"Lord Seaman will see you now."
The Executive Personal Assistant smirked. More than three hours had passed since the woman had interviewed Bex and made the strict terms and conditions clear. Then there'd been half an hour of paperwork; fabricated evidence, signing undated confessions, photos, waivers, a set of rules and, finally - least importantly -- her normal employment contract.
Eventually, Bex had to kneel before his Assistant and remove the middle-aged woman's high-heels before kissing each of her ten sweaty toes in turn, promising to be available for cunnilingus whenever she was summoned. After that degrading ordeal Bex had waited ages until the bastard himself eventually deigned to see her.
Sure, it was corrupt, humiliating and downright illegal but Bex was desperate. So, she swallowed her pride and waited patiently. She needed this job. And she was prepared to pay his price.
She knocked on the door, waited a few seconds, and then pushed it open. The office was huge. It had wall-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city, a boardroom table with 16 chairs, and a soft-seating area. In front of the fireplace at the far end of the room was a vast mahogany desk.
And behind the desk sat the founder, majority owner and CEO of Seaman Capital, now one of the 10 largest private equity firms in the world. He didn't get up. He simply gestured at the two guest chairs in front of his desk.
Bex had spent the day building herself up for this one chance. Yes, of course, in theory there was #Metoo, and Employment Law, and media sharks on the lookout for scandals. After all, it was 2023 and nowadays 99.99percent of predatory males had to behave themselves.
And then there were the 0.01percent like Jack Seaman. The tiny percentage of Corporate Gods who existed above the law. When Jack picked up his phone, Presidents, Prime Ministers, Judges, Lawyers and Editors didn't just take his call.
They came running.
"So, Rebecca Osborne. Why the fuck should I hire YOU?"
She blinked. His blue eyes were piercing. She already felt naked. She'd dressed in a smart black suit and her best shirt but she might as well have had nothing on. His intense gaze had simply undressed her.
"I ... I will st ... start at the bottom and do what I'm told." She stammered; these were the exact code words his Assistant had instructed her to say.
He smiled, or rather his lips did.
Jack Seaman was 50 but he still looked mid-30s. Tall, tanned, super-fit and sharp-featured, with close-cropped hair. Bex had not only read his Wikipedia and magazine interviews, but she'd studied everything else she could find out about him.
Born 1973, Jack was the only child of Sir Jim Seaman who was still alive aged 99yrs and hadn't even retired yet. Jack was the grandson of the legendary Joseph Seaman himself who'd made it all the way from working down the mines to become chairman of the National Coal Board. Each generation had made successively more of themselves.
A life peer and multibillionaire, Lord Jack Seamen had even more money and power than those robber barons of the Victorian era.
"Well get to it then."
He gestured to a spot beside his chair. Bex knew what he wanted. She knelt and unbuckled his belt, easing his trousers down to his ankles. Then she brushed her lips against his swelling crown.
As far as Bex knew, her own family's fortunes had gone in the opposite direction. Most of the Osborne's wealth had disappeared in the 1929 Crash. What money remained was lost in the War and subsequent death duties. Osborne Castle itself had burned down in the 1950s and the Osborne hereditary seat in the House of Lords was removed in the Act of 1999.
Finally, the small company her own parents had started, to try and revive their fortunes, had been bankrupted by having its loans called in five years ago, just as they were starting to thrive.
So, despite bearing the prominent family name and having a father who could trace his direct lineage back to the 1700s, Bex Osborne was now just one more impoverished graduate with student loans who was desperate for a job. However, not just any job, like selling perfume in a department store or pulling pints in a pub.
No, Bex was going to make something of herself.
Therefore, she assiduously sucked and slurped on the gnarled slab of male meat in her mouth and accepted the degrading trade. A throatful of semen in return for a trainee position. She would keep quiet and do her duty, whenever she was summoned, in return for a chance to climb the greasy pole.
