Postcards Ch. 02

Then I settled in for eight hours of flying over water.

Sheila:

Martha once told me of a party she had attended. As a game, the couples told of things that went wrong after their weddings. One teen bride spoke of not drinking all morning, then draining half the communion cup during the Mass. She was plastered at the reception. One man told of skipping carnal relations so that he could catch the Packers vs. Bears playoff game. One college professor told of having their flight grounded by weather and spending the wedding night with nowhere to go. Someone asked what they wound up doing. He sprung the trap, "I don't think that's any of your business." His very attractive wife said, "Stan, what did we do?" Face palm time.

My honeymoon was going to be one of those stories, but I was loving it. Teddybear thought he was in control, but it was an illusion. I trailed along, channeling Christine and that professor's wife. The idea was to hide in plain sight. I was surprised how easy it was and how well it looked. Dressed as arm candy, I attracted appraising looks from almost all the men. Sean may not have realized it, but he was in full bear mode.

The situation at the at the boarding gate was illustrative. Sean heard a couple of Japanese businessmen arguing. I learned later it was about which could get the last First Class upgrade. Sean, always the businessman, went to the counter and offered our seats if the airline could get us where Sean wanted to go. I have great faith in Helen's abilities, but we were booking late for Memorial Day weekend. She could not make a connection. A young man quickly fixed that.

Sean thought that would end things, because he was focused on his deal, not the larger dynamic. I expected ripples and was not disappointed. The two Japanese men were enjoying their argument and did not willingly give it up. When they insisted on thanking us, Sean tried to be obsequious, which is a stretch at best, worse when he gets protective. I found it interesting that one of the Japanese men picked up on it, but the other did not.

An airline representative named Kiku served as a translator. She was clearly out of her depth, because she was fooled by my disguise. She understood that Sean was bristling threats, but not why. When Richards Enterprises was mentioned, the effect was dramatic. The younger man did regular business on the import side. His scorn evaporated to the point he was making genuine apologies. The older one looked amused until I came up.

They did not know it was me, of course. As a regular business associate, the younger man had received the auction catalog. When it was mentioned, the older man took notice. Sean told me my name would be world famous, but this was ridiculous. To move things along, I pulled up Sean's contact information in 18 point. In a bad move on my part, I showed it to them, instead of giving it to Sean. That brought me into the conversation. Sean bypassed Kiku and introduced me himself. Even the younger one picked up on his pride.

Sean's business stature caused a change in the nature of the conversation, but nothing like this. Both the Japanese men reevaluated me. The older one nodded, as if Sean's protectiveness now made sense. The younger one realized he had come close to stepping in a steaming pile. As he back filled, he put his foot squarely in the middle of another issue.

It was innocent enough. He payed me a compliment and asked how long we had been married. I could accept the flattery with grace, but how was I to say we had been married less than a day? I felt my color rise, which led to shock from both of the businessmen and Kiku. From that point, there was no option. We had to accept our First Class Seats back.

Neither of them would hear of any objection, which I understood. Even a dignitary will differ to a newlywed bride. The problem was how to acceptably say thank you. Simple words were not enough. I nodded deeply to each of them. Being American, my lack of style was forgivable. In this case, the thought counted. Then I asked Kiku to have them call my phone. There was a moment of confusion, but they complied.

Rather than a picture of the ceremony, I chose to send them the two of us in the carrousel. That seemed to do the trick. They each bowed two or three times before they moved to board the plane. That left Kiku, who had been a good sport in a difficult position. For her, I chose an image of me with Christine, Siobhan and Francine. It was another misstep. Sean had warned me my image work would make me famous. He said nothing of my wedding. Kiku recognized Francine and jumped straight to the right conclusion.

She said something that probably translates to, "Oh my G_d", then grabbed me. I was not prepared for an embrace, but allowed her to work through her fluster. At the time, I did not know that the Honolulu paper had run Frank Costello's story about our wedding. Kiku informed me that she had been following it for days. Oy vey. If she had, then all the girls she had lunch with had too. There was no escaping it.

Sure enough, once we had moved into the aircraft, the attendants rolled out the VIP carpet. Before I was fully settled in, a glass flute of champagne was on my tray. Francine lives for this kind of thing. I was willing to donate my share. Fortunately, Sean was able to calm things down a bit, but I could hear whispers all over First Class.

All things pass. Eventually we were airborne. That was when I found out about Frank's article going worldwide. The Honolulu Star-Advertiser was not the only paper. I was asked to sign the London Times and the South China Post as well. When Newsweek and People came out, we went through the whole thing again. Sean was surprised we would make glossy publications. Then Barrons hit the stands, with a new article by Winifred Smith and Michael Gordon. People wanted Sean's autograph.

That was yet to come. Once we were airborne and meals had been served, Sean took me to the bathroom stall again. Rather than have me against the wall, Sean pushed down his pants and drawers, then sat on the toilet. Looking up at me, he pulled down my panties and let me step out of them. After a long sniff, they went in his shirt pocket. I pulled up my dress skirts and straddled him. My first small orgasm came before he had penetrated my folds.

Not for the first time, I was glad I had Siobhan for a sister. She and Christine had long IM talks on a range of subjects. One thing they discussed at length was Christine's version of Latte, which has nothing to do with coffee. The other night, Siobhan's scholarly toned and clinical descriptions made my pussy moist. This was my chance to try it out. I kissed Sean and told him to leave everything to me.

Lubrication was not an issue. Sean had kept me on sexual edge for days, with only momentary release. Some of that had not been intentional, but results were what mattered. The other side was that Sean was probably primed to blow. As with many areas of my life, pace was everything.

Sean gasped as I lowered myself onto his erect member. I reveled in the fullness, taking a moment to orient. When my pussy squeezed down, Sean gave another gasp. It was nice to know all the years of vaginal exercises had not been wasted. It was almost as if I had been preparing for this moment all my adult life. Maybe I had been, without realizing it. Whatever. For the first time in weeks, I felt fully prepared.

Now that I had tested the milker, it was time to do the grind. In this I had an advantage over Christine, in that I had seen a demonstration. It was done fully clothed, inCasual Sex?,an otherwise forgettable romance movie. The actress was Mary Gross, who seemed so girl-next-door. It always gave me hope.

Siobhan's description was long and involved, but the concept was simple—roll up then roll back. The practical application took some trial and error. Getting the friction right was an issue. If I bore down hard, the sensation was too intense and Sean would come quickly. Letting up entirely, I could maintain the tension, but not increase it. I wanted some variety in the technique, both to give Sean a satisfying experience, but also to get one myself.

I settled into a rhythm. I would roll forward and down while clenching my vagina til Sean's penis brushed my cervix. That sent stars through my vision and the effect on Sean looked similar. I would release and do two or three cycles before bearing down again. The plan was to get as much of Sean's milk into my pussy as possible. Hopefully, I could do that without passing out.

As plans go, I have had worse. It did not take long to get both of us breathing heavily. I backed off on the tension, to prolong the build up. One clench in three became one in five, but Sean started to cool. I clenched twice in a row and almost brought him. I worked through one in four for a while, then brought him to the edge again. One more respite before the big finale.

I rested, doing nothing but grind for several moments. When Sean was as relaxed as he ever was going to get, I bore down hard through a full grind cycle, then stood up enough that only his head was in my tunnel. Clenching my pussy for all it was worth, I dropped my full weight onto his lap. When I hit bottom, Sean's prick hit my cervix and the airplane disappeared. This was not seeing stars; everything went white. I am almost certain I lost consciousness, at least for a moment.

When I was able to see normally, Sean looked like he had run a 10K in a personal best time. It was certainly how I felt. His arms pulled me close as we both fought for air. Some undefined time later, we kissed and started to untangle. I had only to smooth the dress, though I expected to leak on it when I sat down. Sean took a moment to wipe our combined fluids off his member, before he pulled up his pants and refastened his belt. I grabbed a handful of paper towels for later.

We were about to leave the cubical, when I noticed my panties in Sean's shirt pocket. He followed my gaze and pulled the panties out. Smiling, he thrust them most of the way into his pants pocket. That done, he gave me another hug and opened the door—to a cheering gallery.

Sean:

Every time I think I have Sheila figured out, she shocks the hell out of me.

On the flight to Hawaii, we punched our tickets in the Mile High Club. I was not even thinking that way when we boarded the plane for Guam. Instead, I was coping with our sudden celebrity status. First the Japanese businessmen had a copy of the catalog, then the flight crew were starry eyed over our wedding. We were even asked for autographs. The big line of reporters outside the gate should have tipped me off, but I don't think of myself that way. Sheila yes, eventually, but not me.

Once we were in flight, things settled back to routine. Meals were served, books and magazines came out, movies were started. Without anything specific in mind, I took Sheila to the commode. Once we were inside I dropped my drawers and pulled down her undies and sniffed them. That was when Sheila took control.

To pull down Sheila's panties, I parked on the commode. Though I had dropped my pants and drawers already, sitting was purely for convenience. Since I was already seated, Sheila could simply pull up her skirts and straddle me. I was OK with that. Sheila let out a throaty sound when she settled onto my cock. So far so good. What next?

Almost as soon as my mind posed the question, Sheila's impossibly tight pussy squeezed my prick. Again, so far so good. Then, Sheila started moving—without moving. Sitting perfectly straight on my lap, she began to pump on my cock. At the same time, she was gripping and releasing it, without ever letting it go. I thought my previous lovers were skilled, but nothing had ever felt like this.

Describing it takes longer than the reality, but the reality stretched on and on. Sheila could read me like the morning paper and was a mistress of timing. The night before the wedding, I gave her a five minute time limit. Sheila teased me for about four minutes and fifty seconds, then ended it roughly. This was more in the same vein. Once, twice, three times she brought me to the edge, then backed off. I was panting like the last hundred yards of a close race. She was not much better.

For the ending, Sheila returned to an old method. Breaking her rhythm, she partly stood, til I was almost out, then let gravity do the rest. The sensation of my prick slammed into her end wall pushed me over the edge. I spurted like a fire hose for at least three spasms, maybe more. While this was going on, Sheila's eyes rolled back, then came back down. She may have lost consciousness for a second. When I put my arms around her, she was limp as a washrag.

When our tiny room stopped moving, I kissed Sheila and helped her stand. We both grabbed paper towels, myself to wipe the cum off my privates. Sheila may have intended her towels to protect her dress. This was wise, since I had no intention of returning the panties. Even if I was willing, I doubt Sheila would want to wear anything yet. I opened the door to find we had drawn a crowd.

It was one of those moments you wonder about later. I am sure most of the men were in awe of my prowess. Sheila looked well fucked and I felt done out. The issue was that I was too tired to care. Sheila, who is intensely private, barely blushed. We staggered back to our seats and collapsed. My one clear recollection is of the lead flight attendant staring, open mouthed.

I did not sleep so much as pass out. Some time later, I came to long enough to notice a blanket had been put over me. It was not until we were about an hour from Guam that I finally woke up. Sheila was working away at the laptop I had given her. She paused to blow me a kiss, keeping a little smile as she returned to her work. I tried to do the same, only to find I had no reception. Instead, I went back to sleep, not to be woken til final approach.

Guam is a little spot in a lot of blue. During my time in the Army, I had passed through twice, but never left the airfield. On one occasion, we did not even deplane. When I made plans for the trip, stopping here was an unexpected benefit. While an American protectorate, Guam leans heavily to Japan for its culture. I always wanted to see it. Unfortunately, we were again scheduled to catch a plane, though this time we had a layover worth mentioning. We would have time for dinner and a real bed, though not a whole night.

As we began to leave the plane, I was surprised to have Kiku waving to us. She must have been one of the flight attendants in Business or Economy class. She told us that the two businessmen wished to take us out to dinner. Given the way our identity had spread before the flight, I suspected they had seen a newspaper with our picture. I wanted time alone with my wife, but it was not to be. Even if I was willing to offend the businessmen, Sheila would not refuse Kiku.

Sheila and I took our bags into the restroom. I had changed to a clean shirt and underwear and added a tie. I knew from experience how to keep my jacket mostly unwrinkled, so I thought myself presentable under the circumstances. Then Sheila emerged in a simple dress, pattern stockings and heels, all in black. It was a traffic stopper of an outfit. Not for the first time, I felt like a duck next to a swan. When we met the two businessmen again, they politely greeted me, but their eyes were only for Sheila. If I had any doubts about her loyalty, their attitude would have grated. Instead, I was amused.

Kiku told us that they would like us to try a quality Japanese meal, since they knew there was none in the United States. I thanked them and did my best to slide into Japan mode. To Kikusan, I explained that Sheila had almost no experience with Japanese food, but that she was a very quick study of manners and protocol. I knew Sheila would surprise her, but I did my best to give warning. The two businessmen were on their own.

The restaurant was called Lotus Blossom. It clearly catered to an international clientele, since signs were in English, Japanese, Chinese and Korean. Kikusan was the designated spokesperson. We shed our shoes and were shown to a private room. I was given the place of honor, with Sheila in the wife's position. Had I any doubt, Kikusan explained the protocol as we went. Before taking my position, I asked to properly introduce myself and my wife. I had hoped to avoid bringing this up, since it was sure to cause embarrassment, but I could not keep thinking of them as Older and Younger.

Kikusan performed the introduction with no prompting, confirming my belief that she had figured out exactly who we were and where we were from. Unsurprisingly, I was introduced as part of the Richards clan. The older businessman was named Takenaka Kenji, of the Toki clan, Takenaka being the family name. The younger was named Abe Hotaka, of the Abe clan. I began to understand why the younger was not particularly deferential to the elder. Abe clan outranked Toki clan and Hotakasan was direct line, not scion.

Introductions complete, we knelt at our places. Tea arrived. Kikusan served everyone. As we sipped the first cup, an American looking woman asked for our orders. When I asked Kikusan to ask Kenjisan to order for us, she immediately looked to him, indicating she understood English. She also understood Japanese, since Kenjisan spewed out an order with no hesitation. Before she left, our order taker asked if Sheila or I would need assistance. I told Kikusan that her assistance would be quite sufficient.

Sheila had been silent to this point. Once we were again alone, she extended her tea cup to Kikusan. As Kikusan filled it, Sheila asked if a question would be permitted. Kikusan bowed and made the inquiry. Permission was granted. Sheila asked how the two men's ancestors had brought honor to the Sons of Nippon. It was shrewdly done, because we did not have to say another word for the rest of the evening.

As elder, Kenjisan went first. He told of his great grandfather's meritorious service in the Burma campaign during WW II. Prior to that, his great, great grandfather had served on board ship during the Russo-Japanese War. He had witnessed the destruction of the Russian fleet by the holy-wind (kamikaze). His family were artisans associated with the Honda group of businesses.

Hotakasan was from minor nobility. His clan could trace ancestry to an Emperor. His great uncle had been a naval pilot, killed at Midway and his grandfather had commanded a succession of naval craft, until his death in 1943. His thrice great grandfather had been an envoy to China during the Boxer rebellion. The family owned several businesses which supplied services and parts to Sony.

While our hosts were talking about themselves, the meal passed in front of us. To my tastes, it was no better than we had in Philadelphia, with the exception of the grilled fish. That was excellent. The vegetables, rice, sushi and condiments were all what could be eaten in a good restaurant back home. For the fish, I suspect it was fresh off the boat, if not off the pier.

While our hosts were playing one up with each other, Kikusan was watching Sheila with growing fascination. I must admit, Sheila is easy to watch, but Kikusan was raised in a culture that values grace and fluidity. I think she payed attention at first only because I had warned her, but she was soon pulled into the perfection that is Sheila.

The dinner ended with warm sake. I was reluctant and Sheila does not drink alcohol. That was OK for her, but I could not refuse. In spite of napping on the plane, my eyes started drooping. When we rose to leave, Kenjisan noticed Sheila's grace, for the first time I think. Kiku gave him no time to stare by expressing my admiration for the meal—it had been good--and for the two of them. I did my best to bow correctly (I'd had training, but not Sheila's talent).