Postcards Ch. 04

We checked our faces, then went outside. Sean had a bucket of charcoal, a package wrapped in white paper and a skein of rope. I felt my nostrils flare. The parachute cord was much too thin for restraints. Brown sisal rope is as close to traditional as anything gets. Suddenly my swimsuit felt damp.

Sean:

I would never know what Sheila and Barbara talked about, but both were notably subdued when they returned. For Sheila, that was good. The memory of last night was no longer in her eyes. Sheila was like that. If she focused on herself, she could be moody. If someone else needed her, her personal issues moved aside. Clearly Sheila and Barb had shared something that mattered to both of them.

We returned to our cabin. Just as Don had warned, we had no shower water available. I went outside. On the wall opposite the entrance, a rainwater shower was built in. It was a nice design. The privacy screen looked like part of the fence. Inside the screen was a bench, with hooks and shelves for clothing. Added to the original design was a solar heater, like the one at Dona and Barb's.

We went inside and fired up our computers. The island had a satellite link, with wireless hubs at each cabin. Don gave me the codes while we were talking. For the next couple of hours, we caught up on the week back home. About five o'clock I went out to check on the grill. As promised, there was a built in gas grill, with side burners. There was also a hand welded wood/charcoal grill, with side firebox. In a cabinet was a range of grill tools and a charcoal chimney. Bobby Flay would feel right at home.

I went to our kitchen and unwrapped the meat. There were two nice ribeye steaks. On the door of the pantry was a hanging spice rack with everything I needed. I also found a note from Barb, directing me to a bag containing a small onion, two potatoes and some fresh garlic. Add the lunch leftovers and we had a cook out. It took some time to get the charcoal going, so I poked around some more.

Our little island really was little. You could walk across in a couple of minutes. Six cabins was all that could be crammed onto it. That said, there was a corner with palm trees and undergrowth, just no bamboo. I went back to Don and Barb's place. Don told me that he could take me somewhere in the morning. When I returned to our cabin. Sheila was on the porch, making a bracelet from the three skeins of 550 cord.

Dinner went well, except that Sheila barely touched her steak. In the times we had been out, she always ordered chicken or fish. Since she was from Jewish stock, I could understand not eating pork, but beef has always been kosher, so it made no sense. I finally broke down and asked. Sheila did not care for the taste and texture of beef.

Duly noted, I checked the freezer portion of the refrigerator. Sure enough, there were fish steaks. I still had hot coals, so I wiped one with olive oil and tossed it on the fire. Sheila watched me closely, trying very hard not to smile. I could not tell if it was out of fondness or tolerance of my pretensions. In any event, my attempted gallantry was not a disaster. The fish stuck to the grill, but I was able to get most of it off and it was properly cooked. Sheila dutifully ate the entire piece.

We were starting to clean up when a boat pulled up to the pier. About a dozen people got off, four of them hauling a huge fish. My guess was a yellow fin tuna, but I truly did not know. Don and Barb came down to meet them, so Sheila and I drifted over as well. My assumption that these were the occupants of the other cabins proved well founded. In short order we were introduces to the Swards, the Millers and the Lees.

Barb had a camera out, shooting pictures of the fishermen and their catch. The fish went back on the boat, probably bound for a restaurant somewhere. Don quietly collected a battered styrofoam cooler and some white paper packages. He saw me watching and winked. I would bet money that the cooler contained bait shrimp and the packages were fish steaks from a previous catch. I mentally tipped my hat to his skill.

The leader of the crowd was Jan Sward, from cabin #2. He boasted of the catch and asked me if Sheila and I wanted to join their trip in the morning. I pleaded jet lag. He then invited me to his Luau Saturday night. I pleaded Sheila's Jewish aversion to pork. Stumped for a moment, he offered to contest single malt Scotches. I told him I preferred Irish.

When he finally gave me up as hopeless, I noticed Sheila laughing. I scowled at her for a moment, then had to agree. He was like trust fund kids at Brown, comparing BMWs. I wondered how he would have reacted Jo, the old version, or vice versa. I would pay money to watch. What a dweeb.

More to the point, I noticed that Barb was hanging close to Sheila. I knew that posture. CC had it. Even Jason did it a little. I may be slow, but draw me a map and I can get there. Don had offered to take me fishing. I guess I was going.

Sheila:

We did not get to explore the recreational uses of rope. As soon as we returned to our cabin, Sean went off to check something. He returned to tell me there was no water for the shower, but there was a rainwater shower against the back wall. Good to know. He also had access codes for the house network.

It was enlightening to realize how much I missed my clients bickering. I sorted out a couple of issues, while deferring others to Sharon or Siobhan. I copied Richard on everything, but he was not ready to make the decisions yet. In a related issue, I noted that he and Maria were pursuing a relationship. Maria's staunch Catholic mother was not going to be an easy sell. Richard understood I would not let him evade her.

Siobhan sent a short note about meeting with the Fitzpatrick brothers and Michael Weston. The Fitzpatricks were looking into putting power and climate control in the old house. The electric and data conduits would be easy. Frank said he could have a bid by the time we returned. Heat and cooling was more difficult. Michael Weston suggested a ductless system common in Europe. I told Siobhan that they could start applying for the necessary permits. More details could wait.

Christine sent me another take on the meeting. The Fitzpatricks were trying to freeze out Michael Weston. That made sense. Michael was a specialist, focusing on a high end niche. The Fitzpatricks had a larger operation and wider experience. I told Christine that Michael could do her room and the nursery, while the rest of the project would go to bid. That would let both of them do what they did best. I made a mental note to watch how Michael interacted with Christine.

Francine was on the west coast again. I told her to contact Aaron Aldermann about a possible project, then gave Aaron a heads up that she might call. Neither message said that I thought I had an answer. If they could not follow the bread crumbs, they would starve.

For some reason, the message reminded me of Big and Dumb, our hapless muggers. Part of me thought their reward fitting. Given that one nearly died and the other was facing attempted murder charges, that was harsh. Sobeit.

I tend to think of Cynthia as a role, but there is more to her than that. She was part of me. It was the part that could use the lash without flinching, turn a cold face to howls of pain, or stare down legions of reporters. Cynthia had no sympathy for our muggers. They had threatened Sean and my baby. Fuck 'em. She was a cold bitch and she liked it that way.

Yet, Christine was drawn to Cynthia like a moth to a light. Today, the longing in Barbara's face had almost undone me. I would be going to her and giving her the release she craved. I knew as surely as I knew the coming of dawn that Sean would make it possible. It was one reason I loved him. Another was that he would give me the same release. Even if he was a bondage neophyte, Sean's attempts had a certain charm. I looked at him, to see him looking out the window. A boat was docking.

We went outside to see about the fuss. Occupants of three of the other cabins were returning. They had a very large fish. Barbara shot pictures. The fish went back on the boat which quickly cast off. I guessed some seafood restaurant would have fresh caught fish on the menu. I also thought the crew had seen enough of their client for one day. In their stead, the client was trying to impress Sean. Good luck with that.

In my school years, I found wealthy girls almost unbearable. At the studio, I could dance circles around them, which made it easier to ignore their condescension. Having met Sean and Siobhan, I learned to recognize it as a sign of weakness. The man's name was Jan Sward. It could have been Moses and it would have had no impact on Sean. I repressed a grin, because Barbara was still taking pictures.

I went over to her. Without a word, she extracted the SD card and handed it to me. As she did, she whispered, "Look under the drawer of the nightstand." Knowing what I did, that meant sex toys. Goody. I told her to expect a call if Don and Sean ever went off together. Barbara blushed to her bikini top. Sean and I went back to our cabin. As we went, I realized I felt much better.

I considered being secretive, but it was just habit. Instead, I went straight to the bedroom and pulled out the drawer. On the bottom was a key labeled "Linen". I went to the bathroom. One of the drawers was locked—"Picnic Supplies". I giggled. Sean was following, a look of understanding dawned as I put key to lock. Inside the drawer was a drop cloth, a blanket, flatware and sundries, and a box of condoms. Under that was a false bottom. Suddenly I was very wet.

The contents were very basic—three sizes of dildo, a blindfold, a gag, some short sections of rope. It was rather tame at first glance. Then you added the roll of suede pieces and noticed that one of the dildos was intended for anal use. Going back the picnic supplies, there were several sizes of clips, some rubber bands, a box of fishing weights, even a pet collar and chain. Sean took it all in, then nodded toward the bedroom.

Negotiation is almost a scene by itself. This would not be a fumbled, soapy-washcloth-gag sort of scene. Except for a lash, which we already had, everything was laid out for some serious action. The question, as always, was the limits. Not surprisingly, Sean had several of those. He would not mark my legs, since I needed to be able to wear a swimsuit in public. I needed to be able to move without stiffness. He wanted to do it outdoors, but not want the neighbors to hear. He wanted me to hold my orgasm til he ordered release. I made no objection to any of it.

Sean went down to talk to Don, while I made preparations. Night was coming soon, so there would be darkness for cover. I went out to scout his location, the outdoor shower. It was in a fenced enclosure. One thing Sean had not mentioned was a chin-up bar. It would be perfect for overhead restraints, since everything was braced for stress. I tied a looped rope to each side, so they could not slide together. Halfway down and at the base I threaded more loops, in case lower anchor points were desired. Looking closely, I could see signs of similar ties in the past.

Going back in the house, I stripped down to my one piece swimsuit. Since Sean was taking a while, I looked up macrame with paracord. It was not the most practical thing to do, but the symbolism was perfect. The directions were for a bracelet, but an anklet seemed a better choice. If it shrank, it could still be used on the wrist.

Sean:

We had been coming to this for days, but the time was getting short. After talking to Barbara, Sheila went straight to a cache of toys, artfully covered with picnic supplies. Even the cache looked tame until Sheila started pulling pieces together. Clips have a lot of normal uses. When piled with gags and weights, they take on a different aura. The thing that would have slipped past me was the roll of soft leather. It took a moment before I remembered the possibility of rope burns.

Once the tools were laid out, I sat Sheila down to talk about what I was willing to do. She acted as if this was the most normal thing imaginable. On reflection, perhaps it was. She agreed to all my conditions, blushing several times and nodding more than once. I felt like I had passed mid-term exam. We would still be doing a practice run. I needed one and it would warm Sheila up. I didn't tell her about that part. I told her that I was going to see Don, so she could set everything up.

This was not purely an evasion. I did want to finalize our jaunt in the morning. My real reason was to see Barbara. That proved easy, since they were on their patio with a fire in the pit. It was deja vu all over again. When I was a teen and Jo was a child, we perfected a method of having a conversation in front of adults. I thanked Don for offering to get some bamboo poles. I would be coming along and fishing. That much was just confirmation of an earlier conversation.

I asked about a good place for a picnic, mentioning that Sheila and I would not want to be disturbed. Don understood me on the superficial level. He said there was a sandy islet that would suit. It had some beautiful beach, but there was no place to put a cabin. He mentioned that the heavy vegetation would provide some shelter for Sheila's sensitive—skin. He even winked.

Barbara took in the extra messages—Sheila had found her cache, was planning on using it, and wanted Barbara to know. Once Don was done with his wink, I turned to Barbara. Her look was full of apprehension. I thanked her for pointing out the picnic supplies, that it was what prompted this excursion. Sheila would be by in the morning, while Don and I were out, to pick up a couple of things. Barbara's face was a study in contrasting emotions. I told her that Sheila wanted some pictures of the two of them. Shock!

Don was oblivious.

When I returned to the cabin, my first stop was the outdoor shower. Sheila had created a set of tie points, using a chin-up bar I had overlooked. That was good thinking. Everything would be well anchored. I found her at the table, playing with the 500 cord. The laptop showed directions for a cobra weave bracelet, but what Sheila was making was too long for that. An anklet, probably intended for Barbara.

This was an area I had some experience. An Army buddy of mine used to sell bracelets made with a button from an Iraqi uniform. In the early 1990s and mid 2000s, such buttons were easy to find. Not so much any more. 550 cord was available from the Army, plus you could buy it at the PX. Tying knots was one way to kill time off duty or in flight. By the time I married Sheila, you could buy 550 cord in hundreds of colors

I noticed Sheila was using all three of our colors, where normally you can only do two. That meant she had fused two lines at their ends. Up the middle were four strands of navy blue cord. The cobra knots were in red and white. The effect was red and white stripes with a blue background. Very nice. Sheila looked up and smiled. I complimented her work and suggested she shrink it before use. She went through all the issues in a couple of seconds. Thorough. There was a reason I loved this woman. I told her she should design one for CC, which earned me a rare flash of surprise.

Then, it was showtime. I ordered Sheila to the bedroom. There was a moment of confusion, but no hesitation. I told her to get naked and spread out on the bed. While she did that, I retrieved the flogger from my briefcase. Sheila had already wound her wrists and ankles with leather. I left that in place. I intended her to hook the mattress with her toes and grasp the corner posts. This was an impossible stretch. Instead I had her grab the headboard, then hauled back on her ankles. When the headboard protested, she was taut enough.

With corporeal punishment, the recipient often has to call the count. In this case, I had Sheila criticize my technique. I was careful not to strike anywhere her skin would not be covered by the one piece swimsuit. That restricted me quite a bit, though I was purposely using minimal strokes. The impact on both Sheila's skin and her speech was marked. I learned that the flogger was designed to redden skin quickly and that talking, during a flogging, is difficult.

I could not use the flogger long. Even with light strokes, Sheila's back was soon quite red. Laying it aside, I picked up a brush from the vanity. Here, I was on firmer ground. Mother used a hairbrush extensively in my childhood. I brought Sheila's ass to the same color as her back, taking care to get inside the crease as much as possible. Once that was complete, I told Sheila to get up, put on a robe and collect the picnic supplies. Then I had an inspiration.

Leaning close, I said, "Think of those two muggers you sent to the hospital. They deserved it, but they left behind guilt. It's like acid. It drips down and burns. Right now it is dripping onto your sex. You can feel the burning. That's alright. Let it drip. Once we have all your guilt in your pussy, I intend to pull it all out. In fact, I may have to turn you over to slow things down."

Like all things, Sheila took this calmly. I knew I was on track, because the scent of her arousal filled the room. My prick certainly noticed. That would be the first thing on the agenda. Taking the flogger, I followed Sheila outside. We walked around to the shower area in back. With the door still open, I had Sheila suck my erection.

Sheila was inexperienced in fellatio, but she read up on the theory. It took only a minute to bring me spurting. I did not instruct her to swallow every drop, but she did. When I was clean, she started settling back on her heels. No time for that. I told her to remove her robe and do a handstand under the chin-up bar. For me this would be a trial. For Sheila, trivial. Her back was to me, so I told her to turn around. Sheila, on her hands, turned 180°. I hoped she did upper body training, because her arms would be getting a workout.

Given the leather guards around her ankles, part of my job was simple. That did not make it easy. I wrapped her ankles three times with doubled sisal rope, then tied a double strand to her rings. I took up as much weight as I could manage, then repeated on the left side. Before I finished, Sheila's arms were trembling from the strain. When I had her release her weight, the ropes stretched about three inches, but Sheila was hanging well clear of the floor. In comparison, tying her hands was a piece of cake. Long before I was done, we were both panting.

I sat on the dressing bench, to catch my breath, and looked at my inverted wife. I thought her tits were incredible in their normal posture. I had no idea what reverse gravity could do. The pink underside was begging for my attention. Break time was over. Getting to my feet I went to the goodie bag and extracted the gag and blindfold. I gave Sheila a chance to refuse, but she declined. Showtime.

Placing a gag and blind on an upside down woman is non-trivial. Both are designed for hair hanging the other direction. I managed. In one of Sheila's hands I placed a passion fruit. I was worried that she would be unable to snap her fingers. The fruit she could simply drop. Grabbing one of her breasts, I pinched a section, then clipped it with one of the large clips from the picnic supplies. The other side received the same treatment. I pinched closer to the aureola, then added smaller clips to each side. Similar clips went on the outer lips of the pussy. To these I hung weights.

Sheila was trying very hard to be still. I told her to focus on the burning near her clit. That was her anger and guilt, concentrating for disposal. I told her it would take a few minutes. I brushed her clit with a fingernail to reenforce the point. In the mean time I was going to punish her naughty breasts.