Sordid Ambitions

by Vicky Voltaire

Damaged people are dangerous. They know they can survive. Based on Robin Mask's fic 'Injustice Deliciously Squared'. Femme!Scar. Rated M.

Title: Sordid Ambitions

Disclaimer: I do not own. They belong to Disney. Please do not sue.

Author's note: I would first like to thank the fantastic Robin Mask for letting me borrow the concept she had in her LK fic 'Injustice Deliciously Squared'. I highly recommend that you read it but be warned. The fic in question deals with some very strong and possibly triggering things. MATURE readers only. The same thing will apply here. I have made some changes in my version. I hope that you enjoy it.

I am so going to Hell for writing this.

---

And Man knows it! Knows, moreover, that the Woman that God gave him
Must command but may not govern—shall enthrall but not enslave him.
And She knows, because She warns him, and Her instincts never fail,
That the Female of Her Species is more deadly than the Male. ~ Rudyard Kipling

She traced the paper with her long fingernails, reading the fine lettering along the white and gilded piece of parchment. The wording was fancy. It was written in a fine Italic print and there was no doubt that a lot of money was spent on the pristine item. Whatever the occasion was for, the individual who had received such a reservation was carefully selected for such an event was particularly pertinent and their presence was personally requested and one would be a fool to ignore it.

It was an invitation.

"You are cordially invited…."

"….blessed event…."

"…we are very happy…."

"….would love it if you came…"

She sighed. Of course, it was his style to make such an announcement known in such a bombastic manner. When her brother had an important proclamation or event, everyone had to drop what they were doing and they had better make sure that they wore their Sunday's finest for the 'special' event.

Scar's eyes scanned the invitation for the keywords and phrases that would let her know what exactly she had been invited to and that is how she would decide whether or not it was worth her time. There was nothing. It was left intentionally vague which meant that one had to go to actual ceremony to get the news. Of course, that was Mufasa's way of manipulating the situation. Scar rolled her intense green eyes which had the same hue as the mysterious jungles of Africa. As second born, her talents and attributes weren't taken as much note of as her big brother's. Everything she did was considered a milestone, a happy event no different than the family pet giving birth to a litter.

If Scar got accepted into Yale to study finance, Mufasa would go to Harvard and study business administration. If she got into a high ranking graduate school to study psychology, he would go to a prestigious private one to study management. There were covert ways in which he would somehow best her and she hated that. She was robbed of acknowledgement, respect, and most importantly, a sense of pride amongst the family. She would always be seen as a junior compared to her strong big brother while she was nothing more than an extra.

"Life's not fair, is it?" She sighed as she crumpled up the custom made invitation and cuddled her white cat. Scar wore an expensive designer blouse that fit snug but loosely on her frame. Gold jewellery was adorned on her hands which were accented by a string of long nails. Her nails were colored in dark tones which helped to emphasize her unique and exotic look. Even with such an intriguing facade, she did not command the audience he did.

When Mufasa spoke his first word, the family acted like he was a musical prodigy on his way to become one of the greats. When he got a scholarship from one of the top schools, the family could not be more proud of him. He not only was fortunate in inheriting good looks, but he was also blessed with good leadership skills and as a spitting image of his father, he was practically the darling of the family. He was everything Scar was not. They were complete opposites in almost every fashion and manner possible. It was not just in looks that they had differed. There was preferential treatment.

When they could go out for dinner as a family, she noticed how father would talk to Mufasa in a low tone so as not to distract the others from the fine mechanics of running their precious family business. Their mother told Scar that while she had natural talent, her ideals did not exactly fit the model that their father had and that was why the business would go to her brother and not her.

He would explain the family business to her but she did not get the in depth informal schooling that father had doted on Mufasa. There were days set aside for him so that he would learn. Scar never got such treatment. If anything, it was a quick explanation done in a flimsy manner and although she loved her father and had expressed an interest in learning, she found it practically insulting that she did not get the same treatment. Although he probably did not mean it, it seemed as though their father did not completely see Scar as a 'business' model and that perhaps is why he did not give her in depth lectures and explanations to Mufasa who absorbed every single detail like a sponge.

From an early age, he was groomed by their father in art of running their family business. Their father stressed the importance of dignity, grace, and hard work as key points so that their business could run smoothly. It was the envy of its competitors and it had stock. It was no small potatoes. It was no mom and pop store and at the same time, it respected small businesses by giving them grants and form business relationships based on trust rather than profit. This, their father noted, was especially important. Scar forgot exactly what he said but she remembered some mystical gibberish about the 'circle of life' and having 'respect' for all living things.

What a load of rubbish, she scoffed to herself. Scar understood that the ultimate goal of business is profit. You have a product and you sell it aggressively. This is how company giants eat the small fish in the sea of economics. Ultimately, it is about profit and getting the most customers. You take an idea, mold it, pitch it, sell it and if you are lucky, buy out the competition. The corporate jungle was her calling.

Business was more than just money. There was a fine psychology to it. To say that Scar was motivated by greed would be an understatement. She did not exactly see it that way. The way she saw it, it was a competitive world and she made sure that she would not be underestimated as 'weak' and 'girly' by her male peers, especially her brother and father. Business was like a watering hole and the strongest animal gets the best spots. She made no qualms about not being 'feminine' and 'nurturing' because she did not want anyone to judge her by what she had between her legs, but by what she had between her ears. She was just as shrewd, cunning, and merciless as her male contemporaries. Perhaps even moreso and this is what scared off any female colleagues from communicating with her unless they had to.

Mufasa did not exactly share the same business concept.

Mufasa had a more humane approach to the business model. He stressed the importance of how everything was connected. Big companies relied on an army of employees and if you wanted their loyalty, you had to respect them. You had to treat them with dignity and not numbers because each one is important to the health of the company. A happy employee creates a healthy company. That was the tosh he used to justify his view points. At one meeting, Mufasa stressed the importance of everyone's role, including the clean up maintenance.

To Scar, they were no better than ants.

He made comparisons to the workers and the food chain. Scar rolled her eyes at the meeting and as she did so, she laughed and imagined 'key people' at their company as a bunch of savanna animals.

The field officer, a plump Mrs. Cash, was a fat hippo. The finance director, a pencil thin Mr. Mason was a giraffe, and the workers were antelope who would be devoured if any of them dared crossed the higher ups.

Mufasa had proven to be so popular that he earned the nickname 'The King' from the company. Even the family had taken on the tradition and referred to him by a bevy of other names including 'Sire', 'My Lord', usually in jest. He had no shortage of female attention either.

Scar let out a dispassionate sigh and she helped herself to some sherry into a glass. She sipped the drink and marveled at her habitat. There was barely any light and she preferred to keep her apartment cool. Her drapes were toned in strong dark colors. They were barely up and let in little, if any, sunlight. It was not that Scar hated the sun; it was just that she preferred to keep company away. After a whole day of dealing with idiots who could not get from Point A to Point B without being told twice, she needed to unwind. The feel of the air conditioning running and soothing her skin calmed her.

As much as it annoyed her when employees could not do the simplest of tasks, she took some pride in having a little bit of power. It was small but it was better than nothing. However, being head secretary was not enough to deter the influence Mufasa had. He was going to be the company President while she would still have a subordinate role and even if she had underlings, even if she was a 'noble', even if she was the 'King's' sister, she was beneath him. She hated that and she tried to find ways, covertly of course, in which she could use her influence to its zenith.

In the meantime, she had managed to start a project outside the family company to channel her frustrations.

Mufasa's uncanny ability to control everything from contacts in other countries to knowing how many paper clips the company ordered meant that she too was under his control and with her, Mufasa had a particularly unique way of doing that. In addition to controlling aspects that surrounded him, he was also very good at controlling his image, a very pertinent quality in a good leader.

An intelligent ruler was smart enough to know when to show their good side and when to downplay their less than desirable qualities. Scar knew that. There were secrets that Scar was privy to, things could potentially damage her brother should she open her mouth but because father was ailing and most importantly, because she did not have the right opportunity, she thought it best if she kept her mouth shut. She thought it best to bite her tongue and 'tolerate' it for she knew that one day she would shine. One day they would see her for the wonder that she was. But for now, she was stuck. It was all a tangled web that she knew she would unravel one day, but as of now, it was nothing more than an annoying Chinese Box that she wanted to throw at the wall.

Father was kind enough to give her a job at the company. He didn't want to at first because he did not wish to give off a sense of 'superiority' by giving one of his own children a job when he believed that they should earn it. He eventually gave into his wife's wishes and gave Scar an assignment to keep her afloat. Although they had a payroll officer, ultimately Scar's pay was determined by Mufasa.

No matter how or where, she would always beneath Mufasa and she absolutely despised that.

She hated that because although she had a steady cash flow that would help her with her finances, ultimately she depended on Mufasa for her very state of living. Father was too old to run the business now and as of the moment, there was a figurehead appointed by him who would run the company for a couple of years before the role would be transferred to Mufasa, who was pretty much the de facto owner now.

Scar hissed at the thought of being robbed of another opportunity to demonstrate her strength. The way she saw it, Mufasa was nothing more than a fatheaded idiot who got lucky because mother was pregnant with him first. He was blessed with a handsome façade, a thick muscular and manly build that added to his shining popularity. She on the other hand was lucky enough to inherit genes that did not exactly parallel the family's features and that made her stand out like a weed in a bed of roses.

Most of the family was blessed with red or brown hair. Hers was long and as black as oil. Her face was angular and her eyes were slanted. The left one was marred by a light pink scar. Most obvious of all was her rich tan and how it contrasted with theirs which ranged from pale to creamy peach.

In addition to being under Mufasa's control to make her standard of living possible, she also hated how Mufasa would maneuver that power to others, particularly onto her. Though she had grown to tolerate it, she especially hated it how he would dominate and control her in his own unique way. With her much smaller frame and his much larger one, it was no contest to see who was the clear winner in the game of brawn. However, the way she saw it, brute force was not as important as mental abilities. Though Mufasa possessed both traits, he would use strength to get what he wanted. He was not outright violent but he would puff himself up in a subtle manner so as to make subordinates, clients and even competitors cower. He was a true lion in the board room, the consummate alpha male who would subvert his need for dominance in the most varied of ways.

In a business meeting, he would aggressively pursue a lead or court a potential client using a soothing voice and charm to get what he wanted. Even when she was present during business meetings to meet with representatives, Scar would wince when Mufasa was merciless.

On the golf course, he was exceptionally talented and would tally up points. He would often treat his rival to a cold one afterwards. That was what Mufasa meant when he stressed the importance of business relationships and the significance of personal contact. His belief was that you did not aim for the jugular, rather, you had to bend them to your will using kindness. However, there was a time and place to be aggressive and he would not resort to it unless it was necessary.

The way Scar saw it, business was no different than the cutthroat world of the animals. You had the ones on the top of the food chain and then you had bottom feeders. A business that was the prime example. The apex predator had no room for 'feelings' or 'humane issues' unless it was done for image purposes. This was one reason why she did not exactly mesh with Mufasa's business philosophy and she felt robbed.

She wanted to be noticed, to be respected and saluted. She was so fed up with that big fat headed dunce getting all the praise for any stupid thing that he did. Mufasa's winning smile which exuded warmth, kindness and generosity was practically inviting. In contrast, Scar had a cold and distant demeanor. When your brother gets praised like he was the Second Coming, you would start to feel resentful as well.

That is why she preferred to keep to herself and limit contact with others. There was talk about Scar and how she was not exactly 'nurturting' or 'warm'. In fact, some of them were a bit nervous around her. No one wanted to run errands or get coffee for the 'King's sister' or 'Miss Scar' or 'her royal bitchness' as some referred to her, according to rumors she had heard. It did not help that her nails looked like claws and she had a penchant of wearing long and pointy heels that would gauge an eye out if one should cross her.

For one thing, she had a very arrogant tone to her and the way she would look at you, even if you were impeccably dressed, she looked like she was starring at you as if you had food on your chin. Anyone who had the unfortunate job of being one of her aides tried to keep interactions with her to a minimum. Scar did not care. She kept them at a distance on purpose because that gave her time to focus on outside project. No one knew anything about it. There was another side to Scar that no one suspected. There were individuals that she associated with and she kept that as her little secret.

Anything that could be traced electronically she did outside the company premises. She did the heavy paperwork there but kept a close eye on her files. She told everyone that it was a 'charity' just to get them off of her business.

No one liked going into her office because of the dismal tone and colors she had used to decorate it. It was her way of keeping unwanted visitors in check.

Scar was letting down one of the burgundy toned curtains town before she had another sip of that precious sherry. It was then that she noticed a buzzing. She pulled out her mobile phone. The caller was listed as "private number". It could have been anyone. She usually avoided answering the phone if it was the usual contacts she did not feel like speaking to. 'Private number' could mean anyone important or someone was trying to trap her. She would have to take the gamble. She answered but she did not say anything.

"Ah, so you are home." A loud annoying voice spoke up.

"What do you want?" Scar hissed, glaring at the person speaking. He had an unusually large nose and he always, always wore bright blue suits that were accented by a white tie with just a hint of orange. He looked like a ridiculous bird with bright plumage. It was the family friend and de facto lawyer, Zazu.

"You brother has been trying to get into contact with you and you did not answer!" Zazu shot back.

"I was charging my phone," Scar lied. She saw the number of 'missed calls' earlier. Zazu did not believe her, naturally.

"Mmmm, yes. That's it, isn't it?" Zazu said sarcastically. "You just happened to be charging your device and then you answer when I used the 'private' feature."

Scar rolled her bright green eyes.

"Stop wasting my time, Zazu," she hissed.

"You caused quite the stir yesterday," the blue suited lawyer snapped at her.

"I was working late. The company cannot run itself, you know…." Scar said casually as she poured herself another bit of drink.

"What were you doing there? There was a far more important engagement and you chose to forgo it. Your brother was not pleased."

"I don't believe that is any of your business," Scar said in a low sensuous tone that rattled the man on the other side of the connection.

"Hold please, I am getting a call." Scar waited and noticed that Zazu did not disconnect the line.

"Sire, she's here!" Zazu said before disconnecting. Scar could not help but wonder if this 'ambush' was planned. She had received the invitation days ago but she did not open it until this evening. She had pushed it off and was so swamped with work that she could not have been arsed to do it. Besides, how many times had she been 'personally invited' to one of Mufasa's various ceremonies that ranged from 'graduation' to 'first job' whilst she got none of that kind of accolade? What was one 'forgotten' event worth? Did she have to be there, seeing him shine? Did he have to see her there, just so that he made sure that she saw what a shining example he was, how much better he was? Did he actually do this so that he could gloat whilst she lived in the shadows?

No matter. Scar knew she had resources and intellect. She just chose to be quieter about them. She chose to use the circumstances to build and carve a niche on her own, away from Mufasa's wandering eye. It was in this side project she was working on that she worked the tools of her trade and exerted control. It was then that she heard a knock.

"Scar….." a deep booming voice spoke from the other side. Scar could feel her throat tighten.

Scar felt a sense of dread wash over her. Although she expected this, she could not completely wash away the sense of tension that washed over her. She kept a cool exterior and opened the door, trying not to let any hint of shame or nervousness taint her face.

There in front stood a man with a healthy head of red hair that accented his strong, handsome features. He had eyes that were as brownish red as wood floors. He wore his business suit sans jacket. Even without it, he could still look intimidating.

It was hard to believe that they were in fact related when they looked like polar opposites. True, they had a mixed heritage while Mufasa and most of the family boasted strong 'Anglo' features whilst Scar had anything but. That was not to say that Scar was ugly. On the contrary, she did possess exotic beauty. She had a deep rich tan that was emphasized by those beautiful and wild green eyes. She had pointed features while the rest of the family's filled out or were softer. It was such a shame that her face was marred by a pink scar that ran down from above her eyebrow and touched her cheek. Because of this, she was sometimes seen as broken porcelain. Valuable, but imperfect.

"You parked three blocks away. I must admit, I am impressed." The King said almost sarcastically.

"I needed the exercise," Scar replied back with an acidic tone.

"That's not what I heard," Mufasa said in a deep tone. They both knew that Mufasa was doing everything he could to contain his anger towards her.

"I missed you, too," Scar said with a sharp smile. Mufasa let out a low growl in disgust.

Scar wanted nothing more than to slam the door in his face but she knew that if she did, the whole family would know by the time the newscast came on. Although she hated having people, especially him, enter her private quarters, she was willing to let it go. She knew that Mufasa came here for a reason and there was no way out of it. He would not leave until he had his say.

"Would you like a drink?" Scar said sweetly. IF she was lucky, she could get him intoxicated and call a cab to get rid of him but he refused.

"I can't. Sarabi does not like me drinking and I am not sure I can completely trust you." Mufasa said in a warm tone. He stood there, looking cool and professional. It was a brilliant image he used to camouflage who he really was on the inside. At first glance, one would describe the man standing before her as dignified, royal, and impeccable. Yet, she knew that Mufasa was every inch a gentleman as he was an animal: Alpha male. Domineering.

Primal.

Scar let out a sinfully delicious smile, the kind that would make the Devil himself blush. Mufasa scrunched up his nose.

"So tell me, why has my big brother come on downside to mingle with the commoners?" Scar pouted as she brushed her hair with her long, thin fingers. A pale moonstone ring shone on her middle finger.

"You know perfectly well why I am here, Scar," Mufasa said darkly before he made his way in.

"Oh, don't mind me. Please do invite yourself in." Scar said in a slightly annoyed tone before shutting the door.

"I sign your checks. This place is practically mine." Mufasa looked up and about Scar's quarters. He was not exactly impressed with how she 'decorated' it. She had expensive taste for one thing. She had unique paintings and sculptures from various artists. She had Italian curtains and an assorted collection of glassware. She also had a very expensive collection of lion figurines on a stand. They were carved down to exact details and looked absolutely marvelous. She had a small collection of African trinkets that included rugs and images.

Deep red curtains, ivory, and furniture from Swiss and French designers donned the complex. Scar also gave it a personal touch by leaving various items on the floor. Silk bathrobes, knickers, jewelry and undergarments were on the sofa and some chairs.

She was certainly decadent with her money.

"Do pardon the mess but my time is short, especially when I am working for you," Scar hissed.

"I could get you a maid," Mufasa offered.

"That won't be necessary, dear brother. I quite like my privacy," the dark skinned woman declared. She leaned back onto a chair and sipped her drink, trying her best to look casual and unafraid of him. She knew that Mufasa got off on power and instilling fear but twenty plus years of that would numb you. Mufasa shook his head.

"Why must you be such a contrarian?" Mufasa circled her. She stood her ground.

"I beg your pardon but since when am I a carbon copy of yourself?" She countered. Sekhmet was walking along the counter. She hissed at Mufasa before taking a leap and jumped onto her 'mother'.

"Never mind that, I did not come here to engage in preschool taunts." Mufasa said in a booming voice. He was like a lion letting out a warning growl. Scar sighed and let the white short-haired cat go. As she leaned down, Mufasa could see that under Scar's blouse, she was not wearing a bra.

Scar brushed her long black hair with her fingers and nails before settling her attention onto the brute standing before her.

"I did not see you at the celebration yesterday." Mufasa stated simply.

"I saw no point to it, brother dear. How many do you have a year? I am afraid that I have lost count," Scar scoffed.

"This is especially a serious one." Mufasa said in a cool tone. "I made especially certain that you would receive it on time."

"It must have slipped my mind. I do have a life outside of your sunshine, brother," Scar said as she looked at her manicured nails.

"Important enough that you would intentionally miss it?" Mufasa pressed forward, he was practically towering over her now. He was all muscle, thick-limbed and was a sheer force of strength. She was shorter than him by several inches and had a slim build. He would easily crush her.

"Did I say it was intentional?" Scar's eyes narrowed underneath her big brother's shadow. "I was only reading it this evening before you sent that beak-nosed idiot to stalk me."

"I was only looking for you, to see that you were safe." Mufasa said in a paternal fashion. He brushed her hair. Scar especially hated that.

"Is that your not-so-subtle way of trying to control me? Do you wish to mold me into this image as a subservient?" Scar countered with a soft purr.

"Your sense of family honor should be more important than whatever outside endeavors that you do. There are times and places to hone your unique skills. Last night was not one of them, Scar." Mufasa said in a warning manner. "Just what exactly is so important that you chose to miss such an important engagement?"

Scar smiled.

"Oh, nothing too big, just a little side project I am working on. I have to lend the family name out somehow." Scar replied.

Mufasa eyes narrowed. He was not sure if he wanted to press on. He looked as if he had heard rumors but did not want to know that they were true.

"I suppose if you are doing something productive other than something selfish that is a good thing. I just wish you were not selfish enough that you chose to ignore my request. Even Sarabi noticed."

"Give her my best," Scar said in a mock fashion.

Mufasa's eyes narrowed as Scar's disgustingly casual attitude towards her transgressions. It's as if she did not care. He would go as far to say that she did it willingly. He believed that she knew the consequences for any act of aggression or if a request was denied. Obviously she did not get it. Normally at this point, he would walk away but because his anger was at a livid point he was not going to let go. He was not going to leave until he drilled it into her head. He was not leaving until he made it clear what would happen if requests were violated. With Scar, there was a unique way to get her to pay attention, to get her to submit. There was a reason why Mufasa was the only one she would talk to while put downs and lectures from Zazu, father and others fell on deaf ears. He was not going to leave until he had his say and got what he wanted.

"You had no idea how much explaining I had to do," Mufasa said sternly. Scar looked at him with a sideways glance. Her arms were crossed.

"I have had to make apologies to Sarabi, her family, her sisters, family friends and even clients because of your behavior." Scar sneered. The way she saw it, just because she missed a few family engagements or a couple of meetings did not mean that she committed capital murder. He was only doing this because of some sort of 'family honor' and he wanted to use guilt and family respect to control her. That they had to have a united front and that 'destiny' played a part in their success and should she disrespect that she was spitting on the family honor. What a bunch of crock!

It was times like this that she felt like she was suffocating because she was under his immense weight.

"I have heard rumors and things told to me about you, Scar. And you would you believe that I refuse to believe them?" Mufasa said in a regal and calm voice. Scar's eyes slanted. She knew, of course, where this was going. "I know you have made mistakes in the past and I try not to hold them against you because I wanted to believe that you were young and foolish."

Scar felt her muscles clench and involuntarily, she touched her face. She had no idea what he was referring to in the present circumstances but she knew that he knew that she hated being reminded of her fatal mistake, the one that earned her the mark on her face.

He was of course referring to her failed attempt at a hit for him. The details were obscured and there was debate on whether or not Scar was involved. Mufasa was able to derail the family by claiming that Scar had made some bad contacts and used an error of judgment. The end result was that scar that marked her face. It was concrete evidence of her sins. It was her scarlet letter. He covered her tracks and made everyone believe that it was all a horrible misunderstanding. No matter how much damage control Mufasa did, her teeth and ambitions were bared for all to see.

Scar hated being reminded of her errors, her flaws. She certainly hated being embarrassed because of her past transgressions. This incident forever sullied her image in the family. Even if, according to Mufasa, she was not directly tied to the act, the fact that she could make such a horrible mistake still disappointed them. How could she not see that these individuals were dangerous? How could she ignore that important step? How could she put her brother in harm's way without doing a background check?

But Mufasa knew the truth. He knew that Scar wanted his place. He knew how much she craved power, control, love even. He could not believe how careless she was, how desperate she was that she was willing to seize power by less than legitimate means. However, he kept her in her place since then. He knew how to keep her 'well behaved' and quiet. In the family's eyes, and his as well, Scar was incompetent to take on the responsibilities of running the family business. She was power hungry, obsessive, and had this unhealthy jealous fixation on her brother. As brilliant as she was, she was not mentally capable to take on such a task.

"I don't think you realize how much work I have to do to convince everyone that you aren't this evil being and that there is good in you. That you made a horrible mistake and that was all there was to it. You have no idea that kind of rationalizations I made when it comes to some of the things friends and colleagues of father say about you."

Scar sneered at her brother. It wasn't enough that he came here for an explanation as to why she did not appear at the 'important' ceremony. Now, he was trying to tug at her heartstrings. He was reminding her that the only reason she was allowed such close proximity to the closest thing she will have to power is because Mufasa allowed it and she should be grateful for it.

She felt that to be the biggest load of cock and bull she had ever heard. However, she was smart enough to realize that now was not the time for catty comments or snide remarks. When he was angry, that was not the time to toy with him for that would be like placing a piece of meat in front of a hungry lion. You could not win and when Mufasa felt like exacting the consequences to the Draconian punishment, because that could simply mean anything. As of now, it was up to Scar to quell the situation for if there was one thing she was bad at, it was physical aggression. Her strengths lay in her tongue than her fists which were flimsy and laughably small compared to her much larger brother. There was no way she could win, so she just chose to let go and help herself to another sip of her drink. Just let him talk. Be minimal. Don't upset him. Mufasa may have been a Santa Claus at the company but to her, he was a narcissist. A narcissist too obsessed with his image and his thirst to control everything was nauseating.

At this point she was hoping that he would say his last words and leave but she could tell that this won't be one of those nights. There was something else and she hoped that her gut instincts were wrong. As a precaution, she took another sip of her drink.

"Why don't you just hit me then, dear brother? We both know that you would love nothing more than to take your rage out at me? We both know that you would love than to hurt me," Scar said in a dark tone.

She would much rather have Mufasa hit her. Oh, if only he would man up and do it. She was nothing in size compared to him. If he hit her, that would be proof that he himself had anger problems. That is how she tested him. Words only meant something if you gave them power and they were nothing without action. Still, he would not do that. He knew what she wanted and he would deny her that. There were ways to he could dictate her and right now, he was testing the waters. He was not above exacting 'punishment' onto her and there were certain things Scar would 'respond' to. Right now, he wanted to hear her flimsy explanation.

"Because that would only give you what you want. And aside from that that, I don't hurt those that are closest and dearest to me, though nothing would give me greater pleasure than doing so," Mufasa said darkly as he reached up and thumbed Scar's cheek in a tender manner. When the family physician examined her wound that very day, he did so in a clinical and compassionate manner. Mufasa touching her in such a manner made her shake her head in disgust. At least the doctor, as much as she hated him, was respectful in keeping his distance. When Mufasa did it, it was like a lover touching her and she despised that. She did not want to think that he was here for anything else. Not tonight, she thought as she pulled away.

She walked out towards the balcony. She looked up at the stars. She did not believe that they were notable family members looking down at them but she let Mufasa talk.

"You come from a long line and a rich heritage. Why you wish to tangle with fate, I do not know." Mufasa said calmly.

"Let me tell you something, brother. There is no such thing as 'destiny' or 'fate'. There is no such thing as 'written in the stars'. It's ambition that gets you where you want. Nothing more," Scar explained darkly. That was not an invitation to fight. That was her explanation and she made no apologies for it. He knew how she felt about these sorts of things. Why he kept asking her that, she had no idea.

She pulled out a cigarette and was about to light it before Mufasa grabbed it and tossed it into the bushes below. Her eyes narrowed, making her look like an angry she-devil. Mufasa saw her as a lost cause that could still be saved.

"Don't do that. It's a disgusting habit." The red haired brother said softly.

"It's my body," she declared.

"I know but you are my sister and as much as you disappoint me at times, I don't wish lung cancer on you." He leaned in and sniffed her raven black hair. She took note and pulled away quickly like a lioness being courted by an unwanted male.

She despised it when he would touch her like that. On hand, it was good that he had calmed down considerably but he was not leaving and it looked like he was not going to soon either. To Scar, this meant that he was not finished and she dreaded the possibility for the real reason of his visit. This meant that her time was limited and her resources were too. Still, she would do her best to stall. It was late. There was no way would he think about staying, especially at this hour. She could still use this to her advantage. Even though she trusted no one, she hoped someone would call to distract her and make him go. She pulled away again and walked inside.

Mufasa walked behind her to close the fold out glass windows and shut down the drapes.

"Do you know what my colleagues and clients have told me?"

Scar turned sideways. She wasn't usually communicative to these kinds of questions.

"They say that you are talented and exceptionally beautiful, but you need to work on your people skills."

Scar turned away from Mufasa.

"People disappoint me," she stated simply. She was opening up another bottle. She needed another glass to numb this feeling of dread at this point she knew was inevitable. "They cannot do simple tasks without complicating it. They always miss that one important detail," Scar observed before pouring herself another glass.

"Then how do you expect to run a business if you plan to depend on them? Run it like a fascist state?" Mufasa asked. Scar smiled.

"Something like that." Her lips curled into a suggestive smile.

Scar had a method of leadership that Mufasa did not exactly agree with. There was no warmth, no consideration. She did not really care if someone got sick or if something else came up. In her mind, the ends justified the means. Ethics meant nothing to her.

"People are not objects. You cannot use them and then dispose of them." Mufasa observed disappointedly.

"Tell that to the companies and families you aspire to be. What you want is a utopia. You cannot have one without a little inequality, Mufasa," Scar hissed.

"Going by that logic, I should have cut you off years ago," Mufasa countered.

"No you wouldn't. I do the job you don't want to do because you would rather have your circle of friends worship the ground you walk on. I do the menial tasks and get nothing in return while you get to bask in glory." Scar snipped. It was then that she felt a strong force pull her arm. Immediately, she felt Mufasa's hand grab at her hair. She winced and let out a small gasp.

"You think it is that easy? You think being a leader means playing golf and boring discussions in meetings? There is a reason why father chose me over you to take over after he is gone. He believed that you were better off isolated but I convinced him otherwise. You have your strengths and I do not deny that." Mufasa leaned in close and took advantage by taking another whiff of Scar, this time by her neck. "We may disagree on a lot of things."

Her hair smelled of exotic flowers.

"You need to work on your people skills. You needn't be so afraid of personal contact."

Mufasa said in a low rich tone before planting a kiss on her neck. No matter how many times she prepared herself and promised herself that she would never give in, Scar could not help but to give into the touch. She momentarily ignored his massive hands massage her back.

She promised herself to not fall for that again but she was momentarily stunned when she felt him touch her in that area. Mufasa knew exactly where for he had done this before. Scar immediately pulled away, a feeling of disgust overwhelming her. She let out a soft sigh, wanting to punish herself for 'enjoying' that bit of contact that she swore she would not do it again. On one hand, she could not blame her body for reacting that way and yet, she could deny it. It was like denying that the sky was blue.

She felt she was trapped in limbo. Mufasa would not leave until he got what he wanted. He already heard her explanation, lectured her, but it was not enough and judging by the tightness of his trousers, she knew exactly why now. She wanted to drown herself with extra drink but it would not be enough to erase the feelings of disgust, embarrassment and shame. This was not new to her, but that did not make it any less humiliating. She was used to these 'encounters', but that did not make them any less painful.

One of the reasons why she never spoke out was because if she did, Mufasa would use her own moral failing against her. Right now, her reputation was like a stack of cards and should she displease Mufasa anymore, he would blow them away. It was because of him, the family took pity and not shame on her. It was because of him, she got away with a scratch on her eye and some shame. Some but not completely absolved of it. She was seen as a fallen woman, a 'broken' one, an imperfect one. Her 'bad choice' was more than just a mar, a bump in the road. It was only a symptom of something deeper within her. To some of her relatives, the car was not running on all four cylinders.

"There is something about that girl"

"That girl…."

"….something bad….."

Mufasa being her 'protector' and at the same time being her 'oppressor' by using her in this manner was a contradiction that Scar hated. He was allowed to get away with this because of his pristine, almost surgical way of handling his public image while making sure that any negative attributes would be downplayed or ignored. She would forever have her mistake on display, a permanent reminder that not only would she be scarred again physically but emotionally should she test him again.

In this case, if Scar told the family, Mufasa would say that she herself was involved and then he would be hailed as the leader. Her image had already been scarred by her mistake. She could not afford another flaw. She did not want another notch to her name which was at a delicate balance and she did not want to tip it over. Going to the papers was out of the question as their payout was nothing compared to her family's profits in one quarter. To preserve this, to hide her shame, to keep the house of cards up, that meant giving into her brother's demands and for her, that meant servicing him. To keep her quiet, she would keep him silent. It was a trap. She felt like a mouse trapped in a lion's paw.

"How can you live with yourself? What if they knew what you really were…" Scar hissed darkly.

It was as if Mufasa did not hear her. He breathed hot breath into her neck.

"You made your choice. You should have considered the consequences," he stated simply.

She knew that if she kept quiet, her reputation would not come into question. She would not be seen as an object of scorn or pity. It was not that her sin would be completely washed away. It would be less visible but it would still be there. She already made a grave mistake and she did not want to add gas to fire. This was her punishment. She was the lion performing circus tricks and that brute was her ringmaster.

"It's late and I am tired," Scar said in a breathy voice. Her heart was racing when she saw him walk behind her. He began to run his hands on top of her waist and stomach. She placed them on top to keep from exploring. To an outsider, they looked like a couple enjoying a very private moment. Scar arched her head back, letting out a deep groan that both expressed her tension and mild savoring of his touch. It was the taste of the forbidden fruit that was to come, the fruit that she craved and at the same time wanted to spit out.

"I made a merger and I put in fifteen hours and before that, I bidded against a competitor for some copyrights. You don't have to do anything. I am being generous." The red haired company prodigy said with the flair of a businessman and the lust of a playboy negotiating with a 'paid companion' who was not happy with her arrangement.

Scar walked to her bedroom. Mufasa quickly followed before shutting the door. If she had to do this, she knew she would have to make it as painless as possible. She tried to convince herself that it was as routine as going to the doctor's and putting salty alcohol onto a wound. It was her way of trying to cope with the shame she got when she 'enjoyed' the encounters. This was one of the few methods she used to deal.

"I have an eight AM appointment with a client. It's your fault if I am late, you know," she said as a last resort.

"Take the day off." Mufasa replied back. Scar was about to protest again before Mufasa greeted her with-

"On your knees, Scar."

Mufasa expected you to know what you were doing without a verbal command, be it business or pleasure. He considered himself a gentleman and did not pursue aggressively. This was to add salt to Scar's wounds because it meant that she had to be the one who had 'start'. She had to be as much of an 'active' participant. She would 'enjoy' it and she would be 'passive'.

He began with sniffing her hair again. It was as black as a raven's wings but soft. He knew that she took care of herself. He began to kiss her on the back of her neck. Scar may have been cold and distant in the office but once you touched her in the right areas, she would melt. She would submit.

He added pressure and between kisses he would exhale, pressing hot air onto her neck and shoulders. Scar wanted to push him away after she was momentarily stunned by those touches. She reached up only to have him kiss her hand and wrists, holding her while he continued. With his other hand he reached over to touch her toned stomach and toy with the button on her jeans. Scar playfully pushed him away but he only became aggressive and kept his hand on her, gently massaging that beautifully sculpted waist and hips, hinting at where he planned to go next if he felt like it.

Scar sighed, taking note of the reality of the situation. She felt that if she had to do this, then she would not just lie there as an object but take control. She would not be dominated or humiliated by him. If she was lucky, he would leave her alone if she appeased him by going down on him and that would be it. She certainly despised these encounters as much as she was used to them. She could make it less painful by maneuvering circumstances to her favor but in order to do that, she would have to give into his demands, and possibly more times after this. She hated this with every fiber of her being but that did not mean that she could not control the situation. That did not mean that just because she chose to be a willing participant did not mean that she was giving consent. She had gotten slightly accustomed to these encounters as much as she enjoyed having a root canal done but she knew that if she wanted what she really wanted, she would use this to bide time.

In real life, you pay high insurance premiums to get the best quality protection even if it hurts your wallet. If you want to build muscle, you have to use weights and you cannot tell if you are doing it right if you cannot feel painful contractions the next day. For Scar, to make the anxiety lessen, she would have to strip herself of her agency, voice, and clothes if it meant that Mufasa could THINK that he could control her. Let him indulge in her body. Usually she was very good at separating herself from what was happening, but there were times when it was so taxing. She knew that she had to do it. It was a stepping stone to what she knew would one day be hers.

Scar sighed when she felt a large hand reach into her blouse and grab her breast. At the same time he breathed deeply into her neck. She felt ashamed of herself when she felt a sudden gushing between her legs. If she was lucky, Mufasa would not go that far to night and he would just be happy with a little oral pleasure. She had done it before in his office and at hotels during business conferences. She then felt him tug at her jeans. He managed to undo the top button and was trying to pull them. With swift cat-like reflexes, she turned around and got onto her knees.

She knew that he did not care for a small peck or having his length massaged with her hands. He made her practice by making her take him all the way inside in spite of the gag reflexes she had before. It was a bit easier now, but that did not make it any less degrading. Still, judging by the wetness that soaked her between her legs, she got an erotic charge from watching him roll his head back and moan.

She may have been his junior partner, but that did not mean that she was not his equal. That did not mean she was weak.

Even when it wasn't hard, Scar could see that Mufasa was well endowed. Depending on his mood and her performance, she would only have to do this and he would leave. If he was especially angry, he would be intense and passionately wild.

Scar began slowly, trying to massage and fill in the swollen organ into her mouth with ease. She gave the tip a few flickers of her tongue before she felt him moan in deep ecstasy. Scar closed her eyes and began to take in the length into her mouth, giving it vibrations from deep within her throat. She knew that drove Mufasa crazy. He began to pet her black hair, but she let out an angry growl. She wanted to distance herself from this. This was not an intimate act between two lovers. This was an exchange, no different than opening an account and making a transaction. The difference was that instead of funds, it was her dignity, whatever she had left of it, to his pleasure. His control. His object. His object to control.

She ran her tongue along the length, taking her time to stroke various points. It was impressive in girth and length but it certainly wasn't the biggest. There was a security guard that worked during the late shift. His nickname was 'Rhino'. Let's just say that Scar found out herself why he had earned that moniker.

Scar tried to imagine that it was him and not Mufasa she was pleasuring, but it was next to impossible. Mufasa had this distinctive cologne. It was a scent she would forever associate with him. It had a distinctive spicy smell to it. It was a very strong and masculine smell. She then felt a vein on her tongue. Her eyes snapped open. She could see the member was swollen and had gotten stiff thanks to her administrations. It was staring at her like a weapon. Scar tried to bury those deep feelings of insecurity but no matter how hard she tried, she could not help but feel like she was sharpening her own execution axe.

And yet, it would be wrong to say that Scar did not enjoy this contact. After a few minutes, she would slowly ease. She would go from feeling reluctant to being an active participant in this sick game. It was not because she saw it as "lovemaking" between two people. It was because of this charge she got. On the surface, it seemed as though she was enjoying the encounter, but there was something else that was going on in her mind. It was the feeling of power. This is what made her ease into this and what made her naturally lubricate even more.

Some women found pleasure in owning diamonds and emeralds. Others doted on wearing designer suits. Scar found her niche in power. Power did not always necessarily mean strength or having one hundred karats plus in the bank. Power did not necessarily mean a standing army. Power was ultimately psychological. Power did not always mean physical force. It could be psychological. Seeing Mufasa's head roll back and try to maintain poise while Scar administered was such an example. This was one of the things that got her off. There was another form of power that Scar savored and craved, but she knew better than to take her chances soon. Right now, she could make this less painful and seemingly enjoy what was going on as she fantasized about her ultimate objective, the ultimate plan.

She began to hum. She knew that he liked it when he felt both a warm, moistness on his manhood, and having that vibration on him. Scar felt that if she got a little creative, maybe he would 'finish' sooner and he would leave, but he would have none of that. If she intentionally went slow, Mufasa would sometimes berate her if she even tried to give him blue balls which is why she felt a feeling of dread when he pulled her from her blouse and said to her in a soothing voice.

"You can't have all the control, Scar."

Scar wanted to slap him. She wanted to strangle him and do all sorts of violent things but instead, she held back those fantasies and let him explore her body. He began by unbuttoning her shirt, kissing her on the collarbone and shoulders. His hands were exploring every curve. She felt like snakes were crawling all over her body and she mustered all the self control she could so as not to break concentration or his neck. Scar stared ahead and pretended that this was an alternate reality, that this was a bad dream. She tried to concentrate to reach a different plane of consciousness to try and purge herself of the negative thoughts, but she knew that this was all too real when she felt a cool breeze and then a tongue flicker on her nipple. She could feel the muscles tense between her legs. She looked down at Mufasa, watching him toy with that sensitive body part on her chest. It was dark. It was erect from the coolness and it was inviting.

Scar let out a half groan and half scream when she felt Mufasa put his mouth on her breast. She leaned back and grabbed his red coated mane of hair. It felt as much exhilarating as much as it did violating. She drew out a breathy gasp and grabbed his hair, not wanting him to finish and at the same time, she was holding onto dear life. It wasn't because of intimacy or that she wanted that. It was because it was the only thing she could hold onto to control her body, to control herself.

She felt a little more at ease when she felt him focus on her stomach. He began to kiss and lick the toned muscles, marveling at firmness. Scar looked down at her brother. Her blouse half opened and exposing her breast. She looked down at Mufasa with a hint of disgust and confusion. How curious that the same man who stressed dignity and ethics for a company did not follow the rules when it came to his own private life. How could he justify integrity when he was on his knees enjoying sexual congress with his little sister? The same one he grew up with. The same one he protected when they were kids.

"I want to show you something. It's a new game."

"What is it?"

"Mommy and daddy stuff."

Scar could feel her heart race. Her breathing was becoming a little bit more rapid. It was partially because she knew that Mufasa wanted 'full service'. If that was the case, she was going to try extra hard to block the encounter from her head but because he knew which parts of her body responded to his touch, it would prove to be very difficult.

She wanted to detach herself from all of this, but at the same time, she knew it was completely useless to do so. She did not want to admit it but she anticipated Mufasa's next move. It was better than to willingly act like it was not there. On one hand, if she pretended that nothing was happening, it would be very hard to come into terms with what had happened the next day. Further still, she hated giving up control. She did not want Mufasa knowing that she was his plaything.

She was not going to let him think he could control her. That did not mean she was letting him use her. She was letting him believe he was dominating her. She was giving him a false sense of security that she wanted this. This was nothing more than a contract, a proviso with some quid pro quos.

Mufasa kept running his tongue and planting passionate kisses on her skin and breasts before he stood up. He was not going to be finished anytime soon and Scar felt her throat get dry. He then began to push her onto the bed. Scar knew better than to protest violently. There was nothing better that she would have liked than to claw his eyes out or strangle him but she did not want to be accused of another crime, even if she was defending herself because should she harm one hair one his stupid fat head, she would only crucify herself and only give further justification in everyone's mind that she was a black sheep who deserved to be vilified.

She had already had her psychological profile come into question and that was a little black cloud that never left her. It was like a tattoo that forever marked her as undesirable and 'troubled'. She did not want to make it permanent. Scar knew that Mufasa would concoct a story about how he was 'helping' her and how she was the 'hysterical' one. Why would they believe someone who almost killed her own brother? Anyone who made the grave 'mistake' that she made was certainly not 'normal'.

She already had the cards stacked against her.

Scar stared up at the ceiling, trying to control the situation by imaging it was someone else. She closed her eyes upon feeling him lick and suck on her stomach muscles. She was not particularly sensitive around this area so it was easier for her to imagine that she was somewhere else. She looked at the clock. It was very, very late. She glanced down at him and noticed that he began to pull onto her jeans and slid them off only to reveal a pair of long and toned bronze legs. But it wasn't those long and beautifully sculpted limbs he was looking at. His focus now was now on the white satin panties she wore, or rather, what was underneath them. Scar winced when she felt him tug at the cloth, feeling very exposed and extremely vulnerable. She could still hear the talks where mother told her about her 'special area' and that 'good little girls' did not touch themselves or anyone else for that matter 'down there'. She did not recall a rule about not having your brother touch you there, but even when that first time happened, she knew that it was wrong.

"Ahhhhh," Scar winced when she felt a cool breeze brush against her exposed womanhood. Mufasa smiled and marveled at the exposed pink flesh which glistened and was made ready for him thanks to his administrations. Scar grabbed onto the pillow and prepared herself for his further invasion of her. On one hand, she could pretend that this was not happening and yet she knew it was utterly foolish to pretend that this was anything but. She hated admitting it but a part of her wanted him to continue, to tease her, to please her. She tried to imagine any part of him as a knife or as something dangerous touching her. Still, nothing that bad could feel so good.

Mufasa blew and sniffed at her velvety black hair before going further, planting a kiss or two on her thighs before going in and running his large tongue onto her wet and ready sex.

Scar let out a half moan and half cry when she felt that long, thick appendage run along her walls, savoring her natural oils. She grabbed the sheets and the back of his head, trying to control him. She shuddered again she felt his tongue deliver long and broad strokes in just the right places. Her legs tensed and her stomach tightened. She felt a sense of unease because she knew that this was just only the appetizer before the main course. Unintentionally, she lifted her hips up, practically begging Mufasa to continue. He let out a small chuckle.

"Enthusiastic tonight, are we?" He said in a low voice that sounded almost animalistic.

"Shut up!" she hissed bitterly. "You know I hate that."

Mufasa ignored the jab and continued licking her moisture which was now leaking onto the sheets. She was so well oiled up. The pinkness beneath the hairs tempted him like raw meat to a lion. She was exposed and at his mercy, the way it should be. He continued to lick and suck at her pussy, savoring her natural taste. He pressed his tongue deep inside of her, taking his time to savor every part he could. Then, he began to hum into her. Scar's eyes closed tightly and bit her lips, trying to prevent a lascivious moan from escaping her lips, but she failed. She could feel her stomach flutter and her legs tighten around him. She did not want him to stop. He knew exactly where to touch her and get the desired reaction out of her.

It is said that the opposite of pleasure was pain. Scar did everything she could to transfer that mindset to something else. She tried to imagine unpleasant things to get the state of arousal out of her system and replace it with something undesirable and yet no matter how hard she tried, her mind would be arrested to that dark corner of her mind. It was a moment in time that she kept forever hidden in the depths of the sea of her unconscious. It was during dark moments as this when it would creep up, when her worst nightmares would revisit her.

Memories are funny things. They were like a piece of land surrounded by heavy mists. It was too far in the distance and yet there was something definitely there.

It was not long after that new game that Mufasa discovered that she remembered the scolding she got for being a 'bad' and 'dirty girl'. Mother found a stain her dress.

"How did this happen?"

Scar didn't answer. Her mother asked again. Scar kept her mouth shut. She swore to secrecy that she would not tell mother about the source of the mess on that dress.

"It's our little secret," Mufasa whispered to her.

Back then, Mufasa was not the pompous show off that he was today. Back then, he still protected his little sister and she paid him in kind by not being a tattle tale. He would protect her from the school bullies that made fun of the way she looked. She would return the favor by not fibbing on him if he ate an extra cookie from the jar or anything else that he had done. He was her big brother who protected her at school and helped her with her homework. They had a special bond and a 'secret' language that only they could understand. Because of him, the bullying stopped but the emotional scars stayed with her.

Since then she was seen as a little liar. It was at this moment, at best that she could recall that the family looked at her with a critical eye. She was like a broken china doll. She was punished for protecting her brother, the one who played with her, the one who made the bullies stop. What did she do wrong? She was protecting her brother and she was the one that ended up being punished. Grown-ups are weird.

"Don't yell at her!" he said with pleading eyes.

Scar let out a desperate gasp and looked down. Mufasa was flicking his tongue onto her clit. It was her weak spot, her button. She wanted to strangle him for breaking her concentration and yet she was partially grateful that he had brought her out of that dark moment in time. Her heart was racing and she arched her hips up, not wanting him to stop. Remembering that moment in time made her feel dirty, unwanted, and unloved. It was a very strange thing to see her brother, her own flesh and blood do something to her that one would do to someone that they desired. Scar looked at him like he was a stain on perfect porcelain. She tried very hard to imagine that it was someone else, but found that very hard when she heard Mufasa's animalistic groans and grunts between her legs. Her heart was pounding like thunder.

She glared at him, wondering what he was going to do next. She could see that he was now going up to her level, almost eye to eye but he was supporting himself with both arms. He leaned down and began to kiss and nibble on her neck and her chest.

One would be dumb to deny that Mufasa was a passionate lover. To Scar, it was slow torture. Mufasa knew what turned her on and how to get her attention. He knew where she was susceptible and where she wasn't, that way he knew where to go next to as to surprise her, to reel her in. Scar arched her head back and let out a deep moan when she felt Mufasa run his mouth and tongue on her breasts. He nibbled and bit on the underside before sucking on the nipples.

Just as Mufasa was well endowed, Scar was generously proportioned. He loved savoring those beautiful and soft pieces of womanly flesh. Scar saw them as a curse and a blessing. She couldn't find blouses and blazers in her size that did fit her properly. It was not her fault and yet, she was still blamed for it. She did not ask for this body. She did not ask for something that allowed family members and complete strangers of both sexes to make such outrageous comments. It stung as much as when they made comments about her 'sickly' body or the scar on her face.

Scar winced she felt Mufasa's warm body lay on top of her. She could feel that he was still rock hard. She spread her legs so that she could receive him. She was soaking wet and flustered. She breathed in deeply when she felt him enter her slowly. He did not do it too fast. He carefully pressed into her with the care that a surgeon would before he began the operation. She felt so warm and tight around him. Slowly he picked up rhythm and began to buck her.

She knew that there was a method that actresses in blue films used to block out the current thoughts in their heads by imagining that they were somewhere else. Someone women imagined themselves sipping a coconut colada on Palm Beach. Others imagined themselves wearing the finest jewelry and gambling in Monte Carlo.

Scar had a more unique fantasy.

As she reached up and wrapped her hands around Mufasa's neck, she pretended that she was strangling him. On the surface it looked as if she was reaching out to him, but the reality was quite different. Mufasa began to push down and continued to pump into her. Scar held onto his face and neck not because she was enjoying the intimacy, though that was a part of it. It was because she was imagining a noose around that thick neck. Her hands could not do it. She wanted to see him punished, to suffer for all the pain he had caused her. She fantasized about all sorts of nasty and bad things happening to him. At the same time, she felt herself tense. Her body felt like a tidal wave. An orgasm threatened to wash over her as she imagined the man above experiencing the most excruciating pain possible, the worst. Something that could not compare to the humiliation she went through.

Scar began to writhe and moan underneath him. She felt like her body was undergoing and electric charge. It felt amazing and exhilarating. For a few seconds, Scar felt like she was walking on water. She wrapped her legs around Mufasa's hips, bringing him closer. She would never forgive herself for that.

Their hips bucked in unison. He held onto her wrists as his body clenched from all the passion he was experiencing. Her breasts bounced tantalizingly. With each thrust, Scar imagined a knife going into his body. She smiled up at him. Mufasa thrust even more passionately, fervently. He let out a low and angry groan from his throat. She too returned the favor.

Mufasa could tell if Scar was faking her orgasms and he found ways to make sure that every reaction coming out of her was genuine. When he was close to her chest, he made sure to hear that her heart was racing or that her pupils were dilating. The most telling of all was when he felt her contract.

Mufasa landed on top of her, savoring the scent of her willowy long black hair. She closed her eyes and tensed when she felt Mufasa touch her neck. It was long and almost swan-like. He let out a deep growl into her ear. She wanted to slap him. He then placed his fingers between her legs, feeling for the wetness between them. Scar closed her eyes, trying to compose herself.

With one hand, she grabbed the pillow behind her head and with the other, she grabbed onto her breast, trying to control the ecstasy that had taken over her mind and body. She felt like she was about to faint as he pulled in and out of her incredibly wet and tight pussy. Mufasa's moans were becoming louder and feral, almost sounding like a roar and claiming what was his. Scar arched her head back, exposing her neck. The sensations overwhelmed her. She was consumed by lust and she hated that.

She could not understand why they could not have a real doctor but father stressed that he was just as good as anyone who studied western medicine. His office did not boast any certificates from any school nor did it feel in anyway professional. The 'examination room' played host to some of the strangest items and artifacts she had ever seen. Scar was not sure about this 'doctor' but her father stressed that because of his intimate knowledge of the family history that he would deliver. Scar felt like she had walked into a witch doctor's hut.

"You! You are quite de stubborn one, eh?" The eccentric and odd-looking family friend slash personal physician said to her. She eyed him with a look of derision. If there was one thing she could not stand, it was someone invading her personal space. Happy-go-lucky types were right up there with the annoyance factor.

Doctor Rafiki was hailed at being the best at what he had done. He had been in the family for a couple of generations and was skilled at making medicines that supposedly ones that rivaled top of the line pharmaceuticals. He practiced a holistic type of medicine in his private practice. Scar did not trust the doctor for a variety of reasons. For one thing, he would speak in riddles and would avoid direct answers. She came here for a purpose and she was not in the mood for mindless chit chat.

He looked more like a shaman than a man of medicine. Doctor Rafiki stressed that it was more important to focus on the inner chi and that a pill could not fix problems. His remedies included some of the strangest concoctions she had ever seen. She was not sure if he was going to help her.

"Are you sure you want to go tru wit dis?" The white haired shaman witch doctor asked her. He got rid of that enthusiastic mask and knew that if he was going to reach someone as cool and distant as Scar, he would have to try a different approach. "I just want you to tink about de consequences of this decision," he warned again.

Scar stared nonchalantly outside of the doctor's office. Doctor Rafiki knew that this was more than just Scar being a naturally private individual. This was someone carrying a dark secret. He reached out and touched her hand. He was offering her a bridge to cross over. It was clear that though she came from a family of money, she was not blessed in everything. Even he knew that she was ignored and brushed aside and as the same man who delivered her, he could not help but feel sorry for her. Everyone else derided her. He only had pity. He was careful not to push it. When you have birdseed in your hand, you do not force the bird to feed. It will come naturally. He was extending his hand to her.

He tapped at her chest. He could see that she had her talents. She was nowhere on the same league as her brother, even Doctor Rafiki knew that. He wanted to push her into the right direction.

"Look harder," he said warmly.

Scar sneered. She came here for something else, not psychiatry.

"Just give me what I need," she said coolly and bitterly. She closed the door on him.

"Very well, 'den. I shall make you a paste. If dat doesn't work, I shall refer you to a specialist who can help you."

Doctor Rafiki, as strange and annoying as he was, was the only one who spoke to her in a compassionate manner.

Scar looked back up only to feel Mufasa still thrusting into her. He grabbed her breast and thumbed the nipple. It was hard to imagine that only moments earlier, he demonstrated poise and professional calm. Now, he was losing all control, acting more animal than man. Scar let out a deep growl when she felt Mufasa push into her, faster this time. They almost looked like they were fighting. Scar arched back, trying to accommodate Mufasa's girth into her. She enjoyed this as much as she wanted to kill him.

It was then that Scar's eyes snapped open, as if her brain had just hatched an idea. It was too well executed. It was almost the perfect crime.

She then felt Mufasa turn her over.

"What are you doing?" She hissed. Her voice was breathy.

"I think you are enjoying this a little too much, I don't trust you," Mufasa said warningly.

"Well hurry up, please." Scar begged.

He hoisted her hips up and pressed his groin into her. He was careful to position himself into the right hole. A few weeks ago, he asked her if he could put it in her bum but she refused.

On one hand, Scar was grateful that she did not have to look at that fool in his face and she could concentrate. She knew if Mufasa had been with other women. It was not that she was jealous but she knew if he had been with others because he would want to try a new position. She ignored him when she felt him grab her breasts and try to pleasure her by fingering her. She focused on her outside project. Under Mufasa, she was underneath him in every single way possible and she hated that. He began to press slowly into her, slowly grinding before he found the right tempo. She was still wet and judging by how her contractions felt on him, she was certainly enjoying it.

---

Scar had started a 'charity' under her name. At least that is what she wanted everyone to believe. In reality, it was a place where she could get away from Mufasa's influence and exert control over her own environment. It was far away from the high class building she went in day in and day out. She wanted to make sure no one followed her. Though no one could deny that Mufasa had natural leadership skills, Scar too had a certain charm and flair. She may not have been a 'leader' in the way that her family had assumed but she could still command and audience. She could still gain attention, but most importantly, she felt adored. It was the only place she earned respect.

The 'charity' was set up to help disadvantaged youth and she was the director. She had a few underlings, most of them came from socially undesirable backgrounds but that did not matter to her. On the contrary, it only augmented her power. Scar did not do this because of concern of welfare for the inhabitants. She did it because of the thirst for respect, for love, for a sense of validation.

She did it for power.

She did not care if they were not as intelligent, as beautiful or as rich. As long as she could exert power, that was most important to her. Majority of the inhabitants were low class and dirty, types she would no associate with. Normally, she would be repulsed but because she would dazzle them with her wealth and knowledge, they were attracted to her like moths to a flame. She found a following and they adored her. She savored it like honey. She savored it like a hyena to carrion.

Eventually, she would have three assignments. At first, they were not too close as they were worlds apart but eventually, a common bond formed between the narcissistic "aristocrat" and the three disadvantaged youths.

The de facto leader of the group was a sass mouth named Shenzi. She was a child of the streets and knew the city like the back of her hand. A true survivor, she had gotten close to her new 'mother'. Her two friends, Banzai and Ed were her 'henchmen' and did as she told them too. Scar savored this lack of parental care these three had. They found a sense of belonging and she found a niche' to feed her desire to influence. The best part was that these kids did not care for money but they did enjoy eating scraps from the family dinners Scar went to. She kept them fed and she gave them a home. Eventually, these three would spread the word and invite their friends, making Scar's sphere of influence grow.

She would groom them for greater things.

---

Scar was on her knees and hands. Her body was shiny with her sweat. She could feel friction between her legs. After this, she would promise herself a long bath and a relaxing shower. She hated imagining just how ridiculous she must have looked in such a state, in such a weak and vulnerable position. She stared ahead and concentrated. A swirl of ideas came into her head. So many threads weaved in and out. They were creating a concoction. A seed was planted into her head. It was almost too perfect. She let out a deep moan in satisfaction, taking small pleasure for herself knowing that she gave that brute behind her a false sense of security. Let him enjoy the fruits of his power now because there will be a time when she will take it back. She would take what was rightfully hers. Just then she felt more passionate and ardent thrusts. It was skin on skin. It was primal and fervent. Even Scar could not deny how good it felt.

She let out deep, throaty moans. She felt herself tighten around him. Her sounds were in sync with his movements. For a few seconds, Scar forgot how good a termination felt in comparison to this.

She then felt Mufasa turn her over and push her onto her back. He was still hard and not yet finished. He began to grind into her. His throat was letting out a torrent of angry grunts. Scar looked up at him in a disgusted fashion. She had felt little waves here and there but now she could feel the thresholds. She could feel her insides twist and her skin flush. Suddenly, with a strong gush and a scream, she reached her climax and shuddered onto the bed. Mufasa was pushing into her for a couple more minutes before he too reached the pinnacle. He grabbed her wrists, his body pulsating and muscles clenched as he spilled inside of Scar. He then pulled out of her, and positioned himself so that he lay beside her, catching his breath. Scar let out a low and bitter growl. She wanted to claw his face off.

"You may take two days off, I will have them adjust your pay," he said finally.

"How generous of you. I suppose it will take me that long for my privates to stop being sore." Scar hissed back.

Scar hated it when Mufasa would make comments like that. What she especially despised was what would happen next. She would have preferred if he got up and left, for she would have been given back her privacy. She did not cry. She accepted this as part of some 'bargain', a lease. There were some parts that she tolerated more than others. Mufasa treating her like this was low on the totem pole. What he did next was even lower.

It just so happened that Mufasa was a big cuddler. Sometimes he would spoon her, but this time, he laid on top of her and placed his head on those pillow-like breasts. When he left, she at least would have had the dignity to clean herself.

"It's such a shame that you missed the ceremony. In fact, you were the guest of honor," Mufasa said warmly.

"Is that so?" Scar said faking interest. She took a lock of his hair, imaging it as rope and choking him.

"Yes, hence why I had to apologize to Sarabi's family. She's expecting and she would like it if you were present at his christening," he said before closing his eyes.

Scar's eyes widened. The complete nerve!

She looked down at him. He looked so peaceful just lying there. So many ideas percolated in her head.

Scar sat up and let him put his head on her lap. As he slept, she stroked his head not because she felt a need for connection. She was pondering. It was a way for her to make him think that she was relaxed. As he drifted off into sleep, she reflected. Memories that once brought her comfort were now as rancid as rotten fruit. She wanted to rid herself of the stench. She wanted to cleanse herself. As long as she could remember, as kids she was his playmate, his friend. They might as well be dreams from another person.

They were like random pictures that circulated in her memory. There was no emotional attachment to them. They were just images from a time long past, a past that might not as well have ever existed. This was her reality. She was his underling at the company, his sexual playmate. His. She hated that. As long as he was living, she would live in his shadow. If she were to change this dynamic she would have to be tenacious.

She fantasized about shooting him while he slept on her bed. She fantasized about pulling the trigger but she would never do it. She could not afford another mistake under her name. She did not want to be associated with the blood. She had a plan. She considered many options but the safest bet was that she could NOT be tied to it in anyway. And that was when she smiled at herself. She was content with the possibility that she may have found a solution to her idea. It was almost too perfect. She had to be meticulous but it could be done. She thought about those three assignments she had 'adopted'. They were so full of aggression, so uncouth and unspeakably plain. They were the perfect scapegoat. Perhaps they would prove to be useful in her sordid endeavor. The most important detail was that they would keep her hands clean. Like Pilate, she would be washed of her crime. She could not be in any way connected. She did not see them as three kids that needed a helping hand, but connections she would use. They were the hand that would execute her plan. They were the means to an end.

She let out a content purr as she thought about how she would prepare them for a chance of a lifetime.

---

Hello, author here! I hope I didn't disappoint. I wanted to tackle more complex themes and add a very grey and murky area to Scar. Basically, I wanted to make her less sympathetic and more 'active'. I wanted to do something a little different than in the version Robin Mask made. I hope I succeeded. This is a very sensitive issue for a lot of people. In my mind, this version of Scar would have a very different way of dealing with the cards that were handed to her. My goal was to give light to something that makes people uncomfortable.