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Tiffany jerked at the steel cuffs around her wrists but stopped when the edges of the
metal cut into her flesh.  He had placed them on her very tightly.  Painfully tightly,
actually, although it was a minor pain compared to what he intended to inflict upon this
beautiful woman he had once loved.

The edges of the handcuffs were also pressing into her ankles because of her legs being
spread apart and the feet pulled back to where they were locked to the back of the chair. 
He smiled as he gazed upon those lovely legs, so long and nicely shaped.  He had always
loved her legs, and had urged her to wear clothing that showed them off to the best
advantage.  Tiffany need little urging, however, since she had a magnificent body and
enjoyed showing it off.  To the men looking at her with lust in their eyes, she was saying
“eat your hearts out.”  Which was the same thing she was mentally saying to the women who
stared at her figure with undisguised envy.

“As soon as I get out of here, I’m going to call the police!  You’ll spend the rest of
your miserable life behind bars!”

George only smiled again.  She did not realize it, but it was not his intention that she
should ever be in a position to call anyone, let alone the police.  It was time to inform
her that it was she who was going to be a prisoner for the rest of her life.  He had been
looking forward to this moment for a long time.

But first to show her that he was in control and serious.

He straddled the front of the chair so that he was close to her; close enough to easily
reach out and grab the front of her blouse.  Her eyes flashed anger at him but she could
not pull her body away.  With a sudden jerk he pulled the blouse away from her body. The
expensive material ripped easily, buttons popping off to fly away, and revealing her
above-average sized breasts, still hidden behind a flimsy bra but begging to be freed of
it.

“Stop that!  I’m not your wife anymore.  You can’t do this to me!”

He calmly proceeded to tear away all of the blouse until it was only a pile of tattered
fabric on the concrete floor.  Her eyes grew wide as he unfolded a pocketknife and the
blade approached her bra.

“You’re crazy!” she yelled.  “Get that away from me!”

He placed the blade under one bra strap and pulled.  The strap fell down.  He noted with
pleasure that, for the first time, there was fear in her eyes.  Still plenty of anger and
rage, but the beginnings of fear were there.  He was glad.

The second bra strap parted easily.  The bra was the kind that hooked in front between
the cups, so it was easy for him to unhook it then pulled the bra away.  Her breasts were
as he remembered: firm, large, with the nipples slightly pointed upwards.  He remembered
how incredibly sexy she had been the first time he saw those breasts.  How he could never
get enough of sucking and squeezing them.  He had seen centerfolds that were not as
perfect as those.

Tiffany was breathing heavily, not from sexual excitement but from fear.

With a smirk on his face, he reached down and used the knife to cut the waistband of her
skirt.  It was easy to slit the material down the side; there was very little of it. 
After the divorce, she had continued to wear skirts so short that they damned near
revealed all.  He pulled the skirt out from under her ass and tossed it aside.

She wore a pair of very thin, very small panties.  Thongs, he remembered her calling
them.  He put away the knife and used his hand to rip off that tiny amount of material.

Then he stood back to view the whole package.