When she steps away to dispose of the excretions I am surprised by the feel of my freed scrotum swaying just off the floor between my spread thighs. Whatever is in the cream, it is working. It feels so far outside my body, as if attached to someone else.
Next comes a shower and as suggested the wall paneling of the empty chamber conceals much. I hear a hose and then feel the very pleasant wetness of warm water. The soft feminine hands soap me everywhere, and of course the curious young nurse pays particular attention to cleansing the most intimate male areas. She pats me dry with a towel and then spends a few minutes examining my freed testicles. Perhaps it is a professional examination...perhaps she is amusing herself, either way there is nothing I can do.
“It is interesting how the little gonads expand. These rings will never slide off now.”
She tugs to demonstrate to me...and I guess too herself also, and I am convinced. It seems that due to the irritation of being ringed, the testicles swell and thus make the rings a permanent addition, though I suppose they could be cut off.
Meanwhile her soft touch brings me to an erection, which she also finds a need to inspect.
“Your tumescence epitomizes the chaste male,” she comments. “You’ll find yourself more and more eager to serve and receive the whip, Mr. Dalton. We see it every day on the Island, and with males who are much more truculent than yourself.”
I am disappointed when she again restrains my testicle rings and applies more of the cream. It feels tighter than before and I wince. She fondly pinches my cheek and announces her departure.
“I’m going off duty. I have a nice cart and pony-boy waiting to take me home where a rather effeminate young lad will eagerly serve me breakfast. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”
The door closes and I realize I do not even know what she looks like.
With nothing to see or hear the annoyance of the dripping again occupies my thoughts. Then within what I guess is an hour Nurse Jasmine enters. She removes the water bag, frees my tongue and feeds me. Once again my buttocks are assaulted by a hypodermic needle. I know now to eat and despite the lack of flavor I take in every spoonful of offered mush.
It is interesting that I have no desire to initiate conversation, though my tongue has been restrained and forcefully stretched for hours.
“Eat well, Mr. Dalton. Luana is going to work you hard today...and every day going forward.”
I do not need the encouragement.
Nurse Jasmine inspects me. She is particularly interested in my tongue and her thumb and forefinger pinches it and draws it well beyond my lips. She seems satisfied. Then she releases one limb at a time and massages, restoring circulation. Her fingers pinch and poke everywhere including my privates which Nurse Katani had just examined an hour before, only Nurse Jasmine tugs unmercifully on my scrotum.
“Plenty of room for growth,” she happily announces.
“Dr. Corrothers will visit you soon.”
I hear the door close.
How long am I to be so cruelly kept in bondage? I have not moved in many hours. And yet I am somehow able to tolerate the torment. The nurses seem to know exactly when to visit and massage the various joints and muscles to ensure circulation. But it also restores feeling, ending the numbness only so the tight cords can once again begin another round of agony.
How wicked!
The door opens. As suggested it is Dr. Corrothers.
“Good morning, Mr. Dalton.”
She pinches my cheek as if greeting a young boy. Then her fingers slide down the left side of my face and softly roll my left nipple between thumb and forefinger. It is very deliberate act to remind me of the innumerable clamps she can use to initiate ‘discussion’.
“Would you like to talk to me this morning? Hmm?”
Her fingers withdraw and she steps to my side. I feel something touching my erect penis. It is the toe of her boot, which she has slid under the small stool supporting my stomach.
“You’re very erect this morning Mr. Dalton. Why do you think that has happened? Do you enjoy being tied up and handled by women? Dominant women with such disdain for the male?”
Another round of counseling begins. The sound of Dr. Corrothers’ voice becomes distant. She has moved away, presumably to her chair.
I know I have to answer. But my thoughts are about Miss Luana. We will soon be working the salt flats. I will be free of my bonds and able to perform for her. I envision her sitting in her saddle, calmly cropping my nipples while she runs me into a good sweat...the anal insertion forcing me to stand so proudly for her.
I formulate an answer, but with my thoughts I feel myself stiffen even more.
Chapter Twenty Two
Miss Luana
The drug and days of severe bondage, all instituted under the auspices of the Dominant woman, have a marvelous effect. Jasmine leads a very obedient Mr. Dalton out of the clinic. I stand in wait in a defacto tacking area I have set up under the clinic building’s porte-cochere. The saddle and waist belt hang on pegs along with the custom crafted anal insertion and a small selection of correction instruments.
He appears as excited as a puppy. Obviously after the hours and hours of bondage and the humiliation of lying naked to be inspected, and then fed and bathed like a child, makes him eager for the freedom of the outdoors. Over time, he will also develop eagerness for being run and for the feel of the guiding hand of a Dominant woman and her crop.
A simple cord ending with two hooks hangs from an overhead beam. A smiling Nurse Jasmine attaches Mr. Dalton utilizing his nose bridle, bids me a good day then strolls back to her remaining patients.
I likewise bid her a good day while pulling up the cord. My steed is forced to his toes, his mittens clipped together behind his back. He tries his best to look at me, my firm young breasts providing quite the attraction for the randy and chaste male. He begins to stiffen and I have not yet begun.
“I think you’re going to run for me very nicely today,” I announce in an exuberant voice.
The psychology of working the male beast has been ingrained by way of my mother and her mother before that. Generations of Bagandan women have handled the subordinate male and I know that it is best for both of us if he desires to work for me. It will save his flesh much discomfort and my hands and wrists will not be fatigued at day’s end.
Meanwhile, I slather his nakedness with sun oil, the rays of the sun being extremely direct and penetrating in the tropics. Some degree of sunburn can be useful in maintaining discipline, inflamed skin requiring the most modest of corrective taps to achieve satisfactory results. But we wouldn’t want to desensitize certain areas of pinkness. Thus I am careful to heavily daub his penis, scrotum and nipples. When finished his erection stands at his navel. He enjoys my touch.
I coo words of encouragement while preparing him for the afternoon’s labors. Complimenting him on his nicely hanging sac, I take a testicle between my fingers and ‘pop’ it. A custom I learned as a little girl, I squeeze the gonad until the pressure and the slipperiness of the sun oil causes the little egg to literally shoot out into the scrotal sac, though much hampered by the testicle ring. It’s like pinching the skin, except the stressed organ causes a deep ache, to which Mr. Dalton responds with a meek yelp. Meanwhile he is forced to acknowledge my authority...my control. The precious organs are mine. He merely wears them for me.
When finished, the oil causes my steed to shine radiantly and the proximity of my hands has his manhood standing straight up. He is ready to be saddled and I release his mittens to provide access to his waist.
The belt is buckled around his waist. I lubricate the curved anal insertion, attach it to the bottom of the saddle then gently slide it into Mr. Dalton’s rectum. He so nicely accepts it, the smooth cylinder of metal has been so well crafted it instantly pressures the prostate gland. When prostatic fluid beads from his urethra, I know the bulbous tip has found its mark.
I make a note to inform Nurse Jasmine. After nearly a week of chasti
ty, Mr. Dalton needs milking, a procedure at which the Constancia Island nursing staff is very proficient.
I connect cords to the testicle rings and thread another through the loops in the nose bridle. I have one last addition before releasing the bridle. The front middle of the saddle has a small hole threaded for an attachment. Today I am going to treat myself. I slip a female toy into the aperture and turn to tighten in place. It is a hideous little rubber nub but it so nicely diddles my clitoris. So when I release Mr. Dalton and he bends to offer me his knee and thigh, I lift the small patch of cloth covering my pubes before settling into the saddle. Thus my little rubber friend finds my well shaven mons and with a slight shift of my hips, my little bud wonderfully nestles against it.
Unfortunately for Mr. Dalton, I have decided today to use a special quirt. It’s a short and nasty strand of thin leather, which unlike the crop, will actually excoriate the outer most layer of epidermis when properly stroked. My steed will soon learn of its effectiveness.
I lean and tie the testicle ring cords to my ankle bands, pull the short bridle cord over his head and flick the quirt against the buttocks. His spasmed reaction results in the most thrilling motion of the clitoral stimulator.
It’s going to be a wonderful day!
I bring him to a brisk trot and head for the salt flats. It’s just past noon and the heat immediately brings my steed to a good lather. I can feel his wetness on my inner thighs, which press against his naked skin and also on my breasts as I lean forward for balance. Whenever I snap the quirt against buttocks or nipples he shudders delightfully, sending arousing vibrations through the saddle, the nub and to my clitoris. I experience a half dozen small orgasms by the time we pass the desalinization plant.
The special plow awaits. I direct Mr. Dalton to grasp the handles with mitten covered hands. The day’s work begins. I snap away as the first of dozens of furrows are carved into the perfectly flat expanse of white powder, turning up layers of gray moist brine beneath to be exposed to the drying sun. It is a process that will never end. When finished we will scoop up the dried salt for packaging then move to the next lagoon while this one is refilled from the desalinization plant.
I am reminded of Sisyphus, from Greek mythology...constantly toiling to push a large boulder up a hill...only to reach the top and have it roll back to the bottom where he must begin again.
My steed learns of the effectiveness of my quirt. Light breezes kick up small but thick clouds of powdery whiteness. I can feel his reaction to the sting as skin abraded by the quirt becomes irritated by the salt. And it so nicely causes the saddle to jostle...
Three hours into our efforts I look up to see the profile of Lady Constance’s team and chariot seeming to glow in the afternoon sun. She waves and beckons to me. Her chariot cannot traverse the soft surface of the salt flats.
I snap the quirt. Mr. Dalton pushes with renewed efforts toward the Island’s beautiful Queen.
Chapter Twenty Three
Lady Constance
I can watch the naked subordinate male work for hours...a preoccupation I learned from my grandmother when I was a little girl and the Island’s electricity was produced by dozens of miscreant and yoked lads turning massive generators.
Currently with the wind providing power, I have been content to watch the Bagandan women work the naked male beasts in the fruit and vegetable fields. And now the salt flats. The work is so divinely monotonous with the irritating salt serving to remind the well whipped male of each and every welt. I am pleased. Luana has nicely developed into a firm handler. That’s how the Bagandan women are raised.
The Island’s latest subordinate arrival slowly approaches pushing the plow. Luana’s quirt lashes to spur him to hurry, not wishing to keep me waiting. I wonder if he realizes that a full week of toil and anguish will probably produce some twenty dollars worth of sea salt. Marketed under the brand name ‘LC’s Toil’ the salt will grace the table of every member of the ASBM. It will be consumed by Dominant women who will smile in satisfaction knowing that every grain has been produced by way of abject cruelty to a well bound and whipped subservient male.
Nicely symbolic.
I step out of the chariot to greet the duo. Mr. Dalton has been whipped on his buttocks, thighs and nipples with a single nasty telltale stripe on his scrotum. He is caked with salt and I know he feels the irritating sting everywhere that Luana has applied the quirt.
Luana dismounts. I reach for my water bottle and step to the perspiring naked beast. He is nicely erect...displaying the ironic reaction of the submissive male...full tumescence despite the pain and humiliation.
My left hand toys with his right nipple as I insert the tube of the plastic squeeze bottle into his mouth. He drinks heavily as he gasps for air…the bridle precluding use of his nose for breathing.
“You’re working him hard, Luana. Be sure to keep him well watered.”
She smiles and nods.
“I was about to walk him up to the plant for a drink.”
We exchange words and pleasantries. Luana explains that tomorrow she will initiate the packaging process by harnessing Mr. Dalton and having him pull the scraper to scoop up the first layer of salt. ‘LC’s Toil’ will begin production.
“I suppose we should teach Mr. Dalton some pony boy protocol,” the devilish Luana suggests.
Yes, I look to the two pony boys harnessed to my chariot. Having the loosest set of penis bands, I insist that they perform for me while fully erect. During the few minutes of our discussion, a degree of limpness has occurred. The encouragement of my crop has kept them firm while pulling in harness. With the short period of neglect the phalli have softened.
Luana tugs on the cord connected to the noise bridle, pulling downward so that Mr. Dalton must bend at the waist. Then she leads him to my team. My matched ponies are tall, both exactly the same height at six foot six. They also have the largest penises on the Island...close to twelve inches and dwarfing Mr. Dalton. Luana explains as she forcefully uses the bridle cord to introduce Mr. Dalton to the Island’s protocol among pony boys. My ponies are subservient to all females but in rank are superior to all other males. Therefore, Mr. Dalton shall pay homage. And he shall do so with his lips and tongue.
It’s always fun observing the homophobic reaction when forcing the male to service the genitals of another. The act is brief, for we never permit climax, but it mentally brings down the proudest of recalcitrant males...sending the message ‘there is nothing the Dominant female cannot coerce from you’.
Luana reaches down and takes Mr. Dalton’s nicely stretched scrotum in her right hand while holding the bridle to keep his mouth adjacent to the huge penis of the left pony.
“Lick, Mr. Dalton. These are the ranking ponies on the Island.”
Her hand slowly closes around the ringed gonads to begin the process of assuring compliance. Mr. Dalton yelps with the building pressure and finally extends his tongue. We both giggle like schoolgirls while the wet pink tongue returns my steed is to full erection.
“Don’t you wish you were that big and had a nice submissive male licking away,” she chides adding to Mr. Dalton’s humiliation.
Timing the attentive licks. Luana moves to the right pony before any prohibited ejaculation can occur. There he begins to immediately lick, sparing his gonads further torment.
I make a mental note to inform Dr. Corrothers of Mr. Dalton’s oral efforts. She’ll be joining me for dinner this evening and be interested in using the information in his next counseling session, I’m sure.
I can hear her words as she’s seated at the clinic. ‘So I understand you’ve been orally serving our ponies. Do you enjoy that, Mr. Dalton? Does it arouse you?’
During Mr. Dalton’s tenure on Constancia Island, he will learn to lick anything and everything demanded of him, male anatomy and female. And he will do it well and learn to like it.
Having paid proper homage, Luana lifts the bridle and Mr. Dalton rights himself at the waist. He casts a snea
ky yet reverent glance my way. It is typical of the chaste male. His eyes wander where they shouldn’t be but I suppose it is a compliment. My only covering is a freely hanging patch of cloth over my pudendum and with the steady tropical breezes it’s been known to flip about and teasingly flash my sex. I enjoy being topless and that’s why I spend most of my time on my Island. Males can look but they’ll never touch...unless, of course, I need oral attention, which is more frequent than I can admit in normal social circles.
“I understand Mr. Dalton received his first phone call last night,” I comment as an aside. “Better not work him to much longer. He probably did not get much sleep.”
Luana laughs at my understatement and I join her. Our special electro stimulation process is world renowned. I hate to inform Mr. Dalton but it can also be computer controlled. Mrs. Dalton can call in and have all the stimulation recorded for later replay at a specified time. So, she can attend social functions, work late, go to a movie, etc. and the electric impulses will shock away precisely as she intends.
The complete aloofness and callousness by which the obsequious male can be reminded of his complete vulnerability appeals to many women. And of course, the torment is unsurpassed.
Chapter Twenty Four
Matilda (secretary)
Mrs. Dalton is out of the office. A lengthy trial has begun and though that makes things rather quiet for me, I must remain on call in case newly edited documents need to be rushed to the court house.
Meanwhile the interoffice messenger delivers what is obviously a card. It’s my birthday. Someone has remembered.
I open it. Mrs. Dalton has remembered!
It bestows standard wishes on my twenty-seventh. Then in her impressive calligraphy there is a note on the bottom.
‘Matilda...Sorry I can not join you in celebrating, but if you log onto http://www.constancia.org at 9:00 p.m. this evening, I have arranged for special entertainment. Use the code number 4527. Enjoy, Mrs. D.’
The Constancia Compendium Page 39