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However, I have the advantage of being small and my one hundred pounds can easily be carried. If not, I’ll just initiate a program of exercise until it can. Besides, it is essential in working the salt flats. The wet effluent is impassable for cart and chariot wheels. And the dry salt can be as difficult for pulling a wheeled vehicle as on the fine sand of the beach.
So while Mr. Dalton stands with his neck collar and thighs straps still attached to the wheeled suspension frame, I buckle around his waist a broad fur lined leather belt with a little seat for me just above his buttocks. The drug keeps him quite receptive to the feminine touch and he docilely stands while my fingers work and test for proper fit.
Then comes the attachment. Cleverly designed and once again computer milled for perfection, the curved cylinder of smooth steel hooks onto the bottom of the saddle. I lubricate the bulbous tip and introduce it to Mr. Dalton’s rectum. ‘Hello prostate gland,’ I think to myself.
He has been chaste for three days and I have ‘rutted’ him with my naked form. As I gently slide in the custom designed anal probe his penis springs to life. Rising with an amusing steadiness and blossoming to a full stand, it so epitomizes a woman’s Dominance and so exemplifies the weakness of the male. We understand the process of tumescence so much better than the average male.
I cannot help but laugh. The bulbous tip of the attachment has been crafted only for Mr. Dalton’s anatomy. As Dr. Reinhold phrases it...‘we achieve a bull’s eye on the prostate gland every time’. With the aid of magnetic imaging the shape of the insertion cannot be off the mark.
He squirms a bit while I slip a cord through the loops on the nose bridle. Then I release from the frame his thigh
bands and the back of his neck collar. When I remove the blindfold he sheepishly tries to look downward, the high neck collar remaining in place. He knows he is fully erect but cannot fully see his penis.
“You’re standing very nicely for me, Ted...I like that.”
I gently brush my hand over his penis to demonstrate. He stirs with the thrill of my touch. He is beginning to understand that it is mine to control...not his.
I pull on my leash. He dutifully steps from the frame and follows. As I turn to walk I know that my randy male enjoys looking at my naked backside, wondering if he will ever get closer to my charms. ‘In time, Ted,’ I murmur out of hearing range. ‘The process is arduous but you’ll soon have the proximity you desire.’
On occasion I pause and tenderly toy with his nipples. The badges have added a wondrous level of sensitivity there, bringing new feeling to a pair of often overlooked male erogenous zones. And they’re very nicely plumped and prominent just like those of a girl entering puberty.
On the third day I also switch the cords after two laps around the building. The eyelets on the testicle rings are put to use. Though tension there does not send as forceful a message as tugging on the nose bridle, pulling a male around by his balls is an acceptable form of communication...Dominant female to submissive male. And the nurses find it amusing.
By day four Dr. Reinhold deems him ready. Henceforth he’ll be counseled after morning ablutions then spend afternoons with me in the salt flats. His evenings...well if there is to be recreation, Mrs. Dalton will decide upon that.
Chapter Twelve
Ted Dalton
Well, it’s nice to be out of suspension...I think.
Miss Luana announces my ‘progress’ as I empty my bladder for her. Assuming that she has walked me daily, this is the fourth day since being pierced. Being hooded and suspended there is no other way to track time. Unless of course it’s by way of the syringe callously stuck into my buttocks. An unseen nurse has continued the Thorazine and perhaps it is my imagination but the injections seem to come more often and quicker. One could conclude I am getting a smaller dosage more frequently but I have no way of knowing. It is getting easier for me to move about and I find myself peculiarly eager when I hear Miss Luana’s voice. I know she will release me from the boring hell of confinement and for that alone I am grateful and eager to please her.
Then there is the strange reaction of my penis. It has basically remained untouched since I was taken from New York, except for measurement, inspection and excretions. And I suppose that despite the drug and my ignominious treatment my hormone level is building, for when Miss Luana leads me about I slowly become erect...like I want to show off for her...offer her a glimpse of my male pride. And yesterday when she placed the belt around my waist and then attached that penetrating probe, my erection popped up like a jack-in-the-box. Yet, for a girl in her teens she seems rather unimpressed by it. She’s just content to lead me about with the cord...establishing her authority and control. And with the Thorazine I seem so willing to accept it.
“I’m going to walk you a bit and then ride you. Do not panic. We’re very good at this on Constancia Island. Pony boys are never injured if they react properly to the commands.”
Today a shorter cord is connected to the nose bridle. Each end is tied through the loops, left and right, and when Miss Luana releases it, it dangles just below my nipples.
She attaches the broad leather belt...her ‘saddle’ she terms it. Then I feel her fingers work to guide the attachment into my rectum. My penis, already stiffening in her commanding presence, again springs to life. The bulbous tip of the attachment seems to perfectly pressure my prostate gland.
“Yes, give me a nice stand today. I’m taking you to the clinic to meet Dr. Corrothers. She likes men with proud erections.”
I feel an unexplained warmth in knowing that I have pleased her, and that this Dr. Corrothers will find interest in my engorged manhood.
For the first time, short elastic cords are tied to the eyelet on each testicle ring. Then Miss Luana steps back, surveys her handiwork and approaches. She grasps the testicle cords.
“Come,” she gently announces with a slight tug. Her command is superfluous. She has my balls leashed.
Into the hallway I have traversed for the past three mornings, but this time she leads me toward a door. On a coat rack, a seemingly incongruous piece of furniture in the tropics, hang a half dozen short riding crops. She quickly grabs one with a decorative letter ‘L’ engraved on the handle. Then she pulls firmly and for the first time I step out into the air and sunshine of this most sui generis island.
The lush greenery is expected. The air is pleasantly warm, explaining Miss Luana’s continuous state of undress. The sun beams and I can hear distance sounds of the ocean. Yet my attention is completely distracted by the collection of wheeled vehicles parked in a dirt covered cul-de-sac in front of the entrance. There are carts and wheeled devices resembling chariots. But what captures the eye is the sight of naked males humbling kneeling blindfolded between the shafts of each.
I pause in awe and feel strong tension on my testicles. Then for the first time I understand the function of the meticulously crafted badges surrounding my nipples. With the quickest and most casual of flicks of her wrist, Miss Luana snaps the crop across my left nipple. The pink nub is perfectly positioned for her excoriating stroke, puffed and protruding due to Dr. Reinhold’s brief ‘surgery’. The pain rapidly shoots to my cortex. Intense. Burning. So modest a stroke. So effective in gaining my attention.
“Come,” my rider admonishes me. And despite my curiosity I obey...to the letter. I do not wish to feel another stroke and obligingly move my feet to follow her guiding hand.
My eyes find solace in watching her fine form as we continue down the path. It feels good to move. The soil is quite receptive to naked feet. Soft yet firm and very consistent. Obviously arranged for the island’s ponies, for to the left and right of our path is coral...hard...sharp...ready to scrap and cut human skin with the slightest contact.
