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Sumani nods and smiles.
Chapter Eleven
Dinner is served.
Lady Constance, Dr. Reinhold, Jasmine and I sit at a table for four set off to the side of a huge dining room. By my estimation, a formal seating for thirty and possibly more is feasible in the modestly furnished room. But tonight we are casual with the two porters scurrying about and Motamba occasionally stepping from the kitchen to obtain feedback and receive special requests.
It is odd enough to be served by two naked males. But even stranger are the chairs and what antics take place unseen under the table.
The seat of the large, padded chairs are notched in the front. And when Imelda kneels and crawls under the table I quickly learn the purpose of the odd shape. It is indented to accommodate her neck. Thus when Dr. Helga hikes her skirt and sits, Imelda’s head disappears between the Doctor’s thighs and under her garment.
The notch in Jasmine’s chair is already filled. Through conversational tidbits during dinner I subsequently learn the naked lad kneeling before it is a new acquisition and Jasmine has volunteered to teach him the art of proper oral servitude.
Lady Constance’s notch seat is initially unoccupied. But within a moment of her seating herself, porter number two enters with another naked human form in tow. ‘It’ is close enough in appearance to be Ming’s twin, Asian with the same lithe body, underdeveloped breasts, child-like buttocks and the baffling patch covering the pudendum. ‘She’ is led by a leash attached to a nose ring which the porter hands to Lady Constance who in turn guides the form under the table and into the requisite position in front of her chair.
A dinner discussion of little consequence unfolds. At one point there is a brief silence and the pleasant sound of wet tongues being applied to moist flesh can be heard, where upon Lady Constance first inquires about my length of stay and schedule then responds to my reply.
“Tomorrow I have many business calls to make and must meet with the captain of the yacht,” she suggests. “Botana will have Big Fella harnessed and waiting for you. He’ll take verbal commands if you’re uncomfortable utilizing the whip. You may wish to visit the village. And the blacksmith shop will pique your interest, I’m sure.”
Yes. The very notion of having a ‘blacksmith’ employed in the twentieth century deserves investigation, I think to myself. And as written, I have pondered about the Bagandans and their living arrangements. Lady Constance’s comment serves to answer that quandary. But a visit to the area is certainly in order.
Dessert arrives. Porter number two serves coffee to Lady Constance. She playfully grasps his testicles and squeezes, challenging him to pour without spilling.
“I’m going to need milk. Good boys get to serve it.”
With her comment, Dr. Helga shifts in her chair and Imelda appears. Her wet chin and nose evidence that her oral ministrations were well received. An unabashed Dr. Reinhold wipes the moisture from the plump girl’s chin with her napkin. With every motion, Imelda’s many bells ring.
“Lady Constance first. Hands on head.”
The thin leash is handed to the porter who leads the voluptuous girl toward our hostess. There she obsequiously bends at the waist over Lady Constance’s place setting, where upon the porter gently palms her left breast and slowly draws his fingers down to the long pointed nipple. A stream of milk erupts and lightens the coffee placed before the regal lady of the house.
“One more.”
The porter repeats his motion, the nipple gives up more white liquid and both Imelda and the porter move to Jasmine.
“She’s lactating nicely, Doctor. Your hormone treatment is very effective.”
A smile of pride appears on the good Doctor’s face.
I watch in amazement as Imelda is moved about the table and slowly milked. And I detect a twitching of the porter’s tightly banded penis. The sensuous duty of stroking the overflowing breasts even arouses the forcibly emasculated male.
I decline coffee and with it the curious delectation of watching Imelda’s nipples spurt their essence. But the Lady Constance and Jasmine have a second cup. And when Imelda slips past my chair a whiff of feminine aroma causes me to look down to where juices of arousal stream down her thighs and reflects in the light. Dr. Helga notices my observation.
“The lactation and the permanent Ben Wa balls excite her. She’s a very randy girl.”
An after dinner wine is served and the abundance of alcohol begins to take its affect. Lady Constance issues a command that the table be completely cleared which the porters execute in seconds.
“Cushions.”
With that simple edict porter number one rushes to the parlor and returns with the demanded objects.
“A pint,” she barks in a challenging tone. Jasmine nods.
“She hasn’t done that yet and she’s lightened lots of coffee,” cautions Dr. Helga.
But Lady Constance just smiles wryly. Without request, porter number
two places a bowl on the table.
