The Constancia Compendium

by Chris Bellows

  “That’s just a warning charge. Easy to bear on the tough skin of the hand, but on the sensitive scrotal flesh, it gets attention. Had I continued, you would have gotten a nice shock.

  “As mentioned every doorway is charged.”

  I follow her gaze to a set of red/green lights above the overhead doors.

  It’s chilling to think of a youth, no matter how troubled and rebellious, arriving naked and restrained in a most confining enclosure. And then to be introduced to his new life by a dominant uniformed specialist who will bath, feed and train him over the ensuing weeks with such a forceful and permanent gesture as having his genitals ringed.

  The Director pushes a button next to an elevator door. It slowly slides open to reveal the inside of a huge elevator.

  “As I mentioned Doctor, the basement was added during the war. It was carved out of the rock, and you’ll probably notice its size. It extends outwards beyond the foundation of the building and is actually a separate chamber.”

  We step in and the door slowly closes.

  “The Nazis wanted a safe and secure area for their political foes. We’ve put the area to good use and this large elevator allows us to properly equip it.”

  A motor grinds. We slowly descend. I recall Lady Constance’s description of her first visit as a teenager, and it indeed feels that we are being lowered into the bowels of the earth. It is evident that what is termed a basement is actually more like a cavern connected to the building above by an opening in the Bavarian rock which more resembles a mine shaft.

  After several minutes, the elevator stops and the door slides open. The scene that unfolds is amazingly decadent. Naked, restrained males all closely supervised by the dour, young behavior specialists so omnipresent in the village. Uniformed in crisp white. All shapely with a physical strength which is only surpassed by impressive intellectual fortitude and determination.

  It is just as Lady Constance described in her interview with displays of total control of young males manifested in so many ways.

  There are several shiny, steel examination tables similar to that found in Lady Constance’s hotel suite. Naked, bound, young males kneel humbly bent at the waist with heads downward, their neck collars secured by cables hanging from the high ceiling. Stern, white uniformed women are softly enunciating commands while examining, washing, pinching, kneading the smooth hairless flesh. And the most compliant males instantly react to their demands, changing positions in an effort to better expose themselves to their trainer.

  One of the teenagers is being depilated by two women. He stoically remains motionless, but the bee sting level of pain is not lost judging from the numerous winces and tears dripping to his chin.

  Another is covered with suds. A tube emanates from his rectum. A trainer gently smoothes her hands over his wet skin, simultaneously washing and examining. Occasionally her right hand moves under him and checks the swollen lower belly, slowing filling with the warm, soapy water of the enema. She smiles. Her enjoyment in having the one time troubled youth under her dominance is evident. And she knows the pressure will slowly build to a level of intolerance, the whole time monitored very carefully to ensure that maximum discomfort will be administered without damage.

  The dog pens, which so enthralled Lady Constance in her first visit, are stacked against a far wall. All are empty except one. The Director speaks as we stroll toward the wall of wire mesh cages.

  “Just came in last night. This one’s a very bad boy. He’s served much time for petty crimes in the past, but last week was caught in a poorly planned hold up of a store in Warsaw.

  “The judge looked at his record and decided more prison time was pointless. After she supervised his strip search, it was apparent that he had the male attributes we seek here. So she arranged for his ‘escape’. Escape into the back of one of our trucks of course.”

  The Director laughed with the irony.

  “From what I’ve read of the robbery, it almost seems he wanted to be caught. You’d think a young career criminal would have better skills.

  “Well, we’ll imbue him with more acceptable skills. The judge has first option on him. In a few months, he may be back in Warsaw serving the judge in a very comfortable prison cell..., comfortable for her..., not for him.”

  Another laugh.

  The sizable blond lies on his side with knees drawn up to his chest. A small chain runs from the front of the cage to his mouth. His tongue is evidently clamped enforcing the rule of silence. He wears the standard thick, dog collar with wrists secured behind him and drawn up to the back of the collar. He is blindfolded and cloth or cotton wads cover his ears under the blindfold encircling his head.

  We move to the rear of the pens. There the boy’s buttocks are exposed due to his fetal position. But the viewer’s attention is drawn to the pair of pink testicles pulled toward the rear of the pen by a cord attached to his newly added control ring and tightly tied to the wire mesh of the pen’s door. They are huge as is expected, and I am sure that the judge could not miss such prodigious organs during a strip search.

  I step to the side and despite the drawn up thighs the tip of the boy’s phallus peeks out. He is partially erect with the bulbous head somewhat engorged and well outside the frenulum.

  “Interesting, is it not, Doctor? We can determine a male’s propensity for submission rather early in his stay. He’s naked, well bound, and experiencing moderate pain. And look at his reaction. He’s tumefying. We’ll have this one well trained in six months. This is one career criminal who’s going to be of good service to the community.”

  A behavior specialist approaches holding a tray propped on four legs. Her hands are gloved in latex, and she smiles professionally at the Director and me.

  “What timing, Doctor. Amanda is here to infibulate our new arrival.”

  Amanda places the tray next to the pens. She unties the scrotal cord then opens the door. Her right hand picks up the small electrical device similar to that demonstrated by Dr. L------. With a push of a button, the large blond moans then convulses in pain. With the sudden movement, Amanda deftly reaches between the boy’s thighs and pulls the lengthy male appendage between his thighs and back toward her. It is impressive. But what is more impressive is Amanda’s commanding handling of the organ. Despite its partially swollen state, she holds it firmly in her left hand, while her right discards the electrical device and gathers an ice cube from a bowl on the tray. The helpless delinquent again spasms, as she callously begins icing the shaft.

  I am amazed at how quickly her precise actions bring the penis under her control and cause it to shrivel. After a minute, she returns the ice to the bowl and, still holding the shaft in her left, draws the frenulum down until the once engorged tip disappears under the protective foreskin. She holds it there and waits.

  “The ice is necessary but unfortunately numbs the flesh. Our procedures require that the pain of infibulation be fully felt. It’s important to the process.”

  After some three minutes, Amanda cruelly pinches the sensitive tip. The boy yelps comically, the tongue clamp muffling any attempted discernible speech.

  Satisfied that sensitivity returned, Amanda reaches for a long sharp needle.

  “Nice and tight for the Judge, Amanda. She’ll want him well controlled.”

  Amanda nods with quiet sagacity. She quickly releases the shaft and pinches the underside of the frenulum drawing as much skin as possible down and away from the hidden tip of the penis. Her right hand holds the needle, which she casually thrusts through the frenulum very close to the tip. Her effort is smooth and performed with a frightening degree of indifference. It is obvious she has executed the procedure numerous times.

  I have always found it curious, the pregnant interval of time between the application of an instrument of pain and the reaction of the recipient. And Amanda uses that immeasurable second to release the shaft and hold the penetrating needle away from the boy’s buttocks and thighs, as he thrashes about in the confines
of the cage.

  After he calms, she plays with the skewered penis, pulling it to and fro using the long needle as a handle. It is difficult to determine if she is just amusing herself or assuring that the holes, through the left and right underside of the frenulum, are properly opened.

  There is a little blood and she dabs away what red I can see with an antiseptic soaked gauze pad.

  “Amanda’s the best. I can assure you, Doctor, with the infibulating bar in that proximity, our new subject will feel discomfort with the slightest degree of tumescence.”

  Yes. It is indeed a tight piercing. For after several minutes of twisting the needle to ensure a good opening, and waving the penis to and fro to demonstrate that enough foreskin had been skewered so that no tearing would occur, Amanda retrieves the evil but simple gold bar from the tray. She removes the needle and quickly inserts the bar into the new opening. One gold globe at the end prevents it from sliding through. A second gold globe is twisted onto the opposite end to hold it in place.

  Just another infibulation, I conclude from the calm, professional demeanor of Amanda and the Doctor.

  But the procedure is so casually performed yet impacts the lad from Warsaw so significantly that it shakes the psyche. Ringed and infibulated he will be waking to the commands and rigors of his behavior specialist for several months. After which I can only guess the demands, which the judge will extract, assuming his training meets with her approval. Assiduous oral service seems to be the de rigueur attribute for most of the clinic’s protégé’s. I visualize the thighs of the stern judge firmly clenching the Polish teenager’s head, relaxing after a busy day of sentencing recalcitrant males to horrid institutions of forced servitude.

  For some reason, I had thought this first step in the complete subjugation of a young male would be more ceremonious. But when Amanda reaches to the tray for a large rubber stamp, then with equal casualness imprints the number 1567 unto the right buttock of the new arrival, it occurs to me just how many delinquent males have faced the clinic’s program of forced submission.

  “Indelible ink,” is the Doctor’s only comment. Amanda continues to hold the penis securely to immobilize the clinic’s newest subject while the numerals dry. So 1567 enters his new world and he oddly becomes rather calm, while Amanda’s fingers firmly establish her authority with her impressive grip on his skewered male appendage.

  We move onward. As I step away, Amanda plays with the penis and testicles. She softly offers words of encouragement as the former thief from Warsaw begins to tumefy. As a psychologist, I understand that her speech and demeanor are carefully chosen and practiced. 1567 will soon understand that he no longer controls his genitals or any other function for that matter. Amanda’s knowledgeable hands will bring his penis to near erection, offer sympathetic words as the pain of the infibulating bar performs its function, then graciously provide relief. Her soft, feminine voice will make 1567 fully aware of her power to exact pain, and her ability to offer mercy with a simple twist of the newly added gold globe and removal of the bar.

  We next move to one of the strangest devices I have seen.

  A young, behavior specialist is ardently strapping a subject into a very elaborate harness. A middle-aged woman joins her. She does not wear the common, starched, white uniform but instead is attired in black latex. But for the color, it resembles apparel worn by surgeons and nurses.

  “Well, it appears some lucky young man is going to be masturbated on the spit. I believe you’ll find this of interest, Doctor. In addition to the orgasmic relief provided the behavior specialist, Nancy here is enlisted to provide special pleasure on occasion. She’s an experienced masturbatrix and the harness and spit are her creations.”

  Indeed, the harnessed subject lies between two stanchions that resemble the large, barbecue spit one would see at a Texas ranch. Oddly one stanchion is higher than the other and the strong metal bar running between slopes downward. At the low end it is only a foot or so from the floor. The high end holds the bar up about three to four feet. The center third of the bar forks into two bars. The imagination frolics as I notice the two are split to the width of a human form.

  Nancy speaks to the behavior specialist.

  “Nice and tight on the straps, Helga. The sensation of complete helplessness is paramount.”

  Helga aggressively pulls to tighten a broad, fur-lined strap encircling the right thigh. There are so many straps that more of the hairless flesh is covered with leather than is exposed. But the buttocks are naked and the number 1532 indicates the completely immobile subject has been in the program for some two months. Straps secure the ankles, calves, waist, chest, and arms and all have eyelets permitting the straps to in turn be elsewhere secured.

  It is evident that number 1532 will soon find himself hooked to the bar. For Nancy releases the high end from its stanchion and lowers it to the floor where the “lucky” subject lies prostrate. His motionless form is the approximate length of the opening formed by the separation in the middle of the bar.

  Both women smile in anticipation as they peer down to where a large, ball sac lies on the floor between the thighs. The tip of an infibulated penis can also be seen, and it appears to be somewhat engorged, perhaps also in anticipation of experiencing Nancy’s craft.

  “Let’s have him ride for awhile. It’s important to ingrain the futility of attempting to move. And, it’s enjoyable to watch.”

  Helga nods as both women stoop and roll 1532 unto his back and between the split bar.

  “Let’s do the knee-chest position this time. But I want the thighs widely spread and held well up.”

  Helga busies herself with several lengths of cord. The left and right side of each strap is attached to the split bar with the knees bent upwards as desired. She works quickly and as with every behavior specialist, she seems most comfortable working with articles of restraint.

  Within minutes, 1532 is made part of the bar. The broad straps not only tightly bind every mobile part of his body, but they are also well secured to the bar. Helga’s finishing touch is to attach clamps to the tongue and nostrils. Both are tied to cords, which are tied to the bar near the lower stanchion. This serves to immobilize the head and face making any attempted movement most painful.

  When Helga steps back to survey her work, it becomes obvious that 1532 cannot move a single limb or muscle. The two women silently wait with confident looks of power to ensure that 1532 is completely helpless, and indeed, the only detectible movement is his breathing. But the final test comes from Nancy. She lifts her right boot, jiggles the well-stretched scrotal sac with her toe, then cruelly begins to press one gonad against the right leather, thigh strap. The considerable pain causes no noticeable reaction except a slight gurgling sound. The vocal cords move, but the tongue cannot. Any verbal protest is lost.

  “He’s ready.”

  The two women lift the free end of the bar with 1532 attached back unto the stanchion. 1532 finds himself suspended by the bar, his head well below his knees. Had there been a charcoal fire below, it would appear that he was being prepared for consumption by the two smiling, female antagonists. His long scrotum hangs well below his buttocks. The infibulated penis seems to be engorging more. It is difficult to describe Helga’s smug look of self-satisfaction.

  “He’ll turn awhile and think about his subjugation. Good masturbation is best done slowly with time to build the anticipation,” instructs Miss Nancy.

  With a flip of a switch, the bar and 1532 slowly begin to turn. The penis and testicles comically flop about as gravity draws the organs downward then with the rotation to the side. Helga stays near the rotating head insuring that 1532 is well aware of her presence.

  “Would you like to stand for me? Hmm? I think you’re imagining Miss Nancy’s fingers and a good penetration of your backside.”

  The specialist’s soft words combined with his humiliating subjugation begin to cause the entrapped tip of 1532's manhood to engorge further. The effect of the motion al
so excites as the penis and testicles are slowly manipulated by the turning spit. The abrasion of the sensitive tip by the infibulation bar must cause immense pain. But 1532 cannot react. He is as rigid as the bar to which he is attached and cannot display any signs of discomfort.

  Helga finally reaches out to the youth’s manhood, holds it in one hand and deftly releases it from the gold bar before another revolution is completed. The penis tip thrusts into view. It is the only acknowledgment of relief that 1532 can communicate. He tumefies for his trainer, and it is interesting to note that this is the only gesture of welcome he can muster toward the waiting hands of the skillful masturbatrix.

  The lascivious exhibition attracts more of the specialists as 1532 rotates and his enormous, erect penis circles about. His own scrotum seems to increase the erotic sensations by uncontrollably flopping from side to upwards to side to downwards with his changing position. The uniformed women in white pause from performing their various duties to watch the spectacle, some stifling giggles.

  Nancy also watches, but with a quiet smile of confidence. She knows the minutes spent by the helpless subject amuse the young females of the clinic, but her years of extracting semen from the male have taught her the best methods for maximizing the level of performance. Her practiced technique drains the male organs of every drop of essence. The humiliation and thorough bondage are just part of the procedure, however welcomed by the dominant specialists, and whether the male is willing or unwilling she will soon have him spurting when and where she desires.

  The Director suggests we move on and return when 1532 is deemed “ripe”. Before we step away, I request and am granted an appointment to interview this most interesting woman.

  As we leave for an adjoining room. I look back to see Nancy placing something under the rotating 1532. It is a soft feather brush, the handle of which has been encased in a block of wood. The devilish device rests on the floor and serves to ever so gently caress the scrotum and bulbous purple tip of 1532's manhood with each turn of the spit. Yes, “ripe” may indeed be the appropriate term for 1532's pending condition.