The Secret Journey Read online

  Make it say “I’ll be anything for you, your woman, your slut, your dirty little flirty virgin, or your easy, eager whore.”

  Make it say “I’m yours, all yours. I’ll do everything you want just so long as you do it to me, and do it hard, and do it fast and make me feel it, make me take it, force me, fuck me, use me, abuse me, do anything, do everything just at the end just please, please fill me up to overflowing. Please spray me, fill me, drench me, drown me in your white hot juice.”

  Yeah honey, work it. Work it hard while you devour my words, let me see it, hear it, feel it. Work it so I have to watch, so you own my whole attention.

  Yeah that's the way. And I’ll bet you didn’t know your ass was quite that eloquent but it is. It sends that message to a thousand men a day, and nine hundred look and look away before you catch them and ninety try to date you up, and maybe nine have ever really touched you, but there’s only one whose ever made you feel quite like this and that’s me and you haven’t even met me. Yet.

  Yet. There’s that word again. It implies a future, but this journey we’re on is a long one and right now is right now, and what I want right now is your pretty little cunt, petals spread wide, glistening, open, eager, inviting. Just slide a hand down there and do it honey, feel it open up for me, feel how swollen it is. You can’t help but slide a finger over, slide it up, slide it in. You can’t help but fuck yourself as you present yourself for me, bent over, open, willing, wanton. You know I’ll like what I see, and you do like to put on a show, don’t you honey?

  Yeah, show me; hump it, do it, in and out and in and out, faster, faster, harder, and deep. Oh my God that’s good, honey, that looks so hot. You didn’t even know you had this in you, but I did. I do know you, and you understand that now, you get the picture - well part of it at least. Think about how you look there, one hand on this book, this thin thread of connection from my mind to yours, and the other on your pussy, finger fucking yourself to turn me on.

  You didn’t forget that part, did you - that you’re doing this to turn me on. You didn’t lose that point in your eager, slutty self-love, in the one woman orgy you’re putting on right now. You didn’t forget the point here is for you to please the audience, like any performer, and yeah, you’re putting on quite the performance right now. The only difference is, this isn’t play acting, this is as real as it gets. Go ahead, fuck it harder, you know you need it. Are you moaning yet? Are you tearing the breath from your throat in gasps as your clit swells and longs to burst? Think about that word – ‘yet’, think about how much more real this is, how much more intense, more passionate this is than simple boy-meets-girl. Think about how you’re giving yourself now like you’ve never given yourself before and think about how you want to make it even more real, think about how much more you need.

  And you need a lot now don’t you honey? Hard and fast and deep, so do it, fucking do it, take it, grind it, get into it, show me just how slutty you can be. Get it off for me, harder, faster. Scream for me, beg for me, arch for me. “Please,” remember that word?

  “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 trut
h 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.

  I finish, stand up, she looks up at me. "Did you forget about me?"

  I meet her gaze. She doesn't want control back but she'll take it if she can. That's her instinct, she can't help it.

  "No." I take a length of cord from the wall, coarse and functional, watch her eyes widen. "Put your hands behind your back."

  She hesitates. She has to make the decision. If her courage fails it’s over, right here, right now, to end in awkwardness and a long cab ride. Neither of us wants that, but is she brave enough?

  She is. She holds my gaze, straightens up, slowly slides her hands behind her. Only then does she look down. I smile and move behind her, take her wrists and figure eight the rope around them, one, two, three, wrap the crossover, finish with a stop knot. She's breathing faster now as I undo her jeans, slipping them down to her ankles, dark thatch of pubic hair showing through sheer panties, wet in the middle. They’re plain, solid coloured, comfortable, casual style. They suit her.

  "What's your name?" I push her forward, guide her until she's bent full over, cheek against the cool oak desktop.

  She tells me. There’s a catch in her voice as she says it.

  I smile as I pick up my leather work gloves. Like her underwear her name fits her well, both feminine and practical.

  "Are you ready?"

  "Yes." She can barely whisper it.

  I nod, though she can't see that, pull on the gloves, rough leather, worn smooth in the centre. Her buttocks are smooth, invitingly curved. I pull her panties into the middle, pull them tight so the bunched fabric splits her cunt, the swollen, glistening lips swelling up around it on either side. She gasps at my touch. One hand in the small of her back, raise the other, pause a moment to see the anticipation in her face, bring it down hard, hear the smack, see her jerk and quiver, hold her still. Raise it again, bring it down, steady, rhythmic, over and over. An involuntary cry escapes her lips as her ass blushes red for me. I watch her face, set now with determination to not give in to tears, to not give in to me. She's fighting it and it’s hard for her. It would be easier for her to just surrender, but she can't, she has to be brought there and there's only one way to do that.