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My luggage is retrieved. With the late hour and a paucity of traffic, a cab quickly transports me to a nearby hotel. I check into my room.
Chapter Four
A boring pay per view movie drags me down a long path toward renewed sleep. But the rising sun finds me waking to a television screen with a message enticing me to select another cinematic nightmare. I decline and relieve myself of the annoyance with a push of a button.
The phone rings. It quickly becomes apparent that I have overslept and the driver for my car ride to Lady Constance’s waiting boat has been imbibing coffee in the hotel lobby for 20 minutes.
I hurriedly shower, pack and scurry to the lobby. There, a very large native male greets me in a manner conducive to all I have met in the employ of the domineering Lady Constance. He bows and humbly rushes to take my luggage.
The ride is short and I am surprised when, instead of going to the island’s main marina, we veer onto a narrow road engulfed by tropical greenery. A casual passerby would overlook it as a pathway to a squalid native hut, but when we traverse a bend a guardhouse indicates otherwise. There is also a formidable fence, topped with strands of viciously sharp razor wire, which also serves to further suggest something other than squalor.
A huge guard, machine pistol in hand, nods to our driver and an automatic gate slides open. The auto eases forward and within a hundred yards or so the ocean comes into view, along with a long pier and several cinder block structures. The car stops in front of the furthest building. A door opens in response to the sound of the car. A very tall black woman steps into the Caribbean sunlight. It is Jasmine, the nurse and trainer for Lady Constance’s toy submissive, Boy.
She is casually attired. Normally, she is wearing her starched white uniform, but this morning a colorful sarong is wrapped about her muscular physique, making her appear as a native.
“Good morning, Doctor. I have signaled for the boat waiting off shore. It will be here in minutes. We try to minimize activity here during the day. Please come inside and wait.”
The driver hurriedly carries my luggage into the simple block building. On his way out he falls to his knees, reaches for Jasmine’s hand and obsequiously kisses it. He arises and closes the door after him.
My eyes slowly become accustomed to the lack of light. It is a magnificently accoutered room with a distinguished antique bar, heavy oak tables, large chairs, comfortable couches and thick dark wood paneling. It is an interesting juxtaposition to the stark, cinder block outer walls. There are no windows and a small crack under the exit door emits sunlight, which appears dazzlingly bright.
“We are equipped here for lengthy stays, should there be a sudden storm or other cause for delay. There is a bathroom should you need it and a small kitchen if you’d like coffee or refreshments.
“The other buildings are for supplies awaiting transfer to Constancia and of course holding pens for new arrivals.”
Although Jasmine is smiling, her description of the diabolical manner in which new males are stored for transport to the island is chilling. Treated more as cargo than human, I recall the coffin like boxes at the clinic, which I visited the day before. Comfortable but confining they provide an ineluctable chamber for the transportation of the human form.
Jasmine moves to the kitchen and returns with a pot of coffee and two cups. She pours and talks.
“You’d be amazed at how this little enclave bustles on some nights. The supply boat is only loaded in darkness and of course new recruits embark here. We release them from their travel box a day or so before moving them to the island. The sedatives wear off, we cut off the control rings and it’s easier if they get on and off the boat under their own power. Well secured wrists and a nice long whip ensures thorough compliance.”
Jasmine smiles broadly with the thought of herding like cattle the naked forms of young males.
We sip the hot brew in silence. I inquire about Boy.
“He’s very good, thank you, Doctor. Lady Constance decided to leave him in New York for this trip. The hotel has a deliciously devious sensory deprivation chamber. When we return he’ll be particularly eager to serve.”
The thought of the effeminate lad squirreled away in the hotel basement, lying in a dark room and/or floating in a deprivation tank, is provocative.
“But not to worry, Doctor. He’s in the care of a particularly dominant young specialist. A Russian woman thoroughly trained by the KGB in mind control. I suspect she’ll let him see daylight on occasion. She’s working to extend the ability of females to have control over his tumescence. You know Lady Constance likes to have him erect for lengthy periods. We understand the specialist has a very successful record of opening up to the influence of dominant females that portion of the submissive brain affecting the penis. I get goose bumps thinking about the results.”
The sound of a horn signals Jasmine that the boat is nearby. She suggests that it is time and returns the pot and cups to the kitchen. I stand and begin to pick up my travel cases.
“Those will be taken care of, Doctor. No guest lifts a hand on Constancia. Lady Constance insists.”
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Jasmine opens the door and the bright sunlight is blinding. When my eyes adjust I can see the sleek shape of a very fast boat approaching the pier. It docks and a black woman steps off and waves. In her left hand is a small whip. She is dressed in a colorful sarong like Jasmine’s.
Jasmine returns the wave and steps onto the hardened crushed coral surface serving as the parking area for the buildings. I follow and we proceed to the pier.
“It’s Motamba. She runs the main house.”
Two naked Caucasian males appear from the cabin area of the boat. Motamba turns her head, barks a command and cracks her whip. The two instantly jump unto the pier, tie up the lines and run toward us. They are both totally naked but for various ornaments which glint in the sunlight.
“House boys,” Jasmine explains. “Tightly banded, to the point of essentially being eunuchs. But their oral skills are renowned amongst Lady Constance’s guests.”
I remain confused about the reference to ‘banding’, a procedure mentioned during my visit to the clinic in Germany. But I remain silent and observe. I am sure I will learn more over time.
