by Abby Angel
"What is it?" he asks me, trying hard to avoid staring at my cleavage, but failing miserably.
"I’m bored," I say with a coy smile, opening the top button on my blouse. His eyes widen and he smiles hesitantly, this time completely entranced by my breasts.
"I … I can help with that," he tells me, taking one careful step toward me. God, would it hurt for him to be more assertive? Seriously, what’s wrong with men today? Even the handsome ones seem to walk on eggshells around me. Am I that intimidating?
"You sure can," I whisper, reaching for him and hooking my fingers on his belt. I pull him into me, eager to get him out of his clothes and show him what a real woman can do.
He lays his hands on my hips, sliding one down to my ass and squeezing my cheeks, and then he leans into me. My eyelids droop as his mouth comes for mine, and I flatten the palm of my hand over his crotch, feeling his hard cock underneath his pants.
"AMY! Jesus Christ, have some decency!" I hear a woman’s voice cutting through the fog of my mind, and my pussy dries up in a fraction of a second. That woman’s voice, you know to whom it belongs? My mom, Katherine Meelios. Yeah, thanks Mom, I really needed for you to barge in here when I’m about to have some fun.
I pull back from Justin (who’s now looking from me to my mom with a scared expression on his face), and place my hands on my hips. "Haven’t you ever learned to knock? This is my office, you know?" I tell my mother, tapping my foot on the floor.
She’s standing by the doorway, her hand still on the door’s handle, and her lips are tightly pursed in a disapproving expression.
"You’re my daughter," she simply says, walking inside my office and turning her attention toward Justin. "Out," she tells him drily, and he just scurries away like a frightened mouse. Yeah, my mother has that effect on people.
"What the hell do you want?" I ask her, still pissed off that she had the audacity to storm inside my office like that. I mean, it’s my lunch break, and I was about to have some much needed fun. It should be illegal to ruin moments like these.
"I want you to turn on the TV," she tells me, and her harsh tone of voice tells me that something’s coming.
And, whatever it is, it isn’t good.
Parker
The weather couldn't be any fucking nicer if it tried to suck my cock.
What the fuck. That makes no fucking sense at all.
I don’t even know why I said that. Am I really that nervous about this shit?
It’s like sometimes I don’t have control over what I say, ya know? Like some giant hand is writing this shit out somewhere and I have no control over what I say and do.
That’s not what today is all about though.
The sun's out, there's a gentle breeze, and it's a clear, bright day. The sky is a perfect shade of blue. Traffic seems to almost float by. Even the pigeons look fucking happy, gliding, and pecking, and cooing, and the trees look greener than normal.
Good.
Everything's going as planned.
I have total control here.
Carpe diem. I'm seizing the fucking day.
I look over at the podium placed in front of City Hall. The building stands tall and stoic.
The stage is set. In a few minutes, I'm going to stand in front of that podium, speak into the microphone, and unveil a secret to the citizens of New York City: I'm running for the U.S. Senate.
I straighten my yellow tie (the color of power, I've been told) and smooth the lapels of my suit jacket. Here's my chance.
I walk over to the podium, and watch as a crowd gathers.
Men, women, and entire families—I even see babies sucking on their toes in strollers. Even kids skipping school to play witness to this moment.
I clear my throat. "Thank you all for gathering here today," I start, and already I hear a smattering of claps, and whistles.
"We love you Parker!" one woman yells out, and I wave to the anonymous woman in the crowd, smiling.
"I'm sure it's no surprise to any of you that I've been in the tabloids quite a bit as of late."
I hear more shouts from the crowd. "You can say that again!" another woman yells. I hear some laughs.
And I continue, "But I just want to make one thing clear. I don't give a fuck about what the media thinks about me. None. They can all say what they want. But we all know that I get results for this city! I put my money where my mouth is."
I hear clapping erupt across the crowd. "You tell 'em Parker!"
I continue, "The only people I care about are you—the hardworking citizens of New York City. And I think that's been apparent in my work as your Mayor."
I look out at the sea of smiling faces, and the clapping. I look at the serious nods of approval.
"What once was a city of crime, is now a place that," and I pause, holding the gaze of various women in the audience, "women can walk safely down the street at night. Safety is not a privilege, it's a right, and I'm proud to say that I've lowered crime across this city that we call home."
More cheers and claps emerge from the crowd.
"But let's not stop there," I smile, holding a dramatic pause. "I've brought back jobs to this magnificent city—including new construction. Not only have I brought new jobs, but a new infrastructure for us as well."
The crowd is growing increasingly loud, shouting their approval, and I'm on a fucking roll.
"I'm happy to say that unemployment is at an all-time low. And that's just the beginning!"
"You tell 'em Parker!" a man shouts again, and he's backed by increasingly more cheers.
I continue, "For all of our families—historically, the cost of housing has been especially tough. But I say, enough is enough! Families are our future, and it's been my mission to lower that cost—and I'm happy to say that's happened."
"Ain't that the truth!" comes another shout from the crowd, and there's another round of clapping.
I hold my hand up to quiet the crowd, and continue, "I've also cleaned up this beautiful city. As many of you have probably seen, I've added parks, play structures, and recreational courts, and because children are our future, and I believe that they should be given every opportunity possible to succeed, I've added a number of new after school programs."
There's more clapping, and at this point, I don't try to quiet the crowd. I just continue on.
"Shall I go on?"
People are now chanting, "Parker! Parker! Parker!"
"Under my years as Mayor, I have balanced the budget. We now have more money for what matters most to us, and not only that, but I've managed to lower taxes for all of our citizens. I'm sure you're all feeling the effects of that!"
The clapping continues, and increases in intensity.
"Never, in the history of our city, have things been this good. That's not hyperbole; that's the honest to God truth! And with that, I've got an announcement to make today."
I remain silent for a moment and look out across the sea of happy faces. The clapping and shouting continues, but grows quieter as everyone becomes eager to hear my announcement. They all seem to be leaning in just a little closer.
I continue, "I'm happy to announce that I will be running for a seat in the U.S Senate!"
With that news, the crowd erupts. They're shouting their approval. They're ecstatic. They're practically leaping out of their shoes.
I feel on top of the fucking world.
"With your support, I promise to represent the people of New York City in Congress—to talk about the issues that are most important to you, and to push along the bills that matter the most. I give you my promise. I'll be there when you need me the most. So always remember this, New York City: When you're in need, just ask Trask!"
The audience loves the tagline—they're literally eating it up—and they immediately begin shouting and chanting, "Just ask Trask! Just ask Trask! Just ask Trask! Just ask Trask!"
I smile with a grin that feels wider than the Atlantic Ocean.
I can feel the energy and excitem
ent pulsing off of the crowd. People are shouting their approval, cars are honking, drivers are waving, babies are smiling, and the thunder of applause seems to rumble across the entire fucking city.
Now this is how you make a bid for the U.S. Senate.
This is how it's done.
Can things be any better?
I don’t fucking think so.
Amy
I stare at the TV, barely blinking as I take in my stepfather’s words. Why the hell is my mother showing me this? He’s running for Senate; great, but what the hell does that have to do with me?
"So?" I ask my mother, turning to face her.
"Your stepfather has decided to run for the Senate," she tells me, and I just shrug.
"Yeah, I saw that. What do I care?"
"Oh, you don’t care now. But you should ... because, as of now, his bid for the Senate is your problem," she says, lowering her voice as an amused grin creeps up on her face.
There’s one thing you should know about Katherine Meelios, my beloved mother: she’s an ambitious sociopath. There, I said it. You’re probably thinking that I’m being too harsh on her, since she’s my mother and all. But trust me, you don’t want to get too comfortable around my mother. She’s not the kind of person to dip her hand into your purse looking for your wallet, but she’ll steamroll you if you’re in her way.
"I want you to get close to him," she continues, narrowing her eyes into slits. I go back behind my desk, unconsciously needing a barrier between her and I, and sink into my chair. "I need you to get inside his campaign."
"Are you crazy? You want me to spy on Parker?" I sigh, rubbing both my temples. Here we go. Once again, she’s pulling me into her Machiavellian plots for world domination. Just lovely.
"I want you to spy on him, and you will spy on him," she says, a veiled threat behind her words. Well, not exactly veiled; if there’s one thing my mother loves, it's to threaten me in order to make me do her bidding. It’s what she does. Behind her pretty face and middle-aged elegance lies a creature that knows no limits. "I’m going to run for Senator, and Parker’s in my way. I have to put a stop to his ambitions, and you’ll help me do that.
"You’re insane," I repeat, a headache already brewing inside of my skull, "how the hell am I supposed to get into his campaign? And, besides, he’s my stepfather. It’s not like I get off on sabotaging family."
"Parker and I aren’t together anymore, so let go of that family talk," she shoots at me, walking around my desk and leaning into me, her hands resting on my chair’s hand rests. "And we were only married for a year, Amy. Don’t bullshit me and say you care about him. You hardly know him."
That’s true. I was only 18 when mom and Parker called it quits and split up. But that only strengthens my case.
"Yeah, that’s right. So what am I supposed to do? Stroll into his campaign’s headquarters and announce myself? Hey, daddy? I missed you! Gimme a job. How do you think that’ll play out?"
"It’s not like you have a choice," my mom says, her grin widening as she lowers her voice. Here we go.
"Yeah?"
"That’s right, Amy. I still have that tape, and unless you want your business to go up in flames, together with your reputation, you’ll help me do this," she hisses, an amused expression on her face. Ever since she got her hands on that tape, there’s been no stopping her.
You see, Parker left a lasting impression on me. I was only 18 when he left, but I grew up dreaming of his strong frame, deep voice, and smart eyes … God, just thinking about that is enough to make my heart race.
Anyway, I’m not ashamed to say that I had some solo fun thinking of Parker once puberty hit. Too bad that, once in college, I never found anyone that managed to fill Parker’s shoes.
That only happened after college.
I was still working as a model when I got a very lucrative offer to star in a movie—a porn movie. I said no at first, but when I saw the man I’d be, ahem, co-starring with, I started having second thoughts. And for a very simple reason—he looked a lot like Parker. Sure, the voice was off, and he didn’t tower over me like my stepfather did, nor his body was as perfect as I needed it to be… But there were a few resemblances, and I found myself signing a contract just so that I could get the chance to live out a fantasy of mine.
I don’t even remember that man’s name. All I know is that he looked like Parker and, once our clothes were off, he became Parker. I closed my eyes once he slid his cock inside of me, and I moaned and screamed Parker’s name until my throat grew raw. I forgot all about the cameras, the director and the crew; in that moment, I was just living out a dream.
Once that was over, I started having second thoughts. Did I really want to star in a porno? Did I really want to go down that road? Push came to shove, and I decided to bail out of my contract. I returned all the money I was paid, and the producers were kind enough to bury the footage. I chucked out that moment in my life to a lapse of judgment and promptly forgot about it. I had the only copy in existence, and so my little secret would never see the light of day.
Except, of course, I made a slight miscalculation. You see, I always knew my mother was a ruthless person, but I never thought she’d be shrewd enough to go looking through my stuff, trying to find some dirt on me.
Once she found the tape, it was downhill from there.
Anytime she wants me to do anything, she resorts to her threats right away. And it isn’t like there’s anything I can do. If that tape sees the light of day, Kinky Amy’s is going to be swept away by the resulting scandal, and I can kiss goodbye all the sweet investment I managed to secure with my hard work.
"I’ve done enough for you," I say, gritting my teeth and making an effort not to slap my mother. It’s kinda sad if you think about it. She’s my mom, and all I really want to do right now is smack her across the face.
Ever since she got her hands on that tape, she has used me like some disposable tool. I’m not proud to say it, but she has forced me to seduce some of her political rivals in the past so that she could force them to align with her, or get out of the way. Yeah, I’m her femme fatale of service.
But I can’t do that to Parker. He’s my stepfather, for God’s sake!
"In case you haven’t noticed, Amy, this isn’t up for debate. You will do this. But don’t think I’m an evil bitch," she whispers with a smile, and I do exactly the opposite. She couldn’t be any more of an evil bitch. "Do this for me, and I’ll let you have the tape once you’re done. Just do your mom one last favor."
"One last job," I correct her, pursing my lips.
"Whatever you want to call it, Amy," she chuckles, throwing her purse over her shoulder and straightening the front of her haute couture dress. "Just make sure you do it," she finishes off, and then walks out of my office.
I sit there in silence, my hands balled into fists. Once again, my mother has pulled me into her political schemes. And, once again, I have no choice but to do her bidding.
One last job then.
Parker
It's been four days since I announced my bid for the U.S. Senate and my phone's been ringing non-stop. My inbox is so full, I could spend the next ten years answering every fucking message, and I still probably wouldn't get through it all.
And you know what? I couldn't be happier.
Needless to say, people are pretty fucking excited about my announcement.
And this evening, I'm celebrating at Cipriani's where the liquor choices are large, and the jumbo shrimp cocktails are even larger.
I walk over to the bar and motion to the bartender for a drink.
"What can I get for you sir?" And before I can even answer, a smile of recognition spreads across his face. "Wait a minute, you're the guy I saw on TV the other day—the 'Just Ask Trask' guy. You're Parker Trask, aren't you?"
"That's me," I say, reaching over to shake his hand. "It's nice to meet you."
"The pleasure's mine—now about that drink," he smiles. "What can I get for you?"
/>
"I'll take an Old Fashioned," I reply.
"Sure thing—but I've gotta say, you're anything but Old Fashioned. The way you've whipped this city into shape, and brought it all together, is nothing short of a miracle. I've never seen that from any other mayor, and I've been in this city my whole life."
"I appreciate that," I reply. I think about segueing his accolades into my new bid for Senator, but then I decide that'll come across as shameless self-promotion, so I hold back and simply keep it at a thank you and nod my head.
I watch as he makes my drink—muddling the sugar and bitters, pouring the whiskey, and topping it with a twist of orange and a cherry. The ritual of it all is somehow comforting. He slides it over to me.
"Perfection," I say, and he seems pleased.
I reach down to grab the glass and before I can bring it to my lips, a woman catches my eyes. She grabs the empty seat next to me, and casually looks at the bar's menu.
I'm trying not to stare, but fuck, this is some woman.
Did I just say that my drink was perfection? Because I was clearly wrong. This woman sitting next to me is perfection incarnate.
I look around, hardly believing that she could be sitting here, alone. There's probably a boyfriend—or husband—about to walk up any minute. I'm bracing myself for the disappointment. I'm expecting it.
When I steal another look at her face, I notice that she seems familiar somehow.
Do I know her from somewhere? I'm wracking my brain for an answer when she speaks up.
"Can I really ask you anything, Trask?" she says, a smile forming on her lips.
Wait … that smile. Now I know why she looks so familiar. She looks so much like her mother.
"Amy?" I ask.
"I was wondering when you'd recognize me," she laughs.
"You look—"
She cuts me off. "Older?"
"You look good," I say.
