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“My mother learned to induce forced lactation in certain males. There’s a certain rare genetic predisposition necessary for noticeable results, but it can be done. I look for it among the candidates from the clinic, but so far no luck. Lady Constance is enthralled with the concept, though I have cautioned her that the flow rate will be comparatively modest, unless of course the inducement is done in conjunction with a rather permanent alteration...,”
With Doctor Reinhold’s ominous pause, I use the interruption as an excuse to beg my leave. She smiles politely.
“Yes. It is best you return in daylight. Let me help you with Big Fella.”
I waste no time returning to my steed. Dr. Reinhold gives a command and with the aid of a firm tug of her fingers Big Fella expels, with some degree of reluctance, his plug. She places it in a plastic bag.
“I’ll remove the agitator. But I suggest you keep it for future use. They’re considered standard equipment for bellicose pony boys here on Constancia. We turn them out by the dozens at the Medical building.”
Dr. Reinhold grasps the huge penis in her left hand and snares the flanged end of the agitator with the fingers of her right. With a quick twist and pull, she removes the small but mendacious implement. Big Fella almost faints with the pain. The simple strip is also placed in the bag, which Dr. Reinhold tosses into my cart.
“He’s too sore to urinate now but will badly need to do so when he returns. Tell Botana he’s had a penal agitator inserted. She may choose to just catheterize him rather than make him suffer.”
I cannot believe my ears hearing a statement of moderation concerning the treatment of a male pony. But as I step into the cart, my experience tells me Big Fella will have a long and painful night attempting to empty himself.
Needlessly stated, the trip back to Estovia is very fast. As we pass the turn off for the cove, the automatic lighting system begins to work. With Big Fella in a funk concerning his need to empty himself, there is no need to encourage speed. He seems to realize that he needs the tender touch of Botana or Salina to gently help him relieve his bladder without further urethral irritation.
The turn from the main road to Estovia’s approach is negotiated at full speed and we sprint up the hill to the usual stopping point. Botana awaits. When I hand her the plastic bag and she sees the agitator she begins to giggle.
“Oh, Big Fella. You’re going to have a long night.”
Chapter Eighteen
In what seems to be a nightly ritual, porter number one knocks on my bedroom door and enters with more Champagne. This time a bowl of extremely ripe melon chunks accompanies the beverage and I am informed that I will be dining with only Lady Constance. Cocktails to be served at 7:00 p.m.
My watch tells me I have two hours to shower, write, and relax. But strangely, as I pour my first glass, I find my thoughts turning to Ming when the notion of relaxing crosses my cerebrum.
Yes. I suppose I should exhibit some degree of mercy and let ‘her’ out of the closet.
When I open the door, she looks up at me from her kneeling position and meekly smiles. Somehow she knows. Yes, this life long, trained, subservient masochist can read thoughts. ‘She’ has probably seen it happen time after time, observing first hand as the most steady, sane and vanilla of personalities first summarily points to the foot stool and then ominously selects the most painful instrument of correction from the inviting wall of decadence.
And yet she smiles. Knowing full well that once I have tasted the pleasure of seeing her soft pink flesh redden and swell with each stroke, that once hearing her delightfully muffled cries of torment, that once seeing her tears form and drip to the carpet, and that once smoothing my hand over the hot, excoriated skin of a well caned buttocks..., that I will return for more.
It rankles me. As a professional psychologist having my actions anticipated and being the object of ‘her’ prognostications and acquired wisdom is an affront. And with my anger, her prophecy is thus fulfilled. I indeed point to the footstool. I indeed attach neck collar, cuffs and spreader bar. And I indeed select the longest cane I can swing with relative accuracy.
And then I pause. Clothing is not required, I tell myself. And as Lady Constance so explicitly stated, the oral skills of her charges are renowned among her guests, no matter the gender or proclivity of preference.
I strip..., and my relaxation begins.
Chapter Nineteen
I find myself slightly late for dinner. My hands shake as I approach the parlor and I’m not sure why. Perhaps from the fear of my own actions. Perhaps from the overwhelming enjoyment of them. Whatever the cause, Ming will heal and I console myself with the reassurance that there are many miles and many rules of silence and discretion separating my untoward activities on Constancia and my New York career and reputation.
Lady Constance enters the room with me and with porter number two standing in wait we quickly engage in cocktails and conversation. She seems to be aware of my day
’s exploits but is uncharacteristically coy.
“I think you’re beginning to like it here, Doctor,” was her only comment.
We talk more about the psychological aspects of dominance and submission. She is quite knowledgeable, as one would expect, and we return to a potential project, which seems to intrigue her. Once again she mentions, this time with more enthusiasm and emphasis, the concept of instilling in submissive males an insatiable desire to provide oral service by substituting such for the normal need for sexual gratification. In so many words, mentally switching the pleasure receptors of the penis with those of the tongue.
Maybe it’s the alcohol, but I nod and laugh with the concept. And somewhat inexplicably, I not only acknowledge the possibility of successfully establishing such a program, but also indicate a level of interest in participating.
Lady Constance quietly smiles at that point and changes the subject.
“I have special entertainment for dinner, Doctor. The supply boat brought over a certain young male. Rather renowned and expensive I might add.”
She just as quickly drops the subject and reminiscences about some of her early exploits on Constancia. Growing up among naked subjugated males certainly aids in developing the dominant psyche, I think to myself. But I still cannot conclude with certainty whether the traits of strict domination are genetic or environmentally acquired.
