Well, not as exciting as last year when she took me to an S&M club and we watched a rather ‘butch’ lady take down rugged looking guys. Though it was somewhat staged, the floggings were real. They were shrieking loudly.
I stay at the office until 6:30 p.m. in case something is needed. I leave and stop by an adult store and purchase a tape. Triple X. It’s my birthday. Then I begin my 90 minute train commute home where I cook a boring dinner.
The tape is a bust. Why cannot anyone in Hollywood, or wherever, find actors who can do a serious D/s scene? The naked and bound male bodies are arousing but then someone opens their mouth and the dialog kills the drama.
Another $39.95 down the tubes.
By happenstance I decide to log onto the net and I am reminded of Mrs. D’s note. The address brings me to some tropical setting. It can’t be a vacation gift...much too expensive. I type in the 4527 code where indicated and the most incredible scene unfolds.
It is Mr. Dalton!
He is naked except for a very high collar and he wears the strangest jewelry. There are circular pieces of metal around his nipples and his hairless scrotum has rings forcing the testicles into the most ludicrous configuration A single strand of rope hangs from somewhere above. It is attached or hooked to a small metal bar that appears to be thrust through his nose! The rope is very taut and it appears he is standing on his toes. His hands cannot be seen. They are behind his back.
Where is he?
The room is austere...white with strangely shaped objects attached to the walls. Otherwise there is nothing.
A popup menu suggests dialing an ‘800’ number. I pick up the phone and hurriedly punch the numbers. I get a recording. It is a firm female voice.
“Welcome to the American Society for Behavior Modification entertainment line. Please press your four digit code followed by the pound sign.”
I press the 4527 and the pound sign. Mrs. Dalton’s voice comes on the line.
“Happy birthday, Matilda. This won’t be as good as a live show. But I assure you it’s real. I remember at last’s years little soiree you enjoyed the canings. Well here’s one just for you. Ten days ago, I sent Ted for a little training at an ASBM facility. We’ll all get together when he returns after his behavior is indeed modified...meanwhile enjoy your special evening.”
Mrs. Dalton’s voice ends with a click. The pleasant but authoritative voice returns once again providing instructions.
“Please press zero to begin. By request of the ASBM member, a video recording of the proceedings will be forwarded to you within ten business days. Thank you for selecting the ASBM for your entertainment desires.”
Of course, I push zero. My curiosity overwhelms any reservation about viewing the naked husband of my boss. After all she provided the information and I recall years before having him masturbate for us over the phone before Mrs. Dalton eventually condescended to the camouflaged marital contract.
I keep the phone next to my ear and this amazingly well-muscled black woman steps into view. She wears a thin black halter and the briefest of black panties...more like the bottom of a bikini. Her arms and shoulders are bare and the brawn of her forearms and biceps is amazing. She is handsome...not a raving beauty but her even and well-proportioned facial features conform with her physique.
I see her lips move on the computer screen then with the slightest of delays hear her voice on the phone.
“Good evening Matilda and happy birthday. My name is Jasmine and I am the head nurse of the facility here. We are at a very exclusive and secluded Caribbean island where incorrigible young males are sent for a lifetime of servitude and, in recent years, we also endeavor to modify the behavior of certain subjugated males on behalf of members of the ASBM.
“Out of view is Nurse Katani. She will be handling the camera. Tonight we are going to cane Mr. Dalton for you. Initial canings here are moderate but firm and relentlessly applied. He’ll be excused from work duties tomorrow to recover from his ordeal. Otherwise we do not furnish any form of mercy.
“I hope you enjoy the display.”
Those would be the last words of the evening...or at least the last intelligible words.
Someone off camera, I suppose this Nurse Katani, hands a length of rattan to Nurse Jasmine. Then the huge woman turns and steps to the side Mr. Dalton. Despite her size she seems to float across the floor with the grace of a gymnast. Her buttocks are uncovered as I expected with nothing more than the narrowest strip of cloth between her cheeks. I almost laugh as the eyes of Ted Dalton, a typical randy male, follow the incredibly large but perfectly rounded globes as they ripple and roll with each footstep.
I have to admit Nurse Jasmine’s derriere does have a curious degree of attraction. She pauses and uses the tip of the cane to toy with Mr. Dalton’s penis. It springs to erection as if someone has flipped a switch. Nurse Jasmine smiles knowingly then steps behind him. She tucks the cane under her arm and works. She raises Mr. Dalton’s arms behind his back and secures them to the back of the neck collar. Her access to the naked buttocks is unimpeded. Without further hesitation she steps back and strokes. The naked form shudders and after a discernible pause I hear the most ear shattering howl of reality on the phone.
His legs almost fold under him but must struggle to stay rigid to minimize the tension on the cord securing his nose. His scrotum jiggles, it is oddly fleshy, the abundant pink bag seeming to be more than adequate for two moderate sized gonads. As the camera zooms in to record tears, I hear feminine laughter and I myself am smiling demonically.
I rush to the kitchen for a glass of wine. After all, it’s my birthday.
I return in time to see the second stroke land and, though I do not have the phone to my ear, hear the second of many howls. Incredibly, his erection seems to be standing even straighter.
Mr. Dalton is in for a very long evening.
Chapter Twenty Five
Ted Dalton
I have become somewhat accustomed to the humiliation of the past two weeks. Still, it is awkward to be directed by the teenaged Miss Luana. I feel another snap of her whip and for a moment my thoughts are interrupted and my mind returns to the task at hand, pulling in harness this interesting contraption which scoops up the salt. Miss Luana stands on an axle connected to two large balloon tires, which easily roll over the soft whiteness. Behind her is a collection bin for the salt. To the right is a horizontal blade, which she can raise or lower. As I pull, the action of the wheeled vehicle causes the blade to scrape up the top two or three inches of salt. Various gizmos then force the white powder up a chute into the bin. The gizmos are mechanically run by the turning of the tires. So obviously momentum is paramount and as her whip hand has many times suggested, I must keep moving at an even pace to maximize the yield with each pass through the flats.
Today Miss Luana uses a lunge whip. Without my waist belt and saddle my buttocks are completely exposed to the long and frightfully loud length of leather. She is most adept at slightly nipping the skin, which of course imbues the greatest pain with the least damage. On two occasions she has demonstrated her prowess by snapping it between my legs. Though not striking anything, I felt the compression of air on my low hanging scrotum.
The message is received.
Though I am becoming well tanned, the sun still leaves my skin a little sore after each long afternoon. And when the wind blows the irritating salt finds its way into every small welt and abrasion. I am in constant pain...and yet in my chaste state, I stand like a horny teenager, despite the missing anal probe, normally attached to the saddle.
Dr. Corrothers each day asks me about this priapic condition. How I feel being whipped and controlled by a young native girl...about my bondage and constantly being open and available for inspection...nothing left to modesty...urinating upon command with a feminine hand directing by efforts.
Meanwhile the Thorazine continues and in the quiet solitude of long and sightless nights, I become frustrated with myself thinking about how I so dutifully comply with eve
ry whim and command. And then I react with evidence of such arousal...!
Days ago, I survived a caning. It was brutally methodical. No matter my pleas and spasmodic reactions, Nurse Jasmine crisply applied the rattan without relent. And a woman named ‘Matilda’ seemed to be watching, according to Nurse Jasmine’s comments. The only Matilda I know is my wife’s secretary...
Another stroke of the whip brings me out of my reverie. I dig in and lean against the harness to keep the contraption behind me rolling over a bump caused by the previous day’s plowing. The arrangement of leather straps surrounds my stomach and chest. My arms are gone from sight...bent at the elbow and closely bound behind with my mittens held at the back of my neck. There are clamps on my nipples with long reins attached leading back to Miss Luana. There are also reins connected to my nose bridle and testicle rings of course. Miss Luana would not be denied access to those.
So I am truly a beast of burden. And despite the harness it feels as though I am attached by way of nose, nipples and testicles...the most sensitive of areas. Yet I am oddly pleased to be working so hard for Miss Luana. Soon I will be watered and during such breaks she lets me lick. Apparently my tongue is becoming quite long and strong and she has me use it to orally burnish her cute brown hillocks. At some point I will be permitted to kiss her breasts. She has promised and accordingly I have striven to be on my best behavior.
I am pulling with all my strength and the collection vehicle barely moves. Miss Luana snaps the whip and tugs on the nipple reins. I pull to the left knowing that it is time to empty another load. She snaps more, her hand is quite energetic today. Though the sun is getting low, I know from experience she wants to make one more pass through the flats before nightfall.
Though the vehicle is heavy, once we reach the firm path it rolls much easier. Still it is slightly uphill to the desalinization plant where various workers will unload while I am watered. Thus there are more snaps.
We approach the plant and waiting workers. Whenever I see the young teens, naked and tightly banded...tumescence apparently completely denied for their remaining lives...I consider myself fortunate. My penis is still permitted to stand.
At one point, Miss Luana mentioned that these were at one time incorrigible delinquents who were given every opportunity to reform and did not.
“Lady Constance performs such a wonderful service for society. If not for our efforts on Constancia Island those docile and forcibly chaste males would be dealing drugs, robbing houses, and stealing cars somewhere. Here they have a chance to be productive. And they are milked on occasion. We are not completely calloused to the needs of the male anatomy.”
My tongue was busy lapping at her fine flesh when she made that observation. I did not ask about ‘milking’ and probably would have been punished for speaking if I did so.
So I struggle up the incline and three teens, banded and wearing masturbation mittens similar to mine, wait to unload while I rest. I feel tugs on my testicle reins and know to stop. The unloading process begins. Miss Luana nicely waters me and then splashes the cool liquid on my standing penis. The shock brings flaccidity and she leans to hold it. I know she wants me to relieve myself.
It is strange how I feel uncomfortable before the male workers. I have acclimated myself to performing before the female...but knowing these teens are watching is embarrassingly troublesome. There is a longer than usual pause. Finally I summon the need and Miss Luana directs the flow away from my feet. I can hear their giggles. I suppose humiliation is relative. ‘My manhood is free’ I want to rejoin, but I have been better served with silence and remain so.
Miss Luana calms me...pulling down on the nose bridle until my lips meet her fine buttocks. I lick ravenously, and despite the laughter of young males, I savor the warmth and smoothness.
My erection returns and I hope the banded lads feel the agony as their appendages attempt to replicate mine.
I lick until the vehicle is emptied. Then Miss Luana steps away and returns to her position standing over the axle. I feel the tugs on the reins and then hear the crack and feel the resulting pain. Without thought, my legs react. My feet dig in and I lean into the harness to the sound of more laughter. The vehicle rolls.
There is time for one more pass through the flats.
Chapter Twenty Six
Nurse Katani
Every evening, despite the position in which Mr. Dalton is restrained, Nurse Jasmine attaches and inserts the electrical probes. Sometimes he receives a ‘phone call’, as we whimsically refer to it, sometimes not. But Dr. Corrothers insists that the subordinate male be available for electro stimulation by his Superior at all times from 9:00 p.m. to 5:00 a.m.
“The psychology of the procedure is as important as the enduring the physical pain. The male must understand that he is vulnerable and open to the Dominant female at all times. No mental respites. Not even while asleep.”
And he certainly is vulnerable...lying immobile and blindfolded, never knowing when he will feel the debilitating electrical charge inaugurated from hundreds of miles away.
Last night, Nurse Jasmine had Mr. Dalton lying supine on the floor. His arms were comfortably drawn and secured over his head. But she restrained his ankles well apart and up and over his shoulders, forcing him to bend at the waist. This left his scrotum and testicles rings very accessible and mercifully took tension off his neck when we clamped and stretched his tongue. The drip bag was very easy to align. But having him urinate for me in such a position was both challenging and amusing.
Mr. Dalton is bound differently every evening, the randomness keeping him off his guard and, to his psyche, demonstrating our complete control. He never knows how he will be secured...supine or prostrate...arms separated or together...over his head or behind him...knees bent or not, etc...and we never tell him until it’s done. And of course any suggestions or reluctance is ignored.
Tonight he is back on the little stool, lying prostrate with his neck craned and arms tied behind his back, this time cruelly high. I will be sure to massage him often.
Meanwhile Luana reports that after four weeks of complete chastity, Mr. Dalton is constantly secreting prostatic fluid. That happens to the male beast, a condition with which we are very familiar on Constancia Island. By Lady C’s mandate, no male receives ejaculatory relief on our scenic isle of Female Dominant bliss. And since the small strip of land is a sovereign country, Lady C’s mandates have the effect of law. It is not only physically impossible for the males here to masturbate; it is forbidden and essentially illegal.
But, the male anatomy has its needs.
So, I am afforded the privilege of engaging in a procedure that is not taught at my alma mater, Johns Hopkins University School of Nursing. I will ‘milk’ Mr. Dalton of his fluid. It is painful, intolerable, can be physically challenging for me, but wonderfully debilitating to the male pride.
So at 5:00 a.m., I remove the electrical probes and clamps. I insert my little balls into his rectum to induce a bowel movement and massage Mr. Dalton’s lower abdomen.
Yes, he’s embarrassed. I suppose one never quite becomes accustomed to lying nude while a woman supervises such an intimate function...but that’s our role here. Subjugation…complete and utter mental capitulation of the male...and we’re good at it.
He eventually relaxes and lets my little balls perform their function. I discard the excretions and begin the fun. A nice long and deep enema ensures that he is emptied, the floor drain will facilitate the expulsion of whatever remains.
I like to let the liquid linger within. I am always amazed by how much a male can squirm despite the rigorous bondage and Mr. Dalton proves to be no different. And while he awaits my decision to remove the inflatable plug from his rectum, I very much enjoy the mental torment.
Yes, even at my young age of 23 and relative inexperience in nursing, I was brought up on Constancia Island and have been trained as every Bagandan woman has...to have complete indifference to the male.
“I know
it’s uncomfortable Mr. Dalton, but soon you’ll be feeling much better.”
The words musically flow in the high pitched bedside voice I used for tending to children while in nursing school. I won’t bother offering a lollipop when finished, however.
So after much more time than necessary, I release the plug and the contents gush to the floor drain.
I draw up a small stool, the girls in Lady C’s stable humorously refer to it as a milking stool, and sit between Mr. Dalton’s well spread knees. Nurse Jasmine bent back his calves, tying his ankle bands to his neck collar so his feet are secured just over his buttocks. Hollow tubes once again have been positioned behind his bent knees and with very taut cords serve to keep the thighs nicely spread. The testicle rings are secured of course. Mr. Dalton’s scrotum must meet the required length of his Superior.
So the target for my gloved right hand is well displayed.
Lubrication is next. I have a special lotion with an ingredient that will help relax the sphincter. The gloved hand works and Mr. Dalton actually begins to blush. I feel like pointing out that I am aware of his proclivity and the circumstances that initiated his sojourn at Constancia Island.
‘Weren’t you caught having your little prostate massaged by a Dominatrix?’ I want to ask.
Yes, all the staff have access to the files. It’s part of our job. But I remain professional leaving that part of the process to Dr. Corrothers.
One reason I am afforded the delightful responsibility of milking the male is because of my size. At just over five foot, my hands are tiny. But I think Mr. Dalton will find them to be sizable by morning’s end.
“Just relax and let Nurse Katani help you,” I coo in my irritatingly unctuous child’s voice...my gloved hand working the whole time.
Anal penetration has a certain protocol. First it’s important to take one’s time...never rush. Second, always move expansively…that is to open wider and wider. Never retreat allowing contraction. Third, be unceasing, despite the cries, whimpers and beseeching utterances.
The Constancia Compendium Page 40