Girl For Rent: A Dark Romantic Comedy

by Dark Angel

  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. He 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.

  "Mr. M," I groan. He doesn't respond and I don't say anything else. His singular focus is on my breasts, and his intense touch pulls back its intensity every second, so that he's no longer roughly touching me but softly. Maddeningly. I want to scream out how much I need more. I don't know what I need, but less of him is definitely not it. I am panting, moaning, making a chorus of sounds and he is barely touching me. His tongue laps over a nipple, and then rolls down, flicking my sensitive skin. Pulling back, he blows warm air on the wet skin and the cool air around us wars for sensation. His fingers are playing with my other nipple, just barely stroking circles, lines, touches that are making me so eager for what he offered before that I'm building a frustration with my lust that makes me feel like I might burst. My body is desperate for me to vocalize pathetic attempts to get him to do more of something I can't quite verbalize.

  Both of his hands press firmly into my stomach, then trail up to capture my breasts. He squeezes them, and then releases my abused breasts. They ache from how roughly he's touched me. I'm whirling with the thrill of the pleasure his touch brought, and the pain. I'm so confused, and I'm so needy.

  "C, you want something more, you speak up," Mr. M says. His voice is gruff, thick and heavy, and it makes my head spin.

  There's something about him saying my initial in that dark voice full of wicked promises that makes me want to moan. Instead, I bite my lip and wonder how I should answer him. I don't know what to say. I want to tell him that I don't know what I want, but all I am able to muster up the courage to say is, "Don't stop, please," in a whimpering, pathetic voice. Will he take pity on me? Will the promises in his voice be the answers to my pleas? I don’t know how I become this sopping mess of lust before him, but it just turns me on more.

  "Get on your knees," Mr. M says.

  Confused, I drop to my knees. It is a strange feeling to have my knees pressing into the floor.

  "Palms flat on your thighs," he continues to command me. He's so unreadable right now and it's maddening. Am I in trouble? What is about to happen? I'm so exhilarated, but I can't stop this feeling like I'm trying to run upstream. I'm hopelessly lost in what I'm doing, but I need to obey him. It isn't as much fear as I would like it to be. Part of me that I just don't understand, that part of me inside which I've never met before but is brought out by Mr. M, makes me eager to please him, draws me to obey him. I hope that there is a reward...if this is not a punishment. I wish that I knew what was happening.

  "Here are the rules, C," Mr. M says. My pussy soaks through my panties at the words.

  I hear him inhale, a quick breath in his throat, like he knows.

  Something has passed between us, thoug
h I'm not exactly sure what. I just know that whatever it unlocked between us, I want to walk through that door. I want him to press inside and show me every new thing that I know he can. I don't know what's in store for me but I want to feel it, explore it. I want to be whatever it is that he wants me to be. I’m not ashamed at how strong my feelings are, and for a man who I is renting me for the night, though the thought of Mr. M owning me thrills me. I don't even know what's going on here. I wonder how long he'll make me wait, breathing in and out with my palms pressing into my thighs almost painfully with my nerves, and I realize that he's doing this on purpose. It’s almost as if he can see that my mind is racing and he's trying to make sure that I suffer. It is evil, pure and simple, but there's something about his control exerted in every simple moment that is addicting. I want to know more of his control. I want to know that I've pleased him. More than anything I want to see some kind of struggle on his face, some kind of passion in his power. The way that he'd touched my breasts gave me a taste of his possessiveness and the way his raw power could turn into passionate sin, and that's all I ache for. I want it any way he can give it to me.

  "You are to listen to what I say, and follow each of my commands." Mr. M cracks his knuckles.

  I will comply. I feel a palpable loss in not being able to look at him because his stern voice and wicked commands have already lit my body afire. Mr. M is a captivating man and I want to desperately search his eyes for some truth I feel is being obscured from me. But now I don't have that chance. I almost want to look at him now as much I want him to touch me. But I listen intently, trying not to focus on my sweating palms betraying how nervous I am.

  "If you obey, you will be rewarded."

  I like the sound of this, but I know there will be a counterbalance to this.

  "If you disobey, you will be punished."

  There it is. So why does any attention from Mr. M make me want to jump up and down? I've got a frenetic joy at the thought of him exerting either reward or punishment against me. Like, I have been consumed by my need for him and any bit of whatever he has to offer is water to my thirsty soul.

  "You do not have a say in any of this. You are not to speak unless I have asked you a direct question. If I ask you a question, you are not to lie. If you do, I will know, and you will be punished. Do you understand?"

  I start to nod, and he slaps me right in the face.

  I'm shocked, and I cry out, bringing my hand to touch where he slapped me. I look at him, tears welling in my eyes.

  He grabs my hand, getting down to my level and into my face, and presses it back to my lap forcefully. "Do you understand? I don't like to repeat myself." I hear the power in his voice, but, undoubtedly, I hear that he's aroused. It hurt when he hit me, but my pussy is aching for him now, thrumming with need. I'm so confused, but I know I don't want him to move from out of my face. Still, I need to listen. I bring my eyes to the ground. "Yes, I understand."

  "Mr. M," he continues, jerking my chin up to look at him. "You will call me Mr. M."

  "Yes, Mr. M, I understand," I say, my words sounding as needy as I feel.

  "Legs spread."

  I obey and he tears off my panties. I try to keep myself in the position because I'm trying hard to be good. I want to know what being good feels like. My face stings, mostly because of the shock of being hit, but also because it was not a light hit. I'm shocked that he did such a thing. But I'm even more shocked that it didn't feel black and white. I wonder if Thomas knew that Mr. M would slap me, or if this is something that I need to tell him. I don’t feel alarmed by it, and that’s what has me so confused. I liked it.

  I'm going to do my absolute best to do everything that Mr. M asks of me. I crave whatever he has to offer.

  "Your pussy is so wet for me, C," Mr. M says.

  My face heats intensely and my head feels a little dizzy. I want to cover myself. My legs are spread and I'm bared to him and I'm intensely nervous. I realize that I'm trembling. My fingers are digging into my thighs and shaking to cover myself. But I can't. That's not what Mr. M told me to do.

  "Breathe for me, C. Don't want to lose you now when the fun hasn't even begun." Mr. M stands I can tell from the movement of his voice. I want to see him. I want to know what we've just begun. I want to know where it is going. My mind is racing and my cheeks are flushing, I can feel it. I need to know. The urge to control this, organize it, like I do everything else in my life is crushing me. I want to be able to know what comes next and plan for it. I want to do the right thing.

  But that's it. Right now my obedience is required, and I've not been told to do anything but to maintain this position. So I will.

  My pussy is wet. I can feel how slick my thighs have become, even through my clothes, before he removed those clothes. I'm pleased that he's pleased.

  "You're so obedient thus far. I don't want that to change. But you're nervous, and I think you need punishment anyway. You need to feel the weight of what disobeying would mean. Maybe it can empower you to behave. I wouldn't want to spoil you with too much reward. I want you to earn that." I can almost feel his strong voice vibrating through my body. I'm trembling more than ever and trying hard not to move my hands to cover myself, or touch myself. I need some kind of relief and now I'm going to find out what punishment means, even though I've listened. It seems unfair and my first urge is to pout. I want to push the feeling down but something is rising within me, almost irrationally, and I want to act out, even though I'm already getting punishment. Perhaps because of it. Maybe the weight of everything that is happening is getting to me, in this moment, as I have no relief. He walks toward me, I can hear his shoes clacking towards me. "This will please me," he says, and those words are like a salve to my confused soul. I want that. I want to please Mr. M more than anything.

  In my mind, something about how he walks toward me, brings me this promise, makes him more enticing. I know that beneath this power, there's a person. But right now, I want to be the putty in Mr. M's hands, and please him, because I believe that will please not only the man but Mr. M. I can't explain my thoughts any better than this but it seems right to me.

  I try to breathe like he said. Mr. M gets down on the ground and brings his hands to between my thighs, rubbing his knuckles through my slit and making a wet sound that makes me blush furiously. Oh god, how will I ever endure this? Why did I think that I could? Panic is setting in and my heart is racing a million miles an hour. I want to be fucked, not naked and teased in front of a dangerous man who has my pussy so wet it makes a wet sound when he touches it. I'm trying to breathe but all I manage are shallow inhales and exhales. I suck in my lips and try to focus on just waiting for what he's going to do or tell me to do next. His hand has returned to him and left me, and I can feel a chill in the air where he's not touching me anymore. I'm burning for him. Aching for his touch, his command, his...punishment.

  On cue, when I'm almost ready to explode, his hand is lying my body back, stroking up the curve of my stomach. Then, he picks me up and brings me to a bed with my back facing him. I'm already so frightened. He's not going to tell me what's happening or let me see him? How will I ever endure this? If I could look at him, would I be able to still take it? I can't determine if I'll be better when he starts to punish me because I know what's coming, or worse because I will have to endure it.

  He walks away. What does Mr. M have planned for me?

  Can I take it?

  Will he be pleased if and when I do?

  I take deeper breaths, attempting to control my quaking body as he straps a gag onto my face. I can breathe, still, the gag is just preventing me from talking, which I'm not supposed to do anyway. This is a kindness. By the feel of him strapping my wrists and ankles together with the cuffs, it is the last kindness that will be present in my punishment. I let my tongue cup around the odd ball of the gag, try to focus on my breathing. Every touch of his fingers makes me want to beg him to fuck me. I don't know what comes next but Mr. M has already made me co
me undone. I'm desperate, and I realize I'm moaning when I hear him laugh. He runs a finger along the center of one of the backs of my feet and it is a shocking sensation. I didn't know that touching my foot could feel erotic. But Mr. M is so enticing, I think he could make anything sensual.

  Then, his teeth sink into one of my ass cheeks and I groan, hard. I'm grinding my pussy into the silky bed sheets, desperate for his touch. But the punishment is unlikely to involve an orgasm. Well, at least that's what I think. But every time he touches me, I'm so desperate for it that I think I just might be able to come if he touches me for more than a few seconds. We're testing that theory because his teeth release me, stinging my skin and making me pant harder against the gag, and then his hands are rubbing my ass cheeks. His large hands cover my whole ass. I have a bit of a round ass and I'm imagining what a sight I must be. There must be teeth prints on one cheek, and his hands are so much bigger than me that he's dwarfing my ass while it jiggles. It wouldn't have seemed sexy to me, but he's touching me, and that's the sexiest thing I can imagine. Oh God, I know now in this moment that no matter what he does to me, I want it desperately. Punish me, bite me again, I want to shout and beg and plead.

  Then, both of his hands rise and fall in several quick successions, spanking my ass hard enough to make cracking sounds break through the air. Mr. M hits the exact same spot, again and again, and my ass is certainly red raw. I'm groaning, yelping, and aching deep in my pussy for him to stop, or keep going, or at least just keep touching me. I can think of nothing but complying. I am supposed to take my punishment, and I will. I start to breathe more evenly as the spankings keep going past thirty and I just can't count anymore. He's not being gentle. This is not playful. My skin is dancing fire and aching lust in what is certainly an angry looking red. My pussy is drenched, despite the fact that he's hitting me again. There's a pool of my arousal blooming around my pussy on the bed. I can feel it. I bet he can see it. I guess I should feel ashamed, but instead I feel something I never would've understood before. I feel proud. This hurts. I'm crying. I'm embarrassed and a little ashamed, I'm afraid, but I'm more alive than I've ever been. I'm yelping into my gag and desperate for him to stop. To never stop. He keeps going and I'm somewhere else. I feel everything he does, yet the rest of my body also lights up. I'm floating throughout the room all while I'm still weighted down by my restraints, feeling the pull at my wrists and ankles, the strain in my shoulders, the biting sting from where he slapped my cheek earlier, on the ass cheek where he bit me, my nipples that he bit and tugged at. I'm a symphony of pain and pleasure wound into a ball of being just being here. His words from before echo in my mind. This feels amazing, and I'm not sure it is punishment, even though it hurts. Then he stops. The pace of the spanking stops, and the momentum of pleasure/pain turns to pain. It stings horribly. He flips me over and I'm gasping against the gag. The cold wetness from my arousal is on the bed sheets.