Binding Arbitration Pt. 01

Gentle Reader - What is it with me and elaborate, BDSM-themed sex-games? Not a rhetorical question. All Comments welcome and valued.

Cheers,

~P.M.

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BINDING ARBITRATION

PART ONE

VIKTORIA JAMES SIGHS AND LOOKS UP from the draft settlement documents, binders and yellow notepads laid out across the other end of my spacious desk. She slips off her glasses and rubs her eyes. The marathon is getting to her, I can tell. I can read it in the language of her slouching body. The sheen of her ruby-red lipstick has faded. Even her perfectly spherical, short-cut Afro is starting to look disheveled.

Tipping back in the chair behind my desk, I spread my hands helplessly, as in, What're you gonna do?

She's beat. We both are. Call it quits, Viktoria?

I don't think so. I can see the late hour has taken a toll on her body, but not her will. "Fifteen," she says. "Cash."

I shake my head. "Eleven-five, Vik. Structured. Far as I can go."

She gives an exasperated shrug of the shoulders, reaches out for her mug on the desk and drinks some fresh-brewed coffee. The light in my office is muted, overheads off, puddles of illumination gathered under the standing lamp behind my desk chair and the one next to Vik's, and the shaded wall light in the foyer by the coat closet. It's past midnight. The arbitrator and the clients, our junior attorneys and support staffs, have all vacated my firm's main conference room one floor below and are long gone. The janitors, too. Now, it's just Vik and me.

We took the negotiations up to my office at my suggestion. My digs are comfortable, spacious, and boast a spectacular, sparkling view of the financial district, the Bay and the Oakland Hills, and the rippling light show of the new bridge.

I mean to say, it was my invitation to the office, but her idea for the two of us to go on hammering at the settlement late into the night. She had said, "I'll do whatever it takes."

...To get the numbers closer together, I think she meant.

But that was, frankly, my first inkling that these negotiations might involve... something else. I thought then, maybe I'm wrangling with a different Vik now, from the one I saw on the other end of the conference table all day. A "night Vik," maybe. I got my guard up and started scrutinizing her for clues, starting then.

"Uhhhnnhh..." she groans, stretching her neck and raising her arms straight and joining her hands high over her head. Coyly, she looks away - not unaware I am sneaking a peek at how she's highlighting her prominent, silk-bloused boobs - and inside me, entertaining the visual of her with her wrists crossed high above her head... restrained, vulnerable, exposed...

I remember, after we settled down at my desk with our binders and files, I began to take off my tie. Then I noticed the bow at the collar of her ivory-white silk blouse was just casually loosened, not much, like she had no intention of getting any more comfortable than that. No, she meant to look strict. Surreptitiously, I re-tightened the knot of my yellow power-tie... not all the way, just a little more strict.

Two hours later, she doffed her maroon blazer and tossed it on the couch.

Exactly an hour after that, I slipped off my jacket and hung it in the closet.

Now, going on six hours since we began, we're a little closer, but not by a whole lot. And her neckwear hasn't budged. I'm starting to think - no, I already know - there's nothing more to be done with the numbers tonight. In that sense, we're done here.

But in another sense, one that I'm still feeling out with her, I think we have more novel... negotiating postures, settlement positions... yet to be explored.

Working this Intellectual Property litigation opposite Vik for over a year now, one thing I noticed early on is that she is so relentlessly focused on her client's interests, she never shows me the barest glimpse of that "feminine" instinct to "please". But I do, still, see a deeply sexual creature, a woman of... I want to say, varied and voracious sensual "appetites." I mean to say that "objectively" - not projecting my own, strong "appetite" for Vik's luscious face and figure - because I happen to be a certifiably uncanny judge of these things. In Vik's case, I can kind of smell it.

But the question is, though, what turns her crank? Maybe women, to be fair. But I have exchanged enough unguarded glances with her, or watched her eyeing other dudes - waiters in particular, for whatever reason - to know she at least likes men. But she doesn't go after them, she makes them come to her. No, face it, Vik likes being on top - I mean, there's a duh-observation if you know her - but inside every top is a bottom wanting to get out. Trust me on this. A tuckered-out, world-weary alpha who craves the relief and release of ... compliance.

And I can see how it is with Vik James: To get to her bottom I'll have to go through her top, and to do that, it'll have be competitive for her.

...That's it, Vik. Straightaway, I start planning out the rules of the game we're going to play. That thought, plus another gulp of coffee, gives me the second wind I need.

"Full releases for McNeal and Garrett," I say a little too loudly, meaning to startle her. "These men have a right to their livelihoods."

She scoffs. "This is Trade Secrets, Frank! You're asking us to take a payoff and then let your guys go on using our intellectual property? There's no way we'll settle for that -"

"You will settle." I say it meaningfully - not flippantly, hopefully or casually. More like a statement of fact. Or an order. Just throwing it out there, see what happens.

Vik lets her eyes drift up from her notes, lips parted. I like the fullness of those lips, her large, dark eyes, and the way her breasts push up against her rustling silk blouse... Damn bow...

Then her eyes narrow, and she decides to turn it back on me. "Aww, I get it, Frank," she mock-pouts in mock-sympathy. "Eleven-five is all the settlement authority you've got -"

"No, it happens to be how I value the case. And look, sweetheart, whatever the number is, I'll get it from the principals - don't you worry about that. I have all the authority I need."

Just faintly, I hear a gasp edged with something a little lower and more from the gut. I like the sound of it. I like the question I see her in her eyes, too... But if I was right about that, it's gone in a flash.

"You're a fool with that number... sweetheart. I can get a lot more from this arbitrator. And I don't need to remind you, this is binding arbitration."

I say it with cool confidence, "Fine, counsel. See you in court."

I don't move from my chair. Again, if anyone's storming out of here it's going to be, ladies first. Vik knows that's what I'm thinking, and she doesn't budge.

But she does, however, loosen the bow at her throat, unravels it and lets the end of the tie fall over the front of her blouse.

Since she's not going anywhere and I'm not either, this is now a physical standoff. She sits up in her chair, hands on the armrest, with her upper body tipped a little ahead of them. Tits forward, but subtly. "Don't bluff me, Franklin."

"Who's bluffing?" I say straight-faced, "I like my case."

I get up, put my hands in my pockets and start idly pacing the massive Persian area rug. "I've got Pritchard."

"Pritchard?" Vik shakes her head.

Flipping through her evidence binders, she rattles off the bad testimony Dean Pritchard gave in his deposition, which she took, and the emails he'll have trouble explaining. I don't say anything. I go on pacing around the rug as she lectures me about the case she is putting on. I circle around to her side of the desk at an oblique angle until standing beside her, over her...

Surveying down the front of her blouse. "I like my view of the case."

She starts, breathless, as if surprised that I am by her side. And when she turns away from her binders and looks at me, it's not up at my face where she's looking. It's straight ahead at the part of me that's eye-level with where she's sitting: Technically, my belt buckle. But not exactly.

She looks up. What I see in her eyes is unmistakable, finally. "We're not that far apart, Franklin."

"Maybe," I say. "But I just can't do fifteen, Viktoria."

"What, Franklin?" she smiles wickedly. "You don't have the... authority?"

* * *

I reach down for her face at the same time she reaches up for my necktie, and somewhere in between, our lips collide.

Vik's awkward leap out of the chair is thwarted by my weight, and I muscle her back down, tipping the leather chair back with a loud creak. I lean in and start ravishing the hot flesh of her throat with kisses, tongue and teeth. She growls with lust. Her hands are active behind me, clawing at the back of my shirt, dragging my shirt-tails out of my pants. I run one hand up her skirt along her outer thigh, while the other gropes her left breast through her blouse and bra. She grips the back of my head and turns it up so she can devour my mouth with wet lips and thrusting tongue.

I hear heaves and grunts of panting, and I realize it's both of us. Groping her tit, I feel that both layers of fabric are sheer, and my fingertips have no trouble confirming that her thick nipple is just as much at-attention as what's bobbing in my pants. Her legs climb up in the chair, her thighs rubbing my hips with a frantic motion. The chair is creaking and creaking.

I grab her ass with both hands and scoot her pelvis out over the edge of the chair. I mean to get my weight in between her legs, sort of pin her down, start to overpower her. That's my plan, anyway - But Vik plants her feet on the floor, turning her hips in the chair - which abruptly swivels away to one side - my weight pitching me slightly forward - but I catch myself on the edge of the desk -

While I'm recovering, Vik heaves up out of the chair and pushes and turns me back against the rounded edge of desktop - I give an *OOOFF* as my butt lands - instantly, she is on top of me -strong hands grip my biceps, her breath hot on my throat.

She plants her stockinged feet in the rug and uses the strength in her legs to pin me to the counter. I have to double-check myself to see if I'm actually trying to fight back - and I think I am.

My hands go back and find the desktop, palms down, looking for leverage - but hers dart out and press down strong on my splayed-out fingers. Smooshing her tits into my chest, she spreads her legs and presses her weight into my crotch. She's found her leverage, and she wants me anchored to the edge of the desk while she grinds into me, dry-humping the hard bulge in my pants. Our grasping, straining grunt of erotic struggle again merge in my ears.

She's strong, no doubt, but I'm stronger. I pull my arms up, grabbing her wrists, and spin her around. I execute a sort of half-waltz along the edge of the table, until now I have her ass on the counter. She has her arms straight behind her on the desktop, just like I did, wanting to find the leverage to push off...

But she doesn't, not at first. She looks at me, teeth gritted and eyes burning

It's Alpha-on-Alpha, this game. And a game like that, it can only be played with force.

I give her a tender look, bat my eyes, and she responds with surprise.

But that's my diversion: I take hold of her necktie and whip it off. Before she can respond, I press my upper body into hers, knowing this locks her arms behind her as the only buttress between staying upright and collapsing under me. Big mistake, Vik, that hesitation before. I wrap the necktie around her elbows and pull them together - Vik gasping, "Hey!" - then I cinch the elbow-tie and knot it off with a firm double-square.

Leaning back, I grab her hair at the back of her head, forcing her eyes to meet mine.

They aren't scared or helpless, Vik's eyes, they are defiant - pissed off, would be the better word. She pants through gritted teeth. I have backed off, and she uses the space to right herself a little, legs steady on the floor, ass still perched on the edge of the desk and taking most of her weight.

Her hair still gripped in my fist, she wriggles her torso and twists her shoulders. She is sure she can't get her elbows loose, but also shocked at how useless her hands are - even though they're flapping free around her hips, there isn't anything she can do with them.

She looks back up at me, frowning.

I use my grip in her hair to give her a little shake. I smile at her and she glares back. It's pretty minimal bondage, but I think she senses how helpless it makes her. I could have my way now with her blouse, her bra, her tits if I wanted. And she knows it - or knew it, even before I reach and pop the first button at her throat.

I say, "Sorry, Viktoria," I smile. "My office, my rules."

I see the combativeness returning to her ebony-brown, smoldering eyes. "Tell me the rules, and I'll play."

Licking her lips. "And I'll win."

* * *

Viktoria James is tits-down on my desk. Legs kicked out wide, ass up. With her elbows restrained and my body controlling the space between her thighs, I easily gain her compliance with one hand pressed into the small of her back. With the other, I pull my big litigation case closer to me, unzip my "secret compartment," and come out with a pair of handcuffs.

As I snap them on her wrists, she coos, "Ooohh, what'cha got, bad boy? Toys, tricks? Think they scare me, bad boy -?"

"Shhh!" I hiss. "Don't you want to play?"

"Mmm-maybe," she teases. "What's the prize?"

"In a way, three and a half million dollars," I reply. "Loser has to come around the winner's position. My eleven-five or your fifteen mil. Loser also has to sell it to their client. My guys will pay whatever I say. How about yours?"

"Fuck off," she replies. Like it's a stupid question.

"And we make tomorrow's arbitration a real short day for all concerned."

"Tell me the rules."

I look down at her hands twisting in the cuffs, arms squirming in the elbow bondage, fighting the restraints, finding them effective... and something says to me, she likes it strict. Maybe curious about what stricter is like. I file that away.

No doubt in my mind, she finds her helplessness exciting, going just by her breathing and the way her hips move. I notice, even though I'm not restraining her legs, she has spaced them out almost obscenely wide - an inverted V-shape, taut muscles flexing under sheer nude-colored stockings. And the way her ass is a little raised up, I think that's more her doing than mine.

"The game is, I'm going to break you. You're objective, don't get broke."

I expect a quip but I don't get it. I still hear her panting, but she doesn't talk back. I think that's because she's eager to hear the rules.

"Rule One..." I strip off my necktie and wad the yellow Italian silk into the palm of her left hand. "Hold this."

She does as she's told.

"You let go of that necktie, that's you 'hollering Uncle.' You're broken. You lose. "

"With you so far," her voice low and husky. "But I think we're gonna need boundaries."

"Agreed. I don't even need to touch you." I rethink that, "At first."

"Mm-hmm?"

"Don't worry about that in the first stage, Humiliation. That's about subjugating you with your own shame."

"Shame?" she says with a small pant. "Counsel, you seem to assume I've got any."

"Well, that's what I intend to find out."

"I'm curious, too," she giggles - but in a nervous, flushed, excited kind of way.

"Rule Two, counsel, I command and you obey. You obey without question, hesitation or complaint... no matter how abusive or degrading my order is. Each act of flagrant disobedience is a strike. Three strikes, you're out. You lose. That's Rule Two-B."

"Uh-huh."

"I'll make it deeply humiliating, Vik," I taunt her with a soft voice. I press between her shoulder blades, pinning her front down flatter on the desktop. She wriggles her pinioned arms. "You reach a breaking point with that... just drop the necktie, baby... Easy-peasy. You're broken."

"Hunnh-huhh," she pants. "I like the sound of the challenge - hunh! - no idea how I'll respond..."

"For you, the challenge is going to be, find out whether the humiliation is something you endure... or something you like. Depending on that, your breaking will take one of two paths: Batter down your resistance until you beg for mercy. Or edge your submission along until you beg for release."

"Uh-huh," she nods. "Either way -"

"Right. Broken."

To make my point, I slide my hand up her skirt and lewdly grope her satin-sheathed pussy, coming away with enough moisture to encourage me I'm on the right track. Her response is halfway between a twitch and a shudder, with a soft little ooh! I file that away.

"That brings us to Rule Three. You beg me to let you cum, you lose."

"And you can't just - you know, work my pussy, jerk me off until I can't stop myself. Right?"

"Nothing so crude," I agree. "Where's the fun in that?"

"I've got to want to cum," she clarifies. "I've got to beg you."

"That's the rule."

"Okay," she nods. Pretty confidently, by the way.

"Boundaries," I say. "If I put you in bondage, it's not going to be like, like contortions that cause real pain. No, just restrictive, inescapable, maybe a little... scary. It gets too intense for you, just drop the necktie. I'll have you loose in a flash.

"Fine."

"Any corporal discipline, it'll leave stripes, not welts, handprints and paddle-marks, not bruises."

"Mm-hm, so you can't just, you know - like, clamp my nipples and hate-fuck my ass while and whip my back bloody with your belt until I can't take it anymore?"

Oddly specific. I file that away, too.

"No," I say.

"Just checking."

"Since you mention bloody," I go on. "If I draw blood, it's game over. It'll interest you to know, that's Rule Four, and it's one that works in your favor."

"I get it. The stakes are higher with corporal, but you have to be more careful."

I'm a little stunned at her astutely correct observation. But I shouldn't be. And I don't mind letting her know. "Brilliant, Vik. You're a quick study."

"Thank you." Then, ever the seasoned litigator, she adds a provision of her own. "No pictures."

Fair enough. "I promise, I won't take blackmail pics."

"Hmmm." She is thinking it through. "Sounds like the odds are stacked against me. I see all the ways I can lose. How do I win?"

"Two ways. You play against the clock. First light of day enters this office, if you're not broken, you win. I'm playing against the clock too. So after a while, things may start to get more rough."

"You mean, rough because I'm not submitting? Wouldn't that just be an admission that you're failing?"

Nice burn, Vik! But I'm not going to indulge your insolence. Not yet.

"The second way you win is, Rule Five. I cum first, you win."

She laughs. "Mmm-hmm! Then let me get my lips around that fine, upstanding Member of the Bar you got poking me in the hip, and we can get this over with real quick!"

I laugh too. "We'll see."

* * *

I yank Vik up from the desktop and twirl her around, hoping to make her head spin, get her where I want and force her down on her knees on the edge of the Persian carpet. I take my fly down and check my watch. "You've got three minutes."

"Plenty of ti- nnngh! Gahh-kk!"

Apparently, feeding her cock is about the only way to shut up Vik James' sassy mouth. I notice how her arms strain behind her back, but I don't think it's as much to fight back, as to feel her helplessness. To test that, I ease off the grip I have in her Afro, stop controlling her head. Leave her to her own devices, see what happens.