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A second needle is casually pushed through the left nipple. Mr. Dalton yelps again and perspires noticeably. It is painful. Even at my age of 18 I have witnessed many. All males on Constancia wear nipple badges. That’s mandatory. And unlike the superficial piercings required for jewelry, such as nipple rings, the openings for the badges are deep, set well beneath the areolas under many layers of epidermis. I have never seen a nipple badge accidentally removed and would not enjoy seeing the damage to the flesh if torn away.
Dr. Reinhold twists both needles to ensure a good opening. Then she slides out the right needle and quickly inserts a thin but heat tempered metal bar. Naomi hands her a newly crafted badge. It is star shaped with a precise hole, which will serve to display the pink nipple, plumping it and making it deliciously exposed. The scan of Mr. Dalton’s body provided the exact dimensions for the computer controlled milling machine. The badge is custom made and perfect.
Dr. Reinhold picks up a small welding device. There is a spark and then another as the badge is sealed to the metal bar penetrating well beneath the nipple. Mr. Dalton will soon be feeling sensations he has never before experienced.
The left nipple is likewise adorned. Dr. Reinhold has done so many. It only takes a couple of minutes though the level of pain is enormous.
Mr. Dalton is fortunate in that the badges will be removed when he leaves. For many of the males on Constancia Island, the ingeniously humbling ornaments are permanent...worn for life.
A nurse enters, hands Naomi a plastic bag then retreats. Within are the testicle rings. The milling machine has just produced a pair of circular stainless bands each with a convenient eyelet. With considerable prodding from Dr. Reinhold, each will be slipped over a gonad and serve to nicely separate Mr. Dalton’s reproductive organs within the scrotal sac. Use of the eyelets is only limited by the Dominant female’s imagination. But psychologically it greatly enhances the feeling of submission, the male constantly feeling the pressure, however tolerable, of the ingeniously crafted controlling circles of steel.
On pony boys, the ringed and tethered scrotum is used as an extra element of restraint should reins and whip fail. There is nothing more effective than a strong tug on the scrotum to convince a pony who it is that’s in control.
So Naomi’s gloved hands remove the rings from the plastic bag and offer one to Dr. Reinhold. She begins to jiggle the testicles within the sac and quickly isolates the left egg. The male reproductive organs are not perfectly round...more oblong in shape. Therefore Dr. Reinhold endeavors to align the egg so that the ring can be slipped, more like shoved actually, over the narrowest circumference. She pushes and twists. Mr. Dalton grimaces. It will feel tight but the scanning never fails. The testicle rings will fit firmly, providing ultimate control and minimal interference to circulation and function. The inside diameter is serrated, finely milled by the computer, controlled machine, making it nearly impossible for the ring to slide in the opposite direction. For removal it will have to be cut.
The right egg is then ringed and Dr. Reinhold steps back. Naomi nods to me and I approach. My first subordinate male! He hangs so delightfully helpless and erect. He’s like a nicely wrapped birthday gift.
The rings serve to separate the testicles within the sac, as noted. Thus Mr. Dalton’s genitals are shaped like a large letter ‘W’ with the rings isolating and forcing his gonads slightly out to the sides instead of together idly hanging downward. His erection is subsiding somewhat. I know that Dr. Reinhold injected nitric oxide and thereafter his own body, in reacting to the terror, to the pain and being handled by women, served to keep the cascade of internally developed chemicals pouring into the vessels of his penis.
I approximate his size at eight plus inches...not bad by Island standards but not nearly enough to serve in Lady Constance’s stables. Pony boy’s have the biggest organs. Our benefactress insists that the Island’s human steeds display proud erections when pulling in harness. Her team is the largest, of course. And even the pony boy who delivered me to the medical building, a mere work pony, is well over nine inches.
So I approach and introduce myself. Mr. Dalton is confused, hanging naked and well secured before a gaggle of women. And as with all of us Bagandan women who work outdoors on Constancia Island, my attire is very brief. My only garment is a loose square of cloth that drapes over my pudendum from a simple string tied about my waist. At five foot and one hundred pounds I am small but think of myself as diminutively curvaceous. My mammary glands are firm and the daily regimen of working the male beasts in the fields has provided me with a trim athletic look. I am told my buttocks are perfectly rounded. So despite the Thorazine, Mr. Dalton gapes at me. His eyes lower to my breasts. A typical male, he’ll soon learn obedience and will be putting aside all lustful thoughts when I work him in the salt flats.
Naomi retrieves chastity mittens from a supply cabinet. She knows the correct size and selects a pair embedded with hundreds of gnarled lengths of prickly nylon filament. When worn and locked in place Mr. Dalton will not be playing with himself. The thorny material will abrade sensitive pink skin. Mr. Dalton will have use of his hands but not for masturbation.
Connecting straps secured by two tiny padlocks hold the mittens in place. Naomi hands me the key as the nurse returns with another plastic bag. Inside, just out of the milling machine is the final touch...a specially designed nose restraint. Unlike the pony boys, I’ll want particularly close control of Mr. Dalton. When I guide him about the salt flats, I will be riding on his bare back.
I cannot wait. My nipples crinkle with the anticipation.
Chapter Ten
Ted Dalton
First the intense pain of long and sharp needles. This Dr. Reinhold thrust the wicked shards through the very meat of my nipples without a blink of an eye, as if they were pincushions. Then came the heat of the welding device and the weight of these metal disks. The rings around my testicles can be felt. Not painful but snug just the same. The mittens are a curious touch. I can feel the surface scratch my buttocks.
But then this little minx approaches and gazes at me with a pride of ownership. And she has the nicest breasts. Firm and young, their perkiness embodies youth. The girl calls herself Luana...‘Miss Luana’ to me she carefully explains.
Her dark skin is evenly hued hinting at many hours of basking in the sun. There are no lines to indicate the wea
ring of attire. The teen must romp about daily sans clothing. She’s pretty. Her eyes are merry yet mischievous. She speaks without any accent and enunciates precisely, apparently aware that I have been injected with a drug and wishing to assure herself that she is understood.
“You’re going to work very hard for me,” she boastfully declares. And oddly I have no mental energy to protest or vocalize resistance.
She brazenly grasps my penis. It feels partially flaccid with much remaining firmness. She skins back my prepuce with a surprisingly knowledgeable touch. Still, her warm hand is welcomed. Despite her youth I feel strangely comfortable in her presence. The Thorazine produces the oddest reactions.
The other nurse enters as my penis resumes stiffening under the touch of this Miss Luana. The uniformed girl smiles at the sight of a feminine hand caressing my manhood. She hands Nurse Naomi another plastic bag. With her last visit came the testicle rings. Now what?
This time the girl does not leave. The foursome of women smile wickedly and but for the Thorazine I believe I would shudder in fear. Nurse Naomi extracts an ominous six inch strip of rounded steel from the plastic bag. It is slightly more narrow than a pencil and each end has a loop the opening of which is large enough to accommodate a cord. In the middle it tapers to a mere strand, the gauge approximating that of the bar thrust through my nipples. There are a pair of shorter parallel shafts of steel, about two inches high, attached perpendicular to the strip and adjacent to the tapered area. The two short shafts end with smooth tiny steel balls welded to the top of each.
“Your nose bridle, Mr. Dalton. Young Luana insisted on it,” Nurse Naomi authoritatively announces.
I have no idea what it is...but I will soon find out.
I am disheartened to see Dr. Reinhold hold up another needle. The smile. So diabolical.
“This will hurt.”
Now a shudder does come. The needles through my nipples almost caused convulsions. I struggle in my bonds. It is futile. I just hang so vulnerably. Nurse Naomi reaches up, takes a fistful of hair and holds tightly. The doctor uses the bridge of my nose to steady her left hand. In the right is the needle. In a swift and well-practiced move the duo hold my head completely immobile while the needle is callously pushed through my septum. I scream. All hands are released. The needle remains. I hear laughter. The diabolical doctor has deftly worked the sharp length of steel through the very cartilage between my nostrils...not the soft flesh.
