ARMAND
“What the fuck is this?” I asked, my eyebrows wrinkled up to be damned.
“A contract,” she said, her face blank. “You know…a confidential agreement.”
“I can see that, but what the fuck is this?” I reiterated. “What is a Dominant/submissive Contract? You want me to tie you up? We don’t need a contract for that. I’ll tie you up, tie you down, whatever.”
On God I would.
In a second.
Hell, in less than a second.
Right then and there.
On sight.
“No,” she said through a sigh. I think this was the first time I’d seen her without makeup.
Beautiful.
And still confusing as hell.
“No?” I replied. “No what?”
“No, I don’t want you to tie me up. I want to tie you up…among other things.”
What in the whole fuck?
I sat there for a moment before I started laughing—doubled over, holding my stomach, tears in my eyes, laughing because she wanted to do what?
Hell naw! She couldn’t be serious.
When I finally got myself together, I looked up to see her staring at me, face blank again.
“So…you wanna dominate me, Miss McClain? On One let you do that to him?” I asked.
Her eyes narrowed. “The first thing you need to know is that he’s not up for discussion. Ever. That’s a deal breaker, just like this contract. You wanna fuck me? Then trust and believe I’m very serious about being the Dominant one in this relationship.”
Relationship? I liked the sound of that. “Okay…so let’s say I sign this contract—”
“You have to fill it out first. We have to fill it out together.”
“Okay, let’s say we fill it out and sign it and everything; then what? I get to fuck you?”
“If and when I choose to let you, yes.”
Here’s the thing, I was just about willing to swallow fire to get in between her legs, so why not? I’d play along, sign her little contract, whatever. As serious as she was acting, wasn’t no way she actually thought I was going to let her dominate me.
No way.
“All right. Let’s do this,” I said, watching as she visibly relaxed as if she was relieved. I had to fight not to smile.
“Okay, fill out the top with your name and age where it says sub, and then read over our roles listed in the next section,” she said.
“My age?”
“Just making sure you’re old enough to consent.”
“I’m twenty-eight, pretty sure I’m older than you.”
“Then put twenty-eight on the paper.”
I did, more or less scanning over our roles like:
Dom will keep sub safe.
Dom will provide a safe space for sub.
Dom is responsible for properly training sub on how to please her.
Dom will have unrestricted use of sub’s body.
Stuff like that.
Some of the sub role stuff was wild, though, like the sub was basically supposed to be at the Dom’s total disposal, under their complete control.
The sub will research and learn about BDSM.
The sub’s body belongs to the Dom.
The sub will submit to the Dom at all times, and then—
“I ain’t supposed to fuck nobody else? So…what? This supposed to be a relationship relationship?” I asked.
She nodded. “That’s non-negotiable. You can’t have sex with anyone else as long as we are in this…arrangement. You also can’t masturbate.”
“What?!”
She stared at me.
“My bad. I ain’t mean to yell. So…you must be planning on giving me a lot of pussy. Like a whole lot.”
“That and you’re going to have to learn some self-control.”
“You saying I don’t have self-control?”
“You saying you do?”
Damn.
“Uh…I don’t know if I can do that. The not masturbating part, I mean. That’s one of my favorite pastimes, and how you gonna know if I do?” I challenged.
“I’ll know,” she countered. “And when I know, you’ll be punished accordingly.”
I grinned, leaning across the table while licking my lips. “What you gon’ do? Spank me?”
She leaned forward, too, her face only inches from mine. “Is that what you want me to do? I’m good at it.”
“This bad bitch energy you’re giving off? It’s got my dick hard,” I admitted.
“Too bad you can’t do anything about it until I allow you to. Now, you need to choose a safe word. A safe word is—”
“I know what that is. I saw Fifty Shades of Grey.”
“Really?” she screeched.
“Yeah. Damn! I watch movies and shit.”
“A woman made you watch it, huh?” she said with a smirk.
“Ain’t nobody made me do shit,” I shot back. Alyssa Howard didn’t make me watch it. I just watched it and acted like I enjoyed it so I could get some pussy. There’s a difference.
Lifting her hands, she said, “Touché. So, you need time to think of one?”
“Nah. I got one.”
“Okay…”
“Uh…personal. Like the foul.”
She nodded. “Personal it is. What are your hard limits, things that you absolutely will not agree to doing or having done to you?”
“Basically, my whole ass region is off limits. Don’t do nothing to my ass. That’s a hard limit like a motherfucker.”
She smiled. “Fair enough, although I think you’d enjoy having your prostate massaged.”
This time, I stared at her.
Shrugging, she said, “Your loss. So you’re down for everything else? Flogging, rope play, wax play, edging, paddling—”
I was only half listening but said, “Yeah, I’m good with everything else.”
“Wonderful!” she gushed.
This was some weird shit, but if the end product was me being inside her, I was going to roll with it.
“The last thing I need you to do is list your favorite foods, movies, TV shows, hobbies, and materials like fur, silk, cotton. Then we can sign off on everything.”
“And then?” I asked.
“And then, I need to see STD results for you. Recent ones. I’ll give you mine, and after that, we can schedule our first play date. We’ll work around your schedule. I’m pretty flexible. I don’t have any work lined up for a couple months.”
“Big model shit, huh?”
“Yeah. Oh! And I have an IUD, so no need for condoms as long as you’re clean. I can provide you with proof of that, too.”
I nodded. “Bet.”
I’d finished filling out the contract while she watched me and was about to sign it when she grabbed my hand. “Are you sure you don’t have any other hard limits? There’s nothing else you don’t want me to do to you or…at all?” she asked.
I looked up and into her eyes as she stared into mine. We sat like that for more than a minute before I said, “You can’t fuck anyone else, either.”
This time she nodded. “Okay.”
ELLA
“I don’t want to do another reality show. I loved it when I was a kid, but I’ve spent most of my life being followed by cameras. I just want some normalcy now,” I said, my face focused on the ceiling. It was so like him to do this, to wait until after we’d had some great sex to spring this on me.
“Damn, you acting like I’m asking you to cut your leg off or something. This show is a big deal for me, El! The network won’t sign off on it if you don’t agree to be a part of it, and how it’s gonna look anyway for me to have a show and you not be a part of it? Damn! You always do this!” he thundered, making me flinch. “How you gon’ want normalcy and be with a famous nigga at the same time? Don’t make no sense!”
He could be so…scary sometimes. Not violent, per se, just…unstable. I was more fearful of him hurting himself than anyone else.
“I always do what? When have I ever refused you anything? I’m here now because you want me here instead of my apartment in Houston studying for midterms!”
“So you didn’t want to come? You don’t want to be with me?”
“I didn’t say that, Jackson! It just would’ve made more sense for you to come to me.”
“You know I couldn’t!”
“I know that’s what you said…”
“So I’m lying? You know what? Fuck this!”
He snatched the covers off his body and left the bed without bothering to turn the light on. In the darkness, I could hear him getting dressed. I also heard the familiar sounds of pills rattling in a bottle and keys jingling. Then I heard him leave the bedroom. A few moments later, I heard the front door to his condo slam shut.
I closed my eyes and sighed before grabbing my phone and dialing his number.
“What?!” was how he answered my call.
“Jackson, come back. You shouldn’t be out driving this late while you’re upset. We can talk about this, come to some kind of agreement.”
“An agreement? You really think you’re better than me, don’t you?”
“What? No! You know I’m not like that!”
“I know I ain’t got a rich daddy, Ella. I ain’t got a famous mama. I ain’t grow up with shit! I built everything I got and I’m tryna share it with you. I’m just asking for a little help! This is for us, for our future!”
I felt the beginnings of a headache and was wearing a nearly permanent look of confusion on my face. “Jackson—”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m used to this. I don’t need you to do shit for me.” His words were garbled, like he had something in his mouth.
My heart stuttered. “Please don’t do this. Where are you? How many pills did you take?”
“I ain’t take enough to deal with your bullshit.”
“Where are you?!” I screamed, a panic rising inside me.
“In the car. In the parking deck.”
I was on my feet, half-dressed at that point. “Stay there.”
I left the condo, finding him just where he said he was. I was so young at the time—just nineteen years old—and inexperienced that I ran to him, dove headfirst into his toxic behavior and an ill-fitting caregiver role, climbed into that car, looked him right in his heavy-lidded eyes, and agreed to do the show.
That memory, one of many that haunted me from time to time, was triggered by the sound of the bottle of pain killers shifting in my bedside table drawer when I opened it. Although these were over the counter and not the Percocet Jackson kept in stock, they still reminded me of just how traumatic my time with him was, how with each passing day, our romance seemed to veer farther and farther off its intended path until it crashed in the worst way.
I stared at that bottle of pain reliever for thirty minutes while sitting on the side of my bed, and when those memories became more than I could handle, I lay back in the bed, pulled the covers over my head, and cried.
I was finally forced out of bed by my bladder, dragging myself to my feet and shuffling to the bathroom. I hadn’t eaten or drunk anything all day, and I recognized that I was on my way to a full-on depressive episode, something I was familiar with but fought hard to avoid re-experiencing.
I was losing control of myself, and I didn’t like it.
At all.
When my phone rang, it was a welcomed distraction because of the name that flashed across its screen.
I actually smiled when I answered it with, “Hello, Armand.”
“Hey.”
Frowning, I asked, “Don’t you have a game?”
“I do. It’s halftime and I needed to ask you something.”
“Should you be on your phone during halftime?”
“No. I’m supposed to be taking a piss. Look, I was reading about BDSM like it said for me to do in the contract, and this one article said something about the Dom having a special name or title, like something the sub is supposed to call them. You got one?”
The fact that he was actually doing his homework made my nipples harden. “Yes,” I said, taking a second to think before informing him, “Sir. You are to call me sir.”
“I ain’t calling you no damn sir. Fuck that.”
“Hmm, we’ll see.”
ARMAND
We won the game, and I couldn’t wait to get into something or someone to celebrate. Everyone was in a good mood on our bus ride back to our hotel in Memphis. Energy was high and I had to admit that I was getting kind of comfortable being a Cyclone, but not too comfortable. I’d been traded too many times to let my guard down.
Once we made it to the hotel, I was one of the last players off the bus and almost groaned when I saw McClain standing on the sidewalk looking for me.
As I approached him, he said, “Damn, man. Why you gotta look like you wanna hurl or something?”
“’Cause I do,” I admitted. “What’s up, man? You know I ain’t tryna be your friend.”
“Yeah, I know. You know your mom’s birthday is coming up, right?”
“You think I don’t, nigga?” I really did forget though.
“My bad. So anyway, I’m throwing her a party. Just wanted to let you know. It would make her real happy for you to be there.”
“Lil’ Leland and Layla gon’ be there? Or y’all sending them to a sitter?”
“They’ll be there until their bedtime.”
As we began walking into the building, I said, “I’ll be there. I mean, I live on the property anyway.”
“Good. Good. I’ll get the details to you.”
I was stepping out the shower in my room when I heard the phone ring and almost missed her call, so my “hello” made me sound like I was running.
“Armand?” she said.
“Yeah, it’s me. I was rushing, tryna get to the phone.”
“Well, I was just calling to remind you of the no sex rule.”
“I got it. Damn!”
“That includes blowjobs from random groupies.”
Fuck.
“Yeah…I figured that,” I said, but I really thought that was a loophole.
“I bet you did. Also, as soon as you get off the plane tomorrow, come to my house.”
“Why?”
“Because I said so, and if you keep questioning me, you can expect to be punished. I can think of worse things than just flogging you. Way worse.”
She hung up, and I was left standing there holding my phone thinking, damn.