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“So mixing with the real aristocracy are we now?” Erik said as I knelt on all fours naked in our apartment.

“Yes I guess I am, but it’s more his wealth than his title that I am after” I replied as I felt my husband grip my hips, realising that there was rather more flesh there than I liked.

I was in Copenhagen for a weekend on my way to a series of meetings in Germany. As usual, we had dinner at a restaurant with plenty of wine then walked to the apartment near the Tivoli and started to fuck. It hadn’t taken long for him to undress me just as it hadn’t taken me much longer to get him naked.

Erik has a good body and a great cock and I had been looking forward to seeing both since my last visit nearly three weeks ago. During that period, I hadn’t had sex at all. In the time I had lived in London, I hadn’t had any relationships and the only sex I had was with myself, with Erik and occasionally with a five hundred pounds a session, male escort. So, I was continually frustrated and looked forward to my times in Copenhagen where I could have no strings attached sex with my husband. Inevitably, after that we did what longish married couples do, we had a row, but that was worth it to get the satisfaction he provided.

Kneeling like that, my full, nicely rounded as he called them tits were hanging down almost vertically and Erik could get at them and my clit at the same time. He eased himself into me, bent forward, squeezed my breasts with one hand, and rubbed my clit with the other. I love having everything stimulated at the same time and soon I was cumming and having my second orgasm of the evening; the first having come from his fingers as he undressed me.

*

I had lived most of my life in my home city of Copenhagen, although I spent many of my earlier years growing up in the UK and the USA and had been to university in London and then had gained an MBA from Wharton in the US. Returning to Copenhagen to a job in the Danish branch of the investment bank Morgan Stanley I married quite soon after returning and had spent all of my twenty year-long marriage in my home country. Now, though, having moved to England some two years ago to become European MD for Mergers and Acquisitions for a different US owned global investment bank I was getting used to the rather eccentric ways of the British.

I was separated from my husband Erik. We hadn’t bothered with a divorce for there didn’t seem much point as us Scandinavians fucked who we wanted in any case! Our marriage as with most Danish partnerships was open and both of us had a fair share of lovers whilst we were together.

After I was offered the promotion Erik refused point blank to consider relocating to the UK despite my likely income increasing several-fold to probably a couple of million, sterling that is! Being a scientist and largely living for his work he had an underdeveloped interest in money. Nevertheless, he still managed to live in our flat near The Tivoli, spend his weekends at our cabin on a lake in the mountains an hour or so drive North West from Copenhagen and take vacations at our holiday home on Longboat Quay in Florida; all of which had been bought with the filthy lucre I earned from the bank. So we parted, although I had been back to Copenhagen most months since my relocation and then we managed to do what married couples are supposed to do, have a few fucks then row!

The bank had rented me a flat in Mount Street almost next door to Claridges. Although the bank’s actual European HQ was in Docklands the M and A Head office was in Berkeley Square, a very civilised part of London. That meant I could walk to work, something that had always been an ambition, but one I never thought I would fulfil. Given the locations of my new home and office the permanent use of a chauffeur, driven Jaguar and a Porsche for my private use were somewhat unnecessary, but in banking you never look a gift horse in the mouth and you take what’s on offer!

M and A is incredibly hard work. Long hours, often fourteen a day, weekend working and a murderous travel schedule. I would usually visit at least two European countries each week, be away from home two nights a week on average and either, entertaining or working on deals two others. On top of that I had a monthly visit to the New York Head office and a courtesy visit to one of our major shareholders and source of finance the Qatar Sovereign fund every six weeks or so. Ok it was all done in the luxury of chauffeur driven cars, first class and sometimes private jet travel and five star hotels, but it still took its toll. I am sure I had aged five years in the two years I had been in the job! Still one thing was that it kept the weight down, which was useful as I have a tendency to put weight on quite easily and when I do I balloon up from my ‘fighting’ weight of one thirty pounds or so to over one forty five. Trouble is that a lot of that extra weigh seems to pile onto my tits, hips and bum, turning my figure from a respectable (ish) thirty-five, twenty-six, thirty-six to a somewhat outlandish Gaziantep Elden Ücret Alan Escort thirty-eight, twenty-eight, thirty-nine. In addition, with a lot of that excess going onto my boobs they would swell from a generous C cup to and outlandish D+, and that was with the bra tight!

The bank has a policy of rotating MDs every two years or so and recently, I had been moved to head up the Private Wealth Division throughout Europe. This was working with high net worth individuals and families finding investments that provided them with higher returns than they were used to receiving. I was enjoying meeting the clients and discussing their investment strategies and agreeing the risk profile of their portfolios.

I had been on a series of European trips meeting our clients in Germany, France, Switzerland, Holland, a few in Denmark, Austria and Sweden. We didn’t operate in southern European countries or the Balkans.

One of the bank’s top targets was, obviously the Duke of Westminster and his family, after all they are one of the richest families in the country. We hadn’t yet got a strong lead to that family but we had made good contacts with a close associated family the Cardigans.

I first met Lord Dempsy, the seventeenth Earl of Cardigan and thirty-seventh in line for the throne at his home in Cap Ferrat; he also had homes in New York, Palm Springs, Florence and Melbourne. He had many holidays and moved around a great deal. He was Just about as blue blood as anyone other than a royal can be. He had inherited his title and immense wealth a year or so ago when he was thirty-eight after his father was killed in a helicopter accident. We looked after only a small part of his fortune that he held in Switzerland. The larger part, probably seventy per cent, worth two to three hundred million dollars was held in the UK and the US and was controlled by Credit Suisse, our biggest rival in the Private Wealth Management business. Winning the rest of his business was high on the Bank’s wish list of new clients. And that made it one of my key objectives.

We had a good and quite encouraging meeting at his house and had lunch after it at the Cap Ferrat hotel. There he had agreed to a follow up meeting when he was back in the UK in three weeks-time. I had found out quite quickly that many immensely wealthy individuals were amazingly selfish and self-centered. They were also often very disorganised and many were quite rude, breaking appointments at will and sometimes with little or no notice; they were very difficult to work with.

It was quite a surprise then when I got a call from Monica Horrocks who was Lord Dempsy’s personal assistant. Speaking with a very plummy accent, something that fortunately was missing from the Earl, she had confirmed that my next meeting with him would be at our offices in Mayfair the following Wednesday. At that, I introduced him to our top team who would look after his investments and as he was in town I was able to have him meet my boss, Mark Le Pencher, a French guy who was the Global Head of Wealth Management. Both being avid boating fans with a huge interest in the America’s Cup they got on well.

Lord Dempsy no longer kept a London home ‘I only go there now for business and most of that I can do online’ but instead kept a suite at Claridges on a retainer. Smiling when I learned that I had thought ‘We are next door neighbours. As we were chatting after the meetings were finished I told him that.

“Well if ever you need to borrow a cup of sugar or,………………….anything else do pop round” he’d said holding my hand just a tad longer than was probably necessary. It was nice though.

I had now persuaded him to receive a presentation from us and that was arranged for four weeks-time at our Global HQ in New York. The location was at his request as he was spending the spring in America. I was happy with that for it meant I could introduce him to some of the Head Office big guns.

“There’ll be no need for that Michaela” he had said when I told him. “I know most of them already and Warren and I go back a long way.” The Warren he referred to was Warren Emerson the aging Chairman and CEO of the bank and one of Wall Street’s most revered luminaries. I had only met him briefly a couple of times.

*

“So Michaela how are things going with Lord Dempsy?”

“Good, everything is in order, we have some great ideas for him” I told the superboss.

After updating the global new business diary with the news of the impending presentation, I had been summoned to New York for a meeting with my boss Mark. I was amazed when after that I was asked to the CEO’s office. It was rare that executives of my level had one to one meetings with him and I was surprised that he would even know about my ‘courting’ of the Earl of Cardigan, Lord Dempsy.

“Good that’s excellent news, but then so does Credit Suisse as would Goldman’s, Morgan Stanley, Barclays or even fucking Deutchebank, we need more than ideas, they are ten a penny” he said rather harshly I thought.

“What do you mean Warren?”

The experienced, septuagenarian, Harvard educated, Ivy League banker looked at me with a stern look

“You haven’t been in wealth management that long have you Michy?”

“Er no” I replied hesitantly feeling a little uncomfortable with the way the conversation was going.

Warren Emerson was the CEO of the entire bank. He had held that post for seventeen years, which was an age in the industry. He earned well in excess of fifty million dollars a year and ran the bank in an autocratic manner, the typical old-fashioned ‘rod of iron’ approach. He was married, but was reputed to have a mistress or two and he had a reputation for being a bit of a ladies man.

We were in his fortieth floor, huge office that looked out towards Staten Island. I was sitting on a low, black leather chair in the conference area across the room from his enormous desk against which he was leaning. He walked over and standing behind me rested his fingers on my shoulders.

“Michaela, wealth management is different to all other forms of banking.”

“Yes I realise that.”

“I am not sure you do or appreciate that it is much more personal, intimate almost” was the rather worrying reply as thoughts of being fired went through my mind

“What do you mean?” I asked looking at the beautifully manicured fingernails resting on my shoulders.

“Managing the wealth of high and exceedingly high net worth individuals especially aristocracy is more than returns Michy” he went on maybe squeezing my shoulder a little more firmly.

“Yes I realise that.”

“I wonder if you really do realise that Michaela.”

“I do Warren really.”

He came round the settee and sat beside me. I was wearing a black, Jean Muir suit with an on the knee pencil skirt. As I was in a period where I had put weight on it was probably a little too tight round my hips and bum. Under the three-button jacket I was wearing button up, collarless shirt. The skirt had ridden up to probably seven or eight inches above my knee so I was showing plenty of black nylon. As I was expecting to meet my escort immediately I got to the hotel this evening I had decided to wear holdup stockings and was hoping against hope that I wasn’t flashing my stocking tops.

With his knee almost touching mine he said.

“Wealth management is all about relationships, not returns. All the banks can get those.”

“Yes of course” I said feeling nervous, something that was unusual for me.

“So it is how our people get on with the customer and develop relationships that wins and keeps business my dear. You understand?”

“Of course, but other measures also count” I retorted, perhaps not being that wise to be disagreeing with him.

He leaned forward and looking me in the eye said softly as totally ignoring political correctness he rested his fingers on my knee.

“Yes but that’s not your job.”

I didn’t reply and waited for him to continue.

“As the boss Michy don’t worry your pretty little head about fucking returns” he said looking at my short, slightly spiky blonde with dark streaks hair adding with a smile. “And it is a pretty head my dear and those glasses make you look even more er, if I may say so, sexy.

“Thank you Warren” I mumbled now becoming confused. I was wondering whether he was making a pass at me and more confusingly and worryingly wondering even more what my reaction would be if he was!

“Believe me Michaela” he went on now softly, almost as if it was an unconscious gesture, rubbing my leg just above my knee. “It’s all about developing personal relationships. Nothing more and nothing less, just how you get on with the client, that’s all it is. All the rest is down to others.”

“Yes I see what you mean.”

“Take this Lord Dempsy character. He’s as rich as God and couldn’t really give a fuck whether his return is ten or fifteen per cent. He’ll never see it or spend it. It’s how he gets on with his advisor that really matters.”

“Yes” I mumbled feeling little shivers run through me as his fingers went a little further up the side of my knee.

“And that means my dear how he gets on with you. You get me.”

I had no real idea what he was on about.

“Er sort of yes.”

“Look Michy you are earning the best part of three mil in dollars aren’t you?”

“Yes. Yes I am.”

“I am sure that I don’t have to tell you that for that amount I don’t expect sort of.”

“No right of course not” I said as confidently as I could as I watched his hand move round my leg and his fingers slide down the inside the tips being stopped my other leg.

“I expect for sure, can you do for sure?”

“Yes I am sure I can.”

“How sure Michy?” He asked, quite pointedly it seemed to me sliding his hand a few inches further up my leg until it nearly reached the hem.

I looked at him trying to work out whether he was simply after a quick grope, whether he wanted to fuck me or whether this was some form of test. I didn’t reply for a moment or two. But looked at him.

“Well?” He asked.

“I can do sure.”

“Are you certain Michy?” He asked inching his hand further upwards until it went under my skirt.

I looked him right in the eye.

“Yes” I murmured softly, my head whirring with the possible outcomes of this meeting.

“Are you really certain my dear?”

“Yes Warren I am.”

“And you are certain you can and will do for sure for Dempsy and his chum Grosvenor.”

“What do you mean Grosvenor?” I asked realising he was talking out the Duke of Westminster one of the richest men in the world for his family owned most of Belgravia and Mayfair as well as untold acres of farmland and forestry throughout the UK. The family was obviously very high on the bank’s list of target clients for in addition to their UK investments they had extensive holding in the US.

“Yes but not Westminster, he’s just the figurehead. Andrew Grosvenor is whom we need to net.

“Yes I will.”

“You do realise don’t you that we, well I, chose you for this job because you are a woman Michaela, a very attractive and incredibly sexy woman.”

“No I didn’t realise that.”

“Well it seemed natural as most of the clients are men and you have a very healthy appetite for sex.”

“I beg your pardon?” I asked really not sure what he was getting at.

“You know full well what I mean.”

“Warren I don’t.”

“Michaela please don’t treat me like an idiot.”

“I’m not.”

“Then accept and realise that I know all about you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Simple my dear. I know who you fuck and when you fuck them.”

“I am not er, um” I stammered not sure how blunt to be, but then bolstering my courage blurted out. “Fucking anyone at present.”

“Not that black stud who fucked you on Saturday and who is looking forward to a repeat performance this evening when you will fit him in between finishing work and having dinner with Dempsy?” He said very softly.

I realised of course that he must have me and presumably other executives under some form of surveillance.

The cesspit that banking has become seemed to be engulfing me as Warren told me the home truths. I tried going for humour as he squeezed my thigh just under the hem of the skirt.

“I see” I said seriously, but then tried to lighten the mood with humour. “And I thought it was my brain and success in M and A that got me the job” I retorted with a smile.

“Well that as well of course, but then you know as well as I do that the brain is the most erotic organ in the body, don’t you Michaela?”

“Yes Warren it is.”

“And so my dear how can you persuade me that you can do for sure?” He asked squeezing my leg and looking me right in the eyes.

I held his gaze, leaned back a little and asked.

“Does this help?” As I opened my legs.

*

I had a hectic four weeks before the presentation to Lord Dempsy.

It was the start of the bank’s budget setting process and I had to visit the eight offices under my control to review their suggestions for the next year. As usual, all the local MDs were cautious and did not feel the fifteen per cent profit increase that I had set them was attainable. That meant considerable haggling and negotiating before the budget finalisation meeting that I had set up in London ten days before the New York presentation.

I addition to my enormous workload and the incessant travel I had a further meeting with Lord Dempsy who was in Paris the same time as me. We tied up the loose ends of the presentation process with him advising that his UK accountant, legal representative and financial advisers were needed at the presentation making me feel duty bound to offer to fly them over.

“That’s enormously kind Michaela thank you very much.”

With Warren’s words on relationship in my mind, I told him that he was very welcome indeed as I looked into his eyes.

“Well one kind deed like that certainly deserves a return Michy so when I can I will introduce you to a great friend of mine. He’s staggeringly rich and is looking for a new bank to look after his portfolio.”

“Thank you that’s very kind. May I ask who that is?” I said placing my fingers on his arm.

“I can’t tell you that yet, but I will in due course.”

At home that evening I was amazed when I answered my mobile and the voice said.

“Hi Michy, it’s Warren here.

“Oh hi” I replied feeling a little embarrassed about what had happened in his office.

“I hope you are thinking carefully and remembering what I said about relationships.”

“Yes I am I have been putting it into practice on my budget tour.”

After he had cum in his office he had waffled on about how to develop great relationships and had told me things like: always use their name, agree with them, drink what they drink, be hugely empathetic, look into their eyes, listen attentively, ask questions about them, touch their arm or hand, stand close and don’t talk much about yourself unless they ask specific questions. I told him that I was doing those sorts of things. He finished with.

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