The Liberation of Kate Pt. 04

Monique proved to be an excellent, knowledgeable guide. Most of the sites and sights were rather banal (discounting the presence of denuded females), and she was chuffed when I expressed interest in the government of Syrena. It turns out that back home she's studying political science, for her doctorate no less. From her I learned that the island has a unique status. It is a condominium of Britain and France, while held in perpetual leasehold by the Cimarrón Corporation, a consortium of mostly local-based investors and shareholders. Syrena is virtually self-governing, with its own seventeen-seat parliament. Although women achieved the right to vote only recently, the current chief minister leads a female majority in the Legislative Assembly. Since female residents outnumber the men by around two-to-one, that's not surprising. Nevertheless, Monique showed some pride in telling me this. She puffed out her chest, with pleasing results.

Parliament House is located on the outskirts of Régate and not in the Grandin Bay district as I had assumed. I asked if we could go inside and was told "Of course; things are very informal here." The legislature was in session, and as we sat in the gallery I was not shocked to see that the nine female members — including the presiding officer, the head of government and the woman from the plane I'd vaguely recognized — were naked. Perhaps the air conditioning was out of order, because their male colleagues, in jackets and ties, appeared much less at ease. Chief Minister Charlotte Hewes was a striking woman with a majestic bearing, caramel skin, short-cropped auburn hair and a forceful voice. The debate was passionate, and she delivered her speech in a feisty way that caused her voluptuous breasts to undulate in a most mesmerizing manner. Apart from their lack of clothing, the only concession to the females' slave status seemed to be that they were addressed directly by their first names, whereas the men were acknowledged formally through the chair as "The Honourable Member."

Afterwards we strolled back towards the beach. I was leading Monique on her tether. Her arms were folded behind her back and she kept her head bowed the whole time as we walked and talked. When we rendezvoused with Rachel and Lucy in the early afternoon, they were somewhat mystified by my new acquisition. Yet the girls hit it off immediately, because they had a lot in common. Rachel in particular was fascinated by Monique's choice to stay on the island as a guest worker; but during their chat I saw Lucy turn to give her friend some funny looks, and shake her head a couple of times.

I had been carrying Kate's harness and informed Lucy that it was her turn to wear it. Her eyes narrowed and her lips pouted, but she submitted. I told Rachel to stand behind her and wrap her arms around the girl's body, and I tied her wrists to the front of the belt. By slightly adjusting the rings at the rear, I repositioned Lucy's hands behind her back so that they were nested in Rachel's crotch. I then hitched Monique to them with her leash. As we moved off the beach, the girls shuffled in this embrace all the way back to the hotel. By the time we reached it, they were exhausted; the conversation had petered out; Rachel especially was red-faced and puffing.

I could not help but think how bizarre this would have appeared to me just a week ago. I wondered what was going through the minds of the three girls. Is this what they had been expecting when they first arrived on Syrena? And that made me think of Kate, and what she was doing — or having done to her — at that moment.

I had rented Monique for several more hours. Would she be bothered if instead of using her services as a guide I practised some bondage techniques with her, for later use on Kate? She said that this was not unusual. So the four of us went up to the suite and I told Rachel and Lucy that they would be taking part as well. They seemed amenable, so I started with Rachel, putting her in a very strict hog-tie. The sporty blonde looked so sexy lying on the carpet, helpless and squirming, that I left her that way for the next hour or so while I worked on the other two.

It quickly became obvious what I'd already suspected. The Australian girls were novices when it came to serious bondage. I locked the spreader bar on Lucy's ankles and then tied her and Monique in an elaborate pose with their arms and legs entangled. I gagged them with Kate's ring and ball gags (and Rachel with the black satin sash). When I got bored with watching them wriggling and writhing — Monique had suffered a painful cramp in her left thigh but bravely didn't let on until afterwards — I listened to them grunting and groaning suspended in strappado. It was a very mild version for the two neophytes, more strenuous for Monique. I tried out some other positions and techniques as well. At the end of the session, which went for about three hours altogether, Rachel and Lucy lay on the carpet gasping.

"Intense," one rasped.

"Radical," the other croaked.

"Get used to it," I joked; and when they didn't react except with blushes and giggles, I felt my heart skip a beat. Perhaps Kate's absence would not be so bad.

When it was time to take Monique back downtown, I told Rachel and Lucy that they would be coming too. In the hotel foyer we found Adèle and Élise, who were with two other couples (man-woman), and we decided we would all walk together. When the other females had been collared and leashed, I turned to Adèle. I knew she found no thrill in the role of slavegirl and didn't enjoy taking orders from a man. But I could also see from the way she relished her public nudity that she was proud to display herself as a woman. So I decided that she would feel uncomfortable walking with the males, and put her in a collar helpfully produced by Regina the receptionist.

As we descended the hill, I and the two other men, Philip and Vader (really his name — Dutch, I believe), took turns to lead all seven females on their tethers. Philip instructed them that they were not permitted to speak; but when I heard whispering I did not intervene. Meanwhile, my companions told me their stories. Vader and his fiancée Teresa had arrived the previous day and it was their first visit. It had been Teresa's idea, so he said as he took the seven sets of reins from my hand and gave them all a sharp tug. Philip and wife Lynda were on their second visit; their first had been their honeymoon. Back home, he explained, she was "the boss" and this was their way of "getting squared" — whatever that meant.

For some reason I did not feel myself to be on the same wavelength with Vader and Philip. I would rather have spoken to Teresa and Lynda; their stories would have been much more interesting. So I was glad that we parted company when we reached the Boardwalk. I offered to release my four girls and was charmed when they chose to accompany me as I escorted Monique all the way back to her quarters. It was thought-provoking that, of them, Adèle seemed the most curious about where and how female guest workers lived. The barracks was not far from the place where I had hired Monique. It is a large but unimposing wooden structure which houses two hundred girls. She offered a tour but apologized that men were not allowed inside. I consented to wait. As I did so, women were coming and going, but one emerged with a frosted bottle of beer for me. She introduced herself as Jennifer, the matron.

She spoke with what I could by now identify as the native accent. Indeed, I recognized her as one of the members of parliament — the minister for health and social services, in fact. I felt flattered that she would take time out from her responsibilities to stand with me outside the barracks, and she responded by telling me she was pleased to do so because few visitors make the effort to look behind the scenes. Aged in her forties, she was a large woman, though well-proportioned, with a graceful, almost regal bearing. Not beautiful but sensual, she had short, chestnut brown hair and lustrous tawny skin. She wore a heavy iron collar. She was born in Jamaica but her ancestors were Syrene. When she brought her new husband to the island shortly after they married, he knew almost nothing of local culture and customs. She's a formidable woman, and I can imagine that he was pleasantly surprised to discover that she was now his property.

At the end of our chat, she actually thanked me, instead of the other way round, and called me "Sir." I know it's part of the service for tourists, but it was, all the same, a nice gesture.

When my girls emerged, feeling masterly I took up their leashes and instructed them to fold their arms behind their backs and form a line facing the sea, to pull back their shoulders and push out their chests and pelvises so I could study their delectable bodies in the golden-red rays of the setting sun. Even Adèle obeyed without questioning her orders. We then marched the short distance to the Boardwalk, where I released them.

"Be back in the suite by midnight," I said to Rachel and Lucy.

"Yes, dad," they replied in unison.

"Or be locked out," I growled.

"Message received," Rachel answered with a smirk.

I wandered around aimlessly for a couple of hours, stopping at several bars and nightclubs. Nothing held my attention until I entered an arcade where I encountered a very odd scene. Thirty or so posts about the width of telegraph poles had been set up in rows about an arm's distance apart. To each a woman was bound standing upright, her hands either behind her back or above her head. They all looked haggard, so they likely had been this way for hours. Their skin sparkled with perspiration, but as evening fell and so did the temperature, the naked bodies were starting to tremble. Among them was the group of six girls from our flight. There was a large group of onlookers, men and women. Every so often someone called out words of encouragement.

Puzzled by this strange spectacle, I returned to the arcade entrance to read the sign. This was the site of the old bride bazaar — a euphemism of sorts for the marketplace where pirates had once sold their booty and purchased their wives, and where until recently women were put on sale alongside crops and livestock. Jennifer had told me that generations of her female ancestors had met their future husbands here.

To be honest, I suspect that most of these folktales are, if not invented outright, embellished for us tourists. Maybe the locals have even come to believe them. In any case, the myth endures, to the extent that women want to experience what it was like to be a slavegirl in old Syrena. I suppose the liberated woman of our own time has an innate curiosity about how she would have lived in a less enlightened age. But this was certainly an extreme way of going about it.

I moved on. The street was congested, and since most of the pedestrians were female it was pleasant to have to push my way through knots of bodies. Many of the women were bound and thus vulnerable, but I never witnessed any pestering or groping or fondling (except by partners). Syrena has a strictly enforced hands-off policy, with anti-harassment laws and anti-paparazzi statutes. (During my stay I spotted a couple of female celebrities, an actress and a best-selling author. In keeping with the spirit of Syrena, I shall not disclose their identities.) It was difficult to know where people were going to or coming from; much of the traffic appeared to be aimless. I spotted Adèle and Élise in the distance, but since they did not see me I continued on my way.

Returning to the hotel, I found Philip and Lynda in the bar and they beckoned for me to join them. They were with two women, a schoolteacher and ski instructor from Norway and a lawyer from Brazil. We chatted for perhaps an hour. Starting near opposite ends of the world, they had met on their first visit to Syrena, when they each had different partners. They were not a romantic couple, but were taking it in turns to play mistress. At this moment it was Kristin, the teacher, who wore the collar. She had classic Nordic looks with a mane of flaxen hair, cobalt-blue eyes and a light sprinkling of freckles. Although kneeling alongside Lynda, she affected none of the humility and obeisance that most women show (if only for the game). Gabrielle was dark and lithe with a feline quality. They both spoke English as impeccable as their gloriously unclothed, streamlined forms.

Like Adèle, Kristin seemed comfortable with nudity but somewhat ill at ease with her slavery. I wanted to ask which end of the leash she preferred, and was curious about what it was like to switch between domination and submission, as the French girl managed to do with such grace and decorum. But then Rachel came in, exclaimed "There you are!" and yelled towards the lobby "He's in here!" As I took my leave with my two young roommates, Philip smiled and winked. I pretended not to notice. There was no hanky-panky that night.