The Society Pt2- The Glass Ceiling
Warning of death, brutality, mutilation etc etc
?You have certainly shaped up Mr Scott,? the old Chief Teller was towelling Gregg down in the Gym of the private health club the Bank owned in Mayfair.
?I think your ready Mr Scott, I really do,? and they both looked across the mat at the bloody and battered remnants of an S and M club dominatrix that Gregg had hired as his final test before going ahead with his challenge.
?Those whip marks will heal before next month?s meeting of the Society, and leave some lovely scars.? The old man flexed his own, by no means decrepit muscles, and showed off the many scars across his naked torso.
?I got the boy Alan,? Gregg hid a smile, as ?Alan? was at least forty, and the biggest gorilla in the ?Hall Porters? section of the Bank, ?to dictate to young Paul,? another man at least a decade older than Gregg, but a Junior Teller, ?all he knows about Ms Lincoln?s fighting style, as he?s been one of the duty ?Sand Men? at her last two fights.
The Sand Men, were the porters who had the task of clearing up the arena after fights, putting fresh grit and sand down to soak up the blood, sweeping away the offal and dragging away the bodies for disposal to the furnace room.
?I checked him out just to make sure he was going to give you the right line and not set you up with any rubbish tips. In her last fight Ms Lincoln killed Mrs Uwo, one of our African Financial Advisors, and it appears the big idiot had a real crush on that nasty madam.? Mr Cox gave him a knowing smile, ?and I?m not saying I believe all the rumours about what happened afterwards to the body either.? He then gave Gregory a big wink, ?but as his particular taste runs to beautiful black ladies I guess he will be on hand next week, just in case you do end up killing Ms Lincoln,? the old man gave a wicked chuckle, but Gregg couldn?t help wonder how upset Cox would be if it was him being carted off to be incinerated. A Double First with distinctions at the LSE had got Gregg a plum City job, penthouse, and model look Chelsea set girlfriend, but if he wanted to really go to the top he had quickly sniffed out that he would need to join the ?Society?, and by luck, and making himself a favourite of the Younger Mr Graham, he had got his intro. However, being a ?Probationer? meant you could only have limited privileges, to become an ?Associate?, you needed to have had your first victory in the pit.
Gregg?s troubles or an opportunity for getting a ?The Right sort of Reputation?, as Mr Cox had put it, had started when Ms Lincoln had first raised objections to the Ukrainian contract and tired to show him up at an accounts meeting, but he had immediately realised what she was after. The rep of the six foot ebony ball breaker was well known in his section of Legal. The American vixen, poached from a New England Bank, had six kills and two enslavements to her credit in only five years in the Society. The late twenties cat was tipped for big things, especially since her destruction of her main rival in Accounts, a muscle hunk gay German blond whose balls she now had swinging off the mirror in her Blue Bentley Sport. She wanted respect from Legal, and the way she intended to earn it was by having Gregg?s skinned and pickled pods hanging beside the Germans. He had realized she must see him as a potential rising star in a rival department, and wanted to squash him before he could become a threat. Mrs Collins, his buxom thirty something boss, had wanted to step in and as she put it ?Cunt the Fucking upstart Cow?, but Gregg had refused even though Ms Lincoln was already an ?Elect?, so two levels of membership above his. A victory over the ?Black Panther? would make him, or so Cox assured him, and the Edinburgh born Scott was nothing if not vain
The little spy camera?s that he had set up in the women?s practice area had recorded three days worth of action before he could retrieve them. A radio link would have been immediately picked up by the routine security scanning but Mr Cox knew his stuff and had got him the latest Taiwanese?s equipment. He flicked through the various films of staff exercising, licking his lips and noting various prime females for attention at a later date, before eventually getting to Ms Lincoln?s session in the room. Cox had found out which of the various padded cells she preferred to practice in and arranged for the set up so now he would be able to see the famed Panther from Accounts in action for himself. His first reaction was Wow!!. He had seen her many times in meetings, behind her large black glasses, hair pinned back in a bun, and exuding threat in her box shouldered formal dark skirted suits, and as per what seemed like regulation for the Bank?s lesbian employees, white shirt and black pencil ties. Naked she sure was another women altogether.
He had typed her as a muscle bound bull dyke. The bull dyke was true enough, an enormous dripping clit protruded from her rich coal dark shaved and creamed cunt lips and hood, but her nick name as the ?Panther? more summed her build and physic. Two yards of lean firm muscle, carved six pack, sculptured biceps, and long, long legs, and with her straightened and oiled jet black hair flowing down to between her shoulders she moved around the room stalking her training opponents with a real vengeance. She battered a tall blonde and then a redhead into submission in her first session in the Gym, reaming them both afterwards, while still bloody they worshipped her nude body. She may have been two inches shorter than Gregg, but he guessed she probably just out weighed him; his build was wirier than hers. Having got a techi to hack the Gym?s fitness programmes he was surprised to find she bench pressed and jerked weights only a few pounds heavier than he did. He had expected to be out muscled altogether, and rely on speed, but now the fight reports he had made more sense. She was as quick as a rattler too.
No recording equipment was allowed into the large 17th Century underground Duelling Room, but a few pencil sketches had been photocopied from the Societies records for him to look at, and he had the porters description too. The earlier fight was a walk over, the over confident German standing no chance as she had managed to close one eye with a spin kick that had also dislocated his jaw. The rest of the fight was a one sided slaughter, and the state of the muscle bound males carcass afterwards, before incineration, was not a pretty one. A two handed ball lift rip had taken gonads and his cock away in one gush of spurting crimson.The Porter had however waxed lyrical about the fight with Mrs Uwo.
The duel between the late thirties African and the African-American, ten years her junior, was high profile, there were no less than five sketches in the slim official Society folder, actual photographs were frowned upon, but in exceptional circumstances one would be taken of a victor and victim in the arena at the end of a fight, but none were ever taken during combat. Also included was a small sheet of paper with its brief record of the result, injuries and medical details, trophies taken, and confirmation of the disposal of the cadaver, and other arrangements afterwards; the African had had a small son, and the hard print detailed his enrolment as a boarder into a fightschool in Japan. Last but not least were four colour portraits of the fighters before and after the combat which were taken for insurance and actuarial purposes, all Bank employees after all were viewed as property, the destruction or damage of such needing proper recording.
Re: The Society Pt2- The Glass Ceiling
Bookmarks