Twisted Oak: A Sexual Odyssey (29 page)

He climbed the ladder and pulled a large leather album from the top shelf. He blew the dust off the edges, creating a cloud that fell and faded in the dim light.

He handed me the album. “These are the only images of Monique we know of. You’ll understand why they’re kept in albums when you see them.”

I set my drink on the coffee table and opened the album. The pages were brittle and yellowed. The first portrait, a detailed pen-and-ink drawing, showed Monique’s young face close up in a somber mood, looking straight at the artist. Her features were handsome, almost chiseled. I could see the Native American heritage quite clearly, and her eyes were large and round. She had a voluptuous mouth—Mr. Delacroix’s mouth. Her dark hair was long and faded out along the edge of the drawn image.

The next page showed her with more expression, her hair pinned up in the style of the day. She seemed to be looking askance with a wistful expression, and unlike the previous image, she wore a collar around her neck.

The following page showed her full body in the nude as she sat in the master suite brushing her hair. It flowed down to the middle of her back. In the next one I recognized the French doors and the arrangement of the bed and armoire as it remained in the master suite. She was lying on a chaise with her arms above her head, her collar around her neck, and her legs long and relaxed, crossed at the ankles.

“She’s beautiful, sir. These drawings are gorgeous, very detailed. Are they all nude? Do you know who drew them?”

“Yes, she’s naked in all of them. No one’s sure who drew them, but we think it was a young Creole domestic. Have you read about him in her journals yet?”

“Only the entry where she first meets him. I don’t even know his name yet.”

“Address me properly, wench.”

“Sir, my lord, I’m sorry. I got distracted.”

“I’ll let it slide this time because you’re so well turned out for dinner, but I can always send you upstairs to join Marie-Louise if this keeps up.”

“Yes, sir.” The last thing I wanted was punishment given he felt I had questioned his authority earlier.

As I turned the pages, Monique’s allure evolved, a touch of silk here and there and what looked to be jeweled collars; but most noticeably, her poses became illicit. One particularly provocative pose had her sitting on the floor in front of the chair in her sitting room on a large pillow, her head leaned back over the seat of the chair and her legs spread wide open. All the drawings were of her alone and some even showed her pleasuring herself. Whoever drew them was very familiar with her body.

Jackson entered the room with a dramatic flair. He wore a dark blue silk brocade jacket over a white shirt with a red ascot. His pants were black and his shoes impeccable.

Mr. Delacroix laughed. “My god, Jack, you look fantastic. Now all you need to do is light up a joint like you and Dad did in the old days. You guys were great. Getting high before dinner and then enjoying the hell out of the food.”

“That was your dad’s idea, sir. I’d have none of it if it weren’t for him.” Jackson smiled, indicating it was the opposite.

“Jack, you’re a pothead from the word go, not to mention all the acid you guys did. Your outfit sure brings back memories.”

“Those were crazy days, sir, but it’s crazy today, too, with all the cocaine out there. You guys ever do it? I can get you some if you want.”

My heart jumped at the idea. I had not thought of cocaine in weeks and now it was practically staring me in the face. I was surprised at how easily I plunged into a severe craving simply at the mention of it.

“As a matter of fact,” Mr. Delacroix said, “Nezzie here is a cocaine addict.”

Mr. Delacroix seemed to think he should tell Jackson every painful detail of my ordeal, even the withdrawal. I almost felt as if he took pleasure in my weakness.

“Heroin, too,” he said. “So, my dear Jackson, once we come home, there’s a new rule: no more drugs at Twisted Oak. That goes for grass, too, unless I give permission.”

“Damn, Miss Nez,” Jackson said.

“Jackson, I mean it,” said Mr. Delacroix.

“Yes, sir, and miss, I’m sorry about your problem. You got lucky to land here, that I can assure you.”

The dining room table was set lavishly with formal china and silver. Now I understood the need to dress for dinner; I was sure if you were not dressed properly, the dining room doors would lock you out of its splendor. The large floral bouquet centerpiece had been moved to a corner table, replaced with tall tapered candles that burned steady until the breeze from the open French doors made them flicker. Thomas and a younger man stood at the sideboard waiting to serve. They wore white jackets over black pants and white shirts. Each of them had a towel over their left arm. The whole thing seemed like such a put-on, like a movie set or a parody of some past time.

“Penny for your thoughts, Nezzie baby,” Mr. Delacroix said.

I admitted I had never seen or experienced anything like it.

“Get used to it, because this is the real deal,” he said with a smile as he took a portion of oyster dressing from the tray that Thomas held. He came to my side and held the tray for me. “You’ll like it, but it’s fattening, so only take a little,” Mr. Delacroix said.

“Yes, sir,” I said as Thomas leaned lower to make it easier for me to select a serving.

“Something’s missing,” Jackson said.

“Yeah, Jack, Marie-Louise.” Mr. Delacroix laughed as he took a serving of turducken from the platter that the younger man held.

“No, sir, something else,” Jackson said. He turned to Thomas. “We need some music, Thomas. Classical. Bach, please, and keep it low so we can still enjoy conversation.”

“Yes, sir.” Thomas set his tray down and left the room. Soon, violins, cellos, and wind instruments filled the air in breezy accompaniment to our dinner.

“Marie-Louise is still working on Liszt?” Mr. Delacroix asked.

“Most diligently, sir. I was hoping she could play for us tonight, but there’s always tomorrow. She’s really come a long way with it,” Jackson said with pride. “She’s very dedicated.”

“I’m glad to hear it. I know it’s her passion to play. I remember when we were kids all she’d have to do is hear a song once and she could play it on the piano, even when she was small. You or Dad had a special bench built for her, and installed levers on the pedals so she could reach.”

“That was all your dad’s doing. He knew talent when he saw it. His whole approach was to get us all to tap into our talents. He was good, Miss Nez. James was the best man you could ever know.”

“I have no doubt,” I said, “and handsome, too.”

“God, yes, miss. He was a looker. Your Mr. Delacroix certainly favors him,” Jackson said with a smile.

The conversation was light, congenial, and oddly normal. After the main course, Jackson went to check on Marie-Louise, so Mr. Delacroix and I had a few moments together at the table.

“So, what do you think?” he asked.

“My lord, I love it. Is this the way it is every night or is tonight a special occasion?”

“Every night is a special occasion when you’re here, my lady. Thomas takes a day off here and there, but even when he’s gone, young Samuel takes the reins.”

The younger man smiled and bowed his head slightly.

“It’s all so unbelievable, sir. I never knew people lived like this. Back home we were lucky to sit at a table to eat, let alone with others. We hardly even used utensils. You will have to forgive me for not knowing what to do with all of them.”

“Here, look, it’s easy. Tom, make a new place setting over there for Miss Nez.” Thomas obliged.

“Come, Nez, sit.” Mr. Delacroix pulled the chair out for me. I sat and he stood behind me. “The golden rule is to eat to the left and drink to the right, so the small plate on your left is your side plate for bread or rolls or any other type of accompaniment that you wouldn’t normally put on your plate. The large goblet is for water, the smaller wine glass is for white wine, and the larger, more round wine glass is for red. Tonight we had white, so we’re drinking from this smaller chardonnay glass. If you’d preferred a red, which you can always request, Thomas would have filled the proper glass and served you thus. Always drink with your right hand and place the glass up here to the right.”

“Yes, sir, so far I have it,” I said.

“And the silver is simple. Just eat from the outside in. There’s a different fork for each course, so when the salad comes, you use this smaller fork on the outside and always use your knife here to help you guide the food onto your fork.”

He picked up the fork in his left hand and the knife in his right and pretended to prepare a bite of salad. “When you’re through with your salad, take your knife and place it on the side plate like so and put the fork at the five o’clock position on the salad plate. This indicates to the server that you’re finished and he’ll come and take it away. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” I said as he stepped back so Thomas could clear the plate.

“When Jack gets back, Thomas will bring dessert and serve coffee and a cognac or other after-dinner drink. Thomas, before Miss Nez and I go back to the city, we should do a five-course meal so she can get more practice. What’s for dessert?”

“Strawberry shortcake, sir.”

“We gotta eat up the last of them, don’t we. I trust Janey’s made a good lot of preserves for the rest of the year?”

“Oh yes, sir, we’re well stocked,” Thomas said.

“Where the hell is Jackson? Nezzie, you’re gonna love this strawberry shortcake. It’s made from scratch and it’s served with real Scottish butter shortbread, not that fluffy white sponge cake. It’s to die for. I wish Jackson would hurry up.”

“Are you having a hard time delaying your gratification, my lord?” I asked in a teasing manner.

“As a matter of fact, I am, and if you aren’t careful, you’ll be under this table sucking me off before you know it.”

I glanced at Thomas and he stood stoically, looking straight ahead as if not hearing a word.

Jackson saved me the embarrassment by rushing in and taking his seat.

Marie-Louise was sleeping when we arrived back in the black room. Her left hand and both ankles were still bound to the bed. Jackson had loosened her right hand and set a tray in front of her so she could write. Mr. Delacroix picked up the paper; I noticed it was full on both sides.

“For the moment, this is for your eyes only.” He handed me the paper and I decided I would read it later when I had a quiet moment alone.

“My lord, if you’d prefer I not speak to her alone tomorrow, I understand.” I held the paper close.

“No, I think it’s a good idea. You’re probably correct in thinking she’ll open up more to you if we aren’t around. You know, woman to woman, submissive to submissive.”

“Miss Nez?” Marie-Louise said.

“Hi, sweetie, how are you? Are you okay?” I asked.

“Yes, I’m good. How was dinner?” she asked as she stretched her right arm.

“Very good,” I smiled. “Jackson’s bringing some to you in a minute. You’ll love it.”

“I’m sorry I missed it,” she said and rubbed her eyes.

“Nez,” Mr. Delacroix said, “would you like to untie Marie-Louise or should she stay this way?”

“My lord, I’d love to untie her . . . unless, Marie, do you want to stay tied?” I asked.

She seemed confused by the choice, as though she had never had one before. She looked at Mr. Delacroix for the answer.

“Marie, it is up to you,” he said. “You’ll be eating, so don’t you think it might be nice to have both hands free?”

“Yes, sir,” she said meekly.

Mr. Delacroix gave me a nod and I went to work undoing the cuffs. I was relieved to see her finally free. Her body had to be stiff, but she did not attempt to move her legs, only stretch and rub her wrist.

“Miss Nez, I wrote it all down like you said.” She looked at me with proud eyes.

“Thank you,” I said. “Did you enjoy writing it down?”

“I did, very much. It helped me think about things, kind of like playing the piano does, but not quite as good as that.”

“It’s nice to have a clear mind,” I said.

Jackson entered carrying a tray filled with the evening’s supper, a single red rose adorning the corner of the tray. He set it in front of her. “There’s strawberry shortcake for dessert. I had an extra big piece and I think Thomas gave you a big piece too.”

“Mr. Delacroix, can I ask you something?” Marie asked.

“Certainly,” he smiled.

“Can I kiss Miss Nez?”

Mr. Delacroix thought about it for a minute and looked at Jackson, who shrugged. “Why do you want to kiss her?”

“I want to thank her, Master, for showing me how to think about things better. May I, Mr. Delacroix?”

“My dear girl, I think it’s sweet that you want to thank Miss Nez, but only a kiss,” he said with warning in his voice.

“Thank you, sir,” she said, and Jackson lifted the tray off her bed. She stretched her legs and back as she walked to me. She was much shorter than I was, and stood on her toes to wrap her arms around me. She kissed me gently on the mouth with open lips. Her tongue pressed through mine. A second or two passed and passion turned our kiss hungry. She felt soft, curvy, and warm. She smelled like roses, grass, and something earthy and organic. I wanted to sink into her as her breasts gave way. I could feel mine against her collarbone. My arms wrapped around her and pulled her close.

“Nezzie,” Mr. Delacroix whispered, “pull her hair. Make her look up to you.”

I grabbed a thick handful of her chocolate hair and gently pulled down toward the small of her back. She looked up into my eyes and opened her mouth for more. She yielded so sweetly and my tongue explored her mouth with fervor. My groin ached. I pulled away, remembering Mr. Delacroix said we could only kiss.

The two men sat in a stupor, neither saying a word.

“Sir, we may have an unholy alliance brewing,” Jackson smiled.

“Whatever it is, Jack, it’s a thing of beauty,” Mr. Delacroix said as he took my hand.

“Come, Marie,” Jackson said, “it’s time to eat.”

“She can eat in the kitchenette,” Mr. Delacroix said.

“Will we be going upstairs, sir?” Jackson asked.

“Not tonight, my dear. I’d rather take Nez up there alone her first time.”

A wave of disappointment crossed Marie-Louise’s face.

Mr. Delacroix kissed Jackson’s mouth. “Goodnight, Jack, Marie.”

“Goodnight, sir,” Jackson said.

“Goodnight,” I said as we exited the room.

The golden low light transfixed my gaze as we left the harsh black room behind.

“See, my love? See how things are better now with Marie?”

“I hope things are better for her after all that, my lord,” I said.

“They are. It’s the only thing she knows. It’s the only thing she understands,” he said in an almost apologetic way.

I wondered what she had written. The curiosity was eating at me, but I set it aside. I wanted to read it in the morning when fresh, when I was not so charged from the kiss I had just shared with her.

“Sir, my lord, I have something to say, if I may.”

“Yes? What is it?” he urged.

“Feelings, my lord. Something you said earlier about how people hide their true feelings.” I wanted to tell him I loved him, but I was afraid.

“Are you having a feeling you wanna share? If you do, I won’t think any less of you. I want us to be honest.”

I had never told someone I loved him or her before, not even my mother. I sat on the floor in front of the sofa so he would understand that I knew my place. I was throwing myself at his mercy, but this was where I found the most comfort. It was my place and I felt secure and free under him. Like Marie-Louise, it was all I knew. He quickly took his seat on the sofa above me.

“What is it, my dear?” he asked. His eyes showed concern as he caressed my shoulder.

“Sir, I’m not sure how to say it,” I stammered.

“I find the best way to express my feelings is to just come out with it. Let it go from your mind and out of your mouth.”

I swallowed hard, closed my eyes, and blurted, “My lord, I love you. I love you more than I have ever loved anyone or anything. I love you so much I can’t even begin to explain it.”

“Oh, my dear Nez,” he said.

My tears began to flow when he did not say he loved me back.

“And you don’t love me,” I began to sob. “I’ve fallen head over heels for you and you don’t love me back. I don’t know what to do.” I looked down at the floor, afraid of what I might see if I looked in his eyes.

“Nezzie,” he began.

“Just say it. Just be honest, my lord. As you say, just spit it out, because I need to know where I stand so I can play this right.”

“What makes you think I don’t love you?” he asked.

“You never say it, sir,” I said in desperation. I knew I sounded pathetic, but I did not care.

“Oh, but I did, cher, and you’re the one who didn’t respond.” He paused. “Oh god, I forgot you don’t know French. I told you earlier when we were fucking here on the sofa how much I love you. Oh, cherie, I am so sorry I caused us both confusion.”

“Sir?” I said and looked into his eyes.

“I’ve never been so aroused before. God, I’m so hard for you, and not because I bound you or punished you, but because of my feelings. It’s never happened that way to me before. This feels real. It comes from love, Nezzie.”

“What did you say to me here on the couch?” I asked.

“I said, ‘
Neige pure, lumiere blanche, vous etes mienne. Vous remplissez obscurite. Je ne peux pas vous perdre. Je t'aime! Je t'aime, Neige!
’ Shall I tell you exactly what it means?”

“Yes, my lord,” I said anxiously.

“I never forget what you and I say to each other, you know,” he reminded me.

“Yes, sir.”

“I said, ‘Pure snow, white light, you’re mine. You fill the darkness. I can’t lose you. I love you. I love you, Nez.’”

I basked in his adoring gaze.

“I love you, Nezzie,” he said.

“Oh, my lord, I love you so much.”

He sat back and pet my head. “See how much better things are when we’re honest about how we feel? You and I would’ve carried on like this for god knows how long. I was going crazy thinking I had lost my mind over you and that you didn’t care as deeply, that I was out of control.” He paused. “I am out of control. I’ve never been here before with anyone.”

“Neither have I, sir, so we’re in the same boat,” I said. “But at least now we know we have each other, that our love is true.” I lay my head on his thigh.

“Yes, it is something,” he said, tugging my hair. I dutifully obliged by bending my neck in the direction of his gentle tug. “I think, my girl, you need to see the rest of my domain before you go any further with your emotions. There’s part of me you haven’t seen yet. A part that may explain to you why I feel anxious about our new level of emotion.” A pause. “Something that may stop you from loving me.”

He took my hand and led me back to the black room. I was frightened at what would happen there and scintillated at the same time.

I was bewildered when he turned the light on in the black room. It was empty as earlier in the day, everything back in its place, except I had not noticed the hidden door next to the chaise. Painted black, it blended perfectly with the wall. Mr. Delacroix opened the bottom drawer of the dresser and took out a key that unlocked the door. In silence, he brought me to a small anteroom, painted black and lit with only one small red light. A steep iron spiral staircase went straight up the middle of the room. It was very difficult to discern detail in such light, but I understood now that this was the way to the Twisted Oak Ursuline Playroom. My stomach knotted in anticipation and fear.

He quietly took my hand and led me up the steep stairs. He took out another key and unlocked a trap door above our heads. It opened with a slight creakiness and gave a thud as it landed against something. Nothing but blackness came from the opening, making the red light seem bright in comparison.

Mr. Delacroix took my hand and led me up and out of the staircase. No matter how wide I opened my eyes or how much I squinted, there was no adjusting to the deep ebony obscurity.

I heard the trap door slam shut behind me. His whisper sounded like a scream in the oppressive silence. “Don’t move, Nezzie. Stay here while I turn the lights on.”

“Yes, sir,” I whispered. The air was cool and damp. I could hear his footsteps and then silence. “Mr. Delacroix?” I asked with unease.

“Yes, my love. I’m here. Hang on a minute. It’s okay, I got it.”

He flipped the switch; more red lights that seemed blinding after such profound darkness. Music played softly, music that you hear at a dance club in the city, electric techno with strong downbeats; the kind of music I heard when my mother’s boyfriend watched pornography on the VCR.

I could not see Mr. Delacroix. The room was huge, the expanse of the entire footprint of the house, and resembled a gym with various pieces of equipment and furniture set about. I looked behind me to see the trap door surrounded by an iron railing that closed with a gate behind me. I could not tell if the room was heaven or hell. Maybe it was both.

“Come, Nez. Let me show you,” he said as we made our way to the back corner where a large mattress on the floor, the size of six king-size beds, was covered in one big sheet.

“My lord,” I began but he interrupted me.

“Yes, Nez. Here in this room I am your lord. Not ‘Mr. Delacroix’ or ‘sir’ but your overlord, do you understand?”

“Yes, my lord,” I said obediently.

“This room started out much smaller, but as time went by my family expanded it. Back in the old days it was impossible to build something this big without the use of support walls, but it was renovated in the late 1800s by my great-great-grandfather, who integrated modern facilities like plumbing. At every support column, he placed a sink so people could wash properly after an activity.”

He pointed to an antique wrought-iron sink next to a large wooden column. “It started out as a private playroom for Monique and Jean-Pierre, but it evolved into a playroom for multiple participants; an orgy room, if you will. Jackson and my father brought it to its full glory in their day, the days of drugs, free love. This is what we do every month at the roast. We come up here and fuck. This mattress, as you can well imagine, accommodates quite a few.”

A small side table next to the mattress held a large basket of condoms; a conveniently placed wastebasket was next to it.

We continued our walk clockwise around the room. Plush sofas and chairs were set in a circle as if in a living room. A water cooler sat against the wall. A row of what looked like old-fashioned stockades stood open.

“These are pretty old, and the one on the end dates back to Monique’s time. It’s an antique, so no one uses it. Usually there are a few people locked up in those new ones for our pleasure. Some of the doms use it as punishment, but to my way of thinking, it isn’t really a good form of punishment. I’ve never used it that way. Neither has Jack. It’s too much fun.” He smiled. “Come, Nez, try it,” he said.

I stepped around the stockade to place my head and wrists in.

“No, you go in this way so your ass is facing toward the room. You face the wall—unless, of course, you’re charged with giving head.”

“Yes, sir,” I said and attempted to oblige, but he took me by the arm.

“Nezzie, address me properly or I will show you real punishment. I am your overlord.”

I knew his eyes flickered that familiar gunmetal color, but the red lights rendered him mysterious and more difficult to read.

The stockade was low, so when I bent to place my wrists and head in, my backside was sticking out for all to see and have. He locked the stockade down over my neck and wrists, leaving me helpless.

He spanked me hard in an upward motion. “Spread your legs, bitch!”

I bent to his command.

“See how this works?”

“Yes, my lord, I think so.” I gasped as that familiar wetness flowed.

“Any questions?” he said in a flat tone.

“Yes, my lord.”

“Then ask,” he commanded.

“My lord, when I’m here like this, is there any restriction on who can have me? Am I available to anyone who wants me?”