Page 63 of Not About That Life
Four
“Sweaty” by Jodeci blare out in the overhead speakers at Whitney’s dance studio. The music is hard and fast. The guitar riff vibrates through my body as Devante’s whispering baritone keeps questioning me.
I slowly swing around the pole with only one arm holding onto it. It’s a new move I haven’t tried before and I’m a little scared I’m going to slip and fall on my ass. I push those thoughts out as I hook a leg around the pole and swing with my back against the pole.
It’s another new position – facing the audience head-on. I’m not hiding behind a pole or even my legs, for that matter. I’m completely exposed and everyone can see everything of me – my flaws, my strengths, my problem areas, and what I’m proud of.
I set my legs down and gyrate my entire body from chest down to my knees. So many dancers only gyrate their pelvic region, but there’s something so sensual about moving the entire body in a fluid, wave-like motion.
I jump back onto the pole and slowly swing around it, holding onto it with both hands. I set my legs down and jump onto the pole again, splitting my legs open. Once again everything is in full view to the audience. The strength of my legs. My core. Even the balls of my feet.
I fold into the fetal position and continue to swing around the pole, hanging on by just one arm before I dive into the splits again. My movements are hard, fast, and succinct. I need to move at a break-neck speed before the audience realizes what in the hell they just saw.
I stop swinging as I hang upside down, my head near the floor. I open my legs again and hold it. This is going to be the money shot. And yes, I know what a money shot means. Ian gave me one last night.
I release my hold and walk around the pole again before I jump on it again. I have one arm above me and one below my torso. Lifting myself upside down, I spread my legs again in the air and again hold that position. I ease myself down and climb to the top of the pole.
I’ve never been this high on the pole before. I always had a limit on how high I would climb up and yet today, those limits were crushed. In fact, every single limit I’ve had on myself has been obliterated.
I have Whitney to thank.
She was the one that pushed me, forcing me to do a routine repeatedly until it was perfect. She never demeaned me or made me feel stupid if I messed up. Instead, she encouraged me to work smarter, not harder, and make it all perfect.
I owe everything to her.
I’m at the top of the pole, supporting myself with just my core and legs. My arms are spread out like wings and my legs are crossed around the pole. Just when the bridge of the song begins, that’s my cue.
I curl up into the fetal position and drop, stopping only inches from the floor.
“Yasss, hunty!” Whitney stands up and claps. “That’s my Domi! That’s my Domi! That’s my Domi!” She sings.
I carefully release my hold and stand up. It’s one thing to have a bunch of internet strangers adore you but when someone within the industry sings your praises, that’s a new ballgame altogether.
I feel like I can move mountains. I guess there is something to mustard seed strength.
~~~~~~
“What is the relationship between you and Saint Nick?” I carefully ask, gauging Whitney’s reaction. Whitney showed me new routines all day and pushed me to go beyond my limits. Now I feel like I can do anything. “I’m confused by it all. It seems you submit to Him, but you’re respectful of His marriage to Zerrin.”
“Zerrin is my sister and soulmate,” Whitney replies as she sips from a water bottle. “Master is…everything.”
That still doesn’t answer the question I’m looking for. Whitney and Nick aren’t a couple and they’re not having an affair behind Zerrin’s back, but something seems off-kilter about the whole shebang. “Okay.”
“I help Master relieve some pent-up aggression He might be dealing with. He’s one of the nicest and most gentle Sadists I’ve ever met.” She pauses for a moment and briefly looks out the window. “I don’t mind being choked now and again or often if I could.”
My eyes widen to the size of golf balls and Whitney is still staring out the window in a dream-like state. Did this bitch just say…? “You like that kind of stuff?”
“It’s not for everyone,” she turns her attention back to me. Her eyes are glossy like she’d just seen stars. “Some Masters won’t do it. Some submissives crave it.”
The question is on the tip of my tongue and I have to ask it. “Has Ian ever…?”
“That’s a conversation you need to have with Master Ian,” Whitney slowly blinks. “If you want to know, He’ll tell you everything He thinks you should know.”
Ishouldknow? It doesn’t escape me on the specific terms she’d used. I guess she knows there are things I probably don’t need to know and you know what? I’m not about to question any of it. “Got it.”
“It’s also okay if you want to casually participate in BDSM,” she begins, “Scott and Mariana tend to do it more in the bedroom, with occasional non-sexual activities. Saint Nick is true to the Lifestyle and it’s 24/7 for Him. It’s His calling and He’s very, very good at it.”
“I’m afraid if I only do it sometimes, it’ll push Ian away.” It’s a silly thought to have taken the fact he branded me last night with well…him.But I can’t help it. I do wonder if I’ll ever be enough for him. He has a ton of experience and Ian’s been my only partner. I have nothing to compare him to (nor do I want to).
