Double Rolled: An MMF Bisexual Romance

by Aly White

  My phone vibrates, the sound of my phone vibrating on the table taking me back to the reality. I reach for it, taking a sip from my wine glass, taking it a slow this time, as I unlock my phone.

  I always have to check my phone outside because my boss would always go batshit crazy whenever she sees one of us on their phones, even though we are in the locker room. I do not know what her deal is with her employees using their own phones inside the premises of the restaurant, even though we only check it while we are in the locker room. It’s not as if we are like those kids who are on their social media pages twenty-four seven.

  My heart suddenly starts racing as I stare at the unread email from Woods Records in my inbox. I lick my lips as I try to slow down my breathing.

  Okay—it’s just another rejection letter. You’re used to this.

  Taking another sip, I click on the message and my heart almost jumps out of my ribcage.

  “Ms. Flores, good day! This is Rachel from Woods Records. I would like to inform you that you have passed the first set of auditions. If you are still interested, please come in for another audition. Details for the next audition will be announced soon. We are hoping to see you there!”

  I let out a shaky laugh as I read the email twice before I tell myself that I am not hallucinating or imagining things. This is it. I have to nail the next audition. I know that I can do it if I want it enough.

  Oh my god. I did it. Max, you fucking did it!

  The phone vibrates on my hand, the number of my handler flashes on the screen. The only thing that my handler sent is the address and the time where I need to be tonight and meet my next client. I type in an ‘Okay’ and send it.

  My vision blurs as tears slowly prick my eyes, as my mouth hurts from smiling too much. My heart is still beating fast as I pour myself another drink, raising the glass as I whisper to myself, “Here’s to nailing that audition, Max.”

  Maxene

  I get in the hotel room using the key card that I got from the hotel lobby. Thank goodness, my client has the half of the mind to let the staff from the lobby know that I will need one. The hotel room is decent, and there is nothing fancy that will steal my attention.

  Still wearing my pianist outfit, and after making sure to change my footwear into high-heeled stilettos, I head to the master’s bedroom, only to be greeted by the sound of someone taking a shower. I sigh, trudging back towards the living room of the hotel room.

  I take a seat on the couch, as the exhaustion slowly claims me back to its arms. I yawn, closing my eyes for a second hoping the exhaustion away. I stay like that for a few seconds, hoping that my client will finally get out of the shower so that we could finally start and I could finally get the job done so that I can finally go home and rest on my bed.

  My work after my shift, which I like to refer to as my ‘after-after shift,’ is definitely not being a hooker. I mean, I have dabbled in the hooker career path, however, after staying on it for a few months, I have decided that being a hooker is not for me.

  Although the pay is good, I realized that it’s not really my thing. Moreover, I did not like how I was sometimes treated by my own clients, as it soon dawned on me that being a hooker means being prone to abuse and violence.

  It was just something that I could not do. Yes, I do need the money, but I am not that desperate to endanger myself in the process of earning it.

  After my short stint as a hooker and after I told my handler the dislike of being one, my handler found me a new job title: submissive. Soon, I found myself going in and out of various rooms and houses where various doms live, each with their own choices of toys and manners to get off.

  It was not until a client who hired two submissives, one of which is me, where I found my true calling. That client of mine awakened the dominatrix within me.

  After that session with him and the other submissive, I realized what I am good at: a full-time dominatrix. The road to being my own Dom is a breeze, and I really think that being a sub once was the actual training ground for me, which is why I don’t hate being a submissive that much.

  I straighten, my body tensing as soon as I hear the shower turning off. I make myself as comfortable as I can be on the couch, at the same time, looking for a sexy position that I want my client to stumble upon. I settle down with my arms crossed over my chest, intentionally pushing my breasts upwards, making it look like as if it’s about to burst out of the thin cloth of my dress.

  My handler forwarded to me earlier a letter of what my current client wants. As a dominatrix, I require my clients to write down their wildest fantasies, since some of them clam up when asked about what they want.

  Someone lets out a cough, and I look up, slowly, and see my client fresh out of the shower.

  “Uhhh,” he starts, scratching the back of his head. “What do I have to do?”

  My eyes travel from his head to toe, taking in his whole being as I look at his overall appearance. He stares at me almost curiously, licking his bottom lips as soon as my eyes meet his.

  He must be in his late thirties or early forties, and wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist, it is evident that he did not do much to keep his figure fit. Judging by his looks, which I am very good at, I do not think he could even afford to have sex with me.

  “Go to the bedroom and lie on your stomach,” I say, my voice quiet but full of authority, not taking my eyes off him. I watch as he gulps, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He is nervous. Good. This will be a quick one, then.

  I quickly make a rundown of the things that he wants me to do to him. Spanking. Bondage. Verbal attack. Typical choices for those who are still dabbling in this sort of nightly activities.

  With a rope in hand, I follow suit inside the bedroom, where I see my client lying on the bed, completely stripped off of his clothes.

  I walk towards him, my high-heeled stilettos making a soft thudding sound. “Are you sure that you want this?” I ask as soon as I reach the side of the bed. I could hear his ragged breathing, and soon, a muffled affirmation.

  Without wasting any more time, I quickly remove the sash that I wrapped on my waist before climbing on the bedside. “Do you trust me?” I ask, my voice calm and a tone lower, my free hand finding its place on his nape, gently massaging the skin underneath.

  He heaves a deep breath, raises his head and looks back at me before affirming.

  I smile at him as I get on the bed, straddling his waist. I lean in closer to his ear, my chest pressed firmly against his back his ass bucking up in the air. “Okay,” I whisper gently before placing the satin sash that I am holding over his eyes, tying the soft cloth firmly behind his head.

  The session is over before I even know it. I watch my client roll over his back as soon as I gently remove his bindings, and then his blindfold. He watches me with a pair of droopy eyes, and soon enough, I hear him snoring.

  I yawn, stretching my arms as the exhaustion finally settles down on me. The session is a breeze, and like most beginners, my client, who is now fast asleep with his cum drying on his stomach and his flaccid dick falling limply to his thighs, is not an exception to those boring ones that I had before.

  Being a dominatrix is exciting, but sometimes, sessions can be boring too because of the clients.

  I head to the washroom and clean my hands. I see my own reflection in the mirror and smile as I remember that I just got in the audition. I go back to the master’s bedroom, and with my client still snoring loudly, I head off to the living room and start packing up.

  My damp, black velvet sash goes straight to the bottom of the small bag that I brought with me, as well as the ropes that I used earlier for tying my client up. I throw in both things inside the bag carelessly, before changing into my comfortable pair of shoes.

  I leave the hotel, returning the key card back at the lobby. I check the time on my phone and sees that it is already close to midnight, and I couldn’t help myself but feel giddy upon thinking of getting a hot tea and sinking into m
y fluffy bed soon afterward.

  I welcome the cold, midnight breeze as soon as I step out of the entrance of the hotel. The cold air makes me feel awake as I walk towards the spot where I parked my car earlier. I carelessly dump my bag in the backseat before driving towards my place.

  I head straight to my small dainty kitchen as soon as I arrive home, filling the kettle with water before putting it on the stove. I find that brewing my own tea after a long day at work relaxes me, which is why I always make sure that I have all the kinds of tea that I want so that I would not have to worry about running out of my favorite tea variants.

  I turn the stove off as soon as the water is at a gentle boil. I automatically reach for the ginger tea leaves since it is good for the throat and I have an audition soon. I pour on the hot water into the teacup, adding then the proper amount of tea leaves.

  I sigh as I inhale in the scent of the ginger tea, crunching my nose in the process as the smell overpowers my sense. I take a small sip, my eyes fluttering as the hot drink travels through my body. This is the kind of relaxation that I need for tomorrow’s audition, which I will definitely nail for sure. I know that I can do it only if I have my mind set on it.

  You can do this, Max. You can do this.

  Caleb

  “Hey, Caleb,” Miguel greets as soon as I enter the technical booth. I nod at the other staff in the room as I make my way towards Miguel and sit down beside him. We are having the second audition today, as we are hoping to discover the next music artist that the mass will consume.

  “Okay, so we are going to start off with Maxene Flores,” Miguel starts, taking a sip from his cold brewed Americano. He puts the drink down and turns to me, leaning backward as he places his hands behinds his head. “You probably wouldn’t like her,” he whispers conspiratorially, shifting on his seat before meeting my stare.

  “What do you mean?”

  “No, but she is too...indie,” he then gives me that look which tells me that she did not impress him that much during yesterday’s audition. I give him a blank look that immediately made him avoid my eyes. “I’m just giving you a heads up. She doesn’t look like the kind of person that these so-called millennials would consume.”

  I groan silently. Miguel has always been like this, judging the candidates based on their physical appearance and style, almost not giving them a chance once they are already on stage. I do not know why I still cannot get used to it.

  I listened to Maxene’s demo a few days ago, and it piqued my interest, as her style is quite unusual and fresh, and the lyrics of her songs are something that many people could relate to. There is no doubt that Maxene has the raw talent, basing on her demos, but I still have to see her stage presence and her live performance.

  “Man, I’m just telling you what I think about based on her appearance and—”

  “Miguel,” I say, not hiding the annoyed expression plastered on my face. “We haven’t even listened to her sing live,” I add, playfully slapping the back of his head. “And most of your so-called premonition when it comes to these things are wrong.”

  At that, the staffs behind us laugh quietly as Miguel shushes them almost immediately.

  I stand up and make bows at the staff, making them laugh a little more. “Miguel,” I start as I patting him on the back. “We are a studio for goodness sake! We are working with some of the best people in the industry. We could always create a demand for her,” I continue as I grin at him. “That is what we are good at.”

  “Don’t come and blame me after hearing the girl sing and rant how much time you’ve wasted on her,” Miguel says, clicking his tongue, before pressing a button and proceeds on calling a woman named Maxene Flores.

  A few seconds later, a woman with brunette hair enters and goes straight to the piano.

  “Good afternoon, Maxene,” Miguel greets, his voice filled with pretense friendliness. “You can begin anytime you want, okay? Just take your time, and start when you have finally settled.” Miguel turns to me and grins, mouthing the word ‘hot’.

  I shake my head in disbelief as I turn my gaze back to Maxene Flores and watch her trail her fingers across the piano keys.

  She turns her attention back to us, as if she is taking in the crowd she is about to perform for, and she nods at us, our eyes locking once again, but it is as if she is in a sort of trance, looking at us but barely seeing us.

  Her gaze shifts as she takes her seat in front of the piano, her hands once again caressing the keys, closing her eyes for a second longer, and before we even know it, she starts playing her piece.

  The music starts to play hauntingly slow, my eyes immediately focusing on her hands as it goes over the keys gracefully, and yet the strength behind those hands is undeniably evident. She then opens her mouth as she finally starts to sing, her voice soft and relaxing, despite the tone of sadness in her piece.

  Her bittersweet expression catches my attention as it perfectly matches the tone of her piece. A sad, yet beautiful smile graces her face as she ends her audition piece.

  Everyone around me claps their hands as soon as she finishes her song. Some are even hollering, and clearly, Maxene Flores has captivated the hearts of this team, and I would not even wonder why.

  “Holy shit, man,” Miguel says, his mouth hanging open, his face an open book of both shocked and surprised emotions. He closes it and then opens it as if to say something, before closing it again.

  I watch his widened eyes as he stares at me as if he just could not believe who just performed before us. “That is one hell of a piece, Caleb.”

  Hell yeah, it is.

  I nod, agreeing to his sentiments. Maxene Flores is a talented woman who knows how to use her talent. A perfect package, really, as I could feel the raw emotions from her voice, and her facial expressions mimic those emotions in a way that would make a person’s heart hurt just by looking at her. If we market her right, we could make a new star out of her.

  I can hear my brain automatically works

  Maxene Flores, we will make a star out of you.

  Maxene

  I close my eyes; I couldn’t look at their faces amidst the deafening silence that followed my performance. I remember my quinceañera when everyone would sing along to the Spanish version of I Will Always Love You. I have no idea how good I sounded, but everyone was happy.

  It reassured me that there were people out there who would love to listen to me sing my heart out, but this silence feels cold and without ears. Or was it the air-conditioning? Or my intrusive thoughts about failure? Maybe not.

  Maybe I should pack up my dreams, and move onto another next big thing. The funny thing is no one stopped me halfway like yesterday, no cynical music producer telling me they’d rather listen to my demos which is a kind way of saying ‘fuck off, you’re not the next Celine Dion.’

  But as soon as the recesses of my mind start to cascade, a burst of applause thunders across the studio. I slowly open my eyes to see the audience smiling and clapping as they mentally give me a reassuring pat on the back. It’s like a dream come true, a cliché way of saying it, but it feels great.

  My heart starts to soar from the loud, thunderous claps. I feel like I am frozen in time until someone escorts me out of the room, they probably thought I am a little kid lost in the woods.

  “Great job,” the guy with the curly dark hair said, “I apologize for not seeing your potential, but in my defense, you didn’t pick the right song.”

  “Maybe I didn’t. Still, it’s nice to see someone admitting their mistakes. You almost made a big one.”

  “You have a tongue on you,” he chuckles.

  “I know, it can do more than embarrass music producers.” I wink, sticking my tongue out at his direction.

  “Oh, I’m not the music producer.” He gestures towards the busy hall. “Shall we?”

  “Where to?” I ask, clearly confused.

  “To meet your new boss.”

  A lounge is an amusing little room that I saw i
n movies, and I never really thought it existed until now. All of the sofas are red, but the whites remained on the couches and the walls. There are a lot of pictures decorating the wall, pictures of people who worked with Woods Records.

  I can see my reflection on the marble floor as we approach a tall, dark-haired man. His obsidian eyes trailed my every step, but upon looking into them, I can see a hint of gray, or maybe even silver, whenever light washed over his face.

  He grins from ear to ear, and then he stands firmly to shake my hand. I hold his hand and feel a firm grip.

  In my line of work, to reciprocate the dominance, I would show how tight my grip is. But I digress, as I already have enough skeletons in the closet.

  “That was incredible.” He says, his voice sounded warm and inviting. “Beautiful, talented, and I can see you becoming the next Whitney Houston.”

  “Really?” I just blurted right out, and now that I hear myself, I feel stupid.

  “No. I’m just kidding, you’re not the next Whitney Houston.” He responds, “You’re the next Vanilla Ice.”

  I pout, as a reflexive reaction to his sarcasm.

  “I’m playing. Please, sit down.” He grins, gesturing me to take a seat in one of the red couches. I sit in front of him, studying his every move, while mentally preparing mine, anxious to show any sign of weakness.

  I have a good nose for dominant men, though he’s in a position of power, I can tell he’s not all that impressive when it comes to demonstrating his power as an authority figure. He cracked his smiles and gave his commands, but that’s about it.

  “Now, where is the meek, shy girl that stood in front of the crowd earlier? I’m having trouble finding her,” He takes a sip off his coffee.

  “Maybe you misjudged her.”