Postcards Ch. 05

As I worked, I talked of husbands and what should be expected of them. I told her the joke about the student with the deficiency in mind reading. I spoke of Don and what I had seen of him. I spoke of Sean and what he had done for me. Somehow, I was talking of our mugging two days before. I talked of lawyers and police, of good cops and bad detectives. I talked about the thought of losing Sean to the big revolver in Boss' waistband. I talked about making a distraction and about Sean making the most of it. I talked...

It takes a moment to reorient yourself after a fugue. I had long since finished my rope work. Barbara's rear torso shot looked like a cover forRope Bondage Illustrated. Shaking myself, I rose and picked up the camera. I took half a dozen shots, from different angles. When I walked in front of Barbara, her face pulled me up short. Tears had run down her face, her neck, along the collar bone and between her breasts. Lord YHWH, how much had she cried?

Forgetting everything else I had planned, I took the orange and bowl from Barbara's head, then untied her legs. After I had her on her feet, she leaned in, with the clear intention of support. I could do that. I hugged her, stroked her hair and let her comfort me.

Sean:

Once I had started the ball rolling on Don's issues, my thoughts turned to Sheila. I wondered how much it would cost her to take on Barbara's issues. For that matter, would the distraction be what Sheila needed. Some people are like that. Judging from the way she built a business from a single client and an empty warehouse, Sheila might consider work therapeutic.

I asked Don how he met Barbara. It was a typical Navy romance. She was a nurse at a VA hospital. He was a Petty Officer with a wounded Seaman. The Seaman recovered, but Don kept going by the hospital. Don laughed when he confessed Barbara had been the one to suggest a date. He was a shy boy.

Years passed. Two daughters were raised and married. They had families on the mainland. Don finished his service at Pearl Harbor. A buddy had enticed him with this job, which had worked out well for them. Housing was provided, which is a major expense in Hawaii. Between recycling various items left by clients and his fishing, their expenses were next to nothing. Why did there seem to be a fly in the soup?

Don freely admitted Barbara was the smarter of the two. I could relate. She was a college graduate, which was something Don never managed. He was building a picture of a man who worshiped his wife, while she wanted a more equal footing. The irony is that he ignored the skills she brought to the table. So, I told him about Sheila.

How do you describe the way "I Love it." transformed into "I love her."? I began with the way we met, in the diner, starting with her immaculate tailoring. Little things, like using linen—textured—with worsted wool—smooth. Her look was conservatively daring. I skipped the session, but mentioned a "provocative" picture she included with the disclosure forms.

As I detailed the steps I took to learn what I could, it sounded stalker-ish to my ears. I wanted to comfort and protect her, but some of the steps were a bit over the top in hindsight. Credit Sheila for not misreading the situation. God knows, she gave me enough chances to be protective. That thought brought me back to the mugging. I stopped for a moment. Don eyed me expectantly.

That made sense. He was a senior noncom and he was treating me like an officer thinking aloud. As a noncom myself, I understood the routine. I took him back to the night I proposed. Nothing went as planned, but everything worked. As a trainer, he understood the difficulty with a trainee ahead of the curve. He related how Barbara would order him around in any sort of medical situation. I could not have framed my question better if I tried all day.

I asked, "If you are willing to work for Barbara when there is blood around, why not at other times?" Don never answered. Instead he told me to haul in the drag lines, because home island was in sight. Damn, some of those predator fish are scary.

Sheila:

I did not hear what set Barbara off, but her change in demeanor was as obvious as Francine arriving. She went wide-eyed and struggled with the gag for the first time. I said, "They are coming in, correct?"

Barbara nodded vigorously. I continued, "Sean is no problem. This is the sort of thing Christine would arrange intentionally. The question is, do you want Don to see you like this? Stop. I will removed the gag. Answer with care."

Nothing I had done had produced a strong reaction from Barbara, but I did not live there. Don not only lived there, he had a forceful side. Barbara did think it through. This was good, because she was making a big decision. Subs fear being outed. It is a normal and understandable reaction. However, she might never have a better chance. After thirty years of marriage, she knew her husband. It all churned in her face while I unfastened the gag. When she spoke, her question was simple. "How should we do this?" That's my girl.

Teddybear was on top of things, as usual. I heard him telling Don to slow down. There was a rap at the door. Sean called, "Are you decent?" Idiot.

I called back, "Finish putting up the boat. Barbara has a surprise. Donotspoil it." That would buy us about ten minutes.

To Barbara, "The simplest thing would be to kneel out of sight of the windows. Have the toys in front of you. Do not speak. Let him find you and ask the questions. Do you want to set up here or on the bed?" My nose told me Barbara was about to fulfill a long time fantasy.

I left her kneeling on the mat, with a love seat blocking the view from the door. For toys, there was only the rope, the gag and a hairbrush. Barbara confessed that none of the guests had left a lash or flogger. In a way, that explained the stealth nature of toys. The potato chip bag clips really were potato chip bag clips. I decided to send her a good quality flogger, with an instruction manual. Heaven knew I had enough to choose from.

I found Sean and Don down by the boat, tying things off. It was too good to pass up. I said, "Sean, did you tell Don aboutThe Other Shoe?" I did not wait for a reply. "Sean's grandfather was a Naval officer in The War. Sean inherited a wooden lake yacht, which is currently being restored. The finish work is beautiful. At some point, he will need to learn how to sail it. Could you show him some sheets and bends?"

Sean was skewered like a butterfly in a pin. Don thought it the most natural request possible. He suggested we return eight o'clock for beer and stories. Sean was looking daggers at me, but he followed my lead. That was fine. I was a bad girl who deserved a spanking. If I could not sit, I could always kneel.

Sean:

Sheila was up to something. I would not learn details til the flight back to JFK. Sheila sent pics to my phone—while we were waiting in line at security. At the time I read the tea leaves and warned Don about possible shoals. When she came to find me, I was considering how to explain how much I hate working in the dark. Sheila calmly told a boat captain that my rope skills were deficient. Don never noticed the dig.

As we went back to the cabin, I could not help admiring the artistry of Sheila's trap. Don wanted to return a favor for a favor. Sheila's scheme fit his skill set perfectly. Nor could I object that she was wrong or out of place. I needed the instruction, but would have felt awkward asking. That said, I stopped at the outdoor kitchen for a silicon spatula. Sheila rarely makes a mistake once, so a second time was intentional. If she wanted a spanking, she would get a good one.

First up was the business of the day. I had a pair of canvas bags full of groceries. Sheila is a chicken eater and I wanted a break from fish, so I bought a whole bird to smoke. Our first sandwiches lacked something, so I bought onions and tomatoes, to go with the bread, cheese and cold cuts. In New Jersey, you could get three big tomatoes for what a pineapple cost. Here, the situation was reversed. I also bought eggs, which did not look like hen eggs, oatmeal, milk and coconut syrup. I would have added SPAM, but Don told me not to be ridiculous. There were 20 tins in the pantry.

The next few minutes were very domestic. I had Sheila make a marinade, while I cut the back and keel bone out of the chicken. Rather than butterfly, I cut it into two halves. This made it easier to marinade. I went outside to clean the grill and start soaking the cedar plank. By the time I was finished, Sheila had lunch ready. Why didn't I buy potato chips?

There was a tall counter with bar stools, though Sheila ate standing. She started on dishes while I went to light the charcoal. As I worked, Don came over with offerings from Barbara's garden—actual lettuce, a dozen tiny citrus that looked like a cross between a key lime and a kumquat, green beans, hot peppers and salad onions. There was also a bag of shredded carrots, flaked coconut and frozen orange juice. Don explained it was Barbara's favorite salad—carrots, coconut and dried fruit, dressed with OJ concentrate. Sheila was going to love it all.

I told Don that Sheila would like to thank Barbara, if she wasn't tied up. Don did a double take, then a third. He left, giving me odd looks. It was just as well. That line was worthy of Sheila, but I had no follow up. His looks confirmed how things stood between Don and Barbara, not to mention between Cynthia and Barbara. No wonder Sheila was feeling frisky.

I took the bag into the kitchen. Sheila was finishing the dishes. I told her that Barbara had sent presents. It was like watching five year old Jo on Christmas morning. She took one of the little citrus and sliced it paper thin. The chicken was marinating in a ziplock bag. She opened the bag and dropped in the slices, sealed and squeezed the bag until the pieces were well distributed. She bit off half of another fruit, skin and all, offering me the rest. It was bitter, sour and unexpectedly sweet. If that was not a comment on life, what was?

I picked up the spatula and cocked an eye. Sheila lifted her dress, pushed down and stepped out of her thong, then grasped her ankles. Rather than begin the spanking, I went in search of the camera. By the time I found it, at least five minutes had passed. With most people that would be a small eternity, given the posture. Sheila was so limber, I doubt she was feeling it yet. So, I took a lot of pictures, with the dress down, then with the ass exposed. I think I mentioned that Sheila has a fantastic ass. I instructed her to remove the dress.

Most people would straighten to remove the dress. It would give me a reason to administer punishment. Sheila simple removed her hands from her ankles and pulled the dress over her head, which gave me a choice. I could have her fold it or do it myself. I decided I wanted to get this recorded. "You may." Sheila unbent, walked to the love seat, draped the dress carefully across the back, then returned to her position. I went to inspect her condition.

The night before I practiced the flogger on Sheila's back. Eighteen hours later, I could still see a few marks. It was a reminder to consider consequences. Sheila would do anything required. Keeping her fit to be seen in company was my responsibility. Rather than give her the spanking she asked for, I made her wait.

Barbara provided masses of fresh fruit, some of which were small and round. I rinsed half a dozen in the sink. Lubricated with saliva, I pushed them into Sheila vagina, til no more would fit. Next, I pushed, pulled and squeezed the area around her clit, to warm everything up.

By then, Sheila was starting to tremble. She had been holding her ankles for close to fifteen minutes, with one short pause. I would have said it was impossible. She was doing it in a corset. She's like that. My final piece was the Doritos clip Sheila was so fond of. I pinched as much of her labia I could between my fingers, then pushed on the clip. It barely opened far enough, so the tension was at maximum. I said, "Any time you feel the need." then started the spanking.

Sheila:

I asked for a spanking, but Sean made me wait. It was one of my favorite techniques, which was less fun from the other side. Sean cut a chicken in half for the smoker, so I made a marinade, using honey, lemon juice, garlic and powdered ginger. I made a mental note to ask Barbara if she had ginger growing. There were gallon size freezer bags, so marinading was easy.

Sean went to get the grill ready, so I made sandwiches. At least he bought onion and tomato. I splurged with a bit of mayo in the fancy mustard. Those done, I added fruit to the salad and poured water over ice. We ate standing at the high counter.

After lunch, Sean started the fire while I did dishes. He returned with a bag from Barbara. It was a pity the lettuce had not arrived sooner. It would have gone well with the sandwiches. Sean liked the strange little citrus. I sliced one thin and added it to the marinade. More interesting was the orange and carrot salad recipe, with ingredients. I put those away for later, since I was itching to get busy. Silly me.

Busy is one thing Sean never did in the bedroom. Our sense of pace was different, but by then I should have known his dispositions. He was going to make me wait—a lot. He gestured for me to assume the position. I removed my panties, if the thong deserved that term, flipped the dress up in back and grasped my ankles. Sean set down his spatula and left the room. It was minutes later when he returned, carrying my camera. By then I was composing curses at Julian and his corsets.

I may be limber, but there are limits. When Sean returned with the camera, he told me to remove the dress. This was a subtle trap. On another day, I might have sprung it to see what he had in mind. Since I was beginning to regret provoking him, I removed the dress without rising. Sean allowed me to rise long enough to take care of the dress. I took what time I had, but did not push him on this point either.

Once I was back in position, Sean came over and examined my skin. I knew from experience that there would still be marks. The cool touch of Sean's fingers only accented the burning in my legs and back. My corset constricted breathing was becoming labored. It could not go on much longer. That was when Sean started probing my intimate regions. He never touched my pussy or clit. Instead he pinched the folds over my clit and worked with the skin over the tailbone. Even once removed, my sex took notice. Sean left, again.

This time he came back with several small, round fruit, still wet from a rinse. I saw stars when he pushed the first one through my folds, but he may not have noticed. He kept feeding fruit in til I felt ready to burst. Then he pulled my outer lips closed and pinched them in place with the potato chip bag clip. Only then did he begin spanking. At least he gave me permission to cum.

The first swat landed flush on my left cheek. A small orgasm followed immediately. The second swat landed on the right cheek, but the spatula also caught the big clip. The sensation was remarkably like Sean pinning me to the wall with his prick. Sean noticed my reaction and stopped to play with the clip for a bit, then back to the swats.

I say swats, because it was clear Sean was pulling his strokes. Instead, he started alternating swats on the ass with strikes on the clip. Quickly, I was gasping for air and very glad I could breathe through my mouth. Had I been gagged, I would have dropped the ball. As it was, I endured with difficulty until Sean finished. Once he did, he removed the clip and slapped my pussy. I think I passed out, though only for a second.

When I was able to think, Sean was helping me stand upright. He had me lean on the back of the loveseat, while he untied the corset. Under his breath he muttered something about "good" and "pictures." I could second that. For the moment, I had a figure, but that would change soon. Some record of my prior configuration would be welcome.

Sean led me to the bedroom, had me remove the corset and bra, then lay face down on the bed. With some lightly scented oil he gave my back a good once over, spending extra time on my ass. After wiping me with a towel, he had me roll over. Before massaging the front, he inspected the area on the underside of my breasts. It was an area I could not see without a mirror and never wanted to. His light touch made me shiver, which provoked a chuckle. Oh shit. I hate feathers.

The moment did not last. Sean was all business when he rubbed oil into first the left teat, then the right. That was less exciting, but not less pleasurable. The area was still sore and the oil was very soothing. Once done, he coated my belly down to the panty line. There he stopped, hand on my sex. He said, "I know you would hate stretch marks. We'll need to moisturize you daily." I loved my Teddybear.

Sean rubbed oil onto my entire body. Given the sun, it was simple practicality. At one point, he noticed me looking at the bottle, which had no label. It was homemade coconut oil, from another island. The subtle scent was citrus blossom. I did not bother to ask the price, because in New Jersey I could not afford it, at least before I married Sean. Old habits are hard to break. In any event, I suspected Barbara could set me up.

When Sean washed his hands and went outside, I checked the clock. Barely half an hour had passed. I packed the corset, with the conviction that I would never wear it again. Somehow that seemed fitting. A major milestone in my life had passed, but I experienced it fully. For only the second time in my adult life, I put on a swimsuit. This time I noticed that it was custom made. Francine. You have to love her or strangle her.

Sean:

Something was different. The session with Sheila had a sense of last fling and fond fare well. Given the amount of transition in her life, that could mean many things, but one jumped to the top of the list. At the wedding reception, someone asked if she was expecting. Sheila was wistful when she denied it.

Our honeymoon had been lacking in marathon sex, but we completed the minimum necessary every day so far. Sheila could be pregnant and she was sufficiently in tune with her body to detect changes. That would put the baby due about the first of March. We could have a leap baby. That would be cool.

In recognition of the new status, I did not pursue things in the bedroom. The little food store had featured some island handcrafts. Among them was a spigoted glass container, containing a cloudy liquid, with several flowers either floating or resting on the bottom. The sign said:

Coconut Oil
External Use Only

I purchased a quarter liter. The clerk opened the spigot. There was a spurt, then the flow stopped. He pressed a button to the side, which caused the oil to flow freely. When the bottle was full, he released the button, closed the spigot, then gave the button two taps. I had to ask.

The clerk was the owner's son. One of the store's functions was to husk coconuts. Every child learned how to do it, but it was work. The store bought or traded for nuts in the husk and sold ones without. In the process, a number of reject nuts would accumulate. The owner's wife used them to make cooking oil. There was soon too much and another cottage industry was born.

The Health Department would not allow the woman to sell cooking oil, though she often gave it as a gift. The oil in the jar contained a commercial stabilizer. A light scent came from locally gathered flowers, which could be seen in the container. The clerk's contribution was the delivery system. He tapped a small amount of carbon dioxide from the soda machine to provide pressure in the sealed container. This also gave the container a non-oxidizing atmosphere, which reduced spoilage. I could see why Don fit in well there.