Postcards Ch. 05

To Sheila it was simply massage oil, though I could tell she liked the scent. That was the best recommendation I could imagine, so I decided to have Don buy a case of the stuff. It would make a nice thank you gift. It was excellent oil for this use and would probably be a good moisturizer for sun exposure. With that in mind, I wiped excess off Sheila's back and had her turn over.

I love my wife's ass. She worked hard to keep it in prime condition and it showed. That said, her tits are one of the marvels of the world. Enhanced porn stars are sometimes not this big. They were very distracting, because I wanted to kneed and pinch them and suck on the nipples. If Sheila wanted to breast feed her baby, I would spot check the butterfat content. Somehow, I thought nursing would change Sheila's mind about her breasts, but that was for next year. I finished with her arms and legs, then went to start the chicken.

Our little tryst had taken too long. Half the charcoal had burned. It was a workable issue. I poured the coals into the firebox and and added several new chunks. The cedar plank was soaked, so I fetched the chicken and set everything in the smoker. Ten minutes later, the temperature was stabilizing, so I went back inside. Sheila was working on more macrame. She did know her knots.

The next two hours were comfortable and pleasant. Sheila did interesting things with the 550 cord, while I caught up on business news and watched our dinner. On the way back in from checking the meat, I picked up the camera and shot two or three pictures before Sheila noticed. The next one was perfect. It caught Sheila glancing at me through the corner of her eye, with just a hint of a smile. You can see it behind my desk at the international offices.

I told Sheila we had about fifteen minutes til the chicken was ready. Nodding, she set her handiwork aside and went to the kitchen. I made myself useful by setting the table. Sheila pulled out our ongoing fruit salad and Barbara's carrots. That was my cue to check the meat. By the electronic thermometer, it was cooked to 146°. That was too low, but I could finish in the microwave. It would do. I closed the vents and did some cleanup, then opened the top and slid the chicken onto a plate. The thermometer may have said undercooked, but my nose said dinnertime.

When I returned to the kitchen, there was a row of five small fruit. Oh my God. Had Sheila carried them all afternoon? I continued to the microwave, pulled the beans and put in the chicken. I set the time to five minutes, started it, then picked up a fruit that looked like a plum. I bit into it. It was a plum. "Interesting flavor." Sheila pinked.

Dinner was quiet. I ate a drumstick and both thighs. Sheila ate the other drumstick and poked at her salads. Barbara's carrot salad was different, but went well with the smoked meat. The fruit salad was developing a reddish hue, but had excellent flavor. That was not the issue.

I said, "So you're pregnant. We can get a tester in Honolulu, to be sure, but I'll take your word for it. Did you think we couldn't get the rooms remodeled before next winter?" Sheila threw her arms around me and started kissing, but I was having none of it. "It's after five. We can expose your virgin skin to a bit of sun. Maybe Barbara can show you how to surf."

We soon learned that Don was a competition surfer in California, before he joined the Navy. He took Sheila out for some beginner's lessons. He came back twenty minutes later, shaking his head. Sheila followed four waves later. I'm no expert, but staying upright has to count for something. I caught her eye as she carried in the board. She shrugged.

Sheila:

For almost a month, my life had been one of constant change. Sometimes that is good. I hoped a baby would be a good change, but that was up to Sean. Naturally, he gave no indication of my inner turmoil. For once I wished I knew mind reading. That was a symmetry. Sean complains that I read him too well.

The afternoon developed slowly. Sean spent the time catching up on his week away. Normally, I would have jumped on the computer, but I needed something physical. I pulled out the paracord and started some freehand work. I would tie four or five knots, then pull them out and tie some more. My mind was elsewhere. Eventually, Sean told me that dinner would be ready soon.

Dinner was chicken, canned beans and two salads. One time, after checking the meat, Sean picked up my camera and took a few shots. I glanced over to let him know I was aware. Sean caught an image of the glance, which cropped down well. My sideways look came across as sly and knowing. The shot also caught my hands working the cords. Sean titled it "Knots" and has it behind his fancy, impress-the-trade-dignitary desk. He says it captures my essence. Sean loves irony.

The chicken was good, but I had little appetite. I made the coconut-carrot salad. It was one to remember—colorful, tart, unusual, low fat. Sean once said he disliked cold bean salad, but one would have been the perfect fourth corner. It did not matter, since I picked at what I had. I thought it just as well. We could have chicken salad for our last lunch, which struck me as funny. We were paying well over a thousand a day, to eat chicken salad.

That was the point where Sean told me to snap out of my funk. He was right, as usual, and he said it just so. Every time I wonder about Sean's support, he finds a way to remind me. He suggested I learn to surf. I always wondered what the fuss was about, since surfing looked very simple. So it proved. Don was from the West coast, not Hawaii, but they surf in California. He was able to show me the basics. I still wonder about the fuss.

Even though it was evening, I did not want to overstay my time in the sun. Don and I stayed out about half an hour, then came in to keep me from burning. The timing proved fortunate, since the fishing charter called just as we returned to shore. Don did a quick splash in the shower, before heading to the dock. Barbara told me to take my time, since we had rain earlier. I missed that. Barbara laughed and told me I must have blinked.

Unlike the day before, the solar heater delivered warm water. I washed my hair and made sure the suit was well rinsed before returning. Barbara covered my shoulders with aloe vera gel, which was divinely cool. She recommended more coconut oil before bed, winking as she said it. Thinking of rubbing it into Sean's cock made me flush. Barbara giggled like a young girl.

Evidently, her time with Don had gone well. With that in mind, I almost pulled out my small gift. As handcraft goes, a macrame anklet is not much. Still, it had turned out well. The red and white over blue was attractive and it used the same knot pattern I had used on her arms. Barbara had seen pictures of that work, so it was her turn to flush. That would work best with Don present.

Once again we were afflicted with the self important Scandinavian: Jan Sward. He was bragging to Sean when he caught sight of me. His jaw went slack in mid-sentence. Sean skewered him with a "better luck next time", which garnered snickers from a couple of the other guests. Sean claims I have special skill in this area, but he short changes his own talent. One would expect no less of Siobhan's brother. All I did was smile and cover it too late, which brought more laughs. Jan and his trophy wife would leave in the morning, which was not soon enough.

The rest of the visit was nice. Barbara confessed a secret weakness for popcorn. One of the corners of her garden was given over to her new crop. Don popped a batch of the last crop over the fire pit, before adding more wood. It was the first time I had seen red popcorn. The kernels were tiny, but the popped corn looked full sized. Barbara tossed it with a spicy oil and suppressed a grin as she passed the bowl around. My stars it was hot. Normally, I do not touch beer, but I made an exception.

Don and Sean spent quite a bit of time going over nautical ropework. Everyone knows that sailors have their own language, but few realize it applies to tying things. "Knots" do not tie things. For that there are "hitches", while "splices" and "bends" tie "lines". Knots put a thick place in a line, usually so it will not go through a hole or eye. It was not so different for me.

I remembered learning the basic wraps and cinches. I was still a teenager, tying a man old enough to be my grandfather. The Judge liked to bring pictures of Japanese rope bondage. We would spend the evening figuring how to tie him up, then how to improve the method. This could be for the sub's values of "improve", but more often for mine. Speed mattered. It was good to be able to truss someone quickly. It was vital to be able to release them. I learned a great deal about blood flow, how to gauge degrees of restriction and avoid full interruption.

"What'cha thinking about?"

Barbara's question startled me. That had not happened in a while. I jerked and flushed red. Barbara, who had no intent to spook me, jumped back and lost her balance. I grabbed her hand, but she pulled me over. Don and Sean stopped what they were doing to see what the fuss was about. I was mortified, but Barbara giggled. A heartbeat later we were both helpless with laughter. Don shook his head and went back to his ropework.

I told Barbara, "I was thinking about how a girl like me wound up in a business like this." Barbara nodded, like it was the most natural thing possible.

She said, "I've been dying to do your hair. You can tell me while I work."

Sean:

I was irritated when Sheila told Don I needed help with my knots. Don soon dissuaded my ire. Compared to him, I knew nothing. We started with three knots the Army teaches. Don showed me how to tie each with only one free end, then with one hand. It was loops, bends, hitches and such—not a "knot" in the bunch. I like to think I have dextrous fingers, but they were soon as tangled as my line. I was saved when Barbara and Sheila fell in a giggling little girl pile. If geese are a gaggle, are girls a giggle?

Don switched his tactics. He shifted over to lashing technique. This I could use. After a few minutes I asked him to help tie Sheila's stretching bar. Don glanced over, to see Barbara was brushing Sheila's hair, then shrugged. A minute later we set off to find a suitable place for the pole I cut. Sheila saw us go. I am less certain of Barbara.

As we checked places and trees, I commented on the lack of long sandy beaches. Don laughed. According to him, a large chunk had fallen off one of the big islands. Recently, one of the universities did sonar maps of the ocean floor. A number of the oceanographers stayed on the less used time shares. The short version was that our rock was a rock, though a very large one, sitting on the bottom. Geologically speaking, it was brand new. Not far away were some pieces of the old shore line, such as the islet we gathered the bamboo.

Don paused. "You want to have sex on the beach." It wasn't a question. He continued, "We can make that happen. It's probably just as well. We should have some weather tomorrow. Your wife's picnic will probably be in the greatroom. You noticed the fireplace I hope." He grin turned pure NCO evil. "Those assholes in one and three will have a rough time catching their flight. I gave them fair warning, but his lordship won't listen."

Still chuckling, Don went back to business. He found two trees with roughly level ground between. To one end he did a square lashing and a diagonal lashing at the other. There was a lecture on why each was appropriate to the chosen tree, but my mind was elsewhere. I let him finish while I fetched the women. It was my first chance to see Sheila with a French braid. I gave her a wolf whistle. This was one area in which Sheila and I are in agreement. She has wonderful hair.

Sheila's reaction to the bar was everything I could have hoped. Without comment, she raised her foot to the bar and stretched out into First Position. Don stared open mouthed, while Barbara gasped and covered her mouth. We watched spellbound as Sheila slowly worked through two full evolutions of her extended version. Only when she completed the second did she throw her arms around my neck and thank me properly. I returned the kiss, telling her to save the rest. She also kissed Don, which froze him stiff. I slapped him on the shoulder to get his attention.

The trip to the beach island was short, but Don was too professional to make it fast. He set us ashore with a basic emergency kit, radio, GPS preset to our rock, signaling flares and a 5 gallon jerrycan of rainwater for washing. Barbara made us a snack, picnic jug of tea and provided a ground cover and blanket. It was almost sundown before they set us ashore. Sheila shocked me by peeling off her swimsuit while Don could still see. Then she pulled down my trunks and took my cock in her mouth while Barbara watched. When they were out of sight, she pulled out the two red scarves.

It was a fun couple of hours.

Sheila:

I always heard of shipboard romances. They made sense. You can lower inhibitions when you will never see someone again. I hit it off with Glenda Harlan. The Harlans had an invitation to visit, so we might see them again, but that was all there was. I was beginning to wonder if Don and Barbara were something more. Don seemed to get Sean like few people I had seen. Barbara was no Christine, but there was something similar under the skin. Both of them were very comfortable to be around. My biggest fear is that they would get uncomfortable with us. Sometimes I was uncomfortable with me.

Don went to his supply shed and pulled out some old rope. The two of them selected a length of bamboo as thick as my wrist and went off toward the trees. Since there was only one place on the island with trees, it was not hard to follow what they were doing. Sean was having Don build a stretching bar. It spoiled the surprise, but it saved me from embarrassing myself by crying. As it was, Barbara asked me if I was OK.

Barbara had a gift with hair. She confessed she worked as a stylist through nursing school. Five years of anything will leave a mark. She cut her children's hair until they could pay for their own. One of her pleasures was when they asked for a trim during a visit. Those were few and far between. Don's insistence on a military cut was no help. Sean would understand completely. He never told me why he learned massage so well, but the need for tactile activity was common to both.

Before long I had a modified French braid, with a tail hanging over one shoulder. Barbara took my picture, then I insisted on one with both of us. Don and Sean were busy, so I took Barbara to our cabin and gave her the anklet. It shrank substantially as it dried, but remained just big enough. There was a momentary flash of giving one to Christine and having it shrink too much. I shuddered. We were not going there. Preshrinking the cord might be helpful.

While we were there, I collected the silk scarves. It was a better than even chance Sean would arrange some alone time, so I needed to be prepared. Barbara expressed interest, so I tried them on her. In retrospect, Sean deserved some slack, since the scarves were next to impossible to get tight. On Barbara, the system Sean employed would have been quite secure. Good to know. As restraints go, they were not uncomfortable.

When we went back outside, Barbara was carrying the scarves as a discipline lesson. I knew how easily they could fall from a hand. When the time came, I could stuff them in the swimsuit. Finally, I had a good use for my breasts. Hopefully, in nine months there would be another. The thought made me shiver. Perhaps without meaning to, Barbara purred in sympathy.

I checked Barbara's watch. The men had been gone about twenty minutes. It was time to be suitably impressed. They had gone to a small clump of trees near the rocky hilltop. As we approached, I recognized Don droning in instruction mode. Though this was a good thing, I cringed. Sean did need a lot of work on his rope skills and Don was ideal for the task, but tedious. Sean would learn some things. Don would gain valuable confidence. I hoped to meet with Don and Barbara in other settings, because his confidence was important.

I also cringed because of the implied criticism of Sean. I fully expected and invited Sean's reaction. A little punishment would spice up my day. The more creative the punishment, the better. My fear was that Sean might take the criticism to heart, which could be difficult. I was so caught up in possible consequences that I missed what Sean had done—made me a stretching bar.

My reaction was telling. Before I could think of anything to say, before I could offer a hug, my foot was over the bar and my hands reached for it. I paused in that position, First Position, for several seconds. I had to assess the tension in my legs and back. I needed to control my breathing. Above all, I needed to center my focus on the task at hand. Only when I felt firm control did I allow the position to evolve. In slow counted breaths, I worked through two full evolutions. When I dismounted, I did one more focused breath, then threw my arms around Sean. My stars he gives good hugs.

When we returned to Earth, Don and Barbara were staring. "Ohhh Kaaaaay", Don drew the letters out, "I guess that will work for you. The ground's uneven, but this is the closest to level I could find." I kissed him on the cheek, which shocked Sean more than Barbara. Don did his best imitation of a statue, so I punched him in the arm and did not pull it. That brought a snicker from Sean and Barbara. Soon we were all laughing.

That was when Sean dropped his second bomb. We were going for a starlight picnic—without the picnic. This was a bit of a production, since Don was not going to be party to anything sloppy or poorly supported. It gave me time to retrieve and conceal the silk scarves. Barbara gave me a vial of lubricant. She told me the recipe was ideal for sex, but still tasted good. As far as I could tell, she had never used a drop, at least from that bottle. I instructed her to create a situation where it would be suitable, then do without, but with pictures. Barbara went wide eyed, but I could smell the rush of arousal.

The trip to the sandy island was short. Don explained that it was too small and much too exposed for a cabin, but it made a nice beach for surfing, sunbathing and other things. I leaned close and whispered that Barbara wanted to do other things, with a camera. Don's attitude was just short of abrupt when he set us ashore. The scarves were out before he disappeared into the dusk. The suit took a moment longer.

Sean deserves a great deal of credit for his ability to spot talent. Less respected is his ability to find resources. Not only was he landed without rope, there was also no flogger. What he did have was a folding shovel. It may be an outdated method, but the Army still teaches proper use of an entrenching tool. Sean placed a couple of flatish rocks on dry sand, then started burying them. Before long the sand was wet, but the pile kept growing.

When it had reached waist high, Sean gave me a crossed wrist gesture. I gave him the scarves and presented my wrists. Once again, Sean tied them using the second scarf to take up slack in the first. He was getting better. Sean had me step through my arms, so the bound wrists were behind me, then step down into the wet hole. With a little adjustment, I could stand level. Sean refilled the hole, around my legs, with wet sand.

That was when his placement of the stones made sense. The larger stone was directly in front of me. Sean scraped a flat place for me to bend over. He scraped a lower place, over the second stone, that was well positioned to accommodate my breasts. Then he placed a bundle on my back. It was heavy and forced my elbows apart. I might have been able to stand upright against the weight, but Sean soon added more wet sand. It was oddly comfortable. The sand supported everything. Sean stood back, breathing a bit heavily. I took that as a signal to test the bonds. Except for my head, I was completely immobile.