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As we board the plane, I ask my boss, “Sir, why did you have to fly all the way to Monaco to have one conversation?”
“You really can’t discuss the overthrow of a country via e-mail or Skype. General Zhukov and myself used to talk through intermediaries when it came to laundering the money. But this sensitive subject required a personal face-to-face meeting away from prying eyes or anyone who may be listening,” Mr. Peak explains as he takes his seat.
I sit down next to my boss. For the first time, he turns on the satellite TV and begins to watch it with rapt attention. “By the time we hit the ground in Teterboro, things will start to get interesting,” Mr. Peak says ominously.
“When does the military overthrow begin?” I ask.
He looks at me for a moment. Mr. Peak waits for the jet door to close. Then he says simply, “In a couple of hours.”
The jet races out of Nice. My muscles relax as I leave that warped world of Sergey Molidak behind me. Mr. Peak gets on the phone and begins to speak to someone in German. The man really seems to be in his element.
Over the next few hours, Mr. Peak paces around the jet, watching the TV, making calls and checking the foreign equity and commodity markets. I stand up and hug my boss, offering him some good ole moral support from his “Favorite Pet.” He strokes my hair and pats me on the as**s.
I start to unbutton my boss’s shirt. He pulls my hair until my head snaps back. “You didn’t ask permission to do that to me,” my boss says.
“I’m sorry. I thought we were fooling around.”
Mr. Peak turns me around and bends me over one of the Gulfstream chairs. He lifts up my skirt and spanks me hard. “I think your little encounter with Sergey has emboldened you a little too much. You think you are my equal?”
“No Sir. You are my master.”
Mr. Peak rips off my dress. He pulls down my thong and starts to rub my as**s. My lower lip quivers as I feel all of that masculine power against my flesh. “It looks like I’m going to have to knock you down a peg or two.”
Mr. Peak bends me over one of the jet chairs and starts to run his hands between my legs. I moan as I feel my boss taking every advantage of me. He runs his hands up to my bre**asts and starts to play with my nipp**les.
Time stands still as Mr. Peak continues to play with my body. I beg for a chance to explode my boss. He denies me the request. The more Mr. Peak touches me, the more crazy I get. I can’t help myself anymore.
I turn around and rip my boss’s shirt open. I lick his chest and run my hands over his strong, flat stomach. We wrestle and fight for dominance as we fall to the floor. Mr. Peak pins me down. “I’m going to have to f**k you into submission!” he screams.
My boss unzips his pants. He spreads my legs and starts to f**k me nice and hard right there on the jet. I can feel my face turning red. My boss f**ks me harder and faster until I begin to scream and cry like an inexperienced prom queen.
Mr. Peak takes me to an explosive cli**max which makes me claw my fingers into his back. My boss screams as he reaches orgasm. The billionaire collapses on top of me, completely exhausted. I run my hands down to his strong, round as**s and give it a squeeze. Mr. Peak may be on top of me but I feel like I am in control!
I lick and bite down on Mr. Peak’s right ear. He is too tired to respond to my playful behavior. I don’t blame him. No one f**ks as fast and as hard as my billionaire boss. It takes us a few minutes to recover from that spontaneous “Mile High” session.
Mr. Peak puts his shirt and pants back on and gets right back to business. Much to my surprise, the flight is almost half over. Things are moving fast. Mr. Peak is barking orders to his traders in New York, LA, Singapore and Zurich.
“Buy gold and oil across the board. I don’t care what price you get. Just go, go, go!” Mr. Peak orders to his men. I get dressed and watch my hulking boss run the world from the inside of his $40 million dollar Gulfstream.
I recline back and watch a little TV. The Gulfstream seems to have no problem picking up satellite TV channels from both Europe and the United States. I flip through the channels until I see a helicopter shot of Sergey’s Mega-Yacht. Oh, this should be interesting.
I turn up the volume to the news network - “The son of feared dictator Yuri Molidak was rushed to the hospital with severe injuries. The nature of the injuries are not known. However, the 24-year old Sergey Molidak is known for his hard partying and violent behavior. The injuries may be the result of a night of bad boy behavior in the billionaire’s haven of Monaco.”
I can’t help but smile. Mr. Peak continues to bark orders on his phone. I don’t want to raise the volume on the TV for fear of angering my boss. I lean in towards the TV and continue to listen to the news reporter.“We now have unconfirmed reports of a gun battle erupting in the capital city of Odostan. As we have been reporting, the son of Odastan’s dictator was severely injured in Monaco last night. We have no idea if the two events are related.”
