All At Sea

Protective Colouring

By Gillian B

The necklace was splendid while being a masterpiece of understatement. Two delicate star shapes hung, one slightly higher than the other, from a short horizontal bar which was in turn suspended from a fine chain. To call the pendants stars was to do them an injustice. They were each about an inch and a half in diameter with perhaps a dozen arms, all delicately sinuous and each slightly different. The form they suggested was perhaps the fronds of a sea anemone or a delicate flower. The modest blue-grey sheen of the metal coupled with its obvious weight revealed its identity as platinum. A tiny white diamond highlit the tip of each arm while a massive blue-white diamond like frozen fire occupied the centre of each star.

The superb necklace was presented to public gaze nestling just above the cleavage of the small plump woman wearing it at the Captain's table. She wore a dress of midnight blue velvet and from her outline and posture there was clearly a corset supporting the statuesque bosom. Blue-black silk gloves covered her arms almost to her shoulders so as not to distract the eye from the breathtaking jewellery.

The woman herself was unremarkable in her appearance yet managed to radiate a poise and charm that eluded many more conventionally beautiful women on the Silicon Star. Her short prematurely grey hair had just a touch of gel on it giving it a slightly tousled, urchin-like effect. Large round steel-framed spectacles magnified her periwinkle blue eyes and made her small chipmunk-like face seem even tinier.

She was obviously English from her accent and both she and Captain Smith were clearly enjoying a highly technical appraisal of the relative skills, merits and prospects of their preferred County Cricket teams. The Americans at the table had given up trying to follow the intricacies of the discussion and talked among themselves hoping that the Captain would eventually return to more inclusive topics.

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After dinner, the small plump woman returned to her cabin. It was comfortably appointed but not one of the magnificent outside staterooms. Hers was buried deep within the interior of the ship where there was always a pervading background rumble of machinery. She didn't mind that; the sound always made her think of travel and adventure.

She removed the necklace and, after gazing at it lovingly for a moment, returned it to the velvet pouch that lay empty on her bed. Next, she removed the dress and petticoat and laid them on the bed too. Briefly, the woman admired herself in the full length mirror in her cabin. She knew that fashion favoured the tall and slender over the short and round, but nevertheless she liked what she saw, especially dressed as she was now. The corset which had shaped her bosom so well to display the platinum jewellery was revealed as black silk. Tiny blue forget-me-nots, the same colour as her eyes cheekily decorated the fastenings on the busk. She knew that for proper care of a corset, one should always wear it over a chemise, but she preferred to feel it against her bare skin. Wearing it like this also meant that she could use the suspenders attached to the corset to support her sheer black stockings. The briefest of black silk panties was framed by the two inches of bare thigh above each stocking top. The woman's eyes travelled down the length of her reflection's well-formed legs to the ankle length high-heeled boots she wore. While it was undoubtedly true that she was carrying quite a lot of fat, the underlying frame was solidly muscled and surprisingly supple.

With a shake of the head, the woman tore herself away from her self admiration. She hesitated for a moment and then went to her bedside cabinet from which she withdrew a large box of expensive chocolates. With almost sensuous care, she peeled off the protective plastic film and opened the box. She admired the contents for a moment then selected a chocolate delicately with her gloved fingertips and popped it into her mouth. She closed her eyes briefly in the momentary ecstasy as the aristocratic Belgian chocolate melted in her mouth.

The woman lifted from the dressing table a piece of bent wire, apparently shaped at random as a mindless displacement activity. She took it and the small velvet pouch into the compact bathroom attached to her cabin. She placed a towel on the floor to protect her stockings and knelt down in front of the shower stall. She poked the wire down into the drain hole and lifted. It was carefully shaped as a hook and the whole moulded acrylic shower tray lifted up. In the deep space beneath it, a funnel had been fitted into the cut drain pipe so that any water run into the shower by the maid service cleaning the bathroom would run away safely. Packed into the remaining space were plastic bags containing quantities of stolen jewellery and the working tools and costume of La Cioccolata, for that is who she was.

By day, the woman had adopted many personas but by night she was a solitary, daring and efficient jewel thief. Her passion for chocolate came second only to her passion for diamonds and a baffled Italian police force had once dubbed her "La Cioccolata". Although she went by no name in her clandestine business, the woman had secretly adopted La Cioccolata as her private name for herself.

The beautiful platinum pendant stars had been the proceeds of a robbery many years ago. The piece was so heart-achingly beautiful that she had never had the heart to sell it. So much time had passed that, by now, it would only be remembered by its grieving former owner and perhaps by a fanatical police officer or two. On balance, it was safe to wear it openly as she had done that night and to enjoy the thrill of its caress against her chest. Besides, it had an important role to play in providing her the protective colouring she needed to adopt. Tonight, she would appear to be the innocent victim of La Cioccolata.

She looked at a selection of empty jewellery cases of the type supplied by retailers. She quickly rejected the ones carrying well-known establishments, such as Mappin and Webb or Tiffany. An unmarked case used by an individual designer would surely be more appropriate to a piece such as the platinum pendant. She chose a plain black velvet lined box and set it aside. A bundle of white cotton rope, a silk handkerchief, a white silk scarf and a small card were also chosen and placed to one side. Everything else, including the pendant in its velvet pouch, was returned to its hiding place. The shower tray was carefully repositioned, bedded on a little white modelling clay which matched the appearance of the silicone sealant that had been cut away.

Time for another chocolate. La Cioccolata studied the diagram inside the lid of her current box of chocolates. Of course she knew the centres intimately but it still gave her the greatest of pleasure to read their names like an honour roll of past lovers: Cerise Noire, Montelimar, Nougat... She paused, a faint smile hovering on her lips, then chose. In one swift movement, the chocolate was in her mouth working its magic. She closed her eyes and shuddered slightly.

The moment past, La Cioccolata set to work to stage the apparent aftermath of another daring robbery.

She sat down on the edge of the bed with the pile of rope beside her. The first job was to make a loop of rope which would encircle her wrists twice. The length had to be just right so that a cinch round it would clamp her wrists securely but not painfully or dangerously. After a little trial and error, she had a loop exactly the right size. She laid it to one side.

Next she selected a longer piece of rope and set to work to tie her ankles together. As she still was wearing her high heeled Victorian-style boots, she took the opportunity to tie her feet together too, with turns of rope under her arches. A second length of rope cinched her foot and ankle bindings and finished with a single loose strand of rope behind her heels.

It was difficult to see clearly past her legs to the loose end of rope behind her ankles, but it was crucial to her plan. She formed a small noose in the free end. It took several attempts but eventually she ended up with a noose which when doubled over would enclose a circle of about an inch and a half diameter. The barrel of the noose was tight against the back of her ankle binding. Of course it would pull away from there slightly as the noose tightened but that was in accord with her plan.

The next step was much easier. She bound and cinched her legs just below the knee. She kept this binding slightly loose, as it would tighten when her legs were more bent later.

La Cioccolata paused for a moment in indecision then stood up and bunny-hopped to the open chocolate box for one last delightful bite for the night. Satisfied, she hopped back and sat down again.

A gag came next. La Cioccolata always preferred gags to look neat as well as being functional. She started by unfolding and then balling up a silk handkerchief which she pushed into her mouth. A long white scarf in thin silk came next. She centred it at the back of her neck then wrapped the ends round her head, crossing them so they both came between her teeth, forcing her jaws open and pressing the handkerchief deep into her mouth. She took the ends round to the back again, crossed them and brought them forwards again. This time the scarf covered her mouth and the previous layer of cleave gag. Finally she double knotted the ends at the nape of her neck.

The next bit was the trickiest to do physically. She took a 50 foot length of rope, found the centre and doubled it. She wrapped the doubled rope around herself, just below her bust and above her elbows. Reaching round behind herself, she fed the two free ends of the rope through the larkshead formed by the fold in the middle of the rope. She pulled the free ends as tight as she could, her arms being drawn in against her sides as she did do. She then wound the free ends round her again, still keeping them together, so they passed above her breasts. This turn of rope was against bare flesh rather than her corset and pinched cheekily as she tightened it. Working blind with her hands behind her back, the rope in the harness she was forming was necessarily slacker than she would like. She fed the free ends through a loop of the nexus of ropes developing between her shoulder blades and passed it under the ropes between her left arm and her body, up and over her left shoulder, behind her neck, down over the right shoulder and back between her right arm and her body. She grasped the free ends in her left hand and fed them behind one of the other ropes behind her back.

So long as La Cioccolata's elbows were spread wide to thread rope through the web of ropes behind he, she could not draw the harness properly tight. She was, however, supple enough to be able to reach up behind herself with either hand and touch the back of her neck. She reached up there with both hands and separated the free ends of the ropes, bringing them together above the ropes passing behind her neck. as she pulled down on those ropes, the ropes passing under her arms cinched up all the other turns tight. She knotted off the free ends of the rope, thereby securing a now very snug rope chest harness.

With her arms now held slightly behind her, it was becoming difficult to move at all. La Cioccolata grabbed the wrist coil she had made earlier and slithered off the bed to land kneeling beside it.

She shuffled round so her feet were almost in contact with the bed then, still kneeling, arched her body back until her head contacted the edge of the mattress. She pushed her right hand through the wrist coils. With her left hand, she checked that the doubled loop of the noose attached to her ankle binding was still in place. Still with her left hand, she threaded the left hand side of the wrist coils through the noose as far as it would go. After a last visual check of the cabin, she wriggled her left hand through the unoccupied side of the wrist coils. Very slowly and deliberately, La Cioccolata straightened her back. The noose attached to her ankle binding tightened, cinching the wrist coils into a secure binding. She jerked sharply with her hands to complete the tightening.

In a strange way, La Cioccolata almost enjoyed the sensation of being held inescapably in ropes. The thrill of going past the point of no return on the occasions when she needed to tie herself up was a strange experience, almost as exciting as a daring robbery.

She toppled slowly over onto her side then rolled onto her stomach, reasoning that this might be the most comfortable position for a protracted period. Her heels were almost touching her bottom and the pull on her wrists was not inconsiderable but it was bearable.

Assuming all went well, the bound woman now had the perfect cover story. From her position on the floor, she reviewed her preparations. A discarded dress and an empty jewellery case told the story of a surprise attack while preparing for bed. The defiant calling card corroborated by the opened and partially consumed box of chocolates and by the style of ropework identified the assailant as La Cioccolata. Finally, should anyone care to look inside the lock on the cabin door, they would find the telltale scratches left by a lockpick.

Anyone who had been tied up tightly for several hours would be stiff and bruised from the experience. La Cioccolata had long ago concluded that the after effects of being bound could not be simulated and the only course of action was actually to be bound for the requisite time. Accordingly, it was now a little after 12:30am and her early morning cup of coffee would be delivered by a steward at 8:00am. She was relying on being released, possibly by cutting the ropes, before anyone had the chance to examine her predicament in detail and realise it might have been self applied.

La Cioccolata settled down as best as she could and eventually fell into a sort of half doze. A small click caused her to awaken with a start. It felt too early for the steward and, sure enough, the clock showed a little before 3:30am. Nevertheless someone was working on the lock of her cabin door and she could not do a thing about it.

Sadly, this story was still unfinished at the time of Gillian's passing.

All At Sea: Prologue

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