The Secret Journey (4 page)

“Please fuck me, please please
please
.” Say it honey. Say it again. Loud.

“Please fuck me.” Louder.

“Please fuck me.” Louder still.

“Please fuck me, please fuck me, please make
me take it, hard, hard, hard.”

So yeah, I’m fucking you, I’m fucking you
deep in your dirty little mind, deep in all those dark fantasies
that have never seen the light of day. That’s the most erogenous
zone of all, and I’m fucking you hard where it counts.

It’s getting closer now, your screaming
release, your offering, your gift to me. It’s coming up fast, so
legs wider, ass higher, cunt up. Spread for me, open it up and make
it happen, rub it, fuck it hard and harder and you know how hard it
makes me to watch you, know that this very second you have me
absolutely rigid, cock stiff-solid, straining, bursting and it’s
all because of you. Yes you, right there, right now are doing it
for me, right here, right now. You’re doing it for me with your hot
little pleasure dance. So think about me right there behind you,
watching this, and show it off for me. Show it good honey, make it
good, make it dirty and beg for it, show me your orgasm is going to
be all for me.

“
Please, can I come for you?” Say it.
Say it loud, no holding back.

Say it again. “Please, can I come for
you?”

Say it louder, and make your ass say it too
“Please, please can I come for you?”

Plead for it. “Please I’ll be so good for
you.”

“Please, I’m giving you everything.”

“Please, I’m your good girl.”

Convince me that you need it, and maybe I’ll
let you.

“Please, let me come, let me come, let me
come.”

Or maybe I won't let you. I bet you never
thought of that, honey. I bet you never imagined I might stop and
leave you hanging, leave you right there on the edge, just to prove
I can. So think about it, while you rub your clit, while you ride
the edge, think about it and wonder what’s going to happen next.
You’d stop if I told you to, yes you would, because that’s the
nature of the game we’re playing here. You’d be swollen and pouty,
and oh, so frustrated, but you would stop, you’d do what I told you
because you don’t want to break the spell. You need this and yes,
you want to be a good girl for me. Good girls do what they're told,
don’t they? Don’t they? Say “Yes,” for me, honey.

“Yes, I’m a good girl.
”
Out loud.

“Yes, I do what I’m told.”

Good girl. So now that we’ve got the rules
established, now that we understand each other, you’re going to get
a little treat for being so obedient. Remember that good girls do
what they’re told. Remember that, know it, feel it in your soul,
and say it again.

“
Yes, I’m a good girl."

"Yes, I do what I’m told.”

And now I’m going to tell you what to do and
that is come. Come now. Right now! Now! Come hard, give it up for
me, pound your cunt, pound your clit and come until you scream,
long and loud enough to scare the neighbours, pump your hips and
you can’t stop, do it, do it, do it fucking doit
doitdoit
.

Do it until you can’t any more, until you’re
a limp, sweaty, trembling mess, lying there exhausted, slumped in
disarray, nothing left of the poised, in control woman who turns a
thousand heads a day. Nothing left of the organized, in charge,
self-possessed woman everyone knows. Nothing left but sex, dripping
from your well used cunt, throbbing through your swollen tits.
Nothing left but full, flushed flesh, mind too far away to even
read this clearly. Breathe deep honey, breathe deep and feel me
there with you, smiling, touching, caressing. Breathe deep and let
the walls fall down, feel so safe here alone with me. Feel your
pounding heart slow down, feel yourself relax, just slide down
where you are and smile. That’s the smile I want, satisfied,
womanly, taking pleasure in knowing how much you’ve pleased me.

That door we’ve come through is closed behind
us now, closed so far behind us and we’re moving forward, moving
forward, into the place you need to be. You’re moving on the
journey, down the road, just floating down it with no effort at
all, watching your old life slip away, becoming who you really are.
Just feel me there, feel languid, lazy and you’re going for a quick
nap, nothing wrong with that now. You’ll sleep the sleep of the
well serviced woman, the good girl whose given it all and taken it
all.

So feel my arms around you, feel me close,
see my eyes on yours gazing deep, two inches away. Feel my lips on
yours, so close and comforting and gentle. Feel me there, and know
I’ll still be here when you wake up, still watching you, watching
over you. Have your little sleep, warm and safe and sated, smiling
gently in your fulfillment. Ready? Feel your breathing slow, feel
the relaxation. Feel me there and close your eyes at the end of
this sentence, close them right now.

The
Trainer

I look for posture first.
Some look
for size, some look for form, but I want winners, and thoroughbreds
will lie to you with either. Look at how a colt carries itself,
that's where the truth is. Watch for the skittish, indifferent or
hostile - that's not a horse to work with. Watch for the colt that
meets your gaze, that stands its ground, assesses you, comes to see
what you are. Size and form don't make winners, spirit and courage
do. You have to know how to judge winners. I’m a trainer, that’s
what I do.

Women are no different. This one wore clothes
of casual style on a firm, athletic body, but it was her posture
that drew my eye - upright and confident, shoulders square, back
straight, neither flaunting her breasts nor hiding them. Her walk
was an easy stride with a natural roll to her hips, and she
navigated the crowd by the betting windows as though entitled to
the space they gave her. She was a thoroughbred. More than that,
she was a winner. Her spirit showed. She met my gaze in passing,
gave me the same dismissive look she gave a thousand men a day. A
woman like that draws notice, and she hasn't got time to invite
attention from every idle gawker. Cut them down fast, get on with
business is her automatic reaction. I held her gaze, watched her
eyes widen at my impertinence, then narrow in warning. I cocked an
eyebrow, watched her response, watched her blink and look away, and
then she walked past as though she'd never seen me. I smiled to
myself. I'd be seeing her again.

I turned back to watch the start, the
business at hand. Aurora Australis was running this one, with Lacey
Dubois in saddle. Aurora was a winner, an eighteen hand stallion
who lived for the race. Lacey was not, despite her casual style and
firm, athletic body, her posture gave her away. She was the owner's
daughter, spoiled and haughty, and far too concerned with wresting
daddy's attention from her over-competitive mom. Lacey was the
wrong rider for a horse like Aurora, but that was a decision beyond
my control. The bell went and they started well, running hard in
front of Red Rocket. It was the race Aurora was born to run, with a
hard charging rival and victory in his teeth. By the first turn he
had a head. By the back straight he would have had half a length on
his own, but Lacey went wild with the crop, broke his rhythm and it
was neck and neck. Rocket crowded her and she lost her nerve.
Aurora sensed her uncertainty and he slowed in response. In the
last turn Rocket slid in front, then Miracle Worker hemmed them in
from the side. Still Lacey drove him, though the race was now over,
there was nowhere for them to go. At the finish they showed, behind
Miracle Worker by a head. I nodded, made notes. It was what I had
expected, in outline if not in detail. Aurora ran best when given
his lead, and Lacey was not one to do that.

"Did your horse win?" It was the woman, it
hadn't taken her long. Dark eyes and dark hair, pretty features, no
hint of uncertainty shows in her voice as she approaches the
stranger I am to her. She's used to being in control, this one.

"I don't have one running."

"But surely you bet." Her look is arch. She's
deciding if she'll bet on me.

I shake my head. "I never gamble."

"So what are you doing here? I've seen you
before." Her curiosity is genuine.

"I'm a trainer."

She hesitates, eyes widening just a touch.
She hadn't expected that.

I smile. "Wait there, please." I point to one
of the stadium seats in the aisle behind me. Her face shows
confusion, then challenge, then acceptance. She drops her eyes and
turns to sit down. I return my attention to the track, as the next
set of horses parades past to the gate. I watch their postures,
watch their gaits. These are my rivals, my competition, and it is
important to know where they stand. I can see her reflection in the
glass barrier in front of me, sitting awkwardly, uncomfortable.
She's unused to this sort of situation, unused to being in less
than total control. She doesn't like waiting there, but she knows
what she needs. And so do I.

The bell rings, the horses run. There is
another winner, and more losers. I study form, make notes, mark two
late runners who show hidden potential. It is the last race, and
the crowd rises at the end, the lucky heading for the payoff
windows, the rest filtering back to the stairs, to the parking lot,
to the lives they'd come here to forget for awhile. A couple of
desperate losers pick their way through the discarded tickets that
litter the floor in the faint hope of finding an overlooked winner.
The woman is still waiting, my eyes meet hers, and she gets up to
follow me. I head for the door that reads No Entry. Down the stairs
are the stables, smelling of hay and horse sweat. Jack Dubois was
waiting there, his face tight and strained. Behind him Lacey was
leading Aurora into his trailer. I couldn't see her face but I
could tell from the stiffness in her back that there had been a
fight. He ignored the girl behind me, launched straight into his
speech.

"I expected a win."

I met his gaze. "I only train the horse,
Jack."

His jaw tightens, then relaxes, and he turns
to look at his daughter. "I know..." there was resignation in his
voice. He seemed about to continue, then became aware of the girl.
"We'll get Aurora put away, you go on ahead."

I nod. "Good luck, Jack." I train for Jack
Dubois by choice. I could make other choices, and he and I both
know it. He has no choice but to deal with his selfish daughter and
ill tempered wife. If he had been a different man he might not have
had a problem. He's wealthy, old money in shipping, a force to be
reckoned with in the circles where power counts for everything, and
he knows better than most what a fortune won’t buy. He's asked me
to teach Lacey to ride, but what she needs to learn can't be taught
in the saddle. She’s just not a winner, and I don’t have the time
to waste trying to make her one. I didn't envy Jack.

I turn to go, the girl follows, out to the
parking lot into the cool night air. I open the door of my crewcab
for her, enjoy the brief touch as she brushes past. Her jeans
tighten over her trim backside as she climbs up and I smile.
Nothing wrong with her figure - for the rest, we would see. I close
the door, go around and get in. She gives me a smile as I buckle
in, nervous and suddenly shy. It takes courage to do what she's
doing, courage and faith in her own sense of judgment, to get in a
truck with a stranger like this. I start the engine and pull out,
heading away from the crowds, away from the racetrack’s blue-white
floodlights, into the moonlit darkness, its secrets and its
promises. I switch on the radio to spare us the small talk - find
music, dark, rhythmic, compelling. Is she thinking about friends
she ditched at the track, her boyfriend waiting at home? Is she
thinking of me and what she is doing? Her eyes are on mine when I
look in the side view mirror. In the cab's close confines I catch
her scent, the warm, rich tones of female arousal. She wants me,
wants what’s about to happen, and it shows. We travel down the
gravel concession road, pass farms set well back, most dark at this
hour, a few showing lights. I turn into my own lane.

I think of my living room, hard wood floors,
fine wine, good music, the rug and the fireplace. I think of
seduction, of caress, exploration, excitement, new intimacy. That's
not what she's here for and tonight is not that easy for either of
us. I open the door for her, see her nipples tight against her
shirt as she climbs into the cool night air. Crickets sing
spring-mating love songs in the long grass, and amorous frogs
answer from the pond. It’s warmer in the barn, from the body heat
of a dozen horses and the insulating hay piled high upstairs. The
smell is earthy, familiar. The hands have been and gone, the stable
cleaned, the horses fed and watered. Alec the barn cat yawns from
his throne on the shelf beneath the heat lamp, granting me passage
into his domain with a flick of his ears. I take her into my
office, close the door.

"Here." I take her hands and see the reaction
in her face. It’s the first time we've touched and she's wanted
that awhile, wants more now that she has it. Her fingers are small
and delicate, and I pull them across my desk to grasp the other
side. "Keep your hands here." She doesn't question, doesn't
struggle, just does it. She's bent at the hips in this position,
her perfect backside perfectly presented for anything, everything I
want, and yes, I want it, want it all. I nudge her ankles, move
them shoulder width apart. I could take her now, and I very much
want to. But it isn't time yet, my day's not over and she can use
the wait. The key to training, horses and dogs, cats or women, is
patience. She's taken a risk, now she needs to know she judged
correctly, needs time to settle into this new role she's found
herself in, that neither of us imagined when we set out for the
evening races, a thousand years ago. I sit down and do my
paperwork, log my race results, plan the training for the week. She
watches me with interest, grows bored, looks around the room,
bookshelf and books, framed pictures, riding tack on pegs. I
concentrate, but I can't help but be aware of her firm, round
breasts moving with her breath, her scent mingling with the smells
of the barn. Soon. Very soon.