Masochism of M: A Sexual Mémoir

by Janice Collins

  I was dumb struck.

  So lemme gets this straight, you leave fucking a hot, juicy pussy, not to mention a flaming ass and mouth, in none of which you’ve cum, to… 'SPY on some people'?

  Wow, can you say 'hokey'? What the fuck? He wanted to 'spy' on some people. Good god, Sir was more messed up than I’d thought. I wasn’t buying this hokum for a minute. But what could I do? Just oh well, whatever… I was in no position to object, marshmallow-sardine-submissive-gripping-the-dash that I currently was.

  We sped on.

  After miles of body slamming twists and turns on treacherous, narrow, dark country roads, Sir finally slowed to a crawl. He looked up and over at a house across the road on a little rise. It was black. It looked deserted to me. But he said there was a 'couple' there that he was supposed to hook up with, and Johnny was there, too. He said he had been there earlier but left them to come meet me. According to Sir he was just wanting to check to see if 'they’d' left yet. It was all FUCKING strange, but I just sat and listened… who am I, after all? Just a marshmallow-sardine-submissive. I didn’t have any feelings. I didn’t matter any more than a blow-up doll squished in the seat beside him.

  As we coasted by, suddenly someone glided out of that house we had just checked. Now they were coming up behind us. At first they were a little distance back, about a half a block. Then they sped up till they were inches from our bumper, following our every turn.

  Sir hadn’t seemed to notice. Weird. 3 Commando Brigade, Sir, not notice?

  “Uh, I hate to mention it,” I piped, “but if I didn’t know better I’d say that car was following us…” I instinctively bit the dust to hide down in my marshmallow fluff. I knew the drill.

  “Yep,” Sir agreed, “I’d say you were right.”

  His voice didn’t sound panicky exactly, more concerned and perturbed. He sped up. He was not amused. In fact he glared in his rear view like a grizzly bear getting fucked up the ass.

  “They aren’t turning off, Sir,” I gulped. I could observe headlights in the side view mirror from between my squished legs in the seat.

  “Nope!” Sir said, popping the 'p'.

  My imagination would have started working overtime at this point on one of my crazy theories—you know, like Sir was going to sell me to some AID’s-ridden gypsies and watch as they fucked out what little brains I had left—had I not seen the growing strain on his face. He was bugged, or was that just plain worry??

  He gunned it. Oh, lord, he hit the pedal hard. The poor old truck squealed in protest. This ancient machine was not meant for such crap. I was glad Sir obviously knew these back roads so well, or at this speed we would have been wrapped around a tree. At every turn I felt a new bump on another body part. I hoped my door was latched well. We were really sailing.

  The tailing car was not yielding. It was obvious that they had the advantage of maneuverability over our bulk. But Sir was relentless. He handled the whining truck like an Indy 500 race car. Everything was shaking and rattling, and the engine was making sounds that I knew no healthy engine should. We were now traveling well above any sane speed limit when—lord almighty—Sir ordered loudly, “HOLD ON!”

  Suddenly we were AIRBORNE and sailing like a comet over the raised railroad tracks that had sprung up in front of us like a great wall. I did the old 'hold your breath, squeeze your eyes shut' thing but there was no hope for that silly trick this time. There was no way we—or this old truck—were going to survive.

  BAM! Oh dear GOD we landed so hard I felt the tires deflate and my teeth collide, but were we alive? In one piece? I hoped so, because we were still bookin’ it down the road like a thoroughbred with his tail on fire.

  I peeked into my side view mirror. It looked like we might be losing them! They were still back there, just much further away.

  “Oh, god,” it suddenly dawned on me, “You don’t think it’s ‘her’, do you?” (Sir’s wife) I shouted to be heard over the roaring engine.

  “I don’t know, she’s been acting awfully strange lately,” he shouted back; obviously not it or he wouldn’t have acquiesced so easily. Covering.

  “Oh my god!” I exclaimed again with the horror of it. “Look! Just turn the corner and let me out. I don’t think they saw me. I think I ducked in time before the headlights caught my head.” I thought about it for another minute. “There were two people in there, weren’t there?” I furrowed my brow. “Did you see two people?”

  Sir thought a minute, wheels turning, all the while still laying on the gas. “Yeah,” he agreed, but the answer came too slowly. He knew something he wasn’t telling me. What the hell was going on? Meanwhile I could smell the white meat burning as he planned his next move.

  “I’ll be fine. I’ve got my mace.” I offered, bravely. I immediately started shoving into my 'street' clothes, starting with my jeans. Not an easy feat going 75 miles an hour while wedged into a sardine can. I pulled them out of my bag and fought the twists and turns to wriggle into them like a moth returning to its cocoon. It wasn’t easy, fitting them on over top of my tight dress, while hunkered down in the passenger seat, surrounded by marshmallows, while being pummeled into the dash and door at every turn. I was praying the door didn’t pop open.

  “OK.” Sir was saying.

  WHA?? 'OK'!? He was agreeing to it? That’s not at all what was supposed to happen! I was just being magnanimous... silly... STUPID even.

  “Look, get your shoes on and get your stuff together and if I have to leave you by the side of the road I’ll be back to get you after I lose this fuckin’ car.”

  “Right.” I confirmed plan 'A' with one swift nod, like a good little (albeit weak) soldier. I was being brave. It was freaking dark and scary out there. I was pretty sure I’d be fine, even with the animals that would be scavenging these wilderness cornfields at midnight, and the zombie rednecks out scavenging for them. At least, it’s warm. I thought. It could be snowing…

  OK, mission accomplished. I had on jeans, jacket, and shoes. Nothing was zipped, buttoned, or tied, but what the hell. At least I was covered.

  Gee, I wonder if he’ll at least slow down, or if I’ll have to do a drop and roll out the door?

  Suddenly (lucky for me) plan 'A' was aborted. Thanks to Super Mario, the pursuing couple had missed the last turn as Sir whipped around the corner onto another road and cut his lights as we coasted into a thick cornfield.

  We had lost them. Or so we hoped. It was close enough that Sir was rattled. Our evening was over, and Sir still hadn’t cum. All that and he still hadn’t climaxed.

  I was more than confused, I was terrified! Who the hell were those motherfuckers?

  “OK, listen,” he began, that sense of military urgency still in charge. “I am going to take you back to your car. I want you to have your shit together. And as soon as I stop I want you to jump down and get into your car and take off!” He ordered. “And make sure you don’t leave any of your little shit behind! Last time you left your earrings on the floor.”

  “I did…? Oh, yeah, I did, didn’t I?” I grimaced. What a klutz. “I’m so sorry. Did it get you into any trouble?” I hoped not, but I didn’t expect an answer.

  “Just make sure you don’t leave anything this time.” Sir was driving slower, but not by much. The old truck was still trembling, just like me. I’d be surprised if this wasn’t fatal... for the truck, not me.

  “OK,” I assured, feeling around blindly with my hands. I was still hemmed in like that sardine, surrounded by all these bits of 'stuff'; I simply had no idea what they were. I pulled an unidentified metal object with little wires sticking out from under my right butt cheek where it’d been goosing me. I was probably dented for life.

  We were almost back.

  “Sir,” I began softly “I feel terrible. You didn’t cum.”

  “That’s all right. You’ll make it up to me next time,” he chided. It was the first light-hearted thing he’d said in the past three hours. We were apparently all right then…?

&nb
sp; “Sir,” I stuck my neck out but there wasn’t much more time to ask. “Who do you think that was back there?”

  “I don’t know,” Sir chimed exasperatedly. “Whoever it was, it ain’t good I know that.” Again, too quick an answer. He knew. I squinted my eyes.

  “Yeah,” I skeptically agreed, shifting my eyes straight ahead. Nothing made sense, but at least we weren’t dead.

  There had to be some logical explanation for all this weirdness. In the first place, why in the world, I wondered as the lights of the GC became visible way off on the horizon, was Sir stopping a marvelous ass-fucking and potential cum to travel all that distance to 'check on' somebody, and why the hell was he 'there earlier' to begin with? Super-sleuth me tried to patch the quilt together before time ran out.

  “Were you taking me there to be with some other people?” I mumbled innocently, looking down, contemplating my unzipped jeans. Sir didn’t answer. Perhaps he didn’t hear me over the engine. I know shooting of guns had almost ruined his hearing at least in one ear; so seriously, he might not just have been ignoring me….

  Had I struck a nerve? His silence, instead of a quick answer this time, was telling. I had a theory… only my theory went way beyond my just 'being given'. I shuddered. This whole race for Witch Mountain could have been for my own safety. If so, it wouldn’t have been the first time Sir’s pride in his submissive had gotten in the way. He did care for me on some human level after all. Snatching me away from some illusive danger was the only real reason I could think of for Sir not allowing himself to cum after so many heated opportunities with me that evening.

  I kept further speculation to myself as I will now. But the evidence, in lieu of everything, was overwhelming.

  We were back. No more time for questions, nonsensical or otherwise. Time to go. Time to go. Time to go… Mach schnel !!!

  Sir slammed on the brakes and whipped the screeching buggy into the drive, spewing gravel eight feet high. He jumped out, unlocked the chain, hopped back in, and gunned the crying engine one last time.

  “Now hurry, go…” he was telling me softly, as he put the brakes on. “You remember how to get out of here?” He knew me all too well. “Left, right, left… I’ll follow you.”

  “Yes Sir,” I closed my eyes and repeated “Left, right, left…left, right, left…” I grabbed all things marshmallow and slid from my perch to the ground. I hit the gravel running and didn’t look back…. Well OK, I did look back once.

  “I love you, Sir!” I called quietly, just loud enough for him to hear as I closed his door. My head was buzzing loudly as I scampered, repeating: “Left, right, left… right, left, right…” I was so bad at taking directions, and now with the chaos I was worse.

  I got to my car, opened the door, dumped my bags in the back, and lined up the key. I fired up the engine and gave ‘er the gun. The old car roared to life. Lincoln’s, you can’t kill ‘em, they just keep on running forever.

  She wasn’t knocking yet, she only did that when she was hot, which would be soon enough the way I was flooring it.

  I got to the gate and repeated Sir’s directions, Which way was it now? Right, left, right? Yes, that’s what he said… wasn’t it? Oh, I didn’t know. Just go!

  Naturally I was wrong and naturally I got lost. In God’s country after midnight. Way to go. And what ever happened to 'I’ll follow you'? I guess I was faster than him. And stupider and a lot more lost.

  I have no idea how I got to where I ended up—at a desolate crossroad by a dimly lit, tiny country church with miles and miles of nothing but empty farm land any way I looked. I turned into the church lot and scanned the bleak horizon for any sign of Sir’s headlights. Of course not. He might well be broken down somewhere, the way he had abused that poor decrepit truck. I waited ten minutes, then I tried to range-find; but there wasn’t a range to find, except the ones with cows on them. Damn, I’m such a lousy soldier.

  OK, I thought, theres a haze of lights on the horizon, way off in the distance. The city? The expressway? Jeez, so this is how Jason gets his victims.

  I threw up my hands and headed back the way I came. At the crossroads again, lo and behold, headlights. I stopped and rolled my window down. It wasn’t Sir; it was a cowboy. He was driving a red pick-em-up and blaring country music. Cowboys always treat a lady right. When he saw me he stopped, tipped his Stetson and drawled sweet-as-country-molasses, “Howdy, ma’am. Y’all lost?”

  Boy was I ever.

  He gave me directions and this time my fuzzy brain was not too scrambled to listen. After ten long minutes’ drive I actually made it to the expressway and pulled into the BP to get a pop. I was dryer than a goat eating dirt.

  I had no idea what Sir had been up to or what bullets I dodged—I never found out, despite my asking—but all I could do was quiver the rest of the way home and think:

  Wow, thank you again, Sir for one hellova night.

  26—I’m Alive

  “I don’t guess people’s hearts got anything to do with a calendar.”

  It was a warm summer evening when he’d summoned me; not long after the fated truck rampage over the railroad tracks and into oblivion. We had met so many times since that weird night and mostly the times were all good. No cars chasing us, no marshmallow sardine, no not cumming for either of us. Sir was back, and he was back with a vengeance. Only one oddity was rubbing me the wrong way, but it was really rubbing. For once in my life I didn’t know how to handle a situation. As his submissive, I had to obey; as a cautious human being, I was having a real conflict. I just didn’t see the point. I knew I shouldn’t question, but…

  There was that 'but'.

  The situation just kept popping up, more and more. At first it was subtle, then it was blatant, now it was over the top. I’d hoped it would just go away. No such luck.

  I was so pleased to hear his voice when he called. As always, it illuminated me with that wild, tingling glow. He wanted to see me at the 'usual' spot—his uncle’s camp. Did I remember how to get there? Were my directions clear? “No being late, now,” he cautioned emphatically. I was so ready to come to him; so ready for the brand of sex that I craved.

  As ever, I was swept away by his hypnotic voice. As always, I trembled with sweet trepidation at what was to come. But then, then, in the midst of it all I asked a STOOPID question: Was it just to be 'us', alone, or…

  My heart sank… it was to be 'or'.

  I was instantly sick. I did not want 'or'. It was coming to a head and I could feel it. It wasn’t the 'or' person—Johnny—I objected to; it was what Sir had been proposing for a while that made me cringe. I was fine with Johnny in a pasty, limp sort of way. With him I could deal—sort of—but not with this. I never needed anyone else in our rituals, but if Sir did, I was down with that, of course; he called all the shots. I wanted only Sir, but if my being given to another women, several women, or several men, even group sex was what Sir wanted, none of that was too bizarre for me at this juncture. This was. Yes, Sir was uninhibited and obviously, so was I—to a point—but, like everyone, I had my limits. This new notion I could not compete with, and I refused to play along. Nothing against the 'or' person. It was just that everything had gotten far too weird lately, even for us, and 'weird' was our middle name. There are some un-crossable lines—everybody’s got ‘em—and this, for me, was simply one.

  We had been with Johnny at Sir’s uncle’s before, that wasn’t the problem either. It was a rip roaring night that I got to finally spend snuggled up to Sir in his tent, while Johnny, well-fucked, slept it off in his own tent. It was grand. Pushing the limits, which I skirted, that ever present perversion shoved just out of reach. But at least it was still out of reach.

  His answer to my question tonight had hit like a knife in the gut and I couldn’t help it. It just did.

  I slogged through dressing as usual, and readied myself to be the giver and receiver of his pleasure, no matter how bizarre, but my heart wasn’t in it. For me getting ready was rote, automatic, a
set routine after all these years; but something was wrong. For the first time ever I strongly didn’t want to meet 'or', and all at once when I got into the car, dressed and ready, sunlight sparkling in the beautiful evening sky, the wild horse bucked.

  At the end of my driveway, instead of turning left for the highway, I turned right. I headed through the subdivisions and down the long hill to… where? I didn’t have a clue. I didn’t know. I just drove… I drove away from 'or'.

  For the first time in my life I simply drove away and blatantly disobeyed Sir.

  I pulled up and parked in the little strip mall, amidst hundreds of cars so I’d blend in. In my imagination, I pictured Sir coming after me drenched in rage as he once had long, long ago, towing Johnny in his wake, as he had, after ferreting me out at a nightclub to wreak his ungodly wrath on me. I wanted it now. At least it would prove the old Sir was alive and kicking, instead of this… this… I cannot type it. I cannot give it words.

  It is the horrible, degrading 'or'.

  I sat in the lot till past ten, long after it was pitch dark; long past time I knew that he knew that I wasn’t coming. It broke my heart, but this had to cease. It was not logical; it was not rational. In fact it was both self-destructive, demeaning, and dangerous, and I could not be part of it. Only those who’ve seen 'The Quiet Man' and knew the agony of Mary Kate when she boarded that train would understand.

  I drag-assed home, watching in my rear-view mirror half-hopefully for my Sir, my beautiful and one-and-only Sir to come, wrench me from my car by my arm and redeem me. But he didn’t come. Knowing what I know now, he was no longer able to come, but the terrible wrath he would have exercised on me if he could have, was more than likely simply to stare at his horrible excuse of a submissive, shake his head, and leave me.

  Simply leave me alone. The worst punishment of all.

  The message light was blinking on the answering machine when I opened my bedroom door. With a heavy heart I pushed play…

  “Hello?” I heard my Owner say. “Hello. You there?!” He paused and tried one more time, a dwindling: “Are you home?”