Masochism of M: A Sexual Mémoir

by Janice Collins

  The British Commandos, I swooned mentally. Why did this enthrall me so? Ooo my mind was on overdrive.

  Instantly I pictured ‘Big Sir’ in a starched camo uniform, cloth jump boots, and a glinting steely weapon by his side. Or better yet, in a sweaty camo uniform, or oh, god, just a sleeveless wife-beater and fatigues! Oh man, my body throbbed at the thought! God, he looked good. God, I was hopelessly hooked!

  I found out he’d been in the 3 Commando Brigade—an elite unit—and lord-y, there was no question he was elite. He simply oozed confidence, and this man’s still waters ran incredibly deep. There was so much intensity in those pea-green eyes that I dared only sneak peeks of him; usually as he slipped quietly into the hallway to rinse his palette or wash the guache from his brushes.

  Sir made my whole world stop. He literally took my breath away. No man, alive or dead has ever done that to me. Well, except for John Wayne, and he’s not ‘really’ real. He may be an actor, and a deceased one at that, but he’s still the hottest star I know, and the man whom this ‘Big Sir’ so reminded me. (Still does and always will.) That slooow way of talking; that smack-you-in-the-face line delivery; that Quiet Man volcano smoldering deep inside. And his eyes? Sir’s eyes pierced my very soul.

  Day after day I absorbed him. There in the classroom where my sun shined only through him I began to live each day just to breathe his air. Oh, I listened to the instructors, dutifully executed the projects, and inked my lines like a good little artist, but, oh my…. What a major distraction this god of a man had become for me.

  Slowly, with the stealth of a ninja, this beautiful loner drove me stark raving mad. Did he know? It was pretty obvious. I lost it every time he was near; I stammered, I flushed, my heart did triple jumps, and I kept managing to drop things. I tripped over my own two feet. My panties? Oh dear, they were soaked. Still, I reminded myself, I was probably no more than a fly on the wall to this superman; a pest to be squashed and flicked away. That is IF he even noticed me at all. I dismissed as coincidental his occasional return glance. If our eyes did meet I’d blush and suddenly have the need to double down on the project at hand.

  Day by day my fever pitch grew. I was a volcano set to erupt.

  Then…

  OHMYGOD—AGAIN.

  One cloudy afternoon, after weeks of throbbing temples, soaked panties, and an agonizingly aching cunt I prepared to walk to my evening shift at work as usual. Gathering my art gear, I rode the elevator down the six flights, exited the door, and walked slowly into the street. I was in no particular hurry. It was just work after all.

  I had only gotten a half block when I heard footsteps echoing behind me. There was something about those steps that instinctively made me want to turn and look, but at the same time my spidey sense told me not to. Their fast-approaching tempo inexplicably matched the beat of my pounding heart. I couldn’t figure out why till the tall figure was right by my side.

  GOOD GOD, my heart leapt, it was Sir!

  I held my breath, certain that he was merely passing by. I waited. More breath holding. But he wasn’t passing by! OH no! To my shock (and utter delight) he was actually speaking to me! Could I believe my ears? What?! He could talk? Obviously so, because he was asking me... to LUNCH!

  LUNCH! ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME? YES! My thoughts screamed, but I managed to pipe a subdued “Sure” accompanied by a sweet smile instead. It was all I could do to keep my head from exploding.

  Piss on the afternoon shift. Piss on my paycheck. Piss on the planet!

  Even if it’d been the best job in the world instead of the dead-end position it was, with nothing but losers, freaks, and a tightwad boss it would NOT have mattered. The instant I heard Sir’s invitation I dropped everything and trotted off with him like a lost puppy.

  I would not have cared if I was on the way to meet the president of the United States, I’d have taken this man’s hand and followed him to the ends of the earth, no questions asked. I was hopelessly and utterly gone.

  Though we tried to play it cool, it was a little awkward for both of us as Sir scouted out the perfect spot. No doubt he’d have been way more at home, range finding from a tree and barbecuing a sloth. First we jogged down the steps of one restaurant, then jogged right back up again. Too many obnoxious suits. He kept looking and I kept trotting along.

  At last we landed. Sir picked a great little pizza parlor, one of my absolute favorites. I think he was feeling so uncomfortable trailing up and down the streets he didn’t give a damn where we lit, as long as we lit and lit pronto.

  I sympathized with Sir. I could tell he was a fish out of water, which made me appreciate his sacrifice of this impromptu lunch date even more. I imagined things were foreign for this Mountain Man, who had until recently made his living jumping out of perfectly good airplanes and dodging bullets.

  At the pizza place we didn’t talk much. I imagined the ‘civilian’ atmosphere was freaking him out. Me? I couldn’t have cared less if not one word was spoken. Nothing else mattered but that I was THERE with HIM. Everything and everyone around us faded as I simply melted into a wet puddle under his gaze. Those intense green eyes; those long lashes brushing his chiseled cheeks as he looked down. That boyish innocence melding into a Samurai aura that promised fifty ways to kill you before you could put down your fork. I couldn’t believe I was actually sitting two feet away from THIS MAN; all by ourselves at last!

  “Order anything you want,” he piped. “I’ve got money!” He was half joking, but it was the sweetest thing a man had ever said to me. Imagine rugged, big John Wayne in cowboy hat and six-shooter, sitting across from you at the local pizzeria and trying to look natural.

  I smiled. No, I beamed.

  We both ordered hoagies. I could have been served plaster of Paris on a plate and it would have tasted like filet mignon to me, basking in his presence. He ordered first, and I ordered second, only I ordered mine with ‘no onions’. When the sandwiches came, he dutifully pulled the onions off his. I pretended not to notice, but, again I thought it was terribly sweet. I preferred to believe he was trying not to offend me with ‘onion breath’, though maybe he simply didn’t like onions. We ate in relative silence, a word or two tossed in about school here and there. When finished we headed out the door to walk the several blocks to the lot where he was parked, the euphoria of our fantastic lunch fading with each blasted step. I didn’t want it to end!

  Suddenly out of the blue Sir asked me if I wanted to take a ride… to ‘talk’.

  OF COURSE!! I wanted to scream with my hands pressed on the sides of my head to keep it from exploding, but I demurely forced a subdued “OK” instead.

  ‘No’ at this juncture, was not even in my vocabulary; no to anything.

  His ‘ride’, good grief I was amazed! Not surprised, because this was John Wayne, after all. It was huge! A tall, high-set-up Mercedes-Benz Unimog as black as the ace of spades and with tires so big I couldn’t begin to fathom their cost. The height of this monster would put a person eyeball to eyeball with eighteen-wheelers!

  Arriving at my side, I stopped and stared—up and up. Daunting! I had no clue how I was going to mount this Everest on wheels, but there was no freaking way I was letting a little thing like height stop me now. I was limber and VERY stubborn, and somehow I managed to stretch my high-heeled legs to scale that behemoth... and all without ripping my skirt or spraining anything. Amazing! I wasn’t about to utter a word of complaint either, no matter if it killed me!

  Once back on familiar turf Sir was himself again… the sleek black panther returning to its lair. No longer out of his element, his confidence was now as strong as his biceps. (Really strong.)

  First edict: seat belt. There was no negotiation, simply a plop of the belt into my lap with that look. That ‘John Wayne’ one.

  “Do you have to get to work now?” He murmured.

  “Work?” I squeaked (oh crap, there’s that). “Well... I suppose…” I mumbled weakly. I didn’t want to force myself on him, after al
l… Why’d he have to bring that up… ?

  Resignedly I gave Sir directions to my ‘prison-cell’ building. Perhaps it was the dread in my voice, perhaps it was fate, but to my utter JOY Sir pulled over a block short of my work. Ever the genius, bless his heart, thankfully he had something up his sleeve.

  “I want to show you something,” he said shyly. He dropped the Mercedes into park and reached into the back to pull a folder from his portfolio case. “I’m making my own Tarot deck.”

  I beamed, just happy to be stopping anywhere with him.

  I took the packet he offered and eagerly peeked inside.

  “Wow” I exclaimed in genuine amazement. The boards were expertly rendered and beautifully colored, a perfect representation of Sir’s unique mystical Tarot deck. I was impressed—not only with the work, but with the fact that Sir was actually sharing them with me. I was so absolutely (trying-to-be-quiet-and-not-shake) thrilled, I couldn’t believe this was happening.

  We sat discussing the intricacies of Tarot about which I knew pitifully little, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to let that slow me down. I’m good at improvising, especially when the stakes are this high. Soon it became obvious that we needed to either keep feeding the meter or find a spot that was free.

  Without discussion, Sir started the engine. He was taking me where? Did I ask? Oh HELL no.

  I settled back to enjoy the ride to NeverWhere. Sir proceeded to transport his helpless prey along the twilight streets to one of her favorite spots—the river’s edge—and park on the thick brick-paved embankment which ran the entire length of the city. It was flanked by the two stadiums on either end, and the view, always gorgeous, was especially brilliant this afternoon. The low-riding sun sparked its Byzantine dance across the undulating waters as the whirlpools sucked at various lengths of wood debris trapped by the bridge supports, and the bubbling undertow bounced driftwood against the moored, gently rocking riverboats.

  We sat quietly by the water for a few minutes, listening to the placid sounds of the river lapping and the cars ‘singing’ on the bridge overhead, when impromptu he gently took my hand. Staring intently at the captive member, he turned it over slowly and then back again in his large palms, examining it with an artist’s eye. Hypnotically he murmured, “Your hands are so thin and pale…” Then, softly, eyes fixed on my fingers, he massaged them and quietly continued, “…so delicate; like a bird’s bones. So fragile I could crush them in my hand,” and he gave a confirming squeeze. The supernatural spell was set. My heart stopped. The concept, the idea; the gentleness with which he spoke of such sensual violence was mesmeric.

  It was intense; a compelling Bram Stoker moment. So entranced was I, not a single thought of retreating did I have. I was a bird frozen in viper’s gaze, petrified by the concept of my blood on its fangs.

  The electricity was obvious: I went numb. Starting at my toes, the warm paralysis spread upward through my veins, making my weakened arms feel like lead weights. With lips quivering, I silently watched Sir’s eyes make a slow ascent to my knee… inch… by… inch. I was no longer there—just that knee... with Sir’s hand... and those pounding drums.

  As a whole I didn’t exist anymore—that person was too weak to move anyway. Everything was surreal as he squeezed my knee for a long moment, then languidly, maddeningly-slowly slid his hand up my thigh. I was dazzled. On fire. When he reached my crotch he paused and gently but firmly massaged while his glassy eyes unhurriedly drifted to mine. I was a limp butterfly impaled on a mount. The throbbing of my clit, those guileless green hostage-taking eyes ordering ‘don’t move’ was all something out of a movie, or a dream…

  Or my diary…

  I swear, I couldn’t breathe. The throbbing in my crotch and head was maddening. My eyelids fluttered with the roaring silence, silence that demanded filling with… something. Wasn’t I the ‘entertainer’, the geisha after all? Surely the dead air was casting aspersions on me. I tried to summon an appropriate phrase, but instead I swallowed dryly and stammered, “What would you like for me to do?”…

  Give me a break; it was all I could come up with under the circumstances.

  “Kiss me,” he murmured, leaning back in his seat.

  Shyly, I leaned over and timidly brushed his lips. They were soft and firm and hot, oh so hot. It only lasted a second.

  “That’s not a kiss,” he taunted.

  I drew a breath and tried again. This time the floodgates burst as I climbed into his lap and pressed my mouth to his in a kiss hotter than the surface of the sun. I found myself gyrating into his hard body with all my pent up passion.

  Earth shaking. Breathtaking. Glass melting.

  Wild.

  Embracing Sir was unbearable. He charged my whole body with an electric current that wouldn’t let go. He was huge, solid, the most rugged man I’d ever touched. He smelled of pine, the woods, of ‘Bold’ brand detergent, and of all things manly and good. Oh my god he was so unreal I couldn’t stand it. I had wanted this for so long.

  The kiss did it. Whatever reservations I had were sent tumbling down the sun-dappled river with the driftwood. I knew I had fallen for this hunk of man the second I saw him. Now I was hopelessly hooked. Love at first sight? Absolutely. It definitely does exist. He was living proof.

  At this moment anything he wanted, I wanted more.

  Anything at all. Yes, please.

  It was entirely proper, then, that in silence Sir started up the Mercedes... entirely proper that he drove up the bricked riverside and straight into the twilight. It was entirely logical that I sit back, close my eyes, bask in the glow of that scorching kiss still tingling on my lips, and enjoy the hot evening breeze that washed over me as we sailed.

  I was in a trance and happy to be driving anywhere with him, no matter where in the universe he was taking me. We paralleled the flowing river as it ribboned its way through the trees beside the darkening highway.

  After ten minutes without a word, Sir turned left toward the river again. Only this time the backdrop was wild as we jostled along a rough gravel road that bisected fallow black fields on either side. A path appeared in his headlamps and seconds later we were slowing to veer onto the narrow, weed-covered path in the middle of a scruffy woods. A few yards in he paused just a moment at the top of an overgrown embankment, before shifting into reverse and rushing us pell-mell backwards down the frighteningly steep slope. We landed with a ‘thunk’ at the bottom. This was my first encounter with what would later become a recurring theme. I quickly learned to gulp and shut my eyes. What else could I do?

  Satisfied with the spot, he killed the engine and I watched the brush fill in around us again like a cage.

  There we were.

  Where we were…?

  It didn’t matter to me.

  I gave a quick scan around, but I didn’t give two hoots where we’d landed, or how rugged the terrain was. Sir had the inexplicable ability to make me feel totally safe, regardless. Or maybe it was still just the trance.

  My heart was pounding and with blinding sexual deviance all l I could think of was being his, right here, right now—immediately if not sooner.

  In a flash we ripped off our clothes. Catching a glimpse of him, I gasped. My god this man’s beauty was blinding. I had never seen a man so well built, so muscular, so tanned and taut and smooth—let alone been close enough to touch him. He smelled of pine and soap, and his breath of peppermint kisses. His skin was like kid leather stretched over steel; his muscles, thick and hard rippled like the rolling river beside us. His whole scent was delectable. I couldn’t get enough. I trembled as I filled my nostrils with his hot, masculine musk.

  Soon we switched to the back where Sir had shoved the seats forward with a quick flick of his hand. “To allow us to get spastic” was his exact phraseology. How apropos. Get as spastic on me as you want, 3 Commando Brigade, Sir.

  I went down on him instantly. After allowing me to pleasure him for a few wonderful minutes, he pulled me up and laid me back o
n the seat to kneel and return the favor. Totally unaccustomed to cunnilingus, I instantly stiffened in protest, reflexively dropping a hand to cover my crotch.

  “What’s the matter?” He puzzled quietly, innocent eyes looking up at me. I realized how totally freaky this must seem to him. What woman doesn’t welcome getting orally pleasured?

  This woman, that’s who. I didn’t feel it was right... I didn’t like the attention. That was for me to do to him, not vice-versa.

  “I... I’m just not used to this,” I stammered.

  Sir ignored me and lowered his mouth to my clit anyway. So much for the protest. I came so quickly at his tongue, but felt so guilty. I would’ve much rather pleasured him to climax than to see this god of a man on his knees before me even for an instant. It just... wasn’t right.

  Before my shuddering orgasm was spent, Sir raised my limber legs to my head and positioned his monster dick at my wet cunt. I gasped and convulsed again as he slid straight in.

  There was no time to catch my breath; he didn’t hesitate, but pumped into me like he was storming a hill. The heat and humidity—not to mention the tour-de-force—drew beads of sweat from Sir’s face which rolled down his chin to drip straight onto my cheeks and into my mouth like liquid diamonds. Sweet ambrosia from the gods. I will never forget it as long as I live—the taste, the feel, that hot, salty tang. I can close my eyes right now and experience every drop on my tongue—hot, pungent, and delicious.

  Now both of us were sweating in the steamy twilight of this deciduous jungle as he fucked me like a military maniac and I held on for dear life.

  He kept my legs high and wide as his hard, muscular body pounded mine. It wasn’t long before my orgasm number two exploded, and I jerked and squealed like a banshee in heat. Writhing and gyrating uncontrollably, everything everywhere fell into oblivion. This cum was better than the first, and I shamelessly abandoned any semblance of dignity. It was great. My body throbbed with the multiple cums and I felt like a twig out on the river, caught in a boat’s shimmering wake; helpless beneath this man-eagle’s talons of iron.