Victoria

Sex and Money. When it comes down to it, that's what life is all about for most people. And I'm no different from the rest when all's said and done, other than I need a little bit more to satisfy me than just the run of the mill vices. Maximilian Skinner would not be the man he is if he didn't also enjoy the pursuit of power. Power over other traders, power to affect an international commodities market - and not to mention my old favourite: power over women. It's an aphrodisiac all of its own. A successful man exudes an extra special pheromone of which the girls just can't get enough. Who can blame them? What could be a greater turn on than a man with the world at his feet? And vice versa. Every time I come out on top, well, I just have to end the evening on top...or bottom...or hands and knees...who gives a damn unless I get my success-driven high?

Today was one of the better days of my life. I had made a lot of money. A disgustingly enormous amount of money. I had also ruined the careers of a few rivals. Which makes it so much better, don't you think? Here I was at the top of the heap, climbing over all the other pretenders for my throne and showing them again who was the real Big Cheese in this City. Frankly speaking, the large amount of money I had made for myself in commission was actually the least thing on my mind. It was just another great fat cheque to pour into my funds. The point about winning is much more elemental than that - winning is its own reward. There's something pure about gain for its own sake, if you know what I mean. I felt like a medieval lord riding out to battle for the sake of honour and glory - and doing his duty to his vassals. When I win, I drag a whole horde of grasping little toadies with me, you see. It's almost charity. I should be knighted for my services to the nation. I probably will be one day.

Ah, my vassals! Those dear little lab rats of mine who all cluster round me, each on their own personal high with today's rather tasty bonus ringing up pound signs in their greedy little eyes. The atmosphere in the office at the close of the markets today was so full of testosterone and pheromones, without a steroid or chocolate bar in sight, that the only amazing thing was they weren't all shagging their little tails off already, right down there on the trading floor.

I stood before them with a satisfied grin on my face, feeling abnormally paternal and normally feudal, all at the same time. They really are a very sweet little band of self- absorbed bastards when all's said and done. So what if they would stab me in the back, if I was ever so thoughtless as to let them have a free shot?  Why, even that makes me proud! I taught them everything they know. As every parent knows there is nothing as rewarding as seeing the little buggers take their first hesitant steps away from Big Daddy, don't you think?

As we raised up glasses of champers to our formidable balls, guts and greed, the whole office broke out in a resounding chorus of 'For he's a jolly good fellow...!' I conducted the chorus - I had to agree with them on this one. I am something else. What a day!

Surveying the throng, I surreptitiously chose my prey for the evening. Not that it took much stealth to pick out the luscious Victoria Plomleigh-Dickinson. She had already apparently selected me as her drug of choice if the position she had located herself was anything to go by. Neatly perched on a section divider, her skimpy skirt riding high on her slender 'heaven's above' gams, she was the only one not singing my praises and snorting cheap champagne. The lovely Victoria Plum was too busy for all that, striking her 'Come get me, Big Boy' pose, hair tumbling sleekly down her back, and glossy lips wetted just for the occasion. I knew what she was up to. She also knew my game. It was hard not to beat my ample chest and howl at the moon. The King of the Jungle comes home with his kill and the sweetest pussy in the pride is marking his territory for him. God, I love being me!

Let me tell you a little about office gender politics in general and Miss Plomleigh-Dickinson in particular. As you know, we are an equal opportunities employer. There is no discrimination in this company directed at sex, race or religion. We are fully cognisant of that fact that ruthlessness and lack of moral compass are distributed throughout all groups, minority or not. However, I have never known it to be a hindrance at interview if a candidate has a 36 D cup, great legs and a penchant for tight clothing. Miss Plomleigh - Dickinson had excellent credentials, as I am sure it is not necessary to point out.

But we do not condone sexual harassment. Such misbehaviour is viewed extremely seriously by the senior management. When a case is brought to their notice they will always recommend taking legal procedures against the offending senior officer who would use inducements for promotion in return for sexual favours. Not that anyone has ever dared bring such a case to the board of directors. Imagine what that notoriety would do to a woman's career? A man's either - we have some formidable older and predatory women sitting up there in the boardroom, not to mention a few old queens.

The crux of the matter is this: everyone has to expect a certain price to pay for their good fortune. We've all been there at some point or other, using our natural gifts to secure a friend in a higher place. I've done my duty in that regard and the way I see it is, surely the possession of a big cock is as valid in a man's career rise as having a first class brain? As I have both then it is no wonder I have done so well so quickly. And my balls are the biggest on the floor as well. (I have that on great authority from women who know about these things.) So to be fair, as an equal opportunities employer, Miss Plomleigh- Dickinson's large breasts and great legs were perfectly acceptable as career skills.

Now where does that leave me? My position on abusing my situation with young women on my team is simple. It is not recommended if the girl is dreamy-eyed and carrying a torch. Then it would get nasty on the morning after when she would expect more and end up on tranquillisers and suicide watch. No one wants that! Do you think I have no heart? But if she is a conniving little bitch with her eye to the main chance and her hand down the pants of every buckaroo she thinks will help her up the slippery ladder, then we have lift off. How can it be abuse to seduce a woman who is working her little arse off to seduce me? In fact, some might say that men in my position are constantly abused by harpies with only one thing in mind: i.e. promotion. What I offer them is almost philanthropic, when you think about it.

Back to Miss Plomleigh-Dickinson. She fell into a personality type of the second category. Since she had joined my team way back in September, fresh from her graduate training programme, she has been working her way up the ladder to the heady heights of Maximilian Skinner's desk. In fact, I had intended to unwrap her as an early present at the Christmas party but circumstances worked against me on that occasion and I was prevented from making the move I'd been planning. Let's just say that I was somewhat overextended on the day itself - but that's another story. Buy me a bottle of Hennessy Privilege some time and I'll tell you about last year's Christmas party...good God, that was a session and a half...

...But I digress...I accepted the obsequious fawning of my little toadies, drank back the plonk and greeted the back slappers, shook the hands and generally made nice with everyone - except Miss Plomleigh Dickinson. I did not once look in her direction. But I did mouth the words: 'Ten minutes...the foyer...' to the tune of '...Which nobody can deny..' Thus she knew my intentions. I was rewarded with another seductive smile.

The cheers and salutations died down. I ignored Gemma and a few other nay-sayers who did not seem to agree with the lyrics of the song. Sour grapes, of course. They either hate me because I haven't shagged them or loathe me because I have. Typical feminine illogic. I stepped up and gave them my usual post battle valedictory. Roma victa, and that sort of thing, you know?

"Well done today, lab rats! Wonderful work! We all made a spectacular amount of money...." A cheer rang out as they raised their glasses. "Today we proved the adage that..." I glanced across as I paused; Victoria was still smiling, her mouth slightly open, in a provocative pose, clearly besotted with me. Or my position. Or both. Who gives a fuck? "...Winning isn't everything..." I didn't need to finish. They all knew this old saw well enough; I used my hands to conduct them as we all sang out together: "It's the only thing!" All except Victoria who again said nothing, merely staring at me intensely with that Mona Lisa enigmatic style, drawing my attention to that tempting leg resting oh so sensuously upon the other. I doubt anyone observed the obvious lust that was radiating between us; the room was too filled with whoops and cheers and self-satisfied back slapping.

Okay, job done. Now time for Maximilian to claim his reward. I stepped down from the podium, strode through the crowd and took my leave, shaking hands, slapping shoulders, giving and receiving greetings, studiously avoiding my real target. But my left hand was free to roam. With dexterity, it located the smooth bare flesh of Victoria's upper knee, resting casually there before slipping north to push the silky hem of her skirt a few centimetres up her thigh, grasping the sensual fabric and massaging softly. She shifted slightly and her legs parted - just an imperceptible distance - but enough for me to get the impression of heat from her groin. And to feel the corresponding blood rush in mine. Thank Christ for Armani and decent tailoring.

Then I allowed my hand to trail over her and off onto the wooden pod she was perched upon. I couldn't see her reaction now but I knew she had followed me with her eyes as I brushed past the rest and strode out towards the doors.

Down in the lobby, I stood in the shadows, the lift entrance in sight, resting back on a pillar, watching the digital display as the elevator rose higher and higher finally stopping at my floor again. I waited, presuming that it would deposit her on this level when it finally made its way back. The bell dinged and the doors opened; I almost stepped forward but luckily had the good sense to hang back, for instead of Victoria, out poured a number of my team laughing and joking, eager to carry on the drinking at one of the in spots in town. I swore softly to myself. Surely she hadn't been leading me on?

"Boo!"

The whispered comment reached me at the same instant as I smelt the scent of heavy perfume from somewhere behind the marble column against which I was leaning. Spinning round, I found myself dragged behind it where Victoria was waiting, the same seductive smile on her mouth. "Sorry I took my time. I went to the powder room first... To freshen up... And remove these...!"

Victoria held up a tiny scrap of black lace. Still warm. I moaned softly, testing the cut of my Armani pants to the limit. Raising the knickers to my face, I inhaled and she giggled, taking my other hand. "Your car?" she asked.

"I hired a limo. It should be waiting over by the driver's bay...I knew tonight would be a pretty wild one..."

"...With a glass partition?"

"Dark glass...and a cocktail bar..."

"Then what are we waiting for...?"

We walked hand in hand to the main exit where my black limousine was waiting, engine running. Opening the door, I helped her in before running round to join her in the other side. "Where to, sir?" The uniformed driver asked smartly.

"I'll tell you when I think of somewhere. For the time being the young lady and I will just enjoy the ride..." I answered smugly.

The chauffeur did not turn a hair. He was used to working in the City. "Certainly, sir...Take your time...The traffic's heavy anyway..." And the glass window closed slowly leaving us alone in the richly upholstered cocoon of the interior.

I opened the bar, took out a bottle of champagne that was chilling and opened it, with just a slight spill that dripped suggestively onto the carpeted floor beneath our feet.

"So...Miss Plomleigh-Dickinson..." I murmured as I filled two flutes.

"So, Mr. Skinner..." she purred over the top of the glass as we each took a sip.

"Maybe we should drop the formalities now that we're obviously embarking on a new phase of our relationship...?"  I suggested, moving closer and resting my hand back on that delectable leg, aware of the absence of any obstacles only a few centimetres north.

"You mean we are now more than just boss and employee...?"

"Substantially..." I muttered as I gently pressed her back onto the leather upholstery, preventing any more clarification of her status being required by planting on her a rather spectacularly dirty kiss. She responded in kind. It appears there is nothing retiring about Victoria.

There was a certain amount of making out following that, the usual sort of foreplay: my hand up her skirt and hers down my pants. Both of us obviously satisfied by our initial findings, we finally came up for air. I was lying at her side, half over her with my back to the driver (just in case). The view was pretty damn good: she has beautiful firm, natural breasts which were spread out before me, the pristine white silk blouse lying open. I had hitched her skirt up to her waist and there was nothing much left to the imagination now. Miss Plomleigh-Dickinson was not shy. Nor was her pussy apparently, with its little tuft of carefully-groomed curl. She was indeed a Victoria Plum.

My clothing was in similar disarray. She liked my chest very much - my nipples especially - and my penis appeared to be her number one dish of the day; it was proudly revealed still rubbing itself against her silken thigh as we took a breather.

"What does it feel like, Max...?" she murmured. I wasn't sure exactly what she meant by 'it'? Was she referring to something specific, sex with her generally or the rather sublime day I was enjoying?

"It feels like heaven..." I hedged my bets and decided a rather vague bit of fulsome praise would probably be the wisest course of action here.

"I meant winning. How does it feel to be on top of the heap?" she whispered orgasmically into my ear.

 "...Like a Big Swinging Dick..." I replied with a groan, using the City term for a successful trader both literally and metaphorically. She responded by gripping said appendage and giving it a good old jerking.

"Indeed...but how could you feel like anything else, Maxie?" Victoria was one of those girls who get off just being in the presence of a powerful man. "I adore men with balls. I adore men who are ruthless bastards. I adore men who win....it's such a bloody turn on...! Do you know how long I've been creaming my panties over you, Max? I thought you'd never make a move..."

I nuzzled between the cleft of her breasts, licking and nibbling. "I was saving you for the big one..."

"You mean, you had noticed me...?" Victoria giggled.

"I was on the board at your final interview...it was a good job there was a heavy oak table between you and the other boys....I hazard a guess that there wasn't a limp dick in the boardroom...that day..."

"You dirty buggers..." she grinned. "So you were saving me for a rainy day, were you, you naughty man...?"

"No...for a very sunny one...you little wildcat, you..."

Conversation did not seem uppermost in our minds just then as we proceeded to the next stage. Even the back of a limousine has limited space for really inventive sexual positions so I decided that the good old 'Man on Top' would do for starters. I had been the winner today and as they say: "To the victor, the spoils..." And what better reward for the conquering hero than a girl named Victoria?

It was like slipping into warm treacle; I always use Super-thin condoms from a very special supplier which are ridiculously pricey but worth every penny in terms of both sensitivity and tensile strength (I am hardly easy on them, as you can imagine), almost as good as the real thing. Victoria muttered in my ear that I felt like a huge hot velvet rod. There was no need to hang about - she was as eager as I was to get to the finishing line if the way she grabbed my now naked buttocks, took a firm hold on my thighs with her legs and thrust upwards as purposefully as I thrust down is any indication of intent. We made a lot of noise. I came so hard, I almost passed out. She called me 'Jeroboam' afterwards on account of the large amount of Spumante I deposited: the condom was overflowing. What can I say? I get off on Victoria...

We dressed. We drank another few glasses. "Where to now, Maxie? The night is young..." Victoria reminded me.

"The Met Bar...? Decent drink. Good food and maybe a club later...?"  Victoria was game for that, so I leaned over to roll down the partition window, finally announcing our intended destination to my long-suffering driver. We'd been driving around for almost an hour. Not bad for a quickie, hey?

Later than evening, much, much later, after a heavy night of cocktails and champagne, Victoria suggested we should go to her place to finish off. I thought that the perfect suggestion, much preferring an easy getaway once the action was over, which is always tricky if you bring them home. Girls always want to curl up and sleep in my bed or make me breakfast (they'd be lucky. My fridge only contains vodka and beer)

My patient chauffeur was still waiting at the kerb outside as fresh as if he had just had a few hours' sleep. He probably had, the lazy bastard. These drivers always sleep on the job and then charge exorbitant fees if it's after midnight, kipping at my expense.

Slipping in the back, we settled in for another session of kissing and foreplay. I wasn't intending to go all the way again in the back of the limo. This time I fancied taking it slow, a proper bed and a good old rake through the Kama Sutra, the book of choice for a returning warrior like myself.

"Wait here...I'll be a couple of hours..." I muttered as we fell out of the door and staggered towards her apartment block. Victoria lives in Knightsbridge it seems. I was impressed.

"Daddy bought it for me for my twenty first..." Victoria explained breathily. Independently wealthy heiress? Very nice. I might even put Victoria on my eligible list, a little roster I keep it for the unlikely - but possible in my business - event of me doing a rogue trader and ending up in the poorhouse. It has been known to happen, even to the best, so insurance is always a good thing.

We fooled around in the elevator. We were half undressed by her apartment door. Once the door was closed, it was open season. We stripped at the door, made love all down the corridor, knocked over a few pieces of furniture and a vase of flowers in our hasty passion, finally reaching the bedroom - but not the bed - almost consummating on the thick white rug of the floor.

"Maxie...?" Victoria purred as I gave her a sound pummelling from the rear. Thank god for thick pile carpet or my knees would have been red raw.

"Ughhh?" I was finding control difficult and this was the extent of my abilities with speech at the time.

"Do you want to play?" her voice was satin poured over smoky malt.

"I thought we were..." I gasped, the old grey cells having difficulty following her train of thought on account of the blood deprivation.

"I mean...really play...I've got some silken rope...interested...? What do you say to a little bondage...? I know how you public school boys like it kinky..."

To be absolutely honest, I am not a public school boy. I attended a minor private boarding school but am fully aware that I give the impression of being an old boy of Eton, Harrow or Rugby. It is my imperious belief in my own superiority that convinces the general public that I am of the very top drawer. However, I was more than willing to play any sort of erotic game the luscious Victoria Plum came up with, upper class school boy or no.

"...You want me to tie you up?" I pulled out and grinned eagerly.

Victoria peered round, her peach-like buttocks wiggling invitingly. "I was rather thinking of tying you up...and then a velvet blindfold....wouldn't you like to toy with danger...?"

Now she was talking. The girl was very intuitive. After the day I'd had, there was nothing I wanted more than to push the envelope and be a very naughty boy.

Thus, shortly afterwards found me stark bollock-naked, spread-eagled, tied and blindfolded on Miss Plum's fragrant bed sheets. There was incense burning. Atonal gamelan music was playing softly in the background. Feathers were used. The light brush of a leather whip grazed delicate parts of my body. It was all innocent fun, accompanied by a little bit of the usual role play dialogue, the sort of nonsense that is highly erotic when you are involved in it, but excruciatingly embarrassing if overheard later.

There is something delectable about sexual abandon with all the senses stimulated - except sight. It concentrates the mind wonderfully onto the erogenous zones.  Very slow, sweaty, intense session followed with Victoria taking a very pro-active role and yours truly lying there, as befits the king of the jungle, receiving her skilful attentions. The evening's alcohol consumption helped massively as had our early coupling; we gave Tantric sex a new meaning as we came back and forth to the brink, driving each other wild until we finally let go in a heady and vocal consummation.

I don't mind admitting I was shagged out after all that and may even have dozed off for a while. But not for long. I had no intention of being around for breakfast. Tomorrow - today, to be exact - was another working day, bright and early, and I didn't want to find myself at a breakfast meeting with one of the junior lab rats. As delicious as juicy Miss Plum was, she had already lost her place on my eligible ladies list.  Her dominatrix act had been a tad too convincing: who wants a wife with those skills? Imagine the number of other gentleman she has cavorted with? I have no wish to be the laughing stock of the Stock.

Victoria was sprawled across me, her long hair wrapped around my face; I prised myself loose and eased off the bed. My clothes were nowhere to be seen - ah yes! I had lost them at the door. Tiptoeing out, I gathered them together and dressed in the bathroom, throwing some cold water over my face and gargling. Light was breaking over the night sky, the first streaks of the new day. I looked out over the city, deciding to miss my morning run for once as it was already almost four a.m. and I had more than exhausted my physical reserves during the night. A quick shower and a shave back home later and I would be as good as new. I sighed. A sudden melancholy settled over me. It was no doubt the come down after the booze and euphoria of the night before. The anticlimax was necessary, however; it was just another day and there was always another challenge ahead. One mustn't ever become too complacent or one would lose one's killer edge.

But I couldn't help but feel it was getting harder all the time to find the enthusiasm for the next one. Life seemed like a peak of highs interspersed between increasingly extended periods of lows. The triumph of each new victory seemed more ephemeral than the last. It was a drug. I needed a bigger fix every time just to stay in the same place. The effects didn't even last one day anymore. I hated that early morning feeling when the doubts crept in.

Shaking gloom from me, I struck a pose and swaggered into the mirror. I am Maximilian Skinner. I do not suffer from crises of confidence. Those are for lesser mortals. I grinned, stuck my spectacles back on and ran my hands through my hair. 'Go get 'em, Maxi-mill-ion, you little bastard...' Uncle Henry's gruff encouragement ran through my mind. I must try and get a day or two this year to go and see him, I thought to myself. The old codger must be almost ready to cork it.  The memory of those long ago endless summer days in France always cheered me up. Henry had been the nearest thing to a family I had ever known. Since then I had always been alone...

Alone. Thank God for that. Alone meant that no one could get to you, knock you off course, weaken your resolve, tease out your insecurities. A man in my precarious position couldn't afford such luxuries as friends or family. Trust no one. It was always wiser.

Which brings me back to the subject of Miss Plomleigh - Dickinson and her pleasurably night of sexual games. You didn't think I fell for that, did you? Quietly re-entering the bedroom, I located her phone, carelessly tossed by the side of the bed on the carpet. It provided a rather pleasant half hour of entertainment on the way home. Well, well, well. I had been a very naughty boy, last night, had I not? These camera videos were certainly becoming more and more advanced all the time technologically- speaking. The sound quality was impressive, too. Victoria had certainly not taken any short cuts in her attempt to blackmail her way to a promotion, the dear heart. I respect anyone who's prepared to do anything to win, I really do. That, however, goes for me too. If you take me on, love, you better win - or suffer the consequences.

I leaned forward and asked the driver to pull over alongside the Thames Embankment; it was still dark, the waters of the river purple black and dense. "I'll just be a minute..." Noting down the make and model of the phone on my own Blackberry, I jumped out of the car, took a decent run up and bowled her Nokia for six right out into the middle of the grey waters of the river. "Howzat!" I shouted gleefully as the tiny silver object vanished beneath the waves.

I am not a complete vandal. Victoria would receive another brand new phone later this morning, same make and model, along with a dozen red roses - and her letter of termination. She will thank me for this one day. As Bill Gates once famously said: 'Success is a lousy teacher. All you learn is that things come too easily...' Uncle Henry also said much the same thing to me when I was a little fella. I sketched out a note in my head to send to Miss Plomleigh- Dickinson:

Chin up, Victoria!

Remember we learn nothing from winning. The act of losing however can elicit great wisdom, not the least of which is how much more enjoyable it is to win...

Fondly...

Max Skinner

...Uncle Henry...I wonder how he was getting on? I really must at least give him a call one of these days...

The car pulled up outside my apartment block and I got out, dismissing the driver and sauntering to the doors, my shirt open, tie in hand, as dishevelled as befits a gentleman who has just spent a rather enjoyable night of lust. I felt good. Complete. All was back where it should be. Everything was right in my world.

The commissionaire looked up from the breaking morning financial news on which my exploits were the lead story, eager for some insider information. He should be so bloody lucky....