Back to Being HandledBeth enters the cottage... no knock, no notice. It seems the handlers of the island reign.
“Did he perform for you?” the voice youthful, the question blunt.
“Finally.”
The exchange suggests shared knowledge of my marital failings, which coincides with yesterday afternoon’s deep and forthright probing of my psychological make up and s****l preferences. Nothing is secret.
“Well you relax. I’ll have a pixie sent in with breakfast and he’ll bathe you... and clean wherever you desire,” the latter words coming with an evil grin. “I’ll take him to the dorm... best that he begin to learn the island routines,” no words of greeting for me.
Remaining blinded I feel fingers working about my pubes, quickly realizing it is the return of the testicle leash.
“I’ll need to stop i
