Masochism of M: A Sexual Mémoir

by Janice Collins

  I was admiring the view and wondering when reality would set in, when Sir downshifted and gracefully wheeled into one of the more hidden gated drives. Only this gate was invitingly open—just for us? Immediately upon entering I saw there was a little, unattended guard shack sitting on the right, and as far as the eye could see, wide, green, manicured lawns boasting perfectly matched, mature trees which lined the long, narrow drive. We glided in, and then Sir slowed and set the car in neutral.

  “Now, I’m taking you to meet a couple of my friends,” he began after previous miles of silence except for the Camaro’s roar, while I happily drank in the highway, “and I want you to be very sexy,” he said, lowly. “Very sensual.”

  “The story is that you’ve just gotten off work and didn’t have time to change… Understand me?”

  I nodded innocently. A couple’ of his friends? The nuance hadn’t sunk in. “Yes, Sir,” I piped nonetheless, still mulling the phrase “a couple of friends” over in my head.

  “Very sexy,” he reiterated. “Coquettish. Flirtatious.”

  I can do that, I thought with a smile. “I can do that, Sir.” I echoed my thoughts out loud. No problem. Just stand back, Sir. I will make you proud. Sara Bernhardt at your service...

  I had no idea...

  “They’re definitely not some of the Beautiful People.” Sir continued his description of the ‘friends’ I was about to meet. “They’re the caretakers of this estate. They live here. They’re the only ones that live here, and they host parties for dignitaries and rich fuckers from all over who rent the place out.”

  “Hummm!” I remarked affirmatively, my eyes popping wide as I surveyed the spectacle surrounding us.

  Sir slipped the car into gear and we continued cruising down the long drive. Finally, as we emerged from a last, conjoined arch of ancient trees, there it was, looming out of the shadows like the brooding specter that it was:

  The Mansion.

  I was awe-struck. Before us lay an old English manor, one which had been meticulously groomed and painstakingly primped all around. My brain melted as lava thoughts of O poured through my veins. This could be a real 'Roissy', one that would befit the elegance that the concept conveyed. I quivered with excitement. No wonder Sir was being so scrupulous. We were possibly on the precipice of a divine revelation.

  The main entrance terminated into a large circular driveway around which Sir navigated the panting Camaro. He picked a grassy spot by a little shed off to the left, coasted into it, and cut the engine. It was eerie, the sudden silence after enduring the defining roar. The classic Camaro had a loud voice.

  Sir came around to my side and opened the door, offering a hand. Very unusual for my Owner. I tentatively took it, stretching out a long leg and pulling myself up. As ever, Sir was staring at my legs as the first spiked heel touched down.

  Obviously familiar with the territory, Sir led the way across the lawn to the bricked walkway of a neatly tended Old English garden, complete with rippling lily pond, nestled regally in the center of the circular drive. The tall, bubbling fountain cascaded melodiously into the jade water, and throngs of beautiful flowers and sweet-scented herbs grew profusely in manicured procession all around. Proceeding directly to the pool and sitting down on the damp edge, Sir slowly removed both boots and socks, and eased his hot feet into the soothing waters.

  “Ahh,” he murmured in quiet satisfaction as he cast me a sideways glance.

  I smiled a secret smile back, and innocently paced a slow dance around the circumference of the brick-edged pond, feeling like royalty as I meandered amongst the scented lavender, verbena, and delicately swaying Black-Eyed Susan’s being visited by flitting cabbage moths and dozens of buzzing bees. It was idyllic. It had to be a dream.

  A voice from behind startled me. I spun around, awakened from my fantasy.

  “Hi ___. Hot isn’t it?” A woman, slight of build, with dishwater-blond, shoulder-length hair chirped as she came around to join us. She tossed me a quick look with a jaundiced eye but continued to address Sir only.

  “Oh,” she mewed, surveying me, “she’s so dressed up!” The thin woman circled around me approaching the edge of the pool. “I can get her something a lot less formal to change into,” she offered, her claws barely sheathed.

  “She just came from work... ” Sir replied dryly. “She didn’t have time to change.”

  “Oh,” the slight woman looked down at my tall, shiny heels, addressing me at last. “Well at least you can take off those shoes and get your feet in the water!” She smiled disdainfully at me.

  “She doesn’t take those shoes off unless I tell her to... !” snapped Sir with a pointed look.

  I remained silent, gazing only at the water as if I hadn’t heard a word the woman said.

  “Oh!” The cattish woman remarked for the third time, rocking back on her heels at the obvious affront. She would’ve had to be dense not to catch my Owner’s drift by now.

  I fuckin’ loved it! I kept my eyes on the ground and didn’t skip a beat in my oh-so-innocent pace around the pool in my clickity-clacking heels. My place was to remain submissive, now with the added directive of being a sensual coquette.

  Sir continued to soak his feet in the turbulent bubbles and I continued my dance. It was ever so delightful, this otherworldly plane on which Sir and I alone existed in pure guilelessness. That was what protected us—our innocence—what gave us power to be and kept the demons from eating us alive. He and I were not evil or morally corrupt; we were Adam and Eve, inventing the future and dwelling in Time Bubbles that never, ever burst.

  My nonchalant and rhythmic pacing was a gentle hypnotic tool that just came naturally to me. It helped soothe me; kind of like the pace of the big cats stalking their prey. I did it sometimes just before I went on stage. I was adept at stage play. This was just another drama for Sarah Bernhardt, after all, wasn’t it?

  “So where’s Mal?” Sir broke the silence casually, still gazing into the water.

  “Oh, he’s changing clothes,” the woman answered. “He’s just finished cutting the front field and he’s showering. He’ll be down in a minute.”

  Sir asked about the kids. “They’re asleep... finally,” the woman sighed in relief.

  Evening was still hours away. The sun was at least eight fingers off the horizon. I was surprised that little ones would be tucked in this early.

  “Hello,” I heard a male voice behind us proclaim. It was Mal. He was walking toward us from the elegant front door of the huge house, buttoning his cotton shirt and looking sunburnt about the cheeks.

  Mal was a stocky man, not fat, but getting there. He was shorter than Sir by several inches, and, though not 'one of the beautiful people' as Sir had said, he wasn’t half-bad. His full shock of black hair was smoothed to the side, still damp from his shower.

  Mal was striding straight for me with a grin on his face a mile wide. He looked forever like the cat that swallowed the canary, and who was about to swallow me. He all but licked his lips as he gave me the once-over. I stopped my dance to brace for the assault.

  “Mal this is M,” Sir halted Mal in his tracks with the intro to me. “And M this is Cat” He nodded at the woman whose name he had not told me before now. “How’ya been, Mal?” Sir turned to greet the grinning man, pulling his soaking feet from their spa. He rested his hand casually on a raised knee.

  “Good,” Mal said.

  “What’s the brace for?” Sir asked, spying a binding on one of Mal’s knees.

  “Oh, I fell out of a tree and sprained it, but it’s fine,” Mal grinned. “I’m absolutely fine now,” he added with strong emphasis, staring straight at me. Awkward much?

  I could tell from the get-go the man was a lascivious letch and he made absolutely no attempt to hide it. It was gauchely obvious. But no matter. Sir said he would protect me from harm and I knew he would. I was simply to play my part to the hilt. Scene One, Act II: Enter the Dragon.

  I smiled and swayed, flirting under Mal�
�s risqué gaze. Cat was already beyond furious. She tried to cover, but her body language, if not her shrill voice, gave her away.

  “Yes, Mal will be fine now!” Cat glowered, shooting Mal daggers.

  Sir laughed. Mal ignored her, as did I. The play was progressing and nothing short of a lightning bolt could stop it now.

  Sir shook the drips off his feet, donned his socks, and slipped into his boots. He drew himself up and looked whimsically at me.

  Cat, ever the proper hostess turned to lead the way to the house. “Does anybody want any wine?” She asked. “We’ve got several bottles of very good wine; reds, whites, blushes. What would you all like?”

  Again Sir slapped her down. “She doesn’t drink,” John Wayne stated flatly, fast and hard. He didn’t skip a beat as he kept right on walking. No room for discussion. The poor bitch couldn’t win.

  John Wayne was right, I don’t drink.

  I think Sir was proud of that fact and let it be known when the subject came up. Again, that absolute head rush of domination poured over me as he issued the edict and I was merely the pet.

  “Want to see the rest of the gardens?” Mal asked Sir, never taking his eyes off me.

  “Yeah,” Sir answered.

  I scampered to Sir’s side to be near him, as Mal and Cat began to walk ahead. They led us to the right of the mansion and through a vine-covered archway to yet another garden running the width of the house and beyond. This one was not as well maintained as the showy one in front. It was a bit wilder and could have used some attention, but still held a mysterious, 'secret garden' charm.

  There was a fitted-stone walkway with rock walls on either side, sporting overgrowth like a veil and hiding us from the front of the house entirely. We came upon another, good-sized, old, fountain pool, long empty and unused. Sir and Mal laughed about the tale of a man trapped in the deep, dry concrete basin, as he was deliberately tossed in there and left for a time. They were all three laughing now, Cat piping up right along with them. I didn’t laugh. I didn’t find it funny at all. I had a definite creepy feeling that Cat would have liked nothing better than to toss me in that empty hole right now—to rot. She would have had to go through Sir to do it, though, so there wasn’t a chance in hell. Still, I shivered.

  I cringed as Sir came to my side, took my hand and ushered me along. I guess he knew the brambles were slowing me down. Helpless female. Purrrr.

  Sir helped me keep in step.

  The path was more difficult for me in my four-inch spikes, but I was not about to embarrass my Owner. I soldiered on with resolve past the low branches and ankle-high overgrowth that threatened to snag my hose. After a hundred feet or so the path opened up to an old rock-embedded patio, once upon a time the epicenter of many an elegant soirée. It was sizable—maybe 25 X 40?— and was fronted by a three foot tall rock wall running its length. Albeit showing signs of disrepair, the wall was still mostly sound. Off the patio, as far as the eye could see a pastoral vista of silky grasses spread, ending in a copse of mature trees across the great divide.

  The sun shone on the sparkling fields that covered several acres before the start of the deep woods. Cat caught Sir’s eyes scoping the panorama. Smarty-Cat. She thought she knew what Sir was thinking...not a clue. I bet she assumed he was drinking in the beauty. Nah. He was sizing up which old tree he planned to string me to.

  “Mal has to mow every foot of those fields.” Cat tittered, as nervous as her namesake. “No sooner is he finished with one field than he has to start on another one.”

  Sir ignored her.

  “It’s a full-time job, all right,” she continued, desperate for relevance, “but it pays OK, and we’re happy just to be able live here!”

  She might as well have been a patio rock. Sir was still focused on those trees.

  The whole deal for Mal and Cat was like camping out in fantasy-land, as long as they didn’t mind sweating to do it. Just like the Garden of Eden after the fall, it was maintained ‘by the sweat of man’s brow...’

  The summer breezes sensuously stirred around us, and the sexually charged atmosphere was so thick you could bite it. Sir was stoic. I was submissive. Cat and Mal were champing at the bit to fuck us. The intensity made my temples (and crotch) throb.

  Sir ushered me to the wall and hugged me close as he leaned back on it. It was wonderful to be wrapped in his strong arms at last, head nestled into his chest, smelling his heady, clean scent. Everything magically melted around us as all else disappeared. I had no concrete idea of what was going to happen to me. I just surrendered myself to his will. I was his sex-slave, his submissive, and it wasn’t my place to know more. I had resigned myself to being the third or fourth fiddle in the orchestra tonight, perhaps having no attention paid to me at all as Sir had sex with the woman, or had sex preformed on him while I merely endured the humiliation of watching. This I accepted as my plight and duty as Sir’s perfect submissive. I would do as I was told, and exactly as I was ordered.

  For now, however, it was all about me. I was thrilled and quivering with anticipation to be here—for how ever long—on stage center. But I take my direction seriously Mr. DeMille, and I had been directed to be sensuous, sexual, and demure. I would play my part to the hilt, a helpless butterfly on which the spiders would soon dine.

  Sir warmly crushed me to his chest, nuzzling my neck as he faced the couple to whom my back was now turned. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Mal and Cat both staring at me, slack-jawed and drooling. Eyes glinting in devilish amusement, Sir watched their slathering obsession.

  I could hear his wheels turning. With a Dr. Evil grin, Sir began to drag my dress agonizingly slowly over my ass, hips, and all the way to the small of my back, exposing toned thighs and high butt cheeks as he worked his massaging fingers. I was sure the poor couples’ heads would explode. The sheer pantyhose were nothing more than a whisper-thin spider web of gossamer translucency between my tight glutes and the hot summer breeze. I shivered. The hose were just as Sir loved them, and their paleness made for a stunning contrast between my white skin and Sir’s suntanned hands. I was not permitted to wear panties or a slip anymore. I was to be vulnerable and naked to his will at all times, with nothing to prevent his using me wherever and however he chose. Just like O. Sheer, delicate, easily ripped hosiery filled that bill.

  He held me that way for several long minutes—vulnerable and exposed—running his hand gently over my ass and down the backs of my thighs, squeezing and massaging, tempting and teasing, tantalizing both of the ogling onlookers, and driving me crazy. I was hypnotized; paralyzed; frozen in his clutches. I was his and he was treating the audience to a taste of what he, alone owned.

  The scene was set; Sir had set it. There was no going back now, and certainly no one here wanted to. With his hands on my shoulders, Sir gently directed me down to his opened fly, and I eagerly fell on his cock to devour it then and there. I heard Mal asking Cat—askingCat—(a concept that blew my mind) if she wanted to suck him. I ignored them; all I wanted was to satisfy and pleasure my Master. I attended to him only, and him only did I serve, sucking, licking, slurping, and worshiping his beautiful dick.

  Several blissful minutes later Sir lifted me up and began leading me through the grass to the back of the house. Cat and Mal followed. Sir was definitely running the show.

  There was a huge stone terrace at the rear of the house running the full-length of it and overlooking a well-manicured lawn. This patio could have easily held 200 people. The area was pristinely kept, with Greek statues atop marble pillars opulently decorating the veranda here and there, while the portico tiered into several broad, grassy layers. The acreage was so smooth it was a perfect candidate for lawn croquet. There were stone benches strategically placed all around, but we didn’t sit on any of them. Sir led me instead to a set of rock steps which meandered down to the grass, and sat down to unzip his pants. I did not need direction, of course. But again I was shocked to hear Mal once more humiliating himself, begging Cat to
suck his dick when he saw the servicing Sir was getting! It was so demeaning to hear—a man begging a woman like that. At that moment any ounce of respect I had for Mal was lost forever.

  “She likes sucking cock, and she does it well,” Mal bragged, but ridiculously. If she liked it so much why did he constantly have to beg for it? Other than hearing Cat gagging every few seconds in her 'expert blow job', the couple didn’t exist for me. My raison d’être was my Owner, and him alone.

  At last Sir lifted me a second time and re-zipped. Sir never rushed things. He never came too quickly, ruining the mood and prematurely ending the party. He liked to take his time. To prolong the pleasure. For hours.

  And hours.

  And hours.

  Instantly, the couple popped up to follow suit. Sir gave Mal a knowing look and the two worthless ones scurried to direct us into the house. The setting sun was casting its orange glow everywhere, washing us in brilliant colors.

  We crossed the terrace and were grandly ushered through an oversized set of white French doors and into the heart of this stately dragon. Trying not to gape, I followed Sir into the opulent high-ceilinged room boasting classic antique furniture wrapped in beautifully decorated walls. The deepening orange was pouring through the curtains now, bathing the room in ethereal shades of burnt ivory and cadmium red light. Everything was exquisite. It was so lovely, it was all I could do not to gawk as I took it all in—the furniture, the paintings, the rich oriental rugs, the warm patina of the wooden floorboards, the lovely patterned wall coverings, the porcelain statues and vases—it was all too much. It was a museum! I was incredulous that we were here—that I was here—in such a lavish setting, a setting which we were about to vilely abase with our hedonistic pleasures. It was delicious.

  Sir eased onto an elegant settee and Cat plopped down beside him. Mal stood directly behind me as I instantly knelt at my Owner’s feet. I never stood when my Owner sat; it was improper to be above him.