Postcards From The PacificChapter 5 - Surf, Sand And Fish free porn video

0400 Rise and dress
0430 Microwave oatmeal, no egg.
0455 Kiss sleeping wife
0500 Meet Don at boat dock
0500-0930 Fish while Don makes morning rounds
0930-1000 Discipline wife

Sean:

Sheila claims I help her sleep. Something must, because she was out all night. I was not so lucky. I had accepted an offer to go fishing with Don, while he did his morning duties. Dramamine did not help keep me awake. Fortunately, Don traveled with Navy grade coffee. He and Francine would get along.

For a guy with a vintage yacht in his boathouse, I know squat about boats. All I could say about Don's cruiser is that I expected a bigger boat. Rather than a cabin, he had a wide canvas awning. On the tail were a couple of fishing chairs, but we never used them. I helped him stow several five gallon buckets of ice in a hold. On top of the first two buckets, Don threw a couple of large butcher paper wrapped packages, which we buried in more ice.

After we had pulled away from the dock a few hundred yards, Don cast out two lines and put the poles in holders. These were, he said, for dinner. He was trolling for snapper, mahi and sea bass. He handed me a rod, sporting a shiny artificial lure, and showed me how to cast and "play the spinner" for mackerel. Before I settled into place, Don opened the throttle. The boat was not big, but there was a lot of power in the guts.

Sunrise found me reeling in the line. We had been going for a while, though I could not say how long. As always in the tropics, the sun came up quickly. I stashed the rod in the holder, then went in search of my cap and sunglasses. Don told me not to bother, since we were almost to landfall. I brought in all the lines while he jockeyed us into another little island. This one was smaller. It had only three cabins and, obviously, no on-site manager.

After a few minutes, in which I learned that my standard docking tie was deficient on several points, Don grabbed a tote and a backpack and headed up to the cabins. He suggested that I wait under the canopy. I knew my New Jersey tan was not up to Hawaiian standards, but this was the first open confirmation. I broke out the zinc oxide and slathered it all over.

Don was gone about twenty minutes. None of these timeshare cabins were currently in use. He was touching up on details noted during a previous stop. That intrigued me. As we set up for our next run, Don told me that two of his islands were generally occupied only during peak periods, such as last weekend. This trio was in mothballs for most of the summer, as were four more we would see later.

For the next run, Don did not bother to put his drag lines out. Using this as a cue, I did not bother with the rod with the spinner lure. Sure enough, after ten minutes, we pulled up near a sandy bar in the middle of the ocean. It was small, but looked like Gilligan's island without the lagoon. I helped Don lower an outboard boat.

It was educational. Don collected three coconuts, some wild mango, two or three fruit I could not name and large amounts of bamboo. Some of the canes were as big as my arm. As we cut the bamboo canes, he thanked me for bringing an extra saw, though mostly he used a geared branch lopper. I picked a few canes for Sheila, then helped him with his project. Since I was both guest and part owner, that was a message. Family helps with the chores.

Wrapping all the bamboo in bungee cords took a while. Part way through, Don told me to get out of the sun. Not trusting tree shade, I sat near a tall rock and dangled my feet in the surf. It wasn't long before we towed the bundle out to the boat. Don lifted it with the fish hoist and secured it on the port side. It was ugly, but he did not seem to care. Halfway to the next stop, there was a hit on one of Don's rods.

He had me take the wheel while he dealt with the fish. I steered for several minutes while he pulled in the fish, stunned it, removed the hook, threw it in the cold hold and ran the line out again. I had a surge of pleasure when he said nothing on retaking the helm. Lack of comment means a job done up to standard. From that point on, I spent a lot of time keeping our heading, while Don pulled in his drag lines.

The next stop was much like the first one. This islet had only two cabins, neither occupied. Don did spot checks. Our next run was long and would be to the "grocery store." Even from a distance I could tell this island was much larger and populated.

Don again killed the motors well offshore and pulled in his lines. There were at least ten fish, from a foot long to an ugly, blunt faced four footer. Don asked if I wanted any mahi-mahi. He waved me over to the reeled lines. There was nothing but missing bait. As I finished reeling in the third rod, a boat pulled along side. An old man jumped aboard with practiced ease. It didn't take long to figure out that he was a fish buyer.

Like the cabins, Don had jury rigged his cold hold. He had a diesel motor running a refrigeration unit, but it was small for the task. He jump started it with a hundred pounds of ice. That was what we had done first thing. When he opened the hold, I was shocked at the number of fish we had caught during our transits. Four young men came aboard and loaded fish into large ice chests and took them to the other boat.

When they were done, all that was left was the four foot Mahi, the two butcher wrapped packages and a couple of long, skinny fish with a lot of teeth. The trading was being done in English, but I had trouble following the accent. When the old man spit over the side, I knew they were finished. Don did not look pleased. No shit. I could have seen that coming.

Sheila:

Sean was up early. He tries to be quiet, but it goes against his nature. I waited in bed while he washed and dressed. He kissed me before leaving, which was nice. I had mixed emotions about pretending sleep, but not enough to spoil his fishing trip.

Once he was gone, I rolled out of bed and assessed the damage from the night before. G_d my head hurt. I had never been hung over, but this felt like the descriptions. I wondered if a shot of vodka would help. Note to Dominatrix: limit time in inverted position. Extended time, coupled with massive orgasms, leads to complications.

Since we had some iced vodka, I tried a shot for medicinal purposes. To prepare my stomach, I ate some stale bread, but the shot still burned like fire. I followed it with a full liter of water, then went outside to work up a sweat. As usual lately, I slept in one of Sean's cotton T-shirts. For reasons that remain unclear, I put on nothing else. Even though it was still dark, I had a rush of excitement when I opened the front door. It did more for my headache than the vodka.

It was just a few minutes predawn. Usually, this is the coldest part of the day. The outside temperature was at least as warm as the afternoon of my wedding, and sticky. It made for a good workout. My muscles were tight and lacked tone, but some serious stretching reminded them who was boss. I did my no weights routine until the the sun lit the porch under me. That made it time for a shower.

Turning back to the house, I decided to check an under-bench cabinet near the door. I noticed it when we first arrived, but other things were pressing at the time. Given the bench and the placement, it could be shoe storage. So it proved. As in other things, Barbara provided essentials.

I took a pair of basic beach sandals and went around the house. Near the outside shower was another cabinet, with soap, shampoo, towels and scrubbies. Everything was set, but I wanted a dip first. I would not get many chances. The rocks at the shore made me glad for the togs. I decided to keep them on as I waded out. I thought of Christine, who would have worn only the togs. Getting Sean's shirt soaked was as close to naked as I would be getting.

The water was a surprise. I knew it was supposed to be blood warm, but the reality was more than expectations. I waded out to waist deep, then lowered until my chin was wet by surges. I could get used to this. The sun was another matter. Sunrise and sunset is very quick near the equator. It was almost above the ocean when I went back to the shower.

This water was a shock. Sean mentioned a water heater, but it must not have been working. He also said 'solar', so it may have been the time. Still, cold water in Hawaii is is only cool. I reveled in the luxury of time. For the first time since my first date with Sean, I felt no urgency. It was nice.

I rinsed Sean's shirt and threw it over the chin up bar. He would like the irony. Instead I used my damp towel for cover. If anyone was watching, they probably caught a bit of cheek as I scurried around the house. Next up was Barbara. I sat at the vanity, brushing my hair, while I considered my plan. I would start with the corset and the beach bunny dress. Then...

My hair was fully dry and starting to crackle before I pulled out of the fugue. That was Herr Gruber's term. He would lecture me about using it, rather than submitting to it. The memory caused a small hiccup to my good mood. That was a conversation Christine and I would need to have. Christine could fugue, if that was the term, almost at will. She called it her quiet place. First, I needed to see Barbara.

Donning the corset was like meeting an old friend. I thought of Sean's hugs. I wished I could tie the laces before dressing, but it took some abdominal control just to hook the busks. If I really was pregnant, how soon would I feel it? More likely, I was out of training. Heaven knew my tits sagged without the bustier.

The rest of the outfit was simple. I pulled my hair over one shoulder, as a nod to Sean, and secured it with the brass clip. My skimpiest bra came with a thong. Over those went the beach bunny dress, finished with wedge sandals and the white bag. For make up, heavy eye liner, mascara and Cynthia's trademark lipstick. Nothing to it.

At the door, I stopped. After a moment, I returned to the bedroom. Sure enough, Barbara had provided sun hats. I chose one woven from natural fiber, with a flowery band. The match could be better, but it worked and Barbara had earned the nod. I wondered what else she would earn.

Barbara waited for me to knock. That was not incorrect, only cautious. The door swung open before I finished the motion and there was no hesitation when she invited me in. The hesitation came as the door closed. I smiled inwardly. The door was a line. Closing the door put the line firmly behind us. Barbara's hesitation unintentionally underscored her decision. I could see that she knew it.

To recover, she offered tea. We spent a convivial fifteen minutes sipping some island grown tea, but the unspoken question hung in the air. Finally, it dawned on Barbara that I would not initiate things. That was her first task. Negotiations are almost a scene to themselves. I gave her credit when she realized we had begun long before. Not everyone does.

Barbara's question was simple, "What should I call you?"

I said, "Ma'am or Mistress Cynthia, but you are overdressed for such things. Also, we will need a camera."

Sean:

Many times I wondered how Sheila, Cynthia, felt with a new client. With Don, I thought I grasped a bit of it. He was very competent within his job duties, but felt out of his depth dealing with businessmen. His fishing between stops was a nice way of generating some extra income, but he was making a hash of it and he knew it. It had been years since I mentored anyone, but he was asking, so I did what little I could. It gave us something to do while we waited on our wives.

We started by going ashore and laying on groceries. It was, in mainland terms, a one stoplight town—without the stoplight. The old man managed a fish packing plant. He was paying schedule rates for all the small fish. For game fish, such as the mahi-mahi, he would pay a bit extra. The down side was that he wanted some grease. That was the packaged tuna steaks. Sushimi grade tuna can go past $50 a pound. The tuna may not have been that good, but it was still a big bribe.

As I did my shopping, Don filled me in on some of the legal realities of commercial fishing. Complicated stuff. He was operating on the fringe, without a license. The sad thing was that he did not know what was necessary to get a license, or even what one would allow him to do. The Navy runs on regulations, but Hawaii's fish and wildlife statutes scared him. God knew how many he was violating already.

There was no cell reception, but I could make a call when I returned to our cabin. I would get him a pro bono interview with a lawyer, for the purposes of making a referral. With my name behind it, the attorney would be competent. It was a start. I also recommended involving his wife, Barbara. She would be the point of contact whenever he was on the water, so she needed to be fully up to speed. Unspoken was the suggestion that she might be better suited to dealing with briefcase types. Hell, I was a suit and that was my impression.

Ship owners, with papers, did not grow on vines. I suggested contacting the commercial fishing concerns. Someone would strike a deal. If nothing else, Don could find a market for his upscale catch or a dump for the trash fish. Either would have value. Once again, I came back to Barbara, who had nothing to do. She could serve as his communications office. Don smiled at that, because he knew how busy a com unit gets.

It gave him enough to think about. My only other suggestion was to employ Navy style order to his catch. If you don't know a market, you can never judge the price. You can't learn the market if you don't know what you have been selling. Put in those terms, Don brightened up. I suspected the fish buyer was going to be making a detailed proposal, rather than a batch offer, or getting nothing. It might work.

At bottom, business reactions are the same as Navy reactions—human. Everyone he talked to would have duties, desires, authority and limits on same, chain of command, peer pressure and so on. Once he could see that the fish buyer as the counterpart to a supply officer, Don could see several places where his negotiations could be improved. Once he started thinking in terms of military structures, he also began to see himself in the order. He found it helpful to think of the Ship giving orders, which he carried out. Whatever works.

The cruise back was more friendly. Don talked of the cabins and what he would have done differently. I asked if there were suitable empty sites. He asked why anyone would bother. It would be cheaper to buy an existing location and add on. During the off-season his occupancy ran below 40%. There were operations that did that during tourist season. If I wanted a place in Hawaii, it would have stirred my interest. Instead, I started thinking closer to home.

As luck would have it, my mostly forgotten fishing pole had a strike about then. As sport fish go, it was a minnow, but I had fun.

Sheila:

Like the night before, with Sean, the negotiation was one sided. I told Barbara what I was unwilling to do. As expected, anything I wanted was fine with her. The camera was an issue, but not a deal breaker. As with many of my clients, the more she fought the idea of being recorded, the more excited she became. I shot her as she stood and had her return the favor.

To begin, we needed a place to work. Furniture was pushed into corners, clearing an area near the entrance. Barbara had an exercise mat, which we spread. The camera had a time lapse setting, so I set it for three shots a minute. Show time.

I had Barbara strip naked. Once done, with clothes carefully folded, I had her help me out of my dress and tighten my corset. So attired, we did some stretching. The first half hour was designed to find how poor her condition was. She was a middle-aged homebody, with few hobbies. I was not expecting much, nor did I get it.

After what should have been a light warm up, Barbara was sweating heavily. I had her take Christine's favorite posture—sitting on heals, knees spread, hands grasping elbows behind the back. I told her to sit still while I fetched water. It took less than two minutes, but she was already fidgeting. That would be my starting point. I kept her in posture while she drank a whole liter of water. To give her kidneys some time, I let her watch as I worked. After some initial tightness, pushing my body felt glorious.

I could have gone on for an hour. Even without weights, much can be done with a little room to move. Barbara was my timer. When it became obvious her bladder was causing distress, I stopped. When she went to the commode, I warned her to be thorough, because she would not get another chance soon. Barbara's face reddened when she realized I would watch her piss, but kept on. As she wiped herself, I was reminded of a night I could not do that much. It gave me a warm rush.

One thing was already an issue—Barbara wanted to ask questions. Several times I needed to cut her off with a sharp look. A gag was necessary, which meant we needed a non-verbal signal. Since she would not have free hands, that presented a problem. The ubiquitous bowl of fruit gave me an idea, but other issues came first. I started with restraints. Barbara could use posture improvement, so her first standing rule was to clasp her elbows whenever she was in client mode. It was amusing when she started to cross her arms in front of her breasts. She quickly corrected, pinking as she did. I let that slide, since I already intended a reminder.

Barbara's toy chest was much larger than the guest house's, but also made from available materials. There was a large amount of rope, in several types and sizes. Her husband was a boat master. These could be his odds and ends. There were many brushes, from apply-makeup soft to clean-the-floor stiff. Clamps ranged from cheap wooden clothespins to wood gluing vises. There were hair brush paddles and paddle paddles. The major missing item was any obvious form of whip or lash. I selected a rubber gag, one long and two shorter lengths of three eighths inch braided rope, a makeup applicator and two potato chip bag clips.

Back on the exercise mat, I had Barbara lie back, legs bent. Using the short ropes, I tied her ankles to her thighs. She had lain with her hands behind her back, which earned her a point, but meant she could not rise without assistance. I helped her into a the kneeling posture, praising her obedience. I would not be praising her silence, so I showed her the gag. Barbara's eyes went wide, but she nodded confirmation. Another point. I secured the gag, then went to the kitchen and returned with a small bowl and an orange.

I said, "Sit up straight." She tried. "Good." I put the bowl, inverted, on Barbara's head. With a few corrections, I had the bottom level. In the base I placed the orange. I continued, "This is your panic signal. If the orange rolls off your head, I will stop and ask you if it was an accident. You will be free to use any signal you can contrive in an emergency, but this should be the simplest. Blink twice if you understand." She did.

"Blink twice if you wish to continue. I will tell you now that you should not expect an orgasm today. This will be about self-discipline and frustration. You may think you are frustrated, but you will soon learn otherwise. Under those conditions, do you wish to continue?" A tear rolled from Barbara's eye, but she blinked twice. Sobeit. I took the long piece of rope and sat behind Barbara. Using her arms as the core line, I tied a cobra knot from one elbow to the other.

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 for Rope 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. Do not spoil 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 about The 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?