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“Naomi tells me you uncovered Ming’s secret,” Lady Constance comments, smilingly with her own pun.
I demur until I can determine Lady Constance’s level of concern or annoyance.
“You’re not the first guest to let curiosity trump their tact, Doctor. Others have not been so careful in removing the patch. But it’s easily replaced. The covering is intended to discourage Ming’s thoughts concerning gender. Androgynous thinking enhances her penchant for servicing male or female, which she does rather well.”
She pauses and lowers her hand. Ling lifts her head and with a shockingly long tongue scoops a crumb of bread from Lady Constance’s palm.
“Like every other muscle, the tongue can be exercised and strengthened,” Lady Constance offers with a gleam.
Ling swallows and attentively returns to the obeisant servicing of her mistress’s foot.
Over the next few minutes we speak about the offer of employment. Somehow she knows I am intrigued. Did my injudicious actions with Ming give me away? In hindsight I should have kept my exploration covert by replacing the patch, but Naomi’s morning visit was unexpected and deprived me of the opportunity.
“My Asian friend has promised me four ‘Mings’ per year. Not all are kept here on Constancia. There’s my English estate. My ranch in Canada. The Riviera chateau. But another is scheduled to arrive here before I return to New York next month. She could be specifically trained for your needs...”
More food for thought. Again I demur and Lady Constance knows to remain silent and not over emphasize her point. The morning jaunt with Big Fella was strangely fulfilling and I wonder if she discreetly watched from the house as I liberally applied the whip during the final sprint to the porte-cochere.
We finish lunch in silence. When porter number two pours coffee, Lady Constance resumes.
“I am due at the yacht. An April trip to the Philippines needs to be planned. Stay and finish your coffee.
“Botana is going to the medical building to look over her new pony but Sumani will have Big Fella ready for your needs. Take a leisurely drive to the eastern end. Not much there except Dr. Reinhold’s house. You may find the seclusion to be enjoyable...”
Her suggestion remains suspended as she playfully pinches Ling’s right nipple then stands. As she departs, watching her well-developed buttocks sashay across the deck cannot be helped. The combination of beauty, power and indisputable authority is rarely found, I think to myself, particularly in someone so relatively young.
Motamba steps from the door of the house. She signals to Ling who meekly stands and walks toward her. Motamba holds in one hand an obscenely large rubber phallus and in the other an object I’ve seen described as a tongue clamp. The two disappear into the house. I finish my coffee and leave.
Chapter Fifteen
I return to my room to change to lighter clothing. Ming is not to be seen until I open the closet door. There ‘she’ kneels in her obsequious pose, head bowed with upturned palms on well spread thighs. I wonder if she hears me enter the room then assumes the trained position of acquiescence. It is difficult to otherwise comprehend how she can maintain such an unusual position on the hard wood floor.
I just nod and wordlessly close the door. Something brings a smile to my face. Is it knowing that Ming along with the footstool and cane await my return? That after a glorious day of riding in the sun, I will be decadently sipping C
hampagne while the genderless, hairless, naked form squirms about on the smooth leather hassock?
My own thoughts begin to concern me as I proceed to the porte-cochere.
I catch a glimpse of Lady Constance whipping her chariot team as she disappears on the drive to the main road. But Big Fella and my cart are not to be seen. I conclude that Sumani has been occupied tacking my hostess’s chariot, therefore I stroll down the hill to the stables.
When I turn to round the corner of the building I spy my cart. A few feet further kneels Big Fella. His leather collar is hitched to a fence. He is wet and blindfolded. Sumani stands beside him vigorously massaging his testicles with her left hand. Her right is between his spread thighs evidently giving his perineum an equally aggressive rub. The end of the rubber plug can be seen between his buttocks.
“Good afternoon, Doctor. A sponge bath and a little prostate massage for Big Fella. He’s a delight to work and he secretes so nicely! I’ll have him hitched in a few minutes.”
Continuing to approach, I step to the front. Sumani has Big Fella at full blossom. His penis band is barely discernible under the large purple head. And the prostatic fluid does indeed ooze abundantly, glistening in the sunlight as it rolls down the length of the long stiff shaft. One cannot help smiling at the sight..., the knowledgeable hands of the native Sumani playing Big Fella’s organs. It is like watching a skilled artist sculpt a statue, the precision and timing of the movements developed over years of training and experience. And all designed and intended to build the mental frustration of the male beast while relieving the physical accumulation of hormones.
I watch with interest noting that Big Fella knows to remain perfectly still and accept what little gratification he is allowed. His years tell him that ejaculation will not be permitted, that over excitement will result in encroachment of the dreaded and painful teeth of the band, but that the subtle hormonal release will provide him some degree of comfort.
“Lady Constance indicated that you’re not going very far. You may wish to just keep him plugged. It will inhibit running but the resulting erection is fascinating to view.”
Sumani releases Big Fella’s neck-collar as she speaks. The blindfolded giant docilely stands and follows the tugs of her fingers on the collar. He is indeed incredibly erect. And it is the first time I am afforded a close frontal view of a tumefied pony while he moves about. It is a most sordid scene. When combined with the realization that he moves only under the direction of the controlling female, I have the insatiable urge to photograph the interaction of trainer and beast for my D/s archives.
Yes. I will leave him plugged. Running him under the whip was enjoyable. But I am curious concerning his performance while impaled with the large rubber implement.
Various sounds emanating from the stable draw my attention. Sumani notices my interest.
“It’s the treadmills, Doctor. The ponies are exercised every day whether it be in harness or on the apparatus.”
Sumani busies herself securing the reins and straps so I utilize the time to investigate. Entering the stable and proceeding to the far end, I can see a large area filled with the machines. Three young native girls are supervising, in a naked state of course. They brandish nasty quirts similar to those used on the chariots and carts. Sightless ponies, all wearing the training hood, are being worked, each with neck collar and wrists secured behind the back. Some half dozen treadmills are humming, three appear to be at top speed.
