Its several years since I lost the writing bug. My Power Broker Series was reasonably successful, but frankly I ran out of ideas. I might revisit the Power Broker universe at some stage, but in the meantime, here is another universe to get your teeth into.
The following story is for the entertainment of ADULTS ONLY,
and contains descriptions of explicit sex.If you are not an
adult, or reading sex stories upset you, do not read any
Lifestyle Restructuring - Profits from a life of crime
Few people have the opportunity given to me. My father was the biggest gangster in Europe. His empire covered all the UK, and most of northern Europe. Starting as a typical wartime Spiv, he progresses to trading black-market goods before inheriting gambling dens, whorehouses, drug supply lines and distribution networks from his father, building them into an Empire of untold riches. Unlike others of his kind, he recognised the need to clean his money early. By the time he died, 5 years ago at the tender age of 64, he owned three small regional banks, and huge swathes of the centres of Manchester, Leeds, Birmingham and a dozen other European Cities. As a result I am twice as rich as Bill Gates. Unlike Gates, my wealth is hidden, well under the Radar.
I suppose a bit about me might be in order at this stage. My name is Graham Stoddart. Actually its SIR Graham (I was knighted ostensibly for services to Charity, although many would say the Charity in question was the Prime Ministers political party. I'm 40 years old, good looking (allegedly) and very very rich. Oh, and I'm a psychopath.
Not, you understand a jack the Ripper, or a Dexter, with an uncontrollable urge to kill. I'm a real psycho. I have absolutely NO empathy with people. I really don't care about other people. I don't understand feelings, sympathy, love, pity or any other of the social attributes. As a result, from a very early age, I learned to act out, or mimic what I knew to be the essential graces. I am, in short, an unfeeling Charmer.
My Dad decided that gangsters had nothing to offer a growing youth, so at the age of 19 I was encouraged to join the Army. As you might have expected, Dad's influence extended to the upper reaches of the hierarchy, so it was inevitable that I would join the SAS, and served with special forces in both Iraq and Afghanistan. Virtually all of my key employees have some connection to that part of my life.
After I left the Army, I rejoined my father, and spent the next few years fighting aspiring crooks, and bullying the weak.
I really got bored.
When Dad died unexpectedly, the time had come to review my life. I decided that the thing that really floated my boat was the use and abuse of power. Exercising power was something I did every day, but I wanted to do it in a less obviously illegal way. I divested as many of my operations as I could. The Albanians inherited my people trafficking ops, The Russians took over the prostitution, Malayans bought the Gambling activities, Nigerians took the Heroin, and so on. By the time I was finished, I had liquidated all of my illegal activities and held vast amounts of money and property in more than 250 different companies, all small enough to avoid the attention of the major agencies, and none easily traceable to me.
It was time to formulate a plan. It took two years to find it. Dwyer Valley - A medium sized (pop:3500) fully self-contained town, one road in and out, economically dependant on a single large company, Utilities provided by individual single companies,
Even the TV station and newspaper were locally owned and operated.
If ever I was going to be King of my own Town, this was it. The Major industry in the town was timber. The entire town was surrounded by rocky escarpments and pine forest, and the Sawmill provided primarily sawn products to the building trade.
You can't hurry a successful venture. 40% of the mills profit came from a chipboard company just across the State border, some 200 miles from the mill, so I bought it, and cancelled the contract ... The loss of such a large customer would normally trigger manic action, but the Jones family, who owned the mill seemed to be oblivious to the consequences. It took a year before they let it be known that the mill may be for sale.
Another two weeks, and I was the new owner of 95% of the shares. Time for the fun to begin.
I attended my first Board Meeting along with my CFO Emmet Waring. Emmet is a quiet, understated but imposing 6'4'' black man, good looking, a fully qualified accountant with a Harvard MBA and a history of special forces service second to none. When he and I took our seats at the end of the table, it was Emmet who attracted all the stares. We both sat quietly waiting to see what would happen. Four members of the Jones family still owned shares. Most were held by Margaret Jones, a stately, well built attractive woman in her early forties, widow of Jimmy Jones, the latest in a long line of family owners. It was, however William Jones, her stepson, who took the chair. It took just 10 minutes to gain a full understanding of the dynamics within the family. The youngest daughter, Heather, 22, was completely ignored. She clearly had been treated to a life of idle affluence, doted on by her mother, but regarded as a wastrel by Michael and Anna, her older sister. Michael spent the full ten minutes either patronising his stepmother, or denigrating the constant flow of ideas from Anna.
I leaned across the table and banged it hard with my fist.
"Enough!". I've heard all I need to know. Its time for a few home truths.
The Company has debts of $32m which I have settled. I now own the Company. I own the mill. I own your houses. I own your company cars.
In short. I own YOU!.
I will be holding individual meetings with each of you today, here is the schedule. Be there. Don't be late.
Meeting 1 Margaret.
Margaret had expected a civilised discussion about the history and prospects for the mill. Instead, she had undergone 20 minutes of what can only be described as gentle interrogation about her and family. It was clear she recognised that the end was coming, but even that wouldn't go as she expected.
"I have a contract for you to sign." I pushed a single sheet of paper across the desk.
"I'll get my lawyer to look it over and let you have it tomorrow. " said Margaret.
"You clearly don't understand the nature of our new relationship, Margaret. You will read it now, and you will sign it." If you don't I will make you a gift of $5000 and you will leave Dwyer Valley now."
The colour drained from Margaret's face. Her hand began to shake as she lifted the paper to read it. She couldn't believe what was on it. If she signed, she would receive a salary of $500000 p.a. and retain her Company House, car, and servants. Her delight was palpable until she read the terms.
"This is slavery! You can't expect me to sign this!"
You are absolutely correct. You will do anything and everything I or my designates tell you to do. Your only task is to keep me happy. If you choose not to sign, you know the terms.
I could see her wrestling with the options. I tried to see it as she would, prostitution or destitution. Not an easy choice if you have pride. And Margaret had plenty of that. I left the paper with her, giving her whatever time she needed to make up her mind. After what seemed an age, she made her mind up. There was no going back now.
"I suppose I have no option" she muttered, reaching across the desk for a pen.
"Just a moment, I think it would be more appropriate if you signed in the nude."
"I said Take off your clothes."
Margaret glanced sideways at Emmet, standing quietly in the corner.
"Don't worry about him, lets see what we've bought"
I moved around the table, and slid her jacket off her shoulders.
Her fingers reached for the top button on her blouse. As she did so, tears began to fall. She hesitated, hoping that she would be told to stop, but no such instruction came. Slowly she undid the buttons and allowed the blouse to fall open, exposing her bra.
"Come on, Woman, we have the rest of the family to see today, so get a move on."
I took a leisurely stroll back to my seat as Margarets stubborn fingers struggled with the buttons at her waistband. The skirt dropped to the floor to join the blouse, leaving her standing in bra and pants. Her flesh-coloured tights covered her to the waist.
Emmet walked slowly across the floor, placed his fingers on either side of her mouth, and twisted her face around so that her gaze met his.
"So, you're a tights person."
She never saw the slap coming. The pain shot across her jaw, jerking her head back as far as her neck would allow.
"Yes ... Sir!"
"Excellent. You're a quick learner. So learn this. No tights. Lose 'em now, and never replace them. Stockings or nothing is the dress code from here on."
Her ungainly wriggle accompanied her breathless "Yes Sir" and the tights joined the skirt and blouse.
Emmet took a step back and gave her a withering look.
"Next? Drop the granny pants. French Camiknickers giving full access, or, of course nothing will be the future. Understand?"
More tears slid down her cheeks as she slowly lowered her pants, providing an unintentionally erotic display for both Emmet and I. Emmet saved her the trouble of removing her bra, deftly flicking open the clasp and sliding it to join the rest of her clothes on the floor.
"Face the desk and Sir Graham, not me. Thats it. Feet slightly apart. Now, lean forward and sign."
I Found it increasingly difficult to suppress a quiet smile as Emmet gently stroked her arse, which was now thrust out behind her as she reached for my pen. As she scratched her name on the paper, Emmet theatrically licked his middle finger, and eased it gently into her arsehole. Margaret's eyes nearly popped out of her head as she processed the implications of his act. Looking up again, she saw the apathy in my eyes, and realised what the future held.
"Thanks you for your cooperation and understanding. You are hereby appointed CEO of Dwyer Valley Timber. Please get dressed and return home. Do NOT share your experience here with anyone else, especially your family. Understand?"
She shuffled upright, threw on her clothes, leaving Bra, tights and knickers behind, muttered a hurried "Thank you, Sir Gerald " and backed out of the room as fast as she could.
I looked across at Emmet, who was smiling broadly.
"Strike One!" Sir.
"Indeed, Emmet. Its a pity our other meetings may not be so entertaining."
Meeting 2: Michael
"Good Afternoon, Michael. Please, Take a seat. This won't take long."
This time, it was Emmet sitting in the chair, whilst I stood leaning against the bookcase in the furthest corner of the room. Emmet opened the folder in front of him, pretending to read its contents, but actually secretly lusting over Michael's 28 year old wife Laura, whose photo stared up at him from its pages.
"By our calculations, your share of the debt owed by Dwyer Valley Timber, is $20mm. How do you intend to pay it off?"
Michael looked shocked.
"That debt is corporate, not personal", he whined. My plans for downsizing and cost cutting would make the necessary savings over four years as we discussed at the Board."
"If that is your plan, it doesn't suit us. We intend to invest and grow the business, not run it into the ground."
Michael looked sheepish, unable to fashion an appropriate response. He eventually raised his eyes to meet Emmets steady gaze.
"We have an offer for you. Here is a cheque for $5000 which now represents all your worldly goods. You will go home, explain to your wife that you are being fired, pack up and leave, We will buy the Train tickets. Your house and car will be re-allocated to a more worthy employee. You have two days to put your affairs in order and leave."
Michaels increasingly heated protests fell on deaf ears as Emmet raised himself out of his chair, stretched to his full height, and not so gently led Michael through the door, closing it behind him.
"Well", I said quietly "If that doesn't get you into Laura's knickers, nothing will".
If it doesn't, there are plenty of other fish to fry, but lets hope so".
Meeting 3: Heather
"As I see it, the others think you are a waste of space. You owe $5mm as your part of the corporate debt, and you have no talent or experience to speak of. Tell me why I shouldn't just fire you".
I know, more shock tactics - but then, how else do you attract the attention of a spoilt princess with no discernible talent other than her looks. Its funny how people tend to understand themselves even when they project something completely different. Heather was about to surprise us.
"I'm the likeable face of the Company. People here relate to me, and besides I will do anything to make this business profitable. Please don't think that because Michael hates me that I'm useless. Give me a chance. I'll do anything.
We all know that when people say that, they don't mean it, but poor Heather was about to test her resolve in a most profound way.
"OK, One, and only one chance. Last year, we lost the biggest Customer we had. Get it back within two weeks, and I'll find you a job.
Meeting 4: Anna
There are times in ones life when one is faced with an intriguing opportunity. I had decided at the Board meeting that Anna would make an ideal PA if she could fuck and suck well enough, but there was a bigger opportunity nagging at the back of my mind. Just for a change is was me who was unsure of the way this would go.
Anna opened the door, moved across the floor and waited by the chair on the other side of my desk, waiting for an invitation to sit. I wafted my arm at her, and watched as she slid onto the chair, carefully crossing her ankles, and smoothing down her skirt in a simple flowing motion. The whole event was smooth and intensely erotic. My dick pushed at the zip on my trousers. This young lady was smart, beautiful, full of ideas, and as sexy as hell.
"At the Board meeting, you didn't argue case for your ideas. Are you happy for Michael to carry on with his plans?"
"Certainly not! All he wants to do is keep the business ticking over. We have three lines we should axe. Two more would make serious money with only small investment, and we should invest in a new MDF facility which would use all our waste, and take on a completely new market."
As she spoke, my mind was made up. I decided to put her to the other test.
"Fine! Lets cut to the action. I am not a nice man. I insist on total commitment from all my staff, but from you, if I give you the job I want you to do, I will insist on much more."
I pushed my single-page contract across the desk to her, and waited for her reaction. It wasn't what I expected. She placed it facedown on the desk stood up and walked around to my side of the desk. Without a word, she stood, legs slightly parted in front of me, leaned down, and planted a kiss straight on my lips. Her hands dropped to my lap and flicked open my trousers. My dick, by this time, was standing vertically. All healthy 9 inches of it. Without a break in her kissing, she raised her skirt, slid her hips across my lap, eased her tiny knickers to one side, and sank the whole of my dick into her already wet twat. She was full of surprises, this girl.
She broke contact with my lips, put both arms round the back of my head and pulled my face hard into her cleavage. As I gasped for breath she began rotating her hips. Her slow rumba had an immediate, and growing effect on my prick. As its sensitivity increased, I had to work hard, thinking about anything but sex, just to avoid an immediate climax. I failed, gushing what felt like pints of cum into her vagina. She didn't stop. Her grip on my head tightened, making breathing almost impossible, and the pace of her rotating arse increased. I lost all control. My hips began to thrust my dick up into her insides, until I came again. This time my shattering climax resulted in me banging the head of my dick hard into her cervix, spurting my cum into the void at the same time as she began to quiver and shake with the force of her own.
We sat quietly, holding each other in the same pose for a few minutes before she loosed her grip and slid upwards freeing my prick from its sheath. Smoothing down her dress, she walked back around the table, picked up the contract and tore it into little pieces.
"We won't be needing this" she said, turned around and departed, leaving me knackered, and drained.
It had been a long, long drive, but despite her exhaustion, the Hotel into which she had been booked was small, but luxurious. As a result, Heather set off for her morning meeting refreshed, and looking good. Harry Kane, as expected, kept her waiting, but not more than half an hour, much as expected. The briefing Heather had received before she left had been full and extensive. She knew what she would be offering, understood the floor price, below which she was not allowed to go, and had a long list of sweeteners including free trips to New York, Cases of wine, Invitations to social and entertainment events and other goodies.
After three hours of negotiation, she was less optimistic. Mr Kane seemed approachable, his CFO Bernard was also easy to talk to, but the purchasing director Sally was much more of a challenge. She gave the impression that she regarded Heathers' offer as a direct challenge to the deal she had struck with her competition. Things were getting sticky when Harry called for a coffee break. When Heather returned to the room ten minutes later, she found Mr Kane sitting on his own.
"Come in, young lady. We need to talk. Sally won't give you the order, Bernard will go with whatever I recommend, and I would like to go back to doing business with Dwyer Valley for my own personal reasons. I need you to drop your price another 2%."