Fifty Shades of Jungle Fever

by L. V. Lewis

  I almost frown. What? Does he think I’m an imbecile? I know the words like I know my own name now. I chose them. His face hardens and his eyes flicker to the deck of index cards on the nightstand that contain the punishments I’ll have to endure if I don’t obey, or do everything to his satisfaction. I have seen these cards, and the punishments range from withholding orgasms, to clamping of various body parts for varying lengths of time, to the scarier punishments of whipping, flogging, and caning.

  “Jungle and Fever,” I say with all deliberate speed, hoping to avoid punishment. I’m to say “Jungle” when things get uncomfortable, and “Fever” when it’s unbearable, and I need him to stop immediately. I’ve been fortunate and haven’t received any hard punishments, yet. But then again, our interactions in his role-play room have been mild, according to Jada.

  “Never forget them,” he admonishes me, then levels me with an icy glare of expectation.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Good.”

  “This bustier does things to me,” he murmurs, and he runs his hands from my waist, up my torso until he cups both my breasts. “I think we’ll leave it on.”

  He slips my thong down my thighs to my legs, then lets it drop to my feet. I wait until he gives me further instruction, remembering that Jada told me never to anticipate what a Dom wants you to do. Let him make the command.

  “Step out,” he says.

  “Yes, Master.” I use the term freely now, because I know he loves it more than the generic “Sir,” and maybe it’ll get me some brownie points.

  My eyes are trained straight ahead, but in their periphery, I can see his erection tenting the front of his smoking jacket, and I feel a throb building in me that needs assuaging pronto. I know I can’t rush him, because he’s the master of sensory deprivation and the slow burn. His favorite phrase is, “All in due time, Ms. Beale.” If I had a quarter for every time he’s said that in here. . .

  “I’m going to tie your hands to the headboard, then outfit you with a ball hood. While wearing it, I’m going to subject you to a bit of sensation play. You won’t be able to see or hear what’s going on, but by all that’s holy, you will feel it. Then I’m going to fuck you so hard, you’re going to feel it all night while we’re at the KSR Party.”

  Did he read my mind? Speaking of sensory deprivation. He’s blinded me in various ways but never covered my ears, before today. I squeeze my thighs together, and he notices even that.

  “Be still,” he orders. Then kisses me languidly. He nips me gently with his lips as his mouth traverses to my neck. I suppress the moans I want to expel.

  “You may make sounds,” he says. “I love the noises you make as I give you pleasure.”

  “Oh—Ah,” I say with relief. My Fairy Hoochie Mama does a spot-on impression of Meg Ryan’s orgasm scene in “When Harry Met Sally.” I shut her down, and concentrate on how Tristan’s tongue has unleashed its full power of seduction on my ass, saturating my neck on one side.

  I stumble, and he holds me closer. “You may touch me,” he says, and I’m so relieved, I clutch him for balance and press myself as close to him as I can get. “Take off my clothes.”

  When he stands naked in front of me, he kisses me again, and just when I get into it, he releases me. I am bereft.

  “Now go lie on the bed. Face up.” When I hesitate out of confusion, he gives me a warning smack on my behind, and I run for the big, black bed.

  I climb onto the firm mattress and lie down. He follows and straddles me, careful to keep most of his weight on his arms and knees. I lie there looking up at him with eager longing. The cool, satin sheet is the only respite I have from his feverish hot skin. If can feel his arousal rubbing against my belly, but he is all business.

  “Hands up,” he orders. I do as I’m told.

  He uses white cotton rope to tie my hands to the bed this time, not the ribbon he used before, or the leather cuffs.

  Next, he shows me the ball hood. I’m sure it’s a becoming accessory in his mind but, in mine, I know for sure it’ll make my hair look like a matted mess. We are so going to be late for the party, because I’m not going anywhere with jacked up hair.

  “Being unable to hear creates a profound psychological state of disconnect from me, but you will feel me. It will make the experience even more intense than blindfolding alone. Ready?”

  “Yes, Master.”

  He pulls it over my head and snaps everything into place. I know I must look like Leatherface from the fucking Texas Chainsaw Massacre, or some shit. I have no frame of reference, but I don’t care at the moment, because soon, and very soon, I’m going to feel his glorious cock inside me again.

  Oh my god! I’ve become nymphomaniacal in my lust for this man.

  I can still hear muffled sound, but he leaves me on the bed. Next, I hear soft hints of classical music playing in the background.

  My erratic heartbeat and shallow breathing, mixed with the soothing classical music are all I can hear. He slides me on the bed and attaches soft cuffs to my ankles, anchoring me in place. It feels like soft leather, but I can’t be sure. I’m alone on the bed for a time, then I feel it dipping again, and he’s there, hovering over me. He pinches my nipples through the fabric of the bustier, and I squirm, then he puts his mouth on them, using his tongue to tease me until the fabric is moist, then shifts on the bed. The air in the room makes the moist place on my nipples cold.

  Next I feel something soft being dragged across them, creating an invigorating, featherlight sensation that is astounding. He drags whatever it is up across my chest, surrounding each breast, then up against my neck. It’s a soft bristled brush, I think. While doing that with one hand, the other is still pulling at my nipples, one at a time, teasing them, so they’re in a constant state of beading.

  Tristan abandons the brush, and I feel his hands replace the brush, blazing a circuitous route all over my body. He’s careful to keep his touch feather light. When he finishes that, I’m panting and squirming on the bed, but the rope and the cuffs hold firm. I can only move inches one way or another. I feel something cold burn one of my nipples. Ice!

  “Argghh!” I cry out at the unexpected sensation.

  Then he places it onto the other one, and I can feel myself jerk up off the bed. “Oh, god!”

  I can feel the rumble of his laughter against my chest, as his mouth comes down where the coldness was seconds ago. The bed moves as he climbs over me and begins to tease me with his lips. His caresses through the satin fabric feels so erotic. His tongue makes repeated swirling motions around one, then the other. At the same time, he inserts two skillful fingers into me and begins to massage. I groan upon contact, and just when I feel like I can’t take any more of the sensations he’s wrought in me, he retreats.

  “Come back,” I beg.

  His sudden grip is abrupt, and I take it as a warning, and don’t speak again. He releases my ankles from the cuffs. The next thing I feel is his tongue as it invades my mouth, then his cock slips into me, and fills me so completely, it’s as if I can feel him in my mouth. His movement is slow and methodical at first, then he picks up speed until it feels like he’s slamming into me like a locomotive. Oh Shit! In no time flat, I’m feeling that tightening deep inside that signals I’m about to come.

  In a greedy move, I try to help it along, but he stops. I don’t. I’m like a crazy woman bucking below him. I feel another rumble from his chest. The bastard is laughing at me, again.

  I’ll show him. I stop moving, too. He’s still inside me to the hilt, but I don’t move, or say anything. What can I do? My hands are still tied, and if I say something stupid, he’ll punish me. I’m blindfolded and can’t hear, so he can’t give me any instructions.

  After what could only have been a few seconds, but felt like an eternity, he begins to move again, and I reciprocate. My legs wind around his ass keeping him in place as he pounds away. If I could hear, I would probably have heard myself grunt with every thrust because it’s so incredible
. At least that’s what I think I’m doing. My muscles begin to quiver, and I know I’m close again. Tristan thrusts hard, pulling my orgasm to the surface. This climax tops every one he’s given me in intensity. I’m so lost in my own orgasmic haze, I can’t even tell when he finds his release.

  The next thing I know, he pulls out of me, frees my hands, and removes the ball hood. I am bombarded by visual and audible stimuli. The classical music becomes immediately louder, and I see Tristan staring down at me with his intense blue gaze.

  “How was that?”

  “Well, it’s the first time I’ve been fucked blindfolded and damn near deaf. I have nothing to compare it to. But if you want a superlative, I’d have to say, ‘mind-blowing.”

  He smiles. “You have quite a way with words, but I’d have to agree whole-heartedly with your assessment.”

  I glance over at the side table and see the two items he apparently used on me. I see what looks like a make-up brush, just bigger, and a butter knife.

  “That wasn’t ice?”

  “Just the flat edge of a frozen butter knife,” he says. “Funny what our brain registers when we’re deprived of a couple of pesky senses, huh?”

  #

  As the official hosts and hostesses of the party, Tristan, Jada, Nate and I make our rounds and greet all the guests. Slipping business in when we can. We’ve invited all the famous musicians who call Chicago home, and who aren’t touring this summer. In the second hour, we split up, so we can cover more ground before the live entertainment begins. I make a pitstop at the bar to get a drink, because I’m parched from talking non-stop since we arrived.

  It’s been almost a month since I hit Princess Danai, but I can still see a faint darkness around her eye. She’s a fair-skinned girl, so I’m sure she’s hiding her shiner with concealer and make-up. I managed to avoid her the first hour of the party. Finally, we’ve come face to face at the bar.

  “Well, if it isn’t Keisha Beale, the little woman who knocked my ass out,” she says.

  “Darnelle, I’m sooo sorry,” I say. “Tristan’s security team found evidence after the fact that it wasn’t you who drugged me. I’m sorry I even believed Blake’s lying ass.”

  She sidled up next to me at the bar. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been clocked by a girl as pretty as you. I was ten and still lived in the hood. You feel me?”

  “Yes, I do. I promise. There’s no way I would’ve done that to you under normal circumstances. I was drugged, and all I had to go on was a quick lie from an ex who planned to do me dirty.”

  “Tristan told me the score,” she says. “Girl, I was about to send my legal team after your ass.”

  “I know. Thank you for giving me a pass, sistah.”

  “Well, Tristan took care of that in spades. So no worries.”

  I feel sick. Tristan has shelled out a boatload of cash on me that I can never repay. Fuck!

  “What’s wrong?” Darnelle’s brow furrows.

  “Oh, nothing.” I smile. “I just need to say hello to a few more guests. Excuse me.”

  I make a beeline for Tristan. He and Nate are holding court with a couple other guys. In my Jimmy Choos, I’m only about a head shorter than he is, so I duck under his arm. When he looks down, I buss him square on the mouth. One of the men whistles low through his teeth and the other makes catcalls. Tristan’s just grinning like an idiot when we come up for air.

  “What was that for?” Tristan asks.

  “Saving my ass so many times I can’t count them.”

  He nuzzles my ear and whispers “I love your ass, remember?”

  “Get a fucking room,” Nate says good-humoredly.

  I pull Tristan to me for one last kiss by the Kente tie I got him for the occasion, and he takes my breath away. “Later,” he says, his eyes shining with a carnal lust I know will be a force to be reckoned with when we return to his condo in the wee hours of the morning.

  A few more of the acts we’ve selected to audition for music deals with KSR perform between nine and eleven. One band in particular has a guy whose voice is so smooth, everybody pairs up to slow dance. I’m moving through the crowd, trying to find Tristan myself, which shouldn’t be hard, because he and Nate are two of the tallest men there. I spot Jada and Nate practically dry humping on the dance floor. She doesn’t do that with just anybody. I grin at my roommate who happens to be a Dominatrix herself, but has taken on the submissive role for Nate. She winks at me, and I continue on my quest to find Tristan.

  Finally, I see his blond head, but he’s not alone. A Barbie doll wannabe is in his arms.

  Oh hell no! My Triple-G tries to intervene with diplomacy, but my Fairy Hoochie Mama does some Matrix-style Judo warm ups in her miniature Gi. She even does the bullet-dodging thing that Neo did the first time he was confronted by the agents with guns.

  I march my jealous ass over to them and tap sister girl on the shoulder.

  “Cutting in,” I say with a brilliant smile.

  Blondie looks me up and down and says, “I don’t think Tristan slums with hood rats.”

  I see red, and my fists involuntarily form like Oprah’s did when she was surrounded by the white mob in The Color Purple. I am about to knock this chick into next week when Tristan sees that look in my eye, and pushes her behind him. He takes me into his arms.

  “Keisha. Keisha. Baby, the party is going exceedingly well. Let’s not let an ex-sub ruin your triumph here, okay.”

  I struggle to get to her, but he holds me fast. “Tristan, that bitch called me a hood rat. I’m going to give her a special piece of this hood rat.”

  “Sara, apologize to Keisha,” Dom Tristan says through clenched teeth. “She is my new sub, and you will not disrespect her.”

  The snide look on Sara’s face becomes surprise, but she does as Tristan commands her. “Please forgive me for insulting you, Keisha. I’ll step aside, so you can dance with your Dom.” She slinks off the dance floor.

  Tristan gathers me into his arms, and we begin to dance. I am impressed with his moves. He smiles and tries to cajole me into a better mood. He palms my ass, and presses me into him until I can feel his appreciation. My vajayjay reciprocates her appreciation by throbbing on cue. However, I’m still pissed off with Sara, and more interested in figuring out how long ago he was with that bitch.

  “Is she the one you dumped six months ago?”

  “No, actually Sara got married three years ago. I invited her and her spouse to the party, but she tells me they’ve separated.”

  “She’s not sniffing around hoping you’ll take her back, is she?” I don’t know why I should care. Tristan will likely tire of me as he has all the others, and we’ll eventually go our separate ways. He’s made that clear. We are supposed to have that understanding. Why am I sweating him about this?

  He smiles. “That shade of green you’re wearing is clashing with your beautiful dress, Keisha.”

  “Um, I beg to differ, Sir. I can rock green better than Ms. No-ass, Silicone-tits Sara.” I try to deflect him with humor. “As long as you and I are knocking boots, I refuse to share you with any STD-ridden skank-hos, or their mamas. Capische?”

  “And I refuse to share you with any STD-harboring jocks, or their daddies. Comprende?”

  Tristan White can even play the dozens. Who knew?

  #

  Jada and I take a bathroom break together when the party is almost over. We’re in our separate stalls taking care of business, when I hear two women at the sink talking.

  “I think I’m going to Jenny Simpson’s Botox-silicone party next weekend. Are you in?”

  I smile. White girls ought to quit, and be thankful for what the Good Lord gave them.

  “I might be in the market for some filler in my glutes.”

  “I think you’d better if you want to compete against Tristan’s new sub.”

  These bitches know Tristan!

  “Can you believe she’s black?”

  “I know, right? And she’s not even fr
om our country club set. She’s straight ghetto.”

  I finish tinkling, and I’m fumbling with my dress trying to get everything back together, so I can surprise their asses when a stall door slams open so hard, I jump, and the harpies outside squeal.

  “You cunts are talking about my best friend,” Jada says. “I’m not surprised Tristan doesn’t want either of you, because none of your shit is real. How much you pay for those tits, Blondie? And how about that ass, Ms. Brunette?”

  I hear scrambling, and when I finally get out of my Jimmy Choos and exit my stall, I see the doorknob hitting them in the cracks of their proverbial asses.

  “Damn I wish we could’ve cornered her ass in here,” I say. “That blonde bitch, Sara, had the nerve to call me a hood rat to my face.”

  Jada shakes her head and pummels her hand with her fist. She dances around like she’s floating like a butterfly and stinging like a bee. “I wish I’d known. I would’ve swollen Blondie’s ass up twice the size she wanted it to be injected to.”

  Laughing, I slip my shoes back on and dance on one leg to get them each fastened. “It’s okay,” I say. “I’m going home with Tristan. So fuck her.”

  Jada offers me an arm until I get the last shoe fastened, and we leave to meet up with our men.

  ~*~

  113

  Fifty Shades of Jungle Fever

  Chapter Nine

  Three months don’t seem long, but being the sex slave, er, submissive of Tristan White makes time fly like a mofo. This man has no concept of the term, stop and smell the roses. He is a workaholic who just happens to play as hard as he works, and his work ethic has rubbed off on Jada and me, because KSR runs like a well-oiled machine, until we hit a snag that neither Jada nor Tristan could explain. We had been moving toward the eventuality of being in the black within a year from our first two months of accounts receivable. However, when our first quarter numbers came in, the forward trajectory stalled and we began hemorrhaging profits like mad.

  I get a call from Tristan on the morning he receives the financial statements. Good thing Jada’s given me a heads-up; otherwise I would’ve been blindsided.