The Attorney’s Secret Lesson
As a high-powered divorce attorney, I was used to handling the messy details of other people’s lives, but my client, Susana, was a special case. She was breathtaking—thirty-five with raven hair and a body that seemed sculpted for desire. Despite her stunning looks, she was trapped in a marriage with Jesus, a man who looked like a fitness model and spoke with the voice of a radio announcer. They were a golden couple on the surface, but behind closed doors, a void of intimacy had grown.
I arrived at her home on a humid Saturday afternoon, my own desires humming beneath my professional attire. I was wearing silk stockings and a garter belt, a secret that made me feel daring as I navigated the city traffic. By the time I entered Susana’s bedroom, the sound of her shower echoing through the suite, I was already breathless with anticipation.
When Susana emerged, wrapped in a plush robe, she looked fragile and conflicted. She confessed that her marriage was failing not because of a lack of love, but because of a profound sexual inhibition. Her strict upbringing had left her feeling guilty about pleasure; she had barely ever experienced an orgasm and felt a deep shame regarding her own body.
Seeing her vulnerability—and the glimpse of her magnificent breasts as she applied lotion to her skin—I felt a surge of protective lust. I stepped behind her, my hands finding her shoulders. I looked at her reflection in the mirror and whispered, “You have a body made for pleasure, Susana. You deserve to know what it feels like to truly let go.”
I began to massage her neck, my touch light but intentional. Slowly, I slid my hands down to her chest, the lotion making the glide seamless. Susana gasped, her eyes fluttering shut. I teased her nipples through the thin fabric of her robe, feeling her body tremble. I whispered in her ear, telling her that there was no shame in desire, only in denying it.
The tension snapped. I guided her to turn around and knelt between her legs. As I tasted her for the first time, Susana let out a cry she had suppressed for years. My tongue worked with a precision that drove her wild, while my fingers explored her depths, finding her already slick and wanting. She had never been touched with such focused intent.
In a fever of mutual longing, we stripped away our clothes. We became a tangle of limbs and sighs, exploring each other with a hunger that transcended the professional boundary. I taught her the art of the 69, our bodies locked in a symmetrical dance of giving and receiving. I watched her face in the mirror as she reached her first true orgasm, her body arching in a violent, beautiful release.
“I’ve been missing so much,” she whimpered, her voice thick with ecstasy. We didn’t stop there; we spent the next hour rediscovering every inch of our skin, our moans filling the room. We were so lost in the heat of the moment, so consumed by the friction of our bodies, that we didn’t hear the front door open.
We only noticed when we shifted positions and saw him. Jesus was standing in the doorway, tall and imposing in his Armani suit, his expression a mixture of shock and sudden, intense arousal. He didn’t look angry; he looked captivated.