by Van ©2021
		Chapter 1

San Ignatius 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 Corbyns.

Paige Livingston

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 ask them.

Alice Corbyn

Anyway, both sisters have amazing bodies and striking features.

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.

Chelsea Corbyn

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, repeat).

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 roommates.

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 Paige.

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 festivities.

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 professional pride.

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 coffee.

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 acquiescence/cooperation). 

MATERIALS:

●  A substantial quantity of white, 4.0 mm, seven-strand core, braided-sheath, synthetic paracord (aka parachute cord, aka 550-cord).

●  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.

HOW PAIGE USED THE MATERIALS:

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 up.

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 identical treatment.

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 gagged comfort.

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 this year."

"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 was unnecessary.

"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 count."

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 free themselves?

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 actual girls.

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.

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 friends.

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.  Were 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 possibility.

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.  Paige 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 anything.