The Diaries of Syra Bond Read online

  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.

  Chapter 12

  I was relieved when at last he did return, made me stand up and bend over, and rubbed his hand a few times across my bottom before spanking me. He has left me feeling very sore - the punishment was hard - but the stinging redness of my buttocks only makes me want to get on with my work and submit it to him again for his approval. It seems ridiculous to feel like this. I should feel afraid and hopeless, I know I should, but I do not. Reminding myself again of being in the wardrobe has made my captivity here even more of a dark joy.

  I can see he is puzzled by my behaviour. Perhaps he thinks there is no cure and I can never be saved from the malady of myself. Or perhaps he is impatient. Perhaps I have not done as well as he hoped I would and he cannot be bothered to bring about a proper cure. All I know for certain is that I have more to write and his impatience tells me I must get on with it.

  Nothing I had ever experienced before prepared me for my first night in the cupboard. I was so keen to be shut in, so quick to strip off my clothes and get inside, to crouch in the small space clutching my legs in my arms with my head bent against my knees touching the shelf above me, but I did not know then why I felt that way. I did not know whether it was because Mora had told me to do it - because I knew whatever he told me was part of Galen’s plan - or whether there was some other reason, some different level of desire driving me to bury myself in the darkness and stay there silently until released.

  It was so quiet when he closed the doors I could only hear my heart beating and the sound of my short, gasping breaths. I kept my eyes closed for a long time, concerned only with the vivid images in my mind... I saw Cleo cleaning the floor with the rope tied around her narrow waist and pulled up tightly between the soft folds of her labia. I saw Mora standing over her holding the rope and controlling her movements. I saw myself taking her place when she became tired. I pictured myself kneeling down in front of him, letting him tie the rope around my waist, and then opening my legs slightly as he pulled it between them. I felt its roughness, the hairiness of the course hemp, and felt the moisture as it ran from me and made the rope wet. I felt the hardness of the floor against my hands and knees and saw Mora’s shiny black shoes in front of my face as he stood over me and observed my work. I felt the overbearing presence of my master, the obligation that went with my servility and the thrill of acting as the direct result of another’s will. I kept my head down and rubbed the cloth as hard as I could across the wet floor, trying to do the best job possible, hoping for his favour, for his approval. I imagined Galen entering and watching me work. He would look pleased and smile as Mora greeted him, but I would not stop cleaning the floor and I would not look up in case Galen thought I was being lazy...

  The images thrilled me and I wanted to unclasp my hands and slip my fingers across the back of my upturned thighs and press them against my vulva. It was squeezed tightly between my legs, which were crushing my breasts, my knees against my forehead, and I stayed that way all night. I had no way to mark the passage of time, but at least one whole night must have passed. It could have been a small eternity I spent in the dark, curled up like an embryo.

  The next morning when the doors opened, I was shocked by the sudden light and at first my eyes refused to adjust. The day after that it was easier, and after a while, whenever he opened the doors, I did not flinch or show any surprise whatsoever. I felt quite the opposite, perfectly calm, as if the world outside the cupboard could no longer shock me, as if it contained nothing capable of surprising me. I did not get out reluctantly when he told me to, but when in the evening he took me back to the cupboard, I climbed in again with undiluted enthusiasm.

  Most days I spent cleaning the house, other days I was made to serve Mora his meals on a tray. Once I worked with Cleo on the floor of the enclosed terrace, but we were not allowed to speak to each other. I listened to her as she shuffled beside me on her hands and knees, and felt a thrill of excitement as I heard water draining back into her bucket as she wrung her cloth. Each night I was
instructed to get into the cupboard and each night I stayed there, crouched in the centre section inhaling the scent of the fragrant timber and revelling in the images filling both my waking and sleeping mind. Sometimes I wondered if he would tell me to get into one of the other sections, but he never did.

  I thought again of the flotation tank, of being suspended by my braid, of being lost in the beautiful sense of confusion, the mixing of fantasy with reality, the stretching of time and the overwhelming intensification of my senses. But captivity in the cupboard was different; it was more of a physical experience. In the tank I could feel nothing, but in the dark cupboard I sensed my environment and felt my discomfort. And as I relished the pressure of the top shelf against the back of my head, and the tension in my shoulders as I sat squeezed up with my arms around my legs, I experienced an irrationally intense pleasure. Each time I tried to move and could not, I cherished the strange gratification being constricted provided me with. But it was not just my inability to move I found so satisfying, it was the isolation and the knowledge of being trapped until my master released me. I did not know how long it would be until he opened the doors, and I did not crave for it to happen, for part of me did not want to be released. Not knowing when he would come and tell me to get out stoked my intense excitement. The tension of waiting lit the flames that, as the waiting continued, burned inside me delightfully. And the waiting, the open-ended anticipation always ended in a blaze of joy between my legs when he finally opened the doors again.

  On the last night I spent in Mora’s house, Juan Carlos arrived. I was tied up with rope and waiting on my hands and knees on the floor as Mora ate his meal. I looked up to see who the visitor was, but as soon as he sat down with Mora I dropped my gaze.

  They spoke quietly together, but I did not listen to what they said. It was irrelevant to me. I simply wanted to feel the pressure of the floor against the palms of my hands and against my knees and the tops of my feet. I just wanted to feel the thrill inside me every time I glanced at the rope attached to me and resting on Mora’s knee. Sometimes he tied the rope to the leg of the table while he ate and sometimes he tied it to the door handle. I did not know which I preferred, but I knew I felt disappointed when he undid it every night, and the feeling lasted until I climbed into the sanctuary of the cupboard again.

  The two men shook hands as though agreeing to something, and then Mora rose and led me to a downstairs bedroom. He untied the rope, but even though I was free I still waited on my hands and knees. He took some clothes from a large chest of drawers and placed them on the bed. ‘Wash and get dressed,’ he said curtly, and left me alone.

  I took a shower, soaping myself luxuriously and relishing the hot flow of water as it ran down over my body. Mora had laid out a long, light-blue satin dress, a white silk thong and a pair of blue high-heels. I slipped the thong on and pulled it tightly up between my legs. It reminded me of being tied up with the rope, but instead of the harshness of the rough hemp, my tender pussy was caressed and embraced by the silk, which was so soft I could barely feel the thin band stretching from the narrow gusset up between my buttocks to the delicate waistband. I slipped the dress on and it felt delightfully light and cool, clinging to my curves and hanging from my shoulders from thin straps. It was cut low; the top halves of my breasts were exposed. My feet slipped easily into the expensive leather shoes and the extreme heels accentuated my shapely calves. I smoothed the dress down over my hips, and then sat down on the edge of the bed and waited with my hands on my knees, my wet hair hanging down between my shoulder blades making me shiver as cool drops of water slipped beneath the dress and trickled down my back.

  Mora and Juan Carlos returned and told me to stand in the middle of the room. They looked me up and down, and both seemed pleased by what they saw. Juan Carlos then led me upstairs and out into the street. I could not gage how long I had been in the house, but I felt anxious about being taken away from my daily captivity on the rope and my cramped nights in the cupboard.

  Outside it was ominously dark, the atmosphere heavy with the moisture of an oncoming storm. Juan Carlos held my elbow and led me along the cobbled pavement. Every so often a sudden burst of humid wind whipped up from nowhere, blew across my face and died away just as swiftly. Ahead of us the dark-blue of the night sky glowed with a vast dome of light rising up from crowded open-air cafes, bars, and nightclubs. He led me from street to street and I revelled in the feeling of being pulled along like a captive. I imagined being bargained for, stared at and inspected. I wanted to be pushed into dark doorways or dark alleys and pressed against dirty walls while my purchasers took their pleasure from me in any way they chose. I wanted to experience the humiliation of being bought and traded. I wanted to feel the shame of not knowing what would happen to me in the hands of my new owners. I wanted to be completely at the mercy of others, to be used for their enjoyment, to be forced to submit to their will and treated not as a person, but as their sexual slave.

  We came out into a busy square, ablaze with light and noise. He dragged me into it and I felt as if I was being pulled down into a cauldron of heat. People jostled against me, drinking, talking loudly, embracing and laughing seemingly all at the same time. They pushed against each other; scantily clad women brushing against lightly dressed men, each one excited by the novelty of fresh company, thrilled by the scent of unknown flesh. I picked up on their sense of expectation, breathing it in as wafts of perfume filled my nostrils and the noise of excited chatter flooded my ears. We pushed our way between the tangle of tables on the pavement, dodging waiters and the upraised arms of beckoning customers as we made our way into one of the noisy bars.

  The smoky space was packed with people, and as I glanced across the sea of faces I thought I saw Cleo the way she looked the day I met her, throwing back her mane of blonde hair and laughing with bubbly joy, her white teeth neat and bright. I blinked, and when I looked again the girl had vanished, absorbed by the heat and smoke like a delicate phantom. I shivered and felt goose pimples on my neck as I realised how easily I could imagine everyone there was someone I knew... Eve was sitting quietly at a table, Mora was ordering drinks and Galen was speaking seriously to a small group of women as they listened attentively to every word he said... I shook my head in an attempt to clear my mind, and the pictures broke into a jumble of blurred, fragmented shards that fell away like shattered glass.

  We walked to one side of the bar where there were several partially screened off tables. Juan Carlos pushed me behind one of the partitions and told me to sit at the small table. A waiter brought us drinks and Juan Carlos hung his arms over the top of the screen, looking around and waving to people he knew, shouting greetings into the almost deafening roar of conversation. I sat silently and sipped my drink. I felt uncomfortable from the heat, the noise and from being exposed to so many people after my time of isolation in Mora’s house. Sleeping in a silent cupboard had lessened my ability to cope with the sort of clamour engulfing me now, and I wanted to return to my safe and quiet place. I wanted to return to the house and climb onto my shelf. I wanted to wait there, bent and cramped, until the doors were opened and I was let out, and then I wanted to work all day, led around the floor with the rope tied tightly to my waist and pulled up between my legs. I wanted to feel again the thrilling surge of delight as I wallowed in my absolute subservience. I wanted to feel the anxiety of being released from the rope, which was always replaced with pleasure as I climbed again into the dark and silent cupboard. But I stopped thinking about it. I knew why I was here. It was another part of my test.

  Juan Carlos waved at a man standing nearby, encouraging him to join us. I did not like the look of him at all, and he had not shaved for several days. He leered at me as he walked behind the screen and shook hands with Juan Carlos. They spoke together in Spanish, the man glancing at me every so often, and each time he did I looked away. I looked around, wanting to be distracted, but from where I sat I could not see
over the screen. Juan Carlos held up his hands with his fingers and thumb wide apart. The stranger shook his head and Juan Carlos pulled his thumb down tight to his palm. The man nodded in agreement.

  Juan Carlos told me to go with the man and do whatever he demanded.

  I stood up, and my new owner took my arm gruffly. His large hand was clammy against my skin, and when he pushed me forward I stumbled as one of my high-heels caught in the uneven floorboards. Juan Carlos looked at me sternly and I flushed with embarrassment. I felt guilty for being so inept, for showing a lack of poise. And I could not tell whether I was afraid or eager. This was what I had been dreaming about all those long dark nights in the cupboard. This was what I had imagined happening to me when I watched the girl being sold by the taxi driver in the alley. But now it was actually happening to me, I felt a surge of unexpected fear. I felt a chill travel down my spine as I saw my situation in the harsh light of reality. This was no illusion, no fantasy, this was really happening to me and I did not know whether or not I could go through with it.

  I looked at the man who had paid money for me, and he smiled lecherously as he wrapped an arm roughly around my waist. I felt his strength as he guided me forward. It was like being carried along by a river in flood, caught in the pull of an irresistible current threatened on all sides by spinning whirlpools and deadly rocks. He led me through the crowd, pushing between people who did not bother to step aside and make way for us. They thronged around us, blocking my vision like a solid wall, their voices pounding in my ears and the lights and brightness all around pounding in my head until I thought it would burst. Everything was a blur, a cacophony of light and sound, and then suddenly we stopped, unable to pass beyond a tight knot of shouting, laughing revellers. A woman - her skimpy dress slit almost to the waist - pressed against me, and suddenly I felt a soft breath close to my ear and all the noise fell away to silence as Galen said, ‘Syra, my pet, are you yet truly bad? Have you at last allowed your wickedness to take control or are you still a prisoner of fear?’