It is quite the display of subservience. A most powerful female basking in the warmth of the Caribbean and the glow of multiple orgasms, verbally spurring two naked, servile and chaste young males to ardently apply their tongues and bring her to even higher levels of pleasure.
I watch, unable to take notes with the motion of the boat and the rushing air. Both penises remain flaccid and the lower cords of the kneeling youths are somewhat taut, pulling the long scrotal sacs down and into better view.
Eventually, a verdant strip of land comes over the horizon. The low coral island is punctuated by a ‘bump’ on the highest stretch of land. As we get closer it becomes evident that it is a windmill. Not of the ancient wooden kind found in Holland but new and shiny. Mostly it is built of steel or some alloy and topped by a huge propeller.
Motamba guides the boat directly toward the obelisk, using it as a point of navigation. Closing in on our destination, she slows the boat and Jasmine pushes away the head of number one and closes her thighs on number two. The insatiable, puissant nurse has been the recipient of oral service for the entire 45 minute trip. Her bright smile acknowledges some level of pleasure, but more akin to that received from a fine glass of wine or an exotic dessert. The intense feelings of the multiple orgasms have been swallowed up in the cortex of her brain and her outward appearance of calm indicates that incredibly attentive oral service is merely a daily regimen.
In a demonstration of extension training, both lads briefly return to their endeavors to carefully lick all traces of feminine excitement from her pudendum, thighs and buttocks. They remind me of kittens playfully and tenderly licking the fur of mother cat.
When they finally withdraw, the small, loose patch of cloth returns to its function of protecting Jasmine’s false modesty, only it now reveals a small protuberance where the large excited clitoris remains engorged by number one’s laborious oral ministration.
The boat enters what appears to be a natural harbor formed by jetties of large stone and chunks of coral. But a closer inspection indicates that it is manmade. It appears to be the only navigable approach to the island. Looking right and left, waves can be seen breaking over shallow reefs and the dark blue color of the water under the boat indicates Motamba is navigating through a deep channel.
The Baron must have spent millions to ensure that his yacht could safely berth at the island, for as we near land the channel takes us between two bluffs where we enter a large cove. There, the mammoth Esterhoven yacht, hidden from ocean view by the protective bluffs, pops into view. The anonymity in which it rests is surprising for its size. On the opposite side of the dock is a more modest vessel, which I presume is the supply boat.
I look back to the bluffs and notice that a large chain is rising from the depths cutting through our wake. It is apparently strung between the bluffs and a powerful winch lifts it until it is suspended between the bluffs and blocks the cove entrance. Attached and hanging below the chain is a wire mesh curtain, prohibiting small boats and I presume scuba divers from entering Constancia’s protective cove.
Motamba guides us past the yacht, which becomes more and more imposing as the idling engine slowly pushes our boat into its shadow. We glide toward the land end of the lengthy wooden strip where an entourage awaits. There stands a waving Lady Constance. She is nearly naked.
As the boat gets closer, behind Lady Constance I can see vehicles of some sort and of course naked male flesh, as can be expected in the company the world’s richest dominant woman.
Our porters begin to position themselves for docking. Again their penises flop about with the metal bands drawing attention to their privates. Motamba reverses the engines, the boat vibrates and our journey ends with a skillfully executed maneuver, which gently edges our craft next to the dock. Lines are secured and the beautiful and dominant Lady Constance, defacto Queen of Constancia, moves adjacent.
“Welcome to Constancia, Doctor.”
As noted, she is naked but for a small cloth patch covering her pudendum which is held in place by strings around her waist and presumably between her buttocks. Her tan evenly covers magnificent skin. Her raven hair is pushed back and held in a simple ponytail, a concession toward simplicity compared to her normal perfect coif. There is no discernible fat on a body that can only be described as near perfect with firm symmetrical breasts and a muscle tone that although not muscular like Jasmine’s, no one would consider inadequate.
I step onto the dock and offer greetings. While exchanging pleasantries, I cannot help but look past Lady Constance to the two odd vehicles resting on the dock. Their configurations appear to be chariots, with a low platform suspended between two wheels. But in place of horses, there are naked males harnessed to the front.
One chariot is quite decorative. Its harnessed team is rigged in white leather and the two males docilely kneeling to its front appear to be mammoth, judging from the breadth of their shoulders.
The other chariot is somewhat bigger and rigged in plain leather. But again, the pair of kneeling males harnessed to its front are large.
Lady Constance notices my interest and curtails questions regarding my journey.
“My best team,” is her brief explanation, as she escorts me towards the ornate chariot.
“There are no autos on the island. We have more entertaining methods of conveyance.”
Our diminutive porters scamper ahead with my bags, placing them in the rear of the chariot. Before returning to the boat, Lady Constance affectionately toys with the nipple of number one and playfully swats the naked buttocks of number two as he trots past.
“The permanent chastity keeps them wonderfully obedient and eager to serve. Like having neutered puppies,” my smiling hostess observes.
Meanwhile I am gathering in the sight of the most amazing manifestation of Lady Constance’s dominance, a matched pair of naked males, kneeling in harness in front of the chariot, bent at the waist with heads down.
Both are hooded in white leather. Blindfolds cover their eyes. Holes for the nose and mouth allow for breathing, but both have wicked bits wedged between their lips. White leather reins run from loops at the ends of each bit to the front of the chariot. Identical single white gloves encase the wrists and arms behind the back. A broad white leather waist belt is worn and attached to pull bars emanating from the front of the chariot.
Lady Constance walks past the body of the chariot to the kneeling male on the right. She knows I wish to observe and fully examine the extreme bondage.
“Years of selection, modification, training and exercise, Doctor. Physically these two are as close to identical twins as possible. Same height, weight, muscle development and of course penis length.”
With her statement, the Queen of Constancia leans over and reaches under the motionless male.
“Up.”
The well-restrained male rights himself from the waist and Lady Constance pulls to the side a mammoth, partially engorged phallus. It is banded just under the tip as with the two porters, but it is not flaccid and seems to further stiffen in her hand. A modest ring pierces the urethra at the tip in a common ‘Prince Albert’ configuration.
It is difficult to compare, but the large head would rival that of Gerhardt, the frustrated kept male of masturbatrix Nancy, who I recently visited in Germany. Nancy claimed Gerhardt to be the most well endowed male in Europe.
“They enjoy my touch as you can see. As with all my males here, they’re banded. But these two have the loosest to allow for a good degree of tumescence. It portrays pride.”
Lady Constance plays a bit more and the tethered male at first hardens more but then seems to pull away in discomfort. She laughs then guides the reddening penis up toward his stomach. There she deftly hooks the Prince Albert ring unto a piercing on the abdomen. Below the stiffened appendage is the scrotum, hairless and smooth. It is large as expected and ringed. As with the porters, elastic cords separate the testicles. I also notice that the nipples are pierced and ringed with a similar c
ircular badge, leaving the soft pink areola deliciously exposed.
“Let’s get you settled in the house.”
Lady Constance moves to the other tethered male, reaches down and appears to grasp his penis. She whispers in his ear and as the hooded, naked male rights himself at the waist, his phallus is exposed and incredibly appears to be a duplicate of that just shown to me. Lady Constance toys awhile until the organ engorges itself to a similar size.
I look back to see Jasmine checking the rigging on the heavier chariot. Her two beasts are likewise secured, blindfolded and kneeling. In her right hand is a small, very thin whip. She cracks it twice in the air and the kneeling males stir. Incredibly, it appears they have been asleep and when the porters remove their blindfolds, they both wince with the exposure to sunlight.
As their torsos rise, each porter kneels before a huge pony, lowers his head, and obediently licks the entrapped genitals. Within seconds, two more penises begin to tumefy. These are also pierced at the tip and hooked to an abdominal ring. It is interesting to note that the porters seem to be androgynous in applying their oral skills. For them, applying their tongues to sensuous pink flesh is a duty to be fulfilled without regard to gender.
Jasmine barks a command. The porters climb into the chariot and their heads disappear as they kneel in wait for Jasmine. She moves to the front, briefly checks the reddened shafts with thumb and forefinger and apparently satisfied with the level of tumescence, joins the two porters in the body of the chariot.
Meanwhile, Lady Constance removes the blindfolds of our team and joins me in our chariot.
“Stand.”
When the two beasts arise, I am in awe. They are the exact same height, which I approximate at some six and one half feet. In a last, but seemingly important check, Lady Constance leans forward and grasps cords, which are freely dangling between the legs of each giant. As she pulls back, the huge scrotums of the two come into better view. The sacs are riveted at the bottom just as with the porters but these attached cords are not elastic and are somewhat longer. Lady Constance threads the end of each cord to eyelets on the front of the chariot. Our ‘horses’ are now tethered to the chariot by, among other restraints, their gonads.
A convenient whip in a cylindrical holder awaits Lady Constance’s hand. She removes it and deftly flicks it right then left.
“Gidup!”
The chariot instantly rolls. Her snaps of the thin whip are fast but judging from the spasmodic reaction of both ponies, the strokes expertly nip the right nipple of the right beast and the left nipple of the left. Their steps begin in perfect unison. It is obvious that much training has ingrained into the naked, well-bound human ponies an instinctive ability to time each other’s movements. I ponder how many months of laboring under the hot sun it required before the two mindlessly began to react to the whip with such precision.
We roll to the end of the dock and onto a dirt path. With more snaps to the nipples, our speed increases and our human ponies are leaning forward into their harnesses and digging their feet into the compact soil.
Apparently not satisfied, two more strokes, right and left, are applied to the front midsection.
“When I excoriate the penis, they know I mean business, Doctor. I just arrived two days ago. The team needs to be worked. They’re well exercised when I’m not here, but without the whip they naturally become mentally lazy. There is no better way to cause the mind to focus then to apply a nasty strand of leather to sensitive skin. Wouldn’t you agree?”
I nod silently, my attention diverted by the sight of muscular buttocks straining to reach Lady Constance’s desired level of performance. And with the two scrotal sacs pulled back into plain view and vulnerable to casual flicks of a dominant female’s whip, it is a most lascivious display of subjugated male flesh.
I look back to see that Jasmine is wielding her whip in a similar manner. Her ponies appear shorter in stature. Thus the sweat and saliva fly with their exaggerated efforts as Jasmine is determined to keep up with our chariot. And where Lady Constance is judicious with her use of the correcting instrument, Jasmine is methodically whipping her team..., nipples, penises, and with the two scrotums well secured, they also become targets of chastisement.
When I look back at Jasmine’s face, I see that although she is applying the whip in earnest, she is also smiling wickedly. The orally gifted porters are kneeling somewhere in her chariot. Could it be that a pair of dexterous tongues are serving to spur her sexual appetite and thus her whip hand?
After minutes of observing the two women adroitly handling the huge human ponies, I turn my attention to the island and its magnificent scenery. Our path is carved into coral and surfaced with a firm but soft soil. It is apparent that naked human feet are comfortable walking and running on such a surface and I picture the workers of the late Baron cutting swaths through the tropical vegetation and carefully laying down a carpet of the imported soil. In certain areas the pathway appears to be like a cave with beautiful lush vines forming a curved ceiling of red, yellow and blue flowers.
I glance to my side and watch Lady Constance stand, reins in one hand, whip in the other. She projects a notable air of self-confidence, guiding the chariot through curves and skillfully pulling the reins at various intersections of pathways to direct the chariot to our destination. I notice her nipples have hardened into firm pencil points. Is it the cooling air rushing over her well-formed breasts? Or the feeling of power...control...authority, which causes such an erotic reaction. I believe she could direct the chariot off the side of a cliff and the two huge but subservient human ponies would be obediently reacting to her tugs and strokes right up to the time the earth could no longer be felt beneath their feet.
Our ponies become well lathered. The sun reflects from their perspiring skin. Their breathing can be heard as air is sucked past the cruel bits. When we reach an incline, Lady Constance begins stroking the exposed scrotums to build speed. The reaction is instantaneous, as one would expect. But again, the pace increases in perfect unison, with the cadence remaining unbroken.
“I think you’ll enjoy your stay here, Doctor. I know your function is to observe. But please do not hesitate to engage in any proclivities. The staff is very accommodating. And I have certainly paid enough for the training of these boys that no guest should go without proper oral service at the very least.”
It is interesting to think that Lady Constance’s concept of basic hospitality includes such salacious escapades as unfettered oral gratification. As odd as it seems, however, I remind myself that I am in a foreign country ruled by one of the most dominant women in the world and whose power is absolute. As cruel as the treatment of the naked young males appears, one must remember that using principles of democracy as a basis for comparison is not relevant. The only forum which protects the rights and the naked flesh of the island’s subjects stands beside me, her corrective instrument callously flicking away at the most sensitive areas of the male anatomy. The omnipotent ruler deciding the fate of all is this amazingly beautiful woman wielding a whip and being conveyed about by two naked males, who are forced into an inconceivable level of docility by thorough mental and physical dominance. Whose genitals are restrained and displayed like trophies for both viewing pleasure and chastisement.
The chariot is moving at an impressive speed. We have reached a level stretch of road and Lady Constance puts her team to the test. The thin short whip begins to consistently work the scrotal flesh and an occasional lurch can be felt when the razor thin tip of the devilish instrument finds its mark and the human pony reacts. I look back to see Jasmine’s chariot slipping further back despite her determination and frequent strokes. It is interesting to note that the firm whip hand applies an occasional intermittent stroke to the penis. Apparently, making it impossible for the burdened beasts to anticipate where the next fiery burst of pain will originate is an important element of control, keeping the pony alert and ready to react by causing his will to be completely subordinate
d to the knowing hands of his mistress. There is no opportunity for the pony to think. Thought is replaced by tugs on the reins and snaps of the whip and the response to such is instantaneous. The wicked smile of Lady Constance evidences her self-satisfaction with her complete level of control.
When it is apparent that the performance of the ponies is maximized, Lady Constance puts the whip into its holder and graciously reaches forward. There, the once menacing, evil-hand gently pats and kneads the glistening wet buttocks of her charges.
“Good boys!”
We round a curve, enter another tunnel of lush, flowering vegetation and a house comes to view. Its proximity signals to the ponies that their anguished endeavors are coming to a close and they accelerate in unison in order to avoid further torment.
“Welcome to Estovia, Doctor. It’s somewhat quaint but I’ve become quite comfortable here over the years. Especially since we developed a more consistent supply of electricity. I imagine you saw the windmill from the boat. Before I had that installed, power generation was performed by manual labor. The costs of whips alone was incredible. But my great grandmother found it amusing. She was known to spend many a casual afternoon sipping mint juleps and watching the males being worked by her staff to turn the generators. Now we have more interesting activities for them.”
Lady Constance laughs softly with her description and indeed, the vision of the regal Baroness, lying in the cool shade while dozens of naked, restrained male’s labor as beasts of burden in the hot tropical sun, whipped relentlessly by the firm hands of callous Bagandan women, is thought provoking.
The chariot arrives at a porte-cochere. Lady Constance reaches down and grasps the cords leading to the scrotal sacs. She pulls. The flesh stretches towards us, and the chariot slows. The human ponies knowingly pull our vehicle to a worn spot in the soil where Lady Constance embarks and disembarks with regularity.
“Cruel, one would think. But let me show you something.”
The Constancia Compendium Page 17