The utility of the mittens becomes apparent. I so much wish to stroke myself...
Chapter Thirteen
Luana
It is always a treat to mount a male for his first time. Forcing him to bear my weight, tensioning his reproductive organs with my feet, knowing that jostling the saddle deliciously pressures his prostate gland...all adds up to the ultimate in control for the Dominant female.
I pull on the left side of the nose reins, keeping the short crop in my right hand. Mr. Dalton instantly turns his head. I always like to see the panicked eyes roll in a combination of fear and disbelief. I lean and whisper in his ear.
“We’ll just walk for now. In time you’ll be trotting for me and be proud to do so.”
With my thighs wrapped around his waist, my calves and ankles touching the front of his thighs and my breasts pressed against his back, I can feel his warmth and all his muscles working for me.
“You’ll find better balance in holding your arms further out in front of you,” I suggest, the suspended male sometimes slow to realize that I have granted freedom to his long restrained hands.
With the suggested movement of his arms, he leans forward to position himself better. Eventually he will learn to carry me well bent at the waist like a sprinter leaving the starting blocks. All in time. This morning I will just enjoy the feeling of his body working under me...acclimating him to the numerous commands and the variety of ways I can control him and assuring, in his mind, that obedience is good.
I flick his left nipple with the crop.
“Giddup.”
He grimaces in pain but steps forward. Though somewhat shakily, it is the intent and not the overall performance that is important. He wants to please me...that’s paramount.
It’s another cloudless day in the Caribbean. The sun is not yet strong but within an hour its rays will be much more direct and radiant. Still it is delightfully warm and I cannot help reflecting on how enthralling life is on Constancia Island. The supply of miscreant males needing discipline is endless. It seems a woman’s work is indeed never done.
My steed’s motion is comforting. He strains a bit but I’ll have him well exercised in a few weeks, and nicely tanned. The clinic, a new building on the road up to the home of Lady Constance, is only one half mile away. Mr. Dalton can handle it.
We proceed for a few hundred yards and I decide to demonstrate that obedience has its rewards. I lean forward pressing my nipples into Mr. Dalton’s shoulder blades. With my crop hand I reach down and very gently fondle his erection with the smooth flat leather tip. His step falters, evidencing that the unexpected pleasure is received.
“Good boy,” I whisper in his ear, deliberately letting him feel the warmth of my breath while he also feels my hardened nipples on his back.
We arrive at the turnoff for the clinic. I pull on the left side of the nose bridle and with my left foot to assure he understands. I want to make all verbal commands superfluous. A good pony boy reacts to the slightest tugs on the bridle and does not anticipate or guess. He just obeys.
Mr. Dalton turns and we begin the slow climb. Estovia, Lady’s Constance’s ancestral home is perched well up the hill. The clinic is below that so my steed has less than a quarter mile left in his initial ordeal and he’s holding up well judging from the firmness of his erection.
In the distance I see the chariot of Lady Constance making the turn and approaching. I direct Mr. Dalton to the side. Our Queen enjoys speed and she is cropping her pair of pony boys without mercy in accelerating down the hill.
Her duo of pony boys are the largest on the Island.., in both height and length. And even as the white chariot approaches I can see the pair of massive erections preceding the entourage, despite the shiny metal penis bands. Lady Constance finds the tumefied male organ to be most symbolic of her authority. Her matched pair don’t move unless standing. I know from working in the stables that Sumani diddled them to full engorgement before Lady Constance left the house. And of course once she begins to wield crop and reins, the two steeds will remain erect for her for hours.
My benefactress sees me saddled on Mr. Dalton and pulls on the scrotal cords to stop her team. I likewise pull on the reins. My Lady wishes to speak.
“Good morning, Luana. A new acquisition. From the Society?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I reply with a smile of pride.
“Glad to see you’ve got your own male to handle. I am fascinated by the salt project. Please keep me informed.”
I nod.
I often wonder if my deep admiration for this woman of Dominance shows. Her athletically trim figure and beauty make her appear ageless. With her black hair drawn back in a pony tail for riding, her only attire is the briefest of bikini bottoms and even that small garment is known to be cast aside while on the beach or encouraging oral service from her ponies.
She peers at Mr. Dalton. Her eyes are adept at assessing male flesh and quickly scan his entire anatomy. Then she reaches down with her crop and brushes it against his erection.
“Adequate. Takes to the saddle well. What’s his regimen?”
“His mistress is seeking a completely servile house boy...with improved oral skills...and other modifications.”
I am deliberately vague and Lady Constance understands. Mr. Dalton is not to know that Mrs. Dalton faxed in her completed questionnaire, with an assortment of mental and physical alterations for her ‘spouse’…soon to be transformed into a most obsequious servant.
She knowingly changes the subject.
“Any more thoughts about college, Luana? I understand you’re reveling in your new position, but you know I insist on well-trained people. A degree in abnormal psychology perhaps? Dr. Corrothers could use assistance. We have an ample number of nurses. But how about physical therapy? You enjoy working the male anatomy. With more knowledgeable input perhaps we can improve our methods for adding brawn to the herd.”
Lady Constance is both generous and relentless in making sure all of her Bagandan constituents receive an opportunity for a life outside of Constancia Island. She pays all tuition, room and board with the promise for continued employment if a young woman wishes to afterwards return to the Island.
Meanwhile, the private schooling system on the Island is unsurpassed in bestowing Bagandan children with the best in basic education. Lady Constance has engaged a broad selection of teachers wishing to take early retirement by living on Constancia Island and tutoring part time. The sun...the beach...the pony boys...for what more could they ask.
College is offered as an introduction to the outside world. But in a tribute to the world of Female Dominance, just about all the girls return to utilize their degrees. As I feel Mr. Dalton’s warmth and his muscles strain beneath me...who would ever want to permanently leave?
“You know I donate heavily to the best universities, Luana. There are no barriers.”
My beautiful benefactress smiles in planting another seed for thought. Then she crisply snaps her crop abrading nipples right and left. Her team leans in harness and both left feet step forward simultaneously. They have been trained endlessly to perform in perfect unison. The white chariot speeds off. I likewise snap the crop. With an anguished grunt my saddled charge resumes his labors.
The clinic and Dr. Corrothers await.
Chapter Fourteen
Ted Dalton
So that is what Lady Constance looks like! She is amazingly beautiful, Dominant and aloof. And she displays her naked feminine form with such unabashed pride!
I felt so humiliated standing before her, ridden by a young black girl like some animal.
And to be erect for the entire conversation!
I am happy to feel Miss Luana’s crop and the tug on my reins. Being in Lady Constance’s presence is so humbling.
My legs are tiring when the low profile of a newly constructed building comes into view. I am glad it proves to be our destination. My legs are exhausted. I struggle with the few remaining steps.
Miss
Luana’s feet tug on my testicle rings and I feel a pull on the nose bridle. I have quickly learned that means stop...and gratefully I comply.
A huge black woman in a white uniform steps from the entrance. It seems we are expected. The cord to the nose bridle is shifted over my head and to the front. The nurse takes it and most firmly holds it up over my head forcing me to look up, a position which the diminutive Miss Luana cannot reach. It seems the nurse’s role is to hold me steady while my testicle cords are released from my rider’s ankles.
When I hear the command of ‘Down’ I know to bend. Just as my young Dominant rider used my knee to mount, she also uses it to dismount. While held most firmly by the nurse my wrists are again secured behind my back. The elastic cords are removed from the testicle rings.
“Your new home, Mr. Dalton,” my handler announces with mocking enthusiasm. She unbuckles the waist belt. My special anal probe retracts when young dark hands carefully remove my saddle.
“My name is Jasmine, Mr. Dalton. And you’ll have your very own room here,” suggests the nurse, joining in the sarcasm.
Both women laugh as the nurse uses the nose cord to guide me into the building. Despite the Thorazine I become scared when Miss Luana announces her departure. I have become accustomed to her firm controlling hands. I have come to know what to expect and how to please her.
Obviously I gingerly follow this Nurse Jasmine. She has the legs of a body builder and uses the nose leash without a hint of compassion, as if she doesn’t know her strength or the level of sensitivity caused by the deeply penetrating nose bridle. It feels as if it is clawing my brain. The slightest movement of her hand translates to instant pain...and she doesn’t care!
Naked, wrists bound, testicles ringed, nose bridled, the insouciant nurse pulls me past fully clothed, uniformed woman...the starched white of their attire in striking contrast to their black complexions. The similarity of their features hint at a common African descent. All smile…but with an irritating diabolism. I can do little but follow the nose bridle with my penis bobbing before me.
We descend a set of stairs and I am led into a windowless room. There is a cabinet in the near left corner. In the near right is a single chair. It is padded for comfort and the right arm expands to a flat surface, evidently to serve as a writing area for the occupant. Otherwise the room is empty. The flooring seems to absorb the pressure of my feet. It is comprised of a soft rubber material. Covering the structural surface of the walls are oddly shaped cloth covered objects. The room is designed to be sound proofed.
As Nurse Jasmine leads me to the center, I notice the walls and ceiling are also covered with hooks and eyelets. All are deeply set into the concrete with an eerie firmness and permanency, as if the hooks were in place and the structure built around them.
The puissant nurse instructs me to stand in the center of the room. My toes touch a metal grating on the floor. It is a drain.
“Stay,” she commands as if addressing a dog.
She strolls to the cabinet and selects a variety of paraphernalia. She returns. She holds a neck collar similar to the one shorn an hour before at the medical building, lengths of neatly rolled cord, two circular bands of steel, a blindfold.
She has me sit on the floor. “Legs straight out in front,” her monotonous voice beginning in reciting a list of instructions. I am reminded of the safety rules I recite by rote during flight.
She removes the cord on my nose bridle and proceeds to bind me with the same mechanical professionalism exhibited by Nurse Naomi. She is firm and exacting, tightening each cord to the maximum. I wonder if every woman on Constancia Island is proficient in restraining the male.
The Thorazine tells me to sit and comply. I do and when finished pay a price of discomfort for my cooperation.
The final image I have before the blindfold is slipped over my eyes is that of a smiling Nurse Jasmine. She has secured me with such enthusiasm, enjoying each and every grunt, groan and grimace, that in my mind her pleasant face turns to the mask of the devil.
“You’ll become accustomed to it,” she suggests. I suppose she feels she is being gracious in her prognostication. In darkness her fingers caress my plumped nipples. I feel her hand on my semi erect penis. She toys with my foreskin. I feel myself stiffen. She laughs softly and withdraws her fingers. I feel strangely disappointed when I hear the door close. I enjoyed her touch.
I begin to understand the functionality of the rubber floor. It is designed for extremely long-term bondage, the softness forestalling problems of cramping and circulation. The agony of my restraints grows so slowly it is difficult to determine whether in fact it is increasing.
My nose bridle has been tied to hooks in the ceiling holding my face skyward and completely immobile. My mittens, attached together behind my back, have also been clipped to a cord, stretching my arms toward the wall behind me and further than I could possibly push them on my own.
Nurse Jasmine encircled my ankles with the metal bands. “Your final trinkets from the milling machine,” she declared. Somehow the visually seamless metallic circles opened and when closed around my ankles fit perfectly, as with every other item of restraint. She used the modest ankle bands, a heavier gauge but similar to those worn by Miss Luana, to separate and tie my legs. I sit spread-eagled. Nurse Jasmine was very particular in forcing me to sit in an exaggerated ‘split’. For she wanted access to my scrotum and with particular zeal attached cords to my testicle rings. She coated my sac with a strange smelling cream and then proceeded to pull the right testicle ring to the right wall and the left testicle ring to the left wall.
She pulled and adjusted until I yelped in pain, testing the tautness with her fingers and seeming to know exactly the tolerable level of tension she could apply to create long-term pain with minimal damage to my organs.
When finished, I just sat facing the door...completely immobile. I could not move a finger, the neck collar more symbolic than functional. Even without it I could not move my head.
So I sit without sight. With the soundproofing the beating of my heart becomes apparent. And I wonder...is the elaborate soundproofing intended to keep noise out...or stifle the moans of the cruelly bound occupant within?
I think I have an erection but cannot be certain. I begin to marvel at the expertise used in binding me...just tight enough for the pain to slowly build...but not so tight that I will faint or black out from extreme agony.
The time passes and the practicality of the rubber floor becomes even more apparent. If I must relieve myself I will helplessly sit in my own excretions, like a child wetting the bed. At a later time the rubber is easily cleansed and will not absorb moisture.
I hear the door open. Rubber soled shoes pad almost noiselessly on the rubber covered floor. There is the froufrou caused by a crisp uniform. There is a pause. I feel momentary pressure on my left testicle cord. Someone brushed against it to approach my rear. I feel the wet coolness of an alcohol swab under my left hip at the top of my buttock...then a stab of pain. Another Thorazine injection. Fingers toy with my foreskin. Feminine fingers. I hear soft girlish laughter. I have indeed been erect. The unknown injectionist departs.
Time stands still. In the dark silence there is only the building pain.
Chapter Fifteen
Dr. Corrothers
The file of Ted Dalton sits on my desk. It contains some notes from the ASBM removal team, Dr. Reinhold, observations from Naomi, but mainly the faxed questionnaire completed by Mrs. Dalton. I also have her application in joining the American Society for Behavior Modification some five years ago.
I begin with her. A physically imposing yet handsome woman with a high pressure career as a litigator. Undergraduate of Bucknell. Law degree from Yale. Seems she enjoys tearing up her male counterparts in the courtroom. Yes. Very Dominant.
Then this Ted Dalton. A typical latent submissive. Excels in a position of service and seems to be a rather randy individual...caught in flagrante delicto with a professional dominatri
x...tsk, tsk.
‘Naughty boy, Ted,’ I think to myself. But it’s certainly the type of behavior we can alter and mold to the good.
Now for the questionnaire.
The goals of Mrs. Dalton are commonplace. Dedication, loyalty, complete subservience. But the physical alterations are on the extreme side. Slightly past what I would consider moderate. However, Nurse Jasmine and Dr. Reinhold are experienced and all will be done...over time. Modifying males is akin to making good wine.
I buzz the powerful nurse on the intercom.
“This new patient, Ted Dalton, Jasmine. I assume you’ve begun working his scrotum but his alteration also calls for extensive tongue modification. I’m going to see him in a few minutes to begin psych preparation. Afterwards it may be the best time to begin your oral efforts.”
She concurs. I will need to talk to Mr. Dalton. A tongue clamp makes that difficult.
I continue reading, organize my thoughts then leave the comfort of my spacious office.
In arriving at Mr. Dalton’s room I pause to read notes written by the duty nurse. A clipboard hanging on the door provides the time he was placed in bondage, the time and dosage of Thorazine injections, general observations. A well-concealed peephole above the clipboard permits constant monitoring. Though Mr. Dalton may feel isolated in his austere and soundless room, he is in fact routinely observed every 15 minutes. There are also the concealed microphones and video camera. Extreme bondage needs careful monitoring and that’s the only level of restraint we know of on Constancia Island.
I enter. There is no need to knock. I see a typical ASBM referral...a 32 year old male in good physical condition, his erect penis announcing for all to see his enjoyment in being stripped naked and cruelly bound by the Dominant female. I have seen so many over my years as a clinical psychologist. And a wry smile comes to my lips when I think I used to ‘treat’ such a condition as if it was a disease.
And now I relish the condition, working so hard with Dr. Reinhold to ensure that rather than ‘cure’ the submissive tendencies, we enhance and modify such to make sure the Dominant female partner is sublimely pleased. There is not much we cannot accomplish with the time and resources at our disposal.
The Constancia Compendium Page 36