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“I want to play with you so badly right now,” my boss growls as he peels off my clothes. Mr. Peak runs his massive hands all over my soft body. I rip open my boss’s shirt and attack him like an animal. We struggle and fight to gain control over each other. Mr. Peak grabs his belt and wraps it around my neck. As usual, my boss gets his way in bed. And I am learning to like it that way.
We don’t get to sleep until four in the morning. Bed sheets, pillows, chains, belts and handcuffs are strewn all over the master bedroom. Mr. Peak wakes me up with a nice spank on the as**s. “Wake up sleepy head. It’s time to fly to Europe.”
***
Mr. Peak’s staff packs up a SUV with all of our baggage. We take a chauffeured Maybach to the Santa Monica Municipal Airport where the Gulfstream V is fueled and ready to go. As we exit the car, I notice that my boss has is reading Sun Tzu’s The Art of War. It’s probably a good idea to have some reading material. We have to fly to New York to re-fuel the jet. Then it’s off to Monaco.
As the staff packs up the jet, I turn on my iPad and begin to do a Google search on the nation of Odostan. It may be a good idea to research the country that I am helping to overthrow! I start off on good old Wikipedia.
From Wikipedia: Odostan (Formally known as The Republic of Odostan) is a former Soviet-bloc nation located at the crossroads of Eastern Europe and Western Asia with a population of twenty-one million people. Odostan is bounded by Russia to the North, the Caspian Sea to the East, Armenia to the West and Iran to the South. The country has been ruled by a dictator, President Yuri Molidak for the past 22 years. The main source of income for the Republic of Odostan is light sweet crude oil and is the fourth largest exporter of oil in the world.
We board the jet. I continue to read up on President Molidak. The man is 62 years old. He was the chief KGB agent for the Odostan Region during the 1980s. Today, he has a suspected personal net worth of over twenty billion dollars. Wow.
Mr. Peak notices that I am reading up on Odostan. He seems rather pleased that I am taking my as**signment seriously. I really want to impress my boss so I keep my head buried in my iPad, dutifully doing my research on the project ahead of us.
My attention turns to Sergey Molidak. Since I have to seduce this guy, I really want to know what he looks like. I do an image search and find his official photo. Well, what can I say? The guy looks like a spoiled rich jerk. He is tall and somewhat buff with an arrogant smirk on his face. He kinda looks like that frat boy you regret dating your freshman year in college.
Sergey was kicked out of Oxford for cheating. He transferred to the University of Geneva where he received a degree in Economics. He holds the rank of General in the Odostan Army and officially is the Commander of the President’s Personal “Lions” Guard. Serge is also the head of the Odostan Oil Ministry and the Head of the Odostan National Soccer Club. Boy, for a trust fund kid, he sure gets a lot of responsibility from his dad.
Sergey owns over a hundred exotic cars valued at over fifty million dollars. He owns six private jets and a two hundred million dollar yacht. This guy has a pretty sweet life. I see a recent Vanity Fair article entitled, “The Wild, Violent and Warped World of Odostan’s Favorite Son”. I click on the link and begin to read the article.
It starts with a description of Sergey holding a jar of acid over the head of a blogger who tried to expose the corruption of the Odostan Regime. The Dictator’s son slowly poured the acid over the guy’s face, watching as the poor prisoner’s flesh melts onto the ground. That’s it. I stop reading.
The jet takes off. I look out the window and watch the ground get smaller and smaller. Something in me is saying that this is a bad idea. My hands and feet begin to shake. Oh God. I am having a panic attack. My life is going to be in serious danger when I step off of the plane in Monaco.
My heart begins to race. I want to scream. I want to get off of this plane. This is not going to work. Mr. Peak has all of the power and poise to overthrow a government. But what am I? I’m just some girl who cheated to score a good paying job. This is way over my head.
Mr. Peak looks at me. He can tell something is wrong. “Go have a drink and relax,” my boss orders. The blonde stewardess is dutifully making a drink for my boss. I order a Vodka straight-up. No f**king around. I need to get myself buzzed or outright drunk by the time I get to Monaco.
Against my better judgement, I go back to reading the article: The only thing more feared than Sergey Molidak is the entourage of steroid infused personal bodyguards whose duty include beating those who stare into the eyes of Odostan’s favorite son, ensuring the young man gets into any top club, restaurant or event and procuring supermodels for the evening’s entertainment.
