Who Will Be the Chief Executive? Part 1
By Wanderer
Jim challenges his sister for control of the company.


This is adult material. Please do not read if you are under age 21 or laws in
your country forbid you to do so. Any similarity to actual persons, living or
dead, is unintentional and purely coincidental.

Earlier parts of this story are scattered all over the Wanderer bookshelf.
They should be read in the following order:

Who's In the Closet Now? (Parts 1, 2, and 3).

We're Back In the Closet Again (Parts 1 and 2).

The Engagement Party (Parts 1 to 5).

The Engagement Party-Epilogue (Parts 1 and 2).

The Engagement Party-Epilogue Two (Part 1).

My Big Deal Social Wedding.

Marriage Can Be Fun? (Parts 1 to 4).

The Board of Directors Meets My Wife.

The Executive Officers Meet My Wife.

Executive Officers Don't Get No Respect.

Security! Security! (Parts 1 and 2).

Janice-An Anecdote.

How to Collect Bad debts.

14.)Who Will Be the Chief Executive? Part 1

Copyright 2004 by Wanderer.

When Jim found out that the Board of Directors of the Witherington company had
picked his sister to be president and chief executive officer of the company
their father had founded, he fainted. His ambition since he had been a small
child had been to take his father's place as head of the company that their
father had nurtured into being one of the Fortune 500. My sister, who was
Jim's wife, gently picked him up and carried his unconscious body out to the
waiting corporate limousine. As the chauffeur drove them to their palatial
mansion she rested his head on her lap and stroked his brow until he revived.
As he gradually regained consciousness it slowly came back to him that his
sister had been named president and CEO of the family company. His life-long
dream of succeeding his father to the exalted position had been shattered in
an instant. Of course, at this time he had no knowledge yet that his sister
had obtained this position through physical intimidation of a bunch of old men
who, collectively, made up the Board of Directors. As the futility of his
position dawned on him he began to sob, and my sister picked up her grieving
husband, placed him on her lap, and buried his head into her shoulder. It was
an incongruous sight. A big 6'2" man, resting on the lap of his 5'6" wife,
crying his eyes out. He clung to her broad shoulders and sobbed all the way
home, comforted by the security he found within the muscular arms of his
protective wife. Once there my sister Maddy hauled him out of the car and
carried him up the two flights of stairs to their bedroom where he cried
himself to sleep and slept the night away. All his life my friend Jim had
dreamed of heading up the family company, and now his younger sister had taken
that away from him. He was devastated.

"Wait 'til you grow up, son, you'll be head honcho of the Witherington
company," his father had promised. "I'll groom you for it. Just study hard and
be a good boy."

At his age then, about seven or eight, Jim didn't understand the line of
succession. "But how about sis?" he asked. "Suppose she wants to be the boss?"

His dad laughed. "No, no, son, your sister will meet a nice boy and get
married and have children and she'll be glad you're running the company. Girls
just don't run companies, son, that's a man's job. But now you have to be nice
to your little sister, you know, she'll own half the stock in the company. So
no fighting with her."

But that's just what Jim was planning to do. His dreadful sister had beaten up
and intimidated the Board of Directors. In fear of her physical intimidation
these old men had hastened to appoint her as president and CEO, totally
disregarding her older brother who felt it was his rightful place to lead the
company when their father retired. What did they care, anyway? They would get
their usual meeting stipends regardless of who was president and CEO. Their
positions were largely honorary, anyway, since they owned only a small amount
of the company stock, that being held tightly within the Witherington family.

"The position is rightfully mine," he said to me, his brother-in-law and best
friend. The fact that I was also married to his sister, who had aced him out
of the president and CEO position, was not enough to break up our friendship
bond. The true facts were that even though I was married to his sister I
wanted him to assume the head man role, not my wife. If my best friend were
president and CEO of the company I would have a good chance to move even
higher on the corporate ladder, whereas if my wife remained the president she
would be accused of nepotism if she promoted me. Besides which she wouldn't
want me to get any big ideas about how important I might be in running the
company because I might also get some big ideas about running our family,
which of course was her job.

Jim's wife, my sister (my best friend had married my sister), had few qualms
about her sister-in-law heading up the company. As an ardent feminist she felt
it was time to put women in a position of authority, and so what if her
sister-in-law was head of the company instead of her husband? It just meant he
wouldn't have to take so many business trips. He could spend more time with
her at home doing his household chores-cooking, cleaning, laundry and so on.
Besides, the two women had grown very close, both being the dominant heads of
their families, although I think my sister Maddy went a little easier on her
husband Jim than my wife Janice did on me. My sister was pretty easy going,
and as long as Jim didn't disobey her he had an easy time of it. My wife Jan,
on the other hand, had grown up in opulence, never being denied anything. And
heaven help the creep who said 'no' to her. Anger management was just not one
of her strong points. They'd even ask her to leave the anger management
classes because she got so angry when told she should try to control her
anger.

Unfortunately, I was frequently the recipient of her wrath. From her MBA
classes at the university she learned that, if she wanted to keep top
executives from leaving the Witherington company she would have to be
diplomatic with them, but when she would get home all that pent up emotion
could come pouring out on me. But OK, what's a bruised rib or a black eye
every now and then, compared to the advantage of being married to a gorgeous
lady who was one of the richest women in America? Besides which, when I would
get to work and have to use a cane to help me walk because a rib was hurting
me so much, or I had a black eye showing, I would get a lot of sympathy from
the women on the executive floor and in the secretarial pool.

"Oh, I walked into a door," I would mumble. But all the women knew about my
wife since the secretary of the Board of Directors, Ms. Peters, had spread the
story about how Janice had beat up half the board and made them so fearful of
her wrath that they had voted her president and CEO of the company. I got a
lot of comforting from these ladies. They'd hug me to their bodies, I could
feel their nipples digging into my chest, or some were so bold as to stroke
the back of my hair, and then pull my head tight against their bosoms under
the guise of comforting me. Did I mention I was quite handsome? And also, if
my wife and I ever split up I would probably get a pretty hefty settlement
from one of the richest women in the country. Most of the women in the
secretarial pool were clever enough to consider the possibilities.

Later in the week Jim and I had a little private conversation. "She only got
the job because she beat up half of the Board of Directors," he lamented. "I
could have done that, too, if I had known that was the way to get named
president and CEO."

"Maybe you could have handled some of the old farts," I said, "but no way you
could have beat up on Steve Ormand. He was a Golden Gloves boxing champion,
and I understand he still works out every day."

"But Jan did," he said. "I could have, too."

"You're nuts," I said. "He outweighs you by forty pounds, he's three inches
taller, he would have killed you. You were into sports, sure, like polo, field
hockey, lacrosse, but your sister, together with our French maid, Alice, she's
black belt karate, tai kwon do, jiu jitsu, she can defend herself against
thugs, kidnappers, muggers, autograph seekers, paparazzi- she's so damn smart
and so physically coordinated it all came easy for her."

"All right, if she can beat up the Board of Directors and get named president
and CEO of the family company, which I think I could have done, too, then I'll
beat her up and take leadership of our company away from her!"

"You're nuttier than I thought," I said. "She'd clobber you bad. Remember, she
didn't beat you up to get named president and CEO, she beat up the Board of
Directors, so it was nothing personal. Besides which, you'd create bad blood
between you and her and the rest of the family if you fight her. Maybe you can
get her to name you Chairman of the Board, or something like that. She'd tear
you limb from limb and throw you out on your ear if you try to fight her. You
don't want that."

"Well, he who lives by the sword shall die by the sword," Jim declared.

"What the hell does that mean?" I asked.

"I don't know," Jim said, "but it sounds good."

Jim plotted and schemed. He wasn't going to be dissuaded by any rational
argument away from what he felt was his birthright. Oldest child, male scion
of the Witherington family, all his life he had expected to inherit the mantle
of president and CEO, and he wasn't about to give that up without a fight.
Unfortunately, the only fight that would gain him that position would be a
fight with his sister, and a physical fight at that. I was chagrined. My wife
and my best friend, brother and sister, physically fighting each other over
something as crass as who would be top dog at the family company. I briefly
considered offering myself as surrogate in place of my wife. Then I thought,
no, I was in good shape, but Jim was taller and heavier than I was, and he
could probably kick my ass. And then my wife would beat me up for losing her
position as president and CEO of the company to her brother, and then maybe my
sister, Jim's wife, might beat me up because she didn't really want her
husband to be president and CEO, what with the stress and time away from home
that would be needed to do justice to the job. So I decided to keep my nose
out of it. It was a family feud, besides which my wife could more than take
care of herself. If she lost a physical fight to her brother she wouldn't be
able to blame anybody but herself.

But I hadn't counted on Jim's resolve. He worked out six days a week, only
taking Sundays off. He worked out three hours a day. He had a personal
trainer. He took sick leave. He took vacation time. He took personal days. He
used every damn excuse he could think of to get time off from work so that he
could spend it in the gym. His sister didn't have a clue as to what was going
on. I briefly considered telling her because his sister just happened to also
be my wife. To whom did I owe my allegiance? But then I decided not to tell
her because if Jim found out I had warned her he would be mad at me. What if
he won? He could then fire me. In the end I decided it was a brother-sister
thing. I should mind my own business.

Jim didn't say much about his loss of the top position in the company after
that. I know he continued to work out really hard but since he didn't say
anything I figured maybe the whole thing had faded from his mind. The company
did great under his sister's leadership-one could call it phenomenal
growth-and so a year later when the annual survey came out, nobody was too
surprised to see that our company now had made the Fortune 100 list. Both Jim
and myself had to somewhat grudgingly admit that Jan was brilliant. When she
went to our university to get her MBA she had graduated cum laude, whereas Jim
and I got our MBA degrees also, but we had kind of been playboys, and now the
difference was showing.

We were all pretty happy to have made the Fortune 100, so we decided to have
one hell of a celebratory picnic since the announcement came out just before
the three day Labor Day holiday. We could celebrate for three days. I mean,
why not? We all had stock in the company, especially Jan, my rich wife, and
Jim, her brother. And we all got stock options, and their value depended on
the performance of the company. Were there any other women around who might
eventually be worth a billion dollars? Maybe, but I didn't know them, and they
sure didn't know me. Hey, count your blessings. Sure, maybe Jan would beat me
up every once in a while if I pushed her buttons too hard, but-a billion
dollars? C'mon, get real.

So we let our French maid, Alice, plan a picnic for us four insiders: Jan,
Jim, Maddy, and myself. But man, what a picnic! It deserved a much better
name. We had a great meadow on our estate, about two hundred yards wide,
surrounded by shade trees. It was so peaceful even the deer would come there
to graze and rest. So Alice, our French maid, spread out a luxurious blanket
and began to cater our picnic.

Naturally, we started off with champagne. First, Alice opened a magnum of
Veuve Clicquot. Well, hell, that was gone in about thirty seconds. "Heck with
that," Jan says, "Let's get the party going. Don't we have anything bigger?"

"Well," Alice says, skeptically, "we have some Methuselahs."

"Damn it, Alice, I don't care how old it is, just be sure that when you open
it it has some bubbles. I just love bubbles" she giggled.

"Oh, no, madame," Alice said. "A Methuselah is not the age, it is the size."

"Well, if it was good enough for Methuselah it's good enough for me," Jan
said. Maybe she'd had too much champagne already, but she wasn't about to be
deterred.

"But madame," Alice protested, "a Methuselah contains the equivalent of eight
bottles of champagne!"

"Damn it," Jan says, "that's only two bottles a person! Bring on a couple of
those damn things, and keep them coming! This is a celebration!"

We consumed that Methuselah of champagne in record time. Our maid, Alice, was
acting as hostess and she kept running back and forth between us, refilling
our glasses, and her own glass, too, I might add. But hell, she really was one
of the family. When my wife was away on business trips Alice became my
surrogate wife. In case you think I was a philanderer, I wasn't. That was the
role my wife Jan assigned to Alice to keep me from philandering. Thing was,
Alice never seemed to mind. She enjoyed having sex with me. In addition to
being very handsome I was also well hung, and Alice would seek me out as soon
as my wife was out the door. I never objected much if Jan had to go away on a
long business trip. I would even excuse the chauffeur and drive her to the
airport myself, just to make sure that she got on our corporate jet. I didn't
want her to miss the plane, for heaven's sake.

Pretty soon we were starting on our second Methuselah of champagne, and we
were all getting pretty bubbly. But what the hell, it was a three day Labor
Day holiday and we were celebrating the completion of Janice's first year as
president and CEO of the Witherington company. The lunch was delicious, pate
de foie gras, finger sandwiches, five cheeses for dessert. By the time we
finished the last cheese course we were all pretty giggly. So my wife Janice
says, "Mmmmm, that was delicious. Alice, what do we do now?"

Well, it was only two o'clock, who wants to go home at two o'clock from a
Labor Day picnic? "I know," my sister Maddy pipes up, "let's play games.
People always play games at picnics. I remember when I was a kid and we had a
picnic we always played games."

"Did you bring any games?" Janice asked our maid, Alice.

"Oh, no, madame, I am so sorry," Alice apologized.

"That's OK, Alice," Maddy said, "we'll make up our own games."

"Hopscotch," Janice says, brightly.

"No, Maddy says, "we can't lay out a grid, it's all grass here."

"Races," I piped up.

"Oh, goodie," Maddy says, "the boys against the girls."

"Done!" I declared. I used to be a track man in college, I'd wipe them all out
in a foot race. And the same for Jim. We both ran track. No way was Maddy
going to catch him. Time to take advantage of the situation.

"What are we playing for?" I asked, brightly.

"What do you mean?" Janice asked.

"Well, whenever there's a contest there's always a prize," I answered.

"OK, what do you suggest as the prize?" Maddy asked. "More champagne?"

Well, I already had enough of that. I was stumped. Then I had a bright idea.
"Sex!" I proclaimed.

"But," Janice answered, "we already do that."

"Oh, yeah, that's right." I was stumped again. But then I had another bright
idea. "Winner gets on top!" I declared. "For a month!"

"But I already top you," Janice declared. That was true. The woman had forced
me to introduce her to sexual intercourse, even though I had not wanted to be
the first one to have sex with her because she was the sister of my best
friend. She had always assumed that she was the one who should be in control
of our interaction.

"And I top Jim," my sister added.

"So," I said, "that would be a good prize to play for for us guys," I said,
and Jim was over by Maddy's side saying, "Yeah, yeah, you go, Frank!"

"But suppose we beat you?" Maddy said. "What's our prize? We already top you
guys."

Well, I was stumped. Everybody was stumped. Finally, Janice says, "OK, Frank,
if Maddy catches Jim she can turn him over to me and I'll decide what he
forfeits, and if I catch you I'll turn you over to your sister and she can
decide what your penalty is.

"Not sex with my sister!" I blurted out. Remember, I'd already consumed maybe
a gallon of champagne all by myself, and I wasn't thinking clearly.

Both Janice and Maddy looked at me like I was an idiot. "Of course not, you
idiot!" they both said, simultaneously. Remarkable how the two women had grown
so close. Now they even thought alike.

Janice said "I'm sure your sister has some unresolved issues with you, as her
older brother. I know I have issues with my brother Jim. I know he resents my
being president and CEO of the family company, so maybe we can clear up a few
things today. That will be my prize if the two of us catch you guys, and if
either one of us women lose by failing to catch you then we both lose and you
get to top us. It might be interesting to be on the bottom," she mused. "I've
never felt like a loser before."

I caught the innuendo. Since we had become a couple I had always been on the
bottom. Was she saying I was on the bottom because I was a loser? I was more
determined than ever to win this race. I'd get on top and I'd show her! But I
wanted an edge, just to be sure I win.

"I've had a helluva lot of champagne," I said. "Give us a ten yard head start.
We've got more to lose than you women because we don't know what kind of
penalty you're going to lay on us."

The girls went off to a corner and whispered in each other's ears. "OK," they
came back, "done. This meadow is about two hundred yards long. You make it to
the opposite end, where the trees are before we catch you, you win. And we'll
give you your ten yard head start. Even if only one of you makes it, you both
win. You get to top us-for one month. We catch you both, we decide your
penalty. Agreed?"

"Agreed." We both agreed, eagerly. We knew that no way were two broads going
to catch track star guys like us. I was six feet, Jim was six feet two inches,
we both had long legs, maybe a little on the thin side, but then we were built
for speed. Even though my wife Janice was five feet ten inches she had a lot
of bulk in her heavily muscled thighs, and that would slow her down. My sister
Maddy was only five feet six inches and had thighs bigger than some of the
tree trunks around this meadow. I was gloating already. On top! For a whole
month! Both these broads were going to find out what it was like to be
dominated by strong virile males like Jim and myself!"

"So who gives the 'Go'?" I ask.

"We'll let you guys do it," says Maddy. "We don't want you saying you weren't
ready. You give the 'Go' signal when you and Jim are ready."

OK, Jim and I line up ten yards in front of the girls. Being track veterans we
know how to get a quick jump start when the gun goes off. Our wives won't know
what hit them. Jim and I quickly take our start positions, put our hands on
the ground, and I yell "Go!" The wives are still probably primping their hair.

Jim and I have smiles on our faces as we're more than half-way across the
meadow. I hear this heavy breathing behind me-Naw, can't be. Must be Jim, I
guess he's out of shape. I feel a tap on my shoulder. Damn it Jim, run your
own race! Another tap, so I turn my head toward the shoulder Jim is tapping me
on. "Damn it Jim, what the hell do you want!" I yelled at him. Then I hear
this cold response that fills me with dread. "It's not Jim, honey, it's me,
your loving wife!" Then I feel a closed fist hit me hard-very hard- hard
enough to knock me to the ground, and I'm like semi-conscious, laying on my
back, looking up into the sun. I'm blinded, but I can feel someone looming
over me.

"I don't like you challenging me, honey," I hear my wife's voice say. "I hope
you've learned your lesson, asshole!" I think she's mad at me.

Someone pulls my right hand so I'm sitting up, my feet flat on the ground.
Then I feel someone bending over me, a shoulder against my mid-section, and I
feel myself being lifted up, up, up. Now I'm looking down at the ground, past
a pair of short shorts covering a pert ass, down to a pair of diamond shaped
calves flexing nice and big and hard as they carry me back to our starting
place. Wow, does my jaw hurt! But through my blurry vision I see my buddy Jim
being carried the same way on my sister's shoulders. He didn't make it either.
I guess I should have figured it out. Big, powerful quads and hamstrings are
going to trump skinny runners' legs every time. Those quads and hamstrings ate
up the distance between us even though my wife and sister have no real
experience in running track. Only one of us had to hit the other side of the
meadow and we would both have been the winners. Now we were both screwed. And
we didn't even know what our penalty was going to be for losing the race.

So we get back to the picnic blanket and the girls dump us on the ground,
standing over us, hands on hips, in a very threatening and dominating manner.
"I know," Janice says, "this is a party, let's have sex!"

Is that our penalty?" I say, hopefully.

"Hell, no," Maddy pipes up. "That's just our reward for catching you wimps so
easily. Jan and I will put our heads together later and figure out what your
penalty is going to be. Don't think you're going to get off that easy! In the
meantime you better make it good now, or it's going to go a hell of a lot
worse for you guys later!"

So Janice is behind a tree on one side of the glade humping me, and my sister
is close by behind another tree humping her husband, and our maid Alice is
sitting in the middle of the glade, looking forlorn. Amid all the screams and
giggles echoing from behind the trees we hear, "Oh, Madame, please, I feel so
lonely, please, me too, me too!"

Amid gasps and groans (her gasps, my groans) I hear my wife Janice say, "Sure
... Alice ... (gasp) ... Who do you want ...

(gasp) ... me or him?"

"Oh, ... Madame, ... the champagne has made me so giddy ... I think him this
time ... I feel very aggressive ... I think the champagne has ... how you say
... released my libido?"

"Sure, Alice," Janice says ... (gasp, gasp) ... "I'm almost done."

Well, Janice and I came at the same time, but then we'd had a lot of practice.
Janice rolled off me.

"Whew," she said, "that was good!"

"Whew," I said, "that was good!"

"OK, Alice," Janice said, "I'm done with him, you can have him now."

"Oh, merci, Madame, thank you, thank you," Alice says.

I'm lying behind the tree on my back trying to recover some of my poise, when
Alice swoops down on me. "It's my turn now, m'sieur," she giggles, as she
bends down and picks me up in her arms. "I have already picked out a nice
tree," she says. She's carrying me across the meadow at a fast trot, and I can
feel my penis rising already. And all the time I was thinking I was exhausted.

Here I am, the master of the house, that is when my wife isn't there, and my
maid is using me like she's the master of the house. Well, I can't complain.
Alice has her own style, and what a style it is!

So when Alice finishes with me she gets up off me, and helps me to my feet.
"Are you OK, m'sieur?" she asks, anxiously. "I did not hurt you, did I?"

"No, no, Alice, I'm OK, I can walk," I say as I slump to the ground again.

"Oh, m'sieur," she says, "I am so sorry," as she bends down, takes my right
hand, and pulls me up onto her shoulder. Here I am, looking down onto her cute
little ass and her heavily muscled calves flashing by under her short skirt,
and I think I'm getting another erection.

So Alice dumps me at the base of a tree, right next to Janice. Then she
reaches down and puts her hands under my armpits and lifts me up to prop me in
a sitting position against the tree trunk.

"Thank you, Madame," Alice says.

"Oh, any time, Alice." Janice says. "You don't even have to ask. Just help
yourself." Thank God for my liberal-minded wife.

But Janice is looking at me now with a concerned look on her face. "Are you
OK, honey?" she asks. "You look exhausted."

"Well, I am kind of tired," I say.

"Oh, poor baby," she says. "Here, let me comfort you." She reaches over, puts
one hand behind my back and the other under my knees, and without even moving
her body she lifts my two hundred pounds onto her lap. Well, I'm only human, I
like to be comforted. I snuggle up to her big boobs, lean my head on her
shoulder, and start licking and kissing Janice's neck. Now I like Janice's
neck. It's big and thick and just loaded with muscle. It looks nice and slim
but that's because her shoulders are so broad her neck looks slim by
comparison. It's actually eighteen plus inches and strong enough that she
could be a linebacker for some pro football team. One time we were playing
around, tussling with one another, and as usual I was getting the worst of it.

"Yeah," I said, "you win all the time because you're so damn flexible from all
that gymnastics you did as a kid. You get behind me and wrap your damn legs
around me and I can't get away. If I could get behind you and wrap you up I'd
make you say 'uncle' too."

"OK, wise guy," Janice said, "go for it."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"I mean, get behind me, wrap me up with those big strong manly legs of yours,
lover boy. Let's see what you can do."

"You're not serious," I said.

"Sure am," she says. "You think I've got this unfair advantage over you, now
put your money where your mouth is."

"You're on!" I said. I got behind her as she sat on her rear and I wrapped her
waist up with my legs. But I thought I'd take a little extra advantage of her.
Why not? I put both my hands under her chin and I pulled back. And I pulled.
And I pulled. I couldn't budge her head a single inch. From my position at her
back I could see her neck muscles swell up, and her trapezius just swelled up
into a monster muscle. Then I realized this gal had some neck! Her dad used to
kid her. "With a neck like that you should be playing linebacker for an NFL
team," he would joke.

"No way," she would say. "I wouldn't want to hurt any of those highly paid
running backs!"

But now, sitting on her lap, having her brawny arms wrapped around me and
protecting me, my lips pressing into the smooth skin of her neck, the body
warmth radiating from the prominent blood vessels running up and down her neck
and the warmth of her skin, and all that champagne and caviar and pate de foie
gras, and the exertion of two monstrous sexual intercourse events, one right
after the other, and the heat of the afternoon sun shining on our meadow, and
I'm starting to doze off, happy as a June bug in September. What else could I
want? My life was pretty damn good. A sexy woman who treated me really well
when she wasn't beating me up. She was always so sorry afterwards if she hurt
me, and she would become so loving it was almost worth all the pain. And that
almost a billion dollars net worth she had never seemed to be a deterrent to
my love for her. A maid-in-waiting who was always available to me when my wife
was away on business. Then I dimly hear this voice wafting out of nowhere into
my dim consciousness. "Jan, you bitch, get ready for the beating of your
life!"

I was incensed! Nobody talks to my wife that way! She's going to beat the
living daylights out of whoever said that!

Next: Jim challenges his sister for control of the company.