The Constancia Compendium

by Chris Bellows

  “Makes one feel rather subjugated, does it not, Mr. Dalton? As you’ve probably guessed the piercing is not through the skin as with an opening intended for some trivial piece of jewelry. No, it’s rather more severe than that.”

  The gloved hand twists the four inch shaft. I wince.

  “I thrust it rather firmly through the cartilage. Very unlikely to be torn away.”

  Naomi pulls at the ends of the ‘nose bridle’. It parts in the middle where it tapers to a strand.

  “Think you realize now where this will go,” Naomi suggests.

  Yes, I do. And I cringe with the thought.

  After a few moments wait, Nurse Naomi’s left hand again grips my hair. Dr. Reinhold takes one piece of the nose bridle and holds it while retracting the needle.

  “Over time you will become accustomed to wearing this. But I don’t think anyone ever is able to resist the control it imbues. You will find yourself responding to the slightest of Luana’s tugs, Mr. Dalton. That’s how we like it here on Constancia Island. Very obedient boys eager to please.”

  While Dr. Reinhold lectures, Naomi works her half of the bridle. The two inch vertical shaft is inserted right up my left nostril. It pressures the uppermost region of my nose yet she keeps pushing. I try to wriggle my head and turn my neck. I cannot. Finally I feel a little pop. My eyes instantly water. Tears roll down my cheeks. The little steel ball on the end has been shoved into my sinus cavity. The pain is indescribable and my eyes water uncontrollably.

  “One more,” Nurse Naomi declares with an irritating giggle.

  I cannot bear the pain...but I will. I have no choice. The adjoining half of the bridle is pushed into my right nostril. Her fingers work. She is relentless. A second pop comes. My eyes are still watering from the first. It feels as though my head will explode. I suck air...deeply... through my mouth. My nose is rendered useless for all functions except for that of a handle.

  Nurse Naomi works the tapered portion of the shaft through the new opening in my septum. Dr. Reinhold holds up the welding device. With a bright spark and a flash of searing heat, the two parts are reconnected...permanently.

  “The nose bridle is shaped based on the scan of your head, Mr. Dalton. As you’ve probably noticed it fits exactly, except as you felt, the little steel balls inserted into your sinus cavity are deliberately made just a little oversized. I assure you the insertions are there to stay.”

  In my peripheral vision I can see the looped ends jutting out to the left and right just below my cheekbones. I have grown a metal handle bar mustache. The bridle moves with the slightest motion of my head. The six inch piece of steel and I are one and the same. It indeed is perfectly formed.

  Miss Luana looks most proud.

  “When can he begin work?” she inquires of the doctor.

  “He needs to heal and we also have to regulate his Thorazine level. So we’ll keep him in suspension for a couple of days. But you can walk him a bit. He’ll need to acclimate himself to the injections and his new trinkets.”

  Miss Luana reaches up. Her slim brown hand takes the end of my nose bridle between thumb and forefinger. She jostles it. Jolts of pain shoot through my nose and face. I try to move my head to alleviate the agony. I cannot though I try to closely move in response to the motion of her fingers. She acknowledges my efforts with a smile.

  “I think he will be most obedient.

  “Will my saddle attachment be ready?”

  “The milling machine is fabricating it now, Luana,” the nameless nurse replies. “There will be ample time for trial and adjustment.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Luana

  For the following two days I arrive at the medical building early to visit my new subordinate male beast. As I have been taught since a little girl, the care and feeding of the submissive male requires punctiliousness. So each morning I arrive at the exact same time and Mr. Dalton awakes to the feel of my probing fingers pushing back on his foreskin and holding a beaker so he can relieve himself. Still hanging in suspension he has learned quickly that he will only urinate when he feels the soft hand of a Dominant female holding his organ. Our first try took several minutes, but he’s learning. All part of the program of discipline and obedience...controlling the most intimate of functions is essential.

  While he is still blindfolded I spoon feed him. He feels like a child and he should…that’s intentional. Dr. Corrothers designed the program for rapid immersion into the world of Dominance. Ted’s little remaining pride is plunging nicely.

  After feeding I attach cords to his nose bridle then release his ankles and, after allowing a few moments to establish his balance, his thigh straps. I allow him to stand and acclimate himself. Dr. Reinhold has kept him in suspension for the period of healing which is normal. It is amazing to see how quickly the submissive male can learn to sleep in such a position.

  On the first day I led him about the medical building blindfolded. The feeling of helplessness cannot be adequately described, yet he became nicely erect for me. That’s good. In his mind being walked about bound and naked at the end of a leash is an arousing activity. The laughter of various observing nurses seems to cause him to blush…which is also good. That indicates that the Thorazine is not so strong as to override certain essential emotions. Yet the dosage is adequate to keep him mentally docile.

  The nose bridle provides for an unsurpassed level of control as expected. The slightest motion of my hand causes an instantaneous reaction...one that can only be described as immediate compliance.

  On the second day, after bladder relief and feeding, I walked him without the blindfold. He followed the leash and, despite the agony of an occasion firm pull, he seemed mesmerized by the sight of my naked buttocks...which brought his penis to full blossom. With his hands remaining cuffed behind his back, watching was all he could do and of course the masturbation mittens were still worn. I was tempted to free his wrists just to observe the frustration when he found that touching any intimate areas would be very irritating.

  On the third day I saddle him. It’s not the standard means of conveyance at Constancia Island. Though many of the young girls ride on the backs of the males while such are plowing or pulling on ox cart, normally the adult women prefer a pony cart or chariot such as that used by Lady Constance.

  However, I have the advantage of being small and my one hundred pounds can easily be carried. If not, I’ll just initiate a program of exercise until it can. Besides, it is essential in working the salt flats. The wet effluent is impassable for cart and chariot wheels. And the dry salt can be as difficult for pulling a wheeled vehicle as on the fine sand of the beach.

  So while Mr. Dalton stands with his neck collar and thighs straps still attached to the wheeled suspension frame, I buckle around his waist a broad fur lined leather belt with a little seat for me just above his buttocks. The drug keeps him quite receptive to the feminine touch and he docilely stands while my fingers work and test for proper fit.

  Then comes the attachment. Cleverly designed and once again computer milled for perfection, the curved cylinder of smooth steel hooks onto the bottom of the saddle. I lubricate the bulbous tip and introduce it to Mr. Dalton’s rectum. ‘Hello prostate gland,’ I think to myself.

  He has been chaste for three days and I have ‘rutted’ him with my naked form. As I gently slide in the custom designed anal probe his penis springs to life. Rising with an amusing steadiness and blossoming to a full stand, it so epitomizes a woman’s Dominance and so exemplifies the weakness of the male. We understand the process of tumescence so much better than the average male.

  I cannot help but laugh. The bulbous tip of the attachment has been crafted only for Mr. Dalton’s anatomy. As Dr. Reinhold phrases it...‘we achieve a bull’s eye on the prostate gland every time’. With the aid of magnetic imaging the shape of the insertion cannot be off the mark.

  He squirms a bit while I slip a cord through the loops on the nose bridle. Then I release from the frame his thigh
bands and the back of his neck collar. When I remove the blindfold he sheepishly tries to look downward, the high neck collar remaining in place. He knows he is fully erect but cannot fully see his penis.

  “You’re standing very nicely for me, Ted...I like that.”

  I gently brush my hand over his penis to demonstrate. He stirs with the thrill of my touch. He is beginning to understand that it is mine to control...not his.

  I pull on my leash. He dutifully steps from the frame and follows. As I turn to walk I know that my randy male enjoys looking at my naked backside, wondering if he will ever get closer to my charms. ‘In time, Ted,’ I murmur out of hearing range. ‘The process is arduous but you’ll soon have the proximity you desire.’

  On occasion I pause and tenderly toy with his nipples. The badges have added a wondrous level of sensitivity there, bringing new feeling to a pair of often overlooked male erogenous zones. And they’re very nicely plumped and prominent just like those of a girl entering puberty.

  On the third day I also switch the cords after two laps around the building. The eyelets on the testicle rings are put to use. Though tension there does not send as forceful a message as tugging on the nose bridle, pulling a male around by his balls is an acceptable form of communication...Dominant female to submissive male. And the nurses find it amusing.

  By day four Dr. Reinhold deems him ready. Henceforth he’ll be counseled after morning ablutions then spend afternoons with me in the salt flats. His evenings...well if there is to be recreation, Mrs. Dalton will decide upon that.

  Chapter Twelve

  Ted Dalton

  Well, it’s nice to be out of suspension...I think.

  Miss Luana announces my ‘progress’ as I empty my bladder for her. Assuming that she has walked me daily, this is the fourth day since being pierced. Being hooded and suspended there is no other way to track time. Unless of course it’s by way of the syringe callously stuck into my buttocks. An unseen nurse has continued the Thorazine and perhaps it is my imagination but the injections seem to come more often and quicker. One could conclude I am getting a smaller dosage more frequently but I have no way of knowing. It is getting easier for me to move about and I find myself peculiarly eager when I hear Miss Luana’s voice. I know she will release me from the boring hell of confinement and for that alone I am grateful and eager to please her.

  Then there is the strange reaction of my penis. It has basically remained untouched since I was taken from New York, except for measurement, inspection and excretions. And I suppose that despite the drug and my ignominious treatment my hormone level is building, for when Miss Luana leads me about I slowly become erect...like I want to show off for her...offer her a glimpse of my male pride. And yesterday when she placed the belt around my waist and then attached that penetrating probe, my erection popped up like a jack-in-the-box. Yet, for a girl in her teens she seems rather unimpressed by it. She’s just content to lead me about with the cord...establishing her authority and control. And with the Thorazine I seem so willing to accept it.

  “I’m going to walk you a bit and then ride you. Do not panic. We’re very good at this on Constancia Island. Pony boys are never injured if they react properly to the commands.”

  Today a shorter cord is connected to the nose bridle. Each end is tied through the loops, left and right, and when Miss Luana releases it, it dangles just below my nipples.

  She attaches the broad leather belt...her ‘saddle’ she terms it. Then I feel her fingers work to guide the attachment into my rectum. My penis, already stiffening in her commanding presence, again springs to life. The bulbous tip of the attachment seems to perfectly pressure my prostate gland.

  “Yes, give me a nice stand today. I’m taking you to the clinic to meet Dr. Corrothers. She likes men with proud erections.”

  I feel an unexplained warmth in knowing that I have pleased her, and that this Dr. Corrothers will find interest in my engorged manhood.

  For the first time, short elastic cords are tied to the eyelet on each testicle ring. Then Miss Luana steps back, surveys her handiwork and approaches. She grasps the testicle cords.

  “Come,” she gently announces with a slight tug. Her command is superfluous. She has my balls leashed.

  Into the hallway I have traversed for the past three mornings, but this time she leads me toward a door. On a coat rack, a seemingly incongruous piece of furniture in the tropics, hang a half dozen short riding crops. She quickly grabs one with a decorative letter ‘L’ engraved on the handle. Then she pulls firmly and for the first time I step out into the air and sunshine of this most sui generis island.

  The lush greenery is expected. The air is pleasantly warm, explaining Miss Luana’s continuous state of undress. The sun beams and I can hear distance sounds of the ocean. Yet my attention is completely distracted by the collection of wheeled vehicles parked in a dirt covered cul-de-sac in front of the entrance. There are carts and wheeled devices resembling chariots. But what captures the eye is the sight of naked males humbling kneeling blindfolded between the shafts of each.

  I pause in awe and feel strong tension on my testicles. Then for the first time I understand the function of the meticulously crafted badges surrounding my nipples. With the quickest and most casual of flicks of her wrist, Miss Luana snaps the crop across my left nipple. The pink nub is perfectly positioned for her excoriating stroke, puffed and protruding due to Dr. Reinhold’s brief ‘surgery’. The pain rapidly shoots to my cortex. Intense. Burning. So modest a stroke. So effective in gaining my attention.

  “Come,” my rider admonishes me. And despite my curiosity I obey...to the letter. I do not wish to feel another stroke and obligingly move my feet to follow her guiding hand.

  My eyes find solace in watching her fine form as we continue down the path. It feels good to move. The soil is quite receptive to naked feet. Soft yet firm and very consistent. Obviously arranged for the island’s ponies, for to the left and right of our path is coral...hard...sharp...ready to scrap and cut human skin with the slightest contact.

  “If you so much enjoy our pony boys, I’ll take you to the stable some morning.”

  Miss Luana’s voice is ominous. For some reason I don’t think I would enjoy visiting the stable.

  “Pony boys are worked hard here on the Island. So when not being run they’re blindfolded and permitted to rest.”

  I suppose she assumed I was curious about the blindfolds, not the fact that huge naked men were harnessed like animals.

  The short path leads into another. To the left the converging path runs downhill. With the sound of waves and a view of white sand framed by trees and shrubbery arching over the way, I assume it leads to the ocean. She pulls to the right. Uphill. I follow. I have no choice.

  “You’ll also be worked hard here. It’s part of the process...mental and physical capitulation. We will completely break your spirit...then restore it...altered. That’s what we do here.”

  I remain silent. I have no motivation to speak. It’s the drug. I seem to know it but do not fully understand its effect. Miss Luana does. She doesn’t seem to expect a reply nor does she insist on one.

  Our climb ends after a few hundred yards. The path again ends by converging into another. Miss Luana pulls me to the side and stops. This wider path runs to the right and the left through thick greenery. The numerous foot prints and wheel tracks suggest it is well used.

  She releases my wrists. Other than for brief periods permitted for stretching, they have been secured behind my back for days. I feel a rush of gratefulness.

  “Let’s see how you do. Steady now. If you become skittish and move you could injure yourself. Bend at your knees.”

  I lower myself and my athletic little handler lifts her foot, uses the top of my bent left knee and thigh as a step and then swings herself up and over me onto the saddle strapped about my waist. Her motion is swift, effortless and practiced. I have been mounted...like a beast. And though there is noticeable weight, she is straddled
and well balanced over my hips, buttocks and thighs...the largest muscles in the human body. I find the burden somewhat acceptable.

  “Hold still.”

  She leans forward. I am thrilled to feel the warmth of her breasts on my shoulders. My penis stirs and she must notice for she lowers her hands and works to regrip the testicle cords.

  “One moment...” she purrs in my ear so closely that I feel her breath.

  I had not before seen the slim bands of metal encircling her ankles. The utility of the plain strips becomes evident when she attaches the testicle cords...one to her right ankle...one to her left ankle. Then she reaches, takes the cord, which has been dangling from my nose bridle, and pulls it up and over my head.

  “Do you feel well bound and controlled, Mr. Dalton?”

  With her question she simultaneously parts her feet to tension the testicle cords and also pulls on the nose bridle forcing a jolt of pain to shoot through my head...never mind that she’s stretching my scrotum. With all the agony, I do not answer. Again, she does not seem to expect a reply.

  “Yes, I think you do. And if you get a little feisty, there is also the crop.”

  She demonstrates with a mere tap of the leather strip…this time to my right nipple. My senses are overwhelmed with a flood of nerve endings being chastised...nipples, nose and testicles. Yet...I feel my penis harden. Her weight on the saddle forces the metal attachment further into my backside. While she casually rides the devilishly curved dildo will thoroughly ream my rectum.