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pleads for it
to be harder. I give it to her harder, hard enough that my fingers
hurt and she moans, but she takes it. Of course she takes it. She
needs it and she knows it. She has no idea yet just how much she
needs, but she’ll learn.
    I’m going to teach her. I’m a trainer. It’s
what I do.
     

Part Three

    So that’s my little tale of the
racetrack, honey. Did you like it, did it arouse you, turn you
on? Did you wish you were that girl, wish you could be taken like I
took her, just abandon yourself, feel that vulnerable, take the
risk but know that it’s safe? Did it make you breathe hard, make
you squirm, make you wet? Did you play with yourself while you read
it, rub your hot little clit just because it felt so good? Did it
wrench an orgasm from your womb, or did it get two? Or more? It
made you keep reading, I know that much.
    So here’s the catch, it’s a true story - or
at least it’s truly a story and I’ll let you decide what’s truly
the truth. She's just like you, her name is yours, and you're both
caught in this hazy world of words, caught between reality and
imagination. She was my muse, and I touched her just as I am
touching you, but the difference is she broke my heart. And you
might find it amazing that a woman half imaginary could do that,
but she did, just as you might yet. She was so beautiful it hurt,
and so she wounded herself in the mirror. She was stormy as a lover
and yes I loved her stormily though I never heard her voice except
inside my mind. All writers need a muse and she was mine, perfect
in her imperfection and no less real for being ethereal.
    But she’s the past and you’re the future.
You’re real, I know you are, because you’re right there reading
this. You picked me up in the bookstore and you bought me coffee
when you bought this book. That was date number one, honey. Ten
short minutes of talk-and-tease, the kind of interaction whose only
real purpose is the only purpose you won’t admit to, which is to
determine if you want to fuck this stranger you’ve only just met,
and to induce me to want to fuck you too. And when that worked you
took me home, coffee forgotten, focus on the real purpose, which is
the kind of sex that comes from instant chemistry, ab initio sex,
wet and wild with the thrill of discovery.
    I showed you the door then, you know the one.
Look at it now, right now, look up at it and then look back to this
page. That’s the door I showed you, the door you came through, the
door that started you down the road. You stripped for me, showed me
the dirty flirty girl behind that in-control image, showed me the
inner slut, the depraved and desperate need that lurks just below
the surface. You put it on the line for me, gave it all up and that
takes a certain amount of courage, honey. That’s where you found
out that yes, I really do know you. And now you’re back again, the
door closed behind you, and our journey before us. Soon we’ll be in
that place where self revelation happens, in that languid time
after the violent need of fresh new sex, lying, sweaty and sated,
tracing a finger idly over heated skin, asking those casual
questions whose answers mean so much. “So what are you
thinking?”
    But we’re not there yet, not yet, and right
now all you’re thinking is, “What is he going to do with me this
time?” The answer, honey, is anything and everything. Yes, you’re
ready for it, ready for more and we’re going to pick up right where
we left off.
    So let’s go back to last time first. Part
two, remember that? Remember the scent of your cunt and the smell
of your sweat, remember how it felt to offer yourself, open
yourself, reveal yourself. Remember immersing yourself in your own
sexuality just because it turned me on to see you do it. Remember
being on display, bent over, ass up and cunt open. Remember your
arousal, your heat, your raw and burning need. Remember your
orgasm, wracking your body, tearing out the centre of your soul.
Remember