Chapter 6

He did not like what I had written. No, he wrote across the word cunt, and in the margins added, If you ever use this word again you will be punished for disobedience. I watched him writing angrily and felt genuinely frightened. When I realised what I was feeling I experienced another surge of fear, and that brought on another one. It was as though I was tumbling down an endless hill, out of control, helplessly thrilled by my own anxiety. I wanted to shout to him, ‘Go on then, punish me. Do whatever you want to me. Beat me. Tie me up. Whip me. Gag me. Blindfold me. Hang me up from ropes. Do anything you want to me. Do it! I want it. Don’t you understand? I want it! I can feel fear again. My senses have returned!’ But I said nothing, and when he left, I carried on dutifully with my work.

Minutes later I was startled by his return. I put my pencil down and looked up nervously as he stood on the threshold with several thin ropes hanging dangling from his hands. He told me to crawl over to him and kneel before the step leading up to the door. I did as I was told, shuffling across the cold floor, looking all the time at the ropes. He told me to turn my head sideways and lay my cheek on the step. The bricks were cold against my skin and I could taste mortar dust in the corner of my mouth. He told me to put my arms behind my back, and as soon as I did he began binding them together with one of the ropes, so tightly I could feel my hands throbbing with blood. He straddled me, facing my upturned bottom, bent down and tied the remaining ropes around my knees and ankles.

He crouched above me and I could feel the heat of his genitals between my shoulder blades, then he rubbed his hand across my taut buttocks. His palm felt smooth and hot as he massaged my skin, testing its resilience, searching out my curves so when he brought his hand down it would land in just the right place and cover as much flesh as possible. He slipped a finger into my crack and pressed the tip against the opening of my anus. He circled the hard muscle, and then pushed his digit inside me. I gasped softly as it penetrated, but no sooner had he slipped his finger past my clenched ring than he pulled it out again. He took his hand away completely, and there was a moment’s silence before the first blow fell, hard and punishing, across my left buttock. Next he spanked my right buttock with even more force, and I clenched my cheeks in readiness for the next searing impact. When his hand came down again it was harder still, and he continued spanking me that way, alternating between my left and right cheeks until I thought I would pass out from the mingled pain and ecstasy. Then he untied me and left me alone again.

I did not have to wait long for Galen to come back down the stairs. He was excited and his anger had vanished. I was pleased his mood had changed, but it was also a warning to me that his temperament was extremely volatile and I should never assume anything in the future.

‘Everything is ready, Syra my pet. You do not have to wait any longer.’ Smiling, he took my hand and invited me to stand. I did so, and he led me to the base of the spiral staircase. The hem of my dress had barely dropped enough to cover my bottom, and my panties were still squeezed tightly between my buttocks and pulled aside so my pussy was exposed to the delicious air-conditioning.

He indicated the stairs and I began climbing the shiny, twisting steps as he followed behind me. As I went higher, my perspective of the inner terrace below me altered. It broadened out so I could see the wide spaces between the plants and objects placed between them - small tables holding statues or orchids in small glass vases. I did not look behind me at him, but he was so close I could feel the heat of his body. My panties pulled against the left edge of my pussy, and every time I lifted my leg to the next step it tightened deliciously.

I reached the second floor and stopped, my heart racing. I wanted him to move closer to me now. I wanted him to lift my dress and stare at my sex while I stood motionless on the landing. I wanted to lift my leg onto the chrome banister and expose myself completely to his scrutiny. I wanted to hear him describe me, the softness of my flesh, its pinkness, the shape of my outer labia, how my lips folded so neatly into my pussy with only the slight crease of skin covering my clitoris breaking the perfectly defined line. I wanted him to tell me to spread my legs even wider, as wide as I could. I wanted him to reach up and pull apart the lips of my labia and expose the darker pink of the inner flesh, holding them open so I could feel their warm wetness against the cool dry air. I wanted him to put his face between my straining legs and stare as closely as he desired at my aching, moistening sex. I wanted him to reach out with his tongue and flick its tip against my clitoris. I wanted him to run the probing point around its sensitive edges and then, as it became inflamed, to abandon it, leaving it throbbing with frustration as he used his whole tongue to lap my vulva like a thirsty, ravenous beast...

‘Go on, Syra,’ he urged. ‘I want you to see the city.’

I moved forward, my eyes filled with light. Half of the room was covered with a high, vaulted ceiling while the rest stretched out over a large open balcony jutting out like a vast diving board across the street below. The floor of both the room and the balcony was constructed from a highly polished cherry-red timber. Two fans spun lazily on floor stands and a palm tree in a stainless steel pot sat near the edge of the balcony. In the centre of the room was a raised hexagonal platform made from the same red timber as the floor. In the top of the platform there was a tightly closed split and a large, chromium-plated padlock hanging across a shiny hasp and staple at its centre. A good-sized chromium-plated cupboard with two upper doors, two lower ones and two drawers in between, stood alongside the raised platform. There were two doors in the far wall of the room, one red and one green.

‘May I?’ I asked, looking towards the balcony.

‘Of course, of course, go ahead, but be careful, there is no rail.’

I walked out onto the balcony and the full force of the setting sun shone upon me. I felt my shoulders burning in its red heat and pulled my hair back tightly with both hands to let my features bask in its radiance. The star’s intensity burned my cheeks and caused flashing lights to dance across my closed eyelids. I looked away, slightly dizzy, and moved closer to the edge of the balcony. I looked out over the city, its complex of narrow streets a maze of white-walled and red-roofed houses. In the distance I could make out a large square with imposing buildings surrounding it, and everywhere I looked I could see the spires of churches poking up like spears on a blood-soaked battlefield. A much smaller square lay below the balcony, and people sat in the shady corners of cafes and the dry green trees surrounding them. I felt giddy as I stepped closer to the edge, and for a moment imagined I must reach out and support myself on the rail I knew was not there. A surge of fear paralysed me as I realised how easily my mind confused reality with imagination, and I stepped back quickly.

Galen laughed quietly. ‘I know what you were doing sitting on the marble bench,’ he told me. ‘I watched your expression.’

I felt a flush of shame warm my cheeks.

‘Yes, you should realise by now, Syra, that I know everything you feel. It is already almost impossible for you to keep a secret from me. I watched it all. I saw you lift the hem of your dress so your bottom would be exposed to the chill of the stone. I watched you pull aside your panties so your pussy would be able to feel the marvellous, fresh sensation of coolness. I watched you wriggle with pleasure. I saw the look on your face as you pressed your bottom against that smooth, hard surface. Oh yes, I saw the look of commitment, of single-mindedness, of absorption in the sensation. Then I saw that you deliberately did not pull down your dress when you started up the stairs. But Syra, I did not look as you walked in front of me up the stairs. Did you think I did? I hope you are not disappointed. I hope I have not reduced your pleasure. Oh my, I can see I have let you down. But you are so simplistic. There is so much to be done with you.’

I felt annoyed. I felt he was trying to make me look stupid. ‘I didn’t imagine for one second that you were looking,’ I lied defensively, and felt even more stupid.

‘Oh Syra,’ he sighed, ‘come and sit here.’ He indicated the raised platform in the centre of the room. ‘Remember, being truly bad is what you have come to learn how to do. I do not expect you to be bad yet. I only expect you to be a good student. Are you going to be a good student, Syra?’

I could do nothing but nod.

‘Good.’ He studied me soberly. ‘Good,’ he repeated, seeming convinced by my expression.

I felt strangely hesitant to approach the raised platform. It looked ominous, as though beneath what looked like a hatch there lay something terrible, something shocking.

‘Afraid?’ he asked me sharply. ‘Surely not, Syra.’

‘No, I - I’m not afraid,’ I stammered.

‘Well, we shall see. Perhaps being so close to Espartaco has made you brave? Perhaps some of his fearlessness has rubbed off on you?’

I suspected he was mocking me, but nevertheless I found myself speechless in the face of his dark, sinister charm.

‘Although I do hope not, for his sake,’ he added wryly. ‘He will need all his courage from now on.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean that the next time Espartaco goes into the ring, he will need to draw on even the tiniest bit of courage you might have stolen from him. I think the next bull he faces will be more of an opponent than he has been used to so far. But Syra, come and sit.’ He patted the platform, indicating the place he wished me to sit even as he lowered himself onto it.

I shivered slightly, and then went and sat beside him. ‘What is this?’ I asked, stretching towards the shiny padlock.

He reached out quickly and slapped the back of my hand. The blow hurt, and I winced and pouted as I snatched my hand back.

‘You must not touch that, Syra my pet.’

‘Why not?’ I demanded petulantly, rubbing my reddened skin.

‘Because you are my student and it is enough that I have told you not to touch it.’

‘But I’ve been trained to ask questions. It’s my job,’ I retorted. ‘I’m a student of psychology.’ My tone was assertive, as though reminding myself of what I was, or had been, would somehow make things normal again. It did not.

‘Then being my student should be easy for you,’ he replied mildly. ‘Once I had many students. I worked at a famous university, but they did not appreciate my talents. Now I do my research here. This is my laboratory.’ He looked around the room, smiling. ‘And you are my special student, Syra. Now bend over. My student needs her bottom spanked for insolence.’

I felt my eyes opening wide in disbelief, but I merely enquired submissively, ‘Where?’

‘Over my knee, of course, like a naughty student.’ He rose and seated himself in a chrome-framed chair. ‘Here.’

I walked over to him slowly, my eyes lowered. I felt guilty and naughty as he patted his knees and I bent over them without hesitating. I stretched my hands to the floor and allowed my hips to rest fully on his lap. My panties drew up tightly into my pussy and I wondered whether he would pull them down or simply peel them to one side. He pulled them down. I shivered with excitement as I felt the flimsy white material dragging against my skin, and then twisting like a soft rope halfway down my thighs. He paused to look closely at my upturned buttocks as though analysing them, judging their muscular tone and their smoothness to determine how hard they should be spanked. Perhaps he was wondering how quickly they would redden beneath his admonishing hand. Because of the angle I was lying at, I knew he could see my anus and the outer edges of my pussy, and I squirmed slightly in an effort to show him more.

He placed his hand firmly against the small of my back to hold me still. ‘Your bottom is very smooth,’ he observed. ‘It is pale, though, and I will not stop until it is bright red.’

I allowed my buttocks to relax, saving the joy of tensing them for the moment when I felt his hand coming down against them. He carried on caressing and priming them for a while, and then he lifted his hand. I waited, breathing fast and biting my lip in anticipation. I wondered how hard he would spank me and whether there would be a prescribed number of blows. Wondering only intensified my excitement and I lifted my buttocks slightly, holding my breath.

He did not speak nor count nor explain to me again why I was being punished. He simply swept his hand down over and over again with relentless regularity. Each blow made me jolt, but the stinging pain of his flesh impacting with mine was the most powerfully wonderful sensation. I did not count how many times he spanked me. All I know is that my discipline for being insolent went on for a very long time, more than long enough for me to climax violently, shuddering and writhing on his lap.

He stopped punishing me and let me roll off his knees. I fell onto my side at his feet, and groaned when my burning bottom touched the floor as I rolled over onto my back. I looked up at him, not knowing whether he had finished with me, not knowing whether I should show how him much I was hurting and how much more I wanted him to hurt me.

‘Now, Syra my pet,’ he said casually, ‘you must freshen up, take a bath and shave your pubic hair. That is why I did not look between your legs when you walked in front of me up the stairs. How could I?’

‘Where is the bathroom?’ I asked at once.

He pointed to the green door. ‘You will find everything you need in there.’

I got up, making an effort not to wince and reach behind me to cradle my burning cheeks, and walked over to the green door. The smooth round metal handle was cool in my hand, and I stood there for what seemed like ages frozen at the point of action but unable to act. It was as though holding the handle but not turning it would somehow save me from my fate. As long as I stood there motionless nothing would happen. I would retain control over my actions... I turned the handle and walked through the door.

There were no windows in the room I entered, and all the walls and the entire floor were covered with brilliant white tiles. Bright lights set in the ceiling lit up every object with icy intensity; every edge was picked out clearly and every shadow perfectly defined. A chrome showerhead was fixed to a shiny silver pipe emerging from the ceiling, and a circular steel ring hung with a white curtain was set below it. Beside it, on a metal stand, was a bar of soap and a razor.

I pulled off my dress, letting it fall to the floor in a crumpled heap, and tugged the thin gusset of my panties back across the flesh of my pussy before sliding them down my hips. My labial lips were still sensitive to the caress of the sticky material as it came away, and I ran one finger slowly against my slit. I felt my clitoris blooming between the fleshy mounds surrounding it, and when I pressed my fingertip against it, I felt its subtle heat. Then behind me I heard the green door opening.

‘Do I have to watch you all the time just to be sure you do what you are told?’ Galen demanded.

‘No,’ I said quickly, pulling my panties all the way down and stepping out of them. I stepped into the shower without turning around, but when I glanced over my shoulder, I saw he had left and closed the door behind him. I reached up and turned a heavy knob. The water spurted from the showerhead and I jumped back as the freezing cascade hit my breasts. I shivered and stepped back even farther as my nipples immediately hardened and goose bumps covered my flesh. I pulled my shoulders together to try and suppress another shiver, then took a deep breath and stepped beneath the frigid flow. I tensed my whole body, tightening my chest and forcing my arms down my sides as I let the cold water soak me with its chilling torrent. It ran between my breasts and over my stomach, circling my navel and rushing in seemingly eager waves towards my vulva. I watched it threading through my blonde pubic hairs, teasing them out and dripping off their ends. I stood with my legs open and let the ice-cold stream curve like an eager river against the insides of my thighs. I lifted my face into the flow, and as I stood pulling back my hair with my hands, my body began feeling warmer. The icy water no longer felt like an enemy; I was attuned to it and welcomed it. I took the bar of soap from the stand and rubbed it against my pubic hair, producing a fragrant white froth that ran down the fronts and the insides of my thighs into my cunt. I rubbed the soap harder against me and stepped back out of the stream. Then I placed the soap back on the stand, picked up the razor and carefully applied the blade to my mound.

I paused a moment, for there was something about the act of shaving my pubic hair that seemed terribly final, as though I would never be the same again afterwards. I knew my hair would grow back, but it was not as simple as that. I felt that if I shaved my pussy I would lose a mysterious sort of innocence and virginity. I sliced off the first few hairs, and straight away experienced an electrifying excitement. I dragged the blade further, feeling the sharp edge against my skin, and was aroused by the risk involved in having a sharp surface grazing my delicate flesh. I sliced through my hair and saw my fresh, naked skin exposed for the first time over my pussy. It was almost more than I could bear; how clean and pure it looked.

I wished Galen had stayed to watch and glanced back at the door just in case he decided to return, but he did not.

When I had shaved off all the pubic hair I could see, I sat beneath the shower, opened my legs wide and shaved any hairs that remained by feel. When finished, I felt absolutely naked and utterly exposed. I was instantly turned on. I placed my hand flat against my pussy and stood up. I ran my finger against the smooth crack and it felt like a new cunt - like someone else’s cunt. I felt a rush of excitement at the thought and let my finger part the unnaturally smooth flesh and poke inside the warm, welcoming entrance.

I heard the door handle turn, and glancing over my shoulder caught Galen’s eye as he looked around the edge. He looked angry and immediately I felt ashamed of how long I had lingered in the shower. ‘Have I been too long?’ I asked, quickly shutting off the water.

‘Come here,’ he said coldly.

‘I’m sorry, I know I should have been quicker.’ I looked around me for a towel and something to wear, but there was nothing.

‘Come here!’ he commanded impatiently.

I walked carefully across the cold tiles with my eyes lowered. ‘I have shaved as you asked me to,’ I told him meekly.

‘I did not ask you to,’ he corrected me fiercely, ‘I told you to.’ He opened the door and I walked into the main room without him having to tell me to. I stopped and waited for him, water dripping down my body and running onto the shiny red floorboards. By the time he closed the green door a puddle of water surrounded me, making me feel as though I had wet myself with fear waiting to see what he was planning next.

He walked past me and sat on the raised platform in the centre of the room. ‘I thought I would ask Eve to join us,’ he informed me, ‘but I have decided not to.’ His anger was gone again, but the menacing tone had returned. ‘Go and stand on the balcony,’ he instructed. ‘It is a pleasant evening. The air is filled with fragrances. It will dry you as though you had been rubbed down by scented towels.’

I walked obediently towards the balcony, and as I approached it I did indeed feel my skin drying. The evening had cooled slightly but it was still balmy and warm and the air was soft with the approach of night. I stopped and looked back at him. ‘Where shall I stand?’ I asked submissively.

‘Walk to the edge, Syra my pet, right to the edge.’ He must have seen the fear on my face, but he gave no indication of it, simply waited for me to obey him.

My mouth went dry and my stomach clenched anxiously. I stepped forward, but suddenly my legs felt hollow and so weak I could not move any further. ‘I’m afraid,’ I admitted pitifully. ‘I can’t...’

‘What frightens you the most, Syra? Is it the exposed edge of the balcony? Is it the fear of falling? Is it the fear of leaning on a rail that is not there? Or is it the fear of being seen from below, the fear of exposing your naked body to strangers, the fear of letting the world see your shaved pussy? Which is it, Syra?’

‘I don’t know,’ I confessed, turning back to face the room.

‘Why are you here, my pet? I thought you wanted to face your fears, to conquer them, to find out what it is to be truly bad, to look into yourself and discover what lies within you, to see if your evil intents are your passions or whether they are all just fantasies. Isn’t that why you have come with me, Syra?’

I stopped and bit my lip. I was pathetic. My intentions kept crumpling at every challenge. I felt weak and miserable and wretched. ‘How near the edge?’ I asked purposefully.

‘As close as you can get without falling, my pet.’

As I walked across the broad balcony I felt the increasing exposure, not only to the dangerous edge but also to the people slowly filling the square below. I heard their voices before I saw them greeting each other, ordering drinks and laughing. The sound filled my head and I imagined them waiting for me to appear like a newly married princess being presented by her lord to his subjects. As I neared the edge I felt the drop coming closer and my awareness of it frightened me, daunted me, but most of all what filled my mind was the thought of the penetrating stares waiting for my naked body to show itself.

‘Stop there,’ Galen commanded.

I stopped, and shivered with the ecstasy of being completely under his control as I dared to curl my toes over the edge of the balcony. The square was crowded with people, but my eyes immediately fell on the corner of a bar terrace next to a dark alley where a young, dark-haired woman with full red lips was sitting.

She leaned forward eagerly as she conversed with two young men who made her laugh with their responses. The soft, temperate air wafted up towards me, scented with the fragrances of evening. Each of the young men was under the girl’s spell; their emotions controlled by her every movement. I watched her becoming increasingly self-assured as she hung on to both their arms for minutes at a time. She rested her forehead against theirs for a moment, bunting them like a fawn, and stroked their cheeks, pouting as she did so. She rested her hands on their laps and kissed each of them in turn, first on the cheek and then on the lips. And as I watched I could sense their increased knowledge of each other, their growing intimacy, until I felt myself becoming part of it. I sensed the heat of their bodies, felt the warmth of passion on their skin. I seemed to taste their lips as they pressed together and to feel their tongues as they probed the insides of each other’s welcoming mouths. I watched as the girl, finally submitting to both men, was led from the terrace and around the corner into the dark alley. I saw one young man lift up her skirt and realised that, like me, she was not wearing panties and her pussy was shaved. I watched the young man kneel before her and lick her naked cunt while the other youth held her shoulders and kissed her, tonguing her deeply as she writhed in increasingly uncontrollable passion. I saw her being held against the wall by one of her suitors, her legs spread apart, as the other one opened the front of his trousers and promptly drove his hard cock up into her willing cunt. I watched her being steadied by one man as the other lifted her up in his arms and climaxed deep inside her. I saw her anxious face as he slipped out of her, and then the paradoxical keenness with which she accepted the second erection into her body, driving down over it until it, too, filled her with a pulsing stream of hot semen. I watched as she sank to her knees and sucked them both down, first one at a time for a while and then alternating between them. Then she blew them both at once, squeezing both cocks into her mouth and making them stiffen again. One of the men came over her face and the other sprayed his cum deep into her gaping, wanton mouth.

All the time I watched this scene I stood perfectly still, my toes clinging to the edge of the balcony. My orgasm began when the first man opened his trousers and it continued until the young woman smoothed down her dress and went back to sit on the terrace with her two lovers. Still I did not move, exhibiting myself like a statue to one of the young men as he glanced up inadvertently and saw me. As he stared I imagined myself as the young woman he had just fucked, and when I pictured myself being pressed against the wall by him as he drove his rigid cock into me, I felt another climax cresting inside me.

He drew a red line through what I had written about being in the shower, and scrawled in capital letters across it, IS THIS MORE FANTASY? He passed the pages back to me and sat waiting. I shook my head and he did not say anything as he stared at me. I clenched my teeth and shook my head again firmly, but he still did not respond. I felt foolish and stared down at my knees. Finally he told me to lie on the floor on my back, and I did. The stone was cold and made me shiver. He told me to be still, to put my hands by my sides and stay there without moving until he returned.

I lay there for what felt like ages doing exactly as he had said, hardly allowing myself to breathe in case he came back suddenly and said I was not still enough. When he did finally return, he was carrying a steel-legged chair in one hand and a silver razor in the other. He placed the chair above my feet, sat on it and told me to open my legs until my ankles pressed against the thin legs of the chair.

‘In the same way that you described yourself sitting in the shower,’ he said.

He passed me the razor and told me first to shave my pubic hair and then to touch myself. He would judge whether what I had written was a fantasy according to how much pleasure I expressed.

My pubic hair had barely grown back from the last time he told me to shave. I pressed my ankles as hard as I could against the steel legs of the chair and began passing the blade over my mound. I was not afraid. I knew what I had written was true, and I knew, as I felt the dull pain of the steel legs against my ankles and the bite of the razor against my hairs, that it would not be long before he was convinced I had found the experience incredibly sensual.

He sat with his forearms resting on his knees, leaning slightly forward in the chair and staring down between my legs. He watched my fingers as I drew them up between my shaved crack, opening the outer lips of my sex and exposing the glistening pink inner flesh. I saw him lick his lips like a hungry wolf as I fondled my freshly shaved labial lips.

‘You wrote that word again more than once,’ he accused me abruptly. ‘Cunt.’ Then he got up and left and I made myself come before carrying on with my work.

I do not quite remember how I got from the balcony into the small bed I found myself in the following morning. When I woke up I did not know where I was, then all of a sudden, like an explosion in my brain, it came back to me and I pressed my face deep into the pillow. All I could hear was my heart beating and the low snuffling sound of my breathing against the soft pillow; the rest of the world was silent. I felt cut off from everything, as if there was only me, and all the things I could see, touch, hear and smell were merely in my head, an incredibly vivid sensual dream. It was as if my mind had become detached from reality. I felt panicky, and sat up hoping sudden physical movement would put things right. My head ached as if I had drunk too much alcohol. I wiped my nose with the back of my hand, sniffing. I could not remember having a single drink. I got out of bed, ran to the door and grabbed the handle. It turned easily and the door opened. I had feared it would be locked. I walked out naked into the lower terrace of Galen’s house, and looking up instinctively, I saw him leaning over the balustrade at the top of the spiral staircase.

‘Syra, my pet, you’re awake. Good. Come up for something to eat.’

I knew I was naked and for a second did not know what to do - go back and find something to wear or ignore my embarrassment. Being perfectly honest with myself, I acknowledged the latter scenario was truly my only option, and I began walking up the stairs. He took my hand for the last two steps, and I nodded my thanks to him for the gracious gesture. Everything seemed so normal and matter-of-fact this morning that I dared to smile at him as he let go of my hand. ‘What shall I eat for breakfast?’ I asked.

‘Very little,’ he replied, returning my smile as if my question amused him. ‘Perhaps some orange juice, which is very fresh, and a small bread roll with olives. You can dip the bread into some warm olive oil. You will enjoy it.’

I sat down on one of the chrome chairs. It was cold against my naked bottom, and I liked that. I picked up the small bread roll laid out on a white napkin and dipped it into a bowl of olive oil sitting in the centre of the table. The silky, honey-coloured oil dripped from the bread as I lifted it away, soaking it through and making it even more soft and succulent. I held it above my mouth, allowing several drops of oil to fall onto my tongue before slipping it between my lips. I sucked on it, and the saturated dough dissolved on my tongue. It was warm and chewy and the oil, although not bitter, possessed an astringency that made me wince slightly. I dipped the rest of the bread in the bowl again and felt a warm shiny glow coating my lips. A trickle of oil ran down my chin and I picked up the napkin to rub it away, but I looked at Galen, knowing I should defer to his opinion before I did anything, and he shook his head. So I placed the napkin back on the table and dipped the bread in the glistening pool between us. A glint of reflected sunlight caught the sharply cut facets of the crystal bowl and shone through the golden oil. I felt I wanted to bathe my naked body in it, to cover myself with it and drink it, to let it soak between my legs until I dissolved in a deep, warm orgasm. I took another bite of sopping bread and felt a rush of excitement deep within my pelvis.

‘Where’s Eve?’ I asked casually.

‘She is here,’ Galen replied as the pet walked up behind him and rested her hands on his shoulders.

She stared past me over the balcony into the pastel-blue sky. She seemed lost in thought, detached and preoccupied with something more important than me. She blinked swiftly a few times as though trying to rouse herself, and then, refreshed by her effort, finally looked at me. Suddenly I felt self-conscious of the oil running down my chin. I bent my head to hide it, and a bead of oil dripped between my breasts. She smiled a thin smile, and walking past me draped her long fingers against the oil on my chest, touching it fleetingly as an insect might land on the surface of a pond. I wanted her hand to move down to caress my stomach and cradle my shaved cunt, but she moved past me and walked out onto the balcony. I ate the last bit of oil-soaked bread and studied her as though she was an icon set against the sky to warn pilgrims of the dangers of the journey ahead.

She wore a loose-fitting, long red dress with a slit up the front ending high between her slender thighs. The neck was cut low in a deep V and the upper halves of the firm mounds of her breasts were exposed. The material of her dress was thin, and as she stood against the light I saw that apart from a tight thong she wore nothing beneath it. The long fingernails she clearly obsessed over were painted red and she wore a gold ring on her right forefinger. Her toenails were painted the same vivid bloody colour and she wore sandals that were merely flat soles tied to her feet with crossed red laces. Her bearing was one of peaceful stillness, of pure self-containment and absorption. I felt uncomfortably aware of my nakedness looking at her, and wanted to hide myself.

‘We must get you ready to go out,’ Galen announced, rising. ‘It will be dark soon.’

I frowned in confusion. ‘But it’s only morning...’

‘Syra, my pet, you have been asleep all day.’

I looked towards Eve and she sneered back at me over her shoulder as though I was beneath contempt. I looked out over the balcony and saw the deep red of the setting sun approaching the misty blue line of the horizon. I felt ridiculous and my cheeks flushed with the burning red of humiliation.

Galen led me back down the spiral staircase into the bedroom where I slept for so long, and Eve followed. He opened a wardrobe built into the wall and ran his hand across a range of dresses on hangers. I rushed forward; keen to see the clothes and even more keen to cover myself up.

‘Not so fast,’ he scolded mildly. ‘We must be careful about what you wear. We are to meet two of my friends this evening. Eve will dress you. Do exactly as she says.’

The pet chose everything for me and laid it out on the unmade bed. Then she led me to the shower and watched while I cleaned myself. She brought some white nail varnish and told me to paint my toenails. I sat on the floor, pulling my feet up one by one onto the top of my thighs, and did as she said. Then she led me back into the bedroom and told me to get dressed in the clothes she had selected for me.

As I put them on I felt more embarrassed than I had before, as if the act of concealing it heightened my nakedness. Apparently she had decided I would not wear a bra or panties. I pulled on the white leggings, which were as thin and sheer as tights. The smooth elastic material drew up tightly around my buttocks and the seam at the crotch pulled into the fleshy crack between my legs. I lifted my feet one at a time onto the edge of the bed and slipped on the white strap sandals with built up heels. They fitted perfectly and the smooth leather soles felt cool against the bottoms of my feet. I paraded around the room wearing only the leggings and sandals and Eve nodded her approval. I pulled on a loose red blouse that buttoned down the front and then painted my fingernails white. There was an awkward few minutes of silence while we waited for the polish to dry. The pet perched on the edge of the mattress studying her own immaculate fingernails while I stood balancing on my new high-heels, getting the feel for them. Finally, I judged it safe to pull on a pair of elbow-length white satin gloves.

There were no mirrors in the room, but as we crossed the downstairs hall I glimpsed myself in the shiny surface of a large chrome cupboard. I tilted back my head slightly as I saw my reflection, and sensed the pet sneering at me.

‘Eve is not coming,’ Galen informed me as he took my arm and turned his back on her indifferently. ‘Let us go. We can walk from here. You will enjoy the lively nightlife, I’m sure.’

He led me through the bustling narrow streets, and although there was still some light in the sky it paled in comparison to the warm illumination flowing like liquid gold from every cafe, bar and restaurant we passed. Every so often someone acknowledged Galen with a nod or an uplifted hand and I felt like a favoured lover, my clothes radiant in the pools of light we walked between as if sailing from island to island in a dark sea. And the further we went, the more I wanted him to test my innate wickedness.

Every time we passed the corner of an unlit alley, I thought, I hoped and I dreaded he would ask me to enter it and wait in the seedy darkness. I imagined how I would stand in the alley, my heart pounding, until a group of men sent by my master arrived and threw me roughly to the ground. He would watch from the entrance of the alley as the men held me down and thrust their hard cocks into my pussy one after the other, violently banging me and pulling out only when they were ready to spray their hot semen all over my face. Then they would all fuck me again, this time coming in my mouth. When they finally got bored with me, they would pull me to my feet and make me bend over so they could beat me. I imagined how hard they would beat me and how painful the lash of the leather belt would be, or the cruel stinging cut of a cane. In the end they would shove me down onto the ground again and leave me, covered in their sticky semen, my white leggings ripped to shreds and my red blouse crumpled around me like dried blood. Galen would come to me finally and throw me a handkerchief to wipe my face, and I would feel degraded and ashamed as he called me a whore and a slut. When he had finished humiliating me with his words, I would crawl over to him on my hands and knees and beg him to bring me more men so it could happen all over again. He would call me an insatiable slut, but he would instruct me to wait and soon return with more men. I imagined it would be sunrise before he decided I had been sufficiently used and humiliated, and as it began to grow light he would drag me into the main square, force me onto all fours, and publicly beat me across the buttocks until I passed out from exhaustion and ecstasy...

We passed through a dark entrance and entered a smoke-filled club with a low ceiling. A slim young woman dressed in light-blue shorts and a sleeveless white vest showing off her deep cleavage escorted us between a crush of tables.

‘Now, Syra my pet, I do not want you to say anything. No matter what happens, you must not speak again until I tell you to do so.’

The young woman in shorts showed us to a table where two men were already sitting. One of them was attractive, his dark tan a stunning contrast to his silver hair. The other man was dark, square-jawed and swarthy, and was wearing a red and white Hawaiian shirt. I could scarcely believe it, but he was most definitely the man who watched me masturbating from the balcony and the man I saw at the bullring watching the blonde girl with the short dress. I hung my head, dreading he might say something about having seen me before. Both men were clearly Spaniards, but they greeted Galen in English. They shook hands with him, but ignored me. Obviously they had no intention of acknowledging me unless Galen introduced me, and I was relieved to think that perhaps the man in the Hawaiian shirt did not recognise me.

‘This, my friends,’ Galen said at last, ‘is Syra. You may not have realised she was here, she has been so silent.’

Both men laughed, and the one in the Hawaiian shirt glared at me knowingly.

‘Let me introduce you,’ my new master went on. ‘It seems a pity to exclude her from our conversation.’

The man with the light hair was introduced first. Gonzalo took my gloved hand in his and kissed it gallantly, and I was excited by my own silent and sophisticated nod of acknowledgement. But when the man from the balcony lifted my hand to his lips, he squeezed my fingers painfully and I knew he recognised me.

‘You have embarrassed her, Juan Carlos,’ Gonzalo accused his companion, observing my deep blush.

Juan Carlos said nothing, but merely smiled and kissed my hand again before releasing it.

They both seemed increasingly amused by the fact that I did not speak. As I nodded to each of them silently, the feeling of detachment I derived from my silence continued to excite me. I nodded like a doll, like a puppet on a string, and then sat listening to their conversation with wide, curious eyes.

‘No, my friends,’ Galen was saying, ‘Espartaco will no longer receive the benefit of approved bulls.’

‘Why is this, Galen?’ Gonzalo asked. ‘Surely you have not tired of Espartaco’s victories? Have we not all profited from his courage and daring?’

‘Yes, my dear Gonzalo, we have all profited well from his victories, but his courage and daring have not been exposed to the sort of challenges he thinks they have. I warned you at the beginning there would be a point at which I would have to let my experiment face his fear alone. Now, my friends, is the time.’

‘As long as there is someone else who can benefit from bulls drugged into submission, then I suppose it does not matter,’ Gonzalo said uncertainly. ‘Espartaco can face his enemy, real or approved, it is irrelevant to us as long as our profits are not reduced.’

‘One bet against Espartaco should set us all right,’ Galen declared wryly, and all three men lifted their glasses in an amused endorsement of the plan.

‘And Mora is in agreement?’ Juan Carlos queried soberly.

‘Yes, of course, of course,’ Galen assured him.

I listened attentively as they continued elaborating their conspiracy. It had been for the purpose of Galen’s experiment that the bulls Espartaco faced were drugged. The matador had sought Galen’s help to conquer his fears, but he had no idea what had been done to the bulls he fought. Galen wanted to see if Espartaco would become convinced of his invincibility and grow fearless. The fact that his co-conspirators could make money from the knowledge the fights were fixed helped Galen finance his perverse psychological work. And now it was time for him to see how Espartaco faced a bull no longer made docile by drugs. Now it was time to see if the courage the bullfighter had developed over the last few months, falsely based though it was, would be real enough for him to claim a true victory.

I felt a shiver of fear as the story unfolded. I saw a ferocious bull in my mind, heard its fierce snorting, saw its taut muscles and sensed its focused anger and brittle temper. I imagined Espartaco parading towards the animal filled with misplaced boldness and convinced of his invincibility, and shivered again. This time the chill travelled up through my whole body, capturing Galen’s attention.

‘I hope you did not speak, Syra my pet?’

I shook my head and smiled, pleased by his renewed interest in me.

‘Your Syra smiles, Galen,’ Gonzalo observed. ‘I hope she takes your instructions seriously.’

I smiled again as a thrill of expectation ran through me. I pressed my thighs together and the seam at the crotch of my leggings pulled insistently up into my pussy. I squeezed my buttocks to bear down on the seam, and felt the moist lips of my labia parting around the pressure.

Galen scowled at me, just as two female dancers with long black hair ran onto the stage. Their red and black skirts were parted up the front in a swathe of heavy, oyster-lipped frills, and their bodices were laced tightly over their ample breasts and held closed with shiny black buttons. They pranced to the front of the small stage like horses, clapping their hands in front of their faces, stamping their feet and turning like ponies caught at the limits of a leash, shouting in breathy voices. They picked up the fronts of their skirts and revealed their knees for a teasing instant, leaving only an image in the mind of slender legs. They stood back-to-back pressing their bare shoulders together, leaning on each other, clapping and stamping in a frenzy of unbridled excitement. My ears filling with the rhythmic din, I stretched my legs out further beneath the table and touched Juan Carlos’s knee.

I looked at him. He was staring at the dancers, enthralled. I laid my hand on his knee, but he did not respond. I squeezed his thigh and he shuffled his leg slightly, but he still did not look away from the captivating performance. I nodded to him as though he was looking at me, and lowered my gaze modestly as I curled my hand around the top of his thigh, nearer his crotch. I stretched my gloved fingers out and moulded them around the shape of his fleshy cock through his trousers. I felt the roundness of his heavy balls as I cupped them in my hand, holding them more and more firmly until I was squeezing them. His testicles filled my hand and I felt their warmth, even through his slacks and the thin material of my gloves. Lying beside his balls was the thick length of his cock, and when I pressed my fingers against it I could feel it throbbing, waiting like a sleeping monster. It grew in my palm, swelling beneath my light touch. I stroked it, pinching the material containing it, pulling his trousers away from his body and easing a space for his pulsing member to swell to its full length.

The dancers stood at the front of the stage and stamped their feet swiftly and fiercely, almost as if enraged. The audience was caught up in their frenzy as they clapped frantically and mimicked the music with their melodic shouts. I unzipped Juan Carlos’s trousers and eased out his rigid penis. I slid my gloved hand along it and felt the bulging veins pulsating on its surface. I caressed the swollen end, feeling around its flared edges and sensing the subtly penetrating heat emanating from it. I could not hold back; I clasped it tightly in my hand and felt the rush of blood within it. I squeezed it more firmly and imagined I could see it beating beneath the strain of my grip. I felt it hardening even more and swelling at the tip as he lifted his hips slightly and climaxed in my grip. I held him as semen poured in a stream onto my gloved palm, hot and sticky, and I did not let go until I was sure I had wrung every last drop of pleasure from him.

I wanted to get underneath the table and lick up his cum. I wanted to crawl on my hands and knees and suck Gonzalo down next, but I knew Galen would be angry if he even suspected what I was thinking. Keeping it carefully cupped, I withdrew my hand from around Juan Carlos’s cock, and looking at Galen to make sure his attention was still riveted on the stage, I lifted my hand to my mouth and drank. I lapped up the man’s hot semen, tasting its saltiness and feasting on its abundant richness, swallowing it down as though I was a thirsty pilgrim lost in the desert. I closed my eyes and let the viscous liquid slip down my throat, and then, amidst the din of the dancing and the deep tingling in my pussy from the pressure of the leggings digging into my labia, I shuddered in the throes of an orgasm it took all my self-control to conceal. It came suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, and I dropped my eyes as it coursed through me like a thousand electrifying jolts bursting between my legs and rushing in a blazing current beneath my skin. My nerves were charged as if with lightning, and bolts of pure pleasure shook me to the core as I lapped my sticky palm like a hungry animal.

It was not a word, it was more a gasp, an exhalation, a breathless exclamation of released energy, but it was a sound. I had broken my silence and I knew it. Galen looked at me angrily. He did not say anything, but I could tell he knew exactly what had happened. It was incredibly foolish of me to believe I could deceive him. Even when his attention did not seem to be focused on me, I knew he was aware of me, perhaps even more so than when he was actually looking at me. Everything with this man was a test, and I kept failing miserably. He grabbed my arm, pulled me to my feet and bundled me out of the club. I wanted to say I was sorry, but I said nothing at all - I did not dare.

I did not know what the penalty for disobedience and infidelity would be. I knew there had to be a penalty, a punishment - I would not have been satisfied if there had not been - but I could not imagine what form it would take. Already it was not enough for me to feel guilt and shame for failing to follow instructions, I also needed the deeper humiliation that came with the execution of an appropriate punishment.

Back at his house I sat where he told me to, on the raised platform in the middle of the upper floor, anxiously studying the shiny chromium plated padlock on the hatch. I sensed again that there was something ominous beneath the tight-fitting wooden doors.

‘As punishment for your disobedience,’ Galen addressed me in the deep, disapproving tone of a judge passing sentence, ‘you must sit here for the rest of the night and not speak.’

I felt a sense of relief mingled with disappointment. It was not a cruel enough punishment for my transgression and I felt frustrated and cheated. Surely someone who had been so faithless deserved a much more severe penance.

‘However,’ he continued, ‘I cannot trust you, can I, Syra? You failed before, so this time I will make sure you do not speak.’ He fetched two chopsticks and placed them horizontally across my mouth, one above my upper lip and the other below my bottom lip. He pinched them together, squeezing my mouth out like a bill, and then tied the ends with a thin cord. I sat with my back stiff and did not move as he applied the ingeniously painful gag.

‘As you sit, Syra my pet,’ he spoke softly in my ear, ‘you can remember drinking Juan Carlos’s semen and the pain across your bottom, which will throb all night and remind you that you did not have my permission to act as you did. You may nod if you understand.’

I nodded slowly, and as the tension in the chopsticks tightened, my lips began stinging. I felt tears in the corners of my eyes, but did not dare blink in case it annoyed him. I remained still, my back rigid, my eyes wide open, but I was ready to move the moment he commanded me to. I waited, not daring to glance behind me as he took something out of a drawer in the cabinet. I expected to be told to get on all fours, or to stand and bend over, or to spread myself across his knee, but suddenly I felt the caress of a leather belt across my back and knew I was not to be spanked this time, but thrashed.

‘Stand up and remove your dress,’ he commanded.

I obeyed at once, flinging the garment away carelessly as I tightened my shoulders against the burning pain that immediately cut across my naked back. He paused, and I realised he was looking at me, waiting to see if I moved or if I remained obediently still. Then another searing blow fell where the first one had already left its smouldering mark. I held myself rigid, my eyes opening even wider as I absorbed the blazing agony, hoping my efforts would please him. The belt struck again, this time further down my back just below my shoulder blades, and for some reason it was harder to bear then the first two lashes. I felt tears welling in my eyes as I struggled to remain motionless. There was a pause - I knew he was watching me again carefully, analysing my reaction - then he brought the belt down on top of the smouldering mark the last blow had burned across my skin.

Tears flowed down my face as the belt kept stroking me cruelly, sometimes with a rhythm I could brace myself against, sometimes at random, with long, indeterminate pauses in between lashes that threw me into a frenzy of dread and anticipation. The last cruel kiss of the leather landed across the top of my buttocks, slapping against them, absorbing the perspiration glistening on my skin so each successive lash sounded louder than the last. My nipples were harder than they had ever been and the heat in my cunt was almost unbearable. I wanted to sink my fingers into it, to feel and relish its softness, cupping my hand against its wetness, but I could not, and it frustrated me terribly even as it heightened my arousal to the point where I must have passed out from the intensity of my lust, which was consuming not only my body but my very soul...

I awoke in what felt like the middle of the night, wracked with pain. I tried to feel my back, but discovered my hands had been tied together over my stomach by a thin rope wrapped around my waist. In order to distract myself, I imagined I heard the slow wash of water beneath me. It made me think of the surface of the sea slowly being broken by a heavy, lazy whale... I imagined the hatchway in the raised platform leading down into the dark centre of a water-filled cave, a place where there was no sensation except the knowledge of being entombed in darkness. I pictured what it was like to be there, drifting serenely in a sense-deprived silence punctuated only by the occasional soft lapping of a wave against an unseen shore.

Later - I think it was later - I saw myself sitting at Galen’s feet, asking him what lay beneath the platform, and heard his voice murmuring in my mind, ‘Everything you have ever desired, Syra my pet, everything you have ever desired...