I woke with an extreme discomfort in my groin. Something was encasing my cock. I rolled over and my cock slid from Karina’s mouth. Her head flopped around, limply, and her eyes were open and lifeless, staring at me.
“Good morning, sleepyhead!” came Jana’s chipper voice.
She came to my side of the bed and kissed me on the lips.
“What the fuck happened?” I asked Jana.
“To my sister, Karina? I’m afraid that you snuffed her in the night without knowing after you fell asleep with your cock in her throat. You silly man!”
Snap. I awoke with start.
I was in bed and a pair of red lips was wrapped around the base of my cock. The shaft was buried in Karina’s throat. She was sucking on me and struggling for breath, but was, most definitely, alive.
Too bad, I thought.
I shook my head to clear the dream. My cock was a hard as a rock and I was on the verge of ecstasy. I held Karina to me as I cried out and came, hard. I could feel her swallowing around me for several seconds, downing my seed and then she shuttered and went still.
I pulled out of her unconscious throat. Checked her pulse. She was alive.
The water in the bathroom was running. I got up and investigated. Jana was in there and I joined her. She offered to wash me and I took her up on the offer. Halfway through, I couldn’t stand it anymore. I grabbed Jana, pressed her face to the tiles and fucked her brains out in the steaming shower.
As I was getting dressed, there was a knock at the door.
“Yes,” I called out.
The door opened and I turned to see a knockout.
The woman who entered was lean, with a rangy frame and slender, athletic legs. Six foot tall if she was an inch -- she could almost look me directly in the eyes. Long, blonde hair cascaded down her shoulders and Dresden-blue eyes stared into mine with a delicious feeling of intimacy. She wore a white blouse, a tan skirt and a red hat.
The hat was an absurd thing for this day and age, hopelessly outdated, with a wide brim, but she wore it with such panache and style that I felt as if I were the one out of time.
She was, all in all, a glorious sight.
Immediately, images of the things I could do to her started popping into my head.
“Good morning, Mr. Anderson,” the lady said, in a voice rich with emotion. “I trust you slept well, last night?”
“Um, ah, yes,” I stammered.
She held out her hand: “Emmanuelle.”
I took it and held it, delicately. Smiling at her, I couldn’t help but say: “Please tell me that you are another of my gifts, Emmanuelle.”
She smiled and I thought I saw a flattered look.
“I’m afraid not, Mr. Anderson,” she said, fingering something about her neck.
It was then that I realized she was wearing a white collar. She was the property of the Commodore. My thoughts drifted back to Mr. Lloyd saying something about a white-collar being a treat. He hadn’t been joking.
“But I do thank you for the complement,” she said. “It’s been a long time since anyone has said something so nice.”
I blinked and smiled. My ego felt stroked.
“The Commodore wishes to see you this morning,” Emmanuelle said, “and to welcome you to the Island.”
“Let me get my suit jacket,” I said.
“It’s rather warm outside,” she warned. “We are in the tropics.”
“I just can’t meet a man without looking presentable. I’m sorry, but it’s an old business habit.”
“I quite understand.”
She smiled again, and this one touched her eyes in way that I couldn’t describe. If she was free, I’d have asked her out in a second. I could tell that Emmanuelle was a lady of beauty, quality and passion. I had seen women with all these qualities untapped, but with Emmanuelle, they were tapped. She exuded them in the way movie starlets and courtesans did during their best performances.
“I also came to give you these,” she said. She held out a pair of violet-colored collars. Each one bore a silver tag with a number on it: 47. “These are yours for the two Femmes that you have. When you need more, come and see me.”
I took them and replaced the black collars that Jana and Karina currently wore.
“I had been thinking that I would choose another color, Emmanuelle,” I said.
“I do apologize,” she said, “but the Commodore assigns the colors that he wants to his patrons.”
“Does the Commodore assign colors based upon a system?”
She blushed. “I’m afraid that I’m not allowed to say much about that, sir. If you’ll come with me, then?”
A few minutes later, we were zooming across the island campus in a golf cart.
“It’s much easier to get around out this way than in a car,” Emmanuelle said.
“How far is it to the Commodore’s office?”
“Oh, his mansion is on the tall cliff,” she said, and pointed. “It should take us about five minutes.”
We proceeded up the hill and turned onto a small path. In seconds, we were swallowed by the trees. In less than a minute, the air went from tolerable to hot and muggy.
“Tell me about yourself, Emmanuelle,” I said.
“There isn’t much to tell,” she said. “I came here long ago to live with the Commodore. He took me and I have been with him ever since.”
“How old are you?”
“Forty. I came here at fifteen. I was just a slip of a girl, then. The Commodore took a fancy to me and made me one of his wives.”
“You’re married to him?”
“Oh, yes. I gave him three daughters. I dearly love them. But they always have problems with their father. They simply don’t understand his proclivities...”
I thought about what that could mean.
“And what about you, Mr. Anderson, do you have any children?”
“One daughter: Jacqueline,” I said, smiling. “I love her more than anything. I would do anything for her.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry...” Emmanuelle said softly.
“Sorry about what?”
“Ah, I... um, I’m just sorry that you can’t see her right now. It’s hard to be away from the ones that you love.”
“Do you get away much?”
“No,” she said. “I haven’t been off of this island in twenty-five years.”
“Wow,” I said. I didn’t know what else to say.
“I suppose that you don’t understand my life or why someone like the Commodore would want me.”
“Not at all,” I assured her. “Given the chance, I dare say that I would marry you in a heartbeat. I have a penthouse in Manhattan where we could stay. You could rise late every morning and walk to Tiffany’s. I have an account there and they would set you up with anything you desired.”
It was a pleasant fantasy. I smiled at it.
Suddenly, the cart stopped.
Emmanuelle looked at me with her big, violet eyes. They seemed larger than they had, trained upon me now. “Do you really mean that?”
“Of course I do. Did I break some sort of rule by flirting with you, Emmanuelle? I didn’t mean anything by it.”
Emmanuelle pulled off, down a side path and parked.
“That must be the nicest thing that anyone has ever said to me, Mr. Anderson.”
“Evan,” I said. “Call me Evan.”
“Evan,” she repeated in a whisper.
There were tears in Emmanuelle’s eyes and I couldn’t help myself. I brushed them away with my finger. When I touched her face, something happened. The next thing I knew, we were kissing and then tonguing in full-throated passion.
It seemed like hours passed, but it was only seconds and I pulled away.
“Oh, I’m so sorry!” she said.
“No, it’s not you!” I said, quickly. “I was told that white-collars were off limits and I don’t want to get you into trouble.”
“I would risk it for you,” she whispered. “Lean back.”
I did and Emmanuelle attacked my pants. My belt came undone and my hard-on sprang out, firmer than ever before.
“My god,” Emmanuelle whispered, “it’s a masterpiece of cock.”
My ego soared to new heights at her praise. At the same time, just hearing her say the word ‘cock’ made me jump and ooze.
She giggled at my discomfort and said: “Let me help you.”
Emmanuelle’s hand went to my cock. Her thumb and forefinger encircled the base and she closed them, tightened them; started jacking up and down. Waves of pleasure ran up my groin and pre-come oozed from of the head of my cock in copious amounts. In seconds, Emmanuelle’s hand was coated and glistening.
I looked at her and she was a sight. Her tits shook beneath her white blouse as she jacked me with vigor. Her attention was locked on my cock, her face concealed by her hat. All I wanted to do was rip that hat off, tear open her blouse and take her by the face and breasts until I came all over her.
“Oh, god!” I hissed. “I don’t know how much more I can take!”
“Then I must do this rightly,” she said. Tearing the hat from her blonde head, she bent over and took me in-between her red lips. In one stroke she was upon me and I could feel the back of her throat. She slurped once and shutters ran through my body. I struggled to restrain myself. I didn’t want this to ever end. I felt her pull back and then she thrust down again, fucking her face onto my cock.
It was just too much and I came.
I expected her to pull away, but in defiance of all logic, she thrust herself further down, took me all the way in her throat and sucked hard. I had never felt such a sensation: exposed to the vacuum, my come was just gone, swallowed into her stomach in moments of glorious ejaculation.
When my vision finally cleared, I realized that I was holding Emmanuelle’s head to my groin, tightly. There was no way that she could breathe. I released her, but she stayed down on me for several more seconds, sucking the remaining come from my deflating cock. Her blonde hair called to me and I rubbed it, lovingly.
My fingers drifted down to touch the white collar about her slender neck. Nothing was more erotic than fucking a married woman.
Finally, she pulled off, slurping the remaining saliva off of my cock and swallowing it.
I looked at my pants -- there wasn’t even a wet stain.
“We have wasted time,” she said. She checked her watch. “Eleven minutes. The Commodore will grow suspicious after fifteen. We have enough time to get there by then, if you can compose yourself, Mr. Anderson.”
“Composing...” I said.
I couldn’t believe that she was so self-assured after what happened. I felt disheveled; embarrassed and guilty.
She saw it and laid a slender hand on my shoulder. That simple touch did more than I could have imagined. I immediately steadied myself.
“Let’s go, Emmanuelle,” I said in a firm voice. “Oh, and it’s Evan. Call me Mr. Anderson again and I will be displeased.”