The inside of Randy Boy’s thighs are riveted next. Obviously the flesh is not very sensitive there and his reaction is subdued.

Botana puts down the riveting device and retrieves two rings from her pocket. Milled to perfectly slip over Randy Boy’s testicles, they are not round, but instead are shaped in the identical circumference of his organs, as indicated by the magnetic scans of his anatomy. The inside diameter is directionally serrated making it possible, with some gentle pushing, to slip the ring over the gonad.

Botana toys with the scrotum. She tugs a little and whispers into Randy Boy’s ear. She brushes his nipples and coos. It appears imperative that her pony boy be relaxed. She knows from her youthful training that stress normally manifests itself in the male’s Macmaster muscles, which can actually cause the testicles to move and contract.

Finally, her adroit fingers tell her he’s ready. With moderate and simultaneous pulling of the scrotum and pushing on the ring it is slipped over the gonad. She pauses, letting her new acquisition relax more, then repeats the action with the second ring.

Sharp, strong pulls test the additions. Randy Boy yelps. The serrations do not allow the rings to slide in the opposite direction. Botana steps back displaying much pride. I suppose there is some degree of symbolism to the procedure, a young Bagandan permanently adorning her pony boy with permanent restrain devices. He will be well trained, I think to myself, and soon be dexterously reacting to the tugs of the reins and snaps of the whip without pause or reflection. He will run in harness, sweat and show homage..., and he will learn to enjoy it!

I surrender the rivet I have been inspecting and Botana once more loads the device. With her left hand she pinches Randy Boy’s nose and pushes it up. Quickly but carefully the septum is exposed, entrapped in the riveter and with a cruel squeeze, the final rivet penetrates that most sensitive of areas, between the nostrils. This time Randy Boy goes into a paroxysmal convulsion, but Botana is already retreating. The riveting device is instantaneous. His nose is ready for the leash.

Botana dabs away some blood but there is very little. The rivets are as intrusive as a hypodermic syringe, penetrating the flesh with a small hole then pushing aside the surrounding skin to widen the opening to accommodate cords, clasps, leashes, etc.

We converse for a few minutes, letting Randy Boy rest. When not being poked or prodded the slings and straps appear to provide a very comfortable position in which to sleep. And indeed, trauma seems to have induced some degree of lethargy in Botana’s new toy. He hangs restfully.

But Botana is too ecstatic with Lady Constance’s gift. Satisfied with her handiwork, she begins attaching elastic cords to the rings and rivets. She is like a child playing with a doll, attentively attaching, tying and testing the restraints. Finally satisfied, she releases Randy Boy from the frame and slowly lowers him to the floor.

The pony boy kneels with wrists remaining cuffed behind him. He is blinded by his hood, and for the first time, he feels the tension of the newly attached cords on his scrotum. It is a seminal moment and Botana knows to pause and let the gravity of his situation sink into his subconscious. He is naked, restrained and subject to every whim his new trainer can envision. A simple act of theft, stupidly perpetrated against one of Europe’s infamous dominant women, has led to the untimely end of his normal life. He will serve with his sweat and muscles at the behest of the pretty native girl for the remainder of his youth.

And I witness the beginning as Botana snaps a leash to his newly attached nose rivet.

“Come, Randy Boy,” Botana softly suggests to her new charge. “Crawl for me.”

The leash tightens with a slow motion of her arm. To relieve the tension, and what must be sharp pain in his nose, Randy Boy slides one knee forward. His scrotum stretches with the motion. It can easily be concluded that over the ensuing weeks, Botana will force Randy Boy to stretch his own sac with every motion of his legs and she will be amused with each step. Lady Constance will be most pleased with Botana’s penchant for control.

Botana carefully and slowly leads Randy Boy out into the hallway. Naomi peers from her desk near the front door and laughs. Another pony boy has arrived and is ready to be broken. I am amazed with the new pony’s docile reaction. The psychological profiling and screening appears to be most accurate. Randy Boy will soon be ready for the cart.

Chapter Seventeen

I return to Big Fella. As I approach the cart I see him squirming, wriggling his hips to give his prostate gland a self induced massage.

I remove the blindfold and he obediently stands. When I sit the cart begins to roll, slowly but without need for the whip.

It is mid-afternoon and the walk is scenic and pleasant. Back onto the main road we pass the turn off for Estovia and continue toward the cove. Big Fella steadily pulls and after a time I see, to the right and down the short road, Lady Constance’s chariot with her prize team waiting on the dock.

Then as we continue onward, there is nothing. Just beautiful tropical greenery with exotic birds singing and the chirping of what must be thousands of the tree frogs so ubiquitous to the local islands. The sun all but disappears with the dense vines and trees overhead and with it the searing heat. Big Fella’s steps quicken, partly to warm himself and partly to draw the cart back into the sunshine. His efforts bring laughter as the huge butt plug causes his hips to sway exaggeratedly in order to lengthen his stride.

After some twenty minutes a house comes to view on the right. It appears to be of modest size at first glance. Its low, one story silhouette initially confuses the viewer but as we slowly pass by, one realizes that it is sprawling in a positive sense and is actually rather large. Its architect designed the structure so that it blends into the terrain and I imagine Lady Constance spared no expense to have it appear as visually unobtrusive as possible.

Since the parking area is empty, I conclude that no one is present and decide to keep moving. Fresh tracks indicate that a pony cart has recently visited and I realize that it is the home of Dr. Reinhold who is most likely tending to her duties.

The road begins to slowly rise. Big Fella easily keeps up the pace and the vegetation begins to thin. The terrain turns from lush to rocky as we approach a high point. The sun returns and feels good. In another hundred yards, we reach a promontory, and a breathtaking panorama unfolds. The road ends in a small circular clearing overlooking the ocean, some hundred feet below.

It is beautiful. I step from the cart and find that the vista includes endless miles of the bright, blue Caribbean and, looking to my left and back, most of Constancia Island. Estovia is too well hidden, but many miles away, at the far end of a verdant carpet, the Victorian meeting house of the villagers arises from the dense undergrowth. The windmill also juts above the horizon, turning forcefully in the breeze.

I begin to understand Lady Constance’s suggestion that I visit the area. The beauty and seclusion are overwhelming, and her offer of employment combined with the building of a personal residence are recalled.

While enjoying the view, I reflect on my actions over the past two days. Indulging, for the f

irst time ever, in D/s endeavors, which I had previously only observed in my many years of researching, documenting, and narrating the unusual life style.

I look back to Big Fella. He stands idly awaiting my next command. I reach for the water bottle and hydrate him accordingly. As he sucks down the liquid, I peer down and see the various small welts caused by my whip hand. The small whip, when applied to areas such as the hand or arm would cause a level of pain akin to a mosquito bite. But when aggressively applied to the nipples, penis and scrotum the results are most effective. ‘It focuses the mind’ I recall one noted dominant woman explaining, ‘with distractions such as tiredness and thirst quickly cast aside with each simple, stinging snap of a penis whip.’

Yes. How true, I think. But it is not the discovery of the truthfulness of the remarks concerning the whip that rattles my subconscious. It is my unmitigated level of enjoyment with its use.

Big Fella begins shuffling his feet and fidgeting. In a not uncommon revelation, it occurs to me that he needs to urinate. Throughout the day various natives had performed the function of releasing his Prince Albert piercing from the abdominal ring. And now there is no one to be seen and Big Fella’s bladder is full.

Another revelation. I can either touch the male penis and mercifully offer relief. Or I can cruelly ignore his needs and enjoy the spectacle as he struggles with his biological urges.

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