I spent the next month in a haze of euphoria and paranoia, with one extreme tempering the other. I'd jerked myself countless times to the memory of my exploit, and the irony of my occupation only made the situation hotter. If
anyone
in my law firm knew what I'd done, it would've been game over in a heartbeat.
My coworkers were ethical, morally upstanding, and beyond reproach. They were meticulous in their approach, quick to drop a client if they caught a whiff of guilt. The office practically glistened with their squeaky-clean image, and while it initially used to disgust me, now I was oddly turned on whilst in their presence.
I, on the other hand, now self-identified as a criminal. A sexual deviant, even. While they were busy hitting the links or discussing their choice of blazers for the next city council gala, I'd been literally milking a stacked mother against her will. Doing so in her car, while her son slept next to me. The act alone made me a massive threat to the firm's sparkling reputation, not to mention the guaranteed racial overtones the local media would force into the story for sensationalism. Granted, it wasn't really necessary, as my act had been sensational enough.
True to her word, however, Prey never filed a report. I wanted to say it was my overwhelming masculinity and the threat of retaliation that had kept her mouth shut, but I knew the truth. After being ambushed and demeaned, treated as nothing more than a dairy cow for my amusement, she hadn't appeared frightened at all. Instead, she sat there and took painfully accurate shots at my pride. Somehow in a situation where she was very much the victim, she had still managed to come out winning the war of words.
Her insults still stung, their little barbs stabbing at my ego as they dug deeper into my psyche. Each day that passed only made me more self-conscious about her jabs, and try as I might, I couldn't get past the criticism. They kept me awake at night, pulled my focus from the many cases that I was working, and distracted me from my daily routine.
"
Inferior
," I muttered to myself as I stared blankly at the computer screen. Six-figure salary, peak-performance body, and junior partner status at the city's best law firm said that I was anything but inferior. I was accomplished; impressive even. I was a closer in the courtroom, pulling off acquittals that should have been open-and-shut convictions. I was a fucking winner, and the more that I considered her insults, the angrier I became.
"You okay, Kevin?" a voice called out, breaking me from my fog of silent rage. "You seem pretty spaced out today; maybe you should pack up early."
I looked up from my desk to see Carla staring down at me worriedly, and I gave her a quick smile to dispel her concern. "No, I'm fine," I lied, "Just trying to work out a few details of something in my head."
She returned the smile then walked off towards our floor's kitchen, and I took the opportunity to appraise the senior partner's body. Carla was sweet and a great lawyer, but she was also dumpy as shit. Not horrendous by any stretch, but her body was certainly matronly. She had wide, doughy hips that simply didn't translate to the ass I'd expect given their circumference. Instead, she had this odd billboard butt where well-formed cheeks could have been, and there was no pantsuit in the world that was going to make that Kansas-esque ass appealing. Her cankles resembled pale elephant legs, both of which worked together to create this entirely unattractive waddle the she employed to get about.
Carla's hair was a short, no nonsense bob of dark brown that framed a fairly forgettable face. I'd only made these observations because, of all the accomplished women with the firm, Carla was the youngest and most attractive at 42. Was she objectively attractive? No, not even on her best day. She won the firm's sad beauty pageant by default, and it was a brutal show indeed. Sure, some of the other women were more fit, some a bit more remarkable in the face, but none were unrepulsive enough for me to forget the two-plus decade age difference between myself and them. Also, Carla's tits were huge, and that counted for way more in my book.
Five or so years ago, when I was young, idealistic, and fresh out of law school, I may have felt bad about the way I looked at my coworkers. Unfortunately, the amount of time I'd spent in courtrooms dealing with rapists, kidnappers, murderers, and all-around criminal scum had taken its toll on my humanity and decency. I now wasted most of my free time at work pondering either how quickly I could kill my weaker male colleagues in a fight, or how desperate I'd need to be to fuck one of the women. The former always gave me a bit of an ego boost as I was pretty sure none of the guys would make it past one minute, but the latter? The answer was always Carla, for two reasons and two reasons only.
They weren't spectacular, her mams. They didn't sit perky or proud like Prey's, instead they just kind of bobbled about on her chest. Not in that sad, druggie, deflated beachball fashion or anything, otherwise I wouldn't have bothered even looking at her. Her tits were of the long, heavy-chested suburbanite variety. They were still fighting gravity, but if not for their sheer size, her chest would be just as forgettable as her face. They were huge, though, and fantasizing about them had gotten me through plenty of slow, clientless days.
Tits alone could usually occupy the majority of my attention, but what kept my interest in her was the notion that Carla knew what she was working with. For some of the other women in the firm it wouldn't be much of a problem to flaunt their goods a bit, but Carla had to walk a fine line due to her outwardly religious lifestyle. Her office was decorated with pictures of either her family or her savior, with little inspirational quotes scattered about on cards or the wooden carvings that she like to hang up. She always dressed conservatively and steered clear of anything close to adult conversation, but I found the style that she did so somewhat excessive. The way she'd loudly excuse herself was often just a bit too much, suggesting that she was trying too hard to convince the rest of us that she didn't want to hear our bawdy talk. There was just something about her energy that made me think that Carla was just putting on a show.
My train of thought was cut short when Carla came waddling back to my office door to peek inside. "You all cleared up?" she asked with a kind smile, and for a moment I just stared back, wondering what the fuck she was talking about.
"I suppose?" came the somewhat confused reply, and then I remembered the bullshit excuse I'd given her just a few minutes prior. "Oh, yeah, that. Yeah, I'm fine now, I think. Maybe. Maybe not; I don't really know." The last bit was more honest than I'd planned on being with her, and she seemed to take the nebulous answer seriously.
"Is everything okay, Kevin?" she asked with obvious concern. "I mean, are things alright at home? I know you've been putting in some pretty long days recently, and that can put a strain on personal life. I've seen it happen far too many times before."
I had no idea what this woman was going on about, as I hadn't hinted at anything close to what she was suggesting. All the same, I kind of wanted to see where the conversation was headed. "Well, I don't really know what to do about my problems, and the rest of you are..." I really,
really
wanted to say old as shit, but it didn't feel appropriate. "Established," I chose tactfully, earning a big grin from her.
"Old," she said for me, then she motioned for me to follow her out of my office. "Smart of you to play it carefully, but you don't have to tiptoe around the facts with us; we're lawyers, remember? You can be straight with us."
Carla was looking back at me, apparently awaiting a response, but I'd lost myself staring at her tits and had to shake free when I realized that my input was required. "Actually, you know what?" she said while pulling out her phone, "I've got a better idea. I know that we don't talk much, Kevin, but I'm going to change that today: We're going to lunch."
Ten minutes later we were in my 5-series headed towards a pricy restaurant in town. Carla yammered incessantly about things that barely registered on my consciousness, mostly because I was busy taking surreptitious glances at her tits wobbling around in her blouse with each bump. They seemed even livelier than usual, so much so that I started wondering if she'd even worn a bra today. Considering how often she'd look over for validation during the conversation, I was fairly certain that I'd been caught at least once, but she didn't say anything so I didn't care.
We pulled up to the restaurant and requested seating on the patio, apparently the only people who had decided to do so. I made my order of salmon and a side of broccoli, while Carla of course ordered a big plate of lasagna. "Must need to make ad space on that billboard ass," I mused when the waiter placed our meals on the table a few minutes later, bringing a grin to my face at the unspoken insult. The smile faded a bit, however, when I noticed Carla studying me as she cut into her dish.
"You think you're better than us," she said suddenly before slurping a long string of cheese, and I froze mid sip of my water. She finished chewing then smirked back at me after my prolonged silence gave me away. "I'm not the only one who sees you for what you are, Mr. Kim; everyone in the firm knows what you think of them."
I had to think fast, but I didn't know how to respond to the sudden and incredibly accurate charge. "And what makes you say that, Carla?"
"Cut the shit," she replied in a much more worldly voice than I'd ever heard the devout woman speak. "You carry yourself with such a smug self-satisfaction that it practically radiates off you. Everyone sees how you look at them - judge them - but nobody's felt like calling you on it. Everyone's also a lot less innocent than you know, so I'd be careful with some of those looks. Three of the partners could make your yellow ass disappear with one call, so careful who you try to out-Alpha, Kim."
I sat dumbfounded, unable to reconcile Carla's sudden change in demeanor, what she'd said, and the fact that my seemingly secretive judging was being watched by those very same people. "I don't know --"
"Spare me," Carla interrupted irritably. "I didn't bring you out here to waste my fucking time, understood?" I nodded silently after being shut down by the suddenly dominant woman. "What I need for you to do is know your role and open your mouth when necessary. Despite our plans, you do have a bright future, Kim, so don't fuck it up by getting into dick-measuring competitions; you're always going to come up short."
I sat quietly, unsure of whether the comment was intentionally racial or if I was just being overly sensitive. She looked over and smiled at my silence, her own smug, self-satisfied grin accented by little pieces of beef and streaks of crimson tomato sauce. Once again, she was dipping well into below-average attractiveness, but I was too focused on her harsh words to worry about her off-putting appearance.
"Don't sweat it, kid," Carla said with a little laugh as she returned to her meal, "we all get some version of this talk eventually. We also all get assigned a role to play when we're in the firm. The goody-goody act keeps the judgments leaning our way and the loaded clients coming in. Keep it up with those gangbanging monkeys, and eventually you'll get a taste of a proper paycheck."
I sat frozen, unsure of what to say or do. My socially aware side said to storm out after the clearly bigoted comment, but the pragmatist already knew both sides of the argument. Neither was going to win the war of words, blame, and victimhood, so I just let the comment slide past as a moment of forthrightness.
"Now there's a good boy," Carla said with a smirk. "You learn so fast, just like they say--"
"Keep the 'you people' shit to yourself," I snapped before my brain had a chance to stifle my anger. She raised an eyebrow at my sudden defensiveness, but I was already in it, so I didn't see much point in backing down now. "I know what I am around there, and I'm sure I helped the firm meet some sort of employment quota. Even so, I
