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I laugh and find myself parting her cheeks, my curiosity piqued. But alas, the bottom of her patch is well secured to a small piercing through her perineum, foiling my efforts to examine what is beneath and determine her true gender with finality. But the pink rose of her rear portal invitingly unfolds hinting at extensive penetration, and I am pleasantly surprised to see that it is well lubricated.
A knock on the door comes with porter number one calling out that cocktails will be served in twenty minutes. Punctiliousness should be afforded to the world’s most dominant women and I curtail my examination to dress, cautioning Ming to remain positioned.
When properly accoutered for aperitifs and dinner, I peer into the mirror in a final, self-imposed verification of my attire. Over my shoulder is the reflection of Ming and I find I can no longer resist. She is too inviting and the wall ominously beckons. I yield to my urges and select some implements. Returning to the kneeling subjugant, I again slowly part her cheeks and slide a huge, evilly shaped rubber phallus into her puckered but lubricated rectum. She moans. She is well impaled but too experienced and disciplined to protest her discomfort. A pair of nipple clamps appropriately weighted with free swinging baubles finishes my decorative endeavors, and with the satisfaction of hearing a whimper and seeing tears slowly form, I step to the door, admonishing her to remain motionless as I close it behind me.
Chapter Ten
I arrive in the parlor just in time to see Botana complete some small details in securing an enormous male to one of the ubiquitous eye hooks embedded in the smooth concrete wall. He is wearing a hood, which covers his entire head, ears and eyes included, except a single opening for the mouth and nose for breathing. His only other garment, if it may be so termed, is a single leather glove, holding his arms painfully close together behind his back. He quietly stands on a block of wood.
Botana is wearing a simple cotton throw-over dress, which gracefully hangs from her shoulders and disappointedly conceals what I know to be the delightful form of a native ingénue. We briefly engage in conversation and I learn that the male is an experienced steed, at one time Lady Constance’s favorite. The hood is referred to as a training hood, leaving the wearer without vision and if desired impaired hearing if the ears are muffled underneath.
“This type of hood is used to teach the pony to react solely to the pull of the reins and the sting of the whip, not to what he sees or hears,” offers Botana. “When not in harness, we keep the pony hooded like this to ensure docility and reliance on his trainer.”
While she speaks, she is standing on a small step stool and is testing and closely examining a simple but strong cord. It connects the top of the single glove to the eye-hook. My eyes move downward as she works to see that his nipples bear the familiar circular shields, that the flesh near both hips has been riveted, and that his flaccid penis is huge, pierced through the urethra and banded. His hairless pink scrotum encases two testicles the size of eggs, which leisurely swing between his knees. Two testicle rings serve to separate the sac into the distinctive “W” configuration, but no cords are attached. If the pink bag has been riveted on the bottom, it cannot be determined due to the angle of my view.
Botana notices my shock at the position and size of the gonads.
“The years of whipping take their toll. Over time the testicles swell. That’s why ‘Big Fella’ has mostly been retired from actively pulling carts.”
Botana steps down. Apparently satisfied with her handiwork she leans over and removes the block of wood from under ‘Big Fella’s’ feet. The silent giant groans and his lifeless form begins to move about with the tension suddenly applied to his single glove. His feet thrash a bit until he finally finds a comfortable position standing on his toes.
Botana smiles with his struggles and tenderly pats his swinging reproductive organs.
“Calm down, Big Fella. Lady Constance will be here soon.”
With that she reaches to a nearby table for a red ribbon and two small matching roses. She ties the ribbon around the flaccid manhood and then incredibly pins each rose to a nipple. Quickly and callously each sensitive areola of this docile giant is punctured through the very tip so that his very flesh is utilized to hold in place the fragrant roses.
Big Fella cries out and once again thrashes in his simple but painful bonds. Botana merely dabs away a little blood and smiles.
“You look very nice, Big Fella. Lady Constance hasn’t seen you in a long time. Be sure to please her.”
No sooner said than the regal Queen of Constancia enters the parlor. She immediately claps her hands and the two porters appear bearing trays. Hors d’oeuvres and wine are served.
“Oh, Botana, how nice. Big Fella!”
She strides across the room. Her raven hair has been freed of its ponytail and the lights shine from it as it brushes her bare shoulders. She wears a simple white slip with straps. At the hips it becomes pleated and the fabric rustles about her knees as she approaches her bound and naked charge. The slightest of bounces about her chest indicates that she is sans brassiere and there are no detectable seams, which would hint at any other undergarments, for that matter.
“I haven’t seen him in so long. He’s been kept quite trim.”
Botana beams with pride as Lady Constance inspects her former prized pony. In varied locations, she pinches his flesh in a very practiced manner, evidently gauging the body fat. She then more deeply kneads the thighs, then bends for a feel of the straining calve muscles. Finally her left hand grasps his right buttock and firmly squeezes while her right fingers gently diddle the underside of the banded ribbon entwined penis.
“Katrina has kept him well exercised.”
As she speaks her deft handling has its effect. Big Fella indeed becomes a big fellow as his phallus stiffens and begins to rise.
“And he remembers my touch, how nice.”
She steps back and retrieves a glass from the tray which porter number two has been patiently holding to her side. Once she has imbibed and nods approvingly, I am offered a glass.
Dr. Reinhold enters. She has discarded her medical garb and wears a frumpy cocktail dress. Still it is an improvement. But my attention is quickly drawn from her attire to what follows her into the room. At the end of a leash is a naked woman, Caucasian, hairless including her head, and covered with piercings. Finely gauged rings penetrate her skin in every conceivable area and attached to each is a tiny bell. Thus her presence is announced with a cacophony of rings as each of her steps jiggles her piercings.
Her leash emanates from a chain at her abdomen. There it is threaded through a large ring piercing the lower belly and continues down to her pudendum.
Lady Constance and I return Dr. Helga’s greetings as porter number two rushes to serve h
er a glass of wine.
The leashed woman is Rubenesque. But her plumpness is well proportioned and firm. And as expected in such a female, her mammaries are huge. Unlike Lady Constance’s and Jasmine’s, the breasts are pendulous and swing heavily with each step. Her nipples protrude about an inch and a half from the main body of the mammary. My eyes detect a small ring at the base, which seems to constrict each pink areola, forcing the flesh to point forward.
