Fifty Shades of Jungle Fever (10 page)

“Come for me, Keisha.” His words ignite a chain reaction. My insides quicken and I’m falling. It’s like I’m experiencing an intense case of vertigo. The room spins like a tilt-o-whirl, even though I am blinded and can’t see shit. I become unglued, and dive headlong into a precipice. My body convulses as I come. Tristan executes a few frantic thrusts more and I can feel his ejaculate, hot as molten lava, through the thin membrane of the condom. His shouted incoherence as he finds release is muffled when he buries his face in my hair.

“If damn near vanilla is like this, baby,” he breathes hard against my neck, “I’d hate to see what total power exchange is like for us.” He slides off the blindfold, releases the ribbons, and pulls out of me. We both roll, and collapse onto the bed. He pulls me into his chest and hugs me tight. I can’t move. My limbs are like silly putty, so I just lay in his arms, stupefied.

#

We shower in the role-play room’s half bath, which has double the square footage of my full bath. Tristan calls down and asks Mrs. Naven to bring up snacks for us, instructing her to leave them on the table outside the door. After he retrieves the tray, we share fresh cut fruit, cheeses, crackers and wine, and lay sated in this room I can only describe as a sex dungeon. As he feeds me a tiny cluster of grapes one by one, a horrific thought crosses my mind.

“Does Mrs. Naven know what goes on in here?”

He laughs a deep rumble in his chest. “I’m sure it gives her pause for occasional thought, but I don’t think so. This room is soundproof, off-limits to her, and I have the only key.”

“
Which brings me to my next question; w
ho cleans in here?”

“I or my submissive do the tidying up after role-plays. For biweekly deep cleanings, I hire a service owned by a friend who’s also in the lifestyle.”

That opens up a floodgate of questions in my mind. What to ask
next
? “Have you always been this way?”

“
No.
It began as a desire I had, but couldn’t identify, when I was about sixteen. We were almost eighteen when my father went on an extended business trip, and left Nate and me home with the woman he was with at the time. She introduced us both to the lifestyle. I think that move hastened her departure from our lives, but not before our appetites were whetted.”

“What?” I choke on a grape. For a moment, it lodges in my throat, and I can’t breathe. Tristan prepares to do the Heimlich, but it dislodges. He pats me gently on the back anyway until my breathing normalizes. “So, that perv
erted bitc
h stole you and your brother’s virginity and introduced you to BDSM?”

“She didn’t steal anything. We never lacked for female companions while we were at the academy.”

“Oh yeah, twins—I bet you two were rich white girls’ fondest erotic dreams, weren’t you?”

He looks thoughtful and pops a grape into his own mouth. “That’s one way of putting it, I suppose.”

“So what she do? Take you both into her lair for a kinky ménage à trois?”

“No, she took us, one by one into my father’s role-play room, which was outfitted much like this one.”

“Oh, so you and Nate are second-generation Doms?” I wonder if Jada will be chomping at the bit to meet Nate now. Then I remember, I’ve signed an NDA, I can’t breathe a word of this to her.

“Yes,” he says. He searches my face for something. Approval. Disapproval. What I’m thinking? I’m not sure which.

“Enough about ancient history,” he says. “Have you ever orgasmed from oral stimulation alone?”

I shake my head.

“Really?” He’s incredulous. I flush. “That rapper ex of yours wasn’t any good in that department, I take it?”

“No, he didn’t like it.” I drop my head. I’ve never conversed with anyone this freely about sex.

“You have no reason to feel ashamed, Keisha.” He nudges my chin up with his forefinger. His astonishment wanes, and his eyes narrow. “It was his loss. That fucker has no idea what he
’
s missing.” He shakes his head in disbelief.

“No time like the present to give you that experience.” His voice is soft, a sensual promise. He puts the tray away on a bench against the wall.

I drink him in as he walks back toward me, getting my first close look of the body that just made mine sing. My eyes roam across Tristan’s broad chest, across washboard abs, and follow the darker blond hair down his torso until the trail disappears into blue satin pajama bottoms the exact color of his eyes.

If the cut of his upper body is any indication, somebody does more than fencing to work out. I know his brother the athlete works out, because Jada and I ogle his ass on TV all the time, but Tristan’s body is every bit as chiseled as his basketball-play
er
brother’s. That is, what I’ve seen of Nate’s body running around on the NBA courts.
The only difference between the two I can discern is Nate’s arms are covered in a full sleeve of tattoos, while Tristan has only a few well-placed splotches of ink that are easily hidden by his clothing.

When he returns to the bed, he leans over and removes my robe, then his pajama bottoms and discards them both on the chest at the foot of the bed. He grasps each of my ankles and pulls me closer to the edge of the bed. He crawls between my parted legs, where he hovers over me. I quiver with anticipation. My core is moist and needy again in seconds. What is Tristan White doing to me?

“If you become my sub, I’ll know every square inch of your body as you will mine.” His warm breath wafts over my skin sprouting gooseflesh. He kisses one of my feet and trails kisses up my leg to my quaking belly. Pausing only to admire the tiny dragonfly tattooed in the crease of the vee just below my panty line.

He kisses it. “Eventually, I’ll have you inked with a mark of my own,” he says. “If you make the right decision.”

His hot mouth moves from the tattoo to my belly button. He licks, and then blows into it. “I’m going to fuck your navel, now, Keisha.” He curls his tongue into a stiff makeshift cock, and invades it, languidly, and my back bows as I come up off the bed, my hands fisting the sheets. He sucks it one last time before he moves on, kissing me across my torso, leaving tiny brushfires of exquisite sensation along the way.

I reach for his head, but he stills my hands and eases them back onto the bed. I grasp the sheets again, as his lips trail from my torso to my breasts. He raises his head and cups both breasts.

“I used to think bigger was better, but
not any more
,” he murmurs. My nipples pebble under his steady ministrations, or from the sound of his voice.
Either way, I’m super responsive to this man.

His lips close around my entire areola and he sucks, sending shockwaves all the way to my groin. I stiffen as he releases and then blows on it. The sensation makes me squirm. His hand moves to the breast his mouth has abandoned, as his lips move to the other one. His thumb tweaks the tip of one while he sucks the other. I groan, feeling two currents of pleasure meeting a third in my groin area.

His mouth leaves my breasts, and he buries his face in the apex of my legs, but his arms are long enough that he can still reach my breasts. He laps down there as he promised he would do earlier, and for a few seconds, I can’t breathe. In fact, I’m sure it’s safe to say I have that look on my face that Halle Berry’s character had in
Monster’s Ball
when Billy Bob Thornton’s character went down on her the first time.

He begins a slow, methodical manipulation of my breasts, exerting just the right pressure against my sensitive nipples, while continuing his slow, sen
sual assault on me with his mouth.
Did I mention how good Tristan is at multi-tasking?
The sweet pressure builds until all the nerves in my body sing in harmony. He doesn’t stop until he feels the signs of my impending orgasm.
I stiffen.

He moves until he’s aligned with me again and slides deep into me.
When did he put that damn condom on?
Tristan adopts a scorching pace as I unravel around him.

“Let go, now,” he murmurs. His mouth closes around my nipple, sucks hard, and I fall apart in his hands, my body reacting as though I’m having a fucking grand mal seizure. When I begin to scream, he silences me with a kiss so deep, I feel like his tongue is as far down my throat as his cock is inside me. His groans mingle with mine as he shudders and comes just on the heels of my orgasm.

My Triple-G is in apoplectic shock. My Fairy Hoochie Mama sings the Hallelujah Chorus, in all four voices at once.

Now I know what the fuck I’ve been missing, I want to change my mind and press charges against Byron for not making me feel this way. Well, almost. Tristan gazes down at me, a look of pure satisfaction on his face, while I’m sure my face bears the goofiest grin it’s ever borne on it.

“You are so passionate,” he breathes. “It’s going to be such a pleasure teaching you how to control all that passion.” He kisses me again, and I literally melt. “Will you give my proposition serious thought, and let me know by Wednesday?”

“Okay,” I agree. “I’ll give it serious thought, but don’t expect any miracles.”

Tristan rolls off the bed and stands towering over me. He looks conflicted, as if he can’t believe I’m not agreeing to let him piss all over me like R. Kelly did to that young girl—allegedly. I stand up too, so he can understand I mean business. He might be a dominant, but I’m nobody’s punching bag, and I’m not about to let him beat the shit out of me on the regular.

“I understand how this,” He gestures around the room, “might be off-putting to you, but I sincerely hope you will give the arrangement serious thought over the next few days. That being said, I expect you to honor the letter of the NDA no matter what you decide.”  Then he opens a closet, hands me a clean robe, dons one himself, and escorts me out of his medieval torture chamber.

A rather avuncular, middle-aged black man, who’s surprisingly fit for his age, is Tristan’s driver, Moses. I mean, for real, he looks like my Uncle Eduardo on my father’s side. When Tristan introduces us, Moses’s face registers what I believe is shock, before it settles back into professional impassivity. Had his boss never had a black girlfriend/submissive/sex slave before?

My Triple-G shakes her head as if to say,
I told you so.
My Fairy Hoochie Mama screams,
He’s just pissed because he’s not the only magic negro on this gravy train anymore!

On the ride to my place, Tristan peppers me with questions.

“What are your plans this week?” He asks, his voice low.

“I’m working my final week at LaPerla, and receiving more inventory for the studio.”

“What time are you free on Monday? I’d like a tour of this property you own.”

“I work from one ‘til close.”

“Can we tour at seven?”

“A.M.?” I haven’t gotten up that early since college.

“I was going to suggest six; seven is a concession.” His lips twitch up in a half-smile. “You enjoy your sleep don’t you Ms. Beale?” The question is wholly rhetorical because he continues. “Let’s say eighty-thirty, then. Seven is early enough for Moses and me to leave to meet you there.”

I pounce on that time. “Eight-thirty is good.”

I resign myself to the fact that I’m going to have to try to negotiate with him in earnest, because I ruined any chance of doing business with Princess Danai when I decked her, I’m sure. And if that means losing sleep, I guess I’ll have to suck it up and do so, and show him that we can make this business work without me having to barter sexual favors with him in order to make it successful.

“I’m still not sold on your location,” he admits as if he’s reading my mind. “I’d like to see it in person to ascertain whether it’s sound. If not, we can work on that, too.”

Where’s he going with this? I told Tristan we couldn’t afford anywhere else. If
he’s going
to front us with me selling my soul to the devil,
I’ll
consider any other of his suggestions except a change in venue.

Before I can tell him this,
we reach my duplex
.
Tristan frowns. “Is this the best you and Ms. Jameson could do, Ms. Beale?”

“What do you mean? Jada owns this duplex outright, and
our
neighbor is her tenant. That’s
balling
for a young woman two years out of college,” I admonish him.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to make light of her investment—and your home.” He runs a frustrated hand through his hair and looks around. “Are you sure this neighborhood is safe?”

“You should see where I lived before I moved here with Jada. Now that would be considered unsafe. Mostly working-class people live here.”

He has an expression on his face that I can’t identify, but he asks me another question. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

“Going to church.”

“Can I pick you up after?”

This dude has already fucked me so hard he’s probably tilted my uterus. I’m not going back until I recuperate. Then, too, I’ve spent the whole day immersed in his role-play room learning about all the toys and devices in there. I need a day to process it all, but I don’t tell him that.