A Corruption of Riches (I)

I.

Elena Guthrie, poised, cerebral, dignified, nearly spat her coffee in the man's face.

"That has got to be the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard." Her heart was racing, the vein in her head throbbing. 

Fuck! You promised yourself you wouldn't make a fool of yourself. In fairness, she hadn't even wanted to come to this faculty coffee 'mixer'. She's stuffed herself into a shag green jumper and determinedly stuck to the corners. That is, until her supervisor dragged her into conversation with this...Godfrey Kane and promptly abandoned her...

The man's smirk widened an irritating fraction. "I'm totally serious, Ms. Guthrie." 

"I'm telling you that my research empirically demonstrates that empathy declines as wealth and power increase. It's barely arguable! It's been peer-reviewed and random sample tested." 

"That's all well and good, Ms Guthrie," he said, adjusting his designer tie, "but I am simply speaking from experience. I may not be an intellectual - I am but a simple...investor in your hallowed institution - but I was not born to wealth. I have seen the evil that men do without or without power. Power does not corrupt." 

Elena rolled her hazel eyes. "I'll tell the countless strong men and dictators worldwide of your revelation." 

Godfrey held up a finger. "Let me finish, Ms Guthrie. On the contrary, power does not corrupt." He leaned in and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "People are corrupt ad initium. Romans 3:10: 'There is no one righteous, not even one.' Society shackles and conceals our natural barbarity. It puts makeup on a pig, straining at it's fetters. Power liberates us, unmasks the devils we prefer to sweep under our beds."

"That's a facile argument - unsupportable and un-provable. Humanity has the seeds of good and evil in them. History is not destiny - the 20th Century has seen a conflict plummet, multinational cooperation increase, globalisation -"

" - I'll stop you there, Ms Guthrie. 

"Silencing a woman? That's bold in 2022." 

"I would never - I could argue with your charming self all afternoon." He leaned back in his chair, that oily smile still playing on his lips. "You have your theory, I have mine. Let's put it to the test." 

Elena frowned. "What game are you playing?" 

"I have a little proposal for you..."  

II.

"Ok, now that is the most ridiculous thing I've heard in my life, Elena!" Mark cackled. His laughter withered and died at Elena's earnest stare. "Oh god, I'm sorry Ellie, it's just - 

"You know I hate that name, Mark." 

"Ooft, we're on a first-name basis, huh? I'm real sorry babe, it's just...the 'Norwood Yang Malik & Feng Prize'. It's ridiculous!" Mark ran his hand through his shaggy hair. "Deferring your PhD, jetting around the world for six months with some slick investor type. I mean, you know this guy Godfrey works for -" 

"An evil empire. I know, I'm sick to my stomach even considering it." 

"Then why are you considering it? You said it yourself, NYMF is awful, exploitative, misogynistic to the extreme -" 

"Ugh, I know!" Elena practically puked everytime she saw their advertisements - monuments to patriarchy, plastic-enhanced empty vessels of 'womanhood' promoting skincare and beauty products. I'm a traitor to the sisterhood. She cradled her cup of tea, frowning into the dregs.  

Mark let out a defeated sigh and sank back into their lounge. "They must've offered you a hell of a lot of money," he murmured. 

"Too much. It would cover everything, babe. The PhD, our living expenses. Everything."

"But why, what's the cost-benefit analysis for him, babe? I just don't get it."

"I think he - and NYMF - have more money than God. I think it's a power thing, forgive the pun. Godfrey thinks I'll drop the PhD when I see his theory in action: All men are evil, society just masks it," she said, framing each word with her hands. 

"Convincing you, a dyed-in-the-wool antifascist, feminist academic, with what? A global wine and dine? Has he met you?"

"Once." 

Mark let out a breath. "Well, as long as you don't think they'll compromise your work..."  

Fire sparked in Elena's eyes. "Let them fucking try! Look at the state of our world - I know that corporatist excess and money-worship is eroding society's empathy. It's created the Godfreys of the world, men and women with more money than sense! I know what capitalism has broken and I'm gonna prove it on their dollar," she said, flashing a crooked grin. 

III.

A week later, in Paris...

Flash!

"You know, you could at least try to smile for the cameras, Ellie," Godfrey drawled, lowering the camera. 

"Elena."

"Apologies, Ms. Guthrie. I briefly forgot myself. But heaven's above, it's your first time in Paris! The city of romance." 

"Quite." Elena shifted uncomfortably. Godfrey insisted she dress in her finest - a sensible black dress (that left a little too much leg for her liking), a modest black coat, and black sunglasses. She felt observed - like a butterfly pinned to a lepidopterist's display. Godfrey was coldly handsome, charming in a vaguely predatory way. 

Godfrey didn't take the hint. "You can't tell me you didn't enjoy the Salon d'Bourbon - the champagne and oysters were simply to die for." 

"I was distracted by the thousand dollar price tag, Mr Kane," she said, each word dripping with scorn. Her head dully throbbed, her eyes dry with exhaustion from the flight. She was still on West Coast time...

"The best deserve the best, don't you think? Don't pretend like you didn't like it. It's not as though you hen-picked at it -" 

"I won't let your waste go to waste," Elena flashed, heat rising in her cheeks. "The things you throw away, the rudeness you treat the servers with...So far you're not doing much to disprove my theory. Or proving yourself to be much of a man, honestly." 

"Give me some time, Elena. A single meal won't shake the firmament of your beliefs. Perhaps once your jetlag passes you'll be more amenable to the sights, the luxuries, of this beautiful continent..." 

IV. 

"- $1,324 for salads?" Mark blurted across the FaceTime. "What the actual fuck was on them?!" 

"'The rarest truffles from the most ancient region of France,'" Elena said, feigning pomposity, "'these pigs have been snuffling for truffles since Roman times, Ms. Guthrie!" She mimed throwing up. 

"Oh my God, Elena..." 

"I know! I could practically see the blood on his manicured hands." She shuddered. "Ugh, I'm so pissed." 

"Sounds like he's not just a monster, he's also dull as fuck!" 

"Ugh, I wish. He may be impossible, but he's educated, charming. Every argument has a retort, each NYMF atrocity has a perfectly placid P.R response." Elena pinched the bridge of her nose. 

"Jetlag still crushing you, babe?" 

"You know it. "Her head felt like it was full of steel wool - the jetlag pressed down on her like a weight. "It's turning me into a rancid bitch - I snapped at a server like I was some spoiled brat...I just need to shake this thing, set my self straight. Then I know I can meet him on his home turf. But I'm just so fucking tired, babe..." 

"Well, at least your skin looks great, babe!" 

Elena snorted. "Yeah, thanks. Godfrey gave me some 'complimentary' NYMF products. Trying to buy my silence no doubt. I threw away most of it but kept the eyemasks and 'cruelty-free' stuff. It already feels like a little compromise..."

"Well, stay strong. Godfrey hasn't reckoned with someone like you yet." 

V.

A week later, in Florence....

"Ah, now there's the smile I like to see," Godfrey said, all gigawatt smiles in his pressed suit. "I trust you got a good sleep?" 

The Tuscan sun shone down on Elena. She felt light, free. Like she'd felt when she first met Mark. 

"Hmm, yeah..." 

She watched the people ambling about with distant amusement. So small, so stressed. Doing the 9-to-5, living their small lives. The thought was strange, foreign but not entirely alien. 

"The white noise machine helped?" 

"Mhm," she said absently. "I slept like a baby." 

Godfrey chuckled lightly. "Norwood Yang Malik & Feng's products are market-leading for a reason." 

Elena scowled. "Animal-tested, no doubt. Milked from suffering. I read somewhere that NYMF funds government forces in Latin America while at the same time supplying violent insurgents. All to drive down the price of exports."

"I couldn't possibly speak to unsubstantiated rumour. But you and I both know you can't create diamonds without pressure, Ellie." 

Elena scoffed, rolled her eyes. "Whatever, you're legitimately disgusting." She didn't even bother to correct his pet name for her. The man disgusted her, intrigued her - how did he remain so blithely above it all. So callous, so comfortable. He ate and drank like a king while others starved, and didn't even bat an eyelid. But, to be honest, somehow she felt less outraged. The white-hot resentment had been replaced by a kind of vague, dull disgust. Apathy. The thought, the realisation, hurt her head, made her angry. She needed a drink. Immediately.

"Water," she spat, clicking her fingers with a thoughtless snap at a nearby server. "Now."  

Elena felt a pang of guilt as the server scurried away. Before she could comment, Godfrey slid into the gap. "I see you're still feeling out of sorts. I know just what would cheer you up..." 

VI. 

"I suppose I ought to thank you," Elena said with a matter-of-fact sigh. 

"Whatever for, my dear?" 

"You know. The dress. The retreat." 

"Well, you can thank NYMF for that. All that matters is that you feel radiant, just as you are," Godfrey said with a charming smile. 

Elena found herself laughing, genuinely. The man was charismatic, no doubt, even if he was occasionally as oily as the Gulf of Mexico spill. And she did feel radiant - the sun on her skin, the light fabric brushing against her tanning skin. Elena couldn't help but notice the eyes on her. She decided she liked it. Perhaps a little too much. 

"Yes, well, you're all still corporatist scum," she said off-handedly. 

"Oh, naturally. But?"  

"- NYMF does have nice digs." 

"Doesn't it? I came to this villa when I was just a graduate, seconded to the R&D Department. I spent many hours wandering the hillsides, enjoying the life that I'd always seen in the papers. A life I'd wanted for myself and my family." He was quiet for a moment. "It seems the work was worth it," he said, flashing a small smile. 

"Yeah," she said, in a small tinny voice. His story had come out in drips and drabs. Poor boy from Manchester, single-parent household, father descended into alcoholism after Thatcher closed the mines. It wasn't wrong to be impressed by what he'd achieved - First Class Honours from Oxford, climbing the ranks at NYMF. The powerful may hate us, but we can still empathise with them. Something in Elena churned at that thought - an internal revolt. 

She blurted out the first thing that sprang to mind. "Say, you mentioned something about a clothing allowance?" 

"Say no more, Ellie..."

VII. 

Elena did something she'd never done before: she sent a thirst-trap. 

It had been a month since she'd seen Mark, a month since she'd felt him. The thought came achingly to her as she tried on piece after piece of designer clothing. Her thighs were slick with need. Biting her lip, casting a look past the changing room curtain, she posed and clicked. 

Elena: Thinking of you, bb xx 😇😌.

She waited, admiring herself in the mirror. The European sunshine had done her well, bronzing her skin. The walks helped too - she could feel her shrinking stomach, the muscle in her legs, her pert little ass. She imagined Mark's hands on it, kneading them. 

Ping 

A response. 

Mark: Omg you look so hot, baby. 

An endorphin rush, her pussy moistening as she imagined him beholding her. She'd noticed the way men looked at her more now. Women too. Before it had felt predatory, intrusive. Now for some reason, she savoured their looks. They know I'm a woman of quality. 

Ping

She frowned at his message. 

Mark: But um, Calvin Klein? I thought you hated them??

Shock. Judgement? Elena scowled. Yeah, it's Calvin Klein, so what? A part of her reflexively spat. Another vague part of her remembered a half-tipsy lecture she'd given Mark about their exploitative practices. 

Ping

Mark: Is that a gold watch?..

Her flicker of shock turned to irritation. Okay, so Godfrey had bought her a Rolex to mark one-month on the trip. She'd tried to say no but he insisted. Not that much, a small part of her noted quietly. Irritation and embarassment turned to anger. Anger turned outwards. Before she knew it she was typing an angry text. 

Elena: Um, wow. I send you a really fking cute pic of me and you immediately just tear me apart for what I'm wearing? Some fucking boyfriend you are. Fuck off.

"Ugh!" she tossed her phone in her bag and stormed out of the dressing room. Godfrey awaited outside in a pink polo and chinos. 

"Is something the matter, Ellie?"

"Take me somewhere fun," she found herself saying. 

VIII.

   

A week later, in Barcelona...

"Now, now, Ms Guthrie. Do you need me to confiscate that phone?" Godfrey chided gently, his voice carrying over the soft lounge music. 

"Not now, Godfrey," she murmured, scrolling through her texts with Mark. The argument had heated up, then cooled down, and now remained at a simmering broil. 

Elena: I honestly don't know what your problem is, Mark. 

Mark: I'm worried about you, Elena! A month away with this corporate pig and we're fighting! We never fight!

Elena: You were totally fucking fine with me whoring myself out to that corporate pig when it was covering our living expenses...

That corporate pig gave her a kindly smile. "I had hoped a change of scenery, a change of clothes, might lift your spirits." 

Elena reached out a newly taloned hand to touch Godfrey's. "No, honestly, it has." 

She'd realised as Mark took her from boutique to boutique, trying on clothes that would've once bankrupted her, that this was the first time in her life she felt really, truly sexy. She'd paired a pinstripe blazer with a chiffon dress, cut low to show her perky breasts. She'd spent way too long preening, waxing her eyebrows, applying NYMF Beauty products to her heart-shaped face. She was realising that her body was a kind of canvas, and she'd come to like the way the colours looked on her. Clearly Godfrey did too, by the way he looked her up and down. 

"You won't solve that fight tonight, Ellie," Godfrey said. "But, at the risk of sounding cruel, perhaps you should take this as an object lesson." 

"A lesson?" 

"Hear me out: you told me your boyfriend is kind, loving, giving, compassionate. Why is he suddenly harassing you now that you're out living your life, having fun?" 

Elena frowned slightly. "It's just an argument, a fight." 

"Is it? Or is it something that touches on what I've been trying to teach you." Godfrey sipped his Old Fashioned. "Mark, your beloved, presented himself as this colossus of caring. Yet, the moment you leave his gaze, travel with another man, and present yourself as the object of beauty that you most assuredly are...he tries to rein you back in. The moment you express yourself, he suppresses you." 

Elena swallowed, head aching from the thought. "I'm...not sure I'd put it that way." 

"Why not? In your words, you thought of him and sent him a sexy little picture. His response: judgement. Your success and beauty confronted him, and the moment he felt threatened the veil dropped and he tried to assert control." 

Mark: Don't throw that in my face - it's not like I don't contribute my fair share!

"When you put it like that..." Elena's head span. Maybe it was the alcohol, but Godfrey was making a kind of sense. How many times had she felt like Mark was a stick-in-the-mud, holding her back rather than holding her up? How much had she compromised for him, for his sense of safety? "He's never really been comfortable with the way men have looked at me," she said in a small voice. 

"Because for all that he loves you, it's always been about his comfort and your compromise." 

Mark: Elena, please answer me. Seriously.

The words struck true, and Elena shrank back into her seat. "What should I do, Godfrey?"

He leaned forward, grinning like a Cheshire cat. "Live life for yourself." 

 IX. 

A month later, in Ibiza...

The thrum of the music pulsed, her body swaying in time to the music. The island's summer breeze kissed her bronzed cheeks, whispered through the skirts of her tight white dress. She luxuriated in the feeling on her midriff and shoulders, her bare legs on their gilded heels. 

Ellie had arrived.

"Hi boys," she said, blowing a kiss from pursed lips. They shouted something lewd back at her. "Honestly, you couldn't afford me," she said with a cutting smile.

Her phone pinged again. A message from Mark no doubt. Ugh. He hadn't gotten the message clearly.

Ellie: how many times do i have tell u ur dumped 💔😚💔

Mark: Elena, please - I know we're over but you're behaviour's really scaring me...

Ellie: tell it to a regular babe xx

She tossed the phone in her bag and sauntered over to Godfrey, lounging by the pool. Throwing her arms around him, she planted a big kiss on his cheek. His arm snaked around her waist, settling on her ass. 

"Stalker again?"

"Ya, but nothing I can't handle." She ground her cheeks against his hand. "What say we break in the Platinum Suite, babe?" 

"You read my mind," Godfrey said with a grin.

X. 

A week later, in London...

Ellie pouted at her reflection in the mirror. Technically, she looked stunning - exposed skin perfectly bronzed, hips and plump ass barely constrained by her laced leather miniskirt, black hair trailing down, mink coat slung from her dainty, taloned arms. 

"Something's wrong," she murmured. 

It had all started with a comment. Some CEO from Dallas, or something. He'd had his hand two inches from her pussy at all times. She'd liked it, felt in control. She'd spread her legs for him if he kept paying. 

But then he said it.

"Ya know, yer so beautiful but yer like a final draft. Not yet done. The pieces are all there, but you're a  little undercooked." She could still remember the whiskey fumes dousing her. He stumbled off, planted hands on another girl, some plastic princess from Bulgaria or something. 

But she couldn't shake it. 

Godfrey said she was beautiful, didn't care what men she took to bed. She'd felt like she'd had him in her hands - his stupid theory be damned. But had he just been lying? 

She had to know. 

"What's wrong with me?" she said, face blank and dead of emotion. 

"You're beautifu -" 

"No. Stop. You work for the biggest beauty corporation in the Northern Hemisphere. What. Is Wrong. With Me." 

Godfrey pursed his lips. "You're so close to perfection. You know it. I know it."

Ellie let her hooded eyes rest on him. "What do I have to do to become a goddess?" 

  XI. 

Three months later, in Los Angeles...

Mark let out a heavy sigh as he got out of his delivery car. Some yuppie up in the Hills. He couldn't believe it had come to this. Not even a half year ago he was sure in a few years he'd be married, employed as an adjunct professor, with kids on the way. Now he was alone, and penniless. 

He pulled the poke bowl from the warmer-bag. Forty-five bucks for a warm salad from halfway across the city. Disgusting. He barely registered the sound of the Tesla pulling up behind him, the woman stepping out from the passenger side. 

Click-clack-click-clack. Heels.

"Is that my order?" came a strangely familiar voice. 

He turned, and felt his heart seize. "Elena?" 

It was like looking in a broken mirror. Her slim figure had been reshaped by a surgeon's scalpel into an hourglass form, immense silicon tits straining tight black-and-diamantine fabric, her hips flaring and ending in long toned, bronze legs. She strode towards him on high heels like the sidewalk was a catwalk. 

And her face! Gone was her crooked nose, replaced by an aquiline, dainty thing. Gone were her smiling lips, replaced by plush pillows - ever pouting, ever pursed. Her cheekbones were razor sharp, her jawline dramatic. Her face was framed by artfully tousled waves of raven hair. 

But it was her eyes. He would never forget those eyes. Those eyes that looked at him with love. Now filled with cold calculation and, it seemed, faint amusement. 

"Mark," she said, her voice breathy, yet somehow cold and commanding. 

"W-what happened to you?"

She took one mincing step towards him after another, appraising him silently. She ran a taloned hand over the side of his face, pushing away errant locks of sweaty hair. 

"Godfrey was right, in so many ways," she said, one finger trailing down his chest. 

"What do you mean?" 

"Everything I thought was wrong. Love doesn't matter. Empathy doesn't matter. We're all broken, all little monsters just waiting to get off the leash." 

"Whatever he's done, we can reverse. I - " 

A finger pressed against his lips. The smell of designer perfume on her wrist. "He didn't do anything. This is all me." She took the poke bowl with a smirk. "Now run along, I've got an appointment with Godfrey. It's been too long since I've had his cock in my throat." 

"Elena, please - "

"It's Ellie now," she said, flashing her cold blue eyes at him. "And don't ask for a tip. You're not worth it." 

He watched in mute horror as Ellie walked away once more, a goddess in silk and silicon.

Author's Note: I hope you enjoyed my inaugural story. I hope to update you all with more stories of corruption and depravity in the near future. Otherwise, follow my twitter @TheMagu5 for shorter form captions!

None of the images are mine and, if you wish to have them taken down, please let me know.