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The disposable phone that Oren’s assistant’s secretary purchased at the Walmart in Paramus buzzed quietly in the top drawer of his massive mahogany desk. He wanted to make it as difficult as possible for the phone to be traced to him; it’s not that he was paranoid, but he was careful — especially with the SEC in everybody’s business and trying to make names for themselves. Oren did not want to be some schmuck government attorney’s headline. He wasn’t necessarily their target, but there was a target on the back of Wall Street billionaires — the jealous douche bags, thought Oren.
Only one person had this particular phone number so he knew that it was Jenny calling. “I’ve only got a few minutes, what’s up?”
“A situation has developed that I need to discuss with you,” said Jenny nervously. She hadn’t seen Ian all week long, but had nevertheless been keeping up on his investigation.
“I don’t have time now… Meet me at 10 o’clock tonight at that bar on West 13th Street, over in the Meatpacking District; you know that place where we met those college girls.”
Jenny knew exactly where Oren meant; it had been a crazy night last September. Oren and Jenny have never been intimate, thankfully, thought Jenny. But he didn’t mind watching — it was a little weird but everyone has their peculiarities, or so Jenny reasoned; it was just harmless voyeurism. Even billionaires are entitled to sexual fetishes — some enjoyed women’s shoes, others got off on leather and whips; Oren enjoyed watching lesbian intimacy, especially if he were the one dictating the fantasy.
“Oh, and bring that cute little intern and some toys,” commanded Oren.
Jenny smiled to herself; no matter how rich and powerful, they all had a weakness, and for many, the power of the pussy was undeniable. “Such a lovely girl, so sweet and innocent, and so damn adorable,” she teased. “She would love to come, and come…” she giggled.
“See you then,” he cracked a smile and disconnected the call.
By 10 o’clock, the bar was hopping — the beautiful people were squeezed together, laughing, smiling, flirting and fighting for the bartender’s attention; drunken loudness competed with the DJ. Jenny and Sydney strutted in and heads turned, and they loved the attention — Jenny was dressed in blue jeans and a tight purple tank top; she wore a sheer bra but it didn’t control the bounciness. Sydney’s short tight ruffled skirt accentuated her slender legs and sexy ass, her black satin corset barely covered her perky little tits, and her black strappy platform heels made her look four inches taller than she actually was. Jenny’s arm was draped over Sydney shoulder and Sydney’s arm was wrapped around Jenny’s waist. They found a quiet spot at the far end of the bar and ordered dirty martinis.
“There’s Oren now; as soon as he gets here I need you to go to the girl’s room and take off your panties; then wait for me to motion you to come back. Before the fun begins, I have important business to discuss; it will take us about fifteen minutes.” She slapped Sydney’s ass and sent her scurrying and then hugged Oren when he reached her, not like a business associate, but like the slut she was about to be. She knew Oren love the game of cat and mouse, the game of predatory lesbian and sweet innocent girl, the game of love and lust — the game that Jenny loved because it was the game she always won.
Oren sat on the barstool, focused not on what would happen later, but on the important reason for their meeting: what the SEC knew about his involvement in the flash crash. Oren Ferber had Bill Clinton like compartmentalization skills — the president of the United States effortlessly discussed important matters of state and national security while simultaneously twirling a cigar in his intern’s coochie and then smoking it. Multitasking: it’s an important skill to have whether you’re running the most powerful country in the world, managing billions of dollars in investments, or simply trying to get laid.
“What’s the update?” asked Oren impatiently.
“Well, as you know, I’ve been reading every email that Ian McRae sends and receives. We still haven’t been able to hack into the SEC server and gain access to his official files, but he often sends himself emails with drafts of documents that he’s working on, and he documents everything with emails to and from colleagues.”
Oren nodded and said, “Good work; when will you have access to the SEC server?”
“That’s proving to be problematic, but I’ve been able to glean significant insight on the investigation simply by reading emails. Our technology sleuth, William, is still working on hacking into the government website.”
“What do they know?”
“One of their analysts, Max Feyman, a genius particle physicist, was able to analyze the entire trading day with some quantitative finance tricks I have never seen.” Jenny raised her eyebrows and continued, “He is one hundred percent confident a particular trading account casino oyna knew in advance of a Midwestern mutual fund company’s significant futures market trade and how it would create an enormous dislocation, a trade so large that other firms would be caught flat-footed. By decomposing and reassembling the trading day, he knows what happened, and he calculated,” she made the air quote sign, “the illegal profit to be $152,013,957.”
“I’m impressed,” said Oren with a smirk. “Why isn’t this guy working for me?”
Jenny continued concernedly, “He knows what happened, but he hasn’t a clue about the perpetrators. Fortunately, brokerage firms do not report the identity of the trade originator.”
“Two things,” started Oren calmly, “I knew that eventually someone at the SEC would be able to figure out what happened, but they’d never be able to figure out who did it. I’ve been exploiting that regulatory loophole for quite a while. Brokerage firms have always argued for protecting their customers’ identities and allowing for anonymity.” He scanned the room and spotted Sydney dancing sensually and staring directly at them. He smiled at her and she waved tentatively. “Secondly, there’s no way they’ll be able to prove that what we did was illegal, no way…”
“That’s a relief,” said Jenny. “But I also know that the lead investigator, Ian, and the psychologist profiler, Candice Alexander, are going to Kansas City next week. I have a copy of his itinerary. In an email to his boss, he indicates that in addition to arranging to speak with the compliance department, he has asked for an interview with the manager of the trading floor.”
“That’s okay; I’ll cut the guys balls off if he reveals that he spoke with me. He’ll keep quiet, I’m sure about that,” said Oren deviously. “What’s the dirt on the attorney, McRae? I know that by now you have him cornered.” He winked and smiled.
“Soon there’ll be fifty thousand dollars in a bank account in his name and a trail that leads to the Cayman Islands.” It was now Jenny that smiled deviously, “And I also made a video of him getting a blow job from and fucking my little pet, Sydney. I drugged him with Rophenol, a ten times more powerful version of Valium. He was wicked strung out and doesn’t know what happened, not a clue.”
Oren patted Jenny on the shoulder and rubbed her back — his strong hands affectionately kneaded her neck and traced up and down her spine, not with intimacy, but with parental approval. “Good girl,” he said condescendingly.
Jenny didn’t take offense by his patronizing comment; she had never been offended by his constant affirmation of superiority, but plenty of others were.
“Keep it in your pocket for now,” smiled Oren ironically. “If he gets too close, we’ll ambush him. Remember that analyst from Janssen and Fiske?”
“I recently ran into Philip Clarke; he still thinks he lost his job because of cutbacks related to the financial crisis.” She laughed wickedly, but in reality, she felt guilty for ruining his life. She secretly contemplated pulling strings to get his career back on track; it was a shame he spent his 401(k) retirement savings account on child support payments and on his ex-wife’s mortgage.
Oren didn’t feel bad; he didn’t feel anything — he was pathologically indifferent like that; “Anything else?”
There was something else; in an email to his mother, Ian admitted that the girl he thought he loved wasn’t as genuine as she had first appeared, and Mom, I hope you’re not too disappointed, but I don’t think you’ll be meeting Jenny anytime soon. But Jenny didn’t tell Oren of this setback; instead, she would figure out a way to rectify the situation. “No Oren, that’s it, that’s all I know right now,” she said confidently.
Oren nodded slightly with narrow eyes and tight lips. But then he loosened up, more broadly smiled and said, “Get Sydney’s ass over here.” To accommodate his growing interest, he subconsciously rearranged his slacks.
In the corner, over by the coat room, Candice inconspicuously lingered. For the past two nights, after dinner with Max, she made excuses and had been clandestinely following Jenny. It wasn’t as difficult as she thought it would be; she looked up Jennifer DeBeaux on the internal registered representative cross reference page and determined her home address and business address, as well as her education, qualifications, and age. Additionally and fortunately, Jenny never took the subway: she walked, took a cab, or hired a private car — it made following her even more straightforward.
Even though Candice was new to town, she knew this part of the city; Outlaws and Sinners, the club where she met her friend Lacey, was only a few blocks away. She used her cell phone to take photographs of Jenny, the older man talking with her, as well as the young woman accompanying them. The three seemed to be more than acquaintances; Jenny and the girl were amorous and affectionate. The man was distant and detached but handsome slot oyna and athletically fit. Candice couldn’t put her finger on it, but there was something peculiar about the guy, besides the obvious that he was old enough to be their father; something else, something odd, but not odd in a weird way, odd in a familiar way.
But she didn’t want to press her luck and decided to leave before she was spotted. She would have loved to go to the bar and strip club where Lacey worked, but she meant it when she said to Max that she was going to lay off the sweet stuff, at least for now. Anyway, Candice accomplished what she wanted — she confirmed what she had hypothesized: that Jenny was more than met the eye, a whole lot more.
Sydney threaded her way through the crowd and sidled up next to Jenny. She gently placed her hand on her hip and slowly wrapped it around her waist, leaned in and nuzzled her neck; her fragrance reminded her of the first time they made love — the night two weeks ago, in the office after a long day’s work and after everyone else had gone home. Sydney’s legs buckled slightly and since she had been instructed to remove her panties, the tiny beads of perspiration and desire trickled down the inside of her slender thighs. Her stiffened nipples brushed against Jenny’s arm when she kissed her on the cheek.
Jenny returned the affection and the tender kiss. “Oren, I’d like you to meet Sydney. She has been a very good girl.”
Sydney tightened her grip around Jenny, smiled kittenishly and said, “Hello.”
Oren returned Sydney’s coquettish smile with a more lewd one. He nodded approvingly and condescendingly — Jenny had warned Sydney not to be offended, so she wasn’t. Sydney was quickly becoming the best intern Jenny ever had.
Oren paid for each round of drinks with hundred dollar bills: dirty martinis for the girls and club soda for himself. The bartender’s tip was the change, more than sixty dollars per round: they would be the bartender’s priority for the remainder of the night.
Sydney placed her other hand, the one that was closed around her tiny pink thong, on Jenny’s lap, slowly uncurled her fingers and proudly delivered as instructed.
Jenny kissed her on the lips, slapped her ass, and said, “Like I said, she is a very good girl.” The panties slightly unfurled, but Jenny made no effort to hide the fact that a pair of women’s underwear were on her lap. She abstractedly twirled them, stretched and snapped the elastic, and fingered the cotton panel while drinking, laughing, and talking with Oren, Sydney, and whoever else happened to be part of their club scene conversation. The important discussion was completed, and the rest of the night was going to be dancing, partying, drinking, and fucking.
Just after midnight, Oren led the girls out of the club and into a cab. Jenny was surprised that Ari wasn’t waiting for them with the Mercedes, but Oren had dispatched his driver to an out of town job.
It was only a short ride to the two-level, ultra-modern, four-bedroom, twenty-four hundred square foot penthouse apartment that was only occasionally occupied. Not many could afford a $25,000 a month apartment that was used on a whim, but Oren didn’t mind — he bought it at a significant discount from a Lehman Brothers executive who lost his job when the bottom fell out.
Jenny hadn’t ever been to this apartment, and she was surprised at how well appointed it was for this part of town. But the condo didn’t have a lived in feeling — the kitchen was cool and chic, but obviously wasn’t used the way Jenny used hers. The bathrooms were what she expected from a ten million dollar apartment, but they also appeared unused. The only room that had a remnant of tenancy was the bedroom and that’s where Oren directed the girls.
Jenny knew how the game was played: she and her friend would make love, passionate and intense, animated and spirited, hot and heavy and they wouldn’t be bothered or intruded upon. But they would be watched; they were sufficiently inebriated that they didn’t care about an audience; they were sufficiently aroused that they couldn’t wait.
They sat together on the bed and kissed, magnetically drawn to one another, their noses rubbing together, their lips opened and hungry, their tongues inside of each other’s mouths. The tension that had built up all night sprang free, uncoiled and struck like a cobra after its prey. Jenny’s hands were on Sydney shoulders and Sydney cradled Jenny’s face. They licked and groped, kissed and tongued, squeezed and pulled; they explored and wandered as much as Magellan did. They each felt a familiar pang, not of love, but of intense lust, one that would only be satisfied after multiple orgasms.
Sydney was an inexperienced lesbian lover so she counseled herself: just let it happen, let it go… don’t think about it, relax… breathe… control yourself… screw it, don’t control yourself. But her indecision and inexperience made it even more exciting: canlı casino siteleri her skin was warm, her tits ached to be caressed, and her pussy needed to be fingered.
Jenny unbuttoned Sydney’s black satin corset and lifted it over her head. She massaged her small tits, one and then the other, and then licked and sucked them — Sydney’s nipples were eager and ready. “Pretty, so pretty….”
Sydney smiled adoringly and gazed doe eyed at her boss and lover; she slowly and deliberately touched herself while ogling at Jenny as she peeled off her tank top, unhooked her bra, and unleashed her bountifully beautiful breasts. Sydney impatiently grabbed a handful and kissed and played. Like a neophyte, she toyed with one nipple — poked it and watched in amazement as it sprang back, and giggled with excitement. Jenny’s body was awesome, awesome to look at, and awesome to play with. “Jenny, you are so beautiful.” She pulled and tugged, twisted and turned, bit and nibbled, was mesmerized and hypnotized by Jenny’s nipples. She was consumed by urge and her brain was inundated by the most sinful of molecules: dopamine. She couldn’t help herself, and biochemistry made her do it.
But science wasn’t on Jenny’s mind; making love to her sexy little nymphomaniac was. She kissed Sydney yearningly. With one hand she fondled her lover’s erogenous parts, and with the other, she stroked herself through her frilly panties. Rhythmically she rocked back and forth, to the sound of love, to the rhythm of an upcoming orgasm. Her fingers circled and rubbed; she pushed aside her panties and urgently slid a finger inside herself, and then fingered herself with two fingers. The tension built but didn’t bust free.
Jenny refocused on Sydney and kissed her belly, licked circles around her belly button, and around her nipples. She kissed lower until she was tantalizingly close to the center of her universe. The smell of desire was overpowering. Without hesitation, she dove in and eagerly tasted for the first time today Sydney’s little swollen pussy, the pink palace that she dreamed nonstop about, the cunny that was engorged with longing, and the Va-JJ that was parted with desire.
Sydney whimpered with yearning, unknowingly tugged and twisted hard her own nipples, and moaned desperately, “Yeah, like that, oh Jenny, oh…”
“You like that baby, oh… You are so pretty…mmm…”
Sydney lifted her hips and put her toes on the floor behind her head, just like she did in yoga class, the halasana pose. How many times had she been in class and thought about the sensuality of yoga?
Jenny took advantage of the unfettered access and licked long strokes, from her anus to her clitoris, lubricating everything with saliva. She could still smell the melon essence shampoo they lathered together with before the evening began, but the clean fragrant smell was overpowered by the musky scent of sex. She gently eased her index finger into her tightness; the further Jenny fingered her, the louder Sydney pleaded and moaned. Jenny responded with faster fingering and more clit rubbing.
“Oh, yeah… oh my God…” Sydney spread wide her legs. “Two fingers… Jenny… oh… yeah, baby, yeah like that… “
“Come for me baby, come for me honey…” Jenny increased the speed and intensity and sucked Sydney’s pink erect clit until she screamed and came.
They cuddled and hugged and kissed and tongued and shared the taste of Sydney’s love.
Jenny reached over to the bed stand, opened the drawer, smiled widely, raised expectedly her eyebrows, and produced a small purplish bottle. She trickled a thick stream of water-based organic lubricant onto Sydney’s recently waxed and completely hairless pussy. She massaged her entirely, rubbed her clit, fingered her with one, and then with two, and finally with three fingers; everything was so slippery. With her thumb, she circled her clit and slipped her pinky into her bum.
The velvety smooth sensation was unbearably pleasurable; Sydney closed her eyes and French kissed her amoureux, kissed her slowly, lovingly, adoringly, emotionally — she was completely consumed but the sensation was too intense; she bit her inner lip, her outer lip, and did whatever she could to prolong the orgasm. “Jenny, Jenny, yes, like that, oh, keep going…”
“Good girl Sydney, you are so good, yes, yes; come for me, yeah, yeah, baby.” She pushed her over the edge and again lapped and sucked her clit while she came. Jenny licked the pussy from her fingers, like a kid licking the batter from the beaters, and then let Sydney taste for herself what remained.
Jenny quickly removed her panties, straddled Sydney face, positioned herself so that Sydney could suck her clit, lick her slit, and tongue-fuck her hole. Sydney had two orgasms and Jenny desperately needed one. She caressed and fondled her big tits, rotated her hips, moved back and forth over Sydney’s tongue, up and down and every which way. Sydney was pinned by Jenny, and she loved being a captor, and she did her part exceedingly well — her tongue moved with the speed of a jackhammer. Jenny rubbed big circles around her clit, small circles, and did everything that she could to get herself off.
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