The Diaries of Syra Bond

by Syra Bond

  ‘Now, Syra my pet, now you are ready to release your wickedness. I can see it flooding inside you, simmering like a volcano, building up an unstoppable pressure and waiting to erupt.’

  ‘Oh yes!’ The poetry of his words excited me even more. ‘Yes, I can feel it, but I need your guidance. Please help me release my wickedness, master.’

  ‘I will, Syra my slave... I will.’

  ‘Tell me,’ I begged breathlessly, ‘please tell me how.’

  ‘But remember, if you do it, if you succeed in releasing your wickedness, you will face your evil side and the knowledge may overpower you. And if you fail, you will realise you are only capable of fantasising and the sense of disappointment that comes with this realisation may also lead to your emotional destruction. In either case, you run the risk of psychological collapse, either subsumed by your own dark side, adrift in a world of unquenchable sexual desire, or irrecoverably condemned to a life of frustration and despair.’

  ‘Tell me what I must do,’ I said without hesitation. ‘I do not care what can happen, just tell me!’

  He took my arm and led me from the dark tunnel into the underground maze beneath the stadium. The smell of animals filled the air and the snorting and stamping of bulls competed with the echoing roar of the crowd from the terraces above. We walked between the bullpens and made our way to the entrance of the arena. As we got nearer to it the brightness intensified. Sunlight reflected off clouds of dust kicked up by the anxious bulls, and against this radiant illumination a myriad of insects revealed themselves as multicoloured iridescent swarms.

  Espartaco stood with his assistants against a heavily built wooden barrier, erected to prevent direct entrance to the bullring. The glistening lustre of the red, green and gold sequins on his suit competed with the beauty of the insects buzzing almost enviously above him, the dazzling silver and purple outfits of his assistants more dimly reflecting his ostentatious brilliance. He held his black two-cornered hat in his hand, tapping its hard brim against the gartered tops of his pink knee-high stockings. He turned towards us as we approached, his small pigtail silhouetted against the light, the buckle holding it glinting almost blindingly. He approached us, holding his hand out to Galen, and I looked down at the taut movement of his muscular thighs and calves, relishing the sight of his cock’s heavy bulge squeezed into his tight black trousers.

  The two men greeted each other in Spanish, Espartaco bowing low to Galen with an air of polite arrogance. They talked enthusiastically, the bullfighter flashing his bright white teeth in a broad smile and clasping Galen by the shoulders when he said something that made him laugh. His vitality and energy thrilled me. I wanted to be close to him, to feel his strength, his courage, his fearlessness. I remembered when I met him how he held me against the balustrade of the president’s box, how he stood behind me, pressing his erection against my buttocks as he stroked my pussy. I wanted him again now. I wanted him completely.

  ‘Senorita,’ he said in his deep, velvety voice, turning towards me.

  I was filled with excitement and anticipation. ‘Senor Espartaco,’ I replied, taking his hand and looking deeply into his dark eyes.

  ‘Do you grant me your favour for the fight, senorita? My fortune will be made by your kiss.’

  Galen laughed. ‘Yes, Syra,’ he said, ‘perhaps you could promise him your favour. Only, of course, on the condition that he is victorious.’

  Espartaco clasped Galen’s shoulders and laughed again. ‘There is no question about it,’ he declared. ‘If the senorita promises me her favour, then I will be victorious. Espartaco only fights for victory. Espartaco does not know what it is to lose. Senorita, your favour?’

  I took his hand and nodded.

  He stepped back and bowed low, touching his shin with the backs of the fingers of the hand holding his hat while his other arm bent stiffly behind his back. I felt a surge of power as he bowed before me. I felt like an empress receiving a seafaring explorer on his long awaited return. But then his strength and authority infected me and my own fantasy of power dissipated like a dream. He was not my subject, I was his subject, and his willing victim.

  He withdrew, still bowing, as his assistants collected around him like a small army. The crowd roared, a fanfare sounded, and after a final flourish of his hat, Espartaco straightened up proudly and strutted out into the arena, accompanied by a roaring accolade from the spectators.

  I stood watching, felt the loss of his departure, and my stomach clenched with fear and excitement. There was a rush of activity and we were ushered behind a protective barrier as a wild bull was released into the ring. The animal kicked out at the heavy timber walls and ran threateningly towards the brightly dressed men as they mockingly waived coloured scarves and ribbons in his fiery eyes. The bull’s anger increased and foaming spit flew from his mouth and nostrils as he was driven into an uncontrollable rage, while the terraces shook with the thunderous clamour of the howling crowd.

  ‘Poor Espartaco,’ Galen said scornfully. ‘He has become convinced of his own prowess, but his conviction is a falsehood. He has only been pitting himself against bulls already doomed to be his victims, poor drugged creatures that could not see him clearly and could barely keep themselves awake. But now things have changed. He has met the last of the approved bulls. Now we shall see if he has become so accustomed to his feeling of courage that he has indeed become courageous. He will need to be, because this time his opponent is no tame creature, by any standard. He is one of the fiercest bulls ever to be brought to this arena.’

  ‘Will he be safe?’ I asked anxiously.

  ‘That is up to him, and it is the same for you, Syra. You cannot know if your courage is falsely based or not. It is up to you how you face your fears.’

  I leaned against the sturdy timber barrier and stared closely at Espartaco. I wanted to see him face his opponent. I wanted to see the look on his face when he realised the bull was braver, stronger, more challenging than any he had ever encountered. I wanted to see what he did, whether he held back in shock or whether he was filled with increased strength as the challenge induced a new and higher level of resolve in him. I wanted him by his actions to reveal to me the way out of fear into the realm of unrestrained passion.

  I liked the feel of Galen watching me as I watched Espartaco facing the bull. The matador’s poise was exquisite as he twisted on the balls of his feet and laid his flaring cape on the ground. He smiled at the crowd, and then looked towards me and bowed. He seemed impregnable, tested to the limit but unbeatable. It did not matter his previous victims had been unable to give him a proper fight. That was not important now. His victory today lay in his confidence, in his self-belief. I knew he was a victor. I knew he would stand before the crowd in genuine triumph.

  The spectators roared as I slowly tugged my dress up around my waist and eased the gusset of my panties to one side. The heat of my pussy seemed to scald my fingers. I lifted myself up on my hand and felt perspiration forming on my chest and the back of my neck. I was on fire. I slipped my fingers beneath the material and tugged it even further to the side, getting it out of my way and making my soft flesh available. I stroked and caressed my sex lips, teasing myself, and then played idly with my clitoris. I moaned as I touched it and felt ecstasy brewing inside me - but it was not enough.

  The shrieking of the crowd filled my ears as I walked beyond the heavy wooden barrier into the arena. I relished the glare of the sun in my eyes and its heat on my shoulders and felt imbued with its radiance. It was as though its heat and brilliance injected me with a new sense of life. I saw Espartaco in the centre of the ring holding his sword over the back of the bull’s neck as he looked down at his victim, mesmerising him, defeating him with his courage. I walked towards him, still holding my dress up, and still cradling the soft flesh of my pussy in my hand. I felt my labia moving against my fingers as I walked across the sandy space, and
with every step I shivered in the intense heat beneath fresh surges of delight. I felt free of all my fears, emancipated from all my inhibitions and consumed by the flood of all my needs and desires. I was no longer a prisoner. My passion had been released.

  The crowd howled as Espartaco claimed his victory. Then he turned towards them, thrusting his chest out and holding his bloodstained sword high above his head. He looked like a god to me as flowers showered down upon him - roses, gardenias and violets - a flurry of colour pouring like a dissolving rainbow from a cloudless sky, and covering the ring in a carpet of petals as a tribute to triumph. I walked through the sea of flowers, and as Espartaco swung around to show himself to the whole stadium he saw me approaching. He brought his sword down and rested the tip next to his feet, watching me, encouraging me closer, inviting me into his powerful orbit. I felt like his next victim, hypnotised by his gaze, overcome by his bravery. But I was not innocent quarry. I was willing game striding like a princess into the arms of her valiant prince.

  I stopped and bowed my head, acknowledging his power over me, showing him I was under his control, and then I knelt in front of him, offering myself like the defeated bull, submitting to his wishes. The stadium reverberated with the thunder of stamping feet and clapping hands as I lowered my head further, exposing myself to him, and he slipped the tip of the sword into the back of my dress. I shivered with ecstasy and tensed with excitement as he drove the sword forward and sliced my dress down the back. I fell facedown across the sand, inviting him to cut through the rest of the delicate material. He bent slightly, slit the garment all the way to the hem, and then twisted the tip of his sword to pull it aside, exposing me. Apart from my white panties, I lay naked before him and the crowd.

  I felt the soft caress of petals falling across me. I rolled over onto my back and gazed up at the matador in submissive adoration as he inserted the tip of the sword between the waistband of my panties and my vulnerable flesh. I felt the heat of the sunlit steel against the lips of my pussy as he twisted the blade, and cut through the flimsy undergarment, fully exposing me.

  I dropped my head to one side and looked up into the thronged terraces. The crowd was shouting and screaming, stamping their feet and banging their fists on the wooden benches. I could not tell whether they were angry or elated and I did not care. I thought I saw Eve sitting in the president’s box. Yes, I was sure it was her holding Mora’s arm, and by her side sat Cleo, her white teeth flashing in the sunlight as she laughed and shouted along with everyone else. I rolled back over onto my belly and crawled to Espartaco’s feet. I held his ankles and dragged myself close enough to lick his shiny leather shoes, my head pounding with the deafening crowd. Then, from the corner of my eyes, I saw dozens of men leaping over the barriers and running towards me...

  I awoke with a start when I heard the door opening. I offered my finished manuscript to him, but he did not enter. I squinted at his shape filling the doorway, and then I saw someone else standing beside him - a taller, leaner figure with long hair. They spoke quietly together and he opened the door wider so they could both peer in at me more closely. Then I was left alone in the dark again.

  When he came back later and I handed him my work, he took it and set it aside without reading it. I felt a sickening knot of nerves in my stomach. Had all this effort been for nothing? Had he at this late stage given up trying to cure me? Perhaps I had always truly been beyond help? I picked up the pages and pushed them at him, pressing them against his chest, but he ignored me. I leaned forward and kissed him, but he pushed me away.

  ‘There is no more to do,’ he said. ‘Your story is finished. It has brought you here to this place and to this moment in time. I do not want to read any more. There is nothing you have written I do not already know. No, there is no more to say and I can do nothing more for you.’

  Chapter 14

  He left me for a while and I sat silently, doing nothing, wondering what would happen next. I did not feel better. I was still confused; nothing felt clear. My thoughts were shrouded by a thick mist, my feelings of expectancy lost in a fog of disappointment. But deep in the back of my mind I knew what he said was true. It was all over. The story had ended. It had brought me to this point in time and to this place and there was nowhere else to go.

  I had finally remembered what happened to me in the bullring. I had suppressed the memory, but now the images and feelings and smells all came back to me... numerous avaricious cocks penetrating me while the hot sand chafed my naked flesh, the burning sun and glimmering explosions of semen blinding me as I was tossed from man to man like a rag doll pierced by endless erections... I could see it all now clearly, and I could understand why I buried the event so deeply in my subconscious. I shivered as memories flooded back, pictures filling my mind, showing what I had done and what had happened to me as a result. But I could also see now into the beginning of my salvation. I could feel Galen lifting me in his arms afterwards, cradling me against his comforting chest and carrying me out of the arena, back through the dark tunnel and placing me gently in the taxi. I could remember looking back and seeing him standing near the entrance, with Eve on his arm. I could remember staring through the car window in a daze, watching the wires dipping between the telegraph posts, seeing the outspread wings of birds gliding by in the deep blue sky. I could remember the feeling of relief when he brought me here, laid me down on the floor and bound my ankles. I could feel again the sense of deliverance that swept over me when he first beat me with the cane and the deep, comforting heat that filled me.

  Now he will be coming again, perhaps for the last time. He has cared for me long enough. He has protected me from myself and now he will let me go. He has punished me enough, not with anger but with compassion, and he knows he can do no more for me. Yet my recovery is incomplete, I know it. I hesitate to say I am cured, but he must release me and I must face the world again. I wish I could still claim his protection, but I know I cannot stay here forever. I will no longer have the safety of being bound, tied like an animal, and locked away in a dark, safe cell. I must face the risk of being free, of facing again the wickedness that has been released inside me. I must walk out into the light.

  When he returned, he held my arm and led me out of the dingy cell. I wanted to look back, but I did not. I could not remember when I had last seen sunlight, and as I emerged from the cellar I tilted my head back and closed my eyes as though bathing in it. When I opened them, I saw I was standing in the hallway of the apartment I had stayed in when I first arrived on the Costa del Sol. A wave of anxiety drenched me. I wanted to fall to my knees and let him put the collar around my neck again and hold me against his legs. I wanted to feel the tug of the lead, the safety of his power, but as my panic receded I realised my thoughts were nothing more than vague desires. They were pale reflections compared to the burning clarity of my self-awareness.

  We walked through the French doors into the small, enclosed garden. I looked up into the sun again, and flinched. He picked up a wide-brimmed sunhat from the stone bench and set it gently on my head. A mottling of light and shade fell across my arms, and when I looked down I was reminded of the fact that I was still naked. The flecks of sunlight skimmed across my skin and played around my feet as though enticing me to dance with them. He drew me over to the bench, and I sat down. I felt unsteady on my feet and was relieved to sit. The warm stone made the flesh of my buttocks tingle.

  The large wooden door in the enclosing wall opened and a man walked towards us. I squinted to see if I could make out his features, but he was no more than a silhouette in the bright light.

  ‘Professor Lange,’ my keeper said to the approaching figure, ‘it’s good to see you again. It has been some months now.’

  I was seized with confusion and bit my lip uncertainly. I did not know what was happening. The figure stretched out his hand and my heart leapt into my throat because it was Galen. Yet my keeper - my old supervisor, Dr Baa
l - was calling him Professor Lange, the psychologist I admired so much. How could Galen be Professor Lange?

  ‘Max, it is always a pleasure,’ Galen said as they shook hands. ‘How has the treatment gone? Is she recovered?’

  ‘Not completely,’ Dr Baal replied, talking as if I was not there. ‘But I cannot help her any more. I have brought her back as much as I can. At least she feels pain again. But I cannot guarantee she can control her desires any more than she could the last time you saw her, in the arena.’

  ‘You have caned her frequently?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘And spanked her?’

  ‘Every day, and she has responded, but the episode in the bullring was too much for her. She was overcome by the experience. I think she will never be quite the same again.’

  ‘Syra, my pet,’ Galen said gently, ‘look, your friends are here. See, not only has your old supervisor, Dr Baal, given up his time to care for you, but your other friends are here to help as well.’

  I looked beyond him. More figures were arriving, moving out of the sunlight like phantoms. Eve walked to Galen and stood beside him, looking compassionately down at me. Cleo smiled at me warmly and flicked her long hair back over her shoulders, while holding Espartaco’s arm. Then the girl I had watched in the alley stepped forward and offered me her hand. I shook it weakly, and looked up at Dr Baal for a moment, hoping he would explain, but as he smiled and handed me a drink, I realised I did not need an explanation.

  I had been Galen’s experiment all along. Everyone else was either an associate or a colleague he recruited to help set me up.

  We all sat together in the small garden as the sun dipped behind the wall and draped us in the warm shadows of evening. I wondered how many of Galen’s experiments had needed treatment when their desires overcame them. I wondered how many had survived and how many had failed, and into which category I would fall in the end.