It was their first afternoon in Paradise; Tioman Island, a green speck off the coast of Malaysia. But to Bessy who had arrived on a rickety wooden boat it was huge. Clouded mountains skirted by jungle-clad slopes that swept right down to the beach. Shading her eyes she spun 180 degrees; the horizon all-round was uninterrupted blue sea. No airport, their boat was the only way in or out.
Arriving after noon they gratefully threw their gear into their beachside hut. Stripping down to swimsuits they ran down to the long strand of sand as the sun hovered low in the western sky.
Bessy felt the days of dirt and travel weariness wash off her body by the warm sea, and she splashed back to shore, her bare feet crunching on the perfect white sand, to join Jon who had already collapsed on his towel. She jangled as she ran her fingers through her wet hair, it was the three solid silver bangles on each wrist she had worn now for months. She looked at them again now: solid silver shining bright in the tropical sun, even brighter with beads of water on their glassy surface. Each one a perfect silver circle around her wrists. She hardly heard the clanging noise they made against each other, so used to them she was now. A long time ago they seemed loud and heavy, but now they were a part of her. She couldn’t take them off: they were the cuffs she wore day and night; her chains. They meant she belonged to him.
Jon was propped up on one elbow now, smiling at her. “We have two weeks of this, let's unpack in our hut and get ready for the evening, I'm starving. And there's just enough time for me to find out where that bag of ours has gone to.” It was true, a small piece of luggage was missing, although they both had seen it being packed onto the boat. It only contained spare clothes and towels, but it was worth retrieving.
Leaning back Bessy raised her legs and shimmied into her cutoff denim shorts. A tight fit, but she made it after a few desperate wriggles, something she was good at. After months of sensible work clothes, a bikini top and shorts were heaven. She stood and shook her towel downwind, watching the white sand smoke away.
“Hang on, you're under-dressed,” Jon said, reaching up and threading his own black leather belt through the loops in her jeans. Her wrists clinked as she held her arms up out of the way. He pulled the belt tight, fastened it, paused, then undid the buckle to cinch it to the next notch. Now it was on tight.
“There, perfect now.” And there was that smile again, and the same unspoken communication. The same thrill of expectation deep inside her.
They walked back hand-in-hand to their hut, a simple but well-furnished accommodation. Palm thatched roof, bamboo floors, and a ceiling fan over the King-sized bed for those rare hot nights when the sea-breeze didn't blow. Bessy unpacked her things and spread her evening dress out over a chair to get rid of some of the creases. She decided to use her best weapon on their first night; future dining evenings could be more casual. Luckily the restaurant was only a coconut toss away, as the dress was tight fitting and very short, and her strappy shoes were not designed for long sandy walks.
Jon turned to her. “Right I'll get changed when I get back, what are you going to do?”
“Oh, I'll just get slowly ready,” Bessy replied. “I’ll have a shower. I might head down to the bar if you're not back in time –I’ll meet you there.”
Jon glanced out of the window at the bar, already filling with people. A few travellers like themselves but also a few locals, including some fit looking Malay boys. It was that kind of Island where locals and foreigners mixed. Then he looked at her dress. He walked over to his pack, dug something out, and walked back to her.
“That isn't such a good idea, beautiful. Dressed like that who knows what ideas those boys might get. They might capture you and take you away to another island. Better wait until I can escort you down myself, and in the meantime, you can wait for me.”
As he said this he gently guided her to the bed and lay her face down on the cover. Then chatting as this was a perfectly normal thing to do, he started binding her wrists behind her. Bessy’s bangles clashed together as they met, and he slid them further up her arms as he wound the rope.
“Sorry but this is for your own safety Kitten. I can't leave you here alone, nor at the bar unescorted. You're just too precious.”
Bessy struggled and cried out in mock anger. But she knew this was coming: proper restraints. There were all the early signs: the bangles and his belt at the beach, but she hadn't known when or even if it would actually happen. She suspected things would start once they'd finished dinner and after a couple of mango daiquiris; when they were both caught up in each other and ready to tear their clothes off. So, the sudden and unexpected feeling of his body pinning hers to the bed, the sensation of the cord binding her wrists together, crossed over, filled her with trepidation and excitement in equal measures. She was glad she was cold sober, she wanted to feel everything.
He finished off, knotting, and spun Bessy over, holding her legs between his and started work on her ankles.
“I hope you appreciate I'm using locally sourced materials,” he said holding up a hank of rope as he tied her. “Hemp from the Island. Of course, it's normally used for fixing stuff to motorbikes and the like and not for tying up gorgeous girls, but it does this job nicely.” Hemp; another thrill swept through Bessy’s body. A rope perfect for tying up people because the knots were almost impossible to untie. There would be no escape from this. The realisation made her kick her feet, but that only made him hold her down more firmly and tie her tighter.
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Bessy lay on the sodden bed-cover, taking deep breaths through her cleave-gag – a strip of cloth between her teeth and knotted behind her head. She craned her neck to look down at her body: rivulets of sweat ran down her skin, touching, and then soaking into the bands of hempen rope that tightly crossed her body. Her ankles were bound, so were her legs below her knees, her wrists of course, and her upper body around above and over her breasts with the rope cinched tightly just above her elbows. Thirty minutes of sustained struggling hadn't shifted a single rope or loosened a knot. Only her bikini top was coming loose, only held in place by the encircling rope. Her snug shorts and his tight belt around her lower waist just added to the overall sensation of being wrapped up.
She rolled onto her side and her bangles jangled; they had slipped down now to the bindings around her wrists. She heard a sound outside in the darkness - someone walking past -their feet squeaking in the sand. Bessy stiffened and tried to breathe more quietly through her gag. Jon had carefully locked the door behind him, but she was completely helpless. The footsteps receded; the person walked away without a pause and she relaxed. She forced herself to focus on her situation; thrashing around had achieved nothing. She wiggled her fingers up her wrists to the cord that bound them, trying to reach the knot that she knew was there somewhere – the knot she knew she probably couldn't even untie. Nothing. It was placed high up, probably next where her three pairs of bangles rested against each other.
She wriggled off the bed and carefully hopped towards the door, the wooden floor creaking with each bound. Jon hadn't tethered her, or put her in a hogtie, so she had some freedom of movement. The door was deadlocked: no way in or out without a key. She felt safer now, ironically happier with the extra layer of imprisonment, and hopped back to the bed. The fabric cleave gag tasted of sweat, her sweat, as she bit down in frustration. She would have to just wait until he got back to untie her. She wanted him back for more than just that though. Bessy wanted his hands on her again; their firm but gentle touch as he tied her up drove her wild. Just thinking about it again put an ache back inside her tight shorts, and she rolled on her front, desperate to have some release. She rocked back and forth; instinctively starting to struggle again, which only fanned the heat inside of her. She closed her eyes and moaned.
“Looks like I got back in the nick of time.” Bessy’s eyes flashed open, and she was flipped over. Jon stood over her with the retrieved luggage, an orange hibiscus flower and a container of cocoa-butter. He raised the bloom, “This is for your hair tonight, and this (indicating the lotion) is to massage those rope marks away so you can wear your revealing dress. But I can see I'm going to have to sort something else out first.”
He put his things down on the bedside table. Then with one hand planted on her groin, he gently applied rhythmic pressure while kissing her damp body, touching and caressing her breasts with his free hand. Bessy started rocking again in time, feeling the sensation between her legs rising again in even greater power and intensity. She twisted her wrists and frantically wrenched her ankles and torso, trying to escape their bonds, shouting into her gag. Her bangles dug into her back but she felt no pain. Then she exploded in a white-hot orgasm that hurled her mind out of the hut, spinning over the sea like a flying saucer.
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Bessy stirred. She found herself lying on her front, wet hair plastered over her face, gag still in her mouth. She heard the sound of cutting. A knife? No, it was scissors. He was cutting her free; even her captor was unable to untie the knots tied in Tioman Hemp. She felt the constriction below her knees slide away, and relaxed, enjoying the sensation of his busy hands on her as he worked away at her bindings. There was even a faint bat-squeak of arousal down there again, and she wondered at it returning so soon.
Her body was heaved up, and she felt a tugging. She looked round, twisting to see. She expected to be at least partially free after minutes of the sound of cutting, but she felt as tied up as ever. Jon held up her bisected shorts and her shredded bikini bottoms for her, cut off with a pair of blunt bandage scissors he held in his other hand. Bessy’s eyes were wide and she grunted in surprise as Jon dragged her body down the bed so her legs overhung the edge. She couldn't see but she heard his trousers hit the floor and that jet of flame once again flared inside her.
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The sky was covered in stars, a crescent moon shone in the east. They walked back from the dining hut laughing and staggering over the sand. In the end Bessy just took her shoes off, they just weren't meant for this kind of treatment. The meal was wonderful; they shared an entire Snapper with mussels and oysters, washed down with a chilled Semillon Blanc. Her cuffs jangled in the dark. They had been very useful, as the only rope marks Jon couldn't rub away had been those around her wrists. So, she had carefully worn her silver down low all evening. To mark the occasion, she wore her own large silver hooped earrings to match and was pleased at the attention they received.
They reached their darkened balcony, and they locked in a passionate embrace, kissing deeply. Bessy wrapped her arms around Jon's neck. She felt tired but fulfilled, and as much as she wanted the evening to go on forever she yawned when they broke apart.
“See the effect I have on women?” Jon said, laughing. He unlocked the door of their hut and turned on the lights, dimming them down. They got themselves ready for bed; he helped her out of her dress, and they brushed their teeth, looking at each other. He was still in the bathroom when Bessy put on her night T shirt and briefs, and she paused as she took hold of her bangles, thinking. No, she wasn't allowed to take them off and clinking, she jumped into bed, pulling the sheets over her.
Jon joined her a few minutes later. Turning away and rummaging in the bedside drawer, he turned back holding a pair of police-issue handcuffs and some other chains. Holding her hands, he locked them on her wrists, again with her bangles above the cuffs. Just like when she was tied up, they could no longer be removed.
“I'm sorry I have to chain you up Kitten, but it's for your own safety.” He pulled the sheet aside and locked ankle-cuffs on her as well. She listened as each *click* imprisoned her the more. “When I'm asleep I can't look after you properly, so I have to make sure you stay right here, safe and sound.” He finished by using a separate length of chain that he padlocked to the ankle cuff chain and secured the other end around the foot of the bed. He covered them both up again with the sheet, turned off the light, and took both her hands in his. In the dark Bessy felt him caress her hands, the cuffs on her wrists and the bangles she still wore, and she fell into a deep, deep secure sleep.
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Bessy woke in the pitch black. No, not totally dark; the moon had set but there was still starlight coming in through the window. She sensed a sleeping body lying next to her, breathing deeply and rhythmically. The cool sea breeze stroked her body. She shifted, and was instantly aware of restraints: metal chains that were locked around her wrists and ankles and held her in a cool metallic, unyielding grip. She instinctively moved and she felt the chains go taut, holding her in place, locked to the bed. It was a sensation she had never really experienced before; to wake up and suddenly realise she was in chains, a captive, a prisoner. And the dark shape next to her was the person who had locked her up. They were linked together. Only he had the key. He was her captor. She was his prisoner. He was her....Master.
This realisation and the feel of the tight chains woke her dormant arousal. She wanted him to wake up, to touch her body again. To...yes fuck her like he did last night. The sound of her struggling in her chains started to wake him. She pulled on her ankle chain to its full extent, and felt the sheet rise at her feet as the chain grew taut, as she strove to get nearer to that shadowy shape that rose up on one elbow on the other side of the bed. She could just reach, and craning her head, she pressed her hot mouth to his…..
