Finding My Femininity A Journey of Self Discovery and Love
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Sorrel’s Long Journey To Love free porn video
Prequel: This is a story of misunderstanding, conflict, and two people’s journey to true love.
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Introduction:
A private corporation, accustomed to getting exclusive government contracts, the kind of contracts people never read or hear about except in the quietest corners of the Pentagon had run into trouble. Enormous sums of money, Federal money, unbudgeted money, and important highly secret information had disappeared. After a discreet internal investigation by key members of the innermost circle of the corporation’s leadership a culprit had been identified. However, the criminal activity had been so carefully planned and so meticulously carried out that proving the transgressor’s guilt without full blown public disclosure was virtually impossible.
Further investigation had become vital. Ultimately guilt had been proven, and the villainy had been unequivocally assigned. Yet to guarantee the malfeasance never leaked extreme precautions had to be arranged. Guilt was shown, the villain was caught, but their identity could never be made public, their perfidy never exposed. For the sake of the company, for the sake of national security their future had to be tightly regulated, and above all, they had to be punished.
Punishment was a ticklish task. Since no one must ever know of the crime, retribution had to be prudent. Repayment in this matter had to be well thought out, thoroughly planned, and absolutely air tight. There could be no possibility for error, investigation, or even rumor. Vengeance had to be harsh and irrevocable, but done in such a manner no one would ever suspect the treachery that inspired it.
The two kingpins of the business, co-founding brothers, hatched a plan they believed would protect their business, guarantee there will be no leaks, and would not only bind the thief, but would humiliate and destroy the evil doer forever. The plan was simple, thorough, and vicious beyond imagining. It would start with a party, but where it would all end was anybody’s guess
A Luncheon is Planned:
The Guest List:
The first phase of the trap was to be sprung at an afternoon luncheon. The party was planned for a Saturday afternoon. Steve, an American technical expert was the host. As many as twenty people were expected.
They included Steve Hammer, the host, and his wife Cynthia. Steve was an up and coming yuppy type businessman. His wife Cynthia was the classic southern debutante.
There was a Canadian couple, Pearce Vasquals and his wife Collette. They brought their nearly grown son Flail. Pearce was a brilliant computer technician. His wife doted on him hand and foot. Their son Flail was a licentious monster in his late adolescence.
An Australian was present, Charles McNamara. Charles wasn’t married, but had brought his girlfriend, Denise. Charles and Denise were both from Sydney. They’d been sweethearts since high school. Charles didn’t know it but Denise had been bisexual all her life.
An English couple was also on hand. That was Charles Coburn and his wife Gwyneth. The Coburn’s both represented old money and English traditional values. Next to Warren and Mildred Hanson, they were the oldest couple on hand. On first impression they appeared conservative and somewhat staid. In reality they were quite a couple.
Other key guests included Warren Hanson and his wife Mildred. Most people referred to Warren as the Colonel owing to his military record. He was the founder of the company, its largest share holder, and biggest stake holder. He was to be a central character to the plot of the story.
The Colonel’s younger brother was there also. His name was Fletcher Hanson, if this story had a male protagonist that would have been Fletcher. He was the second largest share holder. Fletcher was a widower at the time the story began. He had three children who were attending a field day activity at their school, and would not be at the party. Fletcher had come to the party alone. He had been alone most of the time since his wife died two years earlier. Fletcher was a very complex man, a very lonely man.
The next to last invitee was Florence Henderson. Florence was the corporate comptroller, and the person who had first uncovered the culprit’s scheme. Florence was a spinster, but had for years loved Warren Hanson from afar. She owned no shares in the company, but she behaved as though the company was her personal fiefdom.
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A closer look at all the participants above could have revealed a great deal more. Every family had its own story. Over time, if the story unfolds as expected some will become major participants in a tale of manipulation, cruelty, and perhaps love, deep abiding, all consuming love.
Regardless, the story was to be primarily about one woman. She was the last to come to the party. She was the guest of honor, the person for whom the whole gathering had been planned, our heroine Sorrel Sullivan.
Sorrel:
The guest of honor, that was to say the person for whom the picnic had been planned and around whom the story revolved was Sorrel. Sorrel was last to arrive. This was by design, for everyone knew Sorrel had a lot to answer for.
Sorrel was a beautiful woman. She stood a tall five foot five, and weighed a slight one hundred twenty pounds. Her hips were a little on the broad side, but she had a waspish waist.
Her breasts weren’t large, only thirty-four B, but she’d learned to keep them firm and supple. The exercise regimen she followed guaranteed they stayed that way. She eschewed the use of fraudulent cosmetics and implants. She found hard work and exercise were the preferred courses of action.
She had a beautiful face, ravishing big blue eyes, a pert little nose, neither long and aquiline nor broad and flat. Her chin, with its tiny dimple right in the middle, gave her a mischievous look. Her ears were small, round, and lay flat against the side of her head. She’d had her lobes pierced just once, and always kept just a small ring affixed in each. She thought men liked hooked earrings, perhaps imagining it inferred a submissive nature. Men she believed liked submissive women, something she definitely was not.
She had magnificent hair. She wasn’t a blond, nothing like the flaxen haired beauties one saw at the beach. Her hair was a hazel brown but with lustrous wisps of saffron yellow. It was thick, luxuriant, and when not tightly confined in a bun or braid, willfully undulant. It was the kind of hair women paid large sums of money for, and the kind men wanted to grab and wrap their hands in. It was always well coifed. She preferred a traditional bun, but on special occasions a French braid worked.
Sorrel never had many men friends, that was men with whom she could or would confide. She’d found men a nuisance, an interference regarding her prime objective which was to become as successful as possible. She wasn’t a lesbian, she was just driven by forces other than sex.
Certainly her most absorbing quality was her intellect. She was brilliant, an I.Q. well above the Mensa minimum. When people spoke she listened, and she remembered. Nothing escaped her steel trap analytical mind.
She didn’t just have the ability to listen. She could talk too. She knew how to talk and flatter men and women. She knew how to assess the ebb and flow of a conversation. No matter the topic she could always blend in with grace and charm.
There were other aspects of her personality. Her sex appeal, one couldn’t discount. She knew how to dress, and she knew how to dress for men. She believed men liked to see women in clothes that exposed as much skin as possible, but she also knew most men had little regard for women who deliberately dressed that way.
She thought the smart way to dress was to wear clothes that hinted at sexuality without being overtly sexual. She knew she had to dress for men, for it was men who controlled the offices and boardrooms, and tha
t was where the real power was. That was just one of those dirty little facts of life.
She avoided clothes with excessively short hemlines or exposed cleavages. Men made assumptions about women like that. However, a soft pleated dress or skirt that rested just above the knee, and blouse or top that hinted at but didn’t reveal a woman’s upper bodily enticements had a supernatural effect.
Sorrel understood the visual nature of the male animal, and she knew that, after her hair and eyes, it was her breasts that drew the attention of most men. She thought she had found the right bra. Thick padded push up bras and tightly structured bras with pointy nipples were avoided. The best bras were those that allowed a certain amount of freedom, and gave just a hint of aureole. They were the best. She believed men liked to watch a woman’s chest as she breathed. They liked the slow swell, the fresh and gentle undulation of small firm breasts. Even the oldest men would bend over backwards to get a brief glimpse at the hint of nipple pressing against soft fabric. Yes, good clothes certainly went a long way at helping a woman get what she wanted. Sorrel knew that, and she kept a magnificent wardrobe.
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Sorrel was a magnificent woman, beautiful, talented, smart, and gifted in every way. How could this magnificent woman, a woman with all the physical, emotional and intellectual qualities that she possessed possibly end up facing complete ruination? Well, that’s part of the story we’re here to tell.
In Her Own Words:
‘Just three years ago I was on the move, upward and ascendant, a rising star. I was on the verge of bagging the biggest juiciest contract of anyone’s dreams. Perhaps I was a little over confident, but at the time I didn’t think so. It involved a cabal of businessmen at the corporation where I was working. We were all shifting money around on the markets like it was candy. It was the height of the corporate banking bundling era, and we were in the thick of it. Derivatives were the thing. In the midst of this were these four cheeky businessmen and me. Among the men there was an American, an Englishman, and a Canada, and an Australian. Together the five of us were about to make the biggest market killing of all time. I had worked my buns off to get everything just right. We were all going to make millions of dollars. But then it all blew up. It blew up right in my face. How did it happen? At the time I didn’t have a clue.’
‘I know this, my whole life unraveled one afternoon at a luncheon, a luncheon that was supposed to be held in my honor. Little did I know at the time where it would lead me? But one never knows.’
The Story Begins:
Sorrel is Undone:
When Sorrel reached the party it was already 1:00 and all the other guests had been there for some time. Steve had planned it that way to guarantee that all the other guests had been well informed as to the true nature of the gathering. When Sorrel got there everyone knew what was up. This was, after all, the innermost circle. They had a right to know, to see, and to participate.
The setting was idyllic. The Hammer’s plush backyard had an over abundance of freshly grown flowers. The grass had been freshly cut, everything was magnificently lush and green. Several tables had been set up in the lawn for the guests. Three long tables had been set up with the finger foods, lunchmeats, and pastries.
Off to the left of the main reception area was the swimming pool. It was a mid sized peanut shaped affair. On the far side was the pool dressing room. The dressing area was sumptuous in its own right, with rich deep pile carpeting, sumptuous sofas and love seats, a sauna, hot tub, and richly furbished bathrooms and other privacy areas. In fact, if the party were to be interrupted by inclement weather there was more than enough space in the pool house to accommodate all the guests.
As Sorrel walked into the backyard she was greeted by Steve, ‘Sorrel we were all getting worried about you.’ He smiled and clasped her hands, ‘You’re the last to arrive. Did you have any trouble finding the place? I hope my directions didn’t confuse you.’ As he spoke Steve discreetly looked Sorrel over. He wondered to himself how anyone so beautiful could be so deceitful.
Sorrel took Steve’s outstretched hands and answered, ‘No, I thought 1:00 was the appropriate time.’
Steve smiled and answered, ‘Actually it was scheduled for 11:00. I suppose I gave you an invite that was missing a number. I’m sorry.’
Sorrel, ever gracious answered, ‘Don’t bother. I hope I haven’t missed anything.’
By then Steve’s wife Cynthia had reached the couple. Cynthia had little compassion for Sorrel. She was secretly suspicious that her husband and Sorrel had become more than just business partners. Assessing what Sorrel had on Cynthia secretly looked forward to what she expected would happen later on. Cynthia spoke, ‘Sorrel. So good of you to come, and don’t you look beautiful. Isn’t that outfit you’re wearing from Macy’s?’
Sorrel smiled and answered, ‘Why yes it is. Do you like it?’ Sorrel had made sure she was at her best today. The outfit she had on was an ‘off the rack’ version of an exclusive work, but it wasn’t cheap, and she had the tailor go over it carefully making sure it fit perfectly. Of course Sorrel knew of Cynthia’s silly suspicions, and understood the reason for her thinly veiled antipathy. It pleased her in a perverse sort of way.
Sorrel was wearing a casual suit of the finest linen. It was a pale-blue two piece, with a three buttoned jacket and long pleated slacks. Her hair was up in a tight bun, with just a few errant tresses filtering languidly around her beautiful face.
She was wearing glasses, but Cynthia knew Sorrel usually relied on contacts. The glasses were intended to give her an aura of intellectual keenness Cynthia secretly believed Sorrel lacked. Beneath the jacket Cynthia could see a teal colored translucent blouse. Its collar lay casually atop the folds of her jacket. A beautiful gold pendant clung tightly to the top of her delicate throat. Cynthia was sure Sorrel wasn’t wearing a bra, or if she was, it was of the most minimal type. Her long legs were accentuated by dark nylons, and rounded out by a pair of ivory colored low cut heels. Even through the slacks it was easy to discern the firmness of her long muscular legs.
Cynthia hated her, ‘Sorrel, come over here. I’ve saved a seat for you at our table.’
Sorrel dutifully followed Cynthia to the hostess table. On an occasion like this being seated at the host and hostess table was a true mark of distinction. She had no idea her seating was by design. Sorrel responded. ‘Thank you so much.’
Over the next thirty or so minutes all the guests, either singly or in very small groups made their way to Cynthia’s table where they engaged in small talk with Sorrel and the Hammer’s.
Each and every guest was instructed to be especially gracious toward Sorrel. All the women were to praise her beauty and grace and especially her intellect as it related to her most recent job coup.
All the men were to comment on her intelligence and magnificent success on the deal they were about to close. Only Florence, the comptroller, stayed away. She had a special something planned for Sorrel, one that every guest, that is every guest but Sorrel, knew was coming.
The Confrontation:
Around 2:00, after everyone who was going had visited the Hammer’s table, Steve leaned over and said, ‘Sorrel, a couple problems have arisen with the deal we’ve put together. The others know a little about it, but I think I need to talk with you.’
Sorrel gave Steve an inquisitive look. She thought, that can’t be. The deal was solid as rock. She said, ‘What’s the matter?’ Blowing Steve’s concern off she added, ‘I’m sure whatever it might be we can fix it.’
Steve smiled broadly, ‘I think you’re right. Come on over to the pool house where you and I can look at the
problem.’
Together Steve and Sorrel casually strolled across the lawn. As they wended their way through the tables each and every person was quietly smiling to himself or herself, for they knew the axe was about to fall.
Sorrel and Steve sat down at one of the small tables inside the pool house. Steve opened the conversation, ‘Sorrel you know Florence?’
Sorrel was quick to reply, ‘Of course Steve, everyone knows Florence, she’s our corporate comptroller.’
Steve continued, ‘Well, as comptroller, Florence has the responsibility to investigate any and all claims against the company, and she has the equally difficult responsibility of pursuing those claims, no matter how ridiculous or trivial they might seem, to their conclusion.’
Sorrel responded, ‘I know that Steve. So what’s the problem?’
Steve replied, ‘Well Florence, it seems, found some e-mail messages about you. As it turns out she thinks she’s uncovered something of a plot, wherein one member of our group, that member being you, has contrived and conspired to bilk the company out of close to a billion dollars by selling off highly sensitive, that is secret, assets. Do you have anything to say about this?’
Sorrel looked at Steve in utter disbelief, ‘You’ve got to be kidding. When this deal is done we’ll all be multimillionaires. I’d have to be either a fool or some kind of psychotic to tamper with anything that mutually lucrative.’
Steve gave Sorrel a curious look. It wasn’t a suspicious look, but more a look one would have if they were reflecting about something they, only moments before, was convinced was right, ‘That’s what Fletcher and I thought. Then Florence showed us the documentation. It looks bad Sorrel.’
Sorrel started to fidget in her chair, ‘No Steve I don’t know anything about any plot or scheme. This is the first I’ve heard of anything, and I guarantee you, if there is such a plot, I’m completely in the dark.’
Steve smiled, ‘I’m so glad. I was sure you had nothing to do with what Florence uncovered. However, there are a few loose ends. Would you care to help me out a little?’
Sorrel had fully recovered her aplomb. She was certain whatever Florence might have found was irrelevant. She, Sorrel, could deflect this, and then she’d find out what was really going on. She said as much, ‘Steve let me see what Florence has been digging into. If I can see what she’s got I’ll be able to help her clear it up.’
Steve leaned back in his chair, ‘That’s great.’ He yelled toward the back of the pool house, ‘Florence can you come out here, and bring those things you found.’
Almost instantaneously Ms. Henderson appeared from the back of the pool house. She was carrying a large sheath of papers. Without looking at Steve she marched straight toward Sorrel, ‘Sorrel I’ve found some very troubling documents. I’d like you to look them over. I’ve also come across some recorded messages. Perhaps you could listen to them and explain what they mean?’
Sorrel was taken aback by the rapidity with which Florence had been able to appear, as if from nowhere, and the directness of her comments was disarming. It was unexpected. She responded, ‘Well Ms. Henderson let me see what you’ve got. If there’s something wrong, we’ll fix it’
Without hesitation Ms. Henderson opened the burgeoning folder she was carrying. One after another she produced documents, all of which bore Sorrel’s initials or her signature. All of them implicated her in a secret plan designed to scam millions, perhaps billions, from the company. As she produced each paper she asked the same fundamental questions, ‘Sorrel can you explain how your name happened to be attached to this document? Sorrel can you explain how these large sums of money were being funneled to our competitors? Sorrel do you understand how incriminating all these materials are?’
Sorrel looked at document after document. It was as though someone in the company had rifled her files and altered every scrap of paper she’d worked on. She was flabbergasted to say the least, but she gave the best answers she could under the circumstances, ‘I do see my name has been signed on many if these papers, and I see many others have my initials, but I tell you I didn’t do any of this. As far as I can see these items are all brilliant forgeries. Yes, I agree they all look very bad, but they are all forgeries.’
Marisol
- 20.07.2021
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