Lexis Bitches: Date Night

POV: Anjila

The date was tonight; she’d lost a bet with Lexi, and this was the forfeit—set entirely on Lexi’s terms. Weeks ago, something had been set in her like a clean, bright seed: she would love Lexi. Not argued, not bargained—placed. It should have frightened her. Instead it felt like the relief of finding the right page.

She sat alone at the table, coat folded, glass untou­ched, rehearsing a sensible story: it was just dinner—and how would it look if she didn’t honor her wager? But as the minutes stretched she kept adding edits in her head: respect, competence, safety. Each word tried to cover the one she didn’t dare say. Love waited anyway, patient as snowfall.

Lexi arrived on a sweep of cold air and perfume that wasn’t sweet so much as exact. Black wool, clean line, a mouth that knew how to hold silence. Anjila forgot the clever opening she’d practiced. “You look…” She closed the sentence with a helpless little laugh. “…unfair.”

“Manageable,” Lexi said, taking her seat like a verdict. “You clean up well—for someone who used to rehearse ‘unapproachable.’” The smile that followed was almost kind. It stung, so Anjila filed the sting as attention and felt steadier for it.

Lexi let the conversation unspool at her pace. “You always needed a reason to be in the room,” she said lightly. “Tonight your reason is simple: you lost a bet. You’re here because you keep your word. That, I like.” A backhanded compliment, and yet it warmed. Anjila heard herself tease back; Lexi rewarded her with a slightly longer smile. They traded small histories with the edges still on—exams dodged, parties endured, the petty cruelties of year two.

“About that,” Lexi said, tilting her head. Anjila started to justify it, but Lexi cut in—fond, unsparing. “I get it: the script your mother gave you about who the ‘bad ones’ are. Honest question—have you ever given any of us ten minutes of real conversation?”

Anjila looked down, color rising.

Lexi reached across and took her hand. “I’m not trying to insult you. Tonight you get a chance.”

“Okay,” Anjila murmured, still flushed. “As long as no one knows. Especially my mother.”

“Of course.” Lexi didn’t gloat; she understood. “She taught you to hate because she thought it would help you succeed. It happens.” She reached across the table and took Anjila’s hand—not a caress so much as custody. “I forgive you. Let’s just be two women having a very good date and see where this goes. No performance. No stress.”

Something unwound in Anjila’s chest. They flirted—easily now, trading small, precise volleys that landed where nerves soften into want.

“On a scale of one to ten,” Lexi asked, lazy with intent, “how well are you behaving?”

“Seven,” Anjila said. “Nine if you like honesty.”

“I like accuracy,” Lexi returned. “Eight—because you teased me back and it worked.”

They played a quiet game of truth-or-answer-with-style: favorite failure; best theft of time; one thing they’d forgive in themselves. Anjila admitted she still saved screenshots of books she’d never read; Lexi admitted she ran to silence her head. “You run?” “Fast enough to keep up with you.” The laugh they shared felt earned, not borrowed.

The hour drifted; the seed inside her opened another fraction. She stopped renaming what she felt.

Lexi walked her to the dorm through thin, glittering cold. At the door, Anjila turned, grinning in spite of herself. “Thank you. That was—” She didn’t know what to do with her hands; she didn’t know what permission meant here.

Lexi took the back of her neck and drew her close, breath warm against her ear. “I told you not to fall in love with me,” she murmured. “What would your mother think?”

“Fuck her,” Anjila said, and kissed Lexi hard.

Lexi broke the kiss first, amused and unruffled. “Text me, babe.” A quick, playful swat to Anjila’s hip. “Go inside.” She turned and left, and Anjila stood in the doorway smiling like a woman who’d finally chosen her own weather. What is happening to me? Why do I want to write “Mrs. Anjila Hale” on a napkin like a schoolgirl? Oh God—right, she’s his daughter. How did I not think of that? Maybe… yes, she likes me. I should use that—get closer to him. Tomorrow—no, now. I’ll text her and ask to see each other again.

POV: Zheng & Xia

Their dorm was small and neat, the kind of order that comes from wanting to be chosen. They sat cross‑legged on Xia’s bed, replaying the hour they’d spent helping Anjila dress: the liner Xia steadied, the jacket Zheng steamed, the tiny cue about pushing sleeves just so. They giggled once, then hushed themselves, voices low like pups whispering about the handler they adored.

“She acted like a queen,” Zheng said, half‑resentful, half‑awed. “As if we should thank her for letting us help.” “Lexi is the one we should treat like a queen,” Xia murmured quickly. “She sees everything. If she’d watched us tonight… we would’ve done it even better.” They nodded in sync, the fear and worship braided tight. “She’s perfect,” Zheng said, softer. “I want her to be proud of us.”

A knock—sharp, close. They both froze. “Who—?” Xia started, but the door opened before the question finished. Lexi stepped in and the room’s gravity changed.

“Here.” The single word pinned them. They came at once, wide‑eyed, to where she stood. Lexi’s hands found their napes and squeezed; the sound that slipped out of both was a thin, helpless whimper.

“I wait,” she said, almost bored. “Good girls don’t make me wait. Did you make Anjila pretty for me?”

“Yes, Mistress,” they breathed together, shaking.

“That deserves a reward.” Their heads lifted a fraction, hopeful. “Ears up.”

“That deserves a reward,” Lexi said, voice silk over steel. “Your reward is simple: you’ve earned my access. Give me a key to this room.”

Zheng’s breath hitched, eyes huge; Xia made a tiny, eager sound.

“Now,” Lexi added, not unkind.

Xia hurried to the hook by the door and pressed a spare key into Lexi’s palm, head bowed, while Zheng whispered, “Thank you, Mistress,” as if the gift were theirs, cheeks burning with the strange honor.

“Good.” She set a small USB stick on the desk. “Listen to this while you sleep.”

They stared at the little black rectangle, then at her hand. This time they didn’t ask questions.

“Yes, Mistress,” they said, barely above breath.

Lexi stroked a thumb over each cheek, proprietary, almost fond. “Sugarpup,” she said to Zheng. “Honeytail,” to Xia. “I mean you well. You need a firm hand—the kind Anjila doesn’t have.” The girls flicked a quick look at each other, fear bright as glass.

“I’m giving you a tool,” Lexi went on, tapping the USB. “Listen, and so much will feel easier. Now give Mommy a kiss.”

They leaned for her mouth, greedy with relief. Lexi’s head tilted once—no. Two sharp smacks landed on their backsides.

“Bad doggies,” she said, amusement thin. “Down.”

They dropped to their knees at once and, without prompting, licked over the toes of her shoes—small, precise strokes, eyes damp.

“Good.” She pocketed the key. “I’ll be checking on you soon.” She was gone a heartbeat later, the door clicking soft behind her.

They stayed where they were, breath hitching, staring at the USB. Then, still on their knees, they crawled to the desk and set it carefully beside the lamp, as if the little shape could already hear their promise.

POV: Pryia

First nights bled into routine. Lexi’s place had a single bed—Pryia pretended not to notice and then noticed all the time. Hospitality looked like a welcome; the clipboard of micro‑tasks looked like service. She did them anyway. Cups aligned in fives. Towels folded until their edges kissed. The hum in her throat she called alignment because any other word would make it too real.

She ran Lexi’s errands, prepped readings, color‑coded notes “just in case,” trained at dawn because Lexi said the body thinks better when it’s been used. She’d even dropped weight without meaning to. It felt good—because Lexi said it would. Amara didn’t praise; Amara only asked. Since moving in, Pryia had begun feeding Amara small, wrong things about Lexi by reflex, a loyalty test she kept passing.

When jealousy struck—like tonight, when Lexi left for a date—Pryia cleaned the room twice and then a third time so it would be perfect. Weeks ago, Lexi had found her on the floor, breathless and shaking; the night had ended with Pryia on her knees, learning exactly how to please her. Are they together? The thought made her smile and wince at once. Labels didn’t matter. Love felt like service with a pulse.

Keys at the door. Pryia knelt to unlace boots and massage calves, cheek warm against denim, listening while Lexi described the date in unhurried lines. The telling stung and soothed at once. Heat and shame braided in Pryia’s chest; she hated the flush in her face and wanted it deeper.

Her phone buzzed on the console. A stack of quick messages popped up from Anjila—could they meet tomorrow to work on the psychology paper? maybe even get a drink after, her treat. Lexi’s mouth curved; she didn’t hide it. Pryia’s stomach twisted with sharp envy, her breath catching at the thought of Anjila sitting across from Lexi again. The sting felt like a slap she’d asked for, and Lexi’s eyes lingered on her face just long enough to show she had noticed.

“Say what you are,” Lexi murmured, fingers in her hair. “I’m jealous,” Pryia whispered, cheeks hot, “and I want to be better for you.” Her chest ached with the effort of swallowing envy, the words tumbling too fast. Lexi smiled faintly, reading her with ease. “Oh, babe,” Lexi said, perfectly gentle. “Shall I help you let go of that jealousy? You’re important to me—my little handmaid, my helper. Not a partner—you’re not good enough for that. But if you want, I can make you better.” Pryia’s eyes widened. “You mean…?” “Yes,” Lexi murmured, voice silken. “With hypnosis.” “Ehm…,” Pryia breathed, trembling. “Please… make me better.”