Someone off camera, I suppose this Nurse Katani, hands a length of rattan to Nurse Jasmine. Then the huge woman turns and steps to the side Mr. Dalton. Despite her size she seems to float across the floor with the grace of a gymnast. Her buttocks are uncovered as I expected with nothing more than the narrowest strip of cloth between her cheeks. I almost laugh as the eyes of Ted Dalton, a typical randy male, follow the incredibly large but perfectly rounded globes as they ripple and roll with each footstep.
I have to admit Nurse Jasmine’s derriere does have a curious degree of attraction. She pauses and uses the tip of the cane to toy with Mr. Dalton’s penis. It springs to erection as if someone has flipped a switch. Nurse Jasmine smiles knowingly then steps behind him. She tucks the cane under her arm and works. She raises Mr. Dalton’s arms behind his back and secures them to the back of the neck collar. Her access to the naked buttocks is unimpeded. Without further hesitation she steps back and strokes. The naked form shudders and after a discernible pause I hear the most ear shattering howl of reality on the phone.
His legs almost fold under him but must struggle to stay rigid to minimize the tension on the cord securing his nose. His scrotum jiggles, it is oddly fleshy, the abundant pink bag seeming to be more than adequate for two moderate sized gonads. As the camera zooms in to record tears, I hear feminine laughter and I myself am smiling demonically.
I rush to the kitchen for a glass of wine. After all, it’s my birthday.
I return in time to see the second stroke land and, though I do not have the phone to my ear, hear the second of many howls. Incredibly, his erection seems to be standing even straighter.
Mr. Dalton is in for a very long evening.
Chapter Twenty Five
Ted Dalton
I have become somewhat accustomed to the humiliation of the past two weeks. Still, it is awkward to be directed by the teenaged Miss Luana. I feel another snap of her whip and for a moment my thoughts are interrupted and my mind returns to the task at hand, pulling in harness this interesting contraption which scoops up the salt. Miss Luana stands on an axle connected to two large balloon tires, which easily roll over the soft whiteness. Behind her is a collection bin for the salt. To the right is a horizontal blade, which she can raise or lower. As I pull, the action of the wheeled vehicle causes the blade to scrape up the top two or three inches of salt. Various gizmos then force the white powder up a chute into the bin. The gizmos are mechanically run by the turning of the tires. So obviously momentum is paramount and as her whip hand has many times suggested, I must keep moving at an even pace to maximize the yield with each pass through the flats.
Today Miss Luana uses a lunge whip. Without my waist belt and saddle my buttocks are completely exposed to the long and frightfully loud length of leather. She is most adept at slightly nipping the skin, which of course imbues the greatest pain with the least damage. On two occasions she has demonstrated her prowess by snapping it between my legs. Though not striking anything, I felt the compression of air on my low hanging scrotum.
The message is received.
Though I am becoming well tanned, the sun still leaves my skin a little sore after each long afternoon. And when the wind blows the irritating salt finds its way into every small welt and abrasion. I am in constant pain...and yet in my chaste state, I stand like a horny teenager, despite the missing anal probe, normally attached to the saddle.
Dr. Corrothers each day asks me about this priapic condition. How I feel being whipped and controlled by a young native girl...about my bondage and constantly being open and available for inspection...nothing left to modesty...urinating upon command with a feminine hand directing by efforts.
Meanwhile the Thorazine continues and in the quiet solitude of long and sightless nights, I become frustrated with myself thinking about how I so dutifully comply with eve
ry whim and command. And then I react with evidence of such arousal...!
Days ago, I survived a caning. It was brutally methodical. No matter my pleas and spasmodic reactions, Nurse Jasmine crisply applied the rattan without relent. And a woman named ‘Matilda’ seemed to be watching, according to Nurse Jasmine’s comments. The only Matilda I know is my wife’s secretary...
Another stroke of the whip brings me out of my reverie. I dig in and lean against the harness to keep the contraption behind me rolling over a bump caused by the previous day’s plowing. The arrangement of leather straps surrounds my stomach and chest. My arms are gone from sight...bent at the elbow and closely bound behind with my mittens held at the back of my neck. There are clamps on my nipples with long reins attached leading back to Miss Luana. There are also reins connected to my nose bridle and testicle rings of course. Miss Luana would not be denied access to those.
So I am truly a beast of burden. And despite the harness it feels as though I am attached by way of nose, nipples and testicles...the most sensitive of areas. Yet I am oddly pleased to be working so hard for Miss Luana. Soon I will be watered and during such breaks she lets me lick. Apparently my tongue is becoming quite long and strong and she has me use it to orally burnish her cute brown hillocks. At some point I will be permitted to kiss her breasts. She has promised and accordingly I have striven to be on my best behavior.
I am pulling with all my strength and the collection vehicle barely moves. Miss Luana snaps the whip and tugs on the nipple reins. I pull to the left knowing that it is time to empty another load. She snaps more, her hand is quite energetic today. Though the sun is getting low, I know from experience she wants to make one more pass through the flats before nightfall.
Though the vehicle is heavy, once we reach the firm path it rolls much easier. Still it is slightly uphill to the desalinization plant where various workers will unload while I am watered. Thus there are more snaps.
We approach the plant and waiting workers. Whenever I see the young teens, naked and tightly banded...tumescence apparently completely denied for their remaining lives...I consider myself fortunate. My penis is still permitted to stand.
At one point, Miss Luana mentioned that these were at one time incorrigible delinquents who were given every opportunity to reform and did not.
“Lady Constance performs such a wonderful service for society. If not for our efforts on Constancia Island those docile and forcibly chaste males would be dealing drugs, robbing houses, and stealing cars somewhere. Here they have a chance to be productive. And they are milked on occasion. We are not completely calloused to the needs of the male anatomy.”
My tongue was busy lapping at her fine flesh when she made that observation. I did not ask about ‘milking’ and probably would have been punished for speaking if I did so.
So I struggle up the incline and three teens, banded and wearing masturbation mittens similar to mine, wait to unload while I rest. I feel tugs on my testicle reins and know to stop. The unloading process begins. Miss Luana nicely waters me and then splashes the cool liquid on my standing penis. The shock brings flaccidity and she leans to hold it. I know she wants me to relieve myself.
It is strange how I feel uncomfortable before the male workers. I have acclimated myself to performing before the female...but knowing these teens are watching is embarrassingly troublesome. There is a longer than usual pause. Finally I summon the need and Miss Luana directs the flow away from my feet. I can hear their giggles. I suppose humiliation is relative. ‘My manhood is free’ I want to rejoin, but I have been better served with silence and remain so.
Miss Luana calms me...pulling down on the nose bridle until my lips meet her fine buttocks. I lick ravenously, and despite the laughter of young males, I savor the warmth and smoothness.
My erection returns and I hope the banded lads feel the agony as their appendages attempt to replicate mine.
I lick until the vehicle is emptied. Then Miss Luana steps away and returns to her position standing over the axle. I feel the tugs on the reins and then hear the crack and feel the resulting pain. Without thought, my legs react. My feet dig in and I lean into the harness to the sound of more laughter. The vehicle rolls.
There is time for one more pass through the flats.