Twisted Oak: A Sexual Odyssey (24 page)

“Yes, sir,” I said.

“Then cry for me.” He bent and suckled my breast and the tears flowed. “Thank you,” he whispered.

I had almost forgotten what it was like to ride in a car. The day was sunny and warm, so Mr. Delacroix lowered the top on his dark blue convertible. We made our way out of the city through neighborhoods of shotgun houses, row houses, and public housing complexes where most of the people on the street were black. I wondered what all these people were doing walking about in the middle of the day.

Mr. Delacroix avoided the interstate and took back roads out of town into a green world. Lush trees, grasses, mosses, and vines smelled of earth, life.

“This is the long way, but it’s the pretty way,” he said. He was flamboyant in his fancy car and expensive sunglasses. I felt like I was in a dream as I watched his hair blow in the breeze.

He had tossed my cheap sunglasses before we left and had given me a pair of Serengeti Drivers. I was dressed casually in a white blouse and short skirt that blew with tufts of wind as we drove. I kept my legs open; occasionally he would reach over and tickle my clit.

“Thank you, Nez,” he said. “Ever the quick study.”

After nearly three hours of driving, we came across a country store, one that you would see on a postcard, with a gravel parking lot, rocking chairs out front, and an old white man in overalls. Mr. Delacroix waved and the man waved back with hat in hand as we drove by.

“That’s old man Benjamin. He’s had that store forever. Second or third generation, but I fear he’ll be the last. His kids left for the city like so many of us have. I used to ride my bike over there to get a root beer almost every day. His grandkids came to the school at the farm and some of his relatives still work for us.”

“So, this is your neighborhood?” I asked in awe as we passed fields of sugar cane and cotton. Live oak trees lined the road.

“Yep, this is where I grew up,” he said fondly.

It must have been lonely. The sound of cicadas was loud and I felt a twinge of claustrophobia under the tunnel of trees.

“You okay, Nez?”

“Yeah, my lord, it’s just different. I haven’t spent much time outside of cities before.”

“This is why I wanted to start bringing you out here, so you can get used to it. It’s very different than what you’ve become accustomed to, but it’ll grow on you.”

I certainly hoped he was right because all I wanted to do was make him happy; I feared that unless I was happy, I would fail. We traveled a bend in the road, went past more fields, and then took a right down another road surrounded by manicured lawns and enormous oak trees laden with Spanish moss.

“Wow,” I said.

He chuckled. “This is just the driveway. Wait till you see the rest of the place.”

I was stunned into silence as we approached a large white house with a circular drive that surrounded an oak tree nearly twice as tall as the large two-story structure. Its thick trunk was twisted and gnarled by years of weathering the elements. The branches, which were the size of regular trees, hung low to the ground, touching in some places and then rising up again, straining to reach for the heavens. I could not take my eyes off the majesty of the thing.

“That’s the oak tree this place is named after,” Mr. Delacroix said as he hopped out of his side of the car and opened my door for me.

“My lord, this place is so beautiful.”

A black man in a white shirt and black pants met us at the car.

“Thomas, this is Miss Nez, the soon-to-be new lady of the house. Nez, this is Thomas. Anything you ever need, he is the go-to man. Without him, this whole place would fall to the ground.”

“Ma’am,” Thomas nodded.

“How do you do?”

“Thomas, our bags are in the trunk. We’ll be staying in the east wing this time,” Mr. Delacroix said as he tossed his car keys to Thomas.

“Yes, sir,” Thomas said.

“Thank you, Thomas. I trust there’s lemonade in the parlor?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Come on, Nez, let’s freshen up, get a drink, and I’ll show you around.”

Mr. Delacroix was like a kid in an amusement park, eager to show me all the secret places. I remembered that the house had not yet been finished when Monique arrived. I tried to imagine it, but the structure was too solid, too real and rooted for my mind to conceive of Twisted Oak never being in existence.

We walked up the front steps onto a wide columned porch dotted with large planters filled with ferns and flowers. Wicker and rattan furniture with bright floral cushions lined the long porch. The double front doors were heavy hardwood with beveled glass. Thomas opened them for us and I entered the grand house for the first time, a moment etched in my mind forever.

The foyer was as big as our entire apartment in town. The sheer scale of the place was dizzying. Darkly stained wide wooden planks under our feet, pocked from years of use, made solid muted sounds when my boot heels struck. An antique marble-topped round table in the center of the room was adorned with a large floral arrangement; the smell of lilies and roses tickled my senses. Large ornate wooden columns supported the expanse of the room and a large staircase branched off in two directions at the far end. A portrait hung at the top of the main flight of stairs showing a man astride a horse.

“That’s Jean-Pierre Delacroix, the true patriarch, our father whose dreams allow us to exist,” Mr. Delacroix said.

Jean-Pierre was fairer than I’d expected considering his French heritage, but with large brown eyes. He was terribly handsome, and even centuries later commanded a presence. I understood Monique’s enchantment.

“Nez,” Mr. Delacroix said, “you can’t fuck a portrait.” My imagination was already running at high gear.

“Yes, my lord,” I said, and stopped to question the salutation.

“It’s fine, Nez. This is our home, so you may address me thus.”

The parlor was to the right of the foyer and just as grand. The twelve-foot-tall walls were painted a rich rosy pink; large windows and French doors were thrown open. Side tables surrounded the room, adorned with collections of photos, antique vases, and figurines. A bar sat along the opposite wall from where we had entered, upon which a large pitcher of lemonade waited.

I stood next to Mr. Delacroix and gazed in wonder across the vast front gardens. Ferns and small flowering hedges of hydrangea thrived under the noble oaks. Native fan palms clustered about the grounds and a few magnolia trees dotted the landscape.

“It’s breathtaking, my lord,” I said.

“Do you really mean it?”

“Of course I do,” I said.

“Of course you do
what
?” He popped my rear. “Nezzie, how many times must I remind you?”

“My lord, I’m sorry. I’m just overwhelmed by it all.”

“I’ll have to break you of it,” he said and took a long draw from his lemonade. “Would you like some? It’s fresh squeezed.”

“Sounds perfect, my lord. Thank you.”

He left my side and went to the bar.

“Where are Jackson and Marie-Louise?” I asked.

“Probably upstairs,” he said. “I told them to carry on and not wait for us. I want time with you alone to show you around before lunch. We’ll see them then and decide from there if we’re ready to explore the top floor.”

My heart skipped a beat thinking about the room upstairs. A wave of excitement ran through my center.

“Come on, let’s have a look around outside first and then we can come back in and I’ll give you the grand tour.”

A golf cart parked outside provided transport. Mr. Delacroix drove around what seemed to be endless gardens of fruit trees, vines, and vegetable beds of tomatoes, cucumbers, and onions.

“Is this where all the food grows, my lord?” I asked.

“Most of the food we use in the house grows here. Want to see the strawberry fields?” he asked. He pressed the gas pedal and brought us up a slope overlooking acres of strawberries. He got out and examined a plant that bore no fruit or blossoms. “These little plants have done all they can this year. I suppose we’ll have to enjoy what we have until next spring.”

The sun was reaching its apex as we traveled along a well-maintained dirt road dotted with cottages and outbuildings filled with farming equipment. The buildings were mostly empty, but some folks still lived in them and waved as we went by.

“Over there is where Marie-Louise’s auntie lives.” Mr. Delacroix pointed to a well-maintained small house. I could not imagine much more than one or two rooms in it.

“Did Marie-Louise live there before Jackson?” I asked.

“No, she was back in the woods a little farther with her mother, in her stepfather’s place. His brother still lives on the grounds up the road a bit. He takes care of the pepper fields. Hey, let’s go have a look. They should be doing well just about now.”

He turned the cart around and we went back by the strawberry fields and across a small pasture of cows, sheep, and goats.

“Where are her parents, my lord?”

“Well, my dear Nez, like you, she doesn’t know her daddy and her momma left her stepfather after Jackson bought Marie-Louise.”

“What, my lord? What did you say?”

“She left after she gave Jackson Marie-Louise,” he corrected himself.

“You said Jackson bought her, sir. I heard you.”

He sighed, “Very well, you did. Like I said yesterday, one bad decision led to more bad decisions and really, Marie’s momma was happy to take the money and get out knowing her daughter would be seen to. See, the stepfather was a real monster. Once you get to know Marie-Louise, she’ll confide in you about him and how grateful she is to Jackson for taking her.”

“There’s a twist to everything around here, isn’t there, my lord?” I asked.

“Lives up to its name,” he chuckled. “We’re all a little twisted around here.”

“Whatever happened to her stepfather?”

“Eventually, he was told to vacate. Nez, we may be twisted, but we aren’t evil like he was.”

The pepper fields were bigger than the strawberry fields. The rows of plants were green and perfect. Small yellow blossoms shone brightly against the brilliant foliage.

“What kind of peppers are these?” I asked.

“Hot ones,” he smiled. “I sell most of them to local people and wholesalers who create their own hot sauces out of them; the rest I keep to make my own. Well, at least my chef does. You’ll like it. I ran out at the apartment and keep forgetting to bring some back with me. We’ll have it tonight at dinner, I’m sure. I think Chef is making turducken for us.”

“What’s that, my lord?”

“A turkey with a duck inside and a chicken inside the duck, all roasted up together. Sort of a local thing, I guess. You’ll like it. Probably have cornbread dressing with it or maybe oyster. One thing about being out here, Nezzie, is ya gotta exercise more because the food is so damned good. Maybe tomorrow you can run with me.”

“Oh, my lord, I didn’t pack any running clothes,” I said, hoping to get out of it.

“Don’t worry, I packed them while you were tied up last night.” His eyes misted over with pleasure. “I’m so pleased you like to be tied up. You were so fucking hot last night when you cried. You have no idea what you do to me.” He smiled and I noticed his pants bulging.

I leaned into him and whispered, “Will you promise to tie me up again tonight, my lord?”

He stopped the golf cart and took a handful of my hair. “You bet your fucking ass I’ll tie you up.” He kissed me hard. “Damned begging slut,” he laughed and unbuckled his pants. He slid to the middle of the cart seat. “Give me a lap dance, cher. Fuck me now before we head back.”

I lifted my skirt and straddled him, facing forward as if I were riding in his lap, and he guided me down. All of last night’s punishment frustrations poured out of me and I thanked him for finally letting me come.

“Good girl, good girl,” he said, gouging deeper into me, “good girl.”

We drove up to a side door of the mansion and left the keys in the cart.

“I thought I’d introduce you to the staff,” Mr. Delacroix said as he helped me out of the cart. “You’re welcome in their quarters anytime you want, but their bedrooms, like ours, are off-limits if the door is closed. Just simple respect and consideration,” he explained. “One cannot demand respect, it must be earned.”

The servants’ entrance was barely noticeable. We stood at the top of a hidden cement stairway that went under the house. Oleander bushes crowded it, making it shady and cool. A gas lamp burned even during the day.

“They’re well trained, so you probably won’t see them very often, except for Thomas whom you’ve met and Samuel, the footman.”

“Sir, I’m not sure how to deal with having a staff,” I said, feeling very nervous.

“As I say, they’re well trained, so don’t worry about it. Just remember, they are my employees. Treat them with respect as you would any other person. This is their job. If you appreciate them, they’ll return the favor, and as time goes by, you’ll get used to each other. I hope you like them. I’m very proud of my crew. They run a tight ship.”

He opened the door into a mudroom. Boots, shoes, and flip-flops lined the wall. Jackets, sweaters, and a few t-shirts hung on hooks. Men’s swim trunks hung on a drying rack. The room opened up into the biggest kitchen I had ever seen. Large commercial-style refrigerators and ovens lined one wall; the other side of the room featured commercial-size sinks, dishwashers, and dish racks. There were large pots simmering on the stovetop. Windows lined the wall above the sinks, letting light in. The center of the room housed a large food preparation space with stainless steel shelving that held all kinds of mixing bowls, gadgets, and knives. A young woman dressed in blue jeans and a t-shirt was rolling out some kind of pastry. Her sandy-colored hair was tied up in a loose bun. She had flour on her nose. The whole room smelled delicious, a mixture of sweet and spice.

“Mr. Delacroix, how are you?” she smiled. “Thomas said you’d be here this week. Happy birthday, sir.” Her Southern drawl was pronounced. “It’s good to see you.”

“I’m doing very well, thanks. Even better now that I smell your shortbread baking. God, that smells good.”