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Not many people have a very good opinion of lawyers.  I sympathize; I’ve worked for lawyers for over ten years.  But very few people appreciate just how diabolic they can get.

I was typically wary as I walked into the weekly meeting of all the paralegals in the firm.  No attorneys were present, but everyone was feeling the pressure, and if you don’t pay attention at these things you can get thrown under the bus.

As a male paralegal, I was used to being in the minority.  Indeed, the conference room contained all women, including the HR manager who had the chore of seeing who had time to take on new work.  We all said we were busy, of course.

Janie spoke up first, as usual.  She had shoulder-length blond hair, and freckles dappled her face and neck all the way down to her frequently-exposed cleavage.  She was friendly, but easily the worst gossip in the office.  “Discovery in the Wright case is heating up,” she said.  “Andrea has me all loaded up.”

Andrea was a pretty self-sufficient attorney, so I doubted Janie was all that swamped.  Still, basic camaraderie dictated that no one point this out in front of HR.

“I’m preparing for six depositions in the next two weeks,” said Erin, the doe-eyed six-footer across the table.  She was brought in four years ago to help with a huge case I was already assigned to, and we worked our share of late nights together.  She was smart and good to work with, but she was very consistent about not responding to any of my subtle (and not-so-subtle) hints at exploring a relationship.  We were good colleagues, and I tried not to let her catch me gazing at her wistfully.

Sondra was short, had light brown skin, and she always kept her long dark hair in a brightly-hued scrunchie.  She also had the foulest mouth of anyone I’d ever met.  “Don’t look at me,” she said.  “We’re not halfway done redacting on the Blaise public records request, and Tim says that cockdribble is gonna file another one next week.”

And so it went around the table until it got to Yvonne, whom I’d reflexively sat next to.  She’d been with the firm even longer than I had, and she was the closest I had to a friend in that damn place.  Her office was next to mine, and I was often in there, bitching about work.  She was married with stepdaughter, but that didn’t stop us from flirting constantly.

“I’m still troubleshooting the Gillette database,” said Yvonne, “and they have a production to get out next month.  If you want any of my time, take it up with Keith.”

“What about you, Tyler?” asked Georgia, the HR manager.

I had plenty of time to get my excuse ready, and it was rock solid.  “I’m going to trial with Mark on the Vinson case in three weeks, and last I heard their demands were too high, so it’s not gonna settle.  So I’ve got no time to spare, sorry.”

Georgia kept her eyes on me.  “I’m told it will settle, in fact,” she said.

“Really?” I said.  “Who told you that?”

“Mark did.”

I inhaled deeply.  Georgia wouldn’t misrepresent Mark in public, and Mark wouldn’t have told her that unless opposing counsel had suddenly lost their enthusiasm for trial.  And we all knew the only way that might have happened.

“Well,” I said, “I’m sure the client will be happy to hear that.  I am too, of course.”

“So you have time then?” prompted Georgia.

“Sure,” I said, exhaling.  “What’s the new case?”

“Torres v. City of Livingston.  Employment discrimination.”

“Sounds lovely.”

Everyone started to get up, now that the meeting seemed to be over.  Georgia still had one more gift for me, though.

“Even if Vinson hadn’t settled, I still would have put you on Torres,” she said.  “The attorney on it asked for you specifically.”

“It’s always nice to hear you’re in demand,” I said.  “Who’s working on the case?”

“Olivia.”

All conversation died.  No one made eye contact with me as they shuffled out, except Janie who smirked and wagged her eyebrows at me.  When they had all left, I was still sitting at the conference table and staring at my yellow legal pad, trying and failing to deny what everyone had instantly realized.

Olivia had just made partner.

* * *

Our firm had a reputation for ruthless litigation without scruple.  Rumors abounded regarding our formidable record of success with absurdly difficult cases, but I doubt any of the whisperers had even a partial understanding of what went on at that firm.

Only the partners knew everything.  Non-partners were forbidden from the top floor when they held their monthly meetings.  Other firms might fly their partners to Aspen or Cabo San Lucas for their annual retreats, but ours go to places like Bhutan and Easter Island.

Then there are things I wouldn’t tell anyone outside the firm because they wouldn’t believe me.  People laugh when I say our clients are monsters, but they don’t know about the legal assistant who was chronically late until she started vomiting frogs at 8:30 sharp if she wasn’t at her desk.  Nor have they met the poor document clerk who, whenever anyone says “alphabetical” around her, is compelled to shout out “ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ!” in rapid succession.

I rarely even talk about those things with other employees.  We seem to have accepted that ignoring these. . . manifestations is the price for our higher-than-average salaries.  We have also noticed that no one ever seems to quit and go on to different jobs.  Departing employees typically just vanish, with vague announcements about medical necessity.  Accordingly, we have learned to tactically mute our curiosity.

Almost instinctively, I followed Yvonne into her office and sat down.  Normally my gaze would have followed her wide hips as she rounded her desk, but I was too dazed by my impending doom.  I tried to find solace in her round face.  She had shortish light brown hair that she occasionally tinted red.  She wore a perpetual frown to keep annoying co-workers at bay, but I was one of the few with whom she shared her sunny smile.

“What am I gonna do?” I whined.

A dismissive look came over her.  “About what?” she said.  “It’s a discrimination case.  You’ve done half a dozen.”

 I wasn’t reassured by such bravado.  “It’s Olivia.  You know what they say about making partner and initiation.”

“’They say.’  No one knows for sure.”

“I don’t want to find out for sure.”

The phone in my office next door started ringing.  Yvonne tilted her head to signal that our conversation had exhausted itself.  I reluctantly stood up then sprinted to catch the call.

“Olivia wants to see you on Torres,” said Zorah, Olivia’s legal assistant.

“I’ll be right up,” I said and hung up.

Zorah was one of the many attorneys caught out in the cold by the recession in the legal field.  I don’t know how many people with J.D.s I’ve run into who were grateful to be working as paralegals or legal assistants.  They tend to have complexes about their overqualification, and Zorah was no exception.

For a while after she started, Zorah was always trying to impress me with her legal knowledge, and at least twice she had complimented me on my uninspired work wardrobe.  Physically, she had some attractive qualities:  dark brown hair, mischievous eyes, more than a handful hanging from her chest and derrière.  Her desperation, however, was a major turnoff.

“She’s waiting for you,” said Zorah as I entered her vestibule.  I’m sure the hint of a sadistic smirk was just my imagination.

Olivia was standing with her back to me when I entered her office.  I’d never seen her in court, but at the office she always dressed more feminine than one might expect from an ambitious litigator.  Even when she wore hose in the winter, a skirt or a dress always hung from her hips and clung to her round ass.  About half the time she also exposed a fair amount of cleavage.  Her long brown dreadlocks were always secured in some fashion, and now they fanned out from a simple tie at the back of her head.

I froze as she turned around.

“You’re here, great,” she said, piercing me with her deep voice and deeper brown eyes.  “This needs to happen ASAP.”  She walked to a small table piled with binders.  She opened one and turned to the first tab.

“I need you to go through all these and pull any documents related to hiring,” she said.  “Applications, letters, interview notes.  This is what their applications look like.”

I walked over to the table and looked at the page she indicated.  I recognized the form.  Then my eyes drifted to the top of her blouse, which was sufficiently open to display the brown slopes of her voluminous breasts.

“Should be very easy to spot,” I said.

I glanced up and saw that Olivia was looking right at me.  She had caught me ogling her rack, no question.  My every instinct was to look at the floor, to back away, to adopt as submissive and apologetic a posture as possible, but I was held fast by her gaze.  I don’t think either of us moved for almost half a minute.

“That’s why I asked for you, Tyler,” she said with a neutral expression.  “I need your eye for detail.”

She stared into my eyes for perhaps another five seconds, then turned away and sat at her desk, releasing me.

I started to load my arms with as many of the binders as I could.

“Use the box they came in,” said Olivia, her eyes on her computer.

“Uh, thanks,” I said, following her suggestion.  “I’ll start on these right away.”

Nothing more was said as I trudged out of the office with the laden box.

* * *

Over the next week, I had near-daily contact with Olivia, but it was strictly professional.  I always carried my notepad so I had somewhere to focus when I felt my eyes wandering.

I didn’t relax, however, and Yvonne gave me shit for it.

“For having been turned into a newt,” she said when I was in her office, “you look pretty good.”

“That’s not fucking funny,” I said, but in truth I was always glad when Yvonne cracked up, even at my expense.  We had worked together long enough that we felt comfortable sharing most anything, including our sexual histories.  She once told me that she was “asked to leave” a job after she blew a guy in the stairwell and his wife found out and called the boss.

“Aw,” she said.  “You want I should buy you an ice cream cone?”

“Yes, please,” I said.  “I never get tired of licking.”

“Show me.”

“Sure, you just drop trou and I’ll get under your desk.”

And that’s where these exchanges usually ended up.  I think she knows I’d do it, too, but neither of us wanted to get caught at work, and there wasn’t any obvious way to arrange a rendezvous outside of work.  And I was too chickenshit to try to make it happen.

* * *

The next day, Olivia moved a deadline on me.  She had asked for a production to be ready on Friday so she could review it before it went out on Monday, but then she made plans for the weekend and it need to be ready before I left on Thursday.  Which was the day that I was informed of all this.

“I’ll be working late, tonight, too,” she said.  “If you have any questions.”

It was after 8pm by the time I got it done, and most of the non-exempt staff had gone home (including Zorah, fortunately).  No one saw me as I got off the elevator and made my way to Olivia’s office.  She was working at her computer and didn’t look up until I laid the sheaf of documents on her desk.

“Excellent,” she said.  “Have a seat.”

I sat in one of the chairs in front of her desk while she paged through the production.  She stopped about a third of the way in.

“Is this responsive?” she asked, holding up a couple of pages of handwritten notes.

“I think so,” I said.  “The handwriting matches that of their risk manager, and the date is the same as the interview with the plaintiff that we know she sat in on.”

“Good,” she said, proceeding through the entire stack.  When she was done, she stood up.

“There’s one more thing I want you to look at,” she said, walking to her filing cabinet.  She bent at the waist and opened the bottom drawer, presenting her ass directly at me.

I quickly looked at the notepad in my lap, flipping through and pretending to read something important.  I didn’t dare look up, but I could hear that she wasn’t moving or manipulating any files.

“Tyler,” she said, startling me, “I’m not going to move until you take a look.”

I took a deep breath, then raised my eyes to meet hers.  She was still bent over, her arms holding the file drawer for support, and her head was turned around to face me.  She tilted her head to indicate her hindquarters, and I gave into the pulsing temptation to gaze upon her booty.

I was immediately seized by a powerful waking vision, more vivid and sensual than any daydream.  I saw myself stand up, walk behind Olivia, flip her dress up over her back, then rip her underwear down between her legs to the floor.  In my dream, I unzipped my pants, kicked her ankles to spread her legs apart, then plunged my rod between her soft brown cheeks and into her warm, wet pussy.  I felt her pelvic muscles grip my cock, and my thighs shuddered as I imagined thrusting into her over and over.  Like all dreams, my vision ended quite abruptly, without the closure I had expected.

I found myself still seated in the chair, my hand pressing my notepad down hard in a futile effort to suppress my raging boner.  Hesitantly, I looked up to see that Olivia had turned around and was now standing next to her desk in front of me, her arms crossed and a devilish smile on her face.

“Is there a problem, Tyler?” she asked impishly.

“Uh, no problem,” I said, standing and trying to casually hold my notepad in front of my crotch.

She reached down, effortlessly brushed my pad aside, and grabbed my cock through my pants.

“Seems like a problem to me,” she said, raising an eyebrow and widening her smile.  “Quite a big problem, in fact.”  She backed me up against her desk, then knelt down and started unfastening my pants.  “Let’s see what we can do about this,” she said, looking up at me with hungry eyes.

I’d like to say I was paralyzed, supernaturally rooted to the spot, unable to escape or push her away.  That would not strictly be true.  I distinctly remember setting my pad down on her desk, reaching behind me to brace myself, and spreading my legs as she leaned forward to take my aching cock between her warm and willing lips.

I closed my eyes as she ran her tongue and teeth over my shaft and head, her hands fondling my balls and massaging my taint.  Her lips fluttered about my pisshole and I thought I heard her mutter something unintelligible.  I looked down to see her gazing up with wild eyes, and she pulled her right hand out of her jacket pocket and raised it above my swollen pole.

She sprinkled a white powder down the length of my cock, moaned another nonsense phrase, then took my electrified eel entirely into her guzzling maw.

I leaned forward as I shot my load, and I felt so light that I seemed to lift off the desk and floor.  As I squirted the last drops, a sharp chill pierced my chest and spread out to my extremities.  My vision exploded into stars, fractured moonscapes, and unearthly skies.  Then I saw myself, crawling through a burrow, deep inside a gigantic rotting log, surrounded by an incessant chittering and crunching.  I couldn’t see anything in the decomposing dark, but I could somehow sense that right in front of me was an enormous insectioid thing, its mandibles clacking and breaking down all organic matter in its path.  I was overcome by an eruption of stench, the sulphuric smell of all the eggs that ever rotted since life began.  I abandoned my senses and retreated into unconsciousness.

When I returned to myself and opened my eyes, my vision was filled with Olivia’s shoe.  I turned my head to follow her ankles and calves, stretching all the way up under her dress as she sat at her desk, under which I had somehow wound up.  She looked down at me with a girlish smile, then picked up the production stack.

“This is good work, Tyler,” she said.  “Thanks for all your help tonight.”

She didn’t seem to find it at all unusual that I was lying on the floor with my head under her desk, my pants still around my ankles.

“You best get on home,” she said, returning to work at her computer.  There really is no dignified way to get up from underneath someone else’s desk and pull your pants up, but mercifully Olivia kept her eyes on her monitor.  I barely remembered to collect my notepad before stumbling out of her office.

“Good night,” she called after me.

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