Masochism of M: A Sexual Mémoir

by Janice Collins

  Suddenly my Owner stopped and withdrew. He told me to stay there. I obeyed, not knowing what to expect. I squinted to see what he was doing in the soft light of the moon, but not until he was nearly upon me did I realize for sure.

  The first welt made me squeal. The second third and fourth wrenched gasps and moans and little quiet pleas. We were outside, after all. I could be gagged or taken back inside and beaten to a bloody pulp. I would do my utmost to be quiet.

  Several more welts and I was told to lie back on the car.

  “Spread your legs,” he said quietly. I did. “Wider,” he ordered impatiently. “Spread those thighs and keep them open.”

  I whimpered in anticipation. I knew exactly what was going to occur. Well, almost exactly.

  The inside of my thighs began to be ritualistically marked. First one side, then the other. Back and forth. I cringed after each and instinctively started to close my knees, but not quite. I knew better. However I did move with one incredibly painful blow and received the next accidentally directly on my clit. I was agonized. Paralyzed. I gasped a breath, which did not seem to be able to be released and I thought I was going to throw up. I twisted to my side on the hood and violently shook my head.

  “Open those thighs!” my Owner barked, unsympathetically, and when I automatically obeyed he welted them again. “That was your fault.” He offered. “You know to hold still. You screwed up my aim.”

  Yes, it was true, I had. I would have a numb clit for a while, bruised and swollen. But I was his, I belonged to him and he could do anything to me that he wanted. It was as simple as that.

  “Did you enjoy that?” He asked, putting the Wire away.

  “Yes, Sir.” I said sincerely.

  “What do you say?” He asked.

  “Thank you, Sir!” I quickly piped. I was grateful. I did so much enjoy his attention, even with my throbbing pussy.

  He reached out a hand and pulled me up.

  “Come over here,” my Owner indicated the truck. He sat down in the opened doorway and held out a hand to me. I stepped up on the first metal tread. I began to suck his proffered dick but after a few minutes he pulled out and told me to step down. Leaning against the truck, Sir took my shoulder and directed me to my knees. The ground was rough. It felt like ground glass and hurt like hell, but that was one thing my Owner especially liked, my knees on the rough gravel and concrete. He enjoyed most of all, my crawling to him as I ground my knees into it so they would be nicely raw. Sometimes he would retreat a little further and a little further so I would have to crawl more to service him, relishing my little gasps and whimpers like caviar.

  Tonight I didn’t even resist. When he directed me down onto the jagged-surfaced and rock-covered parking lot I simply gave in to it. I felt his dick blossom as I groaned with the pain. I began to suck him in earnest and didn’t stop. I sunk my fingers into his ass cheeks and pumped back and forth like a bitch in heat. I sucked him so hard and so fast my lips burned from the friction. I wanted him to climax so badly, I loved him and wanted his pleasure, and wanted him to fill my mouth and throat with his cum.

  I sucked harder and faster moaning my guttural sounds of pain and pleasure and felt the hard shaft grow harder still. I could hear my Owner grunting and tasted the pre-cum juices oozing onto my tongue. I felt his body tremble and his balls, which I cupped in my palm, tightened. My Owner grunted accompanied by a few murmurs of pleasure and his rock-hard balls exploded their hot, sticky communion into my mouth. I swallowed happily, ecstatic that he had once again honored me with his sacred cum. I sucked and pumped gently, lapping up every last drip of it that he would allow me to glean. At last he pulled away with a shudder.

  “Mmmm!” He exclaimed in pleasure. My Master took hold of both of my arms and raised me from my shaking knees. I stumbled, trembling; he caught me and held me for a moment.

  “Get your things and get home,” he ordered quietly. “I’ve got to go.”

  A bit addled as usual, crashing down from sixty to zero, I gathered up my things and climbed into the truck without a word. That was the way it always was with my Owner. Saddle up and move ‘em out, soldier. It just was that way. No questions asked.

  I put on my dress and mundane things, transforming back into my human disguise. We drove the miles back to where I’d left my car and all the long way I floated in a silent dream world.

  Exiting the behemoth, I climbed into my car. Still primping in the mirror, fixing my makeup, I heard my Owner’s huge truck growl to life. I knew to start my engine as well. I turned the key and shoved my purse aside. Sir waited as I quickly maneuvered around the eighteen-wheeler’s long metal box and spun into the parking lot with all the aplomb of a woman well-satisfied, knowing, even more importantly that her Owner was satisfied, and that it was she who had made it so.

  Adjusting my mirror I could see the large Rolling Roissy shuddering into motion, reluctantly yawning and awakening to draw its heavy load across the potholed, deserted parking lot. It trembled and lurched like some prehistoric beast picking its way over brittle bones. I outdistanced the giant with ease, not wanting to, but knowing that I must. As always I must stay just a little apart from him. It was The Way, after all. His Way. We mustn’t be seen; we mustn’t be discovered. We must be as secretive and mysterious as the dark side of the moon. For him and because I loved him so much I would always do it—and because I belonged to him. Of that there was no question.

  Slowly and painstakingly over the years I had come not to mind it, this cat and mouse; but only and because it was him, because he was everything. With other’s this would have been impossible and absolutely untolerated. Belonging to him and being his was everything to me. Something only those who own and are owned could ever understand. There was no one else with whom I would have danced this winding maze of madness, nor any other’s indignities in which I would have reveled so. I am a strong and regal woman, after all; one before whom most men quake.

  Ironic, isn’t it?

  Delicious, luscious irony indeed.

  24—Celebrate Good Times

  “A man will never work for a woman, unless he’s got clabber for brains”

  It was another hot, summer night.

  “Hello?” I breathlessly grabbed the phone the instant Sir’s voice echoed on the answering machine.

  “What are you doin’?” his classic greeting.

  “Waiting for you to call, Sir,” my classic response.

  Sir chortled. “Are you home alone?”

  It was ten o’clock at night. I was rarely ever alone, but at night, never. “No Sir.”

  “Well, kick ‘em out of the house!” he boomed “I’m coming to see you!”

  I gulped. “But it’s, it’s...”

  “…ten o’clock at night?! I know what time it is. Send ‘em out to the mall!” John Wayne thundered.

  “I can’t, Sir,” I stammered meekly, “that won’t work tonight.”

  There was a forcefulness in his voice that I recognized.

  “Yes it will. I need to see you…alone,” Sir emphasized.

  “You’re not coming by yourself, are you…?” my voice dropped. Boy was I pushing my luck.

  Sir hesitated, “No. It’s me and Johnny.”

  My heart sank a little. I wanted to obey, but I didn’t want to be with anybody else, not really; only Sir. It was getting harder and harder to bring myself to it. Johnny was an OK man, a gentle giant, and he enjoyed me, no question, but nobody was Sir and they never would be. It was beginning to irritate me to be shared with Johnny, partly because he was so gentle, but especially because he was openly critical of Sir’s handling of me.

  But there was Sir’s illness. For several years now, I believe Sir had tried to groom Johnny to take over with me should his illness win. I always had suspected this, but now it was becoming more and more apparent as time went on. Johnny was not exactly reluctant, per se, just bumbling, a little frightened, and—how shall I put it—woefully inadequate. Not that he wasn’t normal-size
d in the dick department, but that’s not the point. Even if he had a colossal cock, that certainly was not enough to make him level with my Owner on any playing field.

  Yes, they were the same height, both of good, solid German stock, and of a similar mind set, it’s true. Johnny was a perverted little nasty and loved legs almost as much as Sir, but that’s where the similarities ended. Johnny loved ‘tits' ultimately more than Sir ever did, and Johnny loved mine with a passion. He was tender, gentle, and unfortunately terribly inhibited when it came to sadomasochistic pain. He just wasn’t into it. Like so many men, he had thought he was, and he got off on thinking about it, but when it came to the actual doing, he just couldn’t. He had given it a weak toss a few years back, but he was no more Owner material than Casper the Ghost was a ghoul. Nope, sadly for Sir, he would never find a replacement for himself in anyone, least of all Johnny. No matter how hard he coached me to tempt Johnny, to seduce him into the Master role, it just wasn’t possible to turn this sow’s ear into a silk purse.

  Nothing worked to lull Johnny into the role of dominance. To begin with, Johnny was terrified of his tall, domineering wife, but more terrified of himself hurting someone. He lived in dread fear of getting violent with the people he loved—his wife, his children— afraid that he could easily 'break' them in two; and that he could have. He might have even been a match for Sir, physically, if he were wound up enough, except that Sir was far more muscular, quick, intelligent, and gutsy. Sir’s years in the 3 Commando Brigade had seasoned him well, and he was as tough as whit leather and twice as strong. Johnny did stand eyeball to eyeball with my Owner, but though he had at least 100 pounds on Sir it was mostly flab. So if Johnny did get mad, like a rhinoceros there probably would be little stopping him.

  In fact my earliest memories of Johnny were of him questioning Sir about hurting me, suggesting, cautioning him that what Sir was doing might 'hurt' me and wishing Sir wouldn’t do it. It was strange, kind of endearing, but intolerably irreverent of Johnny. I belonged to Sir after all and he knew it. We both enjoyed what we did. No amount of Sir reiterating this fact seemed to convince Johnny, but nonetheless no one came between my Owner and his dominion over me. Especially not soft Johnny.

  Oh, Johnny interfered innocently enough, without thinking, but it was enough to convince me that I would never allow him to own me in any way, shape, or form. Ever. No matter what Sir said. It was for Johnny’s protection, really. I would have eaten that man alive and spit out the bones.

  I knew that Sir had an illness, likely from his military chemical exposures, and whatever it was truly had him concerned. He cared enough about me that he wanted to see me taken care of, I realized. He knew what I was, knew full well how thoroughly he had trained me and knew also that my training was irreversible, as it is. He was trying, I believe, to pass his possession to someone worthy, a man who would appreciate me, and also who would take ultimate good care of me in his stead. Not just sexually, but mentally and emotionally. Johnny was a good man, just soft. He didn’t have the heart to do to me what Sir had trained me so hard to love, on so many occasions, for so many, many years.

  “Well, if you can’t get them out of the house so we can be alone, you’ll have to meet me.”

  “Yes Sir. Where and when?”

  “Twenty minutes. At our old place up from your house.”

  I knew exactly where he meant.

  “Yes Sir. Twenty minutes.” I bit my lip and looked at the clock. I’d never make it.

  “What are you going to wear?” Sir asked lasciviously. I knew that tone well.

  “Whatever you want me to wear, Sir.”

  “Wear something trashy for me. And nude pantyhose. Black heels. You know what I like.”

  I did know.

  “Yes Sir.”

  I couldn’t believe it when I actually beat them there. I arrived and parked in the spot at which Sir and I had met so many, glorious times in his truck. Just down the lot from the place that a year ago, while the complex was still under construction, he had told me of his suspected catastrophic illness and I had cried. That fateful road we had sat on that night and on other nights was completed now, and so were the shops and businesses that sprouted there overnight like mushrooms. So many memories. So much ecstasy. Life is way too short.

  I pulled under a spotlight in the little strip mall to make myself obvious, and waited. I checked my image in the mirror and applied a bit more makeup; primped my hair. My dress was indeed trashy. Terribly short and tight, low cut and sleeveless, the little cotton print was exactly the type in which Sir loved to see me. I had on the nude hose and four-inch black heels he requested. I looked just like the true whore I gladly was for Sir, and incongruously polar opposite of my mundane persona.

  It was only three or four minutes before Sir and Johnny pulled up. Johnny was driving. It was a two-seater work truck with equipment in the back. No place for me in the slightest. I got out and swaggered toward the passenger side. Funny how small Sir looked beside Johnny every time I saw them together. Sir was the biggest man I knew; tall, huge, shoulders like a lumberjack, masculine, macho beyond belief, but somehow next to Johnny he always struck me as slight. Strange; very strange. Johnny was just a giant panda bear.

  Johnny beamed out at me with that wide, toothy grin of his; as goofy as a love-struck teenager. His nickname was 'Bubba'. Guess it fit. He tried to be cool, but it just wasn’t happening.

  They had been drinking. Every time Johnny came to see me with Sir they were drinking. I never fully understood or liked that, but figured it was probably because Johnny was scared shitless of his buxom wife—and probably just as scared of me—that he needed all the liquid courage he could guzzle. He probably couldn’t face me otherwise. There was another dark factor. Sir had emphasized on a number of occasions that Johnny was a devout Catholic. Down deep Johnny was convinced that he was going to Hell, not just for his occasionally fucking around with me, but for some other raunchy and even worse debaucheries he had committed down through the years. Hey, it could happen. God could strike him down and proclaim, “Johnny, go to Hell!”

  Make your choice, Johnny. Shit or get off the pot. He wanted to fuck me in the worst way, but he tripped out because of God. Guess his balls won.

  His conscience suffered immensely, though. Afterwards sometimes Sir would bust a gut telling me that Johnny was putting such and such cream on his dick or going to the doctor with a 'rash on his privates', and Johnny was convinced that God had indeed gotten him for fucking me. There was, of course, never anything medically wrong with him. The doctor would just pat him on the head and send him away with a prescription for yet another tube of 'cream'. Still Johnny was forever coming down with a 'God-gotcha' disease of one sort or another as punishment for his guilty conscience. For goodness sake, if my Owner had ever confided in Johnny about some of the things we did Johnny would have laid himself down in his grave and pulled the dirt over top of him. In fact, Sir cautioned me NEVER to let slip to Johnny (or anyone else for that matter) some of the darker things we’d done. Labor under no misapprehensions, dear reader, I won’t let them slip to you either; now or ever.

  No, no, no, no, no. I understand your imagination is now running wild. Sobeit.

  Suffer.

  Johnny watched with drool on his lips, eyes following me as I advanced slowly around the smaller truck to the passenger side and my Owner.

  “Where are we going?” I asked coyly.

  Sir turned to Johnny. “How much money have you got on you? A hotel will cost about $40.”

  Johnny checked his wallet. “I don’t have quite that much on me. Can I put it on a credit card?”

  Sir pursed his lips. “What if Ceil finds out? Doesn’t she get the credit card statements?”

  Johnny turned pale. “Yes she does,” he shot back quickly, eyes wide. He took another swig of beer. “Eighty-six that idea.” Poor Johnny. He was just not slick.

  Sir looked at me with a twinkle in his eye at Johnny’s pallor. “Are there an
y hotels for less than $40?”

  “I’m sure there are, but I don’t know which ones. Do you want me to go home and call some?” I asked.

  Sir thought for a moment. He eyeballed my van with the black tinted windows. “Did you ever take out that middle seat?”

  “Yes…” I affirmed.

  He looked over at Johnny and mumbled something.

  “Get back in your van and meet us in your driveway. We’ll follow you.”

  The idea bounced around in my head. I knew Sir and I knew exactly what he was planning. You don’t hang around with a former Commando without expecting the super outrageous. He was orchestrating a threesome right in my own suburban driveway. Right smack dab in the middle of the Bible Belt, to boot. My, my.

  “Do you think that’ll be a good idea?” I timidly pushed my luck taking advantage of Johnny’s presence. “There really isn’t much privacy in my driveway.” I bit my lip and cringed. Hell, the Fundy Nazi’s would call the police!

  “It’s dark. It’s late. A couple of blowjobs won’t attract that much attention.” He stated. “Let’s go.”

  And that was that.

  I pulled into the driveway as Sir and Johnny coasted in behind me. This was going to be rich. A devoutly religious little old lady living on the right side, a house full of nosy teens and various snooty adults on the left, and several houses with my ‘good friends and neighbors' just across the street. Of course, the one guy over there smoked pot like a hippie and had had three wives in a row, and the lady next to that was a big time wild party girl. So, maybe they all were either stoned or screwing each other. Who knew? I looked around. Everybody’s houses were dark and driveways empty except for the rabble-rousing teenagers’, and a thick line of huge, drooping pine trees swelled between my house and theirs. Sir was right, the moonless night was indeed dark and my van was now bathed in deep shadows from several big oak trees growing by my driveway. I hurriedly ran in and closed the drapes, made sure that everyone was in his bedroom watching TV and rushed back to the two men exiting Johnny’s truck, advancing on me with a lustful swagger.