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This all started more than ten years ago, when my mother passed. I was just eight years old when that happened and I still remember how it made me feel, the sudden realization that human life was as fickle as a cloud in the sky. At the time, the combined net worth of my parents put the Seymour family atop the Forbes list, and you can imagine how the tabloids reacted when my mother died. They went completely berserk, running stories for weeks on end, fabricating all kinds of bullshit. They even went as far as saying that my mother had a drug problem, and that she died from an overdose. My mother never even touched a joint in her life, for God’s sake! My father tried to shelter me from that madness the best that he could, but in the end, he couldn’t stop the world from revealing its ugliness before the eyes of an eight-year-old girl.
Perhaps wanting me to have a mother figure in my life, my father then ended up marrying a woman named Wanda (now the proud Wanda Seymour). We never really got along, although I tried to play nice in order to make my father happy. Of course, I don’t think that after my mother died that happy would be an adjective you could apply to my father. He just dragged his feet through life, the loss that he suffered weighing on him like a stone hanging from his neck. In the end, I think that sadness was what killed him.
You read that right: a few years after my mother passed away, my father died as well. I was only sixteen then, which meant I fell under the shadow of my stepmother, Wanda. The thing is, when my father died, I stopped trying to pretend I got along with her. Not that she seemed to care; with all the money my father left her, she was a busy bee most days.
Of course, she was never happy about the fact that my father locked most of the Seymour family fortune in a trust fund meant only for me. Still, she kept busy enough by trying to climb the ranks of high-society. When I turned 18, my mother married an up-and-coming finance titan, Derek Stackford. I only saw him a few times but, to me, he looked more like a model than a finance genius.
Then, when that marriage fell apart, my mother wasted no time and married a young hedge fund manager. A true heavy hitter: Carter Blake. Of course, that didn’t last long either. In the span of just two years, my mother managed to marry and divorce two rich (and handsome, let’s not be coy about that) men, and her fortune grew in accordance to that. Yeah, divorces are expensive things for rich men.
Although both Derek and Carter were nice enough to me, it’s not like I really got to know them. When I turned eighteen I went away for college, following my father’s footsteps and enrolling at the Wharton Business School. After graduating, I decided to take a break from all the madness in my life: I packed my bags, booked a private flight, and found my way to Europe. To be honest with you, I didn’t know what I was expecting when I moved to Europe … And since I had no expectations, I quickly got sucked into a world of partying and sex. I spent one year in Ibiza, then I moved to London and, finally, to Paris.
The world was my oyster.
Now that I’ve turned 25, I finally decided to come back to the place I called home for most of my life: New York City. Want to know why I decided to do it now? Easy: my trust fund has just kicked in, in its entirety, and now I’m responsible for the whole Seymour estate. We’re talking $250 billion, so you can understand how much money we’re talking about here. There’s a caveat to that, of course: if it looks like I’m doing a bad job, the courts can appoint Wanda as a trustee. And, knowing her as I do, I wouldn’t be too surprised if I found out she’s rooting for me to crash and burn spectacularly.
But you know what? At 25 I’m more than ready to assume my role as a Seymour. I haven’t been applying myself for the last few years, but now it’s time to change all that. It’s time for me to make a comeback.
“Baby, I, I think I—oh, fuck,” the pilot under me groans, the lines around his eyes deepening as pleasures washes all over my face. Jesus, I was so distracted with telling you my life story that I almost forgot what I was doing.
“Do it,” I whisper, placing both my hands on his chest and swaying my hips hard enough to break his cock in half. Closing my eyes, I surrender to the moment and let my unconscious mind dictate the movements of my body. I hold my breath as I feel pleasure bubbling up inside of me, spiraling up my spine and finally blossoming inside my head in an explosion of bright colors.
