Jamie at the Bar

I was more than a little disappointed when Jamie Pearlstein told me that she was "retiring." How to describe Jamie—Jamie is every boys' wet dream—about 5' 3", gorgeous red hair, large deep brown eyes, 38 D breasts, incredible kissable lips, perfect pale white skin, and a tight pussy shaved totally bare. Jamie also is or was known as "Tara" from the "Pleasure Me Girls" website—a very high-end provider website. Tara time ran $400 an hour and up, depending. The "Pleasure Me Girls" not only specialized in French lessons, but they lived for French cuisine. Jamie/Tara gave by far the best blowjob I've ever had. Literally, my cock tingled for hours after she finished.

I asked Jamie about keeping a few private clients on the side. She insisted no. She wanted a totally clean break from Tara at "Pleasure Me Girls.' She planned to move to a new place (maybe even out of town), get a new cell phone number, and all new email. Then I turned on the real pressure—what about "difficult Jamie?"

Difficult Jamie was a game we played where I would break into her apartment (with a key), tie her up, and "abuse" her "against her will." Over time, difficult Jamie had grown more elaborate with blindfolds, gags, dildos, paddles, hair brushes, duct tape, knives, extension cords, things up her ass (Tara did not let clients do "Greek" other than me—I remember the first time she let me put a finger up her ass), ripped clothing, and sometimes hours long torture. It was Kabuki of sorts. Jamie wanted to be hit, spanked, slapped and punched and through time we gained enough trust with each other to make it work. About the only rule was no bruises on the face. Jamie's "safe word" was always Jesus Christ. I always respected her safety. Three hours of "difficult Jamie" was about the best escape from the real world anyone could imagine. I think one time the handcuffs were a bit too tight and there were some nasty visible bruises. But Jamie got over it. And Jamie was very good about shouting "Jesus Christ" if I was crossing a line.

Unfortunately, Jamie was serious about retirement—no more Tara—and not even any more difficult Jamie. We had a long good bye. A lingering kiss. Jamie has the smoothest lips. I saw a little tear in Jamie's eye. I asked what she was doing next—and she wouldn't tell me. I knew I would miss Jamie. We had grown to be friends. When we weren't doing difficult Jamie we found time to talk or do other things. Jamie was a great listener. Jamie also had a biting sarcastic wit. She cleaned up well and looked gorgeous in a dress at a fancy restaurant—or dressed up like a 50s sweater girl in a cardigan and a skirt with a string of pearls on her neck. Jamie told me that she didn't know how to explain me or us. And that was ok. Jamie would always be special to me. She is magic. Jamie was Jamie.

For a time I didn't believe that "Tara" actually would retire. But when her cell phone line went dead, and when her email bounced back, when her pictures came off the "Pleasure Me Girls" web site, and when the "for rent" sign went up in her apartment, I knew that "Tara" was gone.

***

I need to tell you a little about me at this point. I am a partner at the law firm of Beelzebub and Lucifer LLP (or B&L) and I also teach law at Leftcoast University's Shylock School of Law . In the fall I teach 1L Property, and in the spring I either a seminar on some trendy litigation topic.

* * *

The course roster for fall's Property course listed a "Jamie Pearlstein." It couldn't be I thought. Law school classes are taught in "sections." That means the law school assigns the same group of students to a series of classes. Students don't pick their classes, or their professors, so if it was my Jamie in class, it was the luck of the draw. God does work in mysterious ways. Jamie once asked me if Jesus loved her. I said yes. Now I knew that Jesus really loved me.

The classroom was filled when I walked in. I scanned the room and found her face. The Jamie Pearlstein on the roster was my Jamie. My heart skipped a beat.

First year law school classes are taught using the Socratic method. I ask questions. Students give answers (usually wrong). And I move on with more questions to other students. Dialogue is lively. I was forming a plan. I would put Jamie on display for her classmates—then make her do a little show for me.

"Good morning class. Let's begin. Mr. Smith?" I began by calling on Donald Smith. Tall skinny kid, thick glasses, shock of black hair, pile of notes next to his casebook.

"Yes professor."

"Kindly stand when you speak." He stood up. "What is the name of this course?"

"Property."

"You got the first question correct. Law school isn't so hard is it?"

The class applauded.

"Not so bad." Mr. Smith replied.

"So try this, Mr. Smith. What defines property?"

"Um," followed by a long pause. "Something is property when you can do with it whatever you want to."

I scan the room. Most faces are blank. I count ten beats.

"Mr. Smith," I tossed him a softball. "Is your casebook for this class your property?"

"Sure," he replied. "I can pretty much do with it what I want."

"Of course you can, Mr. Smith. Please turn to page little vii in the front of the book and read the line on the bottom of the page."

"It reads: Copyright 2007 BIGLAW Publishing."

"So it would be fair to say, Mr. Smith, that you can't just go willy-nilly copying your book and selling the copies because BIGLAW might put a stop to that?"

"I guess not."

"So casebook's not entirely your property, is it? Since you can't do with it whatever you want?"

Very long pause.

"I will move on Mr. Smith. Have a seat. Ms. Pearlstein."

Jamie stood.

"Yes Professor." Her eyes gave me an—asshole why did you pick me look. Game on. Jamie would not shy from competition.

"Can you define Property?" I asked. I took a step back from the podium to show that I was yielding space.

"Property is any determinate thing that you have the right to possess, use and enjoy."

"Sounds like what Mr. Black says in his dictionary. Anyway, given that definition, you are my property aren't you, Ms. Pearlstein?" I focused hard on her eyes. "I certainly get to use and enjoy you, don't I?"

"I am no one's property Professor. People are not property. 13th Amendment." Good posture. Defiant stance. Jamie's brown eyes punctuated her words with a strong "fuck you."

"Well you would agree, Ms. Pearlstein, that I make you to come to class every day—that's in the course syllabus—and that's certainly me using your valuable time how I want to, and not necessarily how you want to?" I ended with a sarcastic flourish. "Looks like you like to spend time in the salon afterall."

"I come to class because I want to." Jamie struck a petulant tone and feigned boredom.

"And Ms. Pearlstein, you agree that I will require you to write examinations for my class. And that act, making your hands move how I want, is something that certainly I will derive enjoyment from? I tie your hands by framing the questions? And then I pin you down, make you commit to a position. You can't squirm."

"I take examinations because I like to show off," Jamie paused. "My pleasure, not yours. I tell you what I know, not because of any requirement. It's all about performance. My stage." Jamie was getting into her game. On her best days, if you said the sky was blue, Jamie would make you pick a shade from a color wheel and then proceed to explain why that shade was not really "blue."

"And Ms. Pearlstein, you would agree that when you speak in class, you mount what you think is your stage, but in fact is my stage. Aren't I the one producing and directing this little show?"

"I speak," Jamie adopted a little girl tone. "Because it's polite to respond to questions. You can talk with strange men, but that doesn't mean you take them home."

The class chuckled.

Jamie batted her eyes and struck a pose for her classmates. She was not going to let me win easy.

"Your parents raised you well, Ms. Pearlstein. But your good breeding," I paused before I said breeding, "isn't at issue, the issue is whether or not I get to enjoy using you—and I think I am enjoying using you right now?"

"Not at all." Back to her fuck you look and tone.

"Well, Ms. Pearlstein, because I am the Professor, aren't you right now actually doing what I want. I am getting my way here, aren't I? And isn't that what it means to say that you are my property?"

"I do what I want, Professor." There was a hint that Jamie's nipples were rising through her sheer bra.

"So the rules don't let me possess, use and enjoy you. Is that what you are saying?"

"They do not," Jamie's voice got bitchy. "I can refuse to play along."

"You've already tried that and you know where that leads. You can pout, you can stomp, you can do that indignant thing you are dong now, but be serious, at what price can you refuse?" I threw down my dare. "Control over property is really all about buying and trading rights, isn't it? I can possess, use and enjoy you if I am willing to spend enough."

"I don't follow your question." Jamie feigned ignorance.

"If you refuse to talk in class—you refuse to allow me the use and enjoyment of your presence and performance—Ms. Pearlstein, your grade goes down. I decide how to grade your performance, don't I?"

The class looked a bit uneasy with that comment.

"I suppose." Jamie couldn't really tell where I planned to go next. A little panic in her eyes.

"And isn't that the essence of me being in control, Ms. Pearlstein. No matter which supposed 'choice' you make, perform, not perform, talk, not talk, whatever. I remain in control? And wouldn't you also agree, Ms. Pearlstein, that as Professor, I have lots of choices to make about how I will exercise my control over you and find my enjoyment?"

Long pause. More of the fuck you stare. Jamie's nipples were now fully charged and aggressively pushing against her blouse.

I continued.

"Let's move on to another subject, Ms. Pearlstein." Pause a beat, another, another. Then another. "Let's talk about Tara."

Pages turned in classroom casebooks.

"Jesus Christ." Jamie eyes were wide and she went pale. Deer in the headlights. Smack. Jamie didn't see that coming.

"What was that Ms. Pearlstein? Something profane about our Lord and savior?"

"I am sorry professor. Just some frustration being the first day of law school and all." Jamie wanted to hit me. Badly. Her cheeks were turning bright red. She really had no clue what I would do next.

"I didn't get the reason for that bit of obscenity at all Ms. Pearlstein," I tried very hard to sound stern and angry. "I was merely moving on to talk about Tara, Scarlett O'Hara's family estate in Gone With The Wind. That was part of the assigned reading for today. The line in the novel where Scarlett grabs the earth and defines herself by her property. You know, Tara. What were you talking about Ms. Pearlstein?"

"Nothing Professor."

"Did you do the assigned reading, Ms. Pearlstein?" I punctuated the sentence with a strong flavor of indignation. "Do you know anything at all about Tara?"

"Nothing important Professor." Jamie was blowing me off and getting visibly nervous at the same time.

"Perhaps you and I will need to have a few words about 'nothing' in my office this afternoon, Ms. Pearlstein. Please drop by after your last class." I looked at my watch. "Oh that's it for the day everyone. Ms. Pearlstein put on a great show. Bravo."

***

Class ended and I wandered off to the office. The office is a fairly large nondescript 80's style institutional faculty office. Windows run along the wall behind my desk. To the left, the wall is filled floor to ceiling with bookshelves. To the right, the wall is institutional painted concrete block. Facing the desk is the wall with the office door. Three chairs sat facing my desk. I had gym clothes, sweatpants, a U of I sweatshirt, gym shorts draped on one chair. I had some old exams in a bankers box in the corner. I "decorated," if you could call it that, by putting a 1970s shag throw rug on the floor. Classic. My dad had used the same rug in his office for years.

Unfortunately, I didn't have much in the office the way of raw material to work with if I wanted to try "Difficult Jamie." I found an extension cord in the media room down the hall. I found some of that clear box packing tape in the bookstore. Bought a roll. I had no idea what to expect from Jamie, how she would react, but I would be ready if she gave me an opening.

I was in the office at 5:30 still prepping the next day's class when Jamie knocked. The office door was locked. I got up let her in. Closed the door behind her and locked it.

"What the fuck were you doing with me in class talking about Tara!" Jamie started right in. "Bastard. You want the guys in class to Google me or something. Asshole. Fucking asshole. I am retired. No more Tara. No more difficult Jamie. I don't want folks getting on TER or some other board trying to figure out if I am that Tara. Bastard!"

Jamie moved to slap me. I grabbed her wrist. I didn't say a word. I pushed Jamie hard against the concrete wall. My hands went for her hips and I pressed my lips against hers. She held her mouth tightly closed. I pressed harder with the kiss and moved a hand between her legs. She struggled. She kept pushing with her hands. I moved my hands to grab her breasts. She tried to knee me but I caught her leg coming up, lifted her (sort of a wrestling move), and dropped her on to the shag rug. I pressed my weight on top of her to hold her down and kissed more. Groped her breasts. She pushed and kicked. I pulled open her cardigan and pulled at her blouse. Buttons popped. I reached between her legs and pulled on her panties. They were drenched. I stood, grabbed her panties, and pulled panties (and legs) up. She tried to kick but I backed out of the way. Panties were off.

Jamie stood. We looked at each other. She was sucking in deep breaths. She moved right. I caught her and pushed her face down over the desk. She had no leverage. I grabbed the extension cord and wrapped it around her ankles and pulled it into a knot. I pulled her back down on the floor. She slammed my chest hard with her palm. I lifted her skirt and fingered her slit. I shoved my middle finger in and pushed up.

Jamie has a spot in her pussy that if you push hard and diddle your finger really gets her off. I was finger fucking her hard while holding her to the ground. Her body shook. I was winning.

I grabbed the packing tape and started in on one wrist. I used my weight to hold her down. Wrapped the left wrist and forced her hands together. Wrapped the tape around the right wrist. Better than hand cuffs. Jamie tried pulling her hands apart but that only worked to twist the tape.

Jamie restrained—hands wrapped with tape, and her ankles bound with the extension cord—I pulled her thighs apart and went to lick. Jamie bucked against my tongue. She came again and her body convulsed. She could do better.

I slid off to Jamie's side and ripped her blouse the rest of the way open. I pushed her sheer lace bra up off her breasts. I sucked hard on her left nipple and reached back with my hand to fondle her clit. Jamie tried to squirm away. I moved back on top and sucked on her other breast. I kissed my way down her body to her cunt. I licked more, and more, sucked on her clit, then licked more and more. She convulsed, and her body nearly ripped in half as she came very hard.

I paused a moment to let Jamie catch her breath. I flipped her over and started to spank. Hard.

"Bad girl saying Jesus Christ in my classroom," I whispered a few time. "Bad Jamie, bad, bad. Do you promise to behave."

"No you asshole, no, not never," Jamie whispered back.

I spanked harder.

After hours office sex is really dangerous because you never know when the little cleaning person will come by to take your trash. I knew I didn't have much more time with Jamie before the cleaning person moment.

After spanking Jamie I was raging hard. I rolled her on her back, pulled my pants down and started to fuck her. Jamie moved to meet my thrusts. She was incredibly tight and wet. I was so aroused it didn't take long and I shot a huge load deep inside.

"Asshole, you came inside me without me telling its ok" Jamie whispered.

I stood and pulled my pants up. Jamie was a sight sprawled on the floor, wrists taped, ankles wrapped with the extension cord, blouse torn, bra pushed up to her neck, skirt around her waist, my cum dripping from between her legs.

"Use and enjoy. I think those were the words of art."

"I said, you shot my baby making parts full of cum, bastard." Jamie repeated.

"I'll put it in your ass next time."

"What if I'm not on the pill anymore asshole?"

"Then you'll get fat and pregnant and likely suck hundreds of thousands of dollars from me to support our bastard child. But to be honest, if you weren't on the pill anymore, I think you would've done me the courtesy of taking the Lord's name in vain and screaming Jesus Christ. You had no problem at all doing that in my classroom."

Jamie fought back a smile. I think we had reached an understanding.

I was kind enough to cut the packing tape off her hands. Jamie put herself back together. I kept her panties. Stuffed them in the top right desk drawer. Told Jamie she would have to earn them back.

Jamie looked around the office. Her blouse was a loss. She buttoned the cardigan to cover herself but didn't seem happy with the result. She picked up my U of I sweatshirt. Sniffed it.

"Smells like you," she said. Put the sweatshirt on.

I nodded and held my hands out palms up to say whatever.

"I'll see myself out," she whispered. "And you came inside me, you owe me dinner."

***

About two weeks later in Property class we were discussing Gissel v. Idaho, a case where the Idaho Supreme Court decided who was entitled to the "profit" from the sale of some allegedly stolen rice. The class was having some trouble with the case, so I ran a few hypotheticals past them.

"Mr. Smith, there is a woman's undergarment in the top right hand desk drawer in my office. I can assure you it is not mine—well at least it wasn't originally mine—but it's in my office. You enter my office looking for me. I'm not there. You spy the undergarment in the drawer and take it. Do I have any right to make you give it back to me?"

"Um, why am I taking the undergarment from your desk Professor?"

"Sit down Mr. Smith, this is not method acting. We don't care what your motive is for stealing women's panties. This is law school. Ms. Pearlstein. There is this woman's undergarment in my office ..."

Jamie was wearing my sweatshirt to class. She was making her own statement about property.

"Jesus Christ." Jamie turned bright red. Half the class broke out laughing.

"Ms. Pearlstein, what was that? You seem to have this problem with me and hypotheticals."

"Nothing Professor, sorry, distracted, my thoughts got away from me. Won't happen again."

"We had this conversation about 'nothing' once before. I guess it didn't work. You better talk to me in my office when your school day is done. Just so we can be sure this we are in agreement about this."

Everyone in the class looked at Jamie liked she had really stepped in it this time.

"Ok." Jamie fought a grin.

I knew that I wouldn't get the sweatshirt back—but, what the heck, I had "difficult Jamie" back—at least for a time. I think today would be the ass.