Ambition
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© Copyright 2002
A Power Broker Story
A Power Broker Story
Previous stories in the POWER BROKER Series are:
A Crude Business
The Ambassador's wife
Vengeance
Smoke drifted lazily into the air from the end of Gerald Knebworthy's huge Cigar. Before him, a select group of his brightest students, all mellowed by several glasses of good brandy, eager to share with him the conclusions of their private project. It had started as a post-grad joke, three years ago- "Write a business plan to create an organisation which will be the most powerful organisation in the world within 30 years".
Paul Hegarty rose to his feet.
"As Managing Director Designate", he started with a big grin, "I will introduce you to The GODS Corporation, Global Organisation for the Destruction of Society, bringer of pestilence to the world's major powers".
His audience chuckled, as he launched into his presentation.
"First, what sort of enterprise? Political?, Industrial?, Financial?...".
Knebworthy sat forward in his seat. The guys had delivered...
"... only criminal certain enough,...need a real business plan..."
Knebworthy's mouth fell open. The plan being proposed was exactly the proposition he had come up with, but in a level of detail he had only dreamed about.
"...need seed capital, Rashchid's father could... operating cash from drugs? prostitution?..."
Knebworthy smiled to himself. This was going to work if they all bought into it.
"...all-pervasive power is essential... political... financial... violence... coercion..."
"What about the competition? You don't think people like the Mafia will just let you take over their path do you?" Knebworthy smiled to himself. Typical of Dan Hegarty to put his brother on the spot.
"No, of course not bro. We need new suppliers, new customers, niches, like these..."
Two hours later, Knebworthy, the newly elected CEO of GDS Ltd (GODS had sounded too pretentious when they discussed going "legit") dismissed his board and set them loose on the world.
Ambition - A Power Broker Story"I don't care, Charles, we have to get rid of him. this is the third vote this month we've lost because of his bloody principles. If he's re-elected in May, I will probably resign myself."
"Stop worrying, Gregory, I've asked Dan here to do a little research."
Dan Hegarty looked up from his seat on the small sofa.
"I'd keep worrying, Gregory, if I were you. We've been over every aspect of his life, private, public, everythings clean. He, and indeed his wife Marion, have strong beliefs, go to church, and are totally principled about everything they do. Furthermore, they're well respected, loved even by their constituency members. These are no Neal and whatsit Hamiltons. Even if we fitted them up, the voters would support them. I don't know what we can do short of a car crash."
"OK," Sir Gerald boomed, I get the picture, but he has to go. Set Steve on him."
"What do you expect Steve to do. He can't kill him."
"No he can't, but Steve is creative, he'll think of a way".
"I'm sorry Julia, the committee has decided that Mr Collingham will stand for this constituency in the by-election. The committee wish you to know that they have the highest regard for the excellent work you have put in to helping this party over the past ten years, and they hope you will be able to continue. They also wish you to know that they would be willing to reconsider you in the future."
Julia Roberts gave the Chairman a long, hard, look. Nodding to him knowingly, she slowly stood up and headed for the door. Anger boiled within her. She had invested all her Post-grad life to this constituency and now she could have to wait for the rest of her life. Something else must be done. She turned back into the room.
"Look, Bill, if Mr Collingham gets elected, it could be years, or never before I get another chance here, so I have to look elsewhere. I know you have been one of my biggest supporters, so I really need some advice."
"You need a sponsor, in a word. Someone who can mentor you, and look after your future. There are very few such people around, and the ones there are are not easy to get to. You also need to know that they are often VERY demanding."
"So where do I go?"
"Regretfully, Julia, I really don't know but I'll keep my ear to the ground. If you need a reference call me, but otherwise, I don't know how I can help you.
Steve Washington sat back in the lounger by his pool, wearing nothing but a white towel draped across his midriff and a big white smile which almost split his handsome black face in two.
"I just love it when a plan comes together," he mused, unable to remember the film where he had first heard it. He had been thinking about Sir Geralds problem for several days and he now knew how to deal with it. He tapped a stream of numbers into the phone.
"Samuel? Steve! How you doing?"
On the other end of the phone, President Samuel Mwamba of Gujanga was delighted to hear from Steve. They had been friends for years at University, and were now partners in one of the most lucrative businesses in the world. Samuel provided the drugs which fuelled a string of highly profitable businesses across the world. GDS (Formally GODS - but that had sounded too pretentious when they went "legit") had been created as an umbrella company for activities in entertainment, leisure, manufacture, and services: all euphemisms for vice. Indeed it had been so successful that it was now a global conglomerate in it's own right. As head of Marketing, Steve Washington had provided access to Customers and Markets alike.
"I need a favour, Samuel, I was hoping to borrow Tembo for a couple of months, only I don't want anyone to know he is in England. Is he available? and if so, do you reckon we can smuggle him in as diplomatic baggage?"
"I'm sure he will be OK, let me know your arrangements, and I'll sort it all out".
Steve Washington outlined his plan...
"For Gods sake, Robert, how many times do I have to say it. I've made my decision. I must apply, it's my last shot."
"I know, but I still think you're wasting your time. The chairman has no idea, he's as useless as a chocolate teapot."
Julian knew her husband was right, but she had a consuming ambition, and determination was something she was not short of.
"Maybe so, but he says Sir Gerald Knebworthy is looking for a researcher, and he says that he has recommended me, so I am going to apply... and that's final. At worst a couple of years in London will be an experience, and with our sex life, let's face it we might as well be separated anyway."
"Look, you're my wife damn it! I should have something to say about it".
"OK, but we both have to face up to this. If I am ever going to become an MP, I will have to take this chance. It's ten years since I left University, and this is too good an opportunity to miss. If you want to stay married to me, you're going to have to accept the reality of a move to London. I don't want to leave you, but if I must, then I will. Why don't you take up Interbank's offer and move with me."
Robert Stewart looked morosely into his cup of coffee. He hated himself. He had married Julia because he could. Stunningly handsome, gifted, reasonably well off, he had the pick of the crop at Uni, and Julia had been his female equivalent. Whilst he, however, had been a quiet, laid-back student, she was much more focussed. A predator. When they met, it had been Julia who had made all the running, and though it was Robert who proposed marriage, he could never get rid of the suspicion that he had been led into it like a lamb to the slaughter. Over the years he had become dependent on her emotionally, but had found it impossible to satisfy her sexual needs. It wasn't because she was too demanding, it was something inside him that he didn't understand. She was supremely attractive, but making love was difficult for him, an effort requiring a level of concentration that he found uncomfortable. As a result their lovemaking was becoming increasingly sporadic.
"Sod it! I will then!"
His instant decision was uncharacteristic. He was an accomplished accountant, with all the natural caution that such a profession requires, so jumping off the deep end in this manner took both of them by surprise. Nevertheless, it was final, he was sure of that. He would do anything and everything to avoid losing her. For Julia, the decision also came as a great relief. In her case, however, it stemmed from her belief that marriage gave her the sort of dependable image that all politicians craved. As long as Robert was prepared to put up with the vagaries of being a politician's spouse, she would be free to get on with her career.
That evening they sat, side-by-side, filling out the forms that would shape the rest of their lives.
It was really dark as Marion Scott left the Church Hall. She always felt needed after her weekly visit to the single mothers club. The girls were all far too young to be looking after chidren, but their lack of experience had landed them in trouble, and Marion knew how to help them. It was simply a matter of gaining control over their life. After all, others could deal with it, why not them.
Her heels click-clacked across the empty carpark as she hurried towards her car. As she passed the concrete pillar next to her destination she never noticed the tall black man step out behind her. As she approached her car, he struck.
His hand came round her face and slapped a towel-like cloth across her mouth, making screaming impossible. At the same time, he pushed her violently face down onto the bonnet of her car. As she began to struggle, a knife, fully 9 inches long appeared in front of her face.
"If yer struggle, ah'll cut lumps out of you. Do you understand?" a voice hissed in her ear.
She nodded furiously, scared to death of what was about to happen.
"Whats yo name, bitch?"
"Marion" she sobbed
"Well Marion, were goin' to party."
"Please, I'm a good christian wife, I've never known a man other than my husband. Please leave me alone."
He could hardly hear what she was saying through the rudimentary gag. Not that it mattered much. He ignored her and pressed the knife none-too-gently against her neck, holding her tight to prevent her avoiding the pressure from the blade.
"Lift yer skirt like a good girl..."
Almost paralysed with fear she lay dormant across the car hood.
"I won't tell you again. lift it, and drop de tights."
Marion switched into autopilot. Her hands reached behind her and wriggled her pencil skirt up around her hips. She stared across the bonnet of the car at the concrete wall as she grasped the waistband of her tights and lowered them as far as her restricted arm movements would allow. Curiously detatched, she waited for the inevitable rape, murmuring an almost silent prayer for salvation. It was not about to come.
"Nice arse. Spread dem cheeks for me."
Marion genuinely had no idea what he wanted. She reached back and spread the lips of her labia, tears of embarrassment pouring down her face.
"Arse, bitch, not Cunt"
As she realised what he meant, Marion was paralysed with fear. She sprung to life as he delivered a mighty slap to her arse cheek, making her scream into her gag. Squeezing her eyes tight shut, she held her nether cheeks apart so that he could see her arsehole.
"Dat's better, now, let's see..."
Tears streamed down her face as his finger screwed itself into her rectum. He lowered his face to hers and whispered.
"Tell me you want me to fuck your arse, bitch."
Marion gritted her teeth and shook her head.
"Do it!" His knife pressed into the side of her breast as she felt it cut through her bra and pierce her flesh.
"Please! Stop!"
"Do it." The knife twisted again and pain shot through her.
"OK! ok. Please don't hurt me anymore."
"OK What? Say it!"
"Please, please, fuck my arse..."
"Mrs Stewart. Sir,"
"Ah, come in, my dear, sit."
The welcome was warm enough, she thought to herself, but the instruction to sit had been issued in a way that brooked no argument. She complied, smoothing down her skirt and crossing her ankles to reflect an ease which she did not feel. She smiled nervously in response to Sir Gerald Knebworthy's frank stare.
"Bill tell's me I should take your application seriously. Suppose you tell me why I should."
Julia began to talk, describing her education, upbringing, political experience and finally her ambition in an increasingly fluent manner as her nervousness wore off. She could see he was impressed, but as the interview wore on, it was clear to her that it was not just her ability that was firing his interest. His gaze would drift slowly down over her breasts, pause there before moving slowly on until, without embarrassment he would study her knees and legs with obvious admiration in his eyes. This man exuded the sort of power she yearned for. She would do anything to land this post. She made up her mind. Slowly, without breaking her speech, she uncrossed her ankles and deliberately recrossed her legs at the knee, making absolutely sure that he was unable to see between her legs, but causing her skirt to ride up, showing him an expanse of thigh with just a hint of stocking top. At the same time she leaned forward as she emphasised a point, giving him an enticing view of her cleavage. Sir Gerald, she knew, had picked up on the signal.
"And can you tell me what your long-term goal is?"
"I want to get into Parliament. I believe I can serve the community and want to make a difference."
Sir Gerald smiled quietly to himself. Recognising bullshit is all part of leadership, he thought to himself. This young woman wants power, and I might as well see how far she will go. For another twenty minutes or so, he slowly turned the conversation onto more personal issues. He led her into describing her frustration at her failure to get a nomination, her difficulties with her husband Robert, and finally to her attitude to the research job if he were to offer it to her. He liked what he heard, so moved in to test her resolve.
He pushed a small button under the desk, surreptitiously locking the office door.
"How important to you are your own opinions, Julia?"
Smelling a rat, Julia thought she was too careful to be caught by a question like that.
"I think your own opinions are important, but its also vital that you support the views expressed by your party and the people who make the policies."
"So, you know you will have to follow instructions?"
"Of course."
"Do you submit easily to discipline?"
Julia didn't like the way this was going, but had no option but to play his game if she were to succeed.
"I see it as essential that politicians reflect the policies of their parties. Political parties cannot operate without it."
"That's not quite what I asked. How readily will you submit to the will of your leaders?"
Julia was trapped. She knew it, he knew it. Now, it was clearly just a matter of time before he would test her compliance.
"IF I were to be elected as an MP," she stressed the IF in an attempt to make her answer conditional, "I would be prepared to do anything the party required of me."
"It's hot in here isn't it." he said, changing the subject. "Give me your jacket."
Julia didn't even hesitate. The jacket was in her hand, being offered to him before she realised she had responded to a direct order. This was proving more difficult than she imagined. She sat still, feeling the pressure of his gaze as he surveyed the swell of her breast under her white blouse. She felt the colour rise in her cheeks.
"Why do you keep avoiding the subject of discipline. Either you will submit to the party whip or you won't. Stand up!"
Julia got to her feet as Sir Gerald walked in front of her and leaned against the desk.
"You've got nice legs. Show them to me!"
Julia looked into his eyes, placed the palms of her hands on her thighs and began to slide her skirt up her legs. If the bastard wanted a show, she would give him one. Her skirt reached her stocking tops, at which point she paused. Sir Gerald said nothing, but flicked his eyes upwards urging her to continue. The skirt cleared the pale beige stocking tops, and revealed the flushed pink of her thighs. Still he wasn't satisfied. The skirt continued it's journey revealing a glimpse of her white silk camiknickers.
"I'm glad to see you came dressed for the occasion" Sir Gerald offered as she followed his signal to raise the skirt still higher. She was now holding it rolled in a band around her waist, waiting for his next move. When it came it worried her even more. A riding crop appeared as if by magic in his hand.
"I know the whip is a formal name for falling under party discipline in Parliament, but in this office I take it a little more literally. Spread you legs Mrs Stewart."
Julia did as she was told. She knew there was no way back. His use of her married name simply reinforced his power over her and the mixture of fear and excitement were beginning to have their impact on her response. She felt her pelvic area begin to flush, and her juices begin to flow. Sir Gerald leaned forward and inserted the crop into one leg of her knickers. She gasped as the end made contact with her lubricated slit. He leaned forward and pulled the her underwear down to her knees. As the cool office air played around her cunt, he waved the crop upwards. The small, flexible end flicked her clit sending shards of pain shooting through her body. Julia yelped and took a step backwards and her knickers fell to her ankles. Sir Gerald was unmoved.
"Get back here! Legs apart"
She shuffled forwards, into the ungainly position she had previously occupied, tears of embarrassment and pain sliding down her cheeks.
"Behave like that again, and I will give the job to someone more in control."
Julia couldn't believe it. How could someone possibly take that without flinching. She found out. He waved the crop again. She gritted her teeth, closed her eyes and gave a whimper as the same pain coursed through her body, but this time, she did not step back. Sir Gerald raised the crop and stroked it gently down her cheek.
"You see! You will soon learn what it takes to get on with me. Now! Hands on your head please."
Julia did as bidden. On his next command she leaned forwards until her forehead rested on the edge of the desk. She waited in trepidation for the crop to fall. It didn't.
"Nice arse, Mrs Stewart," he commented. His hand caressed each buttock in turn, pausing as it passed over the intervening anal crease. She waited, holding her position for the invasion she was now sure would come.
A knock on the office door broke the tension.
"Come in!"
Julia was astonished. He couldn't surely allow visitors to see her like this, bent over the desk, knickers round her knees.
"It's locked Sir" called his secretary from beyond the door.
"Sorry" Sir Gerald stepped behind the desk, pushed the concealed button and called her in. Julia stayed glued to the desk, her face crimson with embarrassment as the secretary close the door and walked across the floor towards her.
"What do you think of Mrs Stewart?" he asked to Julia's consternation. The secretary's hand caressed the cheeks of her arse where a few moments before her boss had done the same.
"Very nice Sir," she said as she slowly screwed her finger into Julia's anal orifice. "Do you think she will cope with the pressure?"
"I'm willing to take the risk, Gloria, What do you think?"
"I think you're right sir, as always..."
"Excellent! Thats OK then. Thank you Mrs Stewart, we will be in touch."
Julia couldn't believe her ears. She stood up and looked across to where Gloria and her boss were deep in conversation, ostentatiously ignoring her. She bent down to pick up her knickers.
"Leave those, I will keep them for now"
Julia lowered her skirt, gathered up her jacket, and backed out of the room. Totally shocked and humiliated, she was nevertheless sure that her career had just taken a step change for the better.
Behind her, Sir Gerald smiled at his secretary. "Better type up the offer letter, Gloria, Oh and get Dan to do a full security check on her husband."
Justin Scott was a very worried man. Whatever it was that was worrying Marion, it was having a serious impact on their relationship. She had, over the past few weeks turned decidedly cool. She never smiled, and her visits to Church had become much more frequent and intense. Any attempt on his part to help was simply dismissed. It was already dark as he waved to his wife, loped off down the drive, climbed into his car and set off for his constituency meeting, leaving Marion to drive herself to yet another church meeting.
Behind him, Marion Scott nervously checked around her as she dashed to her car. Since the attack, she never went out alone apart from her Church visits. Her reluctance to discuss it with Justin gave her a constant feeling of guilt. Could she trust him? What would he say? She knew it hadn't been her fault, but she felt unclean, and unable to talk to anyone about her feelings. She climbed in the car and closed the door.
"Good Evenin' Marion"
She stopped. Rigid with fear and shock, she stared in the mirror at the black face over her shoulder.
"What do you want" she screamed.
"Quiet, bitch, you knows what I want. And I knows what you want as well."
"Leave me alone, you're sick. If you leave now I won't tell anyone."
"If I stay you won't tell anyone either."
She sat still, knowing that what he said was true. She was scared, and knew what was about to happen. There was nothing she could do about it. He reached over and pressed the seat recline button on the console. The whirr of the electric motor temporarily drowned out the thumping heartbeat in her chest as it slid the seat down and backwards, leaving her horizontal, on her back, looking up at her assailant. He absent mindedly ran a hand inside the neck of her blouse, down beneath her bra, and squeezed her breast. The other casually flipped the safety belt release, freeing her from it's constraint.
"Why don't you leave me alone?" she sobbed, "Why me?"
"You know what we both want. Ask me!"
He made a small rotating motion with his hand. She did as she was told and rolled over onto her front.
"She did, but couldn't bring herself to say it."
"Look bitch! get on your knees, lift your skirt, drop your pants and ask me to fuck your arse! NOW!"
All resistance left her. Like an automaton she followed his instructions to the letter. The blank look of shock on her face full testimony to her complete subservience. She gasped as the cold evening air wafted round her bare arse.
"I won't tell you again! ASK ME!"
"PLEASE... f f fuck me "
"Try again"
"Please fuck my arse"
"Good girl, you really are learning."
She heard the swish of his zip and felt him struggle over the seat and, in the confined space to take position, kneeling between her legs, forcing her knees apart and rubbing his hand up and down her crack. To her horror, she realised that she was aroused enough to provide lubrication for his massive dick. Despite his difficulty coping with the small space around him, he coated his tool in her juice, and with some squeezing and pushing, lodged it in her rectum. Her resistance folded and his dick slid effortlessly into the depths of her bowels.
"Ohhh Ohhh Ohh." She moaned involuntarily as he began to thrust his hips rhythmically against her rear. Last time, the act was all pain. This time she began to feel the glow of arousal on her cheeks. The thought of offering herself in this way offended all her beliefs, but there was no doubt in her mind this time, that the whole experience was changing her view of life completely. To her complete surprise, she orgasmed at the same time as her attacker, falling on to her face, her hands gripping the sides of the seat beneath her. He pulled himself out, moved awkwardly back to her head, and presented his dick to her face.
"Now, Bitch, clean me up."
She looked up at him quizzically, but any thoughts of refusal were now far from her mind. She opened her lips and took his length between them.
When he left ten minutes later, vanishing into the darkness, Marion lay still, face down in her car, tears of humiliation wetting the fabric beneath her. She struggled to her knees, opened the door, and staggered half clothed back across the drive to her front door.
When Justin returned, 3 hours later, she was still in the bath, weeping silently to herself in emotional turmoil.
Robert Stewart was confused. The pounding beat of the dance music - garage? - drummed into his head as he peered through the clouds of fake smoke at the dancing throng. He'd been at the Bank for three months now, commuting in and out, setting off at 6.00am and not getting home until 9. Julia and he hardly ever got time together these days, and whilst they still enjoyed each other's company, he was surprised that he didn't miss the fact that they hadn't made love since they moved to the city. The guys at work were a nice bunch, especially young Jeremy, who had been a great help showing him the ropes. Tonight, Julia was working late, so Jeremy had offered to help him sample the night life.
This was the third club they had been to, and Robert was beginning to feel the pressure. A steady flow of fruit flavoured vodka had made him light headed, but he was still aware enough of his surroundings to recognise that most of the couples dancing were young men. Strangely, he was quietly amused rather than shocked, and he found himself thinking about joining in. Jeremy appeared through the crowd, towing a striking young hispanic-looking man in his wake.
"ROBERT" he shouted above the din. "THIS IS MANOLO."
Minutes later, Robert was in the thick of things, head shaking, body twitching, with Manolo doing a passable impression of a half pissed girlfriend on a night out with her mates. His languid movements were performed with particular elegance, and Robert began to sway along in tandem. Justin appeared at his shoulder with another round of drinks, shouting loudly to make himself heard. As Robert drank, and danced, the noise seemed to get further away, and it wasn't long before he clutched Manolo's arm and lurched towards the small alcoved seating area. Manolo put a protective arm around Roberts shoulder just as he slumped into the seat and fell over, his face in Manolo's lap.
How long he stayed there he didn't know, but he opened his eyes to see the most surreal of sights. Only inches away from his face, Robert cold make out the shape of a massive dick. Staring at the thing as it slowly came into focus, he tried to raise himself. Something pressing on his head held him close to the huge organ, and for some reason - he had no ideas why - he felt an uncontrollable urge to kiss it. He leaned forward, placed his lips over the bell-end, and drew almost the whole length of it into his mouth. Above him, Manolo stroked the back of his head with one hand, and made the diver's sign for OK, a circle formed by thumb and first finger, to a young man with a camera at the bar. Robert had solved the mystery of his low sex drive. He never noticed the flash.
Julia was beginning to get fractious when the call came. Fourteen months she had worked for Sir Gerald. Instead of being at the centre of politics, she had found herself assigned to a small research team of pseudo-librarians, soulless, with no imagination, and dumped in an office eight miles from Westminster. The only saving grace was that she had only met Sir Gerald a couple of times, both in public places with no opportunity for him to repeat his treatment of her. Her report, questions posed by recent computer secrecy legislation, was as dry as all the other subjects she had worked on. The door to her office opened, and the tousled head of Miss Pringle, her boss, appeared round the woodwork.
"Sir Gerald needs your report urgently, please get it to him."
"I'll call a courier."
"No! he wants you to take it yourself."
Julia looked at her, brain in overdrive. Minutes later - it was actually half an hour, but it felt like minutes - she was standing in front of "Wonderbra" Gloria, clutching her report like a naughty schoolgirl. She offered it to the glamorous secretary, embarrassed by her casual attire of Jeans and Polo-necked jumper.
"Thank you". Gloria took the report, and very deliberately placed it in the bottom drawer of her desk.
"Please go in."
Julia looked at her quizically, knocked on the heavy oak door and responed to the command to "enter".
Sir Gerald sat behind his huge desk, legs splayed, a big cigar in his lips. Only when she entered the room did she notice the two other men. One of them, a tall, handsome man in his late thirties/early forties seated on the small sofa to one side of the office, she recognised from previous deliveries to Westminster. The other stood at the drinks cabinet pouring three large brandies into crystal baloons.
Leela
- 26.07.2021
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