Fifty Shades of Jungle Fever (15 page)

“But this is from me. It’s a congratulatory gift for a successful grand opening.”

I smile and take the trademark Harry Winston box from his hands. Inside is a gorgeous diamond solitaire on a white gold chain. I don’t even want to think how much it cost.

I kiss him my appreciation. “Thank you so much. And I’ll wear this with immense pride tonight, too.”

~*~

101

In Tristan’s role-play room, I have assumed the position kneeling on the floor,
next to the
door, my palms resting on my knees. I’m dressed in a red, satin bustier and a thong. Nothing else.

My heart beats a rapid tattoo as it has each time I’ve been in this room. I try to calm myself, to connect with my inner submissive Triple-G, who has abandoned me. I get a quick glimpse of her, hiding behind my Fairy Hoochie Mama, who revels in this moment, as though it’s all she lives for these days.
Insatiable heifer.
The skank-ho licks her tongue out at me, and I don’t have time to react before Tristan enters the room.

He’s in that Dom zone he goes into when we’re in here. I sneak a glance at him. Opening one of the highboy drawers in the corner, he removes something and carries it to the bed. He’s wearing that royal purple smoking jacket, with matching satin pajama pants, looking for all the world like a younger, hotter much better-looking version of Hugh Hefner. He could give the Playboy mogul a run for his fucking money in the sex department. I’m just saying. Inwardly, I’m glad I’m the only woman experiencing his goods these days.

He stands in front of me, and all I see is his feet and the legs of his pajamas. I keep my head down like a good little submissive, but already my vajayjay is crying tears of joy and anticipation. What will he do to me now? I get that nagging sensation that this is . . . just wrong, but I know it isn’t because of him. This is part of who Tristan is—and after the last few weeks—after all he’s done for our new business venture, I am happy to take whatever he decides he wants to subject me to on this occasion in his role-play room. Right now, I’d give him whatever he thinks he needs.

“You’re beautiful,” he breathes.

He bends down and nudges my chin with his forefinger, giving me permission to meet his gaze.

“Who do you belong to, Keisha?” he demands.

“You, Master.” That word still rankles when I use it, conjuring images of a Plantation owner in the deep south, and I’m his bed slave. I nix that shit before it freaks me and my Triple-G the fuck out. Her little ass is still not used to this. She’s shaking in a corner as I even think it.

“Stand up,” Tristan commands, and I stand, careful to look down again.

“You may look at me,” he breathes, and I gaze up into his smoldering blue peepers. He’s wearing his Dom look, in his Dom mode—implacable and chilling—but sexy as all get-out. I swallow convulsively, and know in that moment, I’m willing to do anything he wants.

“What are your safewords?” he asks in the authoritative tone he uses, especially in the confines of this room.

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 feel
s 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.