Show & Sell: A Dark MFMM Romance

by Abby Angel

  "I just need to brush my hair. I think I want all of your cum all over me and in me all day," I say, and I know how filthy it sounds. But I mean it. I want him to come all over me. "Next time, you're coming on my tits and I'm licking it off. I love the way you taste," I tell him since we're playing dirty confessions.

  "Fuck, Christina," David grabs me and kisses me roughly, biting my lips and holding my face to his so our foreheads are pressing together. "You keep talking like that and we're going to start all over again, and we need to get your hair brushed and get something to eat before we both die from all these calories we burned."

  I laugh. I hear how he's joking when he talks about calories—no doubt he watches his figure, but that was definitely a funny thing for most alpha males I’ve ever known to say—but I like knowing I can turn him on as much as he turns me on.

  David orders room service and we have breakfast — and he tells me that he has to go, which is good, because at about the same time, I get a text from Thomas with my next client’s details. He tells me that we need to talk. A sinking feeling for a moment makes me think maybe something didn’t go well with Carl, but I realize that can’t be true.

  Christina

  "Christina, I know that you’re hesitant but you gotta trust me. I am not going to steer you wrong. And look, this is what he's offering," my pimp, Thomas, says sliding his tablet over to me and handing me the phone.

  I take it with my jaw hanging open at the number glaring on the glass screen. So many zeroes, at least double the number that I have on most nights. I don't know, for one night? Doesn't that mean he's some kind of creep?

  Wait, that's like why I have a good pimp and why I'm high end now...because it means I don't end up in lots of little pieces in someone's basement or something.

  "Hello?" I say, trying not to sound like a bashful little girl.

  "I'm Mr. M, and you are?" The voice on the other end of the line sends a thrill through me. His voice is sexy, and it makes my nipples hard just listening to it.

  "I'm...Christina," I say, and shit I am not supposed to use my name.

  He says nothing for a moment and I think he knows that I flubbed.

  "I want to blindfold you and I want you to submit to me, Christina,” the mysterious client says into the phone.

  Well, fuck. "I am hands off. None of my clients are allowed to touch me.” I almost say ‘now’ but I resist. I shiver, saying, “You can paint me with cum but you don't touch me," I tell him.

  My pimp brought me to this kind of high end arrangement where you can come on me but you can’t fuck me…and honestly I think plenty of guys get off on paying so much money and still not getting to fuck me. It works for me because I made the decision that after I got so caught up on my stepson David and then actually fucked him…well, I just can't bring myself to actually come for or be touched by another man.

  Yeah, I know. It took me two clients to realize that. But I love the freedom and independence in putting myself out for rent. But I also know that I want David.

  Bad.

  I always imagine my clients are him. I’m still flirting with my stepson like I’m not doing something terrible.

  But I can’t just go back to not being a prostitute. I like the money and I like the work, but something about the no-touching rule keeps me sane.

  Now this rich asshole wants me to break my rule…and worse, I want to break my rule for him.

  "You'll let me touch you," he says, and he actually laughs on the phone.

  I believe him. I have a shiver up and down my spine at just the sound of his voice and I think I probably will let him touch me.

  "You won't see me, and I'll touch you..."

  His voice wraps me in lust, and that's saying something. I close my eyes and start to think about him touching my body.

  I love being a girl for rent, whatever fantasy you have, there I am and I can fulfill just about any dark desire anyone can come up with.

  But I cost more. I'm worth a lot more. You don't even have to touch me, and you’re going to come. You can cover me in cum but that’s all that’s touching me.

  Except Mr. M…he is going to touch me and that's so exciting to me that I can’t think straight.

  "I'll call you, C," he says, hanging up.

  So why do I have this one client that I'm so intrigued by? I'm still shivering about what he said on the phone, and I feel…I almost feel like I’m betraying David by being attracted to him. Which I know makes no sense. David and I aren’t in a relationship, and we shouldn’t be. I don’t feel guilty when I sell myself to other clients. But that instant attraction I have for Mr. M is upsetting. I don’t want to want him, but I can’t resist.

  I told him my real name. That's so crazy. Well I said Christina, like he doesn't know my full name. Still...the only other person in my life I've felt this attracted to...

  Well, you wanna talk about off limits. My stepson. That's who I fucked and now, now I can't bring myself to actually fuck another man.

  So if you think the fact that I get paid by guys I don't let touch me but allow to come on me is wild, then you don't know the half of it. Because my former husband? He died inside of a man that he was fucking.

  Yeah, he had a fucking heart attack and the world caught Mr. Billionaire Natural Gas fucking some man.

  He was a terrible husband but that was a pretty terrible way to go.

  My stepson David had already gone off to Stanford at the time. Calling him to explain was awkward...and when I went to see him, shame filled all my thoughts.

  Even when I went to deliver the paperwork.

  I've always found David attractive and I knew that he had a strained relationship with his father. I just wanted to comfort him. Too much attraction and some too sexy La Perla later and...

  I know, I know. So now I'm a high-end call girl and that makes me happy.

  Controlling who touches me — generally no one — and fantasizing about my stepson, well, that's how I do my days in between cosmos and designer shoes.

  So why do I feel like everything is about to change?

  Moreover, why do I feel like I want it to?

  I mean, maybe this mystery client could help me get over David. I need to. I'm so not the taboo MILF. I mean, he has his whole life ahead of him. His father's death made him wealthy beyond measure. He's top of his class at Stanford and graduates next year. He's going to run the next Fortune 500 and he doesn't need me distracting him from girls his age.

  This is good. I'm attracted to this client. I can give him a chance for a night. I mean, that's the point of being for rent.

  No one gets to buy me. No one owns me.

  This could work out perfectly, right?

  Thomas looks at me. "Of course you're going to do it. I mean I know there’s a rule, but aren’t rules made to be broken? This man is fine, if I do say so myself, so like girlfriend you ain't going to have a problem. Do it and get paid."

  I laugh, grabbing an airplane bottle of booze from the ice bucket. "Yeah, you want your cut. But you're right, I do want to do this. Why not?"

  "There's no reason not to," Thomas says. "Get it girl!" He grabs a bottle and hooks arms with me. "Let's go buy more shoes, Chris?"

  "Yeah, let's do that," I say, gasping a little with the aftershock of the alcohol burning as it goes down. "I think there are some new Choos that need a new momma," I say. And in my sick mind, that makes my heart sink.

  Because no matter what I'm thinking about David. No man has ever made me come like that...and no man has made me come since.

  I should just fuck someone. This guy. Because how else am I going to keep my head on straight? I'm not a heavy drinker and drinking to ignore my horniness? That's not really working.

  I grab my bag and fix my red lipstick in the mirror.

  Thomas grabs my arm and we head out the door, heading down to shop for something fabulous.

  We'll be done with this hotel in a few days and I'll head back to Northern California to take care of some
of the last minute affairs that I need to for my late husband's estate. I know I should avoid David, but I want to make sure that everything is in order with him. I have to get my attraction for him out of my system, and this might be the perfect way

  David

  Christina can’t decide how she feels about fucking me.

  Or, really, she can’t accept how she feels about fucking me. Because already, after an incredible night and fantastic morning, she got ready to push away from me during breakfast…and I know she got a text from her pimp, Thomas.

  Of course, Christina doesn’t know that I’m the client that’s about to take over her whole weekend, not just in the earnings she'll pull in but in the time. Thomas is going to try and squeeze some asshole between us, but that’s only going to make Christina want me, and Mr. M, more.

  When I realized that I had to have Christina, like really have her and make her mine, it was just in time for my inheritance to make that no big fucking deal at all. I’m still going to Stanford, but there’s no rule that says I can only live my life in college. I quickly closed on a home in Vegas and I set up what is really, admittedly a crazy fucking scheme. But if you knew Christina, if you knew her life, you’d know that she needs the adventure and the thrill that I’m bringing her.

  You can take a stripper out of Spearmint Rhino. But you can never take the stripper out of the girl.

  The thrill of being on stage.

  Of being desired.

  And she’s already conflicted about me. Mr. M is going to be her safe escape from everything, and in no time she’ll know that she wants Mr. M, and either she’ll push me aside or she’ll find another way.

  Regardless, I will tell her that I’m both men when the time is right. I’m pumped that the time to have Christina meet Mr. M is finally now.

  Tonight, after she’s been well-rested and enjoyed some kind of pimp/whore bonding and shopping experience — Thomas is a strange guy but his help has been crucial in planning this whole thing — well, then she'll come to my mansion, to my filthy party, and she’ll see a whole new side of me. She won’t even know it is me. But if you’re going to fuck your stepmom, you don’t want to be the baby frat bastard forever, and there are things I just want to show her. It is good that she started this prostitution gig, because for the first time in her life, she’s starting to go after things that she wants.

  Christina deserves everything she wants, and I’m going to give it to her — and let her have that autonomy and control that she so desires.

  And at the end of it all, it is my arms she’ll sleep in at night, safe, secure, and content to know that she won’t have another worry about money, or anything else, in the world again.

  I can't resist teasing Christina a little bit, so I have a little gift sent to her hotel. She’ll be so confused by this Mr. M, I know, and she won’t be able to help how attracted to him she is. I know I was a little smug with her on the phone, but she liked it and so do you.

  After all, an alpha male? Well, he paints a girl with cum after he fucks her. These pricks paying her top dollar don’t get to fuck Christina’s holes. No, those are my holes now. And I know that some part of Christina knows that. I’m interested to see how far she will take it with Mr. M , and how far Mr. M will take it with her.

  “We’re all set?” I confirm with the hotel concierge, then the driver, then with Thomas. I get the all clear from each of them and I know my plan is all falling into place perfectly. Christina has no idea what’s in store for her.

  Christina

  After shopping with Thomas and enjoying sometime this weekend not spent on whatever strange client is next, I head back to my room and decide to relax some before my next client that managed to affect me in a way I never thought possible. I slip into a hotel bathrobe and start laying out the clothes I will wear tonight, the makeup I will put on and other assorted tasks in preparation.

  I hear a knock on the door. I go to answer and find a hotel concierge holding out a box. "This is for you," he says. "It comes courtesy of a Mr. M."

  I didn’t know Mr. M, was going to send me gifts and my heart flips twice and I eagerly rip open the packaging, lifting off the box's lid. Inside, I find an elegant black evening gown and a note. The note reads,

  "Rose are red, violets are blue, get ready for an unforgettable evening because I can't wait to feast upon you."

  I hold the note in my hands. "Sounds like an interesting guy," I say sarcastically. “Mr. M seemed much more suave on the phone,” I say to no one but myself. I can’t help but wonder if I’m underestimating the client. The truth is, I’m still thinking about David and what he did to my body. I don’t dislike my work, and I find I’m getting further and further away from a comfortable distance between my attraction to David and my pleasure in prostituting myself. That’s right, fucking men for money — or what I do right now, somewhere between fucking and not — and fucking my stepson have started to be at odds. I actually laugh out loud at the notion. How did my life get to this point? My problems aren’t money and a shitty husband anymore, though, so I can at least appreciate that.

  That night, I slide into the black evening gown sent by the mysterious Mr. M, and I drive myself to the nightclub that Thomas instructed me to go to via text. I park, walk into the doors of the club and am immediately taken aback by the club’s decadent décor. Chandeliers hang from the ceilings, red plush chaise lounges are strategically placed across the room, votive candles light the tables, and the walls are painted a deep burgundy. A DJ plays an eclectic mix of music.

  A man in a dark suit with a silver tie approaches me. "Ms., I am here to take you to the party," he says.

  "Are you Mr. M?" I ask, seriously doubting that but I have to ask.

  He chuckles "Me? Oh no, but you will meet him shortly."

  Together, we walk out of the backdoor of the club and leave in a silver Mercedes that is waiting for us outside.

  I realize that without Thomas, I would be nervous right about now. I am with a strange man, in a strange car, headed for a strange place, and I am blindly traveling without any answers. Isn't this what horror movies are made of?

  But Thomas promised me that I would always be safe, and I believe him.

  We travel for a few miles until the driver pulls up a gated driveway of a palatial home. This isn't an ordinary home—with its tall columns, circular driveway, tennis courts, water fountains, and Olympic-sized swimming pool, this is a mansion.

  The man in the suit ushers me out of the car and walks me into the foyer of the home. "Enjoy your evening," he says, and turns to walk away.

  "Wait," I say, calling after him.

  "Where do I go from here?" I ask. "Where is Mr. M?"

  But the man doesn't answer, and so I am left wondering where I should head next. Hearing music and lively chatter coming from an adjoining room, I decide to head in that direction.

  In the next room, I find myself surrounded by men in expensive suits and beautiful women in elegant dresses, their hair and makeup and bodies perfectly accessorized. I quickly realize that these women are not wives, or girlfriends—they are all high-end escorts and this party must be for the benefit of a select group of wealthy men.

  I take a seat at the bar and order my favorite drink, a cosmopolitan. As I sip the drink, I look around. It is then that I notice—the men were not only groping and playing with these women like expensive toys, but they are passing them around and sharing them with one another. The women smile, and laugh, and eagerly play their parts.

  A shiver runs up and down my spine. Mr. M said I’d submit to him, that he’d blindfold me and he’d touch me. I hope that hasn’t changed. I am getting used to the new rules, the no-touching rule, and so soon I’m breaking it. I don’t want it to be for a party full of entitled, wealthy men. I want it to be for the mysterious Mr. M.

  Just then, a tall man sits next to me. He is holding a blindfold, and before I can look up at him, he ties it over my eyes.

  So this is the mystery man. H
e certainly exudes a dark charm. And he doesn't seem nearly as crude as his letter.

  I tremble for a moment, getting used to the newfound blindness I have and knowing that it is in a room full of men and their escorts.

  “May I have this dance?” Mr. M asks. “I won’t let you fall,” he says. I hear his voice through the music and it sounds different. I mean, it reminds me of David, but that’s crazy. All clients that intrigue me, or bore me, tend to make me think of David. I push aside the thought and nod.

  I grab his hand and let him direct me to the floor. We dance, slow, fluid steps. I nestle into his broad chest, and he keeps one hand on the small of my back, and it slowly moves it toward my ass. There is no doubt as to why I am here; he made that known. He gets to touch me. I think to myself that not long ago, a man paying the right price could. Now, this is something that I reserve for Mr. M.

  The ambience of the room, the inherent helplessness the mask imposes on me, and the intoxicating presence of my mysterious client all have me realizing that I have desire for him welling up within me.

  "Do you like my house?" he asks.

  "This is your house?" I reply, taken aback. "You own this entire place?"

  "I do," he says. “And I’m going to take you my bedroom now.”

  I shiver in anticipation, unsure of what to expect as we move to the bedroom, but finding the not knowing utterly exhilarating.

  "Undress. I want to see your body, C," Mr. M says, his voice like velvet over my skin

  I tremble, my fingers barely moving.

  Mr. M's hand reaches out and captures my hand that has just gripped a zipper on my gown, and I'm frozen. Dropping my hand, his hand reaches for my zipper now. He tears down the dress. My breasts bounce out, my bra getting torn in the process of him yanking down the fabric. His strength consumes me, and any fear within me transforms into longing.

  His mouth closes over one of my breasts, and his hand over the other. Neither touch is gentle or kind. No, Mr. M is devouring and fondling my flesh with the ferocity of a man having his first drink after being deserted for far too long. Knowing my body is quenching the dark desires within him thrills the deepest parts of me. Tremors of lust and need shoot through my veins. The moans flowing through my lips are so raw, so full of unbridled lust, that if I didn’t feel my lips shaking to release them, then I never would have thought that the urgent, desperate sounds were coming from me.