Masochism of M: A Sexual Mémoir

by Janice Collins

  I was almost there, so close! But Mal stepped between me and my escape route. He grabbed my arms and brusquely pulled me to the side. I looked desperately after Sir for reclaiming, but only caught his backside heading out that door. Sir had no idea I had been waylaid by the rat bastard Mal. Besides, poor Sir had other problems, judging by his color he was ready to puke.

  So I endured yet another moment (sigh) while Mal trapped me up against the wall. Cat was still too busy dogging Sir to notice Mal nuzzling my neck, or if she did, she didn’t care. They obviously had a wide open marriage. She was bitching that she couldn’t believe Sir was leaving so soon... “And without cumming!” She fumed. Sir was long gone, and too hell-bent on gulping cool night air to listen to her yowling.

  Mal was hell-bent, too—on furiously whispering more smack in my ear. Well, he could screw himself! I was ready to claw my way out that door to my Owner if need be. I’d indulge this so-called 'friend' another thirty seconds as an honorable submissive and then he could FUCK OFF.

  Wiggling like a worm under his grip, at last I got free, but not before I heard one last hoarse and frantic whisper: “I don’t care what [Sir] says, I WILL have you again. I WILL fuck you and I will do it soon. He can’t stop me.”

  Oh silly Mal; words from a dead man walking...

  17—Scratch It

  “Well get goin’; and take it easy.”

  Sir had trudged out into the pitch black, unaware that I had been ambushed. He stood waiting for me a few feet off the porch. The instant I was free from Mal’s clutches I bounded down the steps straight for him.

  Alone at last. Just my wonderful Owner and me. I was beyond ecstatic.

  In silence we paced back to the Camaro, with me in my tedious heels gingerly picking along the path in the dark, counting the seconds to my full reprieve. We were parked a few dozen yards away from the side porch in the shadows of those huge trees we’d pulled under a lifetime ago. Driveway lights filtering through the foliage dimly illuminated our way. Sir opened my door, tilting the seat forward indicating the back; I obligingly climbed in. He followed me and folded in a heap in the corner, his dark eyes scanning me in the dimness.

  “How was he?” He finally barked. “Did you enjoy fucking him?”

  I dropped my head. “Oh, Sir,” I began softly, “I-I. I’m sorry, Sir” I stuttered, then it just tumbled out, “— I hated it! Sir, I’m sorry! I didn’t enjoy it at all!” My voice crescendoed. “I tried, Sir, but he just... ” Finally all the pent-up emotion exploded. “He just wasn’t you!!” I could hold back no longer. I was shaking. “I can smell him on me, Sir!” I whimpered with disgust, fist against my mouth. “His foreign, awful, nervous scent! I hate it! I smell it everywhere!” It was a stench I couldn’t rub off.

  I hadn’t meant to break down, it just blurted out.

  Sir suddenly swept me into his arms. He cuddled me like a baby and held me so lovingly, squeezed me so tightly I broke down completely, sobbing.

  “Oh, I’m so glad to hear you say that!” He exclaimed. “... that you hated it!” He was hugging me tighter. “Yeah, I can smell him on you.” He spat with equal disgust. Then he quieted, “I’m sorry to ever have brought you here. I regret ever giving you to those two.”

  I wasn’t sure what I was hearing.

  “Sir?” I snubbed quietly, basking in his loving arms.

  “You’re too good. You’re too good for them. It was a mistake. I never should have brought you here,” Sir reiterated, hugging me even tighter. “Are you all right?” He asked softly.

  “Yes, Sir,” I whispered, dropping my head.

  Sir lifted my chin and kissed me warmly. My heart sang.

  “Oh, Sir!” I whimpered. “I wanted to honor you! I wanted only to please you and make you happy!”

  Sir was hugging me again. “You did.” he assured. “You were perfect.”

  I felt his incredible strength, his hot body around me. He was taking a deep breath. Something momentous was coming, I could feel it.

  “I went outside and watched you,” he began. “I watched you fucking from the window... like a goddamned Peeping Tom. I watched him fucking you.” he paused. “And it made me so sick to my stomach I went around to the garbage can and puked.”

  So that’s why he looked so sick in the Napoleon Room.

  “I couldn’t do it with her,” he continued. “Her and her tits like ‘cats’ udders’. God! She disgusts me!”

  I could have fainted. He didn’t like her! He didn’t want her! She couldn’t even make him cum! It was the most beautiful statement I’d ever heard.

  Sir kissed my neck and started massaging between my legs.

  “Where did he finally cum?” He asked.

  “In my cunt, Sir; he said you wouldn’t give him permission to fuck my ass yet.”

  “That’s right...”

  “Oh, Sir!” I suddenly remembered. “He was very disrespectful to you! As we were leaving he grabbed me to the side and said he was going to fuck me anytime he wanted, whether you liked it or not, and that you ‘couldn’t stop’ him!”

  Sir ignored my revelation. He began fingering my cunt instead. I parted my legs to him and melted. It had been a long evening of strangeness and I was more than ready for my Owner’s sweet, familiar touch.

  I slid my skirt higher. Sir paused.

  “Outside,” he ordered, huskily.

  He opened the door and pulled me out. Leading me to the driver’s side, Sir’s full weight pressed me against the car.

  Passionately he kissed me and I could feel him getting hard. He unzipped. “Take me in your mouth,” he said. I was already there. I squatted on my heels so I wouldn’t ruin my hose, and sucked him lovingly. I was so happy, so happy.

  I could feel Sir watching me as he stood, legs apart, while I worked on him. I heard his murmured pleasures softly erupting through parted lips, and it was driving me wild. I could taste him; taste his pre-cum as it oozed out the head of his dick. I rolled and pressed my tongue, and sucked and licked lovingly—like it was the most delicious thing I’d ever tasted. It was.

  “Come’ere.” He murmured after several long minutes. He took both of my hands and led me to the front of his car. He patted the hood. I could see even in the dark that his face was blazing, and his voice was hot with passion.

  I paused at the grille to boost myself, but Sir grabbed my waist and lifted me. I leaned all the way back and slid my dress to my waist. I automatically raised my legs, ready to plant my tall heels on the beautiful paint job to spread and receive him. Then it hit me, “I’ll scratch your car, Sir!” I lamented, legs hovering in mid-air.

  “Scratch it!” Sir commanded. Oh, the dynamite in that statement. Lightning smacked me, Scratch it...

  I returned my heels to the spot.

  “If you do, it’ll give me something to jack off to every time I pass by it!” He said with fervor.

  Sir kept me there on that striped hood and fucked the hell out of me, forever. He held my ankles to steady his plowing and I held on for dear life to whatever I could. It was always best getting fucked by Sir outside. It was raw. It was basic.

  It was Sir.

  We were out there on, in, around that hot Camaro for almost an hour, though for us, time stood still. He finished with his muted roar, mingled with my squeals, and I lay spent and dripping wet on that newest brothel bed, his hot, bitchin’ Camaro.

  We finally cooled down and climbed back into the car, and Sir fired ‘er up. I was still on cloud nine. It was a few miles down the road when Sir spoke at last. His thoughts had been churning. “Cat was probably watching out the window,” he chuckled. “I can hear her screeching voice now... ” and he made a falsetto:

  “... ‘What in the hell were they doing out there in the driveway all that time? He can’t fuck me, but he can fuck her for an hour?!’...“ Sir was smiling as big as I was.

  We both threw our heads back and laughed heartily.

  It was one glorious thought and a hellova conclusion to one hellova
night.

  Maybe the best night ever. But that’s hard to say; there have been so damned many.

  18—Pretty Woman

  “Well, it’s nice to find a fella with a keen sense of humor.”

  “What a pair!”

  The comment—either about my jugs or the crystal candle holders I was carrying—was made by one of the two men I was passing. I had just won them—the holders, not my jugs—at the company picnic. This was not your average company picnic. The business I now worked for was small, but uber rich. Movie stars and tennis greats were at this 'company picnic', being held at a lavish country club with no expense spared. Case in point was the snazzy red Porsche that was offered as first prize at the picnic’s golf tournament. It was particularly impressive when a rainstorm canceled the tournament and I was the one chosen to drive the car back to the dealership. Quite a prize in itself to a woman who had never so much as touched a Porsche.

  Ned was the one who had made the comment about my 'pair'. He was a sales-rep for the industry affiliated with us, and, as it turned out, a nice guy. He just had a penchant for a well-turned ankle, and an ample set of... jugs. We struck up a friendship and it went from there. He became a wannabe.

  “He’s a big guy,” Ned remarked the first time he saw my Owner, right after his heart sank like it’d hit an iceberg. I was showing Ned my painting of 'The Slave'—the one with a sultry bitch’s seductive face and flame-red mouth pouting, 'fuck me' as she peered backwards over her shoulder. She was my 'nude'; naked, except for a leather thong which traced her narrow waist—just dusting her buttocks above the black glittering dress she held like a tease over her breasts—and her long, bobbing, dark mahogany curls. Everyone who saw it thought it was me. But, I have green eyes; her eyes are brown. Just about the only difference…

  (This chapter is here solely to weave the enigmatic web that is 'M'. My Owner knew everything; he was always told everything precisely, and in intricate detail. In fact Sir always gave his permission, then punished me, or fucked me, or punished me and fucked me each and every time I confessed it all to him.)

  Ned and I were discussing 'The Slave' in the back of the exclusive showroom where I worked, along with the other well-dressed women in heels whose job it was to sell expensive stuff to—in the words of my Sir—'rich fuckers', when unexpectedly my Owner walked in. Instantly I shamelessly dropped poor Ned like a hot potato and rushed to my Owner’s side. Another pushy female sales-rep had hustled over to barge in front of me when Sir first walked in. Sales is a cutthroat business. “Can I help you?” She had purred breathily, thrusting her fake tits and batting her fake eyelashes as Sir amusedly sized her up. But I smiled and piped, “I’m the only one who can help him”. Sir chuckled at that. He enjoyed our little tête-à-tête, tossing a grin at the poor girl before summarily dismissing her with a turn of his back. Sir was oblivious of anyone else on the premises but his M. Such an air of confidence he exuded. My fawning of Sir was not wasted on Ned. All he could do was watch helplessly from the doorway, as I beamed up at Sir in pure love.

  Ned had a hellova lot of patience. I went to dinner with him a number of times over the course of the next two years, always with my Owner’s permission. Once, when my Owner played back my phone messages and heard Ned’s sad voice requesting my company again, my Owner did make comment. A 'war of attrition' he called it. No, no way would Ned win any war with me, attrition or otherwise. But he was fun to be with, treating me to all the pretty baubles and trinkets that his fat paycheck could easily afford. But he never won my heart. Not even close. And lord help him if the baubles stopped. I belonged to another, after all.

  It wasn’t as if Ned wasn’t aware of that fact. He knew full well. I’d told him, and kept him constantly aware. He just held out hope and held on, and on and on. He was a salesman after all, and a good one. He knew how to play the waiting game.

  He had money, and he liked to lavish gifts on me, and I liked to accept them. No harm in that, as long as we each knew where we stood, right? And as long as there was no sex. Well, no real sex.

  There was never any real sex.

  ..............

  Well, maybe once or twice.

  I had known Ned for a year when he let me pilot his ‘plane— a little twin-engine Cessna. Soaring through the beautiful, cloudless sky and thoroughly enjoying the view, I couldn’t believe I was doing it! Everywhere was brilliant blue, and on the hazy horizon our distant, neighboring big city seemed close enough to touch. The ground below us resembled a Picasso painting with its colorful blocks of farmland and tiny dots of buildings and trees. I had never flown before, even commercially, and now I was piloting this machine way up in the sky! How many people ever get to say get to say that? Well, I almost didn’t survive to say it either!

  Oh how idyllic it all was, how romantically abstract! It was so blasé, in fact, Ned proceeded to fiddle with the radio to 'get some music' for me as we drifted along in the cloudless sky. How sweet.

  La-dee-dah... Ned turned the knobs. Crackles and snippets of music piped and popped. He was concentrating on the dials, not the sky.

  Nonchalantly I glanced just above us to our left as I held the stick steady.

  “Are we supposed to be that close to another airplane?” I remarked casually, looking up at the passengers with their faces and hands pressed up against the windows of the huge 747—about 150 feet away.

  “JESUS SHIT!” Ned exclaimed grabbing the stick, eyes bugging out of their sockets. We did an 80 degree nose-dive.

  Astutely, I figured something might be wrong.

  Ned was shaking. He pulled us up level at a safe distance from the big guy.

  “We were probably just one big blip on the control tower’s radar screen!” Ned finally heaved weakly. Actually he was remarkably calm for a man who realized the enormity of the disaster I almost caused.

  Me, I wasn’t afraid in the least. Ignorance being bliss, I didn’t know enough to be afraid. One hundred and fifty feet is a lot of room when you’re driving a car... but NOT when flying an airplane. Hell, thinking back, I could even make out the looks on the people’s faces as they gaped in horror. Guess that explains why they weren’t smiling and waving.

  “Would we have died?” I asked, innocently. I figured it was appropriate to say something to show my concern.

  “Maybe, but they would have for sure. We’d have clipped their wing, broken it off and they’d have fallen like a rock. We on the other hand, have a glide ratio of a number of miles and we may have had time to land safely.” The magnitude was hitting him. “Oh, my god...”

  “Oh!” I remarked, furrowing my brow in an attempt to mimic his consternation. Maybe it was the altitude squeezing my brain cells, but it just hadn’t hit me yet.

  Ned landed us safely. Terra firma.

  “You know what’s the most often-heard phrase on the recovered black boxes?” he shakily asked as we hurried out of the plane.

  I shook my head.

  “ ‘Oh shit!’ ” He swallowed hard.

  No doubt.

  I smiled weakly. I would have laughed, but it didn’t seem appropriate at the moment. Poor Ned’s eyes were round and white in a face drained of blood. Again, I might have been shaken too, had I even realized what almost happened. I really couldn’t fathom it. What was the big deal? We had been a whole one-hundred and fifty feet away, after all...

  Maybe Sir was beginning to rub off on me.

  With all haste, Ned secured the airplane and then escorted me to a little lounge across from the airport for him to knock back a couple of much-needed Scotches. Sufficiently numbed, he settled back down nicely. He was a veteran pilot after all—military and civilian—but this would be one for the record.

  I was exhilarated when the seriousness began to dawn. How amazing! Not much could top that adrenaline rush.

  Well, except maybe this...

  Composure recovered, Ned drove us back to Cheyenne. The city at twilight was beautiful as it bustled with early nightlife. Looping his arm
in mine we casually strolled the main drag, in no particular hurry. Ned let me peek into the windows of every exclusive shop along the way, and smiled indulgently as I tried to contain my longing. The outfits on the mannequins were gorgeous! Though I did maintain at least a modicum of decorum and managed to refrain from licking the windows, I still couldn’t keep my eyes from popping out of my head. Ned finally paused in front of one of the most exclusive shops in town when I nearly lost it, sighing over THE most exquisite gown imaginable. Without a word Ned took my hand and quietly led me in. I trotted along good-naturedly, assuming he wanted to pick up a tie or a pair of socks to supplement his wardrobe on the road. Brother, was I ever wrong.

  Dressed 'OK', barring a few moth holes here and there in my ancient coat and dated outfit, I nonetheless stuck out like a sore thumb in this highbrow shop. Even the mannequins looked down on me. The assistants were decked to the nine’s and each perfectly manicured and coiffed. It was quite an elegant spot, where everyone spoke in whispers, and classical music echoed discreetly in the background.

  I quietly followed Ned. I had no idea what was going on, but I knew how to be dignified, and I knew how to pretend, even if my eyes still wanted to pop.

  Ned led me to a cushy, velvet bench where he invited me to sit by patting the seat. I dutifully played along trying to look as if this was an everyday occurrence for me, and as if I knew exactly what to expect. I certainly did not. Ned rose and spoke quietly to the most tailored of the three women. I couldn’t hear, but as I watched it occurred to me that she reminded me of a madam at an expensive European bordello. She listened intently, and with lowered eyes gave an expressionless nod of her head. Ned re-joined me on the settee, folding his hands in his lap, the epitome of a true gentleman. I straightened appropriately in anticipation. I had no idea where this was going, but I fixed a pleasant smile on my face nonetheless and endeavored to maintain the status quo.

  The play’s the thing after all. Always the play.