Twisted Oak: A Sexual Odyssey

by Blanche, Neige

  “That certainly is refreshing,” I said.

  “I invited Ella to come with him this weekend. I hope she comes. I think they’d be great couple friends for us.”

  “Couple friends, sir?”

  “Yeah, another couple for us to do things with in and out of the bedroom; as I say, I admire their dedication to one another. I think they’re a good example of modern marriage.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “All the doms will be here, so you’ll know people, but you’re the belle of the ball and this is a vanilla function, so you don’t have to show them any deference. It’s as if that game we play in private does not exist. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir, I think so,” I said.

  “All you need to know is that they’re old family friends, which is the truth, but folks don’t need to know what kind of friends they are. It wouldn’t play well with my employees and clients. Now you kinda get the drift as to why they aren’t usually invited out here.”

  “Yes, indeed, sir.”

  “But see, with you I want that to change a little. I guess I’m ready to be more real like the Ladniers,” he sighed. “So just keep our game on the QT this weekend.”

  “You can count on me, sir. Oh, wait. Gosh. That means I can’t call you ‘sir’?”

  “For this weekend only you may call me ‘sir,’ ‘my lord,’ ‘my god,’” he laughed. “‘Your highness’ only in the bedroom. Once we go downstairs, my love, I am merely Gregory, Greg, or Gregory-Michel, period. You’ll address me as you would anyone else.”

  “Now that I’ve gotten into the habit, it may be kinda hard.” I thought for a while. “Can I call you ‘sweetheart’ or ‘honey’ or ‘darling,’ my lord?”

  “You may call me anything as long as it’s nice,” he said, kissing the back of my hand.

  “And you are so nice, my lord.”

  “Come on now, get ready. I’ll wait.” He held his hand out for me and pulled my chair back. “I’ll wait an eternity for you, my love.” He slapped my tender bottom as I walked past him into the bathroom.

  “God, that turns me on, sir.”

  He stood outside the opened bathroom door and fidgeted as I slipped my robe off. “Oh fuckin’ hell,” he said, “I gotta fuck you.” He pulled his shirt over his head and pulled his pants down. “Get over here and show me your ass, wench.”

  I giggled and ran to him. He guided me to the edge of the bed, turned me around facing him, and pushed me back. I fell freely, allowing my arms to flail out to the sides of our bed.

  “Lift your legs and spread ’em.”

  He grabbed my thighs and pulled me to the edge of the bed so my hips were hanging over. The anticipation was wonderful when he grabbed my ankles and stretched my legs so far apart that I felt I would break in half. I felt him line his dick up with my vagina, but he did not enter me. He teased me until I thought I’d lose my mind.

  “Beg, Nez. Beg your lord for his sex.”

  “Oh my god, sir, please, you have to fuck me. For the love of god, please!” I moaned.

  “Hold still, bitch. Good god.” He pulled my legs wider until it hurt.

  “Please, sir,” I whined and held still for him.

  “That’s better.”

  “Oh, please,” I said.

  He rushed into me and immediately went into a frantic rhythm, not stopping or slowing, grunting with every thrust. I could feel the tension of his muscles as he pushed in as hard as he could. Sweat from his brow dripped onto my tummy, his gunmetal eyes glued to mine. After yesterday’s fisting, my insides were just tender enough to have pain with each thrust, pain turned pleasure turned orgasm. I knew everyone downstairs could hear my moans, but I did not care. This was my declaration of love for him, my cry that told the world I was for him.

  * * *

  The weather was gorgeous, warm, and sunny, but not too humid. We sat at our table near the back of the tent, with full view of the band. My sleeveless dress was sea-foam green, low cut, but more modest than usual. The hem fell just above the knee. I wore white sandals. My thick golden collar shown bright in the sunlight and my wrists, covered in so many gold bangles, jingled when I moved my hand.

  People came by to say hello and Gregory introduced me to each one. He introduced me to a young woman from his office in New Orleans and her boyfriend, whom he had never met.

  “Thank you for inviting us, Mr. Delacroix,” she said. “It’s such an honor to meet you, Miss Neige Blanche.”

  “I’m glad you all came. It’s a very special day. I hope you all enjoy yourselves,” Gregory said. “I trust the cottage you’re in is satisfactory?”

  “More than satisfactory, it’s precious,” she said, and her boyfriend, clearly intimidated, tugged her hand.

  “Please let my staff know if there’s anything you need, and relax, son,” he said, looking at the young man. “It’s a beautiful day and we’re surrounded by beautiful women. Does it get any better than this?”

  “No, sir,” he said, and the office employee blushed at the compliment.

  “Go get yourself a beer and relax. The crawfish will be ready soon. Go on, son, it’s on me and you ain’t drivin’.”

  Marie approached the table. “Miss, oh miss, you need to see it,” she said. “Mr. Delacroix, can I show Miss Nez the crawfish? They’re getting ready to dump the first batch.”

  “I’ll come too,” he said. I took his hand, Marie took my other, and she pulled us toward the crawfish tables. People were standing around waiting for the feast, but parted when they saw us coming. Just as we got to the front of the crowd, Samuel and another young man carried a large steaming stainless steel basket almost half their height toward the tall table. A trash-can sat aligned with the hole in the center. A third man blocked the hole with what looked like a shortened canoe paddle and Samuel and his partner lifted the basket. Out poured hundreds of bright red crawfish along with pieces of sausage, brilliant yellow corncobs, lemon halves, garlic, small red potatoes, and mushrooms in a plume of peppery steam. Once the steam cleared, Thomas brought rolls of paper towels and set them on pegs around the edge of the table.

  “Oh my god, that’s so pretty,” I said. “The colors are amazing.”

  “They’re pretty tasty, too, but you gotta stand around the table and peel them. I’ll have some peeled for us and brought to our table for you to try, but let’s stick around so you can see how it’s done,” Gregory said.

  Crowds of people went to the table and began picking up individual crawfish and peeling them, sucking out the juice, and discarding the exoskeletons into the hole in the center of the table before popping the meat into their mouths. Marie jumped in and made quick work of it, but she was choosey as to which ones she ate.

  She handed me one, and Gregory took it and showed me how to peel it. He went slowly to show the technique. “Ya hold it like this,” he said, and placed the crawfish feet down in his right hand, with his thumb and index finger on either side near the head. “Then place your left fingers like so.” He placed his left thumb and index finger alongside the curled tail. “See?”

  “Yes, sir,” I said and he glanced at me. “Yes, I see,” I corrected myself.

  “Good, and so now all ya do is turn your right wrist, not really your hand, but more your wrist a little, and snap and pull. Voilà, my cher. You have peeled your crawfish.”

  “That’s not too hard,” I said.

  “It takes some practice. You’ll notice some folks sucking the juice from the head,” he said, nodding at Marie who was happily sucking before chucking the head into the hole.

  “I don’t know about that.”

  “Well, some folks do and some don’t.” He sucked the juice from the head of our crawfish. “It’s just basically spicy water with probably a little brain. It tastes good,” he said, leaning in to toss the head into the hole. “Here, try the tail. It’
s good.” He placed the crawfish in my mouth. The spicy meat was tender, firm, and very tasty.

  “Oh, wow, that’s good. A little spicy, but very good.”

  “Yeah, they come from the marsh. They live in shallow, muddy, brackish water. I’ll have to ask Thomas where these came from, but I’d bet they come from right out there.” He pointed to the bayou and then grabbed a paper towel and wiped his hands. “You’re lucky I hadn’t been peeling crawfish yesterday when I gave you that hand job,” he whispered, and took me by the arm to escort me away from the tables. “You’d be having a real fire down below,” he giggled. “Come on, let me show you what they look like before they’re boiled.”

  We walked toward the service entrance of the house, where large white coolers were lined up with hoses running water into them. Live crawfish writhed all over one another. “Oh dear,” I said and he laughed.

  “It’s a local tradition this time of year, all through the river region from the lowlands of coastal east Texas to Flora-Bama. You’ll get used to it.”

  He looked around for Thomas, who could not be found. He grabbed the nearest staff member, a young white woman, and asked her to have someone peel three pounds of them and bring them to us at our table. “Don’t forget all the fixins, cher,” he said to her and then turned to me. “We’re not dressed to peel crawfish. Besides, you need to be fresh for my announcement later.”

  I looked at him questioningly and he quickly changed the subject. “Let’s go get a beer to go with our crawfish before the band starts playing.”

  We mingled through the crowd that seemed to be growing by the minute. I met so many people. I was sure I would never remember any of their names. Mr. and Mrs. Ladnier were standing near the stage, but they were ensconced in conversation with another couple and a single man.

  “I’m so glad Ella came,” Gregory said.

  “Isn’t it uncomfortable for her with Girl here?” I asked. “I wonder where she is. I haven’t seen her all day.” Maybe Girl was the uncomfortable one.

  “I’m sure she’s around somewhere,” he said. “Ella knows about Girl and there’s no discomfort. Ella’s in the know about everything; she is Mr. Ladnier’s wife and the mother of his children. To him, she is everything and the others are toys, hobbies, if you will.”

  “I see,” I said.

  “I hope so, baby girl, because one thing for certain is the mother of my children will be the goddess incarnate in my eyes. She’ll be my everything. What other reason is there to live?” he asked as we approached a group of people near the corner of the tent.

  “Robert,” Gregory said, “welcome to Twisted Oak. I’m pleased to see you.”

  The handsome, well-built, middle-aged man smiled and held his hand out to shake. Gregory took it with gusto.

  “Please let me introduce you to Neige Blanche. Neige, this is Robert Sinclair, my associate from Central America.”

  “How do you do?” I said and held my hand out.

  “Quite well, mademoiselle,” he said, taking my hand and kissing the back of it. “This is my wife, Elena.”

  A Spanish beauty, ten or fifteen years younger than Robert, Elena had hair that reminded me of Marie’s, though Elena’s was almost black.

  “It’s my pleasure, ma’am,” Gregory said, and kissed the back of her hand. “Neige and I are honored by your presence.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Delacroix,” she said in perfect Spanish-accented English. “Your home is lovely. Neige Blanche, you are a lucky woman,” she said with a smile.

  “Indeed I am, Elena. Thank you,” I said.

  “Greg,” Robert said, “I know how inappropriate it is to speak about business on such an occasion, but I want to let you know the papers came to my office yesterday, so the ships sail Monday, signed, sealed, and delivering. Your decision to change insurance programs was insightful.”

  “Thanks, I’m glad to hear it, but no more business today,” Greg said.

  “Quite right,” Robert agreed. “You’ll have music?” he asked, pointing to the stage.

  “Yep, in a few minutes they’ll begin. Local, homegrown music, a little zydeco and blues with some rock and roll mixed in. I think you’ll all enjoy it.”

  “Neige Blanche, your dress is delightful and that color on you is very attractive. It brings out your green eyes. You should wear it all the time,” Elena said.

  “Thank you, Gregory-Michel chose this one for me today,” I said.

  “You’ve got very good taste,” she said to Gregory, “and the necklace is so unusual. I’ve never see anything like it.” She leaned in to have a closer look.

  “Again, I give Gregory the credit,” I said.

  “It’s an old family piece, been in the family for centuries,” Gregory said.

  “I see,” she said. “Yes, it seems very old, but that is the charm of it, no?”

  “Yes,” Gregory said, “in so many ways. The things we have in our lives should have meaning, don’t you agree?”

  “Very well said, Greg,” Robert said.

  “Neige Blanche, you must carry a lot of meaning for Gregory if you wear such a treasured heirloom,” Elena added.

  “Very much, my dear,” Gregory agreed.

  People were starting to find seats at tables with big plastic trays filled with crawfish, corn, potatoes, and sausage. The smell of fiery spice filled the tent.

  “Jon McAllister and his wife should be here,” Gregory said.

  “Margaret is her name, I believe,” Elena said. “We saw them at a convention in London last year. She’s lovely. Robert, darling, let’s try to sit with them.”

  “My darling,” Gregory said to me, “Jon is our man in London who’s been instrumental in negotiating with the blasted insurance companies. He’s also head of operations in our European sector. A true Englishman, if I do say so myself. Elena, they’re a lot of fun, those two, aren’t they?”

  “They are quite charming, especially after he gets into his scotch,” she laughed. “Neige, you’ll enjoy them. He is the consummate British colonel and she just takes it in stride with her . . . how do the Brits say it?”

  “Stiff upper lip, my dear,” Gregory said, “but Neige, she is hardly stiff. They’re just a lot of fun and that man works his ass off.”

  “Elena, I want you to meet Matthew Williams, Greg’s man here in New Orleans,” Robert said, taking her hand, “if you’ll excuse us.” He clicked his heels together and bowed his head.

  “Of course, my friends,” Gregory said, “we’ll talk soon.”

  “Gregory-Michel, you’ve got people all over the place, don’t you?” I asked him.

  “Yeah, we’re global,” he said, taking me behind the bar to get a beer. “But today isn’t about business.”

  Young black men were behind the bar serving beverages and did not notice us taking big plastic glasses and filling them with beer from an open tap. People waiting in line waved to Gregory and he waved back, telling them to all please have a good time. I saw Charlotte Portiere standing in line with Eric, and Ms. Banning was there from New Orleans talking to Ms. Lang. Everyone was dressed casually and looked relaxed and happy. I wondered if Eric was back at Crest Hill with Ms. Portiere. He was terribly handsome.

  “Boo!” Sunny said as he came up behind us with that sunlight smile. He looked fresh and relaxed. “I see ya sneaking beers,” he laughed.

  “I hope the sucker hosting this party doesn’t notice,” Gregory laughed. “Fuck, you look good,” he said to Sunny, clearly working hard not to kiss him.

  “Thanks, you all don’t look too bad yourselves. Ty’s around here somewhere, but I lost him. I guess he’ll be okay.”

  “I haven’t seen Girl all day,” I said.

  “Oh, I have. She’s been in the kitchen. She can’t help herself. She loves to cook and play around in there with the staff. But I gotta help the band get set up and p
lug in. I’m gonna play a couple songs in the first set.” Sunny took off behind the bar toward the stage.

  It took us over a half hour to make it back to our table, with Gregory introducing me to about fifty more employees and their wives, husbands, boyfriends, and girlfriends. By the time we sat down, our beers were empty, but within minutes, Thomas was there with new ones in heavy glass mugs with our names engraved on them. “Samuel will bring your crawfish momentarily, sir. Is there anything else?”

  “Not at the moment, thanks,” Gregory said, and Thomas took the plastic glasses. Before he could leave, Gregory said, “Thomas, I really mean it. Thank you, brother, for everything.”

  “It’s my pleasure, sir,” he said with a smile and glanced my way before leaving.

  “He’s such a good guy,” I said.

  “Ya know, aside from my dad and Jack, he’s been like a dad to me. He’s been around my whole life. I can’t imagine this place without him.” He looked in Thomas’s direction. “I can’t imagine my life without that man.”

  Marie and Ty sat at our table together, talking about how good the crawfish were.

  “But if you squeeze ’em too tight, the shell doesn’t come off right,” Ty said.

  “I know, but you have to hold them tight enough to peel. I think you dropped them on purpose so I would peel them for you,” Marie teased.

  “Marie-Louise,” Gregory said in mock surprise, “you were peeling crawfish for a black man and not the other way around?”

  Ty laughed. “She sure did, over a pound of ’em.”

  “Miracles never cease,” Gregory said as Mr. LeGeneret approached our table. His lithe body glided over the ground.

  “Such an indulgent day, mademoiselle,” he said to me.

  “Like nothing I’ve ever dreamed of, Mr. LeGeneret. I’m happy you’re here.”

  “How are you, Leo?” Gregory asked him and shook his hand.

  “Very well, Gregory-Michel,” he said, leaning closer to me. “Happy birthday, my girl.” He held his long hand out for mine and kissed the back of my hand. “What a delicious addition.”