by C. T. Sloan
“Go!” my boss yells at the driver. The car speeds off. Mr. Peak pushes the wet hair away from my face. “You look like you went for a little swim in the harbor,” he announces. It takes me a moment before I can collect myself and address Mr. Peak properly.
“I had to find a creative way to exit Sergey’s mege-yacht,” I explain.
“Were there any complications?” Mr. Peak asks.
I look down at that ring with the huge diamond still pointed inside of my palm. I run my index finger over the diamond and turn it back to its proper position. “The ring came in handy,” I tell my boss.
“You used it on Sergey?”
“Um, well, yeah.”
There is a little smile on my boss’s face. He is pleased. As the car speeds down the road, my boss takes my hand and stares at the diamond. “What did you do to him?”
“He wanted me to give him a blowjob. I offered to give him a handjob beforehand,” I say as I let those words hang there for a while. A mental picture of the scene flashes back into my head. I can still hear Sergey’s screams. “There was a lot of blood.”
Silence. And then a huge laugh comes out of my boss’s mouth. I had never seen Mr. Peak laugh like that before. My boss grabs my body and presses it against his huge chest. “That’s my girl,” he says. I couldn’t feel more proud of myself right now.
As I bask in the night’s victory, I notice that the car is speeding out of Monaco! “We are not going back to the hotel?” I ask my boss.
“The jet is fueled. We need to get out of here as soon as possible. The luggage is being loaded as we speak,” Mr. Peak explains.
“So we are going back to Los Angeles?”
“No. We are going to New York. Things are moving fast, Sarah. There isn’t a minute to spare.”
Everything is moving so unbelievably fast. The driver swerves around the traffic near the airport. We get to the private plane terminal. The car stops and Mr. Peak exits. I quickly follow him as he rushes to his plane. Mr. Peak grabs me by the hand as a way to keep up with my boss’s long strides.
Mr. Peak’s Gulfstream is already waiting for us on the tarmac. We pass through a dedicated screener for private planes and we are ready to board. I swear this took us less than three minutes.
As we board the plane, I ask my boss, “Sir, why did you have to fly all the way to Monaco to have one conversation?”
“You really can’t discuss the overthrow of a country via e-mail or Skype. General Zhukov and myself used to talk through intermediaries when it came to laundering the money. But this sensitive subject required a personal face-to-face meeting away from prying eyes or anyone who may be listening,” Mr. Peak explains as he takes his seat.
I sit down next to my boss. For the first time, he turns on the satellite TV and begins to watch it with rapt attention. “By the time we hit the ground in Teterboro, things will start to get interesting,” Mr. Peak says ominously.
“When does the military overthrow begin?” I ask.
He looks at me for a moment. Mr. Peak waits for the jet door to close. Then he says simply, “In a couple of hours.”
The jet races out of Nice. My muscles relax as I leave that warped world of Sergey Molidak behind me. Mr. Peak gets on the phone and begins to speak to someone in German. The man really seems to be in his element.
Over the next few hours, Mr. Peak paces around the jet, watching the TV, making calls and checking the foreign equity and commodity markets. I stand up and hug my boss, offering him some good ole moral support from his “Favorite Pet.” He strokes my hair and pats me on the ass.
I start to unbutton my boss’s shirt. He pulls my hair until my head snaps back. “You didn’t ask permission to do that to me,” my boss says.
“I’m sorry. I thought we were fooling around.”
Mr. Peak turns me around and bends me over one of the Gulfstream chairs. He lifts up my skirt and spanks me hard. “I think your little encounter with Sergey has emboldened you a little too much. You think you are my equal?”
“No Sir. You are my master.”
Mr. Peak rips off my dress. He pulls down my thong and starts to rub my ass. My lower lip quivers as I feel all of that masculine power against my flesh. “It looks like I’m going to have to knock you down a peg or two.”
Mr. Peak bends me over one of the jet chairs and starts to run his hands between my legs. I moan as I feel my boss taking every advantage of me. He runs his hands up to my breasts and starts to play with my nipples.
Time stands still as Mr. Peak continues to play with my body. I beg for a chance to explode my boss. He denies me the request. The more Mr. Peak touches me, the more crazy I get. I can’t help myself anymore.
I turn around and rip my boss’s shirt open. I lick his chest and run my hands over his strong, flat stomach. We wrestle and fight for dominance as we fall to the floor. Mr. Peak pins me down. “I’m going to have to fuck you into submission!” he screams.
My boss unzips his pants. He spreads my legs and starts to fuck me nice and hard right there on the jet. I can feel my face turning red. My boss fucks me harder and faster until I begin to scream and cry like an inexperienced prom queen.
Mr. Peak takes me to an explosive climax which makes me claw my fingers into his back. My boss screams as he reaches orgasm. The billionaire collapses on top of me, completely exhausted. I run my hands down to his strong, round ass and give it a squeeze. Mr. Peak may be on top of me but I feel like I am in control!
I lick and bite down on Mr. Peak’s right ear. He is too tired to respond to my playful behavior. I don’t blame him. No one fucks as fast and as hard as my billionaire boss. It takes us a few minutes to recover from that spontaneous “Mile High” session.
Mr. Peak puts his shirt and pants back on and gets right back to business. Much to my surprise, the flight is almost half over. Things are moving fast. Mr. Peak is barking orders to his traders in New York, LA, Singapore and Zurich.
“Buy gold and oil across the board. I don’t care what price you get. Just go, go, go!” Mr. Peak orders to his men. I get dressed and watch my hulking boss run the world from the inside of his $40 million dollar Gulfstream.
I recline back and watch a little TV. The Gulfstream seems to have no problem picking up satellite TV channels from both Europe and the United States. I flip through the channels until I see a helicopter shot of Sergey’s Mega-Yacht. Oh, this should be interesting.
I turn up the volume to the news network - “The son of feared dictator Yuri Molidak was rushed to the hospital with severe injuries. The nature of the injuries are not known. However, the 24-year old Sergey Molidak is known for his hard partying and violent behavior. The injuries may be the result of a night of bad boy behavior in the billionaire’s haven of Monaco.”
I can’t help but smile. Mr. Peak continues to bark orders on his phone. I don’t want to raise the volume on the TV for fear of angering my boss. I lean in towards the TV and continue to listen to the news reporter. “We now have unconfirmed reports of a gun battle erupting in the capital city of Odostan. As we have been reporting, the son of Odastan’s dictator was severely injured in Monaco last night. We have no idea if the two events are related.”
At this point, I tap my boss on the shoulder and point to the news channel. My boss reads the scrolling news alerts - Gun Battle In Odostan. He looks at me and says, “Keep an eye on that. Also look up the keywords ‘Odostan,’ ‘Kuva,’ and ‘Yuri Molidak’ on Twitter.”
I do just as my boss orders. Mr. Peak is a really smart guy. Civilians in Kuva - the capital city of Odostan - are most likely to have the first eyewitness reports as to what is going on. I find a spare iPad in the Gulfstream cabin and begin to monitor Twitter.
I type in “Kuva.” Already, I am hit with dozens of tweets.
“Military opening fire in Kuva!”
“Army Tanks on streets in Kuva, headed towards Presidential Palace!!!”
“Firefight in Kuva. Military coup! Finally, they are going to get
that bastard Molidak!”
I keep updating the feed. And I can’t believe the second-by-second updates coming from the center of the revolt.
“Massive explosion near the Palace. Black smoke rising from the center of Kuva!”
“Planes flying over the skies in Kuva. They are firing at Molidak’s Palace!”
It takes me a moment to realize that my boss is leaning on my chair watching the Twitter feed with the same rapt attention as myself.
“Is this going as planned, sir?”
“No. It is moving much faster. This thing could be over by the time we land in New York,” Mr. Peak explains as he gets back on his phone.
I go back to the news channels and see raw camera phone footage of the military uprising from Kuva. The news anchor mentions that the military has “taken over” every major street in Kuva and that no one is being allowed out of the capital city.
My heart races with excitement. Could I really be instrumental in the overthrow of a dictatorship? Now, I am beginning to feel the “high” of having power. To be honest, it is more intoxicating than that shopping spree on Rodeo Drive, more exhilarating than flying on a private jet and more addictive than taking trips to Monte Carlo.
I go back to the tweets. The Presidential Palace is surrounded. Civilians are beginning to run out onto the streets, cheering on the soldiers. Mr. Peak barks into his phone, “Have the cars ready when we land in Teterboro. I am going straight to the office. Make sure everyone is there by 8 a.m.”
On TV, raw camera phone footage shows the Presidential Palace under siege. The Odostan military is shooting at President Molidak’s soldiers on the roof of the building. More explosions. More craziness.
“We should be on the ground in about an hour,” Mr. Peak says as he checks his watch. The new anchor comes on screen and begins to read a statement from the State Department, “The United State Government fully supports the fight for freedom from the brutal dictatorship of Presidential Molidak.”
Mr. Peak looks at the TV and smiles as he proclaims, “Good. We have Washington on our side rather quickly. Now all we need to do is have General Zhukov end this right.”
“What could go wrong, Sir?” I ask.
“President Molidak could escape and carry on an insurgency that could tear the country apart in civil war.”
I go back to the Twitter feed. Tanks and Odostan civilians have surrounded the palace. People are chanting “Death to Molidak.” This is the first time that the people of that country have been free to openly condemn their dictator.
“Is General Zhukov in Kuva?! Come on. Come on. I want answers not speculation!” Mr. Peak yells as he punches the back of one of the chairs. I get up and stand behind my boss. I reach up onto my tippy-toes and try to calm him down with a back massage.
“What are you doing?” my boss barks.
“I’m trying to relax you, Sir.”
“That is not going to relax me.”
“Then how can I make you feel more at ease, Mr. Peak?”
My boss grabs me and pushes my body up against the cabin of the Gulfstream. He runs his hands up my sides and gently fondles my breasts. My billionaire boss takes my right hand and places it over the thick bulge in his pants. We make out as the chaos from the Odostan civil war blasts out of the TV and echos through the cabin of the Gulfstream.
Mr. Peak slowly chokes me as he places his other hand on my ass. I ratchet up the action by zipping down his pants. He chokes me harder as I start to play with his cock. “You are a dirty little girl,” Mr. Peak says.
We fall to the ground and get it on. Time stands still as we kiss and lick each other’s bodies. Mr. Peak places me on my stomach and slowly chokes me from behind. We fuck on the floor for who knows how long. By the time we are finished, I feel like I am about to pass out.
“We will be landing in Teterboro in twenty minutes, Mr. Peak,” the Gulfstream pilot announces over the intercom system. My boss gets off of me and puts his clothes back on. I am content to lie on the floor for a few more minutes.
As I feel the plane beginning its descent, I decide that maybe now is a good time to get my clothes back on. I take my seat and watch the continuing coverage of the military coup on Odostan.
My boss looks out of the window. I do the same. I see the Empire State Building, Freedom Tower and the Statue of Liberty. These powerful New York structures remind me of Mr. Peak. They are big, brash and defiant.
The Gulfstream glides down onto the runway. The plane taxis to the tarmac and comes to a complete stop in under a minute. I don’t think I could ever get used to such promt and efficient plane service. I will never fly commercial again!
The doors open and I follow Mr. Peak off of the plane. A fleet of Maybach sedans are waiting for us. Mr. Peak wastes no time getting to the cars. I follow him and get inside the back of the $400,000 sedan.
A minute later we are off to Manhattan. Mr. Peak turns on his iPad and checks the stock market prices. “Oil is exploding!” Mr. Peak booms as the fleet of cars leaves the airport. My boss is so excited that he shows me the price of the commodity.
Indeed, the price of oil is up 7% in pre-market trading. It sounds like the revolt in Odostan is creating some instability in the Eurasian region. That means higher oil and gold prices. My boss gets on the phone and orders his traders to dump half the firm’s position in oil.
The cars race into Manhattan. I am so curious to see my boss’s offices in the Big Apple. I am also curious to know what hotel we will be staying at tonight. Since my boss seems to be in a good mood, I decide to chat him up.
“Mr. Peak. Where do you like to stay when you are in Manhattan?” I ask meekly.
“My townhouse, of course,” he says.
Oh boy! He owns a place in Manhattan! Well, of course he does. He’s a billionaire. What am I thinking. I bet the place is really fucking posh. I can’t wait to see it!
The drivers must be more scared of my boss than of the NYPD because the Maybachs are going way past the posted speed limits. We rush through the streets of Manhattan at about 50 miles an hour.
The cars speed down 57th Avenue. We approach Columbus Circle. The fleet of vehicles pulls up to the huge Time Warner Center. We stop. Mr. Peak gets out. Hey, not a bad place to have a New York office!
My boss is met by several men. By the looks of it, they seem to be employees at my boss’s New York office. I hang back and watch my six-foot, five-inch boss march into the Time Warner Center. Damn, that guy knows how to walk into a building like he owns it!
I take my place right behind my master. A couple of Mr. Peak’s employees look at me oddly. Of course, they don’t know that I am my boss’s favorite pet and his most important covert agent. That’s okay. I love being a mystery to people.
We rush into an elevator. Mr. Peak is given the rundown on the Hedge Fund’s oil and gold trades from a few hours ago. “We are up about two hundred million dollars on the futures contracts,” one of my Mr. Peak’s employees announces.
“Where is oil now?” Mr. Peak asks.
“It is up ten percent. Trading will be halted any minute.”
“Close that trade. Let the gold position run for a little while longer,” my boss orders.
We get off at the forty-second floor. The Peak Fund’s New York office is a buzz of activity. It is much crazier here than in the Santa Monica office. The windows offer a captivating view of Central Park.
Mr. Peak stands in the middle of a bunch of trading stations. Boy, everyone seems scared out of their wits. My guess is that these traders don’t see their billionaire boss that often. “Look alive, gentlemen. There is lots of activity going on in Eurasia. We should be seeing some more spikes in gold until the late morning.”
CNBC and Bloomberg show the revolt in Odostan. I look up and watch as dozens of tanks surround the Presidential Palace belonging to President Molidak. The news alert blasts across the screen. “Odostan Military storms Presidential Palace.”
Mr. Peak orders someone to turn up the
volume on the TV. Before my boss can finish his sentence, someone is smart enough to obey the billionaire.
“Reports are now coming in fast and furious. About half an hour ago, troops loyal to Odostan Army Chief General Zhukov stormed the Grand Presidential Palace at Odostan. There are also unconfirmed reports that the dictator President Yuri Molidak is inside the palace, unable to flee. The revolt took place at such lightning speed that no one - loyal to President Molidak - has been able to leave the Palace. Also, the capital city’s airport is also under control from the military. So right now, if President Molidak is in the Presidential Palace, then he has no place to run.”
Mr. Peak leans over and looks at one of the trader’s Bloomberg stations. “I want everyone to be prepared to exit the gold position when we hit a five percent profit from the morning buy,” Mr. Peak orders.
