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I recall that when I interviewed her in New York, she described her clitoris as outsized and I envision the young male tenderly wrapping his lips around it and rhythmically sucking the hardening pink nub into his mouth. Meanwhile, number two kneels and positions his head directly between Jasmine’s thighs from his position behind her.
“Yes, thrust that tongue in, lap it all up.
“As you know, Doctor, Lady Constance insists that all her charges be well imbued with oral skills. These two work together very nicely. Their tongues intertwine and don’t miss a drop of nectar.”
It is quite the display of subservience. A most powerful female basking in the warmth of the Caribbean and the glow of multiple orgasms, verbally spurring two naked, servile and chaste young males to ardently apply their tongues and bring her to even higher levels of pleasure.
I watch, unable to take notes with the motion of the boat and the rushing air. Both penises remain flaccid and the lower cords of the kneeling youths are somewhat taut, pulling the long scrotal sacs down and into better view.
Eventually, a verdant strip of land comes over the horizon. The low coral island is punctuated by a ‘bump’ on the highest stretch of land. As we get closer it becomes evident that it is a windmill. Not of the ancient wooden kind found in Holland but new and shiny. Mostly it is built of steel or some alloy and topped by a huge propeller.
Motamba guides the boat directly toward the obelisk, using it as a point of navigation. Closing in on our destination, she slows the boat and Jasmine pushes away the head of number one and closes her thighs on number two. The insatiable, puissant nurse has been the recipient of oral service for the entire 45 minute trip. Her bright smile acknowledges some level of pleasure, but more akin to that received from a fine glass of wine or an exotic dessert. The intense feelings of the multiple orgasms have been swallowed up in the cortex of her brain and her outward appearance of calm indicates that incredibly attentive oral service is merely a daily regimen.
In a demonstration of extension training, both lads briefly return to their endeavors to carefully lick all traces of feminine excitement from her pudendum, thighs and buttocks. They remind me of kittens playfully and tenderly licking the fur of mother cat.
When they finally withdraw, the small, loose patch of cloth returns to its function of protecting Jasmine’s false modesty, only it now reveals a small protuberance where the large excited clitoris remains engorged by number one’s laborious oral ministration.
The boat enters what appears to be a natural harbor formed by jetties of large stone and chunks of coral. But a closer inspection indicates that it is manmade. It appears to be the only navigable approach to the island. Looking right and left, waves can be seen breaking over shallow reefs and the dark blue color of the water under the boat indicates Motamba is navigating through a deep channel.
The Baron must have spent millions to ensure that his yacht could safely berth at the island, for as we near land the channel takes us between two bluffs where we enter a large cove. There, the mammoth Esterhoven yacht, hidden from ocean view by the protective bluffs, pops into view. The anonymity in which it rests is surprising for its size. On the opposite side of the dock is a more modest vessel, which I presume is the supply boat.
I look back to the bluffs and notice that a large chain is rising from the depths cutting through our wake. It is apparently strung between the bluffs and a powerful winch lifts it until it is suspended between the bluffs and blocks the cove entrance. Attached and hanging below the chain is a wire mesh curtain, prohibiting small boats and I presume scuba divers from entering Constancia’s protective cove.
Motamba guides us past the yacht, which becomes more and more imposing as the idling engine slowly pushes our boat into its shadow. We glide toward the land end of the lengthy wooden strip where an entourage awaits. There stands a waving Lady Constance. She is nearly naked.
As the boat gets closer, behind Lady Constance I can see vehicles of some sort and of course naked male flesh, as can be expected in the company the world’s richest dominant woman.
Our porters begin to position themselves for docking. Again their penises flop about with the metal bands drawing attention to their privates. Motamba reverses the engines, the boat vibrates and our journey ends with a skillfully executed maneuver, which gently edges our craft next to the dock. Lines are secured and the beautiful and dominant Lady Constance, defacto Queen of Constancia, moves adjacent.
“Welcome to Constancia, Doctor.”
As noted, she is naked but for a small cloth patch covering her pudendum which is held in place by strings around her waist and presumably between her buttocks. Her tan evenly covers magnificent skin. Her raven hair is pushed back and held in a simple ponytail, a concession toward simplicity compared to her normal perfect coif. There is no discernible fat on a body that can only be described as near perfect with firm symmetrical breasts and a muscle tone that although not muscular like Jasmine’s, no one would consider inadequate.
I step onto the dock and offer greetings. While exchanging pleasantries, I cannot help but look past Lady Constance to the two odd vehicles resting on the dock. Their configurations appear to be chariots, with a low platform suspended between two wheels. But in place of horses, there are naked males harnessed to the front.
One chariot is quite decorative. Its harnessed team is rigged in white leather and the two males docilely kneeling to its front appear to be mammoth, judging from the breadth of their shoulders.
The other chariot is somewhat bigger and rigged in plain leather. But again, the pair of kneeling males harnessed to its front are large.
Lady Constance notices my interest and curtails questions regarding my journey.
“My best team,” is her brief explanation, as she escorts me towards the ornate chariot.
“There are no autos on the island. We have more entertaining methods of conveyance.”
Our diminutive porters scamper ahead with my bags, placing them in the rear of the chariot. Before returning to the boat, Lady Constance affectionately toys with the nipple of number one and playfully swats the naked buttocks of number two as he trots past.
“The permanent chastity keeps them wonderfully obedient and eager to serve. Like having neutered puppies,” my smiling hostess observes.
Meanwhile I am gathering in the sight of the most amazing manifestation of Lady Constance’s dominance, a matched pair of naked males, kneeling in harness in front of the chariot, bent at the waist with heads down.
Both are hooded in white leather. Blindfolds cover their eyes. Holes for the nose and mouth allow for breathing, but both have wicked bits wedged between their lips. White leather reins run from loops at the ends of each bit to the front of the chariot. Identical single white gloves encase the wrists and arms behind the back. A broad white leather waist belt is worn and attached to pull bars emanating from the front of the chariot.
Lady Constance walks past the body of the chariot to the kneeling male on the right. She knows I wish to observe and fully examine the extreme bondage.
“Years of selection, modification, training and exercise, Doctor. Physically these two are as close to identical twins as possible. Same height, weight, muscle development and of course penis length.”
With her statement, the Queen of Constancia leans over and reaches under the motionless male.
