“Look,” I said, “I have three friends in the world right now—Ty, Sunny, and you. You guys have all helped me in ways I could never pay back.”
“No one is looking for paybacks. That isn’t what this kind of contract is about at all.”
“I know. Both Ty and Sunny explained that to me.”
“It’s a simple agreement between us that outlines specific details ahead of time, so we don’t get bogged down with them later on.”
“And you have your peculiarities,” I interrupted.
“Don’t interrupt, Nezzie.” Sharp eyes, sharp tongue, not a hint of Southern, he held the riding crop across his lap.
“Tell me about them.”
“I wasn’t sure you were ready. You know this morning when we . . .” he paused as if he didn’t know the right word, “. . . made love, I told you it was my first time, right? That I only fuck and that I don’t make love.”
“Yes.”
“Okay, well, I usually don’t get aroused unless I am in total control of the situation, like having my partner immobilized, or in other instances, like if my partner has me immobilized.”
“Immobilized? You mean, like, tied up?”
“Yes. Your pain pleasures me and it helps me know I am in control.”
“You want to hurt me?” A wave of fear rose in me and I moved away from him. I thought of the last time Steve beat my mother for oversleeping. “Oh god, no, I want you to want to hurt for me.”
I kept my distance. “I always kinda wondered how all that worked.”
“The thing with you, though, is our experience this morning was totally new to me, so spontaneous and explosive. I didn’t plan on fucking you at all.” He moved closer to me. “It just happened so naturally and I wasn’t in total control like I usually am.”
“Well, you seemed like you were. You were kinda rough, too.”
“If you think that’s rough, you have no idea how wonderful it can be. We’ll explore your limits together and when you reach them, we’ll go from there. Oh, Nez, it’ll be truly blissful and exciting for both of us.” He paused. “And really, baby, as with anything in life, if there’s no pain, there’s no gain. You have to like it or it isn’t pleasurable to me. Do you understand?” He took my face in his hands and his eyes were all I saw. “Do you trust me?”
“Yes, Mr. Delacroix, I’m getting there.”
He jumped up and whooped like a madman. “Come on, let’s go meet Mother and get some lunch.”
“What?” Just when I thought I was getting somewhere in figuring him out, he would throw another curveball.
“Mother’s waiting on us. She’s been waiting an awful long time, too.”
Either I was out of my mind, or I had misheard both Ty and Sunny when they told me his mother had died when he was a young boy. We meandered through Pirates Alley and Mr. Delacroix showed me the spot where he had found Sunny barely alive.
“God, Nez, I thought the kid was dead. Someone did such a number on him. He was beaten and raped, all covered in bruises and whacked out on heroin, barely breathing. See, love, that’s not the kind of pain we’re talking about here. The only pain that pleases me is the pain you want to give me. My pleasure comes from knowing that pain helps you reach your sweetest potential. It’s the kind of pain that you’ll live for, and it is the kind of pain that helps me live.”
He pulled me on and we came out on lively, loud Bourbon Street. “Here’s the real carnival. I don’t venture over here too much because it is all tourists, but when I was younger and stupid, I’d come over here and get my jollies.”
We hung a left and passed tourists of all ages milling about the drink stands, bars, and strip clubs. Periodically, Mardi Gras beads would rain down from a balcony.
“People can just walk around here drinking alcohol like it’s a Coke?”
“Yep, pretty crazy.”
We approached Bienville Street in a slightly quieter area and jogged right.
“Here it is, cher, Sunny’s Bar.”
It was small, but cute and cozy. Live blues music came from the back. The neon sign was yellow and bright, beseeching all to Visit Sunny's Bar! I wanted to go in, but Mr. Delacroix yanked my arm. “Not till five, Miss Nez.”
We came to the next road and took another left until we approached a four-lane split thoroughfare. The traffic was heavy, so we went one block to our right and crossed in the crosswalk. Modern high-rises and a mall and hotels like you see in most cities. I was disappointed; I had hoped all of New Orleans was as beautiful and tragic as the French Quarter.
We stood on the corner of Carondelet and Canal to wait for the streetcar.
“Nezzie, baby, have you ever heard of A Streetcar Named Desire?”
“Mr. Delacroix, if you don’t stop it, I will punish you!” I smiled.
“Promise?” he asked eagerly and handed me the riding crop.
“Oh, give me that thing!” I grabbed the crop, and people, mostly tourists, stared at us. I shook it at them.
Mr. Delacroix laughed so hard he could barely stand up straight. “Gotta love your sense of humor, Miss Nez. You’re just what the doctor ordered!”
* * *
The trolley came to a halt and scores of tourists got off while others got on, a ruffle of street maps and camera cases. We found a space for two near the rear of the trolley. The windows were open and the metal seat was cool under my hot bottom. Once the trolley started moving, a delightful breeze entered through the window. Mr. Delacroix allowed me to rest my head on his shoulder as we passed Lee Circle, and then a commercial district with modern fast-food outlets, churches, and drugstores. The track ran down the center of St. Charles Avenue.
“Welcome to the Garden District in Uptown New Orleans, my mother’s neighborhood,” he said. I was astonished by yet another city within the city. Gardens enveloped mansions with Spanish moss-covered oaks.
“Mr. Delacroix, this place is so lush. It’s beautiful.”
“Lush like you, my sweet.” He ran his finger up the side of my exposed neck. I watched the world go by as his hand found my right pebble. He lightly rolled it between his fingers. My groin churned.
He moved his hand from my breast. “The next stop is ours.”
We made our way at an easy pace down Washington. It was a gorgeous sunny day and the surrounding homes seemed like exhibitions from an architectural garden catalogue. We came to a city block enclosed in a tall wall that was old, gray, and stained with mildew. It seemed out of place in such a picture-perfect neighborhood.
“That’s where Mother lives,” Mr. Delacroix said, pointing beyond the old wall.
Across the street was a Victorian home turned restaurant, Commander's Palace, the house painted greenish-blue with white trim and matching striped awnings.
“I think we should meet Mother before we eat, if that is okay with you. That way, we don’t have to hurry through lunch,” he said as I looked at the restaurant. “I know you’re hungry, Nez, but it won’t take long.”
Finally, I just had to ask: “Ty and Sunny told me your mother was dead.”
“She is,” he smiled as we entered Lafayette Cemetery through an iron gate.
The cemetery was not big, but it was full of mausoleums and crypts. Nothing was underground. The tombs and crypts, angels, crosses, and fleurs-de-lis were the same gray color. Some were so tall they rose above the oak tree limbs and Spanish moss. Every so often, you would see one that had been freshly painted.
Fences surrounded most crypts; some had benches made of concrete or iron. Each was its own petite garden, some well-kept and others disheveled with large cracks where small lizards darted.
We walked on the gravel walkway between crypts. Azalea, magnolia, live oak, and other trees shaded the graveyard. It was as if Lafayette Cemetery had been there from the beginning of time.
“Here she is,” he sa
id as we approached one of the larger family crypts. “She and all the rest of her family too. They go back hundreds of years.”
He pointed out the oldest plaque. The name was barely legible, but the date was 1749.
“Mother’s family, like my father’s, has been around here forever, but the two families never really got along very well. I think Mother’s family didn’t think my father was right for her. The Delacroix family had a reputation for being a bit different,” he chuckled. “For one, we didn’t go to church ever. Never have, never will, and in a Catholic town, that can get you blackballed pretty easily. It didn’t help that we have a lot of money.”
“Do you still?” I asked.
“Have a lot of money?” He looked incredulous.
“No, I meant do you still have a reputation?”
“Depends on the part of town you’re in,” he winked. “Around this part, I’d say the reputation still sticks. We’re a fucked-up old rich family as twisted as those crepe myrtles.”
“And you like it that way?”
“We sure do,” he laughed. “How many other guys bring a girl to the graveyard to meet their mother?” His expression changed. “You know, if you were mine to have, I would take you right here. Fuck you silly right here.” He still had the riding crop and he flicked my blouse open so he could see my chest heaving atop the bustier. He tickled my cleavage with the tip of the crop. “Yep, I’d hike up that skirt of yours, slam you into the wall and fuck you from behind.” His laugh was guttural. “Goddamn, that sounds sweet.”
He closed the four-foot gap between us with one long stride. I backed up into the wall of his mother’s family crypt. My heart skipped a beat. I was appalled and turned on at the same time. I ducked under his arm and ran around the crypt. I heard the riding crop strike the wall. It was close, but he missed.
“Catch me, you son of a bitch.” I laughed at the irony of saying that in front of his mother’s grave.
“Hey, you little whore, she can hear you, ya know.”
“Find me, Mr. Delacroix. Hunt me down and I’ll be yours, but you have to hunt. Or are you scared of your helpless prey?”
“Nez, you’re about as fucked up as I am.”
“Maybe, but you’ll never know unless you catch me, old man.”
He started coming around after me. “Now you’ve done it. I’ll hunt you down, find you and devour you as an appetizer, you little bitch, but not until I whip your ass.”
If this is what the contract was all about, I was in. I had made up my mind.
His family crypt was one of the largest in the cemetery. Certainly, this indicated great wealth. I ran across the gravel walkway and hid behind an oak tree. I heard his footsteps crunch on the gravel. I could not climb the tree, so I sprinted behind another older crypt with a cracked cross and quickly ducked behind a statue of an angel. She looked down at me as if she did not approve, so I ran over to the next crypt. I was getting tired. I circled around the back where azaleas and ligustrum bushes gave cover, and found him waiting with crop in hand.
His stance was wide and his glare reproachful. “I will punish you now.” He slapped the riding crop in his hand.
“Hey, I haven’t signed yet,” I said, backing up.
“Do not interrupt.” He came at me and spun me about as if we were dancing, and in one motion lifted my skirt and smacked my right cheek with the crop.
“Damn,” I said. He still had me in his grip. His fingers pulled my thong aside and he shoved them into my vagina so hard, he almost lifted me off the ground. I melted in ecstasy and very nearly swooned. He pulled his fingers out and spanked me with an upward motion that electrified my crotch.
“Against the wall, hands above your head. I would grab your hair, but we have a lunch date and you need to look presentable. Do it now, Nez.” His tone of voice was a low growl.
Silently, I followed his command and turned to face the wall, hands above my head as if being arrested. He grabbed the condom out of his pocket.
“Don’t move. Don’t you move a fucking muscle.”
I could hear him unzip and in an instant he was at me from behind, plunging into me growling, “I’ve hunted your cunt and now it’s mine. I take it as I am entitled and you give as commanded, bitch. Spread your legs.”
I spread them wider and he lifted me off the ground with each thrust. I let out a yelp.
“Silence, whore,” and without a sound, he fucked me hard. When it was over, I fell into his arms in blissful release. He held my full weight and gently rocked me. “You certainly are an insistent little bitch, aren’t you?”
“Does it please you?” I asked.
He gave a long sigh and said, “I think you get how this works.”
* * *
Commander’s Palace was a charming Victorian structure. The foyer was dark wood paneled with French toile cloth wallpaper depicting rural scenes. Someone had embroidered bright colors onto some of the people in the print. It was odd and enchanting. A young woman dressed in black slacks and a white shirt greeted us.
“Mr. Delacroix, it is so nice to see you again.” She handed him a dark suit jacket.
“Thank you, Ana. This is my friend Nez.”
“Hello,” I said and she smiled back.
“We have your table all set with the regular accoutrements.”
“Lead the way, cher,” he said as he put the jacket on.
She took some menus and a wine list and led us through the crowded main dining room. The big bay window facing Lafayette Cemetery housed a bass player, trumpet player, and singer playing Dixieland jazz. A carpeted flight of stairs in the back brought us to the second-floor dining room, nearly identical to the one below, though this one was nearly empty. The bay window on this floor was like a private dining area, and featured its own table. It was set for two with a wine cooler that held a bottle of champagne. You could see the entire graveyard.
“Can I get you anything, Mr. Delacroix?” Ana asked as she sat us, placed our napkins on our laps, and opened the champagne.
“I’ve got everything I need, thank you.”
“Enjoy, Mr. Delacroix.”
“I sure will,” he said and turned to me. “Nez, the restroom is over there to your right.”
“I don’t have to go.”
“Yes, you do.” He stood, expecting me to leave the table at his command. The sound of the music playing below us echoed through the old ductwork.
The reminder of this morning’s happenings made my private area twitch again. I got up and went to the bathroom. I pulled my panties down and sat on the toilet. The pretty lace panties were now a mess of fluid, and smelled musky. The toilet paper did a decent job of drying my tender spots. The pain I felt there made me want more sex. I put myself back together as best I could and joined Mr. Delacroix.
“You are radiant.” He stood as I approached the table and helped me with my chair.
“Thank you,” I said and patted his hand.
“I took the liberty of ordering us a dozen raw oysters.” He sat and poured the champagne.
“I don’t think I like them,” I said.
“Have you had them?”
I admitted I had not.
“Then how do you know you don’t like them? Besides, you’ll eat at least one because it’s a test. If you really don’t like it, you don’t have to eat any more.”
“A test? Surely, I’ve passed a test or two already today.”
“You sure have,” he laughed, “but this one is much easier.”
“Your wish is my command,” I smiled.
“Did you mean it when you said if I caught you, you’d be mine? That you would sign the contract? I just want to make sure I understand. I tend to take things very literally.”
I could tell he was at his last nerve. His gaze was intense but he was trying to look calm. His hand rested on the tab
le, caressing the riding crop.
“Yes, my lord, I’ll sign on.”
He exhaled in relief and kissed my hand. “Aw, Nez, you’re a dream come true.”
“It does feel like a dream and I trust you to maintain it.” My voice was surprisingly sharp.
His eyes widened and he whispered, “You’d be a delicious dominatrix. Will we ever have fun with this.” A dreamy look came across his brilliant eyes.
“It appears that you have my destiny in your hands. Please be kind.”
“Aw, cher, you give so completely.” Tears flowed down his cheeks. “Your psychic surrender is poetic. Your physical surrender will bring wholeness to your life. You have my word that you’ll experience ecstasy few others will ever know.” He groaned. “And I love it when you beg.”
“I love to beg you,” I whispered.
The large tray of oysters appeared in the center of our table. I was not sure where to begin with them, so I let him take the lead.
He lifted an oyster with a small fork. “Here, I’m giving one to you plain. This is the test, so pay attention. Open up.” He put the oyster in my mouth. “Don’t chew, just swallow.”
The taste was not too bad, though overwhelmingly salty, but the texture made me gag.
“Ugh, Mr. Delacroix,” I said as I sipped my champagne, “that was terrible.”
He shook his head. “Baby, you failed the test.”
“Oh no, I’ll try again,” I said in earnest. I liked the challenge.
“Na-na, it’s not good to train your gag reflex with oysters,” he laughed. “Believe me, I know. Besides, it’s an awful waste of good oysters.”
“How do you train for it? How do you train for any of this?”
“Very carefully, my newly plucked flower. When we get home I can show you some of the training aids and apparatus. That way, you won’t be as surprised as we move forward.”
I sipped my champagne as he smeared red sauce, horseradish, and lemon juice on his oyster and popped it in his sexy mouth. He seemed to relish every one.
Puzzled, but intrigued, I moved on, knowing greater understanding would come in time.
Twisted Oak: A Sexual Odyssey Page 7