Fifty Shades of Jungle Fever (22 page)

He makes quick work of tying my ankles, tooting my ass up to him, so he can have unhindered access.

“I’m going to fuck you now, Keisha.”

“Yes, sir!”

No sooner are those words exchanged, than he presses into me. We both grunt when he does, and he’s off. Tristan sets an astounding pace. He touches the walls of my womb with each thrust. As he does so, the balls in my ass provide an extra fullness and friction that is out of this world. Within seconds, I’m panting and winding up to orgasm. He knows when I’m at the precipice and pulls out before I fall over.

Damn!

He takes something from the drawer, and I hear a buzz. He positions himself inside me again, and his hand comes around to my chest, looking down, I see he has a straight plastic vibrator. He teases my nipples with it as he begins to thrust into me again. My senses have gone haywire. His cock is inside me, the balls are moving around in my ass, and the vibrator has my nipples hard as granite. When I come, I scream like a banshee, but Tristan doesn’t stop, nor did I expect him to. He continues for what feels like hours, but I know it’s only a few minutes more before he comes saying my name.

“Keisha. Fuck!”

H
e knows I’m winding up again, and continues the onslaught until I find my second release. He releases me from my bonds and puts all his toys away except the balls. They are still firmly up my ass, and as my sex throbs from the two orgasms I’ve had, I can feel the balls in there creating sensations that are foreign to me, but are stupendous.

He pulls me close and cups my ass in his hands. “You like those little balls, don’t you?”

“I do, Sir,” I say with a cheesy grin. He kisses me then, pulling my tongue almost completely into his mouth. I moan.

“I’ve created a monster,” he teases. “You’re insatiable.”

I have to agree with him. Tristan has taught me more about sex than I ever dreamed possible. I pity the man who has to follow up his act. Then I remember, our arrangement is temporary. One day, we will part ways, because he’s said this is all he wants. The thought makes me sad.

My Triple-G wears all black and sits in a church pew at a funeral. My Fairy Hoochie Mama joins her, but she throws a more elaborate, New Orleans style funeral. She’s second-lining dramatically on a tiny cobblestone street behind a miniature horse-drawn carriage
and a full Jazz band
.

Fuck!

I have feelings for this kinky motherfucker, and I know exactly when the tide turned. It was when he introduced himself as my vanilla boyfriend for my mother’s sake. I am so screwed. I stiffen in his arms.

“Are you okay, Keisha?”

“Yes, Sir,” I say. It is barely audible around the lump in my throat.

#

The realization that I have in all likelihood fallen in love with Tristan takes me off my game. As we move into another scene, I fuck up twice. The first card I pull
is
a discipline card that
declares I will not be allowed to orgasm the next two times we are in the role-play room. But that isn’t the worst. When I mess up the second time, I pull a
punishment
card that says I’ll get five lashings with a
leather strap. I’m already face-
down, blindfolded, bound and gagged on a leather wheel. Tristan kneels and removes the gag.

“I’m removing the gag, so you can safeword if you have to.”

“Thank you, Sir.” I say, but I tremble with fear. I do everything I can to withhold my unease from Tristan.

“This strap will hurt,” he warns. “But I will immediately perform aftercare, and treat your skin. Do you understand?”

“Y-yes Sir.” Damn my voice shakes.

“Count.”

The next thing I feel is the first lash as it cuts across my ass. I feel the sting and welt rising almost simultaneously.

“One.” I say, my voice is husky already, and I feel like I’m not going to be able to hold it together and take this like a big girl. My heart races.

The next lash cuts off my thoughts and I just concentrate on counting.

“Two.”

My ears begin to ring.

“Three.”

I’m feeling the fog closing in on me, but I am determined to take this punishment and not succumb to another panic attack. I breathe as deeply as I can.

“Four.”

Then three things happen at once. Tristan hits me the final time and says, “That’s what bad girls get,” and I see my father again. I pass out.

When I wake up, I’m in Tristan’s bed in a silk nightgown with the oxygen mask on my face, and my ass stings like it’s gotten a thorough hiding. Then I remember; it has.

Tristan looms over me asking after me. “Keisha. Thank God.”

Another face comes into view.

“This is my neighbor, Dr. Angel Sandoval,” he says. “He examined you, but couldn’t ascertain anything physical that might have caused you to faint. Will you talk to him, Baby?”

I nod my head, and Dr. Sandoval gently removes the oxygen mask.

“What do you feel before these episodes come on, Keisha? Tristan tells me this is the second one you’ve had.”

“I know what it is,” I say. “They’re garden-variety panic attacks, as a result of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I know because I had them three years ago.”

Tristan squints with concern, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Have you been back to see your therapist since you began having them again?” Dr. Sandoval asks.

“No, but now I will.”

“Please, make an appointment as soon as you can. Something triggers them, and you need to get to the bottom of it.” He looks at Tristan. “I guess my work is done here.”

“Thanks, Angel.”

The little man leaves. I’m sure he’s had his share of house calls to make for Tristan White, and I wonder fleetingly if he’s under an NDA, too. Oh no, that would be the doctor-patient privilege. Then I do what I’m trying to avoid, and look Tristan in the eye.

“Why didn’t you tell me what this was before?”

“I hoped it was a one-off. I didn’t think they’d come back for real.”

He pulls a chair next to the bed, sits and holds my hand. “Keisha, you scared the fuck out of me. Don’t do it again.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“We’re not in the role-play room. You know you don’t have to call me Sir in here.”

“I know. Force of habit.”

“We’ll get you in to see a psychiatrist, pronto. I know the best in Chicago. Believe me, I’ve had my share of psychoanalysis. You’ll be better in no time.”

I’m not
so sure. I
’m
still
not
ready to tell him about my father, and unless I share all the triggers with him, this will not work. Complicating things
is
my realization that I
am
more than halfway in love with this man.

I look him in the eye and do the only thing I know to do. I use both safewords together, signaling that I want out of the Dominant submissive relationship entirely.

“Jungle Fever.”

~*~

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L. V. Lewis is a new author who decided that stories like Fifty Shades of Grey needed a little more diversity and comedy in them. A married parent of four residing in South Georgia, Lewis loves romances that involve interracial couples because L. V. envisions a world when it won’t matter to anyone else who you love because, despite the civil rights movement and a biracial US President, we aren’t there yet.

L. V. and spouse are political junkies. One leans right, the other left. Thankfully, this has never caused any issues in their relationship. If Lewis told you which of them was Democrat and which was Republican, you just might be able to figure out which is Dominant and which is submissive.

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Review on Amazon and/or GoodReads. Please drop L. V. a note if you definitely want to see this series continued. The level of interest for book one will make writing the next installments infinitely easier. Book two is tentatively scheduled for release in February 2013.

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