She adroitly guides the horse around a large fenced pasture where I am tethered in the middle. I am aroused and the tension on the neck collar causes me to slowly stiffen. Watching her thoroughly command such a potent beast with her skirt flipping at times to completely reveal her well-trimmed pubes is stimulating.
When my penis stands at full salute she approaches, noticing its stiffness.
“You need to be exercised,” she smoothly comments with a knowing smile of supreme confidence.
The overhead beam is at the height of her shoulders. She releases the lanyard and with an effortless flick of her wrist applies a quick but surprisingly painful snap of her crop to my buttocks.
“Run for me,” she calmly suggests.
But I know it is a command and it is quickly followed by a second and more vicious stroke. Her voice is tranquil...but her crop hand speaks loudly.
I run. My erection bobs. She laughs and guides the horse to follow. She nimbly leans in the saddle to crop again. I run faster. My buttocks hurt but I strangely feel good. I am free and entertaining this amazing Dominant woman.
“Can you hold your erection and perform for me?” she so insouciantly inquires.
I am too winded to respond. But I know she will have her answer as I indeed run for her, perform for her, entertain her with my labored efforts to avoid the searing snaps of her crop.
The fantasy has no end...I just run and run and run, to the sound of her laughter and the sting of her crop.
Despite the drug and my deprived senses, I can feel motion. The container, or whatever holds me, is being moved. Then there are vibrations and an occasional jarring. As the static noise endlessly fills my ears and the dream fades I know to put aside all curiosity concerning my situation. It is not within my purview to ask questions. So I let my mind wander and thoughts of our initial meeting come to mind.
Mrs. Dalton was on long flight to Los Angeles. I was the flight attendant serving her in first class. As usual, our scheduled time of departure, some 20 minutes after that of a competing airline, left the cabin less than half full. She sat in the rear of first class. An elderly woman, almost totally deaf, sat in the first row. There were no others to serve.
She kept sending me into the galley for things. In a very subtle way she was divinely domineering. And there was something about the way she sat…as if on a throne.
We talked. The flight was long. She asked for bottled water and insisted that I join her in imbibing. I did, finding that I could not help obeying even the simplest of requests.
She just sipped strongly suggesting that I drink. It was only water and I wanted to please.
“You’ll ask before using the facilities, Ted? Like a good boy.”
She set a trap into which I suppose I eagerly stepped. Her command was so subtle, so placidly enunciated yet so firmly conveyed.
“Yes, Miss Dalton,” I recall replying so humbly.
Yes, my wife’s maiden name is Dalton. In the marriage ceremony I took her surname. She insisted on becoming Mrs. Dalton and having my name changed to Ted Dalton.
Well with all the water I had to go. I asked and found it curious that she immediately agreed. I misunderstood her little game. But then as I pulled at the lavatory door her large hand reached over my shoulder to hold it open. I turned my head to look over my shoulder. I had to raise my chin. She was so tall...so physically domineering. And her eyes were so soothing yet forceful.
Gratefully the elderly deaf woman was asleep for I was not sure where I was being taken...mentally. Miss Dalton was in control.
“No need for shyness, Ted,” she announced in her firm tone.
I remember looking at her with a beseeching look...thinking that her little game would soon end and she’d shut the door...she didn’t.
“Well?” she inquired with such expectancy. “We’re not both going to fit in there...and I like to examine before I buy.”
I just hoped the pilots didn’t leave the flight deck. They use the first class facilities. Miss Dalton anticipated my concern.
“I’ll close it if any one approaches, Ted.”
Guess I ran out of excuses. I unzipped. She objected.
“Not much to see. Unbuckle and drop those trousers and undershorts...yes that’s a good boy.”
Well she had her inspection and I suppose liked what she saw. I was embarrassed...a level of humiliation beyond anything I had ever experienced...but I found there was also a twinge of enjoyment. I think she recognized it before I did.
I began my business. She reached down and kneaded and caressed my buttocks...her fingers inspected as if purchasing a melon or other fruits and vegetables. It was difficult to concentrate and I surprised myself that I was able to perform...until she bent a little at the waist and reached between and under my cheeks. A finger pushed against my perineum apparently pressuring my urethra. The flow was cut off. For some reason I did not protest. It was as if I was powerless to resist. I just looked up into her placid but unyielding face and remained standing over the john. I remember thinking how physically imposing she was...the looks of a fashion model on the body of an Olympic athlete. My bladder ached. I needed to urinate.
“Some men like to be controlled, Ted...by a woman. Ever give that a thought? You seem to enjoy serving. You’ve made a career out of it.”
She smiled with her observation and released her finger. I finished.
“You’re uncircumcised. Nice meaty foreskin. Ever think about changing that?”
I just shook my head and blushed.
“Skin it back for me please.”
Again spoken as more of a command than a request. My fingers worked to pull back and uncover the moist and hidden penis tip. She smiled at the sight of what most women find hideous.
“I’ll bet you give that a good work out, hmm? Perhaps on Friday nights...thinking about all the good looking girls you’ve served in first class.”
I strangely found myself nodding in agreement. Miss Dalton’s presence was overpowering and she was quick to establish a psychological Dominance that I had not encountered before in a female.
Then she just stepped away, returning to her seat where she read legal papers for most of the remaining flight.
As we prepared for landing, she handed me a business card with her home phone written on the back.
“Next time you’re planning on playing with that, give me a call first. I’ll have some things I’ll want you to do for me.”
Well, after the examination in the lavatory her firm feminine voice caused an odd tingle...as if part of me was resisting while another part was memorizing the phone numbers.
After landing she paused at the exit while waiting for the door to be opened. She just looked at me.
“I work irregular hours...” was all the words I could muster.
Miss Dalton pinched my cheek as if I was a small boy.
“The business number is a direct line. And I’m sure my secretary may also find you amusing...”
She stepped into the jetway leaving the thought hanging with no further words deemed needed. My eyes followed her efficient and purposeful stroll to the main terminal. She did not look back. She knew I would call, and her presumption in knowing that I would indeed be using the phone numbers caused more conflicting thoughts of both stimulation and resistance.
Yes, I called. It was the following week during a layover. I was staying in a depressing motel in Memphis. My schedule was changed from the coast flights, which I enjoyed, to depressing commuter type flights. The hustle and bustle depressed me. I was stroking ‘Little Ted’ in an attempt to cheer myself but could not get Miss Dalton’s words out of my head. It was just before noon and I had to check out and be at the airport for a 3:00 p.m. departure.
So I called the direct line. A very young female voice answered. I gave my name as ‘Ted the flight attendant’ and was put on hold. Then the line clicked and I heard feminine laughter just before the sultry, firm voice of Miss Dalton came over the wire. She and her young s
ecretary Matilda had exchanged some amusing comments.
“Hello, Ted. I trust you’re calling for instructions.”
I overheard the high pitched youthful laughter of the secretary as I indicated that I was.
“Completely naked, Ted. And I want you to insert your right index and forefinger into your anus. Be a good boy.”
I explained that I was right handed and would need that hand to achieve gratification. I heard her laugh and comment to her secretary, relaying my concerns. I heard the young voice laugh more. I flushed in reaction. The two women were hundreds of miles away and were able to humiliate me.
“Stroke yourself with your left, Ted. That’s why you have two hands.”
To the sound of giggling I complied. It felt strange. I don’t think I ever used my left and certainly never before had fingers in my rear passage. I had always considered it off limits with regard to sexual release. I was to receive quite the education in that area of play.
I tucked the phone under my chin freeing my hands. Miss Dalton lowered the pitch of her voice as I stroked. She made me describe my erection and the sensations of impaling my own backside. Her voice became distanced and I could tell that on her end of the line she was sharing the receiver with her secretary. But I became too aroused to care.
“We can hear the sloshing sound of moist skin, Ted. You enjoy very quick strokes for a boy your age.”
They both laughed confirming my supposition on the sharing of the phone.
“Tell us before you ejaculate, Ted. Be a good boy. You’ll need to ask permission.”
I was mesmerized by her commanding words and within minutes was beseeching her for acquiescence. To a mirthful command of ‘Come for me’, I climaxed to the sound of much girlish giggling and my grunts of ecstasy. It felt strange. It was most embarrassing but it felt so good. I exploded like a randy teenager.
My box, or whatever contains me, jolts distracting me from my reminiscence. I am being moved. Whereas it was slightly cold it is slowly becoming warm. Then things settle down and I again feel the vibrations of an engine.
Chapter Five
Jasmine
I wave to the driver and he knows exactly where to turn the truck and back up to the door of the storage building.
Another arrival in Aruba. Two supply trucks have already come and gone and with this final delivery, and Motamba will arrive with the boat to return me and the supplies to Constancia Island.
Our little enclave on Aruba is well disguised and guarded. None of the locals realize it is the point of embarkation for Constancia Island, the exclusive island, really a sovereign country owned by Lady Constance Esterhoven. Constancia Island is twenty miles away, just over the horizon. Purchased in the 1920's by Lady C’s great grandfather it has been developed into a most unique vacation facility for its supreme ruler...the world’s most Dominant woman. It is also a training facility for recalcitrant males. Measuring some two miles by seven miles, women reign on Constancia and males serve.
The driver lowers the truck tailgate. Lying on top is the coffin-like transport box, which is used to deliver all males to Constancia. When it descends to the crushed coral surface I pick up one end and the driver assists in carrying the box into the plain cinder block temporary storage building. It is amusing to see him struggle under the weight. I find the task effortless. At six foot and one hundred and eighty pounds of muscle, my strength exceeds that of most males. He is impressed when I single-handedly pick up an empty box and return it to the truck. The transport boxes are identical and circulate throughout the world, stored in various locations to await the next male to be whisked away to Constancia.
I inspect the tag tied to the handle at the end of the arriving box.
‘Ted Dalton, New York’.
That is the name I am expecting and I nod to the driver. He genuflects and kisses my hand. His servile deportment is an attempt to avoid a visit to the island for a ‘refresher’ course in manners.
The driver leaves. I shut the door from within and open the box. It is almost 11:00 a.m. and our new trainee has been encapsulated since late last night. As an experienced and skilled nurse I perform a preliminary exam on all the arrivals to ensure their condition. Very rarely has there been a problem. The box is well designed.
The sight of well-bound naked males always excites and under the dim lights of the storage room I once again feel that sexual twinge of Dominance. A helpless and vulnerable Ted Dalton lies naked, cuffed, blindfolded and intubated as with all the arrivals. I check his pulse and listen to his heart and breathing. The endless static can be heard, the CD player specially designed to repeat and repeat and repeat with no need for manual operation. My hands smooth over male flesh, squeezing and caressing. Nice plump testicles and a foreskin begging for the quick nick of a scalpel.
The papers tossed into the box have Mr. Dalton’s particulars. The girls in New York gave him a good injection of Thorazine at 2:30 a.m. 100 milligrams! Those girls don’t bother with moderation. Mr. Dalton must have gone down like a sack of potatoes. Well just a little booster shot and our little puppy will arrive at Constancia in just the right mood...confused, humbled and eager to listen to all feminine commands. There are no male commands.
So just another 25 milligrams and he’ll be ready for Dr. Reinhold’s thorough examination.
Thorazine is a ‘neuroleptic’ drug developed in the fifties. Given to mental patients it has been compared to having a lobotomy, robbing the recipient of much desire and physically acting as a sedative. Mr. Dalton will find himself being very obedient and respectful and mentally quite malleable. We’ll lessen the dosage so he will be able to work...but a well-filled syringe will always be nearby should resistance recur. In time, Mrs. Dalton will be very pleased with her newly trained husband. Drs. Reinhold and Corrothers are experts on behavior modification.
I hear the engines of the speedy supply boat. Motamba and the porters will soon dock and begin loading. Timing is of the essence. We strive to spend as little time as possible in Aruba, thus avoiding unwanted attention.
Normally the ‘bad boys’ who arrive for permanent training and servitude are herded onto the boat under the cover of darkness. A nice long single tail whip ensures their compliance and haste. But the arrivals from the ASBM are treated more like patients...actually like someone else’s property, and our procedures are a little more subtle. Thus, Mr. Dalton will remain in the box and never be fully aware of the circumstances behind his arrival and where he has been taken. After weeks of indoctrination he’ll be released to his benefactress. We wouldn’t want him knowing the exact location of our little piece of Female Dominant heaven.
I hear the boat’s engines idle then roar as Motamba cuts off the ignition. I roll open the overhead door. Two naked porters jump off the boat onto the dock, secure the lines, and approach running like children in a school yard. The forced chastity has that effect...the abundant hormones providing them with a curious level of energy and desire. On Constancia Island we convert those attributes to a yearning to be of service.
Motamba keeps the young males quite frisky and eager to serve, punishing the slow and rewarding the nimble. Thus they approach as if in a foot race and boxes of supplies are shouldered and quickly taken to the boat with a hasty trot.
In returning for a second trip, Motamba’s whip cracks at the buttocks of the slower boy, who lurches and then finds a heightened level of velocity.
It is a typical bright and cloudless morning in the Caribbean and the sun’s rays glint from the assortment of jewelry worn by the two porters. Most noticeable are the metal bands, which encircle their penises at the frenulum. The small but ingenious devices keep the young males quite flaccid, the interior diameter having numerous spikes and sharp ridges, which make full erection painfully impossible. Depending on the tightness, males are permitted varying degrees of tumescence on Constancia Island. The porters are keep impotent...wearing the tightest and most heavily spiked bands. Others, such as the pair of prized pony boys
used exclusively by Lady Constance, may achieve nearly full erection before the scientifically designed bands constrict and irritate the sensitive penis tip. Lady Constance likes to run her pony boys with their well controlled manhoods standing...their virility completely subordinated to the Dominant female rider.
Other ornamentations which evidence the porters’ subjugation are the nipple piercings which are indigenous to males of the Island, and the elaborate way in which Lady Constance has adorned and permanently bound the testicles and scrotum. At one time headed for lives of drugs and petty crime, the two diminutive lads were acquired in Europe from the infamous Bavarian clinic for miscreant boys. Their organs being deemed only of modest size, Lady Constance took them after no permanent home of Female Dominance could be found for them. But their well-tanned and conditioned naked bodies suggest they have been happily rehabilitated despite their new life of forced and complete chastity.
Watching the porters run about is always amusing for the Dominant woman, thus I find my eyes following their quick footsteps, particularly when they return from the boat and the various cords and piercings so nicely display their testicles. Each porter’s skin is riveted at the hips and the knees providing a convenient hole where elastic cords can be secured. From each hip rivet a cord runs to a precisely sized ring slipped over each testicle, serving to pull up and outward and separate the two organs within the sac. Another pair of cords run from the knee rivets to rivets in the bottom of the scrotal sac, serving to pull the hairless bag downward. The overall effect is to have the restrained organs constantly stretched and fully displayed while the porters walk and run about performing their duties. Psychologically it is a wonderful reminder for the puppy-like pair, physically feeling at all times the effects of their bondage and servitude.
Three more trips and the supply building begins to empty. I make two trips myself to speed things along. Finally, it is time for Mr. Dalton. My finely subjugated boys both work at one end of his box and I pick up the other. In height, neither one reaches my shoulders, and I must smile as the weight proves to be quite the effort for them. But, what they lack in strength they make up for with other skills and training.
The Constancia Compendium Page 32