Powell's Inner Thoughts
Powell's true feelings.
In truth, it was something I had already known to a certain degree.
He was a chairman who had dominated an era, after all.
It remained etched in my memory.
A man who had been stubbornly closed off, in both the good sense and the bad.
When he flooded the market with money, he flooded it to excess.
When he tightened, his boldness crossed every line.
To the point people called it the second coming of Volcker.
He had unveiled an all-time-record tightening policy.
But that did not mean he was a hawk, either.
"Fuck......"
Information that let one infer exactly that.
Sora, who had splendidly succeeded in gathering it, spat out a curse.
It had been a sexy, provocative performance.
Even the shop owner had risen for a standing ovation—it was a magnificent concert.
We had succeeded in hearing Powell's true feelings.
"Don't worry."
"About what?"
"I filmed the whole thing on my phone."
"You crazy bastard, delete it right now!"
One minor side effect came with it.
The woman who had staged the concert herself found it mortifying.
They call this YouTube gold.
Even while running her own YouTube channel, she had no idea.
Truly pitiful.
Gulp! Gulp!
She wanted to erase the memory.
Sora chugged the whiskey she had bought from the liquor shop straight from the bottle.
You could call it America's native spirit.
Scotch was not the only whiskey in the world.
The United States produced all sorts of its own.
Knob Creek Single Barrel
The representative style was bourbon.
She had bought it simply because the flat, square bottle was easy to hold and drink from, yet it turned out to be a solid choice.
"Doesn't it taste like peanuts?"
"Heh, hehe. Maybe it's fine."
"You're drunk."
Bourbon was made primarily from corn.
Unlike single malts that used only barley, other grains were blended in.
Knob Creek: 77 percent corn, 13 percent rye, 10 percent malted barley.
A ratio that produced the classic popular bourbon profile.
Vanilla and caramel notes stood out.
And then there was the distillery's signature.
The place that made this whiskey excelled at drawing out a peanut flavor.
It was the same house that produced Jim Beam, famous even in Korea.
Knob Creek sat one tier higher in the lineup.
"Don't just gulp it down—taste it properly."
"What about it?"
"All of this turns into money and rice cakes."
"Ah!"
Among them, this was a premium offering.
A single barrel that hit nearly 120 proof.
It carried a thoroughly proper bourbon character.
You could feel the essence of bourbon whiskey itself.
It rode down the throat with fierce heat.
Gulp! Gulp!
The breast I was holding.
The already warm flesh grew even hotter under my palm.
"Wanna drink~."
"Feel the flavor."
"Haa, haa...... good."
"Don't feel the erogenous zone."
It was a hand warmer all its own.
Growing steadily softer, the kneading itself became a pleasure.
Bourbon has an active resale market, you see.
Whiskey counted as a luxury good.
Like designer bags and wallets, its price climbed.
Bourbon had followed the same path.
Until the twentieth century it had been treated as cheap booze.
"By researching mash bills they learned to create all sorts of flavors."
"Heeeng."
"Higher wheat ratio brings out a bread taste; higher rye brings floral notes—that kind of thing."
"Wanna drink that too?"
It had been recognized as a full genre of its own.
Bottles with well-extracted flavor carried high hype premiums.
If you could evaluate that taste...
Delicious whiskey.
You could corner the market early and flip it for a premium.
Such a market actually existed.
Think of it as a stock market that traded physical goods.
"Oh, stocks...!"
"Well, it's pretty much end-of-cycle by now."
"Ugh!"
The research had been done to death.
Bourbon distilleries had ramped up production, so rarity was fading.
The law of supply and demand.
It applied to every asset market without exception.
Of course, that was true of bourbon.
The overall whiskey market kept growing every year.
Enthusiasts were multiplying across the globe.
Whiskey those people would love.
If you knew it first, you really could make money with your palate.
"What's hip in America right now are these craft distilleries."
"Craft?"
"Small-scale distilleries."
The bottle I had picked up at the liquor shop.
It was not an especially expensive whiskey.
But it let you read the recent trend.
Barrell Dovetail
A bourbon finished in oak barrels that had previously held rum, port wine, and Cabernet Sauvignon.
A technique of briefly resting it in the cask.
It layered on the flavors of other spirits.
Among famous whiskies, Balvenie 12 Year DoubleWood used the same idea.
"Wanna drink?"
"It's good."
"Gonna drink!"
Bourbon had begun using it too.
Because it was an experimental approach, the big distilleries rarely touched it.
Gulp! Gulp!
The flavors mixed.
With so many different casks in play, you could never quite predict what would come out.
Barrell was still a successful example.
Among craft distilleries it had the best QC—quality control.
They consistently pulled high-quality product.
"Oh, it's sweet!"
"That's the wine and rum influence."
"Is this stuff famous?"
"Not yet."
A successful startup.
In stock terms, that was exactly what it was.
Competitive craft distilleries like this.
Once they gained recognition, commercialized, and moved into mass production, quality inevitably dropped.
That was why the early bottlings became expensive.
The basic strategy used by people who treated whiskey as an investment asset.
"Heh, heheh......"
She no longer had the mental bandwidth for any of that.
Chugging the strong liquor in big gulps, she had gotten completely drunk.
Looking so fucking hot.
The breasts she had rested on the table were throbbing.
I carried Sora to the hotel bed and laid her down.
I stripped her top and bottom with smooth strokes.
The full picture of the carefully inked artwork was revealed.
"Miss, how much for one night?"
"Ten billion."
"Ten billion and I get to fuck you?"
"Heheh♡"
On her right hip.
A massive red rose was tattooed, too large for one hand to cover.
An element that made her look slutty.
It forced the perception that she was a woman who spread her legs easily.
Because it was Sora, the sense of corruption was overwhelming.
"Ah, cock."
"How's the taste?"
"Good. Delicious. Mmm~!!"
As if her lower mouth had its own sense of taste, she was savoring it.
Her walls wriggled in welcome around my cock.
Swallowing it so fucking deliciously.
She took it with familiar ease.
Only after I was buried to the root did she clamp down hard and refuse to let go.
"Ah, aahng."
Her eyes had rolled slightly.
Arms and legs latched on as she actively ground her body against mine.
Dangerously so.
I might have been waking Sora's sadistic side.
I had to seize the lead with absolute certainty.
"You seduced old man Powell pretty well earlier, huh?"
"Jealous?"
"No. I was going to praise you for a job well done."
I told her the stock story she loved.
The slip of the tongue Powell had carelessly let drop.
Her ears perked up.
Her pussy clenched tight at the same time; she was thoroughly startled.
"Really?!"
"Yeah. Sora pulled off a real score."
"I did it......"
"Oppa will reward you by getting you pregnant."
"Thanks... wait, why get me pregnant!"
She snapped wide awake.
She flailed her arms and legs trying to pull free, but it was useless.
Thrust! Thrust!
I ignored her and drove in deep.
A little resistance made the fucking more fun.
"W-wait a second, seriously. What's this all of a sudden."
"It's hot."
"You make a baby just because you're horny?!"
"What else do you need?"
Her flustered face was hot all over again.
I had said it half as a joke, yet she was taking it dead seriously.
Well, impregnating her would be fine.
Those milk-heavy tits with their well-developed ducts.
Once she started nursing, milking them would be rewarding.
"Euhik!"
I lifted her up hard.
The lewd tattoo on her belly bounced along with her.
The exact location of Sora's baby room was clear at a glance.
The sense of conquest doubled.
"A-alright, I get it!"
"Did you ovulate?"
"I'll make one later so ah! Right now ah! Stop pounding me for real......"
Pleasure and panic scrambled her judgment.
Sora finally threw in the GG.
Baby-factory operating rights acquired.
They had been mine from the start, of course.
I needed both body and heart for the excitement to climb higher.
Thrust! Thrust!
I conquered her body as well.
Whether from the pregnancy talk or not, she trembled with every thrust.
She came easily too.
She had already finished more than twice before I even came.
Making me so fucking want to knock her up.
Right on the edge of climax.
I barely managed to pull out.
I rubbed against her white belly and painted it.
The lewdly embroidered uterus tattoo was buried under white fluid.
The satisfaction was overwhelming.
"I really thought I was going to get pregnant. What was that all of a sudden......"
"I wanted to creampie you."
"You crazy bastard!"
"It's hot."
Even so, my erection refused to fade.
By the time we returned to Korea we might be three people.
Ssssshhhhh—!
I fucked her until my balls were empty.
I carried the sweat-soaked Sora into the shower and washed her.
Getting hard again.
Bright lighting.
Porcelain-white skin and the drawings inked across it stood out in sharp relief.
My lower half stirred once more.
Sora seemed to sense it.
"That exciting?"
"Yeah."
"Senior's tastes are way too perverted."
"It's hot because it's you."
If a cheap woman had done it, she would just be a whore.
Because it was Sora, corruption play became possible.
If not now, when else would I ever get to do this kind of play with this stubborn bitch?
I had pounded her until the uterus tattoo on her belly burned.
She would have no choice but to be conscious of it.
She demurely rested a hand on her stomach and stroked it gently.
"That hot?"
"Of course."
"Then...... shall we try one while we're at it? Even a little one."
"No."
"Huh?"
She seemed to have grasped a little of why the corruption play was hot.
But she still missed the essential point.
Liking that kind of play and actually liking that are two different things.
Completely separate matters.
You could enjoy it as a game, but you never did it for real.
Especially not with a woman like Sora.
She flaunted that sleek body yet had no idea of its true value.
"Have you ever seen someone stick stickers on a Rolls-Royce?"
"Ah."
It was a simple story.