Politics. Escorts. Blackmail. (4 page)

“That’s good. I’m really happy for you guys.” She took a moment to wonder how a presidential hopeful’s stepson would fare with the public if he was discovered dating a high-class hooker. To her, “about to get crazy” was an understatement.

“Listen, you know the e-mail thing with Mayor Graves I was telling you about?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve just about got it figured out.”

“Virgil, I still don’t understand why you’d do that anyway. You need to let your dad win on his own. The risk of you getting caught isn’t worth it.”

“Caught? If you only knew how many people do that all the time. People who know the system like I do.”

“Maybe, but what makes you think he has anything to hide anyway? It could just be a waste of time. And then if you do find something, how are you gonna make it an issue without anyone knowing it was you? It’s just a bad idea all around.”

“Well, I heard he’s a racist.”

“A racist? With a black wife?”

“Having a black wife doesn’t mean anything.”

“Yes it does. Who’s going to marry someone of a race they hate? And if he is a racist, you thinking you can find e-mails to prove it is just dumb.”

“It’s not what I’ll find in his e-mail account. It’s what will be sent from his account.”

She turned from her side to her back, her forearm of one arm on her forehead. “Virgil, I’m really surprised at you. Where does this come from? You need to stop. Let it go.”

“Okay, you know what? I’ll just make sure to keep it to myself.”

“No. I want you to confide in me, but I also want you to let this go.”

Virgil kept at it. “I could also just send him a racist cartoon, and then log in and see if he forwards it from his account as a joke.”

“That’ll be easily tracked.”

“It won’t. Believe me.”

She exaggerated her yawn, making it sound twice as intense. “Virgil, look, I’m really tired. And by the way, yes, I’ll have lunch with you. How about Japanese at Nobu? At noon.”

“I’ll be there. And can you please check your purse to make sure my pen is in it?”

“I’m in bed. I’m sure it is. I haven’t worn that purse since I packed up to fly to Key West. I’ll bring it tomorrow.”

“Thanks.”

“And slow down. Enjoy this. Don’t blow it. Love you.”

“See you tomorrow.”

Fifteen minutes later, Brooklyn was fucking Mr. 91, a famous black male comedian who had a penchant for portraying the teenaged male student being seduced by the older vixen.

The game of fulfilling fantasies for money continued.

And she had a boyfriend who was none the wiser.

At least for another day.

Friday—June 3, 2011

L
eilani “Manhattan” Sutton had already popped her birth control pill for the day, having gotten a new prescription after going in to see her regular gynecologist for her annual exam. All was clear. She was responsible and easy-breezy.

Leilani never gave Lip Service any lip about her workload, the pay, or the location, and she never complained about the clients. She was Money’s number one and she knew it.

About a year after Money moved from Los Angeles to New York City to be with the husband who ended up leaving her, she brought Leilani into the Lip Service mix. Leilani, half Hawaiian and half who knew, was born and raised in Henderson, Nevada, just outside of Las Vegas. She moved to L.A. to get away from her boyfriend after she caught him cheating on her with a fellow showgirl where she worked at the Flamingo Hotel.

As soon as exotic-looking Leilani hit L.A., she got caught up in the groupie scene, and she liked the glamour and glitz of Hollywood. After being chased by A-list athletes, going out to every trendy club in town, and rarely coming home alone, she often gave up the goodies on the first night, never valuing her worth. She couldn’t help but turn heads because of the way she was drawn, like a cartoon, and built like Jessica Rabbit. She had a Sofia Vergara–type body, and a face like Nicole Scherzinger. Word quickly got out among the athletes that she wasn’t wife material. They traded their fuck stories of how they’d hit it and quit it, and how stellar her dick-​sucking skills were. None of them took her seriously, and no one believed she could ever become famous for any talent besides her good head, even though she chased her goal of fame and fortune by any means necessary.

When Money was first dating the well-known sportscaster whom she later married then divorced, she met Leilani in L.A. at a Lakers game that Money’s man was announcing. Leilani was a guest of the top player on the Lakers. She had street smarts and had been on her own since she was fourteen. She was very bright and often joked with Money that she had an I.Q. of 137, which matched her weight. She even made fun of herself to the point of saying she was so smart, she had figured out how to make room in her throat for a Volvo if she needed to. Money told her that was both funny and impressive, and made Leilani an offer years later that she didn’t refuse. She moved to New York City to be Money’s IC.

Leilani was excited about the Big Apple, the city that never slept. To her, it was more exhilarating than even Las Vegas. She enjoyed the fact that the men she would service would no longer be athletes, and she’d get paid for it. At the time Leilani came into the fold, it was only Money and Midori. The three together made money hand over fist, and they were booking more hobbyists than they could handle.

Turned out, Leilani’s Hawaiian mother was also in the sex-for-money business. She’d take her young daughter along on jobs and make her wait in the car alone until she was done. Leilani’s dad was a John. Being pregnant hadn’t stopped her mother from screwing men for money, even at seven months. Leilani was born in prison, delivered while her mom served three months for prostitution. Her mother got her back after completing rehab, but she relapsed, and instead of having sex just for the money, she started having sex for drugs.

Her mother overdosed right in front of Leilani when she was fourteen. Leilani was adopted, and after her adoptive father forced her to perform oral sex on him, she ran away at the age of sixteen.

She met a white man named Shawn, her first boyfriend, at a fast food restaurant where she worked. He got her a fake ID, and she was hired first as a waitress in the casinos and then as a showgirl. She told him all about her past life, and he accepted her and promised to be there for her, and be her one and only. He sort of got that right. He was her one and only, but she wasn’t his one and only. He was unfaithful.

Ever since she left him and moved to L.A. and then New York, they still communicated over the phone. He felt Leilani needed to come home, back to Vegas, so they could make it work. She kept him at a distance to punish him for cheating. And the more she ignored him, the more he wanted her. Her fear was once he got her back, he’d go right back to wanting what he didn’t have, known as the never-enough syndrome.

“I miss you, baby,” she told him, talking on the phone just minutes before her appointment with Mr. 51. She would talk to Shawn in certain ways just to string him along on purpose.

“You too, babycakes. When are you coming out?”

“Soon.” She sat on the taupe duvet in the bedroom of a chic, apartment-like suite at the Court Hotel on East Thirty-Ninth, applying pink baby lotion onto her legs. She kept an eye on the digital clock along the top of the huge plasma television.

He said, “This time I’m telling you, there’s no going back to New York. You come here and that’s it.”

“I don’t know about that. It’s like, I’ve got connections here. The services I offer here as a caterer, well, they pay better. Plus, like I told you, we’re not officially back together anyway. You know I still don’t trust you, Shawn.”

“Babycakes, I guaranteed you, you come back and that’ll be it. It’ll be you and me.”

“You say that, but you can’t stop cheating. Like, you’ll never be a one-woman man.”

“I can. You know I want to be. You come home and I’ll prove it. I’m never risking losing you again. I promise.”

One loud knock sounded.

Shawn asked immediately, “What was that? Where are you?”

“I’m at home. I was just closing the drawer, trying to get dressed. Look, I’m totally gonna have to run. I have an event I need to supervise in an hour. Gotta get out of here and get across town. I’ll, um, call you back later, okay?” She jumped up and headed into the front room.

“Okay. If you say so.” He sounded perturbed.

“Bye, Shawn,” she said quietly.

He said nothing.

She waited two seconds for his good-bye or the sound of him disconnecting. Hearing nothing, she hung up. She stood before the door and said, “Just one minute.” The last syllable of her last word lingered. Then she sent her text.
Here.

“Hey,” she said, opening the door and smiling brightly just as her phone chimed, signaling her reply text was received.

Mr. 51 said, in his baritone voice, “Good evening, Manhattan.” He stepped inside quick. His wheat-colored suit and brown tie looked expensive. His dover-split brown shoes had fine English detailing.

She wore a short white robe and fluffy, white high-heeled slippers. “Oh, look at you. You look nice,” she told him, closing the door.

He was six-four, with a politician’s charm. “Thanks. Just coming from a meeting not far away from here.” He wore wire-rimmed eyeglasses and had a wide nose and faint moustache. His hair was a close fade, slightly graying. He was dapper looking and walked with a youthful swagger, considering he was born in 1954.

“I see.”

He eyed her from her head to her toes. “I still don’t know why you don’t get an agent and make some money with your looks.”

“Thanks.” She blushed and gave a giggle. “I was going to ask you something. I know you usually book an hour but they said it would be three hours. Is that right?”

He smiled, as if turned on by the sweetness in her tone. “Maybe. It depends.” He stepped over to the olive sofa and removed his shoes and suit jacket. “I’m waiting on a call. It could come in fifteen minutes, it could come in three hours, but no longer than that. On standby for an interview.”

“Okay. Whatever works for you, I’m totally fine with. Can I get you something to drink, maybe?”

“Just bottled water.”

“Okay.”

He went straight into the bedroom.

She told him, “I’ll be right in. Make yourself comfortable.” In escort language that meant
Take off your clothes
.

And he did. Butt-naked comfortable.

When she stepped back in with his chilled bottle of water, Darrell Ellington, New York state senator for the 17th District, current black Republican candidate, wealthy heir to a cosmetics fortune, was nude. He’d pulled back the duvet and his long, strong dick was at full attention.

“Well. Look at you,” she said with energy, grinning.

“What I want to do is look at you.” His hungry eyes agreed.

“Okay.” She blinked fast.

“You need to take that robe off. My wife never undresses in front of me. I hate that.” His expression exuded lust. “Let me watch you undress.”

“No problem,” she said, setting his water down on the nightstand on his side of the bed.

She kicked off one of her shoes and gave a flirty pout, flinging her long, wavy, dark hair. “You’re happy to see me, aren’t you?” she asked, looking at his dick.

He palmed his penis with his large right hand. “Oh, you know it.”

She gave a happy-go-lucky laugh as she kicked off the other shoe and slowly untied the silk belt from around her waist. Her robe opened, and her white crotch-less teddy was revealed. The nipples were cut out, exposing her cinnamon areolas. She let the robe slide from her shoulder, onto the floor, and turned around, showing him a full view of her round ass cheeks, patting her right cheek and looking back at him. Her left cheek had a starburst tattoo.

“Holy ass cleavage. Damn, you’re sexy as hell. I wouldn’t know how to act if I had you every day. I’d never get any work done.”

She looked back at him. “I bet you wouldn’t. Considering what you’re working with there, we’d be like, totally getting it on for sure.”

“You’re telling me.”

She turned back to face him and slipped off the thin straps of her teddy.

“No. Leave that much of it on. Come here. I want you to sit on my face.”

And she did as she was asked. Still wearing her sexy teddy, she stepped to the side of the bed and took the dental dam from its package, unrolling the sheer, rectangular sheet of pink latex. He liked to please her with his mouth and make her come, using his skills that he told Leilani didn’t work on his wife.

She climbed on the bed on top of him, straddling his long, lean body, supporting her weight by placing her legs on either side of his shoulders. He scooted down just a bit to allow her to get in the right position for her shaven pussy to meet his mouth. She took a moment to place the dam over her entire vagina as a barrier between his mouth and her pussy, and he brought his hands to her juiced-up vulva to hold the sides of the rubber sheet in place.

He said, while looking up at her with lustful eyes, “Manhattan, I’m gonna work that pussy just the way you like it.” He removed his eyeglasses so he could get serious.

“I know you will. You totally do it right every time.”

She grabbed her own soft breasts and began to roll her nipples between her index fingers and thumbs, and he went to work, pointing his tongue to her lips and kissing her opening, adding pressure by darting his tongue from side to side, fast. She rubbed her nipples to help the cause, because unbeknownst to him, trying to make her come with his mouth never worked for her, either.

“Oh, yeah. Uh-huh.” She reached back with one hand to grab his stiff penis, and stroked it at the same speed he licked her down.

He moved his oral work upward, to her tender pearl, and flattened his tongue, licking back and forth.

She ground into his face and looked down at him, then up at the ceiling. “You’re supposed to be the one having fun.”

She heard him moan, as if it was more his pleasure than hers.

After a few minutes, Leilani squeezed her nipple tighter and felt it was time to give him her fake orgasm. He slipped his tongue in and out with rapid-fire motions as if trying to make her nature hit its peak. She ceased rubbing his penis and moaned, grinding her pussy clockwise into his giving face. “Uuuhhh, uuuhhh. Yeah. Yeah. Oh. Oh.” She pretended the sensation was too much to take, then acted like she was busting a nut against the senator’s lips. Her grinding paused but his mouth kept going. She jerked and pressed her hands to the headboard, and then backed away a bit, seeming as if it was all too much, as if she was fighting to remove herself from his mouth’s wonders.

He grinned from beneath her as she fell over onto her back, right beside him, rubbing her forehead and panting. “Oh my gosh, that was good. You know I always look forward to seeing you.” She reached down to grab the latex that covered her vagina, placing it on top of the empty foil packaging on the nightstand.

“I aim to please,” he said, looking proud.

“And so do I.” She then asked, as if raring to go, “How do you want it?”

“Blow me.” He sounded X-rated certain.

“My pleasure.” She came to a stance.

“I don’t know how you do it, but damn, you sure do.”

“The way I do it is only for you.” She had a look on her face like she would never lie.

He looked as if he wished she was truthful. “It is?”

“Yes. Your wish is my command.”

Leilani climbed onto the bed and positioned her backside toward the quilted headboard, got on her knees next to him, and instead of mounting his face in a 69, she kept her backside near his chest, approaching his hard penis while keeping her ass up in the air for his close inspection. Instead of taking in his penis from between his legs, she opened her mouth and began sucking the tip from his point of view as he watched closely. He kept one hand along his balls, and his right arm along her back, inspecting every inch of her ass. She caressed his thighs and licked his bulbous head while giving it her full lips.

She breathed in and out of her nose carefully, focusing on her breathing, among other things. She relaxed her jaw, relaxed her neck and shoulders, and opened her mouth as wide as she could, taking in his length and width, and then she used her whole mouth to swallow, letting go of all the constrictions along the way. Her tongue was strong from developing it after much practice with using her fingers, and then dildos to increase her level of tolerance. She’d learned how to use the tip, the blade, the middle, and the back of her tongue. The back of her tongue was what she focused on most when she went extra deep. It was the place where the roof of her mouth suddenly dropped to another level. She focused on allowing the shaft of his penis to rest upon the fall-away portion of her tongue, as opposed to the tip of his dick touching the part of her throat that housed the gagging reflex. Actually, Leilani’s gagging reflex was weak. She didn’t panic and the back of her tongue didn’t react, either, because she’d trained it not to.