Having just showered, I have a towel wrapped about my torso. When Anthony’s pink and wet appendage encroaches my pubes, barely covered from sight by the hem of the large bath towel, I will blindfold him and sit on his face. He’s a good fuck but I am tired from an afternoon of play and therefore my desire for physical activity is limited.
The doorman lies firmly bound in the den. I lured him to the apartment and finally wreaked my revenge for that episode with Ted and the pro Dom. It seems Mr. Doorman has done worse than serve as a lookout for philandering husbands. I caught him taking a bit of mail. Obviously he’s got connections with unsavory persons who can derive economic benefit from stolen checks and credit cards. I briefly confronted him and his stunned look confirmed my suspicion. He appeared ready to bolt out the front door of the building when I calmed him by suggesting we have a little ‘talk’ in my apartment when his shift ended.
He arrived promptly. Since he knows I am an attorney he had every reason to accept my bluff about being an acquaintance of the assistant prosecutor. He was most cooperative in removing his clothing after hearing me explain that mail theft was a Federal offense...five years with no such thing as parole in the Federal system. He let me apply the bonds...rather tightly. And he so politely tried to stifle his plaintive cries as I flailed away at those tender white hillocks. I will have to purchase a more severe instrument of correction for future ‘talks’.
The lengthy session of flagellation aroused me and therefore I decided to leave him there when Anthony arrived for his regularly scheduled late Saturday afternoon visit...
Anthony’s tongue finds the lower reaches of my outer labia. I retrieve the blindfold and secure it around his head. I snap my fingers.
“On the bed.”
I nip his posterior with the crop and he lurches while crawling in the general vicinity of the bed. I hear my computer in the den.
“You have mail,” it rhythmically intones.
Though the doorman lies in the middle of the den floor, there is plenty of space. The room is actually a capacious second bedroom converted to a home office. So I grab another blindfold and guide my gigolo, ‘Mr. Big Dick, Tenuous Tongue’, to where I can read my mail.
While he crawls I amuse by slapping those free swinging, egg sized testicles with the crop. Then a thought occurs that will make for a very memorable afternoon for my conniving mail thief visitor. He’s probably extremely homophobic like most guys. And Anthony goes both ways...matter of fact every way known...for the right price.
So before applying the blindfold to the struggling, well-bound guest I have my gigolo fellate him while I check the mail. As expected, my naked flagellant is delightfully appalled as my equally naked toy goes down on him, his tongue lapping everywhere in attempting to find his penis.
“I don’t think you’ll get it as nicely in Danbury penitentiary,” I snort with a sardonic laugh.
I let the boys entertain me while the email message appears on the screen. It is from Dr. Corrothers, Constancia Island.
“Just keep him nice and hard, Anthony. If he wants to come he’ll have to pay you.”
I turn my attention to the computer screen.
To: Virginia Dalton, Esq.
Re: Theodora Dalton
This communication is to inform you that the behavior of your husband has been successfully modified in accordance with your wishes and in conformity with the questionnaire you submitted.
As you are aware, after breaking all physical resistance, he has also been psychologically transformed and now places the pleasures and desires of the female well above his own. It appears that our procedures have been so effective that required future doses of Thorazine may be quite limited or even eliminated entirely.
For the past two months, Theodora has served as a maid in Lady Constance’s home. As you probably suspected there was already quite a propensity for service in his psychological make up, thus we merely had to mold it to properly conform with the desires of the Dominant female. And train him in the basics of cosmetics, dress and feminine deportment.
In my opinion he is ready to resume being of service to you.
As recommended and discussed in the American Society for Behavior Modification guidelines, we suggest an annual refresher training period at Constancia Island or another ASBM facility...a bi-annual refresher at the minimum.
Other important procedures during his initial indoctrination to your service will be; interaction with other women, both Dominant and vanilla; exposure to high pressured situations to place stress on his gender identification; introduction, forced if need be, to potentially embarrassing and humiliating encounters with the vanilla world.
Please note that if you intend to have Theodora return to New York by commercial flight, he will need new identification. We can provide basic feminine attire for his journey.
Regards,
Dr. Stella Corrothers
How heartwarming! Theodora, to be known as my companion not my husband, will be returning. I step away and slip the blindfold over the doorman’s bugging eyes, then toss away my towel. I now stand naked myself...and very much aroused in thoughts of my new subservient and well trained ‘companion’.
I sit at my nearby desk and slide open the top drawer. There lies Theodora’s new passport. The photo sent by email from Constancia Island shows my ‘companion’ with nicely coifed shoulder length hair, moderate make up and ear rings. In his absence I completed the paper work for his new identification as attorney-in-fact for my ‘recuperating’ husband. The bureaucracies of government have come to accept the gender obfuscation of the transsexual world. Even the flight attendant’s union administratively ‘shrugged off’ my request to have Theodora’s status changed.
Theodora will indeed be introduced to potentially embarrassing and humiliating encounters with the vanilla world. He will continue to work dressed as a woman. The thought arouses me even more.
“Come here Anthony. Momma has something for you.”
I sit with my thighs parted. A sightless Anthony crawls and I grab his ears to guide him to my sex. As his lips and tongue work, my crop hand can not only reach Mr. Mail Thief’s naked buttocks but also his genitals.
What a pleasant way to spend an afternoon.
Chapter Thirty Three
Theodora Dalton
As I apply my make up, I cannot help looking into the mirror and recalling that wonderful day two months before when I was released from the relentless physical bondage.
“This will hurt.”
I cringed with Dr. Reinhold’s words. There had been so many occurrences of great pain during my four months on Constancia Island that the forewarning brought fear.
Dr. Reinhold was finally removing my nose bridle and the rounded studs had nestled so deeply into my sinuses. Nurse Jasmine most firmly held my head utilizing my lengthy hair. A small circular saw, a Dremel tool, ground away at the small steel bar penetrating my septum. The friction caused heat. The heat indeed caused pain. But I bore it all knowing that the grotesque but most effective implement of control would finally be removed.
With the cutting completed, the doctor tugged and I felt a most discernible pop as for the first time since arriving on the island, my left nostril was to freed to inhale oxygen. My eyes watered with the intense pain and the doctor quickly pulled at the right post to complete the removal.
I fruitlessly struggled against the grip of the puissant Nurse Jasmine. But she continued to hold me. The doctor was not through.
“This will serve to keep the opening clear.”
She held up a small bar with beads on each end. Her deft fingers worked to release one bead then insert the bar into the opening which months before was cruelly crafted through the cartilage separating my nostrils.
When finished the invisible bar resided within my nose with comparatively little discomfort. The bridle had been intolerable.
I was prettied up by the young cosmetician and pictures were taken from the neck up. Someone mentioned the pho
tos were to be emailed to Mrs. Dalton.
Then my testicle rings were cut off. Apparently with my scrotum hanging just above my knees, no further stretching was deemed necessary. My masturbation mittens were removed. With Dr. Reinhold’s alteration I was invited to touch, stroke, rub, twist my locked penis all I wished.
“You will find that it just adds to your frustration,” Dr. Corrothers chided me. “But it may be entertaining to watch if you care to try for one last orgasm.”
Her point was punctuated by a wicked laugh.
For the next few weeks I continued to serve as a maid. Learning to walk in heels was difficult but on occasion I was permitted clothing! Frilly silk. Brief and very revealing but it felt wonderful!
The most demeaning change, however, was squatting to relieve myself...and being forced to do so while being supervised.
Yes, Dr. Reinhold’s alteration was amazingly successful. And depending on who supervised me, sometimes I was permitted to hold my dangling testicles out of the way...sometimes it was my handler who insisted on cradling my long pink sac. It is something to which no male can ever become accustomed.
My penis remained locked to my waist band and Lady Constance found great amusement in diddling the well exposed under side and watching it engorge...particularly while I served refreshments.
Meanwhile my prostate gland, constantly manipulated by the urethral insertion, caused fluid to leak from my new opening. Thus while I served during the dinner meal, I wore a Kotex between my thighs to absorb the embarrassing secretions.
My spare time, while not serving, was spent in what was effectively a charm school and learning the fine art of cunnilingus. Every male thinks he is accomplished. But until he lies beneath the naked form of a demanding female with his head firmly ensconced between smooth thighs...and he acquires proper breath control and learns to find and satisfy every feminine erogenous nook and cranny, he cannot possibly be of proper service.
Sumani, the stable mistress, and Motamba, the head housekeeper, proved to be insatiable in receiving the tongue and lips of the subjugated male. And with Dr. Reinhold’s operation it felt like I had another penis, this one in my mouth. I was taught to use it as such.
Speaking was still a demanding task. The beads inserted under the surface of my tongue and the incised ligaments made it difficult to formulate words. They were unintelligible. But as Lady Constance readily pointed out, I was to be seen and felt...not heard.
Still, as I sit before the mirror to beautify myself as trained, there is the question of future employment.
I appear to be a woman. My facial hair is gone...possibly forever. I have been trained, indoctrinated really, to think like the most obsequious of maids...and to be of service. I cannot really speak.
Yet, I am happy to be leaving. I believe I can truly make Mrs. Dalton happy. That is all I think about.
Nurse Jasmine and Motamba enter forcing me to end my reflections. The huge nurse has brought the Dremel tool. She smiles has her fingers work about my nipples, pushing and poking the badges to expose the deeply penetrating bar that serves to hold the badge on my chest. The small circular blade cuts. Once again the heat causes pain. I can bear it. It is the last physical vestige of Constancia Island. The right is cut through and removed, then the left. Without a word the nurse leaves.
Then it is time to get dressed. For the first time in months I will truly be clothed...not the revealing frilly garments intended to amuse Lady Constance’s guests. But instead real clothing so that I can walk through airports.
“A little gift from Lady Constance,” she announces.
She holds up a collection of leather straps. It is a scrotal parachute similar to the one Mrs. Dalton used to torment me.
It is curious that I no longer have any compunction about having my most intimate anatomy handled by the female gender. It is really no longer mine.
Her dark-skinned, knowing hands gather up my well-stretched scrotal sac. She speaks as my gonads are entrapped within the parachute and she pulls it back between my thighs.
“You will need to be very careful when sitting down. You’re not to have any undergarments and therefore something must be done to keep these useless balls of yours out of sight.”
The large single strap, which serves to gather together the eight or ten smaller straps squeezing my testicles, is pulled between my buttocks. She attaches it to the back of my waistband and locks it in place. With all the stretching, I am shocked to feel that my once precious gonads have been forced back between my thighs to a point where I will indeed have to sit on them.
“You’ll find that it’s best to sit on the very edge of your seat and maintain proper posture,” a laughing Motamba suggests.
Yes, she is correct. Otherwise I would crush my testicles!
“Don’t worry about airport security. You’ll be strip searched of course. But the guards have been alerted as to your newly found status in life.
“And the attendant on your flight is a very active member of the ASBM. She has been given a key to your strap. Should you need to visit the ladies room during the trip, she’ll release the parachute so you can go.”
A precaution of which I had not thought. I cannot squat and relieve myself while my scrotum is so secured.
I am led wearing a simple but colorful silk dress to the grand entrance of the Esterhoven hacienda. There Miss Luana awaits and I humbly curtsy and kiss her hand to bid adieu. For the past few weeks my daily training in proper cunnilingus at times included servicing Miss Luana. She was devine...most succulent.
As a treat, Motamba will drive me to the dock in Lady Constance’s chariot. The two mammoth steeds stand in wait, Sumani’s knowing fingers have brought them to full erection and I am still astounded by their size.
“You’ll need to be blindfolded during the boat ride and on Aruba during the drive to the airport. I will try not to mess your hair.”
A thick strip of cloth is carefully placed over my eyes. She is most considerate and I slur a thank you.
We leave.
Chapter Thirty Four
Matilda
Such a nice woman for whom to work. Dinner at Mrs. Dalton’s apartment! It is Saturday evening and she has thoughtfully suggested an early meal, leaving me much time to hook up with friends and gallivant about Greenwich Village afterwards.
The doorman looks at me with questioning puppy dog eyes. His hand quivers as he picks up the house phone to announce my arrival. I will have to inquire about him. He is in fear.
The elevator whisks me to the thirty-first floor. I am anticipating a wonderful view of the East River and Queens.
I knock and the door opens. I am shocked to be greeted by a rather effeminately dressed maid. She mumbles a salutation, which I do not comprehend. I am staring in awe not only at her brief attire but a very familiar face. It is meticulously made up...but it is male...and it is Mr. Dalton!
I cannot find words. The silence is finally broken by the sound of Mrs. Dalton’s voice.
“Show Matilda in, Teddie!”
Teddie curtsies and steps aside. When he lowers his head I smile at his frilly maid’s cap.
I enter to see my boss in a ravishing long black dinner dress. It accentuates her height. Unlike other tall women, Mrs. Dalton prefers to exhibit her stature and she certainly has this evening.
“Nice of you to come, Matilda. You must see the view since it’s your first visit.
“Cocktails on the balcony, Teddie.”
The maid glides away from us with the grace of a ballet dancer. Mrs. Dalton guides me in the opposite direction, through the living room and to a sliding glass door. She pulls on a handle and we step out onto a balcony. As expected, the view is breathtaking.
As I take in the sight of the 59th Street Bridge and Queens, the setting sun seems to make everything glow. Mrs. Dalton speaks. Rather quickly and obviously wishing to communicate before Teddie returns.
“The first of many tests for Teddie. He’ll be returning to work soon. So
please be demanding. Interacting with others is an important aspect of his modification. Don’t be concerned with his embarrassment. It’s part of the process.”
Our maid steps onto the balcony with a tray of cocktails. Having recovered from the shock of seeing Mrs. Dalton’s husband with makeup and finely coifed, shoulder length hair, my eyes scan below. Mrs. D insisted I not be concerned with embarrassment...and I know to follow her lead.
The hem of the pretty black maid’s skirt is just below the buttocks exposing the full expanse of the thighs. They are hairless and surprisingly voluptuous as are his calves. I am tempted to ask about the hair removal process. It is tough enough for a woman to withstand a waxing. I cannot imagine how a man could regularly undergo the procedure with the hair growing back so quickly.
A white apron highlights the deeply tanned skin and covers the front of the skirt. It bulges and that brings a smile. I know what is beneath.
Glancing further downward I see Mr. Dalton wears the daintiest of high heels with straps encircling his ankles. At least Mrs. D has permitted some degree of precaution. I know of many women who would find it difficult perched atop such footwear. The straps will serve to add support.
“You look very pretty this evening, Teddie,” I finally bluster as smoothly as I can without giggling.
He blushes...like a young girl. Yet I feel no compunction over his humiliation. The scene of the black nurse thoroughly caning him for my birthday flashes to my mind. I feel aroused.
I take my drink and he again curtsies. Mrs. D takes hers and he does likewise and leaves.
“Amazing change is it not, Matilda? And the cost was minimal. He’ll be back to work next week. You’ll notice that he has difficulty speaking...some necessary modifications to his tongue. But I have already cleared his ‘special need’ with the flight attendant’s union. He can still serve passengers though he will not be making any flight announcements for a while.”
My boss smiles and laughs under her breath.
We both sip at our ‘old fashions’ gazing at the rapidly darkening panorama.
The Constancia Compendium Page 43