The Rich Girls' Club (4 page)

Hope grunted. “Fuck me, dammit! I’m ready to cum again.”

Stanley slid his dick up and down her pussy. Hope tried to align his head with her opening then pushed back onto him but he pulled away.

“Keep still. You’ve controlled enough. I’m in charge of this.” As he said the word “this”, he slid his manhood deep inside her. “You already screwed up my birthday gift to you. Don’t mess this up, too.”

Hope’s head fell back. She squeezed her nipples and smiled as Stanley pounded her with the pleasure she could never get enough of. Maybe she should piss him off more often. With one hand pinching her nipple, she slid her other hand between her legs and massaged her clit.

“Where you want this cum?” he asked. “I should release myself all over your face.”

When Stanley asked, Hope leaned her hips against the edge of the sofa. She tried to move fast enough to eject his shaft, but Stanley leaned with her, shoving his dick deeper. Then he leaned back a little and inserted his finger in her asshole.

Her fluids gushed into the sofa’s cushion. “Oh my god,” she screamed.

Forcing his dick and finger deeper, Stanley pressed his palm into the small of her back. “That’s it, baby. Let yourself go. You know I love it when you squirt for me.” He pulled out of both holes at the same time. “Suck me.”

Hope sat on the edge of the wet sofa and opened her mouth wide. Aiming the eye toward her throat, Stanley moved his hips. She sucked him until the remaining sweet cum spilled into her mouth. She licked her lips, then kissed his head.

Stanley sat on the sofa beside her. He spread his thighs wide. His dick stood high like an eighteen-year-old’s that couldn’t lose an erection. “You know what time it is,” he said.

Indeed she did. Stanley loved having multiple orgasms. Hope squatted on his shaft and bounced. This was the beginning of what would soon become a non-stop fucking session until she came all over him again.

S
even days had passed since Hope’s visit to San Francisco. She’d made contact with Johnathon but with no concrete plan for Laura, she’d decided to postpone their face-to-face. The girls had nine weeks left to secure proof and present evidence that none of the other candidates were worthy of being governor. But the plan had to be flawless, making sure none of them appeared attached to any of the scandals.

Everyone was happy that Hope had made a strong initial connection with Republican Johnathon Waters. Payment had been promised to him but had not yet been delivered. The exchange, of his being blackmailed and his receiving money, had to happen simultaneously.

Each politician on the Rich Girls’ list would receive the same amount but each would have a different price to pay. The Girls had agreed to donate—make that
invest
—a million dollars to Johnathon and Laura’s campaigns. These contributions would not be in their club’s name, not in Hope’s company name, but in Hope’s father’s business’ name. Morgan had explained it would be best to seem to draw from larger resources, knowing Brooks’s opponents might eventually trace the funds.

Storm was excited for Hope’s success and couldn’t wait to start having fun with her own targeted men. Later this month Storm was having her meetings with Randall “Randy” Wallace and Anthony “Tony” Dennison. She predicted Randy would be the easier to frame, with his crooked cynical smile, seedy eyes, and dingy beige hair. It wouldn’t surprise her if he was the kind of guy who sex texted and sent photos of his manhood to women he’d fucked, believing he’d never get caught with his pants down.

Storm figured that like a jack-in-the-box, there’d eventually be one girl too many and Randy’s dick pics would pop-up online. Storm had a few favors she could count on from members of the women’s club in Beverly Hills that would help her to bury Randy and Tony deeper in scandal.

Even if Storm misjudged Randy, she was convinced that once he saw her perky identical twins Joy and Pleasure, he’d eagerly want to slide his dick between her breasts. She probably wouldn’t have to suck Randy’s dick or ride him hard, but given the chance she’d definitely want to make him scream like a bitch.

Enough dwelling on Randy. Storm interlocked her fingers with Chancelor’s as they strolled the open green fields behind her home. A wooden log fence bordered the perimeter to keep her animals from roaming off the property. A few of her horses trotted alongside one another. Owners paid upward of a hundred thousand dollars for her stallions to stud their mares, in hopes of producing the next Derby winner. Even if a horse placed fourth in that race, the owner would break even, but $1.24 million plus the gold trophy awaited the first-place winner. Storm’s horses had cashed in on first-place six times before she’d retired them.

Now, Storm yelled out to her caretaker, “Take excellent care of my babies!”

“Indeed, Ms. Dangerfield. These are my babies, too!” he responded.

According to the plan, the outdoor help was permitted to stay, but Storm needed someone to at least clean her bathrooms. It would be degrading to ask her lover but if he truly cared for her she could persuade him tidy up the toilets.

High noon had her spirit warmer than the seventy-degree fresh air and California sunshine greeting their bodies. She kissed the back of Chancelor’s hand.

“Baby, where do you see yourself in, say, two years?” she asked him.

His loose-fitted blue jeans hung well below his slender waistline, clinging to his pelvis. His dark pubic hairs, generously exposed, made her pussy twitch with the anticipation of having him sex her.

Making love with Chancelor was incredible. His stamina, eagerness to learn, willingness to please, and faithfulness were unmatched by any of her older suitors, like Mr. Mayor. But how long could her fantasy romance with a younger man last?

Scooping her into his arms, he twirled her around. “I see myself with you forever.”

Forever? That’s a long time.

“Eventually I’ll live here full-time instead of sometimes. Of course I’ll make a respectable woman out of you as your husband,” he said with a smile brighter than the rays beaming down on them.

“Put me down, Chancelor.”

Comments like the ones he’d just made reminded Storm of their age difference. They’d been together for three years but Chancelor Beaver wasn’t her future. He was too young. Besides, neither Chancelor nor any other man could make her what she already was.

He was going to make a respectable woman out of her? Really? Was that how he saw it? All that she had accomplished didn’t seem to mean anything to him until she carried his last name. What did having his last name mean to her?

Why did men think women were desperate to wear their ring, birth their babies, and carry their last names? Maybe that was true for other women, but not for Storm. Getting hitched was easier than picking out a pair of designer shoes. To her, marriage was overrated and definitely undervalued by almost every man that said “I do.” As far as she was concerned, not many couples, wedded or not, seemed truly happy in their relationships.

Rich girls deserved to have boy toys, sports cars, vacation homes, and the same finer things that wealthy men possessed. Whatever a woman earned she’d worked harder than a man to get. Even if that woman was a gold digger, she had to do more than a gigolo.

Unlike men with money, women with it knew how to appreciate what they acquired. For men, their acquisitions, including women and property, were constant ego boosters. Stroke a man’s ego; watch him thrive. Starve his ego; see his enthusiasm—and his dick—become flaccid.

“Think about what I ask and tell me next time we see one other,” she told him. “It’s time you start thinking about your, not our, future. If you want to go to grad school, I’ll pay for that, too.”

Chancelor’s hazel eyes stared at her then his gaze darted in the direction of one of her horses that galloped by. He nodded. Exhaled. “You’re right. I don’t want to live my life without you but I do need to have a life of my own. I should take advantage of your offer to continue to pay for my education. I mean, I can’t afford to pay for college or keep accompanying you to events and not have the ability to hold intellectually stimulating conversations with your peers. I mean, I need to represent you the same way you make me shine. Physically, I know I’m that man. Mentally, I can hold my own. Financially, I don’t measure up. Maybe I’ll go to law school. That way I can represent you if anyone tries to take advantage of you.”

That won’t happen in either of our lifetimes.
Storm didn’t understand why accomplished women allowed their husbands or even their newly found men to manage their money or their careers. Then, when their men started fucking other women they’d hired with their woman’s money, the fiancées and wives felt betrayed. How many men allowed their wives or women to manage them? Not many.

“Law school is a great choice for you, Chancelor. You’re handsome, tall, and with the right firm and mentors, you’ll do well,” Storm said, then pressed her lips to the back of his hand and held them there. “Remember this: a man doesn’t become a man until he can support himself, respect himself, and love himself.”

They’d strolled far enough from the caretaker to enjoy one another outdoors. Lowering Chancelor’s arm, she knelt before him, then kissed each of his fingertips. Resting his hand by his hip, Storm slowly unzipped his denims and removed his pants. Then she eased his beautiful dick in and out of her mouth.

“Whose dick is this?” she asked, sucking him slowly.

Chancelor stared down at her. His soft, gentle gaze penetrated hers as she looked up at him. “Why madam, this dick is yours any time you want it,” he said, swinging his hips side-to-side. The left and right parts of his head slapped his stomach. “Any way you want this, I’ll give it to you real good. You do so much for me. Tell me, Storm. What can I do to please you?” he asked, roaming his fingers through her hair.

She stood, removed her clothes as she motioned for him to kneel before her. His tender lips caressed her outer labia as his tongue explored her inner walls, teasing up one side then down the other. The tip of his tongue swept her clit and wiggled along her shaft.

She grabbed two fistfuls of his curls, jerked his head back. He resisted and found his way back to her pearl. This time he sucked harder. His middle finger slid deep inside her pussy then furiously fondled her G-spot.

“Oh my gosh, Chancelor, stop it. You’re about to make me gush all over you. I don’t want to…aw damn! I can’t hold back. Fuck you, Chancelor.”

Sucking her clit and stroking her spot, he steadied the rhythm and pressure.

Storm held her breasts. Teased her nipples. “Oh, god! Yes, right there. Right there,” she moaned as fluids ejected from her urethra, showering his face.

Chancelor rubbed his eyes then stretched his body on the lawn. He held his dick in his hand. “You know what I want you to do,” he said, then smiled wide.

Indeed she did. It was time for her to pony up. She became his jockey and he was her stallion.

E
very girl has got a secret.

Watching her husband sleep, Morgan struggled to rid herself of her guilt. If she woke Magnum and told him part of the truth, she could peacefully close her eyes.

Which was hardest? Telling her husband about the plan, telling the Rich Girls she’d made a few terrible investments, or telling her husband for the first time in their marriage she was going to sex another man? Or was it best not to tell him or the girls anything?

Quietly exhaling, Morgan couldn’t believe she was going to let the incumbent, Bailey Goodman, penetrate her sexually. It definitely would not be raw. Infidelity was one thing. Not protecting her husband and herself was incomprehensible. Storm could’ve taken Bailey on as a third client, but Morgan was committed to the girls and felt she had to do her part, too.

The current governor was Brooks’s strongest opponent, but he wouldn’t be for long. To ensure he was not reelected, Morgan planned to take their sexual encounter all the way and collect lots of his sperm from the condom for an undeniable DNA match.

She felt sorry for her husband. Poor guy was clueless. Thankfully he was still asleep.

Two weeks into the plan, Magnum still didn’t know what was happening around him, in his home, or what was going to take place in his bed. Revealing the details to her husband could destroy all the Rich Girls had accomplished thus far. Then again, not disclosing the details to her husband could end her marriage. She had eight weeks left to come up with something before the announcement.

Giving herself most of the credit, Morgan was pleased with the girls’ progress. Storm had scheduled lunch with Randall. Hope’s brunch date with Johnathon was finally on the calendar. And Morgan had made certain that Brooks had direct access to the best advisors on health care, education, immigration, and environmental issues. Their allies would be the members of the women’s club in Beverly Hills. While they didn’t know the details of the Rich Girls’ devious plan, each member of BH, including the president, would most likely support Brooks.

If Morgan creatively managed Brooks’s political contributions, the Rich Girls’ investment fund could recover from her stupid mistake without any of them knowing she’d lost the entire twenty million dollars.

Hope had prioritized the agenda for Brooks’s campaign and Storm was documenting the long list of promises the incumbent had made before the last election but still hadn’t accomplished.

“Morning, beautiful,” Magnum said, rolling over facing her.

Morgan leaned toward him then kissed her husband. “Morning, handsome. What’s on your schedule for today?”

He smiled. “Golfing, golfing, and more—”

Morgan interrupted, “And more golfing with the fellas. That’s great honey…hmm.”

“Hmm what?” he said, raising a brow.

The thoughts in her head had translated into a
hmm
not intended for her husband to hear. Morgan braced her back against the headboard. She couldn’t tell him everything at once. Magnum would become outraged.

She’d once watched him pick up a floor lamp and slam it into their television, then punch the wall until his knuckles bled, when she’d told him they’d lost their first and only unborn child. After her dilation and curettage procedure, he claimed he never wanted kids because he didn’t know what he’d do if he lost another one. To keep his word, against her desire, her husband had a vasectomy.

If she had decided to abort their baby or have her tubes tied without consulting him, he probably would’ve never forgiven her or worse, divorced her. But his decision to terminate the possibility of their ever starting a family of their own was no big deal for him.

“Well, I want to run something by you,” she said, pulling the sheet over her legs.

Morgan couldn’t afford to take a chance on getting pregnant when she fucked the governor. What if the condom broke? Birth control pills might take too long to work. An IUD might slip out while having sex with her husband. The Plan B pill was not her Plan A but it was an option.

Magnum propped himself beside her. He shoved two king-sized pillows behind his back. “Shoot, babe.”

Strumming the soft hairs on his chest, Morgan exhaled, then looked into his eyes.

“Wow, this is serious. Just give it to me straight. If it’s bad news, tell me after I get back from golfing. Don’t want to hit balls while I’m angry.”

Exhaling again, Morgan said, “I think you should know that Brooks is going to run for governor.”

Magnum belted with laughter and whacked Morgan with a pillow. He leaned forward, held his stomach, and continued laughing in her face. “Governor of what?” he asked, as if there was more than one position.

“California, honey. I’m serious. This is not a joke.”

“Depends on who you ask.” Magnum leaned back, stretched his neck to one side then the other. Sternly he said, “If you’re serious, Brooks can’t do that. That’s a horrible idea. I mean, who would vote for an unmarried woman to run any state? The Rich Girls have accomplished a lot of great things with the women of Beverly Hills. Stick with helping immigrants, rebuilding schools, and teaching young girls how to become women. Babe, there’s never been an African-American or female governor of California and that’s the way it should stay. Whose stupid idea was this? Hope’s, I bet.”

“Have you looked in the mirror lately? You’re black! Why would you say something ignorant like that?”

“Yes, I’m black, but I’m a man. I didn’t mean a black man shouldn’t become governor. In fact, I’m voting for Anthony Dennison. In case you haven’t noticed, he’s black. If Brooks were a man I’d agree with you, but this entire idea is preposterous. It’s plain stupid, babe,” he said, shaking his head.

Morgan countered. “It’s not stupid. And if the governor was a man of his word, where is all the lottery money that the state is supposed to get? Certainly not in the public schools that we financially support.”

“Oh, so it was your idea. You should’ve consulted with me first. Squash it, babe,” he said, kissing her cheek. “End of discussion.”

Morgan was so angry she was close to telling her husband everything. She wanted to piss him off the way he’d done her. “Like it or not, we have a foolproof plan. Trust me. Brooks is going to win. Besides, it’s time for California to give a female the chance to pull this state out of the financial pit these men keep digging.”

Magnum peeled back the sheet, revealing his erection. “End of discussion, babe. Let it go. But seeing you upset has made me horny as hell. Let me boar a hole so deep in your pussy that when you regain consciousness you’ll have forgotten all about this ludicrous idea of yours.”

Although she didn’t agree with her husband’s opposition to Brooks’s candidacy, she needed to fuck off her frustrations. Morgan turned over, braced herself on her hands and knees, then glanced over her shoulder. Her husband hadn’t changed her mind but she could use a nice orgasm to replace her frown with a smile.

“Since you’re acting like a dog, hump this pussy from behind. And I want you to bark the entire time,” she told him.

Being that her husband was an Omega, barking was second nature to him, just like stomping. Fucking lots of women had been part of his DNA until she’d tamed and trained him not to roam.

Magnum leaned his head back and howled, “Ow…ah-ruff, ruff, ruff.” He growled a gurgling sound slow and deep in his throat, then released another, “Ruff!”

Spreading her cheeks, he repeatedly spanked her clit.
Slap!
His hand landed on her ass. “Get out the bed. I want you on the floor,” he commanded.

She obeyed, crawled away from him. “Come get this pussy. Give me that big beautiful dick,” she demanded. The only thing she loved more than his gorgeous chocolate cock inside her vanilla vagina was a clit in her mouth.

Magnum held her hips then slid all the way inside her. His thrusting started immediately. The crown of her head bobbed across the floor until it banged against the wall.

She didn’t need anything to add to the headache he’d already given her. She pushed on his dick, slamming her pussy against her husband’s balls, backing him up. There was nothing she wouldn’t do with or for Magnum.

Slap.
His hand landed on her ass again. Her butt stung with pleasure. “Can I have some of this sweet ass, baby?”

Morgan crawled to the nightstand drawer and handed him the anal lube. Anal sex was the one thing she wouldn’t allow Goodman to do to her. That would remain reserved for her husband.

Once a woman granted a man access to fuck her in the ass, their connection became stronger. Most women, especially black women, were anal virgins. Giving up their anal virginity to a man opened a door that no man had entered before. Morgan hadn’t been an anal virgin with Magnum but she’d lied and told him she was the first time she’d let him in. Unlike with the vagina, unless a woman had anal sex frequently, men couldn’t tell because there was no tissue to break through, like a woman’s hymen. If a man broke tissue during anal sex, he was an amateur and the woman should never let him fuck her again.

“You can put that beautiful cock wherever you’d like, handsome.”