The Secret Journey (5 page)

I finish, stand up, she looks up at me. "Did
you forget about me?"

I meet her gaze. She doesn't want control
back but she'll take it if she can. That's her instinct, she can't
help it.

"No." I take a length of cord from the wall,
coarse and functional, watch her eyes widen. "Put your hands behind
your back."

She hesitates. She has to make the decision.
If her courage fails it’s over, right here, right now, to end in
awkwardness and a long cab ride. Neither of us wants that, but is
she brave enough?

She is. She holds my gaze, straightens up,
slowly slides her hands behind her. Only then does she look down. I
smile and move behind her, take her wrists and figure eight the
rope around them, one, two, three, wrap the crossover, finish with
a stop knot. She's breathing faster now as I undo her jeans,
slipping them down to her ankles, dark thatch of pubic hair showing
through sheer panties, wet in the middle. They’re plain, solid
coloured, comfortable, casual style. They suit her.

"What's your name?" I push her forward, guide
her until she's bent full over, cheek against the cool oak
desktop.

She tells me. There’s a catch in her voice as
she says it.

I smile as I pick up my leather work gloves.
Like her underwear her name fits her well, both feminine and
practical.

"Are you ready?"

"Yes." She can barely whisper it.

I nod, though she can't see that, pull on the
gloves, rough leather, worn smooth in the centre. Her buttocks are
smooth, invitingly curved. I pull her panties into the middle, pull
them tight so the bunched fabric splits her cunt, the swollen,
glistening lips swelling up around it on either side. She gasps at
my touch. One hand in the small of her back, raise the other, pause
a moment to see the anticipation in her face, bring it down hard,
hear the smack, see her jerk and quiver, hold her still. Raise it
again, bring it down, steady, rhythmic, over and over. An
involuntary cry escapes her lips as her ass blushes red for me. I
watch her face, set now with determination to not give in to tears,
to not give in to me. She's fighting it and it’s hard for her. It
would be easier for her to just surrender, but she can't, she has
to be brought there and there's only one way to do that.

I keep up the rhythm, feeling the exertion in
my arm now, feel her buttocks growing warm even through the glove.
She bites her lower lip, her eyes misting. It hurts, and it’s
humiliating and that arouses her which is more humiliating still. I
watch her fight it, watch the struggle, feel the impact of her
flesh beneath my hand. Every smack brings a wince now and she
shakes her head unconsciously, trying to ward off the surrender we
both know is coming fast.

It would be wrong to say she liked this,
though there's no question it arouses her. No more than I like
putting her through it, though the strain of my cock against the
denim of my jeans proves the deeply sexual nature of the act. It’s
necessary though, and bonding - the foundation for the structure
we're going to build. What shape that will take is an open question
right now, but our future stretches beyond this moment, this night,
and because of that we must play out this duet to its finale. And
there is a moment when she hangs there, the silence punctuated only
by the steady slap of leather on flesh, and then it comes, her face
relaxes from resistance to acceptance, her lips parting, her eyes
growing heavy lidded. Ever so slightly she arches her back,
presenting herself now, opening herself.

She wants to be fucked, she's so ready, slick
hot, reduced to her cunt and its need to be filled. I continue the
rhythm, continue the tempo - she'd take it right now anywhere she
could get it, in her mouth, in her ass, if that's what I wanted.
She's achingly empty and yearns to be filled, overflowed with my
lust. She's rocking her hips, gasping for air. She needs it and so
do I, my cock filled to bursting, rigid now, and heavy, as eager to
fuck her, to take her, to make her, as she is to have it
happen.

Without even trying I'm spanking her harder,
the slaps sound like gunshots in the confined space. There's
nothing I want more than to impale her, hear her scream as I drive
deep inside, to conquer her, over and over again, make her beg for
it until she can't even speak. There's nothing I want more than to
empty myself into her, flood her cervix and womb and body and soul
with everything I have, everything I am.

But I can't, and I stop, take a long moment
to steady myself, lost as I am in the drug that she is. She's
different, this one. I want more from her than I can say, more than
I have from all others who've crossed my life before her. Is it
only because she has so much more to give? And if I'm to have her,
have her completely as she completes me, she must learn who I am,
who she is, how we fit each other as no others do. Ride a horse too
soon and you'll spoil it. I knew her potential the moment I saw
her. She doesn't know - not all of it, not yet, but she will very
soon, because I'm going to show her.

So I take off my gloves, and slide down her
panties to join her jeans around her ankles, and revel a moment in
the heat of her ass. Her cunt glistens, swollen and sticky, and I
slide a finger into her, feel her arch back and moan. She’s ready,
so ready, and I slide the finger out and up again to her anus,
slide it in, hear her gasp, it’s so degrading for her to be used
like this, probed and inspected like this, but she needs it and so
I’m giving it to her. I hold it in her and she humps back,
humiliating herself further in her heat. She wishes it was my cock
violating her like that, and one night it will be, but not tonight.
No, not tonight, and I slide my finger out of her again and she
moans in frustration.

On the wall is a harness made not for a horse
but for a woman, bit and bridle of leather and rubber coated steel.
I take it down while her eyes follow me, bring it to her. Her lips
part automatically and I slide the bit between her teeth, pull her
hair through the leather straps, cinch it tight. It’s uncomfortable
and she instinctively tries to expel it, but of course it doesn’t
move. The collar is next, thick leather with a steel ring in the
front to take a leash. She doesn’t struggle, doesn’t protest, just
accepts it as I lock it around her neck. She'll take a leash
tonight. She'll take much more. Her lesson is about to begin.

I stand her up and look at her. Her shirt is
pretty, a white cotton blouse and I tear it open, buttons popping
to fly around the room. Her nipples are just that hard, popping
little buttons, painfully stiff and I indulge myself with her
teats, pert and firm, upstanding little mounds, weighing them,
squeezing them. I twist her nipples hard, watch her eyes as it gets
painful. She pleads with them, pleads for it to stop, pleads for it
to be harder. I give it to her harder, hard enough that my fingers
hurt and she moans, but she takes it. Of course she takes it. She
needs it and she knows it. She has no idea yet just how much she
needs, but she’ll learn.

I’m going to teach her. I’m a trainer. It’s
what I do.

Part Three

So that’s my little tale of the
racetrack,
honey. Did you like it, did it arouse you, turn you
on? Did you wish you were that girl, wish you could be taken like I
took her, just abandon yourself, feel that vulnerable, take the
risk but know that it’s safe? Did it make you breathe hard, make
you squirm, make you wet? Did you play with yourself while you read
it, rub your hot little clit just because it felt so good? Did it
wrench an orgasm from your womb, or did it get two? Or more? It
made you keep reading, I know that much.

So here’s the catch, it’s a true story - or
at least it’s truly a story and I’ll let you decide what’s truly
the truth. She's just like you, her name is yours, and you're both
caught in this hazy world of words, caught between reality and
imagination. She was my muse, and I touched her just as I am
touching you, but the difference is she broke my heart. And you
might find it amazing that a woman half imaginary could do that,
but she did, just as you might yet. She was so beautiful it hurt,
and so she wounded herself in the mirror. She was stormy as a lover
and yes I loved her stormily though I never heard her voice except
inside my mind. All writers need a muse and she was mine, perfect
in her imperfection and no less real for being ethereal.

But she’s the past and you’re the future.
You’re real, I know you are, because you’re right there reading
this. You picked me up in the bookstore and you bought me coffee
when you bought this book. That was date number one, honey. Ten
short minutes of talk-and-tease, the kind of interaction whose only
real purpose is the only purpose you won’t admit to, which is to
determine if you want to fuck this stranger you’ve only just met,
and to induce me to want to fuck you too. And when that worked you
took me home, coffee forgotten, focus on the real purpose, which is
the kind of sex that comes from instant chemistry, ab initio sex,
wet and wild with the thrill of discovery.

I showed you the door then, you know the one.
Look at it now, right now, look up at it and then look back to this
page. That’s the door I showed you, the door you came through, the
door that started you down the road. You stripped for me, showed me
the dirty flirty girl behind that in-control image, showed me the
inner slut, the depraved and desperate need that lurks just below
the surface. You put it on the line for me, gave it all up and that
takes a certain amount of courage, honey. That’s where you found
out that yes, I really do know you. And now you’re back again, the
door closed behind you, and our journey before us. Soon we’ll be in
that place where self revelation happens, in that languid time
after the violent need of fresh new sex, lying, sweaty and sated,
tracing a finger idly over heated skin, asking those casual
questions whose answers mean so much. “So what are you
thinking?”

But we’re not there yet, not yet, and right
now all you’re thinking is, “What is he going to do with me this
time?” The answer, honey, is anything and everything. Yes, you’re
ready for it, ready for more and we’re going to pick up right where
we left off.

So let’s go back to last time first. Part
two, remember that? Remember the scent of your cunt and the smell
of your sweat, remember how it felt to offer yourself, open
yourself, reveal yourself. Remember immersing yourself in your own
sexuality just because it turned me on to see you do it. Remember
being on display, bent over, ass up and cunt open. Remember your
arousal, your heat, your raw and burning need. Remember your
orgasm, wracking your body, tearing out the centre of your soul.
Remember being that exposed, that raw, stripped more naked than
naked. Remember your own sounds in your ears, moaning, groaning,
screaming. Remember your voice begging for it, pleading for it,
“Yes,” and “Please,” and “More.” Remember how much you gave me, how
much you gave yourself in giving me, and remember the way you felt
at the end, languid, relaxed, post orgasmic, warm and safe and
drifting off to sleep.

Remember that, because I remember it. That’s
burned into my mind now as strongly as it’s burned into yours, and
I’m never going to forget it, and neither are you. Remember that
and then we’ll start, and this is a new game, the game called part
three. Another little twist and we’ll learn another word. And first
I want you naked. Yes, I want you always naked, naked is your place
when you’re with me, so get your clothes off. Off! Do it fast, do
it like they’re on fire, rip them off, tear them off, pop the
buttons, burst the seams. Get naked, get raw, don’t ask questions
just do it. Do it. Do it. Book down, just drop it. Do it, do it
now.

Done it. Good girl. So now I want you
kneeling down, back straight, head level, lips parted, and you
already know what this is going to be about, don’t you? Really do
it, don’t just imagine it, get on the floor, on your knees, ready
to please. Do it, honey, because you have to do it for this to
work. Nobody’s watching, it’s just me and you so do it, fucking do
it. On your knees for me, because that’s where I want you, and
right now that’s where you belong. Don’t turn the page till you’re
there.

And now you’ve done it and you do know what’s
coming next, making your mouth water and your lips part and your
tongue slide nervously over your teeth and yeah it’s making you
wet. It’s making you wet because I’m making you do it. You know
what’s going to happen, honey, but not yet, not yet. I have
something to teach you first. So last time I wanted everything from
you but right now all I want is your focus, your attention and
nothing else. So focus close, let the world fade away. I’m right
there with you once again, but even more real this time, and you’re
going to have to work for that. So close your eyes and feel me
there for five long, slow breaths, call up the image in your mind,
me standing right here in front of you. Close them now and
count.

Open again, and here I am. Look up, hold my
gaze now, look into my eyes, feel them open you up. Hold it longer,
feel me take you, feel me possess you, kneeling there, looking up
as I’m looking down, drinking in each other. Feel the connection,
feel the power, feel the surge and the swelling emotion. You’re
mine and you know it and I know it and that’s the way it’s meant to
be. And now that we’ve established that, we can begin. You’re going
to learn about me.

So look down, start at my boots, look them
over, check them out. Women always look at shoes, so see what you
can learn from mine. They’re basic black, solid and practical,
boots built to get the job done, but burnished bright enough to see
your image there in the high-gloss polish. Absorb that lesson,
think about what it tells you about me, then let your eyes slide up
to my five-oh-ones, clean jeans, well fitted. Keep them in mind
while you keep moving up, over my calves, over my thighs, feel the
desire to touch, to explore, but no, honey, right now it’s
look-but-don’t-touch. You know that game, don’t you honey? How many
men have you played that one with, and now you’re on the other
side. Not getting what you want feels better than you might have
imagined, doesn’t it? It’s nice, so nice to not have to make
decisions for a while.