I blinked at the comforter.
After she got my silence, she stated, “Right. You signed a contract. First, babe, he doesn’t want me asking or gabbing, assure him that’s done. I’m not doing dick to f**k this for you. Second, just give me a one to ten.”
“Twenty-five,” I whispered.
“What?” she breathed.
“Maybe thirty,” I amended.
“Uh… no, babe, no. Please tell me you didn’t sign a contract.”
“I didn’t but, Viv, we talk about this, it’s between you and me. I’m not even going to talk to Sandrine about this. She gets drunk, she’s not dancing, she gets chatty. You’re Fort Knox if you wanna be and with this, I want you to be. For Knight.”
“Lips are sealed, babe,” she assured. “Really? A thirty?”
“He’s… different.”
“He’d have to be,” she muttered and I giggled again.
“It’s, Viv… um, he has a gig.”
“A gig?”
“A gig.”
“What kind of gig?”
“He’s bossy.”
“Right, well, that’s not a surprise.”
“Right, well, that kind of thing is who he is. It leaks everywhere. He likes control.”
“Control?”
“He tells me what to do, I do it. In pretty much all things at least, um… sexually but other times too but only if it’s important to him and so far he’s taken the time to explain.” I paused then said softly, “And if I don’t, he’ll punish me.” Then I finished on a hurry, “But that hasn’t happened.”
She was silent. My stomach clenched.
“It’s not as kinky as it sounds.” I promised quickly. “It’s really kind of –”
“Anya, babe, I’m a submissive,” she said quietly and I blinked.
My nosy, ballsy, bold, take no prisoners tell it like it is Vivica was a submissive?
“What?” I breathed.
“Thought about it, get it, like it, do it. To get out of that ‘hood and not live my life as a ‘ho or the bitch of some homey who gets a cap busted in his ass or a prison sentence leaving me with three kids all of who will grow up to be gangsters, ‘ho’s or stupid bitches tied to dead guys, I’m like Knight. I have to keep my shit tight. I don’t want to be the assistant manager of anything. I want to be manager. Then I want to be director. I want to own my own home. I want a nice place, nice car, nice clothes, nice shoes, nice furniture and a decent guy who takes out the trash at least by the second time I ask, gives it to me regular in a way that I like and whips my ass, literally, when I’ve been bad.”
Oh my God.
She kept talking.
“I gotta work so hard, keep my shit so tight, control my life so much to keep on the right track and get what I want out of life, it’s a relief to give all that up and put myself in someone’s hands. I trust them to take care of me, in most cases, they do. I’ve had two long-term Doms. One, I lost and I won’t explain because if I do, you’ll figure it out and he doesn’t want anyone to know so that’s his secret and not for me to share. The other, because he got off on the pain more than the trust or the relationship and sometimes failed to get me off so I got shot of his ass. Some women are into that. I’m not. But I’m looking. Just hard to find one who gets that’s bedroom, not life or not all of life.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked quietly.
“Because some people think it’s jacked, Anya, when it… is… not. But I sometimes get shit for the color of my skin. I’m not adding to that with sharing this. No f**king way.”