Now, a year later and much struggle and MAGIC SPELLS he’d regained all of his weight, wore his buzz cut again—no more ponytail, no more creepy sandals, no more skinny Beach Boy—and more importantly he was Dominant again.
Sir had come to see me out of the blue months after the dreadful Solstice encounter, and I had nearly passed out—again. He looked 180 from his withered self at the Solstice. He was healthy and well and he had brought back his Fallen he’d given me so long ago—but suddenly had taken back (odd, another unsolved mystery)—and a copy of his intricately inked German piece. Gifts! I was thrilled. I was more than thrilled, I was insane with happiness at how good he looked! That he was healed. That he was here.
I’ll never know what demon disease had ravaged Sir’s body with tumors (proven by X-rays) and caused him to be a rail-thin, sandal-wearing Beach Boy in that Solstice cornfield so long ago, but at least it didn’t get him. At least he, of all the mates in his unit who died from it, was able to beat it, and now it was over. Whatever the horrible illness, whether ALS (incurable), cancer (he didn’t take cancer treatments), or God only knows what life-threatening malady, he beat it on his own. His methods were secretive; his self-healing unorthodox, but overcome it he did. He let me in a tiny bit and what I believe is, it was...
...pure magik.
There is no other explanation. Believe what you will. Mind over matter (is that any less magikal?), secret military experimental treatments (I assure you, he didn’t go anywhere), herbs, the mystical Kabbalah Tree of Life, or the deepest, darkest occult, my Sir was healed—100%, genuinely healed (proven by X-rays, tumors gone). And he was back.
I’ll take it.
Our times together were always magikal, but now he was stronger, heavier; almost a hundred percent back to himself. Miraculously, Sir did it. Magik. Told you, he’s a Magic Man, Momma.
Back to Tonight
I had so much time to get ready, to plan, plenty of time to get there. Ha, of course I was late.
I got a late start; I took the wrong turn; I got mixed up. Naturally. The GC was a wild and crazy place in a wild and crazy place, and I am easily confused on directions.
When I finally arrived, my new (old) car was smoking like a chimney. I had lost my van to the repo man, and this was a sad, albeit once proud replacement. It was knocking so hard I’m sure it announced me like a bullhorn as I came coughing down the road.
The sun was setting; twilight.
As I slowed to approach the gate, my Owner—his tall, dark figure silhouetted in the evening glow—appeared from literally nowhere, and he hurriedly unlocked the gate’s chain. He swung the big metal bar back, and with a curt, military sweep of his hand ushered me in. Pointing to my designated parking spot in the shadows like a cop signaling 'move forward', Sir had me pull underneath a tree row off to the left. I glided in and cut the engine. She continued to rattle and cough like a TB patient receiving Last Rites, then shudderingly succumbed. No longer my roomy van, this car was a goodie, but definitely an oldie.
Sir was recovering. Though he was miles better than the Scarecrow Sir from the Solstice, I still worried about him. Now that his body seemed mostly healed, there lingered this mental frailness about him presenting an odd, reservedly delicate state.
I quickly gathered up my bag and purse and let my long legs do the talking as I languidly stretched from my seat to the ground. I had on a purple and blue flower-splashed dress, short and tight in the skirt which was kick-pleated at the rear. The bodice had a pull-across feature that tied in folds at the waist, accentuating my ample bust. It was silky and classy-looking, and about to get the ride of its elegant life.
I knew he would be watching my legs as I stepped out. I could always count on it, and tonight was no exception. Sir consistently checked out whatever I wore from head to toe, especially my long, high-heeled legs. Unless he was dead, my nude-stockinged ‘gams’ would quickly jump-start his cock.
He was right there beside me now, scoping me out. Good.
“You got something to write on?” He said after finishing his scan. His face was a little flushed. Also good.
I hurriedly ripped a page from my notebook and grabbed a pen.
“OK, I want you to write a note and leave it on the inside of your windshield saying ‘Car trouble…be back in the morning’…”
Back in the morning? Odd. But I didn’t question, I just wrote.
This is probably how they did it in the military; never give the buck privates an instant to ask why. Just get go, get go, git.
Note secured, I clambered from my seat.
Sir was already rapidly making his way across the field as he motioned for me to follow. I skipped along, extending my legs to try to keep up—as usual, impossible, especially in three-inch heels. When I finally did struggle across, he was waiting in the shadow of the shelter, away from the tall spotlight. He guided me to the benches there at the shelter’s wall, and sat down.
I knew what to do; he was already slipping his pants to his knees. I put my bags down and knelt. The concrete was kneecap busting, but he smelled and tasted so good I ignored the knee scraping. It had been a while.
He let out a long, earthy moan. I glanced up at him. He was leaning back, head tilted, arms resting languidly out to each side on the top of the bench.
“Is there any chance that anyone will come here tonight?” I paused long enough in my sucking to ask.
“Always a chance,” he quipped teasingly. “There’s other guys that have keys.” He murmured his reply. “We just have to keep our ears open.”
Sir was suddenly playful, “Actually I’ve got six guys coming. They’re all going to take you inside there and fuck the hell out of you one by one.” He nudged his head toward the building he was leaning against.
I smiled up at him. Sir put his hand in my hair, ruffled it and gently pushed my head back down on his wet cock.
“Ohhhh,” he hissed soothingly, closing his eyes, “I remember. I remember.”
This pleased me so much to hear. I remembered, too.
He allowed me to suck him for several long minutes while he grew harder and bigger with every slurp.
“Who have you been fucking?” he rumbled his usual demand.
“Nobody, Sir.” I breathed my usual reply. I hadn’t been. He was the only one, that’s why I was horny as hell. It had been months.
“Get up…” he growled, raising, and then pulling me up with him. He quickly ushered me to the thick picnic tables a few feet away. Turning me around, Sir brusquely bent me over the nearest one. Without hesitation he parted my cheeks and plowed straight into my wet cunt. Driving into me like a Mac Truck, he lifted me off my feet.
God, this man sick was more remarkable than any other, three times as well.
Struggling to maintain my balance I clawed the table with all my might, and lay my head down hoping it would help. Didn’t. My stomach and hips were taking a pounding against the rough planks.
Sir continued the blessed fucking’s long, hard strokes, slowing only once to gather my hands at the wrists and twist my arms behind my back to pin me down in the oh-so-familiar way.
He fucked me hard, hammering me like a freight train, but ever in control, he didn’t cum.
The glorious Sir paused and withdrew. His dick glistening with my wetness, he stood, arms on his hips, waiting; ever the King. Expecting.
I dropped in a squat again to service him where he stood. His solid thighs were damp with shimmering sweat, and wrapping my hands around them to suck his cock seemed entirely natural. I sucked him for several more long minutes. Then I heard something.
From the near distance came a loud, mournful wail; it sounded like a banshee, hot on her victim’s trail. I paused just long enough to look up at my Owner.
“Peafowl, Sir…?” I offered.
“Yeah”, Sir muttered softly. It was no news to him.
There are few creatures on this earth that utter such a sorrowful cry as peafowl. They are used as 'watch dogs' on many fa
rms and estates throughout the world. You can hear them for half a mile away and no intruder escapes their keen ears. Someone in the adjacent property had a pride of them.
I continued my pleasuring.
“You’d like that if I had five or six friends waiting in the clubhouse for you to give blowjobs, wouldn’t you?” Sir breathed.
I didn’t answer. He continued, “I’d send you in there… one by one they could have you any way they wanted. You’d like that, wouldn’t you…!”
This time it was not a question…
“Um-hummm” I answered the statement.
“… Taste their thick, sticky cum and let them do anything to you they wanted; fill up every one of your holes.”
I felt him getting harder than ever in my mouth as he spoke.
Then again he stopped, and picked me up by my elbow. Now he was force-marching me across the wide, lighted field that resembled a soccer court. I stumbled to keep up. He was heading toward a little concrete block building at the edge of the tree line; a mostly-windowless, tall storage shed with two sliding garage doors that had one single hinged door between them. We were hidden in soft shadows, but Sir hurried to find the right key to get us in.
Peering inside I shivered despite the summer heat. Always my imagination working overtime with Sir, I pictured tall beams strung with cabling and a wench to hoist my struggling body, 'like a fat doe' he once had said, long, long ago in the upper room of the House. I also pictured a 'sickly Sir' hell-bent on dying and taking me with him; the headlines reading: 'Love Struck Couple Die in Death Pact… Woman Strung Up LIKE A FAT DOE.'
I always thought such crazy shit. It was Sir after all. He was so artistic; he had conjured up amazing things. He was so cool.
Sir had a can of pop which I held for him as he handled the keys in the dim light to find the right one. He finally found it and we were in.
The brown door swung open with an ever-so-slight whine, and the meager light that filtered through the thin row of trees surrounding us illuminated our way in. I followed Sir a few feet over the threshold, then stopped still in the pitch black. I could see barked shins in my future. Sir knew where to feel for the light switch. He found it, closed the door behind us and locked us inside. Another chill ran up my spine. In the back of my mind I never knew what to expect from this renegade German, if I had made him upset with me in the past, what would stop him from teaching me a lesson now? What better place to do it than HERE, in Jason’s little tool shop of horrors.
There were indeed wenches and wire, large machinery, and all manner of instant torture devices just waiting to be had. Suddenly I felt very frail; helpless, weak.
Delicious.
I set Sir’s pop on a machine directly in front of us, and he didn’t ask for it back. He turned and walked directly through a doorway, opening to his left. I followed. It opened into a much larger garage that was filled—I could see when Sir flipped on the rows of overhead lights dangling high up in the rafters—with yet more equipment, large and small. In the garish brightness I noticed instantly that there was no other way out. There was only one door to the outside, and that lay through the anteroom behind us. I never liked having only one way out of a place. Gave me the creeps. That fact, combined with our echoing footsteps made me want to whisper.
Sir made himself a throne of some boxes on which he sat with authority. He tossed down a sizable piece of clean cardboard for me on the floor directly in front of him.
“Don’t ruin your hose!” There it was, the old mandate.
I knelt down and, looking up, for the first time the light was bright enough for me to clearly see Sir’s face.
“You look very good, Sir!” I remarked, happily, having expected the worst.
“I don’t feel so good,” he returned.
“Oh, but you do!” I said, pleased that he actually did appear so remarkably well. Sir ignored me.
He gently but firmly guided my head onto his cock. I took it in my mouth to feel it swell anew. I pleasured him and enjoyed him for five minutes or more while he sat, hands on thighs, just like Emperor Sir of old.
“Get me nice and hard,” his low voice ordered. “Then you know what I’m going to do with it….” he continued. I did. My heart pounded harder. It had been a long time since….
“Turn around…!” I heard the familiar royal edict. I did. “Assume the position!” Sir boomed, without the slightest jest. The words were music to my ears. But there was trepidation, too.
“Please, Sir, it’s, it’s been so long since… I haven’t been fucked up the ass in so long… SIR!!!!” His name squeaked out shrilly, as he was already ramming his hard, thick cock up my tiny asshole. I screeched again.
I heard the sound and felt his spittle hit its mark. It didn’t help much. I was still being split in two. The pain was incredible. My ass was virgin all over again and I was stiffening against the rending, like an idiot.
“Don’t pull away from me!” He growled the warning. I knew better.
I couldn’t help it. It was involuntary. Every fiber of my being said to jerk free. The pain was like a machete slicing its way through my tender flesh.
“I CAN’T, SIR! Please! It’s been…TOO…LONG!!!! PLEASE!” The words were shrieks.
“SHHHHHHHHH”, my Owner shushed over top of me insistently. He was soothing, but at the same time he was placing his hands firmly around my throat. “You’ve got to be quiet!” He hissed loudly. “You can’t scream in here.”
But I wasn’t listening. I only felt pain stretching my ass and ripping inside without hesitation. It was how he liked it after all; straight in, straight up. I knew he hated it when I pulled away from him and ruined his ass fuck.
His hands on my neck did the trick. His grip was firm and his hand completely encircled my 'scrawny neck' as he’d called it before, and I wasn’t sure that he wouldn’t help 'quiet' me with wringing it for me. I didn’t want that!
I managed to shut the hell up real quick.
He fucked me so hard and I held for it in silence; I thought any second he’d explode inside my ass like a volcano. I anticipated it. I wanted it. He fucked me hard for at least five minutes… but again, he didn’t cum.
Sir finally stopped. He withdrew. He heaved and shuddered, but he hadn't climaxed. He breathlessly sat back on his cardboard box 'throne’'
What had I done wrong? Was he displeased with me? What had happened? It felt so right.
He motioned for me to suck him again as he heaved his breath. I fell on him and proceeded. There was no taste from me; I was too thoroughly clean inside. He just felt hot, slippery, and wet.
“Let’s get out of here.” Sir said just as suddenly as he had when he’d stopped fucking me to trek across the field. “I just can’t stand to be in a place with only one way out.” He shared my phobia. His breathing was a bit labored. Sir always had had trouble with shortness of breath in the heat from years of smoking and from his now-former illness. The attack had been a good deal worse in that episode with Johnny in my driveway, which had been, of course, more than merely the results of Sir 'smoking'.
I knew exactly what he meant about the box canyon atmosphere. It was eerie. Trapped like a couple of breeding rats in a hole with only one way out. Neither of us liked it.
Sir unlocked the door and opened it widely. I took his discarded pop from its perch on the machine by the door and trotted out to join him. Always 'field strip'.
“Get your stuff and let’s get out of here, quick!” He barked at me. Again, the German: mach schnel! No time allowed to think. No doubt best…
… but…why, again?
I gathered up my bag with the instructed 'street' clothes and shoes, along with my purse, just as Sir wheeled his truck in front of me from the shadows where it’d been stashed. This sudden urgency was odd.
“GET IN!” He ordered adamantly, shoving open the door hard. I practically dove inside at the command. Whatever on earth was chasing us must be ginormous, and in a BIG hurry.
My
first attempt at scaling my seat was fruitless; there was absolutely no spare room for me, let alone for my myriad baggage. I wriggled and pushed to gain even an inch of unoccupied space. I didn’t know where he thought I was going to sit, there were piles of 'stuff' everywhere. Maybe that was the point. He hadn’t planned for me… This was impromptu. He grabbed handfuls of the 'stuff' and tossed them, as he simultaneously pulled away with my feet still dangling out of the door. I barely got it shut! What in the hell was going through his mind? What in the hell was happening tonight? This was peculiar, even for super peculiar Master and slave.
Nestling into a sea of I-didn’t-know-what-the-fuck, I clutched my bags around me like fellow sardines in a can. I couldn’t see anything with all my marshmallow fluff in my face. I had no idea which way, or where we were heading. I only felt the turns banging my helpless body left and right.
“Where are we going now?” I hazarded the question as I slammed hard.
This heavily brooding Sir seemed in no hurry to tell me. He stared straight ahead as dark as the night that whirled by us. There went my imagination again. I still wasn’t convinced that he wasn’t about to off me in some sort of ritual departure ceremony. I knew Sir had been really sick, but wasn’t he much better now? Perhaps he’d had a relapse. Had the illness and tumors affected his brain? It struck me at the same time, I on the other hand had been really bad. I was never sure that I wasn’t in line for some drastic and dire punishment. It was what kept my spine tingling.
We drove a quick mile, slamming and banging before he at last spoke. “There’s a couple of people I want to go spy on,” he began.
Uh...what?
What an odd fucking thing to say: 'spy on'?
But what the hey. Don’t mind me, I’m just along for the ride.
He continued, insecurely acting as if further explanation was in order... “I was supposed to meet them tonight and I decided not to. I just want to see what’s going on.
I don’t know who he was talking to, it was as if I wasn’t even in the truck.
Masochism of M: A Sexual Mémoir Page 37