Ronnie tried to keep her breathing even, her hands from shaking, without much success. Months of planning had led up to today, and everything had gone perfectly. Robert was gone, an all-day meeting and dinner on the mainland with a client, not to return until 8 p.m. or so. Ronnie had all the time she needed.

Sex this morning had been... okay, the usual. She enjoyed sex with Robert, but it didn't give her what she needed. After three years of marriage the magic hadn't gone out of it, but what would have been true magic for her had never really come into it.

"Veronica, that's really..." He hadn't used the word "crazy," but the look in his eyes had said it all. That, and the use of her full name. It was so unfair of him: he'd pressed her until she'd spilled one of her favorite fantasies to him, and then made her wish she'd never said anything. She felt the tingling between her legs now, thinking about the fantasy, though the arousal was mixed with frustration, knowing it would never happen, not with Robert, probably not with anybody.

"Okay, Robert, you asked for it, here it is: I think about you fucking me in the bathtub, holding my head underwater, and you don't let me up until you come, no matter how long it takes!" She had been breathless with excitement when she'd finished, reaching down to rub between her legs, until he'd given her That Look.

Well, she didn't need him for this one. She surveyed the room with a practiced eye, knowing he hated coming home to a messy house. She'd do that much for him today, and the rest of the day was hers. All hers.

She bent down in the closet and opened the drawer in her underwear chest, second from the bottom. She knew it was the safest place she could keep anything: he'd never look there. She pulled out the treasured canvas bag, heard its contents clinking satisfactorily, and laid it on the floor beside the bed. She stripped off the shorts and halter top she'd started the day with, and took a quick shower. She didn't know why she wanted a shower before she started, God knew she'd get wet enough during the day to clean off a month's worth of grime, but there was an air of ritual about it: she just felt she should shower first.

When she stepped out of the shower, it was about 8 a.m. One more hour until low tide. Plenty of time, but she didn't want to waste any. She'd eaten a large breakfast with Robert before he left, so that should hold her for the day. His mind had been so preoccupied with his meeting that her own distracted air had gone unnoticed. Let's see, she thought: I'm fed, I'm clean, the house is clean, anything else? She looked to make sure the note was on the nightstand, telling Robert where she'd be. She knew he'd find it there, sitting next to one of her favorite carved figurines, though the remote possibility that he might miss it added to her excitement. She heaved a sigh of tension, picked up the canvas bag and, still naked, walked through the house towards the beach door. She paused there to rub her hand over the smooth surface of another of her figurines, the one she had most recently finished: a foot-high nude woman with her hands behind her back, the breeze stirring her hair. Robert had tried to talk her into selling her work. That was Robert, his mind always on the money. But her carvings were only for herself, an outlet for her creative instincts. She gave the figurine one last pat, teasing the small wooden woman with her fingertips gently touching the carved nipples, and then walked out the door, the bag clinking with every step.

In the open, the fresh sea-breeze caressed her bare skin. Walking naked outdoors always excited her, and she did it daily. There was no danger of being seen, on their island miles from the mainland, though she wouldn't have cared if a hundred sailors were lining the deck of an aircraft carrier anchored in their private bay. Private was the operative word: she reveled in sharing with Robert their very own private island. When he was gone, as he frequently was, it was her domain, her universe.

Once she was outside, she had promised herself, she would not hesitate, not stop to think about it, at any point, until the moment of final decision came. Intent on her goal, she barely noted the moment she crossed the shoreline boundary and took her first steps into the foamy surf, although she was conscious of the thrill that always hit her when she entered the water. She blinked as she entered the shadow under the dock, ducking slightly as she passed under the edge of the great wooden slab, the sand squishing up through her toes as she strode purposefully towards her goal.

The overhanging dock provided a welcome coolness in an already hot morning. The thing was enormous for an island with only two residents; it almost looked as if the hypothetical carrier could tie up to it with no trouble. The original owner of the island had loved to entertain, and in the 30's the parties in the grand mansion on the hill were legendary, and occasionally scandalous. She and Robert had taken up residence in what had actually been a guesthouse, the seclusion of the island, rather than its opulence, being the main source of their affections for it.

The oceanward end of the dock was supported by several rows of thick wooden pilings sunk into the soil underneath the surf. Ronnie headed for the middle piling in the third row back. She would have preferred to use one of the front row pilings, with an unrestricted view of the ocean, but her plan for today had required early preparations which she hadn't wanted Robert to discover. The chosen piling was sufficiently far back, under the overhang of the dock, that Robert had never noticed the odd attachments it had sprouted over the last month.

She smiled as she saw the thick rope hanging down in front of the piling. It set her mind at ease: part of her had been convinced that it would not be there, either discovered and removed by a mystified Robert or swept away by an especially violent wave. The wide wooden shelf was still there as well, nailed securely to the piling about a foot below the underside of the dock.

The water was up over her knees by the time she reached the piling. She moved automatically, without hesitation, having rehearsed this moment in her daydreams countless times over the past weeks. Grabbing the dangling rope with one hand to steady herself, she jumped and swung her bag over her head, onto the shelf, its contents spilling out through its opening. Hardly waiting for the clanking contents to settle on the shelf, she turned her back to the piling, grasped the rope with both hands and pulled herself up, needing to rise only a foot or so until the phallus was just hehind her buttocks.

It had been a labor of love, that phallus. She had spend two months carving it, longer than she usually spent on even her most detailed figurines, and another week sanding it to a silky smoothness -- smoother than Robert's, she giggled to herself. The wooden phallus emerged from a rectangular plaque like a hunter's deer-head trophy, the plaque being curved to fit flush against the piling, secured to it by eight long wood screws. She had tested it and satisfied herself with its ability to hold her weight.

Pulling herself just a little higher with the rope, she wriggled back until she felt the phallus nudging the entrance to her pussy. Opening her legs just a bit, she lowered herself slowly, sighing in satisfaction as the phallus pushed itself up into her pussy. She closed her eyes and wiggled delightedly -- it was a little longer than Robert's tool, and she loved the feeling of it caressing parts previously unreached, in her most sensitive place. Her cleft and buttocks rested on a smooth ridge shaped a bit like a bicycle seat, from which the phallus arose.

The only slightly difficult part was just ahead. She reached up over her head, her hand feeling blindly on the surface of the shelf among the chains and locks which had spilled from the bag. She felt a long chain -- not ready for that yet, she pushed it aside where she could find it afterwards. A padlock with its key inserted -- no, not that either -- there! Carefully, not wanting to knock anything else off the shelf accidentally, she pulled down the set of ankle cuffs. She bent at the waist to try to reach the metal ring below her, on the back side of the piling, and sighed in frustration: she couldn't reach that far down and behind while she was sitting on the phallus. She regretfully grabbed the rope and pulled herself up off of it. Letting herself back down into the water, she bent down behind the piling and threaded one of the open cuffs through the ring. Afterwards the two cuffs dangled down from either side of the ring. She pulled herself up and re-seated herself, another thrill of arousal rippling through her body as the phallus penetrated her once more. She leaned over and, of course, now couldn't quite reach the cuffs. A knot of frustration clenched her stomach -- was this not going to work? She used her big toe to tease one of the cuffs upward until her straining fingers could just reach it... got it! A surge of excitement passed through her -- she could do this! She locked the cuff snugly onto her ankle, and repeated the process with the other cuff. Her feet secured behind the piling, she pulled the key out of the cuffs and reached up to set it on the shelf, in a clear area where she could easily find it.

Her hand felt for that chain she had located earlier, and the padlock next to it. Pressing her back against the piling, sitting up straight, she wrapped the chain around her neck, fed it through the ring in the piling just behind her neck, looped it around her neck once more, and locked the ends of it together with the padlock. She wriggled a little to test her movements. The chain didn't choke her, but it did hold her firmly against the piling. Perfect. She took the key out of the padlock and set it on the shelf next to the key to the cuffs.

Almost there! She retrieved one more item from the shelf: a pair of handcuffs. She quickly locked one of the cuffs around her left wrist -- it would be so exasperating to accidentally drop the cuffs in the water, and have to unlock herself and go down to retrieve them, afterwards having to repeat all her previous steps. She snaked the open end through another ring embedded in the piling, this one a large one, three inches across, on the left side of the piling at about the level of her elbow. She pushed her arm downward through the ring, as though she were putting into a coat sleeve, until the ring at last held her upper arm just above the elbow. The ring had a twin on the right side of the piling, and she put her right hand through it and repeated the coat-sleeve movement, until this ring firmly held her right upper arm. The rings held her elbows far enough back that her breasts were thrust forward, the nipples prominent and hard as rocks. Closing her eyes, her chest heaving excitedly at the near-completion of her efforts, she reached with her right hand behind the piling to grasp the open end of the handcuffs attached to her left wrist. Her heart thundering in her chest, she felt to make sure the key was still there, and then closed the open cuff around her right wrist, clicking it until it held her wrist snugly.

She felt the early warning signs of an approaching orgasm. No, not yet! She warned her body sternly, and the feeling receded. It was time to pause, now, and think. She had immersed her mind in the immediate task, avoiding the consideration of the implications of her position until the proper moment, once all the work was done. Now, chained firmly against the piling, a tiny handcuff key representing the difference between life and death... it was time.

She had been in love with the water as long as she could remember. She adored the silky feel of it against her skin, and the coolness it left behind as it receded, as though her skin were crying out for its return. She respected and feared its power to give life -- and death. As a small girl she had often held her head under the bathwater as long as she could, luxuriating in the conscious knowledge that her body was completely immersed and caressed by the water, not really understanding the nature of the feeling between her legs, but welcoming it all the same. As she grew older she discovered the shower-massage --- many women, she knew, had learned the benefits of a well-aimed stream of water, but Ronnie hardly had to aim it: directed anywhere on her body it rewarded her with a stimulating feeling of arousal and joy.

And now, here she was, awaiting the ultimate, most intimate experience with the water. In return for its full caress, she was offering the water literally everything she had to give.

As the water lapped at the base of the piling just inches below her toes, she realized with a thrill that the tide had turned. The water, difficult as it was to judge with all the jiggling it did on its surface, seemed to be higher now than it had been minutes before.

Was it really something she wanted to die for? She had asked herself that question before, of course, as she had begun to plan for this day. She had a secure life, a happy life. She loved Robert, and believed that he loved her, though she knew he could get along without her. He didn't neglect her needs, physical or emotional, yet if he had to choose between her and his business, she knew what his choice would be. She wasn't offended. She loved him, all of him -- that part of him as well.

It wasn't a matter of wanting to die, really. But she was wise enough in the facts of life on this planet to know that, ultimately, it wasn't a matter of choice, for herself or for anyone else. She would die someday. It was guaranteed. There would be an ending to her life as surely as there had been a beginning. She could hold it off as long as she wanted to -- though death often made fun of people's choices and took them whether they wanted to go or not. Occasionally at the most inopportune times.

But no, that wasn't really it. She wasn't conscious of a fear that she might lose her life inconveniently, or painfully, or at the end of a protracted illness. You couldn't live your life in fear of death.

She knew that, no matter when she died, she would end up having lived one entire lifetime. The thought reminded her of the old joke: "Have you lived in this town all your life?" "Not yet." For her, the question was this: once she had lived her entire life, what would that life contain? Would it include this experience, the one she was at the edge of right now, to be initiated by dropping the handcuff key into the water -- or would she substitute a lifetime of regret in place of that experience, regret that she had held the key that would open the door to her lifelong dream in the palm of her hand, and had chosen to unlock the handcuffs instead?

She felt a total, refreshing calm come over her. She had expected that at this point her heart would be pounding, her hands shaking, but instead there was a serenity, a feeling of the very rightness of being here and doing this. She wouldn't recommend it to anyone else. But for her it was right.

Taking a deep breath full of the salty sea smell she loved, she opened her fingers. The key slid forward in her palm, down her middle finger, hesitated an instant that seemed a lifetime at the tip of her finger, and then the imperceptible weight of it was gone. There was a light plink as it hit the surface of the water and was swallowed.

At the instant the sound reached her ears her body convulsed in a completely unanticipated orgasm. She had never had one hit her like this -- she knew her body extraordinarily well, always feeling orgasms approaching a mile away, and would reach out to embrace them. There had been no sign of this one. The waves that wracked her body didn't seem to emanate from any one place. It was as if her entire being were saying Yes, yes, thank you, we're doing it, we're really doing it! With the chains and cuffs holding her neck, wrists, and ankles, with the phallus anchored deep within her twitching pussy, she could hardly move, but that only added to the intensity. It shook her like a dog would shake a limp rag clenched in its teeth, it took her breath away, it... it.....

She opened her eyes, realizing she had passed out. Oh God, she though, never before, never before like that! Her wrists and elbows ached where she had struggled against the restraints, her throat was sore where the chain had bitten into her flesh. And the phallus, of course, was still deep inside her, its wooden hardness showing no signs of going limp. Maybe, she thought, it might be nice to get it out of there just for a minute, give me a little rest... no, she smiled to herself. Not possible. She had wanted it this way, wanted to immobilize herself as much as possible.

She listened to the sounds she loved, the lonely gulls crying out, the slapping sounds of the waves against the pilings, the far-distant hooting of a tugboat on the mainland. There! She smiled as the water, for the first time, licked her toes. Come to me, honey, don't be shy! A feeling of peace washed across her, as it had so often in the past as she lay on the shore. It was starting, and everything would be okay. A smile crossed her lips as she dozed off, exhausted by her recent exertions.

She awoke startled, not quite sure where she was, and then her heart raced as she remembered. The water was up near her knees now, the incoming swells rising a few inches above her thigh.

She smiled as she tugged at the handcuffs. Couldn't get out of this now if I wanted to, she thought. Nobody around for miles, no way to save her.

Perfect.

She wriggled her hips a little, feeling the phallus shifting within her. A warm tingle spread outward from between her legs. Got to hold off on that awhile, she promised herself. Don't want to peak too early. The timing, that was what concerned her the most. She could spoil the fun if she wasn't careful. She knew the sea would do its part flawlessly.

As the first swell rose above her pussy and left a shine of briny bubbles in her bush, she shivered. She mentally shook a playful finger at the sea. You naughty element! So you think you know me well enough to touch me there, do you? I'll just have to give you a little kick in the balls to show who's boss... wait, where are your balls, anyway? Never mind, I can't kick. I'm a little tied up at the moment. She laughed, and the water, growing bolder, played with her pussy again. She shivered each time the water welled up underneath her and coolly kissed her pussy lips. She felt an orgasm coming, and begged it to hold off. Again and again the surf teased her, receding downward only to rise to caress her pussy once more, less and less time between, as if the water were growing as excited as she was. She sighed with relief, at last, as the water rose above her crotch and remained there, surrounding her waist like an exhausted lover, drifting lazily up and down a few inches.

A relaxing hour passed before the next minor crisis. Her nipples had always been very sensitive to teasing. Robert occasionally set her off doing no more than licking her breasts, just a very light tongueing around the nipple, and it now seemed as though the sea must have made a note of that trick for future reference. It splashed on the underside of her breasts, throwing tiny droplets of spray which rolled back downwards slowly, sensuously. She moaned, once more feeling the tingles of an onrushing orgasm. She closed her eyes, shaking her head, begging not now, not now, it's too close to the end. An extra-high swell submerged her breasts completely for a moment, leaving streams afterwards running downward, tickling her mercilessly. She held her breath and held her hips still, ignoring their demands to be allowed to fuck the phallus. No! You'll do it when I tell you, not before!

A complication she had not really considered had been slowly gaining prominence and now occupied her full attention: with most of her body now underwater, yet still very close to the shore, the undertow was pulling her more strongly away from the piling as each wave receded. The water was high enough, now, that her neck, with the chain wrapped around it holding it against the piling, was being pulled forward between waves, hard enough to make it hard to breathe. She tensed her arms and legs in an awkward backwards hug against the piling, fighting against the pull, and gasped suddenly, as a wave, for the first time, splashed water up onto her chin. She laughed wildly, as memories of childhood roadtrips, with herself and her brother Russ constantly asking "Are we there yet? Are we there yet?" came into her mind. We're there, Ronnie. It took awhile, but we're there.

The next few waves coyly came only as high as the top of her breasts, before another reached a level just under her chin. As far as her eyes could see there was nothing but water in her world, dancing, shimmering. Inviting her to join in its dance. Butterflies filled her stomach, and she could feel each pattering wing individually.

The next swell climbed above her chin, and she gave in at last to the plaintive cries from her pussy. Oh, all right, you can start now. Just take it slow, all right?

Still hugging the piling tightly as the undertow tried to tear her away from it, she began slowly moving her hips, becoming the sea's dancing partner, letting the phallus explore her pussy as her vaginal muscles massaged it. She closed her eyes and felt the warmth spreading throughout her body.

She opened them, barely in time, taking a quick deep breath and holding it as a wave which had almost been upon her brought the water up over her mouth, splashing brine up into her nose. She sneezed as the wave receded, struggling again with the undertow. Okay kids, came another memory from her roadtrips. Fasten your seat belts.

Two more waves came, not quite as high, and she gasped in a breath just before the next one crested above her nose. She breathed out quickly afterwards, holding tightly again to the piling as her hips writhed....

Time... slowed... down, and she half expected the proverbial videotape of her entire life to begin playing. But there was nothing but the present. She had no past, and certainly no future. There was nothing but now, and she felt she had always been here, chained to a post, waiting, waiting, for this moment. For now.

Another wave coming. Take in breath. Washing over. Undertow pulling. Hips moving. Phallus... no, it's not the phallus, it's the sea, it's really the sea, making love to me, roughly but so sensuously. Quick breaths now, not much time between, another wave, over my eyes this time, submerged a little longer than before, okay down now, nose back in the air, blow the water out again, breathe, another one on the way...

It began, now, as a feeling of heat between her legs, rushing outward, echoing back from her extremities, in waves synchronized with the oncoming swells. Her imagination of this moment, she found, had been a pale thing, an earthbound thing.

She took another deep gasping breath and held it, a little longer again, blew water out of her nose as it receded, her lungs frantically, instinctively working as fast as they could to preserve her life. She fought the undertow as well as she could, as it tried to choke her with her neck chain just as her body was struggling for breath. The heat inside her billowed and heaved as she humped the phallus wildly, nothing held back now.

Breathe in quick, hold it! The swell was over her head, and she could see the surface, so near, so near, the air her body needed just inches away, how could it be so close and yet out of reach? coming down closer now, her eyes emerging into the air, stinging with salt, and, just for an instant, her nostrils felt the air for the last time, not long enough to even start exhaling as the trough passed and another swell covered her head.

Her tortured lungs could hold on no longer. A shimmering balloon of air escaped the confines of her body, passing upward in front of her eyes. As it rose, she felt movement inside her, something rising to the surface of her being. Something she had waited for all her life.

It broke the surface of her consciousness at the same instant the balloon of air broke the water's surface -- an orgasm so powerful it shook her like a rag doll, pounding her chained body as the water covered her completely. The waves of ecstasy shot through every fiber of her body; every finger, every toe had its own little portion of the joy that she felt, and she was fully conscious of them all, individually and collectively. She welcomed, without pain, the water spilling into her lungs, taking full possession of her at last, accepting the gift she had offered it. She felt herself sinking, now, as if she were descending into a dream, one she was sure would be very sweet, as the sea caressed her, like warm blankets tucking her softly into bed. Thank you, she whispered. That was very nice. Her heart quivered and stopped as she waited for her lover to reply.