“Long,” my meek voice conveying distress, my right hand involuntarily tugging against its restraining cuff and strap.
I know the date of my castration... that is not to be forgotten. But I have not the slightest inkling of the current date. Time is now measured in blow jobs and anal penetration. Lost in memory is normal male gratification... self gratification. That is now something I only offer to others... at their demand.
So Nurse Rita adds a layer of mental stress to the physical... forcefully cultivating an erection I neither desire nor can enjoy. I merely look.
“May I touch it please, Nurse Rita?” my quest so humbly posed.
She laughs.
“No. That’s for me. It amuses. So I’ll get you hard again... when I decide. When I want you to entertain me.”
Of course. I am to amuse the female... and pleasure the male... my only roles. Why would I ever think otherwise?
***
Within three weeks, the days really not counted; there is added commotion at Islas Rosario. As I stroll the beach, wary of being beckoned by a guard for quick fellatio, I look out to see a large yacht with a patrol boat nearby. The Coast Guard, on Senor Escobar’s payroll, has interceded. Over the open water, nothing can come within ten miles without notice... Senor Escobar’s first line of defense to send the Coast Guard to ascertain friend or foe.
Something passes muster, for a skiff is lowered, and a party from the yacht disembarks. With the faint roar of a motor they approach, weaving amongst the many reefs.
I take cover in the shade of the palm trees, the steel of my belt heating rapidly in the direct sun.
As the skiff nears I note a boatman, a rather well groomed gentleman in his forties and two girls, young just as Senor Escobar likes them... and without covering... not a shred of cloth. Bronzed skin, raven hair, they just smile sheepishly, their state of complete nakedness apparently not of comfort.
From a nearby path, a guard approaches me.
“Senor Escobar, he want you on dock,” hands gesturing in support of the accented broken English.
“Yes sir,” more than aware that in my lowly status, provider of oral satiation to all, I am to offer courtesy to even the lowest animal on the isla.
I skip and prance on my toes, emulating the little girl Senor Escobar so much enjoys. There at the dock is my owner and protector awaiting the skiff, a burly guard with an Uzi at the ready.
“An old acquaintance, and now my fiercest competitor. You will offer yourself to him... as you do to everyone, my little Coca blossom,” Senor Escobar commanding more than suggesting.
The skiff docks, Senor Escobar maintaining his distance. The well groomed gentleman lifts himself from the small boat extending his arms, hands palm up in both a gesture of welcome and being unarmed. Senor Escobar smiles and beckons him to come forth. The man leans and helps the two naked girls from the boat.
They are charming... so young, the smooth bronze flesh seems to gleam in the Caribbean sun. Not twins but so
similar in stature, the ethnicity is the same.
“I have brought gifts, Pablo,” the man calls out arranging the shy girls to his right and left to fully display the frontal nudity.
Limited breasts, if there is pubic hair it is not abundant. For a man with Senor Escobar’s proclivity... gifts indeed. My protector smiles lasciviously.
“Come, Ramon. Let’s share some Sangria. And I have something else to share with you as well,” Senor Escobar reaching to tousle my golden blonde locks.
The trio approach. There is an air of caution. But there also seems to be a need to talk... a friendship somewhat strained but required. Senor Escobar reaches to place his left hand on the arm of the guard bearing the Uzi, symbolically pushing it lower, diminishing the perceived threat.
“They are from your favorite mountain village, Pablo. On loan... the families so willing to please a man of distinctive tastes. When they become of age, you merely send them home.”
Yes, the girls are of Indian, most likely Incan, ancestry. Young firm breasts high on the chest, nipples pointing skyward, the cooling trade winds bring an alluring crinkle to the pink brownish nubs.
Senor Escobar’s right hand moves to pinch my left cheek prompting the expected six words.
“May I suck your penis, Sir?” curtsying with the question I have been instilled to pose to all beings male.
This Ramon smiles, his teeth white and perfectly aligned.
“Such a warm welcome, Pablo. How can I not concede to your simple demands?”