Chapter One

One lesson learned…if you’re going to marry a rich woman, be respectful of both her desiresand her resources. That I learned quickly. Other lessons took time.

I glumly return the wave of my smiling wife as the engines of the enormous Gulfstream jet rev and the wheels turn to begin to taxi. Through the cabin window, I can see her gigolo manservant pouring Champagne as the beautiful face turns away, the goodbyes over, her attention quickly shifting to the young, handsome and well endowed Favio. It is disconcerting to view knowing that she will most likely receive cunnilingus for a good portion of the 4,000 mile flight. But I also must turn my attention. I must meet the challenge of my new life.

Still I cannot help pausing to watch the jet taxi to the end of what appears to be the only evidence of the twenty first century on this otherwise desolate island – eight thousand feet of runway courtesy of the United States Navy during World War II, with surprisingly modern navigation and communications systems more recently installed in a cinder block hut, courtesy of the Winthrop family fortune. The Gulfstream, fully fueled range of nearly 8,000 miles, has the capability of leaving from almost anywhere in the world and landing here on this relative flyspeck of an island in the midst of the Pacific Ocean.

Otherwise, the once lucrative sugar plantation is nothing more than a collection of thatched huts and fallow fields interspersed with occasional vegetable gardens and fruit trees. Yes, the native population, small and hopefully friendly, has done some planting to augment their diet of fish.

“Be not so sad, Thomas. I am here and there is the key…” the accent, the diction, is Scandinavian.

A small effeminate hand smoothes over the belt of shiny stainless steel surrounding my waist then teasingly pats the matching crotch piece serving to encapsulate my manhood. I smile with the irony. Blond, blue eyes, boyishly slim, Pattie’s naked form replicates the features of the party girls I so often hired and humped behind my wife’s back. The slight tan will quickly deepen in the equatorial sun and I will have the privilege of watching every inch of the smooth hairless skin turn from slight beige to what I assume will be a most attractive bronze. Pattie has no clothing, my devilish wife ensuring that I will forever gaze upon uncovered buttocks seeming to beg to be split and small girlish breasts with curiously perky nipples. The golden hair is parted in the middle and is cut short in a page boy style, simple and practical, for there will be no opportunity to primp and preen on an island without modern facilities. For that reason, Pattie’s lips have been permanently tattooed an alluring red. Other decorative and permanent coloring has been performed about the eyes obviating the need for eye shadow, mascara and make up and leaving Pattie with this lurid profile... that of a high class Las Vegas hooker on a body of near prepubescence. Quite the contrast... quite enticing... and quite intentionally provocative.

Around Pattie’s neck is a golden chain. Dan