The Rich Girls' Club (15 page)

L
et me get this right. You want me to show up at Brooks’s house unannounced and go through the files on her opponents? Am I hearing you correctly? You want me to search Brooks’s
personal
records too?” Hope asked.

A month had passed since the beginning of Brooks’s campaign. With seven months left, Hope wanted to make sure Brooks was properly prepared for her upcoming debates. She didn’t want her stuttering or prolonging her responses to any questions. She also didn’t want any more surprises since Brooks was now apparently keeping secrets. But she was uncomfortable sneaking into Brooks’s home.

Morgan emphatically replied, “That’s exactly what I want you to do, sweetie.”

The Rich Girls had always had an unspoken pact of honesty amongst themselves. They were the most powerful women Hope knew. Their trust and openness with one another was what set their relationships apart from the members of the women’s group in Beverly Hills and in other organizations. In addition to being wealthy, the Rich Girls were comfortable with their sexuality, and not afraid to dominate men. No topics were taboo. There were no secrets or deception amongst them. That was what Hope loved most about being one of the girls. But now …

“Why me?”

“Because she’ll trust you.”

“And she wouldn’t trust you?”

Morgan sat across from Hope in the office at Brooks’s coffee shop. It was seven o’clock in the morning and the place was standing room only. Actors waiting for calls from their agents frequented Brooks’s place during the week. Retired people started their days with a cup of hot java and warm conversation with friends. Business people stopped by en route to work. No matter the reason, customers craved BK Brew’s coffee.

The windows were covered at eye level with Brooks’s vibrant campaign posters. Hope glanced at the security monitor. They could see the customers but the patrons couldn’t see them.

“Aren’t you concerned that we’re being recorded? Why did you choose to meet here without inviting Brooks? What’s really going on?”

Morgan stared at her. Hope remained silent. Morgan scribbled on a piece of paper then handed it to her.

“Okay, look. First, she doesn’t review her surveillance tapes. Next, we have to make sure there are no surprises down the road. Hopefully Brooks is telling us everything but…there may be something major that she considers insignificant. She could be too close to a potentially volatile situation for her own good. Best for us to find the flaws before any of her opponents do. I don’t want us to end up having to do unnecessary damage control. In case she doesn’t respond when you arrive, this is the access code for her gate. Here’s the key to her house. If you must, let yourself in.”

Somehow Hope felt the damage Morgan was speaking of was already done, and now her job was to get proof. But what was the harm of Hope sincerely trying to help Brooks? They’d convinced Brooks to run but neither of them had physically been by Brooks’s side as promised.

The agreed-upon timing for her to reveal the blackmail tape to Johnathon was still months away. Laura Littleton was steadily proving to be her own worst enemy. And actually, Hope needed to stay occupied between sexing Stanley and delivering cars.

“I understand the purpose of my going but why shouldn’t she know I’m coming over before I get there?”

Morgan stared at the monitor, exhaled as though the question was rhetorical, then answered. “Because that’ll give her time to hide what she doesn’t want us to know.”

Hope stood. “Fine, I’ll go now. I’ll call you later.”

The drive to Brooks’s took over an hour. Hope entered the code. It didn’t work. She called Morgan. “Hey, you gave me the wrong code.”

“No, I didn’t.” Morgan told her the code verbatim from what was on the piece of paper in her hand.

“That’s what I entered—twice—and it’s not working. Maybe she changed it.”

“Hold on. Let me call her on three-way.”

Although her gut instinct told her she was doing the wrong thing, Hope patiently waited. She hadn’t driven for over an hour just to go back to downtown Los Angeles. Morgan conferenced her on three-way.

Brooks sleepily answered, “Hey, Morgan. What’s up?”

“Hey, are you okay?”

“I will be. And I don’t need any food deliveries from Bo or any other caterer. Bo is—”

“You know I know you almost better than you know yourself. Your voice sounds strange,” Morgan said. “What’s wrong? Too much to drink?”

Brooks sounded unusually different. Not as though she was recovering from a hangover, but as if something was disturbing her.

Hope continued to listen, wondering when Morgan was going to ask for the code.

“Look, sweetie. Now that your announcement is made, you need to up your security and change the code on your gate.”

“I’ve already changed the code. I meant to tell you yesterday but forgot. It’s seven, two, three, nine, zero. I see Hope’s Maserati GranCabrio at my gate. You must be sending her to spy on me. I would feel better if you were here to lick my pussy the way—”

Morgan coughed, interrupting Brooks’s statement. “Wrong arena, my friend. I thought you had that base covered. Look, sweetie, you really are tired.”

“Am I on three-way? I know you don’t have Hope on the phone. Hope, are you there?”

Hope remained silent.

“It doesn’t matter. The girls were going to find out about us eventually. I’ll let her in.”

Hope’s mouth fell open along with the gate. She remained silent as she drove onto the circular driveway in front of Brooks’s house. She sat in her car waiting for Morgan to end the call. Had she heard Brooks correctly? They were fucking each other? Hope frowned. But there hadn’t been any signs of that between the two women, had there? Maybe Brooks had pictures that Morgan needed Hope to find so they wouldn’t leak to the public.

“Hope wants to come over and assist you in any way that she can. That’s all, sweetie,” Morgan said. “You’ll thank us later.”

If “help” meant licking Brooks’s pussy,
That was a damn lie
, Hope thought.

“Look, I need to call my husband. I’ll check on you later. Bye.”

The call ended and Hope walked to Brooks’s front door. Was Magnum in on this deal, too? Bo? Were all of them sex buddies? Brooks opened the door.

“Dang, girl. You look a hot mess,” Hope said.

“Well, you look fabulous and I’m happy to see you, too. If you’d come over as promised, you’d see that this is my new indoor attire, since all I do all day is read anything I can find on my opponents and watch them on television.”

“Well, you’ve been doing a kick-ass job. I’m here to see if there’s anything I can do to help you be more efficient.”

Brooks led the way to her office. There was a maze of papers stacked against the wall and in the center of the floor.

“Poor thing. I had no idea you were this consumed. You should’ve said something. Why are you printing all of this stuff out when you have a computer? I want you to take the rest of the day off. Relax. Leave the house if you have to do errands. I’ll scan these documents and upload them to your iPad. That way you can take them wherever you go, because pretty soon you’ll be on tour campaigning and you cannot take this with you. I’ll backup your info up on my computer too and help you stay abreast of new developments.”

“It’s like studying my business plan. I retain information better when I read it on paper, so don’t toss out my printed versions.”

“If you insist. I’ll organize those, too.”

“Girl, you should’ve been over sooner. Thanks, Hope. You have no idea how much this means.”

“I was supposed to be by your side from the beginning. I’m here now…go on out.”

After hours of scanning documents, Hope was only a fraction of the way through. She somehow knew whatever Morgan wanted her to search for would not be in any of the piles on the floor. She peeked in Brooks’s bedroom. Brooks was sleeping there, snoring, naked atop the cover.

Hope returned to the office, opened Brooks’s personal filing cabinet. Immediately she began thumbing through the folders. Opening the last folder in the drawer, Hope couldn’t believe what she saw. “Damn.” Quickly she stuffed the file in her purse and resumed scanning documents.

The contents of the file would make for the hottest discussion the Rich Girls had ever had.

I
t’s my dick and I want it now,” the mayor begged. “Give me my dick.” The mayor waddled in her bed like a toddler having a temper tantrum.

Storm understood why some men were paranoid about anal penetration. It wasn’t that they were afraid of being considered gay. Most men who protested having a finger or dick in their ass were afraid they’d like it.

Sexuality was complicated. Gay sexuality was misunderstood. Every gay man wasn’t penetrated. Just like sexing a woman, a hole was a hole was a hole even if it was an asshole. Being gay was an emotional and physical attraction to the same sex. The mayor was definitely not gay. If he were, anal penetration would have been reserved for a real dick, not to some chick strapping on.

This time Storm was wearing a tan leather harness thong. She latched on her four-inch dildo then generously lubed the mayor’s asshole. “How do you want this dick?” she asked, kneeling beside him.

“Get on top of me. Make love to me like I’m a woman,” he said, spreading his thighs. “I want to know what missionary to a woman feels like.”

For him, experiencing the vaginal sensation would be impossible. The anal and emotional pleasures were only attainable if his imagination plunged into the depth of his deepest desires.

Perhaps she was incorrect in her assessment of him. Perhaps he was bisexual, but Storm didn’t judge him. There were times when she wished she had a real dick. Wished her genitals were external. Wished she had balls the size of plums. But if she had to choose between being a woman or a man, her choice would be to be what she was, because women ruled the world.

The way the mayor tilted his ass upward, grabbed his ankles, shoved his knees toward his shoulders, and howled, “Come and get it,” then submitted to her, indicated this wasn’t his first time in this position.

What was it about men that wanted to feel like a woman? Was it that behind closed doors they desired domination? Was it the absence of being raised by their father? No, she knew too many straight men that had been reared by single mothers. How many straight men were bi-curious but never acted upon their curiosity? The psychology of it all was terribly confusing and obviously there were no simple explanations.

As soon as she put the head in, the mayor grabbed his dick, held it tight, then grunted, “Aww. Go deeper.” Stroking his erection, he moaned while sucking her nipple.

She’d done as requested. Grinding her hips with passion, she moved her thong to the side, rubbed her clit against his balls, then held her other breast. She didn’t know whether she should ask, “Whose pussy is this?” or “Whose dick is this?”, so she focused on responding to his body language. The mayor wasn’t on their blackmail list but this was another great video moment she’d have to share with the girls this upcoming Saturday.

“I’ve been a bad boy. A really bad boy.” Tears escaped his eyes as he began crying.

Storm was very familiar with the rules of a dominatrix. Safe words were necessary for lightening up the pressure or stopping. But this was new. She wasn’t dominating him in the traditional way. They didn’t have a safe word so direct communication would have to continue. She penetrated him harder, praying he wasn’t on the verge of an emotional meltdown.

“I love you, Storm.”

His words made her think of Chancelor. His brand new platinum Bentley Continental GT was sitting in her garage. He’d refused to accept it. Still hadn’t communicated with her.

Six weeks had gone by. She should be focused on the remaining six and a half months left for Brooks’s campaign, but all she could think about was Chancelor. If only she knew how much longer her heart would ache she could count down the days.

Why did men so carelessly use the word “love”? What kind of love was the mayor referring to?

Men weren’t always as strong as they appeared. Maybe the mayor needed to release frustration. Perhaps Chancelor was crying over her, too. The ringtone of her cell was a welcome time out.

“Let’s take a break,” she said. Not waiting for his response, she pulled out.

Instantly his tears stopped flowing. He touched his asshole as if he couldn’t tell the dildo wasn’t there, then he grabbed her. Tried to reconnect. “I was almost there. Don’t take that call. Whoever it is, they can wait a few minutes. I need you to make me cum right now.”

Honestly, for Storm the thrill was gone. Once again she was exhausting herself trying to please him. She wondered if during intercourse, men grew tired of trying to please women. At some point the excitement wore off and what was initially pleasurable gradually became more of a chore, a borderline bore. Was boredom the reason men needed new adventures? New pussy?

Leaning over him, she picked up her phone and answered, “Hey, girl, what’s up?”

Hope rattled on for two minutes straight, seemingly without exhaling.

Storm rolled off of the mayor and onto her bedroom floor. “Shut the hell up!” Was Hope serious or delirious? “Please tell me you’re lying, girlfriend.”

“I wish I were.”

The mayor pointed at his erection. Hunched his shoulders.

Shaking her head, Storm got up, tossed him his clothes. It was time for his lazy ass to go, anyway. Usually, Chancelor would arrive at her front door in about an hour to fuck her the way the mayor couldn’t even if he’d tried. The mayor didn’t possess the stamina and Chancelor was her biggest challenge.

Damn, she missed the way her man felt inside her pussy. Storm stroked her clit in memory of Chancelor’s dick. Maybe she’d masturbate when she got off the phone with Hope.

Staring at the mayor, Storm wondered if she could find a way for Randy to become mayor of his city. San Diego would love his upbeat personality and innovative ideas and if he were interested, he could run for governor again when the Rich Girls decided. No man would become governor for quite some time unless women chose to let them back in.

“Are you going to finish me?” he asked, interrupting her thoughts. His eyes, shoulders, and dick drooped.

Muting her conversation, Storm told the mayor, “I’m in the middle of an important call. I’m sure you understand. It’s business.” Storm unmuted the call and tried to give Hope her undivided attention.

“Business this time of morning? What could possibly be more important than us finishing what we started? Please, tell whoever it is you’ll call them back in fifteen minutes. It won’t take long.”

His clothes were in his hand and if he didn’t put them on his ass soon he’d be standing outside naked.

“What the hell are you doing to that poor man this time?” Hope asked, laughing. “You still meeting with Randy today? If so, have the bodyguard Morgan hired go with you. I mean, you did say Randy threatened to kill you.”

“Damn.” Storm had planned to give Chancelor a surprise visit, hoping his seeing her would allow them to reconnect. Even with her thoughts of Randy moments ago, she’d forgotten about her meeting with him to discuss his exit strategy.

Hope reminded her, “How we finish is more important than how we start. This is not the time to drop the ball. You have to meet with Randy today.”

Better to emasculate than to castrate. That was another part of the Rich Girls’ motto.

The mayor put on his clothes and left without saying another word. He’d be back next Wednesday. Where else would he find a safe place to act out his newfound fantasy? Storm watched him on her monitor as he drove off of her property.

“Girl I can handle Randall Wallace by myself. We’re meeting in a public place.”

“I know where you’re meeting and I’m calling Morgan to make sure the bodyguard is there. At least if Randy sees you’re not alone, he won’t try to harm you.”

“Okay, fine. You’re right. Now back to what you just said. Morgan and Brooks are doing what?”