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‘These will have to go.’ He growled into my mouth. Then he pulled his mouth away and held his face close to me, so that I could feel his breath. His fingers were sliding in the crease between my vaginal lips. ‘But I think we should have something to eat first.’ I smiled up and him, and he lifted himself up on to his elbow. He looked down at the ocean. ‘What a view!’ ‘Yeah.’ I signed starting straight at him. He looked back and smiled softly at me. ‘I have brought a little wine in my pack. Let me pour you a glass of an excellent white.’ Peter sat up and rummaged about in his bag while I looked out at the ocean. We were nicely under the shade of the tree but it was still hot, and I casually undid my sarong, and let it fall to the sides of me. I let one leg fall to the side and bent the other so that my foot was flat against the slope of the grass. From where he sat, Peter could see right up between my legs. He glanced up, almost shyly looking between my legs, as he fumbled about with. The entire interior had been made over so that it could serve as a bondage and discipline training center. Benches and racks and stockades were s**ttered about. There were devices I'd never seen before, and some whose use I couldn't begin to guess at. Lydia took Margo over to a device that resembled a squat rack. It was about seven or eight feet tall, and about three feet across. Along the length of both vertical beams were steel hooks. Margo seemed to know what to do. I could see that she was afraid, but she dutifully positioned herself within the frame's structure, and waited while Lydia got wrist and ankle restraints from a box near the door. Lydia put the cuffs on Margo, and used lengths of short, stout chain to attach her wrists and ankles to the hooks in the supporting beams. When she was done, Margo was secured with her legs spread, and her hands upraised, as though in supplication. Lydia took a length of thin white rope, and bound Margo's breasts. It was a.
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