The Secret Journey

by Paul Christian

  Wind her right out as the dashed lines flicker past in a hypnotic blur, way over the speed limit. My thoughts turn to a square shouldered cop with handcuffs and a nightstick and a willingness to trade violation for violation. I picture myself cuffed, bent over the hood of his cruiser, engine heat burning my cheek, black leather down around my knees as he slam fucks my ass, first with the nightstick, then with a cock that makes the stick look small by comparison.

  Involuntarily my thighs clench on the saddle and I get close to the edge, so very close. My concentration is split exactly in two, half on the road, half on my clenching cunt. I have to slow down as I get hotter or risk a fatal wipeout, but it’s the speed that turns me on. The result is an excruciatingly drawn out approach to orgasm, an advanced form of machine masturbation that guarantees a mind-wiping climax, torqued even tighter by the fact that even as I lose control of my body I have to keep control of the bike. One day I’m not going to do that. One day I’m going to hit the gas when the pleasure-wave hits me, and then just let it take me away, give myself to my bike completely, and to the concrete five seconds later. I don’t care if death hurts, so long as it’s fast.

  And fast is what it’s about. I ramp up the speed and visualize the cop-cock impaling me, lifting my feet off the ground with every stroke into my overstretched ass as he punishes me for my transgression of velocity. I long to reach down and touch my clit, but at this speed I can’t take my hands off the handlebars. In my mind he’s getting harder, longer, thicker as his own explosion approaches, his hands digging painfully into my hips as he violates me over and over. I am completely trapped between his powerful thighs and the hood of the cruiser and he smacks my ass and makes me say, “Please fuck me, I’m a bad girl.”

  “Please fuck me, I’m a bad girl.” I can feel his cock twitch when I say it and I say it again reflexively, because he likes it, because I want him to come inside me, to empty his huge balls into my aching rectum, because I am a bad girl, a very bad girl, and I do so need to be dirtied like this, knocked off my Manolo Blahniks, torn out of my Chanel suit, and put very thoroughly in my place. I long to be reduced to my cunt and made to grovel for sex, and if that sounds politically incorrect to you, well, you need a different book.

  “Please fuck me, I’m a bad girl.” I say it out loud to myself, as the bike finds my rhythm. “Please fuck me, I’m a bad girl.” I can feel my anus clenching around his imaginary cock, feel the heat of humiliation on my cheeks, and most of all feel my Harley’s steady throb against my pulsing clit. I slow down to keep control, to lose control, and focus my mind on the feel of cold metal cuffs on my wrists. “Please fuck me, I’m a bad girl. Please make it hard, please make it hurt, please fill me up with cock, with cum, with degradation.” The rumble of the engine finds my sweetspot. “Please make me feel it, make me take it, make me dirty, make me yours.”

  And I’m trembling now with the intensity and I have to shift to the slow lane. In my mind the cop’s hands find my tits, clamping down on my nipples to give me what I’m begging for. Pain explodes through them and my cunt gushes in response. I don’t know why my fantasy life is so dark, so violent, and I don’t care. The leather of my riding pants is riding up in my crotch, putting pressure right where I need it as I rock my hips against the seat. He has me now, his cock is an iron bar sliding in so hard and deep and I am bent over in ritual supplication, my ass split and presented and penetrated. I am helpless, so open, so taken, so completely, utterly possessed by this man and all I want is more. I want him to destroy me with his cock and that’s exactly what he’s doing, inch by inch by inch.

  Fuck yes. I have to fight to keep my eyes from rolling back in my head, have to slow down again, and the engine’s screaming roar is now a steady purr, just enough to tease me in steady rhythm. Fuck yes. My clit is pulsing, and every muscle in my body is rigid as I squirm against the vibrations. And I imagine him coming, pumping his sperm deep into my sore, punished ass with hard, aggressive thrusts, swelling thick enough to spike pain through my already overstretched sphincter. The head is so big it won’t actually come out. He and I are tied together like mating dogs, locked in sex until he is finished with me, though his overflowing juice is already dribbling down my ass cheeks.

  That last image does it and I come, hard, convulsing on the seat, screaming in my helmet, my hands locked rigid on the handlebars and thank god this section of road is straight. I can feel my cunt clenching, gushing, anointing the crotch of my riding pants with slippery sex. The orgasm goes on forever and it seems like I’ll never stop. Finally it dies away in a succession of ever smaller contractions, the waves of pleasure leaving my body limp and trembling. My faceplate is fogged up and I flip it up to feel the wind on my face. The inside of my leathers are soaked in sweat, and on my face it cools and dries, reminding me of my first, fast, pizza-boy fantasy.

  I unzip my jacket enough to let the night air in and the sudden chill stiffens my already erect nipples to painful sensitivity. They rub against the rough leather, sending aftershocks through my overstimulated system. There’s no sex like the solo ride. My husband is a good man in every sense, a hard worker, a provider, on his way up in his firm. I enjoy our intimacy and he treats me like a princess, but he can’t make me feel the way my Harley does.

  I take a few deep breaths to recover and as I do, I pass a dark shape on the center median. It’s a cop, lurking there in the night with his radar. I’m going too slowly now to catch his interest, and I laugh that my fantasy has spared me from the reality of a speeding stop. The pizza-boy vision replays in my mind, this time with the radar cop in his place. This cop isn’t the poster boy stud I was conjuring up a minute ago but a three hundred pound donut pig, with his belly overlapping his gunbelt. In sixty fast seconds of mind-fucking myself I make him have a heart attack even as he comes on my face, and I leave him dead by the roadside with his pants around his ankles. Call me sick if you want, I just might like it.

  Gear up and back to cruising speed. I’ve noticed something about my ovulation week dreams. The sex is always degrading, but when the degradation is because the man is a loser its oral sex and I’m the one calling the shots. When the guy is a stud then he takes my cunt or my ass and I have no control at all. The first kind gets me hot, but it’s the second kind that gets me off. You might try to dig some deep psychological meaning out of that. Good luck to you.

  I accelerate a little more as a sign flashes overhead. I’ve chosen my route unconsciously, heading in to the sky glow of the city. The post orgasmic bliss doesn’t last long, and I need to find more excitement. A minute later excitement finds me. Someone blows past on a red/black blur that might have been a Kawasaki Ninja. Instinctively I hit the gas to race him, then I remember the speed trap. No way this guy didn’t light up the radar gun. I glance over my shoulder and see blue-red-blue flashing, coming fast. I maintain speed, wait for the cop to come flying past and then fall in behind him, winding out the revs to keep up. Ninja-boy is running, and this cop intends to make quota tonight.

  And me? I’m getting a free ride with the speedo up in the stupid part of the dial. My path is being cleared by blue-red-blue, and any cop ahead of me is going to be deployed to stop the Ninja. It’s my own private police escort and the wind is almost lifting me right out of my seat. My adrenaline surges as the chase eats up mileage. There’s no traffic, no nothing, it’s fucking beautiful. Too soon brake lights flare and the cop pulls over to the left. The Ninja has gotten away. I slow down to sanity, pass the cop as he turns around at the crossover, going back the way he came, then throttle up again.

  The adrenaline and the speed have got me juiced up once more, and I think about the Ninja rider chasing me down and slicing the crotch of my leathers open with a hunting knife so he can fuck me over the seat of my still running bike. He’s tall and dark and strong and he knows exactly what he’s doing. Yeah, my rape imagery always involves guys who I’d fuck in a heartbeat, so is that really rape? My clit throbs as I run the fantasy, but traffic picks u
p as I come into downtown and I can’t focus enough to make it happen. Instead I weave the traffic, grab an offramp into the wrong side of town. Spray painted buildings, boarded up windows, trash on the street corners, some of it wearing gang colors.

  Angry eyes follow me and I don’t stop for the red lights that still work. The fantasy morphs into a gang bang, anonymous young faces with hard eyes, my clothing torn off, my arm twisted painfully behind me, my face shoved down on dirty pavement while I’m fucked by a succession of anonymous inner-city cocks, each eager to take class vengeance on upper-crust suburban cunt. I squirm in my seat, feel the engine throb, but I’m not going anywhere near fast enough with city driving, and this place carries the very real risk of turning my fantasy into reality. All I’d have to do to make that happen is stop, but I’m not quite that self destructive, not tonight anyway. I need to get back on the highway.

  And then a red-black Ninja cruises past and I lock eyes with the rider, and realize it’s not Ninja Boy but Ninja Girl, blonde and hot in her leather and on a whim, on a compulsion, I pull a one-eighty and follow. I’m a Harley rider and I won’t give the time of day to someone who pilots Kawasaki scrap, but I only know one woman who would race the cops like that, and that’s me. Maybe it’s my competitive instinct, maybe it was the way her eyes burned in to mine as we passed, but I follow her, not too close, not too far back. She leads me out of the bad area into downtown proper, still a place you could get mugged or murdered, but here it isn’t a given. She parks in front of a trendy nightclub and walks up a side street. I park and follow her.

  The place she turns into is a blank storefront. Above the door is a number, twenty-three-seventeen. The windows are frosted white glass, and one of them bears the etched black outline of an old fashioned key. There’s no other marking, no indication of what might lie behind the door. I hesitate, then try the handle. It opens. Inside is a vestibule, a set of stairs leading down, the faint pulse of music. It’s a club of some kind. The woman from the Ninja has taken off her leather jacket, is handing it to a coat check girl whose look is too hardcore to be simply affected goth. She takes something in exchange, a snaky riding crop. She looks up, our eyes meet, my knees go weak. Fantasy is becoming reality. My life is about to change.

  Part Seven

  Yeah you know the Club, don’t you, honey? That’s the Club where Julie went to start her advanced classes. That’s the Club where the trainer polished his skills, where cage-girl is displayed, where the traveller comes when he comes home. You know what bike-girl is going to find there, don’t you? You know what’s behind that door she’s just stepped through, because it’s your door, my door, our door, and every time you see a door you’re reminded of me, reminded of the desire I ignite in you. Every time you see a door you can’t help knowing that I’m just on the other side of it, just that close to you.

  Bike-girl’s highway is our road, her journey is our connection and in a very real way, she is you. Believe it, honey. You’re both united in your need for that burning consummation, so lacking in your normal life. You know it because you can feel it out there, waiting for you, and you desire it, you need it, you want it. That’s why you come to me, isn’t it, honey? You want it hard, you want it dirty. I know you don’t want to ask for it that way. That would be so much harder, wouldn’t it, honey? It would be so embarrassing, so humiliating to come right out and say what it is you’ve been craving for so very long. So I’m going to make it easy on you, honey, and I’m just going to give it to you. You don’t have to ask for it, beg for it, plead for it. You can even protest if you want, you can struggle, you can fight. You can do anything you want, just so long as when you’re done you do what I want you to do. And you know you’re going to honey, just like I know you’re going to, because deep down we both know what you need.

  So what I want you to do, honey, is go and get your favourite midnight friend, you know the one I mean, that firm, phallic shaft that does it for you when no-one else is going to, the one that violated your open holes while you did your homework like Julie. You’re going to get fucked soon honey, you’re going to get fucked hard and deep and there’s nothing you can do about it, nothing you can say. This won’t be a fantasy, this is going to be as real as it gets, and we both know how your belly tightens up when I say that.

  And I just want to say, while you remember where it is you put your favourite masturbation tool, that I love doing this to you, I love reaching out and touching you like this, I love the fact that you’ll do everything I want you to do, even when you can’t admit you want it. Even when you really don’t want it. Ooops, did I say that, honey? How very politically incorrect of me. A post-millenium man who prefers smart, accomplished, independent women shouldn’t ever think of making them do things they don’t want to do, should he? He most certainly shouldn’t like it.

  But I do like it, honey, and so do you, and that’s not a contradiction because there are different ways of wanting it and even though you might not like what’s happening, you like the fact that it’s happening anyway. You want that, you need that, because it means you’re not in control. And you do need to be out of control, don’t you, honey? Say “Yes,” for me. You know enough to say that by now.

  “Yes, I want to be out of control.”

  “Yes, I’m going to do whatever you want me to.”

  And so you can start by stopping, honey, stop right here and go get your cock substitute, because I don’t want to wait any longer. Just do it, do it now.

  Oh yes, honey, feel it in your hand, long and thick and firm. You know where it’s going, don’t you? Or at least you think you do. I’ll tell you right now you’ve got part of the answer. Does your heart race when you read that, honey? Do you get a little hotter, breathe a little faster when you think about what the other part might be?

  Yes, you do, I know you do. So what I want you to do is kiss it honey, kiss the very tip of that rigid shaft. Run your tongue around it; lick it like ice-cream. Lick it like it was my cock. You want more now, you want to feel it sliding into your mouth, parting your lips, opening you, putting you into that sexually receptive position, that sexually receptive state. I want you to know something, honey, and that is that my cock is rigid for you right now. It’s as hard as that shaft in your hand, as the one that your soft, supple lips are making love to right now. I want you to picture that now, picture my cock with just a drop of fluid glistening at its tip. Realize how warm it is, how hard and how soft at the same time. Take in the swollen, purple head and realize how it’s going to make you feel to be down on your knees in front of it, looking up at me looking down as you go to work to earn a face full of sperm. Yeah, work it honey, work it hard for me.

  And slide that shaft right in to your mouth, one firm, deep motion, slide it as far as it can go and then hold it there. Use your lips, use your tongue, that’s the deal, that’s the ideal. You want it to feel so good for me, right honey? And now that you’re sucking on it, we’ll just relax and have a little chat.

  How was your day, honey? How was your week? Was it long? Was it stressful? Did you have to deal with too much from too many people? I know you managed it, I know you came out on top. You’re so good at what you do, honey, I’m proud of you.

  Keep sucking honey, I didn’t say to stop.

  Now think about the last good book you read, think about the title. I’d love to talk to you about it, have a nice, long, intimate conversation about it. I’d love to hear what you have to say.

  Except of course you don’t have anything to say right now, because your mouth is full of cock. So let’s not think, let’s just experience. And what I want you to experience is that violating phallus stroking in and out, all the way in, and all the way out, over and over and over again. Do that for me, fuck your mouth the way I’d fuck it. Do it hard and long and keep on doing it. I want your lips to be sore, I want your jaw to ache, I want your entire world to become my cock, and that’s the only thing that’s going to happen. I want it to be uncomfortable. I want i
t to be awkward and humiliating. I want you to feel like a degraded little slut, face-fucking herself on command, on my command.

  Are you going to do that for me? Are you going to be my eager, willing little slut? Keep that cock moving honey, that’s the only answer I need. Keep it going in and out. It’s making you wet, isn’t it honey? It's making your eager little pussy juice to be forced into this, and the more uncomfortable it is the more you want it.

  Oh yes, you want it underlined that you’re not the one in charge here, that your job here is just to take whatever it is I have to give to you. Go on, suck it harder, honey, suck it like you mean it. You want to show me how good you are, don’t you? You want to show me how much better you are at this than all the other girls. You want to be the dirtiest, the nastiest, the sluttiest. You want to turn me on so much, get me so hard that I have no choice but to grab your head and slam fuck your mouth until I jet my sperm into you and onto you. And then you’re going to look up at me with this expression halfway between innocence and decadence with your face all flushed and dripping with sperm. And you know just how hot you’ll look in that moment, and you know the best way to get that look is just to get into it, to be that dirty, that slutty, that depraved. And so you’re doing it, and you don’t need me to tell you to suck harder, but you like it when I do because then you know you’re doing it for me.

  Suck harder. Yeah, you get to me. I have no trouble telling you that. Fuck yes, suck it you hot little slut, suck it cunt, come on, show me you deserve to have your face sprayed. Fuck yes, do it for me, get into it, feel the head of my cock at the back of your throat as confirmation of just how good you are. Fuck yes, feel my balls tighten up, inhale the scent of me, rich and masculine, taste me, taste the proof of my desire as it leaks out on your tongue. You can feel it coming, feel me coming and you want it, more than anything, that salty, sticky stamp of approval, and the feeling of satisfaction, of completion, that comes with it. Oh, fuck yes, you want it and I want it, honey, and I am thrusting my hips, forcing it between your lips as you suck and you are exactly where you want to be with your lips wrapped around my cock and you know what’s going to happen next.