I woke before she did, something rare since I retired, and laid there, watching her sleep and processing still. My dreams had been a hodgepodge of images rather than a story. And as I thought of those images, my bride in an iron collar, my bride standing on an auction block, and, ultimately, my beautiful Nubian Princess tied to a whipping post, screaming I felt, to be perfectly trite about it, a stirring in my groin. And in those dreams, it wasn't always me dressed in white with the big broad-brimmed straw hat on. Sometimes I was just watching and I knew, in my dream, that my dick would get hard.
So I watched her sleep thinking how beautiful she is even with a crust under her nose from the way it had been running and a line of drool from the corner of her mouth as she slept with her mouth open from the way her nose was plugged and her sinuses still swollen. I wanted to kiss her but I didn't. That would not have been appropriate for what I had in mind.
My need to pee took over, and I rolled out of bed, being very careful to move slowly, not wanting to wake her. I went into the bathroom, peed, brushed my teeth, rinsed with
Listerine
, washed my hands, and then went back to the bedroom.
She was awake, laying on her back, looking very fetching with her legs slightly parted and an odd half smile on her face.
"Well, girl," I said and at that word, her eyes narrowed quickly, an almost automatic response that she quickly staunched, "Do you intend to keep your lazy ass in bed all day?"
Her face changed about five times in a second, from anger to smiling to quizzical to anger and ending with the downcast eyes of surrender.
"No, suh," she said.
"Then shag your lazy black ass down to the kitchen and get the coffee going," I said.
She seemed to hesitate, I suppose she was doing her own processing, and I started for the closet.
"I guess I'll get the belt," I said.
That got her moving.
"No, suh," she said, "no, suh, ah ain't lazy, ah'm a good girl," all said as she rolled out of bed and left the room.
My dick was hard and I hadn't even taken one of my blue pills.
When I got to the kitchen after taking the time to dress in jeans and one of my "weekend shirts," a well-worn Oxford cloth button down that had been washed so many times it was almost like silk, and selecting the heavy leather black belt, a holdover from long ago days riding a motorcycle. I didn't put on shoes or socks. I thought it fit the image.
Latitia/Daisy was busy at the coffee maker, pouring two cups.
When she brought the coffee I leaned back in my chair and looked her up and down.
"Gettin' pretty uppity, ain't you Daisy?" I asked, "Since when do you eat at the white folks' table."
Her eyes got big at that and I saw a flash of anger.
"Are you getting lippy now, girl?" I asked.
Her eyes went to the floor and she took the second cup of coffee and started to walk back toward the counter.
I got up and caught her, my hand on her shoulder turning her, and said, "Latitia, come, sit. Let's eat and I'm pretty sure we need to talk."
She met my eyes then, and I thought I could see a little shudder as she, well,
became
Latitia again, shedding her Daisy persona.
She put the coffee cup down, turned, threw her arms around my neck, and kissed me, a hungry desperate kiss.
I held her, my hands exploring her back, my mouth meeting hers, until she finally broke the kiss and laid her cheek on my shoulder.
"David," she said, her voice so soft it was barely audible, "I'm frightened."
I patted her back and said, as softly, "I know, baby, let's eat, and then we'll talk."
She pushed far enough back to focus on my eyes. "Ummmmmm," she said, a soft giggle in the back of her voice now, "may I get dressed?"
"Fuck no," I said without hesitation, pushing her farther back so I could look her up and down, "I think I like this."
She smiled, that brilliant smile, those ivory teeth gleaming against the darkness of her skin, and said, "White men!"
I chuckled, reached out and pinched her nipple hard enough to draw a little yelp, and said, "Negress."
"Okay, baby," she said, "you win. Sit and I'll make breakfast for you, naked, and then we'll talk."
And that is what we did. The only conversation was my laugh when the bacon popped, she jumped and said, "FUCK!" and then put on an apron to finish cooking.
We ate, Latitia isn't as good a cook as I am, but she makes a passable breakfast, and then did the dishes, her washing and me drying and putting things away.
Chores done, I hung her apron on the hook on the back of the pantry door, took her hand, and led her into the front room. I sat on the couch, patted beside me, and then helped her get adjusted, her head in my lap so I could stroke her hair as I knew she liked.
"Okay, my love," I said, smiling down at her and brushing her forehead lightly, "you first."
She started to speak but I cut her off.
"Wait," I said, "let me get this said first."
I took a deep breath.
"Latitia, I love you. And you need to know that if you ever decide that this," and I hesitated, looking for the right word, "this, well, this exploration, this experience, this whatever it is, is too much all you have to do is say 'no more,' and it will be over."
