Twisted Oak: A Sexual Odyssey

by Blanche, Neige

  “My lord, every month other people come here who live like we do?” I asked, intrigued by the prospect of meeting others like us.

  “Yes, my love, you’ll meet some fascinating people. You’d be surprised at how many of us there are. Most are socialites from Lafayette, New Orleans, and Baton Rouge; professionals, doctors, lawyers, bankers, educators, executives, all kinds of people. It’s their special time to be open with others about their lifestyle in confidence, to be free and not judged. I feel good providing them a safe place to be.”

  “It is kind of you, my lord. Where do they stay when they come?”

  “Most of them stay in cottages in the village, but some sleep up here. It depends.”

  “Free of charge, my lord?”

  “Yes. Technically it’s all free, because if they paid for it, we’d be selling sex, which would make it illegal, and really, it isn’t like that. I mean, who pays to have sex? We do ask for donations, however, so we can maintain the cottages and the playroom. Most give generously.”

  “Are most of the people who come married or collared, my lord?”

  “Mostly yes, but as you know I brought Ty last month, so it depends. But most are paired off one way or the other.”

  We passed another sitting area with a wide sofa and table. “My lord, do people just sit around here and talk?”

  “Yes, my love. We’re all friends who gather here. Some of us have known each other for years.”

  In the next corner of the room, we came upon what appeared to be exercise benches and workhorses that you would see at a construction site.

  “Here, my dear, we get into real punishment,” he said with a special gleam in his eye.

  The ceiling was strewn with pulleys, ropes, and leather straps that confounded me; the intricate system seemed to be tied together.

  “The benches are meant to be knelt upon. Come, let me show you.”

  He led me onto one of the benches. “It’s punishment, so I’ll only demonstrate. I want you to be comfortable here, so I won’t pull as tightly as I will when I do it for real. Come, put your knees here and face me.”

  He took my shoulders and steadied me on the cushioned bench. “Always spread your legs, my dear; otherwise, it’ll be worse.” He pushed my thighs apart with his knee.

  “My lord, will you always be the one who punishes me?” I asked.

  “Yes, Nez, no one else will mete out your punishment unless agreed upon ahead of time, but that instance will be rare, if at all, with the possible exception of Sunny. Only I know your true limits, so I am loath to allow another to push. It’s my job and my pleasure to help you seek new limits.”

  He raised my hands above my head and tied them together at the wrists with bare rope that pinched and burned my skin. He attached my wrists to a pulley that hung from the ceiling. He tied them tightly and as I hung, the ropes burned more. He pulled a thick leather strap down and began to wrap it over my right shoulder and under my left arm and around my torso. He pulled tightly, making the leather dig into my skin in the same bondage pattern etched into Marie-Louise. I began to panic a little as he brought the strap under my crotch and then back up to the top. He pulled again before securing it, making the strap dig painfully into my labia. If I relaxed too much and fell into the bondage, as I’d been previously trained to do, the leather between my legs pressed hard, causing a good amount of pain. I was required to stay tensed. My breath became rigid and shallow.

  “Good girl,” he said as he left my field of vision. The next sensation I had was cold wet leather against my right buttock, then a sharp poke inside my vagina, then a hundred fingers slapping my backside. I cried out.

  “Silence!” he yelled and struck me again. This time I held my tongue. “Good girl, Nez. Some can’t shut up so they end up gagged, but you like gags, so I won’t give you one. I’ll just shut you up in other ways.”

  “Yes, my lord,” I said as my eyes welled up with tears.

  He stepped in front of me and watched the saltwater drip down my cheeks, cocking his head in fascination. “Don’t forget about the safe words, Nezzie. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, my lord.” I closed my eyes, refusing to give him my limit.

  “That’s good, Nez, very good,” he said as he crushed my breasts in his hands. “Open your eyes, look at me,” he ordered and I immediately followed his directive. His eyes were intense, lurid, and ethereal. He was thinking about something and then he turned away out of my field of vision. “I’m not punishing you. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, my lord. You’re only demonstrating this equipment.” I choked back a sob.

  “Good girl, that’s right. You were such a good girl tonight. I don’t want you to think you misbehaved, but I want you to have a taste of what will come when you do misbehave. I don’t want you to be surprised.”

  “My lord, I won’t misbehave,” I pleaded. My muscles were beginning to fatigue.

  “Yes, you will. We all do eventually,” he said as he placed a rubber-coated clamp on my left nipple and screwed it together slowly. At first it did not hurt, but with each twist of the threads the pain intensified. Just as I was about to use my safe word, he stopped and began securing the other on my right nipple. With the turning of the threads the pain grew until I reached the pinnacle. “We’re all bad every now and again, Nez.”

  “Yes, my lord,” I murmured, and to my complete alarm, he reached up and tightened the leather strapping. I winced and almost cried out, but would not give him the satisfaction of using a safe word.

  He leaned in and whispered, “Nezzie, feel the pain. Feel it. Live it. You’re alive, Nezzie. Embrace it. The pain is you.” He kissed me gently. “I love you, Nezzie girl, I love you,” he whispered as he lifted me gently, giving my nether regions a break from the pressure. “Do you still love me now that you know the real me?”

  “Yes, my lord. I love you more than you know.”

  He dropped my full weight onto the strap. The pain went through my body in a rush and I whimpered, “Yellow, my lord. Yellow, please.”

  “Good girl, that’s the way to use the safe words. We’re close now to a new limit, aren’t we?” he said as he began to swing me back and forth slightly.

  “Yes, my lord.” I was sobbing now.

  “Shhhh, embrace the pain. Breathe through it and give it to me. We’re almost through now. Look at me,” he directed.

  I locked onto his eyes as I did Sunny’s that day in the apartment. “I love you, my lord.”

  “Thank you, Nezzie. Thank you for your tears.” He stopped the swinging. “I love your tears that you cry for me. Your tears are for me, my pleasure, and our love.”

  He pulled the leather tighter and gave each clamp a quarter turn. “I love you more, Nezzie.”

  At last, he released the tension on the straps, but the pain worsened as he loosened them.

  “I know,” he said, “it hurts when they come off, too, but only for a few moments.”

  As I hung from the ropes in exhaustion, he twisted the clamps a little more and then simultaneously turned them loose and pulled them off, creating a wave of pain. I shuddered and the tears came in torrents; my juices ran. I had to work hard to catch my breath.

  “God, I love you,” he said.

  Once I settled down, I realized my body’s sensitivity was augmented by an overwhelming burning sensation radiating out from where the straps had bound me so tightly. I absolutely loved the sensation, but if that was not the real thing, I could not imagine what was. He stood back observing me as if I were a lab animal in an experiment. The ropes still dug into my wrists and I kept my eyes glued to his.

  “Good girl, Nezzie baby, good girl,” he crooned as he ran the back of his hand down my torso. He leaned in and sucked my right nipple hard. It hurt because of the clamp. I whimpered, but my body disobeyed the pain reflex and arched asking for more, so he took
my left nipple in his mouth and pulled hard. I could feel tears rolling down my neck.

  “I like you this way, Nez.”

  “Thank you, my lord.”

  He walked around me, in and out of my field of vision. “It makes me feel good inside. I own your ass, Nez. I own you.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  He kissed me gently as if I were made of fine china. “Do you still love me, my dear?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Do you love me more than you did before?” He walked around me and ran his finger around my middle section.

  “Y-yes, I think I do, my lord,” I said honestly.

  “You think you do?” he asked as he ran his finger through my wet nether region.

  “I love you more, my lord.”

  “Good girl. I love you more too. You give of yourself so freely, my love. It’s so fucking sexy.” He finally untied the ropes and caught me before I fell off the bench. “Are you okay? Can you walk?” he asked.

  I was weak. “Yes, my lord. I’m okay.”

  “It made you come,” he said knowingly.

  “Oh yes, my lord.”

  He went to the sink and wet a washcloth with cool water. He gently dabbed my face, eyes, mouth, and neck, refreshing me and showing kindness. I longed for the coolness on my nipples because they burned, but he did not go there.

  I was curious about the other punishment apparatus, and as if reading my mind he explained how they worked. “Those you straddle like a horse. I’ll tie you up with a rope and leather like I just did, but instead of the leather strap in your crotch, that piece of hard wood hits you there if you aren’t vigilant. It hurts a lot more than what we just did. In addition to the nipple clamps, I can also clamp your clit, among other things.”

  I nearly fainted when he said that and so he guided me to the nearby sofa. “Are you okay?” he asked with genuine concern. “Was it too much too soon?”

  “My lord, I’m okay, I just need a minute to collect myself.”

  “You would do it again?” he asked anxiously.

  “Yes, my lord, I love it. I love you,” I smiled.

  He turned and pointed to a nearby door. “This is a private room that can be used for sex. Some doms prefer to punish their subs in private, not to mention have a private fuck with them, and every couple needs a private chat at times. Additionally, with permission, subs can have private interludes in there, but don’t you get any ideas. Your pleasure is mine, do you understand?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  We continued to walk and came to a group of what looked like hanging chairs.

  “Those replaced Monique’s sailcloth. You can sit in there and get it from both ends at the same time. Come, I’ll show you. It’s very comfortable.”

  He guided me into the swing and lifted my feet into stirrups. “Now lean back, Nez. It’s real comfy.”

  I found the swing to be very accommodating. He stood between my legs and gently swung me away from him and back.

  “It’s fun,” he said. “I can stand here and fuck you in the ass or pussy, and someone else can stand back there and fuck your mouth. Ty really got off on this,” he giggled.

  “I can see why, my lord.” I felt comforted by the gentle swing of the apparatus.

  “Let me show you our spot,” he said as he helped me from the swing. We approached a raised area with a large wooden chair and pillows all around.

  “My lord, what’ll happen to Marie-Louise if Jackson breaks the collar? Will she still come here, and if she does, who will she belong to?”

  “That has yet to work itself out, but I think it will naturally.”

  “I don’t understand, my lord.”

  “You will. You’re smart enough to get it on your own and it’s better that you do.” We stood facing the raised chair and pillows. “This is where I sit now that Jackson is no longer in charge. You’ll be on my left there on your pillow. Go give it a try. Let me see you there where you belong,” he said.

  I walked up to the pillow and sat down.

  “Perfect,” he clapped, “now sit in my chair.”

  I got up and sat in the oversized chair.

  “Nice,” he exclaimed. “You know, in my absence, you’ll take my chair.”

  “My lord, I don’t think I’m ready for that.”

  “Don’t worry. That scenario is down the road. We’ll go over everything and I won’t put you in that position until you’re ready. You trust me, right?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “I love you, Nezzie girl. Je t'aime, Neige, je t'aime.”

  “Oh, my lord, how can anyone love you more than I do?”

  “Tomorrow evening is cocktails with the other doms, and I’m going to introduce you formally as future Mistress of Twisted Oak. This means some substantial changes for many people, namely Jack and Marie. Tomorrow afternoon at tea, you and I will have a chat about your conduct, my expectations, and the best way to proceed.”

  “This is all so much to take in, my lord. I hope I live up to your expectations.”

  With a bow, he held his hand out to assist me as I rose from the chair.

  “I have every confidence you will.”

  29.

  Mr. Delacroix kissed my brow. “Time to get up, my dear. You’re coming with me on my run this morning,” he said as he handed me a glass of water.

  “Sir, the sun isn’t even up yet,” I complained.

  “The more you complain, the longer you’ll run. Now come on. You’ll thank me later. I promise,” he smiled.

  “I doubt that, sir,” I groaned. With that, he took the water and set it on the nightstand.

  “Turn over,” he commanded. “Now, Nez, I won’t tolerate laziness.”

  “Sir,” I began.

  “Nezzie!”

  “Yes, sir,” I said as I turned over. He ripped the warm covers from my body and gave me a swift spank that reawakened last night’s sensations and sent stinging needles to my groin.

  “Get up now and put your running clothes on.” He spanked me again and the stinging lingered.

  “Yes, sir,” I said and reluctantly left the warmth of my bed.

  “And drink that water. You need to stay hydrated.” He sat on the chaise to put his shoes on. “Get a move on, girl.”

  He’d laid out a pair of navy blue running shorts, a white sports bra, socks, and a tank. As I pulled the shorts on, he came to me and grabbed my wrist to examine it closely. A red welt had formed from the rough tightness of the rope the night before.

  “Your skin’s sensitive. That’s good. Stand up and let me have a closer look at you. Let the shorts fall to your feet. I need a good look.”

  He moved me toward the light from the nightstand lamp, turning me this way and that. When I looked down, I noticed the red lines that covered my torso were hauntingly similar to Marie-Louise’s scars.

  “Don’t worry, they’re temporary. They won’t last but another day or so, but it’s good that you have these marks for when the doms come tonight. When they see them, they’ll know you understand, that you’re one of us. Put your clothes on now.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said as I continued to dress.

  “Is there anything in particular that you have to say about last night, anything today that comes to mind that you especially liked or disliked? Are you experiencing any residual pain?”

  I was not sure how to answer. I knew if I told him I liked something, he might not do it again; if I told him something hurt especially badly, he would make sure to do it again.

  “Don’t overthink it, Nez. Just be honest. You know now how important that is.”

  In all honesty, I could not think of anything I particularly did not like. The whole experience was painful, but my nipples were especially hurting. I looked down at them. They were standing at attention, red and swoll
en.

  “Your tits hurt?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir, and my wrists. My bottom is kind of sore too.”

  “Did you like it?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir,” I said. I pulled the tank over my head.

  “If I brought you upstairs right now and did it again, would you like it?” He came to me, took me by the shoulders, and sat me on the chaise. Sweetly, he kneeled before me, put my socks on my feet, then slid my feet into my shoes, setting my legs into a wide stance. He kissed the insides of my knees, which made my insides flip.

  “Yes, sir, but I think it would hurt more.”

  He massaged the insides of my thighs, his thumbs getting very close to my crotch. “The idea of hurting more is desirable to you?” he asked as he slipped his thumbs up inside my shorts.

  I loved being the center of his attention. “Only for you, my lord.”

  “Good girl, Nezzie, only for me. You know why now, don’t you?”

  “Sir?” I asked, unsure of his meaning.

  “You know why you want to give your suffering to me only?”

  “Yes, sir. I love you. I belong to you.”

  “I love you too, Nez.” With a quick, painful pinch of each nipple he rose to his feet. “Come on,” he said as he pulled me up by the arm.

  We began with a few stretches on the front lawn and a brisk walk along the driveway. Once we warmed up, he created a jogging pace that I could manage well enough. It felt good to run, to feel free, to be in command of my body, alone with myself in my thoughts. He picked up the pace as we circled round to the back and followed a gravel path toward the chapel. The sun was rising at our backs, so we broke off the path to the right and jogged along the driveway.

  “Let’s go this way so we can watch the sun come up,” he said.

  The sun peeked through the ancient oaks. Golden rays caught the morning mist; Spanish moss hung loosely and flowed in a slight southern breeze. It was as if we were jogging through a postcard, the bayou just out of sight to our left, towering oaks to our right, and the mansion in the background all lit golden and soft pink-orange. The crickets ceased their chirping. As if on cue, birdsong erupted everywhere.