Buyer's Market: A Billionaire + Virgin Dark Fairytale

by Dark Angel

  “Liam,” I start, saying his first name pointedly, “Your deal flies in the face of the environmental legislation I’ve just passed.” I don’t give two shits if I’m disrespecting him by not addressing him as Mayor—as far as I’m concerned, this guy is just another idiot who doesn’t even deserve an ounce of respect.

  “Yeah, yeah. I don’t give two fucks about it. You might like to pass all kinds of laws while you’re sitting on your fancy Governor’s chair, but I’m living in the real world. I don’t have the time for your political agenda bullshit of the week; I became Mayor in this city because I care about the people here, not because I want to be another fucking cog in the state’s machine.” I hear his words, but I can barely believe them. I fought tooth and nail to create a law that would protect our state for years to come, and this guy is pissing all over it with a grin … and that while trying to feed me some fake altruistic bullshit. Who the hell does he think he is?

  “That’s not how it works. You can’t just do what you want; you’re a Mayor. Kindergarten is over, Liam. Listen to me and act like a real man for once.” This is like talking to a kid who has decided to play a game intended for grown-ups. How in the hell did this guy end up a mayor?

  “That’s fucking rich of you, to come here and tell me I can’t secure thousands of jobs for New Kingston. Why don’t you go visit all the people who need these jobs and tell them that they should sign up for food stamps because you’ve signed some bullshit piece of paper. I bet that would go really well, Governor.”

  I knew this guy would be tough to deal with, but I didn’t expect this. He’s not tough; he’s an asshole, one who doesn’t care about anything. He doesn’t even want to negotiate or talk about what can be done. This damn bastard just wants to prove he’s better than everyone else. If it weren’t for the political consequences of it, I could just bury my fist into his face and ruin that pretty face of his. You pick up a few things while serving in Iraq, and ruining pretty boys’ faces is one of them.

  “I don’t know who you think are, Liam, but this isn’t the Wild West. You can’t simply flood the city with factories and postpone the consequences. And there are consequences.”

  “Oh, I know all about consequences, Carter,” he tells me, using my first name as a provocation. Unconsciously, I feel my hands balling into fists. I’ve always hated spoiled little kids like him. He takes his feet off of the table and leans toward me, his grin fading away as his expression turns into a hard one. “For instance, the consequences to your words are that you’re no longer welcome here.”

  I’m not welcome? In my own state? This guy has no idea who he’s talking to. Whether he likes it or not, he will have to bend. In the end, everyone does. I get up from my seat and look him in the eye, the tension in the room increasing.

  “Enjoy your little fantasy while it lasts, Liam. Because, in the end, you have no power. No choice.” Leaving my words hanging in the air, I turn on my heels and leave his office.

  Five minutes. That was how long it took for us to declare war to each other. I smile inwardly; if he wants war, he’s going to get one.

  And I’m going to crush him… With a smile on my lips.

  Vivian

  I swear, I don’t even need an alarm clock to wake up most mornings. Most of my friends swear that they need a couple of minutes to snooze, or a solid 8 hours of sleep. Not me. A good five hours and I’m good to go. Hell, I could probably do with three. Or less.

  Like last night. I think I may have finally passed out after the sex at around 3 am. I look over to the clock.

  It’s 6:45 am. I always wake up at 6:45 am. So what is that? Slightly less than four hours. I can live with that. I won’t be draggy and tired all day. Besides, it was worth it. Sex is always worth it, in my opinion. It doesn’t have to always be toe-curling sex. It can be regular sex, or even sometimes bad sex. It depends what you end up doing with it. It’s like a movie. Even if it’s a bad movie, only rarely do you stop watching it. Or reading. Even if it’s a bad book, you usually finish to the end. I mean, sometimes you just DNF, but that’s not this book, is it? Because you only just met me, hun, and let me tell you, I think you’re going to like the ride I get to go on.

  Anyways, back to the sex last night. It wasn’t the best. The guy, what’s his name? I forgot.

  I look over to my right. He’s sleeping peacefully. Poor baby. He must be worn out. See, his cock was too small for me. I think it was only about four and a half inches. I swear—no lying. I was actually pretty intrigued. I asked him how big his cock was at the bar he picked me up at when I was having a drink after the Senate adjourned for the day, and he had told me it was ‘big enough to make me scream’.

  I guess he meant scream in amazement because when I saw it a few hours later in my apartment, while I did feel a bit cheated, I was also really intrigued. Instead of kicking him out, I told him if he put on two condoms (to maybe make his cock bigger?) and gave me head while I read the latest Simone Sowood book on my Kindle he could fuck me afterward.

  He was so grateful I wasn’t kicking him out he did exactly what I asked. That’s right. The guy next to me is a lobbyist for some group or another. Mr. Big Bad Lobbyist, thinking he’s going to go run for Congress. Too bad he has a baby dick and that Alpha Male façade just crumbles like nothing else when faced with a real woman. Like you or me—he can’t handle us.

  Seriously, babe. I’ve dated a lot of guys. I’m not a slut; I don’t indiscriminately sleep around. I always want to go with the Alpha. I’ve done billionaires, CEOs, actors, Senators, Congressmen, Mafia lords, highlanders, princes, hell—even a guy claiming to be a fucking dragon.

  At the end of the day, two things will happen with any of these so called bad boys or Alpha Males. First, I will crush their spirit because they won’t be able to keep up with me. They’ll end up becoming Soccer Dads, with beige shorts driving a minivan. That’s after they trade in their motorcycle and leave their MC. Second, I’ll get bored with them. Because they couldn’t be man enough to handle me.

  It’s a curse, hun. I wish I weren’t so confident. But what can I do? I grew up like this. I’m the youngest Senator in the history of this country at 29 years old. I know I look good; I have blonde hair to my shoulders, I stay in shape by working out every day, I know my boobs look okay and my ass is still perky. I’m a hard worker. I graduated at the top of my class from Princeton and never looked back. When my friends were getting married, I was working. When they were going on vacation, I was working. And look at where it got me; I’m now the junior Senator from New York State and chairwoman of the Senate Commerce Committee. I have an apartment in Washington D.C. at the Watergate Hotel and an apartment in New York City on 39th and Park Avenue. I don’t have billions of dollars, but enough paid speeches to Wall Street banks and the NRA have left me with hundreds of millions of dollars. I can survive on that.

  Sure, I grew up wealthy, in a well-connected New England family. We summered in Cape Cod and lived on Beacon Hill when I was growing up. But like any New England family, I was always told that everything I would ever get in life I had to earn. If I didn’t work, I wouldn’t receive any benefits.

  No one owns me. Not even a political party. I watch all these supposedly powerful men, out there peacocking and posturing for the camera. They’re all crippled because the parties have them by the balls. I told the Democrats to fuck off a while ago. Then I did the same to the Republicans. I’m an American. That’s my fucking party, babe.

  But I’m also a woman. And I’ve just woken up. And I don’t have to pee, so that makes me horny. I don’t waste any time but slowly nudge the lobbyist whose name I can’t remember awake.

  He slowly opens his eyes. He looks at me and smiles sweetly.

  “Good morning,” he says slowly.

  “Babe,” I tell him, “I need you between my legs.”

  He blinks a few times, and I give him a lascivious smile. That should get the blood pumping to the right areas. I could go down on him and get him h
ard, but I’m not really in the mood. Plus, with four and a half inches, how would I go about finding his cock?

  Apparently, my smile is enough for him. Men are so easy to fucking manipulate, and within seconds, he’s moved his head down and begun kissing around my folds.

  I close my eyes. It’s not super good, but it’ll get the job done. Kind of like buying the generic cereal at the store and not the brand name. Sometimes you just need to budget so you can spend your money on other things.

  I pull up my phone and start looking through my emails as Mr. Big Bad Lobbyist starts to lick my clit. My eyes close and I shudder. It does feel good. I let myself go for a bit, enjoying the sensation.

  That’s when the phone rings. I sigh. I look at the iPhone as it continues to vibrate and I wonder for a second if I should pick up. It’s an unlisted number. Or maybe just put the vibrating appliance down below too, help out this poor man whose lapping at me now, teasing me and stimulating me, sending small shudders up my body….

  Oh look, I got lost in my train of thought and forgot to pick up. Oh well. I keep my eyes closed and bring a hand to my tits, teasing my nipples. It’s too much to ask this guy to take charge. Once you take the reins from the man, they’re loathe to give it back.

  And then the phone rings again.

  It was an unlisted number before, but this time there’s no mistaking the Caller ID.

  It reads: The White House.

  Right, so I should probably pick that up.

  “This is Vivian Hawthorne,” I say into the phone. Mr. Lobbyist tries to lift his head to see what I’m doing, but I have enough dexterity that I’m able to use his other hand and push him back down between my legs. His tongue rubs and presses hard against my clit. I shudder in pleasure.

  “Senator Hawthorne, please hold for the President of the United States,” the White House operator says into the line.

  I hold. This isn’t my first call with the Big Man. Rather, I spread my legs out a little bit more. I need to make this quick.

  “Viv?” comes the voice of a the boisterous Texan on the other end of the line. “How you doin’, doll?”

  I sigh. The President has a way about him that makes you roll your eyes but melts your heart at the same time.

  “I’m good, Mr. President, what seems to be on your mind this morning?” I ask into the phone.

  Mr. Lobbyist keeps at it, and I can feel the first of the muscles in my body begin to tighten. Is it me, or is the fact that I’m on the phone while I’m getting head turning me on even more than normal. I may not have cum as easily, but something about this is doing it for me.

  His tongue continues to lap at me, pressing, flicking, and squeezing my clit. I shudder. It’s good now.

  “Say, Viv, I need your help, and because your technically Independent…” the President begins but I interrupt him, trying to talk through the sex haze.

  “I am an Independent, sir,” I say into the phone. I switched political affiliation from Republican to Independent a while ago. Before that I used to be a registered Democrat.

  “Right,” the President says. “Well, your unique nature in the Senate can be of help in a sensitive situation.”

  “Ooooohhh?” I ask, my voice catching as I feel a finger and a tongue now rubbing at my clit. I’m going to cum soon. I can’t stop it. The fires are spreading. I’m starting to go numb in my toes. It’s like this man’s tongue is operated by batteries or something. Oh God, it feels so fucking good. Fuck.

  “I have a small problem happening in New York, and since it's your state, I was hoping you could take a look. It looks like Governor Carter, with his environmental legislation that he just passed is running into some trouble,” the President says and I have to say I’m barely able to comprehend. My mind is burning with pleasure at the sensations I’m feeling.

  “Apparently the mayor of New Kingston, I think his name is Liam Jeffries—and if he sounds familiar it’s because all the papers call him America’s Mayor and he’s the youngest or something at being mayor ever—just got a foreign company to open several factories in the town. Bring back 10,000 or so jobs,” the President continues as I thrash my legs in sweet pleasurable agony. “This flies smack in the face of the Governor’s environmental bill and I don’t have to tell you it sets us up for a pretty ugly fight between red states and blue states, Viv.”

  I’ve slipped past the point of no return and I can feel my body begin to have that delightful seizure as my muscles clench all along my body.

  “So if you can go down there and help them negotiate this out, it keeps the Federal government from making a bad situation worse, you know?” he asks me. “Have you ever dealt with either the Governor or the Mayor?”

  “Oh yes!” I scream out in pleasure. I feel a fire of pleasure travel across my body and I tighten my legs around Mr. Lobbyist. Momentarily, I forget myself. When I come to, the President is still talking and I’m breathing hard.

  Wait, what did I just say yes to?

  I’ve never met either man. I’ve been in Washington most of the time. My staff has most likely dealt with and pretended to know and like both men, but personally, I can’t even remember what either looks like.

  “Good, so maybe you have a shared place to pick up with them,” the President is saying.

  “Yes,” I say again, a bit more subdued as the post-orgasm endorphins start to sluice through my body.

  “Great, I knew I could count on you, Viv. I definitely owe you one, and I’m willing to pay up for whatever you need me to do,” the President says. “Thanks and goodbye.”

  I don’t have a chance to say goodbye, I’m just laying there, enjoying the last of my orgasm before the day starts.

  “Is it my turn?” Mr. Lobbyist raises his head, asking me. What a wimp. I can’t believe this man runs his own business. That before he met me, he was supposedly considered a badass by the Washington women who swoon after powerful males.

  I swing my legs out over him, and get off the bed. I need to take a shower. And it sounds like I’m going to New York.

  “What about me?” the Lobbyist asks, getting out of bed too. I look over his body. His cock may be tiny, but his body was alright. Standard 6-pack abs, maybe could stand to work out a little more—get some more definition.

  I head to the shower. Anyone who has to beg me for sex isn’t getting any.

  “I need to shower, feel free to show yourself out…babe,” I tell him as I turn on the water and then turn to face him. He looks crestfallen. I feel so bad all of a sudden.

  “Oh, don’t be sad, babe, it’s okay,” I tell him. “It’s not your fault. I just don’t fuck losers in the morning is all.”

  He nods, and leaves, tail tucked between his legs. Hopefully he rescues some girl from someone or something to get his ego up soon.

  As for me, I have a plane to catch.

  Vivian

  Get in. Tell the Governor that he can’t openly cut down on jobs if he wants to keep his seat next time around. Twist his arm if I have to. Smile nicely and let him know I have a knife behind my back. And then get the hell out. I should be able to make time to catch the midnight shuttle from La Guardia back to Reagan if I stick to this plan.

  That’s what I’m telling myself as my limo drives down along Park Avenue past 59th Street as it heads toward the Waldorf.

  I hate coming to the city. I don’t mind it so much when I’m here, but every time I fly into either JFK or La Guardia, it seems just a bit more fake. A bit more gentrified. Common people pushed out in favor of the wealthy. International billionaires who come in and buy $2 million dollar apartments just to park their money. But everyone forgets the people who had to get evicted so the old walk-up apartment buildings could get bulldozed for these new gleaming towers.

  Don’t get me wrong. I don’t want to go back to the days of high crime and a broke, dysfunctional New York City. And I’m not socialist. I’ve made enough money from the system, and my investment portfolio would leave many people green with envy.
I’m definitely in the 1%.

  But despite all that, sometimes it makes me sad, seeing Manhattan go from the place that brought out the best in America and slowly turn into an upscale shopping mall for the well-to-do. Not everywhere. And not always. And there’s still a long way to go.

  But it just seems like more, every time.

  I sigh. I need to get my head out of the clouds. Maybe this is what women worry about when they don’t have kids. Although, I’m only 29. And honestly, getting to be Senator was hard work. I’ve never had a chance to think about kids, and why am I even thinking about kids right now? I mean, look at me, hun. I’m wearing Vera Wang—dressed to kill in a black cocktail dress—heading to a fundraiser with the most powerful people in the country. And I’m wondering about kids? And a gentrifying city?

  The car comes to a stop and the chauffeur opens my door and I tell myself I need to just follow the script and I’ll be out of here in an hour to be able to get back onto my plane and back home. Maybe I’ll even invite Mr. Lobbyist with the small dick back to my place. He gives great head.

  I walk into the Waldorf and make my way to Peacock Alley where the fundraiser is being emceed. Security checks my credentials and all of a sudden I’m in a sea of bowties and cocktail dresses. People sipping martinis and laughing politely as they talk about the problems associated with ruling the world.

  “Senator Hawthorne?” an usher says to me, coming up to me. He must have recognized me, although I don’t do many of these things. I nod. “If you’ll follow me, please,” he asks.

  But wait, I’m sticking to my plan, remember. I can’t get caught up in anything else.

  “Actually, can you take me to Governor Andrews?” I say to the usher. He looks at me for a moment and then nods and begins to make his way through the clumps of people surrounding the buffet table and bar.