She turned her attention to me nodding to a nearby chair where I was to sit.
“The contents of this envelope should provide you with unfettered access to the clinic, Doctor. I have also included an airplane ticket from Berlin to Aruba. After your visit, you may wish to stop in at my Caribbean retreat. I’ll be there for the entire month of February, barring an attack of extreme boredom, and if you come I believe you’ll find the activities to be of interest.”
There was a knock on the door and without any response a woman entered carrying a tray of food. I had apparently earned enough of Lady Constance’s trust to be permitted to truly sample her life style, for the woman was completely nude and was without hair. Everything, including eyebrows, pubes and head hair had been removed.
Attempting not to stare, I quickly scanned from head to toe and my eyes encountered a thin but formidable chain around her waist. A second chain attached to the waist chain at the area of the lower belly ran to a patch of steel covering her pubes. Another chain evidently ran between her legs and back up to the waist chain at the rear.
Lady Constance anticipated my question.
“I keep Nancy chaste. She works much harder to please knowing that I have the only key to her belt. And with the insertion of some clever oriental balls, she’s kept on the brink of orgasm. Exhibiting Boy’s erection keeps her focussed and if she’s a good girl I’ll let her lick these nice plums.”
Lady Constance again kneaded Boy’s testicles and Nancy’s attention was drawn as was mine to the free-swinging, pink bag.
“There’s coffee and toast for you, Doctor. If you care to stay, I am about to review a videotape. I believe you will find it of interest and certainly relates to the subject matter of your paper.”
Before I could reply, Nancy set a small table in front of my chair. I again had the opportunity to more closely examine her amazingly smooth skin and attempt to further satisfy my intellectual curiosity.
Whereas my initial impression told me Nancy was a teenager, a closer look revealed that she was older. The young age indicated by a quick glimpse of her hairless profile was deceptive. Despite her youthful, well-proportioned body, her eyes revealed a degree of maturity. The quiet obedience of her service evidenced many years of training. A musky, feminine scent emanating from moisture trickling down the inside of her thighs, although embarrassing, did not cause her to hesitate in her duties. This indicated to me a certain level of experience in mentally confronting the constant arousal provided by the vaginally inserted spheres.
“I occasionally enjoy the touch of a female, Doctor, particularly one who completely submits. And Nancy is most accommodating when I visit New York. Before I leave for the Caribbean, I’ll have Jasmine unlock her for an hour or so. After that, she’ll be belted until my next visit and remain very eager to see me.”
Coffee was poured, after which Nancy wordlessly lifted the bottom of the bed sheets, slid under and positioned herself between Lady Constance’s waiting thighs. The hairless head formed a curious bump in the satin between Lady Constance’s knees, which in turn slowly rose to make her pudendum accessible.
Lady Constance reached for a remote control device and pushed a button.
“I receive a weekly tape from an undisclosed location in Northern Africa. It’s from a Turkish woman. Her daughter is quite adept with the video camera.”
Lady Constance lifted her coffee cup, seemingly aloof to the bobbing head under the satin sheets, she casually sipped as the video rolled.
On the screen appears a man in a cell. He is nude and lying on his side. The camera moves closer and the bars become at first larger then disappear as the lens is placed between the bars.
“It is time, Jean Claude. Mother will take you for another ride.”
The man stares back at the camera, which is the source of the young, accented, female voice. After a pause, the lens zooms in on the man’s genitals. An extremely short penis with an iron ring piercing the tip lies atop swollen testicles. When the man moves the camera zooms back and follows him as he crawls forward and to his right. There, a padded leather horse awaits and he gingerly mounts it. Occasionally grimacing in pain, it is evident that either his legs or feet are sore.
The camera angles downward and films the man voluntarily placing his wrists into loops of rope. Someone outside the cell controls the opposite end of the rope, for the camera records the loops, as they tighten around the man’s wrists securing his arms and upper body to the horse.
A close-up of his face reveals tattooed lettering on the forehead, which can barely be discerned under layers of grime. ‘Molester’ is probably the word, but a clump of badly cut hair hides the last two letters.
Metallic sounds indicate that a key is opening the cell door. The camera pans backwards and reveals a tanned, middle aged woman entering the cell. She is wearing black, leather gloves, boots and nothing else. She appears strong and when she bends over the man, her back muscles suggest many years of manual labor. Her physique is not polished like Jasmine’s but appears to be of similar, superior strength.
Experienced hands gather up a thick leather strap from under the horse and buckle it around the man’s waist. More straps secure the thighs and the woman admonishes the man in a thick accent.
“The feet, Jean Claude. You know I need the feet.”
It is a calm matter of fact tone and the man reluctantly shifts his calves so that his ankles rest in stirrups and expose the soles of the feet.
“You’ll sing nicely for us today Jean Claude. My daughter has not douched for days, and I believe her essence will excite.”
The camera moves. The daughter holding it steps into the cell and the angle changes to the rear of the horse. The older woman sits astride the man’s waist and faces back to the camera. She places a newspaper on the stone floor between his parted thighs and grasps the testicles. After gruffly pulling about the scrotum she spreads out the flesh and reveals for the camera the letters “L” on one side and “C” on the other.
The letters have been branded into the scrotal flesh, and I notice Lady Constance smiling as the camera zooms inward. The branded letters and the date of the newspaper occupy the entire screen and remain for several seconds.
“I insist on evidence. Jean Claude is caned every week. The date on the newspaper insures this is not a copy of a prior session,” offered Lady Constance.
With this explanation the woman releases the scrotum, reaches down and pulls the diminutive penis into view. As stated, it is incredibly short. But more shocking is the absence of the tip. The one inch shaft just ends with a opening for the urethra and a crude ring piercing the flesh underneath. The woman toys and manipulates and the puny appendage begins to tumefy. Not really an erection, it more resembles the swelling of a large clitoris.
“You’ll squat to pee for the camera after I’m through, Jean Claude. This little stub isn’t much good for anything else.”
The camera moves back and to the side. There is a jarring motion and the nude body of a beautiful young woman comes into view. Apparently having placed the camera on a tripod, she is free to join her mother in tormenting the well-restrained prisoner.
A small stool is placed in front. The girl sits and spreads her legs. Jean Claude’s head rests between her thighs and his view of her naked charms is unimpeded. The mother leaves the camera view and returns. In her large, gloved hands she holds several canes. She swishes each one in making a selection, and Jean Claude grimaces with the ominous sound.
The woman occupies time with more preliminary preparation. Jean Claude begins to tremble. The girl moves a little closer, holds his head in her hands and whispers inaudible words of encouragement. With her change in position, Jean Claude’s mouth and nose appear to be inches from her naked, pink genitalia. If in fact she has not washed, her aroma must be overwhelming and in a conventional setting a male would be quite aroused.
But Jean Claude faces a strong, severe woman brandishing a frightening instrument of correction.
“Your little stub shows arousal, Jean Claude. Perhaps the canings are exciting for you. Or perhaps you would once again like to molest my daughter.”
With that conjecture, the woman swings viciously from the shoulder and strikes the buttocks of the well-restrained prisoner. He screams. The girl smiles. The woman’s face is not in camera view.
There is a long pause, during which I recalled reading accounts of inquisitors and interrogators concerning the proper application of instruments of correction and discipline. All concurred that floggings are best done in a leisurely manner. And one memorable written account described how the executioner relished extending the application of twelve lashes to over an hour of torment.
And so it was with the woman with the cane. But for the sobbing and spasmodic movements of Jean Claude’s head in the hands of the naked girl, I would have thought the tape stopped.
Lady Constance spurred Nancy to greater efforts beneath the satin sheets and used the extended pause to explain the video.
“This man attempted to steal my purse in Paris. His efforts were rewarded with a broken limb and an arrest. But when he was arraigned, it came to the attention of the police that he was wanted for questioning in the molestation of a young girl. The girl sitting before him in the video.
“She’s of age now, as you see, but at the time of her unfortunate encounter with Jean Claude, she was just reaching puberty.
“Well, Doctor, I had my attorneys look into the matter, and they concluded there was probably not enough evidence for a conviction. Witnesses had died or could not be located and the girl’s testimony, strained by trauma and emotion, could be brought into question by clever defense counsel.
“So, what better way to put some of my many dollars to good work. I arranged for Jean Claude’s bail and immediately induced him to visit a certain strict, African country with a letter offering free airfare. The reigning dictator there is a good friend of mine. A rather uncultured individual but certainly sympathetic to my request for complete control over his French visitor.
“I convinced the girl’s mother, a Turkish woman who emotionally never recovered from the incident, that perhaps she would enjoy chaperoning Jean Claude’s incarceration. It was she who sought her daughter’s participation. As you can see, they work together very well.”
Another frighteningly loud crack emanated from the video monitor. It was followed by Jean Claude’s scream. He was indeed singing for the Turkish woman, and the smiling girl began to mock his exaggerated response by moving her pudendum even closer to his face.
“You have lost interest in me, Jean Claude? Years ago you were so eager to gain access to my charms.”
Lady Constance continued providing background.
“As you can see, Doctor, I very much enjoy watching mother and daughter work Jean Claude. Whenever a tape arrives and proves to be genuine, I send them a nice check. It keeps all happy, except Jean Claude seems to be experiencing some level of discomfort.”
Lady Constance laughed with her understated description of Jean Claude’s predicament and another stroke was applied, as she giggled.
“Do you like Jasmine’s handiwork? I sent her to meet Jean Claude when his plane landed in Africa. She terms the procedure an “extreme circumcision”. But she in fact removed the sensitive tip of his penis. I wanted to leave something for amusement, and you can see the results. He can even achieve a tiny erection, which the daughter finds to be most entertaining. But it’s really an old Chinese torture, leaving the hormone generating testicles and removing the instrument, which permits gratification and relief.
“Over time, the canings have become his sexual relief. You noticed how he obediently placed himself on the horse and arranged for his wrists to be secured? It’s the only way his body can be rid of the buildup of hormones. Ejaculation is impossible.
“And it was very poor judgment to molest a Turkish girl. As you can see, mother is rather handy with the cane. And bastinado is a Turkish cultural specialty.”
Yes. Lady Constance was correct. My years of research and my collection of illustrations had many examples of this most painful technique of discipline and behavior modification. Bastinado is the application of the cane to the soles of the feet. It’s thought to have been developed by the Turks, and, if it wasn’t, it was certainly perfected by them.
In the feet are the endings of the largest nerves in the body. Thus, a crisp stroke sends an intense message to the cortex. And because of the location of the thousands of nerve endings it is a very strong and direct message, which the nervous system of most recipients cannot override with the flow of endorphins. It is an interesting contrast that nature also provides the feet with the toughest layers of skin. Thus the cane may be repeatedly applied to well-restrained feet without breaking the skin, as opposed to other areas where application is comparatively limited by the eventual development of welts and bleeding.
And so as I contemplate Jean Claude’s fate, Lady Constance moves her hands under the shiny blue, satin sheets, shifts her pelvis and gives Nancy excited and explicit commands concerning her oral efforts.
“Good girls get masturbated, Nancy. Perhaps I’ll have Jasmine fist you before the entire hotel staff. Yes, I think you’d like that.”
With Lady Constance’s words of encouragement, the Turkish woman disappears from the screen then returns with a shorter more sturdy cane. Jean Claude, apparently well accustomed to the weekly torment, begins to shake uncontrollably. When the woman touches his left foot with her hand, Jean Claude convulses in apparent anticipation of a stroke to his well-exposed foot. Both mother and daughter laugh.
After a pause her hand moves between his thighs.
“Your little stub is nicely swollen, Jean Claude. Is it your view of my daughter’s sex, which excites you? Perhaps the strong aroma of her feminine scent? Years ago you were aggressive and very determined to taste her forbidden fruit. Perhaps you would like to try again?”
The woman laughs sardonically.
“I will let you have a lick for taking the cane. Yes, a nice firm stroke to the sole of the foot will earn you a lap. A stroke of the cane for a stroke of the tongue. One must earn his pleasure, Jean Claude. Everything has a price.”
Ordinarily such an offer would be refused. But I ruminated over Jean Claude’s state. Both mental and physical..., the days of boredom in solitary confinement, his truncated penis with questionable sensation, pleasurable or otherwise, the tiny shaft with limited sensation precluding normal sexual relief, the beautiful, naked daughter freely displaying her genitalia. I wondered how often she appeared before him. It was apparent that the sexual assault at such an early age had twisted her libido. Maybe her only gratification was in tormenting Jean Claude, her assailant, with her naked charms, fully aware that the hormones developed by his intact gonads would flow abundantly, yet normal relief was denied by Jasmine’s handiwork, the stubby, inadequate, penis shaft.
Yes, how ironic that Jean Claude’s egregious conduct had sealed his own fate. A normal girl would not expose herself in such a manner and so devotedly assist in his torment. But by Jean Claude’s own hand, she was no longer normal. And she sat with a smirk of satisfaction knowing that with each pleasant application of Jean Claude’s tongue, he would pay a dear price. Yes, one could quickly conclude from her calm, knowing look that the table had turned in the sexual power game with Jean Claude. It was she who was in charge, and when she reaches between her thighs and separates her wonderfully pink and youthful labia, Jean Claude’s tongue humbly thrusts forward and licks.
The woman raises the short cane. The stroke to Jean Claude’s left foot is impressively abbreviated yet produces the most amazing reaction from Jean Claude. The shriek is eerie in tone and decibel level. And the girl smiles broadly, perhaps from the soft wet tongue, perhaps from Jean Claude’s torment, probably from both.
Mother and daughter look at each during the pause, letting the full level of pain roll through Jean Claude’s nervous system. Within a
minute, his humble tongue reappears and the girl beckons for its attention by once again parting her inner labia. This time the tip of her clitoris evidently peeks out, for Jean Claude struggles in his bonds to move higher and savor the inviting bud of the beautiful, young girl.
The collaboration between mother and daughter is well rehearsed. The girl impassionately sits and waits until Jean Claude is able to crane his neck and position his lips and tongue. When he finally laps and draws the pink bud into his lips, the cane rises. An equally abbreviated stroke lands on the right foot in the area preferred by the bastinado aficionado, at the very center of the arch.
With this shriek, the daughter giggles like a schoolgirl.
“Lick again, Jean Claude. Your little manhood is showing your enjoyment.”
The mother’s comment is interesting. Oddly enough it is indeed possible for the mind to mix signals of pain with those of pleasure. But to achieve enforced masochism takes time. Thus my own research tells me Jean Claude has been groveling on the leather horse for many sessions and perhaps these weekly encounters are, deep in his psyche, a strange source of sexual enjoyment.
After many strokes, Jean Claude’s shrieks and struggles against the tight bonds tire him. The daughter several times waves smelling salts under the Frenchman’s nose, but it is evident that a respite is needed.
The Turkish mother nods to her daughter, who responds by standing and momentarily leaving the screen. There are a few frames displaying her backside, and it is marvelously proportioned with smooth globes of the tanned skin so prevalent in the Middle East.
A blip in the tape indicates that the camera was turned off for an indeterminable period. A new scene unfolds. Mother moves the stool and stands in its place. Her large, powerful buttocks are facing Jean Claude and as she backs closer to him, she reaches behind her, gruffly picks up his head utilizing a clump of hair, pushes it back, and thrusts the cracks of her cheeks into Jean Claude’s face. The nose and lips of Jean Claude disappear into the pungent crevice and the half conscious prisoner cannot escape this most humiliating of positions. He cannot pull his head further back. Forward places his nose and mouth further into the fragrant abyss, and left or right are impeded by his prodigious proboscis wedged between the sizable cheeks.
The Constancia Compendium Page 8