Twisted Oak: A Sexual Odyssey

by Blanche, Neige

  I was shaking like a leaf, but I had to stand my ground. I dropped my eyes and my voice shook as I said, “You are, my lord. As always, I’m your servant. But I think in that role I can help. I mean, I don’t have answers, but it’s worth trying to find one. It’s a start for you, for me, for us, for Jackson, and especially for Marie-Louise.”

  The violence never came, so I raised my eyes. Mr. Delacroix stood, looking Jackson up and down.

  “My lord,” I said, “we all make mistakes, especially when we’re hurting. Look how I was when you found me. Each of us is guilty of messing up when we’re in pain, sir.”

  Mr. Delacroix got up and shoved Jackson out of his way with his shoulder. “Get back on the floor, Jackson. I’m all right.”

  Jackson slowly sat, keeping his eyes on Mr. Delacroix as he paced the room like a caged panther. He came at me and pointed his finger in my face. “I don’t want you to get any ideas, Nezzie, like you can call the shots. I’m fucking on top, bitch.”

  “Yes, sir, you are. I am asking your permission before I talk to her. I’d never do it otherwise. You, my dear lord, are on top. This is your castle, my love.”

  He paced a few more times and went to the kitchenette. I looked at Jackson and he nodded in approval, but did not say a word. He looked at the floor when Mr. Delacroix came back and I followed his lead.

  “I’ll give you two hours alone with her tomorrow after breakfast. Ya know, Nez, it isn’t that I don’t trust you, it’s that I don’t trust her.” He handed me a glass of water, but stayed standing. “Get on the floor, Nez.” I obeyed as he towered above me. “Jackson, we need pillows for ya’ll to sit on. I want ya’ll at my feet where ya belong.” His stress made his Southern drawl more obvious.

  “Yes, sir,” Jackson said.

  “What’s the worst that can happen, sir?” I asked. “She isn’t violent, is she? I thought you said she was harmless.”

  “She’s quite harmless, but she’ll be especially hot for you after tonight’s punishment. It’ll take some effort to say no to her, but like I said, I trust you.”

  “I’ll be fine, sir. I mean, as much as I was looking forward to playing with her this evening, you needn’t worry about . . .”

  Mr. Delacroix interrupted. “You were looking forward to having sex with her tonight?”

  “Yes, sir,” I said, “but don’t forget that you and I agreed that we’d never fuck anyone by ourselves. You have my word, sir. It absolutely will not happen unless you’re there to enjoy it.”

  “I never forget what we say to one another, Nez.”

  “Then it’s settled, sir?”

  He looked down at me with those ballistic eyes. “I’m on top, Nez.”

  Jackson sat in lonely silence. I wanted to hold his hand to let him know things would be all right and for my own comfort, but I did not dare for fear of Mr. Delacroix.

  Mr. Delacroix declared, “Cocktails in about an hour. I think it’s time to go get cleaned up for dinner. Jack, you know what you need to do. Come, Nez.”

  We walked into the black room on our way to our rooms. Jackson had turned the light off, so it was pitch-dark. No one had moved the light, so when Mr. Delacroix turned it on, it was low and blinding, aimed directly at Marie-Louise’s very exposed private parts. Jackson was at our heels murmuring to Marie-Louise as if she were a child. She looked away from us. I felt horrible and quickly walked into our sitting room. The lights were low, but the sunlight and southern breeze that came through the windows was welcome compared to the darkness of the master suite.

  “It’s okay, now she knows you mean business. She’ll respect you more tomorrow for it. She’ll be fine. Don’t let her drama ruin our dinner. If anyone’s night should be ruined, it should be Jackson’s. This whole thing just pisses me off to no end. If you can find a solution, more power to you.”

  “So you’re not angry with me, my lord?”

  “Absolutely not. Whatever gave you that idea?”

  I could not believe he would ask such a question. “You yelled at me, my lord. You startled me back there.” I bent to smell my roses in an attempt to seem nonchalant.

  “You didn’t seem startled; you were being the sexiest submissive alive.” He took my hand. “Don’t confuse my candid expression, my emotional honesty, as anything but. When I feel something, I show it. I’m an open book, Nez. Why can’t people just show how they feel? Look at you now, still trying to hide your feelings. Just be honest, babe. Be honest with yourself about your feelings and then let them out.”

  “I’m sorry, sir.” I turned to him.

  “Sorry for what? You didn’t do a damned thing,” he said incredulously.

  “Just sorry for the situation, sir. I can’t believe how heartbroken I am over Marie-Louise. I suppose my sympathy for her situation outweighed my fear. I had to stand up for what I thought was right by her. She needs a chance to have a say and I thought you’d punish me for pointing that out.”

  “Does it scare you when I yell?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What else do I do that scares you?” His eyes were relaxed now and getting more electric by the second.

  “Cry, my lord. When you cry I get terribly scared,” I said, “and just now I thought you’d hit me or Jackson out of anger.”

  “I don’t lose control anymore. I told you that,” he said, and gently kissed my forehead. “I don’t punish out of anger. I’m not gonna hurt you and I certainly didn’t mean to scare you in that way. I want the fear I give you to be provocative, not oppressive. I want it to turn you on. And from where I sat, you were provoked, empowered, turned on. I knew what I was doing.” His hand went to my crotch. “I bet your cunt is dripping right now.”

  This was all very confusing to me. Mr. Delacroix sensed my need for clarity and threw me onto the soft sofa cushions, face down.

  “Let’s see that ass of yours.”

  I obliged immediately, seeking that clear vision of pleasure, that lucid moment of fusion with him. My face jammed into the corner of the sofa cushion as he lifted my hips high. He was so hard when he dove into me that I thought he had a dildo made of stone, but soon enough I felt that familiar angle, length, width that pushed me open. My craving was finally fulfilled, my essential hunger alleviated.

  “Thank you, my lord,” I said between breaths.

  “My pleasure, lady, you are my pleasure.” He fucked me slowly and deeply with meaning, lifting my hips slowly, grinding and reaching excruciatingly deep. He was lost in rapture and whispered things that I was unsure I was supposed to hear.

  “You’re everything to me, my Nezzie, my goddess, my angel, my life.” He pulled my hips to his and crooned, “Neige pure, lumiere blanche, vous etes mienne. Vous remplissez obscurite. Je ne peux pas vous perdre. Je t'aime! Je t'aime, Neige!” He went painfully deep and pushed harder. We came together in a torrent of sensual synergy.

  * * *

  Mr. Delacroix was very handsome in a black suit and gray paisley tie. He wore a white shirt and black patent leather shoes. I pulled my hair up and wore a simple champagne-colored cocktail gown that reached the floor. Mr. Delacroix accessorized the plunging neckline with jewels of emerald and ruby. My stiletto sandals matched the dress. All the colors were a perfect contrast and sparkled under the low light of the crystal chandelier. I felt like Madame de Pompadour, indulged, capable, and sublime.

  Thomas entered the library carrying a tray of four champagne glasses filled with cool effervescence.

  “Thomas, my dear,” Mr. Delacroix said, “Mrs. Scott won’t be joining us. She’s a bit under the weather this evening.”

  “Yes, sir,” Thomas said. “Will Mr. Scott be joining you?”

  “Yes. He’ll be here shortly.”

  “Very good, sir. Shall I send a tray up for Mrs. Scott?”

  “Nezzie, shall we feed Marie-Louise this evening?”

 
“Yes, sir. Please do send a tray to her a little later.”

  “Very well, ma’am,” Thomas said and turned on his heels.

  “Sir,” I asked Mr. Delacroix, “will Thomas bring the tray into the black room?” I was feeling ashamed for Marie-Louise.

  “No. He’ll just bring it to the kitchenette and Jackson will heat it up and feed her later. Thomas knows not to go behind closed doors. Nez, don’t worry about her. She’ll be fine. Hell, you’re feeding her. That’s more than I would do. You’re a pushover.”

  “Well, my lord, it’s no good to have people go hungry.”

  “I suppose not, but I find when I am hungry, the sex is better. Even Marie says she likes her ‘meditation’ better on an empty stomach.”

  “Oral sex works better for me on an empty stomach, my lord.”

  “Well, then, you see? It is good to have you go hungry once in a while,” he smiled.

  I wandered around looking at the oddities on the shelves. In a glass case I found old feather quill pens and flintlock handguns with engraved handles that looked like they were made of bone or ivory. Of course, there were thousands of old books, but there was also a gorgeous silver teapot and an old iron keychain with ten or so keys on it, pillboxes of all kinds, crystal bowls, and old framed photographs, lithographs, and drawings, mostly of the local flowers and birds.

  “Nez, why did it take me so long to find you?” he asked with a tone of melancholy.

  “My lord, we weren’t ready for each other yet.”

  “There’s that brain of yours again. You’re so insightful, my dear, and it turns me on. Now I’ll have a hard-on all through dinner.” He smiled and feigned a sulk.

  “Just say the word, my lord, and I’ll gladly relieve you of your hardness.”

  I continued to examine the items on the shelves. A bronze statue, almost as tall as me, of a great blue heron stood in the corner, the lighting making it look real.

  “Sir, are there any portraits of Monique?”

  “Hundreds, my love, but they’re in albums. They’re here somewhere,” he said as he put his champagne down and pushed the library ladder on its tiny wheels. “We keep them high just in case the place ever floods.”

  He climbed the ladder and pulled a large leather album from the top shelf. He blew the dust off the edges, creating a cloud that fell and faded in the dim light.

  He handed me the album. “These are the only images of Monique we know of. You’ll understand why they’re kept in albums when you see them.”

  I set my drink on the coffee table and opened the album. The pages were brittle and yellowed. The first portrait, a detailed pen-and-ink drawing, showed Monique’s young face close up in a somber mood, looking straight at the artist. Her features were handsome, almost chiseled. I could see the Native American heritage quite clearly, and her eyes were large and round. She had a voluptuous mouth—Mr. Delacroix’s mouth. Her dark hair was long and faded out along the edge of the drawn image.

  The next page showed her with more expression, her hair pinned up in the style of the day. She seemed to be looking askance with a wistful expression, and unlike the previous image, she wore a collar around her neck.

  The following page showed her full body in the nude as she sat in the master suite brushing her hair. It flowed down to the middle of her back. In the next one I recognized the French doors and the arrangement of the bed and armoire as it remained in the master suite. She was lying on a chaise with her arms above her head, her collar around her neck, and her legs long and relaxed, crossed at the ankles.

  “She’s beautiful, sir. These drawings are gorgeous, very detailed. Are they all nude? Do you know who drew them?”

  “Yes, she’s naked in all of them. No one’s sure who drew them, but we think it was a young Creole domestic. Have you read about him in her journals yet?”

  “Only the entry where she first meets him. I don’t even know his name yet.”

  “Address me properly, wench.”

  “Sir, my lord, I’m sorry. I got distracted.”

  “I’ll let it slide this time because you’re so well turned out for dinner, but I can always send you upstairs to join Marie-Louise if this keeps up.”

  “Yes, sir.” The last thing I wanted was punishment given he felt I had questioned his authority earlier.

  As I turned the pages, Monique’s allure evolved, a touch of silk here and there and what looked to be jeweled collars; but most noticeably, her poses became illicit. One particularly provocative pose had her sitting on the floor in front of the chair in her sitting room on a large pillow, her head leaned back over the seat of the chair and her legs spread wide open. All the drawings were of her alone and some even showed her pleasuring herself. Whoever drew them was very familiar with her body.

  Jackson entered the room with a dramatic flair. He wore a dark blue silk brocade jacket over a white shirt with a red ascot. His pants were black and his shoes impeccable.

  Mr. Delacroix laughed. “My god, Jack, you look fantastic. Now all you need to do is light up a joint like you and Dad did in the old days. You guys were great. Getting high before dinner and then enjoying the hell out of the food.”

  “That was your dad’s idea, sir. I’d have none of it if it weren’t for him.” Jackson smiled, indicating it was the opposite.

  “Jack, you’re a pothead from the word go, not to mention all the acid you guys did. Your outfit sure brings back memories.”

  “Those were crazy days, sir, but it’s crazy today, too, with all the cocaine out there. You guys ever do it? I can get you some if you want.”

  My heart jumped at the idea. I had not thought of cocaine in weeks and now it was practically staring me in the face. I was surprised at how easily I plunged into a severe craving simply at the mention of it.

  “As a matter of fact,” Mr. Delacroix said, “Nezzie here is a cocaine addict.”

  Mr. Delacroix seemed to think he should tell Jackson every painful detail of my ordeal, even the withdrawal. I almost felt as if he took pleasure in my weakness.

  “Heroin, too,” he said. “So, my dear Jackson, once we come home, there’s a new rule: no more drugs at Twisted Oak. That goes for grass, too, unless I give permission.”

  “Damn, Miss Nez,” Jackson said.

  “Jackson, I mean it,” said Mr. Delacroix.

  “Yes, sir, and miss, I’m sorry about your problem. You got lucky to land here, that I can assure you.”

  The dining room table was set lavishly with formal china and silver. Now I understood the need to dress for dinner; I was sure if you were not dressed properly, the dining room doors would lock you out of its splendor. The large floral bouquet centerpiece had been moved to a corner table, replaced with tall tapered candles that burned steady until the breeze from the open French doors made them flicker. Thomas and a younger man stood at the sideboard waiting to serve. They wore white jackets over black pants and white shirts. Each of them had a towel over their left arm. The whole thing seemed like such a put-on, like a movie set or a parody of some past time.

  “Penny for your thoughts, Nezzie baby,” Mr. Delacroix said.

  I admitted I had never seen or experienced anything like it.

  “Get used to it, because this is the real deal,” he said with a smile as he took a portion of oyster dressing from the tray that Thomas held. He came to my side and held the tray for me. “You’ll like it, but it’s fattening, so only take a little,” Mr. Delacroix said.

  “Yes, sir,” I said as Thomas leaned lower to make it easier for me to select a serving.

  “Something’s missing,” Jackson said.

  “Yeah, Jack, Marie-Louise.” Mr. Delacroix laughed as he took a serving of turducken from the platter that the younger man held.

  “No, sir, something else,” Jackson said. He turned to Thomas. “We need some music, Thomas. Classical. Bach, please,
and keep it low so we can still enjoy conversation.”

  “Yes, sir.” Thomas set his tray down and left the room. Soon, violins, cellos, and wind instruments filled the air in breezy accompaniment to our dinner.

  “Marie-Louise is still working on Liszt?” Mr. Delacroix asked.

  “Most diligently, sir. I was hoping she could play for us tonight, but there’s always tomorrow. She’s really come a long way with it,” Jackson said with pride. “She’s very dedicated.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. I know it’s her passion to play. I remember when we were kids all she’d have to do is hear a song once and she could play it on the piano, even when she was small. You or Dad had a special bench built for her, and installed levers on the pedals so she could reach.”

  “That was all your dad’s doing. He knew talent when he saw it. His whole approach was to get us all to tap into our talents. He was good, Miss Nez. James was the best man you could ever know.”

  “I have no doubt,” I said, “and handsome, too.”

  “God, yes, miss. He was a looker. Your Mr. Delacroix certainly favors him,” Jackson said with a smile.

  The conversation was light, congenial, and oddly normal. After the main course, Jackson went to check on Marie-Louise, so Mr. Delacroix and I had a few moments together at the table.

  “So, what do you think?” he asked.

  “My lord, I love it. Is this the way it is every night or is tonight a special occasion?”

  “Every night is a special occasion when you’re here, my lady. Thomas takes a day off here and there, but even when he’s gone, young Samuel takes the reins.”

  The younger man smiled and bowed his head slightly.

  “It’s all so unbelievable, sir. I never knew people lived like this. Back home we were lucky to sit at a table to eat, let alone with others. We hardly even used utensils. You will have to forgive me for not knowing what to do with all of them.”

  “Here, look, it’s easy. Tom, make a new place setting over there for Miss Nez.” Thomas obliged.