Oligarchs

[[Incest is the over-arching theme for this (rather long) story but it also contains mature, lesbian, anal, and BDSM bits as well.]]

I DON'T NEED A QUEEN

Much happens underneath the Noon sun. Insects hatch, reproduce, and die under one day's sunshine. They exist their whole lives not knowing a superior order surrounds them. Under this same sun, construction workers install electrical wires and pour cement; dock workers race their loaded lift trucks across the ports; truck drivers and train engineers course through America's transportation veins. It is an uncomplicated but complex dance and all around the workers there too is an order they are virtually oblivious to. They blindly follow orders like a hive of bees and are just as intelligent; at least this is how Yevgeny Fillmore and everyone else he knew—that is to say who mattered—saw it. But under that sun at that moment in an Asian garden, another inferior but complex order was occupying his thoughts.

"Check..." he said with a slight smile and raised brow on his pudgy face after he released his white knight. He knew it would not accomplish checkmate by itself but he had a strategy.

"I see your knight and I raise you a castle," spoke his partner with a slight British accent as he took the dangerous knight away. "You knew my castle would take your knight. When you're trying to sacrifice or trick someone into moving how you'd like them, try to make it less obvious. How can you inherit your father's investments and enterprises if your feints are obvious?" the other man sternly professed as he sipped his tea.

The young Yevgeny searched the board for the other man's plan of attack. Surely he would not say all that without a sound strategy in play already. A long minute passed and though he seemed to concentrate on the board the entire time, his body became bored and forced his mind to concentrate instead on the perpetual dipping of the bamboo in the many water fountains of the garden. They created a hypnotic beat almost like music; it became louder and louder so it was all he could feel until he felt sharp pain in his cheek and his ears heard a resonating SMACK in the open air garden.

"You're daydreaming again Yevgeny!" shouted the man as he pointed his finger at him.

"I'm sorry uncle," he said morosely. He quickly moved his rook, not the move he had planned, but a way to buy time until he figured out his uncle's trick. It turned out he had no time to do this because the match was over ten moves later.

"You didn't follow through on your trick, Yevgeny. I was sure it would be good." The boy raised his eyebrows and dropped his jaw in surprise.

"But...you saw what I was doing...you knew it was coming..." he pleaded with his uncle.

"NO! Knowing something is coming is completely hom-less compared to knowing what IS coming. I had no ideer what you'd do but I made it seem like I did so you'd strike blindly at me." Yevgeny hung his head in shame. "But besides..." his uncle continued "...you lost your queen almost right away. Any good game needs one."

"I don't need a queen..." the twelve year old child talked back. The uncle glared at the insolent boy and twitched his left hand as if he were to strike him again. Instead he raised himself from his cross legged posture at the low table, buttoned his Italian silk jacket, straightened his neck tie, and smoothed his pants until they covered the laces of his radiant black leather shoes.

"Every king needs a queen. But unlike chess, she may or may not be better because she still has more to prove even in this day and age. Never say or think such nonsense again and your father won't hear we ever had this conversation." With that he walked to the ivy covered island of brick that housed the stairs but did not make eye contact with the woman in a nurse's uniform who glared angrily at him as she stood watch.

Yevgeny lifted his hefty boyish body from ground, smoothed his silk kimono and walked the winding cobblestone path amidst countless foreign plants he could name from touch. He came to the ten foot chain linked fence surrounding the garden and looked out upon the great waves of skyscrapers; his garden being atop one of the tallest ones, the people living and working beneath him looked like indistinguishable gray blobs moving amongst the checkered city blocks. One way or another it would all belong to the new king, queen or no.

There are some people on Earth who possess a genuine modesty so strong that they repel every sincere good word about them. There are others, most everyone else, who appreciate a good compliment and only take glowing ones from spouses or their parents. The remainder are the immodest. They strut about their entire lives absolutely confident in their abilities and reject all good words as useless confirmations of what they already know. They are often known as "pricks." Yevgeny Fillmore was not among the latter as he stood in his private garden atop Fillmore Shipping's headquarters building...

"Rickman you imbecile! Have you found my cufflinks yet?!"

...but he was nine years later.

A taller, leaner Yevgeny admired himself in his bedroom mirror. His regular tailor, whom he had not gotten around to learning the name of, truly outdid himself once again when he created the tux now on Yevgeny's back. He pressed his left palm to his flat stomach and the back of his right hand just above his butt as he raised his head and eyes slightly as if he were staring above a crowd. At six feet one inch this could be accomplished without further effort but someone as important as himself had to play the part and appear opulent in every regard. The faint smile left his lips as he turned his head behind and shouted.

"Have you found my father's cufflinks yet, Rickman?!"

Behind him hurried a hunched thinned silver haired man rifling through dresser drawers, searching closets, and every jewelry case.

"I'm sorry Master. I have not found anything yet but I'll keep looking!" he replied with short breath. He could easily have a long night ahead of him. Yevgeny's spacious bedroom was covered every inch in what his sisters called "Eastern Kitsch." Buddhist, Confucianist, Hindu, and Zoroastrian symbols covered every available inch on his wall and provided innumerable places to hide and forget his most treasured possessions. One could not step into his room without fear of stepping on a meditating Buddha and impaling one's face on one of his five foot Shiva's arms. He could spread his treasures throughout the house and he easily afford to remodel his home to match them, he believed for one that it was better this way to provide him a quiet contrast to the newness of American antiques throughout his mansion and second because if every head of the household changed the family home how they pleased, it would have still been adorned with murals and color schemes of John, Paul, George, and Ringo for whom his father adored.

Yevgeny vainly examined the tux once again. A neutral observer would have no trouble calling him handsome. He radiated a confidence based partially upon his physical, social, and economic stature—the rest was about looking good. His straight black hair was oiled slightly and parted on the left with a few strategic strands out of place. He brought his forefinger to his nose and gently pushed the tip down in irritation. The Chen family integrated into the corporate aristocrats a hundred years ago and later acquired monopoly rights from China for the manufacturing of cheap plastic toys sent to the west. One married into an American fuel oligarch in the hopes of cheaper oil; this union produced Yevgeny's grandfather on his late mother's side and, because his father had no racially mixed blood himself, left him one eighth Chinese and that nose which he could never bend down. It was nowhere near a pug nose but as far as he was concerned, it was.

"That's it Rickman...I'll go with some others instead," he said as he walked to a drawer, pulled a matching pair out from their silk sheath, and walked out.

"Don't worry Master, I'll find them!" said the tired older man as he rummaged into more drawers. He compulsively straightened and even refolded the clothes if need be once he finished a drawer. Yevgeny walked out the carved double doors out his bedroom and clacked his shoes against the cold stone floor. As he walked, he attempted to place the cufflinks but he instead felt some already in place. He stole a glance during his quick walk and realized they were his father's platinum freight liner cufflinks; they were on his person that entire time. Most would simply laugh this off but Yevgeny growled at his own stupidity.

"How can you run your father's business if you can't remember or notice you have cufflinks on!" he yelled at himself in his head.

Light jazz filled echoed down the stone hallways as Yevgeny left the long corridor at last and entered a great marble balcony overlooking an even greater chamber with opulence enough to wrest beyond the dreams of the common man. If no statue was not gold plated, it was gold leaf. If no chandelier did not have real crystal, it did not exist at all. Big enough for four hundred persons, it contained, under the dining tables, the largest rug in the state. It alone took the mobilization of Afghanistan's peasant rug makers for three solid months of work so the wealthiest people within two continents could spill food on it. Just then a servant approached him from behind.

"Hello Master Yevgeny. I'd like to wish you a happy 21st birthday," said a throaty yet feminine voice.

"Thank you Ms. Reynolds," he replied without turning his head away from the chatting people in elegant dress decorating his ball room. The servant came to his side and turned her head slightly to his ear.

"Will you need me to fluff your pillows tonight, master?" she asked as her mouth neared his earlobe and breathed her hot and moist air onto him. He turned and looked down and into her gray eyes and aging face. Henrietta "Henri" Reynolds was his wet nurse when she was his current age--after his birth mother died. Since then she had assumed all the caring and loving roles a mother has with her son plus a few others; their bond was unmistakable. She still wore a nurse's uniform (though she was not registered) in part, he assumed, to arouse him. He knew she loved him dearly as her son and a lover but he did not feel that way in any regard. She was convenient. His sexual restrictions maintained by his stepmother were designed to keep him from siring an illegitimate child outside the oligarchies who may claim his or her "birthright" some day. She found her own ways into her young masters bed but, much to her sadness, she could never stay the night for fear of being caught. Despite his potentially despotic hold on the house, family issues resided almost entirely with his stepmother.

"Yes. An hour after I leave the ball..." he said without enthusiasm. Henri beamed and giggled far more girlishly than a woman of 45 should and swayed her hips as she walked away. Yevgeny did not bother to look and instead kept his gaze upon the dancers anxiously awaiting to give him false pleasantries and wishes. He hated almost every one of them and nearly all were family either by marriage or by blood.

"Are you ready Yevgeny?" asked a soft British voice from behind. He closed his eyes and kept his back to the voice's body—his stepmother Maria. "Yevgeny?" she continued.

"Pipe up bro!" shouted one of his half sisters. When he did not respond, Maria walked closer without his acknowledgment.

"You can't act like a spoiled child any longer young man," she scolded in the most polite way possible. Yevgeny listened for nearly a minute to the bouncing rhythm of the jazz ensemble entertaining the hundreds of shmoozing guests below.

"I wasn't a child four years and eight months ago, mother. Controlling half the world's international transportation and fending off your brother made me quite the man in a few months. By the way, how is my uncle?" he asked rhetorically. Maria simply looked into her bodice.

"You very well know he has been missing for almost four years," she replied meekly. Though Maria was the matriarch of the family after his elderly father passed away, her relative youth (40) and inexperience simply left her to be the guardian of morals and not finances. When her brother mysteriously disappeared after attempting a hostile take over, she could not accuse Yevgeny in the slightest. Her youngest, Teddy, was just nine but it was clear already by his love of musical theater, costumes, and colorful dress that he would not spread the Fillmore genes and thus be suitable to replace Yevgeny for revenge. Her two daughters, fifteen and twelve, would likely be neutralized by being married off to some distant relative in Europe or Asia just as she had to his father. Her side of the family was odd in that it had no race mixing so his half siblings were standard European white American mutts.

"I'll send word to the entertainment that we'll be down soon. Donna!" A twenty-ish blonde maid appeared from nowhere. "Be a dear and go to the back of the stage to subtly tell the act to play the birthday song at exactly twenty on the big clock? Thanks dear, run along..." she added with a superior smile. Flush with another little victory over his stepmother, he double checked the appearance of his family. Yevgeny was certain Maria had already spent half an hour inspecting them personally but one of the many things his father taught him was that one should never take anyone's word for anything when you could simply check it for yourself. Keeping this philosophy, and many others, made him and later Yevgeny spend long hours in their offices often handling mundane paper pushing. The girls were dressed young enough but the older one displayed bits of her nearly developed bosom to perhaps attract an older wealthy man or better an oligarch her own age with a flair for the family business. Teddy as mentioned earlier wore garish and vibrant colors and accessories fit for two kinds of queens. Maria wore a simple black dress, two inch heels, and a diamond at her breast the size of a golf ball—a present from the Freedmen oligarchs of South Africa and therefore not a show of fortune; it was her home after all so any excessive display of value on herself would imply a bad opinion of the home itself.

At precisely twenty the big clock sounded (though archaically eight times) and the ensemble seamlessly switched to the birthday song. A few years ago Yevgeny paid for a bill in Congress to yet again extend the copyrights and trademarks from the early twentieth century and the birthday song was among them. His cousin Ulysses Hill, who inherited song, called it the most profitable Christmas present he ever received. Maria interrupted his thought as she hooked her arm into his.

"Here we go...act like you're enjoying yourself and we'll all get through this OK."

"Of course I'm enjoying myself, mother!" he replied with a convincing smile, warm eyes, and enthusiastic tone. Maria jerked her head and looked up at his smiling face with a disbelieving one. "Mother? Whatever is the matter? Is something wrong?" She glared at him as they walked until they approached the stairs descending from the balcony; once she was in sight, she too smiled pleasantly though not as convincingly as him. But he also thought he saw something deeper. Beneath the meaningless expression was a tinge of happiness; because this woman only smiled for a good reason it was her happiness he would have to figure out. The children followed quietly after but wore their emotion on their sleeves. Though they loved their big brother, they had to miss the airing of their favorite television program to attend another stuffy ceremony; they would watch the recording later.

The guests had gathered by the stairs to see the birthday boy descend the marble staircase but they left a small path for him and his family to come on stage and share a few words before the socializing ended and the real, orchestrated dancing could finally begin. With the exception of the lady of the house, as was already mentioned, everyone dressed in their most expensive attire. In society it is the women who are the colored peacocks and the men the drab pea hens. To dress better in the outside world shows one considers it in higher regard than the family. In the oligarchs' circles, one would never wear beat up flannel pajamas around the house; but of course his guests did not dress this extravagantly when home. One could wear jeans while out shopping but certainly not while eating dinner with ones own family.

As the family continued with all eyes following them, Yevgeny noticed his cousin Gerry. He was 28. In fact, he was 28 that very day. Gerry was the third son from the distantly related Pierce family that was trying to cozy up to the Fillmores and perhaps marry him to one of Yevgeny's sisters. Because the family always attended Yevgeny's birthdays, the older but inarguably least important eldest son of the Pierce family had not spent a birthday at home since he was seven. The young man glared at Yevgeny but his only reply was the same meaningless smile.

"Thank you all for coming..." Maria beamed into the microphone. Applause. "After all, it's not like we get to see each other very often." Laughter. With so many marriages, funerals, birthdays, and ascensions, the richest and most powerful core saw one another every fortnight while those on the outside like cousin Gerry got out every three months at the least. "But this is more than an occasion for fun. Like any powerful association of people we must ensure our holds are secure and that no usurpers come close to penetrating our spheres ever again!" Applause. Earlier in the fiscal year one oligarch, Otto Arthur, lost his company in a hostile take over to a coalition of small business owners and stock corporations. The five closest families air lifted lawyers and sent catapults to throw money at the problem to get it back but since Arthur had proved himself incompetent, the Assembly got together and installed a talented up and comer who's commoner mother met her oligarch step-father while she was pregnant with her. Despite this history, Yevgeny had come to enjoy the woman's company and he hoped they would chat after the ball. Unfortunately he could not make her out in the crowd but he did see their mutual friends Franklin and William.

The thunderous applause brought Yevgeny out of his day dream as the microphone was passed to him. He gave an embarrassed smile and brought his hand to the back of his head with great exaggeration. Those who knew little of him figured he was a shy and modest person who had trouble speaking to large crowds. Only his closest friends knew he played the part of the bashful tycoon around his peers and vicious business dictator at board meetings.

"Well...um...thanks for coming. Mom pretty much said everything so I guess all I can do now is tell you to have fun..." he trailed off and innocently handed the microphone back to Maria. She glared briefly before raising her arms triumphantly to signal the band to play once again.

Once off the stage, arms like tentacles of the social organism wrapped around Yevgeny and Maria. "Happy 21 first cuz," "You've done so well young man, keep it up," "No stopping you now if anyone could before," "Are we gonna close that deal tonight, Genie?" "Don't fuck up now birthday boy," "Oh really Gerry is that the kind of thing to say?..." From every direction hands and hugs attacked him until he reached the end of the long ball room. His siblings too were shaking hands but in fewer numbers and soon all but the oldest girl ran through a side for the children's party in the next room. It was not one minute before two males eyed her; if given just a choice between those two men, Yevgeny hoped Maria would pick the one without graying hair.