The Secret Journey (20 page)

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, and 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.