Island is a jewel of the Southern California coast; however,
truth be told, it isn't an island. The crevasse between
the "island" and the mainland is about fifty yards wide and
thirty yards deep, but the jumble of boulders at the bottom find
themselves fully submerged under the Pacific waves only during
the highest of high tides. The California and U.S.
Geologic Surveys are in total agreement: San Ignatius Island is
not an island. That doesn't mean it isn't
isolated, of course.
To be more precise, the island's 6.5 acres of coastal chaparral,
live oaks, and pines would be isolated if it wasn't for
the presence of a sturdy single-lane bridge built by the
island's owners, the super-wealthy Corbyn family. Also,
access to the bridge (and therefore the peninsula) is controlled
by means of formidable physical barriers and electronic gates at
both ends of the span. Tasteful but fully functional crash
barriers and vertical iron bars topped with razor-wire are
involved. There's even a NO TRESPASSING sign! The
residents of the island and its 100-year-old vacation cottage
are safe from all but the most persistent and daring of
intruders, burglars, and Mormon missionaries.
Also, the Corbyn's vacation cottage isn't really a
cottage. It's a full blown mansion, built in the same
"American Victorian Wooden Beach Resort" style as the famous
Hotel Del Coronado at San Diego. Even the "vacation"
designation is dubious. While it is true that members of
the extended family do, in fact, vacation at the island and
enjoy its many luxurious amenities, there are permanent
residents. Three, to be precise, and two of them are
The first resident is the caretaker, Paige Livingston. The
slender, athletic, 60-something redhead has worked for the
Corbyn family for most of her adult life, and most of her
positions were at the executive level. Technically, Paige
is retired and is caretaker in title only. Live in an
opulent, extravagantly appointed villa nearly surrounded by the
Pacific and get paid for it, in addition to her
retirement income? Sure, why not?
The second and third residents of the cottage are members of the
Corbyn family, Alice and Chelsea. Upon graduation from
Lewis & Clark University, the 30-something and 20-something
sisters (respectively) declined to go into one of the many
branches of the Corbyn business empire, but decided instead to
pursue a joint-career as a writing team. To date they've
met with modest success, publishing two novels and contributing
to several short story collections.
Oh-by-the-way, in the looks department, any objective outside
observer would evaluate the sisters as absolutely
stunning. They have luscious brown hair, striking doe eyes
(also brown), symmetrical features, keep themselves in outstanding
physical shape, and maintain healthy, all-over tans.
(They bask beside the cottage's large swimming pool without
benefit of clothing.) But then, it's hardly surprising
Alice and Chelsea are attractive. Unarguably, the entire
Corbyn clan has been blessed with good genes. They're all
attractive, and they aren't shy about it, either. Just
Anyway, both sisters have amazing bodies and striking
Oh-by-the-way, Alice and Chelsea have what might be called a unique
relationship. They love playing bondage
games, and have done so since they were little girls.
Cowgirl and Indian Princess! Cop and Robber! Batgirl
and Catwoman! Pirate Queen and the Viceroy's
Daughter! Etc. Their school friends were included in
the fun, of course, both the girls and boys.
The fun-with-rope festivities were largely put on hold when the
sisters went off to boarding school (separately, three years
apart) and then at University (also three years apart).
Holidays and vacations were available for play, but it wasn't
the same as the good old days. Restrictive Recreation had
became more... intermittent.
However, things got back to "normal" after they both graduated
from Lewis & Clark. The sisters talked the family into
letting them live at the cottage, year round, and Chelsea agreed
to become her big sister's writing partner.
Alice had made a compelling argument. It required tying
the bikini-clad "pipsqueak" (Chelsea) to a her bed and tickling
her bare feet until she agreed to the proposition.
Unfortunately, it took a while... nearly an hour. Of
course, Chelsea might have agreed to the partnership quite a bit
earlier if Alice hadn't crammed a pair of panties in her mouth
and tied a very pretty summer-weight scarf as a cleave-gag to
keep it there. Poor Chelsea had to wait until she was allowed
to agree. The important thing is... she agreed.
Truth be told, the partnership had been Chelsea's idea all
along. The sisters had been bouncing story ideas off each
other since grade school, so formalizing the practice into a
creative union was only logical. The bondage and
tickle-torture were... ceremonial.
The girl's relationship with their caretaker can also be
described as unique.
Paige did, in fact, make it a habit of referring to the Corbyn
sisters as "girls," even though Alice was over 30 and Chelsea
was in her late 20's. (When you're in your 60's, the world
is full of "girls.") Anyway, Alice and Chelsea
might be Corbyns, but there was no doubt whatsoever who was in
charge at the cottage. It was Paige. She was the
arbiter of all disputes and the dispenser of all punishments.
And it was an open secret Alice and Chelsea's mother (Bernadette
Corbyn) was fully onboard with the arrangement. In fact,
it was she who talked Paige into making the supreme sacrifice of
retiring to the luxury of St. Ignatius Island in order to
supervise her darling daughters.
That part about Paige being "final arbiter" wasn't quite true.
Alice was known to punish her brat of a kid sister for some
ungracious remark, failure to keep her room neat and clean,
etc., but they both knew it was just an excuse (and a flimsy one
at that) for initiating a round of "Bondage Tag." Chelsea
would transgress. Alice would tie her up. Chelsea
would wiggle free (eventually). Chelsea would
retaliate. Alice would retaliate. (Lather, rinse,
However, Paige was the Ultimate Judicial Authority.
When the sisters' shenanigans rose above the level of "innocent
persecution," Paige felt she had no choice but to put her foot
down. Both rope-happy siblings would be deemed guilty of
disturbing the domestic tranquility, and since Paige firmly
believed in the principle of Punishment in Kind, Alice and
Chelsea would find themselves tied to their beds for the night,
tied to lounge chairs beside the pool for the afternoon (under
the awning so they wouldn't burn in the California sun, of
course), tied to support columns in the basement for a few hours
to contemplate their lack or restraint, or excess of
restraint, or... whatever. (Lather, rinse, repeat).
None of this happened all that frequently, and never
when nonresident members of the Corbyn clan were vacationing at
the cottage; however, when Paige, Alice, and Chelsea had the
place to themselves, one of the resident sisters would find
herself tied to something, somewhere, for a few hours at least
once a week—two days maximum. It wasn't that disruptive.
The writing still got done and Paige had plenty of time to
complete her housekeeping chores, do the shopping, and enjoy her
"retirement." Things were not out of
control. In fact, on St. Ignatius Island, things were very
much under control, Paige Livingston's control.
The was also the issue of the annual Bondage Olympics.
That was the joking name for what happened when Alice and
Chelsea invited their college friends to enjoy two week
collective vacations on St. Ignatius Island as their
guests. Everybody had a blast, splitting their time
between lounging poolside, shopping in town, picnicking in the
"wilds" of the estate, helping Paige cook delicious meals, and
other innocent pursuits. (That was that they told their
friends and families, anyway, and they'd all agreed to stick to
the cover story.)
What actually happened during these "island vacations" was an orgy
(so to speak) of bondage fun, with the participants divided
into two teams: Team Alice, comprised of Alice and her former
roommates, and Team Chelsea, comprised of Chelsea and her former
Every game needs a referee, of course, and in this case it was
Paige. She also served as the umpire, line judge, and
the-final-word regarding what was legal, sporting, and/or
allowed. She was also the creator of the series of
contests that comprised the competition. It couldn't be
one or both of the sisters as they were... involved.
Anyway, once the games began, Paige's word was law, and anyone
caught doing something dastardly and/or underhanded knew she
would be severely punished. Either that or
handsomely rewarded for her creativity. It was up to
As will be soon become abundantly clear, preparations for this
year's games were well in hand. Invitations had long since
been sent, RSVP'd to the positive, and all the required
victuals, liquid refreshments, and gaming supplies purchased,
delivered, stored, and awaited the imminent commencement of
| Chapter 1
It was early
in the afternoon, three days before the arrival of Paige's
guests (the sisters' team-members), and Paige had decreed a
Final Executive Planning Meeting of the Executive Board of the
Bondage Olympics Committee (BOC). She didn't want anything
to go wrong with this year's games. It was a matter of
All members of the committee were present: the Permanent
Chairwoman and Head Referee (Paige) and the two Team Captains
(Alice and Chelsea). The location was the mansion's
outdoor, poolside patio, under the dappled shade of the
expansive pergola and its thriving community of Mandevilla vines.
Paige had dictated the agenda, specified the attire, and made
all formal arrangements for this, the final, critically
important meeting before the games.
And speaking of attire, Paige was wearing her favorite Mexican
sandals, leg-hugging, slightly faded designer jeans, and a very
pretty blouse with vertical black and white stripes. She was the
Head Referee, after all. (Her fit, freckled, athletic,
60-something body was also clad in a tasteful, sexy panties and
bra combo, but that's none of your business.) She was
sitting in a comfortable patio chair with her legs crossed and
was sipping from a very pretty hand-thrown mug of dark roast
Alice and Chelsea, on the other hand, were in their team
uniforms of skimpy string bikinis in their team color of
lavender-purple and jade-green, respectively. The sisters
were reclined on lounge chairs with their own piping hot mugs of
coffee conveniently located on low side-tables; however, at the
moment, the other elements of their mandatory meeting costumes
were preventing them from enjoying the no doubt delicious,
desirable, and no doubt refreshing beverages.
This was Paige's doing, of course, and she'd chosen the
materials required, formulated a plan for their employment, and
executed said plan (with the sisters' begrudging
● A substantial quantity of white, 4.0 mm,
seven-strand core, braided-sheath, synthetic paracord (aka
parachute cord, aka 550-cord).
HOW PAIGE USED THE MATERIALS:
● A pair of three-inch diameter, red, low-density
silicon-rubber foam balls. They were either Nerf®
products or knock-offs.
● A roll of off-white Microfoam tape, the kind with
sticky, hypoallergenic adhesive that really clings to a
damsel's skin but doesn't cause irritation or unsightly marks
when it's ripped away.
Both sisters were box-tied: their arms folded behind their
backs, forearms lashed together, upper arms pinned to their
torsos by horizontal bands above and below their
bikini-cup-covered breasts, and diagonal bands yoking their
shoulders and cinching the other elements of the box-tie.
In addition, multi-strand, horizontal, well-cinched bands of
cord bound their legs together at their mid-thighs, above and
below their knees, mid-lower-legs, and ankles.
All of the multi-strand bands were tight enough to dimple the
sisters' tan skin. Alice and Chelsea were very tied
Starting with Alice (and while Chelsea watched with poorly
disguised apprehension), Paige compacted one of the foam balls,
then stuffed it into the elder sister's mouth, where it
re-expanded to fill Alice's yap to capacity. Next, she
used a strip of Microfoam tape to seal Alice's lips, covering
her lower face from ear-to-ear and nose-to-chin. And then
(of course), Chelsea's mouth, lips, and lower face received
Alice and Chelsea were well-gagged and very tied up.
Finally, Paige ensured the sisters would remain in their lounge
chairs and give the Executive Planning Committee's Chairwoman
their full attention by tying their big toes together with
lengths of paracord, then lashing the free ends to the foot of
their chairs, tethering them in place in bikini-clad, bound, and
Unfortunately, Paige's actions limited the scantily-clad, bound,
and gagged sisters' ability to participate in the meeting to
wiggling, squirming, writhing, and rolling around on the lounge
chairs' cushions. Sitting up and flopping back down was
also possible, as was mewling, moaning, the heaving of truly
dramatic sighs, the rolling of eyes, and the production of withering
stares, but at least Paige could be sure the meeting
wouldn't get sidetracked. There would be no last minute
additions to the agenda, no extraneous chitchat unrelated to the
games, and above all, no silly changes to Paige's elaborate and
brilliant plan for the intricate matrix of competitive
events. Alice and Chelsea always wanted to shuffle the
order of the competition, change who would be doing what to
whom, etc. Well... not this time! Paige would have
the last word (at least in the formal meeting).
Also, Paige knew the sisters would be paying
attention. They knew their beloved employee wasn't above
handing out punishment when her orders weren't followed.
The punishments in question weren't particularly onerous, of
course, but neither sister wanted a spanking, or to be put to
bed bound and gagged without any supper. Such horrible
occurrences were anything but common on St. Ignatius Island, and
they'd just as soon see things remained that way.
Squirming occasionally for what comfort was available, Alice and
Chelsea lay in their bonds and listened to the Chairwoman with
big, brown, doe-eyes.
"So," Paige said, paused to sip her coffee, then flicked and
tapped her way through her iPad until she found what she was
looking for. "Ah, here it is." She paused
to smile at the bound, gagged, and nearly naked sisters.
"The checklist. All competitive supplies are inventoried
and ready for use in the small storeroom off the laundry.
Check." She paused, again. "I've decided to go with
all white this year—white and clear, that
is. Of course, it's arguable that clear is a form of
white, since the relevant items are transparent or translucent
and are available in a number of different tints—blue, red,
green, yellow, amber, etc. Anyway, everything's either
white or clear. The balls in your mouths are the
exception, of course. White was out of stock, so I went
with red. They can't be seen once properly applied, so
color is of marginal importance." She heaved a sigh.
"Still, I would have liked for us to use white
gob-stoppers so everything matched. Maybe next year I'll
go black, or maybe coyote-brown. Everything's available in
black and coyote-brown these days. Anyway, the takeaway
is, this year everything's white."
The nearly naked and very bound and gagged captives
shared a look of mutual unamused boredom, rolled their pretty
brown eyes, and heaved simultaneous, well-gagged sighs.
Paige was in a chatty mood. She got that way when she knew
she had everything firmly under control. When such was the
case, she smiled, dithered, and became a non-stop
chatterbox. It was irritating (as well as lovable, but the
sisters would never let their resident tyrant know they
considered her to be in any way lovable).
"I decided to go with T-REX brand for most of the tape
products," Paige purred. Their tagline is 'ferociously
strong tape' and the adhesive is, indeed, ferocious. I
bought a case of the duct tape, in white, of course, and a
case of clear. Have I made myself clear?"
Alice and Chelsea favored their giggling captor with their best
we-are-not-amused glowering stares.
"Any-hoo," Paige continued, returning her smiling gaze to
the iPad. "The rest of the supplies are mainly bundles of
generic cable-ties and plastic cling-wrap, both in multiple
lengths and widths and all in case lots. We're very well-supplied
"Mrrrmf!" Alice growled through her gag, staring daggers at
their beloved housekeeper.
Paige smiled at Alice. "Yes, darling? More
details? Okay. The cable-ties are all milky-white
and the stretch-wrap is clear."
Alice rolled her eyes and Chelsea's eyes smiled above her
gag. Alice had been urging their captor to move things
along. Paige knew it, and the sisters knew she knew it.
As it turned out, Alice's "interference" in the meeting agenda
"Now," Paige said, closing the cover of her iPad, I have laundry
and menu-planning to do, so..." She stood, stretched,
downed the last of her coffee, then leaned down and released the
slip-knot binding Alice's big-toes and tethering her to her
lounge chair. She then changed positions and did the same
for Chelsea. "You girls play nice," she ordered, then
turned and strolled towards the mansion.
"MRRRRMFH!" the sisters complained as one, squiriming, bucking,
and fighting their bonds.
Paige stopped, nearly at the edge of the pool, and turned to
stare at the nearly-naked, bound, and gagged sisters. Her
smile had faded. "As I've told you on occasions too
numerous to count, you have to learn to work together, and
sanctioned competitions like the Bondage Olympics don't
count. So..." She turned and resumed progress
towards the mansion. "Work things out for yourselves, as
I've also told you to do on occasions too numerous to
Alice decided it was worth trying again. "MRRRRRF!"
Failure. Abject failure.
Alice shifted her gaze to Chelsea and Chelsea gazed back,
blinking her eyes in an innocent but totally unconvincing
manner. It was the same old pathetic melodrama.
They'd been abandoned, helplessly bound! How could they
SCENARIO ONE: Alice would heave her helpless body off her
chair, hop to her little sister's chair, and sit and/or flop
down on her little sister's chair. Next, after a Herculean
(or Xenaesque) effort of groping for knots, fumbling with her
fingers, and working up a sweat, she'd finally succeed
in releasing enough of Chelsea's bonds that her little sister
could untie what remained herself. Then, Chelsea would
return the favor, right? Wrong!
SCENARIO TWO: Chelsea would be the one taking the
initiative and untying enough of her big sister's bondage for
Alice to be able to complete the task. Then, Alice would
untie Chelsea? Unlikely.
On similar previous occasions (many previous occasions),
when Paige had crafted situations in which the sisters were
dependent on each other to regain their freedom, the result was
always the same.
SCENARIO THREE: Whichever sister had been untied by the
other would take several minutes to gloat over her still bound
and gagged sibling, then abandon her to languish in her
inescapable bonds for an additional hour... maybe two.
Then, after this interval of totally unjust and loathsome
languishing, she would return for additional gloating, and only
then free her helpless sibling. The treacherous sister
would giggle, run for the proverbial hills, and hide until her
betrayed sister cooled down. This had been the way of the
world (at least on St. Ignatius Island) since the girls were
Both Alice and Chelsea were graduates of Lewis and Clark
University, and they recognized the recurring situation as an
example of The
Prisoner's Dilemma. But unfortunately, neither had
found their cursory familiarity with game theory to be in any
way helpful. In terms of regaining their freedom,
cooperation might yield the greatest reward, but betraying one's
sister was so much fun and so very satisfying!
Actually, there was a SCENARIO FOUR:
Eventually... after an hour or two... Paige would became
disgusted with the sisters' lack of trust and failure to
cooperate and would untie both sisters to the point that they
could each complete the task of regaining their freedom—then
find important housework that required her to be elsewhere.
This was what usually happened when both sisters found
themselves bound and gagged on the bed in one of the bedrooms,
the floor of a closet, storeroom, or garden shed, or, like now,
lounging on poolside lounge chairs.
However, when it was only one sister bound and gagged, usually
having lost a bet or otherwise getting herself tricked into
bondage—all bets were off!
It wasn't that one sister would leave the other to languish in
inescapable bondage for hours and hours and hours (not very
often, anyway), but things would come to a head relatively
quickly. Gloating over a helpless sibling who was seething
with anger and/or deeply wounded by your display of sisterly
indifference was great fun, but Alice and Chelsea were
sisters, after all, and loved each other deeply (just as
deeply as they loved Paige). Sister-on-sister shenanigans
were over relative quickly, no more than a half-hour of formal
gloating and a total of an hour-and-a-half of bound and gagged
languishing. Granted, sometimes the gloating and
languishing would be broken up into a series of alternating
episodes, but the total was rarely more than two hours. Or
maybe two-and-a-half. And only very rarely indeed did the
total episode last more than three.
Fortunately, games of any sort only happened about two or three
times a month. Otherwise, how would anyone on St. Ignatius
Island get anything done? Granted, the time lost to futile
struggling against inescapable ropes and/or tape bondage did
eat into the sisters writing time, but they both found the
damsel-in-distress experience to be quite inspirational.
It was a win-win as far as they were concerned. (Not to be
confused with their lack of cooperation when they were left to
languish by Paige, like now. That was seldom win-win, and
they both knew it wouldn't be this time either.)
Anyway, the annual games were something else. During the
competition, the collective number of damsel-hours of bondage
happening at the cottage would be much, much higher;
however, by way of mitigation, there would be more damsels in
residence to share the load.
| Chapter 1
Paige had put
the finishing touches on her preparations for the evening meal
(sweet potato, sausage, and kale soup, sweet bread, and a nice
robust Cabernet), but it was too early to actually start
cooking. She strolled to her office, settled into her
comfortable, throne-like office chair, and used her iPad to
access the menus controlling the household security system.
Numerous concealed (or at least low profile) video cameras
recorded everything that happened in and around the cottage,
24/7, providing data for the system's sophisticated surveillance
software. Paige tapped a virtual button, sending the raw
feed from the cameras covering the poolside lounge to the 65" HD
Smart-TV mounted on the wall opposite her desk, then refined her
selection of cameras to display only the most photogenic images
of her beloved charges.
The bikini-clad sisters were exactly as she'd left them at the
conclusion of the meeting: comfortably reclined on their
respective lounge chairs, elaborately bound, and adequately
gagged. Neither was making any attempt whatsoever to free
herself. Nor was either sister attempting to rescue the
other. As Paige continued gazing at the bikini-clad,
bound, and gagged beauties, she couldn't help but heave a
slightly disappointed sigh.
Paige Livingston had a lot of experience with
all-things-bondage. In her younger days, she'd been a
"switch," enjoying both aspects of the top/bottom dynamic.
However, over the years, Paige had bubbled to the top (so to
speak), and became something of a bondage/rigging guru, a person
of influence among her circle of like-minded "hobbyists" and
That said, Paige-in-retirement was not a
dominatrix. There was no "dungeon" hidden under the
mansion. In the first place, it wasn't her mansion.
The cottage was owned by the Corbyns. In the second place,
her relationship with the other two residents was more than a
little maternal, and mothers don't generally have a justifiable
need for an actual dungeon. A "time out room?"
Maybe, but while there were spaces in, around, and below
the mansion suitable for damsel incarceration, there was no
formal "Dungeon" with bondage table, bondage chair, rack,
pillory, horse, St. Andrew's cross, etc., etc.
Anyway, Alice and Chelsea had a healthy, well-developed
relationship with their actual biological mother, but Bernadette
Corbyn was very busy, what with being a titan of finance and
industry. Mother and daughters were lucky to get more than
a week together in the course of a normal year. Paige did
her best to take up the slack. Not what "the girls" needed
actual nurturing, of course. Alice and Chelsea were
mature, well-balanced young ladies. However, Paige,
retired corporate executive, protégé of Bernadette Corbyn, and
resident caretaker was always available to dispense
advice and guidance.
Paige's rigging services were also available, and tying up one
or both sisters when the occasion called for it (like today)
happened... now and then... on a regular basis.
Paige's love for her young employers was genuine in all aspects;
however, illicit "hanky-panky" was most decidedly not involved.
Alice and Chelsea stunningly beautiful and, in fact, gorgeous,
in or out of tight bondage? Yes, and Paige had a
well-developed appreciation of both male and female pulchritude;
however, she had no prurient interest whatsoever in the
Corbyn sisters. There would be no rendering one or both of
the youngsters helpless and "entertaining" them with her
fingers, lips, tongues, gull feathers, paint brushes, vibrators,
kitchen appliances, or any other found objects. Yuck!
Paige gazed at the image of Alice and Chelsea's bikini-clad
forms as they weakly squirmed on the soft cushions of their
respective lounge chairs, tested their bonds and making
restrained comfort motions. Were they hot? Hell
yes they were hot; but Paige was their protector and
mentor. Erotic shenanigans were not a
The same went for the sisters themselves, as far as Paige could
tell, meaning there was no sister-on-sister action.
Neither sister was into binding and gagging the other, then
diddling their helpless sibling silly. A little
teasing? Yes. That was allowed.
Gloating? Of course! In fact, it was more-or-less
required. Erotic torture? Never! Unless you
considered a little "innocent" foot, rib, and armpit tickling to
be erotic torture.
Paige's smile widened. That was where the annual roommate
reunion came in. Erotic Torture was not a formal
element of the imminent Bondage Olympics; however, it wasn't
outside the rules, either. The sisters and their college
chums had allowed romance to, shall we say, intrude on
the festivities on more than one previous occasion, and there
was no indication things would be different this year. As
Head Umpire (and only umpire) it would be Paige's job
to encourage restraint (so to speak).
Paige's smile became wider yet. Their soon-to-be-arriving
guests were also undeniably hot—fit, shapely, and
decidedly comely young ladies—but unlike Alice and Chelsea,
Paige's feelings towards them weren't entirely maternal.
would do her best to keep things on an even keel and under
control (emphasis on control), but even Head Umpires
deserve to have their ashes hauled now and then.
Paige continued gazing at the screen... and smiling. She
knew that eventually, she'd have to expedite matters by freeing
the youngsters herself... but there was no need to rush into
| Chapter 1