Seven 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.