by Jack Crawford
Twenty-six year old Andy Devonshire was in quite a pickle. Maybe it was due to poor choices on his part; maybe it was because of the age old problem that 'men think with the wrong head'; or maybe he was simply a victim. The reason no longer mattered, as Andy found himself in a situation where he was frantically trying to figure a way out.
Inside a horse barn, he stood on the lowest rail of a horse stall. The sweet smell of hay assaulted his nostrils, mixing with the earthy smell of the resident horses. He tried to move his wrists, but they had been tied down to the top rail of the enclosure. The young man was a city dweller and the entire scene was foreign to him, as was his situation of being secured in place over the low wall of the horse stall. Further exacerbating his position, he had been gagged and stripped. How it had come to happen had been a blur.
For just a moment, he realized he looked to be in the position of some of those whipping scenes he had been gazing at all too recently. His naked body secured and bent over the railing, hands tied down, mouth gagged: he was going nowhere and summoning no assistance. Then his mind quickly left the comparison between where he was and what he had been studying as a shadow was cast from the open barn door.
Looking over his shoulder he was looking into the sun as it cast its damning glow onto his naked body. But there was a recognizable silhouette in the open door. It was a woman. Tall and statuesque, he could only make out the outline of her form and confirmed that she was wearing jodhpurs. What made his heart race, however, was the quirt, or riding whip, she had in her hand and was tapping against her leg.
Andy knew that quirt was going to be tapping something else in minutes and they would not be love taps. As his breathing quickened, the young man silently cursed his situation and his luck and wondered how he could have ever found his way to this situation.
The woman stepped towards him, and in an effort to chase the fear that was now coursing through his body, Andy struggled to remember all that had lead him to his current position.
A Fateful Encounter
At the age of 26, Andy Devonshire was the youngest Art Director in his company's illustrious history. The ad agency was pushing 75 years in business and was now headed by the grandson of the agency's founder. Old habits and traditions remained iron clad despite the fact that the 21st Century was now nearly two decades old.
Andy hated these 'informational meetings' with new clients. History dictated that all members at the Director level and up attend any client whose annual billings were expected to exceed ten million dollars (that level had been adjusted periodically for inflation.) So, Andy sat politely with a plastic smile to hide his boredom, along with his company's Directors of Traffic, Billing, and other departments. This kind of information was important, but it could just as easily been gathered by lower level account executives and then relayed in a less formal manner back at Agency headquarters.
"A new line of business for us," explained the EVP of Expansive Products, "is our recent acquisition; this prestigious company is the butchering, packaging and shipping portion of a family business in Argentina. Please let me introduce the President of that business, and a member of the family that sold this business to Expansive Products, so that she may explain what it is they do. This is Miss... er, Senorita... Miranda Alexa Rossi de Gimenez."
The woman stood up and Andy's heart stopped. As she spoke, he could not take his eyes off her, nor did he comprehend a word she said. Though she spoke perfectly understandable English with an Argentine accent, Andy could not hear her from the thumping of his heart. She was magnificent!
Luxurious and long black hair was tied up in a tight bun and only served to accent her high cheek bones and dark penetrating eyes. As she spoke, Andy watched her lips move and purse beneath the glossy red lipstick she wore. Miranda, he guessed, was in her early 30's and possessed a classic hour glass figure. There was no guessing about the figure as the dress she wore was unusually tight and seemed to reveal everything beneath. He thought he could see the ripple of her muscular thighs when she leaned forward to take the remote control for the projector.
Miranda continued to speak and Andy continued to stare in a dream like state. Her heels clicked on the floor as she paced, holding a long pointer and indicating the key points she was making. Fortunately, Miranda's presentation was concise and short because Andy discovered he had been holding his breath and began to feel light headed.
The meeting progressed, but Andy had difficulty concentrating on anything but the young, extremely attractive, Argentine woman at the far end of the table. A line of perspiration had actually appeared on his forehead and he had to take his handkerchief to blot it before anyone noticed.
The presentation and Q&A session completed, the Agency and its new client moved into the Agency's Executive Dining room which had been laid out with hors d'oeuvres and bar. As per Agency policy, Agency people mingled with client staff in an attempt to cement the business relationship. Andy stood at the bar and finally had his vodka tonic in hand when he felt a discrete tapping at his elbow.
"I believe you are the Art Director, si?"
Andy turned and was stunned that the question had been asked by the gorgeous woman Miranda ... damn! What was her last name?!
He stumbled for a flustered moment, something Miranda was very accustomed to, and he finally put out his right hand and said, "Yes, Ma'am. I'm Andy Devonshire ... Miss ... uh?"
The beautiful woman laughed lightly. "It's too much of a mouthful for most Americans." She smiled. "I am Miss Gimenez, but please call me Miranda."
Over his initial start, Andy felt her warm hand in his and they shook.
"Andy," he said.
"I think you are the one who can help my business the most," she said, allowing her hand to linger longer than necessary. "Beef is beef," she explained. "A commodity. But I want the American market to accept Argentine Beef as being the most excellent. I think we can say a lot with the right kind of art work in our ads and packaging. That makes you the critical element to the success of my piece of the company."
"We will all work hard to make that happen," stammered Andy. "I'm sure the copywriters will have a lot of thoughts that should be considered." Then Andy felt a coldness deep within as Miranda looked at him with a chiding glare.
"You naughty boy! Did no one ever tell you that the client is always right?"
He quaked at the words, 'naughty boy'. Damn! I blew it already. But he quickly recovered and replied, "Of course, Miss Gimenez. I was simply hoping to make you more right."
"Miranda," she corrected as she put a finger on his lips to keep him quiet. "I like you, Andy. We will work well together." Suddenly, she spun around and walked off.
That was when Andy realized he had been looking up at her. She was taller than he was, and her five inch heels made her much taller. Too stunned to talk or move, he simply stared as the statuesque beauty walked away and she began a conversation with someone else.
Andy found his thoughts constantly crowded with images of Miranda and the sound of her lusty voice and exotic accent ... even in his dreams that night he could not escape the hold she had on him.
The following morning found Andy still distracted. Coworkers were looking at him with funny expressions and his assistant asked him if he was alright. He waved off the comments and questions and went into his office to think.
His phone rang, jangling him from his wandering thoughts. "Andy Devonshire," he said perfunctorily.
He almost dropped the phone from his hand when he heard the sing-song musicality of Miranda Gimenez' voice.
"I was hoping to find time for lunch, or maybe drinks after work, to discuss the direction I would like to take with the branding of our product," she said.
Fortunately, her earlier comments came to mind and he replied, "Whichever best suits you Miss, er, Miranda." He paused to take a much needed breath and added, "Someone very wise told me that the client is always right."
The woman laughed softly into the phone. Andy squirmed. Did that laugh just make me hard? he wondered. Fortunately, Miranda took the lead and they met for lunch.
Then, after a lengthy discussion of her advertising ideas she suggested, "Why don't you see what your copywriter people have to say? We can meet for drinks tonight and see how they can make me 'more right'."
Andy tried to pick up the check, but Miranda lightly slapped his wrist and paid the check herself. Chastised, Andy blushed and he thought he detected a smile of approval on her lips. He thanked her for lunch and then excused himself to rush back to huddle with the copywriters.
Andy and Miranda met at a swank watering hole at 6pm. Andy relayed what he had been told by others at the agency and Miranda listened politely, asked pointed questions and closed the discussion for the night.
The two sat in awkward silence as working people all around them chatted noisily, trying to pick up other customers and usually ending up just getting drunk. Andy watched as Miranda cocked her head and looked at him questioningly.
"I am sorry," she apologized, "if I do not understand how such things in America work, but I am confused."
"What about?"
"In my country, I would have had to fight off many advances here in the bar," she explained with some concern. "That hasn't happened here. Do you think the men here find me unattractive?"
Andy blushed hotly. "Unattractive? Jesus, no!" he gushed. "I'd say they undoubtedly find you too attractive and are intimidated. Then again, you and I are chatting, and most guys would not interrupt. If you were alone, then you'd have any number of guys hitting on you."
"Hmm," was all she said as she considered what he had told her. Finally, looking up at him she asked, "Do you find me unattractive or intimidating, Andy?" Before he could answer she added, "In my country when two unattached people meet there is usually a date or at least a conversation about a date. We've met now three times and you have not asked me out. What is wrong?"
Andy wanted to dig a hole and hide he was so self-conscious. "You ... you're a client, Miranda," he explained lamely. "I didn't think it was appropriate."
"So you do find me attractive?" she questioned. He nodded mutely, squirming at her correct assertion. She continued probing, "And otherwise you might ask me out?" Again he nodded silently. "I find you attractive, too, Andy. I don't know anyone in town and I am thinking you are a nice guy. So what would be the problem with us going on a date?"
Feeling really awkward Andy fumbled with an answer, but finally blurted out, "Well ... I guess there really isn't any problem."
She was quick to correct him. "Yes, actually there is a problem," she said flatly.
"I don't understand," he countered, "You just said ..."
That damned sexy finger was pressed to his lips to quiet him as it did the day before.
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