The Secret Journey (12 page)

If she were younger I could have told him
those things and perhaps they would have made a difference, but she
was no longer a girl, she was a woman, and now it was too late. I
shook his hand and felt guilty.
Bless me Father, for I have
sinned
. I have despoiled your daughter, I have ruined her for
the sharp, clean-cut, up-and-coming law/medicine/MBA student you’re
hoping she’ll meet in university. No fine young man will suffice to
slake her thirst now that I’ve had my hands on her, now that I’ve
dirtied her with my desire. She will excel, she will succeed at
everything you dream for her, and you will be proud of her, but you
will never feel that connection you're only now realizing you've
lost. And you will never know the moment when she chooses someone
just like dear old Dad.

I left him there, got into my car and drove
home. She was on time and in position and my cock was rigid before
I could get my belt undone. I swung hard once, just to hear the
crack of leather on flesh and to see her jump and hear her moan,
and then I was fucking her, driving my stiff shaft up into her
tight receptive body and I forgot it all, my career, her father,
everything. The only thing that mattered was my eager student, my
star pupil, my woman, my Julie. I thrust harder, feeling my orgasm
build, my balls clenching tight and contracting as I roared out my
triumph and emptied myself into her one more time. My knees went
weak and I pulled her to the floor, to lie there still tangled with
her, still inside her. And in that moment I found myself at
peace.

Part Five

And you, honey.
Are you Julie, were
you Julie? Were you too smart for your peer group in school, too
smart for the adults in your world? Was it a teacher you pined
after, some strong, smart, tall, dark, handsome, older man? Or did
that come later, with a prof in university? I know you’re a reader,
because books like this don’t find their way into the hands of
women who spend their lives in front of the television. Did you
escape into books, rebel like Julie did? Or were you a dutiful
student like Suzanne, making the grade for a gold star and the
right to be left alone by parents and teachers alike? And what
books did you read on your own time? What thought first made you
wet between the legs? Julie read
this
book, did you catch
that? She read her own story here, just as you’re reading
yours.

Oh yes, I know your story, it’s written in
your secret thoughts, the fantasies that bubble beneath the surface
of your nice-girl veneer. How many boyfriends have you toyed with,
played with and ultimately thrown away because they couldn’t give
you that? How many times have you tried to ask for it and been
misunderstood? People don’t understand this kind of interaction,
this little dynamic you and I are playing out here. They think it’s
about what they see, they think it’s about leather and latex, pain
and pleasure, restraint and discipline. They don’t understand that
it’s about the mind.

But it is
all
about the mind, about
that secret place you hide deep inside, everything else is just a
tool to open that inner door.
I
am all about the mind and
when I say
I want you
what I want is your mind, if only
because I know your body will follow. So come through the door once
more, honey, come through the door and into my classroom because
it’s time for me to instruct you, to induct you. It’s time to teach
you what happens to good girls and bad girls in my world. It’s time
for you to learn exactly how to present yourself to present your
oral report.

Read between the lines honey, I know you’re
clever enough to see the message written there. I have faith in
your ability, or at least faith that you’ll do what I want when the
alternative is the riding crop applied to your ripe, swollen, well
spread cunt. Did you feel the sting when Julie took it on the
crotch? Imagine it, feel it now, that sharp-sweet
snap
that
strikes to your core and reminds you so very effectively of the
purpose of our journey. We’re going to play our own little game of
teacher-and-student now, honey. You get to be the student, and as
I’m sure you’re well aware the schoolroom game is all about marks,
marks on paper and marks on your ass. So park your hot little ass
down at your desk and I’ll give you this week’s assignment,
homework in essay form.

Question One:
It is generally
considered immoral for a teacher to carry on a sexual relationship
with a student, and the teacher in this story struggles with this.
What influence did Julie’s desire for him have on his decision?
What influence does his own desire have? What does he get out of
the relationship? What does she get out of it? What do you think
will happen? Twenty five marks.

Question Two:
Compare and contrast
your own sexual development with that of Julie. Use explicit
reference to your own early sexual fantasies of domination by a man
of intelligence and authority. Twenty five marks.

Question Three:
The story is written
entirely from the teacher’s point of view. Imagine you are Julie.
How did you feel when you first knelt and asked for training? How
did you feel when your teacher said yes? How did you feel when you
bent over his desk to be whipped for the first time? How did you
feel when he came in your cunt? In your mouth? In your ass? Twenty
five marks.

Question Four:
You’re a dirty little
slut and I’ve just caught you reading this book with wet panties
when you should be doing your homework. How should you be punished?
Be detailed, explicit and imaginative. Twenty five marks.

The assignment is due one week from
today.

There it is honey, your homework. I just know
that you’re going to get all one hundred marks on it. I know
because every mark you don’t get with your writing is going to be
burned into your ass. Are you surprised at this little turn of
events, honey? I bet you thought you’d spend all your time with me
reading and none at all writing, but that’s not the way it works.
This little game requires class participation. So let me be very
clear about the participation I expect, and that is for you to have
your assignment done, complete, spelling checked and grammar
correct, between three and five hundred words per question with the
title underlined, in the centre, at the top. You will have your
name in the upper right and Creative Writing 101 in the upper left.
It will be neatly handwritten, in black ink, double spaced on white
bond notebook paper with one inch margins. I expect nothing but
perfection from you honey, so you’d better not let me down.

Have you got that clear in your mind? Good
girl. And wouldn’t you rather be having fun diddling your hot
little pussy to my compelling and erotic prose than doing homework?
You didn’t even get to orgasm last time and this time you’re doing
homework. And yes, honey, I know just how much your clit is
throbbing right now, I know just how badly you need release, need
to have it stroked and rubbed with that ready, steady rhythm until
your world explodes. I know how much you want to give that to me,
even more than you want to give it to yourself. But this is part of
the process honey, this is what makes our journey real and so
you’re going to focus your mind on your task right now, and I am
just going to have to wait for the glory of your orgasm no matter
how much I want it. Discipline starts with self-discipline. And
speaking of self-discipline, you're not allowed to climax until
you're done.

So say, “Yes,” honey. Say, “Yes,” the way you
do for me.

“
Yes, sir. I’ll be a good girl and get
my homework done on time.” Say it.

“
Yes Sir, I’ll be disciplined.” Say
it.

“Yes Sir, please discipline me.” Feel it.
Feel the way Julie felt, asking for it, needing it, responding to
it, craving it, demanding it and lost in it. Feel yourself being
directed in the direction you need to go, corrected by this strong,
smart, tall, dark, handsome man who makes your knees so weak you
have no choice but to kneel for him.

And do you know what, honey? I believe in
hands-on education. I believe people learn best through doing, so
now that we’re training you, teaching you, I think we can make this
a very instructive experience. So we know that you’re now going to
be spending a certain number of hours at a desk, and what we’re
going to do to further the cause of classroom participation is to
make sure you are very thoroughly penetrated while you do it. So I
don’t care if you use a carrot or a vibrator and I don’t care if it
goes in your mouth or your ass or your cunt, but the entire time
you’re writing you’re going to be penetrated because that’s your
role here, to receive cock as you receive knowledge, to be
instructed and inseminated at the very same time.

That hard penetrating shaft is going to be
there to be my cock for you and you’re going to receive it while
you receive instruction. You’re going to take it just like Julie
did, sucking away while she listened to her Shakespeare lesson.
It’s going to take you several hours at least, hours with your lips
wrapped around my phallic stand-in, hours with your tight stretched
anus violated, hours with your pussy full and juicing. So don’t
cheat me honey, don’t cheat yourself. You’re going to do this
assignment first and you’re not going to read more of this book
until you’re finished. That would spoil the sequence honey, that
would spoil the adventure that I’ve built here for you, so don’t do
it, be a good girl for me. Homework first and reward later for good
behaviour by good girls, and yes, honey, I promise it will be a
very good reward.

So say, “Yes,” honey.

“Yes sir, I’ll do my homework first. Yes sir,
I’ll have it in on time.”

It makes you wet to say that doesn’t it?
Being put in this position goes straight to your cunt, whether you
like it or not. You’re so turned on you could scream, couldn’t you
honey? You’re rocking your hips again, you feel that need to arch
your back, spread your legs, present your cunt and just have me
slam-fuck you until the orgasm gets ripped right out of your body.
You want more but I’ll tell you something, honey. You’ve undertaken
to get your homework done. You're not going to start reading this
again until your homework
is
done, so that desire will give
you incentive to do it quickly. Say, “Yes, sir,” one last time
honey, and put the book down. I’m looking forward to reading what
you’re about to write.

Cage Girl

Society is a cage,
and a cruel one.
Its bars are made of propriety, its lock with expectation.
Society’s cage was made for me by others but, ultimately, I’m the
one who put myself in it. The problem is, I've forgotten how to let
myself out. My cage, the one I’m in right now, is simpler. It has
metal bars and a wooden floor and roof. Unlike society’s cage, I
built it. I bought the wood and metal, cut it to fit, sanded and
polished, stained and screwed, but I don’t put myself in it. You
have to understand that. I am a competent woman, educated,
ambitious, professional, independent. At work I’m well respected,
at home I can do my own carpentry and fix my own car. Restraint,
constraint is the one thing I can’t do for myself.
He
does
that for me, and in caging me here he frees me from society’s
cage.

He doesn’t do it for that reason, he does it
to remind me of my place as his possession, but the cage is more
than that. In a very real way it
is
my place. I find my
centre there, at peace, because there is nothing I can do until he
decides to let me out. Sometimes I’m hooded in there, ears plugged,
eyes covered, mouth gagged. Sometimes I’m bound in a position so
strict that the cage itself becomes unnecessary except as an
attractive display case for my body. At times like those I can feel
myself collapsing into myself, almost as if the woman I am in the
daytime is dissolving away, her emotions, her needs, her moods, her
temper washed clean, with nothing left behind.

I can feel myself regress from that woman,
the one with impeccable style and outstanding taste, the calm,
in-control leader, the one who saves a dozen lives a day. I can
feel myself slip away as my lack of control is made so abundantly
clear. None of what I am matters in my cage, not my achievements,
not my discomfort, not even my name. All that counts is the fact of
my physical existence, and the fact that I am
his
. I’m kept
caged for hours sometimes, curled up naked, unable to stretch out
or sit up. It’s anything but comfortable being in there and I’m
sore and stiff when I come out. And yet I miss my cage when I’m out
of it too long. It is far less cruel than society’s.

This isn’t to say that my cage is easy. When
I’m first put in, it can be very hard. I become like an adolescent,
moody and defiant. I struggle against the bonds, fight against
them, scream into the gag. I am angry and demanding and, because I
am who I am, I expect to get my way, to have my demands met, even
though, with the calmer, more rational part of my mind, I know they
won’t be. This is the only place in my life where I don’t get my
way, and sometimes it takes me awhile to remind myself of that
fact.

And yet after a time I grow tired, and the
struggles diminish. The bonds envelope me, hold me, protect me from
the damage I might inflict on myself or anyone near. They defend me
from the guilt of a lost temper, they hold me back from my own
excess. I regress more then, become in my heart a young child,
quiet and obedient. I accept my position, as humiliating as it may
be. And then, slowly, slowly, even the child subsides and I return
to the womb, to drift in warm darkness with nothing but the steady
beat of my own pulse in my ears. I am free in that place, as I am
free no-where else in my life.