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The ASBM wishes to learn in the most exquisitely imaginable detail how I would like Ted modified. The catalogue contains a description of every conceivable manner of piercing, most with photos. There is a section covering the subject of hair removal...permanent? and if so what areas? Done chemically, by electrolysis or both...with a narrative on the merits of both.
It is suggested that certain appendages can be altered to better suit the needs of the Dominant female. It seems the Island’s medical staff, headed by this Dr. Reinhold, has pioneered many different procedures to make the male anatomy more suitable for a woman’s needs.
There is a section concerning restraints. Because Ted’s measurements have been scanned into a computer, the ASBM can arrange to have any number of wrist cuffs, ankle cuffs, neck collars, waist belts made that will fit precisely. Photos include such items made of leather, nylon, steel, etc. A full body harness is offered for suspension. The photos of naked males helplessly dangling from simple cords and ropes are arousing.
I wonder if a hook could be set into my bedroom ceiling?
There are hundreds of custom crafted ‘toys’ which the ingenious computer controlled machines of Constancia Island can produce. One set of items offers a curious level of control...rubber gags. Ball gags really, except in place of a ball is a lump of rubber molded to precisely cover the teeth and fill the mouth of the wearer. A circular passageway through the middle allows for the flow of air, but otherwise the wearer’s mouth is deliciously filled and immobilized. The set is comprised of three...introductory...modest...severe. The difference amongst the three being how far open the jaw is held. I feel a twinge gazing at the photo of a subordinate male wearing the severe model. Tears roll down his cheeks as the gag obviously forces open his mouth to the point of painfully straining the jaw muscles. Beneath the photo is the caption...‘You won’t even hear him hum’.
The tattooing I find interesting but not conducive to my needs. There are dozens of photos of naked submissive males permanently colored to resemble every imaginable animal...dogs, cats, birds. I will need Ted to accompany me to various functions, however. A husband, no matter how subservient, would not make the right impression at the annual Bar association dinner if tattooed to resemble a kitten.
Though the thought does bring a smile.
A clever warning in bold type introduces the next section. ‘Prostatic stimulation is imperative for the chaste male’. The following diagrams and pictures of anal insertions show endless shapes and sizes. All come with an ASBM guaranty that the well-hidden male gland will be properly manipulated by the recipient.
Then comes a section, which shocks. Physical alteration. Constancia is a sovereign country. There are no rules concerning medical practices there. With a stroke of my pen Ted will be returned to me more female than male...or perhaps without that useless strip of male flesh he so pleadingly suggests needs more of my attention. And all performed with the level of anesthesia mandated by the Dominant female partner. However horrid, it is tantalizingly permanent and gives rise to thoughts of such power...
Following is a discussion of the potential psychological transformations. This Dr. Corrothers is rather accomplished in her field and I never fully understood the long-term effects of neuroleptic drugs such as T
horazine. Depending on the level and longevity of the dosages, I can have Ted transmogrified into a walking vegetable with no other desire or urge than to please me...and of course how that is defined is for me to elucidate on the enclosed three page form. A sissy maid perhaps? Preferring high heels and stockings to mundane shoes and trousers. Perhaps an accomplished cunnilinguist, whose only sexual release comes in orally bringing about mine. A more masculine man servant, providing nightly massages with no regard to his own gratification.
The discussion on utilizing the subordinate male as a beast of burden offers a fascinatingly graphic image of the potential power exchange. Pictures taken on Constancia Island provide a montage of Dominant bliss, with well exercised, well whipped, naked and harnessed pony boys sweating in the tropical heat. It’s interesting to note the paucity of clothing that the females wear on the island, the forcibly chaste males offering no threat of sexual provocation.
Memories of my aunt’s farm in upstate New York flash into my mind. Since I inherited it, I only visited once...and that was before Ted.
Hmm. I do enjoy the physical elements of Dominance as much as the psychological....
My head swims with the possibilities. Why did I not do this before?
So with a second cup of coffee I retrieve a pen and let my imagination wander. How do I wish to manifest my Dominance?
It will be a challenging morning.
Chapter Eight
Ted Dalton
Following the doctor’s instructions is easy. Whatever drug has been injected robs me of all desire to move. But the syringe used on my penis is another story. ‘Little Ted’ feels as if he will explode! I have never had such a sensation of fullness and been so aware of my organ. It feels as if I am all penis!
And to lie helplessly while the two women peer at me with such looks of sang froid should be disconcerting. I am reminded of a steer at the slaughterhouse. Yet, I am oddly comfortable...the drug!
The humming of the machine, looming over me as if it will devour, finally stops and this middle aged dour woman, the doctor, turns to the black nurse.
“Put him in suspension for the nipple piercings, Naomi. I doubt if he will make trouble but there is no point in taking chances.”
The doctor leaves and this ‘Naomi’, dressed in the white uniform of a nurse, begins to assemble various straps and restraints. Over my two years of marriage I have certainly come to recognize bondage paraphernalia...Mrs. Dalton making the acquisition of such one of the main goals of her Friday evening shopping sprees. But this stuff is much more clinical...none of the black leather, which so is symbolic of BDSM interplay. Instead she assembles various lengths of thick beige nylon with velcro stitched onto numerous useful places for speed and ease when restraining a ‘patient’.
Naomi begins by encircling my neck with a high and stiff collar. Mrs. Dalton termed such items posture collars because the wearer is so forced to display appropriate posture. It positions my chin well off my chest and is notched at the chin, making it impossible to turn my head. As stated, simple velcro straps ensure it remains in place.
Next are wrist cuffs. Lined with thick cloth and foam, they are quite comfortable. Velcro again permits ease of use and it becomes evident, as broad straps are placed around my thighs, that Naomi has done this often. She is courteous in lifting and moving the requisite limbs but also quite firm. There is no way of slipping my wrists out from the cuffs after Naomi has pulled and folded over the securing straps. Ankle cuffs complete the ensemble. I am snugly strapped.
“Up we go, Mr. Dalton. You’ll feel a little clumsy at first. The Thorazine has that effect. But over time you will become accustomed to it...physically.”
I am amazed when she grasps my scrotum and uses it to guide me. She is polite, professional and most experienced in donning the restraints yet grabs my organs with such aggressiveness! Any thought of resistance quickly fades. I may be able to pull away from her, but with a heavy price.
I stand on wobbly feet.
“You’re nicely erect. I know you can’t see it, but Dr. Reinhold has you standing like a randy teenager. Can you feel it?” she inquires with a girlish giggle.
