Tales From Chastity Island

Tales from Chastity Island

1

Although she was an experienced sailor and not averse to cruising the open ocean single-handed, when the navigation system failed Cathy Conrad's sailboat veered several hundred miles from its prescribed course. Low on provisions, she decided to drop anchor in a protected cove of a lone island she first spotted far on the horizon. "Is this island uninhabited?" she wondered, "but if not, what kind of natives shall I encounter, and how will they welcome me?"

An adventurous sort of woman and accustomed to travelling alone in mysterious tropical settings, Cathy set out to explore the island on foot.

She hadn't ventured far, just down the beach, when she spotted her first native. It was a young man, wearing nothing more than a strange locking device on his genitalia. His body was lean and brown, which the forty-something woman found sexually appealing. The naked young man stared at her, smiled, then cupped his hands to his face and let out a high-pitched howl. Another young man appeared, also naked and wearing the same strange locking device. Soon there were half a dozen young men with the same device securely fastened to their genitalia.

"What a peculiar island," she thought. "No one here but young men, all so beautiful, lean -- and they seem so friendly. I could get used to this." Then one by one the young men approached the woman, each greeting her with a tender kiss on the lips. "I could get used to that too."

During their greetings, Cathy's hands strayed, running up and down the sides of the young men's bare buttocks, which stirred her womanly passions as well as elicited giggles and smiles from her sun-kissed male attendants, whose gestures urged her to continue.

"I could get used to this too."

Taking her by the hand, the young men led Cathy to their huts where they broke open fresh clams and sucked the juicy meat clean out of the shells. The young men alternately looked her in the eyes then at her midsection, then smiled wildly, as if trying to tell her something.

"I could get used to this the most of all."

2

Hanging from her ankles, Marsha wondered how she ever got mixed up in such a caper.

From her perch in the tree, in vain she struggled to reach the bunch of native fruit, then ignominiously fell to the sandy island floor below. "I'll never pass these challenges," Marsha thought. She was told that romance was guaranteed for any woman who succeeded in the tests.

It was a veritable tropical paradise for the love-starved women who ventured to cross the wide expanse of the ocean to get here. Balmy warm breezes blew; the rolling green hillsides were littered with tall swaying palm trees. First-time initiates of the ladies' regatta weren't told much about 'the order of the conch;' it's details and admonition were strictly guarded, but word slipped out that there was a blindfold, a ceremony that lasted into the morning, and that the climax of the ceremony was indescribably pleasurable.

That was the word most bantered about during the regatta: pleasurable, and so rarely attained by women that it drove the ladies halfway across the globe in search of it. Return ladies to the island, however, were eager to spend hours visiting with their favourite native boys, and at their preferred locations. 'The Maroon Lagoon' was regarded as the most discrete.

Like most of the first-time ladies, Marsha didn't know how to tie a bowline or read a navigational chart, had no sailing experience, nor could she remember the last time she had sex. Lying on the sand, physically unharmed from her fall but feeling public humiliation, Marsha gave up on the bunch of native fruit.

"This is one of those islands where the bananas are always just out of reach," a return woman giggled.

3

Like so many starfish washed up at high tide, the native lads sprawled out face down on the sandy beach.

The ladies walked past the locked lads, slowly, inspecting each naked young body one by one. If asked, any of these sun-kissed lads would readily fetch a mat of woven palm fronds and fresh coconut oil, or whipped coconut cream -- if that was the ladies' pleasure. The locking chastity devices, however, were to remain intact. "The lad's pleasure is met by giving YOU pleasure," the ladies were reminded.

The brochure admonished, "this is an occasion for bright floral wear, a beach wrap, hat and sunglasses." Return ladies knew to also bring a beach towel or oversized shawl, otherwise they would find themselves nestled up with two or three lads wrapped only in the leaves of a banana tree.

So many young hands and mouths all going at once, what woman could possibly be responsible? Every woman knew not to use the name printed on her passport, however, nor to tell even her closest friends the salacious details of her tropical vacation.

The prevalence of polyandry in this part of the world -- multiple males accustomed to pleasuring a solitary woman, complicated the ladies' decisions. When selected, the lads eagerly scampered off the sandy beach with the ladies, but only after washing their bodies in the ocean, leaving their brown skin glistening.

Tonight, the native lads would dance 'to the drums' -- the mesmerizing rhythms to reignite their visitors' womanly passions, to lose their pent-up inhibitions, and reconnect to their animalistic nature.

"You'll feel it," a return lady commented, "every woman feels it."

4

The small island was said to be entirely populated by good-looking native boys in locking chastity devices, who enticed ladies everywhere sailing in these waters to drop anchor just off its rocky shores. The boys appeared friendly enough, prancing naked up and down the pebbly beach, or wading out in shallow waters to catch the day's allotment of fish. The boys were sometimes spotted perched on large rocks that overlooked the crashing surf, as if taunting female skippers to sail too close to the island's shallow reefs.

The ladies universally found the boys' iridescent lean bodies and unbroken tan seductive. Sexy, in fact.

Communication with the boys was strained, a distant hand wave or a high-pitched howl, but it was generally believed that the boys looked forward to the ladies' visits. The boys were good-looking, and the ladies couldn't get enough of ogling their smooth nubile bodies, the most determined ladies resorting to binoculars for a better look.

It was high tide, and the ocean surge was rough.

"I suppose that we could take the dinghies and venture inland," some ladies speculated, "but would that be particularly wise, and how could we return to our boats through the crashing surf?"

And then there was the question of what would they do with the boys once they met them. Several bawdy women were adamant about removing the locking chastity devices: bring enough metal tools from the boats and it would be just a matter of time and effort.

"Spring those sexy boys into action," one woman wryly commented.

Meanwhile, the boys had plans of their own. They constructed additional huts, expecting that an entourage of friendly hand-waving female onlookers would arrive on their island any day; they also assembled dozens of shell necklaces as gifts for the visitors. Additionally, there was their tribal custom of properly greeting the women, which each boy took great efforts to master.

Half a dozen large seashells were collected, one for each boy, into which was placed sticky pulp of a local fruit -- to be licked clean. Although none of the boys had personally performed the greeting, they all heard of it, and this was how they generally thought that it went.

Once the woman with the binoculars spotted what the boys were doing, and discerned its meaning, she and the other ladies hastily launched the dinghies, unconcerned about ever returning to their boat, much less to ever again rejoin civilization.