Whore Or Banker: Same Thing Really

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A Michy note

Although this stands alone as a story it is a follow on to my previous banker/whore submission. I suggest you read that first.

I didn’t have to fuck Donald Trump. And boy was that a relief. However, I nearly did for the CEO, Warren Emerson, of the global investment bank for which I worked had undressed me, well had largely made me undress myself for him to watch. Then, as I stood in his office on the thirty- second floor of the bank’s HQ on Wall Street just wearing my holdups he unlocked the door with his remote control and had said quite loudly.

“Why don’t you come in now?”

I thought he would be inviting the stunningly attractive and hugely sexy young woman who sat outside his office Ms Martinez to come in. But no, in walked Donald Trump. I was mortified. I grabbed my suit jacket and held it in front of me.

“Michy, what the fuck are you doing?” Warren said quite fiercely.

“Christ Warren, what the hell’s going on?” I asked feeling foolish and embarrassed as the rather odious looking Trump stood there, a leering smile on his face.

“Michy” the seventy year-old super banker to the stars, famous people and more importantly many of the world’s rich said harshly. “I have told you that to get the sort of business we need you have to try very hard and quite frankly covering your tits up to a hugely important customer like Mister Trump is hardly that is it?”

“But Warren this is obscene.”

“Yes Michy, of course it is, it’s fucking banking isn’t it and that is obscene.”

I was shaking with nerves and embarrassment as he went on.

“Now put that fucking jacket down and let Donald see those lovely tits.”

I still didn’t move as the two men stared at me expectantly. ‘How the fuck has it come to this?’ I asked myself. ‘How have I, a promising banker in her forties, the European Head of Private Wealth Management with over two hundred people working for her got to be standing as good as naked in the top man’s office with one of the highest profile businessmen in the world looking at her?’ I slowly let the jacket fall to the floor.

*

Danish by birth I grew up there, in the UK and the US; my dad was in the oil industry and we moved around a lot. I got my first degree from Gothenburg and then my MA from Oxford. I spent a gap year at Harvard Business School before becoming a grad trainee at the recently formed online investment bank Saxo in Copenhagen. After a few years I moved to Deutsche Bank in Dusseldorf, London and Copenhagen. I had been headhunted to my present employer some ten years ago and had been promoted rather too slowly for my liking to Head of Trading in Denmark and then to MD of Scandinavia. It was after running that for a few years that I was offered the post of Head of Mergers and Acquisitions for Europe. That meant moving to London, which my husband Erik completely refused to even contemplate let alone execute. So I went alone and we separated. I ran M and A for two years just about managing the murderous travel and horrendous hours; at least sixty a week including three nights a week away from home and almost weekly visits to New York. Somehow, it all worked. I was then moved to Head of Private Wealth Management for Europe.

I was now really on my way in the banking industry for this was a very high profile position. It was my responsibility to make or use the bank’s existing contacts with the world’s highest net worth individuals and try to persuade them to let us manage all or part of their wealth. Whilst I reported to the Head of Europe, the top brass in New York were heavily involved. It was because of this that I had started working closely with Warren Emerson, the Chairman, President, CEO and a major shareholder in the bank. In world banking terms he really was the daddy. Along with having Obama, Mandela, Cameron and Putin on his Blackberry messaging he had a fantastic range of contacts including numerous film and rock stars, most of the world’s business leaders, many of the European royalty and aristocracy from many countries.

Whilst the previous positions I had held had tested my business standards many times, my sexual morals had only rarely been tempted. It was not until my latest post and the relative closeness with which I worked with the venerable septuagenarian Chairman and CEO that they were. In fact, they were far more than tempted! But then being Danish I, like most of my fellow countrymen have a much different outlook on sex and sexuality come to that than do people from most countries. We are brought up in very liberal and sexually liberated way and recognise sex for what it is, fun and pleasure and something to be enjoyed with whom you choose and when you choose.

I found the upper echelons of the massive, global bank to be so different to anything I had experienced and working with such a banking luminary as Emerson to be beyond anything I would have previously imagined. Hours didn’t seem to exist and it seemed meetings were just as easily called at eleven at night, demetevler escort or on Sundays as at more usual times. Whatever time we met there was always staff on call to cater for our every information or catering whim and the guardian of Warren’s office Ms Martinez was always there. I wondered if she actually lived at the bank as there were floors that nobody was allowed to visit.

All aspects of investment banking eats up incredible amounts of money, but in the rarefied atmosphere of the very top it really was obscene how much was consumed. Take out meals from top restaurants, thirty and forty year old wine at two and three hundred dollars a bottle, limos, helicopters and the company jets on permanent call, thousand dollar a night suites at the top hotels and subscriptions to the classiest and most expensive sex clubs and escort agencies. It was only after I had been working in that environment with Warren for a few months that I began to realise just what devious, underhand and quite frankly criminal practices went on at the top of the banking industry.

Phone tapping, email hacking, bugging hotel rooms, private filming with micro cams and surveillance were just the tip of the iceberg of the tricks Warren and his inner team used to get competitive advantages over their rivals. On top of that they had contacts supply drugs, booze, run orgies and provide girls and boys for sex. As far as I could tell as I gradually learned about what went on, there was nothing they wouldn’t stoop to get what they were after. And that included having a cam and microphone in the corporate suite at The Pierre where I stayed. Not only where I stayed, but also where I had used a black, male escort to fuck me three times one evening.

When I had fucked Lord Dempsy the British Earl and later had a fantastic threesome with him and the Right Honorable Andrew Grosvenor a cousin to the Earl of Westminster, the richest Englishman alive I had thought it was all my own doing. It was only later when the pair of them had placed over a billion pounds under the bank’s control that I realised that Warren had been behind it all the time. But more to the point it was only when I began having contact with the head of the bank that I realised there was little difference between being a banker or a whore. And more to the point I realised that I was becoming Warren’s whore.

*

“You can forget the high wealth individual’s job” Warren said a few months after the episode with the two members of the British aristocracy At the time we were having a hundred dollars a plate take out from Belthazar as dinner in his office.

“Why what have I done wrong? I asked assuming I was being fired.

“I have a bigger job for someone with your special talents” he said.

I finished my Kobi Japanese steak that I worked out with my banker’s mind had cost around fifty dollars a bite. We moved to the couch with our glasses of Petrus that I had noticed was twenty years old. He put his hand on my leg just above my knee. I didn’t move or push it away. I had learned that was not the thing to do if a girl wanted to get on in the rarefied atmosphere of the upper echelons of corporate banking with Warren Emerson.

“And that is what Warren?” I asked as he slid his hand up my stocking covered thigh.

Warren and I had shared some sexual experiences, but we had never fucked. He was over seventy and married and it was rumoured that he had a couple of mistresses. Now I suppose I could, theoretically be added to that list, but we never went to a hotel or anywhere. All that went on between us happened in his office, which was admirably guarded by the inimitable Ms Martinez. I was continually expecting him to introduce her to our rather bizarre sexual activities. I knew that from the information he had on me he would know most, if not everything about my past and present sex life. And that would tell him that I would probably not be averse to such an introduction.

“Our problem” he said as he started rubbing my leg on my black holdups just above my knee. “Is not sales Michy.”

“No, so what is it?” I asked.

“Quite the opposite” he said moving his fingers up my still closed legs.

“What do you mean?”

“After the sub-prime fuck up, Northern Rock and Bear Sterns here and the fucking Lehmans everywhere we have to increase our reserves.”

“Yes I realise that Warren I do read the papers.”

“Yeah right. Did you know that Basel three the global agreement on the ratio between lending and borrowings stipulated around twelve to fifteen times reserves can be lent out.”

“Yes I had heard that, but wasn’t there a ‘gentlemen’s’ agreement to ignore that?

“Yes Michy there was a fucking agreement, but it wasn’t between fucking gentlemen it was between bankers.”

“I see.”

“Did you know?” He asked slipping his fingers up my thigh a little.

“Know what?”

“That just before Lehmans went tits up their lendings were at forty times their capital, dikmen escort the stupid fuckers, they were borrowing short and lending long.”

“So what has this to do with me?” I asked feeling mild frissons of excitement as he caressed my leg mid-way between my knee and pussy.

Powerful men can be quite an aphrodisiac to some women. Successful businessmen can be a turn on to them. Immensely wealthy people can have a sexual aura about them. The very top man in a major global bank can be all those things to one of his employees and Warren Emerson was all of those to me.

Undoing the buttons on my white blouse with his other hand he said.

“I am going to appoint you Head of Capital Reconstruction for the Global bank.”

“Jesus” I gasped realising just how senior a post that was.

“And that will be reporting directly to me” he went on easing my D cup breasts out of the white, lacy, Janet Regar bra.

“Thank you Warren, but why me?”

“Take your bra off Michy” he ordered.

I didn’t for one moment think of disobeying him. I slipped my black, DKNY jacket and white, Perla blouse off, unclipped my bra and removed that. We sat there on the sofa as I asked.

“Why me Warren?”

“Because all banks are in the race. We are all chasing the same pot of dough and that’s from governments and different sources than we normally use.”

“I see” I said not really understanding why he had selected me.

“And it will take more to persuade the sovereign funds.”

“More what?” I naively asked as he slid his hand further up my leg so that it was under the hem of my black pencil skirt.

“More of what you have my dear” he said sucking my oversized, very erect nipple.

Now beginning to realise what he meant I pushed my breast harder against his mouth. “And what’s that Warren?” I asked gasping as he bit my nipple just a little too hard.

He slid his hand further up my skirt the hem of which was already more than half-way up my thighs.

“I think you know that very well my dear, as did Dempsy and that stupid cunt Grosvenor” he said pressing his fingers downwards into the crease where my legs were pressed together.

“Do I Warren?” I said now enjoying this erotic charade.

“Yes I think you do Michy. I think you know how to be very persuasive. I think you know what you have to use to be persuasive to the level we need to get that pot of dough, don’t you my dear.”

Looking him in the eye and smiling I said. “Yes I think I probably do Warren” as I opened my legs.

He made me cum with his fingers and then told me to undress apart from my stockings. And that’s when he brought Donald Trump into his office.

After the mildly embarrassing few moments when I had eventually let the jacket fall away from me Trump had seen enough and he left. He had seen what was necessary, what he could use and leverage with his contacts and that was me.

After he had gone, Warren had me give him a blow job.

He explained that Trump was now impotent. “That’s why he didn’t want to fuck you.”

“Why did you say he could?” I asked feeling annoyed and terrible, but in a way also excited that he felt he could offer me around like that.

“Of course I did, he has got some excellent contacts.”

“Warren that’s not fair, I am not your whore.”

“No?” He said going into the bathroom and cleaning up.

“Michy” he said when he returned his zipper now done up. “How much did you earn last year?”

“With bonuses and profit shares?”

“Yes.”

“Just over three mil.”

“And how many clients did you fuck for that?”

“Just the two, but that was my choice?”

“Yeah like fuck it was, I set them up.”

“You didn’t.”

“Oh yes I did.”

“You bastard.”

“Yes I am a bastard aren’t I letting you earn three mil just for fucking two British bluebloods.”

I didn’t reply and he went on. “So if you want to get that up to five mil, working directly for me and being responsible for restructuring the bank’s capital you will have to fuck a few more than that won’t you?”

*

I hadn’t realised that Trump had such good contacts with so much money. The only problem was that the initial introductions mostly had Italian sounding names and talked a lot about their ‘family!’

I was called to a meeting with Warren, his top advisor, Brian Barclay and a representative from the Trump organisation. It was to discuss a potential capital injection of two billion. The bank’s, well mine now if I wanted that five mil pay packet, target for the year was twenty billion so this was a significant sum and would get me off to a great start. And boy did I want that five million!

“We’ve been working on this fucking capital injection for three months now” Warren started off as we sat round the conference table in his office. “It’s taking longer than refinancing the Eurozone. What the fuck’s happening Barclay?”

As was Warren’s way he went straight to the point and put the person responsible ankara escort right on the spot.

Brian started explaining about the issues and problems, Warren interrupted him.

“Look there’s us, Goldman’s, Morgan Stanley and JP all involved. How do we make it ours for fuck’s sake?”

Brian didn’t answer for a moment or two and avoided eye contact with his and my boss.

“Perhaps we could get Michaela involved?” he said looking from Warren to me and back again.

“Then get involved Michaela and do whatever the fuck is necessary to get the fucking business” he said as Ms Martinez leaned over him and whispered in his ear. “I have to go, but you guys work on it and we’ll meet here tomorrow evening when I get back from Camp David.

The three of us went over what had been tried so far and what was on the table at present.

“You will have to go to Sicily to meet Paulo” Trump’s aide told me.

“Do we need to meet?” I asked rather naively I guess, but then at that time I was really only a trainee whore! “After all with the net and cams and email we could almost be face to face.”

“You don’t understand Missus Henrikson, none of Mister Trump’s introductions will wish any records to be kept.”

“How will any transfers be made then?”

“That is your job to work out. All Senor Contonese will require is a certificate of investment confirming that whatever vehicle you and he decide as the investor has the two billion capital in the bank.”

I had been in the new job for three weeks and I was still operating out of London, but had frequent long calls with Warren and others of his inner cabinet. I had been over to New York three times and had discussed the Contonese prospect with Warren and Barclay and their two closest advisors. We all agreed that it probably was organised crime and that the money was hot. That was the reason they were willing to invest the two billion with no interest or guaranteed dividends. As Brian Barclay had said after Warren and Trump’s man had gone.

“They, well you actually Michy gets the money into the bank’s coffers somehow. They leave it there a few years and then bingo take it out, or we invest it for them somewhere else and it’s all nice and clean. Classic money laundering and all legal.”

“Yes but it’s the get it in that’s the problem” I said.

“Well that’s always my problem too, but not with money” he said surprising me with the double entendre. “I am sure you’ll find a way Michy.”

“Yes I guess so I usually do” I smiled back.

Paulo Contonese was the head of the family, in movie parlance ‘The Don.’ He was under threat of arrest if he stepped into the US, although the legal and immigration authorities had come to an agreement not to seek extradition from Italy if he did not try to enter the US.

The family had been involved with most rackets, drugs and illegal gambling, but had for the past few years been seeking to ‘go legit.’ They had reputedly built up an enormous cash mountain in numbered accounts in Switzerland and several cash hills in other tax havens such as Liechtenstein, Panama and the Virgin Islands.

I flew first class from London to Naples on a Sunday afternoon and then on to Palermo in the North of Sicily that evening. I was met at the airport by Meekle who worked for Contonese. He took my carry on pull bag and led me through the terminal to a Mercedes limo waiting right outside the main door in a no parking zone. There were a number of carabinieri standing round smoking and laughing. They made no effort whatsoever to interfere. I saw that the large, black Merc had darkened windows so I couldn’t see in to it. Meekle put my bag in the trunk and opened the rear door. Bending forward I looked in and saw a distinguished looking man sitting on the seat.

“Welcome to Palermo Missus Henrikson, I am Paulo Contonese.”

Bent over with the top of my body in the car I reached out and shook hands. “I am very pleased to meet you Senor Contonese” I said hugely impressed that the great man had taken the time to meet me.

As I shook his soft hand I cursed the, what in most bodily positions would be a perfectly respectable neckline of the pale pink, silk tee shirt type top I was wearing under the dark blue, linen jacket. It wasn’t tucked into my jeans. Leaning forward and reaching out was not one of those bodily positions and I was acutely aware that the material gaped alarmingly. I was equally aware that ‘the Don’ could see right down it. Catching his gaze as I completed my entry into the car I saw the slight smile and glint in his eye that men have when seeing something of a woman that they perhaps shouldn’t.

‘What a fucking shambles’ I thought sitting down as he went on.

“I hope you had a pleasant flight” he said with a fairly heavy accent.

“Yes I did thank you” I said half turning so we could look at each other.

“And it really is very nice to er, um ………see you” he said smiling and using a clear, well I thought it was, double entendre.

I didn’t know what to say so mumbled. “It’s very nice to be here and to see you.”

“Well I hope we see a lot more of each other” he said again with a double meaning.

I didn’t reply. He went on. “I have heard a lot about you from Senor Trump, he speaks very highly of you.”

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