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bsp; But alas, vocalizing such a teasing rejoinder would give myself away. Thus I remain silent and watch him squirm...his proud penis shriveling. I ignore the moans under the pillowcase. Ice is uncomfortable but not harmful.
Then I recall that the American Society for Behavior Modification has a help-line; a phone number where a Dominant woman can derive assistance.
Realizing that I have Ted at my complete mercy for four more days...and during that time he may never fully know who is tormenting him...I decide it may be wise to seek input. As I search for the number I cannot help but think of the analogy given at the lecture. Therefore I know exactly how to introduce the counselor to my situation...‘I have a friend who is under the influence of a very idiosyncratic narcotic...what should I do?’
I make the call and have a pleasant and enlightening conversation. It is a long-term problem which requires a long-term solution, the counselor suggests. But what to do?
“Are you still an associate member of the society Mrs. Dalton?”
I am and so indicate...the annual dues being a surprisingly paltry sum.
“Can you hold for a moment? Let me check on something for you.”
She returns after several minutes while I watch Ted’s genitals absorb the numbing coldness.
“We have an opening at ‘Constancia Island’. Are you familiar with the facility?”
I recall the psychologist referring to it years ago at the lecture I attended. The counselor jogs my memory...yes, the island near Aruba long owned by the incredibly wealthy Esterhoven family, now operated under the guidance of the strict Lady Constance.
She quotes me numbers. The daily fee would be less than staying at an expensive resort...though unlike a vacation facility Ted would be forced to work.
“There is a onetime upfront fee to arrange for his transportation. You understand that complete discretion is expensive.”
As an attorney I am well aware of that, but even the upfront fee is palatable. So I agree. I provide credit information...one of my cards, of course. Ted no longer has any.
“Timing is important, Mrs. Dalton. And we’ve found it best to operate late in the evening. There is a daily flight from Kennedy departing at 5:00 a.m. I can have a removal team there at 1:00 a.m.”
A late night removal team...how wonderfully clandestine. Like something out of a Robert Ludlum action novel.
I look at my watch. It’s just after 10:00 p.m. I have just a few hours left with Ted and with the counselor’s description of Constancia Island and the activities there, my mischievous free hand has been toying with the flap covering my mons. The wetness has turned to a river.
Chapter Two
Mrs. Dalton
I slip my hand into the freezing slush and cruelly pinch Ted’s scrotal flesh between the sharp nails of thumb and forefinger. There is no discernible reaction. He is appropriately numbed. With my level of disgust over his conduct I certainly would not want him to experience pleasure.
The bottom draw of the dresser displays a collection of formidable dildos. Ted purchased the modest and smooth ones...hardly used. The larger more exotic ones I procured through catalogues and furtive trips to some of the more sordid shops of Greenwich Village.
Since I won’t be seeing Ted for a while I want him to have a memorable last evening. I select the largest...one with ridges, bumps, and furrows, which serve to properly pressure that curious male gland...the prostate. I don’t recall using this one before, I think to myself.
Then I realize I should take precaution against the unknown. I plan to have a child at some point. And since I do not permit prosaic copulation, I have been collecting Ted’s sperm for a while, masturbating him into a little collection bag and freezing it for later insemination. One more sperm sample can’t hurt. The described therapeutic activities on Constancia Island can be severe. The counselor suggested that the removal team will arrive with releases to be signed. As an attorney, I fully understand the underlying meaning.
So I remove the bowl of ice and retrieve one last collection bag. I secure it over the tip of Ted’s penis with a bag tie. He can’t feel much and even though it may abrade the sensitive prepuce of his manhood it will not interfere with my efforts.
My hands shake in anticipation as I attach the huge hideously shaped dildo to my harness...at the flap covering my mons. Just jostling it with my fingers causes the insertion within me to pleasantly friction my vagina.
This is why I truncated the Chicago depositions and rushed through two airports. The well-lubricated rear opening of my submissive husband beckons me. My subterfuge will soon end. Ted knows my touch, particularly when I give his backside a thorough reaming...and tonight I will be unyielding. Fortunately for him, the difficulty he will have walking in the morning will be moot. On Constancia Island there will not be many places for him to go.
I push Ted further toward the bottom of the bed. His knees touch the carpet. I lift his arms...cuffed together behind his back at the wrists. This forces him to arch his back and present his shining well greased puckered rectum, ensuring easy and thorough penetration. When I press with the tip of the firm rubber cylinder, my male whore pushes open his sphincter to accept the nasty dildo. So nicely trained, I think to myself. So submissive. So eager to please. Yet such a slut. You’re going to be quite the attraction on Constancia Island, Ted.
My sodomization begins. It is slow. Methodical. Painful to the sensitive skin around his rectum. Absolutely benumbing to the desensitized genitals. In and out my muscled thighs work. I feel my powerful buttocks clench as the dildo so nicely causes to tremble the well placed insertion within me. I squeeze off a mild vaginal orgasm. My clitoris hardens and presses against the spindle absorbing the motion as I thrust...withdraw...thrust...withdraw.
Yes...Ted...I am back.
After dozens of gratifying thrusts, I withdraw completely. I look down. I have entrapped his penis, forced to flaccidity by the numbing ice, against the bed covers pointing downward. Thus the clear plastic collection bag lies in plain sight between his thighs. I am heartened to see that amongst an impressive accumulation of clear prostatic fluid there is the beginning of a flow of whiteness. Sperm. Ted is being milked of his essence. By a woman. A Dominant woman. One, who is choosing to take...whether or not Ted chooses to offer.
