Constancia Island, an exclusive Caribbean paradise, is a sovereign country designed exclusively for the institution of Female Domination and male submission, where troubled young males, at one time destined for lives of crime, are treated as beasts of burden, pony-boys, not only for the amusement of the island's defacto queen, Lady Constance, but as the island's sole method of conveyance for visitors and residents alike. This Fem/dom novel has strong elements of both physical and psychological male submission. Chris Bellows fiction is not for the timid reader.
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Pink Flamingo Publications
June 23, 2003
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Excerpt from Constancia Island by Chris Bellows
The phone rings. It quickly becomes apparent that I have overslept and the driver for my car ride to Lady Constance's waiting boat has been imbibing coffee in the hotel lobby for 20 minutes.
I hurriedly shower, pack and scurry to the lobby. There, a very large native male greets me in a manner conducive to all I have met in the employ of the domineering Lady Constance. He bows and humbly rushes to take my luggage.
The ride is short and I am surprised when, instead of going to the island's main marina, we veer onto a narrow road engulfed by tropical greenery. A casual passerby would overlook it as a pathway to a squalid native hut, but when we traverse a bend a guardhouse indicates otherwise. There is also a formidable fence, topped with strands of viciously sharp razor wire, which also serves to further suggest something other than squalor.
A huge guard, machine pistol in hand, nods to our driver and an automatic gate slides open. The auto eases forward and within a hundred yards or so the ocean comes into view, along with a long pier and several cinder block structures. The car stops in front of the furthest building. A door opens in response to the sound of the car. A very tall black woman steps into the Caribbean sunlight. It is Jasmine, the nurse and trainer for Lady Constance's toy submissive, Boy.
She is casually attired. Normally, she is wearing her starched white uniform, but this morning a colorful sarong is wrapped about her muscular physique, making her appear as a native.
"Good morning, Doctor. I have signaled for the boat waiting off shore. It will be here in minutes. We try to minimize activity here during the day. Please come inside and wait."
The driver hurriedly carries my luggage into the simple block building. On his way out he falls to his knees, reaches for Jasmine's hand and obsequiously kisses it. He arises and closes the door after him.
My eyes slowly become accustomed to the lack of light. It is a magnificently accoutered room with a distinguished antique bar, heavy oak tables, large chairs, comfortable couches and thick dark wood paneling. It is an interesting juxtaposition to the stark, cinder block outer walls. There are no windows and a small crack under the exit door emits sunlight, which appears dazzlingly bright.
"We are equipped here for lengthy stays, should there be a sudden storm or other cause for delay. There is a bathroom should you need it and a small kitchen if you'd like coffee or refreshments.
"The other buildings are for supplies awaiting transfer to Constancia and of course holding pens for new arrivals."
Although Jasmine is smiling, her description of the diabolical manner in which new males are stored for transport to the island is chilling. Treated more as cargo than human, I recall the coffin like boxes at the clinic, which I visited the day before. Comfortable but confining they provide an ineluctable chamber for the transportation of the human form.
Jasmine moves to the kitchen and returns with a pot of coffee and two cups. She pours and talks.
"You'd be amazed at how this little enclave bustles on some nights. The supply boat is only loaded in darkness and of course new recruits embark here. We release them from their travel box a day or so before moving them to the island. The sedatives wear off, we cut off the control rings and it's easier if they get on and off the boat under their own power. Well secured wrists and a nice long whip ensures thorough compliance."
Jasmine smiles broadly with the thought of herding like cattle the naked forms of young males.
We sip the hot brew in silence. I inquire about Boy.
"He's very good, thank you, Doctor. Lady Constance decided to leave him in New York for this trip. The hotel has a deliciously devious sensory deprivation chamber. When we return he'll be particularly eager to serve."
The thought of the effeminate lad squirreled away in the hotel basement, lying in a dark room and/or floating in a deprivation tank, is provocative.
"But not to worry, Doctor. He's in the care of a particularly dominant young specialist. A Russian woman thoroughly trained by the KGB in mind control. I suspect she'll let him see daylight on occasion. She's working to extend the ability of females to have control over his tumescence. You know Lady Constance likes to have him erect for lengthy periods. We understand the specialist has a very successful record of opening up to the influence of dominant females that portion of the submissive brain affecting the penis. I get goose bumps thinking about the results."
The sound of a horn signals Jasmine that the boat is nearby. She suggests that it is time and returns the pot and cups to the kitchen. I stand and begin to pick up my travel cases.
"Those will be taken care of, Doctor. No guest lifts a hand on Constancia. Lady Constance insists."
Jasmine opens the door and the bright sunlight is blinding. When my eyes adjust I can see the sleek shape of a very fast boat approaching the pier. It docks and a black woman steps off and waves. In her left hand is a small whip. She is dressed in a colorful sarong like Jasmine's.
Jasmine returns the wave and steps onto the hardened crushed coral surface serving as the parking area for the buildings. I follow and we proceed to the pier.
"It's Motamba. She runs the main house."
Two naked Caucasian males appear from the cabin area of the boat. Motamba turns her head, barks a command and cracks her whip. The two instantly jump unto the pier, tie up the lines and run toward us. They are both totally naked but for various ornaments which glint in the sunlight.
"House boys," Jasmine explains. "Tightly banded, to the point of essentially being eunuchs. But their oral skills are renowned amongst Lady Constance's guests."
I remain confused about the reference to 'banding', a procedure mentioned during my visit to the clinic in Germany. But I remain silent and observe. I am sure I will learn more over time.
As the naked males approach running at full pace, I notice their steps are somewhat awkward and when my eyes move downward I notice that their testicles are prominently displayed but remain somewhat motionless despite the hurried steps. Their flaccid penises swing to and fro and bands of metal encircle the shafts of pink flesh near the tip.
They rush past us and I turn to watch the well-formed buttocks strain to propel their young bodies up the slight incline to the building we have just left. Apparently, it is a race as Jasmine's comments indicate.
"The loser will experience Motamba's wrath. During daylight it is not good to delay the boat's departure, therefore she encourages haste."
We reach the boat and board. I look back to see one lad running at a good pace with my lighter bag. The other has been burdened with my heavy bag and will obviously be the loser as he struggles to run with it back to the pier.
With the house boys freely running about it becomes evident to me that the high fence surrounding the enclave serves two purposes: not only keeping the curious out but the servile bonded males in. Their freedom to move about being aberrant to any conduct I had observed among other charges under Lady Constance's tutelage.
I visually examine the young male bearing my light bag as he joins us on the boat. He appears to be in his late teens, but I know from experience that smooth, depilated skin such as his can be deceptive in attempting to judge age. He is short in stature. The top of his head is at the height of Jasmine's shoulder. His nipples are curiously pierced in a manner, which I have not before seen. Each nipple is exposed but completely surrounded by a circular metal shield, resembling a badge. It is obvious that this badge is attached to his chest by way of at least one and possibly two deep pins connected to one side of the metallic shield, penetrating under the sensitive nipple then connecting to the opposite circumference. The badge has eight points ending in small eyelets. The areolas are puffy, soft and quite effeminate in appearance. They remind me somewhat of Boy's, where chastity and hormones transformed the organs into delightfully sensitive nubs, reacting to Lady Constance's touch by obediently crinkling and standing in salute.
He stows my bag in the cabin and returns. Motamba snaps her fingers and he instantly places his hands on his head and stands with feet apart. His pose is well practiced and his stillness enables me to further inspect.
My gaze moves downward. A flaccid penis of larger than average length freely flops about, the steel band seeming to exaggerate its movements. His skin is pierced at each hip with what can only be described as rivets. It appears that a pinch of skin was gathered and several layers of epidermis penetrated by a small circular piece of steel the size of a coin. This metal disk is open in the middle and cords appearing to be elastic, run from these hip rivets to his scrotum. There, the pink bag is ringed by two moderately gauged bands of steel around the top of each testicle. The cords are secured to the scrotum bands serving to pull the testicles forward and apart. Jasmine notices my observation.
"Interesting, is it not, Doctor? The island is staffed with descendants of a certain African tribe, which is noted for body modifications. Lady Constance insists they be free to practice their skills. Their practices have modernized somewhat with the aid of a device that embeds metal rivets into the skin. The rivets are much less susceptible to tearing as with simple piercings.
"This is a typical configuration designed to best display and control the testicles. Each testicle band is sized to perfectly slip over the gonad with moderate pressure and is serrated on the inside to hinder attempts to slip it off. The cords pull the sac forward and separate the testicles for better viewing.
"Turn and bend."
The naked youth obeys and his plump but muscular backside is displayed. Two more cords come to view.
"These serve to stretch and hold the sac while walking and running."
Jasmine reaches down and gruffly pulls the lad's scrotum back and up. The cords tighten. Two smaller steel rivets pierce the bottom left and right of the long pink bag. The two cords, also elastic, run from each rivet and terminate at piercings on the inside of each knee. Therefore the bottom of the scrotal sac is held downward and is pulled by the knee rivets with each step forward and back. The overall effect of the cords, bands and piercings is to stretch the scrotum into the shape of a large letter "W" with the knee cords pulling it downward and also separating the sac into two sections, each encasing a testicle.
The second naked youth arrives and struggles to lift my bag. The moment his foot leaves the pier Motamba turns to the control panel and starts the engines. She claps her hands and the two naked forms jump to release the lines and free the boat for its journey.
Having a clearer perception of the various modifications, I now watch with interest as the young males move and the elastic cords pull their hairless scrotums, producing a most lascivious display of the male organs. But the metal band encircling the penis just below the tip remains unexplained.
Motamba expertly guides the boat away from the dock and through coral reefs. We soon reach open water. There she pushes the throttles well forward and begins to relax. Jasmine disappears into the cabin. When she returns, her sarong has disappeared and she is naked but for a small patch of cloth loosely dangling over her pubes from a string around her waist.
I find myself staring for a moment. Her physique is incredibly muscular. She has the appearance of a professional body builder with huge muscles that flex and roll with every movement. Her torso displays the characteristic ripples of abdominal muscles which have been toned to perfection.
Her arms are large as are her thighs. When I interviewed her in New York she described herself as being 6 foot and 180 pounds. Her weight exemplifies the adage that muscle weighs more than fat, the latter of which is undetectable.
Her perfectly rounded, brown breasts are large and firm. The advanced muscle development causes the nipples to point straight out and the body of each mammary is so firm as to remain motionless as she moves about the boat. She smiles under my gaze.
"We don't wear much clothing on Constancia, Doctor. The climate is warm and the sun feels so good."
Motamba trims the controls and steps back. She signals lad number two, the porter of my heavy bag, who promptly presents himself, hands obsequiously placed atop his head.
"You'll run faster for me next time."
With her admonishment, Motamba cruelly twists the metal badges encircling the youth's nipples. The right is turned clockwise, the left counterclockwise. The lad yelps in pain as she then retrieves a small chain from her pocket and connects the two utilizing the eyelets. This holds the twisted badges in place, and judging from the youth's grimacing face, greatly irritates the nipples, which are also twisted.
She then tenderly pats his head and pushes him away, returning her attention to navigation. Tears slowly form, but the hands remain on the teenager's head and he stoically stands with feet well parted.
Meanwhile I sit in the rear of the boat taking in the breathtaking beauty of the Caribbean. The morning sun is surprisingly strong with our proximity to the equator and after weeks of experiencing a dreary New York winter, I am grateful for the change and in particular for the warmth.
Jasmine appears amazingly relaxed with her nudity in the company of the two males. It seems she indeed considers them to be the equivalents of eunuchs and she beckons to both. They obediently step forward and stand before her. She gently reaches to their heads and guides their faces down to her breasts. Without a word, each dutifully opens his mouth and begins to suckle. Jasmine smiles with the pleasure. It is the feeling of the supple tongues? The power? The control? The warm air blowing over her naked form? She becomes enthralled and closes her eyes as the well-trained young males exhibit assiduous oral skills.
After a few minutes, she pushes their heads down further. Number one licks her thighs and works his tongue up until the small patch of cloth rests on his forehead. Number two licks her naked buttocks, the pain of his chastised nipples not deterring him from what is a well conditioned response to Jasmine's prompts. He circles to her rear and a lengthy tongue plies the crevice of her muscular cheeks. It works its way in and Jasmine parts her legs and grasps one of the boat's structural supports for balance.
The two subservient naked males work deeper and Jasmine moans with the combined pleasure of cunnilingus and analingus.
I recall that when I interviewed her in New York, she described her clitoris as outsized and I envision the young male tenderly wrapping his lips around it and rhythmically sucking the hardening pink nub into his mouth. Meanwhile, number two kneels and positions his head directly between Jasmine's thighs from his position behind her.
"Yes, thrust that tongue in, lap it all up.
"As you know, Doctor, Lady Constance insists that all her charges be well imbued with oral skills. These two work together very nicely. Their tongues intertwine and don't miss a drop of nectar."
It is quite the display of subservience. A most powerful female basking in the warmth of the Caribbean and the glow of multiple orgasms, verbally spurring two naked, servile and chaste young males to ardently apply their tongues and bring her to even higher levels of pleasure.
I watch, unable to take notes with the motion of the boat and the rushing air. Both penises remain flaccid and the lower cords of the kneeling youths are somewhat taut, pulling the long scrotal sacs down and into better view.
Eventually, a verdant strip of land comes over the horizon. The low coral island is punctuated by a 'bump' on the highest stretch of land. As we get closer it becomes evident that it is a windmill. Not of the ancient wooden kind found in Holland but new and shiny. Mostly it is built of steel or some alloy and topped by a huge propeller.
Motamba guides the boat directly toward the obelisk, using it as a point of navigation. Closing in on our destination, she slows the boat and Jasmine pushes away the head of number one and closes her thighs on number two. The insatiable, puissant nurse has been the recipient of oral service for the entire 45 minute trip. Her bright smile acknowledges some level of pleasure, but more akin to that received from a fine glass of wine or an exotic dessert. The intense feelings of the multiple orgasms have been swallowed up in the cortex of her brain and her outward appearance of calm indicates that incredibly attentive oral service is merely a daily regimen.
In a demonstration of extension training, both lads briefly return to their endeavors to carefully lick all traces of feminine excitement from her pudendum, thighs and buttocks. They remind me of kittens playfully and tenderly licking the fur of mother cat.
When they finally withdraw, the small, loose patch of cloth returns to its function of protecting Jasmine's false modesty, only it now reveals a small protuberance where the large excited clitoris remains engorged by number one's laborious oral ministration.