by Syra Bond
‘Are you all right, Syra?’ Galen asked me.
I nodded, coughing stupidly and blinking my eyes as if dazzled by the light caught in my lashes. I assumed he could see Espartaco’s finger on my knee, and that this was why he had brought him up here. He was giving me another chance - a chance to make up for my idiocy on the beach. This was my opportunity. I could redeem myself here in the presidential box set high above the roaring crowd. I could prove to him I was of some value, that his efforts would not be wasted on me. But he would not instruct me. I would have to act only on the faintest clues he provided, on the slightest impressions I received from his gestures and expressions.
Being careful not to relieve any of the pressure of Espartaco’s finger on my knee, I twisted my hips and moved the leg he was not touching further away from the other. I felt the gusset of my panties stretching against my pussy. I felt as though my clitoris was bulging out of its protective cover and pressing against my damp panties, exposing itself to the fullest sensation possible. I could feel my anticipation simmering in my clit as imagination drove my body to new levels of pleasure. I squeezed my buttocks together and twisted my hips again, pulling on the cotton covering my vulva with my clenched buttocks and drawing it hard against my warm and swollen flesh. It was not a pleasure derived from something or someone else, it was a determined, forceful action with only one focus - my own gratification.
‘Look,’ Espartaco said as he got up abruptly and went to stand at the edge of the box. ‘They are parading some of the bulls that have won their right to freedom. They are fine specimens, but of course none of them have ever met me! There is not a bull alive who could win the right to live when facing Espartaco.’
Eve was still leaning on the balustrade, and now Galen and Mora went and stood on either side of her. Espartaco beckoned to me and I rose with difficulty. Since stepping into the presidential box I had been in the grip of some mysterious trance. I went and stood not beside him but in front of him. I placed my trembling hands on the balustrade and looked down at the parade of bulls. All of them were frightening, heavily muscled creatures. They were decked with coloured ribbons and sashes, and led on leather leashes attached to rings in their noses by pairs of boys dressed in dark suits. Some of the animals with deep scars on their bodies pulled viciously against the rings in their noses and some of the smaller boys found it hard to keep them in line. One of the boys fell over as he struggled with his charge, and only narrowly escaped being trampled by rolling frantically out from beneath the animal’s hooves. I gasped as he scrambled to his feet, but felt calmed and quickly distracted from the scene below by the reassuring pressure of the matador’s powerful body against mine. He smacked my right buttock, giving it a short, sharp slap as though I was a favoured calf. The blow stung, but it was too brief, so I pushed my bottom back against him to show I wanted more.
He moved tightly against me, until I could feel every sequin in his beautiful jacket and every muscle compressed into his shiny black trousers. The pressure increased and I felt the bulge against my buttocks hardening. I felt his buried erection pressing into me, expanding in response to my softly yielding flesh, becoming engorged with need. His right hand fell on my hip and I became aware of the shape of my bone beneath his warm hand. His fingers stretched and found the hollow at the front of my hips, and his expert touch caused a wave of anxious excitement deep between my buttocks. His fingers stretched down slightly, straining to reach the depression leading into the groove of flesh between the top of my thigh and the base of my stomach. My body throbbed with anticipation, and I tensed as his hand folded around my hip and his fingers stretched further. I turned slightly towards him, and his finger stroked the delicate flesh between my thigh and my pudenda, inflaming me. He stroked the edges of my pussy softly, tantalizing it and heating it up as if his fingers were naked flames. I felt my labia blooming at the proximity of his touch, and as my sex lips swelled my eyes rolled up into my head as though I was going to faint. I wanted him to grab my cunt, all of it, to cradle its soft, pouting flesh and hold it in his hand until I came, but I knew he would not permit me such a simple, effortless release. He pressed his body harder against my back and squeezed me against the balustrade so tightly, I could not move as he kept stroking the delicate edges of my labia. But his fingers did not venture beyond this fleshy barrier. I panted with need and frustration. I felt his eager hard-on digging into my bottom cheeks and sensed its rhythmic throbbing as it continued enlarging and poking me through his tight pants. I tried to move back against it, to open my buttocks a little and accept it, but he would not let me. I opened my mouth, wanting to beg him to release me from this unbearable tension of desire, to give me his hand, his fingers, his throbbing, fleshy cock, anything that would penetrate me and allow me the relief of an orgasm, but no words came. I could not speak. I could scarcely breathe. I was drowning in a sea of fire and he was not going to rescue me. I could not find a way to make him open the petals of my labia. I could not find a way to encourage him to insert just the tip of his finger into my pussy. I could not make him find my aching clitoris and press down on it long enough for me to find relief from the consuming tension of my burning lust. I could do nothing. I was his victim, his slave, completely under his control. I pushed back against the bulge between his legs and felt his erection stiffen even more. With his hand so close to my sex I could feel its heat, and like a girl touched for the first time, the sensation was enough to make me start coming...
Suddenly the pressure of his body was no longer there. I felt alone and exposed, but not to him, to the world. A hand grabbed my arm and swung me round. I hoped to see the bullfighter staring down at me, preparing to be rough with me. Perhaps the tantalising gentleness of his hand had only been a prelude to his passionate strength. I longed to sacrifice myself to his power and thereby helplessly submit to my own ecstasy, but it was Galen who spun me angrily round to face him.
‘You have made a nonsense of my hopes for you, Syra,’ he accused me. ‘You have allowed your pitiful desires to overcome you and have wasted them needlessly. Don’t you understand that you have committed yourself to me? I cannot allow you to be involved with anyone else yet.’
My pussy was still throbbing, but instead of filling me with the need to release my passions the sensation made me feel hollow and degraded. I wanted to beg him for forgiveness. I wanted to tell him I thought he would be pleased with me if I let Espartaco play with me, for it would show my willingness to be bad and obey him. I felt ashamed as I realised how stupidly I had behaved. ‘Galen, I am so...’
‘Quiet!’ he shouted angrily. Pulling me to him, he turned me sideways and slipped his left arm around my waist, pushing me forward over it. Then he lifted my dress and roughly yanked my panties down to my knees, making it clear the punishment for my misbehaviour would consist of more than words. He tilted my bottom upwards, lifting my feet off the floor, and when he finished positioning me so anyone looking up into the presidential box could see my exposed buttocks, he brought his open palm down against them.
He subjected me to a succession of punishing smacks, beneath which my whole body tensed as I squirmed in the crook of his arm. The sharp sound of the spanking blended with the deep roar of the crowd, and with each stinging blow I felt myself more and more consumed by an unending orgasm. I imagined my reddened bottom, naked and displayed to the crowd, and the mere thought was enough to fuse one explosive rush of bliss into another. In the end I hung draped across his arm completely limp, dissipated by my own absolute pleasure and humiliation.
When he finished punishing me, Galen looked at Mora as he led me, staggering, out of the presidential box. To my disappointment the bullfighter had gone, apparently not interested in watching a girl being disciplined. ‘Espartaco will not get any more approved bulls,’ he announced. ‘See to it. It is time for the great Espartaco to show us what he is really made of. It is time to see if my experiment has truly worked.’
The president nodded and Galen tugged on my arm as I stumbled behind him before regaining my balance. Then suddenly my eyes fell on someone I had seen before. The man in the Hawaiian shirt was leaning on an iron balustrade staring down into the noisy crowd below him. I followed his line of sight, and saw it ended at a young woman with long, sun-bleached blonde hair waving her programme and screaming at the top of her lungs.
She was standing on a low wall raising her slightly above everyone else, and she was trying desperately to get someone’s attention. Every time she shouted, she flung her arm over her head and her thin dress pulled against her pert breasts, causing her hard nipples to strain against the taut material. As her desperation increased and she waved her arm more frantically, the hem of her dress hiked up around her thighs until I could see the cheeks of her bottom squeezing together as she lifted herself up on her toes, and for a tantalising moment I even glimpsed the bright whiteness of her panties. Then my arm was suddenly tugged hard as Galen pulled me into the dark exit tunnel.
It was cooler outside by the time I stepped through the tall doors of my master’s house. That was the first time I saw the inner terrace - a hexagonal white-tiled area full of large potted plants surrounding the base of a spiralling chromium staircase winding up to the second floor. It was as if the ancient town of irregular whitewashed houses was only a façade designed to hide an ultra modern home transplanted there from the future.
‘Stay here,’ he ordered as he let go of me and ran lithely up the steel staircase.
I stood there waiting for him obediently. I was glad Eve had remained back at the stadium and I did not have to compete with her for his attention. It was the first time I had felt cool since I arrived in Spain, and I shivered. I ran my hands down over my hips and then up again. My panties were lodged in my bottom crack, and after hesitating a moment, I slipped a finger between the gusset and my skin and pulled them to one side, exposing my pussy. I seated myself on a cool marble bench surrounded by large potted ferns, and my dress rose up at the back as I sat down, enabling me to relish the sensation of cold stone against my warm flesh.
Chapter 6
He did not like what I had written. No, he wrote across the word cunt, and in the margins added, If you ever use this word again you will be punished for disobedience. I watched him writing angrily and felt genuinely frightened. When I realised what I was feeling I experienced another surge of fear, and that brought on another one. It was as though I was tumbling down an endless hill, out of control, helplessly thrilled by my own anxiety. I wanted to shout to him, ‘Go on then, punish me. Do whatever you want to me. Beat me. Tie me up. Whip me. Gag me. Blindfold me. Hang me up from ropes. Do anything you want to me. Do it! I want it. Don’t you understand? I want it! I can feel fear again. My senses have returned!’ But I said nothing, and when he left, I carried on dutifully with my work.
Minutes later I was startled by his return. I put my pencil down and looked up nervously as he stood on the threshold with several thin ropes hanging dangling from his hands. He told me to crawl over to him and kneel before the step leading up to the door. I did as I was told, shuffling across the cold floor, looking all the time at the ropes. He told me to turn my head sideways and lay my cheek on the step. The bricks were cold against my skin and I could taste mortar dust in the corner of my mouth. He told me to put my arms behind my back, and as soon as I did he began binding them together with one of the ropes, so tightly I could feel my hands throbbing with blood. He straddled me, facing my upturned bottom, bent down and tied the remaining ropes around my knees and ankles.
He crouched above me and I could feel the heat of his genitals between my shoulder blades, then he rubbed his hand across my taut buttocks. His palm felt smooth and hot as he massaged my skin, testing its resilience, searching out my curves so when he brought his hand down it would land in just the right place and cover as much flesh as possible. He slipped a finger into my crack and pressed the tip against the opening of my anus. He circled the hard muscle, and then pushed his digit inside me. I gasped softly as it penetrated, but no sooner had he slipped his finger past my clenched ring than he pulled it out again. He took his hand away completely, and there was a moment’s silence before the first blow fell, hard and punishing, across my left buttock. Next he spanked my right buttock with even more force, and I clenched my cheeks in readiness for the next searing impact. When his hand came down again it was harder still, and he continued spanking me that way, alternating between my left and right cheeks until I thought I would pass out from the mingled pain and ecstasy. Then he untied me and left me alone again.
I did not have to wait long for Galen to come back down the stairs. He was excited and his anger had vanished. I was pleased his mood had changed, but it was also a warning to me that his temperament was extremely volatile and I should never assume anything in the future.
‘Everything is ready, Syra my pet. You do not have to wait any longer.’ Smiling, he took my hand and invited me to stand. I did so, and he led me to the base of the spiral staircase. The hem of my dress had barely dropped enough to cover my bottom, and my panties were still squeezed tightly between my buttocks and pulled aside so my pussy was exposed to the delicious air-conditioning.
He indicated the stairs and I began climbing the shiny, twisting steps as he followed behind me. As I went higher, my perspective of the inner terrace below me altered. It broadened out so I could see the wide spaces between the plants and objects placed between them - small tables holding statues or orchids in small glass vases. I did not look behind me at him, but he was so close I could feel the heat of his body. My panties pulled against the left edge of my pussy, and every time I lifted my leg to the next step it tightened deliciously.
I reached the second floor and stopped, my heart racing. I wanted him to move closer to me now. I wanted him to lift my dress and stare at my sex while I stood motionless on the landing. I wanted to lift my leg onto the chrome banister and expose myself completely to his scrutiny. I wanted to hear him describe me, the softness of my flesh, its pinkness, the shape of my outer labia, how my lips folded so neatly into my pussy with only the slight crease of skin covering my clitoris breaking the perfectly defined line. I wanted him to tell me to spread my legs even wider, as wide as I could. I wanted him to reach up and pull apart the lips of my labia and expose the darker pink of the inner flesh, holding them open so I could feel their warm wetness against the cool dry air. I wanted him to put his face between my straining legs and stare as closely as he desired at my aching, moistening sex. I wanted him to reach out with his tongue and flick its tip against my clitoris. I wanted him to run the probing point around its sensitive edges and then, as it became inflamed, to abandon it, leaving it throbbing with frustration as he used his whole tongue to lap my vulva like a thirsty, ravenous beast...
‘Go on, Syra,’ he urged. ‘I want you to see the city.’
I moved forward, my eyes filled with light. Half of the room was covered with a high, vaulted ceiling while the rest stretched out over a large open balcony jutting out like a vast diving board across the street below. The floor of both the room and the balcony was constructed from a highly polished cherry-red timber. Two fans spun lazily on floor stands and a palm tree in a stainless steel pot sat near the edge of the balcony. In the centre of the room was a raised hexagonal platform made from the same red timber as the floor. In the top of the platform there was a tightly closed split and a large, chromium-plated padlock hanging across a shiny hasp and staple at its centre. A good-sized chromium-plated cupboard with two upper doors, two lower ones and two drawers in between, stood alongside the raised platform. There were two doors in the far wall of the room, one red and one green.
‘May I?’ I asked, looking towards the balcony.
‘Of course, of course, go ahead, but be careful, there is no rail.’
I walked out onto the balcony and the full force of the setting sun
shone upon me. I felt my shoulders burning in its red heat and pulled my hair back tightly with both hands to let my features bask in its radiance. The star’s intensity burned my cheeks and caused flashing lights to dance across my closed eyelids. I looked away, slightly dizzy, and moved closer to the edge of the balcony. I looked out over the city, its complex of narrow streets a maze of white-walled and red-roofed houses. In the distance I could make out a large square with imposing buildings surrounding it, and everywhere I looked I could see the spires of churches poking up like spears on a blood-soaked battlefield. A much smaller square lay below the balcony, and people sat in the shady corners of cafes and the dry green trees surrounding them. I felt giddy as I stepped closer to the edge, and for a moment imagined I must reach out and support myself on the rail I knew was not there. A surge of fear paralysed me as I realised how easily my mind confused reality with imagination, and I stepped back quickly.
Galen laughed quietly. ‘I know what you were doing sitting on the marble bench,’ he told me. ‘I watched your expression.’
I felt a flush of shame warm my cheeks.
‘Yes, you should realise by now, Syra, that I know everything you feel. It is already almost impossible for you to keep a secret from me. I watched it all. I saw you lift the hem of your dress so your bottom would be exposed to the chill of the stone. I watched you pull aside your panties so your pussy would be able to feel the marvellous, fresh sensation of coolness. I watched you wriggle with pleasure. I saw the look on your face as you pressed your bottom against that smooth, hard surface. Oh yes, I saw the look of commitment, of single-mindedness, of absorption in the sensation. Then I saw that you deliberately did not pull down your dress when you started up the stairs. But Syra, I did not look as you walked in front of me up the stairs. Did you think I did? I hope you are not disappointed. I hope I have not reduced your pleasure. Oh my, I can see I have let you down. But you are so simplistic. There is so much to be done with you.’