The Secret Journey by Paul Christian Page A

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