Bathing Hidden

This was before property in Napa and Sonoma counties suitable for vineyards went through the roof. We moved, and found the vineyards and outbuildings were in great shape but the house was marginal. It was a rambling ranch house with rooms added over the years since the original three room house had been built around nineteen hundred. Dad did a lot of the work but farmed out the new electrical and plumbing systems, a new roof, and new kitchen cabinets and appliances. That still left a huge amount of work that we didn't finish until I was fifteen. Yeah, we. I helped, and learned a ton of skills that were to prove useful for the rest of my life.Everyone kept telling him that he could make a lot more money if he started making his own wine, but he didn't want the hassle. His favorite time was winter when there wasn't much to do. I'd come home on the school bus from Healdsburg of an afternoon, and he would be sitting on the front porch fidgeting with one of his ever present briar pipes. An old fashioned caning bench stands along the short wall. In the center is a steel device holding you, your barely clothed body caught it its unforgiving clutches. Helpless. Anything could happen here and there would be no stopping it. Your spirit could be broken in this room. The cold air and metal restraints make you shiver. So bare; so powerless. My footsteps grow louder in the hall.As I enter I can see your head drop. You knew what was to happen, and you knew why. On yesterday's ride, you were petulant. You chose a short light skirt that was far too revealing. Your behavior was also quite unsatisfactory. Your laughter drew attention and leering stares from many who were with us. You could see me growing more and more angry. You didn't seem to care; you just wanted to tease and flirt, so you flaunted yourself without shame. I decided not to speak to you right then. I shouldn't need to; you could read the growing anger on my face. But you chose to continue. As you wish . ..
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