Constancia Island, A Femdom Novel

Chapter Four-1

Chapter Four

A boring pay per view movie drags me down a long path toward renewed sleep. But the rising sun finds me waking to a television screen with a message enticing me to select another cinematic nightmare. I decline and relieve myself of the annoyance with a push of a button.

The phone rings. It quickly becomes apparent that I have overslept and the driver for my car ride to Lady Constance’s waiting boat has been imbibing coffee in the hotel lobby for 20 minutes.

I hurriedly shower, pack and scurry to the lobby. There, a very large native male greets me in a manner conducive to all I have met in the employ of the domineering Lady Constance. He bows and humbly rushes to take my luggage.

The ride is short and I am surprised when, instead of going to the island’s main marina, we veer onto a narrow road engulfed by tropical greenery. A casual passerby would overlook it as a pathway to a squalid native hut, but when we traverse a bend a guardhouse indicates otherwise. There is also a formidable fence, topped with strands of viciously sharp razor wire, which also serves to further suggest something other than squalor.

A huge guard, machine pistol in hand, nods to our driver and an automatic gate slides open. The auto eases forward and within a hundred yards or so the ocean comes into view, along with a long pier and several cinder block structures. The car stops in front of the furthest building. A door opens in response to the sound of the car. A very tall black woman steps into the Caribbean sunlight. It is Jasmine, the nurse and trainer for Lady Constance’s toy submissive, Boy.

She is casually attired. Normally, she is wearing her starched white uniform, but this morning a colorful sarong is wrapped about her muscular physique, making her appear as a native.

“Good morning, Doctor. I have signaled for the boat waiting off shore. It will be here in minutes. We try to minimize activity here during the day. Please come inside and wait.”

The driver hurriedly carries my luggage into the simple block building. On his way out he falls to his knees, reaches for Jasmine’s hand and obsequiously kisses it. He arises and closes the door after him.

My eyes slowly become accustomed to the lack of light. It is a magnificently accoutered room with a distinguished antique bar, heavy oak tables, large chairs, comfortable couches and thick dark wood paneling. It is an interesting juxtaposition to the stark, cinder block outer walls. There are no windows and a small crack under the exit door emits sunlight, which appears dazzlingly bright.

“We are equipped here for lengthy stays, should there be a sudden storm or other cause for delay. There is a bathroom should you need it and a small kitchen if you’d like coffee or refreshments.

“The other buildings are for supplies awaiting transfer to Constancia and of course holding pens for new arrivals.”

Although Jasmine is smiling, her description of the diabolical manner in which new males are stored for transport to the island is chilling. Treated more as cargo than human, I recall the coffin like boxes at the clinic, which I visited the day before. Comfortable but confining they provide an ineluctable chamber for the transportation of the human form.

Jasmine moves to the kitchen and returns with a pot of coffee and two cups. She pours and talks.

“You’d be amazed at how this little enclave bustles on some nights. The supply boat is only loaded in darkness and of course new recruits embark here. We release them from their travel box a day or so before moving them to the island. The sedatives wear off, we cut off the control rings and it’s easier if they get on and off the boat under their own power. Well secured wrists and a nice long whip ensures thorough compliance.”

Jasmine smiles broadly with the thought of herding like cattle the naked forms of young males.

We sip the hot brew in silence. I inquire about Boy.

“He’s very good, thank you, Doctor. Lady Constance decided to leave him in New York for this trip. The hotel has a deliciously devious sensory deprivation chamber. When we return he’ll be particularly eager to serve.”

The thought of the effeminate lad squirreled away in the hotel basement, lying in a dark room and/or floating in a deprivation tank, is provocative.

“But not to worry, Doctor. He’s in the care of a particularly dominant young specialist. A Russian woman thoroughly trained by the KGB in mind control. I suspect she’ll let him see daylight on occasion. She’s working to extend the ability of females to have control over his tumescence. You know Lady Constance likes to have him erect for lengthy periods. We understand the specialist has a very successful record of opening up to the influence of dominant females that portion of the submissive brain affecting the p***s. I get goose bumps thinking about the results.”

The sound of a horn signals Jasmine that the boat is nearby. She suggests that it is time and returns the pot and cups to the kitchen. I stand and begin to pick up my travel cases.

“Those will be taken care of, Doctor. No guest lifts a hand on Constancia. Lady Constance insists.”

Jasmine opens the door and the bright sunlight is blinding. When my eyes adjust I can see the sleek shape of a very fast boat approaching the pier. It docks and a black woman steps off and waves. In her left hand is a small whip. She is dressed in a colorful sarong like Jasmine’s.

Jasmine returns the wave and steps onto the hardened crushed coral surface serving as the parking area for the buildings. I follow and we proceed to the pier.

“It’s Motamba. She runs the main house.”

Two naked Caucasian males appear from the cabin area of the boat. Motamba turns her head, barks a command and cracks her whip. The two instantly jump unto the pier, tie up the lines and run toward us. They are both totally naked but for various ornaments which glint in the sunlight.

“House boys,” Jasmine explains. “Tightly banded, to the point of essentially being eunuchs. But their oral skills are renowned amongst Lady Constance’s guests.”

I remain confused about the reference to ‘banding’, a procedure mentioned during my visit to the clinic in Germany. But I remain silent and observe. I am sure I will learn more over time.

As the naked males approach running at full pace, I notice their steps are somewhat awkward and when my eyes move downward I notice that their testicles are prominently displayed but remain somewhat motionless despite the hurried steps. Their flaccid p*****s swing to and fro and bands of metal encircle the shafts of pink flesh near the tip.

They rush past us and I turn to watch the well-formed buttocks strain to propel their young bodies up the slight incline to the building we have just left. Apparently, it is a race as Jasmine’s comments indicate.

“The loser will experience Motamba’s wrath. During daylight it is not good to delay the boat’s departure, therefore she encourages haste.”

We reach the boat and board. I look back to see one lad running at a good pace with my lighter bag. The other has been burdened with my heavy bag and will obviously be the loser as he struggles to run with it back to the pier.

With the house boys freely running about it becomes evident to me that the high fence surrounding the enclave serves two purposes: not only keeping the curious out but the servile bonded males in. Their freedom to move about being aberrant to any conduct I had observed among other charges under Lady Constance’s tutelage.

I visually examine the young male bearing my light bag as he joins us on the boat. He appears to be in his late teens, but I know from experience that smooth, depilated skin such as his can be deceptive in attempting to judge age. He is short in stature. The top of his head is at the height of Jasmine’s shoulder. His n*****s are curiously pierced in a manner, which I have not before seen. Each n****e is exposed but completely surrounded by a circular metal shield, resembling a badge. It is obvious that this badge is attached to his chest by way of at least one and possibly two deep pins connected to one side of the metallic shield, penetrating under the sensitive n****e then connecting to the opposite circumference. The badge has eight points ending in small eyelets. The areolas are puffy, soft and quite effeminate in appearance. They remind me somewhat of Boy’s, where chastity and hormones transformed the organs into delightfully sensitive nubs, reacting to Lady Constance’s touch by obediently crinkling and standing in salute.

He stows my bag in the cabin and returns. Motamba snaps her fingers and he instantly places his hands on his head and stands with feet apart. His pose is well practiced and his stillness enables me to further inspect.

My gaze moves downward. A flaccid p***s of larger than average length freely flops about, the steel band seeming to exaggerate its movements. His skin is pierced at each hip with what can only be described as rivets. It appears that a pinch of skin was gathered and several layers of epidermis penetrated by a small circular piece of steel the size of a coin. This metal disk is open in the middle and cords appearing to be elastic, run from these hip rivets to his scrotum. There, the pink bag is ringed by two moderately gauged bands of steel around the top of each testicle. The cords are secured to the scrotum bands serving to pull the testicles forward and apart. Jasmine notices my observation.

“Interesting, is it not, Doctor? The island is staffed with descendants of a certain African tribe, which is noted for body modifications. Lady Constance insists they be free to practice their skills. Their practices have modernized somewhat with the aid of a device that embeds metal rivets into the skin. The rivets are much less susceptible to tearing as with simple piercings.

“This is a typical configuration designed to best display and control the testicles. Each testicle band is sized to perfectly slip over the gonad with moderate pressure and is serrated on the inside to hinder attempts to slip it off. The cords pull the sac forward and separate the testicles for better viewing.

“Turn and bend.”

The naked youth obeys and his plump but muscular backside is displayed. Two more cords come to view.

“These serve to stretch and hold the sac while walking and running.”

Jasmine reaches down and gruffly pulls the lad’s scrotum back and up. The cords tighten. Two smaller steel rivets pierce the bottom left and right of the long pink bag. The two cords, also elastic, run from each rivet and terminate at piercings on the inside of each knee. Therefore the bottom of the scrotal sac is held downward and is pulled by the knee rivets with each step forward and back. The overall effect of the cords, bands and piercings is to stretch the scrotum into the shape of a large letter “W” with the knee cords pulling it downward and also separating the sac into two sections, each encasing a testicle.

The second naked youth arrives and struggles to lift my bag. The moment his foot leaves the pier Motamba turns to the control panel and starts the engines. She claps her hands and the two naked forms jump to release the lines and free the boat for its journey.

Having a clearer perception of the various modifications, I now watch with interest as the young males move and the elastic cords pull their hairless scrotums, producing a most lascivious display of the male organs. But the metal band encircling the p***s just below the tip remains unexplained.

Motamba expertly guides the boat away from the dock and through coral reefs. We soon reach open water. There she pushes the throttles well forward and begins to relax. Jasmine disappears into the cabin. When she returns, her sarong has disappeared and she is naked but for a small patch of cloth loosely dangling over her pubes from a string around her waist.