The Liberation of Kate Pt. 01

It did not surprise me that again she paused. This final piece of clothing, small as it was, attached her to the world beyond the shores of Syrena. When that was gone, she would be giving up a part of herself. For the next twenty-one days, men would gaze upon her naked form, invading her most intimate places and sharing my greatest treasure.

Her breathing was heavy. Her face was flushed. Her exposed nipples were stiffening. She was pressing her thighs together. I realized Kate was experiencing the beginning of an orgasm, and that must have been humiliating. I started to reach out. But a look of determination came over her, as she abruptly pitched forward, grabbing the sides of her panties and sliding them down over her knees. She stood erect and stepped out of them, one leg at a time; she kneaded them into a ball. For the first time, she raised her head and turned about, her expression one of triumph and relief. That only lasted a moment, but it was done.

She smiled at me and around at those in the room who'd been watching her. Yet her transformation was only half-complete. She looked about again and saw what was happening to the other women. Without waiting to be asked or told, she held out her hands, wrists together, and gazed once more into my eyes. But I slowly shook my head and she turned to face away from me, glancing over her shoulder for as long as she could, and then staring straight ahead as she put her arms behind her, the backs of her hands resting lightly on her delicious, bare derrière.

I took from my pocket the strip of white ribbon I had been keeping for this purpose. I wrapped it three times around her wrists, and then looped it at a right angle to cinch the knot. Her fingers sought out mine and for a second they intertwined; when I pulled away, her fists curled and clenched. The ribbon was slightly elastic, so she could part her wrists and bend them, just a little. I decided not to add anything more... not yet, anyway.

The odd couple nearby were going a lot farther, and some of the others in the room were following their lead. After weaving an elaborate web around her torso, the man tied a yoke about his wife's neck and shoulders, and from this he passed a strap over the cord that ran down her belly, between her legs and up her back to reconnect with the harness. When he tugged hard, she groaned and raised herself onto her tiptoes, with leather and twine embedded deeply in her crevices front and rear. Most of the women and some of the men observing this winced. Kate saw me taking note, and sighed.

In addition to ropes, straps and ribbons, several of the couples had brought collars and cuffs and chains. The goth-punk pair were already wearing studded leather chokers and buckled bracelets. They were both, of course, naked, but the one with jet-black hair, lipstick and fingernails was taking charge. She clamped her girlfriend's bracelets not behind her back but to a clasp on her collar so her hands were locked in a prayer position under her chin. This girl, with green spiky hair and profuse purple eyeliner, had, besides numerous other piercings, rings through her nipples and labia, and to these her mistress attached lightweight chains, joined into a single strand by which she could be led about, as on a leash. After that, the punkette's mouth was stuffed with a bulbous black ball-gag. The goth girl then, with an expression of distaste, inserted an identical one into her own mouth.

By this time, people were beginning to depart the lounge. Some necessarily made slow progress — half a dozen women were blindfolded and had to be guided towards the exit; those with crotch-ropes, like the tall blonde, shuffled and waddled. But not all the females had been bound, such as the two young ladies who'd discarded their sundresses and the all-girl group. These latter tarried in the doorway, laughing and mocking and daring each other to be the first one out. I also counted five unaccompanied women. After they had packed away their clothing, they moved off as well.

Kate and I were among the last to leave. As we walked through the near-empty terminal, trussed behind her back Kate's hands fidgeted. She desperately wanted to use them to cover that which was no longer hers to conceal. My guilt returned, in spite of my excitement, and I put my arm around her slim, bare shoulders. I could feel her body shaking. She looked up at me, with glistening eyes and quavering lips.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

"I'm doing this for you," she repeated.

"For us," I said again.

"Yes... for us..."

There was a croakiness in her voice, but also sturdiness and resolve. Kate is a very strong woman; in some ways she's tougher than me. So in a sense I envied her for the ordeal she was about to face, forced to confront her fears, test her limits and push her boundaries. For during our marriage I have done my best to remind her constantly of — to borrow a phrase from the Syrene tourist handbook — what she is and what she is not. When she has faltered, as any woman must when confronted by her true nature, I have stepped up, as the one with the clarity of vision, the strength of will and the purity of purpose.

I slid my hand down her arms, over the ribbon which bound her wrists, over the soft, quivering flesh of her bare backside; I grasped her hip and pulled her in close. Above the doorway, a sign in big, red lettering declared...

"NO CLOTHED FEMALES MAY PROCEED BEYOND THIS POINT"

Underneath was added, in a different script, what was perhaps someone's idea of humour...

"OWNERS ARE ADVISED TO KEEP THEIR PROPERTY RESTRAINED AT ALL TIMES"

We exited the terminal, emerging into brilliant sunlight.