Amy, a Lawyer

Around the back it was even less obvious what the building housed and Amy wasn't at all sure she had the right door. Maybe she'd lost track of which building was which. The young lawyer paused, confronted by a row of doors leading from the alley in which she stood. She chose one, hoping that she had kept her bearings, tried it, and found it unlocked. Beyond she entered into an unlit hall. Even in the darkness she could tell there was thick carpet under her shoes.

"Hello?" Amy called out tentatively. "Anyone there?"

"Hello?" came back the reply. "Who's that?"

Amy relaxed, recognising the voice as Lucy's. "It's Amy Jennings, Sophie's lawyer."

"Oh sorry, should have had the lights on for you." The lights flickered on, revealing velvet clad walls and the plush carpet that Amy had suspected. What a cliché, she thought. She could see a door open, further up on the left hand side. "Come on in."

In contrast to the hallway, Lucy's room looked like it had come from office furnishing central. Neutral coloured walls, filing cabinets, a desk with a computer and a sophisticated looking office phone. Behind the desk sat the girl who Amy assumed was Lucy, fairly plain looking in jeans and tee-shirt but with a big smile.

"Bet I'm not what you expected, huh?" Lucy said cheerfully.

"Sorry?" replied Amy

"Didn't you think I'd look like some porn star sitting here in some fancy lingerie or something?" Lucy asked. "Hello", she continued, dropping into the sensual voice she had used when she first answered Amy's call. "This is Colette's, let us make your deepest fantasy come true." Then she laughed.

"See I can do the voice, but all I have to do is answer the phones and fix up the schedules. So I don't have to dress up for the customers. Never see them. I don't quite have the looks for it anyway." Amy thought there should be hint of jealousy or resentment in that, but she couldn't find any.

"Not like some," Lucy added, looking straight at Amy.

She thinks I could work here,thought Amy. Be a pros... Hurriedly Amy pushed the notion away.

"Look, if I could just get that statement about Sophie's schedule," said Amy, trying not to sound harsh.

"Yep, Miss Stacey said to send you right up as soon as you got here," replied Lucy, beaming. Perky, thought Amy, who'd have thought a brothel's receptionist would be perky?

"Uh, what, sorry, can't you?" Amy struggled to get back to what she came here for.

"Sorry, no can do. The boss, that's Miss Stacey, said she should do it, carry more weight, etc., etc. So just take the lift up to the top floor. Back out in the corridor, front of the building." Lucy's words felt like hands on Amy, gently but forcefully guiding her along. The lift was like the corridor, all soft light and plush fittings. As the doors opened at the top Amy could only see one open door, with light spilling out.

If Lucy's office was cookie-cutter receptionist, this one was definitely executive grade. The floor was polished wood, unlike the carpet in the rest of the building. Light streamed in through a window. I must have missed that one when I was looking outside, thought Amy. There were elegant bookshelves, dark wood inset with lighter panelling, the shelves tastefully filled by old leather bound volumes and expensive looking decorations. The impressive desk, near the far wall, matched the bookshelves, solid dark wood with lighter panels. There was a computer on the desk and an antique-looking lamp beside it. A printer lay discreetly on one of the shelves of the bookcases behind the desk. The woman seated behind the desk matched the surrounds, restrained and confident. She looked about fifty. Amy could see she was wearing a light coloured blouse, buttoned well up and what looked like the coat of a business suit. Whether it was a pants suit or skirt Amy couldn't tell, the panels of the desk went to the floor on the front and both sides of the desk, so she could only see the woman's upper half.

"Please take a seat Miss Jennings", the woman indicated one of the chairs in front of the desk with an elegantly manicured hand.

"Thank you, Miss, uh Stacey?" Amy wasn't sure whether she wanted to call the woman that but she had no idea what else to call her, so decided that was as good as anything as she sat down.

"Yes, that's fine, you can call me Stacey. But I suppose I'd better call you Amy then hadn't I?" the older woman said. It may have been phrased as a question but the older woman's tone made it sound like a statement

"Uh, I suppose," Amy wanted to think of a reason to object but as she had already used the other's woman's first name she couldn't think of a good reason to argue.

"Now, Amy," began Stacey, not giving Amy any chance to interject "I've taken the liberty of preparing the documents I think you'll need to help Sophie". She indicated a folder on her desk with a memo on top. "If you could just have a look and see if that's everything."

Amy took the memo. If the contents of the folder matched the memo Stacey had been thorough. It listed Sophie's hours, how long she had worked here and a statement from Stacey about Sophie's punctuality. It even claimed to have details of Sophie's earnings.

"That last," observed Stacey, seeming to know where Amy was up to in reading the memo, "should help show that Sophie wouldn't take passing traffic. What she earns here is rather above the going rate for that sort of thing."

"That's great," said Amy, eager to be gone, "with this I won't have to take up any more of your time". She reached for the folder.

"But that's not everything, is it?" Stacey's tone was mild, but Amy felt as if her hand had been slapped. She pulled it back hurriedly, feeling as if she was back in school and in the headmistress' office for a reprimand.

"Umm, sorry?" asked Amy.

"I like to think I look after my girls," said Stacey, looking at Amy across steepled fingers, "so I want to know that you'll give Sophie the best defence she can have. If they hadn't appointed a public defender so quickly I'd have hired someone else."

"I know my job," replied Amy confidently, "I may not have been in it long, but I have a good success rate." Amy was a good lawyer, she knew that.

"Ah but a good lawyer," Stacey replied firmly as Amy felt a faint flutter of panic in her stomach, was the woman reading her mind? "needs to understand their client, don't you agree?"

"Well, yes, I," Amy struggled to reply.

"But do you understand Sophie?" Stacey cut Amy off. "Do you understand why Sophie does what she does, selling her body to men she doesn't know?"

Amy shook her head and looked down, not wanting Stacey to see how embarrassed she felt. Again she was reminded of that feeling of being in the headmistress' office. Stacey was right, though Amy hated to admit it. If she didn't understand Sophie how was she supposed to defend her properly? Amy wanted to protest. She knew her job. Amy felt her normal confidence ebb away, what was going on here?

"It's not for every woman," Stacey began, sounding almost as if she was giving a lecture, "being a sex-worker." That's the proper term, thought Amy, sex-worker. Not prostitute. Why wasn't I using that before?

Because prostitute is what Sophie called herself, answered the little voice in her head.

"I'm not talking about the drug-addled whores on the street," Stacey continued, a look of distaste on her face, "I won't touch that side of the business. The girls who work for me choose it. Oh sometimes, life doesn't give them much of a choice, usually they need the money. But even then it's up to them in the end and I'll only take a girl who has the right attitude, who's up to it."

"Up to it?" echoed Amy, sounding dim even to her own ears.

"Yes," Stacey said, warming to her task, "you have to understand it's a service industry. You provide a service, you get paid. That's how lawyers work, isn't it dear?"

"Well, yes, but it's not quite the same," replied Amy, not liking the parallel Stacey seemed to be trying to draw.

"Well, quite," Stacey shot back, "but it's the same basic arrangement. You have to be prepared to give that service. There's nothing that says you have to like a client in any service industry is there?" Stacey only gave Amy time for a slight nod of the head. She had to admit she didn't like many of her clients. "Most girls look on it as a simple transaction. Render the service, get paid. They're all business. A few just like having lots of sex and getting paid for it. Most of them need the money, some just like having a bit extra. Not everyone is full time, students, office girls, even a few professional women, are quite happy to do a bit of moonlighting." Stacey drew breath and Amy looked up, wondering if she was supposed to say something.

Before she had a chance Stacey asked "Now, do you have any idea where Sophie fits in all that?"

Stacey was looking straight at her. Amy couldn't look away. Much as she wanted to, she couldn't lie. "No," was all she could say.

"Well then," smiled Stacey. Amy sagged with relief as she felt released from the older woman's gaze. "Why don't we ask her?"

"What?" Amy felt her voice rise, matching the panic that again threatened to take hold. Why was she so worried? Sophie was her client after all, seeing her shouldn't be a problem. But Amy couldn't shake a feeling of fear.

Stacey hit a switch on the phone on her desk. "Come in please Sophie". The madam's voice was pleasantly professional, as if summoning an assistant to a meeting.

The door seemed to open immediately. Was Sophie just outside waiting for the call? wondered Amy. Turning around she was surprised to see a young woman in a business suit very similar to the one she herself was wearing. It took Amy a moment to realise that it was indeed Sophie.

"Oh don't worry about how she's dressed," Stacey said reassuringly. "We like to deal in fantasies here and after seeing you the other day Sophie said she'd like to try out the professional look for clients who are into that sort of thing. Isn't that right Sophie?"

"Yes Miss Stacey," replied Sophie, demurely. Amy thought she should object, that there was something wrong with how Sophie was blurring the lines between them, but somehow she couldn't find the words.

"Now Sophie, Amy here is trying to understand you a bit better, to help with your defence." Sophie turned to regard Amy as Stacey continued, "Could you tell her a bit about why you work here?"

"Well," Sophie began, not waiting for any confirmation from Amy, "I need the money to fund my studies."

"Studies?" Amy managed to squeeze out.

"Yes, I'm studying marketing at the local university. I left home early, my parents were," Amy could see the emotion in Sophie's eyes, belying the cool exterior she presented, "well, let's say they didn't help much. I left school early too, and without any skills worth mentioning it was shit job after shit job. I needed to study if I was going to make something of myself. And that needed money. And without any skills or qualifications this was my only choice."

Amy was surprised at how calm Sophie was. "Aren't you bitter or anything?" asked Amy. Amy could sympathise. While she hadn't had to struggle to afford her studies she understood how expensive it could be. And being forced into a choice like this, well, it couldn't have been easy for Sophie.

Amy saw the other girls eyes flick away and then back again. "No, what's the point?" Sophie replied eventually. "I could rail against society. I'd much rather get on with it. To me it's just a job, you do what the customer wants and you get paid. Yeah, I box it off and maybe I'll need a therapist in twenty years. But by then I aim to be able to afford one. That's another reason I wouldn't have done it the other day. I want a career some day and a conviction for soliciting isn't exactly going to help."

Amy could see the logic in that. Stacey had been right. Understanding Sophie would help in her defence.

"Thank you for being so open," said Amy quietly.

"So," Stacey asked, "you understand a bit better now?" Amy nodded and the madam continued, "About the choices Sophie has made. It takes strength to be that honest, doesn't it? To see what's possible and admit what you can do. Sophie's going to have a career someday, but it's a fine line between one, hmm, profession and another. Why don't you two girls go and stand in front of the mirror for me?"

Amy looked around, confused. Mirror? Then she saw a large floor length mirror on one of the walls. She must have not noticed it when she came in. A little reluctantly the young lawyer went and stood next to Sophie, both of them looking into the mirror.

"Now answer me honestly," admonished Stacey "if you were shown this picture and told one of these girls was a lawyer and one a sex-worker, which one would you think was which?" Amy wanted to rebel, to refuse to answer the question. It was silly, it was outrageous. Stacey had no right to ask such a thing. And anyway it was obvious, she was the lawyer, Sophie the prostitute. But then Amy looked in the mirror.

At first sight it was just two women, both looking like they were dressed for a day in the office. Then my looked closer and she had to admit they didn't look the same. The shoes one of the women was wearing had heels that were a little higher. The same woman wore a skirt that was a little shorter than the other's. She looked prettier too. Oh, her outfit was nothing that wouldn't be acceptable in the most conservative of offices. But Stacey had said she had to choose. The woman in that outfit had long blonde hair, even if it was tied back. The other, slightly more conservatively dressed, was brunette, her hair short. And Amy knew that if anyone was forced to pick between the two they'd pick her, not Sophie, as the prostitute.

"Me?" Amy whispered, nervously.

"What was that dear?" asked Stacey.

"I look like the prostitute," Amy said, looking at the floor, not realising that wasn't exactly what Stacey had asked.

"You see dear," said Stacey "it's a fine line. Some women never get near it. Others find it very easy to cross."

"Well," the older woman continued, "I think we're done here. You should be well prepared to defend Sophie now."

Amy nodded, wordless, took the folder from Stacey's desk and fled.

The rest of the day at the office was a total disaster. Amy couldn't concentrate on her work. She kept replaying the events in Stacey's office over and over again in her head. Her emotions hurtling between fear and anger.

"How dare she?" Amy muttered to herself. Why hadn't she objected? Why had she let Stacey dominate her like that? Amy was no shy retiring type. You couldn't be a successful lawyer in court if you were. Yet she'd let the older woman treat her like a naughty schoolgirl. Much as she tried to deny it beneath her anger Amy felt a creeping fear. Fear that people might look at her and not see a professional woman but instead a sex-worker acting out some stupid male fantasy. Angrily she tried to tug her skirt a bit lower.

Even good news from Natalie, who had located the driver of the car, couldn't cheer her up. "Do you want to talk to him?" Natalie asked. Amy just waved her away and told her to do it. When Natalie returned a little later, Amy was deleting a half written summary on her computer. Rereading it she realised that the last two hour's work had produced nothing but rubbish.

"Are you okay?" asked Natalie, obviously concerned.

"Yeah, I just feel a little off," replied Amy, trying to regather her composure

"Hmm," said Natalie "well, that bloke Sophie was talking to, Gary Reynolds, he's happy to make a statement. She's lucky. Most men would deny everything."

Amy just nodded.

"You don't look right." Natalie looked at her seriously, "you sure you're not getting something?" When Amy didn't reply Natalie continued. "Get out of here. It's late enough." Amy looked at the clock. Half past four. Where had the day gone? It was before lunch when she'd returned from Colette's.

That night Amy had trouble getting to sleep. As she tossed and turned she still couldn't let go of the events of the morning. Stacey and Sophie seemed to have been determined to convince her that she could, could, sell herself. Amy wouldn't use the 'p' word. Even Lucy, the receptionist at the brothel, with her comment about Amy's looks, had been trying the same thing. I mean, Amy thought to herself, as if.

As if she could have sex with a man she didn't know. Take her clothes off for him. Lie back for him and let him do whatever he wanted to her. Then take his money. Unbidden, the images started playing over and over in her head. Meeting a man, faceless, anonymous. Agreeing to go somewhere with him. Taking off her dress, her bra. Slipping down her panties. Feeling his hands running over her body, her breasts, feeling his cock forcing its way into her pussy. Feeling her arousal grow.

"Oh my god" yelled Amy. She was feeling aroused. She really was. Those images were turning her on. "Shit no". It's just a fantasy, she tried to tell herself, lots of people have fantasies. And how long was it since she had got laid, anyway? Hell, it must be two years now. Finalising her qualifications and settling into her job had destroyed any chance of a relationship. So it was no surprise, really. Pent-up sexual frustration combined with the suggestiveness of being in a brothel? That would get to anyone, Amy reassured herself.

And what's the harm in a little fantasy anyway? People have fantasies about lots of things, silly things. Doesn't mean they're actually going to do them. They may even play them out with someone. Amy remembered one of her friends at university, Mary, whispering to her about a game Mary and her boyfriend Neil had played. Mary acting the hooker and Neil picking her up. All safe at home. Just a bit of fun.

Amy decided that she needed some release. "Too much pent up anxiety" she said to herself. Reaching down, touching her pussy, she was amazed at how wet she was. "Wow I need this". She began gently rubbing at herself, a finger, then two, slipping inside her needy hole. The images in her head were of men, faceless, taking her, one after another. Very soon she orgasmed and drifted contentedly off to sleep.

The next few days at the office were much better. Amy felt like she was back to her old determined self. Better even. The work seemed to come so easily. Case files made sense. Witnesses co-operated. Summaries and reports flew from her fingertips as she typed away. Even the opposing lawyers didn't seem to be able to match her court-room performance.

"Woah," Natalie said at the end of the week. "I should tell more people to take an early afternoon."

"Hmm?" asked Amy.

"Well, the way you've been since Monday." Natalie said, obviously wondering at the change. "It's like you've got a whole new lease. What's the secret?"

"Oh nothing," replied Amy, smiling, "I just feel a little more balanced."

What Amy didn't tell Natalie was that her nights before sleep had become a ritual of self-pleasure. She'd be wet even before she got into bed, images of men taking her flowing through her mind. Even when she tried she couldn't recall any of the details of what those fantasy men looked like. All she remembered was the wonderful feeling of imagining them inside her. She'd bring herself off once, sometimes twice a night. In the end jamming her fingers deep into her sodden pussy, her back arching. "I need to get laid," she'd said to herself in the mirror as she'd prepared for work Friday morning. Nightly masturbation wasn't normal for her, she admitted, and honestly it wasn't as satisfying as the real thing.

She'd twirled before the mirror that morning, admiring the image of herself in the fancy lingerie she'd taken to wearing in place of her usual conservative underwear. She still didn't like the idea that Sophie and Stacey might have been trying to make her think about prostituting herself, but now she was prepared to write it off as her overactive imagination. She'd obviously been depriving herself sexually. Sexual frustration had made her read way too much into what they'd said. What she needed to do was work it off.