Postcards Ch. 06

There was no point in keeping this to myself. I took a position where I could stroke Sheila's thighs and laid the scene out in exacting detail. I described the quality of the sunlight and the position of papers on my desk. I heard choking noises and realized Sheila was laughing. "You may speak."

Sheila flushed. "Halfway through, my water breaks and ruins your fancy chair."

I snorted. "Helen gets pictures of that, too." Sheila really flushed. I grinned.

gThe picture catches a piece of this lily-white skin here." I ran the back of a fingernail along the underside of one breast. Sheila twitched.

gYou never let anyone see that, but the baby will. The baby will love your breasts." I fondled the teat with just my fingertips.

gOf course, the baby wants milk." I applied just the wet inside of my lips, but all the suction I could manage.

We went on like that for a while. Sheila didn't cum til the baby started teething, but when she did it was loud.

Sheila:

Of all the times I have been restrained, that was among the hardest. Sean wanted to tease and he had all afternoon to do it. I must have come a dozen times before he decided it was time for coitus. That said, the first time was, by far, the most memorable. After making baby noises and tickling for about half an hour, Sean started suckling. That was bad enough, but he started to simulate a teething baby. He pinched my nipple between his molars and rubbed his tongue rubbing back and forth across the tip. I orgasmed screaming his name.

The rest of the time was rather like the list Jason used on Christine. Some of it was very revealing. Foot fetish might be one of my things. Wrist and palm, much more so. I already knew that my nape was sensitive, but so are my jaw and ear lobes. Sean promised to take me dancing and make me cum on the dance floor. No surprise there. He had done it before.

The most annoying discovery was that my breasts are just as sensitive as I suspected, though only in certain places. I really did fear what a suckling baby would do to me. It was another Christine-like thing. I dreaded it in lingering detail.

If the first orgasm was the most memorable, the last was the most satisfying. Sean never asked for oral or anal, though he did use me for a tit fuck. With my hands tied to the bedposts, my options were very limited. Sean lubed my cleavage with coconut oil and squeezed. Two strokes was all he needed. Perhaps he wanted to make the coitus last. In passing I received my first facial.

When it came to intercourse, I offered to split the bamboo. That worked well, but the Viennese Oyster proved the key. Sean seemed surprised that I can cross my ankles behind my head without using my hands. It was not that difficult. I came the first time he bumped his prick against my cervix, but the big one was when he pumped his seed into me. I ached all afternoon for that warm rush.

Afterward, Sean left me restrained. He retrieved the pillows and bed cover so that we could cuddle in comfort, but did not release me til we both had a nap. After a trip to the commode, I sucked him off in the shower. For some reason, I had a controlling need to submit and serve. Sean indulged me, though I could tell the role playing was getting old for him. Another thing I love about Teddybear is his patience.

After the shower, Sean did not bother with real restraints. He tied my wrists with a long piece of string. I had to take care not to break the strand. Using the rest of the string as a leash, he walked me naked through the cabin and out the front door. We stood together on the patio, being pounded by the storm. It was the first time on the trip that I was cold. As with the caning earlier, Sean chose to share my discomfort, though he could have easily watched and stayed mostly dry.

Thereafter, Sean had me kneel in front of the fireplace, while he built a nice blaze. Once he had it burning, he worked on his laptop while I sought my quiet place. It must have worked, because the next thing I noticed was that the wind had stopped. Sean, now dressed, was in the door, looking at the storm damage. When he came back, he cut the string with scissors and helped me stand. My legs had gone to sleep. The final act of the afternoon's play was a friendly hand spanking, just enough to remind me of the beating that morning. When Sean sent me to dress, it was the first words either of had spoken since I screamed his name in climax.

Sean:

The first time I dragged Sheila up to her apartment, I thought that I liked being in charge, but some sex would have helped my mood. That afternoon Kitten was as docile as her nickname. I stroked her and she purred. CC could have been the one tied to the bed. It would have been almost the same.

This is not to say Sheila was unresponsive. Far from it. I brought her to screaming orgasm once with breast worship and a little nibbling, but she had several more before I got my own jollies. Tit fucking Sheila was literally too easy. There was no difficulty wrapping them all the way around and I was on a hair trigger. Two pumps and I was done. It was just as well, since I last much longer on the make-a-baby sex.

We started in a missionary, then shifted to several variations. Sheila put her ankle on my shoulder, like several other times. That was nice, but nothing new. Sheila thought so too, because she pulled her leg off my shoulder and stuck it behind her head. That was impressive with her hands tied. Next, she swung her other leg up and crossed the first one. I must have stared, because Sheila gave me a little smile.

With a challenge like that, I slammed the first one in hard. Damn Skippy. It was all I could do to keep from shooting my wad right then. Sheila had no such problem. Her climax was fun to watch and it gave me time to recover a bit. This is not to say I lasted much longer. I did about twenty slow strokes before I hammered two hard ones and shot off. Sheila held her own climax to match mine, which was sweet.

After the sex, I left Sheila tied, but pulled the covers over both of us. I don't know if she slept, but I was out for half an hour. When I woke, my bladder needed attention, so Sheila probably did too. I allowed her first access. That serviced, we took a quick shower. I missed the big shower at home, but Sheila soothed me with a blow job. Her technique was improving.

The rest of the afternoon was domestic. Sheila was still in submissive mode, but I was tired of games. I tied a pretend leash and had her kneel in front of the fireplace. I built a fire and spent at least an hour catching up with business. Sheila knelt where I put her. She had told me stories of CC going somewhere in her mind, but this was the first time I had seen it.

Work is my form of meditation, so time passed quickly. The end of the storm came as a surprise. The sounds of wind and rain faded to background, til they ended. That was noticeable. I went to see how things were outside. When I returned, so had Sheila. I removed the string restraints to tell her playtime was over.

That was it. I had wanted alone time with my wife since before the Ball. Now that I had it, it seemed like I had done nothing with it. It was starting to bother me when Sheila came back into the room. One look at her and I had no regrets, not for that day, not for the whole trip. Instead, I had a new saying for my desk, "Never be so wrapped up in what you are doing that you forget what you have done."

For the first time in days, Sheila was smiling.

Sheila:

Of all the people I knew well, the most religious was Christine. We discussed it one day. She told me that submission and obedience were the core of Christianity. One word search of the Bible showed me she had a point. Jews have the same thing, "[Y]ou are to love A___ your God with all your heart, all your being and all your resources.

That afternoon I understood, a little, what she meant. In giving my body and will to Sean, I had also given him my guilt. It felt like a hand was no longer squeezing my heart. I realized this as I dressed, so I hurried to share it with Sean. I could see from the doorway that the afternoon had not been as liberating for Sean. When he saw me, his expression cleared like the clouds outside. The next thing I knew we slammed together with bruising force. I think I must have teleported. Sean says the same.

Some time later, we finished kissing and hugging. Sean put on a shirt and we went to see Don and Barbara. They were out picking up debris. Don waved, but Barbara's mouth fell open. I pulled her aside and Sean went to talk to Don. It was time to get some things straight.

Of course we started with the sex. Rather, we started with the tease and went on to the sex. Barbara was wistful as I described Sean lavishing devotion on my breasts. She was avid as I described putting my ankle on Sean's shoulder, then behind my head. She gushed as I described my series of orgasms. She sighed when I told her how Sean pulled up the bedspread to cover us both.

That was when I discovered that I could not describe the most significant part of the afternoon. For a submissive, hours of teasing, culminating in semen capture, was heavenly. To me, the quiet time after was more important. Barbara just did not "get" it. Christine would and Sean did, which was more than enough for me. Still, it raised a point.

Barbara and Don were sturdy middle class. That was not a bad thing, but their mind set came with certain Assumptions. One of the Assumptions was that people in gated mansions were above their station. I had known Sean three weeks―Siobhan less―but I was already familiar with the cadence of their no-one-tells-me-anything complaint. People like Don and Barbara would be intimidated by the Residence, and all that went with it. We needed to do something, soon, or lose them.

I caught Sean's eye. One of the things I love about Teddybear is his willingness to let me run with an idea. He acquiesced by returning his attention to Don. I turned back to Barbara and started with the obvious, "We have to leave tomorrow."

Barbara sighed, "I know. It's been so good having you here. Most of the clients treat us like doormats. Even if you didn't understand my needs, you would be special." Compliments rarely come larger.

I said, "We feel the same. I have seen only a little of Sean's world, but there are few people that can open him up like Don has. My big advantage is that I can follow his thinking before he tries to say anything. Usually the words add little. Don seems to understand Sean's 'Why's' like I understand the 'What's' and 'How's'. Believe me when I tell you that you are important to us."

I had seen Barbara's expression only once before. It was when I asked Jason to introduce Christine to vanilla sex. Barbara had serious reservations, but would not refuse me. It was a start. This would be one of the times I really needed Sean to back my play. The certainty that I had it was as comforting as cuddling after sex.

I said, "Before we leave, I am going to give you a lot of contact information. Ignore most of it. Helen, Christine and Gerald are the centers of information flow. Helen is Sean's personal assistant. You and she will get on fine. Tell her what you want and expect her reply in writing. There is a story there, for another time. For anything personal to me, contact Christine, same rules as Helen. Gerald is in charge of the Residence. He is retired military, so have Don contact him."

"Here is the plan. Contact whomever you need to contact. Get approval to go to the mainland for a week at least. Tell them you have free airfare, which will be true. If you wish, you can tell them that you have a source for good theater tickets in New York. That is also true. I can even promise Francine Martel's autograph. Will any of that be a problem?" Barbara looked as stunned as Sean's predator fish, after she used the hammer. That was OK. I was used to that expression.

With his usual sense of timing, Sean wrapped his conversation with Don exactly then. His gesture was not as broad as Spock's raised eyebrow, but that should give you the idea.

I said, "Don, I was just telling Barbara to get a week or two free. Sean has tons of frequent flier miles to burn. We would like you to visit us in New Jersey. You can see the boat. I can take Barbara shopping. Sean used to date Francine Martel, so we have an inside source for theater tickets. If you put your minds to it, you might even come up with a tax deductible reason for flying out. Sean, stop laughing."

Sean controlled himself―eventually―and said, "Gerald is my head guard dog. He claims Sheila can give a thirty minute briefing in fifteen seconds. That was an example. Even if I didn't have about ten million miles available, I would get you tickets. Helen can give you several legitimate business reasons for the trip. You might even make some commission money. What Sheila didn't tell you is that she is a legend in the New York ballet and theater scene and that Francine was one of her bride's maids. She can arrange backstage passes and autographed programs.

"Do come. We'll make it worth your while." Sean was no slouch at closing a deal. Objections were coming, but I could see the basic agreement already. Don equivocated for a while, but it was a done deal. When Sean says, "Let me handle the business details." people believe him. Barbara's question was more to the point. She asked, "When?"

I looked at Sean. He shrugged. I said, "Thanksgiving." That settled that.

Sean:

I love to watch Sheila work. She makes the impossible seem practical and the difficult seem routine. Don and I synched like few others through the years. I wanted to introduce him to Jo and George, show him The Other Shoe and stay up late shooting pool and drinking single malt. Sheila felt the same way about Barbara. The problem was that Don considered me above his pay grade, for good reason. By myself, there was no way I could have gotten them to commit to a visit. Sheila never tried to work on Don. She let Barbara do it.

The stormy afternoon had been curiously satisfying. There was nothing I could point to, except Sheila's languor, but I felt refreshed. We worked our way to Don and Barbara's cabin, clearing storm debris as we went. I should say that I cleared the path. Sheila glided along in the otherworldly way she has. It was as if she saw clearly a world that was slightly out of focus for everyone else. It would be scary if she did not see me in the same focus.

When we reached the Micelli's, such metaphysics were swept aside. Don was glad to see me, but Barbara was avid for Sheila. They went to talk while Don briefed me on the weather. As expected, we were hit worse than the main islands, but the advisories were still out. Tomorrow would be calmer, though the waves would be great for surfing. He asked if Sheila would be trying her chances off Waikiki. I laughed. In Don's mind, those that could, did. He had a hard time accepting that Sheila might go the rest of her life without stepping on a surfboard.

Sheila and Barbara ended the moment. I had already given Sheila the go ahead, so it was time to close the deal. Sure enough, Sheila started by telling Don we would fly them to New Jersey, them mentioned the yacht, theater tickets and tax deductions. I had a moment of deja vu, which made me laugh. True to form, Sheila tagged me into the ring.

I explained my moment of deja vu to Don. He understood about thirty minute briefings. Once he had a moment to think, he understood that most of what Sheila said needed unpacking. QED. NCOs appreciate an officer that does not belabor the obvious. I told them that Sheila was being modest, then went for the close.

Sales is about information and emotion. People buy on emotion. The information is what cements the sale after the emotion fades. Don would agree because Barbara wanted it. He would stay committed because we had cleared his excuses. Even so, he hesitated. Barbara made the decision by asking when. Sheila said Thanksgiving to settle the matter. There would be many details to unwind, but I foresaw another feast in the new dining room.

Once new business was finished, dinner was next. Don had retrieved the wahoo from the cold box, gutted it and was about to cut filets when we came up. I asked him to walk Sheila through the process. As with anything else involving motion, Sheila was a natural. Two cuts and all the meat for half the fish lay on the table. Flip. Two more cuts and the deed was done. Barbara took possession of the skin, bones and head, promising chowder for the trip back to the Big Island. Don stared at the pair of filets, over four feet each. Sheila complimented him on the knife's edge.

Shaking his head, Don cut the filets into steaks. The two thinnest, near the tail, he dropped into waiting bowl. The bowl had course chopped herbs and a greenish liquid. I was betting ceviche. He wrapped most of the rest in butcher paper, saving two thick pieces. The wrapped steaks went into a freezer. The others he slit horizontally, stuffed with herbs and citrus slices, then wrapped with banana leaf. The whole package went into a waiting smoker. After adjusting the airflow, he pulled out two cold beers and popped the tops.

We had an enjoyable chat, while Don prepped the veggies and pineapple. The sun finally peeked out, low in the sky, when he started throwing everything on the fire. Ten minutes later we sat to a meal of ceviche and baked fish, grilled garden vegetables, assorted fresh fruit, corn on the cob and iced tea. For dessert, Don grilled pineapple, which he served with a hard caramel sauce and island grown coffee. I ate til I was ready to explode. Even Sheila ate a full meal.

Sheila:

Once I had a firm commitment for a visit, I relaxed. Bad move. Don proved a capable chef on a grill. There was no bustier to remind me of my limits. I ate entirely too much. Lord YWHW knows it was good. I could eat the pickled fish appetizer every day. The baked fish main course was to die for. Corn on the cob was the perfect side. I was full to bursting when Don threw pineapple spears on the fire. Drizzled in rum caramel sauce, they ought to be illegal.

After dinner, Barbara did the dishes while Don cleaned the outdoor kitchen. I carried plates, but nothing else. As she washed dishes, Barbara told me that Don would cook like this every day if he could. She thanked us for giving Don a chance to show off. The irony was epic. Excepting the night of the chef duel, it was the best meal I had eaten in a decade or more.

Eventually, things returned to mortal levels. The four of us sat around a fire pit, telling stories. Sean used the opportunity to explore my past. No one ever said he was stupid. I talked more about my mother and father than I had in years. Dad died just before my high school graduation. I missed the prom, because he would have been my date. Mom missed my graduation because her latest lover wanted her to entertain his friends. My clearest memory of either concerned the costume for The Nutcracker. Dad said I looked like a princess. Mom said I needed to grow tits.

Martha says we talk least about what we think of most. That night I could talk about anything. Sean talked of living in George's shadow and of protecting Siobhan, til she asked him not to. Barbara talked about being a Navy wife. She worked on an apartment for three months, only to leave all her decor for the next wife. Don had to find a petty officer who was willing to take the apartment as modified, or they would have lost their deposit. Don talked of looking the other way while a senior petty officer used Navy small boats to smuggle rhino horn and walrus testicle for Japanese tourists.

Through it all, Don and Sean drank a line of long neck beers. Barbara had a couple, but understood why I declined. Some time after midnight, she looked at our fearless husbands and smiled indulgently. Sean and Don were snoozing loudly. She nodded me into their cabin. We said good bye, Mistress to sub. It was nothing elaborate, nipple clamps and a hairbrush spanking, but Barbara orgasmed half a dozen times.