Sarobah : 02 - Mayday (F+/F+)

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Sarobah : 02 - Mayday (F+/F+)

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Sarobah's stories
02 - Mayday
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By Sarobah

Tue Jul 29, 2008 11:52 pm

In these uncertain times, the initiation rite is becoming a thing of the past. All in all, that's probably a good thing. Like just about everything that starts out as harmless fun, some idiot goes too far and spoils it for everyone, so the Powers That Be end up banning it. I can't say I blame them, but I'm glad that I was at least on the tail end of a longstanding ritual that suited my peculiar proclivities.

This, incidentally, has been the only time (with a couple of iffy exceptions) that a major tie-up experience has been initiated outside my provenance. Even without my history, events would still have transpired essentially as they did.

In my second year at university, I moved out of my apartment into an official student residence. It is rather old-fashioned, with the sexes segregated on alternate floors; but it was ideal for me. Meals and laundry were taken care of, the place had excellent study facilities, and it was just a short walk to classes. I shared a room with a girl called Mary who was studious and quiet, unlike me (studious and loud). Yet it was no monastery. We had regular dorm parties for which "orgiastic" would be but a slight exaggeration. Indeed, someone (it was me, come to think of it) aptly named the house Dante's Second Circle. However, the highlight turned out to be the annual Mayday ritual. It happened every May Day (hence the name, to state the obvious).

None of us newbies quite knew what Mayday was. We observed that, as the month approached, the older residents started to get edgy and secretive. Clandestine meetings were held; but no one let on what was being planned. Of course, it would not have taken much effort to do the research and find out. On the other hand, the fun is in the surprise, so we just went about our business.

Now this was a couple of years ago, when May the first fell on a Monday; and we were enjoying a holiday long weekend. So I went to bed on Sunday night expecting to sleep in till noon. If only... For just as rosy-fingered dawn was lighting the east, I was woken by a loud rapping on the door. Mary slept on oblivious, so I stumbled out of bed, dragged a comb across my head and answered. Peering through blurry, blinky eyes and the gloom of the corridor, I was confronted by a posse of hooded beings barking orders and brandishing - my lil' heart skipped a beat - ropes and bandanas.

Poor Mary was bundled out of bed and we were hustled into the hallway. All the girls on the floor were being assembled there. Most of us were in our undies or nighties; it was chilly and we were shivering. We were instructed to stand at attention and face the wall, and with a few mumbled grumbles we obeyed. A female voice (that was vaguely familiar) was giving the orders, though all of her henchmen appeared to be henchmales. Then came the command that always gets me tingling: "Hands behind backs."

Now I have to stress, at this point, that anyone who objected or protested or refused to co-operate was immediately sent back to her room. Interestingly, none that I noticed did so.

A couple of the mistress's minions passed down the line, binding our wrists and wrapping bandanas about our heads. Mary, next to me, moaned softly, while the girl on the other side giggled. I, the old hand, tried to play it cool; but I flinched when cold hands brushed against my bare shoulders. "Keep still!" growled the vaguely familiar voice.

Task completed, one of the minions called out: "Task completed," or something like that. We were ordered to turn and start marching, along the hallway and down the stairwell. I was a bit concerned that someone - maybe I - might stumble on the stairs and bring the whole line crashing down; which, without the use of our arms to steady us, could have been catastrophic. However, our escorts gave us a helping hand - perhaps a little too helpful once or twice, if you get my drift. We were bunched up so closely that each body was touching the girl's in front and the girl's behind (or should that be the girl's behind in front and the girl's front behind? Never mind.) Each time I exhaled, Mary's luxuriant hair ruffled against my face. I sniffed expensive shampoo. Meanwhile, I felt the giggling girl's breath gently tickling the back of my own neck. It was all very sensuous.

Such good things must come to an end, and as we filed out into the lobby, the cold hard floor was like an icesheet under my unshod tootsies. Then came upon us the blast of a frigid morning breeze, followed by a short but treacherous manoeuvre down the stone steps of the front porch, and the frosty, sodden grass of the lawn. Toes curled, goosebumps blossomed. Increasingly shrill commands to remain motionless went unheeded as we hopped and stomped to keep warm.

Our blindfolds were removed but our hands were kept tied. A large audience had gathered at the edge of the roadway, rugged up against the chill, to witness the proceedings. Our general state of undress combined with our jiggling to stave off the cold no doubt provided some entertainment for the spectators, but I was beyond caring about that. For the first time in my TUGs experience, I was hoping for a speedy conclusion.

After a haranguing about who knows what - for who was listening? - we were untied and allowed to retreat upstairs for warm clothing and a hot breakfast. However, the adventure was far from over. During the day, there were all sorts of games and competitions, the common theme of which was humiliation of the newbies. At least two events entailed being tied up, and then there was the pillory. I managed to be a part of all three (lucky me!). The first was an oldie-but-goodie - you are blindfolded, your hands are tied behind your back and you bend over a table to eat a sloppy pie. My sort of game. The second was being bound to a pole and sprayed with goo. Heaven on a stick - literally. The third involved being put in a pillory - head and arms, not feet (that's the stocks) - and being pelted with more goo. Now I'm sure there's something disturbingly Freudian about immobilized girls being smeared with sticky mess, but I shall leave that to the experts.

Such was Mayday, and it hasn't been repeated. What a pity. To finish off, though, I should place on record that it wasn't just us gals who were "initiated" that day. However, the guys got off lightly (unless, like me, they love this sort of thing). They were allowed to put their clothes on before they were brought out into the cold; and instead of being bound and blindfolded, they were loosely wrapped in tape and cellophane that came off quicker than Paris Hilton's underwear.

Now, had I organized that final Mayday...


Sarobah
Australia

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