The Diaries of Syra Bond

by Syra Bond

  Mora lifted the front of my dress all the way up and held it just below my chin, exposing my breasts as he wedged his arm between them. I felt the palm of his right hand pressing across the flesh of my buttocks, and then his finger slipping into their tight valley. Its tip glanced across the soft edges of my labia, and the wet petals opened for him like a ripe fig. I stared at the crowd without moving, and as they roared again, he removed his hand. There was a moment’s pause - a brief, silent eternity - then his hand came down on my bottom with a shocking smack. I was not sure if my buttocks tightened inadvertently beneath the impact. I hoped they did not. I wanted to please Galen, to do as he had commanded, but I was not sure I could. My cheeks burned hot and my chest tightened. The president lifted his hand, and brought it down again even harder across my bottom. The sharp slapping sound was almost drowned out by the cries of the crowd, and I was sure my muscles tensed and I swallowed harder than I should have. Then a third blow fell and I felt my teeth grinding together, holding back my need to cry out.

  I felt something sharp against my side, and out of the corner of my eye saw another figure standing close behind me, but I could not tell who it was. Then I smelled her strong, citrus-like perfume, and the sharp touch turned agonising as Eve dug her fingernails deep into my waist. For a second I was able to resist the pain, which harmonised with the humiliation of my exposure, complemented my captivity and mysteriously heightened my arousal, but the moment passed, and as Mora’s hand came down for a fourth blow I cried out, I could not help myself. As I heard myself wail in distress I knew I had failed, and the ecstasy building up inside me subsided, replaced by a sinking disappointment and a sobering flood of self-disgust.

  I heard Mora laugh mockingly. ‘She has failed, Galen. What do you do when someone fails in what is expected of them?’

  ‘They have to be trained more rigorously, my dear Mora,’ came the cool reply.

  It was as though their voices were reaching me from a distant horizon; they sounded far away and strangely hollow, almost disembodied, but like the sirens’ song, they were also strangely irresistible. For a while I continued to hold on to the balustrade, trying to convince Mora I’d succeeded, that somehow my regained quietness and rigidity proved I was being completely obedient. But I knew I had failed. I had allowed the pet to destroy my chance to prove myself. I turned to Galen in the hope of seeing him smile or nod at me understandingly, but his arm was around Eve’s shoulder and he was talking quietly into her ear, ignoring me.

  I am going to stop writing now because I can hear him coming. His footsteps ring on the cold stone floor, and the way he rattles the keys makes me horribly anxious. I ought to be used to it by now, but I wonder if I ever will be. I hope I have gotten enough done to please him, but I suspect I have not. Somehow I think he would have wanted me to produce more by now.

  Chapter 4

  He has gone. He spent a long time going through what I had written. He didn’t say anything, but he looked up at me a couple of times to make sure I was sitting correctly - upright, with my back stiff, my mouth closed, my eyes looking straight ahead. Sometimes it reminds me of when I had the chopsticks bound together at right angles across my mouth, pinioning my lips together and forcing them outwards like a bill. Usually he does not like me blinking, either, yet occasionally, if he thinks I have done well, he allows me to as a sort of treat. This time he seemed in such a bad mood I knew there would be no favours, so I just stared straight ahead. For a while I thought of what it had been like to feel pain. It came back to me vaguely, that exquisite feeling of surrendering to punishment, and even as I thought about it I was aware of the aching in my shoulders as my muscles strained to keep me from moving. Staring without blinking for so long has also made my eyes sore, and that is another good sign. Perhaps it means I’m getting better...

  He left another pencil for me, but no food. I was hungry, but I could tell from the way he looked at me when he left that I was to get no food until I had done more work. I know he is displeased with what I’ve written so far, but I can do nothing except tell the truth. That is what he told me to do, and that is what I am doing, I think.

  Yet it did not stop him from beating me again. He spanked me hard before he left. This time he made me lie on my back and lifted my bound ankles high, until the base of my back was lifted clear off the floor. The outer flesh of my pussy was squeezed tightly shut, and I knew when his hand came down it would catch my vulva as well as the tightly stretched cheeks of my bottom.

  The first three smacks I hardly felt - it was as though the flat of his hand was a caress, a warmly welcomed kiss, the glancing touch of a tender lover - but the next three blows were harder, and I winced each time I felt the smarting sting as his palm smacked loudly against my skin.

  The smacks that followed were even harder to endure on my flaming flesh, and my labia prickled with heat as I felt it go from a soft pink to a bright red. As each slap landed I spun on my suspended ankles, twisting and turning, engrossed in the agonising pleasure, utterly absorbed in the torment.

  It finally ended as he let my legs drop to the floor. I moaned, and as I lay with my bound legs splayed open at the knees, he smacked his hand across my exposed pussy one last time and drove three fingers deep inside me. His digits were warm and hard and my sex lips were so sore that scarcely had the knuckles of his hand parted my pussy when I climaxed with a heavy, jerking convulsion.

  But I must get on now. There is so much to write down and so much to remember and I must not make any mistakes...

  We all sat down at the table in the president’s box. It was constructed from exquisitely worked iron, its heavy feet splayed into large, talon-like claws, each of the four legs ornamented with an ascending spiral of rampaging bulls with flaring nostrils. A heavy red cloth - the same material as the curtains draped around the edges of the box - was spread across the table, which was laid out with glasses, several open bottles of red wine and small silver dishes containing a variety of nuts and olives. Galen and Mora sat with their backs to the bullring while I sat facing them. The pet leaned lazily against the side of the box staring into the crowd, occasionally biting one of her long nails or tipping her sunglasses back up from the bridge of her nose as she observed the people shifting restlessly in their seats.

  Mora poured wine and he and Galen sat back and stared at me, glasses in hand, making me feel rather like a mannequin in a shop window, only they were considering whether or not they wanted me, not the clothes I was wearing.

  ‘Will Espartaco come out again?’ Galen asked, not taking his dark eyes off my face.

  ‘Yes, oh yes,’ Mora replied as he sipped his wine. ‘The crowd has not taken well to the poor display of our last competitor. They will have to find another challenger for the great Espartaco or we will have a riot.’

  ‘I hope it will be an approved challenger and no less.’

  ‘Of course, my dear man, of course.’

  Galen smiled and drained his glass. ‘I hope so. We cannot have the fearless Espartaco facing a truly brave bull, now can we?’

  ‘Do not worry, but allow the crowd a bit of a show. It is a bullring, after all.’

  They both laughed as Mora refilled their glasses.

  ‘But what about my new pet?’ Galen asked. ‘I cannot say she is in any way approved yet.’

  ‘I am disappointed.’ Mora sighed dramatically. ‘I thought you were an expert in such matters. I am very disappointed, indeed.’

  ‘I have not had time to bring her on yet. You must understand she is still fresh and untrained.’

  I looked down, embarrassed. It felt strange the way they were talking about me as though I was not there or as if I was a mere object who could not understand them. I felt ashamed and disgusted with myself. I had let Galen down and made myself look stupid. I had been so sure the test he set me would be easy, and my arrogance had made me look ridiculous. He held a bottle
above an empty glass, looked at me and raised his eyebrows. I nodded, desperate for a drink, and he filled the glass to the brim.

  ‘Try not to spill it, Syra,’ he said wryly.

  I reached out and took the glass nervously. I could barely stop my hands from shaking, and I lifted it to my lips quickly in case some wine should spill over the edge. It tasted rich and warm, and even as I swallowed it I felt the alcohol’s dizzying effect. The heat in the arena was intense, billowing up from the lower levels and curling around us like a dragon’s invisible breath. I felt beads of perspiration breaking out on my forehead and my heart started pounding.

  ‘Well, at least she can do something properly,’ Mora observed sarcastically.

  ‘I think we should give her another chance,’ Galen suggested magnanimously. ‘What do you think, Syra my pet, do you deserve another chance?’

  I was not sure whether I should reply. Something inside me was telling me to get up and walk away, to toss my head back indignantly and leave them to their silly games. ‘Yes,’ I said in a pitifully small voice, ‘please.’

  ‘You see.’ Galen smiled. ‘She is not yet a lost cause.’

  Below us the crowd let out a huge, booming roar.

  ‘Ah, and so it begins again.’ Mora placed the bottle down hard on the table and leaned an arm back over the curtained front of the box.

  There was another great roar from the spectators and a wave of sticky heat billowed up from beneath us. Eve leaned sideways against the balustrade, her hipbones pushing out sharply against her thin skirt as it curved over her buttocks, taking their shape. She caressed her hair back and rubbed her slender neck, turning her head in a circle as though easing some tension in her upper back. She thrust out the tip of her tongue and ran its glossy redness first along her top lip and then along her bottom lip. As she did so her mouth glistened in the sun, which was beginning to pour over the edges of the box. I felt an overwhelming wave of desire for her. I wanted to taste her lips against my own. I wanted to caress her slender neck and feel her long hair falling around my face, her writhing limbs intertwined with mine. I wanted to hear her breathing fast and watch her listening to my own panting gasps. I wanted to straddle her face, wrapping my thighs around her head. I wanted to press my pussy against her mouth as she drove her tongue deep into my wetness. I wanted to revel in the passionate energy of her body in the overbearing heat as I absorbed her scent, molecule by molecule, through the pores of my skin...

  ‘At last it seems they have found one,’ Galen declared.

  I stood up so I could see. A stocky black bull was running into the ring. He stopped in the centre, his bloodshot eyes ablaze. Stiff-necked, he looked around seeking out threats. He twisted in a pirouette, circling in the air with all his feet off the ground, as a horse charged towards him. The picador, straight- backed and glistening like a jewel in his sequined suit, held the reins high in one hand as with the other he levelled his lance at the creature’s throat. The bull pulled away and snorted loudly before charging at the horse and ramming its horns deep into the quilted protection running down its sides. He gored it, deceived into thinking he was gutting the horse; deceived into believing he was already claiming victory.

  Eve looked away from the spectacle and picked up a glass from the table. Her long fingernails clinked against it, filling a brief moment of ominous silence, which was broken when the crowd, having drawn a collective breath, roared again. I looked at her, hoping to see a friendly smile at last, but she pursed her full lips slightly and turned her head away contemptuously.

  Like Mora, Galen leaned back over the balustrade and stared down into the bullring. ‘Aren’t you looking, Syra?’ he shouted back at me without turning his head. ‘Doesn’t it excite you? Perhaps you do not know what excites you?’ He swung around to face me. ‘Syra, my pet, how can you tackle your fears, how can you know when you are acting out your wishes if you do not know what excites you?’

  ‘I do know,’ I yelled, but the noise of the crowd drowned out my words.

  He cupped his hand around one of his ears and cocked his head to one side, raising his eyebrows as if encouraging me to try again. ‘What was that you said, Syra?’

  ‘I do know...’

  ‘You will have to come closer, my pet. Come closer and tell me.’

  I stepped forward, feeling as though I was being invited to slip into bed with my lover. I could feel the heat of anticipation running across my flesh, prickling across my skin and making me shiver. He held up his palm as a signal. Perhaps, like a considerate lover, he wanted me to walk more slowly, to take my time, not to rush. I stopped, and felt myself licking my lips like Eve. I wanted him to see the dazzling reflection of the sun’s rays on my mouth. I wanted him to yearn to kiss me.

  ‘No, my pet,’ he said, shaking his head.

  His tone thrilled me and I licked my lips again to stop them becoming too dry for him.

  ‘No, my pet,’ he repeated, ‘come to me on your knees.’

  I thought at first I had misunderstood him, and I must have looked surprised for he repeated himself.

  ‘On your knees, beneath the table, Syra.’

  The shock of his words paralysed me. I understood them, of course, but their stunning import on my mind was part of my humiliation, and I needed a moment’s angry indignation or I would not have had anything against which to measure my fall.

  The crowd roared even more loudly and Galen looked over the balustrade again. He did not turn back towards me; he would issue no further instructions. Slowly, I bent my legs, placed my hands on the edge of the table and leaned forward. He was not even watching me. He was not even bothered to see if I obeyed his orders. I felt the pressure of the edge of the table against the hot palms of my hands. I felt as if I was clinging to a raft exposed to a stormy sea, not knowing if I would drown or survive. I did not know whether or not to sink below the table as if deliberately falling into hell, or whether to pull myself back, sit down and carry on as if nothing had happened. I gripped the edge of the table more tightly and bent my legs a little more. Still he did not look at me, but in the corner of my eye I glimpsed Eve’s disdainful glance and it was enough to spur me on.

  I hardly know how to describe what I felt as I lowered myself below the edge of the table. I was excited and filled with anticipation, but I did not know why I was excited or what I was expecting. More than anything, I was gripped by a sense of profound humiliation. I felt like an animal only doing what it was told. But it was not a simple, straightforward humiliation for it was coupled with the disdain of the man I was allowing to become my master. My degradation was enhanced by his deliberate ignorance of my actions. No matter how much I obeyed him I could not hold his interest, and it was his lack of interest that stubbornly intensified my willingness to obey him and made the humiliation I experienced so delectable and so complete.

  As I sank below the surface of the iron table, I felt the heavy warmth of the red cloth against the tip of my nose and its soft caress against my forehead. Then the cloth draped over my eyes and all I could see was a deep red glow, as if the setting sun had descended to the horizon and I was watching it sink with me into a boiling sea of ecstasy. The pleat of heavy red material stroked my face, caressing it. I smelled a deep rich scent of warm velvet evocative of wine and passion. Then, as I lowered myself completely below the table, the cloth slipped away and I felt as though a mysterious blindness had been lifted from me.

  I was holding my hands above my head, still gripping the edge of the table. I felt as if I was floating deep within a molten sea. I saw Galen’s legs on one side of me and Mora’s thicker legs on the other. One of Eve’s feet was tapping the floor, her sandal tipping slightly away from the sole of her foot every time she lifted it. I remained squatting for some time, listening to the roar of the crowd and the heavy rumbling that echoed around the terraces as everyone surged to their feet at the same ti
me. I heard a dragon-like hiss as they all sighed in unison, and felt the increased pressure in the air as they thrust their clenched fists high above their heads. It was as though I was plugged into the emotions of everyone there, experiencing every sensation available, as if I suddenly possessed an infinite capacity to absorb feelings and emotions.

  I watched Galen’s legs, for they were my goal. The tumult of sensations did not die down inside me, but with every impression I absorbed I seemed to develop an even greater capacity for receptivity than was capable of being satisfied. I needed more. I was nowhere near filled. I released my tightly gripping fingers from around the edge of the table and placed the palms of my hands flat on the floor. I shivered as I felt the roughness of the boards. I crouched there for a while, aware of the lines of my body, sensing the curved angle of my back and the way it bloomed up into my hips. I felt my chest tightening as I experienced the taut shape of my upturned buttocks and the sense of exposure that came with it. I kept looking forward at Galen’s dark slacks, but I could not move. I waited, and the saddle of my back dropped even lower, causing my bottom to move higher, and I felt the tightness of the gusset of my panties pulling against my sex. My pussy was hot and moist and swollen, and shivering with delight, I arched my back even more deeply to pull the material of my panties as tightly as possible against my sensitive labia.

  At last I moved, picking up one of my hands and stretching it forward deliberately. I watched it as though it was someone else’s hand, but I knew it was mine as in the moment of contact with the wooden board my body was set on fire in a way that had nothing to do with the heat of the day. I felt my flesh igniting from within as though every one of my nerve endings had been lit at the same time. I moved my other hand, and felt myself edging inexorably towards Galen’s legs. It was as though the universe had stopped expanding, waiting for me to act, and now it had started moving and growing again. I licked a salty drop of perspiration from my upper lip and suddenly felt like a ravenous animal, the cutting tension of my panties against my tender flesh almost more than I could bear. I froze, unable to move, seized by an overpowering delight as I was overwhelmed by sensations my body could not accommodate. I was hungry, but I could consume no more at the moment. I was satiated, gratified by anticipation itself. I could take no more. I could only wait.