Twisted Oak: A Sexual Odyssey

by Blanche, Neige

  I nodded and he left the room. The rain on the window fell harder, making it difficult to concentrate on anything but my full bladder.

  I looked down at my breasts, decorated with bright red handprints. I wondered what my ass looked like. I felt ashamed, but I also felt liberated. I did not want to displease Mr. Delacroix. In fact, I wanted to be the best sub he ever had; the best ever that he would never forget. To hell with the people at Twisted Oak, I would be the best whore Delacroix ever had.

  I must have dozed because the next thing I knew, Sunny was running bathwater and opening shutters. Shirtless and looking like a Greek god, he reached down and took the gag off.

  “Thanks,” I said through my dry throat and mouth. “I gotta piss like crazy. Untie me, please!”

  He laughed aloud as I ran across the bedroom. “You must’ve done something pretty good to get this kind of punishment.”

  Never in my life had going to the bathroom felt so wonderful.

  “Ya know, Sunny,” I said as I came back into the bedroom, “this situation is pretty fucked up.” I rubbed my rear end and gave a little smile.

  “Don’t forget, Miss Nez. It’s the only thing Mr. Delacroix knows. It all seems pretty normal to him, and to me for that matter.”

  “You’ve never had a regular relationship?”

  “Nez, I was only fourteen or fifteen when I came here, so no, not really. How about you? Have you ever had a relationship? You were a virgin, so what do you know? Come on,” he said as he handed me a douche and led me back to the bathroom, “use this and then hop in the tub.”

  “So I guess for us, this is normal,” I said. I sat on the toilet, inserted the nozzle of the douche, and squeezed the bag. The solution smelled like roses and was ice-cold. “Damn, are you trying to freeze me out?”

  He laughed. “Define normal. There is no normal.” He paused. “Speaking of not being normal, tell me what you did to deserve such a great punishment.” He turned off the tap, put the toilet seat down, and sat while I bathed.

  The water was hot and burned my tender bottom and breasts, but it felt good to relax and have some space, even with Sunny there. I lay back on the terrycloth pillow and began washing my legs. Sunny handed me a razor.

  “I’m here to give you some pointers. Mr. Delacroix hates hair under your arms, on your legs, and on your pussy, so we’ll have to get you shaved today.”

  I looked at the razor.

  “Not to worry, little girl, we’ll only use that for your legs and underarms for now, then from here on out, you’ll be waxed. You’ve got an appointment Thursday morning.”

  “Damn, Sunny, doesn’t it hurt to be waxed?”

  “It can, but nothing you won’t get used to.”

  “I suppose,” I said as I looked at my pink breasts. “Is my ass as red as my tits?”

  “More so,” he said as he sat back on the toilet. “So did you get a punishment fuck, too? Are you in much pain?”

  “Yeah,” I said wistfully.

  “Pretty hot, isn’t it?”

  I shaved my legs and armpits slowly. “Tell me about collaring.”

  “Well, for most it means your relationship is exclusive per your agreement. Usually when a sub is collared, they can be sure their dom isn’t fucking other people or having other subs—unless, of course, the particular agreement specifies. You get a collar, too.”

  “Seriously?”

  “A collar from Mr. Delacroix is one step below having a ring on your finger.”

  My heart skipped a beat. “Marriage?”

  “Don’t overthink it, but once he sets his mind to something, it’s rare he doesn’t get his way. He’s persistent when he sets a goal.” He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “Sounds weird, but collaring is basically a psychological thing; coming closer with emotions once you’ve broken through some physical limits.”

  “Mr. Delacroix collared you, right?”

  “Yep, when I was eighteen, and I wore the collar until I was about twenty-one, when it was time to break it.”

  “Why? What happened?”

  “It’s pretty obvious, isn’t it? I’m gay and he isn’t. Collaring was about as far as we could take it. Mr. Delacroix wants to marry and have children. Clearly I am not the one to provide him that dream.” Sunny smiled with a hint of sadness. “So when we broke the collar, I decided to stay on and continue being his sub while he searched for his dream girl.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, sensing that this had been a traumatic breakup.

  “Na-na, no need to be sorry, I was ready. He taught me more than anyone could have and he provided the opportunity for me to develop self-respect and discipline. I wouldn’t be the man I am today without him and his hard lessons. I love him and I always will, but our relationship’s more like mentor and protégé at this point. He has my back and I have his. Collaring, if done well, creates the closest trust between two people next to marriage or blood relation. It was the best thing to happen to me. Having gone through it and broken it, I have power and freedom now that I didn’t have before. The bar was part of my release settlement. That way I can maintain a decent lifestyle if I decide to get totally out or if Mr. Delacroix should move on.”

  “Move on?”

  “Eventually he’ll marry and move back out to Twisted Oak. That’s the general plan, anyway, and it’s okay because I need to find my own way. But for right now, I’m happy where I am and so is he.” He paused and added, “I hope you are.”

  “I am, but I can’t figure him out. He’s nothing like I thought he was at first, and you’re right, I’ve never been in a real relationship before. All I have to go on is what I know, which isn’t much considering my lessons came from watching my mother. She . . .” I paused. “Her husband is abusive and I worry sometimes that this might be the same kind of thing.”

  “I’d try not to look back if I were you. Your relationship with Mr. Delacroix is nothing like the relationship between your mother and stepfather. Mr. Delacroix isn’t abusive. If you feel this way, you might need to rethink things. You were punished this morning. Do you feel abused?”

  I thought about Sunny’s question. “No, actually, I don’t feel abused at all. For some odd reason, I feel appreciated. I can’t tell you why though.”

  “You are appreciated. Trust me.”

  I thought about the five grand in my backpack and figured now was a good time to tell Sunny.

  “Sunny, now that I’m thinking clearly there’s something I have to tell you.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  “Not sure how to say it, so I’m just going to say it. There’s five grand in the lining of my backpack. It doesn’t really belong to me.”

  “Damn, girl, whose is it?”

  “It’s money from a front I was involved in,” I said as I rinsed my hair. “I stole it.”

  “Fuck, cher, someone’s pissed off at you.”

  “Yeah, I know, and he’s not a nice guy, either.”

  “No doubt. Does he have resources to track you down?” His concern seemed genuine.

  “Probably. I mean, wouldn’t you have resources to track someone down who took five grand from you? I know I would.”

  “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. Delacr
oix. 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.”