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."
