Corporate Wife
By MERZ
Helping my wife with her career costs me dearly


I awaken and check the clock.  Five in the morning 
and I can already hear my wife, working with her 
weights.  I roll over and see her doing curls, the 
heavy barbell rising and falling in smooth rhythms.  
Already she glistens in the morning light as she 
works.  Each repetition makes her biceps bunch and 
strain, the veins pushing to the surface, the muscles 
swelling with effort.  Through her filmy nightie I 
see her hard abdominals separate into distinct bricks 
as the barbell goes up, then smooth into a rippled 
sheet as she lowers it.  Muscles across her upper 
chest stand out in cords as she contracts, then 
subside into the flat plates of brawn as she relaxes.

I watch for a few moments, then come fully awake.  
Today is executive committee day.  I scramble for the 
file folder I left on top of my dresser.  "Are we 
looking at the big picture?"  I read to her.  "Are we 
thinking strategically here?"  

She rewards me with a half smile as she sets down the 
heavy barbell.  She rewards us both by tensing her 
long arms as the veins pound with blood along their 
length, the cuts between muscles deepen and grow more 
distinct.  She twists each arm and smiles wider as 
the muscles crawl and stir beneath her pale skin.

"Perhaps we should drill down a layer to be sure we 
have the details right," I read from my notes.  "Have 
you dotted all the 'i's' and crossed all the 't's'?"  
I continue down my list.  She nods at me and slowly 
begins flexing her arms for me, showing me she is 
pleased.  She flexes again and again, slowly, pumping 
the biceps higher and harder each time until she 
stands before me with great white Gibralters towering 
above her shoulders.  She looks from one to the 
other, admiring.  

I lose myself in awe of her power and she shoots me a 
look of reproach.  Quickly finding my place I read, 
"Is this proposal truly customer-focused?"  She nods 
and massages her hard vascular arms.  "Is your gut 
saying the same thing to you that mine is?"  I read 
on down my list and she begins her third set of 
curls, but stops.  Her top has begun clinging to her 
as she perspires so she removes it and begins again.  
Now her high, rounded breasts are in full view.  They 
rise and fall in time with the iron as she lifts.  
She closes her eyes, smiling as I read, "Are we clear 
about our objectives on this proposal?  Have we 
defined our target precisely?"

With her biceps bulging and surging from the work she 
moves to the cables and begins on her back.  I see 
the muscles crawling as she pulls the cable handles, 
raising the stack of iron plates from the floor, 
holding the full weight just a moment and then slowly 
lowering it.  I continue my reading as she works 
through her back exercises and moves on to her 
shoulders.  For the final twenty minutes I review 
general descriptions of projects and initiatives.  
When we are finished she stands naked before me, 
gleaming and pulsing with her strength.  Every muscle 
stands sharply defined, lean and powerful as a jungle 
cat.  She stretches and once more tenses her body, 
one part at a time for her own admiring gaze.  

Then she walks to the massage pad and stretches 
herself prone.  I put aside my notes and begin 
rubbing her fatigued muscles, cleansing them of 
wastes and letting clean blood pour through, rubbing 
her ripped physique back to supple smoothness.   As I 
work I go through her affirmations.  "I am an 
intelligent, curious woman."  "I am a powerful leader 
in business."   "I lead others by the strength of my 
character and will."  "People respect me because of 
my strength and wisdom."  "I am caring and 
compassionate because my strength allows me to be 
vulnerable."  She repeats each one after me.  As I 
finish working her legs she breathes deeply and looks 
up at me.  Then she rises and goes to her shower.  I 
hurry downstairs to prepare breakfast.

She enters the dining room wearing her bathrobe, a 
towel wrapped around her hair.  Looking approvingly 
at the table setting and the food I have laid out, 
she turns to me.  "Conover will be at the meeting.  I 
don't think he will support my next promotion."   

My heart sinks.  Conover is difficult.  I must 
prepare her, and I hate having to prepare her to face 
him.  As she stands before me I nod.  She removes the 
robe to expose her creamy stomach to me and I throw 
my fist against it.  She winces and returns my nod as 
a pink patch forms in the center of her abdomen.  She 
hasn't tensed her stomach completely, deliberately 
letting my blows sink in a ways, deliberately letting 
me hurt her.  I hate having to hurt her, but I 
continue hitting her again and again.  Finally she 
smiles her thin smile to let me know it is enough.  
She removes the towel from around her hair and wraps 
it loosely around her neck.  Reluctantly I grip her 
throat under the towel and begin to squeeze.  She 
resists my big clutching hands, at first so 
powerfully that I feel as if I am holding a tree 
trunk.  Then she softens and I feel my hands begin to 
collapse her throat. My knuckles turn white from my 
exertion, my hands tremble as I channel all my 
strength into them.  Tears of pain form in her 
tightly closed eyes and her breath comes in rasps and 
wheezes.

At last she gives me her sign and I relax.  I quickly 
unwrap the towel to be sure I have left no mark on 
her throat, nothing that would show.  Relieved, I nod 
to let her know there is no mark and her beautiful 
half smile plays at the corner of her mouth for just 
a moment before being replaced by a snarl.  "That 
almost hurt.  You aren't man enough to hurt me.  I 
can break you with my bare hands, Conover." Now she 
drives her fist into my stomach.  Although I tense 
myself against the blow she is so powerful I am 
lifted off my feet and crash against the wall behind 
me.  I begin to sag to the floor, the air knocked out 
of me.  But she steps forward to seize me roughly and 
lift me off the ground.  Her strength inflating her 
entire upper body she lifts me and holds me pinned by 
my armpits.  I grip her iron forearms but make no 
impression on their white flesh.  I feel steel cables 
running beneath the soft skin and know I can never 
resist her power.  With a final sneer she slams me 
against the wall once more and lets me drop to the 
floor.  She puts her robe on again and sits to begin 
her breakfast and to peruse the newspaper.

"Remember we go to that retreat at the coast in three 
weeks.  We need to change your diet and increase your 
percentage of bodyfat.  You may need to wear a swim 
suit and you need to look more like the others," I 
tell her as I pull myself together and head upstairs 
to lay out her clothes.  She nods dismissively and 
sits down to breakfast and the morning paper.

When she comes upstairs we work quickly to dress her, 
do her hair and put on her makeup.  I suggest a 
slightly different color for her cheeks and she 
smiles her approval at the result.  Her face is 
perfect, the makeup subtle but effective in 
highlighting the strength of her mouth, the sharpness 
of her cheekbones, the height of her forehead, the 
blue of her eyes.  She stands so I can go over her 
dress with my lint brush one last time.  She makes a 
kiss at me as she heads out the door, but of course 
with her lipstick on nothing must touch her lips.

Once she has gone I can quickly eat and dash to my 
own job, driving the school bus.  The day goes well, 
the kids as well behaved as kids can get on both the 
early run and the afternoon run.  I'm a big guy, 
bigger than most of the kids' dads, so they respect 
me.  In the middle of the day I visit the library to 
read the business magazines and papers, looking for 
information and ideas to share with my wife.  I fill 
a couple sheets with phrases and thoughts I can tell 
her about and work into my list of early morning 
ideas to read to her before she goes to her office.  
I exercise at home before I tidy the house and check 
her wardrobe.  I look for scuffs on the shoes, loose 
threads on the blouses, a stain or smudge I might 
have missed in previous inspections.  Two items need 
to go to the cleaners. I set them aside so I can drop 
them off on my way in to my afternoon shift.  A pair 
of patent pumps gets a quick touch-up to heighten 
their gleam.

She arrives home at six-thirty, late for her.  This 
is a bad sign.  I race to meet her at the door and 
see immediately the day went badly.  She freezes me 
with a stare as she enters, daring me to touch her or 
speak.  She stalks past me and up the stairs to 
change.  I head to the basement to get things ready.

Her silk robe swishes as she comes down the stairs. 
She slips it off and I see she dressed in her 
briefest shorts and a thin sport bra.  I am instantly 
aroused seeing her like this, stripped nearly to her 
wild animal essence.  She washed off the makeup and 
clipped her hair back away from her face.  Her upper 
body glows pink, showing she warmed up with pushups 
and chinning before coming down.  She pulls a t-shirt 
from the pocket of the robe.  She will wear that 
later when she leaves the house.

I already have my gloves and head gear on and my 
mouthpiece in.  She puts on the head protection, 
slips in her mouth guard and holds out her hands so I 
can help with her gloves.  Her face shows no emotion 
as she bangs the gloves together and bounces back 
into her stance.  I tap the timer, then raise my 
hands and hunch my  shoulders, ready for her 
onslaught.

For a few moments we feint and maneuver, then she 
launches herself at me.  I catch some of her blows on 
my forearms and gloves, but a jab smashes through my 
guard and snaps my head back. She follows up with a 
quick combination to my midsection, forcing me 
backward a few more steps.  As she bores in I spin 
away before she can pin me against the wall.  I fire 
punches at her head to bring her hands up higher and 
end the pounding she has given my stomach.  Then I 
throw a looping uppercut that catches her in the mid-
section, below her pale breasts.  The force throws 
her back, upsets her rhythm, gives me an opening to 
try a combination to her head.  She blocks my gloves, 
then ducks under one swing and delivers a hard 
uppercut on my chin.  I stumble back, try to turn 
away, then trip over my own feet and fall hard onto 
the mat.  As I slowly crawl back to my feet the 
little alarm chimes and my wife walks to the far 
corner of the room where she sips from the water 
bottle I placed there for her.

"We talked about the plant expansion project.  
Conover asked what the local alderman thought about 
it, what we had done to keep him on board.  What the 
hell is an alderman?"

I go over to the timer and reset it for three more 
minutes, then take a sip of water myself.  "A local 
politician.  Like a city councilman.  Do you know 
who's the alderman for the area where your plant is?" 

She turns bright red and her eyes narrow at me.  "I 
don't have any idea.  Why don't I have any idea?  Set 
the timer."

I tap the timer again and move cautiously across the 
mats.  She is furious.  She will be dangerous and 
wild.  I have to be ready for her.

She explodes at me, swinging hard for my head with 
jab and cross combinations, battering my arms and my 
gloves as I cower from her force.  She misses with a 
big right and I step aside.  For a split second I see 
an opening and deliver a hard hammer blow to the side 
of her head.  The force smashes her to the mat.  My 
heart breaks as I throw the punch.  The sound of her 
body hitting the floor nearly makes me weep.  She 
lies still a moment as I step back.  I want to gather 
her into my arms and kiss away the pain I caused, but 
I step back and let her get to her feet again as she 
shakes her head to clear it.  Her anger is an inferno 
inside her.  This will get worse.

I move forward cautiously again as she stalks me.  
This time she approaches more deliberately, watching 
for an opening instead of trying to smash through my 
guard and crush me with her power.  I feint with my 
right, then snap out a jab.  Instantly she is on me.  
She deflects my glove and drives forward, pushing me 
backward as she pounds at my midsection and chest.  I 
slam against the wall and struggle to push her off, 
to give myself room to fight back.  After she digs 
into my stomach with several blows I succeed in 
opening a little space between us and crouch to work 
her body in turn.  I think she lets me hit her, just 
to show me she can take my best punches on her 
washboard stomach, to show me I am nothing compared 
with her.  I already know that, but I fight on until 
the timer chimes again.

"Last round with the gloves.  How am I supposed to 
know who an alderman is?  Who cares about aldermen?  
Do you know anything about aldermen?"

I pause a moment more before tapping the timer again.  
"That guy you fired last month, the one who always 
wanted to talk politics in the coffee room.  He'd 
know about aldermen.  Did he have any friends who 
might know about that sort of stuff?"  For our last 
round I move forward a little more quickly.  She will 
want this one to count, to get the job done.

Her eyes narrow as she closes the distance between 
us.  "Matson.  That jerk.  He made me look stupid 
when he was talking about that election.  Who cares 
about an election."

I attack first, trying to drive her back and keep her 
off balance so she can't throw her hard, hammering 
punches.  She seems hardly to notice, slipping away 
from my blows and answering with her own powerful 
blasts.  I feel the one that cuts my lip, the one 
that lands hard above my eye, the quick burst against 
my solar plexus that doubles me over and drops me to 
one knee.  She steps back and sips her water.

"He used to talk with Randolph. Maybe Randolph knows 
about politics.  I'll order her to tell me about 
politics tomorrow.  Hurry up, we still have time."

I gasp a couple deep breaths before approaching the 
middle of the room once more.  She closes quickly, 
knowing I have been slowed and weakened.  She pounds 
my body, pounding my ribcage until I drop my guard a 
couple of inches to try defending against the pain.  
She knew I would do this and instantly crashes a 
right hook to my jaw, then another and a final 
straight left to my nose that sends me down onto my 
back.  As I lie there with my head spinning I hear 
the timer chime.  She quickly removes her gloves and 
head protection, then comes to comfort me. 

"My poor baby.  Mommy hurt your lip.  Let me kiss it 
and make it better."  She gives my split lip a quick 
kiss so I see my blood on her mouth as she starts 
helping me to my feet.  I take the chance to feel her 
impossibly hard shoulders as I put my arm across 
them.  She pulls off my right glove and I hold one 
iron forearm as she tenses it to pull off my left.  I 
grip her upper arms in both hands so she tenses them 
for me, filling my hands and giving me a hint of her 
strength.  She smiles up at me with the little half 
smile and flexes her arms more, making the biceps 
grow and spread my fingers apart as I try to squeeze 
against her burgeoning muscles.  

"Maybe you shouldn't order her," I suggest as we 
stand close like this.  "Maybe invite her into your 
office or you visit her desk and just ask about what 
politics might be involved with the plant expansion."

She impatiently shakes my hands off.  I remove my 
headgear.  "That's why you aren't in management.  
Managers don't ask. If I ask a question she might 
think she knows more than I do, that she's smarter or 
better.  I can't let that happen." 

Suddenly she reaches down and slips an arm between my 
legs and grabs my shirt front.  She stands, lifting 
me off the ground to her shoulder then walks to the 
middle of the mat and body slams me.  I try to brace 
for the impact but I land hard.  My breath is knocked 
from me and I need a moment to recover.  She has 
lifted two hundred and twenty pounds, nearly eighty 
more than her own weight, like it was nothing.  I am 
nothing.  She could follow up right now with a hold 
and force me to submit or trap me in a pinning hold, 
but she stands back to wait for more.    

"Conover asked about the fixed to variable cost ratio 
at the other plant.  He wanted me to talk about 
numbers."  I get nearly upright when she reaches in 
and grabs my arm, twisting it painfully behind my 
back.  She drives me to the wall and slams me against 
it as she increases the pressure through my arm and 
into my shoulder.  "Numbers. What sort of numbers are 
those?  Do you know those numbers?"  

I gasp that I don't know those numbers.  She growls 
low in her throat and pulls me away from the wall.  
In the same instant that she releases my arm she 
dives at my legs to try tripping me and sending me 
back to the mat.  I know that trick and drop all my 
weight onto her back, flattening her with a dull 
thud.  Without pausing for a breath she spins beneath 
me, clawing and fighting to get out from underneath 
as I scramble to stay on top and hold her pressed 
against the mat for as many moments as I can.  She 
plants an arm and begins pushing up, inching herself 
and me off the mat as she gathers her other arm and 
her legs beneath her.

Suddenly I reverse my effort and pull her roughly up 
and over me, again smashing her into the mat.  I 
swing my legs around and catch her in a leg scissors, 
grinding down with all my power.  She gasps and 
writhes. I want to release her, to ease her pain and 
hold her close for comfort but that is not what she 
wants.  I lean back to increase my leverage around 
her ribs as she gasps again.  Then she digs her 
elbows into my thighs, digging deeply until I can't 
stand the pain any longer and must release my hold.  
I try to roll away before she can recover but I am 
too slow. She grabs me in a headlock from behind. I 
feel my jaws grate as she applies pressure, then she 
shifts to pit her full power against my skull.  If 
feels like she could crush it like an egg.  A bicep 
like a river rock grinds against my temple.  I try 
pushing against her arms, try breaking her grip, try 
anything to reduce the constriction.  It's a hopeless 
contest.  She begins grinding my head to the point 
where I think my neck will snap.

When she feels my struggles grow weaker she releases 
that hold.  She pushes me down on my face and jumps 
astride me.  In a flash she has trapped my arms over 
her knees and laced her fingers under my chin. She 
lifts me into her cobra clutch hold.  For long 
seconds she bends my upper body off the mat by my 
chin while she presses her butt against my back.  I 
stand the pain as long as I can and then signal my 
submission.  She will be disappointed I didn't last 
longer, that I couldn't have given her more of a 
fight.

"Where can you find these numbers?  What sort of 
ratio is he talking about?  How am I supposed to know 
a bunch of numbers?"  She sips her water, looking sad 
and frightened.

"You have those guys working for you who are always 
doing things with numbers.  You could use one of them 
for the numbers you want."  I try to work the pain 
out of my back and get a little water.

"One of the other managers talked like they were 
numbers I already have.  What if those are some of 
the numbers they keep putting in my basket already?  
I'll look real dumb if I tell them to give me numbers 
and they say they already did."

I think for a moment, rubbing and flexing my spine.  
"Ask for an early estimate of next month and have 
them compare it with the last couple of months.  That 
way you'll see the real numbers, but it will be 
something new for them.  They won't know you're 
seeing the numbers for the first time."

She smiles her gratitude.  Her skin glows healthy 
pink with a net of pale blue veins tangling beneath 
the surface.  She glistens with her warm sweat.  I 
admire her a few more moments then she goes back to 
the middle of the mats for another fall.  Reluctantly 
I move toward her.

"We were talking about that strategic plan thing.  I 
asked that question you told me, 'Are we looking at 
the big picture?'  You thought that was so brilliant.  
It turns out the strategic plan IS the big picture.  
I looked like a fool."  

She feints toward my head, then dives in to tackle my 
legs.  She uses this move too often.  I can see it 
coming and again slam myself down on her back.  "You 
told me somebody asked that in a meeting and everyone 
said it was a great question."

"Don't ever tell me what I said," she snarls at me 
and arches up, bucking me off her back before I have 
a chance to try a hold or isolate one of her arms or 
legs.  I expect her to follow up immediately, but she 
waits for me to get up again.  My knees are weak.  I 
feel her anger like a bonfire.  

She advances and offers her hands for me to grip.  I 
don't dare decline, even though I know what must 
follow.  We lock hands and begin struggling for 
dominance.  I use my height and weight as best I can 
but she outclasses me easily.  As my hands bend 
slowly backward I suddenly push forward, then pull 
back when she adjusts.  I fall to my back and pull 
her over me where she crashes hard.  As quickly as my 
aches allow I am up, trying to work some hold or move 
before she can recover.  She has already recovered 
and meets my charge head on.  The collision jars me 
through my entire frame.  I recoil and try to protect 
myself as she follows up.  As she reaches for me 
again I grab her arm and drag her over my shoulder 
and to the mat.  In mid-air she shifts her hand so 
when she lands she is gripping my wrist. She is up in 
the blink of an eye, controlling my arm, twisting it, 
then driving her elbow into my shoulder.  I feel the 
bone pull out of the socket and can't stop the scream 
of pain that escapes me.  I fall to my knees, tears 
beginning to fill my eyes as she continues to hold my 
arm in an unnatural position.

She knows I can't continue and this frustrates her.  
"Okay, this will hurt a bit," she tells me and pulls 
outward on my arm, her foot braced against my side.  
The ball slips back into the socket but I won't be 
able to use the arm for a while.  

She looks down at me for a minute as I begin pulling 
myself together to stand back up.  "I'll go for my 
run now.  I'll be gone about forty-five minutes.  We 
will have dinner then."  She helps me to stand and 
hugs me close as I hug her with one arm.  She strokes 
my cheek and looks into my eyes.  Then she pulls on 
her shirt, heads up the stairs and out the door for 
her nightly run.  I fold her silk robe and carry it 
up to hang by the front door for when she returns.

Preparing dinner is less difficult than I expect.  I 
nurse my arm but can use it for some tasks.  We eat 
after my wife returns and has spent fifteen minutes 
stretching and cooling down.  We toast to our life 
together and to her career with a nice white wine one 
of her vice presidents brought to a dinner party we 
had last month. I had cooked a French dish that 
night. She got many compliments.  We will each have 
one glass and I may have a second after dinner as I 
clean up.  We talk about her schedule for the next 
day so I can prepare some notes and ideas for her.  
It will be mostly routine meetings and office time.

I join her upstairs when she emerges from her bath.  
Seeing her so fresh and clean always arouses me.  She 
holds out her bottle of oil for me to rub onto her 
skin.  Even as I spread the scented liquid over her 
skin she begins undoing my belt, unbuttoning my 
shirt.  She tenses each muscle as I rub the oil over 
it, allowing me to feel her strength flare and 
subside in every fiber.  As I move over her body she 
follows my hand with her eyes, admiring her creation 
as much as I do. 


She slips off my clothes so we stand naked together 
and she gives one final display of her impossible 
body, closing her eyes as she tenses herself and 
slowly brings her arms up to flex for me. For just 
this moment her white skin and expressionless face 
make her look more like a marble statue than my warm 
and loving wife.  Then she relaxes and leads me down 
the hall.  Because of my shoulder she will be on top 
tonight, trying not to damage me more as she works 
herself into a frenzy and batters me nearly 
unconscious in her passion.  Then she will leave me 
and go back to her own room.  I will need about an 
hour to assemble her notes for tomorrow then I will 
sleep, too, here on the floor of the exercise room.

Sleep comes quickly for me, as always when at last I 
can pull my blanket over me.  I dream of our 
happiness when she no longer needs to compete so 
fiercely at her company, when we can just relax 
somewhere in the sun, just the two of us.