Sacred Corruption
By David Hughes
Soon she was in his opulent penthouse. Overstated, over decorated, over done, but dripping in money. She’d been here before but was always awed by the panorama. Two stunning views: east over the river with its constant stream of barges and south, the length and breadth of the city, the city she loved. It was her playground – the once abused and now used kid from Macon, Georgia. But here and now, it was as if she had flung open a door and the life she dreamed of was there for her – the glitz, the money, the man. For her indulgence.
Lenny felt her visceral high and moved to pursue what he wanted. He always got what he wanted. The son of a billionaire, he’d always worked for his father, staying under his dictatorial command to suck up the indulgent greed. His caldron of anger often poured out in bizarre, even cruel behavior; from childhood torturing of animals and spitting at his mother to the current-day harassing of employees who either submitted or resigned. He despised his life of forced indenture and didn’t control the urges to do evil things to someone, anyone. His father realized the problem and ignored it; Lenny knew the problem and lived with it. But someday, somewhere, it would have its expression, its explosion. As president of JWK Holdings, he ran, under his father’s magnifying glass gaze, a conglomerate of real estate businesses: condos, shopping centers, office towers. His ego, money and dark fire brought a lot of trouble to the table, whether he was negotiating a real estate deal, bullying employees or condemning his lawyers. He either got what he wanted or someone suffered the consequences. His father was a powerful man but he could not always control the rancorous son who bought and sold businesses simply to flaunt his power. He bought the temp agency that Margot worked out of. He did anything and everything to exorcise his burning emotions including extravagant cars, endless women and gambling junkets to the Bahamas in his Citation jet.
He moved toward her. Silhouetted against the skyline, she was tormentingly sexy. The line of her arched legs reached up to the soft round of her buttocks. He had had many a woman in this spot, but there was something electric about this one. She was different. Older and more mature than most of the models and wanna-be starlets that he captured for ephemeral moments. The fantasy reached into his groin and taunted his craving – control, dominate, hurt.
“Lenny, this view is absolutely divine. I would love to –”
She turned profile and he was overtaken. He could taste her nipples protruding through the soft threads of her dress and the taut, tantalizing line of her thighs was like a hydraulic pump sucking him in. He stepped toward her. She never finished her sentence. A soft moan escaped her throat as he took her in his arms with a ferocity that was not to be stopped. His hand moved from the small of her back to her buttocks. He lifted her. Neither said a word, there was only the sound of lust. He grabbed at her zipper. Pulled, it held. He felt her body bend into him. Emotions, heat and need burst. He ripped. The tearing of material and scratching zipper heightened the seduction as he stripped her dress off. She barely felt his face, rough against her breasts, his mouth hungering for fulfillment, her breasts straining to be consumed. And then, with one surge, he pushed her across the room. She careened off an armchair, hit the coffee table, broke a lamp, cut her foot and fell face down. Blood trickled onto the carpet. Lost in an ebb of sexual arousal there was nothing that could hurt, nothing that mattered. He stood over her, fury tortured his body, anger raged for release. He shed his clothes.
“Yes Lenny….” He tore off her panties and slammed his body onto her. They were together, but apart. The lust was their common bond. The ferocity within him and the need within her ruled. As he plunged into her, again and again, the sexual pleasure was just a detached bystander.
Margot awakened to the muffled sound of Lenny’s voice. He was having a heated phone conversation down the hall.
“Look, I took care of it. What’s with the third degree? I was having fun. What’s wrong with that? Just because you’re my ol’man doesn’t mean – ” The voice on the other end cut him off. “Look, my life is my life and what I do and who I do it with is my business. Just because you – ” He stopped again. “Okay, okay. I’ll take care of it. I’ll call from Miami.”
He had told her before, ‘My ol’man is a ruthless son-of-a-bitch, one of the most powerful men in the United States and connected around the world, but that doesn’t give him the right to tell his own son what to do and when to do it.’ Lenny freaked her out when he was mad. She’d seen him go from brooding to anger in a second, smashing lamps, ripping a phone off the wall and throwing a tennis racket at a picture of his father. And she’d seen a gun in his bedroom. But he was exciting. And he treated her good, especially when she gave him information, like the names from the list at DCR. That was part of the deal that she had with him through the temp-placement agency. She was paid a premium placement fee for her work at DCR.
She feigned sleep as he slipped back into the bedroom. But he went to the bathroom instead of the bed. She heard the shower. Displaying her usual boldness, she pranced into the bathroom as he stepped from the shower.
“Hi babe,” he said. Got business to take care of. Won’t be back ‘till late. Make yourself at home.” He grabbed a towel with one hand and slapped her behind with the other. “Curl up and wait for me.” She protested with a pout. He ignored her.
Back in bed, she pulled the eiderdown quilt around her naked body and decided she was just where she wanted to be. She jabbed the remote in the direction of the television and CNN jumped onto the big screen. Lenny left and she dozed-off.
