The Secret Journey (11 page)

The way to get it was to offer herself in
trade, and I had found it an offer difficult to refuse. I was half
tempted to call up her file and call her house, but that would be
worse than stupid. She had what she wanted now and I wondered now
what she thought of it. The demons set in. I had hoped to
discourage her from her chosen path with a whipping too intense for
her to take. She would be bruised, no question of that. What if her
parents saw the welts, and asked her where they came from? What if
she not only changed her mind but decided to tell on her own?
Either way my career would end. Would it be worth it, to have a
woman like her in my life? Would it be worth it, to avoid another
Suzanne? My rational brain said not, but the decisions I had made
disagreed with my rational brain. I had made my choices, and she
had made hers, and there was nothing to do but wait.

Monday arrived like the change of the
seasons, and the day seemed to unwind in slow motion while I felt
every eye upon me, as if my colleagues could read the guilt written
on my soul. It went on forever, until the last class of the day,
until creative writing class. Julie came in and sat, at the front
of the class, in the same pleated skirt she’d worn to my house, the
same neat white blouse, her long dark hair was pulled back into a
ponytail, alert and attentive and ready to learn. She was the
perfect student, my perfect student, in every way.
In every
way.
I went through the lesson in a haze, convinced every
student could see our new-forged connection.

At the end of the class everyone handed in
their papers, their weekend homework. She handed hers in last. It
was entitled
Penitence
, six pages stapled together, laser
printed, double spaced. It was the first assignment she’d handed in
on time all year. There was a yellow sticky-note attached to the
front page. 'Thank you for the extra attention in helping me
complete my work. Julie.' I looked at it, looked at her. Her face
was calm and composed. Behind me I heard the door click shut as the
last student left.

I held up her assignment. “Will I be pleased
with this?” I asked her.

“Yes, sir.”

“Face the door.” She did it. “Skirt up.”

She flipped up her skirt to reveal her ass.
She had thong underwear on this time, and though the welts had
faded in most places, they had darkened in a few. I'd marked her,
signed my name on her ass with my riding crop. She was mine,
whether I wanted that or not, but I could not deny that I wanted
it. A lot. Her ass was beautiful, firm and heart shaped, and the
crotch of her thong was soaking wet.

“Skirt down.” I said, resisting the urge to
touch her offered pussy. I couldn’t risk getting caught doing this,
and yet there I was risking it. “Ten o’clock, my place.”

“Yes sir.” She went out and I waited until my
erection had subsided enough to allow me to walk in public. It
would be harder for her to get out on a school night than on a
Friday. I didn’t want it to end now, I just needed it to.

Another endless night of waiting. I read her
story,
Penitence
. It told of a Catholic girl in
confessional, atoning for her sins with oral sex offered through a
hole in the confessional screen. “Bless me Father, for I have
sinned,” it began, and before the end she receives her blessing, a
baptism sprayed on her face from her Father’s guiding staff. It was
dark and explicit, completely inappropriate, and it was stunningly
good.

At ten the door chimed. At three minutes past
she was bent over my desk again, hands grabbing the far side, legs
spread wide, her tight, no-longer virgin cunt clamped around my
cock as she screamed out her orgasm. I fucked her forever, my hands
squeezing her bruised ass cheeks hard, making her beg for it,
making her feel it, making her come over and over, until her
contractions became painful, until she begged me to stop. I didn’t
stop, I kept fucking her, my cock like a steel bar, over and over,
on and on.

When at last I unloaded my balls into her I
nearly passed out. I meant to send her home promptly, mindful of
parental curfews, but she told me her parents were away. I could
have her as much as I wanted. Later that night she crawled for me.
She kissed my boots, licked them, worshipped them. She knelt for me
and sucked me, exactly as in her story, and then I fucked her
again, and again, and again.

It was not lovemaking, it was sex, raw and
violent, passions unbridled. It was conquest and submission, each
of us playing our half of the duet. But when it was over, when I
had fucked her and whipped her and tied her and pumped her so full
of sperm that my balls ached, wrung absolutely dry, when we were
both so drained neither one of us could stand, then the inevitable
emotions set in. I lay on my bed, sweaty and sated, exhausted and
trembling and she put the tangled mop of her hair on my chest and
cuddled close and said “Thank you, Sir,” with a purr of
contentment, and I held her until it was far too late, and she
finally went home just in time to beat the dawn.

She came in her own car I learned. Her
parents had bought it for her birthday. It was the same one she had
taken into the city, to the Club, to follow an instinct she was
only now beginning to understand. I fell asleep when she left,
exhausted and with just three hours before the alarm was due to
wake me.
Alea iacta est.
The
die was cast, the Rubicon left far behind. Julie and I would play
this out, as far as it would go.

I learned over the next month just how far
that might be. There was nothing she would not do. My memory of
that time is full of images flash frozen in my brain with sexual
intensity, Julie kneeling to suck my cock, Julie kneeling with her
tongue extended and covered in sperm, waiting for permission to
swallow. Julie’s face in the mirror, contorted in mingled pleasure
and pain as I came hard up her tight little ass. Julie with her
nose in the corner, skirt up to expose a fresh set of welts, Julie
with nipple clamps, with cunt clamps, Julie gagged, Julie trussed,
Julie crawling, Julie begging for punishment, for orgasm, for me to
cum on her and in her. Julie used and abused and degraded every way
I could think of to do it. She lapped it all up, and then demanded
more.

I changed her arrival time to seven to give
me more time to take her, and my world became Julie. Her parents
spent a lot of time away, which explained her ease in staying out
late. That was purely lucky for me because by then I didn’t care
about getting caught. Psychoanalysis might hint that the reason she
came to me, the reason she needed what I offered, was due to her
parent’s emotional absence, but my role in her life was not to
provide analysis but catharsis. And Julie provided me with what I
needed in return, provided it in full measure. She was my drug,
addictive and compelling, lithe limbed and pliant, soaking up
everything I could give her. And all the time her schoolwork got
better and better, she kept her side of the bargain. I checked her
file after midterm exams, and her marks were all either A or A+.
The other teachers in the staffroom remarked on the change in her
attitude, little guessing what was bringing it about. Her writing
changed too, from dark themes to light, from despair to hope. I’ve
seen that change before, in the women who respond to what it is I
offer. I’ve never seen it so dramatically as in Julie.

I took risks, too many risks. I trained her
to spread her legs on a signal in class, so I could see her wet
cunt while her classmates paid attention to what I’d put on the
board. I trained her to climax on command, and then gave her that
command while she had her legs spread in class. I fucked her in the
classroom after school with the door locked and her wrists cuffed
behind her back. I fucked her at lunch with a ring gag in her
mouth. She came to school with rope marks burned red into her
wrists, and her ass was always marked and sore. I don’t know how
she dealt with that in the locker room or at home. I don’t know
what she told her friends about where she went each night. I was
jeopardizing my career and I didn’t even care. My prep-work went on
autopilot because she occupied all my time every night she could
get free, and all my thoughts on the nights she couldn't. What
mattered was Julie, nothing else.

On the day after Thanksgiving she spent the
evening kneeling beneath my desk with her face in my lap, her lips
wrapped around my cock, sucking eagerly while I read her Act V from
Shakespeare’s Macbeth. It had become our standard instructional
position. The reading was next week’s homework assignment. It was
routine now for her to kneel there, servicing my shaft as I read to
her. The ritual had become comforting in its familiarity, and yet I
could not repress a shudder that was more than sexual as Macbeth's
wife cried “Out, out, damned spot,” as she scrubbed in vain to
cleanse her blood-stained hands. I was stained with the blood of
Julie’s virginity as surely as Lady Macbeth was stained with the
blood of Banquo’s life.

My crime was there for all to see, written in
her sundered hymen, written in the welts that never quite had time
to fade from her ass before I gave her more. I read the passage
again and realized that I had to end it. It was not just my career
but my soul I'd put at risk. No matter how right it felt, it was
still wrong, and I had to stop this while I still had the chance. I
put the book down and looked down at her, her big eyes wide and
worshipful as they looked up at me, her full red lips working my
hard cock just the way I’d taught her.

She slid herself back, to the point where her
lips were just grazing the head of my cock. “Please come on my
face, sir,” she pleaded. “Please make me be your dirty little
whore.”

Desire hit me like a tidal wave, over-riding
every fear, every doubt. I grabbed her hair, thrust my cock back
in, seeking the back of the throat with the swollen head. It was
hard for her to take it that deep but she did it. She did
everything, that’s the way she was, and she thrived on being made
to do it. She loved the thick rigid shaft forcing her jaw wide, the
soft, firm texture of the head, the salty, slippery precum dripping
on her tongue.

It occurred to me that I hadn’t been to the
Club since the first night she’d come to me. She made them all pale
in comparison, Lize and the rest. I looked again into her eyes,
held her head in my hands as my cock stiffened rigid, getting ready
to spurt. She knew what was coming, she knew my responses by now.
Her eyes widened, her expression totally accepting, and almost
without warning my orgasm hit, my balls contracting, emptying spurt
after spurt of sperm down her eager sucking throat. My juice her
mouth until it ran down her chin, and dripped down to glaze her
firm, full tits.

She sighed in satisfaction, her eyes sliding
closed as she swallowed. She was allowed to swallow automatically
when I read to her, and she never failed to tremble in pleasure at
the privilege, her cunt contracting in gentle orgasm without so
much as touching her clit. I leaned back, reclining to allow her to
suckle my softening cock clean. And I knew then that I couldn’t
stop. I truly was addicted to her, eager little minx that she was,
even as she was addicted to me. I couldn’t give her up, come what
may, and I hated myself for my weakness, even as I took strength
from my conquest of her cunt.

And then it was December, report card time.
With it came Parent’s Day, and with Parent’s Day came Julie’s
father. Her mother was away at some social function, and he, like
his daughter, waited until the end of the evening, waited at the
back of the line so he could talk to me alone. He was older than
I’d expected, grey haired and well dressed, with an air of
authority. He was a lawyer, Julie had told me, a partner at a well
established firm, and his handshake was solid. He obviously took
advantage of the corporate fitness plan.

“Good evening,” he said, as I locked the door
behind us and he walked me out to my car. “I want to thank you for
taking the time to do extra work with Julie. My wife and I can’t
believe the change in her.”

“She’s a talented girl,” I replied, and he
couldn’t have understood all the ways in which I meant it.

“She’s worried us for a long time. She hasn’t
seemed to care much about her future.”

“Julie isn’t the average student. She needs a
different approach.” He little knew how different that approach
was.

“Maybe so, but you’re the only one who’s
taken the time to give it to her.”

“She’s a lot smarter than her peer group.
Quite frankly she’s a lot smarter than a lot of my colleagues. That
can be more of a burden than a blessing.”

“Not smarter than you, eh?” He gave me a
nudge and a smile, inviting me into the old boy’s club for a
moment.

I shook my head. “No, she’s smarter than me I
think.”
Smart enough to seduce me into our dangerous little
game.
“I’ve just managed to gain some rapport with her, win her
respect enough that she’ll put in effort.”

He nodded ruefully. “I wish I could do
that.”

“It’s different,” I said, “You’re her father.
She’s trying to grow up and make her own way.”

“I know.” He looked away, and I saw him wish
for the days when his little girl was really still his little girl,
jumping up into daddy’s big strong arms for a hug, laughing in
delight at a magic trick or a new kitten, begging for another
bedtime story or an extra cookie when Mom wasn’t looking. I
couldn’t tell him just how much his daughter had grown up in the
last few months, I couldn’t tell him how very little of his little
girl was left. I couldn’t tell him how I had won her respect, in a
way that would be forever closed to him. I certainly couldn’t tell
him that she was waiting for me that very moment, having let
herself in to my house with her key, that she was waiting, bent
over my desk with her long legs spread and her skirt up ready to be
whipped or fucked at my whim. I might perhaps have told him that
she had missed him growing up, that he shouldn’t have spent so many
late nights at the firm, that he should have given her fewer things
and more time, that the one thing she craved more than anything was
Daddy’s love and approval. I couldn’t tell him that his absence was
ultimately what had brought her to me.