Unspoken Pleasure (erotica)

“I can’t,” I whispered, trying to stay morally strong (ignoring, apparently, that I already sucked a stranger’s cock and was wearing his cum on my face like a scarlet letter), even though my pussy desperately wanted to be filled and I was curious what twelve inches of cock looked like, I knew I wouldn’t be able to resist and was scared to end up being like Candace… even as I wondered what it would be like to be DP’d.

“Just come for a drink,” Samantha said. “We won’t make you do anything you don’t want to.”

Bruce smiled, “Come on Mikaela, you are safer up in my room than down here with all the predators that see you as fresh meat to break in.”

Samantha added, “Yes, you’re fresh white meat, virgin meat.”

Looking around, a few men were obviously checking me out; I realized they were probably correct. Part of me wanted to run out of the building ASAP, while another part of me wanted to just give in and get fucked by some big black cock… it had been so long since I gotten laid… yet twelve inches seemed unfathomable to fit in my long neglected pussy.

I decided what the hell, and was about to go with Bruce and Samantha when I heard my name called out.

I instantly recognized the voice and was paralyzed by the sudden realization that Mr. Cocksmith of Cocksmith, Bard and Walters, the law firm I most often went head-to-head against, was here. “Mrs. Crutcher.”

Slowly, I turned around and said, my face burning red with humiliation, as I looked at the handsome black man, “Hi, Mr. Cocksmith.”

“What a surprise to see you here,” he said, an unreadable look on his face.

“I can explain,” I said, in panic, realizing my explanation would not be overly credible with my face coated in dried cum.

“No explanation needed Mrs. Crutcher,” he smiled. “It’s just a shame that I didn’t know this sooner.”

I stammered, “T-t-this is my first time, sir.”

“I know, the beige stockings say so,” he smiled. Looking at Bruce he asked, “Is she yours?”

Hearing myself referred to as property was both insulting to my feminist side and a strange turn on I couldn’t explain… was he thinking of fucking me? Was I willing to let him? My burning cunt said yes, as did the reality that my job meant everything to me and I may have to use my sexual wiles to keep it.Property © NôvelDrama.Org.

Bruce answered, “It is up to her.”

Mr. Cocksmith said, his tone implying it was not up for negotiation, “Mrs. Crutcher, come join me.”

“Yes, sir,” I replied.

He took my hand and led me to a nearby table where there were two men I knew. One was Judge Harmon, a black judge who had presided over a few cases I had defended, and the other was, Matt Parker, a prosecution lawyer for Mr. Cocksmith’s firm whom I had gone head to head with many times. Even after all that had transpired today, this was a new low in humiliation.

Both Judge Harmon and Matt smiled as they saw me.

“Mrs. Crutcher, what a pleasant surprise,” said Judge Harmon.

Matt, whom I had defeated many times in cases and had rejected his sexual advances even more times, added, “Yes, a very nice surprise.”

I stammered, “N-n-nice to see you both.”

Mr. Cocksmith asked, “Judge, can we take this special evening back to your condo?”

“A grand idea,” Judge Harmon said. “We should bring her friend, too.”

“I’ll get her,” Matt said, standing up.

It was so surreal to hear Samantha and I treated as pieces of meat, and yet somehow liberating to just be told what to do. Being a lawyer in many high profile cases has always been very stressful and I often was perceived as an ice queen, partly because of my strong, no nonsense demeanour. Yet, the idea of letting go, not being in charge, was strangely liberating.

Judge Harmon stood up and said, “Let’s go Mrs. Crutcher, we have a lot to talk about.”

“Yes, judge,” I replied, petrified that my career was over.

I followed Mr. Cocksmith and Judge Harmon out of The Pit and to a limousine. A white female driver, whom I instantly recognized as a person Matt defended and won the case for a few months ago. I wondered instantly just how complex this white slut syndrome was.

We got inside the limousine and waited for Matt and, maybe, Samantha, to join us.

“I assume this is your first time at The Pit, Mrs. Crutcher,” Judge Harmon correctly assumed.

“Yes, judge,” I answered, feeling completely uncomfortable.

“It’s okay, Mrs. Crutcher,” the judge smiled. “You are not the first lawyer we have caught at The Pit.”

“I-I-I’m not,” I said, curious if other of my colleagues or adversaries have been in a similar predicament as I currently was in.

“God no,” the judge laughed boisterously. “It seems most of you high-strung, overworked white women end up at The Pit sooner or later.”

I didn’t like his implication, even though I had thought the exact same thing about myself just a few minutes ago.

Just then the door opened and Samantha joined us. “You weren’t going to leave without me and have all the fun on your own, were you?”

She sat beside me as I remained speechless, unable to come up with a sentence that could answer that question. Was my career in jeopardy? It seemed less and less likely based on the judges’ words and the addition of Samantha in the limousine. Matt also joined us and the limousine began taking us somewhere.