by Syra Bond
‘Si, senor,’ she said with a dower expression. She folded the panties carefully and wrapped them in white tissue paper before placing them in a small shiny bag.
Mora turned and stared at me. He spoke to the woman again as he held my eyes, and again she glanced at me with apparent disdain. I felt embarrassed by her unsettling animosity, and out of place in the rich surroundings. ‘Go to the changing room and take off the panties you are wearing,’ he commanded. ‘Put them in the waste bin and then come back here. The assistant will watch you, and if you do not obey correctly, she will punish you. And if she does, I do not want to hear your complaints.’
He said nothing more and I did as I was told, following the stern woman to the changing room. She stood in the doorway, staring at me as I pulled down my panties. They were wet and stuck deliciously to my labia as I peeled them off. Observing them, she tossed her head back and tutted haughtily. I looked around for the bin, trying all the time to avoid her penetrating gaze. There was a small wicker basket near the door. I moved closer and tossed the panties in, but they landed over the side and did not fall to the bottom. I saw her derisive scowl reflected in the mirror as she shook her head, knew I had done wrong, and lowered my eyes anxiously.
She took a leather-covered clothes brush from a drawer, drew up a chair and sat down upon it. She rubbed the back of the brush against her black skirt, testing its smoothness and friction. Still I did not move, watching her from lowered eyes as she lifted herself slightly off the chair and pulled up the hem of her skirt, until I caught a glimpse of her black panties and suspender belt. The whiteness of her thighs above the tops of her stockings thrilled me, and I shivered. She relaxed back on the chair and pressed her knees together. The shiny blackness of her panties was squeezed between her thighs and I imagined the fleshy lips of her pussy pressed closely against the material. She looked at me and shook her head again before nodding towards the box with the fresh panties. She watched me intently as I unwrapped them from the tissue paper with trembling hands, and slipped them on. Then she sternly nodded again, this time down towards her lap.
I could hardly believe what I was doing, submitting to a stranger like this for such a trivial reason, allowing myself to be subjected to her will so easily, knowing she was going to punish me until she was satisfied I had been sufficiently reproved. But I went to her, and bending my knees, folded myself across her lap. I felt a suspender clip digging into my hip. My bottom was still covered by my skirt, but I felt exposed anyway, completely subject to her will, expectant and craving. She lifted the hem of my damp skirt and folded it across the small of my back. I shivered again with apprehension as she rubbed the back of the brush lightly against my buttocks.
I turned my head slightly and looked at the reflection of us in the changing room mirror. She sat with her back straight, her black suit immaculate, and I was draped like a sacrifice across her knees, my skirt across my back and my bottom curved upwards as she raised the leather-backed brush high into the air above me...
When she brought it down I cried out in surprise and pain, and when she smacked me viciously with the hard wooden surface again I screamed in agony and thrust a hand back to protect myself. But she merely snatched my wrist contemptuously and twisted my arm up against my back. The brush came down a third time and I wailed again so loudly my breath caught. The brush swooped down again and again, the stinging blows reddening my skin through my panties and making me squirm and howl like a trapped animal. But I did not take my eyes from the enticing image in the mirror, watching her austere expression and the brush in her hand whilst listening to my cries as though they were coming from someone else. I saw the curve of my flaming bottom emerging from the panties as they hiked up slightly, and watched my legs kicking like those of a petulant child.
Then suddenly, like an unheralded flash of lightning on a clear summer day, I shrieked and stiffened as a fiery orgasm scorched every cell in my tormented body. She kept on beating me, but I felt no more pain. My anguish was consumed by the ecstasy crashing through me, the erotic image in the glass fading as I was completely and utterly overcome.
The woman eased me off her lap and I slumped, barely conscious, to the floor. I could hardly rouse myself, but as she rose elegantly and strutted back out into the main shop area, I struggled to my feet, pulled down my skirt and followed her. She stood behind her desk and stared at me as I blushed with embarrassment.
Mora was relaxing in a velvet-covered chair, but he stood abruptly when he saw me and walked out of the shop.
As I followed in his wake, feeling weary and somewhat bedraggled, I did not actually look for Galen, but I knew that even if he was not watching me he was somehow aware of what was happening to me. Somehow he would be assessing, checking on my performance.
Outside it was still raining hard. I walked behind Mora while he strode ahead of me holding the umbrella over his head to protect himself from the storm. I was soon soaked to the skin and glad it was a warm night. Nevertheless, my blouse felt cold clinging to my naked breasts and was effectively transparent. My skirt was drenched and water dripped from the pleated ends, running down my legs in meandering rivulets. We walked away from the busy bar-lined streets into a deserted residential area, and he finally stopped before a large wooden door. Without even looking back at me to make sure I was still there, he told me to wait outside. Then he entered the house and locked the door behind him, leaving me out in the rain.
As usual I did not know what was going on. I stood out in the rain feeling at first lost, and then increasingly frightened. Trying to hold despair at bay, not knowing what else to do, I crouched on the doorstep and wrapped my arms around myself in a vain attempt to shelter my body from the rain. I stayed there all night, closing my eyes as much from shame as exhaustion. I dozed off occasionally, but every sound and every passing car put me on the alert and I sat up, my heart hammering in my chest, until the threat, as well as the promise, had passed.
The next morning, just as it was getting light, Mora finally opened the heavy door again. I felt wretched as he nodded his approval that I was still there and waved me inside. I had to squeeze past him, and he reached out and tugged my hair, holding me back for a moment to stare down into my eyes before allowing me through.
Inside the house was dark and cold. I shuddered and hugged myself to try and stop shivering. My blouse was still wet and moulded to my curves. Light glowed dimly through a pair of narrow glazed doors on the far side of the room, opening onto what appeared to be an enclosed terrace. He walked towards the doors and I followed him obediently. The sound of my footsteps on the dark-grey flagstones echoed against the high vaulted ceiling, and I shivered violently as my damp clothes chilled me to the core.
When we stepped out into the courtyard I was bathed in light, and immediately the warmth of the rising sun made me feel better. I relaxed my arms and looked up, welcoming the radiant heat. Buildings rose around the terrace, ornate balconies embellished with florid rococo ironwork clinging to their sides.
‘Would the little experiment like some breakfast?’ Mora asked me, but did not wait for a reply. ‘Perhaps the little experiment is cold after her night out in the street? Could you not find anyone to keep you warm? I hope Galen will not be disappointed with you.’ He pulled out a chair for me and I sat at a small iron table laid out with breakfast. He turned back towards the French doors, shouting for someone, and a female figure appeared carrying a tray. As she emerged I recognised her at once. It was Cleo. She looked worn out; the smooth skin of her face was dirty and her eyes were ringed with dark circles. Her sun-bleached blonde hair was tangled and greasy and stuck to her forehead and cheeks. She was barefoot and wore only a short white cotton shift barely covering her bottom. Her knees were red, and as she came closer and set the tray down on the table, I saw her fingernails were broken. I looked at her compassionately, hoping to exchange a sympathetic glance with her, as we were both Galen’s ex
periments, but she kept her head down and did not catch my eye.
‘Another little experiment,’ Mora sighed, ‘but not a very successful one, I think. Poor Galen has so many failures.’ He ordered Cleo to leave and she shuffled away with her arms hanging limp at her sides. I could not believe how changed she was. It seemed only yesterday that Juan Carlos had brought her to Galen at the bullring. She was so lively and full of vitality then... it made me nervous to realise I could not be sure how long ago it had been. I felt a rush of confusion, and for a second I did not know where I was or even who I was. I thought of the things that had happened to me lately and realised I did not know if days or weeks had passed since I arrived in Spain. My sleeping patterns were erratic, and I could not remember eating any square meals. I could recall only that olive oil soaked bread, and I dug into the breakfast before me like a starved cat. There were eggs and sausages, a deliciously strong coffee made with milk, and freshly baked bread.
‘Will you be another failed experiment, I wonder?’ Mora mused, gazing at me as he patted his mouth delicately with a serviette. ‘Will you be the next failure?’ he said more bluntly. ‘Or will the brave and courageous Espartaco beat you to it?’ He took a final sip of coffee before patting his mouth with the serviette again and adding, ‘But who cares anyway?’
He called for Cleo again and she returned despondently. He told her to clear the table and she obeyed him at once, carefully placing everything on the tray. Then he made her bend down and pick up some crumbs that had fallen to the floor. Obediently she got down on her reddened knees and brushed them up with a cloth. He watched her carefully, and then told her the floor needed washing. She looked up at him waiting for further instructions, and he ordered her to fetch a bowl and a cloth.
She took the tray away, and returned carrying a blue plastic bowl filled with water in one hand and a white cloth in the other. ‘Where shall I start, sir?’ she asked quietly, her voice now reflecting uncertainty rather than confidence. Her vigour and energy seemed to have disappeared completely, replaced by absolute humility and an acceptance to serve and please.
‘Here,’ he said, indicating the place with his foot. ‘Start here. Put your bowl and cloth down near where you must begin and then get down on your hands and knees.’
She did as he instructed, sinking to her hands and knees, and then waiting for his next command. I stared at her supple body, her slender legs and tight calves, the dip in her back describing a taut curve between her tight buttocks and shoulder blades. She hung her head and her tangled hair fell forward around her face, hiding it from view.
I felt a sudden pang of envy. Why was Cleo being tested and not me? Was Galen favouring her? Was she more convincing than me about her need to express herself and overcome her fears? Had I failed already? Had there ever been a chance of success? Or was this all part of the test being set for me? I did not know, I could not work it out, but I still had faith in Galen. He had told me to do whatever I was asked. He had told me he would always be watching. He would know everything that happened to me. Mora said Cleo had failed. Perhaps this was her punishment. But her punishment - if that’s what it was - thrilled me like a reward, so it could not be a punishment and she could not have failed. Her position was too delectable. How could she have failed when the penalty for her failure was so delightful?
Mora lifted the hem of her shift and exposed her smooth buttocks. Her legs were close together and I could see only a thin dark shadow drawn between the firm curves of her bottom cheeks.
He pulled her shift across her back until her buttocks and waist were completely exposed, and she remained motionless while he walked over to a cupboard and pulled out a length of course braided rope. He returned and held it above her back, swinging it and letting the ends glance lightly against her skin, tantalising her, making her feel the restraint he had imposed on her merely with words.
He halved the rope and held the looped middle beneath her waist. He wound two strands around her, pulled them through the loop and up between her legs. He drew them between the lips of her labia and then up between her buttocks, pulling them tight before tying them back into the waistband he had created.
Then he straightened up and led out the two spare ends from the knot he had made between the waistband and the twin braids rising up between her buttocks. She did not move as he did all this, but simply crouched there and let him bind her - a passive victim unable and unwilling to resist any of his desires.
I felt my heart rate quicken as he pulled at the rope to check its tightness. He touched the inside of one thigh, and she opened them slightly. He pulled the rope again, and I saw her wince with suppressed discomfort as the twin braids between her legs twisted into her short pubic hair and pinched the soft creases of her labia.
When satisfied he stepped back, holding the two rope ends together in one hand. The strands running up between her legs merged in the soft, fleshy notch of her cunt. They parted the folds of flesh enough to become buried in them, and at the centre of her entrance the ropes were pulled in so tightly they were not visible at all.
Mora put pressure on the ropes in his hand, pulling them slightly, and she shuffled backwards on her knees. Then he walked past her a few steps and led her forward. He flicked the ropes gently, giving them only the slightest tug, and she picked up the cloth and dipped it into the bucket of water. She wiped the floor with it, and he held her there while she worked. When he was satisfied and wanted her to move forward to a fresh spot, he flicked the ropes again and she responded instantly.
I only realised I was staring at the scene with my mouth open when I glanced up at one of the balconies and saw a man looking down at us. As soon as I closed my mouth, I felt the dryness of my lips and licked them.
Mora was leading Cleo forward as she mopped the floor, facing away from the spectator on the balcony. I stared at the man watching us, and suddenly knew what I wanted to do. I wanted to lift my skirt and show him my new lace panties. I wanted to spread my legs and show him how quickly I could bring myself to a climax by rubbing my clitoris through the fine white fabric.
Then I wanted to peel the panties away from my wet sex and let him see my blooming flesh and the way I touched it.
I wanted to show him the way I inserted two fingers between the moist petals of my labia and I wanted him to see the glistening of my fingertips as they came into contact with my warm wetness. I wanted him to see by the way I stretched my legs out straight that I had teased myself enough, and as I lifted my hips high, I wanted him to sense the draining pull of energy deep in the centre of my body heralding the onslaught of an orgasm. I wanted him to watch as I pressed my fingertips around the base of my throbbing clit and sank down on the chair, trembling in ecstasy.
That was what I wanted when I caught him staring at me, but when I looked away and saw Cleo working to clean the floor, I knew I also wanted to be in her position. I wanted to submit to a master who would control me like that, who would bind me in the same way, tightly and firmly, and with the merest flick of his hand command me to move either forward or back. I wanted a master who, with only the merest suggestion of movement, could hold and control me, body and soul.
I licked my dry lips again, my breath becoming swifter and shallower as I imagined myself on my knees, tied tightly with rope and made to work until my master decided I was finished with my chores. I felt the harshness of the stone tiles against my knees and smelled the dank wetness as the water from my cloth penetrated them. I felt the splash of water on my hand as I dipped the cloth into the bucket and experienced the strain on my arm as balancing on one hand I struggled to keep myself from falling over. I heard the smack of his palm on my buttocks if I did not do my job correctly, and sensed the heat from his hand as he brought it down time after time on my exposed and reddening cheeks.
I shifted restlessly on the chair, moving towards the edge of the seat, feeling myself losing control. Should
I get on my hands and knees and invite Mora to tie me up and use me to serve him? Should I show the man on the balcony how excited I was? Or should I just wait until I was told what to do? I knew this was all part of Galen’s test for me, but I did not know how to react. I wanted to release my wickedness so much I was not afraid of anything any more. I wanted to take myself to the limit...
Suddenly, a feeling of emancipation came over me like a sudden blast of fragrant air, like a heavenly zephyr blown by a beautiful god. It was a wind of rebirth, of realisation, and it seemed to lift me up off the chair as I became lighter than a feather. I glanced at Mora. He was still not looking my way, so I stretched back, lifted my skirt and fed three fingers deep into my pussy, not gently caressing it, not teasing its soft edges or urging my clitoris to expose itself. I simply sought out my depths with a burst of animal lust, ravaging myself, opening myself wide, and revealing the dark pink interior of my cunt to the man watching from the balcony.
Mora did not see, but I could not believe he did not hear me coming. Afterwards I pulled my skirt down as far over my thighs as possible and placed my clasped hands on my knees in a prim schoolgirl pose. I turned slightly away from the man on the balcony and stared fixedly at Cleo. I watched her until she finished her work and as Mora untied the ropes and told her to get up and go.
She did not look at him. She did not nod or acknowledge him in any way. She simply obeyed him. I sat still and waited. I would not question anything he ordered me to do.
