Dr. Helga withdraws her left hand, reaches to her breast pocket for a felt tipped pen and records Lady Constance’s instructions directly onto the naked flesh of the hanging youngster’s stomach.
Lady Constance snaps her fingers. Porter number two appears from nowhere and Lady Constance points to the stiff member of her latest acquisition.
“Keep him erect for our luncheon.”
Porter number one returns with the tray. We indulge again as Dr. Helga leads us to the next stanchion. There hangs a identically bound male, but appearing to be taller.
“A rather incompetent thief, this one. Actually attempted to steal jewelry from his wealthy aunt who, unfortunately for him, was at one time one of the clinic’s most infamous patron’s. Didn’t take much effort for her to convince him to either voluntarily enter Dr. L------’s program or face jail. The problem is his aunt is too well known. No bidders. But he has good size and is fairly malleable from a psychological standpoint.”
Dr. Helga once again performs her mechanical manipulations and this hooded, harnessed young male springs to full tumescence. Both Lady Constance and Dr. Helga smile with the instantaneous response to her rather clinical efforts.
“He’s a randy one, Lady Constance. A nice 9 inches with good diameter as you can see. Stands 6 foot. 190 pounds. Good psychological profile. His file indicates he was on his knees begging his aunt not to be left at the clinic. Obviously rather naive, seeking pity from one of Europe’s most notorious Dominants.”
Lady Constance steps forward and palms the lad’s sizable testicles. With a squeeze he stirs and attempts to twist from her grasp.
“Good sensitivity. Botana is coming of age and will need a pony. Moderate banding for this one. Normal nipple piercing. Botana will be free to pierce and stretch. She’s been developing nicely. It will be interesting to see what she does with her own pony boy.”
So, another young male’s fate is decided in a moment’s time as Dr. Helga’s pen records Lady Constance’s edicts. I wonder if the males realize the gravity of Lady Constance’s decision and how it will affect their remaining lives.
We proceed to acquisition number three and I look back to see porter number two dutifully licking the hairless scrotum of the first candidate. It is evident that his charge is to keep the penis erect sans ejaculation and he has obviously been well trained for the task as he works around the sensitive tip.
Over the next thirty minutes we circle the pool stopping before each stanchion. Dr. Helga recites. Lady Constance pontificates. Dr. Helga records and another young male will be banded according to the whim of the most Dominant woman in the world. Three of the remaining four are designated as farm beasts. The other, having ‘good thighs and buttocks’, will be trained as a pony.
When finished we sit at a table at the pool side. Porter number one serves sandwiches as we gaze across the pool and watch porter number two move about, orally stimulating the freely hanging males and keeping their stiff members pointing skyward.
Lady Constance makes a humorous comment about the beautiful scenery and the number of feet of erect penis surrounding our table. Dr. Helga laughs and I smile politely, simultaneously overwhelmed yet remaining attentive. I rationalize by telling myself that I am obligated by my research to observe and mentally gather in one of the most decadent scenes in memory.
“You may find the porter’s teasing tongue to be cruel, Doctor. But keep in mind, for them it’s their last full erection. I’ll let them enjoy it for awhile.”
A pleasant lunch ensues. But for the distraction of porter number two moving from stanchion to stanchion, humbly kneeling and semi-fellating Lady Constance’s suspended acquisitions, one would consider our meal to be just an informal social gathering. A variety of topics are discussed and the conversation ends when Jasmine appears. She is wearing her white nurse’s uniform, similar to that worn when I first met her in New York. In her hand is a coil of rope.
“Good afternoon, Jasmine. I guess you know there’s work to be done.”
Jasmine nods with a smile of anticipation. The display of the half dozen erect yet helpless phalli seems to stir something within her.
“Six circumcisions. I can’t think of a nicer way to spend an afternoon.”
“That first one, the sex offender. No anesthetic for him, Jasmine.”
Jasmine acknowledges Lady Constance’s command and moves to the hanging naked males. She mercilessly slaps down the erect penis of the sex offender, then releases him from the stanchion, her powerful arms slowly lowering him to the cement pool deck.
“Hold still,” she barks, as if the harness would permit any motion.
The young male is positioned on his stomach, while Jasmine deftly loops the rope first around his scrotum, then the flaccid penis and then back around the scrotum. It is a well-practiced procedure and reminds me of watching a cowboy in a rodeo.
She next uncoils the rope and moves to suspended male number two, again slaps down the erection, lowers him to the deck and loops the rope around his privates.
Jasmine’s impressive strength is displayed when she releases the final four and, utilizing the steel ring at the top of the harnesses, drags them with one massive arm so that she can align them with the first two and hogtie their genitals with the continuous length of rope.
Porter number one clears our table. Dr. Helga excuses herself suggesting that much work needs to be done. Lady Constance announces that our tour should begin. As we arise, Jasmine releases the ankles of the six acquisitions.
“Time to leave, gentlemen. Walk carefully. Remember that the rope is tied around Lady Constance’s property and you’ll do well to treat it accordingly...., up!”
Stiff muscles slowly react. But eventually the harnessed males stand and a smirking Jasmine walks, rope in hand, toward the far end of the pool. There porter number two opens a gate and one by one as the rope tightens, the hooded naked males follow the tugs on their most precious parts. The amazing Jasmine has roped and restrained six potent males, which she is leading on a long leash, but to where? Obsequiously and clumsily they journey toward the end of normal sexual masculinity.
Chapter Seven
I stop in the house to use the facilities and coat myself with sun lotion. The rays of the sun are strong and my years of laboring indoors over books, manuscripts and research papers make sudden exposure to ultra violet light uncomfortable and unhealthy. I marvel at Lady Constance’s tan and the way the sun has turned her beautiful breasts into a golden brown with complementary beige nipples. When I walk out the front entrance I am somewhat heartened to see that the shawl has been discarded and she is once again almost naked.
Botana has brought back the chariot team and they appear refreshed and offer no ascertainable resistance to being harnessed once again to the ornate vehicle. She begins to toy with the penis of the right pony but Lady Constance intercedes. Making her prize team stand seems to be a labor of love and, judging from the timely manner in which the two huge beasts come to near full erection, it appears they enjoy displaying themselves for her.
I step into the chariot and Lady Constance joins me. The scrotal cords are secured, the whip flicks and once again our diabolic vehicle rolls. I look down to see remnants of lubricant smeared around the inner most portion of the buttocks of the right pony. It appears that Botana had indeed plugged our two steeds and was provided with little notice of our planned excursion, thus she must have quickly retrieved the devious instruments and readied the team for travel.
Since Estovia is situated on high ground, the chariot easily accelerates to meet Lady Constance’s desired speed as we move down hill and turn away from the road leading to the dock. Within a minute we encounter Jasmine and Dr. Helga in the heavier chariot. Sauntering at a limited pace, in tow are the six male acquisitions, still blinded by their hoods and struggling to time their steps so as to limit the tension on the rope securing their genitals.
Lady Constance laughs and waves as she skillfully tugs on the reins, flicks he
r whip on the right penis then the left and passes the slower vehicle.
“We’ll stop at the medical facility on the way back. By then there should be much to observe. But first the farm, then the power plant and I always enjoy walking my team on the beach. It’s good for their feet.”
Coming at us from the opposite direction is a small cart. As it nears, the form of Motamba comes into focus, seated with crop in hand. A moderate sized pony boy, sweating and running in earnest, is pulling. His naked form is secured between two horizontal poles emanating from the front. His labored breathing can be heard as the cart nears, the flow of air over and around the bit producing a noticeable wheezing sound. Still, Motamba firmly strokes the buttocks and the eyes of her pony boy roll with renewed efforts. She waves as the cart passes.
“She’ll be preparing a nice dinner for us Doctor, and I hazard to guess she’s late.”
We continue at top speed and I marvel at the conditioning of our ponies. They have run full out from the moment we left the house and we have traversed the island’s roads for some ten minutes without respite. Finally, Lady Constance pulls to the right and we enter what appears to be a little used road.
“This takes us to a high point overlooking the farm. You’ll enjoy the view.”
The ponies strain on an incline. Lady Constance whips the testicles and in tandem, the ponies dig in with their feet and maintain the chariot’s speed.
The vegetation begins to thin out as the road takes us higher and onto a rocky promontory. Lady Constance reaches for the scrotal cords and pulls. The chariot rolls to a stop. We step off.
“My farm. All the island’s vegetables are grown here. It would be cheaper to simply import all our food needs, but not as entertaining.”
I look down to see a lush valley with contoured rows of varied shades of greenery. Obviously an assortment of food is grown but my attention is quickly drawn from the flora to the human fauna. The field is being worked by several native women who are supervising human beasts pulling plows and carts laden with harvested food-stuffs. It is a scene from a feudal era with female serfs directing naked young males in place of oxen.
I turn to Lady Constance. She also is gazing downward at the incredible scene and her sizable breasts seem to swell even further with pride of ownership.
“Isn’t it nice to know troubled youths can be redeemed for useful purposes, Doctor. Every pound of fruits and vegetables produced is derived from their toil. Over time they seem to become quite proud of their endeavors.”
She returns to silence allowing me to take in the view and better understand the interaction.
I count some twenty young males laboring under the rather strict supervision of a half dozen Bagandan women, plus what appears to be their daughters. I narrow my attention to one trio. A large male is secured in wooden stocks, his head and wrists entrapped between connecting blocks of wood. The stocks are in turn connected to two horizontal poles emanating from the front of a plow. The naked male is bent over at the waist, straining to pull the plow and break up the soil. A Bagandan women stands atop the plowshare, whip in hand, her animated motions obviously directing the pointed sheet of steel to bite through the encrusted surface and encouraging the male beast to labor in earnest with flicks of her wrist.
But it is the smiling, naked young girl riding astride the back of the struggling male that provokes much thought. She is young and her modest weight cannot be physically unbearable. But instead, for the well-secured human oxen beneath, it is the mental burden of being directed about the field by this slight girl that must indeed be unbearable.
The plow slows, apparently brushing a rock or other impediment, and the girl leans forward and reaches underneath the male oxen’s chest. He cringes. The plow shakes with his renewed efforts and a stone is unturned. The girl laughs with her ability to control a grown male. The woman smiles with a look of admiration, which can only be found on the face of a mother. The young girl had obviously worked the oxen’s nipples, perhaps a sharp pinch, or a twist, or a pull. Whatever the technique the results are effective. But more importantly is the amazing process of the Bagandan woman training her daughter in the fine art of control and dominance.
As I scan the field I see more naked young girls. All seem to be supervised by an older Bagandan women wearing a colorful sarong and brandishing a whip. Some ride a male in stocks as with the plow girl, others lead a naked human beast by way of a leash attached to a nose ring, the subservient male afforded an enticing view of nubile buttocks.
I’m not sure why I find the interaction to be so shocking. Well accredited research into the African tribe documents the female’s disdain for non-Bagandan males. And as a research psychologist, I should realize that such behavior is most likely taught not genetically acquired. Therefore I should fully understand the training process, teaching the girls at a young age to relish their authority over bound and naked males. And I would conjecture that the lack of clothing is not entirely attributable to the climate, but instead adds a degree of sexual excitement for the girls in their years of developing sexuality. Judging from the reaction of the smiling girl atop the human plow oxen, there indeed appears to be a certain level of arousal attained in feeling between her naked thighs the warm, sweaty flesh of the subservient male. His underlying muscles straining and reacting to the whip of her mother and the painful pinch of her fingers.
And then there is the thorough humiliation of the naked males. Forced to labor under the complete control of girls half their age, I ponder their mental state. They cannot think. They must react. The sting of a thin whip cannot be ignored, particularly when the source of the pain is from the sensitive and precious reproductive organs. And so resistance must be futile. I find myself witnessing the complete submission of the male gender, and it must be doubly humiliating to have to offer such submission to the fickleness of young girls.
Lady Constance excuses herself and returns to her ponies. They kneel in rest. A plastic water bottle is produced and she gently slips a straw into the mouth of the right pony. She squeezes and the pony swallows. With the bit separating his lips, much of the water flows out and drips to the ground. The left pony is likewise watered and I am impressed with the tenderness this most dominant woman applies to her task.
Next she reaches down and releases the Prince Albert ring of both penises. The phalli have become somewhat flaccid in rest and Lady Constance takes one in each hand and points it downward. It is interesting to watch a woman handle the male appendage so skillfully. She leans forward and whispers something into the ears of the huge males. After a pause, they simultaneously begin to urinate with Lady Constance directing the flow away from her feet and the knees of the two beasts. It is a fascinating display of her control and the ponies’ training. In addition to walking, cantering, trotting and running in unison, they also empty their bladders. I contemplate the training process by which such strict coordination is developed.
She dutifully shakes the final drops of excretion from the tips of the penises, pulls up the lengthy tubes of flesh and again hooks the Prince Albert ring to the abdomen of each pony.
“The power plant is next, Doctor. Once I show you how to use a pony cart, you can come back here any time.”
She seems to sense my captivation with the farm, but wishes to stay on schedule. I nod and enter the chariot.
“Nice and firm for me boys.”
She is addressing her prize team while diddling their penises. She insists that her ornate chariot be pulled by well muscled males with stiff appendages leading the way. I suppose for her it is a symbol of her authority, directing the biggest, most erect phalli on the island with an evilly thin whip and a firm grip on the reins.
The ponies expertly turn the chariot to return to the main road. The whip snaps and their spasmodic response to the sharp pain can be felt as the chariot shudders but quickly accelerates.
Reaching the main road we turn right and proceed at a steady but quick pace. When the road takes us through a
n occasional clearing, I can see the large windmill ahead, which appears to be our destination. At one point we approach a cart stopped to the side. It is laden with vegetables and a yoked and naked male has been pulling it. Standing before him is a native girl, somewhat older than those in the field but completely nude as the others. She turns her head to look at us when she hears our chariot. She smiles bashfully. Lady Constance pulls on the scrotal cords and our chariot slows then stops along side.
“Naughty girl, Luana,” Lady Constance admonishes with a smile.
Luana’s right hand is holding a leash connected to the male beast’s nose ring. She has pulled it down and forced the face of the servile beast to the level of her pudendum. There a shockingly long tongue is licking away at the teenage girl’s genitalia. Her left hand holds food of some kind and she slips a treat into the male’s mouth as he attentively plies away with his tongue.
Luana’s nipples evidence her arousal. They are crinkled and point skyward atop firm developing mammaries.
“Motamba will be waiting...”
Lady Constance strokes right then left and our vehicle rolls again.
“She’s manifesting her dominance nicely, don’t you think Doctor? But I have to encourage some level of attention to the chores. She’s expected at Estovia. That load is for our dinner.”
I look back to see that Luana is reacting to Lady Constance’s mild rebuke. She turns and walks holding the leash downward thus forcing the nose and mouth of the burdened male beast to be very close to her well-rounded buttocks. With every labored breath he will be inhaling the fragrance of her feminine arousal.
Our ponies are sweating profusely and Lady Constance’s whip begins to make a startling cracking sound when it crisply strokes the wet flesh. The ponies appear to jump and react more to the sound than the pain but the results are a very fast steady pace with no relent. We turn left off the main road, build speed then bear to the right. The windmill is perched on a nearby hill and the beautiful domineering ruler of this island paradise again builds speed, in order to properly negotiate the steep incline to the tall structure and connecting buildings. Our human equines find a second wind, fully realizing that as challenging as the task is, a well-deserved rest will soon follow Lady Constance’s added torment in encouraging that we arrive at full gallop.
The Constancia Compendium Page 19