Timing

The one thing you've got to have to be successful in this business is timing.

I've got it.

Usually, it's a matter of watching the graphs, waiting patiently on the right slope, letting the tried and true paradigms tell you whether to go short or long. Those don't always work. Sometimes, it's like another sense—I feel it, smell it, taste it, just seem to know when the moment seems right. Other times, it's just plain, dumb luck, being at the right place at the right time. Regardless, extraordinary timing has been good to me.

Like today, for example. Things were slow, I glanced at my to-do list and saw that yesterday I was supposed to have called my buddy, Les, who works at Benner, Hale, and Crouch. We were going to get together for some b-ball this weekend.

Yesterday had been particularly rough, and I'd clean forgot about it. So I call him this morning, apologize, promise him my first-born, and he tells me about some stupid trade that dweeb Carlyle over at T-Q had made just this morning. He really screwed up the Patterson account.

Now, I've been beating on the funds director over at Patterson's for about a year, trying to get my foot in the door. I hang up with Les, then turn around and call Patterson's. They are in a real shitload of hurt. Their small cap fund dropped over eight points. I happened to hear about a bio stock that's supposed to take off, so I offer it to him. After I run through the financials, he pounces on it like a cat on a mouse. Their fund recovers and goes up nearly two points before lunch. By two o'clock, we had the whole Patterson's account.

Timing, like they say, is everything.

I hadn't expected to go home tonight—I had a hot date planned. The office was dark, everyone was gone, and I was just dropping the last few things out of my desk in a box before...

"Well, Josh, you ARE a hard worker, aren't you?"

I looked up. Standing in my doorway was Bella Groenig. THE Bella Groenig, of Demming and Groenig, the company I worked for. My boss of bosses. I didn't think she even knew my name.

I kinda liked it that way, too. Bella was known to be tough and ruthless, and worse, a little temperamental. Combine that with her power on "the street" and you had a dangerous combination. I'd heard horror stories of people who had crossed her without meaning to. They tended to have short tenures in this city. I'd always tried to keep a safe distance here at the office. Until yesterday, I had been worried that my personal life might have put me a little too close to her. I didn't have to worry about that now, though.

"Hello, Ms. Groenig. I'm just cleaning up a little," I tell her, quietly shuffling the box under my desk with my foot. "Hate to have a sloppy desk, y'know."

She sauntered through the door. Her eyes captured my attention. The way she stared at me, I felt a brief chill, and understood where her moniker, "Bella the Snake", had come from.

"They say a clean desk is a sign of a sick mind," she countered. Her voice was low and sultry, almost hypnotic, "But I keep mine spotless, too. What does that say about me and you?" She leaned back against the door slowly, closing it behind her.

It struck me odd that she wore a skirt, a flowing, dark brown print falling well past her knees. I'd passed her in the halls a few times, but didn't ever recall seeing her in anything but pants suits. A matching brown scarf was tucked into the deep V of her black knit cardigan.

For the first time ever I noticed how large her chest was, the curves accentuated by the tightness of her knit top. Small shadows betrayed pronounced peaks. My mind was clouded by a brief male fantasy before she called me back to the real world.

"Cat got your tongue, Josh?"

"Oh, uh, no, Ms. Groenig. I just think that it's the sick minds, not the timid ones who change the world."

She clapped and laughed heartily. "Well said, my young friend!" Keeping her eyes glued to mine, she strolled across the room with a steady, measured gait. "And you certainly aren't timid, are you, Josh?"

I smiled politely. The phrase about faint hearts and fair damsels would not be a good thing to bring up right then.

She reached behind her neck and pulled the scarf away, leaving a tight 'Y' between her plump breasts that sucked my gaze in like a magnet.

Her wide hips swayed as she came closer, "No, not timid at all. You're aggressive, ambitious. You have that killer instinct, that sense that tells you when to pounce. You know, Josh, if you're careful, and do as you're told, you could be immensely successful in this organization."

I cocked my head, interested. Maybe my plans could change.

Her voice shifted lower, quieter, no longer laughing. "But no... That's not you, is it, Josh?" When I gave her a perplexed look, she continued, "You're not one to do as you're told. You have to have a reason, a good reason. There's got to be something in it for you, doesn't there?"

I gave a sly grin, but chose the wisdom of keeping my mouth shut. From the corner of my eye I noticed that she'd left a trail of shoes behind her.

"Yes, I thought so. My father was the same way. He built this company with one thing in mind—what's in it for me? I'm exactly the same way, Josh. And so is my daughter, Samantha."

I flinched at the sound of that name. Bella had caught me off guard. What did she know?

Standing beside my desk, she couldn't have missed my flash of anxiety. "Yes, that's right. 'Samantha'. I know all about the two of you, bouncing around in here like a couple of rabbits," she sneered, glancing around my office. "Since her father died, I've made it my number one priority to know all about what she's doing and who she's doing it with."

Sonofabitch. I'd tried so hard to keep it a secret. When Samantha and I met at that bar, I honestly didn't know who she was.

My mind raced, considering options, permutations. What had Samantha told her mother? Was she that vindictive? Shit, what was I thinking? This was Samantha—of course she was a bitch.

But how much did Bella know about us, about what happened yesterday? More important, what did she plan to do to me? Considering all the potential actions she could take, I figured I was pretty well fucked.

She wedged herself between me and the desk, rolling my chair back with her black stockinged foot, then sat on the edge of the desk.

"You should watch out for Samantha," she advised, with a sideways glance, "It's in her genes. She's taking care of number one, and only number one."

How well I knew that.

"Ms. Groenig, I didn't..."

"Bella," she interrupted. When she raised her silk-covered toe to my crotch and rubbed it, I jumped, wide-eyed. "Tonight, it's just Bella, okay?" she whispered, provocatively.

"Yeah, sure, Ms....uh, I mean, Bella." I gulped, not sure where this was heading. This scene was becoming more than a little weird, and potential grounds for a sex discrimination suit. That is, if I could ever prove it, which seemed unlikely.

Her brown eyes took on a softer form, but she maintained her intense gaze as she began unfastening the oversize buttons of her cardigan, one by one, slow and seductive.

"Josh, did I congratulate you for your good work on the Patterson account?" The ball of her foot pressed more firmly against my swelling cock, "You made a lot of money today for us. For me."

I was tongue-tied, absorbed in the agonizing strip tease she was performing. When the last button came free, she opened the cardigan wide, slipping it off her shoulders and down her arms.

My mouth dropped open. She wore a black French bustier—similar to one of Samantha's white ones—that pushed her generous breasts up from underneath, yet left her large brown nipples exposed. I was entranced by the sight of her great, luscious tits. My mouth watered.

"Yes, Josh, I am quite grateful for your 'hard' work." She wiggled my rigid erection with her toes. "And those who do what I ask them to do are well rewarded." She winked.

She cupped both bosoms in her hands and lifted them, then licked one of the nipples. A weak, raspy groan escaped me.

Keeping her head down, she looked up at me with a sly grin, "You like these, don't you, Josh?"

"They are gorgeous, Bella," I admitted, "but are you sure we should be—"

She didn't let me finish. "You want to touch them?" she invited, holding out both hands to me, "Come on up here, big boy."

I took her hands and she pulled me up out of my chair. Holding my wrists, she guided my hands squarely onto her huge mamas. I squeezed and caressed them, rubbing the nubs against my dry palms and pinching the nipples gently, then turning them. Her head rolled to the side, eyelids fluttering.

I felt a hand on my crotch, keeping me good and hard while the other busied itself unfastening my pants. As they fell to the floor, I was peeling back the flap underneath her breast and sucking on the large, brown aureole. Bella gurgled and panted, struggling to pull down my underwear. Finally, she shoved against my chest, and I fell back into the chair.

With a single flick of the clasp, her skirt fell away, revealing erotic, thigh-high black leggings suspended from her bustier by garters. A perfectly manicured triangle of black hair pointed at her reddened, puffy lips. She leaned back against the desk, her fingers opening her pussy, exposing the wet, scarlet inner flesh. Without thinking, I licked my lips in anticipation.

While the brain in my dick gradually took command, the little voice in the back of my head still had questions. Where was she going with this? What was in it for her? What had Samantha said to prompt this behavior? Surely, Bella couldn't seriously be considering sex with me. I wasn't a superman in bed, and the Patterson's account wasn't THAT huge. I half expected her to holler 'Rape!' any minute.

All objections melted away when that proud woman dropped to her knees, jerked my shorts off, and swallowed my prick. She slobbered all over it and sucked it, gorging on it like a grizzly with a trout. My head rolled back against the chair, and I groaned and luxuriated in the steamy warmth of her mouth, to the delicious thrills of her splendid cocksucking.

I only wished I had a video cam. Les would never fucking believe me.

After a few glorious minutes, she crawled up on my chair, kneeling between my legs, and gave me a fat, juicy kiss. Her thick lips were animated, softened by the friction of my dick

Pushing away from me, Bella leaned back against the corner of the desk again, legs parted, her cunt wide open, inviting. She growled, "Let's fuck."

Pushing all rational thought aside, I hopped up, and she guided my cockhead to her threshold. Bella gasped when I raised onto my toes and buried my cock with a single quick thrust. We wrapped our arms around each other as I reamed and ravished her surprisingly tight pussy. When I nibbled and sucked on her shoulder, she shivered and threw her head back, moaning in sexual bliss.

She fell backward, pulling me along with her, "This is what we use a clean desk for," she snarled.

Losing traction, I crawled on top of the desk, pulled her legs over my shoulders, and rammed my stiff cock into her again.

After the enthusiastic blowjob and energetic fucking, I was nearly ready to blow. I knew I needed to suppress the urge, to hold out for that perfect moment. I wasn't sure how I would know when, but I always seemed to.

Grabbing a full, buxom tit and squeezed it, hard. She seemed to like that, so I twisted a nipple, and she moaned, yelling dirty epithets. She called me a nasty motherfucker, demanding that I fuck her slutty cunt with my big motherfucking cock, and demanded that I pinch her big tits harder and slap her nasty ass. She was so loud that I thought security might hear us.

My other thumb dipped between us to rotate her clit, and she quietened. The stream of dirty words continued, but in whispers and sighs, breathless, out of control. Her pelvis rotated around the axis of my cock, my balls slapping against her big butt.

I was amazed that here, riding on my dick, was Samantha's mother, Bella Groenig, the Snake of Wall Street. The most fearless and ruthless bitch I had ever heard of was delirious, pleading with me, begging me for more of my cock, imploring me to please twist her titties again. It was too good to be true.

Quiet now, her mouth hanging open, breath ragged, gasping, Bella mashed and pulled her own tits, scratching them with her perfectly manicured nails, a hand reaching out toward me, and then falling back. A scarlet flush grew across her chest, up her neck. It was time.

"Come for me, Bella," I demanded, quietly urging her on, "Come all over my dick, show me how a real woman comes, Bella. Do it now."

At my command, she seized the edges of the desk, her muscles tensed, strained, her lace-covered belly arched into the air. What began as a long moan of suffering stretched into an eerie howl, then to a scream that sent a chill up my spine and triggered my orgasm. I slammed into her pussy again and again, the intense surges reaching up from my balls to the base of my neck, my cock pumping come as she writhed and jerked on the end of it like a bucking bronco.

I fell forward on my hands, sweat dripping off me. Both of us rested, regaining our breaths. My come drizzled out onto the desktop.

Gently, I kissed her nipples, and Bella twirled her fingers in my perspiration-soaked hair. She was a mess, her hair in wet tangles, makeup smeared.

She smiled, warm and tender, "Did you enjoy that, Josh?" she asked, her husky voice full of honey.

"Yes," I said, still a little breathless, "yes, that was fantastic. Bella, you are a lovely and sexy woman."

"Good," she whispered, "because it'll never happen again."

She abruptly sat up, knocking me back off the desk. I stumbled and nearly fell on my ass.

She jumped off the desk, turned around, and logged into my computer. I stood behind her, still marveling at such a tight ass on a woman of her years. It looked almost as good as her daughter's.

Curious, I asked, "What are you doing, Bella?"

"It's Ms. Groenig to you, Josh. Playtime's over. We had a good time, we both enjoyed it, and now I'm going to do something for you, and you're going to do something for me. That's the way these things work."

Peeking over her shoulder, I saw she had pulled up a video site. When I looked closer, I realized it was my desk on the video. There was the top of my head. She turned up the audio and I heard our conversation from earlier, then saw her come around the desk and begin her striptease, fondling me with her toes.

I looked up—what I thought was a smoke detector above my chair was apparently a camera, focused on my desktop. My office was bugged. She had watched and recorded everything I'd done, even what happened on my computer. That's how she'd seen Samantha and me screwing in here last week.

She reached to the floor and pulled a couple of USB sticks from a pocket of her dress. She plugged both into my PC, hit a couple of keys, and then turned to me. I backed away a few steps when I saw her serious look.

"Listen, Josh," she began, "I know your type, hard, aggressive, ambitious. You think you know everything, always looking for that new angle, never satisfied. My husband was like that. That asshole was never at home. He had a new woman every week. It was hell for me, and I'll be damned if Samantha goes through the same things I did. Here's the first part of the deal—you will say goodbye to Samantha. Immediately."

"Bella, that's not..." I tried to explain.

"Shut up!" she yelled. "Don't talk. Listen. You will make up some excuse. You're a man, I know you can find one. You will say goodbye to Samantha, and never look back. You will never approach her again. If you see her, you will go the other way. There will never again be any communications between the two of you. Do you understand?"

"Uh, yeah. But Bella, none of this is..."

"I said shut up!" she interrupted again, despite my attempts save her a lot of trouble, "It is no longer Bella. It is Ms. Groenig. You may nod your head if you understand. You do know how to do that, don't you, Josh?"

I paused for a moment, grinned like an idiot, and nodded.

She turned around, pulled the two sticks out of the PC, then hit a few more keystrokes. A "DELETING FILES" window appeared on the screen.

She held the two sticks in the air. "These have the video on them. The original has been permanently deleted. If you don't leave Samantha within 24 hours, this video will end up in her hands, and it will all be over between you anyway. I'm giving you one chance to save face. Do you understand?"

I nodded again, still smiling like a Cheshire.

"You'll learn that the most important thing you've got to have in this business is leverage, Josh. That's how I've become so successful." She offered me one of the sticks, "The data on this stick is encrypted, and cannot be viewed if it's copied to another device. This is your leverage. One day you're going to need something from me. You will come to me and place this in my hand, and I will do whatever is within my power to satisfy your request. Do we have a deal?"

"Really, Bella, Samantha and me..." I began again.

"Ms. Groenig," she bellowed, "Yes. Or. No. Which is it?"

I sighed and nodded, taking the stick. "Yes, Ms. Groenig, it's a deal."

"Good," she said, and began dressing.

I sat in my chair, pondering my timing, and Bella's. I tried, I really tried. She wouldn't let me explain how I came home early yesterday and caught Samantha fucking another guy. It was already over. Apparently, Bella hadn't talked to her daughter, and didn't know quite so much about Samantha's sluttiness as she thought.

"And leverage works both ways, Josh," she warned. "If any hint of this leaks out, in any way, your association with our firm will be immediately terminated and you won't be able to find a job at a convenience store in this town. My leverage runs deep and wide."

"I get the message. Loud and clear," I said, suppressing a grin.

"Very well," she said, as she left. "Go home and get some sleep. You're going to have to work a lot harder tomorrow trying to top the work you did today. And that's what you'll have to do, Josh, just to stay even with where you are now. Good night."

As she rounded the doorway, I whispered to myself, "Good night, Bella. Sweet dreams."

I checked my watch. I still had that date with another sweet woman tonight. If I hurried, I could still grab a shower at the 'Y' and make our dinner reservations.

I grabbed my coat and tossed the stick into the waste can on the way out. It was a done deal. This was my last day here at Demming and Groenig. Tomorrow, I had a VP's desk waiting for me at Benner, Hale and Crouch where my buddy Les worked. I planned to take the Patterson account with me, along with a few other choice jewels.

I started to close the door, then stepped back, fishing the stick out of the trash. Maybe Bella was right—a little leverage might be handy, given the right circumstances. She had proven that leverage without timing is useless. The video might be fun to watch sometime, maybe over a couple of beers with Les. How else would I be able to prove it to him? At least it would put to rest the office rumor that Bella had a pair of balls.

Heck, when the moment's right, maybe I'll send my copy to Samantha.

After all, timing is everything.