Exigence Ep. 01

"Yes! Yes, baby! Work that magic tongue!"

The thought of our stunning friend Skylar eating out the cute blonde sent shivers through my bones and made my bi-curious cousin twitch. As I pulled Natasha to her feet, she didn't waste a second finding the right position. With her hands pressing against the inside of the doorframe, she presented her pussy and wriggled her hips. Her whole body yearned to feel my cock inside her.

Gripping her sides, I impaled her skinny body, pushing past any resistance her tightness threw my way. She felt light as a fever under my command and became a slave to my touch. Her pussy contracted around my shaft as she experienced a full-blown orgasm.

"Cum in my pussy, Olly!" she cried out. "Fill me up, cuz! Breed me, baby!"

Ahhh! I wanted nothing more. It was so wrong. It could never be. It was wrong, wrong, wrong. But I wanted it. God knows I wanted nothing more.

Down the hall, we heard Lauren respond to Natasha's naughty desires as she made sure we could hear her. "Put your pussy against mine, baby! Please, I want us to be together!"

Suddenly, we could hear Skylar's voice too as the lez pair began scissoring each other senseless. The sound of their ecstasy only heightened what Natasha and I were doing, and soon I felt like I was going to explode.

"I'm going to cum," I announced, causing my cousin to lose her balance as she yearned for the moment.

"Cum inside me, Olly!" she plead. "Fill me up; make me a mommy! Please, Olly! Make my tummy swell with your cum!"

I groaned. "I'm going to cum inside you. I'm going to fill you up and make you a mommy, Tash."

"Do it, cuz! Do it! Please, for god's sake, do it!"

Slamming my hips forward, I pushed my cock as far into my cousin's pussy as physically possible. I lost control of my torso and my arms and my head. All I could do was maintain my stance, but the rest of my body took on a mind of its own as I coated the inside of Natasha's pussy. I drowned her womb with my seed.

Down the hall, the sounds of one family member demanding another breed her drove our lesbian friends wild as they reached climax after climax, fit and strong and able to go all night long. They were now part of our taboo, and nothing got people more worked up than the sounds and sights of the forbidden.

It took us a while to find our feet, but soon Natasha and I were back at it. That night, we'd go time and time again, competing with our neighbours to see who'd be the first to pass out.

The girls next door beat us, but not by much.

05 • Shake, Sheikh

Beyond her short-lived career as an influencer, Lauren Polk didn't have any work experience when she joined our staff. But, since she'd been with us, the poodle-ish blonde woke up early every morning, dressed to impress, and ensured we had breakfast. The morning after what must've been the wildest night of her life was no exception, and I found her in the kitchen, making milkshakes.

"Good morning!" she greeted, looking fresh and perfectly groomed. "You're up nice and early."

I raised an eyebrow as Lauren passed me a strawberry shake garnished with whipped cream, marshmallows and sprinkles.

"Milkshakes for breakfast?" I inquired.

Lauren beamed a smile and flapped her arm around whimsically. "Milkshakes for breakfast, champagne at brunch, a little wine in the evening and candy at midnight. When you're richer than rich and kinda weird, it's nice to make your own rules."

I smiled. "Seems like you had fun last night."

"I knew working for you'd be awesome when I saw your palace in Italy and that big-ass yacht. I didn't think it would be as good as it was last night..."

I couldn't help but notice Lauren talked about the money and the toys but failed to mention Skylar. After finding my friend sleeping on the couch the night before, I began to doubt their relationship. I kept my doubts to myself as I reminded Lauren what happened in our little bubble had to stay between us.

"Of course," she affirmed. "Some people might not understand, but I think it's cool."

"Cool?"

She narrowed her eyes briefly, trying to find another word before settling on her first choice. "Yeah, cool. If banging my cousins was an option, I'd have led a much less complicated life. Boyfriends and girlfriends are way too complicated."

The last sentence hinted that things weren't all rosy between the ladies. I decided it wasn't any of my business unless Skylar explicitly came to ask me for help. So, I left Lauren to finish making the rest of breakfast, though I warned her Natasha might not be awake for another hour at the very least. She'd want to stay in happy dreams about raising my children for as long as possible.

• • •

After a call with my sisters and an appointment with a stylist, I was in the car with my entourage as we navigated to the discrete headquarters of the Confidential Executive -- the world's most exclusive Sunday newspaper. The editor-in-chief's office could be accessed directly via a private elevator, and I met the man without my team.

My initial impression of Mr Marlow was poor. I expected someone from a thriller and instead got a man who was very much mundane. His tweed jacket and slick black hair made him look more like a boring teacher than the purveyor of a prestigious and secretive newsletter for the world's most influential people. Of course, that's not to say all teachers are boring, but he was akin to the ones who could put a coked-up gym bunny to sleep.

He shook my hand as any other man would shake your hand. He was undoubtedly not like Alicia's father figure, Aaron, nor was he anything like the 'Trillion Dollar Man,' Gedeon Daughtler. He may hold an important job, but he wasn't a giant like some of the men I'd met. They were heroic figures who walked and talked like storybook characters. He wouldn't be cast in a B-movie.

"Mr Marlow," I greeted, immediately giving him the briefcase full of cash that covered my subscription fee.

"Mr Orwell," he replied calmly. "Thank you for your payment. If you don't mind, I'd like to ask you a few off-the-record questions. It's a tradition of ours, whenever we take onboard a new subscriber."

"It must give you insights that inform the rest of your work," I observed, drawing a smile.

As we sat down, Marlow began asking conventional questions about my life and businesses. More than once, he remarked that people were betting I'd blow my inheritance within a month and end up a pauper. I took no offence. It was a bet I'd have made myself, if I were the type to place bets.

"You've been underestimated," he said. "By our calculations, your empire has grown. In fact, you seem to have been taking on a lot of Gedeon Daughtler's old assets. What's that all about?"

I preferred to be vague, playing my cards close to my chest. "Before he died, we determined we have the same objectives."

"Oh?"

"Daughtler believed the ultra-wealthy shouldn't conspire to run the world. He thought extreme wealth creates an obligation of solitariness, and he was convinced his money should either be transferred to a single person or destroyed entirely. This would avoid the creation of a cabal."

"Really?" Marlow smirked. "He trusted you with his money because he believed no one should be as rich and influential as him, except..."

"Except me."

Placing a finger on his chin, the newsman was trying to decide whether he should push further with his questions. He could tell I was being evasive, and his instincts as a journalist saw him press me on the details. But I was also his customer. In the end, the correspondent inside him won the battle.

"What about you made him trust you?"

"I don't know."

"Can I guess?"

I shrugged.

Marlow leant back and explained his theory. "It's not something about your character or your capability. I knew Gedeon. He didn't trust people to make good decisions, but he believed living a good life would see natural forces guide them onto the right path. He was a student of cause and effect, with little interest in much else. Randomness fascinated him, as did the tendency of disparate events to form connections. I'm betting he believed you were bound to be a good custodian of his wealth because of something you're facing -- a situation or challenge. Yes, he placed his trust in the course of your life, not in you personally."

Deciding to employ deceit, deflection and diversion to avoid giving too much away, I drew Marlow's attention off the matter. "I haven't a clue. I must confess, I'm still not used to being interviewed. It still makes my palms sweat."

"This is only an off-the-record chat," he reminded, picking up a bowl of sweets from his desk and offering me one. It was like a dentist giving a kid candy after torturing a tooth out of his mouth. I declined.

"You know," I diverted, "I met one of your journalistic brethren yesterday. She ambushed me in a corridor, trying to secure an interview."

Marlow was intrigued enough that he broke off his questioning. "Sounds rather undignified for a member of the press. Who is this reporter?"

I had to think a little to recall the woman's name. "Dalton, something... Ah yes, Danika Dalton!"

"Ha!" the snobby editor-in-chief snorted. "Danika Dalton wants to interview you? Poor girl must be back on the drink if she thinks you'd agree to sit down with her--"

"I agreed."

"Heavens! You must cancel, Mr Orwell. Men like you should not be meeting with people like her. She lacks class. Admittedly, her parents were brilliant. But she's too ambitious. Ambition, Mr Orwell, is a trait of the shameless."

"I see..."

Pinching my earlobe, I made a mental note to have Alicia double-check Dalton's credentials.

Moving on to the real reason for my visit to London and the Confidential Executive, I passed Marlow the wording of the advert I wanted to place in his paper. It outlined the requirements for the supercomputer we planned on building and solicited offers to fulfil them. The text made it clear we were willing to pay any price.

Marlow adjusted his eyes as he stared at the proposed advert with a degree of fascination that could only spell trouble. He glanced up at me, then back down to the paper. All the while, he was struggling to suppress the smirk of a puzzle fiend who'd just discovered a new riddle.

"Do you know Sheikh Jaziri Laghmani?" he asked.

"No," I replied, wondering why it mattered.

"Since this is purely a commercial matter," Marlow explained, "I see no need to maintain confidentiality. After all, his name was attached to the advert he placed. It was an advert much like your own... If not almost exactly like your own."

I sat upright. It couldn't be a coincidence.

"He placed his request for bids about three weeks ago," the editor continued. "A small firm here in London replied. I see no reason not to give you their details."

Nodding urgently, my body didn't seem capable of hiding my impatience. If this sheikh were a member of the Archive, they'd be one step ahead of us. Though they didn't possess the actual storage device, they might have known enough about it to develop a means of unlocking its contents. No doubt, once they'd perfected their method, they would try to take it from me again. Either that or they wanted to find and eliminate anyone who could help me.

I needed to beat them. I needed nothing more.

Rejoining Alicia, Skylar and Isabelle, I declared we'd be heading straight to the address of the London firm that'd replied to the sheikh's advert.

There was no time to lose.

06 • Out of Business

The faded sticker on the door of the electronics shop advertised cellphone repair, computer peripherals and cheap prices.

We were in a part of London that seemed impossibly quiet. It was a wasteland, free of people, cars, sound, and any living thing, no matter how small. I doubted there were ants walking the pavement and couldn't spot a single bird in the sky.

"I have bad cell signal," Alicia remarked. We should turn around.

"Because you don't have reception?"

"Because I think there might be a jammer in the area."

I shook my head. There was no time to waste. In any case, Alicia was just being overprotective after what happened in Tokyo. Her instincts weren't those of a security agent protecting her client. Instead, she acted as a person hoping to shield someone they loved from even the remotest possibility of harm.

"It'll be alright," I assured. "We just need to make contact with the vendor."

"Okay, but you should stay in the car with Isabelle while Skylar and I head inside. We'll call you once we're ready."

Raising my hands in surrender, I conceded to the plan.

Alicia and Skylar moved like panthers. Approaching the door, they found a spot where the sticker had peeled off the glass door, using it to peek into the shop. Alicia frowned, reaching behind her back to ready her pistol as Skylar tried the door.

It was locked, but the sign outside said, 'OPEN.'

There was a brief argument between the two women. Isabelle and I watched, with my driver quickly commenting on the dynamic as we tried to read their lips.

"Skylar feels Alicia is overstepping."

"She's just being protective," I countered.

"Sure," Isabelle accepted, "but she's not your bodyguard anymore. She shouldn't be stepping on Sky's turf. If I were you, boss, I'd discourage it. Unless you want to see the mother of all catfights."

It was nice hearing one former Catholic schoolgirl stand up for another. When Isabelle and Skylar first met, there was an invisible tension between them. It was senseless and faded as days passed, having been based on nothing but a few misremembered memories of their youth.

"Human beings are naturally possessive," I remarked. "Territorial."

"With women, it's more the former than the latter," she asserted. "You know how we are."

"I don't stereotype."

"When it comes to guys, even for a lady with Skylar's outlook, it's winner takes all. We pick a man, and then we stick to him. Privately or professionally. You can bring as many pretty young things into your 'territory' as you'd like, but you better not let them step on each other's toes."

"Again," I reminded, "I don't stereotype. After all, Cassandra Nash wants me to become the CEO of a company predicated on feminist ideals."

My driver snorted a little louder than she'd intended. "Sorry, boss... You almost made my eyes roll all the way back. There's no such thing as a corporation with ideals. It's all marketing. Sure, Pellinore hires more women than the other big firms, but that's not saying much. And you hire only female bodyguards because you think men in the profession are all brawn and no brain. You stereotype. You do."

"Perhaps. Maybe I only hire hotties."

Isabelle and I smiled at each other. She'd been a bit brash, but there were no hard feelings. I liked people who spoke directly and didn't mince their words.

We watched as Alicia and Skylar concocted a plan. My bodyguard leaned against the front door as Alicia pulled her pistol from behind her back and went looking for a side entrance to the shop. The sight was enough to bring my curiosity to a boil, and I got out of the car despite Isabelle's protestations.

One person who didn't mind involving me in the action was Skylar. Dragging out her words with an airy Australian accent to accompany each syllable, she explained what was happening.

"Place seems empty. It's locked up despite the lights inside being on and the sign saying it's open. If I had to guess..."

"Go on," I encouraged.

"It's a hunch," she qualified, "but I'd bet good money that the sheikh you mentioned sent his boys here. When I worked in Hollywood, his type would make regular appearances. Their security people were all the same, whether they hired them locally or brought them from their own countries. Careful enough to claim they're pros, but too dumb to think beyond the bare minimum."

It seemed like Skylar made fair assumptions, but I wanted to believe we weren't too late. As Alicia rejoined us, I could see she was pissed at me for getting out of the car. Instead of getting angry, she wanted to give me a hug and hold me tight so that any bullets flung my way would have to pass through her first. But we weren't in the jungle -- a place where part of her would always live -- and I wanted to be part of the action.

Call me a thrill-seeker, or call me an idiot. Whatever you decide to call me, I won't mind, because I believe in my mission enough to take another hundred blows. In any case, there was no way I'd let my people take all the risk while I sat in my bulletproof car and stared at them like a wealthy lord who pays someone to duel on his behalf.

I figured this sheikh might have been a man like that. I figured the whole damn Archive were probably men like that. It's why I'd rather have spent my time going toe-to-toe with Sardonis. At least he was the kind of thug to get his own hands dirty.

I'm not ashamed to say I don't believe in the rehabilitation of bullies, 'specially not bullies whose only strength comes from money and mastery of a bad attitude. I'd never met this sheikh, but I knew I'd smack him down so hard he'd never get back up again. And that's how you deal with a bully.

Noting my desire to stand up and stand with her, Alicia explained what she found around the back of the building. "The door's been pried open. How confident are you in MI6's commitment to us, sir?"

"As confident as I can be," I replied. "Trent seems sincere in wanting me as an equal partner."

"Good," Alicia nodded. "That means they won't mind us entering the building to look around. We could have a long argument about you coming along or going home, but I know how that argument will end. So, grab one of the spare guns we keep in the car and get ready to follow me through the back."

"You know me too well," I smiled, with Alicia smiling right back at me. Her baby face lit up as a rare expression of emotion made her brown eyes dance.

Heading back to the car, I retrieved a subcompact pistol we kept hidden under the rear passenger seat. It was a last-ditch weapon intended for an emergency, but it would also do for the task at hand. Still, I wanted a nicer gun to keep on my person -- nicer than the Glock Skylar gave me to keep in my bedside drawer and nicer than the tiny little thing I kept under the backseat.

I'd buy myself one once we left London.

Slipping the gun into my pocket while keeping a hand on the grip, I rejoined my team.

Skylar was first through the busted backdoor, with Alicia following. I trailed behind, letting them clear the first room as the professionals they were.

"Keep your barrel on that," my bodyguard instructed, and I raised my gun to hold an angle on the closed door straight ahead of me. While I covered it, my companions took a second door leading to a small (empty) bathroom. I lowered my weapon as they directed their attention to the last breach.

Alicia gently depressed the handle and peeked into the next room. "Feeds to the right."

Skylar nodded.

They swung the door open and cleared the next area. It was empty like every other part of the store. We settled into a forensic examination of all the space we'd covered. The room we were standing in was typical of any dodgy electronics shop. Glass topped counters arranged in a U-shape faced each other, with counterfeit products lining the walls.

"Not exactly where you'd expect to find a supercomputer," I remarked, but Alicia wasn't so sure.

"This place is too clean."

We walked into the backroom through which we'd entered. There was a mini fridge in one corner with a microwave on top. A solitary chair opposite was the place an employee would sit to have their lunch. Aside from those features, there were a few boxes of junk.