Corporate Bodies Pt. 07: Complicity

I looked into my wife's eyes and for a moment saw a plea for help. I could only look back at her in despair.

"Perhaps on our return..." I began but he cut me off mid-sentence.

"It would be difficult for me to give your proposals the attention they deserve without the presence of an educated, native English speaker at my side," he said, looking me straight in the eye. "It would be a pity if the agreement were to fail at this late stage as a result of a mere misunderstanding."

Amanda's eyes burned into me again.

"And I'm sure, in your absence, your lovely wife will continue to improve the cordial relations that have developed between our organisations. My Deputy in particular would like to understand more of the psychology of being a successful woman in what remains stubbornly a man's world."

Perhaps I had misjudged the situation. I raised my eyes to meet my wife's stare. There was pleading in my own eyes but resentful anger in hers.

"May I speak to my husband in private?" she asked.

The request was duly granted with a reminder that time was now of the essence.

"You know what he wants. I can't do it," Amanda hissed under her breath as soon as the distance between us and Turen was large enough to prevent overhearing.

"Amanda," I began, "It might not mean..."

"You know exactly what he means so don't pretend you don't!" she interrupted angrily.

"You're right," I confessed, my heart thumping in my chest. "It's too much to ask. It's just..."

"Just what? I'm supposed to be your wife! Do you expect me... expect Mandy to fuck anyone who wants to if they can help your career?" she hissed angrily under her breath. "Wasn't last night enough? I'm still sore, you selfish Bastard!"

"I'm afraid I must hurry you," Turen's soft smooth voice insisted. "The plane must take off on time or it will miss its landing slot in Brussels."

"But we're so close to the deal," I insisted to Amanda, my voice low. "We're nearly there. Once the deal is done our lives can change forever."

"I can't believe you're asking me to do this," she hissed again. "How many men ask their wives to become whores? How many men let their wives get fucked just because it's good for business?"

"It's not like that," I tried to protest.

"It's exactly like that!" she croaked.

"Of course," Turen's smooth voice broke through again. "It would be in all our interests if the role of your wife in these negotiations remained, shall we say, confidential. If the agreement is signed, I can promise this. Unfortunately, were the negotiations to stumble at this late stage, it might be difficult to guarantee the confidentiality of all that has taken place so far."

My heart thumped; though smoothly delivered, this was a threat. Turen clearly knew about Pamuk's relationship with my wife and was threatening to make it public if she did not comply with his wishes.

I could feel the horror in Amanda's glare. If Mandy's bedroom antics becoming widely known, the world in general and our friends and family in particular couldn't possibly understand it - or the division between her two personalities.

"I'm trapped!" she stated coldly.

"On the contrary," Turen countered. "The choice is entirely in your hands. You have to weigh up the possible consequences of each option."

Amanda glared at him angrily then stared hard at me, her eyes aflame. There was a long pause.

"Very well," she finally said, her voice hard and cold. "Mr. Turen, I would be delighted to visit your official residence and see more of... your country."

She turned away from me as strong hands bundled me into the car and closed the door. The last thing I saw as it pulled away from the Ministry and sped towards the airport was Yasmin, the glamorous Deputy wrapping an expensive shawl around my pretty wife's slender shoulders.

She didn't look back.

I closed my eyes as we sped through the traffic.

So, this is how it worked; the gloves were off. Turen, the outwardly urbane, sophisticated man was no different from Pamuk or even Andy. He too needed a hold over me; to assert the power of his masculinity over mine by taking my wife before my eyes.

And once again I had connived at my own humiliation.

What kind of man was I? The answer to that was becoming more obvious by the day.

Chapter Thirty

It was grey and raining in Brussels six hours later when my taxi drew up at the large, glass-fronted EU building. The weather matched my mood as I entered the lobby loaded down with briefcases and an overnight bag, and with a deep frown on my face.

I had only flown in a private jet twice before; the experience had done something to improve my mood though I was still deeply unhappy.

By now Amanda would be on the coast at the official residence of the Head of the National Bank, Mr. Turen.

I had heard something about it from Pamuk during breaks in our lengthy negotiations. Built in the traditional Ottoman style, it was large but unostentatious and offered old fashioned levels of comfort and hospitality.

His collection of carpets was apparently one of the finest in the region and his chef was simply superb. In other circumstances, my wife would have found both them and the culture fascinating, but I suspected she would have little opportunity to indulge her interests this time.

My mind raced and my heart thumped wondering what might be in store for her.

The EU ministry team were assembled in the smart metal and glass meeting room, and we got down to work straight away. I buried myself in the discussions and negotiations; desperate to have something to take my mind off what might be happening back in Turkey.

After nearly four hours we had thrashed out a formula which looked as if it might suit all parties; satisfying the EU desire for transparency, the Turks' need for confidentiality and of course ensuring that only Sandersons could possibly provide the security and reassurance needed by both sides.

It was one of the most difficult and complicated negotiations of my life and despite everything else that happened, to this day it is still the one of which I am most proud.

Confirmation of the proposals by the Commission could only take place the following morning so it was with some reluctance that I went to my solitary hotel bedroom that night.

I called Amanda on her mobile to hear that the phone was out of range. I tried again an hour later with the same result. I tried a third and a fourth time but to no avail so lay on my bed with the TV screen giving the room an eerie monochrome glow.

I tried to doze but it was impossible, my mind constantly wondering what would soon happen in the next and hopefully final stage of discussion in Turkey, and what might actually be happening now to my wife.

After another sleepless night I tried to recover some composure in the shower, then dressed in a fresh, clean shirt and caught a taxi to the Commission offices where the EU team were already waiting.

The hours that followed seemed interminable. At times it felt as if everyone in Europe had been asked for their opinion and would not be satisfied unless the documents were amended exactly as they wanted.

Bureaucracy had surely gone mad, but at least it kept my thoughts away from the tribulations Amanda might be facing.

The entire morning was wasted in this disheartening way but eventually a compromise was reached. Even so, it was late when I caught the plane back to Turkey and later still by the time I had followed my wife's journey to Turen's coastal residence with the final precious agreement document in a locked briefcase.

Well after midnight, my car pulled up outside the impressive gates of the retreat. Documents were inspected and my face scrutinised before I was politely admitted, searched by unsmiling security guards then escorted by a very pretty young lady to one of three self-contained lodges within the compound where I was told, my wife had slept the previous night.

Once alone, I looked around the lodge's main room. It was sumptuously decorated with white walls, rich hangings, deep carpets and a great deal of gold-coloured ornamentation. The lighting was low, there was the low hum of air conditioning but despite the hour, there were no sounds of habitation.

Turen was clearly a wealthy and powerful man if his second home was as opulent as this.

I entered the bedroom and looked around. The bed was low and large but again showed no sign of recent use. There were no signs of my wife's toiletries on the dressing table either and none of her clothes were in the walk-in closet and her suitcase stood in the corner as if she had just arrived.

Puzzled, I returned to the lounge and looked for a telephone with which to call the staff. Then I remembered I was in a private home, not a hotel. There was no telephone; there would be no reception desk. If I wanted to find my wife I would have to go and look for her. I lowered my briefcase and overnight bag to the ground alongside Amanda's suitcase then pulled off my tie, opened my shirt collar and stepped out into the darkness.

Though narrow, the well-swept pathways were lit by occasional low lights so there was no risk of tripping, but most of the compound was in darkness. Almost the only light - and that was a low glow - came from a larger lodge a short distance from where I stood.

I approached it slowly, not wanting to intrude on my host's privacy but needing to know what had happened to my wife. There was no sound coming from within. I tried the door; it was solid and heavily bolted, but light still streamed onto the grass from gaps around the window drapes.

I circled the lodge, trying without success to find a vantage point before eventually finding a small, completely undraped ventilation hole only a couple of feet from the ground.

Moving silently around the lodge's perimeter, I dropped to my knees and peered through it into the chamber beyond. It took a few moments for my eyes to adjust to the low light within but when the scene before me came into focus my heart almost stopped.

The room was large and low-ceilinged with old oil lamps placed around its walls giving it a deep orange glow. The floor was covered in exotic Turkish and Ottoman rugs and was dotted with richly patterned cushions and blankets. There was a large incense burner on a low table on which also stood a silver coffee pot and an unlabelled bottle alongside three small glasses.

It looked like a set from a harem scene in a 'fifties Hollywood movie.

But what froze me to the spot wasn't the decor or the heady aroma which was filtering through the hole into the night. No, my eyes were drawn immediately and inexorably towards the activities taking place on a large, scarlet carpet in the centre of the room.

Exotic, beautiful and intelligent, the tall, intimidating Yasmin lay on her back on a white sheet which had been thrown over the rich, thick rug. She was naked apart from the thin black choker around her neck and an equally thin gold chain fastened around her right ankle. Her small, uniformly tanned breasts were firm and pointed with large deep-brown nipples. Her head was thrown back and her long, dark hair was fanned out over a gold embroidered pillow.

The contrast between the darkness of her skin and the whiteness of the sheet was striking but I was only dimly aware of this because my gaze was fixed firmly on her groin.

Yasmin's legs were splayed wide, her mouth was open, her eyes tightly closed and her back arched in ecstasy as, between her thighs, a blonde female head slowly moved from side to side and up and down.

It was a blonde head I knew very well; my lovely, intelligent wife was performing oral sex on another woman as if she had been born to it. Mandy was giving pleasure to the intimidatingly intelligent and successful Banker with a skill nothing in her previous life had even hinted she possessed.

Even as I watched, Yasmin's upper body convulsed, her thighs closed and her hands gripped Amanda firmly by the hair as a powerful orgasmic pulse passed through her.

I stared in astonishment; there, before my eyes, my extraordinarily attractive wife was on her knees between Yasmin's spread legs, dressed only in dark blue thong panties. Her parted buttocks were raised obscenely high, and her chest and shoulders were almost on the floor as she buried her face firmly in the woman's groin.

Her long blonde hair was pulled back between her shoulders and tied with a dark blue ribbon that matched her panties. Her hands were behind her back; I gasped when I realised they too had been bound with the same blue ribbon, but she showed no sign of reluctance or hesitation as her active mouth went about its task.

Yasmin's next orgasm was building before my eyes. She tipped her head back; tilting her dark-skinned, hairless vulva towards my wife's eager mouth and the tongue that was showering it with pleasure.

My heart thumped, my chest felt tight and the bulge in my trousers grew and grew.

The air filled with the sounds of mounting female pleasure until, as I watched helpless and spellbound, the clever, sophisticated, capable Yasmin was brought to another mighty climax. Her legs closed hard but fruitlessly on her lover's pale skinned body, her hands gripped Mandy's head tightly, first pulling her face onto her pulsating vulva, then pushing it away again as a fresh wave of orgasm rolled over her and her body pulsed and flexed wildly.

But Mandy was relentless. Barely breaking rhythm, she kept tonguing and tonguing until wave after wave of climax washed over the woman and she fell backwards helplessly on the cushions. My wife's head swiftly followed her lover's pulsating groin, shuffling on her knees until her bottom was presented directly towards the hole through which I was watching.

Her buttocks raised high, this new position spread my wife's buttocks wide, the dark blue fabric of her thong stretched tightly around the pale skin of her waist and down the open cleft between her smooth, pale cheeks.

I could clearly see the dark patch at its base where her lubrication had saturated the thong. However reluctant she might have been to stay; my wife was clearly not finding this lesbian experience entirely unpleasant. Her obvious ability in that direction suggested it was far from being her first such encounter, but when could she have honed her undoubted skills - and who with?

But those thoughts were halted abruptly when my eye was caught by a movement in the corner of the room, and I realised that the two girls were not alone.

Sitting very still in a deep, comfortable chair and watching the couple on the carpet was a tall, slim, deeply tanned man I immediately recognised.

Chapter Thirty-One

Turen appeared to be naked apart from a dark-coloured towel wrapped around his waist and was toying with what looked like a cruel, curved knife as he watched the two girls. I ducked down from the widow to avoid being spotted, but his attention appeared to be focused solely on the action on the rug before him.

As I watched, he rose to his feet and slowly approached the two writhing female bodies. His lips moved as if he was speaking but his words were inaudible over Yasmin's low moans.

He drew closer, smiled then bent over and slit the blue ribbon securing Mandy's wrists with his knife. It must have been razor sharp because it parted almost without resistance. My wife shook herself free of her soft bonds, barely acknowledging his presence as her hands rose to join her mouth buried deep in her lover's crotch.

Ignored by the two lovers, Turen backed slowly away and re-took his seat.

A moment later, though partly unsighted I saw my wife slide her left hand underneath her own chin. The muscles of her arm flexed and from the sudden bucking of the Turkish girl's body that immediately followed, I guessed she had thrust her fingers into Yasmin's vagina.

Apparently satisfied with the result, Mandy's muscles bunched, and her shoulders flexed again. Yasmin bucked wildly again and again as my wife's determined fingers were thrust repeatedly into her vagina.

A moment later, she raised her blonde head leaving the dark-skinned woman's vulva in full view.

I stared, amazed at the glistening, pale right hand that was half buried in dark, weeping female flesh then watched spellbound as before my eyes, my sweet wife began to finger her new bed partner with an expertise I had only ever seen in porn videos.

Her hand was over the girl's mound, partly cupping her vulva but I could tell at least two fingers were buried deep in her vagina. Mandy was working those fingers hard, jerking her hand up and down, I guessed seeking and stimulating the woman's hidden g-spot hidden in a way I had tried many times to achieve but with limited success.

Mandy's prowess must have far exceeded my own because the effect on her companion was instant. Yasmin's dark-skinned legs fell wide apart and her head flopped helplessly backwards then her whole body convulsed, the muscles of her tummy contracting, hauling her helpless head and shoulders upwards where they shook and trembled obscenely.

Between her thighs, my wife's fingers were working overtime on her companion's vagina. Yasmin fell helplessly back on the pillow again, her whole body bucking and contorting with the intensity of her orgasms. The room filled with the sound of a woman's moaning, then squealing then all sound was cut off as her convulsions robbed her of breath.

But nothing this intense could last forever. Eventually Mandy's arm and hand began to slow and Yasmin's spasms began to ease. She lay on her back gasping for breath, the aftershocks of her climax rippling through her slender body as Mandy or Amanda, still on all fours, admired her handiwork.

There was a brief stillness, then I became aware of another movement from the corner of the room. Turen was on the move again.

Casting aside his towel, the big man approached my wife from behind, the knife still in his right hand. Frozen to the spot, I found myself incapable of even the slightest movement, not knowing where the greatest danger lay.

The sharp, cruel weapon in his hand was long, thin and twinkled in the low lamplight.

The meaty weapon that hung between his legs was on a different scale; long, dark and, to my anxious eyes, almost as thick as his powerful wrist.

I watched helplessly as he knelt on the carpet behind my wife's kneeling frame then slipped the blade of the dagger under the thong. A flick of his wrist later and the strap between her buttocks had been neatly severed.

The blue waistband slipped quickly up her smooth back until it bunched loosely around her waist, the thong disappearing instantly between her thighs to reveal a glistening, inviting slit between her parted cheeks, dark, puffy and simply weeping juices.

Turen moved his powerful body into place behind my wife's inviting buttocks and exposed, readily accessible vulva. I could sense her bracing herself for what must inevitably follow. Her arms tensed, her neck stiffened and her eyes closed but she made no attempt to move away from her soon-to-be penetrator.

If anything, she seemed to raise her bottom a little higher and open her knees a little wider as if to make his entrance easier.

My chest ached as I watched the woman I had married and the mother of my children preparing herself to be violated by another man. There was no hint of resistance or reluctance; as far as I could see, she wanted it and wanted it badly.

A broad smile passed over Turen's handsome face as he took the end of his monstrous cock in his right hand and, placing his left palm on my wife's left buttock, began to work its smooth, rounded head up and down her slit from behind.

Mandy's head dropped between her arms as the huge dome was rubbed up and down her lips, then her whole body tensed as Turen found his target. An expression of pleasure crossed his brow and a look of fear flashed across my wife's pretty face as the man's large right hand joined his left on her buttocks.