The Constancia Compendium

She slowly withdraws her hand and steps away.

“He’ll be too worn to walk back to his cage, Helga. But he can crawl. I suggest leashing him for effect.”

The exhibition ends with Helga carefully removing the specimen dish. Dr. L------ and I move onward as the specialists return to their duties.

I ask many operational questions as we depart the large, deep basement. Dr. L------ will not reveal the revenue of the clinic but indicates the consortium of owners is quite satisfied with the financial results. It seems that certain small European countries have contracted with the clinic to take their most troubled youths. Thus, in addition to the sale of subjugated youths, the clinic actually derives revenue from their initial acceptance, keeping the budgets of many governments free from the recurring expense of the long-term incarceration of delinquent youths.

As the large elevator grinds its way to the surface, I ponder whether a juvenile contemplating a life of petty crime would ever consider such endeavors if he were first afforded the tour that I have had and thereby fully understood his ultimate fate.

“And of course there’s our rehabilitation services. Not overly lucrative but helps pay the overhead and keeps our specialists challenged.”

Dr. L------’s comment tugs my mind back to our conversation. We are again traversing the first floor office where meek men are assiduously typing, keeping books, and busying themselves with assorted clerical duties.

I fish for more, not wishing to appear unknowledgeable, but my curiosity is piqued since it was mentioned at the start of our journey but I had no opportunity to learn more.

“I apologize, Doctor. I thought you were aware of that branch of our services. Mrs. W----- had anticipated the need and visualized its development. It was a simple matter for me to implement.”

She pauses as the main elevator arrives to return us to the fourth floor. We step in and the doors silently close.

“Since the clinic has been training subjugants for nearly twenty years, Mrs. W----- realized that over time the roles the young submissives were fulfilling would be difficult to maintain with maturity. Most dominant women prefer youth, and although an argument can be made that the tongue becomes more tactile with age, there remains a tendency to seek younger flesh.”

We arrive at the fourth floor and step out.

“So the question was posed, what would happen to our older protégés? Mrs. W----- understood the need for males to perform menial tasks both within the clinic and the village. And she also realized that after completing years of service to the Dominant female, our typical protégé is in his early thirties, unskilled with regard to employment, uneducated, malleable and incredibly submissive.

“He also needs occasional correction and to some degree rehabilitation. You’d be amazed at the initial reaction to wearing clothing after years of completely naked servitude.”

Dr. L------ smiles with her observation. And I suppose it would indeed be like getting a dog to wear the garments one sees in colder cities, there being a natural aversion to such covering.

“I believe we have Mr. M---- in room 6 this morning. Perhaps you would like to observe?”

How could I decline? After all, the purpose of my sabbatical was to study D/s relationships. I wordlessly nod a response not wishing to appear over eager, and Dr. L------ leads the way to room six. The red light over the door forewarns those wearing the control ring of pending pain should they attempt entry or exit. Dr. L------’s index finger quickly taps the required code into the key pad. A discernible click indicates that the door unlocks.

“A precaution against straying casual visitors. The doors can be opened from the inside. The control ring inhibits exit by the patient.”

With her comment she turns the knob, pulls the door outward into the hallway and props it against the wall. It remains open.

“It’s easier to observe from here. The Specialist needs her space.”

Her words fade as my attention turns to the room and its occupants. It is larger than suggested by the simple doorway and remarkably similar to Lady Constance’s special room for Boy. A tiled floor bevels to a drain in the center. Similarly tiled walls are cluttered with hanging paraphernalia, which can only be described as a combination of medical devices, restraint gear, and evilly crafted artifacts the usefulness of which is left to the diabolical imagination.

Kneeling on the hard floor is the naked Mr. M----. His arms are secured behind him in a single leather glove. His Specialist has evidently cinched his elbows together judging from the thrust forward chest and the tears of pain rolling down his cheeks. He is erect and appears to be humbly offering his appendage to his antagonist. A bowl sits on the floor before him.

A uniformed Behavior Specialist stands over him with her back toward us. Her hands are on her hips in a most commanding pose. When she hears Dr. L------’s voice, she turns her head to look at us.

“Don’t mind us, Veronica. The Doctor is here to observe.”

Veronica is an imposing woman

. Older than most of the Specialists, she is a tall and in her thirties. Her brown hair is short and a traditional nurse’s cap covers most of it. She wears no make-up, but it cannot be concluded that such a feminine diversion would improve her rugged appearance, for her strong facial features radiate a confidence which makes one comfortable with her “in charge” presence.

Mr. M---- continues to look up at her as she acknowledges Dr. L------ and nods to me.

“He continues to eat out of a dog bowl, Doctor. His Mistress wishes to domesticate him a little better.”

My eyes move to forearms that are strong and lead downward to hands of steel. Fingers of strength end with plainly clipped nails without polish. The starched, white uniform evidences firm buttocks in proportion to her height and athletic calves complete the silhouette of a demanding, physically able woman.

“He will be reluctant to use it after today.”