Constructive comments welcome at orchidblooming67@yahoo.com.


Her name is Lena.  Even the name sounds bitchy, and she is a bitch.  But a beautiful one.  She has long red hair, hair that glints in the sun like gold, hair that most women would kill for, but is wasted on her.  Why would God hand out such beautiful hair to a woman with one hand and give her such an ugly personality with the other?  And while we're at it, what did I do to deserve her as my boss?  Not my boss, per se, lawyers don't have bosses.  But she is a partner, and I have to answer to her as if she were my boss, and worse.  She seems to take a perverse joy in making me stay late, I swear I think she does it on purpose.  She always comes up with some last-minute unreasonable demand, like looking for a case cite for a brief, or researching some arcane point of law, and it can never wait.  That night she had on a brown suit, which sounds conservative enough, but it wasn't -- the skirt was so short that you could see the tops of her stockings through the back slit, and while the jacket was conservative, she was wearing a cream-colored camisole under it with no bra, her heavy breasts straining against the thin fabric.  When she leaned over my desk and her jacket fell open, I saw her nipples pushing through it.  Which would be great if I were a man, but I'm not.  I know men find her astonishingly beautiful, and I know that works to her advantage, and it really ticks me off.  The reality is that most people in our profession are men.  I think that fact makes female lawyers more competitive -- there are fewer slots for women, and we have to compete that much harder for them.  It gets even worse on the partnership track.  I think she overcompensates, and I think she looks like a prostitute.  She is tall, and wears high heels to boot, which combined with the short skirt make her legs look a mile long.  She's a runner too, which doesn't help.  When she walks into a courtroom, you can see a ripple through the room as men notice -- some overtly, some more subtly, but there's not a man in the room that doesn't look at her.  I know I sound bitter, maybe even jealous, and I guess I am.  I'm pretty, but not beautiful.  And while I'm thin and in shape, I'm also short, I'll never have legs a mile long, and I don't have that hair.  I dress more conservatively, and I think sexy in more subtle way.  I wear slacks that hug my ass, and fitted shirts that show off my shape.  But no one will ever see me with her in the room.            

Tonight started off no different than the last dozen.  We have a case set for trial next week, and while she is supposed to do the opening statement, she told me to draft it up, even though I'm already doing the trial brief and jury instructions.  I was in my office working on the computer when she came in to see how far I had gotten.  She came up behind me and leaned over me to look at the screen, and I remember noticing for the first time the faint freckles on her chest.  That's when things got strange.  She rested her hand on my left shoulder while she read, which I thought was odd, but I didn't push it off or say anything because the last thing I wanted to do was start an argument.  I just wanted to get home.  She finished reading what was on the screen, but rather than stand up, she put her other hand on my right shoulder and started rubbing, saying "You're all knotted up."  I replied, "I know, it's because I'm working late, but thanks, I don't need any help," pulling her hands away as I said it.  She swiveled my chair around to face her, and I found myself looking up at a very angry woman.  She said, "You know, I am sick of your attitude.  You say you want to make a career of this, but then you whine and complain about having to do what it takes.  I have no respect for you, but I think it's about time you learn some respect for me."  Well, that did it.  I almost let loose, saying everything pent up that I had wanted to say to her for the last year, but I stopped -- I need this job.  As much as I hate her, I can't afford to lose it.  I swallowed it and just stared back instead, full of rage but with a sense of helplessness too.  That's when I saw something new steal into her features -- pleasure.  She had seen the struggle on my face -- she knew what I wanted to say, and knew that I didn't have the guts to do it.  She reached up with one hand and took me by the chin; I could see her long red nails cupped around my cheek when I looked down.  She said slowly and softly, "Now I'm going to teach you some respect."  I grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand away and told her to let go of me.  My voice waivered as I spit out, "You don't own me!"  And she replied, "Oh, yes I do."  This time she took me by both shoulders and leaned down and kissed me, full on the mouth.  The shock of it took my breath away.  I could not believe this was happening.  I leaned my head back hard, wrenching to try to get her mouth off mine, but she followed my movement, and then I felt her tongue slip into my mouth.  I was struggling to get out of the chair, but she was stronger than me and she had me pinned; I couldn't get any leverage to push her off.  Even though it was happening so fast, I still remember the faint taste of coffee, covered with mint.  Her tongue was a paradox -- it was soft and warm, but she used it like a weapon, forcing it between my teeth, trying to force me to accept it.  I bit down on her tongue, and she whipped her head back.  With a trickle of blood running down her lip, slapped me as hard as she could.  It almost knocked me out.  I felt faint, and for the first time, scared.  I was scared for my job, my career, and scared she was really going to hurt me.  She breathed, "Stand up, you insolent bitch!"  I hesitated, but she raised her hand like she was going to slap me again, so I stood up.  "You are going to lick my pussy until I cum or I swear I will see you fired."  Well, that was the last straw.  Job or no job, this woman was insane.  I turned quickly and started to run for the door.  She was too fast, and she got a grip on my shoulder from behind.  She jerked me back so hard that I fell, and she came down on top of me, straddling me.  I had landed on my side, but she pushed down on my hips hard with her legs until I was laying flat on my back with her on top. I yelled at her to get off, but all she did was smile down at me.  She was stronger than me, and she knew it.  I started kicking with my legs to try to get her off, but she had me pinned.  She reached behind her and grabbed me by both thighs, squeezing so hard that I knew she would leave bruises.  She said, "Stop fighting, you're only going to get hurt fighting."  I knew she meant it too.  I felt sick, and tears started to trickle out of the corners my eyes.  She let go of my legs and pulled down the top of her camisole, exposing large pink nipples on a field of pale skin, erect from the sudden chill or from excitement, I didn't know.  She leaned down and lowered her right breast towards my mouth, and told me to suck it.  Hesitantly, I opened my mouth, and I could feel the firm nub of her hard nipple on my tongue.  I closed my lips on it, and sucked her nipple into my mouth.  My tongue rolled it around and I sucked on it gently, not wanting to hurt her and get slapped again.  She reached her hand up and started pinching and squeezing her other nipple, and I felt her body start to move with the rhythm of it.  Suddenly her nipple left my mouth, and she shifted up, sliding on her knees until she was almost over my face.  She raised her skirt up with one hand, exposing a cream-colored lace thong that matched her camisole, almost the same shade as her cream-colored thighs.  She hooked her thumb under the front of the thong and pulled it to the side, and I could see a stripe of  red hair, a brighter red than the hair on her head.  I could also see her clit peeking out from her lips, its folded skin wet and pink.  She said, "Lick it.  Lick it or I swear I will make you sorry."  I knew I didn't have a choice.  She slid her thighs further apart and lowered herself down to my mouth.  I could smell her then, a faint musk mixed with her perfume.  She said "Open your mouth and do it, NOW."  I closed my eyes and raised my tongue up to meet her clit.  The taste was shocking.  It was sweet and salty and so different than anything I had ever tasted.  But I was overcome with revulsion, with the sense of how wrong this was, and I turned my head to the side and bit her thigh, hard.  I could feel her flesh give under my teeth.  Before I could move she slapped me again, harder than the last time.  My ears were ringing and I could feel the heat on my cheek. I knew it was red, and I could feel the sting where one of her nails had gouged me.  She said, "This is your last chance," and lowered herself back down to meet my mouth.  I raised my tongue up to her clit again and licked it slowly with the tip of my tongue.  She said, "You're going to have to do it faster than that for me to cum."  I licked it again, and again, and I could taste her juices as they started to flow down into my mouth.  I could feel the hard muscles of her thighs tense, and feel her start to strain with the pleasure.  My eyes were closed but I could hear a soft moan escape her, and I knew her eyes were closed too.  Despite myself, I felt a tingling between my own legs, and my thighs tensed up too, in sync with hers.  Later I would add self-loathing to the mix of feelings about that night, but at the time, all I could feel was a mounting sense of arousal.  While still licking her clit, I reached my right hand up and slid my middle finger into her pussy, making her moan more loudly this time.  It was hot and wet and tight, and squeezed my finger over and over again, in rhythm with my tongue.  She shocked me then, reaching back with her hand to the waistband of my pants.  She pulled the button loose, and worked her hand lower, slipping it under my own thong, and dark as hers was pale.  She touched her finger to my clit, and I knew it wasn't going to take long.  She started rubbing her finger up and down on my clit, and I felt the tension building in my legs, just as hers was.  Suddenly the orgasm grabbed me, and my whole body convulsed with it.  I felt her thighs tighten around my head, so tight it hurt, and I heard her cry out, and I knew it had her too.               

I still hate her.  But now it's mixed with other things -- desire, perhaps, but certainly not respect....
 
 

