“I want you to cum up my ass.” I moaned; it was no lie, I really did. My Owner had trained me to love ass-fucking most of all, but more importantly, there was no guarantee that this man had been fixed, and at least he couldn’t make me pregnant with butt fucking. Only lawyers are conceived that way.
“Cum,” now I was coaxing, cooing and moaning, arching my body in writhing thrusts as he stuck his slippery dick back up my hot ass. “Cum,” I begged louder.
He did. The man shot hard, making little animal sounds in my ear, and he continued pumping for another thirty or forty seconds till I felt him collapse on top of me.
“I could go again,” the littler man groaned, rolling over.
I was chagrined. I pulled a trick out of my hat.
“How about a back rub?” I wasn’t at all sure that my Owner wasn’t giving me to this man for the entire night. The man flopped over and laid his grinning face on folded arms. But before I could start the massage I was reclaimed.
“Get up,” I heard Sir ordering. I was ever so grateful, but his tone was disturbing.
“Lay over the bed,” he intoned. Now I knew my fears were founded. “Raise your ass,” he continued, huskily. I shivered as I obeyed. I heard Sir removing his thick belt and in a split second I felt it. Sir let the belt fly across my upturned, exposed rear. I squealed and clutched the bed. The pain rocked me like lightning. Again and again I heard, and obeyed, the incredible command, “Get up”, and each time my body reverberated to the resounding pain. He was really laying it on.
I was gasping, claws digging in, near hysteria, but still trying hard to obey so I wouldn't dishonor Sir. The stranger-man lay quietly just a few feet from my suffering body. As always happens, the rest of the world faded instantly when my Owner is hypnotically linked to his possession. When under his command, except for pleasing him nothing else matters at all. Pain has a distinct way of grabbing your attention and clamping on. I centered exclusively on him now. The belt was unusually awesome tonight.
After a large number of incredible, full-strength blows across my helpless ass, Sir stopped and again quietly told me to get up. He ordered me to get dressed, which I did rapidly, to the tune of my gasps and writhing moans. When I had finished, Sir took me by the arm, hastily escorted me through the large adjoining room and thrust me toward a tiny, dimly lit bathroom.
“Get cleaned up and get back out here, and don’t waste time,” he murmured, seriously.
I stood for just a second looking around, not attempting to close the door. O was never permitted to bathe or even use the toilet without being watched all the while she was at Roissy. An extension of her, it was entirely proper and customary that I should do so now, as I had done since the beginning in Sir’s presence.
The bathroom was grubby, typically bachelor, so no clean towel, but there was soap and hot water and a roll of new tissue. I washed over the commode and used ample tissue to rinse and dry. I knew Sir would give me only minutes, so I hurried.
I stepped though the doorway. Sir had been waiting next to it. I did not know what he had in store for me, only that I was his and that I wanted to be compliant and smooth; polished like a stone. A gemstone. A velvety piece of jade. Yes, if I were a stone, I would be a priceless, translucent, verdant-green piece of jade, I thought pleasantly. Geisha-jade.
Sir drew me along with his invisible leash as I trotted happily a few steps behind. Past the still-naked man sprawling languidly across the bed on his side, head cockily resting on an elbow we walked—and kept going.
Sir was taking me away. The man’s allotted time with me was spent and now only my moment of reckoning was at hand.
“Let’s go,” Sir directed, striding staidly past the man without a goodbye.
For the first time I looked at him, the thin, dark-haired driver-man lolling on his bed, his face now wearing a Cheshire cat grin and whose remnants of cum I bore inside me. He was slight, of upper average height, and had rough but moderately attractive features. He was not at all elegant and majestic like my Owner and he was much too thin and gaunt to appeal to my gourmand taste. He would go down in my book as the closest yet to the image that Sir had as an extension of himself to whom to lend his possession.
“Would you like to have him fuck you when I’m on the road?” Sir asked, pausing in the doorway at the foot of the man’s bed.
I thought for a moment. “If it would please you, Sir,” I answered quietly. That was the honest truth. Everything I did or was allowed to enjoy sexually was through Sir. This could be no exception.
“Let him do whatever he wanted to you whenever he wanted to?” Sir continued, for the man’s benefit.
“Yes, Sir,” I replied, head still bowed.
“We’ll see,” Sir breathed, continuing through the doorway.
I followed behind, and then impishly turned in a backward pace to face the man on the bed. He was grinning broadly. I smiled coquettishly, blew him a kiss, hoping Sir would not see, and then quickly spun around to catch up with my Owner. Whether I got away with this or not is rather a moot point, for what followed could hardly have been much more severe.
We traversed the dark hallway and exited through the front door, but didn’t get into driver-man’s pickup. Instead, Sir led me around the side of the building and across the rough, dark parking lot. It was difficult to maneuver the choppy, frozen gravel in my high heels, but I’d been in that situation many times before, struggling through mire, stepping over brambles, trying hard to traipse along behind Sir. Nothing unusual. I actually managed to keep up for a minute, taking three quick steps to his one. Finally a wicked heel caught in the loose gravel and I skidded precariously. John Wayne didn’t miss a beat. He simply scooped me up by my arm and kept right on marching. He did slow down a little, though as we walked, and drew me to him protectively, as a mountain lion protects his dinner.
“Now we’ll see what the snake will do,” Sir began, ushering me swiftly across the remainder of the lot. “He’ll probably call you first thing. He’s no kid. He’s sharp. I know he’ll snag your number off my cell phone. He’s seen the print-out and I know he can figure out which number’s yours.”
I listened as carefully as I could and still concentrate on not tripping.
“You let me know the instant he calls you. I want to know everything he says; every word that comes out of his mouth. No telling what he’ll say; no telling what sort of bullshit he’ll come up with to try to get you. He could say anything.” Hmmm, made me wonder what he and my Owner had been up to.
We came to the base of a hill and a long set of rusty, lattice-like metal stairs that led to another level of parking. The perforated steps were slippery from the runoff of the melting snow, and I hesitated at the first one with a quiet murmur. It didn’t escape Sir. Again he gruffly yet tenderly took my hand and quickly began trekking me upward. I walked on tiptoe to prevent my heels from getting stuck in the slots, confident in the knowledge that Sir could catch me even if I stupidly fell over the side.
The climb, for me, was arduous, and the top of the hill came none too soon, though I shivered with both excitement and foreboding at what I thought I knew lay ahead. Always that push/pull. Always that tantalizing, delicious quivering to the depths of my soul.
Sir. It was Sir. You’d just have to be with him to understand. Few have experienced the wind, and reaped the whirlwind that is the magnificent, majestic, larger-than-life, Sir.
At the top I looked around. There, a few feet away, sat Sir’s eighteen-wheeler, that black passionate beauty. He paused at the door, and opening it, stood aside. I prepared to climb in as usual, but first tossed my bag onto the passenger seat with a plop. The climb was never easy but these five-inch heels and this little dress made sure of it tonight. I grabbed what I could to haul myself up and landed over the seat, butt out like a naughty child. I quickly tucked that ass away inside, and hopped into the passenger side.
Sir stoically stepped in, closed the door and turned to shoot me a level stare.
“Get directly into the back,” he ordered. I knew I was in trouble. For what I wasn’t sure. Take your pick.
I couldn’t look at him. Sir’s eyes could melt rock.
I pulled myself between the seats and bounced onto the spacious bunk.
Sir slowly joined me. I still couldn’t look at him. The nearness of him made my heart thump and my breath come in shallow spurts. I know it was insane that he affect me so after all these years, but that is what my Owner did—still does—to me. You’d have to be there inches from the lava to know that heat.
He didn’t hesitate at all; before I could think he tossed me across his knee. The steel that was Sir’s arm held me in place as he slowly slid my dress up over my rear. I gasped and stiffened, but made no attempt to break free. He’d already whipped me soundly in the presence of the other man; maybe the sight of my fresh belt welts would buy some mercy now.
Fat chance.
“You fucked another man and you sucked his cock, and you did it right in front of me,” Sir began. “Did you enjoy it? You know you belong to me.”
Of course it made perfect sense. I was entirely guilty. I did belong to Sir and I had pleasured another man and all in front of him. Cut and dried. So much the worse, I had enjoyed it. Like a dirty little whore, I had enjoyed the man’s handling of me and his using of my openings, and his flagrant disregard for my personal likes or dislikes. It had been all too obvious, my carnal lasciviousness. I was as guilty as sin. Though any other person to whom Sir had ever given me was an extension of him in my mind, nonetheless the fact remained I had done this, I had fucked another man. I was Sir’s whore, his personal whore, and I needed to be kept in line. I had every trembling confidence that he would deftly do so now.
“I felt like second fiddle, laying there on the bed, you couldn’t even keep your mouth on me,” he growled.
“I,” I began. Sir tightened his grip.
“Shut up,” he spat. He didn’t want to hear it. He punctuated his statement with a crack across my naked ass.
The pain seared like fire, but Sir firmly held me down as I gasped and stiffened in protest. That wasn’t his hand he had struck me with; I knew that feel, that sound; he was using the ruler, the thin, lithe, blistering metal ruler from our Institute days. It uniquely burned the flesh like a hot iron.
“You made small-talk with him. I’ve told you, no small-talk.” The fire struck again, even harder. “Haven’t I?” Sir’s voice was taunting and low. I knew he’d get me for that.
“Yes, Sir!” I squealed and jerked, but a dozen welts followed rapid fire, no end, no mercy.
“Sir!” I wailed, “I only tried to hurry him along.” But my cries were fruitless. He wasn’t listening, or if he was it was merely spurring him on in the merciless blistering of my ass.
I shut up. The pain cut short my pleas. He was hitting me with all his might and I could only writhe, gasp, and whine. This was the worst ass whipping he had ever given me. I hysterically began to cry, but still he didn’t stop. He continued with even more intensity. It was a mind-numbing beating, one from which I could not wriggle free. No matter how hard I squirmed, bucked, and twisted, Sir’s steely grip had me impossibly pinned across his knee. Finally, helplessly, I collapsed, giving up my useless struggle and letting the tears flow freely down my face, helplessly submitting to the fiery thrashing for which it was impossible to do otherwise.
After a thorough ass blistering in the literal sense, Sir released me. I wiggled and moaned, reaching for my sorry cheeks to try to cool them down. They burned like fire, and I couldn’t stay still. I whined and whimpered and retreated to the corner of the bunk to sit on my welted ass with the pain now starting to meld into pleasure. It always did. The hysteria, the pain, the horror of it all, always blended straight into euphoria and pleasure. Soon I was writhing to a different dance. Sir watched with half-closed eyes.
“Mm, yeah. Look at you,” Sir murmured. “You’ve got the cum of another man in you, my welts on your ass and you can’t sit still.”
He stroked my hair and roughly wiped my tear-streaked face. “Where did he wind up cumming?” He asked, soothingly as if he hadn’t just whipped me senseless.
I twisted, snuffing back my tears and tried to collect my answer. “In my ass, Sir,” I managed, still grinding and twisting.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. You are such a whore. I know you liked it, didn’t you whore?” he sounded so sweet, so peaceful. He stroked my hair again like his prized kitten.
“Yes, Sir,” I whimpered, lightly rubbing my scalded ass cheeks.
“What are you?” He cooed the eternal question.
“Your masochistic, submissive slave, Sir,” I heaved huskily, still snubbing the tears.
“And what can I do to you?”
“Anything you want, Sir.” Of course he could. Anything at all. Anytime, anywhere, with anyone and for any length of time he wished. Just as he had done now. That was it. Period. Never a question. I belonged to him, now and forever. World without end.
The pleasure was definitely kicking in. I drew a long, shuddered breath. God, my ass and my hot upper thighs felt good. This was insane; I was actually ready for more. The passion was welling inside me like a tidal wave as the wantonness oozed from my swollen eyes and lips.
“Suck me,” my Owner spoke, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his fly. I fell on him with a heated vengeance and gratefully plunged him deep into my mouth. Whippings always brought out the best in me, my Owner said. The harder, the better I behaved.
“You are my whore, aren’t you,” my Owner stated, petting me as I worked on his incredibly huge penis.
“Mmm-hummm,” I moaned my throaty answer in the affirmative. I couldn’t hold still. I had to move and sway and undulate to the rhythm of the throbbing aching welts. Even my tits were rock hard and tingling. I sucked, licked, caressed, and worshiped Sir’s dick. Sir let me suck him like a proper god.
“You enjoyed that bastard, didn’t you?”
I was afraid to reply. So I kept sucking him. But Sir wasn’t going to be put off that easily. “Didn’t you, whore?!”
I could hear the buildup in his voice. I paused.
“Only inasmuch as he was you, Sir.”
“He’s going to try his best to get you!” Sir gave my head a jerk. “You will report to me every sordid detail of it; when he contacts you, what he says, how he fucks you.” He tightened his fingers in my hair. “Understand?”
“Yes, Sir,” I whined, confined unmercifully by his vice grip.
“The snake. He isn’t stupid. Now we’ll see just how big of a snake he truly is.” Sir released my hair a little. “He’s just gone through a bad divorce. He’d probably love to whip your ass.”
I resumed my servicing of my Owner, listening.
“But if you ever go to him without my knowledge, if you ever go to him without telling me,” he hesitated for emphasis, clenching a fistful of my hair again, “you know what I’ll do to you. Don’t you?”
Of course I did. Something horrible. Something not at all pleasurable. Something only Sir could/would do, and something that I would forever regret. Of course I knew.
“Yes, Sir,” I gasped. “Maybe he didn’t like me. Maybe he wasn’t satisfied with me at all.”
“He loved it. You should have seen his eyes. He got the best piece of ass he’s ever had in his life!”
I shivered at the passion in Sir’s voice.
“Anybody’d be crazy not to want you, as good as you look! You’re every man’s dream!”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. The words poured over me like warm honey. I reeled from the sound of them. 'Every man’s dream. …'
“Will you fuck him behind my back?” He began quietly.
“No, Sir!”
“Will you fuck him behind my back?” Sir’s repeated harder.
“No, Sir!” I vowed, earnestly.
“Say it!” He sent a stripe across my backside. “Say you’ll fuck him behind my back.”
/> “No, Sir, I won’t do that, Sir. I won’t fuck him without your permission!”
“Say it!” He interrupted with several more blows. “Say you’ll fuck him behind my back!”
“No, Sir,” I wailed, the welts rising. “No, Sir, I can’t say that. I can’t!”
Sir leveled several more ungodly strokes of the ruler.
“Bend over the bunk,” he ordered, “and raise that ass for me!” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I obeyed. Sir proceeded to administer what was to be the most lasting and cruel whipping of all time; the marks scarring for months and months and months. If I’d thought the whipping just moments before was bad, it was child’s play compared to this. The array of instruments he used, his belt, a plastic sheathed Wire, and the ruler—especially the ruler—literally burned my skin like a hot flat iron. Spots of dead, blistered skin, like a horrible sunburn, peeled off several days later, leaving rose-colored marks beneath. He was unmerciful. He beat my ass like it belonged to only him.
How else?
I only dizzily remember being commanded to raise my ass again and again, till the sweat covered my body along with the searing welts.
The beating went on for what seemed like hours. But in reality it wasn’t. Finally my Owner stopped, leaving me exhausted while he climbed up front to start the huge diesel engine and let it warm.
We drove out of the dark lot and onto a narrow road. At this time of night traffic on the main drag would be scant, let alone on this little back road. He reached out a hand to me where I sat in the bunk, recovering. I responded. I knew what I was to do. I came forward, dropped weakly to my knees—truly exhausted—between the seats and began servicing him as we drove.
The rules never varied. Moving, I still could only perform in this manner for a short time before I started getting motion sick. But in the meantime, I would enjoy my pleasuring my Owner. He was rock hard and I was so relaxed now with my punishment over, enjoying the pleasant jostling of the truck.
Suddenly, SLAM! Hard down-shift! Jerk! Then WHAM! My unrestrained body was hurled against the gearshift. I grabbed frantically for Sir’s seat belt and hauled up to peer over the dash. It could have been the last thing I ever saw. There, barreling right at us careened another semi, screeching like a giant, white specter out of the mists. As suddenly as it appeared, the behemoth veered away from us and was gone. It had missed us by inches.
Masochism of M: A Sexual Mémoir Page 29