And to lie helplessly while the two women peer at me with such looks of sang froid should be disconcerting. I am reminded of a steer at the slaughterhouse. Yet, I am oddly comfortable...the drug!
The humming of the machine, looming over me as if it will devour, finally stops and this middle aged dour woman, the doctor, turns to the black nurse.
“Put him in suspension for the nipple piercings, Naomi. I doubt if he will make trouble but there is no point in taking chances.”
The doctor leaves and this ‘Naomi’, dressed in the white uniform of a nurse, begins to assemble various straps and restraints. Over my two years of marriage I have certainly come to recognize bondage paraphernalia...Mrs. Dalton making the acquisition of such one of the main goals of her Friday evening shopping sprees. But this stuff is much more clinical...none of the black leather, which so is symbolic of BDSM interplay. Instead she assembles various lengths of thick beige nylon with velcro stitched onto numerous useful places for speed and ease when restraining a ‘patient’.
Naomi begins by encircling my neck with a high and stiff collar. Mrs. Dalton termed such items posture collars because the wearer is so forced to display appropriate posture. It positions my chin well off my chest and is notched at the chin, making it impossible to turn my head. As stated, simple velcro straps ensure it remains in place.
Next are wrist cuffs. Lined with thick cloth and foam, they are quite comfortable. Velcro again permits ease of use and it becomes evident, as broad straps are placed around my thighs, that Naomi has done this often. She is courteous in lifting and moving the requisite limbs but also quite firm. There is no way of slipping my wrists out from the cuffs after Naomi has pulled and folded over the securing straps. Ankle cuffs complete the ensemble. I am snugly strapped.
“Up we go, Mr. Dalton. You’ll feel a little clumsy at first. The Thorazine has that effect. But over time you will become accustomed to it...physically.”
I am amazed when she grasps my scrotum and uses it to guide me. She is polite, professional and most experienced in donning the restraints yet grabs my organs with such aggressiveness! Any thought of resistance quickly fades. I may be able to pull away from her, but with a heavy price.
I stand on wobbly feet.
“You’re nicely erect. I know you can’t see it, but Dr. Reinhold has you standing like a randy teenager. Can you feel it?” she inquires with a girlish giggle.
The neck collar has indeed precluded me from looking downward. Yet I can feel the incredible shaft swing about as I stand. The engorged head is heavy. It is as if someone has attached weights to my penis! In my lower peripheral vision I can see the purple tip jutting forth.
So I nod and Naomi smiles.
“It’s cute. Can you waggle it for me...like a good boy?”
Normally I would find such a request from an unknown nurse to be offensive. I would protest, perhaps be verbally abusive...but instead I waggle...like a good boy. She smiles.
“We see so many here...and all so proud.”
It’s the drug! I comply with her most obnoxious request so readily.
Naomi draws my wrists behind my back and attaches them together. Another velcro strap? I have no way of knowing but did not hear buckles and cannot feel metal.
Then she continues using my scrotum as a leash to walk me to the far side of the room.
“We handle many males here Mr. Dalton. Most are younger and stronger than you. And they all comply with our wishes. Some sooner and easier than others...but they all become obedient. So make it easy on yourself. I’m going to suspend you. It will look severe and scary but we’ve found it is best. We’ll need complete control. That’s what it’s all about here. Control. We demand it, you will learn to most humbly offer it.”
As she speaks she leads me to an odd contraption. It is an assemblage of metal pipes...on wheels. On a sturdy rectangular base a vertical pipe rises to a height of some six feet. At the top a horizontal pipe stretches to the right and left forming a large ‘T’. Various hooks have been welded to the metal. Straps dangle from hooks to the extreme right and left of the ends of the horizontal pipe.
“Okay, Mr. Dalton. Step into the square, turn and face me like a good boy. This will be quick and you’ll soon be most comfortable.”
Again, something is telling me to obey. I am being led about naked and restrained by this authoritative black nurse and unwittingly doing my best to please her!
My feet step into the square of piping mounted on wheels. I turn. The dangling straps are deftly hooked to the broad swaths of cloth encircling my thighs. The back of my neck collar is hooked to the vertical pipe. She adjusts, smiles then leans and lifts my right foot, bending my leg back to clip the ankle cuff to the vertical pipe behind me. My left foot quickly follows. I am suspended in air two or three feet off the ground in a kneeling position. Most of my weight is supported by the thigh straps...some on my ankles...a little on my neck collar. With my hips forced forward, my erection feels as if it will touch the far wall. Nurse Naomi steps back with a look of smugness. She is most accomplished in suspending the naked male. The whole procedure took seconds and she required no assistance other than to have me stand in the proper place.
“Comfortable?” she inquires with an irritatingly smooth voice. She gently pats my free-swinging testicles.
I want to verbally lash out, yet I nod as best I can. It’s odd that I curse the drug yet am so compliant. And I am comfortable. The restraints are well designed. She spends a moment adjusting. The straps tighten and my thighs separate even further. I am so exposed and my penis so much seems to enjoy showing itself.
“When you’re flaccid and need to urinate. Let me know.”
Nurse Naomi presses a lever with her foot. This releases the wheels. She moves behind me and pushes. My male pride, whatever is left, sinks. Naked and thoroughly restrained I am going to be pushed about by a woman...with my erection sticking out like a sword. Where is she taking me?
Out into a hallway Naomi pushes to the sound of squeaking wheels below. I feel like a child in a shopping cart. Naomi offers soft words of encouragement concerning my forthcoming ‘ordeal’. I am not sure to what it is she is referring but the drug, this Thorazine, seems to deny me any sense of curiosity or level of care. Mentally I do not wish to resist, yet deep within there is a male pride that suggests I protest...yell...curse. Yet, I do nothing.
We pass other nurses...both young with white uniforms notably contrasting their dark complexions. They stifle giggles in seeing my nakedness and incredibly stiff erection. I feel some degree of embarrassment though it is much tempered by the drug. Naomi seems to command their respect. She is obviously of rank at this facility.
I am wheeled down a ramp into a windowless basement. It is dark. Dreary. Ominous. I should be concerned. It is a dungeon yet there are no cell bars or torture apparatus, just large boxes. In reading certain labeling I see the word ‘emergency’ stenciled on several cartons.
“This part of the basement is for shelter during severe storms and hurricanes,” explains Nurse Naomi, anticipating my curiosity, however much diminished.
We approach a large set of double doors. Nurse Naomi gracefully turns and swings about my ‘shopping cart’. She pulls me backwards through the hinged doors using her backside to push them open. Shockingly bright lights momentarily illuminate the dark chamber we have passed through then the doors swing closed as I am pulled into the well illuminated room.
Dr. Emily Reinhold awaits my naked well-restrained form. She is masked, enwrapped in white surgical garb and wearing latex gloves. When I spy a tray of sharp instruments, I shudder. The level of my concern is such that it overrides the effect of this Thorazine drug. Perhaps I should suggest another injection.
“I’m afraid Lady Constance does not permit anesthesia for minor procedures, Mr. Dalton. She believes that the male’s introduction to our facility should be memorable and therefore most cathartic.”
Chapter Nine
Luana
My first male! I receive word and rush to the Island’s medical building. It’s my turn to become a handler of submissive Caucasian males. I have assisted my mother for years in the vegetable fields and fruit orchards, learning the male anatomy and all the techniques to ensure obedience. Now I will be in charge and Lady Constance has given me responsibility for the Island’s newest product...salt...from the sea. We will harvest it for export and sale. Though there is little need for more cash in Lady Constance’s coffers, it is a deliciously Dominant vision to have our naked charges working under the hot sun to produce pennies worth of the world’s most abundant commodity.
Sumani, the stable mistress, has loaned me a pony boy and cart and I find my whip hand flicking away despite the good pace of my human steed. I am excited and my enthusiasm is exhibited by way of crisp strokes to nipples and penis. He’s well trained and immediately converts his anguish to renewed vigor in pulling. The formidable medical building comes into view. I reach for the strands of leather tethering the scrotum and pull. My pony knows to stop near the entrance. I tie the reins to the cartwheel and dash into the building. A nurse points to the basement operating room. Dr. Reinhold is preparing this ‘Ted Dalton’ and I want to watch.
As my bare feet scamper down the ramp I hear an exquisite cry. I push open the double doors to see that Dr. Reinhold has just thrust a long needle through the right nipple of my charge. He hangs so helplessly in suspension and despite the pain can barely move.
Naomi stands nearby to assist and she signals me to watch from afar. I suppose there is concern of infection and a desire to keep the area antiseptically clean.
A second needle is casually pushed through the left nipple. Mr. Dalton yelps again and perspires noticeably. It is painful. Even at my age of 18 I have witnessed many. All males on Constancia wear nipple badges. That’s mandatory. And unlike the superficial piercings required for jewelry, such as nipple rings, the openings for the badges are deep, set well beneath the areolas under many layers of epidermis. I have never seen a nipple badge accidentally removed and would not enjoy seeing the damage to the flesh if torn away.
Dr. Reinhold twists both needles to ensure a good opening. Then she slides out the right needle and quickly inserts a thin but heat tempered metal bar. Naomi hands her a newly crafted badge. It is star shaped with a precise hole, which will serve to display the pink nipple, plumping it and making it deliciously exposed. The scan of Mr. Dalton’s body provided the exact dimensions for the computer controlled milling machine. The badge is custom made and perfect.
Dr. Reinhold picks up a small welding device. There is a spark and then another as the badge is sealed to the metal bar penetrating well beneath the nipple. Mr. Dalton will soon be feeling sensations he has never before experienced.
The left nipple is likewise adorned. Dr. Reinhold has done so many. It only takes a couple of minutes though the level of pain is enormous.
Mr. Dalton is fortunate in that the badges will be removed when he leaves. For many of the males on Constancia Island, the ingeniously humbling ornaments are permanent...worn for life.
A nurse enters, hands Naomi a plastic bag then retreats. Within are the testicle rings. The milling machine has just produced a pair of circular stainless bands each with a convenient eyelet. With considerable prodding from Dr. Reinhold, each will be slipped over a gonad and serve to nicely separate Mr. Dalton’s reproductive organs within the scrotal sac. Use of the eyelets is only limited by the Dominant female’s imagination. But psychologically it greatly enhances the feeling of submission, the male constantly feeling the pressure, however tolerable, of the ingeniously crafted controlling circles of steel.
On pony boys, the ringed and tethered scrotum is used as an extra element of restraint should reins and whip fail. There is nothing more effective than a strong tug on the scrotum to convince a pony who it is that’s in control.
So Naomi’s gloved hands remove the rings from the plastic bag and offer one to Dr. Reinhold. She begins to jiggle the testicles within the sac and quickly isolates the left egg. The male reproductive organs are not perfectly round...more oblong in shape. Therefore Dr. Reinhold endeavors to align the egg so that the ring can be slipped, more like shoved actually, over the narrowest circumference. She pushes and twists. Mr. Dalton grimaces. It will feel tight but the scanning never fails. The testicle rings will fit firmly, providing ultimate control and minimal interference to circulation and function. The inside diameter is serrated, finely milled by the computer, controlled machine, making it nearly impossible for the ring to slide in the opposite direction. For removal it will have to be cut.
The right egg is then ringed and Dr. Reinhold steps back. Naomi nods to me and I approach. My first subordinate male! He hangs so delightfully helpless and erect. He’s like a nicely wrapped birthday gift.
The rings serve to separate the testicles within the sac, as noted. Thus Mr. Dalton’s genitals are shaped like a large letter ‘W’ with the rings isolating and forcing his gonads slightly out to the sides instead of together idly hanging downward. His erection is subsiding somewhat. I know that Dr. Reinhold injected nitric oxide and thereafter his own body, in reacting to the terror, to the pain and being handled by women, served to keep the cascade of internally developed chemicals pouring into the vessels of his penis.
I approximate his size at eight plus inches...not bad by Island standards but not nearly enough to serve in Lady Constance’s stables. Pony boy’s have the biggest organs. Our benefactress insists that the Island’s human steeds display proud erections when pulling in harness. Her team is the largest, of course. And even the pony boy who delivered me to the medical building, a mere work pony, is well over nine inches.
So I approach and introduce myself. Mr. Dalton is confused, hanging naked and well secured before a gaggle of women. And as with all of us Bagandan women who work outdoors on Constancia Island, my attire is very brief. My only garment is a loose square of cloth that drapes over my pudendum from a simple string tied about my waist. At five foot and one hundred pounds I am small but think of myself as diminutively curvaceous. My mammary glands are firm and the daily regimen of working the male beasts in the fields has provided me with a trim athletic look. I am told my buttocks are perfectly rounded. So despite the Thorazine, Mr. Dalton gapes at me. His eyes lower to my breasts. A typical male, he’ll soon learn obedience and will be putting aside all lustful thoughts when I work him in the salt flats.
Naomi retrieves chastity mittens from a supply cabinet. She knows the correct size and selects a pair embedded with hundreds of gnarled lengths of prickly nylon filament. When worn and locked in place Mr. Dalton will not be playing with himself. The thorny material will abrade sensitive pink skin. Mr. Dalton will have use of his hands but not for masturbation.
Connecting straps secured by two tiny padlocks hold the mittens in place. Naomi hands me the key as the nurse returns with another plastic bag. Inside, just out of the milling machine is the final touch...a specially designed nose restraint. Unlike the pony boys, I’ll want particularly close control of Mr. Dalton. When I guide him about the salt flats, I will be riding on his bare back.
I cannot wait. My nipples crinkle with the anticipation.
Chapter Ten
Ted Dalton
First the intense pain of long and sharp needles. This Dr. Reinhold thrust the wicked shards through the very meat of my nipples without a blink of an eye, as if they were pincushions. Then came the heat of the welding device and the weight of these metal disks. The rings around my testicles can be felt. Not painful but snug just the same. The mittens are a curious touch. I can feel the surface scratch my buttocks.
But then this little minx approaches and gazes at me with a pride of ownership. And she has the nicest breasts. Firm and young, their perkiness embodies youth. The girl calls herself Luana...‘Miss Luana’ to me she carefully explains.
Her dark skin is evenly hued hinting at many hours of basking in the sun. There are no lines to indicate the wea
ring of attire. The teen must romp about daily sans clothing. She’s pretty. Her eyes are merry yet mischievous. She speaks without any accent and enunciates precisely, apparently aware that I have been injected with a drug and wishing to assure herself that she is understood.
“You’re going to work very hard for me,” she boastfully declares. And oddly I have no mental energy to protest or vocalize resistance.
She brazenly grasps my penis. It feels partially flaccid with much remaining firmness. She skins back my prepuce with a surprisingly knowledgeable touch. Still, her warm hand is welcomed. Despite her youth I feel strangely comfortable in her presence. The Thorazine produces the oddest reactions.
The other nurse enters as my penis resumes stiffening under the touch of this Miss Luana. The uniformed girl smiles at the sight of a feminine hand caressing my manhood. She hands Nurse Naomi another plastic bag. With her last visit came the testicle rings. Now what?
This time the girl does not leave. The foursome of women smile wickedly and but for the Thorazine I believe I would shudder in fear. Nurse Naomi extracts an ominous six inch strip of rounded steel from the plastic bag. It is slightly more narrow than a pencil and each end has a loop the opening of which is large enough to accommodate a cord. In the middle it tapers to a mere strand, the gauge approximating that of the bar thrust through my nipples. There are a pair of shorter parallel shafts of steel, about two inches high, attached perpendicular to the strip and adjacent to the tapered area. The two short shafts end with smooth tiny steel balls welded to the top of each.
“Your nose bridle, Mr. Dalton. Young Luana insisted on it,” Nurse Naomi authoritatively announces.
I have no idea what it is...but I will soon find out.
I am disheartened to see Dr. Reinhold hold up another needle. The smile. So diabolical.
“This will hurt.”
Now a shudder does come. The needles through my nipples almost caused convulsions. I struggle in my bonds. It is futile. I just hang so vulnerably. Nurse Naomi reaches up, takes a fistful of hair and holds tightly. The doctor uses the bridge of my nose to steady her left hand. In the right is the needle. In a swift and well-practiced move the duo hold my head completely immobile while the needle is callously pushed through my septum. I scream. All hands are released. The needle remains. I hear laughter. The diabolical doctor has deftly worked the sharp length of steel through the very cartilage between my nostrils...not the soft flesh.
The Constancia Compendium Page 34