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Chapter One
Interview with Lady Constance
January 4, 1998
Notes: Lady Constance graciously agreed to be interviewed with few restrictions but requested precautions concerning the true identity of certain friends and employees. My comments/questions are in italics.
Lady Constance sits in a large, stuffed, leather chair. A very dignified woman of some thirty years, her attire and demeanor are indicative of her extreme wealth. A descendant of one of Europe’s royal families, her late father reportedly revitalized the “old” wealth of his antecedents by eschewing ownership of vineyards and art work for timely investments in technology, biotech, and energy. Details are beyond the scope of this research, but it is said by those most knowledgeable that Lady Constance can buy and sell almost any one in Europe. As the reader will learn, her proclivities mandate a “low” profile. Therefore few in Europe are aware of the full extent of her resources and how she chooses to exercise the privileges of immeasurable wealth. And there are even fewer in the United States, where she visits from time to time with complete anonymity.
A notable air of self-confidence emanates from Lady Constance. When she enters a room, all seem to silently turn to her in an unsolicited display of homage. It is difficult to portray in writing what attracts such admiration, but her facial features are symmetrical and proportional. Her shoulder length, raven hair is always perfectly coifed and any jewelry worn is elegant but understated. As one noted gemologist informed me, there’s not a stone she wears that a museum or collector would not proudly exhibit in a well-secured display case.
Those who have accompanied her on lengthy annual soirees to the Caribbean report that in bathing attire, Lady Constance is the envy of every woman and an object of lust for every man. Apparently not pre-occupied with achieving the gaunt look of a fashion model, Lady Constance is not Rubenesque either. And as I glance at her calves and the lower portion of her thighs, the firm texture of the tanned flesh hint at underlying muscles which are most likely subjected to a daily and exhaustive exercise routine. The sculpted shapes of her arms confirm this conjecture and cause me to reflect on the rumors of her martial arts skills. As I scan Lady Constance’s physique, newspaper accounts of a broken limb attained by an alleged purse-snatcher of questionable agility come to mind. The story goes that Lady Constance reacted quickly to the clumsy attempt and was reportedly not hurt in the incident. But I again ponder the curious follow up stories of the perpetrator’s disappearance after bond money from unknown sources was mysteriously posted with the French court. No concluding details were published, as the sensational death of Princess Diane began to dominate the news. And to my knowledge the incompetent thief never was found to stand trial. But alas, that’s another story.
I sit at a nearby desk with pen and notepad. “Boy” is not present at the start. I ask Lady Constance for a chronology of her relationship with Boy.
“Mother was a firm woman, as you can imagine. Early in life she wanted to introduce me to the delights of the domination of the male. I cannot recall the exact age, but one afternoon the chauffeur was summoned to bring the car around and we drove to a nearby clinic.
“It was a rather imposing building, four stories high with straight, formidable lines of red brick. Built in the twenties I should guess, and I believe was designed as a sanitarium for the mentally ill.
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p; “Well, we were met at the main entrance by a regal woman of an age somewhat older than mother who, although treating my mother with deference, displayed quite an air of authority. She was the Director of the clinic and spent very little time with casual conversation. We were quickly invited inside and ushered into an elevator. It may have been my young age, but the three of us seemed to descend for quite some time, and I remembered wondering just how far under the earth the large elevator would take us.
“When the grind of the motors ceased, a most interesting scene came to view. As the door slowly slid from left to right my eyes opened wide to the panorama of a large, well lit open room filled with completely naked males in their late teens, odd apparatus, tables of shiny, stainless steel and women in crisply starched, white uniforms.”
“Was it your first glimpse of the naked male? And what was your reaction?”
“Yes. I suppose it was. And you may be interested to learn I was quite curious. Mother admonished me not to be afraid, but as I recall I was far from it. The teenagers all had amazingly long penises. And I had an insatiable urge to get closer to look..., and that we did.
“The Director spoke to Mother as we stepped from the elevator. I don’t recall all she said since my curiosity had me focusing on the long dangling strips of pink flesh. I suppose the initial exposure to the anatomical difference captures the attention of most girls, and I was indeed somewhat mesmerized. But I do remember some explanation offered by the Director that the teenagers were troublesome orphans from various countries sent to the clinic for special care.”
Lady Constance laughs at this point in the interview.
“‘Special care’..., a rather whimsical oxymoron. There was not a stitch of clothing to be found among the teens. They all wore thick, neck collars and had their arms secured in back of them, bent at the elbows so that their hands pointed upward where their wrists were attached to the collar. The only thing covering their flesh was a large number painted on the right buttock of each. ‘We don’t brand or tattoo here,’ I remember the Director explaining to Mother. ‘That option is left to the new owner.’
“Well, for a girl my age it was an overwhelming scene as you can imagine. The uniformed women were each busy with one or two teens, examining, exercising, washing, feeding, and watering. Since the boys’ hands were cuffed there was not much they could do for themselves. And I distinctly recall watching one young male on a treadmill, his long penis flopping about as a very strong, black woman stood nearby supervising a rather vigorous, exercise routine.
“The Director insouciantly stepped into the room and led us down an aisle splitting the middle of the equipment. The women in white smiled graciously, but I noticed the naked males did not seem to acknowledge our presence.
“‘As you know, we have the trainees wear special contact lenses. Everything is blurred and out of focus to them except that certain silhouettes can be discerned at close distances. Keeps them docile and dependent on their trainers,’ the Director explained.”
Lady Constance pauses and sips some water from a nearby glass. Her reminiscence causes a wry smile to appear.
“I remember feeling something between my thighs at that point; a twinge and some moisture. I suppose it was a reaction Mother expected from a daughter with her genes. The arousal of a young, dominant female as she surveyed a room of completely helpless, male forms. All essentially blinded with hands bound, forced to submit to the will of the women in white. I was excited..., but too young to fully understand why.”
“Interesting, Lady Constance. It was not merely the naked male flesh which aroused you?”
“No. Of that I am certain. It was the interaction of the firm women with the naked males; so much happening in one large room. Watching the women work the young trainees, making them bend to their will. It was new. Different. A carnal cornucopia.
“And Mother acted so naturally..., just displaying an occasional smile as she observed me zestfully absorbing it all. Yes, she knew and expected me to be enthusiastically curious, which I was.
“We spent several minutes touring the room and watching each woman. The Director referred to them as ‘behavior specialists’, and I specifically recall how proud she was of their talents. There was one lad receiving an extensive enema, his bulging belly being carefully monitored by a smiling woman as he struggled with the pressure, another was undergoing depilation as the trainees were kept completely hairless below the neck collar, another was being trained to swallow a sizeable rubber phallus, a hideous thing with strings of rubber hanging from it. The Director explained it was designed to ingrain the control of the ‘gag reflex’ which the dangling rubber strings triggered when brushing the back of the throat. Another trainee, well secured with thighs widely spread, was undergoing bladder control, a ‘behavior specialist’ holding a beaker under his flaccid penis and signaling him to turn the flow of urine on and off with snaps of her fingers. I was amazed at the demands she put on the trainee and even Mother smiled as we watched the lad’s penis twitch and quiver with the various efforts to curtail the flow in midstream.
“‘Total control. Our methods are firm but effective. The subjugants leaving here after our training are totally subservient to the will of the female,’ I recall the Director boasting with zeal. And Mother nodded in agreement.”
“How many were there, Lady Constance?”
“I suppose a dozen or more judging from the number of cages where the trainees were ‘penned’ at night. That was another element of control, which turned the moisture between my thighs into a river. There were large dog pens stacked up three high near the far wall. Large for a dog, you understand, rather cramped for a human. The cages were of steel wire some two feet high and two feet wide. A penned trainee was open to view from all sides. The front side facing the open room had slots where a food bowl could be pushed in and removed. In the rear, the pen opened for the trainees to enter and exit and presumably also provided access for the behavior specialists to monitor and control bodily functions.
“The drains on the floor answered my unasked question about toilet visits. I learned on a subsequent visit to the clinic that boys had to earn a berth on the top row of cages. There the uncontrolled bladder of a fellow trainee did not result in a problem. The boys on the bottom row sometimes had long, wet nights.
“When I pictured the naked, restrained trainees huddled into the cages at night, being fed from bowls slipped through narrow slots in the wire mesh, then obsequiously waiting the long hours to be freed for another day of training..., well, Doctor, that really set my imagination going. I think Mother noticed the damp spot on my slacks at that point.”
