by Syra Bond
An eternity seemed to pass before I took another tentative move towards my objective. Galen’s trousers were twisted slightly around his calf, and the sight of the pulled cloth aroused me. I imagined his tanned skin, hairy and firmly muscled beneath the expensive looking material. I wanted him to stretch his leg towards me, to caress me with it, to save me the agony of approaching him, but I knew it was my duty to keep moving. I edged along like a cat, lifting first my right hand with my right knee, and then my left hand with my left knee. Each move pressed the material of my panties against my pussy and my head spun from the delicious torture. I wanted to crawl forever, never reaching my goal but always having it in sight.
In the end I could not hold back. I lowered my left arm, bending it at the elbow, stretched my neck out and let the side of my face glance against his leg. Emboldened, I pressed my cheek more firmly against his calf and detected the warmth of his flesh against my own. I rubbed my face up and down his leg, feeling as though I could literally purr. I pressed my cheek against his trousers and felt the material crease beneath my warm skin. I nudged my shoulder against him, longing to fold myself around his leg. I wanted to curl around it so tightly he would never be able to shake me off. He did not speak or move or react in any way, and the way he deliberately ignored my actions mysteriously heightened my senses and drove me on.
I heard the muted roar of the crowd and even seemed to smell the tang of the bull’s sweat, but they were distant impressions, messages from another world. My nerves were loaded down with the strangely delectable experience of my absolute humiliation. I was drowning, unable to breathe and gasping for air, overwhelmed by the waves of excitement crashing through me as a result of my body’s subtle contact with my master’s leg. I was sinking, drifting down to the ocean floor, the way he ignored me an anchor around my heart pulling me down into the depths of despair even as it elevated me to heights of desire I had never imagined possible.
Then I saw a hand reach down for me. I lifted my face and rubbed my cheek against it. I licked it, running my tongue along the smooth fingers. I licked the firm palm and buried my face in it. I pressed my eyes against the back of the hand one after another, closing them and imagining I was seeing the soul inhabiting the godlike form graciously extending his hand down to me from a more elevated dimension. The fingers stretched and I drew back, staring at them, waiting for their instructions. One finger pointed stiffly downwards. I bent my elbows and lowered my face to the floor. I felt again the delight brought on by my up-thrust buttocks and parted my knees slightly to accentuate the sense of exposure the angle gave me. I rested my cheek against the floor, my arms bent around my head, panting and waiting, hoping this moment of stillness would never end and I would never have to feel the loss of my growing excitement.
I hardly remember how long I stayed that way before the light-blue silk sashes were tied around my wrists and ankles. When I first felt them touch my skin, my eyes closed and I seemed to rise weightless into the air. I quivered as I felt them being pulled tight, and my heart beat faster and harder as I heard the swishing sound of a loose end being led out and laid flat on the floor. I was still crouching on my hands and knees, my right cheek pressed against the wooden boards. There was a tug on the ribbon around my left ankle and I opened my eyes, but I did not move my head. All I could see was a man’s black shoe. I did not know whether it was Galen’s or Mora’s. I heard the roar of the crowd, but the sound only entered me through my left ear as in my right ear I felt a drumming through the boards as though the crowd was trying to break their way through to me.
I felt another sash being wound around my left elbow before being led across my back and tied off around my right elbow. My cheek still pressed firmly against the floor, I realised I could no longer move my upper arms at all. I suffered a moment of panic, but it was immediately overtaken by a surge of the most extraordinary feeling of contentment. I would not have believed it possible to become even more sensually attuned to my surroundings, but I did. I felt the edges of my pussy pulsing against the tight material of my panties as a hand reached down and lifted the free end of the sash around my left wrist, and then another hand took hold of the right sash. They were lifted up from beneath the table and I felt the pull as they were wrapped around something. I felt a slight tension on the sashes at my ankles, and I knew they were being similarly secured. I bit my lip listening to the roar of the crowd, imagining Espartaco dancing before the bull as he confused it with his beauty and his finesse.
A sudden tug on the sashes around my wrists pulled my hands up off the floor, and as they stretched taut my head and chest were lifted into the air. The back of my shoulders touched the underside of the tabletop and I was transfixed beneath it with my head hanging down. Then the sashes at my ankles were pulled and my legs were also hoisted off the floor. I was suspended beneath the table, pressed firmly against it and completely unable to move anything but my head. Then suddenly the table scraped across the boarded floor of the box as it was pushed up, taking me with it. I cried out in fear, closing my eyes, and I heard Galen’s voice.
‘Syra, my pet, do not look down. Lift your head and keep your eyes open until I tell you otherwise.’
I lifted my head, and saw below me the arena with the blood-streaked bull and Espartaco in his dazzling suit and thousands of people clapping and stamping in a fevered tumult. As I hung there, exposed for all to see, bound and helpless, a seemingly endless orgasm surged through me, blinding me like another hot sun rising directly between my legs and exploding inside me.
Finally, my intense climax drained itself in the moisture seeping from my pussy and making my labia stick to my panties. I felt the drenched cotton being pulled aside. I don’t know who it was touching me. It could have been anyone, Mora, Eve, Galen or even someone from the crowd. I did not care. The thin gusset was tugged away from my sex, which was spread wide by my position against the table, and a wave of hot air blew across my sensitised flesh like a desert wind. My clitoris, still throbbing with joy, sent pulsing waves of delight through my whole body as I stared out at the wild crowd and wished everyone in it was preparing to do whatever they wanted to me.
I clenched my teeth as something suddenly smacked my exposed pussy. I could do nothing to move away, I could not even squirm I was tied so securely. Another stinging blow fell directly between my thighs and I clenched my teeth. Another vicious slap stunned me and my throbbing labia burned with pain. I was being beaten with a leather belt. I could feel the unyielding smoothness of it and its hard tip lashing around the side of my right buttock, curling into my straining hip. A fourth blow fell across my helplessly exposed cunt and I bit my lip in order not to cry out, but with each successive lick of leather across my sex it became harder and harder not to scream in anguish. Yet I wanted to contain the pain, to hold it in and soak it up so it penetrated every part of my body, working its way into my every blood cell. My cheeks were burning with tears by the time the belt finally stopped tormenting me. I heard it tossed aside and everything went quiet in my head, the roar of the crowd becoming confused with the sound of my own blood pounding through my temples and down into my pelvis as another blinding climax made my body convulse against the table.
Chapter 5
He was very angry with me for writing the word cunt again. He scratched it out with his red pen and then stared at me for a frighteningly long time. I could tell he was trying to decide what to do with me. He seemed puzzled, as though he could not find the answer he sought, as though simply spanking me was not enough, as though I needed something more than a mere beating.
In the beginning he always knew what to do with me, what punishment to give me, how to reprimand me, but now there are times when I can tell he is not at all sure any more what will work with me. Then suddenly he asked me if I wanted my wrists and ankles bound and a rope tied around my waist so I could be suspended from a hook in the ceiling. I nodded, and he shook his head. He asked me if I
wanted to be tightly lashed to a post and whipped with a leather flail. I nodded again, and he shook his head again. He asked me if he should blindfold me then tie the ball gag he sometimes uses on me around my head and leave me like that until the next time he came to see me. Again I nodded, and as I did so, I felt the moisture of excitement seeping between the lips of my pussy. He asked me if there was anything he could think of that I would not want, and I slowly shook my head. I knew there was no way he could punish me that would bring me anything but intense delight. He asked me if I was beginning to feel pain again, and I nodded yet again, and as I thought of his spanking hand and the flailing whip and of how my body would strain against the bonds he promised me, how I would gulp for breath against the plugging gag as each smack, each lash, fell hard against my buttocks... I pressed my fingers against my throbbing clitoris and climaxed violently...
He has gone now. He seemed to get the answer he was searching for and left me without doing anything to me. There is a hollow sensation in my stomach, a gripe of terrible disappointment. But even though he did not beat me, I am consoled by the feelings the loss of punishment and its excitement have given me. It was not so long ago I thought I would never feel anything again.
I do not know how long I hung against the table in the president’s box, I only know I remember it was lowered into a horizontal position again, and the deep feeling of sadness that accompanied being hidden from view. I would like to have struggled when they freed me, because I wanted to remain bound and helpless, but I knew I must only do what was wished of me. If I fought against them I would not feel so exquisitely degraded and the loss of my humiliation would lessen my excitement.
At least when they sat me down on one of the chairs they kept my elbows tied tightly across my back. At least they did not release me completely. At least they allowed me to endure the tension in my arms a little longer and left the blue ribbons dangling from my wrists and ankles so I could be reminded of how I had been bound and exposed and beaten in front of thousands of people. My hands were resting up near my shoulders, but now I let them drop slowly and straightened my back so the sash holding my elbows slipped a little lower. My nipples were so hard against the thin material of my dress they ached for attention. Galen looked at them, and I shyly dropped my eyes.
‘Syra, are you ashamed of your body?’
I shook my head without looking up.
‘I do hope not. It would be such a shame. Syra, look up, do not be embarrassed.’
I raised my head.
‘Look around you. What do you see?’
I turned my head and saw hundreds of faces staring at me from the terraces on either side of the presidential box. I felt the deep heat of a blush rising up my neck and covering my face, setting my cheeks and forehead aflame. It was as though their eyes were penetrating me like red-hot needles. I prickled all over, my heart pounded, and my nipples hurt even more as they pressed against my dress.
Eve moved into my line of sight. She leaned against the balustrade, her back to the arena, dropped her weight onto one hip and glared at me. She took off her sunglasses, licked one of her fingers and rubbed spit onto one of the lenses to clean it while I imagined it was her pussy and I was licking it. She pulled up the hem of her skirt to dry the lens while I stared at her thighs. She put the sunglasses back on, turned and looked down into the arena. ‘Espartaco wins again,’ she declared in a bored voice. ‘What’s new?’
Galen looked down at the scene as a wild roar issued from the crowd. ‘A good victory, Mora. Look, the crowd is very pleased with the performance of the bull, and Espartaco can do nothing wrong for them. Look how he struts before them. See how he preens himself. Look how his fans cheer his expertise, his dazzling style, his panache and, most of all, his fearlessness. His courage is beyond their reach. It is what makes him seem like a god.’ He turned his head and stared at me. ‘Would you like to meet this god, Syra? Would you like to be in the presence of the god I have created?’
I pulled my elbows forward slightly to increase the delectable discomfort in my shoulder blades. ‘Yes,’ I replied quietly.
I felt the penetrating stares of the crowd again and looked to my left. Men were gawping at me, some were pointing, a few were clapping and several were laughing. I opened my mouth vacantly, submissively, as if I wanted to suck all their cocks at once.
‘Good,’ Galen said. ‘Here, let me release you.’
I continued to stare back at the men as the sash came loose at my back. My shoulders dropped forward as the tension was released, and Galen took each of my wrists in his hands and placed them gently on my knees. The sashes still wound around them trailed over the sides of my thighs and touched the backs of my calves. I gripped the hem of my dress and held it tightly against the tops of my thighs. I felt as though I was preparing to face a cataclysm, a terrible force equivalent to an emotional hurricane.
Eve leaned out over the balustrade. She removed her sunglasses again and licked her finger to wet the other lens. She rubbed it, but when she put the glasses back on she was apparently dissatisfied with the result for she took them off again, turned, and held the inner side of the lens in front of my mouth. ‘Wet it for me,’ she ordered haughtily.
I flicked my tongue out and almost touched the glass before it was abruptly snatched away. ‘Leave her alone!’ Galen commanded angrily. ‘She is not yours to play with.’
Eve scowled, and tossed the sunglasses down on the table.
I gripped the hem of my dress even more tightly, deafened by the roar of the crowd as Espartaco climbed up into the presidential box.
The entire bullring vibrated with the stamping of feet and the clapping of hands. Espartaco shone in the sunlight as if he had fallen out of a star. The sequins on his jacket flashed so brightly the rays emanating from them seemed to set fire to the red curtains draped around the box. Red, green and gold streaked from their dazzling points, beaming spots of light across my skin and daubing me with living colour as though I had tumbled into a vast kaleidoscope. This fiery god held his hat in the crook of his arm and bowed to Mora and Galen. He bent sharply at the waist, dropped his head low and scraped the edge of his hat against the floor. His tight trousers bulged against the straining pressure of his muscular thighs, and as he straightened up, they pressed so closely against his crotch that all the beautiful contours of his cock squeezed into the black material were revealed in tantalising detail. I could see the heavy, venous ribs running along the shaft and the wide glans at its tip, shaped like a delectable bell.
‘Syra, my pet,’ Galen said, ‘meet the fearless Espartaco.’
The bullfighter stepped towards me and took one of my hands. My fingers still held the edge of my dress, so as he lifted my hand towards his mouth my dress rose as well. He smiled almost bashfully and looked away as my white panties were revealed. I let go of the hem, and as if nothing untoward had happened, he drew my hand to his mouth, pressed his full lips against it then gave it back to me gently and gracefully, as if my own hand was a gift from him.
‘It is an honour to meet you, senorita,’ he intoned in a deep voice with a heavy Spanish accent.
I felt myself trembling.
‘Sit, please,’ Mora urged, ‘and have a drink with us. You have fought well, even though your first challenger was not a worthy opponent.’
Espartaco sat down beside me.
‘No, indeed not, presidente. Espartaco does not have to kill the bulls that face him, for some of them die from fear!’
‘You are right, Espartaco,’ Galen’s voice was flatteringly smooth. ‘What it must be like to be so fearless and so feared.’ He sighed.
The bullfighter tossed his head back arrogantly and the gold clasp around his small pigtail flashed blindingly in the sun. His hands were resting on his knees and I could feel the heat of his skin against my leg. The tanned fingers were covered in thick black hairs and I wan
ted to touch them, to feel them lightly brushing my skin, so I edged my knee closer to his. ‘I am indebted to you, Galen,’ he declared. ‘You have led me out of fear into courage. You have convinced me of my power and my invincibility. It is you who have found the fearlessness within me and released it.’
Galen nodded humbly. ‘Perhaps,’ he began, sipping his wine, ‘you can describe how it feels to be beyond fear to my new pet, Syra. She wants to know how she can overcome her fears. She wants to lift herself above them and be guided into ecstasy only by the desires released from deep within her own being.’
‘All I can say is that you have created me as I am, Galen,’ Espartaco went on earnestly. ‘When I take on the bull, I do not hear the crowd, I do not hear the panting of the beast before me, I do not smell the last victim’s blood in the ring, I feel only the light inside me, the light of fearlessness you have helped me light.’
‘Bravo!’ Mora exclaimed. ‘Bravo! Maravilloso! Marvellous!’
I edged my knee a little closer to his and felt warm air between my legs as they parted. I was nearly touching his hand now, and I saw him stretching his forefinger out, reaching for me as though he, too, desperately wanted to touch me. I looked down and watched my leg trembling. I did not know if I could move it, if I was still able to control my body. I felt a surge of anxiety in my belly and edged a little closer to him. The instant my knee touched his - and it was only the slightest glance - I felt a responsive pressure from the tip of his finger. He pressed the side of his thigh against mine, and I pressed back. I felt his nail digging into my flesh and leaned my leg against his as firmly as I could. The tip of his finger dug deeply into my skin, until I could not see his nail at all. I felt myself exhaling as though I would never be able to take another breath, and dropped my chin against my chest as I gasped involuntarily.