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So that is what Lady Constance looks like! She is amazingly beautiful, Dominant and aloof. And she displays her naked feminine form with such unabashed pride!
I felt so humiliated standing before her, ridden by a young black girl like some animal.
And to be erect for the entire conversation!
I am happy to feel Miss Luana’s crop and the tug on my reins. Being in Lady Constance’s presence is so humbling.
My legs are tiring when the low profile of a newly constructed building comes into view. I am glad it proves to be our destination. My legs are exhausted. I struggle with the few remaining steps.
Miss
Luana’s feet tug on my testicle rings and I feel a pull on the nose bridle. I have quickly learned that means stop...and gratefully I comply.
A huge black woman in a white uniform steps from the entrance. It seems we are expected. The cord to the nose bridle is shifted over my head and to the front. The nurse takes it and most firmly holds it up over my head forcing me to look up, a position which the diminutive Miss Luana cannot reach. It seems the nurse’s role is to hold me steady while my testicle cords are released from my rider’s ankles.
When I hear the command of ‘Down’ I know to bend. Just as my young Dominant rider used my knee to mount, she also uses it to dismount. While held most firmly by the nurse my wrists are again secured behind my back. The elastic cords are removed from the testicle rings.
“Your new home, Mr. Dalton,” my handler announces with mocking enthusiasm. She unbuckles the waist belt. My special anal probe retracts when young dark hands carefully remove my saddle.
“My name is Jasmine, Mr. Dalton. And you’ll have your very own room here,” suggests the nurse, joining in the sarcasm.
Both women laugh as the nurse uses the nose cord to guide me into the building. Despite the Thorazine I become scared when Miss Luana announces her departure. I have become accustomed to her firm controlling hands. I have come to know what to expect and how to please her.
Obviously I gingerly follow this Nurse Jasmine. She has the legs of a body builder and uses the nose leash without a hint of compassion, as if she doesn’t know her strength or the level of sensitivity caused by the deeply penetrating nose bridle. It feels as if it is clawing my brain. The slightest movement of her hand translates to instant pain...and she doesn’t care!
Naked, wrists bound, testicles ringed, nose bridled, the insouciant nurse pulls me past fully clothed, uniformed woman...the starched white of their attire in striking contrast to their black complexions. The similarity of their features hint at a common African descent. All smile…but with an irritating diabolism. I can do little but follow the nose bridle with my penis bobbing before me.
We descend a set of stairs and I am led into a windowless room. There is a cabinet in the near left corner. In the near right is a single chair. It is padded for comfort and the right arm expands to a flat surface, evidently to serve as a writing area for the occupant. Otherwise the room is empty. The flooring seems to absorb the pressure of my feet. It is comprised of a soft rubber material. Covering the structural surface of the walls are oddly shaped cloth covered objects. The room is designed to be sound proofed.
As Nurse Jasmine leads me to the center, I notice the walls and ceiling are also covered with hooks and eyelets. All are deeply set into the concrete with an eerie firmness and permanency, as if the hooks were in place and the structure built around them.
The puissant nurse instructs me to stand in the center of the room. My toes touch a metal grating on the floor. It is a drain.
“Stay,” she commands as if addressing a dog.
She strolls to the cabinet and selects a variety of paraphernalia. She returns. She holds a neck collar similar to the one shorn an hour before at the medical building, lengths of neatly rolled cord, two circular bands of steel, a blindfold.
She has me sit on the floor. “Legs straight out in front,” her monotonous voice beginning in reciting a list of instructions. I am reminded of the safety rules I recite by rote during flight.
She removes the cord on my nose bridle and proceeds to bind me with the same mechanical professionalism exhibited by Nurse Naomi. She is firm and exacting, tightening each cord to the maximum. I wonder if every woman on Constancia Island is proficient in restraining the male.
The Thorazine tells me to sit and comply. I do and when finished pay a price of discomfort for my cooperation.
The final image I have before the blindfold is slipped over my eyes is that of a smiling Nurse Jasmine. She has secured me with such enthusiasm, enjoying each and every grunt, groan and grimace, that in my mind her pleasant face turns to the mask of the devil.
“You’ll become accustomed to it,” she suggests. I suppose she feels she is being gracious in her prognostication. In darkness her fingers caress my plumped nipples. I feel her hand on my semi erect penis. She toys with my foreskin. I feel myself stiffen. She laughs softly and withdraws her fingers. I feel strangely disappointed when I hear the door close. I enjoyed her touch.
I begin to understand the functionality of the rubber floor. It is designed for extremely long-term bondage, the softness forestalling problems of cramping and circulation. The agony of my restraints grows so slowly it is difficult to determine whether in fact it is increasing.
My nose bridle has been tied to hooks in the ceiling holding my face skyward and completely immobile. My mittens, attached together behind my back, have also been clipped to a cord, stretching my arms toward the wall behind me and further than I could possibly push them on my own.
Nurse Jasmine encircled my ankles with the metal bands. “Your final trinkets from the milling machine,” she declared. Somehow the visually seamless metallic circles opened and when closed around my ankles fit perfectly, as with every other item of restraint. She used the modest ankle bands, a heavier gauge but similar to those worn by Miss Luana, to separate and tie my legs. I sit spread-eagled. Nurse Jasmine was very particular in forcing me to sit in an exaggerated ‘split’. For she wanted access to my scrotum and with particular zeal attached cords to my testicle rings. She coated my sac with a strange smelling cream and then proceeded to pull the right testicle ring to the right wall and the left testicle ring to the left wall.
She pulled and adjusted until I yelped in pain, testing the tautness with her fingers and seeming to know exactly the tolerable level of tension she could apply to create long-term pain with minimal damage to my organs.
When finished, I just sat facing the door...completely immobile. I could not move a finger, the neck collar more symbolic than functional. Even without it I could not move my head.
So I sit without sight. With the soundproofing the beating of my heart becomes apparent. And I wonder...is the elaborate soundproofing intended to keep noise out...or stifle the moans of the cruelly bound occupant within?
