The Donor

Chapter 9

The Boat Ride“Edie, I don’t want to do this.”

I kneel naked at my wife’s feet, speaking over the steady roar of the boat’s engines. Despite my words of reluctance, I meekly look up, my so termed ‘male pride’ shattered. Between her thighs, the view distracts my ongoing thoughts of concern.

While more fully recovering from the debilitating spray, from her over the shoulder bag, Edie pulled garb I have not before seen her wear. Baring herself she changed into flimsy and sheer covering which seems more of a nightie than attire to be worn outside the bedroom. As she politely smiles, seeming to cast aside my words as one would ignore a blubbering child, she further parts her thighs to reveal the pink flesh of her well-trimmed mons, the folds inviting.

Such attracts... and she knows... aware of my burgeoning hormone levels. She extends her arms, once again cradling my head, now not for protection but expressing a maternal affection.

“You will do this,” her tone even but firm. “It’s therapy, Mort. You will become a more useful man. And I will become a mother. And if all goes well, you’ll be back working under Martina’s strict supervision soon... probably reveling even more when directed to stand in the corner of her office. You’ll harden for her... and feel even more thrill when she suggests you unzip for her. Hope that she calls in her secretary.”

In denial I shake my head.

“Yes, Mort, the inner conflict will end. There will be acceptance of your status as a submissive male. The drinking will become superfluous, no further need to drown your thoughts, cloak your sick desires. And the next time you’re exposed and invited to turn from Martina’s office wall, you will do it. Feed your need... for feminine guidance... to debase yourself... cede to feminine authority... to revel in the intensity of the humiliation.”

Her right hand slips away, going between her thighs, fingers first grazing over her portal then slipping between finely proportioned labia. Such wriggle about then return, going to my face, coating my nose and upper lip with her essence, the fragrance divine.

Little Mort, remaining swelled by the excitement of Captain Modena’s gruff handling and wife Edie’s soothing lotioned fingers, further stiffens as I deeply inhale the fine aroma.

“I can do it, Edie. Without the therapy. I’m not drinking... haven’t had a drink in nearly two weeks. I can perform.”

“And that will continue... and you will perform... just as the island handlers will make you perform.”

“Make me?”

“It’s for the best. And you will capitulate... and enjoy your capitulation.”

“You seem to know things... about this place... this Indiening Island.”

“Yes, Mort. Starting by learning the Dutch word ‘Indiening’. The island was first settled by the Dutch hundreds of years ago... and it means ‘submission’.”

“And you learned of it...”

“From Martina Carruthers. She spent a few years early on.... as a handler.”

A handler! Those who do their thing and make a man produce.

“We’re nearing the dock,” Captain Morena interrupts. “I’ll need to dress him. On Indiening, we have rules and protocols for males... intact males.”

Wife Edie releases my head as the engines throttle back and the boat slows. When I turn to look at the woman who quickly subdued me and facilely stripped me naked, there comes more surprise. Captain Morena has removed her slacks, her muscled form fully displayed from the waist down.

She notes my glance, fully turning to me, letting my eyes feast. The thighs are smooth, the mocha flesh with athletic form. There is more surprise in noting the meaty folds of her dark brown labia majora yield to lengthy strips of pink flesh, her inner labia dangling seemingly in invitation. She smiles, a hand lowering to palm and present her long lips.

“You’ll have all of this you want on Indiening... to sniff, taste and suckle. And as you can see the many donors and many years have brought prominence.”

I gawk, hearing my wife chuckle as the giantess turns to guide the boat for docking, her massive well shaped buttocks prominent as well.