Show & Sell: A Dark MFMM Romance

by Abby Angel

She’s not having any bullshit, as usual. She slurps a sip of her Earl Grey tea.

  “Say what?”

  I have so much to say, but I just hold it in for a while, listening to the jazz station playing gently through Jane’s ancient, tube-powered radio. The soothing sound of soft electric piano drifts through the air. I feel the music wash over me, making me feel even more ecstatic from head to toe.

  No garden variety bullshit daydreams for me—this is the afterglow of a fantasy brought to life.

  “Fuckin’ fine. Whatever.”

  Jane continues knitting like a madwoman.

  There’s only one poster on her wall that I recognize. It’s bright pink and decked out with 1950s-era home appliances and housewares: a vacuum cleaner plugged in somewhere out of frame and an icebox with a giant, metal latch handle taking center stage. A Pacific island-inspired floor lamp completes the picture.

  I only recognize that poster because of the band name—The Cure—but the rest of her posters are nonsense to me. Sisters of Mercy? Bauhaus? HIM?

  On the other hand, I always love to take in the Celtic tapestries and Jane’s own drawings of sprites and pixies hanging on the walls and pasted to the ceiling. She sometimes drags a piece or two of décor to her workspace as show props and to add a bit of character, but her actual room encapsulates her passion for the arts.

  “Hi, my name is Lizzie…”

  “Hey, Lizzie!”

  She’s quick. Let’s see if she knows where I’m going with this.

  “…and I’m a Darcy-holic.”

  I hear her knitting needles stop moving for half a second. They start up again before she speaks.

  “Fucking figured that’s where you were.”

  “Jane, are you…”

  I can’t finish, I know the answer.

  “That’s an open-ended one, Lizzie. Let me sleep on it.”

  Fuck this shit, I’ll ask anyway.

  “Aren’t you happy for me? Even just a little bit?”

  She stops her knitting again, for less than half a second this time, before tearing back into it with purpose.

  “I’m on your side, love. Always. I’m looking out for you, and the rest of us. But this is our new boss you’re fucking around with.”

  I pivot my head to look back at her directly. She’s still going at it. Who knows what that scarf is really for.

  “Still an assumption, Jane. Even if it’s happening for sure, he’s not the boss yet.”

  “I’m not being abstract with this shit. I’m talking about William Darcy, your new man-toy. You don’t know about his rep? Not at all?”

  I shift positions, leaning forward now. The velvet-covered cushions are starting to get scratchy.

  “I have no idea. Seriously. I just met him for the first time when he came by with Hawk.”

  This gets Jane to stop knitting and drop the whole mess in her lap.

  “And before that?”

  “No idea.”

  “Well, shit. He’s well-known in the industry. You know, the industry where people generally fuck each other all the time? Darcy doesn’t do that. He’s famous for not doing that. He just does not fuck employees. I’m not saying it’s a bad thing, Lizzie. It just means it’s going to end. The more wrapped up you get, the more that’s gonna hurt.”

  My eyes are cast down on a sparkly silver shag carpet. I don’t even want to consider what she’s saying.

  It must be different this time. Darcy can’t just cut it off for some goddamn business deal. I know Jane would never buy that, though. I go for my backup argument.

  “Hawk wants to buy all of Bennet Babes for himself. His pockets are deep enough, and that dude is determined.”

  Jane takes the cue to get back to her scarf-making, speaking with her eyes fixed on her work.

  “I know, I hear the news traveling through the grapevine. Now, that man has no ethics meter on his cock whatsoever. I’m sure any one of us could have him before or after the sale.”

  It’s a relief to see her smiling.

  “I think only one of us could, and her name is Lydia.”

  Jane’s laugh is a wondrous sound, and I can’t help but join in. Another one of those moments I live for, and another sign that Hawk is the right choice to own Bennet Babes.

  My excitement gets the best of me, and I let it slip:

  “I’m kind of grooming him.”

  Jane’s still laughing a tiny bit when she asks:

  “Grooming? Grooming who? What are you talking about?”

  I know she’s the last person in the world I could convince with this shit, but now I have to try.

  “Hawk. Just Hawk. I’ve got him on the hook to buy the site, pretty much. We’re almost there—well, he’s almost there. He’s pretty much got his check book out.”

  She manages to laughs a smidge, but she’s not happy this time. If I didn’t know her, I’d say she’s disgusted by the idea—but that can’t be it.

  “You’re playing with fire, my love.”

  Jane doesn't stop knitting, but her needlework takes on anger and worry.

  “Why? It’s all working out.”

  “You think it is?”

  I tilt my head back up at the ceiling, my hair falling further down the back of the chair again. I smell the lingering hints of incense that Jane likes burning during the day. Jasmine. Vanilla.

  “It’s good, Jane. It’s really, really good. It couldn’t get better. I feel so…satisfied.”

  Shit, she’s stopped knitting again. I can hear it. I’m afraid to look back down from the ceiling, I know she’s glaring at me.

  “You think this’ll be good for you, Lizzie? Forget about the rest of us. I’m talking about you.”

  I gather the courage to look over at her, and I see she’s looking at me, but not glowering. She has that pitying expression that I’m getting so damn sick of from everyone. Why can’t they just be happy for me?

  “If you start a war, it won’t be good for anyone. These people operate in a different world. It won’t be about you, anymore. Not at all. And it might be too late by the time you realize that.”

  “Oh my God, Jane. I don’t know about this whole melodramatic thing you’re trying. It’ll be fine.”

  Jane’s knitting project makes no noise when she flings it down on the carpet, but her combat boots make some heavy thuds as she trudges out her door. It’s okay, I know she’s just trying to help, just like everyone. I look back up at the ceiling, and go back to thinking about that limo ride.

  Darcy

  Whatever’s in the dictionary under euphoria needs to be changed to “Fucking Lizzie.”

  I’m at one of the most high-end restaurants in the city with a smoking hot waitress serving my table, and all I can think about is having Lizzie ride my cock.

  I can’t even pay attention what Chuck is telling me. It’s just more legal shit. He wants to go over the fine details of the contract with me beforehand, so that in case I get the Bennet deal, I can sign right away.

  Our waitress comes back.

  “Anything else I can get for you, gentlemen?”

  “I’ll tell you what,” he says, “I could sure go for your phone number.”

  The waitress giggles. And not in the fake way some waitresses do when they’re being hit on by a customer. She knows we’re powerful and have money.

  I bet she’s genuinely interested in going out with either Chuck or me. If anything, she’d get one hell of a tip out of it. And I’m not talking about money either.

  “Why don’t you come back and ask for it when I’m done with my shift?”

  I don’t pay attention to whatever he replies to her. Yes, the waitress is definitely hot. I’m not going to deny that. But a lot of women are too. I see them every day, and while they may catch my eye for a moment, there’s something fleeting about their attractiveness.

  This waitress is the kind of hot that after you see her naked, you’d pretty much be done with her. Once you see her body and fuck her, what else is there
to do?

  But Lizzie is different. I got to fully be with her last night, yet I still want her. I want to be inside her once again. I want to fuck her in more places than just the backseat of a limo.

  Eventually, the waitress leaves. Chuck wads up his napkin into a ball and chucks it across the table at me.

  “Darcy, get your head in the game, man.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Our waitress is insanely hot. And you were barely looking at her. I would’ve expected you to be all over that. Don’t tell me I get her all to myself without any fight.”

  “All yours. Fuck her as much as you want. She’s definitely hot, though.”

  Across the dining area of the restaurant, I see our waitress leaning over a counter to speak with a cook. Her skirt is short enough to give us a peek at her tight ass. Hot. But it’s just not doing it for me.

  “How’d your date with Lizzie go?” Chuck asks.

  “It went well,” I reply.

  “Yeah? Did the date itself go well, or did something happen afterward?”

  “Something happened afterward,” I say with a smirk.

  He doesn’t say anything. He simply puts his fist across the table, which I promptly bump.

  That’s what I’m fucking talking about. Can’t a man get some appreciation for getting some pussy? Chuck’s in good form tonight.

  “Nice. You got her out of your system. Now, maybe we can focus on some of this paperwork.”

  Wait, what?

  “She’s not out of my system, dude.”

  “What the hell? Darcy, this deal could go through in a matter of weeks. Maybe days, if we work fast enough. You fucked her. Now move the fuck on.”

  “But it was so incredible. I think Lizzie is the perfect woman for me.”

  Yeah, I know what you’re thinking now. The infamous Will Darcy has found the perfect woman? Fucking tell me about it. But what can I say?

  Chuck apparently has plenty to say. “She has a great body. There’s no denying that. But you can have sex with any woman you want.”

  “Fucking her wasn’t like fucking any other woman I’ve been with. It was raw and primal. Like we perfectly understood each other’s bodies. I need to fuck her again.”

  I can tell Chuck is only half-listening now to what I’m saying. Fair enough. I ignore him plenty of times. He’s looking at our waitress, who’s now at another table. The guys there are getting a little handy with her, touching her thigh right where her skirt ends.

  There’s a familiar look in his eyes. It’s not that of jealousy. This woman obviously doesn’t owe him anything. He sees it more as a challenge. He wants to know if he can win this waitress’ affections.

  “Let me ask you this,” Chuck starts, not taking his eyes off the waitress.

  “Have you considered that maybe Lizzie is playing you? After all, it’s her job to be the perfect woman, and I’m sure she’s good at it. She seduces men for a living and makes them think they can do anything to her. Maybe she’s hoping to get some special perks out of this deal.”

  “I don’t think that’s the case. I’m smarter than that. I’ve seen a lot of women. I know the games they play.”

  “But how smart is your cock?”

  Our waitress comes back to the table to give us the bill. Chuck and I go on these lunch meetings often, and we usually just go back and forth regarding who pays. It’s my turn this time. I pick up the bill, noticing something is on the back.

  I turn it over, and there’s a phone number along with “Becca” and a heart next to it. I hand the bill over to Chuck.

  “Dude, what the fuck? It’s your turn to pay.”

  “Read the back, Chuck.”

  He looks at the phone number, smirking as he takes out his phone to punch it in.

  “I knew she’d pick me over those other guys,” he says smugly. He stops entering the number and looks at me in confusion.

  “Hang on,” he starts. “You totally could have taken this number yourself to take her out.”

  “You’re more invested in her than me. Only makes sense that you should be the one with the shot.”

  “Damn,” he replies shaking his head in disbelief. “You must really like Lizzie.”

  I don’t say anything. I take the last bite out of my meal and take the credit card out of my wallet to pay.

  “There are lots of beautiful women out there. And there are plenty of beautiful women who know how to use their looks to get what they want. Just be careful with Lizzie,” he says.

  Our waitress comes back to pick up my card.

  “Oh my god,” she exclaims. “Is this a black card?”

  “It is indeed,” I say.

  She takes the card toward the back counter, glancing at me as she does so.

  “Holy shit,” Chuck says. “Even when you’re not trying, you can still have any woman you want.”

  Damn fucking right.

  Lizzie

  I don’t take shit—it’s sort of a thing around the mansion and the Bennet Babes world. And while you wouldn’t think it if you watched my badass self in action during a show, I also don’t like conflict.

  Not the real stuff, like in the workplace. When it lingers, it doesn’t do shit for anyone. Thank goodness things are back to normal more recently.

  Jane is showing off her new black feather boa. Well, it’s as new as anything she gets during one of her lunchtime shopping runs.

  I adore how freaking excited Jane gets with every new prop. And this one’s so simple! But she’s having the time of her goddamn life doing a faux striptease in the middle of what’s supposed to be the study on the mansion’s ground floor. Jane is grinding dangerously close to the bookcase, her butt within a few inches of an old Encyclopedia Britannica set.

  I so want to see her knock that shit over. Jane’s flailing her new toy above her head like a lasso. And now she’s whipping the air like it’s a cat-o-nine tails! Ahhhhh!

  I’m sitting on the leopard-print loveseat with Charlie, and Mary’s in the easy chair next to us. We’re all watching as if we’re leering fans seeing Jane do a cam show.

  Jane’s going nuts, even though there’s no music. We start out hooting and catcalling, but as usual within a couple minutes we’re all shrieking at the top of our lungs like we’re at a Backstreet Boys concert. There’s only one person in the universe who can break through our high-pitched racket.

  Catherine is saying, “Ladies, ladies,” in a calm voice, normal volume and everything, but within a few seconds, all of us are quiet and looking at Catherine standing in the study doorway. I swear they need to send this lady to the UN or something.

  Catherine walks in and everything happens so fast: Jane sits down next to me on the arm of the loveseat, Lydia follows Catherine and sits on the old movie theater chair—which is the last seat available—and Catherine takes a spot in front of the window next to the bookcase. From chaos to a perfectly organized meeting within a few seconds, this is Catherine’s unique skillset.

  “I trust none of you ladies have plans for this evening.” Catherine damn well knows that none of us have shit going on, but she’s doing her diplomatic thing. All of us now know where this is going, but Catherine goes on to explain anyway.

  “As you all know, with everything going on, Bennet Babes is in a unique position to rise to even higher heights. Right now, there’s a bidding war brewing. If any of you don’t know what a bidding war is, I can tell you that it’s a very good thing for us.

  “However, we cannot rest on our laurels. The more we demonstrate our value, the better. The iron is hot right now, ladies. And we could always use a few boatloads of extra cash. We need to do a group show.”

  I don’t know how Catherine always chooses the perfect night for these. I look around and everyone seems at least open to it. I’m surprisingly eager.

  As badly as I need a lazy night of no work, with these group shows, a few boatloads of extra cash is no exaggeration. We would be doing this shit all the time, but then it
wouldn’t be special, or lucrative. With a surprise treat for Bennet Babes fans tonight, I could make up for some of that income I lose for only doing solo stuff.

  “We are overdue.” I look at Charlie as soon as I hear her say this, and she’s already staring right back at me with an I know you agree look on her face. We all know what Catherine is talking about by now, and she’s stopped talking to give us a chance to get excited.

  I turn back to Catherine and the sun setting behind her through the study window, but I’m really looking at Jane and Lydia in my peripheral vision. I don’t think they mind diving back into it tonight. That pair is becoming a fan favorite, with a growing number of “Jane and Lydia” videos and screencaps getting crazy download stats in the archives.

  They just do the shows, but those captures last forever, getting them new fans and bigger royalties. But for now, nothing can touch the massive, loyal fanbase for Lydia’s solo work. Dudes like Hawk are the bread and butter of this site.

  Jane looks at her left wrist like there’s a watch there. Probably a joke. “What time?”

  “Nine-thirty. Sharp.” Catherine allows herself a well-earned smirk. It’s not like any of us check the actual site, or get the same alerts the fans do. Catherine knows exactly when to schedule group shows—usually days ahead of time—and to wait until a couple hours until show time to tell us.

  Some of us are hiding it better than others, but we all still get excited about this stuff. It’s far from routine.

  “If you say so, Cath. I’ll do it if ya need me to.” Jane’s trying to play it cool, but leaps off the loveseat arm. “Come on, Lydia, let’s get ready.”

  “There’s still a couple hours, but I need to get into character.” Lydia seems a little less pumped, but she follows Jane out. I hope Lydia is planning to give it her all.

  Hawk surely knows about the show tonight. He’s probably getting ready right now, rubbing his retired porn star bulge through his jeans while checking his supply of tissues and moisturizing hand lotion. Maybe he tries to save face with his housekeeper by complaining about dry skin and these darn allergies he can’t seem to shake.

  With Hawk watching like a hawk, I need to make sure that Lydia is front and center.