shaving things from the bathroom.”

Layla’s legs weren’t stretched full out along the legs of the sawhorse, but instead bent at the knee. Her heels rested on a crosspiece and her ankle cuffs were fastened to some of the higher bolts all over the sawhorse. Sir appreciated anew the thought that had gone into this piece of equipment which offered great versatility and many bondage possibilities. He was glad the slave had used some sense in choosing to fasten Layla down in such a way that there was good access to her crotch and the insides of her thighs for shaving.

Layla felt gentle wet fingers stroking her labia. There was the hiss of shaving gel, and foam smoothed onto her outer lips and eased into the crease at the top of her thighs. The tugging of the razor followed, then more wetness as the slave rinsed the razor clean in a basin of water she’d brought out of the cottage. Layla lay imagining how she looked, her black neoprene blindfold and cuffs her only attire besides the chain at her neck and the chains dangling from that down beside the sawhorse. Her mound felt huge and puffy with shaving gel and attention. The slave bent over her with the razor, and Sir watched from beside her head, his hands occasionally stroking or pinching her breasts. Warm water dribbled over her cunt and dripped down between her legs. The slave’s fingers pulled her cunt lips to and fro, making a smoother path for the razor. Layla felt the gel and the fingers moving higher, above her clit now, into itching territory. She remembered the few other times Sir had shaved her clean, how incredibly itchy it had been as the hair grew back in. Well now he was talking about solving that problem, temporarily at least not letting the hair grow back.

She heard the whir of video cameras.

“Your audience is growing, darlin’,” he said. “Let’s give them something to talk about. Slave, arrange my woman and bind her in a position where you can shave her head. I want her both topped and tailed.”

Layla was stunned and inhaled sharply. They’d never talked about this! Sir responded to her consternation with another order: “Better fetch her a gag – one shaped like a penis to remind her to hold her tongue.”

His fingers moved across her smooth pubes, flicked at her clit, and slid down to finger her clean puffy labia. She thanked him with another moan before the slave got back with the gag. Now Sir was unbuckling her wrist cuffs and helping her sit up on the sawhorse. The slave unbuckled her ankles before fitting the penis gag into her mouth and fastening it behind her head. They helped Layla slide back on the sawhorse, and she felt her ankles pulled back and hooked onto low bolts on the legs of the contraption. When they eased her forward, her chin was off the end of the sawhorse. Her wrists were hooked to bolts lower on the legs of the sawhorse. The slave rubbed her stomach against the top of Layla’s head before stepping back and beginning the process of wetting, applying shaving gel, shaving the hair, and rinsing. She’d never before been shaved here, though, and she tingled when the slave stroked her smooth head. Working from the front to the top of the back, the slave then reaching the point where she unzipped the Velcro of the gag, exposing that last bit of head that needed to be shaved. Layla’s lips squeezed the base of the penis gag, proud of her submission. Warm water from the slave’s hands rinsed the last hair away.

“I want her on her knees on the deck again, no gag, but leave the blindfold. Wrists behind her back.” The slave followed orders, releasing her from the sawhorse and helping her to the new position Sir wanted. “And get the hose. We’ll have to clean her up.”

Sir’s hands were on her smooth head, and Layla sighed with pleasure feeling the new nakedness of her scalp. She pictured the whiteness of the newly shaved area contrasting with her tanned face and neck, calling attention to this new mark of her submission. His cock pushed at her lips

“Your audience has grown. Your beautiful bald head has drawn a crowd.” He stroked her head. “I bet a lot of these people would like to be touching this head. Well, no touching for now, but I welcome you watchers to cum on her if you care to come in to my garden.” He withdrew from her mouth, and stepped back to pump his cock in his hands. Then he stepped closer to slide deep in her throat, his hands again caressing her bald head.

Layla felt footsteps on the decking around her. She was lost in unreality, her new reality. The neoprene blindfold and cuffs were slightly wet and salty against her skin, and her arms stretched behind her, held by her cuffed wrists. She settled into the rhythm of his cock fucking her face, relaxing into opening her throat for him. She was still wanting more when he abruptly pulled out, and then she was smelling the saltiness of his cum as he spurted on her face. Then there was a warm drip on the side of her head, sliding toward her ear, and another splash on her neck, her shoulder. Cum was coming at her from all directions, dripping stickily down her body.

“Thank you, gentlemen. You can leave us now. But I do hope someone’s captured this on film. I will want to relive it, and from a different point of view.”

As the others left the wooden deck that comprised their front yard, retreating to the tiled walkway along the beach, Sir climbed into the hot tub. Layla knelt there, feeling the drips of cum sliding down her body. Most of her had been painted.

“Hose her down, slave.” He called from the tub.

Layla heard the slave’s feet move toward the cottage to turn on the hose, but the force of the cold spray on her was still a surprise. The slave started at Layla’s head and face and worked her way down the older woman’s body, walking round her and back again so as not to wind her in hose. Layla shivered but stayed upright on her knees, though she swayed a bit with the cold blast of water as well as with shakiness over what had just happened. The forceful streams of cold water cleaned her, and the slave directed the streams thoroughly covering her, even changing the angle of the water to flood all Layla’s crevices with cool water. When she was thoroughly clean, the slave turned off the water and coiled the hose.

“Bring her to the hot tub,” said Sir. “And what do I call you? I’ve just been calling you slave, but what about when there are other slaves about, how are you distinguished?”

“I’m number 35,” she answered, helping Layla to her feet and moving toward the hot tub. They eased into the warm bubbling water.

“Bring her to me,” said Sir, “unfasten her hands. Please bring us some champagne. Our glasses are on the porch table. You can get yourself a glass when you fetch the bottle.” He pulled Layla under his arm, and they both lolled in the warm water.

“I’m very pleased with you, dear woman. I hope you are somewhere near as proud as I am. Are you feeling good, dear one?”

“Yes, I am yours and I’m so glad you’re proud of me. I’m feeling proud too…. and disoriented and somehow outside of myself….. It’s all very strange, but yes, good.”

“You’re marvelous. You’re letting yourself totally sink into sub space. There’s so much room to explore here, and our own boundaries are the first things that have to go. You’re doing so well, precious. And what a sight you are. Your shaved head looks so pale. We’ll have to be careful to sunscreen you thoroughly tomorrow. Ah, thank you, #35.”

He took the two glasses of champagne she offered and put one in Layla’s hand.

“Come on in here, and sit on the other side of Layla. Let’s drink our champagne and warm up a bit. Feel free to play with her if you wish. I appreciate your creativity with your lips. That hickey on her breast was inspired, and you are welcome to add others.”

#35 murmured thanks. “I noticed that her breasts show remnants of knife marks and is that a small burn scar?”

“Yes,” Sir replied. “Her breasts are my favorite place to mark her. She doesn’t want her massage therapist to see those trophies, so at home I confine myself to breast markings. Here I think we’ll expand our horizons. Now that her pubes are free of hair, I see a new palette available to me. Cuts and burns are my province, but I like the idea of your little suction marks wherever you choose to put them. The nape of her neck is a hot spot for my Layla.”

Turning Layla to face Sir, the slave took her cue and bent to her work, sucking and nibbling on the back of the sub’s neck. Layla squirmed responsively, visualizing the mouth marks that were emerging both above and below her chain collar.

“Now put your hands over your head and hold onto the side of the tub, slide your sweet clean cunt off that seat and let yourself float. Lean that gorgeous naked head back into the water and lift your breasts clear of the water. Here, I’ll support you,” and he turned sideways on the bench so that his thighs were under her back. He leaned down and took her breast in his mouth, sucking the whole thing hard into his mouth. He rolled her globe around for a bit, then drew back.

“#35, you work on the other breast.” Now both Layla’s breasts were massaged, one by Sir’s large hands and the other by much smaller hands that squeezed much harder. Both played with her nipples, lips, fingers, lips, fingers, twisting, nibbling. Layla’s body sank and rose in the water, and as their mouths followed her down into the water and up again, they compensated with hands supporting her at the top of the water.