Twisted Oak: A Sexual Odyssey (11 page)

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Come here. Stand up in front of me.”

I stepped out of the tub and he grabbed a pair of shears and snipped away at my pubic hair. He took the electric shears next. “Spread ’em a little, cher.”

I spread my legs and squatted. He came precariously close to some very sensitive spots.

“Okay, time for the bikini bare,” he said as he smeared thick white goop over my private areas and into crevices. “Sorry, but you have to stand like that for about fifteen minutes.”

“I really don’t know what to do about that money. I took it because I thought I’d need it to get settled, but I’m not in need of anything thanks to Mr. Delacroix. Maybe I can mail the money back.”

“Maybe,” Sunny said skeptically.

“Should I tell Mr. Delacroix?”

“Definitely, and the sooner the better. Maybe he’ll have an idea of what to do so that the guy won’t be tempted to find you.”

“Will he be mad about the money?”

“Who, Mr. Delacroix?”

“Yeah.”

“Only if you don’t come clean about it as soon as possible. He should understand that up until now, you didn’t have a chance to catch your breath, let alone talk about the money. Talk to him as soon as you can. He’ll protect you. Trust me on that one.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“You’re welcome.” He towel-dried my hair and combed it for me. “I sure am curious about what you did this morning.”

“You’re a snoop.”

“I can’t help it. You’re the only person I can really talk to about him like this. Not since Collette died, anyway,” he said, sadness in his ice-blue eyes. “Ty doesn’t like to talk about Mr. Delacroix very much.”

“Who was she? Mr. Delacroix only told me that he collared her, and that she wasn’t strong enough.”

“They were young, only about your age, and things got out of hand. Neither of them was grownup enough for the responsibility of it,” he said, examining my crotch, “and as much as Mr. Scott tried to intervene, Mr. Delacroix was rebellious.”

He turned me around and started braiding my wet hair. “Cher, don’t ask Mr. Delacroix about these details. Sometimes it sends him into a rage and sometimes he succumbs to despair. He’ll talk to you about it when he’s ready. Collette was here when I came and took care of me like I am taking care of you now. She was a good person, very kind, giving, but she wasn’t a natural-born submissive, and I’m sure there were other problems I don’t know about. She never spoke about her past and couldn’t bring herself to let Mr. Delacroix in, even after she agreed to wear his collar. Looking back, he never should have collared her. Don’t tell him I said that, but I think he’d agree. I have no idea what happened to her before she came here or where she came from. I think she was a local girl, but she was damaged goods. It wasn’t Mr. Delacroix’s fault one bit. He tried to help her as much as he could, but things got confused and one night she killed herself.”

“Oh Sunny, that’s terrible!”

“Worst night of our lives.”

“I can’t imagine.”

“Yeah,” he said, holding back tears, “I was so afraid because I was certain Mr. Delacroix would follow suit. He was so distraught given his family history of suicide.” He stopped abruptly, not knowing what I knew.

“Ty told me that it’s thought that his mom killed herself.”

“Yes, so you can imagine the hell that man was in after Collette,” he said, tying my braid.

“So what did you do?” I asked.

“I called Mr. Scott and we went out to Twisted Oak for a few months. I was scared, but Mr. Scott was good to me. It was shortly after that when Mr. Delacroix collared me. I still have my collars, if you ever want to see them.”

He pulled the plug in the tub and the water gurgled down the drain. “Stand in there and I’ll rinse your twat off and see if it is nice and smooth for Mr. Delacroix. Use this stuff to keep it smooth between wax jobs. I do.”

“You do?” I asked, wide-eyed.

“Yeah,” he smiled.

“Can I see? Nothing sexual, I just wanna see.”

“Let’s rinse you off first and then we can compare our bald booties,” he smiled.

The water was warm and he turned the nozzle to give a hard spray that made me jump.

“Sorry,” he said. He turned the water off and hung the showerhead. “Let’s have a look.”

He dropped his pants and we stood hand in hand in front of the full-length mirrors to compare our bald booties.

“We have to move your shit out of my room today and get you settled in here,” Sunny said as he turned away from the armoire in Mr. Delacroix’s room, a silvery gray fabric cascading over his arms. “This is what he wants you in today. He said it matches the weather and his mood.”

I did not want to talk about his moods just now, but the memory of his eyes and the quick work he made of binding me to the bed made me wet again.

“I guess I have to get used to wearing nothing but fancy lingerie all day, eh, Sunny?” I smiled. “This feels so indulgent! I feel like a Victoria’s Secret model.” The light silk fabric brushed across my newly shaved skin and felt delightfully cool and luxurious.

“Can I ask you something?” I asked as I tied the transparent robe around my waist. The nightie underneath was opaque and just long enough to fall midway down my buttocks; the front was so low cut that my breasts were visible except for my nipples’ raised points hidden in the gray mist. “Sure,” Sunny said. “Hey, that looks nice.”

“You know what a punishment fuck is like,” I said.

Sunny leaned back on his elbows across the bed. “Just spit it out, cher. What happened?”

My groins rushed with pleasure thinking about how Mr. Delacroix had thrust into me.

“Okay, so he had me on my knees on the bed and he was hammering me, and then he put his dick against my ass like he would hammer it. The idea of it made me totally panic.”

“Did you use your safe words?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I hadn’t reached my limit.”

“Maybe it’s a good time to remind you about the safe words. Use them if you feel like you need to, even during punishment. He won’t do anything that propels you beyond your limits. I promise you, if you would have said the safe word, he’d have stopped immediately. This is why this situation is so different from your mom’s.”

“But it was such a mind fuck, what he did.”

“And so now here you are talking about it, and hopefully I can help you prepare psychologically. You have power here, Miss Nez. This is nothing like what went on in KC.” He sat up on the bed. “Maybe it’s different for a girl, but I understand the trauma you’re carrying around. I was no stranger to beatings when I came here.” His hand went through his hair. “My old man beat the living fuck out of me a lot. He was a terrible man. He expected me to be someone I wasn’t, someone I couldn’t be, but Mr. Delacroix’s good and caring. He wants you to do well. He’ll never try to change who you are. It’s hard to explain, but he wants you to be more of who you really are.”

He stood and looked out the window. “He sees the beauty in your nature and he wants you to see it too. Does it ever hurt when he fucks you?” he asked, changing the subject.

“Yes, especially the first time, and even now I’m pretty sore.”

“And the pain makes you want to stop?”

“No.”

“Does it make you want more?”

“Yes.”

“Miss Nez, he’ll never do anything that he doesn’t feel you are ready for, and you can always use the safe word. He expects you to use it so he knows your limits.” Sunny took my hand and we went into the living room. “Miss Nez, did you like your punishment this morning?”

“Yes, very.”

“Two days ago would you ever have conceived of liking something like that?”

I put my head in my hands and closed my eyes. “Hell, two days ago I couldn’t even conceive of such a thing, let alone whether I’d like it or not.”

“But you liked it, right?” Sunny held me to his chest and cradled my head. “Honey, you’re overthinking it.”

“I’m just a little scared because of what has happened to my mother, Sunny.”

“God, little girl, why didn’t you tell him?”

“I just want to please him. I don’t want him to be mad or disappointed.”

“You think your feelings of fear are pleasing to him?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, they aren’t, and I really think you should talk to him about this. I know he didn’t mean to scare you. And don’t forget, my sweet, in the dom/sub relationship, the reality is that you, the submissive, hold ninety percent of the power. Ultimately, you decide the direction of things, not him. The more you bend, the more pliant you become, the more he becomes you; he’ll fall into you, even become you to a point. This is when you have all the power, and that exchange, when it happens naturally, you’ll feel it. You’ll have all the power. Hell, you have most of it now.”

“An exchange of power,” I whispered.

“Yeah, cher,” he said with his wistful eyes, “that’s exactly what I’m talking about. When you both find your limits together and become one.”

“What if I break like Collette?”

“Na-na, cher, you won’t if you’re honest with yourself and honest with him. You’re nothing like her. Talk to the man and for god’s sake, use the safe words. He can only go on the information you give him. Come on, kid, you need to eat. It’s almost lunchtime.”

The table was set and the chandelier’s brilliant amber light danced among the crystals. I followed Sunny into the kitchen because I felt awkward just sitting in the dining room by myself. He moved about the kitchen as he moved behind his bar: fluid, methodical, and with purpose. He put the electric teakettle on, and ladled oatmeal from a small saucepan.

“You like to cook?” I asked.

“Not really cook per se, but I like to be in the kitchen putting things together. To me, this is a lot like making a cocktail. I put in a little of this and a little of that and a dash of something else, and voilà! You’ve got breakfast!”

He placed the French press, two coffee cups and saucers with teaspoons, a small glass of orange juice, the oatmeal, and some raisins on a silver tray. “Come, ya gotta eat.”

“Aren’t you having anything?”

“No, I ate breakfast with Mr. Delacroix.”

We sat at the table and Sunny poured out two cups of coffee, cream first.

“This coffee,” I said as I sipped, “what makes it so good?”

“New Orleans dark French roast with chicory. The chicory takes the bitterness out.”

“What’s chicory?”

“Some kind of plant. They use the root. It grows wild around here. During the Civil War, when coffee was running low, folks found out they could make it go further by adding chicory to it and now it’s become a taste that some prefer. I like it too. Ya know he’s in the coffee business, among other things.”

“He and I talked about it and I have to say, I had no idea how big his company was. It’s interesting. It seems like he is into everything.”

“Coffee, sugar, cotton, soybeans, bananas; if it grows and you can eat it or use it in medicine, he owns it.”

“Wow. Like actual farms and stuff?”

“Yeah, he has farms all over the place, in the southern US, Central America, and the Caribbean, too. He’s a commodities man, I suppose you could say. He’s into the shipping part of it as well. The whole supply chain has his family name on it. Logistics is his middle name.”

“He must stay pretty busy.”

“He has full days, but he also has good people working for him so he pretty much makes his own hours. One thing about Mr. Delacroix is that he isn’t one of these trust fund types who doesn’t think they have to work. He’s pretty involved in the business, he and Mr. Scott.”

The oatmeal was warm, rich, and soothing. The hint of cinnamon and maple was delightful. I continued to eat and wondered how to tell Mr. Delacroix about the money. “He’s moody, isn’t he, or is that just a put-on?”

“No, it’s real. He’s moody as hell and I think it causes him a lot of strife, but he can’t help it. I’m not sure what happens exactly to set him off, and I don’t mean to say that he always gets angry or has a bad temper. But sometimes he gets so sad. Just wait till you see it. It’ll break your heart. Then sometimes he’s as happy as a kitten in a milk factory, like he’s been lately since you’ve been around.”

“Then what was his deal this morning and how do I know he won’t flip out when I tell him about the money I stole? I can’t imagine thievery is something he tolerates well.”

“I dunno about this morning. You won’t tell me what happened.”

“All I did was ask him to stay home from the roast. Well, I did more than ask, I kinda insisted, and he went berserk. I wasn’t expecting that.”

“You know he’s Mr. Scott’s sub, right?”

“Yeah, but they broke the collar years ago.”

“Right, but they’re like me and Mr. Delacroix. They still have an agreement, a contract similar to the one you signed. And aside from that, he has duties to Twisted Oak. I know he wanted very badly to stay with you today, so he was likely pissed off at the situation, not at you.”

“It’s not like Mr. Scott would hate him for the rest of his life if he didn’t show once, and really, Twisted Oak isn’t even Mr. Scott’s at all. Couldn’t Mr. Delacroix tell Mr. Scott to take a long walk anytime he wants to?”

“Yep, but the proper and disciplined thing to do is answer your obligations; it’s basic respect and self-discipline. Fact is, cher, you made a difficult thing more difficult for him, but you didn’t mean to. Above all else, you need to respect his obligations.”

“Should I never say I want him to stay?”

“Oh no, by all means say it. He needs to hear it from you.”

“So what do I do when he spins out in a bad mood?”

“Nothing. If he needs you, he’ll say so. Just be still in your heart for him because that’s what he needs, a still and true heart to keep him steady. And another piece of advice: let Mr. Delacroix and Mr. Scott work out their power struggles. It’s best we let that play out the way they see fit and not butt in where we don’t belong. Your only concern should be getting healthy again and pleasing Mr. Delacroix. With his pleasure, you’ll find yours. I promise, it’s not as complicated as you think it is.”

We spent the rest of the afternoon moving my new clothes from Sunny’s room to what became “our” room. Everything was very grand, oversized, and masculine. Interior shutters closed out the daylight when needed. A writing table sat along the wall opposite the bathroom between two French doors that faced the square. Gowns, dresses, lingerie, garters, stockings, shoes, and boots took up nearly half of the large antique-mirrored armoire that stood on the wall opposite the foot of our bed. The grand piece of furniture was ten feet tall and had intricately carved oak feet and molding around the mirrors. Drawers built in underneath the shelves held leather cuffs, belts, cables, silk ropes, scarves, chains, and whips.