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The Two Wives


After two postings of this story being rejected it was suggested to me I used an editor. I did. She is Mariewriter, an exceptional writer, no pun intended, see her in Lit, and more than an exceptional editor. Thank you very much Marie; thanks for your patience and for sharing your knowledge; if this story is any good it is because of you. Muchas gracias de nuevo pot tu paciencia y dedicacion.


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.

Margie knew what her boss wanted and slid down the bed to a place between his legs and hefted his cock in her hands. He had large pendant balls as all old men have with dark, peppered with white, wiry pubic hair around then and around his cock. Her tongue extended from her mouth and started to lick at the base of his cock, up the thick shaft and ending at the corona of his manhood. Margie sucked him in, inch by inch, trying not to gaga and letting her mouth get adjusted to the size.

No matter how many times she went down on him her repugnance always took her time for getting used to and she never could. Her tongue ran in circles over the head as one hand massaged his balls and the other his cock. She accepted giving him head but she was not going to let him cum that way. After being fucked as many times as she had since coming to the city and going to work as a secretary for Mr. Vandervoort in the Wainwright industries she felt as if she were a whore in a one person bordello,

He took to her the first time he laid eyes on her and that luxuriant red hair. A few weeks later her job was depending on her availability to make "extra time" late in the evening to take "dictation. That was the first time he fucked her all night long and then had her moved up to be his special "secretary". In one night Ms. Eaton went from a $10 an hour pool secretary salary to a $500 a day mistress. Two years later he was still the only one that was permitted to fuck her.

Margie had him very worked up using the magic of her mouth and tongue bringing him ever closer to orgasm. But every time she sensed he was going to cum she squeezed the base of his cock to tame the beast. She stopped sucking him and heard his moan of disappointment as she straddled his hips and directed his cock to the entrance of her enflamed cunt. She sat on his cock and slowly sank down on it driving it to the very end of her cuntal passage. She could feel every inch move through her opening as it burrowed deep inside of her. When she felt him hit her cervix, her cunt muscles contracted and she felt his first orgasm.

Margie needed no guidance or help; she knew exactly what he wanted. Her hips rose and dropped on her boss cock as if she wanted his cock as deep as it would go. Faster and faster she fucked him, her cunt muscles were contracting and pulsating with a vengeance, she was feeling every vein and ridge of his massive organ and she despised him because of what she had become, him using his power over her.

She pushed her pussy down hard on the cock and engulfed it with the walls of her vagina and used her cunt muscles to squeeze the cum out of him. Martin felt the internal heat of Margie's pussy on his cock and could not hold back any longer, he let a torrent of white hot cum erupt from his cock flooding the deepest crevices of Margie's cunt. Splash after splash of sperm filled her grotto soaking every inch, nook and cranny of her cunt, spilling out onto her boss cock and balls. Margie dismounted and bent her head down using her mouth and tongue to lick, suck and clean her pimp-boss' organ.

She rose from the bed and went into the bathroom and cleaned herself up before the next round started. Mr. Martin Vandervoort reached over to the night table to retrieve a cigarette and his lighter; he lit up, and lay back down to rest. He did not have the stamina to go five or six times like he did when he was young and single and of course never with his fish of a wife Beatrice Wainwright, but he could still go at least three times on a good night.

Meanwhile his driver stood outside of the condo door waiting for his boss. He leaned against the car knowing that he would be here no less than two hours. He wondered why his boss messed with these whores when he had that rich and beautiful wife at home, who was only 40 years old and had a body that would make blind men see. His boss wife had white blond hair, green eyes, and small rounded breasts that even the elegant though androgynous clothes she usually wore could not hide. And what a pair of legs! If she wasn't his boss' wife what he wouldn't do to fuck her the way she should be fucked. Only he didn't know his boss wife didn't like sex with men.

Margie came out of the bathroom and went back to bed. Her boss pulled her to him and roughly kissed her tasting the toothpaste. She knew he would not kiss her after she had sucked his cock unless she brushed her teeth. Now came the hard part; he moved to her breasts taking a nipple between his teeth sucking it and sadistically biting the end just too hard to leave the mark of his teeth so Margie squeaked in pain. He did the same to her other breast and used his fingers to rub her pussy sliding two fingers in.

She was still dry from cleaning up and it hurt her from his manipulations. Margie didn't like rough sex. That was why she preferred to be on top so she could ride the cock controlling the up and down pounding. Now he wanted it from behind so she got on all fours and raised her ass and offered her cunt to him and she asked herself again for the hundredth time:

What was he; her boss, her pimp, her master? What was she; his secretary, his whore, his slave? She had no answer.

The honorable captain of industry and pious Sunday church goer moved in on her like a mad male dog going after a heated bitch. He unceremoniously shoved his seven inches up her pussy to the hilt and began to fuck her hard and fast. He roughly grabbed her red hair and kept pounding his man meat in and out of her love cavern. Margie pretending to enjoy and thinking of a way to end this ordeal was pushing her ass backwards, driving him in even deeper and telling him to fuck her harder.

"Yes, yes, fuck your bitch, Come on, you sissy, you are a pussy, a wimp, fuck your cunt. It is all yours. I am your fucking bitch" she wailed at him as his cock was knocking against her cervix.

The honorable chairman wailed back, "Here it is bitch, here is the cock you want, feel that, you cunt."

She was so lost in her foggy world of pain, her nipples and breasts a formless mass of pain that she didn't realize that her tormentor had momentarily left her breasts and was holding her ass-cheeks open. Before she knew it he had pulled his cock out of her pussy and placed its thick head right over her ass-hole.

"Sissy, eh, wimp, eh, pussy, eh, I'm gonna rip your bowels, you slut, I'm gonna fuck you in the ass, bitch." bawled an enraged Martin.

"No please, I can't, I've never... and you're too big, It hurts..." her sobbing was filling the bedroom.

But as usual, he wasn't listening to her. He was as lost in his lust as she was in her pain. He started shoving his cock up her ass. Margie thought he would split her open. Her arms gave out and she fell with her face against the mattress. She was out of her mind with pain but he kept forcing it in. Suddenly he gave one big thrust and then his whole cock was inside of her to the balls again but in a place where she had never had a cock before. She could feel her blood as it was lubricating his dick deep in her ass.

He drove his ramrod deeper and deeper, feeling the cum rising from his balls he let go of her hair and reached again around to pinch her nipples hard, hurting her and when he did Margie's cunt and ass muscles contracted in pain and he exploded in orgasmic pleasure flooding her bowels for the first and very last time. He spewed his hot thick seed into her steaming bowels splashing her intestines and soaking his own prick. At that moment a sharp pain in the center of his chest made him cry out in anguish, and suddenly his body slumped over his lover's back limp like a rag doll. He was dead of heart failure.


Not having passed ten days since the meeting with the late Mr. Vandervoort lawyer Ms. Margie Eaton received a call to consult again with the law firm to receive updates on the sale of the Mercedes Benz. She was euphoric; finally something good was going to happen in her life. After so many abuses and humiliations with the money from the sale of the car she could finally relax and maybe take a short vacation before searching for a new job.

She could not have been more wrong.

She chose to dress somber and moderate leaving her fancy and provocative garments as a thing of the past. She wanted to start a new life and let the old one became a memory. When she got to the lawyer office she was taken to the same conference room where the testament had been read, only this time she was there alone. She waited nervously to hear the good news.

The lawyer came into the room and greeting her with a slight inclination of his head asked her to be seated and without further preamble informed her that the Mercedes had been sold and its selling price had been one dollar. Ms. Eaton felt that everything was beginning to spin as though the world had gone mad; she felt as if her head would burst and suddenly total darkness enveloped her and she fainted.

When she regained consciousness she only wanted to know what had happened, how that had come to be. The lawyer was nervous and uncomfortable.

"Mrs. Wainwrigh ordered to put a notice on the company's bulletin board; it said she wanted to sell the car at that price to the first person to be interested. The will had made explicit that you would receive the proceeds of the sale." A very embarrassed lawyer explained to her.

"But....but that's so wicked," was the pitiable reaction of Margie. "I counted on that money to begin a new life particularly after Mrs. Wainwrigh did order my dismissal from the company. What I'm going to do now?" She sobbed, her hands covering her face.

The lawyer was truly uncomfortable. "The only option to change this is for you to go and speak directly to with Mrs. Wainwrigh that would be my advice"

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