Twisted Oak: A Sexual Odyssey (12 page)
Read Twisted Oak: A Sexual Odyssey Online
Authors: Neige Blanche
I placed my backpack on the large throne-like chair that sat in one corner of the room. The bed was the focal point; four posts with small spiral spindles across the headboard upon which I had been tied that very morning.
“You’ll be spending a lot of time in here,” Sunny said, “so feel free to add your personal touch. He likes it that way. He wants you to feel it’s as much yours as it is his. This is your home now, Miss Nez.”
I settled back into bed as the rain began to fall heavily again. The shutters were open, but the room remained dark. Monique’s journals beckoned me and I found myself compelled to learn more about the ancestor Mr. Delacroix deified.
July 1, 1765: Jean-Pierre fears I will be lonely, so he gave me this journal to keep me company. What he doesn't understand is that loneliness has become a way of life for me since coming to Louisiana. He is well intentioned and anticipates my every need. He says I am his treasure and he will care for me and protect me with his life. I suppose this means he loves me, but he never says he does. His attentiveness makes me feel like Madame de Pompadour and it will take time for me to adjust to it. I have never had a man serve my every need as he does and it makes me feel fragile. I am anything but.
Do I love him? Yes, I do, enough to leave the servants' quarters and come to Twisted Oak and wear my golden collar and my wedding ring. In his way, Jean-Pierre loves me and I love him in mine. He promises to protect me and our children, as he wants many. He sometimes behaves as if he were Catholic. He built a chapel at Twisted Oak, but there are no icons to Jesus or Mother Mary, only the family crest. We've never attended mass, even though I miss it. He commands we perform our duties not for the grace of God, but rather for the grace of our mutual human pleasure. There is no higher calling than that of two human beings who live for the enjoyment of one another, he says. He explains that through our shared experiences, we will reach our highest human potential. This, he says, is all we can possibly hope to achieve. He says that I am the virgin mother from whence all creation comes and that it is his duty to plant the seed of life.
He has shown me impeccable desire, impenetrable need, and untold depth and beauty of human spirit, body, and mind. I have never been as clear or driven to live life to the fullest. With him by my side, I will succeed in creating a family and dominating the region by force of will and land acquisition. I have no doubt my decisions, though grave, have and will continue to serve me well. My body is his temple.
This expanse of Twisted Oak is larger than the Houma plantation and we have not found a full domestic staff yet. When Jean-Pierre arrives home in two days from his trip to New Orleans, he will bring me a woman-in-waiting, a personal valet, as well as a chef from the city. We will begin to fill the servants' quarters with local well-trained laborers. He assures me there are many quality, trustworthy workers who, once trained, will understand our way of life. The farms, currently well tended by the blacks, assure we want for nothing. Every day brings us blessings of the bounty of this place, but if not blessed by God, then by whom?
The home itself has yet to be finished. They still work on the north wing. More bedrooms for more children, he says. We will staff the north wing with nurses, tutors, and teachers of the arts and sciences. He says our children will thrive with the gift of insight and knowledge that only he and I can give. He tells me our children will be beautiful. I pray to the gods, any god who will hear, that I will be prolific.
July 1, 1765: Jean-Pierre fears I will be lonely, so he gave me this journal to keep me company. What he doesn't understand is that loneliness has become a way of life for me since coming to Louisiana. He is well intentioned and anticipates my every need. He says I am his treasure and he will care for me and protect me with his life. I suppose this means he loves me, but he never says he does. His attentiveness makes me feel like Madame de Pompadour and it will take time for me to adjust to it. I have never had a man serve my every need as he does and it makes me feel fragile. I am anything but.
Do I love him? Yes, I do, enough to leave the servants' quarters and come to Twisted Oak and wear my golden collar and my wedding ring. In his way, Jean-Pierre loves me and I love him in mine. He promises to protect me and our children, as he wants many. He sometimes behaves as if he were Catholic. He built a chapel at Twisted Oak, but there are no icons to Jesus or Mother Mary, only the family crest. We've never attended mass, even though I miss it. He commands we perform our duties not for the grace of God, but rather for the grace of our mutual human pleasure. There is no higher calling than that of two human beings who live for the enjoyment of one another, he says. He explains that through our shared experiences, we will reach our highest human potential. This, he says, is all we can possibly hope to achieve. He says that I am the virgin mother from whence all creation comes and that it is his duty to plant the seed of life.
He has shown me impeccable desire, impenetrable need, and untold depth and beauty of human spirit, body, and mind. I have never been as clear or driven to live life to the fullest. With him by my side, I will succeed in creating a family and dominating the region by force of will and land acquisition. I have no doubt my decisions, though grave, have and will continue to serve me well. My body is his temple.
This expanse of Twisted Oak is larger than the Houma plantation and we have not found a full domestic staff yet. When Jean-Pierre arrives home in two days from his trip to New Orleans, he will bring me a woman-in-waiting, a personal valet, as well as a chef from the city. We will begin to fill the servants' quarters with local well-trained laborers. He assures me there are many quality, trustworthy workers who, once trained, will understand our way of life. The farms, currently well tended by the blacks, assure we want for nothing. Every day brings us blessings of the bounty of this place, but if not blessed by God, then by whom?
The home itself has yet to be finished. They still work on the north wing. More bedrooms for more children, he says. We will staff the north wing with nurses, tutors, and teachers of the arts and sciences. He says our children will thrive with the gift of insight and knowledge that only he and I can give. He tells me our children will be beautiful. I pray to the gods, any god who will hear, that I will be prolific.
How courageous she was to leave everything she had to go with a man she barely knew. I wondered to what extent her relationship was similar to my own, and whether I could love anyone enough to stay with him forever. Maybe Sunny was right when he said I did not know much about relationships. How could I possibly show Mr. Delacroix what love is if I did not have a clue?
July 28, 1765: Jean-Pierre punished me today. I urged him to do it, as I felt lonely while he was away. I wanted all his attention and he gave it freely and generously. I love him and became selfish for his time.
The top floor of the main part of the house is finished and he designed rooms meant to complement his peculiarities. He fashioned parts of it from rigging on sailing vessels; various pulleys, ropes, hanging apparatus, and sails in the shape of a swing hang from the low ceiling. Benches, beds, tables, and pillows are scattered about the place with mirrors on every wall. He bound my hands and feet and laid me in the sailcloth, which allowed him to enter me and exit repeatedly in blissful agitation as I swung back and forth. My body aches for more. On my knees, I brought him into my mouth hungrily and swallowed his sacred seed. I am pleased we will share the bed tonight. I am cold without him, even in the heat of summer.
July 28, 1765: Jean-Pierre punished me today. I urged him to do it, as I felt lonely while he was away. I wanted all his attention and he gave it freely and generously. I love him and became selfish for his time.
The top floor of the main part of the house is finished and he designed rooms meant to complement his peculiarities. He fashioned parts of it from rigging on sailing vessels; various pulleys, ropes, hanging apparatus, and sails in the shape of a swing hang from the low ceiling. Benches, beds, tables, and pillows are scattered about the place with mirrors on every wall. He bound my hands and feet and laid me in the sailcloth, which allowed him to enter me and exit repeatedly in blissful agitation as I swung back and forth. My body aches for more. On my knees, I brought him into my mouth hungrily and swallowed his sacred seed. I am pleased we will share the bed tonight. I am cold without him, even in the heat of summer.
I wondered if those rooms still existed at Twisted Oak. I wondered if Mr. Delacroix was in those rooms now. What was Mr. Scott doing to him? The thought of Mr. Delacroix bound in blissful agitation suddenly brought my excitement to a new level. My insides were churning with desire. The vision of two men having sex created a gush of dampness between my legs. My hand instinctually went there, but I remembered my orders and I dutifully followed them.
I shook it off and began to think about oral sex and whether this would soon be on Mr. Delacroix’s agenda. I wondered if I could hungrily swallow his seed. I remembered my reaction to the oyster and went to the drawer at the bottom of the armoire to find the ball gag. Tying it tightly around my head, I pushed the ball down firmly on the back of my tongue. If Monique could swallow, so could I. Wondering what other tips she might have, I continued to read.
July 30, 1765: Only now do I get out of bed. For two glorious days, Jean-Pierre and I explored our pleasures. The heat outside was unbearable and so we threw open the windows and allowed the bayou breeze to flow over our bodies. He is so eager to discover every square inch of me and give me the highest pleasure. He knows no boundaries and travels his temple with ease and comfort. I am open for him and fall to my knees in thanks.
There is new pain this time as there is always, but this time Jean-Pierre discovered a new avenue of pleasure. The so-named “unnatural” act he performed is no more unnatural than it is to find a bird in flight. We have been working toward this goal now for weeks, and yesterday, I found I was finally ready to bend fully for the life-giving pleasure of Jean-Pierre.
I find in general I prefer to be bound for the sexual act because it allows me to relax my body. Jean-Pierre, being deft at the art of binding, is expert at setting the position so that my entire body is available for experiencing pleasure rather than the distraction involved in maintaining a position.
For anal sex, being bound is paramount and exemplifies the pleasure. Yesterday, Jean-Pierre laid me on my back and bound my hands to the top of the headboard. His sweet, swift hands gently secured me with leather cuffs similar to those used for the blacks, but tanned to a much softer texture. He cuffed my ankles individually, brought each one to my wrists, and fastened them together with carabiners.
He sweetly supported my shoulders and back with piles of pillows, constantly asking if I was feeling well. He seeks my comfort on every level, at every moment. His smile is intoxicating. He asked me to relax as best I could, every muscle, starting with my head all the way to my toes. He reminded me to breathe and so we breathed together while his hands worked magic and his tongue tickled my world. He brought sweet floral oils to my vagina and massaged my buttocks and anus with his deft fingers. He helped me relax and breathe while he dripped more oils inside me.
He mounted me with his hands on top of the headboard and slowly entered my anus, always conscious of my well-being. As I bent to his will, I understood the extent to which I could do so without breaking. I felt the fullness of him inside, pushing slowly, opening me anew, exploring a new human expression of submission, bending, obedience, giving pleasure. The pain at first was difficult, but through even breathing and relaxation against the bindings, I soon found the pain was not pain, but pure pleasure. God in heaven, I gave this temple to his every whim. I was his completely. As he pulled back and then forward, faster and harder, my body responded miraculously. The juices flowed as hard, if not harder, than when he took my virginity. Now I have a new pleasure, a new gift to give to my love whenever he so desires, and I shall be eager to do it again. Thank you, Jean-Pierre, for showing me this new expression of our mutual pleasure.
July 30, 1765: Only now do I get out of bed. For two glorious days, Jean-Pierre and I explored our pleasures. The heat outside was unbearable and so we threw open the windows and allowed the bayou breeze to flow over our bodies. He is so eager to discover every square inch of me and give me the highest pleasure. He knows no boundaries and travels his temple with ease and comfort. I am open for him and fall to my knees in thanks.
There is new pain this time as there is always, but this time Jean-Pierre discovered a new avenue of pleasure. The so-named “unnatural” act he performed is no more unnatural than it is to find a bird in flight. We have been working toward this goal now for weeks, and yesterday, I found I was finally ready to bend fully for the life-giving pleasure of Jean-Pierre.
I find in general I prefer to be bound for the sexual act because it allows me to relax my body. Jean-Pierre, being deft at the art of binding, is expert at setting the position so that my entire body is available for experiencing pleasure rather than the distraction involved in maintaining a position.
For anal sex, being bound is paramount and exemplifies the pleasure. Yesterday, Jean-Pierre laid me on my back and bound my hands to the top of the headboard. His sweet, swift hands gently secured me with leather cuffs similar to those used for the blacks, but tanned to a much softer texture. He cuffed my ankles individually, brought each one to my wrists, and fastened them together with carabiners.
He sweetly supported my shoulders and back with piles of pillows, constantly asking if I was feeling well. He seeks my comfort on every level, at every moment. His smile is intoxicating. He asked me to relax as best I could, every muscle, starting with my head all the way to my toes. He reminded me to breathe and so we breathed together while his hands worked magic and his tongue tickled my world. He brought sweet floral oils to my vagina and massaged my buttocks and anus with his deft fingers. He helped me relax and breathe while he dripped more oils inside me.
He mounted me with his hands on top of the headboard and slowly entered my anus, always conscious of my well-being. As I bent to his will, I understood the extent to which I could do so without breaking. I felt the fullness of him inside, pushing slowly, opening me anew, exploring a new human expression of submission, bending, obedience, giving pleasure. The pain at first was difficult, but through even breathing and relaxation against the bindings, I soon found the pain was not pain, but pure pleasure. God in heaven, I gave this temple to his every whim. I was his completely. As he pulled back and then forward, faster and harder, my body responded miraculously. The juices flowed as hard, if not harder, than when he took my virginity. Now I have a new pleasure, a new gift to give to my love whenever he so desires, and I shall be eager to do it again. Thank you, Jean-Pierre, for showing me this new expression of our mutual pleasure.
