The Secret Journey

by Paul Christian

  But it’s going to happen. Something, another rope, pulls the ring-gag’s harness up, pulling my head up, straightening my posture. My position is taut, caught between the rope on my wrists pulling down and the one on the harness pulling up. I have no idea what’s happened to the other women who had been beside me, but I sense that they’re gone. I don’t need to be broken! Another rope goes around each knee, pulling them wide, increasing the tension in my body even further. I'm kneeling, open, helpless, completely vulnerable, and it’s far too late for me to exert any influence on the course of events. What’s going to happen is going to happen. I try to cry out and I can’t, panic rising in my heart. Sex games are one thing, this is something else. Effective protest is impossible, but I jerk and wriggle and make an inarticulate approximation to “No!” What happens is going to happen, but I don’t have to go along with it gracefully.

  What happens is a line of pain burned across my left breast, right across the nipple. Belatedly I register the whoosh and snap of what must have been Ninja Girl’s riding crop. I howl, something the ring gag doesn’t prevent, and another stroke burns itself into my right breast. The pain is unbelievable and my instinct is to fight, to run, to curl up in a ball, anything to protect my most tender flesh from the punishment applied. I can do nothing, and more strokes scourge my tits, steady and systematic, covering them completely. They move to my belly, to the front of my thighs, then, most cruelly, to cut up between my legs to chastise my cunt.

  The tip of the riding crop finds my clit and I am nearly blinded by the pain, tears now welling from my eyes. It strikes me there again and I’m sobbing openly. I don’t need to be broken! Whether I need it or not, it’s happening. I scream and try to beg through the cruel gag as the crop comes down, fighting against the restraints to no avail. The steady punishment continues, striping my inner thighs, burning the cheeks of my ass, cutting up between them to punish my pussy, and the tight ring of my anus. The burning streaks fade and blur into one all-encompassing ache, refreshed each time the crop comes down, and finally I am too exhausted to scream to struggle, even to cry, and I just hang there, accepting my fate because I have no choice.

  I don’t need to be broken.

  Whether I need it or not, I have been. There is a pause in the crop’s steady rhythm, but I am still surprised when I feel the cock in my mouth. The ring gag and my bonds make it impossible for me to resist its penetration. My nose is clogged from my crying, and the cock makes it suddenly hard to breathe. I gag and try to turn away, and at the same time realize that it represents my salvation. While I’m sucking, while I’m serving it, the riding crop will stay still. If I can bring the cock to orgasm I will earn my relief from its sting. I know what’s expected of me, what’s required of me.

  With suddenly renewed energy I bob my head up and down as much as the restraints will allow, eagerly fellating it. I run my tongue around the head, huge and swollen and salty, filling my mouth to overflowing. The ring gag denies me the use of my lips, but I know that the most erotic part of this encounter is not the touch of my flesh but my eager participation in my own humiliation, in my willing self-reduction to a sex object, and so I do my best to demonstrate that eagerness. The cock swells further, and I can feel that even the overstretching ring gag is a tight fit for it. I can taste the sweet-salt of precum on my tongue, feel its slippery texture oozing from the slit at the cockhead. It becomes my world, and even as I struggle to breathe around it, I want more, I want it forced all the way down my throat, I want to die impaled on it. I service it eagerly, desperate now to feel the splash of seminal fluid, no longer because his orgasm will save me further punishment but just because I want it, because I need to be fully complicit in the degradation of my essential self.

  Degradation. It is hard to imagine a more humiliating position to be in, bound, stripped, my tits whipped, my cunt punished to the point of tears, and now forced to suck a total stranger’s cock. I have no identity here, I’m just a fleshy masturbation aid, my value beginning and ending with my sexual openings. Nobody here cares about my first class degrees, about my carefully nourished career, about my wonderful, gentle husband. Nobody cares about anything except that I suck hard and long, and that I swallow when I’m done.

  And oh, how I long to swallow, how I long to demonstrate that I am not just obedient, not just eager, that I am compelled, addicted, helpless before this cock. I need to prove that I am willing to do more, to go farther than anyone else he’s ever been with, that I can take all he can give me and still beg for more, that I am worthy of being his chosen slut tonight. The cock grows stiffer, the head swelling to bursting tightness as I urgently tongue it in between thrusts. I should perhaps wonder about this man, but I don’t. Whoever he is, he enjoys special status at this club. Whoever he is, Ninja Girl approves of him. Whoever he is, four women were lined up to undergo this initiation at his hands. These things are recommendation enough for me.

  Is tonight a special night that I have somehow stumbled on, or does he do this every night? It doesn’t matter. I hear him grunt, his thrusts coming more vigourously, gagging in their depth, and I work his cock harder, silently praying for him to anoint me with his white hot juice. And then suddenly he is, his hands pulling hard on my hair, his cock forcing itself to the back of my throat and beyond, swelling, exploding, jetting his sperm so deep, so forcefully that I don’t even have the choice of not swallowing. His orgasm subsides, but he leaves his stiff swollen member in my mouth, and I diligently clean it with my tongue.

  Finally he pulls out. “Good girl.” His voice is deep and gravely, his breathing not fully recovered, and his words are more rewarding than orgasm. His still sticky cock nudges my face, the spermatic fluid still oozing from the tip leaving sticky trails on my cheeks. I feel heroic somehow, and I wish this moment could be televised so the whole world could see, so my husband especially could see. See me in this position with this man’s sperm on my face and lips. I become aware of the wetness between my legs, and I realize that I’ve soaked myself to the knees. I’m such a slut.

  Part Eight

  Yeah you know me. You know everything about me. Not the trivialities like favourite music and taste in wine. You know what matters, you know what I like, you know what I am like. We've traveled this road so far together, honey, and through the journey you’ve learned who I am and how I am and the way I live. You know more about me now than family knows, more than my friends have learned in their whole lives. That’s something special, honey. I’ve had women in my bed, women in my life who have never, ever seen this side of me, though some of them might have guessed. You have some of my most intimate secrets here, because I can’t write this without letting you see the inner me, the secret side of myself.

  Yeah, you know me. You even almost know my name. Yes, it’s been changed here to protect the guilty, cleverly morphed just enough that someone won’t suddenly learn more than they ever wanted to know. You don’t need my name, though when you learn it you won’t be surprised. What matters is, you know me, and I know you have a picture of me in your mind. Can you see me now, right there with you? Can you feel me, can you sense the warmth of my body, so close to yours? What do you call it when we’re together? Making love? Fucking? It’s both those things and more. I know how open it makes you feel, how vulnerable you are at that moment when I have you spread and wet and begging for it. I know how you yearn for it even as it scares you to be that exposed, not just your body, not just your cunt, but your mind, your soul. Do you have any idea what that does to me? Do you have any idea how your open-ness brings out my own?

  Imagine me for a moment, right here on the other side of this page. Imagine me here with my mind focused on you. Picture every detail, my face, my expression, picture my shoulders, picture my waist, picture my legs, and oh yes, honey, picture the swelling bulge right there at my crotch. Imagine me imagining you. See me call you up in my mind’s eye and realize how much I want you, you my perfect woman, you my one in a million, my one in ten milli
on, my only one in all the universe.

  Watch me shape you, one word at a time, line by line, every thought, every curve, every glance and smile. Imagine how long I’ve looked, how many women have come and gone to drive me to write this. Can you sense my story in these words? You already know it, the mirror image of your own. I have a hunger, honey, I have a thirst, and you are my full course fantasy, my ideal woman made flesh and blood. Yeah, you know me. I’m the one who’s been in your dreams since you first realized that boys might feel good. I’m the one who was there when everyone else thought you were asleep, when your fingers strayed down between your legs to explore the feelings that grew there. I’m the one in those dark and dangerous fantasies that you never quite revealed in those teenage games of truth or dare.

  Yeah, you know me. I’m there in those comforting moments when you’re by yourself but not alone. I’m there when you’re out with friends with your eyes on the options that are good enough for them but not for you. We’ve come so close to meeting, time and time again. Remember when our eyes met, and the whole room vanished except you and me. You knew at that moment, you felt it in your bones. Remember when your friend took your attention and when you looked back I was gone? We missed that opportunity, honey. We missed it and we’ll never get that time back, but the future is still ours.

  Lay back, honey. Let me lie beside you. Undress for me, because you know I love the way you look in just your skin. Let me look at your breasts, smooth and firm and rounded and feminine, let me see your trim waist and the flare of your hips. Roll over for me, honey, let me be amazed at the shape of your taut ass. Has it recovered from your spanking yet? Let me run my hands down your body, and be amazed at the faces you present, good girl, bad girl, urban girl, nature girl, artist, professional, lover, friend.

  Do you know what I love most about you? It’s your curiosity, your thirst for knowledge. It’s your clear thinking, the way you see right to the heart of a problem. It’s your instinctive competitiveness, the way you never, ever want to be anything less than the very best. And more than that it’s your playfulness, your lighthearted, unselfconscious ability to have fun, be silly, to laugh at yourself and with everyone around you.

  Are you surprised again, honey? Did you think what I valued most was your body? Yeah, your body matters. Your body is built for sex, and sex is what it’s about. If it weren’t for sex you’d just live with your best friend and skip the complicated issues of male and female. If it weren’t for sex you wouldn’t put yourself through the heartache, if it weren't for sex you wouldn’t be reading this book. Sex is primal, sex is power, sex is what makes the sparks fly, and anyone who says otherwise is denying reality. You have to have a good body to get with me, honey, it’s the price of admission. Sex is the foundation, for what we’re building here.

  But it’s only the foundation. Good bodies aren’t hard to find. There are enough hot little sluts in the world willing to get their asses in the air for me to keep my cock wet for the rest of my life. Did I say willing? I meant eager. I meant fucking obsessed with the concept. And yeah, it’s a trip to have some random hottie I met four minutes ago sink down on her knees with the sole objective of getting my cock inside her, but I need a little more than that. I need a lot more than that. I need a woman who can challenge me, who can surprise me, who’s strong enough, smart enough to make it worth my while. I need that way more than firm tits and a tight ass, which isn’t to say that I don’t need those too. Good bodies aren't hard to find, but good minds are rare. Unique. Priceless.

  So let me hold you, honey. Let me pull you close, pull you tight and inhale your scent. Let me run my fingers over the texture of your skin, let me learn the pattern of your body. Sex is the foundation, but intimacy is what’s built on it, that special closeness. Do you have any idea how you rip me open, how you spill my soul across your bed? This isn’t the game we started with honey, this is too true for that. The road has turned a corner, and now the journey begins for real. You open me when you open yourself, and I have no more choice to respond to you than you have to me. We’re in free fall here, with nothing to do but hold on tight and pray for a soft landing. Let me hold you, honey, here in midair, in this dark and warm and timeless place, suspended in your mind. Let me hold you and feel your warmth, your touch, your soul. Let me cup your breast, lay my cheek on your belly, while you run your fingers through my hair. Can I trust you honey, really trust you? Do you want me, or just the fantasy I’m spinning here for you? And yes the fantasy is me, but it isn’t all of me, and I need you to know all of me, want all of me, love all of me.

  Yes love, I said it, that dangerous four letter word. I can’t be with someone without loving them, some way, some how. I can’t be with someone without giving them part of myself. Sex is about procreation, the closest commingling of two people that can ever be. DNA unwinding is the ultimate unzipping, the exposure of raw codons for the intimacy of crossover, the consummation of fertilization. Sexual bonding is no accident; it’s built on the biological core of the act.

  We call it love but you can’t describe it, only experience it, and you know exactly what I mean. Surrender and possession, capture and release union and reunion. There’s more truth in the final moment of climax than in all the words ever written. Love is a force of nature, the force of nature. Birds do it, bees do it, and yes honey, you and me do it. That has nothing to do with whether you want a baby or not, your body doesn’t know about birth control, all it knows is how to respond to the presence of an alpha male. That's something too primal to think about, you just have to act.

  Have I scared you, honey? Ruined your demon lover fantasy? Do you want to avoid emotion and intimacy and stay with primitive instinct - keep the image and lose the person behind it? The trick here is they aren’t so far apart, love and lust, fantasy and reality. Not so far apart, but on opposite ends of the universe. I need all of you, and I need you to need all of me, rich or poor, sick or healthy, everything I am. I need you deeply, not just the depths of your open and willing body but the very depths of your soul. I need it all. Can you give me that? Will you give me that? Because yes, honey, that’s what I want, that’s what I need.

  Yeah, you know me honey, you know me better than anyone else and I am as open to you as I have ever been, as I have never been before. And I could seduce you right now, could slide you into the decision I want with the same fluid words that have kept you glued to these pages all this time. But I’m not going to, because I don’t want you because I’ve seduced you, I don’t want you because I’ve clouded your mind with desire. I want your decision, clear eyed and clear headed. I want you to choose, not have me choose for you. The door is right there in front of you, and you have to decide if you want to go through it, or turn away. Every door in the world is our door, and every time you have to make the choice to go through it.

  So think it over, honey, take some time. Think about what we’ve had here and what we’ve done here and decide if you want more. You can see where this little adventure is going now and you know it’s getting more and more real with every page you turn. It’s for you to decide honey, yes or no, stop or go, carry on the journey or close the book and forget it ever happened. Go ahead and weigh it honey, don’t cheat yourself, don’t cheat me, by zipping on ahead. Make your decision a good one, because one way or the other there’s no going back. Take your time, I’ll wait on the next page, an hour or a day or forever. I’m patient that way.

  And here you are honey, through the door, going down the road, and let me hug you and kiss you and tell you how glad I am to see you. Let me pick you up and spin you around and just be overjoyed at your presence. Let me put you down and lie down beside you and kiss you and hold you and cherish this moment. You and I. Us. Beautiful.

  Bike Girl III

  Kneeling, trussed, used, abused and degraded, a stranger’s cock in my mouth, his sperm sticky on my face, it occurs to me to wonder where Ninja Girl has gone. Did she watch my subjugation? I find myself hoping that she has,
that she enjoyed it, that it made her wet. I expect to find out soon, expect my ordeal to be over now that he’s finished, but I’m wrong. They leave me there, hanging, sperm drying on my face, my juices drying on my thighs.

  The arousal fades and leaves discomfort, in my knees, in my shoulder, in my back and most especially in my jaw, which has been hurting since it was first forced open by the cruel ring gag.

  I can hear voices in the background, the man and, yes, it’s Ninja Girl. I find some satisfaction in her presence. Their voices are casual, not quite loud enough for me to make out the words, and I imagine them with drinks in the hands, dispassionately contemplating my violated body as I hang there, on display for them. I am an object, and the discomfort of my position and the lingering pain in my tits and crotch combine to underscore the fact that my desires are simply irrelevant here. I shift position as much as I can to take the strain off my knees. I can take more strain off them if I transfer weight to the rope attached to the harness holding in the ring gag, but that forces the gag deeper into my mouth and makes the ache in my jaw excruciating. There’s nothing I can do about the pain in my shoulders, or my wrists, or my ankles.

  I need to urinate, badly, but I refuse to. I am not yet so fully degraded that I’ll surrender control of my bladder. Not yet. It occurs to me that sooner or later even this threshold will be crossed, if that’s what they want to happen they’ll just leave me hanging until it does. It’s no longer my decision whether I soil myself or not. I shudder at the realization. I wanted to be out of control and now I am. Despite the discomfort the thought is exciting.

  At first it’s exciting, but more time passes, and I drift into a strange place, talking to myself in my head about nothing, willing myself to get through the next hour, the next minute, the next ten seconds. I am dizzy, disoriented and the time seems unendurable. I was crazy to want this, crazy to volunteer for it, and I promise myself that if I ever get free I’ll never go riding on the full moon nights again. I promise, I promise, I promise.