Masochism of M: A Sexual Mémoir

by Janice Collins

  Reaching the corner I had to wait to cross. Cars—a steady stream, surprising at this time of night—were all traveling much faster than they should, but at least their headlights warned from a long distance down the dark, rain-glazed pavement. It’s almost midnight, people! Stay home! Let a poor sex slave pass. Finally, faking nonchalance for any prying eyes, I drew a breath and gingerly crossed. A speeding car narrowly missed me, spraying gravel on my heels. On the other side I paused, waiting any minute for lights to pop on, or a dog to come charging out at me, sending a foolish lady dressed all in black skittering into the path of an oncoming car. Again car 1, Brunhilda 0.

  None came.

  I walked.

  I approached the house where 'Little Miss Dangerous' had stopped so many years before on her mission to deliver a dire message from the school (and art work from her) to her Owner-In-Waiting. I shivered as I passed it—Sir’s in-law’s house—where way back when, I had SNAFU’ed and parked after seeing his Mercedes and thinking it was his house. I smiled, remembering his wide, wild eyes when he saw me. Time Bubble rush; now I was here again. Wow. So many years. So much had changed.

  I held my breath, too scared to exhale, and trotted past.

  Suddenly I was there; there at the driveway that I had ever only glimpsed as I flashed by in my car, or stared longingly at, on the pages of the county auditor’s site and wished so badly that I could somehow, SOMEHOW reach out and touch my Owner’s soul.

  Now I was here!

  I nearly passed it; the gravel drive came up so quickly and I was concentrating hard on not being noticed or getting hit. I saw his mailbox just in the nick of time and hurriedly ducked down—real James Bond move—by it in the dark to hide and wait. I caught movement out of the corner of my eyes, barely making out the form of my Owner up the rise, waiting by the shadowy trees.

  I shot to the other side of the drive, trying not to make a sound, and reached him as he turned to lead the way up the gravel in the pitch black. I paused as he paused, and walked as he walked, staying just five or six feet behind. He hesitated past a thick, tall post, so I stopped to hide behind it for further directions. He looked left and right, a silent sentinel, then motioned for me to come on. I did. He had me pause at the side of his big truck parked there as he stood between me and his mother’s house next door. Tall trees and thick bushes separated us from her empty front porch, on which, as had been hoped, nobody sat. It was so late at night; I would have been surprised if anyone had been up at all. But lights were on at several houses across the street, and I shivered thinking that they might be watching me as skulked my way up Sir’s driveway in the muted light of the street lamps. This was way too convoluted; way too risky, me slinking up the driveway like a creeper. Anybody could have seen me.

  Satisfied that it was tentatively OK, Sir motioned me on. Then with a sudden swipe, he warned to stay low. I crouched and walked, keeping my dark hair below the truck body. A few paces more and we were at the door of his studio. I felt him firmly take my arm, and I took his as well, as if the power of our touching would marry the magic surging through our veins. It was rare for me to touch him this way; rarer still for him to allow it, to tolerate such boldness from his submissive. I shivered, and not from the night air.

  Sir opened the studio door and swiftly pulled me inside. I felt like a rag doll being tugged along by its tattered arm.

  Midnight barked an alarm. Sir commanded her to be quiet and she instantly obeyed. Of course Sir’s dog would. He shut the door and pitch blackness blanketed around us. I could only hear the clinking of Midnight’s collar in the dark and her long tail thumping in a friendly wag. Perhaps she remembered me from several weeks ago when Sir and I had met in the grassy park behind the tombstones; perhaps she remembered it was me who was pleasuring our Owner as she stood guard. Or maybe she just liked the scent of my rubber Crocs. Midnight was an agreeable dog.

  Sir quickly turned on a dim lamp and hand-commanded Midnight to lie down. She dropped immediately. She obviously adored him nearly as much as I did. The beautiful dog was a good companion to my Owner; ever vigilant and faithful. Semper fi.

  Sir flipped a switch, and a soft light came to life in the center of the loft’s ceiling. The new 'Upper Room' rose above us like a sanctuary, its diffuse spotlight casting warm shadows on the amazing feature that appeared in front of me: the 'Stairway to Heaven' as Sir called it. I had only glimpsed the Stairway in his photos! It was far more magnificent than the pictures allowed. Their varnish-and-pine-wood scent gave me tingles just to smell. I touched them delicately.

  “The Stairs.” Sir dramatically introduced us.

  “Yes Sir”, I murmured, reverently gazing up at them.

  “Go up”, he instructed. I did. He followed.

  “Get your clothes off,” he said throatily, “and if anybody comes, you get behind this dresser. And stay quiet!”

  Sir removed a mirror from its place against the wall beside the aforementioned dresser, providing a little cubbyhole for me to squeeze into should the need arise.

  “Yes, Sir,” I quietly repeated, as Sir lowered himself back down the nearly vertical steps.

  I proceeded to the hiding place to stow my things, removing my jeans and shoes, and placing my cell, billfold and keys behind the dresser on the floor. I could hear a soft buzzing noise. It whirred once, twice, then Sir came back up the stairs. When he saw me he shook his head in exasperation at finding me, squirrel-like, crouched in the shadows of the designated furniture.

  “I told you to go there if anybody came”, he reiterated patiently, smiling like an indulgent father. I was always doing that, goofy things that either got me in trouble or were just plain dumb. But in my defense, I thought that if somebody had come I didn’t want to be suddenly scurrying and making thumping sounds all over the upper loft floor. That would have been hard to explain. ('Big rats'?) Oddly, there was something psychologically soothing about hiding, as well.

  Anyway, I usually went brain-dead around my Owner. I likened it to coming face to face with a cougar—you just couldn’t think right for being in awe, while simultaneously fearing for your life. Yes, awe and fear—that described my relationship with Sir pretty well. Oh and BDSM, but that would be redundant. Mmmmm just the words made my clit throb.

  My Owner strode to the overstuffed chair and sat down with aplomb. He stared at me.

  “Come here,” he growled, reaching out a hand. That old push/pull hit me.

  I crawled out from behind my little fortress and onto the Oriental rug that covered the floor of this upper loft. It had such an incredible vibe—the scent of the oils and the turpentine, the paintings everywhere, the finished and half-finished canvases, floor to ceiling windows, easels... and CD’s—hundreds of them—lining a long shelf above my head.

  It was an artist’s paradise, and I couldn’t believe I was here—here in the studio I had only glimpsed in photos he’d shared—here in this dimly lit loft with a mystic so thick it squeezed like a vice. I wanted to drink it in; I wanted never to leave. I wanted—how I wanted—the evening never to end.

  I crawled across the carpet on hands and knees, between the long, spread legs of my waiting, marvelous, and mysterious Owner. I buried my head with a whimper into his crotch, and drew a deep lungful of the scent of the man I had not been able to smell or touch for five long years. I was here, he was here. We were here. I simply couldn’t believe my senses.

  I would do anything to please him now.

  Soon I had him in my mouth, the god/man who smelled of a fresh pine forest and artist’s oils. It was more than I could possibly bear. I heard his murmurings, telling me, instructing me, and I made the greatest of efforts to comply with every word. It had been so long. But oh, how I remembered. How intently I remembered. Nothing in my life could have ever let me forget how this man excited me, this Owner of my body and soul.

  “Don’t make a mess... ” He cautioned, the old familiar warning. I was always a bit too enthusiastic in my sucking of him, and needed
to keep my saliva in check.

  Nothing had changed. Not for me. He was the same incredible, intense, quiet, awesome entity that lulled me into every sexual scenario worthy of a thousand books; a thousand erotic memories; a thousand Arabian nights.

  No one on this earth had ever had the privilege of the sexual experiences with such a god/man as I. No one could ever understand or relate to any of it, unless coaxed through it, as I coax you now. The excitement, the intrigue, the mystic, the danger of Sir.

  Danger was certainly the name of the game tonight.

  We could not be discovered. I had to be quiet, and I had to be good.

  Sir at last rose, stepping to the middle of the floor in the soft spot light. He removed his shoes, then socks, and, as had always been ritual, I arranged them in proper order beside the table there. Next he lowered his suspenders, unbuttoned his shirt, and removed his trousers. I scurried to help him pull each leg off as he extended first one foot, then the other to me.

  Soon there he stood, tall and naked, bathed in the pale light, looking every inch the ruler of the universe. I was now before him on my knees. I eagerly took him into my hungry mouth and feasted on him like the sex-starved animal that I had become. Me, the oft-used whore and hours-long fuckee of my Owner, year in and year out, celibate save one lone man, (a pity fuck) in the entire past five years. How had I endured? Only through thoughts of Sir, reading and re-reading my diary, and touching myself to orgasm several times a day and night after lonely night in its reality. That was the only way I’d kept from going crazy, if this was sanity.

  I sucked him on my knees as he stood staunch and straight in the center of the room, hands behind his back 'at ease', looking down at me like a sovereign. I sucked and slurped and tasted the wonderful essence that was my Owner. He was All to me. I was nearly in tears with emotion that welled up from my depths at what I was being allowed once more to do. I could not believe so many years had passed since I’d had the privilege of fellating him. He tasted so good.

  It was only a few minutes till my Owner gave me the order—that special order. I kneeled before him and leaned over the chair, holding my breath, it had been so long. I knew what was coming, and I longed for it with the passion of the sex-starved, but I also knew that my ass was virgin again, and I knew it would hurt.

  It did.

  The entry into my Owner’s favorite portal was not as smooth as I should have made it. I stiffened, the old resistance manifesting itself in the most knifing of pains. I tried desperately to go with it, not to resist, but it’s all but impossible at the first. Of course he didn’t give in, but made my body submit to his cock, and I, being both confined by his body and being his, had no choice but to endure.

  Deeper and deeper I felt the warm, sweet pressure filling my ass hole till I thought I would burst. But I didn’t burst, I opened. With each stroke the pleasure mounted in me, and—I could hear—in him.

  There was time now and freedom in this World of worlds, in this newly dedicated and consecrated holy of holies.

  Another chair, this one straight-backed. My Owner had sat again and was drawing a hard breath. I worried about him; his breathing had always been labored, even long ago, but now there was that gulf of five years.

  He was alive, and I knew he was healed, but his lungs had suffered the worst of it. The lung damage might not be progressing, but lungs don’t get better; they don’t rejuvenate like other organs. His heaving was distressing.

  As always, Sir at half-speed was still better than mortal men at full. I continued our pleasure. Recovered, Sir’s breathing was fine, now. He stood and brushed my face with his pulsating cock.

  More sucking. More sex in all my orifices, but especially in my mouth. My open, willing, and waiting mouth.

  Again, my Owner stepped toward the overstuffed chair and sat down, but this time it was with complete satisfaction. He motioned with his hand and murmured “Come’ere”.

  I spun from where he’d left me on my knees on the floor, and flew to kneel at his feet and take him in my mouth.

  He grabbed my head and petted me roughly. A captured handful of hair served to guide my mouth up and down. Something I was doing was pleasing him more and that’s the way he wanted it to be done, so he helped me, pushing my head up and down ever harder, ever more deeply with every stoke.

  Finally, in our enjoyment, he looked at the clock.

  “We’d better be making it happen,” he said, noting it was after midnight and the bars would be closing, and the drunks—and the cops who would be dogging the drunks—would be out in droves.

  “I’ve got to be thinking of getting you back out of here,” he murmured throatily, the words not so much for me as for the spirits in the open room.

  Still, he was enjoying himself far too much to rush it now. Several more long delicious minutes and he was there.

  He came in my mouth, to a long and pleasured moan issuing from his lips as he leaned back in the overstuffed chair with abandon. From my place on the floor between his knees I could feel his throbbing dick release its copious, sacred load into my mouth, down my throat, and I sucked it up with grateful longing. The first cum I had tasted in five long years.

  Again, my Owner had honored me. Yes, drinking him was a total honor, to which nothing can compare.

  I dropped to the floor, knees right-angled from my glistening body; I was spent. I had only received several glancing blows from my Owner’s hand and nothing from any other instrument of pleasure and pain, but the ordeal and the adrenaline rushes had worn me out. Ominously, there had been no real pain, no punishment all evening.

  That, I was promised was yet to come. I had no doubt. He wanted to 'bring me back slowly' he had said; I wanted to dive in headfirst. Oh what a wanton whore I was.

  Sir told me to dress and gather all my things. Such a bad habit I had of leaving behind little incidentals, such as torn pantyhose or an earring. The only jewelry I now wore was my Owner’s ring and bracelet he’d made for me—exclusives that, just like us, couldn’t be duplicated even if someone tried.

  As Sir dressed I donned my black jeans and black, long-sleeved cardigan. I did look, as Sir had aptly pointed out, just like a burglar, turtleneck and all. I wanted to comply with his instructions of wearing dark clothing, but somehow, now I could see what eluded me before, that this outfit was neither a good idea, nor what he had in mind.

  I truly was dressed like a penny dreadful robber. Dang!

  Too late. It was done.

  Sir caught me looking around, drooling, so he quickly introduced me to his works. All the fabulous paintings, portraits, and his self-portraits that I had fallen in love with on-line.

  I took it all in, but the magnitude was overwhelming, just like him. I couldn’t possibly consume enough of it, swallow it fast enough. I wanted to live there, to be chained, dumb at his feet as he painted in silence, pausing to use me for any pleasure he wanted, and at all times. God, how I wanted it.

  I always will.

  The tour was brief as it was nearing 1:00am. This would have to suffice. It would certainly not do to come this far and be caught by the police as I went skulking across the cemetery dressed like a proverbial thief.

  I stood back from the dark door behind Sir as he worked at the bolt. As I waited, the source of the 'buzzing' I’d heard earlier was revealed. Sir had used his drill to screw the door shut. Nobody was coming through that door so easily, and not without a LOT of prior notice.

  So clever, so resourceful, my Owner. So mote it be.

  He motioned me to halt. I did. In my tracks.

  He opened the door a crack and looked around outside.

  Nothing...

  Then, leashing Midnight, Sir whispered that he was taking her out with him first, and that I was to stay down beneath the truck and cars. He said probably anyone who saw would simply think (with my dark hair) that I was the slinking Midnight out for a walk with her owner.

  Well, It could happen...

  Sounded like a plan to me
.

  Sir scouted around and then came back to the door to collect his prodigal submissive.

  I took a last deep breath, and, with all kinds of adrenaline rushing, I followed my Owner out the door. I squatted down and walked, grateful for all of the deep-knee bends I had done all my life. I just kept moving; not looking up, not looking around. Just one duck-squat after the other. Sir was leading the way, and I strained to see his hand signals, or ANY telltale body language in the dark for that matter. The only sign I could make out was of his hand, waving for me to stay down.

  I did.

  It was a dark, wet night, and a new moon. The dampness was even making the ground cooperate: no crackling dryness.

  We got to the end of the cars and all I could see was that he had disappeared into the trees at a little clearing. Poof. That was it. I couldn’t make out anything else. I couldn’t see him, or tell for the life of me if he was giving any kind of signal. I didn’t know WTF to do. So, in typical squirrel fashion, I bolted.

  I just stood up and, albeit gingerly, made tracks for the highway. I didn’t know what else to do. I walked deliberately and as quietly as possible down his gravel drive and rounded the little hillock at the base of the tall, dark pine trees at the bottom. This was so not a doable plan—walking straight down Sir’s driveway at 1 a.m.! But what else was I supposed to do? 'In for a penny' after all. Yeah, that’s a fool’s motto!

  OK. You’re on your own, Little Miss Dangerous. Whatever happens will be completely on you from this point on. Go for it.

  Since an object in motion has a tendency to stay in motion, unless acted upon by some outside or otherwise altering force, this object just kept walking. Not looking back.

  I felt the incredible rush all over my body, a tingling crescendo of sensations like fireworks going off inside me.

  I just kept walking. I was on top of the world!

  Any moment now I expected to hear 'Hey! What’re you doing there? Hey! YEAH YOU! HALT!'