Chapter 2: Introduction

Chapter 2: Introduction

Please allow me to introduce myself.

My name is Victoria Salvatore, Vicky for short. That’s not really important, and I’m sure you’ve never heard of me. I just wanted to get it down for the record.

I am twenty-three years old, female, reasonably pretty and have a very nice figure – if I may say so myself. I have black hair so intense that it seems to shine. I’ve let it grow until it hangs half way down my back. Takes more work to keep hair that long looking good, but I love the way it makes me look exotic and mysterious. People say that I look like a younger and shorter version of Lucy Lawless. You know, the quite beautiful actress who played Xena on a TV show a few years ago. I don’t think I’m nearly as pretty as she was, but since a hell of a lot of boys tried to hit on me in high school and college, I assume they think I’m good looking. My Dad’s Italian ancestry gives me the dark hair and eyes. My Mom’s side of the family gave me intelligence and a bit of a wild nature. When she was younger, people used to call her a “free thinker.” I’m not sure what that means, but she seemed to like being thought of that way. She was also the reason I was named Victoria, not a common Italian name.

My father was filthy rich, mostly because he was a cutthroat businessman who didn’t care much for legalities or ethics. “Hack and slash and take no prisoners, describes his business style. But, at least, I grew up with all the niceties wealth can bring. My first car was a brand new Mercedes. After high school, I entered college and, three years later, graduated with a degree in Business. At that point, I realized the only reason I had wasted three years of my life was that Dad had pushed me into it. I enjoyed college – well, most of the courses. Business itself wasn’t really that interesting, but I followed in the direction my parents told me to go, which also meant that I entered the job market after graduation. Dad said that I needed to acquire real-world knowledge to go along with my formal schooling. My high grades and good looks got me a job as an analyst almost immediately. Well, it helped that it was one of the businesses Dad owned.

That’s when I met Robert. He was my boss’ boss, and apparently took a liking to me. After a lot of dating and trips to exotic countries, I married him. Seemed the right thing to do. He was – still is, I guess – good looking, rich and on his way up in the corporation. I wasn’t familiar with the term then, but I became his “trophy wife,” to be shown off like his Bentley and yacht. And Dad approved of him.

At Robert’s suggestion, I quit my job and spent all my time at home, the country club and going to fancy dinners with Robert. I was bored in no time at all. I guess I’m just not cut out to be a trophy wife.

It was around our first anniversary that I realized there was trouble in paradise. Let me backtrack a bit. Before we were married and for the first half year or so, sex was fine. Robert was well endowed and, while not always perfect, the sex act was usually satisfying to me. I don’t think Robert had any complaints. He had his orgasm, climax or whatever men call it, then turned over and went to sleep. Before marriage, I was no virgin but also not… What’s the word? Promiscuous! (I had to look that up.) I mean, I enjoyed sex with different boys but was discriminating. Hell, it was a constant mental battle between desire and fear of pregnancy and/or disease. The fear usually won.

What I’m trying to get at was that sex between us changed. At first, it was fine. But after a while it became routine. And then less frequent. And it was always the same. He would suck on my nipples a bit, grope me between the legs and then shove it into me. A little bit of humping and it was over. Sometimes I was lucky enough to have an orgasm, other times not. I realized that part of that was because sex just wasn’t exciting any more. The other part was that Robert was a fast shooter. Wam, bam, thank you Ma’am type.

I suggested we try some new things and got a cold shoulder in response. Robert, it turned out, was very conservative about sex. You did it in the Missionary Position. Anything else was perverted and sick. Likewise for anything that wasn’t simple sex. What a stick-in-the-mud!

I tried everything I could think of. Surprised him in the shower, was waiting on the bed, naked and horny as hell when he got home. I even bought sexy lingerie! He immediately told me to take it off and called me a slut.

The final blow came when he told me that I was a pervert for wearing high heels and suggested we sleep in separate bedrooms if I couldn’t control my slutty ways.

That’s when I knew I had to do something.

There was always divorce. Or I could always slip a little ant poison into his coffee and get rid of him. But both of those ways are messy. I was reluctant to try them. Then two miracles happened. First, I was introduced to Mark Hallon, probably the most effective and vicious divorce lawyer on the whole West Coast. A quick talk with Mark and I began to favor legal action over a quick bullet to the head or a slow poison. He assured me that he would handle everything and get me a big settlement.

The other miracle was more on the tragic side. Both my parents died when the corporate jet went down outside of Dallas. I was a bit torn up by their passing, but when I inherited my Dad’s financial empire, it helped to ease my sorrow. I immediately sold most of the companies and converted the cash into secure, long-term investments. I had learned enough in business school to know that I was not cut out to head mighty corporations. But I was now a rather wealthy young lady. I probably couldn’t have spent all my money in a dozen lifetimes. Well, maybe not a dozen, but it was all the money I could ever need.

After the funeral, I called lawyer Hallon. Two days later divorce papers were served on Robert. I immediately moved out of his house and into my parent’s place, which was only a little smaller than the Taj Malah. Seven bedrooms, a study/library, huge formal dining room, a swimming pool I could have raised whales in, a tennis court (no one ever used that), and a six car garage. The landscape was ten acres of lush greenery with enough trees (mostly pines) to constitute a forest. At first I kept the cook/housekeeper on but eventually let her go. I found that I enjoyed eating at fine restaurants over home cooking.

In short, I was set up just fine, thank you.

I expected some protest from Robert, but he uttered not a single word when he found that I wanted no money from him. Besides, I suspected he had at least one other woman on the side, maybe several. He would not lack for some bimbo to warm his bed at night.

So there I was, set up for life with most everything a woman could want. Except for a man. Or, more to the point, sex. I was blessed/cursed with a high sex drive. I was horny all the time and sex was constantly on my mind. Back in college, that had often made it hard to concentrate of courses. Now it was making me depressed. At first, I blamed it on the lack of sex from my former husband. But the more I thought about it, the more I came to realize that I had been bored for a long time, even when having semi-regular sex with Robert. The more I thought and searched my soul, the more I came to realize that something was missing. Straight sex was just not enough! At least not for me.

So what to do about it? I was willing to be adventurous, but had to be cautious also. I wasn’t stupid. The logical thing to do would be to look at variations on sex and see what appealed to me. So I began to search the Internet. Boy, I found a lot! But one site caught my attention immediately. It was filled with photos and videos of women in bondage. Mostly ropes, but also there was handcuffs, leather cuffs, straps, stocks, and a bunch of devices I didn’t even know the name of.

The part that stuck in my mind was what were those women feeling? What were they thinking as they sat or lay there, bound and helpless? I could not help but put myself in their place and wonder what it would be like. And I found that mental game exciting! Those tight ropes intrigued me. Was it comfortable or painful? What was it like to be unable to move much? And, most importantly, how did it feel to be totally helpless?

The concept took hold of my mind and wouldn’t let go. The more I saw of beautiful women bound and gagged, the more I wanted to try that. I began to imagine being that woman lying on the bed, naked and bound tightly with ropes. How exciting it would be to struggle and fight against the restraints! How exciting it would be to have someone touching you while you couldn’t do anything about it. Frightening, maybe, but exciting.

After a lot of imaging and thinking, I realized that I wasn’t so much interested in being the captive of someone else as I was in simply being helpless. That was the key. I could get hot and bothered just thinking about being tied up, even if actual sex wasn’t part of the scene. It was the fact of being helpless that turned me on.

And I hadn’t even tried it yet!

I was going to have to do something about that.