Fifty Shades of Jungle Fever (18 page)

Even if they are, I ain’t trying to be Julia Roberts or Maggie Gyllenhaal’s character in either movie. I’m not some ghetto prostitute Cinderella, and I’m not about to let Tristan tie me up for days until he decides he wants to come back to me. I pick up my cell phone and look at it for something like the hundredth time. He still hasn’t called.
What did you expect? You left him, fool,
My Fairy Hoochie Mama says. I scowl at her. This little heifer is working on my last good nerve, and I know just the thing to shut her ass up. I open up a bottle of wine.

I’m on my second glass before I wonder if it’s going to agree with the Ben and Jerry’s I consumed earlier. Too damn bad. When the bottle is empty, I’m all hopped up on enough liquid courage to be the bigger woman. I punk out and call Tristan’s after hours car service. Thank goodness he hasn’t told them not to pick me up anymore. After a shower and three changes of clothes, I’m ready just as my phone rings, signaling me that the driver is there.

Jada is on her way up the stoop as I exit. She
appraises me
. “If this is your peace offering, I think Tristan’s going to be pleased. But, I should warn you. The Dom in him
will
require punishment.”

“I’m a big girl,” I say. “I can take it.” I squeeze her hand. “But wish me luck anyway.”

I let myself in with the key Tristan gave me
just after I signed my sub contract
. I leave my purse and small wheeled bag in the foyer and go in search of him. He’s not in any of the rooms on the bottom level, so I ascend the stairs. When I’m in the hallway between the guest room and his bedroom, I hear what sounds like a muted Kenny G song coming from a room I’ve never been in.

When I open the door, the music swells out, and I hear what has to be a live soprano sax melody. I haven’t heard anything this good since my Daddy took me to see Kenny G during happier times. Only one lamp is on in the room, and I can see Tristan, shirtless and barefoot, eyes closed, playing a beautiful rendition of a tune I think is called “The Moment.”

He’s almost finished when he opens his eyes and sees me there. A final discordant sound erupts from the instrument as he wrenches the sax
aphone
away from his mouth. “Keisha?” He doesn’t move toward me, nor I toward him. We’re at a standoff, of sorts. I smile inwardly when I see hi
m rake his
eyes over
my form
in definite interest.

“Hello, Tristan. I didn’t know you played an instrument.” I choose the least incendiary topic
first
.

I close the door and move further into the room, which looks like a library. Books cover most of the available wall space, but the centerpiece in the room is a beautiful, grand piano. On top of which is the case for the sax, which Tristan puts away.

“I learned at the academy,” he says. “They provided me a thorough liberal arts education.”

I stop a few feet away from him and look up into his eyes. I notice a strain around them that I never noticed before. Did I cause him to worry?
You think?
  My Triple-G is pissed off at me. My Fairy Hoochie Mama is in a fucking matador’s outfit, waving a
tiny
red cape.

“You’re really good,” I say. “You could put a few of my
DePaul
classmates to shame.”

His expression doesn’t change.

“Why are you here
, Keisha
?” He snaps. He closes the saxophone case shut, then looks back at me.

I fidget. He walks behind me, and I turn to
watch as
he continues to walk all the way around me, checking me out, no doubt. I do look damn good
if I have to say so myself. I’m wearing a little black dress, with black Greco-Roman stilettos.

“This is Friday.”

“But your appointed time of arrival isn’t whatever the hell time it is right now.”

“It’s about eleven-thirty,” I offer.

He stops in front of me. “Again, I ask, why are you here?”

“I decided to forgive you for insisting that I fire Jorge.”

Tristan laughs a mirthless laugh and folds his arms. “You decided to forgive me?”

“Yes. I was upset about it, and I didn’t want to be here with you because it was unresolved.”

“It’s only unresolved if you didn’t give him his notice today.”

I close my eyes and hold my tongue.

“Well did you?” he asks.

I open my eyes and regard him evenly. “No, I did not, and I will not.”

“Are you prepared to take the punishment for
your
willful def
iance
, Keisha?”

“Yes.

“My role-play room. Ten minutes.”

I’ve stripped out of my dress, but I’m still wearing a lacy black bra and panty set, a remnant of my LaPerla days, and my strappy black stilettos. I manage to
get into
position mere seconds before Tristan enters the room.

“Because you have committed a list of infractions I won’t go into now for the sake of time, you will not orgasm in here tonight, no matter what I do to you, is that clear?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Also, you will pull a card from the punishment stack, and I reserve the right to have you pull another one if I deem it too lenient.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Stand up.”

I do as he commands, and he removes his smoking jacket and hangs it on the coat rack. “Remove your panties,” he says.

I wear them the way Tristan prefers. My garter and hose go on first, then my underwear. I push my panties down my hips and thighs, and once they pass my knees, they slide unaided down my legs to the floor. I step out of them and wait for further instructions.

“Hand them to me,” he says.

I pick up my underwear and give them to him, but I don’t dare look up at him just yet. I hear him sniff, then see out of my periphery that he goes to the coat rack and stuffs my underwear in
to
his smoking jacket pocket.

“Pull your first card, Keisha.”

I go to the deck of cards on the bedside table which contains the punishments we selected together when we negotiated my submissive contract. It could be anything from clamping my nipples to whipping my ass with various implements he has on hand.

I take the first card from the deck and take it back to him. He prefers to read them first. “As your Master, this card gives me permission to truss you up in whatever manner I see fit and suspend you over the wooden horse.”

Oh shit! My vajayjay will be sore after this. Tristan hands me the card, so I can read to confirm it, and goes to the highboy against the wall. He returns with everything he will need to exact his punishment. When he returns, in his hands are two metal clamps, a length of chain and a small metal lock.

“Remove your bra,” he orders.

I do as I’m told. Now I’m only wearing the garter belt, hose and shoes. He approaches me with the clamps.

He cups
my breast with a rough hand
. “These are so perfect, I almost hate to clamp you.” I keep quiet, but I want to say, “Then don’t.” I know that will only get me another trip to the card pile.

The pinch of the tiny metal clamp
hurts like hell
.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
I want to scream, to curse, but I keep my mouth shut and just breathe in and out. When he clamps the other one, I’m ready, and it doesn’t cause such an intense inner reaction, but it
s
pinch is still excruciating.
He attaches the chain to the clamps and allows the small lock to dangle between them. The pull from the chain is extra torture, but I remain quiet.

He leads me to the horse, which is a wide triangular wooden plank covered in soft black leather, set sharp end up, mounted on a sawhorse like support. I will be suspended in the air until I am astride this contraption. Then I will have to ride this damn thing putting more and more weight on my genitals until my full body weight is on that tender area.

Tristan comes over and hands me a single die.

“Roll it,” he says. “Where it lands will determine the time you will have to sit astride the horse. I don’t want it to be long, because I want to fuck you tonight, and I don’t need you to be too sore for that.”

Halle-fucking-lujuah!
Now to put my back-alley gambling skills to use and roll a three or less, if possible. I roll the die in my hand, my breasts jiggle and the
lock tugs on the
clamps, and I change my mind. I need to roll snake eyes or lower, badder than a mofo.

I release the die. It rolls like it’s in super slow-mo and I cross
fingers toes, eyes, everyt
hing I can
,
waiting for it to come to a rest. It teeters and finally stops on three.
Damn.

“Three minutes it is!” He barks like a carny man. I am not thrilled and want to roll my eyes so bad, but I don’t want to add anything else to my punishment.

Tristan puts the harness around my body, then attaches me to the intricate ropes and pulleys that hang from the ceiling. Before I know it, I’m airborne. He lowers me over the horse until I’m on my tiptoes astride the contraption. He bends one knee and grabs my ankle. He attaches each cuff at my ankle with a chain across the back of the wooden horse. Doing the same with the cuffs at my wrists, he extends my arms up high over my head.

“Does this hurt?”

“No, Sir.”

“Is it uncomfortable?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good. Discipline isn’t meant to be pleasant.”

He lowers me until I can feel the cold leather between my legs. “What are your safewords, Keisha?”

“Jungle and Fever,” I say. I chose those words as a joke, alluding to his selection of me as his submissive. He thought they were perfect, and he made me practice using both the first time we did a role-play just to get a kick out of it, and to get me in the habit of using them. That and many of the scenes that came after have increased in intensity, but have nevertheless been enjoyable. Tonight won’t be fun, but I would do it again to save Jorge’s job.

“Your three minutes begin now,” he says and lowers me onto the horse resting my weight onto the horse edge, which is blunt only because of the leather that surrounds it. “You may not make any noise.”

Holy Fuck! This shit is uncomfortable.
Tristan circles around me looking at me as if he’s studying me under a microscope. I begin the breathing exercises I learned from my psychologist. If there were ever a time I needed them, I need them now.
One, two, three, four, In. Four, three, two, one, Out.
I’ve done that about fifty times before he calls, “One minute.”

The pressure on my genitalia and the pinching of both breasts seem to connect and throb mercilessly. By the time he calls “two minutes,” I’m well on the way to being numb. The circulation in my legs has become sluggish, and I can feel the accompanying pinpricks. It pisses me off, but tears begin to run unchecked down my face. I don’t know if I’m more angry that I’m crying, or that I can’t take my hand and wipe the tears away.

For a microsecond, Tristan looks like he’s about to relent and let me down, but he glances at his watch and the spell is broken. “Thirty seconds.” He turns away from me and walks to the highboy, returning with creams and ointments, which he lays on the bed. He immediately comes back to the pulley wheel and releases me, slowly. Tristan removes all the restraints, carries me to the bed, and sits cradling me in his arms.

As my circulation revs up, my nipples and my vajayjay smart like mad. Without a word, Tristan applies some cream to my nipples, then massages something different onto my wrists and ankles. He goes into the bath and gets a bowl of warm water and soft towels. He cleans my face with an already warm towel, removing my almost-dried tears and runny mascara. Then he takes the other cloth, soaks it in the warm water, wrings it out and lays it gently between my legs.

Then he surprises me. “We’re done here,” he says. I do not protest.

Later, we
lay
in Tristan’s bed on our sides facing one another, eyes closed, but I know neither of us is asleep. I’ve wanted to ask since we left the role-play room, and I finally muster up the courage.

“Why did you stop?”

In the ambient light, I can see when he opens his eyes. “Because your punishment was complete.”

“But you didn’t do everything you said you would do.”

“
Is this a complaint
?”

“No. Just trying to understand.”

“A wise Dom once told me you can see in your submissive’s eyes when she’s had enough. I want you to keep coming back, Keisha.”

“And I want to keep coming back.”

“Then, why didn’t you just show up at six?”

I sigh. “I was upset because you threatened to find new backers for KSR.”

“You were more upset about that than being told to fire Jorge?”

“Well, both.”