The gravel crunched beneath our feet. I looked over and saw a serene expression grace his exquisite face. The dark morning shadow along his jawline, his dark curls kissed with sweat, and the electric eyes that I remembered from the first time I saw him running across Jackson Square. I knew that I would do anything for him; that he was the love of my life. I would choose to come to Twisted Oak to be with him forever.
“So much has changed, sir, since I met you.”
“Yeah, I know,” he said. “Things are moving pretty quickly lately. Are you okay with it?”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
“Good girl, Nez. I finally have someone I can trust and count on, who understands me, someone I can talk to. Thank you for being here, for being you. For loving me.”
We jogged at a casual pace for another few hundred yards and doubled back away from the sun toward the chapel again. The temperature was rising and the sweat and sun on my back reawakened the reddened bands. I feared the skin was broken, but I kept up the pace.
“I’m not going to push you too much this morning, so we’ll head back in a bit, but let’s go see my dad first,” he said.
“Is it just a coincidence that you run to both your parents’ graves, sir?”
“Coincidence that comes from convenience. I like to visit their graves and it just so happens that I run most every morning. It just works out that way, I guess. And besides, where else can I run to?”
“Do you always have to run somewhere?” I asked.
He reached over and slapped my butt. “Nezzie!”
“Sir,” I said as he picked up the pace as a form of punishment, but I kept up.
“It helps me to have a plan, a reason to run,” he said. “Let me know as the day goes if you feel any residual pain from last night. It’s good for me to know your limits,” he said with no shortness of breath. “When we get back, I’ll have a look at your back and you can take some time to read Marie-Louise’s notes. They’re interesting to say the least. I’m glad you thought about having her write it down. You two will have plenty to speak about today.”
“Yes, sir.” It was becoming difficult to catch my breath.
“I hope her story doesn’t disturb you too much, but just bear in mind that I didn’t have anything to do with bringing her here. I was away at school when Jackson made that decision. I’m afraid her story might turn you off from me, this place, the way we live. I don’t want to lose you now that we’ve come so far.”
We crested the knoll and came to the graves. He stood over me as I bent to breathe. “Nez, I was a little kid when all that shit was going down with her old man, and I wasn’t here when Jackson bought her. I didn’t have anything to do with it. You know if I did, I’d own up to it. I’m accountable for my actions, or at least I try to be. I’ve been completely honest with you about my mistakes and I will not stand by and take the blame for Jackson’s.”
“I understand, sir, and I understand that you’ve been trying to make this right by her all these years. I get it.” I was still breathing hard.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Yeah, I just need a minute, my lord,” I said and stood to fully expand my lungs. “I can’t talk and run like you can.”
“You call that a run?” He took my hand and we walked the rest of the way to the gravesite. The morning dew had lifted off the grass and butterflies flitted about.
“I’m just saying that it never would’ve happened if I was here, not like it did, anyway. I may have helped Jackson save her from that tyrant, but I never would’ve allowed him to . . .” He paused. “I’d never have used her and tricked her into it like he did. He made promises that he couldn’t keep. He lied to her and never, ever would that have happened if I was here.”
“I know, sir, don’t worry. I got you.” I smiled at using his phrase and he returned the gesture.
The smile fell from his face as he turned to his father’s grave. “Dad, she’s finally here,” he whispered and a tear ran down his cheek. “Just in time for my birthday. Just like you planned.”
“My lord! Today is your birthday? I didn’t know!” I leaned against him and relished the comfort and familiarity when his arm went around me. I said a silent prayer that I could live up to everything he hoped I could be.
We arrived back in our rooms to find the bed made, the windows open, and sweet-smelling southern breezes wafting through the room.
“My lord, what smells so good?” I asked.
“When the sun warms them up, the sweet olive bushes smell like heaven,” he said as he examined my marks. I winced as he poked my back with his finger.
“You’re okay. Just like the ones in the front, they’re temporary. I think the heat and the sun aggravated them. It’s a good thing you told me so I understand how sensitive you are. Does it hurt in the front, too?” He turned me around toward the natural light of the open windows. The breeze felt cool and soothing on my hot, red skin.
“Yeah, but not as bad as my back.”
He poked a red spot under my right breast and it stung.
“Ouch, yeah, that hurts,” I said. I waited for him to apologize, but he never did. Instead, he assured me that he would remember my sensitivity for next time.
“Now you know why you have to be honest and show me your pain, so I can properly assess your limits. Don’t worry, I never forget, and I mean it when I say no permanent marks. What about your pussy?” he asked, as if he were a doctor giving a physical examination. He put his hand there and felt around the outside. I felt a jab of pain. “Lay down. Let me look,” he said as he guided me to the chaise.
“I’m glad not to be wearing anything, that’s for sure. The shorts kind of rubbed me the wrong way, but I’m fine now,” I said as I lay back and opened my legs.
“You sure are, my love,” he said as he popped his head up from between my legs. “You’re all red and swollen.” He disappeared again and his finger entered my vagina. “Wet, too. I bet if I fucked you really hard right now it would hurt like hell, and since you forgot to address me properly for the third time this morning, that’s exactly what’s gonna happen.”
He grabbed my leg, flipped me over, and pulled me down so my knees were on the floor and my torso rested on the chaise.
“Your ass is still pink from your whipping last night and your spank this morning. Does it hurt?”
“Yes, sir, a little,” I said.
“Only a little?”
“It hurts, sir.” I was not sure if I was hoping he would give me another spanking. The familiar dissonance of repulsion and desire created a strong sense of surrender. I held my position and worked hard to lift my hips and spread my legs further for him.
“Stay, Nez. Don’t you move a fucking muscle.” He left my side.
I heard him approach as he said, “I like your presentation, but my dear one, you are being punished, so you’re not allowed to climax. If you come, I’ll be very disappointed. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” I said with honest disappointment.
“Good. Give me your hands behind your back.”
I felt him pull my hands together and tie them with something rough like twine. My wrists, already rubbed red from the previous night, began to burn.
“Good girl,” he said and pulled the twine a little tighter, stabbing me with hot pain. He grabbed a handful of my hair and yanked my head back firmly so my shoulders lifted off the chaise. My neck was exposed. I had to work hard not to climax; the feeling of surrender was overwhelming. His hand brushed across my throat. I moaned and he pulled my hair harder. “Don’t you fucking come,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Yes, sir.” My insides ached. I was deathly afraid I would disappoint him.
“Control yourself, bitch. You don’t have to come every time someone ties you up and pulls your hair. Jesus, you’re a slut.”
He sla
pped my ass very hard. It stung like a billion needles. The urge to come was incredible. All I could muster was a weak, “Yes, sir.”
He slammed his manhood into me so hard that my knees lifted off the ground. The pain shot through me like a dagger and I yelped.
“For god’s sake, be quiet,” he said and spanked me again. I held my tongue, but the tears flowed.
He grabbed another handful of my hair with his left hand and my tied wrists with his right and jammed into me with a grunt that sent my eyes wide open. He pulled out again, stopping the rush that came from my center. My breath had gone ragged. I would not give in to my natural inclination to climax. I held fast.
“Good girl,” he murmured. “You’re such a good girl, Nez. You take your punishment well.”
“Thank you, my lord,” I said as my breath finally caught.
“Do you love me?” he asked.
“I do, my lord. I love you.”
He let go of my hair, took my hips in his hands, and pressed his thumbs firmly into my tensed rear. “You have no idea how much I love you, Neige, lumiere blanche. You just simply can’t understand it.”
I felt the cool sensation of lubricant fill my anus. I began to panic a little because I had never experienced anal punishment. His thumbs spread my cheeks to the point of pain as he lined himself up to my opening and plunged into me with a moan, pushing and grinding his hardness ever deeper, pushing me open, sending pinpoints of pleasure pain through my backside. He held me there until he had filled my longing with his seed.
He left me bound and dropped me on the chaise like a rag doll. I could feel his eyes examining me. I could hear his breath and envisioned his bare chest heaving, my lord standing over me trying to make sense of his feelings. He was correct; I could not possibly understand the depth of his emotion. I heard him walk away.
We showered and dressed for breakfast at a leisurely pace. Everything at Twisted Oak occurred at a natural pace. There were few clocks and even fewer obligations, only time in its purest essence, within which we cultivated our love for one another. I could easily lose myself in this time, this place, and understood how Monique came to love it.
Jackson and Marie-Louise had not made it out to the veranda for breakfast yet, so Mr. Delacroix and I sat and sipped coffee while we waited. A bowl of fruit and a vase of purple and yellow flowers sat as the centerpiece. Thomas brought the Times-Picayune and Wall Street Journal for Mr. Delacroix to read. From behind his newspaper wall, Mr. Delacroix handed me Marie-Louise’s notes. I was amazed at the small, perfect script of Marie’s hand, uniform and compact. It began:
Dear Miss Nez,
I jumped on the bed because it felt good. I do things because they feel good and then I don’t want to stop. Jackson says I am impulsive. I say I just want to feel good. I have known you would come for a long time and I’m happy you’re finally here. I am sure your master has told you some things about me and how I arrived here, but I want you to know that I hold no grudge against you or him for what happened to me. I am thankful for my time as Mistress of Twisted Oak, but like Jackson, I am not cut out to be on top. It doesn’t come to me naturally. I don’t understand it. I don’t know it and it doesn’t feel good. I know my master is unhappy and he doesn’t feel good either.
“Sir,” I said, “Marie is an excellent writer.”
“Nez, the woman isn’t dumb, she’s just different. Keep reading,” he said without lowering the paper.
I don’t know if you have had other masters that were unhappy, but my heart is breaking knowing that I cannot make Jackson happy. I know he wants to break the collar and divorce me and that’s fine. He deserves a man to make him happy. But even after all these years, he can’t let go of James. I’m saddened to think he will die alone with a broken heart, so I stay in hopes of giving him some kind of comfort. I owe him at least that much for what he has done for me. For a while, I thought that if I had a child, he would find happiness, but he will not. Then I suggested we invite a man to be here with him. I thought maybe Sunny could make him happy, but Jackson declined and got very angry with me for assuming I knew what he wanted. It was bad and he dealt a harsh punishment. I have tried everything and it just makes him more unhappy, which brings harsher punishments. Now I am at the point where I don’t even feel my beloved pain any longer. Nothing hurts and hardly anything feels good. There’s nothing I can do to salvage our agreement.
My darling Miss Nez, do I not deserve happiness as well? I deserve to feel good. I see you and your loving master and I know there must be someone out there for me, someone who loves me as he obviously loves you. I know I’m different. I’ve known my whole life that something isn’t right with me, that I’m not normal. My real father said I was only good for one thing and maybe my mother was right when she said I was dumb. Maybe I am slow or stupid because I don’t know things. I’m scared to be on my own because I have always belonged to someone, had someone to look after me. I have been at Twisted Oak my whole life, and while I do not want to belong to Jackson anymore, I don’t want to leave here. I don’t want to be alone. I am so sad, Miss Nez, and I feel like I have let everyone down, especially Mr. Delacroix who has been so kind to me. I don’t know what to do. Can you help me, please?
Your humble servant,
Marie-Louise
“Oh, Mr. Delacroix,” I said.
“I know, my lady, it’s fucking pathetic.” He put his paper down.
“Sir, it’s so sad and I can understand your disgust with Jackson.” I sipped my coffee and gave the letter back to Mr. Delacroix.
“It’s really a damned embarrassment on this house, this whole thing.” He shook his head and popped a dewberry in his mouth. “Happy birthday to me,” he said sarcastically. “Ya know, cher, Jackson’s a good man generally, but he’s the one who really pushed my dad into going way out kinky back then. I’m not saying Dad was innocent, not by a long shot—he was totally into it. But I think Jackson didn’t share the same kind of limits my dad had.” He harrumphed and continued. “In many ways, Jackson’s a lot like Marie. If it feels good, do it, and if you like it, don’t stop.”
“My lord, maybe having you helped your dad understand healthier limits and boundaries,” I offered.
“Probably. I mean, I’m not a dad yet, but I can see how having kids would settle you down. Like, for example, if you and I had kids running about this morning, I’d have quelled my impulse to give you a punishment fuck in the sitting room. I’d have had to wait until later.”
“Certainly, the contract would have to be revised and new rules set in place to protect the children. When I look at Marie-Louise, I see a child who’s seen too much too soon,” I said, wondering exactly how much Mr. Delacroix had seen when he was a child. True to form, he read my mind.
“I didn’t have a clue what Dad and Jackson were up to around here when I was a kid. I was little when my mother died, and clearly, she wasn’t into it, but she never let on to me what Dad was up to.” He paused, sipped his coffee, and grabbed a strawberry. “I had a nanny though, who I think knew what was happening. She knew at certain hours Dad and Jack were not to be disturbed, and this is when she took me out to play or sent me on errands when I got older. She would send me to the village or old man Benjamin’s to get my root beer.”
I could sense his mind scouring his past, looking for clues to an alternate reality.
“I swear I had no idea what the two of them were up to. As far as I was concerned, they were best friends and business partners and it was normal having them both around all the time; that is, when they weren’t in the city for work. I felt lucky because in many ways it was like having two dads. Jack was like an uncle to me, nothing sordid or out of the ordinary. Everyone out here had large extended families. It was so normal. The three of us had a lot of fun together.”
“Did you know about them before your dad died, my lord?”
“Kind of,” he said.
“Dad told me a couple of times that he and Jackson had a special relationship, but I was young and didn’t quite get it. After he died, I remember Jackson crying like a baby and telling Thomas that he’d never love anyone again, that he wanted to die. That I remember. He was sitting in the parlor just bawling and I remember thinking to myself that he was acting like a girl. As I got older, I put two and two together. By the time I was twelve or thirteen, I’d figured it out, and Jackson talked to me about it too. I wasn’t surprised, but he didn’t tell me about the dynamics of their relationship until I was about fourteen or so. I guess that’s how old I was when he showed me the upstairs.”
“Did he show you like you showed me, with demonstrations?” I asked, feeling uneasy and angry that he had been so young. I suddenly felt an overwhelming need to protect my lord from a demon, and the veracity of this need caught me off-guard.
He took my tender wrist in his hand and squeezed it. “Nezzie, why were you punished this morning?”
“My lord, I am sorry.”
“There aren’t any excuses for it, Nez.” He squeezed harder, causing red-hot pain.
“Yes, sir,” I said.
“That’s better,” he said and released my wrist. His fingers left white marks where the skin had gone red, and the pain sent distinct signals to my clit, making it hard for me to concentrate. “No, he didn’t demonstrate the first time.”
“But you were collared within the year, sir?”
“Yes, it moved fast with us, but it was good. As much as I knew back then, which in retrospect wasn’t much, I was in love with Jack.” He smiled and shook his head. “Look, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. Nothing happened with Jack and me before this, and I knew exactly what I was getting into. Just like you, Jackson gave me all the information, and over those few months, I came to understand the nature of his love for my dad and for me.” His eyes misted over. “But he was in love with my father’s memory, not me.”
Twisted Oak: A Sexual Odyssey Page 32