Lessons In Discipline and Servitude

Four

Four

“Suppose I refuse. Measured for what? Are you going to buy me new clothes?”

Mrs. Winthrop laughs.

“For what I have planned clothes will not be a consideration, Thomas. But I suggest you be a little more contrite concerning your dalliances and be obedient. I have removed all funds from the joint checking account and I suspect your own account has been depleted. I happen to know all those girls didn’t come for free, Thomas. As handsome as you are, 21 plus 35 equals what I suspect is about $1,000 per hour in the s*x trade. And don’t give me any crap about them making their living as models; they all turn tricks as far as I am concerned. The question is the price... and you paid handsomely.”

Sadly, I did. With the financial resources of my dear wife in the billions, why bother opening a savings account? Money was something to splurge on good times.

So I sat naked while some obnoxious woman measured various pertinent parts of my anatomy. Waist line…hip line…neck… then came an inkling of her plans for me. The woman measured my wrists then used the tape to measure from a point near my navel, down past my pubes, under my balls and then back up between my buttocks to a point at the small of my back.

Never in being fitted for normal clothing had those measurements been ascertained.

Then she measured the circumference of my p***s!

Curious.

“Make it tight,” my wife interjected as the woman recorded her finding.

“So, Thomas, you’re broke... and unless there is a hiring demand for the sexually depraved... I think you’re going to remain broke. Unless you cooperate.”

The woman reviews her measurements then looks up to summarize.

“Six weeks, Mrs. Winthrop. Unless you want the order expedited for an extra $300.”

“Expedite by all means... with air freight delivery.”

The woman nods and departs.

“So here is my offer, Thomas. We’ll be flying to the Pacific in two weeks. In flight, I will make you an offer you can’t refuse. Decline the offer and you will live in poverty. I will use every resource at my disposal to assure that. Accept the offer and you will learn discipline and servitude and live better... much better. In the meantime, be a good boy.”

Well, without access to cash I indeed became a good boy. After all, my recreational pursuits required fairly sizable sums, amounts no longer available to me. And Mrs. Winthrop was correct in my prospects for gaining employment. Though age 35, with limited experience I was not going to be hired into a position of responsibility, and I could not swallow my pride and return to the bottom of the corporate chain of command. Five years of parasitically living off my wife’s vast inheritance had transformed me into a bit of an epicure.

How did the little people survive?

The ensuing days went slowly. Mrs. Winthrop busied herself with what I now surmise to be interviews in locating the likes of Pattie and Bai. I just lounged about the pool reading dirty books and staying out of trouble.

Within days the Favio character arrived: the unctuous Italian stud. Out of spite, Mrs. Winthrop had him lounge about the pool naked, his mammoth p***s flopping about when he walked and swam.

I was notably upset and Mrs. Winthrop drove home her lesson... the beginning of a series of lessons.

“Two can play your game, Thomas. But I suspect the winner is she with the most cash. Favio is quite expensive, but he not only humps divinely, he’s quite the cunning linguist.”

Thereafter I slept in a separate bedroom. Mrs. Winthrop had no qualms in announcing that Favio would sleep with her.

Then the package arrived air freight from Germany. Mrs. Winthrop promptly announced the next day departure for the Pacific. That evening I was introduced to the lithe and blond Pattie, chauffeured to the Winthrop mansion to join us for our trip. In assembling over a sumptuous dinner, Mrs. Winthrop noted my lustful glances at the seemingly prepubescent blond. I thought she would become upset, but she instead smiled wryly, fully aware of the plans. Favio also smiled throughout the meal, seeming to know something I did not know.

“Do you like Pattie’s make up, Thomas? It’s permanent. Very fine and expensive tattooing paid for with Winthrop funds. Not only the facial features are forever colored but I arranged for other markings to adorn the more intimate areas of Pattie’s pretty body.”

Pattie blushed like a school girl and my wife’s comments had my libidinous mind reeling, trying to imagine just what intimate parts bore the signature of the Winthrop fortune.

Favio and the Mrs. completed the meal conversing in Italian – another element of her patrician education in being a polyglot, speaking four languages. I just kept glancing at Pattie, hoping that she was of age, wondering whether such would make a difference when visiting a tropical island without laws, lawyers or law enforcement. With the weeks of being a ‘good boy’, I was horny.

Yes the many days of voluntary solitude and chastity since my forced impoverishment, knowing that the Mrs. was well serviced by the Italian gigolo, brought frustration, and it appeared that Pattie could bring the end. Such an exquisite rump, such a boyishly slim body, very much resembling those $1,000 per hour models. I was sure Mrs. Winthrop hired her based on those attributes.

But how was it my once jilted wife was so generous in providing such youthful charms? Could it be she was reconsidering?

The next morning we were off to Westchester Airport where the family Gulfstream 550 waited fully fueled and ready to head for the Pacific. Gloria, the Winthrop family bull dyke pilot, the wimpy copilot, Favio, Pattie, and the Mrs. of course. Bai joined us at the terminal and was given a brief introduction.

Impressively dour in that first meeting, the Mrs. embarrassingly announced to all that Bai would be in charge of my discipline. Before I could protest or inquire about my ‘discipline’ it was onto the jet, with Gloria suggesting our clearance was ready and alacrity would assure a timely departure.

We seated ourselves, belts engaged and within minutes felt the rush of acceleration and the enhanced gravity force of a steep climb in heading west. Leveling off at 41,000 feet, Mrs. Winthrop nodded to Pattie and it was then that she fully unveiled her plans.

“You’re being placed in exile, Thomas. I’ll be leaving the island, but you will not – not for a while. You, Pattie and Bai will remain behind. The Winthrop family has been a standard bearer of propriety for generations. I’ll not have you fornicating with every 21 year old girl in New York.”

While she spoke I was heartened to see Pattie disrobing. Perhaps this ‘exile’ would be more than tolerable, though Bai’s presence introduced a degree of apprehension.

In watching the pretty blond strip, I let pass the obvious hypocrisy of Favio the male concubine, the hired gigolo said to be linguistically cunning.

“The island to where you will be banished is owned by the family, Thomas. Some natives live there and we take care of them in providing proper medical care and assuring base needs are met. Otherwise there is nothing but an old military landing strip, whatever the Navy left behind, and a modern navigation and communications shack powered by solar panels which allow aircraft to visit. While there you will learn discipline over that unsavory s*x drive of yours and you will learn servitude.”

Just as Pattie removes her last garment, the Mrs. distracts me by tossing onto the empty seat next to me a curious contraption of shiny stainless steel. Next comes matching wrist bands and a neck collar.

“The bands and neck collar are precision made, Thomas. Once in place and snapped closed, there is no way to open them. Cutting is the only method for removal. The steel and neoprene device is the finest chastity belt money can buy. Made by Neosteel in Germany. Precisely fabricated to your measurements, comfortable in being lined with neoprene, absolutely inescapable. I assure you that absolute abstemiousness will result. Disrobe and put it on – now!”

Her stern words push my buttons. Since confronting me weeks ago the Mrs. has placed me in a position where I have nothing to lose. I protest.

“Oh, Margaret. Aren’t we being a little rash? How will the family propriety, a euphemism for your feminine pride, be served if I am to be banished to an island with the likes of Pattie? I imagine she can be quite the lay.”

I can not help broaching the subject. Looking past the Mrs. who is sitting opposite me, Pattie stands with her manicured hands on head. Her cute posterior is exposed to me as she faces Bai, who is oddly engaging in some form of examination.

“It remains Mrs. Winthrop to you, Thomas. And I think it is in your best interest to let me outline the rules. Come here, Pattie. Show yourself.”

The naked form turns, the view at first warming my heart, and my loins. Not a stitch of clothing and a nine hour flight. I note the limited boobies, which I expected. But as Pattie obediently steps down the aisle in answer to her mistress’s call, the warming turns to an instant chill.

Pattie has a p***s!

My eyes widen. I am speechless. The Mrs. laughs.

“Yes, banished with the likes of Pattie. I am sure you will enjoy his company.”

The tiny appendage flops about, almost unnoticed except that I now know the details of the tattooing to the ‘intimate areas’. The tip of Pattie’s p***s has been inked with a hideous purple as if to announce to any doubters his true gender. Or perhaps I should use the term ‘former’ gender. For below, there dangles not the expected jewels of the virile male but instead an empty pouch of flesh, colored a bright crimson, more tattooing.

“You didn’t have him altered…” I blurt.

“No, Thomas, some cruel woman of governance fed Pattie – born Patrick – cyproterone acetate at an age when normal development would have brought muscles and a p***s bigger than my pinky finger. The drug strongly inhibits the normal flow of hormones and Pattie became quite the hermaphrodite. He’s been raised to serve as a maid. A later employer had him fixed, snipping away organs that were never permitted to develop and leaving him with the likes of a c******s more than a p***s, and with what can only be described as rudimentary labia where the mighty testicles would be nestled. Do you like the coloring? Selected it myself.”

“This is outrageous Margaret…ah, Mrs. Winthrop.”

“Oh, Thomas, what better companion can you have while locked in chastity on a desolate tropical island? Pattie is trained to serve and will take care of you. In being chaste, who better to introduce you to your new life? Pattie’s going to hold your key. And as your hormones build and build, and your s*x drive demands satiation, what better person to hear your pleas and continue your denial than the likes of Pattie, who has never achieved full gratification?”

While Mrs. Winthrop talks she encircles Pattie’s neck with a golden chain. Attached is the key for which I will soon be pining.

“I have placed the ten million dollars in a trust for you, Thomas. What you thought you’d get as a result of the prenuptial agreement. The $100,000 per month will be going to Bai and Pattie for your care. I don’t have to do this, but if you agree to the exile then I will no longer consider myself to be the so termed ‘injured party’. Resist and I will assure that you get nothing and remain impoverished forever.

“Now, let’s get those clothes off. I am eager to see you in your belt.”