With doors closed and the facility secured, I step to the dock and onto the boat. The porters work the lines. Motamba starts the motors and she skillfully guides the 35 foot cabin cruiser back into the channel. I descend into the cabin and remove my white nurse’s uniform. It’s a 45 minute trip to Constancia and there is no point in being uncomfortable. I strip completely and don the simple latex apron, which loosely hangs from my waist and drapes over my pubes. It is my only garment. I enjoy the feel of the tropical sun and the wind constantly cooling my dark brown skin as I absorb the radiant heat. And the porters become aroused gazing at the naked female form. Their penis bands will be tested, though with their years on Constancia they have been mentally castrated, most times putting aside all thoughts of achieving erection.
So, there is no need for feminine modesty on Constancia Island. All males are appropriately restrained and most forcibly banded and kept chaste...therefore the Dominant women have little need for covering to avoid unwanted attention leading to clumsy attempts at seduction.
My return to the deck is well timed. With the speed of the craft Aruba is already in the distance and no one will see me frolicking with the naked porters. They’ll service me with their stretched tongues during the entire trip. The vibration of the boat adds a wonderful dimension to their accomplished cunnilingus.
When Motamba is done flogging him, I’ll have the slower of the two kneel and work between my cheeks...an added incentive for more alacrity.
The life of the Dominant Female on Constancia Island is sexually Epicurean.
Chapter Six
Dr. Helga Reinhold
Well, another arrival by way of the ASBM. This ‘Ted Dalton’ is typical of their referrals. A submissive male who needs to learn submission. Easily accomplished. At Constancia Island, we mold males into very eager subordinates...physically and mentally.
Naomi, head nurse at the Island’s medical facility, has placed Mr. Dalton on a gurney and removed his body hair. A strong chemical suffices to do this in the short term. If permanency is desired, we’ll later depilate by way of electrolysis, laser or more chemicals. That is for Mrs. Dalton to decide.
Mr. Dalton’s initial reaction to the large dose of Thorazine is typical. He is most docile and easily controlled. Thus his cuffs have been removed and he just lies in a stupor. The pillowcase remains in place and the CD player continues to deafen him but it is time for his magnetic imaging scan. We need his precise measurements, internally and externally. Depending on how Mrs. Dalton intends to manifest her dominance, our computer controlled equipment can make anal plugs, penis bands, neck collars, yokes, etc. that fit perfectly, all providing long term comfort but with a snugness that serves to constantly remind the wearer of the influence of his Mistress.
So I slide out the intubation tube and inflatable anal plug and remove the pillowcase. Below I find that a cheap sleeping mask also covers his eyes. It is also removed along with the headphones. Mr. Dalton can hear and see for the first time in some 18 hours, according to the paperwork.
He blinks in the bright lights and tries to speak. Slurred and practically unintelligible I anticipate the question.
“I am Dr. Helga Reinhold, Mr. Dalton. You’re in a medical facility on a Caribbean island. Your wife had you sent here. You’ve been a bad boy and will be staying with us for a while. When you leave here, you’ll be a very good boy.”
He responds with more slurred speech. I ignore whatever he is asking.
“I’m going to want you to be very still. We need to scan you. If you move I will make it painful for you.”
I emphasize my point by squeezing his right testicle with a gloved hand. Most women don’t fully understand the level of pain that can be applied there without true damage. Unfortunately for Mr. Dalton, I do. So I squeeze most firmly. Even in his stupor the pain ‘bleeds’ through and he reacts with a yelp. My message is received.
I slide out the hollow stainless steel tube, which has served to catheterize him during his trip. A standard flexible Teflon coated tube would have sufficed. But the stiff steel sends a delicious message to the subordinate male...that a dominant woman will insert whatever she pleases, wherever she pleases and whenever she pleases.
“This will sting, Mr. Dalton.”
Next comes my favorite. I’ll want him completely erect for the scan. If Mrs. Dalton decides to have him banded, the precise measurements of his turgid manhood will be paramount. So a syringe of nitric oxide will do the trick, opening the blood vessels and forcing the erectile chambers to engorge. In many ways, we understand the male erection better than men, and I have fun creating ‘diamond cutters’, in the male vernacular. It’s a phenomenon we’ve researched very thoroughly on Constancia Island through the extensive medical explorations of my mother, Dr. Emily Reinhold. Though the injected nitric oxide dissipates quickly, it begins a cascade of reactions. The flooded erectile chambers block the vessels, which would normally drain the penis of blood. The male anatomical solution to the constriction is to release more internally developed nitric oxide which, instead of permitting release, further engorges the erectile chambers and causes more tumescence. With the effect of the Thorazine inhibiting certain natural defensive reactions, Mr. Dalton will have a greater than normal difficulty controlling his erection. It will remain curiously hard for hours...as noted, hard enough to cut diamonds.
Mr. Dalton feels little ‘bee stings’ as I callously inject his penis and watch it rise. I go way beyond the recommended dosage. For the first time ever, he will regret having an erection. The cascade caused by the nitric oxide will not permit flaccidity and it will feel as though the sensitive tip will explode. With the Thorazine it is a most effective way to get him to stand for me.
He begins to cringe with a degree of stiffness he has never before experienced. I apply one more milliliter then step back. It’s a most amusing contrast seeing the incredibly stiff penis stand atop a supine languishing, hairless and otherwise limp body. The Thorazine will deny him the energy to stroke it. And within a minute or two he won’t want to...the inflamed tip throbbing with the sensitivity of a badly stubbed big toe.
Even after years and years of working the male organ I still feel a sexual twinge in having it completely under my power.
I call for Naomi. She displays the provocative smile of the Dominant woman in gazing at Mr. Dalton’s forced erectness. But she has seen many and quickly returns her thoughts to business. She assists me in wheeling Mr. Dalton into the imaging room. I remind him to remain motionless with another squeeze, this time to his left gonad. He does. He tries to be such a good boy.
While the imaging machine works, I look to the duty rooster to see who will be Mr. Dalton’s handler. The name ‘Luana’ heads the rotation. I smile. The little minx has finally become of age and Mr. Dalton will be her first charge as a full time handler. Though quite young she will be most imposing.
On Constancia Island all males are subordinate. Since there are no cars or other motorized vehicles, one either walks or uses the services of the ubiquitous pony boys. And for food, the Island’s farm produces all the fruits and vegetables required for the local population, grown through the toils of naked well-worked males. I cannot describe how satisfying it is to eat an overly ripe pineapple, which has been harvested and delivered by way of the sweat and anguish of a naked male beast pulling an ox cart. So Mr. Dalton will find himself well worked and constantly tormented. The permanent male ‘residents’ are owned by Lady Constance and used as servants and beasts of burden. The males visiting for training and indoctrination may likewise be used depending on the type of humiliation and subjugation required for their transformation. Thus, there are many activities in which Mr. Dalton can be immersed.
And it’s all possible due to Lady Constance’s prescient great-grandmother who years ago, when the Island was first developed for habitation, took the time to travel to Africa and recruit the services of the Bagandan people. The descendants have lived on the Island ever since and for decade
s have assisted in training, controlling and tormenting the male.
In African lore, the Bagandas were noted for stretching various parts of their anatomy. On females it was most common to stretch the inner labia since large, exposed lips were considered symbolic of a very highly sexed woman. On inferior males it was common to stretch the scrotal sac. A very long, low hanging scrotal sac was deemed humiliating, and recalcitrant tribe members were thus altered.
This tradition of stretching expanded over the centuries and the tribe developed exotic lotions and methods for slowly and systematically stretching the skin of nubile daughters so they could attract the best husbands and of young males to emasculate for behavior modification purposes. The sophisticated knowledge acquired by the Baganda, which remains as a tribal secret to this day, lies in stretching the flesh in such a manner so that no scar tissue forms, which would tend to desensitize and deform the stretched area. Thus, if the labia are stretched too far too fast, the female loses sensitivity and a degree of sexual desire. In the male, an abbreviated stretching process causes scarring, which would detract from the desired sensual view of smooth, pink flesh.
Another unusual facet of the Bagandan culture was their relationship with neighboring villages. Whereas the history of Africa is replete with countless wars and battles among bordering African cultures, the Bagandas were for the most part peaceful. There was little motivation to expand their territory, but when attacked, they were noted for their most brutal retaliations.
But what particularly demotivated opposing warriors was the treatment of prisoners by the Baganda. The possibility of being captured by the Baganda made potential attackers very reluctant to engage in hostility, and eventually no opposing leader could muster the needed warriors to stage an attack. For it was well known that all prisoners were turned over to the Bagandan women, who, it was suggested by numerous accounts, practiced their stretching skills with zeal and without mercy. Also over the years, the younger women were trained by their elders to have a complete disdain for non-Bagandan males, which became ingrained into their psyche. Nineteenth century explorers who when encountering the tribal village deep in the African jungle, observed captured natives being treated as beasts of burden by the Bagandan women, pulling carts and plows, with various anatomical parts modified not only for amusement, but to facilitate restraint.
So the late Baroness Esterhoven learned of the tribe and hired them...en mass. And I have been amazed with their talents and the zeal with which they use such.
Luana is fourth generation. A diminutive girl in her late teens, she has been trained since childhood to handle naked subordinate males...first having them work the fields, helping her mother guide the plows pulled by sweating, well whipped human beasts, and later working in the stables...watering, washing and tacking the various pony boys. With one of Lady Constance’s rules being that feminine assistance is required for all bladder relief, there is probably not a penis on the Island that Luana has not handled. I smile with the thought of such a young girl being so well trained and acclimated to manipulating naked males and handling with impunity the most intimate parts of their anatomy.
As my watchful eye tracks the gauges and computer screen monitoring Mr. Dalton’s scanning I think...yes, Mr. Dalton will find his stay to be most challenging. He will leave here quite modified...mentally and physically.
“Contact Luana, Naomi. Tell her that her charge will be ready in an hour. I suspect she’ll enjoy greeting him while he’s still erect.”
Naomi giggles girlishly. Our thoughts are in parallel. The thirty-ish Mr. Dalton will be quite embarrassed in being presented to his teenaged handler in such a forcibly aroused state.
Chapter Seven
Mrs. Dalton
I arise Thursday morning with no intention of going to the office. The hours of plunging the huge phallus into Ted’s backside has tired me. The orgasms were countless.
I finally drag myself out of bed and while making coffee retrieve the newspaper. Propped against the apartment door is a package, evidently forwarded by the doorman. A simple return address rubber stamped on the upper left corner indicates it is from the ASBM, the acronym for the American Society for Behavior Modification. There are no other markings except my name.
The newspaper can wait. I sit at the kitchen table and open the plainly wrapped package. It has been hand delivered and is intriguing in its relative anonymity.
I sip my coffee and inspect.
Inside is a catalogue accompanied by a cover letter and a three page form to be completed. Normally one would find such paperwork to be burdensome. But as I randomly open the catalogue, I know the collection of photos, diagrams, and the form itself will have my attention for most of the morning.
The ASBM wishes to learn in the most exquisitely imaginable detail how I would like Ted modified. The catalogue contains a description of every conceivable manner of piercing, most with photos. There is a section covering the subject of hair removal...permanent? and if so what areas? Done chemically, by electrolysis or both...with a narrative on the merits of both.
It is suggested that certain appendages can be altered to better suit the needs of the Dominant female. It seems the Island’s medical staff, headed by this Dr. Reinhold, has pioneered many different procedures to make the male anatomy more suitable for a woman’s needs.
There is a section concerning restraints. Because Ted’s measurements have been scanned into a computer, the ASBM can arrange to have any number of wrist cuffs, ankle cuffs, neck collars, waist belts made that will fit precisely. Photos include such items made of leather, nylon, steel, etc. A full body harness is offered for suspension. The photos of naked males helplessly dangling from simple cords and ropes are arousing.
I wonder if a hook could be set into my bedroom ceiling?
There are hundreds of custom crafted ‘toys’ which the ingenious computer controlled machines of Constancia Island can produce. One set of items offers a curious level of control...rubber gags. Ball gags really, except in place of a ball is a lump of rubber molded to precisely cover the teeth and fill the mouth of the wearer. A circular passageway through the middle allows for the flow of air, but otherwise the wearer’s mouth is deliciously filled and immobilized. The set is comprised of three...introductory...modest...severe. The difference amongst the three being how far open the jaw is held. I feel a twinge gazing at the photo of a subordinate male wearing the severe model. Tears roll down his cheeks as the gag obviously forces open his mouth to the point of painfully straining the jaw muscles. Beneath the photo is the caption...‘You won’t even hear him hum’.
The tattooing I find interesting but not conducive to my needs. There are dozens of photos of naked submissive males permanently colored to resemble every imaginable animal...dogs, cats, birds. I will need Ted to accompany me to various functions, however. A husband, no matter how subservient, would not make the right impression at the annual Bar association dinner if tattooed to resemble a kitten.
Though the thought does bring a smile.
A clever warning in bold type introduces the next section. ‘Prostatic stimulation is imperative for the chaste male’. The following diagrams and pictures of anal insertions show endless shapes and sizes. All come with an ASBM guaranty that the well-hidden male gland will be properly manipulated by the recipient.
Then comes a section, which shocks. Physical alteration. Constancia is a sovereign country. There are no rules concerning medical practices there. With a stroke of my pen Ted will be returned to me more female than male...or perhaps without that useless strip of male flesh he so pleadingly suggests needs more of my attention. And all performed with the level of anesthesia mandated by the Dominant female partner. However horrid, it is tantalizingly permanent and gives rise to thoughts of such power...
Following is a discussion of the potential psychological transformations. This Dr. Corrothers is rather accomplished in her field and I never fully understood the long-term effects of neuroleptic drugs such as T
horazine. Depending on the level and longevity of the dosages, I can have Ted transmogrified into a walking vegetable with no other desire or urge than to please me...and of course how that is defined is for me to elucidate on the enclosed three page form. A sissy maid perhaps? Preferring high heels and stockings to mundane shoes and trousers. Perhaps an accomplished cunnilinguist, whose only sexual release comes in orally bringing about mine. A more masculine man servant, providing nightly massages with no regard to his own gratification.
The discussion on utilizing the subordinate male as a beast of burden offers a fascinatingly graphic image of the potential power exchange. Pictures taken on Constancia Island provide a montage of Dominant bliss, with well exercised, well whipped, naked and harnessed pony boys sweating in the tropical heat. It’s interesting to note the paucity of clothing that the females wear on the island, the forcibly chaste males offering no threat of sexual provocation.
Memories of my aunt’s farm in upstate New York flash into my mind. Since I inherited it, I only visited once...and that was before Ted.
Hmm. I do enjoy the physical elements of Dominance as much as the psychological....
My head swims with the possibilities. Why did I not do this before?
So with a second cup of coffee I retrieve a pen and let my imagination wander. How do I wish to manifest my Dominance?
It will be a challenging morning.
Chapter Eight
Ted Dalton
Following the doctor’s instructions is easy. Whatever drug has been injected robs me of all desire to move. But the syringe used on my penis is another story. ‘Little Ted’ feels as if he will explode! I have never had such a sensation of fullness and been so aware of my organ. It feels as if I am all penis!
The Constancia Compendium Page 33