Fucked Stupid Pt. 02

----------------------

The takeover bid continues

----------------------

The memory lurked like a dark monster, dimly glimpsed in gloaming shadow. Had it even happened? At this distance, it was hard to countenance. His body knew it though.

He'd been brought around by the late morning sun slicing through his eyeballs, dredged up from a Mariana-Trench-deep sleep, drool moistening the cotton sheet pressed to his mouth. The hotel bed looked like he'd been wrestling a crocodile, and his body felt like it too, his head sore and fretful.

But his dick. His dick was hard, and not just morning glory hard, but begging-to-plunge-itself-into-anything-tight-and-moist hard. Chambermaid, room service, vacuum cleaner nozzle; each was as enticing as the next.

The flight home had been a torment: sexy air hostesses wiggling their tight bums and carefully concealed breasts at him, begging to be fucked, just begging for it, while his fellow passengers slept. He'd slipped it in from behind with each of them in turn, screwing them over the drinks trolley, sticking his face between their butt cheeks as they wiggled past, and been woken by the ding of the seat-belt sign, sweaty and stiff from his fevered half-dream.

In the weeks after, googling like a madman, he tried to make sense of what she'd done. She'd claimed she'd doped him with an aphrodisiac that would rewire his neural network. He'd scoffed, but the frenzied sex and its effect on him since had left him wondering. There was Vyleesi, the FDA-approved aphrodisiac PT-141, but a slightly heightened sexual desire this wasn't, unless it was her other-worldly skills that had done for him. There was more to what she'd drugged him with than that though, he was sure, and his brain was being warped. He read unverified stories of experiments the KGB had conducted with nerve agents dispensed by honeypots in the 1960s. There were rumours the programme had never been discontinued, but instead had grown in sophistication under the auspices of the FSB, with new technologies like gene editing. Either way, he suspected that, like a super-charged Viagra, whatever she'd given him had simply worked in symbiosis with her skills.

It didn't subside but grew and grew. Sex. Like a hormonal teenager, he smelled it everywhere. His wife got the worst of it, night in, night out. Rampant, rough, raging, he took it out on her. Sore and perplexed, she banished him from their bed. So he took it out instead on the young intern at the office, the sexy little thing that was desperate to get on. Job insecurity was a wonderful thing. It lined his pockets and it polished his dick. She didn't know what hit her. A smile here and an angry word there, and before she knew it she was taking it up the arse.

And the dreams. Drifting on a raft, becalmed on a flat, clear ocean, and the girl rising naked from it to drag him into the depths. Snuggling with her in a deep, deep bed of cloud. Her slowly fucking him as she removes his organs and places them in the bowl beside the autopsy table. The girl. Dragging it out of him with exquisite pain. His sperm. Sticky on his stomach and sheets.

He had to get a grip.

----------------------

Anna Brightman smiled at him as he strode into the board room. It gave him the creeps. He knew what she thought of him, and they weren't on smiling terms. He was on his own with her too, while they waited for the rest of the Board to join them. They'd have to make a pretence of civility for the next few minutes, but the air was rancid with their mutual loathing. Everything about her riled him: her buttoned-up, presbyterian clothes, her hair scraped back into a tight knot, the minimal makeup and sparse, carefully weighed words. That modest appearance and unassuming demeanour were just cover for preening self-regard and vain ambition. Apparently, she thought herself his equal - no, his better even. What a joke. He'd show her soon enough.

There was an awkward silence as they took their places at the long table, Nigel at the head. He could see her weighing up how far away she could sit without appearing intimidated. She sat closer than he'd like, shuffled the papers in front of her and looked up with an unreadable expression.

"Are you feeling better after your trip to Moscow? I hear you got more than you bargained for."

"What do you mean?" he replied, trying to affect a care-free tone to hide his sudden alarm. She couldn't know, surely?

"Brian told me about your food poisoning and the cancelled meeting. I heard the Osco Board rearranged though and were surprisingly receptive to your opening offer."

A wave of relief washed over him. "Yes. Although nothing surprising about it whatsoever. They know their robotics division needs Haverstone's AI to go anywhere, and, more importantly, they need me."

"I'm sure that's the clincher."

He knew, and he knew she knew he knew, that the comment was rank with sarcasm, but there wasn't a hint of it in her voice. He'd make her pay for that and every other smart-arse remark she'd ever made. He squeezed his hand into a tight fist beneath the table and imagined it slamming into her prissy face, crunching her delicate cheekbone and leaving her sprawled at his feet, sobbing.

At that moment, Brian appeared at the door. Good old, rock-solid Brian. He hesitated momentarily, straightened his Carlton Club tie, smoothed his pin-striped jacket lapels, stiffened and saluted.

"Captain!"

"At ease, Brian!" said Nigel, in that slightly indulgent tone he adopted with him, shoulders relaxing instantly at the arrival of his right-hand man. What he loved about him was how utterly dependable he was. Dependable and predictable. Predictable and dull. Exactly what he needed in his Chief Operating Officer. Brian took a seat and sat bolt upright as he neatly arranged the leather executive folder and glass of water in front of him, took out a printed agenda and began to read it out quietly to himself, point by point. No doubt Anna Brightman coveted the man's job as a stepping stone in her quest to depose Nigel, but Brian idolised him and had his back. They often had him and his wife over for dinner. She was like a 1950s throwback, a stay-at-home mum who baked cakes and held coffee mornings, and was as straight-laced as him. If if it weren't for their two children, it was hard to imagine he'd ever had sex in his entire life. Nigel supposed it was strictly missionary once a week.

"I'd like to open proceedings by congratulating our chairman on his successful Moscow trip," began Brian, once the Board had taken their places.

"Thank you, Brian." Nigel surveyed his gathered acolytes imperiously. "It's been a tricky proposal to negotiate, I have to say, but my personal visit to Osco headquarters clearly impressed them. I know some had their doubts about the wisdom of the bid and my ability to pull it off," he said with a slight chuckle and a pause to focus everyone's thoughts on who that was, "but I'm confident it will be hugely beneficial for both companies, and its successful conclusion reaffirm that our current leadership structure is the key to continued success." He scanned the table again, expectantly, and noticed Brightman looking disconcerted and struggling to form her words. The perfect moment to put her on the spot. "Anna, you were about to comment?"

"Yes. It occurs to me that negotiations are about to enter a critical phase and, to that end, you might like to be accompanied by someone with a keen grasp of the financials and some local knowledge. As you know, I speak Russian."

"Oh, you mean you!" he replied, feigning surprise and feeling rather pleased with himself that he'd turned her unexpected gambit into a dig at her. Did she really expect him to agree to that? "Unfortunately, the Russians don't mind a woman behind the controls of a T-34 but aren't going to negotiate with one. Besides which, we need someone there with a real grasp of the business. To that end, I have already arranged for Brian to accompany me."

Brian looked up suddenly as if it were news to him. Nigel had been considering taking him, but Brightman's intervention had made up his mind. Anything to frustrate the dried up shrew. The real reason, though, was that he wanted him there as his wingman. He wasn't sure what he might face, but he'd feel a whole lot safer with him alongside. Brian was such a straight-up, decent family guy, a bit of a prude, in truth, that nothing obscene could happen with him around.

This takeover was going to confirm his position once and for all, so he couldn't risk anything going wrong. The company's articles of association were clear: the only way he could be removed and a sale of shares notice issued were if his behaviour were deemed to have endangered the company. Brightman would know it too, of course. Hence the little morsels he'd heard she fed the Board, the hints at his incompetence. And she'd wanted to come to Moscow in the hope of sabotaging the takeover bid. Once he'd successfully pulled it off, he'd crush the bitch.

----------------------

Where was he? He'd been eating breakfast at the kitchen table with his wife and daughters, but they'd disappeared, so he'd gone to search for them, wandering the unfamiliar corridors of his labyrinthine home. He feared each turn was taking him further from them, and something dark waited.

Now it was here: the girl, standing naked before him. He tried to flee, but drifted towards her instead, drawn in by his cock. She lay back on the sheets and spread her legs. He continued to struggle, but his cock sought out her sex until it felt the caress of her vagina.

He looked down and saw his penis wasn't in fact inside her, but hovering in the perfect gap between her thighs. The sensation was coming from a black cloud that emanated from her vulva, pulsing like a magnetic field around his dick, before funnelling into his urethra. It tingled with increasing ferocity as it made its way along his shaft, his perineum and balls crackling with electricity. He could see by their glow that the black cloud was made of tiny germs, invading his body through his genitals, but it was too late to pull away. He was about to come, and her face was in his groin now. Her mouth formed a perfect circle, almost touching the tip of his cock, and began to suck like a vacuum cleaner hose. The pull was irresistible. He let go and sprayed his black come towards the hole in her face. Her cheeks grew hollow with the force of suction, her face taut and skeletal, as the vacuum sound turned into a howl.

He yanked himself out of it with a jolt, like he'd been stuck in mud. His upper body reared up from the bed, drenched in sweat, cold already where his bedclothes had been thrown aside. The sheet was glued to his stomach too. It had happened again.

----------------------

A bitter wind penetrated the upturned collar of Nigel's greatcoat, and he pulled it tighter around his neck as he hurried across the broad, desolate road that led to the huddle of shabby tenements in Otradnoye District. Their squat slabs of concrete loomed like ancient monoliths against a night sky robbed of any light by the gathering rain clouds, while the few, sickly street lamps barely illuminated his way. Had he taken a wrong turn? It was a strange place for a business meeting.

The negotiations with Osco had gone well that day, leaving him unexpectedly upbeat, considering the trepidation with which he'd approached his return to Moscow. On the day of his departure, he'd changed his booking from the Marriott Royal Aurora, where he'd stayed previously, to the Myasnitsky Hotel, a boutique place with an industrial finish, all exposed brick and bare concrete finishes that matched his dark mood. Hopefully, the sudden switch would thwart any plans to entrap him again. More than that though, he'd not rest at the Marriott, haunted as it would be by memories of that girl.

By late afternoon, tired from the day's negotiations and exhausted by the anxiety that had plagued him, he'd returned to the hotel, leaving Brian to wrap things up. All that was left were the last few details that he was quite capable of dealing with by himself, so the call had surprised Nigel.

"There's been an unexpected issue, and I need you here," Brian had said awkwardly.

"What's the matter?"

"I'll explain when you get here. We had to take things elsewhere, because the office was closing for the night."

He'd hung up and wondered what could be wrong. He'd just finished room service and been running a steaming hot bath when the call had come, so the last thing he wanted was to leave his cocoon to venture into the freezing Moscow evening to an unknown part of town.

This was the place: Levskaya 61, a tired-looking apartment block in a sketchy residential area. What on earth? He pushed on the glass entrance doors to the foyer, but they were locked and clanked, raising the attention of the porter sat behind the desk inside, who ambled over and let him in.

"Number one?"

The porter motioned towards a staircase at the back, leading down into darkness. Nigel descended, grappling with the unease that crawled across his back. Remember Brian had asked him here. Solid, dependable Brian.

----------------------

Nigel inched the door open, and a wave of warmth hit him full-on, flooding his frozen cheeks with blood. He had stepped into a plush, low-lit lounge, quite unexpectedly, considering the exterior. An exotic perfume filled his nostrils, conjuring oriental harems. Two large, deep-seated Chesterfield sofas sat at its centre, upholstered in a vibrant, blood-red velvet and set at an angle to one another. To the left with his back to him, he noticed Brian, but what demanded his attention was the exquisite creature perched on the stool at Brian's feet. A cascade of golden blonde hair framed her youthful features and fell in gentle curls over bare shoulders and jutting breasts. She wore a glittery micro dress that finished a hair's breadth past where her slender legs began and sparkled beneath the pin lighting like a saucy cherub. As he entered, she looked up, and Brian turned to follow her gaze.

"Ah, Captain!" he said, lifting his hand to salute, but missing his head clumsily. "You made it."

The old chap wore his blazer still, but had unbuttoned his shirt collar and removed his tie, and lay slumped, staring at the girl before him. Nigel had never seen such a thing. "What's going on, Brian? I thought you came here to finish our business."

"I did, but, well, I don't know what happened." Brian fidgeted for a moment, unsure of where to look. "I got rather distracted by these charming ladies and decided I couldn't cope with the two of them on my own. They suggested I should keep it a nice surprise for you."

Up to that moment, his eyes had been drawn to the scene in the middle of the room, but alerted by Brian's reference to "the two of them" his eyes flitted around until they alighted on the outline of a tall, slender brunette lurking in the shadow by the fireplace. He could have screamed and run from the room there and then, had his junior colleague not been there. He couldn't make a fool of himself in front of him though, nor let him know he recognised her.

"Hello, Nigel," came from the shadows. "How lovely to have you here." Her voice made the hairs on the back of his neck bristle, but the shiver turned into a tingle that ran the length of his spine, filling him with a surge of... not adrenaline, but maybe the chemical or neural conditioning she'd started all those weeks ago. Valeria emerged into the soft glow of the light by the sofas.

Nigel tried to calm himself, desperate to appear unfazed. "Hello, um..."

"Valeria," she responded as if she thought he didn't know. Brian looked on, blissfully unaware of the unfolding game. "This is Lyuba," she said, gesturing towards her companion.

"Call me Loulou." Lyuba beamed an angelic smile.

Valeria grinned. "Sorry. Loulou," she said, stretching out the name. "I prefer Lyuba myself. It's Russian for 'love' and she's my love goddess. The trouble with Loulou is she wants to do anything she can to please people, even down to her name. I'll toughen her up though."

"Well, I think she's perfectly sweet," said Brian. "I wouldn't want her any other way."

"Of course you wouldn't, Brian. You're a gentleman. But be careful. You might discover she's not the sweetheart you imagine."

Brian chuckled and stared adoringly at Loulou.

What was going on? He'd brought the old codger to Moscow to guard against sticky situations, and here he was sucking them both into one! He didn't seem quite right. Maybe they'd drugged him already. Perhaps instead he'd just had a little too much to drink and a little too much Loulou-time. A girl like that could make a gibbering fool of a man like Brian. Not him though. He hadn't got to be the CEO of a major company by crumpling at the first sign of trouble, and that dark-haired, arrogant little slut with the swaggering hips and pouty lips wouldn't get the better of him again either. Time to show everyone who was boss. But he daren't let on to Brian that he knew her, for fear the embarrassing details might out. He'd have to play this cool. "Come on, Brian, we should be getting back." Brian looked up and then back to Loulou, the internal strife clear to all. He didn't move.

"Stay a while!" said Valeria. "You've just arrived and it's freezing out there. Come and get cosy. Besides, your friend here wants to get to know Loulou better. You wouldn't deny him that, would you?" Brian looked at Nigel plaintively. She sat down on the empty sofa and patted the space beside her. "Have a seat."

----------------------

Loulou bounced up and down on the footstool. "I know, I know! Let's play a game! Truth or dare. The forfeit is you have to remove an item of clothing."

"No way!" exclaimed Brian, unconvincingly, his eyes lighting up at the prospect. Something about Loulou was turning him gaga. Nigel looked on with clear discomfort from his seat on the opposite sofa, wondering how he might extricate himself and his old friend from the deteriorating situation without a scene.

At that moment, he felt a hand trace up his inner thigh and wheedle its way through his fly and into his underwear, fingers seeking out his cock. He squirmed, trying to remove Valeria's hand without alerting Brian.

"Shh. You don't want Brian to notice, do you? Let's play our own little game. See how long you can resist me this time," she whispered into his ear.

Loulou placed her hands on Brian's knees and leaned forward, gazing lovingly into his eyes. "You go first! Have you ever kissed a girl as pretty as me?"

Brian looked flustered. "I'm not saying!"

"Okay, dare then. I dare you to kiss me," she shot back.

"I'm a married man! I can't kiss..."

"Forfeit! Take your jacket off!" As she spoke, she sprang to her feet and began to pull at his clothes, tugging and unbuttoning first his jacket and then his shirt in a whirl of slender arms and hands that he seemed helpless to resist, transfixed as he was by the glittering, golden girl before him. "And while you're at it, you can kiss me." Before he could object, she locked her lips to his and ran a hand through his neat hair, ruffling it and pulling him in deeper to her kiss. Nigel could see her tongue snaking into his mouth and stared, stunned. A moment later, she pulled away. "My turn. Ask me a question!"

Brian's head was left looking like a bobble doll's as if Loulou had transposed his neck with a spring, and he was having trouble forming words. "Whatsh...? I feel... Whatsh... whatsh did you do to me?"

"Ooh, I can't answer that. Dare! Dare me!"

"Kissh the capsh... the capshtain too?" he slurred.

Her face dropped a little but lit up again a moment later. "I forfeit!" In an instant, she'd pulled the flimsy gold dress over her head and cast it aside, leaving her standing at Brian's feet in nothing but her red lace underwear. Nigel drew breath. She wasn't as statuesque as Valeria, but she was flawless: large, firm breasts, cinched waist and full hips, and somehow toned and soft together. She made him think of an adult version of the Pears Soap girl, all bubbles and golden curls. A very adult version. "Now it's their turn!" she exclaimed, looking over in Nigel's direction and hopping up and down.