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It's all about image


ITS ALL ABOUT IMAGE - A POWER BROKER story
An entertainment for Adults only. By James Anderton.

The following story is for the entertainment of ADULTS ONLY, and
contains descriptions of explicit sex. If you are not an adult, or reading
sex stories upset you, do not read any further.

------------------------------------------------ Previous stories in the
POWER BROKER Series are:

A Crude Business The Ambassador's wife Vengeance Ambition

Also by James Anderton

For Love of France -------------------------------------------------

PROLOGUE: AUTUMN 1987 - ENGLAND

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.

=========================

ITS ALL ABOUT IMAGE - A POWER BROKER story
LONDON - 1989

All business receptions were the same these days. The drinks always
flowed, each host desperate to provide the most innovative cocktail.
Platesful of fingerfood were just as boring. They were either raw
vegetables to demonstrate health awareness, or the most implausible
concoctions to demonstrate creativity. In either case, she always passed.
As founder and head of Ames-Rassmussen, Ingeborg Rasmussen knew the score.
PR was about contacts. People respected her. She would have preferred
liked to respected, but few of her clients ever got to know her. She
always succeeded, and though no one could accuse her of being stand-offish,
her cool exterior helped to calm ragged nerves, exude confidence and always
helped smooth the path to a contract.

She was fighting boredom as usual, her welcoming smile pasted to her
face as she swanned her way around the crowd, glad handing here, small
snippets of ego-building complements there. One of her A-list propects,
Henry Jeavons MP was standing in the corner, facing into the room, deep in
conversation with a tall man whose back prevented her catching Jeavon's
eye. She moved closer. Jeavons looked up and spotted her approach.

"Inge, my dear, how lovely to see you."

"And you, Mr Jeavons. I didn't know you would be here today, it's
really a pleasant surprise."

"Indeed it is for me too. May I introduce my friend Mr Paul Hegarty?"

Inge looked up into the bronzed face and bright blue eyes of the most
beautiful man she had ever seen. He literally took her breath away.
Speechless, she tried to compose herself and offered her hand. He ignored
it, but smiled and offered her a drink.

"No thank you. I wave a glass, but rarely drink on duty."

"Then I will get you one another time when you are not." It was a
statement, not a request. "Excuse me, I can see you need to talk." With
that, he turned away and joined the group of people to his left, exchanging
friendly greetings with all, and more intimate ones with a few, mainly
good-looking ladies. Inge was astonished. She was truly annoyed that he
had moved away so quickly. men didn't do that to her. Several times over
the next couple of hours she found herself searching for his face. Each
time she found it, he was deep in animated conversation with a vivacious
woman. Eventually she tried again and failed. He had gone without saying
goodbye. Then, she thought to herself, why should he say goodbye, they had
only spoken a couple of sentences.

=========================

The plan was simple but different. Providing hookers to influential
people was a staple diet for organised crime, and if GDS were to expand
it's own influence it would have to be in that market. The other issue was
the market itself. Paul's plan was audatious in the extreme. The vice
trade operated by supplying young women and boys to people willing to pay.
GDS already had enough income from prostitution, several projects were
already reaping benefits. The GDS objective was power. The most powerful
people could afford a hundred street hookers, where was the attraction of
that. What they would really appreciate was fucking a recognisable
somebody, especially if they were also married to a famous face. It would
appeal to the egotistical side that all such people had to their character.
An experience was not enough, it had to be truly memorable. What better
than sleeping with a film star or top model.

"Sonia could do it."

"No. Sonia's needed elsewhere looking after our coke business. And
besides, we need a completely legitimate business to act as cover. I think
we need someone from outside. Someone with a track record in business. I
want this to be a professional operation - quite different from traditional
escort agency stuff. Can you imagine it. 10k for a dirty weekend with
Madonna, or britney Spears?"

"I suspect you would have to promise marriage and untold riches to get
women like that."

"Maybe so, but they all have weaknesses, buttons to push. It's just a
matter of finding the right ones. Anyway, to return to the matter in hand,
I've had a headhunter looking for a candidate for us, and they've come up
with three we should look at."

Dan Hegarty looked at the three plain green folders his brother passed
to him and began to read.

"Looks like we have two certainties bro, let's get these two in."

Paul looked across at him with a faint smile on his face. "Why only
two? What's wrong with the third?"

"Well, this one runs her own catering company, is still in her mid
thirties, good enough looking, and has a penchant for having sex at
parties. Sounds like the perfect choice - we could even use the catering
company as cover."

"True."

"This second one looks an even better proposition. She has experience
of the gambling business, ran her own Casino in Vegas, is still only in her
early forties and looks the part. Very Tidy!"

"Also True. So why not the third? She runs the biggest PR Agency in
London for gods sake, and she's only twenty eight."

"Well, frankly she looks too much of a challenge. She is stunning to
look at, I'll grant you. but she has a reputation. I've met her. She is
completely work focussed, only interested in making money and has no
interest in sex. They don't call her the Ice Maiden for nothing.

"Let's interview any of the three that exhibits interest. You take the
Caterer and Gambler, and I'll tackle the Ice Maiden. Set the interviews
for three weeks time, and lets issue the invites in two. That should be
long enough for us to figure out whether or not they would be interested."

"OK Paul, but I'm gonna have more fun than you. Enjoy the Ice Maiden."

Paul smiled to himself as Dan left. A bit of brotherly rivalry was good
for the soul. Reaching into his desk drawer, he extracted a single sheet
of paper and replaced it where it had been earlier - in the Ice Maiden's
file. Unknown to Dan, Paul had already started doing his homework. What
Dan didn't know, he wouldn't miss......."

======================== Inge sat on the bench in the Public Library.
She had passed Paul Hegarty in the street outside, and on impulse followed
him in. She now had the problem of how to attract his attention. The last
thing she wanted to do was walk up and ask him to shag her. A film came
into her head. Angie dickenson dropping her glove in "Dressed to kill".
Her intended lover had picked it up, followed her out to her taxi, got in
the back with her and given her the big one. It might work for her.

Paul knew she was ready by the way she followed him inside. He was in
no hurry. If she was prepared to go to this trouble to be near him, she
would make the next move as well. As she stood up from the bench and
headed for the door, her car keys rattled across the library floor. She
made no move to retrieve them even though she must have been alerted by the
noise. Pauls next move was obvious.

Pretending not to hear her keys fall wasn't easy. To Inge, it sounded
like someone had kicked over a dustbin, but no-one looked up from their
books. When she got to the door, she risked a surreptitious look
backwards. Her keys were missing ...... and so was he. So far so good.

The walk to her car seemed interminable, she moved deliberately neither
dawdling too much in case it became too obvious, nor rushing to get it over
with. At the car door she stopped and went through an elaborate pretense
of failing to find her keys. Her sigh of reief when he appeared from
nowhere and dangled them in front of her was nothing to do with finding her
keys. Her plan seemed to be working perfectly. Steeling herself she
swivelled to face her saviour.

"Thank you! Oh, it's Mr Hegarty isn't it?" she gushed.

"Indeed, Ms Rassmussen?"

He leaned across her to open the door. The smell of his cologne drifted
to her nose as his face passed within inches of hers. She had to force
herself not to close the gap and kiss it.

"Please!" he said, indicating her seat with an extravagent wave of his
hand.

She sat, knees primly together, feet on the kerb, and looked up at him
with what she hoped was a "come hither" look.

"I think I shall take you to lunch to buy that drink I offered"

Not knowing how to repond to such a direct instruction from a man she
hardly knew, she decided to stall for time and swung her legs into the car.
Or at least she would have done had he not deftly stood on the toe of one
shoe. The effect was humiliating for Inge. One leg travelled as intended
into the footwell of the car. The other remained pinned to the pavement,
splaying her legs, causing her dress to ride up her thighs, and giving any
passers-by an uninterrupted view of her stocking tops and janet Reger
camiknickers. If she expected him to take advantage of the situation she
was disappointed. His eyes never left hers. Over his shoulder, she could
see a couple of youths nudging each other at the show she was being forced
to put on. She felt the colour rise to her cheeks as one of the boys made
wanking gestures to his mate. Still Paul's eyes never left hers.

"... be there at twelve thirty. I may be late, but wait....."

She snapped out of her reverie as she felt his foot innocuously slide
off hers, releasing her leg to swiftly join it's partner. Looking down,
she read the card he had put in her hand. She knew the Cafe Parisienne.
She would not be late.

======================== THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!..... The bass drummed
through his head, the flashing lights drilling into his eyeballs.

"This is definitely not my scene, must be getting old," he mused. In
truth, Dan Hegarty was in his element. He had always been a party animal and exuded the natural aura of someone used to scoring in such an
environment. He leaned casually against the door frame, his eyes scanning
the room with apparent boredom. He caught the eye of several winsome and
interested women before finally spotting his target. Claire Brady was
small but, in the words of a similarly vertically challenged well known
comedian, perfectly formed. She sported a short bob of bright auburn hair,
streaked with dark red which, coupled with her small pointed features gave
her an attractive pixie-like appearance. He knew from her file that she
was married, but the absence of a wedding ring suggested that wouldn't be
an issue. For a brief second their eyes met across the floor. He smiled,
holding eye contact until he forced her to avert her gaze, noting with
satisfaction the small smile she allowed herself as she turned away. Now
it was just a matter of time.

Two hours later, she allowed herself to be led by the hand into an
upstairs bedroom.

She loved parties. The music, drink, sometimes other substances, all
heightened her anticipation for her real turn-on - Sex. She had married too early in life,at 19. Fortunately she had chosen well. Her husband,
Rick, was more interested in his Rugby and Golf pals, but was comfortably
well-off. His small inheritance removed any fear that he, or she, would
ever need money but she needed her own life. As Ricks interests focussed
more on the lads, she found herself doing more of the girlie things with
her own mates, clubbing, parties, getting drunk, gambling and eventually,
screwing around. A chance encounter with an alcoholic businessman led to
her biggest gamble, buying out his small catering company. Although
providing the funds, Rick could never understand her need to have purpose
in her life. He was a misogynistic bastard at heart. Sure, her business
was struggling, but the time to worry about that was tomorrow. Tonight she
had other priorities.

As the door closed behind them, he took her in his arms and kissed her.
She could feel his surprise as she mashed her lips against his, and ran her
hand across the front of his trousers in response. He lifted her by the
waist, raising her off the floor. Turning around, he carried her over to
the bed and lowered her, none too gently onto it. They both smiled at each
other as he slowly removed his shirt and unbuckled his belt. His trousers
fell to the floor, leaving him standing in a pair of boxers, every inch the
conquering male. He flipped her legs up, grasped her tiny knickers and
pulled them off. If the speed of their removal surprised her, it was
nothing to the shock of his next action. He swiftly knelt down, thrust his
face between her stocking tops, and coverd her already damp sex with his
mouth. The sensation was fantastic. Immediately his tongue began to tease
her clitoris, and the suction created by his mouth forced her to juice up
more than she ever thought possible. A long moan burst from her throat as
she pushed her hips at his thrusting tongue.

He stood up, gave her no time to recover, pulled her down the bed until
her legs, splayed, hung off the end on either side of him, lowered himself
on to her and thrust deep into her cunt.

"OOphh Give it to me, give it to me...."

She couldn't think of anything else to say. He began to pound in to
her, the end of his huge dick bumping against her cervix, until first one,
then a second climax coursed through her jerking torso. She bit her lip to
stifle her cry of delight, drawing blood as her teeth sank into her
engorged lower lip. Her long moan of pleasure slowly turned into panting
gratitude as he brought her to a shuddering finish.

"God", she thought to herself, "I just love this!"

=========================

Vanessa Draper was nervous. She was a beautiful girl. Short, dark,
small delicate features set off by a pair of the largest dark blue eyes you
have ever seen. She was the sort of girl who could stop traffic. She
didn't ought to be nervous, but she was.

Three years ago, she would have expected to be nervous. Then she was
straight out of drama school, one of hundreds of budding starlets looking
for her big break. It had come in the most unexpected fashion. She had
been invited to join the audience in a television pop music show by a
friend and had been spotted by a scout looking for new talent. An
audition, an interview, and she landed a small part in a new soap opera
"City Slickers" centred on the City of London, or "the square mile" as it
was known. The lure of the wheeling and dealing in the world's greatest
financial centre proved irresistable, and the soap took off big time. At
the same time, Vanessa proved not only to be the most beautiful actress in
the cast, but also to have that indefineable quality that makes the camera love you. Her role grew. Vanessa was the Soap Star of the moment.

Still, she was nervous. When Inge had told her about the interview, she
had been pretty blase about it. Now, as she sat outside the hotel room
waiting to meet them, it was a different matter. The door opened and one
of the most recognisable faces in Hollywood appeared.

"Miss Draper? we can see you now".

=========================

Twelve-thirty he had said. It was now One-thirty. Much as she wanted
to see him, she had a meeting at two. Taking a last look around, and
seeing no Mr Hegarty, she gathered her bag, paid the bill for the coffee
she had been nursing, stood up, and made her way to the door.

Across the street, Paul Hegarty noted her leaving with quiet amusement.
He had spent the last hour leaning on the corner waiting to test her
commitment. It was time to turn the screw. He pushed off the wall and
strode purposefully across the street, every inch a committed host late for
a lunch date. He arrived a split second after she had closed the door
behind her, and set off back to the office, stuffing the receipt in her
small bag. She looked up just as they collided.

"Oh! It's you. I thought you had forgotten. I was just on my way back
to the office."

He smiled at her with condescention all over his face.

"I told you I might be late. I also told you to wait didn't I."

"Yes, you did."

"In that case it only seems right that you be punished. Meet me here
again tomorrow. Same time. Don't be late, oh!, he paused, make sure you
leave your underwear in the office or you will never get your drink."

Her mouth opened in astonishment, but he turned and was gone, leaving
her looking like a fish out of water, her mouth opening and closing, but no
words of indignation coming out.

=========================

"Left a bit, a bit more, just a tad, that's it. Great!"

Mike Levine was getting good at this. He was a brilliant photographer
who had carved a serious career for himself in the glamour and Porn market.
Mark Harrison, head of security at GDS had recruited him early on, and now,
here he was exercising his not inconsiderable skills on a new venture.

The house was a mansion. It had fourteen suites, several bedrooms,
pool, Sauna, steam room, Snooker room, and a small cinema/theatre. Now,
with the positioning of the final camera, all but two of the rooms were
fully wired for film and sound. No-one but Mark, Mike himself, and
Napoleon (Boney to his friends) Wiltshire, his trusty helper and stud, knew
the location of the cameras, and it was going to stay that way.

The mansion, deep in the Sussex countryside was owned by a wealthy Arab
on behalf of GDS, but he had never been there. Officially, the house was
leased to Hugo Challenor, famously wild man of the acting profession, who
used the house simply as a location for one long round of parties for the
rich and famous. In reality it was a GDS honey trap with Challenor the
front man, Mark Harrison's creation for scandal generation.

Of the two rooms not covered by cameras, one was the Loft appartment,
whose use was restricted only to those people who had Paul Hegarty's
personal approval. It was usually empty. The other was where Mike now
made his way. A discrete security system limited access to a small room
tucked away at the back of the house. No one would find it if they were
not invited. Two of the four walls were covered in tv monitors and banks
of recording equipment. From here, Mike Levine was master of his kingdom.
Ruler of his technological empire, Mike had more than two hundred cameras
at his disposal. Nothing would happen in this house without Mike knowing
about it. He walked across to the main isolation box and powered up his
control room.

"We have lift off!" he muttered under his breath. "Let the games
begin."

=========================

Dan and Paul sat together in Paul's Canary Wharf office discussing the
events of the past two weeks.

"So why don't we interview Casino lady?"

Dan looked slightly abashed as he answered.

"Well, there were two reasons really."

"Mmm"

"The first was that I found a couple of names in her flat. I recognised
one of them as Vegas Mafiosi, so that slowed me down for a start."

"And the second?"

"This is embarassing."

"I don't care. Tell me."

"OK", but don't laugh."

Paul looked slightly bemused, but nodded his agreement, waiting for his
brothers revelations.

"Well, when we got back to her hotel room, she excused herself to get
changed. That's when I looked round and noticed the names. She came back
into the room and fell straight into my arms, so I had no trouble screwing
her, quite the contrary in fact."

"I'm all ears."Paul smiled.

"Well I kissed her. When I ran my hands up to grab her arse, she starts
panting. I'm not joking it sounded like a dog in heat. and it gets worse.
I strip off and stick my dick up her cunt. She loves it, just like we
expected she would, but suddenly I hear this noise. It sounds like someone
had started up a buzz saw, a low quiet rattle with a background hum. I had
never heard a noise like it. The next thing, the volume starts going up,
and I realise its coming from her. I only poke her a couple of times
before the hum becomes a full blooded wail, and by the time I get some
speed up she's screaming at the top of her voice. The noise was fucking
awful."

"Is that it?" Paul started to chuckle as the story unfolded.

"Not likely!" The screaming gets louder and louder. The guy next door
starts banging on the wall. Then the guy on the other side starts banging
on HIS wall shouting "Shut the fuck up" or something similar. Well I'd had
enough by then, but she wouldn't shut up. She starts doing railway whistle
impressions, and someone from the Hotel staff starts banging on the door
telling her to shut up because she's disturbing the other guests.

Paul by this time was helpless, tears of mirth running down his cheeks.

"Anyway I thought if I got off her, she would quieten down. Fat Chance!
While I'm struggling into my trousers, she's giving it the five finger
shuffle. Whole fucking hand in up to the wrist. Honest Paul, any self
respecting bloke would run a mile, and I did. I sprinted out the door and
legged it fast.

"Guess you decided not to invite her for seconds then? laughed Paul,
regaining at least a vestige of control."

"Too right"

The two sat in silence trying their best to acquire sufficient dignity
to sensibly discuss their options with the other two women. Dan had been
completely won over by Claire Brady. He was sure that Paul would agree.
She was up for it, and would be ideal. In the meantime, Pauls investment
in Ingeborg Rassmussen had convinced him and he was coming to the same
conclusion about her. It took them only a few minutes to make their
decision. Do both!. Claire could run a catering company where the
waitresses would offer the full service, and if Inge passed her final test,
she could run the exclusive executive service as an extension to her PR
Portfolio.

"In that case, why don't you get Claire started. Saturday's party would
be ideal. We will only need a few girls, and Sonja will be able to provide
them. In the meantime, I will finish checking out our PR Lady."

"OK! Consider it done. Are you going to the party?"

"No. Leave that to the boys. I think it's best to keep our distance
don't you?"

"Yeah your right, but it's a pity eh?"

=========================

It had been a long morning for Ingeborg Rassmussen. She sat behind her
large desk staring into space. Her secretary had been so concerned she had
cancelled Inge's appointments for the morning without being asked. She
knew she had to decide now. It would take her exactly twenty minutes to
reach the cafe once she left, so she had to make her mind up. She decided!
She wouldn't be treated like that by any man. In a highly agitated state
she went for a pee. Sitting in the confines of the toilet stall, the
gushing of the warm liquid did nothing to put her mind at rest. She stared
at the knickers lying in a heap around her ankles. In that moment she knew
she would succumb. It was the second time that morning she had made such a
decision. When she had dressed in the morning, she had decided to wear a
loose jumper which disguised the fact that she had left off her bra. She
didn't want anyone in the office noticing that she had removed it at
lunchtime, they might rightly assume the worst. At least, as she stuffed
her knickers in her bag, no-one would notice she had left them off.
No-one, that is, but that damned Paul Hegarty. At 12.30am she was outside
the cafe. In a reversal of yesterday's role, Paul came out as she
approached.

"Glad you could make it. Follow me!"

She tailed behind him like some family pet until they reached a dark
metallic green Porsche at the curb. He walked round to the passenger seat
and held open the door. As she lowered herself into the seat it was
impossible to hide her nakedness from him. This time he did not look into
her eyes. He stood back and gave her legs an admiring gaze all the way
from her slightly parted knees up to her womanhood itself. Without comment
he closed the door, walked swiftly round to the driver's side and climbed
in.

He drove steadily into the city for the few minutes it took to reach a
carpark at the base of a tall steel and glass tower. They entered the
elevator, where he extracted a small key from his pocket and used it to
operate an unmarked button at the top of the control panel. When he spoke,
it was with his usual perfunctory manner.

"Take off your blouse and skirt."

She looked at him with an unspoken plea in her eyes. "Don't make me do
this" was what she was thinking, but no words came out. As the elevator
doors closed she slipped off her blouse, and dropped her skirt, leaving
herself standing in nothing more than hold-up stockings and high heels.

"Face the corner." She did so, as the elevator began it's journey
skywards. Judging by the regular "pings" at each floor, they were about
half way up when the lift came to a stop.

"Stay!"

She did so. Looking in the reflection of the polished steel panels she
could see people moving past. None gave her a glance. As the door started
to close, horror of horrors, a young woman hugging a bundle of files to her
chest rushed into the confined space between her and Paul.

"Good morning Janice."

"Good morning Mr Hegarty."

Inge couldn't believe it. Although the girl was looking intently at her
bare arse, from the conversation you would not have known that Inge was
there. Her face, by now, was the colour of beetroot with embarrassment and
her relief was palpable when the elevator finally stopped, and Janice got
out.

At the next stop, Paul summoned her to get out herself. The door opened
into the lobby of an opulent penthouse suite furnished in the finest timber
and fabrics. As she looked around her, Paul stood behind, smiling. Any
moment now her conversion from Ice-maiden businesswomen to his plaything
would be complete.

He placed his hands on her shoulders and guided her across the plush
carpet, through a door and into what turned out to be a bedroom, dominated
by a huge bed at least two metres in any direction.Still without speaking,
he stood her against the bed and pushed her gently until she knelt on the
floor, bent over the end of the bed. He made no attempt at conversation as
he removed his clothes, leaving Inge sweating with anticipation as she
waited for the fucking she thought was coming.

The blow, when it came, took her completely by surprise. The pain was
incredible. He struck her across her buttock just once with the flat of
his hand, causing her to scream in pain. As she cried out, she tensed
herself waiting for the next one. Instead, he knelt beside her and gently
began to massage the bright red imprint he had left on her white skin.

"Next time I give you an instruction, you will know how to comply won't
you."

His words, whispered gently to her, seemed like a caress.

"I will" she whispered through her tears in return. The thought of not
doing so never crossed her mind.

As his penis nudged gently at her opening, she could only regard the
thought of it as reward. She knew how to behave for him, and the wonderful
feeling as he slowly entered her would guarantee her subservience for as
long as he wanted her. The slickness of her cunt eased his progress as the
huge dick slowly found it's way deep inside her. Her muscles tightened as
she responded to the beautiful invasion, alternately squeezing and relaxing
as she warmed to his presence. He slowly wound up the pace. the heat in
her groin began to affect the rest of her as she felt her arousal reaching
bursting point. Faster and faster he began to pump in and out of her quim.
Laying with her face in the bedcovers, Inge took a mouthful of fabric and
bit down hard, fighting to contain the orgasm which was about to break.
Still he speeded up. His rhythmical pounding asgainst her arse could be
contained no longer. She felt like she would die.She couldn't breath, it
was as though her lungs had shut down. All four limbs went in to spastic
seizure, jerking uncontrollably as orgasm after orgasm ripped through her,
and he spent inside her.

He was the perfect gentleman. Taking her gently by the hand, he led her
to the shower, where they made slow languorous love together, each taking
obvious pleasure in the ministrations of the other. Afterwards he dressed
her, making his selection from a closet containing the most beautiful
designer clothes. After a gourmet meal served en-suite, he drove her home,
leaving her at the front door with a chaste kiss.

"Come to my office tomorrow. 3.30pm." He didn't need to add "Don't be
late."

She knew she would be there.

========================= The proposition was simple. One of Paul's
people would call the agency and book a celebrity to appear at a particular
function providing an escort to a major player of some sort. Businessman,
Politician, anyone wanting a high profile companion. Inge knew this was
normal, what was the big deal. When Paul described what would be expected
afterwards, she almost had apoplexy.

"You can't ask Stars to do that! For gods sake it would be the end of
their careers if it were to get out. There is no way any of my stars will
agree to that."

"Inge. I own you and your company don't I."

"Yes!"

"Then when I tell you something what do you do?"

"What I am told."

"Good girl. Now! Follow me."

He led the way into a small room. A screen on one wall was faced by a
small gathering of comfortable sofas and chairs. Paul indicated a chair,
and Inge sat down, a puzzled expression on her face.

At his signal, the lights dimmed, and a flickering image appeared on the
screen. For a couple of minutes, Inge absorbed the atmosphere of the party
she was watching. Although it was a real, spontaneous party, it was filmed
by a professional, and would not have looked out of place in a television
play. She recognised several of the attendees as actors, pop musicians,
singers, and artists from her own books. The camera cut to an intimate
discussion going on in one corner of the main room. A young arab was
engaged in deep conversation with Vanessa Draper, one of Inge's most valued
clients. The boy on the screen took Vanessa by the hand and led her from
the room.

Inge glanced sideways. Paul sat expressionless looking at Inge's
reaction as the film unfolded. Quizzically she returned her gaze to the
screen.

Vanessa and the arab were in a new room, a small bedroom. Although the
lights were dimmed, or even off, the film was crystal clear and showed the
youth leaning against the wall waving a small polythene bag between his
fingertips. Vanessa was laughing , playfully wrestling with him as she
tried to grab the bag from his fingers. He raised his other hand and
wagged his finger from side to side in silent admonishment.

"Naughty! Naughty!" she heard clearly as they smiled at each other.

"OK you win. You can have it."

"Thank you Jamal, thank you."

"Hey, not so fast. I will serve it to you."

"Ok, I'll find a mirror."

"You won't be needing that." As he spoke, he deftly flicked open his fly
and exposed a long thin dick which sprang to attention as if on command.

"See what an effect a beautiful naughty lady has on my dick?"

"It's a very handsome dick," Vanessa giggled.

Jamal slit the top of the bag with his fingernail, and before anything
could be said, spread the white powder in a long thin line along his erect
weapon. Vanessa burst out laughing and kneeled in front of him.

"You are wicked, but if this is the price I pay, then pay I shall."

Jamal had stopped laughing now, his face takng on a more serious look as
the most beautiful actress on television lowered her head, placed her nose
on the end of the line, and snorted the coke directly off his manhood. She
raised her head as the rush hit her, before looking back at his tool.

"You had better lick it off you naughty girl, before anyone sees it."

"This is mine. No-one else is going to get any of it."

Vanessa lowered her head and licked along the edge of his tool. Jamal's
hand came up behing her and gently guided his dick into her mouth. Her
eyes closed as she savoured the salty taste of him mingling with the
sharpness of the coke, and she began to move her head backwards and
forwards along its length. Jamal also closed his eyes and leaned back
against the wall for support. As he came rapidly to a climax, Vanessa
began to suck, drawing his watery sperm into her mouth and down her throat.
"That was great, just what I needed," muttered Jamal.

"Me too. See you in a couple of hours."

Inge looked away from the screen as the clip finished.

"OK! so one of my clients takes coke. They probably all do. It still
doesn't mean that you will get her to do what you want."

"Inge. Trust me. Jamal is the nephew of Sheikh al-Benarbia, Emir of
Qualia. The Emir will not be pleased when he finds out about this."

"It will still take more than the threat of public exposure of a coke
snort to persuade someone like Vanessa."

"Of course. What you .... and she doesn't know is that Jamal is only
14. The public can be unforgiving when it comes to paedophiles."

=========================

The curtains were closed, the room darkened by the deep purple drapes.
On the edge of the bed, Vanessa Draper sat staring at the wall. She
couldn't believe how she had got herself into this situation. It wasn't
unusual for Vanessa to act the part of a paid escort, but this was out of
her control. There had always been serious money to be made for
accompanying an upwardly mobile young businessman or budding new star to a
public function. Sometimes it would be a simple case of self promotion for
either or both of them. Of course, the public had no idea how these
matches were made, and probably wouldn't care even if they did. Vanessa
was therefore not suprised when Inge explained how a client had contracted
Vanessa's presence to escort a wealthy Arab businessman to the premiere of
the latest James Bond Film.

Things had gone well. Sheikh Suleiman had come in person to collect
her. As they climbed happily out of the cream Rolls Royce, flashguns
popped, shutters whirred and the smiles were genuine enough. Vanessa was
enjoying herself. Her host appeared the perfect gentleman, and a good time
seemed assured.

It was in the Rolls on the way back to her hotel that he had dropped the
bombshell.

"You will join me for a drink in my suite." It was a statement, not a
question, and she naturally put it down to perhaps a misunderstanding with
the language.

"I don't think so, thank you. I'm tired. It has been a really nice
evening, but I really must get back."

"Please, watch this, then we will discuss the rest of the evening." He
produced a compact disc from the armrest pocket slipped a player from the
storage unit beneath the seat, and sat back as she watched the video unfold.

"So you see, you will join me for a drink in my suite."

"If you say so."

The atmosphere in the car changed. Cool was an understatement. She
knew that her career would be in tatters if the disc were to be made
public, and whilst she knew she must do everything to prevent him going to
the press, she was not sure that being fucked by him was a price she was
prepared to pay.

"I could call your bluff, you know."

"I don't think so. Jamal is just a kid. You will go to jail. Just
think where your life will be then."

That had all been an hour ago. The Sheikh had entertained her with
music, a couple of drinks, even a funny story or two, but now it was time
for her performance. The Sheikh pushed open the bedroom door, and stood
still for a while as his eyes got accustomed to the gloom.

"You still have your clothes on. I thought I told you to take them
off."

Vanessa stood up and swiftly removed her dress, bra and pants. There
was no point in playing for time, she had no choice. He was determined to
make her fuck her way out of her predicament. He walked across in front of
her and looked her in the eyes. His hands reached across and grabbed each
of her breasts, fondling and twisting them slightly as he felt their
weight.

"Pity you don't have bigger tits." he murmured, more to himself than
her. "Let me see your arse." He handled her like a piece of prime
horseflesh. Professional, smooth, running his hands over her buttocks to
test thei firmness. She stood still, humiliated by the whole experience.

"Bend!" The instruction was clear, and she bent at the waist offering
her bottom to his gaze.

"Spread the cheeks." She began to really get worried now. Despite her
fairly free attitude to sex, she was still an anal virgin, and she had a
horrible suspicion where this was going.

"No. I won't allow you to touch me there."

"It doesn't have anything to do with you. Do It!"

"No!"

Sheikh Suleiman looked down at the perfect globes presented to him. For
a moment he toyed with the idea of threatening once again to expose her to
the authorities.

"Fuck it!"he though to himself. "This has gone on long enough!"

He grabbed her by the scruff of the neck, and pushed her down on to the
bed. She wriggled free, turned over and began to beat her fists into his
arms and shoulders. Struggling, he managed to capture both her wrists in
one hand, and slap her across the face with the other. Vanessa knew she
could not get away. Her eyes filled with tears and she began to plead with
him.

"Please, don't rape me. Please, let me go. I'll do anything you want,
but don't hurt me."

The Sheikh was in no mood to negotiate. He let go of her wrists,
grabbed her by the ankles and wrenched them apart. Then with a heave, he
lifted them high, and pushed them over her shoulders, leaving her gasping
for breath as her thighs pushed down on her breasts, forcing her deep into
the mattress. Suleiman gathered her ankles in his left wrist, and spat on
the middle finger of his right hand. Vanessa began to whimper, shaking her
head in tiny movements, her knees tight against her cheeks. Suleiman was
beginning to enjoy hmself now. He slowly rubbed the end of his fnger
against the little rosebud of her arsehole. The effect was instant.
Desperate to avoid it, Vanessa began to wriggle her arse. The movement
only succeeded in helping his finger slide into it. Gripping her sphinctre
muscles she desperately tried to force his invasive digit out, but there
was no way he was going to let that happen.

She felt his hand move away, and for a moment thought that he was going
to stop. She couldn't have been more wrong. The end of his dick replace
the finger. It was much bigger, and she was sure he would never get it in.
She clenched herself with all the force she could muster to keep him from
having his way with her. He leaned over, bending his head to hers, and
whispered in her ear.

"That's it sweetheart. Push! Stop me if you can. Make it difficult.
Keep me out. Don't let me do it. Force me away."

She responded. Gritting her teeth she resisted as hard as she could.
Because of her position even drawing breath was difficult, but she managed
somehow. Panic began to get the upper hand. She was keeping him at bay,
but she was tired.

"Come on girl! Push! Stop me! Harder!"

Suddenly he thrust hard at her entrance. With a mammoth effort she
managed to repel him, squeezing every last ounce of effort fom her tired
muscles. When he withdrew and thrust a second time she had nothing left.
Breath gushed from her body as his dick forced it's way into her rectum.
Suddenly her sphinctre released its grip. With a small cry of triumph
Suleiman thrust the whole 10 inches of his manhood deep into her bowels.
Tears welled up in her eyes and a scream of pain filled the room.

He stopped, fully inserted, and looked down into her big tearful eyes.

"See! That wasn't so bad was it!"

She could have hit him. Her arsehole ached from the stretching it was
receiving. Her bowels were full of dick, making her feel like she needed a
shit. How can he say it wasn't so bad?

He started to withdraw, her rosebud closing behind him, then he pushed
again. Her arse opened. Easier this time, out, in, out, in. With each
stroke, the ache diminished. His rhythm contagious, she began to respond.
As he felt her relax, he let go of her ankles and allowed he legs more
freedom, lessening the pressure on her ribcage and allowing her to breathe
more easily.

Vanessa became confused. The heat generated by his body had turned
sexual. Her arse still ached, but a sort of glow now extended round the
front to her quim. The regularity of his thrusts was building the same
sexual response in her that regular sex had in the past. As the heat
built, her excitement grew, her breathing became shallow. Spears of
pleasure caused her to hold her breath, clenching her teeth, then gasping
great lungfuls of air as she let go. When he slipped a hand down between
them, the touch of his fingers on her clitoris caused an instant climax.
Her whole body was on fire. She threw her arms out as her whole being
responded to the shards of pleasure coursing through her veins.

She was still crying. Tears were still filling her eyes and running
down past her ears onto the sheet below her, but now she didn't know
whether they were tears of anger or joy.

Suleiman smiled down at her.

"See. I told you it wasn't so bad.

========================= "What am I going to say to her?" Inge thought
to herself. She had heard nothing from Vanessa for nearly a week after her
assignation with the Sheikh. The plan was to keep clients in the dark as
far as her involvement was concerned but although Paul had reassured her
that everything would be OK, she didn't feel in control. As a defense
mechanism, she had thrown herself into her work, but she still couldn't get
rid of the nagging doubt at the back of her mind. Vanessa had phoned this
morning to arrange a meeting. She sounded chirpy enough, but Inge could
tell much of that was "Front". As Sally, her secretary, showed Vanessa
into the office, she had no idea what to expect.

Vanessa sat down, an unsure smile on her lips. She didn't know how much
of this stuff Inge knew. Did she know about the tape? Did she know about
her after-the-show performance? Would there be a repeat demand?

"How are you?"

"I'm fine, you?"

"I'm OK as well thanks"

For fifteen or twenty minutes they politely discussed almost every
aspect of Vanessas career. New scripts, contract negotiations for ten new
episodes of "City Slickers", Personal appearances, clothes, hairstyles,
almost anything, in fact to avoid having to discuss Vanessa'a night with
the Sheikh.

A discreet knock at the door broke the tension. Her secretary's head
appeared around the door. I'm sorry Ms Rassmussen, but there's a gentleman
from Olympian Films here. He says he needs to speak with you and Miss
Draper. Before Inge had time to respond, a tall dark-suited man pushed
gently passed Sally and advanced into the room. Smiling broadly, he
advanced on Inge and profferred a well manicured hand.

"Ms Rassmussen, It's a pleasure to meet you." He turned to Vanessa.
"And the lovely Miss Draper."

"Likewise." swooned Vanessa, bowled over by the charm of the
good-looking visitor.

"I'm sorry to intrude like this, without notice, but I dropped in to
arrange an appointment with you both, and learned to my delight that you
were both here today. Oh! I'm sorry, please let me intoduce myself. My
name is Raschid Al-Benarbia, Chief financial officer of Olympian Films."

Vanessa did a double take. Al-benarbia, where had she heard that name
before? If Vanessa didn't immediately recognise the name, Inge certainly
did. She shook hands gently and invited him to sit down.

"What can we do for you? Mr Al-Benarbia?"

"Please, call me Raschid. I'm here to impart some good news so let me
not waste your time. As you know, a few weeks ago, Miss Draper attended an
interview for a support role in our new adventure movie. As you also know,
the movie is scheduled to start filming in three months. I need to know
whether Miss Draper will be available given her other commitments."

Inge glanced across at Vanessa who still seemed to be thinking about
something else.

"Our only unalterable commitment so far is the filming of ten episodes
of her weekly soap. With six months already in the can already, they will
be complete in eight weeks time, so availability should not be a problem."

"Good! Then I should tell you Miss Draper that we were very impressed
by your interview and your on-screen performances." He let the last
statement hang in the air as though testing the atmosphere. Inge did not
react at all. She still didn't want Vanessa to know that she had been
party to the fit-up. "You should know, he continued, that Sheikh Suleiman
was very impressed by the hospitality you extended to him. The publicity
he gained from having you on his arm at the premiere has won him a number
of contracts and he is very grateful."

Desperate to change the direction of the conversation, Inge spoke up.

"Can we take it then that Vanessa has got the part?"

"Indeed not! Vanessa is a star. Our company can make much use of such
a performer in the future. We have therefore decided to give Vanessa the
female lead."

Vanessa's mouth dropped open with a mixture of exultation, shock and
fear. In an instant three thoughts raced into her mind. She had got the
part, her sore arse was the price she had paid, and Al-Benarbia was the
name of the little shit who had set her up with the coke-blowjob.

Raschid continued.

"I now have some further business to discuss with your agent, Miss
Draper, if you would please excuse us. Welcome to the world of Hollywood."

Vanessa gathered herself. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry. It
also looked as though Inge knew nothing about the video, so she had best
keep it that way. Within months she would be mixing with the elite of Los
Angeles. What's a sore arse in that grand scheme of things?

A performance was required. A broad smile passed over her lovely face,
lighting up the office. "Thank you Mr Al-Benarbia. That is the best news
I have ever had. I can't wait to hear the details when you have worked
them out with Inge." With that she turned and strode out of the office
leaving Inge and Raschid smiling knowingly at each other.

When she had gone, Inge spoke quietly and urgently.

"What now?"

"Nothing. She's now the first filly in our "stable". We will use her
when we need to - never too frequently - and she will become one of the
biggest stars in Hollywood in return."

"That's not fair, you know. You should leave her alone now, she has
paid for her chance of fame."

"Believe me dear, chance has nothing to do with it. GDS board members
own 80 percent of Olympian films. If we want to make, or break, a star we
can do it. No question. If people want to trade power to fuck a star like
Vanessa, it's in our interest to make her as big a star as possible No?"
The hardest job will be to keep it secret. These girls must never suspect
that you are in on the scam. If word gets out, people will stop using your
agency, and we will have to start again. Now let's get down to work. Get
your files out. Lets see who's next..............

The End

The stories of James Anderton can be found at www.storiesonline.net and
on the ASSTR website (www.asstr.org).

Copyright James Anderton 2002

Please don't post on paid websites, and please make appropriate
attribution on free ones. Thanks James

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