by Syra Bond
When they were tired of me, they sprayed me with strong smelling detergent then washed me down roughly with a powerful hose. They left me in the car park shivering, wet and dirty, and still jerking rhythmically with the orgasms that continued to throb repeatedly within my pain-racked body. Dollar bills floated down around me as slowly the men made their way back inside.
I opened my eyes. I could barely focus but, in the flickering lights of trucks and bikes, I saw the black Mercedes - the rear window was just going up. The young man inside was nodding with approval. He tossed a thick envelope onto the ground and, as the car pulled away, I saw Rosalind quickly turn and wave.
VIRGINIA
JOHNSON’S FARM
I headed towards West Virginia - it seemed right. The glove box was stuffed with money - I could hardly close it!
I felt the moisture from my cunt sticking to the shiny bench seat of the pick-up. When I moved, the soft flesh clung to the plastic surface - it was sore, very sore. My anus was burning - and it would not stop. As I lifted myself off the seat it was like having a scorching flame rammed inside me. I felt so mixed up. I felt disgusted with myself - I knew I had allowed myself to be degraded like never before - but I also knew that very degradation had satisfied me in ways that nothing else could. I felt so ashamed of myself but, even as I felt the shame, a wave of pleasure flooded through me. I had always known of my need for humiliation, but now I had explored it further than ever before, and I had found out that true pleasure could only come from inhabiting its depths. I knew my life would never be the same again - from now on there was only one direction from which my joy would come, and I must pursue it - in every form, in any way it was offered, or forced onto me, I must pursue it. From now on, no master could be too cruel, no punishment could be too severe, and no humiliation could debase me too much. No matter how much I yelled for liberation, no matter how much I begged for release, I knew I could no longer be rescued from my need for more punishment and the squalid filth of degradation that I craved so much. I knew there would be an end to my journey, but now I knew that my travels would end only when I was faced with the pleasure of the ultimate, overwhelming disgrace. For the moment, I thought, that could wait.
I drove along the Blue Ridge Parkway - five hundred miles of National Park created around a strip of road running south west to north east up the Appalachian Mountains. It was perfect peace - 45 miles per hour maximum speed, no one else on the road, and crystal clear views of pristine forests set against gently sloping rocky mountain tops.
I stopped at Peaks of Otter. I sat on my ground floor balcony watching a huge red sun dip between the valley’s gentle cleft cut above a clearing on the opposite side of the placid lake.
The sun set quickly and I watched the full moon slowly rising in its place. I stared at the stars - it was magical. The next thing I knew, I awoke, shivering cold - it was 3am!
The next morning I went for breakfast in the hotel. It was fussy and full of outdoor types and young families weekending away from Washington DC. A few attending fathers couldn’t resist ogling me when I walked into the breakfast room. I smiled at each one. If any of them had offered me his cock, I would have taken it.
I picked up a trail guide from the shop. I thought a day walking in the woods would do me good. I needed a break and this seemed the perfect place to take it.
‘Don’t get lost now,’ said the woman as she tided her counter. She was dressed in old fashioned clothes, a black skirt with a white apron and a white bonnet. ‘There’s nobody about though. It should be good and quiet.’
I followed the trail signs to Johnson’s Farm. The woods were beautiful - heavy-leafed red maple and dappled yellow ash created magical bowers around every turn. A clear stream trickled along the path - it was delightful. I lay down beside it and stared up into the canopy of leaves. I closed my eyes, felt my cunt and listened to the sound of the babbling water. I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I knew was opening my eyes and realising that the light was fading. I scrambled up and quickly decided that the farm was probably nearer than the hotel. Walking hurriedly, still slightly dazed with sleep, I went on.
At the top of the steep rise I finally came out at Johnson’s Farm - a neat white clapboarded house with a surrounding white fence, a wood store, an implement shed and a small stable. The area around it had been cleared of trees and had become a naturalised meadow of grass and flowers. I smelled the hay and poppies. It made me giddy.
I walked to the implement store. A large, heavy, harrowing device constructed to be drawn by a horse sat beside it. A metal seat was planted amongst the labyrinth of steelwork that formed the carcass of the machine, and two footplates rested above the rods and spikes that twisted around them.
A tall muscular man in black, high belted trousers and a white collarless shirt raked hay on the far side of the house. Under the wide shady porch roof, a woman worked on a wooden tub of washing. I stood by the strange farm implement. I was unsure whether to approach the man or woman, they both looked busy and I thought they might be intolerant of an interruption to their chores.
Suddenly, I shivered with cold. I heard a movement behind me. I turned. A beautiful young woman was walking up through the meadow grass. She wore an open-necked white cotton smock pulled tight at her narrow waist. Her hair was red, her lips full, and her skin perfectly smooth. The tousled ends of her flaming hair gently caressed her delightful square shoulders. She smiled broadly - her teeth were large and white. She was truly beautiful.
‘My name’s May. Those are my foster parents - the Johnsons. I was an orphan and they took me in. She needed someone to help with the chores, he wanted someone for his own pleasure. He’ll be over in a while. If you stay, you’ll see how he gets his pleasure - and how he makes his money. They’d never be able to keep this place going if it wasn’t for me. What’s your name?’
‘Syra.’
‘That’s a nice name. Syra, I have a boyfriend, his name’s Jesse. He’s going to take me away from here. He lives in Roanoke. He’s coming tonight. But old man Johnson says he wants me here, and I know what that means. Syra, it’ll be dark soon, and when it’s dark here, you can’t see a thing. Hey, I’ve got an idea - a great idea. You could stay here and pretend to be me. What do you think? He’ll never know, his mind’s on other things anyway. Just do as he tells you and he won’t know the difference. For me, Syra, would you do that for me? It would save my life. I promise. It would save my life. I would be eternally grateful. I would not forget you. Ever. Will you, Syra? Will you?’
I couldn’t believe what was happening. In a couple of minutes I had been asked to stand in for someone I didn’t know, someone I didn’t even look like, to do something that hadn’t been explained to me, for a reason that I didn’t understand. I started to think of questions to ask but, as I began to sort them out, they all disappeared from my mind.
‘Yes, I’ll do it.’
I couldn’t believe what I had said. It was a weird moment of madness, and I couldn’t hold it back - it was as though some strange force was compelling me.
‘Syra! That’s marvellous! I’ll show you. Look, take your workwear off. You must wear my dress. Then you’ll look like a girl. It will look pretty on you. Here.’
‘But my hair? Look the moon’s coming up. It’ll be obvious it’s not you.’
‘It doesn’t matter. I promise. Quickly! We must hurry.’
She wriggled her white dress of her shoulders, slackened the belt and let it drop to the ground at her feet. She stood there for a moment, the setting sun catching the highlights of her red hair, her glowing nakedness set off by a precise triangle of red pubic hair. It was as though she and the setting sun were one. I pulled my jeans and T shirt off. I threw my panties on top of them. She ran over, grabbed them and pulled them on.
‘This will be a fine disguise. Syra, quick, put my dress on. Syra! You have no pu
bic hair! No matter. No matter.’
The dress fitted perfectly. It was still warm from her body, and it smelled sweet, like the meadow grass and flowers which surrounded us. I suddenly felt embarrassed that she was wearing my dirty panties.
‘Here. Syra. Come over here. This is the harrow. It hasn’t been used on the fields for years; most of them are overgrown anyway. Here, climb up, before he comes over. Climb up!’
I didn’t know what I was doing but I did as she said. Her sense of urgency was overpowering and the mystery of it all had sucked me in.
I held onto the side bars of the harrow. There was a small step up to the seat which was wide with a raised ridge at the front that flattened out and widened towards the rear. It was mounted on a long, wide, single spring. Beneath it were two heavy footrests made of metal, set about shoulder width apart. Behind them were another two metal footrests set closer together.
‘Yes, get up. It’s easy. Here, sit on the seat. It’s adjustable. You’ll see.’
I sat down on the metal seat. The dress rose up and my bare skin touched the cold metal. It made me shiver.
‘It’s always like that to start with, but it gets warmer.’
She laughed and hurriedly came up beside me. It seemed that now she had hardly any time at all.
I settled my bottom against the broad perforated metal seat. The raised centre at the front pressed into the crack of my cunt. I felt the flesh opening under the pressure. I felt another shiver - this time of delight.
‘Yes, hitch your dress up. He’ll ask you to do that anyway, so you may as well do it now. That’s right. Pull it up to your waist. Now, place your feet on those two footrests at the front. That’s right. Now, if you want, you can hold onto the handles that they used to use to control this thing. Look, like this.’
She took my hands and placed them onto two long handles that stood up from the spikes and tines of the implement. The grips were worn and shiny from years of use. I wrapped my fingers around them.
‘That’s it, Syra. You’ve got it. Now, just wait a few minutes, until the sun has gone down and he’ll be over - old man Johnson. Don’t worry about him. He’ll tell you exactly what to do, no worry. Oh! I forgot! The bonnet! Here, put the bonnet on. See? I told you, he’ll never know the difference! And it suits you!’
She was very excited as she pulled a white bonnet onto my head. She secured it with a bow beneath my chin with two material cords that dangled from its front corners.
‘Perfect! That’s just perfect. Syra, I’m so grateful. I can’t tell you how much. Syra, really, you’ve saved my life. Bless you, Syra. Bless you. I won’t forget you. I promise. I won’t ever forget you.’
She got down from the harrow and silently backed away into the woods. I saw the flash of her pale skin in the growing blueness of the moonlight then, like a phantom, she was gone.
Suddenly, I felt alone. I shivered again. It had gone really cold.
I looked across the meadow - everything was silver and blue in the moonlight. Old man Johnson was walking towards me. I hung my head so that the frilly peak of the bonnet partially obscured my face. He nodded as he walked past his wife. She emptied the washing tub over the edge of the porch, picked up her washing and went into the house. He rested the fork that he was carrying against the store shed.
‘Well, May, I’m pleased to see you are waiting. It’s an improvement. Perhaps you’ve got all these dangerous ideas you’ve been having out of your head at last. I hope so.’
I didn’t dare speak. My heart was thumping - I could feel it in my throat. I tried to swallow, but my mouth was too dry.
He reached into the store shed and took hold of some shiny black leather reins. He dangled them in his hands as, nodding his head slowly in thought, he walked around the harrow.
‘I think extra tight tonight, May. I’ve let you off too easily lately. I think more discipline is what you need. Yes, more discipline will rid you of these wild ideas you have of boys and running away. Now, make yourself ready. What are you thinking of? Off the seat! Off the seat!’
I wasn’t sure what he meant, but his angry voice revealed his mood, and I could tell he would not tolerate any mistakes. I stood up on the footrests and lifted my bottom off the seat.
‘Too slow! Don’t be so slow! Hitch up your skirt properly. Hitch it up!’
He leant over the side of the harrow and began binding one of the shiny black leather reins around my right foot. He pulled it tight, securing my foot firmly to the footrest. The strap cut into my skin and, when I tried to move my foot, I could barely wriggle my toes. He tied the other one in the same way. I felt unsteady as I tried to keep standing and I loosened my grip on the handles.
His anger was instant.
‘May! May! I will not tolerate disobedience!’
I felt a sudden pain across my buttocks as he lashed them viciously with the remaining reins. I was jolted forwards - as much by the shock as the pain - and, to steady myself, tightened my grip on the handles.
He wound a leather strap around each hand and bound them tightly to the shiny handles. I stood on the footrests, crouching, barely upright, still with my head hung for fear of being recognised. I was gasping loudly, filled with fear, and boiling with expectation.
He turned a small metal wheel in front of me and a metal bar rose up in front of my face. The red paint that covered it had been scraped off in the centre.
‘May! Do not make me wait any more! Take the bar. It is nearly time. Take the bar!’
Another burning pain cut across my buttocks as he brought the spare reins down sharply. This time I knew for certain what he meant. It was obvious that the scrapes in the red paint on the bar were teeth marks!
I bent my head down and took the metal bar between my teeth. I couldn’t bite down, it was too hard, but I closed my lips around it and held it nevertheless. Straight away I felt totally captive - with my feet, hands and head held firmly against the heavy steel harrow, I could no longer move at all. It was as if I was part of the heavy device - I was as solid and fixed as it was.
‘Now, May, tonight I will be watching with even more care than usual. I will be looking very carefully indeed. And this time, you will feel the full sting of my hand if you do not please me.’
I heard him move back, then nothing. I waited for him to speak, but he was silent. I waited for a blow across my buttocks, but no blow came. I looked up nervously under the peak of the bonnet. The meadow was empty and soundless - no chirping cricket, no hooting owl, no rustling leaf. It was as though the whole world was completely still.
I kept my mouth around the bar, and my heart was still beating fast but, in a strange way, I almost began to relax. Then, suddenly, I heard the sound of footsteps behind me. It couldn’t be old man Johnson, he had moved to the side and I had not heard him move again. Yes, he must still be there, watching as he said he would. No, this was someone else! Someone was creeping up behind me! A twig cracked, then silence again, but it was only for a second, as a sudden metallic creak told me that someone was climbing up onto the back of the harrow.
The harrow itself did not move, it was too heavy and solid, but I knew there was someone there - I felt a presence. I shivered with cold.
A finger glanced my upturned buttocks. I knew it was a finger, I could feel the warmth of its tip and the cutting sharpness of its nail. It traced a line around my taut left buttock, slowly at first then quicker. Then it stopped, as though he was looking at me, planning his next move. Then the finger traced around my other buttock. It was just the same as before, slow at first then quicker. But this time, he dug his nail in deeper. Then he pinched my skin, and I felt his thumbnail as well, and I bit a little harder against the metal bar. Its hardness hurt. I let it go straight away, releasing it from my mouth and gasping out, as much in response to the sudden unexpected pain of his pinch, as to the harsh p
ain caused by the pressure on my teeth.
There was silence for a moment, then a movement at the side told me that old man Johnson was alongside. I felt the cutting smack of the leather reins in his hand as he brought them down hard on my bottom. I threw my head back in a reflex response to the pain.
‘Take the bar!’ he ordered. ‘Take it and keep it in your mouth! You know better than to let it go - and when there is hardly any pain to bear. May! What is the matter with you! Have you learned nothing from your training? Take the bar! Take it!’
I dropped my head and put my mouth around the bar again. It was so hard against my teeth, and I could not keep it away from them. I gripped it as well as I could. The corners of my mouth were pressed in hard by the bar but I could do nothing to stop my teeth from making contact with the harsh metal. I tasted the creamy sharpness of the red paint. I closed my lips together again and waited.
I felt the tracing finger again. This time, it ran along the crack between my buttocks, from the near flat valley of the bottom of my back to the open wet slit of my cunt. It stopped there for a moment, then pressed between them and opened them out. I felt the cool night air against my anus and the exposed flesh of my cunt. I knew he was looking at me, analysing me, deciding what to do with me. I felt my anus dilate a little and I tightened my buttocks in the hope that he would not notice. He prised my buttocks open more. He obviously had noticed. I could not stop it, my anus, I felt it opening more. I could not stop it inviting his interest.
He circled his nail around its edge, once stopping and pressing it in before continuing. I found his attention irresistible - I could not hold back my arousal. I felt the ring of my anus heating, opening, relaxing. He stopped circling the edge and pressed instead against the centre. I offered no resistance - his finger went straight in. I bit hard onto the bar in my mouth - I did not care about the pain that was transmitted into my gums. I opened my eyes wide. His finger went in further, and it did not stop. I swallowed and that made me bite even harder onto the bar. My teeth ground against it - I heard them and I felt the extra pain that was now penetrating my ears and neck.
