The luxurious boardroom of the prestigious law firm of Pierce, Pierce, Singer, Melanchthon & Associates, resembled an exclusive club with its walnut panelled walls, hung with paintings and photographs of selected predecessors, once important themselves, now long departed. Seated at opposite ends of the gleaming table, waiting for a senior lawyer, were two ladies. It was for both of them a difficult time, to say the least; they were waiting for the opening and reading of a testament.
The lawyer had summoned the two waiting ladies to read them the will of the late Mr. Martin Vandervoort. The ladies were Mrs. Charlene Vandervoort, his widow, nee Wainwright sole heiress and principal shareholder with almost seventy per cent of the stock, of the Wainwright industrial empire founded by her grandfather, and Ms. Margie Eaton in whose bed Mr. Vandervoort due to tremendous efforts and heart failure had passed away.
The will was a simple one containing only two paragraphs; in the first Mr Vanderwoort left to his-mistress-secretary-- his new last model Mercedes Benz 500 SLG. A the car for which he had paid the tidy sum of $ 80,000 dollars, which was to be sold and the proceeds from the sale ought to go to the account of Ms. Margie Eaton in recognition of services rendered. In the second paragraph Mr. Vanderwoort appointed sole heir of their common property to his wife; and here we must make a stop and make it clear that the fortune of the Vanderwoort family was by inheritance, the property of Mrs. Charlene Vanderwoort, so Mr. Vanderwoort has little to bequeath to his widow.
After the reading of the will a frozen silence descended upon the room. The lawyer at the center of the ugliness and discomfort of the situation, coughed several times. Mrs Charlene Vanderwoort maintained a cool calm while Ms Eaton's face was as red as her hair with shame and couldn't look straight at the others. The lawyer trying to overcome the tense situation with some dignity for Ms. Eaton offered his services to find out who would sell the car and so put an end to the awkward situation.
Suddenly, the silent Mrs Charlene Vanderwoort, to the astonishment of the other two said: "Don't you worry, I'll see to the selling of the car".
As it was, from any logical point of view, Mr Vanderwoort had pretended, with the sale of the car to leave financially secure, at least for some time the woman that had been his mistress...
To the lawyer, it had been a hot potato taken out of his hands; to Ms Eaton it was a further step down the ladder of shame. None could understand the reasons for Mrs Vanderwoort to take over as menial a task, the sale of a car. Unknown to them she had a powerful reason: vengeance. She was a smart lady, and had found the formula to get back at her husband and his slut. With class as befits a lady of high society.
Before exiting the conference room Mrs. Vanderwoort made a sudden request to the lawyer. She told him to start immediately the legal proceedings to get back to her legal family name; she intended, as was the case in ancient Egypt, to erase her dead husband's name in everything concerning her life, present or past.
Before living the lawyer asked for a means to communicate with Ms. Eaton when he had news of the sale of the car.
As for Mrs. Charlene Vanderwoort she made a decision unprecedented in the last years and went to the Headquarters Tower of the family industrial empire and once there she took two actions: seal the 36th floor office of her late husband for a later exhaustive control of his documentation and fire from the company a Ms. Margie Eaton.
She was named Charlene but everybody in her social circle called her "Lone" and she was the only one who knew why. When she was a child, one of her governesses used to hold her and sing softly while waltzing her around the room: "Charlene ... lene ... lene, Charline ... line ... line, Charlone, lone ... lone ... lone ... lone" The sound of that last wayward syllable delighted her and so she appropriated it as a nickname. When a child, in her moments of confusion she used to think that "Lone" suited her perfectly because she was always alone and because the more family and friends surrounded her the lonelier she felt.
Her mother had died giving birth to her and from then on she had always been alone. Her father the big industrialist had no time to care for newborn babies and so he left her in the care of a wet-nurse, maids and nannies. When she was eight years old her father thought it was time for her to start learning, slowly at first, the ins and outs of running an industrial empire. Being his only heir he took her every Thursday to the board meetings sat her in a chair at his side and made her pay attention to everything that was said and done. It was during this time that she met her future husband.
Martin Vandervoort was the rising star at Wainwright Industries and at thirty three he was a very competent business administrator on his way to great achievements. Later, everybody thought his greatest personal achievement had been his marriage for money to the heiress of the Wainwright Industrial Empire. She was at the time twenty three years old and he was her senior by twenty five years.
But not everything was what it seemed. Yes they went to live at the Wainwright mansion, a spacious three story house in the suburbs of Shaker Heights being a wedding gift from her father, but since the first day or rather since the first night Charlene went to her bedroom in the house second story and closed and locked the door. The next morning at breakfast they discussed their sleeping arrangements and she informed him she lacked interest in men, in sex with men or in any kind of sex. She abhorred sex with anybody, period. She had made plain her mental distaste of gropings and heavings in the sex act and then they by mutual consent decided to use separate sleeping quarters, that was the only choice left to the good old Martin boy. Her sexual rejection and the locking of her bedroom never ceased to offend and annoy the mature husband.
When her father died and she took his place at the head of the companies she usually worked and directed them from home. On the third floor of her mansion she had set up her offices; an exact copy of that of her father on the Downtown Wainwright tower. From there she ran her empire. She would go downtown solely for the most important issues such as Board of Directors meetings or surprise visits. ; For the rest of her business she had at home the perfect errand boy; her husband who used the pompous name of director for Special Operations but was in fact the chain of transmission of the orders and decisions of his younger wife.
As to Martin Vandervoort himself he had accepted married sexual deprivation uncomplainingly, in part because since he was thirty years old sex was something he could take or leave at will; in part because his ambition to succeed at Wainwright Industries had become his central driving force. So like a machine which slips into disuse his sexual urgings dwindled. It was years later, when he was at the top of the corporate ladder second only to his wife that all those years of repressed sexuality showed up in force at the surface of his conscience.
He knew without a doubt that in that important portion of his life the curtain fell too soon. So it was when his sexual desires broke through the corsets that had them compressed that they appeared with force and malice and his revenge against his wife was paid for with pain and sorrow by other innocent women.
Mr. Martin Vandervoort had told his driver to wait outside as he opened the door to the apartment of his -- in the day—secretary and moved immediately to the bedroom. He had called from his car to let Margie Eaton, his fiery redheaded mistress know that he was on the way. She was his favorite; he had had at least a dozen "secretaries" in the last years none as hot as Margie. She was red haired from the top of her head to the pussy between her legs and he thought mistakenly, since she loathed sex with him, that she had a sexual appetite for him to match his own for her. It showed how little he knew about her or of women in general.
When they were together he would fuck her for hours, always him the dominant man he was not at home. She gave him great head which also he never got at home. In fact Charlene, his wife, was to his way of thinking a sexless bitch. He loved women sucking him but what he would not do is go down on her or any woman. His ridiculous macho stand was: only fags and weaklings would put his mouth between a woman's legs. If a man could not satisfy a woman with his cock he was not a man as far as Mr. Vandervoort was concerned.
He stood 6'1" tall a solid 190 pounds and looked at least 10 years younger than his sixty five years. He started to undress as he walked to the bedroom. His cock was hard already just from the thought of fucking Margie's tight pussy. He loved the way her vagina muscles would grip his cock and hold on to it like a vise.
He was not in a hurry, his wife didn't wait for him and he had removed his shirt by the time he arrived at the bedroom door. He entered and there she was laying in bed with a sheer see through negligee that left nothing to the imagination. He could see the red pubic hair lighting up her pussy like the flame on a candle. She smiled at him and crooked her finger making a motion for him to come to her. He unbuckled his trousers as he walked and was sliding the zipper down as he got to the side of the bed. He removed the rest of his clothes and laid down naked on the king size bed next to his mistress.
.... There is more of this story ...