The Donor

Chapter 8

Telling IndicationsSo we land in the Netherlands Antilles. The weather is perfect as expected. The sunshine and warm breezes momentarily take my mind off my concerns. But in arranging a cab, the driver politely inquiries about our luggage. Wife Edie explains there is none.

“This is it,” presenting the light bag slung over her shoulder.

There comes a perplexed look which transforms to a knowing smile as she gives instructions.

“We’re going to Indiening Island. Do you know the way to the dock?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the driver’s tone and manner becoming more respectful.

So a clue as to our destination, that it is an island, and it’s named ‘Indiening’.

Into the cab, a five to ten minute ride, the driver stops in a small dusty parking area before a dock of limited size. He’s paid and I exit the car to see a motor boat, sleek and of modest size, the small cabin suggesting it’s function is for journeys of short duration.

“Ms. Burgess?” a smartly attired woman of color calls out from the cockpit.

“Yes, we’re here.”

“I’m Captain Morena. I’ll be taking you to the island. You’re my only passenger so we can leave... as soon your donor is made presentable.”

“My donor is my husband.”

“Then he will easily obey and submit to you.”

I hear laughter, the cab remaining idling, the driver seeming to deliberately linger, windows open.

Edie opens the bag, pulling out the bottle of sun tan lotion.

“You’ll need to leave your clothing here, Mort. It’s the island protocol.”

I’m aghast. I refuse, my sputtering words bringing more laughter from the driver a few feet away..

“No Edie. What’s this about?”

“The beginning of your therapy.”

Edie becomes silent as I spew more words of protest. In focusing on her face, her look of determination is apparent, I fail to notice that the boat’s captain steps up onto the dock, a satchel in her hand. I glance to see she is of size, shoulders broad.

“I hope his clothing is not too expensive. We so often have to cut away with the belligerent ones.”

“No, I had him doing yard work before we departed.”

“We’ll make it quick.”

I turn to face the woman, not sure of her intentions, but prepared to physically resist, despite her imposing size. Her hand reaches into the satchel. A spray bottle appears. Before I can blink her right hand rises, a finger presses and there comes a spritz of clear liquid directed at my nose.

“You’re going to be a good boy for Morena... a naked good boy.”

My legs give out, knees slowly buckling as I fight to remain upright.

“Grab his head,” the Captain instructs wife Edie. “He’ll remain conscious. It’s a powerful and quickly dissipating muscle relaxer.”

Edie quickly steps forth to cradle my head, preventing self-injury as all mobility ceases and I slump to the dusty clay. Meanwhile the hand continues to work, the spray bottle disappears and from the satchel comes a box cutter, the sharp blade glinting in the sunlight. Hooked into the collar of my shirt, the hand swiftly draws downward, slicing neck to stomach. Then come the sleeves. My belt is cut, snapping away despite its thickness, the woman powerful. But also experienced in stripping a man. Slacks next, underwear and my clothing is shredded and pulled away. In no more than two minutes and I am nude yet have not a scratch on my exposed flesh.

“You’ve done this before,” my wife insouciantly observes.

“Male pride. It must be countered quickly and convincingly. If you lather him up. I’ll carry him to the boat. He’ll be fine by the time we leave the harbor.”

I’m positioned supine, both embarrassed and awkwardly thrilled to feel my wife’s fine hands coating my nakedness with lotion... everywhere and I mean everywhere... male package given special attention. Strangely I am relieved when I’m rolled over. For despite the muscle relaxer, little Mort finds joy, the touch received as sensuous despite the circumstances.

“Nicely shaved. And he swells easily,” Captain Morena notes with a chuckles

“I’ve kept him chaste.”

“Well... he will enjoy the island. They all resist... initially. Then the handlers do their thing. He’ll soon be producing... with eagerness”

“I hope so.”

Coated, the woman of size and strength stoops, gathering me in her thick arms. Some muscle function begins to return. But she lifts and more carries me than I walk... to the dock... to the boat... to the sound of laughter... the show greatly amusing the cabdriver... my shredded clothing remaining piled in the parking area.