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. She held an overwhelming confidence and sultry smirk as she walked over to me, laying me on my back on the bed. “Hands above your head,” she commanded. Her voice was soft, despite her cold appearance. I was not one to disagree with her. She held my wrist as she tied it to the head of the bed. A simple action, but the physical contact was enough to send a spark through me. Her touch always had that effect on me. Once she had secured my one wrist, she moved to my other. Leaning over my body, laying down on the bed, she worked on the rope and my wrist, her breasts tantalisingly close to my face. The temptation to stick out my tongue and trace it over the soft curve of her was overwhelming, as was the alluring scent of her as she was close. She was under my skin. I could inhale her! Too soon, she pulled away, and I tested the restraints from her. Solid. There was no movement. She was firm. “You brought this upon yourself,” she reminded me, once more coming delightfully closer and.
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