A Michy note
Although this stands alone as a story it is a follow on to my previous banker/whore submission. I suggest you read that first.
I didn't have to fuck Donald Trump. And boy was that a relief. However, I nearly did for the CEO, Warren Emerson, of the global investment bank for which I worked had undressed me, well had largely made me undress myself for him to watch. Then, as I stood in his office on the thirty- second floor of the bank's HQ on Wall Street just wearing my holdups he unlocked the door with his remote control and had said quite loudly.
"Why don't you come in now?"
I thought he would be inviting the stunningly attractive and hugely sexy young woman who sat outside his office Ms Martinez to come in. But no, in walked Donald Trump. I was mortified. I grabbed my suit jacket and held it in front of me.
"Michy, what the fuck are you doing?" Warren said quite fiercely.
"Christ Warren, what the hell's going on?" I asked feeling foolish and embarrassed as the rather odious looking Trump stood there, a leering smile on his face.
"Michy" the seventy year-old super banker to the stars, famous people and more importantly many of the world's rich said harshly. "I have told you that to get the sort of business we need you have to try very hard and quite frankly covering your tits up to a hugely important customer like Mister Trump is hardly that is it?"
"But Warren this is obscene."
"Yes Michy, of course it is, it's fucking banking isn't it and that is obscene."
I was shaking with nerves and embarrassment as he went on.
"Now put that fucking jacket down and let Donald see those lovely tits."
I still didn't move as the two men stared at me expectantly. 'How the fuck has it come to this?' I asked myself. 'How have I, a promising banker in her forties, the European Head of Private Wealth Management with over two hundred people working for her got to be standing as good as naked in the top man's office with one of the highest profile businessmen in the world looking at her?' I slowly let the jacket fall to the floor.
*
Danish by birth I grew up there, in the UK and the US; my dad was in the oil industry and we moved around a lot. I got my first degree from Gothenburg and then my MA from Oxford. I spent a gap year at Harvard Business School before becoming a grad trainee at the recently formed online investment bank Saxo in Copenhagen. After a few years I moved to Deutsche Bank in Dusseldorf, London and Copenhagen. I had been headhunted to my present employer some ten years ago and had been promoted rather too slowly for my liking to Head of Trading in Denmark and then to MD of Scandinavia. It was after running that for a few years that I was offered the post of Head of Mergers and Acquisitions for Europe. That meant moving to London, which my husband Erik completely refused to even contemplate let alone execute. So I went alone and we separated. I ran M and A for two years just about managing the murderous travel and horrendous hours; at least sixty a week including three nights a week away from home and almost weekly visits to New York. Somehow, it all worked. I was then moved to Head of Private Wealth Management for Europe.
I was now really on my way in the banking industry for this was a very high profile position. It was my responsibility to make or use the bank's existing contacts with the world's highest net worth individuals and try to persuade them to let us manage all or part of their wealth. Whilst I reported to the Head of Europe, the top brass in New York were heavily involved. It was because of this that I had started working closely with Warren Emerson, the Chairman, President, CEO and a major shareholder in the bank. In world banking terms he really was the daddy. Along with having Obama, Mandela, Cameron and Putin on his Blackberry messaging he had a fantastic range of contacts including numerous film and rock stars, most of the world's business leaders, many of the European royalty and aristocracy from many countries.
Whilst the previous positions I had held had tested my business standards many times, my sexual morals had only rarely been tempted. It was not until my latest post and the relative closeness with which I worked with the venerable septuagenarian Chairman and CEO that they were. In fact, they were far more than tempted! But then being Danish I, like most of my fellow countrymen have a much different outlook on sex and sexuality come to that than do people from most countries. We are brought up in very liberal and sexually liberated way and recognise sex for what it is, fun and pleasure and something to be enjoyed with whom you choose and when you choose.
I found the upper echelons of the massive, global bank to be so different to anything I had experienced and working with such a banking luminary as Emerson to be beyond anything I would have previously imagined. Hours didn't seem to exist and it seemed meetings were just as easily called at eleven at night, or on Sundays as at more usual times. Whatever time we met there was always staff on call to cater for our every information or catering whim and the guardian of Warren's office Ms Martinez was always there. I wondered if she actually lived at the bank as there were floors that nobody was allowed to visit.
All aspects of investment banking eats up incredible amounts of money, but in the rarefied atmosphere of the very top it really was obscene how much was consumed. Take out meals from top restaurants, thirty and forty year old wine at two and three hundred dollars a bottle, limos, helicopters and the company jets on permanent call, thousand dollar a night suites at the top hotels and subscriptions to the classiest and most expensive sex clubs and escort agencies. It was only after I had been working in that environment with Warren for a few months that I began to realise just what devious, underhand and quite frankly criminal practices went on at the top of the banking industry.
Phone tapping, email hacking, bugging hotel rooms, private filming with micro cams and surveillance were just the tip of the iceberg of the tricks Warren and his inner team used to get competitive advantages over their rivals. On top of that they had contacts supply drugs, booze, run orgies and provide girls and boys for sex. As far as I could tell as I gradually learned about what went on, there was nothing they wouldn't stoop to get what they were after. And that included having a cam and microphone in the corporate suite at The Pierre where I stayed. Not only where I stayed, but also where I had used a black, male escort to fuck me three times one evening.
When I had fucked Lord Dempsy the British Earl and later had a fantastic threesome with him and the Right Honorable Andrew Grosvenor a cousin to the Earl of Westminster, the richest Englishman alive I had thought it was all my own doing. It was only later when the pair of them had placed over a billion pounds under the bank's control that I realised that Warren had been behind it all the time. But more to the point it was only when I began having contact with the head of the bank that I realised there was little difference between being a banker or a whore. And more to the point I realised that I was becoming Warren's whore.
*
"You can forget the high wealth individual's job" Warren said a few months after the episode with the two members of the British aristocracy At the time we were having a hundred dollars a plate take out from Belthazar as dinner in his office.
"Why what have I done wrong? I asked assuming I was being fired.
"I have a bigger job for someone with your special talents" he said.
I finished my Kobi Japanese steak that I worked out with my banker's mind had cost around fifty dollars a bite. We moved to the couch with our glasses of Petrus that I had noticed was twenty years old. He put his hand on my leg just above my knee. I didn't move or push it away. I had learned that was not the thing to do if a girl wanted to get on in the rarefied atmosphere of the upper echelons of corporate banking with Warren Emerson.
"And that is what Warren?" I asked as he slid his hand up my stocking covered thigh.
Warren and I had shared some sexual experiences, but we had never fucked. He was over seventy and married and it was rumoured that he had a couple of mistresses. Now I suppose I could, theoretically be added to that list, but we never went to a hotel or anywhere. All that went on between us happened in his office, which was admirably guarded by the inimitable Ms Martinez. I was continually expecting him to introduce her to our rather bizarre sexual activities. I knew that from the information he had on me he would know most, if not everything about my past and present sex life. And that would tell him that I would probably not be averse to such an introduction.
"Our problem" he said as he started rubbing my leg on my black holdups just above my knee. "Is not sales Michy."
"No, so what is it?" I asked.
"Quite the opposite" he said moving his fingers up my still closed legs.
"What do you mean?"
"After the sub-prime fuck up, Northern Rock and Bear Sterns here and the fucking Lehmans everywhere we have to increase our reserves."
"Yes I realise that Warren I do read the papers."
"Yeah right. Did you know that Basel three the global agreement on the ratio between lending and borrowings stipulated around twelve to fifteen times reserves can be lent out."
"Yes I had heard that, but wasn't there a 'gentlemen's' agreement to ignore that?
"Yes Michy there was a fucking agreement, but it wasn't between fucking gentlemen it was between bankers."
"I see."
