The Secret Journey (15 page)

And one more smack, honey, one more juicy one
right in the centre to finish you off properly, harder than all the
others. One last sacrifice on your own sexual altar and then you
can just let it go, let your implement of self-inflicted penance
drop to the floor and just experience what it’s like to be bent
over, well punished, humiliated, chastised, bright red ass in the
air, waiting for permission to get up.

So, what happens next is the question. You
have to understand what’s going through my mind as I’m
administering this to you. It’s hard for me to do it, hard to
punish you like this and I want nothing more than to hold you and
cuddle you and comfort you, and tell you how much you’re my good
girl now, how proud I am of you for taking it so well. At the same
time my cock is rigid, pressing painfully against the bulged out
front of my jeans and it’s presenting me with an entirely different
priority.

Yeah, honey, with your now bright red ass and
creamy cunt so perfectly presented the urge is to just get my cock
into you and fuck you, oh, so hard and oh, so deep, while you’re in
this state of ultimate vulnerability, ultimate receptivity. And the
only thing that competes with that, honey, is the sight of your
tender little anus peeking out between your well spanked buttocks,
and the thought of taking you up that hot, tight little hole,
spearing my cock deep between your well punished cheeks, finishing
off your humiliation with a thorough ass fucking, with the deep,
forced injection of sperm into your helpless, hapless rectum.

Yeah, I want that honey, more than anything,
but there’s one final option, which is to leave you there on
display to absorb the details of the lesson you have just received.
A little quiet time in the punishment position to reflect at
leisure on your new reality. And you can’t quite believe it, honey,
that I’ve got you exactly where I want you. You can’t believe I’ve
got you exactly where you’ve wanted to be for years. But I have you
here and I’m going to keep you here and you can expect to grow
quite used to this situation. Are you up for that, honey? Is there
any possibility that you’re going to do anything but sigh in
satisfaction at the knowledge that somebody, somewhere, is finally
going to be giving you exactly the attention you deserve?

No, honey, there isn’t. And you know what?
Since you’ve been such a good girl for me, since you’ve played the
game so well I’m going to give you a little treat, which is to
reach back between your spread legs. Yeah, you know what’s coming
next, don’t you? Bad girls get spankings and good girls get their
stiff little clits stroked until they feel tingly-nice all over.
And I know your clit is stiff honey, I know it’s hard, peeking out
over your swollen, spanked, spread vulva. I know you’re slippery
back there, I know how much you need the post-spanking release. So
yes, honey-good-girl, yes, you can rub your hot little clit in just
that special way. You can let me take care of you just like that.
Do it honey, rub it up and down, steady strokes, rub it up and down
and gasp and sigh and wiggle and think about the show you’re
putting on for me while you’re doing it. Remember how you felt the
first time I watched you? Remember the feeling of my eyes on your
ass? Feel that now as you do it, feel that sensation as you get
wetter, get hotter. Feel your cunt swell up as it gets juicier.
Yes, honey, it’s going to happen.

It’s going to happen very soon now, and you
know that your display is going to remove every option but one from
my world, and that is to get my cock into you, to finish claiming
your body for my own, so think about that, honey, listen for the
slither of my belt coming through the loops and feel your heart
skip a beat as you wonder if you’re going to get it on the ass
again, wonder if maybe the spanking isn’t over after all. And feel
the relief as you hear the buckle hit the floor and the soft
pop-pop-pop of my button fly coming undone, and spread your cunt
for it, honey, stretch it wide and open and feel me coming up
behind you. Sense the warmth of my body, hear me breathing, feel my
hands coming on to your poor red ass cheeks, feel the sharp sting
as I lift them and spread them, stretching you wider still. And you
have a moment here, honey, to wonder if I’m going to take your ass
or your cunt. It’s a long moment, honey, and you can take it to
focus on the heft and hardness of the shaft that’s about to slide
into your beautifully displayed body. Oh yes, honey, it’s going to
be so good. I love making you into my good little girl.

And feel the smooth and swollen head nudge up
between your soft folds, feel it slide right up into your cunt in
one long, steady thrust. Yes, honey, I’m taking your cunt, and not
because I’m not highly motivated to claim your tight little anal
ring but because I’m saving that for later. You’ve been a good girl
and your cunt deserves its fucking and right now that’s exactly
what it’s going to get. So feel my hands on your ass, honey, feel
my fingers digging in and pulling your hips back on to my cock,
feel it swelling inside you, harder still.

God, you’re so hot, honey, you’re so tight,
and there is nothing in my world right now but the sight of my
cock, glazed shiny with your juices, pumping up into your
tight-stretched twat. There is nothing in my world but the feel of
your red welted ass in my hands and the scent of your arousal and
your cries of mingled pain and pleasure as I fuck you hard and deep
and over and over again. It’s going to happen, honey. You’re going
to come on my cock, you’re going to jerk and spasm and cry and your
muscles are going to go tight and in that instant I’m going to fill
you, drive myself all the way into your clenching pussy and empty
my balls into you. That’s the way it’s supposed to work. You’re the
woman and I’m the man and your job is to get your ass up and take
what I have to give you, and my job is to make sure you get it, get
everything you need, in full and overflowing measure. You needed
the spanking and you need the fucking and in a little while you’re
going to need that quiet moment and the time to touch and to look
and to wonder at the amazing power of this whole thing, but right
now what you need to do is come.

That’s right, honey. That’s right, good girl.
Come for me, come on me, keep that steady rhythm on your clit and
feel my cock inside you. Feel so claimed, so taken, so open and
exposed and receptive, all dignity, all defences, everything but
your most fundamental feminine nature stripped and discarded to
reveal the most primal, beautiful, natural you. And there is
nothing in this world you want more than to feel me come inside
you, hear me grunt and groan and feel my cock swell and stiffen,
even longer and thicker than it is right now, stretching you to the
point of pain and throbbing, pulsing, drenching your open, fertile
womb with my sperm. There’s nothing you want more than that, and in
order to get it you have to come yourself, so come on honey, show
me what a good girl you are, show me that you know what to do. Come
for me. Do it. Do it right now. Now now
now
NOW
!

And, oh yes, honey, you get your reward for
that. You get my cock thrust up inside you so deep it feels like
you’re going to be torn in half and you get my hands clenched on
your sore, spanked ass and your legs forced even wider. You get
slammed hard and deep and you get my everything, not just my balls
but my very being, my passion, my desire, my very soul pumped up
inside you, completing you, completing me.

You get it all honey, and you get me pulling
you down, off whatever it is you’re bent over to lie with me in a
tangled heap on the floor, the couch, the bed, whatever, wherever.
You get me inside you still hard, drenched in sweat and you get to
forget about everything but the intimacy of this contact and the
feel of me behind you and inside you. You get me reaching around to
hold you, to cup your breasts with surprising gentleness, to kiss
the back of your neck, to whisper to you.

You’re such a good girl.

You get that, good girl. You get everything,
because you are you and I am me and that’s the way it’s meant to
be.

Bike Girl

Leather, heavy and black,
zipped on
like a second skin. It makes me wet just to smell it. Boots on,
gloves on, my hair tied back and then helmet on. I mount up, start
up, feel the vibration in my crotch, steady, insistent. Hit the
gas, pop the clutch and I’m riding, Harley hot, rolling past the
stop signs on my quiet suburban street, past my disapproving
neighbours, past the oversized houses on undersized lots, the
mass-market McMansions that crowd my executive ghetto. Every one is
a unique design, exclusive, builder customized to buyer
specifications. Every one is exactly the same with its manicured
lawn and cathedral entrance and designer-styled kitchen.

I cruise past the grandiose clubhouse of the
golf course that narrowly squiggles its way through everyone’s back
yard so everyone can claim to have a golf course lot. It spills
pretentious music into the street, and I cut too close to a grey
haired foursome crossing the street to whatever dinner party is
being held there tonight. They jump, and I smirk behind my facemask
at their blurred annoyance. Fuck them, smug, safe, pretentious
post-love-child yuppie sellouts. I don’t stop at the stop sign,
just slow enough to clear left and right and then punch it, out
onto the main drag, from nearly zero to way-too-fast in too few
seconds to count. My heart rate spikes with the tach, the engine
screams and the wind roars as the speedometer races from warning to
fine to vehicular homicide. I take her down the yellow line, away
from the subdivision, away from prestige and position and status
and into the gathering darkness.

They’d ban me if they could, that smug
foursome and my neighbours and the rest of my snobby little world.
They’d pen a covenant to deny the ownership of motorcycles in our
tight-assed little might-as-well-be-gated community. Only they
never thought of tuned headers and dual carbs and the sweet
rumble-roar of two hundred hard-ridden Harley horses, and whoever
drew up the original rules wasn’t as smart as I am. They aren’t
going to make any changes that I choose to oppose, the clauses
don’t allow it. I fight dirty and I always win, and I can feel
myself become a creature of the night as the big, round moon breaks
over the horizon. It’s a werewolf-worthy transformation,
power-suited power lawyer to black leather biker bitch, and my
blood is boiling with the change. My fertility peaks when the moon
is full, and fuck I’m so horny I could rip a man’s throat out for
access to his cock.

I jump into the other lane to blow past a
sensibly driven Volvo and feel the rush of speed. I’m naked under
the tight, restraining leather, with the engine throbbing against
my clit while my nipples rub on my jacket, rigid hard. I’m a
machine-melded sex-goddess, as steamy as the Amazon and twice as
hot. Already my womb is pulsing in anticipation of power-driven
climax, the real reason for my ride.

Oh yes, I want it, I want it so bad I can
barely see straight and I’m sure my driving judgment is impaired by
my arousal and so what if it is? And you might think I’d be at home
waiting for my husband to come and scratch the full-moon itch, but
I never let him touch me when I’m ripe like this. Ovulation week
belongs to my bike. I tell him it’s the rhythm method, but it’s
really automotive adultery.

I slide around the parkway curve and will the
traffic lights to be green. Amber flashes instead and I gun it,
clear left, clear right and blast through the lights at twice the
legal limit. And yes, that could get me killed and you should ask
me if I care. The full moon makes me crazy, or maybe I was just
born that way. For a split second I think I see blue-red-blue roof
lights and adrenaline spikes for the chase, but it’s just some
pizza driver with a lighted logo on his car.
Party Pizza for
your Pizza Party.

The thought crosses my mind that I could nail
the brakes, wave him over, flip up the faceplate and suck him off
in the ditch. He’d get a story no-one would ever believe, and I’d
get two minutes with some loser’s cock in my mouth and then a
face-full of Party Pizza special sauce. I’d get dirtied, and then
I’d ride with the faceplate up, to let his juice dry on my
pretty-girl features, to let it mix with road grime so when I came
back to my husband I was streaked with the evidence of my
infidelity. The thought makes my clit throb hard. Oh yes, I want to
be dirtied, I want it bad. And by the time the thought is finished
pizza-guy is a mile in my dust and I’m spinning up the on-ramp. I
shift up as I hit the highway, slide to the fast lane and wind her
out.

Wind her
right
out as the dashed lines
flicker past in a hypnotic blur, way over the speed limit. My
thoughts turn to a square shouldered cop with handcuffs and a
nightstick and a willingness to trade violation for violation. I
picture myself cuffed, bent over the hood of his cruiser, engine
heat burning my cheek, black leather down around my knees as he
slam fucks my ass, first with the nightstick, then with a cock that
makes the stick look small by comparison.

Involuntarily my thighs clench on the saddle
and I get close to the edge, so very close. My concentration is
split exactly in two, half on the road, half on my clenching cunt.
I have to slow down as I get hotter or risk a fatal wipeout, but
it’s the speed that turns me on. The result is an excruciatingly
drawn out approach to orgasm, an advanced form of machine
masturbation that guarantees a mind-wiping climax, torqued even
tighter by the fact that even as I lose control of my body I have
to keep control of the bike. One day I’m not going to do that. One
day I’m going to hit the gas when the pleasure-wave hits me, and
then just let it take me away, give myself to my bike completely,
and to the concrete five seconds later. I don’t care if death
hurts, so long as it’s fast.