Free Twisted Oak: A Sexual Odyssey by Neige Blanche Page A

the convent into their den of inequity and untold cruelties.”
    “God,” I exclaimed.
    “Does it turn you on? I should think the nuns very lucky girls,” he smiled. His eyes caught the sunlight.
    “You’re shitting me, right?”
    He frowned at my expression, but I could not wrap my head around any of it.
    “No, actually, it’s true,” he shrugged. “Monique wasn’t here when that was going on, though, because she was a virgin when she came to the family just like you. So,” he said firmly, “what do you think? Does a den of inequity and untold cruelty turn you on?”
    Laser-blue eyes drilled my insides and made my panties damp. I looked away and jumped in the carriage. He followed and picked up my riding crop I’d left on the seat.
    “Nezzie, baby, you didn’t answer my question,” he said in a singsong voice as he whirled the crop in the air. “How does your garden grow, Miss Nezzie, with inequity or cruelty?” His expression instantly dark, his face in mine, he slapped the crop down hard next to my thigh.
    “Carry on, George.”
    “Yes, sir!” said George and off we went.
    We passed a fine hotel, restaurant, and an old bookstore, and ended up at the opposite end of the square from the apartment.
    “Thank you, George, you’ve outdone yourself today. Hug the wife for me and kiss the babies.” Mr. Delacroix held his hand out for me, and handed George money.
    Very pleased with his tip, George hollered, “Thank ya, sir, will do. You all enjoy the rest of the afternoon!” He waved, tipped his hat, and clop, clop, clop, clopped down the road.
    “Let me introduce you to President Jackson, my lady.”
    Mr. Delacroix led me across the sidewalk. We passed a French bakery that smelled divine and stood in front of St. Louis Cathedral. “Catholic people, mostly French, have been worshipping here since 1720 or so, but the original church burned in 1788. I’d take you in, but I think there is a mass going on.” He swung the riding crop to and fro as he walked.
    He took my hand and we scrambled up the steps to the center of Jackson Square.
    “Mind if we sit for a bit? I’m feeling a little worn out,” I said.
    Mr. Delacroix was at my side immediately. “Nez, you okay? I thought maybe the fresh air would do you good.”
    “Mr. Delacroix, you’re the most interesting, weird guy I’ve ever met.”
    “Why thank you, Miss Nez. Thank you kindly.” His Southern drawl melted me, but he seemed to correct himself. I wondered how he could turn his dialect off and on like a light switch. “Shall I run up to the house and get you some water?”
    “I think I may be hungry. Breakfast was kind of a blur to me this morning.”
    “Miss Nez, you need to get accustomed to eating three squares a day. It’s part of the agreement, ya know, and we need to make sure you increase your stamina.”
    “Mr. Delacroix, about that agreement.”
    He sat up on the bench and leaned in with intense eyes.
    “Look,” I said, “I have three friends in the world right now—Ty, Sunny, and you. You guys have all helped me in ways I could never pay back.”
    “No one is looking for paybacks. That isn’t what this kind of contract is about at all.”
    “I know. Both Ty and Sunny explained that to me.”
    “It’s a simple agreement between us that outlines specific details ahead of time, so we don’t get bogged down with them later on.”
    “And you have your peculiarities,” I interrupted.
    “Don’t interrupt, Nezzie.” Sharp eyes, sharp tongue, not a hint of Southern, he held the riding crop across his lap.
    “Tell me about them.”
    “I wasn’t sure you were ready. You know this morning when we . . .” he paused as if he didn’t know the right word, “. . . made love, I told you it was my first time, right? That I only fuck and that I don’t make love.”
    “Yes.”
    “Okay, well, I usually don’t get aroused unless I am in total control of the situation, like having my partner immobilized, or in other instances,