Sapphic Solicitors Ch. 01

Stephanie Rollins slowly approached her young, unsuspecting co-worker, Rose Matthews, who had just joined the legal firm three months ago. Every time she gazed at the young, twenty-one-year-old brunette, Stephanie was practically panting like a bitch in heat. Finally, after the big boss, Nathalie Partridge, and the three other partners—of which Stephanie was the fourth—had left, Stephanie was in charge of pretty, young Rose. As she walked towards the younger woman file some papers for Nathalie's new case, the older woman purred to herself, "It's all right—don't be afraid. All I want is for you to lick my pussy."

But Stephanie knew she had to play it cool, so as not to scare the young woman—the last thing anyone wanted for the firm of Partridge, Drake, Kennedy, Falkner, & Rollins to get slapped with a sexual harassment lawsuit. She smiled to herself, standing at the edge of the doorway of her beautiful office that Nathalie had allowed her to decorate herself; she'd earned it—graduating top of her class at Yale Law School, with a 4.4 GPA, and getting every scholarship in the book to get where she was today. She remembered the dream she'd captured in that bottle for herself at the age of thirteen, just a month before her fourteenth birthday, and as she graduated from middle school, that it was all she wanted—that is, until pretty little Rose Matthews walked in the door as their brand-new spring associate.

"Rose," Stephanie said, approaching her completely and smiled.

Rose turned, her sapphire eyes still captivating Stephanie. "Yes, Ms. Rollins?" she asked, flashing her a perfect smile; that evening, she was dressed in an above-the-knee length red, flared skirt with a stylish white sweater, golden chain belt, and knee-high, black leather boots. "Is everything all right? Do you need a coffee or something? I could get it for you..."

Stephanie smiled and shook her head. "No—you probably don't remember, I'm the only partner who drinks tea."

"Tea, right. Sorry," Rose said. "Shall I fetch you a tea, then?"

"No, no, it's fine, really," Stephanie said. "I've just finished going over a deposition for a case I have next week and believe me, the last thing I need is caffeine right now."

"That's for the Westbrook case, right, Ms. Rollins?"

Stephanie raised her eyebrows. "Well, you certainly do your homework, don't you, Rose?" she asked, impressed.

"Well, it's in all the papers, and they said our firm was handling it," Rose said, backtracking quickly—the poor girl thought that Ms. Rollins believed that she'd been snooping around some of the confidential files. "I just assumed, since Partridge and Drake are handling the wrongful death suit, and Kennedy and Faulkner are handling the child abuse case that you..."

"Yes, I'm handling the Westbrook case," Stephanie replied with a smile. "Actually, I was reading about you the other day—you're at Yale?"

"Yes. Graduating in June," Rose replied, beaming.

"I graduated from Yale myself," Stephanie said. "It's good to see our associates are coming from my alma mater."

"When did you graduate?" Rose asked, the question spoken before she could stop herself. "I'm so sorry, Ms. Rollins. That was rude..."

Stephanie smiled, finding herself aroused by Rose's discomfort. "No need to apologize," she replied easily. "I graduated seven years ago, when I was twenty-one."

"So, you're twenty-eight now?"

"Yes. Twenty-nine in December," Stephanie said, half-hoping that Rose would present herself, nude, with a massive red bow tied around her neck for her Christmas/birthday gift.

Rose quickly checks her phone. "It's almost six now. You live in Westchester, right?"

Stephanie was touched that Rose knew where she lived. "I do."

"Well, your husband will be worried about you, won't he?" she asked. "Or not husband," she said quickly after seeing Stephanie's raised eyebrows. "Do you prefer fiancé? Boyfriend? Or partner?"

Stephanie smiles and shakes her head. "No, Rose. I'm not involved...with men."

Rose let out a sigh of relief. "Sorry, again," she said, shaking her head. "I should have guessed by your expression. People are so much more open about their sexuality these days. Comes with the territory, I guess." She turns briefly back to the filing cabinet and files the stack of folders away for the following week. "Well, nearly six o'clock on a Friday—you must be exhausted, Ms. Rollins."

Stephanie shrugged. "Honestly, I'm hankering for an expensive meal out." She crossed her arms and stared at Rose. "Would you like to join me, or do the dorms have a curfew?"

Rose grins. "No, I don't live in the dorms. My late uncle left me his brownstone in Fairfield, so not too far from here—an hour, give or take."

"You drive?"

"I do," Rose said, seemingly flattered. "My father bought me the car I drive in now as a sixteenth birthday present."

"Well, you must have to fill up your car now and again," Stephanie said. "Will you go with me to dinner?"

"Um..." Rose hesitated.

Stephanie smiled. "Come on—I see you're done with your filing and its Friday night. You don't seem like the partygoer to me."

"How do you know what I am?" Rose demanded hotly.

Ooh, feisty, Stephanie thought to herself, but she remained calm. "You're right—how rude of me to make assumptions. I merely ask you to go to dinner with me because I'm allowed a special guest with me in the courtroom. You seemed interested in the Westbrook case so I figured, if you were open to it, we could discuss it over dinner."

Rose sighed, seeing her error. "Sorry," she said. "Really. It's just that I've heard that sometimes people in authority can come on to subordinates."

You don't know the half of it, Stephanie mused, but she kept her smile in check. "Don't worry—I am hardly going to abduct you in the night. How about I give you the address of the place and you meet me there? Deal?"

Rose nodded. "Okay," she said, allowing a small smile to play at her lips as she keyed the address of Stephanie's favorite steakhouse into her phone.

"Great," Stephanie said. "I'll meet you there in twenty minutes." She gave Rose a smile and turned back into her office, logging off her work computer and beginning to gather her briefcase as Rose went to the associate's office to grab her coat and purse.

Stephanie left the building and went underground to the parking garage, finding her luxury car without difficulty and getting inside, strapping herself in. It took all of Stephanie's strength not to stick her fingers into her pussy as she drove across town to The Indigo Medallion, the best steakhouse in town. She had a private table permanently booked Friday to Sunday, in case it suited her fancy, and would eat there at least one of those days. The proprietor was a kind elderly gentleman from Phoenix, Arizona called Nate, and he had been like a second father figure to her in her years of going there. He knew of her sexual orientation and deliberately gave her a table in the back, surrounded by curtains—even if she dined alone—on the off chance she would encounter a woman there to fondle during her meal.

She arrived at the restaurant just sixteen minutes later, and was immediately shown to her table by the maitre D, a man in his forties, named Dimitri, who was a partner in the restaurant business with Nate. Stephanie gave Nate the name of her date that evening, as well as Dimitri, and they'd agreed on the utmost discretion, and immediately pulled the curtains surrounding her table upon her arrival. As Stephanie sat back in the circular booth, she contemplated the menu, always torn between the roasted half chicken and the New York steak, medium rare. About four and a half minutes later, the curtains twitched and Rose let herself in, smiling at Stephanie and sitting across from her.

"The curtains?" she asks, a delicious giggle escaping her throat. "What? Are these some sort of perk or something?"

Stephanie nods. "You could say that." She nodded at Rose's menu. "They encourage the people to order an appetizer, then a soup or salad, entrée, and then dessert. Get whatever you want—we'll be discussing business, so this meal is deductible anyway."

Rose grinned briefly before opening the black leather menu and peering inside. "So many delicious-sounding things," she mused. "My mother was a chef."

"Really?" Stephanie asked, suddenly curious.

"Yeah—Le Cordon Bleu and everything," Rose said, bragging about her mother in the nicest possible way.

"Is that how she met your dad?"

"Yes," Rose replied, obviously touched at the memory of her parents meeting. "My dad was a doctor and—after they got together—they came up with healthy alternatives in the kitchen; owned a magazine, too—Doc & Cook."

"My mother was obsessed with them," Stephanie said, relieved that they were sharing details of their personal lives. "The new issue was always on the coffee table; she insisted that we wait a week before I could read it, so there wouldn't be any damage to it. She was very particular about that rule."

"What did your mom do?" Rose asks.

"She was an interior designer. Her favorite room to design was kitchens," Stephanie replied, her mind lost in the past.

"And your father?"

"My father was an architect—building big skyscrapers, hotels, things like that. His best friend and business partner married her sister, and that's how they met—at the wedding."

"That's romantic," Rose offered.

Stephanie laughed. "Far from it, actually. My mother designed the interior of the wedding while my father thought that she had no taste. It was terrible—thank god for sex and traditional values because if it wasn't for that, I wouldn't be here."

"Did they ever fall in love?" Rose asked, and Stephanie suddenly wondered just how naïve her would-be conquest really was.

"Yes, eventually," Stephanie said. "Then my father came out as gay, so I don't know how real that love supposedly was."

"Do you believe it's a genetic thing?" Rose asks softly, as the curtains part and one of the waiters puts a bread basket and butter dishes on our table before leaving.

"Being gay?"

"Yes," Rose says, selecting a piece of bread and buttering it.

Stephanie shrugs. "Could be—but I'm not expert."

Rose laughs. "Neither am I."

"So, tell me what you know about the Westbrook case," Stephanie says, taking a piece of bread myself and adding butter to it. "You seem interested—what piqued your interest?" she asks, slowly taking a bite of bread and locking eyes with Rose, so as the younger woman was clearly in awe of the elder.

"I think that the stereotype is fascinating," Rose confessed then, "that women are supposedly the gentler sex, and how that is still used today in certain arguments. I know that we're supposed to be on Monica Westbrook's side, and I respect that, but..."

"But what?"

"Her alibi—or supposed alibi... I just can't shake the fact that something is wrong..."

"Shake it," Stephanie tells her. "That's an order. We can't have any shadow of a doubt in that courtroom that she's guilty."

"Do you believe her?" Rose asks, nibbling her bread.

Stephanie grins at her. "I'm her lawyer," she replies. "It's my job to believe her."

Rose and Stephanie decided to split the calamari for their appetizer. Stephanie end up ordering a Caesar salad while Rose orders French onion soup. For their entrées, Stephanie got the chicken and Rose ordered a top sirloin steak—probably because it's the cheapest steak on the menu. For their dessert, Rose got the bread pudding while Stephanie opted for the chocolate cake. The two women had spoken about this and that, from likes and dislikes, to hobbies outside work, to their childhoods. After their dinner dishes are cleared away, Rose got more personal.

"When did you know?" Rose asked Stephanie softly.

Stephanie sipped a bit at my Don Pérignon and hesitated. "When I wanted to be a lawyer?" she asked, which was obviously a safer topic.

"No. When did you know you were gay?"

"Well, I always found myself having crushes on various girls throughout high school," Stephanie said, mulling it over as she set her glass down. "But I remember one girl—Alice Whittaker—who completely changed everything for me. I was just eighteen and she was nineteen; she was my aunt's, my mother's sister's, best friend. My aunt was my mother's half-sister, and about fifteen years younger. I was staying at their house on the lake one summer—my dad was off working and my mom got called because her father had fallen in a minor accident, and she left me alone there, with them. One day, my aunt went into the next town—half an hour away, to go get groceries, and Alice and I decided to go swimming." Stephanie sipped her champagne, remembering the hot, July afternoon and remembered the butterflies in her stomach when she'd first seen Alice in her sexy new bikini.

"What happened?" Rose asked.

Stephanie looked up and smiled. "Oh, the usual—Alice asked me if I'd ever kissed anyone and of course I had. I'd already lost my virginity and I'd had two boyfriends at that point, so it wasn't a big deal. Then Alice asked me if I'd ever kissed a girl..."

"Had you?" Rose asked, almost eagerly.

Stephanie shook her head. "No—the thought didn't even cross my mind until the moment I saw Alice in her bikini. Her family had the cabin next door, and she told me to write a note to my aunt that I'd be there for a while, and I did—she was older than me and a lot more experienced so I just went along with it..."

"Then what?" Rose wanted to know.

"We went into her bedroom and just kissed for a good fifteen minutes. Then, she held me close and told me that everything would be okay, and that we didn't have to do anything I didn't want to do—you know, kid stuff. I told her I wanted her to show me everything and she did. It was the longest, most fantastic two hours of my life. We stayed in touch for a while after that, and I made an excuse whenever possible to head down to her cabin. But after I started at Yale, it became harder and harder to meet, and then she got interested in someone else, and I started dating my first girlfriend, Viola Seymour..."

"How long were you with Viola for?"

"We broke up two years ago," Stephanie replied, "so a good six and a half years. She was everything to me, and she was in her thirties—almost forty. But when it ended, it turned out that it was a big fantasy charade..."

"What do you mean?" Rose asked, perplexed.

"Turned out that Viola was married to a man named Humphrey," Stephanie replied. "She and Humphrey had three kids and a house in the suburbs. Humphrey had a good job in the stock market so Viola got bored of the whole soccer mom routine and wanted a little excitement. They tried swinging and it worked for them. Then she found me in a gay bar and I took her home; it was passion, I'll admit, and I fell in love with her after six months. She'd assumed a new identity with me, and moved fake clothes into my house. I caught her with her husband after six and a half years and I felt so stupid that I'd missed the whole thing. And, to top it all off, I was the greatest sex she ever had, and she stayed with her husband..." Stephanie twirled her wine glass and drank another sip. "It's just as well," she said, thanking the waiter when he arrived with their dessert and left. "I just hope I find the right one before it's too late..."

"Too late?"

"Well, fertility in my family is a strange thing. If I want kids, I gotta have them before I hit thirty-five or else my chance is gone..."

Rose nods, enjoying her bread pudding. She eats about half of it before she puts her spoon down, almost as if she is levelling with herself. "Ms. Rollins?"

Stephanie smiles. "Call me Stephanie, really."

"Stephanie... I want you to teach me."

Stephanie nearly choked on her chocolate cake. "Sorry?"

Rose straightened in her chair. "I want you to teach me how to make love to a woman," she replies matter of factly.

Stephanie lowered her fork, wiping her mouth with the cloth napkin. She'd become wet all over again as soon as Rose had uttered those words, and realized she wanted it more than anything she'd ever wanted before. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," Rose said softly. "I want to learn."

Stephanie smiled and nodded. "Okay." They finished their dessert and the check came, but not before Stephanie had slipped Rose her address and phone number. "Shall we meet tomorrow at some point?" Stephanie asked as she signed the check, but Rose caught her hand.

"No. Tonight. Please."

Stephanie raised her eyes to Rose, violet boring into hazel. "Why tonight?"

Rose leaned in so as Stephanie could smell her perfume, which was her namesake. "Because you made me so fucking horny with those stories about you and Alice and one with Viola," she whispered hotly. "Please. I'm so wet, and I need attending to."

Stephanie smiled lightly, although she knew exactly where Rose was coming from. "Meet me at my place," she whispered.

"No," Rose said, "take me home with you."

"But, your car..."

"I'll have a friend drive it back for me—my roommate, she works in the city."

Stephanie sighed; the girl truly was horny if she was eighty-sixing her car. "All right," she said, finishing with the bill payment. She got to her feet and put on her coat, and Rose did the same as they waved goodbye to Nate, Dimitri, and the rest of the employees. As they stepped outside, the cool, early spring air threatened to take their coats, but Stephanie put her hand in Rose's as they walked around the corner. As soon as they got inside Stephanie's car, Rose texted her roommate about her car and off they went.

The drive was forty minutes each way, and Stephanie had to drive with her knees together so as not to tempt herself, or her passenger. They drove past the Hudson River and made their way up the highway to Westchester County where Stephanie lived in an impressive Georgian mansion amongst many other architectural styles in a gated community. It had been a family home, which Stephanie had inherited upon her twenty-fifth birthday, because she was her father's only child and he'd died of AIDS when she was just twenty.

"Nice house?" Rose asked, making conversation.

"Very—a Georgian mansion," Stephanie replied.

"How'd you snag that?" Rose wanted to know.

"My father left it to me in his will," Stephanie said nonchalantly.

Rose nodded, continuing to look out at the river as they drove north. Finally, the highway exit loomed before them and Stephanie signaled to get off the freeway, which she executed to near perfection. As the continued driving into the night, Stephanie made all the correct turns and stops and they finally turned onto a cobblestone road and up to a wrought iron gate. Stephanie keyed in the code and they were allowed access and they drove slowly down the road—despite the lateness of the house—as the gates closed behind them.

Stephanie pulled into the garage and showed Rose through to the entrance from the garage up to the main floor. As they entered, Stephanie keyed in the security code for the house so as they were safe, and took Rose's coat, hanging it upon the pegs in the hall by the front door. She turned around then to find Rose just behind her, and smiled.

"You're very serious, aren't you?" she asked.

Rose nodded; even with her boots, she was a good two inches shorter than Stephanie. "I am, really," Rose assured her.

Stephanie nodded, reaching out and tilting the girls' chin up. "I'll bet you've kissed a few boys in your time, haven't you?"

"A few."

"Any girls?"

Rose shrugged, quickly flushing. "Just during dares, you know..."

Stephanie smiled down at her. "I know... And I'll make a confession to you..."

"What?"

"Ever since you walked into the office when your assignment began, I've been fantasizing about how to get you in my bed."

Rose's hazel eyes widened. "Really? Me?!"