The Constancia Compendium

by Chris Bellows

  “I insist on speed, coordination and tumescence. There is nothing more impressive then well lathered stallions pumping away at a quick pace and displaying good stiff erections.”

  The final 50 yards is on level ground. Our ponies rebuild speed and we come frighteningly close to a massive black woman standing next to a large cinder block building before Lady Constance pulls on the scrotal cords and brings the chariot to an abrupt halt.

  “Good afternoon, Lady Constance. You’re working them quite nicely on this fine hot sunny afternoon.”

  I am introduced to Salina, the supervisor of the power plant. She is taller than Jasmine and carries more weight, though she is not obese. And her powerful frame appears to be equally strong if not stronger. But her figure is not sculpted as with Jasmine. Rather, her strength seems to have originated from years of toil, and I am about to learn to what end all her toil has been put.

  In her hand is an ominous cane, described by accomplished disciplinarians as the most painful instrument of correction. And behind her, languishing in the heat of the tropics, are three scruffy males. They are sans clothing and on their shoulders lie massive blocks of metal, which entrap their necks and wrists. I assume these are the metal yokes to which Lady Constance referred and ordered for the young Danish sex offender. The thick metal serves to immobilize the head and the wrists are likewise secured some two feet right and left of the head. The ends of the metal yokes are secured to vertical metal poles, forcing the three to stand on their toes. The heat has taken its toll as the young males have evidently been forced to stand for quite some time judging from the abundant perspiration.

  “Trouble, Salina?”

  “Not really, Ma’am. I’m just giving these three the opportunity to volunteer for more time on the generator. When the sun heats the metal yoke the notion of spending a few hours working the machinery is not so objectionable.”

  As Salina speaks I examine the helpless trio. All are banded about the frenulum and by now I have learned enough to discern that the banding is tight. Their scrotums have been stretched further than any I have seen, hanging as low as their knees. Stripes and welts can be seen everywhere on their naked flesh. Apparently Salina’s accuracy with the cane is of little concern. The sun is indeed heating the thick metal blocks perched on their shoulders. One lad is doing a bit of a dance, careful not to lift both feet and leave himself suspended solely by his neck and wrists.

  “Perhaps a brief tour of the plant for the good Doctor, Salina.”

  Salina nods and ushers us toward the building. The windmill is built directly over head and the propeller is slowly turning in the light but consistent tropical wind. A rotating shaft, turned by the propeller, runs from a gear box high above down through the roof of the building. It is huge, the size of a telephone pole. We enter through very wide double doors and I am surprised to see that the interior is much larger than expected. A ramp leads us downward, thus what appears to be a low building is actually recessed into the ground and has a high interior ceiling.

  “My great grandfather was very concerned with hurricanes. The low profile of the exterior minimizes potential wind damage. In three major storms over the past seventy odd years the building has remained untouched and power has never been lost to the island. It makes us very self sufficient.”

  Lady Constance talks, but my attention is drawn to Salina. Her loose sarong folds over at the front and when she walks a curious leather garment can be detected underneath the silk, just below her abdomen.

  We proceed down the ramp into an open chamber. As my eyes become accustomed to the relatively dark room I notice the change in temperature. Because the floor is set some five to six feet below ground level, it is much cooler than outdoors. But then the array of machinery comes into focus and I am awed. The building houses massive electrical generators. I count six. Four are turning by way of various smaller shafts connected to the large shaft emanating from the windmill. A fifth stands at rest and a sixth is being turned manually. The generators are spaced widely apart and the reason is apparent. The sixth generator has metal poles jutting out eight to ten feet from the cylindrical core. It resembles a capstan seen on old sailing ships and used to weigh the anchor. Connected to three of the poles is a metal yoke and secured within each is of course one of Lady Constance’s naked male beasts. The young males are walking in circles, pushing the metal poles, which in turn rotates the generator.

  “We still generate some power manually, for nostalgia and amusement more than any other reason. When the winds slacken at night I enjoy reading with the knowledge that my subservient males are laboring to provide the electricity for my light. And of course should the wind mill malfunction we can easily convert the other generators back to manual operation.”

  The coy smile on Lady Constance’s face unmasks her enthusiasm for the dreary, monotonous efforts exerted by her young charges.

  We approach the three worn males. Each has a number branded onto the right buttock. Salina reaches out and applies a sharp stroke of her cane to one set of numbers. A stifled yelp results, along with a renewed effort as the leg muscles noticeably strain to push.

  “They require constant monitoring. But the cane is quite the incentive.”

  With her comment, Salina taps the huge scrotal sac of a second beast with the tip of the cane. He understands the warning and immediately begins to strain along with his cohort.

  “The capstans were originally located outdoors on top of the building with turning shafts penetrating the roof and connecting to the generators. My great grandmother found the hot sun to be an effective way to add to the slow torment. But that configuration required an enormous number of males, which had to be constantly watered. Thus, my grandmother moved the capstans indoors.

  “I remember as a little girl, my mother would bring me here and we’d sit in the observation deck and watch for what seemed like hours,” offers Lady Constance. “Those were special times, so it’s difficult for me just to eliminate the manual generation entirely.”

  I look back toward the entrance. There, leading from the main floor is a set of steps terminating at a rather decorative platform above. It reminds me of a balcony box at an opera house. An old but well kept stuffed chair affords a seated observer a comfortable and unimpeded view of the building’s laborers. I can envision the regal Baroness sitting with her daughter, the future ruler of Constancia, instilling the family’s female dominant traits at a very young age.

  After a time, Salina leads us to an adjoining room. There, kneeling in two rows are a dozen males, all in yokes, which are resting between two short posts. Most are asleep. A few have cords attached to the bottom of the scrotums pulling them downward where the ends are secured to eye hooks in the floor. Stretching seems to be a ubiquitous process on Constancia.

  A young girl, naked in conformity to what seems to be the standard code of dress, spoons mush into the mouth of one wizened male bearing the brand number 10. At her feet is a bucket of water with a ladle. Apparently finished, she moves to the mid-section of the next semi-conscious, kneeling male. She reaches under his stomach, whispers something, and a puddle begins to form on the floor. The excretion slowly flows to collecting troughs along the wall.

  “Bladder control,” is Salina’s simple comment as the girl moves to the male’s front and provides him with a good view of her charms. He lifts his head as much as the constraining metal bar allows and attempts to lick her sex. The girl draws back and laughs. Then she holds a ladle of water just out of reach of his parched mouth.

  “My daughter is learning well. Is she not, Lady Constance?”

  The omnipotent Lady just smiles.

  It is not a pleasant room. It smells of sweat and bodily excretions. Salina notices my reaction.

  “They’re hosed down once a week. Hygiene is not important here. Their function is to rotate the generator, sleep and eat. But I do amuse them from time to time.”

  Salina smiles and I follow her gaze to the far end of the room w
here a low table rests. Above it are a pair of leather straps hanging from formidable chains. Behind the table, the wall is covered with oddly shaped rubber phalli. Underneath each are identifying numbers.

  “Yes, Salina. Show the Doctor your collection.”

  We move toward the table.

  “As you’re aware, Dr. Greta does a very thorough job of scanning and measuring our laborers when they arrive here. Included is a very accurate magnetic image of their back passage and prostate glands. From that a computer controlled machine mills a nice dildo for each boy. Good boys deserve a little pleasure and on occasion I’ll open them up and give their underutilized prostates a good massaging. The bumps and ridges are custom designed to match their anatomies. Therefore every stroke manipulates that interesting male gland with great precision. You’d be surprised at their reaction. I have quite the collection of young whores here, Doctor.”

  Salina laughs with the comparison and I begin to better understand the utility of the leather device under her sarong.

  “We have time for a demonstration, Salina.”

  For some reason I have the impression that the demonstration is not entirely for my benefit, particularly when I see the gleam in Lady Constance’s mischievous eyes.

  Salina reacts with enthusiasm and a smile.

  “I think my trouble makers need to cool a bit. Let me get them out of the sun.”

  Salina leaves and within minutes returns. The three recalcitrant males walk very slowly. The metal yokes are apparently very heavy and it appears just remaining upright requires considerable effort.

  Number 25, according to his brand, is secured to the generator, an interesting procedure which involves moving to time with the rotating capstan while Salina connects his yoke to the end of the metal pole. When finished, the cane swishes and 25 jumps and begins pushing in earnest.

  “It’s the table for you, 32. And 15, you know what I’ll need.”

  Both males move toward the table. Number 32 seems to approach with a degree of renewed vigor. But when he stands at the edge and tries to lower himself, the weight of the yoke causes him to drop face downward. Salina laughs.

  “The yokes are close to one hundred pounds. Doesn’t imbue them with much grace.”

  The large woman bends over, picks up each end of the yoke and turns it end for end. The head and hands of the helpless 32 move with it, as does his torso, hips and legs.

  “Good boy. Legs up and 15 will give you a nice tongue massage.”

  In a well practiced move, 32 lifts his legs and Salina draws them further back until his knees are just about over his face. There she loops the leather straps around his thighs, holding them high and well apart. This affords a most sordid view of 32's massive scrotum. The testicles are not ringed as with the ponies but there are two rivets penetrating the bottom of the sac to facilitate restraint and stretching.

  Salina kicks the back of number 15's legs and he comically falls to his knees. She gruffly tangles her hand into his matted hair and directs his head, laden with the heavy yoke, between the widely separated thighs of 32.

  “You know what to do. Your confederate needs your assistance, otherwise Salina’s big stick may just split his bung hole wide open.”

  Salina laughs as the servile male thrusts out his tongue and begins servicing the supine number 32. He slowly licks until Salina lifts the large pink bag of flesh and better exposes the lad’s ‘bung hole’. A swish of the cane incentivizes number 15 to apply his tongue to that most undesirable area.

  “Yes. Lubricate it real well.”

  Salina walks to the wall and removes a large rubber dildo with the number “32" under it. It’s an ungainly implement. But as stated it has been computer milled to precisely agitate the desired areas and organs. Salina next attaches to the bottom of the specially made phallus another rubber device. Judging from its bowed appearance, its purpose is apparent. Various nubs are purely for the pleasure of the female and as Salina returns to the base of the table where number 15 dutifully applies his tongue, she rips off her sarong. Underneath is nothing more than a very thick leather belt with equally strong straps. Two hold in place the top of a formidable patch over her pubes. A third runs between her buttocks and up to the bottom of the patch. Salina’s hands adjust the straps and insert the large dildo through a hole in the patch. The female end of the long device is swallowed up by Salina’s sex. The male end protrudes menacingly and the look of self satisfaction on Salina’s face hints at the pleasure she anticipates in penetrating her young ‘whore’.

  “Lick.”

  She pulls back on number 15's head then grasps each end of the strip of metal strip encasing the head and hands. The long tongue obediently thrusts forward and the tip systematically begins applying short laps to the rubber surface. Salina waits patiently then slowly pushes forward with her hips. Amazingly, the huge shaft enters the lad’s mouth and begins to disappear. Slight gagging sounds can be heard. Salina pauses, cruelly thrusts an inch or two, withdraws and deeply thrusts again. She penetrates the throat of number 15 and it is apparent that she has spent much time training him to control his gag reflex.

  “Good boy.”

  Salina pushes away the heavy yoke. The naked male’s head and shoulders fall to the floor with a thud. Salina kicks his testicles.

  “Stay.”

  With a smile she turns to the supine number 32.

  “He’s a young one, Lady Constance. Nice and tight, but 15 is good in lubricating my little whores.”

  Her naked body is impressive. As stated, it is large and powerful. Her breasts are mountainous but firm and capped with nipples the size of silver dollars. And if Jasmine’s body can aptly be compared to a sleek, well exercised, thorough bred horse, Salina’s would be that of a bull. The sculpted muscling is not perceptible but there is no doubt as to the level of her power and strength. Her buttocks are rounded, muscled, and interesting to observe. But when Lady Constance moves to the right side, I realize that whatever is about to occur, I should reposition myself. And as I watch from the left-side Salina lifts the stretched scrotum of 32 and introduces the tip of the horribly disfigured rubber shaft to the anus.

  “Just relax, my little pet. You know Salina will take what she wants whether you open yourself or not.”

  Salina toys with the tightly banded penis. It quivers and reddens but within a minute, number 32 begins to writhe in pain. The unseen teeth within the band are performing their function. With arousal comes torment and 32 struggles in his tight bonds.

  “Yes, you’re going to give Salina a good ride this afternoon. This is why the new boys are so enjoyable, Lady Constance. My more experienced whores just lie and take it.”

  A slight thrust of Salina’s hips and a groan from 32 indicates she is knocking on the door of the tight aperture.

  “Yes. You’re going to be milked of some fluid today. We’ll show Lady Constance some of your male essence. I’m going to pump it from you.”

  Salina pushes with her hips, diddles the penis with her right hand and gruffly pulls about the amazing scrotal sac with her left.

  “You have quite the load here, 32. You can’t squirt it like a normal male, but Salina knows how to extract it. Yes. You’ll give it up like a cow gives milk.”

  Interesting words and thoughts providing a level of debasement which I would describe as effective and appropriate for Lady Constance’s enjoyment. Salina thrusts further and then, either in eagerness or frustration, gives one large lunge with her thighs and buttocks. 32 cries out and the entire length of the odd phallus disappears.

  Almost simultaneously, the penis, forced into flaccidity by the evil metal band, begins to ooze clear pre-ejaculatory fluid.

  “A bull’s eye on the prostate gland,” comments a laughing Lady Constance. “With Dr. Greta’s internal scans, we never miss.”

  Salina begins thrusting with fervor. She pulls far back and thrusts deeply. Again and again. 32 groans with each pull and cries out with each thrust. It sounds as if Salina i
s playing a most discordant musical instrument. But when I look to her face, her eyes are closed in ecstasy. The female end is providing much gratification and she indeed is working the restrained male like a whore. Deep penetrating thrust after thrust.

  After a time the flow from 32's penis turns somewhat cloudy.

  “Semen,” observes Lady Constance. “His sperm is being forced out due to Salina’s manipulation of the prostate. Too bad he can only feel the pain of his banding.”

  Lady Constance laughs watching the naked male, lying with thighs open to his tormentress, and being milked, as described, of his male essence.

  “It’s actually rather healthy for him. Prevents prostate problems,” comments Lady Constance.

  But the look of pleasure on Salina’s face suggests other motivating factors and such is borne out when she pauses from her thrusts, leans forward and aggressively pinches 32's nipples. This causes the lad to spasm and writhe in newly found pain and his gyrations obviously transfer added sensations of delight to the female end of the dildo.

  Next, her fingers find the testicles. Pulling up the scrotum with her left hand, the powerful fingers of her right firmly knead the gonads, squeezing on occasion and patiently waiting for the resulting convulsive response which serves to jiggle the rubber implement within her feminine passage. It is an amazing display of the dominance of the female over the male. She is indeed playing a musical instrument and the sweet tunes of his cries of anguish and reactions to the painful hand work result in heightened pleasure for the puissant Salina.