Magnus
Jesus fucking Christ.
I'm walking to the podium in a fucking daze. I mean, come on, is it really that hard to empathize with me in this situation?
I mean, you try having a drink at a bar during some charity gala for some shit you just found out you're going to. You try sitting there at the bar and see the most gorgeous fucking woman you've ever seen in your life sit down next to you and order a fucking whiskey neat.
I mean, she had some tits that left fucking echoes in my brain. Those were the plumpest, perkiest, gravity-defying orbs of pleasure I've ever seen in my entire goddamn life.
It's not just her fucking tits, but Jesus, it's hard to move on past those. I mean the way that dress was clinging to them. The way it was low cut that it gave me just enough to see. Fuck.
But the rest of her body too. That slender, tight body. I can imagine just emptying my balls on her.
God, that ass. That dress clung to her ass like tissue paper.
I'm walking toward the Senator, but I'm still fucking thinking about that ass. It's causing my cock to keep twitching. It was twitching like a snake that came alive when Penny sat down next to me.
It began to get a heartbeat it was so hard when we were talking.
And I swear to fucking God, it's freaking me out, but I almost came in my fucking pants when she told me her name.
She's my fucking stepdaughter.
I'm literally three, or maybe four, strokes away from just shooting out a gallon of cum after what just happened here. Holy hell.
But let's pause for a second, okay?
Because I shouldn't be having these feelings for Rhoda's daughter. I shouldn't be thinking about rubbing my cock in between her tits. About squeezing those melons together as my cock travels in and out of that flesh pocket.
I shouldn't think about squeezing that ass. About smacking it. About sucking that pussy.
God this is my stepdaughter.
That's the only thing that keeps me from carting myself off and jumping off the fucking Empire State Building.
The fact that she's my stepdaughter. No relation at all.
But what the fuck.
That's no justification for having my brain filled with swirling thoughts of lust, especially for someone so young.
So innocent.
Looks at me like a father figure.
Mainly, because I am her father.
In a manner of speaking.
Fucking Christ, I'm going to hell, aren't I?
You don't gotta lie to me.
The worst part is that the crowd is still clapping and looking at me as I make my way without any outward sign of distress.
I'm shaking Parker Trask's hand and looking out at them from the podium.
I know what they want to hear.
But all I can see is one woman.
The girl at the bar. She's standing up now. Her wide innocent eyes are taking me in. Her breath catches when she sees me looking at her and I look at the rise and fall of her breasts—even from all the way over here—and I start to forget who I am and what I'm fucking doing.
But just like the applause can take you by surprise, its quick death can be something that jolts you back to the present as well.
That's what happens to me and all of a sudden, I'm facing at least four hundred people dressed in their finest.
My mind completely fucking blanks as to what to say.
To be fair, when Joyce set me up with this speaking engagement, she gave me a list of things to say. I even have them here in my jacket pocket. I just have to get them out and read them.
But somehow, after seeing Penny, it doesn't seem like it's doing enough justice.
I know. I sound like an absolute fucking idiot. It doesn't matter what I say, as long as I say it and get the photo op, right?
That's what Joyce would say.
And normally, even for something like that I'd fucking begrudge her. But not today.
"Ladies and gentlemen," I say into the microphone. "Most of you won't know this, but I'm really wealthy."
There's a smattering of laughter from around the crowd. Actually a fair bit of laughter.
It's not that everyone around me at this dinner today is super fucking wealthy. Some people don't even have a net worth past 1,000,000 dollars.
But that's not what I meant before you start to roll your eyes.
"I'm not talking about money," I say to clarify. That's right. I'm clarifying for everyone. "I'm talking about opportunity."
Now there's silence. Could it be that people loved my hook?
"I was born in New York City," I state. "Actually in this hospital itself. Then I lived with my parents on the Upper East Side. My parents aren't around now, but it's not hard to imagine my father and mother coming through the doors to this great hospital to schedule my birth. Hospital stays were expensive back then, and my parent's were modest. They didn't have much money. But my father was friends with the doctors. My mother went shopping with the secretary pool. So when they came into this hospital, they were treated like royalty."
People are quiet. They're listening to me speak. They must think I have something prepared for them to hear.
But the truth of the matter is that my brain is too jumbled now to recite or remember any of the talking points that I had. I'm just speaking from the heart now.
"Treating people like royalty is something that at Davion Development, we strive to do day in and day out," I say to them. I notice a few raised eyebrows.
What? You don't believe me?
"We make sure that any new construction for condominiums or residential towers includes at least 20% of the units allocated for low-income subsidized housing. Then we offer this housing to the people we're displacing," I say. Silence.
They're listening.
"Do you realize how incredibly destructive a development corporation like mine is to the social fabric of a neighborhood?" I ask into the audience. Silence.
"Does anyone realize what happens when the corner butcher, or baker, or liquor store can't pay their rent when it comes time to renew?" I ask again. And again silence. "When they have to make a choice between paying rent and paying their workers?
People are listening to my words with a sense of interest now.
"New York City isn't just about the big buildings that reach toward the heavens," I say quietly. Flatly. "It's about the people. The people in the neighborhoods who make up the foundation for those buildings."
People are now nodding.
"Did you know that if the first floor tenants aren't good tenants and decide to vacate their spaces, then the maintenance fund of a skyscraper drops dramatically?" I ask. Bet you didn't know that either. "That's because anchor tenants are nice, but the people who are on the ground floor are the ones holding up the building."
I see people start to smile and nod. They can tell where I'm going with this.
"It's those people who form the community," I say. "It's those people who've seen you since you were born. Who know that you want the newspaper from the bottom and not the top when you're buying it for your old man. Who know when your parents have passed away. Who ask you if you've been holding up okay."
I'm thinking back to my neighborhood. Sure, the Upper East Side may not seem like a neighborhood to grow up in if you want the classic New York thing with games of stickball and fire hydrants.
"People who know you. People who care about you. It's all thanks to the neighborhoods in this city. Without neighbors, and without neighborhoods, we're just a collection of tall buildings on an island. Tall buildings that would go empty as people move out," I say feeling myself get to some sort of point. "That's why Davion Development is committed to building a larger, stronger, more active NYU. Because we realize that so many neighborhoods rely on this hospital to stay strong. And without this institution that we're here for tonight—without NYU—too many of our neighborhoods would stop thriving. And start dying."
"And so, we will never stop in our quest to make New York great," I say and get ready to finish. "And I hope, ladies and gentlemen, neither will you. Thank you."
I stop and get off the stage.
I swear for a moment I didn't hear anything.
But then the crescendo of applause as people stand up to give me a rousing ovation hits me.
I'm a bit taken aback.
Between walking back to where I know Penny is standing and people applauding me for something good like giving a speech, I'm a bit out of my fucking element.
All I care about in this moment though, is the woman who's looking at me, her mouth open as I approach her.
"You didn't swear once," she says to me, her eyes travelling the length of my body. "Did you mean everything you said up there?"
I cock my head. Is she interested now?
"Why?" I ask.
Simple. Straight to the point.
She shrugs. Her cheeks turn red. It's fucking cute.
Careful. She's you’re stepdaughter. Don't forget that.
"It just seemed so...real," she says to me and I look into her eyes. "So genuine. You really felt what you said."
Those eyes are telling me she's feeling like fucking me.
I've seen it before in countless women.
I know that look.
"Have dinner with me," I tell her. She starts visibly.
"Father to daughter," I say, giving her a smile. "So we can catch up. Nothing more."
Does she want more?
I don't know. But she smiles. And nods her head.
"I'd like that," she says, taking a napkin from the bar and writing her number on it.
"Text me with details," she says. And with that, saying nothing else, she turns away.
I watch that beautiful curvy ass sway as she walks away. I know she knows I'm fucking staring.
What neither of us knows is what's going to happen next.
Because if she keeps flaunting a body like that in front of me ... I dunno.
I might as well give up, because I'm so completely fucked.