The Diaries of Syra Bond

by Syra Bond

  I felt the man pulling me through the crowd, squeezing my arm in an effort to drive me forward, but my master’s question pinned me to the spot. I was suddenly lost in a dream; a reverie descended over me as I felt Galen’s closeness, as I realised he was there, watching me, preparing me, testing me... ‘I don’t know,’ I said without turning my head, hoping he could hear me. I hung there as if suspended, waiting for him to reply, to encourage me, to tell me I had achieved my goal, but I heard nothing. I turned my head in the direction I thought he was, but he was gone, vanished into the crowd as if he had never been there at all, as if he was not a corporeal form but a god or an angel visiting the earth only fleetingly and leaving as quickly as he came.

  My buyer pressed me forward, and this time I yielded to his insistence. I did not hold back. I was suddenly filled with purpose, with need, and deeply exhilarated by the sense of Galen’s approval.

  The man pulled me into an alcove at the rear of the cafe and pressed me back against a roughly plastered wall. I could feel the course surface as he pushed my shoulders against it and smothered my lips with his. I dropped my arms to my sides and stared straight ahead as his tongue penetrated my mouth, probing, while his hands reached around and grabbed my buttocks through my dress. He lifted it impatiently to my waist, and then he grabbed me beneath my thighs and hoisted me up into his arms, wrapping my legs around his hips.

  I gasped, slipping my arms around his neck and clinging to him as with one hand he held me up and with the other he pushed the gusset of my thong panties aside. He drove two fingers up into my pussy and made me ride his hand, keeping his mouth on mine and driving his tongue into it.

  Then I felt the heat of his glans between my legs, searing the lips of my labia and spreading them open as the thick tip of his penis worked its way inside me, lifting me up on it. I tried to cry out, but his mouth stifled any sound I made as he fed his huge cock up inside me, thrusting it home. I was breathless and almost frightened of how stuffed I felt by his erection, which just seemed to keep getting bigger and harder, swelling and pulsing and filling me like no other penis ever had.

  Then suddenly I stopped resisting and sacrificed myself to his magnificent shaft, sinking heavily and riding him, climaxing around his colossal hard-on as I felt it erupting into my fully stretched cunt.

  My legs were trembling as I walked back into the cafe. I sat down at the table and Juan Carlos smiled knowingly at me. I blushed slightly and felt the heat of shame rising to my face. I sipped my drink, and saw its surface broken into a confusion of ripples by my shaky grip.

  Two men came and joined us, and again Juan Carlos bargained with them in Spanish. I lowered my eyes as they talked, but I knew all the time the haggling proceeded that they were looking at me, determining how much I was worth. Suddenly one of the men reached under the table, pulled up my dress and grabbed my knee. He wrapped his fingers around it and squeezed as I tried to pull back, but he held it tight. He moved his hand up my thigh and his fingers touched the soft gusset of my thong, and I squirmed on the chair as he felt the wetness around my pussy.

  Juan Carlos shook hands with the other man and nodded as banknotes were counted out. The crude fumbling between my thighs disappeared, and without speaking the two strangers led me through the crowd. This time I was aware of people staring at me. I sensed some of them knew what was happening. They knew I was being sold for sex. I tried to ignore them, but the way they smiled condemned me, and as I walked between them my two companions felt like silent guards leading me to the gallows.

  One of the men, the taller of the two, pushed me forward through an open doorway into a small courtyard. I grabbed the door as I fell forward and it swung loosely on its hinges. There was a stained urinal in one corner of the yard and rubbish was piled up in another. The taller man grabbed me from behind, holding one arm around my chest and thrusting his free hand between my legs from the front. I did not know whether to struggle or not. I was not sure what was expected of me, what had been paid for, whether I should be compliant or whether I should fight back. Then he forced me away, pulling at my dress and lifting it up so he could thrust his hand down the front of my thong. He bent me forward as the other man knelt in front of me and undid his trousers. He held his cock in one hand and gripped my face with the other, and fed it swiftly into my mouth. I moaned repeatedly, as each time he thrust between my stretched lips his erection nudged the back of my throat.

  ‘Chupame!’ he growled, urging me to take it even deeper. I was not satisfying him, and I could sense their annoyance. I sucked harder, caressing my tongue against his ribbed shaft.

  ‘Chupame, cono!’ He pulled my hair as if that would help me understand what he wanted.

  The other man held me firmly as he pulled my thong down to just beneath my buttocks. ‘Puta,’ he hissed.

  The first smack made me gulp and I nearly gagged as the man kneeling before me kept driving his cock down into my throat. I tried to pull away and the second blow was even harder than the first.

  I was spanked repeatedly and each slap drove his friend’s erection deeper into my straining mouth. I felt the heat of his hand on my buttocks, and also the heat of my own desire deep within. Then I realised he was no longer holding me, that I was bending forward without being forced to, my lips pressed against flesh as I deep-throated the erection between my lips, and I experienced my first orgasm as the man before me spewed his semen down my throat. Then I came again when I felt the second man ejaculating over my flaming buttocks.

  Then they pulled me to my feet and barked at me to tidy myself up.

  I felt dirty and defiled. My hair was tangled and there were wet stains on the front of my dress. I smoothed it down and ran my fingers through my hair as they pulled me back inside. But they let go of me at once, and panicking, I struck out on my own, fighting to find my way back to Juan Carlos.

  He looked up at me and sneered. I wanted to ask him to take me back to Mora’s house, but I could tell he was only thinking of one thing - selling me again.

  The waiter brought more drinks and I heard the crowd beginning to thin out. A man and a woman appeared behind the screen. The man was slender and dressed in a grey suit with a white shirt and a dark-blue tie. He was also carrying a briefcase. The woman was also tall and slender with close-cropped black hair, and she was wearing a short black dress. Her eyebrows were no more than thin pencil lines, her cheekbones high and well defined, and her lips were a glossy red. Juan Carlos greeted them and they sat down. The woman did not look in my direction, but the man kept glancing at me as he spoke to my owner. He took out his wallet and counted notes onto the table. Juan Carlos picked them up and left as the man in the suit smiled at me.

  ‘Take off your dress, my dear,’ he demanded in perfect English. ‘Slowly. I do not want to be short-changed.’

  I stood up before them and took hold of my dress just below my hips. I lifted it slowly to my face and held it there, imagining again the stillness of the tank and the splendid isolation of the wardrobe. I knew they were staring at my body and my only purpose in life at that moment was to fulfil their expectations.

  I lifted the dress further and pulled it free over my head. It fell loosely in my hands and I held it by my side for a while, standing naked before the couple except for my white thong and blue shoes. I exposed myself to the man and woman with my mouth slightly open, as if I was about to speak, as if I had thought of something to say, but I remained silent as he opened his briefcase, took out a rope and handed it to his companion.

  I knew there was nothing I could say, nothing I could even think. The only thing to do was submit.

  The woman got up and, holding one end of the rope in her right hand, dropped the other end rhythmically across the upturned palm of her left hand.

  ‘Turn around,’ she said.

  I let go of my dress, turned around and gripped the top edge of the screen, looking o
ver at the bar and a group of young waiters who had all paused in their work to stare at me.

  I twisted sideways as the first lash fell across my back. The ends of the rope flicked around the sides of my ribs and burned like needles. But I knew I deserved to be punished, so I straightened my back in preparation for the next blow.

  When it came it was even harder to bear, stinging my flesh and penetrating me with pain, but I took it, clinging to the screen. Each time the rope fell it landed on a different part of my back and buttocks, and each blow brought fresh images to my mind - what I had done with the first man, and then with the other two out in the courtyard - and each lash, each stinging scourge, filled me with remorse and contrition. I felt like a nun stretched out before a torturing abbess, rejoicing in every blow of the whip as each drove me closer to salvation.

  In my mind I saw Galen, smiling at my penitence, nodding benevolently like a beautiful pagan god as tears of agony and joy streamed down my face.

  After the couple finished with me, I leaned against the screen until I became aware of Juan Carlos staring at me. He made me sit down, and I squirmed uncomfortably on the hard seat. He looked at me reprovingly and I tried to keep still, but could not.

  I lifted myself off the seat slightly, suddenly embarrassed by my nakedness, and as I sat back again I became shamefully aware of the warm wetness between my legs. He offered me a drink, and I bit my lip in a vain effort to stop my hand from shaking as I accepted it.

  Chapter 13

  He took what I had written and read it carefully, but watching his face I knew he would find it unsatisfactory. I sat and waited, my back straight and my bent legs spread wide apart in the hope that showing my pussy would please him. He shook his head as if he expected more, as if he had hoped I would do better. I felt a twinge of anxiety, but that was all it was, a twinge, a flicker, and it passed almost as soon as it came. I was surprised by my reaction and let my legs part further, pressing the outside of my knees against the floor until they hurt.

  ‘I am disappointed in you, Syra. I don’t think you will ever be completely cured. There is still more to say, I think. You have not told me everything, have you?’

  ‘I will say it all when I write the next part,’ I replied, and bit my lip. This was the first time I had spoken to him. My head spun and I felt as though the floor was slipping away from beneath me. I was seized with a breathless panic. I did not know what was going to happen. I looked down between my legs, trying to convince myself I had said nothing and it was only my imagination, but I knew it wasn’t.

  He looked at me for a long time. He seemed to be challenging me to speak again, silently urging me to say something that would displease him so he could punish me, willing me to fall into a trap. ‘I will cane you,’ he decided at last.

  My stomach filled with nervous excitement and the feeling of misplaced guilt welled up within me again.

  ‘Bend over, Syra, and present yourself to me, your hands holding your ankles. Stretch yourself so each strike of the cane reminds you of what you have to write.’

  I bent over as he instructed and waited for the caning to begin. It seemed as though I had done this so many times - exposed myself to him, taking my punishment - but now I sensed the delightful humiliation drawing to a close. As the cane fell across my bottom each stinging blow reminded me of what I still had to say. Each smarting strike, each clenching of my buttocks, brought into my head the complete picture of my misdeeds. I saw it all now and knew what I had to tell, but I waited until he was satisfied I had been punished enough, and even then, after he finished, I waited, bent over in case he wanted to discipline me some more.

  But he left, and I turned back to my work. He was right. I can sense the end of the story and I know now I have to tell it all. I am no longer ashamed, and I do not feel embarrassed he thought badly of my work until now, because he was wrong. Fear is draining out of me. I have lost the apprehension he aroused from the instant I saw him. I am no longer afraid of being caned, of being bound and left in the dark, of being imprisoned with no idea of when I will be released. I do not fear his sudden demands or his outbursts of temper. He is no longer the reason I am writing my story, and when I am finished with it, I might not even show it to him. All I want now is to finish it for myself.

  The following day the taxi driver drove me out of the city. I could tell where we were going; I recognised the buildings as they thinned on the outskirts of the city. The low rolling hills with their craggy limestone escarpments felt familiar, and finally I knew what to expect as I glimpsed the collection of white houses huddled beneath the old stadium.

  I didn’t wait for the driver to open the door. I got out by myself and strode towards the arena. I walked into the dark entrance tunnel and felt the waft of heat blowing through it making my light dress cling to my perspiring body. The air energised me and I walked forward with increased urgency, swinging my arms purposefully, as if the wildly cheering crowd was shouting for me to make my entrance.

  I stopped in the darkest part of the tunnel. There was a figure standing in the shadows ahead, his shape silhouetted against the light from the open arena beyond, the edges of his form blurred by an incandescent corona of illumination. It was Galen. I stopped for a moment, before walking straight up to him.

  ‘Syra, my pet, come to me,’ he said almost tenderly. ‘Embrace me.’

  I flung my arms around his neck and inhaled his refined masculine scent. I felt the warmth of his body and his long hair against the side of my face. I tingled all over as his arms tightened around my waist and I succumbed to his strength.

  ‘Are you ready to resolve the conflict that lies within you?’ he asked quietly. ‘Tell me, Syra, can I set you your final task?’

  ‘Yes, you can,’ I gasped, still hugging him.

  ‘Then first tell me what happened to you in the cafe last night. If you are to be saved from the prison of your own passions, you must reveal it all, every detail. Tell me.’

  As soon as he had spoken, I realised what had happened to me was not complete until I told him. Everything done to me was like a chimera in the shadows, and could only be fully revealed in the mysterious light of his knowledge. The truth was brimming from me and I could not hold it back any longer. ‘Juan Carlos took me there,’ I began.

  ‘Did you want him? Could you still feel the weight of his cock in your hand from the time before? Could you still feel the stickiness of his semen spreading between your fingers?’

  ‘Yes, yes I could. And yes, I still wanted him.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I wanted him to grab me roughly, to take me behind the bushes of a park we walked past and ravage me. I wanted him to force my legs as wide apart as they would go and drive himself into me without caring about my feelings, without worrying about my pleasure, just satisfying himself by using my body.’

  ‘What would you have done as he came inside you?’

  ‘I would have sensed it was about to happen, I would have felt the increase in tension, the hardening, the throbbing, the surge of heat, and I would have clung to him, lifting myself off the ground and letting him ride me as I hung beneath him.’

  He pushed me back against the wall and held my arms straight down by my sides. ‘What happened when you arrived at the cafe?’

  ‘We sat at a table. The crowd was noisy and I felt exposed. I’d spent so many nights in the cupboard at Mora’s house that I felt vulnerable in front of so many people. Juan Carlos brought a man to see me. He looked me over carefully...’

  ‘Did you try to show him you were worth buying, Syra?’

  ‘I’m not sure...’

  ‘What did he do after he paid for you?’

  ‘He took me to the back of the cafe.’

  ‘And what did he do to you, exactly?’

  ‘He kissed me, to start with. I held onto him, with my legs wrapped aroun
d his hips, squeezing my pussy around him as he fucked me.’

  ‘What then, what happened next?’

  ‘I sat down again with Juan Carlos and he agreed on a price for me with two other men. They led me outside to a small yard and they both had me.’

  ‘Did they make you come?’

  ‘Yes, I couldn’t stop myself. Climaxes just kept flowing from me like a never-ending river.’

  ‘How did you feel when they took you back into the cafe, Syra?’

  ‘Used. Tired and used. I stood amongst the crowd and felt dirty. The feeling was so wonderfully intense.’

  ‘And did you take more, my pet? Were you able to sacrifice yourself to more of your desires?’

  ‘Yes. Next Juan Carlos sold me to a man and a woman.’

  ‘And what did they do with you?’

  ‘The woman had a rope, split at one end into thin braids. She told me to lean against the partition that screened us, where everyone could see.’

  ‘And did you?’

  ‘Yes, of course. I was positioned carefully against the screen and whipped.’

  ‘What sensations did you experience as you were being beaten in public, Syra?’

  ‘More than I can remember clearly.’

  ‘Tell me. You must remember every detail.’

  ‘But there was so much pleasure and pain it was almost more than I could bear. I thought I was going to pass out. My nerves were on fire. I was set ablaze with sensations with every blow. A lacerating pain that became more and more confused with pleasure penetrated every fibre of my being. My mind was filled with images of myself being beaten. I could see my naked body stretched against the screen with everyone looking at me. I saw them watching me flinch each time the rope swept down, and watching me shudder each time an orgasm gripped me. I heard my own cries as they listened. When the couple had finished with me, they left me there hanging onto the screen, moaning with delight.’