Lessons In Discipline and Servitude

Lessons In Discipline and Servitude One lesson learned…if you’re going to marry a rich woman, be respectful of both her desires and her resources. That I learned quickly. Other lessons took time. I glumly return the wave of my smiling wife as the engines of the enormous Gulfstream jet rev and the wheels turn to begin to taxi. Through the cabin window, I can see her gigolo manservant pouring Champagne as the beautiful face turns away, the goodbyes over, her attention quickly shifting to the young, handsome and well endowed Favio. It is disconcerting to view knowing that she will most likely receive c*********s for a good portion of the 4,000 mile flight. But I also must turn my attention. I must meet the challenge of my new life. Still I cannot help pausing to watch the jet taxi to the end of what appears to be the only evidence of the twenty first century on this otherwise desolate island – eight thousand feet of runway courtesy of the United States Navy during World War II, with surprisingly modern navigation and communications systems more recently installed in a cinder block hut, courtesy of the Winthrop family fortune. The Gulfstream, fully fueled range of nearly 8,000 miles, has the capability of leaving from almost anywhere in the world and landing here on this relative flyspeck of an island in the midst of the Pacific Ocean. Otherwise, the once lucrative sugar plantation is nothing more than a collection of thatched huts and fallow fields interspersed with occasional vegetable gardens and fruit trees. Yes, the native population, small and hopefully friendly, has done some planting to augment their diet of fish. “Be not so sad, Thomas. I am here and there is the key…” the accent, the diction, is Scandinavian. A small effeminate hand smoothes over the belt of shiny stainless steel surrounding my waist then teasingly pats the matching crotch piece serving to encapsulate my manhood. I smile with the irony. Blond, blue eyes, boyishly slim, Pattie’s naked form replicates the features of the party girls I so often hired and humped behind my wife’s back. The slight tan will quickly deepen in the equatorial sun and I will have the privilege of watching every inch of the smooth hairless skin turn from slight beige to what I assume will be a most attractive bronze. Pattie has no clothing, my devilish wife ensuring that I will forever gaze upon uncovered buttocks seeming to beg to be split and small girlish breasts with curiously perky n*****s. The golden hair is parted in the middle and is cut short in a page boy style, simple and practical, for there will be no opportunity to primp and preen on an island without modern facilities. For that reason, Pattie’s lips have been permanently tattooed an alluring red. Other decorative and permanent coloring has been performed about the eyes obviating the need for eye shadow, mascara and make up and leaving Pattie with this lurid profile... that of a high class Las Vegas hooker on a body of near prepubescence. Quite the contrast... quite enticing... and quite intentionally provocative. Around Pattie’s neck is a golden chain. Dangling between the slight mounds, mammary glands appearing as those of a fourteen year old, is the key to the many locks which secure my Neosteel belt and all other restraints. I pray that it does not become lost. The slim hands move to grasp my right arm. I do not resist as it is pushed to my side. Then there comes the sound of a click as a short chain connected to the Neosteel belt at the hip is locked onto my wrist band. Pattie steps around me to secure the left wrist band and within seconds my hands are immobilized. “It is best for you, Thomas. You will learn to feel better, feel more secure when under control.” Pattie playfully tweaks my n*****s and childishly giggles with my lurching reaction. “Did you not object when she had that done to you?” I cannot help inquiring as the engines spool to full power and the jet accelerates past us. “The tattooing...” Pattie pauses letting the craft pass by, the nose rise and the wheels lift and retract. Without concern for noise, the pilot climbs at full power, the impressive machine thundering to quickly ascend towards the sun. “Once you lose what is most important, what most defines your being, facial coloring is of little concern, Thomas. Mrs. Winthrop wanted me to look pretty for you. Don’t you think I look pretty?” Pattie speaks, the beseeching question that of an under confident teenaged girl seeking re-enforcement from her father. “Yes, of course, you’re very attractive,” I find myself agreeing. And it is true. Mrs. Winthrop spared no expense in the permanent make over. Pattie indeed looks very pretty... almost ravishing should the mammary glands be more feminine. Plus... there is no point in introducing adverse thoughts to our budding relationship. If Pattie needs to hear words of praise... then I will so agree. I must consider who has the key. Besides, there is the effect of the hormones... the imbalance so cruelly forced on Pattie... which is known to effect thought and emotions. In interacting, I must think of Pattie as a girl. “Where is Bai?” “You need her so soon, Thomas?” “No, I was just curious.” “Knowing her persuasion, how do you say it? – her gender preference? – she left for the village. I am sure she does not want to be lonely.” Yes, besides Pattie, the only other fully English speaking person on the island is Bai, a Chinese woman with an unspeakably notorious past. Only my wife, with resources in the billions, could find such a person and offer her what must be quite a lucrative sum for tending to me on the island. It is a one year engagement, but with little amusement it will be a long year. There is the sun, the beach, the ocean, idyllic scenery, and me. Otherwise Bai must fend amongst the native women for other diversions... particularly those deemed libidinous. “I need to stay in the shade,” I announce in stepping under one of the ubiquitous palm trees. Yes, more irony. In being banished to probably one of the sunniest places on earth, I cannot for long tolerate the sun’s rays. Whereas my waist belt and crotch covering are lined with neoprene, adding both comfort and insulation, the steel neck collar and the matching seamless steel bands about my wrists are snugly snapped closed and gently abrade the skin. Thus when such radiate in the sunlight, the heated metal burns. “Your wife was kind. She had the Martin Rigid Stock installed in a hut. You will find protection from the sun there.” I nod thinking about the length of stainless steel Mrs. Winthrop had installed in a thatched roof hut near the landing strip. Hanging from chains hooked to overhead beams, the copilot and Favio took their time assuring that the stock was at the perfect height, slightly above the level of my eyes, before securing it permanently in place. “This is where you will greet me when I visit, Thomas. Bai will place you in the stocks and you will wait for me,” my wife explained. “Your neck collar fits perfectly into the openings of the stock as do your wrist bands. Only when you’re restrained will Pattie remove the Neosteel belt and allow your wanton p***s to humbly stand in greeting.” “It’s too high,” I half noted, half protested, the opening for the collar some three inches above my neck. “So you’ll have to stretch a little,” Mrs. Winthrop insouciantly laughed. It was irritating, but more so when the copilot and Favio joined in the merriment. And then the pilot, being the systemized and organized thinker, put in her suggestion. “Probably best to test it. Make sure it holds his weight.” “Bai, Gloria’s probably right. Let’s give it a try.” Bai found a log and placed it under the horizontal length of steel. High carbon, finely-crafted German steel, the design ineluctably holds the human form. In the center of the five foot length, there is an open hole to encircle my neck collar then close and be pinned shut. Smaller openings out to the ends left and right, similarly encapsulate my wrist bands. When I stood on the log, it only required Bai some ten seconds to place me in incredibly confining but relatively comfortable bondage. “There. See how thoughtful I was to have everything custom made to your measurements, Thomas? Long term bondage requires relative comfort... the more comfort the longer you can be restrained... and I’ll want you restrained for a long, long time.” Something in my wife’s voice once again suggested she was implacable when it came time for my comeuppance. I found myself shuddering with her ominous description of my destiny. She found herself cackling... which again brought laughter from her s****l sycophant Favio and the copilot. Then Bai, being Bai, slowly slid away the log and I half dangled, half perched on my toes, my feet comically scrambling to find terra firma. When the laughter of watching me struggle died down, Mrs. Winthrop explained. “The stock and collar are well designed, Thomas. You won’t asphyxiate. You’ll just slowly stretch and suffer.” I found her to be disconcertingly correct. “And do you feel anything under your crotch piece? I know the p***s tube beneath your Neosteel belt obviates erections. But that does not mean the little pecker won’t try to harden for me.” Correct again... most irritatingly correct. The well designed chastity device will not permit full tumescence, but with the tension on my spinal cord, my p***s still attempts to react to the odd catalyst for male arousal. “So this is where Pattie will unlock you, remove the belt and clean. If you want Bai’s attention, all you have to do is ask. She is here for you, Thomas.” There was more laughter as my feet finally found a semi comfortable position where I could stand on toes while the party – Mrs. Winthrop the wife, pilot, copilot, Favio, Bai and Pattie – observed my slow torment. Only the regal Mrs. Winthrop could so subtly describe Bai’s presence as being ‘for me’ and that I was free to request her ‘attention’. I am sure Favio and the pilots knew of her background. Thus the raucous laughter. Bai’s last employer was the prison system of the Chinese government. There her ‘attention’ was expended with daunting effectiveness on ‘interrogating’ prisoners... a euphemism for torture. And now such attention would be bestowed on me. As the laughter and comments continued, Mrs. Winthrop stepped very close, leaned and whispered in my ear. “Thomas. You’ll soon beg for it... and you’ll want me to watch on my next visit... on that I will assure you.” I could feel her breath and trembled as she spoke. With her proximity she felt my quivering reaction, laughed and reached to tweak my right n****e. I both lurched and felt my p***s attempt again to harden. “We must go. It’s a long flight and I am eager to be with Favio.” As Mrs. Winthrop and the crew turned to leave, Favio, the young and very well endowed stud, added his own words in the accented Italian that my wife found so seductive. “I will take good care of her,” he suggested with a smile, thrusting forth his hips to emulate copulation. As he turned to follow, Bai reached up to remove the simple pins that held closed the openings of the Martin Rigid Stock. It was dismaying to see how easily a woman’s fingers could free me from an otherwise inescapable frame of steel. With wrists secured, I was helpless to slip from what held me captive. But it did not take long to realize that if I was to be released from the Neosteel belt and cleansed, I would have to voluntarily stand and be placed in the stock. Under the rules promulgated by Mrs. Winthrop, the angry and jilted Mrs. Winthrop, only when my hands are restrained am I to be free of the neoprene lined steel encircling my waist and covering my pubes. I am to live my life in strict chastity. The rules were explained as the copilot announced our descent to the island. “I will return to check on you on occasion, Thomas. Otherwise we’ll take one year at a time. There will be no rush to let loose that disloyal p***s of yours. And meanwhile, look who will keep you company. A pretty blue eyed blond who will never wear a stitch of clothing. I hope you appreciate my efforts in finding Pattie and endeavoring to fulfill a man’s dreams: to be left alone on a secluded tropical island with a denudated form as lithe and charming as Pattie.” As she spoke she already had Pattie parading about the cabin naked, ensuring that not a stitch of covering was to be taken from the plane. “Of course being belted, you may have to improve your oral skills... maybe Favio can provide some lessons...” More cackling as the seat belt sign announced the final approach to my new life. My thoughts return to the present as Pattie’s hand reaches to my uncovered buttock and tenderly rubs. “I’m going to go to the beach for a swim and some sun. Mrs. Winthrop said the locals know you’re here and are aware of your... well your situation. There are no tools to speak of on the island, Thomas, nothing that would cut through high carbon steel. So be a good boy and leave your belt alone. Bai will assure your comfort and I will feed you later. “I also need to hide your key,” the words offered with a pleasant smile. With that, the naked blond turns to stroll down the same path which Bai used moments before to disappear into the dense vegetation. Pattie seems kindly but stern. Bai has a notable disdain for men... I suppose a required trait in being a torturess. Missing is the relationship to be developed with the few island natives. But otherwise my new existence already bodes to be challenging. How is it that a well educated man of thirty-five years has come to such ignominy?