So, what does a busy entrepreneur such as me do on a Friday night?

Well after the way I left Parker, I’m going to need to spend it doing research.

So that’s what I do Friday. Read up on my latest target, Parker Trask, or, as the media dubs him, Parker ‘Pleasure’ Trask. So here I am now, sitting in my living room and wearing pajamas, my laptop balanced on top of my knees.

I have to be honest, even though Parker’s my stepfather, I never knew much about him. Sure, I knew that he was New York City’s mayor, and that he had a reputation; I just had no idea how big his reputation really was. And, ahem, it seems that his reputation isn’t the only big thing he has. Hey, I’m not the one saying it; it’s all over the tabloids.

Since I have no other choice but to go through with this, I decided to do some research before diving head first into what I hope is the last time I help my mother out. Although, I must admit, what really spurred me to do all this research was meeting him at Cipriani’s. The air around us seemed to grow warmer and warmer with the bet he made with me, until it started boiling, and I’ve been in a daze ever since.

News articles, interviews, tabloids—you name it. If it mentions Parker, I’m reading it. I like to go into things prepared, you know? It’s not like I take any pleasure in doing my mother’s dirty work, but since I’m being dragged into this, I figure I’ll go in prepared.

Thing is, I didn’t realize that reading up on Parker would be fun. Yeah, there, I said it: fun. Billionaire, bad boy, sex god; the man is the complete package. And the photos of him … Jesus Christ, it seems that after he left my mom he became even hotter than before. Sure, I watched him on the news from time to time, but only now that I devoted my whole evening to him do I realize how truly gorgeous he is.

Throughout the years, I tried to forget all about him. I told myself that all the desire I felt toward my own stepfather was nothing but a silly teenager fantasy. But I was wrong.

And you know what? I’m freaking wet right now.

Crap, I can’t believe this is happening to me. Not again. I spent most of my college years daydreaming of Parker, imagining how it’d be to have his naked body pressed against mine, but eventually I put all that behind me once I started focusing on growing my companies. But now it seems that hunger for Parker is coming back to me. Which, you know, is kinda messed up since he’s my stepfather and all. Not to mention that I’m supposed to start spying on him so that I can ruin his political aspirations.

Could this situation be any more fucked up?

Okay, I need to take a break from all this. I need to unwind or else I’ll go crazy.

I place my laptop on the coffee table in front of me, and I’m about to close its lid when my eyes meet the picture on the screen, the last one I was, ahem, analyzing. It’s from a photo shoot Parker did two years ago for a magazine, a complimentary piece to one long interview he gave. In it, he’s loosening his tie and offering the camera his million dollar smile, and I’d bet my company that this photo alone made thousands of women as wet as I am right now across the whole city.

Oh, screw it, I think to myself as I lie down on my couch, my eyes focused on Parker’s picture. Biting down on my lower lip, I place one hand over my stomach and then slide it down between my thighs, pressing the tip of my fingers against my pussy. I choke down a moan, and then decide to go all the way; I slide my hand underneath my pajama bottoms, feeling the wet fabric of my thong, and then press down on my clit.

Pleasure soaks my nerve endings all at once, and my eyes start rolling in their orbits as I imagine Parker right in front of me, that deliciously wicked smile dancing on his lips. Oh, I’d give a lot of money for him to be really here now. I’d just reach for his crotch and grab his cock, feeling it harden against my eager fingers… Oh, I bet the tabloids are right about his size.

Oh, God, I can’t stop myself now. I slide my fingers underneath my thong and, parting my inner lips, I slide my middle finger inside my pussy. I curl it upward like a hook, driving it all the way in and only stopping when I find that red hot button of pleasure, my G-spot. I press hard against it while, at the same time, I use my thumb to stroke my clit.

I close my eyes as my brain starts to overheat, all of its processing power used to render a mental picture of Parker’s body. I imagine the rugged muscles he hides under his tailored suits, and how it’d feel to run my tongue over the grooves between his abs… And, you know, with my tongue on his abs, it’d only be a matter of time before I went further down and found out exactly what he has dangling between his legs.

How big is he? Now that’s a question I’d pay serious money to see answered. Judging by what the tabloids spout, he must have a baseball bat between his legs. Which sounds like the most delicious thing I've heard all day. I can already imagine his enormous shaft sliding in and out of me, ravaging my pussy mercilessly…

"Oh, sweet God…" I moan, my quivering voice echoing throughout my empty apartment as I start moving my hand faster. I slide one more finger inside my pussy and start flicking my wrist fast, my fingers moving in and out of me at a furious pace. I pretend they’re his cock, stretching me wide and ruining me for all other men, and that just drives me completely insane.

I arch my back, moaning loud enough for my neighbors to hear, and take my free hand to my breasts, squeezing them eagerly. Images of Parker’s naked body flash behind my shut eyelids, and a burning need to feel his body on mine flares up violently, like a sword cutting my brain in half—rationality to one side, irrationality to the other.

"Oh, fuck," I groan, my inner walls tightening around my fingers as my muscles start burning up. I hiss through my gritted teeth as a sudden spasm takes over my body, forcing every single muscle in me to twitch erratically, and that’s when a sudden moment of clarity overtakes me.

I must have him.

I will have him.

This has been a fantasy for too long.

Besides, it’s not like my mother forbade me from doing it, right? And it’s not like she’ll ever find out if it does happen.

Dear stepfather, here I come.