by Syra Bond
‘He looks so real. Can I touch him?’
‘Of course. Touch any apart of him you want!’ He bent and whispered in my ear. ‘In any way you want, Syra, any way at all.’
The satyr had a large nose, leathery skin and two half curled horns protruding from his large head. I reached out to touch his shoulders but, just as I made contact, I drew back sharply
‘What’s the matter, Syra? He won’t bite!’
‘I could have sworn I saw his eyes move! Really! He suddenly turned his eyes and looked at me!’
Dr Fitz laughed.
‘Syra! You always did have an active imagination. Now, I’ve got to go and greet my guests. Is it okay if I leave you alone for a while? The satyr will keep his eye on you, I’m sure!’
He laughed again and went out through the heavy door, Dulcie following behind with her notebook and pencil at the ready. As the door closed, she looked back at me. She frowned and tightened her lips in a look of concern. I heard Dr Fitz call her from the corridor and she disappeared.
I walked around the figures of the Bacchii. Like the satyr, they were unbelievably real. Their skin look so warm and lifelike and, when I plucked up enough courage to touch one on the arm, it felt exactly like a living person. It was amazing. I went back and walked around the satyr. His bent goat-like legs and hoofed feet were incongruous against his fine muscular torso and heavily muscled arms. He had a broad forehead and wrinkled skin, and his large, hooked nose and curling horns brought together a mixture of beast and man that took my breath away. I had studied vases with images of satyrs, but I had never been in the presence of one before! And that was exactly how it felt. As if I was in the presence of a living satyr.
I smiled at my own fantasy. I stood alongside him and posed, as if I was having my picture taken. Cautiously, I draped my arm across his shoulder and put on a wide cheesy grin. I pulled away and laughed at myself - it was all very stupid. I went along the line of Bacchii. I touched some of them, again cautiously at first but, as I became more used to it, in a normal and relaxed fashion. I imagined myself drinking with them, sharing their jokes, enjoying their attention, their drunken leering, and their corny wisecracks. I stopped by one and peered into his face - frozen, caught in the act of breaking into laughter at a well told joke. I looked at his goblet, brimful and ready to spill down his rich gold and purple robes. I saw something odd, a shimmering reflection. It was coming from the surface of the drink in the goblet. I pressed my finger down onto it. It was liquid, the goblet was full of liquid!
I drew back in surprise. I hadn’t expected the drinks to be real. It was amazing! The attention to detail was fantastic! I walked again along the line of Bacchii - their drunken faces frozen; some caught in a smile, some a leer, and some trying to hold back a noisy outburst of temper. I reached forward and touched one on the chin. I pulled my hand back quickly; afraid he might suddenly come to life. I smiled at my silliness and went and stood next to the satyr - balanced precariously on his hooves, his thick furred legs bent at the knee, his thighs wide and muscular. His two hands were either side of his pipes as all his fingers were frozen, poised over the holes.
Suddenly, I heard a noise behind me! I turned - startled and shaking. I looked at the goblet of one of the Bacchii - drink was spilling over its side! There was no one to be seen anywhere!
I turned back to the satyr. One of his hands was now by his side! And he seemed to be looking at me. I held my breath. I was terrified. An ice-cold shiver ran up my back. I bit my lips. This was ridiculous! Impossible! Suddenly, there was another sound behind me.
I heard a goblet dropping to the ground, and wine sloshing from it. I thought I heard the sound of someone stumbling to pick it up but, when I turned, nothing was moving. Confused and filled with anxiety, I looked again at the satyr - now, he was holding his pipes loosely at his side!
I felt beads of cold sweat on my forehead. I backed away from him. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. My legs felt shaky. I slipped on the wine that had spilled on the floor and fell clumsily onto my back. I looked around bewildered, struggling hopelessly to get back to my feet. Suddenly, the room was full of noise - shouting, laughter, and voices raised in anger. I sensed movement all around me. I was trembling all over. I closed my eyes tightly and clapped my hands over my ears. I didn’t know what was going on.
Someone came up behind me and grabbed my shoulders. Strong hands twisted me onto my knees. Someone else tipped some wine over my head. I tasted it as it ran down my cheeks and onto my chin - strong, acidic, full bodied and heavy. Another goblet of wine was sloshed over my head. It ran in my hair and down my face. I sucked it up my nostrils as I struggled for breath. It burned the back of my throat. I choked and coughed. There was laughter all around me.
I felt a sharp jabbing in my sides. Some of the Bacchii were prodding me with sticks, driving me forward on my hands and knees, taunting me, laughing at me if I did not go the right way or could not go fast enough. I yelped as they drove the sticks in. One of them slashed his stick across my bottom. I turned as I cried out. He looked down menacingly and brought it down again viciously.
He shouted at me. It was Ancient Greek - Attic perhaps - but I could not make out the strange dialect. He shouted again. I looked at him blankly. He raised his cane and whipped it down on my bottom. I lifted my hands off the ground and sat upright on my knees. It made him angrier, he pushed me in the back and I dropped down again onto all fours.
He shouted again at the top of his voice. It was gibberish to me. Two of them grabbed my hips and pulled at the waistband of my jeans. They struggled with the button and grabbed at the zip without any idea of how it worked. They shouted as well - frustrated and angry with their failed attempts to strip me bare.
The first one roared again. The others fumbled more but still they could not get the button undone. I felt their increasing irritation as they twisted and snatched at the denim material. It pulled against my hips and dug into me. The tight crotch snatched at the flesh of my cunt. The cane came down again repeatedly. I lifted my hands off the ground and tried to sit up. I was forced back again and one of them pinned my hands down beneath his feet.
I looked up as one of them approached with a large curved knife in his hand. He held it threateningly against my cheek. It was cold and smooth. I felt the sharp glistening edge digging into my skin. I didn’t know what was going to happen. I shivered with uncontrollable fear.
He shouted out loudly, dropped to his knees and drove the blade between the bare skin of my hips and the material of my jeans which covered them. He pulled it downwards and, in one slashing cut, he rent the material from the waist half way down to the knee.
They all clamoured around to look. He jumped up, went to the other side and did the same. I felt the cold edge of the steel blade against my thigh as it severed the denim as though it was paper. The one with the cane pulled the torn material down and uncovered my naked bottom - I had no panties on. A roar went up. He waited for a moment as they all stared at my buttocks, then he brought the cane down again as hard as he could.
I screamed out - the pain shot through my body in a sudden jolting shock. I threw my head back and gasped for breath. I knew it would come again and I tensed myself, but as the cane landed on my naked skin, the shock was even greater than before. It was so sharp, so penetrating, and I was defenceless against its stabbing attack. I was overtaken by it - it consumed me.
My hands were released and I was driven around the room with the cane. They all laughed at my predicament and, when I yelled out as another cutting blow came down on my bottom, they shouted out their approval and demands for more.
I scuttled on my hands and knees - my heart pounding, my mouth gaping with fear and panic. Spit dribbled from my mouth as blow after cutting blow from the cane came down across my red striped buttocks. My body jolted in pain with every stroke that the cane delivered, and my innards
burned as they were licked with the harsh fire it lit in me.
They drove me into a corner and ripped the slashed jeans down over my feet. They pulled at my T shirt and dragged it roughly over my head. I hung my head in shame as they emptied their wine goblets over me. It poured in streams across my back and bottom, down between my thighs and into ruby red pools around my knees. It ran through my hair, into my ears and down my cheeks. It ran into the corners of my mouth and streamed off my chin. I felt wretched and humiliated. Their laughter only added to my indignity as, on my hands and knees, dripping with wine and facing a corner of the room, I was overcome with a deep sense of shame and disgrace.
Their jabbering became hushed. Wine continued to run over my back and buttocks, but the drunken Bacchii were no longer pouring any more over me. I heard a strange clattering sound - a harsh stamping - I could not make out what it was. A shadow fell across me. I looked down between my open legs and saw two brown hooves and two fur covered legs - it was the satyr!
I felt my already thumping heart quicken even more. I thought it was going to explode. I bit on my lips but I was shaking so much I could not keep them together and spit oozed between them in a frothy stream. My fear had overcome me - I crouched on my hands and knees shivering and feeling completely out of control.
The Bacchii began chanting - a slow measured drone. In the corner of my eye, I saw them rocking from side to side. I heard the hooves again - they moved closer between my knees. I felt the harsh fur of the satyr’s legs against the insides of my thighs. The droning dirge rose and fell. I felt the heat of the satyr’s huge erect phallus against the naked skin of my buttocks. Its tip radiated heat - intense and searing. He brought it closer and it touched the skin in the valley between the taut cheeks of my upturned bottom. Its searing heat was tremendous.
The Bacchii’s chorus dropped to a hum. The satyr moved the heavy throbbing end of his massive cock between the split of my buttocks. I felt its burning tip against the ring of my anus. I dropped my mouth open as I realised he was pushing it in.
My eyes widened as it entered - I could not believe it would go in. The Bacchii’s song increased in volume. The satyr’s cock slid in - bit by pounding bit it entered the tight confines of my rectum. I could not bring my lips together and spit ran from my trembling mouth in a bubbling stream. I dropped my head low to the ground as I was speared by his gigantic cock. I was pushed forward until the back of my neck was forced against the corner of the room. It kept penetrating me, never stopping or easing back, until suddenly, when I could not imagine how I could possibly take more, I felt it expanding as a flooding stream of semen ran along its venous length.
He clung to my hips with his talon-like fingers then tightened them against my skin as he drove it in one last time. I felt his rough furred thighs tightly pressed against my buttocks and, as I held my breath and stared wide-eyed between my legs, I felt myself filled with his great stream of bubbling, scalding semen. It ran inside me and saturated me. I coughed and choked. It was as if my throat was full of it. I slumped in his grip as he continued to drain himself inside me, and I felt my eyes closing with half-conscious exhaustion as finally he drew it out.
As I heard his semen bubbling around my anus, I felt myself pushing back against it. Instead of being relieved by its withdrawal, I felt myself wanting to get closer to it, wanting to receive more of its hot elixir. I opened my buttocks wide, showing him where he had been, and I cried out in a joyful scream of ecstasy and fulfilment as he drove his mighty cock back in.
It slid in on his semen and I rode its full length, thrusting myself back onto it, squirming around it, pushing as hard as I could to get every pulsating part of it as deeply inside as possible. My ecstasy overcame me - I did not know what was happening. The Bacchii gathered round, still chanting and, as if carrying out some pagan sacrament, in unison they emptied their wine goblets over me. I was soaked. I felt I could drown in it and, as I looked back between my legs I saw a continuous stream of semen running from my dilated and still-filled anus.
Suddenly, the blank wall was illuminated. A crowd of people were on the other side, sitting in rows on three tiers of chairs. Some of them were pointing, some laughing, one of the women in the front row - her satin dress off her shoulders - was pouting her red lipstick-coated lips and attending to her fingernails. A man at the back had his cock in his hand and was squeezing it as his semen ran into the mouth of a woman on her knees in front of him. It was Dulcie! Her head was back, her mouth wide open. Her luxurious full lips were wet from her spit and, as she gaped upwards, they were splattered with the man’s copious semen. She pulled at the front of her white blouse and exposed her small, pert breasts. Her pink nipples were hard and prominent. She let his semen run over her tongue. Only when he had completely drained it did she close her mouth and swallow. She licked her lips and looked up at him, as if asking him if there was any more. He turned away and she reached over and picked up her notebook and pencil which were on the floor by her knees.
As I stared at her, the heavy door behind me opened.
Dr Fitz walked in keenly ahead of a group of men.
‘There gentlemen, isn’t that the most amazing exhibit you’ve ever seen. What a show! And look at our poor slave. See how she remains on her hands and knees - shamed and humiliated, and yet still waiting for her master to use her again when he chooses.’
For a moment I could not move, then, as if caught up in an irresistible tide, I felt overwhelmed by a great surge of pleasure inside me. I crawled forward as it ran from my cunt up inside my rectum. I could not hold it in, nor resist it. I crawled forward between the silent still figures and stopped at Dr Fitz’s feet. I looked up at him and he started to undo the zip to his trousers.
The next morning, as I walked away from the museum, I realised how I had deceived myself. I could not get my old life back - it was impossible. I had gone too far away from it ever to return. The only way for me was forward. There was no alternative - I was locked irredeemably onto only that path. But where did the path lead? Ahead, all I could see was more suffering, more humiliation, and more degradation. The thought of it filled me with fear but, as the shiver of dread passed through me, it was accompanied by an exciting tremor of anticipation. Yes, I could only go forward.
CONCORD
USED
I spent the morning in Concord - I wanted to visit the home of Emerson, Thoreau and Louisa May Alcott. It had rained hard - soaking eastern seaboard rain. I was wearing only a T shirt and shorts and I had got soaked. I walked down Main Street looking for some shelter. I pushed my way between self-infatuated Ivy League fathers earnestly training their even more self-infatuated Ivy League candidate sons in the arts of assertion, mathematics, social superiority, and ignorance for their fellow man. The whole place was twee and self-engrossed - antique shops, bookstores, prissy cafés and pretention. I couldn’t imagine Thoreau feeling comfortable here at all - perhaps that’s why he went to live in the woods.
Just before the junction with Walden Street the road tightened up to a pedestrian crossing. An attractive, pale skinned woman stood in the doorway of a sports shop - “Marcia’s Sports”. She held a bright pink umbrella over her head - she was wet and shivering.
‘They have some great prices here, sweetie. Get something warm for a few dollars. It looks as though you need it.’
I smiled at her. I felt sorry for her. One of the strainers in her umbrella had broken through the cover and rain was dripping down the front of her shirt. I could see she wasn’t wearing a bra.
‘Are you going to come in?’ I asked her. ‘You look cold too.’
‘No, not just yet. You go in though. I promise, you won’t regret it.’
She shivered, took out a tissue from a small pocket in her short pleated skirt and blew her nose.
I went in as she held the door open. It was a big store, filled with clothing and sports equipment. A youn
g girl asked me what I needed.
‘Something dry, and cheap.’
She grabbed some clothing off a rail and escorted me to a changing room. It was huge - white painted walls, shiny marble tiles, a soft sofa and a pine, slatted bench.
‘Help yourself and take your time. There’s no rush. Enjoy.’
I pulled my wet T shirt over my head. A mist of water sprayed from my hair. My nipples were hard and wet. I shivered. My jeans were wet through and, when I dropped them on the floor, water ran from them and formed a pool.
As I stood naked and dripping wet with my soaked panties in my hands - the louvered barroom style doors swung open.
A haughty looking man stood behind a white-faced youth. After what I had seen in the town, I imagined it must be a father and his son.
‘Go on,’ urged the man. ‘There ‘s nothing to be afraid of.’
The youth moved forward nervously.
‘Will you be long, miss?’ he enquired. The man prodded him in the back. ‘I ... I have an item I wish to try on.’
He held forward an oversized football shirt with “Harvard” emblazoned across the chest.
‘No need to justify yourself, Henry.’
‘Sorry ... sorry, sir.’
‘No need to apologise either, Henry.’
‘No, sir ... sorry, sir.’
I smiled.
‘I don’t mind sharing,’ I said. ‘Feel free. There’s plenty of room in here.’
The man looked at the youth and nodded. The youth looked around nervously. The man scowled at him and prodded him again.
The man could not take his eyes from my body. His fixed stare followed down from my breasts, across my stomach to the slit of my cunt - naked and glistening from the wetness of my soaked panties and already responding to the situation I had found myself in.
Again he jabbed the boy in the back.