by Hawke, Jessa
I feel nothing for this guy. He’s stiff, he’s old-school, he’s boring. This whole night, I’ve been coaching myself to pull through like a champ because I felt I owed it to my family. But what about owing myself, Adrian, a little something? Mikey is moaning against my lips and it’s all I can do to keep from rolling my eyes, even though his are closed. He tries to fumble between my legs and another face pops into my mind, a face with blue eyes combing my chest, lingering on the parts of me that heat the quickest. It’s joined by another set of eyes, these green, and I picture Lee Evans’s hands spreading open the cheeks of my bottom.
Mikey mistakes my shortness of breath for arousal and tries to jam his whole tongue into my mouth, as if that’s going to intensify the experience for me. I think about what my mother would say if she had any idea that right now, I’m picturing burying my boss’s faces between my legs, and it spurs me on. Mikey’s body becomes Hannigan’s body, Hannigan’s body melds into that of him and Evans. I cannot tell myself exactly what is going on, but I know that I am being touched in all the right places at all the right times, and suddenly, I am panting as hard as little Mikey, except that the fool won’t bruise me the way I want to be bruised.
I break away from him, and I can tell from the look in his eyes that he is dazed, aroused, and DEFINITELY going to call me again. Inwardly, I groan. He leans over for a lingering goodbye kiss that I can’t wait to shake off, and it’s like I can read his inner monologue. He’s congratulating himself on having gotten the goodnight kiss that clearly signifies I want his dick, and also commending me on not being so much of a whore that I let it get much further than that.
You know what’s nice about older men? Liking sex is actually a plus in their eyes. I can’t imagine either Hannigan or Evans commending me on my coyness or virginity. There’s no Madonna-whore complex there.
“I’ll call you,” Mikey Kanstafolous says to me with one last longing look before heading to his car. I straighten out the demure lace dress and my own damned thoughts. It is decided. Go big, or go home.
Those are odds I’m willing to take.
* * *
I issue the memo with a shaking hand. It’s not often that I go old school, but this one has to be hand-written because there’s too much chance that an electronic one might accidentally be sent out to the whole company, and if there’s something that powerful lawyers and new interns do not need floating around, it’s news of some indiscretion at the office. Besides, I think a personal touch is what is necessary here. So I pen the following words:
Boss Hannigan. This is an official request to litigate me, Adrian, at seven this evening at the office.
Am I riddled with nerves as I place it on Mike Hannigan’s desk? Strangely, no. I know that there’s always a fifty percent chance he’ll take me up on this. Now, all I have to do is wait until he comes into his office; only twenty more minutes to go.
I’m calmly typing up the psychiatrist’s notes on the custody battle when Mike Hannigan hikes his fine behind to the front desk, my memo between his fingers. For a moment, neither one of us says a word, and I try to gauge his reaction by the look on his face. The man is good; I cannot decipher a thing, and for the first time, my heart is thudding.
“Litigate you, Adrian?”
“Perhaps not the best choice of words, Mike.”
He looks bemused for a moment, then his face reclaims its steely mask. His eyes roam up and down my body again, snaring on the dip in my purple shirt with a strategically placed front bow. Suddenly, I hang on the verge of relief, because it is impossible to mistake that appraising look for anything other than interest. He comes around the desk until he is leaning, his mouth so close to my ear that I can feel the warmth of his breath tickling the fine hairs there.
“How do you want it done, Adrian?”
I lick my suddenly dry lips. Heart in my mouth, I begin to speak. I tell him that I want it on the big oak table where we oversee our divorce cases, where the battle over china dishes and children gets so intense that sometimes, people get physical. I want my clothes to still be on, and my skirt to be up around my waist. I want to be on all fours, taking his cock deep on the gorgeous wood because that is where we will sit for the rest of the summer, again and again and again, and none of our clients will be the wiser.
When I am done, my chest is heaving a little. I have no idea what Mike Hannigan’s face looks like; his breath is still even, measured. There is a long, pregnant pause and then he says, “See you at seven, Adrian. Take your vitamins.”
When he leaves, I go slack, as if his very presence was the only thing keeping me upright during out interaction.
At twelve thirty, Lee Evans comes waltzing in, fantastic green eyes snapping with delight as he sees me with my hand wrapped around a steaming Styrofoam cup of coffee that I offer him.
“Is someone eager to please, sugar?’ he drawls to me.
“Maybe,” I answer him, smiling because I know Lee is a gentler touch than Hannigan, although no less excitable. “What did you have in mind?”
He looks so taken aback for a moment that I think I’ve miscalculated my hand; maybe he wasn’t interested all along and now I’ve gone and hit on a powerful lawyer, embarrassing myself. The merriment fades from his face and as he looks at me, there is a mix of emotions on his face that I cannot read all too well. One thing is clear, however. Whatever I have just said has definitely snagged his attention.
“That depends, doll,” he says to me slowly. “You see something here you like?”
I stand up, propping my wrists and palms against the ledge of the reception desk. Before I can change my mind, I substitute sheer bull-headedness for courage, lean forward, and kiss Lee Evans straight on the mouth, right there, in broad daylight. It is nothing like kissing little Mikey Kanstafolous. Lee’s lips are soft and he tastes like the spearmint gum he’s been chewing. His shave is close, although I know by the time seven rolls around, there will be sandpaper on his cheeks, scraping against my palms. “Does that answer your question?” I ask him, matching him gaze for gaze.
His whole demeanor changes instantly. Something hot is seeping into his eyes, changing their color from green to an almost honey color. When he opens his mouth, he tells me what he would do to me. He speaks in almost a whisper, as if he’s afraid that at any moment, a client is going to come rushing through the door, but I can hear him, loud and clear. He tells me that he would make me go down on my knees and lean back on my hands. That he would want the skirt up over my fat little ass and thighs and to watch me finger myself right in front of him until he came all over my chunky tits. I watch Lee’s eyes light up as he talks about this, and realize that he likes it a little messy; inside of this powerful lawyer is a little boy who wants to pee in the snow and forget writing his name.
Whether it is in preparation for the evening or not, Mike Hannigan does not give me anything to do for the rest of the day. I stop by my flat and freshen up, leaving behind my bra and thong; I won’t be needing those tonight. By the time I make it back to the office, it’s already coolly dark outside. I walk into the case room and walk around slowly, flicking on each of the lamps until there is a nice, hazy glow to the room. I walk around the heavy oak table that has seen so many trials and human tribulations and trace the smooth wood of it with my fingers. I imagine it leaving a residue on the tips of my digits and slide my fingers down my breasts and thighs, tracing a path that I want a dream lover to follow.
“Someone looks like she’s enjoying herself,” Mike Hannigan says from the door.
I snap my hands back to my sides, flushing at having been caught. While it’s true that fucking in the case room has been an idea dancing around my mind from my first day here, it’s not necessary for anyone to know that. There is a minute where Hannigan and I consider each other from our vantage points, and then he crosses the room and grabs my body in his large, square hands.
The savageness of his kiss is something unlike I have experienced before. He strokes me from the
inside with his tongue, skillfully and slowly, kneading my back between his palms as if he could encircle my entire waist in his palms. He leans his body from the waist over mine until the heavy oak table is digging painfully into my back; I don’t care. I am drunk on the power of that kiss and the man behind it, so much so that when he finally breaks away, I almost lose my balance and fall.
When I finally look up, I see that Lee Evans has also arrived and has been watching us from the doorway. I never told him that Mike Hannigan would also be joining us; a lesser man, a man not so sure of himself, would have left a while ago. Instead, Lee just says:
“Didn’t know you were expecting this kind of party, little girl, but I’m down to play if you are.”
Beside me, Mike Hannigan just smiles.
This is it, you know? This is what I love about these men. They’re MEN. Another’s presence does not deter them, it just spurs them on. Can you imagine if I had offered this sort of scenario to little Mikey Kanstafolous? Fuck little Mikey Kanstafolous; he couldn’t handle someone like me anyway, even in his wildest dreams.
Instead, as Lee Evans crosses over to Hannigan and I, it is I who gets to live out my wildest dreams. The two men flank me on either side and begin to kiss my neck. Lee goes for his favorite spot, my breasts, and undoes the bow on my shirt with a single deft pull from his fingers. He slips his hand inside one of the open flaps and scoops my breast up to his mouth. When he begins to lick, and then suck my nipple, it’s all I can do to suppress the groan coming from the back of my throat.
Not to be undone, Mike Hannigan bends down to slip each one of my shoes off, working this thumbs against the arches of my feet; he kneads my ankles and slides his hands, palms down, underneath my skirt. I tremble to discover that I am already wet from their ministrations. In Lee’s hand, my nipple begins to pucker, aching for another suck, another brush of his fingers against its painful peak.
Hannigan lifts me up by the hips and onto the oak table I have been leaning against. I backpedal on my hands and turn until I am in the position I dreamed about, the one where I am on my hands and knees. It’s better, so much better. In my dreams, my heart did not pound so hard, thudding against my bare chest like a bullet in a barrel. My tits swing into points below me, my naked ass brushes the still air in the office. Lee and Mike watch me, their suit pants tight around the crotch, and almost in tandem, they unbuckle their expensive leather belts. With almost simultaneous grins, they slide their pants all the way down to the ground and kick them out of the way.
It is as if they can read my mind. Mike gets behind me, licks his fingers, and transfers the moisture to between my parted legs. I ready myself for him, but nothing prepares me for how his cock splits me open. It is big, throbbing, and thick, and I feel him inside of me so acutely that I gasp aloud, unable to contain myself. I look at him over my shoulder as he smoothly pumps his hips, sliding in and out of me, and he sends me a little wink. He gathers my hair into a ponytail and I can feel my whole head jerk back to his motions. I am in his control, and a part of me relaxes, knowing that I am not the one holding the reins here.
Lee takes in the jerking of my body and the little smile playing around my lips. He grasps my chin in his hand and lowers his lips to mine, just for a moment. I’ve still got that kiss lingering on my mouth when Lee climbs the table and takes to his knees. Now, I am face to face with his ruddy-tipped cock, and I eagerly take it into my mouth. The astonishing thing about being filled at both ends at once is how SATISFYING it is. The two men are pumping into me at varying rhythms, not giving me a chance to rest, increasing my heart rate to the point of bursting, and I am gagging, wet at mouth and pussy all at the same time, wet and wet, and everything is good and good and good.
Lee directs my mouth and enters my throat, sliding in so deep that my gag reflex almost overwhelms me. He does not let me release him and directs me to look up at him; he wants me looking at him as he stuffs my mouth full of himself, he says, and when he sees himself bulging in my throat and increases his rhythm, he comes on me, using the tip of his dick to spread the mess around my lips and throat, satisfied as a pig in a playpen.
Mike Hannigan stops briefly to reposition me until we are facing each other missionary style. I loop one arm around his neck and yell at him to go faster and faster, feeling the top of his pubis grind against my clit as he leans his entire torso over me. When he finally explodes inside of me, it is the ultimate pleasure to watch handsome Hannigan, Esquire, completely lose control of himself within a woman.
And how perfect that that woman is one little Adrian, one little me.
I lick my lips, full of Lee’s semen, and smile.
* * *
BEEP.
“Hey, this is Mikey. Just wanted to let you know I had a good time, let’s do it again!”
BEEP.
“Hey, don’t know where you’ve disappeared to, but I like a future wifey who works hard. Call me back!”
BEEP.
“It’s Mikey, by the way. Your mother said you’re free this weekend. Let’s meet up! Hope you’re not too tired from all that work you’ve been doing.”
BEEP.
THE END
In Lust with the Lawyers
Jane couldn't believe how much opportunity lay before her, and so many choices! She was packing up her place in the small college town of Ames, Iowa. She'd gone to school for business, but like a lot of business majors that meant that she spent all her time drinking with her friends. Not that she didn't learn things about business and grow as a person, but it did strike her as odd that the only paper she'd been required to write was ten pages double spaced. That was it. All of the other measurements of her knowledge had been standardized tests over material contained in dry, academic books about economy and socioeconomic factors that played into something like the idea of a free market. What had most interested her about the entire thing was the free markets, or at least the theory behind it. She had almost transferred to a philosophy.
But in the end she'd decided to stay the course and stick it out in the program she was already enrolled. It would have been a huge hassle to switch to something else, and her parents would have given her a hard time. Jane didn't want to have to convince her parents that she wasn't making a huge mistake. They always questioned her. And pushed her in the wrong direction. Like how her mother had pushed her to be a cheerleader when Jane first got to college, telling her that being a busty brunette with an hourglass figure would get her ahead in life, and the place to start was on the football field. Luckily Jane hadn't listen to her mother, because she didn't think she'd have made it through college with the added drinking responsibilities of being on the cheer team. But now that college was over she felt foolish thinking about the past.
Over the course of the last several weeks Jane had heard from friends and drinking buddies all of the nostalgic stories that she didn't want to hear. Jane had loved college as much as the next person but she hated the way that everyone looked back on their experiences with rose colored glasses. No one had anything bad to say, it seems, not even constructive criticism. No one talked about how they maybe had drank too much and missed out on some of the experiences available to people who were sober most of the time, like all of the extra-curricular activities that the college had to offer. No one talked about how they'd rushed into love and been badly burned, so badly burned in fact that it would take about a decade more of drinking to heal and maybe forget the wound, and by that time there would probably be many more wounds. There wasn't even a single person who talked about how maybe they had majored in the wrong thing, that they had made a mistake and they wanted to undo it.
Everyone was happy, except for Jane. Not that she was sad, it was that she was more determined than anything else. She knew, as she packed up her room, that the future would not be easy and she needed to work hard to get ahead of everyone else. That's why a few months prior to graduation she'd had her dad look around town for a job a nice law firm. There wasn't a better place to lea
rn about business than a law firm. All the things she imagined she'd garner from the experience danced through her mind's eye. She thought of herself overhearing people beg for their property and businesses, people trying to swindle other people getting shot down, and of course she figured the law office would have to do a fair amount of helping people as well. What kind of lawyers didn't help people, she thought?
It didn't take Jane long to pack her things; she'd never been one to live with many material possessions, especially at college where people were always getting drunk and throwing up on things, or just straight up stealing things like it didn't matter what they did. She was glad to be moving home from the small college town of Ames. It had seemed especially small the last few months the way everyone was going on and on about how great it was, the same people that had bitched and bitched about not being able to get anything to eat after ten in the evening. Jane was glad that Des Moines wasn't that far away so that her parents hadn't minded hiring a moving company to carry her few things out to their moving truck and set them up at her new spot in Des Moines East Village post haste.
Jane was very excited to be moving to the East Village. It was pretty much all that Des Moines could muster as far as red light district went. There were a few gay bars and places that occasionally boutique selling high end art to people that knew absolutely nothing about anything, but especially nothing about art. Rich people with plenty of money, that was something that certain parts of Des Moines had a bunch of, while the majority of the rest of the small capitol city struggled to look like the recession wasn't dragging it down. But everyone with any sense knew that it was. The city just wasn't what it used to be, although someone in the city council new someone at Forbes magazine who kept putting the small Midwestern town in the top one hundred places to live in an effort to draw more people to work at the two major industries: layering and insurance work—often times the two going hand in hand.