Chapter 1. Lust in London
The setting sun threw surreal and ever changing shadows across the naked woman in front of me, and painted the pale flesh in a myriad of rainbow hues. She lay before me on the boardroom table of one the richest banks in the City of London, glistening with the sweat of our combined exertions, her pale blonde hair fanned out about her head. Her breasts heaved and quivered in time with her laboured breathing; and her hands fluttered and clenched either side as she slowly descended from the plateau of her orgasm.
I looked out across the smooth and sinuous curves that contrasted so with the harsh lines of the boardroom furniture, out into the deepening gloom of the London spring evening, and thought back on the strange set of events that had led me to my current situation. It had all started a month earlier when I got fired, and my life seemed to be in ruins.
I should, at this point, introduce myself and explain how I came to be in such a position. Until recently I had been a highly successful fund manager at one of the leading investment banks in the city. I was relatively young for my position, only 36, tall and fit, the latter due to the proximity of the best-equipped gyms and a diet consisting mainly of coffee and stress. The banking crisis had actually brought me this success if not the wealth that went with it. Ah the irony. During the boom I had resisted the urge to seek fast profits in risky investments. Instead, I had vetted my deals most carefully; going ahead with only those I felt in my gut were safe for my clients.
As a result my performance was deemed only 'satisfactory' compared with my colleagues and so my bonuses were small in comparison, although they did make me very well off as against the average man in the street. Then came the banking crisis and the credit crunch. As my colleagues' losses mounted, the long-term wisdom of my strategy became apparent. My clients were happy to discover that their investments were safe and they, unlike so many others, did not find themselves burdened with unexpected debts.
Word spread, and I found myself managing billions in new business, just as my employers announced a suspension of bonuses for the year. All my hard work and integrity availed me naught, save the responsibility of a huge new list of clients and their investments. But I was not unduly perturbed, next year I was sure to be rewarded when the bonuses returned. I should have known better. That is when they hired that bastard Frenchman, Pierre, as my new boss. He came from Paris tasked with 'cleaning up' the rogue traders.
What happened next; set me on my course with destiny. He soon identified me as the most successful trader, with the biggest client list and the largest level of investments. At this point I was looking after over 25 billion pounds worth of investments, a huge amount; and Pierre saw his opportunity. He falsified fake deals and got me fired. I was led ignominiously from the trading floor and expelled onto the street by security. His victory was apparently complete but he had underestimated his enemy.
I had researched my new boss when his appointment had been announced and I had discovered a worrying trail of ruthless ambition on the backs of broken colleagues. My defence was secure before he had even arrived and identified me as the enemy. Even as he enacted his plot against me I was gathering evidence of his own misconduct, and when he struck, there was not one scrap of privileged information to which I did not have access to a secure copy.
This is the point at which the bank for which I worked compounded their error in hiring the arrogant fool, by backing him when I presented the evidence of his misconduct. They took his side and declared my contract, not terminated, but null and void. I would receive not a single penny of the bonuses that I was due. My entire portfolio was to be transferred to the Frenchman. This is when I, in turn, struck.
Phone calls were placed, emails were sent, meetings were had, and agreements were made. I waited for the hammer to fall; I did not have to wait long. I received an urgent summons to return to my erstwhile employers and explain myself. I arrived late in the day, relaxed and smiling, in my scruffy leathers, hands darkened with grime from days of working on my bike in preparation of a planned trip around the world. Heads turned in my direction and I could faintly discern a muted whispering. My attire alone would not cause such interest, I knew, the rumours about what I had done had already begun. I was directed to the board room where I was asked to explain myself in front of the senior figures of the bank.
I was escorted up by one of junior execs; an attractive young woman in a pencil slim grey suit, 3 inch heels and a sheer blouse that peeked from beneath her tailored jacket. I knew this girl by sight and reputation, she was known as an ice queen, totally resistant to the advances of the young Turks around the office. Some even assumed her to be a lipstick lesbian, although she showed no sign of being attracted to her own sex. This time it seemed to be different however. I caught her giving me covert glances when she thought I wasn't looking, and did her hand linger a moment on my leather sleeve when she ushered me into the boardroom?
Dire warnings were given in that room, threats of legal action were made; the words 'breach of contract' were uttered in ominous tones. I smiled at the last. "What contract?" said I. There were mutterings. There was consternation. Surely I realised that there were harsh penalties for those who breached their confidential agreements, even after being fired. That's when I reminded them that my contract hadn't just been terminated; it had been rendered null and void. On the one side; I would receive no promised bonuses; on the other, those onerous termination clauses no longer applied. I was a free agent. I innocently asked, "What idiot came up with that idea?" The answer I well knew; it was my despised Frenchman.
There was silence in the boardroom as the true meaning of my words sunk in; the true depth of my revenge was appreciated. I reminded these men of power of my years of faithful service, of my warnings about the interloper, and that they had made their choice. Now they would have to live with the consequences. I thanked the board members for their time, turned on my heel and exited the room.
The young woman who has escorted me up was still sitting at her outside, as if waiting for me. I couldn't place it but there was something different about her, she seemed somehow slimmer than she had on our journey up, the jacket looser. It was when she stood up that I saw the cause the subtle alteration of movement, the asymmetrical jiggle that indicated the absence of a bra.
"You will be leaving now?" she asked.
"No," was my reply. "I have to see someone on the trading floor first, assuming the lazy bastard hasn't left already." It was already after 7pm; meeting with the board had taken longer than expected. "I'd be grateful if you could turn a blind eye," I struggled to remember her name from emails that I had received. "Julia, isn't it?"
"Well, I should escort you straight out of the building, but I suppose I can make an exception in this case."
We travelled in silence to the main trading floor. By chance, we were the only occupants of our elevator as we descended towards our destination. She had positioned herself in my eye line and began fiddling absently with her jacket. This caused it to pull away from her and gave me a perfect view into the shadowed recesses. Her blouse was completely sheer, of the type that office girls commonly wore in the summer over camisoles or lacy bras. No such garment was evident, however, and instead I was gifted a perfect view of the entire curve of her breast, surmounted by a rosy nipple, quite erect, its aureole tight and puckered about it.
Any questions I might have had at this unexpected and unprecedented behaviour were silenced by our arrival on the trading floor. Stepping from the lift, I scanned the floor for my target. Aha, there he was, surrounded by a group of his cronies; perfect. I strode forward, a sudden, and wholly feigned, anger crossing my countenance.
"Hey Pierre, you French bastard!" I shouted across the floor. He turned, and seeing my expression, a sneer of victory appeared upon his own.
"You are in trouble now," he crowed. "The FSA will 'ave your 'ide for what you 'ave tried to pull. You think you can steal my clients..."
"Your clients?!" I roared, stepping up to him and grabbing him by the lapels of his thousand pound suit. "They were mine, you thieving bastard. You stole them and planned to unload the toxic debt from your clients onto mine."
