'... I belong to You body and soul...to do with as You wish, for as long as You wish, M’Lord.' The vow raced through my head accompanied by the words: 'His whore. His whore…' It all melded with the taste of my Owner’s salty cum in my swollen, fuck-sore throat and it was all it took. I exploded.
I exploded and exploded, and then I exploded some more. Multiple orgasms slammed through me from my head to my toes. Minutes went by, I continued to thrust and arch and writhe.
I tried to cry out, even though forbidden, but the sound would not come. All that escaped through my 'O' of a mouth was a raspy whisper, air escaping from the squeaking no-longer-virgin throat. I bucked and spasmed and rolled and shook. Damn, it was a good cum! Damn! It went on and on.
Finally I looked up from my altar at my Owner’s face, upside down. Through pleasure-clouded eyes, swollen with ecstasy I could see his hard, wicked smile.
He didn’t speak; he just stroked my hair, and then reached down to pinch a ripe plum of an erect nipple. I came again, a quick spasm of pleasure. He squeezed that tit until I squeaked. That’s all I could manage, a squeak, and a buck, and a moan. He realized then what he had done to his whore. He realized she couldn’t speak.
“Mmmmm,” he murmured at my predicament, “DAMN!” It was obvious he loved my silence. He took both nipples in his hands now, and slowly twisted and tugged, hard. I squirmed with the pain, and opened my mouth again, but nothing came out. I could not make a sound.
“Oh I’ve found my newest pleasure,” he said, leaning low to whisper directly in my ear. He gave another cruel twist and torturous stretch of my tits. “Oh yes,” he hissed. “Obedience and silence, too.”
I squeezed my eyes shut till little tears emerged in the corners, and bit my lip against the pain. Arching my back with his tit stretching didn’t help at all, since he just tugged them further. I was trying to squeak ‘please!’ but it didn’t work.
Sir chuckled lowly. And with one last vice grip pinch he dropped my bruised tits to watch my full breasts bounce back with a jiggle. The entire time he was hurting me I didn’t raise my hands to stop him. Though free, they were mentally restrained. I arched, I grimaced, but I didn’t resist. Good girl. I was learning.
At last Sir gently lifted me down from the high rock table and hugged me to him, lovingly. He held and rocked me like a baby for a full minute, snuggling me under his chin and against his chest against his warm cape. Then he closed the cloak around me again and lifted and carried me out of the sanctuary circle. The spacious robe was like a tent, and its warmth was more than welcome now that my ecstasy was waning and the chilly night air was once again taking its toll. My body was covered in a glistening sweat, and uncontrollably I began to tremble as he held me tight against his chest as he walked.
At the door of his studio he set me down on shaky legs as he unlocked the door, bidding me squat with a hand signal like one does with a pet. I hovered there, knees weak, shivering in the damp and clutching the outside wall until he motioned for me to go down on all fours and crawl inside. Behind me he spread his huge cloak to cover my entry, thoroughly shielding me from any prying eyes.
I barely made it through the door before collapsing in a heap on the bare wooden floor, and the wracking quaking of my body began. The endorphins had waned, now that the adrenaline rush was over. Sir covered me with Midnight’s blanket and nestled in to keep vigil over me, and to pet my head like he did hers. I lay there for several long minutes, silent and in silence under the scrutiny of the adoring man who was stroking my body so lovingly now. Occasionally Sir would cup my throat with a big hand tenderly, gently fondling the area as if in awe. I wondered, if my vocal chords were still paralyzed in the morning, would laryngitis from the cold night air sound like a winner?
It didn’t take long for me to regain. Once warm, the shuddering stopped, and my throat felt fine, even when I swallowed hard. Nothing hurt, nothing was damaged. I didn’t test my voice as yet, but it was probably OK, too. I would have remained silent no matter what, even if it was fully functional. Sir would have me be very quiet now anyway. I privately smiled.
Fifteen minutes went by under the sentries, Sir and Midnight, and my cover was getting too warm. I sloughed it off and slowly sat up. Sir settled back on his haunches.
“You OK?” He asked, innocently, eyes wide with genuine concern. There definitely were many sides to Sir, but I knew all of them cared for me.
Sir would never damage me, and giving and receiving sexual pain was what he believed we both wanted. He was certain I was a masochist. But was I born or made? And if he ceased, would I ever be the same? Ah, that is the question.
It was time for me to go. He had me dress, gather my things, and wait at the door as he checked to make sure all was clear. No one had seen us, obviously, because no one had stirred; and if they’d gotten a load of me naked on that rock, trust me, there’d have been some stirring.
What a chilling and exciting night; one that I’ll never forget. They just never ended, these wild and manic rides with Magic Sir, and I hoped they never would.
All this pleasure. All this excitement. How could I resist? No way. What do the mundanes have to compare? How much unbridled excitement do they have on a regular basis, if at all? How much raw passion? None compared to this. Nothing like the release of endorphins that I have continually. The sexual excitement that I crave; the sex-drug to which I am addicted is beyond belief. Time after incredible time I take this thrill ride that’s wilder than any roller coaster in any amusement park, in any town, in any country, in any world, in any universe.
I was dressed and ready, hunkered down to duck-walk to the trees that enveloped the drive in blackness. At his signal I moved quickly, but never quickly enough to suit the special 3 Commando Brigade man. I scurried to the edge of the little hedge row where he stood waiting.
Silently he grasped my arm and pulled me through, into the cover of the tall trees where we blended perfectly into the shadows.
Still firmly clutching my arm, he pointed sharply at the path I was to take—the one I should have taken on my way in.
Another second and he propelled me gently through. I gulped my breath again, let it out, and started off across this strange person’s dark front yard. Straight for the first set of pines and then for their driveway I marched. I hit the gravel, felt the stones shift beneath my rubbery crocs, and suddenly I was on the street, preparing to cross.
Now, safely on the other side of the highway I let my pent-up breath escape. I hoped I had made it without notice, but I dare not look back. I just kept walking—fast, determined—and at last I was across from the cemetery, navigating the side street, passing the lit marquee sign, and now onto the deep, black field that led to my waiting car.
I still couldn’t make out my van in the thick swirling mists, but another step, and YES! It was there! Just wispy and surreal in the half-light. I always breathed a sigh of relief when I could actually see it. It was my magic Cinderella pumpkin. I had fantasies that if I whistled, it would come, like Pegasus. Even though it gave me chills as it sat ghost-like in the encroaching shadows, my heart leaped with joy every time it I confirmed it was there.
I readied my keys as I approached…closer, closer. At the last fifteen feet I pressed the button. Lights, door unlocked, a quick turn of the handle and I was inside, key fobbing the doors again.
I was now locked and loaded; nobody could get me inside my fortress. Well they could, but it wouldn’t be easy. Shivers ran down my spine. I was safe. I wasn’t sure about my voice which I hadn’t tried as yet, my throat and belly had been baptized with Sir’s cum, but I was indeed alive. SO alive. More alive than I dare say anyone else on earth at that moment, with my heart pounding and my brain soaring in ecstasy! Now was the time when I could finally relax. No blue lights, no Jason’s chainsaw, no Brunhilda chasing me with a rolling pin...or a shotgun...no sirens wailing. I could assume all was well.
I shuddered. I picked up my phone.
I’m here, Sir, I t
exted, just as I’d been instructed to do.
It appeared we’d made it through another ritual eve. We’d made it out alive, and with a new dimension to our sex, a well-fucked throat...a new portal for my Sir’s unbridled passion. I was one step closer to being what he wanted, one step closer to being 'O'.
Yes, we’d made it out alive…
... again.
32—Thruout The Dark Months Of April And May
Courage is being scared to death - but saddling up anyway.
The days and months of winter swirled by, heralding spring...then summer. The intensity of our rituals and rites crescendoed to a fevered pitch along with the summer heat. On and on it goes, and never shall it end. I only know I love my Owner with all that is in me, and never think beyond.
Candles lit, mirrors—old and yellowed and deep—and circles and books and cloths and rituals; we went deeper and deeper into it all; exploring the vastness of sex and Dominance and submission and pain, and opening doors on which few will even knock. The desperation that was us was replaced by the designation that is time. We continue and always will. My Owner is well and all thanks to his faith, his determination, and our Magik gifts.
The connections I’ve imparted here have only barely scratched the surface of the myriad sexual encounters my Owner has allowed me. Should time permit—should serendipity permit—I’ll take you on other juicy journeys in other books, all burning with the fevered pitch of our reality.
There are so many more. I have volumes stashed in my trunk of spiral notebooks, each filled with encounter after even more sexually explicit encounter. Some so dark you’d better hope you can find your way back out. Oh, dear reader, you have no idea.
For now, I sit here by the phone at midnight, waiting. Waiting for the call to come. He’ll say by implication if not in words:
“Come. Fly with me. The best is yet to come.”
And I’ll say, “Yes. Oh yes, Sir.”
Love, M
Acknowledgment
This is the part where the author effusively thanks her publicist, editors, marketing reps, agents, long-suffering bestus buds, great Aunt Tillie, and her faithful dog Rex for their tireless patience, endless sacrifice of missed home-cooked meals, and all their heroic efforts to promote her book, without which the author could not possibly have succeeded, let alone survived life itself. Unfortunately I had none of these. So at the risk of sounding churlish I wish to thank two people: my Owner and me.
Neil was right. In the end we did just fine.
About the Author
Janice Collins is a model and three-degreed Graphic Designer who received her credentials from various universities throughout the United States. However nothing prepared her for the lessons she would learn at the feet of Sir. His sex slave training transformed the free-spirited tiger into a submissive kitten.
Ms. Collins currently avails herself to her Owner whose possession is ongoing. She has her diary ever at the ready. The next chapters to be released are so dark you may not find your way out again. Travel at your own risk.
Masochism
Of
M
Masochism of M: A Sexual Mémoir Page 44