Hello and welcome to my readers. Thank you for your votes, comments and feedback on my previous stories. Events develop slowly in this tale, so if you're looking for quick sex, thanks for stopping by. For those of you who read on, I hope you enjoy it.
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"Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!"
Blair MacPherson hammered the BMW's steering wheel with clenched fists, tears of rage and frustration stinging her green eyes. In one moment of anger her career was ruined. She slumped forward against the wheel and began sobbing in earnest. What an awful end to a terrible Friday.
Randy, her now ex-boyfriend, had started things the night before by being his usual inconsiderate self. She was building up to a delicious orgasm when he thrust hard into her, groaned and relaxed. He'd come, again and left her hanging, again, the selfish bastard. He grinned and kissed her, withdrew his softening cock, rolled over and fell asleep.
Seething, she padded into the bathroom, removed her vibrator from a drawer, sat on the toilet seat, spread her legs and stroked the buzzing appliance over her clit and into her wet pussy until she shuddered in release.
When she entered her bedroom, Randy was sprawled face down, snoring. With a scornful glance at his hairy ass, she took a pillow and a blanket and stomped off to sleep on the couch.
The morning began with a vicious fight and ended with his walking out the door, down the hall and out of her life, a smug look on his face and a swagger in his walk. Good riddance.
In her haste to be at work on time, she ripped her stockings, overcooked her breakfast in the microwave and bumped the wheel stop pulling into her parking space.
Juggling a latte, her briefcase and her purse, she opened the heavy oak doors bearing the words 'Dewey, Cheatham and Howe Attorneys at Law' in raised gilt letters and saw Angela, the office manager eyeing her disapprovingly.
Although Blair was an Associate Attorney and not under 'Old Needlenose's' thumb, she knew the old bitch would waste no time in telling one or more of the partners how she'd seen that MacPherson woman sneaking in late again. Strangling her slowly would give Blair immense satisfaction, but she had other things to do right now.
Striding down the hall to her office, she groaned to see who was waiting for her inside, a disorganized pile of papers and forms in his lap. Hernando Cabrillo was a successful businessman that owned a chain of Mexican restaurants across the city. He'd started work as a dishwasher, and then became a server, then a manager, finally an entrepreneur employing all his relatives, friends and a host of others in his establishments.
He was exacting, strong willed and demanded your undivided attention when you dealt with him, regardless of how long it took. When he left her office three hours later, he had the necessary paperwork in hand to apply for a business loan, obtain work permits for more relatives in Mexico and engage a contractor to build another restaurant; Blair had a raging headache.
Her latte had long since grown cold, so she headed for the break room for a fresh cup of coffee. The pot was empty. Cursing under her breath, she made coffee and, clutching a steaming cup left the room to return to her office and collided with Missy, one of the file clerks, in the hallway.
The hot coffee splashed from the cup onto Blair's white blouse as Missy dropped the armload of files she'd been carrying. "God damn it," Blair cursed as she pulled the wet fabric from her chest, narrowly escaping a burn.
"Oh Ms. MacPherson, I'm so sorry, I didn't see you," Missy babbled, attempting to dab at Blair's blouse with a tissue from her skirt pocket.
"Don't worry about it," Blair growled and stalked off to the ladies room leaving the apologetic girl standing there. She was able to get most of the stains out of her blouse, but her new bra was ruined.
When she left the ladies room, Missy was standing there, looking stricken.
"I'm so sorry I..." she began, but Blair cut her off.
"I told you don't worry about it," Blair muttered and walked away. She saw one of the founding partners emerge from his office as she headed down the corridor towards her office and groaned inwardly. She was in no mood for pointless chatter.
Mr. Cheatham was a harmless old duffer who hardly ever handled anything but the occasional high profile case, preferring to hole up in his wood paneled office with the thick pile rug that made walking in heels difficult.
She had only been in there a few times and it made her uncomfortable with it's heavy draperies blocking most of the daylight while her nostrils were assailed with the musty smells of old books, old leather and old man. She sat there trying not to fidget while he mumbled and mused over a contract she'd prepared. When she left, it was a tremendous relief.
"Good morning Mr. Cheatham," she said brightly as he nodded in assent, rheumy eyes blinking. As she passed he reached out and pinched her on her left butt cheek. Without thinking, she whirled and slapped him across the face.
"Keep your hands to yourself, you old lech," she spat. He stared at her openmouthed, then turned and went back in his office. She felt her face burning and looked around. Several clerks and secretaries were staring at her wide-eyed amazement.
Blair returned to her office in a daze. What on earth had possessed her? Now her plans for a career with the firm were effectively destroyed. She'd be dismissed and the word would be out about what had happened in no time. She'd be dead meat in this town and she knew it.
She gathered some papers in her briefcase, took her coat from it's hook, grabbed her handbag and walked out the office's doors with all the dignity she could muster, ignoring the stares and whispers behind her.
When she reached her car and was inside, she finally lost it, crying, swearing and slamming the steering wheel in rage and sorrow. Starting the engine she roared from the parking lot and down the street, not knowing or caring where she was going except away from that place.
***
When Blair became aware of her surroundings, she realized she was driving in a part of the city she had never seen before. Ornate Victorian homes stood in stately dignity along tree lined streets, their manicured yards aflame with spring flowers and encircled by wrought iron fences.
Blair had dreamed of living in a neighborhood like this one day, so far removed from the small Midwest farming community where she spent her childhood and teenage years. When she'd been the only person in her high school graduating class to be accepted and attend college, much less Georgetown University in far off Washington D.C., she was the chief topic of conversation among the town folk.
She'd worked hard, maintained a high GPA and was immediately recruited by Dewey, Cheatham and Howe before the ink was dry on her JD diploma. She'd given it her all in the last five years and had intended to become a partner one day. Now the dream was over.
Rounding a corner, she found herself in a quaint shopping district filled with interesting little shops and stores. A rosy pink sign caught her eye, the words 'Happy Endings: A Spa for Women' inscribed in flowing purple script. There was a vacant parking space in front and she pulled into it. She wanted to relax and forget the day and it seemed to be the place to do just that.
