The Rich Girls' Club (12 page)

M
organ drove slowly along Interstate 405. A ten o’clock traffic jam was unexpected for a Saturday night. Morgan hardly noticed. The nerves in the pit of her stomach felt like she’d swallowed a baseball.

“How could she fuck my husband?” she asked herself, gripping the wheel tight. She felt the edges of her nails digging into her palms but she didn’t care. The pain didn’t compare to what was in her heart.

Going down on Brooks after another one of their meetings earlier today had been a big mistake. One she immediately regretted afterward. Brooks didn’t taste the same, didn’t feel the same, and Morgan was suffering from nausea. The sickness was so horrible it felt like a bad case of food poisoning.

Have it your way, Brooks. Three can play this game but just like the election there can only be one winner, bitch.

The rubber-soled shoes, black slacks, shirt, and ski mask she’d worn Friday night were buried in the bottom of Morgan’s garbage can the same day. Trespassing on her so-called friend’s property wasn’t ladylike but suspicions of infidelity made people do strange things. That noise Brooks had heard while in the hot tub with Magnum hadn’t been in Brooks’s imagination.

Desperately struggling to suppress the roiling in her stomach, Morgan was losing the battle not to vomit. She heaved, then closed her mouth tight.
Oh, my, god.
She parked in the emergency lane, turned on her flashers. Searching for something, anything, to throw up in, but all she had was her purse.
No way.
She covered her mouth, heaved again. Vomit oozed between her fingers. She caught what she could with her other hand.
Shit.
Morgan flung open her door, leaned her head over the concrete, then opened wide. Her stomach contracted several times until all that was coming up was air.

Spitting on the ground, she yelled, “How could she walk into my house, sit in the club room, drink my liquor, eat my food, stare me in my face!” Morgan slammed her door closed.

She retrieved a package of wet wipes from the glove compartment, cleaned her hands, face, and clothes as best as she could, and tossed the soiled wipes out the window before merging back into traffic.

“Fuck!” She barely avoided hitting the car in front of her. She rubbed her aching head.

“That’s what you get,” she told herself.

Why had Morgan had to confirm her suspicions? Now that she knew the truth, she wished she didn’t know at all. “Call off the plan. File for a divorce. And start a new life without both of them.”

Magnum was to blame. “He did this shit hoping I’d find out and Brooks wouldn’t enter the race. He’s fucking both of us,” she said to herself, lowering her window. The stench of puke disgusted her. The fresh air instantly made her feel better.

What about Storm’s and Hope’s investments? Time? Money? This situation was bigger than she was. But bailing out was not the smart thing to do. “I swear on my mother’s grave Brooks and Magnum are going to pay for betraying me.”

“He had the audacity to stick his dick in my woman…and he thinks he’s going to bring his dick to me, stick it in my face, and expect me to suck it!” She slammed on her brakes again. “Fuck!”

She had no business being on the road, or heading to her spa to get back at her husband. Magnum’s transgression made her having fucked Bo easier for her to accept. Now, instead of sexing Bailey in Sacramento, Morgan had invited him to their spa.

Shaking her head side-to-side, she said, “And I don’t give a damn if my cheating-ass husband walks in on me sucking the governor’s dick and tea-bagging his balls. That’ll serve his ass right.” Her husband would have a better chance of fucking Bailey than feeling the inside of her pussy again anytime soon.

There was no documented record of Bailey’s appointment but earlier in the day she’d installed a few hidden cameras in their deluxe massage room. Nothing over the top, high-tech like Storm had, but as long as she had the governor on tape, her job was done.

How long had her husband been fucking her woman? “It doesn’t matter, bitch; stop tripping.”

Things were bad. She was cursing herself. But even if he’d only done it one time that was one time too many. “They’re both going to live long enough to regret their damn affair…fuck! I can’t believe this shit. Not again! Where in the hell is everybody going? Why does that bitch keep hitting her brakes? Doesn’t she know how to go with the flow?”

Thinking of flow, Morgan realized she still hadn’t figured out how she was going to get back the Rich Girls’ twenty million dollars. She’d promised to show them the statement at today’s meeting but again she couldn’t produce what she didn’t have. Her life was a mess.

“Thank God.” Her exit was next. Morgan drove a few blocks, parked at the spa. Her car was where her husband’s car was normally. She did something she seldom did, called his cell phone.

“Hey, where are you?” he asked, sounding concerned.

Morgan was not the one that needed to provide answers. “Where are you?”

“At, home. I left the hotel. We need to talk about something important. When are you coming home?” he asked.

Wanting to say, “When I feel like it,” she lied instead and said, “I’m on my way.” Ending the call, she unlocked the spa from the street entrance, hoping no one would notice her. She navigated her way to the couples massage room, turned on the light and waited for her guest. Hopefully he’d show up on time.

Things were working to her advantage. Best if Magnum didn’t walk in on her fucking Bailey Goodman. She didn’t want to give her husband any leverage.

She showered, put on a robe. Bailey wouldn’t be there long enough to soak in her amazing rose petal bath with the scent of fresh flowers floating abundantly under his nose, but she would. Dropping cinnamon oil onto a heated lamp, Morgan smiled. The scent of cinnamon in the air brought out the animal in men.

Governor Goodman was going to be the beneficiary of all her frustrations. His call was timely.

“Hi, Governor. You’re here?”

“I’m outside in my car,” he said.

“Wait exactly two minutes, then walk to the door. Let yourself in. I’ll be waiting for you. I’m not turning on the lights because I don’t want anyone to see you.”

“I can do that,” he said.

Exactly as timed, he was standing in the spa in front of her. “Give me your hand, follow me.”

Morgan locked the door then led the way to the room where she’d get revenge on Magnum. She locked the door to the lighted room.

The Governor looked around. “Wow, nice spa. From what I can see. I’ll have to come here more often.”

“And when you’re re-elected you can stay here as my guest. Complimentary.”

“There are still kindhearted, generous people in the world, Morgan, but everybody wants something for something. What is it that you truly need for giving me a generous donation?”

“I just want to see you continue the excellent work you’ve been doing. I’m sure you could use a massage before you leave.” Morgan tightened her robe.

His eyes caught a glimpse of the tip of her red lace. “Whoa,” he said, “I’m glad you closed that up.”

“If you don’t want a full body massage, I’ll just treat your neck and shoulders. All you need to remove is your shirt, but of course you’ll be more comfortable if you take off everything and get under the covers,” she said, turning her back to him. She smiled but he couldn’t see her excitement. “Let me know when you’re ready.”

The rustling of clothes told her he’d removed his jacket, tie, and shirt. When she heard the unbuckling of his belt and the removal of his shoes, she smiled again.

“I’m ready,” he said.

“Are you on your stomach, face nestled in the headrest, and covered up?”

“I sure am.”

What she would do next would make history. Morgan removed her robe, placed it on a hook on the wall beside her. She decided to keep on her red lace bra and panties. Since the nerves in the feet were connected to every part of the body, she started with his toes, balls of the feet, arches, and heels.

“Ah, that feels so good,” Bailey moaned. “I need this so much. I’m always on my feet, you know.”

“Just relax, don’t talk.”

Morgan’s hands traveled up his calves to the back of his knees. She took her time kneading the small of his back, then worked her way up to his shoulders and neck, giving a little extra attention to his erogenous zones.

The governor grunted then exhaled.

Gently she touched his bicep. “I want you to turn over slowly for me and slide down until your head is on the table.” She held the sheet up shielding his naked body. “We’ll be done here in a few,” she lied again.

Saturating her hands with more oil, she started with his hands and worked her way up his arms. Standing at the head of the table she massaged his neck, shoulders, and chest. Morgan paused, teasing his nipples, then stood by the side of the table. She slid her hands over his stomach in a circular motion.

The last movement would be her best. Morgan stood at the foot of the table. This time her hands glided slowly up from his feet, up his legs to his inner thighs. She swept his genitals, continuing her flow down to his feet and back up again.

“Oh, I’m so embarrassed,” he said, seeing his manhood rise.

Morgan peeled away the cover and began streaming light flutters up his shaft with her fingertips. Gently she kissed his engorged head, watching him grow larger. “Relax, and let go,” she whispered.

She continued strumming him until the Governor’s sperm squirted in her hands. She squatted beside the table, smeared his semen inside her panties, all over her pussy, then stood. That would be enough evidence to wreak havoc on his campaign.

“Is there a place I can shower?” he asked. “I really didn’t mean for this to happen. The massage was wonderful but I apologize for letting myself go.”

“No apology needed. The shower is straight through that door. Here’s your check.” Morgan handed him the million dollars as promised, but she’d written the check against revenue earned from the hotel.

It would’ve been easier to fuck Goodman and not give him the money than to explain the contribution to Magnum. Either way, her work was done and she’d kept her commitment to the Rich Girls.

W
hy did love pass through her like water?

Essential to sustain life, like the water she consumed, her love was recycled. One day she loved her husband. The next day her husband loved another woman. Friday Brooks had sexed Magnum. Saturday, Morgan. But the sex with both was different. Neither of their orgasms had been filled with passion. Domination took over Morgan’s energy. Frustration had consumed Magnum.

Taking control of Magnum felt liberating. Struggling not to submit to Morgan had been a battle of the same sexes that neither of them had won. The only thing missing after both fights were the tears.

Morgan’s actions cut deep. She had forced Brooks’s legs open, yanking at her unnecessarily, spitting on her pussy, then finger-fucked her like she was trying to push her uterus through her navel. “Stop, it,” Brooks had had to say.

If she was going to get fucked as if by a man, she would’ve let Bo stick his dick inside of her. Brooks knew something was bothering Morgan, but she never said what was on her mind and Brooks couldn’t bring herself to ask. She prayed Morgan wasn’t plotting something evil and that the upcoming announcement one week from now wasn’t a setup.

Brooks’s guilty conscience sensed her friend wanted to revisit her slipup, when she’d almost called out Magnum’s name, but if she was going to run the state, she couldn’t go running her mouth, confessing what could prove harmful. Best to act like a man and take her secrets to her grave. What good would it do for her to win the election yet lose her best friends?

In some ways, Brooks felt helpless. It was as if she craved human connection, stimulation, gratification, and sex, but she was temporarily emotionally detached from those who’d given her orgasmic pleasure. Like eating a prime Grade A steak and not caring how the cow was slaughtered; she had that same kind of simultaneous satisfaction and distance from her lovers. Her husband leaving her for another woman had pissed her off. But it was the principle, that he hadn’t honored his vows, that had made Brooks bitter. Not the extramarital pussy.

Being in the moment of cumming felt amazing but after the excitement was over, she realized she didn’t need or want the person she was with in her space. She enjoyed having someone to hold at night but when it was time for them to go she was ready for them to leave.

New partners were okay for some. For Brooks, familiarity was better, but wrapped up in her selfish desires she’d become oblivious to Morgan’s feelings.

Love was essential to Brooks; being in love was not. She couldn’t deny she had to have some elements of love to sustain her happiness. But was she so insensitive to Morgan’s feelings that she no longer cared about her best friend? And now that he knew she was running for governor, Magnum acted as though she’d put a knife in his back. How could she regain Morgan’s and Magnum’s trust?

Was it best to minimize her interaction with Morgan (until after the election) and stop sexing Magnum forever? If one relationship had to end, undoubtedly it was her affair with Magnum. Brooks had to keep Morgan’s friendship in order to remain a member of the Rich Girls’ Club. But Magnum was a better friend.

For the first time in years, Brooks couldn’t get out of bed. Pulling back the sheet, she stared at her feet to make sure they were still there. Her legs were numb. Mentally she tried to get up but physically her body declined. She felt paralyzed.

She heard footsteps headed her way. “Who’s there?” she called out, knowing only two people had access to her home. Morgan. And Goodman.

The tall, silver-haired sexy white man she should’ve married stood in the doorway grinning like a little boy. “I had the best massage of my life last night!” Bailey exclaimed. Entering the room, he stood over her.

“Don’t tell me I’ve got to get you going again? Why are you in the bed this time of day? Get up. I’m feeling frisky,” he said, wiggling his fingers and shuffling his feet.

“Give me a minute. Seems like I need one of those massages.”

“Oh, no. This was one of those male massages with a very happy ending, if you know what I mean.” Bailey patted his zipper. “And to top it off, she gave me a million-dollar donation for my campaign fund. What do you say about that?”

Should Brooks be jealous? Not about the money. She knew Morgan had given him the check. It was all a part of the plan Bailey knew nothing about.

Brooks looked at Bailey. He seemed more excited about whatever Morgan had done to him than he had all the times she’d sexed him. Well, if she was going to top Morgan’s performance and double-blackmail Bailey, she might as well stay in bed.

She could burst his bubble and tell him she was entering the race but that wouldn’t benefit either of them right now. Instead she said, “Come here. Let’s keep this party in your pants going.”

“That’s what I’m talking about,” he said, eagerly taking off his clothes. Standing there grinning, Bailey didn’t realize his orgasm would end in tragedy.