I have a house in Glennloch Bay on the isle of Brackham Rock. It's a fine old white wooden house with a huge porch going all around with white filigree woodwork decorations between all the posts. The house sits on a small hilltop overlooking the calm waters in the bay, the pine forest, the creek in the meadow, the green fields and most of the dairy farms; it’s a fine house to live in and I have lived in that house all my life.
Life on Brackham Rock is the quiet life to be lived slowly like on a hot summer Sunday after lunch when the sun has reached its zenith and the only things working are the bees, flying lazily from flower to flower slowly collecting their nectar while the breeze embraces the grass with a warm breath. It's the quiet life that has always been kind to the people who live their lives on this island, where time stood still while the world outside Glenlock Bay and Brackham Rock battled with progress, development and plans to put men on the moon, and did not have time to care about the people who lived in peace with life and death in perfect harmony with nature and the human soul on this timeless island.
Every morning as far back as I can remember the ferry from the mainland came with no one. John Hammond opened his butcher shop, Ethel Braunwick opened the farmers’ wholesale store, and King, a flea-infested old mixture between a short-haired German sheepdog and an English bulldog, went from his humble home behind Hanna McGraul’s hen house to rest most of the day in front of John Hammond’s butcher shop. And Miss Rose Marbell rang the bell on the one room schoolhouse, calling the children to an education much like the education all generations before them received. This was Glennloch Town at Glennloch Bay, the names of the people changed from generation to generation but life in Glennloch Bay was not disturbed.
Then one day in early summer, when all the daisies were blooming in the meadow I got crazy. In all this paradise of nature and harmony, I felt an urge because of not knowing how the next twenty years would be, to feel the excitement of the unpredictable, to live my life, to feel alive.
I started to dig a trench all around my fine old white wooden house, and people who saw me digging kept saying, ”Rita Mae, what on earth do you think you’re doing?” And I told them I was digging a trench to make a fence to keep the dog in. And then they told me, ”Rita Mae you ain't got no dog.” I told them that after all it did not matter - the dog was I. They all said I was no dog. So I asked them if they were sure about that. My trench was the talking issue on the whole isle that summer, and people came around my place just to talk and to look for themselves what my trench looked like and to ask the same question over and over, ”What do you think you’re doing?”
And did I know what I was doing? I knew that by doing something unpredictable, like digging my trench, I was slowly breaking the glue that held my life in the same box it had been put since the day I was born.
I was throwing my life up in the air, to see where the wind could take it. I was changing my life on Brackham Rock, and if I did not involve everyone in the process I would be isolated and looked down on, marked as strange, weird, maybe even dangerous.
Then came the time when I finished digging the trench, and settled in to wait; people got nervous and started to ask, ”Rita Mae when your fence is finished will we be able to see your house? Will your fence be tall? What will you use to build your fence? Do you need help building the fence? Can we help you build your fence?” That was the question I had been waiting for - the offer of help; when that offering came I knew that from that point on whatever I did, I was accepted as a member of the community. They might think of me as crazy but I was a part of their world, someone you could help, someone you could expect to help you.
It was a relief for everyone when I said that I was just waiting for my fence to arrive with the ferry from the mainland, and that everyone would still be able to see the house, because when the fence was finished it would be an invisible fence that only I would feel was there, and that everyone was welcome to help all they want. But for now all I had to do was wait.
People came around my place just to talk and to look for themselves if the ferry had arrived with my fence, and to ask the same question over and over, ”Are you going to get yourself a dog?” And I answered, ”No, the fence is just for me.”
Sara Louise Fenton was my best friend since the day we beat the crap out of Peter Laurent behind the farmers’ wholesale store for going around trying to look up under our skirts. One Saturday when the rain fought the dust and a thunder storm lurked over Glennloch Bay, Sara Louise came to the house, and we sat on the porch drinking cold lemonade, looking out over Glennloch Bay on the view that never failed to take our breath away.
”Rita Mae, you know you can tell me. Why are you doing all this?” she said, looking at me with her big clear blue innocent eyes. I knew I could talk to Sara Louise about everything, and I wanted to talk to someone about all the foolishness that had been building up inside of me the whole summer, so I closed my eyes and told her about my urge for something unpredictable, for something to happened in my life to bring a little excitement, because I was bored, knowing what the next twenty years would bring, and I talked and talked. It was like opening up for a whole dam of pent-up feelings and words, and I told her of all the things I had found on the Internet.
”I just have to tell you, Sara Louise, that Internet I got last year has opened up a hole new world to me...”
”Is that why you’re not wearing any underwear?” she said. And I did not know what to say, Sara Louise Fenton had managed to make me redder in my face than a tomato, so it took a while before I could ask her how she was able to notice. And she told me with that thin summer dress I was wearing and in this light, it was impossible not to notice and that she could see almost everything very clearly, even that I no longer had any hair between my legs. So while we were drinking some more cold lemonade, I told Sara Louise about all the things I’d found on the Internet about exhibition and about feeling submissive and of how all the feelings related, and how enchanting it all looked to be, and that I was thinking that some of what I have found might be what I was looking for. And the rain kept up its battle with the dust and the thunderstorm looked like it could not decide what to do, and the silence between Sara Louise and me was like the loudest thing in the world.
”Rita Mae, I think you need help real bad; you are really - I don't know what, but you are really something girl.”
”Do you want me to help you with all this?” she suddenly laughed a string of bubbling pearls and sounded happy like a young girl, and I answered with much more eagerness in my voice than usual, ”Yes, please.”
Autumn has always been my favorite time of the year, and on Brackham Rock Autumn meant a lot of brown, red and yellow, warm and tender colors. And the water in Glennloch Bay turned dark steel blue and the air became crisp and fresh. Autumn also meant that my waiting for my fence was over. One day the ferry from the mainland carried my fence in a small brown parcel, and people who saw me at the ferry said,”Rita Mae what is that? Is that your fence? How can a fence get into so small a parcel?” And when they finely let me answer I told them what I had told them before: that it was an invisible fence. Then someone asked if he could carry my fence for me, I think it was Larry Hammond. Of course I agreed and gave him my parcel which he carried carefully with both hands while the two of us began to make our way up to my white house – followed by most of Glennloch Town.
”Rita Mae, how on earth will this invisible fence of yours ever be able to keep a dog inside your fence? Your fence is just a wire. Rita Mae if you don't mind me saying so...I think they have been cheating you for your good money, that's what I think, yes ma’am.”
”Rita Mae, are you sure it's right to do it this way, we are just putting this wire thing in the ground and shoveling dirt on it, filling up your fine trench.”
Larry Hammond, John Laurent and his brother Peter Laurent were the ones who helped me put up (or in) my new fence. I think Peter Laurent mostly helped to get a chance to look at my legs, and I was thinking, let him look it will not kill me so I let him. And my fence got finished while Peter Laurent kept a sharp eye on both my legs as far up as he could without digging a hole in the ground to use as a peep hole. The power box to the fence was put in and the power turned on; and I put the leather collar on with the signal transmitter to my new fence and tested it by trying to walk across the fence and I fainted when a bolt of electricity went through my body. All the boys were amazed by the result of my test, and wanted to test it for themselves immediately, and with the same result, they all fainted when trying to cross the fence.
”Rita Mae, that is one mean beast of a fence you’ve got there; I don't
think even a bull in heat could cross your fence if it was carrying your little
black box around its neck.”
Sara Louise had me take of all my clothes while she looked me up and down with a critical eye. Earlier that day I did what she’d said she wanted me to do: first thing today, remove all the hair from my body. She had pointed out that she meant all the hair even all the hair on my head, even my eyebrows had to come off. I laughed at this order and asked about my eyelashes I did not think she meant it. ”Thank you Rita Mae I almost forgot your eyelashes, of course they have to go too, and I mean it.”
”When I'm finished wrapping your head in bandage Rita Mae, I'm going to take this egg...” Sara Louise was holding up an egg from her hen house,”and insert it carefully into your vagina, and you’d better keep it inside you, with the help of those muscle in you vagina, and only let it drop when I say you can.”
”Hi Rita Mae, you are looking good today,” said a high-pitched male voice, ”eh - hi Sare Louise you are looking good too, so you’re visiting Rita Mae...”
”Peter Laurent, we beat the crap out of you before, so why don't you just deliver the mail and go away, then we can all get on with this day,” Sara Louise told him, and even though I could not see them, I could imagine how Sara Louise must look in her light green skirt that went down below her knees with flowers printed all over, and her white shirt, standing there with her hands on her hips, legs slightly apart and a ragging fire in those big blue eyes, and I'm sure I could feel Peter Laurent’s eyes burning a hole in me, trying to get to see more than possible. How blind can a man be? I was standing there completely naked, with absolutely no hair to cover anything. Around my neck, locked on with a small padlock, was my leather collar with a D ring and the box to my fence, and a leash from the D ring to the hand of Sara Louise. My hands were locked in handcuffs behind my back, my head wrapped and wrapped in bandage so only a bit of my nose had a chance to get some sun. And here was Peter Laurent trying to look under my skin and at the same time claiming that I looked good today - I didn't look good, I looked fantastic.
When Ethel Braunwick at the farmers’ wholesale store saw my bald head a couple of days later, she clapped her hands together and held them to her lips while her eyes began to grow bigger and bigger. ”Oh you really are bald, even more bald that Axel Hutton at Rose Heaven Farm,” she whispered in disbelief. ”It looks terrific on you; your face has become even more beautiful now than before when you had all that hair.” Ethel Braunwick was beginning to come out of her first shock, and I could see she was already wondering if taking off her own hair would do the same for her as it did for me.
Sara Louise had always been great on timing so it was just natural that she stepped into the store at that moment with Betty Nanson, and after a quick look at Ethel and me said that she was feeling rather proud of having me remove all my hair. After a disbelieving look from both Ethel and Betty the three of them began to talk about me as if I was not there, and Sara Louise told them everything about why I did what I did and that after I got that Internet last year I was beginning to feel an interest for exhibitionism and a thing called BDSM. When they wanted to know what that BDSM stood for, Sara Louise told them it was about being ordered to do things and being tied up and if I did not do what I was told I'd get punished; to which Betty Nanson said that if BDSM meant that, then she knew all about it, well not the tying up part but to be told what to do and the punishment, so that was not new to her, her husband where always telling her what to do, and if she did not do it, there was no mercy, she would get a spanking so she could not sit down for a couple of days.
All of a sudden Ethel Braunwick wanted to know if it was only my head that was bald; so Sara Louise said that I was bald all over, to which both Ethel Braunwick and Betty Nanson said if that was so, they would like to have a look at what it looked like; and Sara Louise said that was no problem, turned to me at said just one word,”Strip.”
Ethel Braunwick yelled, ”Stop a moment! I want Hanna McGraul to have a look at this too, so if you all can just wait a minute I'll go and tell her.”
When Hanna McGraul joined that party, Sara Louise asked if there were any more people they wanted to have a look at me without hair, or were they ready to have me strip out of my dress, to which Betty wondered if I was wearing any underwear. Sara Louise said that I was not permitted to wear any, and that it was a part of this BDSM that I had to ask permission for even the smallest thing like using a toilet. To that Betty Nanson said ”wow,” she was sure happy that her husband did not know about this BDSM stuff, she would not like to have to ask him for permission to take a pee. I think Hanna McGraul got impatient, because all of a sudden she was asking if this was going to take a long time, because she had to get back, she was in the process of baking a cake when Ethel came and said she had something to show her, and up until now all she’d seen was my bald head, so Sara Louise said the magic word once more, ”Strip,” and I took my dress off over my head, and there I was more naked than the day I was born.
Ethel Braunwick and Betty Nanson did not say a thing only stared at my bald body like it was the first time they’d seen a naked woman. Sara Louise was grinning from ear to ear.
Only Hanna McGraul asked if that was it, was that all she had to see, and to me she said, ”Rita Mae, you have a nice body, and we all like you, so if you want to play games like this BMSD and run around naked up and down the street tied up like a turkey you are welcome to do it all you want, but now I have to get back to my cake, before it's ruined,” and with that she patted me on my bum and was gone like the wind.
Sara Louise said I could put on my dress again, and all of a sudden Ethel and Betty wanted to know a whole lot of things about BDSM, so Sara Louise turned to me and said that I had to tell them everything they wanted to know, and what they most of all wanted to know was if I only took orders from Sara Louise, to which Sara Louise answered that I was supposed to take any order from any woman on Brackham Rock. I think I got a little weak in my knees at that statement, because that was news for me too. ”But,” she continued, “anyone who wants to use Rita Mae has to coordinate things with me for practical reasons.”
Now everyone at Glennloch Bay had heard two things about me, and I even think everyone on the isle of Brackham Rock had heard of the same two things about me. First that I was doing some mighty strange things to myself, and that I finally had a fence that no one could see, and that not even the strongest of the men was able to cross when he was wearing my little black box. So everyone had two good reasons to come around the house: first to look for themselves if my fence was really invisible, and then maybe to try to be the first man on Brackham Rock to cross my fence on his own two legs. This fence testing even developed into some form of contest with a nice sum of money for the first to cross my fence, so most of the men tried more than one time, but they all fainted while trying. John Hammond even tried eight times, before they had to stop him, saying that if he kept on trying, he might get used to the electricity and it would not be fair to win that way, I don't think John Hammond looked at it in the same light, but when they kept yelling at him that it was not fair he finely gave up.
While all the men were contesting outside, their wives, mothers, girlfriends and daughters were trying to see for themselves if I was as bald all over as rumors had it. And when they found that I indeed was as bald as they imagined me to be, then they did a valuation of me and what I was doing, trying to figure out if I was a menace to them or if I was someone they should have pity on, and when they had confirmed the rumors that I would indeed do whatever a woman on Brackham Rock ordered me to do, they were happy and I think a lot of them saw possibilities in what they had just found out, so everyone sat around drinking tea, coffee or cold lemonade and talked among each other, and me - I sat on the floor answering questions, feeling happy for what I’d done, and for what everyone had accepted.
The winter was dark and cold in Glennloch Bay on the isle of Brackham Rock. All the colors disappeared as the snow fell over the fields and dairy farms, where cows and sheep found time to slowly eat their way through the farmers’ harvest of hay and beet, standing warm and confident shoulder to shoulder slowly chewing, dreaming of green grass in spring. The air outside the houses, stables and barns was crisp, cold and sharp, and the only living things you could hear for miles were the white seagulls fighting over anything they thought could be eaten. And up on the hill, behind an invisible fence sat a fine old white wooden house, with white filigree woodwork between all the posts on the huge porch that goes all around, and the house is more white than ever covered in white snow. There is life in that old house, there is a colorful coming and going of women, some of them staying for days at the house, others just a minute, before they are on their way again in all directions.
”Rita Mae I think it's time I let you get out of that cage of yours, to get cleaned up a bit, you are beginning to smell worse than Hanna McGraul’s old dead rooster. Come on girl, you don't have all day, you have to be at Rose Marbell’s doorstep in less than two hours, all tied and locked up because we can't have you being fucked to death on your way over there, so get up and get moving - there, outside you go. You can use the bucket by the well to make yourself clean, you just have to break the ice on the surface, but be careful not to harm your hands, the ice is rather thin today and will cut your hands if you are not careful enough.”
While we were still in late summer and just the beginning of autumn I had put a sign up at the farmers’ wholesale store and in John Hammond’s butcher shop, calling for a meeting at my house for all the women in Glennloch Bay, hoping that two or three would show up. When the meeting started there were about eighteen women in my living room, and some of them even said that their neighbor would have come too, but was prevented from showing because of this or that, but that they wanted to hear everything from those that were at the meeting. So when everyone finally sat down with a cup of coffee, tea or lemonade, and had eaten one or two of my cookies, I began by telling them what they already knew, that for some years I was away from Glennloch Bay and Brackham Rock, but when my parents died eight years ago I moved back home, because I could not think of a life without Glennloch Bay and the people who lived there. To that they all smiled and nodded. But for the last eight years I’d lived alone in my parents’ big house, with way too much room for just one person; and in those eight years I’d seen that most of them from time to time needed a place where they could rest for a minute or longer, or do something together with some of the other women, without having to clean everything away all the time, because they had to set the table so their men and children could get some food. Because of all that I had decided, with help from Sara Louise Fenton, to turn my house into a kind of village hall for the women of Glennloch Bay, a place where they could all come and go as they pleased, a place where they could support each other if that was needed, a place where they could do things together without all the demands of everyday life from men and children.
After I had said all that, which was more that I had said in a long time, there was a thunder of silence, no one said anything, they just kept looking at me like I was from outer space, until Hanna McGraul smashed her fist down on the dinner table, ”Rita Mae you sure are a strange girl, with a lot of strange ideas, but I think it's the best proposal I have had since I turned down Harry Dobberhind's proposal to marry him twenty-eight years ago...”
”It's only been twenty-five years since he proposed, Hanna,” chirped in Ethel Braunwick.
”Twenty-five or twenty-eight, that is not the point, I think Rita Mae has an excellent idea, and you all know you could make good use of what she is offering, so don't just sit there like the cat’s got your tongue, let’s make Rita Mae’s idea real.”
Once again it was Hanna McGraul’s down-to-earth attitude that saved my butt - and my idea about a kind of village hall for the women of Glennloch Bay, after she had spoken there was a garrulous chattiness, we soon sounded like a flock of chickens. But in the end it was decided that I should keep on living in my house, and that there should always be at least two women in the house to look after everything, so when some of the other women came to the house they could be sure there would be another woman present. It was also decided that for as long as I found my strange way of living interesting I should feel free to do just that, but whoever was looking after everything at the house would also be looking after me. I would have to obey them and do whatever they wanted me to do. I thought that was a fair deal. I got to live my life doing what I found more and more interesting, and I would never be alone again, and the women of Glennloch Bay got themselves a village hall for women, to use as they liked.
It's amazing how much energy and creativity you set free if you give someone the possibility to use themselves for something they really want. The women and the idea of a village hall for women in Glennloch Bay, was a success right from the start, and soon this old house was buzzing with life; it became the meeting place, they could never again go to the farmers’ wholesale store or John Hammond's butcher shop without dropping in at the house, if only to get the latest gossip and a cup of tea or cold lemonade.
Soon the house became a work exchange, a place to look for help or a place to offer help with doing whatever it was that had to be done from cooking marmalade, sewing clothes, babysitting to cleaning house or painting a living room or a kitchen. I got my fair share of requests to help with this or that, from babysitting to painting a few walls. I was even asked by Clare Norrstroem to help her husband with harvesting the grain as she did not feel strong enough after having her baby five weeks before. So it was decided that I should say yes, and when I asked if they did not think I could figure out how to say yes by myself they just grinned from ear to ear. ”Rita Mae, we think that doing it this way is just what you wanted.”
I had to admit they were right.
Soon I found myself out in the fields following Pete Norrstroem in his stride up and down his fields with grain to be harvested. ”Well I don't know about this Rita Mae, usually it's the wife that does this job. On the other hand I reason that she might not be up to it at the moment; she claims it’s too soon after her girl was born, so I reckon' I'm stuck with you. Have you ever tried to harvest before? Yeah, I reckon not, being a town girl and all from that fine old house up on that hilltop... I reckon that I can just as well tell you this before we get started, that harvesting is a mean, dirty and ugly business with machinery that won't always do what you want it to do, and all that straw and dust flying around you head. And soon as you think it's going to be finished by tonight it always starts to rain, turning everything into mud. But I reckon that undressed like you are, you don't have to worry your pretty head about getting your clothes dirty. Well I guess that's pretty much it, lets get started shall we, come over here so I can get those padlocks open and we can get you out of all those chains, you won’t be of much use if you have to wear them all the time; can't harvest when you’re all locked up – and the wife lent me the keys.”
Then Pete Norrstroem opened the padlocks and started the first day of harvesting the grain by using me to harvest himself with his first sexual intercourse since his wife got pregnant, and by claiming that I was much better than using a cow.
I was almost paralyzed with the thoughts that all of a sudden bombarded the inside of my head, and when the dizziness of disturbance gave way for some thinking, the thought was ’WHY?’ And my fist instinct was to run and hide. But I stayed; all of a sudden afraid to even draw a breath. Why was I afraid of a man I thought I knew as gentle and caring? Was I really afraid of what I had done to make him do that with me, maybe – and I kept asking myself ’WHY?’ Did I like Pete Norrstroem in an erotic way? No. Did I want this to happen? No. Had I brought this upon myself? Maybe. Had I encouraged him in any way? Maybe. Was I naive? Yes. Was I a slut? Yes when something like this could happen, but WHY? I continued with the motions he had shown me to help harvesting his fields of grain, not knowing what else I could do, and all the time asking myself ’WHY?’ And how was I ever going to look any woman on Brackham Rock in the eyes again?
When Clare Norrstroem showed up later that morning with a basket under her right arm, and the baby on the other, my feelings of disaster got overwhelming. How could I look her in the eyes and at the same time hide what her husband had done with me a couple of hours ago; how could I look her in the eyes and at the same time know that my own eyes would ruin her feelings for me and her husband?
"Rita Mae what's the matter, have you been crying? Come over here and tell me what's wrong... Just wait a minute and I will have that gag off you... There, now tell me what's the matter, is the work too hard for you?”
When that gag popped out of my mouth it was like a cork popping of a soft drink, it all poured out before I even had a chance to think about what I was telling and to whom.
"You poor girl, come, it's time I get you home..."
When Clare Norrstroem brought me home, I was crying my eyes out, telling her over and over that I was sorry, all the while she was telling me to calm myself, that she did not mind, and that she felt sorry for letting me be exposed to such a shock. I did not listen and did not see but kept saying I'm sorry all the time.
All of a sudden I was looking into the strong eyes of Hanna McGraul, and the more concerned eyes of Sara Louise Fenton, and it was Hanna McGraul that told me to dry my eyes and begin to listen and see reason. Now to something more constructive – Hanna McGraul had never been one to linger any longer than she had to on subjects like feelings, love and care,”We are all very sorry for what has happened to you; not for the sex part, because I'm sure you will survive that, but because it must be a shock for you to realize that the way you have chosen to live your life can expose you to things like this.”
”Look Rita Mae,” said Clare Norrstroem, ”I really don't mind that you had sex with Pete, in fact you did me a favor as I'm not up to do it myself at the moment... I think Hanna is right that the sex part is not the problem, but you are afraid of how I’d react to it, and to you after the deed was done.”
The strange thing with Hanna McGraul is that I never did notice her before
I started on this odyssey, and she has shown herself to be a remarkable woman,
and of course she's right - I did not like the sex, but I can manage that
as an unpleasant experience - and people like me who decide to live this
way in bondage and voluntary slavery must expect that things can happen to
them from time to time; it only takes one person to misjudge the situation.
What really hurt was that I could understand how people who don't know what
all this is about could misjudge my situation and think that I wanted to
have sex with everyone, that I wanted to be a slut, just because I let someone
bind me and lead me around on a leash. And that I want to follow orders from
everyone, just because I let the women on Brackham Rock order me around.
What Pete Norrstroem did to me came as a shock, something not I or anyone
else would have imagined. And that shock grew stronger because I did not
know what to do, and how Clare Norrstroem would react towards me, after her
husband had sex with me.
In mid-January the bay looked as if it was frozen solid, and the ferry from the mainland stopped coming, and while the snow fell on the ice in the bay and on Brackham Rock and buried everything in a meter of white powder, the world outside Brackham Rock seemed to have forgotten about the island and the people who lived there, and even though we did not feel it we were isolated as so many times before. It was amazing how the women found the energy to battle with the snow and their winter clothes to come to the house just to have a cup of warm tea or some soup. It was also in mid-January that I for the first time in my life got to hear about prices on grain, pigs and milk, and I came to understand what a struggle it was to squeeze a living out of farming on the island, and that most people from the farms were thinking they were losing that struggle with prices on their products going down and down. The latest blow to their existence was that from the coming spring and forward the dairy on the mainland would no longer be collecting the milk on the farms, but the farmers would have to deliver their milk directly at the dairy. If that was true, it would definitely put an end to every milk-producing cow on Brackham Rock, and that meant an end to farming on the island as well.
The women who looked after everything were always two at the house, day and night, working a two-hour shift, with one person ending her shift while the other had yet another hour to go, and they took care of everything. Soon they began to refer to themselves as guards. In the beginning as a joke, but the name soon became a commonly used name for the women who looked after me and everything at the house.
On top of all these bad perspectives for the farmers, some of the women began to complain about their husbands who wanted their wives to be more like me. I have to say that not one of them blamed me for what their husbands wanted, and I think it was Clara Hutton from Rose Heaven Farm, Axel Hutton's wife, who put the problem out in the open. ”Rita Mae, I don't want to talk about this behind you cute little butt, and I don't mind my Axel wanting to have sex with me more often than before you started living like this, and I don't mind him giving me a pat on my bum once in a while. And I don't even have anything against running around the farm with no clothes on, but when he wants to use a whip to tan my behind and all the rest of my body, and wants to tie me up like a calf before branding, I will have to ask for my bloomers. I'm not so stupid as to blame you for what he wants, but please tell me what I can do. When I said no sometimes, he got mute and didn't even speak to me for days. I think it might end with me letting him use you, to do all the binding, whipping and torture on, all the things that I don't have any intentions of submitting myself to do.”
That seemed to be the common solution from then on. Clara Hutton turned me over to her husband, who happy as a puppy tied me to a beam in the barn and whipped me all over, front and back; and ended up with taking his wife to bed, and judging from her happy screams the séance had been a success. Erna Laurent did the same, turned me over to her husband’s torture and ended up in bed with him after he’d worked up a sweat whipping and torturing my body while I was tied over his work table and gagged with her still-warm used panties. Peter Laurent came into the workshop after his parents had left to enjoy each other in intimate pleasures, and he just stood there for a long time looking at me tied over his father’s work table and gagged with his mother’s used panties before he in a flash mounted me, for the quick stacking sexual intercourse he had desired for so many years.
If you are not completely naive you will expect something to happen to
you when you let yourself be dominated by another person, you just don't know
what will happen. Everything that is done to you while someone dominates you
doesn't have to be scary stuff. Kathy Garrath had me jump out of a cake just
to let all her guests throw small whipped cream-covered cakes on me, the
night before she married John Nanson, Betty and Carl Nanson’s son. But it
can be very dreadful, like the week I spent as a living scarecrow in Hanna
McGraul’s garden, tied to a cross equipped with a hat and sunglasses and
In the time after Christmas and well into the new year, when winter is darkest and most discontent, when the cold gets so hard that the bark on the trees explodes, and you have to use light all day, on such a day where no one could see where land ends and sky begins, where the snow squeaks under the boots and you have to cover mouth and nose to be able to breathe – Rose Marbell came to the house.
Rose Marbell had been on Brackham Rock for three years, she came to Glennloch Bay in a small boat one misty day in June, on a Sunday, as a castaway so to speak. She stayed, cleaned out the schoolhouse, and at the end of summer that year she started to teach the children on Brackham Rock. Rose Marbell was one of the few women who had never been to the house, but one day she was standing inside the front door, cold, wet and nervous.
”May I have a word with Rita Mae, please?” They asked her to come in and sit down and have a nice cup of tea, because she would have to wait until I was finished washing the kitchen floor.
Her story was one of a young girl who was lured into submission by a much older boyfriend who’d collared her and claimed to be her Master. He used her and abused her in every way thinkable, lent her out to whom he liked and their girlfriends to do with as they saw fit.
When she finally found herself in all that madness, she saw that the only thing left for her Master to do to her would be to get her killed. And being so young and still so filled with a wish to live she ran away as far as her naked feet could carry her, she hid for years. She moved again and again, and hid again and again, until she finally one day in June grounded herself on Brackham Rock in Glennloch Bay, and promised herself to run no more, and to hide no more. This was the place where she wanted to grow old, where she wanted to fight for her right to be visible; this was the place where she wanted to settle down, a place to call home.
Then she heard of me, and saw me in my pursuit of my interest, and she saw how the people on Brackham Rock acted towards me and my wish to live my life my way. She began to think of Brackham Rock as a special place, the only place where what was going on could happen in the way it did, and she slowly began to feel that her own need and desire for being submissive was not dead after all. So she used her eyes and ears observing what went on, but not to give herself away; she’d had me over to help her clean the school room, to see my reaction to myself and what I was doing, and even though she had never dared come to the house before, she had followed how progress developed around the women on Brackham Rock. Now she was here at last because she needed to hear my opinion on a wish of hers to live her life the same way I did.
To say I sat there with my mouth hanging open at Rose Marbell’s revelation would have been an understatement; at that moment I was really happy that my red ball gag prevented me from doing what everybody else in the room did so they for once looked more stupid than me, with round eyes and open mouths. This was something I was feeling a need to say something about, so I tried to say the words as loud and clear as possible to give what I had to say a chance to get past the gag.
”Hang on Rita Mae, I think this is an occasion that will need us to remove your ball gag for a moment.”
While I was working some life back into my lower jaw, my brain was working in high gear. ”Rose Marbell, are you sure about this wish of yours, because the way I live is not for everyone, I'm sure you will not find anyone else on this island who wants to do what I do...”
”Don't be too sure about that Rita Mae,” mumbled Lena Hammond, the wife of John Hammond,”some of us who would like to do it can't because we are married...”
”Rose Marbell, if you really want to live your life in a special way, and
you want everyone’s acceptance of what you want, then you will have to tell
everyone what it is you have to offer, and try to make everyone understand
that what you want for yourself doesn't put any demands on anyone else, to
change what they want themselves – just to accept you and the way you want
to live... so a good idea for you might be to put your wish before a meeting
of all the women on Brackham Rock.”
”That reminds me, Lena Hammond, that I need to talk with Sara Louise Fenton and Hanna McGraul. I think that maybe I have an idea on how we can save the economy for everyone on Brackham Rock, but before I tell you all about my idea I want to discuss it with Sara Louise Fenton and Hanna McGraul. So Rose Marbell, do you want to stay here for a while, or do you want to go home, and come back later?”
I had my conversation with Sara Louise Fenton and Hanna McGraul about my idea on what we could all do to save the economy on the island. After that Hanna McGraul and Sara Louise called for a meeting at the house for all the women of the island, and at that meeting they were presented with Rose Marbell’s wish to live a life like mine – yes she still wanted it – and of course they had nothing against her wish to live her life in whatever way she wanted.
Hanna McGraul, Sara Louise Fenton and I presented my idea on how we saw a possibility to save the economy, and what we all had to do to make my idea come true. The idea was quite simple: organic dairy farming, and producing organic butter in the island’s own small dairy.
”I think a lot of people yearn for some decency: where food products are what they say they are; where there is orange in orange juice; where there is chicken in chicken soup; where there is cream and milk in butter; where there are other people you can trust. All those things are what we take for granted on Brackham Rock – because we squeeze the oranges ourselves to make orange juice, because we knew the chicken in our chicken soup, and because we used to make our own butter out on every farm not so long ago, and we know that on our small island there is not enough room for distrusting each other.
The discussion after the presentation was long and constructive, not a
stone was left unturned in this pursuit of pros and cons on the idea. The
conclusion of the meeting was that everyone was in favor of the idea. But
as Clare Norrstroem said, this concerned the men just as well as the women
on Brackham Rock, even if we intended to run the dairy ourselves. We would
get nowhere if we don't have milk to use to make the butter. So it was decided
that the next meeting should be the next evening and would include all the
men as well.
Not since my parents died had there been so many men in the living room of that fine old white wooden house. They came from every corner of Brackham Rock to fill the living room to the last inch, with serious-looking faces, and dark strong eyes, there was nothing to smile about - this was a serious matter, and more than one was in a foul mood that the idea of the island’s own small dairy was born from a woman - so they were looking dark as the deepest night, dressed in their black Sunday church clothes.
Carl Nanson was not a man to wrap his words in fancy ways, ”Does anyone here know how to run a dairy? Does anyone know what it takes to run such a place? It is quite one thing to make your own butter like grandmother did, and something different to make a production of butter to be sold in shops on the mainland.”
To that Sara Louise Fenton said that maybe we didn't want to sell our butter in shops on the mainland, maybe we could sell the butter using the Internet, and send our butter to the customers directly. ”But you’re right at the moment; we don't know much about making a production of butter, but I think Hanna McGraul has something to say on that...”
”Does anyone remember the eight young soldiers stationed here during World
War II? Well I got quite friendly with one of them...”
"Oh Hanna..." chirped in Ethel Braunwick.
“Yes, well I did get friendly with one of the young men; he was a dairyman before and after the war. Well, he is retired now and he is a swell guy, with a lovely wife; who knows all about dairy production - so I have invited them to join us..."
”Oh Hanna..." whimpered Ethel Braunwick.
Carl Nanson was still not satisfied,”Do any of you know how expensive a dairy production is?”
Yes we do,” said Hanna McGraul, ”it's not so bad, most equipment we already have, and the rest can be bought second-hand on the mainland. Most of the money always goes to salary, but we are fortune enough to have two very inexpensive workers among us: Rita Mae and now also Rose Marbell, and I'm sure we all know they will have to work long and hard, and we don't have to pay them any salary. Now that is half the needed number of workers, and I know that some of the other women on this island have hinted more than once that they would like to try living as Rita Mae for a shorter or longer period of time just to feel the experience of being submissive. Now the dairy is a safe environment where a woman can have this experience without risking permanently changing her relations towards her husband, family or friends. All anyone needs to do is arrange this with her husband and family. If they can't do that then I'm sure we can all take turns working in the dairy for a minimum salary, at least until we get the dairy on its feet. If you men say no to this idea of our own small dairy, then we all know you will have to deliver the milk at the dairy on the mainland yourself, and that will be the end to most farms on Brackham Rock - so this idea of our own small dairy is more for you to find out if you want to continue running your farms as dairy farms - remember the dairy is in everyone's interest. And the whole island will benefit from this.”
Carl Nanson was finally satisfied, he even looked at Hanna McGraul with
some kind of strange admiration - like he saw her for the first time - even
though they had known each other since they where born. So it was decided
to wait for Hanna McGraul’s friend, the retired dairyman to arrive on Brackham
Finally the sun beamed through the gray, and winter gave way to a flickering spring that was not sure at all if it was now or if it had arrived too early, like so many times before. Slowly the snow melted, the ice drifted off to colder pastures and trees, bushes and grass took on a light green shine, the birds began to sing and collect straw and moss for this year’s home. People began to come out of their houses with blinking eyes against all the light and there was a dripping and dropping of water all around, and the smell of soil and moistness was all over the island.
With the return of the sun everyone’s discontent and misery disappeared, a hope and trust in the future began to grow stronger every day that slowly grow longer and brighter, and with that hope and trust there began a fever of letting the spring air into every home, every house, barn and stable on Brackham Rock. It was as if no one could get enough of all that joy spring was bringing; and a need for cleaning houses, homes, barns and stables came over the people who lived around Glennloch Bay. Then one day, when the ice in the bay was finally gone, came the ferry with a blow of horns that got everyone to raise their heads in amazement of the sound that had been missing for so long, without anyone missing it much.
“Hanna...Hanna McGraul...how grand it is to finally have a look at you, after all those years... It is you, isn't it? I knew I would recognize your pretty face anywhere any time, you have not changed much since we where both twenty and ran around in the fields... Ah, I can still recall for my inner eye how sweet you looked without...”
”Henry Miller Ford cut it out, it's good to see you too, but it's been an awful lot of years since then... I can see you have only changed your looks, and not your words or tongue. Are you alone? Or did you bring your wife?”
HA HA HA, oh I've brought her with me. I didn't want to leave her behind for this expedition...woman meet my old friend Hanna...Hanna this is my wife...Mildred!”
”Hello Mildred, welcome to Glennloch Bay on the isle of Brackham Rock.” Hanna McGraul extended her hand to a small, gray, short-haired woman in a dark smock-like dress and sensible shoes who with hesitation took the offered hand, but kept looking at her own feet.
”Hello...and thank you, ma’am...”
Now that got Hanna McGraul's eyes to be wide and big for a moment, and then she looked at Henry for an explanation.
”HA HA HA... I can see you're a bit surprised Hanna, but Mildred and I are a bit special, thought you were used to this, since you wrote you had two of the same kind on the island.”
”They are not like this at all,” said Hanna McGraus with a shaking voice, ”and I did not know you were interested in that. I just mentioned the two girls because they are going to work in the dairy if we get it up and running.”
”Oh we'll get it working alright, Hannah, don't you worry about that; there are no secrets to making butter and cheese.”
Life on Brackham Rock is the quiet life to be lived slowly like on a hot
summer Sunday after lunch when the sun has reached its zenith and the only
things working are the bees, flying lazily from flower to flower slowly collecting
their nectar while the breeze embraces the grass with a warm breath. The
names of the people changed from generation to generation but life in Glennloch
Bay was not disturbed.