The pain won’t go away and so I endure it, moment by moment. I’m still promising myself when fingers rub against my clit and out of nowhere my orgasm hits me with brutal, overwhelming force. I scream through the gag, and scream and scream and keep screaming as my body bucks hard against the restraints. My skin is on fire and my limbs are numb and the world goes red and then black. I have never had such a release in my life. I am dimly aware of hands on me, and I float away on a cloud of euphoria, as I’m lifted, as my tortured limbs are released, and at some point I drift off to sleep.
A long time later I wake up. Sunlight is streaming in the window. I’m in a strange bed, a soft one, beneath a thick, fluffy comforter. I squint against the brightness, find myself in a bedroom. I’m naked, but I always sleep naked and it occurs to me that perhaps I dreamed the entire night. I stretch, feel soreness in my joints beneath an overwhelming sense of completeness and satisfaction.
Did it really happen?
The events of last night seem distant and surreal, the woman whose memories fill my mind seems so unlike me. The bed is a canopy bed, and in a mirror over the dresser against the far wall I can see myself. My face is relaxed, calm, as after a good night’s sleep. Where am I? It must all have been a dream, but then I move and my tender nipples rub painfully on the fabric of the comforter. I lift it and look down, see angry red lines still etched on my breasts, fading now to black and blue.
It happened.
I reach up to touch my face, feel the dried sperm still caked on my cheeks. Down between my legs, my clit is still throbbing and painfully sensitive when I reach down to touch it.
It really happened.
Lower still my thighs are crusted with my dried sex juices, messily mixed with fresh arousal still oozing from my overstimulated cunt. I feel a momentary revulsion, my calm satisfaction suddenly overturned.
It happened and I liked it, and I’m sick, sick, sick.
The dark fantasies of my moonlight rides are one thing, safely confined in my head, this was something else, this was real. Those fantasies weren’t meant to be made real, shouldn’t be made real, couldn’t be made real. And yet, Dear God, they have been. They have come to life, and I am no longer an upwardly mobile professional woman, no longer the youngest senior partner in my firm, no longer the loyal wife and dutiful daughter. I have become... what? A whore? No not even a whore because I hadn’t been paid. What kind of woman knelt to wait to perform oral sex on a stranger? The word ‘slut’ didn’t cover it. What kind of woman allowed herself to be tied and whipped? A slave, perhaps? But even slaves don’t enjoy it. The memory of that orgasm comes back to me and I shudder involuntarily. I have never responded like that, ever, not to my husband, not to anyone, not even to my bike.
Adrenaline suddenly spikes in my system. It’s morning. He’ll be worried about me, he’ll probably have called the police by now... The door opens and Ninja Girl comes in with breakfast on a platter. The warm smell of eggs and oatmeal fills the room, and I realize I'm starving.
“I have to call...” I say.
“Your husband." she finishes. "I’ve already called him, he knows you’re safe.” I raise my eyebrows and she answers my unspoken question. “His number was in your phone.” She sits down on the comforter beside me. It occurs to me that if my husband knows I’m safe he knows more than I do, although the pleasant surroundings and breakfast in bed don’t seem nearly as dangerous as what I went through last night. Still, I don’t know where I am, or who these people are.
“I’m to look after you,” Ninja Girl says, plumping the pillow up so I can sit upright. I catch my own scent, dried sweat and sex, well ripened overnight. I need a bath, badly. She looks fresh scrubbed, clinically clean and I feel dirty beside her. With the comforter below my breasts she can see the welts on my breasts. She runs a finger gently over them, over the nipple, making me wince.
“You had a challenging night,” she says, and aims a spoonful of warm oatmeal at my mouth, feeding me like a baby.
I dodge the spoon. “What did you tell him?”
“That I was a friend, that you’d stayed late in a club, and couldn’t drive home, that I was taking care of you.”
It was true enough, though I prayed she had omitted the deeper details. I nodded and she went on. “He’s calling you in sick.” She persisted with the spoon. The oatmeal was spicy with cinnamon and sweet with honey, mixed with thick cream, and heavenly. I hadn’t realized how ravenous I am, and there is silence while she finishes feeding me. She’d brought fresh orange juice as well, and I drink that down while she holds the glass for me. It’s odd to be treated like a child, but strangely comforting. I finish the eggs on my own.
“Do you want more?” Her eyes meet mine.
“More breakfast?”
“More everything.” My heart started pounding and my breath caught in my throat. I ached everywhere, but the strongest ache was deep inside and what it ached for was exactly the everything she was offering. Just like last night, only this time I would know in advance what I was getting into. And this time, it wouldn't be just one night.
My mind spins at the concept, the conflicting desires her suggestion has aroused. “I don’t... don’t know...”
She nods. “The bathroom is there.” She points to a door. “Your clothing is on the dresser, your bike is outside. You can go whenever you’re ready. If you want more, go down the hall to the left, to the room at the end.” She leans over to kiss my cheek. “You were beautiful. I want you to know that. You were perfect.”
She smiles and leaves, and I stretch and get up and go to the window to look out into a lovely, mature garden. The house is old, with high, molded ceilings and high, wide windows. I look down at my welted breasts. I would have to wear a nightgown to bed for a week, stop my husband from seeing me until the bruises faded, but that wouldn’t be difficult. Last night had been... what? An adventure, nothing more. It had been fantasy explored, intensity discovered, opportunity seized, but it wasn’t real life. I run my fingers over the red weals. They’re already fading, and I find I don’t want them to. They are badges of honour, proof that I’ve sustained my ordeal. I touch my sperm encrusted cheek again, remembering how I’d felt when my master came on my face. My master. I shook my head. That man, whoever he was, was certainly masterful, but he wasn’t my master. My storybook life was waiting back in my home, with my husband, with my firm, with my family, and it was time to reclaim it.
I turn from the window and go into the bathroom to find a huge, old fashioned tub with an overhead shower, fresh towels, soap and bath salts, everything sparkling and clean. I turn on the shower, run it steaming hot and get in, only to find the shower jets painful on my tenderized skin. I flip the valve to run the bath instead, add bath salts and ease myself into the heat. It feels wonderful, languid and relaxing, and I scrub myself clean of sweat and sex while I let the tub run full, then relax and let the heat soothe the remaining aches of last night’s adventure. I had been beautiful, she said. Perfect. My competitive instinct smiles a little smile of smug satisfaction. I had been dirtier, needier, sluttier than any of the others, those who hadn’t been chosen, and I had gone on to prove the wisdom of their choice. It’s a character flaw that drives me to be the best at everything, even things that it isn’t good to be the best at.
Real life. I climb out of the tub and towel off, feeling reborn. As she has promised my leathers are folded neatly on top of the dresser, my helmet on top of them, riding boots neatly arranged on the floor. I touch them, feeling the texture of my heavy second skin. I become a different person when I put them on, they are the key to my full-moon ovulation transformation. This time I became a different person when I took them off – when they were taken off me – and now they seem like a caterpillar’s cocoon, shed to reveal a butterfly. I smile to myself again.
Yes it was worth it. I had changed, learned things about myself and that was always a good thing, even if I never repeated the experiment. I pick up the pants and check the crotch, an
d find they’ve been cleaned, the sticky evidence of my long arousal now gone. Tentatively I bring them to my nose, sniff gently, and catch just a hint of my own scent, still clinging there despite the cleaner’s best efforts. As with me the change is invisible, but indelible. I dress, pull on my boots, pick up my helmet and go out. I’m in a wide carpeted hall opposite a railing. On the floor below is a beautiful entryway. The stairs down are to my right. I can see my beloved Harley, parked in the driveway through the large windows on the lower floor. I glance left. At the end of the hall is a pair of paneled double doors.
If you want more, go to the room at the end of the hall. There’s no-one around. I shake my head. Time to go. Down the stairs and out the door to my bike, my home, my husband, my life. Time to recover who I was, who I am, who I am supposed to be. Time to put this all behind me, in that secret store of memory, a test faced, passed, and put behind.
And yet...
I hesitate, look to the paneled double doors, look back to my bike. What could be behind them? A different life, a different me, an unknown future. What could be waiting for me there? I go down the hall to the doors, not because I’ve changed my mind about staying, but out of curiosity. I don’t know what I expect to find, implements of bondage and punishment most likely, perhaps the man who had used me last night. I’m overcome with the sudden urge to look him in the eye, to let him know the change he has wrought, and to let him know that still, I remain myself, even more myself than I was before we met. I push gently. The doors are heavy, and silent on their hinges, and what I find behind them is a library, three walls lined with close-packed bookshelves, the fourth with various pieces of art, paintings, little sculptures, a pair of crossed swords that look very old. There is a wide mahogany desk in front of a heavy, red leather chair in the center of the room, and nothing more. Not even a riding crop. The place smells of books.
I feel vague disappointment, I’d been hoping for something more thrilling. I shrug, turn to go, then turn back. It was the desk that drew me in. It was the desk, heavy, shiny, polished, black, that triggered something in my brain, something I couldn’t even begin to resist. I want what it has, I need it, and so with trembling fingers, unable to think, I undress, leaving everything in a tangled pile. I walk over to the end of the desk and bend over it, spreading my legs wide, exposing my cunt, exposing all of me. He will bring the riding crop when he comes, I know that in my heart. My clit throbs in anticipation.
Part Nine
Bike Girl, thrice purified, first with her bike, then with the riding crop, the last time with her bath. She's taken the fork in the road, chosen to come through the door. That's your story too, honey, down our road, through our door, coming to me for the purification, the concentration, the liberation of your own secret self. Now it’s your bath time, honey. Remember that nice story I wrote about the bath, way back at the beginning of our journey? Time to make it real. You need to do this in the evening, right before bedtime. And you need to have nice soap, bath salts, fresh new razor, bath scrub, candles and a glass of wine. Bring your fluffiest towels, have them ready so they’ll be nice and warm and cozy for when you’re done. Make sure you use the washroom before you begin, honey. We don’t need you getting distracted halfway through. Disconnect the phone, close the door behind you. Close the door and lock it, because this time is just for me and you. Make sure your bed is made up nice and fresh, because you’re going straight there afterwards. Get your coziest PJs out, neatly folded on your pillow. Get it all ready and come back tonight.
Welcome back, bath girl, time to start. Into the bathroom and run the tub as hot as it will go, steaming, scalding, way too hot to get into, trust me now. Put in the bubbles or the salt or whatever girly bath stuff it is you have. While it’s filling pour the wine and set it down, get your nice fluffy towels. Get your scrubber and your razor and soap and shampoo and light the candles. This is going to be you and me alone and it’s going to be so nice, honey. We’re going to make you a new woman, head to toe. And you are a new woman, aren’t you, honey, changed so much since we started this journey. You’re my woman now, my good girl.
Candles lit now, then get undressed, and turn off the water when the tub is full. Yes I know it’s far too hot to get in yet, so you’re going to have to wait a little while. And the way I want you to wait is with your legs apart and straight, bent over at the waist with your hands on the edge of the bathtub. A little awkward, yes, a little uncomfortable, but very, very necessary, to put you in the proper mindset for getting your bath.
Yes, honey. I want you feeling very pliant and submissive before you get in, and this is the position to achieve that. You’re going to wait there until that steaming water cools to the right temperature, and then you’re going to ease yourself in. And while you’re waiting you can think about anything you like, although if you chose to think of the inherent vulnerability of your position here, if the thoughts that go through your mind are about having me stand beside you, behind you, having me caress you, having me squeeze your delightfully hanging breasts, having me tweak your already aroused nipples, having me probe your exposed and helpless openings while you wait, that is perfectly fine with me.
So think your thoughts, honey, and enjoy your time in this position, and when the water is right, just right, turn the page.
And now you’re going to get in the tub, and the trick here is that while the water isn’t quite scalding anymore, it’s still as hot as you can stand it, isn’t it? You didn’t want to wait face down and ass up any longer than you had to, so now you’re in and it’s hot, hot, hot. Feel the heat soak into your bones, and just lie back and relax for a long, slow minute. Take your time, feel your muscles start to relax, feel the heat and the moisture wash away the tension. Drink your wine and just let your mind float. Let it float away, just read the page while I say, float away, float away, float away, and your mind is floating away, everything is peaceful and dreamy and quiet and warm and you’re just floating away on a nice warm cloud. Baths are good for that, baths are beautiful for that, baths restore and refresh and wash everything bad away.
Breathe in and breathe out and just keep floating, and notice how good it feels to just surrender for a little while. We’re going to cleanse not just your body but your mind, clean you completely, and so just breathe in and breathe out and let yourself float, let yourself be free and you might choose to think of a warm beach with the waves lapping and the gentle wind blowing, and the heat is soothing your muscles and your soul at the same time. And when you’re ready, honey, when you’re just as smooth and soothed as soothed can be, just inhale one more time, slow and deep, and hold it, and let yourself slip under water, and stay there for a little while, and when you’re ready again, just come back up.
Beautiful. This is immersion and rebirth, the return to the womb, and you are so very much mine right here and right now. And now we’re going to start washing, and it’s going to be me washing you, that’s the way it’s going to be. Ready? We’ll start with the right hand washing the left arm, soap on, scrub it down, nice brisk motions, get every last inch, do it firmly, do it thoroughly, soap off. Now switch, left washes right, the same as before. Isn’t that nice, isn’t that easy?
And so now we’re going to wash your face, scrub it thoroughly, forehead and cheeks and chin, each side of your nose, and your eyes and your ears. Rinse it once, rinse it twice, and move on to your graceful neck, feel your pulse in your throat as you clean around, and down over your collarbones. Do your shoulders, left and right, scrub them hard. Do each breast, and your nipples are so very sensitive under the rough scrubber, but do them as thoroughly as the rest. Do your armpits, and don’t worry about shaving, we’ll get to that later. Reach back for your back, left and right, do it well, and already you’re feeling cleaner, feeling fresher. Do your stomach and sides, and make sure you get your belly button.
Isn’t this nice, honey? Isn’t this warm and intimate? Do you know how wonderful it is for me to give you a bath, to treat you like my
very own special girl, to share this time? I love to be intimate with you, even more than I love to be sexual with you, though sexuality is intimate of course, and intimacy is sexy. Still there is a difference, and right now is so very intimate, so very close, and I just want to climb in there with you. I’m not going to though, not this time, because this is my time to look after you, and your time to be looked after.
So let me keep scrubbing, honey, down to your hips and your thighs and your vulva. That’s right, honey. Raise a leg so I can get in between, every inch must be clean. And the scrubber is rougher on your clit than it was on your nipples, and you have to spread those pretty lips to get every last crevice, and down lower over your tight little anus, and raise both legs to get each buttock, left and right, full and firm, scrubbed hard until they blush pink. Beautiful.
Remember last time your ass blushed for me? Remember the stinging smacks, how you wiggled and struggled but had to take each one. This time is much nicer, isn’t it? Much more tender, much more gentle, and yet still a reminder of how you felt that time. The memory brings back those feelings, and mixes them up with what you’re feeling now, all warm and clean and relaxed. The truth is you’ve been cleansed both times, purified as Bike Girl was. The truth is you need each side, up and down, hard and soft, yin and yang, you and me. And now your thighs, scrubbed down, top and bottom and all around, special attention to the back of the knee. Calves scrubbed just the same, and then each foot, top and bottom, and your ankles, and each little toe. Don’t forget to do in between.
Clean now, top to toe, but not done yet. Time for the razor now. Armpits first, do them carefully, do them smooth. I like a girl’s armpits clean, clean. Do left and do right, and when they’re done check them, run a hand over to make sure there’s no stubble. Clean up any you find, and then we’re done. Legs next, long, smooth strokes. Do you wax? Today you're shaving. Take it slow, do them justice. Shaving is like stripping, and a freshly stripped woman is extra naked, extra sexy.
The Secret Journey Page 15
