I waited for the negatives, intolerantly sidestepping the darkroom foreplay, snapped up my prints as soon as they exited the heat press and headed out the door. Frank’s jaw trailed the floor along with the little dust bunnies in my wake. ‘Oooo I had her right here in my clutches and I let her escape!’ no doubt Frank whimpered.
No way. Sorry ‘bout your luck, Frankie old boy. I was on a mission from god and had no time to waste on him.
Counting on Sir still having a few functioning hormones, I timed my exit from class—the last possible afternoon before we all went our separate ways—right on the heels of his. I took an empty elevator a few seconds behind him, popping out to discreetly trail down the street like a sleuth. I hung back a prudent forty feet or so strictly to satisfy any potential wife-y confederates watching. Of course he knew I was following. It was laughable to think you could ever sneak up on Sir.
His padding feet were as tense as a cat as he walked. Every muscle was coiled tight as a spring. Oddly, from behind I couldn’t help thinking how like a tall, stretched, superhero green bean he looked, in his long, olive green, wool trench coat with the belt swinging loosely at his waist in perfect rhythm with his steps. Judging from his severely hunched shoulders and his hanging head, he was as miserable as a little kid that’d been spanked and dunce-capped in the corner.
We queued our way to the parking lot, where, finally out of sight of school, he could acknowledge me at last, though it was nothing more than a subtle flick of the eyes from across the lot.
Whether or not he had plans to come over to my car, I was taking no chances. Those next two weeks promised to be long and cold enough without at least some sizzle.
I sprinted to my car across from his, where I’d made sure to park just for this snaring and snatched up the little brown paper bag of goodies from the back seat.
While he didn’t exactly initiate anything from across the lot, he did linger a few significant extra minutes at his car door. I jumped on it. I drew a deep breath and hurriedly slammed my door.
“Have you got a minute?” I called to him. “I want to show you something.” I paced over to his Mercedes, a mysterious smile on my face.
Sir paused indulgently. He was just as lost as I was.
I reached inside the bag and pulled out the barely-still-warm glossies. The next moment was worth all the fighting off of Frank that I’d had to endure that morning. Sir took the proffered black and white stills from my hand and his eyes froze. His face started beaming from his chin to his hairline, and if eyes could pop, his did. The pictures completely changed the gray day.
I shrugged my shoulders in mock indifference, “I wondered if you liked me better sweet or nasty,” I purred. These pictures were like whipped-cream-on-top-of-fuck-me-cherry-pie.
Sir slowly tilted his head and leveled his eyes at me. “I like you nasty,” he replied with a sultry grin.
No one was around, so I wasn’t technically breaking any rules.
“My brother-in-law would love to get hold of these,” he murmured. Then he added the magic words: “Get in for a minute.”
“They’re yours,” I quipped, rounding the hood, “I made them for you.”
‘OK, Mary Magdalene’, I tsk-ed, ‘now you’ve done it. You’ve interfered. You’re going to hell for sure. Now do you feel better?’
‘Hell yes!’ was my immediate reply. ‘I’m beginning to!’
It felt damn good to be back in Sir’s Mercedes again. Even if I did have to struggle to climb into it as usual. Even if I had manipulated and finagled my way in. Even if I was only there for his pleasure. That was more than enough. I was obsessed and, as anyone who’s been there knows, there’s nothing quite as bewitching as obsession.
The light, icy drizzle that had just begun to fall on our dusk rendezvous gave a glaze of privacy to the Mercedes’ windows. I was tingling with excitement in this sexually tense atmosphere so thick you could slice it, but Sir, sitting mere inches from me seemed almost virginally shy. He couldn’t even bring himself to voice what he wanted. But he didn’t have to tell me. I knew what he wanted and it was exactly what I wanted, too. Being unmercifully pussy-whipped these past few weeks, his personal pleasures had obviously been shoved to the back burner in deference to his wife’s gratification. (‘The old lady has to cum first, ‘ he had said.)
If he only knew, I needed no such ‘boot’-licking. I was so happy to please him—happy to be allowed to please him—that I did so with enthusiasm and lust.
I released his hard cock and dove into my pleasuring of him with no further ado, feeling his tension melt the instant my mouth touched down. He dropped his head back against the seat with a plop, heaved his pent-up breath, closed his eyes, and the magic carpet ride we took as he came was blissfully surreal.
Like a sex-vampire, I swallowed his cum as part of my lusty covenant.
It hadn’t taken long, but it was a good cum, I could tell. Sir collapsed limply against the seat with abandon like a king on his throne. He kept his eyes closed as he savored the moment, and I savored the sweet taste of his cum on my tongue.
It was several minutes till he finally spoke. “I feel like I’m part of the universe,” Sir murmured, buzzing from the effective blowjob, “floating on a huge sea.”
Yeah, that’s how climax felt for me, too. Only I nearly lost all contact with earth when I came. Buzzing noises bombarded my ears and reality just sort of went on hold. Even my eyes clouded over as I undulated and convulsed and moaned, my lips freezing into the inevitable O—sometimes mute, sometimes screamed—that I was unable to control. Cumming was definitely a transcendental experience. Cumming with Sir was the highest experience of all. He, I’m sure, had no idea the effect he had on me, but there was no way I could ever play it cool with Sir.
Playing it ‘cool’ was my usual gimmick with guys. Coming across all pure and innocent and then driving them out of their minds with teasing was a favorite strategy of mine. I was a master at tinkering with men’s souls. I suppose because I seemed so unattainable, most men were intimidated by me. But that didn’t work with Sir. He could never be intimidated by me. When he was finally unleashed and did come for me it was like a steam engine out of control.
All I cared about at this moment was that my evil plan had worked. Though we spent only an hour or so together, I got my fix.
Thanks to this little ploy, the next two weeks would somehow now be bearable.
8 —Illinois
“Now what...?”
I survived Christmas break. By some miracle I had made it through.
Now, per a rendezvous cooked up by the revitalized Sir, we had met at our usual place downtown—a parking lot across from a familiar school hangout. I coasted into a space and gleefully hopped out to scale his Mercedes. I was beginning to get the hang of it now, even in four-inch heels.
We sped through the twilight with the big black growling monster gobbling up the streets. The twinkling shop lights, like a runway, slid past as we slingshot onto the highway. Overhead the tangerine sun dangled so close it seemed like we could reach up and touch it. Specks of stars were beginning to dot the top of the sky and once again we were off to christen another spot with our hell bent sex. These nights were magic; the forbidden country roads, the fields of spent crops sliding by. Sir announced with quiet sincerity as we drove through a certain ‘burb, “They don’t like me here.”
He’d been a real hell-raiser before the Commandos, as if he wasn’t now.
The further west we drove the dimmer the stars got, hidden by thickening clouds. Soon a drizzle started and progressed to a soft but steady downpour.
Sir finally slowed. At a shadowy concrete archway appearing in the wall beneath the elevated expressway, we swung left and gingerly coasted through. I strained my eyes in the pitch black to ascertain exactly where we were going as the expressway lamps high overhead palely lit the ground. Against the backdrop of the faintly glowing sky, I could just discern the black silhouettes of slender sticks all around us, swa
ying in the wind-swept rain. He had yet again ferreted out another magical spot: a deserted, half-harvested cornfield promising anonymity beneath the sound-deadening, roaring highway above. Shining like quicksilver in the half-light, large swells of temporarily ponding water dotted the vast expanse of ground. The field seemed to stretch on forever against the glow of the skyline, and dry stalks, like so many rattling bones, jutted starkly from the scintillating, shining puddles. Only dull blackness and a few trees hid us from the otherwise unobservant eyes and ears in the cars whizzing by on the overhead road high above. God knows where the owner of the field was. Hopefully tucked far away in his dry living room, eating dinner on a tray and watching TV.
Sir tucked the Mercedes into a dark niche under the sparse copse of trees and killed the engine.
Just being in this place made me tingle. Even the outside chance that Farmer Joe and his shotgun were waiting out there in these rice-patty fields—perhaps closer than thought—gave me goose bumps. But Sir, as always, was cool as a proverbial cucumber.
After battening down the hatches, he moved to the rear seat and settled back. From his new perch Sir extended an inviting hand, taunting me with a half grin and such an agonizingly seductive look I had to fight hopping straight into his lap like a wiggling puppy. I just wanted to play a bit first, so I lingered in the front, teasing, since teasing was my passion. I should have known better; that never worked out. He always managed to turn me into goo. I looked back at him now, a king on his ebony throne with arms languidly draped over the leather seats, exuding the confidence of a crouching Cheetah. I gave it one more try.
Instead of breathlessly joining him in the back as my instincts bid, I lowered my eyes, flashed a coquettish smile, and ever so slowly let first my coat and then my skirt fall in a sultry strip tease. Only my black silk slip remained to tantalizingly outline my bulging breasts. Tips of black heels and pale legs in shimmering hose peeked out from between the seats.
His weakness found, Sir’s smile vanished.
“Come here,” he stated flatly, the sexual-tension mounting. His eyes were still twinkling even if he did look serious.
I smiled a tormenting smile, scorpion that I am, but when Sir cocked his head and re-extended his hand, I was done.
Games over, around the seat I slipped and into his waiting arms. He swept me up like a leaf and suddenly I found myself on my back, black pantyhosed legs draped over the front seat, taking my Owner in my mouth as he knelt over me. My satin slip yielded to his scorching hands as he bared my thighs with a touch.
He changed positions with me, and now I was dancing in the seat, arching and writhing to the rhythm of Sir’s massaging fingers as they worked my clit, my cunt, then both at once. My heart was savagely pounding from lust so hot it was just dripping from between my legs. He could tell by my heavy-lidded gaze that I was ready to explode, but Sir just stared down at me oddly from his vantage point above still massaging me, his glassy eyes saying something I couldn’t hear.
Finally he spoke. “I have something for you,” he murmured almost inaudibly, pausing in his fingering of my clit. He reached under the front seat and retrieved a bag. His voice was thickly hypnotic.
“Oh, no!” I moaned, half in protest of the ceased pleasure, half in apprehension of his ominous statement.
“Oh, yes” his voice hissed. He wasn’t letting me see what he held behind him as he pushed me slowly back down.
What was this momentary ripple of fear that hit me? Whatever, it was delicious. I looked up. He was towering over me again, gazing down, transfixed. I felt his hand again massaging my crotch, fingers probing as before, moving, working; taunting me to cum. I throbbed with pleasure, but I ached for more. I couldn’t stand it! Sir was driving me nuts. What was it he had for me behind his back?
I heard a cold metallic clink.
‘Wha-a?’ My brain snapped. My eyes flew open as I stared in disbelief at—a knife?
“Hold still,” Sir cooed soft as a lullaby.
I did. I was paralyzed.
The glinting blade proceeded casually toward my crotch. I held my breath, not daring to move. My heart pounded as I felt Sir’s artistic hand lightly stroke the razor-sharp instrument over the delicate fabric. The pantyhose split like butte on a hot knife. He opened the entire crotch in one fell swoop. I still didn’t dare breathe. Oh my god, I thought; this is cool as hell. I nearly climaxed with the cold breeze on my fiery crotch. What a rush! Fantasy on fantasy fulfilled in an instant. How could he know?
How long had I dreamt of just this. Sir would never cease to amaze me.
But that wasn’t all; there was more. Never taking his eyes off me, he now produced something else from under the front seat. Without a word of explanation, he poised the object at my dripping wet cunt and slowly began to work it. Into the moist, hot, aching opening between my legs he pressed a long, thick, rigid, and ribbed rubber dildo; its stretching of me agonizingly gentle and slow, and completely maddening. I needed more. I ached for more. I couldn’t stand it until I had more. He was being far too gentle. The words from somewhere slipped out of my mouth with a groan:
“Don’t you want to hurt me?” I whimpered breathlessly. My passion-swollen eyes were riveted on his. There was earnest pleading in my voice and a writhing of my body that couldn’t be denied.
Sir lost it.
At that, his jaw slackened and his vacant eyes became catatonic. His heaving breaths were now drawn through parted lips and flaring nostrils in a face so flushed it radiated even in the dim fairy light. He didn’t speak—I don’t believe he could speak. He simply—slowly, as if in a dream—
… nodded... his... head.
With a look of wild disbelief, he obligingly forced the dildo harder. ‘Oh, yes!’ my mind screamed as I arched into it with an unabashedly loud groan. Oh, my lord, I was hotter than hell, and it felt so damn good. He was reaching sensitive unplowed depths inside me with that goddamned dildo.
Its complete penetration was incredible; simultaneously soothing yet erotically irrational. I moved onto it with every stroke, as Sir turned up the power. The maddening intensity spiraled ‘till I was throbbing to explode. My heaving and moaning married the echoing, lip-smacking wetness as the instrument withdrew and plunged harder and harder, and deeper and deeper. Inexplicably this sensuous fucking danced with delicious, tantalizing, and all-consuming pain.
Who cared if it didn’t make sense; all I knew was, it WAS. This was what I needed. This was what I craved.
Delicious pain. Erotic, sensuous, mind-numbing sexual pain.
Sir’s tremendous strength, with his bulging biceps, could have easily plowed that dildo right through me and out the other side. I was so damned hot I might not have noticed. But I could feel from his trembling muscles he was deliberately holding back. Lucky for me, because I had absolutely no reserve; I just wanted him to fuck me with all his might, forever.
Paradoxical sensations, yin/yang, push/pull, black and white were crashing through my brain. A tormenting, tingling, fiery agitation grabbed hold of me, and it could only be soothed by…
… pain.
I had never experienced such incredible pleasure. Oh, god! I was cumming everywhere at once, cumming and cumming and cumming; though my clit, through my cunt, through my toes, through my ass, up my spine, through my whole body. It was wonderful. Blackness washed over me like hot tar; all sound and thought was extinguished—all but my own gasps and moans.
Oh my god. What the hell?!
I was so damn HOT.
Something clicked that night for both of us. Once bitten, I had to feel those teeth again; that soothing, agonizing, lingering bite in this powerful pain/pleasure paradox where only this man could take me.
I knew he was The One—The One that I had longed for as a teen; The One that I had fantasized about in all my Wildest Dreams; The One who had come to build Time Bubbles with me in that black, velvet universe all our own.
He was THE One.
We were there a long time in our
own private field of dreams, swaying like those bent stalks of corn, remnants of a season passed. Back seat, over the seat, on the seat, between the seats. We fucked until, like the cornfields around us, we were totally, and deliciously spent.
At last we relaxed, the power of our wedded energies absorbed by the sheltering Mercedes.
Unfortunately, all the while we’d been ‘getting spastic’ (as Sir liked to call it) the rain had been getting a little spastic on its own. The drizzle had steadily drummed on, turning puddles into ponds, ponds into lakes, and the lakes into road-devouring waters of unknown depths all around.
Now, back down to earth, I was shocked. When I looked out the window it appeared that Sir’s Mercedes was close to becoming a floating ark on a rain-swept sea. I shivered, despite being pretty sure that the eerie depth of the shimmering water all around us was merely an illusion. You know those boogeymen. With a shake of my head I pushed the silly thoughts aside and started getting dressed.
Our bonfires quenched, I now stripped off my tattered pantyhose, victims of Sir’s sensuous slashing that had so thoroughly rocked my world. It had certainly made things less restricted. And the now-crotch-less pantyhose had fulfilled an incredible fantasy that had burned in me for so long. It was as if Sir had read my diary, but it was ever so much more, he was becoming part of me. An old song he had recorded for me said it all: we were Mated:
'Everyone asks are we some kind of lovers? Everyone asks what you’re doing with me. I know this is not what they want, they’re afraid you’ve been blinded, but I already know how it’s going to be…
'If anyone should ask say we’re mated, for as long as this life lasts, we are mated. Why else would I be here right now? And you know I’ll still be here tomorrow. …'
Masochism of M: A Sexual Mémoir Page 7