Chapter 11

I spent the time he was away with my thighs apart. I kept the soles of my feet together and let my knees sink sideways until they touched the floor. I did it so slowly I could barely see my legs moving, and the tension caused the muscles in the insides of my thighs to form broad hollows at their tops. I followed the sight of them upwards and stared at the soft, fleshy mound resting there. My pubic hair had grown back a little, but still did not cover any part of the pink shadowy rift of my pussy. I pressed my hands flat on the floor behind me and moved my feet apart, stretching my legs wide and flexing my toes. I continued sitting up straight, of course, but I was determined not to let my ankles touch each other, and when I felt like sleeping, I pulled myself up against the wall so even while I slept my legs would be wide apart and my pussy fully exposed.

I think he must believe I am getting better. His attitude has changed. He is not so critical about my work any more, and although the beatings continue, untying my ankles felt almost like letting me go. I wonder if that will ever happen. I have been resigned to the way things are for so long I hardly think of being released. I do not even know where I am and I cannot remember coming or being brought here. I have begun to wonder how long I have been a captive, but I cannot work it out.

Each period of darkness slips into the next and only the interludes of work separate them, so I do not know how long they last. I wondered how long it had taken my pubic hair to grow back, but I gave up trying to work it out. I must keep on with my story. It is the only way of finding out what has happened to me, and perhaps it is the only way of finding out what is to become of me.

With my head hanging over the edge of the balcony, I flicked my tongue out and ran the tip around my dry lips. I was not aware of focusing on anything. I was simply staring, peering into the mixture of light and dark below me. Slowly my eyes came back into focus, and when I looked into the alley the taxi had gone and there was no one there. I blinked in case I was mistaken, but a nervous emptiness in the pit of my stomach told me the scene had changed. The players had vanished and with them the images inflaming my imagination. I felt like moaning in despair, like striking my fist against the balcony in frustration, but instead I licked my lips again and rocked back and forth on my aching hands and knees.

I felt a hand stroking my bottom, moulding it into its palm, reawakening my senses, bringing me back into the world. I lifted my buttocks to let the hand know I was enjoying its touch; that I was responding to it. The hand slipped between my thighs and lightly fingered the lips of my pussy, which was still aching with desire.

‘After you have slept a while,’ Galen said quietly, ‘you will go in the taxi and do whatever you are told to do by the driver and anyone else. Face your fears and bring out your wickedness. Do you understand what I want from you?’

I nodded, but it was a vague nod and he was not content with it. He wanted to hear me say the words.

‘Do you understand, Syra?’ he demanded gently but firmly. ‘Speak to me and tell me you understand.’

‘Yes, I understand,’ I whispered. ‘I must do whatever I am told by whomever tells me. I must face my fears and bring out my wickedness.’

‘Remember, how bad you can truly be will be tested by the unknown. Do not expect anything to be either as it appears or as you have already seen. Facing your fears will make you confront things you did not even know you feared. It is the only way you can hope to be set free into a world of complete and fulfilling pleasure.’

His words chilled me. There was something menacing about them, as if he was pronouncing a sentence on me I might not survive. I shivered and tensed my arms in an effort to lift myself up. His hand moved caressingly up my back to between my shoulder blades. He pressed down and I lowered myself again, crouching like an obedient puppy, my face hanging over the edge of the balcony, waiting until he decided to release me. He kept me there with only the gentlest pressure. I needed nothing more. In fact, I did not even need his touch or his commands. His will was strong enough to hold me and I was helplessly subject to it. But it was not merely the pleasure of humiliation driving me on. Subjecting myself to his will ultimately would lead me to my freedom, to the release of my unconfined wickedness. The chill I had felt faded, warmed by a hot wave of expectancy surging through my body as I wondered what lay in store for me.

At last he let me go, but I did not move until he held my arm and encouraged me to get up. I stood in front of him, but I was a different person than the last time I faced him this way. I had changed since I knelt before him and clung to the unprotected edge of the balcony while he smacked my bottom and I trembled in the throes of a violent orgasm watching the brutally sensual scene down in the alley. Now all I wanted was to go out into the world and test the limits of my sexuality, of my wickedness, of my self.

‘Go and sleep,’ my master urged, ‘and then, when you awake, dress like the girl you were watching in the alley and go down and wait at the front door. The driver will pick you up there.’

I went obediently through the green doorway, spread myself on the small bed in the corner of the shower room and went to sleep.

When I awoke, what felt like only a short time later, my limbs were uncomfortably stiff. I got up and stood in the shower letting the heavy stream flow down over me like a waterfall, relaxing my stiff muscles as I languidly washed. The cold dousing refreshed me, and afterwards I did not dry myself, but let the water drip from me as I poked amongst the clothes in the wardrobe. I found a short blue pleated skirt very much like the girl’s from the alley, and a white blouse. There were also some white cotton panties, smooth and delicate, that hugged my bottom when I pulled them on. I stroked my hand across them, feeling their softness encasing my buttocks, and then I slipped a finger beneath the elasticised edge, testing their tension as they pulled snugly against my flesh. I smoothed the gusset against my labia and relished the way it moulded to the soft lips.

I then combed my hair back while it was still wet and put on the rest of the clothes. I found some light-blue high-heeled sandals, and then I stepped out onto the redwood floor of the upper level and looked around for Galen. He was not around, so I walked down the spiral staircase and across the ground floor terrace to the front door.

It was a lovely night and the air outside was warm and fragrant with the scent of citrus and camellias. The taxi pulled up at once. The driver leered at me through the window before leaning back and opening the rear door from the inside. ‘Senorita?’ he said, with mock solicitude as he pushed the door open.

I slipped into the back, feeling different to when I was last in the vehicle; more confident, more assured and more determined.

He drove off and I spread my bare arms across the back of the seat. The warm air blowing in through the window fanned coolness beneath my armpits, and the delicate perspiration dewing my skin was blown dry by the buffeting breeze. I felt as though I was the principle player in a drama, as though I was acting something out, as though Galen had written a story for me and I was simply following the script. First I would dress like the girl I had watched in the alley, and then the cab would pull up at the door and drive me to another alley just like it. There I would lean against the bonnet of the car and be tied and thrashed and fucked in every imaginable way by men waiting to take their turn with me. My stomach churned with excitement. I hoped I could do it. I knew this was my ultimate test. I knew this was what Galen had planned for me. I knew I must not fail him, because failing him would also mean failing myself, and I could not bear that.

We drove through tree lined streets in which large houses were set back from the road behind high stone walls. The smell of citrus was everywhere and I tilted my head back and inhaled it deeply. Its freshness filled my senses and I felt energised, as if the tangy scent transported me back to when I was an innocent girl with nothing to fear or to worry about. The cab came to a stop and I heard the laughter and shouting of teenage girls. Over the low wall of a convent school, lissom female students were taking advantage of the cool night air and playing netball under the supervision of two nuns, the fading light, and that coming from a few windows overlooking the yard, just enough for them to play in for a little while yet.

The driver opened my door and pointed to the wall. I widened my eyes, not knowing what he meant at first, and then I realised he wanted me to bend over it. I saw one of the girls lazily toss the ball into the net and a loud cry of joy went up as the victorious team embraced each other, giggling happily. The nuns blew their whistles and shepherded them back to the centre of the yard as I emerged from the cab and stood against the wall. The rounded top rose to the middle of my thighs and the stone felt warm as I pressed against it.

‘Inclinate,’ the driver told me sternly. ‘Here.’

Another goal, more shouts and the scoring team ran elatedly around the yard hugging each other. The nuns blew their whistles, but this time their charges were too excited to come to order immediately.

‘Inclinate!’ the driver snapped.

With relief I realised we could not be seen in the shadows, so I bent forward over the wall and felt my lower tummy curve over the rounded stone ledge. I stretched my hands down to the ground and touched it with my fingertips. The girls were shouting excitedly and the whistles were blowing as the driver lifted the hem of my blue pleated skirt. I felt the exposure as he revealed my white panties, and I imagined him glaring lustfully at the fine material pulled tightly across my smooth buttocks. He held the hem of my skirt up and I knew he was looking at me closely, staring at the shadowy crease in the centre of my panties and gazing down at the gently bulging flesh of my pudenda squeezed firmly into the tight cotton. He took the hem of my skirt and laid it down across the small of my back, exposing the top edge of my panties along with the thin strip of flesh between them and the waistband of my skirt. I braced myself on the ground with my fingertips and strained to look up so I could watch the nuns and their wayward students. The sisters were still struggling to bring them to order and one of them was tussling with a knot of excited girls in an attempt to pull them apart.

I felt the driver’s fingers slip beneath the waist of my panties, lifting it away from my skin and peeling them down over my buttocks. He used both hands to expose my bottom, little by little. As he pulled the soft cotton away from my vulva, I felt the warm juices of my pussy making the material stick to my labial lips, and when it came free, I relished the cool caress of the evening air against my nakedness. He drew the panties down my thighs, twisted the material and wedged it just above my knees before letting it go. My nipples hardened against my blouse and I swallowed hard as my mouth went dry with anticipation.

I saw one of the nuns pulling two of the girls apart; they were fighting each other for the ball. She looped her arm around the waist of one of the girl’s and spun her around, then grabbed the rebellious student’s pink panties and tugged them down just far enough to expose firm young buttocks. I licked my lips and gasped as the first smack landed on my waiting bottom. I felt every part of the driver’s open hand as it made contact with my flesh, each finger a burning, smarting strip stinging me, and I clenched my cheeks to absorb the pain. Then, before I had time to recover, he spanked me again even more viciously. I sagged over the wall as I watched the nun reprimanding the two disobedient girls. As the driver spanked me I watched the sister raise her own hand and bring it down on the bare bottom of her squirming, wilful pupil. The driver kept spanking me and the nun was nearly as relentless with her charge. My fingertips clawed at the ground in an effort to brace myself against the ecstasy flowing through my body and culminating between my thighs in a breathtaking climax.

Then I heard him opening his trousers, sensed him pulling out his erection, and an instant later a flood of semen coated my burning buttocks, cooling them wickedly. With the sight of the nun holding the girl in the crook of her arm and spanking her fixed in my mind, I stiffened and closed my eyes as I suffered another explosive convulsion of pleasure between my thighs.

Eventually I wearily turned, sank to my knees and sucked the driver’s diminishing cock until it ceased pulsing between my lips, and I had swallowed the last seepings of his ejaculation.

About an hour later the cab stopped at the junction of two busy roads. The driver turned his head to one side and spoke without looking at me. ‘Bajate,’ he commanded.

I did not understand him. I thought perhaps he was picking someone else up or was complaining about being stuck in the traffic.

‘Bajate!’ he shouted, leaning over the front seat and opening the back door for me. ‘Here!’

I felt confused, but I got out and stood on the pavement.

He smiled mockingly and drove off. People jostled me and my ears were filled with the din of traffic. I felt abandoned and my stomach sank as my heart pounded. Galen had deceived me. He had given up on me, tossed me aside and rejected me because I could not meet his expectations. I looked around, not knowing what to do.

A hand fell heavily on my shoulder. ‘Ah, the little experiment,’ Mora declared, in his thick Spanish accent. ‘So, Galen delivered you as he promised.’

My heart started beating harder and faster, this time not with the anxiety of disappointment but with relief and anticipation of fulfilment. Galen was not rejecting me. This was part of his plan. This was part of his test for me. This was how he was making me face my fears, the way he was teaching me how to let myself go completely. I hung my head and waited for Mora to tell me what to do, knowing whatever it was it would be part of Galen’s plan. I had no reason to feel alone, for my master had assured me he would know everything that happened to me even before I told him about it. A shiver of excitement travelled up my spine as I thought of standing naked in front of Galen and telling him all I had done, knowing that when I finished he would bend me over his lap and spank me no matter what.

‘Follow me,’ Mora commanded as he turned and walked quickly along the crowded pavement swinging a closed umbrella in one hand.

I walked behind him with my head lowered, watching his footsteps and following directly in his path. I imagined I had a rope around my neck and he was leading me to a market to sell me. I was just his chattel, his possession - his slave. I displeased him somehow so he was getting rid of me. He was going to pass me on to someone else, perhaps someone more cruel. My new master would be heartless and brutal. He would begrudge having paid for me, so he would keep me on starvation rations and give me no clothes to wear. My only value would be as an object to sell to strangers for sex. But even that did not raise enough money to please him so he would beat me every night and lock me in a small cupboard. He would leave me there under orders not to move or speak, and he would only let me out to gratify the increasing demands of the men he found to use me...

Mora stopped at the entrance to a shop. The window was dimly lit, but I could make out a sparse display of several items of women’s underclothing - a pair of pale green panties, a thinly cut suspender belt in what appeared to be black satin, and a bright blue basque made from velvet with vertical ribs and elegant hand-worked suspenders. The double doors leading into the shop were large and constructed from heavy smoked glass, with chrome handles and chromium frames. Mora looked into the window, slowly studying the items displayed there. I waited behind him and felt perspiration breaking out on the back of my neck.

Someone opened an umbrella as they passed by on the pavement, and its shadow fell over me like a threatening spectre. I looked up and saw that no stars were visible through the dense cloud cover. The air was thick and moist and it was difficult to take a deep breath. There was an electric expectancy in the atmosphere, as though the world was about to end in a sudden cataclysm. I felt a drop of rain land on my shoulder. It was heavy and warm, and was followed by another drop, and then another landing on my forehead like a baptismal blessing. I held my breath... and the night exploded in a violent deluge. The downpour stunned me even as it seemed to awaken me, filling me with a charge of new energy, and the warm, pounding water flowed over my skin like a divinely drenching orgasm.

Mora pushed me into the shop doorway and pressed up against me. He wormed his hand between my legs and squeezed my pussy. He lifted me up on his palm, driving two fingers between my sex lips, straining the gusset of my panties and threatening to tear them. ‘I will buy you something,’ he said roughly, and shoving the door open with his shoulder, pulled me into the shop.

He approached a woman sitting at a desk. Although seated, I could tell she was tall, and her dark hair was pulled into a tight bun at the nape of her neck. She was wearing a black suit with a white blouse beneath it. She looked up at him and he spoke to her in Spanish. She glanced at me almost disapprovingly, and then went and produced a box from a drawer in a large wooden cupboard. The box was filled with expensive panties. Mora poked about amongst them, selected a pair of white silk with finely embroidered edges, and handed them to the woman, who was standing beside him.

‘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 experiments, 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.

He left me there for the rest of the day, appearing only briefly to tell me I had permission to relieve myself. Then I returned to the courtyard and continued waiting for him, sitting silently, until he finally came back in the early evening, looking very pleased with himself.

‘Well now, little experiment, where shall I put you for the night? Should I make you wait outside again? Should I leave you to the mercy of the streets? Or should I keep you inside, safe and secure?’

After sitting for so many hours my senses were dazed, but now I felt a surge of expectation awaken them like a dazzling light filling my mind and hiding all thoughts from me. I wanted him to put me outside the door again. I wanted to sit on the threshold as strangers walked by and leered at me. I wanted to offer myself to them, to as many as wanted me in as many ways as they wished to take me. I wanted to bend over, my bottom exposed to every passer-by who felt like spanking me until my cheeks were a flaming red and tears were streaming down my face from the pain...

‘Whatever you wish,’ I heard myself say, and the words thrilled me. I was committing myself just as Galen had said I should.

Mora took my hand and led me back into the gloomy house. I was sure he was taking me to the front door, and shivered with excitement at the thought of being outside again all night. But he stopped by a large piece of furniture in the entrance hall. I could hardly make it out in the shadows, but as my eyes adjusted, I saw it was a large, heavily constructed cupboard with two mirrored doors, a large drawer near the base, and around the edges it was extravagantly decorated with an intertwining profusion of carefully sculpted leaves and flowers.

‘No, I think I will keep you inside for tonight,’ he said thoughtfully, and opened the double doors of the cupboard. I smelled the tangy scent of cedar and the heavy aroma of mahogany as the doors pulled out and displaced the cool air.

The inside of the wardrobe was divided into a wide shelf at the top, a deep shelf split vertically into three partitions in the middle, and a further wide shelf below them.

‘You will stay in here for the night,’ he informed me. ‘Undress and get into the middle section of the centre shelf. It will be cramped, but you will fit. You will stay there until I release you in the morning. While you are in there you must remain still and you must not shout to be released or make any noise whatsoever. Is that clear, little experiment?’

‘Yes,’ I said, already unbuttoning my blouse. I dropped it on the floor, and then pulled the thin belt at the front of my skirt undone. I undid the top button and the zip at the side and it fell around my ankles. I stood there for a moment in case he wanted to look at me, but he showed no interest, so I stepped forward and climbed into the centre section of the divided wardrobe wearing only my lace panties. I had to turn sideways to fit, and I could only wedge myself into the space with my knees pulled up to my chin and my arms wrapped tightly around my legs. I had to bend acutely and wedge my forehead against my knees to get it beneath the shelf above me, and I felt the pressure of it against my neck.

I waited for him to close the doors, my pulse accelerating and my hands perspiring as I clasped them around my shins. Then the doors closed with a heavy thump, echoed by my heart, and I was enclosed in pitch darkness until he decided to release me.

The door was suddenly flung open and I gasped with fright. I was so lost in my story I thought it was Mora returning to let me out of the wardrobe.

My heart was thumping. I felt confused and for a moment I didn’t know where I was. It was as though I had lost contact with myself, as if I was no longer in a position to collect my own thoughts.

I lifted my work and held it out to him, hoping I was doing the right thing, hoping I had not annoyed him by being caught unawares. He stood on the threshold for a few seconds, and then turned and left as abruptly as he had come, slamming the door behind him. I knew he would be back so I bent over my work again and awaited his return.