The Reluctant Wife

Laura lay on her back, fastened securely to the bed by the nylon and velcro straps I'd purchased earlier that day. Since I didn't care about the bed in the spare bedroom, I'd screwed carefully spaced eyelets into the frame so that while she couldn't move more than a few inches, she'd at least be comfortable -- and open, wide open.

Her arms were down at her sides, but out from her body about 12 inches. The straps around her shapely thighs forced her knees to be up and open, exposing her pretty blonde pussy in a way she would be finding mortifying.

The blindfold over her eyes made certain she could see nothing.

"Why are you doing this to me?" she sobbed. "Please let me go."

This beautiful woman I had completely under control was my wife of nearly a year and I was trying to save our marriage.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

It wasn't until recently that I would admit to myself that I'd likely married the wrong woman.

Laura and I first met shortly after we'd been admitted to the bar. We'd both just landed good jobs in different downtown law firms, and during the course of our work, our paths kept crossing. When we'd finally tied the knot three years later, we'd felt it had been fate that had kept throwing us together, so why resist?

Our first meeting was during a merger of two small companies. Her firm represented one, and mine, the other.

With her client in tow, she walked into the conference room of the law firm that had just hired me and I couldn't help but hold my breath. I think each person has an ideal partner, one who looks, acts, maybe even smells a certain way. You know those ads and movies where a beautiful woman approaches and they slow down the film so you can see and savor every movement of her body? I honestly felt as if that happened to me. I'm sure I had the stupidest expression ever on my face as I watched her approach down the length of the table to where my client and I already sat.

If I did, though, she didn't let on.

Sticking out her hand, she smiled and said, "I'm Laura Bradford."

Suddenly realizing I should be on my feet, I sprang up like some insane jack-in-the-box, and said, "James Robbins. I'm James Robbins."

As I kept wringing her hand longer than was acceptable in business, a small, half-smile crossed her face. I found out later, this sort of thing had happened to her many times before.

Why? She was flat out gorgeous, that's why. Tall, pushing six feet with heels on, long honey-blonde hair and a face and body that could cause traffic accidents, she looked like a Norse goddess descended to earth to practice law in Chicago.

I don't remember much of that first meeting. I'm sure she could have completely taken my client for a ride and I never would have noticed. Later, when the formalities had somehow been successfully concluded without my brain being plugged in, we stood and again shook hands. Her grip was firm but infinitely warm and soft and I caught a whiff of her perfume as she looked at me curiously. She told me later she thought me a little odd.

Fast forward three years. We'd met three more times, twice for mergers and once for a takeover, my client against hers. That had resulted in several meetings, not all pleasant since it was a hostile bid and she had to defend her client, which she chose to do quite vigorously. There was no malice behind her actions. She was just a lawyer trying to do her best, but I did my best to drag everything out as much as I could and she knew it.

It was also during this time that I ran across one of the other junior lawyers from her firm at the gym I frequented. Naturally, I struck up a conversation.

"I'm dealing with someone from your firm right now," I said. "Do you know Laura Bradford?"

He laughed. "You mean the Ice Queen? Man! She's a complete ball buster."

"Yeah, she's pretty tough during negotiations."

"That's not what I meant," he shot back. "You ever asked her out?"

"Why would I do that?"

The lawyer looked at me as if I was an alien. "Any red-blooded male would want to be near that specimen of female beauty. You're not gay, are you?"

I hardly knew this guy and didn't appreciate the comment. He was observant enough to notice.

"No offense meant. You were referring to her professionally, though, weren't you?"

"Sort of," I lied, "but why do you call her the Ice Queen?"

"It's the feeling of every male in our firm that her heart is completely and thoroughly frozen. Within the first six months she was with us, I think every unattached male hit on her, some attached ones, too, if the truth be known. A few got dates, none got past first base. She is unmovable."

"Picky, is she?"

"Not picky. Frozen. Her upbringing, you know. Very religious family." He got off his treadmill and clapped me on the shoulder. "It's all business with Ms Bradford. Like I said: the Ice Queen."

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

The negotiations ground on. Turned out we didn't get enough shares to swing the deal, but my client wasn't prepared to back down. Hers wasn't either. One day, I got a call from her.

"Look, Mr. Robbins—"

"How many times have I asked you to call me Jim?" I interrupted. "Heck, even James is better."

"I prefer to keep my business dealings on a professional level," she answered cooly.

"So why do you want to speak with me, then, Ms Bradford?"

If she detected anything in my tone of voice, she didn't indicate it. "Our clients are going to continue wasting their money in a fruitless fight, and as you know, we're both rather expensive."

"And?"

"Look, could we meet for lunch? I think I have a way out of this morass."

I tried not to groan out loud as I saw from the agenda I had my secretary draw up every day that I was due in a meeting crosstown which would probably take up the rest of the work day.

"Could we make it a dinner meeting?"

There was silence on the line. "I suppose so. But it will be a working dinner."

Did I detect some wariness in her voice, or was my imagination playing tricks?

I proposed a restaurant that was quiet, out of the way and served great steaks and seafood.

"Shall I pick you up?" I asked.

"No. I can make my own way there," she replied with a definite edge to her voice.

Knowing what I did about her, I played it very cool that night, keeping it strictly business.

Every male eye in the restaurant followed her as she walked to my table at the back. Laura hadn't been home to change even though it was well after 7:00 -- unless she only had business suits in her wardrobe. Not that I was complaining too much. There aren't many women who can look as good in a business suit as Laura does.

Over our opening salads, she stated that she felt her client would agree to give up his own shares if the right monetary inducement was made. I asked how much she was thinking of and kept my face blank as she named a figure that was well out of range of what I felt my client would be willing to pay.

Over the main course, I made a counter offer, nowhere near as high as hers, but still more than the takeover target was worth and the owner would be chairman of the new board. It would be a hard sell to my client, but I felt I had a shot at it.

Over dessert we agreed that we'd present these new proposals to our clients and see what happened.

"If we can pull this off," I told her as I helped her on with her winter coat at the restaurant's entrance, rather than letting the staff do it, "I think I'll owe you a champagne dinner. Everyone in my office thinks this deal is not doable."

She finally smiled and practically melted my heart on the spot. "Mine too. You're on, Mr. Robbins."

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

A year and a half later we were married and living happily ever after, right?

Wrong!

Throughout our courtship, Laura made it crystal clear that premarital sex was out of the question. She had been brought up on a farm in Wisconsin and her family was ultra religious. Even though they'd actually let her leave the fold to practice law in the big city with all its temptations, they'd firmly brainwashed her into their way of thinking. Uppermost in their teaching was that sex was only for procreation. When I finally met her parents and two dour brothers on the weekend I had to formally ask her father for his daughter's hand in marriage, I could only think of the word "Puritans". Saturday and Sunday were very, very long. Religion is definitely not my thing.

I was so head over heels in love with this woman, though, that I put up with it. Other than her iron feelings about sexual love, we were a perfect match. Besides her physical attributes, she had a brilliant legal mind, a ready wit, was a keen sportswoman and athlete, and she especially loved baseball. That sort of cemented the deal between us when I told her my family had held two primo season seats at Wrigley Field for almost sixty years.

So for the time I knew her before marriage, as far as sex went, Laura would only kiss (and she was good at that), but when her emotions rose, she would always shut it down.

"I just cannot go farther, Jim. It's not the way I was brought up. You understand, don't you?"

I'd always said I did, and went home suffering from yet another case of blue balls. I could tell Laura was a warm and passionate woman and I thought after marriage I would open up her eyes a little to the joys of lovemaking and everything would be all right. She'd embrace it with the gusto she did everything else in her life -- despite what her family had taught her.

Then came our marriage night.

The wedding ceremony at the family farm an hour north of Madison had been a pleasant if rather tame affair. Laura in her wedding gown had been as radiant a bride as ever walked down the aisle, but I was already imagining our first night together.

We drove north about two hours to a small resort where I'd taken many of Laura's predecessors over the years for long weekends of bedroom sport. I'd warned the proprietors not to mention that since I'd never revealed to my new wife any of my past exploits. I well knew what her response would be.

Her mother, a very good if plain cook, had offered to pack a picnic supper, but I'd had champagne, oysters and ripe strawberries shipped up that day. Having phoned ahead just prior to our arrival, the meal was laid out as I carried my bride over the threshold and she had been delighted, to the point where she actually indulged in a second glass of champagne "to relax after a wonderful but stressful day".

After we'd watched the sun go down, Laura said she'd like to take a shower and get ready for bed. I remained on the screened in porch, my manhood already stirring over what I was about to finally get to see and experience after a very long time of waiting and playing the game.

As I went in to take my shower, Laura, wrapped in a long robe, was busily putting away our clothes. I took my time luxuriating under the steamy water, but when I came out, the bedroom was dark and curtains drawn tightly. I immediately turned on my bedside lamp.

"What are you doing?" Laura asked, sounding very tense.

Her robe was over a nearby chair, so I knew she was naked. Under the sheet pulled up tightly to her chin, I could see the swell of her perfect breasts topped by the hardness of her long nipples. I drank in the sight.

"I want to be able to watch my beautiful wife as I make love to her for the first time."

"You want to watch me?" She sounded completely astonished. "I couldn't do that. Please turn off the light, Jim."

I reached down for the lamp, then paused. "You're sure? I've waited a very long time to see you naked."

She smiled thinly. "I'm sure. Please turn it off and come to bed."

I stifled a sigh, switched off the light as she'd asked and slid under the sheet. Laura turned on her side and we began kissing after a few awkward moments. She was trembling and I didn't think it was due to lust.

My hand slid down her side, stroking, feeling the warm softness of her flesh, the swell of her hip, the ripeness of her breast. When I finally swirled my hand and caught her nipple between thumb and forefinger, she gasped.

"Does that feel good, my love?" I asked.

"Um...yes."

I'd only touched her breasts once before on the previous New Year's Eve when Laura had a few glasses of bubbly and our good night kiss had gotten out of hand. She hadn't allowed me that liberty again until tonight, and her small gasps and sighs as I kneaded the flesh of her perfect mounds let me know that she was enjoying it.

Laura reached out and tentatively put her hand on my hip, my cue that she was ready for more. Kissing her throat, I began to move down so I could take her left nipple into my mouth. She gripped my hip more tightly.

"Jim, I can't wait. Take me now. Make a woman of me."

Okay, I could live with that. My cock was certainly up to the task, ready and hard as steel. There would be plenty of time to indulge in other pleasures. Shifting our bodies, she spread her legs and I slipped between. I looked down at her shadowy form beneath me.

"I love you very much, Laura, and I've waited a long time for this."

"Please go slowly. My Aunt Jane has told me how much this will hurt."

I hoped Laura couldn't see my frown in the darkness. Her Aunt Jane, a widow of many years, was a person I instantly disliked upon meeting her. From her frequent frowns of disapproval, I knew there was no love lost on her side, either. She had played a large part in my wife's childhood and teenage years, and I knew a lot of Laura's rigid attitudes about sex had originated with her aunt.

"I will go very slowly, my love, and I promise you it doesn't hurt all that much. After a very short time, the pleasure you'll feel will astonish you."

She grabbed by arms and squeezed, signaling that she wasn't ready to proceed. "I've always known that you've been with other women. I've been reluctant to ask about it. I won't ask now, but how much experience have you had?"

"A gentleman never reveals that, but I will say, I've had enough to know how to pleasure my wife completely."

"There hasn't been anyone since you've met me, has there? I know that it's been hard for you over the past year. Aunt Jane says that men---"

I silenced her with a kiss. "Let's leave your aunt out of this, okay? I am now alone with my beautiful wife for the first time and I want to concentrate on only you."

In the dim light, I could see Laura nodding. "I'm ready."

She'd put a towel underneath her, ready for the copious bleeding her Aunt Jane and mother would have certainly warned her about. It crossed my mind with a smile that I should hang it out one of our cabin's windows, as had been done in years past. Would her family's womenfolk expect that?

Now I'm not one of those guys hung like a horse, but I've also never had any women complain about my cock's length or thickness, and many have complimented it. The only virgin I've been with was my first serious girlfriend in my senior year of high school. I'd lost my virginity to one of my older sister's wilder friends when I was only fifteen. Anyway, I knew I would need to break in my wife very slowly and carefully.

When I reached down between us, I found Laura already quite wet, so that was good. Taking my erection in my hand, I rubbed it up and down her slit, wetting the head thoroughly. Her clit made a nice bump as I made sure I contacted it several time. My wife trembled with each touch, but said nothing.

Finally, the moment of truth had arrived and I placed my cock head at her opening. "Ready?" I asked.

Laura nodded again and I knew there would be apprehension on her face.

I pushed forward and immediately felt resistance.

"You have to relax, love. This won't hurt much, I promise."

She nodded again. Figuring from her wetness that she was well lubricated inside, I decided to just push through and bury myself fully inside her if I could, and then wait for whatever pain she felt to subside.

Laura made a high-piched keening sound as I drove my cock home. She may have fainted for a moment, I'm not sure, but I do know that it hurt her pretty badly. Not sure whether I should pull out, I waited about a minute until her eyes opened and she looked up at me.

"Are you all right?"

She smiled. "I'm fine, but that really did hurt. You feel very large."

"Some of that's due to being tense. Try to relax. When you're ready, I'll make sure my wife gets a right good fucking."

"Please don't use that word, Jim. I don't like it. What we're doing is making love."

"Right."

During the next few minutes we kissed, and balancing on one elbow, I began tweaking her nipple again. Soon she told me breathlessly, "I'm ready."

I took my time that night, holding out as long as I could, waiting for her to respond, but she really did have no idea what to do and her brain was getting in the way of her body's natural responses. Still, from her moaning and the instinctual thrusting of her hips, I knew that she enjoyed it.

The orgasm which overwhelmed me was also quite satisfying but nowhere near my best ever. I looked down at her while my cock pulsed over and over again, my Laura smiled up at me.

"Thank you for making me your wife and a woman."

I thought that, given time, everything would be all right.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Six months later, nothing was any different. Once a week, usually on Saturday morning, and always at my instigation, we'd "make love". Our routine engagements always began with kissing followed by me playing with Laura's breasts, and maybe, just maybe, if she was feeling really horny, she'd let me play with her clit until she came. We always made love in bed, with me on top, and she'd always quickly leave the bed to shower.

Since we were both on the fast track to becoming partners in each of our firms, we had to work long hours and that didn't help, but our vanilla love life was completely due to Laura's insistence that everything I wanted to try with her was "disgusting", "not right" or even "morally depraved".

The one time I tried to do a little oral action on her delicious-looking quim, she wouldn't talk to me for nearly two weeks and could barely look me in the eye.

Of course, we talked about everything at length, argued really, but the plain fact of the matter was that her upbringing kept getting in the way. It was easy to tell she enjoyed having my cock in her pussy, and the rare times she'd let me bring her off by hand, I definitely sent her to the moon, but those were few and far between and always left her wracked with guilt afterwards.

Even though we were waiting to start our family, she continued with our weekly lovemaking, but it did leave me puzzled. How could she reconcile doing it with me for non-childbearing purposes? Turned out dear Aunt Jane had told her that I would demand sex on a regular basis and it was up to her in her duty as my wife to go through with it. She actually told Laura, "That's just the way of men."

In every other way, we were a perfect match and I tried hard to ignore my urges, but I'd enjoyed the company of many women over the years. It really bothered me that my wife couldn't loosen up and be like them: lusty, outrageous in bed, and thoroughly satisfying sexually.

She'd sometimes tell me about the women she worked with, most of whom she referred to as "sluts".

"Honestly, you'd think their entire existence was taken up with sex when they aren't working. That's all the seem to talk about. A lot of the men are quite bad about it, too. And then there are the ones who make passes at me. They all know I'm married, but it doesn't seem to make any difference. Are all men like that?"

"Perhaps," I said, "it's just because you're such a beautiful woman. The lawyers you work with are all alpha people, and from my experience, that kind of person is competitive at any level. Work, play, sex, it's all a competition to them. You'd be a valued check mark on any man's scorecard."