No sexual activity involving characters under 18
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NIKKI
I was an over-confident free spirit in my teenage years, a soldier in the rebellion against conventional social structures. My seemingly uptight parents were catholic by religion and Lawyers by profession. They thought I was a demon born in human form, sent to punish them for their sins, which they had a bucket full of. I skipped school, didn't care about studies and sneaked into late-night parties. I was a menace for their fake public reputation. So, they tried to get rid of me. They sent me to an all-girls boarding school in ninth grade. That didn't stop me from wreaking havoc, nothing did.
When I turned eighteen, I ran away from home because I knew that I they would never accept the version of myself that I wanted to be. I had to follow my instincts. And I did. I hustled. I worked at a stripper Joint for a couple of years in Las Vegas, before I was hired to be a part of the Harem of a Saudi Prince on a two-year contract. My job was to entertain him, and his guests. I made a lot of money over there, and I learned a lot. I learned to play with men. And women. I learned to please them, and give them what they need. I learned to fill the void in their hearts.
When I returned to the States, I took that learning and cultivated an exclusive business out of it. I became Mistress Nicolette. I built a hidden palace of pleasure, with me as its queen, and a handful of pious subjects, who had Money and influence.
But during all of this adventure, I would occasionally reminisce about the love I had for Ashley when she was little. I would remember my sweet baby sister following me around everywhere on her little feet. I wanted to reconcile with her when I came back from Saudi. Over the next few years, I tried to reach her, but she always resisted me. The few times I met her, I wanted to hold myself back and act like a normal sister. But her demure, strait-laced attitude always got under my skin. The chasm of personality was immense between us. And my parents were to blame. They had poisoned her mind and turned her against me. This trip to New York was an opportunity for me to get her on my side, and get my revenge on them.
I had fewer than half a dozen top-tier clients, but each of them had their unique utility. I had called in a favor from one such client to scramble a private jet to New York. I was stretched out on the luxurious couch as the plane cruised towards New York, thinking of a plan.
I called a friend. Adrian was an anomaly in my client list. He didn't have political or financial capital. The product of his business was information.
"I sent you a photo and a name. Find me something on him I can use," I said as soon as he picked up the phone.
"I was gonna go to sleep, you know," he said, although I could already hear his hands typing away on the keyboard already.
"I'll double the cash, but I need it ASAP," I said.
"Your wish, my command." "You've got that right, slut."
I ended the call and took a much-needed rest before I arrived in New York. By the time I landed, I had what I needed on Ashley's Boyfriend, and I knew what I had to do. I was going to go all in. Ashley was going to meet Mistress Nicolette for the Very First time.
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ASHLEY
Fingers brushed across my face, a thumb parted my lips, and then like a storm after the calm, the hand pulled back and crashed down on my cheek. I woke up, startled. My eyelids repellent to the bright sunlight, my head hammering with every heartbeat. I heard a voice.
"Good morning, sunshine," the voice said.
I saw the silhouette of a woman sitting on the edge of my bed. As my eyes adjusted to the light, the image of her blurry figure became sharper. She had long platinum blond tresses draping her shoulders, and a big bust barely contained in a satin off-white top. My eyes settled on her face, its sharp features cutting through the fog in my head, with her pointed nose, high cheekbones, straight jawline, pouty red lips, and those vibrant green eyes. Those vibrant green eyes.
"Nikki?" I jerked back a bit. She looked different than the last time I saw her. But then again, she looked different every time I saw her, which was not that much.
"What are you doing here? How did you get in?" I said, suddenly wide awake.
"You left your keys in the door."
"I did?" I grabbed my throbbing head in my hands, "Oh, my god! I got so wasted last night."
"Here, for the hangover," she said, handing me a glass of Lemonade and a pill.
"Why-"
"Shh. Drink it," she said, cutting me off.
A sudden chill ran down my spine as she said it. And it reminded me why I hated her so much and had not talked to her in almost a year. I hated that overbearing tone of hers, and I hated my uncanny instinct to do as she said. I kept the lemonade on the bedside table even though I was dying of thirst.
"Why are you here Nikki? How do you know where I live?" I said, calmly. Nikki smiled and stood up.
"Take your time. Freshen up and we'll talk."
"Has her ass gotten bigger," I wondered, as she turned around and walked out of the bedroom. "Now that I think about it, everything about her seems a bit bigger," I thought. I took the pill and washed it down with the Lemonade.
Standing under the warm jets of water cleansing me of the smell of sweat and booze, I tried to recollect the events of the previous night. I had gotten thoroughly wasted at the bar after Simon had broken up with me and left. At some point, I left the bar and got into a cab. I remembered buying a bottle of wine from a store near my building and walking home from there. Everything after that is in flashes of memory. I remembered Simon on the phone asking me to stop calling him, I remembered crying my heart out. That feeling of emptiness came crashing down on me again, forcing me to my knees, and I had another good cry with the shower running.
I walked into the Living room wearing a bathrobe, my hair wrapped in a towel. Nikki was in the kitchen, pouring a cup of coffee. Her ass was definitely bigger, hugged tightly by the shiny black leather pants she was wearing. It went perfectly with her shirt and black leather ankle boots. She looked chic and sexy, and I hated that.
"Sit down," she said. I didn't move.
"I'm not telling you what to do. I'm merely asking," she said as she walked over to me. My heart fluttered a little as she handed me the coffee. She walked on ahead and sat on the living room couch, her every move a snapshot of elegance. How are we sisters even, I wondered.
"Help me understand the situation, Nikki," I said, still not moving.
"You called me last night. You gave me your address and you asked me to come here."
"That cannot be true," I said, walking into the bedroom to grab my phone, only to find it dead. I plugged it in charging and waited impatiently.
I didn't remember calling Nikki at all. Why would I call her of all people? I didn't even have her on my emergency contact. Sure, we were related by blood but that's all we were. We didn't have much of a relationship to talk about, not in the span of my adulthood. We didn't even look like sisters. She had grown enormously when puberty hit her, I had not. And these differences had only compounded with time with all of her procedures and surgeries. We were also different behaviorally. She was a raving extrovert, a selfish narcissist. Boys flocked to get a chance to date her. I, on the contrary, suffered from crippling introversion for most of my teenage years and spent most of my time with my books.
Since she ran away from home, we hadn't shared a roof for more than half a week at a time. And whenever we did meet, I couldn't stand her condescending attitude. The last time I met her a couple of years ago, it was by sheer unfortunate coincidence. We happened to be in Austin at the same time. I was attending a conference there. She called me after checking my LinkedIn. I don't know what a hooker was doing on LinkedIn, but then what do I know? She asked to meet. I tried to get out of it claiming a hectic schedule, but agreed reluctantly. I met her for dinner, intentionally just a few hours before my flight back to New York.
Sometimes she would come to New York and call me, and I would either not pick up her phone or make an excuse to avoid meeting her. The fact that I couldn't stand her had made us practically estranged. And now she was here, sitting in my living room.
Finally, the phone screen came back to life. I checked the call logs and sure enough, I saw a ten-minute call made by me to her cell. I came back into the living room.
"I'm sorry," I said as I sat on the opposite end of the couch.
"I Pulled in a lot of favors to fly out of Vegas in the middle of the night. I had to beg a friend to use his private jet. Because I told you I would be here for you before you woke up," she said.
