Masochism of M: A Sexual Mémoir

by Janice Collins

  I always reported everything I did with Gio. Always. I would stop in the middle of dinner with Gio to make a phone call to Sir, getting instructions on how to proceed. “Order the biggest steak and then don’t eat a bite”, Sir might say, or “Rub his legs with your bare foot, then drop your napkin and duck under the table and just run your hands between his thighs, nothing more.” Sir found it amusing for the most part, though sometimes he did choose to punish me for being with another man.

  As it should be.

  It progressed that Gio’s body began matching his years. Our relationship became more or less platonic. Gio wanted sexual pleasures, but alas to fuck was no longer in the cards for him, only pleasuring me. All Gio wanted now was simply to spread my legs, lay me back, and lick, suckle, and nibble my juicy clit to orgasm while I watched him.

  Gio was tolerable insomuch as he was a rock that I could count on when the going$$ got tough. Plus he did enjoy making me cum. There’s that.

  So the regression to his only being able to perform cunnilingus on me (though I still hated the act) was actually fine, because it made him happy and brought him great pleasure. Thus the final days with Gio were spent making him feel like the man he used to be.

  Sir indulged my interludes with this withering older gentleman, but at any given moment he would tie and whip me for being the whore that I was. I wore stripes to Gio on more than one occasion, but only once did he discover them—great bruises and purpling marks on my inner thighs—while he was going down on me.

  “Bruises from an exercise bike…” I told him. Sure it was. He bought it though.

  We live the fantasies that we need.

  21—Snake

  “You look like the vermin-ridden son-of-a-bitch you are... ”

  I focused my bleary eyes on the clock’s glaring red numbers piercing the darkness: 12:15 a.m. The phone had just awakened me.

  “Hello?” I grabbed it on the second ring. That pause! It was him.

  “Were you asleep?”

  “Yes, Sir,” my heart jumped.

  “I want to see you tonight. Wear sheer black pantyhose and a black bra. I want you clean and don’t disappoint me. Understand?”

  He was being unusually swift and stern. Something was up.

  “OK,” I shivered.

  What was it? I had a suspicion.

  “What’s happening?” I tried not to quake audibly. He ignored me.

  “Just wait for my call.” Silence. I guess he could hear my teeth chattering. “I talked to Johnny today,” he soothingly purred at last.

  “You did?” I piped, not fully relieved. Maybe that was it, but it didn’t feel like it. Sir had said how Johnny had been talking about wanting to get together, had been talking about blowjobs and the fact that Johnny’s wife refused to give them.

  “Where should I meet you, Sir?” I timidly asked.

  “I’ll let you know!” He boomed. I knew I’d gone too far.

  “Yes, Sir!”

  “Half an hour. Don’t disappoint me!”

  “No, Sir!” I added quickly, but submissively.

  “All right. I’ll call you back at quarter till one. Understand?”

  “Yes, Sir,” I shivered again.

  I waited till I heard the phone click.

  I sighed. Scooting back down under the warm covers, I rechecked the clock. …

  Hide and seek and let’s pretend. The games had started once again…

  You see, if I pretend it’s not real it won’t be happening, right? I closed my eyes to the world. I could hide that way. But I didn’t want to hide; I just wanted to know that everything would be all right. I relished the delicious fear building inside me, but I dreaded it as well. Push/pull. Always.

  Of course I was being stupid. Everything was always all right when I was with Sir, wasn’t it? It was simply part of the game; the serious game of BDSM. My reluctance was the same coquettish dance of maidens everywhere, designed to send the passions soaring, the male into his mating frenzy. I just had to take the right steps and to not dance too far.

  Push/pull.

  I reached between my legs and began massaging my clit. It didn’t take long before I came. And relaxed. And...

  OF COURSE I fell deeply back to sleep in a heartbeat. That was my way. Like a cat, I could close my eyes, be asleep in seconds, and then re-awaken with precision without an alarm clock. In my life I had never set an alarm even once.

  Strange. But no more so than my never getting sick, having not even caught a cold since I was twelve. Never having headaches. Not once in my lifetime. All so strange.

  With a jerk, I opened my eyes, 1:00, and no call. I closed them again. Maybe he forgot, or maybe he can’t make it. That happened sometimes. Sometimes plans changed. Maybe something had gone wrong. I turned away from the phone and stretched lazily.

  Mmmm, the covers felt good, the sheets, soothing. I felt my clit throbbing to cum again, and I rubbed until I did. Then immediately I drifted off again.

  1:45. My eyes flew open to check the clock.

  My heart had finally stopped pounding. There obviously had been a change. I convinced myself to go back to sleep for good. It wasn’t hard. I considered masturbating again, but my clit was getting sensitive... All this espionage had me so horny! I snuggled down and fell asleep with my fingers on my wet clit.

  2:15. The phone rang. My heart thumped wildly anew. “Are you ready?” The voice demanded.

  “No, Sir!” I stammered. “Where are you?” I groped for words to stall.

  “I’ll meet you at Shadler’s in half an hour. You’ve got thirty minutes.”

  I sat up. Thirty minutes?

  “You will not disappoint me, now, will you?” He sing-songed tauntingly.

  “No, Sir. I’ll be there.”

  “OK. Shadlers on Bedford. You know where that is, don’t you?”

  I thought a second. I was still in a dream. “Yes, Sir. I-I know.”

  “Park your car there and I’ll pick you up.”

  I hesitated. “In your car? I was deliberately fishing for information and I’m sure Sir knew it.

  “No,” the low voice murmured, “just be there.”

  “Yes, Sir.” I had gone too far again.

  I knew immediately that it wasn’t Johnny. I shivered as I peeled back the covers. It was still winter. Mild, but chilly enough for the warmth of the furnace to feel good as it kicked on. I gathered my outfit before I went into the bathroom. The hose weren’t right. He’d specified sheer black hose, and I had only black thigh-highs, the kind that Sir liked and usually had me wear. Another shiver ran down my spine.

  No sheer black pantyhose. I bit my lip. How could I let myself get caught like this? I pulled out several black bras and then a black and purple one that fastened in the front. I chose it. It was sexy and I knew that’s what Sir wanted.

  I delved through all my unopened packs of hose. White, nude, black opaque, but no sheers. Bummer. I frowned. He would not be happy.

  I laid everything out on the bed then headed for the bathroom. It was utterly impossible to prepare and drive to meet Sir, all in the thirty—correction, I looked at the clock—the twenty-five minutes left and counting.

  I made myself clean to be taken anally and quickly showered. My legs and pubic area needed shaving, so my allotted time dwindled even further. I knew better than to let myself get caught with my pants up like this. I knew I should always be ready. I’d gotten lazy. Sir had said he would let me know, but this was my fault entirely.

  I looked at the clock again. It had been thirty-five minutes, and I still wasn’t dressed. I simply couldn’t worry about time now. I needed to be as close to perfect as possible for him. After all, what was he going to do, come after me? I shivered. Yes, he certainly would. I knew I was pushing my luck. Sir took his possession of me seriously, and I was dancing on the edge.

  He won’t come after me tonight. It’s too much trouble. I told myself again. But this simply was not true. Once, when I had pulled exactly the same
trick, ignoring his call because I was sleepy, Sir plowed right down the center of my narrow, residential street in his big, black truck and strode right up to my front door like a hurricane. I had rushed to peek out the window after awakening to the rumbling of the diesel engine and stood in the doorway, dumbstruck and pale as a ghost in the rays of the rising sun. He painfully pinched my ear, pulled it close to his lips, and pronounced his edict on me.

  I met him in the allotted twenty minutes without a word. You can be sure of that.

  So how was it that I was pushing my luck again? Pulling practically the same stunt?

  Well, I am that scorpion, after all.

  It was difficult for him to come for me tonight; he would have to be extremely mad to take that big truck down my little residential street again, but he would do it, and by that time my ass would truly be grass.

  I hurried faster.

  Everything was taking forever. I quickly applied a little makeup, emptied my purse to make room for a small towel, moist wipes, antibacterial cleaner, and my tall black heels. I thought about the dildo. Should I include the dildo? No, I decided against it.

  Ready! At last! I thought everything was cool until I heard the click of that answering machine.

  Please leave a message and the approximate time that you called. Beep!

  “Hello,” the dark thundercloud rumbled. It was incredibly ominous.

  Then I heard the receiver hum.

  Oh, my god. I scurried now. That voice. Just that voice made me jump out of my skin.

  Into my car and down the deserted street I screeched like a bat out of hell, and then I remembered it was only a thirty-mile-an-hour zone. I slowed. I made the two-mile trip in minutes, but it seemed like hours.

  There he was, or rather there they were, whoever 'they' were.

  I could barely make out that the lone pickup truck in the lot of Shadler’s ahead contained two shadowy figures. Who was with Sir? I didn’t recognize the truck. I knew positively now it was not Johnny. I trembled with excitement and mounting fear.

  The deserted lot of the closed restaurant wasn’t totally pitch black; there was just enough light from the street to make a figure recognizable. Nonetheless, I brazenly parked facing the red pickup, my headlights glaring. I imagined my Owner cursing me under his breath, but chalking it up to my stupidity. Last little tiny scorpion’s sting for the evening. Must be on my best behavior from now on.

  I reached to open my door and step out.

  I knew better than to boldly stare, so I kept my eyes low as I made my way toward Sir in this strange, red pickup. My boots, which were part of my camouflage, clicked across the pavement. I usually liked to don my whore gear, my high spiked heels, in a less conspicuous place. But tonight, even for a moment, the boots were a no-no, and I knew it.

  “Take off your coat,” my Owner directed, holding open his passenger door. His voice was stern. I knew I should have had it off already, presenting a curvaceous figure in black gliding toward him and his 'chosen' in the half-light. I removed the coat with a little wiggle to slide it off my shoulders.

  Underneath, I had worn an extremely short, form-hugging dress with an open-to-the-waist lattice back, only I had turned the dress around so the lattice lacing was in front, revealing my bulging breasts without restraint.

  Like O, I knew that I was never to look directly into my Owner’s eyes, or, as his extension, into the eyes of his chosen. I stepped up into the seat and scooted across, properly keeping my eyes low.

  “Lose the boots.” My Owner’s patience was gone.

  I squeezed over beside the man who was at the wheel, immediately removed both tall leather boots, and slipped on my heels. They were so high that my feet arched impossibly in them. Just the way Sir liked.

  “Put your foot up so I can see it,” he droned.

  Sir picked up my right foot and positioned it on the dash. Then, reaching down, he spread my knees wide and grabbed my naked crotch. The only bit of fluff allowed to remain when I groomed was a quarter-sized circular patch. His fingers squeezed tightly eliciting my gasp. I didn’t dare close the legs he had arranged, but I undulated slightly at this touch and let out a soft moan.

  I still had not looked at the man driving. But by his actions, he wasn’t going to be shy. He unhesitatingly reached over, stroked my thigh and then cruelly squeezed as well. He started the engine.

  We were moving but still in the lot when Sir instructed me to get my mouth on the man. I silently moved to obey, fumbling with this man’s belt just as I always fumbled with Sir’s. I whimpered at my ineptitude. Finally it gave with a little help from its wearer, and I carefully exposed his penis. Without hesitation, I dropped to receive it before having to be told again.

  “Stick your ass up,” I heard Sir’s gravelly voice intone, so thick with passion it made me tremble.

  I rose in the seat, never taking my mouth off the man, and felt my skin being bared. I felt so deliciously vulnerable.

  “If she doesn’t do it right, let me know, I’ll spank her ass.” Sir ran a hot hand over my elevated rear.

  “Doesn’t she have a perfect ass?” He remarked, smoothing his property as if admiring a gun stock.

  “Yes, she does,” the driver agreed, speaking for the first time.

  The strange man sounded tough and excited. His body was uncharacteristically relaxed for a man about to engage in an unholy three-way. Others that I had been given to were tense and nervous, and hence controllable. I shivered that Sir might have finally found one who was not intimidated by me. But the night, figuratively speaking, was still young. That devious thought tickled my brain as I sucked the driver-man’s dick.

  This man’s frame was slight, though his muscles, I suppose, sufficiently firm. He was not at all like my Mountain Man Owner. Sir’s body was as hard as a rock and larger than any man’s body I’d ever touched. Sir’s thighs were like solid steel, and his barrel chest topped by shoulders broader than the length of my entire arm.

  The driver-man stroked the back of my neck roughly.

  “You like that dick?” He growled. “Suck that dick! Come on, get it into your throat.”

  “If she doesn’t do it right, let me know,” Sir offered again, avidly. “I’ll take my belt off to her.” He paused, “is she doing it right?”

  “No, she’s playing with it,” the driver-man tattled. I was. I was circling the head of his penis with my tongue and jacking it into my mouth. I thought that was an OK thing to do. Apparently not.

  Crack! Think again. My Owner’s hand slapped hard against my pro-offered ass. I squealed.

  I scurried to do it just the way the driver-man had said.

  “Take it deep!” The stranger ordered, frighteningly stern. None of the other chosen had been that way. They had been infinitely more timid and shy. Grateful. One had been overly excited, even going so far as awkwardly trailing me through a store when our paths crossed, long after Sir had given me to him, but he was never rough. This man was erect and aggressive from the start. I wasn’t sure if I could handle that; but I had no choice in the matter now. I had to count on Sir to handle it for me.

  I wasn’t given much time to contemplate.

  “Spank her if she doesn’t,” my Owner gave his permission.

  The man reached over and half-heartedly slapped my cheek. It was just a sting. That gave me confidence.

  I wouldn’t even acknowledge such an insulting tap. I sucked more diligently, though, as insurance against my Owner’s interception. I’d hoped that puny chide had escaped his notice, a prospect I doubted.

  “Take it deep!” The man reprimanded again, then to my Owner, “Can she 'deep-throat' it?”

  My Owner paused, “We’re working on it.”

  We were, and I couldn’t. My Owner knew I couldn’t. Once he had ritualistically and methodically beaten the blood out of me with the jagged-tipped Wire as incentive, but I still could not open my throat to his large penis. My throat, he now realized was abnormally small. I had a slight swellin
g in the lower part of my neck I could feel when I swallowed. That had been there most of my life. 'Swollen thyroid,' doctor had said, 'nothing to worry about; lots of folk have them.' But for whatever reason—certainly not lack of desire—my throat simply would not comply.

  I continued to attempt it, at times even coming close, but ultimately rewarded only with copious ropes of thick, choking mucus for my efforts. My Owner talked of tying me upside down over a bed with my head hanging down and a brace to keep my mouth wide open and coating my throat with Vaseline, then raping my virgin throat till it gave. The prospect was completely horrifying. Of course I would choke and likely die, inhaling the Vaseline into my lungs, or rupture my throat and bleed to death, or some other such dreadful thing, and, as always, I gambled that my Owner was far too wise ever to let that happen. He did not want me dead, after all. “Where’s the fun in that?” He’d say when I’d geek out and fear he’d kill me. Aside from the criminal complications of it, I would hardly be a pleasure to him in that condition given he was not into necrophilia. Besides, I think Sir loved me somehow; at least in some way. Like Sir Stephen loved O. I was sure of it.

  That time when we were new, driving in his Camaro and he had leaned toward me and stated, completely out of the blue that I was slowly hooking him, it had thrown me into shock. My heart had stopped in its tracks. The words I couldn’t believe I was hearing or would ever, EVER hear I was hearing! They echo in my ears still:

  “You’re slowly hooking me.”

  I revered that sacred spot on the highway and that moment where those words were uttered, and ever after have given it a double love sign every single time I cross it. With reverence, humility and gratitude, I recall his sacred words each and every time: