The Secret Journey

by Paul Christian

  Suck it bitch. Suck it hard, and by now the wet spot on the front of my jeans is getting big, and it’s time to get my cock out, get on with the job. Feel fingers tighten in your hair while the other hand undoes my belt buckle. Hear the jangle as it comes undone. Pop, pop, pop as the buttons come open, easy access, imagine that. Underwear out of the way and there it is, honey, there it is, bitch, right in your face.

  Long and thick and hard, your holy grail, your heart’s desire and you know better than to waste time getting it in your mouth. Hefty is the word, a cock big enough you know you’re going to feel it take you, feel it deep, feel it hard. Rub your cheek against it, kiss it, get to know it, you’re going to be getting very familiar with it. Feel the texture, silk-soft over solid steel, kiss it, lick it, taste it. Yeah taste it, there’s that musk you scented before, so rich, so strong. Flick your tongue over the tip, over the slit, then slide your lips down, slowly, slowly, make it good.

  You’re wrapped around it now and your first inhale is so full of man-musk that it nearly makes you faint. Do you like it, bitch? You don’t need to answer, not that you could if you wanted to now, with your mouth stuffed full of my cock. I can hear it in the way you moan when you get your lips around it. I can see what it does to you by the way you latch on, slip your tongue around the taut-swollen head, by the way you slide forward, take it in like you were starving for it. And you were starving for it, weren’t you bitch? You are starving and now I’m feeding you, and you’d say, “Thank-you, sir,” if you could but you can’t say anything with my shaft in the back of your throat, so just show your appreciation with your tongue bitch. Make it feel good for me, because that’s what you want. You want me to feel good, right, bitch? So good I shoot my load down your hot, eager throat. Feel it fill your mouth, pushing in, almost too big to take.

  Both hands back in your hair now, pulling your head back and forth, bobbing you up and down on my cock like some kind of sucking machine. Take it bitch. Take it hard and take it deep. God that feels so good, and you have to understand how it makes me feel to have you kneeling for my cock like this. It’s intense, it’s powerful, as powerful as every thrust that forces your mouth open, hits the back of your throat.

  Am I pulling too hard on your hair, bitch? Am I going too deep, too hard, too fast? It doesn’t really matter, because all you’re going to get is deeper and harder and faster from me, bitch. Let’s make the term a little more accurate. Cocksucking bitch. How does that work for you? Just think about the way you look right now with your lips stretched tight and your cheeks working in and out as you bob your head on my cock like you needed it for basic survival.

  Easy little bitch. That’s accurate too. Yeah, you’re so easy for me. You, get wet with a word, go down with a glance. Hot little bitch. And yeah, you’re hot honey, there’s nothing hotter in the world than you kneeling there sucking like your life depended on it. Watch me fuck you bitch, watch my muscles tense and clench, shoulders tight, pulling your mouth hard onto my cock. It hurts when I pull your hair but you don’t care, you just need to get more cock fucked into you, forced into you, you’re all about the big splash that’s about to happen, the one gun royal salute fired straight into you. You swallow, don’t you bitch? You do now, let’s put it that way. You’re going to swallow every drop, except what gets sprayed across your face.

  Hear the slither as I pull my belt out through the loops, long and thick and shiny and black. Does that give you a rush, bitch? Does that make you suck a little harder, a little faster, just to show me how eager you are to please? Did you figure out why I wear it yet? You can see it now in the corner of your eye, doubled in one hand while the other stays in the back of your head, setting the pace, urging you on. Feel me stiffen, get harder, longer, thicker. Sense my balls tightening up. Come on get me off, bitch, cocksucking bitch. Come on do it, fucking do it. Taste the precum, bitch, leaking from the slit, flick your tongue over it and moan in desire. How about it bitch? You ready for it, ready for the spurt? Put your hands on my ass bitch, feel it flexing, thrusting, riding your face. Feel the muscles clench rigid, feel my cock swell to bursting, it was big enough before, fucking huge now, swollen and slick with your saliva. Take it bitch, fucking take it. You can feeling the steady throb, taste the stream of precum, a steady flow now, rising to the final flood.

  Look up into my eyes, bitch, beg me with them, beg me for the finish. Hear me grunt, an inarticulate animal sound as I fuck you faster. You’ve done this to me, reduced me from words to noise, made me want you, need you, more, more, more.

  Yeah I can feel it now, building up inside, getting ready to burst. You’re going to get your wish, bitch, going to get it good and hard. You make me so fucking hot, and with one hand I’m ripping my shirt open, sweat gleaming on my chest, then both hands back in your hair to keep you right where I need you, force you on and off my cock like the dirty cocksucking bitch you are.

  Your jaw is aching now, you’ve held it wide so long, and your scalp is sore where your hair has been pulled, and maybe you even want it to stop. Too bad bitch, ride it out, take it like a good girl because that’s your role here, that’s your only purpose, this moment, this instant there’s nothing in your world but my cock. It doesn’t matter that your jaw hurts and your lips are bruised. This one isn’t about you, it’s all about me and the only thing I’m going to do is fuck your face till I unload.

  Oh my fucking god, you look so good with those big, big eyes pleading oh-so sweet, and the sweat is beading on my skin with the effort, salty, musky, and male, all male. See my face contorted, hear me grunt, see my shiny, sweaty body tense hard-hard-hard and then I roar and that’s all it takes, spurting, spraying, jetting sperm, down your throat, in your mouth and overflowing, and I’m still thrusting in, in, in, in! Feel it drip over your chin, over your tits, feel my cock come free and spray your nose, your cheeks, your lips, and in again to finish. Feel it pulsing, throbbing, fuck that’s hot. Feel me stagger, feel me put my weight on you.

  And feel the throb in your cunt now bitch, well used bitch, feel your clit rigid and wanting it, feel your pussy clench just like it was what just got fucked, got filled, got flooded. Feel your orgasm right there, so easy, one touch and you’d fucking lose it, scream and writhe.

  But guess what bitch, you don’t get that this time. This time is about me, remember that? This time is about my cock. Your time was last time honey-bitch, and this is this time and this time you don’t get to get off, soaked and eager as you are. This time it’s my orgasm and not yours and all I’m going to do is fall to the bed because my knees are now too weak to hold me up. I’m going to flop down and pull you down with me, under the covers so you can curl up in the crook of my arm. And I am going to put my arms around you, twine your legs in mine, so that I know exactly where you are. Yeah, I can feel your sperm-wet face against my chest, I can see your big, big eyes looking up into mine. And I’m going to pull you tight, close-tight with too much strength because my co-ordination is gone. And you are going to squeak and purr and cuddle tight and it feels so right that you’re still drenched in my cooling, drying, sticky juice. And I am going to smile and lean down and kiss you gently, taste the last trace of myself on your lips. And then I am going to do the man thing, which is close my eyes and go to sleep, because you’ve done this to me, taken everything I can give, drained me dry. And now it’s your turn to watch me, hear my breathing slow down, feel the steady thud of my heart against your cheek. Yeah, you can watch me, and you can know you’ve drained me, emptied me, gutted me, know that I have given you absolutely everything, my body, my spirit, my soul.

  Yes honey, I have spent myself on you and in you in the most absolute sense. And you are going to know that I am now yours as much as you are mine. And your arousal is going to fade to something warm and close and caring, something more tender than you dare to say. So feel me there, so close and warm, male to your female, yang to your yin. Feel that all is right with the world, as we take another step down our road. And you are goin
g to watch me for a little while, and then you’ll be asleep yourself.

  The Traveller

  Tokyo to Moscow, Moscow to London, London to Toronto. Sometimes I feel like I live in airports, my world reduced to an ever-changing, never-changing vista of departure lounges and baggage claims. My services are specialized, and when they’re needed, they’re needed immediately. When I’m lucky that means corporate air, more often it means I’m on the next commercial flight. For this flight there was nothing left in the forward cabin, so I’m in the back with the tourists.

  It really doesn’t matter. The trivial comforts of first class can’t offset the fundamental realities of air travel, the unending line at customs, the inevitable delays, the hour or five or twelve spent sitting there at thirty thousand feet, while the plane flies and the passengers while the time away with a book or the inflight movie. I bring my laptop when I fly, and try to get done the work that must be done before I land. It’s just part of the job for me, but still I love airports, I love the potential they represent, all those distant destinations, a million people mixing and moving. Anything could happen, and life still holds surprises.

  I know the drill at security, carry-on baggage on the X-ray belt, laptop out of its case, phone and pager and keys in the plastic bin, take off my belt and put it in there too, so the buckle won’t set off the alarms. I stand in line, go through the metal detector, get waved on and collect my belongings as they come through the X-ray. My belt is what matters this time, solid leather, thick and black, not really dressy enough to go with my tailored suit but I don’t wear it for show. This time they don’t make me take off my boots, gloss polished, another minor departure from corporate image that has nothing to do with image. I go to the gate, board the flight and then we’re flying, four hundred tons of jet and five hundred souls, hurtling through the sky at six hundred miles an hour. It’s basic physics, the transformation of potential energy into kinetic, a modern day miracle, made mundane through sheer familiarity.

  Just imagine what DaVinci would have given for the chance to see clouds from above. I ignore the view from my window seat, and concentrate on my laptop. I’m to be met at the airport, to finalize over dinner a transaction worth more money than the average man earns in a lifetime. It’s imperative that I get it right; my only stock in trade is my reputation.

  And as we climb away from the airport I find I can’t focus. Corporate deals are something else grown mundane through sheer familiarity. I look at my archive of electronic mail, bring up one in particular. All it says is - I’ll be waiting. I hold up my glass for the stewardess, a pretty blonde with a flirtatious smile. She fills it with red wine, and I admire her ass as she goes back up to the galley. She wouldn’t mind if I asked her what she was doing after the plane lands but I’m not going to do that, I already have another plan. I’ll be waiting. Such a simple phrase, but it sends a thrill through my body. I’ll be waiting. It’s basic chemistry, the transformation of potential energy into kinetic, an ancient miracle, but this time it’s neither familiar nor mundane. I wonder what she’ll look like, this woman I’ve never seen. I wonder what she’ll be like. Unconsciously my hand moves to my belt. She’ll be feeling it, in something under six hours, she’ll be learning what I’m like, and she’ll be learning what she is. I close the laptop and turn my eyes to the clouds, shaping them into whatever I want them to be. I’ll be waiting. I don’t even know her name.

  Not soon enough the plane starts down, the wheels come down and we’re on the ground, at the terminal and I’m walking into arrivals, about to present my best guess rather than my best work, an unforgivable sin brought on by my sexual distraction. Dinner drags as we discuss the frantic details of a deal gone sour. My clients smell of desperation as I lay out their options. It’s an unfounded fear, they have nothing to lose here, but they’re terrified of what they might not gain, the petty insecurities of small men with large wealth.

  A rational analysis of their situation would put them beyond such concerns, but they are paying me for corporate guidance, not personal enlightenment, and so I keep my opinions to myself. I want the meeting to end at eight and it drags to nine, to ten, to eleven as I patiently unravel layer after layer of hidden agenda. Will she be waiting still? I think she will, but I won’t know for sure until I get there. At last we reach the end, my best guess having proven correct, my best work proving unnecessary. Their driver takes me to my hotel, I check in, and check to see if the extra keycard has been taken. It has. I take the elevator up, go to the room, and take a moment to steady myself. Deep breath in, deep breath out. My erection strains against my zipper, in anticipation of what I might find. I slide the card into the lock, and open the door.

  She’s there, and I smile with satisfaction, and with desire. I don’t know what she’s told her friends and family, to explain her absence this night, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is, she’s there, waiting, just as she’s supposed to be, black top, short black skirt, black stockings with the seams running straight up to her garters. She’s waiting just as I told her to wait, kneeling on the floor, lips parted, blindfolded, hair in a ponytail, head down, hands held in the small of her back. Her nipples are rigid against the thin fabric of her conservative white blouse, and she’s trembling in her excitement, barely able to breathe. Her knees are apart, exactly as expected, and as I come closer I can tell that she’s been kneeling like this, and aroused like this, for the entire duration of my over-extended business dinner. I can tell because there’s a thin, glistening strand dripping down from beneath her skirt, dripping down to join a slick puddle on the floor between her knees. The scent of female desire fills the room. She’s such a slut, kneeling three hours to present her body to a stranger, with her anticipation, her excitement growing with every beat of her heart.

  I stand in front of her, take her by the ponytail, move her head up, move it down, move it back and forth. She doesn’t resist, in her current state of arousal I doubt she could even articulate the concept of resistance. She’s here to do whatever I want her to do. She’s here so I can shape her, into whatever I want her to be.

  The first shaping is to establish the proper form of her relationship with my cock. I pull her head forward, turn it to rub her cheek against the hard bulge behind my fly. She moans in response. I let her feel it there for a moment, and then turn her back so she’s facing it, her nose just half an inch away. She can’t avoid its scent this close and her response is automatic, unconscious. Her already parted lips widen into a lush, receptive ‘O’, her dainty red tongue comes to moisten them in anticipation of what’s about to come. I feel her pull forward, ever so slightly. She’s eager to touch it, experience it, explore it, and explore herself at the same time, so the first lesson is in control. I relax my grip slightly and allow her to come forward until her lips just graze the fabric. She shudders when they do. Could it be that she came, right there? It doesn’t matter. I pull her back, just a fraction of an inch and she makes a small, inarticulate noise of frustration, tugging forward against my restraint. She’s waited so long, she doesn’t want to wait any longer.

  But she’s going to have to. “Do you want it, cunt?” I ask her. She tries to speak and finds she can’t, and I get a barely perceptible nod. Cunt. She understands the importance of the word. Cunt. That’s the only name I know her by. She has another name of course, the one used by her husband, her friends and family, for the entire rest of her life. I have no desire to intrude there in the slightest bit. To know her name would be to elevate her from the status of cunt, and neither of us wants that.

  I hold her head where I want it to be long enough for her to relax, to stop pulling against me, to accept that she’s going to get it when I’m ready to give it to her. She’s learning that what she wants, or doesn’t want, has nothing to do with it, and that’s an important lesson. I wait that long, and then a little longer, watch as she licks her lips again, her breathing quick, and as I watch she swallows nervously. I smile. She’s going to learn to swallow
too.

  My cock is bursting, and what I need more than anything is to see the swollen head sliding past those red lips, see it glisten with her saliva, see her taking it, deeper and deeper. I reach around with my other hand, unzip my fly. She jumps at the sound, instinctively starting forward again, but I pull her back, hold her in place with the swollen head of my cock half an inch from her lips. Her nostrils dilate as its musk fills her world.

  “Tongue out, cunt,” I tell her. She obeys, shuddering as it touches my waiting cockhead. Her tongue feels so good, so very good that it’s all I can do to not shove the whole hard shaft down her waiting throat. With an effort I hold back, and slowly bring her mouth forward. She explores the head with her tongue, and finds the silver drop of precum at the tip. She licks it, savours it, swallows it, and I groan involuntarily. Yeah, she’s getting to me, and she’s going to get it in return.

  “Go on, ask for it.”

  “Please…” Her voice is a trembling whisper, her lips grazing my cock as she speaks, every touch swelling it stiffer.

  “Please what?”

  “Please… please I want it… please…”

  “What do you want?”

  “Your cock… Please, fuck me with it, fuck my mouth with it, anything, only please…”

  I thrust forward, forcing her mouth wider to accept the head, cutting off her words in favour of a more direct demonstration of her desire. Her lips close around the shaft and then she’s sucking it, my hands gripped tight on her ponytail to pump her head up and down, enforcing her cock-submission, probing for the back of her throat.