The Constancia Compendium

by Chris Bellows

  The specialists smile with the display. The skirt’s length has obviously been designed to tantalize the viewer and it has indeed captured my attention, for I cannot help but watch as the Director shows me to a smaller table in the corner where she evidently reigns over the dining room antics. As I sit, a curious semicircular notch in the seat of the chair comes to my attention. I cannot help but smile as I realize it is just the size of a collared neck, and it is apparent from the worn edges that many a collared protégé has spent a leisurely meal under the table with head between the thighs of a young, demanding, behavior specialist.

  My gaze returns to the maid. Having determined his true gender, I visually examine the face and head. He is flawlessly effeminate in appearance. Shoulder length hair drawn back under a brief maid’s cap, full make-up with lip-gloss, eye shadow, and rouge. His eyebrows have been plucked to the thinnest of uplifting lines. Large earrings comically jingle in a subtle reminder to any remaining male ego that his new status is most feminine.

  The Director notices my visual inspection and remains silent as I absorb the interaction. The smiling specialists give orders, and the maid pours from pots. While being served, the third woman from the left reaches under the brief skirt and pulls into view an incredibly long phallus. With my research and recent experience with Boy, I quickly recognize the organ as uncircumcised, tightly infibulated, and somewhat engorged. She gently manipulates the sensitive underside of the head where the small golden globes hold the entrapping bar in place. The maid smiles courteously and patiently waits to be released, after which she serves the remaining specialists. The Director explains.

  “Josephine is becoming a wonderful serving girl. It’s difficult to believe that just months ago he was arrested for robbing a store in Prague.

  “You’ll notice that part of the training is to test the concentration. The specialists are placing demands on him. The small finger strokes on the frenulum are considered a reward for good service. And for some meals, he’ll be freed of his entrapping bar and serve completely erect. It’s a rather interesting sight. The little apron is pushed aside by the erect penis and affords no covering.

  “This is one of the few areas of training where the protégés do not wear the blurring contact lenses, for obvious reasons.”

  Josephine finishes and turns toward the kitchen. There is no back to the skirt, and his buttocks are completely exposed. But more shocking is the display of two large, hairless testicles. Evidently, Josephine has been placed into a genital harness, which encircles the base of the stretched scrotum and pulls it back between the thighs.

  As he steps away, the last specialist served reaches over and gives one testicle a firm pinch. Josephine understandably jumps and the table of specialists giggle with his clumsy attempts to stay perched on his high heels.

  “He’s progressing wonderfully,” the Director concluded, “and his breasts are growing nicely.”

  As I watch Josephine’s scrotum waggle about with each step back to the kitchen, another maid approaches our table. Dressed in an identical uniform he/she walks with much effort, the right foot completely collapsing halfway toward us. The Director smiles.

  “It’s Pat’s second week on duty. He hasn’t even been stretched enough for a harness.”

  Indeed, the motions of the small skirt reveal not only the swinging penis tip but also the bottom portion of a hairless, scrotal sac.

  “It’s also interesting to observe the difficulty the boys have in becoming accustomed to clothing after months of complete nudity. But there is something about the silky effeminate attire that calms them over time. Of course, they’ve been psychologically screened beforehand. We can predict their reaction and eventual acceptance of their new role with a high degree of certainty.”

  The struggling maid reaches our table and curtsies with the precision of a well-trained serving girl. The Director orders coffee. I cannot resist partaking in the rich, hot chocolate so ubiquitous to the region.

  The Director calls to one of the behavior specialists at the other table. She instantly arises and moves to our table. Young, strong, pretty. The woman cannot be more than 4 or 5 years older than Pat. Her blue eyes and golden hair imply a Teutonic ancestry. Her straight, firm posture suggests an advanced degree of athleticism. It is interesting to think someone so young and pretty is imbued with such control and power.

  “Greta, I want Pat to serve us naked, plugged, erect and weighted. Two pounds should provide enough amusement for our visitor.”

  Greta follows Pat to a screened area. The Director explains.

  “It is important to instill composure. We constantly change the circumstances and conditions of service. Your presence should present a challenge.”

  Within minutes Pat approaches holding pots of hot brew. He is naked and amazingly erect. The high heels and black fishnet stockings remain as do the maids cap. A smiling Greta follows. In her right hand is some type of electrical device. In her left is the scanty maid’s uniform.

  Over the weeks of research, I thought I had become jaded concerning the typical length and girth of the clinic’s protégé’s. But Pat is huge, and the bulbous, purple tip brushes against his belly with each strained step. The testicles swing exaggeratedly with a modest sized weight attached, and it is evident he is losing his composure in trying to maintain the dainty sashay which Josephine had displayed.

  “As you can see, the candidates react nicely to the opportunity to tumefy for their trainer. He’s very proud to show off for Greta. And with a nice sized butt plug, he’ll stay firm for quite a while. But he’ll have to learn to walk better to earn Greta’s touch.”

  Pat finally arrives. The Director diddles the underside of the penis with her index finger and coos words of support. Then she reaches down and pulls the weight and the testicles to the side.

  “This is new since Lady Constance visited the clinic years ago. We term it a control ring.”

  At the upper portion of the scrotal sac, just below the penis, is a metal ring. It snugly encircles the sac and it is to this ring that the weight is attached.

  “It’s made out of a very expensive alloy. Slipped over the sac and then crimped, it cannot be removed except with heavy wire cutters.

  “The metal reacts to electro-magnetic fields. Depending on the strength of the electrical charge, the ring will heat as a warning then zap the wearer with a significant shock. Every doorway in the building is wired. You may have noticed the red and green lights above. When red, the field is charged and should Pat or any of the other boys attempt to go through, the results can be painful.

  “Windows and doors leading to the outside are heavily charged. No boy has maintained consciousness after attempting to go through them. The internal doorways are more forgiving.

  “The technology was developed for controlling dogs. We’ve adapted it and replaced the collar worn by the dog with a more appropriate device and higher power settings.

  “We also have a hand held device which will create an electrical charge. Greta has one in her hand. Should Pat display an urge to touch himself, she’ll give him a little reminder of who controls his genitals.”

  The Director finishes her explanations and nods. Pat, standing perfectly still on his high heels, is flushed, but otherwise his comportment in appearing naked, erect and feminized before a stranger is amazingly controlled. He pours my chocolate, moves daintily to the left, and pours the Director’s coffee. As we sit, the massive stiff manhood is at eye level and the right side of his smooth, hairless buttock reveals the painted number of a clinic protégé, 1535.

  The Director again affectionately diddles the sensitive exposed underside. She then moves her fingers to the scrotum, lifts and gently kneads the left testicle.

  “Pat’s been stretching slowly. We’ll make him presentable over time. But it’s interesting how the flesh differs from male to male. On some it takes only weeks, on others it requires months.”

  When she releases the sizable egg, the weight causes t
he sac to swing heavily. Pat’s penis wags upwards in what seems to be a rather interesting salute to his superior. The Director smiles.

  “Within a few months, Pat will be a cute serving girl for a wealthy lesbian writer. It’s very interesting how much she disdains the male but enjoys controlling them. Right now, Greta masturbates Pat for good performance, but I’m told his new owner will want him kept permanently chaste.

  “Therefore, next week Pat will begin to wear a rather severe chastity belt. By the time he’s ready to leave, he’ll be very docile and be constantly pining for the gratification of the firm grip of a soft, feminine hand. But he will not receive it. I believe Lady Constance has similar views toward the male orgasm.”

  I nod as Pat dejectedly withdraws. Apparently the realization, that soon Greta’s firm but soft fingers will no longer be wrapped around his formidable shaft while he’s slowly drained of his seed, saddens the youth. It is obvious he has come to enjoy displaying his massive phallus for the enjoyment of the female, and the notion of Greta’s ownership and control of his genitals has become more than acceptable.

  Our conversation continues with Pat stepping forward to occasionally refill our cups. His penis remains tumefied, and he occasionally looks to Greta for a sign of approval. He is indeed doing his best to perform for her.

  We finish our refreshments. The tour resumes with the Director showing me the remainder of the third floor. There is a complete beauty parlor and various protégés are undergoing cosmetic changes to the hair, skin and nails. It is impressive how docilely they sit and stare into the mirror. It is interesting that the lower the number displayed on the buttocks, the prouder they seem of their status, the number providing evidence as to the relative length of their stay at the clinic.

  The elevator next takes us to the second floor. The scene in the exercise room could be straight from a standard gymnasium except the participants are naked and restrained. Here is the clinic I expected to see. The thick, leather collars. Wrist cuffs. Well-infibulated phalli flopping about on the various equipment. Specialists holding the small electrical device. And an occasional wince of pain, from a youngster whose performance is less than exceptional.

  An adjoining room is large and open. A specialist in jodhpurs and knee-high boots stands in the middle with a young male wearing bit, bridle, and harness circling about at the end of a long, lunge line held in her left hand. The small, circular, indoor track is some forty feet in diameter and is surfaced with slabs of heavy, flat stone. Ostensibly, the casual observer concludes that the hard surface precludes wear. But with bare footed human ponies, how much wear could there be?

  The specialist holds in her right hand a long whip, which she snaps in the air. Welts are discernible.

  “We rarely bruise or mark the flesh here, as you know Doctor. But pony training requires introduction to the whip, harness, bit and bridle. Lucretia is very good. This boy will learn to obediently react to a woman with a whip, and he won’t be scarred in the process. I can’t speak for the marks he’ll bare from his new owner. I understand she enjoys excoriating young buttocks.”

  Lucretia overhears the Director’s comments. Two rapid snaps of the whip follow. Right cheek. Left cheek. She then moves her arm to the pony boy’s front and with the motion of a back handed tennis stroke deftly cracks the whip with amazing proximity to the scrotum. The boy jumps, for although the business end does not directly touch the flesh, the nearness of the intensely pressurized air causes sharp pain.

  “Canter!”

  Lucretia’s command is simple and sharp, and it is timed to be simultaneously comprehended with the arrival of the signal of pain. The pony boy speeds his gait, but Lucretia shakes her head in dismay.

  It is amusing that I can determine his approximate level of training by peering at the scrotum, which under standard clinic procedures has been stretched. The sizable testicles bob about at the level of the mid thighs indicating a rather experienced lad. And the unquestioning responses to tugs on the lunge line and snaps of Lucretia’s whip also evidence complete mental subjugation. The infibulated penis has been secured upwards to the bottom of a harness which encircles the torso. Lucretia’s whip has unfettered access to the sensitive scrotal flesh and the restrained penis leaves it a very vulnerable, pink target.

  We stand in silence and watch Lucretia work the boy. He begins to perspire and the bit precludes him from controlling the flow of saliva, which drips from his chin, blends with the sweat on his hairless chest and then is flung to the floor with certain exaggerated movements. The whip begins to make impressively loud “smacking” sounds as it strikes wet skin, and the boy seems to react more to the initial sound of a stroke rather than the subsequent pain.

  Lucretia displays a confident smile. She is older than most of the behavior specialists and her skill level in handling the whip is commendable. ‘If one must be flogged, better an experienced hand than that of a dilettante,’ I think to myself. The thought emanates from watching the whip graze the boy’s sensitive areas, minimizing damage to the skin but maximizing the intense pain. She truly seems to enjoy making the boy concentrate. He is oblivious to our presence and although partially blinded by the special contact lenses, I doubt his attention would be diverted even if fully sighted. He intently moves and reacts to Lucretia and no matter the gait or direction of motion seems to be eager for the next command or tug so he can demonstrate his compliance without earning a stroke of the whip.

  Lucretia seems dissatisfied but notices our fascination.

  “He’s ready, Dr. L------. The short pauses and small peccadilloes in dressage are actually his way of playing. As happens with the pony boys, they get frisky. They oddly begin to enjoy the searing heat of a good snap of the whip and this one is no different. We’re communicating by way of his resistance, however minor it is. But if I get serious with the whip, he’ll get serious with his compliance.”

  It is an interesting observation. I can not detect a single flaw in the boy’s dressage. The eye of the perspicacious Lucretia, however, not only perceives that his steps are not sharp but also understands why.

  “For his next exercise, I will heat the floor. Then you will see him prance like a ballet dancer.”

  The Director smiles.

  “An expensive but interesting feature. At Lucretia’s discretion the stone track can be heated to over two hundred degrees. Even the most recalcitrant of pony boys finds himself reacting to the bit and bridle at that temperature. The feet cannot remain on the hot stone, and the pony boy welcomes the tugs on Lucretia’s control line and the crack of the whip. The need to keep the feet from touching the floor instills obedience and results in a good lathering.”

  We leave Lucretia as another command has her pony boy prancing on toes, with each step drawing the knees well above the waist. This causes the huge gonads to bounce about in a peculiar fashion, and it’s interesting to watch the experienced pony boy adjust the timing of his steps to coincide with the wild swinging of his lengthy scrotum.

  The elevator takes us to the first floor. The administrative offices of the clinic prove to be boring. No naked protégés are present. But what is interesting is that much of the clerical work is performed by middle aged males. They quietly sit in a large, one room office presumably keeping the books, paying the bills, and perhaps arranging the logistics for the receipt of candidates and delivery of subjugants.

  They all humbly look down as the Director passes through, and an ominous silence seems to roll through the room as we move to the rear.

  “You’ll find the loading dock to be of interest, Doctor. And a separate elevator takes us down to the initial reception area.”

  A door takes us to the rear of the building. There we enter what appears to be the loading area for a standard warehouse operation. Two high, overhead doors permit trucks to back into the building to a platform some four feet above a recessed loading pit.

  Sturdy, wooden boxes are piled against a far wall. Their coffin-like appearance causes a
degree of discomfort.

  “The boys arrive and leave with the complete anonymity afforded by these boxes, Doctor. They’re actually well padded and quite comfortable once a candidate is secured inside. We’ve found over the years it is best for all concerned that their ability to resist be non-existent.

  And here is where the candidate is ringed.”

  Yes, with the controlling ring. The director leads me to what can only be described as a modified gynecologist’s examination chair. Modified with large, thick straps that is.

  “The candidate is strapped into the chair. His feet placed in stirrups. Thighs widely spread. His assigned behavior specialist introduces herself in performing a simple but permanent procedure to emphasize her control.”

  On the wall behind the chair hang dozens of rings of varying diameters. To the side is a what appears to be a huge set of pliers.

  “Not as evil as it appears, Doctor. After the ring is slipped on, this device crimps it into more of a figure eight shape. Like this.”

  She hands me a ring that has been crimped by squeezing opposite points on the circumference almost together. The metal is strong and despite its modest gauge I cannot bend it. Once placed around the scrotum and crimped, it is obvious that it cannot be slipped off.

  “We have found that it is important for the assigned behavior specialist to be the woman who permanently attaches the ring. An obvious symbolic gesture, but one which is easily understood by the candidate. Once this is in place, he’s here to stay. Let me show you.”

  The Director retrieves an electrical device similar to that held by Greta. She pushes and holds a button. The ring in my hand heats, then I can feel a tingle of electricity. She releases the button.