The “Lawyer”

I’m not accustom to wearing a suit and tie. My profession allows me a certain casual attitude to my attire. That said, when I do dress for an occasion, I dress with intention. I dress for impact.

This evening, I’m dressed for an event. A work function that has me to the nines. Hobnobbing with my company’s elite, networking and generally miserable. It’s the cost of doing business.

Once I can find the perfect political moment to make my hasty retreat, I do. Connections made, appearance met, work done. Now I need a real drink.

I head to a place I haven’t been before, somewhere I won’t accidentally run into any of the other escapees of our work function. Somewhere they don’t know my name.

I walk in, Suited and tied, overcoat, hat and gray scarf, and take a seat at the bar. The bartender, a pretty young thing, takes my order and when she brings my Old Fashioned, she makes an observation…”You must be a laywer.”

Now, I assure you I’m not. Not even close. But what came out of my mouth was…

“How did you guess?”

“I just had a feeling,” She said, “The coat, the drink, the look of work on your face.”

What transpires next, I’m both very proud of, and quite ashamed, simultaneously. I run with it.

“Well, you have amazing powers of observation, late night with a client. Depositions and motions, it’s all very boring really.” I make up.

We continue to chat throughout the night, me creating a backstory of Georgetown and working my way up the ranks at a firm, just making junior partner a year ago. She listening in earnest, between mixing and serving. I had all but exhausted my limited knowledge of the law and legal terms (mostly gleaned from television and movies I had seen), when she asked if I wanted to come to her place for a nightcap after closing.

I almost made a horrible joke about it not being Jurisprudent, but caught myself. I simply replied, “I’d like that.”

She alerts the few remaining patrons to “Last Call” and starts closing down. We talk about her as she starts the closing duties. Didn’t finish her degree, but wants to. Loves working with kids and drunks, not at the same time. Family once owned a horse named Ranger. Engaged once, but never married. Onetime, she served drinks to Woody Harrelson and his small, but very loud entourage, he tipped very, very well.

Once the patrons had all dispersed and the bar closed, I was prepared to make the trek to her place and settle in for a few drinks and see where this late night went. What I was not expecting was her locking the door and leaping on me, but I caught up quick.

Her arms around my neck, mouth to mine, our tongues playful. She grabs my scarf and pulls me in, forcefully.  Our hands feeling the other’s form, grabbing and pawing at clothing to get to skin. Off goes the overcoat and jacket, her shirt opened to a red satin bra. She slides down my body to her knees. Belt, and zipper, and slacks open, she grips my cock and strokes it. As her tongue circles the tip of my head, I have to steady myself on one of the tables we are near. When she takes me down her throat, I nearly lose my balance completely. Her slick mouth and wicked gaze into my “Lawyer” eyes has me needing to be inside her. Now.

In an impulsive moment, I clear the table of the upended chairs, letting them crash to the floor. Pull her up from the floor, kiss her hard and bend her over. I yank her pants down in one clean motion as she kicks out of them. Her panties are soaked as I roll them down her thighs. I tuck them into my shirt pocket.

Positioned behind her, I run the head of my cock around her warm, wet folds, brushing her throbbing clit, and I can feel her tense with a shock of pleasure as a moan escapes her lips.

She cries out into the empty bar as I fill her. I drive deep, that first thrust, she grips the table to steady herself as I plunge over and over inside her. I lean forward and grip a handful of her hair as I continue to collide into her, feeling her tightness grip at every thrust.

She suddenly pushes me off, lays back on the table and hold her spread legs wide, her hot reddened cunt, twitching with sensation and anticipation. I lock my gaze on her wanting, willful eyes and plunge back inside her. Her screams and my moans, echoing throughout the empty bar, profanities and religion, Oh fuck and oh God! Her grip on her own thighs are leaving marks as she begins to violently cum all over me.. The sudden vice grip of her pussy, blast of warm wet down my shaft, my thighs, shaking from the amazing release. It’s too much for me, and I pull out and gripping my own engorged cock, I paint her stomach with hot and sticky.

Once we both come down a little, in a breathless voice, she asks for a bar towel and I choose to clean her up myself. Gently removing as much of me from her trembling abs, as I can.

We dress and place the chairs back on the table. Look at each other and laugh at our improvisational antics. She asks If I still want to come over for drinks, I do. She asks for her panties back, the panties still tucked in my shirt pocket. With a sly grin, I say…

“Sorry, possession is 9/10ths of the law. I’m a lawyer, I know these things.”

Like I told you at the beginning…very proud, quite ashamed. So sue me.

8 thoughts on “The “Lawyer”

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s