“You really think you’re the big shit around here,” Jackson said, “don’t you, kid?”
“No, Jack. I don’t think anything. I know I’m the big shit. I’m fucking on top, asshole, so make up your mind. Get real or get the fuck out.”
Marie-Louise ran to Mr. Delacroix’s side and fell on the broken teacups with her bare knees. “Please, sir, don’t take him away. It was my fault. I did it,” she said.
Mr. Delacroix got up and placed his feet on either side of Jackson’s hips. “Look at you both down there wallowing in your own mess.” He stepped over and picked Marie up by the armpits. “Go sit, Marie.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, and quickly sat where she had been, next to the sofa. For a second, I thought Mr. Delacroix was going to relent, but he turned on Jackson.
“What’s your choice? Are you gonna get straight or are you gone? If you decide to leave, I want you out within twenty-four hours.”
Jackson sat up gingerly in his porcelain nest. “Sir, I wish you’d reconsider,” he said.
“Nope, Jack, you’re outta control. You’ve lost it. You need some serious corrective training, my friend. You know it’s for your own good. I want you to take a break for a while. You’ll come back a new man like you did before, or . . .” he paused to stifle tears, “you can take what my dad left for you and go.”
Jackson stood. “Marie, come,” he said, but she did not budge. He shook his head and walked out of the room.
“Jack, you’ve got about forty minutes to make up your mind before they come over,” Mr. Delacroix called out. He turned to Marie-Louise. “Marie, you’ll stay in the east wing tonight. You’ll no longer share a bed with Jackson. Do you understand?”
“But, sir, I—”
“You broke the collar without any prior agreements and you’ll divorce him soon enough. It’s time for you to make a clean break,” he said firmly.
“All alone, sir?” she asked.
“For now, yes,” he said, “but wait in your room until Nezzie and I are through with the doms. We can’t keep them waiting, but when we’re through, we’ll help you get settled in your new space. You’ll like those rooms, Marie.”
She burst into tears and he turned to me. “You, my delectable display, need to get ready.”
I looked at Marie-Louise and gave her a reassuring smile. “May I hug Marie, my lord?”
“Go ahead, but don’t be long. This is important and we can’t be late.” He snapped his fingers and left the room. The rain was finally relenting.
“Marie,” I said, “it’ll be all right, I promise. You can trust Mr. Delacroix. All he’s ever said to me is how loyal he is to you, how he’s there for you. Things might seem scary right now, but they’ll get better.” I sat next to her on the sofa and wrapped my arms around her.
“Were you scared when you first came, miss?”
“I was scared to death, but I trusted Mr. Delacroix and things are better now. Sweetie, he wants things to get better for all of us, himself included. You can trust him and me. We’ve got your back.”
“Okay, miss, I believe you,” she said as I pulled away.
“I don’t think I’ll be more than a couple hours at the most. In the meantime, stay in your room and try to rest.” I managed a smile as I looked at her pathetic expression. “Just relax, Marie-Louise. You’re home.”
33.
We descended the stairs to meet the group waiting in the foyer. Formally dressed men and women, most a little older than Mr. Delacroix, watched my every step. I felt extremely self-conscious in my long petal-pink translucent silk robe. I wore nothing underneath except a pair of red patent-leather pumps. My hair pulled high on my head showcased my neck, which swam with gold, diamonds, and rubies.
Blues music came from the parlor. The lighting was low and I felt like I was floating. I obediently stayed one step behind Mr. Delacroix, which made me seem much taller than he was as we descended the stairs. For a few moments, I was precariously on top of the entire scene; I felt off-balance when I looked across the room, so I kept my eyes turned down. I was relieved when I stepped onto the hard wooden planks of the floor. Mr. Delacroix graciously lent me his arm and I took it with my right hand, being ever mindful to stay behind him. I wondered if Marie-Louise had made this parade when she became mistress of the house.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, please let me introduce Neige Blanche Monique, imminent Mistress of Twisted Oak,” Mr. Delacroix said to the gathering.
I was surprised to hear my name, if one could call it that, but I kept my head down. Small applause followed, so I nodded my head in acknowledgment.
“Let’s retire to the parlor,” Mr. Delacroix’s voice commanded as the group fell in behind us. I could feel eyes watching my backside as we walked, and my stomach knotted. Mr. Delacroix patted my hand in reassurance and whispered, “Breathe, my love. Just breathe. You’re doing very well.”
I was about to thank him when he pinched my fingers and discretely said, “Shhh.”
The teatime tempest was cleared away with nary a trace. The table sat upright and the rug had been cleaned as if nothing happened. Not a single shard of porcelain could be found on the newly shined floor. Thomas approached us with a tray of drinks, one of which was my glass of water. Mr. Delacroix took the glass and gave me a sip. “Good girl, Nezzie,” he said as he set the glass back down on the tray and took a glass of champagne. “Thank you, Thomas.”
I glanced around and saw Samuel serving a tray of canapés. The others in the group were mingling quietly.
“Charlotte, you look good enough to eat tonight,” I heard a good-looking man who appeared to be in his late thirties say to a tall blonde woman nearly the same age.
“Nicholas, do you promise?” she laughed. “How are you? Isn’t this wonderful?”
“Indeed, it is. It’s high time for a change, isn’t it?”
“None higher, my love,” she said as she took a glass of champagne. “It looks like everyone made it.”
Mr. Delacroix led me to a couple of men who stood near the billiard table. “Gentlemen, I’m pleased you could make it. I was worried you wouldn’t be here due to the weather.”
“A bumpy ride in, but I just had the pilots fly us straight here instead of going home first.” The voice, smooth, Southern silk, matched the speaker.
“If the two of you and the pilots need to spend the night, one of the cottages can be made available for you,” Mr. Delacroix said. “No sense in tempting Mother Nature.”
“That’s mighty kind of you. I’ll check with the pilots in a bit and let you know.” The thick Southern drawl softened my insides. “This is one instance where it’ll be her call. When we’re in the air, she’s totally on top.” His eyes fell to mine and I looked at my feet.
“Mr. Ladnier, Mr. Ainslie, please let me introduce you to Neige Blanche. Neige, this is Mr. Ladnier and his colleague and compatriot, Mr. Ainslie. They flew in from Dallas through all this terrible weather just to meet you, my dear.”
Both men nodded their heads. Mr. Ainslie said, “A pleasure, Neige Blanche. Indeed, it is a pleasure to see you.” His eyes were brilliant green, set deep in fair skin topped with rusty brown hair. He personified molasses and green grass.
“The feeling is mutual, sir,” I said in a meek tone, looking at Mr. Delacroix’s shoes.
“Darlin’,” Mr. Ladnier said, “I hear tell that you’ve only been in New Orleans a short time. Is that a fact?”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
“How do you find it?” Mr. Ladnier asked.
“Fascinating, sir, it’s a beautiful city,” I answered.
“Indeed,” said Mr. Ainslie. “Greg, she’s a pretty one, your Neige Blanche; very decadent.” He looked at me. “Neige, how do you find Twisted Oak?”
“It’s outstanding, sir.”
“And the Ursuline?” Mr. Ainsl
ie asked.
I was unsure if he meant the convent in the city or the upstairs room, so I decided to answer diplomatically. “Full of mystery, sir.”
“Mystery! What a delicious answer,” he said as he sipped his champagne. “Mr. Delacroix, haven’t you unraveled the mystery for her?”
“To a point, Mr. Ainslie. She understands the pleasures,” Mr. Delacroix said. “We’re taking our time.”
Mr. Ladnier chimed in. “Well said, my dear. Pleasure should be savored and experienced slowly with care.”
Samuel came by and Mr. Ladnier grabbed a canapé. I could feel his eyes on me while he chewed. “Ainslie, have a look there,” he pointed to my wrists, “I think Neige Blanche understands. Don’t you, dear?”
“Yes, sir.” I looked at the red ring around my wrist, made even redder by the afternoon’s reminder.
“Neige,” Mr. Delacroix said, “tell the gentlemen your favorite part of your understanding so far.”
I was not expecting such a question. I recalled Ty’s words about not putting much thought into speaking the truth and said the first thing that came to mind.
“My lord, my favorite part of your teachings, your helping me to understand, is surrendering my mind. That I know I belong to you completely. My favorite thing, my lord, is having comfort in knowing I’m all for you and that you will take me to new heights. Thank you, sir.”
I swallowed hard hoping this answer would suffice. His feet were still and his toes faced me. The low light reflected off the polished black leather.
The awkward silence broke when a female voice said, “Gentlemen, please let the ladies see. For god’s sake, you’re all gawking at her like fools. Ya’ll always think you should have all the fun.”
“Ms. Portiere, pardon our selfishness,” Mr. Ladnier said. “You of all people should realize that pleasure shared is pleasure multiplied. Neige Blanche is most compelling.”
Mr. Delacroix turned to the tall blonde woman I’d noticed before. “Ms. Portiere, this is Neige Blanche. Neige, please meet Ms. Portiere, of Crest Hill.”
“My pleasure, ma’am,” I said.
“Indeed, my girl, I hope soon pleasure will be at the center of it.” She reached for my chin and Mr. Delacroix stepped between us.
“Ah na-na, cher,” he said.
“Quite right, Mr. Delacroix, my apologies.” She stepped back and then walked behind me, looking me up and down. “Neige Blanche, do you fancy our ways?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said and watched Mr. Delacroix’s toes follow her every move.
“Why?” she asked.
“I find it a positive challenge to meet my potential, ma’am,” I said, trying hard not to look her in the eye, driven by some insatiable instinct to challenge her. Mr. Delacroix squeezed my hand.
“What’s your take on Marie-Louise?” she asked as she leaned in.
“Ma’am, it appears to me that Marie-Louise is a good woman and tries very hard to please.”
“I should say so. Marie-Louise is a good woman who has been out of her depth. Are you out of your depth?” she asked pointedly.
“Not at all, ma’am,” I said.
“Show me,” she said, turning to Mr. Delacroix. By now, everyone had gathered around.
“Charlotte,” Mr. Ainslie said, “you are insufferable.”
“Thank you, Barnes,” she said with a curtsy. “Gregory-Michel?” she urged.
I watched Mr. Delacroix’s feet turn toward me and he let go of my hand. “Nezzie, take off your robe, spread your legs, and put your hands on your head.”
I immediately obliged. The silk falling to the floor felt sensuous on my smooth skin. I consciously surrendered my body to the moment. My skin prickled in the open air; the marks shown bright and fresh. My red, sore nipples painfully stood at attention. The more you submit to me, the more powerful you become to all of them.
Mr. Delacroix stood in front of me, facing the crowd. “I remind you, you may look, but you may not touch. She will not be handled in any way.”
My heart skipped a beat and I felt my stomach flip. I had to trust that he was doing the right thing; otherwise I knew I would lose my mind.
“Turn around, Nezzie,” Mr. Delacroix said, so I turned slowly. I could hear murmurs and whispers. “Good girl, Nezzie, now spread your legs again and bend over and touch your toes. Show us your delicious world.”
Mr. Delacroix’s voice was firm yet filled with pride. “You’re a very good girl,” he said. I held my gaze at the floor. The patterned rug entertained my mind, deep blues, reds, and neutrals, from another country, no doubt. I thought about the weavers of such an intricate pattern and wondered if they ever imagined such a thing would happen on their rug.
I heard shuffling feet as I was examined intensely from a close distance. My hamstrings were beginning to strain. I felt the burning strap marks on my back, and my buttocks stung where the riding crop had struck.
“That’s enough now. You can sit, my love, but crawl to me.” His voice was distant and cool. I was relieved to fall on my knees and hands and I slowly crawled to my pillow in front of the sofa, keeping my head down as strappy high heels and Italian men’s shoes parted to make way for me. I found my pillow and my loving master’s thigh.
“Good girl,” he said, putting his hand on my cheek to bring me close. I leaned into him to illustrate my gratitude. He leaned over, took my glass of water, and gave me another sip. “Good girl.”
“Neige Blanche.”
I glanced up to see a man, younger than the others, and quickly diverted my eyes. He was olive skinned with thick short hair and eyes as dark as Marie-Louise’s. His hands were perfectly manicured, with fingers as long as they were thin. He was terribly handsome.
“This is Mr. LeGeneret speaking to you now. What brought you to New Orleans, my dear?”
“Sir, it was time for me to change my life. Things in Kansas City weren’t going very well. I had reached a dead end.”
“And you ended up here. How fortunate,” he said.
“Very, sir.”
“You like being fucked?” he asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Then you are doubly blessed,” he said. “It appears we are as well. You’re very attractive, Neige Blanche. I look forward to knowing you better.” Ms. Portiere had to have the last word. “Neige Blanche, are you fully aware of your responsibilities as Mistress of Twisted Oak? And if I may, Gregory-Michel, what are your intentions?”
Mr. Delacroix put his fingers over my mouth so I could not answer. “Charlotte, yes, Neige Blanche is aware of her duties, but she has not been fully trained, so her understanding is limited at this time. I am her teacher and so she continues to learn. As Mr. Ladnier pointed out, Neige Blanche has only been in New Orleans for a few weeks. Surely, you understand that it takes time to adapt to our culture. She’s got a lot to learn and I will not put her in a situation unless she is fully trained.” He dropped his hand from my mouth.
“Indeed, Gregory-Michel,” she said, her voice guarded, “I trust it’s your intention to keep the Twisted Oak traditions alive?”
“Undoubtedly.” He twirled a lock of my hair that had fallen around his index finger.
“What of the Scotts?” Mr. LeGeneret asked.
Mr. Delacroix moved over and straddled me. “Nezzie, lean your head back between my legs.”
I obliged, looking straight up at the crystal chandelier. “Good girl. Now I need you to spread your legs wide for our guests.”
I put the soles of my feet on the ground as wide as I could and spread my legs for the whole world to see, remembering the portrait of Monique. Mr. Delacroix pinned my arms between his legs and the sofa. There was an audible shift in the room, muffled noises as people moved to have a better look. Mr. Delacroix leaned forward, put his hands on my throat, and squeezed gently. I closed my eyes and gave myself over to the
dizzying sensation. As light as a feather, he moved his hands to both my breasts and began to pinch and pull my sore nipples. I took a sharp inward breath. “Good girl,” he said.
“Leo, that’s an excellent question that I hope to discuss with you all at length after Neige Blanche takes her leave.” He pinched harder and my breath caught. “No doubt there are changes afoot, but Twisted Oak will never turn its back on the Scotts.”
He leaned in further to titillate my clit with his finger. To my surprise, my legs fell further apart. I began to pant through my nose.
“With the new year, we’ll have a new order here at Twisted Oak.”
His left hand continued its work on my left breast while his right hand worked its magic on my most delicate spot, creating the familiar wave in my center. It was all I could do to sit still. My hips wanted to move, but I fought the urge with a slight moan.
“Good girl, Nezzie, good girl. Come for us, my dear. Show them how lovely your cunt is when you come.”
As if on his command, my back arched against my will and I let out an audible moan. Mr. Delacroix’s electric eyes were full of admiration and pride. The orgasm finally came, relieving me of all the evening’s tensions. My body shuddered and I could feel my juices run past my anus.
“Thank you, my lord,” I whispered.
“You’re welcome, Nezzie. Now I want you to stand and give our guests one more look at your sensational body.” Mr. Delacroix lifted me by the armpits. “Put your arms above your head and turn slowly so they can see all your marks.” He leaned back on the sofa as I stood on wobbly legs. “Good girl, Nezzie.”
“I must say, Gregory-Michel,” a woman said from the adjacent chair, “your Neige Blanche is stunning. Her skin is so fair and perfect. Her marks stand out beautifully. You must keep her out of the sun.”
“Yes, Ms. Banning,” he said, his tone different with her, “she’s only allowed out when the sun isn’t too strong. Her skin, among other things, is very sensitive, and I intend to keep it that way.”
Twisted Oak: A Sexual Odyssey Page 37
